Helo

✨Beyond The Veil✨

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Beyond The Veil Interest Check

Definitely in

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Race: Aasimar
Class: Paladin
Location: Stormrider; Cargo Hold
Interactions:Scratch & Val @Apex Sunburn
Equipment: His longsword; Retribution and a healing amulet. A backpack with supplies and his lute.
Attire: Clothing and gloves
Gold Balance: 82
Injuries: New injuries; concussion, fractured ribs, giant splinter in his leg, injured shoulder, all bruised up. Old injuries include a missing eye, numerous iridescent scars, and a knee that aches when it rains.

---

Ezekiel’s focus stayed singular: following that flash of red.

The air was thick with hazy smoke, lights sputtered and flickered out, and the ground shook and shifted beneath his unsteady feet. He could barely make out the shapes of crates and falling debris as his pace matched Val’s without effort. Every sound that ricocheted through the room threatened to split his head open. Talons scraped against metal, cargo flung through the air, and the oversized rooster never ceased its screeching. The griffon raged, and the aftermath was utter chaos.

But that red piece of cloth tied around Val’s arm kept him anchored in the moment. Kept him from getting lost in the labyrinth.

His one focus.

Ezekiel kept moving as they weaved in between tight spaces that narrowed until he almost couldn’t breathe. Places a child slipped through with ease, but that to him might as well have been an unescapable passage in a collapsing cave. He was careful to keep Venn’s head from knocking against any crates, kept her shielded from any debris, and, by the grace of The Flame, he managed not to trip over anything as he hopped and weaved around every obstacle in their path.

That flash of red told him when Val climbed over a fallen box. It got closer when Val slowed to make her way through a tight corner. It dropped when they needed to duck. It was the only thing his eye needed to focus on.

He kept his ears locked on Scratch. Every breath, every thud of metal molding together, the echo of his footsteps: the comforting reminders that he still followed.

Their path ended at a door, the way out, which of course was locked. At Scratch’s command, he found a spot close enough to the door to lay Venn down. One with a few boxes stacked high enough that he could grab Venn again in a rush, without the added effort of lifting her up off the floor, and save a few precious seconds in the event of a mad dash for an escape.

Scratch and Val discussed how to unlock the door, he let their voices dim to a distant murmur. If something changed, if the fight caught up to him, he’d just needed a sound louder than the ringing to snap his focus.

But until that happened, his focus stayed on Venn. A glove was tucked into a pocket, and his amulet slipped around the shaking hand of his injured arm. His hand rested against her forehead. It took several shallow breaths until he nestled into the headspace needed to block out everything around and within him. The chaos. The pain. It all settled into a whisper.

The radiant energy of Lay on Hands flowed, warm and familiar, as the magic glowed with soft healing light and gently hummed through the air around him. Head, neck, and spine. Heart, lungs, and abdomen. Whatever he could heal, whatever time he had to try, was devoted to doing whatever he could for Venn.

He spoke to The Flame, and all honored fallen who burned inside The Flame, like he was asking his dearest friend for a favor. He praised Venn for the one thing he knew about her: a willingness to sacrifice to protect another. She may not be one of The Flame’s faithful, but she had acted as they were expected to and thrown herself in the path of destruction to save a life.

His prayer continued on, asking not just The Flame, but other gods and pantheons too, any that he’d heard of who would take interest in his plea. A vast collection of faiths and deities invoked with the same level of veneration as warmth as his own. So many gods looked favorably on the pure of heart, acts of sacrifice, and bold displays of courage; Venn could use all the help she could get. Somewhere in his heartfelt patchwork prayer, he hoped he reached whatever god she prayed to.

“Eyepatch–...Ezekiel, …fight.”

His focus ended, the last of his prayer a rushed whisper, but worthy of divine ears nonetheless. His mind caught only the important parts of what Scratch said, and quickly the amulet slipped back into his pocket, and the glove was pulled back onto his hand. The light in his eye dimmed with exhaustion.

When he returned to Scratch, he looked notably paler. Far more energy had been expended in trying to heal Venn than he’d expected, and even only a few years away from the war had left his skill a bit rusty. Still, he stood sword drawn and ready, both hands gripped and refused to shake as his focus stayed as sharp as his blade. He looked at the large gun device Scratch had managed to put together in only a few minutes as the dark elf had kept watch.

“I like it.” He nodded once at the turret. “And Eyepatch is just fine.” He added.

He’d had a good feeling about Scratch from the start. Seeing the man’s quick brilliance and willingness to stand at the front, readied for danger, only confirmed his belief. At least he was one for two today.

He waited, a few more shallow breaths before whatever was coming for them broke through the wreckage. Three warriors? One griffon? Both? They’d know soon enough.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Lord Leo Smithwood

---

Time: 6 pm
Location: Castle Dinning Hall
Interactions: Thea, Drake, Ariella, & Momma Smithwood
Attire: “Why was I not told red was the color for tonight?”

“Sometimes you act just like Mother.”

Confusion flashed across Leo’s face, although he didn’t take that comment as an insult; it was clear Thea intended it as one. Over what? Trying to make a good impression on the family of the guy she couldn’t stop talking about over breakfast? Only trying to help, but he didn’t say that. He only smiled like it was a sincere compliment.

“We are both exceptional speakers with a talent for leadership.” His confidence didn’t waver.

Then, as if the mere mentioning of her had summoned his mother, she spoke.

“How many times must I remind you that your name carries weight? Must you embarrass this family every time you enter a room? And now you embarrass the Edwards. This is why I thought I sent you home.”

It saved him from having to say anything about the spilled wine—certainly not an accident—but her words caused Thea to immediately leave the table. He looked at his mother, eyes holding only disappointment and masked with the most insincere smile. Really? Must you? On her birthday?

“I asked her to stay, and I have never been embarrassed by Thea.” Leo’s tone was light, cheerful even, as he dared his mother to press this issue. He would love nothing more than to discuss whose actions truly embarrassed this family, but that would not be a public discussion. Leo was not about to air dirty laundry in a public forum, the way so many Caesonia nobles were doing.

The Edwards were entirely too comfortable being messy in public. Gideon lacked any real backbone and allowed a knight to mock his wife right in front of him. Victoria was like a caricature of vanity, it rolled off her in such excess that it wasn’t hard to see why she was universally disliked. Easy to win over, at least, the slightest bit of flattery and some gossip had her eating from his palm. Drake, however, left a strong impression. His ability to handle the situation impressed Leo, who shot him a quick nod of approval for how he handled the situation.

And Ariella reminded him so much of Thea that when she got up to go after his sister, he mouthed a sincere thank you to her. It was a good opportunity for the two to bond, and he had no doubt the pair would get along.

But the Edwards weren’t even close to making the biggest scene in the room. The Damiens took that dishonor. From the bits and pieces he heard, it sounded like some tryst between Roman and Violet was becoming a heated topic. He glanced over as Roman handled the situation as cool and collected as any true Varian. Never sinking to the lowbrow tactics that Damiens clearly reveled in.

Cassius spoke out of turn, all the subtlety of a blunt instrument, but what more could one expect from a man who literally slithered out of the gutter? If anyone deserved to be on trial, it was the idiot who thought insulting royalty, and their religion, in the same breath was a wise move. Perhaps if Edin wasn’t such an easily manipulated fool, the bastard would be rotting in a dungeon - where it belonged - instead of trying to dig his claws into poor Lottie. How can she be as smart as she is, and still not see what that bastard’s up to? He wondered as he watched her embrace the spawn of Calbert.

But even as Alibeth rose to her feet, fury in her eyes, no real consequences came for Cassius. Edin’s love for Calbert was dangerous, it was going to make it incredibly difficult for them to take that man down.

Lorenzo’s voice soon filled the room. Leo sighed. It seemed it was time for the Vikena House to join the drama.

“Well, I’m sure no one is paying any attention to our corner of the table with that mess going on. Seems the Damiens have quite a bit of favor here, to be able to speak like that in front of royalty. Even Ana’s upset, but who can blame her? What an awful thing to say to Prince Callum.” Leo addressed Drake, his voice low. Did he care about Callum, not at all, but maybe he could get some information about the Damiens from Drake. Surely, there had to be a touch of rivalry there.

“To let what Cassius said slide when they threw your sister into a jail cell over a painting.” He whispered so low only Drake could hear. “Quite frankly, it’s appalling. As appalling as Cassius himself is. But you…” Leo paused and smiled at Drake.

“You seem like an honorable man, Drake. I hope your intentions with Thea match my impression of you.” He added, entirely sincere. “I can see you know what it's like to worry about your sister. And what you'd do if anyone approached her with the wrong intentions."Leo continued, and it wasn't a threat, it didn't need to be, just an understanding. A viewpoint they shared.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Race: Aasimar
Class: Paladin
Location: Stormrider; Cargo Hold
Interactions:Scratch & Val @Apex Sunburn
Equipment: His longsword; Retribution and a healing amulet. A backpack with supplies and his lute.
Attire: Clothing and gloves
Gold Balance: 79
Injuries: New injuries; concussion, fractured ribs, giant splinter in his leg, injured shoulder, all bruised up. Old injuries include a missing eye, numerous iridescent scars, and a knee that aches when it rains.

---

“Eyepatch,”

“Ezekiel.” He offered Scratch his name as the dark elf continued to speak.

“Fighting here with that thing–” Ezekiel turned his head to watch the griffon as the beast continued to rage with the fury of a predator too dangerous to have ever been caged in the first place. “–there would be a terrible idea. Keep holding onto Venn and follow my lead.”

He could not argue with Scratch’s logic; three warriors and an angry griffon were not insurmountable odds, and if it were just him and the dark elf in the fight, he didn’t hate their chances. But Scratch had his child with him, and Val was frightened and injured, and Venn was barely alive as it was; there was no need to risk their lives for a fight that could be avoided.

“Agreed.” He stated. There was the rest of the airship to think about too, the Stormrider’s flight was not as steady as it had once been. The bomb had caused damage that extended beyond the cargo hold.

Ezekiel held tight to Venn as Val scampered off to scout out a safe path out of the cargo hold, and Scratch launched into a strange speech that made little sense to Ezekiel.

“Look, I’m just the engineer,”

“I thought you were a surgeon?” He whispered as Scratch continued, talking about Khyber and glowing moss for some reason. He had no idea what the dark elf’s plan was or how teaching three warriors who seemed to have no interest in talking about moss could help.

The griffon became background noise, its furious cries blended into the persistent ringing in his ears. He zoned out; whatever fun facts Scratch continued to share about moss also faded into noise. Ezekiel cared about one thing: keeping track of the movements of each of the three warriors who could teleport.

If one vanished, they’d have to move fast to find Val.

The warrior nearest him dragged a scythe against the metal floor, and sparks danced around it. Each flicker of light reminded him of every time he’d watched the light in someone’s eyes die out. A spark that flickered and never shone again. The warrior moved with inevitability of death itself, taking slow and steady steps forward.

Every muscle ached with the anticipation of a fight. His heart pounded, a frantic rhythm that had him convinced he could beat death in a fight, right here, right now, if he didn’t have other lives to worry about.

A voice lingered in his mind, louder than the ringing in his ears.

“You can probably save one of them. If you’re lucky.”

Maybe he could have. Maybe he could have saved both. But Venn’s light hadn’t left her. He pulse, weak and thready, continued to beat. He could still save one life. He didn’t want to see anyone else die today.

“You shouldn’t have hurt the girl.”

He caught the end of Scratch’s speech and saw that Val was safe and back with them. He saw the glint of glowing metal and heard the clatter of the pipe reverberating against the metal floor. A second bomb exploded, and it cried out like an even angier griffon. A purple ooze spread across the warriors.

“And by all the Gods and all the hells, you shouldn’t have made her cry,”

For one brief second, Ezekiel smiled as he coughed a single chuckle. “Brilliant.” He said as Scratch fired off a shot at the warrior with twin blades.

“Lead the way, kid.” He said to Val, ready to follow Scratch’s command without question.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 6 pm
Location: Castle Dinning Hall
Interactions: Nahir, Farim, Ana, Kira, Hafiz the party pooper
Attire: Red like the other cool kids

---

"Maybe we can include Sorian and Alidasht foods. This would allow us to share our wonderful culture with the Sorian community…”

Kira voiced her support without hesitation, building on the idea in the most fantastic way. Rohit flashed a smile her way that matched her enthusiasm. “Wonderful idea! That is why we are here, right, to share our customs with one another.” And who didn’t love a good party, or feast, or festival? This was how bridges were built, how people came together.

But even as Nahir repeated the mantra, a party for the poor, it didn’t sound entirely sincere.

"Right, Nahir!? For real!" Ana’s enthusiasm didn’t just match him, Kira, and Farim but doubled it. She raised excitement without even trying, and it spread effortlessly. The princess tapped his arm and unleashed, what he could only assume was a common Caesonian saying, but also one of the strangest expressions he’d heard.

“...if you don’t come help me host it, I swear I’ll pee on the floor right here and now.” For a second, he froze in utter confusion as he tried to imagine Nahir saying something so un-future monarch-like, the way Ana just had, and chuckled. Caesonians were an entirely different breed.

“It would be an honor; both to help host and keep the floor here pee-free.” He said, as Farim chimed in, offering to help fund the event. He glanced at Farim, then at Ana, and grinned. What a lovely match the two were, a pair of warm and generous royals who lit up a room.

“Brilliant ideas, my friends! Robit, the idea of making it into a sanctioned event could do wonders for publicity as you so tactfully mentioned.”

“Publicity or not, if we make even one person feel special… then we’re doing something right.”

“Oh, agreed, but the publicity immortalizes it. And reminds the people to return for the next event.”

“You speak of spectacle as if it feeds the soul,” Hafiz decided to rain on the parade. “But does it fill the belly a week from now? A month? Will your music echo in their stomachs when winter comes?”

“We do not give the poor illusions of grandeur. We give them order. Stability... Fear. And in return, they serve the empire. Not dance beneath its gates as if they were kings.”

“Do not mistake charity for policy. Nor applause for loyalty.”

“But by all means… plan your feast. Let them twirl in borrowed joy. And when the food runs out…Let us see if they still appreciate it."

“It does, feed the soul that is.” Rohit said, his voice respectful as he addressed the Grand Vizier. While his father didn’t hold Hafiz in high esteem, at least not in the privacy of their home, he knew Hala thought highly of the man and that was more than enough reason to want to see his point of view.

“Joy, being appreciated, sharing art and food and culture. That is exactly what feeds the soul, uplifts the spirit.” He smiled as he shared his thoughts. “Why would the food run out? Caesonia seems plentiful.” He asked as he took a bite from his plate and looked around at the extravagant feast.

“Tell me, Grand Vizier, have you ever actually been invited to a party… or do you just stand outside of them brooding about how people are enjoying themselves too much?”

Rohit almost choked on a perfect bite of lamb. He’d never heard anyone, outside of the man’s own family, talk to Hafiz like that. Now that was crazy fucking bold. He stifled his cough and washed it all down with a gulp of wine to hide the grin.

"Yeeessss Kiki. Let's bring all the cultures, all the foods, all the languages! Let's spoil them!"

“Oh, then let’s include the Varians too. An outdoor feast with dishes from all our nations. With dancers, music, and art all on display. And Farim, I will match whatever coin you're throwing down and I have no doubt that this event will be one to be remembered. It’ll light up souls and feed spirits through even the coldest winter.”

And speaking of things that needed feeding, Rohit speared a large chunk of roasted pig onto his fork and slipped it to Hala’s dog, who waited patiently beneath the table.

“None of you saw that. Tell Hala nothing when they return.” He whispered as he cleaned off his fork. Then he looked over at Nahir.

“Shehzadi, you sounded a little less convinced that this was a great idea. Do you think we’re over doing it a bit?” He asked, curious.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 6 pm
Location: Castle Dining Hall
Attire: Winners wear red & black!
Interactions: Mina, Count Calbert, Roman

---

“Oh, Prince Callum,” Clarence's full attention snapped to Mina as her voice purred his mortal host’s name. He watched her size him up, caught that hint of suspicion, and smirked in response.

“When I first looked up and saw you— I couldn’t recall ever seeing you in a crown before. You were striking. It made my heart flutter, I’ll admit. I forgot how to speak.” Her lashes fluttered in that way that made mortal men weak. He was no mortal; her eyes held no sway, but flattery, even touched by insincerity, was always appreciated. It showed she understood that he was owed praise.

As foolish as Callum Danrose was, the boy did surround himself with the most interesting allies.

“So you see, my silence was not insult, my Prince… only awe.”

“Awe is exactly what I hoped to convey. Thank you for noticing.” He held up his wine glass and nodded at Mina. He savored his wine in the same way he ate from his plate, with composed and precise movements. And to his food, Clarence’s attention briefly returned as the king shared his thoughts on the trivial matter between Roman and Violet.

“Goodness, Your Majesty, I do hope that was a jest. I'd hate to think a man of your stature still believes a woman can be struck into sense.”

“My father serves wit and wisdom in equal measure.” He commented, a perfectly neutral position spoken just loudly enough that Edin would surely hear it. Let the bloated monarch focus on the compliment and not think too deeply about the veiled insult Mina had spoken.

He watched Roman as the man spoke, occasionally nodding his agreement with Roman’s words as the large nobleman did not falter. A smile danced across his face as Roman brought up Alexander’s wife, and for a moment, there was the hopeful anticipation that this feud might escalate into something more interesting.

And escalate it did, but not into the delicious violence he had so hoped for. The situation unfolded as Violet and her father both turned on Roman. Clarence knew that Callum held no love for Count Damien but held Roman aloft as one of his most trustworthy friends. The side to choose was clear. The familiar’s loyalty did not waver. Clarence stood from his seat, chair scraping against the floor, and placed his full attention on Count Damien.

“Count Damien, amusing you should speak of houses burning while yours sits aflame. Who else here can say they’ve failed to secure their estate from common criminals? Ransacked one day. Pickpockets at your masquerade the next. Oh, and did I not just see your bastard assault one of my father’s esteemed guests?” In the most condescending way possible, Clarence shook his head and clicked his tongue.

“Dreadful behavior. Has your family forgotten where they are? This is the royal palace, not a tavern. We are here to feast, to enjoy my father’s generosity, and you seek to ruin this meal with petty complaints. If you wish to moan about a lover’s quarrel, save it for the trial.” His voice was calm as he scolded the count, filled with a sense of authority that never came naturally to Callum, but Clarence delivered it without effort. He sat back down and looked at Violet.

“Roman eats as our king does, like a man thankful for his blessings. Not just the meal itself, but for the work that went into creating it. He honors my family with his appreciation for this feast.” Without hesitation, Clarence lifted a rib from his plate, gripped it like a club, and took a savage bite of meat. He smiled as he chewed, mouth closed, but with vigor.

“Perhaps you would like to subtract your comment about eating like a street dog.” He suggested, placing the rib back on his plate and wiping his hand clean with a napkin.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Race: Aasimar
Class: Paladin
Location: Stormrider; Cargo Hold
Interactions:Scratch & Val @Apex Sunburn
Equipment: His longsword; Retribution and a healing amulet. A backpack with supplies and his lute.
Attire: Clothing and gloves
Gold Balance: 76
Injuries: New injuries; concussion, fractured ribs, giant splinter in his leg, injured shoulder, all bruised up. Old injuries include a missing eye, numerous iridescent scars, and a knee that aches when it rains.

---

Dread rose the second the device started beeping. He hadn’t touched it, hadn’t made any physical contact with the bomb, the chains, or the two lives fixed to it. The countdown started anyway, far too quickly to do anything to stop it.

They were all just seconds away from the inevitable.

And Ezekiel knew it. Once that thing started beeping, hope was lost. It would detonate.

But he hesitated. Resisted the urge to take cover as Liana’s words hung over him. Was there a way to save one of them?

Precious seconds slipped away. If there was a way he couldn’t see it. He scrambled for cover too late. The beeping stopped. Had Liana left him with that cruel sliver of hope just to mess with his head?

The world went white. Ezekiel was flung through the air by an unseeable force, as if his prayer had been deemed, not just unworthy, but outright offensive, and a God saw fit to fling him aside. A wall of wooden barrels shattered as he crashed into them. It knocked not just the air from him but any sense of awareness.

His ears rang. Pulsed with a high-pitched sound, persistent and piercing, as every other sound was left muffled and drowned out.

What happened? His mind was even fuzzier than the dampened noise around him. The shrieking ring in his ears refused to let up. He struggled to get back up and with each movement, discovered a new pain.

An attempted deep inhale proved an impossible feat. A twist to the side, as his hands moved through splintered wood, caused even more pain. He kept his breathing shallow, it hurt less. Ribs…fractured. Maybe broken. Manageable.

He continued to try and stand. A stabbing pain in his non-dominant shoulder forced him to fall back onto the pile of shattered splinters. His fingers felt useless and numb. Dislocated. Fixable. He contorted his limb, shifting it until it popped back into place. The action forced a deep breath. His ribs cried out. His head throbbed.

He tried again. Forced himself to stand on shaky footing. Ezekiel felt it in his leg; the slow trickle of blood from a jagged piece of wood embedded near his calf. Slow bleeding. Not urgent. Leave it alone. He reminded himself, despite the urge to remove what did not belong. It wasn’t the only splinter he’d caught, simply the biggest, most intrusive one.

What did concern him was the dizziness. The instant nausea he felt as he stood. The sheer difficulty to even form a thought as he tried to asses the damage.

The fact that he’d forgotten what caused it. A concussion was not a good time.

Thick smoke obscured the scene. Ezekiel was unsure of where exactly he was, but he couldn’t hear over the ringing in his ears, and he could barely see through the thick smoke that hung in the air.

He tasted blood, sharp and metallic, in his mouth. Smelled the smoke, caught hints of magic, electric and buzzing in the air. He felt the burn of destructive magic against his skin, it mingled with the rest of the pain; a background sound not quite loud enough to be fully noticed above the louder notes but adding to a song of agony nonetheless.

Then he saw one of them.

Black armor. Red Hood. Moving in the shadows.

Black and red.

Karrnath. The enemy.

His hand drew his sword in one swift motion. The pain became a whisper as righteous devotion kicked in. Nothing else mattered but the fight and the enemy in front of him. Every part of his mind focused on that one tangible goal: cutting down the enemy. Holy Bulwark came to mind, to set his sword aglow with holy light to both protect himself and give him better visibility in the smoke.

Then he noted the griffon. A savage beast, attracted to that which shimmered and shone like gold. Carefully, he used his other trembling hand to pull the cloth over both his eyes; he could see through it, but it covered the glow of his eye from the gold-hungry beast. Avenger’s strike it was, time to test his righteous fury against the evil of Karrnath. A war that had ended years ago raged fresh in his mind. Its end, momentarily forgotten.

His heart pounded, his blood pumped, and the anticipation of battle coursed through him. This was where he belonged, in the midst of violence, a fight that never ended. It gripped him, that hunger to fight that ran so deep it could not be separated from who he was. With unbalanced footing, he took a few shaky steps towards a red hooded figure, his wrist turning and his sword moving in a flourish that beckoned the enemy to engage.

“You!”

A voice cut through the ringing. Strong and commanding.

“Man-in-white, Eyepatch, whatever your name is, I need you over here, now.”

The voice spoke with an unquestionable authority. His commander. The 'now’ left no room for questioning, and Ezekiel was obedient. He turned too quickly toward the voice and spotted another red hood in a different corner. He stumbled, nearly toppled over from the abrupt movements, and headed toward the voice.

“What can you do for her?”

He looked from the dark elf to the injured woman, his mouth half opened as a confused question failed to leave his mouth. He didn’t see Venn, he saw someone he vaguely remembered dying once before. Against his own desires and better judgment, he sheathed his sword. In another too quick motion, he dropped to a knee, and a sharp pain shot through his leg. His fingers found a faint pulse on the woman’s neck. He could’ve sworn…

It didn’t matter. He found a sign of life. They couldn’t let that life go out. Not with these Karrns around, they’d turn corpses into cannon fodder the second they could. “She lives…for now.” But likely not for long without help. Her pulse grew weaker.

“We need to get out of here as quickly as possible, and get to the engine core, so tell me right now. Can you heal her, or not?”

“No, sir. Not here. They’re closing in…” He lifted the cloth above his eye, head swiveling to the red hooded figures that moved through the smoke and then to the raging griffon whose fury sent metal and wooden shrapnel through the air.

Engine core? Why was there an engine core in a battlefield?

Gods, his head hurt. Even kneeling, he felt like he was going to topple over. He spotted the child, terror painted across her face as she clung to the elf.

Smoke. Thick and gray lingered in the air.

He remembered how Cyre fell. What the mist had done.

The bomb. On the airship.

Recognition washed over him. Even as his confidence faltered and a shadow of sorrow fell back across his features, the air around him sparked with a protective aura. Something Scratch, Val, and hopefully even Venn, would feel, boosting their confidence and resolve. Maybe enough to keep Venn clinging to life, but surely enough to ward off fear and doubt so that the Scratch could continue to lead and Val would have the clarity the situation demanded.

His eye closed in a pained wince as he scooped Venn up off the floor. The struggle to rise to his feet began again, and he gritted his teeth. His ribs, his shoulder, his leg, his skin, his head; they all screamed for attention, and he did his best to deny them that.

He failed to save the two chained to the bomb. He would not fail to save this life.

He paused just long enough to let the worst of the dizziness pass. He cradled Venn in his arms and nodded to Scratch. “I’ve got her, you worry about Val and leading us out of here.” He said, and continued to watch and follow the dark elf's lead as if Scratch were his commander.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Lord Leo Smithwood

---

Time: 6 pm
Location: Castle Dinning Hall
Interactions: Thea, Drake, Gideon & Victoria, Charlotte, Ariella
Attire: “Why was I not told red was the color for tonight?”

“I’m… getting through the night,”

Leo gave Lottie a concerned glance. Again, he stood from his seat and placed an arm around Charlotte’s shoulders, softly squeezing one shoulder as he offered a comforting sideways hug. “If you need anything at all, simply ask, we are here for you.” He said quietly.

“Lorenzo’s doing well tonight. And look, Count Hendrix is over there looking out for him, too.” He whispered, assuming Lottie’s distress came from recalling how disastrous both the Alidasht dinner and Royal Curd brunch had gone. Tonight was different; the scandals involved others, and the two of them, and their families, were merely spectators in others' misfortunes. As it should be.

“Has everything been alright with you?”

“Oh, absolutely. Thea and I had a wonderful talk over breakfast. She knows everything. And she’s willing to help as well.” He whispered into her ear as his eyes looked from Wulfric, to Hendrix, and finally to Gideon. “Doesn’t matter who else is here tonight, you’re surrounded by allies. Everything will be alright.” He quietly encouraged. Leo removed his arm and returned to his seat, hoping that at least a little of his optimism had spread to Lottie.

“Well hopefully some good food can bring us together! And perhaps some scathing reviews of various shenanigans throughout the night.”

Every time Drake spoke, Leo liked him a little bit more. “Indeed, it will, Lord Drake. Good food, exceptional company, and scandalous entertainment; it can only add up to a wonderful night.” Leo agreed,

“Who is she anyway?”

Duchess Edwards stayed focused on the scandal Kalliope had set in motion. “Kalliope Arden. I’m under the impression she works for the palace in some capacity.” Leo offered a snippet of what he knew, a playful grin as he waited to share the woman’s previous scandal with an interested Duchess.

“She looked like she’d climb the nearest chandelier if it meant someone else’s husband would look up her skirt.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. Wherever that woman goes, drama inevitably follows…” He replied, grin widening as he tried to drum up Victoria’s interest, a means of distraction from picking out those at their table. Leo was just about to delve into a story when Thea spoke up.

“Though I do envy your confidence. It must take a certain kind of self-assurance to confuse a woman’s boldness with her worth, or a fall with a failure. But then, I suppose when one is so far removed from youth, passion begins to look like scandal.”

Leo looked at Thea, and just barely, almost imperceptibly shook his head.

“Perhaps the duchess should start with a mirror before auditioning for a spotlight.” His sister whispered to him.

“Thea, please, think of Drake, let’s not cause trouble with his family.” He softly whispered his advice back, a gentle shift of perspective rather than an outright chastising. He glanced at Drake, whose attempts at diplomacy never went unnoticed, and Leo understood with perfect clarity how uncomfortable it was to watch those around you launch verbal arrows at one’s mother.

“The line between passion and scandal is thin. It takes wisdom and experience to know where that line lies.” Leo countered, his attention resting on Victoria as a warm and easy smile spread across his face.

“And when it comes to Kalliope, she is firmly rooted in scandal.” His eyebrows raised as a sordid tale lingered behind his lips. He teased the Duchess's attention with the promise of it. One of the knights, Stratya, walked by only to slide a biting remark in before scampering off. Leo’s eyes shifted to Gideon, wondering briefly if the man had the backbone to defend his wife. It was one thing for Ariella to call out her mother, another entirely for a man of Gideon’s stature to sit there while a stranger took shots at his wife from a distance.

“You know, just the other day Lottie and I shared a table with Kalliope at The Royal Curd, a brunch to honor the generous and gracious King Edin.” A heavy and dramatic sigh escaped him, an ominous hint at how that brunch had gone.

“And would you believe it? Kalli turned that whole brunch into the messiest affair. She showed up fueding with the man who carried her in tonight, a Captain and Marquis from Jafi, Sjan-dehk, and the man's, well, I’m still not sure if Iyen is a lover or a bodyguard.” Leo continued, as he directed Victoria in the direction of the two from Jafi who had entered with Kalli.

“But boy, did those three turn a whole brunch into an uncomfortable affair. It was downright embarrassing to witness such theatrics play out before a single plate of food was at the table. Then, I swear to the Gods, Kalli flipped her lid over every mention of cheese at a restaurant themed around the dish. Shouting and eventually brandishing a knife, the second someone mentioned a melty brie or sharp cheddar.” Leo kept his attention on Vicrotia, trying his best to keep her attention on him. All he needed was to build a little goodwill between their two families.

“Insanity. Clearly, the girl is not right in the head. Deranged even. Honestly, I’ve never seen such fear in Lady Morrigan’s eyes as i did at that brunch. To think that someone would dare grip a weapon in the presence of the king's cousin.” Leo shook his head with heightened disappointment. He ensured his story tantalized and exaggerated the drama to distract and captivate the Duchess as best he could.

“Apologies, Duchess Edwards, for stealing your ear for such gossip, but when someone is that unhinged and dangerous, I think it best to warn the respectable sort about it.” Again, he smiled, making it seem as if such gossip was beneath Victoria and he was at fault for indulging in it.

“You know what else I’ve noticed. Never before have I seen any of this nation’s fine and aloof Princes so taken with a lady as Prince Callum seems to be with your daughter. But of course, if any family is worth royal attention, it would be one as distinguished as yours. You must be very proud of Lady Ariella.” Leo added, and his warmest smile extended to Ari as did his best to force a distant mother to complement her daughter.

What else could the Duchess say? Insult a prince in the king’s palace, call him an unworthy match? Leo doubted the Duchess was that foolish. Surely Victoria would love to admit that she had in fact, raised a young woman so well that she now had one Caesonia’s princes wrapped around her finger. He appealed to her sense of pride.