Recent content by Kilien Basmarc

The Salted Ivy Tavern Upon first impression, the place was the most upscale tavern he'd ever stepped foot into. Vaulted ceilings opened to second-story bay windows let in a flood of the lingering daylight while high candelabras and brass braziers burned countless candles at high wick. The...

There was a healing spell created specifically for the use of mending broken bones and for a time Kilien presented this as a plausible approach to fixing the rock. There were maybe enough similarities between rock and bone that it might work if he concentrated hard enough. With an itch to his...

The Free City of Istanfol Between Vel Anir and Cortos Istanport So far as free cities went, Istanfol was one of the most robust and well-maintained. Not that Kilien would really know the difference, but that did not stop the surprise upon seeing a mixture of cultures and nationalities all in...

Fix a rock. What a curious sort of exercise. Among the many Initiates of the group, Kilien appeared to be a little bit perturbed by the task, but perhaps not for the same reasons as the others. Rocks were, invariably, already broken pieces of a bigger self. The toes of a mountain that had...

Detlan had, when the silence resumed, turned his attention back down to the scroll. Suffice it to say, silence made a form of respect the former Archon found agreeable. That was, at least, until he felt the tickling pull of the aether as the woman conjured a barrier of all things. The man...

Mimir the cat watched with wide, blue, glassy eyes as the hand approached, orange ears pricked and whiskers flared. It sniffed. It sneezed. It batted a harmless paw at her hand. "Mmm..." Detlan absently murmured in reply to the woman at her mention of his extended absence from the tower. A...

"The Mistress of the Scrolls would have a conniption if you farted in her doorway..." Detlan grumbled back as he near moved to retake his seat at his desk, then paused halfway there as Noira asked after a place for the coffee. Scowling, Detlan waved a hand, "The table, on the-" and when his gaze...

"No." The response from within was by and large the greatest personification of Detlan Auguste anyone could sum up into a single word. He'd forgotten entirely about the appointment, whether on purpose or by accident was anyone's guess. While Talastra stood there, likely cross and fuming at...

Oh he caught that intense terseness and he knew what it meant. Where he not so exhaustively grumpy he might have taken mirth in having needled Amaranthe so easily. Usually she was quite unflappable, but apparently the end of her tenure as Consul had her rocking on her titled laurels. She was...

"You may say what you like about me," Detlan grumbled at Amaranthe, "but you will keep your petty slander about Mimir to yourself." The heat of his gaze could only belie the serious affront taken by the woman's choice opinion on his long-standing travel companion. Familiar though he may be...

"We have recorded it only twice before," That she knew of. The issue with the tower was not in its people, but its politics. Subterfuge had been a tool and an errand for as long as he'd called himself part of the tower's economy, and no amount of power or knowledge ever got someone the whole...

Detlan was no stranger to disregard or affront. The many-times former Archon regarded the young Sorceress with a lack of intrigue. Typical hot-headed, middle ranked, something to prove, vaguely unimpressive. Detlan had nothing to prove to her, to the Consul, to the entire Order. He turned his...

"Auguste, you..." Amaranthe moved to place her keys on the desk and gave the man a short once-over with her gaze, frowning, "look like hell." "Is that all?" he muttered back, stepping over to her fireplace and forcing the dying embers back into a healthy crackle with a rather abrupt gesture of...