Moon´glade` n. 1. The bright reflection of the moon's light on an expanse of water.
“MOONGLADE” is a non-canon Fairy Tail rp. Our story begins in the northern continent of Giltena, more than 400 years after the “disappearance of dragons”. With a focus on the Kingdom of Valeria, a country with a deep history revolving around the Moon Dragon, you will be able to play a vital role in the development of this kingdom--unless you choose a different journey. In Giltena, revered dragons have chosen to walk among you, and villains posing as heroes litter both the royal courts and the city streets. Weary traveller, what will you bring to the kingdom? Forge your path, and push forward through a world of magic and dreams.
WATER DRAGON FEST
The portside Town of Elmina is holding their annual Water Dragon Festival in honor of the Water Dragon Waka. Water Dragon Waka is a known foodie, so there will be a cooking competition held by the city lord as well as a variety of street vendors set up to celebrate the festivities. Additionally, the royal family of Valeria will be holding a hunt in the nearby Pouring Rainforest in honor of this event. This forest is controlled terrain so they will be releasing captive beasts into it. Choose. Do you want to help or hinder with these activities? The choices are yours.
This skin was made by Pharaohleap of pixel-perfect. Moonglade is the ugly bastard child of Baby and Spade and is a Fairy Tail roleplay. A special thanks to Hiko for his contributions. Fairy Tail is created by Hiro Mashima. All images on site belong to their respective artists.
Who was it that lived under the king’s sun and occasionally reported in with finished royal jobs that didn’t know of Ruaridh Sutton, the knight born of flowers? Certainly it hadn’t escaped Jury’s notice that a non-magical bastard was walking the shield and sword as tall as any mage in the royal guard. Once upon a time she had lacked a mindset for ethernano just like him, beyond lowborn and unknowing of any different. Now, she was cultivating her skill with a growing hunger for greatness and the riches she had been robbed of. She knew what drove her, but what possessed him, valiant and staunch in the face of all misfortune?
Jury had wondered once or twice, her eyelids lower with the curiosity of not knowing enough as she passed, but the right opportunity to ask had not presented itself. Today, she had it on a silver platter, quite literally in front of her: red and golden beets surrounding venison steaks marinated in mead and spiced up to savory. It sat a few fingers away from a bowl of the deepest red wine, so large in the middle of the table everyone took a serving or eyed it at one point or another in the day. In truth, it was only one of the many delicacies lined up on the long serving table, and everyone dropped what they were doing to stop for a bite sooner or later.
It was in such a state of picking his pleasure that Jury dared to make her approach. Near evening, she took shape from behind the shadows of decorative reeds, walking beyond the archway of marble and purple roses that matched the ones in her hair. Elegant in a burgundy flower-patterned dress with bare shoulders, she glided towards him. Soft light from garlands in the trees caught the twinkle in her eyes, a cat’s mischief that was known to cause trouble. Arriving near to his side to pick up her own platter and choose a juicy piece of meat, she smiled and brushed a gaze past him as she angled slightly to address.
“Enjoying the occasion, Ser? I’ve never had the pleasure of spying you at a festivity before.” For one of many reasons, most to do with her lack of attendance. Normally, she would be found in the treasure-hunt section of any event or too caught up in a mission of her own to be present. It was little mystery to anyone who knew Jury that she would rather lend her mind to puzzles and challenges than polite conversation, but this time was different. The game proposed was hunting down beasts, and while she had some skill with the blade and a slight touch of magic, she wasn’t suicidal enough to try for this prize. People had gathered together to go, but circumstances had caused her to arrive late and disorganized. That was no way to enter a competition.
In consequence, she half-turned to her other mind's quarry instead, balancing on one leg as her hip slightly curved out into a relaxed pose that indicated she intended to stay for some time. “Jurianne Mondo, guild mage with Magia Dragon,” she offered, extending a hand. “Feel welcome to call me Jury,” she smiled.
There was a headiness to the late afternoon that he, looking back on it, had not expected. The lazy summer heat, only alleviated occasionally by a sea breeze, in combination with the mingling of scents and tastes of rich, well-prepared food, brought with it a certain heaviness that settled comfortably into his bones. Perhaps too comfortably, considering the company he kept - lordlings and diplomats, heiresses and merchants. The sort for whom he needed a clear head to carry on a conversation, lest he say something he might later regret.[break] Not, of course, that there was much conversation initiated with him by the company he currently kept. The invitation to this social gathering had been somewhat of an afterthought of a formality from its host; perhaps they simply didn’t quite catch his name or his person beyond his father’s title. Anyone who did know who he was either went through the niceties and found better company, or did not even go through those motions. Not, Ruaridh found, that he minded much. He would have been in Elmina either way, having been called in on regular duty, and the atmosphere was pleasant enough without conversation, the dinner presented absolutely excellent, the view breathtaking. Complaining would do nothing but ruin his very pleasant afternoon.[break] As the evening crept in on him, as easily as the heaviness of today had earlier, he found himself on his second glass of red when approached. He noticed her later than he would have liked, letting her catch him at a moment where his shoulders had just relaxed enough for him to look somewhat slumped. He straightened himself smoothly, setting the stemless glass in his hand aside in nearly the same motion.[break] “I don’t believe,” His voice, hoarse in that way that indicated he hadn’t necessarily used it in a while, embarrassed him. He would have coughed, if his mother hadn’t trained that kind of behaviour out of him as a young child.“I have had the pleasure of being spied on before, no.” In the back of his mind, he went through the catalogue of names and faces he kept - never brilliant at matching the two of them up, he made an effort to remember everyone who was anyone. That this woman’s face did not strike him as familiar was not necessarily unpleasant, but the fact that she knew of him and he not of her was … well. That really depended on what she had heard of him, he supposed.[break] ”Lady Jury.” He took her hand in his own, ungloved, knuckles rougher than a nobleman’s ought to be, and shook it with some renewed certainty. Although her face did not strike him as familiar, the name certainly rang a bell in a far-off place in his memory - certainly a noble house of some renown, though for the life of him he could not recall details. “Ruaridh Sutton, royal guard, at your service.”[break] He let fall the polite amount of silence before continuing, with a laugh. “To answer, though - yes, I’m quite enjoying the whole affair. Certainly beats slogging through the forest hunting down a vicious beastie.” Best to make it seem as if there had ever been a choice, even if it was widely known he hadn't had one.
Heard? No. What she had seen. Jury rarely lent her ear to gossip, instead keeping an eye out to ascertain for herself. The heavy tome of royals, lords and ladies, and altogether distinguished individuals that she had borrowed from a friend had become literature she kept close to her chest. Tymona wasn’t keen on reading, and Jury wasn’t swayed to interact with people of note before finding out a bit or bob about them first. Safe to say she had an idea about him, a fragile thought on stunted legs that she needed to paint into full picture.
The first thing she noted was that he could relax, the iron of posture out of his shoulders before she surprised him (to her concealed delight). It didn’t make for much of a lady or mage if she could easily be seen or predicted. His response made her chuckle, not unkindly, but as someone pleased to get caught on the very hint she offered. Smile now subtly curved, she raised an eyebrow. “Or being told about it. Most spies don’t come out in the open.” People were watching him just as people were watching her: when they weren’t aware, and few would be candid enough to ever speak about why.
That he didn’t know from her face who she was didn’t fall out of the ordinary. Hers was the estate of rubble – a heap of bygone times she hadn’t deigned to clear. She was the only surviving heir of a lineage fraught with loss, barely-acknowledged and of no fortune. She lived at the guild. The Mondos had held strong rivals and so many it could have been the work of any which one. A proud family, they had been, ingenuous enchanters and elementalists. And then there was her, still trying to understand who to blame, in whose coffers lay her family heirlooms.
Jury was glad for the distraction of him speaking his name. She had loathed the thought of calling him ‘Ser’ or ‘You’ all evening. They shook hands, skin to skin, and she was pleased that finally her palms were softer than someone else’s. New faith went to a chamomile salve. Otherwise, it suited him – the man out to take his place in the world by force (okay, maybe she had heard some whispers). But his disposition was earnest and unassuming, ready to be of help. She felt obliged to tease him, but held her tongue back. Instead, she poured herself a red, and watched him over its brim as she mulled over his answer.
“A lot of the time,” she began, in the level and smooth tone of someone quite comfortable with themselves, “greater boons are won with words.” Had she not gained an education alongside wealthy friends, she would have probably placed value in slaying first. “But rare treasures are guarded by beasts, and not all of them prone to talking.” Which was why she needed to be better, in both her magic and her swordplay. Jury aimed to venture beyond known territory. She laid a pause for him to comment should he wish, then levied a question at him. “Color me curious, if I may, what appeals most in serving as a royal guard? To you, I mean. I’m sure there are as many stories as there are people at this festivity.”
Jury didn’t know what he could or could not slay. If she had to hazard a guess, she supposed people in positions such as his were decked from top to bottom in magical enchantments.
Honesty was a double-edged blade, but one he was glad to wield and even more pleased to encounter another wielding. There was a time and a place for secrets and double-meanings, certainly, but conversations with Ruaridh was not the place or the time for them. He had never found himself much of a many-tongued riddler, more interested in the truth of the matter than the game of sifting through words in order to find said truth. The remark on spies and honesty extracted the quiet laughter of someone who was professionally not supposed to be amused, but personally certainly was.[break] “If they did so more often, perhaps they would not find themselves so widely mistrusted.” He responded, mentally tallying the number of spies he trusted against the spies he did not - the imbalance, though striking, was no surprise. Then again, this was not about spies. He did not doubt they were present at this party (to do so even Ruaridh would find too naive) but they were outnumbered by a much more destructive sort of spectator - people of power and influence, of means and of malice.[break] He counted himself lucky to have been approached by a woman who did not appear to be either spy or spectator, and returned his glass to his hand, brought it to his lips in an unspoken declaration of … trust? He couldn’t quite call it that. But it was something like that, certainly. Ruaridh did not find it necessary to abstain from alcohol entirely during the conversation - even though it would likely not have mattered. It was the gesture, not the actuality, which counted, and with that thought he found himself back at the beginning of his trailing thoughts, at the hidden meaning behind gestures and looks and certain words.[break] “An unfortunate truth, that.” He remarked idly, a little divot forming there where his brows furrowed slightly. “There’s an awful lot to be gained from good conversation, and only a victory or loss from a fight.” Pacifism? No. He found himself too occupied with daily crimes to advocate for it. But some breathing room between conflicts, some conversation to prevent said conflicts from escalating to begin with - Ruaridh could certainly see himself speaking out for that cause.[break] His head tilted to the side and he let his eyes meet her, frankly searching for a reason behind her question. Ruaridh suspected he already knew, but there was a risk in assumptions that he was rarely willing to take. “I suppose its appeal is rather similar to the appeal of guild work, all things considered.” He spoke with care, considering each word before stringing a sentence together. There was only a thin line between enthusiasm and propaganda, and he had to walk it carefully - fanaticism did not suit him, he knew that much. “I get to protect what I love, and I get to do it in a way which I enjoy. The pay isn’t bad, either.” The slightly lighter tone indicated that the last part was a joke more than anything, but even without the intonation, he suspected that it would be obvious. A bastard he may be, he was still well taken care of by his father, just so he kept quiet on the political scale. Generally, though, it was a non-answer, a scripted line that he had practiced many times over.[break] He didn’t want to bother everyone he met with his actual reasons, with his bitterness. Especially not someone like Lady Jury, who did not need to talk to him but did of her own free will. Chasing her off was the last thing he wanted to do.[break] “But, more personally - I grew up at court, in part, always looked up at the guard. It was really rather natural, looking back. I was always going to join them, in my mind.” He paused, considered his wine and then sipped it. “If you do not mind me asking, what motivated your decision to join your guild?”
To say that the lady in front of him employed no artifice EVER would be a gross oversimplification of her character. It was estimated that the average person lied a few times every 10 minutes of conversation, more if they were younger, less the older they got. Strangers on average lied more to each other than friends and friends more so than lovers (hopefully). Reasons varied, and ultimately that was what made the difference between people.
Jury prided herself on being able to tell when others fibbed based on knowing them a short while. As jarring as it was, she overlooked or played along with most of what they churned untrue, but only out of care for reasons. People on the more honest end of the spectrum, especially those who could handle conflict with grace and reason, were her absolute favorite. Spies were another matter. “Hazard of the job,” she played back as they debated them. “Wouldn’t make for much of a spy if they wouldn’t act the part.” Few fingers up to stroke her chin, she reflected with her gaze averted, observing now one such suspicious man whose steps were just the slightest bit more of a prowl than average. “Mistrust, one of the prices they pay.” Giving a shrug, she cast the notion away and looked back to Ruaridh.
The cat’s twinkle was back in her eyes when he took a sip of wine, and as he picked up the torch to speak again, she did the same – slowly, savoring it. The red was flavorful. He was no fan of needless violence or lies, it seemed, boosting her morale. Ruaridh spoke with such a crease between his brows that she believed him. Jurianne began to relax, a guardedness she hadn’t realized she was wearing dropping down like feather glass. Purple-blue eyes followed the shifts in his expression with a more languid quality to their observation, momentarily trailing down to the curve of his exposed neck.
They floated back up to attention when he revealed his motivations.
’I get to protect what I love’, he said, and she stared at his eyes for a long time after that. A search for the soul and the tether. At heart, she was a nosy creature of little shame, a quality exacerbated by particular interest. Ruaridh finished on a note that made her smile, fleetingly amused. Jewels and treasure did motivate her, but she was as interested in filling her coffers as she was in spreading them around. It was one of the reasons her heritage was still just a mound of debris, waiting for postponed rebuild. Then he was talking of court and a prearranged path, the steps of legacy he had followed. By the time he forwarded the question back she had to shake herself out of an empathetic vision, her mind trying to fill the blanks with people and images.
Teeth grazed her lower lip as she looked down, quarter-full glass lowered to the table by the stem. “When I first arrived to Giltena, I didn’t know who I was,” she said, her tone deeper with slight tenderness. Like a blossoming flower reminded of the drought, she shone more dully as she talked. “There was no one I trusted and I had no jewels, a consequence of having a name to a mysterious origin and following along a rumor.” The trace-movement of dancers in the near-distance caught her eye, and she followed them thoughtfully. “Knowing I was capable of magic was the ticket I clutched, so I sought out the local guilds. Cat’s Cradle seemed well enough, but then I fell in love with the castle of Magia Dragon. I thought: ’There’s something that looks like me – a structure with many chambers that’s seen some better days but with a dragon at the top’,” she chuckled, amused now by her youthful musings.
The look on her face began to lighten, and her eyes went back to him. “The reason I stayed is because there’s strength in numbers. I had had enough of years spent leaping across chasms with no net underneath. I like having people to rely on that I can offer the same to in exchange.” She lifted a hand then, mouth half-smiling with the beginning of mischief but the look in her eyes bordered towards sweet. Her fingers reached out towards him, then found their mark - a purple petal on his shoulder from the decorations in this garden. “Entertaining aberrations abound, but trustworthy people are rare,” she picked it up with fluid care, trapping it between her fingers.
“What about you? What’s the main thing you need from people you end up being close to?”
