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.
When the day began, casual was on her mind. When the spell of dressing ended, she was out sporting a gown, a slit in the dark fabric working half-way up her thigh. Her neckline plunged just enough, surrounded by purple roses. Only at the very last moment she had swapped the stilettos for a pair of flip-flops.
After walking out into the open, Jury had to admit – she didn’t know if he was mocking her or offering a compliment. Pinning it by his surprised expressions and simply because she wanted to, she took it for the latter and played back. “Careful, dear legend. Call me that outside these halls and they might charge me with treason.” She smiled all the same, undaunted in the least, though her eyes did study him more intently for a moment.
Then she took the seat he so casually offered up on the wings of a fair observation. “Thank you, Enlil.” She canted her head at his astute observation, eyebrows lifting a measure. “The last of my heritage,” she confessed, but if she seemed sad of the fact, it wasn’t apparent. His mention of Bellamy she overlooked. “As surprised as we are to be in the presence of one of the resident dragon slayers,” she admitted to know the one tidbit about him.
“If we’re going to have our cards out in the open from the very first draw, then I’m going to come up and say that I’ve always been curious about your kind.” About dragons and being trained under the stars. “How did you convince a dragon to train you?”
There was a quality to Orla that few still possessed – a slender beam of sunshine, the first leaves in spring. Although their age difference was not too great, Jury could feel her soul heavy where Orla’s was light. It was tender and sweet, the feeling it stirred in the ice mage as she considered her wistful words with a small smile. I don’t think anyone cares about our hopes here, kitten, she thought, then said. “If they want to recuperate or document something, it’s in their best interest to tell us as much as possible. If we don’t find anything, we’ll be disappointed either way.” Perhaps a little relieved, too, to have made it out in one piece. “In any case, we get to say we traveled into the red desert and back and any time in the future we’ll be more prepared.” Jury winked.
A rather cool desert was still hot to Jury, whose core of magic was attuned to winter and blizzards. She wiped at her brow just as Orla confirmed she could continue, prompting an apt observation. Jurianne paused, blinking as the blonde began to fan her with her sketchbook. The look in her eyes instantly melted in delight, the younger female’s efforts joining with the desert breeze to actually provide some relief. “Thank you, I needed that...” she admitted, shoulders slumping as she relaxed.
Through the haze of her unfocused pupils, far in the distance she began to see light, shimmering waves where there should have been dunes. Blinking to attention, she rubbed at her eyes as Orla spoke of a break, then peered at the sight. “Do you see that or is it just me?” It was always good to check in the desert, heatwaves were known to alter perception. The more she looked, the more she frowned. “Might be a mirage – a desert illusion,” she shared with Orla. “You know how during hot summer days the landscape seems to alter as you gaze upon it through the heat? Right where we’re standing it’s not so bad, so that glittering could be an indication of a heatwave.” Or a huge army of metal-clad unknowns. Or a gem or metal structure smack dab in the middle of the desert. Since the latter two were as unlikely as finding desert fish, the elder mage was banking on that flashy detail that could steal the gaze to be exactly what she thought it was. Jury looked at her compass, to make a mental note of its location respective to their journey.
“My gut says we go in the other direction, what do you think?”
The practicality of her wardrobe was supreme: pale brown blouse and knee-length trousers, hair caught back in a tight bun and under a net, apron up front, heel-less shoes comfortably sliding from this place to that. Jurianne had arrived earlier than recommended, a hardwired system from her youth springing to duty. Her mind was full of sights: the floor she swept from end to end and its balustrade lining; the tomcat that scratched at the door, meowing to be let in; the paper-boy throwing the day’s news through the broken window into the springs of an old couch.
She filled her arms with plates and stacked them out front. The main cooks were already on the first round of meals, something that looked like potatoes floating in a sea of greens. Running out back, she minced, then chopped, then scraped slices into the pot. She slid around the floor like it was artwork in motion. By the time the other assistants arrived, she had run to the bathroom to take a break.
The first ‘new’ person she saw was the shape of a male with raven hair. He walked slowly and she fast, coming to tap him on the arm as she swiveled past. “Good morning! Are you here to eat or help?” Truthfully, he would be the first patron today if he confessed to latter. He was masked, she noted, silently expecting him to take it off. It was odd and suspicious to be wearing concealment indoors.
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?”
Technically speaking, the old guild-castle with its wide arches, tall towers, and many halls was her home. Jurianne claimed a chamber within, a high place with a good view in the distance. The room that was hers was the disorganized mess of someone in constant transit, a place she never opened up to company. Posters for jobs lay stacked on the table, and it was holding a pair of those that she walked out to make the journey downstairs.
It had been a month since her last day’s stay, the rest of her time spent travelling. She passed by mages in the guild as she would by neighboring tenants, though easily polite to acknowledge them with a smile. A scant few of them were her friends, and quite a number comfortable acquaintances, but not the young man seated at the bar of the interior tavern. Her gaze froze in his direction when she noted his presence – the famous example of a dragon slayer.
Jurianne hid the job posters in her sleeve and advanced in his direction. Upon reaching him, she would slip a hand onto the counter of the bar, hovering above the stool to his right. “May I sit with you?” She asked, unsure if he was in a mood for conversation. If he accepted, she would formally introduce herself. “Jurianne Mondo, I don’t believe we’ve properly met.” They had, a little – known by sight, but not by lengthy conversation or shared travels. “How does the day find you?”
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.
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.
It was a time to lament being immune to her own magic, though wandering draped in thin cotton fabrics of parchment-cream coloration made the desert heat tolerable enough. Jury sighed softly as they came about the umpteenth mound, ready to loose her fingers if Orla looked at all in want of a chilling break. “Investigate the red desert, what a jarringly vague request. If it hadn’t come from the higher heads up in the kingdom, I wouldn’t have suggested this,” she said, nigh apologetic. Arms wide all around and her nose a wrinkle, it was clear the older female was not particularly enthralled by their current predicament.
Hours away from the nearest civilized settlement and with a compass to keep direction, Jury turned deep blue eyes to Orla from under a large white hat. They had been walking and stopping for some time now, utterly without incident or clue. At first it had seemed prudent to avoid the general direction of the oases and its hosts of local tribes, but with sand stuck in her shoes and the undulating promise of death by sand viper not too far from her foot, she was beginning to reconsider. “How do you feel? Still good for another hour or should we call it a day?” A vague request could end with a vague report, she internally told herself, a restlessness beginning at the base of her spine.
It was the first time she had taken Orla this far from safety, she reflected with minute disquiet. Besides her own satchel of supplies, Jury had given the blonde another, smaller bag. It was half-filled with bundled herbs that were light enough to carry and made for great spices, like parsley, basil, mint, and sage. ’We’re not guilded mages out here, we’re traders until someone asks specifics,’ she had said when they had still been out of heat’s reach, suggesting they stay discreet. ’Since we don’t know what opinion the locals have about our guild or our investigation, it’s best to stay innocent and undercover if we can. Also, it wouldn’t do to warn the subject of our trip that we’re watching them, and we have no idea who we’re supposed to be watching.’ In consequence, she had decided their story was to be looking for decorative succulents and wild desert flowers.
It often came down to people, Jury thought, and if someone out here had garnered the kingdom’s interest, she didn’t want to be the one to tell them that. If they were lucky, it was about something else. A natural phenomenon, perhaps? The sheet tent she had packed waited on sand storms. Strapped to her hip, fixed to her thigh under a concealing flow of cotton skirt, was a thin rapier made for someone who was more a dancer than a fighter. Her own satchel of supplies had just about enough water left to make the journey back without dealing with any oasis. The rest was dry meat and bananas. The first aid kit was last, stuffed deep within the folds. Her trader bag held two pounds of cherries that she intended to exchange for quality succulents or desert wildflowers. Or eat. She loved cherries.
If Jury had overlooked something, she couldn’t tell what.
NAME: Creeping Chill [break] SPELL TYPE: Offensive [break] CLASS: D-class [break] DESCRIPTION: By casting out her hand, Jury is able to summon a chilling mist all around her with her as its unaffected center. With a diameter of 30 feet, it can reach up to 15 feet in any direction from her position. It feels like being in the freezer, leaving people somewhat chilled though incapable of lasting damage. [break] COST: 10 cast, 5 upkeep. [break][break]
NAME: Ice Sculpting [break] SPELL TYPE: Offensive [break] CLASS: D-class [break] DESCRIPTION: By concentrating on envisioning simple, known shapes, Jury can design ice objects (one per casting). At this level she can create such things as small chairs, tables, low-detail figurines (no heavier than 175 lbs). The offensive application of this spell is ice balls or sharp instruments that can be flung at 35 mph towards a target, a force of impact that amounts to light bruising or shallow cuts upon collision. [break] COST: 10 cast, 5 upkeep (stationary objects) [break][break]
NAME: Slide [break] SPELL TYPE: Buffing [break] CLASS: D-class [break] DESCRIPTION: By concentrating on her footwork, Jury can generate a thin sheet of ice under her steps, sloping to give her forward momentum. This boosts her speed up to 35 mph while maintained. [break] COST: 10 cast, 5 upkeep. [break][break]
Life started slow in a small town of Fiore. Long days spent climbing up and down a tower left young Jury with a lot of time to daydream about journeys to distant places in the company of a multitude of imaginary friends. In the morning she scrubbed floors and assisted with the setting of plates, in the evening she sat near the smallest window in the attic, peering over pages of old books by candlelight. Weekends asked her to cultivate a green thumb, her bottom up as she tended the garden. Every end of the month was a much-anticipated trip to gather herbs, her eyes wide and aware of the mages in the retinue. [break][break]
’If only my parents had been mages…’ [break][break]
Her mother was a governess and she the only child, but that didn’t leave her in want of friends. Young minds gather together in early days, and the family they lived in service to had spawned many. The hours were lively just before dusk. Rags or riches tore the same out in the yard, and nothing seemed too amiss until they started to grow up. [break][break]
'Mother, why can’t I go to Balsam Village with them?’ [break][break]
The answer could have coved her into dejection, but instead it made her ambitious. If jewels was the only thing that kept her different from the rest, then she would get them for herself. She woke earlier and stayed up later. She went out to scope the market, understand what people need, what she could offer. Though young for a crafter, her designs were sometimes bought to be enchanted. Jury kept at it until her hands grew calloused. [break][break]
She was only twelve when her mother was killed, a plot that had aimed for her. ’They kept you here at the end of the world,’ he said. ’No wonder you were never found.’ His grin was a staple in her mind. ’Until now.’ She had run and hid, clinging to the walls and trembling down a tunnel. Her heart had filled with dread and questions, and her boldness led her out to shore, a slip of a stowaway in the bowels of the first ship she found. [break][break]
From that day forward, so many things happened she stopped keeping journals. Jury is in Giltena now, the long-lost descendant of a noble family of mages consumed by rivalry. Her only heritage is a ruined plot of land, a personal kingdom of rubble and ash. Strategically, she has taken shelter under the wing of the dragon, intent on rebuilding and taking back what is hers.
