Open The Rising Dawn (CITY WIDE QUEST)

[Verilian]

Timestamp: 41st of Fall, 512 AV Location: Newly Re-Built Temple of the Black Sun It was the day Ravok had been waiting for since Rhysol's wrath washed over the city and swept away all the unworthy, destroying half the city in the process. The great storm that occurred on the first of spring took out many of the structures in Ravok, and countless lives were lost. Some Ravokians believed Rhysol had abandoned them, but most believed they were being punished. One of the most devastating things to go was the Temple of the Black Sun, the main house of worship in the city. Since the storm efforts to rebuild the temple had been underway, and finally, it was ready to open once more. All of Ravok was in attendance, whether they wanted to be or not, and the church was so packed that not everyone could fit inside and many people had to stand out on the courtyard. Rumors had been whispered throughout the city that the Voice had finally returned to Ravok. She had not been seen since before the storm, and many thought her lost. Some said Rhysol himself might even make an appearance. The Black Sun spared no expense for the momentous occasion. Lining the courtyard outside the temple were food vendors. There was a band playing on one of the balconies, and performers were showing off their skills all around the area. It was a festival unlike any that had been seen in ages. Soon enough a hush came over the crowd and all eyes were directed toward the Black Shard in the center of the temple. Those outside struggled to get a better view, but even if they couldn't see the shard, they could still hear the voice that spoke in front of it. It was a voice any natural born Ravokian would recognize, and the woman who spoke was none other than the Voice herself. "People of Ravok, my children, it is so good to be home and to see you all again." Her voice boomed throughout the temple and into the courtyard, and all the Ravokians cheered. The musicians blew their horns, drummers beat their drums, acrobats flipped in celebration, and everyone was happy. The Voice continued to speak, promising that it would be a long time before she left again. She promised the Ravokians that, with the new temple completed, Rhysol was once again pleased by their devotion. She promised that Ravok would once again be the safe haven it was meant to be. "No go! Enjoy the festival, and praise Rhysol!" OOCThis is an open thread. Feel free to wander around, take in the sites, mingle, ect. In my next post, the true adventure will begin.

[Sevris]

Sevris had woken up with some apprehension. In his line of work and this time of age. It was usually a good thing to follow up on. But he couldn't place it, there were more important things to worry about. Such as the gathering that was taking place. So he got ready, ate breakfast, and was one his way to the Temple of the Black Sun. There had been rumors as of late, Sevris was pondering rather to act on them or not, but it sounded like it was true. The Voice was returning to Ravok, so said the people. In Ebonstryfe the commanders and leaders didn't give any significant type of information, except to be at the Temple at the appropriate time. And it was true, the Voice had returned. Her elegant voice rang out amongst the citizens of Ravok. There was a festival to be had, and she wanted her people to rejoice at her return. This was a cause for celebration. He wondered if his slave Velvet would be coming. He did ask her if she wanted to get out and enjoy herself. She would come if she wanted, he had given her permission for that.

[Volinir Orchid]

Not everyone in the crowd was celebrating. While Volinir didn't care much for Rhysol one way or the other, Ravok he hated with a passion. Why then, was he out with the rest of the revelers, lazily looking through the food vendors' wares? He had work to do. Between rolling a fresh orange in his hand, or applauding an acrobat's performance, he was constantly glancing furtively around him, waiting for an opportune moment. The number of Ebonstryfe at the festival was to be expected, but still a little off-putting. It wasn't that he didn't think such a large event wouldn't be heavily guarded; he just didn't think he'd make it out in one piece as a result. Still, it was this or stay cooped up at home. At least one of the two options held a chance for a better life. He bought a scarf from one of the less mobile merchants, and popped into one of the darker alleyways. Tying the scarf over his mouth and nose, he stepped back outside, faking a cough to deter unwanted questions. Someone wearing a mask for no apparent reason was a threat. Someone wearing a mask while sick, well, he was just a thoughtful Samaritan! Melting back into the crowd, he waited for the start of the real festivities.

[Aislin]

Furled fingers lay against a bed of laced satin. Nails scratching tiny slits where the fabric had torn at the seams. Purposely, in that the severance cast the folds in shadow, an inky obscurity which elongated the silent stream of warped petals. Design etched along the bodice, cinched at the waist by inlaid belt of material mirroring the elasticity of a rubber band. The rose's thorns sent a prickling sensation coursing through the length of the prostitute's fingers as she needled the fabric lazily. Tousling several strands of raven colored hair which flitted through paling flesh. Dancing alongside her form as they wove into narrowed crevices. Tightening the cotton knit in a way which made it increasingly difficult for Aislin to breath within the heat of the throng, packed towards the middle of the imposing temple. A place where only chaos was worshipped, in the name of Rhysol. The God that had blessed her so long ago. A black sun protruded from behind a narrow strip of material. The rays crawling up the length of ivory blade. The bed of flesh upon which it rested burned. As though it lay beneath the heat of scorched sun. Forcing the thin covering into blistering turmoil as heart hammered uneasily behind bony rib cage. Breath caught in the woman's throat, as iced eyes swept over the pedestal upon which the Voice stood, before darting over to her brethren. Those she could sense through the mark. Scattered men and women, dotting the threshold, among other things. Some offered more affection than she. Aislin sighed as her ears prickled, taking in the sound of hollowed ring. A tone which carried over the gathered masses, as all fears were attempted to be assuaged by mere sight. And yet, there was a sense of something missing, but just what, the woman could not place. Leaving her puzzled, and feeling alone despite numbers beyond measure. "Yes, praise Rhysol," she whispered, as her mark tingled. Signaling a shift in her kind. The passage of another Chaon.

[Cassidy Finch]

Velvet couldn't help but be impressed with the Voice. Though she was certain that the woman was as vile as the rest of Ravok, the Voice was still a powerful and impressive figure, to be able to hold this chaotic and terrible city at bay for so long. The young slave had to admit that she had been looking forward to the festivities. She had never been to any kind of gathering like this, and had decided to wear her dress, a plain, white thing that came to her knees. Though it was simple, she felt that it looked nice on her, especially with her hair newly washed and her skin scrubbed clean. Her feet were bare as always, and quickly regaining the customary layer of dust. This did not bother her any longer, however; she had learned how to avoid having her feet trampled on for the most part. Thankfully, Sevris had given her leave to come and join in. She had heard that the city guards would do unpleasant things to those found missing out on the festival, so she was pleased that she did not have to incur her master's wrath out of necessity. After all, she had yet to earn her freedom from him and disobedience was certainly out of the question. As she sifted through the crowds in the courtyard, Velvet kept an eye out for him. She did not know if he needed her services or not, but she still wanted to be near someone regardless. This setting was entirely unfamiliar to her, and she found it alarming. Especially considering that this place was the hallowed ground of Rhysol; she had many reservations about being anywhere where she might be under a God's gaze, especially one such as Rhysol. Unlike many of the city's inhabitants, Velvet felt none of the reverence and respect for Rhysol that seemed to be mandatory for any citizen. All she felt was fear and a desire to avoid him; he had done nothing for her, so why should she worship him, anyway?

[Inoadar]

"Praise!" the dark haired man cried along with those around him. He allowed an imitation of zealous fervor to shine in his eyes. 'Perhaps some narcotic would serve better.' he thought to himself with a cynical grin. He did not care one way or the other about Rhysol and his devotees, 'thugs' some would say.

He had had his run-ins with adherents of both viewpoints in his one season spent here. In the process of setting his connections up, he had dealt fatally with a quartet of Rhysol's initiates and made inroads to establishing a connection with this Rising Dawn.

Not that he had any intent of opposing Rhysol, at least not here in his own city. More like, the wish to be handy to exploit information for coin. Perhaps through blackmail or threat of exposure. 'Yes, this 'Rising Dawn' would certainly be vulnerable in that regard.' His grin was borne less of cynicism and more of greed and scheming now.

Of course, waylaying a single 'Stryfer' to deliver to the rebels for torture and information could be every bit as lucrative. And weasling money from the unsuspecting was his stock and trade.

For now though, he would stroll through the celebration, watching, listening, gathering information. Perhaps he might gain a tidbit the boatmen would pay for.

[Cassandra Coven]

Cassandra didn't want to be here. Of course she didn't. The place reeked too much of the dark nature of the city's patron god. Her arm itched maddeningly and the crowd, at least the less cultured among them - meaning to say, almost everyone else - took free passes on her buttocks, the more daring of them reaching for something higher but equally round in front of her, while they waited for the appearance of the Voice. Had they been in the Silver Sliver, she would have just teasingly danced out of their reach, but the place was packed, the people pressed too closely together that there was just no avoiding the grasping hands. She didn't want to be here. But to not attend was to make herself a target, and Cassandra, above all else, was a survivor. She had learned early on that she needed to fit in among the crowd, doing what the masses did just to be another face among them, even if her natural beauty made her stand out among those who were less blessed in the physical appearance department. To not attend was to mark herself as a heretic - and good things never happened to those who were known to reject Rhysol. Besides, there was too much at stake. Trevinus' favor for one thing. The possible ire of the Ebonstrye was another. She never, ever, wanted to run across one of them again. At last, the person everyone had been waiting for spoke, sending a thrill through the crowd. The Voice has made her appearance. Her location inside the temple provided her with an excellent view of its center, and for the first time since she arrived in Ravok, Cassandra gazed upon the city's leader. The Voice was beautiful in her own way, but there was something about her that made the barmaid uneasy - and it had nothing to do with the Druvin's pupil-less eyes. Cassandra averted her own hazel ones quickly, absently fingering her lace gloves as she did so. Her personal mark felt inflamed, and though there wasn't much pain in it yet, just a swollen feeling, she worried of them suddenly being lashed with debilitating agony. She wondered if it was due to the nearness of Rhysol and his cohort. Never had they been truly allied with her own patron goddess. No, she definitely did not want to be here.

[Renalee]

It had been a very long time since Ren was last in a crowd quite like this. The sheer number of people felt suffocating after more than a Season spent in the Wildlands with the occasional encounter with a fellow traveler her only contact with humans. It felt strange weaving her way between the people of Ravok, trying to move closer to the temple so she could see and hear better. The palette of smells was overwhelming her senses and she found it was pointless to try and direct her attention towards any one in particular. She had to take them all as a whole. The Kelvic was just at the entrance of the temple when the Voice spoke to her people, her words greeted with a cheer from every single one of the citizens. Focused as the crowd was its presence felt like a sentient being. Renalee grimaced at the sensation and abandoned her place, in favor of making her way towards the various stands set up in the Temple’s courtyard. It was strange being back in Ravok and the young woman found herself wondering yet again why she had returned. It had seemed simple out there in the wild and it had been easy to follow through with her decision, her determination pushing her forward the same way it always did when things got rough. But as she passed by a man wearing the uniform of the city guard Ren was forced to question her reasoning. Ravok was no place for her. It wasn’t a place for any Kelvic that didn’t want to be a slave. Having nothing better to do the blonde tried listening to the conversations going on around her. Rhysol’s name was on everyone’s lips as well as the Voice’s and the population’s immense joy at the return of their leader and the rebuild of their Temple was almost palpable. Ren had heard plenty of the God of Evil, but even here in the city he had supposedly claimed for his own she wasn’t sure a being like that existed. “Praise Rhysol!” To her right, two obviously very drunk men were patting each other on the backs and loudly exclaiming there enthusiasm at being there. Ren shook her hand and moved on. She wouldn’t be staying too long. She already somewhat missed the quiet of the small room she had rented at Tarsin’s. But while she was here perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to look around for the one thing she had truly missed out in the wild - cheese.

[Valerius Nitrozian]

Valerius Nitrozian didn’t think that Ravok, that Rhysol or the Voice were evil. To him Ravok was the most wonderful city in all of Mizahar, and Rhysol’s emissary was the only woman he had ever felt more than a passing attraction to. When the djed storm had nearly destroyed the world a second time, when the temple had fallen and she had disappeared, he had been devastated. He had constantly wondered if they, if Ravok’s citizens had done something wrong. To his relief it seemed as if Rhysol had forgiven them though. the Temple had been rebuilt, and she had come back. Valerius didn’t particularly care for the food vendors, and all those ridiculous musicians and acrobats – in his opinion they only distratced from her glory. He walked right into the temple, accompagnied by a pair of slaves that made sure that nobody got too close to him – he didn’t particularly enjoy physical contact. Since he belonged to a very influential family, he managed to secure a spot from which he could see the Black Shard. He wasn’t standing in the front row, but it was good enough for now. As she spoke, a shiver ran down his spine. „My lady“, he whispered. „I’m glad that you’ve returned. Rhysol be praised.“ Unlike the rest of the crowd he didn’t walk outside and enjoy the festival right away, but bowed his head and said a prayer to his beloved god and the woman that spoke in his name. Only then did he do as she had said.

[Giph]

“Praise Rhysol!” The young giph loudly proclaimed with the entire crowd, his smaller voice easily drowned out by the volume of the entire crowd. Giph was overjoyed, after two full seasons of rumors of the death of the voice and hushed whispers in the corners of the city that their god had abandoned them or that some their fellow citizens of ravok had angered their guardian with their thoughtless behavior and that the lack of protection against the storm was their just punishmet. The voice finally had spoken and chased those fears away. Their punishment had been absolved with the show of their newfound devotion. Giph was sorely tempted to leave everybody who was partying alone at the moment and to not steal anything this day. Even though events like these where prime opportunities for it. Then again, if they couldn't hold on to their own money it wasn't their anyway. He grinned and wandered of through the crowd in search of a cheese stand, he hadn't had a decent piece of cheese in ages.