Fantasy 𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 — THE STORY

[sollie]

MOOD:
Irritated-- Flirtatious.

LOCATION:
The Leviathan: main deck

OUTFIT:

MENTIONS:

the chameleon

nina molotov

Interactions: Tallulah ( ComplexDragon )

An overly fat house cat sauntered onto the deck of the ship, prancing about as if he’d lived aboard the ship for ages. Unbothered by a salty spray of mist from the ocean, the cat eagerly brushed against unknowing legs begging for the attention of the legally boarded passengers of the Levithan. This, however, was the last thing Nina needed that ugly, stupid cat to do.

She found the stupid thing in her escape from Zenith, dashing down an empty alleyway when confronted by the beast's pathetic lot in life. It could hardly fight half starved mutts off. There was no way it was going to last a day more in the street. And out of fear, and likely compassionate, she scooped the heavy beast and whisked it away to the docks, hoping it would find a kind, wealthy owner. The beast had other plans and refused to leave Nina, digging its claws into her fine dress, and yowling with complaints. The yowling stopped once Nina stopped trying to pry it off her person, and he was quite well behaved once she found herself stowed in with barrels of food, supplies, and other uselessly packed in items.

“You stupid cat,” She hissed at the idiot, watching as he danced away from her further and further. Her meticulous escape plan could not be ruined by a house cat. She could not have forsaken her entire life for some stupid cat. Straightening up as she weaved through the person, she followed the cat closely, attempting to pass by with an awkward smile from passenger to passenger. “Hello… fellow passengers.” She cleared her throat, eventually pulling her hood up, far too embarrassed and fearful to risk a clumsy interaction.

Her heart raced in her chest, watching the cat approach a woman, rubbing his side against her legs. He did have the problem of attempting to trip people, which Nina supposed could be trained into a lethal skill. A cat like that… Well, then he’d really be working for his meal. But he was a stubborn beast. As all cats were.

Calmly approaching the woman and the beast, she flashed her teeth again, scooping the cat up quickly and holding it to her chest. “You stupid fu–” She flashed her eyes up to the woman, nudging the hood to the side for more visibility. “You must excuse him. He’s quite affectionate. He’s such a attention-whore–” She coughed, startling the cat momentarily. “Whorton. That’s his name. Excuse me. Cat hair in my throat.” Giggling nervously, she took in the woman’s features curiously. Where had she seen this woman before? It was likely in her escapades throughout Zenith she’d passed by a woman like her.

She stepped closer, brushing her hair back as the Nina charm she’d crafted so well returned. “Ma’am… I swear I’ve seen you before… Do you come here often?” She asked, a flirtatious lilt in her voice as she attempted to take in the woman’s skewed face, fighting curls to gaze at the features. “Of course not… I jest. I’m Nina. And this is Whorton, obviously. Who do I have the pleasure of making acquaintance with?”

coded by reveriee.

 

[CrimsonInk]

mood :

Fight or Flight — Flight is winning

location :

The Deck

outfit :

mentions :

N/A

interactions :

Wyll

THE DESCENDANT

;; Dahlia

Interactions: Wyll Luc Gallin & erzulie Devana

Chapter Two

The man she once knew had vanished into the salty air, his presence no longer lingering even for a fleeting moment. Instead, someone else had assumed the role of the socialite. Nobles were an odd bunch with their masks and mannerisms. At the moment the world seems like a stage for them to play different roles for their comfort and benefit, while the audience of the poor could only gape and glare in their spotlight. The weight of their title must be heavier than the gold in their pockets.

"How terrible of me."

Indeed.

"I assure you; it wasn't my intention. My distracted mind just tends to wander at times."

Liar.

"Allow me to make it up to you —"

No.

"I wager you would rather enjoy the opportunity to remind me what a terrible writer I am. Perhaps I could offer a different set of my writings, ones that you may hopefully find less sad."

A small glimmer of interest sparked behind the amber of her eyes, softening at the thought of new reading material. Yet, her cautious nature whispered for her to wait. There must be a catch. A transaction must be filled between them. Would it be in the form of blackmail? He would offer her knowledge in exchange for keeping silent about her pilferage? Even in their brief interaction, she had learned to be wary of him. Now, it was the woman before her who was of greater concern.

The silence of the veiled darkness incarnate was unsettling. Her vivid words crawled under her skin like a cluster of spiders. The silver armored woman was at least direct in her intentions, which she appreciated. Manipulating her jaw created a crackling echo in her ears as she concentrated on finding an escape. She had already attracted too much attention between the two. If the wrong eyes fell upon her, it could lead to unnecessary complications.

You must understand, scary lady. If I were to be your opponent you would begin to see why I led him off easy. You may be more skilled, but I can find your weakest point in seconds.

Fortunately, it seemed the other woman’s focus was on the noble. This shadow woman must silently move away from predators that shift their attention to easier prey. That being this ‘Lady Acindius’ to the man with the melancholic book. Book man. A merciful nickname for him. The thief began to slip quietly across the wooden floor behind her with light steps, and controlled her breathing betraying nothing of her presence. Her eyes remained locked on the unfolding scene as she gradually edged away.

coded by reveriee.

 

[CrimsonInk]

the raven.

• .
• .
• .
• .

• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  mood

  
  
  
  

  Engaged
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  outfit

  
  
  
  

  Raven Mother
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  location

  
  
  
  

  Medical Room
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  interactions

  
  
  
  

  Ilya @qunqun
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

Chapter 2

Lucrezia watched him with eyes gentle and engaging to his presence. In the company of others, she was a woman who always made sure they were to have her full attention. Anything less would be rude, or ill mannered in her mind. The way he would smile just to reassure the kindness in the room warmed her heart like the flames inside a crematorium.

“I’m Ilya Jovanović.”

Ahh, Doctor….such a precious name for a precious man. What kind of man are you, Ilya? You are a kind man, yes. A quiet man. A simple man. I must know more of you.

The whistle of the kettle brought her back to reality. She almost felt embarrassed for being so deep in thought in regards to her host. The moment he handed her the cup, her lips turned upward in awe at the small chips and handleless porcelain. Lucrezia could feel her cold fingers warm nicely against the heat. She breathed a soft ‘thank you’ before taking her first sip. The tea was strong and with the liquid settling in brought the wavering of relaxation she was needing.

“So… how’d you end up on the boat? If I may, you seem like a lady of high standing.”

A soft chuckle left her lips as the apples of her cheeks faintly flushed from his compliment. Her shoulders moved bashfully, but recollected herself to bring her attention back to the man. It felt nice to be complimented in a genuine manner, especially with the company she was thinking so highly of.

“Your words are kind, Dr. Jovanović,” she said, smiling at him with adoration, “Please, no need to be so formal with me. Call me by my name. I am on a personal journey. I plan to seek an audience with the Oracles about a…peculiar manner. One that has brought…..great dismay into my life. While I am one for the abnormal and unusual….this manner is quite, well. Unusual.”

Her brows wiggled and a brief morbid chuckle almost escaped her lips. It was exciting to finally tell someone of this secret she held deep for so long. It may not have allowed her to tell the full truth, for cautionary reasons, but it was nice to tell someone. Only she hoped that her company was the same for him. Maybe she shouldn’t be too comfortable just yet. Some of her worries did lie in giving the man the wrong impression of her.

“And what of you, Doctor? You must have previously worked somewhere else before coming here. Did you come for new sights?”

Radecliff's Fate

Chris Vrenna

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Wyll]

((Please note that Luc's name will be crossed out (as below) when he is in public and Gallin's name will be crossed out when in private or in a space where he is comfortable being the real Luc))​

The Gemini

Luc Cardin
Gallin Forestson

A quiet confidence built up in him the longer he stayed as Gallin. Gone was the person who seemed to mild and timid, now stood a man who was fully confident in himself and his accomplishments with little to hide. The change was so drastic that it made his head spin every time.

He flashed a smile towards Devana.

She doesn't fall for flattery. She will see through that. Pivot. Compliment but don't overcompensate. That will only raise suspiscion. The thoughts were so natural to him that they passed and were processed at about the time it would take to blink.

"Nobody of note, milady Acindius. A humble penner is all - nothing as impressive as the devastating beauty your clan in known for. Truly, the only way those two words could go together."

He noticed the movements of the redhead and a smirk lit his features. It was the slightest of things, but he was in the presence of the two people who were most likely to notice. He smirked because he knew such movements. It was how he moved whenever he moved for fear of his own survival. He couldn't blame her, although, a slight shifting of weight in his posture so that his body now angled more toward her sent the silent message that he was paying attention to her, even as he spoke with Lady Acindius.

He wasn't going to stop the redhead girl from leaving - he figured both the redhead and Lady Ancidious would split him for that night's dinner if I even tried to stop her from leaving. However, he had taken consideration of her and had given himself a new mission: e was going to write a book that I was confident she couldn't call sad, no matter how she tried.

"I must say, it is rather rare to see someone from your tribe - someone so important, nonetheless - aboard The Leviathan. I know letters were sent to all noble houses, but your family had been one I had expected would want nothing to do with the maiden voyage. Do tell me, how has the trip been for you so far? Surely nothing to set you on edge? I'm told we're passing through some of Solas' most calming waters."

It was true that the waters had been polite and fair on that particular day, however the trip - and most certainly this day - had bee anything but calm.

He let the conversation flow naturally, while skillfully turning the conversation away from himself.

She suspects something.

I know she does, we have to leave.​

She could be useful

She could be deadly.​

Which means she could teach you to be deadly.

I'd die.​

You're barely living anyway.

"Come, milady Acindius. What is this you say about wanting someone you could train with? I can't say much for my strength but I have long admired the strength and passion of the Acindius clan from a distance. I daresay that, at the very least, I could make an amusing training partner. If but for one session."

He was confident in his ability to survive anything that she threw at him. Plus, if nothing else, it would provice an opportunity for him to better unserstand the ways of her clan. If he actually gets stronger from the training, it would be yet another weapon added to his arsenal. More than anything though, there was something about het r that was innately dangerous. Even more than the rumors surrounding her clan. This way, he could ensure he always kept an eye on her. Perhaps she and her presence on the ship might be something worth reporting about.

Mentions: Dahlia ( CrimsonInk ), Devana ( erzulie )

 

[Mypilot]

Night bit into Antarin’s skin, forearms freckling with gooseflesh from the chill. Some time during the revels he had rolled up his sleeves and shed decorum in favor of sparing his shirt from the drooling of a man well in his cups as Antarin helped carry him to the sleeping quarters. This was much easier to ignore when he was belowdecks and mostly warm, but now out on the main deck the wind ran icy fingers up his arms and threatened its way through seams.

Things had been going (more or less) well. No one had fallen over, or at least not that Antarin had seen, and there had been a startling lack of violence in the main dining hall. It was a relief, albeit tucked neatly alongside the paranoid certainty that it would not last, but Antarin felt that he could lower his guard a smidgen as the day sunk into night. Certainly it was not likely that the partying would die out completely even as the wee hours came upon them, but less folks conscious to get up to no good meant less odds of no good going on.

With little to observe on the main deck—a fact which came as no surprise, when it was far more comfortable below—Antarin slipped once more into the interior of the ship. He immediately felt his skin flush with relief from being out of the nipping night breeze, and he gave himself a shake before moving back down the hall. He swept an errant curl out of his face, the only one to have escaped the leather band he used to tie his back, and took the moment to let his eyes adjust to the light the lanterns offered.

A flame-lit hall always filled Antarin with warmth, memories from narrow corridors in the barracks flickering with the same warm glow. It always brought with it, in Antarin’s mind, the feeling of somewhere welcoming and warm at the end. Now of course these halls lead to private rooms for the ships patrons, and Antarin was only to breeze through. Keep watch, stay on guard, make sure nothing goes wrong on this prize jewel of the king’s collection.

And yet.

Hanging like a fallen moth against the wall, a sea of golden curls and white cloth caught Antarin’s eye as he passed one hall, and it took one moment of surprise for Antarin to realize there was a person, fallen or caught in a daze he could not say, but certainly in need of assistance.

“Hello?”

he called out, not wanting to startle the poor thing. He turned sharply from the way he’d been going, long strides bringing him over to the fallen patron.

“Easy there. Are you alright?”

Hands feathered over ruffles and trim, not wanting to touch someone without their consent, and tried to catch the fellow’s gaze. Alarm danced in his eyes at the scrape of blood across pale skin, all the more garish for the contrast. He loosed a breath, not realizing it had been a little too audible, and hoped he didn’t alarm the one before him.

the ambassador

ANTARIN.

• aaaaaaaaa
• aaaaaaaaa

• filler tab!
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  hello

  
  
  
  

  goodbye

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  hello

  
  
  
  

  goodbye

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[krumbone]

MOOD:

somewhat Not Okay.

The Leviathan's deck.:

The Leviathan's deck.

OUTFIT:

MENTIONS:

The Agnate

Horace Neumann

Interactions: Maltke, @escapist

"Oi, do I look like I had fun last night swabbie?!" The man bites, Horace digs a fingernail into his cuticle. Testy, he was going to bloody regret this he supposes.

He guesses his words of choice weren't the best, but he was never a thinker. If he were one he wouldn't be here. Impulsive, his parents would say. Apathetic is the more correct word for it.

He'd had said once that he was a moth lured by firelight, a moth free yet lame, lured by ephemeral flame— but that's not true is it?

The next day he stared at it like a shit stain on the old newspaper he had waxed poetry on sloppy drunk, and threw it out. He was angry, and so, so bloody embarrassed, rightfully so. A moth? He'd had scoffed.

The moth didn't know any better, Horace did. Horace is not a moth, no matter how much he'd like to pretend to be one. Horace had to live with his consequences, roasting in the flames of his hell that he walked into.
It didn't hurt, to him it was the warmth of pride that he could never kindle, of a hearth after a snowball fight with his brother, of an embrace from a mother and father he had disappointed.

Maybe that's why he hadn't stopped. Hadn't bloody stopped until— until-

Well, he sure was as smart as a moth. If not even more stupid-!

”I could use a puff too,,,”
Horace snaps to attention, right. Time to focus on today's mistakes, not yesterday's. He winces when a crack rips through the air as the old man tries to get up.

“Daaamn…. bloody fuckin’…” he groaned, clutching his back, “eh?”

He finally meets Horace's eyes, perking up, before his attention falls to the hand he has held out for him. Horace stays frozen, out of fear or courtesy? He can't bloody tell at this point.

“I’m Maltke Cycek.”

He nearly startles when a rough calloused hand- PIRATE! his mind screams, he forces himself still— greets his, very firmly. The ensuing handshake has Horace shaken. The man lets his bruising grasp go and digs through his pocket coats for what Horace can only guess is another cigarette.

"Answerin' to yer question...I didn't have too much fun yesterday...just drank because the lack of happiness I suppose...I had an argument with that idiot, it ain't important but..." he goes on. Horace stares at the pool of vomit on deck.

“Sorry...” he cuts the man- Maltke - off,“mate, I need to get this mess cleaned. Lest they hah- make me walk the plank innit?”

Maltke withers, Horace rushes to tack on:

”I can uh, listen to you while cleaning up.”

…

“I tell ye, I could beat him but then I would be the bastard…”

Horace hmms in response, all of the bar fights he‘s ever gotten into he has lost, miserably. Well, those are just the ones he actually remembers, it’ve been better to just forget the lot of them anyway.

This elderly man has some bloody lung capacity.

Horace picks his already bleeding fingernails- bleeding? Bloody hell—

He stops himself, the last time these were picked raw he had to endure the fiery sting of saltwater splashed onto them, adding the newly rubbed blisters on top of that and well…

“But enough about me!”

Horace raises a brow while he begins to wring the drying rag over the barrier of The Leviathan’s side.

“Tell me…” he gave a cough, a very bad sounding one, Horace wants to pat his back real steady but can’t bring himself to. So his hand just floats in some sort of awkward purgatory, hovering over Maltke’s back.

”Tell me, humble sailor, what are you doing on this ship, o’ Horace?” Maltke turns to him, eyes sparkling.

Horace stopped himself from picking at his finger again, right.

“I’m erm… ‘s my job,” he turns to the sea, endless apathetic calm, barely churning. He always expected it to be louder.

“I’m,” a laugh- “making a living!” he forces some cheer into his voice that barely edges the hysteria of a madman, bloody hell does he not sound sober.

His hands itch for a pen, try to put his anxiety down on paper. It’s embarrassing, but better than the alternative.

“It’s,” he swallows, he can’t find a word, for all of his fancy private tutoring.

“It’s been a bloody ride out here, yeah?”It’s been a bloody goddamned ride for Horace.

He knows why he doesn’t want to throw out his flask.

He doesn’t want to give them too much hope.

coded by reveriee.

 

[M4R5]

scroll

The Oathbreaker

Adrius Blackwood

mood

Lethargic

outfit

Loosely fitted tunic & worn leather trousers

location

Fitchner Cabin, The Leviathan

interactions

Cassandra Flores

tags

picklemouse

Adrius' rest had been but a fleeting shadow of true repose, harried as it was by fevered dreams that twisted and coiled like the serpents of some hellish nightmare. The relentless throbbing of his wound, a cruel and constant companion, mocked his every attempt at slumber. The infection had taken a firm hold of his beleaguered frame, sending forth waves of heat that pulsed angrily from the gash which marred his brow and along his gaunt cheek. He stirred in his troubled sleep, roused not by the comfort of rest, but by the haunting sound of a woman’s voice, faint and distant, as though carried on the wind from some far-off realm. It called his name, yet the sound was unreal, an echo that seemed to belong more to the delirious recesses of his mind than to the world of the living. But Adrius, beset as he was by the twin demons of illness and pain, paid it no heed. He turned from it, retreating further into the grip of his affliction, where the agony of his wound held him captive.

Weakly, Adrius rises from the bed, his limbs trembling under the strain of even the smallest exertion, as if the very life had been sapped from his bones. His body protesting with a stubbornness born of suffering. He staggered, unsteady on his feet, towards the humble water basin that awaited him. The small, tarnished mirror above it caught his eye, reflecting back at him a visage he scarcely recognized - disfigured, vulnerable and ultimately fragile. With a ragged breath, Adrius steeled himself, his trembling hands reaching for the bandages that had so long clung to him like a shroud. There was a dread in his heart, a gnawing fear of what he might find beneath the layers of cloth, yet he could not avert his gaze. As the bandages were peeled away, each one falling like the pages of a grim tale, the sight that met his eyes were more ghastly than his darkest imaginings. His left eye was swollen shut, the flesh around it inflamed and angry, the once-clean gash now an ugly, festering wound. The injury, far from healing, had taken on the look of something accursed, as though it bore the mark of misfortune itself.

Then, as if summoned from the very depths of his fevered reverie, the voice called out to him one final time, persistent and insistent, pulling him from the morass of his troubled thoughts. With a sluggish, almost spectral grace, he turns towards the candelabras. Their flickering flames casting a dance of shadows upon the walls. The firelight, warm and inviting, drew him in with an almost familiar pull. He stared into the flames as the fire seemed to whisper to him, its crackling voice speaking secrets only he could hear - and in the throes of his delirium, Adrius found himself compelled to respond. His voice, low and grave, emerged from his parched throat like the rasp of a dying man,

"You're right"

he murmured, as if in agreement with some unseen confidant.

At that moment, the creaking of the cabin door announced another presence. Cassandra enters, her hands laden with the bounty of food she had procured, her mouth full of grapes that she chewed with an air of casualness. In her, there was a vitality and a calm that stood in stark contrast to the madness and despair that threatened to engulf Adrius. Though, he does not turn to face her fully; he merely shifts his head, acknowledging her presence with the barest of movements. Rough and weary, echoing with the strain of his suffering as he spoke over his shoulder,

"I believe it’s time I see a doctor.”

The words hung in the air, a reluctant admission of the severity of his condition and a quiet plea for the aid he could no longer deny he needed. Cassandra a breath of fresh air, a solid foundation that anchored him the previous weeks. But more importantly, the first in a very long time, to have shown him not only a shred of humanity but an unyielding abundance of it.
Adrius regarded her with a weary half-smile, the kind that barely touched the corners of his lips, as if some distant part of him found humor in her words but lacked the strength to show it fully. He sank into the bed with the resigned air of a man who had long fought against the inevitable.

"The fire, my dear,"

he rasped, his voice thick with exhaustion and something darker,

"speak more sense than half the men I've known. However, even they offer no solace tonight."

He watched her deft hands peeling the orange, the sharp scent of its rind cutting through the feverish haze that clouded his senses.

"Dr. Ilya may come, but I fear no doctor can mend what festers here,"

he gestured faintly toward the wound on his brow, the heat of the infection making him feel as though his very skin might burn away.

"Still, your kindness is not lost on me. If only the world held more of it..."

He let the sentence drift away, too tired to finish it, as his eyes briefly closed.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Gao]

THE KINGSLAYER.

scroll

船井 蓮

FUNAI REN

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

THE LOVEMEISTER

OUTFIT

NO HAT SWAG

LOCATION

DECK

MENTIONS

DANTE, DOLORES

INTERACTS

@qunqun

BAD IDEAS — THE 5:55.

scroll

HERETIC BOY,

you should know: hate misshapes even the most woodland into something that would rather die in captivity than domesticate.

CHAPTER TWO.

Dante’s brows raised, crimping a cute little crease in his forehead.

"Maybe we should just call it off."

Nails dig into the fabric of the man’s sleeve, claws of protest; urgency reserved for the twist of a trout close to unhooking its jaw. While the thief’s features do not change, the tension cording through his body coats muscle and electrifies all corners of his body.

“Maybe we should not say ridiculous things like that.” Eases Dante away from that cliff of thought before the snob dovetails into any rational ideas like avoiding Ren and spending time with somebody worthwhile. An insidious beast to circle the Chimaera back into the give and take of bad ideas. “You are very hasty, you know. Need to relax more. Need a bubble bath.”

Renny.

His mouth purses into a thin line, bickering strewn into a garrote.

Renny boy.

Ew god what the fuck. Visible distaste steals to features before he has the mind to smother it. While the mind denies anonymity, his body enacts the common routine of a slow, judgemental side-eye. Silence is quick to cease in its existence.

“Well listen here, Daniel.” Bites the government name. Trouble, the ire has stirred itself through the form of Ren’s stature, hands to hips with the unfortunate noble stuck in the forefront of his new bludgeoning era. “...” An individual so often associated with nothing but devastation, to onlookers it is a tempest regime still in the throes of deciding what to snap back and when to punch.

“I don’t argue with pretty men.”

Oh. Anticlimactic. Polite. Dante has escaped due to Ren’s fascination being more interesting than a bad attitude towards a butchered name. Generosity involves spontaneity, and this spontaneity appeared to be the grand offer of something small and green. Is for me?

A beneficial relationship built off sex and chewy leaves.

He felt very spoiled right now.

Ren quickly pinches the item with more interest than it probably deserves and giggles with the gift.

“I get it now.” It has revealed itself entirely new, and Dante’s mysterium of a bachelor lifestyle has now fallen into Ren’s understanding. “Why you’re single,” he clarified as he put the mint between teeth, “it’s ‘cause women don’t like leaves.” Ren the womaniser would know, he seduced Dolores after all. “They like steaks and that thing called journaling.”

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” derogatory, a platonic show of a brief pat on the shoulder. “You’ll learn.”

He looks to Dante and realizes throughout all their deals and contracts and paperwork, he did not know what this man did to contribute to society. Surely not as ornamental as they look, Ren wants to know a little more.

"What's your job? I was a painter, once." Reminisces as if that had not ended in a pantheon of hateful nobles wanting to shatter his divinely-gifted hands into broken fragments.

♡coded by uxie♡