[IC] Do a ritual with the character above you

Posted 10 months, 23 days ago (Edited 10 months, 23 days ago) by fizzelston

My mind... Full of Toyhouse forum game thread ideas.

This time my brain is ritual-focused. What about a game where your OC and the OC above you do a tea-ritual? Or got to a wedding?
Coming of age, burning incense, wicker man, or sacrificing your firstborn son to the demon king! You know! Fun stuff!

Rules are simple:

You don't have to describe every movement but put some effort in it. Read bios. 5 sentences minimum.
Please no NSFW or violent stuff. Black your graphic text out: like this. Or put your post in a spoiler. This is a public thread, though! keep that in mind!
You can post again after 2 replies, or if 12 hours have passed.
Please fill in your claim in 22 hours. I'll try to send you a reminder after ±10 h. We want to keep the game flowing! If you fail to do so, your post gets skipped.

Examples:
Character 1: Freebie claiming is MY ritual
Character 2: "Let's braid these necklaces. It is a ritual that links us to our past lives. What were you before you were you?"
Character 3: "Have you ever played cult of the lamb? It's like that, without the 'of the lamb' part. Also, not a video game."

I claim the first post because I'm stingy :)c

Similar games:
- tea time with the character above you
- I add more :)

Roswell van Breek fizzelston

Congrats Euan on your new problematic child (Roswell)

For a second, there was only greed in Roswell’s lone eye. Silver. He could steal it. He could sell the silver. His fingers itched, and he forced his gaze away from the dust and back at the paladin. He smiled as lazily as he could. “Roi roi, keep me yapper shut,” he reassured her. “Yer sure dis won’t be too expensive?”
The witchthief’s eyebrows raised slightly, and he let out a teeth baring laugh. “Sure yer did! Who could resist a face loike dis,” he said. He was getting older. Time had made Roswell skinnier. The skin around his cheekbone was a bit too tensed as he laughed, giving the ‘face loike dis’ an almost skull like appearance.
“Just keep callin’ it a soup kitchen. It will get at least sum eyes from our tracks,” he added with a soft nod. He leaned forward. Roswell’s eye tracked her, and his eyebrows now lowered as she pushed the silver in his hands. His fingers wanted to clamped shut, but Illanya’s movement prevented it. His nose slightly wrinkled as he noticed the crackle. He was silent. Roswell was familiar with magic, but only the one the Leegte provided him with. This was different. More… A deeper frown. He couldn’t describe it. Different. That it was.

Roswell’s shoulder slightly twitched. The smell, it reminded him of Starqbreek. His father used to have a vineyard there. His father grew roses and grapes. He was always out there, in that bloody vineyard, or in the forest. Hunting. Roswell’s fingers twitched, and not because he wanted to steal the silver. Roswell allowed her to roll up his sleeve. His skin had the same color as his late father’s had. He shook his head.
Roswell’s frown deepened, and he angled his head closer. His eye tracking every movement like a hawk. “So whatcha writin’?” he couldn’t help but ask. “Is it loike a language? Or more loike a… Feeling?” Roswell arched his head slightly backward. Giving the other space to work.
As soon as Illanya removed her hand from his arm, Roswell reached for his arm. His thumb pressing the skin. He didn’t feel any different.
Roswell looked up as the other started to talk. His thumb still resting on his arm as he listened. He looked over his shoulder as he heard the gentle bells but paused.
Roswell’s thumb slightly eased. He looked back at Illanya with a slight confused expression. “Your word,” he repeated softly. Words that weighted heavily in the rituals he was familiar with. He couldn’t help but smile. A bit crookedly. One that directly twisted as the runes lines flash up. “WoA!” he said. He clearly had not expected that. Recovered from his fright, Roswell looked at the other again. “Yer alroi lassy? Yer a bit ‘round de face. Want sum water?” he asked as he got up. The unexpected movement made his knees weak and his mind swim. Maybe Illanya wasn’t the only one effected by this magic.

“Yer know me,” he brushed off with a laugh and an almost innocent smile. “Oi would never abuse such words ‘n powers,” he reassured^(?) her. “Thank yer. Oi won’t test yer god’s waters too much, oi promise.” Besides, Roswell thought with a short snort. As a son of a huntsman himself, Euwan-or-what’s-his-face, surely would favor him? Right?

Illanya Mariold HardyLark

"Don't complain about the silver, I need it for this to work." The knight glances upwards at Roswell from where she sits, steadily working at a piece of metal with a fine file. The beautiful leather arm guards the old thief had gifted her sat relatively more comfortably on her arms, already slightly broken in from wear. Though she might've acted a little distant since he'd pointed out the markings, days of brushing off questions and telling the older man not to worry about it had Illanya feeling more confident that such a discovery was left in the past.

Eventually satisfied with the amount of dust now sitting atop a piece of leather, the paladin scoops up the corners and sets the makeshift bag of silver into her hand. At any protests she raises a hand, shaking her head. "No no, it truly is the least I can do. Besides, I think I've grown quite fond of you and your 'soup kitchen' here and I think I would be disappointed to see both you and yours wind up in hot water." A smile graces her face, authentic in her intentions. Standing from the table she'd been at work at, she strides closer to Roswell, gently taking one of his hands and pushing the bundle into his palm, pushing to ensure he doesn't close his hand around it.

Shedding her gloves beforehand, the knight first gently pinches some of the dust between her fingers, rubbing the fine dust. There is a faint crackle of magic as she does so, the smell of wet dirt and growing plants faintly igniting into the air around them both. Rolling up his sleeves in an almost mirrored display of last time, Illanya would pause for only the hint of a moment before pressing her fingers to Roswell's skin and gently tracing runes and lines across them. Where the silver dust meets his skin, it trails light before fading into something so faint that it could only be seen if he was standing in direct sunlight.

Her expression is focused as she makes the marks, pausing to add more powder until it's all gone. Satisfied, Illanya then plucks the empty leather from his hands and places her own palms underneath his. There is a faint flicker of gold on the backs of her hands before the angle makes it hard to see, and with a glance up to Roswell, she nods and takes a breath.

"With the power vested to me by the Huntsman of the Wilds, Euan. I grant to you, Roswell van Breek, a boon." The sound of gentle bells ringing on a wind that shouldn't exist in a building like this chatter around them. The scent from before grows a little stronger and Illanya's eyes glitter gold. "My boon is the power of mist. Should you find yourself in desperate need, may the power of the morning mists, and the fog of quiet evening carry you to safety. That is the power I grant to you on this day. You have my word, that this boon shall not fail you when you need it most." She speaks with a note of finality and the runes and lines flash once before fading to practically nothing. Looking a little tired, Illanya lets her hands drop to her sides and she sighs.

"There, that should do it. Just... try not to overdo it. By my word, I won't be the one to take such an ability away, but it does not mean that Euan will always be willing to aid you if you become too dependent on it. Use it sparingly and I'm sure he won't mind it too much, though." Illanya laughs, tossing the leather to the table and plopping down onto the bench.

"Otherwise, enjoy. I hope that it'll be as useful as an ability as it has been for me."

(ahaha just a modified gift of investiture via Ceremony in 5e :3c. Fun to try and get it to work here!)

(every time I get just a little crumb of your royal au and the bride au, I just am losing my mind adslkfja)

The knight had positioned herself someplace she could watch over her charge and keep a steady eye on their surroundings. Weary, but at least comforted with the tranquil environment the maiden had chosen. It was at least easier on the nerves than a bustling city street or countless shops. Though it wasn’t terribly necessary, Illanya lowered her head slightly to at least make it somewhat easier.

For the most part, she’d been doing her best to play the stoic guard she’d been assigned as, but finally, a warm, genuine smile quirks at her lips, flattered by the kindly given gift. A hum leaves the knight as her emerald eyes glance upwards towards where the crown had been placed before she nods tentatively.

“I am glad you seem to think so, my lady.” She murmurs quietly, and if she notices the darkening shadows across the other’s face at the mention of the wedding, she says nothing of it. Even if her reaction is what she guesses, it’s not her place to speak of such things. Regardless of her own feelings on political betrothals, and arrangements for the sake of some bureaucratic gain.

The knight blinks, shaking her straying thoughts away and nodding as she listens to the bride’s explanation. Though she remains alert to their surroundings, Illanya at least looks interested in what she’s hearing, nodding.

“I like that. A flower wreath can be much more meaningful than a dowry if anything, though I must confess that I may be biased since I’ve a fondness for flowers and the gentle growing things of the forest.” She replies, with mirth in her voice.

Illanya’s expression shifts to something more surprised but she finds herself nodding affirmatively, head already on a swivel to look for plants, clearly enthusiastic at this idea, going so far as to kneel near some of the plants and start to ruffle through them, the flowers reacting happily to her touch.

“Of course, my lady. I’m only vaguely familiar with His Excellency’s preferences myself, but I would be happy to assist you in such a tradition.”

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P-4076 LocalSnowi

The bride simply watches as she is led by the hand of the small notail before her, who seems a bit preoccupied with her phone. Looking around, she gazes at the sickly green of the surrounding greenery. It was almost unnatural, especially when paired with the ominously red skies. Finally, there is a stop. Before them awaits a trial that almost every notail goes through at some point in their life. A coming of age. A turn from innocence to wisdom.

This is The Woods.

P-4076 stows her phone away and looks up and over at the bride. Unlike the luxurious silks she would usually wear, the bride is clad in something simpler and more practical for what seems to be camping. Well, camping and living off the land for 5 years that is. A turtle-like creature known as an arise shuffles between them, standing at 3 ft tall. “Creature, check. Blank map, check. Pack, check,” the notail murmurs to herself before clasping her sleeved hands together. “Alright, you’re set! Don’t know why you’d want to go into The Woods when you’re already an adult though. I can kinda chaperone you through. We’ll be with that group getting ready to head in. =3”

As she approaches, a taller notail with a bird mask holds out their hand. She gives a begrudging sigh before placing her phone in their hand. “Okay. Year 1 isn’t too bad. The next 4 after them… I’ll see how much I remember. I’m a P-class, so I was only in there for, like, 2 or 3 years. Anyway, come on! It’ll be great! I bet this is how classless notails go through, so you won’t be that left out. =3” And so, in they go.

@ np go nuts

(how the hell did i miss this

P-4076 lifts up her glass full of water (legal drinking age she may be, but beer isn’t her thing) as well, her oversized sleeves rolled down to her wrists. The glasses clink together in celebration. “And to all the time I spent patching bugs! =3” she adds triumphantly. Once she sets hers down, she takes a straw and swirls it around the drink. After all, no decent notail would be caught with their mask off. Seeing his expression falter slightly, she simply chuckles while sipping from her straw.

Xander Klingelhof fizzelston

Xander was familiar with machines. Machines driven by movement, fueled with oil and working on steam. Things that weren't able to process, or decipher code. Xander did not know about coding at all, but from what he gathered it was similar to writing a music piece. Different. But similar enough.
So he laughed and lifted his pint towards P-4076. An age old ritual of celebrating.

"Proost," he said. "To you! And your finished piece." he lifted the glass slightly higher. "It's no small feat writing things," he laughed before taking a sip. "It's even harder to finish something." The smile slightly faltered on his face. _Oh. He had so much writing he had to finish himself.

Kei Devereux denishdraws

Teris as usual he taking care of his flower shop, until he heard a loud noise on the second floor, he ask one of his employees to take care of the cashier for him.

he goes upstairs and sees 4 of his children doing some sort of summoning ritual, there were a magic circle on the floor and a man in the middle of it, his second daughter Ran points at the eldest one, Lucky "Da, it's was Lucky idea" she said

"no, Lean that want to do it" she points at the youngest son

"it's was your idea!" said Lean angrily

he just sighed at his child's action and ordered them to just help open the shop. he apologizes for his children's actions to Xander and then helps him go back to where he was.

Teris start to mumble some words and the magic circle around them starts to glow and "back" in the flick of a finger Xander manages to comeback where he was

Nathaniel Clement fizzelston

“It is tradition,” Nathaniel’s fingers lingered on the counter for a second. A smile darted to his lips. “A ritual, to get pressed flowers before a sea voyage.” The old sailor looked Teris over. His eyes then slowly glided towards the dried pressed flower that lay between them. Lavender, winter hearth, bastard asphodel. All carefully picked out and lay together. Heather flowers. Something to hold on to, if you’re surrounded by the ink black waters of the Northen ocean. The Kaap had no flowers. Only ice and black stone.
Nathaniel shook his head before his gaze shifted back towards the clerk.
“Do these have meaning to you as well?” he couldn’t help but ask. “I am… A bit too barbaric for the whole flower-symbolism,” he said with an honest laugh.

Nathaniel drummed his fingers on his knees. Tip tip. "I bet that brine and salt made it though, aye," he replied with a smile. His eyes, through its corners, tried to find Aris. It had been ages since Nathaniel allowed anyone to 'pamper' him, and in all honesty, the sailor did not know how to act. So he tapped his fingers. Smiled, shifted his shoulder, and occasionally bared his teeth in a grin. Like a trapt chimpanzee. But he allowed it.

Nathaniel leaned backward as the other finished the braid. His hand was directly raised to meet it. It was a strange sensation. He nodded at them. "We normally use beads for that. Or tattoos, but I have to admit that this way is more pleasant than getting stabbed with a needle over and over," he laughed. He leaned forward. "You got two braids? Tell me about them, one day would ya?"

Aristaeus EyelessPyro

"Your hair is tough." The brush combing though Nathaniel's hair yanked just a little too hard, the younger being behind the man grunting out a quiet apology before continuing on. Though the pair had only met a few days before, Aris has taken a liking to the man. He reminded them of home- the jokes, the hearty laughing, like the warriors that helped them grow. It felt only right to give him a little piece of home after they had taken to each other so easily within the tavern. Then again, a few drinks makes meeting people easier that ever.

Perhaps it was a little impulsive to ask to do his hair. It was kind of him to agree, yet not many would allow someone who was basically a stranger to do something akin to a ritual with them, especially not with one that has so intimate as braiding hair. He didn't have much to work with but there was just enough to get a tight braid near one of the shaved sides. It would have been much easier doing this to his beard, but they didn't even want to ask. The coppery stands atop his head were hard enough to try to tame.

A few practiced motions left them done in minutes as soon as the comb was down, a small braid left in Nate's hair that was almost barely visible. "We do this to show important moments in our lives. A special thing. To a friendship, and to your safety out on the waters. Be safe out there tomorrow, friend."

-----

Np: Go absolutely wild. You're more than welcome to do whatever with Aris here =)

N'arfi TwizzlyTwist

The viera glanced over at the human next to him sheepishly. “I hope you don’t mind..” Narfi found it a bit difficult to read Aristaeus’s expressions, as they seemed fairly cold and distant. “I’d.. like to honour someone that I’ve lost a while ago. The flowers have already been picked! In Ala Mhigo, they put beaknettle flowers on the graves.”

He nervously looked in a different direction as he held the flowers. “It’s quite a distance to travel. His grave lays on a mountain, overlooking his home..” If he got to choose before he finally meets his end, he’d love to have his grave look over his own hometown as well. “He saved my life when.. I was nothing but a brighteyed and foolish adventurer. It’s the least I can do to honour his memory. After we’re done.. I can show you around the city? You may not enjoy the cold weather but I know a place that serves the most delicious hot chocolate. It’ll warm you right up.”