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A sharing of tales (Kestral)

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Center of scholarly knowledge and shipwrighting, Zeltiva is a port city unlike any other in Mizahar. [Lore]

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'Round the Campfire

Postby Minnim on June 22nd, 2016, 4:17 am

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12th of Summer, 516 AV

"Anything to drink? We've got a cup of Steamed Kelp Tea ready if you'd like."

Minnim knew the man at the Quill's Rest meant it to be friendly, but that didn't stop it from being bothersome. He didn't need to drink, and so drinking at all was only a waste of money. He hadn't come here to waste money; he had come to scope out a new body.

Though his old body was holding up rather well, and only cut in a few inconspicuous places, it was never a bad idea to have a new body targeted ahead of time. He would let the person live until it was necessary for him to move, of course, he just wanted to know what his options were.

Minnim said none of this. Instead, he tossed the man a glare and dismissed him with a wave of his hand. The man seemed put off by this, but he left, and that was all Minnim cared about.

Finally in peace and quiet, he reclined in his chair and watched the people go by. He didn't know yet whether he wanted someone young or old. Old bodies, such as his current, worked rather well to blend in, because they brought no suspicion when he moved slowly, or walked late at night, or let slip the number of places he had traveled in his youth. It was normal for an old man, and could always be blamed on creeping madness.

But a young body, oh, they were so much more comfortable. In a young body, his fingers didn't ache when he weaved, and he could run and jump and climb in a young body, with less fear of damage. It would last much longer, and be healthier, and much, much more beautiful.

And so, caught up in a daydream of being youthful again, Minnim watched the young faces around the tavern chat about their studies. One particular woman looked so vibrant, so lively, that Minnim had to remind himself not to stare. She was small, short and skinny, but her tiny, pale face was pattered with freckles of every size and shape, the way a child's might be in the late Summer. Her hair was ratty and unkempt, but it didn't look as though it had gotten that way through harsh conditions or neglect. It was ratty because that's the way it was. Minnim brushed a hand against his own failing hair, feeling the rough twigs pointing from his scalp. He so missed his original body.

Perhaps, he thought, just being around this woman would allow him to feel some of what he used to feel as a young, attractive woman. Without another thought, Minnim stood, his black cape fluttering about his ankles. He paced quietly to where the woman sat, extending a single hand palm-up to her.

"Would you be so kind as to gift me your company for a chime, my dear?"
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Minnim
Old Soul
 
Posts: 85
Words: 42585
Joined roleplay: September 15th, 2015, 3:27 pm
Location: Ravok
Race: Nuit
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'Round the Campfire

Postby Kestral on July 5th, 2016, 3:21 pm

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It was a working day, but she had no customers or clients. Her boss didn't mind, on days like these, if she wandered to do her own thing, so long as she stayed inside the Quill's Rest and was ever expectant of a willing customer. She sat, now, in the lobby, common area, of the Rest. Her writing book was spread open before her, the page new and blank. Her silver quill, posed in her hand, already dipped into the open bottle of ink beside her, threatening to drip onto the perfect paper page. Her head was cast forward, sideways, sometimes up. She was looking, in this tired run down shop, for a cast of inspiration somewhere in its dullness. She saw the same people everyday, the same stories and histories. The people who came to the Rest were mostly regulars who enjoyed the calm serenity of the shop, the quiet scratches of quills and restful winds of turning pages. It was a sanctuary, indeed, for those who already knew what they wanted to write. But for the writers who needed a story that was yet to pop into their head, the ones who needed bustle and chaos of everyday life to spin a web, the Rest was not restful, in fact it was rather infuriating.

She hated the slow days. The days she was forced to stay inside the Quill's Rest. Everyday like this was a day to write, a God gifted time, only to be wasted by the blank thoughts of her writer's block. She would look desperately around at the commoners in the Rest, hoping one of them was a new face that would strike her as interesting. And today, although there were some newcomers, they didn't hold the light of a story within them. They dressed normally, their hair and face held no difference than those around them. They carried nothing of spectacle in their arms. She sighed, clinking her quill over her ink bottle to release the tension of the almost dripping ink.

The writer had given up, intent now so star off into her blank page hoping to daydream of cities rising in the paper, love stories dying in the threads. Her daydreams, though, were ruined, as they were interrupted by a voice. Not the voice she had been imaging for a man who confesses his betrayal to his King within the city in the paper, but instead an old, somewhat raspy voice, and the entry of a white, upturned hand into her eye view. Looking up at the intruder that she instant felt some disdain towards, she saw he was an old man. She had noticed him before as he seemed the most interesting of the common group within the Quill's rest. The interest he held was simply because of his age and location. The two did not mix. And the detail of hid garb, a long flowing black cloak in the middle of Summer.

Although the man had previously caught her eye for a moment of interest, the interest did not hold. She had concluded, rather boringly, that the man was old, lost and had found a quiet place to rest hiss aging eyes. His cloak was for the chills his thin bones experienced s they slowly wasted away. And so the man died off in her story, nothing interesting about old age deaths.

What was interesting, however, was that he was addressing her. Not for work, though, as a scribe, he had mentioned nothing of the sort. Although she felt upset at the old creaky man for interrupting her nothingness of a daydream, she also felt insanely curious now that he had provided an unknown into the story. Looking over at her boss who was now behind the counter, she saw he was already avidly viewing their interaction. His eyes held fast to Kestral's and he nodded eagerly, thinking the man wanted her company to talk about business. Kestral felt no need to correct him.

Finding the old man's upturned hand as strange, she took it anyway out of politeness, thinking it was an old age greeting or gesture. She stood, placing her hand in his, willing him to lead them where he wanted to go. As her hand touched his, she almost flinched. The hand was deathly cold. No wonder he held to fast to his cloak in the middle of the heat season. Taking a closer look at the old man's face she saw dark bags under his eyes, as if he had not slept in weeks. She wondered how much longer this old man had to live, for he seemed dead already.

Out of respect for her boss she initiated a question to her companion at the moment, before introducing any other topic. "I am a scribe here, do you require something copied?" Kestral left her quill, bottle and notebook on the table where they sat. She trusted the Rest enough to know no one would take it under the watchful gaze of her boss. "My name is Kestral, I can assure you whatever it is that need copying can be finished in a good amount of time."
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Kestral
Scribe & Writer
 
Posts: 20
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Joined roleplay: May 22nd, 2016, 11:49 pm
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'Round the Campfire

Postby Minnim on August 26th, 2016, 5:16 pm

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Minnim stood completely still for a tick as he tried to piece together her meaning. A scribe. That must be her profession. But...what does she think I have to be copied? I brought no books or letters, clearly.

Instead of voicing his concerns, he instead grasped the girl's hand in his and smiled politely. She flinched away, and he knew she was frightened by his lifeless touch, but he did not acknowledge her fears. It was in his best interest to let it slide, for not everyone was terribly accepting of the Nuit in Zeltiva.

She set aside her tools, as if settling in for a break, and introduced herself. Kestral. The name was familiar, but he could not place it. Perhaps he had read a book which had spoken of a "Kestral", but he could not remember what the name meant.

It was no matter. He would learn all about her soon enough.

He did not offer his own name. He would not want her to gain an advantage if she did not have to. Should she ask, he would answer, but until then, he would remain silent.

"Good morning, Kestral." He said. His old voice was rasping, and so soft it was nearly a whisper, but sharp enough to be heard. "It was not copying that brought me here, if I am to be honest with you. I only wished to speak with you awhile."

Here he paused. He had not thought through what he wanted to say to her- only that he wanted to be near her. "You, uh...I've not seen you here. Are you new to Zeltiva, or is it purely Lhex's doings that we have not met before now?"
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Minnim
Old Soul
 
Posts: 85
Words: 42585
Joined roleplay: September 15th, 2015, 3:27 pm
Location: Ravok
Race: Nuit
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Medals: 1
Mizahar Grader (1)

'Round the Campfire

Postby Net on January 28th, 2017, 6:07 pm

Kestral

As it is required for you to pay for your expenses during the season of Summer 512 I cannot grade this currently. Please update your expenses and resubmit for grading.

Sorry for the inconvenience of this.

Minnim

Observation +1
Socialization +1

Lores
Kestral: Works at the Quill's Rest

Sorry for such a lack of experience and lores. There was not much to go off of. Please let me know if I missed something.
I will be handling all Zeltiva related posts on Tuesdays @ 1800 my time *
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Net
Ensnaring
 
Posts: 143
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Joined roleplay: April 29th, 2016, 4:39 am
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