SilverPaw

Return of a Failed Generation

Will add this alongside her CS when I transfer it over.

Isana's adventuring party

	Eustace "Ace" . . . . . . . .	Charismatic, kind, private. A lord of a Noxicana-Vassal family. Disillusioned with politics, he left. He set out to see the world, and gathered trustworthy allies. Isana saved him in 1009. He died in 1017 at Hadrum. . .	Mace and shield warrior Leader, tank, support 2nd Circle mage Light spells to distract enemies . . . . .
	Miles	Born to a militant family. Dismissed as dim-witted in his youth. Taken advantage of, he was robbed blind. Not knowing what to do, he joined Eustace. He died in 1015, defending the capital.	Sword and shield warrior Tank and DSP Notable skill: Cleave
	Vivian "Vivi"	Abandoned as a baby for unknown reasons. Adopted by elves. She became a wanderer, sightseeing. Joined up with Eustace on a whim. She stayed for the friendship and fun. She died in 1017 at Hadrum.	Archer DSP, support Agile, keen eye-sight Bow & arrows, hunting knife
	Amaryllis "Amy"	Clever but deemed strange since childhood. A bookworm and aspirant academic. Studied at a Arkivum affiliated academy. Seeking rare spells, interested in 'dark' magic, she became an adventurer. Eustace and Vivian convinced her to join. She died in 1015, defending the capital.	4th Circle Mage Support Spells to bind, daze, confuse Notable: Shadow bind, Smoke cloud

Re some more relationship ideas... @Teyao If you want, Rowan could have been the one Isana lost to in the 1st round of that tournament. She'd have mostly avoided him afterwards, but would have kept an eye on him, secretly admiring him (to him, it might have felt like a 'I'm watching you for any more violent nonsense' but to her it would have been a 'how does he do it?' curiosity, heh).

@Silver Carrot I feel like Sherry was largely preoccupeid with Estelle, but as someone else in the same age group, Isana could have made for a convenient target to be nasty to. So, it could have been an antagonistic relationship in their first life.

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

Pincer attack

“It may be what you know as Ki,” they answered, though unsure if they and the shaman were speaking of the same thing or not.

There was no time left for chatter then. The enemy which had sighted them appeared. It was a large bird. They marveled at the creature. They could not tell if it was a natural entity of this world or not. Was it what the residents would call a monster? A demon, perhaps?

Stranger than its size and shape was its focus. The bird wasn’t staring at them as much as it was at three others. How come? Did it not realize they were the one who had trespassed in its territory? By what means did it decide which of them to target primarily?

The stench hit them then, halting all thought, incapacitating all action as they were forced to cough and hack. A harsh, sharp, fiery sensation scorched their nose, the back of their throat, clawing its way to their lungs. Their eyes watered, their nose leaked, spittle flew from their mouth. In desperation, they moved the sleeve of their dress to their mouth, breathing through the thin protective layer.

Whether because that worked, or because their body got used to it, slowly but surely, they were able to function somewhat normally. The bird was still slamming into the protective barrier cast by the shaman. It leaked white acidic fluid. Upon contact with the pile of apparent corpses, the bodies sprouted feathers. Were they going to raise from the dead, or would they transform into different creatures altogether? If that pile became a number of enemies…

They’d better knock that bird out of the skies before it gained more allies. The flame-headed man’s experiments proved valuable. Watching what went through the barrier and what did not, they were fairly certain their magic would pass unhindered.

Motes of lights blinked into existence around their fingertips. Multiplying, they rendered themselves into the shape of fire. They raised their flaming arms, pointed towards the creature. Now, an opportune moment–

One person ran out of the barrier, distracting it. A beast of nature pounced.

Rather than letting confusion prevail, the angel released a swirling blast of light magic at the beast. A pincer attack cornering it from the rear while the tiger preoccupied it from the front.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Ryn & Prince Wulfric - Part VI

FLASHBACK: Sola, 27th

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For a while afterwards, the two watched the cityscape in companionable silence. “We have found more signs of Black Rose activity today than I expected. Eradicating crime has been one of my foremost goals for the past several years, yet I have only recently learned of its existence. It is clear that corruption and lawlessness are far more entrenched in this country than I could have ever imagined…” his lips thinned in displeasure. “Since you were the one who gave me the first hint, I take it you would not mind acting against Delronzo and his organization, or participating in limiting their illicit activities?”

“Not at all. Vigilantism would make a rather fetching addition to my professional credentials, I should think,” Ryn half-joked before his expression sobered, and his tone grew quieter. “And it’ll be a way to honor a friend.” Turning to Prince Wulfric, he tilted his head, “Why do you ask?”

Wulfric’s mouth opened, a quip ready on the tip of his tongue, but then he shut it closed as soon as the count shared an unforeseen confession with him. “They killed a friend of yours?” he uttered equally quietly. There was a questioning lilt to his retort, seeking confirmation, yet not pushing. The details were important here; if Hendrix’s companion was in fact killed, it was key to know when. However, he did not press the man for any answers. “My condolences,” he offered. The sheer blue of his irises was almost reflective at this angle, unrevealing, yet a degree of subtle sombreness settled into his expression. An unobtrusive current of understanding ran beneath the surface.

“... Thank you…”

He let a minute of respectful silence pass before answering the last question. “I asked because I will commence several operations against the man and his organization. Your insight has been helpful so far, and I suspect it will be in the future, as well. So, I shall invite you along here and there. Mind…” he sighed. “I am not especially fond of vigilantism, but I admit it is not that different to say that we shall, at the very least, be operating under the guise of legality.” And if that failed, well. He was sure he would soon be met with that age-old dilemma again: What was one to do in a monarchy where the king was the problem? He was far from the only one, of course, which only complicated matters. Only time would show what decisions he would make in the end.

The shadow of something unspoken flitted across Prince Wulfric’s features. In Ryn’s mind, pieces assembled themselves with the satisfying click of tumblers falling into place. The prince’s careful phrasing, that telling sigh—it all pointed to one inescapable conclusion.

“Your Highness doesn’t have the full support of Their Majesties in this endeavor, do you?” Ryn ventured.

Wulfric caught Hendrix’s gaze, and held it. Observing. Assessing. Considering. “No,” he admitted after a beat. “I do not.”

“Why is that?” A deceptively simple question.

One he did not intend to entertain. Slowly shaking his head, he echoed, “Why indeed.”

Ryn smiled faintly at that and tried another approach, “Prince Wulfric, what concerns you most about our band of sleuths?”

“Our, hm?” He questioned mildly, brow arching.

The count simply waited.

“I do not view myself as part of that group.” He studied the count as he spoke. “My primary concern is that they are trying to involve themselves in the first place.” He was aware Fritz had this notion of them all working together, but he remained sceptical. “They are ill-prepared, inept, and immature.” Merely remembering that ridiculous meeting put a sour taste in his mouth. “Lady Charlotte who seems to feel uniquely qualified to lead this parade of fools.” She, who had invited them to ‘share findings’, yet who he suspected was keeping pertinent information to herself. “Leo,” he waved a dismissive hand. “He has enough of his own problems. Nagasa, incidentally entangled in this mess because of Count Calbert’s paranoia and his own recklessness. Olivia, the woman who may or may not be a fugitive,” he scoffed. Charlotte’s ‘guest’ had tried to remain unobtrusive, but her demeanour had given much away.

“You, who would encourage their folly, their self-assigned protector when the existing evidence points to you being the one most endangered.” He gave the man a look. “I take it you were trying to make a point regarding a lack of trust, but let me counter your question: what is there not to be concerned about?”

Ryn listened to the litany of shortcomings of their would-be detective squad without interruption, noting the prince’s barely concealed disdain for what he had termed a “parade of fools.” When Prince Wulfric finally ran out of steam, punctuating his last point with a sharp look that dared Ryn to disagree, the count allowed three heartbeats of silence to settle between them.

“Thank you, Your Highness, for sharing your perspective so candidly,” he said, his tone carrying the warmth of genuine appreciation without a frost of sarcasm. “These things ought to be aired properly, especially when they might impact our efficiency.” The prince’s expression remained impassive, but something in his posture suggested he had not expected this particular response.

“My primary concern about our last gathering isn’t the personalities involved, but rather what’s lacking between us.” Ryn continued as he leaned against the balustrade. “The way things stand, relevant information which could significantly alter our approach to this investigation is not being shared, intentionally or otherwise.”

A cool breeze stirred the air between them. Below, the city continued its evening rhythm, oblivious to the conversation taking place above. “Without proper information, there’s a rather firm limit on what each of us can contribute,” Ryn said.

“Which brings me back to my previous question.” He turned to face the prince directly. “Why are Their Majesties not supporting your efforts against the Black Rose?” Ryn asked, although he had a few good guesses as to why the prince was reluctant to explain his parents’ stance. “Are the members of Black Rose the only people I should be worried about in this endeavor?”

“Indeed, it would be useful to have all relevant information,” Wulfric agreed mildly. He hopped down from where he’d been sitting atop the stone wall, purposefully bringing himself on even ground with the count. “Information such as the extent of your involvement with the Black Rose, the investigation you and company were conducting of Violet’s murder, what you might or might not know about magic, for example.” There was hide nor hair of accusation either in his tone or demeanour. As far as he saw it, he was relaying the matters Hendrix had chosen to omit which could be helpful to know.

The faint smile that touched Ryn’s features was irrepressible. “Your first attempt at deflection had a certain finesse, Your Highness. This second one lacks subtlety to such a degree it might as well be an admission.”

He leaned in closer to the prince. “Which of Their Majesties conspires with the Black Rose?” It was one of the more outrageous possibilities, but it was one that would likely elicit some kind of response. “If I were to hazard a guess, it would be King Edin, though I highly doubt Queen Alibeth is completely unaware of the arrangement.”

Wulfric slowly shook his head, leaning his back against the parapet as he took to casual stargazing. “Because my desire for knowledge couldn’t possibly be anything but a deflection,” he sighed lightly. To think an exchange of information was beyond Hendrix… “Guess away if you please, but you are mistaken.” Was there any merit in sharing further details when he would get nothing in return? Oh, but the sheer absurdity of it all, and his own foolishness! He couldn’t help but laugh at it. A cynical smile remained even after the last dry chuckle petered out. “You must have enjoyed your flight of fancy, but I am afraid the answer is disappointing, for there is nothing as scandalous as a conspiracy. My father refuses to act because he cannot be bothered to do so. As for my mother, who knows?” he shrugged. He pushed off of the wall, preparing to leave. “Until next time, then.”

A soft laugh escaped Ryn as he settled back against the balustrade, letting the evening air tease through his hair. Time in Prince Wulfric’s company had taught him something the court whispers missed entirely: beneath that calculated, and sometimes even cold exterior beat a heart capable of both rashness and deep passion when stirred—qualities that rendered the prince wonderfully, achingly human.

“Might I remind Your Highness of our conversation about choosing your battles?” he called out. The prince halted mid-stride, turning just enough to fix Ryn with that assessing gaze of his. Ryn simply patted the coping beside him in invitation.

After a moment’s hesitation, Prince Wulfric retraced his steps.

“So,” Ryn said, his tone shifting to something more contemplative, “His Majesty is aware of the Black Rose situation, at the very least.” He passed fingers across his chin, gaze narrowing slightly as he weighed possibilities against probabilities. “Do you truly believe it is mere royal indolence rather than His Majesty finding some advantage in permitting Black Rose operations to continue unimpeded? Were simple disinterest the cause, I fail to comprehend why he would resist Your Highness resolving the matter on his behalf.”

Across the space between them traveled Ryn’s steady, questioning look—a silent inquiry asking what foundation Prince Wulfric wished their partnership to be built upon.

An eyebrow twitched in annoyance, lips slanting in displeasure. It was a battle, alright, but it was one against himself. A struggle against what he viewed as his better sense, though in this instance, perhaps it was one against a bad habit. Frustrated, he exhaled harshly, and made a decision. “I have no doubts there are advantages. But most of all, he is afraid,” he sneered. “He is too scared to act, he dreads the consequences, he is terrified that there might be some curse,” he flicked a hand, dismissing the ridiculous notion. “I would have understood had he been driven by profit, but to think it was cowardice...” he scoffed.

A heartbeat slammed against Ryn’s ribcage—once, decisively—then abandoned its post, leaving behind a silence so complete he wondered if time itself had paused.

Curse.

“A curse?” Ryn’s throat went dry. “Did His Majesty specify what sort of curse?”

Wulfric’s irritation dissipated as if washed away by a cloudburst, curiosity budding in its wake. “Yes, he did.” A corner of his mouth twitched up, slightly mischievous, aware his answer was unhelpful. “Why do you ask?” Genuine intrigue sparked in his gaze, and there was an unstated challenge there mirroring the count’s earlier one: What shape did he wish for their alliance to take?

“There seems to be a lot of those going around.” Dark brows furrowed as Ryn’s gaze travelled toward the castle. “I wonder whether Black Rose might be connected to this ‘curse’ His Majesty is so terrified of.”

Or if the ‘curse’ was much, much older.

The prince’s irises traced the path Hendrix’s attention sketched out. “Oh? Which curses are you aware of, then?”

“Perhaps ‘curse’ is an overstatement in some cases, but you have seen magic being abused multiple times these past few days, have you not? At least the aftermath of it.”

It did not take much to deduce the count was referring to the after party, the resurrection of Lady Violet Damien, among other incidents.

“It has cropped up in abundance all of a sudden,” he agreed. “But are there cases where a curse is involved?” he prodded, because once again, the count had worded that evasively.

“The terms ‘curse’ and ‘blessing’ strike me as rather subjective. Whether magic yields what one hoped for—and whether its price proves worthwhile—can transform any spell into either blessing or curse... perhaps even both.”

He crossed one ankle over the other, his posture relaxed against the balustrade, and carried on. “If, however, you mean to categorize certain spells distinctly as curses, then I must disappoint. Without careful observation and comparison to prior behaviors, I cannot simply detect such influences, as I assume is true for you as well. Should you possess any curse-sensitive artifacts, those might prove more illuminating.”

“Fascinating…” Wulfric murmured, studying the count as yet another layer was unveiled, only for the depths beneath to remain safely hidden in the shadows. “You seem to be well-versed in the subject,” he smirked. “Though, you have to admit, ‘curse’ or ‘blessing’ is a far catchier term than ‘long term magical effect’,” he mused. Sobering on the next exhale, he addressed the matter with the gravity it was due. “I was not seeking to categorize, nor necessarily to detect such influences in my father. However–” he paused as he considered how much to share. “Delronzo appears to possess enough information about this particular spell to have hung it over the king’s head,” his lips pursed, discontent.

“As for the curse itself, it is highly unlikely that it is what Edin believes it to be.” A minute shrug of a shoulder followed. “According to what he said, it is a family curse demanding we are to be perfect, or else,” the prince rolled his eyes. “I suppose it could be a ‘curse’ to make the king obsess over this tripe. However, I am uncertain whether magic is at play at all,” he opined. “Either way, it is a matter of finding out as much as possible, and addressing the issues at hand.”

“And what of Her Majesty?”

“Is she aware of the potential curse? I wouldn’t know. Regarding the Black Rose? She is not inclined to let a group like Delronzo’s run amok. Her primary goal seems to be more so to exterminate magic in general, so perhaps she views Black Rose as a symptom of a deeper-rooted ‘disease’, so to say,” he relayed neutrally.

The news that the queen wished to exterminate magic made Ryn’s brows furrow deeper. A magic practitioner, wishing to end magic? How peculiar. Was she trying to fight fire with fire? “Yet, she doesn’t wish to help your endeavour? How strange…”

“It is your mistaken assumption that she does not,” Wulfric corrected.

“Ah, so when Your Highness said you did not have the full support of Their Majesties, you were referring only to the king? My apologies.” Ryn inclined his head once, then canted it to the side. “The queen’s favor certainly improves your circumstances. What manner of assistance has Her Majesty promised you?”

“It is not a promise per se. We happen to agree that Black Rose should be dealt with. Recently, she has been hiring witch hunters,” he shared.

Good to know. “To hunt Black Rose specifically, or merely to stamp out anything bearing even the faintest whiff of magic? Should it be the latter, I fear their journey to Black Rose shall be a winding one indeed. Time works against us—by the time they reach their true quarry, whatever plan Black Rose has set in motion may well have reached its conclusion.”

Wulfric nodded, just the once. “Indeed. I shall direct them, but as for their effectiveness…” he raised his shoulders. “I will not hold my breath.” Nor did he intend to put all his eggs into one basket; if the witch hunters proved themselves, that was just as well, but he would notmerely wait while they were doing who knew what.

“Do indulge me: what is your take on this admittedly convoluted situation?”

“Their clandestine nature notwithstanding, one particular aspect troubles me deeply: their reach, their wealth, their numbers—all grew exponentially in a relatively short amount of time. How?” Ryn reconsidered the question. “Or perhaps the more significant inquiry isn’t ‘how’ but ‘why’? What is Black Rose’s ultimate agenda?”

“I do not know,” Wulfric admitted. “Perhaps, they have worked from behind the scenes for far, far longer, and now they wish…” he put a finger on his chin, canting his head back as he considered what he might use power for were he to act utterly selfishly. “To create an empire?” is what he came up with.

“Starting with Caesonia? How ambitious.” Ryn paused. “If that is their goal, you and your family may be in real and immediate danger.”

Wulfric arched an eyebrow as Hendrix stated the obvious. “Of course, they are. My youngest siblings are endangered due to their ‘friendship’ with Delronzo, and the king…well. This much is true regardless of their overarching goal.”

“That ‘friendship’ is also what’s likely shielding them from the worst of what Mr. Delronzo can do to them... At least at the moment.” Ryn reminded him. “Black Rose’s ultimate design matters quite a lot, Your Highness. Should their aspirations shift, so too will the nature of the danger facing your family.”

“Only in the sense that the dangers they are exposed to are different.” He concurred that this manner of ‘protection’ would not last for long. “It is as you say, the question is what exactly do they intend to do, and how will they approach their goals. However, unless you have been withholding illuminating insights, then all we can do is protect ourselves from the most likely avenues of attack, and oppose them based on what little we know, and what we can guess.”

Which was precisely why they needed to gather more information. Yet there hung between them a curious reluctance—a dance of half-truths where each partner led and followed in turn, never quite in step.

“Do you believe I am?” Ryn asked. “Withholding pertinent information concerning Black Rose, I mean.”

“Hmmm,” he considered the question at leisure, a thoughtful look cast at the night sky as he leaned against the parapet. Finally, he met the count’s gaze. “Not directly concerning them, perhaps,” he tilted his head. “But let’s see…Is there anything else that you know about Delronzo or his group? Anything that might be useful in dealing with them? Anything that could help at all, no matter how tangential it seems?”

“I suppose it’s now my turn for my answer to disappoint you.” Ryn’s mouth quirked in a half-smile. “Until recently, my interactions with Black Rose were entirely above board. Legitimate business ventures, properly documented. There were occasional rumors, of course, but that’s hardly unusual. Some rivals have been known to spread whispers about their competition when sales are down.” He avoided presenting Duchess Lesdeman as an example.

“Oh, I am not disappointed, not to worry.” If anything, he appeared all the more interested, the ghost of a slightly amused smile playing about his lips. “If you are unknown to them, it is indeed curious that they have already targeted you to such an extent. That friend of yours was eliminated by a member of the Black Rose, correct?” He waited a beat to receive confirmation. “Given the naming theme, the ‘Bloody Thorns’ could very well be affiliated, and now you find yourself marked for assassination. Do you believe they view you as a threat?” Naturally, there were plenty of other reasons to assassinate someone, but if Hendrix had so much as an inkling as to which option was the likelier, it could at the very least provide one more lead.

“Unknown to them?” Pressing a hand dramatically to his chest, Ryn gasped in mock-astonishment. “Your Highness, I may have only carried the title of count for less than a year, but as a merchant of Crosswinds Trading Company, I am far from unknown to them.”

The soft chuckle that followed died abruptly at the mention of Udo. Grief sharpened inside him, keen-edged and raw. He met Prince Wulfric’s expectant gaze and managed a small, tight nod.

“As for whether the Bloody Thorns view me as a threat…” Ryn continued. “It’s entirely possible they wish to eliminate me for the same reason someone might squash a fly—not because I pose any real danger, but because my existence has become bothersome to them.”

Wulfric hummed at that answer. Possible it was, but then, why had Hendrix’s friend been enough of an annoyance to be killed off? Perhaps they had aimed to instill fear in the count. The man’s next words indicated that if that had been the goal, it had failed rather spectacularly.

“We won’t know for sure until we’ve made contact with them. I am hoping that when they strike, I’ll be able to extract information from them.”

Dark amusement and a thrill of malevolent anticipation adorned the prince’s countenance. “Please do.”

After a pause, Ryn asked a question that had been hovering at the edges of his mind. One that a few members of their peculiar detective band would prefer to have answered as well. “Your Highness, what’s your opinion regarding magic?”

“It was not mere happenstance or good fortune that I warned you about the witch hunters, I hope you realize.” What had been a fleeting smile transformed into the flash of a grin, barely there before it was gone, yet undeniably self-satisfied. “Magic, hmm?” He leaned his head against an open palm, musing on the subject.

Before he could fall too deeply into introspection, he stretched, and faced the count again. “Frankly, I thought it an artifact of the past until recent events proved otherwise. So far, it seems to me to be a natural force, so I would treat it as any other potentially dangerous tool: with prudence and responsibility, but not dismissive of its utility. I believe its practice should be thoroughly regulated, rather than outlawed outright. Besides, when faced with the abuse of magic on a scale as grand as Delronzo is suspected of having committed, I am not convinced purely mundane methods will suffice to deal with him,” he elaborated.

“Does this mean you don’t agree with your mother’s goal?”

“Correct.”

He allowed the response to linger before prompting with a smile, “So, does this reassure you enough to share more?”

“Share more?” Ryn tilted his head as he considered this. “The one confectionery I could never get myself to like is ​​liquorice?”

That response earned him a liberal eye-roll. Hendrix was frustratingly selective in applying his prowess of inference. “Will you share more magical knowledge?” he specified. “Hypothetically,” he drawled, “If you had insights into the magical arts, or knew someone who does, it would be rather helpful.”

“If I did, hypothetically, might your interest be purely academic in nature? Or are you hoping to wield such powers yourself?”

“Neither.” For such a decisive answer, it was a tad odd. “My interest lies in its practical applications, but as for whether I hope to wield it myself,” he gave a tiny shrug. “I would prefer not to, but given the limited options, it seems inevitable that I will.”

For a moment, the count held his silence, his gaze sliding away from the prince to fix upon some invisible mote in the empty air between them and the tower’s floor. Wulfric heard only the soft fall of his own breath while Hendrix stood still and quiet.

Then, he pivoted to fully face the prince and lifted his pale hands. “May I touch you?”

An inquisitive arch of a brow followed as he considered the request. Based on the context, was it some kind of a test? Somehow related to magic? There was only one way to find out. Wordlessly, the royal raised his right hand as he would for a handshake.

But the pale hands reached past his proffered gesture, and before the prince could register the shift in intent, the count’s fingers wrapped themselves around the base of his skull, thumbs pressed lightly against the tender hollows beneath his ears. The contact was neither gentle nor cruel, simply present, uncompromising.

The prince’s vision dimmed at the edges, narrowing to twin pools of absolute darkness in the count’s eyes, a void so complete it seemed to swallow light rather than merely lacking it. The man’s face remained placid, but those eyes stared into the prince with unsettling intensity, as if peering through his skull to examine some hidden text written on the back of his mind. When the man spoke again, his voice carried none of its earlier affected lightness, but rather echoed with cadences both familiar yet foreign. “Do you remember our promise, Danrose?”

Wulfric neither flinched nor startled. It wasn’t that the count’s actions were too fast; from his perspective, time had unspooled, its thread stretching and lengthening until each second might as well have been a century. Inevitably, the count’s hands approached. Closer. Closer. Infinitesimally. Irrevocably.

Then they were there; the cool press of fingers – a support or a cage? Would they offer salvation or cause his downfall? It was the kind of a hold which could easily be used to snap his neck. Yet, he felt not so much a flicker of worry. Had there been surprise, it would have been at his own calm. Yet, even that emotion eluded him. His was a preternatural serenity. It was not one borne out of trust, not precisely. Rather, it was purely and simply an acknowledgement.

“For a better kingdom.” This, he had always wanted, always strived for. “For the people,” he stressed, because it was only this man in front of him who had managed to remind him of the true purpose. “Whether rich or poor, noble or commoner, the loftiest or the lowest.” Because no country could be a place for only a handful of the ‘chosen’. Because if the nation was his, then so were the people. Not as a possession, but as participants of his envisioned future. Their future.
“To take care of them, for better or worse.” A commitment to the chosen path, even when the outcome was uncertain. “Not just to rule, but to truly serve.” To wield power not just for his own sake. He might not yet fully understand how, but he was willing to learn, and to practice.

“Of course, I remember.” How could he ever forget? “We shook on it, after all.” His hand had remained outstretched throughout. Now, it shifted; an unseen invitation. “I staked my life on it. The lives of others, too.” He might have cocked his head were it not still held. “And so have you.” It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t seeking confirmation. It was a statement of fact.

The count’s eyes softened, the impenetrable darkness giving way to something more human. Wulfric felt the thumbs gently rub against the skin behind his ears.

“Yes, we did—” he began, then closed his eyes and corrected himself, “I have.”

Slowly, the hands released their hold on the prince, fingers trailing briefly along Wulfric’s jaw before withdrawing completely.

“What is regarded as magic here is rather commonplace beyond the borders of the three kingdoms. So yes, I am familiar with various forms of magic and have handled enchanted items many times. I am seldom, however, the one to cast the spells.” In order to avoid potential complications, that was often the case with most of Ryn’s family. The only one with their blood to actively practice magic was his aunt.

Wulfric nodded even as his thoughts were still gathering after that caress - for it could not be called anything else - had scattered them like clouds to a sudden gale. It was fortunate Hendrix had retracted the touch when he had, really, or else he might have felt the uptick in his heart rate. A blink, and the errant notions and sensations were safely stashed away, beyond conscious recognition.

Yet, a niggling thought worth addressing remained. There had been that we again. “When we made the promise, you said ‘we always have been, and always will be’. One day, I would like to learn the meaning of those words.” He did not press, merely let the count know he had noticed.

Moving onto the next topic, he posed the teeming questions he had on magic. “Then, do you know what it would take to recover lost or erased memories? Or else to undo a memory block caused by a spell?” His irises shone with the kind of interest new areas of study often inspired in him. He did not notice how he leaned closer to the count as he spoke, his tempo of speech growing quicker, eager to uncover more. “Are there efficient ways of defending against attacks on one’s mind? Is there anything as convenient as a general protection against magic? Or a way to prevent others from targeting you with spells? What—” He stopped to take a breath as he realized he was getting a bit carried away. “Well, those are the main points to start with. However, I find it very fascinating that ‘what is regarded as magic here’ could be commonplace anywhere at all. Just how…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I suppose it would be a lengthy discussion, hm?”

Ryn caught himself chuckling at the prince’s rapid-fire questioning. “I believe it will be,” he said, trying and failing to keep the amusement from his voice. “So unless Your Highness wants to turn this excursion into a sleepover party—complete with midnight snacks and blanket forts—perhaps we can discuss this at a later date.” He paused, considering the mountain of preparations still awaiting him back at the theater. “On a night when I won’t have to prepare for a big talent show bright and early the very next day,” he added.

The count’s joking mention of a sleepover earned him a strange look. However, it was true that it was late; their outing had lasted far longer than he had expected. “I do hope the preparations for the charity performance on your end have largely been taken care of.” Somehow, he had the impression Hendrix wouldn’t be satisfied unless he involved himself in all the minutiae, though, even when he could easily leave it to others. “I shall look forward to that conversation,” he nodded in farewell. As he passed Fritz, he laid a palm on the man’s shoulder, and gave it a light squeeze. “Goodnight.” He did not wait for a reply, and took his leave with swift, purposeful strides.

“... Uh… Prince Wulfric?” Ryn called out after the other man, “Are we not heading in the same direction?”

Return of a Failed Generation

<Snipped quote by SilverPaw>

Glavios Captain: "Ah, Lord Kaides, what brings you to the training grounds tod--"

Patriarch: "The Big Woman still here?"

XD

The only thing I'd like to change is that, given power levels to rarity ratios in the setting, I think Grandmaster ranking would be better than Saint level. There are exactly 5 Divine-ranked warriors currently, and the number of Saints barely breaks into double digits. Not all of those at that level are Humans, either.

If you want her to create a bloodbath, shouldn't she be Augmenting her weapon and maybe her own armor? If she augmented a defensive structure, it would make it tougher and whatnot, but wouldn't really do anything to damage enemies.

I can handle establishing some extra lore and skills, no issue. And the Patriarch having to step in to stop her rampage after Estelle was poisoned 6 months ago gives me some ideas! Overall I really really like her!

@Zeroth

Changed the rank. Re fortifying, yes, ideally she'd have done all three. But I dunno how viable a tactic of augmenting buildings is to make them more defensible (esp. if you could do the same to siege engines, also seems energy exhausting, so no clue if it's sensible at all). If yes, it'd have been one of those 'she hadn't moved an inch' moments where monsters try to get her to break through what she's protecting, but she just cut em down all.

Return of a Failed Generation

The Second Wife - Crescence Kaides WIP

Note: She is a redhead.


"Where there's a will, there's a way."

Crescence Kaides,
Champion of the Commonfolk

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Summary

Crescence stands taller than most men at an even two meters (6’7). Her frame is large and muscular; she looks like she could crack open heads one-handed or pull a carriage for the fun of it. Her complexion is lightly tanned, warm and sun-kissed, but her skin is rather rough. Its tone and texture were earned by years of outdoor training and battle. Scars litter her body, though she seems unbothered by any of them. Hers is a handsome face, striking rather than beautiful, yet distinct and memorable. Her hair is a shock of riotous red, cut just above the shoulders, wild and untamed.

Despite an intimidating physique, Crescence is warm, optimistic, and kind. She often sports a huge grin and is always willing to extend a helping hand. She is approachable and easy to talk to regardless of background. Honest and trusting to a fault, she lacks the guile expected in the upper echelons of society. She tends to brush off slights and rumours with a laugh and a shrug: “People will always talk.” She is confident, unapologetic, and unashamed of who she is.

As a mother, Crescence is fiercely protective of her children and wants the best for them. She balances high expectations with persistent, gentle guidance. Nonetheless, her younger daughters felt pressured by her, which she never fully understood. Try as she might to help, a genius with indomitable will often fails to understand the fragile.

Brief bio:

Crescence was born in 967 as a commoner in a hamlet which lies near the kingdom’s eastern border with the Demon Lands. At 12, she earned renown in her village for hunting down a monstrous boar with a spear. At 14, she joined a military school, a small eastern branch whose purpose was training the kingdom’s border defense. At 16, she was a main contributor deterring an invasion of orcs. As a result, she was transferred to the mainland on a scholarship. In the following two years, she won a prestigious tournament, successfully led her designated cadet group on many monster slaying missions, and spearheaded several commoner relief efforts. At 18, she unlocked her aura and was recruited into the elite unit Glavios. She repeatedly challenged the kingdom’s strongest warrior. Passion sparked, romance bloomed, and when she was 19, she married Martenos Kaides, becoming his second wife. A year later, she was the first of his wives to bear him a child; Estelle was born to her when she was 20. At 21, she had Isana, and at 23, Ophelia.

Even after becoming a mother, she continued to serve as a warrior and defender, often seeking out threats personally. She investigated crises others failed to resolve, never growing idle despite her noble standing.

After the assassination on Ophelia, she desperately hunted down leads and suspects. Unfortunately, the culprit was never discovered in the first timeline. After the attempt on Estelle’s life, she was driven to the brink of a violent rampage, stopped only by her husband’s intervention.

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Equipment and Abilities

• Battle axe warrior and swordswoman, Grandmaster.
• Light armour.
• Long distance weapon choice: javelins.
• Augmentation user.
• Notable skills

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@Zeroth I'll let you figure out the lore stuff and abilities. I may or may not add a few war related events (no idea if it's feasible, but had in mind her doing sth like augmenting a whole fortification of some place and just creating a bloodbath despite monsters and demons swarming her at some point).

@OwO, @Rune_Alchemist Feel free to add in to this. As far as I'm concerned, she's a NPC shared between the four of us.

Return of a Failed Generation

Besides the family tree, I feel like I might soon need a flowchart of who did what to whom lmao. Also, I know our sister trio's mom (who is btw the 2nd wife not the first) is a redhead, but looking at the other kids, either Martenos is one too (or his parents) and/or he has a thing for redheads lol.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Banquet fit, a simple princely crown Date and Time: Sola 28th, 6pm Location: Castle dining hall Mention(s): Count Blackwood, Victoria, Alibeth, Kazumin, Nahir, Kalliope, Sjan-dhek, Morrigan, Cassius, Milo, Calbert, Roman Interaction(s): Alexander, Drake, Mina, Violet, Farim, Edin, Callum

His suggestion to Alexander was met with a smile. “You do that,” Wulfric retorted, smug grin in place. So, Deacon was not strictly against the idea. Perhaps he had ambition to take over? It was easy to believe. In fact…Even if that wasn’t true, he could use this. To make Delronzo doubt in his loyalty, to create discord within Black Rose – yes, there were many possibilities.

Drake seemed to have caught the tail end of his chiding. As Wulfric shook his head, his friend quietly joked by calling him ‘sir’. “I fear I must reprimand you when you forget that Your Majesties rather than Your Highnesses is the proper form of address for the King and Queen,” he drawled. Unlike his tone with Alexander, he merely arched an eyebrow. You know better was the implicit message. “You as well, Drake. May you find this evening agreeable,” he concluded with a courteous nod.

The count Blackwood and his niece took to their seats. “Good evening, Lady Blackwood. I am much obliged to you for the compliment.” A flicker of amusement coloured his expression. He was unsure why she and Deacon thought they were being clever by using his title, when it was, in fact, the proper form of address. “You seem…” he tilted his head, “A touch freer this evening.” The air around her and the count was so thick one could cut it with a knife. If the conflict brewing between affected the governance of their county, it would prove intriguing. Aside from its political implications, he could hardly care for their interpersonal drama.

There was minor flirting between Lady Violet and Lord Ravenwood. Yet, tension lingered due to Lady Mina’s and Deacon’s presence. Mundane trivialities. By proximity alone, he remained aware of the general thread of conversation. Lady Violet addressed him directly, confirming she was Deacon’s assistant. “Oh? I had not considered it news. The matter reached my ears as a rumour, originating from the Art Gallery,” he imparted. “Given the unsavory nature of some of the gossip surrounding that particular event, I remained skeptical as to whether you had indeed assumed the role of his assistant.” He paused, then added, “How curious – noblewomen entering into service appear to be becoming somewhat fashionable as of late.” He tested her mood with the verbal equivalent of a light prod. He did, of course, wish to uncover the nature of her dealings with Deacon. “Certainly, we may revisit this conversation in a more suitable setting.”

There were plenty of new arrivals, then.

Callum had spoken out against Duchess Victoria’s lacking etiquette, after which she finally offered a reluctant curtsy. Edin crowed at his action, praising him. Callum – that incorrigible pacifist – preened, and spoke of public shaming as a light punishment. Spoke of correcting disrespect as if he hadn’t suffered for the very same at their father’s hands for so many years. A curse, to be sure. Of course, father noticed nothing strange about his youngest son’s demeanour. But Alibeth did. Unfortunately, the king’s pet peasant jester and his majesty’s revolting behaviour distracted her, but he was certain she would not forget.

Kazumin Nagasa drew attention as he rolled a full cart to his seat, and proceeded to knock over plates and cups. Disgusting. It wasn’t even worth commenting upon that mess of an existence.

Shehzadi Nahir arrived, elegant as always. He caught her glance, and offered a nod. He thought it might be time to have proper conversation with her sometime soon.

Farim greeted him as well. Wulfric also overheard the mention of personal matter he had to discuss with the Caesonian rulers. Good. He intended to broch the topic of his sister’s courtship, then. “I thank you, Shahzade. You are eloquent as ever. May your conversations this evening proceed with as much elegance as you possess.” The Alidasht prince did seem perplexed by Callum’s differences. So, he noticed. That was a mark in his favour.

Whispers rippled across the hall as their Viserjantan guest entered, carrying Kalliope Arden in his arms. That alone drew attention, but the ensuing tumble ensured it. Arden landed on the man’s lap in a manner that left little to the imagination. To describe her as a blushing maid would lend her an innocence entirely unfitting of their pose. Wulfric’s eyes met Morrigan’s, a silent agreement passing between the two.

Compromised.

Because some persons at the table might have missed the scene’s implications, he leaned subtly towards Edin. Even as he whispered to the king, his eyes flicked towards the queen; she was close enough to overhear, should she care to. “It appears one of our agents has forgotten she was meant to be the one doing the seducing,” he imparted, tone low and pointed. “With her focus so divided, it may be time to consider whether her continued employment still serves our interests.”

A minor scuffle broke out between Cassius and Milo, though Arden intervened before it could come to blows. He was too far to discern the details, only that the bastard was upset. It was an event worth remembering, and he filed it away for later use.

With the scandalous display calming, Wulfric’s attention returned to the people nearby. Alexander raised to a minor bait from Lord Ravenwood. “Bored of the game you initiated, Mr. Deacon? Then you ought not attempt to play,” he scoffed dismissively. That such a self-aggrandizing, insipid man dared speak of boredom was the height of irony. “Weak and pitiful indeed,” he agreed with Callum, sparing his brother a glance. Did he favour Lord Ravenwood more than Alexander Deacon, then?

He turned a stare at Alexander. Cool, haughty, the kind of a look he would give to an errant piece of trash blown across the marble floor. “This is why Royal Advisors are subjected to rigorous examinations and training before they are permitted to serve.” If Deacon was so gleeful at someone else’s trial, he might as well create one for the royal advisor to undertake.

Before Alexander could intuit the sinister turn his thoughts had nearly taken, the prince continued, voice as smooth as ever. “To speculate on a man’s violent inclinations when he is soon to stand trial for assault might be considered a tactic, were one feeling especially generous toward your attempt. A pity, then, that your outburst precluded a precise application of strategy.” He dissected Alexander’s bluster with impassive precision.

“Had you not been baited so easily, you might have provided evidence of your claim at the trial. But of course,” he added mildly, “one can always count on a father’s ire to lend weight to such words.” Count Calbert’s paranoia and overprotectiveness made that much certain. “Even so, Lady Violet may yet confirm, deny, clarify, or respond however she sees fit.” His gaze shifted to the woman in question. “A test to gauge her loyalty, perhaps?” He paused for effect. “My lady, what say you?” Lord Ravenwood was sure to lose esteem in Count Calbert’s eyes, if had he not already. Yet Deacon had taken a risk, as even Callum had berated him in Ravenwood’s defense. The crown prince was curious to see whether Lady Violet would tip the balance.

Return of a Failed Generation

Eryx would attempt to befriend Isana. I don't know if she would accept.

@Atlas946

She was hella suspicious in her first life, but I think she could appreciate his quiet presence. Besides training and meditation, some of her hobbies would have been drawing, painting, finding hidden nooks and crannies to hide and chill in. Esp. if he was Ophelia's friend, they could have definitely hung out.

Return of a Failed Generation

Not even a word when their mother died smh.

This second life reunion is gonna be awkward. Ophelia won't know rather to run up and hug her sisters and not let go or slap the both of them.

@Rune_Alchemist

Don't think she was there when mom died, but yeaaah. Awkward to be sure

Return of a Failed Generation

By the way, did Estelle or Isana ever really attempt to reconnect with Ophelia.

@Rune_Alchemist

Isana sort of tried, visited a few times, but she just didn't know what to talk about then. I was imagining this strained mostly silent meeting. Or maybe they did tell each other at least a bit of what they were doing? Idk. Either way, she'd always go back to adventuring after leaving some gifts. And as for during the war, would have def communicated whenever they happened to participate in the same battle if there was a chance. All attempts were likely highly awkward tho.

@OwO Cue Isa trying to chase her if time and circumstances permitted XP