Helo

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 11:00 am
Location: Ballroom
Interactions: Ruby @SausagePat

Callum, slightly confused, did his best to match the strange and overly zealous handshake from Ruby. She was dismissive towards his comment about the king, whether that was because she wanted a happier conversation topic or she simply held a general disinterest towards the king’s antics, he wasn’t sure. He stared at her hand as she left it lingering between them, eyelashes fluttering and fingers waggling expectedly. Callum obliged, less than gracefully, as he stood to politely kiss her hand, and knocked against the table which rattled and echoed in the room before the sat back down.

Her instance to turn the conversation back to pottery was more than welcomed. It was a topic so far removed from all the things he didn’t want to talk about, this day or any day in the foreseeable future, that Callum felt much more relaxed. He didn’t hate talking to people half as much as he pretended he did, he only hated how fake it usually was.

“Ten pots?” Cal repeated the offer, whistled, and shook his head. “That seems like a lot, wouldn’t know what to do with so many and I’d hate for them to go to waste. One sounds perfect. And I like purple or blue.” He offered, before he could think up something else to add Ruby was rifling through her things and pulled out a small, slightly dusty, teapot. She excitedly launched into a story about it and Cal listened with equal enthusiasm.

He took the tiny teapot from Ruby, holding it as she had; like it was a precious thing, and he was careful not to drop it as he looked it over. “Can’t say I’ve ever given much thought to worms.” Or pots but he didn’t mention that aloud. The teapot itself seemed simple and functional, well made but hardly meeting the standards for anything that would be found in the palace. He liked that about the tiny pot; that it was a mundane object decorated to honor an oft-forgotten creature. “And you, made a teapot that remembers them,” Callum said, nodding, “and to the worms we all return, whether we remember them or not.” Maybe that was just the whiskey leading him to ramble and find meaning in random things, but today a worm pot made perfect sense to him. Cal carefully offered the teapot back to Ruby. “A very fine piece, thank you for sharing it with me.”

Callum gave everyone he met snap judgments. They often weren’t fair, he was just as easily swayed by rumors and his own bias’ as everyone else was. But he really did try to see the good in people, and people he knew nothing about were much easier to see in a positive light. He could trust strangers inviting him to parties with lax rules, he assumed bakers who spent all day making cakes did so to add something sweet to the world, and today he decided that anyone who would make a pot to celebrate worms certainly had to be a kind person.

“If you are going to make me a pot, then I’m going to have to figure out something to make you in return. Sadly I’m not half the accomplished craftsman as you are but maybe you could help me think of something.” He offered with a smile. And he then thought about worms some more. How they were a small, seemingly insignificant part of a much bigger world, but one day, even Edin would become just another feast for the worms and his smile brightened at that.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 11:00 am
Location: Ballroom
Interactions: Ruby @SausagePat


Callum was surprised at how quickly the fair-haired stranger made her way to his table. She spoke with a hint of an accent more common in the less-than-affluent parts of Sorian than with the nobility and she looked at him with hopeful, mismatched, eyes. He was pretty sure if she were one of Sorian’s eligible high-class and wealthy noblewomen he’d have at least heard of her. Edin certainly enjoyed listing off all eligible noblewomen and commenting on which features he approved and disapproved of during his insufferable marriage speeches. But Cal kept his suspicions to himself and simply went along with the ruse.

“That is a rather impressive pedigree Ruby. I’m Callum, it is a pleasure to meet you.” He offered the required polite smile with the greeting. Her boast of social status, wealth, and refinement did little to impress him, but the unusual offer of a handcrafted pot was far more charming. “No one’s ever offered to make me a pot, I think that’d make a wonderful gift.” Callum added. She had seemed more enthusiastic and earnest when she had offered him a pot than when she spoke of noble heritage, he tried steering the conversation back to that.

“As for hesitating to make my pick; the king was talking and my ears have this terrible habit of turning off when he does so, seems I tuned back in just in time though, eh?” Callum spoke with a grin. He tested the waters, waited to see her reaction to his small slight against the king.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 11:00 am
Location: Ballroom
Interactions: Alden @Terrance420, Ruby @SausagePat, Zarai @Rodiak
Mentions: Wulfric @SilverPaw, Layla @Potter, Eden @Princess


“Ah look at my beautiful blonde-haired sons. Sons I’ve created.”

The comment barely registered a response; with every fiber of his being Callum rejected thinking of Edin as a father, and Edin had always mirrored the sentiment. There was no bond, no link between them, only mutual hatred and it remained a wound so old that it no longer carried a sting. It was only satisfying, to feel separated from the source of rot in his life.

I am no Danrose. I will be better. He reminded himself. But a quieter, more persistent, voice whispered how, and he had no real answer for it. Then it whispered when, and without the how he had no answer for that either, and he felt his stomach twisting. And then it asked, and for how long? How long before he gave up fighting them, everyone had a breaking point, when would he find his? Callum tried to ignore it, he placed what remained of his coffee further away from him, and tried to think about anything else.

He pushed all his thoughts away, good and bad, closed his eyes, and focused only on breathing. He found himself a few more precious minutes where none of this existed.

“You are doing well here, just going to give you some well warning of advice. You need to do your best to impress that woman from the Alidasht. I hear she is just your type. You will be thoroughly impressed…”

“Doubtful.” Callum muttered at Alden who had broken his focus and Cal barely bothered to glance in the advisor's direction. As if the once long-lost advisor knew enough about him to know his type. As if he’d ever trust the opinion or word of a man who was suddenly a part of Edin’s inner circle. No, Callum had seen enough of the Shehzadi at the ball last night; the whole better than everyone air about her, harsh piercing eyes, and the lack of warmth in her expressions that made him suspect her blood ran colder than the serpent that adorned her. If anything he guessed she was more Wulfric’s type than his.

Callum was entirely pleased to see that the Shehzadi was drawn into Wulfric’s orbit. A completely different Shehzadi from the one his brother had danced with last night. Gods, just thinking about Wulfric being the center of a love triangle between two sisters of a foreign royal family was enough to draw out a smirk. Scandals like that could really tear royal houses apart.

He glanced at the other two women before them. He gave a friendly smile at Zarai who he suspected, much like himself, was here only by her family's command. He didn’t recognize the other women, which was probably a good sign, as it meant she likely wasn’t a constant fixture at extravagant and pompous gatherings, and therefore someone potentially interesting. Either Zarai or the stranger seemed like fine options for conversation, so Callum gestured to the open chair in front of him and shrugged.

“Grab a seat,” he offered, “or bring your own,” he glanced at Zarai, “if you like.” Callum did his best to seem friendly and approachable, but he certainly wasn’t interested in forcing anyone to speak with him.

Avalia

Time: Afternoon, 2pm
Location: Dugmaghord - The Pit to the Shaman's hut to the desert
Mentions: Pâsh
Weapon: Meliora a cobalt glaive with unbreaking and returning charms
Armor: Just the clothes on his back
Equipment: Lockpicking kit, small knife, 3 large red potions, and a pouch of amas.

---

Leaf sat loyally beside Pâsh as the orcs continued their pit battles. He studied how they fought and he cheered on the brutality with the same enthusiasm as his orc brethren. He feasted and drank with Pâsh and his innermost circle, orcs who held unquestionable loyalty to their Grand Chieftan. The orc world was simple, Leaf understood much of it, and it was easy to find one’s place and feel comfortable in it.

But today his place in the orc kingdom had changed, he was no longer a scrappy outsider who simply trained with them, now Leaf on the Wind was part of their society, today he was War Chief. He could feel the eyes of other orcs around him and he wondered if there had ever been a cat-orc here before or if he was the very first. Leaf, as was his nature, felt only pride at his new title and none of the fear that should come when so many orc eyes glared upon him.

The fights came and went, the food was eaten, the orc booze drunk and Leaf soon left Pâsh to conduct his business in peace. Or, as he figured Pâsh would prefer it, in a very orcish brand of organized chaos. He found a warm patch of sunlight to lay upon the sand, full and exhausted, to bask and nap. The brief rest was soon interrupted just as heavy eyes had finally closed by a sharp jab to an already tender spot on his ribs.

“Ya fight gud fer kitty.” A familiar voice spoke and Leaf smiled in presence of one of the few orcs who had been willing to train him when he first arrived here.

Räum was well into his elderly years and somehow none the weaker for it. He held the title of shaman and wore the bones and teeth of the creatures he’d defeated on his clothes and upon his staff. During numerous training sessions, Leaf had often been bruised by smacks from that very staff. Most orcs respected the shaman and even fewer dared to challenge Räum who, in his prime, had been a savage warrior, and who now freely gave wisdom and training to those who came to him willing to learn.

“Not bad for a scrawny, little, cat at all huh?” Leaf replied basking in the sun upon his spot on the ground.

“Don’t ya get bigheaded. Ya make problems little War Chief.” Räum gave a snort and shake of his head, his collection of decorative bones rattling as he did so.

“Problems? I’m not making problems. They love me now. I’m practically one of ‘em.” Leaf offered back, wearing a comfortable smile.

“Big orc, don’t want, little War Chief.” Räum spoke slowly like he was talking to a child who’d been knocked in the head too many times.

“Ah, Pâsh, don’t mean nothin’ by that he’s just-” Leaf stopped. What was he going to say? Pâsh was just being nice? That wasn’t true, Pâsh was a lot of things but nice, for no reason, was not one of them. You didn’t lead Avalia's strongest, most brutal race by being a nice guy. Whatever Pâsh’s intentions were it was now painfully obvious to Leaf that he had a target on his back for any orc who wanted to be war chief. “I guess I outta tell Pâsh I ain’t cut out to be a war chief around here.”

“Now little War Chief tell Pâsh wut he do?” Räum asked, his teeth and tusk displayed in a grin.

“Oh no, nope, little War Chief ain’t doing that.” Leaf shook his head and crossed that idea right off. “I guess that’s what Pâsh meant about getting a bodyguard…” Leaf wondered how he was going to find a bodyguard, and if having one would only make him look weaker to the orcs.

“Worry later. Today fresh little war chief hunts with best orcs, all war chiefs follow me today.” Räum spoke in a somber tone, one that Leaf missed because he only heard the word ‘hunt’.

“We’re going huntin?” Leaf asked excitedly as he hopped up off the ground. “Ya should’ve said sooner, I’m always ready for huntin!”

Räum grunted, unamused. “Important hunt, not fer cat-antics. Tonight Pâsh leads towards war. Today we honor harvest, day of sacrfice, day of preparations, powerful day. Good day to do it.”

“Do what now?” Leaf asked as he followed.

“Rite of Shaman. War needs strength, needs new Shaman to lead down new path.”

“So this is like, what, your retirement party?” Leaf asked and at this question Räum gave a dark chuckle.

“Yes, today, a fine celebration o' Räum.” The elder orc agreed.

Leaf was led to the Shaman’s hut which was already crowded with the other war chiefs. Leaf was careful to match the posture and attitudes of the orcs around him. Somber, and standing with the pride of a warrior, he watched as the door was closed, the windows sealed shut, and the hut was lit only by the small fireplace in the corner.

The hut was cluttered with a wide variety of dried plants that hung from lofty ceilings, dusty jars lined every surface, and sun-bleached bones decorated the walls. Plants and ingredients Leaf couldn’t even begin to identify, and bones from creatures he could barely name. He knew the war chiefs by name and reputation only but recognized Talyn, the grandson and apprentice to Räum immediately. Talyn stood expressionless by a table which held an intricately carved dagger of bone, a golden pot of water, a small bowl of powder, and a pile of dried plants.

The first stage of the rite began as Räum and Talyn started chanting; praises were first given to the orc god and then his presence was invoked. Leaf did his best to chant the proper replies along with the other orcs around him. Räum continued to lead the chanting as he threw a handful of powder into the fire which strengthened the flames. Talyn began tossing the dried plants into the fire. Thick pungent smoke filled the tent, and Leaf did as the orcs around him did and took in deep breaths of the smoke.

Each breath of smoke burned at his throat, and with each exhale he felt his primal nature rising to the surface. The need to hunt, to use teeth and claw to tear, to find strength from fallen prey; Leaf felt his nature reflected in the nature of the orc god.

Räum raised a dagger made of bone and clasped his hand to Talyn’s hand before stabbing the dagger through their joined hands. Talyn’s other hand added a handful of powder to a pot of water, then the two orcs plunged their dagger-joined hands into the water. Räum removed the dagger before both orcs pulled their hands from the water. Räum and Talyn each grabbed a handle of the pot and then tossed the water onto the fire, extinguishing it, before letting out a guttural roar.

The flames died out, and in the darkness, the orcs echoed the roar and Leaf too emitted the primal growl of a cat. He did as the orcs did, fist pounding against his chest, his glaive smacked against the ground, the sounds of both barely heard amidst the many orc fists, war hammers, and axes that all did the same. Talyn opened the door to the hut and led the orcs from the hut. Leaf followed along ready to hunt and ready to be a part of an orc tradition that few outside this tribe had seen.

He soon found himself walking near Talyn and Räum, the of which later seemed so intensely focused it felt wrong to bother him with more questions. He wondered if he even should ask questions.

“Speak, littlest war chief.” Talyn glanced at him.

“Just wondering what happens next.”

“We go deep in the desert, to kill a beast of worth, greater the beast, greater the blessing. Strong connection to War means strong shaman.” Talyn offered a straightforward and clipped explanation and Leaf nodded.

War was the word most often chosen to represent the nameless orc god. An orc worshipped through violence, War appreciated sacrifices, and War’s gift was one of strength. Leaf needed strength, the orc way was the most direct path to becoming what he wanted to be, a warrior.

Talyn seemed to wait for more questions but Leaf asked none. He followed, he watched, and he learned.

A party of orcs, and a feline war chief, deeply entranced in their primal natures set out into the desert for a sacred hunt; to kill a worthy beast and prove their devotion to the orc god and show the strength of the Shaman line within the Dugmaghord clan.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Morning, 10:40am
Location: Shooting Range
Interactions: Nahir @Rodiak


Leo had a favor in mind when he suggested the wager. Had he won he’d have asked Nahir to look out for Charlotte during the dinner she and Duke Vikena were scheduled to have with the Sultan and his family. But the thought would never leave his head. While Thea fared well against the knight, the stranger from House Damien proved more than her match. Had he followed instinct alone, and chosen Verrick, he would’ve won. Perhaps it was a mistake to bet on family, but it was not one he found any regret in.

“A fine set of matches. And your man progressed the furthest, name your favor whenever it suits you.” Leo showed nor felt any trace of resentment at the minor loss; owing a favor to any royal was only a future chance to further ingratiate himself and this was another opportunity to get to know Nahir.

"Your sister is a skillful archer."

This comment from Nahir only brought forth his most genuine smile. It was refreshing to hear his sister recognized for her strengths rather than the often whispered rumors of youthful mistakes.

“How kind of you say.” He said, standing as the matches ended and using the conversation as an opportunity to not clap for Verrick, though he was glad to see a Varian win. “I hope your day brings you as much delight as your company has brought mine.” He added before bowing in the Alidasht manner. His words, while meant to appease the ego of royalty, also came with sincerity. Royalty, and most nobles, could see through hollow compliments, so Leo always kept his honest.

Leo waited for an official dismissal, just as he had with Princess Sadie, before departing. It was more than just maintaining the image of a proper nobleman, these signs of respect were a part of the structures that held society together. Leo believed in order, and he believed in the social hierarchy which kept the order. It all mattered, and it became as instinctual as breathing.

---

Time: Morning, 11am
Location: Athletic Arena
Interactions: none

optional flashback

The already crowded arena continued to pack people in, noble and ignoble alike had all come for the event. There were even other children here, Leo’s mother had certainly made it sound like this was an event only for grown folks. But Leo hadn’t been convinced, he knew his mother just hated anything exciting. Not his dad though, Duke Feralt never once complained about mud in the house, or grass stains on clothes, or the occasional fall from a tree, Leo’s dad always approved of wild adventures. Even more importantly for Leo; his father never made him feel like being a child meant he couldn’t understand the world.

Today his father had decided to take Leo for an adventure, out to see the execution of some vile Caesonian criminal. His mother had gawked at the suggestion, she had tried to convince him he didn’t want to see such things. Like he hadn’t already killed his very own deer, by his own hand, just a year before. She always forgot those things. And Leo was not afraid, only excited to go to something that he’d only ever heard adults speak of. But there were other children here, some even younger than him. Leo wondered if those kids got to have two fun parents, and then he thought about how many more adventures he could’ve had if he too had a fun mother.

At least he had one fun parent. That was why Leo had a caramel-covered apple when he went to see his first execution with his dad, knowing full well his mother would’ve complained the whole time about how much of a mess caramel could make. So Leo ate his apple with a wide grin as his little legs struggled to keep up with his father's long, effortless strides. Duke Feralt stood like a tower over his young son, and on a hot summer day like today, a young Leo found relief in the large shadow he cast.

“So, why are they executing him?” Leo asked as a man was led into the arena with guards on either side of him. The man wore an empty expression, one more like a freshly slain deer than an expression he'd seen on a man before.

“Leo, how do you think a man stays king? How does one man keep so many people in line?” Duke Feralt asked and Leo knew where this was going. Well, kind of. His father was doing that thing again where he answered questions with a different question and that meant Leo was supposed to learn something.

So Leo took a moment to think about his dad’s question. A king’s job was to lead a whole country, so it seemed only obvious that as long as a king did a really good job the people would follow him. “I guess by being real good at it.” Still, Leo felt it was too obvious to be the right answer.

“Does King Edin strike you as a great leader of men?” His father asked, but he knelt to whisper the question, using the quiet voice adults did when they said things children weren’t supposed to hear.

Leo laughed but shook his head, definitely not. His father scowled at the laughter, which was odd because he didn’t normally. His mother scowled at laughter, especially at the dinner table. But Leo didn’t think much about why his father had scowled. He watched as the man, with his hands and feet tightly bound, was dragged closer to the center of the arena and fashioned to a large stake. It was happening, the air in the stadium seemed to buzz in anticipation. One of the guards began to announce the list of crimes the doomed man was guilty of, but Leo’s attention quickly refocused on his father.

“Then love?” Leo took another guess, back home everyone in Varian loved their King. And the Queen too. Enough so that even when the adults in his life spoke of how they disagreed with the king’s rule they eventually ended up agreeing that he was still a very good king. “Because they protect their kingdoms. They are the best of us.” People in Caesonia certainly seemed to love their king, Leo had even once been forced to spend an entire afternoon at a museum all about King Edin. It had been painfully boring.

“Sometimes,” His father agreed. “And those men leave behind a great legacy, history remembers them kindly. But that is a very difficult thing to do.”

Leo nodded, that made sense and he knew these to be things his father often spoke about. He still struggled to see what any of this had to do with executing a criminal.

The guards had given the doomed man space as one approached with a torch. Flames caught the straw beneath the doomed man and reached their way towards flesh. The quiet air carried panicked screams throughout the arena and everything smelled of char. Eventually, the screaming stopped, and the crowd continued to watch the husk burn, but for a brief moment barely a sound was heard above the crackle of the flames.

The scent of the air was stomach-churning, Leo dropped what remained of the caramel apple and wasn’t the least bit sorry to see it roll away. The air felt heavy, the sun dimmer. Leo glanced at his father who still watched the burning from where he knelt, and Leo stayed still and watched the burning too. He was supposed to, he was expected to learn something here. Leo felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise.

“Do you think that is how they rule here?” His father finally spoke, again he used a very quiet voice and Leo shook his head. He understood, here people knelt to King Edin not out of loyalty or love, but out of fear. “And how will this king be remembered?”

“Not well.” Leo understood that much. This was what it looked like when a king ruled through fear. Caesonia was not just a fun place they visited in the summers, it was a much darker place than Varian.

His father nodded in agreement as he stood back up.

The first time Leo had witnessed an execution he’d been too young to understand all of it. He now better understood how King Edin ruled; he chose the easiest path, one of brutality and fear. The public executions, and the immediate willingness to offer up a stable boy as a sacrificial lamb, served as a constant reminder of what would happen to those who stepped out of line. It was effective, for a time, but it would not maintain, and eventually, he would only be remembered for his failings.

Such extreme force could only create opposition. Caesonia was already showing signs of weakness, an unraveling of order. And while Caesonia struggled, Varian would strengthen and maintain. Varian inspired complacency over fear, this was long-lasting. This was the better way.

The crowd today was somber, eyes all fixed on the event and very little noise was heard above the wind which strummed against flags and banners. This doomed man walked towards his end of his own accord with indignant confidence. There was no struggling, no screams nor pleas for mercy, only mismatched eyes that burned with rage.

The same sorts of questions floated about; who was the doomed man, where was he from, what had he done, and how will his life end? Whoever the man was he had not drawn himself a packed crowd, his ending clearly didn’t hold as powerful a draw over some of the other events taking place. Not even important enough for the King or Queen to show an interest.

But the arena held enough of a crowd to see that there were still plenty who saw the value of witnessing such a brutal act. A catharsis of darker and more violent aspects of human nature, to quench the thirst for the old ways and then leave the arena after the execution ready to again strive to live an honorable life. Leo found value in this, it was important to experience all aspects of the world, good and bad, to understand it in its entirety.

Despite how dark an event it was, this held a memory that had been only his father and him.

One perfect summer day his dad had taken him to watch a man die. It had been the first time he had been talked to less like a child and more like an equal, like an heir. He’d been let in on the most important part of his father’s life, the part that was The Duke of Stravy before all else. That day felt important, and Leo had felt important that day too.

It was a strange memory to cherish, but he did, and he found a sense of peace in being here now, on his own, repeating the ritual and waiting for the catharsis.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 11:05 am
Location: Headed to the Entrance Hall
Interactions: Wulfric @SilverPaw

“Really, brother, alcohol in the morning?”

Wulfric seemed to come out of nowhere, or Callum just hadn’t noticed him, he wasn’t paying close attention to anything besides his own thoughts. Wulfric looked entirely displeased, entirely unimpressed with the closest Callum really came to his best efforts and poked at the same flaw that had already been recently picked at by Morrigan.

...can’t function without liquid courage.

And what was so wrong with wanting a little help getting through an already difficult day?

Really, brother, alcohol in the morning?

Didn’t they all have their own ways of getting through the days? Ana got by on naivety, ignorance was her bliss and she could still find enough joy in small things to get by. Auguste had swordsmanship, he’d seen his brother dissolve into a warrior when he fought, and his brother had found a place where he could exist in only the moment. But Callum would never trust himself enough to go there; to let violence become an instinct, a part of him, not with his family’s history. Then there was Wulfric, so tightly wound with secrets and repression that Callum wasn’t even sure who he was. Was their parents' approval really worth that?

They all had something they leaned a little too much into, his was just easier to notice.

“I believe I was instructed, by you, to ‘try and find whatever joy I can in this'?” Callum casually tossed Wulfric’s words back at him. Why should he feel bad about it? Wulfric had started it.

“And surely the fine noblewomen would prefer drunken and jolly to sober and sullen?” He added, but it seemed ignoring Callum was the theme of the day. Wulfric didn’t seem to care what he had to say so Callum didn’t see a reason to take any care with his words.

“Presentable? I think I’m more than presentable for attending this joke of an event. Properly dressed and more than willing to be polite as we are gawked at by bored noblewomen. I hardly think the Alidashti guests sit riddled with anxiety wondering how our dating lives are going this morning. ” Callum continued talking as Wulfric ordered those nearby to make him presentable, and ordered Callum to be on time. “Thought you were the smart one Wulfy, fifteen minutes isn’t going to sober me up any. But sure, make me late, spin it like it’s my fault.” Callum added, but Wulfric was already leaving. Callum was then left alone with a servant charged with the impossible task of sobering him up and making him presentable by Wulfric’s standards. He was led to the nearest washroom.

“Apologies, my brother is extremely unpleasant. If I could trouble you to maybe grab me a cup of coffee, I can try and fix this unfortunate mess.” Callum grinned and gestured to his face, hoping to make the poor servant charged with making him look presentable, feel more at ease. He imagined it had to be nerve-wracking to work for someone so obsessed with perfection as Wulfric.

Callum had hoped for maybe a slight easing of the tension but the servant still looked unsure of how to proceed. Accosting a prince with cold water likely seemed as dangerous as failing to complete Wulfric’s demands.

So Callum filled the sink with cold water and plunged his face in willingly. It provided a temporary shock to the system, enough to wake him up a bit more. He glanced at the servant, ”see, working on it.” He assured her, and she left, likely to grab him the requested cup of coffee.

Callum spent the rest of his time attempting to fix his hair in a way that Wulfric would find passable. He wasn’t sure what else to do, he looked how he felt; exhausted, half dead, miserable, there wasn’t much about that he could fix.

Eventually, the servant returned with a cup of coffee which Callum accepted and he mostly stared into the cup while breathing in its scent.

“It works better if you drink it, your highness.” The servant spoke up, and Cal nodded and drank the warm liquid.

“So it does.” He answered with a nod. The servant then handed him a bottle of cologne and which Cal also accepted. He sprayed himself, perhaps a bit excessively, with a scent of bergamot and oak. “Smart thinking, thank you.” He handed the bottle of cologne back to her.

“How do I look now? Sober as a churchmouse?” He asked leaving the washroom still swaying as he walked.

“Better.” But not great, far from perfect. Callum filled in the rest. He knew it and appreciated the honesty of the simple answer.

“If you have time maybe you could help me out with a small favor?” He asked, and the servant nodded. Callum led her back to his room where she waited by the door as he dragged the trolly of food Riona had brought up. “I don’t have time to eat all this but I’d hate for food to go to waste. Maybe you, or someone you know, can make sure this is all properly enjoyed?” He asked leaving the trolley outside as he relocked the door to his room. “If anyone gives you any trouble for it, let me know, and I’ll handle it, personally.” He offered before leaving the servant with the trolley of food and heading towards the entrance hall.

He arrived a couple of minutes past eleven but Edin was not around yet so that was just as good as being on time. Time in Sorian revolved around Edin, whenever his old man happened to show up was exactly right on time no matter how late it seemed to everyone else. So Callum and his half-drunk cup of coffee were ushered to his seat as the youngest of the royal line scanned the crowd that had already formed.

The sight of the crowd made him feel nauseous and uneasy. Too many unfamiliar faces, eyes shining with dreams of ambitious social climbing, so many people who desired everything he hated about his own life without even an inkling of everything that’d be giving up to have it. He sat in his assigned seat near his brothers without any idea of how long this would take, how long he’d be forced into fake, polite, small talk with no sure sign of relief in sight. He looked around, hoping to spot a familiar face, at least one person he could look forward to talking to, but saw only the sea of the unfamiliar.

Callum brought the coffee near his face, not drinking it, just breathing in the smell until it was the only thing he focused on. He was pretty sure he’d overdone it with the cologne and now it was giving him a headache. Or maybe it was the stress, or lack of food, or last night. He should’ve left his head in the sink, and breathed in icy water until he merged with the abyss. Not a helpful thought. He reminded himself. After this he’d be in the clear, he could find whatever activity was happening as far away from the palace as he could, get some fresh air, feel normal for a bit. Soon, he just had to be patient. Deep breaths, the smell of coffee, and a bit of freedom in an hour or two.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 10:40 am
Location: Callum’s Room
Interactions: Riona and Morrigan @JJ Doe


It was easier for Callum to think about and understand what he didn't want and what he hated than it was to know what he did want for himself. So that was where he started. He took a deep breath in as he thought about the surname Danrose and all that it had come to mean for him.

A parasitic lineage that had ruled for too long, only ever taking and never giving back anything more than scraps. He would not allow himself to be part of that, the family name was far too tainted ever be anything he wanted for himself.

Then he breathed out, a deep exhale, as he imagined that name, and all the poison that went with it, leaving him. And who exactly was Callum without titles or his surname? He knew what he didn’t want to be; a coward or a parasite and certainly never a monster. It was harder to nail down exactly what he did want to be. He focused in on his breathing, on the words he’d carved into his wall, and what he had to change about himself first.

The first thing that came to mind was cowardly. He couldn’t worry about provoking the wrath of parents he had decided weren’t even worth calling family. Useless also came to mind, he needed to do more than irritate Edin, he needed to crawl his way beneath the surface and tear down everything that mattered to the rotted monarch; his legacy, his image, and his power. Then there was his weakness, another thing to rid himself of, Callum could not relent, he couldn’t stop focusing on this until he made real progress. Sorian and her people would have to come before anything else in his life.

It had to be all Callum, no Danrose. He had to find ways to make the rest of the world see just how vile the Danrose legacy was, bring every dark secret they kept hidden into the harsh light; expose everything that was rotten in his family tree. He’d have to hope it could be enough, that he could find enough people to care and then turn outrage into action. And he couldn’t do it alone, he’d have to find the right allies, and at least there he had an idea of where to start.

His thoughts were interrupted as the doors of his room opened. A brief moment of dread as he first assumed it was guards sent to escort him to the prince’s court which gave way to relief as he saw Riona.

“I have brought the brunch you requested, Your Royal Highness.”

“Brunch? Wonderful, thanks.” He answered, polite but detached. Relief had vanished at the use of the title; she was clearly not alone. Gods please don’t let it mother, Cal thought. No, Alibeth. Not mother, he reminded himself. Even though it was not Alibeth he was no more pleased to see Lady Morrigan pop out from behind Riona. If there were one word he’d use to describe Morrigan, cloying, would be it. Everything about her was crafted in excess and it left an unpleasant taste in the air around her.

“Good morning, Alaric. How are we feeling? Better?” She asked.

“Better? No, unconscious was certainly better.” Callum muttered, unsure if she didn’t hear him or chose to ignore his comment. Either way, she began ranting about the wall. His wall. In his room. Vandalism? Ridiculous. This was his room.

Riona’s reaction was different, a brief spark of a smile, a real one not the forced ones the palace staff always wore, and most importantly one that approved of the wall. Strange, he had expected to only hear how stupid of a move it was from anyone who saw it. That was all he’d come to expect from those around him, to only ever hear how poor his actions and choices were. Even from the people who offered the most support, he still found encouragement or approval a surprise.

“Art project, still in progress.” He whispered, and there was a sense of pride in his work. He kept most of his attention on Morrigan; confused as to why she was here, what she was doing, and why was she so fixated on his room. Re-decorate? Absolutely not.

“No I like it the way it is. Why-” She just kept talking, and touching things which kept him distracted even as he heard Riona add something about his liver needing a break. “Then I’d have a lazy liver, who wants that?” He joked as she gently removed his hand from the bottle without any hint of a fight from him. He wished she didn’t worry about him, there were better uses of her time. Like worrying about herself.

His attention snapped back to Morrigan who had continued to poke and prod her way around his room. He didn’t like it, someone just breaching his space like this. But she didn’t stop at just that, now she was rummaging through the fireplace as she continued to point out everything she didn’t like in his room.

Now, what is she doing? There was no way she knew. Maybe, maybe she could smell that he’d burnt something in here, but he wasn’t going to get paranoid. The evidence was gone, all burnt to ash, nothing to worry about. But what if she asked what he’d burnt? I tried my hand at writing poetry and it turned out so embarrassingly awful I had to burn it immediately. That sounded believable. He’d go with that.

She didn’t ask. Morrigan continued poking about at his things, now leaving traces of soot on everything she touched. It wasn’t so much that he hated people touching his stuff, he hated the invasion, by someone he didn’t trust, into someplace that was meant to be his sanctuary.

“Can I help you find something?” He asked, but again his words were either not heard or ignored outright. She had clearly either entirely lost her mind or was actively looking for something. How could she know? Had Edin or Alibeth sent her here for this? Surely if either of them had any suspicion they wouldn’t send Morrigan to obviously rifle around in front of me? Would they? Was it some bizarre mind game? This was brewing a far worse headache than any attempts to recall last night had.

Riona mentioned Darryn and his attention turned back to her. She’d asked when, he was guessing she meant the execution but Morrigan had shifted her attention from spreading soot around to harping on the color scheme of the room.

“It’s not,” He glanced at Riona, hoping she knew what he meant, then back towards Morrigan, “too dark, the curtain are just closed.” If she wants brighter colors she should snoop around Ana’s room. He thought. Morrigan, who seemed utterly entranced by the sound of her own voice, was certainly making a show of being distracted but he wasn’t letting his guard down. No one in this family could be trusted. Except maybe Ana. And Auguste. But that was it for now. Wulfric was still too much of an unknown to try and trust him.

Riona announced that they could leave and, finally, Morrigan stopped touching everything in his room. It was a small relief, to know he’d soon be rid of the intrusive and uninvited Lady, but he still had no clue why she was here bringing him brunch with Riona. Or why she was snooping around but these weren’t things he could answer now, so he had no choice but to worry about it later.

“There’re plenty of ladies who find brooding men irresistible. Go get them, stud.” She pinched his face, then kissed his forehead, internally he cringed. Callum faked a smile and nodded just glad she was finally leaving. Then Morrigan turned to Riona. “Don’t be so cruel. There are people in this world who can’t function without liquid courage.” Can’t function? That was just rude. He didn’t bother to hide that he took offense to that comment.

“No, she’s right, can’t expect to impress the ladies of the court if I can’t even stand up,” Callum spoke as they both left. Morrigan needed a new hobby. And he needed to remember to lock his own door.

Callum looked at the offering of food he had neither asked for nor that he had any desire to eat. He should eat, he wasn’t sure he actually name the last time he’d eaten anything of substance, but everything about the day so far had killed any trace of an appetite far more swiftly than Alibeth had tried to have a stable hand killed.

Callum took one last drink from the bottle before putting it back in its spot on his desk. Then he made his way to the entrance hall and his gait held a drunken sway. He locked the door to his room behind him and placed the key in a pocket close to his chest.

Avalia

Time: Afternoon
Location: River Fairy Kingdom - Treeant Inn
Interactions: Yuka @princess, Aiko @CitrusArms
Mentions: Xavier @Potter
Armor: Adamantine Half-Plate and Steel Chain Mail (currently in his room)
Weapons: Apricus; a Mithril longsword, a steel sheild with barrier charm (currently in his room), and a steel dagger.
Mount: Cow, a black and white Oak Horse (at the stable)
Equipment: Bow and quiver of arrows. Small backpack: 1 large red potion, 3 medium blue potions, 3 medium red potions, darksight glasses, wayfinder, and fire kit. A transmission bracelet (connected to Augus) and a pouch of amas.

---

“No, no, we are not splitting up,” Orias shook his head, confused about how they’d all taken his speech on sticking together and decided it meant fracturing the group. Maybe that was his fault, speeches weren’t his thing, he was the wrong Biren for that, but he could recognize a good idea when he saw one. “But an assigned hunting buddy, that’s even better. Yuka will keep Xavier in her sights at all times. There are plenty of things that run amuck in the forests that have nothing to do with dark elves, demons, and war; we should not add unnecessary risk to this.” He added.

“Aiko is right, Xavier, diversity in your weapons training would be beneficial, you should take them up this.” Orias voiced his approval on the matter, then glanced from Yuka to Xavier again. Another thing that had not escaped the elf’s notice was how quickly Xavier had named Yuka as his partner and his eagerness to split off alone with her. “And if you and Yuka need time alone to make puppy dog eyes at one another I can assure you I have no interest in spying on that.” He added with a slight grin.

He soon felt Aiko’s hand upon his shoulder and the gentle breeze of the fan they waved. “I imagine you make an exceptional companion in just about any situation.” He replied and simply nodded a response to their next question indicating that he was ready to head out. Once the group was prepared to leave Orias led them from the comfort of the bustling fae city and into the quiet seclusion so easily found deep within the forests.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Morning, 10am
Location: Shooting Range
Interactions: Nahir @Rodiak
Mentions: Verrick @Aerandir, Thea @Tae

Leo briefly noticed Nahir’s gaze upon his hands and panic briefly rose. I missed a spot. Sitting here with a Shehzadi with peasant filth somewhere on my hands. One day into the summer and we’ve all already gone and offended her entire family on every occasion and I can’t even wash my hands right. The last thing he wanted was to add any further insult to Nahir or her family and here he was, sitting with royalty without having managed even wash his hands correctly. Mistakes like that reflected poorly not just on him, but more importantly on his family, his home, and his country. Leo knew he had to do better.

"I thought that mysteries and surprises were the national sports of Sorian. It almost feels like home."

“Well as a child I would’ve sworn the national sport was finding the best tree to climb but I think you're right, Caesonia does love her mysteries.” Leo agreed, thankful that her attention had left his hands. Perhaps the infraction had simply been forgiven.

As Thea’s name was announced Leo let out riotous applause, the very princess of Caesonia and Lady Zarai were both making such a scene for those they cheered for that Leo only felt it right to ensure his sister received the same support. He gave Sir Mathias quieter applause, the respectable knight was certainly a shining example of Varian values, but he was understandably biased as to who he wished to see victorious in this match.

“That’s my sister.” Leo said with a proud smile as the match between Thea and Mathias began. He considered Nahir’s suggestion of a bet for a moment before answering. “I’d never bet against family, so my choice is clear.” He added.

Had Leo wanted to choose who thought had the best odds of winning, Verrick likely the best choice, but he hardly wanted to bet on a man he couldn’t stand. Loyalty was more important than winning a bet anyway and he did believe Thea stood a good chance. “Could always wager something more interesting than coin, like a favor?” He offered.

Avalia

Time: Afternoon
Location: The Nest
Interactions: Helio @Princess, Barboda @Alivefalling, Tigerlily @Potter, & a New NPC
Equipment: A cutlass, 2 knives, 1 dagger, a spyglass, a wayfinder, a pouch of amas, and various jewelry.

---

“Got plenty here lookin’ fer adventure, plenty lookin’ fer an easy way out of this city. But that ain’t who we’re lookin’ fer. What we need is folks who ain’t just lookin fer something easy. Folks who can sail, who can endure the seas, and willin’ to kill fer coin. That’s the sort we need.” Nym replied to Helio. Even a cursory glance around The Nest was enough to know that the vast majority of patrons here would make not just poor sailors, but lousy pirates as well. Too many in Roshmi slunk about in fear, hesitated, and tempered their actions to appease the occupying dark elves, and these were not men who would stand tall and face down a man like Ardyn and his crew. They needed to find those who walked the streets of this city without fear, and the added pressures in Roshmi would only make those of worth stand out more.

The entrance doors of The Nest opened, and a pair of orcs, one male and one female, entered and continued to hold the doors as another, this man a demifrog, strode through. The orcs let go of the doors, allowing them to close behind them, and then the two orcs followed a step behind the frogman, one at each flank. The two orcs remained vigilant, their eyes constantly scanning and studying the faces of those around them, alert for signs of threat. The demi-frog's attention settled on only Nym and those around him, just as focused and alert as the orcs but rather than searching for threats, the frogman searched for signs of worth.

“Now that there's Barnabus Bull, the man who made a pirate outta me. Went ‘n’ got himself a bit of coin and settled all the way up here to run rackets on land. Bleedin’ waste of a good pirate if ya ask me.” Nym shook his head but he’d been planting his sea tales about hoping to lure the old sailor out. He stood up and closed the distance between him and Barns.

“Heard some of yer tales floatin’ round here.” The demi-frog eyed Nym with the same look of disappointment Nym had seen the last time they’d parted ways, like a father at his wits end with a child intent on following the wrong path.

“Have ya now?” Nym flashed his teeth in a grin and shrugged.

“Aye, ‘n’ coy don’t suit ya none. Roshmi’s become nothing more than a pit of waste an’ ya’ve gone an’ washed yourself up ‘ere? Willingly? Thought I’d taught ya better.” The frogman spit upon the floor of the tavern. One of the orcs grunted and nodded.

“An’ what better place to find those who hunger for freedom than in men denied it?" Nym repeat words Barns had once said before continuing, "I got me a boat, a real beauty, and the starts of a fine crew, and-” Nym found himself interrupted as Barns snorted out a laugh.

“Am I to be impressed by that sorry lot?” Barns eyed up the group Nym had come from and laughed again. “Ain’t that the Scourge of The River Kingdom of himself? Heard yer sailin' with a bounty hunter now too. Not a proper pirate in that lot, always figured ya had more sense than this.”

“A sorry lot that faced down Ardyn’s men once and fixing to do it again. An’ this time, it’ll be rather final. Tell me Barns, ya still wanna kill a king?” Nym asked as if it were a question but already knew the answer.

“Got a worthy fight ‘ere too.” Barnabus answered but it lacked the same conviction Barns once had when he'd spoken of ending the reign of the pirate king, the fight in Roshmi was now but one of many lesser fights the frogman had settled for.

Still the same old Barns, always looking for a worthy fight over a profitable one. Today, however, the demi-frogs odd moral compass served Nym just fine.

“Ya mean a losing cause? Aye, now that sounds like a fine plan for a man with no future. Washed up on shore, fixin’ to die for the land folks? That ain’t us. Float until we sink, free until our last breath. Ain’t that what ya taught me, there’s no freedom ‘ere, mate.” Nym shook his head, it was his turn to show disappointment. The frogman glanced at the orcs at his flanks and nodded for them to move about freely through The Nest as he further considered Nym's offer.

“Fixin’ for Ardyn is it then?” The frogman said slowly, and Nym knew this was an opportunity the old sailor couldn’t turn down. Nym dropped the embellished sea tales, offering the full and honest tale of how The Harem had gathered a crew of misfits, their encounter with Ardyn’s men, and the death of their first captain the human Lizzie, all whispered in hushed tones.

“... An’ my word and hand to Cari, we ain’t lettin’ up till that bastard’s dead.” Nym promised. While Barns was tough as nails on the outside, he had more morals than a pirate needed, and Nym knew the frogman well enough to know that this was the fight he desired more than anything.

“Cap’n Nym, then, is it?” The demi-frog with a soft smile that seemed out of place on his tired, worn, face. “I think I like the sounds o’ that, ‘bout time I tested out the ol’ sea legs again anyhow.” Barns signaled for the orcs to return and, drinks in hand, they made their way back to the frogman.

“Welcome to the sorry lot, ya gonna introduce me to yer friends?” Nym asked.

“This here's Rak Vein Marauder and Vala Bone Shatterer, gotta love orc names eh?” Barns chuckled as he introduced his lackeys. “They can fight, they can sail, ‘n’ loyal so long as they get their fair share of coin.” The pair of orcs gave only a nod and grunt in agreement. “Now who exactly ya got workin' fer ya?” Barns asked, following Nym back to the group he'd come from.

"Barboda, Helio, and Tigerlily." Nym said gesturing at each of them before turning to gesture at Barnabus and the orcs. "Our newest recruits; Rak Vein Marauder, Vala Bone Shatterer, and ol' Barns, who'll be ensurin' that The Harem is wholly ready to take on Ardyn, each of ya is to go an' find yerself a recruit who can, at least, be trusted in a fight, and preferably know their way 'round a ship. We'll reconvene at the docks tonight."

Nym let Barns know where to find The Harem, and the frogman stayed long enough to entertain any question directed his way from the others but after that, he and the two orcs would be headed to the docks.