Tae

Pines Holler - A Small Town SoL Sandbox RP [NOT Accepting]

I feel like I've been training for this all my life LOL. Count me interested as well! Got an idea brewing for someone who had a baby in her teens and is desperately trying to make ends meet by any means necessary while not having her kid taken away.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Race: Yuan-ti
Class: Rogue Arcane Assassin
Location: Port Verge
Interactions: @FunnyGuy Minerva @Infinite Cosmos
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
🌸 Leather gloves

Attire:
Gold Balance: 98
Injuries: Gash on hip and thigh, small cut on her head, aching shoulder

Meiyu did not scramble; she uncoiled. Minerva’s kick sent the Elf sprawling, and Meiyu let the momentum carry her, rolling back and springing into a crouch. She rose, slow and deliberate, eyes fixed on the place where Elithar had pinned her. For a heartbeat, she was still, unreadable.

The crowd faded into background noise. Meiyu’s wrists flicked, black silk settling back into place. She brushed street dust from her thighs with a series of crisp, practiced slaps. Her movements were measured, ritualistic. The silver-handled dagger vanished into its sheath in a single, fluid motion.

Only then did she glance at the tangle of limbs. A cold smirk ghosted across her lips as Minerva pinned the mount. "Efficient, kitten. You’ve earned your treats." Meiyu slipped three gold coins from her hidden pouch, the metal chiming softly. She did not toss them. Instead, she closed the distance with a slow, predatory grace, slipping the coins one by one into Minerva’s pocket. "Three coins for the thought-reader. Cheaper than blood on my boots."

Meiyu’s gaze slid to Elithar, pinned beneath Minerva. Her eyes flicked to his throat, searching for the telltale glint of the gem. A strange echo of pain lingered, sharp and private. Only Meiyu recognized its source, her gaze lingering on Elithar with new, silent curiosity. "A pint at the Squid?" Her voice was low, velvet over steel. She let a small, amused breath escape—silk dragged over gravel. "Brave, for a man bested by a kitten." She stepped closer, shadow falling over him, her interest unmistakable.

"Alas, darling, those were my last three coins," she lied, voice honeyed with practiced sorrow. Her empty palms turned up, a pantomime of poverty. "If you’re buying, I might find time for your excuses. But I warn you, my tastes are costly, and my friend here is insatiable."

She glanced at Minerva, eyes bright with challenge. "Let him up. If he bolts, the boots are yours. They’d fetch at least two coins at the last stall."

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Race: Yuan-ti
Class: Rogue Arcane Assassin
Location: Port Verge
Interactions: @FunnyGuy Minerva @Infinite Cosmos
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
🌸 Leather gloves

Attire:
Gold Balance: 98
Injuries: Gash on hip and thigh, small cut on her head, aching shoulder

Minerva's voice cut in, offering commentary on the pin and teasing the captive. The taunt was exactly the distraction a skilled captive required. Meiyu's concentration, already frayed by her companion's constant theatrics, fractured as her eyes snapped to Minerva. The rage at the interruption was immediately translated into a cold, public retort, granting Elithar the window he needed.

"I’d put gold down that says you're only focused on the 'sloppiness' because you're fantasizing about trading places with him right now, kitten. If you want my attention that badly, I'll pin you down later," she snapped back, the comment meant to be the final word in their private argument.

In the half-second that followed, her world inverted. The solid weight of her knee was violently lifted from his chest, her careful grip on his hand was gone, and the cold, unforgiving street met her back with a jarring thud. The fury that erupted in Meiyu was profound. It was not at the pain, but at the amateur failure and the sheer cheek of the reversal. Her hands, trapped beneath him, immediately tensed, ready to fight for control.

Elithar was suddenly straddling her, dominant and close, delivering his smooth, challenging line. Her arm pinned by his leg began to work towards a needle strapped to her leg. Meiyu's lips were set in a thin line of murderous annoyance, but the expression froze mid-smirk. As his body settled, the movement of his collar exposed the base of his neck, revealing the strange outline of a gem embedded where his trachea met his sternum.

The sight of the unwanted, foreign treasure in his throat completely changed the value of the man above her. Her focus instantly shifted from rage to obsessive recognition. Now why would it choose this man as well? She pondered to herself, realizing she may need to keep him close to learn more.

"So, you were on the ship too, I see," she murmured, her smoky voice dropping to a level that was no longer flirting, but pure, intense recognition. She completely ignored his boast and the suggestive challenge. Her golden eyes, now fully analytical, locked on the gem and ignoring his face entirely.

Without shifting her body or easing the intense eye contact with the Elf's throat, Meiyu's gaze flickered to Minerva, a silent, hard command passing between them. "I have three gold for you if you can read my mind," she stated, her voice tight, the offer clearly a bribe for immediate, effective assistance in shedding her current predicament.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: Tough Tavern
Interactions/Mentions: @CitrusArms Stratya, @Lava Alckon Drake, @princess Charlotte and the gang, @Tpartywithzombi Ariella, @Samreaper Kazumin, @Potter Olivia, @ReusableSword Roman
Aesthetic: Outfit

Kalliope felt the pressure of the razor, the hot, stale breath in her ear, and the sticky, cold blood from Marius’s hand pressed near hers. The smell of sweat and blood was the only thing real in the room. Her own lips curved into a slow, wicked smirk, the corners of her eyes crinkling with genuine, dark amusement. She met his intense stare, daring him to find the break. She allowed her hands to be splayed wide on the counter.

The THUNK of the razor plunging into the wood between her thumb and forefinger was startlingly loud, but she was ready for it. The bar counter jumped under her palms, sending splinters flying, but Kalliope didn't flinch, didn't blink, and didn't twitch a single muscle. Her eyes remained locked on his, steady and challenging, even as his pupils blew wide with the private rush of his destructive fantasy.

Tap. Tap. Tap. The blade moved like a precise metronome between her fingers. On the last tap, the razor twisted, kissing her pinkie and slicing the skin. Kalliope merely let the small, hot stream flow.

“There it is,” he whispered, eyes never leaving her face. “You feel that? Barely nothin’. But your head’s already racin’, ain’t it? If that’s a start, where does he stop?”

Kalliope’s smile sharpened, mirroring his own feral grin. She slowly, deliberately, lifted her injured pinkie finger. Her eyes never left his as she brought the digit to her mouth and traced the bloody cut with her tongue. The act was intimate, primal, and utterly unhinged. She licked the blood away with a slow, deliberate grace, savoring the salty, coppery taste.

“If that’s the start,” she murmured, her voice silk-low and dangerously curious, “then you need to carve deeper, darling. You might find there isn’t much left in here to take.” She brushed hair away from her face, making her scar there much more visible and showing she’s no stranger to torture like this. She leaned in, her voice dropping into a chilling, conspiratorial murmur, her gaze tracing the tension lines around his eyes.

“I finished peeling my own mask off a long time ago. But you… you didn’t start with yourself, did you? You started with them.” She tipped her head, her eyes softening to an unnerving semblance of compassion, diagnosing him. “Was it Mummy who always told you to keep your hands still? Who hurt you after he hurt her? Or was Daddy the one who carved the first scar across your knuckles just to prove he was bigger? They made you feel small, worthless, unlove…but you were so much more clever than them, weren't you? So you made art of them too, didn't you? Made them scream, and it sounded beautiful.”

Marius slammed the razor’s spine down beside her hand. Again, she didn't flinch. She held the eye contact, absorbing his manic laughter, and then the sudden, eerie flatness of his face when he laid the razor along her throat.

“By the time you’ve cost me a barrel, we’ll play a fun game. I’ll walk you down this room an’ ask: Which one of you knows her?” Kalliope’s expression shifted, the amusement dying instantly. The threat of taking her identity, of erasing her, was a deeper cut than the one on her finger. “An’ you offered that to me,” he said almost tenderly. “You put the knife in my hand and said, ‘Do your worst.’”

Kalliope’s smile returned, cold and utterly dismissive. She met his eyes, finding the fear of inadequacy that lurked beneath his theatrical sadism. “Physical disfigurement is fun... for amateurs. It's the mental destruction that shows a true artist, Marius. Making an art piece of their mental state so they wish they were physically disfigured is where true masterful artistry shows. Your worst is predictable, darling. I’ll enjoy seeing you try.”

Her smile remained fixed on Marius, cold and utterly dismissive, until Garran inserted himself into the space, bringing the scent of calm, pragmatic violence. She immediately shifted her focus to the man who was clearly the true leader and tactician.

“She’s right about the girl,” Garran said she gave Garran a sharp, tight nod that held no fear, only confirmation. She had won the mobility, but the true price was about to be revealed.

“You want the tap? You get it. Go refill everyone’s tankards.” Garran leaned in, his breath dry warmth at her ear, laying down the true terms: consequence transference onto her allies. “You slip? I don’t start with you. I start with your little friends. One spilled drink, one person screams. Two spilled, two scream...”

Kalliope’s green eyes locked onto Garran's with unnerving intensity, showing she fully registered the weight of the threat. She gave a short, final nod, her acceptance immediate and absolute. “The rules are understood. One scream for one drop. I will ensure the flow is uninterrupted.” She didn't offer a retort, a challenge, or a complaint, only a terrifyingly calm acknowledgment that she was now responsible for the lives of her friends via liquid delivery.

“Move.”

Kalliope instantly pulled her hands from the counter and efficiently took the barmaid’s place. She gave the girl, who was now weeping over a barrel after Marius shoved her, a quick, cold glance that was more a command than pity, though her words were deceptively gentle. “You’ve been relieved of serving, dear. You can make yourself useful over there. Polish the glasses for me. Use your best, yeah? Make them shine.”

Tanner's Lye, Kalliope thought, her hands already reaching for the taps. The acid used for stripping leather and cleaning the worst stains. Every barmaid keeps a jar for emergencies. I hope she's smart enough to know what a 'best' really means.

Her hands moved, pulling the handle with a strong, even motion that ensured no foam and no splash. She was focused, calculating how quickly she could fill the tankards.
I have the room now, she thought, her eyes flicking across the crew members and noting the distance to the doors, the quality of the floorboards, the visible weapons and the possibilities of where hidden weapons might be, and the proximity of her allies. I'll count their mistakes. They won't count mine.

Her hands were now a blur of motion, effortlessly working the taps with surprising efficiency. She watched the fluid rise in the tankards as her mind was already mapping the room and trying to anticipate the next move. She deliberately filled a few tankards for the nearest, neutral tables first, creating a necessity to move away from the bar and into the main room.

As she moved on her first circuit, delivering the drinks, she executed her reconnaissance. Her gaze swept over the stationary crew members: Ox near the door, Marius still lingering by the bar, and the others keeping watch. Her attention lingered most on Maelen approaching Garran. She noted the faint, darkened veins around the witch's throat and the forced steadiness of her hands as she consulted her spectacles, something that seemed to have a special quality to them.

The spell cost her, Kalliope realized. She didn’t know much about magic, but she did know from Hafiz and observing him and the mages he used that it always came with a price. She’s brittle. An opening will be there soon.

She placed the last drink down, returning swiftly toward the bar just as Kazumin's voice cut in, cheekily proposing a drinking game. She felt her heart stop for a moment as she realized what this suggestion could spur. It took everything in her not to glare daggers at the young man.

Then Garran gave a sharp whistle.

The sound was the trigger. Ox moved like a wave, engulfing Drake and wrenching him from the table. Kalliope was already at the bar, snatching up some empty tankards to fill them, and she watched as Drake was slammed against the sturdy post and roughly bound. The focus of the room had narrowed instantly to the hearth, and Garran’s voice cut across the room, announcing the terrifying rules of the drinking game. Three full tankards each. No stopping. No spilling. No vomiting. Every failure earned Drake hot iron. She saw the iron in the hearth, already heating up, and a memory threatened to bubble forth, but she shoved it away.

She snatched up the tray and began loading the tankards for the game. As she worked under the new, intense pressure, she cataloged the new positions and actions of the threats: the man that had stuck the poker in the coals, the other crew member circulating to collect valuables, and Ox now standing guard over Drake.

Kalliope felt the cold shock of the rules crystallize into immediate, scorching fury. She could see the iron poker in the fire beginning to glow and she prayed that those at the table could be steady enough to spare the young Lord that iron.

“Show ’em what brave buys, then.”

The man with the iron didn't hesitate. A few strides, and the poker was applied to Drake’s back. The hiss was loud, wet, and sickeningly final. The smell of scorched fabric and burning flesh rolled out in a wave, heavy enough to choke the air. That feeling, Kalliope thought, the sound and smell triggering again that same raw, visceral memory she had spent years trying to suppress. The rage that filled her was a pure, unbridled, white-hot torrent. Little did they know that they had invoked her own trauma and they would pay.

Death is too good for them, she decided instantly. They won't just die. They will pay slowly.

Her mind raced through the crew, assigning each a meticulous, agonizing fate.

Marius, she decided, would have both hands broken beyond repair. She would break them bone by bone until every one was broken so he could never again perform his “art”. Then she would slowly gouge out his eyes with a spoon and attach them to a necklace she could place around his neck. Never again could he gaze upon a “masterpiece” and he would feel the weight of those eyes upon his neck until they rot and fall off or he gets someone to take pity on him and remove them.

Maelen, she would remove her tongue, prepare as a fine delicacy, and then feed it to the woman. Then she could remove her hands, slowly, starting with the tips of her fingers. She would slowly saw off each and every joint as she watched, feeding each piece to starving dogs, until all Maelen had left were little nubs. She would ensure that the woman could no longer speak her incantations or use her fingers to weave spells.

Ox, well that one was simple. She would heat that iron poker as hot as she could get it all while tying him to that post with chains. She would force his mouth and slowly force that hot poker down his throat as she revelled in the sound of his choking screams.

Now Garran, he would be the most fun. She'd string him up with his back facing her. Slowly, carefully she would start peeling layers off his back until she reached his ribs. From there, she would crack each rib open. One. By. One. She would do all of this to them while gently singing a comforting lullaby, like a mother singing her children to sleep. Make sure that those who survived could never hear the sound of a mother singing again, the sound of a lullaby, without thinking about what she had done to them.

With the tray loaded, Kalliope lifted it smoothly, her face a mask of efficient concentration, and began her slow, deliberate walk to the table. She set the tankards down in front of each person. She leaned in, her voice an almost imperceptible breath, meant only for those nearest her. “You heard the man. Fast. Clean. Don’t breathe if you don’t have to.”

Then, even quieter, her gaze sweeping their faces to ensure focus, but lingering on Stratya. ”Razor psycho boy’s pistol was a single shot, however he’ll have knives, maybe a second gun, but watch his hands. My guess is he won't use a second gun unless absolutely necessary. It's too quick for him. And the witch? She’s brittle. The magic cost her. Look for the fissure. Now drink.” The final look she gave Stratya was one of preparedness. It was a look that said “I'll be taking action soon if you don't, but if you do I will follow and support you.”

She did not wait, but instead lifted the tray and walked straight past the table toward the hearth, a single shot of whiskey now revealed upon it. She stopped before Drake, ignoring the large man standing watch and moving quickly. She hoped Garran and the others were too focused on the table to immediately notice her action.

Kalliope set the empty tankard tray beside him and gently picked up the small glass of whiskey. She placed the cool rim to Drake’s lips, steadying his chin with her other hand, ignoring the proximity of the glowing poker nearby. Let them use it on her for all she cared.

“Every burn is going to be hell like that,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the fire’s crackle. “I’m so incredibly sorry. But you have to fight this.”

She tipped the glass just enough for the strong spirit to touch his mouth, forcing him to swallow. “Think of something that makes you happy. Something that keeps you fighting. Focus hard on that.” She let him drink, her eyes holding his with fierce assurance.

“This will be over soon.” With the whiskey drained, Kalliope swiftly moved away, returning to the bar for the next round, the silent promise of imminent action hanging between her and Drake.

Z-Team: Operatives of the SDN

M O X I E

TIME: 8:10 AM
LOCATION: SDN Meeting Room
INTERACTIONS: @GingerBobOh @princess @Oso @FunnyGuy @Infinite Cosmos @DClassified

✦━━━━━━━━━━❖━━━━━━━━━━✦

Azaela made her entrance slowly, less of a confident stride and more of a tired glide. A soft scent of espresso, warm vanilla, and spiced dark rum slowly filled the room like a curtain drawn against the office's awful reality. She needed this room to smell expensive, even if it wasn't.
She surveyed the gathering, a flicker of hungry desperation crossing her eyes. Every person here was a potential lifeline, a new resource that could keep the debt hounds away. Every emotion was a small calorie to stave off the returning ache of worthlessness.

“Gosh, you all look positively knackered.” She purred, the vowels of what seemed like a soft Australian accent elongating the words, stretching the charm. “Sorry to be the last one in, but I needed just a moment to recharge before diving into all this beautiful corporate misery.”

She started her rounds, her focus absolute.

She approached Quinn first, her voice dipping low in pitch. “You are practically vibrating with genius, sweetheart. You and I, we know the cost of carrying something too massive for this world. Let’s get through this dog’s breakfast together.” She let her fingertips drift against the back of his neck, a proprietary touch that was half-flirt, half-confirmation: I see your monster, and I am the only one who matters.

She glided to Poe, her tone shifting to genuine respect, the only respect she had for a talent she couldn't match. “Poe, you look like you’re five lines of code away from shutting down this entire operation for the day, and honestly, I wouldn’t blame you. Thank the stars for your competence, love. You’re the only thing that makes this circus feel remotely functional.”

She moved to Starburst, sensing the anxiousness radiating off of her. Azaela reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently, transferring a sliver of calming psychic energy to stabilize the Glass Cannon. This was preservation. “You look lovely, Starburst. The pink is brave, and it absolutely works better for you than it does a certain someone else in this hell hole. Don't worry about being perfect today.”

Her eyes moved to the new faces. “Hello, boys. I’m Moxie. You,” she began as she looked to Muyang, “look like you’re ready to cause some real damage. And you,” She looked to Reforge now and smirked, “look like you know exactly how to fix it after.”

Azaela finally addressed Tripwire. She walked to the head of the table, leaning her hip against the corner, adopting his rebellious space. “Mmm, you look like my favourite kind of problem, the kind that makes the whole room sweat. Don’t ever apologise for making things interesting, you hear? I certainly won’t.” She winked at him, but then she caught sight of another by the door. How had she not noticed him yet? Her circuit was complete, but her gaze now lingered on Liam. She felt the massive psychic signature radiating from him–raw, unfiltered agony, an involuntary call for help. This wasn't a resource…this was a mirror.

She walked towards him, slowly, deliberately, her entire posture shifting from the demanding performer to a gentle, almost weary supplicant. She stopped right in front of him, keeping her distance, yet radiating a soft, sincere concern.

“Oh, love,” she murmured, the Australian inflection making her tone sound deeply familiar, like a friend from a lifetime ago. “That is a heavy weight you’re dragging in with you. I could feel it all the way over there.”

She didn't try to charm him or ask for his name again. Instead, she offered the simple, genuine truth of an empath recognizing suffering. “You look absolutely spent,” she whispered, letting her gaze sweep briefly over the scars on his arms before lifting back to his eyes. “I don't know all of what you've endured, but I know what it’s like to feel empty when you should be feeling hopeful. If you ever need a minute to... step out of your head, even if it's just for five minutes in the break room? I can promise you a lovely, utterly blissful distraction, no questions asked.”

She paused, offering a faint, melancholic smile.

“Only if you want it, though. Promise.”

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Race: Yuan-ti
Class: Rogue Arcane Assassin
Location: Port Verge
Interactions: @FunnyGuy Minerva @Infinite Cosmos
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
🌸 Leather gloves

Attire:
Gold Balance: 98
Injuries: Gash on hip and thigh, small cut on her head, aching shoulder

Meiyu had taken barely two steps when the slow, disguised movement of another figure attempted to intercede. The instant the man's hand passed the threshold of her personal space, Meiyu’s newly gloved right hand dropped from her hip. The movement was born of constant, ambient awareness. It hooked his outstretched hand at the base of the thumb, using a sharp, precise pressure point. She used his own forward momentum against him. Her right foot swept low and hard, catching his ankle and twisting it with the torque of his pain.

He went down with a heavy, dust-kicking thump onto the street stones.

Meiyu smoothly guided the fall, transitioning instantly from the hook to a dominant pin. She pressed his hand flat above his head with her free hand as she knelt on his sternum, applying pressure that restricted his movement and breathing. Her slender, silver-handled dagger, drawn from a concealed sheath in a flash, came to rest cold against his throat precisely beneath his Adam's apple.

She looked down at the Elven man, taking him in for a moment before leaning in close, her body language dangerously relaxed, her proximity suffocating. Her voice was the smoky contralto of the Pirate Queen, but the chill in it was glacial. "This is Port Verge, stray. If you're not hyper-aware of where every finger is pointing, you don't belong here. Was that truly the whole plan, or were you aiming for a more... thorough, private inspection? Tell me what you're really looking for."

Z-Team: Operatives of the SDN

POE

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TIME: 8:00-8:04 AM
LOCATION: SDN Office—>Meeting Room
INTERACTIONS: @GingerBobOh @princess @Oso @FunnyGuy @Infinite Cosmos @DClassified

---

Poe stood just outside the meeting room, leaning against the wall with an energy drink already half-drained. The low hum of the building's ancient HVAC system was a constant, irritating background note, occasionally punctuated by the soft drizzle of rain against the window. She had arrived early, out of habit, but saw no reason to rush into the depressing, musty atmosphere of corporate purgatory.

She’d seen Chadwick slip into what she had always assumed was a janitor's closet or a service panel room before the designated start time. Predictable optimization error, she thought. That man’s entire existence was focused on achieving a non-existent corporate ideal; he was pure NPC noise.

At 08:03, Starburst slid in, immediately looking distressed by the sheer amount of off-white wall space. She offered a nervous greeting, clutching a coffee cup that Poe could identify from twenty feet away as a gross violation of a balanced diet. But who was she to judge as she took another sip of her energy drink.

Three agents present. Good enough. It was 08:04 AM.

Poe pushed off the wall and walked into the room, her platinum hair and black hoodie a stark, cynical contrast to the faded, crooked motivational posters. She walked over to the table and dropped into a scratchy chair with a little too much force. The smell of stale coffee was overpowering.

“Morning, Quinn,” she said, her voice dry, without any effort toward warmth. She looked pointedly at his thermos and then back at his face. “Still trying to calculate the perfect coefficient for your morning caffeine intake? You look like you’re about one percentage point of efficiency away from spontaneously combusting, which I’m sure would make your data logging fascinating. Relax, Quartermaster, whatever complicated formula you were optimizing, Chadwick will 're-align' it into uselessness before lunch, I’m sure.”

She then turned her attention to the new face, Sylas, whose domino mask and notepad suggested a commendable degree of preparedness, if not cynicism.

“I’m Poe. I’m the Z-Team’s dispatcher. You must be Reforge.” She gave a curt nod. “Welcome to the basement. I already read your file, so you know the vibe of the Deniable Ops division, yeah?”

Her gaze finally landed on Roxanne’s absurdly topped coffee and muffin. Poe took a sip of her own synthetic blue energy drink. “A balanced breakfast,” she stated dryly, nodding toward the sugary concoction. “I assume the whipped cream is the counter-measure to the actual coffee in that cup. Just try to keep the sugar rush from triggering a full-system discharge before the meeting is over, pretty please.”

Poe paused, recognizing the slump in Roxanne’s shoulders. She mentally tagged the situation as a minor crisis demanding immediate, low-effort mitigation. She briefly scanned Roxanne's clothes, the soft pink cardigan was certainly a stylistic choice.

“Also, the pink cardigan is actually… cute,” Poe added, her voice flat, as if delivering a required, non-negotiable data point. “A good aesthetic distraction from the grim reality of our employment.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Shehzadi Ranya al Kadir

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S H E H Z A D I . R A N Y A . A L . K A D I R Age 20 · Female · Princess of Alidasht · Suna’s Chosen

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A P P E A R A N C E Height: 5’4 Weight: 118 lbs Eye Color: A green-gold, reminiscent of peridot or chartreuse. Hair Texture: Long, thick, wavy; curls when freshly washed. Hair Color: Soft espresso brown Skin Color: Golden tan with warm undertones Face: Smooth, luminous skin; no freckles or moles Distinguishing Features: Always veiled in public, eyes catch light, warmth in air when emotional Clothing Preference: — Public: Modest white & gold silks, veiled, heavy sun + scarab jewelry — Private: Jewel-toned sheer silks, cropped tops, bare shoulders, anklets, jingling gold ...........................................................................................

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P S Y C H O L O G Y Willingness Toward Friends: 4 Willingness Toward Romance: 3.5 Likes: Singing & dancing Warm breezes and sunlit balconies Flirtation and teasing banter Vibrant fashion, jewel-toned silks Big cats and their quiet confidence Dislikes: Being treated like a holy object Fake devotion Having her choices made for her Bitter or flavorless food Hafiz’s spies Hafiz himself (secretly) Sexuality: Bisexual ...........................................................................................

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H O B B I E S . & . A M B I T I O N S Hobbies: Singing & dancing; learning foreign styles Sneaking out Rope dart practice Climbing palace walls & rooftops for solitude Planting “tests” to outsmart guards Stealing kisses & jewelry Exploring forbidden areas Main Ambition: To live freely — choose her own fate, loves, and identity without being treated like a symbol or pawn. ...........................................................................................

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B A C K G R O U N D Birthplace: Palace of Genasea, Alidasht Current Role: Princess; Suna’s Chosen Past Roles: None formally, occasionally pretends to be a servant Family: Sultan Raif (father) Sultana Esrin (mother; deceased) Grand Vizier Hafiz (uncle) Siblings: Layla (29), Aslam (27), Fareed (26, adopted), Amir (25), Kahrem (25, presumed deceased), Nahir (25), Saiya (24, adopted), Mayet (22), Munir (20) Cousins: Farim (24), Kalliope (24; Hafiz’s ward, not blood-related) Skills: Rope dart combat Singing & dancing Stealth & disguise Slipping past guards Reading motives Persuasion & charm Animal bonding ...........................................................................................

P E R S O N A L I T Y . S U M M A R Y Ranya is a study in contrasts. She is serene sunlight on the surface, but wildfire underneath. Publicly, she is gentle and soft-spoken. Her demeanor seems almost holy. Her steps are graceful, her voice calming, and her presence warm and steady. She embodies the ideal of a “blessed princess,” and she performs that role flawlessly. Privately, she is fire personified: restless, rebellious, curious, passionate, and impossible to contain. She loves to push against her boundaries just to feel the thrill of them bending. She is flirtatious, daring, and surprisingly bold with affection, but she chooses very carefully how far she’ll go. She refuses to be a fool like her brother, Munir. She loves and respects him, but thinks him a fool for sheathing his sword wherever he pleases. Her humor is sharp and warm, edged with danger when provoked. When her emotions spike, the world subtly reacts: heat rises, candles flare, and shadows shift. She has a natural intensity, a presence that feels bright, magnetic, and a little overwhelming. Ranya feels everything deeply: joy, longing, anger, desire. She burns bright, but she hides the blaze beneath silk and smiles. To know her is to dance near a flame–beautiful, warming, and just dangerous enough to make the heart race. ...........................................................................................

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H I S T O R Y . S U M M A R Y Ranya was born after a dangerous pregnancy. The labor was so difficult that both she and her mother, Esrin, almost died. Though they survived, the experience left Sultan Raif shaken. He began to see Ranya as something precious and fragile, a child whose life felt borrowed from fate. A few years later, when Esrin became pregnant again and both she and the newborn died during childbirth, Raif’s caution turned into full-blown protectiveness. Devastated and scared of losing the last child who resembled Esrin so closely, he confined Ranya to the palace. He ensured that only family could see her face. He forbade her from claiming the throne and declared that any royal who harmed her would lose all rights to succession. He hoped fear would keep his other children from seeing her as a rival. He couldn’t see the flaw in his logic or how it could cause some to despise her while others adored her. Despite this confining environment, Ranya found ways to carve out freedom. She slipped into disguises, explored hidden corners of the palace, and discovered joy in music, dance, and stolen moments of rebellion. The strange effects she causes–candles flickering, heat rising–remain dismissed by her as coincidence or superstition. Now, she walks a delicate line between love and limitation. She is cherished by her father, closely observed by her uncle Hafiz, and longs for a life beyond layers of silk and screens. ...........................................................................................

O T H E R Companions: Aisha — a white tiger Azrael — a black jaguar Both gifts from Raif; both fiercely protective. ...........................................................................................

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QUESTIONNAIRE I FREAKING FORGOT!!!

Questionnaire

History

Did you grow up nurtured or neglected?: I was smothered. Every step I took was shadowed by guards, every meal tasted for poison, every gown woven with the weight of my father’s grief. I was nurtured like a relic in a museum, kept pristine, kept polished, and kept behind iron bars for "safekeeping."

When you were upset, where was your sanctuary?: The high, sun-baked ledges of the palace rooftops. My father thinks I am a fragile lily, meant to sit still in a vase, but he forgets that even the prettiest vine can strangle the pillars holding up the roof. Up there, the wind doesn't smell like my mother’s favorite perfumes, and for a moment, I am not a ghost’s reflection.

What were you like in your teenage years?: Restless. A caged bird that learned how to pick the lock with a hair pin. I spent those years perfecting the art of the serene smile while plotting exactly how many seconds it took the night watch to pass my balcony.

How close are you to your parents?: My mother is a memory of a scent, a soft laugh, and a face I see every time I look in the mirror which makes it impossible to forget her. My father... he doesn't love me. He thinks he does, but he loves the vision of her he’s projected onto me. His "love" is a chain. He guards me like a treasure he’s already lost once.

Do you have any trauma that haunts you?: The realization that my face is not my own. To see my father’s eyes fill with tears of longing when he looks at me–not for his daughter, but for his dead wife–is a special kind of hollow. And Hafiz... he watches the "Chosen" with a hunger that makes me want to set the palace ablaze and make sure he’s locked inside when I do. He is my uncle, but I get an uneasy feeling around him.

What advice would you give your younger self?: Stop trying to scrub her face off your own. Use the beauty they gave you as a weapon, Ranya. If they insist on looking at you, make sure it burns their eyes.

Were you an obedient child or defiant?: I was a master of theatrical obedience. I bowed low enough to hide the fire in my eyes, and I spoke softly so they wouldn't hear the grinding of my teeth.

What is your biggest regret?: That I didn't cut my hair or mar my face the moment I realized he was worshipping a ghost. It sounds cruel, doesn't it? But sometimes I wonder if I’d be freer if I were ugly. If I didn't look like her, he might have actually seen me.

Romance

Have you ever been in love?: I have felt the heat of attraction, the spark of a dangerous gaze... but love? Love requires freedom, and I have yet to be free.

What is most important in a partner? Describe your dream partner: Someone who looks at me and sees Ranya. Not a Princess, not Suna’s Chosen, and certainly not my mother. I want someone who wants to run into the wildfire with me, not try to extinguish it.

How do you display affection? What is your love language?: I let you see the girl who is tired of being holy. It’s putting my head in your lap while Aisha and Azrael pace around us, or letting you see my hands shake after a long day of being 'Suna’s Chosen.' If I stop being a statue and allow myself to be fragile in your arms, you are more important to me than anything else.

Have you had your first kiss? What was it like?: It was a desperate, stolen thing in the shadows of the jasmine garden. It tasted of salt and the terrifying realization that I wanted more than the heavens were supposed to allow.

Do you believe in love at first sight?: I believe in recognition. Sometimes you see a soul and realize they are the same brand of "broken" or "rebellious" as you are.

What does marriage mean to you?: To the court, it’s a treaty. To my father, it’s a way to ensure my "safety" forever. To me? It sounds like the final turn of a key in a lock, unless I choose the hand that holds the key.

Are you currently crushing on anyone?: No. I have yet to meet anyone who looks at me and sees Ranya instead of a ghost or a goddess. I don't crush on people who worship statues. Besides, my bed is guarded by a jaguar and a tiger. Not many have the courage to try to get past them.

Do you ever consider having children in the future?: Only if I am far from Alidasht. I won't bring a daughter into a world where she is a pawn on a shatranj board before she can even walk. And a son born here would be molded into a sword for men’s ambitions. I will not bear children just to give the crown more toys to play with.

Personality

Describe your ideal Sunday morning: Being woken up by the tigers' rough tongues instead of a maid's whisper. We’d spend the dawn climbing the jagged rocks behind the palace, reaching the summit just to watch the sun rise over a horizon I’m actually allowed to cross.

What kind of person do you aspire to be?: I aspire to be a woman defined by her own scars and her own victories, rather than a daughter valued only for a face she didn't choose.

What bad habits do you have?: I am dangerously curious. I also have a tendency to test people and to push them until I see their true colors. And I perhaps enjoy the scent of danger a little too much.

If you could go back in time and change anything in your past, what would it be?: I would have run the night the priests first declared me 'Chosen.' I would rather have been a common thief than a golden idol.

What is your greatest fear?: Living my entire life as a decorative piece of furniture. Being "kept safe" until I die of boredom and stagnation. Also, whatever is burning inside me. Something slumbers and it scares me.

What are your pet peeves?: People who tell me to "be careful." Guards who stand too close. The way the priests talk as if they have a direct line to the gods' ears.

When you are in a sour mood, do you like to be alone or with others?: I want the company of certain siblings as they are the only ones who know the real Ranya…or I want the silence of Azrael and Aisha. Everyone else’s "comfort" feels like a performance.

Are you more likely to fight with your fists or your tongue?: My tongue is a blade dipped in honey. But don’t let the silk fool you because underneath these robes, I know exactly how to end a conversation permanently.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: Tough Tavern
Interactions/Mentions: @CitrusArms Stratya, @Lava Alckon Drake, @princess Charlotte, @Tpartywithzombi Ariella, @Samreaper Kazumin, @Potter Olivia, @ReusableSword
Aesthetic: Outfit

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Kalliope's forearms rested on the counter as she waited for the barmaid to finish pouring her refill when the massive Ox slammed the door shut. The grinding sound of the oak bar sliding into the iron brackets vibrated through the wood and into her palms, silencing the tavern's roar and killing her slight, comfortable buzz.

When she saw the crossbowmen leap from the loft, Kalliope knew this was a calculated score. Then the shout came, "Hands on the tables!", and she complied immediately. Her hands, which had been loosely curled near the edge of the bar, slowly slid across the bar until they were pressed flat onto the sticky, damp wood. This was not submission, but effective threat management.

Her eyes were free to move, however, and they locked onto Marius as the man on the table fired his pistol. The sharp, deafening bark was a command no one could ignore. She tracked the crossbow, saw the muscle blocking the exit, and then noticed Moira, who had been standing beside the counter all along not far from her, slipping a dagger to the barmaid’s throat.

This one likes the work, Kalliope thought, watching Moira's subtle cruelty. The dockhand's scream followed by the wet sound of his hand being sliced and then the man’s skull hitting the stone wall after Maelen’s gesture were the only lessons she needed. The final, sharp crack of bone against stone made her breath hitch in her throat.

“Fucking hell,” she muttered under her breath, a curse swallowed by the rising tide of sobs and whimpers in the room. Anger swelled in her over the senseless violence and she began scanning again. Her eyes narrowed on the woman by the hearth, instantly recognizing the untargetable power as the most dangerous thing in the room.

Garran’s calm voice cut through the fear, ordering everyone to be made drunk. Kalliope watched the barmaid, whose eyes were wide with terror, frozen in place by the counter, before Marius grabbed her to force her to pour. Her usefulness was zero.

An idea–a dangerous but necessary play for mobility–crystallized in Kalliope’s mind. Her hands remained flat on the counter, but she leaned slightly forward, addressing the man who had ordered the drinks.

“Your orders are going to be a problem,” she called out, her voice loud enough to carry over the hush, yet smooth and practical. She nodded toward the whimpering barmaid. “She’s useless. She's shaking so hard she'll spill a week's profit before she fills the first ten cups. You want them drunk, you need a steady hand at the tap, or you waste your own time.”

She turned her attention fully to Marius now, meeting his gaze with cool amusement. “I’m steady, and I know the flow of the room. I’ll take over the service and delivery. You let the girl take my seat, unharmed, and I’ll get them sloshed in half the time.”

Kalliope's eyes were locked on Marius, offering a final, calculated challenge with a wicked grin. “Here’s the game, razor-hand. If I spill a single drop–if I short the cup even once on the way to the table–you can take the payment out of me. On any piece of my body you choose.”

She let the silence hold the weight of her proposition, her hands remained flat on the counter, waiting.

Roses and Daggers - Looking for new players!

One of us! One of us! LOL. Anywho, hi newbies! I'm a player in this already, but I'm also making a new royal character alongside you guys to hopefully provide a character that's not pre-established in the world yet that you guys can create some relationships with. She's going to be an Alidasht princess and I'll provide her description here:

Shehzadi Ranya al Kadir is the Sultan’s veiled and sheltered youngest daughter. Publicly, she is seen as a serene, holy figure blessed by Suna and some believe she should be worshipped. Privately, however, she is spirited, mischievous, flirtatious, and much bolder than anyone knows. Only her family has ever seen her face and known it was her. In public, she always hides behind veils, screens, or palanquins. She grew up mostly within the palace walls, but she secretly sneaks out disguised as a servant. She loves to dance, explore, and enjoy small moments of freedom. Ranya’s emotions bring about strange little occurrences like candles flaring, metal humming, shadows shifting, but she pays no attention to them.

Sultan Raif does not allow her to claim the throne and he has declared that any sibling who harms her will lose their claim entirely (because succession in this country isn't determined by birth order or gender, but by the current Sultan/Sultana and who they think is best fit.) He does this because she strongly resembles their deceased mother and he's afraid losing her means their mother, Esrin, will be gone from this world for good. This makes her both protected and politically risky. Her uncle and Grand Vizier, Hafiz, watches her with unusual interest, almost as if he knows more than he shows. In private, she prefers colorful, daring clothes. She enjoys singing, dancing, and teasing those around her. She has even trained in elegant rope-dart combat, approved by her father as an extra layer of protection to her. Her loyal companions are Aisha, a white tiger, and Azrael, a black jaguar.

So my thoughts are that she definitely needs some siblings to bond/fight with. There's also potential of other characters from the other countries having met her when she was disguised as someone else. So there ya go! Hoping this can maybe spark some additional ideas for some people!