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Fantasy ๐‘๐Ž๐†๐”๐„ ๐–๐€๐•๐„๐’ โ€” THE STORY

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THE CHIMERA.















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Dante



Fiocchi




ใ…Žใ…Ž















MOOD




K thanks bye now
















LOCATION




Algol











MENTIONS




Tiberius @Nifty









INTERACTS






















Only Acting โ€” 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

โ€œWhatโ€™s going on?โ€ His voice was weak and scratchy from the screaming. It soundedโ€ฆ pathetic. His frame seemed to be swallowed by the shadow of this guy, and usually he wouldโ€™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 didnโ€™t deserve it. He did nothing to deserve this kindness.

And isnโ€™t that the most pathetic fucking part of it all you dumb fuck?

โ€Now Iโ€™m not sure what you saw but-โ€


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

โ€œGive me 20 years of my life backโ€
Which was a completely unreasonable demand, but something was currently making him just spew all of his baggage onto this undeserving guy. โ€œAnd I'm now I'm just holding bread and spewing all of my baggage onto you.โ€

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.

โ€œI'm not even a little spoon usually. That's usually Aurelian.โ€

Sniffle.

Nibble.

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





























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THE KINGSLAYER.















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่ˆนไบ• ่“ฎ



FUNAI REN




ใ…Žใ…Ž















MOOD




SINGLE MOTHER.
















LOCATION




ALGOL SHORE











MENTIONS




BEC, DOLORES, ILYA, MAGNUS.










INTERACTS




















RUN BOY RUN โ€” 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.

โ€œI thought you were the innkeeper.โ€

โ€œAh.โ€
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. โ€œIโ€™m more handsome than her.โ€

Itโ€™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 himโ€” 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.

Itโ€™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.

โ€œFor what itโ€™s worth, Iโ€™m sorry.โ€

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. Heโ€™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?

Heโ€™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.

โ€œItโ€™s fine, Dolores.โ€ He does not often use names in their entirety, and it feels unusual to refer to her as anything but Lori. โ€œJust a scratch, see?โ€ He holds a palm to his forehead, blotting the red into the black fabric of his glove. โ€œDoesnโ€™t even hurt, really.โ€ 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 Doctorโ€” the nice one that doesnโ€™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.

โ€œKeep a hold of Bec.โ€

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 heโ€™d like to offer, but Ren is not known for being responsible.

โ€œWell what the fuck am I meant to doโ€“ ?!โ€ 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.

โ€œOkayโ€ฆโ€ Itโ€™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 Thingsโ„ข 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.

โ€œBec, right? I need you to focus and listen to me,โ€ their current state was enough to be concerned, and his voice affects something gentler, something outside of his common tongue that is infuriating. โ€œListen, alright? Itโ€™s not real. Whatever you see or hear out there, none of that is real.โ€

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.

โ€œWe have to get away from the shore now. Further inland is where itโ€™s safe, do you understand?โ€ Asks as if he cannot feel the tendril of urgency beginning to twist, as if the dark shapes of the graymaws arenโ€™t lined patiently only a stoneโ€™s throw away.





























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THE RAVEN.






























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LUCREZIA






CAMBRIDGE









ใ…Žใ…Ž






























MOOD








FEAR, FADING, FORGIVENESS

































LOCATION








ALGOL BEACH

























INTERACTIONS








ANON





















TAGS








































My Jolly Sailor Bold โ€” 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?

โ€œIโ€™m sorry?โ€ she asked bewildered, โ€œsir, I-โ€

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 gaspsโ€”no longer fluid, but panicked, strangled, each inhale a battle she was losing. Her chest burned. Her lungs screamed for air, but there was nothingโ€”only that crushing pressure, that horrible, all-consuming force.

โ€œD-dear!โ€ she gasped out, โ€œst-!โ€

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 couldnโ€™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, โ€œI forgive you.โ€ 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.

Noโ€ฆI cannot goโ€ฆ.not yet...



























































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THE PERFUMIST.






























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CALANTHE
















































MOOD








ENRAGED

































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.


























































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THE MAGPIE.















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Azzara



TALLULAH




ใ…Žใ…Ž















mood




Terrified, murderous, guilty
















LOCATION




The Beach of Agol











MENTIONS












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

Youโ€™re either the hunter or the prey, and thereโ€™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. Sheโ€™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 didnโ€™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 wasnโ€™t real. Carrow hadnโ€™t found her; the nightmare wasnโ€™t real. But gods above it felt real. Her chest tightened, cutting off her air supply and suffocating her from the inside out.

Carrowโ€™s menacing stare; the way his lips curled. The knowing glance that said - โ€œI own you, youโ€™re mine.โ€ 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 didnโ€™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. โ€œYou donโ€™t get to cage me again.โ€ 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 wasnโ€™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 rosyโ€ฆ

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 otherโ€™s throats, and the others seemingly cursed.

โ€œNo. No. No.โ€ 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 wasnโ€™t a figment of her drugged imagination. This - this was real.

And she had made a terrible, terrible mistake.






























โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 










the urchinโ€”






























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bec






the boy








ใ…Žใ…Ž






























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








































"the grey mist" โ€” 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 wasnโ€™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.

โ€œNo,โ€ he groaned, feeling near tears. โ€œTheyโ€™re calling to me! LISTEN!โ€ How could they not see? That bleeding fool first, as if heโ€™d forgotten his own injury, and now in the hands of some nameless weirdo who Bec frankly wasnโ€™t sure heโ€™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 hadnโ€™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.

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

โ€œYou donโ€™t know anything,โ€ 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. โ€œItโ€™s for me.โ€ 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 Renโ€™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.



























































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The Ambassadorโ€”






























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ANTARIN






ESTOR








ใ…Žใ…Ž






























MOOD








Alarmed!























OUTFIT








Rags fashion show finalist























LOCATION








Algol shoreline

























MENTIONS








Bec, Ilya, Ren, Madelina





















INTERACTS








































"Remembrance" by Balmorhea
































































































































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O, CROWN SWORN








Don't you know?
Night will sting me (and you)
โ€”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 Antarinโ€™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 Antarinโ€™s heart, but he falls back neatly into the sand with heart racing.

โ€œShit,โ€ 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.

โ€œWhy?โ€ Antarin could only ask, breath coming out hard from the exertion of fighting for the body and the pain of his injury. โ€œWhy did you-?โ€



























































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THE SOOTHSAYER.






























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KADER
















































MOOD








TERRIFIED

































LOCATION








SHORE

























MENTIONS








Yasmine





















INTERACTS


CrimsonInk 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.

โ€œWhatโ€™s wrong, Auntie? Weโ€™re just getting startedโ€ฆโ€

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.



























































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