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[IC] The Season of the Enlightened

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The IC is live!

You have two weeks from today to get your post up.

To start things off, it is going to be more sandbox. Feel free to play around and see where your characters are and what they are doing. Eventually, there will be structured events happening.

As a reminder, if you need a roll for your character to do something, please ask me or Blizz in the Discord chat, and we will roll for you and tell you the results. You can do so publicly or privately. If you are unsure if what you want to do requires a roll, please ask!

Sheets can still be submitted if you are making a second character or if you were in the process before the IC went live. Do not feel like you need to get them up now. You will have a place as we progress.

Thank you all again for being a part of this. I am so excited to see what happens!
Hidden 1 yr ago → 1 yr ago Post by PatientBean
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PatientBean Hi, I'm Barbie. What's up?

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The room was filled with a haze as the men sat in a circle around a fire, stoked to a low ember; enough to provide some warmth but not enough to produce light. The men gathered here periodically, usually when one called for a meeting, but today was different. Each of them had sent word they needed to meet, and almost all received the summons at the same time—a rare event.

"What are we to do about this?" one of the gentlemen asked. He was a rotund man, balding from years of stress and worry. He thought of himself as the leader of this merry band of men, the truth being that none of the others respected him enough to invite him out for their other outings, hunts, and so on.

Another man, this one younger than the one who spoke up, with tanned skin the color of caramel, uttered, "We prepare. Gather our resources. This is not the first time, nor should I expect, will it be the last."

The other men grumbled, either agreeing or raising a fuss just to be heard. The first man spoke again, "The Dark Embers have been silent for a while. What's to say this most recent threat is even them? Could it perhaps be someone hoping to stoke the fire of war?"

More agreements were made. A third man, pale with a shock of white hair despite being one of the youngest, raised a point. "Who would do such a thing? For what benefit?"

The first man took the reins of conversation again (perhaps he was the leader). "That school might have a hand in it. I do not trust that Lord Poe. His father was the right sort of man, if you gather my meaning. Truly made that a place of education and learning, with everyone knowing their place. Now they have men and women gathered in the same rooms learning the same things. In my day, women knew their place, even if they were Enlightened. Mark it here, gentlemen, Lord Poe is going to run that school, and by rights our country, into the ground should he be allowed to continue."

The second man guffawed as if the funniest joke had been uttered. "Surely not. Lord Poe values the job far too much to risk. If you want my opinion, it's that circus that appeared on the outskirts of town. It hosts all manner of unsightly agents. The owner operates it with an iron fist, and who could deny that they have the force behind them? Entertainment, ha! Tis a madhouse of horrors there."

The third man shook his head. He kept it hidden that he and his wife had visited the circus time and again. "I disagree. If it is someone, it is that pompous woman, Lady Rosemarie, or whatever name she is using now. She is housing all manner of unsightly specimens in her wings, teaching them how to sneak around and rob. Trading in secrets. Vile beings. If anyone wants to see warfare, it is her!"

The men spoke rapidly, either stating their opinion on one of the mentioned people or factions, or supplying their thoughts. A whistle blew, and everyone fell silent. The man who whistled rested his gloved hands in his lap. he had been silent the entire time. Watching the men argue back and forth. One of his eyes was milky white, with a hint of an iris visible. Most gave him a wide berth.

"It could be one of them. It could be all of them. It could be another organization entirely. I say, it might even be one of you."

The other gentlemen looked around the room at each other, hard to say if it was because the mild accusation was so out there it couldn't be true....or if they realized there was merit.

The milky-eyed man continued. "There is a looming threat here, gentlemen, and instead of sitting around throwing accusations into the wind, we need to bring action. Take matters into our own hands."

The caramel-colored man spoke up this time. "What do you propose then?"

The milky-eyed gripped one hand in his other. He eyed each member intently before he spoke up. "If it is war the Dark Embers want, then gentlemen, it is war they shall have."



"Be reasonable, Lord Poe."

Sitting across the desk was Humbert Sullivan. He was a stout man with a full head of gray hair and held the position of Lord Poe's right-hand man in matters concerning the school. Humbert held the position with Ingram's father proudly. With the change in authority, Humbert fgured things would be shaken up a bit. He knew Ingram since he was a young boy and watchedh him grow into the man he is today. It didn't mean Humbert supported everything about Ingram, though.

"I am not changing the curriculum at this time, Humbert. The schedule is made, and students have already conducted themselves. If I change it now there would be confusion, not to mention outcry from staff and students alike."

Humbert grumbled a bit, a habit he picked up since Ingram took the position (not without notice). "All I am suggesting is that we go back to more traditional senses for our students. Set them up correctly for when they leave. Surely you recognize that is the goal for this school?"

"My goal for this school is to teach young Enlightened members of our country, as well as beyond, the skills to see them off to wherever it is they wish to go. Times have changed since you were a young lad, Humbert, surely you recognize the need to keep up as time marches on."

"Of course I do, but the fact remains that men and women are vehemently different and have such places in society already established that have served us well for years upon years."

Ingram bit back a retort that the system set up for 'years' had benefited one part of the population and while he was sure some women had enjoyed where they were and what they did he also knew many wanted to do more. Be more. Or at least have the option of a choice.

Ingram also recognized he was probably among the minority in his views, but it was not without experience. Ingram's father, as much as he enjoyed order and status, had a loving relationship with Ingram's mother. The two seemed inseparable. Ingram's father never made his mother feel less than. In truth, Ingram's mother was intelligent beyond her station in life. Had she been presented opportunities in her youth much like Ingram is trying to do now, he was sure she would have held an esteemed position amongst the higher echelons of the country, perhaps a professr or a lawyer or even something in government (though Ingram had made many jests that those in governement surely were not geniuses).

"With all due respect, Humbert, times have changed. Gender constructs aside, being Enlightened has made opportunities that were long ago withheld from people, and I don't see you advocating for going back to when we were hunted or enslaved."

That shut Humbert up, his grumbles dulling to a low murmur now. Ingram sighed. "I appreciate your candor, Humbert, and your wisdom, it served my father well and will serve me well until I pass, but we must recognize that we are in the middle of something grand and I want to be at the forefront of change."

Humbert nodded his understanding. "Of course, Lord Poe. I meant no offense. I shall support you in your endeavours."

Ingram grinned and stood, offering a hand to shake. "Let's continue to make this school the best it can be, then."

St. Eustice's School was large and grand. Having undergone many changes both internal and external, it served as a reminder of not only the country but the world at large, that the Enlightened served a purpose. The school had many facilities including a fine dining room with three meals a day served, many classrooms, a field outside for practices in combat and exploration, two dormitories (one for lords and one for ladies), a game room, a laboratory for more scientific pursuits, a stable, and many others. Students were allowed to choose their coursework as it suited them. If a gentleman wished to learn music or the art of sewing, he was encouraged. If a lady wanted to learn how to shoot a firearm, she was allowed. Ingram did not believe that the things they learned here needed to have walls built up because of a person's gender or station in life. Students came from all walks and each with their own lived experiences. Ingram and his father, to a degree, believed that life here would challenge views and the status quo.

Classwork had a mix of skills needed for one's average life, as well as Enlightened classwork. History was taught from an Enlightened sense, though they did not shy away from the mistakes made by those in the past. Depending on one's Enlightened abilities, there was also tailored one-on-one work with staff here to help fine-tune their abilities.

While students were not given specific marks in class, the work was pass/fail, and some students earned awards for going above and beyond or demonstrating an understanding far beyond the scope of the coursework. This led to some friendly competition amongst the students and staff alike.

Whispers amongst the patrons of the school spoke of a looming threat. The Dark Embers had not launched an attack anywhere for a while now, but some spoke of a possible attack coming soon. Many were worried, understandably, but some students showed signs of support for the Dark Embers, posing them as a 'necessary evil' to help Enlightened grow into the future.

Lord Ingram Poe often spent most of his time in the headmaster's office. Students were allowed to come see him with questions or concerns, much to Humbert's chagrin. Ingram did not want his position in the school to mean he was above those in his halls. He would sometimes step into a class to listen to the teachers or help students out in the field with sparring.

Every so often, Ingram's Enlightened ability sparked, and he would travel to where he was needed to see if he could enlist a new student. More often than not, he had success, especially as the school was funded by the country, so there was no fee to attend (though donations were always appreciated and those helped a great deal).

Lord Ingram knew others outside of the school were helping in their own way. His mind raced to one such familiar face. A missed opportunity for him, though he was sure Lady Rosemarie didn't see it as such.



Lady Rosemarie sat in her chair as two young girls stood in front of her, heads bowed in either shame or sincerity. The two of them were brought in front of her because they had been caught by some of the nearby Bow Street Runners for theft. Lady Rosemarie had to buy them off silently, though she could have readily handled such matters without dipping into the coffers.

"Ladies, I must say I am ashamed."

If the two girls ' heads could dip any lower, they would have. So it was shame.

"Really, girls. Have you learned nothing in your time here?" Lady Rosemarie stood up now, walking calmly towards the two wards. She gently placed one hand under their chin to lift their gaze to hers. "You must choose your marks more carefully. Remember your lessons. Reconnosaince. Stealth. Examine your targets and choose the most opportune time to strike. This could have gone even more poorly had you not had each other there, so well done to that end. But as punishment for being caught, you will be given extra chores for two weeks. Now you may go."

The two girls bid their thanks and appreciation, knowing it could have gone worse. They left the room and Lady Rosemarie let out the breath she had been holding. She returned to her chair as the other woman in the room came forward. Mayweather let out a light chuckle as she had heard everything. "You let those off lightly missus. I cannae say I blame ya, but I woulda strattled them both, you can be sure." A hint of an Irish accent played amongst Mayweather's lips. The two of them had known each other a fair while. Mayweather was an invaluable teacher and staff member here at the Haven. Many of the girl's came to identify Mayweather as a mother figure, one that many of the charges needed desperately. Lady Rosemarie did not know the woman's true name and Mayweather was not about to give it out freely. The woman stood tall in front of her despite her being so short. Long, red hair flowed in fancy curls out of the cap she wore and her dress was a dark, almost emerald green color. Despite this, Lady Rosemarie knew Mayweather could easily blend amongst the shadows. It was her Enlightened ability to manipulate the shadows around her. Lady Rosemarie came to rely on her greatly.

"I could have, but one must recognize when to lead with kindness or fear. I daresay they shall not make the same mistake twice." Both women recognized what remained unsaid. 'If they are caught next time, they won't be so lucky. '

"Aye missus, I gather that."

"But you aren't here to critique or praise my teaching styles. You have information?"

Mayweather nodded. "Aye missus. Rumblings in the shadows I don't have to tell ya. There is word of an attack coming. No one knows where or when, I fear, but cross my heart missus I will keep on it."

Lady Rosemarie sighed inwardly, leaning back in her chair. She was afraid of this. She had been relaxed. Too relaxed. This would mean her charges needed to be equipped more quickly than she wanted. "Thank you Mayweather. Please send word to our wards that there is to be a meeting tomorrow in morning before classes begin. Urge the importance of attendance."

Mayweather gave a light curtsy as she turned to leave, the shadows following her out the door. Lady Rosemarie closed her eyes, deep in thought. She may have to reach out to some of her allies. She needed to be ready.


Lady Rosemarie's Haven for Wayward Girls was a hidden undergrove. No one knew where it was, and Lady Rosemarie prided herself on keeping it well-hidden. There were rumors, of course, that it lay underneath Lady Rosemarie's own home or that it was a secret underground that ran the entire country. The entrance the wards knew of was not its true entrance, and there were still many secret doors and avenues.

The Haven took in mostly young women who needed a place, though there were some young boys there as well. Each had a room they shared with four others, and they were expected to keep it clean and tidy. There were daily chores expected amongst their lessons, but they had a roof over their heads and food every day so there wasn't much complaint. There were some who felt the rules did not apply to them, and they were swiftly punished. Violence was not accepted in the halls of the Haven, though most of the wards knew there were back-alley fights that took place if they needed to get some excess energy out.

The staff at the Haven ranged in skill. The men and women who taught the charges armed them with knowledge that was more often than not undesirable in society. How to pick locks. How to remain unseen. How to pickpocket. Lady Rosemarie understood the need to do what needed to be done to survive. Some of the charges were Enlightened, but many were not. She did not differentiate between the two as they all had a place in her home. Those with Enlightened abilities were aided and taught as best they could, but even Lady Rosemarie had to admit the damned school had better opportunities for them. Still, she would never admit such out loud. Lord Ingram Poe was a tentative ally in some respects, despite Lady Rosemarie harboring a small grudge.

The charges were allowed to leave during free periods or, if they were given special permission, sometimes it was to visit someone they cared about or to complete a job requested of them. They were expected to be back in time for their classwork or by lights out, unless they sent word they would be late because something unexpected happened.

Many speculated how Lady Rosemarie could afford all of this. Some say she stole what she needed, while others say she was secret nobility, possibly a descendant of the King or Queen. Lady Rosemarie never let much of herself be known. She was a figurehead, respected and feared in equal measure.

Word spread that a circus had arrived a few days prior. Many of the charges wished to go see what it was, but knew they would not be allowed. Was it because it was tempting, or was something more dangerous afoot?



The circus had arrived in England a week ago, having traveled from France. The staff was a force in getting things set up quickly. Booths were drawn up, caravans parked, animals fed and tamed, and put where they needed to be. Truly, it was an act in and of itself to see the circus finalized. Many of the members knew their place and what they needed to do every time they settled.

A tall figure stepped into view of everything. Big Bulma stood nearly 8 feet off the ground, well-toned and muscled. She had short-cropped brown hair, and her dress was fashioned together for her from leftover materials. She did not complain. Despite her size and clear imposing nature, Big Bulma was one of the kindest souls you ever ran across. A hard history for her due to her size, a side-effect of her Enlightened ability, made her a pariah in society.

It was when she was in her late adolescence that she came across Mr. Maleficar. The man had invited her into the chaos and camaraderie of the circus he had long established, and it was there she found her home. Big Bulma worked her way up, starting off as part of the late show and eventually being a huge part of the program's set-up. Many came to her with worries, fears, or just to have a comforting word from someone who has been there, done that.

Mr. Maleficar was the mysterious figure who ran things. Many did not know much about him. They knew his Enlightened ability, the reason he carried a metal cane with him despite not needing it to walk, but most of what was told was speculation. He got things done, ensured they had an audience everywhere they went.

This time, though, there was word their stay here would be their longest yet. Many wondered why: was it because they were not welcomed anywhere else for the time being? Was there more profit to be made here? Or was the rumbling of a future attack the reason?

Performances were hosted nearly daily, with some time for rest given. The hours could be borderline cruel, but a lot of the performers and staff knew that if they did not have the circus, they would be on the streets or worse. Society did not look favorably on them, though they came in droves to see them perform. 'Look at the crazy cast of characters! Aren't we lucky they don't live amongst us and we can point and laugh to our heart's content!'

In spite of this, the circus staff was a family. They looked out for each other, helped each other, and ensured they were all safe and cared for. Big Bulma took a large chunk of that role and made sure every day she set a little time aside to speak to anyone who wanted before she got back to work.

They had a huge performance later that night and many were running around, eager to get things ready.
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Hidden 1 yr ago Post by eugalB
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eugalB Shaking the rust off

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"Yes, I think this should do."

The teenage youth stared intently at the sheet in front of him. It was a relatively short text, but it was the result of arduous effort. Over a few days, he had combed through the history of the failed assassination of the Queen in 1562, picking the important events and trimming the superficial information to write down this much more digestible synthesis. And in front of him sat the man who guided him through the process.

"The requirements to pass your history class are not too harsh. As long as you know how the events unfolded, you should be fine. But, if you desire to impress your teacher, it would pay to analyse a bit further the speech the Queen gave, so that you could formulate on opinion on her logic and intent."

"Oh. No worries, this will do. I won't bother you any further, Mister Wright."

Edmund was somewhat disappointed. He understood well enough that not every student would aim beyond what was asked of them, yet the sight of such a lack of academic ambition always saddened him. Especially on such an important subject as history. How were they, the natural outcasts of society, to build a future without understanding the complexities of their past?
Well, he knew that his advice might not have helped this youth with getting an award. After all, his opinion on this period of history did not align with the youth's teacher's own view. But maybe that made it all the more important to offer his lessons?

"I'll study in my room. Thank you for your help."

"Ah. Go on then. But come back if you have any questions."

And just like that, the teen had left. Edmund let out a quiet sigh. The start of the scholarly year was quite calm to him. As an assistant, he didn't have a course to prepare and give. And with the students only just starting the year, they were unlikely to have already fallen behind.

Of course, a lack of workload is far from the biggest problem one might have, but he did like his job. And not just for the advantages, though he did like those too. To be fed and lodged while keeping plenty of free time for his own studies was perfect as far as he was concerned, even if the pay was meek.
He did find fulfillement in pursuing the same path as his father and was eager to help students. However, the empty library he was left in did not lie. At the moment, the students were more worried with socialising than diving in their studies. This would change soon, but not soon enough to Edmund's taste.

He got up from his seat and headed out of the library. Perhaps he might be able to make himself useful elsewhere.
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Hidden 1 yr ago → 12 mos ago Post by TimelessParagon
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TimelessParagon A seeker of Truths

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The young earl emerged from his four horse coach at the main entrance followed by his valet dressed an elegant black attire, contrasting heavily with Edward's entirely white and silver appearance. The pair moved through the inner courtyard where a few students stared curiously at the odd duo, for this was late morning thus most students where presumed to be in class. As they walked Edward gazed upon the halls surrounding them in appreciation for his father had made this establishment seem far worse than it was. A place for freaks and monsters not men of their status, but seeing the architecture made him adopt a view of careful optimism.

Upon arriving at the main gates He hesitated at the metallic door knockers before gritting his teeth and approaching his gloved hand. Feeling noting he gave a firm knock and waited.


It would not be long until a servant opened for him, when Edward indicated he had an appointment with lord Poe the man simply gestured to follow before leading him through a series or ornate halls and rooms. Occasionally giving quips on the statue of notable individuals or school history.
The young earl knew some of them of course but most of it was news to him. Thus he gave appreciative nods here and there while continuing towards the Headmaster's office.

They would continue for a few minutes past another courtyard before finally reaching a door more elaborate than the rest wherein lies a simple brass plaque indicating its purpose and owner.
The presumed servant opened the door:
"Lord Poe awaits gentlemen"

Edward Blackmore stepped inside the room while his valet remained outside.
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Hidden 1 yr ago → 1 yr ago Post by Lunari
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Lunari Astral Emissary

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Character Sheet
THE FIRST APPEARANCE
LOCATION: ???

"Ay, sure God’s at the tears again." a gaunt but firm gentleman grinned as the shadow of another appeared through the grey foggy morning. "Good day to ye, sir." the man greeted the Austrian lieutenant who came to stand next to the sergeant.

The old sergeant, whose name was Patrick, came from a line of humble fishermen. His sun freckles are proof of Patrick's life by the sea, yet fish couldn't pay for his grandchild's study. He stood on a limp, a reminder of a failed assignment, but it didn't stop him from clobbering the young ones and ironing them straight. Whenever alcohol was involved, Patrick could drown in a bottle and still sing louder than the room; Leonard vaguely remembered a last night Patrick's drunken moans about fat bishops and sad blisters on his feet.

Leonard nodded at his greeting, "Good weather, isn't it?" A bit of tongue in the cheek, considering this was Leonard's deliberate handiwork. Would be a shame for the people they're spying on to notice them.

Patrick followed Leonard's line of sight. "Ay, but I've no stomach of spying on me own countrymen." Patrick brought the wooden pipe he held to his mouth, which he had temporarily hid away to greet Leonard. A long inhale before a puff that blended in with the fog.

"Some things must be done, I'm afraid.", Leonard shrugged. Another puff of tobacco. "By the time Boney gets here, we’ll be bones ourselves! Starved, broke, an’ buried in some godforsaken trench." Patrick clicked his tongue in disgust.

"Say now, what’re ye kissin’ up to the nobles for, lad? Didn’t think the likes o’ ye needed to be butterin’ them." It was a good question, Leonard was well-respected for his ingenuity and work ethic, at least when not half-pickled. The entire corps was built for logistics, but here they were, sneaking around like common foot soldiers.

"Don't get paid for questions, Sergeant. We live a different life to the spoon-fed and diapered gentleman." Leonard answered with a sly smile. The old sergeant snorted in laughter. "Ay, least they hear ye lad." Patrick raised his pipe in a mock salute, before wandering back to camp alone. Leonard's gaze never left the settlement they were watching over, scanning it slowly through the murky skies.

"Well," he murmured to himself, finally turning around to leave, "that is no matter of mine." He begins his walk back to the military camp, not before taking a swig of gin from his stained-glass flask, fading into the mist.

If someone were to ask why a simple unbothered man, like Leonard, was in an obscure place and attending to something far out of his pay grade... well, Leonard would simply shrug. His statement was not just a lazy attempt at answering his comrade, but rather a fact of the military.

The only things Leonard truly worried about was the supply of gin and rum, and a tavern - preferably with women inside. His pale blue eyes caught the early signs of his men waking up for morning formation.

"Good morning, sir! Quiet throughout the night, nothing to report."
a bright-eyed young corporal saluted Leonard.
"Good morning, Corporal Conner." Leonard acknowledged him with a nod.

The other men began to notice Leonard's presence in the camp.
"Mornin’, Leftenant. Fog’s waitin’ on you, it is."
"You bring the weather with you again, sir?" a few chuckles and guffaws followed.

"Enough of that, lads. To your ranks!" Patrick hobbled in front, barking out orders as he fell into formation with the rest of them. Silence fell upon them whilst Leonard took his spot in front of them. 'Just another normal night.' is what the soldiers were thinking. Yet, it was anything but normal.

There was a letter perched on Leonard's desk. It was addressed from a noble woman who was worried about her son stationed away from home. The letter spoke of 'keeping tents clean' and 'mending socks'. "We'll have another day upon us, men. Attend to your usual duties." Leonard ordered. But the men understood. Leonard locked eyes briefly with Patrick, a solemn nod from the old man.

It was code: 'unusual'. Especially from a man like Leonard, who'd rather flirt with danger than file it. And so, without a word, the men dispersed - watchful and sharpened now. Something was wrong, and they were being told to watch the wind.

Shortly, Patrick shuffled into the command tent.
"Seems we're in a bit of a pickle, ay?" Patrick dropped into the wooden chair with a grunt.
Leonard didn't answer right away, but simply took another sharp sip of his gin, glancing the letter across his desk. "Unfortunately... more than a bit." With a few more sips, he leaned against the table, eyes darkened. "Bloody oath. These goddamn nobles."



Character Sheet
THE FIRST APPEARANCE
LOCATION: VIVIAN MANOR


A beautiful autumn morning, as it often was in early October. The dawn’s gentle light spilled across the tall windows of Vivian Manor, gilding the fine woodwork and glancing off portraits of valour long past. The halls bore the weight of honour and tradition, steeped in the legacy of a knightage deeply entwined with the service of Great Britain.

Selina felt at peace here, yet it not her home. She hadn't felt at home ever, not since the passing of her father. And so she looked at her mother now with weary, exasperated eyes. They were already well overdue for arrival at the school.

“Mother, I shall be late.”

She watched as her mother, Lady Agatha, methodically check her valise. A stern and formidable woman, once a noble lady, now reduced to the dignified post of a governess.

“I am merely ensuring your belongings are in order,” Lady Agatha replied, her tone clipped and precise.

Selina pressed her lips into a thin, resigned line. “Mother, do put the pistol away. You know well that weapons are forbidden.”
Lady Agatha straightened, gloved fingers still curled about the small firearm.

“And I was taught that magic was for children’s tales,” she said evenly. “I should rather you be armed than dead.” With a sigh, Selina took the pistol and set it atop a nearby side table. “I shall be quite well, Mother. Rules are rules. And I am not entirely helpless.” She looked into her mother's eyes, a reflection of forests and the earth, ones that were also her own. Most mistake them as sisters, given her mother's youthful looks and rather outrageous statements.

Selina urged her, "Mother, I shall best be going." She gave a tight smile. Lady Agatha sighed, more quietly than usual, concern brushing her stern features. "So you must. Do give my regards to the headmaster." With a respectful nod, Selina retrieved her valise and made her descent to the waiting carriage.

The outside was quiet, save for some dutiful servants and her coachman. None of the other household members were available to see her off. A few were genuinely occupied, but most were simply otherwise engaged - that is to say, disinclined. It was believed she wasn't cut from the same cloth as them - too proud, too particular, too peculiar. Despite the fact she could outwit a gentleman or disarm one, but what did that matter to them? Selina preferred this - a quiet departure, a quiet mind.

She did not look back as the carriage pulled away from Vivian Manor, rolling steadily towards the capital.

LOCATION: LONDON - ST. EUSTICE'S SCHOOL FOR THE ENLIGHTENED


The carriage rolled to a gentle halt upon the gravel drive, its wheels crunching to a stillness beneath the imposing façade of St. Eustice's School for the Enlightened. Morning mist clung to the hedgerows, veiling the wrought-iron gates in a faint silver sheen. Selina alighted, valise in hand, her gloved fingers tight around the handle.

In the other, a neatly folded parchment was clutched tightly to her breast, the faint seal of the Harewoods still intact.

'My dearest Selina,

I have enjoyed the many years your companionship has brought me,
and now you venture forth on your own journey.
I shall wish you the best; I know our testing will prove useful to you whilst you study abroad.
I shall come visit, should time permit.

Best wishes,
Countess Harewood.'

Selina looked beyond the gates - here stands an institution that bore the seal of the royal family. The sheer vestige of the school was many times grander than any estate she had dined in. It was no mere school - an institution for the gifted, where they were tamed and tested.

A place for those, like her, to prove she wasn't a threat to polite society. Selina had turned around to bid her coachman a farewell, but all she could see was the blur of a carriage as it trotted away. 'Rude.'

Her footsteps echoed across the marbled and polished stone as she was quietly directed by a steward down a long corridor. At the end of the hall stood the headmaster's office, its door slightly ajar. With a polite bow, the steward left Selina in front of the grand door.

Pausing for a moment, she steadied her breath and adjusted the fall of her cloak. Then, with a polite knock and all the bearing of a fallen lady still keenly aware of appearances, she stepped forward to meet her future.
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Hidden 1 yr ago Post by Kirah
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Kirah Dragonbunny

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Charlotte Waldegrave

Location: Her room -> School Garden


For all intents and purposes, Charlotte was as normal as they came. She looked normal. She mainly acted normally. Charlotte was the perfect member of society, someone her mother could be proud of. There were, of course, flaws. No one was perfect. No matter how much they pretended otherwise.

Charlotte considered herself reasonable. Her only request was not to be married. Unfortunately, her brother had sent a letter. Charlotte hadn't opened it yet. She stared at the envelope. Sighing, Charlotte left it on the small table next to her bed. She would get to it...eventually.

For now, she needed some air. Charlotte gathered her bonnet and exited her room. Charlotte went into the school's gardens. There was a certain peace in such a place. She appreciated the smells and sounds. After a few moments of walking in the garden, she found a bench and sat.

How could she deal with this? If this letter were a marriage proposal, she was doomed.
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Hidden 1 yr ago Post by Memoria
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Memoria Someone's Bookish Flower Bride 🐸

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One Month Ago 《》 Madame Bisset speaking to Lady Rosemarie about Lady Melody 《》 The Haven for Wayward Girls 《》@Memoria
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"So, what seems to be your concern?" Lady Rosemarie begins, "Is it about our new attendant, Lady Melody?"

Madame Bisset is a herbalist from France, a wise, older woman whose keen sense of people has provided her with immense insight into the inner workings of humanity. Her enlightened gift grants her the ability to influence plant life. She can plant a seed and urge it to bloom in mere minutes. Simple, yes, but quite a marvelous and invaluable gift. She's been an essential steward of The Haven and one of Lady Rosemarie's closest confidantes. The Madame's lip tightens as her eyes fall to the near-empty tea cup resting on her lap. She seems lost in her thoughts, aimlessly twirling the spoon in an unrefined manner. After a moment, she gathers herself, ending the mindless motion of her aging wrist as she looks up.

"You know, she reminds me of lavender steeped in midnight. Calming, but if you brew her wrong... poisonous in ways you won’t taste until it’s too late."

Lady Rosemarie's eyebrow lifts delicately, "Go on..."

"I've grown quite fond of her, truly. I would even say I admire her, but she is dangerous. Gentle by nature, but dangerous nonetheless. Helpful, if treated carefully, but the potential harm she may impose upon others if her gift is misused concerns me."

Lady Rosemarie says nothing, only her eyes narrow in attentiveness, her body shifting with a sense of curiosity at Madame Bisset's carefully chosen language.

The herbalist continues, more bluntly now, "Mon ami, let me put it this way. Melody's danger lies in her reach, non? She can enter a person's emotional world so...seamlessly, so convincingly, that she blurs the line between comfort and control. She can become exactly what someone needs, but in doing so, she may also bend their will, dull their instincts, or awaken feelings that were never fully theirs to begin with. The gentleness of her magic makes it harder to resist. That subtlety is what makes her dangerous."

"I see..."

"Rosemarie, mon ami, I only heed this warning out of caution for the girls, for you, for The Haven. I've seen her magic firsthand, time and time again. And you know of her past almost better than anyone. The poor woman...but her good intentions can still lead to destruction, and these girls are highly impressionable. Lady Melody may sever bonds to protect someone, but what if she cuts too deep? What if she breaks a connection that could have been mended with time, or silences love before it has the chance to bloom? She is a powerful empath, which makes her vulnerable to others' emotions and to severing those crucial bonds that tie us all together."

Madame Bisset pauses suddenly, her countenance shifting as if she regrets having brought it up at all. But in the end, she is a woman who speaks from the gut, from the heart.

"I only fear that, one day, Melody will act from a place of exhaustion, grief, or misplaced devotion, and in doing so, accidentally destroy something sacred and essential. Frankly, I've never once treated her like a porcelain doll, nor a weapon, but rather, a storm dressed in silk. Beautiful. Gentle beyond reason. But that woman, I believe, is capable of ruin..."

Present Day 《》 Lady Melody Heathering 《》 The Haven for Wayward Girls 《》@Memoria


The girl hadn’t stopped shaking since she crossed the threshold.

She was curled in the smallest corner of the parlor, knees tucked beneath her like she could disappear inside herself. Her name was Eliza, or at least, that was what she whispered when asked. Melody had offered warm tea, a wool blanket, and silence; the first two accepted with trembling hands, the last with desperate gratitude. But Melody didn’t need words to understand. She could see it.

Eliza’s aura quivered around her like a torn ribbon; sharp pinks of shame, bruised yellows of fear, the gray-green rot of long-endured dread. It clung to her like wet fabric. Melody’s eyes, tonight a gentle rose-gold, shimmered faintly as she knelt before the girl, careful not to startle her.

“I’ll sit here,” she murmured, folding her skirts beside her. “That’s all. Just sit.”

And for a while, she did. But as she breathed, the space between them changed. Melody softened, not just her voice, but the tilt of her spine, the curve of her shoulders, the shape of her very presence. She became something quieter, smaller, more fragile. The fear in the girl didn’t vanish, but it recognized Melody’s mirrored ache, and it loosened. Eliza reached for her hand.

“He said I was his,” the girl whispered. “He said I was the only thing keeping him alive.”

Melody’s smile didn’t falter, but her pupils flickered slightly, like candlelight catching wind.

“My dear,” she said, gently, “you are not a thing. And he does not get to live by swallowing your light.”

With those kind words, Eliza fell into her arms. They sat there in silence for a while. And Melody, eventually humming a lullaby and watching the colors around the girl soften into shades of peace, held her until she drifted into slumber. With the help of a nearby butler, they carried her to an empty bed in one of the shared living quarters for the younger-aged girls and tucked her under the cool cotton. She hardly stirred. Lady Melody didn't need to see her aura to realize she had not found a peaceful rest for quite some time. And the other girls were out on break thankfully. So in repose, Eliza could finally have a moment to dream sweet.

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Hidden 1 yr ago Post by Blizz
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Blizz Archmage of the Fucking Universe / Etc

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Location: The Haven



Creeeeeak.

A door closed behind Morris, plunging a hallway into darkness. He could faintly hear the footsteps above ground, and locked his side of the door. His construct waited patiently for him to continue giving instructions.

”...And this one is to be delivered to Winnifred. Next, this one to Helena,” Morris instructed, handing letters down to a servant. He was a knee-high Unliving creature, with the bones of birds for his center mass and the bones of an ox for extremities. It was a somewhat humanoid design, hunched over with wing bones for a chest and a slightly, disproportionately small bird’s skull for a head. Joints were made from metal hinges, with bits of oil to keep things quiet to a certain extent.

”Afterwards…” As the two walked and shuffled down the hallways of the underground structure, Morris reached into his coat and withdrew a compass for drawing. He handed it to the Unliving. ”This goes to Ysolde. She’ll borrow it and return it to you. When she does, return it to my room. Then rest.”

Tagen the Third gathered up the letters and the compass, sliding them between his ribs into a compartment specially made for this exactly purpose. He was a courier of a sort, constructed to run errands and retrieve things sent to Morris. It was a good investment considering the cost to make him. The first Tagen was lost with the Saint Judith, the second was incinerates by one of the girls a month later. This one was made of stronger stuff… Ox bones, instead of deer bones

Morris had given him a list of names and letters addressed to them. Some from family members who didn’t have the privilege of entering this place, some more clerical to be given to newcomers so they could have basic information about food, who taught what, not to mind the macabre goblin he called a servant, and so on.

”Go.”

Tagen’s bones creaked and clacked as he hobbled with more speed, about as much as someone jogging. Morris let the little creature do his thing, and then turned down a hallway. He had a few things to drop off to people, some things to discuss and other things to ask about. He walked down some steps, and into the wider, common areas of the underground. He went about his day, doing what needed to be done and bringing people something from above ground after his mail run.



Location: St. Eustace's School



"Now, let me be sure that I understand this..."

Two young boys stood in front of him, a blonde one named Johnathan and a dark haired one name Wallace. Johnathan was covered in fresh bruises, and yet Wallace was barely even scratched.

"You two were sparring, teaching each other methods of self defense, using your abilities. One of you decided it was safer to avoid that, and yet you both persisted." Silas craned his scaly head to Wallace, fixing a look on him that showed nothing. The boy looked away. They had been throwing fists back and forth, and Johnathan's telekinetic gift wasn't very conducive to that. Unlike Wallace's gift for exaggerating damage.

"Why?"

"He- I tired to tell him, sir!" Johnathan squeaked. "He insisted, he-"

Silas raised a hand to stop him, keeping his eyes on Wallace. "I know he insisted, young man. I want him to explain to me, in certain terms, why he did so. Wallace, you have attended this school for two years, now. You should know that not everyone is as capable with their gifts as each other."

"And?" The boy retorted. He had an attitude that Silas really didn't like. "What is the purpose of learning the skills to use these abilities we have, if cannot use them?"

"Are you suggesting you have a right to brutalize a student who wanted to end the training?" Silas asked him, rhetorically. "You are better equipped for defending yourself than him, but you do not learn such a thing in one day. I am disappointed in you."

Johnathan looked ready to fall over. The boys had been fighting, as students tended to do, in a training area for those who wanted to learn self defense. Johnathan insisted he needed to stop, and Wallace had kept going.

"Sir, with all due respect, Johnathan has been repeatedly asking to cut it short, every time," Wallace said. "He needs to learn if he's going to keep wasting time with-"

"It is not for you to say whether time is wasted, Wallace. Everyone begins somewhere."

"And yet, he hasn't begun. He expects a fair fight, when we're all Enlightened."

"You barely touched me, and now my leg is numb!" Johnathan remarked, just a little indignant.

"That's the way of things. You can't expect a school full of your own kind to fight fair.

Silas rubbed his eyes. "How has it come to be that you-"

"I've only attended for six months!"

"You could have learned so much by then! When I was in my first year, I had already learned to wield a sword with competence. What have you-"

"Oh, God have mercy, Wallace. Not everyone is fortunate enough to come from noble parents such as yours."

"Boys."

"I'll have you know, Johnathan, that I learned that skill here. You could stand to step outside your comfort zone, you know. Fairness is a myth, do you think-"

"Enough."

That shut them both up. Wallace stood up straighter, and locked eyes with Silas. Johnathan, on the other hand, just looked down at the floor. Silas was short on patience with this boy, who came from the Gentry and thought himself above other students. He'd been here long enough that he should have known better. But it seemed he'd have to sort this young man out the hard way.

"Johnathan, you may leave. If your teachers ask about you, tell them I said you are to be given time away from your studies until your wounds have healed."

"Yes, sir." He quickly limped away. Leaving only Wallace. There was a long pause where the two stared at each other, as Silas thought long and hard about how he'd set the boy straight.

"Fairness is a myth..." He echoed. "Do you believe that? Truly?"

"Well, I-... Yes, sir. Were it not, there would be more of us in the world."

"I suppose so. Then, boy, let me show you how correct you are." Silas took a step back and curled his fingers into a fist. Wallace saw the punch coming from a mile away and ducked it. He ducked the incoming elbow as well.

Silas stepped towards him, swinging fist after first knowing damn well that Wallace was quicker. He kept swinging and swinging, deliberately giving him space to duck and dodge, but not space to escape. It resulted in Wallace being back into a brick wall. A look of abject terror was written on his face, betraying that smug sureness he had seconds ago.

"Defend yourself!" He rasped.

Wallace shot his hand out, put a fist against Silas' chest. He felt the boy's Enlightenment kick in, an ability to exaggerate pain and damage tenfold. But Wallace was a lightweight, he leaned on it too much. He was all speed and dexterity, no force. The amplified punch barely stung against his own Enlightenment that gave him skin sturdier than oak.

Wallace looked like he'd seen a ghost when Silas didn't flinch.

"I could flay your flesh from your bone," He began. "I could brandish you as if you were no heavier than a sword, and toss you over the trees. You'd land in grass or in water, and you'd be unable to hurt me enough to prevent that situation."

"I-"

"I choose not to. Because in this school, we are fair. Now, you will apologize to Johnathan at the earliest opportunity. And once you do, your sparring matches for the remainder of this week will be with me."

"Of course- Yes sir- I understand."

"Good. Now go."

As the boy ran off to nurse his injured pride, Silas cracked his neck, and began strolling back inside the school where other students were milling about. Some waved at him, some followed him for moments to engage in idle chat. It was just another day here, at the school he represented. Lately, there hadn't been many new students Lord Poe himself didn't go out to speak with, so Silas had spent more time among the students. Some were more inclined towards combat and weaponizing their less benign Enlightenments, and the dignified dragon loved a good scrap.

Always available, should anyone need.
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Hidden 12 mos ago → 12 mos ago Post by Theyra
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Eldemir Akinci

Location: St. Eustace's School


"Again!" Said Eldemir as he watched his student with crossed arms and standing somewhat near his student. A reluctant young man, barely eighteen, with red short hair, a clean-shaven face, and blue eyes.

"But... I keep destroying the practice dummies, Mr. Akinci." The young man was clearly nervous about continuing.

"Ranlyn," Eldemir speaking in a serious but reassuring tone. "Those practice dummies can and will be replaced no matter how many you destroy. So again!"

Ranlyn looked nervously at Eldemir and then looked back at one of the practice dummies. Then taking a deep breath while closing his eyes. Once opened, Ranlyn focused on the practice dummy in front of him and said quietly to himself. "Do not break it, Ranlyn, do not break it." He let loose a single punch when it connected with the practice dummy. Instead of completely destroying the practice dummy, it was only partly destroyed.

"Ah, you see, you are learning how to control your strength, Ranlyn." Eldemir said in a congratulatory tone and clapped his hands in acknowledgement.

Ranlyn looked back at Eldemir with a timid look, "but I still wrecked the practice dummy, Mr. Akinci."

"Yes, you did that, but it is still usable and you should take pride in not destroying it completely." Eldemir walked up to Ranlyn as Ranlyn looked over the damage he had done to the practice dummy. Eldemir turned Ranlyn and placed his hand on Ranlyn's shoulder. "Do not worry, Ranlyn, you will learn to control your strength and be able to return to society."

Ranlyn looked at Eldemir with conflicting eyes and a worried tone, "it is just... the last time I shook someone's hand, I broke their hand and...."

Speaking in a reassuring tone, and looked Ranlyn straight into his eyes. "Ranlyn, you just need to practice, and you are making progress, I have faith in you and just remember what I told you."

"Do not give up." Now Ranlyn looked more relaxed and with hope in his eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Akinci."

"Do not mention it Ranlyn, and I believe we are done for today. So you can head off now."

Ranlyn simply nodded his head as he gathered his things and left the training room.

Eldemir watched him as he went, and when Ranlyn was gone. He looked back at the still-standing practice dummy. Placing his hand in its semi-destroyed frame, feeling it. Then looking at the rest of the destroyed practice dummies, down in a small pile. Ranlyn still has a while to go before he can truly say he can control his strength. But like he said, he is making steady progress, and Eldemir knows that this Enlightened man can do well in the real world once he is ready. He has seen Enlightened with worse control over their powers.

Still, at least the practice dummies are cheap, Eldemir thought to himself. Then he went to work cleaning up the broken practice dummies. He would not want to leave this training room while there was a mess in it. But, is such the life of a member of the St. Eustace's School and one he does not regret joining. Enlightened men and women need help, and he is there to lend a hand. Eldemir knows his parents are proud of him, and that thought helps him greatly.

Just another day at St. Eustace's School, and Eldemir would not miss for the world.
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Hidden 12 mos ago → 12 mos ago Post by SilverPaw
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Jo Montague
Jo Montague

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Mentions: Silas, Lord Poe, briefly also Edward and Selina
The carriage ground to a halt on the gravel, the magnificent St. Eustice’s visage sprawling in front of it. Jo stared at the building through the small coach’s window, heart racing.

This was it.

His first day at the premier school for the enlightened, which was geared towards nobility and gentry. And here Jo was, a no one with no connections, a person from a lower class – even worse, they were a child of a man some might term novaeu riche.

Papa…

He leaned on his knees, form hunching over as he scrunched his face in pain. His fists clenched on the fine fabric of his sleet gray trousers. From the well-polished black boots at the bottom to the hair tie at the top, all that Jo had and was had been granted by one man. If it meant his father turned up safe and well, he would give it all up in a heartbeat, his placement at the school included.

The man himself would disagree, of course, but–

A rap on the door and a call from outside startled him. “Young master, do you need a hand with your suitcase?”

Jo straightened up, smacking both cheeks to get his head on right. “Yes, please!” he responded.

The coachman opened the doors. He was about a decade and a half older than Jo, his distinguishing traits his curled hair, bronze complexion, and an easy smile. The youth affected a grin as he handed over the suitcase. “Thanks, Mr. Allen!” He hopped out of the carriage, and accepted the luggage back as soon as he was on the ground. “I’d best be going.”

“Aye,” Allen nodded, but was in no hurry to leave.

Jo’s palm tightened around the handle of their carry-on. “Take care of things at home, alright?” The coachman nodded, and might have said more, but the youth turned on their heel, and rushed towards the embellished iron gate before the stinging in their eyes betrayed them. They blinked a few times, regaining their composure just in time for one of St. Eustice’s guards to greet them. Jo’s name was collected, and they were directed inside, only to be met with yet another servant.

An older gentleman, thin, tall, and proper, greeted him with a bow. “Welcome, young lord. Please follow me.”

Jo sensed the fellow was not one much for conversation. They were proven correct, as their questions received brief, polite answers. Nonetheless, they learned the man’s name – Paul Curran – and that he was a long-time employee at the school. He was experienced, refined, and a stickler for formalities. As the young Montague was informed, the headmaster himself would oversee this year’s orientation for the new arrivals. Jo had not expected that at all, but it was fortuitous. Since they were apparently expected, they understood Mr. Paul’s reluctance to let them take in the sights.

Nonetheless, they couldn’t help but wonder at the sheer size and grandeur of the scholarly estate. The suitcase rolled smoothly behind as they traversed the paved paths, not so much as a stray pebble in sight they would have to avoid. The lawn was freshly mown, hedges neatly trimmed, and the garden was so orderly Jo was surprised it wasn’t under lock and key. As they had spotted on their journey here, there were even farming fields close to the school, though they weren’t sure if those were managed by Lord Poe or someone else.

When they passed a large training field, a strange sight caught their attention. A man whose exterior carried a striking resemblance to the mythological dragon backed another student into a wall. The other boy attempted a punch to no effect. After an exchange of words, the boy was released, and ran away. The draconic man went on as if nothing out of the usual had happened – and so did the onlookers. If anything, they greeted him amicably, and did not seem to consider anything amiss.

Huh. Was brawling so common here?

Because they preferred not to make assumptions, they asked, “Who is that scaly fellow?”

Curran, who had not paid the situation more than a passing glance, was equally unconcerned. “Oh. Mr. Silas Bracken is in Lord Poe’s employ. You needn’t worry, young man, he only attends so strictly to misguided youth.”

“How reassuring,” Jo smiled. In other words, don’t get caught by him. Good to know. Privately, they noted this Silas as someone to watch out for.

In short order, they were led to the lords’ dormitories, and to a wooden door bearing a plate embossed with their name. “Your portmanteau, if you please?”

Jo, who had insisted on carrying it on their own thus far, handed it over with some reluctance. They took a peek into their dormitory room as Curran deposited their luggage inside. Beige wallpaper, walnut tile floor, beech furniture, an ornamental rug at the foot of the bed, and a window next to it was all they managed to catch sight of before the servant ushered them onwards. They were handed a spare key, of course, and were promptly taken to the school’s main building, down long corridors, past classrooms, a dining room, and a library, then finally to a hall at the end of which the headmaster’s office was stationed. “Lord Poe awaits. Farewell, Mr. Montague.”

“Thank you, Mr. Curran!” Jo barely managed a wave as the servant hurried onwards. A busy man, indeed.

Squaring his shoulders, Jo’s palm wandered to his chest. Within the inner pocket of his vest, he carried a missive – the letter which had prompted his father’s departure. Though the authorities had determined it a dead end, it was the only clue he had as to where Edward Montague had last been, and with whom. While officials were too busy with chasing rumours of Dark Embers activity, Jo worried only after his father’s safety.

With a bracing inhale, he approached the headmaster’s office. “Excuse me…?” He knocked on the cracked open door. Two pupils who were surely nobles were already inside, but Jo waited for an invitation before entering.
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Hidden 12 mos ago → 12 mos ago Post by enmuni
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enmuni

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Miss Wrottesley’s morning schedule had developed over the years into a rigid affair, albeit one not unwelcome to those teachers who would have otherwise seen her attending their morning classes. She attended morning prayer all days except Sunday, where she instead made a point of attending a Latin mass further afield. After this, she took breakfast—largely avoiding conversation to the best of her ability. Then, between breakfast and lunch, she confined herself to the library. She had a preferred seat, one far from any entrance and near a window. There, she had cultivated a population of surprisingly well-groomed mice. Since the time of her arrival, she had kept stringent control of the lot of them, as evidenced by their perennially constrained population, aforementioned exceptional grooming, and conspicuous competence in defying most attempts to root them out for good.

What made her control of them most self-evident, however, was that she made use of them during her time in the library. Not one to trouble herself with the business of turning a page, she instead saw to it that the creatures in her command did so in her stead. Every morning, she set several books—most often around three, generally all similar or related in topic—in front of her on the floor. Several mice worked to turn pages as needed, while as many mice as there were books clung to the sides of the chair overseeing the matter. Lydia herself sat with paper and a pen. Scarcely did she look up from her notes, which she wrote in an odd assembly of symbols she attributed to a book written by one M. Jacques Cossard.

Though her mornings did lack explicit oversight from any given instructor, there was little incentive to interfere. Her choices in reading were most often of some academic pertinence, as they indeed were today. As of the prior day, she had begun working through some responses to Locke’s An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, focusing on Leibniz’s Nouveaux essais sur l'entendement humain, read in the original French, and Berkeley’s A Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge, read in English, with Locke’s original work and John Wynne’s An Abridgment of Mr. Locke's Essay concerning the Human Understanding kept for reference. Each had their mice to flip pages. Each had their mice to oversee. Lydia’s brow sat frozen in a furrowed state, as her lips pulled tight. Occasionally, she inhaled deeply, as if she had briefly neglected a breath. She was motionless, save for her right hand’s rapid movement as it filled the page with notes line by line. Her mornings may not have been spent in the classroom, but she was by no means idle.
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Hidden 12 mos ago → 11 mos ago Post by eugalB
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eugalB Shaking the rust off

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In the backstage of the circus.

The morning was fresh, but not cold. A pleasant treat of early autumn. The sun had well risen and so did most of the circus staff. But in one of the caravans, someone was still sleeping. And so, a conscientious soul knocked on the door.

"Eh, Alphonse, you should get up already. Someone's gonna notice if you don't."

He opened his eyes. He closed them. He groaned. Alphonse was suffering from a nasty headache. His body was sore too. Had he drunk too much last night? He did often enjoy a bit of beer before bed, but usually in a reasonable amount. It was hard to think.
But then he noticed his throat was fine. And he had no nausea either. Alphonse blew into his hand to smell his breath. No scent of alcohol.

He massaged his temple while sluggishly extracting himself from his bed. What did happen on the previous day?


On the previous day.

The circus was bustling with activity. Multiple showmen were already demonstrating their talents in the streets to spread the word of the circus opening. As a consequence, those who were left to finish setting up the circus strongly felt the pressure to get done as quickly as possible.

Among them was Alphonse, seemingly calm despite the agitation. He was carrying things around where they where needed while taking the time to give friendly light taps to his coworkers.

"Don't push yourself too hard, pal. We'll be done soon enough."

But in fact, he was using his power. There was no visual effect whenever he diminushed the weight of an item, so it was easy for him to stealthily lessen the burden of others. As for why he did it this way, there's simply was no particular reason behind it. Alphonse didn't benefit from this in any way. Rather, he really wanted to help but was uncomfortable at the idea of making a show of his power. Was it because he wasn't truly boastful by nature, despite his acting during his shows? He had no real reason to fear rejection from the circus people, so that surely couldn't be it.

And yet, here he was, lending invisible helping hands all around. And those were starting to grow bothersome to him too. Suddenly letting the items regain their true weights while people were carrying them could be dangerous, so he had to maintain the effects until he could confirm they had arrived safely. And as he multiplied the targets of his ability, the mental strain would only get worse.

From time to time, he got to see how far things had advanced. But he had his own things to do and could only check on so many things at once, especially with how large of a space the circus was occupying. The number of objects to keep track off simply increased faster than he could let go of them.
And yet, Alphonse simply didn't consider to stop his efforts.

The work finished towards the end of the afternoon, and so the strongman could finally let go of the mental pressure. By this point, he was thoroughly exhausted. Still, his fellow were going into town for a bit of fun while they could. After all, the true circus work would start on the next day as the visitors would flock in.

It would have been smarter to skip and lay down. Alphonse could already feel the headache from the mental exhaustion he accumulated.
But he went along.


The day of the circus opening, on the cooking area.

The teapot whistled. Alphonse poured himself a cup. He brought it to his lips. Blew on it. Took a sip. And finally, the strongman sighed in relief.

It wasn't the fancy tea popular among the aristocracy, rather just a simple herbal infusion Alphonse learned to make on his travels. It was meant to help with hangovers, but it turned out to be very effective against the headaches he suffered from overexerting his mind while using his ability. It rarely happened, but the strongman had a tendency to ignore his limits.

On this day, he had no choice but to be careful however. He was still recovering and this was only the start of a long show. The reasons behind this didn't matter to him, Alphonse didn't concern himself with the management of the circus. But it had a certain underlying pressure. Mr Maleficar had always been a mysterious man of impenetrable thoughts, but that didn't make the mystery of the situation any less of a worry.
Still, to the strongman, what mattered was to do his job well. He mesured the quality of his work to the smiles he received.

Alphonse got up. He had a show to prepare and his weights would not not lift themselves on their own.





Well, things were certainly lively. Silas was taking care out of a student. Edmund knew him just well enough to trust his judgement. That student was probably one to keep an eye on, so he made a mental note to search for his name later.

His attention was quickly drawn elsewhere however. Three new faces had shown themselves.

A young man in white, more noble than noble. Edmund had to make great efforts to not jump to conclusions on his
character. He also felt a literal cold coming from him. Most could easily missed this without coming close, but Edmund's ability made him adept at noticing temperature changes. It was surely the trace of a similar enlightenment to his own.

Then, a young woman. Elegant and reserved, as one would expect from nobility. There wasn't much he could guess at a glance.

Finally, a young person, probably a man. He wore fine clothes, but didn't have the attitude of nobility. Rich bourgeoisie? He certainly didn't seem at ease.

They seemed to be all new students. Entering the school a bit late wasn't so rare, after all there was no telling when Enlightenment would manifest. Still, it was interesting to see three of them appear at once.

He turned around, walking the hallway without a precise destination in mind. It would become suspicious if he stuck around to observe further.

"Humm, let's see... he mumbled to himself. A white swan, on a north wind. A mysterious crane. And an anxious mouse?"

He was already fully absorbed into whichever code he would use to consign this sight. It was important to note this and make further research on who they were. After all, there was always a chance one of them would turn out to become a person importance.
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Hidden 12 mos ago Post by PatientBean
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PatientBean Hi, I'm Barbie. What's up?

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Lord Ingram Poe sat in a small room that was attached to the main office. This was his little domain where he did his best work. Ever since his own Enlightened abilities manifested, he felt he was able to utilize them in a close space. This was, in part, due to his fear of enclosed spaces ever since he was a child and his brother locked him in a trunk and left there crying for hours. A story he does not share nor dwell on. The room itself was not small in feeling, though, which helped his work.

Ingram had sent out a notice for the school that new, prospective students could come to his office for a meeting. This was to have any questions answered as well as to get to know the new students. Ingram enjoyed being more involved with the day-to-day business, though he knew he needed to rely on his staff just as much.

He could feel them when he reached out. His power allowed him to find new Enlightened, especially once they awoke to their abilities. There were three fresh-faced students waiting to meet with him. One was Edward Blackmore. Lord Ingram had heard of the Blackmore name, though his recollection of a young Edward failed him. Edward had the Enlightened ability for ice and snow. A fascinating ability Ingram had seen some time before. His father, in particular, enjoyed those with elemental abilities.

There was also Lady Selina Nightingale. Her Enlightened ability was something quite unique. Though Enlightened abilities that utilized tools or other such detritus was not out of the ordinary, Ingram could scarcely recall in any of the texts he read of an ability associated to chess pieces. Sporting equipment, perhaps. It was remarkable and Ingram could not wait to see how it performed.

Lastly, Josephine Montague. Or Jo, as they preferred. Lord Ingram took some small amount of pride in being more "progressive" in terms of how gender could be demonstrated and wanted to be respectful of all his new students, much to the dismay of some of his staff members (ironic being that some of them, with their abilities, would be called "different" at best. One could shoot fire out of their mouth, but God strike them down if a lady dared to wear breeches instead of a skirt). Her ability was illusion and hallucination. Powers that could spell trouble, but Ingram didn't want to judge a person by their abilities alone. History is thick with human beings doing just that.

He stood from his sitting position and put on his overcoat and came into his office. There was a sitting area in the corner, long bookshelves stood along the walls. There were giant windows that overlooked the countryside outside. Candles were lit on his desk that held all manner of books, tools, a globe, and papers scattered. It was a mess, but it was his well-put-together mess.

Lord Ingram took a breath and a moment before he went to the big doors that stood between his office and the waiting room outside. He stepped through a bit, eyeing each of the prodigies that were there. "Hello, students. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Lord Ingram Poe, headmaster of this school, and we at St. Eustice's School for the Enlightened welcome you to its hallowed halls. I am sure you have questions, so please, step inside." He left the door open and allowed them entrance.

Gesturing to the plentful seats, he stood off, allowing them to sit where they chose. "Please, have a seat. I have tea being brought in shortly as well as some sweets, should you like."

Once the new students got the situation, Lord Ingram continued. "I'd like to start by saying I hope you all find what you need from this school and my aim is to provide that for you. There are many accommodations made depending on need. I would like to start with some introductions if you do not mind. I am Lord Ingram Poe, as I said, and my Enlightened ability is to sense other Enlightened people, either close or far away. I am able to sense their abilities and can even sense it before their abilities awaken. Part of why some of the students are here is because I knew what they would be before they did."

A woman came in with a tray and set it on the table in front of the students. There was a teapot and some cups, a cup of milk, some honey, and a plate with what looked like cookies. Ingram gestured towards it. "Please, help yourselves. And whoever wishes to speak next, please."



The school gardens were a source of pride, sometimes shared with the outside community. Events were held here occasionally as Lady Ivory Sutton kept them controlled and maintained. Lady Ivory was a red-haired woman in her mid-40s whose Enlightened abilities were control of earth and plantation, able to grow beautiful flowers and, some rumors said, speak to them and be spoken to. Most did not dare try anything with the flowers since the last time someone did, the poor boy was picking thorns out of his backside for weeks, or so someone shared.

As Charlotte would see in the gardens, she was not alone. A young lord and lady were amongst the small trees, though the two were not doing anything untoward; it was clear from their explicit body language that they wanted to. The young lady giggled softly, and the gentleman whispered something in her ear. Or, was he whispering?

They didn't notice anyone else, lost in their tryst.



Aoko walked along the hallway, hoping to make it outdoors for some meditation, when she heard the telltale signs of a scuffle. One of the school's resident teachers of the art of weaponry, Aoko was not unfamiliar with the sounds, though it was interesting there were no classes happening regarding combat, at least as far as she was aware.

Her sword clung to its sheath along her hip as she made her way closer. The sounds died down and she could see one student walking away. She could tell he had a wounded pride, among other things, as she turned to see who had done the deed. She was surprised to see a fellow teacher. "I take it you got through to him?" Aoko asked, gesturing to the departing student and following behind Silas, catching up to him. "I know Lord Poe gives us more leniency with lessons, but I would still tread carefully. How are you this fine day Sylas?"



Mr. Maleficar sat in his office, makeshift though it was, reading paper after paper. Though there was no emotion on his face, inside he was filled with anger. He preferred movement. Here one day, gone the next. A circus did not do well confined to one place for a length of time. There was only so much enjoyment over gymnasts, jugglers, clowns, and animal shows given to people before they got bored. And bored people spent money elsewhere.

But as it was, they would be here for a while. Some of the staff knew and knew better than to let it slip they would be staying longer than intended. Mr. Maleficar planned to break the news, sure, perhaps after a good night when people's bellies and pockets were full.

He needed new blood. He was proud of his family here, proud of the people who have gathered far and wide to be here, but if he had any hope of continuing, he would need to think of something.



Big Bulma walked through, speaking to staff as they moved quickly, carrying their tricks of their trade to the designated spot. Things were progressing quickly, thankfully. They were set to have things done in time for today's show. She swung around and spotted the strongman, Alphonse. Big Bulma enjoyed his performances greatly. She was also a little jealous. Alphonse's strength didn't make him a pariah as much as it did her. Still, she bit it down as she did all self-depricating thoughts and put on a warm smile as she spotted the man carrying his weights. "Alphonse, let me help ya with that, love. We're kin, after all."

Big Bulma took pride in representing them all as a family. She would try to get people together ater shows or on days they had off to spend time, drink, dance, eat, and enjoy. Some joined regularly, others occasionally, and some not at all.

"Are ya excited for the show today? Seems like a real good'un. I tell ya, lovey, as much as I feel exhausted afterwards, there's something about this that moves ya, eh?"




Prudence ran along the halls, eager to get to her destination. She bumped into a few of the other girls and ignored the looks of hatred and anger. She was not well-liked amongst her peers here despite her continued efforts in doing all she could for them. It was her proximity of closeness to Lady Rosemarie that did her in. Lady Rosemarie often called on her for favors. Prudence helped any of the staff if they asked. Moreso because it filled the boredom she held in her gut.

Since coming here, she had been a terror in the beginning. She fought hard against any hand that was held out to her in aid. She spat back lessons, kicked staff square in the shins, and scoffed at any consequence offered. However, Lady Rosemarie showed a great deal of patience. And soon, Prudence found herself growing more accustomed to the Haven and its workings. Eventually, she found herself actually enjoying the learning. School and lessons was not in her future at a young age, so this opportunity was invaluable.

Prudence twisted herself through a throng of girls giggling with each other and she felt a twinge of longing. No, she didn't care. Eventually, she slipped past Tagen the Third and knew she was heading in the right direction. She spotted her mark and slowed down to a walk, approaching carefully. "Mr. Hennigar," she said, curtsying. It was often requested for the girls here to be polite to the staff and have manners. It wasn't often met with punishment, but more it was practice or if they needed to ever blend in with those who expected that sort of thing. "I apologize if I am bothering you, but I wished to know if you have need of me following your bone servant again like last time. To ensure he doesn't get in trouble. Or, perhaps, I can help with something else?" She hoped beyond hope to do something. Anything to get out of the monotony that was her life.



Mayweather scurried through the halls, passing along the message Lady Rosemarie had given her. She informed some of the staff and had them pass it along to their students. Mayweather approached where she expected Lady Melody to be and, right as rain, there she was. Mayweather enjoyed Lady Melody's company. While some were wary of the woman Mayweather knew better than to judge others unfairly. As a girl she was often mistreated and left to fend for herself, which gave her an unfortunate reputation.

Wasn't it wonderful how that reputation landed her employment?

She knocked lightly on the door and stepped in, attempting to not rouse the young ward who appeared to be resting. "Sorry to bother you missus Melody, but I have a announcement from Lady Rosemarie. There is to be a meeting before classes tomorrow of, I believe she said, the utmost importance." Mayweather stepped closer, inspecting the surroundings. "You do good work, dove. I cannae say I would do as well in your shoes."
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Hidden 12 mos ago → 12 mos ago Post by NoriWasHere
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NoriWasHere

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There was something about the ancient site of battle that made one reconsider the path in life they walked down.

For most it would be a place they could contemplate the barbaric nature that all humans seemed to contain within their soul. They could sift through the dirt and find the old rusted weapons, and armor, wonder how the people forged such interesting design, and wonder how anyone could fight with such rudimentary tools. Others might be able to look at the sight from above and see the tactics left in the field, and see how those old generals moved their troops around to try and get an advantage over their counterpart, and see which side was more clever on that particular day. Yet these ancient sights, these once important struggles, are often left with the wrong questions being asked.

Like who were the soldiers that fought here? Did they have a family back home? Did they say goodbye before they grabbed their spear and shield, and did they remember to look back one final time to see the face of their loved ones? Would they ask a different question if they could see what Elsabeth could?

If they could see the hundreds of souls that dotted these senseless sights. With their weapons still in hand, and their armor still strapped on? If they could see the empty stares that are the only expression that remains after centuries of death? Or the way they drag their bodies around trying to feel something again even if it was the dirt underneath their foot? Or how their eyes scanned the area for something to break them from this spell? How they watched the carriages as they passed by, and those who rode in them? Of the momentary surge of hope that washed over their face that was quickly stripped away by the crushing defeat as they remained unnoticed?

How would they handle the wails?

Elsabeth kept her eyes forward as all around her the long forgotten soldiers wailed in unison as yet another day crept past them in death, moving them further and further away from the futures that were promised to them in life. She knew all too well that she did not have the luxury of time, and if there was anything these people needed was time. Time for Elsabeth to learn the history of the land, the languages her people spoke, the conflicts that raged before the church took its history, and found the least-gone spirit to further hone her proficiency with the language. After, she would need more time to learn each individual spirit's stories, their wants, their regrets, and help them process and accept that there was likely no way for them to say their unspoken words, to profess their love, or to tell a child how proud they were. And after all that time, work, and effort, she would need to record down their stories and find a way to preserve it for those who would come after. All without pay because no one cared for the soldiers who were already gone. All that while running from an uncle who did not know, or care, for those with Enlightened abilities. All that while her own heart breaks ever so more at what she would no doubt learn.

Elsabeth knew that one day she would like to revisit this place, and every other one that she happened across beforehand. All she would need is time. Time to outlast her uncle, and time to further her own skills.

In the meanwhile, she knew she needed to keep moving from place to place. She had run away from a town whose name she could not recall a month ago as her uncles hired thugs closed in once more. She had run through the fields, through the forests, across the creeks and across the rivers, until she happened across another town where she managed to earn a free stay at the tavern by helping the keeper's late husband cross over to the other side. She was given fresh clothes for her station from the seamstress after conversing with her dead son, and she was paid quite handsomely by the mayor when she helped free a home from the relentless clutches of a spirit gone rogue. It was with this heavy purse, and weariness from running, that caused her to choose this new town to inhabit. Apparently a circus was in town, and as the wails fell away in the distance, she knew she needed the distraction.
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Hidden 12 mos ago Post by Blizz
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Blizz Archmage of the Fucking Universe / Etc

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Location: The Haven



Morris heard his name and stopped, turning around and catching Prudence behind him. A young woman who had few friends in a place where people went because they lacked friends in society. Ironic, in a way. To no one’s surprise, certainly not his own, she seemed bored. That wasn’t terribly uncommon among this place’s tenants, given that they were underground, and learning clandestine tricks could only entertain for so long.

”Ms. Havesford,” He greeted her. ”He’s much more well-behaved now than the last time he had a task. But if you wish, I won’t tell you otherwise.”

He then held up the thin stack of envelopes he had. ”I’ve come back from a trip above, gathering the mail for the day. Not so adventurous, unless you intend to sneak these into chambers when none can see.” She was a bit of an elusive thing, as far as he always knew. Turning invisible and personally seeing to a lot of business for Lady Rosemarie. ”Afterwards, I have work for an incomplete project to finish. Unfortunately, I don’t believe I have much to trouble you with.”

He preferred to do his work privately, away from where others could snoop and watch him weave marrow like cloth and mold bone like clay. Some occasionally expressed interest in how Morris did it, especially those with more industrious abilities, but he didn’t like to share those details.





Location: St. Eustace's School



”Oh, he’ll behave himself from now on,” Silas croaked. He wasn’t often responsible for drilling some discipline into the students, in fact, the most he typically did as a combat instructor was assist in some way. He was more focused on reaching out and connecting with students than whipping them into shape. Not like Aoko, who was far more adept at training them.

”The boy has a cruel streak, and I am not one to beat the trouble out of someone so young as him. But in my experience, one has to be burnt before they burn others.” Silas was used to people punching down. It happened to him before when he was a kid. ”He’s much too used to having more power than others and getting away with taking advantage. He’ll learn, and do be assured, miss Aoko, I will use as much force as is necessary and no more. I would never endanger them.”

Being made of stronger stuff than most, Silas felt himself better equipped to handle a bully than someone with normal skin and bones.

”As for me, I am well enough. I believe Lord Ingram is getting on with things right about now… I do look forward to the newest students.”
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Hidden 12 mos ago Post by Kirah
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Kirah Dragonbunny

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Charlotte Waldegrave

Location: School Garden


It was the giggle that caught her attention. Charlotte looked up and saw the two people. She pursed her lips. Charlotte didn’t begrudge them the ability to find a quiet place to have a tryst. However, she recognized the boy. Several girls had been left in his wake.

She could not allow this poor girl to be damaged by him. Charlotte walked around so she could approach the pair. ”Oh Nigel Keigh this is what you have been doing. This is who you left me for.”

There was a moment’s hesitation as Nigel looked at Charlotte upon her approach. There was a hint of fear in his eyes, quickly replaced by confidence, none of which was earned. “I do not have the slightest idea who you are lass, but I will not take offense. I am certain this is a misunderstanding and you did not mean to interrupt me and Marianne’s time together.”

The woman, meanwhile, glanced between Charlotte and Nigel. Perhaps there was uncertainty there?

”Am I that easy to forget? Just like Sophie and Elizabeth? Oh trust me I know all about it. I saw how broken they are now because of you.” She turns to the girl. ”If you want to know the truth about him, go speak to Mary, she will tell you all about how Nigel will string you along until you are completely ruined. Do not trust him. If you do not want to believe me that is for you to choose, but I suggest doing research on this cad before ruining yourself for him.”

Marianne looked at Charlotte, eyes widening. “I…I heard, but I never thought,” Nigel interrupted her, putting himself between Charlotte and Marianne. “Now, there is no need to go spreading vicious rumors without evidence. It appears to be my word against yours and, well, who is going to believe you over me? Now,” he said, grabbing Marianne by her wrist, “Let us go elsewhere.”

Charlotte sighed, ”Poor girl,” She said mostly under her breath. She hoped the woman would start to doubt Nigel and get free of him. Men using women like Nigel did was not why she preferred the company of women, but it certainly was a bonus for her. She would never fall for a cad like him. Never be ruined by one of them.
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Hidden 12 mos ago → 12 mos ago Post by Expllo
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Expllo pretty girls please manipulate me

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Cassiel - Obasi

Location: Mr. Maleficar's Traveling Circus | Storage Tent


In one of the unused storage tents, tucked behind a line of painted wagons and stacked animal cages, a single lantern burned low. Its light barely touched the edges of the canvas walls, and that was intentional. Inside, the ground was clear; no crates, and no clutter. Only a circle of smooth dirt, scuffed from hours of pacing. At the center stood a man, still and barefoot. Slender. Tall. He breathed in. And Cassiel opened his eyes.

A long thread of darkness spilled out from beneath his feet, unraveling like ink in water. It slithered across the floor and up the side of the tent, before blooming into a limbed puppet, hunched, and silent. Then another. And another. Their shapes are unnatural, shifting, changing into a fox, a faceless woman, a spiral with hands… Cassiel watched, his pale hands lifted in subtle gestures, dancing with absolute control.

“You always start too stiff,” Obasi said from inside. His voice was warm, but hinted at impatience. Cassiel didn’t respond. He merely flicked his fingers and the puppets moved, swayed, melting, reforming. A wolf opened its jaw and became a crown. “They don’t want poetry,” Obasi continued. “They want wonder. You’re all theater and no breath, brother.”

Cassiel’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “And you’re all breath, no pacing. Which is why you come second.”

He exhaled. Slowly. And as the air left him, so did the cold. His skin flushed with color. Hair darkened, curls tightening, coiling with heat. Shadow bled away, and in its place came light streaming from his fingertips like sunbeams split through crystal. Where the puppets had danced, now prisms pulsed, refracting across the tent walls in shifting patterns: First suns, comets, and then explosions of gold.

Obasi laughed out loud, wide eyed and eager. “Now we’re talking.”

He spun once, arm out, and sent a blazing arc of light through the tent like a whip, carving the illusion of a phoenix from smoke and flame. He clapped and sent the bird soaring, wingspan flaring against the fabric like fire trapped in a dome. Then, without warning, his footing faltered. Cassiel yanked back control. The light vanished. Shadow slammed down. The tent snapped back to stillness. Cassiel was breathing hard, bent slightly at the waist. Sweat clung to his temple. “You're pushing too fast.”

“You’re holding too long,” Obasi snapped. “You know what that does. I build pressure. The longer you sit on me, the harder I hit when I break through.”

“But we need precision. Not fireworks.”

“We need awe.”

Silence fell. Not angry. Not truly. Just tired. Cassiel rolled their shared neck until it popped. “Let’s run the full transition.” Obasi gave no reply, but he didn’t resist. Cassiel extended his hand. Shadows pooled around his wrist then snaked outward, taking shape into a tiny, silhouetted ballerina this time, delicate and trembling. With a soft breath, he handed her to the air… And Obasi took her. Light swallowed the shadow midair with harmony. The ballerina ignited into a streak of sun, and then burst into a thousand golden flecks. It was seamless. Perfect. Obasi smiled faintly. “We’ll need to be faster during the real performance. There’s a new spotlight rig.”

“Then stop dragging your heels,” Obasi murmured.

They stood still for a moment, heart thudding. The lantern flickered. Cassiel spoke: “Do you think… if we keep perfecting this… they’ll stop seeing us as two?”

“No,” Obasi replied. ”They'll always think we’re two separate people, but it’s easier than what we are.”

The tent was still warm from their work. Ashes of light clung to the fabric walls, glowing faintly before vanishing. Cassiel had taken back the body for now, sitting with knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped loosely around them. His pale skin shimmered with a thin sheen of sweat, shadows curling lazily from his fingers as if reluctant to rest. Outside, laughter echoed from the main camp. “People have been talking again,” Obasi said, voice soft inside their mind. Cassiel didn’t look up. “They never stop.”

“This one’s new. Something about ravens.”

Cassiel snorted under his breath. “And mirrors? I appreciate the gothic flair.”

“Dreams, too. They love the idea of us reaching through the veil.”

There was a long pause. Cassiel’s eyes drifted to the lantern’s flickering flame. “They think we’re brothers. Or lovers. Or both.”

“As if those things are exclusive?”

Cassiel gave a slow, crooked smile. “Would you love me if I weren’t inside your head?”

“You’d be entirely unbearable outside of it.” Obasi chuckled. “And I’d still love you.”

Silence. Then, Cassiel whispered, “The ‘kill one and the other dies screaming’ rumor is my favorite.”

“Because it’s true?”

“Because it sounds tragic enough to be beautiful.”

Obasi didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like… to be seen. Both of us. At the same time. No rumors. No guessing games. Just… truth.” Cassiel let the thought hang. “Would they still clap, I mean?” Obasi corrected, sensing his brother's unease. “Would they still call it magic, or would they call it monstrous?”

“They already do,” Cassiel replied gently. “They just pay more for the lie.” Cassiel leaned back against a stack of folded costumes, eyes drifting shut, the shared body finally beginning to rest. “Let them wonder,” he murmured. “Let them write poems and whisper warnings. We are not theirs to understand.”

“We never were, brother,” Obasi agreed.

For a while, they said nothing else. Just sat in the silence between breaths, between selves, and between night and day.
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Hidden 12 mos ago → 12 mos ago Post by Lunari
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Lunari Astral Emissary

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Character Sheet
THE INTRODUCTION
LOCATION: ST. EUSTICE'S SCHOOL FOR THE ENLIGHTENED - LORD POE'S OFFICE
MENTIONS: @PatientBean @TimelessParagon @SilverPaw

The large doors gave way with a low creak as the headmaster and students stepped into the room.

The office was nothing short of a miniature drawing room; composed, refined yet exuded a chaotic intellect known through the many papers strewn around the room. A tall window bathed the room in cold morning light, illuminating the generous shelves and timeworn leather furnishings. She inhaled a faint scent that permeated the air. Traces of cedar and chocolate, a sweet tone that contradicted the stern aura of the man in front of her.

Her gaze flickered to the other two students besides her. A quick, practical assessment - one carried himself like he had something to prove; the other, like he had something to hide. Selina offered them a curt, polite nod before settling down in a nearby chair. As the silver tray was brought in and placed on the ornate table, Selina leaned forward to help herself, pouring a modest cup of tea. A slight swirl of milk, no honey. A sweet tooth never bode well for nobles, at least that's what her father used to say. A soft spot for the selfish things in life, he said.

She always kept it in mind, save for the bit of milk to soothe her heart.

Raising the cup, Selina briefly glanced at Lord Ingram before offering a composed, cordial tone. "Selina Nightingale." She paused for a moment, the cup's edge hovering near her lips. "Formerly of Latimer." The word 'formerly' weighed heavily in her throat, though her composure showed no fuss of it. "I am honoured to be received, Lord Poe."

Selina took a measured sip; poised, graceful, noble, all the features of being ladylike. The teacup lowered, resting gently against the saucer. "I... support others using chess pieces." Selina pulled out a delicate, soft-rose coloured silk bag, small enough to fit inside her palm. Fishing out a pawn from the pouch, she held it between her index and thumb. "I use these as a medium. The exact knowledge of this ability of mine is lost to me. I hope to find out more about it while I study in this institution." She doesn't reveal her entire intentions. They were not for this room's ears, nor would it be polite to give the game away.

Her eyes glided over the room, remaining steady, waiting to observe who would next rise to the occasion.



Character Sheet
THE RECALL
LOCATION: ???


The paper laid heavier than it needed to be.
The contents were brief, trimmed of ceremony. As always, it masqueraded an urgency as simple logistics and coded letters:

“Weather turning. Immediate consolidation advised. Report to Command Central by dusk. Disposal recommended.”

Leonard let the parchment linger between his fingers. He scanned it one more time, before pressing it gently against the oil lamp besides his cot. The letter curled and hissed out of existence, vanishing in smoke.

He exhaled a breath of fog between his teeth. A reflexive habit, as much as gritting teeth were. Patrick had long left, a mouth flying dirtier than a pirate's deck. Leonard agreed in a way, but he understood why; the war has many victims left to claim.

Leonard's silhouette faded into his familiar shadow, visible through the low grey of the fog that still stuck from earlier today, the mists obeying with quiet grace. It made the soldiers uneasy in a way that they couldn't explain.

He stood straight-laced, arms crossed, as the rest gathered in a loose small half-circle around him.
"Final sweep before midday. No questions. Small teams. Quiet eyes." His voice steady and calm, business-like. No trace of rum in his system.

A few glances passed between the men, but none spoke. Patrick's eyebrows furrowed, but he knew better than to ask. At least not here. The soldiers worked in quick action, obeying the lieutenant, who had turned his back already to let the fog guide him. Deep into the terrain he spent weeks in, places he knew.

Still, he watched. Still, he listened.

He thought about the commander while watching the perimeter. Nothing is ever fun with him, at least not since-

A rustle in a nearby bush alerted him, just outside of his fog domain. Being still deep in it, he remained a dark shadow to those peering, yet he kept still, arms and hands ready. His eyes scanned his front and peripheries slowly. A slight turn of his head, no-one was behind or with him.

A few seconds passed... nothing had happened. Leonard lowered his hands, but not his guard. Maybe it was the movement of a small animal, at least that is what Leonard hoped. He was called in to arrive by tomorrow afternoon, scuffling with an enemy right now was the last thing he wanted.
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Hidden 12 mos ago Post by Memoria
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Memoria Someone's Bookish Flower Bride 🐸

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Present 《》 Lady Melody Heathering 《》 The Haven for Wayward Girls 《》Melody@MemoriaMayweather@PatientBeanMorris (Mentioned)@Blizz
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The butler closed the door with a muted click, leaving the room steeped in the soft hush of late morning. Melody lingered by the bedside, her gaze fixed on Eliza—small, fragile, curled into the pale cotton sheets like a secret she was sworn to keep. Outside, the muffled shouts and laughter of the other girls drifted in through the glass, a reminder that life still spun happily on for those untouched by present fears.

A glimmer of movement caught her eye. Just beyond the windowpane, three girls pressed in close, their breath fogging the glass as they stared at the newest arrival to Lady Rosemarie’s Haven. Their auras, curiosity tinged with caution, flared faintly in her vision, a swirl of pale yellow and muted green. Melody’s gaze met theirs, her irises catching the light in that strange, almost liquid way they often did when she was attuned to the emotions of others. At once, the girls startled and scurried off, their shapes vanishing down the garden path.

She didn’t notice she was still humming the lullaby until the last notes slipped out of her mouth and into the still air, long after Eliza had surrendered to sleep. Melody's hand hovered briefly over the child’s blankets, a faint ache pulling in her chest as she thought of her own mother.

A final glance, steady, protective, and she turned toward the door. A knock came just as her fingers brushed the handle. The door opened to reveal Mayweather, framed in the hall’s dim light. Melody didn’t know her well. Few truly did. Mayweather was a woman spun from secrets and shadows, with hair the shade of a morning fire, but there was an unspoken understanding between them. Pleasant enough. Safe enough. As the other woman stepped inside, Melody’s eyes instinctively shifted to match the exact shade of Mayweather’s own emerald green, the edges of her voice taking on the faintest trace of her Irish lilt without her willing it.

She listened as Mayweather delivered Lady Rosemarie’s summons for early tomorrow morning, nodding once.

“Of course,” Melody murmured, her tone smooth but threaded with quiet curiosity. “Though I admit, you’ve piqued my interest. Lady Rosemarie rarely calls for urgency unless the ground is shifting beneath our feet.”

When Mayweather offered her warm praise, Melody’s lips curved, not in vanity, but in something gentler.

“You’re kind to say so, but I’ve only done what any of us would, if we’re paying proper attention.”

Her gaze lingered on the sleeping girl, softening. “Perhaps I fuss over them more than I should... but I’ve always thought... if I cannot have children of my own, I may as well love the ones who find their way to our care.”

She didn’t let the silence settle too long, straightening with the ease of someone who knows how to close a thought before it turns too heavy.

“Tell me, Mayweather, have you seen young Morris about? I’ve a small... request for him. Something harmless enough.”

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Hidden 12 mos ago → 12 mos ago Post by TimelessParagon
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TimelessParagon A seeker of Truths

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Location: Headmaster's office,St-Eustache school for the enlightened
Mentions: @PatientBean[@Luari]@SilverPaw

Edward gave an appreciate nod to them room's furnishing as he sat down, setting his cane aside, clearly lord Poe was a man of good taste but also studious and methodical.
He reached out for a teacup before hesitating slightly mid-move then ,in a determined motion, grabbing the tea cup with his gloved hand. He poured himself a cup adding in a generous portion of honey and milk before giving it a taste.
It was a fine brew with little hints of tea's natural bitterness even without the later additives but life is meant to be enjoyed, what's the point of titles and fiefs if one is forced to drink bitter tea?
He looked around at the two figures beside him, appreciating one for her fine manners, frowning at the other. He certainly dressed like a man, rabble at that, but had this oddness to him that young lord Blackmore could not figure out. The man's fidgeting also suggested a less than righteous upbringing or profession as it is typical for their kind.
Thus he subtly shifted in his seat to steer himself away from the latter

The scion of Blackmore listened to Lady Nightingale's words with curiosity, wandering where he had heard such a name before until "Latimer" came up.
He spoke after she had finished for it was improper to interrupt a lady, well ex-lady:
"My condolences about your father, A true shame what happened to him. Lord Edward Blackmore, of Haydon. I presume my father's letter has found you in good health my Lord Poe."
He spoke in the controlled tone of high society but had a certain stiffness in his voice, an unfamiliarity.
"This establishment is truly fortunate have a man of your caliber as its head" continued the man with a courteous smile. "As for my ability It is to hold dominion over ice and snow." Before lifting a finger and manifesting a small feather of crystalline ice with all its aspects rendered in meticulous detail from barb to vane.

This was more addressed to the two figures in the room as his father had surely already explained his blessing or "abnormally" (in that bore's words) to the headmaster but one never knows.
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Jo Montague
Jo Montague

Mentions/Interactions: @PatientBean @TimelessParagon @Lunari
“Good morning, Lord Poe, and thank you for the welcome,” Jo smiled politely. When the young Montague spoke, his voice was a smooth counter tenor, a tone he’d had to practice since his natural physiology granted a mezzo-soprano. There was a vague hint of a rasp, an indication of his smoking habit, though no trace of tobacco scent lingered on him – he made it a point to be careful with his clothes.

He entered the headmaster’s office upon his invitation, and was the last one to take a seat in a leather armchair. The material molded to his shape, yet was firm enough to support. His eyes took in the office, comparing it to his father’s. There was history here, as well as quality, which came from a hefty investment over years of assembling favoured pieces. It was refined, yet it had the same lived-in quality he was used to from Montague Senior. There was that chaotic organization only an owner could make sense of which was so common to scholars and businessmen alike. A pleasant woodsy scent could be detected, and the sweet undertone Jo detected made him smile. It reminded him of chocolate, which was an unexpectedly endearing detail. His eyes tracked the entrances and exits: aside from the door they arrived through, there was another door leading to what they assumed was a private room, and window overlooking the school grounds.

Lord Poe began with an introduction, Enlightened ability included. The headmaster’s power was well-known, though Jo had ambivalent feelings. Poe had not been the one to discover him, and while his past-self would have taken any chance, he was glad he’d met his father instead. The lord made it clear all he was looking for was Enlightenment. Edward Montague on the other hand? It had been a lucky chance, part whim, yet he and his father had found somewhat of a kindred spirit in each other, despite their different stations at the time. He knew the lord did not mean it as such, was careful to say that only ‘some’ students benefited from his ability, but a suspicious part of Jo still ruffled by the implication that the headmaster had a hand in their discovery.

The arrival of treats immediately softened their heart, however. Their countenance brightened, but they restrained themselves, waiting for the other two students to take what they would. Both of them only partook the tea, but the first thing Jo served themselves was a chocolate chip cookie. They put a serviette on their lap, and quietly crunched on the cookie while the other new arrivals introduced themselves. Lady Nightingale was the picture of refinement, and if they were in the guise of a woman, they might have chosen her to mimic her mannerisms. As it was, they returned her nod, though a pleased smile had found its way to their lips – largely because they were in the midst of indulging their sweet tooth. A spark of interest lit their eyes as the lady revealed a part of her ability. She said nothing of what it did, only that chess pieces were her medium. Intriguing.

Edward Blackmore on the other hand…Well, he was clearly very well familiar with his ability, and command over ice certainly suited him. He was standoffish, and didn’t event bother hiding his disdain for Jo. It was a shame; the frowning and arrogance were a waste of his pretty face. He hadn’t a clue why the lord hesitated to take the tea, and noticed only because he’d happened to be paying attention. While he expected the lord would avoid him, and vice versa, Jo figured he could at the very least take a note of the elegant manner with which Blackmore drank tea. The highest echelons of society cared for that kind of a thing, so Jo took special care as he poured himself a cup, adding a dash of milk. Had he not had the cookie, they would have taken a dollop of honey as well, but as it was, he appreciated the bitter herbal contrast to the delightful sweetness of the baked good he had relished.

Lord Blackmore’s condolences to Lady Nightingale clued Jo in that the ‘formerly of Latimer’ must have a meaning they hadn’t been aware of. If a noble unmarried lady lost her father…Perhaps Selina was considered a fallen lady in society? Blackmore had not called her a lady, nor had she done so herself. Jo supposed the ‘lady’ title might not be applicable to her after all, though they’d prefer to observe a larger sample of how others addressed her before attempting to do so themselves.

Finally, it was his turn to make an introduction. “Jo Montague,” he said simply. “As for my ability…” A small mischievous grin emerged. He lifted a hand, wiggled his fingers, and a few motes of light blinked into existence. They floated softly above his palm for a brief second, then they disappeared as soon as they’d appeared. “I have a trick or two up my sleeve,” he winked. He’d shown just enough to prove that he did have an ability, but had done nothing all too eye-catching. If the two other students underestimated him for it, that would work perfectly in his favour. “I haven’t any questions at the moment, Lord Poe, but I would request a few minutes of your time after this, if you could spare me a private audience. I hope it is not too presumptuous of me to ask,” he smiled politely.
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