from the woods > a medieval werewolf role play > o & a

[.:Friday_The_13th:.]

𝕵𝖆𝖘𝖔𝖓 𝕸𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖙
𝖂𝖔𝖑𝖋 - 𝕭𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖘𝖒𝖎𝖙𝖍 - 𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖘: 𝕸𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖍 𝕺'𝕸𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖞
Moriah, the name rolled off her tongue and he was nearly ashamed he had forgotten it. His golden eyes scanned her face as she spoke, while he reached a hand up to scratch at the underside of his jaw.
"Aye, Jason works just fine." He replied with a warm tone, much more mellowed than his hurried apology. "The forge is fine, been busy of late mostly." He said and threw a half side glance back in the direction of his forge, smoke rolling from it's chimney as he could see.
"As I recall you're a castle maiden, what brings you to a market?" He asked her while adjusting his grip on the bloodied tan sack, wrapping the fabric around his hand to contain a grip on it while he stood and chatted with the much smaller female.
Moriah was near a foot and half smaller than him, he knew he was a rather large male but her small size almost gave him a feeling of fear. As if he even looked at her too hard she'd break, which he knew was dumb, she was probably a whole lot tougher than she looked, but to him it was comparing a twig to a tree. Jason dusted one hand off on his thick work pants, which had extra padding to protect his legs from hot iron or sharp tools, not to say Jason had a lot of scars already, but he figured he didn't need anymore.

[Scorpioness]

Gehuil Asenah

[29 years] [werewolf] [male] [citizen/rouge] [location: marketplace] [tags: open]

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Gehuil somehow menaged to find a place for himself here, it took around 3 month for him to finally settle in. He was now living in a small hut at the suburbs, having wandered most of his life he was used to not having much thus making his abode look humble, yet cozy enough to stay. When he got here he started a small garden, it wasn't enough to sell, but for someone living only by themselves it was more than enough, also good thing was that behind the hut was growing a wild plum tree.

Gehuil was in good mood today... two days ago he finished making a simple chicken coup, all with the intention that he will buy 2 or 3 birds. Despite living here for some time already, most locals still were wary of him... For them he was an odd fellow, his black hair had clearly white streaks while he still was considered young and he was silent all the time, it seemed to creep out some people. Also he still was wearing his old robes, which were so diffrent from the usual fashion of Fordaemdur citizens, sorry but he felt uncomfortable in their weird kind of revealing robes.

As he entered the marketplace he immadietly saw, but before that he heard two vegetable stall owners having a very heated argument over who had better carrots... It was looking very silly for passerbies and most people didn't seem to pay mind to that yelling, they were having the same argument daily also both stall owners were more bark than bite. It was still early for him to comfortably open his small stall. Gehuil was mainly selling some small handcrafted trinkets and jewelry, maybe these things weren't made from very expensive matrials like gold, gems or ivory, but they were made well enough, showing exellent skills, also the price was fair enough for trinkets crafted from common materials. When there weren't customers interested in his carft, Gehuil was playing on his flute - it was ordinary wooden flute, yet the notes where not familiar to local people, but pleasing to listen to. Someone would sometimes throw a coin or five for his playing, but that was it, since he mainly focused on crafting trinkets...

[InfectedHau]

Edelheide Fenn||Princess of Fordaemdur||Castle Town||Tagged: Svala

Svala Holt. This was a problem. While she appreciated the smith's loyalty in this instance, she couldn't really say as much. They had only interacted briefly, but she couldn't risk her voice being recognized, or her equipment for that matter. her armor probably wouldn't be an issue, but there was no way a smith as skilled as Svala wouldn't recognize weapons she'd made. Not to mention that if it came down to a fight there was no guarantee her identity would remain hidden. Either she could continue on, and hope Svala got bored before she got back to the palace, or she could try and subdue the blacksmith another way. Under her cloak, Heidi's hand went to a row of needle-pointed darts, tucked into individual grooves on the inside of her bracer. While they could be tipped with any number of poisons, these darts in particular were filled with a mild sedative, enough to knock someone unconcious for a couple hours. Ideally to bring any potential conspirators to where they could be safely interrogated and then disposed of, but this would be another good use. It would be a lie to say that she didn't want to, either, doubtless the world would appreciate a break from the boorish woman. Plus, there were no guarantees she'd leave Heidi alone long enough to slip away.

In one fluid motion, Heidi slipped a dart free of its housing, pivoted on one foot, and whipped the projectile at Svala's neck. It wasn't as good a throw as she would have liked, mainly becuase she was string to avoid moving her cloak too much. Her shortswords were sheathed at her back, but she still didn't want to risk the blacksmith getting a good look, she wouldn't have been surprised if she'd been able to identify them as her own handiwork from the pommels alone.

[Meekins12345]

❀ 𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓱 𝓚𝓪𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓭𝔂 𝓞'𝓜𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓮𝔂 ❀
{female|human|domestic servant}
{Tags: Jason Mormont | Mentions: None | Location: Marketplace}
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Those chartreuse eyes seemed to lock onto the man she was speaking to, giving him her full attention. She couldn't help but idly note his eyes were of a golden color, something of which she had never seen before, but nevertheless found rather interesting. His warm reply had a soft smile pulling upon the maid's lips, she soon nodding to the man. Her gaze kept upon him as he responded to her questions as she shuffled the bag on her back a bit due to it's growing heaviness. Nevertheless, she made no point in indicating such a thing to her current company.

His question to her soon had her flashing him a quirky little half-smile as she hummed slightly. "Errands. The royal chef be needin' a few things and asked one of me fellow maids to get them for him. She didn't really want to, so she asked me and I said I would. So that's why I'm here." It was her turn to cast a glance toward another stall, one that was particularly popular with the people since the older woman there was selling eggs by the dozen. "I need to get some eggs yet, then I'll be headin' back to the castle to drop these things off and get back to me work." A sigh escaped her then. "Work never really ends... But at least it keeps us out of trouble, aye?"

[zhelaniye]

RONAN FENN!! "history repeats itself..."
[35 years] [human] [male] [king of fordaemdur] [no romantic involvement] ═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════

frejya's judgement of his physical condition was astute; his deterioration did hinge on a sleeplessness so severe that he could feel it in his bones; in the sting of the skin, pulled taught by inflammation, beneath and around in his eyes; in the dull buzz of simultaneous nothingness and everythingness droning in his gradually failing brain. but despite his fatigue, and despite his every attempt to assuage it, the relief of unconsciousness was elusive and had proven to be more so since his father's death, as freyja seemed to have observed.

ronan looked up and at freyja again just in time to watch her expression of scrutiny morph into one of reassurance, and he continued to watch her as she worked through the challenges he presented her. ronan found himself beset by a cacophony of sensations under the physician's discerning gaze. at once, he felt a pressure in his head, incited by his feeble efforts to keep pace with he and freyja's interaction; a pressure in his chest, incited by the slow swell of shame that was ever growing as she forced him to acknowledge his current state of being, and paradoxically, a sense of alleviation and comfort, incited by her efforts to calm him. the economy of fordaemdur would certainly take a hit if its drunkards came to realize how similar the effects of exhaustion could be to the effects of alcohol, if pushed to the extreme.

and then came the question that he'd been expecting her to ask, but nonetheless hoping that she would not. of course, ronan did not fault her for asking it, despite his hopes to the contrary, because it was absolutely her place as the kingdom's physician to involve herself in his life at least to the extent of ensuring he was fit to lead, if not more so, but it did give him pause. in the silence that followed, he observed freyja's expression shift again, this time to something along the lines of repentance, before it all fell out of view as she dropped her head.

once his mind and body had caught up to the various stimuli in his immediate internal and external environments, ronan shook his head in near bewilderment at freyja's offer of an apology. although he was undoubtedly troubled by having to answer to it when he had no good answer to give, ronan perceived nothing but good intentions in her questioning and that made it anything but prying as far as he was concerned.

"you owe me no apology, doctor payne," he said, rather firmly for a man in as frail as a condition to which he had allowed himself to sink. "but i do think you know my answers to your questions already. i spend much of my days working, and when i am not working, i am preoccupied with thoughts of work and of my family's affairs. i have had little success escaping from it all since my father--" ronan exhaled sharply through his nose and briefly bowed his own head for a moment, surprised by the sudden onslaught of emotion. he squeezed his eyes shut and bitterly bit back a tremor that was threatening to grow in his voice before he continued: "since my father's passing."

ronan swallowed and raised his head to look at freyja again. he did what he could with his partially uncooperative facial muscles to mask the lapse in the more practical approach to his work and his family that he had been trying to take in an effort to maintain the control over those things that his father had established prior to his death, but it wasn't overly successful. his bloodshot eyes betrayed him, as they often did when he got into one of his more vulnerable states, and unfortunately for him, those seemed to be a far more frequent occurrence these days than they had ever been before.

[mentions: markin fenn] [tags: freyja payne] [location: the castle entrance > the inner yard]

[.:Friday_The_13th:.]

𝕵𝖆𝖘𝖔𝖓 𝕸𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖙
𝖂𝖔𝖑𝖋 - 𝕭𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖘𝖒𝖎𝖙𝖍 - 𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖘: 𝕸𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖍 𝕺'𝕸𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖞
Jason let out a small laugh, "Aye." He agreed, "It really does, but that's the better part of working I guess." He stated with a light smile, he could feel their conversation ending and in a part of him it made him a bit sad, he wanted to learn more about the castle maiden, hear her tone. The back of his mind questioned himself, he knew what he was and he couldn't smell the same doggish scent coming from her. She wasn't like him, but he honestly didn't care, she seemed like someone who would make a good friend. Jason quickly realized he was staring for a moment before he cleared his throat.
"Well, if the..uh... Chef is waiting on you, I don't want to get you in trouble." He stammered out quickly, he ran an ashen hand through his black hair.
"If you uh. Need anything from the forge or... Just want some company. You're always welcome, my door is always open to you." He offered with a large grin, almost showing he had a playful or goofy side behind the hardened blacksmith facade he put up. He looked down at her and held out his hand to offer her a farewell.

[vulture,]

Svala Holt
| Female | Werewolf | Blacksmith | Pack Subordinate |

In a turn of events that was a shock to no one but Svala, her own ego would be her undoing. The sass filled posture she had adopted was not conducive to defense and as the hooded figure whipped around with the speed of a flying arrow, the smith had little time to react. Her arms were tangled around one another and her feet dared to trip her if she leapt. While Svala was trained in how to wield just about every weapon to ensure she could smith them with the proper balance and index, she was not trained in combat or the common sense of not leaving yourself vulnerable. She was a werewolf; She much preferred tooth and claw over steel. Instinct kicked into action and she managed to swipe her hand up towards the flying projectile and block her neck. It was but a moment later that she stifled a growl and swiftly snatched up her dagger, leaping forward with an agitated shout.

Except... her blade fell to the ground with a metallic clatter as her arms grew warm, then tingly, then completely numb. The poison spread quickly from the dart that had found a new home, not in her neck, but in the arm that had blocked it. Svala's eyes went wide with panic as her legs gave next, collapsing to the cobbled ground beneath them. Her mind raced, screaming to transform, flee, fight, anything. But she couldn't do a thing. Her blinks became slower and longer as she helplessly watched her target gone attacker. This was where it all ended, she was certain, in a dark alley. But wait-- she could've sworn she saw a flash of something on the pummel of the figure's blade, a brandish not unlike the ones she stamped into the finest of her crafts. It was her signature and suddenly the entire structure became so familiar. In her last seconds of consciousness, she met the gaze of the figure, "Princess...?" her speech was a slurred mumble then the world around her faded into blackness.

| Tags: Edelheide | Mentions: xx | Location: Castle Streets |

[InfectedHau]

Edelheide Fenn||Princess of Fordaemdur||Castle Town||Tagged: Svala->Open

Heidi stood over the smith's insensate form, a knot of dread settling in the pit of her stomach. Reaching down, she plucked the dart from Svala's arm, rolling it between her fingers before placing it back in its receptacle.

"Damn."

The last word Svala had uttered before the sedative claimed her hung over Heidi's head like a swordpoint. This was bad. Very bad. If the smith went to anyone with news that the princess had taken to wandering the town dressed as a common rogue, it would ruin nearly twenty years of training and planning. Certainly, not many would believe her, but she was a respected member of the community, and her word carried weight. Some people would listen, more than she could afford. Heidi's mind raced, searching for a solution. There was the obvious one, slit her throat here and be done with it, but as appealing as it was Svala was too prominent a figure to simply disappear. The royal family went to her for their weapons, and if she turned up dead there would be an investigation. The last thing she needed right now were Captain Drake's men making her work even more difficult. A blade wouldn't serve here, but words might. Svala could only have gotten a fleeting glance at her weapons, perhaps fleeting enough that she could be made to doubt. After all, why would she, a princess of Fordaemdur, be out skulking around alleyways? It might work, but she would need to cut this patrol short. The sedative wouldn't last forever, and she needed to be back in the castle when it wore off.

Taking a moment to lean Svala up against the wall (she was an assassin, she wasn't uncivilized), Heidi exited the alley and beelined for the palace, fighting the urge to break into a run.

[HauntedMansion]

Leon Hilith

He/him - human - guardsman - loc: marketplace - tags: Gehuil

Leon walked along the outskirts of the bustling marketplace, eyes keen to observe the various faces he passed, offering the occasional nod or friendly smile to any gaze he managed to catch. You could tell a number of things from a persons reaction, whether they felt comfortable around the guard, perhaps they have nothing to hide, or how they want it to seem that way. Regardless, these were all assumptions, though he has become rather keen on reading people, and he wouldn’t doubt his instincts for a single moment. After all, hesitation in its worst moments could cost lives, or even his own. He took the necessary liberties in preventing those kinds of decisions, looking for trouble before it occurred, while receiving the privilege of meeting a few interesting individuals on his way. Of course Leon would listen to someone talk about radishes far longer than could even imagine, anything to ensure the peoples faith in the guard.

Resuming his stroll along the line of various stalls, Leon’s ears picked up a soft melody, catching him rather curious, he slowly followed the song to its source. He spotted a man sitting at a small jewelry stall, containing a broader array of products, playing his flute to pass the time. It’s was certainly a pleasing song, unlike anything the guard has ever heard before. Approaching the stall with a smile, Leon takes out two coins to offer, setting them on the counter in front of the man. ”That’s quite a beautiful melody, I’ve never heard anything like it before.”

[montmorency]

❝𝘿𝘼𝙈𝙄𝙀𝙉 𝘿𝙍𝘼𝙆𝙀 ─────────── ( he/him ) ( werewolf ) ( captain of the guard )
( location: marketplace ) ( tags: caine ) ( mentions: none )

xxDamien softly snorted as he noticed Caine's apprehension after being surprised by him. The kennelmaster had such a sweet tooth known to his friends, but he was still so embarrassed to admit it half the time.

xx"Well, I was just taking a stroll through the market, as one does on such a decent day," Damien said, gesturing to their surroundings. His expression hardened slightly as he continued. "Dealing with my constant royal issues. A normal day, really. What brings you here?" Damien was usually rather cagey with others about the finer details of his work—it was a matter of royal security, after all—but he trusted Caine. Not only was he part of the castle staff, he was one of Damien's closest friends. He'd trust him with his life if it came to it... maybe not the werewolf part, though.

xxDamien laughed at Caine's suggestion regarding him and Tyrus, mentally trying to make the best out of this all too familiar situation. "I have bathed recently, thank you very much. And it's fine. I guess I've just never really been one for dogs, unfortunately. At least he isn't snarling like he used to." Despite Damien's other never-ending sources of anxiety, Caine's dogs kept cropping up. They simply sensed his wolfiness in a way humans could not, often reacting with varying degrees of aggression. Each time they did so, Damien felt as if they were threatening to expose him as a werewolf. If there was one person he least wanted to know of that, it was Caine, a man with a known hatred of wolves. The idea of him discovering that was something Damien dreaded to think about, yet he couldn't help but feel it tugging at his mind from time to time. Thus, each time he encountered one of his dogs, he shrugged off their odd reactions with a note of humor or an acknowledgement of his seeming misfortune with dogs. It was nothing, nothing at all.