Fantasy The Mogul (IC)

[Britt-21]

Saturday Evening - 8:30pm - Noniel Execution Facility - North East corner of the map

All the Moguls collected were sitting in their own cells again for the evening. Every cell was different to some degree, solid white rooms that were soundproof for the some of the Verbals and heavily padded (While comfortable it still sucked), Rooms without windows for the some of the Mentals which were just big boxes of a room, and of course the Physicals got those normal cells with some bars making them really feel like prisoners in this place while exposing the front of the cell to peer inside. Everything was confiscated, including jewelry, accessories, enchanted items, and more. After all, did you really need those things when you were immediately on death row? No, not really. The only thing left was just the clothing they most likely came in with (though if it was enchanted you don't have that anymore). It was the same night, nothing different with Officers patrolling the halls with their fancy magical guns to put down any Mogul that decided to do anything that would cause the place issue.

Everyone knew that everyone in the facility - Aside from the officers - were going to be killed without a doubt one day or another. Every other hour or so there was always someone being dragged out to the execution rooms to be murdered in cold blood just because they existed. No matter how innocent they were, how old or young they were. It was a horrible scene. Just waiting for your turn was always agonizing because you knew you wanted to live, and even if you didn't there was still that tug to live. Live for that other half that your Mogul self pulled you towards. No matter how much you hated it or loved it. No one would understand the connection outside of the Moguls. How would anyone? After all, there was no Mogul to tell any type of story in life since they were always being eradicated and always popped up some how, some way, without knowing the real reason how Moguls were created aside from randomness.

In one of the normal cells were those that were physical.
Cell 1 Included:

Spoiler

leviohsa
TheRealAngeloftheStorm
Britt-21
The Elder

In two of the Soundproof rooms were those that were verbals(maybe a mix):
Cell 1 Included:

Spoiler

MangoGoGo
Key of Stars
Slav
Megilagor
Mineczka

Cell 2 included:

Spoiler

AriAriAbabwa
SilverFeathers
Servant
-ferret-
Human Instrumentality

And there was one cell that had been both Soundproof and windowless, which may have had a mix of some:

Spoiler

Kyuubey
Phayne
Benadryl Plankton
Seraphine

Unfortunately, there was one of Mogul that happened to be stuck where most would not want to be 0stinato . Locked in an execution room being restrained and stuck to a bolted down chair. No one was kidding when they said these were execution chambers. Though to the person inside, they knew they were almost like torture chambers. In the chair it may have seemed not as bad, but in reality, that metal chair was a conduit to electrocuting the life out of you. Literally. To be quite frank, you could be toyed with more by turning the current on and off. The people that ran these cells weren't like the guards. They were people who resented the Mogul and felt like they deserved everything that came to them.

**Everyone gets one post this round before things happen. So oocly you can say if your characters already introduced and what not as at this point everyone is in their cells for some time now. Have fun**​

 

[SilverFeathers]

Lilia Canteru | Passive

Location: Soundproof Cell 2
Tags: -ferret- Human Instrumentality Servant AriAriAbabwa

Lilia had slowly but surely hardened during her time imprisoned. She no longer maintained that gentle, everlasting smile on her face, instead leaving a quiet, distant and icy expression in its wake. Since a year ago when fire and glass first rained from the skies, she knew this day would come. But as prepared as she tried to make herself, that didn't make reality any easier.

Her pale blue hair was messy and dishevelled, and her once glowing violet eyes had since darkened and dimmed. The fabrics of her clothes had also dulled from being dragged and thrown. For the evening, she lurked in a quiet corner of the cell, leaning against the wall as she watched the silent world outside the window.

Yesterday, someone from her cell was executed.

Dear little Nina, younger than even herself. She loved to talk and tell stories, perhaps it was her way of coping, but it made the cell more warm all the same. When she was taken... she went quietly, leaving nothing behind but a smile. But that smile was proof of Lilia's own death looming nearer, and the fearful palpitations of her heart had not calmed since.

Frowning and holding her chest, she took a few quiet breaths before looking towards the one likely in a worse state than herself. Mitra, delicate, beautiful and fragile, she feared for their sanity the most out of everyone here. Being stuck in this cell with them the longest, it was inevitable that she held the most affection for them. With Nina gone... they were next. And that thought stung her eyes.

Shuffling quietly across the cold floor, she didn't think, and just reached out to hold their hand. What was inhibition when they were all going to die anyway? She just wanted them to know that she knew, and she was there. More selfishly, she was using them to comfort her own rippling heart too.

Every time Lilia saw someone being dragged away outside the window, she grew fearful. If she were to see him in that state... how would she react? Would she... be able to handle it? It was... something that couldn't help but gnaw at the back of her mind most days. She knew they hadn't been here as long as some of the others but... it didn't seem like an organised order of disposal mattered to the guards.

She deeply feared that Lumian would... do something that would get himself killed sooner. Rather than a possibility actually, it was a certainty that he had and will. She knew him too well after all. She could only pray that the facility would be tolerant and not speed up his demise. Some days, she even entertained the thought of asking to be executed at the same time. At least... that way, she wouldn't have to deal with the pain that would follow.

Subconsciously, her hand tightened around Mitra's. They lost their partner already a week ago. Were you close to them? Bond-wise... how did it feel? Lilia had many questions at the time... but she couldn't bare to ask for more detail. Since then, they've had many newcomers. Edmund, Carina, her fellow Lily, it became more lively so quickly. As friendly and welcoming she was to them all, she feared the growing crowd only spelled their doom... and falling into despair became harder and harder to escape.

 

[Servant]

Sincere to a fault

Carina Schreier

Please, stay safe.

The gelid night had reared its grim presence once again, drowning the entire prison in a sombre & absolute silence, broken ever so often by the quiet sobs of some of its inmates. Dotted across each and every cell were the broken silhouettes of all its victims, stripped of their rights and dignity, mere cattles for the slaughterhouse. Amongst them sat Carina whom, despite her only recent condemnation, was already left in a dishevelled state of existence. It had only been a month, and yet it felt like an eternity, the entire ordeal had struck her like a speeding train. To those who previously knew her, she’d probably look like a complete stranger, her cheerful demeanor now having been almost fully eroded, leaving behind someone who was barely hanging onto a string of hope. However, her being’s most apparent change was also the most gruesome one: The complete removal of her missing eye’s accessories, including its prosthetic. As a result Carina was forced to have her left eye now constantly shut, with her hand occasionally reaching upwards to cover it up due to the alien feeling that such exposure made her feel.

Unlike some of the more restless & anxious inmates, Carina chose to sit completely still on her preferred spot, which was located right in front of her cell door. She quietly stared out into the bleak and oppressive sight that was the facility beyond her cell, the motivation behind her decision not being one based on a yearning for the freedom that lay beyond the door, but rather it revolved around a gut-wrenching worry that wouldn’t leave her alone: “Was today the day when they were finally gonna execute Chris?” ( Slav ) This fear shadowed her every thought, not a single moment would pass without her blood freezing at the mere implication of it. Every night Carina was plagued by nightmares that felt so real, the clear sight of Christoph being forced out of his cell, as the two shared one final melancholic gaze before he was dragged out to the execution grounds. Just thinking about it was enough to make her body tense up, but she had to stay near the door in case her nightmare became a reality, she desperately needed to see her best friend again. And who knows, maybe if the guards took notice of her they’d pick her before Christoph.

Other than the knowledge of Chris still being alive, the only thing that had kept her from crumbling completely were her cellmates, a group that Carina had known for a brief time, but had come to treasure each one of them. To begin there was Lilia, the veteran and pillar of the group. To Carina, Lilia ( SilverFeathers ) was the emotional safety net that she needed during her life’s last miserable chapter. Carina knew she could count on her whenever she was in dire need of comfort. Next up was Lilith ( AriAriAbabwa ), in a way she was the soul of the group, shining brightly even in the darkest of places. She had a tendency to blindside her with questions she wouldn’t have expected in a million years, but the laughs that each of her words brought to Carina were something that she desperately needed. Moving on there was Edmund ( Human Instrumentality ), definitely the group’s second pillar. Despite his older age in comparison to the rest of the group, he was a much welcome addition to the group. Having him around brought a strange feeling of safety to Carina, though at the end of the day she knew it was all an illusion. Still, watching his reactions to Lilith’s questions were hilarious. Rounding up the group was Mitra ( -ferret- ) , one could call them the black sheep of the group. It’s true, their much more reserved and quiet personality made them a bit absent when it came to the group's conversations, but despite this Carina wanted with all of her heart for them to stay near. Only superficially did she understand the pain they were going through, the pain of losing their partner, a pain that Carina wasn’t strong enough to dwell upon for long. All that she hoped for was to perhaps hear Mitra laugh alongside the group, joining them in their silly conversational escapades, though the chances of this happening felt bleak at the moment.

Well, I wasn’t completely truthful, there was one more member of the group: Nina. God, just thinking about her sent a sharp pain right through Carina’s heart. What a ray of sunshine had that girl been, always smiling, always having a story up her sleeve to tell the group. Like that one time her and her partner had caught this huuuuuge fish that kept them fed for an entire week, or that other time when they both got to witness the most dazzling display of fireworks they had ever seen. But Carina couldn’t reminisce for long, she was already fighting back the urge to cry. Her nails dug deep into the side of her legs as she remembered one more time the smile that Nina had shown the group before she was escorted away, like a broken VHS the scene kept playing over and over again inside her head. Carina tightly hugged her legs and rested her head on top of her knees as she attempted to fall asleep, even her nightmares wouldn’t bring as much anguish as the present.

Code By Nano

 

[0stinato]

Hmmm…

Stink dripped from the ceiling. Each time the restrained man thought he had puzzled out the layers of hazy odour, another revealed itself. Singed hair, stirred dust, rust and ozone. Each lungful was concocted to dull the spirit, numb the throat and remind the heart it was beating - for now. And that was the cut-off, wasn’t it? For now. The wrist restraints weren’t about to be loosened, the chair wasn’t about to get any warmer, the room wasn’t about to get any brighter; but for now, Mogul, you are alive.

And what do you seek in these moments? What crosses the crowded canvas of the mind strapped upright in the metal easel? Wishes of final comfort? Hopeful thoughts of home? Bitter memories of past loves? Poetic musings on sights you will never see? The shape of a speck of something on the floor? - the shape of a speck of moisture on the - a tearstain on the -

The restrained man let his pain in, let the broken bulb of grief unfurl within his chest. There could be a hundred execution rooms in this complex, there could be just this one, but specific location didn’t matter; spiritual placement did. One day ago, while held in a crowded cell, he’d felt a magnetism snap away. A part of him had vanished, swirling into emptiness that shrieked for his attention. Execution had severed his family. What would Ma say, having lost the daughter she had raised? Would she scream, bargain, accept? He was only ten when he’d seen her last, but his sister said she was doing well.

Said. Past tense, forever. Throat caught - chest tight - eyes stinging. Sat in an execution chair all the while.

He knew what Da would do - go quiet, go stoic, light a cigarette and set out for a walk, wrists trembling, eyes moist. He might not come back for a week. He’d refuse to talk about it after that, although he’d accept what it was. A girl his own, but a woman he barely knew, had passed. It was a fact, but one that, even in its hard-edged bluntness, would inspire a paroxysm in its wake.

That same swelling grief tore through him, leaving him gasping and clutching at the arms of the execution chair with fingertips numbed by pain.

At the very least, it tried to.

With calm ease, the restrained man observed its trajectory through his body, breathed through the pang in his throat and quelled the nausea before it became too much to deal with. A controlled exhale loosened his chest, and the taut muscles in his form relaxed. He hadn’t cried.

Hmmm…

Nina Reinham had been executed here. Alone, terrified, scared, most likely sobbing. A woman, a girl, a little sister, a reunion cut so, so short. A Mogul - his partner in this strange duo power - ripped away, leaving a cavern in the mind.

And now Florian Reinham faced the same fate in a world emptier than it was before.

And in possibly in the same chair.

Hmm.

C’est la vie.

There is nothing whatever to be done.

0stinato

Florian smiled without mirth, but with serenity. It was an expression that often graced his lips. It clashed with the half-lidded pale eyes that suggested depression rather than ease. Despite the disconnect, the smile took up residence once more, never wavering, even when he heard the great heavy boots of the officials walking past the execution room. He’d been dragged in here about a month ago, and even then he had smiled. He’d struggled and tried to run sure, but only a fool wouldn’t. The Noniel Empire wanted his kind dead. A month in a cell, two weeks since he had even witnessed his sister. But he didn’t need to - until that cut-off, he knew Nina was nearby. But now, there was nothing.

She was gone, and Florian was nought more than a man. The Mogul was dead, yanked from his chest, shocked into silence a day ago. The cut had taken his voice, and those he was previously in a cell with could get nothing out of him. And who were they? He knew their names, but failed to recall any of them in this moment. Someone humble, someone devious, someone aggressive, someone impassive and someone melancholic - their voices, their stances, he might remember those if he wasn't crippled from the loss of his power.

But Florian never had much power at the best of times. It was all Nina. All of it.

She was kindness and anxious magic, an old identity awakened upon her reunion with Florian. A short-lived six months of discovery and true kinship, of protective thoughts and nervous laughter, mostly from her, sometimes from him. Where she had walked with purpose, moving to the Noniel Empire from Visenburg, he had drifted to years later in the seat of a motorcycle, ignoring street regulations and smiling at officers. She stormed; he wandered. They met by chance, or by necessity of the magnetism within them both, crossing a bridge in the Empire. She was walking; he was riding. He felt a surge of connection, knew then a half had become whole and looked over to see her, standing with friends overlooking the river. She too had turned to him, one hand on the railing, the other raising to her mouth.

When she got nervous she would chew her nails, Florian recalled.

He had made an illegal u-turn and pulled the motorcycle onto the pavement, to the dissatisfaction of Nina's friends. A man older than her, stopping and staring at her from beneath a leather bike helmet, with her in turn staring back. Florian didn't know what to do, and she didn't know what to say.

But speech would be decorative. Their connection was in their minds, secret psionics establishing kinship before even a handshake could commence. There was her power, awoken and trembling, pure twisting storm, and his slow, precise aura was the only force capable of driving it. All Florian did was direct, conduct, quiet the rowdy orchestra of lashing power inside his sister’s soul, make it manageable, make it sustainable. They would change the world, all from a bridge in the Noniel Empire.

But change was improbable now. That power was dead. And Florian’s along with it. But still, knowing it all, feeling it all and brushing away the effects, facing his own doom and last finite breaths upon the land that hated his possibilities, Florian smiled.

Without mirth.

And without care.

--
Mentions: MangoGoGo Key of Stars Slav Mineczka Megilagor also SilverFeathers for permission to build on Nina.

 

[Key of Stars]

Lumian Isca
Location: Soundproof Cell 1
Mentions: SilverFeathers 0stinato MangoGoGo Slav Mineczka Megilagor ​

Fuck this. This shitty facility, those sacks of shit calling themselves guards and, most of all, this godforsaken cell, all of it could go to hell. Better yet, if he ever got out of here he would plunge it into hell himself. Everyday, Lumian would wake up in the same solid white shithole he'd gone to sleep in. A bland, never changing space cut off from the rest of the world, like a cruel twisted joke. Then again, that was what this was, a cruel joke. They were all set to be executed simply because they were different, the government didn't need another reason.

His fists, arms and face were covered in smears of dried blood. Most of it was undoubtedly his own, but he knew there was blood from the guards mixed in too. It was frustrating in a way, the fact that he couldn't tell his own blood apart from the blood of those inhuman pieces of shit. He'd done a number on the guards that dragged him to this cell, and they had done a number on him in return.

Perhaps, if he was alone, he would have pushed his luck. He would have kept fighting back, even after they'd restrained him and pushed the muzzle of a gun against the back of his head. Bleeding out on the cold hard floor of the hallway while staring up at the guards' bloody faces would have been an acceptable end for Lumian. If he had the strength left, he might have even spat in their face before he went to see his dad.

But he wasn't alone, not anymore. He'd seen the look in her eyes in that moment he'd last caught a glimpse of her... Lilia... He cursed under his breath. She'd already accepted she was going to die. That was exactly like her, but impending death was not something he was willing to accept. He'd fight for the both of them. Until they were out of here or until they were dead, Lumian would keep resisting until the moment he drew his last breath.

And if they had to die. He refused to die first, refused to have Lilia suffer through that pain. He could refuse all he wanted, but in the end he was powerless to do anything. He could only hope the guards hated him enough to think it right for him to suffer through the death of his partner.

He spend his days watching the door to the cell, as if a solution would appear if he only stared at the solid white surface long enough. In a way, his staring had paid off, because that door had opened what must have not even been an hour ago. He'd told the guards that stepped in to go fuck themselves, he'd even risen to his feet and taken a step forward. But he had just as quickly given up and sunk back down in the face of the gun pointed his way as they dragged one of his cellmates out into the hallway and closed the door behind them just as quickly as they'd opened it.

He couldn't risk it, not while Lilia was alive. He couldn't risk his life for a man who, by all means, had already died the day before. He briefly wondered if Florian would feel offended that he didn't. Lumian himself certainly wouldn't, he didn't expect those left in the cell to lift even a finger if he were to get dragged off. He doubted Florian did either. Lumian could guess what had happened the day before, would he end up like that as well?

Probably not, it was more likely that he would fly into a rage and meet his end right here, staining the perfect white floor of the cell. But that was preferable, preferable over having Lilia suffer through whatever the man who was either about to die or already dead had suffered through.

If one of them had to suffer, he hoped it would be him. After all, it was his fault they ended up here. A quiet bitter laugh escaped his lips. No... Fuck that. He knew who was at fault, he stared at the spotless surface of the door. "Better hope I don't get out of here alive."

 

[AriAriAbabwa]

❝ Lilith Svanenhielm. ❞

【mood】— ugh

【location】— Soundproof Cell 6

【tags】— MangoGoGo Servant SilverFeathers -ferret- Human Instrumentality .

So. End of the road. Hasta la vista. See you next time. If her life was to end now, so be it. She lived a good life.

That is what Lilith Svanenhielm wanted to think. But the fact is, she hadn't even graduated yet! In just a month, all her goals in the grown-up world flew out the window with metaphorical wings called life. Goodbye, telling kids to "value your days in school." Goodbye, thinking back to the past and muttering "When I was your age, I did x and y." If only her family stayed home in Yamor. Only in these other kingdoms would something so silly be the deciding factor of life or death. Her parents were going to raise hell about this, no doubt about it. Maybe they'd rally the old Svanenhielm clan and march through with axes and the gusto her great-grandfather always spoke of.

Unless she was next, in which death might have been the better than spending another day in this cube. As awful as it was seeing Nina and knowing it would be the last moments of her life, death was surely the greater alternative. There's probably a bunch of great people wherever she ended up. Lilith didn't voice it, but that thought was the only thing keeping herself afloat.

And maybe that poor, annoying kid that was her partner could be free of her...

But through the air of dread hanging over everything, one unexpected grievance made itself known the most to Lilith. One that she could only express:

"I'm bored..." She sat, legs flat against the wall, ruffling her already disastrous hair into more tangled locks. This was especially true now that their storyteller was gone, and the dead air was palpable. She had to do something.

"Other Lily~" Lilith slid across the ground like a slug, bumping into her feet. "Please tell you've got something neat to share with the class? Something that'll lift this dreary curtain away?" Before she had a second to respond, though, Lilith shook her head and continued. "No, shut up. You don't. Ah, hell, none of you paskiainens got anything, do you?" She chuckled. "Seeing as our time together is finite, I think it's only fair I tell you one of my stories after prodding you all."

Lilith sat up, flicking her hair behind her back. She patted the ground. "Gather around, kids, you won't wanna miss this!"

She relaxed on her backside, flaunting her belly as she began. "So, I knew this absolute hunk back in school. He was kinda dumb, but he was cool. One time he asked me out, and I said, 'Only if you come into class ass-naked!' I admit, I half-expected him to do it, but also I really really didn't." She snorted at the memory. "But that mad lad did! Had all the girls screaming their lungs off, it was the funniest shit I've ever seen! Then I walked up to him and said, 'You here to save the day, King Arthur? Flaunt your mighty Excalibur from its sheath? Looking for a devilish succubus to slay? Hm?'" Lilith shut her eyes, making no attempt to hide the fact that she was fantasizing about the moment. "Then we ran outside to the bushes and I lost my virginity. Good times!"

Lilith laughed freely at her own story. What even was his name? Whoever the hunk was, she hoped he was having a good life right about now; being not a Mogul, and not on death row. Hoping was the only thing they could do at this point...

&&— ❝ the brash. ❞​

 

[Kyuubey]

scroll

the passionate

AVELINE

mood

compassionate

location

mogul facility

location

crackerjack box

interactions

Zenrias, Leopold, Ciaran

tags

Phayne Seraphine Benadryl Plankton

Aveline remembered every face. Every face that sneered at her in passing. Every face that turned in disgust at what she was. Every face that twisted into laughter at the girl whom was destined to sit in a cell until they decided it was time to put an end to the life that didn’t matter to them. If their face wasn’t visible, hidden by a mask or helmet, Ava recalled their voice. Their words echoed about within her mind, a cacophony of taunts they’d found it fit to slew at her.

Those lips of hers had curved back into a smile of their own in retort. It wasn’t a kind nor polite gesture. It was a promise that the blade she was envisioning sunk deep in the space right between their eyes, embedded to the hilt within their skulls, would soon not be just a thought. No, it would become reality whether she did it in life or death. They’d all die. The violent images that made a home in her head... Those were the things that kept her company whilst her back rested against the cold ground and her legs were kicked up in a nonchalant manner along the wall. Every now and then she switched which ankle crossed over which but her stature remained the same. Upside-down sitting. It was oddly comfortable.

Time passed and each second that she continued to feel her other half hadn’t met a terrible end was what solely kept a tight leash on her sanity. Somehow in a room filled with a skeptic, a lunatic, and a man plagued by fever dreams… Ava hadn’t lost her damn mind. Knowing Liên Xuân was alive was the tether she needed to remain calm.

Unlike the more sullen or vacant look surely making itself at home in the eyes of some of the others who were also being held captive in one of the many cells she knew surrounded theirs, Aveline’s eyes remained like a beacon in the darkness. Sharp and full of life. Tilting her head, that gaze of hers drifted towards the man who had been falling in and out of slumber the past few days. They’d been thrown in this particular cage… no, it couldn’t really be called that. At least a cage had a view. This was a glorified closet. No windows and the walls were thicker than usual. Padded perhaps. Either way, the man across from her had arrived with a swollen face, concussed and in rough shape. It was enough to warrant Ava ripping off the cloak that was securely snug across her lithe shoulders and wrapping it around the stranger like a makeshift blanket of sorts. It couldn’t shield him from what was to come but it would hopefully offer him warmth.

The next few days Ava had tended to his wounds with hands that were unusually delicate and tender. There was a familiarity about the horrific state of his face that brought a few memories clawing their way back to the surface. How many times had she woken up with a face closely resembling that? Unsavory memories. They were hastily drowned out as she tasked herself to cleaning him up the best she could with what she had which admittedly wasn't much. Her gloves acted as a cloth to wipe the blood and she'd swept his hair from his feverishly sweaty forehead plenty of times. Through all of his delirium and pain, Aveline had managed to pry a name out of him in the midst of one of his barely coherent moments.

Zenrias Taira.

The man didn’t get a name in return. And even if he had, the memory of it would probably have faded just like his wading and fleeting consciousness. The woman began to wonder if he’d save the guards the trouble of having to execute him by just falling into a perpetual sleep that he’d never wake from. It would be a more peaceful death, that much she knew. But one she couldn’t bring herself to sit idly by and just allow to happen.

Everyone deserved a fighting chance, especially someone standing, well sprawled out unconscious, on common ground. They were all here for the same reason. A sweeping glance was given towards the other two. It wasn’t as if the other two were what she could claim as incredibly helpful. Whilst Zenrias had nightmares and talked in his slumber, or groaned in pain, one of the others seemed to be awake in a nightmare and actually living it. He appeared lucid at times but other times Aveline could tell that there were indeed more than a few screws loose and jumbling around in that head of his. She’d entertained his questions simply because it seemed to put him at ease. The last thing she wanted was to fight off a madman. They were dangerous, even if unarmed.

And then there was the other male who watched them as if at any second they’d turn on him and flay him alive simply for existing. The suspicious looks didn’t go unnoticed every time she lent Zenrias aid though she knew no amount of explanations would stop him from burning holes into their skulls. In the end, he had no reason to trust them. Due to the nature of her current friends, new meaning was given to sleeping with one eye open.

The sudden sound of Zenrias thrashing in one of his recurring nightmares made Aveline jump from her current spot to rush by his side. She’d have to forcefully wake him as she had been every few hours due to the nasty bump swelling on the side of his head that she’d come across. If he slept too long… she wasn’t sure he’d wake again. Nor was she entirely sure that he wanted to wake from one nightmare to find himself in another. Still... Just as she was reaching over she felt a clammy yet firm hand grab onto her wrist. Instead of pulling away, Aveline immediately shifted into a practiced stillness. That same name he’d been saying the last few days once again tumbled from Zenrias’s lips. It belonged to a woman though Aveline knew nothing of the person or history behind it. The tone dripping from it sounded pained. It clearly brought him anguish which was written on the contorted expression shadowing over Zenrias’s once peaceful slumbering face. Aveline did the only thing that made sense after that in an attempt to calm him. She reached over with her free hand and began stroking his unkempt hair with a touch that was meant to placate the man. Her fingers combed through the strands and a soft noise akin to humming filled the air.

It struck her then.... like a harp string being plucked - a feeling more human than she'd typically offer to anyone outside of Liên Xuân. Compassion.

Everyone in this box deserved better than this and she'd treat them as humanly as possible until she was dragged from this room. That was the least, she decided, that she could do with whatever time they had left. Whatever time she had left. They all deserved…. Compassion.

“ Zenrias, wake up. “

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[TheRealAngeloftheStorm]

EMILIA VISCONTI

The Vindictive Vandal

TAGS | leviohsa | Britt-21 | The Elder

Then:

This is a day for Emilia Visconti.

In the early hours of the morning where the night passes from the stage to make way for the coming of the exalted sun, she gets out of bed. There are subordinates to corral, operations to oversee, and ventures to invest in. Her wife’s attempts to keep her hands wrapped around her and share in the warmth is in vain, though she indulges her in rare occasions when the demands of her sinful enterprises give her a moment to breathe. A quick shower is what she limits herself to, before she is out the door and in an unmarked car.

The inner workings of the Visconti family’s enterprises are a labyrinthine thing. There are legitimate fronts, whose owners happily bend the knee to the family and report on profits. Collaborators, nestled deep within the ministries of Floramante, who hem and haw until sufficient ‘incentives’ are given to keep up the pretense of the Viscontis being upstanding citizens. The peddlers, who are always pushing, always demanding more supply to their endless ocean of clients, potential and frequent. The Broken Lands are only happy to send their excess at dishonest prices.

And that is just the surface. Shell companies, racketeering, frauds, observations of potential puppets in the groaning, rotting ship of state, siphoning money from charity works - there is much to do. The hands of the clock slip forward. Each minute that passes is one that cannot be reclaimed.

It demands much of her, this privileged position. But it is a role that Amadeo Visconti has trusted her with. Matters of governance have never been her sisters’ forte. They are too busy being layabouts, mooching off of her and her father’s work drowning in their irrelevancy. They bring home useless men and take their fill before disposing of them like trash. Out of the three, only Emilia is the one honored by their father as his successor.

Much of the day is spent traversing the city that hosts the family and much of its enterprises. Of course, not all operations require her oversight. To show her face at certain places, ones where even the incompetent police force monitors in a show of reassuring the citizenry, is dangerous. Merely a word to a subordinate, to the many lieutenants hoping for her favor, and they set off to enforce her will on the rabble. They dare not cross her. The braver ones look her in the eye, or at least pretend to, casting their looks to a point just above her head to give the illusion that they are. Weaker, lesser men and women fixate their gazes on the ground and stutter like broken pianos through requests for reinforcements, guns, and other such matters.

In truth, it is only matters of discipline that require her direct attention. Of a cog becoming misshapen, refusing to work and grinding the rest of the machine to a halt. Oftentimes it is some hitman who has spontaneously grown a heart after years of stacking corpses. Someone who has grown fearful of reprisal from the government or the other old hands in the Floramantine underworld’s great game. A rogue who thought giving up secrets was worth a pair of long legs and pretty tits.

Those matters are over days, if not weeks. But they end up in front of her, all the same. They make their excuses, they shout their denunciations, they pray for their gods to strike her down.

Justice blooms from the barrel of a gun, and they are silenced. Another will take their place.

As the sun slips from view, surrendering the stage of the sky to the night and its gleaming cohorts, she converses with her subordinates. The Viscontis are not the only ones in the underworld, and they have only eclipsed them for so long because of their rapid rise to power. Malcontents stir up anger from their hostile takeover of old family territories. The foundations of the house must be strengthened, or it all falls down.

Moonlight caresses her face gently once her car returns to the estate. She breathes in the crisp air and lays her eyes on her wife. The worries of the day melt away when her eyes flicker from her to their daughter, and Emilia sweeps both of them in a hug before they retreat inside. Atana regals her with tales of gossip from Floramante’s burgeoning film industry. Little Calas puffs her chest out in pride as she weaves a silly tale of her school life. They eat together, laugh together, and they retire to bed soon enough. Emilia cradles Atana in her arms and wishes that this will last forever.

In the early hours of the morning where the night passes from the stage to make way for the coming of the exalted sun, she gets out of bed. There are subordinates to corral, operations to oversee, and ventures to invest in.

Now:

Bianca d’Medici - as she sarcastically introduced herself to her fellow death row inmates - feels the sensation of flesh and cartilage giving way from the force of her blow, and a cruel, dark smile blooms like on her lips like a bloody flower.

The vicious feeling of spite that flared like a warm sun in her heart dies off soon after, though. A crime was forgivable, but this - this was a mistake. And mistakes were far less forgivable.

Father only wished to preserve their work, that much was clear. But the betrayal stung. Were they not family? Did he not espouse the idea that family should never turn their back on each other? That the unity of the house was paramount above all else? Emilia had labored under that ideal. For as much as she loathed her sisters and their shameless leeching, they were still family, and were afforded protection as such.

But Father had no qualms about cutting her out. Excising her like some kind of cancer that had eroded his empire of sin. It was a testament to the pull of the Viscontis that her father was still able to secure a private meeting in the aftermath of her high profile arrest. The media were no doubt milking the fact that they had won a great victory over crime. Perhaps it was her cynicism, but Emilia doubted that most of it was sincere. The other players in the underworld were no doubt happy that she’d been taken out of the picture.

Too personal, he’d said. Amadeo Visconti was a man who never liked to mince his words, hiding things behind Sazzoran doublespeak. Her feud with the never sufficiently damned noble fop was supposed to be a quick, clean operation. If she’d simply disposed of him, if Emilia had simply ordered an agent to put two bullets in the back of his head, she wouldn’t be rotting in a cell.

No. The boy - and he was a boy - had challenged her. Had dared to believe that he would unravel the web that made up their operations. Out of what? Some misguided sense of justice? Some innate need to play at being a hero after suffering a tragedy? Ridiculous. He may have been merely a middleman in the Ministry of Finance, but Zenrias Taira was to be an example of the price of defiance.

Even a bitter old soul like her knew that that it was a mistake. Years and years of shooting disloyal elements had made her complacent. She’d made a game of something so simple, so beneath her that it really could have been solved with a few words to the right people. And it had cost her.

Condemnation of memory. No-one would speak of her anymore. Amadeo would make something of his two remaining daughters; he still had vigor left in him, a fire stoked by this disaster of her own making. If they did not comply, then they too would be disposed of. Even the offhand remark did little to dissuade that wretched feeling of helplessness. Everything had spiraled out into nothing. And of her wife and daughter, Amadeo did not say.

Mogul. The one thing that no amount of ill-gotten power could protect her from. And of all people that she had to rely on, it was him.

Emilia sucks in a breath through gritted teeth and expels it quickly. Her fist clenches, aches for the song of Taira’s flesh tearing, bones breaking from her blows. But he was out of reach, in a different cell. Two Mogul partners in the same room could activate their power; the wardens were never going to let that happen. So she’d been shuffled off to a separate cell with other people, all awaiting their demise. She could hear the others’ will breaking beyond her cell. Men, women and children, dragged off individually for the crime of existing.

She was never one to roll over and die like a dog. And the idea of dying before she could kill Zenrias-

-well, that was simply unacceptable.

 

[Megilagor]

Shoku Kaida Ainsley

Location: Soundproof Cell 1
Mention: MangoGoGo Slav Mineczka Key of Stars ​

Those past few days couldn't have been worse for Shoku, there he was in the city with Cherie enjoying the day or at least trying to in his case, but it was a good day but of course his life ain't that easy, they got captured by the anti-mogul squad and thrown in the nearest anti-mogul prison, and there they remained. Stripped of what made them human, of what made them innocent to the populace they were monsters just because they were moguls. Those thoughts might have been hard on Cherie but Shoku had similar thoughts of himself for years and he didn't even knew he was a mogul then.

Now he resided in a cell with a few others people, they were... chaotic to say the least but at least he wasn't alone so Shoku couldn't spiral into his endless depression cycle, and being able to feel some sort of connection to Cherie meant she was at least still alive which was good enough for him for now, Which he sadly couldn't speak for the man that was taken today from their cell, that man lost his counter part, his sister, Shoku wanted to speak out to comfort him but.... But he didn't know how, he was always the one to receive comfort from others as well as suffering but he never comforted anyone, and even if he did figure out how it was too late as they already took the man somewhere. Knowing this place probably the execution room, after all everyone here except the prisoners wanted them dead to some degree.

Shoku still contemplated why did all of this happen? Why was he and Cherie in prison? Who found out they were moguls and how? But the most important question that echoed in his head was.
"What makes us so different from them? That we must be hunted down like animals and slaughtered for their convenience."
Shoku did not realise he spoke that out loud instead of his head but he removed the small harmonica he hid on him from its hiding place and began to play it. The song was slow, it sounded melancholic, sad, depressing even and yet it contains a few flashes of hope within it, hoping to see another day, hope to meet his partner again, hope that they will all be able to live outside of those walls, but as soon as the hopes rises its stumped by the sadness. The eternal struggle in Shoku's mind manifested via song.

Seeing his cellmates be dragged away to the execution block, seeing one of them covered in blood whatever it was his or the guards, he was not alone in this, there were others in similar situation as he was now. As this situation was shitty from the beginning they needed all the cards they could get to have a better hand for this, but drowning yourself in emotions wouldn't help them right now, calm mind is what they need. Well easier said than done, so Shoku decided to do otherwise, he let his emotions overflow, be sad, be melancholic, despair and depression instead of some dungeons and dragons, some would say to exorcise their demons well, Shoku might be a bit illiterate then since he has been exercising them all this time.

Then he heard one of his cellmates say something about hoping to escape, Shoku could not bear to not say something to the man, so he stopped playing his song only long enough to say a few words to him.
"Well then if you figure out how to do so, count me in my friend. I would love to treat them how they treated us. Let my demons out to exercise so to speak. But for now rest gather your strength we will need it when an opportunity comes."
Then he resumed playing his song while fixating his empty lifeless gaze in the direction of the cell doors, praying and willing to sell his soul to a literal devil just for a spark of hope of escape for all of them, and for possible revenge.

 

[MangoGoGo]

Megilagor Slav Mineczka Key of Stars
==========================================================​

In the heart of a desolate, high-security prison, there lies a unique soundproof cell. The walls are completely covered in thick, white padding, designed to muffle any noise from within. At the center of the ceiling hangs a lone, dim light bulb, casting a gloomy illumination over the room. This light bulb emits a constant, low buzzing sound, like an omnipresent fly only there to drive him insane.

The room is stark and bare, with no furniture or decorations, emphasizing the isolation and confinement. The air is heavy and still, contributing to the oppressive feel of the space. In one of the walls, there's a sturdy, cold metal door. This door features a small, reinforced window, offering a limited view of the outside world – specifically, a glimpse into the corridor lined with other jail cells. The view from this window is bleak, with the harsh fluorescent lighting of the corridor contrasting sharply with the dimness of the cell.

And this was where Damien woke up letting out a sharp and sudden inhale as his eyes shot open finding himself in the same sitting position he had been sitting in for the last few hours. Somehow falling asleep for who knows how long. He and his cell mates sat silently while shadows of guards walking by danced tauntingly on the walls like a numberless countdown to the inevitable.

Speaking of cellmates. Damien slowly lifts his head from his arms and peeks at his cellmates.

One was sitting on the opposite wall of the door staring daggers into it with dry blood on his face, fist, and arms making him look like some crazed beast ready to kill the next person who walked in. A sentiment he wished he shared but he wasn’t much of a fighter. He would more likely get in the way than be helpful and besides, the last fight he was in was when he and his parents were homeless, and someone tried to steal their belongings.

The still air was suddenly broken by a question that ran through Damien’s mind so many times before and he was left to wonder as the sound of a melancholic tone began to flood the air in the cell, hell of a lot better than the buzzing noise Damien thought to himself, “Fear.” Damien said out loud answering the sad man’s rhetorical question. His voice came out a bit hoarse, but he cleared his throat before he continued, “a far-fetched delusion of protecting ones people while simultaneously tearing those same ones family apart.” Damien shrugged as he closed his mouth to let the music take over again. He was here longer than the others and during that time he hasn’t talked much, so hearing his voice for the first time in…a month? Yeah, a month, was pretty surprising.

Damien’s eyes went back to the crazed beast after hearing something about escaping. Causing the sad looking man to put in his two cents. Damien wanted to speak up but stopped himself, what could he say? Don’t do it? Yeah right, if he an opportunity to escape he would take it in a heartbeat but what could he do? He can’t use his magic without Lily and it’s not like his magic was an all power full fuck you beam canon. He was useless for any grand escape.

His eyes drifted to an empty spot of the cell where another one of his cell mates once sat about an hour ago before getting picked. He still remembered the smirk the guards had on their face as they pulled him off his feet, the cockiness as they pointed the gun at the crazed beast, and how they promised they will come back with glee, “I…” Damien says, “I don’t know what help I would be but if you think of something I’m willing to help.”

Way to sound confident Damien…

He buried his head back into his arms almost embarrassed just how sad his “declaration” to help sounded, “I’m Damien, by the way.” He introduced himself just so that sad excuse of a declaration wasn’t the last thing that hung in the air.

 

[Slav]

Chris

Christoph Henkel

Money....

This was how it was going to end. Rotting away in a dirty cell within a country that he hardly called home. The thing that irked him the most wasn't that he was caught. He knew all to well how much of a burden his habits were on society. Christoph wasn't caught for stealing, in fact, he was caught for being publicly drunk. After it was discovered he was a mogul, he was now in this cell, awaiting his fate. Carina had gotten too carried away, the lightweight making a scene that he would have rather avoided. Christoph was always careful to avoid scenes and the one time he allowed it to get too far was a fatal mistake. He was rather disappointed in this outcome, yearning to see the light of day again. Unlike his compatriots, he didn't show his emotions. He just sat there... waiting for the bullet to come.

Christoph reached into his pocket to retrieve a silver coin. Before he had been thrown into the cell, this was the last thing he stole. A silver coin, one that seemed like it had been through a lot before it reached his fingers. He flipped it into the air, catching it once it made it's way down. His gaze shifted over to his cellmates, his face conjuring a look of disinterest. He would have rather been in a cell with Carina... if she was still alive. He held a certain amount of contempt for strangers, he couldn't trust them and Christoph was sure they didn't trust him. He wasn't a person to trust... his hands were prepared to steal everything and anything. Sadly, nobody had anything in this cell worth stealing. That made it one of the worst places to be.

He couldn't help but lay his gaze on Lumian. He was envious of the spirit that he continued to show in dire circumstances like these. He didn't seem smart though and that could be a good or bad thing... depending on how stupid he was. "Stop acting like an animal. You'll have plenty of time to display your anger when they have us lined up against a wall. Until then, let us sit in silence." There was plenty of time for anger, right now wasn't the time for it.

His gaze shifted to one of the quieter cellmates, Damien. He didn't look like one to volunteer to help and Christoph wasn't going to offer his services with him. If all of his cellmates were willing to do something they would make a fine shield for a getaway. Maybe it was a good idea to get Lumian worked up. "I applaud all of you for your drive. Maybe things won't end up as badly as I thought they will..." He still didn't hold much hope. These knuckleheads didn't look like they would accomplish a lot.

Even if his last moments were spent in this cell, Christoph couldn't shake away the feeling that he did accomplish something. Coming from a poor farm, the only direction there was to go was up. He did well at life, even though the means to accomplish the lifestyle weren't legal. He wasn't going to let this low moment stain his past. He was a proud thief, an excellent one. If he was to die, at least he was going to die an accomplished criminal.

Code By Nano

 

[Seraphine]

[youtube]

Zenrias' Theme

ZENRIAS TAIRA

The Forgiving Fiscal Agent

─── ⋆⋅ 𓇢𓆸 ⋅⋆ ───​

"It... it's all we have."

Zenrias looked down at the pitiful pouch nestled in his palm. It was less than half of what he was owed. Still, he knew this family well; unlike others in his jurisdiction who gambled their incomes away and still begged him for more time come tax season, the ailing Mr. Cobbs was an honest and hard worker. Afflicted by a cleft foot that brought him much pain while he worked, the pills he bought to alleviate it often led him to come up short. With this in mind, a kind smile steadily tugged at the young tax agent's face. "Next time, then. How is the pain these days, Mr. Cobbs?"

"No worse than the day before and still better thanks to you, Lord Taira," Mr. Cobbs took a hold of his hand relievedly. "Gods bless your soul."

Zenrias dipped his head modestly, touched by the sincerity in the old farmer's gesture. Behind him, his horse chuffed its impatience, while eyes rolled behind the helmets of Ministry guards. Mr. Cobbs beckoned him inside. "Come in, come in. The missus brewed a spot of tea just now, just the way you like!" Zenrias opened his mouth, a polite objection brewing in his own throat, but he could not help it. With a quick sigh and nod, he let their three children rush to pull him inside. Peals of laughter rung in his ears, bested only by the most deafening sound in the room.

Silence.

The house was empty. Zenrias stood alone as if he were made of stone, paralyzed by the quiet. In the distance, gentle breeze carried an infant's faint cry on its back. Nothing moved, save for the shadows cast by the flame warming that pot of tea. Suddenly, it shifted into the form of a bulbous man. As if coming from another room, a voice he knew all too well barked out, "Taira? Agent Taira, is that you?"

Zenrias felt his heart skip a beat. He still could not move, or say a word. His back only straightened, as it always did in the presence of a Ministry superior about to give him an achingly familiar reprimand.

"You're late," snapped the shadow, bobbing from one wall to the other like a child's spring toy. "Have you no sense of time, lad? You are bloody well there to collect taxes, not counsel and tea party with taxpayers..."

Zenrias winced. "Sir, I—"

The shadow continued to boom angrily, giving no breathing room for interruption. "Out of all the Tairas I've known, you bloody well are the tardiest one. If it were not for that head of yours—and even then, if it were not for that father of yours, I swear I'd have sacked y—"

Suddenly, a woman's piercing wail tore through the air, followed closely behind by the fire in the hearth. The shadow was no more. The blaze roared alongside that blood-curling caterwaul, flames flirting with the seams of Zenrias' suit as he found himself staggering like a madman towards the stairs.

They appeared as if in the mouth of some, terrifying mythological creature. Cloaked in shadow, dozens of narrowed, unblinking eyes stared back at him in silence. In the distance, an infant's cries tinged the air like winter's first dusting of snow. Undeterred, Zenrias climbed every step and every step of the way, they impeded his path.

Weaving right to left, an inch forward and three backwards; there was almost no escaping their suffocating presence. Zenrias found himself murmuring 'pardon me', 'forgive me', 'my apologies' a dozen times over as he rode roughshed over toes, fingers, hands. After what felt like an eternity of struggle, he finally brought himself to look them in the faces. A broken nose here, a sliced ear there, bruises and bullet wounds decorating the backs of shoulders, ripped seams and pearls hanging off napes. "Cousin," said one, reaching out to touch him. "Nephew," piped another, moving to make way for the third. "Son," it whispered. "This is your fault."

One by one, their voices bled together, mixing and churning into one singular vocal strain. Zenrias shook his head in disbelief. The chants grew by the decibel, forcing his ears to ring as he sought to shield himself. Lower and lower, his eyes pooled against a rising tide of the one, singular pain a thousand good deeds could never get rid of.

"Zenrias."

Like a knife slice through butter, a single word cut through the clamour and silence once again reigned. For a moment, his hand felt it; her soothing touch, like milk and honey. His eyes widened. His heart skipped, his spine tingled, his hand grasped and his mouth opened, her name caught in his throat. Blood began to drip down steadily from his head. Drops landed in between his legs, onto his dress shirt, onto his shoes. Every now and again, a dull thud would hit against the entrance door. Zenrias took no notice; his eye had found the teacup.

There was no memory of it being poured for him, but he knew that was his tea, his cup. It stood precariously on the edge of the table, swaying ever so slightly at the impact of every thud that hit the door. Zenrias could not tear his gaze away; for from the very moment he arrived, every bone in his body had learned to yearn for its fall.

"Zenrias, wake up."

This time, the voice was different. No, he thought, glancing away for a moment. Leave me be. I must...

He blinked. The table was empty. The teacup had fallen.

─── ⋆⋅ 𓇢𓆸 ⋅⋆ ───​

When he opened his eyes, Zenrias knew the fever had finally broken. For the first time in days of dreaming the same dream, breath greeted him like a friend. His thoughts rushed back, embracing a clear mind at last. His vision lagged behind somewhat, blurred by nearly two days of sleeper's dust. Rubbing a damp wrist across his eyes, Zenrias blinked and looked up.

A cascade of tresses the color of fuchsin tickled the base of his chin. The feeling reminded the young nobleman of Sazzoran satin, the same kind his mother used to have veiled around her shoulders. For a moment, the wave of nostalgia made him oblivious to his lying position on her lap. Once it passed, up like a bullet he went; in the effort to spare any semblance of decorum for them both, Zenrias let out a soft hiss as his head spun.

"Forgive me," he murmured instinctively, his voice deepened and hoarse from thirst. His eyes remained closed, staving away the last of the dizziness. "If I startled you, that is."

At long last lucid, Zenrias opened them and took stock of his surroundings in stunned silence. For a few moments, he nearly convinced himself that this was all still a dream; he would wake soon in his master chambers, greeted by the new maid he'd hired only weeks earlier, rustling his curtains and serving his morning meal. He was still in his work clothes; a late night at the office again, surely. Yet the longer his body felt the cold, unforgiving ground of the prison, the more and more reality set in like a seeping poison.

The contact.
The car chase.
The clash.
The capture.

Chest heaving, Zenrias struggled to keep the blisters of panic from embedding into his skin. This was no ordinary prison; the padded, windowless walls, the relative trimness of the cell told him those thrown in would not live long enough to see it thrashed. What was more, the liveries of their guard were clearly Nonielian. Surely they were not far from the Floramante border. But why? Why was he in here?

Because you dared to cross her.

Zenrias faltered for a moment, then shook his head. Any man would be forgiven for simply doing his job; besides, nothing he'd done these past three years in pursuit of the Viscontes could explain this... this...

Blood. He felt a trail drip a snail's pace down his right cheek. Gingerly, he put a pair of fingers against the laceration, feeling its incredible depth. The swelling had gone down a good amount, but it was only then he realized what a state his face must still be in.

It was a miracle nothing was broken. The details were murky, but he did remember some. The initial dodges, the knee to his diaphragm, the flash of bronze and then sapphire-blue. A lengthy pause in her assault. The boots of the incoming police, halted in their tracks. Her lips had moved once and there they were, reduced to peaceable puppets...

Gods.
It was no miracle.
It was Mogul.

Zenrias slumped back against the wall, the weight of his revelations visible and palpable in the widened and bleary depths of his maroon eyes. His pale, willowy fingers soon found their favorite mindless comfort: the black wedding ring on his left middle finger. For a few, long moments he fiddled with it, mind racing for any escape. He would not think of her for now.

Would he forgive himself if he resorted to bribery? Precious little remained on his person, but since his own "failure" to be born a Taira-Noniel foothold, he knew plenty of other relatives had succeeded in his place. Was it worth whispering his family name, planting the seed in order to procure paper and ink? He was far from the greatest offending odd-one-out in the great sprawling tree; a good many Taira were rich, social pariahs. Perhaps it was worth reaching out to see if... if...

But what about them?

Zenrias looked up for the first time, reminded that he was not alone. If there was one thing he could never forgive himself for doing, it would be leaving others to suffer what he had, or come so close to suffering. Especially her, he thought, softened eyes resting on his stranger-turned-saviour. With a deep dip of his head and a faint smile, Zenrias returned the cloak to her.

Upon turning, agent instincts sharpened to the other two, his expression sealed in solicitous concern.

The first one he addressed with his eagle eye was the youth, whose gaunt and lanky frame spoke of a lifetime of malnourishment. In truth, he looked no older than fifteen, but the look in his eyes spoke of a hardened thing behind the boyishness. The distrust came off of him in waves.

"You've been through more than your share, haven't you?"

Zenrias ventured, his tone gentle.

"It's in your eyes—a depth of experience beyond your years."

Zenrias turned to the other one, who from where he sat feet away, appeared to him like some gargantuan boulder. For some reason, foggy memory of the past few nights beckoned bizarre strings of gibberish and yelps coming from this boulder of a man. What was more, it seemed he had made the prison water pail his own personal property.

Practicing a rather desperate sort of caution in light of his mounting thirst, Zenrias reached out and placed a hand against scarred sinew.

"And you... uh, good sir," Zenrias spoke up somewhat, anxiousness highlighting his highborn manners all the more. "Forgive me, but could I trouble you for a sip?"

─── ⋆⋅ 𓇢𓆸 ⋅⋆ ───​

TAGS ⪼ INTERACTIONS : Aveline ( Kyuubey ) ; Ciaran ( Phayne ) ; Leopold ( Benadryl Plankton )

TAGS ⪼ MENTIONS : Emilia ( TheRealAngeloftheStorm )

 

[Britt-21]

leviohsa
TheRealAngeloftheStorm
The Elder


Being stuck inside a cell absolutely sucked, and Cher couldn't make that any clearer as she sat in the corner closest to the iron bars with a pout on her face and knees close to her body. Her and Sho had been forcibly pulled apart and while she could still feel her fuzzy feelings to tell her he was still around, she couldn't help but worry for her best friend. Was he okay? Was he worried? Was he being taken to those horrible execution rooms? Tears welled up in her eyes but she did her best to push them back down. Now while she was stuck in a cell with a few others, she was happy to meet them but wasn't happy at the fact that they all were going to end the same: Dead. As the girl puffed her cheeks, a noise made its way up to said-cheeks This is so not fair. We've done nothing wrong...There's even people as old as my grandpa and young as a child. These people are truly the monsters. Shifting her amber-colored eyes towards the others, she spoke "I feel like this is just agonizingly anxiety inducing. We never know who's going to be next to those rooms..." Cherie said to those within the cell with her before looking back out the bars, watching the guards walk around with their fancy magic guns and fancy armor. At least they didn't slam on the bars to freak them out a little or make them agitated. Why did she almost make it sound like they were animals...?

Cherie huffed as she took her hands and wrapped them around the cold iron bars before pulling herself up. If only she could go back in time to that day where Shoku and herself were hanging out and flee before they could be caught. Unfortunately time travel was not a thing and even if it was they may all be fucked at that point. Someone could prevent the war from happening, but that could result in changes that no one asked for. Staring at the guards a little bit longer, she turned towards the others and crossed her arms. "Well, there's not much we can do at the moment but we can just talk I suppose." Even though maybe her cell mates didn't wish to talk much. One of them seemed like she was in deep thought but Cherie didn't say much to the woman. Looking over at the others there was a young man with light-colored hair who looked like he could probably kick some butt with how his build seemed. Then the other was a blonde with curls up the wazoo and she was pretty cute. They were all different in styles, and in facial features. They get everyone from everywhere... It sounds like the safest spot to even hide away from these monsters is inside the Broken Fields where crime is well...The power of that land.

Last she heard was that there was no facilities there, the forces felt it would be useless as long as the people of Broken Fields didn't spill out into the other kingdoms.​

 

[Mineczka]

How long had it been...? After so many years, how was she and Ava discovered? Did she slip up?
No. This wasn't a simple slip-up... This was a betrayal. An act most sinister committed by one of her own, as only a few knew of the secret the Archduchess and her Bodyguard had, and even fewer with the ability to tell the tale. It had to either be a betrayal, or, someone vying for her land, and domain, and getting extraordinarily lucky that they were correct... But, being how the duo were detained as fast as possible, there was a possibility for the test to be refuted... As a soft sigh came over the white-haired noble, she couldn't help but think, and think she did. In the darkened cell, she'd ponder many things, the state of her home, how her people were, and most importantly, how Ava was. Sharp emerald eyes would often dart to the single door at the front of the cell at the feeling of a presence, most of the time, it was a fleeting hope, that maybe Ava had gotten from her binds and was coming... That they could escape, and return to Châu Bí, where the city would become a fortress for the cause.

'We are not animals... We shouldn't be chained like lesser beings for having a gift. Slaughtering one's people for being any different from them is illogical and should be expunged...' As that thought crossed her mind, she'd hear the sound of a song, on... An unfamiliar instrument at that. Its tones, shrill and many, yet it seemed to be played with... Some precision? How it sounded there was mild precision but nothing noteworthy from the sound. Then, the music stopped as other voices began to join in remarking the guards would regret if they had made it out of the cells alive. As an extra set of voices spoke, a scoff would come from the noble, who had taken time to think before acting, "Các bạn điên quá... (You lot are insane)" She'd mumble to herself, before looking to the two talking of if they get out, "Even if you escape the cell, odds of survival for you would be 4.52%... And your stuck partner's chances of survival drop to 0.03%. Especially so IF you escape fully." She'd shake her head, at the thought, "Guard patrols are swapped every thirty-five minutes, each a team of four, with two automatic firing weapons, and the other two with a rifle. All four each have a handgun, and more munitions than the average soldier on them. The odds of defeating a squadron like that, in the current state of affairs... Is 17.45%. It'd be illogical to resist at this point." Her voice seemed monotone and more informative than showing any emotion at all, seeming to be very guarded in her words, she hated the idea of giving up without trying, but the deck was vastly stacked against her, odds were slim, especially given that a quick glance of the room gave Liên Xuân little hope that they could equal force in combat experience.

Furthering the probabilities, she had a relative gauge of those with her.... If there was going to be a breakout... They'd have to execute a very specific plan... As she'd sit back down, a thought would cross her mind, while an escape would be improbable, the odds of escape did improve should their respective partners find one another. But, that would only fuel the fires of hatred for Moguls, and bring more persecutions to the people who just want to live. Either way... A damned situation...

Mentions: Yes.
Interactions: MangoGoGo Key of Stars Slav Megilagor

 

[Phayne]

The Cynic

Ciaran Kilbane

Soundless, Windowless Cell.

"Is it better to be proven right and be punished for it? Or to be proven wrong and judged for it?"

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Over and over the monotonous sound echoed, haunting Ciaran's thoughts; the repetitive click of the clock an imagined luxury that even this prison cell had not afforded them. Rather it was more accurate to say that it was the beating of his own heart that had begun to deafen him, its steady beat reverberating through his very core as he slowly withered away. Sight, sound and even the sense of time had been removed from his grasp, the four walled room devoid of any aesthetics beyond the sealed entrance and its pre-existing inhabitants.

How many more days would Ciaran be forced to exist within this hell? Be forced to coexist with these strangers whose fate were no different to his? How long would he be forced to survive, knowing that the cold touch of death crept ever closer with each passing minute? How much longer would he be forced to continue living, continue existing? What had already seemed like days in here had only really been a rough 30 hours, yet given the wearisome nature of prison life, that 30 hours had seemed like 30 days.

Like those who languished within these prison cells, the freedom that Ciaran had once taken for granted had now been torn away from his very grasp, his rights as a human being expiring like some outdated coupon that nobody really cared about. Forgotten, discarded or simply disregarded, the moment he was classified as a Mogul was the very moment that his right to 'exist' lost any validity. That the ultimate 'GAME OVER' loomed over this dull ass game of life he had been forced to play. There was no doubt that he had finally hit rock bottom and the only direction he looked likely to head towards was hell it self, and all it took to get here was a simple accusation. A simple lie that coincidentally just so happened to be true.

It had sparsely been a day since Ciaran's mundane life was completely overturned by this mans lie; his freedom robbed and his existence despised. In the span of minutes he was no longer seen as human, no longer viewed as an equal and no longer afforded the rights that he once had. He had simply become an eyesore, a disease that needed to be eradicated at all cost. Mogul. The very existence of his kind was something that the Kingdom of Noniel had loathed, something they feared. Like a plague sent to curse their fertile kingdom, they were an entity that needed to be eradicated, purged. Innocence was simply not a benefit that they would be given.

A pained smile had unconsciously forced its way upon Ciaran's face; a grin if only to conceal how desperate he was to suppress his real urge. Ciaran desperately wanted to laugh at the irony of the entire situation he found himself in, to revel in the pleasure of knowing that he had been right all along; that humanity were a species solely motivated by their own selfish desires. This wasn't some sudden epiphany he had undergone, nor some brutal realisation that he had been forced to swallow. He knew, despite others telling him otherwise. He knew. His eyes had been open from a very young age; hazel orbs bearing witness to the harsh reality, the inescapable truth of the world and what humans really were at their core. It was evident all around him, every action taken and every word said simply a tool to extract what they wanted, to feed into their unconscious hedonistic desire to position themselves above everyone else. It was an undeniable truth that people sought to prioritize their own, to even cast aside their own friends and family if that was the cost of bettering their own life.

He had followed every rule, he had played the cards he was dealt with and gone against his better nature in order to continue deceiving society, to continue pretending to be one of them, yet despite how hard he had tried, how dedicated he had been to ensuring that his and Rin's secret had remained as such; a secret. He still found himself here, still found himself at deaths door... and why?. All because of some unbased accusation, some unbased lie that just so happened to hit the nail. Was god punishing them? Was this some sick and twisted joke where he just so happened to be the fucking punchline? Was there going to be a chorus of laughter as he sat in the chair, watching as the true monsters clad in human skin revelled in his very demise?

What a joke.

Yet laugh was the one thing he could not do, the one act he desperately hoped to avoid now that he was cast aside like some rabid animal waiting to be euthanized. Despite the joy of knowing he wasn't wrong, the price he had had to pay for being right was far too costly. It wasn't just him that now found himself counting down the days before his death. No. The price of being proven right had come at the cost of Rin's life too. The closest thing he had to real family now sharing his fate simply because he was acquainted with Ciaran. Maybe it would have been better for him to stay away, better for their paths to have remained separate. At least that way he would be spared the punishment that they both shared. At least that way, if Ciaran had to die. Rin could continue to live.

Fuck. Why did things have to end this way, why did he have to be punished. All he did was do his damn job, all he did was escort some random drunkard out of the building, telling him to piss off if he couldn't act in a civil manner. So why... why was he being punished? Why did the drunk man have to be some spoiled egotistical bigot that couldn't handle being man handled off the premise and into the car.

How ironic it was that the simple 'word' of an impotent man held enough power to sway the fates of others, to sentence them to death. A big man in his own mind, the reality was that this douchebag born with that silver spoon so far shoved up his rectum that pleasure outweighed the pain was simply just another cog that spun amidst the darkness that lingered within the kingdom of Noniel. Despite such influence, he was merely one piece of a far larger mechanism hidden within a nation so shrouded in darkness and corruption. To those whose eyes were shut to the reality, the kingdom of Noniel was viewed through eyes blind to the shadows cast by such a bright light of delusion.

Born into money and raised with the arrogance to rival the very personification of the Sin of Pride, it shouldn't have really come as a surprise that the man would have acted in such a pathetic manner; the humiliation he had been forced to endure as Ciaran escorted him off the premise being too big a blow for his wounded pride; his ego shattered simply because his 'money' couldn't get him what he wanted. This was the reward that Ciaran had earned for himself, this was the prize that fate had bestowed upon him for merely doing his job; a one way ticket to hell; paid for by the twisted lies of the insecure and carried out courtesy of the governments prejudice view towards those perceived as being 'abnormal'.

How far had society fallen, that the mere word of a man who held some form of influence was enough to send someone else to their death, power granted to the powerless who just so happened to have pockets lined deep with cash. Was this truly how the world worked?, that those who just so happened to win the lottery at birth were now capable of deciding whether someone else lived or died?

Despite the pleaded innocence and lack of evidence to support the claims made against them; their fate had already been set in stone. Their death certificates signed. The very moment that they were accused of being what society despised, they were no longer considered human, merely some stray animal waiting to be put to sleep or some vermin that needed eradicating. Nobody cared about some pest being removed, some random stray being put to sleep, so why would they care if some no one off the streets disappeared. If another innocent mogul was slaughtered. Apart from Rin, there was no one out there that would plead for his innocence, no one that would weep once the curtain was dropped and the spotlight over his life dimmed to cold darkness. It was just garbage being disposed off.

Digging his nails into his skin, if only to remined himself that he still felt something; Ciaran would silently curse his naivety, his lack of resolve. Hindsight was such a cruel bitch, a cold hearted mistress so eager to taunt the fallen with delusions of a different outcome; a better reality.

Had things been different, had Ciaran been afforded the foresight of things to come, then perhaps he would have resisted more, perhaps he would have given the world what it fucking wanted, what it desperately needed. The literal big 'FUCK YOU' to all those who held animosity towards his very existence. Maybe then they would have justifiable cause for concern, maybe then their fears would hold some weight beyond the mere hearsay of some tyrant DICK-tator.

Why continue to play this game of hide-n-seek? Why continue to play the charade of being human?. Society obviously didn't consider them to be, so what reason was there to pretend they were?

If the world wanted to paint them as monsters, then surely it was simple courtesy to take up the mantle; to become the very creature they despised, that they created. Maybe then, humanity could truly justify their own pathetic existence as prey. Maybe then, they would have real and undeniable reason for their insecurities; to truly fear the power that lingered within the mogul. The apex species. Perhaps then he could wear this imposed title of 'Criminal' with some semblance of fucking pride.

After all, If the only options were to roll over and die at the behest of the insecure or to become the villain that they all feared and despised, then by courtesy of the temptress that was 'Hindsight' he knew full fucking well which path he would choose to follow; which poisoned chalice to drink as he gave the Kingdom of Noniel one last fucking finger.

Yet despite his growing regrets and his rising anger, deep down he knew that he could never do that. He could never willingly become the cat to the canary, the monster beneath the bed. He couldn't call upon the cursed power that instilled fear among society. Becoming the beast of their imagination would come at the cost of sacrificing Rin's position, he would be forcing the only light in his dark decrepit life to share his fate; to die alongside him simply because he chose to revel in the temptations that lurked within the crevices of his mind.

He knew all too well that following Rin's lead to not show off their powers had been the right call, that by restraining themselves they had chosen to trust in the system, to have fate that those who held the power over life and death would listen to common sense, to treat them as innocent until proven guilty rather than take the word of some inept douchebag without a shred of evidence to back their claims.

This was the one time that Ciaran didn't want to be right. This was that rare moment that Ciaran had wanted to believe in Rinnosuke's optimism, to defy his base nature in order to break the cycle he had found himself trapped within. This was an opportunity, a chance to take that leap of fate and trust that everything would work out for the best so long as they played by the rules, yet like many times before Ciaran's trust was misplaced. The moment they had been accused of being a mogul was the very moment that society no longer saw them as human. It was the very moment that Ciaran's lingering trust towards the world was crushed, that the one seed of hope that Rinnosukes return had managed to nurture was unceremoniously eradicated underfoot. Crushed, broken, erased.

If that was how this game was played, then no longer would Ciaran choose to restrain himself. No longer would he wallow in the pits of his own internal despair. If the world wanted a monster. He would give them one.
All he needed was an escape.

Slumped against one of the four corners this shithole had afforded him, Ciaran's glazed eyes would stare ahead of himself; ignoring the visage of the person sat opposite him as well as the other two convicts that rounded out their motley crew of death bound inmates. Friends and companionship was a luxury that had long since been scarce for Ciaran, so he saw little point in investing in such fancies now that he was at deaths door. He had no need to make friends with them, to mingle with those whose fortune aligned with his own. If they were all fated to die at the hands of this broken system, then he would much rather die without the burden of knowing their hopes and dreams, to sing them a prayer once their time was finally up. Cruel as it may be, he would rather watch them die without the pain of having to care about what exactly their death entailed beyond the harsh truth. It would be far easier for him to accept their deaths, the more distant he remained. He simply wouldn't survive having to bear that burden, one life was already proving to be too painful for him.

Knowing that Rinnosuke was in the same predicament was enough pain for him to bear, enough torment to keep him up at night. There was simply no space for him to allow someone else to enter his private world, no energy left within him to sustain the façade that he wasn't currently shitting himself at this very moment, quaking in fear at the mere thought that his life would be snuffed anytime now; his psyche threatening to be torn asunder at the mere thoughts that paraded themselves through his mind. Was Rinnosuke even still alive? The lack of sight and sound afforded by this cell had no intention of showing mercy towards its victims, no desire to offer some charity of information as to the fate of those that lingered in the other cells. This cell was really driving him towards his breaking point.

Pulling his knees closer into himself and resting his face against them, Ciaran would briefly glance towards the other caged animals locked in here, one hazel eye flickering between each and every one of them as he attempted to steer away from such morbid thoughts. He could not help but erect that mental barrier between himself and them, to formulate assumptions based on the little information that he had about them. To make excuses as to why he shouldn't allow them into his inner circle or himself into theirs. Trusting others only gave opportunity towards being deceived, manipulated like a puppet on strings.

Desperate to convince himself that distance was the best course of action, the little devil that had long since rooted itself within Ciaran had quickly begun to work. Breeding that seed of doubt en masse in a feeble attempt to protect himself from pain.

Beyond how Ciaran felt about the other three, he could not help but doubt that they even cared to know of his situation, to trouble themselves with the knowledge of how some teenage brat had managed to wind up in here with them. Anything of importance was already blatantly obvious, considering he was here for the exact same crime that they were accused of; the crime of simply ‘existing’. If anything, he suspected that they were pleased with his arrival to their cell. He was a potential scapegoat that the three of them could happily sacrifice in order to buy themselves another day of life, another day of existing within this world that had cast them aside and forsaken them for simply ‘being’.

Even if he had only been here for just over a day, It had not gone unnoticed that the sole woman of the group seemed pretty close with the white haired man, his injuries and present condition clear for all to see. While the question did linger within Ciaran's mind as to how he had succumbed to such a state of injury, the boy could not find it within himself to ask the question, to lower his defences long enough to show that he wasn't entirely without the ability to express concern; that he wasn't some cold hearted loner who viewed the world through eyes of pure hatred. He wasn't that simple... he wasn't some emotionless bastard.

Though perhaps if he did lack the ability to care, he wouldn't have been so bothered by the older mans ramblings, the obvious insanity waiting to break out in full furore at any given moment. Unstable, borderline insane; Ciaran wanted no part in getting close to him, no desire to get involved with someone who wouldn't have looked out of place if locked away in a mental asylum. The fact that he seemed the most eager to converse with everyone else was simply the icing on the cake. At least that woman was happy to oblige; happy to be the one to play along with the others needs without so much as hinting towards her real motives. Behind her seemingly selfless and kind actions, Ciaran knew... he knew that there was some hidden motive.

Through a labyrinth of dishevelled hair, he would simply watch and observe, studying the small interactions between them, if only to inwardly mock the futility of such an act. It was the only way he could find comfort, the only way to consistently remind himself that 'trust' was simply a weapon that could be used against him. Biting his tongue if only to silence his voice, two dagger like eyes would watch her actions with obvious disdain. Questions rushing through his mind like wasp's swarming against a threat.

What purpose did her kindness serve? Nothing.

What reason did she have to prolong the inevitable? Self gratification.

Was this some selfish attempt to make herself feel better, to convince herself that she wasn't the monster that society had deemed her to be? Naïve.

Was she some sadist that took pleasure in prolonging the torture of knowing that death would come any day now? Heartless.

Did she think that by saving that man, their executioners would deign to offer her the chance to be 'human' again?Delusional.

If that was the case, then she was a fool to think that her act of kindness would even cause the guards to bat an eye lid, a dolt to believe that by showing she had the ability to express compassion that she was actually more than just some lamb to be led to slaughter. Ciaran almost had to suppress another laugh, knowing that her actions were indeed futile. Perhaps even cruel. The irony behind her actions , that her act of tending to Zenrias's wounds would change the fact that he was destined to die just as they all were in this blasted prison.

Ceasing his lingering stare, Ciaran would shift his head to a more central position upon his knees, eyes now staring at the floor between his legs before he slowly closed them, hoping to disappear into the very darkness that welcomed him every time he shut himself to the world around. Alas he wouldn't even be allowed to enjoy that luxury as his mind continued to race away; thoughts returning towards Aveline and Zenrias in particular.

'You should just leave him be...' Ciaran wanted to tell them.'What is the point in even helping him...we are all dead anyway.. at least gift him the solace of a peaceful rest rather than prolong the inevitable' he desperately wanted to tell her.

If this was an opportunity to show kindness in their final hours, then perhaps the kindest thing to do was to let him rest in peace, to let him die with some kind of dignity rather than a dogs death at the hands of a butcher. At least this way, he would die alongside those that still considered him human. However Ciaran would keep such thoughts to himself; sealed away as he remained rooted to his little corner.

Some time would elapse before Ciaran was roused from his spot; the sound of movement causing him to turn and face the direction of the others; gold orbs fixing themselves upon the man whose wounds had been tended to by the woman. While still adamant in his earlier thoughts, he would keep tight lipped as he watched the mans actions; silently questioning the gentle tone in which he spoke with as the man addressed Ciaran's present state.

'...and what of it..?' he thought to himself, turning away from the others once again. 'what good is this experience when its lead me here?' he thought to himself again, as he continued to listen in on the others.

Mentions: Rinnosuke ( The Elder ) // Aveline ( Kyuubey ) // Zenrias ( Seraphine ) // Leopold ( Benadryl Plankton )

Code by Serobliss

 

[The Elder]

Normal Cell 1- Faith. Fight. Freedom.​

"Everything is gonna be fine." Those were the last words he's spoken to Ciaran since their capture just over a day ago. To be precise it was exactly 30hrs ago when they were capture by the government of Noniel. The two years they've spent together being careful as they practice, was all thrown down the drain all by some scum who couldn't take his lost and walk away. All it took to cause their whole situation to crumble was one bad night at Ciaran's workplace. To think someone would be bold enough to follow him home, bringing at least ten other men with them all for "payback", because you got thrown on the street by the bouncer. It's almost laughable when you think about it. The night went far from what the other guy expected. He thought he was gonna roll up on little ole Ciaran when he least expects it and beats the crap outta him. Little did they know, Ciaran is a natural cynic, he doesn't give anyone the benefit of the doubt and always assumes the worst. he was prepared for them, enough to even convince Rin to stand by his side. Which in fact doesn't take much convincing at all. All he had to mean was a potential fight.

The two of them side by side, took them all down in perfect harmony. It was unlike anything the guy has ever seen. Losing that fight, the man was now filled with nothing but rage and hate. He wished to see them both dead, but he knew he was incapable of doing it himself nor did he had the funds to higher professionals. So he went to the next obvious choice. There's only one thing in this world that people hate and despise the most over all things. Moguls. The man ran to the government, lying through his teeth, telling the officials just what the want and needed to hear, giving away just enough information for them to rally the troops and labeling Rin and Ciaran as Moguls.

When the cavalry arrived, you can guarantee that the two of them did not go down without a fight. Left and right bodies dropped as Ciaran and Rin made sure that the government of Noniel knew they were a force to be reckoned with. Sad part is, the two of them were separated throughout the fight, and unable to activate their abilities to further their chances of survival. After been taken down, Rin had suffer extra beating to his face as they were brought in. He figured they didn't like his sense of optimism. He knew he was off to slaughterhouse, where all moguls, guilty or innocent, go to die. And despite that, he believed everything was going to be alright. Rinnosuke is not new to death, and through his teachings, he will always accept death when it was time. To him he lived a great twenty years, meeting awesome people, learning the ways of the Open Hand, and he was able to travel the world. Not many people his age could say that. But as he was being dragged away, he had this feeling that he wasn't going to die. Not today, not tomorrow, not even a few days from now. He didn't know how, but he had faith that he and Ciaran both would escape the slaughterhouse.

Within the first two hours of arriving in his cell, Rinnosuke immediately found himself in one of the cell's corners and began tending to the wounds on his face, wrapping it up with the extra bandages he had. Within those next twenty-eight hours, Rinnosuke has seen the numbers within his cell dwindle until only four of them remained. There was an older woman, a woman with lots of curls, and one with orange hair, and from first glance most of them didn't look much like fighters. The orange haired girl, didn't seem to be much older than him. Just by looking in her eyes, he could tell just how much she wanted to cry, but she held them back. She was strong. Then there's curls, who seemed to be very afraid and timid. Rightful so, since their situation is no happy one. Finally there's oldest woman, the quietest of the four. Just from reading her, Rin assumed that prior to this she's definitely seen some shit. Throughout his time their, he spent most of it mediated, and exercising waiting for that perfect moment so he could strike. He counted the minutes and tallied each hour with his own blood just so he could know how long he spent in here before they escaped. He tried his best to converse with his other cellmates and keep their hopes high. He was the light during these dark times. It was now hour 30 and he just completed his sixth tally set.

The young monk, then began to stretch as loosening his muscles. By now, the women in the cell would've known that he was about to start exercising and this was all part of his warm up routine. He ended his routine with a standing split, getting in that final stretch before coming to a crouch position. As he heard the voice of Cherie, he looked over in her position. Her words spoke truth. It was always random, the room and whomever they choose. There was no indication on who was next. Luckily he still senses Ciaran nearby so there was no need for him to worry yet. "Everything is going to be fine." He said simply. Those words were repeated countless times by him by now. "Do what I do, live in the moment, and just have faith." He says and he leans forward onto his hands, and transitions smoothly from a crow to a handstand perfectly. He holds it there with two hands for a second, before removing one and holding himself up with the other. "If you can still sense your other half then good. In this time of darkness, that is the Brightside. Neither one of you has yet been taken to the rooms. That means when the time arrives you have something to fight for. Have faith that this would all work out. I have a feeling that the world isn't going to turn its back on use today. We must wait for that moment when it comes and when it does. We fight our way outta here. Can you all fight?" He asked looking around the room now, as he eases his way down from the handstand, and began doing push-ups.

Mentioned: Phayne
Interaction: Britt-21 leviohsa TheRealAngeloftheStorm​

 

[shadowz1995]

It was a typical day of upholding the king's law for the prison guards. One was one his regular patrols and decided to pause by the cell of one of the newer arrivals. They looked worse for wear but no worse than they deserved. If anything, they should be grateful to even be allowed clothing. Treating them with any kind of dignity was a kindness that not all Moguls were afforded. They were just lucky that the wardens hadn't cracked down on this particular group since they were fairly well behaved in comparison.

The glow of the guard's magically charged armor announced his presence to the prisoners before he entered view. The rhythmic sound of his footsteps reverberating off of the stone architecture of the prison. Once he entered eyeshot, he paused his patrol in front of their cell and while his helmet covered his face, the tilt of his head suggested he was looking down his nose at these Moguls.

"You are filth, you know that?" His voice came over the intercom of his helmet, crackly and digital. "I can't fathom why his majesty bothers with keeping animals like you alive after you've been caught. It'd be easier to just shoot you all on discovery."

The captives would be able to hear the strain of his leather gloves as he tightens his grip on his rifle. "Why waste the money and resources keeping you bastards fed and alive? If we're going to kill you anyway, might as well save ourselves the hassle."

A loud hiss comes through the guard's comes, indicating a sigh of clear frustration at the aforementioned situation. He shook his head side to side, the helmet's metal lightly scrapping the top of the cuirass. "It would at least save me the fucking troub-"

The Noniel soldier's sentenced gets interrupted by the sharp "ping" of metal smashing against metal at high velocity. Sparks shot out from the right side of the guard's helmet and his head jerks to the left as if someone had kicked him upside the head. He stumbles for a moment, catching his own weight before he fell over and quickly shooting a glance in the direction that he just got hit from.

Clearly disoriented and confused from the blow, he drops to one knee and raises his rifle in a swift, practiced motion. He had nothing to use as cover but his armor had done its job as always.

At least, he thought...

The telltale glow of his protective shell began to flicker for a moment before going completely dark. The mana-powered mechanisms used to maintain freedom of movement had completely shut down and the guard became unable to move a single finger.

The armor that protected him for years had functionally become his tomb, as a second blow rocked his head straight back like a mule kick. His armor did not allow him to fall backwards, freezing in place after the kinetic force from the shot dissipated. So, he remained on one knee, upper torso and head leaned back, as if time was frozen. The only indication that time had not indeed stopped was the breathing of the prisoners and the crimson river that trickled down the guard's torso armor from his helmet. The blood carved a slow, steady path down the ornate golden cuirass before dripping lightly onto the stone flooring.

There was no sound to announce them. No footsteps, no sounds, and no presence could be felt. The only thing that indicated their arrival was the fact that they stepped past the recently deceased guard and the faint glow from their visors as they turned to face the Moguls.



There was four of these unknown combatants. They moved swiftly and silently past the guard, communicating with hand signals until one turned to face the cell door and looked at the prisoners inside.

They hold their hand up to the Moguls and motion for them to back away from the door. A light, blue glow then emanates from the unknown combatant's hand and a light *click* could be heard before the person in the slim armor quietly swings the door open.

"Follow us. This whole place is going up in flames in less than 10. If you stay, you die. We aren't waiting for you."

The voice came through a communication interface in the helmet, like the prison guard. It was a better quality sound but the voice's pitch was intentionally jarbled to make it difficult to identify the person in the suit as male or female.

As promised, the four insurrectionists immediately start moving further down the prison hallways. They repeat the silent process of gunning down unsuspecting guards, springing any prisoners they come across, and moving on.

In the distance, screams could be heard but not the ones the Moguls had grown accustomed to in their unwilling stay here. It was the sounds of the prison guard's yelling, followed by gunfire and more screaming. Whatever group this was that was breaking the prisoners out was highly trained and obviously had greater numbers than this small four-man team seemed to suggest.

leviohsa TheRealAngeloftheStorm Britt-21 The Elder

---

The soundproofed rooms clearly worked very well because it was obvious to those on the inside that there was something happening but it wasn't clear by auditory cues alone what it was. Everything sounded muffled but something akin to raised voices and dull thuds could be heard periodically. The frequency of these strange sounds would happen more often until eventually, a faint flow could be seen from underneath the solid door that contained the Mogul prisoners within.

Two figures stepped through that were wearing unknown magically enhanced armor and weapons. The armored glove a prison guard could be seen poking just into view by the feet of the new arrivals, followed by a slow encroaching of scarlet liquid.

"Hey there, boys and girls. You guys ready to get the fuck outta here? 'Cuz I know I am."

With the door open, the thuds could now be identified as gunfire and the muffled voices, screams of alarm and panic coming from Noniel's soldiers.

"We gotta go. We got guys setting explosives to send this whole place into the clouds. Real bad for your health. Stay right on our asses, okay? We are going to be moving fast and shit is about to get really fun, really quick."

MangoGoGo Key of Stars Slav Megilagor Mineczka

---

Banging could be heard against the frame of the solid cell door before being opened abruptly by one of the soldier's that had been keeping watch of the prisoners. Rather than the usual silent cruelty that they displayed, the guard stumbled into the cell in a clearly panicked state. Her internal comms device betrayed her quick, shallow breaths and her shaking hands could be seen despite the heavy armor she wore.

The armor was riddled with fresh dents and holes that was quickly explained by the sounds of multiple firefights echoing from deeper within the Mogul prison. The guard then swings around, aiming her enchanted firearm at the Moguls. Her aim is jittery and she quickly flicks the direction of her barrel between each prisoner in an erratic fashion.

"How?!" She screeches. "How did you bastards reach out for help?! Talk! Now! Or I will take every single one of you with me to the afterlife!"

The woman didn't have the time to make good on her threat, as 3 cloaked figures silently emerged in the doorway with weapons drawn and lethality permeating their every step.

The female guard must have had a sixth sense of some sort because she swung around rapidly to face the assailants only to be met with a hail of accurate, automatic fire from point blank range. All shots hit the Noniel soldier perfectly in the head and caused her armored form to crumple to the ground before powering down. The deep red that spilled from her fallen form soaked neatly into the padded room that the prisoners had called home for their stay here.

One of the figures took a single step towards the Moguls, lowering the still-smoking firearm while their two teammates covered the door for any additional guests.

The guard's killer spared a quick glance around the room, the glowing visor pausing on each of the prisoner's surprised faces before tossing their head in the direction of the door, gesturing for them to follow. Wordlessly, the unknown person turned around, bringing their rifle to bear once more and following the lead of the two providing cover. Who had now pushed back out into the prison and could be heard sending some more rounds down into the darkness that filled this god-awful place.

AriAriAbabwa SilverFeathers Servant -ferret- Human Instrumentality

---

The sounds of a struggle could be heard outside of the cell, followed by gunfire and raised, panicked voices. An unknown figure suddenly gets launched through the entrance, taking the entire cell door off its hinges. Even without having any kind of medical training, it was clear that this person clad in dark, form fitting armor was no longer among the living. Blood wept freely from various open wounds on their person and their neck was bent at an unnatural angle.

The sounds of fighting right outside the door had not died down though and one of the prison guards could be seen for a moment as they stumbled within view the now open cell door. The soldier was still outside the cell, facing away from the entrance and a strange sound could be heard coming from them. The guard then spun around and leaned their back against the far wall, now facing the prisoners. It was now painfully obvious what was causing the sound. The guard was clutching weakly at their neck as their life poured over the blade embedded in the gap between their helmet and chest guard.

The metal glinted with malicious cheer through the flood of crimson that washed over it. Only to be obscured by a gloved hand gripping its handle and wrenching it free with a brutal twist that painted a thin gash of red onto the very wall the guard had used to brace themselves.

The assailant was dressed in a similar garb to the one that had been rocketed through the cell door and was clearly injured. The person in question could be heard panting through their helmet radio and turned to face the Moguls with an obvious limp. The killer's visor did not focus on anyone in the cell aside from their colleague that laid far too still atop the broken door.

"Damn you to hell and back, Hathom. I told you not to rush ahead. Now look at you..."

The supposed savior of the prisoners then looked up to the other people within and addressed them as a group, "Leave him. We don't have enough time to bring any dead weight with us. Get the fuck out of here or this is all for nothing. GO!"

The person gestured to the right, down the hall where more fighting could be head. Upon stepping out past the cell door's threshold, two more bodies in similar armor to the one who addressed them adorned the floors of the prison. Rapid, rhythmic, clangs of metal on stone could be heard coming from the opposite direction that the prisoners were told to run. More guards were approaching fast and based on the chatter echoing on the walls, they weren't planning on taking more prisoners today.

"You'll find someone dressed like me at the end of the wing. Follow exactly what they say and they'll get you out of here. Tell them what happened to us and... tell them thank you for everything."

The dark clad figured then brought their firearm to their shoulder and limped towards the approaching danger, throwing all caution and stealth to the wind and opting to pour magic into the rifle to increase its power rather than dampen its sound. An exchange of rounds could be heard for a few seconds before it was silent and the heavy, metal footsteps continued their approach.

Kyuubey Phayne Benadryl Plankton Seraphine

---

The continuous cacophony of live ammunition being released from their respective muzzles and spells being slung back and forth gave Florian all of the information he needed to know about what was going on outside of his chamber. He was marked for death, like all the others, and his day of reckoning was that same day, like so many before him.

It was just by sheer, blind luck that today happened to be the day that this rebel organization decided to spring this operation to deal a devastating blow to the Nonian Empire. Yells of alarm could be heard getting closer to the execution room before being cut short. A soft thud reverberated into Florian's place of arrest accompanied only by the sound of distant gunfire.

The door creaked its slow, squeaky protest upon being opened and a group of five people wearing unidentifiable armor slid into the room with completed muted footfalls and practiced, lethal grace. One of the members of the group slung their rifle across their back and got to work on freeing the Mogul from his less-than-ideal chair.

"Hey there, Kid. Today's your lucky day. You get to live for a little longer."

The restraints fell loose from the prisoner's flesh and the individual who spoke to him took a few steps back to let him stand. He returned his rifle to his grip and signaled to the others to head back out the door they just came from.

"This place is about to come crumbling down. Unless you want to know what it feels like to get turned to ashes, I suggest you follow us out of here."

0stinato

 

[Britt-21]

Saturday Evening - 9:15pm - Noniel Execution Facility - Outside - North East corner of the map

Gunfire, screams, thuds from those heavy boots...It was a lot to take in considering the place went from quiet as a mouse to louder than an orchestra in a span of just at least 45 mins. Cell after cell had been broken into, allowing each prisoner to escape and be escorted by the...I suppose you could call them soldiers...Out of the exit that they had created. They wanted to be quick and swift, after all they only had 10 minutes to spare. As the Mogul got outside, they could feel the cool air against their skin, the smell of night fill their nostrils. It was clear that this was a night assault as it made it fairly easy to sneak within the shadows and catch the facility off guard. Luckily the plan had been executed absolutely perfectly as more of those Guards collapsed and more of the Mogul had poured out of the building. Partners were finding each other, some hugging, some crying at the fact that their partner was still alive and they themselves were still alive. No doubt they had a moment to reconcile before being nudged towards the very thin treeline that would eventually lead up to the coast of the tip of Noniel.

After 10 minutes, the ground rumbled and the sounds of explosions began to fill the air as the Execution Facility began to go up like a blaze of glory. Debris being sent in multiple directions, the orange-like flames coming from the black smoke. This wasn't only a Mogul retrieval, but it was also an attack on the facility. Considering this Facility had been larger than most, it did require a decent amount of explosives, but even if the whole building didn't collapse it would surely take a while to rebuild back to being as good as new and running. While some stuck around to watch the show and cheer, most kept retreating with the Mogul towards the shore where boats had awaited them. It was clear they were going to get the hell outta here by boat because if they even dared try to travel down Noniel, they would run into too much trouble. Cutting straight across to Yamor was going to be the best option.

**All of you have been bunnied to be pushed out the facility. You can react, watch the explosions, etc. But you will be pushed to the boats. Though you will probably run into your partners so this would be where you reunite. You'll be allowed to interact and all. Again: You will be pushed to the boats. If you wanna rp moving onto the boats thats fine too.**

The Elder shadowz1995 Kyuubey Mineczka Phayne -ferret- 0stinato Slav Megilagor AriAriAbabwa MangoGoGo Human Instrumentality Benadryl Plankton Servant Key of Stars leviohsa Seraphine SilverFeathers TheRealAngeloftheStorm​

 

[-ferret-]

Out of the hundreds among hundreds of times Mitra had fallen apart in front of other people and also behind closed doors, none was quite the same as this one. Mitra, a naturally nervous and anxious person, was prone to fits of fear. Hyperventilation and panicked mutterings were their best friends. Sweaty palms and rabbit fast heart beats kept them alert. Crying was like second nature, a good release for the built up terror. But this time, there was nothing. The bump-bump-bump of their heart and the slow breaths of their lungs. The sightless look in their eyes. It was all so strange.

Losing Phin was like losing a limb. The phantom pain of him still being there but knowing he was gone. It was like losing their mother and father all over again, but so much worse. Lilia and Nina were there when they felt it. The cracking, scarring, burning pain that consumed everything. Every fear, every anxiety, every terror filled nightmare. There wasn't even time to feel scared of their own death with the way the grief welled up in their chest. For so long the dominating feeling they felt was stressed nervousness that it was strange to feel nothing and yet also the overwhelming pain of loss. It was like their heart was ripping from their rib cage and shredding itself apart in order to feel anything but this.

The loss of Nina only stacked the grief higher. She'd been so kind and so young. So innocent and never meant for this horrifying fate. She was meant to be anywhere but here. Mitra could feel physical hurt in their throat when she left with nothing but that little smile. It was so unfair. So much more unfair than life ever had a right to be.

It was in the middle of this muted musing that the normal sounds outside the cell changed to screaming and gunfire. Lilia was still holding Mitra’s hand when a guard came stumbling into their cell. Mitra could see the fear in her eyes. Mitra could barely understand what she was screaming at them with the gun pointed and swinging wildly. The fear clammed their mouth up as if it was sewn shut. There wasn't time to say anything though, as she was quickly gunned down. Mitra hesitated to follow the unknown assailant, but got themself into gear and dragged Lilia by the hand not soon after.

 

[Seraphine]

[youtube]

Zenrias' Theme

ZENRIAS TAIRA

The Forgiving Fiscal Agent

─── ⋆⋅ 𓇢𓆸 ⋅⋆ ───
​

As a man of letters and figures, it never particularly struck Zenrias to attribute anything to pure providence. Even so, unlike many of his fellow Ministry colleagues, it was not in his nature to rely solely on rock-solid rationality. Too often, he found it fell short of filling in those crucial gaps where the whims and follies of the human heart reside, obscured from view until one dared to let their own heart lead them and navigate the nuances of what, in his eyes, fundamentally drove the world: individual desire. Still, Zenrias thought as he cast a bewildered look toward the smoke-streaked night sky, what were the odds of this? If his head would only stop spinning, he was sure a relative number would surface from the depths of his concussed mind. Otherwise, there was no other choice but to lean on a newfound ally.
Arm draped across her supporting shoulder, Zenrias once again felt a swell of gratitude. Her name had barely left her lips when chaos erupted. In the blink of an eye, Aveline had managed to marshal the boy and the giant out the cell and arm in arm, had Zenrias trail behind her, staving off his limp and lightheadedness as they all rushed to obey the instruction of their new stranger-turned-saviour.

You'll find someone dressed like me at the end of the wing. Follow exactly what they say and they'll get you out of here. Tell them what happened to us and... tell them thank you for everything.

A pang of anguish seized Zenrias' heart. Amid the cacophony of crackling fire cocooning the extermination facility behind them, he remembered the clang of magicked bullets. The silence that followed, and the march of guard boots soon after. For a moment, the wish to turn back time was all-encompassing. Pointless as it was, he began to question if there had been room for another outcome; was their life truly the price to pay for his freedom and those of his cellmates? Thin as the treeline they'd crossed to reach the coast, the soothing balm of rationale attempted to flow against the gnaw of guilt. They knew the risks. This was something they were willing to die for. You mustn't blame yourself.

Five years since her passing, and that little maxim remained easier said than done. With a steadying breath, Zenrias made the conscious decision to let it go, at least for the moment. In the distance, boats crowded the shoreline like spots of ink on charred papyrus. Already, partners were making beelines for each other—Ava was no exception to the rule. Her counterpart stood against the crowd like a silver coin glinting in the sand. The closer they got, the stronger his memory tugged. Soon, there was no mistaking it. This was a face he'd known since childhood.

"Archduchess Văn Liên Xuân," murmured the young noble, reverent gaze lingering on the pin in her hair before it floated down to meet her taciturn one, rendered breathless by disbelief. For good reason: fifteen or so years ago, there was a time when her family name would grace the guest list as guests of honor at many a Taira banquet; the same was true for them at a Châu Bí ball. Despite his roughened state, Zenrias was loathe to neglect his formal manners; with as much poise as he could muster, he took her hand and pressed it briefly against his rueful lips. "To think... this is how and where our paths cross again. It's a relief to see you alive and well, Your Grace."

The same was not wholly true for him; still leaned against Aveline, it seemed as if he could hardly stand. True to forgiving form, Zenrias Taira thought of himself last through the hellfire, if only to ensure others remained unscathed.

"I know I certainly would not have made it," he added with a grateful nod, "had it not been for your pa..." He could not help but cut himself off, reminded by the sheer reality of it all. They were all Moguls; two halves of what was thought to be a cursed whole. He had yet to find his opposing half. Worse yet, if there was any remnant of the Liên Xuân he knew as a boy, it wouldn't be long until unsettling questions about the nature of his injuries would arise and...

Zenrias shook his head, eyeing the nearest boat ramp. "Forgive me. I'm sure the two of you have much to talk about. Lady Aveline," he continued, leaning forward in a bow as his hand found hers. Smiling warmly, he gave it a tender, thankful squeeze. "Thank you again, for all your help. Best not linger here too long. If you see our former cellmates, give them my regards."

─── ⋆⋅ 𓇢𓆸 ⋅⋆ ───​

Enyra always said the beaches here were beautiful.
Leaned against what he hoped was an inconspicuous corner of the deck, Zenrias let his tired eyes roam the silken strands of his late wife's native shoreline. The waves reminded him of the first pearls he had adorned around her neck; a symphony of white and silver hues, shimmering in a endless, undulating dance with the moon. Flapping somewhat in the wind, his black vest was a tattered garland around his sore shoulders. It offered a modicum of warmth against the ocean breeze, which fortunately did wonders in taming his headache. Though the same could not be said for the deep, dark gash on his cheek.

Zenrias winced, a thin hiss escaping his lips as the salt sea spray played touch and go with the wound. He turned back round, a familiar trickle beginning to make its way down his face.
Light as a feather, the rivulets of blood pooled against his fingertips. As he watched a single droplet slowly trace the rest of his palm, his focus sharpened on the striking figure framed just beyond the narrowed gaps of his fingers.

It was her.

His hand faltered; nails bit into his bloodied palm. A distinct, bitter sensation surged through him, maroon eyes narrowing to slits before closing gently to the lull of the waves. For a fleeting moment, he saw nothing and heard nothing but the hammer of his heart and the sea.

When they opened again, he was on the move. He did not know what exactly urged his every step forward; all he knew was that every one was a step forward.

Before either one knew it, the distance between them cut to barely an arms-length. Save for the distant relieved chatter of freed prisoners, nothing held between them but a thin sheet of silence. Finally, Zenrias broke it with a short clearing of his throat and a wordless gesture.

Unfurling like spring's first fragile leaf, his hand extended out. In a single breath, her name left his lips in a tone that, for all its initial unsteadiness, compensated itself firmly in earnestness.

"Mrs. Visconti," he began cautiously. "It is certainly... unique to finally meet you—" For a moment, his breath held and his gaze flickered down uncertainly to her bruised knuckles, "—and not your... fist, this time."

Stifling the urge to swallow, he looked back up, seemingly steeling himself. "A simple gesture will not undo or make it easy to forget what we've done to each other. But..."

Zenrias threw a glance toward the fiery plumes of smoke in the sky, the prison now a smouldering pindrop behind them both.

"... Despite everything, I want to make it work. I want to... to move on. There is more to us now, something in us both that I believe surpasses our past... conflicts. I realize it may only be a temporary solution, but for now, let us agree... to a truce."

─── ⋆⋅ 𓇢𓆸 ⋅⋆ ───​

TAGS ⪼ INTERACTIONS : Aveline ( Kyuubey ) ; Liên Xuân ( Mineczka ) ; Emilia ( TheRealAngeloftheStorm )

TAGS ⪼ MENTIONS : Ciaran ( Phayne ) ; Leopold ( Benadryl Plankton )

 

[SilverFeathers]

Lilia Canteru | Passive

Location: Noniel Execution Facility - Outdoors
Tags: -ferret- Human Instrumentality Servant AriAriAbabwa Key of Stars

Immersed in her own thoughts, Lilia only half-turned an ear to Lilith's usual shenanigans with vague eyes. Blinking away the fatigue, she graced her fellow Lily quietly with a tired smile, the greatest she could muster at this point in time. Her face did not change at the younger one's admonishment and consequent order to listen, but slowly as the story was told, she felt more and more absurd. Though she no longer had the heart to laugh, she couldn't help but raise her free hand to her face from a mix of embarrassment, shame and disbelief. "Lily... you... what, how?" She wasn't even sure what she was trying to ask at this point.

Lilia had never gone to school. Hence, Lilith's school stories were always somewhat of interest to her, as crazy as she made them sound, but this... losing your virginity just like that? Was that normal? Inadvertently, the thought made her think back to her first time with Lumian as her face blushed beet red. "God damn it Lily... but thank you." Lilia lowered her hand, revealing a smile despite her reddened cheeks and rare curses. Her smile was much more genuine this time. If she could still lose herself in the distractions of thinking of such things, then she had not lost herself just yet, and that was a big relief.

Sighing softly, it was just when she was about to settle back down to sleep that she noticed something.

Was that... blood?

The view from her window was not the best, mainly facing the wall of the cell opposite, but even then, she could not mistake that crimson sight for anything else. Narrowing her eyes, the sudden, loud banging startled them all, and she pulled the sleeping Carina to her side away from the door just as it was flung open.

Immediately, the world grew alive. The cacophony of gunshots and screaming. The smell of blood and smoke. Her senses were so suddenly overwhelmed, it was disorientating, but the guard's threat at the end of her crazed words forced her to sober up. She knew this was their only chance to survive. They couldn't die this close to freedom. Just as she opened her mouth to answer the guard and stall for time, three foreign figures approached, similar but different to the guards' dress, obliterating the woman without a word. The sound of point-blank gunfire rung in her ears, but fortunately their presumed saviours didn't speak, only gesturing for them to follow.

Shakily, she stood up, subconsciously pulling the hands of Mitra and Carina with her. Looking back at the other two, Lilith and Edmund, her eyes were still somewhat dazed as she spoke. "Let's go." She quickly turned back, dutifully following after the guard without another word.

Amidst all the chaos, her mind was a blur. But even then, one name and thought stood out to her. Lumian. Frantically, with every hallway and cell they passed, she looked for any trace of him. Worry and anxiousness crept up her throat like tears, but she held on, praying that they might have escorted him out before her. Inadvertently, all her subtle searching had her fall behind, enough for a stray bullet from outside of cover to tear across her cheek. She was too overwhelmed to truly register the pain, nor look to what happened to her attacker. But as she briefly spared a glance to the ones she was dragging forward, the glaring crimson on Carina's body stung her eyes. "I'm so sorry Cari." She bitingly whispered, guilty and angry at no one but herself as she resolutely hurried forward.

The sight of the night sky was stunning. But before she could even register their safety, she felt a force pull her from the side as her sight line was blocked.

She didn't even need to see his face to identify the arms that enveloped her.

Letting go of everything, she leaned in and clung desperately to his chest, the bottled up emotions overflowing like a desperate tsunami. Tears fell from her eyes like raindrops, quickly dampening his chest. "M-Mian... I didn't think we had a future left... I-I..." Her voice was hoarse and barely audible, almost grating on the ear in between her sobs. Undoubtedly, she looked like a terrible mess right now, with her pale dishevelled hair falling over her eyes and blood smeared across her cheek.

"I know..." Hearing his voice again soothed her heart, whilst his grip tightened around her body. "I know."

"I thought I would die a dog's death, bleeding out on the floor in front of those assholes. But I didn't, we didn't." He carefully ran a hand through her messy hair, making her feel at home. "I'm here Lil, and I'm not leaving again."

Her breathing stilled at his comforting words, slowly evening out back to normalcy. She rested quietly in his arms for a few moments, overwhelmed by relief, before realizing something and suddenly looking up. "Did they hurt you? Who's blood is this?" She raised a hand to the dry bloodstains all over his face, before noticing the crowd by the treeline just over his shoulder. "Ah, we should probably go join them, don't want to block the entrance." She muttered softly, quietly trying to slip out of his grip.

"Most of it isn't mine. And you're right." He assured her and said, though knowing him, she wasn't sure how much to believe. She felt a bit at a loss after being released from his arms, but his hand quickly found hers, and she couldn't help but smile again. Trailing behind her beloved, his back was a familiar, comforting sight. Always leading the way forward for her to follow.

"Lil... Who did this?" In the shadows of the trees, Lumian suddenly stopped, tracing a finger beneath the wound she had momentarily forgotten about. Caught a little off-guard, she quickly held his arm with both hands. "Don't be angry." She hurriedly comforted, before finding the words to explain. "I'm sure they're dead by now. It was just one of the guards." She smiled softly, though deep down she wasn't completely sure which side had struck her.

"They're dead." He seemed to mull the words over for a few moments before nodding. "I suppose that's that then." He pulled back his hand, wiping the blood on his finger on his pants. "Though i wish I could have done it myself. Come, we should get that cleaned and covered up. I'm not sure what to think of these guys but if they're willing to free us from that place, surely they can spare some medical supplies."

"Alright." She nodded with a small smile. Until he turned away to look for medical aid, she stared at his face, quietly burning and embedding it into her memory. Even if this was all just a sweet dream as she rotted back in her cell... she would cherish every last moment of it. Smiling to herself, she followed behind him into the crowds... only looking back as that hateful place was beautifully destroyed in a blaze of fire.

 

[Key of Stars]

Lumian Isca
Location: Noniel Execution Facility - Outdoors
Mentions: SilverFeathers MangoGoGo Mineczka Megilagor Slav 0stinato ​

Ten minutes, an hour, a day, honestly it was hard to tell how long it had been since Florian had been taken out of their cell. In there, time blended together in a way that was only really possible in a completely enclosed space. Food was a constant, but there was no way to tell if they received it at the same time every day. His cellmates had apparently taken his quiet mutter as a declaration for them all to respond to, but he hadn't bothered saying more. He wanted nothing more than to bash in the head of the nearest guard and to fight his way out, but he wasn't delusional enough to think trying would end any other way than as a messy clean up job for the guards.

So, they'd fallen silent again, for god knows how long. Lumian was used to silence by now, this godforsaken room was made for it. Which made every sound that broke that silence, no matter how minor, all the more intriguing. He watched the door as he always did, even as he listened to the increasingly frequent muffled sounds from the outside. He was on his feet the moment the door opened, his lips curving up into a smile.

What exactly had happened and who the armed figure in front of him was were concerns he would think on later. Trust and distrust were things he couldn't afford to waste time on here. As the group started moving he trailed behind slightly, crouching down next to the corpse of one of the guards of the facility. "Wish I could have seen your expression now." He told the corpse, dipping the heel of boot into the still fresh pool of blood before delivering a swift stomp to the guard's helmet with that same heel. "And I truly wish you could have felt that."

Lumian considered abandoning the group multiple times as they made their way through the facility. Going his own way to find Lilia within this blasted place, but between the unfamiliar lay-out and the uncertainty of how the armed figure would respond to him going off alone made him decide against it. He couldn't afford to die, not when he was this close to getting out. Lilia would be waiting for him out there, or he would be waiting for her. And if that didn't happen, he would rush right back in, even if it did kill him.

The outside air had never felt quite as good as it did now. But that pleasant feeling was only on his mind for a brief second as he glanced around the crowd of people gathered outside of the facility. It was easy enough to separate those that had freed them from the mogul. She wasn't there. He took a few steps towards the treeline, leaning back against the trunk of one of the trees and forcing himself to draw a few deep breaths of the outside air. She wasn't there... yet.

Time in that cell had felt slow, but compared to the time he spent gazing at the exit to the burning facility, it felt like he had only been in there for an hour. And then, at the end of that eternity spent waiting, she was there. Almost instinctively, he ran towards her, shoving those unfortunate enough to be in the way aside without sparing them a second glance. Only when he got closer did it vaguely register that she wasn't alone, her hands occupied with two others. Perhaps, on some other day, that might have made him slow down. But this was not one of those days.

Lumian only slowed down enough to make sure he wouldn't knock Lilia over as he threw his arms around her and pulled her close. She returned the embrace, burying her face in his chest. He could feel her grip and her tears on his chest. "M-Mian... I didn't think we had a future left... I-I..." Her voice wasn't the same as usual, hoarse and quiet, but he had missed it all the same.

"I know..." He tightened his grip as he spoke. "I know." A short dry chuckle made its way past his lips. "I thought I would die a dog's death, bleeding out on the floor in front of those assholes. But I didn't, we didn't." He moved his right hand up, running it through her hair carefully. "I'm here Lil, and I'm not leaving again."

She seemed to calm down as he spoke. Not saying anything as she rested in his arms for a moment. "Did they hurt you? Who's blood is this? Ah, we should probably go join them, don't want to block the entrance."

His lips curved into a slight smile at her worry, an aspect of Lilia he was deeply familiar with. It felt natural in a way, though he would have still preferred not to have worried her. "Most of it isn't mine." He assured her, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. Only then did he see it. "You're right." He pulled his arms back, grasping for one of her hands instead as he lead her away from the facility. "Lil..." He started once they'd moved closer to the treeline. "Who did this?" He carefully moved his finger along her cheek just below the bleeding wound, staring at the fresh blood on his finger intently.

She followed behind him quietly, placing a hand on his arm the moment he spoke. "Don't be angry. I'm sure they're dead by now. It was just one of the guards."

"They're dead." He mulled the words over for a few moments before nodding. The sudden anger he had felt building subsiding just as quickly at her words. "I suppose that's that then." He pulled back his hand, wiping the blood on his finger on his pants. "Though i wish I could have done it myself. Come, we should get that cleaned and covered up. I'm not sure what to think of these guys but if they're willing to free us from that place, surely they can spare some medical supplies."

"Alright." She smiled, staring at his face until he finally turned away. He let her, after all, he'd missed that voice, he'd missed those eyes, and he'd missed that smile. Just as much as she had, if not more.

 

[TheRealAngeloftheStorm]

EMILIA VISCONTI

The Vindictive Vandal

TAGS | Seraphine

Emilia watches as the curtain was raised on a new act, punctuated by the distinct, comforting sounds of gunfire and the screaming of their captors.

Never one to believe in divine intervention, she turns the situation over in her head. There are kind souls out there who rail against the injustices and cruelties of reality. But the best they can do was merely picket the lawns of state apparatuses, demanding this or that change with nothing to show for it. Noniel’s steering of the narrative regarding the Moguls was a stance adopted by the great nations of this earth unflinchingly. And more unscrupulous governments had no problems with disappearing those who disagreed with them publicly.

She doubts that mere sympathizers were willing to stick their neck out to save Moguls from the execution facilities. An interest group? Emilia dismissed any thoughts of being bailed out - excommunication from the family meant that any suggestion regarding her breakout would be deemed too risky. Her saviors are far too well-armed, too well trained to be part of any of Floramante’s criminal organizations anyway.

Whatever the reason, Emilia thinks as she grinds her foot into a dying guardsman’s neck, watching the light leave his eyes as his desperate scrabbling at her leg stills, she would play with the hand that she was dealt. One could always bounce back from mistakes, given enough time. With this golden opportunity thrust right into her hands, she would make use of it.

They told the lot of them that they had ten minutes to live. Dramatic, certainly, but with the cold efficiency they demonstrated as they swept the hallways, Emilia doesn’t doubt them. So she follows in their footsteps, a river of broken corpses all but flowing past her as their unlikely saviors carved a bloody swathe through Noniel’s mutts towards freedom. In their red wake came a vicious sort of glee, an emotion that rose in an unmatched crescendo in the folds of her heart. The guards, those same self-important, sniveling fools who dared think themselves above her, reduced to dying like the animals they were… who could blame her, to see justice enacted on the haughty?

Some of them broke before the onslaught, begging for mercy that was delivered from the barrel of a gun. Others cursed and spit for siding with the devils before they too were granted the gift of blessed silence. It reminded her of her own disciplinary actions, in a way, but casting her mind to old glories was distasteful. A stinging reminder of what she had before it was all stolen away. Nevertheless, the exuberance she felt washed it away - even if it was only for a moment.

Shame, Emilia thinks as she steps out of the prison, taking in the song of the sea and glory of the night and its court. She breathes in deeply. I could’ve used men like this.

On the shores are others. Moguls, reunited with lifelong partners. She sees it, the throng of humanity congregated together, united in freedom. She sees them mix and mingle, tearing flowing from weary eyes. Hands gripped in camaraderie. They hold each other in their arms. Friends, family, lovers. The din of sorrow into joyful reunion burns her, deep inside, and Emilia thinks of Atana and Calas, so far away and out of reach. She worries, of course, as a loving wife and mother does. Amadeo Visconti did not speak of them, and the damning silence on the matter weighs on her more than she dares admit.

Still, the burning, the itching under Emilia’s skin as she watches the Moguls reunite does not abate. It only gets worse, and a thumb flicks away blood from some Noniellian dog whose death was a little closer than she would have liked.

Now what?

Emilia doubts altruism is the driving force behind their saviors’ raid on an execution facility. What could a group like them possibly stand to gain from burning down one of Noniel’s famed charnel houses? Freeing ‘subversive elements’ to the order that Noniel dictated across the continent? Perhaps it was a message of sorts, announcing their defiance to the world in a most spectacular fashion.

It is a mystery. A mystery that is promptly shelved when she sees him, the bastard who burned it all.

He approaches her with steel in his spine and purpose in his eyes, but there are cracks in his posture, a deep-seated unease that Zenrias cannot truly shake away. She savors it like it’s the sweetest thing she’s ever tasted. His eyes flicker to her knuckles, and again, the sound of flesh and cartilage giving way rings out in her mind. Once, twice, thrice, a movement in hatred that slows.

Zenrias offers a truce. It takes all her might not to clasp her hands around his neck and squeeze. But there are too many people here, and she doubts that their saviors will be pleased if she repaid their generous hospitality with blatant murder. And neither will the rest of the Mogul. So she restrains herself for now.

It is nothing less than a supreme insult. Truce. Offered now, in her weakest moment yet, surrounded by people who are watching. He dictates the terms and seems like the reasonable one. The others do not know their history, but some can surely infer it. He ambles on about a new start, speaking of both of them having ‘something more’.

Too forgiving, too cowardly, too blind to how the world worked. No wonder she’d gotten away with embezzling his charity for so long.

But Emilia puts on a smile, forced and painful. Her hand lifts, goes past his outstretched palm and lands on his shoulder instead.

“This is not the time to be making such grandiose declarations, Mr. Taira.” she says softly, suppressing that undercurrent of anger that threatened to surge and color her words red. “Perhaps it would be best if we escaped first. Oaths made under stress are never true.”

She jerks her head to the smoldering ruins of the execution facility behind them, the plumes of smoke stretching far into the night sky.. “After all, our saviors will be coming soon, and we will be away from this wretched place. What better way to start anew?”

Emilia withdraws her hand and keeps that smile plastered on her face. Her choler is well and truly stoked now, and it is all she can do to keep her face straight in light of his humiliation.

 

[0stinato]

"Hey there, Kid. Today's your lucky day. You get to live for a little longer. This place is about to come crumbling down. Unless you want to know what it feels like to get turned to ashes, I suggest you follow us out of here."

Despite the restraints being broken and removed, the sense of human autonomy was lethargic in its return to Florian’s limbs. The hypnotic headspace that certain doom had thrust him into, coupled with his mental dissection of his own grief, had sequestered all sense of self. Watching the group of strangers twist on their heels and run through the cell’s heavy door into a corridor that flickered with hot light did nothing to rouse his hibernating limbs, but the smell of smoke that rushed into his nostrils flew right to the bestial sector of his brain that knew to panic upon uncontrolled fire being in the area.

He nodded to the remaining agent of chaos who was returning the rifle to their hands to signal he would indeed take the suggestion offered to him. With no weapon, no Mogul energy circulating in him, and barely a bone in his body capable of enacting unarmed violence, Florian began to treat his pursuit of the soldier who had freed him like a game of follow the leader. A vacuous decision certainly, but aside from the innate fear of a burning death, Florian was finding himself quite capable of parsing the information each of his senses were experiencing. Shouted orders and cries of pain were none of his concern since he was not one of these elite soldiers, so he disregarded those; sudden explosions within the complex were more worrying, but never did the agent he was following flinch, so Florian didn’t either. Along with the hot breath of smoke came the pungent odour of gunfire and, around some particularly colourful corners, blood. Guards who had insulted, beaten and incarcerated him and the other Mogul lay dead or dying, but here and there were soldiers who had fallen in the attack. The more they moved, the weaker the scent of smoke became, but louder was the syncopated percussion of gunfire.

It took running past the fourth corpse of a soldier, a particularly recent kill that caused the man he was following to shoot down an intersecting corridor at a guard before continuing on, for Florian to realise a good portion of his mind was dedicating itself to a particular emotion.

A shout from behind drew Florian’s attention and he twisted in time to see a guard raising a pistol. The guard was holding their side, but their face was a grimace of disgust. By the time Florian had interpreted the sight, there were two more shots in the guard, and the soldier was lowering their rifle and ordering him to keep following.

No longer could Florian urge himself into more than a jog. That emotion was squatting uninvited in his mind, but he felt no desire to beat it away. For another minute, he followed the soldier, but as soon as he saw the glow of natural light, of moonlight, an illuminated promise of escape down an opposing path, he stopped his pursuit, speaking only when the soldier glanced round to check on his progress.

‘You should have been here yesterday, you know. You’re one day too late for gratitude.’

Not caring or giving a thought to how the soldier might react, Florian shrugged at them then took the other path, boots crunching on the debris from the assault as he upped his speed. Each step took him away from Nina’s tomb and closer to a life devoid of what he had discovered made him whole six months ago. Unlike his grief for her which he had managed to switch off while being in the unique position of facing his own demise, the first strong emotion he was experiencing upon his life being given back was not melting away. With every pulse of his heart, he expected that squatting troglodyte of resentment to diminish in scale until it washed away, leaving him neutral with a smile unsuitable for the situation, but that was simply not happening.

The fact was, these soldiers hadn’t saved him. Freed him, ensured he lived sure, but they had failed in the granular scale of Florian’s own existence: the moment Nina was executed, he could not be saved.



Moonlit air hit his lungs, sound drained, then slammed back into his head as he gasped. Crossing the threshold of the prison had restored a sense of humanity to his body. He felt his exhaustion, the stress on his limbs, the tightness in his lungs and he stumbled as far as he could from the complex until he got his balance back.

Others moved in the light, exiting from other locations and congregating near a body of water, upon which bobbed the silent shapes of boats. Silhouettes ran to one another, embraced or met with recognition before Florian’s eyes. The gap in his psyche ached, and while he felt the loneliness, he could observe the emotion and set it aside.

With his breathing under control, he approached the group without urgency. His left hand went to a breast pocket of his coat, and his right into a side pocket, but upon feeling nothing there he recalled - oh yeah - the guards had confiscated his belongings. No cigarettes, no matches, no motorcycle keys. For now, he had no alternatives to any of those objects, so Florian shrugged and stuck both hands in his pockets, glancing around the group of gathered survivors reuniting with their partners, reclaiming their Mogul, feeling a resurgence in their powers.

He’d miss that. He’d miss her too. That execution chair was already beginning to blur into an insignificant memory, but his bereavement remained cold and sharp.

But he’d deal with that later. For now, he knew what he wanted.

With all the casualness of a stranger at a bus stop, Florian raised his voice, speaking loud enough for those in a nearby radius to hear, ‘Anyone got smokes? If you do, help me out would you? Float one over here.’

 

[Britt-21]

Cherie shifted her gaze toward Rin as he spoke, being outwardly hopeful. This tugged the corners of her lips as she brought her fists up around chest height and clenched them with a firm and exciting nod. "Thank you Rin, that's what I needed." However when it came down to fighting, Cherie possessed no skills to fight with her body. The only thing she was good at was being loud and distracting if anything. "I should be the last person that you should be asking that's for sure. I would be a great distraction though." ( The Elder ) The girl said softly as she heard the sounds of a nearby guard which caused her to turn around and look at the man as he stopped to look at them. What came out of his mouth had caused her insides to tighten with anger, listening to that digitized voice. You're wrong! We aren't filth! The girl pushed one foot forward but stopped as her hands tightened into balls. If she said anything, she could be shot. Biting her tongue had been one of the hardest things she could do in this moment.

The sound of metal smashing against metal had caused her to jump slightly, watching as the sparks flew from the man's helmet. Was that...? Looking beyond the guard, she wondered who fired off the shot towards him. It was clear it bothered the man as he fell to a knee and began to look for the source. Suddenly he was stuck in place and that told a lot to Cherie He's stuck. Maybe their armor isnt all that fantastic, that's such a horrible flaw. Knowing this knowledge, she was going to store that in her back pocket for later. She had jumped once again as another bullet had collided with the armor and the only thing indicating if the man had been alive in there was that trickling blood. Though taking two shots to the helmet...There was no way. He was 100% dead in that armor and he was going to be stuck like that forever.

Soon enough there were masked faces that came up to the cell, though looked nothing like the guards that took care of the place. With widened eyes, she parted her lips to speak but they immediately started working on the door and in seconds the door had been opened. They're saving us. They're getting us out of here. We live another day. Her eyes had filled back up with tears and she did her best to fight them because no was not the time to cry. They had to skedaddle out of the place. Looking at the others in the cell and then those who saved them, she immediately followed, trying to keep her head down if anything had come their way. There was more than meets the eye as she heard screaming and more gunfire filling the facility halls. These people were no joke, especially when they were taking down the same people that she absolutely despised. "We have a common enemy." Cherie said, it could've possibly went on deaf ears but it didn't hurt to throw it out there.

As the group finally made it out of the building, Cherie pulled from said-group and began to scan over the rest of the Mogul who had been saved. Where was Shoku? Did they get him yet? Was he still inside? Bringing a closed hand to her chest, she looked around worriedly as she used the full moonlight to her advantage to try to identify her best friend. Despite the fuzzy feeling telling her he was still alive, she had to see with her own eyes that he was here. There was a step here, a step there, spinning and looking for the important person in her life. Everyone was embracing, reuniting and more and it only made her chest tighten. Shoku where are you- Before her thoughts could be finished, multiple explosions caught her off guard as she jumped and turned around to see the building going up in a blaze of glory. Fear filled her soul as she had yet to find Shoku and the tears that she had fought so hard to push back began to spill down her cheeks.

Was that it? Whoever was stuck in there was stuck and would just die? Would be buried along with those who were far from innocent?! Cherie's mind couldn't wrap her head around it and quite frankly what could she do in this moment? She was useless! The girl began to wipe her tears but they had just kept coming with no intention of stopping. When looking ahead of her towards the collapsing building, she noticed a figure seemingly walking...toward her? Her eyes began to widen and as the figure grew closer she could reconize his posture, his hair, even his height with the full moon glow. Despite it not being clear, she immediately she broke into a run towards the figure. "SHO-SHO!!!" Cher yelled as more tears streamed down her face while she slammed into his chest, wrapping her arms around him. At this rate she was going to pass out from dehydration with all of these tears! "Shoku I was so worried!" With a broken voice, she continued "I'm so happy you're okay! They didn't hurt you right?" Pulling her face from his chest, she looked up at him with those amber-colored eyes of hers. It almost looked as if she was giving him puppy eyes at this angle, though who couldn't appreciate some puppy eyes in this moment? ( Megilagor )​