Fantasy Anthroterra (1:1, closed, scantilycladsnail & ThieviusRaccoonus)

[scantilycladsnail]

PLACEHOLDER, MORDECAI ROLL A D10 FOR PERCEPTION, 5+ passes

---

As Mordecai’s shadow magic seeped into the room, the weight of it was unlike anything the ratkin had ever felt. The flickering shadows on the walls seemed to stretch unnaturally, their movements too deliberate, too alive. A ripple of unease spread through the gathered ratkin, their whiskers twitching and tails flicking nervously.

“Shadow magic?” one of them whispered, his voice hushed but tinged with disbelief. “I thought that died out with the old wars.”

Another ratkin shifted uncomfortably, her beady eyes darting toward Mordecai. “Doctor Willowmire uses herbs, potions… not magic like this,” she muttered, her tone a mix of fear and awe.

The crowd murmured in uneasy unison, their voices blending into a low hum of disbelief. For years, Mordecai had been known as a healer, someone who patched their wounds and eased their pain. But now, standing there, commanding the room with shadows bending to his will, he was something else entirely.

“That’s unkept,” one of the ratkin hissed, his ears flattening against his head. “No one’s practiced shadow magic in decades.”

As the oppressive weight of the Mordecai's cane pressed down on Varkus, his limbs jerked and shuddered unnaturally beneath the tip of Mordecai’s cane. He struggled to rise, but his movements were stiff, almost mechanical. His head tilted abruptly to the side, the motion too sharp and awkward to belong to flesh and blood.

“That’s... not right,” a young ratkin whispered, her nose twitching as she shrank back slightly. Her wide eyes darted toward the pangolinkin’s trembling form. “Does he look... stiff to you? Is it the shadow magic?”

Another ratkin furrowed his brow, his tail flicking with unease. “He’s moving weird,” he muttered under his breath.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai’s breaths came in heavy, deliberate bursts, his chest heaving as the weight of the past clawed its way to the surface. His mind flickered to the memory like a phantom whisper in the darkness.

The young goat child, trembling and alone, ripped mercilessly from his family. The Sunship soldier, towering over him, sword raised high. And then, the priest—his hand cutting through the air like a scythe, halting the killing stroke. The soldier’s blade lowered, the sharp gleam dulled as it slid back into its sheath. The priest’s eyes, cold and calculating, bore into Mordecai’s soul as his hand descended to rest upon his head.

“Not this one,” the priest had said, his voice reverberating with quiet authority. “He has potential.”

The memory burned as vividly now as it had in the moment it happened, anchoring itself deep within the healer's chest. In the dim, suffocating light of the underground chamber, Mordecai felt the fury coil around him, its heat smothering. Anger—blinding, unrelenting—boiled over, its presence as tangible as the shadows writhing around the room.

His grip tightened on the cane. With a sharp, vicious movement, Mordecai drove its tip into Varkus, the force of his fury behind the blow. But what should have been a familiar resistance, the sickening give of flesh and bone, never came. Instead, the sharp crack of splintering wood echoed through the room, cutting through the stifling silence like a knife.

Mordecai froze, his breath hitching as his gaze locked on the tip of his cane. It hadn’t impaled Varkus at all. No blood oozed from the wound. No flesh parted under the force of his anger. Instead, the surface beneath the cane's tip was rough, brittle—wood.

The room seemed to shift around him, the shadows thickening as unease rippled through the crowd once more. Mordecai's gaze lingered on the impossibility before him, his mind racing, his grip unwavering on the cane. Something was wrong—deeply, fundamentally wrong. Varkus wasn’t just resisting him. There was something else at play.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

The puppet twitched violently under Mordecai’s cane, its limbs jerking unnaturally as the illusion shattered. The smooth, scaled facade of Varkus melted away like smoke, revealing the stark, unnerving reality beneath. The form left behind was a grotesque amalgamation of wood and metal, gears faintly whirring as if struggling to keep the contraption functioning. The pangolinkin’s once-familiar face was gone, replaced by a wooden head with crude, painted features that cracked further with each spasm. Splintered wood surrounded the puncture in its chest where Mordecai’s cane had struck, the damage exposing the hollow interior.

For a moment, the puppet sagged, lifeless and still. Then, its head jerked upright with a grating creak, and a new voice spilled from its maw—not the coarse tone of Varkus, but a cold, elegant cadence.

“Well, isn’t this unexpected,” the voice hissed, strained and fractured by the puppet’s failing mechanisms but retaining signature sharpness. “I send a pawn to sow doubt, and instead, I find… you.” There was a flicker of something behind the words—confusion, laced with a rising tension. The puppet’s head tilted unnaturally, the painted eyes staring straight at Mordecai, its wooden form trembling slightly as if barely holding itself together.

“Shadow magic,” the voice continued, now tinged with suspicion and a faint edge of anger. “Decades since it’s been seen—buried, erased—and yet here you are, conjuring it like it’s some parlor trick. Tell me, Doctor, how deeply have you buried your secrets?” There was a bitter, mocking laugh, but it was strained, cracking like the wood of the puppet itself.

The puppet’s movements faltered as the last threads of magic sustaining it began to fray. “You surprise me,” the voice admitted, his tone quieter now but no less venomous. “Perhaps the rebellion has more to offer than I thought. Or perhaps it’s just you, endlessly meddling where you don’t belong.” The wooden head sagged forward abruptly, the glow in its hollow eyes fading as the remaining magic dissipated, leaving the puppet slumped and lifeless.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai stood still, his eyes fixed on the puppet as the voice spilled from its splintered frame. A creeping dread clawed at the edges of his thoughts, confirming a fear he had long harbored—his shadow magic had been exposed, its secrecy undone. And worse, the Sunship might now know of his existence.

As the voice faded and the puppet’s hollow form slumped lifelessly, Mordecai jolted back, his expression grim. With a sharp grunt, he kicked the puppet into the flowing water canal, watching as it sank beneath the current, its fractured remains drifting out of sight.

He said nothing to the crowd, his silence more commanding than words. The animalkin parted instinctively, their whispered unease trailing after him as he walked away. “Who are you, deceiver?” Mordecai muttered under his breath, his voice low and tense.

---

Later

Mordecai returned to his houseboat under the weight of his thoughts. He stepped inside without a word, the soft creak of the floorboards the only sound. Silvano had drifted off to sleep again, sprawled haphazardly in his usual way, while Avarice perched silently in the corner, his piercing gaze following Mordecai’s every move.

Mordecai didn’t acknowledge either of them, instead making his way to the back of the houseboat and into another room. There, he set his bag down with a weary sigh, the tension in his shoulders evident. His mind churned with the events that had transpired, but he pushed the thoughts aside. There was still work to be done.

Reaching into the bag, Mordecai pulled out a small cloth pouch tied neatly with twine. He approached a large, empty sink that stretched across the back wall, where a wooden staff lay submerged in a shimmering blue liquid. Slipping on a leather glove, Mordecai carefully lifted the staff, the liquid dripping from its surface with an unnatural chill. He rested it on a nearby hook, droplets pooling below as frost clung to the edges of his scruff.

From the cloth pouch, he retrieved a cluster of frozen flowers, their crystalline petals glistening even in the dim light. “Frostbloom flowers,” he murmured to himself, almost reverently. Placing them into a mortar, he ground them down with practiced precision, the crushed flowers turning into a fine, shimmering powder. With a careful hand, he sprinkled the powder over the staff, the reaction immediate—a radiant blue light pulsed from the wood, and icy tendrils spread across its surface, biting at the damp air.

Wrapping the staff in a thick canvas cloth, Mordecai exited the room with purpose. He glanced at Avarice, his tone firm. “Avarice,” he said. “I have something for you. Come outside.” Without waiting for a response, he stepped out into the night, the weight of the staff—and his thoughts—heavy in his grasp.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Avarice tilted his head, his blind eyes narrowing slightly at Mordecai's abrupt request. He had grown accustomed to the man's cryptic ways, but something about Mordecai's tone carried a weight that couldn’t be ignored. With a quiet sigh, Avarice pushed himself up from the corner and stepped carefully toward the door, his paw brushing against the wall to guide him.

As he stepped outside, the crisp night air greeted him, cool and damp against his fur. The faint hum of life in the lower city drifted in the distance, but his focus sharpened on the strange presence ahead. His blindness didn’t stop him from sensing the shift around Mordecai—the way the air seemed denser, heavier, almost alive with an icy energy. A sudden chill prickled against his fur, sharp and deliberate, radiating from something Mordecai held.

“What now?” Avarice thought, unease flickering in his chest. As he moved closer, the cold grew more defined, almost tangible, brushing the edges of his perception. He could feel it—a faint outline forming in his mind's eye, a glow of frost and energy.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai stepped into the cool night air, glancing back as Avarice emerged from the houseboat. The subtle shift in Mordecai’s posture betrayed his intent—this wasn’t just another cryptic remark or passing moment. “I have something for you,” he said, unwrapping the staff slowly.

The frost-laden magic radiated outwards, shimmering faintly in the dark as ice crawled delicately over Mordecai’s scruff and tipped the edges of his horns. He turned, carefully taking Avarice’s paw and guiding it to the staff.

“I know how hard it’s been for you to navigate the underground,” Mordecai began, his tone quieter, more deliberate. “You don’t need to admit it. But I see it—the way you rely on touch, the way you hesitate. That’s why I made this for you.” He gestured slightly to the staff, his grip on Avarice’s paw steady. “This staff… it’s not just imbued with frost magic. It’s designed to work with you.”

Mordecai stepped closer, his voice softening as he explained, “When the staff touches the ground, the frost will connect—just like it does when you touch something with your hands. It’ll help you ‘see,’ help you sense the world around you with more clarity. The frost will ripple outward, reacting to your touch and giving you a clearer picture of what’s in your path.”

He hesitated for only a moment before continuing. “But it’s not just about helping you find your way. Your affinity for frost is no accident—it’s part of you, part of what makes you strong. This staff will deepen that connection. It’s been soaking in frost magic, binding it to the roots of its wood and to the cold magic within you. It’s more than just a guide—it’s an extension of yourself.”

Mordecai let out a quiet breath, the weight of the earlier events still lingering in his demeanor. “You don’t have to take it,” he said after a pause. “But I thought it might help. And I wanted you to have it… because I know what it’s like to feel disconnected from the world around you.”

He stepped back slightly, the faint glow of the frost glinting in the night air. “The frost will always follow you, Avarice. You just have to trust it.”

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Avarice reached out tentatively, his paw brushing against the icy surface of the staff. The frost sent a faint prickle through his fingers, sharp but not unpleasant—almost inviting. He gripped it firmly, letting the cold seep into his palm. It wasn’t just cold; it was alive, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. His ears twitched as he adjusted his hold, tapping the staff lightly against the ground.
The reaction was immediate. A ripple of frost spread outward from the base, tracing the contours of the earth in an intricate web of icy lines. For the first time in what felt like forever, Avarice didn’t feel the vast void of blindness. He couldn’t see, not exactly, but the frost whispered to him, painting a faint impression of the world around him. The staff gave him the sense of Mordecai standing nearby, tall and steady. The outline of the houseboat loomed behind him, and the faint crackling of distant energy reached him as the frost ebbed and flowed.

A small, almost reverent smile crept onto Avarice’s face. “This…” He paused, gripping the staff tighter as he tested its reach, extending it further against the ground to feel the frost’s response. “This is incredible, Mordecai. It’s not sight, but… it’s something.” He hesitated, tapping the staff again, letting the frost guide him to the faint shapes of crates stacked to one side and the flowing canal nearby. “I can sense… figures, structures, even energy. Like the frost is an extension of me.”

Avarice tilted his head slightly, his tone shifting to something more casual as he continued to explore the frost’s range. “You know, it’s not unlike some of the other Sunship artifacts. Like Poise’s gloves—those creepy puppetry things he uses to control… well, whatever he’s controlling.” He swung the staff lightly, watching as the frost shifted with his movement. “Or that weird claw thing Zhao has. What is it again? Turns non-material things into sweets?” He snorted faintly, amused. “Eats half the Sunship's inventory just to stay fat and strong."

He paused, gripping the staff tightly once more. The frost hummed faintly in response, grounding him. “But this? This feels… different. Like it’s not just an artifact. It’s mine.”

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai smiled—one of the rare, genuine expressions that felt good. It was fulfilling to see Avarice gain confidence, to witness him begin to harness the frost magic within the staff.

But the smile quickly faltered as Avarice began mentioning the Sunship artifacts. Poise, gloves, puppetry—each word hitting too close to home. Mordecai’s body stiffened, a sudden wave of cold anger washing over him, sharper than the frost in the air. His eyes narrowed, his focus drifting to the water, pupils dilating slightly as the tension grew.

“Interesting you mention that,” Mordecai said, his voice low but steady, carrying a warning beneath the calm. “See, earlier while I was out at the market, there was a pangolinkin—spouting nonsense to the people. Trying to smear Silvano’s name, calling for submission to the Sunship, urging them to beg for mercy.”

Mordecai turned slightly, taking measured steps toward Avarice, his hooves barely making a sound on the ground. “Now, someone like me... I couldn’t just stand by. You’ve seen what Silvano does—what he’s built here. Who am I to let his name be dragged through the dirt?” His voice sharpened, his words slicing through the air like frost.

He stopped in front of Avarice, shadows creeping from the corners of the room, his eyes locking onto the blind fox. “So I acted. I had to. And now... there’s a target on my back. On Silvano’s.”

Mordecai leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a quieter, more intense whisper. “The pangolinkin wasn’t just spreading propaganda. It was a puppet. Controlled by your friend Poise.” His tone dripped with disdain, though behind it lay something deeper—confusion, surprise, and something that felt painfully new.

For a brief moment, Mordecai hesitated. He clenched his fists, the memory of his magic unraveling in front of the crowd flashing vividly in his mind. The reveal had been inevitable, but it left him vulnerable in ways he hadn’t expected. He took a slow, steady breath, finally stepping back and sinking into a nearby chair, his elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward, looking lost in thought.

“Now Poise... he knows.” His voice carried a quiet fury, but beneath it, a deeper confusion and hint of fear.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Avarice’s grip on the staff tightened briefly as Mordecai’s words settled over him. He tilted his head, his ears flicking back slightly as he chose his words carefully. “Poise is not my friend,” he said sharply, his voice calm but firm. “I’m sorry you were placed in that situation. I didn’t know.” He paused, tapping the staff lightly on the ground as he gathered his thoughts. “I’m not exactly in the position to know how a lot of their artifacts operate—or how they’re using them. We’re supposed to be diplomats, Mordecai. At least, that’s what I thought.” He huffed softly, his tone tinged with bitterness. “But it’s clear now that we’re more involved than I ever realized.”

Avarice shifted slightly, stepping forward with quiet resolve. “I really appreciate what you’ve done for me already, Mordecai. Truly. I can’t say the council would have shown me the same kindness... or ever has.” His blind eyes seemed to fix on Mordecai, his tone softening. “So, I want to do something for you, if you’ll allow me.”

Without waiting for an answer, Avarice extended his paw, the icy energy radiating from it shimmering faintly in the dim light. “Let me touch your forehead,” he said, his tone oddly earnest yet undeniably strange. His paw hovered just slightly, the frost magic crackling faintly around his digits.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai watched Avarice intently, his brow furrowed in confusion, a mixture of suspicion and surprise flickering in his eyes. He couldn’t quite decipher the sudden shift in Avarice’s demeanor. Yet, beneath the puzzlement, something tugged at him—an inclination to accept, albeit reluctantly.

With a slow exhale, Mordecai finally relaxed, his body loosening slightly. He closed his eyes, leaning forward toward Avarice’s outstretched paw, trusting the quiet intent behind the blind fox’s words. “Mind the horns,” Mordecai murmured softly, his voice a mixture of caution and weariness, his hands resting loosely in his lap as he prepared to feel the strange touch.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Avarice’s paw hovered just above Mordecai’s forehead, the frost magic flickering faintly, as if hesitating. With a deep breath, he allowed it to flow through him, and the icy energy seeped gently into Mordecai. The frost spread across Mordecai’s body like a quiet tide, the sensation sharp yet oddly soothing—until it collided with something darker.

Avarice’s breath hitched as his magic seemed to recoil, pushing against the heavy resistance of Mordecai’s shadow magic. The frost hesitated, almost as if searching. It dug deeper, threading through the cracks and crevices of Mordecai’s soul, seeking something buried far below the surface.

Then, it found it.

A faint warmth began to surface within Mordecai, as if the frost had unearthed a memory—a happy one. The frost pulsed, carrying him into an illusion tethered to that moment. It wasn’t just a memory; it was alive, vivid, and real. Mordecai was no longer in the houseboat, no longer surrounded by the weight of the present. He was there, in that moment, experiencing it as if it were happening all over again.

Avarice’s paw trembled slightly, his fur bristling as he pulled back instinctively, feeling the emotional resonance reverberating through the connection. “I—” Avarice began, but he stopped himself. He didn’t know what Mordecai was seeing, but he could feel the shift in the air, the way it wrapped around the healer like a cocoon of warmth.

---

Prompt for Mordecai’s Player:
Your character is pulled into a vivid illusion created by Avarice’s frost magic. The magic scans Mordecai’s memories, searching for a moment of true happiness—a memory that stands out as a bright spot in his life. Once it finds one, Mordecai is transported into that memory.

Here’s the twist: in this illusion, Mordecai isn’t bound to simply relive the moment as it happened. He has full awareness and agency to interact with the memory, potentially altering its course. He can choose to experience the moment exactly as it was, or make new choices and explore how things might have been different. This illusion will feel completely real to him, but it’s fleeting—when it fades, he will return to reality, left with whatever emotions the memory and his actions stirred.

What memory does Mordecai see? How does he interact with it? Does he let it play out as it was, or does he change something? Feel free to explore how this experience impacts him emotionally.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai's mind phased as he felt himself drifting away. From the dreary houseboat and the icy touch of Avarice's paw, Mordecai was transported back—into a smaller, vibrant village. It was a place teeming with life, where goatkin—farmers, healers, and herbalists—moved with quiet purpose. Mordecai, no more than a young child, worked beside his mother in a lush garden—not just any garden, but one imbued with magic.

“And this, young one,” she said, picking a herb with orange, feathered tendrils. “This is Golden Eye, a marvelous herb for a surge of adrenaline.” She smiled, placing it carefully in a bag.

Even at such a young age, Mordecai had a keen eye, often watching his mother’s every move, absorbing her teachings. She moved methodically through the garden, showing him plants that were more than they appeared—each with their purpose, some light, some dark. “But these,” she gestured to another plant, “this is Clawstraus. If exposed to the skin, it can cause irritation, but—” She smiled softly, “—in the right hands, it can also be used to powder someone who wishes harm to another.”

Mordecai tilted his head. “Why do we keep both? Wouldn’t Clawstraus be dangerous to have here?” The young child’s curiosity made his voice sincere, innocent. His mother’s expression softened—she saw his potential, the future that awaited him, even though he was so young.

She knelt down, placing a hand gently on his small shoulder. “Mordecai, many people think that herbs like Golden Eye—those meant to heal and bring life—are the only ones that matter. But balance isn’t about just one type of magic.” She gestured to the plants around them, “Yes, sunlight helps Golden Eye grow, but it cannot thrive in sunlight alone.” She turned to the Clawstraus. “These, however, thrive in the shade, under the cover of the sunset. Light and dark, they are not enemies. They need each other.”

But as her voice trailed, the warmth of the moment shifted. Shadows crept slowly across the ground, dark tendrils weaving through the plants. Mordecai’s vision darkened, the garden flickering. His mother’s smile turned malicious. Shadows swirled at her feet, wrapping around her legs, tainting the air.

“But your darkness will be damned,” she hissed.

The garden around Mordecai began to fragment. A sudden flash—a symbol burned into his mind—the Sunship’s mark. The illusion shattered. In an instant, the once vibrant garden was consumed in flames. The goats, their cries of panic, filled his ears. Mordecai’s parents—his mother and father—lay dead, their lifeless bodies sprawled out before him. The scene switched rapidly—burning fields, collapsing buildings, villagers screaming.

Mordecai’s form twisted—shifting from a child to a teenager, to the present moment—each vision overlapping, blurring into one. His shadow magic, restless, resisted the illusion, pushing back against the memory, distorting it. He couldn’t tell what was real or what was an illusion. His mother’s words, though familiar, felt wrong now—“Your darkness will be damned.” The images—memories—became twisted, tainted. A priest’s hand reached toward him, the blade cutting deep into his palm.

Pain. Smoke. Shadows. His heart pounded, his breath caught in his chest, as if something unseen was suffocating him.

“Ah!” Mordecai gasped, his body jerking forward, his heart racing. He sprang from the chair, breaking into a cold sweat. The world around him flickered—at once, he saw Avarice’s form, then a priest, then Avarice again—each vision blurring and shifting like a mirage. He staggered backward, eyes wide with fear, clenching his hands, his breathing ragged. “Stay away from me!” His voice trembled, his mind trying to grasp the reality before him.

He fell to his knees, shaking, his shadow magic surging to protect him—a physical manifestation of the resistance, twisting his vision, making everything unstable. The ground beneath him seemed to shift, the boat rocking gently beneath his hands.

“What—what is happening?” Mordecai muttered, barely able to stand as the illusion began to unravel. The warmth of the memory—the fleeting peace—fading fast. Avarice’s form began to reappear, clearer this time, but even Avarice seemed distant, his image blending with the priest’s shadowy figure once again.

“Stay away from me!” Mordecai cried out, his voice breaking as the overwhelming weight of the vision pressed down on him.

Finally, the sound of the boat’s gentle rocking, the calming laps of water, broke through the haze. Mordecai’s vision stabilized slightly. Avarice returned, though his form flickered—now sharp, now blurred. Mordecai shook his head, trying to regain his footing.

“What... just happened?” Mordecai whispered, his breath ragged, the remnants of the vision still clinging to his mind.

His shadow magic had been stirred—deeply connected to the memory, resisting the illusion. It wasn’t just a memory—it was something more—something that had surfaced from the depths of his pain.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Avarice stepped back instinctively as Mordecai’s shadow magic surged, his grip tightening on the frost-laden staff as he tried to process what was happening. The sudden outburst, the raw panic in Mordecai’s voice—it was a reaction Avarice hadn’t anticipated. His ears flattened as he held his ground, visibly shaken but resolute.

“Mordecai… I’m sorry,” he murmured, his tone heavy with regret. “I didn’t know it would. I—I thought I was helping. I thought maybe… I could do right by you. I should’ve known better.” He shook his head, his blind eyes closing briefly as his chest tightened with shame.

His voice cracked, and he took a hesitant step back, gripping the staff so tightly his knuckles ached. “I… I dredged up something painful. I didn’t mean to, I swear."

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai’s eyes flickered with a mixture of confusion, pain, and guarded defensiveness. His mind was still reeling from the vision, struggling to distinguish between illusion and reality. Avarice’s words, though spoken softly, cut through the haze—and each apology only deepened the frustration and anguish within him.

“You thought what? That you could just pry into my mind and fix something like this? You had no right to dig into those memories!” Mordecai glared at Avarice, but the guilt in the fox’s eyes stopped him.

“He crossed you! Take him out!”
“He was genuinely trying to help. Forgive.”

Mordecai couldn’t make it out—whether the voices were his own inner turmoil or something more external—they buzzed in his head like two separate people arguing with each other. His body relaxed slightly, unclenching his fists as his breathing slowed.

Things were different now. He couldn’t keep hiding from this anymore.

With a long sigh, Mordecai’s voice dropped to a low, steady tone. “When I was just a kid, the Sunship came and conquered my village. They slaughtered my parents in front of me. They were about to kill me too, but... they said they saw potential in me. They raised me, trained me—teaching me their ways of alchemy, using me as one of their tools. My entire village—my life—was under their control. Ruthless, brutal... I couldn’t take it anymore. I managed to escape, something few have ever done, but I relied on my shadow magic to aid in my escape.

“The Sunship has always wanted my blood since then. I’m an enemy to them, but also someone they consider a powerful utility.” His voice trembled slightly, fear tinged with bitterness. “The day you came to my houseboat—talking about their presence—I should have known I couldn’t run forever. And then Silvano stirred everything up again. My shadow magic was exposed to the council..the sunship, because I didn’t realize what that Pangolinkin really was.” Mordecai’s expression darkened, his tone almost accusing himself.

“I fear everything’s come back to haunt me.”

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Avarice tilted his head slightly, his blind eyes narrowing as Mordecai’s words settled heavily in the air. For a moment, he remained quiet, absorbing the weight of the revelation. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer than usual, tinged with genuine sympathy.

“Mordecai… I’m sorry. For your family, for your village, for everything they’ve taken from you. I can’t imagine what it’s like to carry that kind of loss, to have lived under their control, to have fought so hard to escape, only to have them haunt you still. That kind of pain… it’s not something that goes away.” He gripped the staff tightly, the frost magic thrumming faintly in his hand as if reflecting his unease.

“The Sunship…” Avarice paused, his words faltering slightly. “They’ve never mentioned you by name. At least, not in the meetings I’ve been part of. But truthfully, they hold a lot of private councils. More than I care to think about. They’re secretive by nature; what was once a coalition of nations is now their mouthpiece. And then there’s Liora…” He exhaled sharply, his voice lowering as if the very name carried weight.

“Liora, the Ocelot Priestess, who stands by Ashen’s side.” A faint bitterness crept into his tone as he spoke her name, though he didn’t let it linger. “But here’s the thing, Mordecai: Liora isn’t unique. Every Sunship priestess in recorded history has been called Liora, and they’ve always been ocelots. It’s tradition, it’s ritual… it’s design. She believes Ashen is the chosen one, and she’s honest about it. I don’t think she’s manipulating him. She truly believes he’s the hero of their prophecies. And Ashen? He believes it too. He’s convinced he’s the Sunship’s chosen savior.”

Avarice’s paw tightened around the staff again, his brow furrowing. “But those prophecies… they’re not that uncommon. There’s always a Liora. There’s always a chosen one. It’s like a script they’ve been playing out for centuries, repeating the same story, over and over, with different players. It makes you wonder how much of it is real and how much is just… manufactured. Maybe Ashen really believes he’s doing the right thing, but the Sunship? They’re playing a longer game. One they’ve been playing for a very long time.”

He hesitated, his blind gaze lifting slightly as though searching for something in the air. “I don’t know if they’re after you, Mordecai. But if they are, it’s not because you’re just another enemy. It’s because you’re someone who matters. Someone they see as valuable—not just to them, but to others. Someone who can rally a nation.” He paused, his grip on the staff tightening as if anchoring himself to the thought. “Look around. You’re not just a shadow or a weapon down here—you’re a lifeline. You’ve built real connections with these people. They trust you. They respect you. Silvano respects you. He looks up to you. And I can see why.”

Avarice exhaled slowly, his voice softening as a note of vulnerability slipped through. “But me? Being here has made me realize something I’ve been avoiding for a long time. I don’t belong in this place—or as part of this effort. I’ve spent my life behind gilded walls, sheltered by titles and luxuries. I’ve never had to fight for survival like you or the people down here. I don’t know suffrage. I don’t know the pain of being overlooked, of being crushed beneath someone else’s boot. Not like you. Not like them.”

His shoulders sagged slightly, his blind eyes lowering as if the weight of his admission bore down on him. “I don’t know what that makes me, Mordecai. But it’s not a leader. And it’s not someone these people can look to. Not the way they look to you.”

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai clasped his hands on his cane, his gaze drifting into the distance. “The Sunship is brutal. Their ways… confusing. There was a priest once who took me under their care, though ‘care’ wasn’t exactly nurturing.” He mumbled, his voice quiet, almost distant. “She was... also an ocelot. I never realized that the priests… they’re actually connected.” He shuddered slightly. “I’m not sure if that’s what she wanted from me. She always talked about potential.” Mordecai trailed off, his expression growing uneasy at the memory.

“Mordecai… is not my real name either,” he whispered, almost to himself. “But don’t ask me. I won’t reveal it. Some things need to be left unsaid.” Fear flickered in his voice, a deep-seated dread tied to his old name—a name he remembered all too clearly, the fate of the previous ratkin assessor a haunting reminder.

Mordecai’s fingers tightened around the staff, his expression darkening as his thoughts shifted. His blind eyes fixed on some distant point, his voice low and deliberate.

“You speak of connections and trust, Avarice. You see them, but you don’t truly understand them. These people cling to me because they have no other choice. They turn to me because I’ve given them something—safety, direction, even hope. But what they don’t realize is that I’m not some lifeline by chance. I’m… a shadow in their midst. A force they’ll rely on until the light can no longer reach them.”

His voice grew colder, more intense. “And Silvano… he looks up to me, yes. Because I’ve taught him how to survive—how to bend the rules without breaking them, how to wield power beneath the surface without exposing it too soon. But even he doesn’t know the full cost of what I’m willing to do. My magic—my shadow—it’s not just about protection. It’s about control. It’s about bending the world to my will, no matter the cost.”

He exhaled slowly, his tone growing more resigned. “I’ve played my role, Avarice. I’ve built what I needed to. These people trust me now because they need me—because I’m the only one who can keep the Sunship at bay. And I will go to whatever lengths necessary to ensure they don’t get what they want. Even if that means stepping deeper into the darkness I’ve already sunk my hands into. You can’t stop something like that once it’s begun.”

A flicker of something dark crept into his voice—almost a descent into madness, though he himself didn’t fully recognize it. But Mordecai had accepted who he was long ago. He had embraced it. From the broken bones left in his wake, to the slow poison he had watched ravage bodies, writhing in agony before his eyes—he had seen it all. He had accepted it.

....

Mordecai sighed, leaning back in his chair slightly, his gaze distant once more. His voice was steady, yet carried a subtle edge of gentle authority.

“You speak of not belonging, of not knowing suffrage or pain. But that’s not true. You do know it. You’ve just never let yourself see it. You’ve sheltered yourself behind titles, behind privilege—gilded walls—but that doesn’t make you any less capable. That doesn’t make you any weaker. And yet… you hold yourself back. You keep standing on the edge, refusing to step forward because you’re afraid. Afraid of what? That you’ll fall too deep into something you think you don’t belong to?”

Mordecai’s voice softened, though his words carried weight. “You do belong. You care, Avarice. You wouldn’t have come down here seeking help if you didn’t care for the people. You wouldn’t still be standing against the Sunship if you didn’t care. You’re one of the few non-corrupted voices in their council. You’re risking your name, your safety by even being here. And yet… you hold yourself back.”

He reached out slightly, resting a paw gently on his own staff. “Look at you—this staff. Do you remember what it represents? The magic you’re tapping into isn’t just cold frost—it’s a reflection of you. You’ve got power in you, Avarice. Strength. Insight. And yes, you’ve been privileged, but you’ve got knowledge others don’t. You’ve seen things others wouldn’t dare. You’ve been sheltered, yes. But you’re smart enough to see through them.”

Mordecai’s smile softened, though his voice remained firm. “These people down here—this underground— they’re not broken. They’re resilient. They’ve survived longer than any city above ever could. And you—you’re standing on the edge of it, ready to turn your back on them, ready to go back to your safe little life. But that’s not who you are. Not really.”

He leaned back slightly, his gaze gentle yet pointed. “You’ve got more to you, Avarice. You just need to stop holding yourself back. Stop thinking you’re not enough, or that you can’t lead. Because you can—you just need to stop waiting for someone to give you permission to step forward. You already have everything you need right here, in your mind, in your heart.”

Mordecai’s voice grew softer now, almost coaxing. “But if you keep clinging to what you think you lack, you’ll never see what you actually have. And these people—they don’t need you to be a perfect leader. They just need someone who will stand with them. Someone who will fight for them. And that, Avarice? That’s something you can do. You just have to believe it.”

A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Or... maybe you don’t need someone like me telling you. Maybe you already know all this. You’ve just been too scared to admit it.”

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Avarice stood in silence, gripping the staff as Mordecai’s words settled over him like the frost he wielded. His ears flicked back slightly, his blind gaze lowering as he absorbed the weight of the truth he had been avoiding. “You’re right,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with both gratitude and uncertainty. “I’ve been holding myself back—not because I don’t care, but because I’ve been afraid to admit that I might have something to offer.”

He tilted his head toward Mordecai, his grip on the staff tightening with quiet resolve. “Thank you, Mordecai,” he said earnestly, his voice steadier now. “For this… for your words. I won’t pretend I know how to lead or what to do next, but you’ve given me something to hold onto. And that? That’s more than I thought I deserved.”
-----

---

Leviathian’s heavy steps echoed through the tunnels, his broad frame cloaked in shadow and shrouded in a tattered hood that obscured his features. The lingering dampness of the collapsed underground clung to him, his movements steady despite the treacherous footing. Behind him, a young sheepkin followed closely, his own cloak barely covering his frail, trembling form. His hooves clattered softly against the uneven ground, and he coughed—a ragged, sickly sound that seemed to cut through the oppressive silence.

Leviathian didn’t slow for him, though his tail flicked in mild irritation as he spoke over his shoulder, his voice rough but not unkind. “Keep up, kid. We’re almost there.” The sheepkin nodded weakly, his breaths shallow and labored, his wide eyes darting nervously at the scurrying ratkin and the flickering shadows around them.

When the houseboat came into view, Leviathian paused, his golden eyes narrowing at the faint glow emanating from inside. He turned toward the sheepkin, gripping his shoulder briefly in what could almost be called reassurance. “Stay behind me,” he rumbled, pulling his hood lower over his face before stepping forward.

“AVARICE!” Leviathian’s voice boomed, the sound reverberating through the cramped space of the tunnels like a clap of thunder. The sheer volume was startling, but the tone betrayed no malice—just his natural loudness and frustration. He moved with purpose, the sheepkin boy trailing behind him, his small form dwarfed by Leviathian’s towering figure.

---

ThieviusRaccoonus
Roll for Leviathian, D25 and use the result to determine what peculiar effect has taken hold of him, and what you notice as he approaches:

1. • Every time Leviathian exhales, wisps of smoke curl from his nostrils and mouth, regardless of temperature. (1)
   • Leviathian’s golden eyes now faintly glow in the dark, making it impossible for him to hide in shadows. (2)
   • His fur crackles constantly with static electricity, shocking anyone who touches him, intentionally or not. (3)
   • Patches of feathers have grown along Leviathian’s arms and neck, though they clash awkwardly with his fur. (4)
   • The tips of Leviathian’s fur shimmer like polished steel, giving him an oddly metallic appearance. (5)
   • When Leviathian growls, it sounds hollow and distant, like the echoes of a cave, even in open air. (6)
   • One of Leviathian’s claws has turned solid silver, unnaturally heavy but also razor-sharp. (7)
   • A faint Sunship emblem has appeared on Leviathian’s chest, and it leaks a glowing blood-like substance when pressed. (8)
   • Leviathian’s breath constantly fogs, even in warm conditions, and his lips have taken on a faint icy tint. (9)
   • Leviathian’s voice naturally amplifies, booming louder than intended—even his whispers carry weight. (10)
   • His hind paws have transformed into sheepkin hooves, though Leviathian hasn’t yet noticed the change. (11)
   • Leviathian’s paw pads radiate heat, leaving faint scorch marks on softer surfaces. (12)
   • Leviathian feels the presence of a second tail—phantom-like, invisible, yet oddly tangible in motion. (13)
   • A shadowy aura surrounds Leviathian, as though his silhouette absorbs light and grows unnervingly darker. (14)
   • Leviathian’s eyes look glassy and reflective, like mirrors, causing others to see their own faces when they look at him. (15)
   • Small patches of moss have started growing on Leviathian’s fur, particularly around his shoulders and back. (16)
   • Leviathian’s footsteps sound hollow, like someone walking on a drum, regardless of the surface beneath him. (17)
   • Leviathian can’t stop scratching at his fur, muttering about a persistent itch that refuses to go away. (18)
   • Leviathian’s paw pads shimmer faintly with gold, as though gilded by some unknown alchemy. (19)
   • Whenever Leviathian moves, his joints emit faint cracking noises, like glass under pressure, even though there’s no pain. (20)
   • Leviathian’s fur always appears damp, dripping faintly and leaving small drops of water wherever he goes. (21)
   • Leviathian’s shadow appears upside down on any surface it touches, an unsettling phenomenon even to himself. (22)
   • Small spiraling nubs of horn have begun to grow behind Leviathian’s ears, twisting in unusual directions. (23)
   • Leviathian’s whiskers have grown long and wild, twisting in bizarre and unpredictable shapes. (24)
   • Leviathian emits a faint, lingering scent of lavender and smoke, noticeable to anyone nearby but unexplained. (25)

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai nearly fell out of his chair, Leviathian’s unnaturally loud booming voice cutting through the stillness like a hammer.
“What the FUCK.” Mordecai snapped, turning his head abruptly.
“Can everyone stop meeting on my houseboat? Keep your voice down! What the hell is your problem!”

Silvano stumbled groggily out from the doorway, still half-asleep, Leviathian’s sudden outburst pulling him from his sleep. He leaned against the doorframe, his hand pressed to his side.
“What’s going on out here?” Silvano mumbled, his words slurred from the abrupt waking and his still-recovering state.
“Leviathian… why do I hear him?”

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

A Mordecai Flashback....

Spoiler

Flashback​

Mordecai, still a teenager, sat hunched over a wooden table in his tent, surrounded by alchemical tools, weathered Sunship scriptures, and other esoteric works. The faint glow of a lantern cast shifting shadows across the space as he meticulously worked, his movements mechanical and drained of energy.

The quiet was broken by the soft rustling of fabric as someone entered the tent.

"Young Castiel," came a feminine voice, smooth as silk yet tinged with an undercurrent of manipulation.

Mordecai's ear twitched, but he didn't turn to look. He kept his head low, focusing on the parchment in front of him. He knew the voice all too well.

The figure moved closer—Liora, the Sunship priestess, an ocelot adorned in ceremonial robes. Her padded footsteps were deliberate, her presence commanding. She stopped just behind Mordecai, her gaze sharp and unwavering.

Mordecai broke the silence first, his tone flat and void of emotion. "The Sunship condemns magic. They call it unholy. Yet here you are, aware of the darkness within me, allowing it—no, nurturing it."

Liora’s lips curved into a faint smile as she stepped forward. Slowly, she reached out, her claws brushing lightly against his horns. She tilted his head back gently until his eyes met hers.

"Young Castiel," she said softly, her fingers tracing the bridge between his horns, "you still have so much to learn. Shadow magic... yes, it should be condemned. Even your own kind saw it as unclean, didn’t they? Your people turned their backs on those like you long ago. And your mother—" Her voice turned mocking as her claws rested briefly on his forehead. "She spoke of balance, didn’t she? Light and dark, coexisting. A quaint notion."

Mordecai’s gaze darkened, but he said nothing.

Liora released his horns, and his head dropped back down. She took a step back, clasping her hands as if in prayer.

"Castiel," she said with a measured tone, "I’ve raised you under my wing for years now because I see your potential. The Sunship seeks a chosen one, a savior to lead us to victory. You—" she leaned closer, her paw resting heavily on his shoulder, making him flinch—"you could be that savior. But only if you accept what you are. Yes, the shadows mark you, but through me, they will elevate you."

Her grip tightened, her claws digging into his shoulder. Mordecai bit back the tension but said nothing.

"You are special, Castiel," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. "Never forget that."

With that, Liora turned and exited the tent, leaving him alone with her words. They hung in the air like an oppressive fog.

---

A Few Nights Later​

Exhaustion weighed heavily on Mordecai as he slumped over his workbench. His head throbbed, his body trembling from sleepless nights spent wrestling with the Sunship’s demands and his own inner turmoil.

His shadow magic—the thing that made him different—was condemned by the very people who sought to exploit it. His mother’s words of balance rang faintly in his mind, but Liora’s manipulations drowned them out.

“I can’t... do this anymore,” Mordecai whispered to himself, his voice breaking. His head dropped onto the table, and darkness claimed him.

When he awoke, he wasn’t in his tent.

Mordecai stood on a barren, shadowy plane. Mist coiled around his hooves, and the air felt suffocating. He staggered forward, his heart racing as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings.

"Do not be afraid, brother," a deep, echoing voice called.

Mordecai spun around to see a figure emerge from the shadows—a goat, but warped and monstrous. Its horns were jagged and twisted like dead tree branches. Its body was a grotesque amalgamation of bone and flesh, fur torn away in places to reveal a skeletal frame. A third eye, glowing a malevolent red, stared from its forehead.

"Who... who are you?" Mordecai stammered.

The figure’s voice was calm yet haunting. "I am you, and you are me. We are one, brother. We are all one."

A web of shadowy veins stretched from the figure, crawling along the ground toward Mordecai. He could feel the connection, like a pulse in his own body.

"The goatkin were never just healers," the figure continued. "We were healers of the dark as well as the light. But they turned their backs on us, called us unclean, and cast us out."

Images began to materialize in the mist—shadowy shapes of goatkin wielding magic, defending their people from invaders, only to be betrayed and exiled. The scene shifted, turning to fire and screams. Mordecai’s village, his parents, the Sunship’s invasion—it all played out before him, his own memories clawing their way to the surface.

"They took everything from us," the figure said, its voice laced with rage. "But the shadows can never be banished. They are eternal, and they offer power to those who embrace them."

The figure extended a hand toward Mordecai. "I can give you the strength of those who came before you. Their rage, their power—it will be yours. But shadows demand a price. The more you take, the more they will consume."

Mordecai stared at the figure, his mind racing. The Sunship’s hypocrisy, Liora’s manipulations, the slaughter of his people—his anger burned brighter than his fear.

Slowly, he reached out, his hand trembling as it met the figure’s. A surge of energy coursed through him, black and red veins of shadow crawling up his arm. Pain wracked his body, and he cried out as the magic overwhelmed him.

---

Mordecai shot upright at his workbench, gasping for air. His body felt the same, but he could feel the shadows writhing within him, a new and terrible power.

Liora entered the tent, her eyes immediately narrowing. "Castiel... what have you done?"

Before she could react, Mordecai lunged, grabbing her by the collar of her robes. A Sunship blade in his hand pierced her chest.

Liora gasped, her eyes locking with his—betrayal, fury, and something like pride flashing across her face. Blood soaked the floor, but she managed a smile.

"You think this is your freedom, Castiel? You think this is power? The Sunship will never forget. You’ll never outrun your sins," she hissed.

Consumed by rage, Mordecai drove the blade into her again and again until her body went still. He stood over her, chest heaving, his hands trembling as blood dripped from them.

The tent seemed to shift around him, shadows coiling at his feet. The power he had taken burned inside him, and his body dissolved into mist—an otherworldly black and red haze.

As alarms rang out across the village, the mist swept through tents and structures, leaving chaos and destruction in its wake. Mordecai never looked back. The boy named Castiel was gone.

Only Mordecai remained.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Leviathian ignored the complaints, stepping fully into the houseboat. His voice carried an edge of frustration, though his sheer volume turned it into an almost comedic spectacle. “I don’t have time for anyone's whining, And trust me, I’d rather be anywhere else, but—” He broke off, his claws tightening around the crumpled envelope in his paw.

Elixir peeked nervously from behind Leviathian’s cloak, his wide, watery eyes flitting between the strangers in the room. “It’s not his fault,” the boy offered meekly, his small voice barely audible over the echoes of Leviathian’s booming words.

Leviathian exhaled sharply, sending another tremor through the room. He held up the crumpled letter, now marred with smudges of glitter and confetti, his glare sharp and menacing. “This is why,” he snarled, his booming tone making even the sheepkin flinch. “THAT DAMN CLOWN.”

“Clown?” Avarice frowned, tilting his head as he gripped his frost staff for support. “What are you talking about?”

Leviathian growled, the sound reverberating like a landslide. “When I retrieved Elixir, I was… interrupted. Some twisted mage in a clown’s guise. They gave me this,” he said, holding up the envelope. “I didn’t open it right away. Thought it might’ve been a trap.” He paused, his voice softening for once, though still loud enough to make the windows rattle. “I should’ve trusted my instincts.”

He uncrumpled the paper slightly, its edges still shimmering with the remnants of a spell. “The moment I opened it, everything changed. Their magic is in this. It’s why my voice—” He cut off abruptly, his jaw tightening in frustration as his voice filled the room once more, rattling the houseboat. “—is doing this.”

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai’s temper flared as frustration prickled at him, growing sharper with each booming word from Leviathian. He shot to his feet, storming into the houseboat and nearly shouldering past Silvano in the process. Moments later, he returned with a bottle clutched tightly in one hand, his expression dark and stormy.

Without a word, he strode up to Leviathian, yanking the crumpled letter from his claws and replacing it with the bottle in one swift, aggressive motion.

“Here. Drink this and shut up. It’ll reverse the effects of that jinx, you colossal idiot,” Mordecai snarled, his tone biting but not without purpose.

He held the letter up to a hanging lantern, his sharp gaze scanning it with suspicion as glitter and confetti fluttered from the edges. With a growl of annoyance, he unfolded it further, his eyes narrowing.

“Let’s see what this damned clown had to say,” Mordecai muttered, more to himself than anyone else. Then, with a deliberate calm that barely masked his irritation, he began to read the letter aloud.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Leviathian grunted as he uncorked the bottle, the sharp smell of its contents making his nose wrinkle. Without further complaint, he tipped it back and drank deeply, wincing as the bitter concoction burned its way down his throat. Almost immediately, he felt the strange weight in his voice lessen, the echoes receding into silence. He let out an experimental growl—soft and contained this time—and nodded with a gruff mutter. “Well… that’s better.”

His attention, however, quickly shifted to the letter in Mordecai’s hands, his sharp eyes catching the glimmer of confetti fluttering to the floor as it unfolded. He crossed his arms, his lips curling into a faint sneer. “I don’t like the look of that thing. Gaudy, loud, reeks of theatrics. Exactly what I’d expect from Poise.”

As Mordecai began to read, Leviathian’s ears flicked forward, his expression darkening with every passing word. “Ballroom dances? Fine dining? Masks of Power?” He snorted, the disdain in his voice palpable. “A poisoned invitation if I’ve ever heard one. And what’s this talk of ‘honor and fury’? That bastard’s toying with us. This isn’t an invite; it’s a trap, wrapped up in flowery nonsense. I say we stay as far away from it as possible."

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai studied the letter in his hands, his gaze sharp as he slowly lowered it. Poise was bold—calculated, even. The man knew exactly what he was doing, and Mordecai couldn’t help but feel a begrudging respect for the cunning mind behind this spectacle. Poise was a strategist, someone who delighted in treating every move like a chess piece on a board. And fortunately for him, Mordecai enjoyed a game of chess just as much.

“It’s a trap. Obviously,” Mordecai said, his voice calm but unyielding. He stepped forward, heading toward the water, the rhythmic tapping of his cane against the wooden boards punctuating the silence. “And I’ll be going.”

“Mordecai, abs—” Silvano began, but Mordecai cut him off sharply.

“No. Don’t even think about swaying my decision,” he said, the dark edge in his voice unmistakable. It wasn’t mischief that lingered there, but wrath—cold and resolute. Mordecai turned, his gaze passing over Silvano before sweeping across the others. “I’m not playing the same game as you, Silvano. My goals are far removed from yours. I’m not here to be the savior of the underground.”

He took another deliberate step forward, his presence commanding. “Poise has already crossed me. And now, we’ll dance together. A tango,” Mordecai added, the words dripping with venomous resolve.

In that moment, he felt the familiar presence of the shadow goatkin demon that had haunted him since his youth. There was no visible manifestation, nothing for the others to see, but Mordecai could feel it—the weight of the pact he’d made long ago. The phantom sensation of a clawed hand resting on his shoulder was nearly tangible, its voice a murmur in his mind: We will destroy them all. We will suffocate them as they suffocated us.

Shaking off the thought, Mordecai turned his attention to Avarice. “You spoke of holding yourself back, Avarice. I don’t care to bring anyone else along, but if you want this moment to finally test yourself—if you want to see what you’ve been restraining—then come. But make no mistake, I won’t be responsible for you. In making this choice, you must understand the risks."

“It’s true,” Silvano mumbled, glancing down at his injured side, a grim expression crossing his face.

Mordecai continued on, "If you decide not to go, at the very least, I ask that you share what knowledge you have about Poise and what lies ahead.”

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Avarice stood silently, letting Mordecai’s words sink in. Slowly, he nodded, his grip tightening slightly on the frost staff. “I’ll go,” he said firmly, his voice steady but contemplative. “Poise wants this to be a spectacle. He thrives on the show. If we prepare properly—dress the part, masks and all—we’ll pass through the city without question.”

He turned toward Silvano, tilting his head slightly as though examining his condition, even without sight. “He's in no condition to accompany us. Leviathan will hold the line here with Silvano recovering, and," —he gestured toward Elixir, "deal with any interferences while Silvano recovers."

Leviathian frowned, “If I’m staying, I’m not leaving you without backup. You’ll take some of my men. Ironclad Legion knights who’ve been lying low with me. They’re loyal and well-trained—they’ll watch your back and not far from Poise's estate.”

Avarice blinked, caught off guard by the wolf’s offer, but nodded gratefully. “We’ll need them,” he admitted, his blind gaze drifting as though he were already envisioning the task ahead. “Poise thrives on theatrics, but he’s not careless. Whatever he has planned, we’re going to need every advantage we can get.”

Straightening slightly, Avarice exhaled a frosty breath, his expression firm. “We’ll take the knights, get the masks, and prepare for whatever lies ahead tomorrow.... but we can't touch the grasp of eternity yet. Poise won't play chess without all the pieces."

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Poise's Prestigious, Provocative, and Perilous Penduline​

---

ROOM 1: The Louvre

​

The outer layer of Poise’s grand residence was a marvel of opulence and theatrical design, a circular space that seemed to blend Renaissance elegance with a dreamlike extravagance. Towering columns wrapped in silver-leafed ivy framed the room, while an arched ceiling soared overhead, painted with frescoes of masked figures frozen mid-dance. Golden chandeliers hung from gilded chains, scattering warm, fractured light across the intricate marble floor, which was inlaid with swirling mosaics and faint bronze outlines of gears—a subtle nod to the machinery beneath the estate. Flowers of every hue adorned alabaster fountains and elaborate displays, their faint glow casting soft, colorful light onto the guests.

Mirrors lined the curved walls, their golden frames reflecting the dazzling crowd of masked animalkin as they mingled and laughed. Each doorway along the edges of the room promised entry to deeper layers of grandeur, and at the center, a rotating doorway offered fleeting glimpses of the inner rings: grand ballrooms, glowing auditoriums, and lavish dining halls. The air was thick with the scent of flowers, spiced wine, and rich perfumes, and the faint tremors of the rotating layers beneath gave the space an almost otherworldly feel. It was a perfect prelude to Poise’s world—seductive, disorienting, and steeped in intrigue.

---

Avarice​

The grand entrance to Poise’s residence was nothing short of a sensory assault. Lights twinkled like stars above, the air thick with floral perfumes and the faint hum of lively conversation. Avarice tilted his head as he stepped forward, his fingers brushing the icy staff he carried for guidance. The frost clung faintly to the ground beneath him, though he was careful to keep it subtle, masking his nerves beneath a calm exterior. He stood alongside the masked wolfkin of the Ironclad Legion, their insect-themed masks gleaming in the golden light of the courtyard.

Avarice’s own mask—an elegant blend of frost-like tendrils etched in silver—felt like a second skin, his blind gaze hidden behind its intricate design. Yet, he could feel the eyes on him, the whispers brushing the edges of his ears like falling petals. He knew the kind of crowd Poise had gathered here. They were predators wrapped in satin and silk, their claws hidden beneath gilded gloves.

He shifted slightly, his focus drawn to the bustling deerkin who moved with purpose through the courtyard. Their masks were theatrical, exaggerating their delicate features, many of them adorned with sequins and feathers that caught the flickering lamplight. They were performers in every sense—flaunting themselves with deliberate poise, each gesture calculated to lure and intrigue.

One of them—a doe in a striking mask adorned with ruby-like embellishments—approached him with a deliberate sway to her step. Her crossdressing attire was both alluring and disarming, a delicate balance that only heightened the surreal nature of the event. She carried a small tray of champagne flutes, but it was her voice that caught Avarice’s attention—a lilting melody that felt too sweet to be genuine.

“Such an elegant mask,” she cooed, tilting her head as if to get a better look at him. “You must be new to our little soirées, darling. Tell me—are you here to dance?"

Avarice didn’t reply immediately, his fingers tightening around his staff. Something about her tone felt rehearsed, like she was performing just as much as she was speaking. He inclined his head slightly, “I'm afraid I'm not a very good dancer."

The doe’s smile widened, though the glint in her eye was unreadable. She extended a delicate hand, her nails painted the same ruby red as her mask. "All invitees just must attend the ballroom, it's attendance is capped after-all," She gestured toward one of the ornate archways leading into the next layer of the circular estate. Behind her, other deerkin—each dressed as extravagantly as she—were weaving through the crowd, extending similar invitations to select guests.

Avarice hesitated, his ears twitching as he tried to pick up on the conversations around him. He could sense Mordecai’s presence nearby, though the doctor was keeping his distance for now. The Ironclad wolves stood in a loose formation behind him, silent and imposing. He glanced toward them briefly, then returned his attention to the doe.

“And what exactly is waiting in the ballroom?” Avarice asked, his tone casual but edged with caution.

The doe leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Oh, darling, the question isn’t what—it’s who." She straightened, her theatrical demeanor slipping back into place. “But that’s the charm of Poise’s gatherings, isn’t it? A game of discovery.”