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Fantasy 𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 — THE STORY

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THE CHIMERA.















scroll

Dante



Fiocchi




ㅎㅎ















MOOD




K thanks bye now











OUTFIT




Fancy drowned rat











LOCATION




Algol











MENTIONS




Tiberius Nifty Nifty









INTERACTS






















Only Acting — Kero Kero Bonito




























































scroll






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♡
 





THE KINGSLAYER.















scroll

船井 蓮



FUNAI REN




ㅎㅎ















MOOD




SINGLE MOTHER.











OUTFIT




SNEEKY SLEEKY











LOCATION




ALGOL SHORE











MENTIONS




BEC, DOLORES, ILYA, MAGNUS.










INTERACTS




Nifty Nifty Mypilot Mypilot


















RUN BOY RUN — WOODKID.
































































scroll






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♡
 










THE RAVEN.






























scroll


LUCREZIA






CAMBRIDGE









ㅎㅎ






























MOOD








FEAR, FADING, FORGIVENESS























OUTFIT








I MUST MATCH THE INTERIOR























LOCATION








ALGOL BEACH

























INTERACTIONS








ANON





















TAGS








Wyll Wyll





































My Jolly Sailor Bold — The Hound + Fox.
































































































































scroll












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♡
 
Last edited:










THE PERFUMIST.






























scroll


CALANTHE
















































MOOD








ENRAGED























OUTFIT








'add sand and water'























LOCATION








SHORE

























MENTIONS








Cassandra





















INTERACTS


picklemouse picklemouse











































Four Seasons/Summer/3rd Mvmt - Vivaldi.
































































































































scroll












"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♡
 





THE MAGPIE.















scroll

Azzara



TALLULAH




ㅎㅎ















mood




Terrified, murderous, guilty











OUTFIT




Typical Tallulah











LOCATION




The Beach of Agol











MENTIONS




AnimeGenork AnimeGenork









INTERACTS




Innocent Milo *sobs*


















THIEVES - Sammy Rae
































































scroll






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♡
 










the urchin—






























scroll


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 Gao





































"the grey mist" — orchid mantis
































































































































scroll












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♡
 
Last edited:










The Ambassador—






























scroll


ANTARIN






ESTOR








ㅎㅎ






























MOOD








Alarmed!























OUTFIT








A bit like Gerard Butler in that slutty little white ruffled shirt #slay























LOCATION








Algol shoreline

























MENTIONS








Bec, Ilya, Ren, Madelina





















INTERACTS








AnimeGenork AnimeGenork





































"Remembrance" by Balmorhea
































































































































scroll












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♡
 
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THE SOOTHSAYER.






























scroll


KADER
















































MOOD








TERRIFIED























OUTFIT








'full length skirt & shawl'























LOCATION








SHORE

























MENTIONS








Yasmine





















INTERACTS


CrimsonInk CrimsonInk











































Fear - Sleeping at Last.
































































































































scroll












"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♡
 
Last edited:





THE KINGSLAYER.















scroll

船井 蓮



FUNAI REN




ㅎㅎ















MOOD




EVIL STEP MOTHER.











OUTFIT




SNEEKY SLEEKY











LOCATION




ALGOL SHORE











MENTIONS




ILYA.










INTERACTS




Mypilot Mypilot


















RUN BOY RUN — WOODKID.
































































scroll






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♡
 
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.
 










THE OPHIDIAN.






























scroll


YASMINE










LAVIGNE








ㅎㅎ






























MOOD








Conflicted and ready to spill blood























OUTFIT








SHOWING SOME SKIN























LOCATION








Beach in Algol

























MENTIONS








Kader, Anon, Ilya
Calanthe, Cassandra





















TAGS








floralmoon floralmoon Wyll Wyll
qunqun qunqun picklemouse picklemouse





































CHOKEHOLD CHERRY PYTHON — ASHNIKKO.
































































































































scroll












POWER IS POWER








The gods have no mercy, that’s why they’re gods.





























































CHAPTER THREE.


This prideful vipress was many things in her lifetime. She was tenacious, cunning, and overall, a daunting woman. Yasmine built herself to be the ideal perfect human being; to be the one who the king favors out of all of Solas. Just that in her time of becoming perfect, she had developed a countless number of flaws that coincide with her delusion. It may not even exist in her biological makeup to act on this, unlike those around her. Mercy was a privilege, and it was a privilege she refused to give to her prey.

She was elated how they seemed to have practically given in to their defeat. It was a pleasure Yasmine found herself with the moment she was ready to take another life. It seemed that they had a bit of strength left when a hand was raised, and in that moment a palm struck her cheek. The harsh feeling whipped her reality into check. Cold winds grazed against her face and the taste of sand entered her mouth.

“What the…” she muttered, before looking down and realizing that her prey was not the ugly, disgusting elderly hag from before. No. Her eyes shifted around taking in their features, the fear, and the markings.

It only hit Yasmine of what she had just experienced. An illusion. To think she was ready to kebab this unfortunate soul from something as an illusion. Though she couldn’t resist the temptation to jest about the encounter. It was the sort of dark humor she developed overtime. Just now wasn’t the appropriate time to make such jokes.

“Forgive me, I seem to have lost my sense of self…” she replied, looking at the small wounds she had made on them, “allow me to find the doctor to aid your wounds.”

Her voice was smooth, collective. It was as if she had forgotten, or more denied, that she was the one who marked them in the first place. Looking around she took in the dreadful wasteland this beach was. It seemed that she wasn’t the only one who committed an act of terror against the crew. Passengers and kings guard alike were all attacking each other in some way. Some seemed to be deep in their hallucinations as she was, and others seems to have gotten out to help those wounded.

She took note of the doctor, Mr. Jovanovic, who seemed to be making their way to another set of unfortunate victims under the Algol spell. Clicking her teeth, she returned her attention back to them with brows raised in annoyance.

“It actually seems the doctor is quite busy. An army of wounded and only one of him,” she stated, “look, take my belt and press tight on the wound there. It’s not much, but enough to stop the bleeding. I’ll get him to notice you. Again, sorry about almost taking your life….starlight.”

A gentle harmless wink didn’t seem to hurt. It was meant to be more friendly than anything. She did as she said, taking off her belt and using some cloth from her shirt to help with the wounds she caused. They didn’t seem detrimental, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Eyes were everywhere, and she needed to be a good kingsguard for those eyes.

After taking her victim into consideration she began making her way towards Dr. Jovanovic. The fury he seemed to have was indeed interesting, and to an old friend no less was even more engaging to watch. From where she stood was the outbreak of a series of events that led to a man of medicine harming another, and that was a joyful event to watch indeed. It almost made her lips curl into that devilish smirk, but she must resist to be the more orderly and fun soldier she was meant to be.

“Dr. Jovanovic,” she called to him from her gut, “we have another just across there. Tell me where I can start, and I can happily help.”

“YOU BITCH!”

The insult was loud enough for Yasmine’s ears to pick up. Whipping her head around, she caught sight of a strawberry blonde woman in a fight with another. Hands thrown, sand thrashed, and soon the same woman was waving around a firearm. Not only that, but her childhood also best friend was in the line of fire from that crazy bitch.

“HEY!” she yelled from the top of her lungs. Her tone was deep with an intensive bite to it.

Yasmine took in a deep breath, sprinting her way over to the two women with the strawberry shortcake in her line of sight. Blood boiling, daggered orbs, and the body of a viper ready to constrict the tiny brat speechless. There was one thing Yasmine always lived by despite her other questionable morals. Do not ever mess with those from the canals.



























































♡coded by uxie♡
 










THE RAVEN.






























scroll


LUCREZIA






The Spirit









ㅎㅎ






























MOOD








DISTRAUGHT























OUTFIT








HAUNTING























LOCATION








THE VOID

























INTERACTIONS








ANON, ILYA





















TAGS








Wyll Wyll qunqun qunqun





































CITY OF THE DEAD — EURIELLE.
































































































































scroll












DEATH MUST BE SO BEAUTIFUL








To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forget life, to be at peace.





























































CHAPTER THREE.

The emptiness is both beautiful and mesmerizing, a vast space that transcends the liminal state where resilient spirits linger, wandering in search of something more. The architect of the void watches intently, observing those who long to return to the realm of the living, where reality is solid, firm, and tangible. Yet all spectral beings will soon come to understand that their voices from the beyond are nothing more than the winds that mortals feel against their skin. The echoes of their cries are only heard by a rare few. The living are not meant to know what lies beyond, only those graced by the stars.

That is, until one particular spirit broke the balance. She is here now.

Lucrezia Amore Cambridge.

The woman who defies the city of the dead.

She did not know when it began—when she first began to look down at her body. Everything around her seemed to move in slow motion, as if time itself had lost its grip. She watched the despair grow on the man’s face as he realized the weight of his actions. A man once consumed by the rage of the cursed Algol sea now stood confronted by the sin he must bear. Lucrezia gazed at him, her expression soft with pity, watching in silence. Tears began to swell from her eyes allowing them to fall down her pale cheeks.

Everything she had endured until now felt almost wasteful. The connections she created, the desperation to find these answers, and yet it all brought her here to this moment. Time and time she was met with omens who cautioned her of her travels, no matter how she denied them all — and here she was. Looking at her body from a place she could only cogent that she was in the in-between, or rather so the void.

“This can’t be the end…” she uttered softly, her eyes turned to gaze at her surroundings only to catch the glimpse of something as radiant as the sun.

It was Ilya. The skeletal man’s face was something new to her. The once poise and calm doctor she met in the medical bay was coming towards them with fire and perseverance. Her eyes widened with promise, a smile creeping her lips trying to hold back a cry.

He must have noticed.

Please dear Ilya.

“Salva me, amice,” she breathed.



























































♡coded by uxie♡
 






The Physician.















scroll

Ilya



Jovanović




ㅎㅎ















MOOD




Can we all please calm down a little











OUTFIT




No mask, unfortunately












LOCATION




Shore time












MENTIONS




Anon, Dolores, Lucrezia, Calanthe, Cassandra, Yasmine, Devana, Antarin, Madeline, Milo, Tallulah, Ren, Bec, Rat, Rosaline










INTERACTS




Wyll Wyll CrimsonInk CrimsonInk Nifty Nifty erzulie erzulie AnimeGenork AnimeGenork ComplexDragon ComplexDragon




















Artificial Paradise — Vlad Holiday.






























































scroll






Humanist's Folly.




Extend the self, till all that remains is scattered to the winds































Chapter Three Part Three.

The first thing Ilya does is punch Anon across the face.

Violence did not come naturally to the generally gentle and amicable fellow, his normal quite mellow customer service smile still plastered on his face, the edges cracking apart at serenity for insanity. “I will cut your carotid artery if you do not make yourself fucking useful.”

There was no difference in the way he said that than the way he spoke when he was making tea and smalltalk. A flash of silver in his hand, whoever gave Ilya a scalpel was not accounting for the mild bloodlust that was required to become a doctor.

He came back to himself when he is crouched over Lucrezia, checking her bruising throat for a pulse, for any signs of breathing, his scalpel returned back to his pocket. Ilya makes a mental note to send a note of apology to Anon later

“Miss Lucrezia, I need you to respond to me if you can hear me.”

He waited a bit before nodding, gently putting the reborn woman on her side, head tilted back in order to keep her airways open. “Miss Dolores, please come over here. I am sure you are aware of how to check a pulse, considering your line of work. She is breathing and responsive. Continue to monitor her, if she becomes unresponsive and her breathing becomes more irregular, then make a fist, put a hand over it, straight arm over the chest, thrust downwards for thirty compressions, and call me over immediately.”

He demonstrated general positioning and how to administer CPR. Grog was now resting next to Lucrezia for moral support.

“This is going to be a long… long night.” More or less grumbled to himself as he turned around to see who else needed medical aid in a-

”We have another over here-”

The cry for help seemed to have been cut off by a much larger cry of YOU BITCH.

…

Who was giving these people guns??!!!?!!

The fight between the now three women seemed to be getting heated over there.

If that gun went off-

“Miss?” The name was escaping him at that moment with the face he didn’t recognize.

“Are you alright? Could you please try to maybe stop that gun from going off?” He asked a scarred woman staring into the dark sea, only broken by the yellow eyes staring back at them.

She seemed very strong. She could probably stop the conflict.

Someone else got slashed with a knife! Hooray!

While the fight over there was resolving itself, Ilya made his way over to — Antarin and that lady over there were… awfully close to the water. She seemed almost catatonic, he seemed to be injured. They were desperately close to the water, though. Ilya’s mind whirled into what would happen if he went over there– no, it was best to let the situation resolve itself. Antarin was strong enough to most likely drag the woman back away from the shoreline.

Blond. Pleasant enough smile. Knife wound.

“Hello, Mister Milo-” The lady that had slashed him seemed to be going through the same shock and horror as everyone who had decided to go a little stabby happy was going through

“-Miss Tallulah, there are others around who may need aid, I believe drinking the tea has caused a psychosis. I believe Mister Bec is currently being held back from wandering into the ocean by Mister Ren and Miss Rosaline and Mister Rat are in conflict if you would be so kind as to… perhaps…”

He wrapped the farmboy’s arm in a makeshift tourniquet of bandages. “Please refrain from utilizing this arm too much, Mister Milo. I’m stopping the bleeding for now until I have… better equipment to handle..”

This. Everything. Life. He didn’t know.

Milo was a mellower personality, so he would probably be good at defusing situations-

“I believe Miss Dolores and Miss Lucrezia will be needing assistance. I have instructed Miss Dolores in CPR, but I need to assure that she and Mister Anon will not kill each other.”

He was definitely not the correct person for that job, he was too emotionally attached to it.
…

He really didn’t want to deal with a bullet wound right now.





























♡coded by uxie♡
 





THE OLD-TIMER















scroll

Maltke



Cycek




ㅎㅎ















MOOD




Confused, apathetic, "it fuckin' hurts!!!"











OUTFIT




His usual dirty coat of course











LOCATION




The shore of Algol











MENTIONS




Captain Lex, Innkeeper









INTERACTS




Lexis, Gao Gao

















no music




























































scroll






Just so you know:




The events of this post take place before Calanthe gets her delicate paws on the gun...






























Chapter Three, Part iii

Maltke knew he had chosen well about waiting for the Innkeeper's answer because he blinked twice and there was no Inkeeper. In fact, the whole world changed around the old pirate while his eyelids blocked the weak sunlight. The first blink. The figure of the Innkeeper vanished in thin air, not even a single clue of her existence stayed in front of Maltke who was now holding his knife's handle under his coat unnecesserily. The wet layers of rough fabrics were hanging on his body heavily and coldly. "Eh?"

The second blink. He looked down, seeing greyish sand under his boots. The wooden floor of the inn, its walls, roof and most importantly its warmness were nowhere to be found; Maltke stood under a grey sky, on a shore. Air stuffed his chest, his teeth clapped twice, his shoulders were trembling as the cold air pushed millions of frozen needles in his poor skin. "Uh...um where the fuck am I?" Maltke barked to the shadowy figures around him but none of them was close enough to hear his question. However the question already served its purpose; leading his attention away from the experiences of the illusion within an illusion and every further thoughts that brought with itself. Maltke had enough doubts, he left the rest about existence to the poets.

He turned around, hoping that through the black, wave-cut rocks of the shore's edge he would see the peacefully waiting Leviathan. Instead his gaze fell upon one of his worst nightmares: grey, slippery figures like humanoid leeches conquered the low, dark waters. He didn't even notice that with a swift flick of his wrist he pulled out his knife as he quickly analyzed what was clearly a pack of ugly see-monsters. "Bloody, blue, blisterin' thunder!" Maltke cursed, not exactly watching which words were slipping through his lips, twitching into a grimace of fear and defiance. "Why is the monster starrin' at me like that? Huh? Oh...probably can't come out of water...than I be safe for now...fuck'em..." He murmured, his eye finally escaped the monsterous sight but he still sensed the sticky gaze of the puffy, aqueous fish-eyes on his back.

Maltke took a few steps away from the water when he spotted a lone person with strict posture, facing towards him. "Finally..." The old man muttered, then he let out his raspy voice in order to his words be carried in the stranger's ears. "Ahoooy! Ye good? I don't know what be happenin' but the sea be packed with those ugly kind of luring abominat-" His voice died along with his steps as the figure rised his arm towards Maltke, holding a suspiciously gun-shaped object. The old hands effortlessly waved in the air, the hands' owner smirked. "Oy, I be no threat, don't ye worry...I be the part of our crew just like ye...turn that dangerous thing away from me..." He squinted, moving with a step closer to the gunman and now they could see each other clearly. Eyes and nostrils widened, a firm hand holds an actual pistol, its dark tube-mouth yawned cruelly at the old pirate. In that fatal second, Maltke swallowed, as though he could feel the escaped bullet's pressure on his neck. "Capta-"

BANG!

The instrument of doom echoed through the shore, a simple motion of the index finger caused thunder. Bullet eagerly cut through the air, digging himself into soft flesh before he could finish the word, formed by recognizing The Leviathan's captain, Lexis Graves at the other end of the gun. The power of the shot sent Maltke flying back on the damp, dirty bed of sand and just as the back of his head collided with the dust, the pain arrived. "AAAARGHHGFFUUCK!!!" A tormemted hurricane of sounds boomed out of his mouth. He quickly rolled over, expecting a second shot that would have put an end of his misery but it didn't arrive. The movement caused the mind-melting, cold fangs of pain bite deeper in the burning flesh of his right shoulder. The Captain missed his head.

Maltke rolled back on his back, his single eye rolled back in his skull for a moment, dark forms were dancing in his sight, his hands were digging in the sand desperately looking for the knife he had dropped. He panted, his mind was racing with hundreds of thoughts as he felt the death's cold mist descending on his soul for the second time in the past ten minutes. "Why...?" Was it because he had joked about ignitin' a rebel on the ship? Or because he had made The Leviathan dirtier? If so, only one thing was sure: Captain Lexis Graves really adored his ship. Maltke could relate to it a bit. He groaned painfully, trying to stay conscious. The sky above him was grayish, dull and unsympathetic. "If only I threw pepper in yer face..." Grimaced Maltke confusedly, waiting for the endless nothing to consume him on this ugly, boring shore.






























♡coded by uxie♡
 
Last edited:





THE GEMINI.















scroll

Gallin



Luc Cardin




ㅎㅎ















MOOD




...I WANT TO LIVE, DAMMIT











OUTFIT




In bed...DND











LOCATION




BEACH











MENTIONS




DAHLIA, ROSALINE, MAGNUS.










INTERACTS




AURELIAN ( qunqun qunqun )


















EVERLASTING — TAYLOR DAVIS.
































































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SEE THE WORLD




"Never feel bad for a blind man," he said finally; "for you see the world as it is, while I see it for what it could be."






























CHAPTER THREE.

Luc had lost count of how many times the same scenes had played on repeat in his mind. He had become numb to the pain, his vision blurred by the same tears that salted his cheeks. Attacked by his greatest fear which doubled as his greatest insecurity, he was left with no will to keep going. For all he knew, this was a vision of the future that awaited him. If all he amounted to was a tombstone overgrown with vines and only visited by weeds and spiders, what point was there in continuing to fight?

Even the girl he had met the other day. The redhead. As becoming as her words were vulgar. A perfect stranger. Even she had made it clear that he was no good at the one thing he thought he was putting out into the world. Lady Touchard had all but claimed him to be naught but a child, lost and crawling around in the dark, only to be pricked by the harsh realities of the world. He knew nothing of the world and was no good to it. How then would he change it? From what to what?

As he stewed in the weight of the futility of his own life, the portait of death itself appeared, coming to make the vision his reality. Magnus, of course he would be here. If there was the one thing Luc feared more than a meaningless life, it was the face, the sneer of Magnus. He watched as Magnus drew his blade and, in that moment, among all the noise and the flurry of thoughts in Luc's head, one rang loud, silencing all the others. The thought was so strong that it made him question if he'd ever truly thought, or even felt anything before.

I want to live!

Useless or not. Futile or not. Meaningless or not. Luc wanted to live. The world around him glitched, a fusion of reality and illusion as he now saw the rock, but still saw Magnus standing there instead of Aurelian. Ordinarily, with the speed the rock was thrown, Luc's head should look much ligh a donut now. However, quickened by the torture Devana had been putting him through, he leaned back just enough for it to strike his shoulder rather than his head.

A pain cry escaped him as he fell to the floor, grabbing his shoulder. However, he was quick back to his feet, adrenaline forcing him to keep moving and the illusion blinding him. Magnus won't stop attacking. If he missed the first strike, he will strike again.

Another stretching of the fabric of reality as the motion Aurelian made to wipe his eyes mirrored that of Magnus swinging from above. Reflex - instilled in him be Devana - caused him to pick up the large rock that suddenly appeared by his side, stained in his blood and block the sword strike. He would even swear that the sound of metal bouncing off stone, where all around him would simply have seen him raising a stone to the sky like an offering to the heavens.

A fury welled up in him. One that he had not the boldness nor the desperation to allow himself experience before. A single hand gripped the rock and lifted it up at his attacker. The words felt like they had been forcefully pulled from the deepest depths of himself, leaving his throat hoarse as he exclaimed, "I want to live! I want to live, Magnus!" His voice cracked under the weight of his emotion. "W-why won't you let me?"

Tears flowed anew from his face. However, these weren't tears of sorrow or even pain. These were tears born of fury. The stringing in his shoulder was ignored as he now faced what he saw to be the one imposing mountain, casting a shadow over his life. "I refuse! I refuse to be another victim of your...of your...of your self hatred! I'm tired of running! Of hiding! Of bargaining for my bloody life!" The words continued to tear his throat, each syllable strained by a sickening mix of fear and frenzy. "So, if you're going to kill me, then kill me! But I won't run any more! Won't be your puppet anymore..."

Luc raised the stone to his head - the motions familiar to him. "No, I'm done running. I know you will win. I know you will kill me..." His chest rose and fell mightily, with labored breaths "...but, at least, it will be said that I fought for my life...because my life is worth fighting for...I know that now"






























♡coded by uxie♡
 





THE GLADIATOR.















scroll

Tiberius



SANCTUS




ㅎㅎ















MOOD




I gotcha bud











OUTFIT




Ragscore.











LOCATION




Waters of Algol












MENTIONS




Dante, Ari










INTERACTS




qunqun qunqun


















PIN-EYE — Jhariah
































































scroll






Sanguine Stains




your path like a carpet of carnage. Its bloody jaws snap shut on your limbs, forcing you to walk upon the heap of carcass you created.






























Chapter Three, Part III.

Hands moist with sweat, the gun is beginning to slip from his perspiring grasp. And so, he opted for a more practical, snug placement on the back of his belted waist. The least used weapon in his knowledge of armaments is also his least favourable one. It’s too efficient in the art of killing, and the cold malice it harbours the moment the trigger is pulled profoundly disturbs him. No amount of sharpened arrows could ever rival the virulence of a bullet. And that fact alone frightens him. The acceleration for the path of destruction will always be a lingering dread for someone who specialises in the spectacle of manslaughter.

The moment Dante accepted the bread he offered, Tiberius lifted a gentle smile.

However, when inquired about the current predicament of everything, the gladiator couldn’t find the right words to describe the said predicament. Chaotic? Bemusing? Utterly depressing? Yeah, he doesn’t need to hear more of that. Perhaps it would be best if he were to keep it brief. “It seems like everyone is being tormented as well. I’m not sure, actually,” He said as he lifted his shoulders in a shrugging manner. Honestly clueless at what powers condemned them caged to such a nightmarish dream.

After a second of silence, Tiberius heard him sob once more, making his heart gnaw in sympathy. What he saw in him was no weak man. Only the complete accumulation of the pain and suffering the man must’ve gone through. What he saw in him was his humanity, seeping through him as each iridescent tear rolled from his cheek. The gladiator had the overwhelming urge to wipe his tears using his glove until the course edges of his voice chimed, preparing himself to speak once more. And what he had heart truly made the gladiator gaze at the man sympathetically.

“And I'm now I'm just holding bread and spewing all of my baggage onto you.”

His heart truly ached for Dante. The sentiment he felt for himself is something Tiberius heavily disagrees with. After hearing his confession and what he had seen, he had to say something—a verbal assurance since he had already covered the physical part.

“Loving someone is not pathetic.” He heartened genuinely while soothingly gripping his shoulder in an attempt to ground the man. On the contrary, Tiberius firmly believes that loving someone is the bravest thing one can do. It is the very indicator of humanity that brings him hope, that swells him with glee. “It doesn’t matter if what you saw was real; your feelings for that one person are,” The azure-eyed man delayed a second or two before continuing. “And that right there is your strength. Not your mother’s approval,” he shook his head, “It’s the fact that you stood up to her with an open heart.”

A light bulb lit upon his barren mind. “And you know what, I’m proud of you,” He grinned as his cerulean orbs made contact with his beautiful honey-tinted eyes, or is it sage also? Tiberius wasn’t sure, but the life brimming within them was enough to be deemed pulchritudinous in his eyes. “You’ll woo him one day. I believe in you.” He smirked, finally finding the time to wipe the fallen tears from his face with his raggedy gloves—they were practically falling off. Tiberius just hoped it didn't put dust in his eyes.

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

The gladiator’s chest rumbled with glee as he held back his laughter. Not that he finds his vulnerability hilarious, but his witticism is much appreciated in a time such as this.

“Don’t worry; I promise I won’t tell him,” he authentically replied. He is already planning ways to keep his lips locked the next time he encounters Ari again. All Tiberius can do is ensure that Dante is protected, from his silly little secrets to his physical form. The protective goliath is determined to stave off any malice that would push the man to the edges of his sanity. Vulnerability must always be met with kindness, nothing else and nothing more.

Tiberius untied the brown fabric wrapped around his upper arm and delicately offered it to Dante. “Here, you can blow on this.”

If only he could do more, Tiberius would gladly approach that path.






























♡coded by uxie♡
 










THE ANVIL






























scroll


ANON






KEEP









ㅎㅎ






























MOOD








Remorseful, Needing to feel useful























OUTFIT








Who needs a shirt?























LOCATION








BEACH

























INTERACTIONS








ILYA, DOLORES, LUCREZIA





















TAGS








Nifty Nifty , CrimsonInk CrimsonInk





































Now We Are Free— Taylor Davis
































































































































scroll












FILL THE UNFORGIVING MINUTE








with sixty seconds' worth of distance run, yours is the Earth and all that's in it. And - which is more - you'll be a man, my son.





























































CHAPTER THREE.

Seeing her lying there, unmoving, unresponding, his breathing became erratic. It was unclear whether his heart was beating too fast or whether it was beating too slow; all he knew was that there seemed to be a void in his chest where the heart was supposed to be. The world seemed to spin around him; nothing made sense. Where was the innkeeper? Where was the inn?

Forget the inn, Anon!

He looked down at Lucrezia. He knew what to do. He had had to take care of a few medical emergencies in his life, but he had never been the cause of them. His hands twitched, as though he could still feel the life draining from her body, the life he had taken. He stared at her limp body, drawing in deep, heavy breaths, but not taking in any air. Some how, despite deep gasps, he was losing more and more air by the second, panic filling him at the reality of what he had done.

His own thoughts berated him, ripped him apart. mOnster. mURdereR. kiLleR. EMbarRassMeNT. It started as a single voice and quickly crescendoed to a rallied chant, as though everyone he had ever met had their fingers pointing at him, declaring one thing and one thing only. mOnster. mURdereR. kiLleR. EMbarRassMeNT. mOnster. mURdereR. kiLleR. EMbarRassMeNT. mOnster. mUR-

The cacophony in his mind was silenced only by a rage-filled punch to his face. Physically, the punch did little more than cause his head to turn to the side, Anon stretching his jaw at the sting. Mentally, however, it was just the wake up call he needed to remember that there was a life at stake and that mattered more than whatever his regret-fueled imaginations were telling him.

"Right...right...help...I can help..." the words fell from his lips so softly that it was entirely possible that even Ilya hadn't heard them. In complete honesty, even Anon wasn't sure that he had spoken them. But he knew that the fair lady's life was to be his priority in this moment. He could throw a pity party for himself at a later time. Preferably after the lady's life was no longer in danger.

The man that had punched him - and rightfully so - had referred to her as Lucrezia. Was that her name?

He was ready to start performing chest compressions. He'd had to do that on a couple of his students when the forge got too hot for them to bear and they'd collapsed and weren't responsive. However, it would seem Ilya had already directed somebody else to take care of that. He watched as she began compressions, kneeling down on the opposite side of Lucrezia to her and twiddling his thumbs, unsure what else he could do to be of use in this situation.

Ease some of the tension, maybe? Maybe Lucrezia would wake up if she heard people laughing around her? Maybe Dolores, as the man had called her, would relax and breathe better if he made her laugh a little bit? Would she laugh? She looked like she had a nice laugh. Laughter helped every situation after all, right?

"...Dolores, right?" he started, forcing his voice to be as casual as he could manage in this situation, although he still struggled for his own breath. "Call me Forge. It's a...pleasure to meet you. Though I do wish we met under more lively circumstances." He cringed and cleared his throat, immediately regretting his hideous attempt at a joke. It was in such poor taste that it soured his mouth.

"Um...is there...anything I can help with? I'll do anything." His desperation to be of some form of service, to help right this wrong in some way, bled through in his voice. Granted, he could live his entire life in complete servitude of her and still never atone for his sin, but anything was better than kneeling here doing nothing...wasting the air that the woman in front of him desperately needed.



























































♡coded by uxie♡
 










THE DESCENDANT.






























scroll


DAHLIA






BLACKWATER








ㅎㅎ






























MOOD








Worthless























OUTFIT








These will do!























LOCATION








ALGOL BEACH

























MENTIONS








TALULLAH





















INTERACTS








ComplexDragon ComplexDragon





































MY JOLLY SAILOR BOLD — THE HOUND + THE FOX.
































































































































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ANGER IS A POTENT SPICE








A pinch wakes you up; too much dulls your senses.





























































CHAPTER THREE.

WARNING: Themes of abandonment, hallucinations, minor mentions of child neglect and child trafficking.

Cold air pressed against her skin like a dagger, sharp and unrelenting.

Dahlia's eyes fluttered open, meeting the gray sky that stretched in all directions, blurring into one unending mist. Her teeth chattered, her muscles heavy with fatigue, each movement slow, as if she were trapped in a dream. The world around her spiraled, images fading in and out of her blurry peripheral vision. She didn't realize she was spinning. Her knees dug into the sand, and she hovered there, fragile and lost—like a child whose world had fallen apart.

The walls she had built, once so impenetrable, crumbled away in seconds. She was no longer the woman she had once been—vulnerable, distant, disconnected from her former self. What remained was a ghost, drowned by the tea she drank before fleeing the memories that haunted her. Before her stood Amelia Porter, the abandoned child forever tethered to the Baron. A ghost forever belonging to the sea.

To those who wish to capture a mouse, this one was ready for the taking. Even to declare that the innocence of a child had never been so easily manipulated.

“Mum…?” Dahlia’s voice was soft, barely a whisper, as the harsh winds bit at her skin.

It took her a few moments to get to her feet, her body swaying like a toddler learning to walk. Pushing herself up, she took one step forward, almost ready to fall again. The reality around her slipped through her fingers, her heart buried beneath layers of fear, aimless and adrift. Her pale cracked lips quivered begging for hydration.

She’s not here.

You were sold, remember?

“No…no I wasn’t…” she denied the voices echoing around her.

But you were. Remember the precious gold? All the gold your mother can use for the rum.

“Stop it,” she sputtered out, her eyes spilled that precious salty liquid.

How strange it was that she tried to find words that mean some justification of her neglectful mother. The woman from the Cascades she heard who was so filled with life, what happened to that version of her mother? Why wasn’t the one from the Cascades her mother?

Feet dragged and kicked the sand moving slowly along. Noises all around overwhelmed her cognition. She stared back at the violence in disbelief, silent tears poured looking so helpless and exhausted that she almost didn’t notice that lock of brown hair. Big curls from a woman who backed away from a man she had seemed to injure.

Only the appearance began to ripple right in front of her. Those dark brown locks were pulled in a ponytail, her attire changing to a simple white dress, and just when she looked back to her, she could see the safety in those eyes. Those gorgeous, starry Cascadian eyes.

“You’re here….” For me.

Dahlia began to make her way over to the woman. It took a bit before she got closer, and her hands were brought to the woman’s face cupping her cheeks.

“Mum…?” she whimpered, “why did you sell me….? What did I do wrong?”



























































♡coded by uxie♡
 
CW: Vomit, Parental Abuse​






THE CHIMERA.















scroll

Dante



Fiocchi




ㅎㅎ















MOOD




Whoops, that's embarrassing











OUTFIT




Fancy drowned rat











LOCATION




Algol











MENTIONS




Yasmine, Tiberius









INTERACTS




Tiberius Nifty Nifty

















Only Acting — Kero Kero Bonito




























































scroll






Icarian Cloud.




To reach for silver lined impossibilities amongst thunderous perils






























Chapter Three.

Sniffle.

“It’s not that she doesn't approve of my life choices, it's that in the dream she let me make life choices.” Sniffle. Sniffle. “She wanted to know about a secret I was keeping.”

sniffle.

“Also I had a boyfriend in this alternate universe that they didn't want to murder.”

Word vomit was coming out of Dante’s mouth now.

“I thought I murdered my only boyfriend but it turns out I didn't, the guy I've been working for this entire time who is also my dad murdered him, and he gaslit me into thinking I did it for a decade so that I would be subservient to him” The wailing was back now. “I've done so many crimes for them because they wouldn't love me if I didn't make myself useful.”

…

“And apparently the pinnacle of a life that my mind can conjure up is disappointing my parents to a manageable degree where they still love me enough to openly disagree with my life decisions and continue to love me anyways.”

Sniffle.

“That's the best I can ever ask for in this universe. It's pathetic I couldn't even conjure up the idea of loving and supportive parents, the best I could do was manageable disdain.”

Sniffle.

“I’m so sorry.”

…

A gun went off and Dante’s entire body flinched backwards as the sound echoed off the fragile broken walls of his mind.

Hm. His dad had been as impassive as ever as Dante lowered the smoking gun. Next time, don’t look so scared when you shoot.

He saw the looks of shocked horror amongst the fixer’s bodyguards when he'd shot next time. The complete dead eyed expression he’d managed to affix into the leadened hole between his eyebrows.

He looked now, in the present, at Tiberius with this pale faced tremble. “I’m going to throw-”

Much to his credit, the chimera managed to clamber out of the hug and away from Tiberius to save himself from the complete humiliation of vomiting onto someone’s lap.

Didn’t stop it from hitting the sand though.

In between dry heaves as he spit remnants of vomit onto the sand, Dante looked at the yellow eyed stare from these greymaws watching the rest of the crew have a simultaneous breakdown.

And he felt rage.

Something white hot gripped inside of him as his mood swung from complete despair, guilt over all of the shit he’d done for people who never truly cared about him, the sudden realization that his parents had hated him since he was born, that nothing he did ever truly mattered, and it turned into fury.

“YOU FUCKING BASTARDS WHY DON’T YOU FUCK OFF ALREADY AND LEAVE US TO THIS FUCKING NIGHTMARE OF A SHITHOLE YOU-”

He reached for a gun that was no longer there, and resolved instead to take the vomit covered sand and throw it very ineffectively in the direction of what used to be Helga.

It landed in the water with a plop, but Dante had twenty years of pent up aggression to get through, and a standing audience of one poor gladiator and however many greymaws were floating out there.

“I HOPE YOUR DAD BEATS YOU FOR A PLATE SMASHING IN THE OTHER ROOM, I HOPE YOUR MOM TAKES YOU TO THE HANGING OF HER BOYTOY TO TEACH YOU ABOUT WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DISAPPOINT HER, I HOPE YOUR PARENTS DISINVITE YOU TO EVERY FUCKING FAMILY MEAL BECAUSE YOU FUCKED UP A CONTRACT WRITEUP WHEN YOU WERE TEN-”

This was going to go on for a while.

Tiberius I’m so sorry-

"-I HATE YASMINE I HATE THAT DIRTY LITTLE SNAKE-" Continuing on the path of self-destructive tendencies, Dante would have to share a boat with the lady who was probably most definitely in earshot of this part of the breakdown, hope she doesn't notice that part.

"-I FUCKING HATE THIS STUPID HAIR OIL AND I WANT TO RIP MY SCALP OFF WHENEVER I USE IT-" Some of the rage was just petty, but he'd never really been able to voice any opinions he'd had before so expect this one to go on for a while

Eventually, the twenty years of repressed hatred died out and he laid on the sand next to the hole that he'd scraped out with his small temper tantrum. He took some deep breaths in, and some deep breaths out, his breathing hitching every now and then until it was even once more.

"... I'm really sorry about that part." His voice was noticeably much hoarser now as he attempted to wipe his eyes with his nondominant hand. "We should... We should probably see if someone else needs... more... better help."

It was a lot quieter and meeker, like he himself was surprised about genuinely how much had been building for a while now, and in the somewhat fragile manner that comes with someone unused to honesty. "Did someone just get shot?"





























♡coded by uxie♡
 










THE BRIDE.






























scroll


Flora






CASSANDRA



FLORES








ㅎㅎ






























MOOD








Confusion, Pain, Bloodlust, Survival Instinct























OUTFIT








White shirt with full length sleeves; Brown bodice and skirt; Simple black shoes (Add a bunch of wet sand and some blood)























LOCATION








The Shore of Algol, but also The Canals, but also The Leviathan, but also The Haven Inn, and also The Cascades

























MENTIONS








Adrius, Calanthe, Quinlan, and Yasmine





















INTERACTS








M4R5 M4R5 ; floralmoon floralmoon ; CrimsonInk CrimsonInk





































Drowning (STWO Remix) - BANKS.
































































































































scroll












TAKE IT FROM THE GIRL



who made you soup and tied
your shoes when you were hurting.
You are not deserving.
'Cause I'm drowning for ya.





























































CHAPTER THREE PART THREE.


[Author’s Note: This post contains excerpts from Adrius’ History section in his CS, written by M4R5 M4R5 .]

Her ribs hurt from landing on the garden bed in front of The Haven Inn and the pain in her right hand was hard to ignore as Cassandra threw her hands up to block his hits. She cried out when her hand made contact with his cheek. The muscles in his face were clenched tight, eyes mean and unblinking as his large hands tried to subdue her.

He was unrecognizable.
He was terrifying.

Adrius, who slept mere footsteps away from her every night for the last 2 months, was always capable of being this man.
He was this man, she had to remind herself.
He didn’t beg for mercy or forgiveness like the other prisoners.
He didn’t clamour through the bars like the rest of poor souls in the cell.
He sat quiet, disguised in shadow in the back, until she noticed him and drew his attention to her.
She drew Quinlan’s attention to them.

A fist full of dirt from the garden hit her in the face, thrown by Adrius. A childish move, she thought. There was a single moment of rationality where Cassandra saw a woman in a sand soaked white dress on top of her.
She screamed, “YOU BITCH!” in a pitch drenched in Adrius’ sick growl.
Before Cassandra could process what was happening, someone’s fist made contact with her jaw.

Teeth clashed together as her head was thrown back into the soft bushes behind her. Weakly, her eyes opened to see Adrius pulling his arm back once more for a hit. If there was pain in her hand, it was long forgotten for the reverberation in her face from the punch. Both hands and feet braced against the man, shoving him easily to the side.

Blood rushed to swelling bruises in her face as she turned her head to see Adrius resting next to her. A dizzying wave hit her, like the thrashing of The Leviathan in the storm. For a moment, they were back in their bed in the Fitchner Cabin on board the ship.

This was the Adrius she knew.
Soft and quiet. Prickly, but mindful.
More than the monster Quinlan made him to be, as sure as he had done horrific things, it could not have been his choice.
After all, Quinlan had lied about his imprisonment.

"And what of him?" she asks, her voice soft but firm. Quinlan smirked, ready to spin his web of lies, "Ah, that one," he begins, “is a traitor of the highest order. A spy, no doubt, sent to undermine our efforts. He’s guilty of crimes beyond measure."
Before Quinlan can continue, from the shadows, Adrius spits in Quinlan's direction. His defiance clear despite his dire situation. But Cassandra is intrigued and sensing there's more than what's being let on, insisting that Adrius speaks for himself.

“I wish for him to say in his own words,” Cassandra knelt on the other side of the bars, hands gently resting on the bars in front of her. She was eye level with the man. He was not shy, and if he was afeared, there was no sign of it in his eyes.

"I am here because I defied Quinlan’s cause," Adrius finally says, his voice low and steady. "Nothing more, nothing less."

Did she know then how she would feel laying beside him, not sure if they would see the next sunrise?

Her fingers inched towards Adrius but stopped when he growled at her, feral like an injured wild cat.
It was all lies.
All of it was a lie.
She wasn’t in their bed on the ship.
She was in a garden bed outside of The Haven Inn, inches away from death at the hands of the man she thought cared for her.
The man she loved?

“LIES!”

With a cry, Cassandra lunged at the man, wildly scratching at his face. If there was something she had learned from the river otters at home in The Canals, it was the benefit of utilizing one's claws and loud sounds to disorient your opponent. From the bottom of her lungs she screamed, “THEY WERE ALL LIES!” aiming her nails at Adrius’ face not caring if she drew blood.

Did she know, when she cried out from the stands across The Stage for the executioner to halt their axe?
Did she know when she saved his life that she would have to fight him for her own?

He was blocking her blows.
She needed distance.

Quickly, she found her feet, backing up to make space between them.
Where were all the other people?
She needed to run.
Run where?
The unmistakable sound of surf hitting the shore made her head turn for a moment and then back at Adrius, who was bending to pick something up off the ground.
The shore line wasn’t far from the inn.
Adrius can’t swim.

The Leviathan moored not far from the shore, occupied with other passengers who didn’t seek the shore or freshwater.
I can swim that far.

“You can’t do shit now!” His tone is sharp, pitched in harmony with an unrecognizable shriek and spewed with a bite he had never displayed to her before. In his hand, he held a gun aimed in her direction, though he was taunting her.

If she was going to run, she had to run now.

Adrenaline coursed through her body as Cassandra raced down the lane towards the shore. She hit the sand and stumbled for a moment. She always hated running in the sand. The water was getting close, calling to her with a promise of safety.

Was he running behind her?
Was the gun still aimed at her?

For the second time that evening, Cassandra was tackled from the side, landing on the warm white sand beach in Tortoise Rill. A gunshot disguised as the crash of a summer wave filled her ears as she looked up at her best friend, Yasmine.



























































♡coded by uxie♡
 
Last edited:










THE HUNTSMAN.






























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MAGNUS
















































MOOD








FOCUSED























OUTFIT








Black obvs























LOCATION








ALGOL SHORE

























MENTIONS








MENTIONS !!





















INTERACTS


Mypilot Mypilot Antarin, AnimeGenork AnimeGenork Madelina











































HARP VARIATION — MARTIN PHIPPS.































































































































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DEATH TWITCHES MY EAR








"Live," he says,
"I am coming."





























































CHAPTER THREE PT III.


The cacophony that filled the Algol shores was nearly deafening. Magnus’ jaw was set tight, barely holding his composure in the face of the scene unfolding before him. Those--creatures stood with a practiced vigilance in the water, waves lapping against the dull, leathery grey of their skin.

He tightened the grip on his knife. When was the last time Magnus found himself on the other end of such predatory intent? He had been the hunter for so long he forgot the primal adrenaline that accompanied the nature of being the one hunted, instead.

Quick eyes scanned the milling bodies dotted around the beach. He should make himself useful, more for his own survival than any noble intent. Was that--Antarin? Magnus’ memory churned, spitting forward the few interactions he had shared with the man. He made it a point to avoid Antarin’s vigilant eye, lest he interject himself and prevent the bounty hunter from completing his work.

Magnus sucked his tongue against the bone of his teeth in a sharp tsk. Antarin was throwing himself in the water in the attempt to save some woman who had been tossed there in a fight. Sand sprayed like a fine dust with his movements.

Pushing off in the shifting sand, Magnus sprinted over towards him. Had he no sense of self preservation? Magnus could tell immediately that the woman’s blow to the head had been fatal. Like a bloodhound, he could smell death from even this distance.

White seafoam lapped at Antarin’s arms as he attempted to drag the woman back from one of the creatures--the spray of the waves suddenly tinting pink as the creature lashed out to secure its meal.

Magnus reached the man just as he began addressing the brunette who had pushed the other woman.

“There’s no use in dissecting that now,” He stated flatly. “You’re already wounded and we need as many able fighters as we can get.”

Magnus slid a small dagger from within the pocket of his jacket. He kneeled down into the sand, the fabric of his pants eagerly soaking up moisture from the damp sand beneath. “Besides,” he added, eyes scanning the woman’s features. “I believe she’s in shock.”

He held the dagger, handle first, towards Antarin. “If I were you, I’d get out of the water. Those beasts seem agitated by the smell of blood.”



























































♡coded by uxie♡
 





THE BUTCHER.















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Aurelian



Fiocchi




ㅎㅎ















MOOD




FUCK Y- ah shit this is awkward











OUTFIT




EDGE











LOCATION




The Shoreline











MENTIONS




Luc/Gallin









INTERACTS




Wyll Wyll

















Psychosocial — Slipknot




























































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The Tertiary Sin.




Boiling deep within, a bubbling heat of wrath. Venom seeping through bladed lexicon






























Chapter Three.

Aurelian was expecting to maybe get punched in the face. Or the shoulder maybe.

He was not expecting to have to worry about his head getting bashed in by a rock.

“Woah. Hey.”

Aurelian was called many things: irate, mean, wrathful, a stick up the ass, a bad attitude, easily angered. What he was not used to being was the voice of calm measured reaction.

Out of obligation of wronging someone, though, the normal rage at being attacked somewhat unjustly did not bubble up.

“I want to live! I want to live, Magnus!”

“That's great, put the rock down- wait who the fuck is Magnus” Aurelian did a small double take at being called a name that he did not recognize, head rearing back just a little bit as his nose and eyebrows scrunched up. Was this guy seriously Dante’s friend?

“I refuse!” … to put the rock down…?

“That seems marginally unreasonable” Aurelian muttered under his breath.

“I refuse to be another victim of your self-hatred”

… fucking rude. Aurelian clamped down on the small rise of heat from his belly he felt. Calm down.

“... Hey, let's not get personal here. I'm really trying to be reasonable for on-”

“So if you're going to kill me, kill me!”

“I'm not trying to-” Another small flare of annoyance at being cut off by Gallin’s strong life affirming speech about deserving to live.

“I won't be your puppet anymore”

“Dude. I swear to the stars if you try to hit me with that starsforaken rock.” Aurelian said somewhat exasperated

“I'm done running.”

“From WHAT. GALLIN. FROM FUCKING WHAT.” The snap came out faster than Aurelian’s filter. Deep breath. Calm down.

“My life is worth fighting for, I know that now.”

“THATS FUCKING GREAT TO HEAR. WE’RE ALL FUCKING HAPPY YOU’VE COME TO THIS CONCLUSION. PUT THE ROCK DOWN GALLIN.” Aurelian finally shouted at him.

Deep breath. Calm down.

“We kind of have BIGGER PROBLEMS on our hand-”

There was a gun shot and Aurelian flinched backwards from it. “Shit, I think someone got shot. If you're done with… whatever weird pep talk this is we need to go. And I swear to the stars if you try to attack me with that fucking rock-”

Because he needed to get that one little snap in there for the trouble of getting threatened with a rock.






























♡coded by uxie♡
 





THE GEMINI.















scroll

Gallin



Luc Cardin




ㅎㅎ















MOOD




...I WANT TO LIVE, DAMMIT











OUTFIT




In bed...DND











LOCATION




BEACH











MENTIONS




DAHLIA, ROSALINE, MAGNUS.










INTERACTS




AURELIAN ( qunqun qunqun )


















EVERLASTING — TAYLOR DAVIS.
































































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SEE THE WORLD




"Never feel bad for a blind man," he said finally; "for you see the world as it is, while I see it for what it could be."






























CHAPTER THREE.

His oppressor's words were not reaching him. At least, he refused to accept them. They sounded like just the things Magnus would say to get his prey to lower their guard. At least, that's what the mental image of Magnus he had in his head would do. But Luc was too clever to fall for mind games. Too well-versed in deception to be a victim of it himself. Surely, Magnus knew that.

However, one shot did manage to chink the armor of Luc's impenetrable mental defense. ...since when did Magnus raise his voice? And why would Magnus, of all people, call me Gallin? Magnus knowing Luc's real name was a trump card he had so proudly waved around when they first met. It made no sense for Magnus to drop it now.

"Gallin?" Luc blinked, staggering backwards as his mind spun in search of answers. He managed to keep himself standing but, the way his legs shook and his awkward stance made it clear that an enthusiastic gust of wind could knock him over soundly. He raised the stone above his head threateningly. Not intending to strike, but as a warning that his oppressor should not use him momentary imbalance as a means to try and get closer to Luc. He was stoned and not afraid to use it.

He shook his head, the voices of others on the beach finally filtering in. There was suddenly a throbbing on the side of his head as his faculties fought to purge themselves of the intrusion. The world slowly came into focus around him as he opened his eyes, finally able to see the truth of what was happening.

He raised a brow as he looked at the person standing before him. "F-Fiocchi?" he groaned out, immediately dropping the rock and resting his hands on his knees, doubled over as his mind continued to purge itself. If he wasn't sick already, he felt like he was going to be very soon. How much had Aurelian seen? How much had he heard?

"Where's Magnus? Where's...where's-" He stopped himself as he realised the absurdity of the next question. Where's my room? Where's the street? Both those questions made about as much sense as a horse could make wool. A few moments of thinking and he settled for a question that would raise fewer concerns about the stability of his mental state. "What's happening?"

Even as he slowly regained his senses and got an understanding of what was happening, he tried to focus on regaining control of his breathing. That was always a good start. He was very much Luc Cardin right now, in the presence of someone that only knew Gallin Forestson. He'd need to rectify that image lest everything he has worked so hard to build come crumbling down.






























♡coded by uxie♡
 
MOOD:
Disoriented

LOCATION:
The Haven Inn
OUTFIT:
MENTIONS:

the mutineer
saar ennes

A force of nature as strong as the ocean could shake even the strongest tree, ripping its roots one wave at a time until it forced a giant to his knees. The ocean could wash one away into the forgotten past, burying any evidence of one's existence into a murky and unknown grave. Even as waves crashed against the hull, Her faith was never shaken. Her time was yet to come, only a sign from the divine universe could convince her otherwise.

Her unwavering stoicism, however, provided an anchor for a few aboard the Leviathan. A hand she reached out to those who trembled in fear at the unknown fate their ship held. An embrace to the quivering woman fearful of the destiny the sea held. Souls waiting to be shepherded to the light of the universe and be embraced above the corruption and filth that tainted the Levithan daily.

This storm was certainly not her first test, but towards her quest for righteous piety… it would be a series of many she would have to overcome in order to clean the Levithan and begin shaping a future more worthy of existence.

Though tumultuous, the storm presented many gifts. Clumsy was the working of men. Clumsy in leaving gaps and holes for those that wished to pierce would see. A needle can pierce even the smallest opening of flesh. She would collect these weaknesses and store them away. His weaknesses would prove to be her success. With each fallacy, each inadequacy perceived, the taste of retribution and salvation lingered longer in her mouth.

–

the Key my Ignorant Lex… Lies in Excavating Xanthite deep below the surface core. only a matter of time. only only only only only a matter. of… 462. time.

Words scrawled onto parchment bound in a drylogged book. Since boarding the Levithan, Saar had written extensively in it. It was bound in tight leather guarding the interior from prying eyes, though it was easy to keep from prying eyes when it was tucked so perfectly away in her quarters. Pen kisses parchment as leather seals away the strange text and is stowed neatly under sheets.

Saar thought it unwise to leave the Levithan– if the storm wished to kill them, the storm wished to kill them. It would do so in a large vessel or a small vessel. But the sheep aboard the ship craved solid ground. And as sheep so often do, they flock and find themselves herded away before they can even cry out in protest.

Saar found herself among the sheep, not so much a part of the flock as she was a wolf wearing the carcass of her kill– Ah, she caught herself too many times in such a line of thinking. Saar’s rapport with the passengers and crew of the Leviathan was growing by the day. She found herself twisted and twined closer with each soul aboard the ship each minute she was allowed to interact. The wolf could not be her… Not when she smiled so kindly, and consoled so expertly… No she would devour some of the flock, and find her wolf to cry to.

–

More comfortable aboard the rain and salt soaked longboat, the Haven Inn went by in bright blurs of haziness. Even when she felt the satisfaction of a full stomach and a dry body, Saar felt apprehension in the lack of suffering apparent in the visage of the Haven Inn. How fortunate to be so close to the ocean and yet spared of the ruinous tale of her song. How pleasurable it could be to give in to temporary comforts. She felt the lure of rest singing to her in sweet melodies, chiding her to escape responsibility, escape consciousness…

For a moment, Saar allowed herself temptation. However small. And found herself slipping off and succumbing to the alluring nature of a bed, tugging her deep into its arms and plunging her into the throws of sleep, deep and soothing, as if she rested on the chest of her mother and dozed off to the rhythmic sounds of synchronized breathing. In and out. In and out. Mother and Daughter. Sinner and Saved.

It took but moments, or what seemed like moments, for Saar to jerk from the tendrils of sleep. As if breathing for the first time in minutes. Alert, rigid, and grasping for cold metal secrets that kissed her flesh and dug into her thigh.

That woman had slipped in, Saar recognized, immediately feeling the tension in her shoulders smooth out. Though, her instant ease might have warned her to remain alert. “I must not have heard you knock.” Saar said pointedly to the woman, black eyes trained on her form, observing the outline of fine ceramic. The woman feels like a mirage in a strange dream, sleep still clinging to her vision and fogging her mind. “The tea, how kind.” Saar corrects herself with a groggy smile clumsily slipping on her lips. The friendly facade was quick to present itself after a moment of cohesion from her mind.

Her presence grows warm as she brings forward the warm beverage. A storm on the sea could feel like ice blades piercing through your very being– hot tea could soothe even more than the Haven Inn already was. Lifting black eyes up, she meets the strange gaze of the woman, words spilling from her lips as she entices conversation out of Saar.

“I want…” She speaks, voice sounding hollow and distant temporarily. She focuses back on the woman, unable to keep a solid gaze. “I want the world to be cleansed.” She admits softly, a gently smile taking on the soft features of Saar. “I want people to be holy again.”

Saar gazes down at the tea, swirling the liquid gently around. The warm facade begins to fade away. She begins to smell the strength of tea, nose turning up. “You know…” Saar breaths out the words like a cautious whisper… “I never really liked tea.”

[ ] 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐀
coded by reveriee.
 










THE OPHIDIAN.






























scroll


YASMINE










LAVIGNE








ㅎㅎ






























MOOD








WTF, HAHA EVERYTHING IS FINE























OUTFIT








SHOWING SOME SKIN























LOCATION








Beach in Algol

























MENTIONS








Ilya
Calanthe, Cassandra, Dante





















TAGS








qunqun qunqun picklemouse picklemouse qunqun qunqun





































CHOKEHOLD CHERRY PYTHON — ASHNIKKO.
































































































































scroll












POWER IS POWER








The gods have no mercy, that’s why they’re gods.





























































CHAPTER THREE.

Damn these boots and the sand. Normally Yasmine would have no trouble traversing this kind of environment, but right now it was completely holding her back – basically halfing her speed and it was frustrating. She watched as her baby otter jumped at the woman in front of her. Her nails dug against flesh with blood staining under her fingernails, the blood curdling scream from the woman under left shivers. Yasmine barely got there in the middle of their fight, her hands grabbed the barrel of the gun to have it face the other direction. From other bodies hopefully. She immediately tried to calm the situation, until she looked back towards Cassandra — CASSANDRA NO!

“CASSANDRA!” she roared, her eyes widening in fear forgetting the other woman and sprinting towards her, “CASSIE NO! CASSIE BABY NO!”

Fear never felt real in her reality. She imposed fear onto others, never once had she felt fear ever take over, until now. Cassandra, her childhood friend from the Canals, her otter baby, her best friend, the only good thing in her greedy life, was the one thing that made her feel that fear and she wasn’t going to lose her over some dehydrated grey monsters.

"-I HATE YASMINE I HATE THAT DIRTY LITTLE SNAKE-"

Dante, shut up, you love me — nope, not right now. Focus on the otter baby.

This time she was much faster, more diligent, and without hesitation she tackled the woman to the sand. Yasmine took in deep breaths to control her rapid breathing, her thighs hugged Cassandra’s sides for good measure, because no way in hell is she going to let her run again.

“Hey babes,” she smiled at her, moving the pieces of hair and sand off her face, “why look at ya….the same as ever.”

She knew she had to be quick with her thinking. The woman was sure acting oaty right now, and an oaty otter was unpredictable under the algol spell. How to get her out was beyond her. All the sayings about Algol felt superstitious, and here she was experiencing their damn myths to become living facts. To buy her some time or at least until the effects wear off, she needed something to keep her occupied. Knowing Cassandra well, she has the energy of a kid drunk off candy.

“You know what babes….isn’t it turtle season?” she cooed softly, her lies dressing her words true, “how about we help the baby turtles?”

Where was that damn doctor?

Using the rest of her strength she helped pull Cassandra up away from the water, holding her hand reassuring her the way back to the people. Her eyes darted everywhere searching for the man, looking around and thankfully seeing other people help the other weird ones. What a fucking day this was.



























































♡coded by uxie♡
 
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