Location [City Entrance] The Southern Trading Post & Linkmap

One has to post here to gain entrance to the city.

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A city floating in the center of a lake, Ravok is a place of dark beauty, romance and culture. Behind it all though is the presence of Rhysol, God of Evil and Betrayal. The city is controlled by The Black Sun, a religious organization devoted to Rhysol. [Lore]

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The Lakeshore Outpost [City Entrance]

Postby Minnim on September 1st, 2016, 4:32 pm

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60th of Fall, 516 AV

Minnim stepped away from the caravan, leaving behind him the horrble smell of oxen and the dirt that was caked on the wheels. He pulled his backpack of things from the rear of the wagon (clothes and cloth, his journal, and his writing utensils) with one hand, and his loom lugged out with the other.

"Be well, sirs." He offered as he moved off to the side. The caravan unloaded a few other merchants and their goods, and then began to move away, leaving Minnim to bask in the glory of the city.

Even here, technically still outside the city, it was the perfect temperature, and the scent of baked goods and fresh, natural water in the sun wafted out to him. The merchants of his caravan sorted through their goods, getting ready to catalog them with the guard on duty, but Minnim pressed forward impatiently.

"Name, reason for being in Ravok?" The guard asked, not impolite.

"Minnim." He supplied his real name, wishing to remain on a clean slate with the local authority. And besides, what power did a name have when there was a very real chance he would change his body?

"I have come to register for citizenship in Ravok and pursue my arcane abilities."

The guard looked up, watching Minnim's sunken eyes stare into space as he spoke, and smelling the hints of death rolling off his skin. He supposed that lots of people looked that way when they were done travelling, though.

"Please claim your weapons and show them to me." He commanded.

Minnim removed his knife from where it was hidden in his sleeve. "One wrist knife." The guard nodded in approval, then gave his long black cloak a once-over. "Is that all?" He asked suspiciously. When Minnim confirmed, the tired guard simply waved him through. If he wasn't a Human, or he was hiding more weapons, the city would take care of him eventually. This, the guard was certain of.

Minnim, on the other hand, pushed his loom through the gate happily, trying his best to get it onto a boat for travel into the city. Finally, he was here. And already, he felt as though the place could be called home.
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The Lakeshore Outpost [City Entrance]

Postby Xen on September 14th, 2016, 12:41 am


The Lakeshore Outpost

The first thing Xen saw was a large stone tower. It overlooked a massive lake which gently cradled a large city above its crushing depths. Xen could see various ships docked in calms waters from where he walked and a multitude of tents at rest. He did not see any people at the current hour; it was dark and the night called forth things that detested the day and light. So, the absence of human's and kith was understandable and natural. But Xen could hear activity and voices within the tents and structures, revealing that the night time hours were not always as desolate as they seemed.

In silence, Xen continued. He did not possess profound thoughts of worth nor words of wisdom about some abstract thing or concept, he just thoughtlessly pushed on through the night and took note of his surroundings. In his current state, this was all Xen felt like he was capable of doing. He felt like the whole of his existence consisted of suffering endless loneliness, emptiness, and destitution. It was maddening: a life without self-worth, purpose—aspiration.

“ Halt, ” A guard says sternly; his deep voice broke the quietude Xen enjoyed.
“ State your purpose, occupation, and possessions you carry, ” The guard continued before the giant, wooden doors of Lake Ravok. Xen's hair billowed slightly in the wind as he listened to the guard's question. It bothered him; he had no purpose, Xen felt the hollowness within had more significance that his existence. However, he replied to the guard in accordance.

“ Mercenary, Sir. I seek refuge in Ravok, ” Xen said sorrowfully.
“ I have a few weapons and other miscellaneous things, ” Xen stated as he presents his luggage to the inquisitive guard.

The guard took Xen's belongings and then carefully looked through it.
“ I see nothing of value here. Where do you come from, Traveler, Syliras? ” The guard's question carried curiosity and hostility, his words suggesting he did not have the city of peace in high regard. Xen noticed the slight shift in the guard's tone and answered truthfully.

“ Nay, Nyka city, guardsman, Syliras is too distant, ” Xen responded.
“ Okay, will you be applying for citizenship or are you a citizen of Ravok? ” The guard's questioning persisted.

“ I have never heard of this. I thought once you stepped into a city you were considered a citizen. It seems this will not be the same here, ” Xen whispered in his mind.

“ Nay, I will apply for citizenship during my time here, Sir. ” Xen answered sensing that it would be best to follow the flow of things.

“ You have answered every question without hesitation and while remaining compliant the entire time. Once you answer my last question, you may pass, stranger. What is your name? ” The guardsmen said.

“ Xen Jori, ” Xen uttered to the guard.
“ Not a very human-like name but you may pass, Rhysol be with you, stranger, ” The guardsmen and his companion step aside to let Xen through as the wooden doors open inward. Xen walked through the threshold and after a few steps he stood at the docks.

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[City Entrance] The Southern Trading Post & Linkmap

Postby Baran on March 25th, 2017, 5:43 pm

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5th Spring, 517 AV


It had been a long journey. Tarra, his travelling companion on the ship they'd bought passage on, thought so too. The two had grown closer over the course of the journey, and then as the time had kept on ticking, grown further apart again. The truth was, even if they were friends (which they were, or so Baran thought), being in close proximity to another for a long time tended to make one a little jaded. Such was the case here.

But all that was forgotten as they arrived closer and closer to Ravok. He had heard snippets of tales from Tarra, but she was a woman who spoke little of herself. It was a city on a lake, that much he knew. The actual reality of this would sink in, given time.

Their approach, on the 5th of the new season, was a glad one. The merchants they had travelled with had been uneasy, as their voyage had been plagued with bad weather. On a few separate occasions, the ship had to stop along the coast to conduct repairs and gather fresh supplies. Although battered and bruised by the elements, the merchants were eager to sell their wares and as the tower came into view they departed to deal with customs.

Baran was left with his pack of belongings and his gamba, all his worldly possessions, in fact. Tarra stood beside him, fumbling with her bag. Baran watched her for a few moments, smirking with amusement, before turning his head. The delights of fresh scenery were more interesting than his companion's blustering.

The place was smaller than he had expected, but then it was Tarra's explanation that this wasn't the city proper that left him in anticipation. He let her know that he was going to the dock, and walked in the direction of the tower. A few moments later though, the woman caught up, holding papers in her hand. She grinned, and winked transparently. "I knew I still had 'em, somewhere."

Baran tilted his head but didn't say anything, and they were soon stopped by a guard. He was a tall fellow, with greasy black hair and a lean figure. Baran was at eye level with him, but felt himself cowed by the guard's expression- one of eagle-eyed watchfulness. He stopped walking, and enquired, "Yes?"

"Name and intention please. Present your weapons to the guard ahead." He was brusque and immoveable, so Baran felt obliged to do what he said. It all made such a change to Sunberth, but then it was an entirely different place, full of mystery and intrigue as Sunberth had once been to him.

"I'm Baran, visiting with a friend, hoping to entertain the people of Ravok with music." He gestured expansively to the instrument, and then to Tarra, but if he was hoping to get a reaction then he wasn't to succeed. The auburn woman in question answered in a similar vein, and presented her papers. The guard gestured them on and the next one, blonde, scruffy, with a purple bruise on his cheekbone, smoothly asked for their weapons.

He only had a cutlass buckled at his hip and a dagger, thrust in his belt. He showed both of them to the guard, who noted them down. Tarra produced more weapons that he thought she had, and he raised an eyebrow, but again said nothing. The two of them were directed past the guards, and down to the ferry. Baran got in and seated himself next to a fierce-looking woman with long, grey hair, as the oars of the boat dipped into the water like swans drinking.

They were off.
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[City Entrance] The Southern Trading Post & Linkmap

Postby Zark on April 29th, 2017, 4:49 am


It was a terrible day. The deluge had started since before he woke up. The meager shelter he had managed to make was not enough to truly protecting from the waterfall that appeared to run from the canopy. The trees themselves proved no cover now from the sheer downpour of cold water. Zark stood up, feeling the cold as he brushed the sleep away from his eyes. He picked up the cloak from the ground; it was wet but not soaked through. He sighed in relief and slithered into the warmth. He picked up his meager belongings, tossing the burlap sac over his shoulder and he began to walk, not looking back. In the night, he had seen light in the distance. It was a clear sign of civilization. And he had followed the previous days the signs he interpreted were Myri given. Birds of prey watching him intently, branches forming shapes and symbols, the way the horizon stretched with the trees interrupting the panorama. He followed them blindly, not hesitating in his step. He was on a quest that was more important than himself; the hunger in his belly was tossed aside, the cold water that seeped through the fabric of his thick cloak was ignored, the squelching sounds of his boots trekking over the terrain while waterlogged was mostly ignored. The Myrian could take them off and walk barefoot, but he figured the added layers provided a little resistance to the cold. He would not spit on that.

After several hours of trudging through forest that was now mostly a bog, he reached the end of it. He sighed in relief, squeezing the neck of his burlap sack and marched on towards what appeared to be an entrance to a large city. Zark was a Myrian soldier, trial by fire was something he was used to. But the loins in his belly burned up at the many scenarios that ran through his head. What were the opinions the people would have of him, a Myrian? Would he grow weaker over time, if he spent time with mere humans? Would he end up on the streets, poor and starving? Would he be cut down for being an enemy soldier? Or worse, enslaved? He took a deep breath and began to prepare for the thousand different scenarios, he steeled himself, opting for a stoic approach to it all. His body was not important, the opinions of others did not matter. His ultimate goal, his ultimate purpose was the fabrication of a legendary weapon. It was the only way he could go home, it was the only way he could truly be accepted once more into the embrace of the Taloban people.

He looked down the lake, and saw the large tower with fortifications and makeshift… camp? He wasn’t sure. But he saw that the people were traveling from there to the main part of the city. Even in this tempest, the place was full of people.He hoped the bad weather would ease the duty of guards and let him through more easily. Perhaps they would be grouchier, give him issues with his entering the city. But there were always other options. His common was not well suited, but he figured if he spoke little, they wouldn’t catch onto his accent. The rain might cover the sound of his voice as well. Maybe the storm was a blessing of Myri herself. Was it her way of camouflaging the young Myrian in a den of wolves? He cared not, and he was reminded of the horrid shower as his movements were stiff with the cold. He was used to warmer climates, where even the rain was warm on naked skin. Here, it was as if each drop was cool enough to chill the very marrow of your bones. As he grew nearer, he began to feel different. The people from afar were many, like ants milling on an anthill. With the rain, they were less folk, all huddled beneath roofs and inside buildings. From a distance, he was afraid of them. But as he came to see them from this perspective, he realized they were all humans.

He had nothing to worry about, he told himself.

He squeezed through the many stalls that were mostly empty, save the few brave merchants that remained even with the downpour. Some had large oil lamps near them to keep them warmer, and thick cloaks they wrapped themselves in. The luckier ones had built wooden flooring that let the rain drain down below them.

Zark did not make eye contact. He merely walked on, wading through the path that was mostly mud. He was exhausted at this point, but his pride did not allow him to relent. He would find shelter here, he would find a proper master for artistry. He ensured his hair was all hidden in his cowl and that his face was mostly hidden beneath the fabric. He took deep, slow breaths, calming himself and focusing on the task ahead. He saw a gate and he approached it. A man in armor halted him. ‘What is your name?” He asked, speaking in a clear common that sent the Myrian aback a bit. This was the first time someone actually addressed him formally in as many weeks. He coughed in his hands, told his name quickly and coughed again, before wiping his nose dry of the water that dribbled down from his cowl. “Your purpose in the City?” He asked, before leaning forward and inspecting the young soldier. “Blacksmithing.” He replied quickly, hoping the speed of his speaking would confuse the accent and hide the fact he was a Myrian for now.

“Blacksmithing? You want to buy weapons and armor?” Asked the guard, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Make weapons.” He replied, using as few words as possible.

“Alright then. Have your weapons checked in with Albert; he’s the guy over there. Welcome to Ravok.” The guard looked at the tanned ‘human’, before walking away and meeting the next in line waiting for entry into Ravok.

Zark walked up to Albert, tilting his head slightly. The chestnut eyes inspected the man quickly and easily, before opening the flap of his cloak and drawing his dagger from the sheath on his chest. He did not give it over, but he did show the weapon in the palm of his hand. He remained silent, Albert noted it down before waving him off.

Zark put the blade back into the small scabbard and he walked off, looking for the nearest ferry available. He dearly wanted to get out of the rain now that it had served its purpose. As he waited, he prayed to Myri and all the other Myrian gods. He was finally here.
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[City Entrance] The Southern Trading Post & Linkmap

Postby Coryn on May 15th, 2017, 8:26 pm

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The sudden stillness of the wagon was what woke Coryn, and for several chimes she could not remember where she was, why her back and neck ached so painfully. Wincing, she shifted her weight to try and face the front of the wagon, but her movements were limited by the deadweight shackles and chains attached to her ankles and neck. The best she could do was strain her ears in hopes she might catch the words of the slaver who had bought her from Kenash.

He had a silky voice, an accent that she hadn’t come across before and one that Coryn presumed came from wherever she was being taken. Ravok. A city in the middle of a great lake, so the other slaves had told her in grave, grey voices. Coryn was sceptical of this fact, but she’d remained silent, allowing her peers to tell her all the titbits of information they thought they knew. People had a habit of not sharing information with a person who questioned them, she had learnt.

“Name, please.”

It was a voice she didn’t recognise, but Coryn could hear the similarity in accent. Wherever they were, whoever this person was, she guessed they were outside the borders of Ravok.

“Voron. I’m a resident of Ravok. Here are my papers.”

There was a moment of silence, in which Coryn found herself full of unexpected anticipation. Was she hoping for him to be rejected, turned away from his home city? It would certainly give her some pleasure, given how much the slaver had bragged about his city, his God Rhysol and the wonderful life provided by the two. But refusal for Voron would mean nothing good for his wares of which, along with six sacks sugar, two of tobacco and four other slaves, Coryn was one.

“Please surrender your weapons and state the produce you are bringing into the city.”

Footsteps followed, and from the corner of her eye Coryn saw her master and two well guarded men amble around the side of the wagon. The men who were unknown to her eyed the contents of the wagon carefully. “What’s in the sacks?”

“Tobacco and sugar. Here are the specifics of each item.”

Voron had a habit of going over and above the requirements of his job. He had examined each one of his slaves carefully, perversely (”For signs of wear and tear, like you would any item of trade.” He had explained patiently to his apprentice) and documented any features of note. In Coryn’s case, her list of features included the black Sitai rose that had been tattooed onto her right cheek, her gnosis mark from Nikali and her nocturnal horned form.

The guards skimmed through Voron’s papers, their eyes glancing towards the sacks of goods and the slaves with the same bored, careless expression. Voron in the meanwhile unsheathed the mean little blade he kept at his hip and gave it to the guards. “All in order?”

“All in order. Welcome home. Ferry’s departing in ten chimes. Need a hand with your goods?”

“No thank you. Between my apprentice and I, we can manage.”

The wagon shifted as Voron reclaimed his position at the front. With an authorities click on his tongue, the horses pulled forward and marched through a set of large steel doors.

And for the first time in three seasons, Coryn felt a glimmer of hope, excitement. Somewhere in the depths of her history, unknown to the Ethaefal and not remembered by the Svefra was the open sea, a small boat. Whatever lay beyond their journey on the ferry, Coryn felt at least the worse was over, for now.
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