Aesthetic.Gem
Tired College Student • 20
ʜᴇʟʟᴏ!
ɪ’ᴍ ɢᴇᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ’ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ sɪɴᴄᴇ ???? ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪɴsᴛᴀɢʀᴀᴍ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ᴘᴏᴘᴜʟᴀʀ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ғᴏʀ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ ᴀᴄᴄᴏᴜɴᴛs. ɪ’ᴠᴇ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ’ᴠᴇ ᴍɪssᴇᴅ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴄᴏʟʟᴀʙᴏʀᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ sᴛᴏʀʏᴛᴇʟʟɪɴɢ (ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇɴ’ᴛ ᴅᴏɴᴇ ɪᴛ ɪɴ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ? ʏᴇᴀʀs ᴏʀ sᴏ).
ɪ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴅᴏ ғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏs (ʙʙᴄ sʜᴇʀʟᴏᴄᴋ, ᴀssᴀssɪɴ’s ᴄʀᴇᴇᴅ, ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ ᴡʜᴏ, ᴛᴇᴇɴ ᴛɪᴛᴀɴs, ᴇᴛᴄ.) ʙᴜᴛ ɴᴏᴡ ɪ’ᴅ ʀᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴜsᴇ ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀs ᴍʏsᴇʟғ, ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪғ ɪᴛ ɪs ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ᴀ sᴘᴇᴄɪғɪᴄ ғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ’s sᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ. ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴇɴʀᴇs ɪ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ғᴀɴᴛᴀsʏ.
ɪ ʀᴇᴄᴇɴᴛʟʏ ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴛᴀʀᴛ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ᴏɴ ᴛʜɪs sɪᴛᴇ, ᴀᴛᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ɢʀᴏᴜᴘ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏs ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ’ᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴡᴏʀᴋᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴀ ᴡᴇᴇᴋ. ɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ’ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɪɴsᴘɪʀᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ sᴏᴍᴇ ɴᴇᴡ ɪᴅᴇᴀs ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴇᴠᴇʟᴏᴘ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ʜᴇʀᴇ
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ɪ’ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴘɪᴄᴋʏ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪɢʜ sᴛᴀɴᴅᴀʀᴅs ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴘʀᴇғᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇs:
- ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ʀᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ʀᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ɪs ??+ ᴄᴏɴsɪᴅᴇʀɪɴɢ ɪ ғᴀʟʟ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴀᴛᴇɢᴏʀʏ. ɪ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ʀᴘ ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ᴏʀ sᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ (ɪғ ɴᴇᴄᴇssᴀʀʏ ᴀ ғᴀᴅᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ sɪᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ), ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴘʀᴇғᴇʀ ɪᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ᴛᴀʟᴋ ᴏғ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ.
- ɪ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴍɪɴᴅ sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ᴘᴏsᴛ ᴍᴜʟᴛɪᴘʟᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇs ᴀ ᴅᴀʏ ᴀs ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴠᴏᴄᴀʟ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ɪᴛ. ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴏʀ ᴊᴜsᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ʙᴜsʏ sᴄʜᴇᴅᴜʟᴇ, ɪ’ᴅ ᴘʀᴇғᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ᴘᴏsᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴀ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴏʀ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ’ᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴇɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴘ ʀᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʙᴇ ʟᴇғᴛ ʜᴀɴɢɪɴɢ. ᴀs ᴀ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇɢᴇ sᴛᴜᴅᴇɴᴛ ɪ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ᴀs ᴀ ᴄᴀsᴜᴀʟ ʜᴏʙʙʏ, sᴏ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛ ǫᴜɪᴄᴋ ʀᴇᴘʟʏ’s.
- ɪ’ᴍ ᴏᴋᴀʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ sᴇᴍɪ-ʟɪᴛ ᴏʀ ʟɪᴛ ʀᴘ. ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴍʏ ᴍɪɴɪᴍᴜᴍ ɪs ?+ sᴇɴᴛᴇɴᴄᴇs. ᴀʟʟ ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴀsᴋ ғᴏʀ ɪs ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴡɪᴛʜ. ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴏᴍᴇᴛɪᴍᴇs ɪɴ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ғᴇᴇʟs ɴᴇᴄᴇssᴀʀʏ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴀɢʀᴀᴘʜs ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ᴏғ ʀᴇsᴘᴏɴsᴇ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛɪᴍᴇs ᴀ ғᴇᴡ sɪᴍᴘʟᴇ sᴇɴᴛᴇɴᴄᴇs ᴄᴀɴ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴇʏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ sᴀʏ. ɪ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ?-? ᴘᴀʀᴀɢʀᴀᴘʜs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ʜᴇғᴛʏ ᴀᴍᴏᴜɴᴛ ᴏғ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟ.
- ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴄᴀᴛᴇ. ɪғ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ’s sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴘ ᴏʀ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴊᴜsᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇsᴛᴇᴅ ɪɴ ɪᴛ ᴀɴʏᴍᴏʀᴇ, ɪᴛ’s ᴏᴋᴀʏ ᴛᴏ sᴘᴇᴀᴋ ᴜᴘ. ɪ ᴡᴏɴ’ᴛ ʙᴇ ᴏғғᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴡᴏʀᴋ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴏʀʏ ᴏʀ ʙʀɪɴɢ ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ɪᴅᴇᴀ ɪɴᴛᴏ ɪᴛ. sᴛᴇᴘᴘɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴀ ʀᴘ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ ᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɪᴛ ɪs ᴠᴀʟɪᴅ.
- ɪ’ʟʟ ᴅᴏ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴍxғ ᴀɴᴅ ғxғ. ɪ’ᴍ ɴᴏʀᴍᴀʟʟʏ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ɪɴ ᴜsɪɴɢ ᴀ ғᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ɪɴsɪsᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴘ ᴄᴀʟʟs ғᴏʀ ɪᴛ ɪ’ʟʟ ᴀᴛᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴀs ᴀ ᴍᴀʟᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ.
ʜᴏᴘᴇғᴜʟʟʏ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴘʀᴇғᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇs ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ sᴇᴇᴍ ᴜɴғᴀɪʀ ᴏʀ ᴜɴɴᴇᴄᴇssᴀʀʏ!
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?? ????? ???? ?? ??????? ????? ?? ??? ???? ?? ? ???? ? ???????? ????? ???????, ??? ?????? ????. ??? ????????? ??????? ???? ?????? ?????????? ??????? ?? ??? ??? ???? ??? ???? ??? ??? ???? ?? ?? ?? ?????????? ?? ??? ??? ????? ????? ?????.
Vesuvia.
A city both resembling the charms of renaissance Italy and medieval India, somewhere in the Southern Hemisphere of the world. Rich and poor, young and old, magical and non magical alike are attracted to this metropolis. Although magic in this world exists, it is uncommon for someone to be powerful enough to use it.
Beginning in the early morning, windows and doors fly open to reveal the food stands and shops that the locals know well. The wafting smell of the pumpkin bread freshly out of the oven entices the folks nearby to wander through.
Throughout midday, most of the activity remains in the bustling city square. Woman chatting with one another after finishing their daily to-dos, children playing a simple game of ball, criers making public announcements to whatever crowd they can gather.
By nighttime, the city falls under a serene spell, the streets as quiet as if a single soul soul hadn’t lived there in years. The only noise remaining can be heeded from the tavern near the shadier part of the city. Men and women alike gather to share drunken laughter and place bets on the current games.
Atop, high above the city sits the palace. The most recognizable structure in Vesuvia and a sight to behold. The iron gates, moat, and palace guards separate its bridge from those who try and wander in. Inside sits the widowed countess who carefully runs her beloved city.
Leading west out of the city resides the forest. Although someone who doesn’t know better may see it as ominous and eerie, the people of Vesuvia use it as a resource. Berries and mushrooms cause none harm lest the inexperienced get their hands on the deadlier type. Any person with even a pinch magical sensitivity can also sense a great force of magic originating somewhere within its trees.
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?? ????? ???? ?? ??????? ????? ?? ??? ???? ?? ? ???? ? ???????? ????? ???????, ??? ?????? ????. ??? ????????? ??????? ???? ?????? ?????????? ??????? ?? ??? ??? ???? ??? ???? ??? ??? ???? ?? ?? ?? ?????????? ?? ??? ??? ????? ????? ?????.
Vesuvia.
A city both resembling the charms of renaissance Italy and medieval India, somewhere in the Southern Hemisphere of the world. Rich and poor, young and old, magical and non magical alike are attracted to this metropolis. Although magic in this world exists, it is uncommon for someone to be powerful enough to use it.
Beginning in the early morning, windows and doors fly open to reveal the food stands and shops that the locals know well. The wafting smell of the pumpkin bread freshly out of the oven entices the folks nearby to wander through.
Throughout midday, most of the activity remains in the bustling city square. Woman chatting with one another after finishing their daily to-dos, children playing a simple game of ball, criers making public announcements to whatever crowd they can gather.
By nighttime, the city falls under a serene spell, the streets as quiet as if a single soul soul hadn’t lived there in years. The only noise remaining can be heeded from the tavern near the shadier part of the city. Men and women alike gather to share drunken laughter and place bets on the current games.
Atop, high above the city sits the palace. The most recognizable structure in Vesuvia and a sight to behold. The iron gates, moat, and palace guards separate its bridge from those who try and wander in. Inside sits the widowed countess who carefully runs her beloved city.
Leading west out of the city resides the forest. Although someone who doesn’t know better may see it as ominous and eerie, the people of Vesuvia use it as a resource. Berries and mushrooms cause none harm lest the inexperienced get their hands on the deadlier type. Any person with even a pinch magical sensitivity can also sense a great force of magic originating somewhere within its trees.
A peculiar shop sits at the corner of one of the busier streets near the Vesuvian market. A bizarre sign sways in front of the door, an insignia that has become familiar to those who wish to guide their future with the help of a little magic. The lantern below it is lit, signaling opening hours.
Inside the shop the smell of exotic herbs, imported spices, and other magical ingredients intermingle in the air. The enticing scent along with the soft interior lighting present the area with a calming aura. Not only is it a peaceful store, but a peaceful home.
A residence of two, a master and their apprentice. Alurora was fortunate enough to have arrived in this world with some form of magic. It has always been difficult in this realm to find someone with a strong affinity for magic. As soon as her master noticed she had a trifling of magical talent, they took her under their wing. Since that day a few years ago, the pair had managed to open up their own business where they were famously known by their local friends and customers as the magician and the witch. People from around Vesuvia come to browse for magical ingredients or to obtain simple enchantment charms, but most importantly those who come wish to ask questions to the Arcana, a set of powerful tarot cards.
Alurora currently sat in the back room of the shop where the readings are held, a well known customer situated across the table. The pumpkin bread man. Her master has been gone for a little over two weeks on a trip to somewhere she did not know for equally unknown reasons. That meant she would take care of the shop while they were gone, not that she couldn’t handle it after a few years of experience. For the moment it meant helping out the customer in front of her. Over the mauve clothed table in front of them sat the Arcana, strewn about in front of the customer as he picked his final card. Alurora gently moved away a stray strand of her wavy, dark hair as her eyes flickered around, following the customer’s hand. Turning them right side up, she began retelling him what the cards spoke to her, her eyes holding a distinct gaze as she moved her hands over them.
The Five Of Cups reversed, The Queen of Pentacles upright, and The High Priestess. Upon the last card, her mind clears and she speaks in hushed voice, “You’ve forsaken her. You’ve pushed her away and buried her voice. She calls out to you, but you won’t listen.” Although she could not understand the meaning behind her words, her customer looked satisfied with the response. “Ah! Thank you so much again for the answers Alurora! As always I will come back visit you and your master when I feel as though I need advice and I’ll make sure to bring you some more of your favorite bread!” The man beamed as he shook Alurora’s hand with both of his own over the table.
The man settled back down in his spot, looking over at her almost expectantly. Alurora peered at him, tilting her head to the side in slight confusion, “Is there something else you’d like to ask or...?” The man shook his head, letting out a hefty laugh. “ I was wondering if the famous magician and his witch would be heading out to the palace soon.” This prompted an even more confused expression to cross Alurora’s face. The palace? Why would she be headed to the palace? Her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes crinkled as she sat in thought. “Oh! So it seems the news has not reached you yet,” The man began.
“Two nights ago the Countess gave an intriguing announcement. Two years after her husbands tragic death, she is finally ready to attempt to find and catch the man she believes murdered him, “ the man’s eyes lit up as he spoke, it wasn’t everyday that something this significant came from the palace. It especially didn’t help that Vesuvia has always been a city full of gossip. The man continued, his hands moving in small circles in the air as he recounted. “She’s inviting anyone with any form of useful knowledge, be it from medical to arcane and all that falls in between, to come to her palace and use its library as a resource! Of course, in exchange they must help her find her husband’s killer. I thought it’d be a shoo-in for such insightful people as yourselves to take this opportunity.”
The man began to stand up, slightly bowing with his hands pressed together as he moved away from the seat, “I’ll look forward to seeing you or your master wherever the wind may take you.” With those as his final words, he steps out the back room through the thick curtains and out of the shops door. The quiet chime of the bell echoes though the shop as Alurora is left alone. She is left sedentary in the back of the shop as she begins to wonder what she will do with the new information. This wasn’t her decision to make, she was only the apprentice. There was also no way to for her to know when her master would be back. The last trip they took, they told her it would take no time at all yet they didn’t come back for four weeks.
After carefully fixing the hood of her cloak, Alurora let out a defeated sigh and began to attentively put the Arcana cards back into their pouch. As she placed the final card in its allotted spot, the bell above the door sounded it’s familiar chime. “I was just about to put out the light from the lantern outside...” she quietly huffed to herself as she heaved herself up from the table. The bottom of her cloak fluttered behind her as she parted the curtain to reveal who stood in her shop.
(From this point on you can choose to be whomever you want! Her master, a customer, a traveler, etc. )
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