Illarion.org

((Open rp, if anyone has any good ideas, or has the faintest idea of what I'm working with. Or hell just send me a pm and we can take it from there))
Escaping through a dark mist, an old looking tall ship emerged from the shadows of night. Bearing noir sails that danced with the wind, the vessel gave off a haunting image to anyone who may have witnessed the sight...

At the forefront stood a man dressed only in black, battle torn clothing. Various straps and chains adorned him akin to a collection of jewelry. He looked on blankly across the land with concentrated curling lips that painted a faint smile. None had seen him leave and perhaps no-one had witnessed his return. Though it was with that smile that he had known how things on the isle would have been during his absence. "Patterns have emerged..." He thought, wiping the smile from his face almost instantly. None knew of his agenda but, in his own mind, they all seemed to be inherently directed by it like puppets led by strings. After all, the source couldn't be wrong, otherwise his return to Gobaith soil wouldn't have been as sudden.

As the boat arrived to shore, he grabbed a rope and attached it to a beam on starboard. Using it to swiftly and securely swing from the ship and land with both feet planted on the island, nimble and cat-like. His welcoming gaze would be a piercing one...

"Perhaps it is time I found a crew for this ship, he jested, or rather the true captain to sail it."

Few days had passed, and there had seemed to be an unsettling wind that blew far colder than once. 'It' seemed to weave in and out of every woodland and countless meadows. Consoling all of the land and haunting the island of Gobaith. It had seemed that the dawning of a new beginning, or perhaps the coming of an untimely and harrowing demise had come. One that seeped from the cracks in city walls, breeding from within locked doors and challenged within inner city ballrooms. Though such attributes hadn't been claimed to be an oddity to the island, a place that boasted a vast history of woe. Though it was certain to most, perhaps, that this storm was one that hadn't haunted the island since some time. A storm that engulfed the land only once a time ago...


"These are the days of storm.."

Since his return, rumors had traveled of many things. Mostly it was mere claims of madness from homeless and drunkards searching mere coin... Others of conspiracy and murder.
"It is good to be back".... Jefferson mused as he sat carving an apple with a red dagger and leaning against a palm tree somewhere on the Sirani isles at dawn. His lifeless shell of a persona seemed to lighten a little as he watched the skin peel from his apple and fall in the golden sand. For once he would reveal some contention, but only for a moment, as he proceeded to divert his eyes toward the figure draped in black and white robes above him.

"Enjoy this rest, Jefferson. You have earned it once, at least... The cloaked figure voice spoke out in a low raspy tone.
"But you must always remember why you are here." It declared, speaking to Jefferson with an air of stern authority.
"Mh, you again?" Jefferson sneered as he slowly lifted his head fruther, offering the figure a faint smile and nod on arrival.
The cloaked figure soon released a pale arm with many faded scars from his robes, dropping a rolled parchment by Jefferson's feet.



After looking over the parchment curiously, Jefferson stroked frail fingers over his chin, looking from the parchment and back to the figure.
"..Mh, this some sort of map?..." He asked plainly, with little effort given to his words as usual. At this, the figure knelt by Jefferson, lining his aged finger over the lines in several orders. For a moment the lines began to emerge from the parchment and alight, then so slowly retire down again and burn as holes into the parchment.
"This, Mr Gray, is the holy trinity... The figure instructed, before standing as if nothing abnormal had just happened.
"....Mh... Jefferson sighed, slicking his black ruffled hair back with one hand. "... Suddenly she calls... Curious much... Jeff begins, as he steps upright and begins to pace around.
"Comfortable until now yes?...*nods*... But this parchment puzzles me still...
What makes you think I shall know how to reach this...Trinity?"

The figure draped in dark and white robes stopped Jeff in his tracks, and gestured the shape of a diamond in the air before stating "It is not about finding... But collecting...
The diamond Jefferson... You were born to walk this path."Walking away, the figure proclaimed:"It is no map, Mr Jefferson... It is a key."

Jefferson sat alone quietly in one of the many rooms in Irundar, contemplating and questioning many things. He had been there for some time, dealing with a pack of playing cards by a table and aligning them. Placing them on top of one another to build a tall solid structure and, by this time, only one card remained to be placed.
The old door to the room creaked open very slightly, a blunt draft followed in its wake and filled the room with a cool embrace. Narrowing his eyes slightly and with a blank gaze, Jefferson drew the final card he held toward the table and looked around with a vague curiosity...



"... Placing such trust in a fellow 'judge' can prove to be unwise, Mr. Gray... An old croaky voice spoke softly through the darkness, echoing in the room. The draft seemed to drift toward the opposite side of the table in which Jefferson was sitting. Arching his mouth to a weak smile, Jefferson withdrew his attention from the opened door and resumed his attention back to the card structure in front of him.

" Perhaps... Perhaps... Jefferson replied, adjusting some cards on the structure.

" You mustn't let your obsessions with Nargun's chance cloud your visions on this island... The time for games has ceased... You have made much progress toward the trinity and must stop at nothing...

Jefferson flicked the card he flirted with from the table, catching it in his hand.
" I play no games, seer... My intentions lay solely with the island, and what it expects it from me and the project."

"You must continue to garner coyness toward the darkness, and provide ambition toward the light Mr. Gray... Your time for significance has come..." The voice proclaimed in an icy tone.

Jefferson's eyes reflected different shades of grey in the dim light that now flickered through the gap in the door. Examining the card he held in his hand, he raised it gladly toward the top of the stacked cards. Placing it above all others and completing the structure.

"King of diamonds..."

Hidden away in a desolate chamber, the location of which he dare not share with any mortal being, bides a humanoid with a diamond scar. Content in these four walls he squats over a filth laden floor with only a brigade of small stick twigs for company. There is no light, there is no disturbance, only the sound of his heavy, rhythmic breath that escapes his pointed nose. Every now and after that he will move the sticks into an arranged pattern, whispering and chirping whilst he carefully constructs his plans. Everything has a purpose, nothing is void of meaning. Some of the sticks appear to have white thread loops and others with blue.

To his left lays an old parchment, withered by travel and time. He still held on to it after all these years. This 'key'. This 'prophecy'. And just like the new dust and muck that had since established it's place on the parchment so did his realizations or, at least, his hypothesizes of the tales it told. He remembered the robed being, the speak of prophecy, everything. Nothing was left out, nothing was cast to the side. It all had to make sense. All of it. And now, it did. To him, these weren't just some scribblings, but indeed a map of sorts. One written before its time. Regardless of what the robed figure declared! Not of the fallen Gobaith, as previously believed, but the new world. The key phases to awaken the inevitable necropolis and demise of all mortal entities in Illarion.

The Flock wrote:

Finally, he tilts his head as though to begin to turn as an ethereal voice harks. His dull, cataract spoiled eyes widen to greet the darkness but he doesn't look back in any haste.

Startled, Cay jumped hearing a voice suddenly behind her as thoughts trailed far away from her surroundings. This place still required some getting used to...the long nature walks from Trolls Bane to Greenbriar with an occasional visit to the harbor or the druid house was so restful and peaceful affording plenty of herbs to gather and views of the wildlife was now a distant dream. There wasn't anywere to go here in this new land that wouldn't have her meeting Cherga at the end of the trip, so her attempt at farming and baking seemed a second alternative to her desire for freedom.

Berating herself for reacting uncivil to the man, Cay turns to give him a warm smile and a blush of apology

"Greetings to you also Sir"

Unable to see much of him due to his robe though carried some long weapon she knew nothing about, Cay gave a short curtsy. Being of short stature, height about the same as a tall halfling, her shoulder length brown hair becoming frizzy in the heat of the day with an occasional grain seed finding a purchase, she shook her head at his question.

"Sorry Sir, I don't make many potions. I am a druid but a poor alchemist..."

Cay's voice then quickly trails off as the man who introduces himself as Yargson throws back his hood. His pale, wrinkled skin hangs loose and unemotional on his skull. Apparently the alchemist he wished to meet had arrived, but also called him by a different name. Cay elected to call him the name introduced to her as she wandered even closer to him speaking in a soft voice.

"I'm not sure the potions can help, but there could be some old druid recipes I could research.. may I touch?"

Quickly pulling her hand away in the process of trying to touch the skin and backing away at the man's vehement denial Cay gives an embarrassed apology with an extreme blush..

"Excuse me Sir, my training...."

Taking her leave of the two as she moves toward Runewick with a bag full of grain, Cay waves in acknowledgement of his desire to contact her again if in need of a druid. Next stop, the library. She was determined to research his condition, or as much as she knew of it.