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Roleplay sample-
The night had seemed to open up around her, her dark form moving effortlessly through the shadows of the forest. The only thing contrasting against the honey gold of her skin, and raven blackness of her hair was that of the white cloth covering her eyes. Shelagh Riven, the sightless magician in these parts. The forgotten child of the Celtic people. Made her glorious body move, like that of an active deer in pursuit. About her tiny lights of red flickered, the beings of the night. All that wished, for the enchanted blood of the mystical being. Born on a holy night, Shelagh was born with all the powers of legend of her people. She was a gift from the heavens, a gift for good. Her body and mind increased as she paused in the center of the wooded glen, her heart pounding slightly in her chest, causing her breast to rise and fall. Slipping the snap that held her sword within it’s sheath, Shelagh drew the thin metal blade before her. She listened closely to her surroundings before she seemed to soar slightly through the air, landing effortlessly, her knee dipping only slightly as she swiped her sword out. About her the red lights seemed to explode as they gained on her and attempted an attack.
Slowly, sheathing her sword, Shelagh, turned and made her way back to her home. The attacks had become a bit more frequent and her energy was spent running more so then fighting. Slipping her arms out of the coat, she moved toward the door of the tiny two room cabin, then removed the band about her eyes. “You have a visitor child.” The crooning voice of the Hag called from the back room, and Shelagh dipped her head slightly as she allowed the familiar and non-familiar scents to be inhaled. “Craven?” She said as she made her way toward the clean oak table, “What is it you want from me this time?” She asked, her wind soft voice dripping on his ears. Craven was an Elder of the highest Degree, a lost tribe of Druids who found it in his best interest to keep on Shelagh’s every move. “The attacks are getting greater, even the villagers are crying that evil is among them. A darkness falling over this land.” He said, as the hag poured him a mug of gingerroot tea. “They are blaming you for the attacks. I believe it is time you start your journey for more involved areas of evil, my child.” Shelagh lifted her crystal eyes to the man’s face, she could not see him, so there for did not know the awed look that reflected in his eyes. “I am always to hide, to run, when will this ever end.” She said. Her deep Scottish brogue , was heavier with her soft tone, and sadness seemed to almost echo on her words. “I will leave tonight, I know the demons will not quit until they get what they want from me.” Craven nodded, setting down his mug and walking to her. “We have supplied you with a horse. It shall take you out of town where you can get a proper device for travel. Travel well Shelagh, my child.” He said, bending down and kissing her softly on the forehead.
It was but mere moments once Craven had left, that Shelagh had her small sack packed and readied herself for travel. The Hag cried softly into a cloth handkerchief and Shelagh, kissed her wrinkled cheek. “Once this mission is over, I will return here.” The Hag laughed softly, “I hope to see you with a fine mon and with a couple of bairns.” She said, “Bring them home to see old granny.” Shelagh laughed, not at returning home, but at the thought of children, at the thought of a husband. “I shall return one day.” She stated, before turning from the keep and into the darkness of the night. The large black riding horse stood before her, ready for riding and a few weeks of travel. Somehow she would make it to where she needed to go. The horse would know. Shelagh mounted the beautiful beast and rode out into the forest, away from the land of her birth.
A voice seemed to echo in her head, Hura. A town so very different from Gloshin, the place of her birth. The hooves of the horse played a rhythm against the ground, the rhythm echoed within Shelagh’s heart. Over and over she counted the paces the animal took. She could smell through the mountainous terrain the distant scent of society. There was a difference between the wilderness with it’s sparse human dwelling to that of a city. The was a stench of people congregating, walking together their bodies sweating, their waste mixed with the manure of their animals. It lifted, even in the cleanest of villages, and Shelagh always knew when she was near to a city limit. She pulled hard on the reins of the horse. Was she really ready to meet the outside world. Too often was she shunned by others. Lifting her sightless crystal blue eyes to the sky, she allowed the wind to lift up her ebony hair and blow softly against her skin. She felt a pulsing sensation run through her hands and arms. She could smell them in the air. Demons. She moved slowly, allowing the horse to canter down the even worn dirt path.
The nearer she got to the city, the more sure she was that this place was filled with demons, or at least a collection of extremely strong ones. Pausing the horse, she slid from his back and moved through the city. When she got to where there seemed to be a large collection of people and the smell of sizzling meat, and asked for help from a man near by. He directed her to the nearest stable and dwelling and she tucked her horse inside, before making her way back out into the city streets. With a slow steady hand she pulled her hair back tightly and tied the white band of fabric about her eyes, before she made her way to find the evil that dwelled in this part.
Unlike her to walk away from a fight, Shelagh knew that she would be a sight walking into the tavern as she was. She slipped in through the back, with only a scared maid as a guide to her room. “Lady, your sack.” The girl said, shaking slightly as she handed Shelagh the brown satchel. “You get one meal and a tub of hot water for the money you paid to stay here.” Shelagh nodded. “I will take the hot bath now please.” The maid nodded her head and ran down the stairs. A tub was set up in her room, as it was and a fire blazed in the fireplace. She could here the water boiling and the lid of the heavy copper pot snapping up and down because of the bubbles. Her door opened and the girl walked in, a bucket on each arm. “Cold water, mame. “ She said, settling the water on the outside of the tub and backing out of the room. Shelagh shrugged. “Thank you.” She whispered as she lifted the hot pot from the fire and poured it into the tub. Following with one of the buckets of cold water. Slowly she undressed, pealing her clothes from her body and the scent of the blood still heavy on her body. She unbound her hair and let the heavy waves of raven hair to fall down her back. Slowly she stepped into the tub, and scrubbed the blood from her face and chest, her arms and legs. When she was done, her honey colored skin was covered in a blush of pink. She lifted the second bucket and dumped it over her head. The water was like ice but felt good on her body.
Standing she pulled a black shirt from her pack and buttoned it tight against her body and the thin black slacks that matched her old pair. She bound her wet hair to the base of her neck. And moved out of the room, her katana at her hip, her daggers visible at her thigh, and her coat slung over her arm.
The tavern itself was a loud place, filled to the brim with men and women alike who listened to the sound of a lute being played off in a corner somewhere. When she entered it seemed to stop all noise, and she shielded her strange eyes from the bar, by dipping her head down. She moved to the bar and felt for a seat, several men moving from theirs to help her, and she pushed them away, taking the nearest stool to what she hoped was the exited. Air seemed to hit her as it opened and closed and she sighed hoping it was going to be a quick escape if necessary . “Whiskey.” She said when the barkeep asked, though she rarely drank, the smells were overwhelming and the calm of silence interrupted her thoughts. She tilted her head to listen and the lute was all that played, a soft drowning tune that echoed through her bones. She wondered why a Tavern player would play such a sad song, but she questioned it none, for it seemed to cause the drinker’s to relax and drowned in their own sorrows. She sipped at the whiskey slowly, allowing the burn to drip down her throat and calm her beating heart. She would be leaving, leaving as she did whenever she traveled. To the next town that called her, to slay the demons that played with their villagers. It seemed to increase, but none had an aura like the one she just met. Though they had barely tested her powers, she had smelt their fear. Their fear of torture. She slapped a few coins on the bar, before standing and whipping the coat over her arms and moving out the door. She had been right is thinking that she was near the exit, for the cool night air hit her face and Shelagh turned herself from the tavern and out toward the city streets. She needed information and she had a feeling she knew where to start. ‘That warrior, with the soft angelic light.’ In all her traveling Shelagh knew a God Blessed child when she was near one, it was her place to find the warriors that one day would battle against the demons of hell to protect mankind from destruction. It had been her purpose, the reason why she was born. This girl, this warrior who barely made it out of the battle with the male, before the promise she had him make fell through, was one. The quiver of light was only masked by her need to avenge. The emotion that played out over all others, the angry fear filled need to trap all your other emotions inside. Shelagh lifted her head to the night sky, she let the wind drift all the scents of the city to her and about her till she was lost in it’s smells. She moved from her spot on the cobbled road and walked down a lost and lonely street some way till she came to a small, dimly lit house. Leaning up against a wall across from the street she waited.
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