Stories, and Events that has happened in the ARPG thus far! This section will update when new Storyline Arcs have commenced on the ARPG Group.
Major Story Arc:
2020 April - Prologue
Chapter 1: Part 1 (April 2020)
Things are not well within Illuhare within the past few weeks. Citizens are steadily and mysteriously vanishing fromKukoltu, Higara,A’zul andMidga regions too quickly and quietly.
O’ma Terraof Fernwood have sent out letters of invitation and raised banners for the heads of the other realms to conduct an urgent and private meeting. Amongst each other, they discuss their realms that have been affected by this perplexing plight. The main states represented by; Rayne of New Sapphire, andFlynt of Yahagata have travelled far and wide for attendance at the table. All except for Arkadia who had other pressing matters to attend according to their informant.
“We cannot allow this to escalate any further, but if we are to act too hastily the public will be thrown into disarray. None of us could scarcely afford such a thing.” A hoarse and shaky voice spoke out. A worried expression crossed over the face of the old leader of Kukoltu.
“Agreed. Panic does nothing.” Flynt of Yahagata points out on the spread out map, shuffling a piece to place “We’ve set out search parties into the dunes for our own that have gone missing. We have yet to find a trace yet...” “As have I on A’zuls’ shores and waters. Nothing.” Her brows furrowed and arms folded across her chest in frustration “Don’t know how much longer I-, the council, can keep secrets from the people. Nor can we give answers for something that is unknown.” A brief silence fell on the table before rising into an uproar of discussion, and plans to be made.
As much as the leaders wanted to keep the incidents as low spoken as possible, gossip has begun to spread in the township. They look onto the fresh portrait tacked to the board.
Someone has to get to the bottom of this before it keeps repeating.
Chapter 1: Part 2 (may 2020)
Over the next few days the towns and cities had seen a steady influx of military personnel stationed. With no declaration as to why, most of the locals were taking advantage of the extra hungry mouths, with others gossiping of possible skirmishes with miscreants or bandits.
Three days passed and finally there was news. Kukoltu, A’zul, and Higara, the primary attendees of the conference, had declared curfew for their regions, and security checks were tightened almost instantaneously. The rules were simple; no one was allowed in or out during the night, travelers needed an official permit between towns - failure to comply would be faced with rejection or detainment for going against nationwide orders. Simply put, it was difficult for common folk to go about their days, especially for business owners and traders. Few of the folks were growing agitated on the restrictions, some finding themselves in cuffs for arguing with the issued statements, but the rest going about with under breath complaints, worry and gossip; with no statements from the leaders, the orders felt absurd.
“It’s absolutely ghastly isn’t it. A disaster, all of this” a voice spoke out to you from the curb of the alleyways with a bottle of grog in their fist, half drunken, stumbling towards you with a sashay. “Now, now, I know what you’re thinking. Who the hell is this sod of a drunkard drinking their days away” a slur, and another gulp. You can’t help but wonder if they’re even capable of making eye contact properly, but they are most certainly trying. “But this roughed up sod needs a lil’ something, and I’ll gladly make it worth your time-”
The fellow pulls out a poorly drawn sheet of cloth for you to hold, hand still firm on the bottle, and points out a particular marking on it. “Listen, me mates are still out the borders of this ‘ere town. It would be doing us a great favour if you could lead them back here. Simple shepherd work. Official dogs around here have eyes and ears on me, and I can’t leave all this ale I brought in for the markets... but you seem to have a clean nose” a laugh, as they take a swig and jostle a bag of coins. “As said, something for your troubles… and the adoration from me and me crew should be plenty, aye?”
Who was to deny a plea from a citizen in need, especially in what seemed like a compromising situation? It wasn't far off from the township, however according to the drawn map it seemed like the fellow wanted to guide their friends near the town’s walls. Shifty, but you could always report it to the authorities if any shady acts took place. With relative ease you made it through to the clearing, but oddly there was no chatter around the perimeter, no smell of smoke, not even the calls of wildlife. The air felt cold, damp, and eerie, sending chills to the spines of even the bravest of warriors… It wasn’t until you saw the dark form at the corner of your eye when it all clicked into place.
Chapter 1: Part 3 (june 2020)
It paces up and down, leaving trails of its own dark mucus on the floor and with each step life and even the earth’s colour fade under its touch. This was not like any creature you, or anyone for that matter has encountered, and you take care not to stir its attention as it rumbles deeply. The dark creature seems to be searching for something about the campgrounds, pacing about the perimeter. From there you spot something else on the creature. It was stagnant, slowly swirling to the surface of the beast. It was no mistake there was a person inside of the monster, their dull eyes locked onto yours as if they were pleading for you to rescue them.
There was a shrill rumble in the air. The monster had found what it was looking for, and in a wild frenzy it lashed out, tendrils cracking and ripping open invisible seams across the air, leading to the unknown. A portal? Without a second thought the monster was pulled in, and so were you. Cast into the cold emptiness, darkness enveloped your vision, but at least it seemed temporary. There was a voice, distant, calling to you.
As you opened your eyes you were greeted by the void; a swirl of strange colours wriggling their way in the backdrop, old and destroyed marbled pillars floating about, solid ground under your feet despite the amorphous puddles about the landscape. The air was frigid and dense, even more suffocating than it’d been back at the campsite. Time seemed to move ever so slowly here, possibly even backwards… You didn’t know. Finding an exit was fresh on your mind, but suddenly the scenery started to shift more rapidly. A harsh screech from the monster called out above, stirring the puddles to life. Each of the masses seemed in a hurry, combining with one another before scuttling to the source of the noise. What arose before you was a seemingly incomplete, disgusting creature.
The mockery crawled and towered over you in a matter of moments, awaiting to snatch you into its domain as well. Before it could do that however, a whistle blew by and the creature was sent back screaming, rearing backwards violently over a suddenly severed limb.
“Get back!” a voice called out, prompting you to look for its source. Before you stood a figure clad in red and yellow, holding a shining blade. There was no mistaking it, your sudden savior was the young Ashe of Yahagata. “Our shinobi will guide you to safety. Flee-” The disfigured shadow roared and lashed out, it’s bony palms spread to capture both of you. “This is not yet the end, adventurer. Dig deep into your heart and your soul… The desire to prevail is within you, burning bright!”
Chapter 1: Part 4 (july 2020)
You didn’t know what to expect of this, but you followed those soft whispering words.
Burn bright. The void suddenly was alight with the intensity of stars colliding, your comrades beside you flinched in awe. The beaten behemoth struggled; strand by strand as it was slowly ripped apart. Your vision falters, and the monster shrieks out loudly as rays of light pour from the inside out. Its tendrils lashing wildly as the platform cracks underneath you, revealing the empty vastness of the void.
“It will take all of us!” Elanora shouts, looking to both you and the crew as she spears an incoming limb before rushing to take an unmoving civilian over her shoulder. “Would it be a good time as any to retreat, aye? Before we're as good as dead, sir!”
“Fall back! Those who are able, stand with me to let the others to safety!” Ashe commands, and their footmen nod without hesitation. A flurry of slashes and throwing knives hurled at the behemoth, to buy time while the others were left to grab hold of both the injured and kidnapped and make their way to the weakening portals.
A rough hand lands on you and you turn to look at the towering figure dressed in green; The great Geo of Fernwood, or at least you assume so from the papers. “Haha, you’re comin’ with me there. You’ve got somethin’ special there and can’t let you get too scuffed up! Lads and lasses know what they’re doin’.” he gives a loud confident rumble. Despite looking worse for wear he still manages to lift the wounded on his back and arm, upholding a whiskered grin. “Now keep tucked in, and brace!” With or without protest the land shakes and launches straight up at an almost blinding speed. From behind you can see the others completing their objective and hastily clambering to escape. Lights flash before you, and then it goes quiet and dark.
A clap echoes. “...Well done!” a voice calls out, and from the corner of your eye you spot a mysterious figure dressed in dark garments leaning against a broken pillar nonchalantly, their features hidden by a cowl.
“Putting yourself in the heart of danger. Rescuing these vessels without a second thought that you would be smothered at the void’s heel, and you came out victorious.” their voice cracks slightly as if they are surprised.
“Nary a thought that you would defeat it, but then again you did require some assistance,” a glance “and to put these simpletons capabilities for any semblance of substance. How humiliating and boorish...” it rambles, and shrugs; head shaking disapprovingly as it raises its hand, fingers ready to snap ... and you bristle.
“Careful, champion, don’t get too impulsive with your new tricks. You have not the slightest trace on who, how, or what plans you are trifling with. Advice from one to another.”, they threaten as another larger figure stands behind them. The back of your spine prickles with intensity as they both gaze at you. This power; it was terrifyingly inhuman and you could feel your entire body almost crumple at that alone.
“Hm. I said too much… Perhaps we shall meet one another again, and maybe by the time you would have improved, or not. Now, wake up.”
Snap.
“Wake up! Hello? Wake- Oh you’re up! Thank the gods, was right worried for ya, going out and limp on us like that” a familiar booming voice, and face. The very same one that whisked you away from the pits, now dressed and bandaged.
“Took a right nap you did, but good to see you all well”, he smiles. “You’re safe now, in the infirmary; Kukoltu’s best at that! Nurse did a quick check on ya make sure you’re not too rattled up” his voice softens as he looks to the other patients. The victims lay unresponsive, with hooded eyes as the healers went about to tend to them.
“...You did a real right job, reckless, but you saved everyone, and defeated that massive beast! Stuff of legends. I thank you for that personally, hero” he gives an earnest chuckle.
“If you were wondering, the others are about, healing… but they wouldn’t mind some company. Ya look like you’re full of questions, and one or the other could help you with that. No rush, take care of yourself too.” Geo gives a small bow and turns to leave you with your thoughts. A moment of peace for you to reflect and recollect on the incident. A strange coin clutched tightly in your grip.
2022 SEPT: Beckoning Skies Chapter One: A Letter
Blistering summer days have come and gone, the lands have been blessed with cold winds from the North. As people have kept busy with their daily lives, there has been a strange occurrence recently.
It first started at Midga. Strange letters fell across the circling skies high above. The stormy wind guiding them across the lands.
From the rolling green fields, the letters landed themselves in the grueling deserts of Higara, Kukoltu’s busy treetops, Sullahil’s chilling snowbeds, and the warm surf of A’zul. Cities, towns, and lonely lodgings, these messages cared not for whom had found them. Many opened and revealed these peculiar letters however a great amount have been damaged by the elements. The inconsistent scrawlings made it difficult to be read by common eyes. Only a few surviving parchments were able to be deciphered by curious scholars. They reported their findings to their superiors.
These small and hastily scribbled letters happen to be an invitation to the strange and unexplored floating isles of Midga. It seemed promising for those that wish to visit new lands, meet new people, or perhaps reap its rewards.
The guilds have set out to call for the best to investigate these floating isles, adventurers and roamers such as yourself. Now it is only for you to beckon to the welkins call.
Minor Events:
2021 Dec - Wish you were here
The year went by quietly after the strange events that had occurred. A cure had yet to be found and implications had occurred that left many in a coma-like state. Meanwhile the unluckier ones had deteriorated physically and mentally. However, there is always a way and people move on with their lives. They find ways to rebuild, recoup and most importantly, to find and reunite with loved ones.
In the major cities all across Illuhare, there was a live interview broadcasted through the radio waves. It was the first of its time, a new technology was being shared with the public. The locals only knew that it came from the recently constructed towers of metal. The more tech savvy enthusiasts were ecstatic of this development. It was being announced alongside the new railroad and sky-platforms erected. A step further into the future!
“...And now for our first and most established guest. Mr. Anderson!” a staticky male voice announced. An up-tune of trumpets and beats played, before being promptly cut. “It’s a pleasure for you to join us, sir.”
“As it is a pleasure bein’ on here, much obliged” a deep drawl of a voice spoke up, giving a small polite laugh alongside the host.
“So, tell us Mr. Anderson, what has brought you to our very first broadcast? Certainly not just to christen the air waves with your presence! Much less near the winter solstice festivities” a crowd roars in laughter in the latter bit.
“Oh, no, not at all, but it is in-tune of the winter period, if ya don’t mind me takin’ your thunder for just a bit…”
The cities quieted down in unison and were listening intently on what ‘the’ Mr. Anderson had to say. It was an understatement on what the radio station was implying about the well established gentleman. This man in particular, simply known as Mr. Anderson, was renowned on the mainland for his financial adventures and escapades. He single handedly had invested and developed the tech that was on show today. A keen sense and wit to incorporate said tech not only for the struggling manpowered industry, but for the entertaining arts; all while remaining humble.
Sore stories and charged gossips was frequent from the opposition of the gent; on how ruthless he is in swallowing up the competition, and overtaking potential new start-ups before having seen a single order tucked under their name. It was a running joke between investors of Mr. Anderson that he had the power and influence to rule over a country, or a city at the very least. He could, but would he?
“...We wish to unite all with the power of science and technology. We know the struggles of the people, ‘specially during this time where family and friends alike are far from each other and unable to bridge due to both time, coin, and distance.” the tycoon cleared his throat, and a shuffle of paper could be heard. “So it is within my power; under the benefactor of both Agni and Iron Eagle Works, we have decided to lease out our rail and skyways to the public for the holiday season.” The crowd immediately erupted with cheers and claps. It took a full minute for the staff to calm them.
“I can tell y’all are excited.” Mr. Anderson gives a bellyache of a laugh. “We couldn’t have done this without our most faithful investors, and of course, the listeners especially. To keep our spirits high. To do what is right and needed. Within our strength, of course. Y’all have a mighty jolly holiday, keep everyone in your thoughts and prayers… and don’t forget to send a card to your loved ones!”
It was an astounding reveal of one technological feat after the other. Despite there being a few skeptics on these “steel horses and birds” being loaned out to the public without a price. There was surely something rotten underneath that has yet to be revealed. However, for now the majority of people were excited. They were gawking and even crying that they were able to be reunited without the dangerous walk about to their homelands.
A mustached conductor and Impishun greets you at the transport grounds, both well dressed in their suits and ties asking for your tickets, and directing you to your designated transport. Both of them seemingly chipper regardless if you wanted to travel to a far off destination or merely look at the mechanical marvels.
You had the opportunity to ride on the glorious steam engine known as The Expedition, or the beautifully crafted airship called The Freelancer. There are also more conventional ways to get around, a carriage stationed amongst others waiting for your beck and call.
It would seem like someone in particular is in a rush that they had dropped some of their pets; Mitemics and Touhisks! Do be quick to nab them before they scuttle and fly off into the wilds.
2022 FEB - A FIREFLOWER MYSTERY CHAPTER ONE: DEEDS DONE BY MOONLIGHT
I met you here in the moonlight With petals all caught in your hair In Yahagata you kissed me While plum blossoms scented the air. —Higara song, writer unknown
The New Light Festival has come to Higara, and the land is alive with light and colour. Beyond the cities, burning winds still scour the landscape, and the sun still offers no mercy to the unwary, but within the cities, the people rejoice.
This is the time of Eos the Weaver, and all seems woven in her golden threads now, vibrant gold and red adorning the streets and the citizens alike.
There are songs and merriment aplenty, and each firework flaring to life is another starburst of colour, radiant and joyous as it drives away evil. Parades and feasts abound, and even in the night, countless lanterns hold back the darkness.
Within Yahagata’s red walls, this city in particular is showing itself at its best. This is a time for the arts, and the people of Yahagata are proud to answer that call.
The songs rising in the air, twining about the tall buildings, are songs of celebration and life renewed, of futures and fortunes reached for with both hands as the new year is born.
To come here at this time is to witness the greatest things that Yahagata has to offer.
Though your path through the streets may be slow, delayed by the dancing figures on parade, or excited children running back and forth as they call out to their elders, youthful voices ringing out in a chorus of “Gong Xi Fa Cai” that garners red packet rewards, you are nevertheless a guest of the city, and the people are willing to offer warmth and hospitality to those who’ve come to celebrate with them.
The latest delight, according to so many locals, is the Fireflower Theatre – opened so very recently that the smell of fresh paint has barely left its walls – a place that features singers and dancers, poets and playwrights, all striving to offer up the pinnacle of their arts to anyone willing to come and see.
The owner of the theatre, too, brings much gossip in his wake.
His name is Berach, those in the know will tell you, though he laughs and tolerates it if those in his employ fondly call him Berry. A member of that rare masked folk, the Drakonians, with shining scales and a voice that rings clear as some great bell, Berach is but newly come to Yahagata, but his pockets are deep, and he seems determined to highlight anyone talented enough in the arts who is willing to tread his stage.
Does he oil his scales, perhaps, or rub them with some metallic powder to make them shine like that? Speculations like these are passed from mouth to mouth in the city, but there are no rumours of a darker tone than these, which suggests he has begun to endear himself to the people here.
The theatre’s current attractions include a pair of jugglers, a rope dancer, and a young girl with a precocious and astonishing repertoire of classical poetry, but a new star is due to shine upon that stage:
The songstress Nynke Bosma.
She has roamed from city to city and stage to stage, her honeyed voice entrancing all who come to hear her, her smile melting hearts wherever she goes. She has never before been heard in Yahagata, though, and the people are eager to experience her songs.
Everywhere she goes, her manager goes with her, and the rumour mongers say that one of these days, the two will wed, and she will be Nynke Bosma no longer.
Perhaps it will even be here in Yahagata – why not? The New Light Festival is a popular time to marry, with many seeking the good fortune they hope will accompany a wedding during such an auspicious time.
Thus do the rumours run – until today, for when the sun rises, a passing stranger finds a body in the public gardens, lying beneath a plum tree.
The dead man’s name is Jorrit Booth, and he is no citizen of Yahagata.
He is the manager and beloved of Nynke Bosma, the legendary songstress. Murder has been done in the city, and none yet know why.
Chapter One, Part Two
Speculation swirls wildly through the city, and the authorities search here and there for answers regarding this crime.
It is a mystery most perplexing, and you are being drawn into its coils.
Perhaps you seek notoriety as a solver of crimes, or earnestly desire to bring a wrongdoer to justice. Perhaps you’re simply curious.
Your motives are your own, and you may keep them as secret as you wish.
The rumours grow more outlandish with each new speaker, but those who seek the truth are beginning to learn its shape.
Jorrit Booth, manager to Nynke Bosma, died in the night, though there are no signs of a fight or struggle. The bitter sting of poison, perhaps, brought him down, for his only wound is minor beyond belief.
Stranger yet than this, though, is the chance-discovered truth of how he was found, laid out in some grotesque mockery of peaceful repose, a bouquet of dead flowers resting upon his chest. So dried and withered, those flowers, that they must surely have died well before Jorrit himself, yet who would bring dead flowers to a rendezvous, however fatal its outcome?
This puzzle darkens still further with news from the theatre.
Every day, Nynke Bosma has discovered among her possessions a single dead flower, placed there by hands unknown.
She fears it is a warning that she will be the next to die.
If she is right, then this mystery must be solved soon. Before it’s too late…
2022 MARCH - A FIREFLOWER MYSTERY CHAPTER TWO: FLOWERS AND FEARS
Special thanks to our guest writer: Scribblefang I lost you there in the moonlight With petals adrift in your hair In Yahagata you left me As plum blossoms fell from the air. —Higara song, writer unknown
For most in Yahagata, the festivities continue as they always have. The feasts, the parades, the lanterns and fireworks; none of these things have been changed or diminished, and the fifteen day span of the New Light Festival bids fair to carry on uninterrupted.
For some, though, matters have grown more dire.
Nynke Bosma, the songstress, has all but cloistered herself inside her room at the theatre; it’s said that grief has overtaken her entirely, and then there are the dead flowers that keep coming for her, like a warning… or a threat.
If grief rules Nynke, then what rules the theatre owner now is stress. The Drakonian, Berach, worries constantly over the case, and what it will mean for the theatre. He’s ventured much coin to bring so famous a singer here, after all, and if she cannot sing, at a time in which performers are needed most, he will have lost much as a result.
Then, too, there is the risk that a murder mystery like this might sully the good name of the Fireflower Theatre, for all that the dead man fell so far from its halls.
He needs help.
And if that need drives him to reach out to strangers, what of it? They do say in the desert that one does not search for flags in an oasis before quenching one’s thirst.
He has sent his staff out, searching for willing helpers - and who better than those who are already curious about the case?
To meet with him is to garner two very different impressions simultaneously. First, there is the genial and friendly man of the arts, who converses knowledgeably about the islands and the homes of those he meets, and who is eager to assure you that your help will not go unrewarded. Secondly, though, just beneath the surface, is the worried perfectionist, constantly fretting over the idea that things might go awry and the theatre might suffer as a result. The twitching tail, the way he checks and double checks cast schedules and timeslots… this is a man who is fraying at the seams and trying very hard not to show it.
There are those that joke that his only comfort must surely be his evident innocence in the case; after all, who could have failed to notice if someone so very distinctive were not where he ought to be at the crucial time?
His face half-masked in the Drakonian way, he cannot offer any glimpse of his eyes, but he hardly needs to; his sincerity, and his concern, show in every line of his body and the way he wrings his hands, claws only narrowly avoiding an injury with every restless movement.
“Please,” he has said to those gathered to meet him. “We need you. Go wherever you will in our theatre, only please, help us now.” The selfless might be moved to help for the sake of the staff, whose livelihoods depend upon this place. The selfish might be lured by the promise of a reward. The curious might be enticed, perhaps, by the chance to settle this mystery…
Chapter 2, Part 2: The mystery still hangs over the theatre. Until this matter is solved, it’s unlikely to go away.
However… the Fireflower Theatre can survive this. With the aid of its staff, and skilled and dedicated volunteers, it continues to draw in patrons and audiences willing to set other matters aside and enjoy the performances on offer.
Though Nynke has not yet taken the stage herself, there are others who can and will continue to do so. The rope-dancer, Wren, with her twirling acrobatics, mesmerises the crowds, all entwined in silks as she seems to fly above the stage. The jugglers Altan and Batuhan send batons, knives, and flaming torches spinning and weaving in intricate patterns between their hands, working in perfect unison and harmony to show the people of the city something almost magical in its complexity.
Even the youngest of the Fireflower Theatre’s resident performers still draws in an audience; the prodigy of the poetic arts, Biyu, with her deep knowledge of all the classic forms, recites poems whose authors have been gone from the world for centuries, and offers listeners a window into a world rich with beauty and emotion beyond all that they find in their day to day lives.
With ruin held at bay for now, Berach, too, is a little calmer. He has returned to his habit of spoiling the children of his staff, and smiles indulgently at their calls of “Uncle Berry!” when they come across him in the halls.
For now, matters are more or less stable.
A tipping point is yet to come…
2022 APRIL - A FIREFLOWER MYSTERY CHAPTER THREE: SONGS FROM THE HEART
Special thanks to our guest writer: Scribblefang Come back to me in the moonlight With petals still lost in your hair In Yahagata I'm waiting Though no blossoms still scent the air… —Higara song, writer unknown
Who murdered Jorrit Booth?
Who left him clutching a bouquet of dead flowers, alone in a garden, with plum blossoms falling around him?
Who has continued to send dead flowers, even now, to Nynke Bosma, one flower at a time, so that she hides away in her room?
Where there are questions, there must surely be answers out there somewhere.
The Fireflower Theatre is carrying on as best it can, uplifted by the hard work and dedication of its staff, its performers, and the volunteers who’ve come from distant places to assist in this time of need. And yet… it cannot escape those questions forever.
Anyone could have killed Jorrit Booth; he was a man with expensive tastes, inclined to roam the city to find local delicacies, fine clothes, and the best entertainment around. It would not have been difficult to find him, or to bring about his death.
Few, however, would have left flowers behind, much less dead ones. Thieves and footpads do not make a habit of carrying bouquets with them wherever they go.
And then there are the flowers that keep finding their way to Nynke. No matter how sharp a watch is kept, flowers keep turning up, with nary a sign of the one sending them. Only a master of stealth could creep in unseen, over and over, to leave behind those flowers --
― or someone who can blend in perfectly, even here.
Perhaps someone doesn’t want Nynke to sing, the rumours begin to suggest. She would be the star performer, wouldn’t she? And where there is a shining star, there are others who shine so much less brightly in comparison.
Or perhaps Jorrit’s eye for luxury led him astray? Just think of the scandal if the manager and beloved of so renowned a singer were to find some other lover, some illicit dalliance for his own ends. Romantic entanglements have been the ruin of so many other men, through jealousy or heartbreak, or even blackmail.
The first wagging tongue to utter this in Nynke’s hearing is coldly rebuffed, and her fellow performers make sure that nobody dares to be the second.
As if to spite all these scandalous rumours, and to defy the mysterious sender of flowers, though, Nynke has returned to practising her songs. She keeps her head held high, now, and says only that she trusts her new friends to keep her safe. Her voice, honey-sweet, drifts from her room once again, as she polishes her art and prepares for her debut upon this stage.
Berach’s relief is palpable, and he’s gone into a flurry of activity to publicise the coming performances.
It will begin tonight.
This very night, Nynke will sing for the people of Yahagata, no matter what forces have tried to prevent her.
Anyone who’s anyone is going to be there to listen.
All that remains, now, is to ensure that Nynke Bosma makes it to that stage, for her own sake and for that of the theatre. Golden as the sunlight, shining like some creation of Eos, she is ready.
She will be there, upon that stage, to twine threads of melody around the hearts of all who hear her, to weave for them a night of wonder that they can never forget.
Tonight, all the fear and sorrow, all of the doubts and mysteries, will be cast aside. They have no place on the stage, no room for their shadows in these moments of light and beauty.
Whatever else might come, tonight is for Nynke, and music for music’s own sake.
Chapter Three, Part Two
All the strange intrigues that have swirled through the city like shadows cannot hold their ground when faced with the lights of the stage. Nynke is stunning and glorious and resolute, and the audience is hers to captivate.
There is a radiance within her, here and now, that flows out along with her voice and touches the heart of every listener.
Whatever else has transpired, and whatever might yet come to pass, on the stage she is alight with hope and the pure joy of creating songs, scintillating and ephemeral in their beauty, that can show the audience a world beyond anything they could have imagined.
All too soon, it is over, and the applause is thunderous.
Nynke does not stay long to bask in the adulation of her countless devotees, however, but retires to her room with a modest smile and a demure promise to return again tomorrow night.
The mood of the Fireflower Theatre has changed. This, then, must have been Berach’s vision all along; this bustling place filled with joyful creativity and inventive artistry. With the burden of looming ruin lifted, you can see it now as it was always meant to be.
Everyone here smiles more readily now, and when they go out to listen to the yearly speech of Flynt, Yahagata’s leader, his wishes for his people to have a happy and prosperous time in the year to come are ones that they can believe, ones they can truly take to heart.
Nobody speaks of Jorrit Booth.
Why? Do they fear to return Nynke to the grief that had rendered her unable to perform?
Is it easier to forget him than to wrestle with a mystery any further than they must?
Or are they simply very skilled, as performers, in putting personal things aside when they must, so that they can wear their best faces on the stage?
They have not ended the welcome of their enterprising guests, however, and you are still free to seek the truth if you wish.
Jorrit Booth was murdered. It was not a violent struggle. He was a man of expensive tastes, who dearly loved a lavish life. The source of his fortunes in this world came to him through the talents of Nynke Bosma, who loved him. He was left with a bouquet of dead flowers, and further dead flowers have been left, daily, for Nynke Bosma.
All of these things are known.
It is known, too, now, thanks to the search of the theatre, where the flowers were coming from, though not who sent them; in an attic room, behind a box of costumes, a basket has been found, half filled with dried, dead flowers.
Someone smuggled in that basket, and someone has been taking flowers from it daily to leave in Nynke’s room.
Will this ordeal end when Nynke departs the city, as she has planned? Or will her opponent strike before she can leave?
For those who have worked so hard to keep her safe and restore the peace of the theatre, these questions cannot be forgotten.
Perhaps that’s why, in the end, the truth comes to light from an avenue none could have predicted.
You have kept watch over Nynke, or the theatre itself, and these two goals coalesce into one the day you enter her room before she can, in case someone waits there to ambush her -- — and find her already there.
So very many things suddenly make sense now. How inexhaustibly active Nynke has been lately, how she has always been in sight, and even how so dainty a woman could eat such robust meals.
There are two of her.
“My name is Famke Bosma,” the second admits, now that they are together and denial will serve them nothing.
And the tale she tells is one years in the making.
A tale of two young sisters living in quiet, pastoral Harvest, both courted by the same boy and knowing nothing of his duplicity. A tale of twins, both singers, who dreamed of something more.
Nynke’s talents had been more evident, back then, and so it had been with Nynke that Jorrit Booth left Harvest, leaving Famke behind, broken-hearted at his false promises. Burying her broken heart in relentless training, she’d worked, all that time, until her voice could equal her sister’s, and had set out to follow her twin and her lying beloved.
Sharp-eyed and determined, following in their wake, Famke had discovered yet another truth unknown to Nynke; Jorrit had been siphoning off the profits from her singing engagements, diverting them to his own purposes. The accounts meant for Nynke are almost bare, while the ones meant for Jorrit have bulged with stolen wealth all this time.
Here at last, in Yahagata, she’d caught up to Nynke, and told her the truth.
And then… there had been a confrontation with Jorrit, who’d proved utterly unrepentant, right up until the end.
Neither woman will say which of them confronted Jorrit. All they say is that he’d turned dangerous when the return of the embezzled money had been demanded, and what followed had been a necessary evil.
Hand in hand they stand before you, fingers bloodless and pale in that tight grip, and tell you that they mean to leave this place for good, after this, and try to forget ever knowing the name of Jorrit Booth.
Did he deserve this end? Are they justified? Who can say?
Who indeed?
You, perhaps?
The Decision You have a choice to make. Will you look away and allow the sisters to depart freely, or will you turn them over to the law? They will never return to Yahagata if they leave it, but if they stay, it will be up to the city to sort through their respective guilt or innocence, when either could have done the deed.
Those who have participated in the mystery will be given 24 hours to respond, after which time, the answers will be tallied, and the epilogue posted according to the prevailing vote.
Choose wisely as you carve the resolution of this story... Let Them Go or Report Them
Epilogue Two: The Closing of the Cage Perhaps you feel wronged by Nynke’s decision to conceal the truth. Perhaps you feel that all deaths require some answer, no matter how duplicitous or avaricious the victim might have been.
Your motives are your own, and Nynke and Famke do not ask you for answers.
They simply wait, holding each other close, faces pale, as the authorities are alerted, until they are taken away.
Who knows what might become of them? The city will have its trial in due time, and will be forced to sift out the truth from amongst all the mysteries.
One of them did the deed, but which? And was she defending herself, or did she go there with the intent to kill? That is for others to determine now.
The Fireflower Theatre has disavowed all connection with such violent deeds, for its business is that of life, art, and culture, but someone has financed the best legal advocate in Yahagata for the sisters, and in private Berach is heard to remark, cryptically, that no song should be judged until its singer is permitted to give its full measure.
No killer stalks the streets of the city, in any case; this much is clear, now, and the people are reassured by this knowledge. They celebrate their festival with joyful hearts, before turning their attention back to the daily business of a desert city.
And, as they ever have, the flowers bloom in Yahagata, shedding their petals into the breeze…
2022 May - Summertide Festival
Special thanks to our guest writer & Event holder: munami-draws
The frozen wasteland of Sulahil is mostly barren however there are prized jewels that exist in these lands. One such is a resort town by the water. While most of Sulahil is white due to the blanket of snow, here the color comes from the sparkling sands.
The town of Nordistal is bustling with activity as they set up a local festival. While normally foggy, the air has been warming lately, clearing the air. During the late spring, this festival occurs to celebrate the last of the pleasant weather before the summer tourism season.
As the sun begins to go down, the Summertide Festival comes alive. The main street is filled with colorful stalls on both sides. Each stall is filled to the brim with either calorie laden foods or handcrafted trinkets.
There are people dancing and drinking every night until dawn arrives. The raucous noise is almost deafening. People standing next to each other shouting to hear one another. Yet everyone seems to have a huge grin on their faces. On an elevated stage, music is playing. Large speakers are amplifying the noise so it can be heard almost the entire festival area. The bands switch out so the music continues nonstop throughout the evening.
The main show of the event is not just the area where the party happens. As the booths trickle out, a large open field can be seen. Everyone from all over Sulahil come here for this. A test of strength. The best of the best.
By one field, there are markers for a marathon while by another, shotput is set up. Bulky Impishuns test their might attempting to lift two Broncos. A human nearby looses his arrow into an archery target, hitting it dead on the bulleye. The prize for this is nothing else but the glory of it. Victors are known as the strongest of Sulahil and that is something money cannot buy.
While the rest of the town is bustling, the town itself is still functioning. Nordistal is known afterall for its hot springs, spas, and the famed sparkling beaches. The sands adorning the beach are pearl white. In the sunlight, it sparkles like gems. Plenty of people lay by the water still bundled up in light clothing. The water itself, clear and blue, is too cold at this time to enjoy. However there are always a brave few that insist on swimming in the chilly depths.