Fantasy Kingdom of Evil (Open/Accepting)

[SnowStorm42]

'Behold creatures and races of Besknyaz! The shadows are no longer there for you to cower, as we burn those who rebelled and fought against us. Let this light that burns your brothers and sisters show that the will of the King and his family is true. There will no longer be darkness upon your kingdom, for the King brings his flames of purity and light. The rebellion has been squashed, and the uprising is no more. The King is the one and true ruler of Besknyaz, and all those who oppose his rule will fuel the fire of his light and glory!'

These were the words of one of the bishops, a higher ranking official of The Black Army, who under the 'Dark King' , took the Kingdom of Besknyaz. His decree of the new royal family's rule came in front of a blazing fire of corpses. The bright, powerful flame was kindled with the bodies of all sorts of creatures, their ashes filling the air with darkness, despair, and a dark new era for the Kingdom of Besknyaz.

Besknyaz was not like this before though. A few years before the appearance of 'The Dark King' and his Black Army, Besknyaz was a melting pot, ruled over by the Merrick Family. King and Queen Merrick had turned Besknyaz into a prosperous place, that invited all. Elves, vampires, werewolves, dwarves, humans, and so forth. There were of course tensions and problems that came about with so many different races and creatures living in the kingdom, but even with some crime, famine, dispute, or financial depressions, the kingdom always found a way to create peace in the melting pot. The peace lasted, and many found their place in Besknyaz, or adjacent villages and communities. It wasn't until one stormy, dark day, when the Black Army appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and led by the King and his many Black Knights, took the kingdom and overthrew the Merrick Family.

Given the attire of his soldiers, all of whom dawned robes, and armor of black, and the fact that he attacked on a dark and stormy knight with much violence in his wake, the newcomer had gained the nickname 'The Dark King'. He swiftly executed or imprisoned those of the Merrick family, and quickly instilled new laws and rule, that were tyrannical, and led to the execution of many. Those who tried to defy, were punished, as were those who tried to leave.

The races were quick to enlist and volunteer to join Besknyaz's knights to rebel and overthrow their new king, but they found themselves disorganized, and simply overpowered. And as quick as rebellion began, it was quelled, and the Dark King and his family took the Kingdom of Besknyaz.

Years have passed now, and the King has enforced severe law, that seems to punish the many creatures and races of Besknyaz for simply existing. Many live in fear, or compliance in fear of punishment. Some plan to rebel, while others escape to a village called Veneria, or seek help from the Fortress that is La'Khan, but without a unification, the citizens of Besknyaz live under the terror of The Dark King

 

[SnowStorm42]

!!!RULES OF THE RP!!!
****~~~~~PLEASE READ~~~~****​

1. No godmodding or auto-hitting. EVEN THE KING! Just no godmodding

2. No Mary or Gary Sues

3. While this will have romance and adult themes please don't write out anything too provocative. If it boils down to it allude to it or do a little time skip

4. Post AT LEAST ONCE A WEEK. If you can't, please let me know, as well as anyone you may be interacting with. After a week you will get a warning, and after two there will be removal. PLEASE JUST COMMUNICATE. I know we all have lives so just shoot a quick message if anything

5. This is semi-lit to lit. Please give anyone you're interacting with a lot to work with, and I'm asking for 3 paragraphs MINIMUM. Proper grammar is expected. If you want to write A LOT, I don't mind a bible as long as it isn't FLUFF. Just give people coherence and something to work with please.

6. PLEASE SEND CS to me first, titled "Kingdom of Evil CS". Just a little vetting process. Any CS not sent to me or not in line with the rules will not be accepted.

7. Only two characters per person to start. Also NO REAL LIFE FACE GRABS. Art, anime, AI generated images only.

8. THIS IS THE MAIN THREAD! Please do not post character skeletons, scrap ideas, or reservations here. THE OOC AND CHARACTER PAGES ARE LINKED ABOVE

9. I'll add more rules as needed. I know it may seem strict but I'm just trying to avoid trouble. I promise the most important rule is TO HAVE FUN, and enjoy creating an enriched story

 

[SnowStorm42]

More details on Lore page

 

[SnowStorm42]

~Reserved for News and Events~

 

[SnowStorm42]

~Reserved for potential additions~

 

[SnowStorm42]

~Reserved for extra stuff~

 

[SnowStorm42]

~Open~

 

[Jackson123]

Sir Ewald De Villiers was present in the scene of the fiery proclamation of the new order, the Black Knight’s armor gleaming ominously in the dim light cast by the blazing pyre, his crimson cloak fluttered in the ashen wind as the acrid scent of burning flesh and the crackling of the flames echoed in the air, the flames of purity and light flickered in the darkness, and Ewald felt a surge of pride in being a stalwart instrument of the Dark King's will.

Whispers of his name circulated among the remnants of the defeated populace. Some dared to steal furtive glances at the knight, a few brave souls, emboldened by desperation or defiance, muttered curses under their breath as they caught sight of the Black Knight. Others, who had witnessed the sheer force with which he had shattered the royal castle defenses during the Battle of Besknyaz, trembled at the memories of that relentless onslaught.

A cold satisfaction danced in Ewald's eyes as he absorbed the cries of despair lingering in the air. The flames of the pyre reflected in his steel gaze, mirroring the fervor of the Dark King's conquest.

Despite the facade of order, whispers of rebellion lingered in the shadows. Some citizens secretly plotted, while others sought refuge in the distant village of Veneria or the fortified walls of La'Khan. Day after day, in the dimly lit chambers of Besknyaz Castle, now colloquially known as the Black Fortress, the headquarters of the Black Knights, Ewald would meticulously review various reports from spies and informants. The air hung heavy with the scent of burning candles at the massive ebony desk covered with documents, and the flickering candlelight danced upon his stern visage as he diligently considered the latest intelligence on potential uprisings or resistance movements.

Outside the castle walls, the once vibrant city now bustled under the watchful eyes of the Black Army. Citizens moved with cautious steps, casting furtive glances toward the castle, their faces etched with a mix of fear and submission. The severe laws imposed by the Dark King had stifled the once prosperous Besknyaz, leaving behind a populace living under the constant threat of punishment and betrayal.

 

[SnowStorm42]

Celeste Eleazar​

The morning sun crept over the mountains sending a light forward that chased the shadows of the land surrounding Besknyaz. As the light of the sun illuminated the Kingdom, thick smoke was made visible, leftover from the executions of the night before. The smoke that filled the air in Besknyaz had become a common occurrence, displaying the strict rule of the Dark King. As the light of the morning crept into the nooks, crannies, and windows of the kingdom, it fell upon a particular bookstore within the walls. 'Click, Clack'. The lock on the front door turned, and the wooden door slowly crept ajar. A petite figure walked in, dressed in an elegant black dress, with hints of red sequins, and a black corset over the waist and bosom of the dress. A black cloak covered the figure, but only briefly before the figure moved their hands to remove the cloak from over their head.

Celeste hung up the cloak, before fixing her silver hair, her soft red eyes scanning the bookstore for anything that seemed unlike how she left it. She moved toward the counter of the store while fixing her right earing in the process. It was evident the vampire seemed a bit stressed and hurried. She had come straight from her other job after all, having barely rested from the long night before where she was meeting with traders to acquire goods that could favor either the Knights or rebels. Normally she would have taken the day off but with 'Ledger Day' coming, she had to make some sales to help cook the books for the illegal goods she profited from. Living in a mansion just outside the walls was no easy feat.

Noise came in from outside, although muffled thanks to the door and windows, but the noise made a crescendo, indicating that the rest of the kingdom had also awakened for their days. Hopefully some minds would come in to her bookstore. Since the take over of the Black Army, it seemed that young minds found comfort in books, to escape from the reality of daily executions. Celeste could sympathize, as her childhood was similar. However she was no longer a child, and while she had time on her side being a creature of the night now, money was a priority right now, if she didn't want to join the burnings at night, as a recipient of punishment.

While pacing around and organizing books in the store, a letter slipped under the crack of the front door. Celeste immediately caught notice of the sound of the paper scratching against the floor in the empty bookstore, and made her way over to the window , avoiding the sunlight, and peered out to see no sign of the one who slipped the letter. Hesitantly she approached the letter. No signature, and no official seal. Opening the letter up, Celeste pulled a piece of paper out and unfolded it.

'Greetings...bah bah bah..in need of a specific item...tavern by...ugh' Celeste sighed. The letter was clearly from a rebel. It went into detail about needing a special type of counterfeit pass that could help them escape from the kingdom, and to meet a tavern that much to Celeste's dismay was close to the 'Black Fortress'. In most circumstances Celeste would send a runner to go meet, but it mentioned Celeste by name. This meant that some form of word got out about her activities. She would have to handle this and find out how the sender found out, but if push came to shove she would have to find a way to explain her way out of her name being mentioned, while reporting the sender to the Black Knights.

The meeting wasn't for a bit so Celeste sat down, and grabbed a book from the shelf behind the counter, deciding that maybe a quick read would help her decide whether to throw the rebel under the bus or help, but she would definitely need to tie up some loose mouths.

 

[Meatball30]

CODE BY SEROBLISS

King Ciaran I

of House Lusis

"What good is the dawn when the rest is gone?"
​

Ciaran descended the cold stone steps into the crypts below Waterwatch without a word.

It had become a common pilgrimage, repeated at least weekly, sometimes more, since the keep was completed two years ago. Before dawn he'd rise, still in his bed clothes save for the black wool cloak engulfing his slim frame, and shamble from he and the queen's chambers to his sons' shared tomb beneath the castle grounds. He fit in with the dead, half a ghost himself on his melancholic days. Today was one such occasion.

He felt the ground level out beneath his feet and blinked, realizing he'd already reached the bottom. His walk to the tomb became shorter each day.

About 30 yards down a shadowy corridor torchlight flickered against the cavernous dark stretching up to the crypt's vaulted ceiling. The light illuminated brilliant slabs of white marble, the only material in the crypts that wasn't plain grey rock. Ciaran blinked again. It was as if he'd taken a step and arrived in front of the memorial statues.

Lance stood to his left, immortalized in his gleaming armor with hands rested on the hilt of his sword. He was always dutiful.

Merrin was to his right, on a knee, in prayer. The sculptors had even captured the mole on his left cheek, somehow.

The king felt tears well to his eyes and clenched his fists in fury. Ciaran's nails bit deeply into the skin of his palms, blood leaking out to warm the chilly stone floor.

No parent should visit their child's grave.

The tears finally began to flow freely. He wailed, long and shrill, an inhuman shriek from the half-corpse among the dead, nearly falling to the ground before catching himself with two hands on the tomb before him.

When he'd gathered himself, Ciaran stepped back and wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. Blood stained the marble before him. He felt alive again, and suddenly, being with the dead gave him a chill.

Suddenly fearful, he reached up to each statue's cheek, left a kiss for each of his sons, and stepped back. Red smears lingered on the sculptures' faces.

Ciaran turned and hurried back to the stairs, climbing back to the sunlight that bathed the Waterwatch courtyard.

---

He needed to get back to his quarters and dress for breakfast. Spiced wine, perhaps, with charred bacon, honey glazed ham, eggs fried to perfection - the thought of it all soothed him as he emerged into the land of the living once again. Perhaps he'd arrange a ball to celebrate the tenth year of his reign, a landmark that was soon approaching.

Ciaran pushed past bustling castle servants, courtiers vying for his ear and Black Knights standing sentry to get back to his bed, tossing aside the black wool cloak and trading it for lavish regalia, loose red silk tunic and breeches trimed with gold, a sun stitched onto his breast, and a brilliant yellow cape dragging behind him.

Finally came his crown, a broad golden craft studded with black diamonds and rubies, with a gleaming citrine as the centerpiece above his brow.

The mourning father from minutes before had given way to King Ciaran I, Dawnbringer, the Lawmaker, and Keeper of the Peace.

He stepped over to a wash basin and rinsed his hands briefly, splashing warm water across his face and massaging his skin. No blood tainted his cheeks, or the water.

Even ten years into his reign, there were some that questioned his family's legitimacy, denied the unity his rule and law aimed to bring, or simply lusted for power - which meant undermining his own. It would be another day, he expected, of weeding out conspiracy and heresy. Spilling blood to bring the dawn.

But first, breakfast.

 

[Dovinique]

Character Sheet
Interaction: None
Mention: King Ciaran Meatball30

As the sun emerged from its tranquil slumber, its warm rays tiptoed through Nessa's room, dancing with the goldish-white curtains. Nessa's thick eyelashes fluttered delicately, resisting the morning's embrace as she nestled within her blanket, unwilling to part ways with the night. However, a soft knock on her door accompanied by the words, "Princess Nessa, today is the day," swiftly transformed her reluctance into eagerness, prompting her to leap out of bed. It was time to greet the day.

Today was the day that her father would make his pilgrimage to her brother's resting place beneath the shadow of Waterwatch. The day that she could sense a faint sorrow etched on his once-strong face, while the well-worn lines and wrinkles silently narrated tales of battles fought and unspoken struggles endured in his bygone days. While Nessa occasionally visit them also, she found solace in her own quiet prayers for her brothers within the confines of her bedroom, reluctant to immerse herself in the profound stillness of the graveyard. There, she wove stories of days and nights within the castle, seeking connection with the departed. Despite having a very few memories of her brothers, she couldn't dispel the lingering sense of longing in her heart.

Today was also the day that Nessa would take over the royal kitchen, orchestrating a culinary symphony that would delight her family, especially her father, The King himself. Entering the bustling kitchen, Nessa found herself surrounded by the harmonious chaos of cooking sounds. Pots clinked, knives tapped, and the aroma of various ingredients hung in the air. Amidst the array of ingredients, her gaze darted back and forth between ham and bacon, each tempting in its own way. A culinary battle waged within her mind, a struggle to decide which flavor would best suit her father's morning appetite.

Just as indecision threatened to cloud her choices, she suddenly remembered the fresh salmon that the chef had just bought from the fishermen. A smile played on her lips as she imagined her father savoring his favorite fish, delighting in each flavorful bite. With the protein component decided, she pondered the ideal carb to fuel her father's hectic day, knowing it needed to be both hearty and energizing. A light bulb flickered to life in Nessa's mind as she settled on the perfect menu: Smoked Salmon Bagel with Poached Egg. The vision unfolded in her imagination, each ingredient carefully chosen to create a breakfast fit for royalty.

Taking charge, Nessa directed the kitchen staff in the art of bagel-making as she smoked the salmon to perfection and ensured that the poached eggs would be flawless. A delightful aroma filled the air as the bagels fully baked. Nessa sliced and toasted the freshly made bagels, spread them with cream cheese, and adorned them with the succulent smoked salmon. She then gently placed a perfectly poached egg on each bagel half and topping them with arugula, lastly seasoned the creation with a dash of salt and pepper. With the masterpiece completed, Nessa carefully arranged the delectable breakfast on a regal plate, ensuring every detail was impeccable. To complement the meal, she prepared sweet oranges for dessert, recognizing that fresh water would be the perfect accompaniment to the flavorful feast.

Once finished, Nessa beamed with satisfaction. Her once-pristine sleeping gown now bore the evidence of her efforts – salt, flour, the lingering aroma of fish, and a hint of egg yolk – yet these were inconsequential compared to the joy she aimed to deliver to her father. Instructing the maid to set the table, Nessa excused herself to freshen up. As she departed, she glanced back with a smile and playful wink, "If father arrives before me, let him know his little princess personally crafted this feast." She then darted off, leaving a trail of anticipation in her wake.

The Princess

Nessandra

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♡coded by uxie♡

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Spoiler: No Code Post

Character Sheet
Interaction: None
Mention: King Ciaran Meatball30

As the sun emerged from its tranquil slumber, its warm rays tiptoed through Nessa's room, dancing with the goldish-white curtains. Nessa's thick eyelashes fluttered delicately, resisting the morning's embrace as she nestled within her blanket, unwilling to part ways with the night. However, a soft knock on her door accompanied by the words, "Princess Nessa, today is the day," swiftly transformed her reluctance into eagerness, prompting her to leap out of bed. It was time to greet the day.

Today was the day that her father would make his pilgrimage to her brother's resting place beneath the shadow of Waterwatch. The day that she could sense a faint sorrow etched on his once-strong face, while the well-worn lines and wrinkles silently narrated tales of battles fought and unspoken struggles endured in his bygone days. While Nessa occasionally visit them also, she found solace in her own quiet prayers for her brothers within the confines of her bedroom, reluctant to immerse herself in the profound stillness of the graveyard. There, she wove stories of days and nights within the castle, seeking connection with the departed. Despite having a very few memories of her brothers, she couldn't dispel the lingering sense of longing in her heart.

Today was also the day that Nessa would take over the royal kitchen, orchestrating a culinary symphony that would delight her family, especially her father, The King himself. Entering the bustling kitchen, Nessa found herself surrounded by the harmonious chaos of cooking sounds. Pots clinked, knives tapped, and the aroma of various ingredients hung in the air. Amidst the array of ingredients, her gaze darted back and forth between ham and bacon, each tempting in its own way. A culinary battle waged within her mind, a struggle to decide which flavor would best suit her father's morning appetite.

Just as indecision threatened to cloud her choices, she suddenly remembered the fresh salmon that the chef had just bought from the fishermen. A smile played on her lips as she imagined her father savoring his favorite fish, delighting in each flavorful bite. With the protein component decided, she pondered the ideal carb to fuel her father's hectic day, knowing it needed to be both hearty and energizing. A light bulb flickered to life in Nessa's mind as she settled on the perfect menu: Smoked Salmon Bagel with Poached Egg. The vision unfolded in her imagination, each ingredient carefully chosen to create a breakfast fit for royalty.

Taking charge, Nessa directed the kitchen staff in the art of bagel-making as she smoked the salmon to perfection and ensured that the poached eggs would be flawless. A delightful aroma filled the air as the bagels fully baked. Nessa sliced and toasted the freshly made bagels, spread them with cream cheese, and adorned them with the succulent smoked salmon. She then gently placed a perfectly poached egg on each bagel half and topping them with arugula, lastly seasoned the creation with a dash of salt and pepper. With the masterpiece completed, Nessa carefully arranged the delectable breakfast on a regal plate, ensuring every detail was impeccable. To complement the meal, she prepared sweet oranges for dessert, recognizing that fresh water would be the perfect accompaniment to the flavorful feast.

Once finished, Nessa beamed with satisfaction. Her once-pristine sleeping gown now bore the evidence of her efforts – salt, flour, the lingering aroma of fish, and a hint of egg yolk – yet these were inconsequential compared to the joy she aimed to deliver to her father. Instructing the maid to set the table, Nessa excused herself to freshen up. As she departed, she glanced back with a smile and playful wink, "If father arrives before me, let him know his little princess personally crafted this feast." She then darted off, leaving a trail of anticipation in her wake.

​

 

[Meatball30]

CODE BY SEROBLISS

King Ciaran I

of House Lusis

"Their blood keeps the peace, but it is my own that soothes."
​

Ciaran felt like a completely different person as he made his way into the primary keep at Waterwatch.

The melancholy that enveloped him in the morning had given way to a strange sense of peace. The sun had by that time rose fully into the cloudless sky, finishing what the dawn began and melting away the gloom of night completely. Like the sunburst upon his family's own colors, it filled him with pride.

The surprising scent of a meal already prepared greeted him at the corridor that led to the dining hall. It wasn't often breakfast was already served so soon after he'd dressed, but he was glad for it, as was his grumbling stomach. He smiled slightly as a serving woman approached him from the door leading to the hall. She bowed in deference.

It was subtle, but he saw it with a practiced eye - the slightly elevated cheek bones, the fine lips, a strong but graceful jaw. She was Elven, by half at least. This one could pass for human among the commonfolk, he suspected, if it weren't for ears that gave away her heritage.

But she treated them appropriately. Ciaran could see scar tissue where she'd had the pointed ends sheared, producing a more pleasing - a more unifying - Human look.

Some of them understood the justness of his law, and it filled his heart. Ciaran knew the strife years of racial tension could cause, knew how such animosity among a kingdom's people could undermine its own strength. Elvenkind, and even Man, he admitted, had a nasty tendency toward notions of superiority and domination. What this serving woman understood that many others did not was the strength of a common identity.

When the distinctions people could see were gone, they would no longer view their neighbors as "others." All of his citizens would instead view each other as Besknayazi, a single identity.

"The table is set your grace," the serving woman said with an easy smile.

"Dare I ask what delights await?" Ciaran asked. He understood what it was to be considered "lowborn." The Merricks may have deigned themselves superior to their subjects, considered it uncouth to speak with their servants unless it were to give an order. He did not.

"The Princess Nessandra would wish you surprised," the servant said. "She oversaw the meal herself."

The king nodded and made his way into the dining hall without another word. He was overwhelmed by the savory smell of smoked salmon, laid out alongside poached eggs and bagel, garnished with greens. The artistry on display left him without a doubt Nessa had coordinated the effort.

A wave of emotion washed over him, but there in his royal regalia, he hardened his face and let it pass. A kinder daughter he could not ask for, even as she became a woman grown.

He took a seat and admired the meal, though he decided to wait and see if his royal children might join him this morning. It was rare they sat together these days.

A pang of guilt struck at Ciaran's conscience as he stared down at the fileted fish. He had not always been kind to Nessandra, yet she'd never been bitter with him. In the days after her elder brothers' demise, grief stricken and thirsting for vengeance, he recalled wishing it had been his daughter killed. He remembered the will to trade her life for both of his sons'.

Most of all, Ciaran remembered acting on that desire, once. Her shrieks as he dragged her to the water's edge and cast her into the deep, his household guard and wife looking on in stunned horror, but too frightened to stop him. He hoped this sacrifice might bring his children back to him. Only after she'd gone under had he realized what he'd done and demanded her rescue. He did not leave her bed until she awoke again.

They didn't speak of the incident. He knew she feared the sea now. He knew she didn't like to walk the castle walls overly much, precariously posted on the seaside cliffs as they were.

Little comfort it must be for her to live in Waterwatch, he thought of the irony.

Yet the princess offered only love for her father.

Ciaran shifted uncomfortably in his chair, casting furtive glances at the door every so often. He hoped she'd join him today.

Mentions: Dovinique

 

[Gothixx]

The Prince

location

Besknyaz Castle, Kingdom of Besknyaz

interactions

Meatball30

mentions

Dovinique

Alexsi Lusis

The words on the yellowed parchment began to blur together as Alexsi lost focus again. He placed his feathered quill back into the inkwell, pinching his thumb and index finger against the bridge of his nose. His eyes squeezed shut as he tried to stop the throbbing pain in his head. He hesitantly opened one eye, glancing at the large glass window which faced the mountains in the east. Bright yellow rays of sunlight peeked through the red curtains. The sun’s mocking rays taunt Alexsi with its presence. He barely slept the night before, immersing himself in one of the tomes he had found in the library.

The large book was open on a page with various drawings of ancient symbols and script. He had spent the better part of his night trying to translate the unknown scriptures into his own tongue. Even a few symbols he could manage to understand could benefit the army, giving them an advantage against their foes. If only he were more learned on the subject. His woes were cut short at the firm knock against his door.

“Enter,” Alexsi spoke as he stood from his work desk.

“The King Ciaran has returned from the crypts,” the male servant said as he stepped into the room. “His lordship is now sitting down for breakfast.”

The prince frowned. “Has my sister joined him?”

“Not as of yet, your majesty.”

Alexsi leaned over his messy workbench, slowly beginning to pick up the loose sheets of paper in a neat stack. Normally, he would opt to avoid his father on the day he would return from his visit to his elder brothers’ graves. Dealing with the lingering heaviness in the air after that was unpleasant. There was nothing he could say or do that would take his father’s mind off of his deceased brothers. Though, maybe this was a different opportunity given the extensive research he had conducted last night. A reason to inform his father of his findings as a way to gain some type of praise for his work.

With that new motivation in mind, he discarded the stack of papers onto his work table and prepared to make himself look presentable for breakfast. Alexsi had dismissed his servant, instructing the man to tidy up the rest of his room in his absence. As he descended the grand staircase down to the dining hall, a familiar sense of doubt lingered in his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken to his father directly without mention of politics. The last time he and his family had a casual conversation that maintained their supposed love for one another. His mother was a terrible confidant, his brothers were dead and his sister the reason their father’s attention was still kept from him. Alexsi saw no point in speaking to any of them other than to keep pleasantries.

Alexsi entered the dining hall, his presence being announced by one of the servants there. He felt his mouth go dry as he bowed his head slightly in greeting. His posture was straight and his hands were balled up into fists at his sides as he walked to the empty seat at the left of his father. Piercing eyes focused on the banquet in front of him as he pressed his lips into a thin line. The food was abundant, a lot more than what he had expected for breakfast. For a moment, he assumed the cooks had decided to make a larger meal due to the nature of the day. Eggs, bagels, smoked salmon, fried ham and bacon. So many choices and he had no idea what to reach for first.

He knew it would look strange if he just sat there staring at it all. He opted for taking a bagel and placing it onto his plate. Next, he took the butter knife. Slicing the bagel in half before he spread the butter onto one side. Alexsi was not hungry, the awkwardness of the breakfast was enough to fill his stomach for the morning. His hand kept a steady pace, idly buttering the bagel as he tried to think up of his next course of action.

“How has your morning been, father?” Alexsi briefly glanced at his father’s face. He looked tired, worn down. The deep creases in his face were a result of the heavy grief he had been carrying. He bit back his words after that, waiting to detect a shift in his father’s mood.

coded by natasha.

 

[willoww]

Maithe Orwin and Cinoa Steinfelt
​

The morning came as most do, a heaviness in the air from the grief of the night before. The executions that seemed to become more frequent brought a sense of urgency to the hearts of Maithe and Cinoa. They’d heard about the potential rebellion through whispers among their trading partners, gathering pieces of information over the course of the last month or so. The latest execution was of a young vampire that had been caught stealing blood after being turned unexpectedly. Cinoa had previously come into contact with the young vampire as she’d gained information on their recent turning; though she did her best to reassure and educate him, he had not heeded her words of advice and continued to try to starve himself out of denial. After 3 days of blood starvation, the young vampire found himself trying to steal blood from the kingdom’s prerationed and regulated supply. After being caught and arrested by the King’s Black Army, he’d found himself on the large burning pyre that stood in the center of the city of Besknyaz. He’d pleaded for mercy and tried to argue that he was not turned by choice but his words fell on deaf ears as he was doused in flammable fluid and lit aflame. Cinoa and Maithe had watched the young man burn, the sounds of his screaming were etched into their memories along with each and every execution they’d witnessed. Although they could not stop the executions, they’d made it their duty to bear witness to the poor souls who’s lives were taken from them, vowing to do what they could to protect the rest of the faefolk.

Standing in front of the pyre that had been used just the night before, Maithe‘s eyes focused on the scorched wood and the ashes that were left beneath it.
“This isn’t right…” she said softly, her gaze shifting up toward Cinoa who stood beside her holding a large black umbrella to shield her from the morning’s sunlight.

”We did what we could”
Cinoa tightened her grip on the handle of the umbrella, clenching her teeth together but remaining seemingly stoic in composure. She was known to be the stoic one of the two, her composure never faltering even during events such as this. Cinoa was often the glue that held Maithe together, keeping her mind focused on rational thinking rather than allowing her to bite off more than she could chew.

”But it wasn’t enough”

”It wasn’t, but we cannot put ourselves at risk until we are sure that we have the numbers” Cinoa said softly, loosening her grip on the umbrella and taking Maithe’s hand with her free one.
“We can discuss another time when there are no prying ears and eyes”

Reluctantly, Maithe nodded in understanding and followed Cinoa, continuing down the cobblestone toward The Mirage.
“Minora Ravenheart”
With their words of passage, the stone frog revealed The Mirage. It was a relatively average sized shop with a heavy wooden door with runes carved into the wood. The runes glowed as Maithe reached toward the handle to open the door, illuminating an arcane purple light. Upon entering, the familiar smell of incense and herbs filled their noses, bringing them a sense of peace. Out of all places in this forsaken kingdom, this was one place they could feel safe in. Once they were inside, the door shut behind them and the floorboards groaned and creaked as a welcome to them. The shop seemed to be just as they‘d left it the day before, quiet and still.

”Clover?” Maithe called out, removing her intricately designed cloak embroidered with images of a raven and the phases of the moon made with gold thread and placing it on a hook beside the door. Underneath the cloak, she’d worn an equally as intricate dress and corset. Her dress was long-sleeved and made of fine lace created by the artisans she’d worked with in the past. The corset she’d worn was embroidered with the same gold thread that her cloak had and gems draped over the top edge of the corset, looking almost like droplets. The most noticeable thing above all was the jewelry she wore. Collected during her time of trading and finding treasures throughout the continent, Maithe’s jewelry consisted of a finely made choker and long necklaces, the longest of said necklaces reaching just above her waist. Every gem she wore was imbued with magic she’d be able to draw from if she ever ran low on her own energy.

Appearing into their view, Clover sat on the counter swinging her feet with a gentle smile on her face
”Welcome back mistress”

”Have you received any business while we were out?” Cinoa asked, placing the umbrella near the door and removing the black leather gloves she wore, placing them into her pocket.

”I did actually! I didn’t catch his name but a tall man came in and told me to leave you a message. He said he’d wait for your arrival tonight during sundown at the edge of… hmm what’d he say?” placing a hand on her chin and closing her eyes to think, Clover regathered her thoughts “I think he said at the edge of light and dark. I tried to ask him who he was but I assumed you must know him if he has a word of passage”

Maithe and Cinoa looked at eachother with slightly worrisome faces
“The edge of light and dark? The shadowfell?” Maithe wondered to herself “I have not met any other being who has access to the shadowfell… Well as far as I know…”

”A place where I cannot accompany you. This person wants you alone. I’m not sure if I like this” Cinoa leaned against the wall behind her, crossing her arms and shaking her head.

”The man said he had information on the rebellion but needed to meet with you in a place where there are no eyes and ears” Clover added “Maybe I could come with you? I can keep our mistress safe, Cinoa. I am able to travel across the realms so I don’t see why I wouldn’t be able to travel with our mistress”

”Clover, this would be risking banishment for you. We don’t know how adept this person is or why they want me alone in the first place… It’s too risky and I’m not going to allow you to accompany me” Maithe replied as Clover pouted in response

”I am capable of handling myself. I know the shadowfell like the back of my hand, if there is an issue I will come right back.”

With a sigh, Cinoa shook her head and kicked off of the wall to stand straight “We’ll need to discuss this further, this doesn’t feel right.”

 

[SnowStorm42]

Celeste Eleazar
​

The book Celeste had picked up was 'Mouthpiece of the Sword'. It was a book about war, and included many battles and wars that were waged between the various kingdoms and regions of the world. Usually Celeste preferred to read of new magic, the anatomy of different creatures, or even about herbs and weapons, but lately the vampire found herself drawn to this particular book. She was no fan of war, or rather she wasn't a fan of combat. Killing of course, wasn't something that bothered her, but the act of combat seemed barbaric to Celeste. Thoughts of her parents came to mind when thinking of war in that sense. This book didn't capture her because of the violence, but rather because of the politics surrounding these horrid events. The book captured very well the accounts of the sides involved in their particular conflicts, and the main actors who played the part to shape the outcomes of these battles and wars. There was an allure for the vampire, this idea of strategy, and manipulation in order to achieve something greater. Flipping a page and reaching the end of the chapter on 'The Battle of Ra'skala' , Celeste closed the book and put it back where she had found it.

Standing up and gathering herself she figured enough time had passed, and grabbing her cloak made her way for the door. The vampire made sure to cover herself properly, her black now covering any exposed skin, and pulling her hood over her head, she walked out into the now well lit and sunny streets of Besknyaz's inner walls. Despite being the main keep of the Black Army, housing the Royal Family in their fortress, and being the main stage of executions, the inner walls of the kingdom were always busy, and this day was no different. In the distance it seemed there were crowds already gathered in the markets. Pawns of the Black Army moved about in their black gear, patrolling in greater numbers now. Red eyes scanning for anything suspicious, Celeste began to make her way in the direction of the 'Ram's Horn' tavern, where the letter had asked to meet. It was a tavern that wasn't far from the Fortress, just beyond the marketplace, in an alleyway between some higher end homes. It usually drew crowds but it never got too rowdy, as many of the king's army would go there either because it was close to patrol, or for a drink when off duty.

As Celeste's heeled boots clicked along the cobblestone, her red eyes locked on to the sight of a couple crying at the base of a burnt pile of wood. Probably relatives of the poor victim of last night's execution. On one hand Celeste felt some sympathy. The executions did feel more frequent, and it wasn't easy losing loved ones. Celeste definitely knew that too well. On the other hand, the woman could rationalize some of the executions. The rules weren't all that hard to follow. Somehow Celeste had gone this long without being executed. 'Don't break the rules, or be smarter about breaking them' Celeste thought to herself while thinking of the blood she had enjoyed from the night before thanks to her network.

Arriving at the tavern, it looked like a crusty wooden door in a dark alley, with no indication of it being a tavern except a wooden sign above the door with the engraving of a ram's head. Upon entry though the tavern was well lit with candle holders and torches, the stone brick walls feeling new, and the wooden floor being an oak brown, polished clean. Celeste removed her hood before scanning over the tavern. The crowd in here wasn't the best of the Besknyaz, but then again why would they be, drinking this early? Celeste definitely stood out among the torn shirts and dirty pants. If not for her cloak, her dress could give off the appearance of a Bishop's. Her eyes finally darted to a male orc, sitting alone, in a tan peasant's garb. Had to be the one. Celeste approached slowly, and eventually caught the orc's gaze. He was about to stand with excitement and greet her, but Celeste was quick to motion with her hand to stay down. The orc's excitement went down, along with his body back into his seat at the table. Celeste wrapped her legs over the bench of the table and sat across from the orc.

"I'm glad you got my letter. I dropped it in a hurry so I wasn't sure anyone was even-" the orc started.

"The code" Celeste interrupted, with a very cold and serious tone.

"Oh right. Apologies. Gravis vastator" the orc responded, looking a bit embarrassed. Celeste let out a sigh and let her posture drop a bit.

"So you're seeking permanent departure"

"Yes. My wife and I, she's an elf. We have had a hard time keeping up with the new laws. Beyond just the social and physical stuff, our business is not keeping up with the Kingdom's demands. We feel we may be better off in Veneria" the orc explained.

"Abandoning a business registered under the Kingdom. Fleeing, which could be taken as slander. Elf and orc. There are a lot of risks here.."

"We are willing to pay double!" the orc exclaimed, leaning forward, his fear becoming a bit more evident that he may be rejected. Celeste however, waved her hand and shook her head. She herself leaned forward now.

"It'll be a standard fee. I may even reduce it. But I'll need the name of the person who told you my name, and where they reside" Celeste said, her eyes seeming to glow a brighter red for a moment. The orc slightly leaned back from Celeste, but after a pause, it was evident that him and his wife held more value to him, as he gave a nod. Usually, with Celeste's network, there were no direct names or contacts. Everything was coded including her, so for someone to drop her name, they had to be stupid or trying to get her caught. Celeste wanted to figure out which of the two it was.

"Even with my help though, the pass can only get you so far. I need to see a friend about some glamours"

 

[Gothixx]

The Alchemist

location

Ugurth’s Respite, Veneria

interactions

None

mentions

None

Jenassa Zholzendu

“Thirteen….fourteen…fifteen…” Jenassa mumbled to herself, occasionally pausing to jot down hastily scribbled notes into her notebook.

Glass jars of varying size and shape sat in front of her as she counted each one. The jars were filled with different plants. Some contained dried tulips and lilies that only grew in the moonlight. Others had grass clippings and orange colored leaves from the woods nearby. Those jars were filled to the brim with their reagents. The farther Jenassa went down the line the more she took note of how most of them were empty. The sudden chime from her store’s front door alerted her first customer of the day entering. Her hands quickly worked to scribble down another note reminding her to head out into the woods later that day and restock on her resources.

“Welcome to Ugurth’s Respite,” She greeted, her attention focused on moving the jars back to their respective spots on the large shelf behind her. “Is there anything I can help you with, sir?”

Heavy footsteps approached the counter, a jingling of what sounded like many keys chimed with each step. Jenessa felt her heart sank as she silently hoped it was not the man she was dreading meeting that week. As she spun on her heels, her prayers went unanswered as she frowned at her unwanted guest. She at least hoped she had a couple more days or so before the tax collector came into her shop.

He was a human, his hair grayed from years of a life well lived. He wore a single molecule, his belly jutting out from having taken one two many mugs of beer. The clothes he wore were made of expensive violet, gold engravings on his shirt strapped down with a dark belt that had many leather bags attached to it. Each bag contained a certain amount of gold that clinked together every time he moved. It was an outfit made for show, most likely bought off of a wealthy merchant in Besknyaz.

The man leaned forward as he propped himself up on one arm against the counter, a lazy smile on his aging face. “Good morning, Ms.Zhol. Do you have this week’s donation?”

Straight to the point with Malik. No need for idle chatter when all he did weekly was stop by the lesser earning patrons of Veneria and collect what he called “charity donations.” It was extortion plain and simple. When she had first come to the village while escaping from Veneria she was warned about the common crimes that took place against shop owners. Malik had made a convincing offer, tempting for a fresh faced newcomer. A few gold pieces to be donated every week to a group of local mercenaries who were willing to protect businesses out of the kindness of their heart. If only she could turn back time.

Jenassa bit back a retort, bending down to reach below her counter. She counted a small amount of coins, leaving a bit for her own expenses. The coins were then placed into a similar leather bag like the ones Malik had on his person. She pushed them towards him on the countertop, waiting as he counted them up. The man hummed, shook his head and clicked his tongue, waving the small sack in the air.

“Feels awfully light today, Ms.Zhol,” He grimaced. “You know it would be a shame if an accident were to happen and we didn’t have the proper funds to motivate our boys to help out. We wouldn’t want that to happen would we?”

“No, sir, we wouldn’t,” Jenassa balled her fists, forcing a smile. “I’ll have the rest for you later in the week, please be patient until then.”

For a moment, the man’s facade slipped and he frowned. There was a pause between them, an uncomfortable feeling settled in Jenassa before Malik’s faux grin returned. He attached the bag onto his belt, lifting it up exaggeratedly as he felt the weight of all the coin bags against it. He said nothing more as he tipped his head as a farewell before leaving her hut, slamming the door hard enough to make the small chime she made fall off its hinge.

It took her a moment to regain her composure, her hands finally relaxing from the grip she held them in. Her palms ached from how hard her nails dug into the delicate skin, yet she brushed it off as she went around the counter to reattach the chime onto the door. Her gaze glanced out the front window every now and then, hoping a paying customer would come by to ease her mind.

coded by natasha.

 

[Jackson123]

Sir Ewald De Villiers


The sun painted the cobblestone streets of downtown Besknyaz with a warm, golden hue. Ewald De Villiers, adorned in ebony armor embellished with silver accents, began his day with the same disciplined routine that had become the hallmark of his existence. The clinking of his armor resonated through the quiet morning as he made his way to the castle courtyard. His obsidian-hued armor reflected the morning light. A crimson cape billowed behind him as he walked with purpose, his polished black helm tucked under his arm. The emblem of House Lusis adorned his chestplate.

In the courtyard, squires and servants moved about, attending to various duties. Ewald's steed, a majestic black destrier named Cerberus, was being groomed by a stable boy. The knight nodded in approval, acknowledging the diligent work of the young lad, before he swung himself onto the saddle with practiced ease.

Leaving the stables, Ewald headed towards the castle's training grounds. The clatter of swords and the shouts of fellow Black Army knights echoed in the air as he approached. He was a man of discipline, known for his unwavering commitment to honing his skills, as well as the quiet, relentless determination he brought to every training session.

As he sparred with fellow knights, the ringing of steel against steel reverberated across the training grounds. Ewald's movements were precise, his strikes calculated. Despite the weight of his imposing armor, he moved with an agility that defied expectation. His skill with the blade was a testament to years of training and countless battles fought in service to the King.

The castle gates creaked open, and Ewald rode out into the marketplace. The aroma of freshly baked bread and the colorful displays of fruits and vegetables greeted him, the cobblestone streets were alive with the sounds of vendors hawking their wares, children playing, and townsfolk going about their daily tasks. Ewald, however, remained an imposing figure amidst the vibrant scene, the townsfolk often cast curious glances toward him. Children stopped their play, wide-eyed, as Ewald passed by. He simply acknowledged them with a nod.

Making his way through the market, Ewald visited the blacksmith, where a burly man with soot-stained hands worked diligently on a sword. The rhythmic clanging of metal on metal echoed in the air. The blacksmith, recognizing the knight, hurriedly approached with a respectful bow. Ewald handed over his longsword for check and maintenance.

Leaving the blacksmith's shop, Ewald strolled toward the town square, where a group of minstrels had gathered to entertain the crowd. The melodic tunes of a lute and the rhythmic beat of a drum filled the air.

 

[Meatball30]

CODE BY SEROBLISS

Elyon

Brythias

"We have one thing in common, in the end."
​

Elyon stared solemnly at the young elven lad as he and two other crewmen of the Banshee placed him on a strongly woven reed canoe.

It was Elvish craft, but not a tradition that Elyon knew. Mankind had a tendency to lump all of his kin into a monolith, but where Elyon was surrounded by stone walls and commerce as a boy, the young man dead before him was of the wilderness, the canopy shadows, tall pines and wildflowers. Born somewhere in the wilds of the Elder Forest, a place Elyon had never known. He couldn't have been older than 25. A drop in the bucket in the long years of elves.

It was only through the boy's forest kin they'd been able to craft a proper burial vessel for him.

He'd not even been on the ship long enough for Elyon to learn his name before a sweating sickness tore through the hold. Where they'd picked it up, Elyon didn't know, but over the course of a month it claimed 9 of his men, this young adventurer being the last.

Under normal circumstances Elyon could find a healer, an alchemist, some kind of remedy. The Dark King's strict magical and trade regulations made that difficult, as did his status as outlaw to the Black Fleet. His long exile from La'Khan eliminated that option, and everywhere along the shores of Lake Besknyaz, folk were tightening their belts. Basics were becoming harder to come by for many in Veneria. Advanced medicines and magics were rarer still.

After the body was placed in the boat, the boy's friends placed trinkets, flowers, and other small tokens of affection in the craft. Some of the elves of the Elder Forest placed intricately woven wreaths.

Elyon and three others, forest elves themselves, took positions at the corners of the canoe and grabbed hold. He followed their lead.

"We thank the earth for his life," one elf said. They took a step forward into the water. She spoke Elvish, but the tongue as it existed in the Elder Forest was more guttural, a staccato form of the usually flowing, nearly slurred language of rolled rs and elegant speech.

"We mourn for his death," another answered. Another step forward.

"To the earth again, we commend him." A final step, and a unified shove. The canoe glided away from shore gently.

The earth is a greedy bitch, Elyon thought sullenly. He'd done more commending in the last month than he'd have liked.

There was silence as the remaining crew of the Banshee watched their comrade's body forge toward the horizon line. Sea birds had already started to circle the craft.

"We're a half day from home everyone," Elyon spoke up finally. He waded back out of the water, mud clinging to the bottom of his pants legs. "We can rest when we're there."

---

When at last the black-hulled Banshee's oars bumped gently against the docks a short way from Veneria, Elyon could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks and his head abuzz. He'd retreated to his cabin and popped the cork on two bottles of wine captured from their last requisition of cargo headed to Besknyaz - a mighty treasure indeed, given how rare luxuries were becoming anywhere inside the Dark King's domain, let alone outside it.

The timing couldn't have been better. He'd just knocked back his last greedy gulp of bitter red, in memory of his men, and the full-bearded merchant who he'd taken the wine from.

You'll never know how much you helped, he thought in silent praise to the poor man who'd, by now, likely showed up to the docks below Waterwatch with a nearly empty hull.

Elyon stood from the table in his quarters, somewhat wobbly, and made for his cabin door before suddenly remembering something and turning about on his heel, still with more elegance than might be expected from someone in his state.

"How could I forget," he admonished himself aloud. A few quick steps toward a chest in the corner of the room and Elyon crouched quickly, snagging a golden band inlaid with a single, large hunk of valuable obsidian. He smiled and tucked it into his coat pocket.

The sunlight assailed his eyes as he exited onto deck, but shone warmly on his pale purple skin. Around him, remaining crewmembers were already busy mooring the vessel.

"I want everyone not on watch to find some time to visit your favorite girl or get a drink once we're secure," Elyon shouted above the clangor. "Captain's orders, those are."

A few of the sailors shouted acknowledgement or jeered their comrades as their captain left the deck. He'd well handled the drink already, and was now off to fulfill the former of his own orders.

Elyon brushed shoulders with a big-bellied man on his way out of Ugurth's Respite, paying him little mind as he pushed through the front door and heard that familiar chime announcing his presence.

"The illustrious, the renowned, the famed beauty, Jenassa Zholzendu," Elyon started with a smile before he'd even spotted the shopkeep, scanning the store to find her toiling over inventory in a storefront that seemed to grow more barren every time he visited. He'd often stop in to see what the Elven women had on the shelves to fight sickness at sea and disease like the one that'd claimed too many of his crew, but last time he'd come, there was little on offer.

The privateer smiled as he approached, mustering what charm he could behind cheeks red from drink, leaning on the counter partially for comfort and partially to slow the spinning that had come after his swift stroll through Veneria.

In the same motion he retrieved the trinket from his pocket and laid it on the store counter.

"Don't worry, that's not a proposal," Elyon said, still smiling foolishly. "I'd hate to make you a widow, and a thief makes a much worse husband than an upstanding mage. How are things?"

Truthfully, all he needed to do was look around to answer his own question. The free folk of Veneria had less to spare, and many merchants had less to offer. Elyon was doing what he could to help some of the neediest residents and shopkeeps stay afloat, but he was well aware occasional gifts of stolen wealth were hardly enough to save a struggling business.

Interactions: Gothixx

 

[Dovinique]

Character Sheet
Interaction: Meatball30 Gothixx
Mention: None

The sound of water echoed as Nessa took a long shower, ensuring every trace of kitchen chaos was washed away. The warm water cascaded down on Nessa's skin, enveloping her in a soothing embrace. After the water ceased its gentle flow, she stepped out and wrapped herself in a luxurious towel. In her chamber, Nessa carefully chose a dress for the day. The bluish royal dress that seemed to mimic the serene depths of the castle moat, adorned with intricate silver embroidery that seemed to shimmer in the morning light. The flowing gown had a sweetheart neckline, and its skirt cascaded gracefully to the floor, giving her an ethereal presence. With her appearance perfected, Nessa tended to her hair, brushing it until it gleamed like midnight silk. She then applied lotion and a hint of perfume, leaving a trail of a subtle, floral fragrance as she moved. Nessa felt ready, the grandeur of her attire only amplifying the sense of occasion.

Ready and resplendent, Nessa skipped her way through the grand corridors of the castle. Tall, ornate pillars adorned with gold leafing soared to the ceiling, and rich tapestries depicted the kingdom's storied history. She exchanged friendly greetings with passing staff members, her radiant presence bringing a touch of warmth to the stone halls. Approaching the dining room, Nessa overheard a familiar voice, "How has your morning been, father?" It was her brother, Alexsi. Curiosity piqued, she leaned against the wall, deciding to eavesdrop before entering. A mixture of reluctance and discomfort gripped her as she hesitated outside the dining room. The prospect of being in the same room as Alexsi left her legs feeling oddly frozen. It had been a long time since they sat together at the same table, and today was unexpected. She took deep breaths, allowing the exchange between father and son to unfold without her presence.

Once satisfied that their conversation had concluded, Nessa entered with a warm smile. She bowed respectfully to King Ciaran, addressing him as "Father," and then to Alexsi as "Brother," before taking her seat opposite him, the right side of The King. As Nessa glanced at her brother, she noticed his plate with a bagel. She hadn't expected Alexsi to join the feast, and the absence of a Smoked Salmon Bagel for him left her flustered. Thankfully, she did ensuring other dishes adorned the table before she left the kitchen.

Fidgeting in her chair, Nessa summoned the courage to address her brother, "Alexsi, please try my Smoked Salmon Bagel," she requested, her voice barely audible. With a nod to the maid, her plate was delivered to him, "You must be hungry after all the studies you've done," Nessa continued, her stiffness evident. She reached for bacon and ham, busying herself with preparing a quick breakfast. "I didn't expect you to be here this morning, but I'm glad we can eat like this together," she added, her smile masking the underlying unease.

Turning to her father, Nessa's smile brightened, "How is it, Father? Do you like it?" Anticipation gleamed in her eyes as she awaited the praise that only a beloved father could provide.

The Princess

Nessandra

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♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Acethekidd]

Blaise Redwood
tags: - location: Castle infirmary ; company: -

In the dimly lit infirmary, the air carried the sound of snoring that bounced off the walls, coming from the orange-furred fox sprawled across a polished wooden desk. Dr. Redwood, grappling with the challenges of an unknown illness that was spreading, was on a tireless quest for a cure or a potent antidote. Time, however, seemed to tease progress, offering glimmers of hope on the pursuit.

Amidst his slumber, a sudden twitch of his nose rudely disrupted the snoring, ending in a loud sneeze that jolted him awake. "Oh, goodness gracious! I was asleep again?" Blinking away sleep, he ruffled his fur, surveying the room through tired amber eyes that harbored the signs of sleep deprivation. The doctor, on the brink of needing his own care if he didn't rest soon, struggled to recollect his self. "Ah, yes, the mission to find a vaccine or a remedy for this illness...the one without a name."

The scattered papers on his desk became a field of symptoms: fevers, vomiting, and a loss of appetite—deceptive in their resemblance to the common flu yet more deadly "It's baffling," he muttered, rubbing his chin in contemplation. "There's an inkling that there's more to this illness than meets the eye. But to uncover its depths, I'll need to do more tests. Perhaps an alchemist's expertise could shed some light." Frustration danced in his voice, a rarity for the usually composed doctor who found himself ensnared in a web of uncertainty.

coded by archangel_

 

[SnowStorm42]

((EDITED))

┏━━━━━━━━━┓
"Bastard Son of the Merricks"
┗━━━━━━━━━┛​

╔═════════════
"He's my son! He is coming back with me!"
"He's staying with me! You abandoned him!"
The sound of plates flying and shattering against the wall echoed, followed by more shouting and screaming, that reverberated in the foggy memory.
A knife shined bright, illuminated by the few candles scattered around the messy home.
"You're coming with me boy. There will be blood to pay if you don't" a grizzly and overweight man growled as he moved the knife in a pattern.
Another plate breaking, this time over the man's head.
"My boy. What did he do to you?!"
"The Merricks are bad people"
A woman lay still, eyes closed, blood covering her face. Her eyes shot open.

A soft breeze blew across a hill, just away from the many tents, small houses, huts, and camps of Veneria. On the hill, a lone tree's leaves danced in the breeze creating a soft rustling. Softly Gillian's eyes opened upon the sound of the rustling stirring him awake, his light brown eyes processing the dancing leaves and the clear blue sky above them. His brown orbs moved around some more, taking in more information, as his brain caught up and woke up with him. Slowly the large framed man shifted from his laying position to a sitting position, leaning his back on the lone tree. His eyes immediately caught a woman standing in front of him, black hair in a tight bun, pale skin, green eyes, and arms crossed in disapproval.

"This here is how you hunt, Mr. Cedarwood?" the woman asked with a tone of annoyance, which would only be furthered by Gillian's response.

"Funny, I was just dreaming about you Ms. Janicki" he said with a smirk. No response, and a greater scowl on the woman's face. "I was meditating. Replenishing my strength before the big hunt"
"It looks like you got drunk and are slacking off" she responded, her gaze meeting a half empty bottle of whiskey next to Gillian, his gaze following hers to the same bottle. With a light chuckle he turned his attention back to Ms. Janicki, the woman who put out a notice to hunt a monster.

"I promise, the whiskey is part of the process. I'll have the beast's head before the night ends" Gillian said with a warm smile, one that Ms. Janicki was not eager to return.

"You better. We don't have very much livestock left to spare. If it takes one more I'll be sure the people of Veneria drive you out"
With that the woman stormed off. Gillian could do nothing but sigh, before staring out above Ms. Janicki at Veneria. It was hard to call it a city or a town, or even a village when it was such a melting pot, between tents, barns, shops, houses, and huts. There were roads in some parts, and other parts it was whatever grass was not occupied between campfires and tents. The people themselves, were just as mixed, with almost any race imaginable living here, but the people varying from the kindest alive, to the filthiest scum imaginable. Ms. Janicki definitely was one of the kinder ones, and Gillian couldn't fault her for her frustration. Under King Ciaran, things were difficult, and it was more difficult for those who wanted to live outside his reign. The woman was taking care of a sick, elderly father, and trying her best to keep livestock alive in order to sell in turn for medicine for her grandfather. She had put out a contract on a four legged, white beast resembling a wolf, that had been hunting said livestock every few nights. The few who took the contract didn't return, which is where Gillian stepped in.
Opening the bottle of whiskey, Gillian took one more swig, to bring his buzz back, and keep the inevitable hangover away, before getting up from the tree and grabbing his coat which he through over her shoulders. He then began marching his way down the hill, back to Veneria. He made his way past the shops and houses, towards the many tents, where he was residing. While walking he accidentally bumped into an older man, who was definitely well off based on his larger belly, however even with his large belly he stumbled back from the force of Gillian's large frame.
"Why you..!"

"Oh sorry Gramps. Didn't see you there"
The man began shouting and cursing toward Gillian, but the hunter was too focused on getting back to his tent. His tent was a bit of a larger one, with fine logs from the Elder Forest as support beams. Various pelts and furs dangled from the wooden logs, either in decoration or to sell later. On the ground there was the pelt of a bear, that made for a rug. A large trunk was placed to the right, that doubled as a makeshift table, covered in maps, papers, and contracts. To the left there was a wardrobe, where Gillian kept his clothes as well as the different trinkets he squirreled away. Next to the wardrobe was a small crate where his alcohol was kept, as well as his cooking utilities, and finally toward the center back of the tent, behind the rug was Gillian's cot, that he covered in wool. Making his way over to the cot, he pulled it aside before placing his hand on the dirt. A small chunk of the ground moved aside, revealing a buried bow, and dagger. Gillian threw the bow over himself, and sheathed the dagger on his belt, before moving the ground, and then the cot back. He would go back to the tree next and pick up where the trail had led him last.
As Gillian made his way out of his tent, and through the camps, three thugs caught sight of him and approached him. "Oi! You think you can just shove our boss and be about y'er day do yuh? He's an important man y'know" the closest thug said, a notably bald man, with messed up teeth.

"Now now. There's no need for trouble. If you're referring to the tubby old man, I gave him my sincerest apologies" Gillian said throwing his arms up.

"Crippes. Isn't this the bounty hunter who turned Lehi in?"

"Now that you mention it yeah. Wavey hair 'ere did turn in Lehi diin't he?"

"I was just doing a job for some coin. Had I known the elf was a friend of yours I would've turned a blind eye! Everyone steals here and there right?" Gillian said with a higher toned voice, wide eyed, and playing innocent and helpless. The time for talk was over however. The thug to the right of the bald man lunged at Gillian first, throwing his right fist. Gillian's demeanor immediately shifted from fearful, to focused, as he took a step back allowing the punch to pass by his face before grabbing the assailant's wrist with his left hand and shifting his right leg forward, sweeping the ankle of the assailant, causing him to fall to the ground. Gillian didn't let go of his wrist though. Suddenly the man to the left of Crippe's lunged as well. Gillian let go of the other man's wrist, got low and punched both his palms forward, making contact with the chest of the new assailant, knocking the wind out of him and sending him to the ground.

Crippes had seen enough, and drew his short sword, while the thug number one gathered himself and also drew a knife. Gillian sighed. 'It always goes like this' he thought to himself, as he raised his hands to parry both thugs now. 'There's always some thug, who needs to take it out on others' he continued to think as he moved thug number one's arm in the way causing his knife to block Crippes' sword. He kicked thug number one in the chest before grabbing Crippes by the wrist that held the sword and raising that arm above his head, before throwing his palm up into the jaws of Crippes, knocking him back and off balance.

"Just tell him I'm sorry we don't have to keep doing this" Gillian said. By now thug number three regained his composure and oxygen, and the other two had gathered together. "'Err will be trouble to pay lad" Crippes said. The three thugs backed off and stared down Gillian as they left. He couldn't help let out a sigh of relief and smile. Although he loved to join in the brawls that were often held in Veneria, street fights were always messy and led to trouble, which Gillian wasn't entirely sure he was out of. While there was no set enforcers of law and order, there was definitely a system for dealing with troublemakers, and street fights like this definitely counted as trouble. At least for the time being though he could focus on the hunt. He knew the beast he was hunting already, he just had to track it and would need to gather some supplies, and definitely some runes if he planned on fighting it. There was one shop that came to mind, that someone had recommended a while back. Taking another swig from his bottle of whiskey to calm the adrenaline of the brief fight, Gillian started to make his way toward Ugurth's Respite.

​

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Currently With: Alone
Mood: Relieved​

 

[willoww]

Maithe and Cinoa

​

The day went as quickly as it came with the occasional guest who’d come seeking aid from Maithe. Many of the services Maithe provided were in relation to the consequences of The Black Army; from restoring fangs and ears to removing brands seared into the flesh of many that were reminders of the King’s watchful eyes. Many patrons came to Maithe seeking forbidden materials in their efforts to keep the different cultures of the Faefolk alive. As the sun began its descent over the walls that separated the city of Besknyaz from the other parts of the kingdom, the city’s familiar stench of death filled the streets with a warning to those who were brave enough to venture outside. At this point, it was time to close the access of The Mirage and begin plotting their next moves. The most urgent question at hand was who this unknown person was and what information they had.

“I’ll be fine Cinoa” Maithe sighed, pulling her rings over her knuckles and settling them into place on the base of her fingers “I understand that this is dangerous and you can’t follow me but I gave you my word that I will return did I not?”

”If there are ANY signs of this man becoming dangerous, you bring the fight here, got it?” Cinoa demanded, leaning over the counter and placing her pointer finger and thumb over Maithe’s chin, raising her gaze to meet hers.

With a soft smile, Maithe nodded and met Cinoa’s gaze
”Got it. I am a woman of my word.”

As the sun made its final descent and the shadows of darkness began to take the place of the sun’s light, Maithe stood in front of a curtain that separated the back room of The Mirage and the main area. The curtain was emerald green and lined with threading that was intricately designed in runic shapes. Long thick tassels extended from the end of the fabric of the curtain to the floor, covering any opening that the curtain may have left. This curtain was found untouched in the burnt remains of Maithe’s past; it was known to her coven as the ‘passage between worlds’.

Simply used during the day as a divider between the front and back rooms, the curtain can also be used to pass between planes. This time, it will be used to gain passage to the shadowfell. Standing in front of the curtain, Maithe gathered her composure with a breath and placed her fingers at the edge of the curtain. She recited a short spell in an arcane tongue unknown to Cinoa or Clover, causing the runes to glow signaling it was ready to be used for passage. Without another word or moment of hesitation, Maithe quickly stepped inside, allowing the curtain to fall behind her.

On the other side of the curtain lied the Shadowfell. This plane of existence was one Maithe frequented, searching for knowledge and an understanding of the shadow magic she’d been born with. Ahead of her was a heavily fogged forest, the ground was covered in vines and roots that reached out like endless limbs. Aside from the occasional croaking of whatever animals resided in this forest, Maithe’s surroundings were eerily silent. The unknown messenger didn’t send much of a detailed description of where to meet them but if they knew this realm as intricately as she did, Maithe knew where they’d want to meet.

In the middle of the fogged forest sat an open clearing with a circle of arcanic stones standing tall enough to tower over most beings. These stones were once used as portals to travel through the realms, however, many years ago, their power was sapped rendering them close to useless. A slight hum of magic flowed through the circle but it wasn’t nearly enough to use them as they were meant to be. Standing in the middle of the circle was a tall hooded figure whose attention remained on the stones, gently brushing their fingers across the engravings.

“I assume you’re the one who called for me. Very bold of you to leave no name or identification” Maithe sighed, standing with her arms crossed in slight annoyance.

The stranger’s fingers paused on the smooth stone before they turned to face Maithe. Pulling the hood of their cloak from over their head, the figure smiled with a familiar expression that Maithe hadn’t seen in quite some time. The face of the unknown stranger belonged to that of an old friend who was supposed to be… dead?

“Kyron” Maithe gasped, putting her hands to her mouth in disbelief.
“You’re supposed to be…”

“Dead? Yes that’s what many old friends have said”

“But I watched you. I watched them burn you… We were too late…”

“You did, however, you’ve always known me to be quite elusive did you not?”

Staring intensely at Kyron, a sense of suspicion grew within Maithe. She’d known Kyron to be elusive and able to worm his way out of tough situations; but the pyre? In all of her years running underground operations, she helped people escape from prisons but she’d never witnessed someone escape from the burning pyre of The Black Army. Was it possible that this could be someone other than Kyron? But this person had a connection to Kyron’s word of passage. Somehow… something didn’t feel right.

“Well Kyron… How about we imbibe and celebrate your return for old times sake?” Maithe asked, plastering a smile on her face and offering her hand out to the figure.

Smiling back at her, the figure took Maithe’s hand into theirs and squeezed it tightly “A few drinks wouldn’t hurt”

Tightening her grip on the figures hand, Maithe’s face shifted into a sour expression. This wasn’t Kyron… This was Kyron’s body but the soul inside wasn’t his.
”So, you gonna tell me who you are or are we going to continue to waste time playing pretend? Reconstructing and using the body of the deceased for a vessel is quite low.”

With a sigh, the being that controlled Kyron’s body pulled his hand back from Maithe’s grip and shook his head.
”Well so much for playing the long game, you’re an observant little thing aren’t you? My name is Lucion and I’ve come to extend my aid in your efforts”

Lucion smiled a devilishly wide grin, an expression Maithe had never seen on Kyron’s face. Whoever this was, they had a motive for using Kyron’s body. Would Lucion have been able to access his memories? Kyron was one of the only other people she knew to walk the shadowfell, is this how he knew where to meet?

”Well by now you’re wondering why Kyron? Well, I needed to get close enough to you. I have information that you might find quite beneficial and I also might have needed some insurance in case this went south. I have access to your little shop and I would assume you wouldn’t want just anyone roaming around in there.”

“Get on with it, what information do you have to give?” Maithe hissed “Things won’t get that far if I just killed you now”

”Observant yet impatient. Most would mark those traits as harmful, but I say you’re a woman who gets what she wants. Well here it is then…”
Slinking over to Maithe, Lucion slowly lowered his mouth down to her ear and whispered something very lightly before disappearing into a black puff of smoke.

 

[Gothixx]

The Alchemist

location

Ugurth’s Respite, Veneria

interactions

Meatball30

mentions

Meatball30

Jenassa Zholzendu

The elven woman had returned back behind her counter, her clipboard in front of her as she idly scratched out any of the reagents she no longer possessed. The many jars were placed back into their respective locations throughout the store, each one had a small card that was folded to be propped up next to a glass jar. The cards has a price scribbled onto them, some adjustments Jenassa recently made after the run in with the local “tax collector.”

She clicked her tongue in annoyance at just the thought of her predicament. For a moment, her mind wandered to an alternate path. One where she decided to remain in Besknyaz and run the store her old master had left behind. Sure, the oppression from the new royal rulings would have been overwhelming, but it was like picking between two poisons and only one of them would hurt significantly less than the other.

The soft chime from her reattached bell echoed in her store, yet Jenassa remained with her gaze glued to her clipboard.

“Welcome to Ugurth’s Respite.” She called out, her tone carrying heavy disdain. “We ran out of golden lavender and polkweed a few days ago, please don’t ask about them.”

The rambunctious greeting from the pirate caught Jenassa’s attention and she instantly placed her quill down, a growing smile on her lips as she welcomed the company of a familiar face.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Elyon.” She tsked, but the playful tone lingered in her words. Her clipboard was now discarded as she turned to the many shelves behind her. The pirate captain was a regular of hers, usually asking for simple healing herbs or potions if she could provide. Her eyes scanned the shelf where she usually kept her herbal remedies. She lifted a particularly larger jar, one about the size of her head. The weathered label on the glass read Violet Ambrosia, the jar mostly carrying empty space instead of the bright purple plant. She shook it a bit, noting the soft glow of the few blueish purple vines that were at the bottom of the large jar. They had been dried and ready for use as either a tea or a potion, a common healing plant that the night elf usually placed in Elyon’s order.

She set the jar next to her on the countertop as the captain rested against it. If the lazy grin on his face and flushed cheeks weren’t an obvious indicator he had been drinking, then the faint smell of what she could describe as juniper berries and rum was a dead giveaway, she couldn’t help but chuckle at his demeanor, leaning onto the countertop as he placed the expensive trinket before her. She stared at the item in awe, snatching it up as she held it up to the light. She assessed the item in great detail, taking in the intricate design as Elyon made another jest.

“Hm, true.” Her gaze fixated on him again as she carefully placed the trinket into her leather satchel. “Though a mage would be more uptight with the wealth he’d find on his travels. At least a thief is kind enough to humor me with a gift every now and then.”

She frowned at his question, shrugging as a response, “Could be better. Could be worse. But I’m managing.” Jenassa brushed off the question, taking the large mostly empty jar and placing it before him.

“Now then, I assume you need more supplies for your men?” She attempted to change the subject, her gaze no longer meeting Elyon’s. She was struggling, but she was also prideful. The last thing she wanted to do was lament to the man that had done nothing but be her best paying customer ever since she moved to Veneria. Becoming a burden for the man that occasionally paid her enough to keep herself afloat did not sound ideal in her mind.

“I may not have your usual herbs, but I can give you more ambrosia and a few crafted runes if you’d like?” She bent down to search for some large parchment underneath her counter. The night elf popped back up, placing a few sheets of the paper down as she began sketching a large circle on the paper. Her hand worked to etch a few elvish runes along the lines of the circle, her focus entirely on her work and she tried to keep the idle chatter. Anything to keep her mind off of her troubles. “And you? How have you and your men been faring?”

coded by natasha.

 

[SnowStorm42]

Celeste Eleazar
​

With the meeting concluded, the orc gave more thanks and vacated the tavern, leaving Celeste alone at the table to think weigh the task before her. The vampire was no stranger to aiding rebels for the right price, but there was a great deal of liability here though, especially with little in return besides the usual coin. Resting her cheek on her hand she tapped her fingers on the table while deliberating. The best option would be to burn the business in what would seem as an accident, whilst planting the two escapees on a trade caravan leaving town. This meant she would have to acquire the new routes for the coming weeks, which probably meant coddling up to some Black Knights, something Celeste wasn't particularly excited about, however those in the rank of pawn were usually easy to manipulate and extract information from. The most critical point of the plan would be to pass the orc and his wife through, as humans. For that, Celeste would have to visit an acquaintance. With a plan in mind the vampire stood, and put her hood over her head before she slowly made her way out the tavern.

With the sun elevated higher into the sky now, and it's rays coming down, Celeste figured her old acquaintance would be open for business. The destination in the vampire's mind was none other than 'The Mirage' owned by Maithe Orwin. While Celeste had personally not been inside the shop, it was a topic of discussion between the two in passing. Both the Celeste and the witch were in the black market business so it was only normal that the two would cross paths, and Celeste had sent a few rebels The Mirage's way, and vice versa. Where they differed, as far as Celeste knew, was that the vampire would help the Black Knights from time to time if there was something in it for her. A bit morally grey, but an operation such as Celeste's could not sustain itself without information, funds, or quality goods.

To reach the shop Celeste could not simply go, however if she remembered correctly there was a certain garden just outside of the marketplace, that was lively with wonderful flowers and in turn insects. If she wore her ring, on which the red insignia of her band was etched, perhaps Celeste could get Maithe's attention. Of course there was the chance that Celeste would go unnoticed but she had some time for preparation and in terms of the quality of glamour, she was certain that this was her best option for the orc and his wife. Before going to the garden however, the woman made her way through the marketplace. It was as loud as always, and it seemed that the fear of the King's wrath ceased to exist under the many tarps, and behind the stands of the marketplace. Vendors cried out to draw customers, while other yelled and haggled over the quality of the goods they were trying to buy. Children chased each other through the pathways between vendors and black knights walked around, looking for law breakers or trouble. Celeste walked over to one stand where a very familiar old woman was selling produce and other farmed goods. The old lady was one of the few vendors Celeste knew wouldn't try to rip her off, and had what she needed. Trading coin for a small jar of honey, the young vampire made her way to the garden, a small fenced off patch just away from the market with a stone bench in front of it for any to sit. The vampire situated herself on the bench and opened the jar of honey, and placed it to the right of her, before taking out a gold ring with a red insignia and putting it on her mostly covered middle finger. She then placed her hand of her other and proceeded to tap her middle finger slowly, while taking in the sights around her.

It was amazing to Celeste still, that most days, even after multiple burnings or executions, those inside the walls could suppress the terrors they saw, and continue on about their lives, making small talk, gossiping and peddling. There were many of course who feared that they could be executed for the smallest infraction, but they made sense, as opposed to those who seemed to mindlessly go on and not want...more. Perhaps that was why Celeste was taking on this risky escape for the orc. At the very least he was willing to risk not only his life but his wife's as well so that they could potentially find that more. Although, the vampire couldn't help but be pessimistic given in her long years roaming around and seeking, she still couldn't find that thing. 'Perhaps this time, this job will help me find it'


Mentions: willoww

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[Meatball30]

CODE BY SEROBLISS

King Ciaran I

of House Lusis

"This is what kin means."
​

How his surviving son had become so much his polar opposite, Ciaran couldn't comprehend. Perhaps it was a failure of his own, in the years of grief that followed the death of the prince's elder brothers.

The king offered a tight smile when Alexsi entered the dining room, though the prince hardly glanced his direction as he walked stiffly to his seat and sat without a word. His son hadn't the charisma the king possessed at that age, the immense charm of his younger sister, nor the royal presence of his older brothers.

Yet he lives, and they are gone. Ciaran thought solemnly. A pang of guilt rose in the back of his mind at the thought, but it was true enough. The best of his line was gone from the world.

Still, Ciaran read the fatigue on Alexsi's face, the circles around his eyes, the haggard, brief look he gave in the king's direction as he asked a question Ciaran didn't fully hear. For all that the prince was not, he was studious, and diligent to the last. He was dutiful.

When the king finally processed his son had asked about this morning, he fought back a grim sadness. It rose in his chest, but did not show on his face. Instead, he smiled, uncharacteristically softly.

"Better, since you are here." It was perhaps the most loving sentence he'd uttered to his son in months, if not a full year. "But you look tired, Alexsi," Ciaran added, raising an eyebrow as if pushing his son to explain.

The king hadn't dared touch the meal until the princess returned, but wasted no time in stacking his plate when Nessandra finally joined them at the table, his joy palpable at seeing his beloved daughter. Salmon had always been a favorite of his, smoked to perfection and served on a fluffy bagel with rich spread. He'd have been grateful if the servants provided such a breakfast, but the fact Nessa had taken her morning to produce such a meal made him adore her even more.

Her smile had an easy way of brightening the king's mood and forcing a beaming smile onto his face in return.

"If it were any more delicious I may ask you to run the kitchens full time," he joked with a light chuckle, taking a full bite of fish on bread. "You've treated your brother and I far too well, love. As you always do."

Ciaran glanced between his children. The stiff formality of his son and the natural charming ease of the princess couldn't be more at odds, but at that moment, after laying hands on the cold stone faces of his lost sons just hours before, the warmth of his living kin brought a rare, true joy to his heart.
Mentions: Dovinique

---

CODE BY SEROBLISS

Elyon

Brythias

"And yet I persist."
​

The playful tone in the elven beauty's response as she greeted him lifted Elyon's spirits ever so slightly, the spark in his eyes masking the dire report he'd soon share for a few more seconds.

"As a remarkably honest thief and noted man of honor I never flatter, only speak what's true," he responded as Jenassa presented a jar before joining him at the counter. He did his best not to breath too heavily, but keep eye contact. It wouldn't do to drench her in his admittedly alcoholic breath.

Her chuckle at his antics and reaction to the ring he'd presented did warm his heart, thought that may also have been the wine still coursing through his body.

"Surely it's not thievery if we're taking from that wretched king. I'd call it a public service. Mayhaps I'll be knighted by a proper king some day. Hopefully before I'm tied to a stake and...ignited."

Tipsy as he was, the captain couldn't help but laugh at his own attempted wordplay.

Taking the scarce shop shelves and Jenassa's quick dismissal of his question together, Elyon reckoned business was slowing down to an uncomfortable degree. That seemed to be the case for most of the shopkeeps and smallfolk of Veneria that he looked after, and even for his pursuits. It seemed every month the Black Fleet tightened restrictions on importing from across the sea, trading outside the kingdom, or invented some other nonsensical ban on magical or luxury items. Even those ships that still sailed into Besknayaz full able to trade were carrying less and less.

Elyon's mood deflated when Jenassa asked after the Banshee's crew. He let his eyes fall to her hands, gracefully inscribing parchment with magical runes.

"Well, their captain is banned from Besknayaz and La'Khan, elsewise the 9 of them lost to some thrice-damned fever that tore through our Banshee may be alive still," the pirate lamented. "But I've learned a lot about the funeral rites of folk from the Elder Forest. Truly educational. I wonder if that will convince them to continue sailing with me, or save my life when they mutiny."

He sighed heavily, shaking his head.

"It's not quite so bleak, if you'll forgive the dramatics, but the truth isn't far off. The crew are losing more, and gaining less for our trouble. It seems we're in the same boat as yourself, Ms. Zholzendu. Pun entirely unintentional."
Interactions: Gothixx