SilverPaw

Return of a Failed Generation: A Time Regression Power Fantasy

Maybe, yeah. Do the Kaides have a family/knightly code? Cause one idea I considered was someone suited to be an assassin/scout but since that might be considered cowardly or w/e, they were trained as a frontliner with ofc disappointing results.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Ryn & Prince Wulfric - Part II

FLASHBACK: Sola, 27th

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The docks. A deceptively simple phrase for an area which spanned almost the entire length of Sorian’s coastline. Thankfully, following where the old fishmonger had pointed - straight south - did not have the pair searching for too long. On Lovers Lane, the multi-storied brothels stood in muted colours, their paint flaking off, dulled by the light of day where the cover of night might have lent them an air of mystique. Yet, the pleasure district was not abandoned; many peasants had dwellings nearby, and activity was teeming. The clanking of pots and pans was audible through a cracked open window, a launderer was hanging out clothes to dry, there was a mother nursing her babe while smoking here, a father carrying a child on his shoulders there, an old woman haggling at a stall over yonder, workers leaving from night shifts or yet on the way to their jobs all around.

The mill they passed was already in full swing, and the farmers too were toiling away on their fields. They took to the south, treading the narrow, muddy paths between the houses. Stone was supplanted by timber here, the poorer fishing families unable to afford construction sturdier than their wooden shacks. Their planks were weathered, rot beginning to take in a few places, newer boards dotting the walls where those too ruined had to be replaced. Salt lined their edges as heavily as the scent of brine permeated the air.

Mostly women, elders, and small children mingled by the cabins. They were preparing equipment for the fishers, processing caught fish, and performing other small menial tasks. Stopping by for short chats proved more fruitful than Wulfric would have imagined. Not only did they get more precise directions, they also learned that recently, pirates were becoming more of a problem. After a long stretch where sand was becoming more common than dirt, hissing quietly under their boots, they reached the docks. Wood groaned and creaked under thudding feet as men went here to fore. Labourers carted crates, sacks, and bales of supplies and merchandise. Fishermen were going out on their boats, taking with them nets, traps, and fishing lines, or coming back with their haul.

“MOVE, ‘e need ‘ese done by ‘alf past!” A harried supervisor split his time between counting boxes, helping carry the occasional one, directing workers, and ticking off items on a small stained notebook, worn and yellowed from use.

“Need help? We’re looking for work,” Wulfric approached, helpful smile in place.

The supervisor glared at them, a rebuke on the tip of his tongue. But after a second thought, he said, “Aw, ‘ell. Y’r fit, ‘ealthy, and sober. Names?” The pair introduced themselves. The man jotted their names in his notebook. “Alrigh’. ‘ired, now MOVE!” He waved vaguely in the direction of a stack of crates, then towards one of the moored ships.

Bemused, they went to it. In the midst of a shipping rush, there wasn’t much leave for chatting, but Wulfric still introduced himself as Adel to their new, temporary coworkers, learning their names in turn. Then, it was a cycle of loading, carrying, unloading, and back again. There were ups and downs in activity, and whenever things slowed down, the prince strategically built familiarity with the labourers.

As hours passed, the sun rising ever higher, Wulfric was unpleasantly reminded how multiple layers and heat didn’t mix well. It wasn’t as if he was about to strip, unlike some men, who walked around bare chested. A tunic with a jacket wasn’t worse than wearing armour for the day. Still, it was a different beast entirely to pick up, carry, and drop off boxes of varying sizes while utterly exposed to the sun. Even the water they had access to from a rare few wooden water barrels was awfully tepid. No convenient streams here, nor any shades to rest in. They weren’t so lucky that it’d be a cloudy day, either.

“OY, Del!” That was Jim, who had taken to shortening his assumed name to three letters. “Jacket’s naught ‘elpin ya wi’ ‘is ‘eat!”

Wulfric rolled his eyes out of the man’s view. “I know. But I’d rather sweat like a swine than get rashes from the bloody sun!” he called back. It was a valid reason, and a true one. Not the main one, which was keeping on his disguise.

A snorting laugh followed. “Rash? What, ya ‘ave-a sun allergy?! Oo–ooh, do ‘e ‘ave a vampire walkin’ round ‘ere?” He laughed to himself foolishly. There was some chuckling, and many headshakes. Those who were superstitious hushed Jim, fearfully making a gesture to ward off imagined evil.

“Do you see me burning up, you idiot?” More muted laughter followed, but thankfully, the supervisor noticed the distraction, and urged them to, “Get back to it!”

By the time lunch hour crept on them, the prince’s tunic was soaked front and back. The borrowed jacket hadn’t escaped being marked by sweat, and neither had his trousers. His hair was uncomfortably sticky. He really, really wished for a shower. Fresh water was limited, though, only enough to splash his face, neck, and wash his hands. Without soap, because apparently, that too was considered a luxury. How dreadful. No wonder diseases were more prevalent here.

Surprisingly, lunch wasn’t only fish. The fishing families exchanged part of their bounty for produce from the farm across the street. Fish could be made into good fertilizer, and in return, they received flour, eggs, milk, vegetables, and (if much more rarely) meat.

So, besides the fried fish, there was also a vegetable broth, a slice of bread, and a piece of cheese. Those with families in the area sat down by their shacks, others used the docks, the crates, or the handful of chairs scattered about. Plenty of folk were amenable to talking, and Wulfric learned all sorts of mundane details. What kinds of lives they led. The differences in earnings between long-term labourers or fishers versus the short-time hires. Which time of the year was better, and which was worse. How much they caught, who they supplied, who managed the operations.

Acting as a prospective employee, they got the idea he was after a quick buck. He received several vague warnings, and a few cryptic clues. Now, he wasn’t looking to uncover the smuggling the old fishmonger had hinted at per se - there were more effective ways to crack down on crime - but he was curious how much these peasants were involved. Though most were oblivious, there was enough general awareness about something going on that they couldn’t be completely unaffiliated. A couple of unknowns like them weren’t going to get anything more concrete, however.

Towards the end of lunch, Wulfric sat down next to Hendrix. He was intending to share his findings, but then, a stray thought stopped him. Glancing at the count, he remarked, “You can fit in well just about anywhere, can’t you?”

He blinked. “Do you think so? … Thanks!” Ryn smiled at the prince before turning his gaze to the people around them. “It might be because of my family. They have strong opinions about experiencing all walks of life.” The good and the bad. For both survival and understanding.

“I do. Had I not known how recently you had attained your status when I met you, I doubt I would have guessed. I realize it is a skill borne from experience and effort, but you seem to adapt with natural ease,” he noted. From what Hendrix said, it appeared to be a family tradition of sorts. “You lot have an unusual approach.” Wondering whether the use of ‘they’ rather than ‘we’ when the count had referred to his family was incidental, he prompted, “How is it from your point of view?”

Dark eyes remained on the people as their owner asked, “Meaning?”

“Do you agree with it? Would you recommend it as a rearing practice? Or have you been following along with your family’s expectations, and it’s happened to work out?”

A soft hum, like a bee considering a flower. “Yes. Not really. More or less,” he answered. Then, elaborating: “Understanding comes from experience, and yes, my family shaped that belief. But recommend it?” His mouth twisted slightly. “Not... all of it.” The count faced the prince fully. “Do you know what it feels like to starve?”

Wulfric, who had been watching Hendrix throughout, gently swayed his head from left to right. “I see. They subjected you to suffering so you might understand.” He suspected the intended lesson and the reasoning behind the act were radically different, and yet…It was an unexpected commonality between his family and the count’s. “Why go so far? Was the idea there that by doing what they did, they might further understanding in the world?” If it was, it required the appropriate amount of influence to pull off.

Ryn tilted his head. “... So ‘they might further understanding in the world’? What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” Wulfric brought his hands together, gesturing as he spoke. “One of the basic ideas of society is that we need some agreements - or rules - in place to ensure the group’s survival. Thus we subject ourselves and each other to laws; if for no other reason, the average person will be deterred from harmful actions because they wish to avoid punishment. It is similar in education, and in rearing. With the goal of shaping the desired character or conduct, teachers and families will implement negative or positive consequences for certain behaviour. Because we are closer to beasts than we would like to admit, we tend to deal in what we are most receptive to: pain and pleasure. Whip a child if they disobey, do what they shouldn’t, or not do what they truly should, and reward them if they do well. That much is not uncommon, yes?” The prince didn’t really give him a chance to reply.

“But according to your family’s creed, if we take it to its ultimate logical conclusion, each and every one of us should experience a variety of suffering in a controlled amount, preferably in childhood when we are at our most impressionable. In theory, that would lead us to understand that suffering is undesirable, thus we would avoid causing it, and possibly even work to undo it wherever it exists. Since your family is unable to induce such changes in the whole population, they are doing it on a smaller, more manageable scale. Perhaps each person in your family is raised in this way. Or perhaps one person per generation is selected to minimize casualties, as it were, and you were the sacrificial lamb placed upon the altar of their moral superiority.” His voice had grown rather dry towards the end, and he raised an eyebrow. “So, am I anywhere close, or are my assumptions entirely erroneous?”

Sacrifice.

“Are you worried if my family starved me on purpose when I was little?”

“That is one way to summarize it.”

Ryn gave Prince Wulfric’s arm a gentle, reassuring pat. “My family kept me well-fed, I promise. The worst they ever did was insist I eat my vegetables—” He stopped short, considering. “Actually, I take that back. The worst was making us finish our cousin’s cooking attempts, because heaven forbid we waste food.” Sheer blue irises peered at him, and after a beat, a nod followed.

Even as he laughed, Prince Wulfric’s earlier words about understanding through suffering niggled at Ryn’s mind. “Adel, can I ask you something?” he ventured. “Is that what you think this whole trip is about? Some kind of... suffering-based enlightenment lesson?”

“You may always ask,” Wulfric told him sincerely.

The actual question produced a perplexed blink. “No, of course not,” he shook his head, bemused. This time, it was the prince who was drawn to observing the people mingling about. “I am quite fond of this trip. It reminds me of learning excursions from my childhood. Though, as I am sure you can imagine, those were far more curated experiences,” a faint smile appeared like the flicker of an ephemeral mirage. “If anything, I wish I had done this sooner,” he admitted. “There is still so much I do not know…”

There was an unexpected gentleness in the prince’s “You may always ask.”

His gaze traced the sharp lines of Prince Wulfric’s profile—the aristocratic nose, the stern set of his mouth that seemed carved from marble. When that faint smile appeared, it softened what was usually stark, and Ryn could not help but mirror it.

“Glad to hear it,” he said, following Prince Wulfric’s line of sight.

Women mended nets in pools of sunlight while sharing gossip. Children darted between crates and barrels, their laughter mixing with the calls of dock workers directing cargo. Not far from where they sat, a weathered fisherman guided his son’s small hands through the motions of a sailor’s knot. The salt-laden breeze carried snatches of life with it.

“You weren’t completely off the mark earlier,” Ryn said into the comfortable silence that had settled between them, “but it’s not about suffering. It’s about experiencing all of it—the bitter, the sweet, and everything in between. If you walked away from this seeing only the hardships... well, you’d miss half the story.”

Wulfric nodded slowly. The idea was to taste life wholly, to appreciate it for what it was, neither denying the worst of it nor overlooking the best. Yet– “For me, it is key to strive for improvement,” he imparted softly.

“I expect nothing less from you.”

At that, an amused chuff ensued. “Good,” he proclaimed. The labourers were finishing up with lunch, gathering up on the docks once more. “Philosophical discussions aside, it appears it is time to haul more crates.” Brushing off as he stood up, he beckoned the count to follow, and they soon rejoined the others.

Having eaten and rested, work resumed. By mid-afternoon, they were done for the day, and collected their pay. A meager handful of silver and copper after the lunch fee was subtracted. The standard pay for a day hire off the street, as Wulfric had learned.

Pocketing the money, he stretched, andturned towards Hendrix. “Let’s see about that well, hm?” Earlier, he had inquired with the housewives about the water situation. Rather than taking showers, the inhabitants here usually cleaned themselves by rubbing their bodies down with a wet rag. They didn’t wash their clothes daily; when changing into nightwear, they would hang out their attire, airing it at night. Since the dockers had such a shortage, Wulfric decided on a trek to a nearby water source.

The well squatted in a small courtyard between buildings like a sullen toad, its weathered stone topped by a wooden crossbeam. A pulley wheel sang its one tired note from it, and the thick rope showed the wear of daily use.

The air hit them with an unsettling odor that grew worse with each step. It was not the usual well-smell of damp stone and mineral-laden water. This smell suggested that something had crawled down there to die, and then several of its friends had followed to express their condolences in person.

Ryn leaned over the rim. “You might be better off dirty.”

“Indeed.” Wulfric peered into the well, narrowing his gaze at its depths as if he expected to find an actual corpse down there. Whatever was fouling up the water was not immediately obvious, however. “Rather than haunted, this is contaminated,” he referenced one of the rumours the locals had relayed regarding the well. “Unless we are going on a well inspection expedition, or take a trip to the nearest source of running water…” Raising his shoulders, he began unbuttoning the borrowed jacket. He passed it to the count to hold for a moment, and stripped off the sweat-dampened tunic in short order.

“Hmm, much better.” Smiling, he rolled his neck with the ease of someone who knew he looked good, and was used to being admired. Motioning to Hendrix, he retrieved the article of clothing he had previously worn as a second layer, and donned it as his first and only covering. “I will have your jacket washed before I return it to you,” he assured in case the count was worried what state it might end up in by the end of the day. “If someone truly does try to make trouble because of this,” he motioned to the tunic he carried in his hand, “I may as well give it to them,” he joked. He might have ditched it by the well, but he happened to like his tunic well enough not to leave it to a pitiful fate at this rot-infested watering hole.

“We could ask around,” Ryn gestured at the surrounding houses. “Someone here might be willing to share.” Though he had no idea how well they purified their water. “And maybe they can tell us more about the well. It’s possible that whatever contaminated that well is also in the other wells in this area.” This was not unusual for settlements near shipping lanes. The ships came and went on the waterway, and what they dumped overboard went places—into the earth, into the groundwater, into the wells.

“Ask? Surely no one will entertain us.” Too, he wanted to protest that he would know if there was contamination as widespread as the count suggested. However, he had not even suspected until this day that access to water was in question for a part of the population. “Oh, very well. I suppose we can try.”

They went from house to house, asking for water or any nearby sources of it. They learned the one well they had been at was the worst, but there were other suspect ones. The slum denizens mentioned a variety of troubles and explanations for them when questioned for the specifics. Like in the fishing area, most people were used to collecting rainwater. There were one or two wells in use, and a couple which were usually avoided. If push came to shove, water would have to be gathered from the western river or the nearest stream in the forest up north. As for the issue with the wells, the inhabitants attributed it to everything ranging from a corpse chucked into one, ghostly grudges, plain old misfortune, a clogged up sewer, to careless waste disposal.

In the end, they found a tired middle-aged woman willing to give them some water. For a grand total of one silver, she let them stay at her house for as long as they needed. When Wulfric expressed his surprise - they had been turned away by several others - she just waved her hand with a scoff. “Naugh’ worth stealin’,” and “Bad sort don’t knock,” was her reasoning. While they were boiling the water, the prince had time enough to chat to the woman. Not that she had much to say, aside from paranoid mutters that they should watch out for them. With some coaxing, he learned bits and pieces of her life’s story. Her husband and son had got involved with a gang; the former had been found lying dead in a ditch, the latter had disappeared. The woman was convinced this same group of people had taken her youngest daughter, too. She wasn’t keen on saying anything more, however, and the prince didn’t push it.

The first thing Wulfric did once the boiled water cooled down enough was to remove the borrowed jacket, and wash himself. There was no soap to spare here either, and he outright refused to touch the filthy scrubber, cleaning his upper body with merely his hands. Had they been at a stream, he might have considered stripping entirely, but as it was, there was respectability to keep in mind. “Are you fine as is?” he queried, noticing Hendrix was content to sit there and watch.

“Hm? Oh, don’t mind me.” A teasing smile curved along Ryn’s mouth. “I’m comfortable right where I am.” He punctuated this with a wink.

A sly smirk spread across the prince’s features. Unexpectedly, a part of him was pleased at the count’s attention, even though people appreciating his good looks was ever-so common. He merely shook his head, however, and subtly checked whether their host was paying attention – she was not, absorbed in knitting by an open window.

Realizing he should probably give a proper answer, Ryn added, “I’ll wash up at the end of the day.”

“Suit yourself,” Wulfric chuckled, but didn’t comment otherwise. He was done washing up as it was, only the chore of laundering the tunic left.

“So. Adel, what’s your impression so far?” The question was deliberately vague—safe enough if overheard, but they both knew what he was really asking.

“The access to fresh water is abysmal,” he replied immediately. “The resources which shouldn’t be scarce - and in this country, aren’t - are so here. I consider that a result of mismanagement, so I will endeavour to correct it.” He hadn’t had much to do other than soak his garment, so he stepped out, and set it to dry on one of the laundry lines connecting neighbouring buildings. He perched upon the doorstep, keeping an eye on the alley while talking to Hendrix. “When I thought about those plagued by poverty - if I thought about them at all,” which admittedly, he rarely did, “I considered it either an inevitability or a lack of effort on their part. But I have realized that even performing more or less honest jobs,” he referred to their work at the docks, “the idea of having savings is, well. Rather improbable.” He stared into the distance, as if looking at something far away yet which he could see right there.

“The way I envision this kingdom, those who show dedication will have the chance to succeed. Talent will be recognized and rewarded, while ineptitude will be corrected or managed appropriately. If a woman is fit to lead, why not have her be a commander, or a queen? If a man is well suited to household duties, why should there be any shame in that? If a commoner demonstrates the qualities of a noble, why not elevate them? He inclined his head in the count’s direction. “You had a point when you criticized me for relying on chance to find potential. To allow circumstances such as these to squander it would be a waste,” he gestured at the slums with a wave. “It is shameful that in a nation as prosperous as ours so many should be dying due to thirst, hunger, exposure to elements…crime. I suppose it is self-evident, but if people’s very survival hangs in the balance, their spirits will eventually be crushed, and their talents will never see the light of day. At the very least, they need the opportunity to live a decent life. Only then would everyone contribute to the kingdom as they are meant to, and anyone could find their rightful place.” He turned towards Hendrix. “So? What is your impression?”

“If the prince is going to try to make things better around these parts, I think it’d be a smart move to work on the water infrastructure prompto.” Ryn said, “Lucky for him, I heard that there’s a Varian count from Erwynn that wants to help out with that kind of stuff. So, once they get things moving people’ll be getting clean water in no time.”

“True enough,” Wulfric offered a nod. Someone who was willing to help, even if he wasn’t directly affected…How nostalgic.

“Aside from that… These are some hardy people! And they’re pretty open to outsiders all things considered, don’t you think?” Ryn subtly reminded the prince of their earlier talk about not being too fixated on the negatives.

“Indeed. It would be interesting to see them involved in such restructuring efforts, would it not?”

“That it would.”

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

A chat before disaster hits

Interacting with: @ERode @bugmeat @Exit, the shaman

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They would not have realized the flame-headed man was speaking to them if he hadn’t happened to be looking at them while referencing the spears. Puzzled, they tilted their head, trying to work out the logic behind the suggestion – but failed. “These aren’t ours,” they stated this self-evident truth. The shaman had said they belonged to the dead, had he not listened?

The bald woman distracted them from fully contemplating flame-head’s oddities. “Of course. I always do my best.” They blinked. Did they? How did they know this? And why did the concept of mistakes sound foreign, as it was something which could only be attributed to others? They opened their mouth to say more, but the bald one was already running away.

As the woman ran away, the one who advocated stealing from the dead came back into focus. As such, they elaborated on their unfinished answer. “Besides, the spears carry a curse.” They looked around for the mantled girl who had been affected. Their gaze landed on her just when she addressed them. “Yes, I saw. Part of it. Before.” They inspected the girl’s arm. “So, it was healed…I heard the transformation was caused by the Scaled God.” They glanced at the shaman. “Was it really from a god if a mortal can revert the effects?” they wondered just loud enough that the older woman might be inclined to answer. If she wasn’t too distracted by the barrier’s upkeep.

They joined the de-cursed girl’s observation of the one lady who’d tried to reassure them. The bald woman scarpered towards a pile of corpses. The flesh-mender’s warnings of disease echoed behind her, unheard. The angel could only stare and wonder. “Is that what they call playing dead?” they inquired of no one in particular. It was a serious question carrying a child’s innocence, though they watched with the eyes of someone who had witnessed the births and deaths of stars. The memories were missing, yet the habit of finding various facets of existence remarkable remained.

Hell on Earth: Supernatural & Demonic Detectives

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Interactions: Kelly, Sato Kurodoji, the Caretaker
Setting: 11:10 AM, Ricky's

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“Ah-he-he,” Al raised his arm in surrender at Sato’s barking diatribe. “U-uhm, some humans look demonic…” he protested weakly. Thankfully, that part of the conversation quickly transitioned, and they moved onto other topics.

He nodded after Kelly posed his own questions, and Sato answered. “Doesn’t sound like wolf lady did it to me e-either. I know you’ve reason to be ha-happy about the Saniwa but, uh…” he looked from one to the other. “J-just in case whatever it is might come over, um, take care.” He glanced at the Caretaker, “Your ability is in a similar vein, sort of. If you ever hear or learn something, well. You know where to find me.” He shuffled in his seat, slowly standing up. “Guess we’ll be going now.” He waved awkwardly at the surly man and wordless demon, glancing at Kelly to see if the canid officer had anything to add. It didn’t seem like it, though, so he exited.

“So...” He stated once they were by Kelly’s car again. “Some of the others are searching ‘round the floating district, so-so…We’ve got a sort-of related lead. Looks like we’ll have to drive to places where people like her gather. Unions or social services or…somewhere.” They had phones, the internet, and a car. It’d take some legwork, maybe, but they could find who they were looking for with a bit of work.

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

The descent

Interacting with: Everyone.

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The angel spiraled down back towards the earth. A dizzying array of colours spun all around, yet they were not disorientated. Moments before they risked testing the fragility of their new body, how it might splatter on impact, one powerful sweep of wings created a gust of wind strong enough to counter the force of descent. Their white dress was a riotous whirl around their body, yet though the initial feeling of being observed, of danger, had scattered their thoughts into disarray, they felt centered now. Calm. A few more wing beats, and they gently alighted upon the ground. With all the gentleness of a drizzle petering out, the ghostly blue outline dissipated feather by intangible feather.

They opened their mouth to warn the others, but an unholy screech rendered that action unnecessary. Gazing at the countenances of Illium’s residents, they realized they knew what misfortune was about to befall them all.

“I am sorry,” they sincerely apologized – to everyone, but especially to the trio whose realm had already faced such destruction, and might now be subjected to further tragedy.

“Everyone.” Turning towards the other strangers, the ones not of this world, they did not quite raise their voice, yet still managed to make themselves heard over the din of present conversation, the falling fire, the buzz of force as the shaman created a protective dome above them. “An enemy is on its way. Decide now: run, hide, or prepare yourselves.”

That said, they glanced at Meko, Baldr, and the shaman. “I will help,” they proclaimed. “Are there…weapons?” They frowned as they realized something. They knew of a war they participated in, for eons upon eons, yet any specific memories of combat eluded them. No matter. It was they who had called danger upon them with their actions, so it was only natural they assisted in whatever manner they could. “Is…” they weren’t sure how to put this, “soul source, is it useful?” Their ephemereal wings were great for maneuverability, but they would need more than just prowess of evasion to deal with an enemy.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Banquet fit, a simple princely crown Date and Time: Sola 28th, 6pm Location: Castle dining hall Mention(s): Hala, the Grand Vizier, Lorenzo, the Edwardses, Roman Interaction(s): @FunnyGuy Alexander, @Tpartywithzombi Violet

Wulfric idly watched as the hall began filling up, the low murmurs of conversation raising and falling like waves lapping at the shore. The sound receded at the entrances of some, and came in force after the passing of others. Amongst the sea, a glimmer of turquoise swam through with all the grace and surety of a shark. The prince witnessed an Alidasht dignitary being supplanted by another, a stranger whose dark complexion contrasted with their long, flaxen hair. If he wasn’t mistaken, and he so rarely ever was, that unique set of characteristics belonged to–

“Prince Wulfric, your grace I…”

That grating voice interrupted just when it was getting interesting. He chewed on a small piece of filet mignon, gaze flicking in Deacon’s direction, not quite landing on him nor even near him. Effectively, he had dismissed him, while the subtle impression he may or may not answer lingered, leaving him hanging.

The echo of Lorenzo’s butchered Alidasht greeting rang in his ears, but thankfully, the Grand Vizier was able to maintain his composure this time, and even confirmed his suspicion that the new face among the nobles was Vali Sami’s oldest offspring. After a sip of wine, he finally opened his mouth, addressing Alexander. “Firstly, the proper style of address for a prince is 'Royal Highness',” he corrected. “Meanwhile, 'Grace' was historically used for monarchs but is now reserved for dukes,” he generously educated. “As a royal advisor, you must, at the very least, familiarize yourself with the basics.”

A forkful of leafy greens was speared on the gleaming metal tines, oh so graciously giving Deacon time to process while Wulfric refocused on eating for a moment. “Secondly, I select all my servants with painstaking care, and you have yet to prove your worth.” He delicately turned the stem of the wine glass between his fingers, the rich red liquid gently swishing within. “However, I suppose…” He took another slow sip, appearing to seriously consider the request. “I might be convinced...” he smirked as he teased at the idea.

“If,” he leaned closer. His next words carried in a whisper only Alexander would hear, for even Edin was too preoccupied with his own amusement at the Damien and Vikena pairing. “You bring me Marek Delronzo’s head.” He chuckled as he leaned back, a sound of flippant amusement. It was clear he did not believe Deacon would or could fulfill such a request, though the indulgent slant to his expression indicated it might be entertaining for the prince to watch him try.

“Ah, look, Ladies Edwards and Damien,” he commented, as if their entrance was of equal importance to Deacon’s offer to ‘help’. At Violet’s approach, he gave her a nod. “Good evening, Lady Damien. I hope you find this seating arrangement agreeable; word has it you are one of Mr. Deacon’s recent associates. His assistant, even, or so some say,” he smiled pleasantly. Among other information, he’d received a report of Black Rose’s carriage entering Damien’s estate in these past days. Was the daughter like the father, then?

He did not allow his attention to visibly fixate on her or on any other singular person. Instead, he returned Duke Edwards’ nod at his entrance, and merely tilted his head at Duchess Edwards. Frankly, at least her flaunted audacity was refreshing compared to the veiled contempt he’d discerned from the other nobles who thought themselves better than royalty. Curiously, it appeared Lord Ravenwood attempted to thread the line between those two extremes. After his trial had been announced, odd rumours started sprouting up about him. Some of it could be attributed to general gossip, but it felt a touch too forced – all of a sudden, there were too many, too concentrated, too directed in a sense. A result of someone’s intentional design, perhaps.

For now, he simply allowed the conversation to flow, and events to unfold as they would.

Hell on Earth: Supernatural & Demonic Detectives

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Interactions: Kelly, Sato Kurodoji, the Caretaker
Setting: 11:10 AM, Ricky's

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Alphard stared back at Sato, nervously wringing his hands as a long silence stretched between them. Once the man spoke, he inhaled deeply, feeling like he could finally breathe again. Unfortunately, the mafioso’ answer was entirely unhelpful. He cast a glance at Kelly, who thankfully backed him up. As his fellow agent spoke, Al nodded along while also taking in the bar. For a building which from the outside appeared abandoned, the inside was unusually clean. It wasn’t just a matter of it being well-maintained, it was as if it had been stripped of the hallmarks of any self-respectable bar; there was no scent of alcohol, no smoke, no perfume of cologne, not even a hint that cleaning implements had been used. There was nothing to indicate this place was lived in, even though it very clearly was being used.

It was somewhat reminiscent of how the Saniwa estate had been. Aside from the blood and guts, there too had been very scant evidence indicating either abandonment or inhabitation. He determined he’d use his abilities here too, as subtly as he could. But first things first.

“Er, right, it’s like Kelly said, I’m investigating a case…” It was great the canine’s words were convincing enough for Sato to offer up more information. Alphard perked up right away when another lead was mentioned. “Oh! A brown wolf…er, lady, you say?” He inched closer, yet held back from truly approaching, dissuaded by Kurodoji’s hostility. “I guess I should tell you – I’m Alphard,” he held out a hand. “I'm with the BPS,” he clarified, as if the badge or the holstered pistol he was allowed to open carry weren’t telling enough. “I know of you, Mr. Kurodoji, but I figured we should still introduce,” he smiled weakly, palm remaining extended. He waited patiently, though of course, neither of the other two moved to shake. Sato brusquely gave his name, while the sheep demon offered a moniker: The Caretaker.

“Right…Hm, well, I’d like to hear a bit more about this person who came in a month ago. What I’m looking into is related to the Saniwa, and the floating district too, I think. Mind if I join you?” A pointed look to the other side of the bar was a clear message. He could sit down if he wanted, as long as it was far away. With a nod, Al went to perch onto a barstool, a few seats remaining vacated between him and the human and demon duo.

Sato, unfortunately, did not know the wolf lady’s name, but undeterred, Alphard took out his notebook. He took care with this action, so as to not startle either of the other two. “It’s ok if-if you don’t know her name. I can make a sketch. Is she a demon, a human contracted to one, do you know?” He drew according to Sato’s description, showing the sketch to him and his demon companion when it was finished. “Oh, by the by, does this eye look familiar to you?” He pointed out the previous drawing he’d made.

Noting their reactions, he nodded at whatever responses was given. “Right…right. Now, er, this might sound like a w-weird question, but Ms. Caretaker, did you clean this place?” He’d had time to channel his magic into the surroundings, only to come back with nothing. The chair, the floor, the bar, the bottles, the glass, the ashtray; wherever he’d managed to reach, the feedback was the same. Nothing. A serene lack of sensations, feelings, and memories. As sterile as the bar was to the physical senses, so too it seemed to have been scrubbed clean psychically.

“Oh, I me-mean magically speaking,” he clarified. “I can sense these kinds of things, so I was curious,” he regarded the Caretaker. Of course, it might have been Sato himself, but given her nickname, he figured it was likelier to be her if either of them was responsible in the first place. “If it was you, it’s very well done. There’s nothing left at all!” He enthused, genuinely amazed. “Any chance that you know anyone with, hm…Well, if I’m ri-right, I’m looking for someone or something which instead of erasing what was there doesn’t leave a trace in the first place.” He hoped he had managed to be vague enough not to give away restricted intel on their investigation while still making sense.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Banquet fit, a simple princely crown Date and Time: Sola 28th, 6pm Location: Castle dining hall Mention(s): All those who've gathered at the banquet so far. Interaction(s):

Wulfric observed those gathered at the banquet as he strolled in to the herald’s announcement of, “Presenting the crown prince, His Royal Highness Wulfric Danrose!” Besides the proclamation, one of the first voices he heard was the newly minted royal advisor’s, and his obsequious attempts to ingratiate himself.

How the little bird sings…

He stifled any thoughts of violence, no matter how fleeting, no matter how pleasing it might be to make him sing in a different set of circumstances. In the dungeons, for example, with Deacon termed a traitor.

Alas, such a pastime would have to wait.

“Your Majesties, Your Excellency, good evening,” he sketched a bow that with just the right degree of respectful. Having known the seating order in advance, he had arrived from the direction closest to his chair, so he did not need to walk behind any of the esteemed company's backs. It would have been uncouth for one. For another, this way, those present would have the best view of him as he leisurely paced from the entrance to his seat. He met Auguste’s and Anastasia’s gaze in turn, offering them a collective nod. He did the same for Callum once he took a seat next to him.

He made no mention of his brother’s strange demeanour, nor did he remark upon the never-before-seen crown upon his brow. His gaze did not linger on Callum at all, but unbidden, a part of the conversation he had had with Hendrix the previous evening regarding curses occurred to him.

As the count had noted, one could not detect such magical influences without careful observation and comparison to prior behaviors or any curse-sensitive artifacts. He did have that spyglass, though just for this occasion, he had handed it off to a trusted person who’d make notes on those who’d gathered here today. Would the spy think to observe his brother, though? The prince was unsure, and besides, if he had the chance, he’d prefer to confirm it with his own eyes. Even without such a device on his hands, observation was very much in the cards. Not an especially difficult prospect given they were seated next to each other. Regardless of the exact cause of his transformation, Callum was but one of the people to keep an eye on.

He greeted the other dignitaries in turn, the acoustics ensuring he did not need to raise his voice to reach even those seated at the other end of the table. “Duke Laurent, Duchess Petit, Duke Vikena, Lords Adrien and Alain, Lady Vikena, welcome.” He glanced at the woman going by Olivia, though did not name her. “Mr. Deacon,” he addressed the man last with a cooly amused smirk.

Without further comment, he sampled a selection of the hors d’oeuvres. Though one could walk around from table to table and take one’s pick of food, it was equally possible to order to have something brought over from one of the numerous servants. Wulfric was not averse to the former, but at the moment, barely anyone worthwhile mingled at the food tables. Thus, he remained seated, lazily watching the guests. Lorenzo’s outburst caused but a mocking arch of the brow. Though, the mushroom he skewered upon his fork with a tad more enthusiasm than was required might have been a warning, if the duke cared to notice.

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

A gathering

They didn’t know their exact mission, but there were plenty of clues in the environment.

The roar of flames, the hissing of embers, the susurration of murmurs coalescing into a cacophony of noise. They clamped their ears shut even as they approached the source, and discovered others. There were other displaced beings, some human, some not. How odd. They did not recall ever being in a place with these types of beings, though they had the sense they might have observed such creatures. The group seemed to be facing a duo – or a trio? – of residents. The divide was clear: those who belonged here, and those who did not.

But why all this noise?

Oh, right, words.

A means of communication when one couldn’t intuit meaning without. How strange…It seemed foreign.

But now that they were ruminating on the idea, they realized they’d already said something before. At the time, they’d thought it another cough. But no, there had been a why produced from their very own vocal cords. Huh. So, even though they felt like they might not have done so before, speech was inherent to this body.

A Very Loud One greeted them with two words and a wave. Raising their hand in response, they mimicked moving it left to right. Gestures, yet another way of expression. A way which felt closer to them, perhaps. There was a Shy One the Very Loud One pointed out, and the angel gave a wave to her too, hoping their smile might soothe her anxious spirit.

Something bordering on conflict was unfolding between some of the newcomers, and a mounting tension could be detected from the residents. They could easily understand both; the majority did not belong, and was confused, while the minority felt threatened. Posturing was not unusual for mortals…

Mortals?

They cocked their head to the side, watching the scene unfold as their own line of thought surprised them. Surely, with their human body, they too were mortal?

A light sigh left them as no answers were forthcoming. Weapons were drawn, points were made, but they merely tracked the horned humanoid with passive interest. The term demon did not once occur to them in relation to this person, for he was unlike any demon they knew. More unusual than the horned man’s intimidation tactic was the blonde one’s gaze on them and a couple of others. It was almost as if he recognized them, or thought he did. “Have you…seen us…before?” They sought to confirm.

As those who belonged shared some information, they rolled the unknown names on their tongue, practicing speaking as much as they were becoming acquainted with the world they found themselves in. “Hail and prevail…Shalut. Meko. Illium…”

If those were mere mutters, the last word had them whip their head to the alchemist. “Gods?” All else became secondary – the man seeking to learn of the gods, the girl affected by what was likely a curse, the flame-headed man offering to cleanse while the tall curious one demonstrated her ability to mend torn flesh.

An uncontainable desire burgeoned within, an instinct screaming at them to go see for themselves. Canting their head up, they stared at the smog obscured skies. They were being called up there. Not thinking much of why or how, the strong urge to ascend supplied them with the means to do so. Unaware, a reflexive ability was called upon. A shimmer of light blue appeared, sketching from their shoulder blades a set of extended wings, each longer than the length of their body. It was almost like an illusion, yet despite their immaterial nature, their corporeal body lifted into the air. They barely noticed how lighter, more natural they felt like this. A strong beat of their ethereal appendages had them shooting up.

Up, higher and higher, until they broke through the chokehold of smoke, emerging into the open skies.

Their mouth dropped open as they witnessed–

Was this Chaos? Was it Order? It resonated with their mind, their essence. It felt like a part of them, like they might be a part of it, yet it was so, so very distant.

Space, the very fabric of reality, was torn apart as if something had ripped through it. A yawning chasm, a wound in existence bleeding gold. It was as if a star had melted, its metallic yellow remains dripping down.

They were on the verge of a revelation, but couldn’t quite grasp at it. Dazed by the sheer brilliance of the sight, it took a moment for the sense of danger to shake them out of it.

Something was there. They did not sense it, yet they were sure of a presence beyond. Could it be what had brought ruin to the unknown land they found themselves in?

No, no! This was no time for questions!

Pumping their wings, they turned around, and took a nosedive towards the ground. Was it a moment too late or could they evade being marked by the mysterious presence?

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

I'll do actual actions and interactions later, lol.