Tae

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Lys Solwynd

__________________________________________________________ Basic Information __________________________________________________________ • Name | Lys Solwynd • Nickname(s) | Lyssy, Mistwitch, Thorn-Crowned Jester, The Neon Bitch, Wicked Little Thing, the list is endless yet she collects them like trophies. • Age | ??? (no one really knows as she dances around the question, but she appears 23) • Gender | Female…usually • Birthday | April 1st • Race | Fae • Rank/Status | Unaligned Wildcard Appearance __________________________________________________________ [+] • Height | 5’0 • Build | Small but striking – a deceptively delicate frame with soft curves, slightly busty, all quicksilver grace and wild energy • Eye Color | Her eyes seem to shift between molten gold and venom green • Hair Color & Style | Black to emerald-green ombré, long and wavy, often loose with gold cuffs • Skin Tone | Pale with a warm undertone, luminous • Notable Marks | Multiple ear piercings, septum ring, as well as a couple…hidden piercings, thorn tattoos along collarbone and hip • Typical Clothing Style | Lots of black with occasional addition of neon colors – fishnet stockings, black lace, leather jackets, ripped tights, combat boots, corsets, etc. • Aura/First Impression | Electric, dangerous, alluring – like stepping into a forbidden dream • Voice | Velvet and smoke with a playful Irish lilt; sweet when she wants, wicked when she doesn't Relationships __________________________________________________________ [+] • Openness to Friendship (1-5) | 2 “Only if it's fun” • Openness to Romance (1-5) | 3 “Lovers are temporary playthings • Romantic Preferences | ”I do love chaotic souls, dangerous flirtations, and doomed romances.” She’s Pansexual • Current Romantic Interests | None…yet • View on Forbidden Relationships | The more forbidden, the better • Biggest Turn-ons | Subtle Obsession ✦ Audacity ✦ Bold Flirtation ✦ Unpredictability ✦ A Touch of Maddness • Biggest Turn-offs | Clinginess ✦ Jealousy ✦ Predictability ✦ Control Freaks ✦ Obedient Yes-Men/Women/People • Known Friends | Few, if any – chaos isn't built for friendship (I am open to discussions tho) • Known Enemies | Anyone who thinks they can control her (again, open to discussions) • Known Family | ”That’s none of your business” She refuses to talk about them

Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ • Hobbies/Interests | Collecting Broken Promises ✦ Starting Fights (and Then Leaving Before the End) ✦ Dancing in Abandoned Places ✦ Learning Useless Skills ✦ Stealing Names (for Fun) • Likes | Broken Music Boxes ✦ Random Acts of Kindness That Make People Paranoid ✦ Tiny, Useless Keys ✦ The Sound of Distant Sirens ✦ Rainstorms • Dislikes | Authority ✦ Boredom ✦ Cages ✦ Vampires Who Think They’re Sexy Because They’re Vampires ✦ Soggy Bread ✦ Alarm Clocks • Fears | Being Forgotten ✦ Iron Cages ✦ Genuine, Unbreakable Oaths ✦ Silence That Means Abandonment • Habits | Humming eerie tunes ✦ Talking to Stray Cats Like They're Old Friends ✦ Falling Asleep on Rooftops ✦ Writing Entire Fake Prophecies and Hiding Them in Library Books ✦ Stealing a Bite of Someone's Food When They Look Away • Vices | Addicted to Dares ✦ Compulsive Flirting ✦ Feeding on Lust (Emotionally) ✦ Collecting "Firsts" ✦ Sadistic Playfulness Core Motivations Freedom through beautiful chaos. She refuses to be caged – by city, faction, or fate. Personality Over Lys Solwynd is a creature of contradiction, a living paradox born of chaos and woven from beauty. Her spirit dances along the edge of danger, fearless and untamed, finding poetry in every ruin and opportunity in every downfall. She is radiant in her rebellion, a fire that refuses to be tamed, and there is a wild, mischievous grace to every breath she draws. Though she smiles often, her smile is a blade; it cuts as easily as it charms. Freedom is her lifeblood, and she treats all attempts to control her with contemptuous amusement. She sees the world as a grand game meant for her amusement, but she also weaves genuine artistry into her chaos. Lys destroys, yes, but she also creates – illusions, dreams, legends. To her, destruction and creation are inseparable forces, both deserving of her laughter and her touch. She is at once a seductress and a storm, capable of great cruelty and surprising tenderness, though the latter is rare and often wrapped in riddles and dares. Trusting her is dangerous; loving her is fatal. Yet some are drawn to her orbit nonetheless, as moths are drawn to flame. She is not malicious by nature – merely wild, a creature who lives for sensation, story, and the thrill of unraveling carefully spun webs. Those who try to own her find their own hearts tangled and broken instead. At her core, Lys is a living rebellion against inevitability. She is a bright, burning refusal to be forgotten, caged, or controlled. She would rather fall spectacularly than fade quietly, and in every act of defiance, she writes her name deeper into the city's bones.

Background ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ • Current Occupation | Curator of Whims & Wyrd (she owns an antique shop) • Level of Schooling | Educated by the Glamour Itself • Past Occupations | Mistress of a forgotten fae court, runaway myth • Socioeconomic Status | Irrelevant – she takes what she wants (But really, she’s like middle-high class) • History Summary | Lys Solwynd is a mystery even to herself. She remembers centuries of wandering Halcyon's tangled streets, weaving dreams and dares, making bargains and breaking hearts…but nothing before that. Her earliest memories are blurred at the edges, strange and fragmented, like dreams half-remembered at dawn. She claims she was always a creature of chaos, a child of the Glamour and the storm. And perhaps that's true. Or perhaps it's the most beautiful lie she ever told herself. Some whisper that there is an ancient hunger in her magic, a forgotten power that even she doesn’t understand. Lys just laughs when asked about it, spinning another riddle, another dare. After all, in Halcyon, even the truth wears a mask. Whatever she was before, whatever she lost – it is gone, tucked into the cracks of a world that would rather not remember her either.		Race-Specific Questions ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ✦ Fae Section: Race info ▸ Fae ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ • Element Affinity | Tempest • Glamour Specialty | Pact Binding & Glamourweaving • Views on Mortals | Adorable, tragic little things • Views on Vampires | Useful when desperate, tedious otherwise • Views on Lycan | Fun to poke until they snap Miscellaneous ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ • Theme Song | Cult Leader – King Mala, Yes Mom – Tessa Violet • Favorite Food | Pomegranate seeds soaked in wine & salted caramel with chili flakes • Favorite Animal(s) | Crows, Snakes, & Black Cats • Favorite Music Genre | Alternative Rock • Favorite Haunt | The Eclipse & Neon Lanes Bowling Alley • Signature Weapon | Words woven into traps…and a silver dagger hidden in her boot • Preferred Vices | Carnal pleasures, games of power, & thrill seeking • Pet Peeve | Predictable people, being told "calm down", & someone taking the last bite without offering it to her • Guilty Pleasure | Soft, fluffy blankets, petting strange cats, & bubble baths with glitter bombs

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Working on quite the chaotic fae character currently.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: Banquet Hall
Interactions/Mentions: @Oso Cassius, @Apex Sunburn Iyen, @princess Charlotte, @JJ Doe Hala
Aesthetic: Outfit

Kalliope’s gaze dropped briefly to the salt bowl placed in front of her with an exaggerated flourish. A slow breath hissed through her teeth, the kind predators made before deciding whether a twitching thing was worth chasing.

“Salt and meat,” she mused aloud, voice low and velvety with razor-thin amusement. “How generous. Almost makes me forget you came over here to piss on a wound you don’t even understand.”

The bread barely moved as she reached for the salt, pinching a few crystals between her fingers with the same dispassionate grace she might have used to pluck the wings off a fly. But then the drumstick hit her plate with a soft thunk, and for one blistering second, her fingers flexed like she might throw it back at Iyen’s face.

She didn’t. Yet.

Her eyes flicked up to meet Iyen’s again—steady now, cold and unflinching.

“You’re right about one thing.” The words slid out, sharp and soft as a dagger’s kiss. “You’ve been through darkness. I see it on you.” She leaned forward, just slightly, enough that her voice dipped lower, a thread of raw honesty pulling through the venom. “And you survived it. You should be proud of that.”

A pause—brief but weighted, as if she meant to let that tiny flicker of respect land before she burned the rest down.

“But don’t fool yourself into thinking we’re standing on the same ground.”

She straightened slowly, the intensity of her gaze never softening.

“You’re haunted by memories.” Her voice softened, dangerously, almost a whisper. “I’m haunted by memories and the living breathing monsters who made them. I’m not just bleeding from the past, sweetheart. I’m watching the ghosts crawl back into the present.”

Her eyes glittered like broken glass catching candlelight, hard and bright.

“Dangerous ghosts. Ones you wouldn’t recognize if they slit your throat in the middle of this pretty little feast.” She lifted her glass, but didn’t drink. She just held it there, fingers tight around the stem, knuckles pale.

“One of them—” She cut herself off, jaw clenching, that old, terrible fear flashing behind her eyes. “One of them I saw tonight. For the first time in years. And you know what my first instinct was?”

Her smile sharpened into something close to a snarl. “It was to shield him. To get him the fuck away before they could see him. I ran because I would rather drown choking on regret than let those monsters see someone I care about and put a target on their back.”

Her hand twitched at the memory, a ghost of a move toward a blade she no longer wore openly.

“But sure,” she said with a slow, cold laugh, “tell yourself it was just some stupid girl running back to another man. That it’s all a game. That it’s just some melodrama and I want to play with his heart.”

Her gaze sliced across the room, cutting briefly to where Charlotte stood. And then to Cassius.

And it was there, in the span of a heartbeat, she caught it.

Charlotte’s arms wrapped around him, her head resting briefly against his chest.

Kalliope’s hand froze.

The look she gave Cassius wasn’t anger. It wasn’t jealousy. It was confusion. Mild alarm. Like someone watching a page of the story turn before they were ready for the next chapter. Something about Charlotte’s touch… it hadn’t looked casual. It hadn’t looked like a greeting. It had looked like a goodbye.

A farewell.

And Kalliope, who knew a thing or two about goodbyes, felt a strange, low ache spark in her chest.

Her brows furrowed, a thousand instincts firing at once, and if Cassius caught her look, he’d find no teasing there now—only hard, questioning intensity.

Without breaking her gaze from the room, Kalliope plucked the drumstick off her plate and tossed it back toward Iyen with casual, cutting precision.

“Keep your peace offering.”

Her fingers tightened around the base of her glass, but she didn’t drink. Her gaze swept the hall, sharp and deliberate, noting everything.

And then Hala.

Slipping from the hall like a blade disappearing into the dark.

A chill slid down her spine. She forced herself to breathe. Forced her muscles to stay loose. But something felt off. Not just about Hala, but about everything.

Beyond The Veil Interest Check

I am SUPER interested in this! Count me in!

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: Banquet Hall
Interactions: @Helo Leo, @Lava Alckon Drake, @princess Charlotte, Duke Gideon, & Duchess Victoria, @TpartywithZombi Ariella
Mentions: @Apex Sunburn Sjan-dehk
Outfit: Dress, Hair, and Makeup

---

Thea’s smile had long since faded, her posture tense and still as the drama at the table unfolded like a nightmare dressed in silks and lace. She held her wine glass a little too tightly now, the stem pressed against her palm, trembling slightly.

She glanced at Leo.

“Sometimes you act just like Mother,” she whispered, the words soft but heavy with hurt. Her voice didn’t accuse—it simply ached. There was no venom in her tone. Just the quiet kind of disappointment that settled behind the ribs and stayed there.

Her gaze followed Charlotte’s retreating form, and a knot formed deep in her chest. Her lips parted as if to call out, to apologize, but no words came. Instead, all she could do was wonder—had she driven Charlotte away too? Had her attempt to stand up to cruelty made her become cruel herself? Was she any better than the women she despised?

A crushing thought settled on her shoulders like a cloak soaked in ice water. Maybe Charlotte left because of me.

Her fingers curled tighter around the glass. Her stomach turned. Every small thing she had said, every teasing remark, every glance all replayed like echoes in a darkened hall. She thought she was being bold. Clever. But maybe she was just… exhausting. Maybe the people who claimed to care about her only tolerated her presence. Maybe they were just too polite to say it.

Her eyes flicked to Drake, only to find his expression unreadable, distant in the way that hurt the most. And when she felt his hand on top of hers—warm, grounding—something inside her cracked. Because she didn’t feel like she deserved it. Not anymore.

She slipped her fingers from his hand, not roughly, but with that unmistakable hesitation of someone who believed they’d already ruined something that mattered.

Her ears rang with the echo of his speech—so calm, so commanding. It wasn’t anger that hurt the most. It was that he was disappointed. And that disappointment felt like a punch to the ribs. She had made a fool of herself. Worse, she had made a fool of him. He probably regrets ever giving me his attention.

Then her mother’s voice cut through it all, sharp and cold like a shard of glass pressed to the skin. Duchess Alice Smithwood. She had been engaged in conversation with others a few seats down when she heard wind of what was occurring with her children.

“Thea.”

Thea turned her head slowly, her wine glass half-lifted as if it might shield her. Her mother’s expression was calm in that bone-deep, icy way that hurt more than yelling ever could. “How many times must I remind you that your name carries weight? Must you embarrass this family every time you enter a room? And now you embarrass the Edwards. This is why I thought I sent you home.”

There it was. The final blow.

A thousand things sparked behind Thea’s eyes. A thousand retorts, a thousand pleas for someone to say no, she’s wrong, you’re not an embarrassment—but none came. Of course they didn’t. Because maybe they all agreed. Maybe Leo was tired of defending her. Maybe Drake was rethinking everything. Maybe Charlotte…no… maybe everyone was better off without her.

She stood slowly, trying not to let her hands shake as she set the wine glass down. Her chin lifted, her eyes dry, her voice a thread pulled tight and barely above a whisper.

“Excuse me, I believe I need some air.”

She walked toward the exit with practiced elegance, though every step felt heavier than the last. The room blurred at the edges—glittering gowns, flickering chandeliers, the soft murmurs of nobles pretending not to notice. Her mind screamed that they were all watching her. Judging her. Laughing behind their goblets. There goes Lady Thea, drunk and dramatic, just like always.

As she passed a startled server, she reached out and snatched a nearly full bottle of wine off his tray. No words, no glance back. Just a perfectly fluid, unbothered gesture.

But inside?

Inside, she was unraveling.

Because the truth was… she hated herself.

She hated that she couldn’t hold her tongue. She hated that she felt too much, said too much, drank too much, cared too much. She hated that the moment anyone saw even a sliver of the real her, they looked away.

And gods, she needed a drink.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Race: Yuan-ti
Class: Rogue Arcane Assassin
Location: The enchanting bathroom
Interactions: @princess Phia @Oso Talis & Liana
Mentions:
Equipment:

Full Equipment List

🌸 A finely crafted katana
🌸 A concealed dagger laced with paralytic venom
🌸 Throwing needles coated with different poisons
🌸 Black silk combat outfit reinforced with hidden Mithril chainmail
🌸 Soft-soled boots that allow for near-silent movement
🌸 Smoke bombs and illusion charms for quick escapes
🌸 A set of forged documents under multiple aliases
🌸 A tea set and an assortment of teas
🌸 Incense

Attire:
Gold Balance: 71
Injuries: None currently, but has numerous faded scars on her body

Meiyu hit the tile with a hiss between her teeth, Liana’s shove sending a jolt up her spine and scattering her illusions into a ripple of shadows. She landed hard, shoulder smacking the side of a sink as she caught herself with one hand, body coiled like a serpent denied its strike.

She grinned anyway. That bitch was fast. This was going to be fun.

The moment the lights shattered above them and plunged the room into flickering chaos, her heart sang. Meiyu rolled her neck once, slow and deliberate, and then she laughed.

It wasn’t a scream of madness or hysteria, it was controlled, wicked, and melodic. It echoed unnaturally through the tile and metal, layered through illusion and bouncing between each slick, blood-streaked surface like a taunt from a dozen mouths.

And then she moved.

She didn’t charge. She glided.

The flickering lights made her presence shift between real and imagined, shadow and self. One breath, she was sliding low past the stall door. The next, she seemed to flicker by the opposite mirror. Her real form ghosted across the tile in time with the strobe, bending low and silent behind the sweep of Phia’s leg.

Timing was everything.

As Phia’s clawed hand lashed out and her leg struck low, Meiyu followed in a mirrored crouch, her poisoned dagger gleaming like a whisper. She spun into the strike from an angle opposite Phia, boots barely brushing the slick floor as her body twisted like ribbon through a break in the light. And with all the grace of a sigh, she aimed her blade low.

A flash of shadow, an illusioned copy of her form, darted toward Liana’s side from behind, a mere distraction. The real Meiyu came from the blind spot beneath, her dagger slicing in a razor-sharp arc toward Liana’s hamstring with surgical precision.

She didn’t stay. Whether her blade found flesh or not, she slipped away just as fast, back into the chaos of strobing lights and crashing sound. She left only the ghost of a grin and the hiss of her voice behind, one breath away from Liana’s ear:

“Funny how even devils forget to guard their heels.”

Then—she vanished into the dark between flickers, shadows devouring her form once more.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: Banquet Hall
Interactions/Mentions: @Oso Cassius, @Apex Sunburn Iyen
Aesthetic: Outfit

Kalliope sat back in her seat, silently watching Cassius. Her fingers drummed absentmindedly on the edge of her goblet as his words took root in the air. She felt a twist of unease…this was about to get ugly, and she wasn’t sure whether to pity him or prepare for the aftermath.

Then a voice pulled her attention and something was set on the plate in front of her. Her eyes fell to the bread, staring at it in curiosity. Her eyes stayed fixed on the table in front of her, not looking up as the bread was set on her plate like some kind of offering…or a challenge.

The smile she gave in response was thin. Brittle. Beautiful in that dangerous, break-glass way. She let the silence hang for a beat longer than polite, long enough to make Iyen’s words settle between them like ash.

“That’s bold talk for someone who doesn’t know a fucking thing about me.” Her tone wasn’t angry. Not overtly. But there was steel in it, sharp and gleaming. A blade hidden in silk.

She finally looked at Iyen then, slowly, eyes dragging up with the weight of exhaustion and something older—something cracked and aching beneath her skin.

“You think I’m playing?” Her voice dipped quieter now, intimate and deadly. “You think this is some little game where I play with hearts and count trophies?”

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of her lips. It didn’t reach her eyes.

“I don’t play with hearts. I simply bury mine every time it gets close to beating.”

She leaned forward slightly, voice still low, but with the kind of heat that could scorch. “You want to play bodyguard, be my guest. But don’t sit there with your smug little smirk like you know a damn thing about what I’ve lost. Or what I’ve survived.”

Her fingers curled against the edge of the table, knuckles whitening. “Because clearly nothing says ‘I care for Sjan-dehk’ like barging in and flinging accusations like a drunk with a dagger.”

Her gaze flicked over Iyen, sharp and unflinching. “You don’t scare me. You’re not the first person to come for me with a blade and a bad attitude. And you won’t be the last.”

She picked up the bread, tore off a piece with lazy disinterest, and popped it into her mouth.

“But you already think I’m a villain, don’t you?” she said around the soft chew. “So let’s not disappoint.”

Her eyes darkened, tone dropping to a whisper of silk dragged over steel.

“If you think I’m heartless, ask yourself this—why the fuck would someone with no heart look that broken when she passed him?”

And then she smiled again, sweet as arsenic.

“Now unless you plan to stab me, flirt with me, or pass the salt—go back to your fucking seat.”

Her gaze stayed locked on Iyen now, daring her. Letting her know, without a shred of doubt, that if it came down to it, Kalliope wouldn’t back down. Not from her. Not from anyone.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: Banquet Hall
Interactions/Mentions: @Oso Cassius, @princess Charlotte, Calvert, Alibeth, Edin, @Apex Sunburn Sjan-dehk, @Helo Callum, & @Tpartywithzombi
Aesthetic: Outfit

Kalliope's laugh came low, breathy against his skin. Her eyes flicked to his lips, and for a heartbeat, she leaned in close, voice warm with velvet promise.

“Hard candy… hard liquor… hard nights,” she murmured. “I’ve got a craving for all three, but one of them hits a little deeper than the others.” She let her gaze trail down his chest with open appreciation, a spark in her eye that said she meant every word.

But just as quickly as the warmth rose in her throat, it choked.

Her eyes had shifted for just a second.

And that was all it took.

She saw Charlotte’s hands move and a close Sjan-dehk's. Saw his hand move gently to her neck. A moment of softness, of closeness. A touch she recognized all too well because she had dreamed of it. It hit like a slap. Not for what it was, but for what it could be. What it looked like.

She went still.

It didn’t matter that her heart knew how kind he was, how easily he offered comfort. The part of her that still bled believed what her eyes saw. And it was enough to leave something sour in her throat.

So when Cassius offered his hand, she took it.

Not with mischief this time, but with quiet resolve.

She let him guide her through the room, but her smile had dulled. Her spine remained straight, but something in her eyes had shuttered just a bit. The storm hadn’t broken. But the winds had changed.

As they neared their table, she heard Calbert’s voice. Cool and sharp. Then Violet’s, righteous and aching beneath the venom. But it was Callum’s voice that really drew her attention.

Her brows drew together, head tilting slightly as she stared at him—Callum—with growing unease. The words spilling from his mouth were smooth, polished… cruel in a way she’d never heard before. Not from him. Callum was sharp, yes. Sarcastic. Honest to a fault. But never venomous. Never calculated like this. He spoke too freely to play court games. Hated the very idea of them.

She knew the way he clenched his jaw when nobles flattered his father. Knew the quiet way he always watched the exits in a room, never fully at ease. She’d seen that thread of kindness in him too many times to forget it. That subtle pacifism, that awkward softness beneath the sharp tongue. And yet…

“Did I not just see your bastard assault one of my father’s esteemed guests?”

Her body stilled. Her gaze flicked sharply to Cassius.

Bastard.

No. Callum never would have said that. Not about Cassius. Not about anyone.

So who the fuck was sitting in his place?

The air felt colder somehow, the unease slithering down her spine like something ancient and wrong. She turned toward Cassius, but her eyes flicked toward the table where Violet sat tight-jawed and Calbert’s fury simmered like a coiled storm.

Kalliope exhaled slowly. Then leaned in, speaking low enough that only Cassius could hear.

“You should go stand beside her.” Her gaze flicked to Violet, then to Calbert. “She might not ask, but she needs you. And you…” Her fingers tightened gently around his. “You need to be with your family. At least for this.”

A pause.

“I don’t like Calbert,” she added, the words dry as sand. “But I can’t deny he loves his children. And tonight… I think Violet needs her brother more than she needs vengeance.”

She pulled her hand away, brushing her fingers across his wrist like a soft goodbye. “Go. I’ll take my seat and pretend not to be heartbroken and starving.”

There was a faint lilt to her voice—playful on the surface. But it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She then looked to Edin, then Alibeth as she gave the queen a silent look that she knew she would understand as “I'm ready in case anything breaks out and I'm listening as always.” Her eyes fell on Callum once more as she stared at him for a heartbeat, eyes narrowing slightly before leaving him.

She turned from Cassius and made her way toward her seat, shoulders straight, chin lifted, but her steps dragged just a little more than usual. She told herself it was the heels. The weight of the evening. The sting of Callum’s words still echoing in her mind.

And then she passed him.

Sjan-dehk.

She might have kept walking, might have even managed to ignore him, if she hadn’t glanced up.

Their eyes met.

It wasn’t anger that flickered in hers. No, it was something softer, sadder. A flicker of confusion. Of disappointment. Of doubt. She hadn’t given her heart to him, not fully, not yet… but the bruised thing in her chest still flinched at the sight.

And the worst part?

She didn’t even know if she had the right.

Her gaze dropped, lashes lowering as she passed by, offering no smile, no word. Only silence—and the faint rustle of fabric as she took her seat at the table, hands folded a little too tightly in her lap.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: Banquet Hall
Interactions: @Rodiak Zarai, @CitrusArms Stratya
Attire: Look Leo! Green! Also hair…

---

Torvi let out a low, smoky chuckle. “Saffron, is it?” she mused, golden eyes glittering beneath the warm chandelier light. “Sharp, rare, expensive, and a little overwhelming in the wrong hands. I will take it.” She smirked, voice dipping in amusement. “But be warned, I do not come in small doses.”

Her gaze drifted across Zarai's honey-slicked fingers and the offered piece of ham. She leaned forward slightly, elbow resting on the table, chin brushing her knuckles. “Careful offering sweets to someone like me… I might get used to being spoiled.” And with that, she took the piece of ham and ate it, nodding in approval. “It is quite delicious.”

Despite her playful tone, Torvi logged every word Zarai said with silent precision. She’d learned long ago that the key to unlocking secrets often lay in the strange, offhand comments like the pinky on the glass, the way someone paused when introducing themselves, the way magic clung to the air like smoke when someone was lying.

Zarai's odd musings were filed away, quietly noted with growing curiosity.

Movement near the entrance of the banquet hall caught her attention. A man entered carrying a woman in his arms. The woman struggled, visibly unhappy, and before either of them could properly recover their balance, they tumbled down in an awkward heap. Torvi’s eyes narrowed slightly, noting the tension in the woman's body and the slight hesitation in the man’s grip. Not enough to intervene… yet. But her instincts stirred.

Her gaze shifted to the side where another, entirely separate moment of friction flared. Two men, one practically radiating the intent to strike, stood locked in a charged conversation. Torvi’s fingers twitched near the edge of her belt, instinctively calculating distance. Then, just as quickly as the tension had spiked, it dissolved. The woman who’d fallen, clearly no stranger to managing chaos, was already diffusing the situation with grace. Hm. Interesting.

Torvi returned her attention to her table just in time to witness a knight dropping into a chair down the way and launching an attack on a plate of ribs with admirable gusto. Torvi observed for a beat, amused by the woman’s single-minded determination. When Zarai whispered “She’s fighting ghosts,” Torvi huffed a soft laugh and murmured back, “And I cannot tell who is winning.”

She watched the woman for a moment longer before speaking up. “You,” she called smoothly, “look like you would be far more interesting company than an empty chair.”

Then came the glint in her eye. “And if you are worried about seating arrangements, do not be.”

Rising with a fluid grace, Torvi strolled toward the knight’s end of the table, but not before grabbing the name tag in front of the seat next to her. As she reached her, she leaned—just a little more than necessary—across the table to grab her name tag, noting the name there. The movement offered the knight a brief, unobstructed view down the subtle V of Torvi's gown, the fabric dipping low where dark green met pale skin. Her silver hair spilled forward like moonlight over her shoulder.

“Pardon me,” she said, her voice laced with playful amusement. “You’ve just been reassigned.” She plucked the knight’s name card and replaced it with Sir Matthias—quick, bold, and unapologetic. Before moving away, Torvi reached for a rib and selected one with a glossy sheen of glaze still steaming from the platter. She brought it to her lips, eyes half-lidded, and took a slow, deliberate bite. Her teeth sank into the tender meat, the juices glossing her lower lip as she hummed low in her throat, savoring it.

Her golden gaze lifted to Stratya’s, intense and unreadable as she licked a trace of honeyed glaze from the corner of her mouth with a slow, purposeful motion. “Mmm.” Her eyes flicked to Stratya, mischief dancing in her gaze. “I came for a banquet, not to be seduced by a rib.” She chuckled before turning and motioning for Stratya to follow.

She returned to her seat, setting the newly reassigned tag beside her and gesturing with a flick of her fingers. “There. Now you have no excuse.”

Glancing back to Zarai, her lips curled again. “Let’s see if our rib-conquering friend has a tale as bold as her appetite.”

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Race: Yuan-ti
Class: Rogue Arcane Assassin
Location: The enchanting bathroom
Interactions: @princess Phia @Oso Talis & Liana
Mentions:
Equipment:

Full Equipment List

🌸 A finely crafted katana
🌸 A concealed dagger laced with paralytic venom
🌸 Throwing needles coated with different poisons
🌸 Black silk combat outfit reinforced with hidden Mithril chainmail
🌸 Soft-soled boots that allow for near-silent movement
🌸 Smoke bombs and illusion charms for quick escapes
🌸 A set of forged documents under multiple aliases
🌸 A tea set and an assortment of teas
🌸 Incense

Attire:
Gold Balance: 71
Injuries: None currently, but has numerous faded scars on her body

As Liana’s words hung in the air, Meiyu’s lips curled into a dangerous, almost flirtatious smile.

“It really is a shame…” she purred, her eyes locking onto Liana’s with a cool, calculating gaze, “…that I might have to disappoint such a pretty girl.”

Meiyu was already in motion when the ship rocked violently beneath her feet. The sudden explosion from the cargo hold reverberated through the floor, catching her mid-step, forcing her to briefly adjust her balance. Her teeth clenched with irritation—not fear. This was becoming annoyingly unpredictable.

She twisted sharply as Liana's dagger sliced toward her. With practiced agility, Meiyu pivoted, narrowly evading the shimmering obsidian blade as it embedded itself into the wall mere inches from her cheek. Her eyes flicked to the weapon, appreciating its deadly beauty even as adrenaline surged through her veins. Close, she acknowledged begrudgingly. “I was rather hoping I’d get you out of those clothes without the mess. But if we’re bleeding for fashion now, I call dibs on the coat.”

The air was a storm now, chaotic with motion and fury, charged by Phia’s animalistic scream of pain and rage. It was raw, untrained emotion—exactly the distraction Meiyu needed. Her calculating gaze darted swiftly across the cramped room, tracking Liana as Phia threw herself forward, staff driving in wild, brutal arcs. Useful after all, Meiyu thought coldly of the elven girl.

She knew she had to act quickly, decisively, before the hooded woman could regain full control. Meiyu’s fingers traced a rapid pattern in the air, her whispered incantation barely audible beneath the chaos. Shadows twisted from beneath sinks and corners, flowing toward her fingertips. She couldn’t blend entirely, not in this harsh light, but subtle illusions were another matter entirely.

With a flick of her wrist, the gathered shadows surged outward, coalescing into ghostly silhouettes mirroring Phia’s furious form. They lunged at Liana from multiple angles, indistinct and shifting, confusing the eye in hopes of creating openings where none existed. Meiyu danced gracefully around the perimeter of their skirmish, her presence now half-hidden behind the hazy forms of her illusion.

She patiently circled, waiting for that heartbeat of distraction. She waited for Liana to react to Phia's attacks, and that's when Meiyu would strike. She darted forward, a shadow herself, drawing her dagger with lethal elegance. The weapon gleamed faintly, coated in paralytic venom potent enough to bring down creatures twice Liana’s strength, assuming it landed true.

She closed swiftly, blade arcing silently toward the cloaked woman’s exposed side, timing her strike precisely as Phia pressed one of her reckless attacks. Meiyu’s pulse was steady, her breathing controlled. This wasn’t vengeance, nor friendship—just cold, ruthless opportunity.

And if Liana was even half as dangerous as she suspected, Meiyu was fully prepared to vanish into smoke and illusion at the slightest indication she’d underestimated her target. After all, pride was useful… but survival was paramount.