Fantasy Cradle of Desire: In Character

[Nano]

Cradle of Desire

In Character

A

Discord

Int.Check

Lore

CS

Prologue .

Screams of terror cut through the dead of the night as a once magnificent tower shakes and groans. Its sin-stained walls crumble and burn, leaving only scars signifying the wrath of the gods. From a distance, a lone spectator watches the play with pure, unadulterated delight. He revels in the plight of the night’s main actors and offers up a chalice of wine to the moon, its gaze cold and unresponsive to his invitation. His little game has come to an end, and there is no longer a need to respond to the incessant squealing of mortals. In their final moments, many begged him for mercy. Others cursed him in their hearts, believing that the treacherous god had purposefully driven them to dive headfirst into a terrible fate.

Their admiration, fear, and loathing all tasted the same on his tongue—sweet and ending with a raw, bitter note. Even as he watched the fall of a civilization instigated by his own hand, his love for humanity endured all the same. He’d always believed in the potential of mortals, and it was this faith that spurred him to grant them the Cradle of Desire. When the world believed this was its final act, he knew it was merely an intermission. When the gods believed they had quashed the greedy hearts of mortals, only he knew that their ingenuity would force them back on their feet to dance for him once again.

For he was

Syr, the God of Technicians.

Overview .

During a time remembered by none who remain within the mortal realm, the world of Lithos was a land blessed by countless gods. Bearing great affection for the creatures of Lithos, the gods kept the world’s fields plentiful, blessed mortals with bodies resistant to disease, and carefully managed the balance of mana to maintain a safe and sheltered environment. Of these gods, Syr was the sole deity to descend to the mortal plane, magnanimously providing his guidance to his followers.

It was Syr who taught mortals how to infuse magic, the residual power of the gods’ blessings, into tools they could use to harness it. His followers who closely studied the god’s teachings came to be known as the Technicians, and they produced one brilliant invention after the next under his guidance. These mystical tools, referred to as relics, impressed the gods with their ingenuity and swiftly earned the support of the divine powers above. Particularly distinguished Technicians were granted fragments containing a small portion of the divine essence of the gods who recognized them. These fragments could then be fashioned into a core to create even more powerful relics called vestiges.

These relics paved the way for the Age of Magic, a period of rapid advancement led by the Technicians. Combined with the blessings granted by the gods, the relics of the Technicians fulfilled every need and desire of mankind. However, even in times of peace and prosperity, greed is a cardinal sin ever present in the hearts of mortals. The world as they knew it was nothing short of a paradise, yet an era of peace could never quench their thirst for power. All it took was a small push from a devious god. It was nothing more than a half-baked promise that the potential hidden within their mortal shells destined them for greater things so long as they cast aside their humanity. However, when Syr dangled the figurative forbidden fruit above their heads, few could resist the seductive pull of his words. The land’s abundance was borrowed from the divine, but what heights would mortals achieve if they could attain a power above the gods themselves?

Thus, the Technicians built a grand tower to serve as the site within which a new era would be born. To outsiders and those whose aspirations had yet to be tainted by greed, the tower was an institute for would-be engineers from all walks of life to begin their journey as a Technician. However, underneath the halls of the academy, the Technicians carried out all manners of illicit experiments. Whether it be dismantling the fragments of power bestowed by the gods or human experimentation, those who worked within what the Technicians referred to as the Cradle of Desire feared no boundaries. Even when cries of agony echoed throughout the Cradle at night, the Technicians closed their eyes and covered their ears, driven mad by a thirst for knowledge and the concept of human evolution.

When the desperate prayers of the Cradle’s test subjects finally reached the gods’ ears, they became enraged at the depraved acts of the Technicians. Some felt pity when they gazed upon the mangled bodies of the Cradle’s victims, but most were filled with the desire to punish the arrogant mortals who dared to covet the power of the gods. The Cradle of Desire was reduced to a pile of broken walls and distorted dreams overnight, and the mangled, lifeless bodies of the Technicians and test subjects alike littered the grounds of the tower. Amidst the chaos, Syr was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he had been eviscerated by the gods alongside his followers. Perhaps he had moved on to a new world to toy with. Whatever the case, both mortal and divine would swear to never forgive his transgressions.

Disgusted by the arrogance and greed of humanity, the gods abandoned Lithos one-by-one.. Without the divine to guide it, the mana in the world grew turbulent, creating ashen wastelands out of once lush forests and violent storms that tore through peaceful plains. Life in Lithos lost their divine blessings, becoming susceptible to the diseases and poisons of the world. As the world’s mana and resources gradually dried out, nations began to wage war against their neighbors to sustain their own citizens. Entire countries fell and faded into wastelands, while the ones that survived struggled just to meet their basic needs.

The Queendom of Vestry fared better than most, possessing the power of the handful of abandoned relics they successfully harvested from the Cradle of Desire. However, relics inevitably break and the mana stones they rely on gradually run dry. Though the nation has managed to sustain itself relatively well, increasing animosity from its neighbors resulted in the government confiscating all relics, heavy taxation, and the lockdown of its borders. Rampant poverty and military abuse triggered the rise of various rebellions, but no movement got very far. At least, not until the appearance of Arcana.

To the public, they’re terrorists disguised as a self-proclaimed vigilante group. In such tumultuous times, it’s strange for your hands to be completely clean of another’s blood. However, Arcana’s goal isn’t always clear, and the fact that some of their targets and destruction seem indiscriminate has struck fear into the hearts of many. It doesn’t make it any better that all their identities have somehow been kept tightly under lock and key and each member appears to possess strange powers.

In truth, they’re an organization borrowing the power of the Cradle of Desire’s magnum opus: The Deck of Fools. Led by Owen, more commonly known as The World by Arcana’s members, they seek to overthrow Vestry’s current reigning monarch, though many of its members appear to have agendas of their own.

Summaries .

Scene 001:

TBA

Scroll
▼

Code by Nano

 

[Nano]

Cradle of Desire

Scene 001

The crowned owl’s offering has been prepared.
Lusemi watches the Hellebore.
Glory to the Blue Rose’s reign.

Waves of rumors ebb and flow, never favored over the other when it came to the names dancing upon the glib tongues of gossipmongers. Today’s star was a rare returnee to the stage, a young woman whose name remained vaguely familiar to those invested enough in the upper class to recall the bloodbath within the Arva manor. Her knife hungrily tore into the throat of the Arva patriarch, muddying the pearlescent sheen of her home’s walls with the blood of her benefactor. Whether it be her father, mother, or her younger brother, she carefully appended her painting of her “ideal home” with their desecrated corpses, leaving only poor, poor Valeria to clean up after the atrocities of her deranged younger sister. In the end, Sophia Arva slipped through the young Arva heir’s fingers like sand, leaving behind nothing but an empty, locked prison cell.

However, fate bestowed Verrin a second chance at justice, and talk of Sophia’s second arrest five years later quickly took over the streets of the capital. Some sighed in relief that there was one less deranged criminal walking the streets at night, while others quietly passed around doubtful whispers about the suspect’s identity. As for a certain assembly of individuals, most experienced a mixture of panic, frustration, and distress.

Angry footfalls scaled up the steps of the labyrinth leading into the map room, eventually giving way to a cross Daedalus and a Reno whose eyes were looking everywhere except the man he was supposed to be accompanying. Without a shred of care for propriety, the black-haired merchant haphazardly tossed the rolled up parchment in his hand onto the lacquered table.

“Be it a suspicious amount of masks or an old map of some noble’s basement, do not rush orders like these again if you still wish for my continued cooperation,” Daedalus said through gritted teeth.

“Now, now. Take it as my faith in your abilities,” The World chuckled while patting the taller man’s shoulder. When his hand was unceremoniously slapped away, he shrugged and moved his attention back to the map he’d requested.

Lifting it towards the candlelight, the redhead’s eyes swept across the markings on the parchment, scanning the rough blueprint of the Arva manor. “Looks like we were right. There’s a door in the labyrinth to the north of the manor that looks like it connects to a hidden passage leading into the dungeon. Though I assume security will be tight there due to Little Merry’s escape five years ago. She might not even be in the dungeon at all.”

The World tossed the crude map over his shoulder, allowing it to either float back down onto the table or leave it for someone else to catch. Fitting of a high ranking noble, the estate was expansive, host to a rather lavish garden, fields, and barracks all enclosed within stone walls and a gate to the east. An observatory stood tall to the south-west, peering out beyond the dense forest to the west of the estate.

“And still no response from Basil or Roth,” a voice, belonging to The Whistling Maple’s hostess, called out from the doorway leading to the first floor of the tavern. She pushed the wooden door closed with her foot, bringing with her a tray of sliced bread, cheese, and dried fruit.

Upon setting the tray atop the corner of the table for any who wished to grab a quick snack, Io reached into the pocket sewn into the side of her dress and pulled out a pale, purple crystal. “Meredith’s condition doesn’t seem good, considering the gems of rebirth are still out of commission. Be careful out there. You can’t afford your face being seen this time.”

Code by Nano

 

[Dovinique]

Yenoia Abillene

“Morning Yen,” Yenoia's frosty morning thawed under the warmth of Sherra's radiant smile, a vision akin to angelic grace. With the gentle rustle of apron strings, Sherra, the perfect example of both loving sister and maternal figure, had already begun crafting a morning feast. Yenoia couldn't help but return the smile as she settled into her seat across from Sherra. The air was filled with the tantalizing scents of freshly baked bread and fragrant herbal tea. Pink irises, akin to delicate blossoms in the garden, traced leisurely over delectable treats laid before her, evoking a hunger even the most sated stomachs would envy.

“Are we celebrating something?” Yenoia's question floated through the air, more an observation than a question, accustomed as she was to Sherra's culinary indulgences.

“Not really, I just feel like it,” Sherra's smile graced her lips. With practiced ease, her nimble fingers danced across the bread, spreading butter with the precision of an artist and layering it with bacon and vegetables before presenting it to Yenoia, “Eat well, Yen. I don't want you to get sick. You look much skinnier…”

Yenoia's gaze lingered on Sherra, her heart heavy with concern. It seemed Sherra's nurturing instinct extended far beyond the breakfast table, yet Yenoia couldn't shake the feeling that Sherra herself needed care just as much, if not more. Since the devastating loss of Delyx, Sherra had thrown herself into each passing day, her once vibrant spirit dimmed by the weight of grief. Dark circles underscored her eyes, evidence of sleepless nights spent wrestling with sorrow. Where once her face had radiated with vitality, now it bore a pallid hue, the contours sharpened by the strain of loss. Yenoia couldn't help but notice how Sherra's clothes hung a touch looser, a silent evidence to the toll grief had taken on her once robust frame. While Delyx's passing had undoubtedly left its mark on Yenoia, the pain she bore paled in comparison to the anguish etched into his sister's every expression.

"You too, Sherra," Yenoia responded softly, reaching across the table to briefly squeeze Sherra's hand before releasing it and beginning to eat. There was a fleeting hint of moisture in Sherra's eyes, swiftly blinked away in a valiant effort to maintain composure. With that silent exchange, they settled into the rhythm of breakfast, a quiet companionship shared amidst the weight of the sorrow. The air hung heavy with unspoken words, each lost in their own reverie, yet bound by the ache of longing for the presence of their beloved Delyx.

𖤐𖤐𖤐​

Amidst the whispers and speculations about the dungeon, Meredith's whereabouts, and the mysterious disappearances of Basil and Roth, an air of tension hung over the Arcana, as if the true storm had yet to break. As a non-combatant, Yenoia found herself on the periphery of these events, unable to contribute in the traditional sense. Instead, she busied herself with the responsibilities that had fallen to her in Basil's absence, filling his shoes as best she could. Surprisingly, this shift in roles proved beneficial for Yenoia. She found herself able to dedicate more time to her true gift... playing with pain healing. People were not happy, but she was.

Seated amidst the quiet of the infirmary within the labyrinth, Yenoia's attention was consumed by the pages of a well-worn book detailing the intricate workings of the human body—a entanglement of veins, organs, and systems, each playing a vital role in the symphony of life. Her slender fingers traced the text with a quiet reverence, lost in the mesmerizing complexity of something unseen yet profoundly impactful. As her thoughts trapped within the realm of anatomy, Yenoia's fingers maintained a steady rhythm of taps upon the table, a subconscious reflection of the ceaseless activity within her mind. With her head cradled in her left hand, she gazed intently at the pages before her, a furrow of concentration knitting her brow.

"If only..." Her voice, soft as a whisper, "If only we were able to see what's happening inside..."

Her fingers abruptly stilled, and a sly smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "We have to make it happen," she declared. She closed the book with a decisive snap, her mind already racing with ideas and possibilities. Yenoia swiftly exited the infirmary, her path set towards her next destination. The sound of her heels echoed through the labyrinthine corridors, a melodic yet eerily dominating aura accompanying her every step.

Navigating the maze-like passages with practiced ease, she turned left, then right, and left again. Her brilliant memory served her well, allowing her to memorize the labyrinth's twists and turns in a remarkably short amount of time. Without this skill, she might have spent hours wandering aimlessly, only to find herself back at the starting point.

After navigating the labyrinthine corridors, Yenoia finally reached her destination... the coveted laboratory, the prized possession of the third faction. With an air of confidence, she entered without waiting for an invitation, her arms crossed in a display of self-assurance. As she walked through the lab, Yenoia's eyes roamed over the intricate structures and complex equipment, subjects that had never piqued her interest before. Coming to a stop in the center of the room, her presence commanded attention.

"One inquiry coming..." she began, her brow furrowing slightly as she searched for the right words. What should she say when asking for help? Yenoia let out a soft sigh, a small smile tugging at her lips. "...please," she finally said, her tone more of a demand than a request.

 

[A Murder Of Corviknight]

looking for schrodinger's image

Leif Sterna | Magpie

Tags: Dovinique , @.everyone

Leif rarely has second thoughts of Flora’s words because most of the time he is better off not thinking too hard on the pharmacist’s more cryptic comments. But considering the rather tense meeting he was stuck in today with other members of Arcana, maybe he should have heeded her words a little more. …Instead of cheerfully and willfully playing dumb and walking straight into a trap meeting for a rescue mission.

It wasn’t that Leif didn’t think that Meredith didn’t deserve rescuing. It also wasn’t that Leif didn’t like working with other people for missions. He works perfectly well with others (even the ones where he accidentally got on someone’s nerves)! He was just…not a “rescuing” type of member of Arcana?

Admittedly, he was more of a logistics and recovery mission person!

Or a distraction. But those were controlled explosions!

—--​

Leif didn’t let his personal feelings on the matter rattle around in his mind for too long after he left the map room. By the time he got back to the Third Faction’s lab, he put it all behind him and set to preparing for the mission like it was any other. The most important preparation being packing and locking away any sensitive projects that were nowhere near being completed. Any collaborative pieces were also neatly put away in their usual storage so there was no confusion as to which pieces went with what. Only the relics that he was almost done maintaining were left out since they would probably need to be done before he left anyway.

By the time a new guest arrived at the Third Faction Lab, Leif was thoroughly distracted in his element. Unfortunately, he barely acknowledged the new visitor to the lab as he was arms deep in a heat producing table to pull out the coil to prevent it from heating for long periods of time while he wasn’t watching it. (Last time he got in trouble because it started smoking with a funky smell…)

But still by habit, he still tossed and floated over in her general direction a variety of their usual request forms: Request for Maintenance, Request for Intake and Research, Request for Weaponry…

"Sorry! Didn’t get your name but if you could just fill out the forms we will get to your request eventually,"

he called out with a distracted smile.

 

[Zariel]

Andrius treaded through the labyrinth, a complex web of secret passages known only to those within their cabal. His footfalls echoed softly against the stone walls, making his way deeper into the maze.

As he walked, he reached into the depths of his cloak, retrieving a gem of dark crimson from his pocket. Its surface shimmered with an eerie glow. This was a Gem of Rebirth, a creation of Death's Stigma, coveted by the members of Arcana for its ability to cloak their identities from prying eyes. With it, they could wreathe themselves in an obscure aura, concealing their true identities, even in the most mundane of settings.

Needless to say, these crystals were invaluable tools.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said about their creator. Death possessed an insufferable demeanour that often grated on his nerves. Her whimsical antics and unruly nature were a source of annoyance, yet much to his chagrin, fate had intertwined their paths once more.

Despite his reservations, Andrius found himself embroiled in a rescue mission to free Death from the cold embrace of a dungeon. He tsked in disapproval, having begrudgingly accepted the task at hand.

Upon arriving at the entrance to the laboratory, he was greeted by a gathering of fellow members from the other factions. Among them stood The World, Reno, and Daedalus, their shady supplier.

"Greetings, ladies and gentlemen." Nemesis exchanged polite nods with the assembled group, his demeanour guarded yet courteous. "I've received orders to assist you on this little stunt."

He sighed.

"But allow me to be perfectly clear, whether or not Death makes it out of the dungeon, let alone in one piece, is none of my concern. I'm merely accompanying the group on this mission to ensure the safety of a few other members involved," Nemesis spoke with an impassive tone. "Although that being said, there's no doubt a few names come to mind of those who deserve to be locked in that cell too..." he crossed his arms, eyes training on The World. "If you ask me, that lunatic is right where she belongs, I don't see the harm in leaving her there, at least a little while longer."

ANDRIUS​

 

[Aukanai]

SONG GRACIE

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ten of Swords FOXGLOVE

Song Gracie was a doorstop. Or a centerpiece upon a dining table. A pretty little thing to look at, or a useful object for a selected task. But never at the same time. It seemed she would never amount to anything greater than what was already labeled for her. Song felt that way, too. Stuck in the same routine, day in and day out. There was no real direction for her anymore.

Just an unsettling feeling rumbling in the back of her mind, something almost foul.

Song Gracie wasn't anyone special. But, Foxglove was a storm on the horizon. Insignificant from afar, but a terrifying force when you're in the midst of it. A glint of dark clouds behind her glossy eyes. She's not yet aware of it, but she feels the change coming. Arcana just gave her the key to unlock it, to give her somewhere to unleash it. Maybe it's why they opened their doors to her; they saw through her pitiful exterior and saw the demon of her potential.

It was almost ironic, however. To take upon the name of something that she has almost once died from. The poison of the foxglove. Living as both a blessing and a curse. It's the life Song has lived thus far. But, for almost half a year she'd been in a stalemate. Four months ago, she had an opening to make a move.

She joined Arcana.
-------
Now, every morning she wakes up with a greater drive than yesterday. Yet, there is the lingering same-ness.

She still wakes up to her empty house, reminded again that she is alone. Her family isn't come back. Her problems are still the same. And, just like every other morning she finds herself sitting at her table, staring at the blank paper in front of her.

Dear,

She's never been able to write anything more. Always stuck on the same word. How hard was it supposed to be to write a letter to your own husband?

" Dear, my beloved Rem
I am sorry to inform you that I have joined the rebellion." It should have said. She keeps staring at the paper.

"Our marriage is ill-fated. I wished we never met." Is what she wanted to say. It hurt too much knowing that they would be fighting on opposite sides. That they might actually fight each other.

In the end, the letter stays blank like it always has. She goes on about her day.

The early morning comes with the need to finish sewing the clothes of the previous day. A skill Song has become almost a master of, having done it for her entire life she presents such quick and efficient work of her craft. Business has been steady as of late, she's received a handful of orders from customers. All of which are almost completed, ahead of schedule. In her free time she'll head to the markets to sell any extra clothes she's recently made. Later, when the sun is high in the sky and she's made her ordered deliveries, she makes her way to the Whistling Maple.

A place she's been to before, but since joining Arcana, she's visited more frequently. Where she usually just sits at the bar and watches people. Those of Arcana, she's not quite yet sure, she hasn't met everyone. Within the confines of the faction assigned to her, are the only people she has been introduced to yet, with the exception of being familiar with several other names but yet not really knowing who they are.

The Whistling Maple was a good place to listen to recent gossip. A way to stay up to date with the latest news.

She doesn't stay too long, though. Within the months she's been with Arcana, she's become wildly aware of expectations. Especially the expectations of her faction leader. She is still so far from being a worthy asset to Arcana. It would take a lot of training. Which has left her feeling a sense of exhaustion as of late. But, her desire to change has become desperate. She refuses to stay idle anymore, she wants to reach new levels.

At the least, she can see improvements. Everyday, just a bit faster in cardio training, every week she can lift up the stone a little longer. It's small, but it fuels her motivation.

She sees to it that she makes sure to train. Sometimes the training her faction leader assigns feels like a mountain to overcome. But she doesn't want to become a disappointment. She refuses to give up, and so she keeps on pushing herself.
Today is no different. She makes way through the labyrinth towards the training hall. Admittedly, she might've taken awhile to learn how to navigate through the labyrinth, but she's been lucky enough to receive help from fellow Arcana. Now, it seems she understands it enough. Sometimes she still makes a wrong turn.

From the tavern to the training hall, she hears gossip of an upcoming mission. One she still doesn't know the details of, but anticipating that it'll be her first real mission. It makes her nervous. She catches the chatter of it being a rescue mission, with the mention of a Meredith - a name she's grown familiar with but has yet to put a face to the name. She's at least heard from other members that she is deemed as someone troublesome. Just another rumor that Song doesn't yet have an opinion on, there are things with Arcana she's still learning about. She assumes there would be a briefing with her faction with the rest of the mission details.

When she arrives in the training hall, she takes a moment to stop in the doorway and look around the area in search of anyone she might recognize.

She wanders further into the training hall. "Arum..?" Someone she's quickly befriended in the first faction. She's not quite sure if he's here, but she presses on,"..Is Vermillion here today?"

She's still getting used to calling everyone by code names. Song's almost forgotten to use her own code on numerous occasions, something she's been reminded by her fellow members.

---

Location: Training Hall ll Status: Reporting for training ll Interactions: Cyrus & Aurelius (mention)

@ everyone​

Spoiler: mobile

[ SONG GRACIE ] ​

---

Song Gracie was a doorstop. Or a centerpiece upon a dining table. A pretty little thing to look at, or a useful object for a selected task. But never at the same time. It seemed she would never amount to anything greater than what was already labeled for her. Song felt that way, too. Stuck in the same routine, day in and day out. There was no real direction for her anymore.

Just an unsettling feeling rumbling in the back of her mind, something almost foul.

Song Gracie wasn't anyone special. But, Foxglove was a storm on the horizon. Insignificant from afar, but a terrifying force when you're in the midst of it. A glint of dark clouds behind her glossy eyes. She's not yet aware of it, but she feels the change coming. Arcana just gave her the key to unlock it, to give her somewhere to unleash it. Maybe it's why they opened their doors to her; they saw through her pitiful exterior and saw the demon of her potential.

It was almost ironic, however. To take upon the name of something that she has almost once died from. The poison of the foxglove. Living as both a blessing and a curse. It's the life Song has lived thus far. But, for almost half a year she'd been in a stalemate. Four months ago, she had an opening to make a move.

She joined Arcana.
-------
Now, every morning she wakes up with a greater drive than yesterday. Yet, there is the lingering same-ness.

She still wakes up to her empty house, reminded again that she is alone. Her family isn't come back. Her problems are still the same. And, just like every other morning she finds herself sitting at her table, staring at the blank paper in front of her.

Dear,

She's never been able to write anything more. Always stuck on the same word. How hard was it supposed to be to write a letter to your own husband?

" Dear, my beloved Rem
I am sorry to inform you that I have joined the rebellion." It should have said. She keeps staring at the paper.

"Our marriage is ill-fated. I wished we never met." Is what she wanted to say. It hurt too much knowing that they would be fighting on opposite sides. That they might actually fight each other.

In the end, the letter stays blank like it always has. She goes on about her day.

The early morning comes with the need to finish sewing the clothes of the previous day. A skill Song has become almost a master of, having done it for her entire life she presents such quick and efficient work of her craft. Business has been steady as of late, she's received a handful of orders from customers. All of which are almost completed, ahead of schedule. In her free time she'll head to the markets to sell any extra clothes she's recently made. Later, when the sun is high in the sky and she's made her ordered deliveries, she makes her way to the Whistling Maple.

A place she's been to before, but since joining Arcana, she's visited more frequently. Where she usually just sits at the bar and watches people. Those of Arcana, she's not quite yet sure, she hasn't met everyone. Within the confines of the faction assigned to her, are the only people she has been introduced to yet, with the exception of being familiar with several other names but yet not really knowing who they are.

The Whistling Maple was a good place to listen to recent gossip. A way to stay up to date with the latest news.

She doesn't stay too long, though. Within the months she's been with Arcana, she's become wildly aware of expectations. Especially the expectations of her faction leader. She is still so far from being a worthy asset to Arcana. It would take a lot of training. Which has left her feeling a sense of exhaustion as of late. But, her desire to change has become desperate. She refuses to stay idle anymore, she wants to reach new levels.

At the least, she can see improvements. Everyday, just a bit faster in cardio training, every week she can lift up the stone a little longer. It's small, but it fuels her motivation.

She sees to it that she makes sure to train. Sometimes the training her faction leader assigns feels like a mountain to overcome. But she doesn't want to become a disappointment. She refuses to give up, and so she keeps on pushing herself.
Today is no different. She makes way through the labyrinth towards the training hall. Admittedly, she might've taken awhile to learn how to navigate through the labyrinth, but she's been lucky enough to receive help from fellow Arcana. Now, it seems she understands it enough. Sometimes she still makes a wrong turn.

From the tavern to the training hall, she hears gossip of an upcoming mission. One she still doesn't know the details of, but anticipating that it'll be her first real mission. It makes her nervous. She catches the chatter of it being a rescue mission, with the mention of a Meredith - a name she's grown familiar with but has yet to put a face to the name. She's at least heard from other members that she is deemed as someone troublesome. Just another rumor that Song doesn't yet have an opinion on, there are things with Arcana she's still learning about. She assumes there would be a briefing with her faction with the rest of the mission details.

When she arrives in the training hall, she takes a moment to stop in the doorway and look around the area in search of anyone she might recognize.

She wanders further into the training hall. "Arum..?" Someone she's quickly befriended in the first faction. She's not quite sure if he's here, but she presses on,"..Is Vermillion here today?"

She's still getting used to calling everyone by code names. Song's almost forgotten to use her own code on numerous occasions, something she's been reminded by her fellow members.

---

Location: Training Hall ll Status: Reporting for training ll Interactions: Cyrus & Aurelius (mention)​

 

[Bloody_Death]

AURELIUS STALLARD || VERMILLION

It was looking to be a very busy day. With the mission to go and save Meredith coming up very quickly, there wasn't much time to just sit around! There was never really time to sit around, but even more now than before! Because of this, Aurelius had decided to wake up a bit before sunrise. Sacrificing two entire hours of sleep to ensure he could get everything done and prepared before morning practice. Oh, it was dreadful and it put him in a less-than-pleasant mood. How was he supposed to function without a full night's sleep!? If he could, he would have punched his own reflection in the mirror. But that would leave a mess all over the sink. Whatever. He'll feel better after getting some food and waking his body up.

Once getting dressed and cleaned up, he headed out of his room and began heading down to the dining area. Grabbing himself a delicious breakfast! Which was probably just bread and a piece of fruit. But no matter. There didn't seem to be too many people here this early. So it was a peaceful breakfast as well. Once he was done with that, it was time to warm up! So he ran. Through the twisty winding halls of their headquarters. The long complex halls made it a great track to run. He ran for about twenty minutes. He kept the warm-up short to arrive early at the training hall where he began preparing for morning practice. Pulling out all the equipment and checking over his planner to make note of what he needed everyone to do. There was so much to do during this shortened training period. Why did Meredith have to go and get herself caught!? None of this would be happening if she didn't get herself imprisoned again. He always had mixed opinions about her. She never seems to take anything seriously. Like this is just one big game for her amusement? He wonders if she's even fearful of what might happen to her. Or if she's too busy betting with herself on whether or not she'll be able to make a grand escape again. Nevertheless, everyone in Arcana is at a much higher risk since the gems of rebirth are no longer working. So making sure she returns safely is a very big priority.

He checked the clock after he finished preparing the arena for their training. A few members were starting to funnel in, and he made sure to greet each of them and allow them to warm up before actual training began. It wasn't long till a certain redhead walked in. Miss Foxglove had been assigned to the rescue mission as well. Making this her first major mission since joining. He can admit that he was a bit worried for her. Not that he doubts her abilities, but the mission setting feels entirely different than just standard training. It's very easy to choke under pressure. And on the battlefield, you're rarely not under pressure. He'll try his best to ensure this is nobody's final mission. "Good morning, Foxglove." He greeted with a small nod of the head. "I hope you got a good night's sleep. Today is going to be a long one." He already wasn't looking forward to it. "We'll be having a shorten training session in order to prepare for the upcoming mission today." He explained to her, a hand on his hip as he glanced around the arena. "Is there something you needed from me?" He asked, recalling that she had asked about him when he came in. "If not make your way over to the other's to warm up before we begin." He hoped the majority of people would come early today. The quicker they start the more they'll be able to squeeze in.

---

Interactions: Aukanai (Song)

Mentions: Anyone in the training arena.

 

[Cresion Breezes]

Zenith "Zeni" Rota || Défrayer

What is this image?​

"Ugh......It's finally over." Zenith was half sleeping, half in a coma on the table. They mumbled as they looked up at their surroundings. In a few seconds, the power of the Wheel of Fortune would shift once more, into something that benefits its user rather than hinder it. Considering the mission was planned in advance, there was no reason not to line up a beneficial phase of the cycle with it. The former phase was one that cause a loss of senses, it sometimes came with nausea due to the feeling of imbalance that came with it. There was no way one could properly like that, but at the very least it only lasted for around 20 minutes this time. Cycling the wheel out of combat was always quite challenging, especially if Zenith tried to sleep through it, as the shift would slow down to a near crawl.

"Right. It's time to get to work." They muttered while starting blankly at their watch. There was a lot of work to be done, both in terms of combat and...

---

Sch-ching-

The sound of metallic objects rubbing against each other echoed out through the room. Zenith put down the whetstone and began to fidget around with the hilt and slender blade of the sword with a bored demeanor, they weren't exactly happy about going off on a mission after the "rushed order" mentioned by Daedalus. That would probably put quite a dent in Arcana's finances, books would need to be cooked for a while depending on the real size of the order. Despite there being relatively affluent people within the organization, money ultimately doesn't grow on trees.

That was also one of the reasons why Zenith supported the recovery of Meredith, the practical reason at least. The Gems of Rebirth was one of the more convenient items that Arcana has in their possession, it cuts down both costs and risks massively when it comes to stealth operations, security, and other important matters. Zenith didn't want Dorian or any other Second member hurling more mundane accounting ledgers at them, their time was precious, and there were books to be written about the interesting caricatures of revolution that wandered in the underground labyrinth.

The other reason, well, Zenith thought Meredith was interesting. That wasn't a particularly high or low assessment of one's character, as Zenith seems to believe that everyone was "interesting", but they admired the way Meredith acted. It was quite authentic, freed of the dreariness that many members carried, the dreariness that so often turns into a sense of rigid intolerance that buries the winds of revolution far too early.

Speaking of being rigid......

A member of the First, a stern-looking blond arrived on the scene, Zenith looked at him out of the corner of their eye. Although the curious bookkeeper didn't look at the man directly, his words rang out quite clearly within the small room. Zenith furrowed their brow for a moment and made an unamused expression.

If Zenith could give Arcana a grade as a "revolutionary organization" based on the preliminary criteria set out in chapter 3.2 section 1 of "Le Manifeste", it would probably get around a C-. Not too bad, but not too great either. There was a lingering sense of division within the organization that felt like a threat to them achieving their first goal of dealing with Vestry's monarchy, let alone search for a long-term and stable governance.

"Alalas- Aren't you a harsh one," Zenith spoke up casually after Nemesis' announcement, their expression was of a casual and gentle smile, "internal acrimony is the enemy of the revolution, Nemesis. How about we actually accomplish something first before thinking about backstabbing and leaving our fellow comrades for dead?" Zenith returned their rapier to its holster and chuckled. "Losing people means losing income and expenses, do you how many ledgers and tabs I have to go through? The frontline teams sure have no consideration for their logistics people, tsk tsk..."

---

Location: Map Room

Interactions: Zariel (Andrius)

Mentions: Anyone Present

 

[Aviator]

Clementine Jinie // “Knightmare” // Female // Age 20 // the Star // 2nd Faction
​

Clementine Jinie was frustrated. Unfortunately for her in general and all of Arcana in this particular instance, it was a feeling with which she was well-acquainted. She’d felt frustration burn through her in a bloody blaze that day six years ago when a battalion of mounted soldiers with red-plumed helmets had escorted her father away to join them in the ranks of the queen's army, when he’d already served once and should have been spared from further drafts. She’d felt it again when her grandfather, now the patriarch of the family despite being out of touch with reality, had stopped prodding at a cage of pigeons long enough to look up with a rheumy gaze, eyes half-focused in Clementine’s direction, and decree that she and her sister be sent to finishing school so that they may develop into proper ladies, and her mother doing nothing to oppose the order.
She felt the frustration every day when tyrannical parents—her employers, usually—decided that their noble offspring weren’t performing up to par. The children printed too messily, or too many wrong notes rang out through a harpsichord number, and a beating was administered. Not to the noble offspring in most instances—for there was usually a dinner to attend that week, and visibly bruised faces wouldn’t do—but to a child of lesser standing who was employed to act as that child’s friend and companion, and take blows on their behalf when an infraction was committed.
Today, the occasion for the frustration was that she hadn’t gotten off work till late last night. As much as she loved little Kiara, the girl whom she was currently tutoring, Clementine had hoped to have their financial literacy lesson over and done with by sunset, so that she could return to her room above the Whistling Magpie and let loose her Wings of Rebellion. But Kiara had struggled to derive the net profit from the various financial statements, and as such Clementine hadn’t left the Du Roche manor until a whole hour later, when darkness had already swallowed Vestry. Another twenty minutes had elapsed by the time she’d hastened over cobblestone streets to arrive at the back entrance of the Whistling Magpie, moving as quickly as she could while still retaining a stately, inconspicuous presence, her knapsack thumping against her shoulders with each long stride.
And by the time she’d sat down on her too-narrow, bumpy mattress, cross-legged and straight-backed as she leaned against the wall, she was too late. With the rustling of many tiny wings, her hundred moths had exploded from her, escaping through windows, up chimneys, under doors, and through any miniscule draft-admitting cracks in the walls that they could find, and find them they did. Moths were clever like that. They’d soared high over the city so that all of Vestry was laid out like a massive mancala board before Clementine, its gas lamps forming clusters of orange dots. Last night, there had only been one target: the Arva manor. Dorian, leader of the second faction, had tasked Clementine to gather intel on the estate: confirm that their blueprints were accurate, and more importantly, where darling Meredith was being held.
But as she had feared, the dungeon was impregnable from either inside or out, designed as it was to prevent inhabitants from escaping. No hand- or footholds marred the smooth stone, which was as slick as the surface of a glassy pond, and just as cold. Clementine’s moths could not exist in such frigid temperatures for more than a handful of minutes, their wings going brittle, small bodies curling in on themselves. Thus, she was forced to leave before she was able to confirm whether or not Meredith was truly inside the Arva dungeon, or whether it was just a decoy. Clementine had hoped that by getting there almost as soon as the sun fell, she’d at least be able to witness whether a servant dispensed food at the door, revealing life inside, but sunset had come and gone, and by the time she’d gotten there, the sky was deepest berry blue. She’d missed dinner, assuming that they were feeding Meredith at all. The holder of the Death card had been missing for several days now, and the thought that her comrade might have already succumbed to starvation or hypothermia made a shiver walk down Clementine’s spine.
Now, as she walked to the Map Room—which Clementine thought of as the General’s Tent, on account of how the faction leaders used it to plan raids and assassinations—the heels of her leather-sole boots clicked a steady rhythm, echoing and reverberating in the dank tunnels of the Labyrinth. Her Snakeskin dress had assumed a plain, simple form, with sleeves that covered her shoulders, a modest neckline, and a straight-cut hem that fell just past her knees. The fabric was as sleek and black as a shadow. Perhaps because it was early morning, and Clementine was still adjusting from the transition of night to day, it was reflective of her mood. During the night, when she immersed herself in others’ dreams, she often felt like a shadow. Shuffling after dreamers like a dark ghost, watching them from nearby and shaping their dreams but unable to interact directly with them, unable to have a tangible grasp on reality.
As she walked, she whistled a sea shanty that her father had learned from the navy, her voice characteristically off-key. Clementine paused only to take a swig from the pewter flask that dangled from a leather strap at her hip. Notes of vanilla, tobacco, leather, and blackberry danced on her tongue. The brandy made the world sharpen into focus ever so slightly, blurry forms taking on distinct edges, giving Clementine a jolt of much-needed energy. Because her Stigma was only accessible at night and she was often tutoring or running around with Arcana during the day, Clementine was necessarily sleep-deprived. Every night she had a choice: Sleep, or use her powers to spy on Vestry, and the greater good of Arcana usually won out. Clementine’s biological family had been upended when her father was called to war, and in turn she’d been sent far away to boarding school, as if her mother and grandfather meant to dump their problem on someone else several hundred miles away. Clementine hadn’t seen any of her blood relatives since. Over time, Arcana had become her surrogate family, the family that had embraced her after her former one had abandoned her. There was little that Clementine wouldn’t do for them, starved for love and belonging as she was.
In someone else’s eyes, maybe her motivations were selfish. Clementine gave and gave of herself endlessly, as if one day an unspoken bargain would be fulfilled and she would be wanted, no, needed by her comrades. As if their eternal adoration was a thing that could be earned through sacrifices and hard work, cementing her place among them. But to Clementine, it was just survival. She’d been alone for long enough already, and a solitary existence, detached from those she held dear, did not appeal to her.
As she approached the doorway, voices drifted from its other side, one of them heated and bitter, another one cool and detached. Recognizing the owners, she bit back a smile. Nemesis had a demeanor befitting of his alias, cold and antagonistic. Clementine had once made a joke that he was in a good mood once an eon, and if you caught him in one, the gods were smiling down on you. Défrayer, on the other hand, was as unbothered as ever, going on about financial records as was their wont. They spoke in a tone that suggested whether Meredith perished in the dungeon, she’d be written off as just another sunk cost, and if she lived, she’d be an asset for the indefinite future, with minimal deterioration so long as she was able to lift a sword. Both of them were so cool, so casual. Clementine wondered whether they needed Arcana the way she did, whether the individual pieces held intrinsic value to them, or if the organization was just a stepping stone to facilitate their political ideologies.
“I’m inclined to agree with Défrayer,” Clementine cut in as she slipped through the open doorway like a wraith. Heads snapped toward her, peering up from the surfaces of tables or whipping over shoulders. Nemesis wore the indignant scowl she’d come to associate with him. Dark shadows circled Spinel’s eyes and his auburn hair stuck out in haphazard spikes, making him look like the ring-tailed rodents that picked through trash and would steal into your house if they caught whiffs of food. “For gods’ sake, Nemesis, if we keep you around, then of course we’re goin’ to rescue darlin’ Meredith,” Clementine purred, her curry-red lips tilting up into a smile to show that she was just teasing him. He was so easily riled that the activity often proved fruitful with minimal effort.
Her flippancy dissolving, she turned to address Spinel and the World, the latter’s pomegranate curls falling over one eye with artful grace and obscuring it from view. Owen reminded her of a pixie: pale, pointed features; a narrow mouth that somehow sharpened into a smile; and a knack for mischief. Not for the first time, Clementine thought that if she liked boys, she’d have fallen for him. “Um,” she started, the words she’d so carefully planned catching in her throat like thorns. Oh, how she hated disappointing her family, having failed the simple task they’d given her. “Last night I was unable to ascertain whether Meredith is truly bein’ held in the dungeon. No one entered or exited from it. However”—and here she paused thoughtfully to saunter up to the desk that Owen and Spinel were standing behind, taking a gander at the map they’d drawn up—“your blueprints would better serve us if they contained the servants’ passageways. The Arvas are a prestigious family, and it simply wouldn’t do to have servants wanderin’ the same halls as them. Thus, the servants navigate through a complex series of corridors within the house, linkin’ unrelated rooms together and hidin’ them from guests’ view. It’s not unlike our own Labyrinth. The entrances and exits tend to be hidden behind paintings and bookshelves so that not just anyone can wander in by chance.”
As she spoke, Clementine’s Snakeskin dress shifted into something bolder, more fanciful, the bodice brightening to tiger’s-eye orange and a silky black sash falling over one shoulder and twining around her waist. The relic could change according to the wearer’s will, but unless Clementine carefully regulated it, sometimes it had a mind of its own, shifting whenever a new emotion or environment presented itself. In public, Clementine took pains to ensure that the dress never shifted where others could see the magical transformation, yet among the ragtag group of rebels, she usually let Snakeskin take whatever shape it fancied. Having finished delivering her report, she turned her gaze to Io, the tavern hostess who was kind enough to let Clementine live in one of the rooms above the Whistling Magpie for a discount, considering their mutual allegiance to Arcana. She offered the older woman a gentle smile, warm and soft as candlelight. “How’s business, Io? Any rowdy customers in need of sweet dreams?” As per their deal for discounted lodgings in exchange for services rendered, sweet dreams was the euphemism that the two women used for when a customer caused a disturbance at the Whistling Magpie and Clementine deterred any thoughts of a follow-up visit.

 

[Dawnsx]

A year into his (official) membership in Arcana, Cyrus still felt like a pup that just learned how to walk. He was stumbling along, tripping and bumping into things as he went. He was eager to explore, to learn, but also a little terrified of the big, looming shadows that were the government and Arcana’s larger-than-life goals.

He could always just quit. Stop exploring the scary world and curl safely back up against his father. But then he thinks about the way Daemon’s eyes go vacant sometimes and his own memories going away and returning to a life of running… Cyrus couldn’t decide which option was scarier.

Besides, now that one of their own needed rescuing, Cyrus couldn’t just leave.

So he arrived at the training hall bright and early with a jittery bounce in his steps and a smile that stretched a little too wide.

It was early enough that only Auri and a small handful of others were there, but the sight of his leader alone settled Cyrus a little.

Soon enough, more people trickled in, including one fellow redhead that made Cyrus’s eyes light up.

“Foxglove!” Cyrus beamed, bounding over to one of the newest members of their faction. “You look brilliant today! As always, I should say.” He held out a hand, as though inviting Song for a dance. “Shall we warm up together? Let’s ease you into the training.”

And maybe keep Song away from Auri for a bit. Cyrus loved his best friend, but Auri’s training methods were, uh… not for the faint of heart. He still sometimes felt a phantom ache from when Auri accidentally broke his arm that one time. And if the rumors were true, more arms had been snapped in the past. The last thing they needed was for them to scare off a newbie again!

 

[nios]

Scene 001

Pawn

Emersyn Illiro

"I won't be returning once I've delivered these to the Maple, Mister Ravern," Emersyn called out near the back door of the Bake Awake. She paused with two crates stacked neatly on a stool beside her. They were brimmed with freshly baked bread— an assortment of cheese-dusted cockets, dried fruit tourtes, and plain barley loaves. Emersyn stood patiently as she waited for Mister Ravern's response. Her foot nudged a rogue chunk of charred bread around as minutes passed in silence. That was until a rough chorus of coughs trailed around the kitchen and a flour-coated hand waved through the doorway— signaling Emersyn to get on with it. Emersyn perked at the man's gesture and bent over to haul the crates carefully into her arms. The crates towered slightly above her head, and certainly blocked her frontal view. As she used her back to push past the door, she left the bakery with a chime. "I'll- uh... I'll see you later, Mister!"

His coughs been getting worse and worse. I better not catch what he has, she thought. The Whistling Maple was approximately two blocks, a skip, and (occasionally on a bad day) a trip away from the Bake Awake. Emersyn begun her commute with a bit more ease knowing the sun will soon peek from the horizon rather than an ominous challenge to run from the moon and its shadows. She won't be running this time, at least. Fortunately, the roads and sidewalks at this time of day were less congested compared to the typical hour Emersyn's relieved from her shift. At this time, the merchants and shopkeepers gathered around the local vendors for morning auctions. Meanwhile, what seems to be delivery workers (whether on horseback or on foot) dotted the block in hopes of transporting their wrapped goods in time. Similar to Emersyn, they were well attuned to the early hours.

A prolonged yawn rattled through Emersyn's frame and she took another pause to adjust the weight in her arms. Fatigue stung her eyes, which she quickly blinked away as she carefully walked on. Her head kept craning from either side of the crate. These cobbled sidewalks to the edge of her boots were a quick invitation straight to the ground. Just don't trip this time, she warned herself and her grip tightened instinctively. She eventually reached the Whistling Maple— both her and the produce unscathed. Emersyn rounded to the back of the tavern and settled the crates where they usually belonged. To a passing barmaid, she hesitantly asked, "Is Io here to— oh okay. Nevermind. I mean, pardon me."

She slipped into the labyrinthine beneath the tavern without a sound, but not without a cautionary look thrown over her shoulder. A shaken breath mixed with stale, dampened air— the descent always placed her in an unsettling mood. As she traversed, her fingers gently tapped the faint glowing stones along the wall and she hummed a rather (off) tune to fill the still atmosphere. Then, the stillness became meshed with tension and for a moment, Emersyn almost mistook it for her own. The ever growing whispers among Arcana members reached her ears the closer she approached the map room. She peeked inside and listened quietly.

Death... Basil and Roth... Arva dungeon... Rescue...

So, a mission was upon them and time was their enemy once again. She twisted herself around and one nimble step after the other led her further from the map room and into one of the interrogation rooms. Along the way, she continued to hear rumors and was almost certain she felt the pierce of their eyes on her. They'll all know who you are when the Gem's master dies, Paranoia whispered down her neck. Emersyn winced. She quickened her steps at the thought and slammed the room's door shut behind her. "Deep breaths," she mumbled while she wrung her hands and wiped the accumulating sweat on her trousers. "Should I count to ten? Or was it sixty-three? What did Amethyst say again? Ugh..." Feeling warm, Emersyn slipped the satchel from her shoulder, tore off her coat and unfastened the top button of her shirt. She dumped the contents of her satchel all over the floor in a panic— a hazardous sight to behold.

Among the strewn items, the Gem of Rebirth sat lifelessly. Emersyn and Meredith were not close. Emersyn never really had the confidence to approach the woman— only to observe from afar. Meredith was akin to a savior and perhaps an inspiration of sorts. Meredith's creation was what kept her safe and hidden. If this was to be the last strand of luck she had to spare, what future did this entail for Emersyn? Was this her end as well? Then they'll really find me, she thought with horrific realization. Thought after foul thought led Emersyn to curl beneath the table centered in the room. The taste of copper seeping onto her tongue was enough for her to realize she had been gnawing on her lip. A quivered hand smeared away the dribble of sanguine fluid, leaving behind a subtle sting. The sharp glint of her pair of scissors caught her eye amidst her pitiful state. A glimmer of resolve slipped through the cracks of her crumbling composure. "I don't want to go back there," she spoke softly to herself as she grabbed her scissors and a sharpening stone. "I'll make sure I don't."

#arcana

#faction02

#nineofswords

Code by Nano

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Akseli Arbeit - Rattler

The research lab was soothingly bright, lit by three lumens meticulously inset in the fine-hewn walls. The steady, grinding of a whetstone across a cold, gray blade resounded against the walls. That and the melodic humming ringing out from Akseli. A work song passed down to him from the master carpenter hones his attention to an edge sharper than his greatsword. The Engine'er sat on his bed, one leg crossed, pale body clad in the gray folds of his garment when not geared for work, resting the blade in his lap. The tool was a fine implement, as many of his were, for its duty. His hand, firm but not tight and relaxed but not loose, applied the sharpening stone a final time before submerging it in a bucket of water by his side, washing away the metallic dust in a whorl of fine, gray particles. He leaned back from the greatsword as the lights danced atop the blade's keen edge to and fro its tip like the painted shine on a gray canvas. He paused for a while, moon bright eyes surveying his handiwork. There was satisfaction in the gleaming surface, an ebb, a heartening, to the cragginess of his thoughts that he delayed until now. He slipped a glove off and tapped the sword with a thumb, recoiling reflexively immediately. "My, my, you're a keen thing, aren't you?" He remarked. A warm smile played on his youthful, pallid features, spotless teeth glinting barely through his wide lips. Such a profound love for his craft — indeed, for the physical world itself.

He sighed. The journeyman wiped, inspected, then racked his greatsword, hand clenching with unconscious unease around the hilt of the greatsword. He stood up, bundling the cloth that rested on his thighs, wringing out the water that escaped into the bucket. His hands were thrown, stretched to the covered sky as the cramps were flattened out in his whipcord muscles. The air of Arcana vibrated, affected by the ghastly presence of rumours and whispers and speculation. The atmosphere was stilled, it was like a pall of burning lumber, Akseli could sense the tension rising by the moment. He moved slightly, undoing the beige, leather apron that hung from his neck, he doffed it carefully on the wall-mounted hanger. Akseli could not seclude himself any longer, nor would he wish it any longer anyway. He ambled by the large, rustwood table at the end of his laboratory, head shifting to look at the serried rows of paper, with only a few pieces unaligned and fair few more crumpled, thin parchment crushed under his own fingers not too long ago. The Engine'er stopped, hand reaching out to pick up one of the pieces, flattening it out to see what he already knew. One half of his upper lip curled, eyes stark with disappointment. He outstretched his hand putting side by side a machine's flint-edged schematic next to his paltry attempt at artistry. It galled him. What was so different from between the two? Both were finely-drawn, put to paper by an arm as steady as a pillar and hand as free as the wind, but the latter lacked something, either profound or subtle that Akseli couldn't discern, that made it seem wrong. He took the paper, crushing it and the others in both fists, throwing them away in a can for refuse.

A tribulation for another time. As it was, he had donned his attire. Dark gray-and-tan padded jacket; black, fur-collared cloak hanging tightly around his shoulders, cowl drawn down; leather gloves, white along the seams, aged by wear; and helm bound to his side.

His thoughts turned to the mission. A member of theirs had been imprisoned, the linchpin to their anonymity, her rescue their simple task. Were it so easy. He felt his knuckles white in his gloves, leather squealing as he flexed fingers taut. The door to his personal laboratory swung in, Akseli cracked his neck side to side as he entered the short corridor into the well-carved section of the Third Faction, the door rolled shut and clicked three times to lock securely. It had been a non-verbal agreement between all the members of his faction, privacy and security were valued highly, whether it be their intentions or prototypical projects. He manifested from the dim-lit hall adjacent to the Third Faction's primary laboratory, there was a thump of booted footfalls and the tapping of calloused, pockmarked fingers on the metallic helm. Arriving, his gray eyes picked out an unusual presence within their fastness. The jubilant pyro, Leif Sterna, worked fairly recently, judging by the characteristic stench of heavy cutting oil — at least the feather-headed Magpie hadn't set the machine oil alight... Again.

But it was the fashionably attired woman that drew his attention close. He tilted his head to see her face and recognised it almost-immediately. Yenoia Abillene - Amethyst. She had an experienced, haughty air to her, from the close-fitting folds of elegant fabric, porcelain-smooth skin and domineering subtlety in her speech to the electric pink of her eyes, bearing a serene calmness. He only briefly met the woman once before, blithely unaware of anything save her appearance, name, and role. As always he approached with a smooth smile, gently pushing up his cheeks. He gestured a greeting to Magpie. "Salutations, Magpie." Akseli said.

His voice issued, appropriate for its owner's figure — sonorous, milky, calm. Undeniably a voice that sounded more at home with a reassuring physician or nobleman, upright and brimming with youth's potential. There was a warmth there, the heat of a summer bound within the chords of his vocals, molten metal. "And you would be Miss Amethyst, correct?" He began, bowing his head in greeting. "What services can the Third Faction provide to you?"

Interactions: Dovinique (Yen-Amethyst), A Murder Of Corviknight (Leif - Magpie);
Mentions: Meredith;

 

[lucenti]

Melios Ceriant | Vanitas

His fingers slid through his strands like sand. Gentle tugs with the help of clips separated the hair into smaller pieces, making it straightfoward to braid. It parted so easily under his hands and stayed where he wished. His thoughts were lost in the waves of green, carried away by the monotony of his repetitive movements. The intricate pattern almost seemed to build itself, slowly running down the entire length of his hair. A Sisyphean task more than anything else; then, in a few moments, his hard work would unravel. If not by Vermillion's training, then by the upcoming mission. They both had that effect. Yet it was these parts of his routine that gave him the time to process the events of the day before. To see for himself on which side of the line he should stand.

Meredith was a bomb waiting to explode, and anyone who believed otherwise a fool. Boredom would light her fuse, and only the intervention of others could prevent serious damage. A truly untrustworthy, faithless and irredeemable clown. But in the end, she was always someone who deserved to be saved. Any other belief was inherently repugnant, no matter how strongly it manifested itself in some.

With the mission fanned by World itself, there was no playground left for any reluctance about Death and her behaviour. A must, rather than a should or can. Regardless, the original intent was important. These are not actions born of altruism, but of sheer practicality. Arcana is doomed to fail without the benefit of magical anonymity, and it didn't take a genius to realise that. Meredith may not care much about the details of her rescue, if at all, but it was stuck in his mind. Like the tangled knot that was currently preventing him from finishing the braid.

What if it were to happen to someone other than her? Someone less useful and easily replaceable? If Foxglove is doomed to meet an unfortunate end on her first mission, or if Arum lost his charm. If they saw no need for the blue blood in Dusk, or if Nemesis made his first mistake.

Could he afford to fail?

The ends frayed as he hastened to secure the hairband, the fineness lost towards the finish line. The imperfect braid swayed as he stood and walked past the mirror covered in a linen cloth and the old drawing hanging on the wall. His eyes lingered on the latter, the sight of his sister dulling some of the doubt and fury, but it wasn't enough.

Melios was a person, but Vanitas was just another name in their eyes. Arcana was not a family that would do anything for you, and he should never forget that.

── ౨ৎ ──

Endless rows of brick and stone greeted Melios in the labyrinthine tunnels that made up their headquarters. Universal cracks and similar layouts evoking the feeling of never having left the starting point. It was a hell to navigate the first time through, and became easier with each missed turn and subsequent arrival in the wrong room. Echoes amplified here; sounds with no way to escape. Down here, even the sudden thud of a door slamming shut could rattle Melios; a jarring disruption to the usual ambient sound of whispers and squeaking metal.

It was this deviation from the norm that caused Melios to seek out its source. The preferred option over having to enter the Map Room and facing whoever already occupied it. Strategists to the bone. The ones who put a measly value on human life and made him want to rip them a new one.

Finding the culprit of his curiosity brought Melios to a room door. One of the dozens meant for interrogation. A few too many, if anyone ever bothered to ask him. Frankly, they weren't catching prisoners like dimes in a well to justify this waste of space. His hand rested on the smooth surface, appreciating the intricacy of its craftsmanship. Slowly, it slid to the handle, shaking it to hear if the lock was in place. It was not. Something someone might regret in a moment's worth. With no reason not to, Melios invited himself in. The knob turned under his force and he entered with the grace of a breeze. A contrastingly softer method of setting foot into an enclosed space.

The scene Melios saw as he took in the state of the room didn't quite meet his expectations. They never knew when a situation might arise where they needed to interrogate someone. So, for safety's sake, places like this were usually kept organised. Well, normally. Now, seemingly random objects were scattered haphazardly across the floor, creating a minefield of potential tripping pitfalls. By a hair, Melios almost missed the culprit behind the mess, cowering under the central table. The sounds she was making ultimately betrayed her, even if at first he thought they were the distress calls of a stray mouse.

"Pawn," he stated blandly, shattering the calm she found in her own erratic mumbling. Her dwindling composure made her a sight for sore eyes, comparable to the mess her apparent belongings had made on the ground. She looked positively distraught, and it was her misfortune that none of the kinder members had stumbled upon her. Melios bent down and picked up one of her many discarded possessions. A humming escaped his lips before his focus returned to her. "What a pitiful sight you make," he commented, without any real heat in his words. As if merely making an objective observation out loud. "Is this where you tell me what murks with your brain in such a way that you see fit to have your emotional breakdown here?"

His conscience at the back of his head chided him for his words. How unfair to take his mood out on someone so far removed from the cause. It drowned far too quickly to have any effect; the more unreasonable parts of Melios always won out in the end.

---

Interactions: pawn ( N nios )

Mentions: first faction

 

[fluticasone]

fluticasone fluticasone

dusk

name

titania iseult

location

armory > training hall

interactions

vermillion ( Bloody_Death )

mentions

foxglove ( Aukanai ) arum ( Dawnsx )

Dusk enjoyed the quiet, almost eerie, conditions of the armory. Few came here, most members of Arcana preferring their own tools to the random assortment stocked inside. It should've been a drab, lonely place, but warm candle light and her own lamps' colorful glass turned the storage into a homey base of sorts that served as a makeshift office. Two chests, scarred with age, served as her workbench while an overturned barrel acted as a stool. It wasn't official, but seeing as she also acted as a quartermaster of sorts for the unused storage, Arcana let her be.

She was just packing up, carefully placing broken glass in a small box to the right of her makeshift table. Titania had already finished when others had only just arrived. Unlike many, her hours were her own. She'd had enough time to ruminate the news that trickled throughout the streets: Death had been captured, and Arcana was compromised. Not that those outside Arcana knew of her membership, but as it was, the organization was a sitting duck. Maybe the other factions cared little, particularly the Third, but the guaranteed anonymity provided the First with an indispensable boon - they were the ones in the direct line of fire.

And therein lay the issue. Meredith was indispensable... so what happened if they lost her? Despite her Stigma, she was not Death incarnate, nor did they have any sort of guarantee that her fickle whims would lead her to abandon the organization entirely. It was imperative Arcana did not lose the meager control they had over the unstable individual, even if it meant risking themselves to rescue her.

The noble woman sighed as she took off her gloves. It didn't matter how much she thought and debated; as she was, whatever she said fell on deaf ears. She would only be heard once she was in a position of power. Arcana was no different from the politics of aristocracy in that way, despite what they themselves thought. It was a game she'd played and won once before; she could do it again.

For now, however, she'd have to prove herself useful. Dusk took the bow and quiver she'd chosen as her own off the wall, and headed towards the training grounds. Vermillion had summoned her as a participant for the rescue mission, along with others who were new, including a recent addition to the faction, Foxglove. Finally, someone newer than herself. No longer would she be bottom of the pecking order.

Voices carried through the Labyrinth as she neared the hall. Arum's voice was loudest, his enthusiasm evident in the echoes. At her entrance, some lifted a hand in greeting. She responded with a small smile before heading straight to the first faction's leader. She wasn't so green behind the ears to ask him to train with her, but she wanted a better idea of who else he'd called upon. She saw Arum himself, speaking with the woman whom she'd thought of only moments before.

"Vermillion,"

she said. Her voice was clear like a bell, the pitch just high enough to cut through the background din.

"Who else is coming? "

 

[OldTurtle]

Dorian Alfieri | Ematille

Tick, tick, tick…

The bronze watch hanging from his hip bore on ceaselessly, the faint ticking echoing mechanically in time with Dorian’s footsteps. The dry-stone walls of the labyrinth insulated the noise poorly, carrying it down and around the corner. Not a person looked up as the tall noble passed by. Some were no doubt too occupied with musings of their own to pay the least attention to their surroundings, but much of the remainder could be attributed to his current state. Straight, ochre hair cropped just before the shoulder framed a young-looking face, both cheeks painted with a healthy flush of color. A pale leather jerkin over an embroidered linen tunic bundled around a lanky frame, accompanied by particolored hose smudged along one knee with a streak of grime.

Frankly, it was as far from stylish as one could be. It was also, to anyone familiar with him, antithetical to Dorian’s usual attire. The singular glance he’d taken in a mirror before setting out from his manor was enough to evoke a sense of deep revulsion in the man. The world would be a far better place were ‘poor fashionability’ penalized as harshly as murder. Murder of the senses, at any rate.

The crime he was committing against his consciousness was, unfortunately, a necessary one. Paired with usage of his relic – only the slightest camouflage, as there was still the later mission to attend to –, the disguise had seen him out of his gates, along the busy roads of the capital, and through the second-nearest entrance to the Wanderer’s Labyrinth late in the evening. It was unfamiliar enough a guise to evade much notice. With Death – oh, that reckless fool, Meredith – again apprehended and the Gems of Rebirth out of commission, no precaution was too great to avoid detection. It would be such a pity to have to remove a member of his household staff for questioning his late-night departures. The household was intentionally minimally staffed, and he despaired at the amount of time and effort it took to train a replacement up to satisfactory levels.

Yet another venture down into the depths of the underground further soured the man’s poor mood. Meredith’s capture had disgruntled him enough to begin with; despite their admittedly poor working relationship, she was still under his supervision. His responsibility, not that he ever had much influence over her actions. The young woman appeared to hate him to no end, ever the staunch loyalist to Raeger.

And now, much like her beloved leader, she faced the executioner’s blade. Dorian had a good, long laugh at the irony when he’d first heard. If not for the value she provided to Arcana, her death would’ve made quite the show. Paired with a fine glass of wine and a meal made for an evening superior to the latest troubadour to visit his court. He must admit, however, that was hardly the highest bar to clear; the man had plucked at a fiddle for three quarters of an hour and wheedled on in a grating voice that tempted Dorian to split him from throat to groin. Ugh, his head throbbed even at the memory.

Tick.

The hands of his pocket watch fell still at twelve o’clock. With the faintest sensation across his extremities, the vestige’s magic faded as Dorian pushed the map room’s heavy door open.

The map room, as it often did, was the center of a flurry of activity. The tactical center of Arcana’s subterranean base, excursions were frequently preceded by gathering in the spacious chamber to discuss plans. Personally, Dorian found it rather distasteful. Over the years, many had attempted to coax out some semblance of comfort from the environment, but no amount of gilding was sufficient to make the noble enjoy being underground so much. It was dark, dingy, and depressive. He much preferred to be back up on the surface, resting in his lovely study surrounded by timber and sunlight and not the nauseating, pulsating glow of the labyrinth walls. Alas, his duties demanded regular visits into the depths; he shuddered to think what manner of absurdities the band of misfits would engage in without a guiding hand.

As he stepped into the chamber, there was already an immediate tension in the air – and not the standard sort that arose on the eve of any major undertaking. A quick glance around at the menagerie was quite revealing. Another brewing argument then. Nothing new. At least this time they only fought with barbed words and not edged blades.

Crossing swiftly to the large walnut table spread across the center of the room – that had been a pricey acquisition and more trouble than it was worth to install down here – Dorian tugged off his scratchy wig and stuffed it underarm. He peered down at the map, examining the layout of the Arva manor grounds.

“Regardless of your sentiments, Nemesis,” he began in his low, honeyed voice, continuing to look over the parchment. He dragged a fingertip over the worn surface, tracing along invisible pathways through and between buildings. “Death provides Arcana a service integral to our regular functions. One that cannot be replaced so easily. I suggest you put aside your personal gripes and make her safety your concern.”

Finally, Dorian turned from the table and took up his usual place, leaning back in the wooden chair. It creaked faintly under his weight. Glancing down, he noted a thin fracture along one of the legs. That would need to be repaired soon. He’d grown fond of the seat.

“At any rate, we must account for the possibility of Meredith being incarcerated elsewhere. The estate grounds are expansive and while nowhere is as easily secured as the dungeons, it would be a simple matter to secret away one woman. It is telling that we haven’t so much as confirmed her location; there is a limit to the number of guards and security measures the Arva can install while still maintaining a tight seal on the location. For whatever reason, they’ve determined secrecy is more valuable than manpower – an ideology I recommend we mirror.” Dorian drew the map closer again. “A head-on clash cannot be avoided when penetrating the dungeons, but that would be Vermillion’s area of expertise, wouldn’t it?”

He smiled at that, shaking his head wryly as if amused by the younger man’s proclivity for violence. Directing his attention to the rest of the map, he continued, “But we could feasibly search other major points of interest with a more covert set. The observatory-,” he pointed out the structure marked roughly southwest of the main residence, “-in particular has potential. Limited means of entry, being easily defensible, and clear sightlines of the surrounding grounds makes it a promising alternative.”

There was, of course, more to Dorian’s reasoning than he was letting on. He’d long since picked up a few nasty little particulars about House Arva; information that was valuable but until now hardly actionable. Certainly, it was enough to dissuade any thoughts of approaching the dungeon himself – not that he’d ever intended to either way – but he wagered Aurelius and his goons could manage. Dorian suppressed the urge to chuckle.

If not, then… well, no skin off his back.

---

Interactions:

Mentions: Nemesis ( Zariel )

Location: The Map Room

 

[Dovinique]

Yenoia Abillene | Amethyst
Interaction: Rattler Worthlessplebian , Magpie A Murder Of Corviknight
Mention: Ematille

Yenoia's eyebrow arched imperceptibly as she perused the forms, each sheet more mundane than the last, her expression a mixture of disdain and impatience. With a dismissive huff, she nearly tossed them aside, but her hand halted mid-air, and she placed them neatly on the nearby table instead. A strand of hair fell across her face, and she casually tucked it behind her ear, shifting her stance to better face the source of the voice that had interrupted her.

Two things irked Yenoia to no end. First, the tediousness of administrative tasks—filling out forms was hardly her idea of a productive use of time. Second, the man before her, apparently unaware of her identity or status, failed to address her by name or even her code name. She was the esteemed doctor, the savior of Arcana, and yet he dared not to remember her. The audacity…

With a hand on her hip, Yenoia regarded the man with a dissatisfied smile playing on her lips. "Should I introduce myself exclusively to you?" Her voice was as soft as feathers, but beneath its calm surface lay a subtle edge, a hint of displeasure that was unmistakable.

Another voice, as soothing as a lavender scent, cut through the tension, momentarily calming Yenoia's irritation. Though she remained perturbed, the newcomer at least knew how to properly greet and recognize her, even offering a respectful bow. Her blinking eyes, rhythmic as a metronome, shifted to the gentleman, a faint hint of approval coloring her features, "What a gentleman we have here..." Her hands fell from her hip as she picked up one of the forms and approached him, stopping just inches away, close enough for him to catch a whiff of her perfume.

Her scent was a complex blend, starting with the bright citrusy freshness of bergamot, mingling with the tantalizing spice of pink pepper. The heart of the fragrance revealed a rich and intoxicating blend of jasmine, rose, and ylang-ylang, while the base notes of vanilla, patchouli, and sandalwood added a warm and earthy depth, ready to wrap anyone in a cocoon of soft seduction.

Her gaze swept over the young man, not with disdain, but rather a habitual curiosity reserved for those she had yet to acquaint herself with. Her oft-present smile attempted to mask the false intention. She tried to recall his code name, but her memory failed her, only offering a vague recollection of a brief encounter. Handing him the form, she said, "I'll fill out the form for you..." Tilting her head, she squinted her eyes, struggling to remember, "...Rattail?" It sounded close enough, she thought, though she wouldn't dwell on its accuracy.

Waving her left hand dismissively, she added, "I want to have something to see under the skin, like bones, internal organs, everything," she continued, her voice carrying authority softened by a hint of persuasion. "It will definitely be helpful for us doctors and, of course, beneficial for all the members in Arcana." With a confident stride, she circled the area, her gaze sharp as she addressed the practicalities. "No need to worry about money, I'll deal with Ematille."

 

[Nano]

Spinel

reno salvatore

location

Arcana HQ, Map Room

tags

Ematille OldTurtle

Soft breaths exhaling with a cadence belonging to one resting weary eyes yet not quite sleeping accompanied the metronomic ticking of the grandfather clock standing guard behind the counter. The hands of the clock face read half past four, late enough into the afternoon for the workshop’s owner to take a brief rest after a day of consultations. To the lapidarist’s misfortune, not a day passed where his rest remained undisturbed, this time taking on the form of a meddlesome paper bird that pecked at scarred fingers with increasing insistence the longer he attempted to ignore it.

Reno’s wrist snapped towards its right, crumpling the paper doll within his palm before rolling it back onto the surface of his workbench for it to slowly unfurl and reveal the message hidden within. With a single, narrowed eye, the redhead scanned the note, vexed when the usual bubbly letters were replaced with barely legible and very much lopsided glyphs reminiscent to that of a child’s who’d picked up a quill for the first time.

dear spinel
ive kept quiet about your little secrets so its about time you start returning the favor
make sure not to be late

When he flipped the palm-sized piece of paper, he closed his eyes in pain and took a moment to lay his head back down. If the handwriting wasn’t a dead giveaway, the strange scribbles upon a poor excuse for a map were all the conclusive evidence he needed to confirm the identity of the note’s sender. One day, after the resistance eventually disbanded, he was eager to crack open The World’s head and study it. Why draw a map instead of stating the message’s purpose and location? Why was there a random dog doodled on the corner of the piece of scrap? Was the angry face with kelp for hair supposed to be Daedalus?

Unfortunately, Reno would find out in a few hours’ time that he’d once again been allotted a task that no one wanted to do simply because their most honored leader knew he wasn’t in a position to refuse.

Daedalus being in a bad mood was nothing new. If it wasn’t some complaint about the foul nobility and the corrupt crown who had turned a blind eye to their shady dealings, then it was some manner of foul mouthed commentary regarding Arcana’s members. Specifically those whose behaviors tended to be, in his words, “utterly asinine”.

The problem at hand? Their resident blackmarket dealer was absolutely fuming. Whatever it was that The World had asked of him, it was clear as day that it was something unreasonable, enough for the crotchety man to stare Reno down as if he were tempted to bite his head off the moment he saw him. The fact that the malfunctioning gems of rebirth locked Daedalus out of the Labyrinth also did wonders for his mood, he bet. In a poorly disguised attempt to make as little noise as possible, Reno kept his steps light and nearly pasted himself against the wall of the labyrinth as a means to keep as far away from the merchant as possible, genuinely fearing for his life if the echoes of his breaths dared to grate against the eardrums of his cranky companion. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve suspected that Daedalus was yet another host to the Deck of Fools’ many stigmas, what with the way his aura alone seemed to lower the temperature of the already chilled air by several degrees more.

If Daedalus heard Reno’s sigh of relief upon spotting the door leading into Arcana’s underground base, he fortunately didn’t comment on the matter.

As the room slowly filled with its usual cast of wayward personalities, the group became cloaked in a tense undercurrent, flippant tongues threatening to ignite the sparks readied by more impassioned individuals. Yet past the pointed dissent of Nemesis, no doubt dissatisfied by Death’s lack of respect for morals and her other foibles, and subsequent chastising delivered by the radicals of second, it wasn’t difficult to determine that any disagreements were nothing more than paltry words tossed for the sake of attacking Death’s character. As for Reno, he was inclined to agree she deserved them, albeit not to the extent of being condemned to death. Personal feelings aside, the volatile woman was blessed with a unique gift, one that made her too valuable a piece to discard into the enemy’s hands.

It was just unfortunate that the very same value which drove their desperation to recover Death was the likely reason behind her capture.

Death was fickle, yet he doubted she sauntered out in broad daylight without the disguise of her own gem of rebirth. Her capture wasn’t a result of another one of her flights of whimsy, not when the consequence meant being returned to the house that had driven her to madness. But now wasn’t the time to begin pointing fingers, not when the rat was still at large.

“If the dungeon is as heavily guarded as we assume, the likelihood of something of value being held there rises. Whether that something is Death or a skeleton in the cupboard,”

Reno finally spoke, agreeing (he shuddered at the thought) with Ematille’s statements, though he secretly hoped the man he wasn’t plotting anything by pushing the exploration of the dungeon onto Vermillion when said man wasn’t present to say anything for himself.

“Arcana’s involvement in this matter is bound to be discovered, so they might as well cause a stir to hopefully draw some attention toward the dungeon’s corridors. We’ll be relying on Pawn and Knightmare to avoid the rest on the way in, preferably through different points of entry, though I’ll see if I can glean any useful information if we come across any guards.”

code by Nano

 

[606]

click!

Gio

carnelian

location

training hall

mentions

Reno (Spinel)

interactions

Aurelius (Vermillion), everyone in the training hall

tags

Nano fluticasone Dawnsx Bloody_Death Aukanai and anyone i might have missed

9 of wands...

Fear. Pain. Worry. Distress.

It was a messy blur as they looked around, shouting but no voice came out, screaming but no one answered. In their arm, they held someone, looking down seeing white scales spread over the familiar body. Orange red hair, coughing, groaning in pain. Crying. Praying to the gods who were no longer there. Cursing at life, wishing for death to take them first, to trade their life with their sister. If only things were different. If only there was a solution.

Gio gasped as they shot up, the sun gleaming through the cracks of the small room, looking around. A simple bed, a dresser, a small desk, and a chair. This was where they were. They slowly pushed themselves off the ground, picking up the scrap of fabric they call a blanket and the pile of clothing they call their pillow, and began to put it away, feeling their heart racing. It wasn’t an uncommon nightmare they had, but to have this one for the past week was strange. It was only 2 days ago they just celebrated their birthday, though they refused to say anything about it, spending it working, training, and relenting that there might be a day when their sister might not celebrate another bday. Even in their sickened and weakened state, Nadia had still somehow made them a card.

Gio found themselves standing next to the bed, looking down at their sister who was still sleeping, pain across their face. Mana corrosion was uncommon, but they couldn’t stand seeing their sister slowly suffer every day, Gio only able to work and research, hoping to find anything to help her. Their only hope - Arcana.

They laid out a cup of water and bread for their sister on the nightstand, taking her hand and squeezed it softly, courting down and rested their head on the hand lightly taking a long deep breath.

“I will find a way Nadia…I will save you,” they whispered, lingering for a moment before letting go. Then they were off, heading down a set of stairs, looking around for their host, Reno. He was one of the first people he was introduced to when invited to join Arcana, the head of research or something. The World seemed to know a specific group of people dedicated to research and they did try to save Nadia but, her case of mana corrosion was only slightly different. While it was severe right away, as it lasted for a long time, it also was more resilient. While they might have bought her more time, it was more time she was suffering at the same time.

However not seeing Reno around, Gio would take it as a sign they could head into the Arcana labyrinth, where more times than not, Gio would get lost. They were known to Arcana, dare they say one of the newest ones, but they proved themselves useful as much as they could, now getting their first big assignment. Gio could only assume it was due to their ability, while they haven’t figured out how to use it offensively and defensively, Gio seemed to be picking it up quickly, or well, Gio has been working hard to pick it up quickly. They found themselves wandering the one entrance that Gio remembers, The Whispering Maple, when not working for Reno, they often found themselves helping out here. They nodded to the people working and would slip into the back, making themselves a cup of coffee before heading down to the cellar and then into the Labyrinth.

A left, a right, another right, and Gio would find themselves completely lost. Standing in the middle, they took a long sip of their coffee, slowly being to take a few steps backward, and decided to retrench their steps back to the entrance. A left, a left, a right, and they found themselves somewhere different, maybe, as they were for sure not at the Whispering Maple entrance. A few minutes, they just wondered aimlessly, hoping that some instinct would kick in as they had been trying to learn the paths here, but did struggled. Yet in time, they did find the training room at long last! Seeing familiar faces, but unsure of their names, but pretty sure one of them was Vermillion, one of the leaders like Reno.

Training was important before whatever mission lay ahead. Still not quite awake, and shaken up from this morning, they continued to sip their coffee and would plaster a smile on their face, but their eyes with dark circles under them would say that they had a rough night once again.

“Hello everyone! Hope I’m not too late!”

They said after one last sip of their coffee, taking a few more steps beyond the entrance.

“Just got a bit lost, again.”

dear fellow traveler

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[nios]

Scene 001

Pawn

Emersyn Illiro

Any attempt to address the details of the impending mission led Emersyn to fall right back to where her foul thoughts started. There were no such things as cotton-edged illusions to sooth the blemished knot between her brows. There was only Paranoia and Anxiety tantalizing their boney, decayed hooks for grappling along her spine paired with their beady eyes eternally hammered at the back of her head. Their frigid, bated breaths down her neck sought to calcify and consume her whole as she watched helplessly. Yet, in some measly attempt to regain some sense and control, she proceeded to make a list of all possible things that came to mind, which somehow merged into a series of peculiar self-assurances. So, there she was underneath the table— a mumbling, trembling mess struggling to sharpen her scissor’s blade along a weathered whetstone.

She missed the rattling against the doorknob, followed by the foreign presence entering the small space— an alarming mistake Emersyn was soon to realize as the dry call of her name caused her movements and mumbling to still. Why… Why couldn’t I sense them, she wondered as her frame eventually crawled from underneath the table. Her wobbled gaze shifted from the cold ground to the cascade of emerald everglade tresses pulled into a (in her eyes) neat plait. From there, she knew who the thorny voice belonged to. Emersyn cleared her throat. “Well met, Vanitas,” she spoke, her voice slow and sheepishness evident.

Emersyn flinched at Melios’s comment. She was led to believe the wrinkled, disheveled state of her clothes and her ruffled nest of hair disgusted him. After all, Emersyn was nothing in comparison to his well-kept visage— a roughed up pebble to a pearlescent gem. She remained stiff in her spot across from him. On the surface, she appeared to be embarrassed by the state she was found in. Whereas, her thoughts and worries were solely focused on the fact that she was possibly nowhere near prepared for what was to come within those aforementioned dungeons, especially if she couldn’t sense Melios’s presence in such a small space. She almost missed what Melios said and she blinked up at him.

He must be among the most etheric beings she ever came across, and Emersyn only had a miniscule selection to fall back on. From where she stood, Emersyn kept a steady focus on him. From the curvature of his lips as he spoke, to his lingered gaze, the distinct tone of his voice, and even the way he stood before her. He doesn't seem to be in a pleasant mood again, she noted. When is he ever, something else added.

“…Is it that time? Hmm,” she responded as she looked around the room for her wristwatch. “I would’ve known better if I knew where my— right, what murks my brain, nervous breakdown…” A series of mumbles from her ensued. The pad of Emersyn’s thumb rubbed the dull handle of her scissors as she circled around the table, which gained some distance between them. She crouched behind the table and appeared to be checking underneath it. “I think I saw a ghost,” she whispered with a shuddered tone for added effect as her eyes peeped above the edge of the table. There was no sense in telling Melios the real reason. “I also heard someone in the hall say Arva Manor is riddled with ghosts… Do you think it’s true— Oh! You had it, Vanitas!”

It was only a moment before she stood in front of Melios. Her gaze flickered between the wristwatch in his possession and his twisted emerald locks. Be careful, her thoughts warned sharply as her imagination danced around the thought of what it would feel like if she entangled her callused fingers through them. It wouldn't be pleasant to get my hand smacked again like last time. Hence, the respectable distance she kept between the two. "Would you mind returning that to me," she asked as her hand itched toward him.

#interaction: lucenti (Vanitas)

#location: interrogationroom

#tags: tba

Code by Nano

 

[Nano]

Cradle of Desire

Scene 001

Bloody_Death fluticasone Zariel lucenti A Murder Of Corviknight 606

“If my family didn’t owe a debt to the Arvas, I wouldn’t be in this hellhole.”

“I know, I know. But do me a favor and stick by my side, alright? What need is there to patrol separate passages when that thing is around...”

“Last time it nearly drowned one of the maids. I don’t understand why they kept that one of all things around. It hunts for sport, and that creep only ever seems to enjoy watching us- Shh.“

Hushed whispers and the tapping of hard soles against stone traveled through the dungeon passage like a soft murmur, only coming to a halt when one of the men gestured for his companion to stop. Even with the erratic, crackling of the torch in his hand, his keen ears had picked up on the shuffling of metal against stone down the passage directly to their left, whether it be the sound of someone picking a lock or breaking it.

“Who- who’s there!” The more skittish of the two immediately yelled in undisguised fright, eliciting a frown from the torchbearer. However, before the more experienced of the two could deliver a scolding, a sudden chill seemed to suck the moisture out of the damp air within the dungeon’s passage.

Stone parted, giving way to a bubbling vortex of water threatening to swallow the scowling guard and drag him down into its bottomless depths. Before his kneecaps could plunge past the surface of the water, a dark shadow emerged from the dark waters, with it the struggling body a man clenched within its jaw.

When Arcana finally managed to break their way into the dungeon’s strangely spacious halls, they’d be greeted with the sight of the serpentine beast thrashing its head about. The man’s quilted armor had been long rendered useless, shredded much like his torn muscles within its three rows of razor sharp teeth, and his helmet had been discarded against the door of a nearby prison cell.

The guard’s partner sat, collapsed, upon the damp, cold floor, face aghast and eyes bulging in disbelief as he watched the beast tear into his companion. Free-flowing furs loosely clung to its scaled body, curling, flickering, and lapping at the air like a voracious, dark flame. As it lifted its head, finally having fulfilled whatever satisfaction it obtained from tossing the body in its mouth about, the chest of its prey heaved in a breath, too weak to scream in pain yet miraculously alive. With its cargo secured, it tucked its giant claws close to its stomach, body beginning to lazily snake through the air as faint oceanic ripples of light cast off its scales.

Soulless eyes glanced over the members of Arcana like a passing breeze, having obviously perceived the humans yet seemingly lacking any desire to pay any mind to the intruders. Yet.

OldTurtle N nios Dovinique Cresion Breezes Aukanai Dawnsx ThatWhichShouldBe

Compared to the direct intrusion through the labyrinth’s connection to the dungeon’s old, hidden passages, sneaking past the watchful eyes of the guards stationed above ground required far more finesse. A smaller group had been dispatched on scene an hour earlier than the rest, taking the time to utilize their abilities to observe the density and movements of the guards. Arcana eventually made their way into the estate, having picked off one guard at an opportune moment and dealt with them in their usual manner.

Past a thick curtain of ivy was a rusted door, likely one that had been built with the intent to serve as an alternative means to flee from within or to receive guests when their identity meant they couldn’t afford to be spotted taking the main road into the estate. However, the fortuitous find would seemingly call for an end to their good fortunes.

No sooner had Rattler and Knightmare led by Spinel departed to investigate the north, directly above the dungeons, than troubles began to plague those who remained. Whether it be a result of nerves or bad luck, the group would be subject to all manners of traps on the way to the observatory. In stark comparison to the myriad of incidents along the lines of a well-disguised hole leading into a death trap of spiked planks designed to fold around whoever was miserable enough to fall in, the halls were eerily quiet. Not even Pawn’s stigma would pick up on any signs of life along the path to the observatory, save for a singular anomaly that seemingly faded in and out of existence. Even if one of the triggered traps happened to make a not inconsequential level of noise, it was unlikely that anyone would be in the vicinity to hear it.

About a half hour into their trawl filled with misfortunes, they finally reached the doors of the observatory in one piece, yet one final step onto the wrong plate would trigger the telltale sound of yet another mechanism shifting out of place as the harsh scraping of stone against stone grated against their ears. This time, whoever was responsible for the act would instead lift up one of the stone plates lining the floor, revealing what appeared to be a staircase leading downward.

Before the group could arrive upon a consensus regarding their next course of action, a small mewl drew their attention towards the entrance to the observatory. Sitting neatly upon the patch of grass was a white kitten small enough to fit within cupped palms. Its messy fur was patchy, as if it were healing from a skin condition, and a series of numbers were etched onto the band around its neck.

The kitten opened its mouth into a yawn, flexing its pink tongue surrounded by tiny white teeth. As soon as it closed its mouth and stood up, a white-haired woman suddenly appeared behind the animal in a brief flash of red. She scooped up the kitten, brushing the dirt off its paws before lifting her head and finally taking note of the intruders within the room. Rubescent eyes blinked once, keeping the thoughts hidden within a well kept secret in their blankness.

Securing the kitten within the crook of her arm, she pushed her thumb against the ruby ring worn upon the middle finger of her right hand and promptly disappeared. The surprised yowl of her cat, however, would reveal that she hadn’t teleported very far.

Nano Worthlessplebian Aviator

In the northern complex of the manor, Spinel gestured for Rattler and Knightmare to halt. Beyond the bend in the hall was a guard whispering to another fellow guard who was stationed in front of a door. Though the trio was too far to make out the faint murmurs of the guard, Spinel’s stigma came to life, the etchings burned into the back of his hand glowing a faint red in response to its activation.

Upon the second guard’s eventual departure, the redhead cut off his connection to the guard, linking himself to the minds of Rattler and Knightmare instead.

“They failed to mention who was inside, but it’s a prisoner from what I managed to glean. Knightmare, I’m counting on you to watch the corridor. Check for any strange drafts that hint at any hidden passages we didn’t account for. Rattler, I’ll need you to paralyze the guard by the door and take him down by whatever means you see fit. There are either one or two more inside. Move as quickly and silently as possible, so we don’t risk one of them escaping and notifying the master of the house.”

Code by Nano

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Akseli Arbeit - Rattler

The Engine'er leaned slightly against the counter, greeting the approaching woman with a soft-smile that graced everyone Akseli met. Despite the stature differences between them, Yenoia exhumed a type of control-dominance, an invisible force pressing his chest. She was gorgeous too, features fashioned from the finest flax-linen giving shape over structure carved by a luminary sculptor. Her lips softer than molten metal. Then came her aroma; it was a whorling tide of scents, blending so perfectly together to caress and sting his palate, from the light acerbic crispness to the earthy undertones of complexity, entrapping the researcher in a web of a smells that melded so completely. It caught him off-guard for the moment. Akseli stiffened, forcing himself not to meet the physician's blinding gaze. He allows that if he were raised differently, his sight would be indecent, his thoughts bent another way.

His head shifted, stone gray eyes locking with Yenoia's fiery pink. The surge of nervousness passed while listening to the physician's developmental prospect. His hand went up, cupping his chin and one scarred finger gently tapped his cheek, mind already flush with elaborate schematics. It only just occurred to him that she referred to him as Rattail. He chuckled lowly, taking the form into his hand. "It's Rattler," He corrected cheerfully. "and your request seems feasible. Two to three man job," Akseli continued, unaware of the way his idle hand gesticulated, two then three fingers and rolling at the wrist. "I can't give you an exact estimation of completion from a blind spot like this, but a day or more of toiling, additionally sourcing materials, and I'll send you an approximation when you can expect it. It'll certainly be a complex project, for sure." Akseli nodded, not bothering to hide the excitement which edged his voice. "If there's nothing amiss, feel free to visit."

He felt a surge of agitation as his eyes continued to pick out Yenoia's gaze, the briefest glimpse to her soul, it perturbed him with worry, but Akseli dismissed such frivolous concerns, even if his heart skipped a fearful tempo.

————————————————​

In the silken shroud of the night, Arcana had initiated their infiltration. The members scattered and serried into three groups of near-equal number, save for Akseli's group, consisting only of his mentor, Spinel, of Third Faction and Second Faction's preeminent reconnaissance expert, Knightmare. Of Spinel, Akseli is quite experienced with, it was his dutiful tutelage that had expanded the Engine'er's knowledge of relics and the almost-lost science of the Technicians — one day, Akseli hopes to indemnify the world that had lost such advanced marvels, the only wish is that his works be worthy to be considered in their legacy. However, of the tight-skinned Knightmare, Akseli knew little beyond the snake-sheathed relic she wore and the fuzzy insects she called upon to do her bidding. He holds no grievance of trust, being a member of Arcana alone proved her reliability, but Akseli's reserves wouldn't need to be tested if there was a familiar one at his back. Still, he resolved himself, casting the folly of sentiment away.

He moved furtively with them, measured steps made more strident by the heavy blade that he carried close to his shoulder. The steps Akseli took felt as though they were gentile taps against the flagstone and wooden floors of the manor. It was dark, air warm, heavy with the nightly murmurs of the groaning wind and the sounds of animals far, far away outside. The servants who supplied this dwelling were fast abed, a minor mercy brought about by the nighttime. For all his pledges, Akseli could not ignore how verboten this truly was — he never denied it, sidling in the hardened darkness like red-eyed rats against the walls. At a few points, Akseli had gotten the urge to pause and stare at the displayed works, whether it be art or armour, hadn't mattered to him, it still tugged. But he pressed onward. The noble splendor of the manor left no doubt as to the owner's wealth and power, from the elegant stonework to the haughty decor. Sometimes, Akseli swore they were under the gaze of graven eyes embedded in the walls themselves; couldn't tell whether that was the case or were it his own nerves failing him.

Spinel halted them, bringing them up with the palm of his hand. Akseli pitched himself to the stone wall, mindful of his greatsword as his shoulder softly planted itself. Around the bend of the corner, the faint murmurs echoed to them, Akseli assumed those were Spinel's reasons. He breathed slowly, taking in the manor's fresh air as Spinel's Stigma flared and his mind bridged with the guards. Akseli turned his wrist, carefully letting the point of his blade touch the floor with an imperceptible tap, the flickering illumination gleaming across the gray blade.

His mentor's voice sounded from his mind. "Understood."

Akseli's gloved hand went up under his chin, using his helmet to pin the leather against his chest and slip his hand out of his gloves. His hand laid the glove on his shoulder then went down to his blade. For a moment, his breathing became erratic. Then it stilled.

One. Two. One. Two.

The skin of his palm pressed against the edge, the balmy warmth of flesh met the cold mercilessness of the blade.

One. Two. One. Two.

Three.

The blade edge was wet with crimson and Akseli's hamstrung breathing relaxed as the wound bubbled and dripped with blood in a single thin rivulet. He winced, brows furled, and teeth grit tightly. For a moment, the Stigma on his hand flared an orange glow before extinguishing itself. The space above his hand bent and twisted in on itself, Akseli reached out with his thoughts, the way he has instructed himself time and again, harnessing the energies and coalescing it into a single, ghostly eye. The gray eye floated up, the nerves that hung from its back like a tail as it whipped to Akseli's helmeted countenance. The Engine'er nodded and gestured for Spinel to give him a bandage or three from the medical supplies he had on his person, before the blood stains the floor.

He sent it down, wound around the bend. The invisible eye found something; the guard, armament and armour, in front of a door, the one that likely held their prisoner. It observed the man, face lax slightly from the long hours of his duty. He raised a hand to yawn, blissfully ignorant of the eyeball that hovered before him. Just as the man's mouth closed, he felt a sensation overpower him. His body grew taut, rigid suddenly. His own eyes began darting, quickly finding the culprit behind his paralysis before him. The corners of his eyes widened, the only muscle that obeyed him besides reflexively breathing. His mind told him to scream, shriek loud to waken the dead from their slumber, but his mouth had been sewn shut.

Akseli had rounded the corner, slowly pacing to the man. The man saw the dark garbed figure in the periphery, occasionally illuminated by the lights positioned at several intervals of the hallway. Rattler raised his greatsword high, one hand on the grip while the other hand's gloved fingers clenched the blade. He angled it against the unarmoured temple of the man. The pommel of his greatsword crashed into the guard's skull, his eyes rolled and body went limp immediately, his consciousness robbed. Rattler's hand shot out, wrapping the guard's neck in the crook of his arm and gently dragged the man away from the door, lowering him beside it.

He gestured to Spinel and Knightmare to approach, readying another sacrifice for the chamber beyond them.

Interactions: Pre-Mission: Dovinique (Yen-Amethyst), Post-Mission: Nano (Reno-Spinel), Aviator (Clementine-Knightmare)
Mentions: Prisoner;

 

[Cresion Breezes]

Zenith "Zeni" Rota || Défrayer

What is this image?​

"Yes yes, indeed, direct assaults are not our strong suit after all." Zenith leaned back in their chair, tilting the chair on two legs and hanging in a delicate balance, their freshly whetted blade being tossed and balanced upon one hand like a child's toy made that comment seem somewhat ironic. After seeing Dorian, the man who is technically their leader and whom they technically accept as their leader (as of right now), they commented on the man's words casually. Zenith knew the dungeon might have been possibly a red herring or trap of some sort, so it was better to have Arcana's combat specialists handle it. Although, looking at the roster for the mission that will filled with vaguely familiar names, they doubted whether the First actually took out their best for this particular mission.

Dorian spoke with good sense most of the time, though Zenith didn't like the prickling atmosphere he had with him most of the time, it slurried their thought and the thoughts of people around him. That was a tragedy, people cannot read or discuss things if their thoughts get blended into a fine miasma by the bizarre vibes given off by a bizarre man.

"I wouldn't be averse to a head-on clash, personally at least, but keep it short please. For me." They added after the roster of infiltration groups was made. There was a certain adrenaline, an excitement and quivering of the muscles that come with combat, Zenith assumes that all combatants experience it. But ever since they received the power of a stigma from Arcana, that feeling has intensified, and Zenith, hated that uncontrollable urge to quiver and the slight raise in their heartrate at the smell of blood. Their heart belonged to them, for it to betray them like that made Zenith want to crush the disobedience out of such inconvenient physiologies. "And I'm not exactly a combat fanatic who'd pounce at the first rustling of a bush. Though I suppose that is an admirable quality for my assigned post." Most members whom they have worked with likely know that their stigma has a time limit, if nothing else. It was fun to give surprising performances in the training grounds for a while, but that cat had to be let out of the bag eventually.

---

Sching-

Zenith drew their rapier to deflect a series of arrows being shot at the group after another trapped tile was triggered. Since the first trap almost ate one of their vanguard, Zenith had been activating their stigma to attempt to avoid the more severe trapping mechanisms. It was not an ideal usage of their previous time, but losing anyone to such amateurish tactics would be rather embarrassing.

The group was rather large for a supposed stealthy and infiltration mission, but according to the intel of their recon specialist, Pawn, the need to stealth was unnecessary due to the lack of anything breathing soul in the vicinity. Other than the strange anomaly, the areas seemed completely void of life.

"Quiet...too quiet, huh?" Zenith looked back at the others of the group, they spoke in a collected whisper, and the words melted into the silence of the corridor. They held out the rapier that they were using to cut down projectiles sourced from the various traps and began to tap on the tiles in the group's path, sometimes prodding or picking at the groves between the tiles to ascertain whether some mechanism hid behind them. One of the tiles made an unusual sound, one that echoed slightly more compared to the other tiles. It sounded almost...hollow. Zenith furrowed their brow in the quiet corridor, but passed it along, assuming it was the result of some esoteric pitfall trap.

"Wait. The terrain is making another unusual sound." Zenith held out their arm to signify 'stop' to the rest of the group. After prodding one of the tiles, the screeching of turning mechanisms can be heard. The vanguard who's reactionary abilities was boasted by their stigmata held up their weapon, on guard. But it was not like one of the previous traps, the tile where the previously strangely hollow sound came from was the source of the noise, but nothing unusual happened.

"Did you all...hear that? How tumultuous. I think it came from over yonder, the slab we opted to evade for its curious sound." Zenith walked up to the tile once more and jammed the tip of their rapier into slit between the tiles, using the blade a fulcrum they adjusted the angle of the slender weapon for a moment before flipping the stone tile over with one sudden push downwards. "Interesting. An interloping element in our original stratagem..." Zenith looked at the passage, mumbling to no one in particular. Imprisoning a damsel in a high tower was one trope of the classic tales of chivalry, but so is a hidden passage revealed by an intricate mechanism.

Before they would inquire further towards the infiltration group, the soft sound of an animal caught the vanguard's attention. Just as Zenith was about to breathe a sigh of relief due to the source of the sound being an animal, the sudden appearance of a human behind the small cat turned the situation for the worse in an instant. They have been seen, and they certainly looked quite suspicious.

Without hesitation, Zenith activated their stigmata that enhanced their speed, drew their sword into an on guard stance, then lunged at the mysterious new comer in a blitzing speed. Only for her to disappear as fast as she appeared. Despite her disappearance, her movements before the occurrence were caught under Zenith's eyes. The ring she was wearing was pressed before her disappearance, which indicated it was some sort of relic. Zenith didn't know that much about relics, but they could at least understand what is a relic after seeing it in action.

After the woman's disappearance, Zenith pulled back to the group quickly, weapon still drawn and cautiously gazing around the area. "Should I pursue?" Zenith lowered their voice and inquired to Dorian, the (assumed) leader of the operation. They tightened the grip on their weapon while tapping the pocket stopwatch worn on their waist a few times. "Eleven and three-fifth minutes. I am not opposed to attempting severance of both relic and limb from the interloper, but my time is quite tight, you see."

---

Location: Arvas Estate

Interactions: Group 2, Dorian ( OldTurtle )

Mentions: Anyone Present. Group 2

 

[Zariel]

I.​

Tension hung thick in the air like a heavy fog, stifling any semblance of ease or camaraderie. The members gathered laboratory, their expressions a mixture of apprehension and defiance. Andrius was never really a fan of these get-together parties, but he was there on behalf of his faction's leader.

Andrius' cold, steely gaze fixed upon the map, sensing the dissent that simmered beneath the surface. It was evident that not many were in favor of his cruel disregard for Meredith. He found himself quickly bombarded with the sharp, witty retorts of several other members. Those who didn't directly speak out against him shot him condemnatory glances instead, their silent disapproval nigh tangible.

But Andrius couldn't care less about the opinions of others. He wasn't afraid to speak his mind, nor was he shy to admit his disdain for Death. To him, she was nothing but a hindrance to their goals, her Stigma's ability notwithstanding. Andrius was certain there were others who shared his sentiments, they just lacked the boldness to openly express them.

Ignoring Knightmare's playful attempts to provoke him, Andrius maintained his composure, he hadn't the patience for her games right now. Then there was Zenith, a young woman whose audacity burned bright despite her lack of experience in matters pertaining to insurgency and rebellion. Though she had much to learn, Andrius admired her bravery and welcomed her opinion, even if he didn't bother to turn and acknowledge her presence, not caring to observe whatever conceited expression plastered her visage.

"You're quite right, Défrayer... However, I'm merely stating that the greater threat to a rebellion is much simpler than that—incompetence and insubordination. Need I remind you that we are the ones at a disadvantage? Our best chance at success lies in our ability to make sure everything goes according to plan. We can ill-afford weak links and liabilities. I would much rather follow ten stalwart soldiers into a rebellion, instead of an entire circus of clowns," Andrius patronisingly remarked. "None of us would even need to be here right now, and our valuable time and resources could've been spared, had Meredith not been so reckless in her actions."

With a heavy sigh, Andrius finally tore his gaze away from the map that lay spread out on the table, taking a mental note of the intricate details depicting the dungeon's tunnel network. He turned to address The Tower, his lips curling into a false, albeit rare, smile.

"Of course, Ematille. Meredith's Gems of Rebirth have proven time and time again their irreplaceable value to Arcana. It's just a shame she was chosen to inherit such a fundamental responsibility." Andrius pinched his temple, pausing for a brief moment. "In any case, let's discuss this plan..."

II.​

Soon enough, the members of Arcana had been separated into three groups, each tasked with a specific mission. Andrius found himself among those chosen to explore the depths of the dungeon which was connected to a hidden entry point in the labyrinth.

Hardly a few minutes had passed since they infiltrated the winding corridors when suddenly, the air was rent with a horrific shriek of agony, echoing through the stone halls with chilling intensity. Andrius instinctively held out his arm, signalling for those behind him to halt their footsteps. His senses sharpened, every nerve in his body on high alert as he scanned their surroundings for any signs of danger.

Exercising extreme caution, Andrius moved along the rough-hewn wall with silent, deliberate movements. Peering around the corner, his breath caught in his throat as he beheld a sight that sent a shiver down his spine.

Andrius gasped, his eyes widening in horror at the scene before him. "Why do they have a monster down here?" he uttered in a harsh whisper, his voice barely audible over the sound of the creature's thrashing.

The beast that writhed before them was a terrifying amalgamation of an ophidian and avian creature, its serpentine body coiled in a sinuous mass of scales and feathery fur. A hapless guard was ensnared in its gaping maw, his screams of agony drowned out by the creature's deafening screeches.

Despite the brutal scene that unfolded before them, Andrius realized with a sinking feeling that this monster was no mere pet to be controlled. Its very existence posed a significant threat to their mission, complicating matters in ways he had not anticipated.

If they were to have any hope of breaking Meredith out of her cell, there was no way they could do so with this creature lurking in the shadows. It was hostile and ferocious, and Andrius knew that to proceed without confronting it would be folly. If Meredith were to perish at its talons, their efforts will have been in vain.

"I hate this but- ... Vermillion, we need to take this thing down, here and now." Andrius turned to their leader, speaking with a sense of urgency. Knowing the look in Aurelius' pale eyes, Andrius nodded with reluctance. As per usual, it would seem The Chariot's heart of gold meant that he wanted to rescue the maimed guard as well.

With determination hardening his resolve, Andrius turned to face the rest of his companions, his voice firm and unwavering as he began to issue commands. There was no space for hesitation, no room for doubt, and no time for questions.

"Magpie, when myself and Vermillion engage this creature, we will need you to provide support. Stay behind us, and spare your strength. Choose your moments wisely, and when the time is right, create an opening for us to strike... If things turn dicey, we will be relying on you to get us out.

"Carnelian, after we distract the monster, your job will be to shield the injured guard, we need to keep him alive for a little while longer. Take Dusk with you."

Andrius glanced at the aforementioned woman with narrowed eyes.

"With all due respect, your training is yet incomplete. I believe it's best if you refrain from taking part in the battle for now. Only unleash your power if the situation turns dire, and we give the signal, is that understood?"

Finally, the blond-haired man addressed Melios, a spiteful youngster who had a tendency to lock horns with Andrius for whatever reason. Andrius was sceptical whether or not he'd listen to orders, especially coming from him, but this was no time to quarrel, their lives were at stake. Surely, Melios would cast away his differences in this instance.

"Vanitas... I want you to make sure the other guard doesn't escape. We don't want him raising the alarm, and we can use him for intel later, assuming the rest of us make it out of this in one piece. But for now, see if he knows anything useful about that thing. We'll create an opening for you to make a break across, so wait for us to get the monster's attention first."

Andrius drew his blade, shifting into a stance.

"I'm ready when you are, Vermillion."

ANDRIUS​

 

[Dovinique]

Yenoia Abillene | Amethyst

"Rattler... Rattler..." Yenoia murmured under her breath, a hint of recognition flickering in her gaze, though she made sure it didn't betray too much interest. "I'll remember that name."

As Rattler assured her that the request was within reach, Yenoia's pace slowed, a fleeting smile gracing her features—a smile of satisfaction, of confirmation. "Good, good, just as one would expect from the third faction," she remarked, before turning her attention back to Rattler. Her eyes swept the room, as though searching for something specific, “Ah, before I take my leave, do you happen to possess a relic that functions as a lamp, lantern, or any source of light?"

"Lantern? Certainly." He answered immediately, disappearing for a brief moment behind a distant door. He emerged with an ornate spherical shape in hand. "Here it is, Miss Amethyst. Just push this button here and you'll have directed light from the front. Push it again, it'll be extinguished." He taps the button on top of the lantern. "Lasts fairly long, bring it back should you need a recharge. I'll fill out the paperwork for this requisition so you can be on your way," Rattler said with a bright smile.

Yenoia's delicate fingers brushed over the relic, its surface cool and smooth beneath her touch. She raised it to eye level, studying its intricate details with a scholar's fascination. With a gentle twirl, the relic danced in her hands, catching the light in a mesmerizing display.

"Beautiful, yes?" Her voice was soft yet carried a tone of absolute certainty. It wasn't a question, it was a declaration. Yenoia's gaze shifted to Rattler, gratitude sparkling in her eyes. "Thank you, oh well... double thank you for the form as well. I'll fill out the other form and return it to you soon."

Leaving the lab behind, Yenoia made her way through the winding corridors back to the infirmary. Only to find that she was assigned for an infiltration mission.

To be honest, Yenoia was a little bit taken aback by the unexpected request for her to join the mission. She had assumed she would remain in the quarter, attending to any members in need, especially in Basil's absence. However, it seemed her skills were deemed necessary for the mission at hand.

Gathering everything she needed, including the lantern relic and her own, The Hastenbone, Yenoia made her way to the designated meeting point. There, she discovered she was grouped with several members from her faction and others, some familiar faces, some not. Since infiltration wasn't her area of expertise, she remained quietly observant, but didn’t forget to say, "Do let me know if any of you get hurt," as they prepared to depart.

Although some might interpret her words as a playful tease, Yenoia's concern for their well-being was sincere. She preferred to maintain a sense of control during missions, simply because each life lost meant one less person to play with later.

𖤐𖤐𖤐​

Once inside and separated from the group led by Spinel, Yenoia's senses immediately detected the oppressive darkness enveloping them. While their eyes would gradually adjust to the dimness, a bit of additional light wouldn't hurt. A memory flickered in her mind— the relic she had just borrowed from Rattler. She hadn't expected to use it so soon, but now seemed like the perfect moment. With a deft motion, she located the relic and pressed the button, just as Rattler had instructed. The relic responded with a soft, comforting glow, casting a warm light that gently illuminated the once gloomy tunnel. While it didn't brighten the entire area, it provided enough light to make their surroundings much clearer. Yenoia glanced around, satisfied with the improved visibility. "This should help us navigate more safely."

Yenoia held the relic in her right hand, but she had no intention of keeping it. Why should she be the ONE to wield its light? That task was not meant for her. Her hand had a more critical role to fulfill, one that could not afford to tire prematurely. She scanned the group, seeking the right person for the job, and her gaze landed on Pawn. The timid girl, often overlooked, seemed perfect for this simple yet crucial responsibility. Her little bird.

"Pawn," Yenoia called, extending the relic towards her. "Take this and help us see our path. Our journey lies in your hands.” As Pawn accepted the relic, Yenoia would gently adjust her posture, lifting her elbow and steadying her wrist. She ensured Pawn's grip was firm and steady, “There you go, good girl,” a quick pat landed on Pawn’s head as Yenoia walked away.

As the group pressed on, their luck seemed to waver, for they found themselves on a path strewn with traps. Luckily, Defrayer was among them, adeptly deflecting any projectiles that threatened their safety. To navigate the treacherous terrain, they used their rapiers to test each tile, hoping to minimize the number of traps triggered. It was a somewhat comical sight, watching a self-professed nerd like Defrayer skillfully wield a sword. Yenoia had always assumed bookworms to be shy and timid, hidden behind oversized glasses that perpetually slid down their noses. Defrayer, however, shattered that stereotype with their combat prowess and surprisingly talkative nature.

Yenoia maintained her silence as they progressed, focusing instead on ensuring Pawn's arm remained steady. Despite the need for quiet, the incessant "click clack" of her heels echoed through the corridor. She made a mental note to choose more appropriate footwear next time… comfortable yet stylish enough to match her outfit.

The journey to the observatory lasted only 30 minutes but felt far longer, the strain of the trek evident on her face. As they reached the door, a sense of trepidation filled the air. One wrong move could trigger a deadly mechanism, crushing them like raw meat. Following Defrayer's instructions, Yenoia stopped and turned to him, awaiting further guidance. A small chuckle escaped her lips as she thought about the situation. She never imagined herself taking orders from someone like Defrayer, a commoner. If it weren't for Delyx… she mused silently, her mind trailing off before she could dwell further on the past. Indeed, without him, she wouldn't be standing here at all.

"Yes, it appears to be the key to our entry, but unlocking the mechanism correctly is crucial," Yenoia responded, nodding as she acknowledged Defrayer's observation. She then watched as Defrayer deftly flipped the tile, unveiling a hidden staircase leading downward. Before they could delve into any further discussion, a soft, almost imperceptible sound caught her attention. Yenoia's eyes were drawn to the source of the sound, where she spotted a small kitten with fur patched in uneven patterns. The sight stirred a mix of curiosity and concern within her. The creature's presence hinted at probably hidden experiments or secrets within this place.

Yenoia's initial instinct was to approach the kitten, drawn in by its innocent presence. However, her movement halted abruptly as a girl appeared seemingly out of nowhere, flashing into existence behind the kitten in the blink of an eye. Yenoia's eyes narrowed in confusion, she was certain the girl had not been there moments ago.

A theory began to form in Yenoia's mind—was this girl a teleporter? Her suspicions seemed to be confirmed as the girl vanished once more, disappearing from sight as quickly as she had appeared. However, upon closer observation, Yenoia realized that the girl was not actually teleporting by herself. She was utilizing a relic, a teleportation relic of some kind. Yenoia didn’t manage to see the exact nature of the relic—it could be a ring, a bracelet, or perhaps even a relic attached to one of her fingernails. Whatever it was, it was undoubtedly positioned around her hand, allowing her to blink in and out of sight with ease.

"It's useless," Yenoia interjected, her voice cutting through the tense atmosphere as she addressed Defrayer's question, even though it hadn't been directed at her. Stepping closer to the passage, she leaned forward slightly, straining to catch any faint sounds that might give away the mysterious figure's location. A faint, desperate meowing reached her ears from somewhere below.

Straightening up, Yenoia turned back to the group, "She could teleport. No matter how confident you are in your speed, she can always blink away whenever you get close. I suggest we all stick together," she advised.

Turning to Pawn, she inquired, "Do you sense anyone?" After a moment, her gaze then shifted to Ematille, "What do you think, Do…” She paused, the name lingering on the tip of her tongue before she caught herself. Clearing her throat, Yenoia continued, "...Ematille?"

Interaction: Rattler Worthlessplebian , Defrayer Cresion Breezes , Pawn N nios , Ematille OldTurtle
Mention: The rest of the 2nd group

 

[lucenti]

Melios Ceriant | Vanitas

Pawn resembled an animal. A certain one. One of the many mangy cats that litter the alleys of the city. Some born in households and released when deemed unworthy, others unlucky from birth. Fleas and grime stained their fur, while deformities and sunken features told of their misfortune. Their meows sounded like dying shrieks, while their stench drowned out any lingering pleasantries. Even when shown kindness, they retaliated with ferocity, fighting each other over scraps of food barely enough to last another day. They were destined to die a painful death, separated from all the joy in the world. It was nothing to be sad about, yet Melios knew that some would argue that these frightened creatures still elicited something akin to pity from the onlookers.

Which made them such a perfect match for the woman before him.

Her body fidgeted in every possible way. Hands chasing over clothes, hair and floor as her mind visibly jumped from one priority to the next. Grey eyes scanned the room, searching for something, despite the fleeting focus she gave him from time to time. Pawn's soothing tone was almost a pleasant change from... the rest of her. Though even that was ruined by the hidden layer of anxiety beneath her voice, robbing her of any calm she might have possessed before. It squeaked like chalk on smooth surfaces and made every hair on his body stand up. And as if that wasn't alreadly unpleasant enough, the lies coming from her cracked lips soured everything else. His eyes narrowed as an ugly retort danced on the tip of his tongue, only held back by his interest in what would follow.

So Melios' focus never left her. Not as she roamed the room, nor as she approached him at the end. Though, his gaze did wander to the scissors in her hand, and for a moment he imagined her plunging them into his chest. The thought faded as soon as he remembered that it was Pawn who was standing before him and not certain others. She was more likely to go for his hair than anything else. Not that that was any more pleasant. How rude it was to touch a stranger's hair, no matter how soft the texture might appear. But seeing that she wasn't attempting the same foolish gesture as all the times before, it seemed that old dogs could learn new tricks.

Hearing her request elicited a small sneer from him before Melios threw the old watch at her without much thought. "Does it look like I want to keep something broken of yours?" His head shook, as if to answer the question himself, and he turned on his heels, his curiosity finally satisfied, even if he felt dissatisfied by the truth. He opened the door again, seemingly intent on leaving, only to pause with one foot in the frame and his hand resting on the wall. The tips of his nails drummed on the chipped stone, soft but firm tones echoing with each tap. Perhaps a cheap attempt to regain Pawn's attention if it had drifted away, or simply a habit.

"If you are going to lie to my face," he drew out slowly, "at least try to make it believable." There was obvious disgust in his voice, laced with something that could be interpreted as disappointment. "Or don't say anything at all. It wouldn't hurt for a change." With those words, Melios stepped out, footsteps echoing down the narrow hallway as he hurried to finally prepare for the mission he had foolishly ignored.

── ౨ৎ ──

The air in the dungeon was heavy. Stifling and damp, as if the rain had just dumped all its water within these walls. It was unbearably cold for some reason, and Melios could already feel his irritation growing with every step he took at the back of their small group. His hand shifted restlessly on the shaft of his weapon as the foreboding feeling that something was wrong heightened his alertness even further. Which would not be necessarily an uncommon or unusual emotion to feel during a mission. After all, there were no situations better than now to have things not go according to plan. Melios raised his other hand for the nth time to adjust the unfamiliar weight of the mask resting on his face, annoyed at how unfamiliar it was. He could feel his warm breath trapped behind the material, only able to escape through the small gaps between it and his skin, as well as the two eye holes. Fighting with it seemed unbearable and he couldn't wait to get it off.

His eyes roamed the poorly lit corridors, his allies at the forefront of his vision, causing him to linger on each of them for a moment. It was no surprise that the members sent for the mission were divided into the current formation. Two certain factions never seemed to work quite well if scrambled too much with each other, not that Melios would ever complain about it. He did, however, feel a small amount of pity for those few of the First Faction who were stuck with the Second, as well as some schadenfreude at not having to be one of them.

The sudden cries of agony mixing with the desperate sound of a fighting struggle ripped Melios out of his reverie and pulled his focus immediately in their direction. Forced to a halt by Nemesis, he watched as the swordsman cautiously peeked around the corner, his following whisper barely loud enough for Melios to hear. And yet it was those words that made every drop of blood in his veins freeze, as he realised what exactly their vice was saying. A monster?

His feet moved before he could truly comprehend it. Not curiosity, but a desperate need for confirmation that fuelled him. Melios lurked along the edge of the wall to see for himself despite knowing the unlikelihood of Nemesis being wrong. It was impossible to miss; the serpentine creature filled the corridors with its menacing presence. Its jaws bored into a man whose future fate could only be described as rather grim. Green eyes focused solely on the beast, ignoring the way his grip on the poleaxe tightened so tightly that it was just a question of when dozens of splinters would bury themselves in his palm. Melios' breath caught in his lungs as his chest stilled, eerily as if preparing for a long dive.

The serpent blurred before him. Scales and feathers gave way to fur and claws. Iridescent green darkened to a muddy brown. Armour merged with colourful robes. The booming cheers of an unseen audience overwhelmed the surroundings. There was no man in the beast's jaws. A simple girl replaced him. Her green hair stood out against the darkness. Her screams a key lower than he remembered. She turned, fear in her eyes, hands outstretched, mouth agape, limps mere stumps as the monster tore and tore and tore and tore and tore and tore and tore and tore at her, and then -

The sound of his codename being called jolted Melios out of his head, shattering the illusions created by his subconscious. An act usually reserved for his dreams. He blinked. Several times, as if simply to remove an annoying lash from his eyes. Then he breathed. Slowly. Blood-stained air filled his lungs, nauseating at best. Melios turned his head away from the sight, backing away to return to the corner he previously occupied. There was no need to look any further, not with the soulless eyes of the monsters burned into his irises.

Nemesis' plan went largely over his head. Parts of it - those that concerned him - stuck, but that was all. Still, Melios nodded silently at the task he had been given, his lips tightly sealed, not knowing if he could trust the strength of his own voice at the moment. It was fine. It didn't matter now anyway. It would be back by the time the rest of them gave him enough of a distraction to get safely across to the terrified guard.

His free hand clenched into a fist, his gaze moving towards Vermillion, waiting. Yes, he would be fine.

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