The roughness of swaddling clothes against your skin. The dim light of a oil wick lantern...
Son of the Southern Sky: Temple Priestess Quest
- Thread starter Jemnite
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- Original Fantasy
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Statistics (4 threadmarks, 3.2k words)
User Total Jemnite 4
Prologue: Gynaikōnitis
Jemnite
CVN-69 Fella
- Location
- 清源书院
The roughness of swaddling clothes against your skin. The dim light of a oil wick lantern casting shadows on the walls. The distant sounds of life bustling outside the woman's quarters. These are the details of your earliest childhood memory. This is how you remember your life beginning.
There is a woman holding you. You do not know it yet, too young are you to recognize her, but she is your mother. Braids of thick black hair ripples over her shoulder and down her right, shimmering even in the dim oil wick light. She is beautiful, but she is not mere pretty face. Her eyes are keen and behind those sharp brown eyes is a mind most fearsome. Her name is Andryssa.
And she is is speaking.
The words you would remember, though you would understand none of it. "Lesdryg, are you here to see her?"
A deep baritone voice responds to her question. "Aye. How is our little star?"
"She is good. She is fine." A smile lights her your mother's face. "Would you like to see her?"
The voice chuckles. "If you might bear to part with her." Your mother lifts you, slowly and with great care, and you come face to face... with another face. It is not an ugly face, but it is not a handsome one either. Instead, it is normal. His features are not soft, but they are not sharp, either. Instead, they are worn like they have see the world and faced it all. His eyes twinkle with some deep hidden joy and a beard of dark bushy black consumes the lower half of his face like some devouring monster. It is terrifying and amazing at the same time.
You, at the young age of only about a year old, immediately decide on your next life goal. You must touch that monster at all costs. Even should it consume you whole you must touch it.
You reach out with one chubby little hand and you... fall short. Your infant arms are too short. You stretch and you reach with all your might but try as you might it makes no difference. Your body is simply not up to it.
The man, who you would later find out is your father, takes one look at you and laughs. His flat features crinkle up and his whole soul turns to joy. He leans forward to oblige you and you grip two bushy handfulls of your goal at long last and are satisfied with all your being.
"She's spirited!" Your father laughs with joy.
"She is my daughter, after all." Your mother answers, a self satisfied drawl in her voice. "Like mother like daughter."
"Ha! I hope not." Your father gently peels your hands away from his beard and then stands back up, rubbing your hands to distract you from the loss of your newfound joy. "I seem to remember you caused your father no end of trouble."
"Perhaps." You mother brings you back to her bosom and rubs your cheek with a light thumb. "Then you tell us yourself, my little star. What manner of Holy One will you grow up to be?"
At the time you could answer not. Only burble back. But in the years to come your actions would be answer enough.
[ ] You would grow up to be a fighter. Boisterous, rambunctious, and martial. You'd beat your older siblings in fights and ferociously defend your younger siblings from the bullying of the other townchildren. First into a fight with raised fists and a cry on your lips, and last to leave with a scolding and a bruised face. (+Martial, +Willpower, -Diplomacy)
[ ] You would grow up to be a quiet one. Reserved and cautious, one to watch and think before you moved. You grow up skilled with your hands and with your eyes, but often times your quiet unobtrusive nature would slip the notice and the mind of those around you. (+Skill, +Observation, -Presence)
[ ] You'd grow up to be a talker. A lynchpin of the townchildren, who held together various groups who would otherwise be flinging fists and feet at each other. The peacemaker and dealbroker, you'd find yourself at the center of the social scene with a smile and gentle words. (+Diplomacy, +Charisma, -Conflict)
A/N: quests suck i suck match M A D E I N H E A V E N
There is a woman holding you. You do not know it yet, too young are you to recognize her, but she is your mother. Braids of thick black hair ripples over her shoulder and down her right, shimmering even in the dim oil wick light. She is beautiful, but she is not mere pretty face. Her eyes are keen and behind those sharp brown eyes is a mind most fearsome. Her name is Andryssa.
And she is is speaking.
The words you would remember, though you would understand none of it. "Lesdryg, are you here to see her?"
A deep baritone voice responds to her question. "Aye. How is our little star?"
"She is good. She is fine." A smile lights her your mother's face. "Would you like to see her?"
The voice chuckles. "If you might bear to part with her." Your mother lifts you, slowly and with great care, and you come face to face... with another face. It is not an ugly face, but it is not a handsome one either. Instead, it is normal. His features are not soft, but they are not sharp, either. Instead, they are worn like they have see the world and faced it all. His eyes twinkle with some deep hidden joy and a beard of dark bushy black consumes the lower half of his face like some devouring monster. It is terrifying and amazing at the same time.
You, at the young age of only about a year old, immediately decide on your next life goal. You must touch that monster at all costs. Even should it consume you whole you must touch it.
You reach out with one chubby little hand and you... fall short. Your infant arms are too short. You stretch and you reach with all your might but try as you might it makes no difference. Your body is simply not up to it.
The man, who you would later find out is your father, takes one look at you and laughs. His flat features crinkle up and his whole soul turns to joy. He leans forward to oblige you and you grip two bushy handfulls of your goal at long last and are satisfied with all your being.
"She's spirited!" Your father laughs with joy.
"She is my daughter, after all." Your mother answers, a self satisfied drawl in her voice. "Like mother like daughter."
"Ha! I hope not." Your father gently peels your hands away from his beard and then stands back up, rubbing your hands to distract you from the loss of your newfound joy. "I seem to remember you caused your father no end of trouble."
"Perhaps." You mother brings you back to her bosom and rubs your cheek with a light thumb. "Then you tell us yourself, my little star. What manner of Holy One will you grow up to be?"
At the time you could answer not. Only burble back. But in the years to come your actions would be answer enough.
[ ] You would grow up to be a fighter. Boisterous, rambunctious, and martial. You'd beat your older siblings in fights and ferociously defend your younger siblings from the bullying of the other townchildren. First into a fight with raised fists and a cry on your lips, and last to leave with a scolding and a bruised face. (+Martial, +Willpower, -Diplomacy)
[ ] You would grow up to be a quiet one. Reserved and cautious, one to watch and think before you moved. You grow up skilled with your hands and with your eyes, but often times your quiet unobtrusive nature would slip the notice and the mind of those around you. (+Skill, +Observation, -Presence)
[ ] You'd grow up to be a talker. A lynchpin of the townchildren, who held together various groups who would otherwise be flinging fists and feet at each other. The peacemaker and dealbroker, you'd find yourself at the center of the social scene with a smile and gentle words. (+Diplomacy, +Charisma, -Conflict)
A/N: quests suck i suck match M A D E I N H E A V E N
SirLagginton
Shadow Cabal Caerbannog Bun-Bun
- Location
- Arrrghhh
[X] You would grow up to be a fighter. Boisterous, rambunctious, and martial. You'd beat your older siblings in fights and ferociously defend your younger siblings from the bullying of the other townchildren. First into a fight with raised fists and a cry on your lips, and last to leave with a scolding and a bruised face. (+Martial, +Willpower, -Diplomacy)
- Location
- Somewhere
[X] You would grow up to be a quiet one. Reserved and cautious, one to watch and think before you moved. You grow up skilled with your hands and with your eyes, but often times your quiet unobtrusive nature would slip the notice and the mind of those around you. (+Skill, +Observation, -Presence)
SeekerofDreams
Aspiring Farmer
- Location
- Selphia
[X] You would grow up to be a quiet one. Reserved and cautious, one to watch and think before you moved. You grow up skilled with your hands and with your eyes, but often times your quiet unobtrusive nature would slip the notice and the mind of those around you. (+Skill, +Observation, -Presence)
- Pronouns
- He/They
[X] You'd grow up to be a talker. A lynchpin of the townchildren, who held together various groups who would otherwise be flinging fists and feet at each other. The peacemaker and dealbroker, you'd find yourself at the center of the social scene with a smile and gentle words. (+Diplomacy, +Charisma, -Conflict)
DeepWaters
No one will be the wiser.
- Location
- Land of Spiders and Shipping Charts
[X] You'd grow up to be a talker. A lynchpin of the townchildren, who held together various groups who would otherwise be flinging fists and feet at each other. The peacemaker and dealbroker, you'd find yourself at the center of the social scene with a smile and gentle words. (+Diplomacy, +Charisma, -Conflict)
- Location
- The Land of Many Bregrets
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] You would grow up to be a quiet one. Reserved and cautious, one to watch and think before you moved. You grow up skilled with your hands and with your eyes, but often times your quiet unobtrusive nature would slip the notice and the mind of those around you. (+Skill, +Observation, -Presence)
Spy route best route
Spy route best route
Exterminatus
Tsukumogami User
- Location
- Southern California
[X] You would grow up to be a fighter. Boisterous, rambunctious, and martial. You'd beat your older siblings in fights and ferociously defend your younger siblings from the bullying of the other townchildren. First into a fight with raised fists and a cry on your lips, and last to leave with a scolding and a bruised face. (+Martial, +Willpower, -Diplomacy)
MiracleGrow
Miracles for only $19.99 [They/Them]
- Location
- DOOR STUCK DOOR STUCK PLEASE I BEG U
[X] You'd grow up to be a talker. A lynchpin of the townchildren, who held together various groups who would otherwise be flinging fists and feet at each other. The peacemaker and dealbroker, you'd find yourself at the center of the social scene with a smile and gentle words. (+Diplomacy, +Charisma, -Conflict)
- Location
- PA
[X] You would grow up to be a fighter. Boisterous, rambunctious, and martial. You'd beat your older siblings in fights and ferociously defend your younger siblings from the bullying of the other townchildren. First into a fight with raised fists and a cry on your lips, and last to leave with a scolding and a bruised face. (+Martial, +Willpower, -Diplomacy)
We shall be a PALADIN!
We shall be a PALADIN!
- Location
- boundless optimism
[X] You'd grow up to be a talker. A lynchpin of the townchildren, who held together various groups who would otherwise be flinging fists and feet at each other. The peacemaker and dealbroker, you'd find yourself at the center of the social scene with a smile and gentle words. (+Diplomacy, +Charisma, -Conflict)
NuclearConsensus
Herald of the Thorned One
- Location
- the Philippines
[X] You'd grow up to be a talker. A lynchpin of the townchildren, who held together various groups who would otherwise be flinging fists and feet at each other. The peacemaker and dealbroker, you'd find yourself at the center of the social scene with a smile and gentle words. (+Diplomacy, +Charisma, -Conflict)
- Location
- Rapidly approaching your location.
- Pronouns
- Any/Morb
[X] You would grow up to be a fighter. Boisterous, rambunctious, and martial. You'd beat your older siblings in fights and ferociously defend your younger siblings from the bullying of the other townchildren. First into a fight with raised fists and a cry on your lips, and last to leave with a scolding and a bruised face. (+Martial, +Willpower, -Diplomacy)
CRUSH, KILL, DESTROY!
CRUSH, KILL, DESTROY!
- Location
- Somewhere
[X] You would grow up to be a fighter. Boisterous, rambunctious, and martial. You'd beat your older siblings in fights and ferociously defend your younger siblings from the bullying of the other townchildren. First into a fight with raised fists and a cry on your lips, and last to leave with a scolding and a bruised face. (+Martial, +Willpower, -Diplomacy)
I'd rather beat people up than talk it out with them.
I'd rather beat people up than talk it out with them.
- Location
- Nebraska
[X] You would grow up to be a fighter. Boisterous, rambunctious, and martial. You'd beat your older siblings in fights and ferociously defend your younger siblings from the bullying of the other townchildren. First into a fight with raised fists and a cry on your lips, and last to leave with a scolding and a bruised face. (+Martial, +Willpower, -Diplomacy)
- Location
- italy bologna
[X] You'd grow up to be a talker. A lynchpin of the townchildren, who held together various groups who would otherwise be flinging fists and feet at each other. The peacemaker and dealbroker, you'd find yourself at the center of the social scene with a smile and gentle words. (+Diplomacy, +Charisma, -Conflict)
ThatGuyWithIdeas
Treize died for our sins
- Location
- Romania
[X] You'd grow up to be a talker. A lynchpin of the townchildren, who held together various groups who would otherwise be flinging fists and feet at each other. The peacemaker and dealbroker, you'd find yourself at the center of the social scene with a smile and gentle words. (+Diplomacy, +Charisma, -Conflict)
Prologue: Cholerikós
Jemnite
CVN-69 Fella
- Location
- 清源书院
You stand outside the entrance of your domicile in dread. The flat wooden door seems like an impenetrable gate of black obsidian to you. Your feet scuff against the ground as you find excuse after excuse to avoid taking that last one final step.
All to naught, though. The door swings open and the person you really didn't want to see stands in the entrance: Your mother.
Her exasperation is like a heavy blow upon your psyche. She casts her gaze upon your scraped arms, bruised left eye, and the layered cuts and just your everything. "Telurika, what now?"
You mumble your answer, attempting to hide your misdeeds by clumsy omission but your mother will have none of them. "Telurika, speak up."
Your eyes shift back and forth and your mouth clams up like your life depends on it, but it's no use. The massive guilt forces the words out of your chest. "I got into a fight with Vaernik."
Your mother says nothing. She just leans against the doorway and stares at you with a steady eye. It feels worse than if she was yelling at you. Because you're feeling bad about it on your own.
Finally she opens her mouth asks a single word question. "Again?"
Arguments sprout up on your mouth about how you weren't wrong. He deserved it! He was kicking around that Illyssian slave boy in the markets again just because he was an easy target! He punched your younger brother Dravik in the arm last week and tried to play it off as a joke but the bruise on Dravik's arm was huge! You have so many excuses to defend yourself with but manage to say none of them. Instead you just nod like some sort of particularly pathetic woodland creature.
Your mother sighs again. "Forget it. Come in."
You slip through the door on a skulk, posture diminutive, attitude subdued. You skitter up the stairs and into the woman's quarters where your mother patiently binds your cuts with white linen and drips a cooling oil made of things you don't quite know upon your bruise. Then she casts her gaze, made all the worse for its lack of judgement or castigation upon you, and you shrink away.
"Telurika," she sighs. "I'd say I don't want to see you doing it again but it's not use extracting that promise out of you. Could you just try not to do it next month, at least?"
Next month? You slide your feet of the couch to dangle and turn to your mother, guilt forgotten in the wake of curiosity. "Next month? What's next month?"
"The Vessel Filling Ritual." Your blank expression is all the reply you need. "Telurika you don't pay attention during Festival days do you?"
Caught. Your stomach squirms but you attempt to play it off. "I watch the plays!"
"And listen to none of the priest's words?" The question is rhetorical. Your mother only waits long enough for your expression to confirm her interrogative before she huffs another sigh of exasperation. "I see you will need additional tutoring before the rite."
Tutoring. That is the most awful sounding word that you've ever heard anyone say before and it's put together in the most awful sounding phrase that you've ever heard anyone say. Additional tutoring. As if the tutoring wasn't enough!
Your mother lifts your face up for one final check and looks satisfied to see that not everything is ruined forever. "We'll go to the temple tomorrow, when we have a bit more daylight to spend. I'll let you go for now, but try your best to stay out of trouble."
You flee the room like your life depends on it, which it might depending on how much crushing pressure of guilt your heart can take before it collapses entirely. Stay out of trouble, huh? That practically eliminates the town from your list of options.
....what exactly can you do without getting into trouble?
[ ] Visit the fields. Your father's closest friend and oldest companion Langtik manages the workers, both the freemen and the slaves and he is oft to spoil you with treats and other delights. You might ask him about the Vessel Filling rite or find some other 'nontrouble' thing to occupy your time.
[ ] Visit your brothers. The youngest two, Lute and Pan are still babes, so they're out, but Dravik is home and Levaunt might be as well. Levaunt is learning the spear from his tutor who is way cooler than yours (unfair!) and you might as well check out how Dravik is doing after you rescued him from the clutches of that bully Vaernik as well.
[ ] Find your father. He's somewhere around here. Isn't he in a meeting? Doesn't matter, doesn't matter. You're his favorite, he spoils you. You can probably barge in there and get away with it... probably.
[ ] To the kitchens! Millet is a slavegirl but she is as close to you as the sister you don't have and you have promised to buy her bondage out and go on a marvelous journey with her when you come of age. If you tell her your stories she will mostly certainly ooe and awe at your heroic tales and assuage your wounded ego.
A/N: everybody loves timeskips right?
All to naught, though. The door swings open and the person you really didn't want to see stands in the entrance: Your mother.
Her exasperation is like a heavy blow upon your psyche. She casts her gaze upon your scraped arms, bruised left eye, and the layered cuts and just your everything. "Telurika, what now?"
You mumble your answer, attempting to hide your misdeeds by clumsy omission but your mother will have none of them. "Telurika, speak up."
Your eyes shift back and forth and your mouth clams up like your life depends on it, but it's no use. The massive guilt forces the words out of your chest. "I got into a fight with Vaernik."
Your mother says nothing. She just leans against the doorway and stares at you with a steady eye. It feels worse than if she was yelling at you. Because you're feeling bad about it on your own.
Finally she opens her mouth asks a single word question. "Again?"
Arguments sprout up on your mouth about how you weren't wrong. He deserved it! He was kicking around that Illyssian slave boy in the markets again just because he was an easy target! He punched your younger brother Dravik in the arm last week and tried to play it off as a joke but the bruise on Dravik's arm was huge! You have so many excuses to defend yourself with but manage to say none of them. Instead you just nod like some sort of particularly pathetic woodland creature.
Your mother sighs again. "Forget it. Come in."
You slip through the door on a skulk, posture diminutive, attitude subdued. You skitter up the stairs and into the woman's quarters where your mother patiently binds your cuts with white linen and drips a cooling oil made of things you don't quite know upon your bruise. Then she casts her gaze, made all the worse for its lack of judgement or castigation upon you, and you shrink away.
"Telurika," she sighs. "I'd say I don't want to see you doing it again but it's not use extracting that promise out of you. Could you just try not to do it next month, at least?"
Next month? You slide your feet of the couch to dangle and turn to your mother, guilt forgotten in the wake of curiosity. "Next month? What's next month?"
"The Vessel Filling Ritual." Your blank expression is all the reply you need. "Telurika you don't pay attention during Festival days do you?"
Caught. Your stomach squirms but you attempt to play it off. "I watch the plays!"
"And listen to none of the priest's words?" The question is rhetorical. Your mother only waits long enough for your expression to confirm her interrogative before she huffs another sigh of exasperation. "I see you will need additional tutoring before the rite."
Tutoring. That is the most awful sounding word that you've ever heard anyone say before and it's put together in the most awful sounding phrase that you've ever heard anyone say. Additional tutoring. As if the tutoring wasn't enough!
Your mother lifts your face up for one final check and looks satisfied to see that not everything is ruined forever. "We'll go to the temple tomorrow, when we have a bit more daylight to spend. I'll let you go for now, but try your best to stay out of trouble."
You flee the room like your life depends on it, which it might depending on how much crushing pressure of guilt your heart can take before it collapses entirely. Stay out of trouble, huh? That practically eliminates the town from your list of options.
....what exactly can you do without getting into trouble?
[ ] Visit the fields. Your father's closest friend and oldest companion Langtik manages the workers, both the freemen and the slaves and he is oft to spoil you with treats and other delights. You might ask him about the Vessel Filling rite or find some other 'nontrouble' thing to occupy your time.
[ ] Visit your brothers. The youngest two, Lute and Pan are still babes, so they're out, but Dravik is home and Levaunt might be as well. Levaunt is learning the spear from his tutor who is way cooler than yours (unfair!) and you might as well check out how Dravik is doing after you rescued him from the clutches of that bully Vaernik as well.
[ ] Find your father. He's somewhere around here. Isn't he in a meeting? Doesn't matter, doesn't matter. You're his favorite, he spoils you. You can probably barge in there and get away with it... probably.
[ ] To the kitchens! Millet is a slavegirl but she is as close to you as the sister you don't have and you have promised to buy her bondage out and go on a marvelous journey with her when you come of age. If you tell her your stories she will mostly certainly ooe and awe at your heroic tales and assuage your wounded ego.
A/N: everybody loves timeskips right?
SirLagginton
Shadow Cabal Caerbannog Bun-Bun
- Location
- Arrrghhh
[X] Visit your brothers. The youngest two, Lute and Pan are still babes, so they're out, but Dravik is home and Levaunt might be as well. Levaunt is learning the spear from his tutor who is way cooler than yours (unfair!) and you might as well check out how Dravik is doing after you rescued him from the clutches of that bully Vaernik as well.
We might as well meet the brother we beat up Vaernik for eh?
We might as well meet the brother we beat up Vaernik for eh?
NuclearConsensus
Herald of the Thorned One
- Location
- the Philippines
[X] Visit the fields. Your father's closest friend and oldest companion Langtik manages the workers, both the freemen and the slaves and he is oft to spoil you with treats and other delights. You might ask him about the Vessel Filling rite or find some other 'nontrouble' thing to occupy your time.
- Location
- Rapidly approaching your location.
- Pronouns
- Any/Morb
[X] To the kitchens! Millet is a slavegirl but she is as close to you as the sister you don't have and you have promised to buy her bondage out and go on a marvelous journey with her when you come of age. If you tell her your stories she will mostly certainly ooe and awe at your heroic tales and assuage your wounded ego.
Storytelling time!
Storytelling time!
MiracleGrow
Miracles for only $19.99 [They/Them]
- Location
- DOOR STUCK DOOR STUCK PLEASE I BEG U
[X] To the kitchens! Millet is a slavegirl but she is as close to you as the sister you don't have and you have promised to buy her bondage out and go on a marvelous journey with her when you come of age. If you tell her your stories she will mostly certainly ooe and awe at your heroic tales and assuage your wounded ego.
Sounds good to me
Sounds good to me