The Gates of Azriel [OPEN][Fantasy RP][IC Thread]

[Rhodevus]

The Gates of Azriel

OOC Thread || IC Thread

A true hero faces grace,
Phylon’s voice, the way it paves.
The Gates of Azriel to there they race,
To reach the entry in the blink of an eye

For mysteries are seen by those who are pure,
And challenges overcome by those who are brave.
Phylon’s power, one will askew,
Azriel’s power, all will crave.

For when the darkness beseeches one’s mind,
And the light of one’s soul beckons the eye
Only the loyal will progress, not left behind,
The wrath of those most evil all will be oust
Language or voice, one will be doused.


“The great symphonies of Aquabar were miserable croaks compared to Phylon's voice. Her music brought forth creatures of the ground and sky towards her, all hoping to listen, slowly being ensnared by the sounds which filled the air. Her voice as her magic, some of the strongest in the entire Empire of Man. For Phylon was anEsnar, a magical being who could use only their voice to command or convince anyone who fell prey. Like any form of magic, it grew more powerful with age; and more unstable. Phylon was considered a miracle at birth, born from the copulation of an Esnar father and a Fyrar mother; those who can control temperature. Her mother was weak throughout the pregnancy, always bordering the gates of the next realm. She was told her child would be born either deformed, or too sick to survive long.
Yet, born Phylon was. Even as a newly born baby, her cries of life brought birds from the sky down to listen, and even the trees turned their mighty trunks to be closer to her. She was a special child. She was gifted, but also cursed…

Phylon spent most of her childhood strolling through her father’s garden or in the forest behind the small house which they lived in together. When her father was away, doing whatever work he was able to do, Phylon played with the faeries and Mynx Elves, which frequented their house. Faeries loved the sounds of pure beings, and Mynx Elves always were found near those of strong magic. A child such as Phylon was bound to have plenty of small creatures to be with all throughout her young days. She thought of them as her little children and pretended to care for them, just as she thought a mother would have cared for her young. She never knew her mother, but still, she missed her terribly.

It was with great joy that Phylon took on her father’s requests to travel to the mystic keep of the grandmaster of all magic; that both ancient and new man. A man who had lived centuries passed, and would outlive all. For he, that purest and great Azriel the Angelic had heard of young Phylon’s gift of song, and sought to tutor the most capable Esnar whom had ever walked upon the earth.

It was with great sorrow that Phylon arrived at Azriel’s humble castle, for she had aged many a year in only a few months travel. The world was not right once she had left. For Phylon’s voice was too powerful to wield, and in one as kind and caring as young Phylon, it was too much for her to bear. For on her travels, she passed towns and villages, singing softly, as all those who listened grew enchanted and enthralled. It would be a joyous day and an exciting night, as Phylon sang her songs and danced with the towns folk. But, as soon as she left, it was as if she had ripped their hearts out. They grew weepy and longed for the return of Phylon’s glorious voice. Until, one by one, each village and town would fade into black and charcoal memory.

She urged Azriel, greatest of all being to remove her curse. Return her to happiness. She begged and pleaded for five days and five nights before Azriel the wise and magnificent acquiesced. Using all the power he could summon, he withdrew the talent and magic from Phylon, until she was no longer able to speak.

It pained Azriel to see Phylon as she was, the purest of humans, destroyed by the greatest gift in the history of magic itself. For after absorbing her magic into his own mind, he went into hiding. It is said by some that he still lives to this day, trying to find a way to return Phylon’s magic but in a more stable form. But until he succeeds, he locked her power away; her voice itself into a pendant made of bronze and ruby, hidden from all those who seek to use its power. It was with a heavy heart that he withdrew from the world, and a heavier heart that he saw Phylon finally perish, unable to live with, or without her curse.

Some say he grew mad with frustration, unable to break the unsolvable problem. Some say that he remains a kindhearted man, broken by grief. Some even say that such a man as Azriel never existed at all. But all say this; that the Gates of his once great keep house the most powerful magic of all.”
-Passage from the Gates of Ariel

”Some say Azriel was a man, born to be the start of a new legacy. Others believe him to be those most powerful of creatures. Those most ancient of beings. A Cuno Elven King who was cursed with the inability to perish by age or sickness. Little is known about the greatest of the magic-wielders whose name bares the Gates. The holy source of magic for those most talented and gifted. A place which had once been held in festivities and grace had fallen so gracefully from the mind of those people who it is believed granted them their most sacred gifts.

The Gates of Azriel, an archway to the world beyond would remain closed until all words written in the halls of prophecy were complete. As said by Azriel the most abundant of sorcerers, the beings of Cuno perished by their own hand, for they spoke the words of prophecy and they spoke the great lines which all must abide.
All must be held true, when prophecy is placed before view.”

Day 1
Senfrid Budang
Port Attune - The Kingdom of Man
“Get out of here!” Senfrid slid across the top of a market stall, throwing the cheaply crafted wares onto the hard cobbled floor, breaking and shattering into unusable pieces. In his arms, he was clutching a small leather bag. The contents of it were squirming as he ran through the market center, four armed soldiers chasing behind him. The dark silver shade of their face-helmets glinted in the sun, leaving a smoky mist coating the armour, as magic glared off of them. The soft smells of cinnamon and raspberry hung in the air behind these soldiers, signaling to all those present to hide, for magic was being used.

It mattered little to Senfrid himself, as he caught a large whiff of a cinnamon-y cloud, as a small flaming crossbow bolt flew passed his head and dug itself deep into wooden post, turning a hanging wanted poster of some petty criminal into charred embers and ash. He did not understand the trouble. All he did was ask for a kiss from the daughter of the Duke. He did not even need to use magic to convince her. Well, he did not get the kiss like he was hoping for. The duke interrupted too early. Either way, he got what he wanted.

It had long been said that the duke’s daughter was the greatest beauty in all the kingdom, rivalling that of Phylon the Pure. It was just on a dare that he went to her. But, even with the power of an Esnar, it seemed that all he needed was his natural charm to win her over. How was he supposed to know that she was a Fyrar? Half her clothes burnt up before their lips even touched. What an awkward moment for the two of them. But, as he rounded the bend, passing the local tavern, he lost sight of his pursuers. It would seem that even soldiers of the castle guard got lost in the winding streets of Port Attune.

Senfrid slipped into the tavern, and sat down at an empty table, letting out a deep and satisfying sigh. Suddenly, the door slammed open and the entire tavern grew quiet. Senfrid gulped and took a slow swig of his drink, trying to keep his face hidden behind the mug for as long as possible. How did they know he was inside? Between the two soldiers was a pale faced old man, who was walking on two crooked old legs and balancing on a winding old cane. Dammit, of course they would put a Rantur on this. He thought to himself.

The old man pointed a long finger in his direction. There was no point in continuing, he was caught. He placed the drink down on the table and gave the two soldiers the best smug idiot-faced grin he could. “Well, hello boys. How’re you this fine noon day?”
Both placed their hands on his shoulders. Roughly. “Hey now, no need to be rude. I know when I’m beat.” They did not say a word as they lifted Senfrid up from his chair. Soon after, he blanked out, his last feeling was that of a hard pommel of a blade crashing down onto his head.

---

Senfrid awoke on his hands and knees. He opened his eyes to see a delicately embroidered carpet leading his gaze forward, up six stairs and to a large throne. Seated in the chair was an angry man. Senfrid gulped again, and he knew that today was the most he ever gulped in his long life as a thief and pickpocket. Nobody liked being placed in front of the Lord of Attune himself.

“Rise for the Lord, sir Isaac Brundfallow.” Commanded a soldier standing to his right. Senfrid stood slowly to his feet, not wishing to look the lord in his eyes.
“I have been told that you are quite the pickpocket. And thief. Stealing everything from common food wares, to attempting to steal a kiss from mine own daughter. Maybe you hoped to steal more.”

“Well sir,” Senfrid began with a slight chuckle, “I was just there for a kiss you see-I didn’t get one, I promise- and well, she got kind of… hot? Would that be the best word to use? Well, she has magic. We were just gonna kiss. I never planned for you to catch her with… little on.”

The Lord’s face grew red with either anger or embarrassment, Senfrid couldn’t tell. “Well, with what you did, I can sentence you to hanging. Or worse.”
Senfrid gulped once more. He knew that he was talking about the snow dragon which was kept locked up underneath the keep. It was said that it’s icy breath was worse than being boiled or bunt alive.

“Is there anything else I could do?” Senfird asked sheepishly.
“Fortunately for you. There is. I am looking for someone with your certain… skill set. Shall we begin?” He said with a look of glee.

OOC: Welcome to the IC of The Gates of Azriel! Please open with something about your characters, and tell where they are, and anything else that may seem interesting for an opening post. Let's get this thing started already!

[Rezua]

Day One
3 mile away from Port Ventura

Tal'durem looked up at the sky in order to catch the breeze on his face. Not many believed that his kind had a physical form but they did. They longed for warm sunlight and for cool breezes just as much as other living creatures. Tal'durem's shadowy form seemed to steam off smoke as his horse galloped after Gaelmirth. The elf's eyes were locked on the skies, watching for their prey. Tal'durem heard the roar of the horrid beast, and look up to see what it was they were chasing. A dragon.

The dragon wasn't very big, probably only ten feet long. It certainly wasn't their biggest kill, but this wasn't about sport. Killing this dragon was about doing the right thing. Tal'durem and Gaelmirth had tried to kill this dragon before, but it escaped their traps and attacks. The creature had flown away, enraged and was now heading towards Ventura, a highly populated city. Cities and fire-breathing dragons never mixed well, and since they caused the problem, the elf and the shadow-wrought believed it their responsibility to kill the dragon.

Tal'durem stood up on his horse and looked skyward again. For a moment, the cursed creature wondered what to become. Then, with a smell of iron- like that of blood- he jumped and transformed into a dragon himself. Tal'durem let out a roar and soared up after the rogue dragon. Gaelmirth sighed and strung his bow. He knew that with another foe on its tail, the dragon would try to dive down and cut up behind Tal'durem. At that moment, Gaelmirth would release an arrow into its eye, blinding it so that Tal'durem could flank it.

Just as Gaelmirth calculated, the dragon dove down to try and get behind Tal'durem. Gaelmirth slowed his horse slightly, raised his bow, with two arrows notched and waited to see his target's eye. Gaelmirth inhaled sharply and exhaled slowly. For three seconds he did not breath and then released his arrows. The darts struck true, landing right in the dragon's eye. The creature spun, now flying at Gaelmirth, jaws open, fire beginning to form. In the next instant, Tal'durem's dragon form slammed into the smaller dragon, knocking it to the ground. Unable to see Tal'durem, the dragon flailed and tried to bite at the unseen foe assaulting it. Gaelmirth notched two more arrows and fired at the wounded beast to distract it. As it turned its head to try and look at Gaelmirth, Tal'durem's teeth sunk deep into its throat. It croaked once before dying. As soon as it was dead, Tal'durem changed back into his normal form. He drew a dagger and began to slice into the dragon's damaged throat, to rip strips of it off and eat it. Tranfar magic always left Tal'durem ravishingly hungry. And Gaelmirth always kept his distance, lest Tal'durem be too hungry to recognize his friend.

[Zhaas123]

Day 1
Several hours away from Port Attune
Greref was walking down an old dirt road, the limp had not left him yet. by his side was a bound a gagged man know as Sif "the smile". Greref had been asked to hunt down an Ensar thief who had been swindling the local merchants out of some serious coin what no one mentioned was the fact that Sif was a rat both figuratively and literally. A Transfar he had been cornered a number of times only to slink away as black rat in some crack or into the night. All that was over now three weeks of talking to birds and wandering the woods and he finally caught the thief. Now bound and gagged it was only a matter of time until Sif hanged.

He had tried to talk Greref out of it that worked once it only got his mouth gagged. He tried to use Transfar that got him bounded tighter. know it was only one day until the port would be in sight. "You ready to see the heights" Greref mocked the caged man Sif could only glare and walk. Greref looked down at his leg and thought how three months that's what the healer said and you're out here after 3 weeks. The two kept Walking towards the port.

[Romaleus]

Day 1
Kalsang Ungotin
Port Attune- The Kingdom of Men

It had been thirty days since Kalsang had handed the throne to his older brother before he left on his quest. For thirty days, he had found no clues about who the "Seasons Wielder" was and of his whereabouts. The air was muggy and hot, making it hard for Kalsang to breathe. The dust being kicked up by the passerby assaulted his nose and mouth, leaving them dry. He found it ironic how he found himself in a place with stifling heat and his people were freezing to death. Just about half a year ago, Kalsang's father, the leader of his village had passed away. Right before his death, a massive snowstorm had wiped out his people's crops. Many froze in the arctic tundra air and others of starvation. Kalsang had been declared leader by his father on the deathbed even though he was the youngest of two sons. Lobsang, Kalsang's brother, did not seem very happy when his father didn't give him the position of leader even though he was the rightful heir. Kalsang had desperately searched for answers in the old text when he was encountered by a celestial being. This spirit explained that the only way to save the village was to find a mysterious person called the "Seasons Wielder", who could thaw the snow and cast away the storm. In an effort to save his village, Kalsang had given his position to his older brother who seemed more than happy to take the burdens of lordship. Kalsang had travelled all across the Kingdom of Men looking for anything that could lead him to the "Seasons Wielder". That is where Kalsang finds himself now, looking this mythical character in a stuffy, overcrowded city.

Kalsang walked through the market of the town. He could see Merchants from all over trying to sell ancient artifacts, whether or not they were real, he could not tell. Their faces strewn and filled with delight as they reeled in their next costumer and they began to barter. Garage littered the ground and Kalsang tried hard to avoid stepping in it. So far, Kalsang was not pleased with this foreign environment. He grew up in a small, tidy village called Kaihou. The village really only consisted of one hundred buildings and a large temple rising high on top of the mountain he knew so well. He wasn't used to the heat, the crowds, the merchants, and crime. He slowly strolled down the street, to the side to avoid the constant bustle of caravans. Every once in a while, he would look at his clothes and in his satchel to make sure pickpockets didn't steal anything. He hoped that the two hook swords slung on his back scared away most of them.

Suddenly, a man burst pasted him into a bar. How rude, Kalsang thought to himself. Quickly afterward, he saw two soldiers accompanied by a very old man walk into the same bar. The soldiers exited the bar, but this time were carrying the man to a booked past him. Curiosity got the best of Kalsang and he started following the guards from a safe distance. He followed them up until the entered what seemed to be the largest building in the city and disappeared out of sight.