Fantasy 𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 — THE STORY

[qunqun]

THE CHIMERA.

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Dante

Fiocchi

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

K thanks bye now

OUTFIT

Fancy drowned rat

LOCATION

Algol

MENTIONS

Tiberius @Nifty

INTERACTS

Only Acting — Kero Kero Bonito

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Icarian Cloud.

To reach for silver lined impossibilities amongst thunderous perils

Chapter Three.

bread?

oh.

what angle was this?

did it matter?

tiberius could take whatever from him, he was just an empty shell after all. nothing left. anything worthwhile had been hollowed out a long time ago

“What’s going on?” His voice was weak and scratchy from the screaming. It sounded… pathetic. His frame seemed to be swallowed by the shadow of this guy, and usually he would’ve stood up to it with defiance and the knowledge of gun. Ever since losing it, though, it seemed that all of the fight seemed to just leave.

Dante was sobbing again.

This was the nicest anyone had ever been to him. He didn’t deserve it. He did nothing to deserve this kindness.

And isn’t that the most pathetic fucking part of it all you dumb fuck?

”Now I’m not sure what you saw but-”

“My mom was giving me shit about not telling her I had a boyfriend I don't even have.” Came the even more pathetic wail. “And it was the best thing that ever happened to me. And it's pathetic.”

“Give me 20 years of my life back” Which was a completely unreasonable demand, but something was currently making him just spew all of his baggage onto this undeserving guy. “And I'm now I'm just holding bread and spewing all of my baggage onto you.”

Because something about the ridiculousness of this was making it even worse.

He tore off a little bit and started nibbling on it and pressing himself into the comforting embrace of this poor stranger that had managed to run smack into Dante at his most vulnerable moment.

“I'm not even a little spoon usually. That's usually Aurelian.”

Sniffle.

Nibble.

“... don't tell him I said that. He'll hate me forever and if he hates me I'll kill myself."

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Gao]

THE KINGSLAYER.

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船井 蓮

FUNAI REN

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

SINGLE MOTHER.

OUTFIT

SNEEKY SLEEKY

LOCATION

ALGOL SHORE

MENTIONS

BEC, DOLORES, ILYA, MAGNUS.

INTERACTS

@Nifty Mypilot

RUN BOY RUN — WOODKID.

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HERETIC BOY,

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

CHAPTER THREE PART III.

It had unspooled through Dolores unceremoniously. Her armor of withering stares and whetstone tongue serve little protection from their urgent reality.

“I thought you were the innkeeper.”

“Ah.” He notes with what sounds like understanding, but trepidation still secures his features and still he has not moved from the rigid stagnancy that ensnares them both. He felt the same in the impasse with Magnus, that bloodless strip of memory that still pervades his senses with caution. The tension was so thick he could cut it like a loom, but Ren has only ever known how to fill silence instead of withstand it. “I’m more handsome than her.”

It’s a childish comment, a trade he always whittles his teeth on. Ren is a creature of cowardice in all things: be it relationships, be it sheepish defiance or the fear that Dolores actually wanted to hurt him— there is no middle ground with a man who finds comfort in distance.

So he takes indifference that he does not own from a false reserve, musters a weak smile and demands a presence of mind to convey to Dolores that everything is fine: he is not scared of her or what she will do and this cut means nothing.

The deceit of that is lacerated across him so clearly; he has not endeavoured to move closer, there is apprehension wound tendon-deep, and the stagnant poise of his body that seems ready to bolt the moment she twitches quantifies that everything is not fine.

It’s alarming to finally be in her estimation after weeks of yearning and searching for her shadow onboard. The longing to talk with her is still there, but the context of this union is spoiled with the sting of salt air slathering into an open wound.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Her guilt is the last thing he believes himself worthy of.

Now would be a ripe time to return that, but he is not sorry for leaving and he knows he will not lie, needed this place and the innkeeper to show it to him. He’d do it again if it meant she could live without the anchoring burden that is him. She could not begin to understand that if he tried to explain, and what misconstrued defence of his actions could he possibly share with someone who despised him?

He’d been well-loved; he knows this and now must carry it quietly with him in a space outside of the heart and behind the rib.

She offers the apologetic fabric but he does not want to bleed on her again.

“It’s fine, Dolores.” He does not often use names in their entirety, and it feels unusual to refer to her as anything but Lori. “Just a scratch, see?” He holds a palm to his forehead, blotting the red into the black fabric of his glove. “Doesn’t even hurt, really.” He speaks with levity, an extension of attempted comfort because he cannot offer much else.

He picks her knife from the sand and wipes the plane of it against his arm to clear the damp grains from it. He is offering it back when another familiar face approaches. The Doctor— the nice one that doesn’t want to murder him.

Apparently being nice does not absolve him from a scolding, and Ren thinks about telling Ilya to fuck off and mind his own business, is stopped only by the limp cloth of a human dragged along.

The hell is that thing.

“Keep a hold of Bec.”

A Bec.

Ren thinks he can identify him from the boat, yet struggles to ascertain exactly where. Like a dark smudge in the periphery, never a tangible form.

He is not sure how to hold the boy, all bones and sheaves of skin that he is sure will flake off the limb under even a thumb of pressure. Settles on latching a hand on the scruff of their clothing to keep them from wandering off. It is not the dignified help he’d like to offer, but Ren is not known for being responsible.

“Well what the fuck am I meant to do– ?!” Both Ilya and Dolores have marched off, abandoning him with this duty. Ren stands idle for a moment, blinks. Bec in hand like a delinquent animal.

The life of a single mother.

“Okay…” It’s a mutter for himself. He is not bothered by being left with the boy, rather just confused that he was the one assigned it. He is not very good at doing Things™ outside of talking and borrowing.

Hands move to pull bird-bone shoulders into looking at him, and he is able to take inventory of the small male. He does not see any grave injuries but it is hard to estimate in the dark of Algol.

“Bec, right? I need you to focus and listen to me,” their current state was enough to be concerned, and his voice affects something gentler, something outside of his common tongue that is infuriating. “Listen, alright? It’s not real. Whatever you see or hear out there, none of that is real.”

He is trying to be gentle, he is hoping the boy sees sense, he would rather not use force to drag the boy away from the approaching surf, for while Bec is small, he has no doubt he is also fast.

“We have to get away from the shore now. Further inland is where it’s safe, do you understand?” Asks as if he cannot feel the tendril of urgency beginning to twist, as if the dark shapes of the graymaws aren’t lined patiently only a stone’s throw away.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[CrimsonInk]

THE RAVEN.

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LUCREZIA

CAMBRIDGE

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

FEAR, FADING, FORGIVENESS

OUTFIT

I MUST MATCH THE INTERIOR

LOCATION

ALGOL BEACH

INTERACTIONS

ANON

TAGS

Wyll

My Jolly Sailor Bold — The Hound + Fox.

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IN THE GARDEN OF EDEN

Eve showed more courage than Adam when the serpent offered the forbidden fruit. She knew that there was something better than paradise.

CHAPTER THREE.

It only took a simple blink in order for Lucrezia to understand that her surroundings were not what they seem. Her cold eyes shifted from what she believed to be the Innkeeper was now a tall man, with blonde hair, and eyes raged with fire. She had noticed this man to be the one who had built the ship, but never came across him as anything more. Her surroundings became more gray and dull, the winds rapid with the scent of the seaweed ridden grotesque smell haunting her nostrils. The Haven Inn became no more than an illusion. It was nothing, but a beach.

"...how dare you?"

I beg your pardon?

“I’m sorry?” she asked bewildered, “sir, I-”

There was no need for the woman to finish her sentence. The moment his large hand came into view she took a step back just before being caught in its grip. Gasping, she pulled at the wrist that held her throat, but her strength was fading fast. Her breath came in ragged, desperate gasps—no longer fluid, but panicked, strangled, each inhale a battle she was losing. Her chest burned. Her lungs screamed for air, but there was nothing—only that crushing pressure, that horrible, all-consuming force.

“D-dear!” she gasped out, “st-!”

Tears began to swell from her sockets, her eyes ready to pop out from the lack of oxygen circulating to her lungs. Her vision blurs, edges curling like paper set to burn from a fire. Everything gray began to turn black. Darkness began to take over. Her body began to grow limp, weak and soon she found acceptance. It was the grim thought she had for believing that this new chance in life was a blessing. Only it seemed fate had other plans. Death was a gentleman, and his courteous hand extended for her to reach out to him. Even his whispers tempted her to let go.

Only she couldn’t give her answer in time to answer the reaper. This man, her killer, was not at fault for the hallucinations he was suffering from. He was just as deceived by the security of the Haven Inn and the kindness of the woman Helga. If she were to say one last thing before her dying breath to him, it would be, “I forgive you.” Forgiveness was the last kindness she could give to him. He knew not any better than the rest, and he was just a victim under whatever curse they were plagued with. May those she had considered her ravens understand she did the best she could for them. Life was beautiful, death even more, but her memory of them will be for eternity.

No…I cannot go….not yet...

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[floralmoon]

THE PERFUMIST.

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CALANTHE

MOOD

ENRAGED

OUTFIT

'add sand and water'

LOCATION

SHORE

MENTIONS

Cassandra

INTERACTS

@picklemouse

Four Seasons/Summer/3rd Mvmt - Vivaldi.

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"what are you?"

"to define is to limit."

CHAPTER THREE PT III.

Leaning further into the embrace of her husband, Calanthe smiles as the two twirl around the ballroom. There was nothing that could take her away from this moment, except maybe the sound of glass shattering on the wall next to her.

Her head quickly lifts from the King's chest as she looks around the room through watery eyes, that's when she spots the maid, though she wasn't one to interact with the help, it was odd that she recognized the woman.

What audacity this woman has to interrupt such a magical moment between her and her spouse, there must be jealousy, or worse infidelity. Rage builds up inside Calanthe as she charges towards Cassandra.

Arms outstretched, she wraps them around her target and launches the two to the ground, the thud from the impact was almost soft, as they landed on beach. "Let me go, Adrius!" Cass yells out and slaps her across the cheek, stunning Cal, then she proceeded to throw sand in her face. This caused the blonde to blink, losing sight of her hallucination for a moment, fueling her anger further.

"YOU BITCH!"

She rears back her fist, and slams it right into Cassandra's jaw, the swings continue to rain down on various parts of the woman underneath her. Unfortunately, Calanthe wasn't the strongest person in the world, so it was easy for her to be overtaken. A shove from Cassandra sends Cal from her point of domination, landing her in the sand next to the woman.

Without a second to spare, Cassandra was now on top of Calanthe, the two continue to fight, neither prevailing, which ends with the two separated. In that moment, Cal spotted something shiny in the sand. She races towards it and wraps her hand around a gun.

Not once in her life had she held or shot, let alone seen one before, but that wasn't going to stop her from trying to shoot the traitor. "You can't do shit now!" Calanthe yells out, swinging the gun around, taunting Cassandra.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[ComplexDragon]

THE MAGPIE.

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Azzara

TALLULAH

ㅎㅎ

mood

Terrified, murderous, guilty

OUTFIT

Typical Tallulah

LOCATION

The Beach of Agol

MENTIONS

AnimeGenork

INTERACTS

Innocent Milo *sobs*

THIEVES - Sammy Rae

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CHILD OF THIEVES

oh drunken gods of slaughter
you know I've always been
your
favorite daughter

CHAPTER THREE. PART THREE

You’re either the hunter or the prey, and there’s no in-between.

Tallulah had spent much of her life in the latter category - slipping in between the cracks, hiding in the shadows. Making herself smaller to avoid being seen. She’d always loved the nighttime. When the darkness covered her in its comforting blanket and created a shield to disguise her true intentions. Most people hated the dark, but it was her oldest and dearest friend.

And then she learned another way to make herself invisible. By becoming the most enchanting person in the room. Taking up the most space. Beguiling people until they were so distracted by the strange character before them that they didn’t even notice what she was doing behind their backs.

She was not the kind of hunter who ripped her prey limb from limb in a blaze of glory. She did not revel in the macabre. Brute force was always a last resort. But fear has a funny way of dulling the senses, bringing out the most animalistic tendencies - and making you do things you would never consider otherwise.

Tallulah knew that what she was seeing wasn’t real. Carrow hadn’t found her; the nightmare wasn’t real. But gods above it felt real. Her chest tightened, cutting off her air supply and suffocating her from the inside out.

Carrow’s menacing stare; the way his lips curled. The knowing glance that said - “I own you, you’re mine.” It set her heart skittering and everything inside her screamed. Screamed to escape the cage that was slowly being built up around her again. Innkeeper or lover, it didn’t matter. All she knew in that moment was that she had to get out as fast as possible.

Suddenly she was lunging and slammed her full body weight into Carrow. He hit the ground with a loud thud that echoed through the cavities of her mind and shook her to her very core. The entire world around her shimmered and shifted. The dream was lifting. It was working.

Her lover cried out in surprise, holding his arms up to shield his pretty face like the coward he was. For once in his miserable life, he understood how it felt, how she had felt living in that hellscape for so long. He did not stand or fight back. He did not spit in her face. It was almost too easy.

She unsheathed the knife from where it rested between her ankle and the leather encasing it. The silver glinted in the faux sunlight. Her head spun with unspoken words, and her hands shook with rage and anxiety.

She stalked forward as he scrambled backward, like a hunter playing with its injured prey. “You don’t get to cage me again.” She spat at him before swiping the knife across bare flesh, sending droplets of red cascading across the ground.

The world shattered as the blood hit the wood - no it was sand now. Carrow cried out in pain, but suddenly, it wasn’t the angular, suspicious face of her former partner or the aged face of the innkeeper. His eyes were bright blue, and his hair straw blonde, but his face was round and rosy…

Milo.

Her heart stuttered to a stop as the rest of the mirage crumbled around her. She stood on a dark beach, sopping wet and covered in gray sand - still wearing the outfit she departed the ship in. In her left hand, a blade still dripping with blood. And all around her the rest of the crew of the Leviathan were in utter chaos. Half at each other’s throats, and the others seemingly cursed.

“No. No. No.” She staggered back, eyes flitting to the young, innocent farmboy. Sweet, sweet Milo who had done nothing but treat her with kindness. And he was clutching his arms where she had struck him with her iron. She had done that.

It had to be another dream. But the gnawing pit in her stomach and the biting chill was enough to prove this wasn’t a figment of her drugged imagination. This - this was real.

And she had made a terrible, terrible mistake.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Mypilot]

the urchin—

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bec

the boy

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

Why won't this nobody let go of me

OUTFIT

Working those rags like he owns them

LOCATION

Algol shoreline

MENTIONS

Ilya, Ren

INTERACTS

Gao

"the grey mist" — orchid mantis

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BROKEN BIRD,

or just broken in?
that sickly skin
still torn and too thin

CHAPTER THREE.

It was, as always, unfortunate wanting something desperately and yet being too weak to actually get it.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. As Bec was pulled back from the sea, from that whispering song, he fought like a cornered dog. All teeth, all claws, all spitting curses. It was ironic, how he spoke the most and fought vehemently for something only when his mind was not truly his own.

“No,” he groaned, feeling near tears. “They’re calling to me! LISTEN!” How could they not see? That bleeding fool first, as if he’d forgotten his own injury, and now in the hands of some nameless weirdo who Bec frankly wasn’t sure he’d even seen before.

This was unusual enough to pull his mind, if only briefly, from the sea.

Bec felt he knew all aboard The Leviathan, because he liked to watch. To observe, to bear witness to all the strange little secrets people liked to keep. So why hadn’t he seen this fellow with his hair of moonless night, his black eyes, his notable scar? Bec felt his mind answer the question simply by falling blank when he looked at the fellow, as if unable to conjure an opinion on him.

It’s not real. That is what he said. The words were like a chord played wrong in a symphony, making Bec’s shoulders rise to his ears as if chasing away that nails-on-chalkboard feeling.

“You don’t know anything,” Bec could only reply, pushing away from Ren with his body, two magnets repelling from one another. He stretched a hand, claw-like, in the direction of the surf. Of that call to him. “It’s for me.” Bec felt he could be sick with how desperately he needed the sea, the brine in his lungs and the salt burning into his skin. He needed it.

Anger flashed like a whip in his chest, the whispers growing impatient with this play. Bec struggled in Ren’s grip, twisting and turning like a caged thing, because he would break free and he would run. He was good at running, his legs remembered the beat, the chase, the freedom.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Mypilot]

The Ambassador—

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ANTARIN

ESTOR

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

Alarmed!

OUTFIT

Rags fashion show finalist

LOCATION

Algol shoreline

MENTIONS

Bec, Ilya, Ren, Madelina

INTERACTS

AnimeGenork

"Remembrance" by Balmorhea

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O, CROWN SWORN

Don't you know?
Night will sting me (and you)
—we were only ever born blue

CHAPTER THREE.

Antarin had barely stumbled forward, disoriented and alarmed when he saw another grasp the boy and pull him back. It was the medic, Ilya, which brought relief to Antarin. That relief was immediately put out when he saw the boy be given to that menace, and Antarin wondered if this was any better than letting him throw himself to the sea.

No, he had to act elsewhere. There was too much going on, and at least the boy would not be devoured. This could not be said for all, as a commotion in the other direction drew Antarin’s gaze. A woman has pushed another hard into the surf, water splashing from the impact.

Antarin is running before the water settles, because he does not know yet why they are fighting, but he does see the Graymaw circling and he does not need to work his imagination to believe it is hungry. The sand kicks around him as he slides to a stop at the lapping water, trying to reach out a hand to drag the girl back who is now in the clutches of those beasts. There is already blood staining the sea the colour of wine, and Antarin feels his chances of success are diminishing but he has to try, he cannot let someone die like this.

His hands barely grab at her arm, already slippery with water, but the Graymaw that has her in its grips is not so keen on letting go. Antarin is ready to fight back, for surely how much damage could they do? when another bursts from the sea like a waiting shark and lunges at Antarin.

His reactions save him, and Antarin pushes back. The girl is taken limply into the sea, guilt stabbing Antarin’s heart, but he falls back neatly into the sand with heart racing.

“Shit,” he says, mind whirring. He failed.

There is a moment where shock rests in his head, eyes locked onto the sea as the splashing from the Graymaws subside and the rolling waves return to their normal rhythm. Only when the silence sits with him does he realize the blood that covers his chest is growing deeper in colour.

Antarin is bleeding.

Almost as soon as the thought strikes him does the pain hit, a sharp slash of agony across his torso. Three slashes have cut through the material of the grey tunic he is wearing, one deeper than the rest. It is this middle cut that is giving him the most trouble, red seeping down his chest and staining the fabric red.

Antarin blinked. Registered the injury. Decided to worry about it later. He turned instead to the other woman on the shoreline, brunette hair at her shoulders and a look on her face to mirror the violence that has happened here.

“Why?” Antarin could only ask, breath coming out hard from the exertion of fighting for the body and the pain of his injury. “Why did you-?”

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[floralmoon]

THE SOOTHSAYER.

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KADER

MOOD

TERRIFIED

OUTFIT

'full length skirt & shawl'

LOCATION

SHORE

MENTIONS

Yasmine

INTERACTS

CrimsonInk

Fear - Sleeping at Last.

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"prophet child, chosen by the sun.."

"do you hear the gods whispering those silent stardust words?"

CHAPTER THREE PT III.

Waves crashing onto shore typically sent Kader to sleep, though this time was different. A weight on their chest caused them to struggle to breathe, and a sharp, coldness could be felt on their throat. Eyes fly open, revealing Yasmin over top of them, which sent panic through Kader's body, what was happening? Quickly, they managed to roll out from underneath the woman, though they wished to yell at her, it seemed Yas had gotten to that opportunity first.

“What’s wrong, Auntie? We’re just getting started…”

She was now wielding the sword with both hands, swinging it at Kader. They had thankfully managed to dodge the sword, but not by much, they looked down to reveal the corset they had on was now slashed, and had lightly grazed their stomach. Fear continued to rise in Kader, they had never experienced something like this before, fighting, anger, shouting, it was all too much. They quietly plead to the sky, which was eerily silent, for answers. Nothing.

Kader thinks quick, focusing in on the handle of the sword, and lunged. The tactic was very risky, considering how skilled Yasmin was with the blade, but somehow they managed to surprise her with this move. This allowed them to try and pry her fingers off, trying to be both gentle yet assertive, not wanting to cause her any harm. Yasmin starts swinging the sword around, but Kader was not letting their determination and will to live waiver.

After what seemed like forever, the sword flew out of both of their hands, landing in the sand somewhere away from the two. Watching anger fill the woman's eyes, Kader shoves her to the ground, but Yasmin recovered quickly, throwing a fist into their side, and knocking the breath out of them. A hand then reaches for their neck, eyes widening, they realize that this is life or death, and they were choosing to live.

The two tussle, swapping places in who was on top, for a moment, Kader couldn't find it in them to continue fighting, maybe it was over for them. A voice speaks, "One needs not to destroy one's enemy. One needs only to destroy his willingness to engage." It was their father, with this reminder and slight encouragement, they search deep inside themselves, and flips the two over, putting them on top once again.

"I am so sorry for this." They softly say as their flat palm slams into Yasmin's cheek.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Gao]

THE KINGSLAYER.

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船井 蓮

FUNAI REN

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

EVIL STEP MOTHER.

OUTFIT

SNEEKY SLEEKY

LOCATION

ALGOL SHORE

MENTIONS

ILYA.

INTERACTS

Mypilot

RUN BOY RUN — WOODKID.

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HERETIC BOY,

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

CHAPTER THREE PART III.

The tectonic plates of the boy’s shoulders rise and Ren knows they are too far gone with fixation. A stare so resigned to surrendering for the ocean, they drink the sight of the water as if to slather every pathway of their mind with memory.

“You don’t know anything,” the boy tells him, and perhaps some of that is true.

“I know enough.” Maybe this is what his mother felt, no longer measuring time in seconds or minutes, but the interval between Bec's first mistake and his last. They roil like a mare taut at bridles, and his shoes dig into wet sand as he tries to pull the struggling stranger back.

Ren is caught in the conflicted pendulum of not wanting to hurt the boy, but not wanting to offer the opportunity for escape either.

“It’s for me.” Bec’s confession is too deranged for someone whose youth is still signalled through the hollows of gangly limbs.

One writhing twist and Ren finds himself swiping into open air. The feat of their escape could almost render the dash for water successful, if not for the fact this long-haired nobody was determinedly annoying.

He tackles their legs to the wet sand in a tangle of claws and manages to latch a hand around Bec’s ankle before they can slip away like smoke, dragging their body back from the water with a brutal tug.

“It is not!” A hiss like fragmented glass, to remain calm would demand a presence of mind Ren relinquished the second Bec first escaped from his hands. Madness or just a symptom— it didn’t matter, he’ll haul the boy back with his teeth if needed.

Like a wild animal caught in a snare, the clamp of Ren’s hand remains tight around Bec’s ankle. From the rags of their clothes and enigmatic existence, he can determine they must be nobody of importance. The familiarity could almost warm Ren to this stranger, the feeling when you look at something that has spent an entire lifetime separated from others; a stray that is all hunger and bones and scrambling away from hands that reach.

He can feel sand in his teeth when he drags the boy closer to bind an arm around their waist. Stronger, this time, prioritising safety over the concern of bruises, and begins pulling them back up the sand like a draft horse.

“Nothing is for you!” He bites and wonders if this is cruel. Ren would not like to consider himself that by nature, but sometimes honesty is not kind. Sometimes it’s living that is the suffering, but something is always better than nothing.

“You are only alive because I will not watch you die. Not even your death can be your own.” He’d tried to whittle that desperation into something gentle, but now he doesn’t have time or tact for it. Not when the surf looms and they repel sense like oil to water. “Nothing is yours. Not on land and certainly not in the sea. We’re not important enough and you’re stupid to believe anything different.”

He shoves them in a rough manner that must be purposeful, and stands as a divider between Bec and the water. All that patience pillaged for the sake of survival, but he needs Bec to know that rationale and desperation both play their part in this. Keeping them alive is the only option, he does not want a second to pass where he has to regret the decisions he’s made and see Ilya’s expression when he admits he failed this one measly task.

“It’s not real, Bec.” I can save you from this, if only you’d let me. “Let it go.”

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[erzulie]

mood :

on guard

location :

the shore

outfit :

mentions :

n/a

interactions :

open

Acindius

Devana

She awakes with the feeling of sand against her cheek... Devana jolted awake as if electrocuted, her hand immediately flying to her bare face. Her heart beat like a war drum in her chest, each thunderous pulse echoing in her ears as her fingers made contact with scarred skin instead of the smooth porcelain of her mask. A hiss escaped her lips, sharp and feral, as she reached for her sword. The obsidian blade caught what little light there was, drinking it in and reflecting back something altogether more nefarious.

Wild black eyes flicked to and fro in search of the mysterious innkeeper, for her last memory was of denying the woman's offer of tea – a seemingly innocent moment that now dripped with sinister implications. Devana's roughed hand gripped the hilt of her sword until her knuckles bleached white beneath darkened skin. She needed answers, and she needed them now. The slight against her – this violation of removing her mask – could only be paid in blood. It was not merely about vanity or pride; it was about power, about consent, about trust shattered as easily as the porcelain that usually shielded her face from the world.

Thick brows pinched as the hair at her nape stood on end, an ancient instinct warning of danger. The feeling of being watched washed over her, nearly as physical as being touched, like cold fingers trailing down her spine. Her gaze cut through the chaos surrounding her – her crew mates scattered across the beach in various stages of distress, confusion, and aggression, their bodies twisted in poses that spoke of disorientation or unconsciousness. It was then that she finally noticed the beings within the water, and the world seemed to still be around her.

Devana tensed, her body coiling like a snake on the edge of striking, each muscle drawn taut with lethal potential. She gazed at the corpse-like creatures, taking note of how they had yet to leave the water, their grey forms eerily standing within the water like twisted reflections of the living. "Are they unable to?" she thought, her tactical mind already searching for advantages, weaknesses, boundaries that could be exploited. If water was their prison as much as their domain, perhaps there was hope yet for her and the rest of the crew.

The waves lapped at the shore with an almost musical rhythm, too peaceful for the horror that lurked within their depths. Salt air filled her lungs with each careful breath as she rose to a crouch, her feet finding purchase in the shifting sand. Every movement was measured, deliberate – a predator's grace born of years on edge and countless battles. The creatures watched her with eyes that held the cold emptiness of the deep, their gazes a weight she could feel against her skin, against the scars she had hidden for so long beneath porcelain.

Her crew was vulnerable on this foreign shore, and the innkeeper was nowhere to be seen. Devana's jaw clenched, teeth grinding as she cataloged each body on the beach, counting faces she had taken the time to memorize. The violation of her mask was personal, yes, but the endangerment of her crew? That was an offense that would earn far worse than a quick death. She was a possessive woman after all and despite her feelings towards the crown, she had been tasked with protecting the group. The obsidian blade seemed to hum in agreement, eager for the taste of whatever blood ran through the veins of those pale watchers, if they had blood at all.

coded by reveriee.