princess

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

_{Location — Husker's Interacting With — Lucas @SalemFlame Cliff @Sugar and Spite}

❁ ─────────────── ❁ ─────────────── ❁

Willow wiped down a table hastily as the sun poured through the windows. She had made it over to clean in a jiffy the moment a family had vacated the table. She had to, with the number of people coming in. Husker’s had always been a frequent haunt, but she had not seen so many of these birds flocking in quite so early in a while. She had already noticed a few familiar sun-flushed faces drift in with the crowd, all too eager to escape the smoldering summer heat, but she had not yet gotten the opportunity to strike up much conversation beyond taking orders.

And anyway, her mind did not dally long on anything but the work before her; the jarring drone of the generator hardly allowed her to think at all. It seemed to sit in her skull and rattle around there in such a manner that she had found herself pausing a little too often mid-conversation or having to shout over the racket. That was, until her attention snagged on someone practically staggering in—Lucas West. She had already clocked him just as Cliff was offering his help. She hurried over to pry the door open wider and hold it there for the two men, assuring Lucas, “You’re alright, honey! I’ve got the door!” She brushed hair behind her ear with a free hand.

“Good morning, Lucas. Good morning, Cliff. I’d be happy to help you boys get settled and bring you something nice and cold to drink.” She gently laid a hand on Lucas’s shoulder so he would register her presence more easily. “I can help you to a table, if you’d like.” She did not fuss beyond that, only stood near with that same token patience of hers.

❁ ─────────────── ❁ ─────────────── ❁

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: The Castle Ballroom
Interactions: Farim @Lava Alckon Magnus @Remram Fareed @Redking0380
Attire: Dress

---

"Nothing would make me happier than seeing your home." Anastasia told Farim with a sweet smile. "I bet it's absolutely amazing. You make it sound so lovely that now I feel I should be terribly disappointed if I never get to see it at all."

"Definitely a deal." Instead of shaking his hand properly, she took it and pressed it to her cheek, snuggling it there for a brief second as though that counted well enough. Then she looked back at Magnus, and her brows lifted in open disbelief. "What? You are not confident?" she asked, sounding genuinely baffled by it. "But you're beautiful. I should think women are already fighting over you somewhere, and you simply have not noticed. Or maybe you have noticed and are pretending not to." She tapped her chin, though her usual energy was still absent, she still teased, "Definitely on to you."

Her mouth curved a little then, faintly amused. "And anyway, all that matters of the heart nonsense is much too dramatic. If you like somebody, you should just say so and be done with it. Life is short, and then you die, so there is hardly any use in standing around waiting." Her gaze was absentminded, and her words perhaps a little too fast-paced.

She had said it lightly, almost like a joke, but a heaviness settled in her again, all the same. Still, Anastasia tilted her head, studying him. "Really, what is the worst that happens? They say no? Then you feel miserable and dramatic for a little while and eat something sweet, and then eventually you recover. That is far better than never knowing at all."

"I think it is much sadder to want something and do nothing about it," she added more quietly. "At least if you try, it was real."

At Magnus’s suggestion, she followed his gaze toward the Varian royal and stared for a moment, squinting a little as she searched her memory. "Is she one of your cousins, too, Farim?" she asked.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Marina & Ambrose

Time: Evening
Location: The beginning is a flashback to Alibeth's execution in the morning. Then we move the Guest house and finally the Ballroom
Mention: @AuthenticTomb @CitrusArms @Remram @HylianRose @Samreaper

---

Marina had attended the execution, not to feed some twisted appetite for violence, but because she wanted to challenge her own comfort. She stood among the crowd with her hood lowered like everyone else, auburn curls escaping the fur lining. She forced her eyes to stay on the platform even when every instinct told her to look away.

When the fire caught, she could not help but falter backward a few steps, jaw clenched so hard it ached. She might have clumsily fallen over someone’s foot if Ambrose’s mighty hand hadn’t caught her shoulder. The smell of burning hair and flesh made her stomach lurch so violently it was a wonder she didn’t hurl, like many around them did. Beside her stood a young blonde man with a funny little cowlick, his disgust written so plainly on his face that she reached for his hand and squeezed without thinking. She left that courtyard somehow a storm of emotions, yet also hollow. The rest of the day, she did what she always did when she didn’t want to deal with her feelings… She kept moving.

Marina had gone shopping at the outdoor bazaar in the afternoon, buying small things she did not need. It helped, a little, especially when she ran into an Alidasht prince named Aslam. He was charming, and her goblin of a sister made an appearance too. For a brief stretch of time, Marina managed to forget the insanity of the morning.

But even now, alone in her bedroom, she felt like she could still smell the smoke, despite the three baths she had taken today. Her staff had filed out the moment they thought she was finished.

Marina sat still before the mirror anyway, her mind elsewhere rather than the girl staring back. Freckles dusted her nose and cheeks, stark against the darkened makeup she had chosen. Her eyes were lined and heavy-lashed, her mouth painted a deep plum. Her hair had been pinned up into a thick twist, with a few curls left loose at her temples.

She exhaled through her nose, then reached behind herself to scratch an itch. Marina’s brows knitted and she patted about her back with sudden confusion. She tried again, twisting her shoulder, feeling along the back of the bodice until her hand found the laces hanging loose.

The realization made Marina’s stomach drop with dread.

She stared at her reflection, lips parting. Then she huffed and tried to lace it herself anyway, tugging one ribbon tight, then the other. The cord slid through the holes but her arms began to tremble from the angle. The knot slipped the moment she tried to cinch it properly.

Marina went still, staring at herself again, then finally turned from the mirror and crossed to the door. She opened it just enough to peer into the corridor.“Ambrose,” she hissed softly. Then she tilted her head to look at him, lashes lowering. “I require your assistance.”

---

While fire and flames were the focus of all in attendance, Ambrose’s eyes did not reflect the inferno. Instead, his shadowed gaze was cast down onto the princess in front of him. He watched as Marina struggled with the horror playing out in real time before her, letting a hand stop her from falling as her body tried to escape from instinct alone. His hand had remained there on her back even after she steadied herself. It was all he could do to offer comfort for such a ghastly ordeal.

Soon enough though it was over, the crowd departed, and they went about the rest of their day. Ambrose had accompanied Marina throughout her errands. Not directly, rather he remained nearby as she perused the shops and conversed with the man from the Alidasht. The knight gave his princess the space she needed to cope, to process, and to move on from what they had borne witness to that morning. To have her know that he was not far, that she was not truly alone, and that she would be safe under his watchful eye, was enough to offer him the briefest bit of solace throughout the day’s tasks.

Even now as he stood watch outside her castle chambers, he replayed the burning of the queen over and over in his mind as he pondered the horrific place his royal wards had found themselves and he could not help but to ache for home. For Varian.

---

The thoughts were broken by Marina’s voice ringing out to him for assistance. With zero hesitation, Ambrose made his way over to her door and prepared to enter. He was already wearing the outfit that had been provided to him for the night’s castle ball. The long, tailored black coat had brilliant embroidery of crimson and bronze. The ensemble was made just for him, and no man could look as distinguished nor as striking in the outfit as did the Briar Knight.

His demeanor carried the same underlying sharpness that gave him a dangerous kind of appeal. It was often presented in the form of restrained exasperation from the Camilia siblings’ antics, but tonight it was more so the weight on the shoulders of a weary man that had no time for rest, and far too much responsibility. The duty was one he welcomed, despite the air of irritation he wore so well.

Stepping inside of Marina’s room, he spoke to announce his presence.

“Princess, you called for me?”

When Ambrose stepped in, the first thing he saw was Marina standing by the mirror, one hand pressed flat to the small of her back, the bodice laces hanging loose. She lifted her chin like nothing was wrong, but her freckled cheeks were pink. His eyes widened as though he were seeing something he should not. Though ever the professional, the knight could help the instinct that he should turn his gaze from her in such a state.

“Ambrose,” She said his name sharply, then immediately ruined it by looking away. “Do not make that face–I dismissed my maid too early.” Her eyes flicked to the loose laces dangling, then back to him, though she avoided direct eye contact. “Be a dear and rescue your princess.”

The moment her eyes left his, Ambrose fought the temptation to let his own wander her figure. Instead, he followed her gaze to the laces and though hesitant… he moved to do as instructed. With a clearing of his throat, the knight addressed the princess as he closed the distance between them.

“Rescue you?” Ambrose repeated as he stepped behind her and gathered the loose laces, careful not to let his hands linger anywhere they shouldn’t.

“Princess, I was under the impression my duties involved keeping you, your brothers, and your sister safe from assassins and worse…yourselves.”

The laces tightened neatly beneath his fingers.

“Little did I know that Marina Camilia would need to be rescued from her own clothing, as well.” His voice carried its usual hint of grumpiness, but it was laced with dry humor and little did she know that there was a soft smile across his face as he performed his duty.

“Try not to look too pleased about it.” Marina retorted curtly, holding perfectly still as he went to work. “And don’t you dare look at my voluptuous backside without proper paperwork.”

“Voluptuous?” Ambrose echoed as he continued tightening the laces, one brow lifting though she could not see it from the mirror. “Strange. After years spent guarding your rear, I somehow failed to notice.”

“Excuse you?” Marina’s head snapped up, her indignation written on her face.

He pulled her back an inch or two toward him as he cinched in the final lace. She was not the only one capable of such a tease. He leaned down, lowering his voice and letting his breath caress her ear.

“Perhaps I have been too focused on keeping you alive through your many…many questionable decisions.”

Her pink cheeks did lighten the severity of the look she gave him through the mirror. However, it was a look that promised vengeance all the same. She huffed after a moment then lifted her chin higher as if that would intimidate him. “Oh please. I’ve never questioned any of my decisions. Not even once.” Though that did not defend the point as well as it had in her head, she didn’t dally on that remark. Instead, she whirled around to face him, ready to snap at him, only to find that the distance between them was far smaller than it had seemed in the mirror.

Her breath caught, her eyes flicking up and down the view as if she couldn’t decide where to land them. Her retort was thus placated. “And…” Marina managed to give him one of her token smug looks as she finally met his eyes and softly informed him. “I’ve noticed you noticing. You’re just trying to dodge my official backside-viewing-access-paperwork.”

Ambrose mirrored the smugness she carried; an air of satisfaction pouring from his expression at the sight of the blush on her cheeks.

“I must admit, Princess…” The knight said, taking his time and letting her hang there waiting for his next words. “I do…really…hate paperwork.”

Marina leaned toward him, her hands on her hips now, “Not… my… problem.” she mockingly enunciated her words, keeping her sentence as slow as he had. Then she straightened and added, “Get a lawyer.” Ambrose rolled his eyes, though the smirk remained.

Then she smoothed the front of her dress. “Now,” she added briskly, pivoting toward the door with a decisive little nod, auburn curls bouncing in time with her step, “it is time to go.”

The knight turned and motioned toward their exit with a little bow of his head. “After you…” He concurred. “Seeing as I’ve been ready for over an hour, it appears that you’re the one that’s running late.”
“Being on time is for losers.” Marina said and stuck her tongue out at him.

Ambrose’s eyes went from Marina’s gaze to her tongue, then back up to meet her eyes once more. There was something enticing about the way his bronze eyes traveled across her face.

“By that metric, there is not a man nor woman in all the kingdoms combined that is less of a loser than you, Marina.” He assured her mockingly, one last move in their little game of back and forth. The man then straightened back up into his knightly posture and adjusted the front of his jacket to be pristine before continuing. “Shall we, Princess?”

Marina’s brows lifted and a brief look of outrage crossed her expression as the meaning of his quip sunk in. She paused mid-step, then turned her head slowly over her shoulder, eyes narrowing. “Oh? Then you should be grateful to accompany me.” she purred, smile sharpening. “Now hush and escort me, loser.”

She swept toward the corridor and the two made their way to the castle. Eventually, they found themselves approaching the ballroom doors, the muffled swell of strings and laughter seeping through the wood. Marina slowed only long enough to glance back at Ambrose, lashes lowering, before the guards opened the doors for them, presenting them a bright, vast room of blue and gold.

Marina set a hand on her hip the moment the herald announced her name, as if the entire room had been waiting for her approval. She lifted her other arm high in a bold echo of the pose Stratya had struck just days prior, letting her leg deliberately peek through the slit of her dress with shameless confidence. Her chin tipped up as she presented the room with a pleased smile, and then she strode forward with every ounce of attitude her small frame could muster.

Ambrose felt the room in its entirety turn their attention towards his princess as she wasted no time claiming her moment for this entrance.

Of course, she did not. The girl had a way of drawing attention to her, even when she did not intend to. Oftentimes, it was the source of much of his stress… But tonight, it was earned and she truly looked spectacular as she struck that familiar pose for the crowd.

From his position just behind her shoulder, Ambrose watched the princess do her thing. While he could never be as stunning as his charge, the tall, broad man stood in a glory of his own, one to be basked in. His ensemble for the evening commanded a kind of masculine beauty that few men possessed, but Ambrose had never really learned to use his looks like the other nobles. Instead, his presence was one of authority and protectiveness as he stood behind one of the most important women in all the world.

His eyes shifted between the men in the room. Men who had intended to greet dignitaries instead found their attention firmly stolen by the freckled princess who strode forward like she owned the very marble beneath her feet. Ambrose followed a step behind her, posture immaculate, his long coat falling neatly behind him as he properly entered the ballroom. His expression had settled into that familiar mask of disciplined calm, though his bronze eyes moved constantly with vigilance.

The Briar Knight could not afford to be dazzled by chandeliers and music like the others. He had a job to do.

As Marina moved ahead with a beautiful confidence, Ambrose could not entirely suppress the quiet flicker of pride that stirred somewhere beneath his ribs. She had seen horror today in the form of fire and death. That kind of thing could scar someone, and yet here she was in all of her natural magnetism.

And most importantly…she was smiling.

Ambrose allowed himself the briefest glance toward her as they moved deeper into the ballroom. The candlelight caught in the loose curls at her temples, turning the auburn strands to copper flame. Her freckles stood out boldly against the darker paint of her makeup, and the deep plum of her lips gave her smile a dangerous edge that many of the gathered nobles couldn’t truly see because they simply did not know her like him. A few ambassadors exchanged murmurs. Another bowed quickly as she passed. Ambrose noticed everything… The admiration, curiosity, desire…even envy.

The handful of gazes that lingered a second too long were the ones he focused on most. Those he would remember most vividly. His eyes drifted once more to the perimeter of the room, tracking guards and courtiers alike before returning to his rightful position just behind Marina’s shoulder. He leaned slightly closer then, his voice low enough that only she would hear it beneath the music.

“What a demure and subtle entrance, Princess.” He teased with a knowing smile.

"I am nothing but subtle." Marina smiled smugly, pleased with herself and still waving to the onlookers. Through her teeth, she leaned her head slightly and added back. "I could be far worse, and we both know it. " She then abruptly spun on her heels to meet his gaze. “Do hold still.”

Marina reached over without warning and plucked her folded fan from Ambrose’s coat pocket as though retrieving it from its rightful place. She snapped it open with a flick of her wrist. It bloomed wide, white, painted with black flowers whose silver jeweled centers caught the light. Then she began to fan herself, not because she needed it, but because it suited the aura she required. And, of course, because it was great to gossip behind.

"Now then, who should I approach first?" she mused, eyes drifting over the room without quite turning her head. "I have caught a few faces already, because I am ever observant, obviously, but I do not wish to look back and stare like some overeager little gargoyle. Hm. I do believe I spotted several wondrous options such as the generous darling Shehzade Aslam, my sweet Nolan, the beautiful Stratya, my gremlin sister... oh, and the heaping amounts of beautiful women..."

She fanned herself a touch faster then, though whether from heat or dramatics was anyone’s guess."But first and foremost, I am here for Lucy, so I am rather interested in making certain the women of this court have not pulled every last shining red lock from his head."

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

🌸 Race: Half-Elf 🌸
🦋 Class: Druidic Mystic 🦋
🍄 Location: Kraken's Wake🍄
🍃 Interactions: Corin @Lava Alckon Bastion @Oso
🌼 Equipment: 🌼

Full Equipment List

✦ Druidic Staff
✦ Stone-Carved Dagger
✦ Poison-Tipped Blowgun Darts
✦ Her amulet
✦ Satchel
✦ Flint & dried tinder moss
✦ Waterskin
✦ Dried Medicinal Herbs
✦ Bag of pretty trinkets, marbles and rocks
✦ Sharpening river stone
✦ Oruna tribal moon bracelet

🪷 Attire: Outfit 🪷

Attire

✦ Antler Headdress – Elegant branching antlers wrapped in vines and blooming wild roses and other flowers, dangling with purple crystal teardrops.
✦ Amulet with an unknown crest
✦ Thick Magenta Hair – Flowing in long, heavy waves with many braids, tiny beads, and blossoms braided throughout.
✦ Arm Jewelry – Vine-wrapped armlets and bracelets studded with glistening stones in violet and turquoise hues.
✦ White off-the-shoulder crop top
✦ Mistpetal Skirt
✦ Waist Adornments – A belt holding a satchels, feathers, and a charm pouch of herbs and trinkets.
✦ Leg Jewelry – Beaded anklets and thigh cords with gemstone charms
✦ Nature Tattoos & Paint – Faint tribal markings or nature-inspired body paint peek beneath her outfit

🪞 Gold Balance: 6 🪞
🌸 Injuries: Phia is exhausted, weak, and achy. 🌸

Phia ran a gentle finger across the cool metal of his shoulder, her touch slow and careful as she caught the flow of the fluid with the tip of her finger. "The chair does not leak life force as you do, Bastion." she informed him. Her other hand drifted down, brushing over one of the splintered wooden legs scattered at his feet. For a moment her gaze followed it, thoughtful. "This wood came from a tree which once carried water and sap through it, but it carries nothing now." she murmured.

Only after a pause did she look fully back up at him.

Her demeanor and cadence carried a seriousness that was a stark contrast to the reaction he had endured just moments prior. "I am unharmed," she assured him, giving a small nod so he would know she meant it. "My bottom has broken chairs too." The words came simply, and she smiled kindly at him. Her fingers hovered again near the wound in his shoulder.

Phia lifted her hand between them, palm turned upward as though she were listening for something only she could hear. Then a thin green stem began to curl from the center of her palm, followed by a small blossom. Its petals opened slowly as she brought her hand to Bastion’s shoulder. She pressed it against the damaged seam, letting its stem wind itself gently along the break in the metal. She anchored it there with her fingertips, guiding the vine until it rested securely.

"And now for your seat." Phia then placed her hand to the floor, eyes tight as she attempted to coax life upward. The tavern boards groaned as attention once again swung in their direction. A knotted rise of natural wood pushed through, and it began to bulge into the shape of a trunk, loud creaking filling the air... but then it stopped too early, uneven and half-formed. It was not sturdy enough for Bastion, but it was unmistakably an attempt made for him.

"... That is not good." She stated the obvious with a frown.

"Alright, you motley few. Where exactly is the compass of our journey pointing? Do we stay in pirate town, or do we go off and risk it all? Frankly, I think we’re in too deep to steer away now, so I say we embrace this new destiny of ours."

Corin’s voice reached her, and Phia straightened at once, suddenly alert. "The pirates who brought us here warned us not to leave," she said. "If we try, there may be battle." Her gaze shifted briefly between the others before settling again. "I think we should embrace our destiny too. I want to speak to their prince and see whether he will help us... But for now, we should all enjoy other's company."

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

FLASHBACK

Part 2

Time: 2am - Ignis 5
Location Lover’s Lake

---

---

The water was cold enough to elicit a gasp out of her.

Her boots lay behind her in the mud by the shore. The rain pelted the surface of the water in frantic little strikes as she moved into the lake, the hem of her dress immediately darkening with moisture. The current kissed against her skin rhythmically and the rain slid from her hair into her eyes, blurring her already darkened vision.

She lifted her gaze toward the waterfall again, and she stared at it. Lottie felt the insistent pull of her limbs that told her to keep moving forward. The urge was so strong that it made the idea of stopping feel impossible.

She stepped deeper into the soft lakebed. Mud pressed up between her toes as she tried to find stable footing. The water climbed to her knees, then higher, and the cold stopped being shocking, becoming more so an ache.

When the lakebed finally dropped away and her feet could no longer reach, she lurched forward, and her hands lifted automatically as the water surged against her chest. Her first movements were clumsy, but she forced herself to swim forward anyway.

She did not aim for the center of the lake; the cliffs were farther than they had looked from shore, but there was that stretch of land by the falls. She swam toward that strip instead. Each breath required effort and she had to keep turning her head at the right moment just to avoid swallowing water.

It was not like swimming in the sea back in Veirmont, where the waves could knock you sideways but the daylight made distance easier to judge. The darkness and storm stole her sense of direction, and the closer she came to the falls the stronger the movement in the water became. Her arms began to shake with strain as she forced herself to keep moving.

When her fingers finally brushed something solid, she reached again with desperation until she found rock. It was rough enough to scrape her palms, but she clung to it. She managed to pull herself forward onto a low shelf and she collapsed onto her side, coughing hard. She tried to brace her arms beneath her and push herself upright even as her teeth violently chattered.

Only then did the thought finally arrive as she stared at the lake behind her—It was completely insane that she had done this at all. She tried to force her mind to explain it, to give her a reason that made sense, but the inside of her head remained blank.

Still trembling, she dragged herself along the stone, keeping one shoulder pressed to the cliff so the surge of the lake could not pull her back.

The waterfall struck her hard enough to steal her breath, cold water slamming against her. She kept one hand on the cliff, fingers searching blindly along the stone until she felt where the rock receded, and she shoved herself sideways into it with a desperate inhale.

The noise dimmed at once, and she stumbled into a cramped hollow behind the falls. She pressed her palm to the wall to stay upright. Charlotte lifted her head and could vaguely make out a passage opened to the side. She pushed herself into the passage and found it was even darker inside.

The passage itself was narrow, forcing her to move slowly, her hands outstretched to feel her way along the rock face. She could hear the muffled roar of the waterfall behind her. As she continued, the passage began to widen, and she realized the space was not a simple tunnel but a cave system. She stopped, turning a full circle. Her vision, slowly adjusting, could only pick out the barest shapes. Her foot brushed against something loose, sending a cascade of gravel rattling.

Panic, which had been bizarrely absent during the insane swim, began to fill her. Charlotte reached out and fumbled her hand about until she established there was a junction where the main path branched into two smaller openings.

She took a step toward the opening on the left, then pulled back, heart hammering. They were identical holes that promised nothing but getting hopelessly lost.

A frustrated sound escaped her. She had endured this madness, all driven by an inexplicable compulsion. And that strange voice was no help; she hadn’t heard it since she had last been on shore.

After a long pause of silence, she spoke in a low voice that trembled despite her effort to make it steady. “I know you’ve been here.” Nothing answered her, but she pressed yet again, because she did not know what else to do, “Father, show me the way. “

The words left her mouth and immediately made her feel foolish, because she was standing drenched behind a waterfall, speaking to a ghost without any certainty if he was there or if ghosts existed at all. She leaned her shoulder against the rock and tried to calm down, listening to the distant crackle of thunder. In that moment, Charlotte also tried to comb through her mind to remember the events that even led up to this ridiculous moment.

The entirety of Ignis fourth had been spent in her bedroom, curled up in her bed, in the very same night gown she wore now. She had been so tired that her thoughts would not line up properly, so tired that even the shadows on her walls had seemed capable of movement, and she had kept her face buried in her pillow, even as Delilah had fretted over her constantly offering food and a bath and questions meant to pull her back toward normal life—Charlotte had refused everything. Now that she knew Kalliope was safe, her adrenaline had melted away, leaving only an emptiness that she could not talk herself out of.

The evening came but sleep did not. Every time she closed her eyes, the nightmares took her by the throat, dragging her down into horrifying scenes of that tavern, and she kept waking with a scream. Eventually she could not bear it anymore, and she did what she had done before, she went to Lorenzo’s room in the early hours and knocked, calling his name, but silence was the only answer yet again. So she had stood outside his door a while, trying to convince herself that he was simply asleep, that he would open the door any moment, even though something in her already knew that he was not in there.

After that, she could not quite explain what came next, and that frightened her most of all. It was as if the distance between her home and the lake had been erased while her mind was too worn out to notice. She pressed her forehead briefly to the stone beside her and shut her eyes. When she opened her eyes again, she stared into the darkness of the passageways, and her voice came out softer than before. “Please, Father.”

Her plea hung in the air, and for a moment there was only the distant roar of the waterfalls behind her. Then the air shifted around her in a way she could feel more than hear.

“Come on,” Walter’s voice said, and it sounded close enough to make her breath catch, “You’re going to stand there sulking until you turn into a statue, and then I’ll have to carry you, and you know I’ll complain the entire time.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened, and she turned her head about as if she might see him standing there in the dark, but there was only the dim vision of wet stone. “Where are you,” she whispered, her voice cracking with exhaustion. “Why can’t you just tell me which way to go?”

Walter exhaled impatiently. But it was not her father she caught sight of first. Charlotte watched as his teenage sister Willow stumbled in after him, shaking so badly that she had to press her palms to her thighs. Her dress clung to her legs, her brown hair stuck to her cheeks, and her eyes kept flicking behind her.

“Walter,” she whispered, her hands curling into fists. “Do you think they know who we are?”

The sight of Walter emerging from the left passageway filled her vision, and the first thing that struck her was how young he looked, no older than sixteen or seventeen, with dark hair plastered to his forehead and temples as if he had been running through rain for miles. His clothing damp enough to hang on his frame. He turned his head toward Willow slowly as if he did not want to startle her into bolting back toward the waterfall. Then he opened his palm, and a small orb of light formed there, warm yet bright enough to paint the wet stone around them.

“I don’t know,” he answered, and the bluntness made Willow flinch. Then his mouth twisted into that crooked grin that never quite reached his eyes. “But if they did, I imagine they would have introduced themselves by now, and I would currently be bleeding on a rock while you scream at someone, so let’s pretend they did not..”

He gestured to follow and delved deeper inside, Charlotte followed him hurriedly and as did Willow. “You can’t just joke,” Willow whispered, voice cracking with frustration and fear as they moved deeper inside. “They were right behind us.”

“I’m not joking,” Walter said quietly, and his hand settled on the back of her shoulder. “I’m making sure you keep breathing.”

“How do you know this place is safe,” she asked, sharper now. “How do you know they won’t find us here too?”

Walter’s gaze dropped for a second. “Because I didn’t find it on my own,” he admitted as they walked, “Someone else told me about it.”

Willow’s face immediately paled, and her voice lowered, “Who?” she whispered.

Walter held her gaze. “The one they killed,” he said quietly.

Willow’s hand flew to her mouth. “She was kind,” she managed, voice breaking.

Walter nodded. “I know,” he said. “She said there are places that witchbloods are safe in.”

“So this is one of those places,” Willow whispered, voice trembling. “A cove that protects people like us.”

Walter glanced around and then his mouth twisted into a smile of dark humor. “Apparently,” he replied. “Which is excellent news, because if I have to die young, I would prefer it to be somewhere dignified like a wet hole where I can at least complain about it.”

Willow’s laugh broke and turned into a sob, and Walter’s hand lifted automatically to grab hers. Charlotte followed as if she were truly there beside them, drawn forward by instinct as the memory made room for her footsteps. Deeper inside, the air felt less exposed to the storm, and there was a flat shelf of rock that looked too deliberate to be natural, as if someone had carved it long ago for a purpose.

Wrapped in cloth and tucked beneath a loose stone were only a few books, fewer than Walter seemed to expect. He crouched in front of them with wary focus, his wet sleeves dripping as he pulled the cloth back.

Willow knelt beside him, hands hovering as if she was afraid to touch anything. “Someone left books here,” she whispered, staring at the small collection with disbelief.

Walter’s gaze tracked the spines, and his lips pressed together. “Don’t touch any of them. He told her.

Willow nodded, tears still running, and her voice trembled when she asked the question, “Do you really think we’re safe?”

Walter stared at her, and his expression softened. “No,” he admitted bluntly. “I think we are hidden for now, and I think that is all anyone ever gets.”

Then, as if he could not resist being himself even in terror, the corner of his mouth lifted into that grim little smile. “Besides,” he added dryly, “if somehow they do find us here, I’ll tell them I’m on a prayer retreat, and you’re supervising my repentance, and if that fails, then I’ll hit someone with a book.”

Willow let out a broken laugh that turned into a sob, and she leaned her forehead briefly against his shoulder, and Walter wrapped his arms around his sister.

The memory continued on for a final moment,and then the edges of it began to thin, and subsequently the two disappeared. The light was gone and she was once again drowning in darkness. She did not move for a second.

She swallowed and turned slowly toward where the shelf had been in the memory. Her palm skimmed along the wet stone until her fingertips met a ledge. She leaned in, searching with both hands now. The shelf was nearly empty.

Whatever had once been here, whatever Walter and Willow had seen in that moment, was gone now, taken or destroyed or moved elsewhere.

Then her fingers closed around something solid.

A single book remained. The cover felt stiff beneath the cloth, and when she tugged it free, she wrapped it snugly in the oilcloth and then clutched it to her chest for a moment. Then she fumbled at the damp fabric of her nightgown and tore a long strip from the lower edge with shaking hands. Her fingers were numb and clumsy, but she looped the strip around the book anyway, tying it into a sling that could hang from her shoulder so she would not drop it if she slipped. The knot was ugly, but it held when she tested it, and that was all that mattered.

Then she stood still, book pressed against her side, and tried to decide which way to go. And then the memory returned, but not as full as before. She saw it in quick pieces: Walter and Willow leaving at the first hint of morning, their clothes still damp, Walter glancing back once over his shoulder as he murmured something to his sister. She saw Walter’s hand brace against the wall in the same place Charlotte was bracing now, saw the turn they took without hesitation, and the vision ended as quickly as it came, leaving her standing at the cave’s entrance again.

This part was the worst. The hollow behind the falls was slick, the ledge narrow, and the curtain of water beyond it was violent, but she made her way through it. She clung to the cliff with numb fingers as she edged sideways until she could reach the shelf.

The storm had not stopped, but the open air felt different after the cave. She stared at the water, clutching the book with both hands, and only now did the full logic of it hit.

She turned away from the waterfall and began to move along the cliff again, shimming on the ledge. When the ledge widened into the same area she had reached earlier when she swam, relief hit so hard that her knees nearly buckled as she hauled herself onto it.

Charlotte did not give herself time to rest properly. She tightened the sling again, pulling the book higher across her chest until it sat firmly and would not shift, and then she lowered herself back into the water with an inhale. She pushed off from the rock and began to swim, keeping one arm strong enough to pull her forward and the other instinctively guarding the wrapped book against her chest.

But the water was so cold.

In her fear and exhaustion it uncovered what she had spent years forcing down into the deepest part of herself. Sudden violent panic rose hard as she felt the sensation of hands holding her under the water. She could feel the ice around her, the metal sides pressing against her, the sting that went bone deep, and the muffled voices that floated above her, calm tones as if her fear was only an inconvenience to them.

Her movements grew frantic in a manner that did not help her move forward at all. She thought a scream might claw its way out of her, but she swallowed it back, choking instead as her arms began to falter.

Roses and Daggers - Looking for new players!

I am going to cap males at this point. Please only express interest if you'd like to write female nobility from any kingdom.

Roses and Daggers - Looking for new players!

I was informed by a friend who was informed by a friend about this and I am definitely interested. Especially since this is one of the rare times that my home country features to some degree, Romania that is, as any part of the general culture. So of course, I'm interested in playing a royal in the Varian Kingdom if possible.

@Claw2k11

Hi @Claw2k11, I'm excited about your interest.
I will DM you with an information soon.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Arya & Phia

Interaction: @Oso Bastion

---

Arya watched Phia react to her touch and noticed how exhausted the poor dear was. The goddess' comment caused her muscles to stiffen. She let out a long, deep breath, and collected herself. The corners of her mouth twitched upwards–it reminded her of Zorianna. This young girl was clearly full of life and adventure and didn’t mean any harm. Still, this was not the island to be gallivanting around.

”Please call me Arya, not goddess, though I do appreciate your kindness.” She took her hand in return gently and earnestly, staring into her eyes to let her know she was not upset. Then, Phia leaned in closer to her and mentioned the drinks. Arya couldn’t help admitting that they were indeed beautiful and seemed delicious–but this young elf could not have any alcohol.

“Yes, my g—” Phia paused and knitted her brows. Then she smiled as she corrected herself with a nod, “Arya.”

”I’ll buy you a drink, but we’re keeping alcohol out of it. Okay?” Arya looped an arm around her shoulders to assist in steadying her.

“Oh… alright.” Phia agreed, hesitant and pouting. “As long as they’re pretty.”

Then, Arya turned her attention to the intimidating barmaid and swallowed. ”Two sunset drinks, please, without alcohol. Also, two buccaneer’s breakfast without meat.”

“No meat?” Phia blurted, suddenly unable to help herself. Her face crumpled in genuine alarm, as if Arya had just suggested something sacrilegious—She looked like she might cry.

The barmaid was speechless, at first. She stood in complete silence for a few seconds before a big, toothy grin stretched across her massive face. Though, there were more than a couple of teeth missing from the smile. The woman, towering over the two girls, bent down to get as close to being on their level as her giant-kin height would allow.

"Surely I must have misheard ya’ miss…” Grelda said with a cheeky nature about her. "It almost sounded like ya’ just walked in here and ordered a couple of drinks with no alcohol, and a couple of meals with no meat. Aye, darlin’, all we’ve got around here is booze and meat.”

“What’s booze?” Phia asked immediately, blinking up at Grelda. Then, without so much as a pause to consider the answer, she made her demand: “I’d like some booze and meat. Oh and, one of those pretty drinks.” With a pleased smile, she then propped herself up on one of the stools.

Panic coursed through Arya like a frightened rabbit meeting a fox. The woman's outstanding height and demeanor caught her off guard along with Phia’s outrage. She hesitated and gulped with fear and hesitation. ”Err….” Stella glanced at her and chirped quietly, but she ignored her eagle. ”She um… Booze might not be a good idea and a platter of meat for her will be fine… I just don’t eat meat.” Arya’s cheeks flushed and her muscles became taut, and she felt as though she might spring from the bar and run away, to never be seen from or heard again. ”I’m sorry…. Please give her what she’d like and I’ll pay for it.”

Without thinking about it, she flinched, expecting some kind of pain or punishment for such a silly request.

Grelda’s smile slowly fell away into an expression that was almost sad… But mostly just confused. There was a weirdly long pause between their words and when she finally spoke again.

“I’m startin’ to think you two little sweet tarts should not be here at all.” The large woman said, a slight softening occurring in her voice. “Don’t worry, scared girl. I’ll put together a little veg, a little meat, a little booze, and a couple of pretty drinks with no alcohol at all. Just for you and the cute dumb one. Ol’ Grelda will take care of you both. Well…for three gold that is.” She said as she left them for the moment, going to begin preparing their order.

“I’m not dumb.” Phia countered immediately as Grelda had begun her departure, her brows furrowing. She rose from her seat slowly, so she would not be spoken down to. “I will not have my intelligence judged by what I have or have not seen.” She held the giantess gaze with a surprising ferocity.

“This is my first time beyond my tribe. We do not brew what you call ‘booze.’ We do not name every creature and custom the same way you do. I asked because I did not know.” She sharply informed her. Her gaze shifted briefly to Arya as well, making sure she heard her too.“Not knowing something outside of my experience does not make me foolish. It means I am learning.” She nodded toward both of them as she concluded, “And I learn quickly.”

Grelda watched, wide-eyed, as the young woman clapped back with passion, conviction, and surety. As Phia finished her declarations, Grelda leaned down ever so slowly to where her massive head was as close to eye level with the girls as could be. Those wide eyes had narrowed, leaving a mysterious expression upon her warted face.

A silent moment lingered too long. Really, it had only been a few seconds, but the oddness of Grelda’s quiet posture stretched that brief instant to feel much…much longer.

Finally, the half giant woman spoke.

“Good.” She said joyously, her neutral glare shifting into a motherly smile. “I like that kind of fire, girl.” She rose, straightening her back to be her full, towering figure once more, and added one final note. “I know I said three gold a moment ago, but for you…Grelda thinks two is better.” She said with a wink before turning from the duo and getting to work on their order.

Arya watched the exchange with tense muscles. At a moment’s notice, she looked ready to flee into the streets to never be seen from or heard from again. However, she remained in her seat and swallowed. Phia’s outrage versus the bartender’s sudden gentleness gave her whiplash. The situation was resolved peacefully. Arya couldn’t help but be proud of Phia. Once the barmaid was gone, she turned to her.

”I am proud of the way you spoke up for yourself. It was admirable,” Arya told her gently in a hushed voice. ”But do mind your temper too, we don’t know where we are and we are vastly unprepared for this situation, okay? I will make sure you get what you want, Phia.”

“I will mind my temper…” Phia replied hesitantly, her voice drawing off. Then she folded her arms and added firmly, “However, you worry too much, Arya. You are safe with me and Menzai.”

”What’s going on?” Stella interjected and peered down at Phia with a mix of curiosity and firm look.

“The giant woman thought I was dumb.” Phia informed Stella immediately—it was clear she completely understood her.

Arya glanced up at her shyly and bit her lip, then replied. It was apparent that Phia and Stella could communicate. That would be helpful in the future.

Arya looked at her eagle. ”Just… don't worry.” She sighed and replied firmly. Then, Arya took Phia’s hands gently, while Stella scrutinized Phia and the atmosphere with intensity. ”Please be sure to watch yourself, okay? You are doing great, but I don’t want anything to befall us.” Arya then observed her once more and asked in a quieter voice, ”Any thoughts on these crystals?”

“I am vigilant.” Phia assured her, though there was a firmness now that had not been there before. Her brows knit as she held Arya’s gaze for a moment longer than usual. She had begun to wonder if there was something in the way she spoke or moved that made others think she was incapable.

Arya nodded at her statement. She trusted Phia but she was determined to look after her all the same and repeat the same advice she’d given Zori.

At Arya’s question, her expression softened into thought. She tilted her head slightly, fingers brushing the crystal at her collar as she leaned closer and lowered her voice. “These are shards from a greater crystal a female carried aboard the airship. It fractured… and the pieces scattered from the room.” Her eyes flicked briefly toward the tavern around them before returning to Arya. “From the way she spoke before her death, I believe it was no accident—We were chosen to bear them.”

Arya bit her lip. The mystery of the crystals caused her brows to knit. She tapped her fingers on the bar and looked down at her. “Hmmm.. I wonder where she was transporting it too or why we were chosen specifically. I wonder if the Pirate King we have to meet knows anything. For now let’s keep them hidden and stay close to each other.” She paused and then added, “I believe in your ability to take care of yourself. I… I just am prone to worrying about others and I’d hate to see someone as sweet and kind as you endure things you should never have too.”

“She… She passed away before I could ask those things.” Her gaze dropped, lashes lowering as her fingers curled into the fabric at her knees, knuckles whitening gradually. “I failed to protect her, and I cannot fail anyone else again.” The words left so quietly it was as if she hadn’t meant for them to escape at all. Phia’s countenance soon softened. “So… I understand why you worry.” A faint smile touched her lips. “I worry too. All the time.” She shifted closer and squeezed her hand. “But we have each other now. We will endure.”

Arya’s brows knit and her heart ached. She wrapped an arm around Phia and pulled her into a gentle hug. She nodded in agreement and smiled softly down at her. Phia’s optimism and resilience reminded her of Zori. For a brief moment, she saw her blue tiefling sister, adorned with ribbons and bows, her gold hair tied into braids that reflected the sunrise. She sucked in a deep breath and was brought back when Phia squeezed her hand. She caught the tail end of her words and smiled. Stella, noticing her spacing out, pecked at her head to remind her to reply.

“We do have each other,” she confirmed, though bashfully. “For whatever we go through, we must count one another.. .and I think it is fate we all met and were.. chosen.” She finished the last word with a near frown–the anxiety of not knowing what lay ahead of them brought her unease, but she pulled out a smile and Phia smiled kindly back at her as she leaned on the bar.

“So, are you hungry?” Arya teased and couldn’t help but giggle at her stomach rumbling like a lion.

“I’m always hungry.” Phia confessed sincerely, blinking innocently as her stomach growled loud enough to prove her point. “It’s part of my charm.” she murmured with a tender smile, her gaze softening in a way that made the jest feel almost shy. It was rare for Phia to tease at all. After a small pause, she added gently, “…And a burden I carry bravely.”

The crack of splintering wood split through the tavern, and Phia’s head snapped toward the sound.She saw Bastion on the floor before she saw the shattered chair. The laughter around them was loud and suffocating. Phia didn’t join in the laughter. Her brows knit together, listening as Minerva defended him, but she watched Bastion instead.

The others were speaking. Corin was lifting him. Minerva was shouting.But Bastion looked… far away.

She wondered if he was sad. Just because he was made of metal did not mean he could not ache. And to her surprise, his optics found her.

Phia slipped from her stool at once, weaving between bodies without hesitation until she stood near him. She didn’t touch him immediately, only stepped gently into his view, making sure he could see her clearly.

“Bastion?”

Her voice was softer than the noise around them. “Are you hurt?”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: The Castle Ballroom
Interactions: Farim @Lava Alckon Magnus @Remram Fareed @Redking0380
Attire: Dress

---

Anastasia’s breath caught when his finger tipped her chin up. The kiss between was too quick, and yet it made her feel safer anyway. It was like her body believed him before her mind could. When he pulled back, she blinked slowly as if she had to remember where she was again. “I am trying,” she murmured in return.

As he guided her forward, she followed naturally. She kept up that smile that passed for fine, but her hand did not leave his arm. When he whispered that she could tug his sleeve, her lashes lowered briefly, relief overtaking her countenance. They soon came up on the pair, and she let Farim do the opening. When her name was offered, she inclined her head to Fareed with the sort of grace that had been drilled into her this week, posture perfect despite her weary amber eyes. “ Hello Shehzade Fareed,” she said softly and then she hesitated, gaze tipping up because he was genuinely enormous, and something almost amused twitched at the corner of her lips. Not quite a smile, but the effort of one. She had never seen someone so tall; he was even taller than Roman. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

She watched the man with the fair hair shake Farim's hand next. She vaguely recalled him as one of the Varian nobles. "Lord Magus Pawonska of Irinaburg, a town in the Brustad region of Varian. If I heard the herald correctly, you are Shehzade Farim. A pleasure to meet you." She smiled immediately when his gaze slid to her. "It is lovely to meet you too, your highness."

“It’s so nice to meet you as well, Lord Pawonska,” she said with only a hint of the brightness that once was in her tone.

"I hope you both are finding this night agreeable. I must say, it is an impressive sight; it's comparable to Brenoven Castle."

“For better or worse, it's my home. " she replied, and then, because she could not help herself, she added with a faint, wistful sincerity, "Though I've always loved Breoven castle, too. It's always been more cozy on the inside than ours. " Anastasia followed his gaze, her irises darting as she took in the over familiar sight of the ballroom. The words had landed and immediately hollowed out, because it did not feel like home anymore, not with Callum missing and Alibeth gone, not with that empty space on the dais that kept pulling at her vision. Even the distance between her and Wulfric felt strange. Her shoulders slumped, but she moved on anyhow. “Are you two here in hopes of finding a spouse this courting season?"

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

@Remram Nolan

“You are welcome, Nolan,” Gideon had replied softly. He did not smile the way others smiled. Whenever expression softened at all, it was restrained, as though he could not afford to show too much without something in him slipping. “And you are not required to charm anyone for my sake. You have already done more than many men twice your age, simply by standing here and enduring what you dislike with grace.”

His gaze followed Nolan’s briefly as the young man looked out across the crowd. Gideon watched the faces as well, not with social hunger but with the old habit of counting exits and intentions. He had not forgotten how quickly a room could turn.

And he had not forgotten this morning.

The dreadful morning where he had watched a woman he had known for years reduced to ash. The sight did not leave him simply because the music was joyful and the dresses were pretty.

This is a ball, Gideon. Not a funeral.

How ironic his wife had chosen those words in particular.

They had chained a queen and burned her in public, and all she had done was alter the color of a tablecloth. If they could do it to the queen, they could do it to anyone with the right name and the wrong rumor. He felt his jaw tighten from the strain of keeping his face composed. For a moment he closed his eyes, just once, as if the darkness might steady him. It did not. In the dark he saw other faces, not Alibeth’s. He hastily opened his eyes again with an inhale, forcing his expression back into something passable before anyone could read what the grief was doing to him.

“Small talk is overrated,” he replied at last, as if the words had just finally registered. His tone was mild enough to sound teasing, though his eyes remained serious. “If you choose to speak with someone, do it because you want to have a real conversation. Most people are grateful for it, even if they pretend otherwise. You can always seek familiar faces such as your friend, Lady Vikena. But if you decide you would rather not, then you will not. You do not owe this room anything, my dear boy.” He kept his tone even, kindly, the way he always did when Nolan began to turn his unease into self-criticism. “You are not a fool. Far from it.”

When Nolan asked about Drake and Ariella, Gideon’s expression changed before he could stop it. He glanced past Nolan toward the entrances, as if the doors themselves were a threat that might deliver bad news, then returned his attention to the young man with effort. “They are,” he confirmed simply. “They will join us shortly. Until then, keep close. When they arrive, I want you all to look out for one another.”