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6 mos ago
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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2 yrs ago
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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Those aren't laces. Those are my toe nails.
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Hi there! This looks interesting!

So I assume the Alidasht royalty are all of the Gazalian culture/ethnic group?

As of right now, I only have interest in a Kimoonese or Sakuran noble. Opting for a heir if royalty for these are not suitable (as above).


Yes, they have been traditionally. However, there are other noble options. I will PM you with information.
Ya know, I've been wanting to branch out, and there's a lotta love here so I'd be interested in throwing my hat in. Not to be dismissive about it I'm aware of the commitment so I'm willing to... commit!

I'd be interested in taking a role from Varian, try to help fill out the need of royals from there maybe!



Hello there, TruthHurts! It's nice to meet you.

Thank you so much for your interest.

And to reiterate, I’m flexible when it comes to breaks or weeks where you can’t post — all I’m really looking for is clear communication and the intention of staying long-term. :D

I will contact you via PM this week with some options.

If anyone else is interested in Varian and would like to potentially collaborate with TruthHurts (friends, siblings, etc.) feel free to offer them your ideas. And TruthHurts, you’re welcome to share any thoughts of your own as well.






Important Note


We’re looking for some new players who enjoy long-term storytelling.

This roleplay has been running for years. Please do not join if you do not enjoy long commitments.

Breaks are absolutely fine. Real life always comes first. However, consistent communication is expected.

This roleplay is largely a sandbox. It is character-driven.

While the GMs introduce events, villains, and plots, the heart of the story comes from the choices, growth, and drama you create with your own character.

We will guide and plot-push, but we will not handhold you. It’s up to you to develop a character deep and rich enough and to weave them into the ongoing narrative.

You’re free to push your character as far into the spotlight as you want (with communication with the GMs). The GMs are here to support: to add drama, provide antagonists, spark consequences, and collaborate on arcs. But the key is communication.







About The Roleplay


Genres: courtly romance + dark fantasy + supernatural elements + light political intrigue

Setup: Three kingdoms (Caesonia, Varian, Alidasht) converge in Caesonia’s capital, Sorian, for a “courting season”.

Story thus far: begins with a ball that descends into scandal, a secret after party that no one remembers going to the next morning, and a murder that same night (Violet’s “death”). Cover-ups follow, family feuds, dinner parties, magical ceremonies resulting in trials, banquets, and a publicly arrested queen!

The plot balances romance arcs with very dark undercurrents (an underground mafia, vampiric curses, witch hunting, forbidden magic).

Tone: shifts between Bridgerton's glamour and drama/scheming, and minor political intrigue/supernatural dread.



Plot Summary


Roses and Daggers is a courtly romance–meets–dark fantasy roleplay set in the glittering capital city of Sorian, where the youth of three kingdoms — Caesonia, Varian, and Alidasht — gather for a courting season.

On the surface, it’s all ballroom splendor, arranged marriages, and high society, but beneath it all lurks a dangerous mafia network, forbidden magic, and vampiric curses.

The setting feels like a Victorian-inspired fantasy realm, but it’s homegrown, so you don’t need to memorize real-world history or worry about the details heavily.

Please see this page for specific available technology: Wiki Page for Technology

The story begins with a grand ball that spirals into scandal, a secret afterparty that leaves nobles with missing memories, and a shocking murder. From there, romance, betrayal, and supernatural danger collide, making every dance, dinner, and whisper possibly dangerous.

In-story, about three weeks have passed since the opening ball. New players will step in as nobles arriving just in time for the second ball of the season.


What's Your Role


In Roses & Daggers, you step into a pre-established role: noble heirs, princes and princesses, devoted knights, scheming priests, cursed souls, witch hunters, mages, and more!

Each role comes with bonds, family ties, and a sense of place in the world. This gives you more to work with from the start while at the same time remaining completely customizable.

You will choose your role from one of the three great kingdoms of Eromora: Caesonia, Varian, or Alidasht (see kingdom information below).

Once you choose which Kingdom you would like to represent, you will be provided with the role choices available from that Kingdom.

You are also welcome to offer your character ideas and let us know your thoughts. We are happy to help you find your place.

Then, once you claim your role, you will have the opportunity to collaborate with the GMs to build the kind of stories you want to tell.



The Three Kingdoms

Click here for a detailed overview










Sorian (Capital City) - Where the Story Takes Place

Click here for a detailed overview


Overview: Nestled at the end of a fjord, Sorian is the political and economic heart of Caesonia—the capital of both the Soralia territory and the kingdom at large.

This is where a majority of the story takes place, and this is where Danrose castle is located.

Atmosphere & Culture: Regal stone architecture, cobbled streets, and year-round blooming public gardens underscore its elegance. Culture is alive in museums, galleries, theaters, the prestigious Sorian University, and its famous observatory.

Commerce & Trade: With a vibrant Merchant District and a scenic Boardwalk, Sorian’s port is a hub for ships carrying exotic goods and news.

Governance: The city is governed by Duke Gideon Edwards and Baron Asteroth Hugonin, both loyal and formidable. Their leadership ensures the capital stays prosperous and stable.





What's happened thus far that my character would know about?

The current year is 1739. The day you enter will be Ignis 10.
The days of the week are the same. It will be a Wednesday.
Hours, minutes, etc. are all the same.

Months (In order of our months; Hibern is January, Frosamor February...etc)

Hibern - 31 days
Frosamor - 28 days, 29 every 4 years
Ventu - 31 days
Germa - 30 days
Flora - 31 days
Sola - 30 days
Ignis - 31 days
Messis - 31 days
Aurea - 30 days
Tenebra - 31 days
Glaci - 30 days
Nixe - 31 days










If you’re interested in joining, please let me know which kingdom you are considering for your character's origin.

Quick note: We will not be accepting any royals for Caesonia; however, we are very interested in royals for the Alidasht and Varian Kingdoms.

From there, I’ll DM you and help you choose a character role to apply for that matches your preferences.

Since the RP has been running for years and we’re well over 100+ IC pages, I know it can look overwhelming at a glance. However, much of what's there is not information you will need to know.

I will make sure to streamline everything you actually need.

You’ll only get the information relevant to your kingdom, your role, and the parts of the story your character would reasonably know.

Once you’ve picked your kingdom, I’ll send you(as soon as possible™) :
A short survey to get an idea of your interests.
A curated list of customizable roles that fit what you want (Note: I may try to match you with siblings to give you a story to bounce off of with your permission).
Brainstorming help

We are currently wrapping up an evening scene. Also, I am finalizing the roles. Please note that you may not receive information immediately. However, I will be available daily for questions. So, please, if you are interested, let me know which kingdom you like.






The hum of the Port Verge market softens as you near a corner stall that gleams brighter than its neighbors — an oasis of color amid salt-worn wood and canvas sails. Rolls of fabric ripple like caught waves, shimmering in hues of sapphire, coral, and deep-sea green. A faint fragrance of lavender, starch, and something expensive fills the air.

Mannequins dressed in enchanted garments stand at regal attention, each seeming to breathe faintly, as though alive. Fine threadwork glints under the sun, and a tailor’s awning embroidered with silver script reads: The Seaside Tailor.

Then he appears.

Marcellus “Marcy” Veyne stands behind his counter like a work of art come to life — obsidian skin polished smooth as stone, long hair streaked with magenta and teal catching the light, and lilac eyes that shine with practiced mischief. His silken robes hang open just enough to prove that beauty, indeed, requires dedication.

“Well now…” His voice rolls low, smooth, and amused. “The winds bring me yet another… tragedy.”

He eyes you from head to toe, pausing for an achingly long moment before breaking into a melodic laugh — the kind that draws a few glances from nearby stalls.

“Darling, I can tell you’ve survived horrors unspeakable — your outfit being one of them.”

He snaps his fingers, and a pair of enchanted scissors twirl through the air like trained birds.
“But fret not, sweetie. You’ve come to the right place. I’ve turned pirates into princes and beggars into heartbreaks — I can fix you, too.”

Every movement drips with confidence and color. The drow gestures grandly toward his wares: shimmering coats that shift hue with the tide, enchanted silks that never tear, boots that make even mud look fashionable.

“Now then,” he purrs, leaning in with a smile equal parts charm and challenge, “are you here to buy, or just to be blessed by my presence?”










🌸 Race: Half-Elf 🌸
🦋 Class: Druidic Mystic 🦋
🍄 Location: The Seaside Tailor Stall 🍄
🍃 Interactions: Corin @Lava Alckon Menzai @Samreaper Arya @Potter Bastion @Oso
🌼 Equipment: 🌼

🪷 Attire: Outfit 🪷

🪞 Gold Balance: 75 🪞
🌸 Injuries: Phia is exhausted, weak, and achy. 🌸


Phia had not been too hasty. Not even a little bit!

She was absolutely offended.

She had been extremely observant after all.

So she puffed her cheeks, folding her arms. Her traitorous stomach growled, speaking before her mouth did. To make herself appear more serious and really punctuate her point, she jabbed the butt of her staff straight into the dirt. "I did not trust him too fast." The half-elf insisted with furrowed brows. “I did much better than the other times.”

To prove her point, she pointed a finger toward Corin. "I looked at him very carefully. I saw the shining shard on his collarbone—the ones we all have—which means he is from the ship, like us. That is a fact. I made a good decision." She tapped her foot impatiently as she processed his next words. With a pout, she leaned in and informed him: "You may ask your questions."

But it did not take up for guilt to bubble up within. She never liked sounding cross with her beloved Menzai.
Her expression softened, and she gave him the sweetest smile.

“And if I am wrong,” she added cheerfully, “I will hit him. Very hard. So nothing is lost.”

Phia then watched Menzai approach the man and introduce himself. Before Corin could answer Menzai's questions, Bastion spoke up. “Do not fret, Menzai…Phia is right to trust this man. He is no mere knight. This is Sir Talmor, Gem Knight of Cyre, a hero…and a brother to me.” Bastion exclaimed as he moved forward, hand outstretched. “It’s good to see you again, Commander.”

Her mouth was open agape. They knew each other?

For a moment her brain scrambled — the odds of that felt impossible. Was the world secretly very small? Was there less to explore than she thought?

The thought was… depressing. But then she noticed just how happy Bastion was to see him, and a smile painted her lips as she replayed his voice in her mind, reflecting on the sheer joy in his tone. She’d suspected it before, but this proved it beyond doubt: the metal beings had emotions just like everyone else.

Bastion really loved to see his friends!

Additionally, she couldn't help but feel a little smug about being right. Her intuition was absolutely spot on about Corin.

”If Bastion cleared your name, then we can relax–for now.”

Phia turned to Arya with a grin, eager to share her moment of triumph.“Now you must trust me with deciding who is safe to interact with.” Unbeknownst to Phia, her manner of wording was terrible.

”It is as your small protective friend says. I was on the ship falling to my death before I collided with a tree and used what little sense I had while I was spinning to crack my shield into the dirt and soften the blow. My arm isn’t too happy, nor are any of my ribs….I also have a rather persistent headache since the crash. But other than that…I think I made it out well...There was another man. An elf with orange eyes and dreadlocked hair. He seemed the cautious type. A brief exchange of words was all I could afford before he ran off in some unseen direction. Sound like anyone you might know?”

Phia took in his words with wide, concerned eyes. Though she still managed to throw him a proud thumbs up when he correctly identified Stella as a good bird. When he suggested moving someplace private for dinner, she nodded along eagerly…

…until her brain fully processed what he’d just described. ”It might be good for us, since food seems to be on the mind of many here, to find a more private venue to talk. Care to join an old man for some dinner?”

“You fell out of the sky and hit a tree? " Phia echoed, already speed-walking to catch up to him. “Your ribs are angry? And your arm is angry?” Before Corin could protest, she suddenly darted in front of him and rose onto her tiptoes, placing her hands gently against his scalp to massage it.

“We can help with all your pains,” she said with an alarming amount of confidence.
“But usually our limbs and bones do not have emotions. That is concerning.”

Her face inched closer as she examined his pupils with way too much intensity.

“Because of your head injury, you are most likely hallucinating,” she concluded brightly.“So I do not think the elf you saw is even real.”

Phia finished her examination with a little nod and gave his scalp one final, soothing scratch. It was the kind one would give to a wolf pup in the Oruna Tribe when one wanted to calm them down.

Then she patted his head twice. “Your skull is good. Probably. But you should not fall out of the sky again.”

Without waiting for a reply, she spun on her heel, her hair swishing behind her, and began running toward the nearby vendor stalls.

The moment the scents reached her, her eyes went huge. She stopped dead in the center of the crowd, people flowing around her like water flowing around a rock. The market was filled with all kinds of beings — many she had never seen before, and stalls bursting with pretty colors. And the smells. Her stomach growled so loudly a passing elven man actually flinched, muttering something in confusion as he hurried away.

But then she felt it.

A prickling sensation on her skin — that unmistakable feeling of being watched.

She looked around uneasily. Some people were laughing, nudging one another, whispering behind their hands. That wasn’t too strange. But some of the gazes were… different. They locked on her, rolling up and down her form with a strange intensity she didn’t understand.

Phia frowned back at them, confused and rather offended.

Before she could puzzle it out, a whisper cut through to her ears. “Psst. You.”

A stall stood behind her with a sign that read: The Seaside Tailor. Fabrics rippled in the sea breeze around it. Her eyes found the source of the voice: a tall, elven male, shoulders broad beneath a robe of deep teal.His skin gleamed like one of her marbles. Long waves of aqua hair framed his sharp cheekbones. His eyes shimmered with a mischievous glow that made one believe he knew every secret there was to know.

Phia stared at him for far too long. Her mouth parted just a little. “…You…” she whispered and stepped closer. “Are you… from the ocean?” Her eyes traveled over him again: the embroidery on his clothes, the rolled sleeves showing sculpted arms, the gold jewelry glinting like treasure. “You are pretty.” He didn’t look flattered. The man looked… appalled.

Then he leaned forward, elbows on the counter, voice blunt as he told her lowly: “Sweetheart. You need to purchase new clothes. Right now.”

She tilted her head, and he added: “Immediately. Urgently. For the sake of public decency and my eyesight.”

Phia stared at him, horrified. Then she looked down at herself and back at him. "What's wrong with my clothes? ... I made them myself."

Before she could defend herself, the tailor exhaled dramatically, dragging a hand down his perfect face like he was being wounded by her outfit’s mere existence. “Sweet blossom… I can see the effort. Truly. But effort is not the same as good.”

She blinked.

He came out from behind the stall and circled her once as though inspecting a wild animal he intended to domesticate.

“Right now you look like you've been living in a bush.”

He stopped in front of her, close enough for her to smell his lavender perfume.

“And darling… You deserve better than that.” He tapped her chin upward gently with two fingers. “Now be a good girl and pick something pretty.”

Phia frowned, then relented with a grumble, wandering to the racks. Her eyes drifted over tops and skirts until she stopped before a long-sleeved white crop top with flowing sleeves.

Her fingers trailed the fabric.“…Pretty…” she whispered.

Then the Mistpetal Skirt caught her attention. “This one has flowers.”

She held both pieces up proudly.

The elf didn’t even blink. He snapped his fingers, and a curtain swayed open behind him.

“Changing room. Now.”
Stratya, Kalliope, Charlotte, Olivia, Kazumin, Drake, Ariella & Roman


Part 1



Before Stratya could fully reply, the tavern exploded with song. A beautiful voice rose above the drunken roar, and Charlotte’s gaze followed it immediately.

Kalliope.

Charlotte’s stomach tightened as the events of the banquet replayed in her mind, and she looked away quickly, forcing a polite smile as Kalliope spun and danced atop the tables.

When the gorgeous redhead finally collapsed into their booth and into Stratya’s lap, Charlotte’s grip on her glass whitened before she recovered with a light laugh.

Ariella slipped in quietly, bare feet brushing the tavern floor with soft, hesitant steps that drew more than a few puzzled looks from the patrons nearby. The boards were cold and sticky beneath her toes, and she grimaced faintly at the sensation, tucking her feet quickly under the bench the moment she slid into an open seat. Her presence went largely unnoticed amid the laughter and song, which suited her just fine.

Her eyes, however, were anything but still. They drifted across the crowd, searching the smoke and sway of bodies for a familiar figure. For a heartbeat, she thought she caught a glimpse, but when the man turned, the illusion broke. Just another stranger with too much ale. A tiny sigh escaped her, half relief, half disappointment, before she focused her attention back.

Olivia’s attention was stolen from the group. While peering around the tavern, her gaze settled on the window. Then, like a flash, a raven peered straight back at her and caused Olivia to jump about a foot into the air. Her knee banged into the table, and she inhaled sharply. It wasn’t a mistake–that was the familiar. Her gaze narrowed, and pain in her jaw reminded her of gritting her teeth too tightly. She bit her lip and acted as though there had been a spider she was shooing away politely.

She scooted closer into the booth to hopefully remain out of the damned bird’s view. Her gaze found Lottie’s, and briefly, she noticed the whitening of her knuckles once Kalliope joined. Without knowing the circumstances, she reached under the table and squeezed her leg in a comforting way. Liv then repositioned herself and glanced at the now-filled booth.

Kalliope had landed with a joyful, reckless thud, her own tankard still clutched in her hand. She tossed her fiery hair back, green eyes sparkling with the leftover excitement of the dance, and grinned at the Captain’s surprise. She leaned in close, a soft laugh escaping her throat, her voice husky from singing. “Indeed, happy birthday!” She purred, her lips hovering near Stratya’s cheek as she planted a confident kiss. The Captain gave a little giggle, enjoying the attention.

Stratya continued her retelling in that moment, and so Charlotte focused in on that and tried to forget about the gnawing idea that she had kissed the man the woman in her lap had been seeing, only just nights ago. Luckily, Captain’s Durmand story was rather shocking and jolted her out of her thoughts.

t’ ol’ scunner tells me ‘I follow you’ like tha’s nae crreepy, ‘n come ta fynd ou’, e’s been followin’ me since ‘e saw me find Darryn Fletcher’s remains, like tha’ did somethin’ for ‘im. Stratya gave a shudder and took another sip of her mead, “I left ‘im in Pinebrrook, so tha’s ‘ow tha’ went. Yourrs any bet’er?”

”I—...Good heavens, Captain, he’s been stalking you!? I daresay I’d have left him face-down in Pinebrook too.” Charlotte’s brows knit together as she processed the rest. “And I do hope you don’t mean the remains of a corpse—” She suddenly did a double take and added with bewilderment, “And who on Eromora is Darryn Fletcher?”

The name made Drake frown. He did not share his thoughts but from what he read on the case — that stable boy had been dealt the worst hand one could be dealt. The lord adopted a quick change of expression before raising a brow at Stratya. ”That sounds pretty serious, Captain. I’m fairly certain such zealotry warrants legal action, no?”

A set of mugs filled with beer, some spilled with a sloshing spray, followed by raucous laughter, the tempo of the shanty still in his bouncing steps.” Aye! What a grand shanty that was, miss!” Kazu exclaimed through laughter, half out of breath. “Had me bouncing and giddy, so I thought I brought some fresh booze as thanks..the rest for parched throats!” Nodding his head, face slick with sweat from dancing to the uproarious music. A quick swipe of his forehead, leading into swiping up a mug, and he took a chug, catching the last bits of a conversation.” What’s this Darryn Fletcher about, if ya-, you don’t mind me joining in?” Wiping the beer stache with his arm as he perused the table to spot Charlotte and started to greet her, but saw her strangely tense.

He raised a brow, curious about what kind of conversation he had interrupted, then face-palmed, having forgotten his manners.” Ach! Sorry, shoulda have asked how you fine folks were doing and the name’s Kazumin for any new folks or needing reminding. Can’t be drinking right with strangers, can we?” An awkward chuckle and rubbing of his neck.” And Aye, good to see ya enjoying the drunk festivities, Lady Charlotte!” A shuffling quick wave of the hand, a brief look of concern in his furrowed brows, then he gave a smile to cover it up, wanting to listen for now.

Charlotte immediately beamed and reached over to take his hand affectionately, her hand brushing his before resting atop it with gentle affection. “Kazumin! I’m ever so glad you’ve joined us. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

He grinned back at the beaming Charlotte, returning a gentle squeeze of thanks.” Aw, shucks, and miss drinking with my pals? Though I thought I saw Olivia, but then she poofed.” Chuckling until he realized his hand was still sweaty and awkwardly pulled his hand free, rubbing it against his pant leg.” Er, sorry bout the clammy hands..got too riled up from dancing…”

Drake smirked as the familiar lad came up to greet the table. ”Well hello young fellow. Enjoying that drink are we? Good.” He gave a soft pat on Kazumin’s back. Drake cast a glance at Ariella. ”Are you privvy to any of these events or am I slow on the uptake? I heard of the Fletcher boy but this new-aged creep is…unsettling at my core…”

Struggling with how to save face, just as Kazu felt a pat to his back, pulling his attention to see Drake. He looked at the man with reprieved delight.” Aye, so there ya got to! And best I enjoyed it, seeing as this round is technically on you.” Nodding, giving the man a jolly pat on the back with a bit more strength than intended, nearly pushing him.” So the thanks go to ya..oh and.” He leaned close,r patting his chest.” For your uh..timing too.” He whispered without elaborating, then, with a thumbs u,p pulled away, seeing him turn to speak to Ari and moved around the table to let them chat.

Ariella simply shrugged and shook her head “No, nothing” at least nothing she could remember.

Olivia's gaze rested on Kazumin. A blush crept up her cheeks and she quickly sipped her drink to hide it. “Shit. Sorry, I was in a daydream. Hi everyone,” She greeted, then set her mug on the table. Tension rose inside of her, and as it did, so did her heart rate. What if she messed up?

Kazu had started looking around the table, thinking where to sit, when the missing Olive spoke up, spotting her drinking and reached a hand out with an excited wave. “So that’s where ya went! Looks like daydream land worked up a good thirst, drinking before greeting.” Strolling with a playful hope into a sliding drop of the chair.

Oof, my legs are burning so good to be off the feet. Hope ya don’t mind me takin this seat?” Shifting to get himself settled, and leaned his elbows against the table, his right hand hugging the stein before him. He leaned in a way to let him take in most of the table, the atmosphere a mix of dour with the topic of conversation and carefree.” Aye, got quite the group gathered. Can’t ask for better, the talk may be a bit unpleasant, I’ll give that. Hope you're enjoying yourself, *Lady Olivia.*” Turning his head back to her with a grin, saying her name in a mock sophisticated teasing manner.

Kalliope took a slow, deep swig of her tankard, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous sort of glee. “Legal action?” She mocked, the word tasting sour. “If the Captain wants him to disappear, I’d be happy to ensure the creep vanishes for good. I’m remarkably good at making things like ‘Bleedin’ Donal’ cease to be a problem.” She flashed Stratya a vicious, unhinged smile, tapping her tankard playfully against the Captain's chest.

“But more to the point,” she said, her voice dropping into a dark, conspiratorial murmur. “All I’m saying is, if the old ghoul gets off on finding dead boys, maybe he should become one himself. We could make sure he’s just as cold and inspiring as that corpse.”

“Well. That’s certainly one way to… resolve matters.” Charlotte murmured into her mug.

Kazu, overhearing the casual way Kalliope spoke of making this Donald vanish quietly, tapped at the stein, unsettled. The way she did so was unnerving enough to know there was a stalker going around seeking corpses. A cold, discomforting shudder ran down him that even a sip of booze did little to warm him up.

Ari reached for the nearest stein of beer, her arms outstretched towards an enormous one, clearly meant for someone with much broader shoulders. She slowly hauled it toward herself with both hands as some beer swished and sloshed out the sides. The mug was practically the size of her head. She blinked down at it, considering, then shrugged and took a sip anyway. The foam stuck to her upper lip, leaving her with a ridiculous white moustache she didn’t notice until a passing server gave her a pointed look. Ariella quickly swiped at her mouth, cheeks flushing pink as she muttered under her breath.

From her quiet corner, she observed the unfolding chaos. Charlotte’s strained smile when Kalliope collapsed into Stratya’s lap, Olivia’s startled jump at the window, Kazu’s sweaty enthusiasm as he bounced into the group like a human drum. She didn’t say a word, but her gaze flicked between them all, collecting little pieces of the story like scattered breadcrumbs.

When Kalliope started speaking of corpses and making men “disappear,” Ariella’s brows knit, though she didn’t interrupt. She simply took another long sip of her beer, trying and failing not to choke when the redhead suggested turning a man into a corpse himself.

Olivia looked over at Ariella. ” Easy. You okay?” she asked. Ari looked at Olivia with a grateful grin.

Olivia then slid over her water to Ariella, then retreated with her hand. The concern in her eyes was evident, and she offered her a sweet smile. Her reaction to Kalliope was wide-eyed, but otherwise, she remained quiet. Holy shit!

Distracted by the ongoing conversation when he heard some of the commotion and shifted to find Olive helping Ari, who had been choking. His eyes widened in shock upon noticing the stein she drank from, and he was split between impressed and crazy.* Whew, a ballsy one she is, but respect it! *

Stratya was taking a turn at her own stein when Kalliop suggested something a little bit less than noble. She balked and set her pint down, steadying herself before she caught mead down her windpipe. “N-n..nae, naaaee..” she coughed a little bit, taking another sip to wash away whatever had caught,‘at’s.. very kynd of ye, luv. I think we’ve go’ enough mysterrious disappearrances goin’ ‘rround, though. Whew. This was quite the woman that had fallen into her lap. Ready to do things Stratya couldn’t condone, but she’d look past that for now.

Ari’s expression was a mix of faint amusement, gratitude, and underlying wariness. Her hand rested lightly on the table, her gaze occasionally flitting back to the tavern’s doorway as though hoping, even now, that Callum might walk through it; at least she would have one friendly face in the crowd beside her brother. But as the laughter and voices swelled around her, she resigned herself to simply watching, sipping from the oversized stein that dwarfed her face, and trying not to look like she might float away if the room got any louder. She was grateful to Oliva, though.

The Captain took a breath, “I made i’ clea’ tae ‘im that I will nae tolerra’e ‘is stalkin’. I’ve alrready inforrmed my stewar’ an’ t’ guarrds.” Her eyes landed on Lady Charlotte, then Lord Drake. Drake had been witness to Princess Anastasia’s announcement of the murder, but had he been informed previously?

At any rate, Lady Charlotte was yet out of the loop on this one. “Yerr question, Lady Charlotte.” The hand that had been across Kalliope’s lap went to her waist and gave a little squeeze as the Captain leaned back in her seat. “Aye, a corrpse. Darryn Fletcher was t’ castle’s stable boy. It was a rratherr grruesome fynd,” she gave a dry, mirthless chuckle, “s’ good we’rre nae ea’in’. I foun’ t’ lad’s ‘ead be’ind t’ stables, wit’ou’ ‘is body.”

Sean & Angel

PART 2




Whatever amount of time has passed to get to their destination…

Sean's truck crested the edge of a parking lot conveniently overlooking the street of the Bluefin Market fish shop. The vehicle's headlights were off but it wasn't hard to see the subtle activity below beneath the faint sporadic glow of a flickering streetlight. The Bluefin appeared to be closed for the night as the neon “open” light against the inside of the window held no glow and the metal barred door remained shut over the glass door used by daily customers. Beside the shop, a large box truck was parked. Its rear was hidden but the individuals walking to and from it and the side entrance of the shop with containers filled the two in on what they couldn't see.

“Kudos to Griggs, there is indeed something fishy going on down there,” Sean commented far too easily.

Angel leaned her elbow against the window, gaze narrowing on the scene. From up here, it should’ve looked like any other truck offload: workers moving crates, tired men keeping heads down and making idle chatter, but the rhythm was wrong.

“Yeah,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

She counted them once. Then again.

There were six shapes cycling between the truck and the side door. Not a single one spoke to each other. No shitty old music blaring from inside the shop and no cigarettes hanging out of their mouths. Every step, every lift, every turn mirrored the last. They didn’t even look down at what they carried.

Angel rolled the window down a few inches, and the air hit her with a sting of blood chased with bleach.

Below, a crate slipped from one man’s grip. He froze, spine stiff, before scrambling to grab it again frantically. His eyes darted toward the alley as he lifted it as if he expected something to come out of it.

A flicker from the truck’s rear caught on the crate’s surface in that moment, revealing black wood, just like Griggs had said. It was stamped with a faint red mark that glowed for half a brief moment, then died out.

Angel’s brows drew together. “Definitely not fish,” she whispered as Sean drew out a breath.

“It’s a little tight but we'll play this like we usually do with you taking the lead while I cover you from the rear.” Sean pointed to the side door. “We also have to keep them from locking that sidedoor. If we go fast and violent, it doesn't matter if they notice us. Plus, we have the element of surprise yada yada yada, you know the deal.” Angel was no rookie, so Sean wouldn't treat her like one, but doing a once over the plan gave the rogue warden some extra confidence. Now, he was nearly ready, reaching behind to the backseat for his trusty rifle.

Angel sighed as she murmured under her breath, “Yup. Same old song, same old dance.”

She then slipped out of the truck, stepping out onto the asphalt. Next, she crouched low, studying the slope of ground that ran down toward the cargo truck and the men below.

Overgrown grass and scrub brush covered most of it — It would do nicely. Without hesitation, she dropped and slid low. She timed her slide, pausing between lightning flashes so the shadows wouldn’t betray her. As she glided down the incline, mud streaking her knees, she paused midway on a flat patch of grass. A short drop separated the upper ground from the lot below, and a stack of pallets sat just under the edge — one good shove away from falling.

She reached the bottom edge of the slope and stayed low. Her boot nudged a sheet of metal buried in the weeds. From a crouch, she kicked it downhill, angling her boot so the echo would carry toward the truck. The impact rang out, a clang that ricocheted off a drainpipe and rolled across the lot toward the cargo truck. Two men bolted in that direction. As their heads turned, she palmed a loose pebble and tossed it hard toward a distant pallet. The second noise drew them even farther off, their search pattern scattering exactly how she wanted.

The foreman barked something curt and foreign. A few guns flashed as the workers drew sidearms and swept the shadows with strange, mechanical movements. Their formation looked rehearsed, like they were following marks on a stage.

Angel grinned to herself. “Dumbasses.” She was already moving, counting weapons, and keeping track of their positions as she did.

One worker raised his pistol toward the shadows, finger stiff against the trigger guard. He scanned the empty lot, barrel jerking left and right in jittery bursts. The others took small steps forward. Overall, their movements were too coordinated for dockhands.

While they played guard duty, she darted for the warehouse’s blind side. The commotion she’d made worked beautifully — perhaps too beautifully. The group stayed focused on the noise, no one glancing where she really was.

She didn’t linger on it. The job came first.

The side door waited ahead; it was obviously one of those doors meant to slam and lock automatically. Her hand traced its seam; it should’ve resisted her, but it didn’t. The latch hung loose.

She slipped a thin metal shim into the strike plate so the bolt wouldn’t seat; the door could close, but not lock. It was good enough for Sean to slip through later, enough for her to get out alive. She let the handle settle so it read closed at a glance.

Then she eased the handle down and gave a gentle push. The door swung inward on greased hinges. Angel crouched once more; her fingertip skimmed the threshold and ground at ankle height for filament or taut line, but nothing snagged her glove.

Behind her, boots scuffed. The workers were still moving around, but not toward her. They paced the lot like actors waiting for their cue, guns drawn but muzzles low, turning in slow arcs. One even barked a question into the dark, voice cracking with what seemed like forced panic, then dropped instantly silent when all that answered was the sound of a round fired from a distant place. It wasn't abnormal on this side of town. He and the others had heard them almost nightly considering Halcyon, the true Halcyon, was a city very intimate with violence between the several factions. Typically, he’d disregard the sharp bang as a bullet fired in some unknown altercation but why did he also smell fresh blood? Why did he hear someone nearby fall to ground, leaving their weapon to clitter and clatter far from their grip? Why was-

All of his questions, half-formed or not, went unanswered. The gunfire sounded like a beating hammer against a slab of wood— suppressed but not incapable of being silent. Sean killed the same way he always had— cold and deliberate. Through tinted perception and from a fixed position against the slope leading down toward the shop, the warden honored his choice words: fast and violent.

Inside, the air hit Angel like a slap. The smell of bleach was stronger, but so was that sweetness that didn’t belong in a place meant for fish. The noise outside dulled, replaced by a hum. Sean took a moment to enter the shop behind her. It had been less than a minute, but it was clear he wasn't moving as fast as he normally could. The few bodies that had littered the sidewalk had been dragged and placed beside the parked truck, close to the others he shot down with silver. He hadn't immediately crouched as he entered, but he kept his steps quiet, walking heel to toe and weapon at the ready until he reached Angel’s side.

The fight would be different from here on as spaces varied in shape and size inside. The side door connected to a corridor that led around to the backside of the establishment where a freezer, a breakroom and a stairwell were located. The stairwell likely led to an underground storage area. If the poorly lit corridor was followed to its end, it would swing around to the front where regular business was normally conducted throughout the day.

Sean gave a head tilt toward the path ahead, refusing to give chance to alerting anyone with abnormally sharp hearing.

Angel met his gaze with a smirk, then moved ahead first. Her shoulders brushed against the corridor walls as she stepped quietly and slowly. The flicker of the lights didn’t reach far, and each light left strips of shadow between them.

Though the air grew fishier with every step, that sweetness thickened too. Angel had been a vampire for years now, and blood still called to her with that same intoxicating pull she’d learned just barely to restrain beneath the surface. But this was different.

This scent crawled beneath her skin.

Her throat burned, and her fangs ached behind her lips with an insistent pressure she refused to acknowledge. She pressed her tongue hard against her teeth in hopes it would ease her suffering.

Her eyes locked onto a freezer as the corridor opened up into a dim back room, and for a split second, part of her hoped that would be the source. But she knew immediately that whatever smelled so sweet wasn’t in there. There was definitely fish in that thing; she could taste the salt and decay even from her spot at the threshold.

Empty hooks lined the walls where fish should have hung, but the drain below them was slick with something dark. She crouched, touched a gloved finger to the puddle, and pulled it back to see red. That burning feeling in her throat intensified, and she quickly wiped her glove on a nearby cloth, then moved from the area.

Across from it, a breakroom sat, chairs neatly pushed in, cards strewn all over the table as if a game had been abandoned, a mug still half full beside it. The coffee had curdled.

Her gaze finally locked onto a descending staircase, and she glanced back at Sean with a lifted brow. He gave her a nod but reached out to grab her arm to keep her from acting too quickly.

An idea had come to mind for the warden. Letting her go, he set his rifle on safe and gently set it on the floor. He pointed to the flash grenade on his hip. Maintaining silence, he pointed to his chest with one hand and oscillated two fingers on his other to indicate he'd walk down the stairwell. He then gripped the flash grenade and wiggled it before raising his hands slightly with an opening motion. After that, he pointed at her again while his other hand wiggled one of her blades. Then he gave a thumbs-up with a nod.

Angel’s eyes narrowed as she watched Sean pantomime his whole plan. She gave him a thumbs up back, indicating her understanding, then angled her head toward the stairwell in a silent go on, then. Her blades shifted with a metallic sound as she readied herself while Sean balled his fists tightly to mentally ground himself in the situation.

Scooping up his rifle, Sean proceeded forward to the stairwell. His movements were uncannily smooth as if well-rehearsed, yet that’s sort of what was going on. The rifle was slung over his back before he removed a flash grenade from his hip. All the while, he persisted as quietly as he humanly could. One wrong misstep or hitch in his breathing would be enough to give away his approach. He wasn’t a bloodsucker or a ravenous wolf-man, but he thrived in their world. In the concrete jungle known as Halcyon, he was one of its predators, clawing and gnashing at his rivals that yearned to crown themselves as the apex. Sean lacked their strength, speed, senses, and abilities, but it was up to him to find the weaknesses and exploit the strengths. To not just even the playing field, but to give hell to anyone on the other side of his barrel.

He reached the base of the steps, encountering several faces already looking his way in the midst of loosely organized barrels and stacked crates.

“Ha!” He managed a soft laugh as he realized he wasn’t as silent as he thought; however, it was too late. He had already removed the pin, and they were still figuring out why “Hollow” was in their basement. The moment the several vampires shifted to move on him, the grenade was released with a sharp throw. It bounced once. Each step forward they took spelled their doom, especially as Sean immediately unslung his rifle. It bounced twice. Sean inhaled instinctively, gripping his weapon as they closed in.

BANG


Blinding light. Deafening sound. Two elements that could leave any human disoriented… but what about them?

“I am the danger. A guy opens his door and gets shot, and you think that of me? No. I am the one who knocks!"


Speed, Sicily, speed. Sean mentally urged as he recovered from being so close to the detonated grenade.

Angel was running down the steps only a second after the flash went off. Though her vision had gone white briefly, she could soon make out the foes at the bottom of the stairs. They were staggering with their hands to their ears, eyes squeezed shut. She immediately launched herself forward.

Her first target barely had time to flinch before she slammed into him, knocking him flat against a crate. Another swung blindly toward her, but she was faster. She swept his legs and drove a sword into his ribs to keep him down. A third tried to intervene, so she cut him off with a sharp kick to the jaw.

“If he’s the one who knocks, I’m the one who FUCKING kicks the door off its hinges!”

She pivoted to clear the space for Sean’s line of fire, a wicked grin stretching across her face. With a cackle, she added: “Say hello to Walter White himself, boys!” The dulled gunfire sounded as silver bullets pierced the flesh of vampires that desperately tried to defend themselves. One after another, their bodies collapsed to the basement floor. Sean aimed his barrel up the stairwell, finding no targets on his front sight post.

“Done and done,” Sean commented as he was sure every target that could pose a threat now lay dead. He stood up and walked over to Angel, looking her over silently before speaking again. He was checking for wounds, but he’d rather keep her wondering than tell her, especially if he didn’t find anything serious. “Griggs needs a sample from one of these, right? I might take a share to bring back to the Wardens… You know, to let them feel good that I’m still killing shit.” Sean shrugged, but he wasn’t really asking for permission and more so stating what he planned on doing.

Angel followed his gaze and barely restrained a laugh, the remnants of the sound escaping her lips. “This isn’t the time to check me out.” She commented. “As for the sample, do whatever you want—“

Her voice broke off as the entire basement vibrated and a mechanical groan echoed through the concrete.

She looked up just in time to see the open stairwell slam shut as a steel slab covered the opening, sealing the entrance as if they had been closed in a bank vault.

A hiss followed.

Then—

CLUNK.
CLUNK.
CLUNK.


It was the sound of heavy boots on metal grating.

At the far end of the basement, a large service door rattled… then began lifting, slowly, revealing only darkness behind it.

Shapes stepped out of it and toward them, and Angel readied her stance as she counted them off mentally, five large armored bodies.

Something about them made the dock workers look like children.

Gas masks covered their faces, glowing faintly at the filters.

One man moved to stand in front of the others as they approached. His smug voice carried through his mask as he said:

“We’ve been expecting you.”




Part 1


Time: 2nd Ignis, Evening
Location: The Damien Estate




The Damien Estate’s dining room sat in hushed anticipation, a chamber of muted opulence where shadows played against pale violet walls. The great chandelier overhead glowed like a crown of fireflies suspended in crystal, its soft light shimmering across polished wood floors and glinting off the ornate frames of the paintings that lined the walls. At the far end, above the carved marble mantel, a fire crackled warmly, its glow flickering over gilt edges and casting long silhouettes of the high-backed chairs against the plastered panels. The grandfather clock on the wall ticked solemnly, a metronome for the silence.

A long table stretched the length of the room, covered in a deep plum cloth that pooled elegantly at the floor. Twelve intricately carved chairs stood like sentinels along its sides, their dark wood gleaming with an oil-polished sheen. At the table’s head sat Count Calbert Damien, his presence as commanding as the portrait above the mantel, and beside him, Liliane in her pearls and silks, her every movement graceful and exact. Beside them was the youngest of their children, Crystal. Her fingers toyed with a single strawberry tart from the dessert course, picking at the glaze as if reluctant to break its glossy surface. She wore a soft cream dress edged in lace, the fabric whispering when she shifted, and her hair was braided, small wisps loose at her temples. There they waited.

On the table itself lay a feast that bore the mark of wealth and precision. Silver platters gleamed, heaped with roasted pheasant, their crisped skins brushed with honey and herbs that perfumed the air with rosemary and thyme. A haunch of venison, glazed in a dark berry reduction, sat beside bowls of golden potatoes whipped to a silken cream. Baskets of warm bread...crusted loaves and soft rolls...were wrapped in linen, their steam rising faintly as if to beckon. Crystal dishes held spiced carrots glazed with butter, almonds, and ginger, while another offered emerald beans dressed in lemon and oil. Near the center, a tureen of soup still steamed, thick with pumpkin, nutmeg, and cream, its surface scattered with toasted seeds.

For indulgence, delicate arrangements of cheeses, figs, and candied nuts were displayed on a mirrored tray, while decanters of red and white wine glowed like jewels in the candlelight. And at the far end, waiting to be uncovered, lingered the promise of sugared pears, brandied cherries, and a custard tart crowned with a lattice of caramel.

Crystal finally dared a bite of her tart, her lips pressing to the sugared glaze with a youthful hesitation. Calbert watched her from the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable but for the faintest curve of amusement tugging at his mouth. He leaned toward her, his voice smooth, fatherly.

“Careful, little dove. You’ll spoil your appetite before the pheasant.”

Crystal flushed, her small fingers freezing around the fork. Liliane, seated gracefully at his side, reached over to smooth a loose strand from their daughter’s braid, her smile soft as candlelight.

“It is only a strawberry, Calbert,” Liliane murmured, her tone gentle yet sure. “Let her have her sweetness.”

Calbert’s gaze shifted to his wife, and for a fleeting instant the charm in his eyes became something warmer, more genuine. He lifted her hand with effortless elegance, brushing his lips over her knuckles.

“Of course, my Lily. Who am I to deny you or Crystal a touch of delight?” He set her hand back with reverence before turning his gaze back to Crystal. “You must know, my dear, the world is rarely so generous as your mother. Indulge wisely, and no one can deny you the spoils.”

Crystal gave a small nod, encouraged by his approval, and returned to her tart with a newfound confidence.

The clock ticked on, and the fire crackled against the hush. Calbert’s mind found itself occupied with the order of things, the anticipation of this little dinner and his ambitions for the event. This was not just a wonderful feast for a loving family. Nothing was so simple. At least not at present time, despite how the man truly wished it could be so. As much as tonight was meant to bond them…it was business.

Then, faintly, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the quiet, echoing in the great hall beyond the door. Calbert’s smile lingered as he straightened in his chair, his expression sharpening ever so slightly as he watched to see who would enter first.

“Ah,” he said, voice carrying like a chord struck on fine strings. “It seems the others have decided to grace us with their presence.”

“Others?” Alexander’s voice cut in like a hot knife through butter—smooth. “It’s wonderful to see you as well Count Damien. That smile of yours is- it's just something I could never pull off. Love it, and you look absolutely dapper this evening.” He entered as confidently as he usually carried himself, wearing what was supposed to be a three-piece suit, yet it lacked the jacket, allowing the sheen of the dark green vest an opportunity to showcase itself against his black shirt and slacks. His eyes caught the faces of Crystal and Liliane next. He performed a mock bow.

“A pleasure to meet you again Countess, it's been far too long… And you.” He focused on Crystal as he rose. “You must be Lady Crystal. A fitting name from where I'm standing.” Finally returning his gaze to Calbert.

“Where should I sit, Count Damien. The foot of the table, perhaps?”

“Good evening, Mr. Deacon.” Calbert greeted warmly, a smile painting his features. “I am so pleased you decided to accept my invitation. Please, sit wherever you believe you belong.”

”Good evening” Violet interrupted as she stepped into the room. Her black gown, made of silks dragging behind her. Her corset, adorned with Raven embroideries stitched in reds and golds, stood out against the intricate details on her bodice. Her hair was long, reflecting against its dark hue, the light from the fire almost encapsulating her in a red hue.

Walking further into the room, she rested a hand on her father's shoulder, offering him a warm smile, glancing over at her mother ” Father…Mother, you and the staff really outdid yourselves with this meal.” she said, admiring the spread on the table before her, her crimson eyes glancing up at Alexander with a warm smile on her face. ” Very good to see you this evening, Mr Deacon. You’re looking well. I hope your travel here was comfortable.” She moved around the table to take a seat next to her sister, smiling at Crystal as she enjoyed her strawberry.

”I apologise if I interrupted anything.”

“Oh, there's no need for that. We were merely exchanging greetings.” Alexander said just before allowing his eyes to catch sight of the doorway once more.

Cassius was already drunk when he stumbled up the back porch of the Damien estate. The whiskey was still fresh on his breath, but he was of sound mind. Mostly. He’d promised himself he’d behave tonight. Family dinner and all that. But he couldn’t bear the idea of attending such a thing sober. Not with where his head has been lately.

The doors of the dining room grew and grew as he approached them, having just missed his eldest sister’s entrance. Light spilled through the cracks, and the bastard straightened his coat, ran a hand through his…let’s be honest, perfect hair, and stepped inside.

He was met with warmth, firelight, the smells of perfume and hors d'oeuvres. His family seated like figures in a painting...Calbert at the head, Liliane radiant, Crystal delicate as glass, and Violet sitting beside her in quite the gown. But it was the man at the far end that caught his attention the most... Bloody damned Alexander.

That smile. The same one that had crawled into Cassius’s mind days before.

He stopped just long enough to meet the vampire’s eyes. The room seemed to tighten around him.

“Evening, everyone.” he said, an easy tone obfuscating the tension burning in his chest. The words came with the slight hint of slurred speech…just enough to reveal the libations affecting him.

He crossed to his chair, dropped into it, and took a long sip from the glass of wine in front of him. His eyes stayed on those of Alexander.

“Didn’t realize we were having...friends over as well.”

Beneath the table, Cassius’s hand closed around the hilt of the steak knife...just for comfort, just in case.

Liliane’s brows drew together with concern, clutching at the pearls around her neck as she tilted her body to face him as he sank into the chair beside her. “Cassius, darling…” she began softly, her voice careful and low. “You look pale… Have you eaten today?” Her hand twitched faintly toward his.

Calbert’s expression, by contrast, hardened. His fingers drummed once against the table before he leaned over to whisper to his son,“Do try not to make a spectacle of yourself, Cassius.”

“Your son is quite like me, Count Damien. I’ve never been a fan of surprises… no matter how grand they turn out to be.” Alexander chuckled while choosing his seat at the foot of the table, opposite yet so far from Calbert. It was an odd place to seat himself, making the table appear the way Alexander often viewed the world before him. Me… and them.

“Actually, since it seems that everyone is here, I think an announcement is in order.” Alexander let silence fill the room. He very much desired their reaction.

Calbert raised a brow with intrigue, his steady gaze locked on Alexander. Violet's nose twitched slightly at the smell of alcohol on Cassius's breath, so she leaned back in her chair, attempting to create some distance.

Glancing at her parents before turning her attention to Alexander, Violet attempted to steady her focus; however, it seemed withdrawn and distant as a smile crossed her lips.

Cas’s head tilted ever so slightly at Alexander’s words. Great…An evil fucking vampire with a surprise. What’s the worst that could happen? He thought silently, awaiting the big reveal of the wretched man’s announcement.

“It’s nothing too big, but I wanted to thank the Damien family— this beautiful and lovely family for donating the largest purses in the auction today.” His eyes glanced toward Violet who had underhandedly donated the most, but he allowed the fact of the matter to hang in mystery for the hunter of the family to catch. “As a senior representative of the Black Rose, and as a man who fancies aiding the less fortunate, I believe that it's only right that I put in a request to have another street here in Sorian named after your family.” He smiled at the prospect.

“I’m sure King Danrose would be willing to do such if I requested it.” He said while finally grabbing the stem of his wine glass.

Calbert smiled, his expression perfectly pleasant as Alexander spoke. His posture was impeccable and there was only a serene gleam in his eyes. “Ah, yes… the auction.” he said, almost amused as if recalling a fond memory. “A delightful event you hosted. I must say, I was most proud to see my offspring so spirited in their generosity. One might almost think philanthropy runs in the blood.”

He chuckled softly, swirling the wine in his glass. “You flatter us, Mr. Deacon. A street, you say? Well, I do hope it’s one worth walking.” His gaze swept the table, lingering a moment longer on Cassius, then Violet, before settling back on Alexander. “But truly, your kindness knows no bounds. I’m certain the King himself will be most… persuaded by your suggestion.”

Smiling, Violet stands, her glass held delicately, the soft clink of crystal as her glass taps against a ring on her finger.

“How about a toast,” she begins, her voice carrying with quiet elegance, “to our honored guest, to Alexander, whose accomplishments have kindled a spirit of generosity and purpose within us all. You honor my family with such gestures” She smiled, looking around the table. Cassius did not wait for the toast to conclude before bringing his glass to his lips.

“May his success continue to inspire, his vision continue to grow, and his heart remain ever guided by kindness.” She continued.

“To Alexander… Violets scarlett hued eyes moving to look at him as her glass raised ever so slightly”and to the good he brings into this world”

Violet bowed her head slightly before extending her arm up higher.

”To his continued success”. She brought the glass to her lips, taking a sip before returning to her seat.

By the time his sister had finished, Cas’s glass was empty, and he had already grabbed the decanter for more. As he topped off his wine, he raised his glass as well. “Here, here!” He mused. “To such an honorable, charitable, righteous, selfless, humble, honest, valiant, dignified, well-dressed, and definitely warmhearted man as you, Alexander.”

With each word, Cassius leaned in towards Alexander at the other end of the table more and more, until he rose from his seat to conclude his addition to his farcical toast standing with his glass held high. As he finished his words, an amused little grin curled at his lips, his gaze finally breaking from Alexander as his eyes circled the room to look at each of the others with a proud smile before sliding back down into his seat full of joy and wine.

“Thank you.” He said with a simple nod from his side of the table. He wouldn't bask in such praise right in front of his host. And so he found it better to kill the momentum that Violet had started. His eyes scanned across them, mentally highlighting the players at the table. Three… That's if I'm including the drunk. He let his eyes fall to his glass before drinking its dark red contents, and though he enjoyed the flavor of Cabernet Sauvignon, he wondered if an equal choice of white was available.

“My, my… what a collection of eloquent tongues this evening.” His eyes gleamed with amusement as he glanced from Violet to Cassius, then to Alexander. “Such praise. I daresay our guest must feel positively deified by now. If nothing else, I am delighted to see such… enthusiasm stirred by the spirit of generosity.”

A smile played on his lips as he lifted a single hand, his voice carrying with command. “Now then, my friends. I believe the hour calls for a touch of indulgence. Let us begin properly.” By the time the word indulgence is spoken, Cassius is already pouring himself another glass.

At the Count’s signal, the great doors at the end of the dining room opened. A small procession of servants glided in with silver trays. The scent of truffle, butter, and roast herbs filled the air followed by the gleam of metal domes being lifted in synchronized unison.

A spread worthy of royalty unfolded before them: oysters, game pâté en croûte, consommé à la royale, and stuffed quail. Various liquor bottles and fresh baked bread were also brought to the table.

The servants moved as if this had been choreographed, setting each dish down before stepping back to bow. The feast glittered beneath the chandelier.

Calbert raised his glass once more.

“To appetite, conversation, and good company,” he said smoothly, his eyes cutting briefly toward each of them, “—three things I find equally vital to any satisfying evening.”






🌸 Race: Half-Elf 🌸
🦋 Class: Druidic Mystic 🦋
🍄 Location: The Bathroom🍄
🍃 Interactions: Corin @Lava Alckon
🌼 Equipment: 🌼

🪷 Attire: Outfit 🪷

🪞 Gold Balance: 75 🪞
🌸 Injuries: Phia is exhausted, weak, and achy. 🌸


The universe, apparently, had zero manners.

Especially the way it decided to have a man bump into Phia the moment she was marching toward delicious, glorious food. (…Granted, she might have been about to slow down anyway because of Menzai's protest, but that was completely beside the point.)

Phia hadn't just bumped into him; she had practically bounced off him as if she had walked straight into a wall. Her breath hitched as she stumbled back a step, her hand gripping her staff as her gaze focused on the stranger she’d collided with.

He was… big.

Not Bastion-big, but broad-shouldered; he was built like the kind of man who could lift her one-handed. His dark brown hair had sporadic gray streaks that reminded her of a storm, and so did his cloudy blue eyes. Those she immediately admired — but more than that, they reminded her of the elders of the Oruna Tribe. They looked tired, as if they had lived through a thousand experiences and carried every one of them in their gaze.

"Are you just as lost as me?”

“…Lost?” she echoed, scrunching her nose as her eyes narrowed.

She opened her mouth to answer —Then something glimmered. It was a flicker of light at his collarbone.

Her gaze moved instantly to the gem nestled against the crevice of his collarbone. She then lifted her hand to her own, fingertips brushing the matching gem in the same spot on her body.

“You— you have one too… You were on the wooden beast.” Her shoulders relaxed a little. “We were escorted here — the others and I — so we could speak with the prince. Request his help to fix the broken beast.”

Phia finally lifted her gaze fully to meet his again. She subsequently offered him a sincere and warm smile as she assured him confidently,“You will be safe with me."


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