Oso

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Violet & Cassius

Part One

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Violet looked to her father, her red eyes meeting his expression. She had seen it many times in herself.

”I’ll go look for him. You should get mother home safely. Cassius and I shouldn’t be far behind.”

With little else said, Violet stood from her seat after having witnessed everything this evening she was more then ready to leave. As she tucked her chair into the table her eyes glanced back over to Alexander's empty seat. She was more concerned about where Alexander had vanished too, perhaps it was better he hadn’t seen what took place.

Her brow furrowed.

She didn’t linger much longer before taking her leave towards the hallway. She walked past a few guards finding herself greeted with only closed doors. No sign of Cassius. And no sign of Alexander.

She let out a worried breath.

Cassius rounded the corner, boots striking loudly against the marble floor.

He didn’t look back…not at the hall behind him, not at the ghost of Charlotte’s voice still ringing in his ears. He simply couldn’t… Not without shattering into a million pieces.

He kept his head down, jaw tight, steps fast enough to outrun the words he knew he’d regret later if he let himself feel them now.

When he looked up, he nearly collided with her…

Violet.

Of course it has to be family.

Lowering his hand from his face, the deep scratches in his flesh made themselves known. Blood still painted his cheek, but he didn’t bother to wipe it. The wound was nothing compared to the scar across his eye, nor could it match the trench on his own sister’s forehead where the axe had met its mark… But this new wound was a symbolic one. It was not the physical injury that hurt the most. Not by a long shot.

With the fresh cuts revealed, Cassius stood up straighter and let the emotion fall away from his face as much as he could manage. Looking into the red eyes of Violet before him, he finally greeted her.

“Sister.”

It came out rougher than he meant, almost bitten off.

He forced a smile… A very Cassius smile... but it wasn’t enough to hide all of his pain.

“I sure hope I haven’t caught you starving.” He jested, pointing to the blood on his face.

“funny” she said with little emotion, the strong smell of Iron flooding her.

Scarlet had done well to keep the bloodlust at bay. It no longer ruled her the way it once had, but pretending it wasn’t still there,lurking just beneath her skin,would’ve been a lie. The scent in the air was sharp, metallic, impossible to ignore. Her eyes dropped to his face, smeared with blood, and her throat tightened with the familiar pull of hunger she wished she’d outgrown.

Behind him, movement caught her eye,guests beginning to slip away, murmuring to each other in hushed tones as the atmosphere thinned and the night began to fade. Scarlet’s gaze shifted as her hand clamp down around Cassius’ wrist, her grip tight, almost desperate. Without a word, she dragged him down the hall and out of sight.

“Father wanted me to find you, some stuff has happened inside the banquette you missed.” Her hand reached into a pocket that had been sewned into her dress pulling out a white handkerchief with her initials stitched in black and a small embrodered raven. Without much thought she used it to clean the blood off of him, appearing to be unbothered by the sight of it.

“What happened?”

Cassius allowed her to wipe the cut, letting the sting settle in. He didn’t thank her for it with words, but he did offer a gentle nod to his sister...who he knew had also gone through the ringer that evening.

His eyes flicked to hers when she asked what happened. The truth was so simple, yet so goddamn complicated.

His lip curled, humorless.

“A misunderstanding.” He said without emotion, almost matching her tone. Instead of elaborating further, Cassius simply addressed her other words. “Now your turn. You said there was more excitement after I stepped out? Well…what did I miss?”

Violet did as requested and informed him about the events in the banquette, about the queen and the witch hunters. Roman and Mina had never returned to their seats but she held back what was still on her mind; Alexander missing from his seat.

As many of the guests continued to shuffle out she led Cassius out into the garden, she knew that many of the guests were likely in a hurry with their carriages that waiting for some of the other families to take their leave first was better. That way Cassius and Violet could likely sneak out unnoticed. She also held the hope that she could possibly catch a glimpse of Alexander allowing some relief to her concern.

Cassius stepped beside her as the garden swallowed the noise of the castle behind them. The chill in the air bit at the fresh cuts on his cheek, but it helped keep his mind sharp and anchored him in his skin when everything else still felt like it was drifting away.

“I believe the goal was for those who felt safe to no longer feel that saftey” she added as they reached the center of the gardens. As they stopped Violets eyes continued to trail into the distance as if searching for something or someone.

He let Violet’s words replay in the quiet between them. The witch hunter with the girl in chains... the spectacle of it all... and then the image of the queen herself being dragged from her own hall like some petty traitor while her son looked on and did nothing to stop it.

He breathed out a humorless sound that might have been a laugh if it had any warmth left in it.

“So that’s the shape of it now, then... blood means nothing if it stands in the way of power. Even to Wulfric.” He shook his head, lips curling in a way that wasn’t quite a smile. “The crown eats its own. Always has.”

He fell quiet for a beat, boots crunching over gravel as they reached the garden’s heart. He let the wind pull at the edges of his coat, the cold biting through the heat still coiled low in his belly. Then his eyes flicked sideways to Violet and the way her gaze kept slipping over his shoulder, then drifting past his other side, scanning the hedges, the paths, the distant shadows where lanterns did not reach.

He tilted his head just enough to follow her eyes, the corners of his mouth ticking upward, but there was no humor in it.

“You are not subtle, sister,” he murmured, voice softer now but oh so tired still. He let his gaze follow hers once more before it landed back on her face. “Who are you hoping to find out here?”

Her crimson eyes drifted toward Cassius, the sharp edges of her expression softening for the briefest flicker of a moment.

“Roman,” she murmured, the name barely audible,spoken more out of habit than truth. Even as it left her lips, it felt wrong. A lie dressed in softness. Beneath the surface, her blood stirred, heated with the quiet rage that simmered every time she recalled his performance,his carelessness, the ease with which he embarrassed her. She could still feel the sting on her cheek.

“He went off with Mina, I guess. They were both gone when I came back to the table.”She gave a slight shrug, but it lacked conviction. It was more an attempt to brush it off than a genuine dismissal.

“He could hardly keep his eyes off her at the gallery. I suppose one flame had to die for him to light another.”

Though Roman was never the one she truly searched for in that moment his words still twisted like a cold knife at the base of her spine. The memory of his voice, the look on his face, that look in his eyes, it clung to her. She drew in a breath and straightened her posture, wrapping her arms around herself in a slow, self-soothing motion. It wasn’t for warmth. It was to hold herself together.

Cassius watched her carefully...the way her voice dulled it, the shrug that wasn’t really a shrug, the arms wrapping tight around herself.

He didn’t buy it, not for a heartbeat. But maybe tonight wasn’t the night to call her on it. He understood well enough what it was to keep certain truths buried down deep where no one else could pry them loose.

So, he just nodded and ran with her words, the corners of his mouth lifting in a sly smile.

“Roman…” he echoed. “Right. Well if I’m being honest…dear sister…I’d suggest that we’ve both seen more than enough of that oversized piece of shit for one night. His eyes searched hers for a beat longer, then flicked away toward the distant hedges she kept glancing at. “But I’m sorry… that things with your behemoth didn’t work out to your heart’s desire…I know you’ve been through hell, Violet, and you didn’t deserve what happened in there. Especially not from someone you thought you could trust.” He didn’t let the words hang too long, as a more genuine form of his smirk appeared. “I could always kill him, if you want.” His head tilted to the side in jest as he met her gaze once more. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve killed for you, ya know.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips, soft and fleeting, more out of habit than joy. She let out a breath that was almost a laugh.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I have killed someone either.”

Her hands, once tense at her sides, uncurled slowly, fingers loosening as though finally giving in to the weight of the night. A quiet sigh slipped from her lips, heavy with something unsaid.

“I’m sorry your evening’s been just as cursed…”

Her eyes flicked to his face, lingering where the blood had been. A shadow of concern passed through her gaze, but she didn’t mention it aloud. Instead, she shifted slightly, her voice dipping lower, quieter, more exposed.

“If I’m honest…” she hesitated, eyes fixed on some faraway place only she could see. “Roman reminded me of that girl I used to be. The one with too much hope and not nearly enough fear. She had all these dreams she read about in books dreams that felt real, like she could reach out and touch them if she just tried hard enough.He was that too me…to her.”

She paused again, her jaw tightening, voice rougher now as if she was trying to hold something steady that wanted to break.

“All she used to worry about was who she might marry one day… what her children would look like.” Her laugh this time was bitter and brittle, swallowed before it could fully form. “But now? It feels like everyone I ever trusted has changed. Like they’re showing me sides of themselves I don’t recognize anymore.”

Her gaze dropped to her hands, watching them as if trying to decide who they belonged to.

“The life I thought I knew… the life I wanted… it’s just gone. It died when I did.”

She took a breath, then another, slower this time, more deliberate. Her voice was barely a whisper when she spoke again.

“Or maybe…” she looked up at last, meeting his eyes, “it’s me who’s changed. And I’m only now starting to see it.”

Instead of responding immediately, Cas held her words in reverence for a moment. The breeze blew between them, tousling his hair and causing the flora around them to sway back and forth.
As he moved to brush the hair out of his face, he looked deep into his sister’s eyes with intention. He wanted her to know that he sees her. Both the girl that died and the woman that stands before him now. He would never claim to know her unique brand of pain, but he could look her in the eyes and show her that was more than familiar with his own…and prove to her that not everyone would leave her so easily.

“My mother used to say that the person we are today always dies to make room for who we’ll become tomorrow.” His eyes broke away, filled with nostalgia as he remembered the way her voice would sound when she said it. “She was a woman forced to reinvent herself in order to survive. More than once, I’d wager.” Letting a gentle hand rest on Violet’s shoulder, Cassius looked into her eyes again with the same conviction as before. “Now it's your turn, I’m afraid. For all the hell it's caused, this new life also gives you the chance to start over. To be who you really wish to be.”

She looked at Cassius with a surprised expression, she hadn’t expected this. Though, she hadn’t expected anything that happened tonight.

He took a deep breath, letting his hand fall into her own, before lifting their conjoined hands up for them both to see. “You’re not the only one questioning yourself tonight, I promise. But for now...for just a little while…how about I just be your charming brother, you just be my grumpy sister, and let’s just go get a fucking drink. What do you say?”

“My kind of drink? Or…” Her expression was unreadable for a moment, eyes locked on his like she was weighing something behind them. Then, the edge cracked, and she let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Yeah. Let’s grab a whiskey.”

She stepped forward, falling into stride beside him. She took one more not so subtle look over her shoulder. Still, no Alexander.

“How do you know who you wish to be?”
The question came out suddenly as she turned her head back. Her tone was casual, but there was something heavy buried beneath it. Something unsettled.

She didn’t look at him right away. Just kept walking, eyes ahead.

“All I know is… I don’t ever want to be humiliated like that again.” Her voice tightened, but she pushed forward. “It’s been eating at me. The way I chased after him,like some stupid little girl holding onto a fairy tale. If Alexander hadn’t said something…”

She trailed off for a beat, jaw flexing before she finished the thought.

“Would I still be running after him? Just clinging to what could’ve been instead of seeing what’s been right in front of me this whole time?”

Finally, she glanced sideways at Cassius not searching for answers, just needing to say it out loud.

“Sorry, It’s been a long night. My mind has been racing all evening.”

Cassius chuckled, just once, at her little jab, but let her have her time to speak. He listened with respect, and when he finally spoke again, his tone was softer but honest.

“I’m not even going to pretend I’ve got the answers tonight. I used to think I knew who I was… what I wanted. But when I left everything behind and sauntered off here to Sorian... gods, some days I don’t even know why I’m here.”

He gave a rough laugh under his breath, more exhale than sound as he shook his head.
“Truth is, I don’t think we ever get to know who we want to be forever. We just figure out who we want to be today…and tomorrow, we do it all over again.”

Cassius looked over at her, that sly grin back for just a flicker. He could feel the slightest hint of the sting from the scratch marks on his face as the smile formed. Violet nodded in understanding as she returned his smile glancing once more at the scratch marks clearly made by a human by the way they were formed.

“Take tonight for example…I want to be the version of me who’s so drunk that the only thought my mind could possible conjure is…more whiskey, please.”

A soft chuckled escaped her lips as Violet nodded in agreeance “Make it a double” she added with a smile.

And with that, they were off…

Cassius kept his shoulder near hers as they crossed the courtyard lamps, the hush of wind pulling at their clothes as they moved down Edin Ave. The castle walls loomed behind them now, their stones heavy with secrets best left there for the night.

They passed beneath the lanterns that lined Flora Road, their glow painting fleeting gold across their faces as they hooked around the back side of the massive Sorian Library…then slipped past the bend that curved them toward the deeper hum of the streets, lined with shuttered brothels and half-lit doorways, the hush of muffled laughter trailing out into the night. Cassius only rolled his shoulders back, keeping his sister close as they crossed the mouth of that crooked alley and carried on toward the promise of rough timber walls and whiskey on tap.

Before they could even come within view of their destination, however, something deep in Cas’s gut caused him to slow his stride. He let his eyes scan the shadows spilling out from the alleys behind the library’s high wall, the soft rustle of something that wasn’t the wind pricking at the edge of his hearing. The area ahead looked much the same…lamps flickering, a stray drunk laughing to himself, but underneath it all, the air had gone tight, as if the night itself was holding its breath.
The silence continued to creep between them, Violets mind plagued still with her thoughts.

“Violet...” His voice came out sudden and deathly serious as crimson eyes looked up at him. “Something’s wrong.”

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Location: The Streets of Halcyon • Time: Late Night

Interactions: Sable @Sadie

The city blurred around him. Neon and rain smeared together on the windshield while the Coupe purred down the back roads like a bolt of black lightning. Locke kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting loose at his thigh, thumb tapping slow against his rings as he replayed Noah’s grin behind his eyes.

His mind couldn’t stop drifting to Angel…to the mess waiting for him tomorrow. Old ghosts and all of that bullshit. He forced his mind back to the here and now and accelerated even more. The faster he drove, the more of his focus was needed and the less opportunity his mind had to wander.

When the vibration hit his phone, the buzz pulled him out of his self-inflicted haze. He flicked his eyes down, one hand drifting off the wheel just long enough to unlock the screen with a lazy drag of his thumb. Two message from Sable were there waiting for him.

The first message was simple. It must’ve come through when he was on his way to meet with Noah, and he hadn’t realized that he missed the notification. It was a handful of words that didn’t pretend to be more than they were. You busy tonight? Sable never wasted time on pleasantries. She just asked for what she wanted, and Locke was a fan of her methods. No games…no attachments…just pleasure. He thought about it for a second, the idea of pulling her hips over his lap and letting the memory of the night fade away for a while. That was exactly the kind of thing he needed tonight.

The second message caught him a little off guard. Just numbers…her coordinates. She didn’t wait for him to answer the first before she sent the second, which told him enough.

“Mm… desperate little thing tonight, aren’t ya?” he murmured, thumb tapping the screen. He wondered if the itch he often helped her scratch had her climbing up the walls for him. Maybe she just wanted him to knock the sharp edges of a bad night loose. He could do that…and he was damn good at it.
The coordinates lit up on his dash, pulling him down a barely-lit stretch of crumbling warehouse blocks. The street was mostly a puddle as he slowed the car just enough to catch the alley where her signal ended. He switched the headlights off with a flick of his wrist and the Coupe sighed into idle with a nice purr.

He saw her right away, and his mood changed instantaneously.

Sable was right there, crumpled at the far end of the alley, half her hair stuck to her cheek, some kind of bag at her side like she’d dropped it mid-run. One knee was bent under her, and her face was hidden from him. Seeing her like that when he’d never even caught a glimpse of vulnerability in her before… It was heavy, but he didn’t hesitate. He had to help her.

Locke stepped out of the car into the misted dark, the rain brushing his collar and seeping into the seams of his shirt. He rushed towards her carefully…and when he reached her he crouched low, his hand moving as he braced near her shoulder. He didn’t shake her, instead he just let his fingers brush a strand of hair back from her temple, his breath warm as he leaned in. A rush of wings broke the hush of rain as Mercy dropped from her perch…feathers cutting the cold air in one clean line, before settling on his shoulder as he checked on Sable.

Her talons found purchase in the fabric at his collar, the faint drag of claws sharp but careful. She tilted her head once, eyes black and slick as oil under the streetlamp. He could feel the question in her silence, the way she adjusted her wings like she was waiting for him to give her an update. He did not, but he did speak to the poor girl on the pavement.

“Sable…” He said, hoping to wake her. His voice was soft. It always was, when he wanted it to be. She didn’t move, save for a soft catch of breath that told him enough.

She was alive.

He glanced around, quick. No shadows in the dark, no wrong footfalls in the puddles nearby. Then he gathered her in one smooth pull, careful but firm. She wasn’t heavy, not to him. She folded against him like she’d done more than a few times before, though not quite like this. Her cheek pressed into his chest, just enough to catch his warmth.

Locke murmured something low and Irish under his breath…old words that didn’t matter now, just something that he had picked up from his father years ago.

He carried her back to the Coupe, the rain slick on his hands as he opened the passenger door and eased her in with care.

One last look up and down the street. One last brush of his thumb over her jaw as he leaned in close enough for her to feel his breath when he spoke again.

“Don’t worry, love. I’ll handle it from here.”

He settled behind the wheel a moment later, the Coupe alive again under his hands, purring soft as he pulled away from the alley and back into the night.

Locke drove quiet through Halcyon’s veins, the streetlights spilling gold across her skin as they cut through the belly of the city. He barely looked at the skyline, didn’t bother to check the mirrors more than once. He just focused on getting home.

Eventually, the building rose up out of the concrete, glass, and dark stone. He pulled the Coupe into the underground, let the engine tick down into a hush while the low lights of the garage flickered overhead.

Locke didn’t move to open the door yet. Just sat there for a moment, eyes flicking to the pulse in her neck. Slow, but still there. Good enough for now.

He felt Mercy’s weight shift on the headrest behind him, her claws drumming soft against leather. He turned his head just enough to catch her oil-slick eyes in the rearview.

“Go on, love,” he murmured, voice just loud enough to carry inside the cab. “Upstairs. You know the window.”

He fished the word out of memory…the thing he’d tucked away for nights like this, the on that was waiting in the false bottom of his liquor cabinet, just another bottle if you didn’t know better. Old glamour in a vial, mixed with something he’d bartered for in Blood Market Row. Something like Narcan, but for drugs with more of a supernatural flair.

“Bring me the purple vial in my stash.”

Mercy blinked once, a quick sharp click of her beak, then she was gone. Wings brushed the roof as she slipped out into the night again, a shadow climbing the side of the building with purpose.

He looked back at Sable, her breath misting the passenger window.

“Hang in there, sweetheart. I’ll give you a little bit of my luck tonight.”

Then he waited, breathing steady while the sound of rain outside kept time for him. Sable didn’t stir, didn’t even twitch when the Coupe gave a soft groan as it settled deeper into idle.

Two minutes later, the soft thud on the hood told him Mercy was back before he even saw her. She dropped down from the roof like a whisper of dark wings, landed on the warm metal just outside his line of sight, then hopped up onto the side mirror to flash those knowing eyes. A small glass vial, black as old ink, dangled from her claws.

Locke opened the door just enough to reach for it, his fingers brushing cold glass as he gave Mercy a small nod and let her slip back up to her perch on the headrest inside. She preened once, ruffling out the rain.

Locke turned back to Sable, twisting the cap off with a careful flick of his thumb. The vial hissed when opened, not like a carbonated drink...more like it was alive

“Easy now,” he murmured as he cupped her chin gently, thumb brushing the smear of grime from her cheek, tilting her head back just enough to get her lips parted. A few drops of the dark liquid slipped past her teeth, touched her tongue, and the vial glowed faint in his hand like a soft ember.

He watched her throat, waited for the swallow, the small hitch of breath that said the worst part was done. One more drop for luck, then he corked it tight and slipped it into his pocket.

Locke leaned back, watching her for the telltale twitch in her fingers, the slight flutter in her lashes. The black spots that had been dancing behind her eyes would start to burn out soon. Not pleasant, but effective.

“There we go,” he whispered, brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead.

“Welcome back, love.”

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Dominic Blackmoor

Location: • Church Time: • Night

Interactions: • His Pack

Dom stayed standing at the head of the table, his hand resting flat on the scarred wood, blistered palm still faintly smoking where the silver had bit him deep. He watched every last pair of eyes.. youngblood and old guard alike…and when he spoke, it cut through the leftover hush like a leader should.

“You heard me tonight. You know what’s gotta be done.” He turned his head, slow, deliberate, making damn sure every last one of them felt the weight behind his stare. “We do this together, bleed together. We don’t run our mouths on the street, we don’t take bait like rabid dogs. We hunt smart. We’re gonna hunt loud when it’s time, quiet until then. If you got a doubt, you bring it home... you bring it here. You don’t ever bring it to an outsider.”

He let that hang, then he gave them the smallest nod. Something about it felt fatherly.

“Go on, then. Get to work. Watch each other’s backs. Don’t make me bury another one of you. This packs needs all of us, and I need all of you in it.”

The scrape of chairs followed, boots scuffing concrete, murmured farewells and quiet nods between brothers and sisters who knew they were stepping out into a different kind of night than they arrived in.

He waited…didn’t flinch when the last door clanked shut and the echoes faded down the hall.

He glanced at the empty chair that used to be Logan’s, then back to Kessler’s battered face, then Lucian’s steady eyes. He didn’t bother sitting. He stood, braced on the table with both palms, burned hand raw against the wood.

“Alright. Just us now.” His voice was lower than it’d been all night... rough, but honest, stripped to the bone. “You both know what needs sayin’. This pack can’t drift. Can’t be without a second…Not now.”

He rapped Logan’s ring against the table. “One of you is gonna wear this. One of you is gonna step up. There ain’t another soul I trust for it.”

He pushed off the table and turned them dead-on.

“I’m not asking you to decide tonight, and it doesn’t matter how. I don’t care if you flip a coin for it or tear each other’s arms off. I care that whoever takes that seat carries Logan’s weight... keeps these kids in line, keeps my blind spots covered. I need someone mean enough to scare ‘em straight, smart enough to keep ‘em alive, and loyal enough to keep me from losin’ my damn head when this gets worse. And it will get worse.”

He tapped his chest once, right over his heart.

“So say what you need to say. Sort it between you. If you can’t pick then I fuckin’ will, but when Church calls again, that chair don’t stay empty. You understand me?”

He didn’t wait for a nod. He just met their eyes, one after the other... a quiet command that didn’t need repeating.

Outside, the wind rattled iron. Inside, it was just three old dogs and the ghost of one more.

“If you got anything else for me…please, lay it all on the table. No more time for secrets.”

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

The Stormrider groans beneath your feet. You feel it...deep in the bones of the ship, in the pulse of the air around you. A slow, sick roll of arcane energy seeping through every pipe and seam, as if the elemental bound within can sense what's coming. As if it resents it.

Your Captain addresses you all over the comms system. His voice, typically steady and clipped, now carries the taut edge of calculation pressed against desperation.

"This is Captain Cindralis. The situation is… less than ideal. Most systems are compromised, and the harsh truth is that there’s no riding this out, not this far from Breland."

There’s a pause...barely more than a heartbeat, but the silence hums louder than any engine. Then:

"I’m initiating emergency descent protocol. Closest survivable option is the Lhazaar Principalities. Not a choice I make lightly. But it’s that or drift until we burn out."

Even without seeing his face, you can hear the distaste in his tone. Lhazaar. Something in his voice suggests he knows exactly what kind of welcome you’re in for...and why it worries him so deeply. Those of you that recognize these islands by name understand his concern, given their reputation. Those that no nothing about any of this still pick up the unease loud and clear.

---

The message ends… and the waiting begins. A slow kind of panic sinks in, not with screaming or sprinting...but in the quiet shuffle of boots, the white-knuckled grips on railings, the murmured prayers to gods from all over the world.

You hear it in the mechanical locking of cabin doors. In the soft click of blades being sheathed with reverence. In the way even the crew stops pretending to have everything under control.

There’s time. Not much, but enough for it to hurt.

Maybe you find a seat and strap in. Maybe you pace. Maybe you don’t sit at all, because sitting means accepting what’s coming. Around you, the Stormrider shudders like a wounded beast. The once-harmonic drone of its elemental engine becomes a rasping cough. Sparks blink from the walls like dying stars.

You feel altitude drop.

And drop again.

---

Then the descent begins in earnest.

"All hands, brace for descent. The Stormrider is coming in hard...find a seat or a rail and hold tight. Medical attention will be standing by once we’re grounded. Stay clear of the cargo hold and let the crew do their job. This isn’t over yet."

Wind howls past the hull like a scream too long held back. Lightning flashes...not from stormclouds, but from inside the Stormrider, flaring against warding runes that shatter with each surge.

The vessel jerks violently left. You’re thrown against your seat, your harness, the nearest wall...wherever you are, wood and metal groaning around you, strained to breaking.

From the portholes or the deck itself, you see it: jagged islands below, framed by charcoal clouds and seething ocean.

The ship dives...hard...then banks up at the last second, the elemental core screeching in protest. A flash of flame bursts from the starboard engine as a support wing rips free and tumbles into the sea.

The Stormrider slams into the shore.

You hear a sound like a god being stabbed...a metal-on-stone shriek as hull scrapes cliffside. A chunk of railing vanishes into the void. The impact hammers through your ribs like a war drum.

And then eventually… stillness.

Ash and salt choke the air. The world tilts unevenly, as if gravity itself hasn’t made up its mind. The deck beneath you is scorched, scattered with debris. Fires flicker. Somewhere, water hisses against burning steel.

You cough, you move, you check yourself for wounds. Somehow, you’re alive, and not as worse for ware as you might have feared.

---

Captain Cindralis’s voice returns, hoarse but controlled.

"This is Cindralis. We made it. All passengers, report to the main deck. Watch your step...we’re in one piece, but only barely. We’ll assess the damage once we’re sure no one’s dying. Stormrider out."

You rise.

Smoke drifts from the ruined engine. Ahead, the jagged coastline of the Principalities waits… and somewhere beyond the haze, movement. Watching.

Waiting.

---

Welcome to Chapter One: Salt & Smoke

Welcome to Port Verge

✨Beyond The Veil✨

^{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

Location: The Pink Room • Time: Nighttime

Interactions: Noah @helo, Wren @Tpartywithzombi • Mentions: Angel

^{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

Locke didn’t move at first.

He just sat there in that velvet booth, his fingers still circling the rim of his glass with absent rhythm, letting the last words from across the table was over him.

Then, after a long pause, he pushed the glass toward the center of the table and stood without rush or flair, adjusting his vest with one smooth pull at the collar.

“Alright,” he said, voice soft but certain. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

He stepped back from the booth, but not before letting one last curl of amusement tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Though if I can’t call you brother anymore…” he added with a sideways glance, “then I suppose you don’t get the family discount after all. Tragic, really, because I’m expensive...even for royalty.”

The smirk faded, not into anger or sadness, but something more grounded. He tilted his head, just a touch, letting that faint Irish lilt roll in like a tide, low and weathered.

“But let’s not pretend, aye?” he said gently. “Blood is more than family, and you and I... we’re tied to something thicker than all that. You can hate it, deny it, bury it under all those daddy issues swirling inside of your chest, but it’s still there.”

He paused, letting the weight of it linger before finishing with a faint, almost fond smile.

“We’ll always be brothers, Noah. Whether you like it or not.”

Then, as if a different current took hold of him, Locke turned to the dancer still at his side. She had barely moved this whole time, eyes wide like someone who knew she was in a room full of danger. He leaned down without breaking eye contact, voice dipping to be velvety sweet.

“Sorry to disappoint you, love,” he murmured, brushing his lips to her cheek. “But I’ve got somewhere to be. Remember my face… we’ll make it up together another time.”

As he pulled back, he slid a wad of folded cash into her palm with discretion that almost made it feel like a secret.

Then he continued on. Locke didn’t look back, but he did say one last thing.

“And Noah…Give your father my regards.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Charlotte & Cassius

Part 2

Time:Evening
Location: Hallway, Castle

---

With everything going on, Cassius simply hadn’t expected this. Every ounce of the helter-skelter night was stripped away in an instant. His anger at Alexander for using unnatural powers to manipulate his mind? Gone. The family drama that played out for all at the banquet to see? Dissolved from his mind. The mysterious revelations at the beginning of the event when he ran into Milo St. Claire? Fuck him and whatever games he was playing. In this moment he didn’t care… No, he couldn’t care.

His hands hovered for a second, torn between questions he couldn’t voice and answers he wasn’t sure she would even have. What did this mean? What would it ruin if they were spotted like this, here of all places? He felt all of it crashing against the inside of his ribs.

But then, in one of those all too rare instances in his life… His mind went quiet…and the storms within subsided, replaced by the gift of her body pressing against his. There was nothing left to hold him back.

It was no longer just Charlotte kissing him. Cassius returned the gesture, matching every ounce of emotion. The kiss was hard, certain, and felt like it was the only goddamn thing in the world that made sense. One of his hands found the curve of her back, pulling her tighter against him, the other slid into her hair like it belonged there. Just as it had the night before.

There was nothing delicate in the way he kissed her back. It was the hunger of a starving soul. The complete and absolute surrender to her lips.

Charlotte’s hands slid to his shoulders, her very soul alight with the feeling of him returning her kiss. When he pulled her into him, a breath hitched in her throat, and she melted against him, as though she could sink into his skin and disappear. There was a silent vow in the way their bodies clung: a primal, burning need that refused even a whisper of space between them.

Her mind fell into stillness, all sense dissolving beneath the heat of his mouth on hers. The quiet sound of lips meeting echoed in the stillness like a secret only their hearts could hear.

For Cassius, it was as though he needed her more than air… and maybe he did, because when he finally pulled back, it was only to breathe. He took a deep, almost desperate inhale, chest rising against hers.

His lips trailed over to her ear as his heavy breaths came out slowly, and his voice was low with warmth but rough around the edges with need.
“I’ve never met anyone like you before, Charlotte. You wreck me…you know that?”

A shaky exhale slipped from her lips, and Charlotte’s flushed cheeks deepened in color. Her heart thudded against her ribs like it, too, was trying to answer him.

I wreck you.

The words echoed in her mind. He had said them so easily, so unguarded, and it terrified her. How could he look at her—really look—and still say something like that?

For a moment, she hated herself for wanting to believe him.

She searched his face like it held answers. Lottie didn’t know what she expected to find…Maybe pity, maybe doubt. But all she saw was a man without his armor. Her fingers trembled slightly as they slid from his collar, ghosting across the line of his jaw, a gentle trace as though she were committing the shape of him to memory. She tilted her head up and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek just beside his mouth.

Then, her voice came, thinned by emotion, and aching.

“You say I wreck you,” she murmured, her gaze holding his, “But you make me feel… quite the contrary. I begin to believe I may not be as ruined as I once thought.”

Her hand lifted, coming to rest lightly against his chest, where the wild thrum of his heartbeat betrayed them both.
“But if you’re not careful…” she added with the barest, broken smile, “…I might start to believe you.”

Charlotte’s final words lingered as they kissed… soft, dangerous, full of invitation.

Cassius didn’t speak; his body did that for him.

One hand slid up her spine, slow as molasses, until his fingers tangled in her hair once more… the other wrapped around the small of her back, pulling her against the full heat of him. His lips met hers with a building sense of desperation, a kiss that was no longer sweet, no longer gentle. It was full of nothing but heat, instinct, and the unrelenting desire built throughout the tension of the night. He kissed Charlotte as though the only way to convince her of his intentions was to make her feel it in her bones.

And gods, she would feel so…many…beautiful…things by the time he was finished.

“Cassius…” His name slipped from her lips.

The tension in her body coiled tighter as his hand traced the length of her spine, a shiver blooming in its wake. And then, like a wave pulled by the tide, she moved with him. Her fingers fisted in the fabric of his collar for a moment before they slid upward, threading into his hair like she was terrified he’d vanish if she let go.

She kissed him again, harder this time, as if her entire body was starving and only he could feed the ache.

She kissed him like he was something sacred.

Like she had waited lifetimes just to feel him breathe against her.

Her whole body leaned into him, every inch of her aching to close the distance. It wasn’t just passion. It was a surrender. A desperate confession of: “I need you.”

If this was ruin, she would choose it again and again with him.

Cassius barely breathed.

Her hands threaded through his hair, and it made his pulse spike, made something old and starved in him reach up to meet her.

His hand, still curved against her back, drifted downward… down past the swell of her hips… until the tips of his fingers found the hem of her dress. He slipped beneath it...carefully, deliberately...his palm skating along her thigh, slow and warm and reverent.

He didn’t rush.

He let her feel him… the gentle caress of his hand climbing up inch by inch… the heat building between them like lightning begging for a place to strike.

And gods help him… he hoped she wouldn’t stop him.

“Charlotte...please.”

It wasn’t a question, nor was it a demand. It was worship, and it was hunger.

Her name left his lips like a prayer, and it had been the most intimate sound she’d ever heard. Her body responded instinctively, and her eyes, still damp with tears, fluttered shut again as she leaned up into him. Her mouth moved against his with urgency, like the answer to a question she had never dared to ask.

And then his hand drifted further on her thigh. His palm warmed her skin as he climbed higher, inch by inch, dragging fire through her skin with every touch. Her lips parted against his. She gave a soft, trembling sound… Not of resistance, but of complete, overwhelming surrender.

And then—

Click.

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Dominic Blackmoor

^{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

Location: Church • Time: Dusk

Mentions / Interactions: His Pack • @Infinite Cosmos@deegee@Potter@Amatiramisu@Theyra

^{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

Dominic sat still for a moment after the words left his mouth, letting them hang in the air like smoke over a battlefield. Nobody moved until Lucian broke the silence, steady as ever, iron in his voice. The man spoke truth...and Dom didn’t interrupt him. He let Lucian finish, then met his brother's eye.

"You got your word, brother," he said low. "Stay after. You and Kess both. We got more to say."

Tessa broke next. Her voice cracked before it even carried, and then she crumbled. That sound...her sobbing...it cut deeper than anything. He walked to her slowly, boots heavy against the stone floor, and stopped just short of where she’d collapsed. He didn’t crouch down or reach for her. He just stood there, tall and solid, his shadow long across the floor beside her.

"I know, kiddo. I know." His voice came low, rough. "He thought the world of you, all of you…and we all know he would’ve loved those cookies." Finally, he reached down and put a hand on her shoulder. "Do him one last favor…Stand up, proud, and show him just how strong you really are. There’s always room for tears, but now more than ever we have to hold steady."

He let the words hang, then offered a nod. It wasn’t an order, nor a dismissal, just an anchor for her to find her way back to her feet. Then he turned, giving her space, but not distance.
He stayed there for another heartbeat or two, hand at her back, solid as oak, before gently helping her back into her seat.

Alicia stepped forward next, voice carrying weight, and Dom turned toward her with a slow nod. She laid it out clean, offered her help, didn’t ask for favors. Just gave.

He appreciated that.

“We already combed the Glassworks,” he said plainly, voice steady but kind. “Whoever did this… they left nothing behind. No scent trail, no prints, no magic. Nothing.”

He glanced briefly toward Kessler before continuing.

“Kess torched the scene after I left. Not the whole place, just enough to keep any would-be sleuths from sniffing where they don’t belong. What we found, what we saw, stays with us.”

Dom stepped a bit closer, letting Alicia see the weight behind his next words.

“But I do got something else for you. There’s been whispers down near Blood Market Row. Folks passing through claiming someone’s been asking the wrong questions about us…looking for pack movement, newblood names, even digging into who runs the Fang. Go check it out. Eyes open, ears sharp. If it smells wrong, bring it back to me.”

He turned toward William next, meeting his gaze directly.

“William, you ride with her. Watch her back. I want both of you coming home, and try not to stir up trouble. We need answers right now, not more problems. I trust you two to handle this.”

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Bastion

Race: Warforged
Class: Warrior
Location: Airship; What's left of the bar side women's bathroom.
Interactions/Mentions: Phia @princess, Menzai @samreaper, Arya @potter, Minerva/Wendel @funnyguy, Gears, The Necromancer 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 plating with bronze accents.
☼ Fitted harness for carrying supplies.
☼ Worn scarf
Gold Balance: 49 gold
Injuries:
☼ Left shoulder was injured in the battle and is still leaking fluid.

---

Phia’s cries rang out across the broken deck, louder than the chaos or the mournful moan of a damaged ship with strained elemental rings.

“Menzai!” she screamed, her voice cutting through the noise around them harshly. “No... Please no!”

Bastion’s eyes turned immediately, following her gaze to where the warrior lay slumped against a strange woman’s back. One he did not recognize. Blood pooled beneath Menzai, and his arm hung limp at his side.

“Give it to him! Give it to Menzai!”

She clawed toward him, her movements thrumming with desperation. Bastion’s grip on her shifted gently, adjusting her weight as she strained. He could sense how much pain she was in, yet she still wanted to give what little hope she had to someone else.

“Do not worry,” he said softly, stepping toward the others. “We will not lose either of you. We will find help for you both.”

Arya’s voice met his next.

“Do we have a healer?”

That question seemed to hang in the air.

And then… a voice answered.

It came from behind them, calm but cold, and with a dash of reluctant disdain.

“You do.”

The man who stepped forward wore a sleek, deep black longcoat with sharp shoulders and a dramatic, high collar that flares outward like bat wings. Beneath which is a striking plum-purple waistcoat accented by a bon white cravat. His presence is understated but somehow immense all at the same time. This is the gentleman who appeared from the quarters above on the balcony and joined the fight with quite the show of power.

Gears, who had been frozen for a moment too long, jolted into motion as if yanked from some far-off place. Her eyes widened when she saw Phia in Bastion’s arms, then darted to Menzai nearby, still slumped.

“Everyone! Clear the bar! Right now!” she barked. “Big guy, set her down gentle. That surface is clean enough and stable enough for what she needs.”

Bastion nodded without question. He moved to the bar and lowered Phia with care, placing her on her uninjured side. His hands were impossibly gentle, adjusting her hair away from her eyes and making sure her weight did not rest on her wounds.

He turned to find the strange man already striding forward.

The necromancer stood tall, yet still somehow sunken. He didn’t glance down at Phia, not yet…Instead, he spoke as he looked across them all.

“Lie the other one beside her.”

His words referenced Menzai, though there was no warmth in the command, only confidence.

“I can save them both.”

His hand raised slowly, fingers curling. A faint chill touched the air.

Bastion’s optics narrowed. This was not divine energy. No warm glow, no golden light. What flowed from the man’s hand was something else entirely. The shadows around him quivered as threads of darkness extended like ribbons, wrapping through the air and down toward Phia’s broken body.

It was not cold, exactly… but it was wrong. Like watching a wound heal in reverse.

Phia’s breathing slowed, then stabilized. The bruises on her ribs began to fade, the torn muscle and broken skin threading themselves back together with sinew shaped by shadow. The light in her crystal pulsed once, in rhythm with whatever the man had done, and then stilled.

Menzai would be next.

“Someone place him beside her. I will not ask again.”

Bastion moved without hesitation, his damaged shoulder leaking faintly as he crossed the space between the bar and where Menzai slumped. He gave Minerva a quiet glance, then knelt beside the fallen wolf.

“You’ve done enough,” he said gently to the woman now supporting the man. “Let me take him now.”

He reached beneath Menzai with care, avoiding his bleeding shoulder and stabilizing his back as he lifted the shifter into his arms. The wolf’s body was heavier than Phia’s, but Bastion carried him just the same…like something precious, not a burden. His limbs were slack, but faint breaths still came.

He laid Menzai down beside Phia on the bar, mirroring the same gentleness, adjusting both of them so they faced one another in hopes that it would bring them comfort.

He then stepped back, allowing the dark healer to begin his work.

The necromancer extended both hands now, standing tall behind the bar as his fingers traced runes in the air...runes that shimmered with an unnatural violet light. Whispers followed them, soft and distant, like the echo of chanting voices speaking from a forgotten crypt. The light from the sun dimmed slightly, not by shadow, but as if the world itself leaned away from what was happening.

Phia’s wounds glowed faintly beneath her skin. So did Menzai’s.

The shadows seeped into flesh like water into soil, wrapping nerves and fusing broken bones from the inside out. The bruises faded…wounds closed….and now both of them breathed easier, though their bodies still bore the exhaustion, the damage had been reversed, at least enough to ensure they would be okay.

The necromancer lowered his hands.

His expression had not changed once.

“They will live,” he said simply. He turned then, walking away from the bar like a man who had simply completed a transaction.

Bastion stepped forward again, looking down at Phia and Menzai with his optics dimmed.

“They will need rest. All of us will. But first... thank you.”

His voice reached Arya, Minerva, Gears, and even the necromancer’s retreating back.

“For fighting back, and for helping those in need.”

He looked down at Phia once more, and this time he allowed himself the smallest smile.

“You’re okay now.”

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

---

Location: The Bridge of the Stormrider
Mentions: First Mate Duren Reiss
Interactions: Scratch @Apex Sunburn

---

The bridge of the Stormrider was in chaos. The wounded groaned. Broken panels sparked and hissed. The air hung thick with the iron stench of blood and the aroma of ozone…and the pulsing hum of the elemental ring was beating faint and irregular, like a heart too tired to keep pace. Somewhere aft, a control panel crackled as arcane script unraveled into static. One of the steering servos gave out with a shriek and a burst of blue-white light.

But Captain Jovik Cindralis didn’t hear any of it.

He stood motionless near the shattered forward console, framed in the ruined light of his once-proud helm. Blood ran a thin line down his temple, curling along the edge of his cheekbone before dripping quietly onto the worn decking below. His coat hung heavy, torn and darkened where it had caught the worst of the blast. In one hand, he still clutched his Brelish war saber; old steel, nicked and blackened from the fight. In the other, a custom elemental pistol, its barrel still trailing smoke.

At his feet lay the bodies. Masked assassins, cut down where they’d tried to seize the bridge. Crewmen who died defending it. And Duren…his first mate, his friend, the only bastard in the sky he trusted more than himself, was dead among them. The man had died a hero.

Jovik’s eyes stared through the bodies like they weren’t even there. His jaw was slack, his breath shallow. All the noise in the world had collapsed into a dull, endless ringing in his ears.

Something in him had broken loose during the fight. Not shattered, but... unmoored.

He didn’t know how long he stood there.

It might’ve been seconds. Might’ve been minutes. Time stretched thin in moments like this, suspended between grief and duty. Then a sound filtered through.

A voice…faint and crackling, just beneath the buzz of the broken comms.

“Engine control to bridge… you have to land the airship as soon as possible…”

At first it didn’t register.

“…I say again, you have to land the airship as soon as possible…”

His fingers twitched. The saber in his hand scraped faintly against the floor. He blinked.

“…engines we have left aren’t going to last much longer… hull’s on its last legs…”

Jovik sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. The ringing in his ears dulled just enough for the weight of the message to settle.

“…elemental core is stable for now… but we can’t power any more flight control surfaces without risking another meltdown.”

The world slammed back into motion.

Jovik turned, eyes sharpening back to form. He dropped to a knee beside Duren’s body…just for a second. Just long enough to press a hand to the man’s shoulder and mutter something the rest of the bridge couldn’t hear.

Then he stood.

He holstered the pistol, slammed a fist into the override rune on the wall, and barked into the damaged comm line with steady fury.

“Scratch, this is Captain Cindralis. Message received. We’ll find a place to land. Just buy us as much time as you can, I’ll buy you a bottle for every minute. Bridge out.”

He turned toward the shattered console, hands already flying across the controls. Fire spat from exposed lines, but he didn’t flinch. Sparks hissed across his knuckles, but he didn’t stop. He whispered in Draconic, cajoled the elemental ring with every ounce of experience he had left, and set to work rerouting what power they could spare to navigation.

His war wasn’t over. Not yet. The ship was bleeding, the skies were burning, and his first mate was gone.

But the Stormrider was still flying. And so was her captain.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

---

Scratch @Apex Sunburn, Ezekiel @Helo, Vallena @Apex Sunburn, Callandra @princess

---

The engine room breathes like a wounded beast.

Pipes rattle, a copper plate peels free from the wall and clangs to the floor, the scent of scorched oil hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the reality of an injured elemental barely leashed within.

Inside this crucible of wires, runes, and pressure valves, Scratch’s hands move fast. There is no time for hesitation. Each lever flip and sigil realignment sends a jolt of risk through the ship’s heart. Vallena shadows him closely, steady her shaky hands as he rattles off coordinates and breaker numbers, those same hands darting to comply.

Together, they go to war against the equation of collapse.

The arcane battery whines and pressure flares in the containment valves, then drops. Sparks rise, but no rupture follows. The elemental…glowing, pulsating, and furious…quiets slightly within its housing. The air stops shuddering, and for a moment, it seems they’ve done it.

But nothing this broken is ever truly fixed that easily.

Somewhere in the manifold, a hiss escapes…a hairline fracture. Red warning glyphs blink along the ceiling. What was saved is not sustainable. The elemental remains bound, but the bindings are frayed. The containment circle pulses with strain, its light uneven.

The Stormrider IS stable... but just for now.

The damage is too deep. You’ll need to set this ship down before long or risk total system failure. The core is currently a candle burning low….Let it burn too long, and the flame will consume everything around it.

Behind the curtain, Ezekiel works in silence. His fingers move with reverence, tending to Callandra’s wounds with care that borders on devotion. She remains unconscious, but alive. Each bandage, each whispered word, pushes against the chaos encroaching from beyond the door.

When his duty to her is done, Ezekiel turns his care inward. The splinter comes free from his leg with a sickening pull, but the bleeding holds. The pain sharpens him as he breathes…and he endures. The paladin does not falter.

Now, in the quiet after bombs, assassins, and the possibility of ruination…the crew faces a new truth. You survived, but it’s not yet time to rest. You’ve earned this moment of calm, but the issues at hand will not wait forever.

The Stormrider needs a landing. Captain Sindralis must be notified. You’re sure he’s been fighting for his life behind that helm doing what he could to protect the lives of all onboard.

My friends, I ask you again…What do you do?