Recent content by Rovan Ravenhill

Rovan matched the curtsey with a near automatic bow of his own, hand over his ailing heart, all while his mind worked. House Blackbriar . . . House Blackbriar? Where had he heard that name from? It tugged at his memory, but didn't quite find purchase. Ah, no matter. He could worry about...

The Glacial Approach: Once again, Rovan found himself flung into the far north of icy realms. But this time, he came prepared. Three layers, fur, mittens and a heavy woolen cloak with the hood pulled over his face might not exactly be the height of Allirian fashion, but it would keep his ears...

It begins.

Rovan, I choose you! https://chroniclesrp.net/Folklore/Rovan-Ravenhill-Intrigant-Scribe

Rovan's arm fell like a sail losing wind. His jaw dropped at the small woman that seemed carved from ice, speaking with such calm to the leviathan of scale and muscle below. It pressed its mouth up against the ice, moving in flashes of brimming teeth and a tongue that looked like some strange...

Rovan glanced over his shoulder at the new nornfædd, tore his attention back to the runes, then shook his head and stared at her with renewed bafflement. Another ice goblin -- norn -- islo-- Another one. But how - where? No time! The wall finally yielded to them. With Rovan, Frazil and this...

Rovan's eyes drifted sideways, catching sight of the owner of the light and steady voice. The sight of one of her ears, sharper than most of the human kind, along with the high cheekbones, the emerald eyes and the spotless skin, told him that this was someone of the elven persuasion. Rather...

By the gently winding Cairou River, in the small town of Creek Hollow, squeezed in between the old sentry tower of Gibbleghurst and the Wrainsright Chapel, the Wayfarer's Folly squatted in half-timbered happenstance. Priding itself as the building with the 'narrowest front and widest clientel,'...

Might tag in with a fellow mischief-maker on the road. I plan to feature this character more, once he is out of his traumatising dungeon-delve in the Spine: https://chroniclesrp.net/Folklore/Rovan-Ravenhill-Intrigant-Scribe He will no doubt be hitting a tavern on the way. Shakily drinking...

When the dwarves clustered near him, Rovan noticed the danger. He had to redouble his efforts. Frazil's axe bit into ice and umbral mass, separating head from body. The rest of the unctuous shadow dripped out, like viscuous and nocturnal liquid from a broken carafe, splotching on the floor...

At Frazil's chant, there was first silence. Misty air from several mouths funnelled into the well, sucked down, as if by some great heaving bellows far below. Rovan saw his own frost-mingled breath escape from him, instinctively repulsed and jerking back, as if whatever creature was down there...

A beat. Then, a distant clang, The flask hit a hard bottom. Quite a drop, really. Rovan leaned over the well, gloved hands on its edge, listening carefully, eyes peeling the sides of the well as if they held some secret answer there. "Jek heyri at . . ." the voice rumbled from the bottom...

While the rest laughed, Rovan narrowed his eyes, attempting to puzzle out where Frazil was headed with this display. Soon enough, her chords rung dully throughout the hall, the gentle, stringed vibrations foreign to this dead air. Her music and diction might not exactly be aureate, simple and...

Having received a flask of whiskey from a dwarf with unspoken gratitude, Rovan was halfway through his third swig when Frazil presented her offer: Rovan glanced at Sastriga, horrified. He took the cloak and purposefully side-stepped further away from the wolf. "Reckon I will take my chances...

Between the prismatic disc-borne reality that defied mundane gravity, the gleeful swilling of beer and floating through the air on a broom extraordinaire and the rather sparsely dressed champion of joyful abandon, the entrance of this stately gentleman completed a motley quartet for the night's...