Lunari

What Are You Listening To?

What Are You Listening To?

Things get better. :3

In Secret We Lie: False Gods & Human Servants

Character Sheet

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_{MASQUERADE BALL
LOCATION: PALACE OF THE GODS - EXITING THE GARDEN}

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Nieve, about to ask why on earth he would detach so swiftly, stopped herself as she took in his slightly darker complexions. 'Something is wrong.' Nieve looked back in their original direction as she took in behind Roshan's steps and music. There was only the faintest idea, yet she kept her lips shut. In this moment, the only worry she had was Roshan, the being who was using his mother's bones to soothe the atmosphere. Without a word, she slipped past Roshan and started walking faster, turning her head just enough for him to see the small, encouraging smile on her face.

"Come on," she murmured. "Just follow me." Leading the duo on an alternative path back to the ballroom, avoiding whatever dangers Roshan sensed. Constantly checking whether he was behind her in the corners of her eyes, Nieve kept a small smile plastered on, greeting the few servants who'd past by. And for those few, there was only awe in their faces as they beheld Roshan's divine song.

As they walked the detour, Nieve battled the constant curiousity of her inner mind. There was many questions for him, but she couldn't well interrupt his song. Nieve slowed her steps just enough for him to catch up beside her. The melody still curled around them like mist, soft and warm but strained at the edges. "Roshan..." she whispered softly, looking at him with concerned eyes.

Character Sheet

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_{MASQUERADE BALL
LOCATION: PALACE OF THE GODS - HALLWAY}

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As soon as the ballroom scene left her peripheries, Morrígan left with shoes dangling from two fingers the moment she was out of sight from the humans and fellow gods. It had felt too long in there, the conversations too sharp and sweet, and the politeness felt like a cage around her lungs.

Morrígan padded barefoot down the corridor towards her assigned room, relishing the coolness of the floor. A small yawn cracked her composure. But frankly, she could care less. She wondered if there was something else to the event, but forgot. She'll ask the maids, but otherwise, as a non-important god (or so she believes), no-one will miss her. A small tug on the heart. Morrígan pressed her lips together.

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_{LOCATION: PALACE OF THE GODS - MÓR-RÍOGHAN'S ROOM}

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Pushing the large door open, the room greeted Morrígan with dim lights and the caress of the evening glow shining through the fragmented glass windows. A faint scent of lavender floated through the air from the satchel the servants left on every pillow. It was simple and quiet - everything that the ballroom had not been.

"Finally..." she muttered under her breath, tossing her shoes onto the nearest chair. They landed in an ungrateful heap, and she didn't bother fixing them. Morrígan floated towards the bed, and as quiet as her merciful hums, she fell on top of the covers, not bothering to tuck herself in. With a final thought of a 'nap', Morrígan let herself get carried away in a dream.

What Are You Listening To?

The Season of the Enlightened

Character Sheet

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_{THE LIBRARY WHISPERS
LOCATION: ST. EUSTICE'S SCHOOL FOR THE ENLIGHTENED - LORD POE'S OFFICE}

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Selina lingered in Lord Poe's office only as custom required. She allowed her teacup to rest silently in its saucer, finishing the last modest sip before folding her gloves over her palm. When the conversation turned to others, she gave a slight nod. It was neither dismissal nor engagement.

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

She thanked him with a quiet courtesy and left with a grace honed into muscle memory. Her steps down the corridor echoed against polished stone, steady and measured, valise in hand. A wave of fatigue washed over her, discomfort abrading in her chest.

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_{LOCATION: ST. EUSTICE'S SCHOOL FOR THE ENLIGHTENED - SELINA'S ROOM}

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Selina made it to her assigned dorm room with little troubles. The room she was given was modest by noble standards, but clean and well-kept. A fireplace framed in black marble sat opposite a writing desk already prepared with parchment and sealed ink. She laid her travel case on the bed, removed her gloves, and allowed her fingers a slow stretch. She took note of the drawer lock. Weak. Too easily opened.

Selina didn’t unpack.
Instead, she turned and made her way down the hall once more, this time with more purpose.

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_{LOCATION: ST. EUSTICE'S SCHOOL FOR THE ENLIGHTENED - LIBRARY}

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The library called to her not with grandeur, but certainty. Walls of dark wood and dust-polished spines - structured, silent, and sensibly ordered. The light here was gentler. No interrogation. No performance. Even the air shifted differently.

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

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

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

A chair scraped back. Footsteps shifted.

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

“Mr. Maleficar’s circus doesn’t travel for coin. That’s all I’m saying. It travels for something.”

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

“An unlikely battlefield,” she murmured to herself. “But not one without strategy.”

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

Character Sheet

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_{THE RABBIT AND HAWK
LOCATION: ???}

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He lingered a moment longer in the stillness, the fog lapping softly at his boots like the tide of some phantom sea. The rabbit was gone, just a flash of fur, a whisper of leaves disturbed. A harmless thing. But it was enough to remind him. It never took much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In Secret We Lie: False Gods & Human Servants

Character Sheet

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_{MASQUERADE BALL
LOCATION: PALACE OF THE GODS - GARDEN
MENTIONS: @NekoKyu}

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Being around Roshan felt like a fresh bloom of flowers, the smell of spring and newborn animals - comforting and calming, a tea of chamomile. But seeing his flustered face was much, much more relaxing - it was a type of art therapy, and if it were feasible, a novel titled 'How to Bother a Shadhaver', authored by Niamh Croía Mortimer.

In equal measures of her one-sided teasing, Nieve also wished him the best in secret. A slight pout Roshan, but shut lips. She couldn't tell him that it was bad to be alone... but she wasn't interested in taking one either. "Would you like me to escort you back?" Nieve stared at Roshan's outstretched hand. "Oh, I just think you need a little bit of... socialising! Yes, socialising! Nieve declared cheerfully, but still took his hand anyway. "So where to, my tall friend?"

Character Sheet

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_{MASQUERADE BALL
LOCATION: PALACE OF THE GODS - BALLROOM
MENTIONS: @The Savant}

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Morrígan felt her mind clear, the breath caught in her throat became easier to swallow. Getsuy had finally left the ballroom. To where? Morrígan feared the answer. In partial hope, a human won't be in his way. She was morbidly curious about Getsuy's attention, but she decided to leave it to fate.

At last, she could give full attention to the human who wasn't unnerved by her. In fact, he asked a curious question. Morrígan smiled a little. "Many times.", she answered his first question. It wasn't a lie, she has been to the God's Feast many times. Many times invited, many times attended, many times hidden in her rooms. This year was on a whim, as most things she does are.

Morrígan was slightly impressed by the knight's perceptiveness. "Curiousity. Harmless.", she stated matter-of-factly. The notion of death doesn't scare her. Pain, sure. But a sword like a toothpick in front of her. A mere toy, a relic from the war long past. Humans were funny and interesting creatures in her eyes; no matter how long, there will always be an element of violence present in every era. "I hope you find what you seek here." And with that cryptid message, Morrígan detached herself from the wall, exiting the ballroom.

The Season of the Enlightened

Character Sheet

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Character Sheet

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_{THE RECALL
LOCATION: ???}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, he watched. Still, he listened.

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

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

A few seconds passed... nothing had happened. Leonard lowered his hands, but not his guard. Maybe it was the movement of a small animal, at least that is what Leonard hoped. He was called in to arrive by tomorrow afternoon, scuffling with an enemy right now was the last thing he wanted.

In Secret We Lie: False Gods & Human Servants

Character Sheet

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_{MASQUERADE BALL (no music I lost a braincell)
LOCATION: PALACE OF THE GODS - BALLROOM
MENTIONS: @The Savant @BunniesOfDoom}

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The stench hits her faster than his appearance. Morrígan didn't turn her head to see who opened the doors. A dark, unseen force rippled throughout the air and a cold shiver ran through her spine. Her instincts kicked in as the dark beast treaded through the open space.

'Run'
But where to?

'Stop'
Her vision blurred, tempting itself into darkness.

'Death approaches'
No, Morrígan's precognition hasn't kicked in - but the deathly stench overwhelmed whatever bare scent that foresaw one's death.

'Protect the souls'
And with what power?

Morrígan stood her ground, watching with wary eyes as the wendigo interacted with Aelia and Antero; the three of them were eldest amongst all of the monsters who have paraded as deities, seen and participated in the long wars that stole her mentor's last sanity. Morrígan blinked, bowing her head slightly. The thoughts didn't match the jovial-

Well, it was quiet far from joyful at this current moment, but the peace seemed to maintain, at least for now.
Quite frankly, the whole fiasco in front of Morrígan seemed like a bad joke. As much as a joke as she wished it were, even if the music alighted with elegance upon the ballroom, the thick unseen tension and the line they tip-toed around the god of the hunt. Were he not satisfied, this ballroom could turn into a disaster within seconds. Was it luck or sheer coincidence that he was sane and had self-control this night? Morrígan had no way of knowing.

Her slight curiousity faded as she sensed an incoming presence beside her. It was...
'Human...', she thought wistfully. Morrígan hadn't anticipated someone to approach her voluntarily, even the reincarnates - her precious believers - paid a reverence to her in the form of... space. Yet she did not float away from this man. For one, she wanted to see what the wendigo will do next. The door leading to freedom was far away as well. Morrígan did not bode well in social settings, but she was not rude. She watched with furrowed brows as Getsuy weaved through a platter of deli in a bestial grace known only to him. The servants worked hard to make sure the platter remained full, and what hubris that was.

Morrígan's attention snapped back to the human next to her, catching the last part of his sentence.
"- finding the start of the evening to be tolerable?". She nodded slightly, tilting her head slightly towards the gentleman. It was painfully obvious that he was a knight. The sword next to him stuck out like a sore thumb - though Morrígan guessed that was his intention. A knight is always proud, as one should be. She peered down at him, and saw a full life reflected in his iris. "It is... pleasant." she muttered a response to the human knight. The word 'pleasant' was a mockery to herself - crowds and Getsuy's presence did not suit her, but what was one to do? She stayed still to keep to her duty. Morrígan, as hidden her face is, kept staring at the knight before asking in an attempt at polite conversation, "Are you... enjoying the night?"

Post a random fact about yourself.

I have a tertiary science degree that 👏 I 👏 cannot 👏 use 👏.

I will use it as toilet paper.

What Are You Listening To?

_{I have a lot I'm listening to, but this fits the vibe right now}