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STATUS: Oso is the sweetest and best in all the world. I love him so much c: 6 mos ago
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Current Oso is the sweetest and best in all the world. I love him so much c:
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1 yr ago
I wanna be a cowboy, baby
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I spit like awogarpa and I ain't afraid to step up to the plate. You'll see what happens next, Guillermo. You'll see.
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I love PapaOso
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In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Time:Evening
Location: Danrose Dining Hall
Interaction: @Silverpaw@Oso@Tpartywithzombi@Tae@ReusableSword@Potter@Samreaper@CitrusArms@Helo@Apex Sunburn@Lava Alckon

Duke Laurent Petit had risen.

A quiet man by reputation and presence alike, he stood at a modest 5’7”, yet somehow the room seemed to tilt toward him. His blue coat, embroidered with gold thread and religious insignias, reflected the candlelight. His brown hair, swept neatly into a low knot, revealed a face carved with austerity, lined from years of contemplation. There was something undeniably solemn about him.

“If I may…” he began, his voice even and smooth, though there was something in its tone that carried quiet judgment.

He placed a hand over his heart, his fingers curling around the symbol of Zivitas pinned to his collar. Then he spoke calmly and reverently.

“I was not going to speak tonight. It is not my way to stir the waters the Gods have set still. I believe men meddle far too often, mistaking their own voices for divine will.” He then shook his head in repulsion. “But the stillness is broken now. The winds carry whispers… and they do not come from Primitus.”

His face, normally unreadable and mild, had sharpened into something feral with purpose. The soft brown of his eyes was set ablaze with conviction.

“We have wandered.”

His voice struck, thrown, like a bullet through glass.

“We have wandered from the path, and we are now devoured by the weeds of comfort and sin. I have stayed my tongue for years. I have watched men barter virtue for gold, watched children grow blind to the light of Primitus. I told myself it was not my place.”

His gaze swept across the nobles like a sword across necks. Dramatically, he proclaimed, “The heavens tremble.”

“The Gods have clearly seen fit to remove the veil from our eyes. What was once hidden has been revealed. And for that—” he inclined his head ever so slightly toward King Edin, “—we must give thanks to our sovereign for acting swiftly and in accordance with divine law.”

“We are all children of the divine, born beneath the eyes of gods who bled to bring order to the chaos. Zivitas shines upon us because we remember our place...Because we honor balance, law, harmony!”

His voice rose, not in rage, but in righteous mourning. His hand pressed against his chest.

“We have forgotten the tales. We have grown arrogant. Zivitas may forgive pride, for it is in all mortal hearts. But Glorius does not forget. Obitius does not slumber. And Claedo—oh, Claedo delights in what comes next.”

His eyes burned like two suns as he threw his arms in the air, “You think this is power? You think the changing of the color of a cloth is clever? You think it a curiosity? You are not channeling Zivitas! You are playing in the shadows of Obitius, of Claedo—of Avēre himself! "

“Magic is the echo of Obitius. It is the whisper of the Underworld. It is the blight of Claedo’s chaos, the manipulation of Avēre, the poison of Saproen’s rot. It is a sickness conjured by the gods who sit in the ash-pits of that dark realm, and it does not exist to bless mankind.”

A noble muttered protest, and he spoke over it with terrifying clarity.

“Primitus created the gods to guard balance. And when some defied that balance—when Claedo sowed chaos, when Glorius craved dominion, when Obitius embraced death—it was Zivitas who led the faithful to lock them away.”

He turned toward the King. “Your Majesty. You are descended from the blood Zivitas chose. But even the brightest suns can be clouded by storms. If there is magic in your court, if it is true—if you do not rebuke it—then you will be watched not by angels... but by beasts.”

He dropped to one knee, as a prophet upon the altar.

“We must cleanse ourselves. Not with fire. Not with steel. But with truth. Find the source. Purge it—not for punishment, but for salvation. Before Claedo laughs. Before Sapreon smiles. Before the gates of the underworld open again.”

He stood once more, calm, cold. “This… is a test. A divine trial set before us by the Gods themselves! And we—we who were born in the light! We have cowered in comfort while darkness whispers in our halls.”

“We must not falter now. We must not reason with corruption. We must repent. Fall to our knees in prayer, cleanse our spirits in truth, and beg Primitus to turn His gaze back upon us before the heavens turn away forever!”

Duke Laurent’s voice had fallen silent, but its echo still rang like a bell tolling.

He didn’t wait for applause. Nor did he wait for a challenge.

For a heartbeat, many stared, stunned into an unnatural silence. This was a man known more for silence than sermon, for fishing rods than firebrands. And yet here he stood—not as the indifferent duke, but as a prophet aflame with purpose. No one had seen Duke Laurent speak with such fury, such divine conviction, in decades—if ever.

With stiff, deliberate movement, he turned from the gathering and called the names of his son and wife.

From their place near the table, his sons rose immediately, chairs scraping against the marble in nervous obedience. His wife, already standing with a somber expression, adjusted her shawl and stepped toward him without question. Together, they formed a quiet procession.

Duke Laurent did not look back. He walked with the measured dignity of one who believed he carried the very will of the heavens on his shoulders. And then they were gone as his family passed through the doors.
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Time: Evening
Location: The Castle Dining Hall
Interaction/Mention: @CitrusArms Stratya @Silverpaw Wulfric @Oso Killian @Tae Torvi

“You see, it was my very mother who showed me magic."
What have you done?


A stunned silence strangled the banquet hall in an instant. Servants froze mid-motion, goblets stilled mid-air, and the room seemed suspended in time as eyes widened, mouths parted in mute disbelief. Nobles glanced at one another, shifting nervously, their gazes flickering rapidly from Wulfric to Alibeth. Accusing stares stabbed at the queen from every angle, each carrying judgment, horror, or cold fascination.

Meanwhile, the words had hit the queen as if a sword had struck her, though outwardly she was still. Her pulse quickened, and her thoughts raced like an internal storm. Wulfric’s hands on her shoulders felt suddenly cold and alien, not the reassuring gesture of a son but the calculated maneuver of a strategist.

Why?

She wrestled silently with the question, her sharp mind piecing together potential motives as the ramifications spiraled out in every direction. Her breath quickened as the magnitude of her son’s words pressed upon her, realization pooling dark and heavy in her stomach. Did Wulfric not realize the severity of his accusation, or was he intentionally orchestrating this betrayal? Had he planned it all along, or had some recent revelation changed his course? Did he understand that the kingdom would not just question her, but all of them?

Doubt was truly the most dangerous spell one could cast.

Beneath her hard exterior, a painful sense of loss and confusion unfurled. Alibeth had always prided herself on her intellect, her ability to read and anticipate the court’s moves.

Yet she had been blindsided by her own son.

That he would do this publicly, without warning or discussion, was as strategically brilliant as it was personally devastating. Whatever his intent, she quickly realized the full extent of the damage. Her careful efforts over the years had just been shattered with a single strike.

In the oppressive silence that had fallen over the banquet hall, Alibeth saw no benefit in protest or argument. Wulfric had already ensured that any defense she offered would be viewed with suspicion or dismissed outright. Her keen intellect grasped this harsh truth instantly; fighting the inevitable would only further damage Wulfric’s future reign and fuel rumors of division within the royal family. So, with a quiet dignity, Alibeth let her initial shock and confusion fade into a stoic acceptance. She would bear this burden quietly, as a final, bitter act of duty to the kingdom.

Edin, however, was another matter entirely.

The king had been sobered to say the least, his eyes widened in denial. Wulfric would never do this, right? He couldn’t think of a solid good reason why the Wulfric he knew would have seen reason in such an insane notion. His hand clenched around his goblet, knuckles whitening. As the reality began to set in, anger had surged upward violently, hot and suffocating.

How dare Wulfric endanger them?

Surely he could reason his way out of this? Could he minimize it? But no. The severity was clear. The law was unambiguous. And the kingdom’s eyes were upon him.

Then Stratya's voice rose, her thick accent making it difficult for Edin to immediately grasp the full extent of her argument. Confusion flickered across Edin’s face as he tried to decipher her speech, catching only fragments of her logic.

“...tha’d make ye terrn yer blade on y’ kin… Changed t’ colour of a table cloth?”

As Stratya continued, trying to downplay Alibeth’s spell as trivial, Edin finally pieced together her meaning. His eyes narrowed slightly in disbelief. Was she truly sympathizing with magic publicly? Around the hall, Edin could see other nobles mirroring his confusion and distaste.

Foolish, this is why I insist on not hiring women, Edin thought sharply, her misguided attempt only reinforcing the gravity of Wulfric’s accusation. He longed to reprimand her openly, to remind her harshly of their divine laws, but time was fleeting, and his thoughts rapidly returned to the monumental decision he faced. Every gaze was fixed on him, waiting to see his reaction.

In the oppressive silence, a vision of his father, King George, materialized, standing rigidly in the periphery of Edin’s mind. George’s dark, judgmental eyes burned into him. His gut twisted, nausea surging in tandem with a lifetime of painful memories. In that moment, the truth crashed down upon him like a wave: the disgrace Wulfric had laid bare before the court could taint not just Alibeth but his entire reign.

Shame flooded through him, driving out all hesitation. Edin knew, then, what must be done.
His gaze slowly found Alibeth, whose expression held quiet, pained disbelief.

A lifetime of control snapped back into place. The king straightened, tension stiffening his posture as he carefully composed his expression, burying his turmoil beneath a mask of stern authority. The weight of every gaze rested upon him, expectant, judgmental, waiting for his verdict. Edin finally rose from his seat, his jaw set like stone.

“Magic,” he began coldly, voice resonating with unyielding conviction, “is an affront against the gods themselves. Its foul nature corrupts not merely those who wield it, but threatens the very sanctity of our kingdom and the purity of the divine bloodline bestowed upon House Danrose.”

Rising abruptly from his seat, Edin slammed his hand down upon the table, the sharp noise silencing any whispers. He turned his piercing gaze upon Alibeth, allowing righteous indignation to flood his voice. "You have defiled not only your position as Queen but the sacred name of Danrose itself. To wield magic—to even entertain its use—is heresy of the highest order."

He swung his gaze over the gathered nobility, voice raised, commanding authority. "This betrayal will be met with swift justice. We cannot, and we will not, tolerate such corruption within the very heart of our kingdom."
Turning to the guards, he gestured sharply towards Alibeth. "Arrest her. Escort Her Majesty into confinement. She shall await judgment by tribunal of the Church. “

Alibeth rose quietly, accepting her fate without protest. Her dignity never wavered even as she moved away, escorted by guards through a room filled with stunned silence and accusing stares. As she was quietly taken into custody, Edin stood rigid, his jaw set with grim determination, his public face perfectly crafted to project unwavering resolve and loyalty to the kingdom’s sacred traditions. Inside, however, lingered an uncomfortable truth he would not dare acknowledge that the betrayal he most keenly felt was his own inability to foresee any of this.

After a sigh, he added, knowing he would have to address Wulfric's statement in order to defend the use of these hunters, “The servant in custody unlawfully used magic to tamper with the drinks of nobles and royalty, even their own master. An act of magical assault that warranted immediate arrest under Caesonian law. As for the other incidents Prince Wulfric mentioned, the witch hunters were summoned precisely to investigate and pursue those responsible. Despite having only just arrived, this man has already apprehended one such offender, proving both his efficiency and dedication to rooting out this growing threat.” He gestured to Torvi next. “I was informed that one over there also arrived just this week and single-handedly handled a ritual in the woods.”

Edin then turned his gaze on Killian and addressed him directly. "Esteemed witch hunters of Varian, your services to this kingdom have been invaluable. I recognize the confusion stirred by the words spoken tonight, but let me be clear: regardless of who stands accused, utilizing magic… Even through what some may mistake for poisoning my royal offspring as mere intoxication…is a grievous offense."

He paused briefly, allowing the logic of his argument to settle over the hall. " Despite this painful revelation tonight regarding Her Majesty, your presence here has never been more critical. If magic has infiltrated not only the lowest levels of servitude but also the highest echelons of our nobility, we face an infestation of unprecedented magnitude."

"I implore you to remain in Caesonia. Your continued expertise and cooperation in rooting out magical corruption are essential. Furthermore, in the coming days, I intend to open direct communication with the Varian Kingdom's King and Queen, to strengthen our mutual resolve against this threat and discuss further strategies to protect both our kingdoms."

He paused, eyes sweeping the assembled crowd, commanding their understanding. "We must stand firm, united by our faith in the gracious Gods and our commitment to justice."

Finally, Edin gestured decisively, signaling the end of the banquet. "Now, go in reflection. Caesonia shall endure and rise cleansed by faith, united in vigilance."

In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Wulfric, Farim & Anastasia


Mention:@Helo Callum @Oso Killian


“Ah, it seems I am just in time,” Wulfric smiled, entering after the two did. He waited until the door was closed before posing his question. “You wished to discuss Callum?” He looked towards his sister and the shahzade, eyebrow arching.

“As always!” Anastasia chirped, pivoting on her heels to beam at her brother with a gleeful smile. “Farim was the first to notice something strange about Callum, actually, and once he pointed it out... well, I can’t unsee it.” She gave a quick, worried glance toward Farim before turning back to Wulfric. “I was wondering if you noticed it too.” Her smile fell and she shifted on her feet with genuine anxiety. “...I’m worried about him.”

“Of course, I noticed. Wearing a crown, praising our father, playing the noble game, dismissing Lady Violet, tacitly approving of slapping women, all without hide nor hair of discomfort or disgust…” He rolled a shoulder as he listed several of Callum’s suspect actions. “He has perfectly participated in activities he’s loathed to his very core without a hint that he was bothered by any of it. He is not acting like the brother we’ve come to know.” His gaze strayed to Farim, wondering how much to reveal in the shahzade’s presence.

“Yeesh…” she muttered, scrunching her nose. Then she confessed, “I didn’t even catch half of that.” Her gaze then slid to Farim along with Wulfric, an uncharacteristic note of seriousness threading through her voice. “You saw it too, right?”

Farim nodded. “I had enjoyed a festive night among some pleasant company. That one night at the tavern named after him - he is an entirely different man now. One could say perhaps he was feeling a bit more ‘lively’ that night, but your tones suggest otherwise.”

The shahzade sighed, approaching the two and leaning on the nearby table. “Not to mention, there seems to be an awful lot of…tension between the various families. Seems like everyone is a little on edge.”

Wulfric tilted his head. “Is that relevant?” The posed question was sharp, and laced with doubt. “Unless you are proposing there is a common underlying cause to Callum being unlike himself and the tension at large….?” He challenged. “With a topic this important, I expect you to get to the point. Anastasia claimed you wished to discuss Callum. So, please, if you have something else to add, then get to the point, shahzade. As you say, tensions are high, so I haven’t time to waste standing around here when something else could happen out there at any moment.”

Farim raised a brow in response, his face frowning to match the displeasing atmosphere thrust upon him. “I believe so. I was simply asked what I saw - so I gave an account. But if a simple ‘yes’ is all that is needed….” Farim raised his hands in a shrug-like gesture. “It was not me who requested this audience, Your Highness.”

Farim took a moment to pause and think over the interactions this night versus the night previous. “All I can suggest is that he might be influenced by another. It is as if someone else has taken precedence over Prince Callum’s actions. Perhaps a really enthusiastic life coach…” Farim lightly suggested before laying an equally outlandish suggestion. “Or he is under some form of trance - perhaps hypnosis? Everything he has done thus far has thrown everyone present for a loop. So unless he has managed to fool you both for years with a fake persona of being a kind soul…Then there are stranger elements at play.” He looked to Wulfric, as if to say “There, better?”

Wulfric nodded curtly. “Now that is useful. Thank you for elaborating, shahzade.”

Anastasia made a face as she tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling, her lips pursing in a grimace. “Uh oh,” she muttered, then exhaled through her nose and looked back at the two men, and for a moment, guilt flickered across her face. She opened her mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve as if debating with herself.

“Uh—” Her voice caught briefly. Then she sighed, and her shoulders dropped in resignation.

She looked to Wulfric now, more composed but still troubled as she decided to reveal another piece of info instead. “Callum and I… actually… we went to see Marek.” She folded her arms, eyes flitting toward Farim briefly before returning to her brother. “He was weirdly charming as always, but also kind of creepy. Like, everything he said sounded smart, but my tummy was like, ‘Girl, this is off. This is bad. Turn around.…”

“That is an instinct you ought to listen to,” her brother advised firmly.

Anastasia nervously laughed, though the amusement never reached her eyes. “I felt awful, given Marek has been my friend and all, but I didn’t like how he was so focused on Callum… He barely even looked at me.”

Farim glanced at Anastasia in a surprised look - She calls him a friend yet her base instincts say to leave him at the first chance she got… His confused look was written plain on his face.

Catching his expression, Anastasia leaned in slightly and whispered, “I know, I know. It sounds insane.” Her eyes were wide yet sincere. “But it was a lot. I’ll explain everything later, I promise. Just… know I don’t mess around when it comes to my brothers. If my gut says something’s off? I listen.”

“At least one of you now realizes how shady this so-called friend of yours is,” Wulfric commented. He seemed awfully unperturbed about Anastasia having gone to Marek, as if he weren’t all that surprised she had done so. “When was this visit? How did Callum act during it? Did you touch, drink, or otherwise interact with anything there?” He shot off a few questions. “The first signs of strangeness I noticed were this morning at the theater, but it was nothing compared to how he is now. Since Delronzo is very likely a magic-user…” Wulfric hummed, and traced a finger across his lips.

“It was the other night,” she answered quickly, fingers lacing together as she tried to recall everything clearly. “Callum was... focused. Weirdly calm. He just sat there, listening to Marek like he was reading him his favorite bedtime story.” She paused, visibly uneasy. “We didn’t eat or drink anything from them. We just sat as Marek went on and on about father and the corruption in the kingdom.”

“Ah, yes…a topic which would be of most interest to him,” Wulfric drawled. From what Anastasia said, Marek had utilized mundane manipulation so far. They could not deny the possibility of magical influence, however. “Perhaps presenting Callum to the witch hunters would lead to some revelations.” He was highly doubtful it would, and wasn’t willing to risk it – not quite yet – and was merely probing for reactions to his suggestion.

There was a slight tension when Farim noticed the way Wulfric casually dropped something like that. Magic was highly forbidden after all - yet he placed it so casually into the conversation. Like he was talking about what color clothes the man was wearing. “Given the nature of one of the more recent guests…I would advise against it. It is how Anastasia said earlier with Marek. The instant that silver haired man entered the room my entire body went ‘Habibi, this one is bad news’.” There was something off about that man - perhaps villainous intent or simply a selfish drive to do one's will that always raised red flags in Farim’s mental state. “You speak of magic so freely - is there perhaps a way you can detect its influence on another?”

“Of sorts. I possess a device with which one can observe someone’s magical energies. I do not have it on my person at the moment, but it is possible to see the colour, thickness, and activity of a person’s magical ‘aura,’” he confirmed.

“I concur that the silver-haired man is not sane. He acts like a slaver,” he snarled, “and is clearly proud of his conduct. On the other hand, there was this lady witch hunter I spoke to who seemed more…reasonable. Perhaps I was mistaken, if they are allies,” he shrugged. “Oh, and, as a note, I speak of magic freely because it is becoming all the more relevant. It strikes me as pointless to pretend it has no influence or to hide from it,” he explained.
Anastasia’s eyes widened slightly, and a chill rippled down her spine.

“Wait,” she breathed, eyes darting toward Wulfric and then Farim. “The white-haired man. The one from the ballroom. The one with the woman on a chain…” Her voice faltered, horror creeping in. “I thought he was just some creepy sadist with a fetish—”

She turned to Wulfric now, fury crackling behind her eyes. “You want to hand Callum over to him?” Her voice trembled. “If you try to present him to them, I’ll stand in the way.”

“If you truly wish to protect Callum, then we need to stop our mother. Right here and now. Before she sets a precedent we would not want.”

The shahzade needed to stifle the slightest of chuckles at the notion of a kinky couple crashing a banquet. Farim coughed lightly and nodded. “At the very least - that troubled person seems to be not of a good influence - but the lady witch hunter…” Farim paused.

“She is interesting. I have a feeling she will have testimonies about that Varian ritual in the woods, assuming whatever trial that was hinted at is still happening for Lord Roman.” Farim turned his head to look at Anastasia. “Before you were found unconscious in the woods - she was quite the formidable fighter. A tad bit cheeky on the tongue as well.” The man could not help but question why all of this was happening now of all places - and why amidst what was allegedly a “call to justice” for the events in the woods the other day there was suddenly a public witch hunt being displayed.

Wulfric hummed in interest. “So you have met with Ms. Torvi.”
Farim nodded. “Things to consider - just like your fancy little device. I suppose you are employing its use during this banquet if you are not holding onto it, no?”

The Caesonian prince snorted. “My, with how you are fishing for answers, it is almost as if you are a magic-user yourself,” he poked the shahzade for his obvious attempt at gaining information. Chuckling, he shook his head. “Unless you truly are an expert on the subject, I see no reason to provide you with more sensitive information.”

Yet another raise of the brow from the Alidasht royal. “And who's to say I am not?” He said with a sarcastic smile - but he quickly raised his hands in a faux surrender. “Although I merely ask out of curiosity, not necessity. I was not aware this information was as sensitive as it was. My expertise lies in knowing things - so it is only natural I inquire.” The raised hands moved to tuck under his now crossed arms as the man pondered his next thought. “Is there something that must be done before the banquet reaches its conclusion?”

“Well, if you were a magical expert, your knowledge would be invaluable,” Wulfric retorted with a shrug.

“There is something I must do. So, if we are done here, I shall return to the banquet promptly.”

Anastasia glanced between the two men, tension flickering behind her eyes. Her gaze lingered on Farim for a moment, thoughtful. But then, instead of speaking, she turned to her brother.

“Before you go back, I just wanted to…” She trailed off, then stepped in and hugged him.

“I know it’s been stressful, Wulfy,” she murmured in his ear.

“But you’re doing a good job. You’re going to be a great king.”
Her brother was evidently surprised by her gesture, but wrapped an arm around her, loose and careful. “Thank you, Anastasia,” he replied quietly. He had no idea what had brought on her gesture, but was grateful regardless.

As she pulled away, her eyes slid back to Farim, head tilting once more with curiosity, clearly still awaiting his answer.

The shahzade stood with a focused contemplative look on his face. Carefully constructed baited answers as always, Wulfric. He calmly thought. But his straight face turned into a smirk. “Seems a bit strange to ask such questions when you already have the means to identify as one affiliated with the blight of magic.”

“Either you already have your answer…or your device is simply a clever way of catching a confession. Perhaps even catch me in a lie. Oh, I love these kinds of games!” Farim clapped his hands while he grinned. But once he looked over at Anastasia and took a pause to interpret the rushed cadence behind Wulfric’s speech, he decided to act accordingly.

“But it seems this is not the time for fun quips exchanged between friends. So I shall be brief – you need not worry about me.” He was sure Wulfric would read through his “not really an answer”, but the truth was there – what Farim did with his supernatural talents was not a primary threat to the Danroses or the nation as a whole. He just hoped Wulfric would agree with him on that before assuming the worst.

“Had I been concerned, our conversation would have had a different tone,” Wulfric told him honestly. “I do have my answer, but given the political climate, I shan’t force anyone to reveal whatever skills they may or may not possess. However, if you are ever inclined to continue this discussion, I will be available.”

He inclined his head to the shahzade. “Until next time then.” He strolled to the door, but stopped just as his hand grasped the handle.

“Oh,” he turned his head towards the pair. “Shahzade Farim, if you have not yet mentioned to my sister the topic which you seek to discuss with my parents, now is the time.” That said, he took his leave, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Anastasia watched the door click shut behind Wulfric, her expression unreadable. Slowly, her gaze shifted back to Farim, eyes searching his face.

“Do you…know magic?” she asked at last, her voice barely above a whisper.

Farim clicked his tongue. Was this not meant to be about someone else entirely? How did it swing back in his personal affairs so readily? He offered a slight sigh with his fingers rubbing the base of his forehead. “Thanks, Wulfric. Appreciate the subtlety….” Farim said to the closed door.

Then he turned, one hand holding his wrist as they relaxed in front of his midsection. “I suppose now is the time to come clean – if witch hunting is to be the standard. Then yes, Anastasia. I know magic.” He figured there was no sense in twisting his words now.
In Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


🌸 Race: Half-Elf 🌸
🦋 Class: Druidic Mystic 🦋
🍄 Location: The Bathroom🍄
🍃 Interactions: Menzai@Samreaper Bastion @Oso Arya@Potter🍃
🌼 Equipment: 🌼

🪷 Attire: Outfit 🪷

🪞 Gold Balance: 55 🪞
🌸 Injuries:
🌸


Phia had managed a smile as the gentle giant had bestowed her with a greeting. The warmth in his voice had given her a brief respite from the pain. But that fleeting comfort dissolved rapidly as he carried her back into the brilliance of the sun. The sky stretched vast above her, making her feel small and exposed beneath its gaze. Her smile slowly faded as Menzai’s face and name burst into her mind. Panic gripped her heart like a fist, crushing the breath from her lungs as a desperate urgency surged within her broken body.

Her eyes widened, frantic and wild, searching the deck until finally, painfully, they found him. Menzai lay motionless, bloodied, his strong form reduced to a mere shadow of the protector she knew. The sight tore through her heart.

”Menzai!” she cried out, her voice cracking with agony and fear. Her good arm strained toward him, trembling, fingers clawing the empty air as though she could somehow bridge the distance through sheer will alone. “No–... Please no!” He had always been so strong, she hadn’t ever even dreamed of seeing him this way.

He lay broken, and she couldn’t even crawl to him.

”...I don’t have any healing or medicine on me. Perhaps we can tourniquet her grave injuries until we find a healer?”

Phia's gaze snapped toward Arya, a woman she once regarded as a deity. The words twisted painfully inside her chest, but she couldn't afford to be the one who needed saving. Not when Menzai was slipping away right in front of her. She shook her head violently, each movement igniting a new fire in her cracked ribs and sending waves of nausea through her battered frame. Yet, no physical agony compared to the terror of losing her dearest friend.

”Do you have anything on you to help Phia? D…Do we have… Do we have a healer?”

“I’m fine!” she shouted in voice raw with her desperation, “Don’t look at me—don’t waste anything on me!”

Her golden eyes locked on Menzai’s still form, and a fresh wave of terror choked her.

“Menzai!” she screamed, louder now. Her arm reached again, fingers clawing at the air like she could drag him toward her through sheer will.

Her gaze flew back to Arya, a sob rising in her throat. “Give it to him! Give it to Menzai.” Her vision swam, darkness creeping at its edges, yet she fought fiercely against the oblivion.

Tears streamed down her bloodied cheeks as she strained in Bastion’s gentle hold. “I’m—I’m okay! He—he needs help, not me!” she sobbed, her words weakening but still fiercely determined. “Save him…please… don’t let him go. ”

He was always strong—he had to get up. He had to.

He had to rise… not to protect her, but so she could stand beside him again.

In ✨Beyond The Veil✨ → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay



____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Location: The Eclipse • Time: Dusk

Interactions:N/A • Mentions: @AuthenticTomb Luther/Volfango @Tae Lys

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


"You're the one letting me off my leash, so no complaining when I get into something, yeah? See ya in an hour, Sicily."

Angel huffed a laugh and grinned at him as she lifted her hand in a salute. "Stay safe, mutt,"

Then she stood there, watching as he melted into the crowd. Tall and broad-shouldered, confident in the way predators always were when they didn't believe they could fall. He disappeared in the flashes of neon and bodies.

Angel lingered, the smile fading from her lips as the night reclaimed her.

Perfume and sweat hung thick in the air. Laughter against the walls, and the music thrummed beneath it all. It should have felt intoxicating, but the longer she stood there, the more it gnawed at her, this parade of humanity that was always just out of reach.

The neon painted her skin, the colors too bright, too loud, as if trying to color in the hollow abyss inside her.

Angel tipped her head back and closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, the grin was gone, leaving her face empty and still. Her blue eyes lifted to the sky above, locking onto the distant stars that twinkled back at her with indifference.

It was impossible not to think back to earlier...To the way Luther's voice had cracked through the phone, the way his body had twisted against itself, as if even his skin wanted to abandon him. She could still feel the ghost of his clawed hand in hers, the desperate way he’d clung to her voice like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world.

He had been so afraid. Plagued with the helpless, humiliating kind of fear that left you feeling like you had been cracked open.

Like you were bleeding out and no one could see it but you.

Angel toyed with the idea of trailing after him, of shadowing him like some overprotective sister. But she knew better. He’d catch her scent in a heartbeat, and she could only imagine how much worse that would make him feel.

Giving him his space was the right thing to do. Still, the decision sat wrong with her as she finally stepped forward and made her way toward The Eclipse.

The noise of Sundown Row faded into a muffled, distant hum as she stepped toward the club.

Here, the world felt heavier, more charged. A crumbling brick building loomed ahead, graffiti sprawling across its surface. Above a heavy steel door, a single flickering neon crescent moon burned in violet.

The bass leaked out from behind the door, a pulse that seemed to vibrate beneath her skin. The sound, the smell of sweat, all of it: It was a siren’s call, and she answered it without hesitation.

There was never any guarantee how much longer she'd have this freedom.

No guarantee how much of this she'd have.

So she planned to take it all — every last second of it.

As she approached, the bouncer barely spared her a glance. The door groaned open, and Angel slipped inside.

The first thing that hit her was the oppressive heat. Neon lights stabbed through the dark in sharp beams of electric colors. The ceiling arched high overhead, lost in shadows, with rigging and cables sagging above the dance floor. Bodies moved in an endless tide.

Angel moved deeper, the crowd parting instinctively around her. It felt as if a thousand gazes had slid over her. Some were appraising, others predatory, and many even dismissive. She didn't flinch.

Instead, she tilted her chin up, a glint in her blue eyes daring them to try. A faint smirk played at her lips as she wove through the crowd.

As the song shifted, the rhythm pulsed beneath her feet deep as if it were a second heartbeat. Angel’s body found it naturally, her hands sliding up the curve of her hips in slow movements. It felt like the music was hypnotizing her, pulling her deeper with every beat. The world around her blurred until it was just the sound and the sensation running through her veins.

The bass rose, heavier now, vibrating through her bones, her chest, her soul(if she even still had one).

An unguarded smile grew across her face, and as the tempo quickened, so did she. Her movements were fluid and unapologetic, blonde hair whipping, skin gleaming under the strobe lights. Angel found herself surrendering to it, lost in the rhythm, the moment, the fleeting taste of freedom that was hers right now and only now.

She danced like she didn’t care who was watching and that, of course, was exactly why they watched.

As the music droned on and her dress glimmered as it caught the lights, she lost herself.

But then a flicker at the edge of her vision pulled her attention, and she couldn't ignore the sight.

Her movements slowed, the spell unraveling stitch by stitch, as her gaze locked onto a scene she hadn’t expected. There, tangled in the glow of the club’s back booth, was a ghost from her past.

The recognition hit hard, tugging the smile from her lips. It dragged the warmth out of her chest and left something heavier in its place.

Angel stood frozen for a beat too long, the bass still pounding in her ears, the lights still flickering over her skin. All of it felt distant in that moment, muted under the weight of her memories.

She hadn't changed. Still beautiful. Still chaos incarnate. Still effortlessly having an intimate moment with any other beautiful creature she wanted in the moment.

For a moment, she felt as if she had stepped into the shoes of her younger self. The lost, lonely girl who had clung to a lovely, dangerous thing just to feel something.

And Lys, sprawled in that booth, smiling that same wicked smile Angel remembered too well, was a reminder of all the things she could never quite outrun.

But tonight, Angel was determined to.

She tore her gaze and her body away from the sight, refusing to let the past claim her.

In ✨Beyond The Veil✨ → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Approved on my end, @Chrys
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay



Time: Eveing
Location: The Castle Dining Hall
Interaction/Mention: @Oso Killian


Queen Alibeth Danrose remained perfectly poised, the stoicism in her features a maintained mask of composure. Yet internally, a spark of dark satisfaction flickered through her veins like an electric current. She had anticipated this moment. Planned for it, even.

And now, as Kilian strode through the hall, dragging iron chains, Alibeth felt a surge of vindication. Here was a tangible message delivered to those fools, a clear statement: magic and its chaotic undercurrents would not be tolerated in Caesonia.

And especially not from Marek’s pawns.

Her eyes glittered with carefully restrained triumph, the only outward sign a subtle tightening at the corners of her mouth. This man, Kilian, was exactly as promised—a blade to cut away the kingdom's festering corruption.

King Edin, however, was in an entirely different state of mind. Inebriated and flushed from his indulgences, he initially watched, open-mouthed, as the display unfolded. For a fleeting moment, there was a sharpness in his gaze—a flicker of sober awareness that betrayed he had, in fact, anticipated this. Alibeth had warned him ahead of time, after all. But as the chains scraped louder and the drama crescendoed, his expression shifted. The seriousness evaporated, replaced by a lazy, self-satisfied grin, as if the entire affair had been orchestrated solely for his entertainment.

He slapped the armrest of his throne with a boisterous bark of laughter, thoroughly delighted.

“Oh, splendid! Absolutely spectacular!” Edin's voice echoed unnecessarily loudly in the silent hall. He leaned toward Alibeth, his breath thick with drink, “You really went all out, didn’t you, my dear? I suppose this is your way of spicing up the evening!”

A hiccup punctuated his enthusiasm, and he waved a hand towards Kilian, utterly oblivious to—or perhaps choosing to ignore—the tension vibrating through the room. Whispers of shock and outrage rippled through the guests, but Edin merely lounged back in his throne, smug and immensely entertained.

Alibeth allowed herself a subtle sigh, then rose gracefully to her feet, projecting authority. “Welcome, Kilian,” she addressed him, her voice steady and resonant. “Your timing is impeccable, as always.”

For a moment, she let the silence hold, let the court wonder, let them fear.

“For those of you who may not yet understand the necessity of this interruption,” she continued, her tone cool but not cruel, “allow me to clarify. The woman you see before you has been apprehended under my directive. She was responsible for tampering with the refreshments at the Edwards’ recent gathering—a calculated act designed to sow chaos and bring harm to our noble class.”

Alibeth’s gaze swept across the assembly, allowing each noble to feel the weight of her words. “It was not mere mischief,” she said. “It was an assault. One that endangered many of you here tonight. And more gravely, one that put the royal children themselves at risk.”

The ripple that passed through the guests was immediate—gasps and murmurs as they shifted in discomfort, horror painted across their faces.

Alibeth let the reaction settle, then with a faint, chilling smile, she inclined her head toward Kilian. “Please, seat yourself and enjoy what remains of the banquet. You have more than earned it.”

Then, without so much as glancing at her husband’s flushed and grinning form, she lowered herself back onto her throne with the effortless dignity of a queen.

In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Duke Gideon Edwards



Time: Evening
Location: Castle Dining Hall
Interaction/Mention: @TpartywithZombi Ariella @Lava Alckon Drake @Helo Leo


Gideon felt the atmosphere shift before the doors even opened.

A sudden chill slithered across his skin, raising the hairs at the nape of his neck like an animal sensing the approach of danger. His breath caught, as a low, metallic scraping echoed through the hall—a sound he knew too well.

In an instant, the banquet vanished, replaced by the darkness of an evening long past. He was sixteen again, heart hammering painfully in his chest, kneeling on damp grass behind a thorny shrub as panic filled his veins. The cold night air filled his senses; the rustle of branches pressed against his trembling limbs. Beside him, the twins were frozen, their breathing shallow, eyes wide in fear. He could still vividly recall the way Walter's hand had clutched his tightly, how all three of them had stared in helpless dread, as a figure in black dragged a heavy iron chain across the stone walkway.

And now, decades later, Gideon felt that same shadow descending, the same icy dread pooling beneath his ribs as the banquet doors swung slowly open.

When he stepped into view, Gideon's knuckles went white around the stem of his wine glass. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, his eyes locked on the cold, calculated calm that radiated from the man at the center of the room.

His gaze flicked in search of his daughter. Her expression was still controlled, but he could not forget the danger that lurked just beneath her skin, buried but never truly gone. Panic seized him with silent claws. If any of them had sensed anything——then she was no longer safe. None of them were.

The moment the captive stumbled into view, Gideon felt nausea rise bitterly in his throat. It was Genevieve, one of the women his wife had employed. He had seen her before. And he had seen all of this too—the desperate eyes, the silent plea, the ruthless accusation made without words. But he also vividly remembered the reckless brown-haired boy who had once been the fire that burned defiantly against such cruelty... but he wasn’t here now. Gideon was alone.

And this time, the one at risk was one of the few people he could not bear to lose.

Gideon’s hand trembled subtly as he set the glass down, forcing himself into composure even as the banquet hall dissolved into chaos around him. He knew what would come next, what always came next.

He leaned forward, steadying himself, heart thundering beneath his composed exterior.

Because he knew with bone-deep certainty: if that white-haired man learned about her, he wouldn’t hesitate. He would drag her into the open, bind her wrists with iron, and erase her life in the name of order. But Gideon would never let that happen. He couldn't.

And in that moment—perhaps more deeply and profoundly than he ever had—he understood Walter.

... I will do whatever it takes to protect her. To protect both of them.

Drake’s voice broke through his storming thoughts:

”Sir, who is this man who is put together like something from a thriller novel? And why is he carrying Geneveive out in chains like this? Did he get approval through you before just taking someone from our staff?”

Gideon’s gaze never left the hunter.

"...Find the girls, son."

In ✨Beyond The Veil✨ → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
@Chrys Fixed version!



[hider=Alora]
[CENTER][h1][color=19F4BA][b]Alora[/b][/color][/h1][/CENTER]
[table][row][/row][row][cell]
[center]
[img]img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/47…
[color=black][sup]__________________________________________________________[/sup][/color]

[sub][h3][color=19F4BA]Basic Information[/color][/h3][/sub]
[color=black][sup]__________________________________________________________[/sup][/color]

[sub]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Name[/b][/color] | [i]Alora Devoy[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Nickname(s)[/b][/color] | [i] Chimere | Shimmer | Dreamer[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Age[/b][/color] | [i] Couple centuries but she looks like she is in her early 30s[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Gender[/b][/color] | [i]Female[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Birthday[/b][/color] | [i]November 12th[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Race[/b][/color] | [i]Fae[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Rank/Status[/b][/color] | [i]Singer and boss of The Gossamer Dream[/i]
[/sub]

[center][h3][color=19F4BA]Appearance[/color][/h3][/center][color=black][sup]__________________________________________________________[/sup][/color]
[hider=]
[sub]
[b]True Apperance[/b]
[img] img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/47… [/img]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Height[/b][/color] | [i]Her natural height is 5'3 [/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Build[/b][/color] | [i]Slight and impish[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Eye Color[/b][/color] | [i]Bright teal eyes.[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Hair Color & Style[/b][/color] | [i]Rainbow hair that widely falls in curls and sometimes is done in braids. [/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Skin Tone[/b][/color] | [i]Lightly tanned from falling asleep on roofs while sunbathing[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Notable Marks[/b][/color] | [i]Her eyes have no whites or pupils, they are just glaringly teal eyes. They are very eerie even to the point that they could be mistaken for giant cat eyes glinting in the dark of an alleyway.[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Typical Clothing Style[/b][/color] | [i] Ecletic. Bits of pieces such as straps or patches were very much needed but were seen as fun. [/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Aura/First Impression[/b][/color] | [i]Odd, weird, a lot of energy, and a whole lot of trouble.[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Voice[/b][/color] | [i]Light feminine voice that is more often than not rushed and excited. The chipper energy of her speech is like lit sparks. [/i]

[b]Her favourite Glamour look [/b][i][b]- Chimere[/b][/i]
[img]img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/d0…
• [color=19F4BA][b]Height[/b][/color] | [i]She is about 6'[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Build[/b][/color] | [i]Slender and voluptuous. Her build is almost unbelievable, something that would be front-page model-worthy.[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Eye Color[/b][/color] | [i]Light lavender coloured eyes[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Hair Color & Style[/b][/color] | [i]Long ombre hair that goes from lavender to white color [/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Skin Tone[/b][/color] | [i]Pale porcelain so pale her skin almost seems as if it glows under light[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Notable Marks[/b][/color] | [i]She almost seems too good to be real, because you know she is.[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Typical Clothing Style[/b][/color] | [i]Elegant and glamorous. [/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Aura/First Impression[/b][/color] | [i]Calm and collected. Mysterious and elusive.[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Voice[/b][/color] | [i]Calm, smooth and soothing.[/i]
[/sub]
[/hider]

[center][h3][color=19F4BA]Relationships[/color][/h3][/center][color=black][sup]__________________________________________________________[/sup][/color]
[hider=]
[sub]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Openness to Friendship (1-5)[/b][/color] | [i]3[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Openness to Romance (1-5)[/b][/color] | [i]5 - For Dominic, 2/3 for everyone else[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Romantic Preferences[/b][/color] | [i]Someone with genuine warmth and likes to look out after [/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Current Romantic Interests[/b][/color] | [i]Obsessed with Dominic[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]View on Forbidden Relationships[/b][/color] | [i] After a century, all of it seems so silly.[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Biggest Turn-ons[/b][/color] | [i] Broad Shouldered ✦ Dark ✦ Deep Voice ✦ Protector[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Biggest Turn-offs[/b][/color] | [i] ✦ No humour ✦ No sense of joy or warmth ✦[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Known Friends[/b][/color] | [i]Very few, she has made a career of hiding who she is and now finds it hard to find people who actually like the real her.[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Known Enemies[/b][/color] | [i]Any idiot who makes a ruckus at her club[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Known Family[/b][/color] | [i]Not in contact with anyone for centuries[/i]
[/sub]
[/hider]
[/center]
[/cell]

[cell]
[b][color=19F4BA]Psychology[/color][/b]
[sub][sup][color=black]▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔[/color][/sup][/sub]
[indent]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Hobbies/Interests[/b][/color] | ✦ Singing ✦ Dancing ✦ 'Feeding' off peoples love for her ✦
• [color=19F4BA][b]Likes[/b][/color] | ✦ Music ✦ The spotlight on her ✦ Fae Food ✦
• [color=19F4BA][b]Dislikes[/b][/color] | ✦ Boredom ✦ Silence ✦ Mundane ✦
• [color=19F4BA][b]Fears[/b][/color] | ✦ That she no longer recognizes herself ✦ That Dominic will see the real her and dislike her ✦ Everything she built coming crashing down around her ✦
• [color=19F4BA][b]Habits[/b][/color] | ✦ Bites her nails when nervous ✦ Doesn't like looking at mirrors when she is her herself ✦
• [color=19F4BA][b]Vices[/b][/color] | ✦ Alcohol ✦ Fae Food and Drink ✦
[/indent]

[b][color=19F4BA]Core Motivation[/color][/b]
[indent]
Her motivation for the longest time has been to 'feed' off people's attention and love for her as she performed as Chimere but something is starting to feel off. Lately the only thing that she can be sure of is her motivation to get Dominic to notice her.
[/indent]

[b][color=19F4BA]Personality Overview[/color][/b]
[indent]
A lost soul, Alora is a confusion to even herself. For the longest time she has been addicted to being the center of attention and getting all the love she could from her audience. Lately things have started to become stale though and her obsessive eye is looking else where.

She is naturally a very loud and vibrant person but the mask she created has made her hide that and become calm and cool while others are around her. It has gotten to the point where her brightness has started to dim because she doesn't seem to know who she is anymore. The only time she truly feels like she is herself these days are when she gives in to her guilty pleasure of romance novels. There she doesn't have to choose who she truly is.
[/indent]
[/cell][/row][/table]

[table][row][/row][row][cell]
[b][color=19F4BA]Background[/color][/b]
[sub][sup][color=black]▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔[/color][/sup][/sub]
[indent]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Current Occupation[/b][/color] | [i]Singer and boss of The Gossamer Dream[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Level of Schooling[/b][/color] | [i]Who needs schooling with a voice like this?[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Past Occupations[/b][/color] | [i]She once sang at other people's bars before opening her own place[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Socioeconomic Status[/b][/color] | [i]She lives comfortably thanks to her little speakeasy doing so well.[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]History Summary[/b][/color] |
[hider=][i]As long as Alora can remember, she has been keeping up this facade. She glamoured herself to look like an elegant singer worthy of being the main act of her little speakeasy called The Gossamer Dream. There she enthralled her audience with her music while selling the not-so-legal fae food and drinks to anyone interested. In the back hidden to most, there the lycans ran their little black market. It didn't help that one of these Lycans also had caught her eye. Overall it was a smooth operation that had managed to be concealed in an invisible entrance in an unassuming alleyway.

It all seemed to be going perfectly except maybe for one fact. She had started to wonder why she had even started this glamour show of hers. It probably had to do with the fact that people liked the glamour look better or was it something that she can't exactly place... something about her family maybe? Either way the whole act had been very entertaining and fruitful for the last century but now ... now she can't help but feel like something is off. Like maybe this mask she has created is closing in too tight. A cage, that is stopping her from showing her true self. [/i]
[/hider]
[/indent]
[/cell]

[cell]
[b][color=19F4BA]Race-Specific Questions[/color][/b]
[sub][sup][color=black]▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔[/color][/sup][/sub]
[indent]
✦ Fae
[hider=Race info][b][color=19F4BA]▸ Fae[/color][/b]
[sub][sup][color=black]▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔[/color][/sup][/sub]
[indent]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Element Affinity[/b][/color] | [i]Light[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Glamour Specialty[/b][/color] | [i]Singing and music related. Her singing can cause emotional feedback in listeners as well as able to help boost strength and confidence in those she has an affinity with. Her humming also helps her create a glamour illusion on herself.[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Views on Mortals[/b][/color] | [i]Neutural[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Views on Vampires[/b][/color] | [i]Neutural[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Views on Lycan[/b][/color] | [i]Mostly neutral until they have something to do with Dominic and then she is suddenly interested.[/i]
[/indent]
[/hider]
[/indent]

[b][color=19F4BA]Miscellaneous[/color][/b]
[sub][sup][color=black]▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔[/color][/sup][/sub]
[indent]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Theme Song[/b][/color] | [i]I Don't Wanna Be Pretty by Alexa Villa[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Favorite Food[/b][/color] | [i]Moonlit Nectar[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Favorite Animal(s)[/b][/color] | [i]Butterflies or Moths[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Favorite Music Genre[/b][/color] | [i ]Alternative[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Favorite Haunt[/b][/color] | [i]The Gossamer Dream[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Signature Weapon[/b][/color] | [i]Other people and daggers[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Preferred Vices[/b][/color] | [i]Alcohol and Andrenaline rushes[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Pet Peeve[/b][/color] | [i]When people don't pay attention when she sings[/i]
• [color=19F4BA][b]Guilty Pleasure[/b][/color] | [i]Trashy romance novels, especially those about werewolves[/i]
[/indent]
[/cell][/row][/table]

[/hider]
In Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


🌸 Race: Half-Elf 🌸
🦋 Class: Druidic Mystic 🦋
🍄 Location: The Bathroom🍄
🍃 Interactions: Meiyu @Tae Bastion @Oso 🍃
🌼 Equipment: 🌼

🪷 Attire: Outfit 🪷

🪞 Gold Balance: 46 🪞
🌸 Injuries:
🌸


Something shattered out of her sleep.

It wasn't the mirrors again, nor a dagger.

Phia’s eyes snapped open with a sudden, gasping breath as agony bloomed sharply in the cradle between her collarbones. The world around her was a blur, tears spilling over as her body arched involuntarily, the sensation so intense it stole her voice. Her wounded arm twitched weakly against the tile, sending jolts of nerve pain radiating up to her shoulder; her cracked ribs throbbed beneath every breath she desperately pulled in.

Yet, despite the pain, the sensation wasn't cruel. It wasn’t poison; it wasn’t rot.

It was warmth.

The touch of something piercing through her suffering, embedding itself into her soul.

She lay trembling, trying to comprehend the feeling. The cold tiles were solid beneath her, but only for a moment. Soon Phia felt strangely suspended, caught between the floor and sky, between life and death.

Slowly, with fingers that shook uncontrollably from exhaustion and trauma, she reached up and traced the spot just above her heart. She found no blood, no fresh wound—only the outline of something hard, unfamiliar, and embedded into her skin.

Phia turned her head weakly, blinking tears and blood from her eyes, and then the room began to come back into focus. Her split lip trembled slightly with the effort. She saw Meiyu standing with them still, composed despite all that had happened. Then, just beyond, her gaze fell upon Talis, the girl who lay heartbreakingly still, a silence about her too complete, too painful to accept. The memories flooded back in a wave of grief so fresh it threatened to drown her again, and her chest tightened painfully.

She felt herself slipping, dizziness tugging at the edges of her mind once more, but she forced herself to look upward. Her expression was frightened at first, but the fear vanished instantly when she recognized Bastion’s face above her. Her vision was still swimming and blurry, yet she recognized the face of the metal man she had seen earlier. Relief surged through her battered frame, easing some of the tightness in her chest. She felt safe with him, for whatever reason.

"Hello…" she whispered feebly with a gentle smile.

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