Laststar Family/Oliver/Roleplays
Contents
Roleplay from Oliver Laststar
- Not a comprehensive list of scenes
Favours
| Roleplay from Oliver Laststar | |
| Message sent to Sirion Tourney | |
| It is soon before the official start of the tourney, and Oliver is alone preparing for the coming bouts. It was a slow experience as his squire Brynja, a southern shieldmaiden, was better suited to brutally hacking things apart than tending to the intricate work of fastening platemail. He had afterwards dismissed her once he was finally armored; yet there was one last thing to do, he was left staring in his hands a lengthy stark white scarf with simple golden embroidery on its faces.
He's far from his home of Dwilight, he had to leave all of his family behind to begin his career in Perdan, and now he's finally here in his first tournament. Besides his own heraldry, the one thing he had left of his family was this Favor of his own mother. Not normally drawn to sentiment, this case ended up being an exception as it warmed his resolve, remembering that there was someone out there who still thought of him, despite being so far away. He raised the scarf to smell at it; and surprisingly, it still had his mother's faint perfume. It was then he finally tied it behind his helmet so that it could flow and dangle in the wind, in such a way that would look like he was undoubtedly carrying the romantic favor of a young noblewoman; but Oliver didn't care what any others would think. At last Oliver was ready, with his mother's token flowing, he left behind his tent and entered the tourney grounds to warm up with the others. In the distance Oliver spots an unfamiliar man, known to others as Theodius Goldhammer, pulling off lightning fast and awe-inspiring maneuvers that left the young knight dumbstruck. Oliver refused to be outshone here, having spent his life preparing for this moment. He immediately struck a stance that mimed Sir Goldhammer's, and Oliver leapt forward into a similar series of moves that flashed his sword flamboyantly through the air. And Sir Oliver ended up looking stiff, unbalanced, and only landed himself face first into the mud. Stuck there, while his mother's flowing scarf pooled on the top of his helmet. At least the others can't see his face. | |
| Oliver Laststar | |
| Roleplay from Isana Everlight | |
| Message sent to Sirion Tourney | |
| The bright midmorning sun sang joyously into Isana's green-blue eyes and teased a dull throb to radiate from her temples.
That elven wine really sneaks up on you... The dark-haired knight stood looking out over the tournament practice grounds, late to rise after the evening celebrations. She wore linen for comfort while she practiced, not armored yet: her simple tabard of deep green over padded armoring trews and tunic of Perdanese gold, with shined brown leather boots rising up over her knees. Her arms slung over the practice lance across her shoulders, she twisted slowly back and forth to loosen the muscles as she watched the others practicing, and compared each in her mind's eye to the graceful and deadly dance of her beloved Queen. It's a shame Alyssa was not permitted to compete, she thought bemused, both to see her matched against the best on the continent, and to have all the realms see my darling's talent. Ah, well. Enough delay. She shook her head at herself as she took the field. The headache was not going away, so she would just have to practice through it. Isana set the lance aside and took up a sword and her blazoned rondache painted with the combined heraldry of Everlight and Kingsley: on a white field, a black wolf maintaining a pink peony in its mouth leaping over a green mountain. So armed, she dropped quickly into a fighting stance. Holding the sword in an easy en garde, Isana did a couple of mock beats at an invisible opponent's sword and balestra-lunged at a nearby practice dummy. Tall and lithely muscled, her demeanor was easy, her face peaceful. She pressed hard into the footwork, urging her legs faster, holding her stance up on the balls of her feet and drumming her toes rapidly on the ground with tiny steps. Sweat began to bead around her hairline and under the warm arming tunic. Another lunge, retreat, drumming steps. Lunge lunge, retreat, drumming steps. The long braid of chestnut hair swung out behind her with each leaping advance. After a dozen repeats she stood at ease to shake out her trembling legs and let her gaze roam again across the practice grounds as her breathing slowed. A short distance away, a knight with favour trailing out the back of his helm made a spectacular toppling tumble into the only mudpuddle in evidence. I wonder if he's hungover, too? She stowed the sword back in a rack and approached the knight to offer a hand. His heraldry became apparent as she neared. "Oh, is that Sir Oliver? It's Isana--I'm sure you can't see out of that mud at the moment. Care for a hand up?" She reached out one strong arm to assist the fully-armored man to his feet. "Lovely favour you've got there. Who's the lucky inspiration?" she asked, curiosity apparent. | |
| Isana Everlight | |
| Roleplay from Oliver Laststar | |
| Message sent to Sirion Tourney | |
| The only thing ailing Oliver was incompetence as he was stewing in the mud and listening to Lady Isana's arrival. He was grudging to move his helmeted head up from the dirt and mud, as he's sure he could hear somebody nearby snickering. Yet the world moves on, and he decided he must move with it anyway.
In response the embarrassed knight just grunts, pushing up onto his elbows and shakes his head to clear the muck out of his visor. There he finally sees the proffered hand. Oliver started to grumble further, and had to bite back a sharp retort about where she could stick her hand; he couldn't be cruel to Isana, not when the woman had shown him kindness even before this. So he swallows his pride, clasping onto Isana's forearm, and climbs to his feet with her aid. He has to rest and catch his breath when he finally stands up, brushing himself off as he does; but eventually, from the depths of his full helm comes a quiet, metallic echoing, "Thankyou." Right now he's deeply uncomfortable and does not want to try to look at anybody else around. His lucky favor tied like a tail on the back of his helmet doesn't seem to be bringing him any fortune so far, quite the opposite. Oliver considered lying to the woman; the idea of admitting it was his mother's farewell present to him was embarrassing. Yet when he looks upon Isana's face, something about her makes the knight want to confide in her. A snap judgement is made, and he decided she's trustworthy based on their short history so far. Maybe missing home is getting to the young knight's instincts. He leans in, keeping his voice down still. "It's... Not who you think. My mother gave this to me before I left Dwilight." As Oliver explains, he lifts up an end of the scarf to look at it, and sighs seeing he managed to even dirty it only a minute outside of the tent. "Well." Oliver sighs. "It was bound to dirty anyway out here." After a pause he realizes something and glances about. "Wait. Is Queen Alyssa with you?" Sh*t. Did she see? | |
| Oliver Laststar | |
| Roleplay from Isana Everlight | |
| Message sent to Sirion Tourney | |
| ```He leans in, keeping his voice down still. "It's... Not who you think. My mother gave this to me before I left Dwilight."```
Isana's eyebrows rise at the admission, and her lips curl slightly into a kind smile. "Would that I had family who would give such tribute back home... I should be glad to have it," she says softly, giving an admission of her own. Oliver's pained look as he finds his inspiration muddied by his own folly catches at her heart. Her own hands much cleaner than his, she moves to brush it off for him. "Allow me." ```"Well." Oliver sighs. "It was bound to dirty anyway out here." After a pause he realizes something and glances about. "Wait. Is Queen Alyssa with you?"``` Isana looks up at him, catching the concern in his tone. "Well, yes and no. My Lady Queen is not a competitor, so despite rank she's not allowed down into the training grounds. But she did say she'd be somewhere to watch me train..." Isana's cheeks colour slightly as she recalls the exact statement used, her eyes scanning around the stands. Up near the Royals' box she spots Alyssa, golden hair shining in the bright sun above her favoured white dress. Isana's head throbs again at the brightness, hangover lingering, but she manages a cheery smile and a wave before turning back to Oliver. "Yes she's up there. Why?" | |
| Isana Everlight | |
In Leibo/ Meeting Brynja
| Roleplay from Oliver Laststar | |
| Message sent to All Nobles of Perdan/ Nobles in Isadril | |
| A weary band of men make their way through the rolling hills of the Yssrgardian country side. They barely had time to rest from the battle the other day and once again they're on the march. The soldiers grumble, and many sport a few bandages, their equipment filthy and worn. Yet they much reach the rest of their army soon. Oliver himself grows more and more wary as time goes on.
He is not looking forward to another melee with the barbarians, especially after the arrow he took his arm. He will have to try his best to preserve his men, it would be disastrous to lose them all against even hardier fortifications. But suddenly ahead of him, he hears shouts of men hooting and laughing aloud. The road bends and Oliver and his band are suddenly face to face with a dozen footmen who look much worse and ragged than his own band. Likely deserters from the looks of it, and following true to their dishonorable, unspoken code, these cowards have turned to banditry. In the midst of them, like jackals surrounding beleaguered deer, is a truly worse sight. There's a tall, and imposing looking warrior of Yssrgard, a shieldmaiden from her appearance, trapped between the laughing men. She still has her hands on an axe and shield, and she waves her weapon wildly to keep the thugs at bay. Whatever of her own band must have fallen, judging by the other dead at her feet. She's bloodied, exhausted and looks like she's about to fall to these men in turn. But this isn't Oliver's problem. Prudent, and his heart cold to commoners, he only gives the whole scene a quick, dispassionate glance. The woman turned hopeful at the sight of more men, possibly to help her, but she wilts to see the Perdan banners. Both groups stare at each other, the air growing still and tense, wondering what each side is going to do. After only a few moments, Oliver decides to lead his men onward, as he has to hurry on to Isadril to catch up with his allies. Let Yssrgardian dogs die. The thugs laugh and turn back to their prey, murder and dark deeds in their eyes as the Gray Swordsmen pass on, perhaps more reluctantly now though- they don't seem happy at what they witnessed. The trapped woman then sees her potential hope marching away, and her eyes turn heartbroken at the twist in her fate. "Please!" She cries out in her southern accent, desperate and alone. | |
| Oliver Laststar | |
| Roleplay from Oliver Laststar | |
| Message sent to All Nobles of Perdan/ Nobles in Isadril | |
| The woman's pleading cry coming at him from behind makes Oliver slow to a halt. His knuckles turn white around his tightly held reins.
He grits his teeth. Gods. What should I care? She's one of them. I'm no hero. Hearing more laughter behind him, he looks over his shoulder to see the vagabonds making toying stabs at their prey to force her to dodge. It's hopeless for her. As the woman looks like she's about to collapse from exhaustion, she suddenly comes alive in a final gasp and swings her axe serpent-quick for the throat of one of her greatest harassers. The man tries to dodge yet his effort only nets him half a severed neck, and a spray of blood. His limp body falls to the ground, and all goes quiet again as the corpse slowly drains in front of all the shocked faces. Then the anger comes. Shouting. The rest of the former dozen bandits yell with raging bloodthirst. I'm not a hero! That's at least what Oliver kept chanting in his mind as he charged for the circle of men from his horse anyway. They have their backs turned to him, and the first one on the outside of the circle doesn't see in time the plated boot kicking for his head. At that the rest of them clear out of the way of the trampling 1,000 pound warbeast, as he clears a safe space for himself and the warrior woman. Oliver snatches out at her collar and hauls her up in one powerful motion up to his horse, but she instead squirms like an energetic toddler and breaks away to go back to the fight. She lets loose a blood-curdling scream that sends a quiver even up Oliver's bones; her eyes turning wild. With the momentum of the sudden horse charge, she instead leaps back out at the bandits, thugs and deserters to kill them while they're on their heels. And she's not alone as the rest of Oliver's men rush in to join the fray, reinforcing their lord with grins on their faces at the chance to do something right. Carnage ensues. The fight doesn't last long with the bandits being caught between this berserk woman and the armored mass of troops. And in barely a minute all grows still again with the bandits all lying dead. Like the star of a show, the woman turns around with all eyes on her, to meet Oliver's gaze again with her bloodied axe pointed right at him. She grins. The smear of the blood of other men across her face grants her a terrifying expression. "My axe is yours, Metal Boy!" Oliver can only stare back with his mouth agape like a fool, "Wait? What?!" | |
| Oliver Laststar | |
Taking place after the second battle of Isadril
| Roleplay from Amelara Everwind | |
| Message sent to All Nobles of Perdan | |
| This battle wasn't like the others, she felt that before the first arrow was even set loose. She had felt uneasy - maybe it was the wind. The first two conflicfs, the air had been still, allowing the archers to fire unobstructed. Tonight, though, the wind howled - maybe a sign from the Wolf King himself.
For her, it started off similar to the other two battles, except after her first few men fell, the arrows didnt stop. One by one, they fell. Few screams of pain, and those that did survive their fall were silenced as more arrows rained upon their wounded bodies. And then red hot pain as something slammed into her shoulder, knocking her down to the floor. One of her men ducked down to help her up, beginning to pull her away from the battle, before he too was taken down. All Amelara remembered then was desperately trying to get away from the battle. Only once escaped did she realise that besides the non-fighters, she was alone. The arrow was removed now, it hadn't gone deep and was just a distant throb. Scared and feeling alone, she retreated back in the direction of Perdan. She feared it would be an arduous, slow journey, but sadly without any soldiers with her, it was good progress. She hoped she would come across one of her allies on the way - the thought of being in Yssrgard alone and unprotected was a terrifying one. | |
| Amelara Everwind | |
| Roleplay from Oliver Laststar | |
| Message sent to All Nobles of Perdan | |
| The battle had gone poorly for his unit, as he had opted them to fill out the lines with protective shields to help protect their own archers; nevertheless of his preparations, they all eventually fell to the drawn out exchange of arrows between the two armies. He should have realized this was going to be a poor choice trying to outshoot enemies that had the advantage of fortress walls to hide behind.
It was to his surprise that even as his men all went down, it was the yssrgardian woman from before darting in and out from the field like golden-haired comet, risking her own life to drag away his fallen men. She had followed him like a puppy all the way out to this battlefield, and not knowing what to do with her, he allowed to stick around. Which ended up as a blessing now though as he managed to assemble the rest of his troops. She—turns out her name was Brynja—further surprised him and his men by taking charge of their retreat, she pointed out trails, led them around time-consuming gullies and so on. Oliver had to admit he was impressed, Brynja was earnest to be of use to him, and always seemed to be grinning like she knew some secret joke he couldn't understand, which all meant she quickly had earned the respect of his men as well.
When they draw close, Oliver calls out and hails her, eventually recognizing Lady Everwind as the woman who infamously had lost so many of her troops from their first deadly engagement days ago. Did she lose the rest of her men? "Lady Amelara? Is that you? It's me, Oliver Laststar! I lost track of you at the battle, what happened?!" Unknownst to him, his new yssrgardian companion followed him protectively at his shoulder like a shadow with her axe in hand. | |
| Oliver Laststar | |
Chains and Interrogations
| Roleplay from Adriannna Le Monte | |
| With the battle coming to a decisive end, her unit and her charged forward to see what they could scavenge off of the battlefield. Suddenly, there was a shout from one them, calling for her attention. Walking over, a huge grin crossed her face as they pulled out a Perdanese noble trying to avoid capture. By the sigil, it looked to be Oliver. "Excellent work! This will make a glorious prize! Bring him back to the encampment and lock him up. Perhaps we will tie him in the center of camp to watch our celebrations." She paused as she cupped his chin in her hands. "Or maybe back to my personal tent." Inspecting him over, she shook her head. "Or maybe not. He is more suited for the sacrifice pyre." She stated sarcastically. If they were going to spread falsehoods about them, might as well make sure they are fearful at least. Picking up the wine, she toasted Patriacc after asking, "Why yes! Must be embarrassing to be captured by archers, but my troops had something to prove after yesterday. It's some Oliver who rots alone in our prison tent. I've yet to decide what to do with him. Though I did jokingly suggest sacrifice. Ya know, gotta keep up appearances to them!" | |
| Adriannna Le Monte | |
| Roleplay from Amelara Everwind | |
| The flap to the tent Oliver was currently restrained in opened suddenly as a Yssrgardian sentry leaned in to whisper something to the tough looking woman currently watching over him with as contemptous a look as Oliver showed Patriacc the previous day.
"Of course the two kittens want to talk," The woman snorted, rolling her eyes, "Whatever, send her in." The tent opened again and as opposed to the tall, muscular guards, in walked the petite and timid looking Amelara. A nasty bruise coloured the right side of her face, perhaps an injury from the recent battle even though every time Oliver would have looked to her unit, she was far out the midst of it. Amelara signalled for the guard to leave - the woman just stared at her with a bored expression. Amelara flushed, signalling again more angrily, and finally the woman shrugged and walked out at a very excrutiatingly slow pace. Clearly Amelara hasn't got everybody's respect around here. Despite the pink now in her cheeks, she moves to stand a few feet away from Oliver, seeming to struggle to meet his eyes but forcing herself to do so. "...Ser Oliver. I am glad to see that you are mostly okay." She fell into silence, clearly leaving it at that to test the waters. She wondered if he would be so confident with his speaking face-to-face, as he was in letters. Looking at him now, she had a nervous feeling in her stomach that he would be. | |
| Amelara Everwind | |
| Roleplay from Oliver Laststar | |
| This had to be one of the most humiliating days of Oliver’s life.
No. It definitely is The Worst. He thinks to himself as the guard of the tent he’s trapped in stares at him with utter contempt, and even amusement at times when she catches the young knight’s reciprocated look. It's utterly humiliating to have a commoner watch him like that. The battle had been a disaster for him, even though he followed his orders to the letter. Bravely, Sir Oliver had charged forward with the infantry and his few men to meet the enemy cavalry. Then ever since that first charge everything had gone sideways, Oliver was left wishing his army had used any other formation. All he can do now is sit in the wretched tent with just the guard for company, mulling over his regrets. He wasn’t sure what to expect next when Adrianna, the enemy general, manhandled him earlier in the day. She promised something of a pyre; or a visit to her personal tent. A cruel death, or a promise of… Something else. The woman earned no fear from him though in that moment, only a loathing glower, and he just barely stopped himself from biting her fingers off as she prodded him like some prime livestock. Someone needs to teach that woman how to give some proper respect. Oliver’s thoughts broil while his hands ball into fists. She’ll find out eventually what happens to those who mock me.
He prepared himself to appear more casual, and he lounges back as much as he can in his restraints with a relaxed smile taking over his features. His noble-upbringing had him prepared for changing his masks quickly: he’ll show his captors just how at ease he can be. Even with the iron restrains covering his wrists and ankles, Oliver might as well be back home sipping wine over a fire. His mask cracks a little when instead, it’s Amelara herself. The traitor. Remarkably alone. Who throws open the tent flap, and amusingly, had a quite characteristically awkward exchange to dismiss the guard. Amelara would find Oliver sitting on the ground, poised despite the dirt and grime of battle marring his otherwise usual impeccable skin; and stray strands of sweaty hair is plastered over his face. Far from his best look. ((Quote: Despite the pink now in her cheeks, she moves to stand a few feet away from Oliver, seeming to struggle to meet his eyes but forcing herself to do so. "...Ser Oliver. I am glad to see that you are mostly okay.")) “So look who it is. What brings you here...” He smirks, joylessly, for all the respect he shows the young timid woman and even raises his cuffed hands in a display of mocking welcome. “...To my humble chambers? Come here to mock me? Rub in your victory over your old companion? Toy with me?” Oliver unabashedly scans over Lady Amelara's face for a moment from his spot on the ground, and something catches his attention. He leans forward lifting an eyebrow, amused. "Too bad about your face I suppose. It was pretty enough. Some other knight must have given you the lovely gift." | |
| Oliver Laststar | |
| Roleplay from Amelara Everwind | |
| Amelara could tell just by the expressions crossing Oliver's face that this was going to be as difficult a conversation as replying to the knight's letters. Oliver had always seemed a.. character, but now being on the wrong side of that, this was easily one of the most awkward encounters she'd had in her life, and they'd barely exchanged words yet. It.. hurt, sensing the anger and perhaps even hate from the man who was so similar to her in age - especially as she had felt him someone she had been closer to in Perdan following their journey together back from Isadril.
At his question, a flicker of hurt crossed the young woman's face, and she shook her head, grabbing a nearby stool and sitting down opposite him, "..No, I do not. I come here to..." She broke off, struggling to even find an explanation for that, "I do not know. I just felt that I had to see you, and speak to you, despite the hurt that you have.." She hesitated again, sighing, "Well, hurt that we both have clearly inflicted on each other." She looked away from him, revealing the bruise in the dim lighting which likely then provoked Oliver to comment on it. What wasn't purple turned pink again as she looked back to him, eyes wide, "Th-That does not matter." She retorted quickly, mind processing the best approach and deciding to run with his implication, "..I thought the knights of Perdan had more respect than to strike a Lady with their fist, though." She felt slightly ashamed in that false accusation, quickly moving past it, "Such the perils of war, I suppose." Back to the matter of hand, she looked him in the eyes again, "I am not ashamed to confess that your words to me over recent weeks have hurt me deeply. I question why you, Ser Oliver, are bothered so much as to insult me and denounce my title, when your allies clearly understood my choice far better. I admit that when I first revealed to Perdan what my actions were, I expected everybody to share your views... but they did not. Of course a few of them warned me of the rumours you people love to create, of course they urged me to stay, but you - only you - chose to insult my honour and person." A dark look crossed her face as she recalled the contents of those letters, the timid demeanour vanishing as she snapped to him with anger, "'A shame to us all', 'traitor', 'one-time-Lady', 'rut with animals', 'lie with dogs'... what gives you the right to say these things?!" She climbed up from her stool again as she moved closer to him, kneeling down so only a couple of inches from his face, "Will you say them again to me now, little Oliver, straight to my face?" She challenged him with her dark eyes, whispering softly, "I dare you." She seemed to hesitate, a hint of surprise reaching her eyes as something within her questioned what she was doing right now. She stayed firm, however, "..So no, I do not come here to 'toy with you' or mock you. I come here for answers, and I come here to demand payment for a foolish boy's mouth running away from him." | |
| Amelara Everwind | |
