Fantasy The Shadow of The Seal

[lyn.]

H

er hand left Saphielle the moment it happened.

It’s fear that grips her first as the walls crawled with black. The window she previously peered out of disappeared before her eyes, and then she was alone.

It was one of her nightmares. She was young again, small, naive, and helpless. This was the part where she would hear him, her father. A voice which was usually calm, filled deep with anger as he barked and chided.

But instead of the memories of knives slicing along flesh, all she heard was a single word. “Identify.”

She was terrified.

But for once, she could be scared. She was nothing but a lowly servant, a handmaiden forced to AL-Lotoy to do Saphielle’s bidding. This was a part she could easily play, a part she had to play. Lives were at stake. She wasn’t close with the people in the caravan, but the last thing she wanted was to watch them die in front of her. Helpless, once again.

Thank god Scarlett wasn’t here.

She brought a finger to her arm and pinched, not bothering to hide her flinch. She could be scared, yes. But she needed to be aware, too.

Aricia kept her hands to herself in the eyes of the darkness. She remained silent, though everything in her body screamed to speak up, to do something. Instead, Saphielle spoke first.

"I am Princess Saphielle Zayna, Heiress and Future Empress of Falin."

…What.

Aricia drew in a sharp breath, hoping they would take it as nothing more than fear instead of surprise. Saphielle wasn’t stupid, she wouldn’t stray away from the plan for no reason. She wouldn’t have said that if it wasn’t true.

Which meant Aricia was currently sitting next to The Princess of Falin.

Shock and irritation pricked at her skin. All this time in The Seal, and Aricia had no idea. She never thought much of the Ice Queen, she was just another agent to her. But no, apparently she was a goddamned heiress. Heiress to Falin no less! And of all the options, The Seal decided to send her to Al-Lotoy with teammates who were none the wiser. No one thought to warn them of what they were getting into. Instead, the information was dropped in the midst of danger, where anyone could slip up at any time.

Aricia had some complaints to share when they got back. Because they would get back. No way she would let these stupid decisions lead to her end.

“We-we have come seeking help for my lady!” She exclaimed.

She didn’t have to fake her desperation. She was nothing but a scared servant, speaking out of turn in hopes to save the Princess, and herself in the process. Istoire had seemed set on using Falin to their advantage, and so she would try.

“Those from Falin are after her, we have gone everywhere to try and escape.” She weighed the pros and cons in her mind before pushing forward onto her knees. Her skirt scraped against the seat walls in the cramped caravan.

“We have nowhere else to turn to. Please, I beg you to help us!” She glanced towards where she thought Saphielle sat. “S-Surely having the Heiress by your side would be helpful, yes?”

"Just let me look a little older, let me step a little bolder."

Aricia Belwick

location:

Al-Lotoy Streets

outfit:

interactions:

YellowBeanBeing CloudySkyLoftyMoon DeathUnchained Talathel Wyll Mentioned: Saphielle, Istoire, Scarlett, Creepy ahh shadows

 

[Wyll]

CHAPTER 2 - Event - The Checkpoint

Location: Twin Cities Trade Checkpoint
Interactions/Mentions: K Quill ( Klown ), Cresley ( hery ), Kygo ( Shadow ), Zenith ( Sir Mayday )​

---

The port was alive with activity. Rowdy, yet, with a certain order to it. It was like an orchestra with no conductor. Each section - from the woodwind melodies of the sailors; to the stringed harmonies of the merchants; moving to the drumbeat of feet stomping and running around; all rising to the loud brass of the port officers - performing a different piece. Yet, the skill and sophistication each member brings adds a level of class to the otherwise chaotic symphony. Despite never leaving their posts, the pierce of the guard’s gaze can be felt all over the port. Not staying on any particular person, rather sweeping over the port from one end to another.

However, they were not the only ones whose eyes stood watch over the port. From the shadows and the dark cavities; from behind drapes and over shoulders; three sets of fierce gazes pierce through the gathered crowd at the port. Not guards, as anyone with eyes for these matters could tell you.

Where the guards watched the entire port, these ones seemed to only focus on three caravans of…painfully ordinary boxes - their gazes moving restlessly from one to the other. Occasionally though, each set of eyes would break pattern, and look directly at one of the other two sets. And those eyes spoke of no camaraderie. Rather, every gaze thrown was a dare for the other groups to start trouble. However, it would seem that none of the groups wanted to be the one to strike the match.

The boxes within the caravans were, themselves, truly as plain as a box could be. Other than the fact that some were taller and others wider, there was no strict way to distinguish between the boxes. And, surely, it was no mere coincidence that there were three caravans and exactly three groups of mercenaries, each one positioned far enough from their caravan to go unnoticed by most, but close enough to keep an eye on it and even defend it if need be.

All of a sudden, the tension - invisible to the regular passers by - that was once simmering now begins to boil as one of the caravans starts to move. It joins the queue of those approaching the gates without any fanfare and moves along slowly with the rest of the merchants. As the caravan starts moving towards the gate, the group of mercenaries that had been watching it begin to move as well, keeping even closer watch of the other two groups and those around them.

However, rather than walking up to the gate with the caravan, they walk along the trade port shore, following the wall around the city and slowly getting further away, repeatedly casting threatening gazes over their shoulder.

As for the caravan itself, there is nothing particularly unique or different about it, not until it reaches the gate, that is. Where everyone else went through a rigorous and, perhaps, even excessive security check, the rider of this caravan merely holds up a golden coin that glimmers as it catches the sun’s light. Upon sight and inspection of the coin, the guards step aside and let the caravan pass without any further troubles.

They are followed by what looks to be a noble couple. The man wears a too-rich smile and the lady follows with a too-proud saunter - the type of people you want to root against long before they even speak. The lord greets the guard fondly as he reaches confidently into his pocket. His hand stays there for a moment, far longer than normal and his smile falters a bit. With slightly more panic and a lot less grace, he checks his other picket. Apparently still not finding what he was looking for, he begins wildly patting his body and spinning around with his gaze scanning the floor frantically.

The longer the nobleman takes to find whatever he is looking for, the quicker the captain’s half-smile morphed into a deep frown. With nothing more than a nod, he signals for the other guards to search the carriage, much to the horror of the nobleman.

“Wait! Wait, stop! I can’t allow you to search it. You know I can’t.” His attempt at holding back the guards was amusing at best, but they moved him around like he was little more than a paperweight.

Weapons, stolen art, pirated documents, magical artifacts: it was as if the lord had used the contraband items list as his personal shopping list. He barely got another sound out before he was gagged and cuffed, immediately dragged through the gates while the lady he was with made a feeble attempt to run. As both of them were hauled off to their fates, the guards took out the magical artifacts from the caravan, put them in a sack that sat by the captain’s feet and burned the rest of the illegal items together with the cart.

 

[CloudySkyLoftyMoon]

Îstoire – The Glutton

Caravan Outside Al-Lotoy

Mentions: Bookie, Seer, Guille,
Interaction: Aricia, Saphielle, Jason, Igdunn
| Tags: Talathel YellowBeanBeing lyn. DeathUnchained

Of all the ways to get someone killed, sending them into Al-Lotoy with the supposedly deceased heir to the Falin Empire had to be among the funniest—or the cruelest, depending on your perspective. For the briefest moment, Îstoire toyed with the idea that Bookie was unaware of Saphielle’s identity; but really, that was a ridiculous notion. How could the Seal’s Bookkeeper not be aware of the secret identities of its agents? No, there was little doubt that Bookie was fully aware; thus, the only question that remained was—Why?

What could the Seal possibly stand to gain by so-deliberately poking the hornets' nest and, given the volatile nature of this mission—why had he been put in charge of it all? Try as he might, Îstoire could only wrap his mind around one conclusion—Bookie was a silver-backed, thrice-damned, rat-faced Bastard!

Breathe In. Breathe Out.

Be that as it may, Îstoire knew that an emotional response would only get him, and his entire team killed. The correct option here was to take a step back and analyze the situation at hand. Thankfully, as a former student of one of the world’s foremost magic institutions, Îstoire was an expert as dissociating under stress.

Phew. Okay, what were the facts? Saphielle claimed to be the crown princess and future empress of Falin. Clearly, rumors of her death had been greatly exaggerated. Furthermore, assuming her words true, many of Falin’s political decisions now made sense.

As far as Îstoire was aware, a new crown scion had never been declared. Given the lengthy lifespan of the elves, it was possible this dearth of an heir was unusual but not unprecedented; however, more likely scenario was… a conspiracy. There were many things that could arise from random chance and coincidences, but the heir to the empire faking her death and then joining up with a cabal of assassins was not one of them.

This situation rank of internal conflict; the question was between whomst and wherefore? Was Saphielle threatened by elements within the empire? Had they faked her death to preserve her safety? If so, why allow her to join the Seal? No, to take another step backward—had they faked her death, or had they merely allowed a rumor to spread uncontested? And to take another step backward, who was ‘they’? The Throne? Surely the reigning Empress had her finger in this matter, but to what extent? Could Falin’s influence reach even the Seal, such that they could plan their heir amidst the assassins?

Perhaps the two were only tangentially related. Saphielle’s flight from the Empire and her initiation into the Seal were connected but not necessarily orchestrated by the hand. Knowing what he did of the Seal’s recruitment methods, perchance Saphielle’s induction was a play at giving the Seal a voice in the Empire’s politics. Of course, the reverse was true—an Empress of Falin who was also former, perhaps even continued, member of the Seal would have a unique relationship with the organization. And the nature of that relationship… a partnership would only be a note less history-defining than subservience from either side.

Still, that was all speculation. It wasn’t Îstoire’s job to worry about the outcome of Bookie’s gambles decades down the line. Oh wait, yes it was, the bastard had thrown him right in the middle of the whole shebang! Once again Îstoire found himself a pawn amidst the power struggle. Funny, he’d joined the Seal to avoid that.

Unfortunately, he would need to shelf his fury. They were surrounded by dancing shadows demanding identification. Some form of illusion magic? Shadow magic? Whatever it was, Îstoire was certain it was all smoke & mirrors, theatrics meant to mask the real threat. Or perhaps to draw their attention away from some form of mind or espionage magic… How else would they determine the truth of their words?

Regardless, a test was necessary. How perceptive were their observers? If they were to be captured, it was necessary to know if their magic would be a viable means of extricating themselves.

As the merman stepped forward, his transformation began to unravel. It was just enough to reveal the brilliant fish-scales that belied his true race—they, after all, wanted identification. Beneath the guise of displaying his race, the Lorekeeper pushed his magic further. Animation magic worked in ways similar to enchantment and Îstoire often used the words interchangeably even though they were distinct fields. Animation magic allowed the user to declare instructions that their target would follow but it didn’t allow the user to modify the intrinsic properties of said item. The arrows hidden in his breast-pocket could be animated to move forward, as if shot from a bow, but he couldn’t give them the hardness of steel or the weight of a ballista bolt.

”Merchant, Scholar, Escort—take your pick. I’m the one tasked with ensuring our princess’ head stays on her shoulders, I’m sure you understand. Îstoire’s the name.”

He flourished with his greeting, using the motion to subtly pluck a few of his scales in the process and kept them hidden in-hand. Îstoire wanted to assess their surroundings and his scales, somewhat translucent and individually small enough escape notice, were a perfect magical tripwire.

Unlike at least one of his compatriots, Îstoire’s real identity wouldn’t create any ripples so he didn’t need to conceal it. Furthermore, Aricia had taken point in that regards, providing a statement veiled in just enough truth to determine the extent to which the shadow’s of Al-Lotoy could read their intentions.

 

[Klown]

Location: Twin Cities Checkpoint
Interactions: Kygo Shadow Cresley hery Zenith Sir Mayday
Mentions: Wyll

The port was a hub of probing eyes and carefully curated discretion. It was up to them to unmask the actors in the play before the curtains drew shut. Human behavior wasn’t Quill’s specialty, but she was observant. Kygo and Cress had parted towards the crates meanwhile her and Zenith blended with the crowd. Quill was a phantom among the bustling crowd, soundless and inconsequential. Her fingers rubbed the runic communication pendant pensively. Felt the grooves beneath her thumb and traced it loosely, absently.

Three ostensibly mundane caravans seemed to be stealing the show. The current of the crowd shifted, a handful moving against the grain of flowing bodies. They traced a path along the wall, inconspicuous. If they followed, they might find a second—unofficial—entrance. Quill was vaguely familiar with those, but didn’t want to rely on potentially outdated information. Not if there were other options left to explore.

The coin. Not a bribe, the guard didn’t keep it. Her pupils narrowed into needle-thin slits. A pass for nobility, she might have assumed, if not for the following panic of the couple next in line.

“…you know I can’t.” They know? The guards must be in on it, then. But what was it they knew, and to what extent? Her tail flicked with the sharp snap of a whip when the caravan was set on fire, precious contraband turned to ash in an instant. There was an incessant buzz in the back of Quill’s mind. Probing, aching, like the space between her skull and matter were stuffed with cotton. Gaze fixated on the sack of magical artifacts thrown at the captain’s feet.

Quill raised her hand to her mouth in mock-shock at the scene, mimicking the confusion and shock on the faces of passersby. The cool touch of the runic pendant—hidden behind her hand—lightly brushed her lips.

“Cresley,” She spoke into it, activating the spell. “The third wagon of that caravan might be a part of our mark. The guards might be in on the scheme, and there were quite a few eyes following the caravan as a whole.”

The buzzing again. A static soup, bleary and daunting. Her fingers twitched over the Echobinder, nails lightly marking the leather. Those magical artifacts by the captain’s feet…

No. That’s not important to the mission. She purged the thought, sunk into the crowd.

But what do they know that we don’t. A spike driven through her temple. Quill’s eyes darted back to the captain and the sack, her tail jerking from side to side. She felt a gluttony not of her own making, a suffocating will to devour, to covet those magical artifacts like they’d fulfill her unmade soul. She hardly knew where she was in the crowd anymore.

Quill blinked, dazed expression returning to her face. What was she even thinking?

“The two apprehended nobles might have valuable information. I would need them alone to probe their memories.” She said into the pendant for her teammates to hear. ​

 

[CrimsonInk]

THE JOKER.

scroll

SCARLETT

LEONHARDT

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

NOT NICE

OUTFIT

SUPER SPY OUTFIT

LOCATION

Lady Romero’s Room

MENTIONS

N/A

INTERACTIONS

Lady Romero

TAGS

Wyll

HOLD HIM DOWN (COVER)
— MORGAN CLAE.

scroll

Your worst sin.

is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing.

CHAPTER TWO.

The target prattled on and on, her words carrying no weight to false promises Scarlett can only deduce from the terror in her voice that she is only delaying the inevitable. No doubt what the woman can be experiencing is surely traumatic, but to try to bargain her way — as if Scarlett hasn’t heard of that before. She watched the little mouse wiggle and wring around like a pocket full of posies.

Wait. She called her pretty.

Tehe, cute.

For a dead woman.

The crimson changeling circled the noble pondering ways she could pry the information from that precious throat. In the middle of her vanity speech between her and Lady Salnet, an idea came to mind. Acting, or playing pretend, tends to make people unaware of their true motives. Scarlett could all well be the naive little spy who is on her first job and doesn’t know what she is doing. Let the other woman play her like a fiddle, when in reality she’s really the wooden puppet.

In just the right moment, Scarlett allowed her facial features to fall. Her brows curved upward with the set of horror flickering in her eyes. “Oh my!” she gasped, “you’re not Lady Salnet? No, no this can’t be! My connections have told me so!”


She stomped her foot scampering around and sat on the floor with a hand over her mouth.

“What have I done….? I was so sure you were the lady, I mean, how could you not be? You are so beloved by all!”

Compliments should be appreciated, but too much given would raise suspicion. She needed to be a little more careful. Well, was she ever really?

“My apologies. I just need to find what the Salnets are doing. You see….I hear that they have been doing naughty things, and such naughty things shouldn’t go unpunished. But…” she dragged the word out almost so perfectly, helplessly, “if you help me….you will always have our protection.”

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Wyll]

CHAPTER 2 - Second Contact - Lady Romero

Location: Romero House Hold, Salnet Fiefdom, Falin Outskirts
Interactions/Mentions: Scarlett ( CrimsonInk )​

---

And so the truth comes out. However, to be mistaken for that insufferable, helpless, gold-digging , little wench was quite a blow to Lady Romero’s ego. However, she would tale the blow if it meant that she would get to stay alive and see the rodent who stands before her bruised, bleeding and begging for a mercy that would never come.

However, the true offense was knowing that The Seal saw her as a child’s errand. What other explanation would there be for sending such a novice? Although, this mewling child may prove to be useful after all. How pleased Lord Salnet would be if she managed to capture a member of The Seal. However, the snake within her warned her that there were not one, but two vipers in the room. Something to, at least, be mindful of.

However, whether the spy before her was a snake or a mouse, one thing was certain: Lady Romero had worked with and for Lord Salnet for far too long to give up any information. Especially because, with how involved they had been, it was impossible to incriminate him without incriminating herself in the process. And, seeing how ready this intruder had been to eliminate anyone that had a hand in said "naughty" things, she was not willing to put herself back on the chopping block.

“Fret not, my lovely. We are, all of us, capable of mistakes. Especially from poor intel. Come now, let us put this ugliness behind us.” She moved her gaze from her assailant to one of the many dressers in the room. “There. The top drawer has a number of red vials. Be a darling and bring one over to me. Oh, and be sure not to drop it - the medicine in there is expensive and an absolute chore to make.”

The drawer she spoke of did indeed have the red vials. However, there was also an impressive, perhaps alarming and definitely obsessive assortment of vials of several other colors. The vials seems to be separated into several tows, with each tow holding vials of the same color and the colors were distinct enough that is was difficult to confuse the matter. All except for two. The bottom three rows were all clear vials with perfectly clear liquid. It might as well have been water in them. However, one was labeled as “Salnet 1”, another as “Salnet 2” and the third had no label.

Knowing the sensitive content of the dresser, Lady Romero kept a cautious gaze on the stranger within her room. There were several things in that drawer that could end a life and she didn’t feel comfortable with anyone going near it, let alone someone who had already tried to kill her. However, options were few. She needed to free herself quickly and turns the tables. Vulnerability did not suit her well. And despite the clear stupidity of the girl that had paralysed her, there was something dangerous about her that Lady Romero couldn’t quite place.

 

[Wyll]

CHAPTER 2 - First Contact - Al Lotoy

Location: Al Lotoy
Interactions/Mentions: Aricia ( lyn. ) , Istoire ( CloudySkyLoftyMoon ) , Igdunn ( YellowBeanBeing ) , Saphielle ( Talathel ) , Jason ( DeathUnchained )​

---

The shadows had no discernable eyes, yet their gaze was still felt. However, rather than several individual gazes, it force more like one, unified force pushed against whoever it crossed. It flowed from Istoire, to the carriage, to Jason. However, once the pressure of the faze set on Jason, it lingered there for a moment, almost as though appraising him. Eventually, the gaze moved from him and then settled on the carriage as Saphielle began announcing.

The shadows were silent as they waited for everybody to finish speaking. The same forceful gaze that had passed over everyone before bore down on Istoire as he revealed his tail. Mild interest was shown before the gaze moved on, returning to the carriage.

As the force from the faze settled on the carriage, it began to tremble terribly. The shadow that had previously filled the carriage began to stir, picking up a small wind that blew about the hair and clothes of those within the carriage. The wind grew intense, the air within the carriage being blown around faster than it could be breathed in. Then, suddenly, the carriage - as if unable to hold together underneath the weight of all the pressure, exploded and splintered, the pieces flying around in every direction, even at the shadows. However, whatever pieces of wood went their way seemed to harmlessly pass through them.

The shadow that previously filled the caravan slithered across the ground and went to stand with the others so there were now six shadows in front of them, yet they still spoke with the same voice.

“Ah, so you do live. By the shadows themselves, You have caused us quite the bit of trouble, heiress.”

A single lady breaks out of formation and takes a couple steps towards the group, the shadows seeming to peel off her as she walks and the others move to fill the gap she left. Her snake-like eyes move across all of them now that the caravan no longer hides Aricia, Scarlett and Igdunn. There is no grace to her walk. It is rough, clumsy and just does the job of getting her from Point A to Point B. However, her eyes see to go deeper than the Garrim Isles and run colder than Aya. Those eyes settle on Aricia, offering a cool, condescending, over-important smile before looking back to Saphielle.

“There were rumors that an attempt had been made on your life. Shortly after that, you disappeared. Falin was at our gates within the day, claiming we had something to do with it.” Her voice is still powerful, filling the space well enough that her words could be heard at any distance, yet she isn’t shouting. However, it isn’t as bone-chilling as whatever voice was heard before.

“For months, they launched raids, tried to get into our lands, captured our people, tortured our people.” She gave off a laugh that twinkled like a wind chime yet carried malice on its right and avarice on its left. “The confidence - or, perhaps more accurately, foolishness - to cause us such a headache and come asking us for help as though nothing has happened.” She begins backpedaling, going back to join the shadows, and the booming voice from earlier returns.

“The payment is one pound of flesh for each time we were attacked by Falin.” That forceful gaze came again and washed over them all. “That is five pounds from each of you. Or...perhaps, the princess has learnt benevolence in her time away and will take all twenty-five pounds from her own body. Oh. And, Princess?” The sentence is left floating as the shadows underneath Eona suddenly wrap around her and bring her back, dropping her at Saphielle’s feet. “It is easy to lose track of your belongings here in Al-Lotoy. For your sake, I suggest not letting the same mistake repeat itself."

“So, what say ye, princess?” As they asked the question, a blade appeared from the shadows and presented itself before Saphielle.

 

[DeathUnchained]

Jason Elvesh​

Location: Caravan Outside Al-Lotoy
Mentions: Quill ( Klown )
Interactions:  Saphielle ( Talathel ), Aricia ( lyn. ), Istoire ( CloudySkyLoftyMoon ), Igdunn ( YellowBeanBeing )
Despite his impressive size, Jason had some decent cover on the side of the caravan. The massive carts full of flour offered decent protection from one side at least. It was clear that he couldn't hide himself, obviously his half giant nature, plus being on the larger side of half Giants. Not to mention his onyx armor and the massive sword on his back. It was also hard to hide someone who made such a thunderous sound with every step. His visor covered eyes made sure to cover everything he could see, keeping out for attack. He made his way up to the front of the Caravan every now and again, taking the time to pet Mumbasa. The idea of taking his gentle elephant into a battlefield weighed on him. He wasn't a battle beast, but he had to admit that his lovely elephant was perfect for this kind of job. Well-trained, obeys commands and strong enough to pull such a massive Caravan.

After he had pet his loving elephant one more time, feeling the rough skin on his beloved pet, he pulled himself back to one of the middle caravans, taking his spot. He caught the faintest sound of Araicia and Saph talking in the carriage only two slots back. A smirk coming to his face. He knew Saph a lot better than most people did. She wasn't exactly the easiest person to get along with, but he still found her to be quite entertaining. Of course she would never admit that he was her friend, but he liked to think that he was. At least he was someone she felt comfortable enough with to spend time with. The after job Hangouts were always something he looked forward to, not to mention she was one of the only people he could talk to about his situation with Quill. So, whether she liked it or not, he considered her a friend.

He continued to walk next to the caravan, only stopping only has heard the Caravan pulled to a stop. He tilted his head, spying a shadow that was in front of his beloved pet. Hearing the muffled words at the back of the Caravan. It wasn't a voice that he recognized, but he slowly turned, his head lowered slightly and his eyes piercing through the visor that covered them.

He stopped after hearing his friend mention her royal status. Of course he knew about it, but it wasn't exactly the thing that she told other people. He had only learned about it in a conversation they had with Quill. He felt the presence of the shadows, felt the gaze and all. He stepped around the corner, towering over all the others there. He felt the gaze upon him, as if they were taking account of what he was. Of course, with him being on the taller side of half Giants, some people had a hard time realizing he was a half Giant.

After hearing Istoire, he knew that he was probably upset. Not too many people knew about Saphielle and her royal background, plus he didn't seem like the kind of guy who liked to have things hidden from him. Especially when on a job, but Jason could not afford to think about that guy's feelings right now.

"I guess you could call me and escort. Perhaps a bodyguard? I'm not exactly sure. Point is, my job is to not let anything harm our dear princess." His voice was low and carried very well. Almost booming. A voice befitting the presents that he carried. The sheer intimidating size of him adding to his presence. Giants, being the rarity that they are, didn't particularly inspire confidence if they were your enemy. At least that was his general experience when dealing with people.

Of course the battle-hardened half Giant was cautious. He didn't think that there was much that could hurt him, but he didn't want to start a fight right now. Well, maybe not entirely. He had been dealing with a lot lately, so maybe destressing by a little bout of violence wouldn't be such a bad thing.

For the most part he simply stood there, listening to the interaction and not making a move. It was the very thinly veiled threat towards his friend that got a reaction. The half giant was never too much for people wanting to threaten friends. Despite the precarious situation they were in, that was a line he simply was not willing to let people cross. Not to mention, he didn't enjoy seeing anyone hurt Eona. That wolf was probably Mumbasa's best friend. Which only caused him to think about his buddy up front. The idea of someone hurting his beloved pet really irritated him.

His visor covered eyes landed on the woman with the snake eyes. Suddenly, she had become his entire area of focus. He ground his teeth just a little bit, taking a step forward to stand next to the two girls.

"You see, I don't particularly think that would be a good idea." His eyes remained locked on the woman, looking down at her as though she were nothing more than an insect that he could crush. There was an air of confidence about him. As if he thought that he was completely untouchable. To mighty of an obstacle for even them to get through.

"After all, that is a lot of flesh. I don't think you'd be able to get that much off of her. 25 lbs. worth? Where would you even get it from? You may as well fillet her." He takes another step forward, putting himself between them and his friend. He puts his hands up, trying to show that he wasn't going to pull anything insane or crazy.

However, the signature black energy began to radiate off of him. Spilling off of him like ink floating to the top of a surface of water. A smile forms on his face as he removes one entire sleeve from his armor. Tossing it to the side. Despite being armor, it made a thud against the ground like it was a solid piece of metal. An entire chunk of tungsten or titanium. It was clear that it was armor that not any normal person could handle.

His eyes moved to his arm, seeming to inspect it a little bit. Every scar and curvature of it. Every sculpted muscle as the black energy flowed from his body. Eventually he dropped, falling into a squatted position in front of her, yet now he was eye to eye with her. Despite having lowered himself to her height, there was still something awesome and intimidating about his presence. Probably just due to his size alone or the fact that this was Master levels of magic he was getting off.

A polite and jovial smile formed on his face, holding his bare arm out to her. He couldn't hide how much magic he was using at the moment, but of course it was impossible to tell what he was actually doing with it. He wondered exactly how many of them could tell that he was using Magic. Of course only those who knew him knew that he was enhancing his physical ability to its maximum. This activated his healing factor and made his skin as tough as solid lead. Like his entire arm was made of the metal.

He tilted his head, smiling at the woman "If you require 25 pounds of flesh, would my arm suffice? You could cut it off. Perhaps that would satisfy your bloodlust for the princess? I wasn't really using it anyways."

Despite what he was asking for, he seemed completely calm. Like he wasn't willingly offering to let them amputate his arm. He wasn't even giving off the idea that he was a threat. There was no bloodlust in his movements. Just pure confidence and peace in his voice. He was either absolutely sure they couldn't take his arm or he was just insane. Either one could apply in this situation. Mostly, he was just hoping that this didn't turn into a fight. There were a few routes he was prepared for. Mostly hoping they would just decide to go for ransom rather than taking flesh out of people. Of course, he was waiting for a signal from his friend to see what she had to say about it too.

 

[Sir Mayday]

CODE BY SEROBLISS

Zenith

The Prodigy

Name: Zenith

Gender: Female

Interactions: Shadow hery WillOWispJJ Klown

Location: Port, Near the Twin Cities


Zenith watched as Kygo and Cresley separated from the group and disappeared into the crowd. Her gaze lingered on their retreating forms before sliding toward Quill with a faint frown. A flash of distaste over her features before A low hum left her throat as her eyes narrowed. She motioned to Quill with a flick of her wrist.

“Lead on comrade.” she said, her tone light but edged with quiet intent.

Her expression shifted as she fell into step behind Quill. Her eyes lowered, her back curled just enough to appear smaller. Her hand ran through her hair, loosening it into a disheveled mess. Her fingers moved quick as lightning to snap at passersby. Here a passing hat plucked off without a sound, there a satchel lifted from an unsuspecting hip. No hesitation. All added details to her mask. This was just the beginning of her creation.

She became a shadow. A tool. In this moment, she was a tool attached to Quill's hip. She Slid into Quill’s wake, brushing against her side without ever fully stepping into view. A subtle shove of her shoulder against someone veering too close. A slap to a greedy hand reaching for a suspected coin purse. She growled in her throat at the annoyances. Zenith huffed as the press of bodies around them thickened. The rhythm of the port pulled at her limbs and she did not like it. But in the end, did that matter?

And soon, she saw them. Sellswords. No. Dogs. Obvious to see such figures leashed not by loyalty but by coin and consequence. Zenith’s gaze sharpened as she studied the mercenaries stationed around. Their eyes burned with the sharpness of predators, but there was no pack unity. She could almost imagine them like wolves standing over a fresh carcass, waiting for the other to make a wrong move.

The first caravan drew her focus. The flash of gold as the lead rider held up a coin. A pass. A key. Not bribery, but recognition. A seal of permission that demanded compliance. Zenith’s head tilted slightly as the guards stepped aside without hesitation. Interesting. Her gaze slid toward the noble couple trailing behind the caravan. The lord’s smile was too polished, his partner’s walk too proud. Her lips curled faintly. They’re trying too hard. A donkey wrapped in gold is still an ass beneath the glamour.

She watched as the lord’s expression shifted. As sweet confusion cut through the arrogance as his hand hovered in his pocket too long. Zenith’s eyes narrowed as the guards moved. They were too quick, too prepared. They weren’t just reacting; they already knew. The order came down, and they were already in motion. She watched as they hauled the lord aside and inspected the boxes. The guards didn't hesitate. Contraband was collected. The rest burned. The display wasn’t just punishment. It was a warning.

Zenith hummed softly as the flames licked upward, the lord’s protests dying beneath the crackle of burning wood. His partner’s attempted escape was even more pathetic. She would have laughed but Zenith’s gaze sharpened as she scanned the final caravan. The remaining caravan standing too still. Yes, she thought. An opportunity.

Quill’s voice drifted through the air, crisp and measured as she delivered instructions to the others. Zenith smiled faintly as she watched she mimicked shock at the happenings. Zenith stopped her body and made it shook, as in fear. Her eyes going wide and a gasp escaping her lips. Did she try to play the part better? Was she just playing along? Maybe. Though competition, is such a great way to develop talent.

“The guards have those two. And if they were growing compliant with searching...well that show has everyone on edge.” she said, her voice low as she moved closer to Quill and muttered to the runed item she held.. Her gaze slid toward the third caravan. “I don’t fancy a tussle with them myself. Kygo and Cresley are more suited for that. Recuing nobles, hm. Not my style. I agree with you wanting to get knowledge from those two....But something shinny caught my eye and mind. I’m going to take a closer look — see if the last caravan shares more than just the line.” Her mouth curled as her gaze flicked toward Quill’s tail, which twitched with quiet agitation. “And why’s your tail wagging so much? You’ll trip someone.”

She winked and slid away before Quill could answer. A breath, a shift in weight, and Zenith was part of the crowd again. The burning cart pulled every eye toward it. Good. With the guards distracted, the third caravan might slip up in some way — and Zenith would be there to catch it. Her smile became wide for a moment, her eyes full of hunger not for relics...but success.

 

[Talathel]

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  how she's feeling...

  
  
  
  

  Shocked, A bit weirded out, and hopeful
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  what she's wearing...

  
  
  
  

  Ready to Go - Fireflypath

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  where she's at...

  
  
  
  

  Caravan to Al-Lotoy
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  in the conversation...

  
  
  
  

  Jason DeathUnchained , Igdunn ( YellowBeanBeing ) , Istoire ( CloudySkyLoftyMoon ), Aricia ( lyn. ) , Al Lotoy ...Things ( Wyll )
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

Saphielle

The Insider

As the caravan split, Saphielle simply stood up, carefully brushing debris off her dress as she tilted her head curiously. Her left eyebrow quirked as she listened to the woman speak. Her eyes flashed with a hint of shock before it was carefully buried. Tri-colored orbs met the woman's head on, the orbs seeming to swirl with the multicolored shades. "I have to say I am shocked they even dared come here to accuse you of that. My mother is not known to be worried about me - heck she is the one who dared to orchestrate the attempt on my life." Her voice was dark, the icicles dripping from her tone as she shifted her weight slightly. It was highly unusual to hear that her mother had attempted to accuse Al-Lotoy of either killing her or being part of her mother's well-orchestrated plan, ridiculous even.

The heiress lowered her head slightly in deference, her eyes closing slightly as she took a deep breath. "I do apologize for my kingdom and what you have suffered. You should not have been accused when my mother was the one pulling the strings." Her voice had softened, the iciness thawing out slightly as she raised her head, eyes flicking to her bonded pet as Eona was dragged back to her side and a smile threatened her lips. "I apologize for Eona as well, she has a mind of her own at times, but rest assured she will not stray from my side for the rest of our time here." Her diplomatic training kicked in as she studied the shadows and then the sword before her. As Aricia spoke, her tone took on a slight edge, her voice commanding slightly as she slid her orbs to the spy "Enough." Her voice was soft, but deadly as the girl narrowed her eyes at her company, her voice cutting through the air like daggers of ice, brooking no argument.

As soon as Jason stepped forward to speak, Saphielle raised one hand, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Jason - stand down." Her voice was calm, despite the fact she was debating her chances between the shadows and the necessary things. 25 pounds of flesh hmm - well, if she split it between herself and her 'guard' it would be 12.5 pounds each.... but even then she was unsure that Jason would allow herself to be hurt. The half-giant was almost as protective of her as he was of Quill. Her gaze turned to the shadows once more and she straightened her spine, stepping forward to be right beside her guard. "While it was not of my doing that caused you the strife and grief - I will pay the price needed as long as it is only between those of us who are willing to offer our flesh to you." Her tone was cool, collected and nowhere near what you'd expect from an heiress, but from Saphielle the Ice Queen - oh it was expected alright.

♡coded by uxie

 

[hery]

The Sun

Cresley Hogsweed

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐆𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐀𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐬


INTERACTION: Quill, Zenith, Kalin, Kygo
LOCATION: Twin Cities (Port)
OUTFIT: Something nice
MENTIONS: Klown Sir Mayday Shadow

The pair of assassins moved like they belonged exactly where they were. Cresley bore the bright smile of a halfling on a seaside holiday, eyes sparkling with joy as he brazenly pushed his way through the crowd. Kygo's downturned lips mirrored that of a jaded local, the kind who frequented the port on business best left unspoken. He’d seen enough promising assassins burn out early, too cold, too detached to stay human. But this new recruit was fantastic at slipping into the skin of his assignments, always showing off an indelible acting prowess.

Kygo was a knife: lean, efficient, meant to slip in and out without being seen. Cresley wasn’t a knife; he was a hammer, loud and unsubtle, smashing through wherever he pleased. Together, they could adapt to any situation, no matter the peril.

He followed Kygo's gaze to the water's edge, where a pile of unmarked crates was being guarded. Plenty of options, meaning plenty of eyes—not that such conditions have ever stopped a Seal agent from doing their job.

"I hate booby traps," the shorter assassin agreed. "Hate them. Though that reminds me of a story to regale you with later..."

They’d been forced by each other's sides enough times that Cresley had stubbornly decided they were friends, or close enough that the distinction didn’t matter. He liked Kygo despite his aloofness, maybe even because of it. The newer assassin never laughed at Cresley's jokes and always seemed one comment away from stabbing him in the ribs—what's more fun than that?

"Yeah, yeah, I can handle this," he answered in acknowledgement to his partner's instructions, his briefly quiet tone nowhere to be found. "Don’t worry, Stabs. I’d never embarrass you like that."

The lie came easy, because they both knew he absolutely would.

Even now, as Kygo kept his distance, Cress could tell the rookie wouldn’t go far. He never did.

Cress wasn’t subtle—not in the way Quill, Zenith, and Kygo were—but he knew how to make himself look like he had a purpose. Confidence is camouflage and, yes, he told that to all the new recruits.

Then, fire.

The second unmarked wagon went up in an instant, flames swallowing it whole. Smoke billowed into the sky, thick and acrid. Heat stung Cresley's cheek, even from a distance.

His wide-eyed gaze snapped toward Kygo, then the gate. A startled grunt rumbled in his chest as he fell into step with the river of bodies around him.

The nobles were already in chains, their attempts at protest accompanied by an acrid scent in the air and the sound of murmuring across the crowd. Had their documents slipped through the cracks of the dock, lost forever in the bright, blue waters?

The guards moved swiftly, no strangers to the procedure. This wasn’t just a crackdown; it was a message.

Cress’ gut twisted, but he shoved the feeling down.

Quill’s voice came to life in his pendant.

Third wagon. Guards in on the scheme. Many eyes watching.

He didn’t look down, nor did he react. Just scratched the back of his neck as if adjusting his collar, brushing a finger over the rune to signal he’d heard.

"The third one, you say?" he said aloud.

A distraction was already unfolding, whether intentional or not. With everyone focused on the burning wreckage, there was an opening. Cresley kept walking, unhurried, eyes trained on the third caravan. It hadn’t moved an inch.

Veering off, he slipped past a group of onlookers until he was close enough to get a better look. The wagon's handler had a rigid posture, if not a nervous one. He wasn’t like the checkpoint guards, who carried themselves with the confidence of people in control. No, this one looked like he was wondering if he was next. Surely, a caravan would be more guarded than this.

Meaning Quill was right.

Through the rune, Zenith’s voice cut in, soft and low:

"I don’t fancy a tussle with them myself. Kygo and Cresley are more suited for that."

Cress smirked, just barely, as he reached up and cracked his knuckles. "Well, when you put it like that," he started, "we could consider some light probing after we're through the gate."

Cress adjusted his sleeve, his fingers brushing over the microdermal piercings on the back of his hands. Most passerby were distracted, but wandering eyes were a constant in these places. Not daring to make any suspicious glances backward, Cresley gave his visual field a quick scan, trying and failing to spot anyone who looked more dangerous than the average port denizen. Perhaps Kygo and the others had a better view of the place.

As much as the halfling wanted to rip into some box of presumably magical goods, the guards' display of force admittedly warranted increased caution.

"Too many eyes, Stabs," he muttered as quietly as he knew how.

Without breaking stride, he came upon the caravan, a frighteningly short distance from open water.

"Damn shame, huh?" Cress said casually, sidling up near the caravan rider. He motioned his chin toward the remains of the apprehended lord's cart. "Think they still have to pay tariffs?"

The man startled slightly but recovered fast, giving Cress a once-over. "Who’re you?"

"Just another traveler from the Woodlands." Cress flashed a toothy grin, thinking his aura fairly disarming. "Always wondered what the fuss was about with this big gate. Bet it’s got you lot nervous, huh?"

The handler didn’t respond, but Cress could see the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers twitched at his side.

Cress gave the caravan a quick look over, noting the reinforced locks, the way the cloth covering was tied down just a little too securely. Yeah... there was something in there worth hiding.

He bit the inside of his cheek, considering. Calling Kygo over meant risking more attention, but leaving stones unturned felt worse. He flexed his index finger, the spike of metal at its tip glinting faintly the light. The team wasn’t far at all, nor were the checkpoint's stony-faced guards.

Cress tilted his head and let his grin stretch wider, all dopey and unassuming. "Don’t suppose you’d be kind enough to let me peek inside, would you? For curiosity’s sake."

The man didn’t bite. His eyes narrowed, gripped with unease. "No," he said firmly. "Piss off, you knee-high lawn ornament."

"Come on, mate. Couldn't imagine your bosses let you peek inside either. Shame, really." He gestured to the cart with a demeanor far too friendly to be up to anything good. "Must make a man curious. Fancy stuff like this, locked up tight? Has be worth a fortune."

Cresley leaned in, his smile never waning. "Bet whatever’s in there is more valuable than they pay you to watch it. Hope they have your back if things get too... heated."

The man stiffened. His eyes darted, not to Cress, but past him. Just like with Kygo, he followed the handler's gaze.

Gotcha.

A dirty tent, stuck up by a pole of wood. Shadows shifted behind the drapes, just a flash of movement at a time. Another figure, half-hidden in the crowd, pretended to haggle with a fishmonger.

Mercenaries. And ugly ones, too.

Cress let out a low whistle, shaking his head like he was impressed. "Well, well. Looks like they do have your back. Good for you!"

The handler’s pale face twisted with ire, hiding behind the threat of his colleagues' presence.

Cress didn’t give him time to speak, patting whatever part of the caravan he could reach with a heavy hand. "Thanks for the chat, friend."

Then the halfling was gone, rejoining the crowd in the same carefree stride that he'd approached with. His heart pounded, and his grin stayed sharp.

"Stabs," he muttered, the rune warming faintly, too. "Got eyes on the muscle now. You’re welcome."

coded by reveriee.

 

[CrimsonInk]

THE JOKER.

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SCARLETT

LEONHARDT

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

NOT NICE

OUTFIT

SUPER SPY OUTFIT

LOCATION

Lady Romero’s Room

MENTIONS

N/A

INTERACTIONS

Lady Romero

TAGS

Wyll

HOLD HIM DOWN (COVER)
— MORGAN CLAE.

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Your worst sin.

is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing.

CHAPTER TWO.

It was tedious to play fair in this game of cat and mouse, but in order for her to succeed in her part she needed to rely on the virtue of patience to get by. Scarlett’s eyelashes fluttered softly so child-like and lost with her eyes gazing into the same browns that paralleled her own. Lady Romero was a really pretty woman, but that prettiness was now clouded by the disgusting personality she displayed.

“Fret not, my lovely. We are, all of us, capable of mistakes. Especially from poor intel. Come now, let us put this ugliness behind us.”

It was rather odd of the amount of bonding she was doing with this target in particular. Usually she would have ended her life by now, but something made her just want to play a little more. There was something dangerous and alluring about this prey, so she shall see what this one has to offer.

“There. The top drawer has a number of red vials. Be a darling and bring one over to me. Oh, and be sure not to drop it - the medicine in there is expensive and an absolute chore to make.”

Scarlett’s gaze moved from the woman to the dresser. Moving cautiously she looked through the drawers until she came across the one Lady Romero was talking about. Eyes widened in shock by the sheer abundance and variety of vials that were in the drawer. Looking through the colors through the rows there were two in particular that caught her eye. One was labeled “Salnet 1” and the other “Salnet 2”, but next to them was another vial that was the exact same. There was no label to indicate what or who it was for, but Scarlett couldn’t help believing that it was supposed to be a trio for the Salnets. Was Lady Romero preparing to take them down herself? Or was it something more malicious? Oh my lady, if only were you not a target that I would have picked that feisty brain of yours. Her gaze softened to mask the predator of the changeling playing with the woman's vulnerability.

“Hmmm, so many of these are so interesting~. What do they do by any chance? Oh! This must be how you keep staying so young and beautiful, my lady~,” Scarlett said, “or am I mistaken?”

Scarlett grabbed the vials labelled the ‘Salnets’ and the mysterious third, sliding them down her sleeve in a quick motion before turning towards the woman. She quickly showed the red vial to let her know she was ‘listening’ to the woman. She lifted a careful smile.

“I really do hope we can put this behind us. I wouldn’t want to make someone like you so upset, my lady…” If only she had truly cared for the woman that the next part would have ended up differently.

It really was unfortunate for Lady Romero to begin to understand that time wasn’t on her side. Minor ticks from the hand counting the seconds on the clock pressured Scarlett to stop with the games. The mouse was caught, so stop playing with your food and take a bite.

Light feet glided towards the paralyzed woman, sitting on top of her with the vial in hand closing in the sight of the woman's eyes.

“Sorry my lady,” Scarlett’s voice deepened, laced with malice, “it seems playtime is over. You’re actually pretty useless with information, but don’t worry. Not everything was in vain. Your pretty face-” Scarlett began, her body starting to morph into the woman. Her body stretches out with arms and legs growing longer, her head higher and smile wider. A mirrored replica of Lady Romero who lied there to watch it happen.

“- is now mine. Your voice is now mine. Everything here is now mine. And so, I thank you for that courtesy, my lady. It seems that we are finished. Don’t worry, your death will be a quick and easy one. Au revoir~!”

With careful hands she cupped the woman's face using her fingers to study the bone, ligaments, and after a few moments twisted her neck. A dark shadow twinkling in the eyes of the changeling. It was merely satisfying to feed the beast who hungered such things inside, but there was a shame that came with it. A shame and fear that if it weren’t for the seal — she might have been a target herself.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Wyll]

CHAPTER 2 - Consequence - Scarlett Leonhardt

Location: Romero House Hold, Salnet Fiefdom, Falin Outskirts
Interactions/Mentions: Scarlett ( CrimsonInk ), Kiva ( LumaThePhoenix )​

---

Lady Romero watched with eager, hungry, dangerous eyes as Scarlett approached the vials. The weight of her bloodlust was so thick that it almost choked her trying to suppress it. Just a little while longer. Just a few moments longer she encouraged herself, smiling sweetly - almost nauseatingly so - at Scarlett.

“Never mind those other vials, my dear. Just some projects I work on in my spare time. I am something of an apothecary myself. Perhaps I can tell you all about them later.”

Lady Romero hadn’t reached a status as high as hers without knowing her fair share of underhanded methods and she most certainly wouldn’t have so many vials stored in her room if she didn’t have a way to keep track of them. So, as smooth as the spy’s motions were, Lady Romero managed to catch her slipping the vials into her sleeve.

It took all the strength the noble lady had to hold back the maniacal laughter that threatened to erupt out of her at the sight, masking it behind a strained smile as Scarlett turned around to show the red vial.

Four? And three with continuous contact? The naive fool. Such a dose would make even me suffer. The poor thing might not even survive the pain long enough for me to torture her. Ah, such a shame - I had so looked forward to pulling out all the secrets of The Seal from her. No matter, I guess I shall have to be content to watch her suffering.

The poison that each vial in the drawer was coated with had started seeping into Scarlett’s bloodstream from the second she made contact. A poison that Lady Romero had long-since developed an immunity to. It soaked into the skin wherever the vials made contact with flesh, absorbing into the flesh so quickly that the wetness wouldn’t even be felt.

As the vials slipped down Scarlett’s sleeve and bounced against her skin, each touch was a new path of entry for the poison, her system being rushed by the invasive substance as it started seeping into her bloodstream from her palm, her arm, her elbow, her bicep…every part of her body that made contact with the vials.

A single dose would simply have caused hallucinations. It would have brought the victim’s greatest fears and regrets to life. Their surroundings would morph into a dreamscape where they were surrounded by the sights and sounds of everything they wished would go away forever. A prison of the mind that would distract the victim long enough for Lady Romero to have her way. Or, perhaps, break their mind so ruthlessly that they would do anything…say anything for the promise of an antidote.

Four simultaneous doses, however, would be life-threatening to most and utterly debilitating to those with even the strongest wills. The effects would kick in faster, last longer, run deeper…what would have been a mere strike would become a bombardment, an assault. The thought of watching the vermin before her writhing in pain, begging for mercy, crying to be delivered from the assault on her mind was like sweet nectar to Lady Romero.

However, in a moment, the smile shattered; all amusement had been smashed; all guile had surrendered to the brute force of the fury that overcame Lady Romero. To see Scarlett don her face. The reaction was not one of fear or terror or even confusion. No, it was raw, unbridled rage.

The thought of someone she saw as a peasant - no, less than a peasant - daring to put on her perfect face, steal her perfect figure, to claim her perfect hair…for a worm to taint perfection was a crime that could never be forgiven. Worse than breaking into her house, worse than the paralysis, worse than anything that had ever been done to her. Swine! You deserve everything coming. And I can’t wait to watch you bu-

The thought process was cut off by the feeling of Scarlett’s hands on her face. Soft, delicate, yet strong. Such a shame that she is so foolish. She could have made such a fun subordinate.

However, as Scarlett’s words began to sink in, and Lady Romero processed the goodbye Scarlett offered, the realisation of what was about to happen hit her. And, for the first time in the entire encounter, Lady Romero seemed genuinely terrified. The fear wasn’t one born from death - she had overcome that fear decades ago. This fear was one born from not being able to see this insect’s punishment. To think that anyone would dare bring me so low and I don’t get to see them burn? Impossible!

“Wait! No! Don’t do this! Don’t you dare! Stop! I command it! I need to see you-”

The words cut off as Scarlett snapped the neck. Lady Romero was no more. At least, not the Lady Romero that everyone knew. She could no longer hurt anyone…especially not a Kiva Fitzgerald who was none the wiser. However, it was not a victory that would be enjoyed long. Lady Romero may be dead, but even in death, the vixen would get the last laugh.

The poison has reached Scarlett’s brain. The poison’s effects have begun.

 

[CrimsonInk]

THE JOKER.

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SCARLETT

LEONHARDT

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

IN PAIN

OUTFIT

SUPER SPY OUTFIT

LOCATION

LADY ROMERO'S ROOM

MENTIONS

ARICIA | NAVON |
QUILL | ISTOIRE

INTERACTIONS

N/A

TAGS

Klown lyn. Wyll
CloudySkyLoftyMoon

WILDFLOWER — BILLIE EILISH.

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MONSTERS ARE REAL

and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.

CHAPTER TWO.

The deed was done. Scarlett had gotten the persona she sought out for and without needed bloodshed. Now she just needed to contact Kiva and Navon about —

It hit suddenly. Too sudden for Scarlett to acknowledge the deep-set pounding within her body. Her legs wobbled, her balance faltering, as the room around her distorted, the edges of reality starting to bend in unnatural ways. The air became thick, heavy, and then... the pain.

Molten lava coursed through her veins; an inferno that left her breathless. Every pulse of her blood felt like it was burning her alive from the inside out. She collapsed against the edge of the bed, gasping for air, her chest heaving, but the air she breathed in was too much like black smoke—an oppressive weight on her lungs. Tears, hot and scorching, began to pour down her face. She couldn’t stop them. Even the pain stole her voice; all she could do was scream silently, the agony swelling deep inside her. Her skin felt like it was too tight and sweat mingled with the salt from her tears as they ran down her cheeks.

Her vision blurred, and the room around with shadows dancing like living things, each one pulsing with an energy that was foreign to her. What is going on? What is this? At that moment the vials from her sleeves slid out and rolled on the floor. Her eyes looking down with a clarity of sense she could only make sense in that moment: the vials were laced with poison.

It was a sweet poison that was excruciating to the body. Denial settled in with her shaking her head violently, not wanting to believe this was happening. Whatever soulless person Lady Romero was, the poison she made was not only painful, but it began to infect her mind. Her breath hitched as the ground seemed to pulse beneath her, the air thick with a rancid odor that churned her stomach. She could feel her skin tightening, as though it was being pulled too thin, and her bones screamed in protest, her entire being consumed by the searing fire that raced beneath her flesh.

A mirror stood against the wall next to the bed and what reflected from it was someone she couldn’t recognize. A face she had forgotten long ago that had come back to haunt her. Eyes black as night stared back at her like a curse. Her skin paled to a death with veins etching towards her cheeks, as if an omen was feeding on her very soul.

Do you see what you are now? You can wear any face you like, but don’t deny the kind of monster you are. It is your birthright.

Scarlett’s breath came in ragged sobs now, her hand reaching up to clutch her face. Her fingers trembled at the cold, unnatural feel of her true skin. And the more she touched, the more the fire inside her raged, as if the poison was pulling her deeper into something she couldn’t escape. Tears blurred her vision, but she could feel it—the monster, the thing she had always feared she would become, creeping closer. She was a changeling, a liar, a creature built on theft and deception. A monster who wore faces like masks, pretending to be something she was never meant to be. A deceiver to those she cared for. To Aricia who has been there since Kidem, to Istoire who accompanied her that day at the docks getting mood rings together, and to Quill who have forgotten their friendship, but Scarlett will never forget their bond, and to almost everyone in the Seal. Even the thought of Navon who was a pain came to her mind.

“Navon…” she sobbed again, her voice raw with pain.

Her hand trembled searching for the pendant, feeling time closing her in desperation to call for help. As the heat intensified, her chest tightened with the poison gripping her tightly in agony. Just before her body gave in, her pendant was held close and tight to her chest. Weak to the pain her body spasmed, unable to hold herself upright any longer against the satin sheets and falling to the ground.

A cry tore from her throat, loud and raw, echoing through the empty room. Her breath hitched as she curled in on herself, her hands clutching together around the pendant as the tears streamed down, mixing with the cold sweat. She felt like she was being torn apart from the inside, the poison wracking her body and her mind.

Visions of her past returned, haunting her deepest regrets playing in an infinite loop. She could never truly escape the person she truly was. The huntress from Doran Woodlands, a spawn from the deep cracks of the Lost Land of Latoy, and the bloodthirsty agent who could end the lives of those around her.

Her shattered mind screamed at her, and the tears flowed harder, leaving trails of salt in their wake. Her body was infernal—her skin scorching, and the blood beneath it screaming its way out.

“Please…” she gasped through the tears, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to be this... Please, not this. Aricia….Navon….”

And the pain… the fire in her veins… It was unbearable.

“I’m still me….I’m still me…..help me.”

With a final breath she screamed into the pendant-

“HELP ME!”

♡coded by uxie♡