Fantasy Cradle of Desire: In Character

[fluticasone]

fluticasone fluticasone

dusk

name

titania iseult

location

dungeon w/ group 1

interactions

vanitas ( lucenti ) carnelian (@606) cyril ( Nano )

His face — remember it!

Pale green eyes flicked between Cyril and the dying guard. Capturing him alive was their best option. She doubted it would be possible, which left only getting rid of him.

To rid themselves of the threat, she had to assess it. Powers - what did she know? He had some form of range that had gotten through Carnelian's barrier. A sword hung at his hip. He'd confidently walked into a group of them, so he either had back-up, a plan... or he thought he could handle them himself when their strongest fighters were distracted with the monster.

“Is that a relic of yours? If so, I shall gladly return the favor.” A relic? What relic—that didn't matter. The only people around her who could have one were Vanitas and Carnelian, and she doubted the new third faction member could be levelheaded enough to use a relic in such a situation.

Three things headed towards them; in the dim light, they were barely visible. But after watching her own projectiles fly past, the man's own relic was nothing. There was a lightness in her body that made her confident she could dodge out of the way in time.

"Carnelian — ignore the serpent and focus on him!"

With little hesitation, Dusk threw her bow in front as her mind raced.

Think. THINK.

Though it was better suited for throwing than being thrown, she wasn't aiming to hit him with it. The bow was useless in these close quarters—it was a distraction to force his path.

As she dove down to avoid the daggers, Dusk picked up anything she could use as a projectile. Her fingers closed over a rock, around the size of a fist.

Head? No—center of mass!

The rock flew; it accelerated at a speed that would've sent wood splintering apart. The daggers earlier were a snail's pace compared to it. She was aiming for his sword arm, but if she missed, it would at least hit his torso.

Cyril saw it coming—

damn it!

— but he was too close and the rock too fast for him to dodge out of the way. She unsheathed her stiletto, hesitant to throw another projectile when she could see Vanitas now moving in.

 

[Dawnsx]

Bippity boppity booo

Cyrus︱Arum

When Cyrus first learned about his stigma, he thought that fate was playing a joke on him. The ability to infiltrate another’s memories, to make them trust and love him unconditionally… He won’t play humble; it was a fearsome power, and he knows it. But ironically, the stigma was useless on the one person that he wanted it to work on.

Be that as it may, his stigma had never failed to get him and his comrades out of a pinch, and this time would (hopefully) be no exception.

Cyrus sensed it the moment his stigma took over Valeria’s mind. Even so, he couldn’t help a flinch when the woman addressed him in a sharp tone.

“I, er– I was threatened!” Cyrus wailed in weak defense. Internally, he offered a silent prayer to any and all who had crossed Valeria’s path thus far. If this was how she spoke to someone near and dear to her, he couldn’t imagine how she treated other people.

With his mind racing to put on a convincing act, Cyrus nearly missed it when Défrayer pulled Meredith out of Valeria’s reach. Valeria reacted almost immediately, whirling around and sending thick vines after them.

With a shout of alarm, Cyrus pulled Stabby out of its sheath. The blade extended as he swung down at the vines. Regardless of whether he was able to successfully slash the vines, he would drop Stabby and throw himself at Valeria.

Grabbing hold of the arm that was holding the cane, Cyrus cried out, ”Please, ma’am! These– these fiends! Their men have my father! If you kill them, then my father will–”

He cut himself off with an ugly, wet sob. He clung onto Valeria with an iron grip and silently willed the others to escape before she could free herself.

Code by Nano

 

[lucenti]

Melios Ceriant | Vanitas

Focused on his target and the glimpses of the monster's thrashes hovering at the edge of his vision, the guard's guttural last word sounded like chimes of a soft handbell struggling against the sounds of ocean waves crashing against solid rock. Though Milene didn't evoke much of an association in Melios' mind, he had no doubt that someone in Arcana would know the meaning of the name. And even if they didn't, at least they had a keyword to start with. Silently, he thanked the man and whispered a small prayer for the unfortunate soul dying so far from anything remotely familiar or friendly. Unpleasant circumstances the man had stumbled into, where the luxuries of empathy and sympathy had no place.

Death was not uncommon for Melios, not since he joined, but it never became easier to witness, to actually inflict; only tolerable when the goal of their mission demanded it. A constant means to an end. A practice so often repeated that Melios had begun to wonder when exactly his hands had stopped trembling at the sight of blood and guts and instead turned into a firm grip.

Perhaps it was a simple case of adapting to the necessities of battle, the same instinct that had made Melios rush forward the moment Cyril moved and the barrier broke. The hiss of a projectile told Melios that he wasn't the only one using his ability, and the fact that it hit put to rest any concerns about Dusk's lack of accuracy. Of course, his Stigma didn't have much effect on the man —as if the immune monster wasn't the icing on the cake. The only positive thing Melios derived from the situation was Cyril's hint to possessing a relic and, at the same time, his admission that he was partially affected by his ability. Which also meant that the second part of his Stigma had a chance to activate.

Vermillion's buff was a welcome surprise as Melios swung his poleaxe upwards, aiming for the same side Dusk had hit. The metal blade sang in its arc, parting the air in a deadly motion. Immediately after, Melios transitioned fluidly into a forward step and a thrust aimed at Cyril's chest. The move carried the grace of something practised countless times, as evidenced by his loose but confident grip on the wooden handle, ensuring that all of his body's momentum was transferred into the blow. It helped that, with his improved strength, the poleaxe weighed no more than a feather.

Recognising the obvious advantage the range of his weapon gave him over his opponent's long sword, Melios would continue to try and keep Cyril at bay, constantly watching for any gaps in his defences. His nimble feet danced across the wet stone; never rooted to the ground in an attempt to avoid either Cyril's sword or relic at his throat.

During all of that, the mark of his activated Stigma continued to shine brightly on his left hand, and though it would be weak, Melios hoped the lethargy would build up enough to prove useful.

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Interactions: cyril ( Nano )

Mentions: group 1