Fantasy 𝔹 𝕖 𝕪 𝕠 𝕟 𝕕 𝕋 𝕙 𝕖 𝕎 𝕒 𝕝 𝕝 𝕤 ✧ 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘯

[geminiy]

48HRS
AFTER THE CLEANSE​

The wall fell at dusk in a wave of mighty fire and smoke, casting a sickly red glow onto the buildings of Camsir. The explosion could be heard in nearby Dimdenn, stirring tired miners from their homes as their bleary eyes settled in pure terror at the smoke in the distance.

The soldiers marched in uniform lines, iron gauntlets clanging on front doors. Loud voices rang out as the doors were broken down, windows shattered.

“This property has been seized by King Seadane. Come out at once.” An order, of course, given for a sinister reason.

Some citizens were safe, escorted to the royal palace by the soldiers who swore to keep them safe. They were loyal to King Seadane, open supporters of his rule. Others were not so lucky.

Others were dragged out in chains before their children, screaming in fear as they watched their parents disappear into the night. Others, known opposers to the Seadanes or prior workers for the Moreaus, weren’t given such a luxury.

The word of what was happening travelled quickly. The panic began, citizens fleeing from their homes with whatever they could hold in their arms. Homes were set aflame when they were found empty, shops smashed to bits if the owners were Moreau supporters.

King Seadane’s orders had been clear: any mention of King Moreau, or his family for that matter, must be eradicated, and his foolish supporters along with it.

Citizens fled, stumbling over bodies and rubble in the the streets, families arm-in-arm as they raced to the hole in the once protective wall of Camsir.
Escaping through the wall was not enough. Seadane’s men flooded the countryside, arresting stragglers as they rushed through fields and forests and little villages as they searched for freedom.

Abandoning the king, the soldiers proposed, was a crime punishable by death in some cases.

Those who continued on, passing through Seadane’s patrols and the terror of the night, had to travel until the dawn began to warm the land. With enough luck, and enough speed, the refugee camp would come into view.

Rows upon rows of burlap tents, erected hastily by two kind women from Ravensbourne for those who had been displaced by King Seadane’s exile of King Moreau’s men. The camp was built to sustain a hundred people, maybe a few more. Now, it swelled with thousands.

Volunteers from the major cities began to send the essentials in wagons, many of which were intercepted once again by Seadane. Tents, food, medical supplies, clothes all arrived by the wagon, dispersed quickly amongst the people.

The camp grew from a large site to a small tent ridden settlement within a day. Several families packed into one tent, individuals who could stayed outside. People slept in shifts and hid in the tree-line for shelter from the sweltering summer sun.

The Cleanse happened 48 hours ago.

The world has settled back into a strange rhythm. With Camsir free of any Moreau supporters, Seadane brought mages in to rebuild. The walls began to be reconstructed, the houses fixed up and sold signs slapped on the front. Seadane would begin moving more supporters in soon.

The many of the people of Camsir were displaced. Their homes were destroyed, their loved ones captured or killed. Their lives, as they once knew it, were over.

Amongst the tents and bustling and blood arose a new tale. A tale began in the hearts of unlikely allies, all displaced from the fighting in Camsir. It is from these allies, who didn’t even know it yet, that hope began to arise. Hope for a better Camsir, hope for a better Vallonde. Hope for a new life beyond the walls.

Their journey has only just begun.

Chapter 1

code by birth of venus.

 

[geminiy]

faeryn barlowe

the healer

the camp

exhausted but alive

x

interactions

Beezil PenguinFox Malachi diwa

Screaming. There had been screaming, Ryn recalled as she steered her exhausted horse through the night. Her husband, Peter, he had been screaming for her, his voice melting seamlessly with the roar of the violent flames around that were rapidly engulfing her shop, demanding her to flee.

“Faeryn! My love, you must run!”

Ryn swallowed hard, blinking away the tears as she urged Fritter onwards. Peter’s voice replayed in her mind, over and over and over, along with the sickening clash of blades against magic and the eventual squelch of blood.

She hadn’t had time to process, no time to think. Ryn grabbed the nearest important object, her saddlebags strung over the back of an old oak chair, and escaped through the window as the smoke and flames began to engulf the stairs. Down the drainpipe she scurried around to the back of the building where the stables were safely located, unaffected by the combat all around it. Fritter, a daft yet brave creature, stood in his stall, ears flickering and eyes wide at the sights and sounds, softening only slightly as Ryn approached. If she was leaving, there was no way that she was leaving her beloved horse behind.

As Ryn fastened the girth and fed the bit into Fritter's mouth, there was a rustle. Strange, Ryn thought, that the fighting would disturb the family of mice that lived in the hayloft. Nevertheless, Ryn continued on, securing the saddlebags over Fritter's muscular haunches.

THUNK

Something, something heavy, had fallen from the hayloft right behind Ryn. Something green and oddly shaped and... breathing? Oh saints, it's breathing! Ryn bent over, steadying Fritter by the rein's with one hand while the other moved the fabric that was obscuring the creature's head. Behind the burlap and the large green ears pulled down across its features was a face, a terrified little face that made Ryn's heart shatter. A little goblin.

"Excuse me, sir, are you alright?" Ryn asked softly. A whimper as the goblin climbed to his feet, still clutching his ears close to the sides of his head.

"Ears hurty."

That was all Ryn needed to hear. Reaching into the saddlebags, she pulled out two small cotton balls along with a vial. Dripping a few drops of the silver liquid onto the cotton, she crouched down to the goblin's level and reached a gentle hand out.

"May I?" Ryn spoke as the goblin carefully removed his hands from his ears. Carefully, she placed one cotton ball in each of his ears. "There is a potion on there that will help to muffle the sounds but you can still hear some voices, alright? I give these to the soldiers sometimes."

Ryn stood to her feet, rising to her full height, as she held out a soft hand. "Come now, we have to escape the city. There's fighting going on and I would hate to think what they would do to you if they found you." Pulling herself onto Fritter, and the goblin on behind her, Ryn urged the horse forwards and down the street, only looking back for a brief moment as her heart sank. Her husband, covered in blood, being dragged limp from his home.

There was no time to think, no time to mourn. She had to get out of the city, especially now that she had a goblin with her. People around Camsir, although a kind enough people, didn't take too kindly to creatures like him.

As Ryn and the goblin continued to flee, another person came across their path. Malachi Adalrich. A friend from her youth, she knew exactly why Malachi was trudging into the city instead of away like the other citizens. He was a foolish boy, this much was obvious, but there was no way that she was leaving him behind. No, Ryn was not about to lose another person that she loved.

It took some convincing, and for a moment Ryn assumed that Malachi was going to leave, but she eventually won him over. On the back of a stolen horse, which Ryn wouldn't typically condone if she didn't fear for the noble creature's life and wellbeing, the three fled the city. Through the night they rode, Ryn unable to say a word. The combat of the city behind them, the three broke away from the main hoard of displaced citizens. Ryn didn't trust that Seadane wouldn't try something with them too.

Somewhere in the darkness, as they stopped to let the panting horses drink from a nearby stream, and illuminated by a flickering flame of a small oil lamp, the goblin pointed at himself. "Beezil." He then pointed at Ryn. "Faeryn Barlowe," she held a hand out to him, "you can call me Ryn. It is a pleasure to meet you, Beezil."

The three mounted up again, riding for many more hours until the refugee camp came into view. It took another hour or so to get sorted, the horses safely hitched at the edge of the camp. By the time they got to the table to assign them to the tent, the trio were entirely exhausted. Ryn, however, kept a brave face. She hummed soft songs, gave reassuring hand squeezes to the boys, tended to their wounds with a gentle as ever hand. It was the women assigning the tents that eventually soured the move.

"You," they spoke, motioning to Mal, "you're at the back, tent 216. You," they continued, motioning to Ryn, "beside that, tent 212."

Ryn blinked. "What about Beezil?"

One of the women laughed. "The goblin? Like we have space for that thing here."

Ryn could feel her hands ball into fists.

"That thing? You," Ryn growled as her hands slammed firmly down onto the wooden tabletop, "are a cruel person. Beezil is a person too, just as important, lost, and scared as anyone else is here. He and my friend here," she continued, squeezing Mal's shoulder, "will be staying with me in tent 212. That's final."

The woman beside the other shook her head. "No can do, no one wants to bunk with a goblin. He can't stay."

Ryn leaned forward onto her hands, still planted firmly on the table top. "Are there wounded here? Sick?" The women exchanged confused glances before nodding. "I am a mage, a gifted healer, and I brought medicine with me. All of these services come to you for free," the women began to perk up, "so long as Beezil and Malachi stay with me, no questions asked. They will be treated with dignity and respect and for that, you gain my services for free. Do we have a deal?"

Of course they did. Ryn had made an offer they couldn't refuse. So off the trio went to tent 212, unloading what little they brought with them.

Without a final thought, or even a word to the two that were with her, Ryn fetched her medicines, tonics, and staff from Fritter's saddle and began to get to work. There was no time to mourn, not with so many sick and injured about, and certainly not with two people to watch out for. It was them against the world now and Ryn would not lose them too.

coded by natasha.

 

[Robinside]

Darius Ironwood

The Ex-Guard

I swear to protect the Moreau family and Camsir with my life.

D

arius Ironwood had always prided himself on his endurance; there was rarely a fighter in the kingdom that would be able to outlast him. He could take hits that would have left lesser men gasping for air. When others buckled under pressure or exhaustion he would be able to take it head on.

Infallible. Impenetrable. Invincible.

Darius Ironwood was like the walls of Camsir, a testament to his home’s power that would protect all that stood behind them. A knight like the stories he had read as a child, a hero that protected those unable to protect themselves.

One that would never run from danger, but face it head on.

He believed he had become the kind of man able to bring that fantasy into reality, but as he looked at the body of the man who had attempted to kill him during his patrol he couldn’t help the feelings of betrayal, disgust, and loss rooting themselves into his chest. The man was one of his fellow members of the Royal Guard, a man that Darius had helped to accommodate to life at the castle. He was someone he had trained with, that he respected, laughed, lived, and had become brothers in all but blood.

For him to have tried to kill Darius. It made the remaining knight want to scream at him, to shout and cry all so that he could get an answer as to why. Why had he betrayed his kingdom, betrayed those he had been sworn to protect, betrayed HIM the one that grew to love him like family. There was no use in doing any of that however.

Cassian was dead and the only one to mourn him was his killer.

Still he had a duty to report what had happened to King Moreau; there was only so much time he could give to the corpse of a traitor. His existence in the guard meant that there were possibly others who conspired with him that now reside in the castle, and others within the castle might be in trouble. As he turned from the corpse of Cassian was when suddenly sound had returned to him having stepped out of range of the silencing ward engraved in Cassian armor.

It was then that Darius had heard the screaming.

All around him there was screaming. The ‘Wall’ stood frozen in shock as he came to the realization that he wasn’t meant to be killed; they wanted him distracted for as long as possible while the rest of the kingdom bled. His shock gave away as his rage forced his body to move set in the intent on saving who he could from this slaughter. Each step he took grew heavier as he felt the all too familiar shock of the tempest coursing through his body. There was a slight strain from his legs as he moved faster than what was natural as he blitzed through the halls; the only thing keeping him from ruining his legs was the shred of clarity he held that kept him from endangering his body to the magic, bur straining more than he could withstand. He passed by the corpses that lined the halls trying not to spare a glance at the surely familiar faces amongst them. Now was not the time for Darius Ironwood to crumble and fall from the weight of guilt; it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He didn’t have the privilege of thinking of anything that wasn’t placing one step in front of the next and protecting those that were alive.

Then coming out of one of the rooms he had yet to pass by was a man of great familiarity to Darius. His magic left his form as he looked at the figure in front of him, joy that he was alive quelling any suspicion that he should’ve had when seeing Faeryn’s husband Peter so late at the castle.

Sure he was a scholar, but he never stayed so late and the libraries were in the opposite wing. Why would he be here? Especially given the recent attempt on his life by someone he viewed as a brother surely he should be questioning Peter’s presence here. Unfortunately the Knight was loyal to an absolute fault, and Ryn was someone special to him, the guilt that he would have felt leaving him behind felt crushing at the mere thought. So he went to the man intent on checking him for any immediate wounds before offering his back so that he could run Peter to a safe place away from the castle to lie low.

A relieved smile on his face Darius walked towards the man as he spoke. “Peter! Come the castle isn’t safe I’ll-”

He was caught off by a shout that he instantly recognized as coming from Matthias, the younger brother of Princess Everleigh. The prince was still a young adult coming into his own and fell out of the room Peter had just walked out from blood pooling underneath him onto the castle floor. The knight’s full attention was placed onto him as his mind began racing for ways he might try to stem the bleeding.

“DARIUS HE’S ONE OF THEM GET AWAY-”

Then there was a sharp pain in his side as the blood soaked dagger Peter had been keeping hidden found purchase in the trusting knight. Luckily for all of his repressed malice Peter didn’t possess enough strength to fully bypass Darius’ tempest fueled reinforcement even with him distracted. Unfortunately for the knight he was too stunned by the second attempt on his life from a trusted colleague to react fast enough as he began digging the dagger deeper past the reinforcement. His voice was filled with disgust, contempt and a sadistic glee.

“Did you think I never noticed how you’d look at her? Oh your friendly little gifts. Do you think I’m an idiot Darius? That I never noticed just how much you fancied her.” He spat each word with a sharpness comparable to the blade in his hand and the way his voice became drenched with venom on his reveal of the truth of how Darius felt about Ryn. How he pondered what life might’ve been like if he had the chance to properly fall in love with someone so gentle, so sweet, so strong. She represented aspects of a life he inadvertently left behind in becoming a member of the Royal Guard. The chance to be soft and strong, emotional and steady, excelling in your craft yet leading a simple life. He couldn’t respond or react; he was overwhelmed in every emotional and mental aspect with Peter’s words scathing him, striking him deeper than the dagger in his hands ever could. Was this what he deserved for pining after the wife of another? Was this punishment for chasing after his childhood fantasies? For not choosing to live the life of a farmer, dressing up in clothes he didn’t deserve, was this what he deserved for trying to be more for wanting more?

Suddenly the dagger relieved itself from Darius’s side as Peter pulled back in a scream of pain of his own as Matthias sunk his teeth into the traitor’s leg causing him to lose his balance and topple backwards. The scream shocked Darius out of his stupor as he winced at the wound in his side thanking his instincts for placing reinforcement even if his side was incredibly sore as a consequence it was better than bleeding out. He raised a leg ready to finish Peter by putting his all into stomping him into the ground only for Matthias to issue what Darius assumed would be his last order as the young prince struggled against the cursing Peter on the ground.

“EVERLEIGH SHE WASN’T FOUND. FIND AND PROTECT HER DARIUS!”

A part of him wanted to ignore the order to finish off Peter here, and get Matthias to the nearest healer. It was the perfect chance to do so even if it would be riskier than simply the Knight running away by himself which would guarantee the death of one of the people he swore to protect with his life. If he had been his usual infallible self he would be able to ignore the order without a care and attempt to save the prince even if it cost Darius his life. If he had stayed true to being impenetrable he would have been able to avoid receiving any strain from Peter’s dagger, and be able to push himself safely beyond his usual limits. If he had been as invincible as he claimed to be, his emotional barrier that kept him a calm, reliable force in combat would have never fallen.

In this moment he failed to be any of those.

The tempest roaring to life within the muscles in his legs Darius turned away from the prince towards the closest exit from the castle he took his first step towards his escape before running with thunderous boom as he pushed himself towards his limit focusing on the singular goal of making it to her highness Everleigh alive. He ran past others in Camsir that surely needed his help ignored the scream of pain, cries for help, the call for a hero for someone to save them as he simply ran past them.

He ran and ran ignoring even his body's cry for help as he forced it to endure as he forced each step to be his next, because if he stopped he would die.

He ran and ran away from the dying prince who he could’ve saved the one he had just left to save himself betraying his oath to the crown.

He ran and ran with each step feeling like it cemented his treachery to his oath, to his fellow guard, and to the royal family.

He ran and ran until he couldn’t run anymore.

Then as if destiny guided him he found his closest friend and confidant Garth by a river. Darius missed the distressed look his friend had before simply giving him a shaky exhausted smile knowing that if anyone was still true to the crown and a trustworthy member it was Garth. Anything that his friend was drowned out by a ringing in the exhausted knight’s head taking root over his thoughts of running and finding Everleigh. His focus on the world around him grew blurry as the weight of exhaustion began to consume him entirely now that he was with someone safe.

Garth was stronger than him. 'It would be safe to rest at least awhile with him watching over me.'

This was the last coherent thought before Darius, the man known for his relentless endurance, collapsed on the ground in front of his closest friend unable to fight back his exhaustion. Then everything became blissfully quiet as he took a moment to just collapse.

He would only rest for a while, but relied on Garth for most of the trip to the camp where they eventually saw her highness alive and well.

Slung over the shoulder of a random woman. This led to a confrontation between Garth, Everleigh, and Kiona. In all honesty he didn't hear or understand most of what was said between them and was only really interjecting in support of Garth when found appropriate, but the exact details were hazy and uncertain for the exhausted Darius. The only clear memory he had afterward was of falling asleep next to Garth having refused to be separated from the one trustworthy person he had left. Then it was a new day and the start of hopefully better days to come.

Location:

Inside the camp.

Interaction:

Garth lazee Everleigh vixe Kiona sappho_

Feeling:

Tired, defeated, sore

Thinking:

Must...protect her highness

sugar coded ♡

 

[InTheSea]

Sarita ✿ The Convict

The Desert Saffron Cal'Kuran Desert Centaur

S

ix months.

She had spent six long, arduous months behind cold iron bars alone.

After her capture beyond the city walls, the so-called One Horse Army was brought to the castle dungeons by order of the Viscount of Ravensbourne, Alexander Seadane. She thought she would be executed for killing over a dozen of Seadane's men, but he must have other plans for her. It occurred to her that this was why her kind stayed far from the matters of humans and elves.

Sarita was a centaur, but not the typical centaur that hid within the wilds of Vallonde. She traveled for months from deep within the Cal'kura Desert far to the east of Camsir, her people have made a home there generations ago in a rare Oasis. The Oasis was slowly drying up despite the consistency of weather patterns, and not even those skilled in elemental Tempest magic could slow the inevitable. The first of her people to leave in possibly a few hundred years, Sarita left the only world she knew to find others like her in an attempt to find some hope for the Oasis and her people.

The City of Camsir was like nothing she had ever laid eyes on before. Tall, seemingly impenetrable walls hid the people behind its stoic safety, and though distanced from it, she could tell it housed thousands upon thousands of people. They weren't the people she sought. Humans and elves were greedy, took more than they gave back, and were nothing but trouble. Of course, there were a few exceptions to that rule, but none that she cared to voice as she had to press on.

And then, of course, she got caught up in a scuffle between two troops of such beings.

She couldn't get involved, she knew. To get involved would mean she would be picking a side, and ultimately, that would make her a new target for the opposition. All she had to do was turn away and run, run gallop deep into the forest, and forget everything she saw.

"Help me!" One of the guards had pleaded to her, a guard who was very much on the losing side. His brethren lay dead around him, blood flowing around their armor and painting the grass red. A memory of a little boy, dying in the desert heat, crossed her mind.

"Mal..." Vines and leaves curled up her hands and formed into formidable daggers. She didn't think twice as she charged at the attackers.

The guard still died in the end...

Now she sat in a filthy and cramped cell, any attempts to stretch her limbs would require her to sacrifice space for other parts of her body. She had given up wondering when Seadane would call for her, resigned to the fact that she might as well rot in the cell like so many others. Or perhaps she would have given up, if not for the fact those who tended the dungeon ensured she stayed in good health. Not well fed by any means, but she was not starving either. Seadane had a plan for her, though perhaps she wasn't broken enough for him.

BOOM​

The world around her vibrated, a tremor running through the dungeons signifying something had happened nearby.

Dust filtered down from above as loosened stones tumbled from their positions. Shouts rang about her, both from within an out of the cells. The clatter of armor sounded as Sarita shifted in the chamber, peering through the bars. Guards ran past her as other prisoners shouted with renewed energy.

Hope, perhaps?

Sarita glanced around the cell, taking note of the stones that had fallen from the walls and ceiling. They were cracked and weakened from whatever had happened outside, and this was the time to act. Prisoners were not the least of the problems for the dungeon's security, so there would be no eyes on her now.

Over the next day, Sarita pushed and pulled at the stones and mortar that held her cell together. The cracks in the mortar, while not easy to manipulate by herself, allowed her to access plant life from outside. Vines pushed through whatever little holes she made and further weakened the structure. It was only a matter of time before she could get out.

Freedom was near!

Yet as she worked, he could hear the horrors from beyond her prison. She could hear screams, bloody gurgles of death, and cheers from those who perpetuated the sudden mass slaughter. To be able to get out of her cage suddenly seemed easy. Stones did not murder on their own accord. But humans and elves are murderous guards who were far more dangerous to her.

A kick was all that was needed now. The vines had done their job, wending their way through the cracks and creating more weak points in the mortar. She shifted in her cell, grabbing onto the bars and leaning down as much as she could to allow her equine body space to rise. Her legs shook from the awkward position, but after angling herself, she was able to brace herself properly.

One.

Two.​

KICK.​

Both hind legs shot out like twin cannons, her hooves connecting with the stone wall. Stone rocketed away from her legs as she arched her head down and back to look at her handiwork. It was hardly big enough, but a few more kicks opened the space large enough for her to crawl through. She was lucky that she was on the ground floor and not below, likely due to the fact she was too large to get down the stairs.

The streets were chaos. Even a day after the initial explosion, people were still scrambling to get beyond the wall. She was only given a split second of peace before she had to defend herself. A couple of guards came at her with bloody swords, both guards falling beside her as she drew her hands up with a couple of now bloodied leaf-made daggers. She knelt and stashed away a couple of daggers they had on their belts, fastening one of the belts around her.

Charging away from the dead guards, Sarita expertly evaded the swarming citizens, tossing her dagger leaves at guards who tried to cleave any innocent attempting to escape. Sliding in the muck of the street, she turned a corner and laid eyes on the hole in the wall. Fighting was apparent just at the boundary between the city border and true freedom.

She galloped alongside fleeing citizens, wanting nothing more than to escape. It was a mistake that she was here, a mistake that she helped that guard.

"PLEASE SOMEONE HELP!" A scream sounded to her left, her hooves digging into the ground as she turned to see a woman barely holding a guard back from spearing her with his sword. A child lay motionless on the ground behind her, a young boy sobbing over his fallen sibling.

"Sands curse me..." Sarita grumbled as she turned into the alley and charged. The guard shoved his prey off to the side but was too late as the centaur cleaved his head from his shoulders with nothing more than a dagger made from a leaf and vines. She turned to the mother and her two children; the fallen one groaned in pain. "You need to get out of here." The centaur spoke firmly, taking a step back towards the hole.

"How.." The woman sounded hopeless, her face dirty and tear-stained. "We're going to die regardless."

There was a pause between the two, the sounds of blades and magic bursting around them. She would be damned if she ended up in another cell...

"Get on. Hurry!" What am I doing...

With Sarita's help, the woman and her two children got upon the centaur's back and were tethered safely using the dirty silks the centaur still had on her person. She did not particularly like the feeling of someone on her back, let alone tied to her. But it was the right thing to do regardless. The little boy would survive, but he needed a healer as soon as possible.

As Sarita raced through the street to the hole, she took down a few more guards with deftly placed dagger leaves in the throats of anyone who attempted to stop them. She followed the stream of people running for their lives because surely they knew where they were going and Sarita herself was not equipped to help the mother and her two kids.

But it was also now her problem.

She did not know how long she had been going, following the many people escaping the city. Some people cried, and some laughed. Some walked numbly but all of them stared at her as she passed by. It was something she knew she would have to get used to, but it bothered her all the same.

Through the trees, tents suddenly started to appear. There were dozens of people running around, smoke billowing from fires. The dozens of people she saw quickly turned into the hundreds...thousands? With this many people, someone had to be a healer. The three beings on her back all needed some form of medical attention.

"Is anyone a healer?" She asked those who passed her by. Some of them just stared at her, wide-eyed. Terrified. Some of them just ran away.

"I need a healer!" She raised her voice, which was all too easy as she towered above the humans and elves below her. She began to untie her silks, loosening the hold they had on the small family on her back.

"Thank you..." The mother's weak voice reached her ear as she slowly slid off Sarita's equine body. The younger of the two children groaned as he was lifted into his mother's arms. Sarita gripped the elder boy's hand tight as she helped lower him from her back.

"It was the least I could do," Sarita said with a nod of her head, before looking around her at the crowded encampment. Among the shambling refugees, one woman caught her eye. The woman [Ryn] was brown-haired, carrying a staff, and seemed to be of some kind of important when it came to the leadership of the camp.

"Excuse me, please!" Sarita pushed aside a few others as she moved to stand in front of Ryn. "This child needs a healer now!" Sarita gestured to the mother still standing beside her with the youngest boy in her arms. "I am not skilled in the healing arts, but if this child is not tended to soon, I worry he may die from his injuries."

From there, Sarita decided to stick around in the camp. She needed food and water as much as the rest, and she could help defend if needed be. Her path had lead her here, so might as well see where it ends.

location:

the dungeons - the wall - the camp

interaction:

Ryn geminiy

feeling:

exhausted, but hopeful. wary

thinking:

I wish they would stop staring...

sugar coded ♡

 

[Namazu]

Riordan Warwick

The Thief

They should be terrified of me.

It was the first time

in a very long time that Riordan did not have a plan. He very much disliked this. No matter how far-fetched or unlikely a violent overthrow of the King seemed, he should have at least had a contingency in place for something like this. Or, maybe he did, but the moment Roarke died, any long-term plans fell apart.

A meager assortment of necessary belongings in a satchel slung over one shoulder, long cane in hand, and a shovel - covered in both dirt and blood - hanging from his back, Riordan sprinted through the city, once-dark streets and alleyways now illuminated with flame from both torches and structures on fire. Other citizens of the beleaguered Camsir joined in the mad rush, scrambling as fast as they physically could, many with children in tow. He had to step over or around several bodies in the street, never daring to look down at their faces. Blood splattered against his boots, mixing with the fresh soil that matched his partner’s grave. He refused to look down.

As rumored, up ahead was a breach in the wall. Countless others poured out of the city from the opening - some helping each other out, some pushing others out of the way to make room for themselves. The city was bleeding, and its lifeblood was flowing into the fields and forests surrounding Camsir.

Normally Riordan thrived in chaos. It made him unseen and with everyone overlooking him, he could orchestrate events to unfold just as he wanted them. The fall of a city, however, was at an unprecedented scale. This was not the kind of chaos you manipulate, this was the kind you run from.

Reaching the breach, Riordan started to scramble up the small hill of debris that had formed when the wall fell. He took barely two steps before something tugged him backwards - a hand on his satchel, pulling hard. Looking over his shoulder, Riordan saw a dirty, portly man in ill-fitting armor holding onto the strap of his satchel, trying to snatch it away.

“C’mere ye lil’ bastard, ye don’t need this -” The man slurred his words, reaching forward with his other hand to try and grab Riordan by the back of his collar. Riordan slid back down the rubble-hill, clawing at the loose destroyed stones to try and regain his footing. People fleeing around him ignored him and his struggle. The man was larger than he was - both in height and musculature. He reeked of alcohol, too. Even if Riordan won a physical one-on-one altercation, he couldn’t afford losing time or risking injury.

Feet sliding against the uneven cobblestones at the base of the rubble, Riordan ducked low to avoid the man’s fumbling grasp, reaching behind his back under his cloak to grab his hidden dagger. In the same fluid motion, he stood and shoved the dagger upwards, into the man’s bicep through an unfortunately-placed gap in armor. The man yowled in pain, immediately letting go of Riordan’s satchel. Yanking the dagger out, he took off running again before anyone could stop him. Not that anyone likely cared anymore that someone had been stabbed in the middle of a street in broad moonlight. Riordan certainly didn’t. He didn’t know if he hit any vital veins or not, and was not sticking around to find out. Satchel securely on his shoulder again, cane accounted for, and bloodied dagger returned to its sheathe at his lower back, Riordan scrambled back up and over the rubble.

His momentum carried him down the other side, steep slope threatening to send him tumbling. He managed to keep his footing, hitting the dirt on the other side where dozens upon dozens of feet had already trampled the grass into nothing.

Not stopping to catch his breath, Riordan continued onward. The crowd fanned out as they fled the city, giving each other much needed space. Even on this side of the wall was chaos, with people going every which direction. Few people seemed to have a plan or any idea what to do with themselves now that they were out - not beyond simply continuing to run, trying to escape the murderous army that still hunted those who fled.

It was then Riordan saw his chance. A covered wagon, pulled by a pair of horses, was hauling several people and their belongings away from the city. It looked like a family - father and son in front, with wife, children, and an elderly relative in back, huddled together. He had no idea how anyone could get a wagon out of the city, and he wasn’t about to ask. They were moving at a brisk pace, one that Riordan couldn’t catch up to on foot. Not without help, at least.

Making a brief, subtle gesture with his hands, suddenly the ground itself several paces in front of the horses buckled and fluctuated, rising to create a ridge out of nowhere. It was not overly large, but it was enough to stall the horses. The man steering yelled out a curse, quickly trying to tug the horses around it - closer in Riordan’s direction. It was just the delay he needed so that he could catch up.

Clamoring into the back of the wagon, he ignored the surprised cries and gasps of the family in the back of the wagon. He weaved his way between them and moved up behind the older man with the reins in his hands, reaching up to offer him a handful of coins.

“I’ll go wherever you’re going!” He pressed the coins into the man’s hand. A paltry sum for Riordan, but an offer not to be passed up by this fleeing family. He nodded, handing the money to his son to pocket. As Riordan stepped back, he made another subtle hand gesture - and the land flattened itself out.

Exhausted, breathless, sore, sweaty, and splattered with blood that was not his own, Riordan slid onto the bench. Taking a seat behind the man - just in case he needed to be persuaded to continue to allow Riordan on board - he pulled his satchel into his lap. He gave it a gentle squeeze - nothing felt broken inside. That was good. Tucking his cane-sword and shovel between his knee and the wooden panel of the wagon, he slumped against the side of the wagon and stared out, watching as Camsir slowly faded into the distance.

The people in the back of the wagon cast him a few suspicious side-glances, though it seemed unlikely they’d recognize him. They seemed like normal, upstanding, good folk. Not his sort. Still, he tugged his hood up over his head, doing what he could to hide his face in the depths of the fabric, and tucked his hands under his cloak for warmth. His thumb found the ridge of the ring around his right ring finger, giving it a light rub out of habit. He remained silent the entire night.

Some time later…

Riordan didn’t know when he dozed off. He didn’t expect to be able to sleep, but something about the rocking of the wagon combined with his exhaustion pulled him under. He silently cursed himself - it was not safe sleeping around strangers like this.

Rubbing a hand down his face and blinking sleep from his eyes, Riordan peered out from around the canopy over the wagon. Wherever, and whatever, they were approaching was occupied by a massive field of tents. Smoke lazily drifted up into the sky from the dozens of fire pits that burned, scattered among the temporary settlement. The place reeked of desperation even from this distance.

Shifting his satchel to his shoulder, he stood and leaned over the wooden panel to speak with the wagon driver. As he stood, he noticed the father and son had switched places - the son held the reins, and the father was rubbing sleep from his eyes. Glancing over his shoulder, Riordan saw he was not the only person to have dozed off.

“What’s this place?” He asked the pair up front.

“A refugee camp, sir. Ravensbourne set it up.” The son glanced back at Riordan, though he ducked back down before the young man could see his face.

“Thank you for the ride.” Riordan offered quietly as he gathered his things and weaved his way to the back of the wagon. They were several meters from the camp yet, but he didn’t want to ride up into the middle of it with them. No, he wanted to approach on his own, carefully, and only after assessing the situation. Offering the mother of the household a thankful nod, he hopped off the back of the wagon.

Taking up a quick stride, he walked parallel with the outer edge of the refugee camp at first - getting an idea of its size, layout, and number of people gathered. Locations of fire pits, gauging level of repair of the tents, and looking for any semi-permanent structures - guard stations, supply houses, community cooking pots, and healer stations. He was also keeping an eye out for any kind of central administrative tent. If this encampment was planned, surely someone was running it.

From what he could tell, the camp started off planned and orderly, but had expanded too quickly to remain entirely controlled. This could work in his favor - perhaps he could slip in, unnoticed, and take up a tent until he could come up with a new plan. Moving quickly through the camp, keeping his hood up and head down, he spotted an empty tent with the numbers “213” painted on the side. The interior was bare and it looked untouched compared to all the other tents around it. This one could work, but he’d have to observe it for a bit to confirm it was unclaimed. Maybe others would shy away from the unlucky number thirteen.

Nearly straight across from the tent, the wide ‘street’ of dirt between the rows of tents, someone had fashioned a makeshift fire pit out of logs and rocks, even arranging a few larger fallen logs around it to serve as seats. This was as good a spot as any to get off his feet for a moment. Putting his shovel on the ground at his feet so he could sit, he kept his belongings close in case he needed to take off in a hurry - cane-sword resting across his lap and satchel tucked between his feet. Riordan reached forward, making a subtle gesture at the logs, which promptly were set ablaze. He settled in, taking a swig from his flask, and bit into his apple. If he was going to be surveying this spot for a bit, he might as well get comfortable and eat something.

location:

Camsir → Refugee Camp

interaction:

Roarke (RIP), Seadane’s guard, a refugee family

feeling:

Wounded inside and out, vengeful, exhausted

thinking:

“I need a plan.”

sugar coded ♡

 

[lazee]

Garth Pendrell

tired

refugee camp

leather armor

wounded

featuring: Darius Robinside Kiona sappho_ Everleigh vixe

Somehow, Garth knew this would happen.

When the Moreaus took him away from the streets to a respectable and secure life as a royal guard, a small part of him knew that something would go wrong eventually. He didn’t know how, he didn’t know when, but he knew it was something to prepare for. He did not live this long by not preparing for the worst. Inbetween his duties keeping the King and his family safe, Garth prepared contingencies, escape routes, mapping out passages through the Camsir wood that were less traveled, what to bring in case things took a turn for the worst. He never really expected to make use of this preparation, it was just to ease his paranoia.

But then the walls fell.

Seadane bannermen—usurpers and cutthroats to the last man—charged into the once-harmonious capital. Arrests, sackings, murders on the street. The ‘king’ Alexander Seadane had conspired to justify his reign in a single bloodbath. Those still loyal to the Moreau memory would be destroyed by those who knelt to the Seadane name. Garth quickly realized that, as someone who was literally saved by the late King Moreau, he would be an easy choice for cleansing. The decision was clear and easy: escape Camsir, make use of his contingencies. He prepared to leave the burning, screaming capital. Alone.

And he would have, were it not for the word of his superior.

Syr Ava Pendrell, royal guard captain and veteran of the watch. She had been Garth’s mentor. ‘Twas she instilled in his soul the will to be strong and persevere, for the sake of those he swore to protect. She was the strongest person he had ever known, and there she was, leaning against the castle walls, bleeding and dying.

“Come with me, Syr,” Garth had pleaded. He couldn’t save the Moreaus, but damned be his soul for all time if he didn’t try to save the closest thing he had to a parental figure. He took her surname, for Gods’ sake. Yet Syr Ava refused to come with him. There was someone more important to protect, she said.

Everleigh, the last Moreau daughter.

So the princess yet lived? An uneasiness brewed within him. Garth was to survive, it was his prime directive, and risking his life for the princess would just be another burden. And yet…he wouldn’t even live this long, this comfortably, without the intervention of the Moreaus. For the grace and mercy they had afforded him, Garth owed the Moreaus everything. And he didn’t owe the Seadanes a damn thing, especially not a valuable bargaining chip like the last Moreau heiress. As Syr Ava gave him this last command, straight from the King’s mouth before his passing, she made one last charge at the Seadane soldiers, spelling her doom but buying Garth a precious few minutes to find the princess and run.

It was all the time he needed. Dashing through traitorous guards and panicking servants, the royal guard ran as fast as his legs could bear towards the princess’ quarters. Ever had contingencies of her own, a secret passage to the stables. The two made great use of it. Guard and princess made their escape on horseback, a bleeding Camsir in their wake. With the full moon as his witness, the guardsman swore to keep Princess Ever safe at all costs. He was entrusted with her life by the King, a man Garth owed his own life to.

He would not disappoint him.

---

"Damn it all!" Garth cursed to the woods as Princess Everleigh was carried by the current, the guard hopelessly reaching out to her as the sight of her was claimed by the distance.

Damned be his soul, how could this happen? It was supposed to be a simple crossing of a river. From the maps he surveyed, Garth reasoned that crossing this wide roaring river would give the two of them a sizeable lead against any Seadane search parties from the capital. An outcrop of river stones would be their bridge. It was supposed to be simple. Just a five minute cross to save several hours.

Then Ever slipped. And the current took her.

It was the closest thing Garth felt to panic since that fateful day with the assassins. He had just sworn under the moon to keep the princess safe and now she was drowning.

Well, no. She wasn’t drowning, he observed. The current tossed her around in violent fashion, sure, but it actually ensured her head was kept above the water. So, Garth reasoned, he simply needed trust that Princess Ever could navigate the current safely into a calm bank. The guard’s heartbeat relaxed. Just like finding her all over again. With the princess’ horse in tow, Garth continued on, following the curves of the river. A chip on his shoulder, he was not planning to fail the King again.

---

"Damn it all!" Garth cursed to the woods, kicking the mud when he saw the once-occupied but now empty river bank. Someone got to the Princess first and Garth was too late.

Burying his distressed groaning face into his palm, Garth silently seethed as more and more of his gambits failed to pay off. He could almost hear King Moreau laughing at him calling him a damned fool in the afterlife right now. Not planning to fail the King yet again, Garth sat on a nearby rock and started to think, facing the facts. Princess Ever had to have been in this bank at one point; scattered across the river pebbles were pieces of fabric he recognized from her dress. But there was someone else here. Two sets of footprints made their mark on the riverbank, leading off into the forest proper. He didn’t know who this other person was, but they now had the Princess with them.

Find this person, find the princess. Problem solved. Simple enough.

Well, Garth did find a person, but it certainly wasn’t the one with the Princess. Darius emerged from the forest, exhausted and battle-weary. He had never seen Darius weary, but impossible things were becoming more and more common ever since the walls fell. He had so many things to ask of him, but best to let Darius rest for now as the only words out of his mouth were “Uhhhh…..”.

Garth hoisted his fellow guard onto the rear of his own horse and, on foot with the two horses, he followed the twin footprints.

---

After a long march into the woods, the footprints led to a meager camp built upon a clearing. Tents upon tents populated the forest floor, parked carriages depositing supplies and people. Passing through the camp with hobbling uneven footsteps, Garth heard grim conversations, weeping, despair. These people were refugees from Camsir, he quickly concluded. It could not have been built on short notice, so the flight from the capital must have begun earlier than the fall of the walls. It made sense. With no words spared to the residents of the camp, whose eyes were locked to his unkempt and bloodstained visage, Garth made his way in as his fears were relaxed somewhat. There were worse places the Princess could have fled to-

Wait. His thoughts were cut short. Garth saw ahead of him. Princess Ever! There she was!

Up on the shoulders of a stranger.

On any other occasion, the guard would have observed further and gathered the facts on who this stranger could have been, maybe even diplomatically approach them and ask questions. But it had been a long week. Garth was in no mood to ask questions, observe, or parlay. All he saw now was the Princess, precariously in the arms of an armed stranger. Everything his paranoia stood to fight against.

Garth drew his sword and pointed it at them, the fragile peace of the camp be damned.

“Unhand her,” he growled in a clearly exhausted and unamused tone. “Now.”

 

[PenguinFox]

For the past few years the city of Camsir has had a rather unlikely resident; one Beezillium Maximer VIII. Beezil, as he is commonly known, is a strange resident of the city because he's not of the common races of elves or humans but rather a goblin. An incredibly intelligent goblin at that. He left his home at a young age in the name of Maglubiyet's glory. Most folks of the 'civilized' world look down on goblins, considering them vermin and pests to be exterminated. Yes, life for a goblin in the big city was extremely difficult and Beezil resorted to theft to survive, eating the occasional stray animal and stealing money from unsuspecting townsfolk. That was until he stole the wrong, or perhaps the exact right thing from the wrong person.

Like all cities, Camsir had a population of less than reputable people. The underbelly of the city had it's own crime network. One branch of this network dealt in magical artifacts; the illegal theft and trade of such powerful items. One day Beezil happened to see someone carrying something shiny in a rather sneaky sort of way. Intrigued, he wanted it for himself, so he stole it from the person, who only realized it was gone as Beezil was running away. This person happened to work for Riordan Warwick, the leader of the crime ring dealing in magical artifacts. It wasn't hard for the crimelord to track Beezil down, he was after all the only goblin in the city. Rather than punish the little creature however, he offered him a job. Goblins were notoriously sneaky and Riordan likely figured that he could use such talents. So in exchange for a pittance of gold, Beezil stole for the crime ring, and he was quite good at it. No one ever expected a goblin so he was surprisingly inconspicuous.

A few months ago, while in a lull in his work, Beezil was starving and digging through peoples trash for any scraps when he accidentally knocked over a trash can. The sound made the owner of the residence come outside looking so he hid in the home's stable area. After a few minutes the owner of the residence left a plate of food scraps for whatever creature may have been out there. Tentatively, Beezil approached the plate and ate before sleeping in the hayloft of the stables. The next day, there was more food left on the plate, and the day after that. It soon came to be that Beezil was living in the hayloft and being fed by the household.

On the night of the attack on Camsir Beezil had been happily snoozing in his little hayloft when explosions started going off. He couldn't be sure how loud they were to humans but to his sensitive goblin ears the sounds were debilitating. He rolled around the hayloft in pain pulling his ears down to the sides of his face in an attempt to protect his hearing. Normally a goblin would thrive in this kind of chaos and confusion but all the screaming and clang of metal that followed the loud explosions only served to maintain the pain in Beezil's ears. Eventually the goblin's thrashing about sent him flying off the side of the hayloft and onto the ground below with a loud thunk.

Beezil had hit his head and thus was quite dazed for a few moments, just laying there pathetically like an injured fawn. When he finally regained his senses he looked up to see a human staring at him. Instinctively he recoiled, preparing to be kicked or something along those lines. Most people didn't take kindly to seeing goblins and tried get rid of them violently. Many a time was Beezil shooed away by stones being hurled in his direction. Much to the goblin's surprise however, the human didn't attack him. Instead the female asked if he was okay to which he replied "Ears hurty."

In a moment the woman had some sort of alchemical supplies whipped out and prepared to shove into Beezil's ear holes. He would typically be suspicious of such witchcraft but he was willing to try any sort of shaman tricks this woman had to dull the pain in his ears. To his surprise the magicks worked and muffled the sounds of screaming but not the woman's voice.

The human female then explained there was fighting going on throughout the city and who knew what would happen in the aftermath. Beezil shuddered to think what kind of torture mean spirited soldiers would inflict on a lonely goblin. The human was gracious enough to offer to take him with her and so with her help, Beezil scrabbled up on top of the horse and rode off with her out of the city.

After some time of riding they stopped to let the horses rest and Beezil thought it appropriate to introduce himself seeing as this human didn't seem to have immediate disdain for him and his goblin-y visage. The goblin pointed to himself and in his scratchy, nasally, high pitched voice said one word; "Beezil." before pointing at the woman as a way of asking for what he should call her.

Now, despite Beezil being a smarter than average goblin, he was still not too bright, especially when it came to names. He often had to make up nicknames for people he worked with in order to remember them. Thankfully enough this woman already had a nickname ready. She introduced herself and Beezil repeated the name a few times to see how it felt on his goblin tongue. "Ryn. Ryn. Ryn Ryn Ryn." she then held out her hand as if wanting something but holding it sideways instead of flat. The goblin cocked his head in confusion for but a moment before remembering seeing something humans do when meeting each other. Carefully, he clasped Ryn's hand between his much smaller green ones and shook the limb side to side. Yes, that was right, he was sure of it. He nodded in satisfaction before turning and sipping from the creek with the horses.

After a few more hours of riding Beezil had finally arrived in a refugee camp. At first they weren't going to allow him in, made sense many places turned him away once realizing he was not in fact a human child, but a goblin. He was used to it and was about ready to turn around and go back to his life in the woods when Ryn stood up for him. She demanded that he be let in in exchange for her services of...whatever it was she did, he wasn't listening. Maglubiyet smiled upon Ryn's strength of character and rewarded her tenacity by forcing the entry person to yield. He'd have to remember to never steal from Ryn for her kindness.

Once settled in to their tent Ryn went off to do her shaman work and the other human that was with them...well Beezil didn't really care about. He was starving though so he went to the tent next over to see if they had anything he could take or perhaps a pet that could go missing. Much to his surprise, he found his old boss there. "Roar-den?" Beezil did his best to properly pronounce the name of the man who took him in. It wasn't quite right but it was as close as the goblin was going to get. How convenient that he was so close to people that actually cared about his little goblin self. He'd have to introduce the two, maybe they'd get along and Beezil could start work on building his own clan. Maglubiyet never said it was bad to have a tribe of non-gobs. If anything it might be smarter to hire bigger and more powerful creatures than himself. After all it was totally fine to train worgs, so it must be also fine to train non-gobs too!

 

[vixe]

They were dead. Everleigh’s entire family slaughtered, by order of the newly appointed “King” Seadane. He didn’t bat an eye as he had his men lock Ever up and throw away the key.

It had been 6 months, 6 excruciating long months since King Seadane had his men shove the former princess Everleigh Moreau into the smallest shoe box sized room in the entire castle. If you asked Everleigh to point out every crack or recite word for word, the text of the only book she had stashed away, she could. Food came everyday at the same time. She knew this because the sun, peeking from behind the boarded up little window, was in the same position. If there was one thing she admired about the ruthless King Seadane was that he was always on time.

Everleigh couldn’t tell you the last time she’d stepped foot outside the tiny confines of her prison. She’d paced every inch of the room, biding her time, coming up with a plan of escape, a plan to kill Seadane and gain control of her kingdom once more. It was her birth right. She was she was raised to be queen and now that she was idle, she didn’t know what to do with herself. She was on the brink of insanity, waiting and waiting. At least, she had plenty of time to grieve the loss of her family and her kingdom.

Everleigh woke up at her usual time, breakfast came like clock work- a slice of dry bread, a goblet of water and two measly apple slices. In the first weeks of being stuck in captivity she had stopped eating all together, just spite the bastard. Eventually, she relented- swallowing the dry bread, practically, whole after not eating for a full week. The farce king never came around, he had his brainless morons do his bidding, feeding her and taunting her to no end. It had gone on like that for months but today was different. Lunch hadn’t come, none of The false kings men came to taunt her.

Ever slipped off the windowsill, wandering over to the big wooden, and very locked up tight, door. She had to stand on her tippy toes in order to peek out the tiny little slot. Usually it would’ve been closed but, today it wasn’t. Curiosity struck Everleigh and she began to hatch a plan. She needed a stool, or something to stand on. Her eyes swept the room, landing on a dusty and tattered ottoman. Delight spread across her features as she quietly stepped over to the worn down chairs and heaved it over her shoulder. The floor creaked as she stepped over to the door again, making her features scrunch up in a grimace. She needed to be quiet, she couldn’t have the guards catching her trying to escape. Taking a small step, she shuffled over to the door once more- placing the dusty ottoman down with a quiet thunk. Carefully, she stepped up and tentatively shoved her arm through the small opening, fumbling around like an idiot for something- anything to help her escape this hell but she met with nothing but cobblestone and wait… what’s that? She couldn’t quite reach so, she stood on the very tips of her toes. Her fingers had just barely reached the mysterious object when a loud explosion rocked the entire castle.

BOOM

The entire castle shook. Everleigh lost her footing, slipping off the ottoman. Her ankle twisted with a sickening crunch as she slipped off the ottoman. The object hit the floor with a metallic thunk at the same time.

“Oh!” She slapped a hand over her mouth and hobbled over to the window, her vision obscured by a thick plume of smoke. The screams of her people could be heard, muffled by the thick stained glass of the window. The ground shook again, throwing her off balance. Rage and determination surged through her. What was this bloody bastard doing to her kingdom? She needed out and she needed out now. Turning around, she hopped back over to the door- dropping down to her knees. She ran into yet another problem, the crack between the door and the floor wasn’t big enough for her fingers. She needed something slender and with a hook to grab the metal object. She couldn’t see it but she suspected it was a key. Had those brainless bozos really left a key? And in the lock, no less.

She didn’t have a lot of time. So, she stood up, brushing her hands off on the skirt of her dress. Then, she looked around, green eyes searching for something slender. The fireplace stood out to her. They never gave her any wood so it was always cold, but there, leaning up against the cobble stone was a fire poker. Why hadn’t she seen that before? Without a second thought Everleigh rushed over and grabbed it, returning to her original position on the floor. The fire poker was just slender enough to fit underneath the door.

“Yes!” She exclaimed. She wasn’t worried about being quiet anymore. She just wanted to get the hell out of dodge. Just as she suspected the metallic object was, in fact, a key. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she slid the key into the lock. She had to shimmy the key a little to get the lock to twist. With a satisfying click she swung the door open, wasting no time in sprinting down the endless hallway. She came to stop outside of her old bedroom, the spare key was still tucked into the crack in the wall, just how she had left it.

Everleigh didn’t have much time, the screams and the clashing of swords rang in her ears. The sounds were getting closer and closer to the location of her bedroom. In a panic, she grabbed what she could, throwing it into a random bag she had hanging from one of her many wardrobes. This was it, she was finally free. She knew exactly what to do next. She needed to find Feyre. Which was going to be nearly impossible, she could’ve been anywhere. For all Ever knew, she could’ve been dead already. Still, she had to try even if there was probably a war going on outside, courtesy of the fat headed King Seadane.

Ever silently rushed through the halls, searching every unlocked room, peeking through the little slots of the locked ones- seeking out any signs of her lady in waiting. The blood curdling screams became louder and louder with each step further into the heart of the castle- the kitchen. Quickly, she slipped into the room. There was a big pot of stew boiling over the hearth and a lady with long curly hair, situated into a half up half down hairstyle, sat by the fire, stirring the stew.

“Lady Feyre?”She questioned, taking a step. The girl swung around, dagger in hand. Her eyes leveled on Everleigh as realization washed over her features.

“My lady?” Immediately the dagger dropped to the ground, skittering to stop just an inch in front of Ever.

“Feyre! I thought they had you killed.” Ever went in for a warm embrace but stopped short, clearing her throat.

“There’s no time for reunions. We need to get out of here. Come with me, I know a way out.” She explained, escorting Lady Feyre back into the hall from which she came.

“It’s not far from here we’ve just got to turn he-“

SLAM

Everleigh barely had any time to register the face, but she knew that stern look anywhere.

“Garth!” She exclaimed, softly. They didn’t spare a second thought as they made their escape through Ever’s secret tunnel, emerging from the trapdoor behind a blueberry bush. The royal stables were only a click away, where her trusty steed, Opal, lived. Feyre and Ever hurried to saddle up the horses with all the proper equipment. She made sure to grab her saddle bag and fill it with carrots and a bag or oats for Opal. Not long after, they were off, racing towards freedom.

—( .・✫・゜・。. )-

A step, and a slip. Her bad ankle gave way under the weight of her body trying to balance on the flimsy wood of the fall tree. She tumbled into the rushing water below. The sharp bark gave her a small cut on her forearm, tearing the upper part of the sleeve of the only dress she was allowed. Away she was swept by the current of the raging river.

Panic rose up her chest, her feet couldn’t touch the bottom. Being cooped up in the castle her whole life, she had only ever had one experience with water. The realization that she couldn’t swim had her desperately thrashing around. The water shoved her every which way. She didn’t know which way was up. The only thing she could recognize was the giant rock coming at her fast before she heard the sickening crunch of her skull smashing against the massive boulder that was jutting out and blocking out a large side of the river.

—( .・✫・゜・。. )-

Ever’s head hurt. Groaning, the red head opened her eyes, looking up at the smoke filled sky. Dazed and confused, she lifted her hand up to her head, wincing at the contact of skin on the exposed gash on her temple. She brought her hand away quickly, assessing the damage of the situation. She needed stitches, probably just one or two. Cautiously, Everleigh sat up, taking in her new surroundings. The rushing water and the rocky river bank confused her. Where am I?

Slowly, the former princess stumbled up on her feet. Clutching the side of her head, she took a step and then another. It was hard to even open her eyes because her head was pounding. Confusion swept across her features and she groaned. Where was she? What was she doing here? She was just being held prisoner by Seadane and now she was soaked to the bone with a gash on her temple.

Finally, Everleigh pried open her eyes, realizing she wasn’t alone. Slowly blinking, Everleigh’s eyes slowly adjusted to the sight of women fully dressed in animal skin. She was bent over, watching Ever carefully with big, beautiful, brown eyes. The sight of another person startled Ever and she took a cautious step back, slipping on the train of her sopping wet skirt. The impact of the back of her head hitting the ground was enough to knock Everleigh out cold (yet again).

—( .・✫・゜・。. )-

The second time Everleigh woke up was no different than the last- a splitting headache and confusion. But there was something different. The tall grass tickled her nose as the blades smacked her across her face.

“Uh…” she groaned, trying to sit up. A pair of muscular arms circled around her waist, keeping her secure.

“What…?” Panic crept up into the forefront of Everleigh’s mind. She began thrashing around, trying to get free but it was no use. The grip on her waist was strong enough to keep her from getting free.

“Unhand me!” She cried as she continued writhing about, “Let me go right now!” She was getting angrier and angrier but the second. She began using her fist to pound on the back of her kidnapper.

ex-royal

Ever

• aaaaaaaaa
• aaaaaaaaa

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  travelbypages lazee sappho_

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[CozyGamer]

scroll

The Mage

Moss Jaxenrow

mood

terrified, in pain, exhausted. Overall? Not great.

outfit

this and this

location

Camsir-->Refugee Camp

interactions

Faeryn geminiy

tldr

goodbye hand!

When he heard the explosion, the wall of Camsir tumbling to the ground, and the screams which followed it, Moss Jaxenrow knew he had truly overstayed his welcome in the city.

He should have left the city behind the same day he left his position as the King of Vallonde's Royal Advisor of Magic, the same day that very King had been murdered. Not fairly executed, but murdered. Once King Moreau was gone, with Seadane to replace him, Moss knew that their time in the royal court was over. Before the blood had dried on the palace steps, they had stepped back into shadows, leaving their advisor role which he had faithfully served for years empty, without so much a sound.

He wondered how long it took for anyone to notice he was gone, how long it took to replace him (if he had indeed been replaced). He cut all contacts with the palace when he stepped back, and knew nothing of its inner workings like he once did.

A smart person would have left Camsir that same night, or even a few nights later. They certainly would not have stayed in the city longer than a week. But although Moss had received a top tier education at the University of Mag, and had excelled to the point that he entered the court of King Moreau almost immediately after graduation - was sought out specifically for that position, no less - sometimes Moss was just not smart. This, unfortunately, was one of those times.

Moss had grown accustomed to the expensive attire that came with his advisor position, but now forsook it for the simplest clothes he could find, covered with the long hooded cloak he wore when truly not interested in being noticed. A small pack filled with all he could not imagine leaving behind (important books, wrapped food and money for rational thinking, treasured jewelry and trinkets for guilty happiness) sat under the cloak. He stared at the sword on the wall, a mostly ornamental decoration that could be functional, with a heavily gem-studded sheath. It was the only weapon in the house - he knew how to use it, could use it well, but the shiny weight would never go unnoticed. And he did not intend to fight Seadane and his men.

A steady breath in, and he turned away from the sword, away from the home protected in wards that Seadane’s men had failed to breach. A steady breath out, and he slipped through the side door and into the night, hood pulled up over his long braided hair and pointed elf ears. The air swirled around him as he made his way through the streets, lit up with fire and the sounds of screams. He had his magic should anything happen, he thought to himself. He would be fine.

He stuck to the side streets and alleys that wove between houses and shops, in favour of the main streets where liberal executions were no doubt turning the sewers red. But he could not escape the sight of knights attacking the citizens of Camsir, dragging screaming parents from their homes, kicking children to the ground. From behind corners, Moss turned rocks into sharp arrowheads, which flew into the necks of soldiers with a flick of his wrist. They crumbled before the woman they were trying to separate from her two children; when she whipped her head around to find her saviour, Moss was gone.

They made their way through the now-burning city, incapacitating whatever guards they came across, leaving their victims behind, but alive. He avoided the main fight, and the huge hole that everyone in the city would be heading towards - there was a smaller exit door on the same wall that they were counting upon for a quieter exit.

He must have been focusing more on saving the lives of whoever he came across, and less on general awareness of his surroundings - or else the iron-clad soldier who shoved him against a wall a mere fifteen feet from his exit had simply been in the right place at a very wrong time for Moss.

“His majesty has a pressing issue he’d like to discuss with his advisors, Mage” said a second soldier, a general that Moss couldn’t recognize underneath the helmet she wore. But she recognized Moss, and her teasing tone came with a very visible smirk. “The Royal Advisor of Magic has abandoned their post; everyone must come to decide what shall happen to them.”

The first soldier had backed off Moss, a metallic hiss filling the air as he unsheathed his sword. Moss stepped forward off the wall, his hood slipping off his head. Neither of them moved.

“I’ve taken an extended leave of absence to mourn the death of the King.” Slipping into the tone they used at court was second nature - a haughty, well-articulated sound that held crafted emotion. “Some time at the coast has been prescribed; I fear returning to my position exists only in the far future, far beyond the Viscount’s paltry attempt to play politics.”

“Wrong answer,” the general hissed. “Consider changing it when you’re before the King.” The soldier in front of her took a step towards Moss, but stopped when the mage raised his arm. Fire sparked to life in the air above Moss’ right hand, glowing as orange as their eyes.

They flashed a dangerous smile full of teeth, eyes focused on the general. “My retreat from court is as much for Alexander’s benefit as it is for my own. I can bring this city down faster than him, and keep both of you alive to-”

The words died on their tongue as metal moved through flesh - he hadn’t seen the sword swing until it was on the other side of his arm, having sliced just next to his elbow. He turned his head as if in a dream, and watched magical flames fizzle out at the ends of dead fingers.

His dead fingers, his right forearm now lying on the ground, blood pooling through the cracks in the cobblestone.

The world closed in on him, the screams and the voice of the general fading to an unintelligible mumble as Moss swayed, his stomach roiling. He tried to suck in a breath. It wouldn’t come.

The front of their tunic was grabbed, and Moss dropped back into reality. A reality full of panic, fear, rage.

He couldn’t describe what happened next. He didn’t know if he ever would.

The rage sparked the air around them, turning it to flames. Like a shockwave, the ground rippled away from where he stood, the flames (which were so hot they burned blue) following in their wake.

Moss had learn to use his magic over distances, but even he had a limit. He’d tested it in the past. He had reliable control over a distance of 1 mile, maybe 2.

Which is why he was certain, as the earth stopped rippling and the flames burnt themselves out, that any bodies within that range suffered the same fate as the two in front of him.

The buildings seemed to be fine, but the ground between them was ripped up like tilled soil on a farm. The two soldiers were barely recognizable, a mix of charred skin and melted metal that was more pile than corpses.

There had been a family around the corner he had just passed. And other people he had ran by, just before getting caught. Had they-

The realization of what he’d done hit him square in the chest.

Rage burnt out like the flames had, and only fear moved him, barely sparing a glance at the limb left unburnt on the ground as Moss ran from his crime. Panic shook his left hand, his only hand now, as he struggled to open the side door, bursting through it and into the fields around the city.

Moss ran. He ran, clutching what remained of his right arm to his chest, through fields and paths and trees. He ran, passing other now-refugees of the once great city, thinking only enough to try and stem the blood loss, and not lose his footing.

They ran, separating themselves from anyone else roaming the lands around Camsir, friend or foe. They ran. For what felt like forever, and more.

Moss ran, and didn’t stop until he reached the edge of the refugee camp. He’d heard about Ravensbourne setting up the site for those fleeing Camsir. The place had now swelled, arrivals now probably 10 times the amount of what they expected. He stayed away from what seemed to be the official entrance, and moved forward into the camp itself. His paced slowed to a walk, brisk but quickly slowing, as he walked past tents and benches filled with refugees who suffered similar, or worse wounds, than himself.

He didn’t bother to raise his hood, both from a lack of thought and effort. If anyone noticed him, noticed who he was, they had bigger things to worry about.

He made his way through the crowds, blearily staring at numbered signs outside of tents which counted up to the two hundreds. He didn’t know what he was looking for, his mind unable to think. He supposed he found it when he noticed Faeryn Barlowe, a healer from the Moreau’s royal court, and his pace slowed even furthur at the sight of the familiar dark braid. Or perhaps he had finally exhausted himself, his legs no longer able to push him forward.

She didn’t notice Moss until they were next to her, almost bleeding on her. Moss realized she must have been taking a break between tending to patients as her exhausted eyes met his.

“Faery-Ryn”

he stumbled out. His eyes moved down to his blood covered arms, trying to motion his loss. The ground rushed up towards him.

“Help.”

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[sappho_]

Kiona Silverfang
tags: vixe lazee Robinside ; location: camsir ➵ the river ➵ refugee camp ; company: everleigh, garth, darius ; clothing: x

The first thing Kiona noticed was the scent of blood. She was awoken by a pungent, metallic smell floating in the air through an open window. She laid in the cheapest bed, in the cheapest inn that she could find in Camsir. With an aching back, she began blinking the sleep out of her eyes. That was when she heard the screaming. There was so much screaming that it all blended into one horrific cacophony. Kiona ran to the other side of the small room and pulled on her boots, buckled on her belt bag, and threw her bow and quiver over her shoulder.

Feet moving lightly down creaking wooden stairs, Kiona made a desperate run towards the main door of the inn. However, as she got closer to the bottom of the stairs she could hear speaking. She threw her body flat against the wall.

"This inn is now the property of His Majesty, King Seadane. You and any customers must leave now."

"I've been workin' me 'ole life for this inn, you lot can't just up 'nd take it."

"Fine, you can stay. You will burn to ashes with it then."

There was a clatter of wood on wood, the slam of the door, and a terrified scream. The sound of crackling hit her ears and she knew that she needed another way out. Kiona dashed up the stairs again before running down the hall and knocking out every door.

"Wake up! This place is burning! You all need to get out!" She yelled at the top of her lungs. She didn't know if anyone else was sleeping in those rooms or how they would escape but she had to at least try.

Black smoke was staring to rise up the staircase and a thought flickered into Kiona's mind. Her feet were moving before she registered it. She was back in the cramped room she had slept in. The shutters on the window were open but a metal grate made a barrier to the outside. She cursed under her breath. She could hear the flames traveling up the stairs now and feel the heat of the inferno that was the first floor. Using the footboard of the bed as leverage, Kiona held onto the wood and slammed her feet into the metal again, and again, and again. Finally, the grate popped out from the window frame and she had her exit.

Her heart was pounding with anxiety as she climbed onto thatched roof. She felt dizzy when she looked down. Her eyes search around for some way onto the ground. The height of the roof was too high for her to jump to the ground but if she could get into a smaller building she could make it. So Kiona ran, jumping across a the gap between the inn and a shorter building beside it. Getting onto her knees, she gripped onto the shingles of the edge of the roof and dangled her feet down. She let go, landing on an overhang that sheltered the door of this building. Now, Kiona could leap to the ground and land on her feet.

The sound of an explosion echoed through the air. There was a clashing of metal on metal, there was still that horrible screaming, and the scent of blood. She needed to get out of Camsir now. Kiona flew on her feet like feathers, keeping her eyes solely ahead of her. That was when she saw the hole in the wall. That must have been the explosion, she thought. She made a turn towards the broken wall. Masterfully blending in with the terrified crowd of citizens trying to escape, Kiona slipped her way out.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·
​

The river was the first peaceful place Kiona had found after leaving Camsir. Travelers made their way across the river, mostly those leaving Camsir like her. There was news of a refugee camp set up to the northeast. She decided quickly that she would make her way there as well. She could help the people there somehow. She was a master hunter, she could feed the hungry mouths. However, for now, she needed to take a break from her journey. She made her way away from the group of refugees, walking alongside the river and following it downstream. Eventually, she found a shady little spot that was rather isolated. It made a fine resting spot. She sat on the soft grass beside the bank, leaning towards the rushing water to fill her waterskin. Here the waters current slowed down and she thought she might be able to fish after she rested for a while.

Kiona laid the waterskin down, unbuckled her bag belt, and laid her bow and quiver on the ground. She took just a moment to take a deep breath. She would have to cut off her trade with Camsir completely and keep her camps more hidden than ever. There would be soldiers all over the place, she was sure.

The sound of a large splash shook her from her thoughts. Kiona shot up to her feet on instinct, eyes searching for the source of the sound. That was when she saw desperate thrashing in the water. A person was being pulled downstream by the strong current, a person who clearly had no idea how to swim. She ran over to the bank, taking a deep breath before diving into the cool water. She paddled further into the water, seeing the person was nearer to the middle. Thankfully, when they made their way down to the part of the river she was at, the rescue was simple. She tucked her arms under their armpit and pulled their body on top of hers. Once they were in her grip, she was able to paddle her feet and swim the both of them to the bank. The current had taken her farther downriver than her resting place.

Kiona pushed the person, who she now realized was unconscious, onto the bank before she climbed out of the water herself. The person was a woman, dressed in a velvety long white dress that no doubt made it even harder to swim. There seemed to be a hood but it had been thrown back to reveal a mess of long, ginger hair. There was also an obvious gash in her temple that sent crimson blood running down the side of her soft face. After catching her breath, she hoisted the woman onto her shoulder and walked to the area where she had left her belongings.

Kiona laid her back down on the soft grass, cushioning her head with one of hands. With her free hand, she pulled her bag over to her, opening the buckles to each pouch. She finally found what she was looking for. She pulled out a handful of herbs and laid them out on the ground. The one Kiona picked out from the group was Shepard's purse. She plucked off one of the leaves and popped it into her mouth, chewing it with her back teeth. She then took the pulp from her mouth and spread it onto the gash in the woman's skin. That should stop the bleeding.

That was when the woman started to stir. She stared stumbling up to her feet, backing away from Kiona. Kiona stood up as well, surprised and worried that the woman might stumble straight back into the river. Her eyes were still clenched shut and she was backing up completely blindly. When her eyes did open, they were filled with confusion and fear. Their eyes met and Kiona opened her mouth to speak but the woman had already tripped over her skirt and fallen on the ground, unconscious again.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·
​

Kiona had quickly decided that this woman needed a real medic after hitting her head twice. She gathered her supplies once again and then threw the woman over her shoulder. She was fairly light, most of her weight coming from her soaked dress, so it didn't slow Kiona much. She wrapped her arms around the girl's small waist to keep her in place. Once she was sure that woman was secure on her shoulder, Kiona trailed through the forest, navigating through her mind's eye. A magnet seemed to pull her towards where she needed to go. She walked for hours before she heard the sound of groaning behind her back.

Suddenly, there was thrashing on her shoulder and a voice yelling for Kiona to put her down. Her grip on the woman tightened. Under normal circumstances, she would have put the other woman down and let her go on her way. However, this girl was in no condition to be left on her own. They were currently in the middle of the forest and she had obviously messed up her head somehow. Now she was pounding on Kiona's back with her fist. Though her fist did nothing but annoy Kiona.

"Please calm down, you're in no state to walk right now."

"I am perfectly capable of walking!"

"No, you really aren't."

There was a moment of silence before the woman resumed her trashing and pounding. She was obviously scared and confused.

"Listen, I'm not going to hurt you and I'm not kidnapping you, or anything like that. I'm just going to get you to the refugee camp. There will be healers there that can help you much more than me."

"How am I suppose to know that's true! I have no idea who you are!"

"Well, I'm the person who risked their own life to pull you out of a river. But if you want to keep hitting me then go ahead."

That seemed to calm the other for the moment. Thankfully, there wasn't much more trekking through the forest before she saw a cleared out area with tents raised. Her pace increased some and eventually she was walking into the entrance, eyes searching for signs of a medic. Instead she was met with a sword pointed at her. Her heart instantly began to beat out of her chest. A solider. Why did this random woman have a guard? Slowly, she lowered the woman onto the ground off of her shoulder.

"Put away that stick of yours, sir. I was simply trying to help this woman get to this camp for a medic. There's no need for violence."

She bit back anger and fear. She tried to do something kind and this was what she got for it?

"In fact, I just saved her life."

The sword was still pointed at her, the guard had a stone face. However, now she was less scared and more annoyed. This man obviously wasn't going to kill her if he hadn't already.

Kiona dropped to her knees dramatically. "Please show me mercy, oh great protector," she begged sarcastically.

"Is that what you wanted, sir?" she huffed as she pushed herself off the ground again.

There was another guard that showed up. He seemed less angry and more tired. And argument obviously ensued after Kiona wounded the first guard's ego. However, she wasn't really paying attention. She was genuinely more worried about the woman who she had carried to the camp. They were wasting time.

"Is this really necessary? She clearly needs a medic, she hit her head and went unconscious twice."

coded by archangel_

 

[travelbypages]

Feyre Viotto

Camsir had always been what Feyre called home. It was the place she was raised from childhood when she was placed in the care of King Moreau to watch over his daughter and tend to all her needs. It was once her home, but now it was a prison. Though there were no bars or cells for her, the day Seadane killed the king and took her home, her little freedom before was completely gone.
With Feyre no longer the princess of Camsir, Feyre had no duty to uphold a royal. She became nothing when Seadane spared her life if she swore an oath to him. He assigned her to the kitchen and cleaning, no longer a Lady in Waiting. Her destiny was to tend to the princess to find a notable husband, and now that was all gone. She'd contemplated many times changing into a bird and flying away, but the guards in the castle watched all of King Moreau's subjects like hawks. There were no opportunities for her to change and escape. Plus, there was no proof that Everleigh was dead. There was too much uncertainty surrounding Feyre's life for her to leave.
Though her punishment could be worse, like she could be locked away in the dungeon or even slaughtered like many other court members, Feyre felt like a feral animal trapped in a small cage within the kitchen. She didn't even know how to cook, as that was a servant's duty. Feyre had never known what living like a peasant was like, but now she did and hated every moment.

And Feyre had endured this for six long months. Cooking and cleaning, making herself into nothing but a shadow around Seadane's supporters. And the day of the Cleanse felt like every other day until the castle began to shudder, and screaming echoed throughout every hall. The guards ordered Feyre to stay where she was, standing over a boiling pot while the other servants stood wide-eyed and scared. "What is happening?" Each one muttered amongst the others, but Feyre didn't question it. Would this be the fall of Seadane?
Everything in her was screaming for her to find somewhere to hide, disguise herself as a bird that had flown through one of the windows, but the thought of a guard finding her terrified her. She wanted her life more than her freedom. So she waited... And waited... And no guard came. The young woman was about to go to the wine cellar for her change when Princess Everleigh stumbled into the kitchen as if she had been explicitly looking for Feyre. A wave of relief flooded Feyre's body as she stared at her princess, "M'lady?" She asked though she knew who Ever was. She knew deep down that Everleigh was alive.
The pair made no haste to flee, finding Garth along the way. She could hear the screams and the fighting coming from somewhere, but her ears could not pinpoint where. She just knew that the feeling of freedom would come to her soon. Six months of being nothing but a peasant to stepping into the stables with escape beyond the horizon.

The escape from Camsir was like a blur. All she could feel was the air on her skin and the horse's gallop as the team quickly escaped. It was like a weight was being lifted off her shoulders. Soon enough, everyone was getting off the horses and walking. Though loyal to the princess, she could almost feel the beating of feathers underneath her skin, and Feyre had to hold back everything she had in her not to run away from the group and take off somewhere new.
Picking up her dirty and torn skirt, she walked behind the group, looking down at the ground so she wouldn't trip. The next thing she knew, the princess had fallen into the water, and the others had chased her. Feyre did her best to keep up, but the mud from the ground around the river weighed her feet down. She couldn't keep up with Garth. Feyre eventually stopped, placing her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath. Ridiculous. While she knew the importance of keeping the last Moreau alive, who would leave a noble lady behind?
Feyre stomped away from the damp ground with a frustrated scream, "Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous!" She grumbled and sat down on the ground, her back leaning against the bark of a tree. At least now she could change freely. So, the girl stood and looked around though she knew there was no one there to see her, and transformed into the form of a Grand Coucal bird and took off into the sky. And she flew and flew until her wings could no longer carry her. With no food or water, Feyre eventually found herself at the refugee camp and landed as close to a tent as she could, where she could steal some clothes and sit by a campfire to warm up. Luckily, the princess arrived in rough shape, and Feyre rushed over, "M'lady, I was so afraid I lost you again!"

Mentions: Garth - lazee , Darius - Robinside , Everleigh - vixe

outfit she started with
outfit she ended with ​

 

[diwa]

“Fear is a reaction, courage is a decision.”

• Beginning
• ✯

• 
  "I'm home." Mal called out as he entered their shop. The hinges of the heavy wooden door creaked as he opened them. For someone who has the capability and resources to fix such a thing, Mal and Lachlan were both too lazy to do it. It became up to the point that the sounds were comforting for them to hear, and it just means home for them. Besides, it also added some sort of protection in case someone tried to break in.
  
  He found Lachlan, his guardian, on the crafts table examining a piece of jewelry under a giant glass, Mal then went and sat at the edge of the table, a teasing grin was on his face. "Constance... sweet Constance, send this with regards."
  
  As if proud of what he did, Mal enthusiastically showed him a basket covered in brown cloth. Even with covers on, the smell of freshly baked bread was so much that it almost filled the room. Mal gingerly removed the covers and showed Lachlan the contents. "I think she also sent this with love. You sly man. I didn't know you still had it in you." He chuckled, teasing him lightly. "The butcher also says thanks, but with no love. He's still angry because he saw me with his daughter one time at the plaza." He added dismissively, really believing that he's not at fault with what happened.
  
  Lachlan glared at him and raised his hand, pretending to whack the young man's head. Although he might be stern and moody, Lachlan never laid hands on Mal ever. Even when he was a petulant kid. "Have you delivered all the orders?" He asked, completely changing the subjects. Townspeople and even royals were always trying to hire Lachlan to commission them some weapons both for personal use or can be given as a gift. The old man is a little picky and he doesn't accept everybody's orders but once he does, he always exceeds their expectations.
  
  Mal fished out some bread and started munching them little by little, "Yes, all of them. Oh, except that dagger." He pointed to a posh looking black box on top of the table. "Aldred's not around and no one was answering."
  
  The old man nodded but before Lachlan could reply, they heard a loud explosion not too far off.
  
  And then there was chaos.
  
  Without having a second thought, the duo moved and fetched their weapons. Lachlan stopped Mal briefly and tossed him a brand-new sword. "Here. Happy Birthday." The old man smiled and never said a word again as he too picked up some random sword from their rack and went outside. Mal was surprised, his birthday is weeks away, and he never even saw the old man forge this sword before. He took a moment to inspect his new weapon. The balance is good, the weight is proportionate. The tang is almost the same width of the actual sharp blade. The hilt has a crisscross that is laid with gold all throughout the pommel. Runes were written on the flat of the blade, but it wasn't familiar to him. He had a mind to ask Lachlan what it was, but the man was already outside, and it wasn't even the right time. Grinning like an idiot, Mal followed.
  
  Soldiers filled the streets in no time. It was like a parade but instead of forming a line showcasing their armor or as if to guard a palanquin of a royal, the soldiers began hacking and killing people left and right. Men, women, and children.
  
  "Go!" Lachlan barked an order at him, "Help them!"
  
  The two went separate ways, defending their neighbors from the soldiers. The ones they helped ran towards the gates of the city with nothing but themselves in tow. Mal gave it all as he parried and blocked, disarming them and hitting them with the butt of his sword until his enemies passed out.
  
  No matter how many soldiers he knocked out, there seemed to be more to follow. "Lachlan," Mal shouted in the middle of the fight. He knew what must be done for them to survive. "We need to go." Knocking the last nearest soldier from him, he was able to glance at his guardian whom he found fighting with a little difficulty. The man was a great swordsman during his prime, he's still good for his age but he was battling one too many and it’s easy to see that he’s getting tired.
  
  As Mal ran towards Lachlan, a soldier came out from nowhere and stabbed the old man from behind. "No!!" Fishing a dagger from his belt, Mal threw it straight towards the assailant. He wasn’t sure which part he hit but the man fell to his death.
  
  He slashed and hacked the remaining opponents before finally attending to his family.
  
  "Lachlan," Mal whispered as he knelt beside him. "Hey old man, come on. Ti's but a scratch..." He added, forcing a smile. It was an inside joke between the two whenever someone was getting injured. His guardian tried to say something but instead, no sound came out. "It's okay. There's no need for you to talk. We'll get you help. We'll find a healer. I promise."
  
  One final cough then a gasp, Lachlan was gone. His face became blank, and the life from his eyes ebbed away.
  
  Mal was still unmoving and trapped in his grief. Death is inevitable as it comes for everyone, but he hadn't much given it a thought. He's seen death of course, but a death of someone close to his heart. How was he to process this?
  
  As if a saving grace, a wail of a child pierced through the loud commotion and pulled Mal back to reality. It was Heidi, the daughter of their next-door neighbor. She was crouching in the corner, both hands against her ears as she cried while calling for her mother.
  
  Mal heard the kid, and she was most certainly heard by the enemies nearby. Before they could discover the girl, Mal grabbed his sword, and met them head on.
  
  When he was done, Heidi's parents were already there with her and carrying her away from the fight.
  
  He knew he had to follow them and at least try to get away from the city. But he found himself going in the direction of the castle and that got him thinking. These were just soldiers. They're just mere pawns who carried out the order. They were just ordered by someone higher. Whoever's responsible, Mal was certain they're going to make them pay.
  
  Mal fought the soldiers left and right. His agile feet combined with a good hand and eye coordination; he was like a lightning strike. Quick and deadly. Mal fought back and made sure that it's not going to be easy for them to kill him. With his mind blank, it was as if his instincts, rage, and fear took over his body.
  
  He was almost near the castle when he saw Ryn trying to get away from the city. She was persistent and Mal could see that her logic is sound. It was one of the most crucial decisions Mal had to make but, in the end, he caved. As much as he wanted to see who’s pulling the strings, he had to protect the people he cared about. He just lost Lachlan; he’ll be damned if he lost another family.
  
  Mal had to steal a horse in order to follow Ryn to safety. It was a little later in their journey when he noticed that Ryn was with someone else. A goblin of all beings. Not really knowing what happened between them, and he's too miserable to care. Mal decided to trust the girl's judgement. The trio travelled for quite some time until they finally reached a refugee camp.
  
  A woman helped them once they arrived, and it did not take too long for her to assess them. He wasn’t being ungrateful, but Mal wasn't willing to follow her directives. Having his own tent is a luxury but there's no way in hell he's going to leave Ryn and the green little man alone in this camp. It was a good thing that the healer spoke and fought for their case. Lachlan always said that if Ryn was not a healer, she'd make a good emissary. She has a way of talking that makes people calm and at the same time makes them listen. Mal pointed out that she's got too much heart for such a toxic job. Lachlan just gave Mal one of his suspicious looks, but he did not say anything else. It made Mal feel like throwing an angry cat at him.
  
  It was true though. Mal watched Ryn bargain for them. It was tough considering there is so much at stake but good thing the facilitator caved into her request.
  
  Once settled, Mal just nodded, acknowledging Ryn's current task at hand but just as she left to tend her patients, Mal ran after her and caught her arm in the process, "Thank you." He whispered, giving it a little squeeze. He was still sad, but he managed to give her a small genuine smile.
  
  Mal then let her go and decided to go back to their tent, when he came back, the goblin had gone over to the next tent. "Beezil." Mal tried to call out, using the name he used to introduce himself earlier on. "Beezil, don't wander too far. It's not safe. Ryn might need us." He doesn't know if the little creature understands him but seeing him communicate with Ryn earlier, he figured the goblin knew what he was saying and so he let him be.
  
  Wanting to make himself useful, Mal decided to take care of Fritter and his new horse. He had to make sure they’re watered, fed, and well-rested. He has this foreboding sense that they might need them again soon.
  
• 
  LOCATION : camsir --> refugee camp
  MOOD : angry, frustrated, heart broken
  TAGS : geminiy - ryn ; PenguinFox - beezil
  WEARING : x
  Additional: Mal's horse
  
  
  

​

 

[Namazu]

Riordan Warwick

The Thief

They should be terrified of me.

If there was anything Riordan knew

well besides magic, it was the power of alcohol. It made for a great painkiller when no poultice or potion was available, and made sleep come more easily. Sitting at his self-claimed fire pit warming himself, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, Riordan was busy taking a drink from his flask when he heard the rustle of a tent flap in front of him from tent 212.

“Roar-den?”

Saints, he’d know that grating little voice and awful butchering of his name anywhere. A goblin. And not just any goblin - not that he knew any others - but Beezil.

Uncertain in the moment what he should be feeling about this - relief seemed like the socially appropriate response - he looked up from his flask and raised an eyebrow at Beezil. For any with a sensitive enough nose, the strong alcohol could be smelled upon approach. He looked sober enough though - but like most others in the refugee camp, he looked exhausted and shellshocked.

“Beezil, a surprise seeing you here, in one piece.” His attention drifted up and over Beezil’s shoulder to the woman past the goblin - and then immediately to the man staggering towards the woman. He stood, flask in one hand, fist forming ready to cast in the other in case things turned dicey, only to stop and watch as Moss collapsed at Ryn’s feet with a weak ‘Help’.

“Oh. Well. Shit.” He sighed, taking a sip from his flask before capping it and putting it away, glancing between Ryn, Beezil, and the collapsed man.

“I suppose you’ll want help picking him up? Before he bleeds out, I assume.”

location:

Refugee Camp

interaction:

Ryn, Beezil, Moss

feeling:

Exhausted, surprised, needing a drink

thinking:

“Oh shit, is he missing an arm?”

sugar coded ♡

 

[r e i]

nevada

filler

filler

filler

filler

filler

filler

• .
• 1
• 2
• 3
• 4
• 5
• aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

• home (filler tab)
• 
  

  
  

  
  
  

  mood

  
  
  

  freaked out, and worried

  
  

  
  

  
  

  filler

  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  outfit (with a mask)

  click

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  filler

  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  
  

  location

  
  
  

  camsir -> refugee camp

  
  

  
  

  
  

  filler

  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  
  

  interactions

  
  
  

  none as of yet, just watching

  
  

  
  

  
  

  filler

  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  
  

  tags

  
  
  

  n/a

  
  

  
  

  
  

  filler

  
  
• home (filler tab)

bad omens

limits

Nevada was just going to a simple meeting with a buyer of some items she had recently come into possession of. She was just to simply get rid of them, and signal for her ship once she had sold them. She had Aden stay with the crew for the fact, that Camsir wasn't safe nor was it anywhere where she wanted her son to be. She told her first mate, to keep the ship at sea, and wait for her signal to meet at the pirate's docks. The docks were for just for pirates to know or other criminals to know of. It's how they met for meetings, and traded items that were less than accepted by the royal crown of Vallonde. So they dropped her off at the official royal docks, and she traveled into Camsir. She met with the buyer and they agreed on terms rather quickly. Both of them did not want to stay too long in the city for the fear of unknown happening.

But unfortunately, the unknown did happen. It started with a big explosion.

"Fuck, what the hell was that?"

She exclaims as she glances into the outside of the shady shop she was in. Then the madness happened, people screaming and running. She knew that the only way she was going to get out of there, was a fight. She saw the soldiers starting to attack people, innocent people and although her heart was cold, her morals were not. At least the ones that didn't directly involve her. She looked at the shop owner who was hiding behind his desk and shook her head.

"If you had any thought of staying alive, get the hell out of here. Camsir just became a war zone."

She mutters to him as she rushes out. Nevada saw a soldier going to attack a child and ran to protect her. Blocking with her arm, wincing as she got a cut from the sword, as it got in between her guards. She quickly stabbed him ending his life, as she picked up the child and started to run like the others.

She blocked and avoided the soldiers as she held the child in her arm tightly

"Close your eyes little one, this will soon be over."

She mutters as she protects the child as they ran into the forest with the others. She carried the child who had fallen asleep against her after an hour or two of them walking. Nevada was hoping her parents were at this refugee camp that she had heard from the others coming through, but as she thinks back to when she had ran to protect her, she was pretty sure that she had seen two bodies near her.

She was sure that was the child's parents that perished before her own eyes. If it was, Nevada wasn't going to just abandon this child to be another orphan of the war. She sighed as she knew that she was going to do fucking extremely stupid things.

She was going to take responsibility for the child and care for her like Aden. Nevada felt the child awaken and she mutters softly to her

"We are going to the refugee camp, and may I have your name?"

The child nodded burying her face into Nevada's shoulders tightly holding her as if she was going to let her go. "It's Suhiza miss." She hears the child say to her.

"Well, Suhiza. I'm Nevada. And we are going to stick together now. I'm gonna take care of you. Don't worry little one, I won't let anything happen to you."

Nevada reassures her as she feels Suhiza nods against her shoulder as she moves closer to the camp that is now in her view. As they walked there, she told her about her, and how it was going to be. She even told her about Aden and said how much he would love another kid on the ship with him.

Once they were there, Nevada made sure they knew that Suhiza was her responsibility and gave her a room. She heads to it getting settled in as she watches the others in the camp.

"ok, once I give word to my ship, we'll head out little one. I'm gonna take real good care of you."

She said as she moves to make sure the little girl in front of her knew that she was protected now. Nevada then turned to the others in the camp, she held her arms as it was still badly cut from the fight earlier.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Robinside]

CASSANDRA

I would sooner burn the world, than give it to you.

Rage Grief Determined

The Traitor

you will gain no more from me

brand new city

— mitski

Mood: Tired, Determined
Location: The Camp
interactions: n/a

scroll

Seeing the world around her devolve into flames and knowing you had a hand in creating it. She knew that Seadane was obviously not a man to be wholly trusted anymore given the nature of how he dealt with the king, but for him to order so much slaughter ignited a rage that was hardly contained within her form. Had Cassandra been born with a knack for channeling the elements she would have set fire to this whole castle, and she briefly contemplated trying just to see if it was possible she instead elected to walk past all the carnage. The section of the castle that held her research would be away from all the death anyway.

It was a medium sized room that was used for storage that got renovated into her solitary work station that had every possible surface that could be used as a shelf for research, theories and notes were the sole decoration she had. As she had practiced countless times since Seadane sat himself in that throne, the young scholar gathered everything that she had noted down in her time here into a nice flammable pile. Most of it was already copied down in one of her spellbooks, and whatever wasn’t she was sure she’d be able to eventually recreate.

Books taken from the royal library, outlines for various prototypes and documents detailing her every finding sat in front of her as she knew exactly what might be done with it if certain notes made their way into the hands of that Mad King. He was enough of a problem without her breakthroughs of the application of twilight magic being added to his list of resources. Thinking of those notes, the black book that sat in her holster felt heavier than ever as she produced an alchemical concoction from her bag.

Inside the vial was an amateurish attempt of creating an extremely flammable alcohol it was clear as she poured the entire contents over months of research having long removed every trace of magic that would protect the research from interference such as this. Once the vial’s contents were spread evenly amongst the pile ensuring that the flames would consume even what wasn’t doused in her little concoction.

Cassandra walked out of the room with an unlit candle in hand. With a quick strike of some flint she ignited the fuse of the candle creating a tiny flame that would soon devour everything within that room. In one fluid motion she tossed the lit candle towards the stack of research.

She didn’t give herself the luxury of watching it all burn.

Shutting the door before it caught fire the traitor began the next portion of her escape plan.

Running.

To be specific, running to the stables taking a route she had memorized as the most efficient, and least traveled. This was months in the making and Cassandra would be damned if she didn’t take this opportunity to run from the risk of having her research be used to further more of his deranged whims. Each step was closer to bringing her to a future where she’d put Alexander Seadan’s head on a stick ending the reign of terror she had aided in creating.

On her way there she was stopped by one of the royal scholars that had been bought out by Seadane. It was unfortunate that the two of them had met in their lives under these circumstances. A beautiful blonde elven woman that had made for an amazing distraction from the growing resentment towards Seadane, and the stress her research had placed onto Cassandra’s soul. There was a look of genuine concern on her face as she stood in between the traitor and the stables.

Katherine, as if deaf to the suffering around them, asked her human counterpart with concern and worry in her voice.

“Cass what are you doing!? The guards might think you a traitor if-”

There was no way she could have this conversation with her. It would slow down her escape and each second wasted is one poorly spent. Whisper’s weight in her hip felt heavy even though the dagger was one of the lightest weapons in the castle. Maybe she could try convincing her about whatever Seadane wanted to do being wrong? They had an obligation to limit his reign as King as soon as possible-

‘This was no time to think Cassandra.’

She knew how talking would simply be a waste of time and getting into a fight where she could yell would bring unwanted attention and waste time so she had to act and do it now.

Knowing she’d need to do something that would leave Katherine distracted long enough for her to be silenced by Whisper. Cassandra did something that her lover had yet to see before and it was a look behind the careful poised mask of herself she presented the world. To allow her to see clearly her grief and her rage from the misuse of her creations for the way she was as accountable for this slaughter as the soldiers that swung their blades.

It had the intended effect of causing her to be stunned which allowed Whisper to silence Katherine.

The rest of her escape continued without incident.

She took a horse, and rode it hard. Leaving behind a burning Camsir behind her.

It wasn’t until she saw the refugee camp that she allowed the weight of everything that had happened within the past six months to crash into as she quietly allowed herself to mourn the loss of it all. With only one thought keeping her from completely breaking down.

‘I am going to kill Seadane and Free Vallonde. I am going to kill Seadane and Free Vallonde. To kill Seadane and Free Vallonde. To kill Seadane and Free Vallonde. Kill Seadane. Kill Seadane. Kill Seadane.’

This kept her centered in forming a plan to complete that goal. The only thing missing now was the opportunity for it to begin.

© reveriee

 

[geminiy]

faeryn barlowe

the healer

the camp

exhausted but alive

x

interactions

moss CozyGamer riordan Namazu sarita InTheSea

[mild tw: death]

Hours had passed without rest, without water, without food. Night turned into dawn which gave away to a bleak day. The sky seemed to understand the darkness that had settled over Camsir, and thus the rest of Vallonde, as it cast large shadows through thick rainclouds begging to burst. People continued to cry, continued to scavenge, continued to shut down. Ryn tried to help them all.

Her compromise, a tent in exchange for help, was immediately taken up upon. After a few short hours, Ryn's hands and frock were drenched in blood and sweat and saints know what else. She'd closed more eyelids than she'd helped stay open, delivered enough bad news to last a lifetime. Ryn even found herself mentoring a few young healers, sent from Ravensbourne as fresh graduates from the University. It broke her heart to see the fear in their eyes, questioning years of devoted service and study as they watched the chaos burn the world to the ground around them. People expected them to pick up the pieces, to sweep the ashes and move right along. If not them, who else?

Perhaps even worse yet, Ryn recognized a lot of the people that perished at her hands. Marie and Jason, a middle aged couple that lived down the hill from Ryn. She'd helped deliver their baby, who was now nowhere to be found. Pierre, a local baker, had lost an eye. He'd survived long enough to determine that his elderly wife, Jeanette, had died in the attack. He passed shortly after. Even a few children, known in her community for their rambunctious attitudes and their eagerness to help Ryn tend to her garden so long as she let them snack on the fruits and vegetables as they went, lay cold and devoid of soul. She buried them too.

Still, above all of that, Ryn trucked on. She didn't think about the names and the faces and the familiarity. She didn't worry about Malachi and Sir Beezil back at the tent. She didn't think about Peter. No, she didn't have time and these people, the sick and the injured and the afraid, needed her. It wasn't until a voice, meeker than she expected but loud enough to recognize, called to her.

"Faery-Ryn," Ryn spun around, her heart catching in her chest, "help."

"Moss!" Ryn exclaimed as the elf crumbled to the ground in a heap of their own clothes and blood.

Ryn shoved rather rudely past a man who, at the decided spectacle, had decided to stand right in the walkway and stare, and jumped to Moss's side. Her fingers found his pulse as her other hand began to glow a soft rose, thin lines of what seemed like transparent silk pouring from her blood-soaked fingertips and over Moss's body. Their muscles were weak, trembling as the energy slowly seeped from their fibers, his heart slowing and stuttering with every beat. Even Moss's lungs seemed to be giving up, exhausting themselves with each shallow puff of air falling from Moss's lips. And then, of course, there was the issue of the arm... or lack thereof.

Without thought, Ryn gently took Moss's arm, her fingers continuing to spew magic as she began to utter a spell under her breath, trying to keep her tone as calm and level as possible. Her magic wouldn't work as well if she was panicking and not level headed.

“Oh. Well. Shit.” Another voice spoke, though Ryn didn't recognize this one. She was far too focused on Moss and stopping the bleeding that poured from where their lower arm would've been. Should have been. Moss's arm, thankfully, stabilized quickly enough that Ryn could then transport him. With a wave of her hand, a hazy screen of magic wrapped around his body, allowing her to weave her arms around Moss and fling him with relative ease over her shoulder. “I suppose you’ll want help picking him up? Before he bleeds out, I assume.”

Ryn turned around and came face to face with the owner of the voice, a very angry and very cold looking man. She scowled as she waved a hand, a wave of magic gently pushing him backwards.

"Do I particularly look like someone who needs your help?" Ryn spat through a huff as she adjusted Moss over her shoulder. "Besides, where were you when he collapsed, hm? Standing there watching like a complete buffoon! Out of my way."

Ryn stormed by the man, Moss secured on her shoulder, and gave zero regard to his being as she carried Moss to the medical tent. Another healer helped to guide him to an empty cot.

"Here," Ryn said as she freed her spell tomb from her belt and flipped open the pages, "I need you to help me with this enchantment. I'm afraid that he's lost a lot of blood, and there is no chance of saving that arm. But we will do our best to save their life, alright? On three."

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

Moss was stable. Somehow, and Ryn wasn't even sure how, Moss had survived the attack and the loss of his arm without any other major injuries or death. It had gotten close a few times, Moss's breaths falling shallower and further apart or their heartrate plummeting to a point where Ryn could barely sense it anymore. By the time Moss had stabilized, Ryn had a line up of other patients waiting for her. Right at the top of the list was a family, including small children that had been brought in by a rather unique looking centaur.

Centaurs weren't very common in Vallonde, hiding deep within the forests and away from the outside world and their violence. But the centaurs that Ryn did know of were big and bulky and gruff, heavily impacted by the wear and tear of the vicious Vallonde seasons and the unforgiving forests that they protected. But this centaur was beautiful. Sleek, elegant, she even seemed to glisten in the dull sunlight. It was clear very quickly that she wasn't from around here.

After the children were healed, Ryn was forced off duty by another experienced healer that came in to relieve her. Ryn decided that it would be a good idea to inform the centaur that the children had survived. Luckily for Ryn, it wasn't hard to spot such a large creature in a sea of elves and humans (and one goblin). Ryn made her way over to her with two bowls of vegetable stew in her hands.

"Excuse me, miss?" Ryn spoke cheerfully. When the centaur finally looked at her, she offered the bowl out to her with a smile. "I am the healer that took care of those children you brought. I'm pleased to tell you that they're doing good, they're expected to make a full recovery once they wake up. I also brought you some food," Ryn shrugged softly, "I wasn't sure if you'd eaten already and I can't imagine that it was easy work bringing that family all this way." Ryn was silent for a moment, brushing a hand through her matted and sweat slicked hair. "I must say, it's nice to know that there are good people out there trying to help others. I should also ask if you're alright? No injuries or illness?"

coded by natasha.

 

[CozyGamer]

scroll

The Mage

Moss Jaxenrow

mood

sore, but alive

outfit

this and this

location

Refugee Camp

interactions

Beezil PenguinFox

tldr

I'm so glad I survived the cleansing, I can't wait to use my right hand in all my daily activities

Moss woke up, groggy and sore, but refreshed in a way that only Faeryn’s healing magic could provide. He faintly remembered passing out at the healer’s feet; Moss found comfort in the idea that even while the world seemed to be ending, Ryn would continue to care and heal.

Movement and rushed discussions filled the air around him. Most of it sounded too far away to hear, but Moss caught some sentences about low supplies, low magical reserves, and too many dead bodies. They figured they must be in whatever medical tent the refugee camp had.

As his senses came back to him, the daylight streaming through the tent became too bright. Squinting, Moss lifted his right hand to shield his eyes-

Bandages, red with dried blood, marked an abrupt end to his arm. The sore pain radiating through their arm finally made sense; the sight of his arm falling to the ground, and the events which immediately followed, flashed through his mind as though he was still there. Still stuck in that moment.

The moment faltered as a healer rushed through the tent, and the rest of reality broke through. Moss sucked in a breath, and banished the memory from his mind.

Moss sat up on the bed, pushing himself up with his good arm (if they struggled during this process, it was only because moving revealed how sore his muscles truly were. Definitely not because only having one hand made them markedly more uncoordinated than usual). He wasn’t sure how long he had rested for, but it was more than enough - Moss needed to find Ryn, and figure out what state the world was currently in.

Looking around to gauge his surroundings, the first person-thing?-individual he saw was a goblin. A small green goblin, perched on a stool next to Moss’s bed, staring at him with red eyes that took up most of his face. As Moss looked, the goblin bared his teeth, in what Moss was going to assume was a friendly smile. Moss thought perhaps this goblin was familiar - they could convince themselves that they had seen a similar sized being next to Ryn when he had first arrived. Perhaps this goblin would be able to take them to the healer.

“Greetings,”

they said, holding out their left hand - their only hand, now.

“I am Moss. Your name escapes me at the moment, but I assume you are associated with Faeryn?”

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[InTheSea]

Sarita ✿ The Convict

The Desert Saffron Cal'Kuran Desert Centaur

O

nce the small family had been escorted by the healer woman that Sarita had waved down, she stepped far off to the side to get out of the way. She towered over the scrambling people, clearly getting in the way and catching many, many eyes. She uttered apologies as she made her way to the edge of the encampment, gingerly weaving through surprised humans and elves and whatever else was trying to inch away from her equine legs.

Once she broke through the crowd, she looked back towards the displaced refugees. The camp was organized chaos. Sarita thought it was far more chaotic than organized, but after what had happened, it made a great deal of sense. She couldn't imagine such a thing happening to her people, even thinking about the possibility made her palms sweaty and her throat dry. Though perhaps that was due to the fact she was thirsty.

She swallowed thickly, catching the eye of one of the refugees who looked at her with distinct terror. The centaur tore her eyes away from the terrified woman and scanned the crowd once more. Far off by a crackling fire, she spied a man [Riordan] sipping from a flask with a half eaten apple in his hand. Her dark eyes shifted, double taking as she spied a...what even was that? A tiny green [Beezil] ...elf? The being — must be quite sick to become that shade of green — had gone up to the flask-drinking apple-eating man by the fire. Not wanting to be the one to be staring at other unfortunates, Sarita's gaze moved across the wanderers once again.

Also off to the side, a woman with a small child seemed to be looking over her bloodied arm [Nevada]. As Sarita looked about, the woman wasn't the only one. And around them, other people were getting their injuries trended to. Everything seemed to be in grayscale, save for the crimson that soaked peoples clothing — even the forest around her seemed to lost it luster. She shook her head and turned away from the refugees, casting her gaze out into the woodland. She rested her upper body against a nearby tree as she shifted her equine body into a more comfortable position as she stood guard.

Looking out into the forest was comforting in its simplicity when compared to the broken beings that made camp behind her. And at least in this way, she didn't have to worry about catching the eye of anyone. She also didn't want to worry about having to see tears of the broken-hearted or dying. Though she was sure plenty of healers were making their way through the wounded, there would be those who would succumb before they could be tended, and that was no fault of those who helped.

She turned her thoughts towards her captor. Things were slowly starting to make a little more sense now. There were two names that she was continuously hearing, and both were spoken with different tones. The first was the name King Moreau. This name she familiar with, as she heard the name spoken by various refugees, all with a somberness in their voices. The King was dead, supposedly. But there was another name, another that she was also familiar with. Seadane.

Sarita's jaw set as she stared out into the wilderness, her eyes narrowing intensely. Seadane was her captor. His men were the ones who had murdered guards of the city, the ones who ended up letting the man she tried to save die. Seadane was the man who locked her up for a solid six months without so much as showing his face to tell her her fate. She had begun to wonder if she would just die in that little cage, an unused toy. The centaur suppressed a shudder as she straightened up. She was free, and there was no chance she would allow the cruel man to capture her again. The next time they would meet, the 'king' would look at her from the ground with a dagger lodged in his throat.

"Excuse me, miss?"​

Sarita nearly started at the voice that came up from behind her. Taking a step back from the tree, the centaur turned and looked down towards the diminutive woman that she had hailed earlier that day. Sarita was briefly amused by she sheer size difference between them; the woman was tiny even for a human. The woman had a warm smile on her face, holding up a bowl of some kind of stew towards her. Gently, Sarita took the offered bowl with a respectful nod of her head.

"Thank you for your generosity, this meal is most welcome." Though Sarita wanted to dig into the bowl, it felt far too rude to do so while the other woman was asking questions. The woman thought about it for a moment. Though Sarita had avoided serious illness while locked within the dungeons, there was no way to avoid being sedentary and bored out of her mind. Her muscles, she realized, ached from the effort she had gone through to escape the city and with three persons astride her. "You need not worry about me, thank you. A few good meals, including this one, will bring back my vitality." Sarita paused, glancing back out into the wilds. What was a few more days before she went off on the journey she was supposed to be taking. In the meantime, she could learn more about the situation and relay it to the centaurs when she finally met up with them.

"I apologize for my poor manners. I am Sarita. I hail from an Oasis far into the Cal'Kura Desert. To whom do I have the honor of speaking with?"

location:

the camp

interaction:

Ryn geminiy — Mentions - Namazu Riordan PenguinFox Beezil r e i Nevada

feeling:

exhausted, curious

thinking:

"A few more days cannot hurt."

sugar coded ♡

 

[Namazu]

Riordan Warwick

The Thief

They should be terrified of me.

”Well pardon me for offering.”

Riordan folded his arms over his chest and scowled at Faeryn as she spat at him. “No, you do not look like someone who needs my help, yet I offered anyway.” He did at least step out of the way, giving Faeryn a clear path towards the medical tent.

Unsure of what else to do with himself at this point, Riordan turned to stalk off after Faeryn.

Smart enough to stay out of the way, Riordan lingered by the entrance to the medical tent just enough so that he could peer inside. He seemed unphased by all the blood and chaos, observing the way Faeryn started giving orders - and how others fell in line quickly. Reaching into his pocket, he slipped out a pocket watch, popping it open and giving it a glance as Faeryn was opening her spell tome. Judging by the rate of blood loss, she did not have very long to save this Moss person. He fixed his attention on the goings-on inside the tent and, when Moss was stabilized, glanced down at his watch.

Was he actually timing how long it took Faeryn to stabilize Moss? It seemed so. And it seemed like the save was successful. Once it looked like the woman had saved the day, Riordan slunk off back to his tent. He didn’t need to stick around to get scolded like a child again. So much for offering to help.

“I’ll be in my tent, Beezil. Stand guard, alert me if anything important that happens.” Riordan lifted the flap, stepped into his tent, and let the flap fall closed behind him. He didn’t offer any word of direction to Beezil on what he meant by ‘important’. He’d take this opportunity as a welcome respite - nobody needed him for anything as long as nobody knew who he was. What better time to catch a nap?

Using his satchel as a pillow and his coat as a blanket, Riordan curled up in his tent - facing the flap, of course, in case anyone entered - and stared off at the canvas in front of his face without focusing. Admittedly, closing his eyes was hard. Every time he did, he saw blood.

At some point, Riordan must have dozed off, though he wasn’t certain how long he was out. Sitting up slowly, he realized he was stiff and cold, and had a kink in his neck from resting in an uncomfortable position on the hard ground. Cursing to himself, he rubbed at the back of his neck and climbed out of his tent, sliding on his coat and taking his satchel with him. No way would he chance leaving his belongings unattended here.

Of course, Beezil was nowhere to be seen. He stood there for a moment, flexing his joints and peering around the camp. Something about all this made him feel quite old and worn, and he wasn’t sure if it was just the stiffness, or if it was also the fact he’d done a terrible job of babysitting the damn green bastard.

Curious at the sound of voices in the healer’s tent the next over, Riordan marched next door and poked his head into the tent.

“Ah, there you are, you little green shit. What happened to standing guard?” He scolded Beezil lightly, without much seriousness. If he truly wanted someone to actually guard him, it wouldn’t be Beezil. Riordan did not move far from the entrance, pausing to raise an eyebrow at Moss.

“Ah. Awake, upright, and talking? A far faster recovery than I expected.” He eyed the hand outstretched to Beezil, who was perched upon a stool. “Awful friendly for someone who nearly died,” he muttered, grabbing an unoccupied stool and pulling it out from underneath a small makeshift table. Plopping himself onto his newfound seat and adjusting his satchel to his back, Riordan leaned back against the corner pole of the tent and rested his ankle on his opposite knee, crossing his arms over his chest to hide a shiver.

“Don’t mind the goblin. He only bites sometimes.”

location:

Refugee Camp

interaction:

Faeryn, Beezil, Moss

feeling:

Stiff, cold, worn out

thinking:

“You little green shit.”

sugar coded ♡

 

[lazee]

Garth Pendrell

the ex-guard.

a knight, a scoundrel, a bastard.

P

anic surrendered to the victory of calmer heads, and Garth took notice of the situation at hand, seeing the forest for the trees. The camp, awash with fearful and hopeful people fleeing a great upheaval. The Princess, his charge, in the hands of a stranger. The stranger, an insolent youth, who seemed to have no idea just how important the person in her care truly was. And nothing about the person indicated the kind of cutthroat in the employ of the Seadanes. No, this was a bystander. A victim of fate who pulled the wrong cradle out of the river. If the stranger wanted Ever dead, she would have done so and yet here they all stood. Alive. Breathing. Tense.

Damn it all. A sigh escapes the once guard. Garth lowered his sword.

"The wounds seem superficial, and she has her mental faculties," Garth muttered as he approached to give the Princess a cursory inspection, damn near trampling past the strange young woman and the small crowd that had gathered to witness the commotion. "Enough to be as bratty as always." He gritted his teeth, 'Your Highness' at the tip of his tongue. There was safety in the shadow of ignorance. The less anyone knew about Ever, the better her chances of staying alive. Still, one that could not be ignored was the stranger. If what she said was true, he had her to thank for ensuring his failure did not lead to the end of the kingdom. Respect, however begrudging, was earned. He turned to her, hostility gone in his eyes but no small amount of caution and wariness. Thin ice, as they say.

"But I am not a medic. Healing is the opposite of what I do," the guard admitted. Garth's idea of first aid is gritting teeth until the pain faded away, and that simply would not do for anyone else, especially the Princess. "We find a healer, we get her treated, and that's the end of that. What say you?" Not even waiting for her response, Garth rose and left Princess Ever in her care. She's kept her alive this long, what was another few minutes? But then again, the Princess would be unguarded without him.

....Wait a minute. No, she wasn't.

Dirty gloves shook Darius awake in an attempt to get him back to his senses, gentle considering the circumstances. Garth shook on his fellow guard's armor once more. "Darius, wake up," he whispered forcefully. "We found her, we found her. I leave her in your care while I summon a medic." There were two people Garth was now entrusting with the life of the Princess, a destitute guard exhausted out of his mind and an outlander girl he knew nothing about. Wonderful. Before the guard turned and left, he saw yet another familiar face rush to the Princess, a face from the Castle. Ever's right hand woman, the maid at her side. Fire or Feyre? Something to that effect. She addressed Ever as 'Milady' and that was too close for comfort in Garth's eyes. The guard shifted attention to her and leveled a dangerous glare.

"Mind your tongue, Lady in Waiting," came the words from between Garth's teeth, whispered under forceful breaths. It was unfair to chastise her so, especially given their similar upbringings, but the Princess' safety was not to be trifled with. Not when there were blades in the dark. "We are still in danger. She is still in danger." He hoped that that was the extent he had to warn her, and now he was truly on his way to find a medic.

Few escaped Garth's notice, if he wasn't this tired and broken. As it was, the guard trudged through the camp with only a fraction of his usual perceptiveness, passing by details of the camp and its residents that would normally be noticed. Only the broad strokes were captured in his search: how many tents there were, what kind of terrain this camp was built on, the presence of a centaur in the camp, a familiar face with red hair talking to said centaur-

...

Unbelievable.

"You're unbelievable, you know that?"

This was the straw that broke Garth's back. Now, he was convinced Fate was playing him for a fool. Why else would he be haunted by faces of the past when he needed to be concerned with the Princess' future? All else removed, however....he was relieved to see Faeryn. If anyone could help Ever, it was her. Garth immediately walked towards Ryn, as if she was the only thing he was looking at. Which was accurate, as darkness began to shroud his eyes, putting Ryn in the lensed focus of his sight...

And in her wake, Garth let go of the pain and exhaustion he had been carrying. Down he went to the ground, with little ceremony beyond a half-conscious expletive.

location:

the camp

interaction:

Ever vixe , Kiona sappho_ , Darius Robinside , Feyre travelbypages , Ryn geminiy

feeling:

too busy to feel

thinking:

we do need a medic.

sugar coded ♡