[hider=Late Night Sola 20, 1739 ~ Early Morning Sola 21, 1739][hider=Summary: Udo killed two people and left the harbor via the river. The vodka wasn’t a complete waste.][center][h1][b]Udo[/b][/h1][b]Time:[/b] Late night [b]Location:[/b] Harbor[/center] The unexpected arrival of Queen Alibeth and her knights prevented Udo from escaping the rooftop. The cleanup that followed only added to the delay. He remained stranded until the crowds around the warehouse thinned out enough for him to slip away unnoticed. Or, so he thought. “Oi, yeh!” an angry voice shouted from behind, more than one set of footsteps rushing towards him. The islander cursed under his breath. As he turned his head, he prayed to Nnenne—the Grandmother of all life, the great sea Herself—that the owners of those footfalls were not one of Danrose's knights. Tonight, She listened to his prayers. The people who stopped him weren’t knights, just regular men. Udo assumed they were Marek’s thugs, if only because they stopped him near Black Rose’s warehouse. As long as they weren’t Danrose’s men, Udo was fine with that. The two men had their weapons out and pointed at Udo, ready to use them as soon as he gave them a reason to. “Who r yeh? What r yeh doing here?” The fact they asked meant that they didn’t know if the dark-skinned man was one of Marek’s guests disguised as a fisherman or was an actual peasant who chose the wrong time to be wandering around the harbor. Udo raised his hands. The weight in one of them reminded him of the vodka. Time to embody the spirit of a drunken sailor. He wobbled to the side and attempted to stand straight. He leaned forward to look at Marek’s men, then sighed loudly in relief, allowing his arms to fall. “Thank Santiana, ye’re nah one o’ the crown’s. Ye nigh-on gave me a bloody hard attack!” He hiccuped. They looked at him dubiously. Udo wasn’t cut out for this kind of job. “Answer the damn question or we’ll cut yeh good.” Udo took a bold step forward, “Aye now, no needs t' be so mean. Me 'n me mates we be jus’ partyin’. Enjoyin’ our drinks 'n then—Uh, hmm.” He looked around, searching for the friends he was partying with so that they could explain what had happened. His imaginary friends were long gone, however. “Ah, damn it. I forgot wha’ happened exactly, but I know ‘twas a good party ‘n ‘twas ruined.” The entire time Udo watched the guests come and go from Black Rose’s warehouse, one thing happened without fail: they left dazed and confused. Listening in on conversations, Udo learned that the guests’ memories had been tampered with. Since Wayra was the expert in magic, not him, Udo couldn’t tell the extent of the alteration, but every single guest who came out of the front door suffered from the same infliction. Udo took a swig of vodka and wiped his mouth with his arm. He came offensively closer to the men to offer the bottle, “Wants some?” The man closest to him pinched his nose as soon as he got a whiff of the pungent smell. “What the hell? Ye’ve been bathing in liquor or summat?” That he had. Nice to know the vodka shower wasn’t a complete waste. He laughed, patting the man’s shoulder hard, “HAHA! ‘tisn’t a party if ye’re nah bathin’ in rum, am I right?” The man pulled away from Udo in disgust and exchanged looks with his partner. The men needed to decide if Udo’s convenient memory loss was the result of magic or alcohol, or was a bald-faced lie; whether the “drunkard” was enough of a threat or liability that needed to be dealt with. “Alrighty then, come with us. There r still some knights walking about. We’re goin’ to take ye somewhere safe.” Nothing in their tone or gesture hinted that it was a suggestion. Udo’s shoulder sagged. So they had decided that he was, at the very least, a liability. Just not confident enough to decide that he was not a party guest. Lacked the guts to kill a potential guest and have Marek find out that they messed up later. Wherever they were going to take him, as soon as they found out he was not a guest, he wasn’t going to come out alive. That much he knew. Udo sighed inwardly. He really hoped he’d be able to complete the mission without killing anyone. He could already hear the annoying scoundrel cackling and mocking him for it. “Why didn’ ye say so! Come on! Get goin’!” Udo put the bottle into his creel and followed the thugs. Careful not to draw attention to his movements, Udo fiddled with the spinning reel on his fishing rod. His drunk sailor act wasn’t the most believable performance this side of the ocean, but the stench of alcohol lowered the men’s guard down enough to turn their backs on a stranger. That was their first mistake. Fritz taught him that underestimation was a powerful tool when used appropriately. Those who fell into its trap became blind, deaf, and ignorant of the blatantly obvious. The fishing line was a good example. One good look at it and anyone could tell that it was too thick to be an ordinary fishing line. But these men didn’t notice. Marek’s men guided him to a secluded area near the docks, where they instructed him to wait. Once again the men turned their attention away from Udo, whispering to each other about something. The subject of the conversation was none of Udo’s concern. What mattered was that their self-distraction gave him time to place his equipment on the ground and make some adjustments. Then he waited. Eventually, one of the thugs left his partner alone with Udo. He wasted no time. The man was barely out of view when Udo wrapped the garrote around his partner’s neck and yanked. Instinctively, the man’s hands shot up to his neck to remove the wire digging into his skin. The weapon in his hand dropped to the floor. Without missing a beat, Udo turned away from the man so that their backs touched each other and pulled on the garrote harder. The thug's legs shuffled around in panic. They tried running in any direction they could, they tried twisting the body to escape the wire, and they tried kicking at Udo. His hands also made a valiant attempt to attack the warrior, but each attempt was as futile as the one before it. The struggle lasted a mere 20 seconds in real time, but every second that passed felt like an hour, bordering on eternity. Udo was considering slicing the man’s throat with the blade he dropped to speed up the whole process when he finally felt the man go completely limp. He laid the thug onto the ground, unwrapped the wire, and then positioned the body to expose his neck. Putting as much weight into it as he could, Udo stomped down onto the neck. [i]Snap![/i] The sound that would’ve made any other man turn away in sympathetic pain, swelled Udo’s chest with triumphant pride. A quick, clean, and quiet death; the pinnacle of efficiency. Quick. Unlike Peter, who loved dragging it out as much as possible, savoring every moment of the hunt. He wounded his prey in every way imaginable and stalked them until they didn’t have the strength to put up a fight. Some even begged to die if it meant the end of their suffering. It wouldn’t end with their deaths though. Mercilessly, Peter made sure that each of his prey died with the knowledge that they would meet again in hell where he would do this all over again. Clean. Something that Karleen was incapable of doing once her instinct for survival kicked in. Udo witnessed the berserker beat her opponents into a bloody pulp, rip off limbs, and pummel what remained into a fine paste, even if they were long dead. If she could pulverize souls with her bare hands, she would’ve. She couldn’t stop herself. Karleen was raised and literally bred to be that way. How did one go about removing something that made up every fiber of their being? You couldn’t. A storm without violence wasn’t a storm at all, no matter how gentle their pneuma was. Quiet. A foreign concept to all Nexeians, not just Wayra. Something about living in the plains full of nothing made them want to stick out to the extent that it was harder to ignore them. They were the type of people who thrived on stimulating every sense in the body: everything they had was rich with color; they were loud, even when silent; they loved strong scents and loved stronger tastes even more; anything within reach was going to be touched. Wayra was the perfect embodiment of their people. Because of that, they were the least suited for missions that required stealth, doubly so when they weren’t allowed to use magic. The last time the crew took Wayra on a stealth mission, it ended with a blast so powerful that it temporarily cleared the haze from the City of Fog and Shadows. For the first time in forever, the city’s citizens saw that the sky was blue. And for the first time in Udo's life, he experienced what it felt like to fall from the sky. After Udo collected his belongings, he dragged the body close to the water and lowered it to be swept away. One down, another one to go. It didn’t take long to spot the other thug who was walking along the river’s edge. The sound of people talking and the glow of a lantern in the distance alerted Udo that he’d have to dispose of more than two people tonight if he didn’t hurry. His legs sprinted across the harbor, ushering the islander as fast as they could to the unsuspecting man. Beyond the air cutting past his eyes and ears, the light got brighter, the sounds louder. But he didn’t give himself time to think about the newcomers. It was still dark. They were still far enough away. He could do this. Udo threw himself onto the man from an angle with full force. The man, losing his footing, couldn’t stop himself from launching towards the water. Udo wrapped his legs tightly around the thug’s body, securing the man’s arms in place, and reached over to put him in a headlock. He thought he heard an owl screeching and surprised shouting. Before Udo had a chance to identify the source of the commotion, the river swallowed the two men whole. The river that ran past Sorian was not the most beautiful body of running water. Its waters were on the murky side and he’d seen various types of trash floating in it at some point, bodies included—though to be fair, two of those bodies were Udo’s doing and the rest only appeared farther downstream, closer to the slums. It didn’t take an expert to conclude that the river was poorly treated. Despite this, or maybe because of this, the river possessed an ungrudging and pleasant temperament. Its currents were comforting as a cradle, the water enveloping him like a warm blanket. It caressed Udo’s skin lovingly as it sang Nnenne’s lullaby, lulling him, reminding him that no matter how far away he was from home, all waters connected back to Nnenne. When he gasped for air, Udo knew the river took him to the city limits even before he opened his eyes. He spat the rancid water that managed to get into his mouth and wiped his face to safely open his eyes without the risk of getting an infection. Several eyes looked in his direction, freezing Udo. The paddling of ducks surrounding him, though not perturbed by his sudden appearance, cast judging stares at Udo. He glanced down and immediately released the body he had—for reasons that eluded him—brought up with him. “Just so that we’re clear,” Udo pointed at the vanishing body, “I would’ve let them be if they’d let me go.” He wasn’t sure if any of the ducks were one of Wayra’s, but in case they were, Udo wanted to make sure the shaman knew that he was nothing like Peter. “It was necessary.” The ducks, unconvinced or uninterested in Udo’s excuses, drifted away as a group down the river. Retreating to land, Udo turned back to see the paddling of ducks still being pushed away by the currents. Even farther in the distance, there was another group of equally placid birds huddled together, floating away. Udo wondered if they were acting as pallbearers, shepherding the latest addition of bodies to Nnenne. At the river mouth, Nnenne would welcome her grandsons with open arms. Their bodies would break down—ravaged by the sea creatures and/or through the slow process of decomposition—dispensing the nutrients that the body stored to sustain one life to others. With nothing to bind them to the physical realm, the souls would also be released from their mortal shell, free to become whatever they desired. The cycle would continue anew. The warrior lowered his head in silent benediction toward the ocean’s direction before glaring at the home of Sorian’s "God." There, in that castle, the deity—who took on the flesh of a man—tainted himself by overindulging in the wonders the mortal world had to offer, forsaking his duty and, by extension, his people. With most of its nutrients hogged by the mortal god and his closest followers, Caesonia became something akin to a bloated whale ready to explode. The aristocracy just didn’t realize that the country was already dead, running on gas from a decomposing corpse. It's been dead for a long time, even before Edin came into being. It was time for a new cycle to begin. How far would Udo fly when they poked a hole in this whale?[/hider] [hider=Summary: The Crew assembled. The beginning of a very, very long meeting.][center][h1][b][color=9354FF]Fritz "Ryn" Hendrix[/color][/b][/h1][b]Time:[/b] Late night [b]Location:[/b] Guest House[/center] Ryn, Lady Vikena, and Ms. Ruby spent most of the night searching and failing to find Duke Vikena. They would have kept going, but the increased frequency of yawns and the intensity of the glazed looks cut the search short. The group promised to continue the search in the morning after they properly rested and ate. As he had done before, Ryn escorted the women back to their respective homes, then returned to the guest house. When Ryn reached the door to his room, he heard noises coming from within. He opened the door, ready to greet his companions. On the large bed, three figures were interlocked with each other. Udo, laying on the bed, had one arm pinned down by Peter and the other arm pulled back, ready to punch the man on top of him. Peter, who was straddling Udo, was also ready to strike the man below him. Unlike Udo, Karleen’s strong hands prevented him from launching his attack. Karleen was standing at the edge of the large bed and had both of her hands occupied. The hand that wasn’t stopping Peter from punching was stopping Udo from kicking the redhead. A large rooster stood next to Karleen, doing nothing in particular. Ryn’s crew stared at Ryn. Ryn blinked at them. Then he closed the door without uttering a single word. Back in the hallway, Ryn called out to a servant who was in the middle of delivering someone’s nightcap. [color=9354FF]“Excuse me, I’m so sorry to bother you, but would it be possible to ask for a spot of tea?”[/color] the count gestured towards the door. [color=9354FF]“My companions commandeered my room, and I suspect they’ll be busy for a while.”[/color] The door flung open. Peter stomped towards Ryn and grabbed him by his shirt before dragging him into the room. Ryn shouted out to the servant, [color=9354FF]“Cancel that order, will you? It seems they have need of a fifth wheel!”[/color] The door slammed shut, leaving a very flushed servant behind. [color=9354FF]“I can take a bit of manhandling if that’s your thing, Peter, but please, spare the shirt,”[/color] Ryn placed the back of his hand on his forehead and tilted his head back, [color=9354FF]“it’s cashmere.”[/color] Peter released his grip from Ryn’s shirt, “No Boss, I ain't into that, cashmere or otherwise.” [color=9354FF]“Oh, no need to hide it from me.”[/color] Ryn sighed, [color=9354FF]“I might be a little bit hurt that you guys started the fun without me.”[/color] The count batted his eyelashes at the ginger. Peter grinned wolfishly, ready to make some comment, but was distracted by a silver twinkle. He took a step away from Ryn, dodging the knife thrown in his direction. The dull knife, unable to lodge itself into the wooden door, bounced off at the perfect angle to smack Peter in the face. Peter went down, spewing strings of profanities as he did so. The culprit stood on the bed, unabashedly nude. “Enough lollygagging. Let's get this over with so we can get at least some shut-eye.” If anyone could claim to have been handcrafted by the Creators themselves and not come off as a lie, it would be Udo. The east islander was a breathtakingly handsome man, a masterpiece of the human body of the masculine variety. Even those who do not find the male form appealing agreed that Udo was aesthetically pleasing. The islander’s physical features were not the most striking characteristic of him, however. That honor went to his eyes, two windows into the ocean deep. Stared long enough into those eyes and one could hear the rolling waves, sea bubbles making their way to the surface, and the song of whales. They beckoned those who peered in to come into the water. Some yielded to the siren’s call. Wayra assured them that the compulsion wasn’t because of magic—Udo’s eyes were simply that alluring. The count averted Udo’s eyes to appreciate his other assets lest he succumbed to the urge and literally hurled himself into the sea. That was when he noticed Karleen was drying off Udo with a towel. Wet clothes hung on a string, which they must have put up for that exact purpose. [color=9354FF]“Did you enjoy a midnight dip in the river?”[/color] “I tried walking, but when that didn’t work out, I took the water route.” [color=9354FF]“When what didn’t work out?”[/color] Udo mumbled something reluctantly. “Oh, for f**k’s sake,” Peter cut in, “he got caught.” Udo glowered and clucked, “And, because of that, I had to get rid of the witnesses and dump their bodies and myself in the river.” [color=9354FF]“How many?”[/color] “Two.” Peter chimed in again, “That may or may not be Marek’s men.” Ryn let out a long groan. After massaging the bridge of his nose in solemn contemplation, Ryn walked towards the dresser, [color=9354FF]“Okay, okay… I can tell this is going to be a long one and I’m going to need a strong drink. Does anyone else want some?”[/color] Three hands and a wing shot up. Ryn picked up the tea set sitting on the dresser top and turned around, [color=9354FF]“Strong as in, I’m going to make tea extra bitter tonight. No lemons, sugar, or milk.”[/color] Peter dropped his raised hand. “You [i]monster[/i].”[/hider][/hider] [hr][hr] [center][h1][b][color=DAF6C7]Ríoghnach "Riona"[/color][/b][/h1][/center] Because the Vikenas took “full responsibility,” the punishment for “overpolishing the floors” was less severe than it would have been otherwise: all servants assigned to the ballroom were forbidden from consuming anything except for water for the next 48 hours. Seeing that many of the servants were no stranger to hunger, a day or two of fasting was something they could endure. The problem was that it meant that they had to watch the others eat the leftovers from the party as their empty stomachs growled with envy. Unfortunately for Riona, the incident with the noblewoman had not gone unnoticed. She received 20 lashes for embarrassing the woman in front of everyone, 40 lashes for wasting Callum’s precious time, 1 backhand for talking back, and 1 slap across the other cheek to split evenly. The resident torturer disliked odd numbers. Afterward, she sought refuge in the youngest prince’s bedroom. Rummaging through his secret stash, Riona took out medicinal plants, salves, and potions. She used just enough to stop the bleeding and prevent infection before returning the items back to their original places. In a notebook tucked away in the corner, Riona jotted down what she used, how much she used, and how much remained. Riona was listing down ingredients that they needed to restock when a bottle covered in dust caught her attention. Curious, she pulled it out and read its label. [i]Slip & Slide[/i]. It was one of the many failed potions they concocted a while back. If she remembered correctly, they were trying to make a glow-in-the-dark fluid that only needed sunlight to recharge its properties. Instead, they ended up with a fluid that made any surface more slippery than an eel. Like an overpolished floor. Riona carefully considered this thought, then grinned impishly. A trip to the guest house and one break-in later, Riona was in Lord Leo Smithwood’s room, searching for every pair of shoes he owned. Riona felt absolutely giddy as she coated the soles with the Slip & Slide fluid. Imagining the arrogant man walking around like a newborn fawn made her snicker. Oh, she’d probably burst out laughing if she saw him fall over. She wouldn’t hold back either, she’d make sure he saw that a lowly maid witnessed it and openly ridiculed him for it. A fun thought, but Riona knew he’d probably take his shoes off by that point. Forced to walk barefoot until shoes befitting a lord could be procured. [color=DAF6C7][i]Scandalous[/i][/color]. [color=4E0E04]…And then what?[/color] A stray question slunk into her mind, stilling her hand holding the brush. [color=4E0E04]What happens after?[/color] Her arms slowly fell to her lap. [color=DAF6C7]Nothing.[/color] This was entirely meaningless. As ineffectual as Callum’s pranks and misdemeanors against his family name. Even if it caused people to get embarrassed, sad, or angry, in the long run, it changed nothing. With every speck of joy sucked out by the depressing thought, Riona covered up any evidence that anyone had entered the room and left. Not before painting the doorknob inside the room, though. [hr] [i]The full weight of a grown man crushed Ríoghnach, pinning her in place, preventing her from running away from the nightmare. She struggled to breathe. The pain was overwhelming. The menagerie of screams and shouts that were once deafening, became more distant. Red danced against the black, splashed across her face, and pooled beneath her. Ríoghnach looked up into his eyes. Blue, blue eyes. Eyes that looked down at her and watched her slowly die.[/i] Riona awoke with a start. She remained unmoving on the damp bed for a long time, just staring at the ceiling of the room she’d been living in for over a decade. A prison cell she willingly placed herself into to serve a self-imposed life sentence. Another day served. She was still here. They still existed. Everything was the same as before. A new day began. [hr] With one less stable boy to help out with the stables, Riona was called in to help. She was carrying out a bucket filled with horse manure when she saw Mr. Brisby walking towards the stables. After having to pick up some Varian noble all the way from Erwynn, the coachman was supposed to be enjoying a day off. [color=DAF6C7]“Mr. Brisby? What are you doing here?”[/color] The coachman lifted his hat to comb his fingers through his hair. “Well, that was the plan until they told me about Darryn and called me back.” [color=DAF6C7]“Huh, obviously whoever told you that also forgot to mention that I’m filling in for the day. You can go back home and enjoy your day off. You know I can handle this.”[/color] “They didn’t call me in about that,” Mr. Brisby said, his eyes cast down. Riona frowned, [color=DAF6C7]“So what did they call you back for?”[/color] “We’re going to have to find a new stable boy.” [color=DAF6C7]“They’re firing Darryn over this mess?”[/color] “They’re executing him over this mess, Riona.” Riona blinked incredulously, [color=DAF6C7]“They’re… [i]executing[/i] him?”[/color] “Today,” Mr. Brisby confirmed. Riona dropped the bucket and ran out of the stables, deaf to Mr. Brisby calling her name. She couldn’t understand why the castle’s stable boys had a knack for getting themselves killed because a bunch of spoiled noble brats wanted to have some fun. Her fiancé and now Darryn? It made no sense. It wasn’t fair. They were always the ones getting punished for the nobles' mistakes, while the nobles got a slap on the wrist. It was history repeating itself because there was no reason for it not to. She regretted not burning the castle down during the party as she entered the palace. [hr][hr][center][h1][b]Nobody of significance, soon to be forgotten[/b][/h1][b]Time:[/b] 09:00 [b]Location:[/b] Danrose Entrance Hall[/center] A black beast stood in the shadows watching the proceedings occurring in the entrance hall. The holy presence of His Majesty and his equally deific children warded off the foul creature. Keeping Its wickedness at bay. Its eyes, as dark and bottomless as the abyss itself and devoid of a soul, silently evaluated the attendees. Weighting the value of their souls on a scale, recording their names in Its head. The servant, who so brazenly approached It, asked whether It had come to take Darryn Fletcher away. It answered with a question, why did they ask? The servant asked because they needed to know the fate of those whom His Majesty and his bloodline deemed unworthy. There would be no place for them in paradise, but did they at least have a place in the Hells? Or were their souls too damned, even for Hells’ tastes? Were nobodies doomed to be forever lost? It turned Its soulless gaze on the servant. A deceptively soft smile curved Its lips. It finally answered that It could take Darryn wherever he wanted if he so desired. Only Darryn knew what Darryn’s desires were, but as a nobody themselves, this servant surmised that he wanted to become someone to somebody, even if it was for a short time, the briefest of moments. Would his execution be a blessing in disguise then? Should he die, he’d leave a mark on her, etched deep within the princess. It would stay there, until the next Darryn—and there was always going to be the next “Darryn”—came by to cover it up. Until then, he would be something to her. Was this all worth getting so close to the sun, Darryn? Did [i]they[/i] think it was worth it? Pretending to have now realized Its mistake, the creature asked for the servant’s name. The servant gave a name, nonetheless. Faintly aware that they left the door wide open for the devil to waltz right in. It was, however, too late by the time they realized this. The servant saw their soul staring back at them from two black onyxes. Keeping the same smile plastered on Its face, the beast turned to properly face them. It introduced them by Its stage name and bowed deeply, as if the servant was an aristocrat, then clasped the servant's hand with both of Its hands, as if they were friends. The servant braced themselves for the scalding heat of burning brimstone or the chilling cold of a corpse when their hands touched, but it never came. All there was, was the warmth of a mortal man. It told the servant what a pleasure it was to meet them, and said the words as if It meant it. Enraptured by the attention given, the servant felt what it was like to be noticed by somebody. They were no longer one of the many nameless, faceless, nobodies. People so insignificant that they could be replaced by another and nothing would change. Lives destined to be forgotten with time, even by their own flesh and blood. One day, not a trace would be left of them, and it would be as if they never existed in the first place. But here, at this moment in time, they ascended from being an extra in the background to a character. They were being seen and heard. Their existence was acknowledged by It. [i]By you[/i]. An intoxicating feeling. No wonder Darryn couldn’t resist the temptation. The servant reached their free hand to envelop Its hand. “Likewise.” [i]It doesn’t matter what the servant‘s name was. Nor does it matter whether they were a he, a she, something in between or beyond. Old or young. Any shade of color. It matters not to anyone, not even you. You’ll soon forget this insignificant nobody. Such is the way of the world. If there is anything worth remembering, however, remember this: this was when the wretched thing was invited inside and [b]not[/b] when It received the party invitation. It was only a matter of time for the poison to circulate through the staff. It corrupted their hearts and their minds, and it spread like the plague. This servant was the first of Its victims. They were just one of many.[/i]