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Open Chronicles "Wrong"
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A roleplay open for anyone to join
Vorath Hiendakre
Member
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The fog hung low over the western marshlands, curling through the reeds like smoke from a long-dead fire. Morning light struggled to pierce the mist, casting the shallow waters in a pale gray glow.
From that gloom, a figure emerged. Pale as bleached bone, draped in a dark cloak that seemed to drink the light around it. He moved with measured, deliberate steps, the weight of centuries in his posture, though his face could have belonged to any man in his late thirties.
The locals called him a shadow-walker, a ghost of stories told to scare children. They did not know him. They did not understand that he was Arethilian born, not from some distant or forbidden realm. Born of the Null Womb beneath the Infernal Maw, yes—but part of the same world they lived in, shaped by the same despair, the same darkness that festered in human hearts.
Vorath Hiendakre paused at the edge of the marsh, planting his Taffeg into the mud. The staff-like object pulsed faintly, its energy contained and deliberate—enough to stir fear, to mark the land, but not enough to tear Alliria apart.
He spoke, his voice layered like two echoes in one:
"The marsh has grown restless. So have I."
The reeds shifted as though answering him. He did not call forth fire or storm. He did not command armies of demons—at least, not yet. What he did was simpler, subtler: he observed, tested, and waited. Every traveler, every villager, every careless soul stepping too close might find themselves caught in a web of curses, pacts, or quiet terror.
And yet, there was an invitation in his presence. Anyone bold—or foolish—enough to enter the marsh might meet him. They might bargain, fight, flee… or perhaps learn, in whispers, why life in Arethil could be so fragile.
Vorath’s dark eyes scanned the horizon, lingering on the faint glimmer of distant villages. A smile, almost imperceptible, brushed his lips.
"Let us see who dares to step closer."
(Here are some easy hooks if you’re looking for a reason to enter the scene:
Passing Through the Marsh:
Your character is traveling the western routes near Alliria and notices the fog behaving strangely, or hears whispers carried on the wind.
Villager Seeking Help:
Someone from a nearby settlement is investigating missing livestock, strange lights, or curses spreading around farms and homes.
Hunter or Ranger:
You’re tracking an injured creature or bandit into the marsh—only to find Vorath instead.
Mage or Scholar:
You detect an unusual but contained magical disturbance in the area and come to study or challenge its source.
Mercenary or Sellsword:
A local offers coin for someone brave enough to figure out what’s happening in the marshlands.
Cleric or Priest:
You feel a spiritual disturbance—something dark but not overwhelming—and follow it into the fog.
Rogue or Thief:
You heard rumors that someone in the marsh carries a strange artifact (the Taffeg), and curiosity or greed drives you forward.
Monster or Creature:
The subtle magic Vorath releases draws you like a scent trail; you approach to investigate, bargain, or challenge him.
A Curious Wanderer:
Your character simply sees someone strange standing in a forbidden patch of marsh and decides that’s worth a closer look.
Looking for Shelter:
The weather worsens, and the marsh offers the only cover—bringing your character directly into Vorath’s path.)
From that gloom, a figure emerged. Pale as bleached bone, draped in a dark cloak that seemed to drink the light around it. He moved with measured, deliberate steps, the weight of centuries in his posture, though his face could have belonged to any man in his late thirties.
The locals called him a shadow-walker, a ghost of stories told to scare children. They did not know him. They did not understand that he was Arethilian born, not from some distant or forbidden realm. Born of the Null Womb beneath the Infernal Maw, yes—but part of the same world they lived in, shaped by the same despair, the same darkness that festered in human hearts.
Vorath Hiendakre paused at the edge of the marsh, planting his Taffeg into the mud. The staff-like object pulsed faintly, its energy contained and deliberate—enough to stir fear, to mark the land, but not enough to tear Alliria apart.
He spoke, his voice layered like two echoes in one:
"The marsh has grown restless. So have I."
The reeds shifted as though answering him. He did not call forth fire or storm. He did not command armies of demons—at least, not yet. What he did was simpler, subtler: he observed, tested, and waited. Every traveler, every villager, every careless soul stepping too close might find themselves caught in a web of curses, pacts, or quiet terror.
And yet, there was an invitation in his presence. Anyone bold—or foolish—enough to enter the marsh might meet him. They might bargain, fight, flee… or perhaps learn, in whispers, why life in Arethil could be so fragile.
Vorath’s dark eyes scanned the horizon, lingering on the faint glimmer of distant villages. A smile, almost imperceptible, brushed his lips.
"Let us see who dares to step closer."
(Here are some easy hooks if you’re looking for a reason to enter the scene:
Passing Through the Marsh:
Your character is traveling the western routes near Alliria and notices the fog behaving strangely, or hears whispers carried on the wind.
Villager Seeking Help:
Someone from a nearby settlement is investigating missing livestock, strange lights, or curses spreading around farms and homes.
Hunter or Ranger:
You’re tracking an injured creature or bandit into the marsh—only to find Vorath instead.
Mage or Scholar:
You detect an unusual but contained magical disturbance in the area and come to study or challenge its source.
Mercenary or Sellsword:
A local offers coin for someone brave enough to figure out what’s happening in the marshlands.
Cleric or Priest:
You feel a spiritual disturbance—something dark but not overwhelming—and follow it into the fog.
Rogue or Thief:
You heard rumors that someone in the marsh carries a strange artifact (the Taffeg), and curiosity or greed drives you forward.
Monster or Creature:
The subtle magic Vorath releases draws you like a scent trail; you approach to investigate, bargain, or challenge him.
A Curious Wanderer:
Your character simply sees someone strange standing in a forbidden patch of marsh and decides that’s worth a closer look.
Looking for Shelter:
The weather worsens, and the marsh offers the only cover—bringing your character directly into Vorath’s path.)
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There were only two occasions when Rae'twyn would ever want to be in water this deep. When he was bathing in a Zar'ahal hot spring or when luxuriating in Lady Estrenna's royal baths, kissing the feet of said lady.
Neither applied to this predicament.
Flung into the most boorish and colour-bleached of human territories, with several leagues between him and the nearest stone building not made from ramshackle timber and thatch, he wondered how far he would have to travel to make it back to the bosom of Allirian civilisation.
The fog here was so thick he could scarcely pierce the darkness with his drow sight. Good. It might throw off his pursuers as well.
"Over here! I saw him slip through there!"
"Ready the javelins. We'll catch the eel soon enough!"
Torchlight and shouting voices penetrated the fog. Rae'twyn submitted himself more to the marsh, tentacles of mud slithering into his vest. He strained a smile, teeth clenched painfully together, still persuading his body to immerse itself fully in the cold, dirty water. Well, never let it be said that he wasn't willing to get his hands dirty. Along with all the rest of him, of course. Clothes could be washed. Rubies polished, weapons cleaned and oiled. But a dozen javelins in the back? No amount of maintenance could sort that out.
As the hunting party spread out, following the faint slurping sounds of mud and quickened breaths, Rae'twyn's strands of hair disappeared below the surface like a halo of white eels.
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Vorath Hiendakre
Member
- Messages
- 8
The marsh shifted slowly as something unseen pulled at the water. Vorath had sensed the disturbance long before the hunters arrived. Their shouting broke through the fog in sharp bursts. Each voice sounded strained, like men trying to convince themselves that the darkness still belonged to them.
He waited a moment, listening. There was splashing, javelins clinking together, and the breath of someone who thought they were alone.
Then the pale figure stepped out from the thicker cluster of reeds. His cloak trailed patterns across the water that did not match the current. Vorath’s eyes landed on the faint outline of Rae'twyn beneath the surface. He could see the lines of tension in the drow’s form as clearly as if the fog were not choking the marsh. Vorath tilted his head, studying him like a puzzle piece out of place.
"You hide with effort," he said quietly. His voice carried just enough to reach Rae'twyn without alerting the hunters. "If you want to survive, don’t stay where they expect you to drown."
The torchlight drew closer. One of the hunters splashed through the mud, muttering curses as he scanned the water’s edge. Vorath did not move to help or hinder. He simply watched Rae'twyn with calm curiosity. "I can draw them away," he added. "Or you can stay buried and let them find you. Decide quickly. They have nearly reached you." A faint pulse flickered through the Taffeg at his side, but Vorath kept its magic contained.
He did not need magic to shift the balance here.
He only needed the fog, the hunters’ fear, and a drow who had stumbled into a place he did not understand.
Vorath’s pale hand hovered above the water, waiting for Rae'twyn to choose a direction.
He waited a moment, listening. There was splashing, javelins clinking together, and the breath of someone who thought they were alone.
Then the pale figure stepped out from the thicker cluster of reeds. His cloak trailed patterns across the water that did not match the current. Vorath’s eyes landed on the faint outline of Rae'twyn beneath the surface. He could see the lines of tension in the drow’s form as clearly as if the fog were not choking the marsh. Vorath tilted his head, studying him like a puzzle piece out of place.
"You hide with effort," he said quietly. His voice carried just enough to reach Rae'twyn without alerting the hunters. "If you want to survive, don’t stay where they expect you to drown."
The torchlight drew closer. One of the hunters splashed through the mud, muttering curses as he scanned the water’s edge. Vorath did not move to help or hinder. He simply watched Rae'twyn with calm curiosity. "I can draw them away," he added. "Or you can stay buried and let them find you. Decide quickly. They have nearly reached you." A faint pulse flickered through the Taffeg at his side, but Vorath kept its magic contained.
He did not need magic to shift the balance here.
He only needed the fog, the hunters’ fear, and a drow who had stumbled into a place he did not understand.
Vorath’s pale hand hovered above the water, waiting for Rae'twyn to choose a direction.
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He could swear he was hearing voices. Well, in all his almost four centuries of living, that was a new one. When the whispering voice grew more insistent, however, strangely clear and crystalline through the warped sounds of water, it steadily gave way for the idea that it might not have been his imagination at work.
Being still underwater, responding in the affirmative proved difficult. He tried to vigorously nod, slowed by the water's resistance, but hopefully clear enough. Soon enough, he would have to swim to the surface for air, regardless.
What was the harm in trying? Even if he was going mad, at least he would be the only witness to this silly display.
Vorath Hiendakre
Being still underwater, responding in the affirmative proved difficult. He tried to vigorously nod, slowed by the water's resistance, but hopefully clear enough. Soon enough, he would have to swim to the surface for air, regardless.
What was the harm in trying? Even if he was going mad, at least he would be the only witness to this silly display.
Vorath Hiendakre
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Vorath Hiendakre
Member
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"Very well," he spoke quietly this time.
And then he turned towards the hunters.
Hunters?
Well, he'd like them to be the hunted. Unfortunately, that was not what the drow agreed to.
One step. Then two. Only ten or so feet away.
"Friends! I think the man you're looking for went that way, I swear by it, I saw him myself!"
Something about the way he spoke was more than just drawing them away.
He was controlling them, their feeble minds under his control with just conversation. Immediately, all but one of them ran in the direction Vorath pointed towards, their boots splashing in the mud.
The last one was not under the spell.
"Wh-"
CRACK!
Just like that, lightning erupted from Vorath's hand, palpatine-style. The hunter was reduced to a smoking pile of ash.
"Your threats have been dealt with, good sir." He nodded slowly and turned back toward the underwater Rae'twyn.
Rae'twyn Suvalissaere
And then he turned towards the hunters.
Hunters?
Well, he'd like them to be the hunted. Unfortunately, that was not what the drow agreed to.
One step. Then two. Only ten or so feet away.
"Friends! I think the man you're looking for went that way, I swear by it, I saw him myself!"
Something about the way he spoke was more than just drawing them away.
He was controlling them, their feeble minds under his control with just conversation. Immediately, all but one of them ran in the direction Vorath pointed towards, their boots splashing in the mud.
The last one was not under the spell.
"Wh-"
CRACK!
Just like that, lightning erupted from Vorath's hand, palpatine-style. The hunter was reduced to a smoking pile of ash.
"Your threats have been dealt with, good sir." He nodded slowly and turned back toward the underwater Rae'twyn.
Rae'twyn Suvalissaere
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Burst. Gasp. Rae'twyn's hair flung back in a dazzling display of glittering drops, like a nymph emerging from a lake.
The illumination quickly receded though; especially when he swam, then crawled ashore, looking akin to a wet cat, luscious hair all sticking to his frame and full of reeds and muck. Even his long, pointy ears seemed weighed down by dragging up half the marsh with him. He licked his lips in preparation of mustering words -- then regretted the taste of suspicious mud on said lips.
But he was alive. That was all that mattered.
Turning for his benefactor, Rae'twyn effeminately brushed stray strands of hair from his dripping face.
"You have my thanks," he managed to say. He wrung out water from his left sleeve -- and checked that his spare dagger was still tucked below his bracer; eyeing the long, thin scarecrow-figure of Vorath with the most disarming smile he could muster. "Ah, but pray tell: whom might my saviour be?"
He definitely thought he had seen a flash of light above. The smell of charred meat drifted to him by now. His dimples remained with his smile, all gleaming white teeth unmolested by the environment, though his eyes squinted imperceptibly with caution. If the staff hadn't tipped him off as to this one's sorcerous nature, the other phenomena of burnt flesh and sudden flashes put his conclusion in stone.
Vorath Hiendakre
The illumination quickly receded though; especially when he swam, then crawled ashore, looking akin to a wet cat, luscious hair all sticking to his frame and full of reeds and muck. Even his long, pointy ears seemed weighed down by dragging up half the marsh with him. He licked his lips in preparation of mustering words -- then regretted the taste of suspicious mud on said lips.
But he was alive. That was all that mattered.
Turning for his benefactor, Rae'twyn effeminately brushed stray strands of hair from his dripping face.
"You have my thanks," he managed to say. He wrung out water from his left sleeve -- and checked that his spare dagger was still tucked below his bracer; eyeing the long, thin scarecrow-figure of Vorath with the most disarming smile he could muster. "Ah, but pray tell: whom might my saviour be?"
He definitely thought he had seen a flash of light above. The smell of charred meat drifted to him by now. His dimples remained with his smile, all gleaming white teeth unmolested by the environment, though his eyes squinted imperceptibly with caution. If the staff hadn't tipped him off as to this one's sorcerous nature, the other phenomena of burnt flesh and sudden flashes put his conclusion in stone.
Vorath Hiendakre
Vorath Hiendakre
Member
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- 8
Vorath simply stared with his dark, pitch black, glassy coals that were surprisingly called eyes. His dark cloak shifted as he moved towards the man. Despite the circumstances, a good hand shake was always in order.
"Of course. I have many names, but you may call me Vorath if you'd be so obligated."
He could be as friendly as he wanted, but he had to admit. This man seemed different than most others. Vorath was going to find out.
“Tell me, good sir, for what cause were those hunters in pursuit of you?”
He tightened his hold on his staff, some archaic power resonating from it right then. It did not affect Rae'twyn, apparently. He was evidently doing some other spell for some other purpose other than for the drow.
He smelled the burnt flesh too... If his runaway friend sensed anything about Vorath being an Archivist, he didn't show it. Best people believe he was a sorcerer. After all, he and wizards/sorcerers had much in common.
Only difference was, he had obtained powers that even the greatest of magic-users could not even begin to fathom. Of course, it came with it's own price...
But Rae'twyn could not see it.
Rae'twyn Suvalissaere
"Of course. I have many names, but you may call me Vorath if you'd be so obligated."
He could be as friendly as he wanted, but he had to admit. This man seemed different than most others. Vorath was going to find out.
“Tell me, good sir, for what cause were those hunters in pursuit of you?”
He tightened his hold on his staff, some archaic power resonating from it right then. It did not affect Rae'twyn, apparently. He was evidently doing some other spell for some other purpose other than for the drow.
He smelled the burnt flesh too... If his runaway friend sensed anything about Vorath being an Archivist, he didn't show it. Best people believe he was a sorcerer. After all, he and wizards/sorcerers had much in common.
Only difference was, he had obtained powers that even the greatest of magic-users could not even begin to fathom. Of course, it came with it's own price...
But Rae'twyn could not see it.
Rae'twyn Suvalissaere
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"Vorath. A pleasure. Oh, well, you know--" Rae'twyn said, wringing out water from his other sleeve, then his hair. "This and that, really."
The darkvision of his race allowed him to firmly grasp the hand offered for a shake. Never let it be said that he wasn't a drow of exquisite manners, even when near-drowned in a marsh. His smile turned into a mischevious grin, a dangerous sparkle gleaming from his eye like a palmed ruby. After the shake he waved his hand, dismissing the gravity of the situation of having been hunted like a baby seal, before wiping as much mud from his trousers as possible.
"A trifle, truly. A tiny misunderstanding. But you know the locals here. So easily riled up. I merely borrowed one of their dinghies. And I was going to pay them back later! Honestly, some people."
Though it probably didn't help that I shared a bed with the priest's daughter. And the priest, he finished to himself, then tilted his head, considering privately: he probably felt cheated by his own spawn. Quickly, he resumed his attention to his current situation and gave a little, soggy bow; more fit for a throneroom than in the middle of nowhere.
"I, myself, am Rae'twyn."
Vorath Hiendakre
The darkvision of his race allowed him to firmly grasp the hand offered for a shake. Never let it be said that he wasn't a drow of exquisite manners, even when near-drowned in a marsh. His smile turned into a mischevious grin, a dangerous sparkle gleaming from his eye like a palmed ruby. After the shake he waved his hand, dismissing the gravity of the situation of having been hunted like a baby seal, before wiping as much mud from his trousers as possible.
"A trifle, truly. A tiny misunderstanding. But you know the locals here. So easily riled up. I merely borrowed one of their dinghies. And I was going to pay them back later! Honestly, some people."
Though it probably didn't help that I shared a bed with the priest's daughter. And the priest, he finished to himself, then tilted his head, considering privately: he probably felt cheated by his own spawn. Quickly, he resumed his attention to his current situation and gave a little, soggy bow; more fit for a throneroom than in the middle of nowhere.
"I, myself, am Rae'twyn."
Vorath Hiendakre
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Vorath Hiendakre
Member
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"Mm... Good on you, then. Nice to meet you."
Vorath hadn't smiled in years, maybe even decades, but this situation seemed to call for one. His mouth creased slightly, inhumanely. He slowly retracted his hand once again and held onto his staff with both hands.
"Perhaps you'd better clean yourself up, and we can continue our..." A beat. "Conversation. With a drink and a seat? Unless, of course, there is more trouble about." He gave yet another grin. That was a personal record for the cloaked Archivist.
He hadn't had this much action in quite a while, despite being an Archivist of the Gavinsborough Society. They dealt with matters... Religious, one could say. Or otherworldly.
His writing was not over yet, it seemed.
Rae'twyn Suvalissaere
Vorath hadn't smiled in years, maybe even decades, but this situation seemed to call for one. His mouth creased slightly, inhumanely. He slowly retracted his hand once again and held onto his staff with both hands.
"Perhaps you'd better clean yourself up, and we can continue our..." A beat. "Conversation. With a drink and a seat? Unless, of course, there is more trouble about." He gave yet another grin. That was a personal record for the cloaked Archivist.
He hadn't had this much action in quite a while, despite being an Archivist of the Gavinsborough Society. They dealt with matters... Religious, one could say. Or otherworldly.
His writing was not over yet, it seemed.
Rae'twyn Suvalissaere
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Rae'twyn put his hands on his sides, taking a moment to consider Vorath's offer -- and Vorath himself, of course.
Only the ominously shaped staff seemed capable of competing with his height. The sickly white skin, the umbral cloak -- he might well have been a wraith of these marshes, a revenant come walking about its own watery grave.
There ought to be an old adage or another, never, ever to trust strange men shooting lightning in the middle of marshes. Particularly when inviting you to their home, presumably somewhere indoors.
But in that case, would it not be even more dangerous to decline such an invitation? The best strategy seemed, then, to humor this marshwalker. Besides, Rae'twyn was admittedly a smidgen curious about where this might lead, despite the danger. He touched two fingers to his pendant, muttering barely audible words, and it flared briefly like a bypassing comet. A glamour layered over his form, rendering him as pristine as ever -- if not more than usual. Though this illusion could not truly clean him up, it rendered his presentation superficially more impressive.
"By all means! I should be delighted by both. Oh, I suspect the rest have scampered off -- least I don't hear them." He raised a wagging finger in mock prudence, all playful grins, like they were a couple of fellows outside a tavern and not a pair of sadistic murderers. "Careful with such offers though. I'll hold you to that drink now, ha-ha!"
His hand swept out grandly, the other covering over his pendant, standing up as rank as a footman at court.
"Lead on, sir!"
@Vorath
Vorath Hiendakre
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Vorath nodded, and through the marsh he trudged. The journey to his old cabin wouldn't be far. Maybe half a mile, if that.
“Not too far now. While we travel, what brings you up here? You are a drow, I take it.”
Conversation -- at least -- couldn't be the most daunting task. He remembered when he used to converse multiple times a day. Now he barely talked.
In fact, Vorath didn't do much of anything anymore. But he watched humanity burn as much as he could, and aided in their downfall. He needed them to die. Humanity was the one thing in between the Gavinsborough Society and... Well, better not think of those things.
Rae'twyn Suvalissaere
“Not too far now. While we travel, what brings you up here? You are a drow, I take it.”
Conversation -- at least -- couldn't be the most daunting task. He remembered when he used to converse multiple times a day. Now he barely talked.
In fact, Vorath didn't do much of anything anymore. But he watched humanity burn as much as he could, and aided in their downfall. He needed them to die. Humanity was the one thing in between the Gavinsborough Society and... Well, better not think of those things.
Rae'twyn Suvalissaere
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"Quite, I am as dark and as elven as they come." Rae'twyn smirked, though his smile brittled before the uncomfortable wetness of the marsh, dragging him down. By the dark ones, he hoped there would be a fireplace to dry him up. "I take it you have heard of my kind, then? Not all humans have."
The assumption was partly a test. A test to see how he would respond to being called human, if he subscribed to such a label. Absently, Rae'twyn wondered . . .
Would this one bleed red if he stuck his dagger in him? Would he bleed at all? Something about him led him to think the latter rather than the former would happen. Once again, he drummed his fingers along his bracer, testing the small Emril blade was still in its place. Now, now, stay at ease, Rae'twyn, he told himself, it doesn't have to come to that. Not as long as you still have silver for a tongue.
When he thought about it, probably Vorath would simply have electrocuted the water, if he had wanted him dead. So clearly, this old marsh hermit desired something from him. Perhaps simple company? Intellectual stimulation? . . . Stimulation of another kind?
That caused him to cringe his nose. He dreaded to think what might lurk below that cloak and robes. Best not to think about that. In any case, he'd probably been together with worse. Oh, yes, there was that one time with a drider — now that might be a conversational topic should conversation run dry!
Vorath Hiendakre
The assumption was partly a test. A test to see how he would respond to being called human, if he subscribed to such a label. Absently, Rae'twyn wondered . . .
Would this one bleed red if he stuck his dagger in him? Would he bleed at all? Something about him led him to think the latter rather than the former would happen. Once again, he drummed his fingers along his bracer, testing the small Emril blade was still in its place. Now, now, stay at ease, Rae'twyn, he told himself, it doesn't have to come to that. Not as long as you still have silver for a tongue.
When he thought about it, probably Vorath would simply have electrocuted the water, if he had wanted him dead. So clearly, this old marsh hermit desired something from him. Perhaps simple company? Intellectual stimulation? . . . Stimulation of another kind?
That caused him to cringe his nose. He dreaded to think what might lurk below that cloak and robes. Best not to think about that. In any case, he'd probably been together with worse. Oh, yes, there was that one time with a drider — now that might be a conversational topic should conversation run dry!
Vorath Hiendakre
Vorath Hiendakre
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"I have heard of your kind. But, a human is not what I would call myself, by the dullest means."
He says that respectfully, since... Well, he can sense something is up with this man's moral compass. No matter, if things were to happen, they would certainly happen, and Vorath had a very high chance of actually dying. At least his... Well, anyway.
Vorath walks past a wide, hulking tree, and for a moment, he is out of Rae'Twyn's sight.
"Just ahead, we're close now."
Sure enough, just ahead was a massive hut -- it could almost be classified as a manor. How had people never seen this before? Maybe an undetection spell?
Rae'twyn Suvalissaere
He says that respectfully, since... Well, he can sense something is up with this man's moral compass. No matter, if things were to happen, they would certainly happen, and Vorath had a very high chance of actually dying. At least his... Well, anyway.
Vorath walks past a wide, hulking tree, and for a moment, he is out of Rae'Twyn's sight.
"Just ahead, we're close now."
Sure enough, just ahead was a massive hut -- it could almost be classified as a manor. How had people never seen this before? Maybe an undetection spell?
Rae'twyn Suvalissaere
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He knew it. That intuition never failed him. He allowed a self-indulgent smile to grace his features, before the manor snatched his attention.
It was at once a consoling and disturbing sight. Consoling, in that it might approximate some of the luxuries he had so sorely missed in his little corner of Zar'ahal. Disturbing, due to the fact that he hadn't seen a single manor in the last twenty miles of slogging through this bumpkin trail.
Oh, well. He wasn't in any position to fully relax or moan. He could only take things in stride and as they came; like he always did.
After a brief pause of walking towards the manor, now approaching its grand veranda, Rae'twyn probed a little further:
"Not human?" he asked, lacing his voice with faux surprise. "Well, I'll — be — damned. I've met nothing but humans so far. Chuck a stone around here and you're like to hit one. But if you're not human, then dare I ask what ancestry you might claim instead? An elf? No, no — couldn't be," he muttered more lowly to himself, cupping his chin in thought. He snapped his fingers, taking another guess. "A fae, perchance? Or one of those fanged, ah, whats-it now, vamp-ire? Oh, eh, hopefully not one of those other undead, are you? I'm no good with rotting skulls."
Vorath Hiendakre
Vorath Hiendakre
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Vorath listened, his expression unreadable but gentle, as Rae’twyn made his guesses. When he spoke, a hint of amusement crept into his voice, as if he had heard similar guesses many times before.
“Not human,” he said, nodding slightly as if acknowledging Rae’twyn’s point. “You are right about that. The rest tends to go off track when people start guessing.” He glanced briefly at the manor behind them before returning his gaze.
“Elf, fae, vampire… close enough to be wrong in useful ways.” He leaned against the veranda post, arms folded. “I am still breathing, still warm, and I have no desire to gnaw on bones or skulls, rotted or otherwise. Hopefully, that puts your mind at ease.” After a pause, he added quietly, “Though I have been mistaken for worse.”
“As for what I am,” Vorath continued, “it’s less about blood and more about time. I remember things that most people forget. I write them down when memory alone doesn’t suffice.” His eyes lingered on Rae’twyn’s face. “That habit tends to change a person.”
He straightened and reached for the door. “You can call me an archivist if you need a title. The Gavinsborough Society is the name of the group I work with. We collect rumors like yours, sift through truth and fear, and try to understand why stories drive people to violence.” The door creaked open, warm light spilling out. “Come inside. You asked what I was. That’s fair. Now -- over a drink -- let’s figure out what they thought you were and why it mattered enough to chase you through twenty miles of dirt!"
Rae'twyn Suvalissaere
“Not human,” he said, nodding slightly as if acknowledging Rae’twyn’s point. “You are right about that. The rest tends to go off track when people start guessing.” He glanced briefly at the manor behind them before returning his gaze.
“Elf, fae, vampire… close enough to be wrong in useful ways.” He leaned against the veranda post, arms folded. “I am still breathing, still warm, and I have no desire to gnaw on bones or skulls, rotted or otherwise. Hopefully, that puts your mind at ease.” After a pause, he added quietly, “Though I have been mistaken for worse.”
“As for what I am,” Vorath continued, “it’s less about blood and more about time. I remember things that most people forget. I write them down when memory alone doesn’t suffice.” His eyes lingered on Rae’twyn’s face. “That habit tends to change a person.”
He straightened and reached for the door. “You can call me an archivist if you need a title. The Gavinsborough Society is the name of the group I work with. We collect rumors like yours, sift through truth and fear, and try to understand why stories drive people to violence.” The door creaked open, warm light spilling out. “Come inside. You asked what I was. That’s fair. Now -- over a drink -- let’s figure out what they thought you were and why it mattered enough to chase you through twenty miles of dirt!"
Rae'twyn Suvalissaere
- Messages
- 30
- Character Biography
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Throughout Vorath's explanation, Rae'twyn folded his hands behind his back, nodding along; making a few comprehending nods here, some acknowledging, non-verbal sounds there, the right uh's and ah's forming a delicate balance between showing interest and the educated air of balancing his words on a scale of erudite judgement, neither fully disbelieving or taking his utterances at face value.
It was only the gentle swaying back and forth of his legs; the shifting of weight on his feet, from tip to heel, that revealed any impatience. He might look dry, but he very much still felt wet. Wet to the very marrow of his bones.
And though Vorath's explanations amounted to something — mostly from a process of elimination — he found that it raised more questions than answers. Ominous questions. A timeless scribe recording bloody deeds? He wouldn't be surprised if he replaced ink with blood for such scrawlings. This Gavinsborough Society Rae'twyn added to the tally of societies, orders, clergies and guilds that surface-dwellers seemed so fond of, but which meant as little to him as the signposts on the roads directing him to obscure locations.
At last, the door swung open, and Rae'twyn's face beamed like a dark star at the prospect of a drink, teeth gleaming in a white slash over his features.
"Why, certainly! I must help you with your research, after all. Truly, I'm curious to find out myself why I was hunted and not celebrated for my outstanding wit and charm."
Rae'twyn stepped in, rubbing his hands briskly with barely contained anticipation. Oh yes, there was the grand, roaring fireplace. And ah, of course, a grand armchair or two before it, neat carpets on the floor, and oh, uh--
Rather interesting decor on the walls, causing him to stop before the fire, eyes blinking at the sight.
Vorath Hiendakre
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