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Fantasy The Shadow of The Seal
- Thread starter Wyll
- Start date
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- Tags
- assassin found family spy
Wyll
Senior Member
CHAPTER 1 - Kidem
Location: Head Library
Interactions/Mentions: Anything and everything within the RP that has a pulse
Location: Head Library
Interactions/Mentions: Anything and everything within the RP that has a pulse
The stained glass skylight refracted the suns rays in gentle hues, painting the walls of the Lasalle Library with brilliant light. A cool wind blew through the large space as a gentle breeze from outside danced its way in through the windows and around the library, starting on the highest floor - the fourth floor - and slowly floating down, cooling the entire library. There was no music playing but the rhythm and buzz of people talking and moving around filled the air. Despite it being a library, it couldn't be said to be particularly quiet. Patrons were free to mill about, talking with friends about books they'd picked up and ones they were interested in reading. Casual conversation floating through the air and bringing life to the library. However, together with these casual conversations, floated whispers of secrets.
Within the library, Assassins, Spies and Lorekeepers for The Seal were woven into the same fabric as the rest of the regular library-goers, undistinguishable to the named eye and the uninitiated. However, camouflaged in the normalcy of everyday library life, they passed information, secrets, and plans, right in the faces of the civilians and some of the librarians who were none-the-wiser. Notes left in books and returned to the shelf only to be picked up mere moments later by someone else; the idle tapping of one's foot to pass across morse code; subtle gestures passed from one side of the room to the other. It was all one intricate dance that only those who had been taught to look for it could see.
And, of course, there was one whose eyes always saw. Perched in the far corner of the highest floor, sitting behind his desk and watching the entire library with his sapphire eyes...Bookie. Nothing happened in the library that he didn't see, no conversation that he didn't hear, no secret that he didn't know. He was the one person that everyone in the library, whether Agent of The Seal or not, knew to respect and, in some cases, even adore. All Assassins, Spies and Lorekeepers that walked into the building would immediately look to him and give a quick nod of acknowledgement out of respect for his position. To the regular civilian, they wouldn't know to send a greeting his way because, even if they looked right at him, they would see nothing due to the fact that his corner was perpetually covered by the shade such that it was nigh impossible to see him if you didn't know he was there. With the number of Agents associated with The Seal increasing and changing so rapidly, this was one way that they were able to identify each other: anybody that knew to greet Bookie belonged.
There were also another set of eyes that all agents would feel. They wouldn't be able to see her or hear her but their gaze drilled into them nonetheless as Guille watched from the shadows. Unlike Bookie, she wasn't able to watch everyone at the same time, so her gaze slowly shifted from one person to the other as the glided through the library, making sure everything was in order. Seer had assumed her usual seat near the front entrance such that she could give the minds of people a quick caress as they entered the building to know what they were here for. Agents that had been here long enough would recognise her touch on their mind, however, non-Agents simply walked in, not aware of another consciousness touching theirs. Keep was nowhere on the ground floor where he could be seen by others. No, that would be far too out of character for our Pillar. Rather, he was within the lower levels, buried in his books as was his habit.
Agents also knew to go to the Center Table and collect todays missions list or, as it was otherwise known, "Today's Recommendation". It was a simple paper that contained a list of book titles. Each agent was assigned a book title, such that if their book title ever appeared on the Recommendations, then it meant they would need to report to Bookie for assignments. For those who didn't see their assigned book title on the Recommendations, it simply meant that they didn't have any missions that day and were free to do as they pleased. And, for that reason, today was special.
There were five books listed on the recommendation list and absolutely none of them belonged to any of the Agents within The Seal. This meant that, somehow, for this one day there were no missions. So, the books listed on the recommendation sheet were just books that Bookie felt would be a fun read for people - a list he had compiled with Keep. For that reason, there was an easy atmosphere all over the library. However, even in the absence of missions, there were still things to do and the Agents knew that.
After all, the day was only just beginning.
Talathel
Wildlife Conservationist in the Making
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Klown
(∴✪౪⊗∴)
Location: Head LibraryTags:
Talathel
The Lasalle sang its brilliant ballad, a sonata written by the wise silence lining its walls and orchestrated by its patrons. A crescendo of lead and ink against parchment, the beat of hardcovers set atop desks and flipped pages, the melodies of hushed conversations between eclectic lips. In the pockets of each whispered note, tucked safely beneath the grander arrangement, were secret hums caught only by attuned ears. A distinct but unobtrusive tempo heard only by those who’ve practiced the rhythm countlessly and knew the cues.
Quill scrambled through the composition like an unsteady tremor. A note that fluttered, trembled, and dropped too early. She’d been a sheet torn and left an unfinished song, but the music did not stop for her. It adapted, it adjusted. It introduced new instruments to fill the quiet of her absence, the chorus now an unfamiliar symphony. It was deafening. Overwhelming.
She’d mistaken notes, provided incorrect recommendations, scattered documents after a patron’s foot caught her tail accidentally, she’d even nearly forgotten to greet Bookie upon her attendance. She amended each mistake hastily, but the restlessness that catered anxiety still quivered through her veins and left a path of dried, powdery blue petals along the library’s floors. What should have been a day free of stress and business was instead the slow drip of water into a cup nearly swelled to the brim.
Quill found Saphielle with the ease of something misplaced, but not lost. A shadow of a memory, a pulse of familiarity. A beat she recognized and lyrics she knew.
Fresh buds grew anew in her hair, shedding some of the crisp, dried petals in their wake. Her approach barely heralded her footfalls or the shuffle of her clothes, soundless enough to be mistaken for a ghostly apparition. Her eyes glide along the lines of the book that captured Saphielle’s attention.
“I like that one.” She said from behind, her tail swaying beneath the cloak that covered most of her form. Her chin dropped onto Saphielle’s shoulder, and she brushed their cheeks together as if in greeting. For a rumored Ice Princess, she was quite warm. “Good morning to you as well, Eona.” Quill crouched before the wolf, her knees pulled against her chest and the sway of her tail almost in tandem with the canine’s.
Although Saphielle had not been lost to Quill, there were fragments missing. Whispers forgotten; the ghosts of emotions stirred. Quill couldn’t read people as well as she would like. She had an amateurish understanding at best. It was the glimpses of anguished smiles or furious worry that perplexed her. On occasion, she caught the shadows of her lost memories upon other’s faces. Some more obvious than others, and some more painful. She’d seen it on Saphielle’s face the first time they’d spoken after her accident, but it never surfaced a conversation. And Quill, as always, was left to wonder.
“I hear the recommendations are lacking today.” She mentioned from where she remained crouched beside the table, peeking up at Saphielle.
Quill scrambled through the composition like an unsteady tremor. A note that fluttered, trembled, and dropped too early. She’d been a sheet torn and left an unfinished song, but the music did not stop for her. It adapted, it adjusted. It introduced new instruments to fill the quiet of her absence, the chorus now an unfamiliar symphony. It was deafening. Overwhelming.
She’d mistaken notes, provided incorrect recommendations, scattered documents after a patron’s foot caught her tail accidentally, she’d even nearly forgotten to greet Bookie upon her attendance. She amended each mistake hastily, but the restlessness that catered anxiety still quivered through her veins and left a path of dried, powdery blue petals along the library’s floors. What should have been a day free of stress and business was instead the slow drip of water into a cup nearly swelled to the brim.
Quill found Saphielle with the ease of something misplaced, but not lost. A shadow of a memory, a pulse of familiarity. A beat she recognized and lyrics she knew.
Fresh buds grew anew in her hair, shedding some of the crisp, dried petals in their wake. Her approach barely heralded her footfalls or the shuffle of her clothes, soundless enough to be mistaken for a ghostly apparition. Her eyes glide along the lines of the book that captured Saphielle’s attention.
“I like that one.” She said from behind, her tail swaying beneath the cloak that covered most of her form. Her chin dropped onto Saphielle’s shoulder, and she brushed their cheeks together as if in greeting. For a rumored Ice Princess, she was quite warm. “Good morning to you as well, Eona.” Quill crouched before the wolf, her knees pulled against her chest and the sway of her tail almost in tandem with the canine’s.
Although Saphielle had not been lost to Quill, there were fragments missing. Whispers forgotten; the ghosts of emotions stirred. Quill couldn’t read people as well as she would like. She had an amateurish understanding at best. It was the glimpses of anguished smiles or furious worry that perplexed her. On occasion, she caught the shadows of her lost memories upon other’s faces. Some more obvious than others, and some more painful. She’d seen it on Saphielle’s face the first time they’d spoken after her accident, but it never surfaced a conversation. And Quill, as always, was left to wonder.
“I hear the recommendations are lacking today.” She mentioned from where she remained crouched beside the table, peeking up at Saphielle.
roxybirdie
𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐨𝐤𝐢 😸
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Wyll
Senior Member
The Fire
Navon
Hara
Hara
The barely audible chuff of dust as black, leather boots disturb the patch of ground the dust had once rested on; a flash of blood red causing the shadows to stir for a fraction of a moment before returning to the still, dark void; the stampeding beat of a heart too wild to be matched by any drum, yet somehow contained behind steady silent breaths.
Navon had just landed in the alley opposite the library having returned from a mission, adrenaline still pumping. The thrill of being sent on a solo mission was a unique one, rather akin to bring the soloist for a musical piece in front of a large crowd. For many, the allure was the bird-like freedom to fly unhindered, charting their own path and doing as they pleased. For others, it was the pride-tickling feeling of knowing that all the glory would be attributed to you - bragging rights that you could wave around as you pleased. For Navon, however, the appeal was knowing that he didn't have to worry about anybody else's life but his own.
Of course, he always felt responsible for the lives of just about every Agent of The Seal, but it was even more so on a mission. On mission, nothing else mattered - not petty grievances, not broken promises, not even The Seal or the Pillars - more than the Agents that were beside him and making sure he brought them back safe. It was a job he fulfilled with a great sense of duty but it also burdened him, especially given that losses were not entirely uncommon in this line of work. Solo missions were a chance to shed all of that and carry out the mission without worry.
And so, as he approached the library, for the first time in a long time, he approached as a man unburdened by responsibility and duty. Even as he pushed open the doors, tossing a quick nod toward Bookie, it would seem like he walked a little taller, his steps a little lighter than his already pianissimo footfalls. He walked up to the center table, just to check if he would be highlighted on the Recommendations. He doubted it, given as he just got back from a mission, but nothing was impossible.
As he scanned through the list, he noticed that not only was his book not there, but the books there did not belong to any agent that he knew of. Confused, he looked back up to Bookie, raising a curious brow, to which the elderly man just smiled and nodded, answering the question he knew fluttered in Navon's mind.
A rare smile found its way to the assassin's features as he basked in what the news meant. He would have to remember to give the mission report to Keep once all was said and done, but for now, all urgency left his steps. If this was truly to be a day off for every Agent, then he was going to make the most out of it.
...
At least, that was his thought until he turned and spotted Quill. Seeing her birthed a violent and untamable wave of emotions crashing over him, such that even his physical body struggled for breath - much like he was literally drowning in emotion. Doubt. Fear. Regret. Pain. Guilt. Each one was a wave that pulled him back under the waters every time he tried to catch a breath. No. Please. You can't be back. I've already failed to protect you once. Please, I don't want to risk failing again.
Before he knew what was happening, his feet had already started moving, leading him like a willful captive toward Quill. He had been so focused on her that he didn't notice either Saphielle or Eona - two who ordinarily would have caught all his attention. He began speaking even before he came to a full stop. "Quill."
How are you back so soon?
"What are you doing here?"
I convinced myself that as long as you stayed away you'd be safe.
"You should never have come back."
Even as he looked at her now, all he could remember was running toward her location; doing everything he could to reach her on time; pushing past his own limits so that he could be there when she needed him the most...only for him to arrive and see an unconscious Quill. He hasn't forgiven himself for that day. And, despite being glad to see her alive and well, as he looked at her now, all he could see was a reminder of his colossal failure...nearly at the cost of the life of someone who had specifically reach out to him for help.
lyn.
can i get a bacon egg and cheese
Talathel
Wildlife Conservationist in the Making
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Klown
(∴✪౪⊗∴)
Location: Head LibraryTags:
Talathel
Wyll
Saphielle’s touch soothed like a warm blanket, a pleasant tingle trickling down Quill’s spine. It chased some of her tension away, allowing Quill respite from the cacophonous pressure that bled her from the inside. Eona’s greeting was another remedy, allowing for the smallest smile to persuade her lips.
“Quill.” Somewhere distant and echoing, a mallet is slammed onto scorched metal, embers sparked from its incensed red glow.
Quill couldn’t have faced him even if she wanted. Saphielle had interposed between her and Navon, her back providing sanctuary from his coarsened gaze but not the words that struck from his tongue.
“What are you doing here?” and then, “You should never have come back."
A draconian swing, the strident clangor of belligerent metal, fire. Shocked Incredulity filled the space avoidance abandoned, wandering eyes dragged towards the grating sound, Quill’s face was one of hardened numbness inherent in someone suffocated by an unspoken torrent.
Heat. Within her chest, within her veins, within her cheeks. Not magical. None of it the liquid warmth of milk and honey to soothe the spirit, nor the defrosting touch of sun against a cold-flushed face. This was a boil. A scalding. A vehement spark in a bone-dry forest. Fire untamed. Fire that ravaged. It marauded her lungs of their breath and devastated her pulse. It possessed her tail, its stillness now a smiting whip.
Navon was killing her. His words were some vindictive, archaic curse that shot magma through her blood without a scent of arcane machinations. It was all she could reason of the throttling pressure rising within her. If not purged immediately, it would obliterate her from within. Each cut and bruise and scratch of failure by virtue of the changes within the past seven months stung and burned with a ferocity. They bled like picked scabs and opened anew. A truth she didn’t want to hear because she considered it a truth at all.
The impassivity of her face twisted in the way clouds might obscure the sun. Slow, involuntary. A docile, expressionless sweetness now shattered glass. Dark, inky vines slithered through the strands of her hair, tearing the blue flowers that bloomed within it. A gnarled, coiling bramble. She’d lost seven months, and among those seven months she’d lost experiences, and before that she’d lost an entire life. She was a puzzle unfinished, barely worth the attempt at completion with all she was missing. She knew broken things were thrown away when they are no longer useful.
“Where should I go then!?”
Thorns pierced the air around her as the small needles along the vines exploded in size, bursting like dozens of unsheathed swords. Shredded petals flake onto the ground beneath her feet.
She’d expected a demon to spring from her, or a wicked flame to expel from her lungs. Something tangible for her to grasp and return to him. But there was nothing. Just her voice, hardly recognizable, as it ripped through her with thorns of her own making. Her. It was all her. This had not been a malicious curse cast by Navon.
This feeling. This rage. This shame. It was hers.
“Do you even—You say that—I don’t—” her mind and tongue were racing on oiled floors; slipping, sliding and scrambling for footing but the tiles collapsed from under them. She stepped out from behind Saphielle, the sides of her fists slamming into Navon’s chest, fueled by a visceral ache to lash out. To make him ache as much as he was doing to her.
“I have nothing!” Her voice splintered, unaccustomed to reaching anything above a passive hum. There would never be a normal life for her. Not with the Echobinder. Whether within The Seal or not. It could have been an argument against her. Clinging onto something because there was nothing else to hold, not because it was a necessity, or because she wanted it. Her knuckles whiten from their clutch around Navon’s shirt. “This is all there is. Why do you—why do you not want me to—” A brittle-glass voice, words shattered on her tongue before she could finish.
“You are…you are cruel, Navon.” Rage dampened into shame and coalesced with guilt, the edge of her face softened into a vacant realization. Her throat was raw, like she’d swallowed dozens of jagged pebbles. Her hands released Navon so abruptly you’d think him made of acid, then hugged herself as if self-assurance of her presence. But she’d yet to feel like she’d returned from the accident at all, lost just as well as her memories.
“Quill.” Somewhere distant and echoing, a mallet is slammed onto scorched metal, embers sparked from its incensed red glow.
Quill couldn’t have faced him even if she wanted. Saphielle had interposed between her and Navon, her back providing sanctuary from his coarsened gaze but not the words that struck from his tongue.
“What are you doing here?” and then, “You should never have come back."
A draconian swing, the strident clangor of belligerent metal, fire. Shocked Incredulity filled the space avoidance abandoned, wandering eyes dragged towards the grating sound, Quill’s face was one of hardened numbness inherent in someone suffocated by an unspoken torrent.
Heat. Within her chest, within her veins, within her cheeks. Not magical. None of it the liquid warmth of milk and honey to soothe the spirit, nor the defrosting touch of sun against a cold-flushed face. This was a boil. A scalding. A vehement spark in a bone-dry forest. Fire untamed. Fire that ravaged. It marauded her lungs of their breath and devastated her pulse. It possessed her tail, its stillness now a smiting whip.
Navon was killing her. His words were some vindictive, archaic curse that shot magma through her blood without a scent of arcane machinations. It was all she could reason of the throttling pressure rising within her. If not purged immediately, it would obliterate her from within. Each cut and bruise and scratch of failure by virtue of the changes within the past seven months stung and burned with a ferocity. They bled like picked scabs and opened anew. A truth she didn’t want to hear because she considered it a truth at all.
The impassivity of her face twisted in the way clouds might obscure the sun. Slow, involuntary. A docile, expressionless sweetness now shattered glass. Dark, inky vines slithered through the strands of her hair, tearing the blue flowers that bloomed within it. A gnarled, coiling bramble. She’d lost seven months, and among those seven months she’d lost experiences, and before that she’d lost an entire life. She was a puzzle unfinished, barely worth the attempt at completion with all she was missing. She knew broken things were thrown away when they are no longer useful.
“Where should I go then!?”
Thorns pierced the air around her as the small needles along the vines exploded in size, bursting like dozens of unsheathed swords. Shredded petals flake onto the ground beneath her feet.
She’d expected a demon to spring from her, or a wicked flame to expel from her lungs. Something tangible for her to grasp and return to him. But there was nothing. Just her voice, hardly recognizable, as it ripped through her with thorns of her own making. Her. It was all her. This had not been a malicious curse cast by Navon.
This feeling. This rage. This shame. It was hers.
“Do you even—You say that—I don’t—” her mind and tongue were racing on oiled floors; slipping, sliding and scrambling for footing but the tiles collapsed from under them. She stepped out from behind Saphielle, the sides of her fists slamming into Navon’s chest, fueled by a visceral ache to lash out. To make him ache as much as he was doing to her.
“I have nothing!” Her voice splintered, unaccustomed to reaching anything above a passive hum. There would never be a normal life for her. Not with the Echobinder. Whether within The Seal or not. It could have been an argument against her. Clinging onto something because there was nothing else to hold, not because it was a necessity, or because she wanted it. Her knuckles whiten from their clutch around Navon’s shirt. “This is all there is. Why do you—why do you not want me to—” A brittle-glass voice, words shattered on her tongue before she could finish.
“You are…you are cruel, Navon.” Rage dampened into shame and coalesced with guilt, the edge of her face softened into a vacant realization. Her throat was raw, like she’d swallowed dozens of jagged pebbles. Her hands released Navon so abruptly you’d think him made of acid, then hugged herself as if self-assurance of her presence. But she’d yet to feel like she’d returned from the accident at all, lost just as well as her memories.
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CloudySkyLoftyMoon
『Teamate』
Îstoire – The Glutton
The Library | Kidem
Mentions: Bookie, Else, Aricia
| Tags: N/A
| Tags: N/A
Who would have thought? The den of darkness; the lair of vītal larceny; the seat of the sicarii…was a library. Amidst studious students and seeking scholars were black-hearted assassins, ruthless killers whose name could silence even the crying of children.
They were the Best of the Best…or…at least…they were supposed to be…?
Îstoire shifted in his wheelchair, the difficult to ignore voices a source of mild discomfort. Unmistakable emotion hummed beneath every word; hummed a tale of passion and of sorrows; of a grapple between what is and of what once was; a tale of DRAMA.
These were his 'co-workers', the world’s foremost assassins—a statement as brilliant as it was disconcerting. Îstoire sighed and raised his gaze to meet Bookie’s with quiet admiration; such immaculate foresight, such meticulous design. Who else could have so perfectly managed and so masterfully concealed The Seal.
The unassuming library, the subtle systems that structured the organization, the impassioned agents airing their dirty laundry to an unwilling peanut gallery—cough—truly, who would believe this was The Seal. Frankly, even as a member of The Seal Îstoire himself could scarcely believe it.
It was nothing short of a miracle that the Seal remained secret; a miracle or a masterstroke in misdirection. Expose the Seal? How? To whom? Even if one somehow obtained an audience with the Emperor of Falin himself then what would they show him? Certainly not these fellows. If anyone were to suggest anything so ridiculous the nobles of the empire would surely laugh in their face and then execute them for Lèse-majesté.
These people were the most feared assassins in all of Tainam? Sure.
Sometimes Îstoire wondered if he’d been tricked, beguiled into some bizarre cult of Seal wannabes. People trying their best to imitate the stoic and steady assassins of the rumors. But then he was reminded that—no, shocking as it may have seemed, these people were the real deal. Their skills in the field were unquestionable. Perhaps that’s why they were so…different.
As they said, genius and eccentricity oft walked hand in hand.
These were the moments in which Îstoire found himself almost appreciative of his own acquaintances within the Seal; tome-goblin they may be but Else wouldn’t be caught dead making such ruckus and Aricia…well, jury was still out on that one. Îstoire could almost swear he’d heard her shouting earlier; didn’t she know the silence of the library was sacrosanct?
Forget it. As much he liked to keep abreast with workplace drama, he really didn’t want to be anywhere near the splash radius of…whatever this was. His book wasn’t on the shelf, so he had little reason to stick around. Was the tavern open? Perhaps he'd go for a drink...
WillOWispJJ
Brain goes brrr most of the time
DeathUnchained
Lurker in the Dark
Jason Elvesh
Location: Head LibraryMentions: Bookie, Seer, Guille and Quill
Interactions: N/A
The loud, heavy footsteps, almost like a signal. Heavy footed and large, only one agent of The Seal could bring forth such a powerful step. The half giant, Sword of the Seal and the biggest self sacrificing lug the Seal had ever seen. The half breed, kneeling slightly to enter the library immediately drew the attention of all the common library goers. Despite being a regular face in the library, one never quite got used to seeing such a large individual. His size so imposing, his eyes always covered by the metal visor and always clad in that onyx colored armor. One might mistake him for a harbinger of death, but that was only for those who didn't know he was a complete teddy bear. Sweet and caring.
After walking into the library he looked to Bookie, giving a nod before also looking to Seer and giving her a nod of respect as well. He tried to make it habit to show each pillar respect, but he had to admit it was hard to find Guille for him. However he always made sure to show his respect whenever he could.
The half giant made his way to a section in the far back. The only section that had seats large enough for him, so he made it his own personal section. His massive sword at his home. It was hard enough being as large as he was, let alone while wielding his massive great sword at all times.
Upon a closer inspection, Jason was a bit more unkempt than usual. A smile on his face as he opened his hand. In his large hand was a small pile of soil, blooming from that soil was 12 or 13 buds of a flower. Not just any flower, but Vampire Lilies. A very rare flower that only blooms where an ancient vampires blood has spilled. That alone made them hard to find. The Lillies were gorgeous. Pure alabaster petals with striking crimson veins running over them. A wonderfully striking flower that took a long while to find. He traveled deep into the wilderness, fought land dragons and all manner of other beasts just to get to cave that was rumored to have them. Luckily it seemed the rumors were true. He fought through the vampires still infesting the cave and procured these specimens. Why would anyone go through all of this just for a rare flower? Why else? For a woman.
A wide smile formed on his face as the half giant fool gently potted the vampiric flowers in a clay pot he had purchased on the way to the library. The pot decorated with white and red flowers painted in the most vibrant hues to match the wonderful blooms they held. He then pricked his finger with a needle and dropping some of his blood into the soil. Turns out they feed on blood just like a vampire and if kept properly could last almost forever.
As he gazed at the flowers his heart was heavy. A painful sadness welling deep within himself. Memories that were so deep and were so raw and real to him, only a dream to his love. Something she had experienced yet could not recall upon waking into this new reality she found herself in. The bond they shared, stolen from her and he had not the heart to tell her. She was so overwhelmed upon her return to The Seal. Who was he to add the burden of his own feelings to her? Upon her return he had rushed to her, finally ready to tell her how he felt about her, but then to see her look at him, no recognition or that spark they once shared in her eyes. It shattered him. Almost as terribly as it did when he realized he wasn't there to keep her safe. How could something so visceral and real just vanish so fast? Part of him hated it, but he could never place the weight of that on her shoulders, especially since he didn't even know if she returned his feelings. Not for sure anyway, but he had hoped. Instead he chose to love her in secret, praying that her memories may return to her and hoping that even if they didn't, she could learn to love him again.
Jason took a deep breath, burying his sadness behind a jovial smile a d tending to the pot of rare flowers. It was quite a sight to see such a large, burly man tenderly tending to such strange and exotic blossoms. Even stranger still was the fact that he seemed so attentive to the task. Lost in his own world of blooms and sunlight. One of his quirks. Hyperfixating to the point of almost losing himself entirely in whatever task had caught his eye at that point in time.
CrimsonInk
Nyx
Shadow
Akin to a Fool
"I have failed you in this labyrinth of my mind..."
Kygo
The Shadow
location
Lasalle Library, Kidemmentions
Navon, Quill, Ariciainteractions
Currently opentags
...coded by reveriee.
Wyll
Senior Member
The Fire
Navon
Hara
Hara
He only noticed Saphielle when she stepped in front of Quill, as if to protect her - her ginger-looking locks now stood as a wall of fire that blocked him off from his target. In reality - with height enough to tower over her and a build wide enough to almost double hers - the physical battle would look much like a large cat backing a mouse into the corner. However, they both knew that the mental battle was nothing even remotely close to that.
Saphielle stood as an irritation to Navon. A talented irritation, but an irritation all the same. She wasn't one to be pushed around and he wasn't one to back down. If anything, the mental battle now was most akin to two rams butting head, just about evenly matched by every metric.
"Saphielle, this does not concern you. If Quill cannot handle what I have to say, she is not ready to be back in the field. You know as much."
At this point, he had walked close enough that he could just make out Quill's smaller frame behind Saphielle.
"You can protect her all you want in here, but we have both seen what happens when you are not there." His voice, deep and oak-like, seemed to hum against the walls around them. He refused to raise his voice. Rather, he couldn't raise his voice because the emotion behind the words wasn't anger. It wasn't frustration. It was a tumultuous and befuddled mixture of fear and pain.
Then there was the change that Navon, in all his foresight, could never have predicted. Few things cause Navon to step back, and this was one of them.
“Where should I go then!?”
Quill looked like he had never seen before. There was a look in her eyes - a ravenous storm, a churning sea, an untamed fire - that he had seen many times in his own eyes. He had seen it in many others, expected it from many others...Quill was not one of those.
As she struggled with her words, a thin, sad, nigh-invisible smile drew itself on his features. Yes, Quill. Find the words, fight for them. Stand taller. Embrace the shame, and stand.
He saw her fists coming and could have stopped them, but no. She needs this, he thought. He knew her pain and frustration. He had walked through the same inferno as he watched his closest friends, those who trusted him, believed in him, counted on him, be massacred while he was helpless to do anything. All he wanted to do then was blame someone, find someone to take his frustration out on. If he was to be that for her, then so be it.
He let her finish her tantrum but did not think less of her for it. If anything, she had started regaining his respect.
"Weak". He finally said. "Even with all that anger, your punch is weak." He grabbed her hand and put it back to his chest. "Amateurs, those who do not know what they're doing punch the chest. A weak punch to a well-protected part of the body? You may as well ask to be injured for yet another seven months." He threw her hand back down. "Tight fist. Flat knuckles. Ears, throat, liver. Learn how and where to throw a punch, then you have a right to be angry at me, to call me- hngh!"
Navon's words were cut short and his face contorted into one of pain and his body tightened as though it were struggling to keep him standing. His pain was silent, unable to be voiced as his mind was pried open, forced to share consciousness with another. Seer appeared behind him, silent enough that it seemed as though she had only just now faded into existence. Her steps were so poised that there wasn't even a bobbing or swaying of the shoulders. The flow of her cascading purple dress, together with her silence and stillness, made it appear as though she hovered over the library floor, coming to a stop beside Navon and placing a hand on his shoulder, causing him to wince, his stature involuntarily buckling to where his head was lower than hers.
"You are disturbing the peace for others, sir," she said, gesturing to those around the library who were now looking towards the trio. "I'm giving you this chance because I know your words do not betray your thoughts..." She released her mental hold on him and he stumbled forward, struggling for his breath as he regained possession of his own mind. "Make yourself scarce".
roxybirdie
𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐨𝐤𝐢 😸
Talathel
Wildlife Conservationist in the Making
