Nobody Saw Them Arrive // Literate Rune Dragon Roleplay//

Plot:

Nobody saw the letters arrive.

But there they were; innocuous things in plain white envelopes, left in plain sight, in places they never should have been. On the front, in a nondescript hand, the name of the recipient lay alone.

Did you open your letter? Most did. Human curiosity is a wonderfully predictable thing. What did you find? A date, yes, a venue... But that wasn't what caught your interest, what held it. What kindled your interest was the assurance that you were not the only recipient.

And what took your breath away was one word or phrase, one intensely personal, secret word or phrase, printed nonchalantly on the bottom of the summons for the world to see.

Did you go to the Dancing Dragons Inn? Do you await an explanation? Are you watching the tables, wondering who else received a letter, and, more importantly, who sent it?

Whether you're there or not is inconsequential. The sender will find you. You will all be brought together.

Your destiny is decided.

It is time.

Setting:

This Roleplay takes place in Eldemore, at the height of Rune Dragon and human bonding. Magic is on the wane, but the political climate and anything else is entirely left up to the roleplayers to decide. You're literate; you can make choices. We trust you.

The letter could have been sent anywhere from a year before meeting date to a couple of days, so your character could have come from anywhere and everywhere. I leave that up to the members entirely.

The Dancing Dragon Inn is in a small village, tucked away nowhere very special. It's a completely unexciting location.

Except for what will go on inside it...

Rules:

I'd like to hope that anyone considering themselves literate knows basic roleplay rules, so I'll keep this brief:
1. Anyone deliberately powerplaying or godmodding will be asked to leave the roleplay.
2. Repeat offenders of the above (intentional or not) will be asked to leave the roleplay.
3. No rude language or obscenity (it's not necessary, and goes against the rules of the site).
4. One character per member! This will allow focus on a single character's development and be less confusing for everyone involved.
5. A summoner of an ancient and said ancient are the only exceptions to this rule.
6. Please stay literate! Repeated illiteracy will result in a request to leave the roleplay.
7. Posts have a minimum limit of two hundred words. If this is difficult for you, this is probably not the right roleplay for you.
8. This roleplay is only open for six members at the moment. If there is a great deal of interest, more places will be made.
9. Minor characters are welcome to be created and used! Make as many minor characters as you wish to further the plot.
10. All site rules apply.

Requirements for Roleplay:

To join this roleplay, you are expected to be literate. This means, in short:

Very good grammar. No run-on sentences, no incorrect word use ('your' and 'you're' confusion, for example), correct capitalisation, etc.

A broad vocabulary, containing expressive words. Figures of speech are also good.

Good format and structure to posts.

Strategic ability and the ability to run a plot. This plot is free to interpretation, so if you get a cool idea, run with it, and we'll follow.

A 200-word minimum. If you struggle to write at least 200 words, this is not the roleplay for you.

If any of these categories do not apply to you, then perhaps this isn't the right roleplay for you at the moment.

Contents of the Letter:

The envelope is simply addressed to its recipient, by their most commonly-used identity (be this their real name or a false one).

Inside, the letter reads:

Before midnight
Five weeks precisely before Winter Solstice

The Dancing Dragon Inn
Shingleshire

You will not be alone.

And, right at the bottom, in red ink and in a bold hand, that terrifying, heart-stopping secret word or phrase.

Form:

Note: This form is simply a guideline. If you wish to add to it, or leave parts out, please feel free to.

Code:


[i][u]Basics[/i][/u]
[b]Name of character:[/b] this is their commonly-used name
[b]Nickname:[/b]
[b]Gender:[/b]
[b]Age:[/b]
[b]Occupation:[/b]  (what are they currently doing)

[i][u]Appearance[/i][/u]

(This can take the form of an image or a written description, but preferably both. Use detail please.)

[i][u]Personality[/i][/u]
[b]Overview:[/b]
[b]Likes and dislikes:[/b]
[b]Motivations:[/b]
[b]Skills and weaknesses:[/b]
[b]Other:[/b]

[i][u]History[/i][/u]
[b]Family:[/b]
[b]Summary of history:[/b]  (this can be kept more or less secret, but please write at least 100 words about how they came to be where they are, glossing over any secrets)

[i][u]Rune Dragons[/i][/u]
(Characters may have as many runes as they want, although runes used must be owned by the member playing the character. This is not applicable if the character has no runes.)
[b]Name:[/b]
[b]Gender:[/b]
[b]Type of Rune:[/b]
[b]Appearance:[/b] (written or image)
[b]Brief personality:[/b]


[i][u]Pertaining to Plot:[/i][/u]
[b]How they came to find their letter: [/b] (where or how they found it, where they've travelled from, etc. This is optional.)
[b]Special phrase: [/b](optional, as well as an explanation of the phrase. Both can be discovered through RP)

[i][u]Sample Writing[/i][/u]
This is to give us some indication of how you will roleplay. Please, I do not want to see your best piece ever which took three days. Try to be realistic, and give us an indication of how you will write in this setting.


Slots:

Available: 5

1: Seth, roleplayed by Verdana.
2: Sophie, roleplayed by maluruloki
3: Aiden, roleplayed by Benathorn
4: Calliope, roleplayed by Commander Shepard
5: Caedan, roleplayed by Nellas Lissësúl
6: Open, but only selectively.

Basics
Name of character: Sophie LeClaire
Nickname: "Soph", "Chickadee" by her parents, "Dear One" by Delyth
Gender: Female
Age: 24
Occupation: Apprentice Veterinarian

Appearance

She stands about 5'7", with a fairly athletic build - but certainly not a gymnast or a body-builder, ohhhh no. Her strawberry-blonde hair is kept at just past her shoulders, all one length, and often tied back with a band of some sort. She prefers to keep it from her face. Her face is somewhat heart-shaped with higher cheekbones and hazel-gold eyes hid behind red-framed glasses. It's a face that manages to be pretty only if you stare at it for more than a moment; you really couldn't pull it out on the street in passing. She prefers practical clothing and is often found in jeans, a weather-appropriate shirt, walking boots, and a dark-blue weather-proof coat with many pockets. The coat has a large hood not only so she can wear her hair back inside it, but so Delyth and Genevieve can sit within it and help her listen. She would be loathe to part with the tan hiking backpack always found on or nearby her.
Image linked


Personality

Overview:
Sophie is a young lady who you'd probably get along with unless something about her bothered you; in which case, she'd drive you nuts because she's more at ease with herself than most people are. She accepts that she is who she is and won't change unless absolutely necessary.
When working on something or at her job, she becomes intently focused. Sure, she'll take a moment to address you and maybe consult with you about a problem if you have one, but there will be a point where you realize that she did stop listening to you about five minutes back. If given too many tasks, she's almost perfect about completing them all, but will inevitably forget something. This makes her feel quite guilty and she'll do her best to make up for her mistakes, since she does her best to avoid making them. If they are mistakes she caused, expect them to never happen again. If they are mistakes you caused and she has to clean up the mess, well...let's just say you get a rather icy wall of contempt. Especially if you flew in the face of common sense. Logic is one of her best friends.
When not working on a task and relaxing, you'll find her quite amiable and even dryly amusing in her choice of humor. She'll be working on making herself comfortable or making others happy, whatever suits her plans most at the moment. She has a bit of a sweet tooth, so chocolate will generally factor into the equation. She likes to be on the side-lines in any sort of social gathering, influencing but not being directly involved. In a council meeting, she would rather listen and give advice after a long period of patient thought. Impulsiveness, unless logical, earns a sharp response from her. She prefers plans that work, not plans that might work unless they stand a good chance of working.
Her being half-deaf influenced her basic personality quite a bit. She has a deep empathy for anyone with any form of a handicap and prefers her relationships to be meaningful, not brief. This means her circle of friends is rather small, but loyal. She is hypersensitive to being mocked due to her hearing loss and while she has learned to hide it well over the years, it isn't wise to earn a spot on her black list. Sure, she'll treat you like a human being, but that's about it; you've lost most of her respect.

Likes and dislikes:

Likes:
- Pleasing herself and others by solving problems.
- Quiet time with Delyth and Genevieve; she can't handle being around people all day.
- Chocolate, warm autumn days, the simple stuff in life. X)
- Clever jokes and witty conversations with sustenance.

Dislikes:
- Prideful personalities without good reason to be prideful.
- Individuals who lack "common sense".
- Unnecessary responses to dangerous situations; "Get in, get out with the least amount of collateral damage."
- Deliberate mocking of her hearing loss.

Motivations:
Sophie is eternally questing to improve her perceived faults. She gets a big self-esteem boost when she has successfully helped someone solve a problem. She also likes making herself happy, however, and that can impede in her personal relationships at times.

Skills and weaknesses:

Skills:
- The ability to read and write, which can become very useful in certain situations.
- The ability to sketch, so she can draw out useful plants or create a tactical map.
- The ability to read into body language and read lips from a distance. She can figure out how to blend into a crowd by watching how everyone interacts.
- Strong mental communication skills with her Rune, up to a fairly long distance.
- Magic: the ability to relax other beings with her soft singing, enhanced by Delyth's presence. It hasn't backfired yet, but one wonders...could a half-asleep state be a good state for hallucinations as well? Genevieve hasn't yet shown any magical talent.

Weaknesses:
- Not so hot with arithmetic. Math definitely drives her nuts.
- Half-deaf; without Delyth around, she would make a horrible guard and probably scare herself half to death jumping at imagined noises.
- Being incredibly sensitive to any form of negative commentary about her hearing.
- Can't see too well without her glasses either.

Other:
N/A...at the moment.

History

Family:
Sophie was blessed to have been born into a family of a high-middle-class standing and therefore received what was considered to be a proper education, according to her parents: reading, writing, basic arithmetic, geography, painting and some science. She wasn't spoiled, not at all. Her parents believed in basic equality and fairness. She was also born half-deaf. Being an only child, she spent much of her time amusing herself while her friends were busy and this influenced her basic personality (along with her hearing loss). It didn't take long for her to become interested in the one thing that she had been deprived of in her learning: biology. It wasn't uncommon to find her immersed in a book about the life of domesticated animals.

Summary of history:
It took her many years, until she was about 20 or so, to come across the Rune Dragons in person. Many books had been devoured before she encountered Delyth.
She had been up late reading during the summer and while the sun was still just above the horizon, as it always is during those sultry evenings, she was bored enough to take her book-related musings out to her window-ledge. The window had been always easy to open and it let in peaceful wafts of warmed grass along with pine needles. It took her a moment, so deep in her daydreaming was she, to hear the whuffling of feathered wings. She had time to throw her arms up across her body before the Rune landed on her windowsill with a soft, vibrating chirp-like sound. It only took a second for their eyes to meet before Sophie realized that Delyth wanted to be with her - she had been lonely for so long, looking for something, no - someone to understand her. What deeply bonded her to Delyth the most was the Rune's solemn promise to be her ears as well as her shadow. It wasn't long before Sophie also discovered that Delyth enhanced her musical ability: when Sophie focuses and hums softly, her voice can act as a soothing way to relax others. Delyth herself can cause other beings to experience a form of narcolepsy, but this happens incredibly rarely and only in self-defense. Genevieve was won over after Sophie returned her feather to her when they met in a forest glade.
Sophie now works as an apprentice veterinarian in the middle-sized town of Tuldaringa, located along the ocean. She sees mostly normal house pets in the forms of dogs, cats, hamsters, parakeets, etc, etc. Very rarely does she see a Rune Dragon and she is known as the "technician to go to" when they have a problem. Delyth aids her in keeping the distressed Rune calm while she takes the stats and waits for the veterinarian to come help. Genevieve provides another calm presence and seems to get along very well with the baby Runes.


Rune Dragons

Name: Delyth
Gender: Female
Type of Rune: rare Sunset Rune
Appearance: Image
Brief personality:
She is a one-of-a-kind Rune with colors that reflect a spring sunset. Delyth isn't a young Rune, but certainly not an Ancient in any way. She provides Sophie with a compass bearing and reminds her to not be so serious. She doesn't understand all of the ways of the humans, but they continue to fascinate her in their interactions with her Sophie. You'd be hard-pressed to find a Rune who is generally more relaxed and more concerned about keeping the atmosphere peaceful.

Name: Genevieve
Gender: Female
Type of Rune: rare Flash Rune
Appearance: Image
Brief personality:
Genevieve takes many of her cues from Delyth, as she sees the Sunset Rune as an older mentor. She still doesn't understand humans very well and makes some big faux-pas every once and a while when interacting with them. She relies on her charm in order to redeem herself and can come off as quite flirtatious as a result. Usually, it's unintentional and that has left some broken hearts in her wake.


Pertaining to Plot:
How they came to find their letter:
In the town of Tuldaringa, mail travels by mail-carrier. She was at work when the main mail-carrier came by to personally deliver the letter to her, as it was marked for immediate delivery. Needless to say that she was glad she opened it in the break room, as she had to sit down immediately. Delyth was equally shocked. Genevieve is still confused about it all.
Special phrase:
"Qui audet adipiscitur" - "she who dares wins". This phrase has a special meaning to her.

Sample Writing
A portion of a post from the old Runes of Eldamore RP on CS:

Time seemed to just pass in grey silence as Sophie chose to merely exist behind her closed eyelids. Delyth was still warm, solid, comforting bundle of weight on her upper thighs and stomach, an eternally-soothing coo issuing from cracked mouth. She didn't know what exactly drew her to open her eyes once more, but when she did and the Sunset Rune shifted her wings, the young woman realized that it was nearing sunset now by the angle of light slipping through the thick canopy of branches above. A crackly groan escaped her grimaced lips as she moved, noting immediately how her back was creaky from sitting in one position for so long. Maybe she had fallen asleep....?
"Yes, dear one, you slept for a time. I could not bring myself to disturb you, not while you were so peaceful," Delyth admitted softly within her mind. Sighing, Sophie blearily looked around them. While the small glade had been light in her memory, it was now rapidly darkening and Sophie didn't want to admit that she was already getting nervous of the encroaching night. She had never been in the forest after dark, especially alone. "But you are not alone!" Delyth admonished with an arched eyebrow. Sophie winced and gave a half-smile.
"True. I'm sorry, Delyth," she replied aloud. Swallowing against the pain of her dry throat, she gently deposited Delyth beside her on the ground as she tried to stand. It took some help from the raggedy bark of the tree, but she was eventually on her feet and moaned again as more pains assaulted her. She took account of her physical state. Her clothing had survived the helter-skelter dash into the woods with very few tears - thank goodness. Where there were tears, her skin had some scratches and only two or three were bleeding, and lightly to boot. She knew the bruising on her knees and shins would be much worse and linger. She bruised so easily. Water. Water would be good...oh wait. Wincing and reaching around, she rummaged for the canteen and took a long drink, offering some to Delyth as well. The Rune accepted and smacked her lips after savoring the water.

Basics
Name of character: Seth
Nickname: Some call him the Lord of the Underworld. Not in his hearing, of course.
Gender: Male
Age: Young adult (his precise age is difficult to determine)
Occupation:
Seth's job is very difficult to pin down. It makes him an unexpected amount of money, and gives him a surprising amount of power. What he actually does, though, is almost certainly doing something wrong. There is something fundamentally immoral about the work he does and the twisted way in which he manipulates people to his will. However, it's not clear, or easy to prove, whether what he does is actually illegal or not. It's even harder to define what he does to make money. He seems to travel from place to place, send letters, and stand around looking ominous, but very little else. There's a secret to it, and a trick to it, but whatever it is, Seth's not telling.

Appearance



Seth is not unattractive, and uses this to his advantage.

Tall and thin, with long limbs and extremities, there's something spider-like about Seth, in the way he is built and the way he moves. This could easily look awkward, but Seth brings a carefulness, a calculation into his motion which makes him regal rather than ungainly.

Seth has his father's dark skin and hair (complete with silver streak, courtesy of his father's genes), sharp nose, thin lips and chiselled chin. He has his mother's high cheekbones and bright witch eyes, as well as the wavier texture of his hair (which turns quickly into a mane of curls if not carefully tamed) and slender build.

He is a neat mixture of his parents in far more than his appearance, as it happens.

Personality
Overview:
Seth took the worst from both of his parents' personalities.
From his father he inherited a detachment from humanity (which rapidly morphed into a feeling of superiority over common humans), a brilliantly rational mind with an ability to read the world, situations and emotions beyond human comprehension, and incredible self-confidence.
From his mother, he inherited a hunger for power, a hot passion, a deep pride, burning ambition and drive and a sharp tongue.
In his parents, these qualities were diluted and redeemed by others. In him, they have massed into a dark, antagonistic personality, leaning into immorality, cruelty and darkness rather than fairness and light.

Seth hides the empty darkness in his heart well. He is slick and charming, dashing and unerringly well-mannered. He keeps his ambition buried and his hunger at bay. Still, these qualities seep out of him occasionally, and there's something about him, difficult to name or place, which makes an observer faintly uncomfortable. He is outwardly faultless. His image is perfect. But there's something, just below the surface, which is faintly sinister, and yells out at a watcher to run, run fast and never to look back.

Yet...

There's something about him, something not quite right, even in his image. He plays the villain almost too well. It's as if he's studied bad people, and applied his knowledge.
Perhaps this is just wishful thinking.
Perhaps not.

Likes and dislikes:
Likes:
Seth likes power, and the feeling he has when he has any sort of power, control or superiority. He likes this very much.
On a less sinister note, Seth likes the colour grey, tailored clothing (his attire is always impeccable, if he can help it), cold weather and thunderstorms.
He's less shallow than this, but the rest remain for you to discover.
Dislikes:
Seth's main dislikes are sensible, and to be expected. He doesn't like being or appearing to be weak, weakness in those close to him. He dislikes not being taken seriously, or being laughed at. He finds very hot days uncomfortable, and is scornful of flaws in others.
Motivations:
Seth is motivated mainly by his need for power and superiority. However, he also does a lot of what he does as a sort of jab at his parents, scorning their peaceful, mediatory ways. Perhaps, for some part, Seth does what he does to be noticed.
Skills and weaknesses:
Skills:
Seth has a formidable strategic brain and linguistic skills. He speaks excellently and is usually quite convincing.
He is trained in unarmed combat, and can overpower most opponents long enough to make an escape.
Seth can read a situation well, and is very good at coming off as well as possible.
If you need a man to get something done for you, go to Seth.
Weaknesses:
Seth is nowhere near as infallible as he'd like to make out. He has unexpected physical strength and knows how to fight, but he is uncoordinated and ill-versed in combat. He prefers to talk his way out of trouble.
Don't give him a weapon. Don't. Someone will get hurt, but not who you wanted to wound.
Seth does not relate well to people. He can't do it. He knows the motions, and plays them out dutifully, but there's something fundamentally wrong about the way he goes about it, and rather than putting people at ease, it makes them uncomfortable. He is good at convincing people, manipulating people, but makes no friends.
Other:
Seth has some abilities which come uniquely from being the son of an Ancient Rune Dragon, more specifically the dragon of Death. He can fade into the background (quite literally, in fact) if he needs to, but he can also make himself incredibly noticeable, snatching attention and keeping it.
He has a Hybrid, dragon-like form, but either he has never slipped into it, or nobody has ever witnessed it, for there are no reports of what his dragon form looks like.
He had another skill, one rarely used, but the threat of it is enough to inspire obedience.
He can drain life force. Not enough to kill, but certainly enough to either shorten someone's lifespan or make them feel very, very unpleasant. He uses this threat to keep his servants obedient, but rarely makes good of it, for he has never mastered the skill of using the life force he accumulates, and once he has done it, becomes very unstable until the amassed strength is, one way or another, discharged.

History
Family:
Mother
Quintessa, of no title in particular.
Father
Mbarim, the Ancient Rune of Death.
Summary of history:
Seth's parents were instrumental in bringing about the end of the Rune/Human war. However, after all that excitement, they made the choice to fall out of the limelight, choosing to raise their family in seclusion, tucked away from civilisation and the prying eyes of the world.

Seth was the only child from the couple, born about ten years after the War had ended. Despite this, he was never spoilt, for his parents lived in comfortable simplicity. They were responsible parents, and educated their son well and in all facets of life, from fairness and civic duty to world history. He was taught about his unusual skill when it manifested, and overall Seth had a balanced, happy childhood, with no apparent secrets or skeletons in closets, and he looked set to grow into a balanced, happy, intelligent young man.

He didn't.

Why didn't he?

Nobody but Seth can truly answer this, least of all his confused, hurt parents. He seemed set on the right path until he was about fourteen years old. Then, something changed him, or changed inside him. Only Seth knows what it was, but with astounding rapidity, he swerved, turning onto a criminal, immoral, dark path instead of the path of light and wisdom provided to him. He bided his time, hiding his thoughts and new, stirring plans from his parents until, one morning, he left without a word.

He has not spoken to his parents since.

Seth made his own way in the world from then on. He joined the criminal empire by choice, and was quickly achieving notoriety in his chosen fields. He seemed to thrive on causing mayhem and misery. The operative word here is 'seemed'. There was, and is, an underlying falseness to his cruelty. He plays the part well, but one can never quite shake the feeling that it is all a bit of an act.

Is it? Only Seth could tell you.

And he keeps that knowledge under lock and key.

Rune Dragons
None at present.


Pertaining to Plot:
How they came to find their letter:
Seth's letter appeared, two weeks before the assigned meeting date, on a desk at an inn he had taken lodging at during one of his 'little errands'. He had left the room for only a moment, and when he returned, the doors and windows remained unaltered, and there was the letter, lying in plain sight. This kindled his curiosity, and after checking said letter, he opened it.
He did not like the contents.
He did not intend to go. He intended to stay well out of the whole business. But the human part of him didn't work like that.
One way or another, he found himself waiting at the Dancing Dragon Inn.
Special phrase:
Ingemar. Peace, Seth?

Sample Writing

[I am going to try to keep to my literate rule, which is to have no posts under 1000 words. I may drop to 900 on a bad day, but let's hope that it never comes to that. Here's the sort of quality I produce in a literate setting:]

//Shay//

She'd told them to be ready for her.

She surged out of the office, all haste and lazer-beam-focused intent. She didn't ignore the strange looks and startled exclamations that her attire received. She simply did not notice them. She had no time for other people. She never had, but even less so then. She also no longer particularly cared about cultivating her image. She was leaving. It was over. It had been fun, in a sense, the way a teenage rebellion was 'fun'. She'd gone through it. It had been necessary. And now it was time to place it in the past, where it belonged. The Wren had always been a side-path for her, and in her heart she'd always known it. It was never meant to be her life's work. This was Bree's life, not hers.

Shay had just been setting it up for her.

She strode through the hallways, lost in her own thoughts. She toyed with an engraved metal disk restlessly. She was sure that it was growing steadily warmer. She discovered, to her own surprise, that she wanted it to be warming, heralding the arrival of her transportation. She was ready for what was in store for her. She may not have been looking forward to it, but she knew herself to be as ready as anyone ever was. She felt herself smiling, but the expression dropped. Her hand slipped onto her stomach, barely distended, but still beginning to fill out.
Were the babies ready, though? Could she sustain them?
It was time to find out.

Shaygrin pushed open the doors to the morgue in a flurry of heavy, satiny blue-grey material. She looked something like a snowdrift, coming through the door. She tried not to think about how ridiculous she looked. She could pull it off only if she believed herself not to look like a fool.
It wasn't easy.
The two of them were waiting for her, just as ordered. She was relieved. She looked over her tall, strong, hopelessly inept son, and felt her throat constrict.
She couldn't. She couldn't leave her children. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.
She hardened her resolve. It was done.

She'd practically already left.

"Well?" she demanded, folding her arms.
"You've had more than three months now. What have you come up with?"

She hoped that it was good. She needed it to be good.

//Bree//

Bree's sanctuaries were rapidly dwindling. Her bedroom had served as a dumping-ground for paperwork since she could forge her mother's signature (at the ripe old age of seven. She'd been a slow learner) and began to help with the admin of the Wren. Her precious secret room was not nearly as secret as she'd believed. In fact, she suspected that most of the assassins had known of its existence and had just feared her wrath too much to say anything about it. There were few places which regular assassins couldn't get to, and even fewer which weren't bugged by Ty.

This left only one place for her. It was safe because it was common ground, but outdated and therefore unnecessary. Nobody else would lower themselves to using it by choice.

Thankfully, Bree wasn't choosy.

She was doing something very important. Recently, she had discovered a flaw in certain items of clothing. They split. This was all very well and good until one got stuck up a tree. She'd been embarrassed, and vowed never to let it happen again. The result of that vow was evident in the clothing on the floor. Had it been anyone else, the outfits would have been lumped in a pile. However, Bree was Bree, and so there was several neatly-folded stacks: One for untried clothing, and five for the various levels of efficiency.
So far, leggings were the most effective leg-wear. Sweat pants, to her surprise, came a close second. They looked baggy, but were actually very effective.

She had worked herself into a light sweat. The little red cocktail dress (a bad colour for her; red made her look even paler than she was. She hadn't had a choice, though. It had been the only one available in her size) stuck to her body as she swung lightly on the gymnastics bar. She probably wouldn't need to do it on a job, but one never knew. The dress yielded, and the stockings (didn't want to flash anyone, did she?) caught sweat and held it stickily. Despite this, the outfit itself wasn't a complete disaster. Bree was pleasantly surprised. She couldn't do the splits, exactly, but she could certainly manage to fight her way out of trouble and look good doing it.

She was trying not to think about The Problem. Despite what her mother insisted, there was never any neutral ground in a war. Bree worried about her assassins as individuals, and about the Wren as a whole. Measures needed to be taken. They would probably need to be taken behind her mother's back. Shaygrin didn't believe in unnecessary distractions. Bree would need allies. One name sprung to mind, but she pushed it away.
No. She'd need other allies.

She heard the door to the gym squeak open. Bree rarely oiled the hinges, after she'd had a surprise attack sprung on her. She'd always know when somebody was coming or leaving. She was proud of her own foresight. She dropped down lightly from the beam, turning to face the intruder just as it, he, Marcus Malberry (she needed to say it, even if just in her head) spoke. She tried not to stiffen. She tried to appear nonplussed. It wasn't easy, but she thought that she'd pulled it off.
"Yes?" she asked impatiently.

Then she saw his face.

Her own grew very serious.
"Who died?" she asked, and meant it. In the Wren, like in any group of mercenaries, it was not uncommon for things to go wrong. It was not an unlikely assumption to make. Furthermore, Bree could not fathom what else could make Malberry look so unhappy.
She noticed the letter clutched in his hand. He was holding it out to her. He smiled, but didn't mean it. Bree didn't smile back. She still respected him, and too much to fake emotion.

She took the envelope, and opened it. The piece of paper inside instantly began to degrade, but Bree was a quick reader. She read it through once, and then once more, before the sheet dissolved into nothing. Bree continued to stare at her hand, her face stony.
Then she looked up, grinned, and laughed.
"It's okay," she reassured him.
I"t's a joke. It's just a joke. She always used to tell us that it was a joke." The cocky smile on her face began to fade.
"It was a joke, wasn't it?" Her mask cracked open a fraction.
"It was never a joke at all, was it." This was not a question.

Bree was not faint-hearted. She did not swoon. She didn't even drop to her knees. She just stood, staring at her hands.
"She's gone to be the goddarn Empress..." she muttered, unbelieving. She shook her head.
"But Father always said that if she went back..."
Bree met Malberry's eyes, and let him watch when nobody else had ever been allowed to, as something inside her shrank, bent and shattered.
"They are going to kill her. She's never coming back."

She said it with utter conviction. She knew her words to be true. Even if Shaygrin did come back, she'd never be the same. The woman that Bree had known as her mother was gone forever. She'd left as soon as she gave up the Wren, and she would never return.
"She's dead," Bree said, as if testing the idea out loud.
"The Commander is dead."
She bowed her head, her face schooled into expressionlessness.

"My mother is dead."

She looked up again, and her face was hollow, despite all the filling-out she'd been so desperately trying to (and she'd been succeeding, too) achieve. Grief ages people.

"It's just us now," she whispered.

'Just me, and the man who doesn't love me,' she thought, but swiped the invading idea from her mind. There was nobody she'd rather work alongside. There was nobody in the Wren that she respected as much, or trusted as much.

That was the problem.

More samples from that RP

WIP

Basics
Name of character: Aiden
Nickname:Just Aiden is fine.
Gender:Male
Age:27
Occupation: Aiden's current occupation is traveling the lands of Eldemore in search of the cause behind the disappearance of magic. A serious situation which he deems of the up most importance.

Appearance

This is the best I can do for his appearance since he looks like his father mostly. Just imagine a mask on him and voila! You got Aiden...

Aiden is 6'2" tall with a dark complexion and is very lean with sharp looks. Though his skin is lighter than his father's, he still appears as if he spends most his days out in the sun. His hair is a dark raven color with a single strand of silver going through it and long bangs. Eyes are a soft green with flecks of gold, this may be the only trait in which he shares with his mother, and also the only thing which gives him a human appearance. However, his face is rarely seen and Aiden is often wearing a skull-like mask that only reveals his sharp eyes. This often unnerves people, and Aiden rarely takes the thing off so his appearance is not truly known to others. What does make him stand apart from most humans are his markings. like all Ancients who take on a human form, Aiden has markings which line his face and other parts of his body. They are gold and will shine when he uses magic. They outline his eyes, chin, and arms mostly, and are the tall tale sign that he is not mortal.

Aiden often wears loose clothing to allow for easy movement. Common pants and a loose fitting shirt is what he adorns, as well as leather leggings, boots, vest, and arm guards. He was taught to always be ready for a fight and Aiden prefers to be quick in his actions. All in all, he is very easy on the eyes and quite the individual. He often carries with him a single sword and two boot daggers. Aiden is lean and swift in his fighting style so he prefers weapons that are the same. Although, when it comes down to it, he will fight with his dragon claws and devastating time magic to devastate his enemies.

Aiden's Ancient form is much like his fathers as well. Although being a hybrid does limit his ability to transform, Aiden's dragon appearance is dark furred with spectral golden wings. He can slip through time effortlessly in this form, but like any Hybrid, he must be careful. He can not keep up his form for long and often goes berserk, such are the side effects of having both human and Ancient blood. He can only transform when in dire need and even then he is careful not to do so. A hybrids mind is often overtaken when in such a powerful state and Aiden fears he will lose himself if he transforms into a dragon of legend. No, it is best to rely on his limited time skills and perhaps changing his hands for claws when he has no weapons.

Personality
Overview:

Aiden is a more respectful and reserved individual than his boastful father. He takes after his mother in this, and is in tune with the world around him. Aiden was taught by Thorn that magic flows through everything and passes through humans as a filter to be cleansed and reused. A never ending cycle, which is now beginning to wain, Thorn simply says that the world always finds a solution to it's problems and that the solution are hybrids. Aiden is a very sharp individual, but even he has a hard time understanding his mother's wisdom in this. He is not blind to what he is and accepts his difference with ease. What does bother him is that others do not, and constantly insist that a dragon and a human should never breed. Such nonsense really, when hybrids are now the only creatures able to both use and filter the magic of Eldemore, while everything else fades.

Though Aiden shows more restraint in his actions than Numair, he has indeed inherited some factors that are his fathers. He is headstrong at times and will often not care to listen to another's opinion. Believing his magic is often superior and can always get the job done, Aiden is a bit prideful, and would rather do things his way. Although he does have a good deal of patience, he is not afraid to voice his dislike for things, and his pride often prevents him from admitting when he is wrong. He does know his faults though, and is always trying to temper them with understanding and great patience like his mother teaches, but he is still young and youth always has a hard time learning.

Likes and dislikes:

Aiden is proficient at living on his own and in the wilderness. His ability to communicate with Runes has helped him in this as well as his teaching from his parents. However Aiden has terrible people skills since he rarely ever interacted with them. He does not know how to judge another's reaction and will often lash out in frustration if he does not understand their ways of doing things. He is limited in his time magic and can only use them in short bursts. He will often create time slips that will suck his enemies into an abyss or stop time completely if just for a few moments. This drains him however, and he must pick and choose when to use his abilities. His greatest power though, and indeed any hybrids greatest asset, his the ability to transform into an Ancient. This calls forth a great deal of magic and a hybrid must be careful when doing this, for risk of going berserk or insane. They lose themselves in this overwhelming state and can only keep it for so long. Aiden is more weary of this than anything and for good reason, he would much rather just call forth a half transformation; where is simply takes on part of the form but not full. Though he keeps his human appearance he has dragon-like traits as well, such as claws, teeth, and enhanced magic. This form is what makes the hybrids unique all on their own and what they can often rely on most.

Motivations:

His motivation is in his very being. Associated greatly with Time and Space, Aiden is driven to keep the balance by any means. He does not care for what is good and evil, simply that it is all kept at equal grounds and that neither receives the upper hand. This trait will also explain his actions towards killing his enemies and his detachment towards life. To him, it is better to kill so as to avoid a problem later. Others view this as cruel. He simply states it is necessary.

Skills and weaknesses:

~Skillful in Time and Space Magic.
~Agile movements and precise attacks makes him deadly.
~Does not rely on brute strength and prefers wit instead.
~Does not associate with people often, thus creating poor communications skills and a lack of insight on another individuals feelings.
Other:
~

History
Family:

Aiden is the result of an Ancient and Summoner breeding. This is not uncommon, but rarely transpires. His mother Thorn, a well known individual for her findings on Runes and a key figure in the Great Wars, eventually fell in love with her Ancient of Time. Thorn always had a vast amount of patience with the arrogant dragon and his deepest wish was to make her smile on his own merits. Numair has learned much in his time spending with Thorn and is still trying to understand how best to communicate with emotions. When he became a father, these skills were truly tested, and it is more than surprising how much the usually short tempered male has mellowed out for the sake of his family.

Summary of history:

Aiden is the child of Thorn and Numair. Two well known individuals who fought in the great wars thirty years ago and who have not aged a day. He has resided at Thorn's cottage for seventeen years, both being birth and raised in the quaint forest home. Aiden was educated in everything having to do with the runes and how the magic of Eldemore works. Thorn made sure that he was well versed in the knowledge of the dragons around them and Aiden is even able to speak with them due to his hybrid birth. He has read through all her journals and marveled at her stories when he was a child. Thorn made sure that her son was well taught in both understanding and communicating with his surroundings.

While his mother taught him knowledge, his father Numair taught him about magic and power. Aiden is the offspring of Time and Space itself, so even when he was born he was already creating slips in the universe and throwing the odd toy or two in it's depths. Numair made sure to teach the boy how best to use his abilities, even though he could not summon them as often as his father. For Numair being quite selfish and childish, he has grown much during his time with Thorn and has shown a surprising patience with his son. All be it the two constantly get into arguments due to their identical stubborn pride, leaving Thorn to quell their anger and show her unending patience with them.

Aiden has spent the last ten years traveling now and has rarely visited home. He has been sent by Thorn to investigate the disappearance of magic and has received a disturbing letter that summons his presence. He is 27 now, and has spent most of his time tracking down individuals who harm Eldemore's balance, and extracting information on the disappearance of it's magic. His methods for gaining this knowledge are less to be desired but what he has learned has spurred him to find out the recipient of the letter and to try and find the meaning behind it's words. The world itself is a living thing, and it will always find a solution to live on. Weather the hybrids are this new solution has yet to be seen but the world is indeed losing it's magic, it's living blood, and what the residents of this land do not understand is that if the magic is lost then so too are they as well.

Rune Dragons

Aiden has no Rune of his own since he is a hybrid. He does receive letters from Thorn by Tiddly Winks. The little Rune always has a knack for finding him and a sharp word or two for the stoic man as well.
Name: ~
Gender: ~
Type of Rune: ~
Appearance: ~
Brief personality: ~


Pertaining to Plot:
How they came to find their letter:

Aiden was given his letter by Rune Carrier Service (RCS), by the messenger Rune Tiddly Winks.


Before midnight
Five weeks precisely before Winter Solstice

The Dancing Dragon Inn
Shingleshire

You will not be alone.

"Power is tempered with ignorance..."

Sample Writing

[Here is one of my more shorter posts which is not the greatest but details most of my writing skills in short bursts. It was meant to be quick and to the point. Focusing on key elements and showing that I can get right to the action if need be. It will also show that I am not afraid to write up more intimate posts, as well as posts which will obtain more violence or which contain bar scenes. I assure you however, that I mostly write anywhere from 9-12 paragraphs if those I RP with are of equal length. If not, I try to keep my paragraphs in length to others. ]

Ғɛℓιϰ ˩ɛɛ Δяcтʋяισʋƨ

[Alright, everyone. I'll be starting the roleplay tomorrow. Please finish up your forms so that you can join in ^^ I will only add completed forms as characters.

This is not a race! Please finish posts within a week unless this is impossible, in which case please let us know. Please wait for members to post, and try not to go off on a tangent, tempting though it is.

So, tomorrow we begin!]

[I did warn you ^^. I'm short about 50 words. I'm terribly sorry. With any luck I'll improve with time.]


The inn was identical to hundreds of inns all over Eldemore.

The building was worn, but not derelict, and the light streaming out from it to tickle away the darkness was warm and comforting. The lower floor, the bar area, hummed and throbbed with cheerful voices and human unity. The ale was locally-brewed and very fresh, the innkeeper's wife was as round and jolly as the innkeeper himself, and even the floors were moderately clean. Upstairs, the rooms were simply but well-kept. The whole place sang of familiarity, community and proud keeping.

This was not the sort of place that Seth frequented.

Seth liked shady pubs surrounded by dark alleyways. His companions were very often brutish, sullen and in some way disfigured. They made conversation in grunts, and made their points with well-aimed blows and an assortment of weapons. Seth lurked in corners untouched by camaraderie. He did not settle into places where friendship was sought, or even considered acceptable practice. Seth lived for the underworld, and all of its scummy, dirty inhabitants. That was his world. He did not belong in places of light-hearted community, jokes and banter.

Yet, there he was, tucked away from the wholesome interactions around him entirely purposefully. He wrinkled his nose in distaste, but made no move to leave. That choice was not available to him. He had to stay, whether he liked it or not.

He had to stay because of the letter.

He cursed that letter, and whoever had sent it. He'd thought of almost nothing else since he had opened that blasted envelope. Seth was not used to being stuck on puzzles, and the letter was most certainly a puzzle; the most intricate he had ever seen, in fact. Everything about it was enigmatic and veiled. At first, Seth had expected that the sender had been his mother. His father was incapable of subterfuge, and even if it was in his range of abilities, he would never have met a family member with such guile. His father was honest. He thought himself noble.

This what what made him so disgustingly weak.

That left Seth's mother, who, unlike his father, was perfectly capable of dishonesty and quite enjoyed reminding people of it. It had to be one of his parents, after all. Who else could possibly know about... About that? Seth's parents had lived in seclusion since before he was born, and the man himself had done his utmost best to forget about that awful detail.

Yet there it had been, bold and blatant at the bottom of the page. But he didn't like to think about that.

Seth wished that the answer had been so clearcut, and could have been explained away so easily. However, the more he examined the note, the more convinced he became that his parents had nothing to do with its existence. He could have solved the problem by confronting his parents, of course. In theory. But Seth had successfully disowned them both, and had no intention of giving them the satisfaction of hearing from him. He had searched for the answer, but had found nothing. No sender, no point of origin. Nothing.

It was all terribly vexing.

What choice had he had, but to come to the rural tavern in the middle of nowhere? At the very least, he reasoned, he would be able to satisfy his curiosity and gain some answers. If all went well, he would even be able to root out the holder of such a valuable piece of information, and ensure, one way or another, that this piece of information was never spread.

And he was not alone, either.

The note was so concise that Seth assumed this piece of information to be important. He had arrived early (but of course; nothing else would do for one of his reputation and skill) and had settled himself with an untouched pint of ale. Seth despised ale, but he disliked standing out even more, and amongst the throng of farmers in the tavern, he was as ostentatious as a raven in a chicken coop. The pint was a weak prop, but thankfully the peasant folk who frequented the tavern were not bred or groomed for their abilities of deductive reasoning or keen thought processes.

But he was not alone.

He could not become complacent. He could not forget that. Soon, soon, amongst the peasants and farming folk, other strangers would appear. Seth was almost sure of it. He watched the door, his eyes hooded by languid lids which did little to soften his stabbing gaze. Every now and again, his stare would stroke a bench or the bar, tugging at drinkers and merry-makers and trying to identify flecks of gold amongst the straw. The note-sender, whoever he was (or she, Seth supposed idly. It didn't do to make assumptions) would stand out. He was not a peasant. He could write, for one thing, and write well.

And even a very clever disguise could not hold for very long under Seth's glare. Seth's eyes picked out truths.

Whether he used them or not was another story.

And so, trying to appear innocuous, and fading into the background (the former was unsuccessful, but fortunately, Seth was well-practiced in the latter art), lifting his ale to his lips but never draining a drop, Seth waited for his questions to be answered. He did not rush into confrontation. He was not impatient. He could wait. It never did to rush.

Rushing was for the weak and the uncontrolled.

Seth was neither of those things.

Evening faded away as nighttime slunk into position. Inch by inch, second by second, midnight, and all of the answers it held, drew closer.

Her breath puffed out in clouds that glowed from the hanging lanterns that she passed beneath as she walked. She had to keep moving; it felt good, with her blood warmly coursing through her veins and staving off the chilled evening air. Genevieve was soundly asleep in the tan backpack, probably dreaming of past glory days in her home forest, and Delyth was faithfully on her right shoulder, her gentle sighs brushing against Sophie's cheek.

It had been a long train ride from Tuldaringa and she could feel her nerves getting frayed from weariness. She already missed the ocean breeze, as laden as it had been with icy water from the late-night storm. This area, in the middle of nowhere... She had been hard-pressed to even find where this dratted Dancing Dragon Inn was in this isolated town of Shingleshire. She rolled her eyes and adjusted the straps of the backpack across her shoulders, feeling the old ache in her middle back begin to flare up. Blinking to clear her vision and mind, she began looking up at the hanging street signs. Shropview Ave...nope. Dingleberry St...nope. The Dancing Dragon Inn was apparently on the main road through Shingleshire, with a big obvious sign that she hadn't seen yet. A huff of a sigh escaped her lips and woke Delyth from her light doze.
Have we arrived yet, Dear One? The Sunset Rune sounded as weary as her and Sophie reached up inside the hood to stroke under the Rune's chin.
"Almost, Delyth, almost. I know it's up here somewhere..." The cobblestone seemed to pound back on the soles of her feet with every step at this point. She just wanted to get there and settle down with some apple cider. That is, assuming this little backwoods town even had apple cider on tap. "Stupid letter..." the strawberry-blonde grumbled as she kicked a loose stone into the road. All this mysterious nonsense about 'before the Winter Solstice' and 'you won't be alone'. What on earth was the lunatic writer trying to do, conduct a live mystery novel? Sophie laughed breathily at herself; she was roped in too easily. That phrase... The smile dropped from her face and her searching stare became more focused.

It was an invasion of her past to have used that phrase. She would punch the writer, once she found them, for even daring to use it.

I believe this is the Dancing Dragon? Delyth's soft voice rang in her mind, bringing her to an abrupt halt a few steps shy of a wooden door. Shifting the backpack's straps again, she observed the outside of the Dancing Dragon. Golden-red light poured out through hazy glass windows and as Sophie pushed open the pitted wooden door, a wave of noise spilled through to greet her. Lively conversations, some accented by too much drink, felt like an unwelcome slap to the face - it did wake her up, however. Feeling perspiration break out on her forehead, she stepped to one side of the door and shrugged off the backpack gently. Delyth was smart enough to step close to her head in order for her to remove her rain jacket and shuffled back into place after ruffling her feathers. Sophie didn't feel any mental prodding from Genevieve in the knapsack and assumed that she slept like the dead. A quick scan around the room made the young woman feel better. This didn't appear to be the sort of inn that her mother had warned her about growing up. It was friendly, in a sense, with mostly middle-class patrons. She made her way into an open space at the bar and ordered a pint of apple cider, two cinnamon sticks please. The bartender was charming and flirted as he took her coins, inviting her to return for something stronger. She grinned and gave a noncommittal shrug in reply. Men always seemed to fall for the girl-next-door routine. There was an empty chair at a small side table-for-two away from the main hub and she settled there, her knapsack near her feet. Delyth hopped onto the table and pulled over the bowl of pretzels with a dextrous foot.
I love these little human crunchies! What are they called again?
"Pretzels," Sophie replied, grabbing one to munch on. "Maybe Genevieve would like one?"
I shall ask her, the Sunset Rune replied and cocked her head, an indicator that she was speaking to the Flash Rune. Sophie smiled indulgently and turned her attention back to the room once more. Where were these others that the letter suggested...?

(( Hey, my writer's block went away!!! WHEEE!!! ))

Seth was good at many things.

Some of those things he had worked very hard to become good at. For example, it had taken him years, snatched hours gathering into weeks spent standing in front of any reflective surface on hand, to cultivate the right facial expressions. He was known for those expressions: Haughty disdain, superior boredom, and of course, the look of patience wearing dangerously thin. He had taught himself hand-to-hand combat, after the excitement of a split lip or sprained wrist gained from coming off worst in a fight had worn off. He had learnt to speak with an undertone of menace. He had taught himself to get what he wanted, not by being frightening, but by suggesting that he could become frightening very quickly if pushed in the right (or wrong, depending on who one was in the interaction) direction.

However, he was also naturally good at some things. He was far more proud of the skills he had worked to develop than the ones which he had been born with, but had no scruples about using the latter set. If he had it, he would use it. Morals be damned.

One of the latter set of skills, one of the skills which had always been there and would never fade, was his ability to read a room.

He was utilising this talent to its full potential as he sat in the tavern. The yeasty-bitter reek of ale snuck into his nostrils, no matter how hard he tried to chase it away. He did not mind human wine. Ale, however, had never sat well with him. It was a peasant's drink. It was an inferior drink. Still, he tolerated it, because it served its purpose by helping him to blend in. Seth would tolerate anything, as long as it served its purpose. When it stopped being useful, though...
Well, then he simply stopped being tolerant.

Seth's eyes were half-closed, because he didn't need to see. He needed to hear the chatter and listen for breaks and changes in the natural rhythm. It was more than that, though. Seth needed to feel for changes. He had never been able to explain the sensation of a room changing to anyone who had never experienced it themselves. He suspected that it was not a human skill. It was one of those skills in the unique little sub-grouping. The Other talents.

He tried not to question those talents. As a rule, Seth did not ask questions which he wasn't sure he wanted the answers to.

The rhythms were stable for quite some time. Seth was a spider, though, so he was not particularly put off by this. He would wait for the flies to come to him, however long that took.

At last, he was rewarded.

A young woman entered the inn. She was instantly greeted with a stir from the farm folk. They were interested, but not as men interested in a female. They had not seen the woman before. She was a stranger.
Strangers were always fascinating.
Seth may have blown this off as coincidence, if the woman had not been so clearly out of place. She was metropolitan in her attire. She was certainly no rural wanderer.
This too could have been coincidence, but the Sunset Rune settled on the woman's shoulder was just one step too far for Seth.

The woman was important.

His eyes opened, bright slivers of jade in his dark face. They honed in on the girl like arrow tips, but before he could shoot, before he could subject the woman to thorough scrutiny, something else caught his attention.

No, 'caught' was too gentle a word. Something took his attention into a chokehold, and kept it there.

Seth was far too smart to turn around, or even to stiffen. He straightened slowly, and turned casually, boredly, to the door of the inn, where someone else was causing far greater ripples in the peace. Seth focused past the pressure in his head. His eyes were half-lidded again, his hands lazily tapping on the wood of the crude table in front of him. He watched the newcomer, the man in the mask.

The man like him in the mask.

Oh, yes. Seth knew that feeling well. Different magics did not react well together. As Seth's magical prowess had developed, he had his father had spent less and less time in each other's company. They couldn't bear it. Even he and his mother had stopped hugging one another. Such close proximity was simply too jarring to tolerate on a regular basis. Seth had outgrown such petty displays of affection by that time, in any case, and had not missed them much.

The man was magic. Was he the sender of the letter, though? Seth longed to snatch onto that explanation, but he liked the truth, and his gut told him that Mask Man was not the culprit. The sender of the letter was subtle, and thrived on being unnoticed and underhand. The mask was not subtle. It was noticeable.

It was too obvious!

More than that, though, it was simply wrong. The two identities did not merge. The man in the mask had not sent the letter.

However, he could certainly been the element which made Seth 'not alone',

Was the woman one of those, too?

Or was she the sender of the letter?

Once again, Seth's attention turned to the woman and her Rune Dragon. His brow furrowed. She wasn't the sender, either. He was sure of it. She was too happy and too relaxed.

Maybe that was a front; a disguise to put him off of the scent.

His gut told him differently, though. And Seth had learnt to trust his gut.

The clock struck ten, and Seth was growing bored. He wanted answers, and he wanted them quickly. He did not so much as glance to Mask. His focus was on the woman. He knew that he couldn't charm the Mask, but he had a chance to get the woman onto his side early, and he would use it.

He stood, confident but not belligerent, and slipped out from behind his table. His path to the woman meandered. Straight paths threatened. They were too purposeful, and disarmed the recipient. Eventually, though, he sat down opposite the girl with the rune. He pushed his long hair out of his face, and threw a charming smile like a dart. Seth was very good at charm. He'd learnt it by trial and error. From a distance, he was the perfect flirt. He hoped that the image would hold close up, too.

"Excuse me for saying so, milady, but you stick out from this rough-hewn crowd like a sore thumb. I thought that some more civilised conversation might keep the rough-necks from hounding you. I shall hold
them at bay for as long as possible, but I fear that I cannot keep them away for long. It's only a matter of time before they begin to fall over themselves for your attention.

So, what brings you to this pitiful little town?"

Small talk? It could be. If it became so, Seth would listen politely, nod attentively, and take his leave as soon as possible.

However, if she noticed, if she found the question within the question, then perhaps Seth's own uncertainties would be swept away.

He could hardly wait to unravel the whole sordid drama and go back to his life.

Boy howdy, he sticks out like a freshly-popped zit. Youch.

She couldn't keep the thought from crossing her mind as her hazel eyes automatically flickered towards the inn door's opening movement and drank up the arrival. Another stranger, oddly dressed with that...well, geez, GARISH mask on his face had entered the inn and she could have sworn that the temperature of the room dropped at least a degree; even the ambient conversation seemed to fade and swell once more, like a wave passing over a pond. Placing her hand beneath her chin and leaning back into her chair, she watched him over the rims of her glasses. Ooh, such disdain... Uncomfortable to boot. I bet there's more than one mask there. ...you give me the heebie-jeebies. Something about the male made the hair on her nape rise.

If your thoughts were any louder, you wouldn't need a megaphone. Sophie felt the blush touch her cheeks quickly as Delyth hopped up onto the table once more, followed by a sleepy Genevieve. Judgmental at all, Dear One?

Disagree with me, Dragon? The young woman gestured with her eyes and Delyth's gaze followed.
What happened afterwards gave Sophie cause for an insidious squirm of concern in her stomach: the Rune Dragon froze. It was a stillness of genuine interest laced with one part fear and one part incredulity.

By the blessed shards... Not for decades! The mask, Sophie. He's not a human. Sophie knew she couldn't help the slightly wider tilt to her eyes now as she watched him interact with the bartender. Even Genevieve was staring now, blatantly confused.

There is something very weird about him, the younger Rune mused, her ears lying back. It's like...Delyth, what is it like? He's like us but not like us. Sophie could hear the Dragon's mental speech waver as she tried pitifully to convey the mixed feelings shared by everyone now. All three females had their attention abruptly broke - nay, shattered like a pane of glass - as a man sat down of his own accord at the table. Sophie sat up in her chair, pulling her arms from the wooden surface and tucking her drink to her chest with both hands; it was instinctive as he had very much invaded her personal space with no permission given. Even the two Runes shuffled back and Delyth quickly bumped Genevieve for the barely-audible hiss that escaped the Flash Rune's lips. Sore thumb, what? Fall over themselves for my attention? Oh god, he's laying it on thick. Sophie couldn't help but smile - as it was an automatic response to such flattery - and also frown slightly. There was a delay, she knew there would be a delay, in her response as she assessed him.
Something about him put her immediately on guard: too much charm, too much, all at once. Even as her reply to his smoothly-phrased words escaped her lips, she was barely able to ignore how her subconscious was snarled up in escape plans.

"Hounding? Hah-hah-hah! I'm not sure where you've been the last few minutes, but you're the first visitor to my table. Maybe you should get your eyes checked." Even as she said it, she met his gaze. Green, a lovely sea-green akin to glacial sea-floes. With those dark lashes lining them, she wasn't too surprised that he would go for charming first.

She was certain that she wasn't the first woman to feel a tug at her guts.

"As far as what brings me here..." It was hesitantly said and she averted her eyes to her cider, which she swirled in a stalling gesture. The cinnamon sticks clunked against the pint glass in response.

Careful, Dear One. I don't like him any more than you do. Delyth's voice echoed softly in her head as the Sunset Rune settled, still on-guard. Perhaps he is the letter-sender... Hazel met jade again as Sophie tilted up her chin, assuming a facade of indifference and praying she could hold it. She was terrible at hiding things if she was focused on trying; unconsciously, she was incredible.

"I suppose I just felt like a weekend in an unknown place. See the world, travel a bit, explore a new area. I'm not from this region originally. I guess you could call it curiosity, ultimately." A small smile curved her pink lips; it was a white lie, partly truth. No mask could have blocked how concern flickered over her face as Genevieve's voice whispered through her mind:

He feels wrong too, Sophie. Like us, not like us.

The runes did not take well to him. The runes always knew. It used to distress Seth, the way that the little dragons backed away from him, unwilling to meet his eyes. He yearned for their companionship. When humans fear you and Ancients scorn you, the road is lonely and you start to seek any form of companionship. Rune Dragons seemed ideal, in theory. In practice, they wouldn't come anywhere near him. It used to bother Seth. He used to try hard to gain the trust of the little creatures. He'd offer treats, and smile, and make all of the correct motions. It had never really worked. So he'd stopped trying.

It didn't really bother him that much any more, anyway.

Seth ignored the reaction of the runes, focusing on their bearer instead. She was pretty enough, he supposed, for a human. Seth did not understand romance. It fell under the heading of 'closeness' in his mind, and he deemed all of that quite unnecessary, not to mention rather foolish. He preferred to stay away from that sort of thing entirely. He hadn't found it difficult. Humans admired him, but instinct repelled them. Everything they did, they did at a distance. Intimacy had never been an opportunity for Seth, much less a problem.

"Give them a moment to get their bearings, Ms. ... " he said airily, adding an unspoken question, but he was watching her face, and he noticed her hesitation. He noticed her lie. He offered up so many lies to the world that he was very good at spotting the signs in others. That was how he'd learnt to cover up his own untruths: By watching other people get caught out, and not making the same mistakes. He could see a lie on the face of an adept, and the girl didn't even deserve to be called an amateur.

He smiled pleasantly, opened his mouth, and perhaps would have made a remark and pushed the conversation more clearly towards their mysterious messages, but before he could, a little Rune Dragon did it for him.

Seth's face did not change expression. It did not even become more guarded. It remained supposedly open and charismatic, as he flicked a dapper smile at the little blue dragon.
"What letter might you be referring to, pretty one?" he asked, his face brightly interested, slightly curious but not desperate. Perhaps he would have asked more (subtly; always very subtly) but the growing, gnawing discomfort in his head abruptly intensified as the Mask sat down with them, gathering the dragon up in one hand and shoving her away.

Seth didn't like that. Not at all. He found the Mask's treatment of the little dragon cruel and a bit callous. Seth's dislike began to solidify as he began to find ways to justify it.

Seth's smile became decidedly stiff. His eyes hardened, more in pain than in anger, and more in frustration than either. What was he doing, barging in like that? Had he no tact? Hadn't he seen that Seth was busy? If Seth made the woman uncertain (and he did; he could tell. He could always tell) then the Mask certainly would. She would shut up like a startled clam, and they would never get answers.

Perhaps that was what the Mask wanted. Perhaps he was the sender, and they weren't supposed to interact. It was a tempting theory, but still Seth's instinct disagreed. The letter-sender and the Mask didn't match. This didn't mean to say that the Mask was not the letter-sender's lackey. That was entirely possible. Seth kept that clearly in mind.

The Mask met Seth's eyes. It was a startling feeling. Their eyes looked so similar that, but for a few subtle changes of hue around the iris, Seth could have been looking into a mirror. Some sort of eerie cross-dimensional mirror, he supposed. Seth returned that stare pointedly. He was not one to back down, and would not admit inferiority to the Mask, who had been nothing but challenging and rude. Seth told himself that he would have given the Mask a chance, to give himself the mental moral high ground. He didn't know if it was true or not, but it made him feel superior, and enabled him to keep staring, calm and blank as freshly-settled snow.

Once Seth had kept his stare for a while, there could be no doubt: The Mask was a hybrid, just as he was.

Perhaps this was the letter-sender's purpose.

Somehow, Seth thought not.

The stare broke as the Mask greeted the woman. Seth fought the urge to curl his lip in disdain. He needed to be approachable. Or, at least, more approachable than the Mask. He needed to have support in that strange and potentially hostile situation. At present, the only support available was the woman. He would win the woman, if he could just be less unpleasant than the Mask. He'd lost the Mask's support. The glare had confirmed it. For whatever reason, the Mask already hated him.

Seth was used to being hated. He didn't particularly mind. He could use that.

He could use just about anything.

He politely allowed the Mask his greetings, and smiled slightly at the Dragon's introduction.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Tiddly Winks. And that of your minion."
The second bit wasn't entirely true, but the Rune's announcement had been useful: Seth had a name, and with a name he had power.

The Mask (otherwise known as Aiden, but Seth preferred 'The Mask') brought up the letters. Right there. Out loud. In the open. Seth could have killed him on the spot. Anyone could have overheard him! Seth's smile became a fraction more glassy.
"May we perhaps have this conversation somewhere more private? I have hired a room." He doubted that the Mask had thought ahead in that way, and felt a surge of triumph. He felt as if he'd won something. It was terribly childish, but he felt the instant need to outdo the other Hybrid. He tried to keep that urge in check. It could prove counter-productive if allowed to run rampant.

Relaxing slightly (or appearing to, at least) he added:

"And perhaps we should wait a while. Just in case there are any more to add to our little party. After all, it's not even the eleventh hour."

It was an airy statement about the time of day to any listening. To one who had gotten a letter, however, it was a subtle confirmation.

What do you mean, Genevieve? Not like us?

It had taken her the handful of years working daily with Delyth to focus her thoughts well enough to respond to the Rune's unspoken communications. She knew she wasn't perfect, and Delyth often laughed when various words or images flashed in the middle of a mental sentence, oftentimes having nothing to do with the current topic, but she got her point across most of the time.

Like Delyth said, Sophie. Not like us. The Flash Rune still sounded somewhat unsettled, but the mental voice had gained some confidence, since nothing bad had happened...yet.

She means half-breed, Dear One. Hybrid. Delyth's amber gaze slipped to her for a moment before her attention was back on the strange man.

Sophie had left her eyes on Delyth while the mental words slipped silently through the air to their respective targets, not only to aid her concentration, but avoid eye contact with the male stranger. Those eyes still didn't sit well with her, as gorgeous as they were. She had to admit it. Those eyes had power. She heard the inflection in his question as he asked her name, but never had a chance to reply.

The abrupt arrival of a little teal-colored baby Rune with all sorts of leather gear to their table nearly made Sophie spill her cider everywhere. As she placed a hand over her heart, eyes wide, her two Runes shuffled back further towards her. Genevieve appeared thrilled to see the little Rune while Delyth was giving her the arched eyebrow of mild annoyance. Sophie knew the older Rune had limited patience for blatant displays for the sole purpose of drawing attention. The man with the mask was quick to follow and the young woman had to take a sip of cider to wet her suddenly-dry mouth. There was an air about the mysterious man that really set her on edge; the combined personalities of the two males, so close to one another, was enough to make any human uncomfortable. As the man addressed both of her Runes with graceful politeness, her shoulders came down from her ears a bit. He had at least enough sense to treat the two wonderful creatures with the respect they deserved.

He reminds me of the Phantom of the Opera a little bit...that one musical... The thought slid unbidden through her mind and she couldn't help the faint quirk of a smile as she quickly sized him up. Definitely a similar front as the infamous fictional character. She couldn't help how the smile broadened at the impish baby Rune's statement of "minion". Adorable little thing, she thought.

I'm getting close to reminding her to keep it down... The young woman reached out and ran a soothing hand down Delyth's back, scratching at the favorite spot.

Delyth...leave her be, Sweet One. She's young still, and not in our family. The Sunset Rune turned and nimbly crept up Sophie's arm until she rested in her customary perch on her right shoulder. Cooing softly, the two shared a brief quiet moment until the masked man spoke again. Her hazel eyes flickered up to meet his through the shadows of the mask; another set of green eyes, darker this time, more like clover-leaf or grass-green. There we go, another letter. I bet they're both here because of the letter. Before Sophie could come up with a clever response to cover her surprise - it was surprise after surprise tonight, apparently - the strange man with the dark hair suggested they retire to another room for privacy. But why privacy...? What is so secret about these letters?

"I would rather see who else enters the inn before midnight, personally," she said softly, making her opinion known. "The more, the merrier, as the saying goes."

Plus, we can see who gets their bearings, the female Flash Rune added in a snarky voice, causing Sophie to laugh under her breath. The Rune was a constant flirt, whether she knew it or not.

{ I've finished my form, the last form on the first page. I'm going to start catching up on the other posts... Hopefully it's not too late for me to join?
~Nellas }

Sophie nodded at the masked man's declaration in regards to names. She agreed, if not out loud; trust meant getting names. Names were powerful things, though she had yet to personally learn how powerful a name could truly be. Delyth had attempted to explain to her once or twice about how magic coincided with the true name of things; how once that true name was known, whatever object with its attachment became impossibly easy to control. It had shaken Sophie a bit, made her stomach turn sour and her soul quiver at the thought of such a devastating loss of control. Even now, cold unease slithered under her skin as she contemplated the concept.

Names are power, Dear One. It was as if Delyth was reading her mind. The Sunset Rune had long since ignored the younger Messenger Rune and turned her attention back to her abnormally-quiet Bearer. I suggest giving them your nickname instead. Sophie couldn't help the grimace.

Chickadee. Her nickname at home was Chickadee, like the charming little bird. So cloyingly sweet, this nickname.

I understand why you're suggesting this, Delyth, but why that one...? The young woman knew that Delyth would understand her recalcitrance in choosing the nickname, but there had to be a reason why the Rune's voice held such conviction.

It's a nickname given in pure love, Dear One. This name has protection against evil uses, against someone willing anything that goes against the basic definition of love. The young woman's heart melted a bit as she made eye contact with the Sunset Rune on her shoulder. There was that soft look that Delyth always gave her, that gaze of liquid gold and gentle light. Plus, it's not your true name and you'll respond to it if someone calls it out.

I agree with Delyth, Sophie. The Bearer glanced down to see Genevieve sitting prettily on the table, munching on a pretzel stick. Just use that one. Besides, what if one of these males thought it was as adorable as we do?

"You are ridiculous, Genevieve," Sophie said aloud, forgetting that her company could obviously hear spoken words. The laugh that escaped her mouth was sweet and breathy; she had been truly amused and forgotten to censor herself. "Oh, there I go talking to myself again." A weightless comment to save face. Sighing and forgiving herself for her silliness, the strawberry-blonde continued talking, gesturing towards both men with a sweeping motion of her free hand. "Since we're all strangers, let me introduce my crew. The Sunset Rune on my shoulder is Sunny and here eating a pretzel is Goldie. You can call me Chickadee."

There. Names with power and yet without. Names given in love and protected by the emotion.

[Sorry about the delay. I've been horribly busy. I'll try to be better, I promise. I was wondering how to work Caedan into this, but I leave that to you, Nellas.]


Names.

Names were powerful things. That was why Seth had never given anyone his. 'Seth' was a pseudonym, a nom de plume. He suspected that his new acquaintances knew it, too. The girl's name was definitely not Chickadee, because nobody's parents were that cruel. Seth took it, though, because as intrinsically criminal as he was, he understood the fundamental rules of the not-quite-human world. So he nodded, wondering snidely if the one called Aiden's secret had been spilled, or if that was a careful pseudonym too.

He would have to press the little blue runelet to find out. He suspected that it would not be too difficult.

Seth hesitated for a moment. Courtesy demanded that he share his name, too. However, he was well-known, and not well-liked, in the criminal circles. He debated giving another name, a name within a name. He went by 'Reginald', 'Rohan', 'Ichabod' and various other false names, all purposefully more memorable than his, for lack of a better term, 'real name'. Sometimes, he needed to be memorable. The more ridiculous, the better. If it was strange, it was hard to forget and even harder to believe.


He opened his mouth to answer (after a pause which had dragged on far too long), but was promptly interrupted. A cold, frightened-looking woman had arrived. She was preceded by her smell, which was not exactly pleasant. Seth held back the urge to wrinkle his nose. He needed to curry favour, and disgust was not the emotion to show. Instead, he smoothed his brow and gave a charming, inviting smile.
"But of course, milady! Plenty! Please, sit down. You look soaked to the bone."

With a carefully-practiced look of concern on his face, Seth removed his coat and proffered it gallantly to the newcomer. He tried not to wonder whether he would have to burn it or not. He had his outer cloak, after all, which he had hung up as he entered. He could afford a bit of chivalry, and if it earned him the woman's trust, then so much the better.

He even stood to draw out a chair.

'Top that, Mr Mask,' he thought.

The feeling of power, encroaching energy, grew stronger, but he blamed it on Mr Mask and his jealousy. For surely he would be jealous of Seth's quickness. In a way, the young man knew that he was being foolish, but he wanted to win. He wanted to be in control, and he felt that Mr Mask was his main competition. He ignored the power feeling.

He did not connect the newcomer with that throb of energy. It did not cross his mind that a woman could be powerful. It was one of Seth's greater flaws.

It would probably come back to bite him.

He settled himself back down, and steepled his fingers. Four. Four looked about right. He looked around the table. Two hybrid males and two human girls. The group certainly fit the 'motley crew' stereotype. Seth did not smile. He decided to find out what was going on.
"My name is Seth. Let's talk about why we're here, shall w-"

But, before he could even finish his suggestion, the inn door opened, and a feeling of constriction passed over him, stronger than the previous occasions. The presence of so much magic in a confined sense crackled electrically. The lines between the different sources blurred dizzyingly.
Another one.
He could feel it.
Five.
How many more were arriving?

They didn't have much time. Seth glanced at the clock on the wall. Midnight was but an hour away.

But it wouldn't happen at midnight. It wouldn't be that simple. Not the letter-sender. He liked melodrama, but he was smart. Smarter than that.

Seth looked over to the door (reluctantly, very reluctantly, because the last thing he needed was another Mr Mask to deal with), where a man stood. 'Oh goody,' Seth thought, his eyes narrowing.

The questions were ready to start again. Was this one the letter-sender, just in time for a dramatic entra-

He was distracted.

Fluttering passively behind the newest-comer was a familiar blue-gold Rune Dragon shape.

Seth knew that shape. He had seen it in his child. His mother had called it Hiroshi. She had told him the story of their paths crossing, right down to the death of the Rune's bearer. His mother had not been one to sugar-coat the realities of life. Hiroshi, the Rune Dragon who brought luck. He'd arrive in situations where someone...

Someone needed a little...

A little bit of luck.

Oh dear.

Seth looked down at his drink, which had not passed his lips for the last hour or so. He started, astonished. There was a letter under the mug. He was certain that it had not been there before, but he had not felt it being slipped into place. He looked around the table with veiled accusation in his face.
"Who did this?" His voice was calm but held an edge. Seth was being taken for a fool, and he knew it. He hated being out of control, and he had to confess that that was what he was.
He repeated his question.
"Who put that here?"

He plucked up the letter between two fingers, feeling the envelope. It was familiar. He'd known that it would be.

The letter-sender had struck again.

He considered flinging the offending object into the fire, just to be defiant. He wanted to be in control.

He almost did it, too.

Almost.

But, with a long-suffering sigh, he broke the blank wax seal, and drew the letter out of the envelope.

In big, stark black letters, he read:

Time to leave already?

I would, if I were you.

A heavy thud on Seth's shoulder made him jump. He looked around, and met the blue, calm eyes of the Oriental Rune of Luck. The creature smelled faintly of fish, but his presence was reassuring. 'I'm not leaving,' his eyes seemed to say, although he seemed uncomfortable. All Rune Dragons did, around Seth.

This was not as comforting as it should have been. If the Luck Rune was willing to perch on Seth, he was in more trouble than he cared to think about.

Calmly, but with a visible tension in his movements, he handed the note to the first woman, the one called Chickadee.
"Don't panic."
Or maybe they should have been.

Around them, the noise level in the inn was dropping alarmingly. It didn't happen instantly, but slowly and deliberately, which was far more frightening. Looking back, Seth knew that the inn's inhabitants should have taken more notice of the strangers. Seth should have noticed that anomaly.

It's as if they had been forewarned.

Seth swallowed dryly as he waited for the table to read the letter. He didn't dare look around, because he could feel eyes everywhere.

The people in the inn were watching.

What were they waiting for?

"If we run, they'll kill us."

He didn't know that for certain. He couldn't.

But, as much as he wished it otherwise, he had a terrible suspicion that he was right.

He had never want, and probably never would have wanted, to be wrong so badly in his life.

[From now on, anyone can receive a letter at any time. They should receive them irregularly, but frequently. The letter-writer seems to know what they're saying at any given time. The letters turn up in odd places where they shouldn't be, or weren't.

Letters will contain riddles, suggestions, but never again (or very rarely) any more actual instructions. And they never explain anything. They're vague, ambiguous and very annoying (and slightly threatening). Their tone can be anything from formal to colloquial. I leave that up to you.]

Sophie wasn't sure how much more of this she could take. She hadn't even had time to reply to the rather disheveled-looking young woman who arrived at their table with a hesitant greeting before the man - Seth - pushed the letter into her hands with a warning not to panic.

And then he had the gall to say,

"If we run, they'll kill us."

Unfortunately...I have a suspicion that he may be right, Delyth whispered into her mind as she shuffled closer to Sophie's head, her soft feathers pressed against her ear. Genevieve seemed to sense the growing tension as well and abandoned her pretzel in mid-nibble to crawl up the offered arm. She took her place opposite of Delyth, so that the jacket's hood was now at full capacity. Sophie felt herself beginning to warm up quickly with all of the insulation; however, the beadlets of sweat in the center of her shoulder blades were only partially due to the heat. Everywhere she seemed to look in the room now... Some shadow had passed over everyone's face. The looks cast their way were getting darker and lingering more, lingering with antagonistic intentions hiding behind slitted eyes.

Only one set of eyes seemed to hold less terrible judgment and they belonged to a young man who was sitting in another corner of the room. Sophie couldn't help the curious squint in his direction. She was certain that he hadn't been there earlier. Plus, this new Rune, the one that smelled like a river - hadn't it been with him? Why wasn't he joining the group? With all of the Rune dragons, this was obviously the group that the damnably baffling letter-writer was dragging around.

Maybe one of us should go invite him...? she mused, intrigued by how mysterious he looked. She couldn't tear her eyes away.

No, Dear One, no. Leave him be. Do not draw attention to us any further. The Sunset Rune was sitting rigidly now, her amber eyes glittering from within the hood. Convince this group to leave.

The strawberry-blonde attempted to swallow, but found her mouth feeling dry as sandpaper. She took a fortifying swig of her cider before clearing her throat. When she spoke, it was soft and more confident than before.

"I don't know about our lives being at stake, but no one looks comfortable with us being here any longer. Even though I don't know who the heck this writer is, I'm going to have to agree with the letter's contents. We should probably leave." Scanning the room again, she sighed and leaned in conspiratorially. "Maybe we should play it like they're predators. Just leave showing no fear. No fear, no reason to attack; we look stronger than we are."