| Welcome to Imythess, the border between dreams and reality. We hope you enjoy your visit. Imythess is a creative writing board where you narrate the story of a character in the medieval land of Imythess, on the planet Chaon. Each topic is an opportunity for your character to interact with the world and its peoples by cooperatively writing pieces of a story with other members, one post at a time. We call this role-playing, because you assume the identity of your character as if it were your own. In order to play, you must register an account for each character you would like to write about, and begin their tale by filling out their basic profile information: Race (human, elf, demon, etc.), class (warrior, mage, etc.), physical appearance, and any other personal details you would like to describe. You are also encouraged to come up with some background history information for what your character's life has been like up to the point at which their story in Imythess begins. There is no approval process or application required to join, so long as you follow the rules then you are free to write whatever character details you choose. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free. Create a character now! If you're already a member, you can log into your account below: |
| Band of Misfits (Vaelren, and Co.) | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: Sat Apr 13, 2013 12:32 am (357 Views) | |
| Catastrophe Black | Sat Apr 13, 2013 12:32 am Post #1 |
![]()
|
The Stain was a ludicrously small bar in an out of the way section of Balefire that catered primarily to a small group of regulars and various people who had become lost in the dark streets and wanted a place to sit while they got their bearings. Mottled light from an ancient lantern cast a wash of dim yellow over the interior of the place, giving everything a dingy look. A small bar with seating for five ran across the end of the space opposite the door, and a single table with eight chairs dominated the center of the room. The Stain’s chief attraction was that its prices were low and drinks were of a decent quality, although the bartender, a half-drow named Catastrophe, often mixed her own special cocktails with varying degrees of success. This evening she had bottled a new concoction- beet wine in which horseradish had been substituted for half of the beets. The drink was a brilliant red in color, and she had named it “Volcano’s Blood.” “What do you think, Emmer?” She asked the sole patron of the bar. “Are you in the mood for adventure?” She shook the bottle in an enticing way. Emmer was a regular of the place and knew enough to be dubious. “What is that stuff? What’s in it?” “It’s called Volcano’s Blood and the ingredients are a secret. Don’t be a sissy. Here, on the house.” She poured a shot glass full and slid it in front of him. Emmer picked the glass up and peered into it, bringing the glass up inches from his face. “Yeeaagggghh!” he cried, dropping the class as the harsh fumes bit into his eye. “Come on man! That’s not how you do it!” Catastrophe rolled her eyes in disgust. “You got to pound it down in one swallow!” |
| Offline Profile | Quote To Top |
| Vaelren | Sat Apr 20, 2013 12:28 pm Post #2 |
![]()
|
The door to the Stain creaked open as a newcomer stepped in. Garbed in an olive-green hooded cloak, a leather hauberk of the same color, light, black leather pants, as well as a pair of old, worn leather boots, he would've fit right in with the shady denizens of Balefire. He looked about the tavern, noting the half-drow bartender with a frown that was almost a grimace. His time in the Underdark had been an ill first impression on her kind. He shook his head, muttering under his breath as he strode towards the bar, taking a seat at the far right, keeping ample space between himself and the only other patron. He lowered his hood, revealing his ghostly pale features, his silvery-white hair, his bangs and the majority of it tied back in a topknot; as well as the twin scars that adorned his face. However, the most striking feature of the half-elven man was his eyes. The tired orbs seemed to almost glow a radiant yellow. His pupils were unlike that of your run-of-the-mill elf or human. Rather than rounded, they ended in points, and were much more narrow. There was a certain darkness about him that the more superstitious may find to be more than just a tad unsettling. He rested his arms on the table and leaned forward, then looked to the bartender and spoke. His voice was gravelly and weary. That, coupled with the deep lines on his brow would've hinted that the man was old, perhaps nearing the end of his life, as half-elves tended to age much more slowly than humans, though lacked the longevity of their full-blooded elven forebears. In truth, he had seen less than thirty summers. "Give me something strong. The higher the alcohol content the better." |
| Offline Profile | Quote To Top |
| Catastrophe Black | Sun Apr 21, 2013 6:46 pm Post #3 |
![]()
|
Catastrophe pulled her eyes off the cringing Emer to size up the new patron in her bar. She found his face to be unusual, but she had seen some strange things in her time in Balefire and many faces less pleasant. She produced a tall narrow glass from under the counter and filled it with a blood red liquid, which she slid expertly down the short bar so that it stopped more or less in front of him. "Tough day, I take it?" Catastrophe had learned one of the more emphatic lessons of Balefire- minding your own business- on several occasions and yet it never seemed to stick like it ought to, despite the danger involved in forgetting. Besides, she was bored. How had she ended up in a place like this anyway? She was restless and tired of the endless parade of gloomy faces and the brief but regular bouts of bar violence. She had felt this way for some time but found herself trapped in a subtle web of Ennui, lacking motivation to formulate a plan to go elsewhere. "I had me one of those once and didn't much care for it. What kind of trouble you havin'?" The drink was one more or less of her own invention; a wine made of beets and honey fermented for a month and then distilled in the pelican in the back to a savage blistering proof, probably in the neighborhood of 140. She had once burned it in a lantern when they'd run out of lamp oil and it had burned quite well and produced a pleasant fruity aroma somewhat at odds with the rather depressing atmosphere of the place. She watched the newcomer out of the corner of her eye, wondering if it would make him cough or if he'd drink it straight down. |
| Offline Profile | Quote To Top |
| Vaia | Mon Apr 22, 2013 6:21 pm Post #4 |
![]()
|
Vaia was the next to walk into Catastrophe's pub. As Vaelren tumbled in ahead of her, she paused, eyeing a weathered signboard above the entrance. The Stain was its name. Not exactly the quaintest name for a place, but she was rarely put off by such things. There were undoubtedly worse places to be in the City of Lanterns. She carefully checked her belongings, patting down her soft leather outfit. Everything was in place; an old notched axe sat at her left hip, and a sturdy length of rope coiled on her right. A weighty bone warhammer was strapped across her back. Her large, misshapen left arm was wrapped in a thick burlap cape, completely obscuring its features, but unable to mask its incredible size. She did notice, however, that she was exceedingly grungy. She hadn't bathed since her extended delve into the Dark Lands, and she was coated quite evenly from head to foot in thick, black grime. She blinked her narrow, tired eyes as she stepped into the dimly lit bar. It was small, and sparsely populated. Her ally Vaelren had already made his way to the bar, and the barkeep, a woman with skin as gray as her own, slid him some foul-looking red liquor. She was no doubt a descendant of dark elves, which was off-putting to the huntress, as she had only very recently spent an extensive and very miserable time in their domain. She was more concerned, however, for Vaelren's sensibilities. The ranger had had enough grief from dark elves to last him a lifetime. After her initial surveillance of the tavern, she was quick to walk up to the bar and take a place near Vaelren. She was silent, making no request to the barkeep, and simply nodded her head stiffly in greeting. |
| Offline Profile | Quote To Top |
| Xiren | Tue Apr 23, 2013 3:55 am Post #5 |
![]()
|
Xiren dismounted from his yellow riding bird, Zazi, outside The Stain, completely unaware of what he was walking into. All he was thinking about was delivering the last of his mail and maybe getting a drink. He ruffled Zazi's feathers and went inside. The dim interior of the bar was no detriment to Xiren. Darkness never was - he was more a home in Balefire than anywhere else, including the Dark Lands. He was thinking of leaving here soon though - there was that itch to keep moving, even to see the sun again. He wasn't thinking about much - it had been a long day and he was unfocused. He'd left his hood down because no one noticed one more dark elf in Balefire and it rarely caused much of a fuss. He sorted distractedly through the mail in his arms. Seeing that it all went to this location he dropped it on the bar and looked at the bartender. It had been a long time since he'd seen a half-dark elf. In the Dark Lands, they were often killed at birth, unless they proved immediately useful. There was room for everyone on the surface, it seemed. In a weird way, that gave Xiren a great deal of hope for himself. "Mail for you," he said neutrally and sat down at the bar. He opened his money bag and sorted through it carefully, looking for money to buy a drink |
| Offline Profile | Quote To Top |
| Catastrophe Black | Wed Apr 24, 2013 3:50 am Post #6 |
![]()
|
A female elf with a big arm came in and sat down next to the guy with the weird eyes and nodded a hello. They must know each other, Catastrophe figure, for them to sit so close. Then a mail guy came and dropped off some letters. She swept the letters up and dumped them in a basket below the bar. None of them would be for her, and she wasn’t sure why her boss got his mail here rather than at home. Probably notes from his mistresses or something. Catastrophe drew a mug of inexpensive ale and slid it down to stop in front of Xiren. “Hey mail guy, have one on the house for all your hard work and so on and because my pay is late so I’m hunting for tips.” She turned to Vaia then, an eyebrow cocked in question. “Are you drinking, or just waiting for your guy there?” Just then, the door to the bar opened and several men stepped inside. First through was a tall thin male drow who held a length of iron pipe in his hand, tapping it casually into his other palm. Behind him was an assortment of other men of various races, each holding some sort of makeshift weapon. They were poor, tough-looking men in tattered clothing and smelling of too many nights on the streets without washing. It was difficult to count them all because the bar was too small for them all to come inside. “Hey breed, where’s our money? I’m not asking again.” Catastrophe leaned forward on the bar on both forearms. “I told you Tatters, I don’t have nothing for you. You got to talk to the owner, I just work here. No one leaves me any spending money to play with.” “Well you better find some in the next couple seconds, or there’s going to be trouble.” |
| Offline Profile | Quote To Top |
| Vaelren | Thu May 2, 2013 6:20 pm Post #7 |
![]()
|
Vaelren nodded as he caught the glass. Before... He never would've dreamed of downing something as potent, but things had changed. He wasn't the man he had been before entering the Underdark. How many days had gone by? How many weeks? Months? It could've been years for all he knew. Regardless, he took one large swig of the alcohol, without so much of a reaction save for a belch. The man's expression hadn't even changed upon downing the concoction. He set the glass down, then looked at the half-drow woman with those cold, bestial eyes. Though his face seemed expressionless and neutral, his bright yellow orbs reflected what must have been a horrid, terrible pain. One carried with him from the Underdark. "The kind of trouble you needn't worry yourself with." He paused for a moment, looking down to his glass. The man didn't seem phased in the least by the alcoholic beverage, much to his dismay. He tilted his head up a bit and looked forward, not really at anything in particular. He seemed as if he was half there, half not, though not in the same way as one who'd had one too many ales. No, something was obviously on the aloof half-elven mutant's mind. "I'll take another." As he said this, Vaia took a seat in the chair beside his. He nodded at her in silent greeting, then leaned forward again, shifting his arms on the table so he could lean more comfortably. He stared ahead once more, paying little head to the courier as he arrived, delivered the parcels in his possession, and took a seat. A few moments passed, and as Vaelren heard the door open yet again and listened to the conversation between the thug and the barmaid, he looked up to the ceiling and let out a sigh, then slowly rose to his feet, facing the crew of rag-tag thugs. "The only trouble she's going to have is cleaning your blood and entrails off the floor. Leave. I'm trying to enjoy my alcohol." He spoke in a calm, matter-of-fact sort of manner, monotone and devoid of any real emotion. He stared Tatters down, and those eerie eyes of his looked as if they could pierce the drow male's soul. They were unsettling at best, and downright terrifying at worst, though of course, that all depended on the person they were fixed upon. Normally the half-elf would be scowling and throwing all sorts of witty, comical insults the man's way, however, his demeanor remained calm, cold, and neutral. He loosed his cloak, letting it fall to the floor, revealing even more hideous scars that trailed up and down his bare, pale arms, conforming to his musculature. One might easily mistake him for an undead, given his grim, scarred visage. He raised an arm, gripping the hilt of the masterwork scimitar strapped to his back, though he hadn't yet drawn it. "Choose your next course of action wisely, friend." |
| Offline Profile | Quote To Top |
| Ancala Varnoi | Fri May 10, 2013 3:09 am Post #8 |
![]() ![]()
|
'Cal sat upon his bar stool, lost in thought as was the norm of late. The former holy warrior just didn't care about what was going on around him; truth be told, he didn't care about much these days, save lamentful reverie and booze. After the fall of his Goddess, 'Cal's life as he knew it had fallen to pieces; 'Cal had tried to put them back together, but it appeared that there were several still missing, and the ex-paladin filled those empty spaces with a series of less-than-savory activities, drinking heavily and selling his sword to the highest bidder were among them. Snapping out of his little shell for a moment, 'Cal signaled the bartender for another whisky. Before she could comply, however, the door opened and a group of rather rough looking fellows poured in. The one in front, a dark elf, tapping what looked like an iron pipe fashioned into a makeshift cudgel into his palm with obvious malicious intent, proceeded to threaten the bartender. At that moment, something clicked in 'Cal's mind. Unsure whether it was his old code of chivalry, or the prospect that losing the barkeep would deprive him of his alcohol, 'Cal found himself rising from his seat, sword-hand closing around the worn and all to familiar hilt of what used to be a sacred weapon. He cut a rather opposing figure, with his large frame, especially large for an elf, his dark black clothes, black leather hobnail boots, the strange band around his head and his crimson cloak. Not to mention the well made, well-kept and obviously well handled sword that had risen an inch or two out of its scabbard. To add to it all, 'Cal found that he was not alone. The man two seats down had also decided to take a stand, rising from his seat and addressing the group of thugs threateningly. Since the fellow had said all that needed saying, 'Cal just let his hard, amber eyes bore into any that dared meet them. "Leave or die." was all he added, with no change in expression, or noticeable inflection. |
| Offline Profile | Quote To Top |
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · Balefire, the City of Lanterns · Next Topic » |




8:19 AM Jul 11

