Welcome to Swords of Speirling. We are an original fantasy site, set in a fictional world divided into seven kingdoms. We are set in the Medieval-ish/Renaissance period of this world. We have 20+ playable races available, we have no word count, and we are rated mature. Our application process is simple and to-the-point and we are LGBTQ+ friendly, straight-/cisgendered-ally friendly, and ALL racial identities-friendly. We do believe in some order, but we don't take ourselves all that seriously. Jerks need not apply. It is currently WINTER.
We are currently searching for royal family members and military characters, particularly knights.
What are you looking at? Go on! Everyone dance! Everyone loves dancing!
Here is his opening post, if anyone needs it for reference:
The morning dawned cold and bright as people rose from their cabins and dressed for the first day of The Hunt. It had no beginning and end dates, as in the past, the hunters kept going until the beast was captured. Everyone dressed differently, but usually, the hunters all wore something that identified the team for which they hunted. The snow was holding off, for now, but overcast skies threatened to let the frozen rain fall.
Cymbeline stood in the center of the Stone Circle, dressed in a robe of purest white. Not one gold or silver stick or one fleck of mud marred his appearance. He was barefoot and his green-veined feet were less than clean. On his head, he wore a pair of antlers that most likely came from an ordinary hart, but it made him look impressive, none-the-less. He was wearing makeup, but he had limited it to bright green eyeliner and traditional knots and spirals painted on in blue and green. His hands, too, were adorned with paint, even though they were free of his customary jewelry. Only a plain horn hung at his hip.
In his hands, he held an enormous goblet. Once all were assembled, he held it up to the heavens and spoke the words of a blessing:
"Cuir a-steach am facal a tha thu a' lor!" He proclaimed, using the Ancient Tongue, the words of which he had learned phonetically for this purpose. They translated into "Bless this bounty, oh gods!" in the Common Tongue. Then, to mixed gasps and curses, he did something unprecedented. He lowered the goblet to the ground and called out, "Cuir a-steach am facal a tha thu a' lorg!", which translated into "Bless this bounty, oh demons!" Such an acknowledgment of the Underworld had never been expressed in public before and the rising sun lit up several angry faces around the Stone Circle. The Nightcat paid them no mind and raised to the cup again, pouring the pure water onto the great stone in the center. Halfway through the display, the water turned to blood. There were sounds of shock from the onlookers, but the Nightcat calmly finished his task and set the empty goblet down on top of the enormous stone. This time, he called out in the Common Tongue.
"Let the Hunt begin!"
He grabbed his horn and blew it.
The Sun was traveling toward the horizon and the blood on the stone had long since dried to faded red scabs. Cymbeline was about to retire to a cabin rooftop, smoke, snack on something – he was entertaining a craving for bacon – and snooze the night away as he waited for news of the stag. This was fated to be a shorter hunt than anything of which history could tell, but something told him that the stag would not be caught this night. Hunts usually went on for at least a fortnight, but even with this many hunters, he doubted it would last that long.
He allowed himself to grow drowsy as he stretched and sent a servant to bring him his dinner – bacon as the thought of venison turned him off for perfectly understandable reasons. He had scoped out a cabin – the closest one to the Stone Circle – when a bubbling sound caught his attention. As he looked down, he could see the great stone was bleeding, seemingly of its own accord. So, even if he had underestimated the fervor that had gripped Speirling for this Hunt – the first of its kind in millennia.
He brushed himself off, noticing the splattering of blood on the hem of his otherwise spotless white robe and repositioned his decorative antlers, smoothing his hair over the pedicles before raising his horn to his lips and blowing once again.
The hunters would be compelled to this spot, empty handed though they might be. They might not even understand that the hunt was over. He imagined that most would put two and two together and realize that the same horn that had been blown at the start was now signaling the end. Now came the best part; the proud crown wearers and self-important leaders would have to deal with their shame and disappointment. The stag had been won fairly...at least, up until now.
As the sun set into the horizon casting a red sky across the lands it set the end of a grand day. The hunt was over and no doubt some had risen to the challenge and others had failed. Either way lives were being changed and yet there was something in the air, a sad song whispers by the winds of darkness coming. The sound of the horn rang loud over the forest was shortly followed by the roar of a great dragon. The winds howled and the trees blew like the calm before a hurricane. A massive shadow crawled over the forest followed by two others of almost equal size. Dracul, the dragon of the king of Sgaithte flew over the lands flanked by two other dragons.
Edmund sat at the helm riding his dragon with two of his personal guards on each side of him. The king of Sgaithte was dressed in robes that fashioned almost identical to the robes that his knights wore only his collar was thicker and sat higher at the neck. The shoulders had thicker padding of leather as did the torso. Though they all had helmets, none of them wore them. They soared over the forest and so low that the tree trembled from the movement of powerful and great wings. This hunt was very important to him and his people and could be what they needed to end their troubles.
He had entrusted Kronos, his general to see this through for him and was awaiting word from the vampire on his victory. He was also awaiting news of Jema and her meeting with the noble family. Her interest in traveling had been more than he had expected but it just made it easier to set up this meeting. Normally he didn't sent his children away from home but he imagined that she was interested in being there for the hunt. That was find by him, as long as she attended her meet and greet and held up their family name. The king and his men flew further along the forest and over the city before they turned around and came back towards the forest against.
Edmund watched with hawk eyes as he scanned the ground searching for the party that he had sent forth to claim the stag for him. There was movement under the streets but so far he had not seen his warriors. They would circle a few times more before they set to land.
This post has been edited by Edmund Rory Dumos: Jul 30 2017, 01:24 PM
He jumped back when the lasso came flying toward him, just as any animal would, but he could not escape the lasso that landed around his antlers. Caught up in the ropes though he was, he could still drag that man who had caught him and even when a second humanoid male joined him, the White Stag still pulled, dragging them behind him, as he was easily twice the size of any normal stag. He tripped and only had time to right himself before a fence of ice was erected around him and that ice fence became an ice cell and before he knew it, he was done for.
He pawed his icy prison without success and once it became apparent that he was trapped, he threw back his head and let out a high-pitched bleat that sounded like a baby crying. At the sound, smoke rose up around him and the hunting party and the wind began to howl. As the smoke began to float away, the Stone Circle, not the field of poppies, rose up around them and a great crowd of people were all around them. Directly in front of them stood a red-haired boy, who seemed dreadfully pleased with himself.
Despite the total lack of memories, the man who had taken the name Chamenos seemed to fit in rather well, hiding among the nobles and dignitaries. He smiled politely as they walked past, but did not make conversation. His body language conveyed all the nobles needed to know, he was a servant. As none of them recognized them they assumed he was here with someone else.
He had only been free a few weeks. Long enough to hear of the hunt, and arrive at it's conclusion. No matter, he wasn't interested in glory or honor, no. His prize was not the stag, but the gem which legend and rumor said provided wisdom to those who held it. Wisdom enough, perhaps, to break through his accursed amnesia and discover the truth of his existence. Had he been faster he might have considered resorting to common thievery, but instead, he would simply watch and see where the garnet ended up. Armed with that knowledge he could determine the best course of action.
The Stag made it's appearance in rather extraordinary fashion. Chamenos was uncertain if this was the norm for the world he found himself in, but the sudden and glorious appearance of the creature filled him with wonder, though he endeavored to maintain a dignified expression.
"Well." He straightened up, looking around for an entourage to duck into during the festivities. "Seems the hunt has concluded after all. I do wonder which kingdom it is that laid claim to prize." He muttered to himself, mostly as a way to practice the modern accent he had heard since his release. Over his journey he had managed to learn the names of the major kingdoms on this continent, though he hadn't the time to accurately educate himself on the intricate relationships between them. That would have to come later.
Regardless, in an attempt to observe silently and without distraction, he fell in line with the nearest group of servants, though his attention was on the master of festivities, and the captured stag.
There was as part of Orin that felt guilty about the capturing the stag. She hoped no one would harm it, well, at least mentally she could feel her old sentiments rolling around in the back of her mind. In truth, she wouldn’t care what happened to the stag. It was the Queen’s now.
The Ice Knight stood, fierce, like a giant in the cold armor. Most people thought Talon was a demon from the underworld, nobody knew the woman who was really inside the armor. There “he” stood waiting for his queen to approach.
Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win
Godric released the lasso once it was clear the tug of war was over. He saw the crowd, gave a timid smile and then look towards his King.
He was unsure which of the three would bring the jewels to the winner. He hoped it was not him. For he knew he would need to bequeath the jewels to King Felix and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He looked and saw Cymbeline. And mostly he now wondered what sort of mischief the Nightcat was up to now that the stag was caught.
I will hurt you for this. I don't know how yet, but give me time. A day will come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you'll know the debt is paid.
Felix was in his chair, letting someone pour him some wine. He sat straight up once it was apparent that the stag had been caught. Standing up, he looked around to see the beast captured in an icy prison. Wonderful! Gaothaidh had caught it!
The King made no rush walking down towards where his hunting team was. He waited for his wife to take his arm as he approached the group. This was truly a victory for Gaothaidh. Though, he did not want Valerian to be the one who had one the game, because he knew the dumb warlock would give the jewels over to his wife. And she didn’t need anymore jewelry. Particularly, magical gems.
Raven couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement when she saw who had won! If Valerian or the Ice Knight got the gems, then she knew she would be on the receiving end of those gifts. Godric, however, would not be able to give the jewels to her. It mattered little, in the end. She would get her hands on them one way or another, regardless of what her husband wanted.
She took King Felix’s arm, put a sickeningly sweet smile on her face as she walked with him to approach the hunting troop. Raven was just glad that things were going so swimmingly.
I was always just the Queen. My sister is the one that added Heartless to my title.
He scarcely had time to take in the horseless carriages, the impossibly tall castles, and the sounds of a city that had to be a very long way away from Speirling or perhaps not even a real city at all. Vollo had not set one hoof into this other world when he was being ripped away. The trees were flashing before his eyes and they were back at the Stone Circle. He found that disappointing. He would not have said that the mystery city was beautiful, but he had wanted to explore it. He had questions about it and even if it wasn't real, he could have learned so much from riding through its streets.
He was in for a bigger disappointment, however -- one that wasn't not getting to explore a city full of horseless carriages. He had wanted the stag, just like everyone else here and as the world around him came to a very realistic stopping point, he saw the stag before him and he was not the one who had shot it. None of his companions had managed to catch the animal, either. The stag -- he was bigger and more beautiful than Peregrine had thought from the few glances he had stolen -- was inside what looked to be a cage of ice and two men were attached at the end of a rope that wound around his antlers. The third member of their party was an imposing suit of armor. He recognized the suit and then he recognized one of the men. The Ice Knight had been at the ball Anilwyn Lysanar had thrown...it had been over a year ago now and one of the men was no other than the mad warlock of the east -- Peregrine couldn't remember his name. So, Gaothaidh had won the stag. It could be worse.
He reached a hand forward to stroke Vollo's neck, a gesture of thanks and congratulations on a job well done. It wasn't Vollo's fought they hadn't brought the creature in themselves. It was definitely everyone else's. He turned to glare at the two women who followed him, Soryn and Lyra, but didn't say anything else on the subject. If they spent less time bickering and more time hunting, perhaps they would have emerged from the forest with something to show for it. Out of everyone, they had the distinct advantage -- not only were they native northerners, but they lived in the woods...literally. At least, he did.
If He gets to be the King then I get to be the High King
The world was changing around him, now he was at the stone circle. He grimaced, looking around him. There was someone oddly close to him, he assumed it was Artemis, or possibly Morgan. He shook his head when he saw who won. Gaothaidh!
“páirtí leapa Felix!” he said in the ancient tongue under his breath.
He attempted to move a bit and found something or someone was quite attached to him. He assumed it was Artemis, until he inhaled and smelt that satyr! What the heck was going on!
I'm taking the reins, I'm crossing the bear! Just like Jesus, I'm growing a pair!
He heard the horn blow and launched himself off of the tree where he had been sitting. Cassander had offered his services as a scout to the Nightcat and they had been accepted. He needed the cash; freelancing wasn't exactly the easiest thing the world, especially when you were still a new magician on the block -- or the mountains. He had scraped together enough to have a few sets of traditional magician's robes made for him -- shopping in the market was more difficult when you were a banshee. His summer robes were bright turquoise. They were so bright that only his tawny wings could be seen against the outline of the bright blue summer sky.
The Nightcat had likely put some sort of amplification spell on it, or something. No, not a spell. The likes of him did not deal in spells, but in enchantments and curses, but that was none of Cassander's concern. He was here to report on the progress of the hunting parties to him and that he had done. Now, his duties were over, but he would be coming away from this experience with more than just coins -- he had learned much about the strange magic that the fae boy had used, though Cassander was still at a loss to why he was so powerful.
The area in which the hunting parties had been turned loose to chase the creature was actually quite small. Each had been divided into sections. Cassander was fairly certain that for all his power, the Nightcat hadn't actually created the arena. Like Cassander, he was merely the messenger. There was a bigger power at work here and Cymbeline was the Master of Ceremonies, keeping them all distracted from seeing what was right in front of their noses. Exactly what that was, Cassander hadn't yet figured out.
He touched down at the Stone Circle before much longer and bowed to the Nightcat, but it seemed that his services were no longer required. As this had been established, Cassander backed up and found himself standing next to another man on foot -- someone who had not been on The Hunt. He shifted his wings so that his hood fell down the center of his back and not over his feathers and readjusted his grip on his staff -- a tall walking stick that looked as though it had been cut from three miniature tree trunks winding around each other with a burning blue gem in the center.
He couldn't hide his curiosity to see who had won the stag and he didn't have to wait long to have his questions answered. The Ice Knight was visible anywhere, even though the two humanoid men were not as recognizable. Even though he felt no great tie to his country after they had unceremoniously dumped his ass outside of the grounds of his school, a grin of pride split his face as he saw them bringing in the win for Gaothaidh.
He was in such a good mood that he lost his sense of spacial awareness for a moment and bumped into the man next to him.
"Terribly sorry about that." He said, giving the man a radiant smile and patting him on the shoulder.
The crowd seemed to grow relatively quickly, a fact that Chamenos was uncertain how to respond to. On the one hand, a larger crowd should make it easier for him to hide. On the other, more people meant more eyes, some of which might fall on him. For the moment, though, most seemed to be entranced by the successful hunters.
So entranced, that at least one member of the audience batted him with one of a pair of wings. Chamenos was at least partially to blame, he had been too lost in his own thoughts to move. Reflexively, a habit he was learning to loathe, his shoulder where he and the winged man made contact turned to smoke long enough for Chamenos to reposition himself.
He then found himself staring at the wings in a moment of awe, not because they were uncommon, he had seen many with them from a distance, but because the amnesiac had no memory of seeing them quite so close. When the man attached to those wings spoke, and patted him on the shoulder, Chamenos offered a polite smile back at him. "You need not worry. There was no harm done." he bowed to the other man, before turning his attention back to the spectacle. "I am unfamiliar with these hunters," He said to the other man, pondering his next words carefully, "Do you know from where they hail?" he then tensed up a moment, expectantly, but relaxed almost immediately. He did not blurt out the answer to his own question. Seems his peculiar oracle could be circumvented, with directed, or perhaps personal questions,
I'm taking the reins, I'm crossing the bear! Just like Jesus, I'm growing a pair!
Cassander did not miss the little bow that the man gave to him and he stood there awkwardly for a moment before offering him a bow of his own. It seemed only polite, even though he didn't do a lot of bowing these days – even though he had just performed one for the Nightcat...although he supposed that was slightly different. Anyway, there seemed to be quite a lot of bowing going on here, even though that wasn't a particularly terrible thing.
When the stranger began to question him about the identity of the hunters, Cassander was only too happy to answer.
“They are the hunters of the Royal Hunting Party of Gaothaidh.” He told him, unable to keep a note of pride out of his voice. There was no reason for him to be proud of his home kingdom – fat lot of good they had done him, in the end. They hadn't chased him down from the mountain he had claimed as his own and he supposed that was something, but still, they had abandoned a sixteen-year-old boy with no experience. Good thing he was a genius. “That's Valerian, the court warlock.” He lowered his voice and added, “'Course, he's known as the Mad Warlock, he's...” He let his voice trail off. If this man stuck around long enough for Valerian to speak, he would know what Cassander was talking about. “Doesn't matter, though...” He went on, nodding toward his former...and current idol. “He's...amazing.” He was referring to Valerian's magical abilities, which would have been exaggerated in urban legend if there had been something to exaggerate.
“That's the Ice Knight.” He went on, pointing out the suit of armor. “Queen Raven's personal...knight.” He decided that 'knight' was a more respectful term than 'magical hired muscle' and there was no telling what his hearing was like. “And that is...” He focused on the third man. “...I'm not sure who he is. Likely works for the government...”
Other hunters were beginning to appear, but Cassander was not as familiar with them. He recognized Peregrine Alexander, supposedly dead-but-not rebel prince of Eacharnach. They had gone to school together and Cassander hadn't known him well, but he had never liked him. He was arrogant and impatient. Oh, he was clever enough, but his disposition made a waste of what could have been an incredible mind.
“I trust you recognize the king and queen?” He muttered. He didn't know where this man was from and he couldn't place his accent, which meant he had to be from the south, most likely Muireach or Riasglach. “And you should probably tell me who you are, so I can point you out to my...to my friends.” In truth, Cassander hadn't yet caught sight of any of his friends who had attended this event. In truth, he didn't have many friends at all.
Look, strange women lying in ponds is no basis for a system of government
Cedric had been on some long hunting expeditions in his life and especially long ones in Riasglach, but it seemed that this one had barely begun before they were being whisked away back to the starting line or the finish line, depending on how you looked at it.
When the world first started to spin, he resisted, but as the Stone Circle began to come into view, he let his body go limp, guessing that this was the doing of the Nightcat, that no one would be harmed in this method of transportation and the sooner they got there, the sooner he'd have control over his own body again. He landed on the soft grass and tried to get up, but he found that his back was tied to someone. He stiffened and tried to crane his neck around in an effort to see what was behind him, but his companion's voice gave it away before anything else could.
Of course, it was Roman.
Neither of them had managed to bag the stag, obviously. Both of them (well, Cedric did) needed it for their kingdoms (Cedric's kingdom and Roman's wilderness camp project), so losing the creature should have been punishment enough. This was unnecessarily stupid.
“Stop...moving!” He growled, as he attempted to rise to a steady position with Roman at his back.
One minute he was facing an angry, twelve-headed hydra and he next he was facing something much scarier: the sight of Roman Dracarys and Cedric Dractwood back-to-back, tied together in front of at least half of Speirling. It was important to note that not only was half of Speirling watching, but their emotions were running high at the prospect of a very powerful divine creature being cut open and gifts from the gods being distributed on the basis of a popularity contest all while these two childish kings – one of whom he was bound to serve – attempted to duke it out while they were tied together.
He approached Roman from the front, his hands in clearly positioned in front of him, walking as carefully as he might when approaching a skittish horse. “Your Grace.... Master Dractwood I am compelled to ask you to hold still.” If they angled themselves just right, they would both be able to see the ceremony performed and he would be able to separate them later. It might even be preferable, as they wouldn't be able to start a lethal fight when they were tied back-to-back; they could display behavior that would embarrass both their kingdoms instead.