[COLOR=C0C0C0][img]https://i.imgur.com/ie0pHVA.gif[/img]

[CENTER][url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5612178]Character Sheet[/url] 
[hr][sub][color=C71585]THE LIBRARY WHISPERS
[color=white]LOCATION:[/color] ST. EUSTICE'S SCHOOL FOR THE ENLIGHTENED - LORD POE'S OFFICE[/color][/sub]
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Selina lingered in Lord Poe's office only as custom required. She allowed her teacup to rest silently in its saucer, finishing the last modest sip before folding her gloves over her palm. When the conversation turned to others, she gave a slight nod. It was neither dismissal nor engagement. 

When Lord Poe gave signal to the end of their discussion, Selina was the first to stand up. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, Lord Poe’s words were perfectly crafted, but something in the air between them never settled. Not fear. Not distaste. Just... unmoored.

She thanked him with a quiet courtesy and left with a grace honed into muscle memory. Her steps down the corridor echoed against polished stone, steady and measured, valise in hand. A wave of fatigue washed over her, discomfort abrading in her chest.[hr][center][sub][color=C71585][color=white]LOCATION:[/color] ST. EUSTICE'S SCHOOL FOR THE ENLIGHTENED - SELINA'S ROOM[/color][/sub][/center][hr][hr]Selina made it to her assigned dorm room with little troubles. The room she was given was modest by noble standards, but clean and well-kept. A fireplace framed in black marble sat opposite a writing desk already prepared with parchment and sealed ink. She laid her travel case on the bed, removed her gloves, and allowed her fingers a slow stretch. She took note of the drawer lock. Weak. Too easily opened.

Selina didn’t unpack.
Instead, she turned and made her way down the hall once more, this time with more purpose.[hr][center][sub][color=C71585][color=white]LOCATION:[/color] ST. EUSTICE'S SCHOOL FOR THE ENLIGHTENED - LIBRARY[/color][/sub][/center][hr][hr]The library called to her not with grandeur, but certainty. Walls of dark wood and dust-polished spines - structured, silent, and sensibly ordered. The light here was gentler. No interrogation. No performance. Even the air shifted differently.

She moved like she belonged, tracing a finger along the edge of a shelf before slipping into a corner alcove surrounded by histories and philosophy. A chess set, slightly incomplete, sat abandoned beneath a small oil lamp. She spared it only a glance.

Voices murmured nearby. Not loud, not meant to carry. But the acoustics of the reading chamber turned whispers into threads of clarity if you knew how to listen.

[color=white]“-girls, all gone wide-eyed. Practically enchanted.”
“She brought them herself. Took them right to the front gates.”
“Is it true what they say? That the circus isn’t just-”
“Entertainment? Please. With what happened in Dover? I’m saying it’s unnatural. You don’t glow like that unless you’re hiding something.”[/color]

A chair scraped back. Footsteps shifted.

Selina’s spine remained straight, her hands neatly folded before her. She gave no reaction, save for a tiny shift of her eyes toward the row separating her from the speakers.

[color=white]“Mr. Maleficar’s circus doesn’t travel for coin. That’s all I’m saying. It travels for something.”[/color]

Then laughter. But not mirthful, but thin, strained, like paper left too long in the sun. Moments later, the voices were gone. Selina didn’t move for some time. When she finally did, it was only to pick up the bishop from the half-complete chess set and held it in her palm.

[color=C71585]“An unlikely battlefield,”[/color] she murmured to herself. [color=C71585]“But not one without strategy.”[/color]

The circus. A glow. Something about it all sounded... curated. Like a trap set with ribbons and candy for the Enlightened. And yet, Lord Poe hadn’t said a word. She placed the bishop back on the board. Moved a pawn one square forward. Then stood, composed as ever, and left the library without a sound.

[img]https://i.imgur.com/PQTlh82.gif[/img]

[CENTER][url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5612548]Character Sheet[/url] 
[hr][sub][color=6D6968]THE RABBIT AND HAWK
[color=white]LOCATION:[/color] ???[/color][/sub]
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He lingered a moment longer in the stillness, the fog lapping softly at his boots like the tide of some phantom sea. The rabbit was gone, just a flash of fur, a whisper of leaves disturbed. A harmless thing. But it was enough to remind him. It never took much.

The tension still clung to him like dew, fine and invisible, but present all the same. Leonard exhaled slowly, tasting the stale iron of his breath. The mist around him was beginning to thin now, wisps unravelling and curling away into the cold wind, drawn to some unspoken vanishing point beyond the trees. He didn’t refresh it, letting it fade.

He didn’t need the fog anymore, not now. Not here. The perimeter was clear, the sweep done and the eerie, indifferent silence of land left untouched, was proof enough.

Leonard crouched briefly to adjust the laces of his boot, fingers quick, gloved and mechanical. He didn’t glance up as he did it. There was no need. Whatever might’ve been out here had already decided not to be found. And if something was watching? Let it.

Rising, he took a moment to stretch out the tightness in his spine, rolling his neck side to side until something cracked softly beneath the skin. The aches weren’t new. They came with the sleep-deprived nights, the damp quarters, the hard beds and harder conversations. But lately, it felt deeper. Less like strain, more like slow rot. A bone-deep weariness disguised as resolve.

His fingers drifted to his hip, brushing the hilt of his sabre, then away again. No need. He began the walk back.

The fog peeled away behind him as he moved, leaving only the faintest trace in the grass and low shrubs, as though a ghost had passed through but hadn’t stayed long enough to settle. His boots made little sound against the wet earth, and his shadow lengthened with each step, chasing after the morning sun that had started clawing through the clouds.

The trees thinned. He passed a crooked fence long since overtaken by ivy, half-rotted, leaning like a drunkard toward the hills. A few crows perched on the posts, silent, their eyes black with too much knowing. One of them let out a soundless caw as he passed, its beak open but voiceless in the wind. He didn’t break stride. The open field beyond looked the same as it had for weeks: mud, scrub, and frost-wilted flowers that never bloomed. In the far distance, the rise of the ridge where the others had set camp came into view: tents like huddled ghosts, smoke rising thin and pale into the high grey sky.

He wasn’t in a hurry. He never hurried.

The General would be waiting - either impatient or unreadable, depending on the hour. Leonard didn’t care to guess. He’d face it like he always did: one boot forward, one brow raised, voice clean, spine straight. Whatever fresh orders were waiting would be dressed in military language and stale diplomacy, but underneath? It was always the same: move. Watch. Kill. Or disappear.

The wind shifted behind him. He didn’t look back.

Instead, he muttered something under his breath in old German softer than a prayer, though not quite sacred. The kind of thing a man says to the fog when he's walked with it long enough to believe it listens. The sky above broke just slightly, a weak crack of pale sunlight pushing through. It cast no warmth, but it gave the landscape edges again.

Leonard adjusted the fall of his coat and pressed forward, leaving the ghost of the fog behind him.[/color]