We fade in on a large courtyard. Sun -blasted
tangerine tiles suggest age and evoke a monastic
dignity. Simple. Elegant. Dressed only in craftsmanship
and the ability to endure whatever the decades,
perhaps centuries, have thrown at it. In the
distance rises a large, stately manor home with
a slanted tile roof, wisteria growing on scaffolding
and around windows. but we remain in the courtyard.
Scattered in symmetrical placement are fountains,
each adorned with the faces of animals, both
ordinary and fantastic. All spray a steady stream
of pure, clean water. There are fruit trees growing
as well, lining the edges of the courtyard. A
blend of citrus that colors the scene and whose
smell fills the air. Men and women sit on the
fountain edges. chatting casually, dressed in
flamboyantly colored robes and shirts, much of
which would challenge more modest sensibilities.
Others, dressed in simple white robes, pick fruit
from the trees, sweep the leaves from the stone
tiles, deliver drinks and trays of food for the
more brightly dressed in attendance. Servants
and slaves to the great house preta, we focus
on one of the individuals, picking fruit from
a lemon tree, a boy no more than 13 years old,
perhaps less. um yeah and you see like uh you
know young maybe like a little tall for his age
is a little taller than you'd expect considering
kind of how young he looks but he also already
looks like his his eyes kind of look older than
um than they should um and you can see like various
kind of scars and stuff on his body um and he's
got like Dark brown hair with kind of like gray
and silver streaks in it. And then he has some
uniquely like kind of yellow lizard -like eyes.
In the center of the large court, several young
individuals face off against each other, practicing
their swordplay as an older gentleman walks the
spaces between them. Occasionally giving advice,
correcting form. He has long, dark hair, rivulets
of gray twisting through it. Ornately braided
and decorated with gemstones, rings of gold,
and pearls. Around his neck is a braided necklace
with two fangs hanging from knots, each the size
of a man's forearm. Suddenly the sound of a horn
cuts through the noise of the garden and everyone
within immediately stops what they are doing
and stands at attention. A great gate at the
far end swings open and in walk five individuals.
Each of them wears a fiery red robe, trimmed
in blue and white. Each carries a sword at their
hip. Centered is a man with an eagle -sharp face
and wide, friendly eyes. His copper -red hair
is piled high in an intricate series of braids
and knots and ordained similarly to the older
man's. The four men flanking him, two on either
side, have fully covered their heads and wear
porcelain masks with distinct expressions. One
appears to cry, another to laugh, the third a
wide -mouthed smile, the fourth a scowl. The
gray -haired man steps forward to greet him.
He says, clipping his words. The eagled -faced
man says, dipping his chin in subtle deference.
The air seems to come back into the crowd all
at once as those who are gathered relax. and
go back to their chores and practices. The two
men walk, speak under their breath. Luis picks
an orange from a tree, smelling its navel. His
eyes catch Taldir's, and his demeanor shifts.
The easy peace is gone from him, and he takes
on the look of a wolf on the hunt. I think Taldir
kind of has noticed this, and I think he's probably
been abused enough at this point in his life
that he knows that this is not a good thing to
be the object of any of these people's attention.
And so seeing this man kind of come towards him,
I think internally he's feeling like, Kind of
dread. Or like just hoping that like. I don't
know maybe they're going to walk past him. Or
something like that. But he doesn't. Allow it
to like. Control him. It is him. No. He asks.
A sharp edge to his words. He begins walking.
Toward the young man. It is him. La mina preta.
nearly sighs the words. He has served well, brought
much admiration to my house. Valle de la Venda
ignores the old man, a slight, but not one which
Preta is willing to call him to the floor for,
and wanders towards Taldir. He takes Taldir's
chin into his hand. lifting it upward, drawing
Taldir's strange, otherworldly eyes directly
into his own gaze. That's the one. Valle de la
Venda chuckles softly, but stops. Taldir's eyes
shift quickly and suddenly lock with the stranger's,
and Valle de la Venda feels something unexpected.
Anger. Well. I do enjoy a challenge. Roll Bravely
is a fan production featuring the Pathfinder
second edition role -playing system and is created
for entertainment purposes only. All characters,
adventures, and interpretations of game mechanics
are our own creation and do not represent official
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