Ask The Poet [Open RP]

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AskThePoet

Junior Member

08-19-2013

In the town of Bilgewater, beyond the slums and scum that inhabit the place lies a small shop that seemingly stands alone, in a street where nobody seems to live - or make their living. It looks neither old, nor particularly new, You can't seem to figure out to which side it leans towards. The shop itself is made entirely out of wood, good quality by the looks, and has been painted entirely black, some time ago by any standard. There are two windows facing the empty street, allowing anyone to peer inside - there, one can see many books on display, which could lead one to believe that it’s a lone bookstore, but for the sign hanging over the entrance to the shop. Looking at the inscription, one could read



The Fall
Lyrics, Songs, and Poetry


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Tybresa

Senior Member

08-19-2013

Tap tap tap

The sound of heels clicking against the wooden boards of Bilgewater’s docks could be heard as a fair-haired lady, dressed in a green velvet dress with an matching umbrella at hand, was making her way through, throwing disdainful glances to the sea dogs that dared to whistle after her and make lewd comments. She couldn’t help herself from smiling, however … they remembered her from the first time she arrived here. They knew full well just what the ‘velvet-wrapped doll’ was capable of.

However, the purpose in her mind was not to stop at any of the champions that resided on Blue Flame Island, for not only did she pass Captain Gangplank’s fearsome ship, Dead Pool, that was docked further down, she also nonchalantly walked past the open entrance of Miss Fortune’s bar. She could hear laughter and merry shanties be sung that accompanied the mental tugs in her head that were far stronger than anywhere else in the place – she knew full well Sarah’s business was booming, with plenty of champions stopping by to take a sip from her rum and listen to the wisdom she so happily poured for the chance of seeing gold …

No, she passed all of these places, instead wandering deeper into the poorer sections the port of Bilgewater had to offer, until finally … she thought she caught glimpse of the alley she was searching. She took the corner and warily stepped forward, her left hand held behind her as she prepared a spell should any cut purse or thief attempt to jump her … but she was most relieved to see the sign.

She thought she would never see it again.

Tap tap tap

The clicking of her heels echoed faintly against the cobbled stone the abandoned alley had to offer as she approached the door and without a moment’s hesitation … pushed it open.


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AskThePoet

Junior Member

08-19-2013

The moment Tybresa entered. The pale light inside the shop dimmed. A faint music consisting of a piano, violin and harp was coming from somewhere and was slowly growing louder. After what could be felt like minutes the music was loud enough to easily make out every note. When the music had reached a sensible volume it stopped increasing and a beautiful deep voice began to sing in the tune.


A fairy tale’s encore

I gaze through the world
My words fill dreams
Of the day
A writer filled with fire
My burning song pyre
Take a journey into your own bare heart
A poet’s tool for war
Imagining uncurled
Witness the whim of all the realms
A thread of poetry
The worlds that I carve
Valoran gracefully paying it’s loss


I have the voice that’ll never let you land
The innocence that leaves from every man
I tell your story like no other can
A grim birthright that might have made you cry
Every sin in all the moonlit nights
I am the writer that can make you feel
Every memory that you hold dear


I paint your journey

I sing your destination
I am the whole, the voice that leads you.
My pen will chase your plight
Where stories pry
Lighting the darkness
Telling the tales there lit
The Poet of the Fall
Here at your beck and call
Tell me your tale
I’ll conjure what you feel
My storyteller’s game
Words that intoxicate
The hearts of all are unlimited just for me

I have the voice that’ll never let you land
The innocence that leaves from every man
I tell your story like no other can
A grim birthright that might have made you cry
Every sin in all the moonlit nights
I am the writer that can make you feel
Every memory that you hold dear

I have the voice that’ll never let you land
The innocence that leaves from every man
Search my haven, find another hearth.


When the last word had been sung, the music abrutly stopped and someonewhere from the back of the shop, a pale man with blonde hair and dressed completely in white came out.

"Welcome, welcome, WELCOME Tybresa! I am glad you could make it before anyone else decided to come for my services. I hope you enjoyed the song. I wanted to set up something special, for someone special. That, and waiting for your arrival was tiresome, so I had nothing better to do as a means to fill the void of passing time.

Oh but where are my manners! Have a seat and tell me all about what work you have for me today!"


The Poet gestured to one of the chairs beside the entry to the shop.

"I hope you have a good story for me. I do so love good stories."


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Tybresa

Senior Member

08-19-2013

The Steward entered gracefully, with small yet sure steps, the wooden floor creaking under her feet. She looked around anxiously, perhaps excited so, waiting for the arrival of the one she was looking for. Her gaze wandered on the tastefully-furnished room and the vintage air it offered, unable to help herself from smiling. Indeed, it seems he did not change, not at all, she thought to herself.

And then! The lights dimmed - she snapped her head towards where she thought the music was coming from, but it seemed like it came from everywhere and nowhere. But she was not afraid - instead, she let herself be enveloped by the beauty of the melody as it entered its crescendo, feeling each note and tune vibrate in her being. She raised her arms and seemed to accompany the melody with her own graceful, theatrical gestures as she spun in circles, her smile never vanishing.

And the voice rang in her ears, and it reminded her of all the magnificence and wonder the writer's heart could contain and the miracle of the poet's works. She couldn't help herself from laughing, letting the sound be swallowed in the orchestra that made the walls tremor and the books shudder in their cases.

It stopped - the sound of approaching, light footsteps was almost hard to distinguish, the melody still ringing in her ears. Tybresa let her arms fall back to her side, maintaining a lady-like posture as she smiled to the approaching man and curtsied.

Oh, you have no idea how happy and joyous I am to see you, my good friend - when I saw the letter, I never would have thought I would hear from you ever again. She looked around, raising her hands slightly to gesture at their surroundings. I am glad you have proved me wrong - that you would not let yourself be forgotten by time and the world.

She nodded her head, a grateful smile playing on her lips as she stepped towards the chair, her footsteps making a pleasant creaking sound against the hardwood floor. She eased herself in her chair, and regarded the man once again as her hands would absentmindedly smoothen whatever creases would find themselves on her dress.

I have barely settled myself well in your new home, and you already start off overly eager to work. Surely you would be more considerate than that, would you not? I am curious to hear about you, about what happened to you, how did you arrive her, what stories have you written, melodies composed and poems penned ...


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AskThePoet

Junior Member

08-19-2013

The Poet smiled right back at Tybresa and took a seat facing her.

“The feelings are fully mutual, even if I did doubt that our paths would cross again the last we met. It has been quite a while hasn’t it? The world will remember me for a while yet if it has a mind for it, but time is the endless void that will consume even the most precious memory, in due time.”

The Poet shifted his position in the chair, while considering how much of past experiences he should tell, and to what degree in each subject. When he had reached a conclusion he gave a small cough and continued


“You ask questions faster than a wild rabbit can run, but I suppose you are right. I have been somewhat eager, but how could I not? The very foundation of dreams has finally been laid and I can start telling my stories, and the tales of others in full! Some shall be splendid, and some will be tragic, but each and every one shall have importance. There is a lesson learned from every lesson as one such as you should know. Very well, I shall try to be the accommodating one for once. It might be good for a swap the roles we’ve had the last few times we met. Give me but a moment to prepare us both.”


The Poet left from his seat and took a few light steps into the back of the shop. A few loud noises of clattering could be heard, before he returned with a kettle and two cups. He handed Tybresa a cup and poured tea for them both.

“I have always found that some Demacian tea helps any sort of conversation along, even the friendly ones.”

He took a small sip of the tea and spoke on

“Let’s start with the easy answer to your first question. You already know much about me, and what came before our first meeting is a boorish tale that I will not burden you with.”


The Poet put his teacup on the wooden floor, then suddenly stood up and went into the back of the store again. When he came back he was carrying a small table, which he placed between him and Tybresa.
He lifted his own teacup off the floor and placed it there.

“I knew I had forgotten something. Let’s get back onto the topic. What happened to me? I travelled the whole of Valoran and returned triumphant!” Upon uttering the last word The Poet struck a mock pose of victory.

“You knew about my idea for The Fall, since I spoke about it last our fates intertwined. How I arrived here is mostly a matter of location. I’ve never had an issue with currency so it was all about picking the right place. Bilgewater is perfect for my purposes. Whilst the decent company you can find here is scarce to say the least, it is a place available to all. Noxians,Demacian, Ionians. Everyone is welcome in Bilgewater as long as they watch their backs. I hope to write stories and songs from all over our continent, and for that. Bilgewater is a suitable host.”

The Poet picked up his cup and took a fairly large sip of it, then cleared his throat and resumed talking.

“Your last question can be answered in one word. None. The stories have only been put to word on my mind’s paper. The symphonies have only played its tune in the music of my imagination, and the poems have only been painted on the canvas of my fantasy. However, now that I am settled I expect this to be a state of affairs that shall change very shortly, with you being the first work I shall put to the pen.”

The Poet peered slyly at Tybresa and added
“Now, I have answered your questions. It is time for you to return the favour. What has occurred in your life since last we crossed paths?”


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Tybresa

Senior Member

08-20-2013

Tybresa smiled as she watched her conversation partner take a seat opposite of her. Her eyes would wander slightly over his form – she was disturbingly surprised to take note that the Poet did not change the slightest since the last time they met. And that was six years ago – plenty of time for her own self to change. For a moment, she felt quite old, being in his apparently-youthful presence.

However, she could not help but smile as she listened to his speech – it was so eloquent and beautiful, one could never get tired of ever listening to his voice, like a soothing balm to her ears. She watched him pace from his seat to the back of the shop – when he offered her the cup of tea, she nodded in gratitude and accepted the cup of tea, feeling its warmth spread through her hands. She couldn’t help but chuckle lightly.

“I am not sure how well would noxians take to that remark, my friend – I believe you and I had that talk before. Nevertheless, in this situation, Demacian tea is quite a welcome addition.”

She, too, would take a sip from her steaming tea, feeling the scent tickle her nostrils and the pleasant aroma fill her mouth. She would listen to him intently, watching him through half-closed lids like a purring cat, delighted to hear the trills of the caged canary. She watched him rise again, only this time returning with a table – a fact she chuckled softly. “It is good to see you have not changed – absentminded, as always.” She would remark jokingly, with no harmful intent in her words.

She resumed to be the listener again, having lowered the tea cup from her lips to intently watch him as he spoke and explained and spun the tale-telling yarn, just like he always liked to do, no matter what – you could ask him for directions and he would find a way to turn it into a tale of glorious discovery.

At his last question, however, she let out a soft sigh and averted her gaze from his, unable to feel a small tinge of sadness fill her, if only for a moment. She hummed out, as the corners of her lips turned upward to a rueful smile. “I have changed so much since last we spoke, my friend – I am but a simple woman, prone to the changes the years bring. And now I look at you, and see that time itself has left you untouched – I am having the distinct impression you lulled it to sleep with one of your bedtime tales, a lullaby and a dreamlike poem.” She chuckled lightly. “Nevertheless, you know how I progressed through the ranks of summonerhood. I was but a meager bronze-ranked apprentice when you met me – I am now a proud First Summoner of the Golden Divsion … and a Senior Steward, nevertheless, the Right Hand of the Council of Equity. I do not know if there should be more that needs to be said – the details themselves are quite boorish, what with filing up paperwork and attending councils.” She smirked. “I recall a time when you told me you were afraid that I was born to die. Now, I cannot help but feel just how true your words ring in the back of my head. My life has become boring and uneventful – it would make the most terrible tale.”