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In a world you thought you knew, secrets remained hidden in the shrouds of time and destiny. In the age of the internet and television, the characters of your childhood fairy tales, your favorite movies, or even your wildest desires are all reality. Humanity has found itself no longer alone. The monsters are out of the closet. Magic is real. Society has found itself divided into those who have accepted the 'others', and those who wish to send these creatures into a fiery grave.

Here you'll find a church that promises lasting life by embracing the eternal curse of the vampire. There are groups of humans who have risen up to create hate groups to destroy the supernatural. An eternal struggle between angels and demons amidst it all, threatening destruction of the entire world in the cross-fire. All the while, most of society works, lives, breathes, right along side monsters and beautiful creatures from their dreams. Who are you among them?

Welcome to Savannah, Georgia.

Character of the Quarter
Seth Jefferson

Thread of the Quarter
Old Face, New Trouble

Hero of the Quarter
Freya Storm

Villain of the Quarter
Zander & Sabryn

Pure Heart of the Quarter
Fouch Sobry

Dark Heart of the Quarter
Etain Devlin

Romantic of the Quarter
Lark Eswin

We Ship This of the Quarter
Lark & Zander

Valued Member of the Quarter
Sacha & Firefly

New Character of the Quarter
Seth Jefferson

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 Secrets and Truth, Continued from "Your Answers Await"
Posted on: May 11 2018, 09:14 PM

original thread

The Library's projection guided Ilias to a golden lift, sported with wooden mechanics and powered by magic. They would step inside and the Librarian pulled the door shut. What he sought was of varied knowledge and pursuits, of vampires and humans who both searched for the cure. "Your request is a bold one, young scion," although the projection spoke and sounded exactly like Avani, it was a manifestation of the Library's magic.

"I've known and watched many visitors in these halls, and so few have had the courage to ask for this. Those few were powered, and motivated by something - so what motivates you, Ilias Pearce?" She then looked to him, those soft hazel eyes deep with the knowledge of time and space and everything in between. "Or shall I call you, Andras Blacke?"

Ilias, with his sight, would be able to see the golden light that made Avani's form, rather than the faun herself. She moved silently, as the lift rose past the third and fourth level; his request was not like Sergio's where he was seeking a family's name. This was a compilation of stories, of written text that would describe the attempts of curing vampirism. They would hit the seventh floor, the door swung open, for the pair to make their exit. The shelves on this level were black, and a certain coldness touched the place.

The shelves were fewer here than it would be on any level. The Library was rather fickle at times, and often changed up each floor to one thing or another. At Ilias' convenience, the shelves that existed had been plucked from various parts of the Library and contained information on the writers and the studies regarding vampirism. Humans had tackled this challenge with fervor, and in secret, before their knowledge had been eradicated by one force or another.

"What you seek is often a bloody affair," she said, "but the information will prove absolutely enlightening."

With a good look around, Ilias would find among an empty space his armchair. The Librarian lingered and watched him take in the shelves, filled with books that may possibly be the answers to his quest.

31 posts | Advanced Member | Fey | Send Message
149 | Teacher and Librarian | faun (fey) | |
"And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good - John Steinbeck"
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Posted on: Jul 3 2018, 03:52 PM

WORD count: 1000-ish
TAG: Firefly
NOTES: Since we're being honest....

Golden light as ageless as creation itself pierces his sight with all the brilliance of the burning heart of the sun. Ilias has to turn away, else be blinded by the magnitude of such a light; one that he imagines can only equate to that of the Divine itself. It penetrates all his senses, tenderly warm against his skin like the Earth’s father star, and then is gone nearly as soon as it had come to be. Now standing before him are duplicates of Avani, at least in appearance to the mundane eye, but his scion sight can readily see the difference between the twins. Mainly that within the faun closest to him shimmer innumerable pin-pips of light, floating like so many moats of dust within a sun-lit window. He nearly gapes in awe, but remembers his manners. How silly of him; as if a near-omniscient being could be offended by such a minor infraction as staring.

Ilias nods briefly to the other man as the Library’s projection asks for the scion to follow. And he does so, hardly able to contain his bubbling excitement as he fiddles with the coffee cup in his hands. Of course, Ilias has dreamed of similar moments as this for nearly a century. A dream that fomented in the years following his initiation in the secrets that lie within the threads of reality; secrets of magic and of universal powers that were bestowed upon him by an ancient. A thirst for knowledge consumes him. Yet not for the betterment of his own life, but for the betterment of all life.

He steps into the lift with her — erm… it? — although it is hardly more than a rickety carriage with elaborate filigree that will carry him up to the higher levels of the library. Carried up to his assured destiny or to the most unfortunate ruin imaginable, he knows not. Ilias knows many things about the function of the supreme elements, but fate is one form of esoteric knowledge that escapes him, even with his minor talents of divination. Fate is fickle, indeed. He glances at the library’s golden-toned projection as the hallowed voice speaks to him, as if a million words said by a million voices overlap to coalesce into the one that seems to come both from the projection and everywhere at once. Spooky!

“I uh— whoa…” he sputters when his true name is spoken with such casual ease. As if the library could see all, and be all places at once. Simply stunning! Andras Blacke -- the name of the slave he once was, a name of a man who suffered and died in the name of truest love. The name where this series of misfortunate events — or are they fortunate? — all began, this fate that twists and rends his life to seeming ruin. Ilias blinks rapidly, utterly aghast as a chill streaks though his center like silvery lightning.

“How do you know that name?! Wait... wait... will you kindly show me more about the life of Andras Blacke? Maybe it will… help me… integrate… some things. Yeah.” He hmms as his brows furrow, obviously unsure about the implications of what he just said. His life of the past months has been like shooting at targets in the dark, a whole lot of questions, a whole lot of guesses as to the answers to said questions, and a whole lot of missing those blasted paper targets.

“As for my motives? I wish to help the world overcome the terrible curse of vampirism. So many suffer it. Victims and monsters alike. But...” Ilias frowns and drags a hand through the mop of his hair, and looks away from the library’s projection. As if that could even conceal the truth… to do so is as hopeless as his heart has been these days. Muttering, he stares down into the coffee cup, fidgeting a finger along the lip of delicate china. “If I were to be honest… and I will be honest here... ahhh... you can definitely say… that love motivates me.” Ilias flushes a bright shade of red. The whole matter evokes a myriad of emoting that he certainly won't want to display in front of strangers, even if the current stranger is an ancient library!

And the lift stops, and he no longer feels the weight of the library’s attentive stare on him. For this, he has a small relief, one swept away by the splendor of this rarely-visited floor of the library. Thousands of books rest here, pining for eyes to read them. A consecrated place where the bones of ancient writers lay, made immortal by the act of scribing knowledge down centuries ago. The scent of old paper and dusty wood assaults his nostrils, but he breathes deep the familiar, comforting smell and even manages a ghost of a smile. The library’s projection has already moved several paces in front of him, so Ilias hurries to catch up. Falling out of a trot at the false Avani’s side, it isn’t long until he is ushered into a quiet alcove devoted to study.

The lamps here, all of them glow not with true flames, but with a magical facsimile — smart when so many old and irreplaceable books are around. With his mouth agape, he lifts his eyes and lifts them even more to take in the enormous book shelves that surround them. Looking back to the projection, his eyes swirl with the wonder of a child having found the world’s largest toy store. The dark umber hues implore the projection, as if asking permission. But he realizes that such permission has already been granted. He shuffles, purposefully keeping his shoes quiet upon the floor, and gently lays the cup down upon a nearby table. Lifting a hand, he hesitates midway to one of the gold-leaf books, one scribed in an archaic language long dead. Proto-sanskrit, from the time even before what historians consider the dawn of civilization.

“The attempts go so far back…” he whispers, unable to keep disillusionment from his voice. “How am I to even solve this problem… when so many have tried and failed before me? Who am I exactly, to be so arrogant as to —” Ilias clacks his teeth together mid-sentence and lets out a long sigh. His fingers delicately trace the golden lettering upon a book’s spine while a quite brooding sculpts gentle features. The reply comes as tingles of an unsaid promise, shooting tiny bolts though his digits as if to encourage him to take the book from the shelf and read it. He twists his mouth and teases the book from its place to tuck it beneath an arm while he turns around to face the library’s projection.

“What do you mean by…” Ilias’s voice cracks, and he swallows a cold, hard lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. “… a bloody affair?”

“Lord above.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, grumbling, “I have had a billion questions that were all ready should I ever get to meet you. And the cruelty of this is that I can’t hardly think of any, now that I’m here. I’m utterly hopeless.”

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