A Silent Coda (Closed)

With a suggested standard of two paragraphs or more and dedicated lore threads, this is for the more verbose roleplayer. (10+ sentences per post, on average.)
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UmbraSight
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Re: A Silent Coda (Closed)

Post by UmbraSight » Sat Aug 10, 2019 10:06 pm

Nommée:
Laurent Vardan

Âge:
22

Biographie:
Life had a funny sort of way of working itself out.

The family Laurent was born into were ones who maintained the traditional role of the Watchman; those tasked with watching the edge of the forest and manning the tower-bell. Though, nothing of interest ever quite comes out of the forest beyond a skittish deer, and Coda’a size means that most disputes can be taken care of before a watchman need get involved. So, beyond perhaps the old miller tipping back a bit too much ale again, it is a role that largely exists because custom says it must.

Laurent was the first born to an eventual family of three, and, as traditions are oft to do, the role of watchman was to be passed to him once he came of age. In his formative years he learned the act of swordplay from his father, it was nothing fancy, but oddly efficient for a town which hasn’t required the drawing of a blade for generations.

At the age of ten he began to accompany his father on the rounds he was to one day take, including the day to day maintenance of the bell tower. It wasn’t until his eighteenth year that he took the mantle full from his father, however in the years that followed life followed as it always had.

Coda sleepy and content and the forests beyond still.
//… under her weight the floorboards gave, and she fell into the dark...// Fall of the Aelir Isles, Vol. III

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BanefulMelody
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Re: A Silent Coda (Closed)

Post by BanefulMelody » Mon Aug 12, 2019 2:30 am

Accepted!

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UmbraSight
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Re: A Silent Coda (Closed)

Post by UmbraSight » Thu Aug 15, 2019 10:01 pm

Yay!
//… under her weight the floorboards gave, and she fell into the dark...// Fall of the Aelir Isles, Vol. III

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Quirbles
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Re: A Silent Coda (Closed)

Post by Quirbles » Tue Sep 03, 2019 9:38 pm

Image
Nommée: Bastien Gabraith

Âge: 17

Biographie: Bastien didn't quite know what an annalist was until his parents had placed him under the apprenticeship of one in the wake of their death.

It was a right shite way to go out, wasn't it? A carriage accident off a cliff, about a few hundred meters down until the impact. They must have had a few decent moments to take a gander at their life accomplishments, whether or not they were truly satisfied with the way it all shook out in the end. Given that they were falling through the air like a right pack of damned boulders, their surviving son didn't quite think they were all too happy about their choices and decisions along the way. Was quite lucky the back of the wagon was padded, really-- Bastien was in the back, sleeping his cares away between two cloth crates during the crash.

Funny thing, really. His dream had him falling, falling through the clouded air like a damned squirrel dropped out of the night sky. By the time the sensation was intense enough to snap him out of it, the wagon had already skelped itself off the rocky oblivion which awaited his parents.

But not him.

No, he managed to get a decent view of his parents' strung corpses along the bottom of the precipice, the starry night framing their mutilated cadavers like the borders of a painting pressing down upon the canvas, wood splintering along their bodies like arrows on a field mannequin. He'd taken a decent smash to the head in his descent, sordid as he already was, so the vision of where the bodies went never truly stuck with him; perhaps they'd fallen off their altar of stone into the further depths of the valley. The travelers that managed to recover and heal him stated so. Bastien knew better, though, in the end. It'd always been the way things were.

Two wee birds flitted down upon their shoulders. That much he remembered.

Under the senior annalist-- an old fellow, a friend of his family and grandparents-- the young Gabriath needn't fear much about carriages or heights or birds. That doesn't mean he's still terrified regardless, however-- steep inclines faze him to a relatively excruciating degree, and even the soft tweet of the avian spirits within the trees manage to make his heart skip. For a boy with such an aggressive temperament and foul mouth, he's shaped up to be quite the damned craven.

Of course, there would never be much to fear within the sleepy expanse of Coda. Their religion donned characteristics of the animals he hated with every bone in his body, yes, but nothing ever happened here.

Well -- until the Prima formally kicked it, and the book got passed on down to him.

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