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Blood Poets



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Sat Apr 19, 2014 4:21 pm
Rydia says...



Ever since he was four years old, Dirk had wanted to be a blood poet. He had sat on his father's shoulders and heard the words of Vileniya fall like steel. That had been the last great battle of the realm, when hundreds were put to death, their voices silenced forever. Except for one. A lone rebel who lived to feel the weight of their defeat: Alyana. The blood poet who failed her people. Dirk had sworn that would never be him.

Premise

The year is 3614 and the world is ruled by diplomats. Whenever a dispute occurs, each side is called upon to recite their best poem and the victory goes to the one with the silver tongue. Those who lose the dispute must pay a blood tax and all parties will receive a long cut across their right arm. Citizens are warned not to trade with anyone who has paid the blood tax more than three times and those who reach their tenth blood tax are automatically thrown in jail.

Mostly this is a peaceful practice, but when a war breaks out between two nations, it is the duty of the blood poets to summarise their people's plight in words. Only those who have never had to pay the blood tax may claim the title of blood poet and often they enter training from a young age and face off against one another within their academy, which will produce only three or four blood poets from every two hundred students. Many others will leave after paying the blood tax.

To ensure that wars are only fought over matters of great importance, all those on the losing side will forfeit their lives and will be put to death swiftly but humanely. All except for the blood poet who will be granted their life but stripped of all titles and cut one time across their left arm. This is the mark of a defeated blood poet.

All poetry battles are conducted in a special Haiku robe which leaves both of their arms bare.

The Present

The two nations Penine and Marla are at war. As the battle approaches, both sides hold tournaments to elect a blood poet to fight for their side. Our characters are these blood poets, hoping to prove themselves against the other blood poets of their nations so that they might fight for their people.

Other

The people of the Penine nation hail from near the mountains but a harsh winter has meant that food is scarce and they have had no choice but to journey further South. They came upon the river Marla and made camp at her banks when they found the waters were plentiful with fish.

The people of Marla are also known as the river people and they live on an island of rafts which span the widest part of river Marla. They journey up and down the river every day and trade with those towns which are nearest to her banks. However, all of the river and anything in it belongs to them so naturally they were angered to find the Penine nation had invaded their land.

Please be aware that this storybook will involve writing poetry! However, if you would like to take part but are not a poet, then you may have your character be a fraud. They can use the poetry of the old masters (eg. Shakespeare) and try to pass it off as their own. However, the other blood poets may catch you out (they will) so you should be prepared for your character to be put to death before the end of the storybook.

Characters

Please create a blood poet of either the Penine or Marla nation! Feel free to use this template as a guide:

Spoiler! :
Code: Select all
[b]Name: [/b]
[b]Nation: [/b]
[b]Age: [/b]

[b]Appearance: [/b]
[b]Personality: [/b]
[b]History: [/b]


Marla
1. Rava Raincrest
2. Mika Willowake
3. Ara Graceling
4.
5.
6.

Penine
1. Dirk Sandstone
2. Raxton Poltrock
3. Jade Rookra
4. Evangeline Dilandau
5.
6.
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Wed Apr 23, 2014 12:09 pm
Rydia says...



Dirk Sandstone

Dirk leaned his shoulder against the cart and walked his feet through the marsh, trying to find a solid space to strain against. His shoulders were strong from manual labour for Dirk had always believed in helping his dad in the mines after class, but even so it was hard work. The sun was high in the sky and baking hot - how it hadn't dried out the marshy banks and the river along with them was beyond him.

The cart shifted a few inches and then rolled to a stop again. Dirk kept his shoulder rammed against it, less it fall back to where it was, but he took a breather. He looked out across the way to where the Marlans were leaping from raft to raft with an envious ease and energy. How they survived without the cool caves at this time of the year was incredible. Even should the Penine nation triumph - no, when they triumphed - it would be a difficult season for them.

"You could help," Dirk grumbled at the young man he had grown up with. Raxton was as lean as he was muscular, but a bout of hard work would soon sort that out. The trouble was that getting Rax to do any hard work was impossible.

"When you're doing so well yourself?" Rax only took the pipe out of his mouth long enough to say these words and then he put it back in again, puffing away at the harmful substance.

Dirk grunted. "You could at least stop making it harder." Dirk pushed against the cart suddenly and it rolled another inch, causing Rax - who was naturally sitting atop of the cart - to almost drop his pipe.

Rax only laughed though. "That was almost funny!" The olive skinned boy hooted and carefully stuck his pipe back into his mouth.

"It wasn't meant to be. I'm serious, Rax. Get off the cart." Dirk fixed him with a hard gaze and grumbled to himself as he lowered his head and leaned in to push again: "I don't know what you think you're going to do when you're no longer a blood poet. The nation won't put up with your laziness then."
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Wed Apr 23, 2014 3:29 pm
Audy says...



Raxton Poltrock

Not even midday yet, and the sun was already scornful in its gaze. Rax felt the rays rubbing against his skin; a few more hours in this sunlight and he was sure to burn. The cool of the breeze from the river did help soothe some, and anywhere was better than the highland desert heat of Penine.

From his place at the top of the trader's cart he watched as the neighboring Marlans prepared for their festivities, a few of them were already drunk. Fish-heads and Marmaids he liked to call them, on account of their silly outfits fashioned after scales and river stones. Rax noticed a few more incoming Fish-heads drifting along the river in a raft filled with various instruments and banners, performing a ballad of some sort.

Rax took a deep pull from his pipe, straining to hear the poetry from the other side. Perhaps tonight he might persuade Dirk to come with him to infiltrate, see who their best players were. Whatever they were saying, it couldn't have been good. A few of the drunken Fish-heads were pointing at them and laughing just as Dirk grumbled at him from below. The poor guy was stuck in the mud. And he was doing so well for himself, too.

Rax just about said as much, knowing it would provoke Dirk's anger. For all the years Rax had lived with him, he came to know Dirk as the serious sort who took after his father, but ever since the old man died, it seemed as though Dirk never came to laugh again, or even crack a smile. Rax did his best to lighten the mood whenever he could, but usually it would only provoke annoyance or anger. Sometimes he had so much fun picking on him though, that he couldn't help but laugh whenever Dirk opened his mouth to protest.

"That was almost funny!"


"It wasn't meant to be. I'm serious Rax. Get off the cart." Oooh, somebody is touchy today, Rax thought as he exhaled a puff of smoke. Some of the Fish heads seemed to have noticed them strolling by. This could not be good. As peaceful as their society usually was, stonings were known to break out here and there, especially this close to holidays and especially without a blood poet around to put a stop to it.

"--think you're going to do when you're no longer a blood poet. The nation won't put up with your laziness then!"

Rax looked down at his companion with a teasing expression on his face. "I dunno, I haven't thought that far ahead yet." One thing for sure, it would be difficult finding a trading partner for tobacco with a scar on his arm if he were to fail, but it would be impossible to trade for tobacco if Penine lost and they were all put to death.


"Well, look here," said an approaching Fishhead. "If it isn't the Stonies come to steal some lines from us."

Rax looked around, nervously. It looked like they were outnumbered.





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Wed Apr 23, 2014 9:49 pm
Lumi says...



Rava Raincrest sat on a nearby dock--a place where he'd come each day and weave scraps of silk cloth into bolts using strange properties of the river's waters. There were some townsfolk who thought that this was a magical practice, that it made his clothes fit their owner better, keep them cooler in the baking sunlight. Truth be told, it was just a relaxation technique his mom had taught him. The water pooled in the ream of cloth dipped into the lazy current and gurgled as the air slipped around the free knitting and to the surface, relaxing into misty puffs of humid air that ran through Rava's nose as he took a deep breath.

There were fewer and fewer Marlans, he thought to himself, who knew how to speak softly. They all had a firm grasp on the carry a big stick proverb, though. Rava gathered his cloth and tucked it inside his loose-knit tunic without wringing the water away. Dapples of the stream showed up almost immediately on his left rib cage. He was sporting a new outfit--a two-tone garb that was mostly calm, blue silk with a darker wine-colored sash serving as a belt.

He left the docks and paused to allow his bare feet to adjust to the heat of the soil just meters away from the riverbank. He approached the larger men who were belting insults and swears, names created just for the mountain folk.

"And here I am, thinking that you lot called the Peninians uncivilized gorillas while you drink at the tavern each night." Rava caught their attention, his arms crossed, but not tense. It was part of what he was (in)famous for in Marla--his inability to clench a fist, to bulge a muscle.

"Hah!" The largest man, Baron, with his beer belly and logger's shoulders, scoffed. "Coming to the Stonies' rescue, Raincrest?! Maybe you can read them a bed-time story. Gods know they can't read on their own."

Rava watched the man closely, noticed a tear in his shirt where he'd probably been roughhousing with his wife or sons. Rava pinched the fabric together and began stitching it closed. "Baron, you and your friends should know well that if there is no quiet before a storm, the thunder loses much of its strength." He let go of Baron's shirt and looked up at the bear of a man--far up as Rava's eyes were only at his chest-level. "Wouldn't you prefer it if they all vanished in one grand bang?"

Baron narrowed his eyes, furrowed his brow. His gaze turned from Rava to the two Peninians, then back. "Raincrest, you're not thinking of--"

"I am. And my left arm is ready for whatever consequences may come."

One of the other men scoffed and spat a wad of Barry Bog's Snuff into the soil. "I don't care who the hell is spraying the words when the time comes. These stoneskulls are on my property, and they're gonna--"

"--what? They're going to what? Become martyrs for the mountain? You'll only stir up passion and vigor in their compatriots." Rava glanced at the two men who seemed ready to run--and he noticed that they both lacked sleeves on their tunics. Poets. Rava shrugged, suddenly, and turned back towards the docks, the river, and his small house in earshot of the tavern. "They're on your property, Marcus, do what you want."

As he began to leave, the young man holding his cart that held his friend called out. "Stop!" There was a pause, with nothing but the river's rush to fill the silence. "You're a Blood Poet," he remarked, and then clenched his fists. "Don't think we'll have mercy on you because you're a woman!"

Baron, Marcus, and their bulky friend erupted in roaring laughter. Rava kept his eyes on the water ahead. "No," he said, not bothering to correct the boy, "I no longer believe in mercy."
I am a forest fire and an ocean, and I will burn you just as much
as I will drown everything you have inside.
-Shinji Moon


I am the property of Rydia, please return me to her ship.





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Sat Apr 26, 2014 6:43 pm
Elinor says...



Ara Graceling

It was not yet midday, and already the heat had grown relentless. In general Ara preferred the heat to the cold, but days like this one could be just as unbearable as an average winter day. Before she'd left for the coast, she'd worn a black dress, which amplified her lack of comfort. Yet she did not feel like going home, as it was quite a hike and she was on a roll with the poem that she was writing. In town she'd bought an iced tea lemonade. It was an ancient drink, but a favorite of hers on days like today. Besides, she enjoyed the solitude of her little spot by the sea. A tree hung overhead and offered shade.

When she was sixteen she'd discovered it, and had discovered the solitude and the view helped her write better. She'd be no more comfortable at home and would have to deal with her sister, which she was not in the mood for. Ara dreamed of the day she could finally move out, but it was difficult; anytime she thought it might happen, life got in the way. She'd decided to start on the blood poets venture as a way out. While it was dangerous, and she could die, there was nothing for her in Marla. She had Myra, but it wasn't like they were latched at the hip. Why not make something of her life? Everyone who read her poetry told her that she was talented.

Ara's sense of solitude was suddenly broken when she heard a commotion about fifteen feet back, towards the docks. A person - Ara couldn't tell if they were a man or a woman, was approached by two menacing looking people. She tried to ignore them, but it grew increasingly difficult. She could not make out what they were saying, so the noise was equivalent to a buzzing fly.

She got up to tell them off when she noticed them leaving. "You're a Blood Poet," one of the men said as he clenched his fists. "Don't think we'll have mercy on you because you're a woman!" She didn't know who these men where, but would they find her too? She'd rather not thing

The person turned and Ara realized she knew who it was. It was a man who Myra had dated for two years before she had ended it abruptly. Ara wasn't sure exactly what had happened, but from what she understood it wasn't on good terms. What was his name? It started with an R...He turned direction and made eye contact with Ara. His eyes widened. Not sure what to do, she turned around and began to gather her things.

He was a blood poet too. If he still harbored any hatred towards Myra, Ara did not doubt that she would be the brunt of it once they inevitably faced off. With this information, she finished gathering her things and decided to finish her poem at home.

All our dreams can come true — if we have the courage to pursue them.

-- Walt Disney





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Sat Apr 26, 2014 9:17 pm
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Rydia says...



Dirk Sandstone

Dirk was not happy to be saved by the woman, perhaps that was why he shouted at her as he did. He immediately felt bad about it, but that was why you were meant to think before you acted: actions couldn't be taken back. He also meant it and that was another reason he did not take it back. Dirk had never felt anger before, but he felt it toward this nation who would deny them the very basics of survival.

It was true, they had breached another nation's land, but instead of showing them the hospitality and kindness which they required, the Marlans had declared war on them. The second war in his lifetime and only fifteen years between them both. Sometimes Dirk wondered how long it would be before only one nation remained. Sometimes he thought it wasn't the glory which had pulled him to embrace the life of a blood poet, but the need to escape that sense of loss in Alyana's eyes.

"No, I don't suppose a Marlan would. I expect you don't believe in kindness either." Dirk stood his ground as the big one - Marcus - lunged for him and then he took one careful step back from his cart. Marcus went running straight into his marsh and slipped on the wet ground.

"If it's your land, you should know it better," Dirk commented. The man thrashed around in the marsh and his friend went to help him to his feet.

"Your friend's gone. Maybe you should go after him." The female Marlan seemed to have ignored his previous taunt - was he taunting her? - and if he hadn't known better, Dirk might have thought she was trying to help him. Dirk wasn't surprised that Rax had gone; he was probably hiding under the cart.

"I won't leave without my cart." There was food in the cart and there were hungry mouths at their side of the river - Dirk had only come out this far to trade his stone for food. And of course, if Rax was hiding under the cart, Dirk couldn't leave him to the mercy of the fishheads. They had no mercy, remember.

The problem was that the cart would need another good push before the back wheel was free and then it was still only a slow cart, pulled by his mountain pony. If things went badly for him, he hoped the Marlans would take care of her. Did they have a use for ponies on the water? Or would they turn her into food? The thought made him angry all over again and Dirk put his shoulder to the cart and walked through the mud which the Marlan had just been pulled out of. His boots sank to the top of the calf, but he strained against the wood and at last it rolled free.

Dirk waited, his breathing heavy, to see if they would try to stop him now.
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Tue Apr 29, 2014 12:52 am
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Lumi says...



Rava watched as the boy dislodged his cart from the muck and mud, then turned his gaze to Baron and Marcus, who exchanged glances before crossing their arms in sync.

Byron let out a gruff grunt. "If those two are blood poets, then we don't have much choice when it comes to discipline, do we, Rava?"

"Your memory is true, Marcus. While Marla herself gives you free reign over intruders on your property, our village...sees things differently." He addressed the dusty young man who was steadily getting closer to the reigns for his horse. "Perhaps you should consult the chieftain on the issue of trespassers..." Rava changed his gaze towards the village where Myra's younger sister walked briskly across the raft-walks between houses. "For now, let them go." Rava shot a grin to Baron. "They'll be blood and dust before long."

The boy's horse cried out as he mounted up while the men were distracted. Marcus spat angrily. "I'm not puttin' up with these mucked land-share laws. Not while the dust bowl's in town. Barry, I say we go see the chieftain 'n get some fists on the table about these sand-bas'ards."

Rava toyed with an idea for a short moment before placing a golden shell in Baron's palm. "Yes. Visit the chieftain. Tell her that our village's blood poets will be joining the fray for the glory of Marla herself."

Baron seemed uncomfortable with the thought. "But Doc--Raincrest, you don't want to let the poets from Wellthirst to handle it?"

Rava shook his head and stepped out of the marshy grass, onto the cool dock where the clear water lapped at his feet. "Our vale may be tiny--maybe even the smallest in the nation--but I am confident that one of us will bring Penine to her knees." He removed the cloak he'd woven in the river hardly an hour earlier and draped it over his shoulders, concealing much of his golden hair. "So many preparations to make!" Rava grinned and closed his eyes, feeling a rush of adrenaline--or maybe destiny--or maybe both come over him.

With no further delay, he began his trek towards the only house in their village not situated on the carefully-engineered docks and rafts of the village. It was where Myra Graceling lived with her orphaned sister, Ara. Rava had spent many nights in the cottage years ago--not so much as a lover would, but more an affectionate caretaker. The lines of his relationship with Myra were always in flux in those days, and shortly after she'd shut the doors on his careful persona, he received a rumor that her sister had pledged to the Blood Poets. If it was true--if little Ara really had offered up her wrists for the beauty of their tiny nation--then Rava had an investment in her survival, as well as Myra's.

At the end of his meandering walk into the hillside, he stood at the opening of the clearing that was their home, garden, haven. There were cherry and lemon trees on the outskirts of the garden, a lattice of grape vines against the shade of the house's northern face, and rows of vegetables heavy with produce traced across the southern yard. Rava folded his hands as he heard a soprano hum from the edge of the garden where a trickling brook fed the small, thirsty field with rich water. Rava approached the young girl, startling her despite his soft voice. "Your singing is as beautiful as ever."

Ara shied away from his presence, clutching a light leather-bound book to her chest. In her left hand she held a Roc's quill, tipped dark blue with lavender ink.

"Fear doesn't suit you, Ara," he said.

"I wish I could say the same for you and your stalking," she quipped.

"There's no harm in a doctor visiting his former patient, is there?"

Ara's eyebrows furrowed, her gaze flat. "No, but there may be if the man is no longer a doctor."

Rava couldn't help but to grin. "Then consider this a visit from your sparring partner with words of war."

"Your hands are too gentle, your words too weak; if your purpose is a word war, expect your defeat." She raised her eyebrows in expectation.

"As the two of us speak, the chieftain assesses the Marlan response to the mountain's transgressions. I wager now that upon the night, the word will arrive, an order to fight--but not by our hands or weapons of war; no, our battles are fought in a plane incorporeal." Rava sighed. "Verse is so droll, don't you think?"

"No," she responded, "free verse is for the weak."

Rava glanced at the house as lights began flickering against the windows. "We will likely leave for Wellthirst at daybreak. What will Myra say?"
I am a forest fire and an ocean, and I will burn you just as much
as I will drown everything you have inside.
-Shinji Moon


I am the property of Rydia, please return me to her ship.





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Wed Apr 30, 2014 12:53 am
Elinor says...



Ara Graceling

"To leave her alone," Ara said curtly. "And not to follow me around because you aren't brave enough to face her."

"I wasn't following you," Rava said defensively. "I was at the docks of my own accord.

"You followed me home," Ara replied. "I'm not sure what happened between you and Myra, but please keep me out of it, okay?" She paced towards the front door.

"Wait."

"What?"

"May the best poet win," Rava quipped after a long pause, and then he disappeared back into the hills. It seemed as though he had more to say, but Ara just wanted him to leave her alone. He was weird, and he wondered what her sister ever saw in him.

She opened the door and heard Myra humming in the kitchen, so she entered.

Myra was sweeping. "Hello, did you just get back?"

"Yes."

"Did you finish your poem?"

"No."

"You leave tomorrow don't you?"

"I do."

Myra, sensing something wrong, set the broom against the wall. "What happened?"

"I saw Rava and he followed me home. He's a blood poet too, you know."

"Oh god." Myra shuddered and poured herself a glass of lemonade. "You have to beat him."

"I will," Ara said. "Actually, I will have a glass of lemonade. It's so hot today."

Myra poured a glass for her sister. "I'm proud of you, you know. If Rava bothers you again, just ignore him. You're a better poet than he is, you know. You that he would get really upset if I tried to give him constructive criticism?" A wry smile crept onto her face.

"No," Ara said. She sipped her lemonade, instantly refreshed. And they both sat down in the kitchen, just talking. It was nice and quiet. Ara took it in with every ounce of being that she could.

All our dreams can come true — if we have the courage to pursue them.

-- Walt Disney





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Mon May 05, 2014 7:01 pm
Rydia says...



Dirk Sandstone

After the cart had pulled away from the river and was safely trundling down the dirt path which led to their new 'home', Rax popped out from under the tarp with his pipe in one hand and a half eaten apple in the other.

"Well that was very brave of you, running away like that. What are the scalies going to think of us if we don't stand and fight?"

Dirk grunted and chose to ignore him. "Don't eat all the food," he said instead.

"Hey, I deserve a share don't I? Not everyone would volunteer to help you take all that stone up to the river and stand guard while you haggle with those, those-"

"Scalies?"

"Naw, I was gonna say fish-heads this time."

Dirk shook his head and pulled on the reigns to bring the cart to a stop. He jumped down, grabbed an apple from under the cart and fed it to his pony as she brushed her down with his hand. He picked up one of her front feet to check the new horse shoe he'd fitted for her. It was still looking good.

"I'll brush you down properly in a minute girl." Dirk liked talking to his pony - she was sweet and stoic and she didn't talk back.

"Well, if you help me get this food passed 'round, I'll let you have that apple."

"And one of the hams. You can spare me a ham."

Dirk conceded to that. He didn't mind giving everything away if it gave a little peace of mind to everyone 'til the day of the tournament. After that, well maybe they'd take all the Marlans food. They'd have no need of it then.
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Wed May 07, 2014 12:20 pm
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Shadowlight says...



Evangeline Dilandau:

The halls of the Penine "Royal" house were airy and colorful,high ceilings, large open windows letting the wind off the river play with the gauzy curtains and relieving some of the oppressive heat.

Evangeline was on the veranda, laying limply in her chaise lounge, a book in one hand and a glass of lemonade beside her on a little glass topped table. she had been there since noon resting and just trying to escape the heat.

"Milady why don't you go for a walk in the garden?" Her Nurse said from her place beside her, Evangeline looked over and gave her a look, "I know it's warm out milady but you know how your father gets if he sees you resting too much, he's still concerned about your health." Eva rolled her eyes pulled out her tablet and scratched into it,

~~Only mad dogs and Marlians go out in the noonday Sun.~~ she handed the tablet to her nurse who glanced at it, frowned and handed it back,

"Don't you sass me young lady." Evangeline sighed an rose, like a willow after a storm- one swift graceful movement.

~~Fine, I'll go, but I'll go out. I don't like being trapped here all day. I'm going into the city. I've been wanting to go to the booksellers anyway.~~


"Good, go out, but be careful.... its getting to be the time when all the men return from the Mines." Her nurse, a elderly lady nodded, offering the young woman her sunhat- a wide straw affair. Eva had to smile at the old woman's old fashioned ways. she knew the young girl would be perfectly safe in the city but still had to warn her of "The evils of Men."

Giggling Eva kiss the old woman's cheek before tying on her sunhat.

~~I think I'll be safe- I'm only going to the market.~~

Without giving the nurse a chance to retort she skipped down the stairs, across the courtyard and into the streets of Penine, making her way towards the marketplace- and hopefully a new pair of dancing slippers as well as a new book.

Spoiler! :
Please feel free to have Eva interact with some of the Penine characters if they'd be in the market. just remember she can't speak so she'd write her responses! Or if someone wants to play hero have Eva get into trouble. XD she's not above getting herself into a tight spot being so innocent.
"D*** the torpedoes! Four bells! Full speed ahead!"~ Admiral David Farragut








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