Running your fingers along the wall, you notice the minute details of the glittering crystalline structures making up the smooth stone. A tiny tingling feeling skitters up your arm.

"It is rather quiet when the Chasers or the supervisors are not here," Chantille says. "Imposing, is that so? This is a simple place. Better works of architecture worth visiting would be the Academe, or the Institute of Straum. It is also important to mention that this place is not open to the public, I suppose."

The hallway opens up into a vast, circular room where the floor gives way to a pool of still water, deep blue and seemingly endless. The two of you continue on a walkway above it, supported by arching columns of white stone so delicately carved you feel like it would crumble under any weight. At the centre of the room is a circular platform etched with geometric carvings.

Chantille raises her hand again, and the platform beneath you hums to life. Light begins to race through the etched paths like liquid flowing in from the edges, and soon, without a sound, the platform begins to rise.

When you round the corner, a gust of hot wind slams into you, pushing you back. You raise your arms ahead of you to brace yourself and dig your heels in, feeling yourself slip against the pavement. When it is over, you lower your hands. The air is full of ash, lazily drifting like rainfall.

Ahead of you is a plaza, surrounded by a great many buildings, all burning and breaking. A beam of wood tears apart from a roof as you watch, slamming into the ground below. The large crashing sound you had heard earlier was probably from the biggest building in the centre - a building with a tall, sloping roof that had just lost half of it, the metal crumpling and melting in the flames. The spire above it all holds a bell, and as if in slow motion, it topples.

You watch it fall, swimming its way down through the ashes, the white flakes parting before it. It hits the stone with a clang, a mournful last ring.

You are startled out of your fixation by screams and cries. There are people running around. People trying to get to cover, trying to leave the plaza, on one end of the space. On the other end of the space are other people, surging forth between the debris, hands clutching weapons. A few of them bear no weapons, flames licking up their wrists instead.

Link: https://www.sylestia.com/forums/?thread=99346&page=14#139 Author: Aphelion Time Posted: 9/26/2021 at 2:31 PM "So she knows what a cavewalker is," the man, Koshner, says. The Matriarch nods in acknowledgement, then rests her chin on her hands. "Waking up in the middle of a field, following scouts, finding our camp. Very strange circumstances. I must say, you would have received a better reception if you had walked over to us like an honest, lost traveller." After a pause, she says, "let us make our oaths and pass judgement on this situation." Errant slams the book shut, dropping her pen obnoxiously on the table. She looks like a child, acts like a child, yet nobody moves to reprimand her, and nobody so much as reacts when she leaps out of her chair and vaults over the table. She springs down the platform until she stands in front of you. With a click of her fingers, an inferno swirls inches before you, blazing heat drawing sweat to your skin. You flinch, but Errant doesn't move at all. "Swear that henceforth your words will be nothing but the truth," the Matriarch's voice rings over the blast of fire before you. "Else may the flames consume you whole."

"I swear that I am telling the truth," Crystal repeats, "and that I will tell the truth. The only reason I knew what that creature was is because one of people who killed it said what it was. And I'm sorry about not approaching the camp where I'm from it's extremely dangerous to do that if the camp is hostile they'd kill the traveler. Let the flames judge my words, let it see that I'm telling the truth."

Link: https://www.sylestia.com/forums/?thread=99346&page=15#142 Author: Aphelion Time Posted: 9/26/2021 at 3:10 PM When you round the corner, a gust of hot wind slams into you, pushing you back. You raise your arms ahead of you to brace yourself and dig your heels in, feeling yourself slip against the pavement. When it is over, you lower your hands. The air is full of ash, lazily drifting like rainfall. Ahead of you is a plaza, surrounded by a great many buildings, all burning and breaking. A beam of wood tears apart from a roof as you watch, slamming into the ground below. The large crashing sound you had heard earlier was probably from the biggest building in the centre - a building with a tall, sloping roof that had just lost half of it, the metal crumpling and melting in the flames. The spire above it all holds a bell, and as if in slow motion, it topples. You watch it fall, swimming its way down through the ashes, the white flakes parting before it. It hits the stone with a clang, a mournful last ring. You are startled out of your fixation by screams and cries. There are people running around. People trying to get to cover, trying to leave the plaza, on one end of the space. On the other end of the space are other people, surging forth between the debris, hands clutching weapons. A few of them bear no weapons, flames licking up their wrists instead.

The panicked cries filter slowly into Gens consciousness, all of a sudden snapping her back to reality as her shocked haze crystallizes into vibrant reality. The scene is chaos, moving faster than she can comprehend as she tries to identify who needs the most help.

The fire-users catch her attention first, did they set the fire? Or are they stopping it? Are there people stuck in the debris? But the people in the most dire need seem to be those fleeing so Gen cuts directly towards that side of the square. She scans the plaza for exits, trying to spot streets wide enough for people to walk down without getting too close to the crumbling buildings, or small alleys that aren't on fire yet.

Hurrying to the back of the crowd, she starts corralling smaller groups of ten or fifteen people, directing each group down a different street. She tries to speak assertively, hoping to sound in control despite the smoke and ash filling her lungs with every breath. Hopefully the crowd can spread out and not clog up a single exit, so everyone can escape faster.


(tell me if I'm putting too much action into a single post and I can slow down)

Link: https://www.sylestia.com/forums/?thread=99346&page=15#141 Author: Aphelion Time Posted: 9/26/2021 at 2:46 PM Running your fingers along the wall, you notice the minute details of the glittering crystalline structures making up the smooth stone. A tiny tingling feeling skitters up your arm. "It is rather quiet when the Chasers or the supervisors are not here," Chantille says. "Imposing, is that so? This is a simple place. Better works of architecture worth visiting would be the Academe, or the Institute of Straum. It is also important to mention that this place is not open to the public, I suppose." The hallway opens up into a vast, circular room where the floor gives way to a pool of still water, deep blue and seemingly endless. The two of you continue on a walkway above it, supported by arching columns of white stone so delicately carved you feel like it would crumble under any weight. At the centre of the room is a circular platform etched with geometric carvings. Chantille raises her hand again, and the platform beneath you hums to life. Light begins to race through the etched paths like liquid flowing in from the edges, and soon, without a sound, the platform begins to rise.

He pulls back his arm sharply, believing an insect has crawled onto him... but there's nothing there. Maybe don't go around touching ominous, ancient runes in future.

"I'll need to see them sometime, then," Falcon decides, "if you rate them so highly."

The supports may look flimsy, but he trusts the phenomenal architecture to hold just fine. A small voice at the back of his head tells him he can't remember whether he can swim.

At first he watches intently as Chantille uses her superhuman power. Or maybe it was some link she had to her peoples' technology? When he has a moment he's going to find out if he can utilise the same systems she can.

Deep in thought, a few seconds pass before he realises: they are ascending.

His feet involuntarily lock to the floor and with great self-control he keeps his eyes skyward. As long as I can't see the drop, it isn't there, his mantra makes its way into his thoughts without hesitation. The nausea which clutches at his stomach, however, he never found a cure for.

Link: https://www.sylestia.com/forums/?thread=99346&page=14#133 Author: Aphelion Time Posted: 9/23/2021 at 3:49 PM "It is," Baje agrees, and her voice grows soft, fond, lacking her earlier enthusiasm and loudness. "There is so much out there, quite a bit of world to explore. It's a shame few see it that way." Then, she is back to her old self. "Any plans for what you're gonna do? Maybe get a doctor to look at your head?" The black cloud is growing closer, clogging up the sky like a malicious oil spill. You see small things flying in and out of the clouds, coughing and spewing even more dust and grime. Planes, much like the one Baje is flying, although they are in better shape despite all the dirt on them. Between the clouds hover massive airships, sails and envelopes billowing majestically, yet stained with smoke. Soon, you see the source of the black clouds. It is the city, coughing up pollution from a hundred different spires, towers, and smokestacks. It's busy down there, you can see even from a distance. There's people swarming the streets, pushing this way and that. Workshops glow with molten light, metal glints under oily lamps.

He kept his eyes on the horizon as he replied to her. "I dont have any idea and no past i can remember, i guess it would be a good thing to see if any of the memories loss can be reversed. Otherwhise well, i guess i have the closest thing to a clean slate as humanly possible so, i'll try to make the most of it." It felt a bit dumb and way too pretentious to say it out loud but no matter what, he would make sure to be remembered this time around so if somthing happened again, he would still have people who knew who he used to be, he didnt wanted to be ereased again.

At the sight of the city, he was mildly disgusted by all the black clouds ruining the vew but said nothing about it thinking that it must be difficult to live in a desert to start with so it may be a small price to pay for the inhabitants. Instead he tryed to focus on the activities going on bellow.

The tunnel is dark, and ambient lighting in a snowstorm was already close to zero. As a result, the further you go the more you are plunged into inky blackness, and you trip on all sorts of rocks and crevices. At least you're not cold anymore; the moment you headed into the hole, it is as if the cold had shut off like a switch had been flipped. Behind you, you hear the telltale whines and howls of the wind, but here, it can't reach you.

Slowly, blood flow starts up in your veins. Your digits and limbs are no longer stiff. You feel like you can finally smell something through your frozen nose. The musty scent of stone is what comes to mind first, and then a strange scent of something burnt - a smell you find that you are more than familiar with, although your memory doesn't permit you to remember. Beyond that, you smell... something sweet? You can't be sure. It might be the burnt smell.

"Ivesh is friend..." you hear the dragon, ahead of you with its scraping as it retracts its head further. "Brings offerings sometimes... food..." What follows is a series of snicking sounds - teeth scissoring. "Who I am... good question." There's a chuckle that threatens to collapse the very tunnel around you, nearly jostling you off your feet. "Ivesh calls me... Inochki."

Discovered new character!

They all look at you expectantly after you finish your little speech. A few moments pass, and that anticipation turns into suspicion. Eyes narrow, whispers fly. The flame burns, searing hot, and you can't help but take a step back. Even a hair further away, the heat drops significantly.

"Lost traveller," the Matriarch says, taking pity on your not know what to do. "Place your hand into the flame."

Errant, before you, breaks into an almost terrifying smile.

Looking around, you notice what you hadn't seen before: the people bear scorch marks along their wrists, some ending at about the wrist, others extending far up their forearm, their shoulders. You can't see whether the people sitting behind the table have marks. Errant is the only one without burns.

Bit late, but, Discovered new characters!

((Don't worry about too much action- go ahead and do a lot of things, I will address all of them in my response. That being said, be careful about how you word it so it doesn't sound like your character is doing the thing straight away. Make sure it's an attempt. I will tell you whether they are successful or not.))

Surging forth into the fray, you realise it might have been a bad idea. Standing in the street, you had been able to see and breathe, but the moment you enter the plaza, visibility drops sharply, and smoke clogs your lungs, making your chest heave with exertion in order to obtain the air you need. Shapes stumble by you in the haze - people, running and screaming.

The fire is roaring, crackling, and more pieces of the building are coming apart, crashing to the ground, shaking the earth.

You have failed the skill check

With the plumes of smog and chunks of debris filling the air with shrapnel, you can't make out any exits. You can't even see the street you had come from, although you know it's behind you, having come from there.

You have partially succeeded the skill check

Your directions fall on deaf ears; the crowd refuses to listen to you, or even acknowledge you, as panicked minds drive panicked body in every direction that isn't obstructed by stones, burning beams, or simmering steel. You are, however, able to convince a few of the less distraught people to head in the direction you had come from, hopefully to the street.

Before you can do more, projectiles fly through the air, leaving a high pitched buzz as they shoot by. Ahead of you, through the smoke, someone falls with a pained groan. One of these projectiles barely misses you, tearing through a loose flap of clothing.