Oso

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Interactions: Menzai @samreaper

---

Marcellus raises an elegantly plucked brow at the second coin and lets his fingers dance it into a pouch with a flourish. He doesn’t drop the merchant persona, but his tone lowers just a touch...just enough to suggest this is the kind of gossip you pay for.

He tells Menzai that Port Verge is a place where reputation shines brighter than armor and coin smooths over the worst of offenses. “Everyone here is dangerous, darling...even the ones who smile too wide. Well…especially the ones who smile too wide.” He laughs a garish chuckle before continuing.

“As for Prince Ravic Dane,” Marcy practically coos when saying the name, describing him as a pirate in velvet, all sharp teeth and sweeter lies. “He’s no fool, and not prone to flattery unless it comes with leverage...but he loves a show. If you walk in quiet, he’ll overlook you. Walk bold, and you just might earn his attention... or his gun, if the gods are feeling humorous. But whatever you do, don’t bore him.”

Z-Team: Operatives of the SDN

---

Time: 10 minutes before the meeting
Location: SDN; Dr. Bradley's Office

---

The office smelled like mint tea and antiseptic wipes. Dr. Bradley always kept it that way. Calming, she called it. Apparently, it was “grounding”. Liam sat in the chair across from her desk, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, pretending the warmth of the room did something to ease his nervous stomach.

She was talking. He knew she was talking. Her voice always carried that soft, professional kindness, the sort of tone people used with frightened animals. She was nice, and…Liam felt that she may actually care, but still, all of this felt so formal. So impersonal.

"Liam, before you start with the Z-Team, I just want to check in. How are you feeling today?"

His fingers scraped at a scratch in the wooden edge of her desk. Someone must’ve dug their nails into it before him. He pressed his thumb into it, harder and harder as the seconds passed by.

“…How are you feeling today?” The words echoed and the first flash hit him.

Lorelai lying in his arms, head in his lap, eyes open but not seeing him anymore. He remembered how light she felt, how wrong that was. She had always been warm. Always. Fucking always.

"Liam?" Dr. Bradley tilted her head, trying to meet his eyes. "Can you describe your mood for me? Are you anxious, or more hopeful?"

His thumb kept rubbing that scratch. Deeper now.

“…hopeful?” The second flash swallowed him. His hands under a running faucet, shaking so badly he could barely hold them still. Her blood was pinking the water, swirling down a metal drain that wouldn’t stop gurgling. His reflection above it was blank…empty. His fingers were red for days. Getting all of her blood out from under his fingernails took what felt like an eternity.

"Are you getting enough sleep?" she asked gently. "These transitions can be overwhelming. It’s important you let us know how you’re coping."

“…coping.” He let out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding.

Another flash slammed through him.
Standing alone at her grave after everyone else had left. The flowers were too bright. The mound of dirt between him and her casket felt impossible. He remembered the way his knees almost buckled when the wind moved across the stone. He waited for something…. Anything. A sign, a word, a feeling other than emptiness. Just anything. It never came that day.

"Liam?" Dr. Bradley’s voice softened. "You seem distracted. Are you with me?"

He blinked, forced his hands still. Pulled them into his lap so she wouldn’t see the tremor.
"Sorry. Yeah. I’m here."

"Is everything alright?"

He could tell her the truth. The truth that he felt like he was walking into this new job with half a soul. That his chest still tightened whenever he saw the initials L.B. together on forms because he didn’t know which one of them it meant anymore. He could tell her that he had planned to take his own life last night, but couldn’t because he knew Lorelia would have hated him for it. Or, maybe that’s just what he told himself to cover up that he was too much of a coward to pull the trigger. He could even tell her that he had started seeing his twin sister at times, despite her being dead. He knew they were hallucinations, knew that he was probably going mad, but he pretended it was real. He pretended just so, for a fucking moment, he could be next to her again.
But he didn’t.

Instead, he looked up, white-blue eyes tired but steady.
"I’m just nervous," he said quietly. "And… excited. I mean… it’s a chance. It’s something new. I’m grateful."

Dr. Bradley blinked. It wasn’t the answer she expected.
"Excited?" she repeated, and for a moment he could tell she wasn’t sure if she believed him. "Well. That’s good to hear. I’m glad you’re feeling hopeful."

He nodded, but didn’t say more on the matter.

She rose from her chair and offered him a small, warm smile.
"You’re meeting the others today. First impressions matter, Liam. Try to stay open. And… good luck. Truly."

"Yeah. Thank you."

He stood, tugged at the hem of his shirt, and walked out of the office into the quiet hallway. The door clicked shut behind him, soft but final.

The path to the conference room felt longer than it should have. With each step, his pulse climbed. By the time he reached the frosted glass door, he could hear voices on the other side.

Liam reached for the doorknob.
He paused there, his hand hovering an inch away for what felt like forever.
For a moment he almost turned around… almost walked straight back out of the building.

He looked back behind him, and there she was. His sister, or her ghost at least. She was motioning for him to go inside. In that moment, he hated her. He hated SDN for taking him from her. But mostly, he just hated himself for surviving it all.

Liam curled his fingers around the metal, took a breath that didn’t steady him as much as he hoped it would, and walked inside to meet the others.

Roses and Daggers - Looking for new players!

I lied! She messaged you like right after I sent this lol

Roses and Daggers - Looking for new players!

@Silver Carrot Heck yeah! We're glad to have you 😊, and Princess will reach out (probably tomorrow) to help get you set up 🙌

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: Kilian’s Chambers followed by The Dungeons

Kilian’s chambers were quiet at this hour, as setting sun pushed through the narrow window and cut a pale line across the floorboards. The rest of the room was lit low in amber light as the beams stretched and reached as far into the chamber as possible. The soft glow brushed over bare skin and ink-black lines in the middle of it all.

Kilian sat before the mirror with his shirt hanging over the back of the chair. The scars across his back caught the light whenever he shifted. Dozens of tally marks, each one carved in by hand. The markings were not for decoration, instead this was a record of his glory. Each tally was a chapter in the story that his life as a witch hunter had told.

The device he held was small but weighty. Crafted from bone and steel, wrapped in black leather and crowned with a reservoir of shimmering void-ash ink. It hummed faintly as he turned the needle’s tip in his fingers and pressed it to the side of his abdomen where an unfinished sigil waited for completion. The first touch sank in with a sting that bloomed heat across his ribs.

He inhaled slowly.

Tattooing with void-ash ink was not like working with common pigment. It crawled beneath the skin with intention… burning, threading itself through muscle and blood with the unsettling sound of its arcane remnants searing itself into flesh.

He worked with the same precision he used in his hunts. The needle traced curves and angles in steady, relentless lines. Shadows slid beneath the ink as it sank deeper, merging with his body in a way ordinary markings never could. Where the void-ash settled, faint light answered from within. A glow that wasn’t glow at all…but more like something pulling the light itself inward. He did not flinch, and barely breathed as he worked. Sweat collected at his temples, rolling down the angle of his jaw, catching on his collarbone. The man’s body moved with a singular focus, dense muscle flexing beneath pale skin… A living testament to discipline and punishment all in one frame.

When the final stroke was done, he held still and allowed the ink to bind to him. The burning subsided into a slow, cold throb as Kilian wiped the ink from the surface of his skin with a cloth. The finished sigil was brutal, unsettling, but undeniably beautiful.

Only then did he rise from his seat to admire his work in the mirror. Before long, he grabbed his shirt from the back of the chair and moved on.

He dressed in silence. It was not his armor that he donned, but rather nicer clothing. Still dark, and practical, but fit for a man of his status who was about to mingle with royalty. The high collar of his Vanguard Society coat settled around his body as he fastened the belts and buckles across his chest. The whole while, he felt the new tattoo pull in a satisfying way, syncing with every breath he drew. There was pain, but not in a way he could not enjoy.

It was time.

---

The dungeons greeted him with their usual rancid chill. Moist stone, rust, old and soiled straw. And beneath it all, the heavy scent of misery.

Kilian stepped through the iron-barred halls, boots striking the floor with calm authority. The guard at the far end jerked to attention. Inside the cell, the girl stood where he had left her; chain still around her waist. She didn’t move. Her gaze, fixed on the stone wall opposite, remained unbroken, a silent, stubborn counterpoint to his presence. Only the rise and fall of her chest betrayed that she wasn’t as motionless as the stone surrounding her.

Kilian set down a canvas bag upon the stool beside the bars. His voice came smooth and unhurried.

"We have an appointment."

She said nothing in response to his words, and didn’t dare move a muscle.

Kilian reached into the bag and pulled out a folded dress. It was formal, and clean. The fabric was deep blue satin that caught what little torchlight the dungeon offered. After that, he drew out a small, wrapped bar of soap.

"We will be making an impression this evening when we arrive. Your current condition will not do. You will wash, and dress. You have one hour."

He set both items on the stone within her reach. His gloved hand lingered a moment on the bars, tapping once in quiet warning.

"I will return for you myself." He explained, an amused smile sitting on his always rather intense face. His smiles rarely felt kind, after all.

As he made his way back to the exit, he stopped to speak with the warden.

"She requires warm water.” Kilian commanded simply.

The dungeon warden scoffed at the thought.

"Warm water for a witch? I didn’t take you for a softy, Mr. Hale."

Kilian stopped his stride. He looked back over his shoulder first, then moved in close enough that the warden had nowhere left to inhale comfortably. The mood of the room shifted entirely.

"This has nothing to do with convenience."

His voice dropped lower.

"When you are meeting with a Prince, you arrive presentable. She will be clean. She will be dressed… And if you prevent her from doing so..."

He leaned closer. The lamplight catching along the edge of those cold, green eyes.

"I will hold you personally responsible."

The warden swallowed hard.

"Y... yes sir."

Kilian straightened.

"Do not question me again."

His coat shifted behind him as he walked away, the girl’s chains rattling faintly with his absence.

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Dominic Blackmoor

Time: • Night

Interactions: • Vex @Tpartywithzombi • Kessler @deegee

Chaos.

It erupted around them all as the gas took its effect. Dominic could smell the frenzy even before the vamps attacked. This was bad… Real fucking bad. His eyes turned to the stage as he pulled Vex closer. That’s when Aeryn fell.

Dom watched his old friend stagger, silver chain blindfold sliding off one eye as it ignited blood-red. He saw the tremor run through Aeryn’s hands, saw him choke on the air around him. He was fighting the frenzy that was trying to take hold of him, but it was futile. Just like the others, Aeryn succumbed to the monster that was being pulled forth. He became a mindless, desperately violent attacker.

Dom’s jaw locked so hard something inside popped, but he didn’t move towards his old friend. He couldn’t… At least not yet.

His immediate priority was Vex. He shifted her behind him with the hand that was around her waist. He wasn’t sure what she would be able to do in her state, but he knew without a doubt that he’d protect her… That he would protect his pack, regardless of what he had to do.

The first vampire hit him without warning. A blur of nails and teeth and frenzy. Dom didn’t step back or flinch. He caught the creature by the throat mid-lunge and slammed them down so hard the concrete cracked beneath the impact. The vamp writhed, snapping at his face, until Dom’s hand pushed down with enough force to cave the spine at the base of the skull. The body twitched once and went still.

Three more came at him.

He shoved Vex aside in one clean motion, just far enough to keep her out of the reach of their would-be assailants. One vampire tried to latch onto his shoulder. Another tore at the back of his shirt. The third sank claws into his abdomen.

Dom saw white.

He grabbed the closest one by the back of the head and swung it like a hammer. Bone snapped on impact. The creature bounced off a pillar and slid down leaving a smear of blood. The second he crushed against the marble counter. The entire slab gave under the force, cracking down the center like it had been struck by a wrecking ball. Marble dust billowed as Dom ripped the last vampire off his torso with both hands, fingers sinking into the creature’s face as he lifted it and threw it across the bar. It hit a row of liquor shelves, causing glass and alcohol to explode like rainfall.

That was when he smelled Tessa’s blood.

He focused, honing in on her location. The Coldfang boy was there too… he could tell by Luter’s scent that he was injured as well, but clearly, he was protecting her.

Dom, utilizing not just scent but his enhanced hearing as well, searched the room for Kessler. The man’s scent cut through the massacre. Dom found him perched above the bar. He was a mountain of fur and rage, ready to do the things that Kessler did better than anyone. Dominic met his eyes intensely and yelled to him over the cries, growls, and thunderous chaos around them.

“Tessa…get to her. Keep her safe!”

He pushed the worry for Tessa down best he could. Dom understood that if anyone could slaughter their way to her and get her out of this trouble… It’s Kess.

With his attention elsewhere, another vamp lunged forward at him. Dominic turned just in time to intercept the feral creature, but he was a fraction of a second too slow to stop the splintered, jagged end of a chair leg from being driven deep into his right leg. Pain flared as the wood pierced his flesh, but he did not show it. Instead, he raged.

The crack that followed was wet and brutal as the vamp’s skull was slammed against the concrete floor over, and over, and over until his end was final. As he stood, Dom exhaled a sound that wasn’t quite human anymore. He was shifting.

His spine buckled first.

A sharp, cartilage-splitting snap echoed under his skin as vertebrae twisted out of alignment. Muscles bunched, tore, and reknit themselves around the moving bones. His shoulders jerked back so violently it looked like someone had hooked chains into him and pulled hard.

The veins along his throat bulged as his skin visibly crawled. His jaw hitched sideways with a sound like cracking wet walnut shells. Teeth lengthened one by one, each pushing through gum tissue with grotesque pops. His canines grew fastest, forcing his lips to split at the corners. Blood smeared across his teeth as they reshaped into killing tools.

Fingers stretched, then split… Then fused again as bone pushed outward.

Claws tore through the skin at their tips, dragging strips of flesh with them like unraveling thread. His nails fell off in soft, bloody clinks before blackened talons erupted in their place.

Dom exhaled once and the sound was even less human.
It vibrated low in his ribs like metal dragged over stone. The change rolled down his back and under the skin as he continued to take his true form. Tendons stretched until they snapped like overstressed rope, and new ones formed. Thicker ones. His ribcage expanded, cartilage tearing open space for a deeper set of lungs. His heartbeat slammed against his chest as the heart itself suddenly began beating too big for a human body.

His skin mottled, rippling in waves as the coat underneath pushed forward. Coarse fur burst through pores in a spray of blood. It crawled across him until his entire frame was covered, dark and uneven.

His legs distorted next; knees bending the wrong way, ankles popping out of place, and feet splitting as new bones erupted through the old shape. The wooden spike of the chair leg he had been pierced with slid and slipped from the wound as muscle and flesh sewed itself back together, and he dropped forward on all fours for a moment, claws gouging into marble as easily as pressing fingers into wet clay.

Dom lifted his head and the last pieces of humanity shuttered behind his eyes. What looked back at the room was a wolf in the body of a man, jaws dripping, fur matted with blood, muscles quivering under the strain of too much power compressed into too little space. This was the true Alpha of the Iron Fangs on display.

The beast that Dominic had become placed itself between Vex and everything else, and with as gentle a hand as he could manage, he moved her behind him and pulled her close.

He answered the howls of others in his pack with one of his own; the sound reverberating around his space. Blood was spilled all around the club, with vamps feasting on prey in all corners of the place. Dom would save who he could, but his priority was his pack… And he would butcher anyone who dared get in his way on the path to them.

Mercs in a Fantasy Setting

Very interested in this concept. Especially if it stays in the ES world. Honestly, I've been wanting something like this for a very long time so I have to at least throw my hat in lol.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

---

Bastion

Race: Warforged
Class: Guardian
Location: Airship – Top Deck
Mentions: Phia @princess, Arya @potter, Menzai @samreaper, Corin @Lava Alckon
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: 63 gold
Injuries:
☼ Left shoulder was injured in the battle and is still leaking fluid.

---

The feeling of Corin’s grip brought comfort to Bastion. It was firm, familiar, and a reminder that despite the last few years of his life…he wasn’t actually alone in the world.

For the breifsest of moments, the crowded marketplace, the predators all around them, the bleakness of their situation…it all faded away. For the moment he simply felt the warmth of memory and the closest thing to nostalgia that a Warforged could manage.

“It has, indeed.” His voice, despite being the construct that he was, carried kindness and the joy of seeing an old friend.

Bastion reminisced about the nickname. It was something that confused him for a long time until Sir Talmor himself had explained it directly to him. Those days gone by were full of violence, bloodshed, and death…but they were days with comrades. Those days gave him ultimate purpose. He thought of the last few hours, and just how despite the way things change, maybe his future will be more of the same after all. Bastion wasn’t sure how the thought made him feel, but his mind was disrupted as Corin began speaking of his fall, the crash, the tree, the shield digging into earth. Bastion’s optics narrowed with concern.

He listened to the knight explain that he had not been traveling alone, that there was an elf accompanying him. He watched as Phia checked the man for wounds, and then he listened to the words of Arya and Menzai. finally, his attention turned to Phia once more as she departed deeper into the market. His posture shifted subtly as he watched her traverse the crowd. A fractional angle of the shoulders shifted, weight re-centering as he made sure his word hand was available. The crowd pressing around her suddenly felt heavier. He pushed forward, ready to cut through the mass if needed, ready to retrieve her or whatever must be done to ensure her safety.

Suddenly, she was stopped in her tracks by an elf in extravagant teal, who leaned far too close for his comfort. Bastion moved nearer, silent as a machine designed for war could manage. His gaze analyzed the tailor’s posture, angle of his hands, the proximity to Phia’s exposed skin.

If he touches her again without consent, I will remove his arms. He mulled the idea over in his head. The thought was calm, matter-of-fact even. It was less a threat founded in malice and more a simple calculation.

He listened to them speak.

Phia’s voice bubbled with excitement. Menzai followed after her as will, still protective.

Then the words reached him.

“This one has flowers.”

She wasn’t in danger. It was the delight in her voice that revealed the truth. It was the way her fingers trailed the fabric that indicated she was okay.

Something in Bastion’s core softened as Phia stepped into the changing room.

He scanned the stall again, his optics briefly perceiving the wares the merchant began talking about. Suddenly, something caught his eye.

A flower crown hung among the accessories. The blossoms were pink, and the circlet was simple but appealing even to his eyes. He remembered Phia’s words a moment ago…she had indicated that she likes flowers. Without hesitation, Bastion reached for it.

He held it with reverence, as though it were fragile. He would gift this to her. Surely, she would like it. His attention then drifted toward his companions.

Arya with her quiet strength, watchful eyes, and cautious heart. Menzai…his loyalty to Phia, protective nature, and willingness to put himself in danger for the sake of helping others. They deserved gifts too. He scanned the hats, picked out the perfect two, paid the merchant the 35gp he owed, and excitedly approached Arya and Menzai as he waited for Phia to finish up in the changing room.

First he approached Arya with the frog hat. It was round, green, and had little eyes perched at its top. He hadn’t the slightest clue regarding her affiliation with frogs and other amphibian creatures, but something about the hat spoke to him as though it would be perfect for her. His optics glowed bright-blue with excitement as he extended the hat to the young tiefling woman, a robotic smile stretching across his face.

“This is for you…friend.”

He then turned to Menzai and presented the knit fish cap. It too had eyes, but this one also had floppy fins that reminded him of Menzai’s wolf-like ears. Wolf love fish, or so he figured.

“And this for you, brave companion. You both deserve nice things. Enjoy to your heart’s content.”

His head then turned slightly, seeking out the familiar presence of his old comrade.

“Commander.” He exclaimed, a tiny flicker of pride in his voice at using the title.

“Which hat would you like?” He asked the question with the seriousness of a man offering a selection of mastercrafted weapons…As though choosing correctly truly mattered. Because to him…it did.

As he gave pause for his old friend to answer, Bastion held the flower crown behind his back, waiting patiently for Phia to emerge from the changing room so he could give her the gift he so hoped she would cherish. However, he only wished that there had been a flower crown with eyes like the other hats. His optics softened, pale blue once more as he worried whether she might feel slighted or left out by the lack of the gift’s anthropomorphic features. It was such a cruelty that all of the merchant's wares could not have eyes. That would have been better. That would have been perfect. He simply wished, silently and hopeful, that Phia would prefer flowers over eyes. Only time would tell whether his gift would be a success, or a blunder.

Roses and Daggers - Looking for new players!

@Oso I figured as much, so I'm already nursing some other male ideas. I just wasn't sure what the ratio was. I'm also definitely not opposed to other pairings as well (non-MxF).

Ayee, fellow "writes at work" buddy! One time my boss told me to "look busy" and not be on my phone and I said "you know.. typing away at my keyboard looks like work, right?" Lol.

@HylianRose

Oh absolutely! I'm not sure if we have any players currently looking for non-MxF romances, but we have in the past and it is always an option, so that's something to think about as well :).

And yo, I'm a master at "looking busy" at work lol. It's my super power lol