Time: Evening Location: Gaurav Village: Phia’s Room Interactions: Viola@13org Mentions: Phia@princess Equipment: A pack with some supplies, seeds (in his pockets), a small knife, a mask that hangs from his belt, a weapon with a shifting charm that is either a sickle or a glaive, and a shield/drum with an unbreakable charm.
The swing of a door set off a symphony of wind chimes as light danced through suspended crystals and fireflies flew about as if this were a nightclub built just for them. Or perhaps it was a museum; even more small critters scurried about in jarred habitats carefully dangling from above and every surface was filled with bones, rocks, gems, and geodes. Flowers and foliage grew in through every crack in wooden walls and floorboards, further filling the room with the scents and sounds of the earth.
A room of carefully organized chaos, everything placed in a manner that showed off each item’s beauty. To look around in here was to find one’s eye drawn all about the room with every piece of her collection offering insights into who Phia was now. Someone who welcomed the natural world into her space, who cared for small creatures, who found beauty in simple things; someone not so different from the Ophelia he remembered. A room filled with life just as Ophelia had always been. A room that collected the bones of the dead, someone who does not need the world's darkness kept hidden from them, an embrace of all aspects of nature.
Phia’s room was an eclectic array of wonders, and so Cyrus took his time studying each small wonder after Phia left. He too wished to speak with Menzai but now was not the time for difficult conversations with the injured wolf. Nor was it the time to converse with Viola about the day’s difficulties, not only because insects could never quite be trusted to keep secrets but Viola too seemed in need of the quiet. Sunny became the proud recipient of many head pats and ear scratches as Cyrus attempted to calm his nervous energy.
Soon the sunlight that danced through the window was replaced by moonlight, and even as the swinging chair gently rocked him beneath the glow of fireflies, sleep was not granted. The weight of holding a secret bore down and left a hollow nagging feeling in him. His thoughts drifted to childhood nights spent in a treehouse surrounded by his siblings, a time when there was little distance at all between any of them. Viola’s request for a walk was a welcomed reprieve from the wallowing.
“I don’t like keeping this secret. It feels like lying.” Cyrus quietly admitted to Viola once they were outside.
Time: Evening Location: Masquerade Ball: Damien Estate Interactions: Charlotte @princess Daily Misfortune: An annoyingly high-pitched voice and random fits of laughter. Predictable Costume: Leo the Lion
“My voice? Sometime this morning, hardly worth worrying about, like any cold I’m sure it’s due to pass soon enough.” The sooner the better. Leo wasn’t entirely sure if he was attempting to convince Charlotte or himself that his symptoms would clear up soon. And what if it doesn’t? The worry slithered about. What if it’s permanent? These were useless thoughts, it wouldn’t matter, if it didn’t resolve on its own he would just find some way to fix it, he was not without means.
He watched as Count Damien strutted about, making an entirely ridiculous display meant to intimidate. It did not work on Leo who found himself wishing the man could pause the dramatics and instead walk a little faster. But Calbert did not, in fact he only slowed his pace and flashed a sneer their way. Leo rolled his eyes,
“See, the Count is a coward, show him no fear and he turns the other way, off to attempt to intimidate some lesser noble no doubt. But we are not lesser nobles are we?” Leo whispered, grinning, as he watched Calbert disappear into the crowd. The Count drew further away from earshot and Leo felt the only thing left to do was alleviate the tension Calbert had tried so hard to build.
“I’m surprised he even has the guts to parade himself about; Mr. Family man, can’t keep his home safe, he’s got some bastard running around town, and have you seen Lady Violet recently? Absolutely ghoulish and -” He glanced at Charlotte who was no longer seemed present, her eyes held an odd distant look as her hand reached for something unseen.
“Charlotte?” She couldn’t really be this bothered by Calbert, could she? “Now I am concerned, are you alright?”
Time: Night Location: Edge of Lover’s Lake-Roman Ceremony Interactions:
Callum arrived dressed as a shadow, having combed through his closet for dark clothing devoid of royal ornament. Intentional, because as much as he wanted to spend the night only sharing in and celebrating Roman’s customs, he needed to use tonight to search for the secrets hidden in the shadows of his home. The forest, covered in darkness, would provide cover and the majority of attention would now lay on the Damien estate. No better night to search for dark and twisted secrets to drag into the light and watch them writhe from the exposure.
In the moments before the ceremony began, he walked, followed closely by guards who hung about like preying hawks, and tried to see all the things Ari saw when she looked at the forests. He even removed his shoes and left them somewhere that would quickly be forgotten, as it seemed many here had foregone footwear for the celebration.
The attempt only morphed, as shadows cast by trees swayed and danced beneath moonlight, he only looked for the best routes of escape. A plan slowly etched its way into his mind as any attempt to find enjoyment vanished.
Soon Roman, clad in a kilt and adorned with the bones of a bear, stood high above the rest as the rules for the night were relayed. He listened and he scanned the crowd that surrounded Roman. Ana was here, and Cal took care to avoid her, not out of lingering animosity but why repair a bridge he would one day need to burn? He kept his head turned away from her; better to not have to talk, to not have to feel the burden of an unvoiced apology, and to let that connection die off naturally.
As Roman and Mina prepared for the ceremony, Callum inevitably found himself holding a red cup offered by the Varian Shaman. Of course, he wanted to see, he wanted to experience as much of this as he could and there wasn’t a drink Cal wouldn’t try at least once.
Laughter rang out in bursts, clear and sharp. He kept to himself, stayed inside his head; a better option than to risk ruining the good time of others with everything that lived inside his head with him.
A fire ragged, its warmth full and bright. Callum drank of an earthy brew that unsettled his stomach even more than what he was used to. He watched people, from all walks of life, come together as equals and wished he could feel hope in seeing it happen even if for a night.
Roman and the Shaman began a chant, conveying something beautiful that lingered just beyond his understanding but close enough to appreciate, with the simplest of words.
Time: Morning Location: Southwest of Roshmi City Interactions: Rue@Potter, Bardulf@Lava Alckon, Bridgette@Tae, Mister Luum@FunnyGuy, and Zeva@Pink Khione Equipment:Sword, hunting knife, a backpack with supplies, and a stoat named Raze who naps in the pocket of his vest.
For a brief moment, everything settled into peace as the group sat around and enjoyed their snacks. While they were all quiet, Rue’s silence held a more somber tone, devoid of even the sound of honeyed toast being enjoyed. Bowyn’s eyes followed Rue’s, catching sight of the same group of dark elves. Their laughter echoed around, destroying the peace with the same ease dark elves destroyed everything around them. It sounded no different from the laughter they unleashed as they killed and maimed and tortured.
The enemy, weapons outlined beneath their clothes. Bowyn’s posture became unyielding, his focus on them was sharp and cold.
The enemy, the source of his pain, Rue’s pain, Avalia’s pain. And they laughed.
The enemy, walking away, allowed to go about their lives, to continue laughing. He exhaled a long cold breath that fogged against Roshmi’s warm air.
His attention snapped back to Rue as she turned and looked at him with a smile. His expression softened but he could not return the smile. Instead, he just put one arm around Rue until Luum and Bridgette joined them and managed to lighten the mood.
Somehow Mister Luum managed not to choke on the damn-near entire piece of honeyed toast he shoved into his mouth. Unfortunately, not even food could prevent Luum from continuing his nonsense. The Luumineer’s? Bowyn snorted and rolled his eyes as the elf continued yammering on. Once Luum finished answering his own long string of questions, which Bowyn suspected was really just an excuse for the elf to talk about his favorite subject, Bardulf surprisingly volunteered to answer them as well. Forced group bonding; great.
“Favorite color? Also blue.” He looked at Rue, “Like your eyes.” A faint smile returned. “Sexual preferences and kinks?” He looked at Luum for a second and shrugged. “None that would involve you.” He thought over the rest of Luum’s random string of questions. “I like hunting as well, fishing too,” he looked at Bardulf with a nod. “And my home, the smell of the forest, the crunch of snow, looking out and seeing the vastness of it all. I dislike those who are unkind to stoats, guess that’s also a pet peeve.” He shot a glance at Zeva, but he said more as a light jab than a condemnation.
Bowyn paused to think about the other questions Luum had tossed around. Fears and beliefs sat unanswered and he wasn’t going to offer up anything that could be too easily used against him, only the shared fear that he imagined anyone who wanted to stand against the dark elves shared. “I fear that without decisive action our shared threat will continue to spread ruin through Avalia until there is nothing left worth saving and I believe there’s only one sure way to prevent that. That’s my life goal; make sure no future generations have to deal with the dark and malevolent creatures we deal with now.” Having answered Luum’s questions, Bowyn took a large bit of honey toast as Raze climbed down from the fairy’s shoulder and inspected the food on the table. The stoat quickly scarfed down a handful of greedy bites from a piece of toast, chewing it in a manner that showed his disapproval of the snack.
“Want better food.” Beedy eyes stared at Bowyn as if the fairy kept a pocket full of dead mice on the chance that Bowyn’s food wasn’t stoat approved.
Debts owed. As Bowyn stared back at the stoat he realized he’d forgotten a question. He owed his freedom to the always hungry stoat who’d helped him escape a dark elf prison but he wasn’t going to volunteer that either. He’d have to find a stall that sold roasted rabbit or something for the little guy after they were done here.
“Oh debts owed. That’s a funny one, officially one could say I still owe a debt to society but since I don’t acknowledge the false king, I don’t think that counts.” He added.
“How ‘bout you Ears? Your life’s purpose really just to buy some new knives and have an adventure?” He asked Zeva.
Time: Evening Location: Masquerade Ball: Damien Estate Interactions: Charlotte @princess Daily Misfortune: An annoyingly high-pitched voice and random fits of laughter. Predictable Costume: Leo the Lion
Whatever it was Charlotte was going to express her concerns about was lost amidst the uncontrollable giggling. Dozens of eyes from masked faces bore down on them, the heat of their collective gaze as unrelenting as the summer sun. That heat only intensified as more heads turned and Leo’s laughter only grew louder. Calculated and precise footsteps drew nearer as Charlotte’s face turned from one softened with concern to a look of true dread. The odd expression quickly vanished as she grabbed his arm and laughed along with him.
Oh no! Is this contagious?
"Oh I still cannot believe you ate that WEEK OLD CHEESE to impress those girls! Hahaha!"
A truly perplexing statement, as Leo had certainly not eaten any old cheese nor was he aware that anyone was impressed by cheese-eating, and doubly so if it involved rotten cheese. As abruptly as a startled person stops hiccuping; a confused Leo stopped giggling.
“What? Cheese? Why would that-” He again noticed the stares and the approach of a disgruntled-looking Count Damien. Not only was he making an embarrassing scene, he had managed to attract the attention of Charlotte’s least favorite count and she was now trying to pull him away from Calbert’s path. “Oh right, yes, I proved both my daring and iron stomach.” He added, loudly enough for onlookers to overhear.
Although the mask hid it well, Leo felt the warmth of embarrassment rising, reddening his face. He kept his feet planted, he would not be hiding from Count Damien, it wasn’t like he’d broken any Caesonian laws by laughing at a party.
“What’s he going to do, kick me out of his party? I’ll buy a different mask and be back within the hour.” He dared a quick glance at Calbert whose path seemed set on crossing his. “If you’d rather talk with a different count I believe I spotted Hendrix somewhere over there.” He nodded in the direction he’d last seen Fritz. “And I’d be more than happy to ensure Calbert gives you no trouble tonight.”
It occurred to Leo that not only was his face hidden behind a mask but his voice was obscured as well. Hidden behind the lion mask’s muzzle was a smirk of mischievous intent. How well did Calbert even know Leo, even remember him? Perhaps a masquerade paired with a dreadful not-quite-a-cold meant the unforeseen benefit of anonymity.
Time: Evening Location: Masquerade Ball: Damien Estate Interactions: Charlotte @princess and definitely not Kazu ??? @samreaper Daily Misfortune: An annoyingly high-pitched voice and random fits of laughter. Predictable Costume: Leo the Lion
From beneath the golden visage of the lion mask, a pair of human eyes brightened at the sound of a familiar voice. “When walking into a lion’s den, dress accordingly.” A voice that was most unbecoming of a lion mused from beneath the mask.
“Charlotte,” Leo dropped into a graceful bow, as if in the presence of true royalty and not simply an equal dressed as fae royalty. “Or should I say Your Grace, I appear to be in the presence of a fairy queen?” He said it like a question but the wings were enough of a clue for the amateur detective. The unnatural pitch of his voice, a constant source of agitation throughout the day, caused him to pause and clear his throat despite knowing it cured nothing. “I also seem to have picked up an odd cold, maybe an allergy to Sorian’s climate.” He added with a shrug. It was nothing. It would be an awkward and somewhat humorous story in no time. Leo just had to keep reminding himself of that.
Before he could add anything else a servant approached and had the nerve to make an attempt to exchange pleasantries. The compliment toward his slippers was met with an obscured raise of an eyebrow. If a servant approved of his slippers, they were the wrong choice for tonight. Shit, should’ve tried to squeeze in a shopping trip. Leo mentally kicked himself for the mistake. He said nothing to the servant but took one of the offered glasses of bubbly wine.
“Offly chatty servant.” Leo noted once the man had gone. “Dreadful excuse for a mustache too. Here I thought it was only the palace that scrapped up servants from the bottom of the barrel.” He whispered it with a slight chuckle. “Ah, and look, now Count Hendrix is chatting up the servant.” There was obvious disapproval in his tone, mismatched with the cartoonishly squeaky voice.
His eyes moved to Count Damien as he entered the masquerade. “Speaking of mystery, I caught some strange observations at today’s tea party.” Leo, intended to pause, a comment on the ridiculous glasses Hendrix had taken to wearing caught in his throat, and instead the dreadful uncontrollable giggle fit manifested itself once again. The uproarious fit of laughter from a lion-masked guest quickly followed Count Damien’s entrance.
Time: Morning’s are for rescuing Malachi! Location: River Port; Liar of the Spiders Interactions: Malachi@princess, Jun@JJ Doe, Kenia@Tae Equipment: A halberd, (always with him) hunting knife, and half-plate armor (left in the room).
A flash of light burned his eyes. The scent of fresh blood wafted forward from the direction of the spider. Good, good, kill the spider. The two elves had this and they would make sure Jun and the child survived. That was what mattered. Malachi was shouting at him with disappointment; Zion had let the elven leader down. He tried to shout back but his apology came out as panicked snarls. More light flashed, it was too bright to see around him. Zion had to move, move or die; he had to get up and away from the spider. He tried, only to stumble back to the ground.
His arm didn’t work. It only hurt. Chew it off. Chew it off. Teeth gnashed at the air as the feral instincts fought to take over. Zion struggled to keep reminding himself not to bite at his arm, not to get the venom near his mouth.
The spider’s dying shrieks brought only a moment of satisfaction before Zion found himself jerked upwards. His useless arm dangled beneath him, the other arm flailed wildly, claws extended, as he tried to slash away at the webbing of the second spider. In his movements, he caught sight of the many-eyed monster tucked away in the forest’s canopy. Zion let loose a roar that transformed every bit of agony into fury. If the spider wished to make a meal of the lion, he would ensure the spider was biting off more than it could chew.
Time: Morning to Early Afternoon Location: Guesthouse to Count Calbert's house/ballroom Interactions: Here goes Leo with the shoes again... Daily Misfortune: An annoyingly high-pitched voice and random fits of laughter. Predictable Costume: Leo the Lion
A sharp intake of breath gave way to a long, exasperated sigh. Although Leo’s ruined shoes had, technically, been replaced with new shoes, none of them could be described as desirable. Much like a wine glass filled with nothing but a sip, Riona had done what was asked and yet, it would have been less irritating if she’d simply done nothing at all. Instead of exact replacements, or as close as possible, there was now a display of tacky footwear, nowhere near suitable for a future Duke. All manner of hideous colors and repulsive patterns assaulted his eyes. Some particular egregious sandals were adorned with jewels that even a drunk could pick out as being fake from across the street.
So handful by handful, Leo tossed the array of brightly colored high-heeled shoes and wooden clogs into the hallway. Each pair of shoes skipped and clattered across the hallway floor and it wasn’t long before the hallway right outside of his room looked like a tornado of ugly shoes had spun through and left an unsightly trail of debris in its wake. The mess that now sat outside his room was not Leo’s problem, but the shoe buyer’s, who lacked both sense and taste. Riona could deal with either the cleanup or the complaints of whoever might happen to trip over the mess. He could admit, if only to himself, that this was his mistake; to trust such a clearly incompetent servant, who was clearly a fan of malicious compliance, with even a simple task was an oversight.
The only thing that didn’t wind up tossed down the hallway was a pair of fuzzy lion slippers, which didn’t look expensive enough for Leo’s taste but they did fit his costume for the masquerade ball, sort of, and were by far the least unappealing option. A red and gold adorned suit paired with fuzzy lion slippers, a whimsical touch to show he did not take life too seriously. At least that’s what Leo told himself, and the slippers were far less concerning than the strange affliction that had affected his voice.
In addition to the suit and slippers was a large lion mask, complete with a golden mane that intermingled with his own red hair. At least from the ankles up, Leo’s outfit was a clear display of opulence. Once dressed and ready he headed out to Count Damien’s home for tonight’s masquerade ball, his tiny notebook with observations from the tea party tucked away in a pocket in case he ran into Charlotte there. As he walked through the hallway he occasionally kicked a few shoes further down the hallway, spreading the mess further with his delightfully comfortable fuzzy lion slippers.
Time: Morning Location: Southwest of Roshmi City Interactions: Rue@Potter, Bardulf@Lava Alckon, Bridgette@Tae, Mister Luum@FunnyGuy, and Zeva@Pink Khione Equipment:Sword, hunting knife, a backpack with supplies, and a stoat named Raze who naps in the pocket of his vest.
“Lose a wing huh? I think I’d rather lose a leg, flying beats running any day.” Bowyn teased as he walked alongside Rue. “But I guess we’ll have to settle for not losing Bardulf, wouldn’t to run out of limbs to gamble with too early.” He added with a small smile as he looked over the options at the small bakery. Honey toast was the cheapest option and that made his choice easy.
The peaceful break for a snack was soon broken by Mister Luum shouting about ears. Zeva’s ears. An outburst that seemed to come out of nowhere but considering the source it wasn’t surprising either. Bowyn looked at Luum, then at Zeva, and shrugged. “You do have big ears.” He said in a neutral tone, neither an insult nor a compliment. He wondered for a moment if large ears meant better hearing before it was his turn to order.
“Two honeyed toast.” He paused, his stomach growled; he was definitely hungrier than two slices of toast. “And an alaberry custard.” He added after another moment of thought. He thanked the baked and stepped aside so Bardulf could order.
Once he got his food, Bowyn held the small bowl of custard in one hand and cupped his other hand over the top. It was too hot in Roshmi, it was too hot just about anywhere south of home. As he thought about his village, about the crisp air and near-constant blanketing of snow, he felt the familiar chill of his frost magic. First, his hands and his fingers felt cold, then the bowl he held felt cold as well, until finally, the custard started to freeze. Now, far more satisfied with his order he grabbed the plate of honeyed toast off the counter. Honeyed toast and frozen alaberry custard, now that was a proper breakfast treat.
Time: Morning Location: Forest; Near Gaurav Village Interactions: Viola@13org, Phia@princess, Darius@FunnyGuy, Dante@Alivefalling, Menzai@samreaper Equipment: A pack with some supplies, seeds (in his pockets), a small knife, a mask that hangs from his belt, a weapon with a shifting charm that is either a sickle or a glaive, and a shield/drum with an unbreakable charm.
"...Sometimes it's a little nerve-wracking to let a stranger in for supper when you have a home full of your beloved family members."
It was strange to hear Phia refer to the wolfmen not only as her people but as her family. Stranger to hear Viola and himself be placed in the role of strangers rather than family. Cyrus’s face maintained a stoic expression, despite Phia’s simple words dealing a more damaging wound than the Roc.
He could hold no ill will towards the canine villagers, they had taken in his youngest sister and kept her safe, made her feel like a part of their family. He could hold no grudge against Phia for lost memories. He knew what it was to slowly loose the hope of seeing family again, to feel doubt slinking in, grapping hold of unanswered questions and filling the void with the worst possible outcomes. He did not wish that suffering for Phia, he tried to focus on being grateful that Phia had not spent her time feeling lonely or abandoned.
He thought over Phia’s words until they led him to something he could smile at, and then nodded his understanding. But his smile faded as they continued walking, and he wondered if telling Phia anything would only be cruel and selfish. Was there too much loss in the truth, if Phia’s mind was protecting her from the past who were they to override that? Without those past memories was Phia even still Ophelia or now simply someone new, someone whose family was a village of wolf-demihumans, who was happy and didn’t want strangers for family? Or was this doubt filling in the unknown. A weight far heavier than Dante’s tired frame bore down.
The greeting from the village was a sea of mistrusting stares. Eyes that followed as if they were a band of dark elf soldiers rather than friendly travelers. He wondered if they somehow knew, on instinct, that both Viola and he carried information that could hurt Phia. He noticed how fully integrated Phia was here, how she smiled at those she referred to as her people. Maybe this really was the best place for her. Maybe she already had more than enough family.
The restaurant Phia brought them too, once Dante had been cared for, was simplistic and held much of the comfort of the forest inside its walls. Cyrus took a seat shortly after Phia. “A hot meal, good company, and a lovely ambiance, what more could travelers ask for?” But as the words left him, he remembered countless family meals with not just two of his sisters present, but the rest of his family too, alive and together. Phia had lost those memories too, but were they still good memories when they came with the pain of knowing that times like those would never happen again?
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