Durael's House

The living quarters of Azuria. If you want a home in the city, make it here.
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Re: Durael's House

Post by CanadianCake » Thu Nov 09, 2017 4:48 am

"Well, just try not to die a 'orrible death," Ryder said with a shrug, scratching the back of his neck. He smiled at the ambassador with a wide, grin.

"You're loads nicer than I thought you'd be, no offense. But if you ever need me, give a shout. Just a public servant to all, and all that," Ryder began backing away toward the door, clapping his hands in front of him. With a disgruntled hoot, Lysander swooped out of the door as Ryder opened it.

"See you around!" Ryder said with a grin before slowly closing the door.

Then a loud boom shuddered through the area and Ryder's expression turned serious.

"Did that come from the palace?" Ryder asked Lysander, who barked in response. At this, the man disappeared, making his way to his house.
Octavia_Greyye wrote:
Thu Oct 19, 2017 2:21 am
Kill me daddy

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Re: Durael's House

Post by Reyn » Sun Nov 12, 2017 2:08 am

"Believe me, if I was in a sound state of mind, I wouldn't have even let you through the door." Durael muttered "But I suppose there's no harm in seeking you for advice and that. I am somewhat... out of my depth here, at least when it comes to certain things. Enjoy the rest of your evening, sir...".

The door shut behind Ryder as he left, leaving Durael standing alone with Hour staring at him from under the table. He walked over to a chair and sat down, looking down at the pile of cases by the desk that he had yet to unpack. It would be a monumental task, considering the amount of stuff he had crammed in there, but it was one he was willing to put off. Besides, he had more important matters to tend to now, such as his deteriorating mental health and the fact that his journal was yet to be written. Seeing a knife in one of the cases might just be enough to tempt him again.

Durael took out a pen and opened a small leather-bound journal, about half the size of his spellbook. He flicked through a few pages until he came to one near the middle, then put his pen to the paper and began to write.


Azuria, Day 1.

I arrived in the main city sometime in the afternoon, but I ended up reaching my place of residence at sundown. I say 'place of residence' as opposed to 'house' because this stone dungeon more closely resembles the old barracks than what I would call a home. Still, I'm sure it will grow on me. The gods know I've been able to adjust to far more unpleasant environments, and at least this one doesn't have the dying husks of former soldiers groaning at me for their weekly meal.

On the subject of dying husks of former soldiers (namely myself), I was asked by Her Royal Stubbornness, Princess Cynthea, to attend a masquerade ball later in the evening. I had a miserable time. Given what occurred during and after this event, I'm not sure whether accepting her offer was a good idea. I ought to be a bit more firm next time I express distaste towards the extravagant gatherings of the rich. Perhaps it will get me blacklisted. I would be very vocal about my feelings if I knew it would get me blacklisted.

There was a corpse there, who put on a truly fantastic display of what I assumed to be Candlemist. It's a pity he decided to melt into the floor before I was able to run any tests. Candlemist was never really in my scope of interest, but given that I have knowledge on almost all basic magic types, as well as enough books to cover the gaps in said knowledge, I reasoned there was no harm in finding out about more complex and involved magic forms. (Perhaps then that young man in the Selentian Military Library won't call me a
'square' and a 'stuck-up old traditionalist with no regard for the more refined magical arts'... though, quite why I would want the praise of someone who calls magic an 'art' is something I will have to consider).

Though I was unable do anything about the undead gentleman, I was able to get my hands on one of his victims, so to speak.

Gods, I'm writing this like I didn't try to slit my throat a few minutes ago.

I was able to heal one of the victims, and I can safely say that dark-aligned healing rituals work wonders on Candlemist wounds. As for side-effects... watch this space. I have yet to speak to the young woman, following her apparent distress at what seemed to me like a sort of nightmare or flashback... or perhaps her shock was directed at the appalling state of the infirmary.

Never in my 65 years of life have I ever seen a supposed medical facility look so unhygienic. The old barracks are more fitting than that infirmary. My prison of a house is more fitting than that infirmary. The
basement of my prison of a house is more fitting than that infirmary- and, last time I checked, it is barely big enough to fit one set of shelves. A young journalist came my way after the ball had ended and, if I wasn't still reeling from yet another breakdown, I would have written a strongly-worded open letter calling for something to be done. The man told me that not all healers worked in conditions that were as disgusting as that infirmary, but that just leaves me more questions than it does answers.

I feel as though that will be a running theme during my stay here.


Almost as soon as Durael put his pen down, he heard a very loud noise, like some kind of distant explosion. He stood up almost reluctantly, heading towards the door. He may as well investigate it. What else could go wrong?

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Re: Durael's House

Post by Reyn » Thu Jan 11, 2018 12:11 am


Durael was never a morning person.

That should be quite obvious.

The first light of day began to peek through the cracks in the dusty curtains and fall across the ambassador's face, causing his eyes to twitch from the sudden exposure. He turned over, groaning quietly into the scrunched-up shirt he was using as a makeshift pillow and tried to sleep, but the damage was already done. In a state of half-consciousness, he pulled the thin blanket back over his head in some last-ditch effort to block out the sun and get at least some rest. He didn't have anything important that day, right? A lie-in wouldn't be too hard to ask for, right?

Still, even if he did get the extra time, he doubted he would have been able to sleep. A guilty mind never rests well, even though it had been so long. He really should learn to move on.

After several hours of turning over and avoiding the sunlight, Durael was eventually pushed out of bed by Hour, who had began clawing at him again and meowing loudly for food. This was how his mornings usually started back in Selentia, except there he also had the Empress to deal with. With a loud, heavy sigh, he dragged himself over to the wooden counter in the kitchen and began preparing Hour's breakfast, as well as taking a small piece of bread for himself to eat as well. Of course, Hour didn't stop bothering him until she got her meal.

Durael's energy hardly picked up once he had eaten. He moved around the house as if he weighed a thousand tonnes, slowly washing and getting dressed at about half the speed a normal person would. Once he was prepared, he stepped outside, making sure to keep the door firmly locked so that Hour couldn't get out.

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