The Troupe

Who doesn’t want to run away to the circus?

Open for Play
A large island and a few smaller isles in the Arova River, this hub of nomadic wick life is home to the annual Wick Festival.

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Sarinah Lissden
Posts: 139
Joined: Thu Mar 29, 2018 3:42 am
Topics: 19
Race: Wick
Location: Old Rose Harbor
: Passively invested
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
Writer: Raksha
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Sun Jun 17, 2018 7:30 am

22nd Hamis, 2718
SURWOOD | EARLY MORNING
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You should have just stayed at the Rose with the other tumbles.

Sarinah sat before the low burning campfire of the Red Crow encampment, staring into the flames as the smells and sounds of morning drifted to her ears. Children already up with the dawn, eager to start the day and play with their friends. Friendly faces offering breakfast to people walking by. Even the softer sound of people stirring, coughs and murmurs, sizzling of cooking food and smells of tea. It all seemed so...strange.

So at peace.

The brunette couldn’t sleep, not properly. Her father’s bitter words and violent actions had swum around in her mind over and over during the weeks since their confrontation, biting at her thoughts and burning in her ears. Ultimately she had woken earlier than the sunrise, rolling to watch the passive as he slept, admiring the gentle rise and fall of his chest with a soft smile. Slipping carefully from sheets and leaving the kint she and Tristaan had shared, the witch seated herself by the fire with her arms on her bent knees and mahogany gaze a million miles away.

Tribe is everything.

Closing her eyes, the dancer moved to rest her forehead against her arms, fighting the hurt anger that simmered within. Part of her wanted to just continue on as though they’d never spoken to her parents, to live an illusion of what could have been. The other part wanted to find the stubborn older Lissden, to throw him to the mercy of wick judgement. He'd been run out of Surwood after their unpleasant encounter, and that had been that. She'd not attempted to find him, and kept their final reunion to herself.

“...no wait! Stars, I...” The sound of a desperate voice wafted above the morning noises, that of a young man pleading with a clearly out of sorts young woman. Sarinah lifted her head and turned towards the voices, watching as a bright pink haired young woman stomped her way through the waking wicks, a hastily packed suitcase in one hand. Trailing behind her was a tall man with sandy blonde hair and a deep golden tan. He wore nothing more than a bedsheet wrapped around his athletically muscled torso, and was struggling to keep even that on.

“I’m sorry alright?! Clarabelle was just playi—“ The pink haired woman spun on her heel suddenly and poked an angry finger into his bare chest.

“Taegan Jack, that beast tried to kill me!” The blonde man scoffed, dragging a hand through his hair as her voice jumped an octave.

“She’s not a beast Stars, just a big kitten. She’d never really hurt yo—“ Stars threw her hand up in the air, making a sound of disgust.

“You treat that chrove better than anyone! She can do nothing wrong in your eyes. I’d say you love her more than anyone too, but I don’t think you could love anything more than yourself.” Taegan pouted, clearly offended by the remark, but held his tongue as Stars continued to rant. From the direction they’d come from, an older man approached, short and rather round with a bald head and thick handle bar moustache.

“Wait! Stars wait! You can’t leave! What about the show?!” The pink haired woman looked around the blonde to stare at the older man with a laugh.

“The show?! Balder, there is no show. You’ve got a tent and a chrove, two immature boys and an old washed up clown. That’s not a show, that’s a sorry excuse for a street act at best. I’m going back to Vienda. I should have never left. Taegan, choose now. It’s either Clarabelle, or me.” She huffed, pushing a bright lock out of her eyes. The young blonde stared at her, before looking at Balder with a shake of his head.

“I’ll see you back at the tent then.” He said without hesitation, turning and stomping away, leaving Stars with a look of shocked anger on her face. She glared at Balder, who ran a hand over his head and down his mustache before sighing.

“We need you Stars. I need you. It’s not a circus without an acrobat.” The woman sniffed and tossed her hair behind her with a sneer.

“It’s not a circus then.” She said, before turning and continuing her dramatic departure. Balder swore, kicking the dirt and stomping one booted foot, before turning to follow in the path he’d come from. Sarinah allowed her gaze to follow where he was headed, towards a larger than usual blue and gold stripped tent. Before its entrance were crates and wagons, and a small campfire where it looked as though a couple of other people sat. Her curiosity was peaked, fascinated by far too many of the things that had come from the strangers words.

Chroves.

Acrobats.

Circus.


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Tristaanian Greymoore
Posts: 176
Joined: Wed Mar 28, 2018 7:02 pm
Topics: 15
Race: Passive
Location: Old Rose Harbor
: Ever th' balach.
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Muse
Writer Profile: Writer Profile
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Wed Jul 11, 2018 4:23 pm

22nd of Hamis, 2718
SURWOOD ISLE | EARLY MORNING
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The sound of unfamiliar voices filled his sleep and when Tristaan stirred, reaching for the warm, soft body he'd expected to be next to him in the comfortable bed of the kint his Crow fami had leant him to share with Sarinah, his hands found only the sheets. Blinking groggily before he yawned and stretched, the passive slid reluctantly out of the covers and into his pants, unashamed enough on the isle of wicks to not bother covering up the tattoo that marked him as a passive inked into the well-defined muscle of his right bicep. Still not entirely willing to be awake, he half-stepped, half-stumbled from the kint, grey gaze immediately falling on Sarinah by the fire before he noticed the small crowd of various strangers that had gathered near the Crow camp.

He leaned against the narrow door of the kint for a moment, calloused fingers rubbing at old scars under his ribs, watching the scene unfold between a young blond in a sheet and a pink-haired witch. From behind them both an older man appeared, round and mustachioed.

Hopping down the steps, Tristaan moved to stand behind the lovely witch while the trio spoke of the circus and chroven, one hand moving to rest on her shoulder,

"Wo chet." He chuckled in amused disbelief, not yet sitting. Grey eyes lingered on the pink-haired witch who hadn't yet stalked off. He spoke quietly, unable to entirely whisper thanks to the gravel-like texture of his freshly awakened morning voice, "A bit early for that kinda' thing, y' think?"

Circus. He felt the shift of Sarinah's field at the word, guessing the scene had been just as curious to herself as it had been to him, "Didn't know there was a Circus here, but I s'pose I've been a bit distracted." Leaning to kiss the olive-skinned witch warmly, he lingered to add, "Let's no' leave 'er standin' there lonesome. I'll get us some yats started, eh?"

Tristaan couldn't help but tease her, finally looking to the young woman named Stars and waving a hand, "Junta! Come have a seat, rosh. Let me make ye some breakfast an' everyone can jus' cool off an' clear their heads a bit, oes? We don' bite, I promise."

He couldn't help himself, offering a bit of humor with the promise of food, reluctantly slipping away from the brunette dancer to assemble things needed to get some sort of hot meal started. If nothing else, he'd put the kettle near the fire before beginning any actual cooking.
Sometimes we are born with the keys
to doors we were not meant to open.
Passive Proverb
User avatar
Sarinah Lissden
Posts: 139
Joined: Thu Mar 29, 2018 3:42 am
Topics: 19
Race: Wick
Location: Old Rose Harbor
: Passively invested
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
Writer: Raksha
Post Templates: Post Templates
Contact:

Fri Jul 13, 2018 9:20 am

22nd Hamis, 2718
SURWOOD | EARLY MORNING
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The brunette glanced up at the passive with a small smile, her gaze roaming back to the curious strangers to watch the events unfold with a hum of agreement. As they watched the blonde and the mustached man depart, the witch could help the shift in her field, intrigued by the words they spoke of.

“Me either kov. I ent see anyone performing.” She lifted her chin, sighing at the warm press of his lips and brushing his nose gently with hers before nodding slowly.

“Ye can’t help it eh Tristaan? Balach no matter what.” Sarinah said with a chuckle before standing up, tucking her hair back and smiling at the woman. Stars looked over at the couple, her face a mask of exasperation as she moved closer to them and dumped her suitcase on the ground. The pink haired wick sighed and sat down by the fire, crossing her arms and scowling.

“It never changes. Honestly! It’s always about that stupid clocking chrove.” She snapped, looking up at them both with a raised eyebrow and a shake of her head. The dancer moved to help her lover to make tea, smiling at the woman warmly.

“Ent sure I can comment rosh. I always thought chroves were dangerous crea—“ Stars threw her hands up in the air with a bitter laugh.

“They are! The spitch tried to bite my clocking arm off! She’s going to kill somebody one day, mark my words! And that stupid doddering fool Baldur….Taegan can do no wrong in his eyes, so he just ignores it.” Turning her gaze from the witch to the man, Stars took a moment to appreciate the view with a slow smirk and a tilt of her head.

“You know, it would really mess him up if I were to bring back an attractively rugged wick. Maybe he’d see that Star’s doesn’t play second fiddle to an armoured cat. What do you say, mister…?” The woman left it hanging, waiting for a name from the passive. Sarinah glanced at the woman, then to the grey eyed man before returning to the tea making, her ruby lips pouted slightly and brow drawn ever so.

“Ye want tea chip?” Her voice was less friendly, but not obviously so, dark eyes turning to the distant gold and blue tent with a curious flutter of her weak field. Stars turned back sharply, glancing at the dancer with a scowl.

“Really rosh, its not worth it. Baldur promises you fame and fortune, but all you’ll see is a few shills and in some cases rotten fruit. Gollies don’t want a bunch of lower races gallivanting around the cities, so we’re always posted just beyond the city walls. Vienda won’t even let a wick stay without a writ and mine is long expired. I thought I was going to meet Lillian Lovehart or Basil York, but we barely got more than five or six people show up. Disaster. Utter disaster.” Sniffing haughtily, the wick flicked pink strands from her face.

“I’m going to go back and earn my writ, or if not, I might dust up to Bastia. I hear its beautiful there. As long as I don’t have to smell chrove shite ever again.” Sarinah blushed, looking down to fix their tea as Tristaan cooked, embarrassed that the woman had almost read her mind with the simple brush of her field. Her gaze flickered to the passive again, waiting for him to speak up, given the pink haired witch seemed more interested in talking to him than she did the dancer.

User avatar
Tristaanian Greymoore
Posts: 176
Joined: Wed Mar 28, 2018 7:02 pm
Topics: 15
Race: Passive
Location: Old Rose Harbor
: Ever th' balach.
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Muse
Writer Profile: Writer Profile
Post Templates: Post Templates
Contact:

Fri Jul 13, 2018 3:20 pm

22nd of Hamis, 2718
SURWOOD ISLE | EARLY MORNING
Image
Tristaan wasn't ignorant of the looks the pink-haired witch gave him, aware that he'd chosen to step outside the kint he shared with Sarinah only half dressed, scars and tanned skin of his well-muscled body on casual display. He'd garnered such looks before. Surwood afforded the passive a different sense of self, a safety that he had nowhere else in Anaxas as far as he knew, and a lack of care that he normally didn't display for anyone except in private had crept into his public self. Relaxed and comfortable in a lean frame that had once been beaten and ignored, he would have been lying had he said he didn't appreciate the admiration from a young woman's gaze on the strength that was too often overlooked for his galdor-born stature.

However, he was far too distracted by one witch in particular to even cater to the whims of another, Sarinah's adoration much more than he could have asked for from a casual glance or a sultry interest,

"I ent for sale. 'R for borrowin' neither, no' that way, anyway." Tristaan laughed teasingly, familiar now with his olive-skinned dancer's field and feeling the shift of her mood ever so slightly at the direct propositioning of the passive, "Junta. M' name's Tristaan, an' I'm afraid m' rosh Sarinah an' I be a packaged deal for such things, ye chen."

Star's sudden discouragement only dragged a slow grin from the dark-haired passive once he realized he'd not only shot down her jealous hopes but Sarinah's unspoken interest had kindled those jealousies into a sudden flame. He rolled his shoulders in a shrug and reached to help with the tea, making sure his calloused fingers warmly brushed the hands of the lovely witch in an encouraging, reassuring sort of touch,

"Everythin' starts somewhere." Tristaan ventured at the pink-haired witch's tirade against the Circus, "Something's don't start out lookin' like much in th' beginnin'. Sometimes y' gotta be willin' t' work th' shine outta somethin'. There's plenty o' smaller towns an' villages that'd be happy t' see a Circus—Dorhaven, all th' little farms o' Brayde County, places o' that like. Don' have t' charge much if y' get 'nough people t' come. Farm folks share their food. It ent hard t' make a livin' that way. Gollies don't gotta be th' end all o' entertainment in all 'f Anaxas."

The passive smirked wryly, his tattoo in plain sight as he sat near the fire next to Sarinah to enjoy his own cup of tea, ignoring just how hungry he was for the moment. He didn't have anything good to say about chrove droppings, however, and so he chose not to comment on that. There wasn't anything most folks could do but get used to the excrement of a carnivore, after all.

He left a bit of the conversation open, willing to let Star vent, but also aware that the lithe dancer next to him was most likely interested more in the opportunity to ply her skills than the promise of Vienda-worthy stardom. Travel captured his attention, if only because Tristaan understood their peace would only last for so long before the Bad Brothers found them again, and moving had a way of keeping them at bay just a little bit longer.
A wounded chrove will fight harder.
Passive Proverb
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