leaving proof of the damages done

Last Supper Thread

POSTED: Mon Jul 11, 2016 9:52 am

Hello all my lovely Salsolies! It has been a while since we've had a Last Supper thread, so let me lay out the ground rules for the newcomers among us! 1. This is a MANDITORY pack thread - if your character does not make an appearance, it will be noted by IC leadership, who expect all members to attend. One post is sufficient for attendance! If you cannot post with your character but would like them to be there, or have any other problems, just PM us. 2. The Last Supper is formally held in the Feasting Hall, Southern Ruins. If you are not sure where exactly this is, it is marked on our Ruins Map! 3. A Last Supper feast is considered an extravagant and formal occasion! Have your characters dress to impress - Or don't, if they're a little rebellious ;> 4. Individuals who play SLAVES - you may refer to your character having assisted in preparations for the evening. During the course of the meal, they may wait on Family members, and bring food and refreshments to the table - and perhaps steal a couple mouthfuls themselves, if they are careful about it! 5. Lastly, there is no set posting order in this thread, but please use your discretion - If you have only just posted, perhaps wait a few more rounds before posting again! If you have any other questions about the Last Supper, please don't hesitate to send a PM to our Team SL account <3

The thick scents of the feast drifted in lazy stupor over the rolling hillocks and pockets of the Ruins; Steeping like fine tea in the salty coastal mist that rose with the swelling darkness of dusk. The day had been warm, enough so that the slaves who had been tending the great fire pits in the Feasting Hall were sooty and weary - The lucky of them had been set to skinning, carving, chopping; The skilled of them stirring the great stew-pots that bubbled with rabbit and thick soft-cooked tubers, lumps of soft nut-cakes bobbing in the thick gravy. Over spits, whole roast venison spit and crackled, and even two ewes had been contributed to the bounty brought in by their hunters.

The mouthwatering smells were heady and welcoming. Wooden torches blazed brightly up the cobblestone and packed earth path that lead from the central Ruins to the hall itself; The lights danced eerily in the deepening halflight, like will-o-wisps leading the wandering astray.

In lieu of an Ambassador to formally oversee the preparations, the task had (most predictably) fallen to Lokr; He had enticed his wife to assist, as she had a knack for keeping others in order, and all had gone smoothly. Thankfully, the Valentine man had also been able to rouse most of the slaves and set them to their work, and beneath his capable eyes Lokr could find some small measure of relief. Having left only to bathe and don his appropriate apparel - A fine emerald brocade vest that sat over a neat cotton dress shirt, loose harem pants tied sharply at the man's narrow waist with an eye-catching embroidered sash of peacock teal, and an ornamental (but certainly sharpened) dagger in sheath at his hip - the Lord Commander had returned early to the Feasting Hall, to attend final tediums and welcome the first guests.

He stood at one end of the hall, as slaves bustled about like shadows thrown by the great fires; His own shadow was cast long and sharp, and fell all the way in a flickering dark slash to the entryway. One of the slaves had begun bringing out great beaten silver pitchers of deep red wine and cider chilled in the river. Stoically, the Lord did not even glance at the sinful allures. Instead, his cunning yellow-green eyes were crisply focused in looking for those who would shortly arrive, flickering only to grace the nearby Weaver with a respectable nod in thanks for his valued assistance.

slithered here from Eden

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Luperci /
wrath of the north
a voice in the deep

POSTED: Mon Jul 11, 2016 11:09 am

Without music, life would be an Error

Weaver was not one to disappoint. Just because he was part of the way to the position he desired didn't mean he could stop now, especially not with such an important event. He was even sure to take more time grooming himself and making sure his formal clothing was prepared for this. Really, he had been waiting for the Last Supper. It was thanks to this event he was able to pick up the duties of the Signorino, so he had a lot more to offer to the kingdom. The tawny man carefully slipped into his tunic, adding the vest along with the cloth belt along his waist. He slipped the loose pants on before heading to the side of his room. With the lute soon in his hands, he padded out of his home and in the direction of the Hall.

The hybrid man was not surprised to see the Lord Commander already there, keeping watch over the slaves. With his arrival, the male would be able to handle the more important things while the Valentine man took care of those under his watch. That wasn't to say the Lord Commander was unable to preform the task, but it brought him much more pride to be able to actively take part in his duties, especially in the presence of one of the leaders.

Weaver followed the slaves into the main hall, his green gaze following each of them as they brought out the wine and cider. There was more that needed to be brought out, but it would come in time. He moved over to where his position would be among those at the table, placing himself at a distance from this spot. His head turned to the side, noticing the bright eyes of Lokr upon him. Weaver bowed his head down to the Lord Commander, taking in his silent thanks and offering his own in return. While he continued to watch over the slaves, his gaze drifted over to the side, watching along with Lokr for those who would soon show up for the feast.

Weaver has permission to be here early along with Lokr. Anyone is free to make note of him watching the slaves as they work when they arrive. | [wc — +300] template by hilli
Weaver Valentine
The Overseer (NPC)
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Luperci Signorino Mate to Syringa

POSTED: Mon Jul 11, 2016 3:17 pm

Quick note that Indra will not be present at the Last Supper.
Alaine, PM if assumptions re: Elphie are not OK! ♥

Osrath positively delighted in directing the slaves — directing anyone, truth be told — and so welcomed the opportunity to divvy up the many tasks that made up a Last Supper between her mate, the jade-eyed Valentine man, and herself. Having spent little time with him up until now, she watched him out of the corner of her eye, noting his ambitious streak and the calm, but effective way he went about his business.

When it came time to slip away in order to bathe and dress, she did so in an inconspicuous manner. Drenching herself from head to toe in a nearby creek, she walked slowly to the Throne Room, allowing enough time for the brackish water to evaporate from her goldspun fur and hair. A long day's dying sun did the rest, warming the darkest parts of her coat until they blistered with heat.

Gathering dew on her outstretched fingers, she outfitted herself in a deep purple dress and fitted a set of boiled leather pauldrons over her shoulders. In the dark they were black as pitch, and though they remained unmarked, untooled, they were of high quality workmanship. Her daughters were next — one wore finery befitting her status as one of Salsola's up-and-coming heirs, while the other favored a tooled huntsman's belt and Rah'khir's symbol — and she ensured that, regardless of their personal opinions, they were presentable.

The Equinist returned with her children in toe, one quietly whispering to the other, who listened with a vague look of distraction about her eyes. It was a normal thing, to be excited by one's first Supper; she remembered her own, and held the memory close to her at all times.

Sometimes she felt that the world had been a far simpler place so many moons ago, but it was not the world that had changed; it was her. Osrath Eternity had entered a stage of metamorphosis shortly after her initial debut, shedding a child's egotistical shell and replacing it with real armor. Ideally, her own children would soon come to the realization that they could not use their parents' fame to prop themselves up forever.

Near the festal hall's tallest pillar she made small adjustments — straightened an earring, adjusted a collar — and conducted her darkling daughter within, pretending not to see that Indra had become lost somewhere along the way.

Sei bellissima stasera, She told her favorite child, affectionately touching the back of her neck. andare, prendere il tuo posto.

The Gamekeeper (NPC)
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Luperci Cavalleria, Vaquera

POSTED: Mon Jul 11, 2016 6:10 pm


Now this was something both in and out of Urho's wheelhouse.

Hearing about the Last Supper had him both concerned and hungry — though the name was quickly explained and he fretted no longer. This was his first involvement with the pack as a whole and had him motivated to appear and do his part. Of course, the added benefit of a feast was certainly something that had him salivating before he arrived to the smell of meat roasting and stews bubbling. His nose was blasted with appetizing smells unlike anything he'd been around before. It was tempting to try and sneak a bit of the food for himself, but Urho caught himself and exercised as much self restraint as he could bear to just find his place at the table and behave himself.

So far, he was quite early, seeing the Lord Commander and the Equinest here directing affairs while their children were likely somewhere among Ruins, as well Hyacinth's brother, whom he vaguely remembered but never really met in person until now. No one else seemed to be here as of yet besides the slaves, who had probably been hard at work since the day began.

Urho himself had been dressed for the occasion, despite not being a fashionable man himself. His new attire was made to fit his new place within the Thistle Kingdom, with forest greens and matching gold designs along the trims and his shoulders. Of course, the main addition was an ornate belt that bore the sigil of Salsola, sewn into the dark green fabric with the bright gold to make it pop out even more. His hair was less than outstanding, with it always being cropped short and out of the way almost in a military style. Maybe the outfit itself would draw attention towards his efforts in pride rather than shortcomings in fashion.

For now, Urho stood waiting for the rest of the members to arrive, standing awkwardly near the table and watching the rush of servants, hurrying to set the table for the evening.

urho is awkwardly early (with his fashionable new sl attire) and is 100% ready to eat all the food. | [wc — 342] template by hilli
The Confidant (NPC)
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POSTED: Mon Jul 11, 2016 8:33 pm

plague's hair, and her outfit. (+444)

Despite her months of membership—of calling this kingdom her home—she was still unused to the extravagance of the Last Supper. This was not the way of the Khalif, where gatherings usually signified the burning of her dark brethren. On those nights, even the pious priests of Ankh were morose; no feast, no party, no pleasure. When they burned her kin, she hid like many darklings did and tried to ignore the screams of the damned and the smell of singed fur.

It never worked.

Plague thought about those nights as she entered the Feasting Hall, her dark hair braided and gathered into a neat bun. For once, her face was not concealed by the long, raven tresses, giving anyone who looked upon her a clear view of her viridescent eyes. Lithe fingers touched idly at the evergreen fabric of her dress, every so often ghosting to the string of pearls hanging from her neck.

None of this had been her doing, of course. She hadn’t even thought to dress up for the gathering (it was a single night after all), but Quicksilver Lykoi was an infuriatingly stubborn woman. It was because of the silver coywolf that her hair was of even length, styled so delicately into its current state. The rest was her doing as well, dress and pearls and all. She was a kind soul, but still a fool for desiring her friendship.

Plague wasn’t surprised to find a handful of her compatriots already gathered in the venue. It never hurt to be early, and it certainly didn’t pay to be late. Among the few were (of course) the Lord Commander, the Equinest, and their children...or at least, one of them. The one she knew from the blackwoods, none the less.

She let her gaze drift, and soon found Weaver hovering over the slaves as they worked tirelessly. He certainly seemed to be having no trouble at all making a name for himself as Signorino, she thought. Near the table stood a man of considerable bulk, and after a moment she recalled passing mentions of an Urho Rask. She had yet to speak to him though, and was content in not approaching him now.

It was quiet in the hall, despite the noise of the slaves at work. This was fine, she thought, having always been one for blissful silence. And it certainly was blissful, the smells of well-prepared and hearty meals permeating the air and nearly drawing growls of hunger from her stomach. She lingered near the table, waiting for a cue to sit as she hoped for the night to be a good one.

The Tradesman (NPC)
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POSTED: Mon Jul 11, 2016 11:38 pm

OOC: Till's children are not present because they are injured. Till is wearing all black and is in mourning. His wife is not with him, and his slave is also not in attendance for reasons. Till's hair is styled like the middle one in this image WC:1034

One could easily see and say that The Last Supper was one of the events that Till favored the most in Salsola. It gave him the time to show his accomplishments in the pack and take a seat in the Upper Ranked Members of Salsola, and it also showed the others that even a bastard could become something valued in the Thistle Pack. These things were well for the man, but the leaders picked the worse day to call the pack to the Last Supper, because of the events that happened only hours before they were called. Till had only recently come back within the packlands after visiting a friend to help his sons with their injuries, one that would be more discreet than the ones within Salsola. It was odd that he had done this, and even his wife had questioned his reasoning for seeking outside help rather than going to the Cleric. Till needed someone that was not going to recognize the smells, an inexperienced hand that would know how to treat certain things but not an expert who would recognize things that would make the story he would tell of the events to be questioned. This would be one of the many secrets that the Warden would keep from his pack. They could question his actions, of why he would seek the help outside of Salsola, but his words would be simple. The one who could help him was merely closer and more accessible than the Cleric was. Lies were becoming easier for the Warden, and sooner or later he would become as masterful as the Trickster God himself.

In all reality the male should have sat this Last Supper out. Anyone that was normal would not be able to bare sitting in public after they had spent only hours in mourning after the tragedy that he endured. Till was still a proud man, and he smiled even though his cheek was wounded with four deep claw marks. This was another thing that had made his family believe his lies, but the fact that he could smile as if nothing had happened made his wife wonder. It also made his wife become concerned with him, but when she had seen him coddling Coaxoch and crying in the corner, profusely apologizing for the actions that had happened to the child, she had gotten some faith that Till had not meant for the things that had happened to happen to them and that he was truly sorry for not being more protective. There were things that didn't add up in the mind of the woman, and he knew this very well, and he knew that she would not trust him alone with the pups for some time, but this was okay with him because he didn't want anything to happen to his now only son, Coaxoch.

Till readied himself alone, his side-bangs being tied back in a small braid in the middle of the back of his head, while the longest part of his hair was left loose. He dressed in all black, the formal clothing given to him by the Red Witch some time prior to the accident happening and the loss of his darkling son, Valtin. The clothing consisted of a dark, long sleeved shirt, a black vest to go over it, with a white Salsola Hand of Eris dyed into the back of it and golden buttons on the front, buttoned up against the man's thin frame. His groin was covered by straight legged pants, also a dark ebony and resting at his ankles, leaving his feet being the only thing bare besides his face. The last thing he wore was a sash around his neck, this being a bright red against his black suit, and the only thing of color that he wore. He still was alone, and was for some time before the Last Supper. He only went to Elody's domain to speak with her of what she should wear, before he headed off towards the Feasting Hall. He took Maschine to arrive quickly, but still was otherwise painfully alone. Even after everything that happened, the pained male held a sly grin on his maw, but sorrow was easily written in cosmic eyes. Anyone who set their gaze upon him would know that he was grieving, no matter how "happy" he may appear.

He arrived in silence, and once he entered the feasting hall he let his eyes wander over the others that were here. The Lord Commander and Arbiter was the only ones he cared about, and he gave the angular Commander a knowing look, with a nod of his head and the same small smile gracing his face. The Warden then let his eyes meet Weaver's green eyes and his smile grew wider for a moment before it faded back to a smaller, resting smile. He moved to Weaver and gave the male a traditional greeting and placed his hands on his shoulders. It's been a little bit, Weaver. I trust you have been well? he spoke with a lifted tone, trying to distract the others from his sad eyes and mourning outfit. Once he got a reply from the other, he nodded and gave another glance around the room to pick out the dark woman, Plague, and Osrath and her child with Lokr. He gave no look of displeasure, though he was not fond of the Equinist, rather if they caught eyes he bowed his head lightly and looked on to the lower ranked members who showed their faces much too early in the night.

Once he was finished speaking with Weaver, he took a seat where he knew the Wardens were allowed to sit, and he sat proudly, and he looked to Lokr with his sad, cosmic eyes, but still holding a small grin upon his maw. He dared not look the Commander in the eyes, nor did he actually verbally acknowledge the Commander and his family. He actually could feel jealousy of the male having a perfect family, even if one of his children was missing. It was still early. The girl may still sneak in.

'Cause we were always alone, We were born in the hunter's season
All I really ever wanted was for you to die in the arms of someone
Avvie by Jmonster@soulsRPG, signature image by Motth@FA

The Henchman
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Luperci Witch & Cazador

POSTED: Tue Jul 12, 2016 1:07 am

A thousand teeth and yours among them, I know

The Tradesman stared at her image from the long cracked mirror in her room. The dim glow of her fire illuminated her tired face, the perfect plait of her dark hair, and the black dress that pooled like water at her feet. Her narrow face looked as cold and blank as stone.

On each of her long fingers she sported her rings of gold and precious gems, her neck embellished with her delicate engagement pendant. She looked utterly elegant in her finery, but this did not particularly concern the Vedetta. With grief came disregard for narcissistic whims. Quiet anger had made its home among the woman's thoughts, inviting suspicion, and loathe along with it. Her husband's face sported claw marks, he had been lucky in the attack. But, Elody sensed something amiss, something didn't add up. But with Coax injured and her Valtin dead, she didn't press him for more details. There were more important things to worry about than Till's scratches.

She did not allow this to be known to her husband, even as he visited her home just hours earlier. Elody desired to blame the man for the recent events, but the same ice-cold anger kept her mouth shut. Lashing out wouldn't bring Valtin back, it wouldn't heal Coaxoch's injuries. She had met his jagged smiles with silent cynicism, part of her realizing that the Warden grieved just as she did.

The dappled Tradesman padded out and away from her home, her limbs feeling heavy, as if weighed down by lead. Her attendance was reluctant, she had dragged her feet until the last minute. The Last Supper couldn't have fallen on more of a tragic time, and she loathed fate for it. It was her first event, but she knew of the proceedings. The sharing of news had felt like some sort of sick joke, to appropriate her son's death while the pack feasted and indulged. For now, the public's opinion did not concern the woman. Till's decision to turn up without her likely spoke volumes, as did their mourning attire.

Elody arrived at the feast hall to glance among her Family, her narrow eyes fell on her husband who sat with the Wardens. Her face was blank as she scanned the rest of the room. She dipped her crown to her superiors, and mumbled quiet greetings to familiar faces. So many of the attendees had dressed in their finery as well, the Eternity-Revlis clan looked breathtaking as well, save for one of the Boss' absent granddaughters. For a moment she envied that, wishing she could disappear herself. The scents wafting from the spread of food did nothing to rouse her appetite, but she appreciated the lengths the slaves and hunters had gone to put out such a feast. The Lykoi wandered silently to her place across from her mate, her eyes failing to meet his cosmic ones. Her fingers reached for her glass of cider, sipping slowly on it as more of the pack began to arrive.

I assumed that Elody would sit across from Till and that she sips at some cider, her hair is like the image in the table and she is wearing this dress anyone is welcome to reference Elody saying a hello. [wc — 514, +5] | template by hilli

♥ avatar by raze | signature by jmonster ♥

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Luperci Chaos Star

POSTED: Tue Jul 12, 2016 6:48 am

If this is all for naught,
what does it mean?

It felt like ages since she had last been to one of the Suppers, though she still remembered the first time that she had walked through the room toward her seat, the last time she had introduced herself to members that she knew nothing about. She had been preparing since that moment at Loki's door for this supper, as she normally did in the weeks leading up to the event. Under the guise of the evening sky, The Confidant quietly stalked through the entrance of the hallway, her blue gaze giving way to reverently flick through the room toward the patrons who already crowded its interior.

So much had happened since the last vestige of their presence that she had had barely enough time to think before it was once again upon them.

Like the last occurrence of her visit within these ruined halls, the decoration and the lighting always drew her mind from the world around her. It was hard not to get lost in the flippant dance of the flames licking at wax. It was so controlled, compared to the flames cast from the flames of a fire built for cooking or warmth. It's only true purpose was to grace the area around it with light. She turned her attention to her dress, crossing her arms over her abdomen, hands creasing over the purple material that caressed against the dainty, fox-like features so diminutive compared to her sister, Hyacinth.

Radar ears stood alert through the earthy tone of her hair, cut shorter than she normally liked it yet styled with the help of a broken mirror so that it looked almost as if she needn't have even tried.

Against her neck stood the somewhat rusted silver butterfly pendant she wore so often, about her wrist, the leather corded bracelet. She moved quietly toward her seat, a place amid the lesser ranked members of the central tier, peering toward the rank of leadership, The Lord Commander, with a curt nod of her head. It took only a moment or two after to catch sight of Plague, Till, Elody and Osrath. She knew almost everyone here so far, though some she had never gotten the chance to speak with, much less meet in person.

When her gaze found her brother, she couldn't help but cast him a quick smile before turning back to what she was doing. She had known Weaver to be busy. Seeing him in control of the slaves, watching over them and making sure they were on their best behavior, suited him. The only one she had not seen until finally standing near her seat was Urho, who she had not spoken to since he had rescued her outside the borders. She stood in place, though, glancing toward the doorway. She preferred greeting others she knew as they entered the area.

Feel free to assume or reference Calla at any point. ^^ She is wearing this dress and her has been fixed up to look like this, only with her hair color, of course.

Sanctus Apprentice (NPC)
User avatar
Luperci Witch

POSTED: Tue Jul 12, 2016 12:58 pm

Listen to many, speak to few

Arte hated these sorts of festivities and she had made no secret of it. She wasn't a socialite and only attended because of her loyalty to the Kingdom. Had it not been for that then she wouldn't bother to be in attendance at all. It wasn't like her presence would be greatly missed as she hadn't made friends among those who now lived within Salsola. Outsiders, the lot of them. Shewould never think of them as being Family. They had shown disloyalty to the places of their birth and expected them to eventually leave Salsola high and dry as well. Only those born and raised in Salsola would ever wear the title of Family in Arte's mind. Of course Lokr was an exception simply because of who his father was. It didn't matter that he wasn't born in Salsola for his blood had built this place.

The large woman hadn't bothered to fuss with her appearance. She was clean and that was enough. She didn't dress up but wore her own fur only, the same as she did at each of these Suppers. Before leaving her wing of the Castle to show her face at the feast she had taken time to speak with Idrieus to let the girl know what was expected of her. She warned against the girl causing a scene and made sure that Idri knew her place and would sit in the appropriate spot at the table. Arte was acutely aware that everything the girl did would be reflected upon her and have her teachings come into question. The promise of expulsion was made should Idrieus get it in her head to act up. She would no longer house the girl and would make certain that she would be cast out of Salsola and have the doors closed to her should she attempt to sneak back in. Arte wouldn't have her reputation tarnished because of someone else's actions.

All that were gathered were ignored as Arte entered and found her place towards the head of the table. She took her seat and stared down at the empty plate before her. Her arms were crossed over her flat chest as she waited for the time when she would be allowed to get up and leave.

ooc stuff here | [wc — 378] template by hilli
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Luperci Sapienza, Libro Guardiano Mama Bear
Ophelia Lockehart

POSTED: Tue Jul 12, 2016 2:06 pm

the mad daughter of a wise mother

Pisces had been instructed to the importance of attendance and attire to the Last Supper when she had first joined Salsola. Because of this time had been invested in preparing for the even. The pale woman had taken apart some lesser worn outfits in order to be able to create a dress specific to this event. Horse hide made up most of the garment with a trim of fur on the edge of the hide portion of the multi layered skirt. The other layers of the skirt were made up of dyed cloth in the colors yellow, red, and black. She had found remnants of cloth, rather than having weaved it herself, in order to add more to the hand made dress. Most of her outfits were made of just horse hide with bear fur trim so the addition of the cloth expounded upon the importance of the occasion to which she would wear the garment.

Her hair was left down but had been brushed to perfection. The tresses had naturally soft waves all on their own and so she didn't fight against the natural fall but allowed it to shine on its own instead. She felt it better complimented the way her skirt was layered than an updo ever would. For the time being she chose to be without her accessories which were in reality weapons. It was a grand event and she didn't think they would fit in such a setting even though it left her feeling naked without their reassuring presence.

The woman paused in the entrance to the Feasting Hall as she took everything about the festivities. It seemed that anything that anyone could possibly want was present to be served. The slaves were busy running about as final preparations were being made. Realizing that she was gawking Pisces entered the area and maneuvered her way towards her place at the table. Greetings were made along the way until she reached the area in which she would be permitted to recline.

335 Words; Pisces is wearing this

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