Fantasy [CLOSED] ༺ ★ Star Group - The Children of Dawn ★ ༻

[Isolus]

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[Isolus]

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"The Raven and the Rogue"​

LOCATION:The Queen's Garden​

"Hiding behind these gray walls lay strange horrors ruled from feudal days of a violent dynasty -- Behold, the present ruler: A mad Queen!"

𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀 ━━━
In the dense woodlands west of the Aria capital, the flourishing land is fiercely protected by House Corvus. When the royal hounds aren't scouring the hills on a hunt for the white stag, the sacred site is kept in close watch for the queen's own private court. But rumors among her staff tell their own tale -- when the world sleeps, this is where she resides to whisper secret pacts to the growling gods held in safe sanctum within her own mind. Tonight, as the moon bleeds her light over the Arian Gulf, the queen's court has been stirred from their beds and ordered to attend a party within these sacred gardens. There has been promises of great feasting and entertainment. This is a time of celebration ... but for what exactly, the guests are unsure. But they're wise not to deny such an invitation and anger the Mad Queen of Aria.

"Three must you paint: one to see, one to be and one to will."

𝑫𝑬𝑺𝑪𝑹𝑰𝑷𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 ━━━
The Queen's Garden extends both over and underground. It's exterior is kept in neat order, a grand gazebo surrounded with a marble wall that circles the entire length of the property. The walls are maintained every night through a ritualistic cleaning set in place by the queen in order to maintain their protection runes against vengeful spirits. A giant elder tree stands near the entrance (thought to be a mirror to the 'tree of life' mythos) where an oily black statue of the demon known as Tibetanus stands underneath it. Yet its interior buries itself deep underground - underneath its main dining hall, there are winding labyrinths and dungeons crossing over the deep sewers. Prisoners who are brought here never return.

"Three you must taint: one to wed, one to dread and one to kill."

𝑫𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑴𝑺 ━━━
Were the queen's visions of Cyphos' own doing? Were they simply mirrors of her madness, spinning hallucinations spurred by the growing stress on an already fragile mind? It is difficult to know. But since the rise of the last full moon nearly a month prior, the Queen has been plagued with dreams of what she believes to be foreshadowing the end times. Why is it when all other faces remain blank, there are but five whose visages remain clear to her memory? A wounded lion, pierced by four arrows, roaring among a sea of flame; A bronze owl with diamonds for eyes reclining half submerged in sinking sand; A flower blooming through a wall of ice opens its petals to release a spider that snaps at her hand; A golden ladder that connects heaven to hell; a valley of many names forms a hungry maw and opens to devour the cliffs around it completely. And in each one, she sees their faces. The queen does not know what role these faces have in the world's end -- nothing good, no doubt. It's up to her to stop them before they swallow this world completely. The Keepers pay a steep price. But they get the job done. Only a few days pass before the Queen's prisoners are locked in chains and kept in cages, awaiting their fates at her hands.

code by ditto (head empty go bonk)

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[Isolus]

Robin Aeryn
Location: The Queen's Garden
Mood: Frightened, Confused
Time: Late Evening​

"Bicar?"

The hammer in Robin's grasp thumped in rhythm with the boisterous organ grinder stationed just on the other side of the white painted fence. Among the sounds of the wandering crowds and Balin’s screeching monkey, a small voice pipped up from a tall perch on top of one particularly creaky post. ”Where do the stars go when the sun’s awake?“

“I-”

The little half elf gave a sheepish grin to her Scalesman companion, who only returned a raised eyebrow in return. “Where do the stars go-“ Old Bicar huffed, shaking his head as he returned to peeling away a shattered board from the broken fence. “What sort of question is that?”

“Just wonderin’, is all!” Robin insisted, taking another nail from Bicar's can when he stretched up a strong arm up in their direction. “Don’t you ever just wonder sometimes?”

A low throaty growl left the Scalesman; a mixture between a deep sigh and a tired groan.“Wonderin’ get you in trouble, Bird. Are ya finished with that broken post yet or not?”

“It’s good as new, Bic.” Balin’s organ bellowed its final medley just as Robin hammered the last nail into the fence post. From where they sat, straddled on top of the tall railing, Robin could see everything, even the dancing streamers flailing wildly on top of the canvassed stage in the far distance. Putting on her most serious face, the small child tucked the hammer into her tunic belt as she stood up and outstretched her arms - with a steady ease, they tip toed along the fence top; each boot step silent yet sure to where it should gingerly step.

A twirl; a practiced bow. “Look, I’m an acrobat now!”

“A real natural, aren’tcha? Now get down from there before Finn starts thinkin’ you’re puttin’ em out of a job.”

In one swift motion, the strongman scooped the little half elf in one arm and gingerly set them down to safety in the tall, golden grass. Robin couldn’t hold back the grin spreading across their lips as Bicar’s giant hand ruffled their of already messy nest of hair. They puffed their chest, tilted their chin proudly as they examined the work she and Bicar made. She’d like to see Lagosi criticize that!

“The stars don’t go away durin’ the day, Bird. They’re always there, we just can’t see ‘em shining sometimes.”

“They do?”

“I dunno really. But, it sounds better that way, I reckon.” He dropped the box of tools into the circle of their arms, patting a hefty hand in their shoulder. “Go on, now. Take these back to the wagon before anyone notices they’re missin’ and I get blamed for it.”

Robin scampered away between the canvas tents, the box pressed tightly against their chest. Yet, their steps quickly slowed to an amble across the grass as their imagination was able to catch up with them at last. The passing sunlight between the leaves of the elder trees did its best to reach the grass below - but as the evening came, it’s glow only left soft streaming rays whose only company were the awaking torch bugs. A cricket sang from the safety of the woodland creek. Robin wondered what it was singing about; if it was singing about the night it always anticipated to come or if it were singing about the morning it had missed. Or perhaps, it was hoping that someone else would hear its song; a lover, a rival, or some other lonely cricket in need of company.

Robin hoped it found a friend to sit with when evening came so they could watch the stars together. That was the best part of the night, wasn’t it? The child glanced up to the sky overhead, the box of tools clanging softly in their grasp with each sauntered step they took.

As the dewy clouds born from the sunset rolled away from the distant mountains, small lights mingled amongst the sky’s faded red. They appeared so small, just a mere pin prink - As small as a fairy’s glow. Yet there they were, one by one, here to keep the moon company. Soon, they would colonize the heavens completely, more than anyone could count. And Robin tried to count them all, they really did! But the more they looked, the more the stars multiplied until even the small half elf had to admit defeat for yet another night.

That’s alright. The stars would be there tomorrow and Robin would be waiting count them again. Bicar was right.”It ‘does’ sound better that way!”

═════ ∘◦ ❉ ◦∘ ═════​

It was hazy from here; small blurs of gold danced among a sea of red and blue. The colors bleed into the tall grass like streamers slowly billowing away in the wind. And with that odd fleeting recollection, the mind of Robin Aeryn faded into blurry darkness as the child found themselves overwhelmed by a deep and dizzying slumber. A warm sensation flooded the void afterwards - as odd as it was, it stained the child's memory long enough to mingle the tingling drowsiness with that familiar feeling of wading through the warm crystal water from a mountain creek. Except. Well, Bird wasn't sure which way was the surface and which way lead further into inky darkness. This strange veil of sleep brought only brought about visions filled with shape shifting dreams and her small mind unable to discern these meanings or if they, indeed, had any meaning at all.

Which feelings were their own and which were the ones that felt both foreign and familiar in their vague unknown terror?

And just as quickly as that lucid sleepiness had come, it passed and with it the nightmares of ebony haze and dancing shadows Robin swore she had seen in the grass among the tents. There was no warm colors in the world they had awoken to. No specks of yellow elm trees or crimson reds of the towering aspens that hung their shadows across the theatre's canopies. The warmth of summer was gone, replaced now by a crawling coldness that started in the soles of their worn boots and wriggled their bite at the skin of their legs.

A sharp whimper left the child as their eyes shot open and only darkness filled their sight. Lost in an agitated stupor, the half elf stumbled from her dark corner disoriented and afraid.

Taunt chains and steel bars halted their pursuit. The soles of Robin’s boots slipped upon the water pooling at the steel bottom and the little half elf fell ungracefully onto her side. The shallow water gave a soft, rippling splash. ”Ah! O-Ow…”

The chains around her wrists made it difficult to push herself to her knees. Wait. Chains? Why… was she chained. Robin squirmed and shifted the best they could into a sitting position - her knees were now soaked by this foul smelling water. Water… Water. There wasn’t any need for further persuasion; Robin was on her feet in a mere blink. Her back was pressed tightly against the thin bars of her cage as frightened eyes darted this way and that at the still pools at her feet.

Their breath quickened, their hands rattled in vain in the chains. Bird quickly realized they could only lift their hands as high as their chest before the her bindings clanked tightly; the chains were held taught by a ringlet at the center of their prison.

The ambience around her was hollow and low, rumbling like the groan of an old tired giant. It was much like how sounds became muffled whenever she buried her head in the cool waters of a forest river to wash the dirt from her round face. But, how was this possible? Bird took a peek out of one of the barred windows. As their careful footsteps tread through the murky puddles sloshing about their prison's floor, Robing realized there was something different about these bars - she could feel it prickle against her elven blood, halfed as it was.

Magic. There was all sorts of magic in this place. Perhaps that was what was keeping the marshy water from seeping in completely Outstretched hands moved to the bars, but what the child saw through the holes was enough for them to realize the true peril of their predicament.

This small circular cage they were trapped in was held by a thick, inky, black chains attached to the top, which swayed and groaned with each tug of the water around it. Her prison was precariously held at the bottom of a… Was it a well? A tower? A cave? Robin stretched their head as far as they could. But from they stood, the child couldn't see where the chains lead to. What was at the top of this terrible, terrible place?

"Bicar…? Juno? F-Finn! Where are you?" The hollowness of the waterlogged dungeon swallowed up the echo of her small, shivering voice. Her friends were gone.The sunlight was gone. And it felt as if she had been swallowed up by the world completely.

The frightened child backed away from the bars, as far as their chains would allow them, and shakily glanced around their small, domed cage. It was only then as their eyes adjusted to the darkness that the child realized that they was not alone. There were other shadows in the other cages around them, their bottoms also half submerged in the endless dark waters. Four other shadows…

Their breath quickened, their hands rattled the chains. The little elf's small boots sloshed noisily against the pooling water as they nimbly scurried back to her own corner to hide.

 

[Larry]

Senán Árdfeld
Location: The Queen's Garden.
Mood: Unnerved, though calming.
Time: Late evening.
Interactions: Isolus ​

"Your friends are not here, I can confirm," a voice called out in the darkness in the direction of the young elf, the tone of the man modulated and without a hint of unrestrained emotion: "It seems that we were rather untowardly taken in the midst of our daily lives." Senán had more colourful, if perhaps coarse, means of describing what happened, though he had vivid recall as to what had occurred before that bout of drowsiness overtook him. It was a time after the evening prayers were finished, so the various monks at the monastery were allowed to go about their own business; some tended to go out working in the fields, flittering around the monastery as a part of the brewing process which result in the selling of that beer later on down the line. It was fortunate that the regulations regarding the rule within this particular monastery, allowed the individual monk to choose the time of day when he was to work and when a degree of leisure was permitted. Though other votaries, involved as they were with supplying the monastery with wheat or barley for the fermentation process, expressed disapproval at this slight degree of leniency, the abbot, Willibrord, often said in reply that Enya cares little for the order of a good so long as the good tends to be brought about. Senán, maybe a tad bit cynically, felt that Dom Willibrord was something of an evening-person himself.

Thus, Senán found himself in the quiet environs of the scriptorium, the evening sun piercing through the stained glass window at the top of the room, tinging the light as it passed through. The young Kodalinian would have been by himself were it not for the presence of Br. Jerome, who was busy at his own desk. Senán ambled over to his own workstation, conscious of his fellow monk as he went about his copying. Even from a young age, when observing his father, in a supremely focused manner, wrought and fashion molten iron ore into a variety of shapes, the young man always held a fondness for watching people hard at work, their tacit concentration being something he could look at for a long time. The White Mother Monastery, like most others abbeys, tended to have the scriptoria lie above the libraries, whereby one can easily go down and take into hand a work whose physical state left something to be desired. Certain books, especially those books sacred to the worship of Enya as well works by distinguished theologians, were stored within armaria (book chests), kept within the study of the chief librarian within the monastery, the armarius, who likewise oversaw the condition of the various books within the library and the addition of transcripted volumes into the collection.

As Senán sat down at his task, ready to continue his work from the previous day, he had the odd feeling that he had been in this very situation before, and not in the sense that he was here the day previous. Curious...the young man thought to himself as he got underway. The text at hand was a fairly typical, if slightly unremarkable treatise espousing the various attributes of Enya, and choice moments in the history of Ardunia where She made these virtues apparent, in her dealings with the mortal realm. Yet, at each stroke, the monk found himself becoming every more drowsy, as though the quill were somehow sapping his vitality each time a word was added to parchment. It soon got to a point where, at one final stroke, amidst the blending of various colours within the scriptorium, unbeknownst to his fellow monk, Senán lost consciousness.

The feeling of wetness was what disturbed Senán, who was still in something of a reverie, to a conscious state, where a feeling of shock and confusion overswam the young monk as his eyes adjusted to the confounding darkness. "Where in Enya's name am I?!" the young man muttered with a frantic intonation audible in his tone. It was only as he attempted to get into a standing position, that, as a sudden tautness restrained his movements, Senán realised that he was indeed chained to a central panel at the back of the cage, if the resonance of the links being struggled against was anything to go by. Still, the monk was thankful for the fact that, despite being bound as he was, there was no fetters of any kind. Realising that further rustling against his restraints would be fruitless, Senán shrunk to his knees, at once beginning to recite a prayer, imploring the White Mother for patience and temperance in this odd, and if he were honest with himself, frightful situation. Please, O' Blessed Enya, Matriarch of all mortal kind, should it be within your will, grant your imploring servant the means to earnestly struggle against this challenge he now faces, the monk mentally recited, concluding the prayer, only to be disturbed by the sudden noisiness from the cage situated to the right of his own. If the frightened, high-pitched utterances were anything to go by, this was a child. Wonder, as opposed to worry, was Senán first instinct: what could their imprisoners want with a child, of all people?

"If it is of any comfort to you little one," the monk said disinterestedly, glancing over in the direction of the child, obscured as she was by the pervading darkness of the area, "My name is Senán, and, if the grumbling from the other cages is anything to go by, we're not the only ones bound in chains."

 

[Fred Colon]

It had been several months since Marina had lost everything. She had abandoned even the scant few companions that remained, the ones that had taken her to safety, certain that she would eventually lead them to their deaths, too. It was safer if she was on her own, she'd proven that she had no skill leading others, now. She'd always had the sneaking suspicion, but the evidence was irrefutable, now. She'd failed.

She tore a strip of the travel jerky away with her teeth, sitting beneath a rocky overhang somewhere in Western Del Varde. She was still wet from swimming, getting around the Crimson Checkpoint had been no easy feat, but she... needed to come. She couldn't lead soldiers, not any more. It would be too dangerous to have someone like her at their head, even if Gloria hadn't wanted her head on a spike. But these crusades were unacceptable. The idea of them filled her with a red, raw rage.

She didn't know what she would do. She was alone. She was weak, without her enchanted weapons and armor. But she had to do something. The people of Del Verde didn't deserve what Gloria was doing to them. She'd find some way to help, in anyway as she could, no matter how small. She'd turn her blade on Glorian soldiers if she had to, though the thought made her sick. A traitor, as well as a failure and a coward, it seemed she was. But it was all she could do. She wished she could just fade away into obscurity, but the locket around her neck hung too heavy.

She heard them before she saw them, and froze. Foot steps. People moving through the underbrush, trying to be silent. A patrol from the Checkpoint? She thought she was far enough away that she wouldn't have to worry. Perhaps they were locals? Driven into the forests by the Glorians? Either way, it wasn't good. Soldiers might try to press gang her into the army, or ask questions she didn't want to answer, and anyone from Del Verde wouldn't be terribly pleased to see a human in plate mail, wielding a sword. They'd think her a Glorian Soldier. She was one, after all. Even her armor had the markings of the silver stag. Silverheart might be 'dead' but the stag was still a well known symbol. A well known symbol belonging to an order of disgraced Glorian knights. She'd need to find a way to hide the pattern on the breastplate, for discarding the armor wasn't an option.

Marina kept silent, still, even as the footsteps got closer. She was exhausted from her swim, it had taken hours. Worse than if she'd been unburdened, she'd had to pick her way through waters pushing a small floating basket with her supplies and armor in it. She was exhausted, and she didn't want to fight.

So exhausted. So very, very exhausted. Marina shook her head. That wasn't normal. She knew what exhaustion through exertion felt like. She'd felt that kind of exhaustion more times than she could count, and she'd always managed to push on. This was something else. She could feel herself slipping into darkness. Whoever had done this had masked their spell or magic or poison or whatever it was well. It was almost too late.

Silverheart to control. She launched to her feet, sword and shield drawn. She pulled herself up onto the outcropping she had been sheltering under and scanned her surroundings.

"It didn't work!" She shouted when she couldn't see anyone. Not true. She was holding together by sheer force of will, by her anger at being tricked. But if they thought it was true, perhaps they'd come out to face her. But no one responded. Silverheart staggered towards a tree, stomping through the underbrush where she was usually so light on her feet. She had to find them, before she went under. But darkness had already claimed much of her vision. She dropped to a knee, her sword slipping from her grip.
"Face me like a warrior! Don't skulk in the shadows like cowards!" She slurred. She didn't usually go in for cliche machismo like that, but her mind was too fuzzy to think of anything else to say.
She tried to stand back upright, but her body would not obey, and she buckled forward, face first into the dirt and foliage, everything gone dark.

---

When Silverheart awoke, she found herself chained to a wall, half submerged in water. She kept still, mind racing, trying to collect as much information as she could before opening her eyes to whatever was waiting. It might be best if her captors still thought her asleep. But then she heard a cry, a child crying out for her friends or parents, and her eyes snapped open. She was in a dank cellar of a dungeon, waterlogged and decrepit. Who had taken her? Could they know who she was? No one should know she was alive. Her face wasn't nearly as well known as her name, but perhaps the symbol on her chest was enough to have someone want to imprison her. But why place her in a dungeon with a child? Perhaps slavers? She hoped it was slavers, honestly. If it was slavers they didn't know who they were dealing with, and slavers by and by were cowardly folk. If she could get her hand on a sword and find a position where they couldn't just fill her with arrows she thought she could escape. She'd done it before.

She blinked, shaking her head. But, no. This was no slavers lair. They wouldn't keep valuable merchandise half submerged in water, where they could catch all sorts of diseases. This was a prison, a true and proper dungeon. But whose? And why? The others didn't seem to know, either, by the way they spoke.

"Not the only ones, no." She said, to the voice who had identified itself as Senán. "I am... Marina." She said, almost introducing herself another way. "Who are you? I know your name, but perhaps if we can find a common thread between us we can figure out who captured us." Her tacticians mind was working frantically. Information was half the battle. Of course, battle was the OTHER half of battle, and she was chained up and without a sword, but information was a start.

 

[Hanarei]

Karuna​

A hazy light of a few candles was all that lit up the makeshift bed tucked away in the basement. A place seemingly hidden away from the upper world above although with some reason. Upon the bed a young child but a month past seven laid pale shaking. His hair was unkempt untouched in so long. Sweat pouring down the child's face blood shot eyes cracking open only briefly before shutting again from the pain of even the dim light. His raspy breath escaping as the very sound hinting at the pain that the child must be facing as the strange contagion had ravaged his body to a point now in which upon a brief glance it wouldn't be unreasonable for one to mistake him briefly for that of some partially decayed corpse. The child's rather bony fingers clutching upon the sheets.

Upon the bedside a young woman sat her hands placed upon the child's chest and stomach. A very feint green glow could be seen ever so briefly flickering from her hands. The black cap sat on her head the rim pointed down in part obscuring her eyes with the symbol of the oathbound visible just above the visor. Her black and white garb appearing a bit dingy having gotten dirty due to the squalor she had spent the last few days in having little rest. The brunette was relatively short in stature with a rather modest frame. In many ways reflecting a sense of fragility about her that in perhaps some ways was true though less honest when it comes to physical wellbeing.

"Hang in there alright Tunnat. It will be all over soon!" The voice spoke with a certain gentleness and kindness behind it. Despite the vocal push to keep the child motivated a more keen listener could likely hear a certain degree of exhaustion behind it and just the smallest of shakiness in her words. It had been nearly two hours since she had begun and exhaustion had long since peeked its head. Worst a sense of fuzziness filled her that had been nipping at her for a while the woman struggling so hard to contain. Even if her hands didn't show it, her entire body was shaking as she resisted its effects. The visor of her hat hiding her state quite well even as that smile of encouragement lingered on her lips her far too honest eyes half open with tears.

She wasn't tearing up because of the pain she felt, the mental exhaustion. It was the very idea despite her best efforts the magic didn't seem as if it was taking hold. Despite any suffering she had to endure she was going to make sure the child was cured. She had to do it. Each time her eyes forced closed she bit at her own tongue to help force herself awake despite how much it seemed as if she was being attempted to be ushered to sleep. The very fact she was so tired upsetting her, unbeknownst to her its cause not of her own doing nor the fact her 'gift' as a oathbound combined with her strong willpower just barely able to fight it off. As strong as both factors might be, it was a battle she would eventually lose and as her hands shook it was clear that point was near.

"Almost..."

The glow from her hands intensified as her tears flowed down her cheeks despite attempting to contain them. Every ounce of her very reserves all but fading away feeling such pain. The child groaned out, a spark of life seeming to fill them as their fingers clutched tighter at the sheets as some ounce of strength returned. Just as suddenly as the spark arose, it faded leaving the young woman huffing for breath. The child shaking mildly before stopping, his grip on the sheet easing as if some burden had been lifted from him though still left feeble. The woman tilted her head up as her watery eyes could finally be seen looking at him.

"Thank... thank goodness... I... think... I got it... I just need.. to make sure th..." She muttered as both the exhuastion of the spell and the magical slumber hit her at once no longer staved off. Her body fell limp to the ground her face pale. Her consciousness having left her body leaving her now pale frame drained and nearly lifeless.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
​

Karuna's eyelids were heavy as she tried to open them. She could feel a certain chill of coon water against her feet. She pulled her arms weakly only to find resistance as chains kept their movements more limited. She could hear the voices of others though they were fuzzy as her sense of hearing slowly worked to return itself. It was clear she had gone a bit too far with her magic again that it had taken its toll on her body. A warning she had been given so many times yet even with so few years behind her work she had failed to heed twice... neigh three times now. Was this some sort of... penalty for it? Some weird punishment? The very thought raising alert in her mind though it was a thought that quickly passed realizing just what sort of scenario she was in as her senses started to come back. Now able to make out the people with her though obscured by the dark. Her hearing still a bit fuzzy though able to at least pick up sounds even if mildly distorted.

"This... place..." She muttered rather calmly as she tried to put heads and tails of everything. Suddenly the woman tugged at the chains seeming to panic. Her heart and mind racing as she shook her head grasping at the bars trying to pull free.

"Out... I need out! I... I can't be here... no no... this is... SOMEONE LET ME OUT!" Her voice rose shouting out. The woman pulling at the bars. An act likely looking to be out of fear of her own situation though for her while it was still nerve-racking it was far from her main concern.

"PLEASE! I need to get out! He needs me! Please, please! I beg you! I need to make sure he is okay!"

The volume of her voice fading a bit as a sense of distress filled her. Wherever she was didn't matter. She had collapsed before she had finished healing the boy. He could still be in trouble... and if she wasn't there he could.... he could...

The young woman's eyes watered up as she seemed to start to cry, the sobbing partially audible despite her attempts to suppress the sounds placing her hand on her eyes attempting to control her emotions she often had difficulty controlling. Now wasn't the time to act up. Even if she wasn't treating a patient she had to try and keep her emotions in check for once. She wasn't sure why she was in such a place after all she was an Oathbound. They were meant to be neutral with everyone able to act on their own accord so long as they didn't meddle with a countries affairs. It could be some shady underground group though even in those cases most groups of that 'nature' still wouldn't take such a risk after all they would be willing to treat anyone despite their dealings. Had she done something wrong? The very idea of it causing her to feel more upset worried she could of acted inappropriately. She didn't wish to damage the name of her cause, though she had been so careful to not do anything wrong despite how hard it could be to sometimes hold her tongue.

The sniffling woman rubbed her face with her arm as best she could while chained up as she glanced over to the others. She finally noticed the young girl the girls eyes watering a bit both feeling pity for the poor young girl and a reminder of the young boy she was trying to help causing her to tear up again though doing her best to blink and suppress those droplets from falling out. She shifted to the man who she think had spoken before though his words had been unrecognizable to her. Her head finally looking to the woman who had spoken having at the very least picked up the last bit she had mentioned.

"I... nnn... I am an Oathbound. I.... I was just treating s... someone sickly and... fell unconscious d... do to my lack of resolve... and I woke up here. I... we are neutral group though... I.. I have no clue why I am here..." She spoke out her voice rather shaky and sniffling clearly upset sounding like she might start to cry. She neglected to give her name more so neglecting to think of its importance and skipping over the fact she had asked. It wasn't really her place as an Oathbound to give her name unless asked or if it was to help ease someone to feel more comfortable. She lifted her arm up again to brush her eyes trying to be a bit more calm.

 

[Maverick.]

Mylo Ferenc
Location: The Queen's Garden
Time: Late Evening
Mood: Panicked

Mylo Ferenc spit at the earth, and then immediately apologized.

At first it rejected him, as though indignant to his abrupt attack, but Mylo massaged the saliva into the pile of dirt in his palm with his fingers. A paste formed, and he raised his hand to smear it across his neck. A long breath hummed through his nose. When between jobs, it was his habit to cover the black tattoo of a cross with his own makeshift banner. The mixture could never draw the ink from his skin, but the coverage provided Mylo with some temporary relief from the way the mark seemed to grip his throat.

How soiled must a man be if he cleans his own filth with dirt?

The mercenary rose from his crouch, letting the muscles in his legs unclench. He was alone in the woods again, but he knew the forest wasn't ready to welcome him home quite yet. He had only just left his last job, and it would take a while before the world would recognize him again. Soon, his breath would flow with the breeze that whistled through the trees. The longer his sword stayed in its sheath, untouched, the sooner his lungs would gain the confidence to drink their fill. His blood would flow with the brooks, gurgling cool and free once it shed its fear of spilling. The sound of his heartbeat would be lost to the patter of rain, which would mean he wouldn't have to hear the blood pump behind his ears to the rhythm of nails hammering through flesh.

But Mylo knew he didn't have enough mud to forget himself completely. Because a baptism of dirt looked a lot like a grave, and he didn't think himself holy enough to emerge reborn. Mylo subscribed to no religion. He didn't believe in gods, and he didn't believe in people. If Mylo were to bow, he would worship none but the earth below him and the sky above.

The young man bent over and raised a leg, taking ahold of his boot. He tugged off one shoe and then the other, wobbling a bit in between when his balance wavered. After shoving the boots in his backpack, he began his trek forward. He felt his toes brush against the shoots of grass underneath him. His feet and the blades seemed to whisper to each other when they touched. It was the closest he could get to a prayer.

I'm sorry. Please take me back.

The mercenary's business trips put a strain on his relationship with the land. Each time he left, their connection weakened, and Mylo could feel the forest recoil further and further from him over time. Even after the periods of healing and bonding that occurred when he returned, he was always forced to pull away when his supplies ran out and he had to return to civilization to sell himself once more. He and the earth didn't fully give themselves to each other like they used to, and the young man dreaded the day when they might become strangers.

Lost in thought, Mylo was only barely able to remain upright when his right foot nearly slipped out from under him. He threw out his arms and, after steadying himself, gazed down down at his feet to discover he'd stepped in a pool of blood. He could feel it soak between his toes, greasy like oil. He saw that a smear had spread across the grass behind his heel, as though he had painted it there himself.

Wrong step, Mylo. Whose blood is it this time?

His head whipped around, but there was no other evidence of a death besides what was under his foot. He lifted it, grabbing hold of his ankle. The sole was stained red, and the chilled liquid made his own blood run cold. Although the lone puddle was peculiar, Mylo found it fitting. It was in his prints now. He could run, but the blood would always be one step behind him, following.

Stained sole; stained soul.

The mercenary wiped his foot on the ground and kept walking, fixing his gaze straight ahead. Had he known he wouldn't be seeing it for a while, he would've looked up to admire the pink clouds floating in the sky above him, like salmon swimming upstream to die just before they rotted to black from the inside out.

~ ~ ~
​

No matter how many times Mylo Ferenc wakes to the same dream, he always wakes up afraid.

He knew he was caged before he even opened his eyes. He could always feel it first, and he knew that when he finally lifted his lids, he would see his father standing over him, just outside the bars. His father would be grinning, his eyes flickering with their own fiery glow, stoked bright with resentment. There were, of course, some variations. Sometimes he would find himself glaring down at his own body, sneering as he taunted the cowering image of himself inside. The worst one was when it was both his father and his childhood best friend, Fin, who loomed over him. They would spit his own secrets back at him like venom flying off their fangs as they laughed, and Mylo would have to figure out how many creases it would take before his naked skin could fold in on itself until it disappeared completely.

He did hear voices, but he didn't recognize any of them.

"Father?" he croaked before he could stop himself, and he added shame to his mix of fear and confusion.

He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly, and struggled to sit up while his skull pounded furiously. He turned his head, trying his best to survey his surroundings. He could only tell he still had his legs when he saw them shift around under him. His bare feet were completely numb, and the splashing sound that came from his movements made him realize that he was kneeling in a pool of water. He was not in a Merida cell, as was his usual location for nightmares such as these. His father wasn't there either, and neither was Fin, but— hadn't he just heard someone say Fin's name?

It was at this point that Mylo woke up for a second time.

His body moved before his brain could have any say in it. He immediately began thrashing and pulling against his restraints, like an animal caught in a trap. That's all he was, wasn't he? He didn't know where he was or how he'd gotten there, but none of that mattered. He no longer heard the voices around him, and he didn't feel the scraping of his skin or the burning of his muscles as he struggled. He didn't feel himself bite his tongue, nor did he taste the blood that filled his mouth and stained his teeth like wine.

Mylo didn't scream. Instead, a low grinding sound like bones scraping together came from deep inside his throat as he kicked and flailed. Ever since he was born, his bones always screamed for freedom. Mylo no longer listened to his bones, and his mouth never said what they wanted him to. He'd gotten into a habit of telling them that they were wrong, and he would pretend that he couldn't speak their language. He'd gotten pretty good at quieting them when they begged him to purge himself light enough to fly away.

The joke was on him now, though, because his ribs rushed his stomach, and he threw up.

 

[Isolus]

Robin Aeryn
Location: The Queen's Garden
Mood: Afraid, yet Optimistic
Time: Late Evening


“... Huh?” Robin's small form, still pressed tightly into her corner, rose at the sound of another voice. One bearing a solemn and monotone inflection, yet not afraid to speak a truth she feared to accept. And then another rose from the mist, sounding less pensive and more resolute by the act of their affirmative notion; unafraid and seeking answers. And yet another was stirred. But by the sharp sounds of fear and urgency, only to be later drowned into further dread and despair at the loss of a friend who had depended on them. Their agitated cries to be let out stirred something within Robin to speak.

“D-Don't cry.” Robin did their best to console the sniffling voice. The child was slowing finding her own voice. Even if she couldn't hide the frightened quivers completely, the resolution that she hadn't been swallowed up by the world completely was finding it's way to her lips.

As those round, golden hues began to adjust to the thick darkness, they found neither menace nor monster rising from the shadows in the dark cages around them. There were other souls bound by chains just as she was and while that only stirred more questions than it did answers in their ever wandering mind, Robin felt their stiff shoulders loosen by an ounce.

Shadows shifting along the walls, voices dancing in the darkness. She wasn't alone -- But to whom did these shadows belong to?

That familiar tug of curiosity slowly began to overwhelm her instinct to remain hidden in the darkness. Step by step, the vibration of chains clanking against their own links echoed briefly in the hollow cairn. Water rippled at the child's brief disturbance, as Robin made their way to the cage's edge and peered from between the bars of their cage. Strands of their red hair shone mutely against the darkness when the little half elf wagered a better peek; to match the faces to the voices, if she could. If Bicar wasn't here, then who was it shared her cell?

There were five cages set in a circle among the dark waves. To her left was the voice whose soft tone's did their best to withhold further tears and panic. An Oathbound? She remembers Finn speaking of those aloof healers once or twice, yet hardly had the chance to think much about them. Well, until now, with one right next to her, shivering lost and afraid in the cold waters. Across from the child, a man writhed and thrashed wildly against his chains like a cornered beast locked in a hunter's trap. Each forceful tug shot a jangling echo all around them like the rattling of bones.

Two calmer voices had previously sounded around the half elf and as their eyes adjusted, forms matched to faces and voices began to assert themselves in recollection. A dark haired man donning dark robes spoke mutely to a woman plated in armor appearing as if she might be made of iron then flesh.

“Senán. Marina... Oathbound.” The child tested their names as if to measure how they sounded in her mouth."I'm Robin. R-Robin Aerynn. Like the bird that visits in springtime. Easy to remember, yes?” Her breath left small trails of fog to ascend into the chilly air and vanish like ghosts. “Ah, right - Well, Bicar and I are from a traveling theatre. Bicar is my friend. I'm sure he's looking for me... He has to be!" The child glanced again between her barred cage, searching for any sign of the crimson Scalesman or the towering High Elf or the Foxkinn with fur the shade of autumn's dawn. But all the face she saw bore neither familiarity nor comfort.

“Don't worry. Someone out there is looking for us, I'm sure of it.”

 

[Larry]

Senán Árdfeld
Location: The Queen's Garden.
Mood: Unnerved, though calming.
Time: Late evening.
Interactions: Isolus | Fred Colon | Hanarei | Maverick. .​

As though they were all actors in a play, as soon as Senán introduced himself, his fellow captives likewise did the same; Marina, Karuna and finally the child, Aeryn. There was another amongst them, though, instead of sharing his name with the rest of them, the man, or at least the young scholar thought a man, saw fit to empty the contents of their stomach, as though the conditions were not hard enough for the lot of them. Still, it wasn't exactly something that the young scholar could have dismissed as being completely irrational; if it weren't for his being a bit more unexcitable by nature, Senán too might have reacted in the same way to being kidnapped and enchained in such a forlorn location. As it stood however, it seemed that none of them had any answers as to why they had been kidnapped, least of all the monk. Even from a cursory glance, as much as it would help in such a dark environment, and listening to their voices, nothing jumped out him that would seem to suggest any connection between the five of them. A child, an Oathbound, a monk, and two stragglers, the young man thought over in his mind, relaying the words over again to see if any association could be drawn from them, as Marina had mentioned. Yet no matter how many times he thought it over in head, Senán, for the life of him, couldn't make a single link between this eclectic mix of people if he tried.

It was while he was deliberating with himself that Aeryn, the child in the cage next to his own, spoke. They availed the rest of them their being involved in a travelling theatre company alongside another individual name Bicar. But it was plain in her voice, somewhat shrill and full of latent worry, that this child was clutching at straws in the hopes that this companion of theirs would find them. "As much as I would like to comfort you in the hopes of your companions finding us, and even myself in the case of my brother monks, I feel it only prudent to still such a feeling. Whoever brought us here, had the capacity of personnel to effect such a thing and the facilities to hold the five of us, even if there was a more belligerent and warlike character among us. They will not, I feel, be looking to ease us out of these bindings anytime soon, Aeryn." If it were harsh to do such a thing, to extinguish that clingy thing called hope, even if only it were a trace, Senán would feel inclined to do away with it. Perhaps he was being rather too harsh with young Aeryn; perhaps the thought of their friend Bicar coming to save them was what prevented the child from going the way of the man far off to the side, spilling whatever his innards contained all over the watery surface of the cairn. If there was any consolation to their being so expertly taken and bound in chains, it would be to that whoever did this wanted the five of them to be taken in such a way that no harm was done them. The thought led Senán mind to race again as to who the possible culprits would be, given the delicacy (if rendering someone unconscious could be considered 'delicate') in which they were taken. Might it have been somebody with a degree of power across the realms? Indeed, for the monk could no more than guess as to what part of the continent they had been taken or indeed, in his own case, if he had been taken too far from the monastery.

I tire of this, the young man thought, realising that his pondering the problem rounded up to little more than idle speculation.

"It seems we will have to wait a time before our captors make themselves known," the monk said, his somewhat monotonous tones filing out through the cistern, "So perhaps we can fill the silence and ease our worries by some stories being told. Would any like to speak first?"

 

[Fred Colon]

Silverheart ground her teeth. An Oathbound healer and a child from a theater troupe? Even without hearing the background of Senan and the puking man, Silverheart couldn't imagine what would tie them together. Perhaps just circumstance? Different crimes, same sentence? Then the question was, what crimes were they accused of? She strained against the shackles again, but they held firm. Silverheart felt the desire to just sit back and wait, felt Marina trying to take over, but she wouldn't let that happen. There was always something to be done. Always a way out.

So when Senan suggested story telling of all things, he received only a "I've no patience for stories. You may tell one, if you wish, while I see what I can do to help us actually escape." Perhaps she was harsher than she needed to be, but this wasn't the time to be delicate.

Bold words, for someone who had not the faintest idea of where to start. The shackles were solid, the cages were strong, and she wasn't feeling her best. But sitting still and listening to stories was not an option. Silverheart sucked in a deep breath and began to pull. She pulled with all of her strength. This place was half submerged in water, perhaps the shackles were strong, but weakened by rust and water exposure. There was nothing else to do except see if her theory based on nothing but hope bore out. So she pulled and pulled and pulled until her wrists bled and her arms trembled.

"Damn." She said to herself. That had been foolish. Bleeding, chaffed wrists would let disease come all the faster in a dungeon like this. She began to grind her teeth again, as she often did when she was thinking. Shackled were a problem, but if she could get her hands free... Perhaps something else could be done. She'd escaped a prison, once, by breaking her thumb and slipping a hand out of her shackle. When the prison guard came, she'd managed to surprise him and grab him by the collar, smashing him against the steel bars and snatching the key from him. She really did not want to do that, but was having trouble coming up with other options. She wished she had more information, and her first reaction was indeed to sit back and wait as Senan recommended, but she worried what would happen when guards returned. Perhaps they would simply be taken for some sort of public execution. Then the chance to escape would be lost. She didn't want to do it, but she could. Who else would? The healer? The child? The man who couldn't seem to pull himself together? Or Senan, who was very obviously some sort of academic? No. It was up to her. She felt her locket burning against the skin of her chest. It's not like she didn't deserve a little pain. If it could help free them, no matter how small the chance, she had to do it.

"You there, in the other cage, the one who hasn't introduced themselves yet. How are you doing?"

Silverheart asked, both because she wanted to know, and because she wanted to be talking, to distract herself from what she was planning to do.

"Are you sick? I don't doubt our Oathbound can help you once we're all free." She said.

And though she herself was less than sure they would make it out of this, her voice was perfectly confident, like there was no doubt in their mind they would be free presently. The lie of Silverheart. A façade of confidence, an attempt to trick others into believing it would be alright even when you knew it wouldn't be. She thought she'd be able to leave it behind, now that she was no longer commanding soldiers, but it seemed she wasn't free of it. Lies had become habit, lies so natural to her that her body didn't even register them as lies, didn't give away the duplicity. Only the quivering part that was Marina, deep in her heart knew them for what they were.

She let Silverheart slip away and Marina take over. Marina was better at hurting herself. She clenched her jaw and prepared to pull her hand through.

 

[Hanarei]

Karuna​

Another sense of guilt filled Karuna hearing the child speak up to not cry. Those very words making the girl tear up more as she closed her eyes trying to suppress her tears. Why was she always so bad at controlling her emotions? She felt gulty that a child should be in such a situation and yet uttering such words. Just another notch of failure in her mind that she wasn't the one there to properly try and support her. Still, the fact the girl was speaking up in such a manner did at least make her feel a bit more at ease overall. It was what she would hope to accomplish after all.

The sound of vomiting on the other hand had the young woman rather worried, the sound of the chains rattling beforehand only seeming to hint it was more so an adverse reaction to his own harsh struggles rather then some ailment, though naturally only a closer look would be the only way she could diagnose such a thing. Outside the fact she was still in part drained from what happened earlier and the lack of a proper rest it didn't seem that likely their captors did any sort of poisoning. Her resilience to disease was much greater do to her gift, but even with her resistance to it she would likely suspect some ounce of its symptoms would of shown up from her stomach being upset or other mild symptoms.

She turned towards the sound of the rather blunt man though the darkness hid it she had a frown on her face not quite pleased with his tone being quite negative about the situation. It was... naturally very understandable but it wasn't going to help there wellbeing. Having good morale tended to do wonders for your health, and the place they were at seemed very ripe for making someone sick. A lingering fear though in her mind didn't make her think they would be staying in such a place for that long of a time. It was clear health wasn't a big concern with whoever kept them prisoner. The thought of it shifting back to the poor girl with them making her eyes water a bit more though blinking back the dampness. She shook her head more trying to focus again on what was happening. There was no reason for her to get stuck on things like that, besides it seemed despite being callous he had at least tried to shift onto a topic to lighten the mood.

It seemed as if the woman wasn't quite as eager to share stories. Her questioning the man's wellbeing making her feel a bit better though not quite expecting her to shift her focus onto her. She blushed lightly nodding her head a bit despite knowing it wasn't likely that easy to see her doing so. She wasn't in the slightest bit aware of what the woman was attempting to do. She would of been likely much more vocal against what Marina was trying to do if she did.

"Ah... yes! I'll be able to treat you once we are free. I can make sure everyone is safe and healthy when we get out of here." She spoke with a smile happy the darkness hid away how red her eyes were and tear ridden her face had been. Not a very pleasant sight for trying to invoke a sense of ease. It didn't help perhaps that despite her upbeat words it wasn't as if she had fully rested from before. She was still quite worn down not at her full strength to really be able to do much as far as healing went... at least not without some personal cost in doing so. A problem she was willing to try and worry about later for the sake of keeping them all healthy.

 

[Maverick.]

Mylo Ferenc
Location: The Queen's Garden
Time: Late Evening
Mood: Panicked, though regaining composure; frustrated

Mylo had traded his struggling for heaving, and once he was done, he felt the fight drain out of him. He trembled, his skin clammy and cold. It seemed as though clearing his stomach had helped to clear his head, because he could feel his senses slowly returning to him. He craned his neck to wipe his mouth on his shoulder before sitting back and gulping air like a fish out of water.

But the water was everywhere, and now that he could take a look around, he saw that his cage was located in an underground cavern. He could hear water rushing from somewhere like he was trapped inside of a pulsing vein, but the space was cloaked in darkness. He had to squint to make out the shapes before him. There were others in cages around him, and he saw that they were joined in a circle. The arrangement made him feel as though he were apart of some sacrificial ceremony, and the thought sent a stream of icy dread down his spine. His heart began to race again as though it were making its own attempt at running away, and he wrapped his fingers around the restraints at his wrists. The metal was cool to the touch, and he let the chains chill his palms. The sensation grounded him to reality, and soon he could feel the scrapes on his skin from his struggle and the vile taste left in his mouth from the vomiting.

He could hear those around him, and he did his best to focus on the voices. First he heard a child, and his throat tightened. What was someone so young doing in here? They introduced themself as Robin, and their amber eyes shone with both fear and hope. She said someone would be looking for them. She was wrong. The man in monk's robes— Robin had called him Senán— spoke logically and seemingly indifferently, but his calm demeanor helped Mylo in his own quest for composure. And if he were being honest, he wouldn't mind a story to take him somewhere else right now, no matter how ridiculous the suggestion seemed at a time like this. The woman, who he had heard was called Marina, was doing her own share of struggling, but she seemed to have no more luck than he did.

It took him a moment to realize that Marina had said something to him. His brain was still working itself back into shape, and when she also referred to an Oathbound, he heard a young woman respond. Mylo gripped the chains harder, searching for something to hold onto. The Oathbound was delusional. They were not getting out of here, and they were not going to be safe. Despite his doubts about their escape, Mylo knew that he was going to die trying.

They thought he was ill.

A sick man, born from death. When was the last time you were well, Mylo?

"Mylo," he rasped, recognizing his name now that his mind had spit it back at him. "Mylo Ferenc."

The sound of his voice was jarring, and he could hear it echo eerily through the cistern. It sounded foreign after not hearing it for so long, and it took a moment before Mylo could claim it as his own. Even though it came out smaller and weaker than he would care to admit, it still sounded much too loud to him. The others' voices sounded strange as well, veering from cold, to harsh, to hopeful. Now that Mylo was sure that this was indeed his reality, he wondered how he could've possibly ended up in a situation like this. Why would someone trap him down here?

Atonement. Reparation. Punishment.

"Safe and healthy," he repeated, mimicking the words of the young woman who had spoken last. His frustration made his neck heat up, and it felt like a warm, sweaty palm gripping his throat. He scanned the other cages with narrowed eyes, his gaze making its way around the circle. "Unless you have any ideas about the getting out part, I wouldn't worry too much about the after. We figure out a way to get out of here right now, or we die. That's it."

Mylo was sure of this. What other options were there? He would not spend his life in a cage. He would do whatever it took, but he had yet to think of any ideas. He didn't even remember how he had gotten here, and judging by what the others had said so far, they were just as lost as he was. Mylo didn't have hope; he had desperation.

He didn't want to die here. Not here.

 

[Isolus]

Robin Aeryn
Location: The Queen's Garden
Mood: Afraid, yet Optimistic
Time: Late Evening
Mentions: Larry

As the monk spoke, Robin had to ponder for a moment -- her small childlike mind did its best to discern what Senán had initially said. For he spoke in a way she had neither heard before, with those fancy words she imagined would have sounded foolish in her own tongue yet somehow sounded completely natural on his. A thought passed and they wondered where he had learned to speak like that. Perhaps he was a wandering scholar from some distant realm here to educate himself on the ways of the Ardunians. Or.. Ah- Did Ardunia have schools like that? Perhaps, perhaps not. Bicar would always say there's no need for books when you've got two hands and a good head on your shoulder to guide you. But, she had always wanted to know how to read herself-- Ah, what had the man said again?

Robin blinked, peeking between the bars of their cage, truly doing their best to hold their attention stilled for once. “Oh, I think I understand. You don't think anyone is coming, yes?” The little half elf finally responded after her racing thoughts had finally caught up to her tongue. “That's alright, Senán. If not my friends or your friends, then... Someone! Someone knows that we're down here.” It seems her resolve couldn't be shaken; whether by the monk's honest admonishment nor by the sounds of the constant drip above them, of distant water that made its point to remind the captives that the warmth of sun is far away now. But the small child felt it in her bones; even if they couldn't see them, someone had to be coming for them. Somehow, they'd all be out of here and back to the summer lands of Ardunia.

At last, the man who had been ill moments ago spoke and relayed his name. Mylo. Yet before she could inquire of how exactly they were going to get out of here, the monk beside her suggested a story.

“A story! Yes!” At last, something familiar that Robin could understand in this strangeness. Yet the warrior in the cage next to her did not seem to like the idea... The child tilted her head, where curious eyes stared between Marina's chains and that determined look in her eye. The little bard didn't know it why, but something about this woman sparked familiarity. Not in face, but in function. As if she reminded the child of someone nearly forgotten by the fog of memory. Yet the darkness strained her eyes and voices where easier attach to; sounds normally were for the little half elf. Already, Robin had memorized whose voice belonged to who. And once again, unwittingly, Robin's mind wandered to why this may be. The Oathbound spoke softly and reminded Robin of an ewe in spring, fearful of the sheers yet too gentle to object otherwise. Mylo was ... the wolf. Like the wolves that run the northern peaks, their songs always cold and distant, careful not to tread the path where men walk. And just as Mylo and the Oathbound were juxtaposed, so were Marina and Senán as different in voice just as they were in visage. If Marina were the hound, then Senán was the cat, shrewd and steady, who came and went as he pleased.

What a fable that would make! Robin couldn't help to but imagine of what adventures the four creatures could find. Yet that would have to wait for another day, it would seem. The little half elf eased her steps backwards, gingerly choosing a place in her prison where the water hadn't pooled so deeply and she could sit without worry of water crowding her chest. Robin sat back and pulled her knees to her chest, choosing to take the monk's advice and wait. If only Sparrow where here to keep them company. Perhaps his gentle voice, almost as gentle as the Oathbound's, could sing some ease. But, this would have to do until she could be reunited with her companion. Robin was neither strong nor clever, neither wise nor particularly patient for that matter. But at least she always had a song in her heart, waiting for words to bring them to life again. The child bit her lip in thought, before starting her song:

“Twas in the springtime of the year
When the trees were crowned with leaves
When the ash and oak were born a new.
And dressed in ribboned sleeves.

When the howlers prowled the Ashen road
In the deepness of the night
The shadows of the beasts had blowed
Amidst a lantern's light.

Will the Rambler comes this way!
From sunshine's amber bay,
But shall he dare embark again
To pass the Ashen Glen?"

Who else would pass to the shady groves
To comfort with the shadows there?
To leave a ribbon in the mystic cloves
In the springtime of the year?

The cries of ghouls sway the songs of birds
That when the Rambler calls,
All their voices can be heard
From the bowels of buried halls.

Will the Rambler comes this way!
From sunshine's amber-"

Robin's words clogged in her throat as she felt their cage suddenly jolt. The little half elf stumbled fowards, her palms scuffing against pooled water as the submerged cage groaned and swayed. Her hands shook against the steel bottom, her frightened eyes catch sight of the monk's and the Oathbound's chain shaking as well.

There was a breathy silence, as if no one dared to speak -- and then, just as quickly, Mylo's cage began to slowly lift upwards. Then Marina's. Then Senán's. Robin's eyes widened, as her gaze shot to the open roof above them. From where the chain poured from the hole, their prisons noisily shifted upward. Out of the darkness, into a faint glow where sounds of frivolity grew clearer.

The chains were turning. Their cages were lifting.

 

[Isolus]

The Queen's Court​

“Such a strange thing, is it not? That both life and death can flourish here."​

Ilsa Corvus
Location: The Queen's Garden
Mood: Arduous at Best
Time: Late Evening

Among the sounds of frivolity, a raven stewed in doleful pique upon her cold throne.

She sat regal and arrogant as is every queen's right to sit; dressed in feather collars and violet gowns of silk with trails that wound down the stone steps in long, billowing wisps. Yet under that mane of silver locks, once beautiful in their shimmering fibers but now left unkept to time, pale eyes glowered down over the heads of the party guests. After all, it was she who had ordered them here, forced from their beds and into a partier's gown in order to win but an ounce of her favor. But Ilsa Corvus could not be pleased; not by the sounds of bards recounting her beauty nor the honeyed boar upon her plate slaughtered in her name nor by the last minute gifts laid at her feet by the nobles in her court.

The queen appeared old and haggard in her fine clothes. Hollowed cheeks sat measured against thin wrinkles; cracks like a riverbed ran fervently across her dry lips, forever unquenched by even the sweetest of elderberry wine. Her untrimmed nails forced her hands to resemble claws more than they did hands. Their tips clanked repeatedly upon the curved arm rests, the monarch's mood growing ever more inpatient.

Yet, her mood shifted as quickly as it had previously dimmed. A soft smirk crossing her thin lips as the crowd fell silent at the sound of chains. Beautiful chains rising from the earth to bring forth a bounty of her own desire. The partier's whispers danced among the hollow courtroom when they say what the cages possessed. Five souls, faces of common stock and peasantry, pinned in thin cages like hen awaiting purchase at the market. When the chains did stop, the room fell silent. Their cells remained suspended over the holes they had appeared from, the only sounds the dripping water upon marble stone.

"At last. I tire of watching these chickens drink my wine and share my hearth..." The Queen cooed between gritted teeth. Her voice juxtaposed her fine clothes; A thick gravel coated her words, leaving them tainted with an air that almost felt diseased. As if she were the host of some great and terrible plague, left to fester in the bowels of her mind. Yet if the hollow bags under her eyes and the stilled silence of the partiers were any indication, this has been a regular occurrence for a long time.

Relinquishing her hand's grip of her chin, the Queen's voice sounded over the court. "Light the torch!" She pointed a claw over the basin pit that stood in the center of the circle of cages. "I want to see the faces of those who have delighted in seeing such suffering."

 

[Larry]

Senán Árdfeld
Location: The Queen's Garden.
Mood: Unnerved, though calming.
Time: Late evening.
Interactions: Isolus | Fred Colon | Hanarei | Maverick. .​

Senán, who had mustered as a great deal of nicety as he could in asking for stories, was about to commend Aeryn for the engaging way in which she weaved out that poem, only for their whole environment to change; their cells clanging and battering against one another as the ceiling above them pried open to reveal, at least to the five of them, blinding lights. The monk had to blink numerous times to adjust his gaze to the sheer contrast between the dour, tenebrous cairn and the well-lit, nearly opulently so, room above. But as it so happened, maybe upon hearing the sound of cages being dragged out of the pit, the sound of carousing and laughter ceased as the crowd stood in silent anticipation of the five being dredged up from below. And as they were lifted to the apex of the chain's length, hanging precipitously over the area whence they emerged, the young scholar gazed at the now mute assortment of people, whom in the same manner, eyed him and his fellow imprisoned with the same look of confusion and intrigue. If the fine, ornately-patterned silk robes were anything to deduce by, Senán felt confident in his opinion that these were upper-class; the condescending looks that most of the crowd gave the five, the latter enrobed as they were in shabby tunics, confirmed for the monk that they weren't the more honour-bound sort.

Despite all the tacit muttering and toned-down gesturing, it was the presence of a woman at the back of the room that caught his eye. The woman seemed as though she were a character from one of the stories Senán's parents would have read out for him when he was younger; haggard, unkempt hair, nails so long that they may as well be talons. Yet, for all peculiarities of her appearance, it was her stare that unnerved him. Her pale eyes, like cold moonlight, darted between the five cages at a measured pace, slowly recording what bits of information about their persons that she could, as dimly lit as they were in their cages. The monk felt in his heart, and perhaps reasonably enough in his mind, that this woman was the reason they were all brought here. But why? Why, why, why? The question raged over in the young man's mind as he attempted to decipher the woman's intentions, but, as he thought on it, with the person responsible seated before his very eyes, he was met with nothing but confoundation. For all intents and purposes, this woman was a monarch of some sort. What could a sovereign possibly look to gain from the the five of them? Though Senán, reading often of potentates going out of their way to employing men of virtue and talents in their administration, felt that this must have been quite the innovation.

Being in such a state where lacked any bearing of the situation was being to gnaw at the calm demeanour that Senán usually bore towards other people; the gritting of his teeth was an audible cue as to his annoyance. He was in situations like this before, there was no denying. But with a bit of graft, the helpful advice of a colleague and maybe a bit of luck, he would often find the titbit of knowledge he was seeking. In this situation, with little resources bar his own musings, of strangers being his only counsel, the depth of knowledge between what this queen knew and what he knew of her intentions, was unfathomable.

Senán could do no more than glare at the one who ordered his imprisonment and who, enjoining on her underlings to bring a torch to the cages, sought to see the consternation she had induced in her captives.

 

[Fred Colon]

Marina was just about to pull her hand through when the cages shifted. The water began to flow away as her cage rose into the air with the others. She stopped what she was doing. This was... not something she'd expected. Just who was imprisoning them?

Her question was answered within moments. They rose into a literal feasting hall, where well dressed men and women were milling about, eating and drinking. It should have been a merry gathering, but Marina felt something off about the whole thing. The guests radiated fear, ever so slightly, and not fear of the ones in cages. She searched the room for the source of their unease, as well as for their true captor, and her eyes fell on Ilsa Corvus, the ruler of house Corvus. Her heart sank.

Marina had never met the elf in person. But she knew her face thanks to a few pictures of her in the palaces in Gloria, along side the pictures of other world leaders. It was important to know the faces of all your potential enemies and allies, they had told her. She looked much more... ragged... than she did in the pictures. But it was still unquestionably her. She only hoped she hadn't done enough that the Queen of Aria would have sought out an image of her own face. They were rare, she preferred to have portraits of her in her full armor, but at least one portrait of her without a helmet existed. But she didn't have high hopes. Somehow the queen had sought out Silverheart and found her. That could be the only reason. She was in Del Verde, after all, when she was captured. Not Aria! The queen had gone looking for her.

She looked at the others, and wondered what they had done. She could imagine all sorts of reasons the Queen of Aria would imprison her, even the armor she wore would implicate Marina as a soldier of Aria's enemies, but these others didn't seem Glorian soldiers at all save, perhaps, Mylo. Certainly not the Oathbound or Robin.

Senan was losing his composure, a little. Fraying at the edges, glaring at the queen.

"It seems we've incurred the wrath of Ilsa Corvus the fourth, Queen of Aria." Marina said, as low as she could and still be heard by the others. "She's mad, murdered her siblings and skinned every cat in the nation for fear one of her sisters would reincarnate as one. Don't provoke her unduly. Not unless you see a way out." She couldn't imagine a way out of this. It seemed to her that whatever intentions Lady Corvus had for them were unavoidable, but Marina had to try.

"Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen. Esteemed Monarchs." Silverheart said louder, taking over. Silverheart hardened Marina's soft eyes, and glared out through them at the assembled throng. But despite her anger, she schooled her tone. Polite but unyielding, like she'd learned to do in the army. "I'm unsure of what we've done to earn this sentence. I ask that we be unchained and some of our number be allowed to see a medical expert, so that we can have a more civil discussion. I don't feel it does the reputation of Aria any favors, treating prisoners like performers to be oggled at."

The harsher words she wanted to say bubbled up in her chest, but she managed to fight them down, and left it at that.

 

[Hanarei]

Karuna​

Karuna glanced over towards Mylo as he spoke seeming to of regained himself at the very least to some extent. a relief to say the least for the Oathbound. His name reaching her ears as she nodded rather naturally as she tended to do when someone spoke at least in some proportion towards her. Perhaps a gesture that wasn't the most sincere given how automatic it was as to avoid making someone feeling neglected by her, the very thought lingering in her mind briefly before she shook it away. She always had a tendency to overthink the things she did always worried it might upset someone even if such a thing seemed rather outlandish.

His response after made the poor girl frown a bit in response. It wasn't a mindset she liked being in the front of everyone's mind. As true as it was, she didn't want people to start to ponder the idea of being trapped there forever. They had to try and keep positive, it was the best thing for their wellbeing. They would find there way out of there after all, they had to. She couldn't accept the thought of anything but that. It was something that if she got stuck in her head again she would start crying again and she wasn't going to allow herself to get emotional again.

Be strong Karuna, stout and resolute! Stop being a crybaby, at least for the poor little girl!

She had thought to herself giving another reassuring nod trying to encourage herself. Perhaps a bit of an awkward thing to do around others though the dim lighting perhaps spared her some embarrassment of being seen clearly doing so. What she hadn't expected was that same little girl to suddenly start to sing. The young woman looking on in her direction hearing the words. Her eyes blinking feeling as if she were about to tear up again though blinking and fighting it away. The situation she was in and the lingering exhaustion weren't helping much at all. It seemed though any need to hold back was suddenly disrupted as the song stopped as she felt a sudden jolt of her cage the girl clutching at the bars only a few moment after the girl's voice paused. Her eyes about realizing the cages being lifted up one at a time tugged up.

Being lifted up she couldn't help but glance about looking like a scared puppy with a bunch of faces suddenly around her. It was the face of the queen though that had struck the hardest. The girl suddenly feeling her eyes water a bit trying to blink and force it back once again restraining herself. The queen? How... what had she done wrong? She had done her best to stay neutral, what would she be captured by her highness? She had to of done something wrong right? What could she of screwed up to net her in this place? The very thought of it making her bit her lip refraining from tearing up. Had she accidentally done something wrong and betrayed the Oathbound by acting out of place? had she tarnished their name acting foolishly out of place?

Such lingering thoughts were put to somewhat ease as she heard the voice of Marina speak up. The girl looking on still looking near the bring of tears though her composure easing oddly finding some comfort in what she said. It wasn't a sense of relief for the situation they were in. She could clearly tell this was a rather horrible place to be. The relief came knowing at the very least it might not of been her own actions that put her here. A relief that she hadn't put a black mark on her organization unintentionally. It was a relief that was quite fleeting when she realized just what a bad place she was in, and worst seemingly the others who as far as she could tell have done no wrong of their own to be put in such a place.

The oathbound listened to Marina as she attempted to be diplomatic. A bit of a relief for her. I mean if they can ease the queen down they could all surely go free. I mean surely the others there could see they weren't guilty, particularly a poor little girl couldn't be. Even if those stories of the queen were true... I mean there had to be some reason for it that somehow they didn't see or just exaggeration? Surely she had to be able to deal with reason? She looked to the queen putting on a light smile suppressing her unease as best she could.

"As an Oathbound I am quite able to help treat those who might be hurt. It is part of my vow to remain neutral in affairs to help those in need and to act within the nation in which I work's rules. I am certain there must be some sort of misunderstanding... and if for some reason my personal presence doesn't fit your tastes, I can depart and request for another in my stead .While I can't speak about the others..." She spoke as she felt a pit in her stomach that seemed to reflect on her face. The words she was about to utter seeming to hurt her as her eyes glanced down blinking rapidly as to not tear up.

"... My imprisonment must of been accidental one that I hold no ill will towards nor will such hinder my order's desire to aid your nation as it is needed upon my release."

She spoke as she bit her lip as she seemed to struggle a bit knowing she wasn't suppose to vouch for anyone else. After all even if the queen had a little girl kept captured it wasn't suppose to be in her place to argue against it. Such things she was suppose to overlook as uncomfortable as it was. It was the only way they could keep up their work to help others even if it meant having to overlook atrocities to do so. It was always a dark thought she had in the back of her head though never having come up so directly now as her eyes lingered over to Robin in particular who of the group she could see not even the faintest purpose for such harsh treatment. It bothered her enough that she had to speak up... even if it risked crossing the line a bit as an Oathbound.

"Perhaps if... my imprisonment was an accident.. the others could... also be investigated... if perhaps they were brought in accidentally? N.. not that I think you are capable of doing any mistakes and... I am sure you have only the best of intentions and are very wise. Excuse me for my poor choice of words and if my ramblings were stupid." She spoke quickly finding her choice of words rather poor as she bowed her head seeming rather anguished having went a bit against her code just simply trying to suggest something but feeling unable to help but try to help the others out. Hopefully she didn't come off too demanding even if she wasn't able to word it very elegantly and perhaps speak to some sort of reason.

 

[Maverick.]

Mylo Ferenc
Location: The Queen's Garden
Mood: Emboldened
Time: Late Evening

When the child began to sing, Mylo froze.

Somehow Robin's voice— though small and scared— filled the cavern like birdsong bouncing off the forest canopy. Mylo listened, transfixed, as he stared into the darkness. For a moment, he could remember home. He could see the twisting of roots in the footpaths forged by deer, and he could feel the slippery moss that formed on the submerged river stones underfoot while the stream gurgled around his ankles. He could hear the song of the young robin that floated above him. He knew of the way they trusted their fragile wings to carry them, almost oblivious to the notion that one forceful gust could pluck them from the sky and send them spiraling down to the earth below.

Mylo felt his throat fill with sand. Birds did not belong underground. How could this one have fallen so far from the nest?

Then the earth quaked beneath him, and he could hear the crashing of water as it cascaded off the edge of his cage. He was rising, and for a moment, Mylo wondered if this had all been a dream after all. But he heard the grinding of chains and when he looked around, he could see that the others were being lifted as well. Just as the water had drained from the floor of the cage as it rose, Mylo could feel the weight in his chest seep from his lungs, allowing more room for breathable air. He was still trapped in a cage, but upon realizing that he was leaving the dark underground cavern behind, he felt as though at least one set of shackles had been broken.

His cage jolted to a stop once it reached its zenith, and Mylo pressed his palms to the floor to steady himself. His head whipped around as he took in his surroundings, eager to see where they had ended up now that they had emerged from the cistern. They were in some sort of courtyard, and he spotted crowds of people gathered around them, gazing at the prisoners warily. The setting appeared to be a feasting party, and Mylo got the sense that he and the others were an ominous interruption.

Marina was whispering to the group, warning them to tread lightly. Mylo gazed at the others across the dim fire glowing in the center of their circle. Whereas Mylo welcomed the change of scenery, Senán appeared to be shedding his calm countenance, revealing that his skin had paled to at least some degree despite the defiant look in his eye. Marina was mentioning the Queen of Aria, referring to her as Ilsa Corvus.

It was then that Mylo finally fixed his eyes on the throne beyond them. Perched atop it was the Queen, her smirk jagged like a crack in fading porcelain. The room was deadly silent as her fingernails tapped rhythmically against the armrest of her chair. The taps, steady as a metronome, came as a stark contrast to her frazzled features. It was as though she were counting down the seconds to their sentence on her fingers as she gloated over them, her chin raised confidently as though she would soon exact their judgement.

If the sewer were hell, this was purgatory.

Marina had begun to speak, her voice ringing out like a sword clanging against a metal shield, as though warning of a battle yet to come. Mylo paid no mind to her words, and instead he scooted himself to the edge of his cage where he wrapped his fingers around the bars. He saw that the Queen's eyes shone with malice, and Mylo wasn't sure if they were reflecting the torches glowing around her or if they were lit by some internal flame dancing behind them. Her dark pupils stood in stark contrast to her light irises, giving the impression of a bird scanning below her for mice.

Mylo had no doubt that Ilsa Corvus was their captor. Upon realizing this, he had to bite his lip to hide his smile.

The Oathbound had begun to speak now, her voice like the high pitched buzzing of a fly begging not to be swatted. Mylo batted it away and pressed his forehead to the bars. He could taste the blood in his mouth from when he had bitten his tongue earlier, and he had to stop himself from spitting it out.

He kept his eyes glued to the Queen. If this were indeed a dinner party, it seemed as though he and the others were intended to act as the main course. He met the monarch's hungry gaze, noting how her gown of feathers wrapped around her like armor. She was an intimidating sight, but Mylo knew that despite their position, he and the others didn't need to play dead. Mylo felt that the Queen was a vulture masquerading as a bird of prey. There was a reason people kept things in cages; they were much harder to deal with when they were out. Sometimes, they were even dangerous. There was a reason for all of this, and Mylo knew that this couldn't be a random attack. Perhaps the Queen intended to peck at them like dead rats until they squirmed for her. Perhaps she would feast on them like rotting carrion.

Or perhaps she was trapping them in these cages because that was the place she was most comfortable keeping them.

Mylo felt something bubble up from his stomach, and he was afraid he was going to be sick again. Instead, he found himself having to force down a bleat of hysterical laughter. He pressed his forehead harder against the bars, and he felt a couple of strands of his hair break loose from his scalp with a few inaudible snaps. His cage still dangled precariously over the cavern, threatening to drop him back down at any second, but the emergence from the depths had emboldened him. His teeth clamped down harder on the inside of his cheek. Like Marina had said, he knew he'd have to keep his mouth shut and play his cards carefully. But now he knew what he was up against. He finally had something other than cold shackles to claw at or rough bars to beat his head against.

Now, he knew who put him here. And that meant he knew who could let him out.

The Queen is the captor, and the Queen is the key.