Fantasy Cradle of Desire: In Character

[fluticasone]

fluticasone fluticasone

dusk

name

titania iseult

location

dungeon w/ group 1

interactions

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

His face — remember it!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Think. THINK.

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

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

Head? No—center of mass!

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

Cyril saw it coming—

damn it!

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

 

[Dawnsx]

Bippity boppity booo

Cyrus︱Arum

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Code by Nano

 

[lucenti]

Melios Ceriant | Vanitas

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Interactions: cyril ( Nano )

Mentions: group 1

 

[Dovinique]

Yenoia Abillene | Amethyst

The scene was a tad complex, Samadhi grappled with a snarling, doglike creature, his muscles straining against its ferocious strength. Meanwhile, a woman in glasses appeared to "recognize" Arum with voice filled with rage as she accused him of treachery. Yenoia watched, her mind muddled with confusion, making her tilt her head as if she was trying to find an answer. The woman's accusations seemed baseless and Yenoia struggled to make sense of her words.

With a raised eyebrow, she fixed her gaze on Arum. "Do you know this lady?" But before his response could reach her ears, her attention was drawn to a soft glow emanating from his hand, "Are you..." Her question hung in the air, unfinished, as she was abruptly interrupted. A swift motion caught her eyes, a vein surged forward with surprising speed. Before she could react, Yenoia was struck with force, a loud thud echoing through the room as her body collided with the wall. A sharp crack reverberated as her head connected with the surface, eliciting a pained grunt as she slumped to the floor and her head landing with another heavy thud.

With a feeble push, Yenoia attempted to rise, a stinging pain resonating in her head as she struggled to her feet. Her body swayed and her vision blurred slightly. She shook her head quickly, hoping to dispel the headache, but it persisted. She then stretched her body cautiously, starting from her shoulders and working her way down to her feet, checking for any signs of serious injury. Pressing against her ribs and backbone, she ensured there were no broken bones. It seemed she had only sustained minor bruises from the impact. She was grateful she hadn't lost consciousness. As her focus returned, Yenoia held her left wrist in her right hand, mimicking the gesture of someone adjusting a watch. A warm sensation emanated from her right hand, and she concentrated, sending signals to her body to nullify the pain. Slowly, the ache dissipated, leaving her body as good as new, though she knew bruises might linger. If anyone else had been slammed as she had, Yenoia would be ready to help alleviate their pain as well.

Once Yenoia was finished, the warmth from her hand disappeared as her stigma deactivated. She then turned her attention to Defrayer, who was half-dragging Meredith but not close enough for her to reach. She tapped her foot impatiently, frustrated not only by the time it was taking to retrieve Meredith but also by her own helplessness to offer further assistance. It seemed that being a support meant a lot of waiting.

Not long after, a comical scene happened, once again courtesy of Arum. His theatrical intensity, exaggerated gestures, and heightened emotions worked wonders in dissipating the tension that clung to the air. If they weren’t in the midst of a life-and-death mission, Yenoia might have let out a chuckle at the melodrama Arum provided. Suddenly, everything clicked into place for her, it was Arum's stigma at work. Though she didn’t know the exact nature of his power, it seemed to alter relationships. Whether her guess was accurate or not, it was clear Valeria was affected.

Drawing upon her inner actress, Yenoia shouted, pointing dramatically at Arum, “Remember, your old man is in our hands!” Swiftly, Yenoia seized the opportunity provided before by Arum, who both successfully cut the vine and hold Valeria, and dashed to Meredith’s side. She dropped to her knees, bending over to assess Meredith’s condition. Grasping Meredith's hand, she pressed her fingers to her wrist to find a pulse. It was there, steady and reassuring for now. As she checked Meredith's pulse, Yenoia activated her stigma, easing Meredith’s pain. Knowing there was no time to tend to the wound properly, she pulled out a handmade herbal tonic she had prepared beforehand. Though it lacked any special healing properties, its soothing scent and the warm sensation it provided would help Meredith relax, perhaps even drift off to sleep if she was too tired. The aroma of the herbs filled the air as Yenoia brought the vial to Meredith’s lips, “There you go.”

After quick tending Meredith, Yenoia turned to Defrayer, who stood nearby, “Would you be strong enough to completely drag her out of here?” she asked, referring to Meredith. Then, she shifted her gaze to Samadhi, who was in the midst of delivering the final blow to the dog-like creature. “If Ematille approves, I would recommend bringing that back to our headquarters. I should be able to save it from death, and you would have something to poke around for your research.”

With her instructions given, Yenoia quickly rose from her position and made her way to the door, ready to depart if the group decided to leave. But what about Arum? She pondered briefly as she looked at him, who was clinging to Valeria as if they were inseparable lovers. She shrugged as she didn’t have a clear answer, she could only hope that he had something up his sleeve.

Interaction: Dawnsx (Arum), Cresion Breezes (Defrayer), ThatWhichShouldBe (Samadhi)
Mention: Ematille

 

[Zariel]

Gripping his blade tightly, Andrius evaded the creature's snapping jaws. Each near miss caused his heart to pound in his chest like a war drum, though the trepidation was not visible upon his poised visage.

In exasperation, the predatory beast recoiled. An eyebrow raised, Andrius watched its massive form shift, confusion flickering in his mind. He had expected another lunge, another chance to dodge and counterattack. Instead, the creature's throat bulged unnaturally. A moment later, it expelled a torrent of water with a roar that shook the very halls.

The force of the water struck Andrius before he could react, overwhelming him in an instant. Panic surged as he was lifted off his feet, his surroundings spinning in a chaotic blur. His chest felt tight as he struggled to breathe, the air snuffed from his lungs.

His body slammed into the ground, skidding across the stone floor before coming to a halt in a shallow puddle. Every part of him ached, but the searing pain was nothing compared to the cold that enveloped him. He coughed violently, expelling water from his lungs, gasping for air.

The knight sat up slowly.

His clothes clung to his body, soaked through, and his inundated hair dripped incessantly. Gritting his teeth, Andrius pushed himself onto one knee. The battle was not over, and he had strength yet left in his body.

"Well, aren't you full of surprises?" he contemptuously remarked, shooting daggers at the ophidian creature.

Then came the clacking sound of footsteps, growing louder with each second. Still catching his breath from his prior encounter, Andrius looked over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing with deadly intensity, scrutinising the newcomer emerging from the darkness.

The stranger's voice carried an eerie calmness as he addressed the dungeon guard, stabbing his own, quite literally, in the back. Nemesis was not surprised by the man's cruelty when he attempted to silence the blabbering fool from divulging too much.

As the stranger stepped into the warm light, Andrius took careful note of his features: sandy blond hair, a gilded brooch fashioned in the image of the sun bound to his pale coat, and a shortsword strapped at his side.

Oddly, the stranger was not shy to introduce himself.

Cyril.

But a sudden THUCK, followed by an immediate thrashing and hiss, snapped the knight from his curiosity, and his attention returned to his primary target. The monster once again writhed through the air, hunting after the blade swimming effortlessly just out of reach.

Magpie manoeuvred the weapon with adroit precision, skilled enough to the point Andrius may have considered offering him a place among the First Faction. With an abrupt, calculated thrust, he jammed the sword through the roof of the monster's jaw. The blade pierced through its beak, protruding like a grotesque horn, stained with thick, dark blood.

"Excellent! Amazing work, Magpie!" Andrius cheered.

The monster spiralled in an uncontrollable frenzy, desperately attempting to dislodge the sword embedded in its mouth.

Vermillion rushed to Andrius' side, his face pale with concern. He placed his arms around the knight in a pitiful attempt to help him stand. But prideful as he was, the latter was quick to bat away Vermillion's hand.

"I'm fine," he snapped, rising to his feet.

When Vermillion insisted Nemesis to assist the others in dealing with Cyril, he hesitated, glaring at the monstrous creature that still thrashed and hissed in its death throes.

Will just the two of them be able to hand this thing?

Deep down, he knew that even Vermillion and Magpie working together wouldn't be enough to ensure victory. They needed more manpower. Given how The Chariot operated, it made sense for the group to perform a joint assault on the monster, leveraging their increased numbers and stronger enhancement.

But there wasn't time to debate the strategy. Andrius simply nodded and turned his attention to the stranger. He was confident he alone could deal with their new friend, swiftly. He would make quick work of him, freeing the others to join the fight against the monster.

The blue-eyed knight hurried to the others, slowing to a gentle stroll as he approached, finding Dusk and Vanitas already engaged with the newcomer, each of them holding their own. Andrius stepped beside Vanitas, who had his spear levelled at Cyril's chest, his eyes locked onto his opponent's every movement.

Andrius placed a firm, commanding, hand on his comrade's shoulder.

"My thanks to you all," he said, addressing Vanitas, Dusk, and Carnelian. Nemesis then glared baleful blue moons at their aggressor. "I will take it from here."

He ran his palm along the flat of his, staring at his own reflection in the metallic surface.

"Go, help Vermillion and Magpie defeat the monster... Meanwhile, I will tend to this new 'friend' of ours."

Once they left, Andrius twisted his blade, placing one hand on the pommel, and the other hand on top, he drove it into the stone floor. The sonorous ding echoed through the hallway, the sharp ringing note seeming to hang in the air.

As the sound faded, Andrius's eyes began to glow a brilliant blue flame, a glimmering light that pierced the dullness of the dungeon.

"I'm about to wipe that puny smirk off your face," he warned, his voice cold, threatening, and steady, disinterested in any witty retort. "You're about to face judgment."

NEMESIS​

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Akseli Arbeit — Rattler

As they went through the secretive corridors of this manor, Basil began recounting his capture and eventual imprisonment. Akseli's attention was keen, but the quietude of his mind was disturbed like pebbles tossed into the tranquility of a pond beneath the midnight sky, the moon's reflection rippling unseemly. He marshaled his breathing, his footfalls, unwilling to unsettle the half-dark, dusty quiet of the flagstone they were passing through — besides Basil's explanation. Again, the feeling that they were scurrying like red-eyed rats crept over Akseli. He allows that when he first joined Arcana, these secreted missions weren't unexpected, but he had grossly underestimated their importance, ubiquity, and necessity. In his ignorant inexperience, he had believed that Arcana possessed the cunning and might necessary to directly mount attacks against the monarchy. These notions were quickly dispelled by both verbal instruction and Akseli's own musing upon deeper inspection.

Akseli's greatsword weighed heavily on his shoulder. He shifted, readjusting his stance. As the weak light came from the wall-mounted fixtures, it played on the edges of Akseli's helm, giving the Engine'er a wicked, cruel outline in the pale darkness of these stone corridors. Akseli's thoughts drifted to his fellows in the Third Faction: Magpie, Carnelian, and Samadhi. How had they fared on their mission so far? It felt strange, almost perverse to be dwelling on another's progress, wondering how they're handling it. As if his very mind could curse them with failure beyond measure for daring to wonder. Perhaps, he was simply being superstitious.

When Basil concluded his recollection of being beaten, bound, and incarcerated, they reached the end of this secret passage. For whatever reason, Akseli felt like it lasted too long. As they entered the room, seemingly an expansive storage room, the Engine'er spotted the cleanliness of it as opposed to the corridor they just left, running gloved fingers down the length of a wall, barely a mote of dust — clearly, this place was used more often, it felt exposing as though their backs were unarmoured, waiting for a cold, merciless blade to plunge deep.

The door of the storage room creaked open, Akseli spun, bringing his greatsword to bear immediately. The subtle mewling almost disarmed the Engine'er, then came the delicate footfalls of a woman causing Akseli's body to tense, his grip tightening on his weapon.

His grey eyes, as stark as the moonlight, fixed the white-haired woman. She moved imperceptibly, almost-impossible for his too-human mind to recognise the swiftness of her movement. Still, his reflexes kicked in, moving to strike with his greatsword from left to right before the patter of a liquid resounded behind him. It was a wet, precise noise immediately snatching his attention.

Knightmare slumped, body connecting with the floor hard. Akseli dropped his greatsword, clattering against the stonework, he went beside her body, lifting up his visor to see better. Her throat had been torn a wicked blade, blood pooling on the cold stone beneath her. Akseli's hands pressed on her neck, closing around the wound. Fingers wetted crimson, his voice shook in the gloom of the room. Panic prowled at the edges of his mind, subconsciously Akseli understood that he was one focused thought away from freezing. So he kept himself busy. "Neck wound." Akseli rasped quietly, hurriedly recalling his father's teachings about injuries to the neck. "Cloth, gauze, anything now!" Akseli called to Spinel and Basil, begging one of them to act.

Interactions: Nano (Spinel & Basil)
Mentions: The rest of Third Faction;