((OOC Note: This is basically just a copied and pasted version of a RP session that occurred with Eresdin at Browne’s Folly, Archet. Both of our characters were not aware of the other’s identity, so this displays a brief introduction. The emotes in bold are my own and the emotes in the original font are the ones by Eresdin. I hope you enjoy the read!))
Among the howling wolves and green planes surrounding the destroyed town known as Archet, there would stand a crumbling piece of architecture that may resemble the emotional tumours that its own surrounding had faced. Despite this, it would still remain a beautifully formed piece of art, even the drastic jolts of emptiness amongst its structure would bless it with a sense of belonging. Branching out to either side, each entrance and diversion toward the top of the ruin was with a simple stone staircase. Reaching the top, the stone carpet would be carved, perhaps sculptured into fine stars, yet it would once more reveal its disasters with hauls of stone now non-existent, as if breaking the history that would be carried in such a piece. There would be a figure, one of a woman, for whom would also be beautifully formed, almost becoming a part of the structure somewhat. Standing near the edge, her arched back facing the entrance to such an expansion. The most evident feature of her, from this specific angle, would be her clothing; it could be seen as mismatched and it would not all combine to be of a perfect harmony. This would be all apart from their colour, each piece being bleached with a dark burgundy. The figure would not seem to be doing anything, simply standing halt, yet the only evident motion would be her chest inflating and deflating, due to her essential breathing methods.
As the Northern wind comes down from higher cliffs and immovable rocks, the extraordinary tall figure walks forth with muddy boots and long yet silent strides, whilst the mighty wind blows his dark green, weathered cloak. As he took the last step of the stairs, he takes a deep yet tranquil breathe just like his tranquil sea-grey eyes catches a strange figure standing still. His black locks of silken hair flourishes out from the sides of his hood, which is a matching colour of his cloak. He takes a few more silent steps forth, and keeps his hands wrapped and leaned on his long sword’s hilt on his side. A questioning, almost inquiring look could be seen on his sad yet proud face, which is mostly shadowed by his hood. As he stands tall and lean on his ground, one curious eye could liken the ruined ‘star’ like figure on the ground of the ruin with the brooch on his chest.
The female figure would’ve remained in her original position and posture for a few more moments, unseen by any person whom would find themselves atop the ruin but her eyes would be closed. Her voice, silky and smooth but merely nothing but a whisper, would express a few words within a somewhat foreign tongue, before she would resume within a more relaxed position. She’d turn, as if to exit her surrounding or to explore further into the depths, yet her gaze would divert toward the hooded and anonymous figure with widened eyes, a brow quirking above her eyelids – dashed with the smallest colour of scarlet red – curiously. Her tongue would no longer express any acknowledgement and most likely no greeting, as it would expectantly remain to soak up the moisture within her mouth. She’d simply stare oddly at the figure, contemplating her own actions whilst she’d await the figure’s own action.
The anonymous body tilts his head to the side slightly, regarding the figure and any possible event shoulder occur. The weathered man would remain on his ground as a statue of old. Soon, he redirects his grey gaze back onto the stranger figure and would speak out: ‘’Who is this, trespasses the land of forsaken?’’ oddly enough to his apparel, his voice sound of noble stock and bright, yet quiet.
She shakes her head immediately after his speech would enter the bleak air about the pair, her eyes rolling circular with somewhat amusement. Taking a stride forward, short but effective, whilst closing the distance between them as she’d lean forward whilst extending her arms toward either side of her, speaking with a surprising soft tone; ‘’You are accusing a free woman of trespassing among free land?’’
He follows her every move with his eyes, soon to be narrowed. He repeats his questions, with the exact same yet more inquiring tone: ‘’… Who is this, trespasses the land, of forsaken?’’
‘’A woman trespasses the free land, of forsaken.’’
He sighs wearily, ‘’As the woman says, she is aware of her deeds. Now, she shall go with peace and leave one with his rest.’’
The accused ‘trespasser’ crosses her arms defensively across her chest, diverting her gaze toward the stone carpet curiously. Once it would return toward the obsessive man, her eyes would be narrowed with a somewhat dangerous and rebellious expression casting over her usual delicate features: ‘’Is this your land? Am I not free to roam where in the like I find most fitting to roam, sir?’’ The use of her noble-like naming of such a man would simple form from his behaviour, for which she’d somehow find amusing.
He furrows her brows and still keeps his gaze darted over her: ‘’For our days have darkened and the spies of greater Evil roam all around… I find it deeply insecure, roaming stranger.’’
‘’And yet here we are.’’
He nods for once slowly: ‘’Aye. But these ruins are my rest place, not necessarily yours.’’ Then sighs wearily again: ‘’And since I do not know you, and plus you did not beer mind manners… The stranger should declare herself first.’’
She quirks a brow, exhaling heavily: ‘’You sound so possessive over something that will never be yours, nor will it never be mine. This could be my resting place, as much as it could be yours. I do not intend to stay here, as I only planned to pray to my love without any.. Rude interruptions.’’ She’d pause, wafting her hand in a circular motion toward him, claiming him to be the rude interruption, before she’d continue with a nod: ‘’I will bid you farewell as a result of this, but I may declare myself.’’ It would be now that she’s stride forward at some pace toward him, yet more so toward his left as she’d intend to reach his side before she’d allow her final words to roll from her foreign tongue: ‘’Huoryl is whom I declare myself to be.’’
He watches her coming forth, but he makes no move, however. His hands remained on his sword’s hilt. He then looks down to her, if she was concerned, now from that range she could see his pale face and misty grey eyes closely: ‘’May the land not be, but the sense of duty is ever and forever will be mine.’’ He then dips his head swiftly: ‘’Travel safe.''
Huoryl does not intend to acknowledge his possessive explanation, or most likely of an excuse to herself, toward the ancient structure. She would therefore continue down the staircase and eventually out of sight.
