Oso

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

@princess@FunnyGuy@samreaper@Apex Sunburn@Potter@Tae@Lava Alckon@DWGJay

Port Verge receives you in pieces.

One half of you comes from the tavern, damp-haired and smelling faintly of soap and perfumes. The other arrives burdened with the supplies that were sought, and carrying the small victory of haggling your way to a ”fairer” price. Each group equally as lucky that they were not robbed, or worse, during your little endeavors. I guess it does pay to have the favor of the Prince.

And here you all are, together again…How touching.

The road slopes toward the harbor, and the city changes its breath. Fish rot. Tar. Brine. Wet wood. The occasional patch of sand stained with blood. The docks sprawl ahead in crooked tiers of plank and post, lanterns swaying in the light fog. It would all be very atmospheric and fun if you were not on your way to embark on some godsforsaken, supernatural mission.

Pirates litter the place, doing all the things that pirates do. The things you see in Port Verge, out in the open, would appall the denizens of almost any other place in Eberron.

Yet no one around you even comments… It’s all as normal as morning prayer is to a Thranish priest.

Then, near the end of one long, crooked pier, you see Captain Beckett.

He is lounging on a weathered crate marked with a red skull, one boot braced against a mooring post, coat shifting in the harbor wind. He looks criminally comfortable.

Rory stands at his side, narrow and still, turning the tip of her knife into a piece of driftwood, etching something into its side. She doesn’t even look up.

Gnarly looms on Beckett’s other side, arms folded, stupid grin broad on his face as his winks at the group. He looks delighted, yet still somehow captures true menace simply through presence alone.

Beckett looks you over before speaking.

“Look at that,” he says. “You found the docks.”

His gaze shifts past you, then back again, and his smile widens by the smallest, worst amount.

Only then do you notice the ship behind him.

Small. Black-hulled. Waiting.

A coastal sloop, tied at the end of the pier by ropes. Her single mast rises crookedly into the fog, her sail hanging half-furled in patched gray strips, stitched and re-stitched until the original canvas barely even remains. Her boards do not match. Her paint peels in curling scabs. Rust blooms along her fittings. The rigging appears to have been given ramshackle repairs. Across her hull, in flaking white letters, someone has painted her name.

The Mercy.

A poor little ship with an ironically cruel name. A plank-and-canvas answer to the question: how little can Prince Ravic Dane risk while still calling it generosity?

Beckett’s gaze continues to move over you as he kicks himself up and off the skull-marked crate, grabbing the crowbar leaning against it as he did so.

“It’s so lovely to see you all again…” The debonair dick of a pirate claimed as he pries the edge of the crowbar beneath the crate’s lid. “Are you ready to meet your newest, bestest friend ever?” With dramatic flair, and an absolutely unnecessary moan of effort, Captain Beckett pops the top of the crate and pushes the whole thing over, tipping it to where the red skull side met the ground. From within the crate, a figure comes tumbling out, rolling to a stop just before careening over the edge of the dock into the water below.

A goblin.

A very wet, very miserable goblin.

He lands in a tangle of limbs, rags, rope, and panic, staring up at you with huge, uneven eyes that are absolutely full of terror. A sagging cloth cap clings to his head. His ears jut wide from either side of it, long and sharp and dripping viscous filth from their tips. Beneath a long, hooked nose sits a ridiculous curled mustache, somehow the most dignified thing about him, which is a terrible burden for one mustache to bear.

The rest of him has fared worse.

His shirt hangs from his thin frame in filthy, salt-stiffened strips, torn open across one side of his chest. Beneath the grime and green skin, a pale blue-white mark glows through the holes in the fabric: the shape of a hand, too large to be his own, burned into him from collarbone to ribs. The light pulses weakly, like something beneath his skin is breathing.

He notices you looking at it and scrambles to clutch the shirt closed, though this achieves very little beyond making him look even more painfully pathetic.

His bare feet skid on the wet planks. His knees knock together. His fingers knot around the rags at his chest. Every part of him seems to be trying to make itself smaller, except his eyes, which have chosen instead to become enormous with panic.

Beckett gestures down at him with the crowbar.

“Idiots, meet Trin. Trin, meet idiots.” Beckett announced with frivolous joy.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Location: Ballroom
Time: Evening
Interaction: @FunnyGuy Lorenzo

---

For a moment, Calbert only looked at him.

There were certain words a man was allowed to say in grief. Awful little things. Unfair things. Calbert understood that better than most as a man who had spent a lifetime watching people play the game of nobility that he himself had come to master.

So when Lorenzo called him parasite, tumor, leech, beast-master, blackmailer, jailer, Calbert had endured it with the quiet patience of a man allowing another to exhaust himself against a solid door. A locked door, at that.

But then Lorenzo spoke of his family… And something very old and very dangerous opened its eyes inside him.

It was not anger, though he was angry. It was not hate, though he was a man who carried hate. It was not contempt, though of all men he was the best at contempt.

This was the soft click of a drawer sliding open in a dark study on an even darker day, and inside that drawer was a stack of letters Lily had the children write him for a birthday one year. This was Violet’s laugh from behind a fan when she convinced him to sit with her and take part in a tea party all those years ago, this was the feeling of Crystal’s hand in his sleeve when she was small and scared to walk home in the dark, it was the look in Cassius’s eyes when Calbert realized he had a son, the mournful sounds of grief that erupted from his Liliane the night they thought they had lost a daughter for good.

Lorenzo had brought a threat to all of those things, the very ones he held dearest above all else.

Calbert’s expression did not change. That was the mercy of his mastery. The blessing of being born into rooms where a man learned young that a twitch of the brow might as well have been a full-blown confession. He did not clench his fist. He did not square his shoulders. He did not step closer and strike out like the coiled serpent of the man in front of him would have. Instead, he gave Lorenzo nothing. Not a single reaction to undo the perception of those who just saw him quite literally save the man’s life. He gave the rodent nothing to frighten Charlotte with, nothing to feed whatever starving thing in the duke was begging for a war.

Instead, Count Damien smiled with the faintest little curve of his lips.

“Of course.”

The words were mild. Almost…kind.

He adjusted one of his cuffs, smoothing away a crease that had appeared during their interaction. His gaze flicked once, only once, over Lorenzo’s face as though he were taking inventory.

A duke, shaking with grief. A father, cornered. A man who had nearly struck his king and then, given the chance to be grateful for his own salvation, had chosen instead to threaten children in kind.

How unfortunate.

Calbert bowed his head, the motion polished enough to pass for respect and shallow enough to be insulting only to those fluent in such things.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Duke Vikena.”

And that was all.

Calbert turned from him then, unhurried, each step carrying him back toward the music, the candlelight, the watchful mouths of court. His face had already softened by the time he rejoined the glittering edge of the ballroom, all composed regret and gentlemanly restraint.

Behind his blue eyes, however, the drawer remained open.

And inside it, all the way to the back and far away from those letters and memories he cherished, Lorenzo Vikena’s name had found its place upon a singular piece of paper along with others, and like the others… Lorenzo’s name had been written in blood.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Location: Grand Ballroom
Time: Evening
Interactions: Charlotte @princess
Mentions: Olivia @potter, @samreaper Kazumin, Lorenzo @FunnyGuy, King Edin, Calbert
Outfit: Bro Be Looking SO DAMN GOOD oh maw gawd

---

Cassius watched Charlotte drain what remained in her glass, but he said nothing about it. His attention shifted instead to the shoes she had fastened with far more intensity than necessary.

He moved from his chair and lowered himself to a knee in front of her, reaching carefully for one of the straps.

“You’ve got these too tight.”

His voice was soft, carrying none of the anger that still sat plainly in his face whenever he glanced toward the king. He loosened the fastening and secured it again, more gently than she had, then he did the same with the other. It was a small thing, but it was something he could fix, and right now Cassius desperately needed something he could fix.

He could not undo what Edin had said. He could not make Lorenzo understand that pulling shit like that and throwing his life away would only leave Charlotte with another grave to mourn. He understood that perhaps the man had only been trying to stand up for her honor, but his actions proved selfish and reckless… As usual. Cassius had no power over any of that.

But he could make sure that her shoes were comfortable. Sometimes, when there isn’t really a perfect thing to do, it’s about just doing the next best thing. It was something he could control, and some way that he could help, and really that’s all he wanted to do.

When he finished, Cassius remained there for a moment with one hand resting lightly against her ankle. His eyes followed hers toward Lorenzo.

“It’s going to be okay, love.”

It was not much comfort, but it was all he had at his disposal.

Cassius rose and moved his chair closer to hers before sitting down. Despite a furious curiosity, he did not ask what Calbert had said, nor did he ask if she was all right. The spell she was under complicated that question, and Charlotte had never needed magic to pretend she was fine anyway.

Instead, he reached beneath the table and offered her his hand.

“If you need to go to him, I’ll come with you.”

His gaze remained on Lorenzo for another moment before settling back upon her.

“If you need to sit here and watch him all night, I’ll do that too.” His gaze shifted betwee Olivia and Kazumin before once more returning to Lottie. “I’m sure all three of us will.”

Cassius gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Whatever you need…I’m right here, Lottie.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Location: Grand Ballroom
Time: Evening
Interactions: Olivia @potter, Charlotte @princess
Mentions: Lorenzo @FunnyGuy, King Edin
Outfit: Bro Be Looking SO DAMN GOOD oh maw gawd

---

For a moment… A long moment… All Cassius heard was Olivia’s revelation about the Fearless Spell. Her words played and replayed in his mind repeatedly as his suspicions about the involvement of magic in Charlotte’s demeanor tonight became a confirmed reality.

“I will try not to use the book unless I need to.”

That’s what she had told him. That’s what Cassius had believed. There were parts of him, frustrated bits deep in his core, that wanted to be angry with her. But he wasn’t. There were things he wished he would say to her about it all. But he wouldn’t.

Because there was more of him that simply wanted to let her have what peace she could tonight than there were pieces of him that wanted to confront her for going back on her word.

“I will try...”

“…unless I need to.”

He realized in that moment hat perhaps she had chosen her words carefully. There was no absolute in what she had said, and plenty of wiggle room. She had not lied, but gods he had hoped she wouldn’t even feel like she had needed to delve into the very thing that was endangering this entire kingdom. Had there been a way he could have helped her avoid such a choice? His jaw tightened as a guilt he didn’t even quite understand bubbled beneath the surface with the very thought that somehow he could have changed this outcome.

The parts of him that prioritized her peace were indeed far greater than the other parts of him tonight, and thus he decided… At least for the moment… To let sleeping dogs lie. But it was in that very moment that Cassius had made a subconscious realization, and the subsequent decision that he could not leave her side during it all. Not even for a second.

And of course...right on bloody cue...

Before he could even respond to the proposal of games or pranks or food… Fate proved to be a cruel mistress, and just like that… the very peace he had chosen to protect was shattered for her in an instant.

The outburst by Lorenzo, directed at the king himself, echoed loud enough for them to hear. Cassius wished more than anything that they had not been close enough to hear at all, but alas, there was no changing that reality. And before he could even react, Charlotte was on the move.

Rage boiled within him as the implications of Lorenzo’s accusations towards King Edin fully set into his chest. The thought of that disgusting, poor excuse for a sovereign putting his hands on his Lottie made his skin crawl, his heart drop, and his eyes harden like those of a devil as he stepped in stride with her as she approached them.

And there it was...The violence in Cassius that he had so hoped to leave behind was on full display in his mind’s eye as visions of a thousand ways to kill a king flashed through him. He would not let the man touch her. He could not. His fist clenched so tightly at his side that blood was almost drawn from his palm, the pain of it standing as one of the only things grounding him in the moment. Cas’s gaze was locked onto the face of their vile king as he struggled to see anything but the slick red of rage that threatened to consume him as they moved. Cassius wasn’t sure what was about to happen, nor if this would all escalate into something violent… But he was at Charlotte’s side and would remain so no matter the outcome.

Gods help them all.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Location: Grand Ballroom
Time: Evening
Interactions: Olivia @potter, Charlotte @princess
Mentions: Kazumin @samreaper
Outfit: Bro Be Looking SO DAMN GOOD oh maw gawd

---

“Oh yes… I’m feeling quite lovely, actually.”

Cassius wanted to believe her.

Gods, he wanted to believe her so badly that the wanting itself almost felt like an act of faith from a faithless man. Charlotte stood there with bread in her hand and starlight on her dress, smiling as if the answer should have been simple, as if lovely was the truth. She leaned there with all the soft composure of a woman enjoying her evening. He had done it himself often enough to recognize the shape of it on another face, even one as beautiful and beloved and impossible as hers.

Yet there was something different about her tonight that made the word settle wrong in him. It was not only the gown, though gods knew the gown was making a valiant attempt to ruin every last shred of composure he had ever pretended to possess. It was the absence of ribbons, the wine-dark curve of her mouth, the way her eyes met his without darting away quickly like they sometimes did when she was feeling timid, the way she had crossed the ballroom and touched him as though she wanted people there to feel as though he belonged to her. It was all stunning. It was everything some foolish, greedy part of him wanted for her. But there was a brightness to it that frightened him too, a shine too close to flame. That fire had always been there, but what caused it to come to such a blaze tonight?

"If this is about the dress, I only thought it rude not to dress on theme," she added, and the soft giggle that followed was so perfectly Charlotte that Cassius almost abandoned his concern out of convenience.

But he could not.

His mouth curved into that patented smile of his, because that was all his mouth knew how to do when his heart was busy making a mess of itself. “Ah, I see.” His gaze moved over her again despite his better judgment, not with the earlier stunned hunger that had nearly left him useless, but with something a bit more careful now. “Well if the theme was to show up an entire room of people who live for the type of entrance you just had… Then I would say you nailed it.”

It was a flirtation, because of course it was. It was easier to be charming than frightened, easier to let his words wear a smile while the rest of him took inventory of every troubling little detail. Charlotte took her tidy bite of bread, and Cassius watched the small, ordinary motion with an ache he could not name. It had to do with the fact that she should have been allowed ordinary things. Bread and music and soft laughter with a friend. A night where a dress was only a dress and a ballroom was only a ballroom, but after everything they had discovered about one another of the past few days... After everything he now knew she was facing, his heart broke with the knowledge that she wasn’t just a pretty girl in a stunning dress living her best life. She was coping with the weight of troubles on the horizon that no one should have to face. Especially her.

Why her?

Then she licked the butter from her finger, and Cassius forgot, for one shamefully vivid second, that they were standing in public. His eyes caught on her mouth before he could stop them. On the dark wine of her lips. On the slow, careless sweep of her tongue against her skin. He wanted to look away but he did not...could not.

A dangerous heat moved through him, low and immediate, and Cassius had to tighten his hand around his glass to remind himself that there were people around them. And still, for one reckless heartbeat, all he could think was that he wanted that same careless mouth turned toward him.

Gods help him... His gaze lifted back to her eyes, slower than it should have, his smile crooked but no longer entirely safe.

She had to know what she was doing to him. And if she did not, that might be even more dangerous.

Then Charlotte’s attention drifted across the room, and Cassius saw the moment she noticed what everyone else had been trying very badly to pretend was not there.

“There’s a strange demeanor about everyone tonight, don’t you think? As if there’s a storm cloud looming over the room and nobody wishes to point it out.”

It was in that instant that he realized that she didn’t know about this morning… About the Queen and her execution.

She had been condemned at trial and made into a spectacle where most of the city had seen a woman’s flesh melt and ashes hit the ground just to come here tonight like none of it had happened, and somehow that seemed to be the way of things in Sorian. There was always enough bullshit to cover rot if one could afford to, and these fuckers could afford to. There always seemed to be enough music to drown out the sound of the screams of someone burning alive, always enough wine to turn a public execution into gossip by sundown.

And Charlotte did not know about what happened, that much was clear to him. Somehow, mercifully, impossibly, she had avoided the news. Cassius wondered if he should tell her before she found out in a worse way, but when he looked at her now, bright-eyed and glorious in whatever powerful confidence she had found, he could not bring himself to be the man who told her.

At least not yet.

His eyes flicked briefly to Olivia. It was just a glance, quick and quiet, carrying more of plea than command. His eyes begged Liv not to say anything either.

Thankfully her reaction to Kazu’s whimsical entrance shifted the topic.

“Oh—he’s spectacular,” she breathed, and Cassius let out a quiet, helpless breath of laughter.

“Spectacular is an understatement.” He jested as his eyes followed her delight for a moment before sliding toward Olivia, where a very different sort of spectacle seemed to be taking place.

Olivia had gone bright enough in the face that Cassius would have needed to be an idiot not to notice. Her hair made a poor hiding place, the food an even poorer one, and the bouncing of her leg practically announced that Kazumin had done more than entertain the ballroom.

Then Charlotte began asking Olivia about music, and for a moment the conversation felt truly normal. Do you dance as well? Sing? Play an instrument? Such simple questions yet refreshing giving the weight on his mind.

”Yeah… I played the violin for a bit with my mom but I did not sing.”

Cassius recognized what the woman was carrying in her eyes as she answered, and he looked down into his glass because staring at another person’s grief while it passed through them had always struck him as a particular sort of indecency. There was a mercy in pretending not to notice every second of it.

But the word mother had already gone through him.

Music always brought his mother back to him. That was the mercy and the cruelty of it. He did not first remember her illness…the coughing, nor the shrinking of her body, nor the way she had tried to smile through pain. It was her voice under open sky, her fingers moving over piano keys, her joy when she finally convinced him to sing along with her.

”Life is real fuckin boring without music, you’re right.”

Cassius smiled faintly, and this time the expression was not entirely a performance.

“My mother would have agreed with you.”

His gaze returned to Charlotte then, and softened more than he even realized as he wondered if maybe it was her he heard singing the other day outside his window. And then Charlotte looked back at him, and whatever fragile balance he had recovered began to slip.

“Are you alright, darling?” She asked him.

Darling.

The word settled into him with absurd force, slipping past what charm and armor he had left and sliding beneath all his practiced little ways of making himself untouchable. Cassius could have laughed from the sheer injustice of it. He had been stabbed, beaten, cursed at, literally cursed, desired, praised, hated, and called things far worse than Scourge in his time. None of it had undone him as efficiently as that one gentle word from Charlotte Vikena.

“You…” Her smile faltered, only slightly, and those honest blue eyes stayed on him with a care that made his defenses feel ridiculous. “…seemed a little… off, when I came over.”

Of course she would ask that. Of course she would walk into the ballroom transformed, dodge concern with buttered bread and pretty laughter, and then look at him as though he was the mystery worth solving. It was almost cruel, but it was even more humorous.

“I seemed off because you walked in looking like that, love.” he said, leaning just a little closer so the words belonged more to her than to anyone else. Before he could decide how much more truth to risk, Olivia struck directly at the elephant in the room with all the grace of a brick through stained glass. Cassius appreciated the bluntness.

"What the hell is going on with you?"

Cassius turned his head toward her, and for a moment he simply looked at Olivia with a kind of startled admiration. He set his glass down with care, moved closer to the both of them as he waited with bated breath to hear what Charlotte might say in response.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening of Ignis 10
Location: Danrose Castle
Interactions/Mentions: Marina @princess, Lucian @HylianRose, Mina @Tae, Nolan @Remram, Stratya @CitrusArms

The way Lord Nolan looked at Marina was respectful and full of admiration… Ambrose did not care for it. Not one bit.

There were many sensible reasons for that. The princess was young, the young lord was unfamiliar to him, compliments at court were rarely as harmless as they seemed, and any man who stumbled so openly over one could stumble over worse things if given the chance. It was Ambrose’s duty to notice such things. His duty was to measure the distance between admiration and intention. His duty to decide whether Lord Nolan Edwards was merely awkward, or a problem that required closer attention.

Those were all reasonable explanations as to why a knight in Ambrose’s shoes might feel negatively about the interaction… but they did not explain the way Ambrose’s jaw tightened when Marina’s cheeks warmed the way they did.

“I—yes. You too!” she replied to Nolan, far too quickly.

Ambrose’s eyes narrowed by the smallest degree. The response was ridiculous. Endearingly so, which only made it worse. But also, thankfully, his response was just subtle enough that perhaps no one even saw. Marina continued.

“I meant lovely back to you in a very manly and masculine way,” Marina informed him, hands settling on her hips as if posture alone could rescue dignity. “Obviously.”

Ambrose looked away before his expression betrayed him.

Absurd girl.

The thought came too fondly, and so he crushed it into something more acceptable.

Reckless princess.

There… that was better.

A few moments later, the lovely Captain Stratya Durmand approached. Ambrose noticed her before she arrived. There was purpose in her step, but also the warmth he had gotten to know from her. She came toward them dressed not as some delicate ornament of court, but as herself, and Ambrose found his attention settling on her with a steadiness he could not quite blame just on his duties to be vigilant.

The military dress suited her. Gods, it suited her in all of her glory.

Deep navy and rich burgundy, gold cord and polished buttons, medals glinting like small captured suns against the strength of her chest. A broad belt cinched her waist, emphasizing the hard-earned authority of her bearing rather than hiding it. The fur mantle over her shoulders somehow gave her silhouette a softness despite her formidable appearance.

But that was not all he noticed.

There was the brown tint of her hair, gathered with care but not tamed into lifeless perfection. The curve of her mouth, that suited both laughter and command. The kindness in her eyes... There was beauty in every inch of the ballroom tonight, arranged in silk, pearls, powder, and practiced poses.

Stratya’s beauty stood out to him in ways others could not. Her beauty was not artificial, nor was it performative or reliant on those very silks and gimmicks. It was natural, it was real, and she carried every bit of that beauty perfectly.

“Ambrrose,” she said, his name softened and reshaped by the rough music of her accent. “Would you dance with me?”

For a breath, Ambrose simply looked at her.

The offer was convenient. Mercifully so. It gave him a path out of the press of faces and feelings crowding him from every side. Away from Mina’s lowered gaze. Away from Lucian’s watching eyes. Away from Lord Nolan Edwards looking at Marina the way he had. Away from the tangled, ugly thing inside his chest that had begun the evening as duty and had since become something much less obedient. But her offer was not just merely convenient.

That was the problem.

He also wanted to accept. Not just because it would remove him from the group or because it allowed him to breathe. Not only because the dance floor would still keep Marina & her brother within view and within reach if danger came. No, it was more than that.

He wanted to accept because it was Stratya asking, and because a piece of him had craved her attention since his time with her and Marina at the shops.

His gaze flicked briefly to Marina out of instinct. Much to his chagrin, she was already watching. Of course she was. Marina missed a great deal and noticed far too much, often in the least convenient order possible. Her eyes held that bright, terrifying spark that meant a declaration was coming before wisdom could stop it.

“Okay! Ambrose, you are dismissed to the alluring, the darling, Captain Stratya!”

Ambrose closed his eyes for half a breath. Of course Marina would make a display of it all. Of course she would dismiss him in such a public way. Never subtle, the princess, at least not when he wanted her to be. But what she said…

Alluring. He opened his eyes again.

What she said had not been inaccurate at all.

“But now everyone’s eyes on Marnie, please!” Marina continued, pointing toward her own face with the full authority of a princess and the full dignity of a child demanding the stage at a family supper.

Ambrose allowed himself the smallest exhale through his nose and checked the room as Marina spoke. Lucian was close enough to Marina to serve her brotherly shield. Lord Nolan and Lord Drake stood near, more awkward than threatening. Mina was near enough to still be a wound to him, but her and Marina adored one another. There were guards posted at the edges of the ballroom, though Ambrose trusted his own eyes more than theirs. But there was no immediate threat, no insanely exposed angle he could not cross quickly from the dance floor if he had to.

He could step away. At the very least for one dance.

His gaze lingered on the princess for only a moment, as she wrapped Mina in her arms, before he forced it away. Lingering would do him no good, and Ambrose had already given enough of himself tonight to things that did not deserve to keep taking.

He turned back to Stratya.

“Captain Durmand.” His voice came out steadier than he felt. He inclined his head to her, formal enough for the room, but his eyes did not leave hers.

“If you are willing to risk your toes on a poor dancer like me, I would be honored.” The faintest dry edge of humor touched his words.

Then he offered her his gloved hand, his eyes softening in anticipation of her taking it.

“Shall we?”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Location: Grand Ballroom
Time: Evening
Interactions: Olivia @potter, Charlotte @princess
Mentions: Kazumin @samreaper, Alexander Deacon @FunnyGuy
Outfit: Bro Be Looking SO DAMN GOOD oh maw gawd

---

”Just call me Liv, I don’t give a shit what title you give me.”

Cassius’s mouth quirked with appreciation for her bluntness.

“Liv it is then.” he replied, voice low with amusement. “And feel free to simply call me Cas. No lord, no Damien… Just Cas.”

Then she started eating, like really eating. Not the delicate little pecking that noblewomen did at events like this because they were scared to mess up their ridiculously over-caked makeup or get a little on their gowns. No, she was doing it right. Liv ate like a person who unfortunately knew what it was like to go without food at all, let alone the fancy little delicacies these peacocks left half-eaten on gilded plates. She appreciated every taste, every bite. That much was clear. And as a spectator, Cas fucking loved it too.

A laugh slipped out of him. Quiet at first, then warmer when she turned away with her cheeks full like a chipmunk. It was amazing.

”I'm sorry.. This food is really fucking good.”

“Do not apologize.” Cassius said casually with the faintest glimmer of genuine ease. “That may be the most honest thing that gets said in this entire ballroom tonight. Besides…” His eyes flicked briefly to the flock of nearby nobles pretending not to stare. “If anyone here judges you for enjoying food, I’ll take their plate as punishment and give it to you instead.” He offered a friendly wink to accompany his words.

Cas appreciated Liv’s presence. Especially there in that moment where her candor, and her lack of giving a fuck genuinely helped him feel more at ease. She had not come to him with a polished smile or some trite compliment or bullshit manipulative tactic like half of the people in the room would have. Instead, she simply came up, cursed, stuffed her face, and asked him how he was doing like she actually gave a damn about the answer.

”What about you - how are you? This is a lot for you isn't it?”

Cassius looked down at the glass in his hand. For a moment, he considered lying, but before he could even answer, the herald’s voice cut across the ballroom.

Lady Charlotte Vikena.

_{And as his eyes found her… the world changed forever.}

Cassius had always believed that romance novels existed as fairytales to push the naïve notion that love existed in some perfect way that could sweep someone off their feet and fix every single thing about the lives of the protagonists in the stories. It was escapism and that was all. Not unlike the ways he had always escaped from the world with the booze, the women, the men… and every other bit of beauty and pleasure he could find along the way. He knew escapism well, but his way had always been real whereas the books and stories that pushed such silly notions such as true love’s kiss had always been nothing more than fantasy for the innocent and the lonely. It was not real life, well… not until the moment she walked into the room.

The gold of the ballroom dulled, the painted stars on the ceiling above blurred, and the bodies between them, the gossip, the perfume, the bullshit beneath all that finery. It all fell away until there was only the woman stepping through the doors.

Charlotte.

Gods…Charlotte.

For one foolish second, Cassius forgot how to breathe.

He had seen her beautiful before, every single time his eyes had met her form she had been stunning. He had thought her beautiful in ribbons and plainer dresses, beautiful with grass beneath her and sunlight in her hair, beautiful soaked through and shaking by firelight, beautiful even when frightened, angry, exhausted, or trying desperately to hold herself together when everything around her seemed as though it were breaking piece by piece.

Her beauty had never needed adornment. It had lived in the melancholy of her eyes, in the careful way she held herself, in her kindness, the intelligence behind every witty little comment, and in the strange, lonely gravity that seemed to draw him to her no matter how many times he tried to step away.

But this was different.

Tonight, Charlotte Vikena did not enter like a girl hoping not to be noticed. She entered like the greatest secret the world had ever tried to keep. Cassius had seen the fire in her that very first night they met, but she might as well have been ablaze there at the front of the ballroom stealing the breaths and attention of all in attendance that evening. The mild mannered, sweet girl that deserved better than everyone in that room was there, center focus, and for a moment she owned them all.

Dark blue shimmered over her like midnight given shape, the gown catching the light in tiny flashes that made her seem less dressed in stars than made from them. Her hair fell in loose black waves down her back, elegant and deliberate, no ribbon binding her into softness. The deep wine of her lips made her face look sharper, more mature, almost…dangerous. The slit of her gown revealed the movement of her leg with each step, and Cassius hated every man in the room who noticed while knowing he was one of them.

But no… He was not like them. He was something else entirely.

They looked because they saw beauty and wanted a taste of it. They stared because they were shocked to see THIS Charlotte Vikena in front of them when they were used to another version of her.

Cassius looked like a man who had no other choice. He stared as though the goddess of his very salvation had just walked into the room…or perhaps the one who brought with her his doom.

Because there she was, in all of her fire and glory. Something in her had awakened, and it was magnificent.

But he also knew it was wrong. Something was wrong, and that was the part that tightened around his ribs.

There was power in the way she moved, yes. A devastating sort of power. Enough to make the air shift around her. Enough to make people turn with parted lips and startled eyes. Enough to make even his father look shocked across the room.

Cassius saw that.

He saw all the beauty at her disposal, the command she possessed in this moment. But he also saw the dark, glittering certainty of every step and the shadow beneath it all. He saw the girl from the lake clutching a wrapped book that she had been willing to die for. He heard her voice again, soft and dreadful by the fire.

I presume I’m on borrowed time anyway.

He saw the way she had leaned into his hand with tears threatening to break her apart. The way she had confessed to feeling helpless since seeing her mother’s body on the grass. The way she had spoken of witch hunters, the Black Rose, Alexander Deacon, and the terrible arithmetic of a girl who had somehow decided her life was the cheapest thing she could spend.

And now she walked through the ballroom like a woman who had made peace with becoming important…

The sight should have thrilled him.

And it did… Gods help him, it did.

It thrilled him so deeply that his chest ached with it. Pride sparked through him, bright and fierce, because some part of him wanted every person in that room to see what he saw. To see that Charlotte Vikena was not some poor, fragile thing to be pitied or judged in print and whispered over in corners. She was not a rumor, nor a scandal. She was not some tragic little line in a gossip sheet passed between the cruel hands of narcissists.

She was brilliant, and formidable, and she was so beautiful it hurt to look at her. And yet the hurt remained as he refused to look anywhere else. Not just because of how he felt about about this woman, but because Cassius could not tell whether he was watching Charlotte bloom or burn.

His fingers tightened around his glass.

“Oh fuck…” he breathed under his breath, too quietly for anyone but perhaps Liv to hear.

The words weren’t even meant to be spoken out loud, but he was a man ruined by what he saw. He was a man that, little did he know, would never live for himself again a day in his life.

Then Charlotte looked at him, and whatever remained of his composure abandoned him completely.

He knew that look. Or rather, he knew pieces of it. He knew the softness she tried to hide when they were alone. He knew the spark of amusement when she thought she had won some small witty battle of banter between them. He knew the guarded tenderness that frightened them both. But this was all of it made public, aimed at him without shame, without hesitation, without the careful little walls she so often placed between herself and the world.

She started toward him and Cassius straightened without meaning to. A man who had faced assassins, monsters, mercenaries, and the worst moral destruction of his own life suddenly had no idea what to do with his hands. He set his glass down so that he wouldn’t drop it. Then, he picked it back up because he was afraid he might need it.

“Gods.” he muttered, and for once there was no charm in it. No performance. Just a man quietly losing a battle he had not truly known he was fighting.

She closed the space like it belonged to her, and honestly…perhaps it did. Perhaps he did too.

“Hi, Cassius.”

There were a thousand things he could have said. Something clever, witty, flirtatious enough to make her blush. That was what he did, wasn’t it? Cassius Vael, Cassius Damien, whatever name the room wished to give him. He always had something to say. Always in control. Always on top or at least pretending to be. But around her, even in that first moment of their meeting, that all began to crumble. Tonight, it was the foundation of it all that gave way.

His mouth parted slightly, but whatever words had meant to form there seemed to die in quiet astonishment. She was close enough that he could see the details of her makeup, the dark blue of her eyes, the faint movement of her breath. Close enough that he could remember the taste of her mouth with cruel clarity. Close enough that every sensible thought in him scattered.

And then she reached up and her fingers brushed the corner of his lips.

Cassius went still. Utterly, painfully, absolutely still.

Because naturally, the woman who had just entered the ballroom looking like a moonlit omen had crossed the room to wipe a crumb from his mouth as if she had every right to touch him in front of gods, nobles, fathers, enemies, and anyone else who cared to witness his ruin.

His face warmed…and his cheeks turned red like some green boy receiving his first smile from a pretty girl at market. The horror of that realization almost saved him. Almost, but not quite, as he was barely human in that moment but at the same time more alive than he had ever been.

“Hi.” he finally managed.

One…Pathetic…Word.

He heard himself say it and immediately wanted to drown himself in the punch bowl. Cassius cleared his throat, the tips of his ears faintly red despite every effort of his body to pretend otherwise. His gaze flicked down to her hand, then back to her face, and the smile that formed on his mouth was helpless in a way he could not quite disguise.

“You…”

He stopped. His eyes moved over her again, not with the earlier hunger of a man who had forgotten his manners, but with reverence. With worry, and something tender enough to frighten him.

“You look…”

Beautiful was too small. It was not good enough. Ethereal sounded like something some perfumed poet would say, but even that word wasn’t worthy of her.

Cassius swallowed.

“You look…Perfect, Lottie." he said at last, voice quieter than usual, rougher too.

Then Charlotte turned to Liv, touching her cheek with such easy tenderness that Cassius’s chest gave another uncomfortable pull. The affection between them was gentle, but there was something about Charlotte’s openness that made him wary.

Not because he disliked it, but because he liked it too damn much.

He wanted her to feel powerful, wanted her to feel adored, to feel like the world could stare and she did not have to shrink like he had seen her do before. But he knew what had been happening beneath the surface.

He knew the book existed.

He knew some voice had called to her across the lake, and there was something in the way she stood tonight, something bright and dark and intoxicating, that made the memory of her shivering by the fire feel less like a past danger and more like a warning.

He wondered if Liv saw it too.

“You look so beautiful, Liv.” Charlotte complimented her friend.

”Oh! Um, me? Wow. Thank you.” The girl responded, almost as caught off guard as Cassius himself.

Cassius’s gaze flicked toward Liv, and despite everything, a softness touched his mouth. There was a sweetness in the way she stumbled over the compliment, a vulnerability he doubted she meant to reveal.

”You look beautiful too.” She responded. Soon though, Olivia spoke up with a question. ”Are you okay?”

There it was…The question Cassius had been too spellstruck to properly ask.

The question that had been pulsing beneath his ribs since the moment Charlotte entered. Liv glanced toward him, searching for an answer and Cassius did not have one. So, Cassius looked back at Charlotte instead. The softness in his expression lingered, but beneath it was the concern he could not fully hide. His voice, when he spoke, was low enough for only the three of them.

“Really, Lottie…Are you alr...”

And then, another loud introduction stopped his words in their tracks.

Mr Kazoo…the Skip Meister!

Cassius blinked as his gaze slowly shifted back towards the front of the room just in time to see Kazumin Nagasa descend into the ballroom with sunflowers in his hat and absolutely no concern for dignity, nobility, reputation, or any other bullshit most in this room coveted above all else. For a heartbeat, Cassius simply stared.

It was…a lot… especially moments after Charlotte had just changed his life forever in a way that he still hadn’t been able to process. But EVERYTHING about what Kazumin was doing was, in its own way, fucking perfect. Hilariously, ridiculously, wholesomely perfect. The whole display was a fever dream, one which Cassius could not help but enjoy. He smiled, genuinely smiled, as he watched the man dance, rejoice, and make a mockery of the formality of the entire evening in a way that he could not help but respect. There would come a time when Cassius would get the chance to talk to Kazu about all of it, but for the moment, his attention could only be won by the girl next to him. His eyes returned to Charlotte, and the humor softened back into the same concern he had before. Because not even Kazumin Nagasa, in all his bizarre and perfect glory, could hold Cassius’s gaze for long. Not tonight. Not when Charlotte was right there.

The room had many stars.

And Cassius had found his.

“Is everything alright, love?” He asked as his eyes studied hers for the same answers that Olivia had been searching for.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening of Ignis 10
Location: Danrose Castle
Interactions: Marina @princess, Lucian @HylianRose, Mina @Tae, Nolan @Remram

"Ambrose, thank you for getting her here safely as always."

Lucian’s words came out even and appreciative, but Ambrose was no fool. This man, this prince was doing his best to hide just how uncomfortable Ambrose’s presence made him, but his best… unfortunately for both of them… was not enough to conceal the discomfort fully.

“Of course, my Prince.” Ambrose replied with a similar tone. Despite the resentment that even now in this moment bubbled underneath, Ambrose could not deny the ping of melancholy that accompanied his anger when around the man he once felt so close to.

But that was before the prince had failed their beloved Sophia. Ambrose’s sister was gone, and fair or not it was Prince Lucian Camilia that had borne the weight of a brother’s rage in mourning. Ambrose’s even tone of voice as he answered the Prince did not disguise the look of contempt in his bronze eyes. He then turned to continue his vigilant observation of the room, leaving the siblings to talk as they may. As their voices lowered into whisper, the knight assumed the topic of conversation had switched to him, but it was not his place to know… Nor did knowing change the fact that despite his feelings, he was first and foremost there as their sworn protector. No amount of anger, no grudge nor animosity would see him falter in his mission.

Lost in his thoughts, but mostly in the task at hand to keep the siblings safe, Ambrose let the greater sounds of the ballroom fade and diminish into the background of his mind as he scanned the various people of the room with a knight’s acute awareness. As his watchful eyes were locked elsewhere in the room, he was completely caught off guard by the collision at his back. He turned defensively to face his collider, mind already considering potential conflicts, already switching into action. But what he saw, or rather who he saw once he turned only caught him off guard even more.

"Ambrose,"

Mina.

"I... I apologize. I wasn't looking where I was going. This crowd is... overwhelming."

Somehow, in his vigil, as he had let the sounds and voices of the nobility fade away, he had missed her introduction. Yet here she was, inches from him, when the last time the two had met eyes she was doing everything she could to pull away. Ambrose’s eyes took her in for the first time since the day she had broken his heart.

“Lady Blackwood…” He muttered, voice losing the knightly confidence that was usually on display. “I…” Ambrose began but stopped as he realized the woman could not look him in the eyes.

Had she been that ashamed of him? Was he such a loathsome thing to her that she could not even bear to look at him? There had been no real closure, no true healing of the wounds between them, yet he had not even realized to what degree until this very moment. It was as though he were back there in the instant of the very heartbreak itself. He looked to her here tonight, dressed in midnight blue and gold, the colors rich enough to make the candlelight linger on her. Silk clung close before falling away into a train, and golden roses had been worked into the vision of her like a declaration. Beautiful. Painfully so, but not peacefully beautiful. Not tonight.

Perhaps it was the way Lucian had been made so clearly uncomfortable by his presence staining his perception, but Mina’s own discomfort read to Ambrose as nothing but disgust for him. The wounds in his heart painted it as a hatred for him and how he would never have been good enough for her. The knight then watched those eyes of hers, the ones that could not fathom meeting his own, slip past him toward the very Prince he could not help but resent.

Lucian.

It lasted only a moment, and perhaps he imagined the way they softened. Perhaps not. Either way, the damage was done, and the fingers of his left hand twitched at his side as he swallowed down the feeling of seeing it in real time. That glance toward Lucian, brief as it may have been, was how those stormy-blue eyes once looked at Ambrose. For a moment, he was broken all over again.

“Do not worry, my lady… The fault was mine for being in your way.”

For the space of a breath, Ambrose was trapped there with her, with the scent of rosewater and silk, with the golden roses at her gown, with the taste of her still caught somewhere behind his tongue.

Then another voice entered the space between them. It was a mercy that Ambrose could only thank the gods for.

"Um, hello there. My apologies if we are interrupting."

Ambrose turned his head toward the speaker to see two young lords approach. The Edwards sons, if memory served. The knight said nothing. It was not his place to greet them before the royals had done so. Instead, he gave the pair a measured nod, enough to acknowledge their presence without surrendering his post.

The younger one continued, polite despite the obvious nerves.

"We offer our humblest greetings and respect to the royal family of Varian. My name is Nolan Edwards, youngest child of Duke and Duchess Edwards of Soralia, and this is my brother, Drake Edwards, eldest child and heir. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Then Lord Nolan’s gaze shifted to Marina, and an entirely different emotion pinged inside of Ambrose. One he was not very fond of.

"It's great to see you again, Princess Camilla. You look..."

Ambrose watched the pause. It was small and harmless, perhaps, but his jaw clenched all the same as he watched the boy fawn over his princess. He wasn't sure exactly what brought about the physical reaction. With Mina's sudden arrival and the way it had frayed the threads of his composure, there was less clarity about his own thoughts and feelings than the man was used to. All he new is that something about it all made him tense.

"You look lovely tonight," Nolan managed, his smile warming with an honesty that made it worse. "Very lovely."

The young lord recovered quickly, or tried to at least.

"I, uh, I hope this night has found everyone well so far. Have you all been able to enjoy your stay in Caesonia?"

Ambrose folded his hands behind his back and let the royals answer, his expression settling back into the carved stillness expected of him. Though his eyes did shift briefly to Mina, and then to Lucian, and finally to Marnie as the knight forced his emotions down and wished to be anywhere in the world other than this room.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Location: Grand Ballroom
Time: Evening
Interactions: Olivia @potter
Mentions: Lady Charlotte Vikena @princess, Alexander Deacon @FunnyGuy
Outfit: Bro Be Looking SO DAMN GOOD oh maw gawd

---

It was a room full of people pretending that they had not just watched a woman burn alive earlier that day.

It was a room full of people pretending to live their best lives, surrounded by all the glitz and glamour that Sorian had to offer. All that indulgence, all of that laughter, all of the pointless conversations and small talk that filled these noble endeavors. Like each and every one of them did have the ashes of the queen stained in their memory.

Cassius knew what it was like to be haunted by flames. This was not the first time he had watched skin melt from bone, nor was it the first time he had been cursed to smell charred hair and boiling blood. You would think knowing that the room is filled with others that may now be haunted the same would bring him some solace. It did not.

In fact, in that room filled with all of those people, Cassius may as well have been alone.

Lost in the labyrinth that was his mind, Cassius navigated the last week of his life. The memories started the night he pulled Charlotte from the depths of that frigid lake. The emotions of that evening had been overwhelming for them both. The push and pull of heart and mind, the revelations laid bare by her that night would have left anyone reeling. For Cassius, he had seen crazier, experienced wilder, and endured just as dangerous realities as the one she admitted to facing. And yet, none of the conflicts he had survived felt as real to him as the fear he suffered for knowing what she was going through. Each time he thought of her words his heart broke again. A Witch Blood. A target of a multi-fronted cast of villains, opposition that seemed hellbent on tormenting her, using her, or worse.

The witch hunters, if they truly knew about her lineage, terrified him. The Black Rose, whatever their machinations might be for her, terrified him. And his own blood boiled as he pictured the moment she described taking place at the art gallery; Alexander Deacon dominating her mind with his accursed powers… Attempting to force her to kiss him. Rage was not the word for how the act made Cassius feel. It was far too weak an emotion. What seared withing him was not just anger, it was hatred.

That hatred had reached his eyes, as his expression hardened and twisted into a wrathful stare down at the table as his grip tightened around his drink to the point where he could almost feel the glass shatter in his hands. He held it at bay and forced control over his outward presentation. Not revealing his cards in his face had always been a skill of his, but that skill had faltered lately. When it came to matters of Charlotte Vikena, his restraint, his composure, his devil may care disposition had all been compromised. As had his heart.

It was as though the control he had always possessed over himself had been taken from him. Not in a way like how Alexander manipulated his control at the banquet, nor how he tried to remove Charlotte’s control at the gallery, no… This was more like his own body surrendering the dominion he had over himself. It was not malignant, yet it terrified him all the same.

Every time Cassius and Charlotte had met up since that night brought with it that same fear. Fear for all she went through but also fear of what being around her did to him. Despite the heavy circumstances of their meetings, the harrowing conversations and revelations that came along the way… Each time they met, they somehow ended up tangled in one another’s arms. Despite themselves, their lips had found their way to one another on more than one occasion since that evening, but with every ounce of restraint either of them had that was all that had been allowed to happen.

And they never spoke of it. Not of the yearning of their bodies, nor the yearning of their hearts. They simply spoke of business. Charlotte went into details that she had not been able to that night. Details about what happened at the tavern, about how that filth had treated her and slammed her head into the table with such cruelty, details that added another man or two to the list of throats Cassius would gladly rip open if only the opportunity presented itself. In the case of the man from the tavern, work had already been done to find him.

Even Cas had opened up, telling Lottie about how he thought Kira had died, about the events that led up to his exit from the Iron Wolves, and how he knew deep down that they would come for him. Cassius revealed to her that he was not simply one of their best sellswords, but that they had been grooming him for command. The elders of the organization had chosen him to lead, and his exit had been more than a spit in their face. There would be a reckoning for that choice. Add it to the rest of the reckonings waiting around the corner for them both.

But what had stood out the most from all Charlotte had revealed that night was just how clearly she felt no one would miss her if she was gone. None of the dangers, none of the revelations had left him more shaken than those words.

Yet what had shattered him even more was the moment his father handed him the paper that morning. The words he read there nearly destroyed him.

“The woman is unhinged, son. She is not well. Do you see now why I…”

Cassius had tuned the rest out. It was all he could do in that moment to avoid wrapping his hands around his own father’s throat for speaking of her that way. Instead, those hands clenched it fists so tight at his side that his own nail dug into his palms deep enough to draw blood. The small wounds were still tender beneath his gloves as he stood here in this ball. And even now, as the thought passed through his mind of how Charlotte must have felt if the gossip was true, the corners of his eyes welled up with tears. Not just out of sadness for Lottie, but out of rage for whoever printed these words. True or not, for the words to be spread at all in such a public display of disgrace was disgusting.

Before his mind could turn to violence, a woman’s approach ripped him from his thoughts and forced him back into the reality of the moment.

“You look like you need a pick me up…Mind if I join? I can fuck off if you want.”

It was Olivia… Thank the gods. Cassius wasn’t sure if he could handle one of the polished, perfumed little parasites that pretended to be more important than everyone else just because of the status of their birth. Olivia was different, cut from a cloth that was much more familiar to him.

Cassius took in the sight of her. Ms. Hawthorne’s deep emerald gown was beautiful to say the least, but the woman within it was clearly uncomfortable wearing it despite how flattering the dress truly was. Clocking that actually brought the faintest of smirks to his face.

“No need to fuck off… I’m just glad its you and not one of those vultures.” Cassius jested, motioning to the majority of the room. “But how are Ms. Hawthorne? Or, Lady Hawthorne? I…I’m not sure I know which to use to be honest.” Cassius admitted, a puzzled expression on his has as he realized that her nobility, or lack thereof, had ever come up as far as he can remember.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

---

Bastion

Race: Warforged
Class: Guardian
Location: The Kraken's Wake  Seadragon Keep
Mentions: Phia @princess, Arya @potter, Corin @Lava Alckon, Minerva / Malik@FunnyGuy, Meiyu @Tae
Equipment:

equipment

☼ Tower Shield
☼ Greatsword made of Glacium (A material as hard as steel, yet formed from eternally frozen ice.)
☼ Titan Chain – A reinforced tow chain housed in his left palm, functioning as a powerful grappling hook.
☼ Aged Leather Satchel
☼ Worn but cherished scarf
☼ Maintenance Kit .
☼ Heavy-duty rations (for companions, not himself).
☼ A delicate glass figurine of a bird—an old keepsake.
☼ A locked, timeworn journal—contents unknown.

Attire:
☼ Etched and weathered ivory metal plating with bronze accents.
☼ Fitted harness for carrying supplies.
☼ Worn scarf
Gold Balance: 37 gold
Injuries:
☼ Left shoulder was injured in the battle and is still leaking fluid.

---

Bastion did not sleep.

This was not a matter of discipline, nor pride, nor some noble thing like heroism. Sleep simply did not come for him the way it did for others. Their bodies surrendered to it, each in their own fashion whether it be uneasy or welcomed. Their minds and bodies required rest. His did too, but just not in the same ways.

For Bastion, there was only the rest of stillness. Hours and hours of quiet and still that was only interrupted by the occasional patron coming or going from their room, in which they had to awkwardly step over Bastion’s massive legs as he waved up to them from his place on the ground, and of course the sounds that boomed from below as even though many were sleeping by this hour… The Kraken’s Wake, much like him, itself never slept.

Morning crept in without ceremony, gray and pale through the warped windows, sunlight spilling across the hallway in thin pieces that slowly touched his legs, his hands, the old plates and seams of his body. Doors began to open and voices emerged, some quiet, some strained, some still intoxicated from the evening’s libations.

Bastion rose when the others did, and he was excited when he felt the door from Phia’s room open behind his back. As he stood it was obvious that there was always a weight to him when he moved, a carefulness, as if every step required calculation before committing to it. The last thing he needed was another incident like with the chair the night before… Though it did seem to make everyone happy. Well, everyone except for Minerva.

He gave Phia space when she came out, his gaze touching her briefly, checking for injury, distress, anything immediate or requiring action. Then that same curious gaze passed to Menzai, then Corin, then Arya, then Meiyu.

Then to a stranger.

There was not a Minerva in sight. This form was different. Height, face, frame, hair, posture, clothing, all different from her. Yet how could it be that this man was in the room and Minerva was not, when Bastion had taken vigil outside of the door all night. No one had gotten in or out without him knowing. His head tilted like that of a confused dog as he pondered, but no one else acted as though there was a problem, which only confused him even more.

Thankfully it wasn’t long until he was introduced to Malik, and though the interaction did not answer all of his questions, it did alleviate some of his concern. At the very least, he did not have long to react at all since by the time the group arrived downstairs, Beckett and the other pirates came to collect them.

A brief time later, they were in the depths of Seadragon Keep receiving introductions by a blue prince that looked more like a child to Bastion. The child prince called them property… He did not appreciate that. The child prince insinuated that their survival was now dependent on their submission to him… He did not appreciate that either.

Bastion watched as, one by one, the group began to introduce themselves. Malik started things off as though he Was their leader. The Warforged’s head tilted once more with curiosity towards the Elf. Not only because of the obvious confusion, but also because in some ways the man reminded him of someone. He pulled memories of a Valenar champion of the Tairnadal with which he once served. Painful memories… And thus he pushed them from his mind almost as quickly as they came.

Next was Phia, and the way she carried herself made him feel proud to know her, despite it only being for a brief time. When she struck her staff against the floor, Bastion could feel the vibration of its echo through the soles of his metal plated feet. She made her stance known, made it clear that she was not property, and she carried a presence with her that he had not seen from the kind girl before.

Corin stepped up to make introductions next. The man, in all of his honor, was defiant in his own way. His competence was put on full display, as was his confidence in his abilities. He gave only his title; The Gem Knight. Bastion wondered why, but something in his own depths understood the choice even if his mind had not fully processed it as of yet.

It was then that Arya moved to step forward, but she did not make it far. Her body trembled, slight enough that perhaps others missed it, but Bastion did not. Her hand remained near her bow. Her hood hid much, but not all of her face. Stella was tucked away close, quiet as a secret. Even now, he admired the creatures majesty and beauty. Arya’s gaze did not settle. It flickered, retreated, returned, then vanished somewhere inward.

Bastion did not know everything. He did not know the shape of the chains that had left their memory around her wrists. He did not know why some silences were chosen and others were endured. But for all he did not know, he did in fact know fear.

But a shield did not need to understand the entire battlefield to know when to interpose, so Bastion stepped forward without even thinking.

As he took his place where the others had stood, Bastion gazed upon Prince Dane the way he once gazed upwards at the very Queen of Cyre. Even Warforged could experience nostalgia.

“The designation that was given to me upon my creation is Bastion.” He divulged. “I was once a guardian of Cyre, but now my shield has been sworn to these people here. I am their defender. I have vowed to protect them. If you wish to harm them, I fear I will be forced to add more bones to the collection in this room. For almost 100 years I lived a life consumed by war. I wish for something different, but I will not be your property, child, and you will not bring harm to my companions… Or war it shall be again.”

Bastion did not wait for a response, turning an about face like he once did in formation as a soldier, and taking his place between Phia and Arya once more.