Fantasy Lost Sanctuary (Main Thread)

[Melon Bomb]

Trine Sanctuary, Summer, Year 616​

As far as the eye could see, there was an ocean of blue above, and a sea of green below; a clear sky, married to a horizon of soft flowing grass with the precision of a painter’s stroke. And like a canvas, its composition would not be complete without a subject.

A single chair and table, both sheer white, stood stark against the background of two colors. In its seat, a lone individual raised her hand, a floating mirror suspended before her. Revealed in the glass was a great white fox curled up within its den, its body gently rising and falling in its sleep. Outside, several armed men watched over the beast, oblivious to the stranger’s gaze.

Her fingers shook, as though holding the mirror brought her immense pain. With a rash swipe of her hand the image vanished, and her own tear-stained face was reflected in the glass.

***

Glass cups clanked to the sound of cheer and the noise of voices buzzing together into party ambiance. Delicate murals of gods and men in splashes of myriad colors could be seen painstakingly traced into the ceiling, from which elaborate golden chandeliers dangled by the chain.

Lower down, large rectangular panes embedded into the wall offered windows to a pitch black night sky. Most of the idle bodies gravitated to them, swirling their drinks to look occupied or gazing up to the stars.

Lastly, the polished marble floor was alive with expensive shoes, swaying to and fro to the tune of the pianist, who eased out a cool mellow melody. Though the noblemen of Trine had arrived on business, it was in spirit to mingle and be jovial while the people of the slums knocked out on filthy bedrolls infested with rats or something.

Alisa took the hand of an older gentleman, dragging him to the floor to dance with an amused smile on her lips. Her steps flowed less with the room, and more with her own pace -- and he kept up in suit. His footwork was pretty good.

“Your Highness…” he began, his eyes darting across the room as he struggled to keep even with the princess’s increasingly elaborate movements. “I don’t mean to offend, but perhaps not while your father is watching…”

The girl lifted her arm up and twirled under him with a ballerina’s pirouette. When she faced him again, her grin grew a little wider. “Oh, don’t you worry. You won’t be in trouble, the old man gets jealous all the time. Isn’t that right?” She made a little wave to King Argrave, who sat gravely at the end of the feast-lined long table, silently fuming that this stranger dared to put his hands on his young daughter.

The nobleman broke his gaze with the king as though his life depended on it and swallowed nervously. “Yes, of course…”

“Attention! Attention, all attendees of this evening’s summons!” The piano music stopped. At the back end of the room, the speaker tapped a spoon against his glass. “Those who have come to challenge the position of the late Lord Harmon, please take your seats at the table now. To all else, you may seat yourselves on the benches or remain standing.”

The princess let go of the stranger’s hand, sparing a glance over her shoulder. “Lucky you.” Behind the king’s chair, Queen Annalyre stood cradling baby Prince Asan in her arms, rocking him back and forth as her eyes swept the shuffling room. The other two daughters could be seen as well, Princess Ari standing prim and proper while a dreary Princess Atela sat leaning into the table and sunk her head into her arms.

Clearing his throat once all the nobles had taken their positions, the speaker continued. “Now, I shall call roll.

“Lord Rorand Manaan.” A lazy hand went up.

“Lady Sione Artuum.” A stern hand went up.

“Lady Medea Silvertree.” A nervous hand went up.

“Lord Fiamma Garahadt.” A cocky hand went up.

“Lady Ychelle Mortegala.” A hand calmly went up.

“Lady Isari Lyon.” A graceful hand went up.

“Lord Willard Kaine.”

Silence. Some heads turned. “Is Lord Willard Kaine present?”

The double door entrance abruptly swung open and out walked a well-dressed old man in stride, cane in one hand. “Pardon my tardiness,” he announced as his servants caught the closing doors behind him, gently shutting them with a quiet click. “Something precious of mine was stolen earlier this afternoon, it was quite the messy affair.”

A few murmurs emerged from the crowd, but they were quickly hushed with a curt gesture of the king’s hand.

“Oh, don’t you worry. I trust you’ve seized your belongings, and taught the scoundrel his lesson?” Argrave asked.

“Unfortunately not. But please, do carry on. I did not mean to interrupt with my little story.”

“Right then,” the speaker nodded. “Last on the list, we have…

“Lord Pregor Cuculdo.”

***

A young woman snapped awake to the sound of hooves furiously hitting cobblestone, some ways a way below her second floor room. With a long hiss that sounded like a leaking steam valve, Tanner threw her covers off and groggily stomped her way to the open window to poke her head outside.

Illuminated by hanging oil lamps, commoners lined the block in droves hollering and clapping as racing horses ripped through the night roads. She scratched her head and muttered something incomprehensible under her breath.

“What the hell… what time is it? It’s still dark out...”

As the words left her lips, a glint of sunlight suddenly beamed over the skyline, slowly washing away the darkness with its cool purple hue. She tried to rub the sleep from her eyes, with little success. One of the onlookers on the ground saw her disappear from the window, and then shortly reappear with a steam rifle in her hands.

Tanner angled the gun skyward and fired a shot.

BANG!

The crowd immediately scattered in all directions like a swarm of roaches. The woman shouted down at them with an angry fist, “Get OUT of here! All of you, shoo!” Squinting as she checked to see that they were indeed out of sight, she peeled away from the sill and set her smoking gun down on the table, picking up a small note beside it.

Oh right, she left a reminder for herself. That part she ordered was probably done by now. She changed out of her clothes and booted up, slinging her bag over her shoulder to go pay the Guild a visit.

At the same time, all throughout the middle ring another kind of morning unrest was developing in the streets. Joined by mobs hailing even from the outer walls, they gathered close to the inner ring and in public squares. Men donning the emblem of the Order of Legion led their chants with raised fists and flags: Justice! Equity! Return their dragon’s hoard back to the hands of the people!

This was nothing new, or at least not since the past few weeks. Normally the militia would arrive and wave their swords around to send them back home, but each day they fought a little bit harder, stayed a little bit longer.

Near Solar Square, stragglers from the crowds climbed atop the execution platform and wrestled the prisoners from the rope, pushing aside the guards and pelting them with stones. As the protests spread, the marked cut of Brotherhood uniforms appeared in squadrons. Gradually, they were beginning to disperse, but the day’s damage had already been done -- both to the city’s infrastructure, and to its morale.

Just another new day in Trine Sanctuary.

***

. D O V E AI10100 Athanas Colorless Spectrum Coyote Hart Iamthemanfish LazyDaze Nica powerline ThatGoldenCrisp Nano EmeraldSplash Nulix PiePillager obscured_light DarKnight36 egglover

 

[Nulix]

Lord Cuculdo rose his glass at the mention of his name. He was an elderly man in a frilled red nobleman's tunic and ceremonial codpiece, accented with white stripes. Celebratory colours. Colours of victory, one to be worn at a parade with the spoils of a far off war. He sneered at the claps that echoed in the grand hall. Since last he'd seen the other nobles the fortunes of House Cuculdo had flourished, and with them his own personal power grew. He wasn't just another noble. He was a threat, and he knew it. Cuculdo rose the edge of his lip, his face shifting in a wrinkled smirk. His stare centred on robust daughters of the nobles across the room who looked back nervously. Cuculdo downed his drink like a snapping turtle. He knew fear was an aphrodisiac.

 

[Coyote Hart]

​

The bane of the light slowly creeped its way out of sight and out of mind as the savior of day drove it out with piercing rays of light. Night didn't even have a say as it was ferociously tossed out and banished from the sky until the next time it would try to take control. With that, the unease Lycidas's chest was swept away and he could take on the guise of confidence bordering on cockiness with no reservations. When he awoke, he had no worries that the oil lantern besides him had burned out, for he was safe from the monsters of the night.

Lycidas got up and stretched, brushing off whatever pieces of straw clung onto his clothes. Breakfast was an odd time of the day for someone with such a visage as Lycidas. It was chill bread, chocolate, and fruit along with drinking cheap wine directly from the stolen bottle. He lived and slept in an abandoned barn, so it afforded him a good view of the passing clouds. It was childish, but he often liked to imagine the clouds in different scenarios, like how he did when he was a child living in Odu. It shouldn't be entertaining, it couldn't be entertaining, yet nonetheless Lycidas found it entertaining.

But that was the only calm hour in Lycidas's day. Peace and quiet gets boring quickly, you know? Lycidas needed a bit of refreshment, a bit of energy in his day. He needed the rush that could only be gotten from fulfilling the darkness in his heart. His hand longed to grip the hilt of his psionic knife.

"Well, time to get going," Lycidas declared, "People aren't gonna die by themselves!"

What exactly was this darkness in Lycidas's heart? Even he didn't completely understand it. At best, Lycidas could describe it as a gnawing hunger; a string that pulled him towards others with the plead to watch firsthand as life was stifled out. There was a certain rush that Lycidas got from killing. An energy that rushed through Lycidas so fast that it rendered him dizzy with giddiness.

Lycidas whistled cheerfully as he strutted down the residential districts of the middle ring. He had a few hours before he would check in with the Fourth Eye to see if they had any jobs they wanted him to take care of. That was his preferred method of work, so it left Lycidas the rest of the day to do whatever else he desired. Then he spotted it. A family, a woman and two boys no older than Lycidas, likely the woman's sons, waving goodbye to their neighbors before retreating into the confines of their home. A wicked smile plastered itself on Lycidas's face as he flipped the hood of his light tunic over his head and headed to the house.

Lycidas knocked on the door of their house and said through the door, "Hey, you dropped something on the way in."

Then Lycidas invited himself inside.

The next time Lycidas emerged from the house, he had an energetic, almost goofy grin on his face. Euphoric, it was euphoric, he would say. He did it for no reason other than that he wanted to do it, and boy was it amazing. Still somewhat dizzy with elation, Lycidas continued down the street of the residential district. Where to next? Perhaps he'd stop by the Jade district and spend the money he had stolen from the house.

Back in the house, blood pooled on the floor, stopping right before it reached the closed front door.

 

[egglover]

In the busy early-morning streets of the Jade Square a lone figure ducked and weaved through the crowds of a summer market where stall owners cried out their sales and customers bargained ferociously amidst the chaos of transaction. Small, colourful stalls lined the streets - endless rows of fruits and vegetables, wild game and bags of rice, bright clothes and specialty items on display - until noon when the city guards made their rounds, ushering the sellers to pack up and move on as the day aged. A three man band played the fiddle on the street as passerby's threw their small coin into a grey hat. Escaped chickens clucked loudly through a forest of legs. Children chased each other on the cobblestone path. Occasionally a wooden cart transporting boxes of unknown goods would cut through the crowd, forcing market dwellers to squeeze into one another like sardines until it passed. And though the streets were bustling with the usual activity and splendor, there were groups of people who drifted through with steeled faces of determination. Protesters.

The figure slipped away from the summer market and down the street where less people were gathered. Shops lined each side - restaurants, cafes, tailors and specialty stores - each with distinct colour and signage on the store front. One such store stood among the row. It was a two story building made of brick and painted a strikingly dark black, it's windows filled with various bottles, books and bags of herbs. The sign above the mahogany door read 'The Apothecarium' in big, bold lettering. Below it the words 'Potions - Herbs - Medicine' were neatly painted in gold. They stopped here and went inside.

The Apothecarium
Potions - Herbs - Medicine ​

Myril A'Vaeri appeared from the outside, the tiny bell atop of the door ringing as she entered. The Apothecarium was a small wooden room filled top to bottom with shelves of various alchemical goods. On the very back wall of the store there was a set of wooden double doors that led to Myril's doctors office and the upstairs residence. It was a nice, cozy place. It was home. She let out a weary sigh as she placed a basket of goods on a small wooden table where Urshta sat, still half asleep, "'Tis hot today."

The woman's gloved hands pulled out an array of breakfast items from her basket: a fresh loaf of bread from the bakery, a jar of honey, apples and a glass bottle of juice. Myril spoke softly as she retrieved glasses for them, "There are more protests this morning. It seems they are getting worse."

 

[obscured_light]

Urshta nodded and gave a small sigh. The beast woman was wearing an assortment of shawls and heavy material. It was indeed, hot. However, Myril always kept the shop quite cool and Urshta was fond of bundling up within its walls. Particularly when she had no reason to leave the shop anytime soon.

"When the demands of the people are not met, there's only a greater consequence waiting," the beastfolk responded as she slice the bread neatly. Her brows came together in worry and her tail moved back and forth anxiously. "Even more so with the hangings that are set for today's show of force. There is already unrest among the people and they do not seem inclined to listen."

"Have you a plan for if they continue to go this way?" Urshta asked.

 

[EmeraldSplash]

A simple premise...​

‘’We have waited and waited in the shadows where even sun is afraid to shine!’’ the voice of a woman rang across the area. Heads turned towards the voice saw a sharp looking female towering on a pedestal. ‘’We have suffered our whole lives, knowing we cannot do what we are made to. To kill!’’ She towered higher. ‘’In a moment it will change and we will walk the earth knowing that we can kill what we want and when we want it!’’ A roar of approval spread across the area.

‘’We did everything we had to do and nothing is stopping us now’’ she looked at four people that stood on each of her sides. Two and two.

‘’Today we raise our glasses to the brave men and women who stand next to me.’’ The figure raised her glass ‘’To Nathaniel Dust, Death, The Raven and especially… Richard Winters.’’

‘’May the love of the Guardian shine over you in your life and death!’’ A simple toast, but it meant a lot to these people… the scum of the earth one would say but for this woman above them… for Sapphire … it was family.


She stepped down from the pedestal and isolated herself in her room. She listened to the crowd getting drunk, dancing, fighting. Although this was a pleasant feeling, she couldn’t help herself but to feel under constant pressure.

The door opened and a familiar face came into the room. ‘’You okay?’’

‘’Do I look like I’m okay dumb-ass?’’

‘’Okay jeez-us. You wanted to talk?’’

‘’Look, I trust you the most out of any of these clowns. So listen.’’ Sapphire moved closer to him. ‘’The tables are about to be turned, however I have bigger plans to satisfy my thirst.’’ she placed her hand on his thigh. ‘’Death of the Princess is something you will grant me. Am I correct?’’

''Princess?'' he stuttered.

''What happened Birdie? Afraid to kill a child?''

''No.. It's just. I'd like to live for another 20 years. If I do this and yes that's if I do this... I'm dead. They will find me, kill me.'' He said in a disappointing manner.

''Listen here... Let me rephrase that a little bit... You will kill the princess or I will personally kill you.'' She hit him with a quick smirk. ''How's that?''

Silence spread across the room and the two assassins stared at each other. He knew that she was serious and she knew she had the power to kill him. The situation was tense however Sapphire had always something to top her opponent.

''Quite silent you are... I'm not giving you a choice.'' she demanded an approval.

''I'll think about it.'' he said

''Think about your loved ones Birdie.''

''You know I don't have anyone''

''I'm not the leader of these dogs because of my looks Birdie. I know all. I see all..'' Yet again... silence filled the room.

''I don't know what - ...'' a shout pierced his reply and it felt like it pierced his heart as well when he heard the words ''Anne Bay'' come from Sapphire's mouth.

After that he was speechless for he knew he was defeated and at this point he could just say ''yes'' to everything she proposed to protect something dear to him. There was little conversation after that. It ended with the words...

''We will go to the workshop get you a weapon... something that will fit my desires'' Tracey said as she pulled out the Ripper's blade. ''I'm buying...'' ''WINK WINK''


Melon Bomb

 

[Colorless Spectrum]

Azy and Sigrid

Four days ago...

Clank! Clank!

The sound of metal being struck together filled the whole room, possibly even the whole house. It was the only sound that permeated the house, devoid of the loud voices of her siblings, or her quiet woes in taking care of such rascals. The heat oozed around the workshop, making her skin form droplets of sweat, but she didn't mind. She was used to it; she had been doing this for years now. Clank! She wiped her face with the towel which hung on her shoulder.

"Looks good." She said to herself with a smile as she observed the blade she had been working on since this morning. She decided that it was enough work for the day, she had other things that needed attention too. After washing up, Sigrid quietly went up the stairs, failing epically as every step creaked from how old her house had been and also her own weight. She always said that she would replace it, but has never really gotten to actually doing it.

"I wonder when she'll wake up." Her mind drifted to the stranger whom she had found three days ago, riddled with cuts, bruises and dirt while lying on a ditch. Of course, said stranger may possibly have lots of cash and would reward her for being saved. The extra cash would be good, Siobhan always seemed to drain her saved up money whenever her sister came by to visit.

Thud.

She looked at the direction of the sudden sound, blinking. Taken away from her thoughts, she rushed towards the room where her guest had been staying. "What happened?" She asked slightly louder than she intended as she burst through the door.

The sight which greeted the smith was rather peculiar, albeit unsurprising. There, lying on the tattered, wooden floor was the same girl she found a few days back. It was almost hilarious how she was sprawled in the same position. Except now, she was lying on the tangle of her clean blankets and not on the mucky forest floor.

The unnamed girl weakly looked up from her position, her navy-colored eyes boring into Sigrid’s brown ones. They looked rather dull, a touch away from a pair of lifeless void. Her skin was deathly pale, a smidge lighter than her hair which spilled all over the floor like thin strings of platinum. She fraily tried to rise from her ungainly bearing, only to fail miserably and plop back down like she lost every vigor in her body.

Sigrid frowned at the sight of the woman, she trudged closer and spoke with a panicked tone. "You should take it easy." She eased, reaching out her hands to hold the stranger up and bring her back to bed, lifting her with ease. She looked at the woman, sweat forming on her forehead. "H-how are you feeling? I'm not really the best at treating wounds but I know a few things because of my siblings."

A feeble smile tugged at the edge of the stranger’s lips. “...H-hello…,” she strained voiced out, throat clearly too parched for anything else. Nevertheless, her gaze never left Sigrid although it moved to study every nook and detail of the smith’s form. And then, a grumble echoed throughout the otherwise silent room. It came from the mysterious woman’s stomach.

She scratched the back of her head, thinking. "Are you hungry?" She must have been, being asleep for days would make anyone hungry, right? "I have some food downstairs, I can whip something up for you. Would porridge be good?"

Instead of responding with words, the woman merely gave a single nod. It was probably the only response she could muster, given her circumstance.

"Right." She said whilst back away, a smile on her lips, "Got it. I'll be back, so, don't fall again, okay?" Sigrid rushed out to the kitchen, quickly picking out the ingredients that she needed. Since when was the last time she cooked for another person? It has been a while, she'd been mostly living off of food bought elsewhere rather than cook on her own.

Fifteen minutes later and she was back on the second floor. She placed the bowl of porridge on a tray with a glass of water, silently wishing that the food she made tasted fine and not too salty. "Hey." She called out and walked towards the stranger, placing the tray gently on the bed. "Fresh off the stove so be sure to blow it before eating."

The woman muttered something too strained to be comprehensible; however, it was safe to assume that it was out of gratitude. She slowly picked the offered cutlery and brought a spoonful of the creamy substance into her mouth. Oddly enough, her right eye twitched ever so slightly before she soldiered on after a few moments. Regardless of her feebleness, the girl moved with unmistakable grace, like a swan in a still lake.

Sigrid noticed the twitch of the stranger's eye and deflated a bit, it could have been from the heat of the food, or it could have been from how it tasted. "I'm Sigrid, by the way. Sigrid Lindstrom." Figuring that now would be the best time to introduce herself as she didn't really know what else to talk about. "What's yours?"

The other female paused at the question, glancing at the ceiling briefly before setting the spoon neatly back on the tray. Her movement had a tinge of life now as she turned to face Sigrid with a thin smile. “Hello, Sigrid. I am…,” her sentence trailed off to nothing as her face contorted with confusion. She carefully brought a hand up to caress the side of her head, brows knitted together as if she was doing her best to recall her own name. “I’m… confused. I don’t think I know...”

Sigrid frowned, she was confused too. She didn't want to pry but she couldn't help it, and she didn't want to refer to the woman as "stranger" either. "You've been asleep for about three days now when I found you- well, you had a lot of injuries but they were nothing fatal." Her face scrunched up, remembering how bothered she was that someone had looked like they were fresh out of a beating. "Who did that to you? Do you know?"

The amnesiac visibly fidgeted on her position. She scanned the bandages and gauzes all over her body. She could still feel the ache and the burn of every bruise and cut. “...I fear I don’t recall anything…,” she murmured, looking dejected as her sight fell on the pale porridge. “Excuse my inquiry, but how exactly did you find me?”

Troubled, she felt troubled at this revelation. She placed a gloved hand to her chin, deep in thought until the woman asked about what happened. "I found you on my way home, I was buying some food for the next day until I heard you moaning by the ditch." She looked at the stranger and took note of the woman's features more. "I couldn't leave you to be, so I brought you here to my home. It was odd though, I heard voices and footsteps of horses. I would have called them for help but… I don't know." She shook her head slightly, rubbing the back of her neck as she gave a nervous smile.

It was at the latter revelation when the woman’s eyes widened. She flung her gaze back on Sigrid as realization slowly occurred to her. “I… I can recall now…” She said, sounding unsure, before repeating herself in a more confident manner. “I can recall the moment before you found me.” She brushed the stray locks of platinum framing her face and tucked them behind her ears before turning to Sigrid and slowly leaning closer.

Sigrid couldn't help but stare at those Sapphire-colored eyes, she listened intently to what the woman had to say. She was curious after all, maybe she can find out who did this to her and report it.

“I remember venturing out at night to hunt for food… then that’s when I saw them,” she paused, her dreary eyes seemingly a fragment of the rainy night when Sigrid found her. It was entrancing; the longer she stared, the faster the shadows within Sigrid’s memories shifted and turned. “Wolves…”

The smith blinked and repeated the word under her breath. "I did hear howling… Yeah, that's why I ran away." She said with a low voice, her brows still furrowed. "Well, do you recall your name too? It would be nice to call your name rather than calling you "stranger" yeah?"

The so-called stranger retracted from the close proximity with a small smile of satisfaction. She then pried her gaze off Sigrid and stared at the ceiling instead. She tapped her chin thoughtfully, the crease on her brow returning as she mustered all the memories she could. She let out a strained hum as she pondered until her face eventually lightened up.

“Azy.” She blurted out, slowly followed by a slight tilt of her head and a smile. It was brighter and wider than the ones she had been giving since regained consciousness. “I think I’m called Azy. I’m glad to meet you, Sigrid, and I am forever grateful for your kindness. How can I ever repay you?”

Sigrid couldn't help but soften her features when the woman finally introduced herself. "It's a pleasure to meet you Azy!" The brunette briefly looked out the window, watching the sunset with a sentimental expression. "You don't have to, you don't remember much right? So while you don't and you have no place to stay, you can stay here. I don't really mind, it's been a while since I lived with someone in this house, so the company would be nice."

She took in a deep breath and got up. She dusted off her pants and looked at Azy with sincere eyes. "I'm gonna head down so you can rest some more. If you need anything just call out for me, you don't even have to strain your voice that much too. Anyway, I'll leave you be," She trudged closer to the door, "And uh, finish that porridge if you can."

“Of course. Thank you.” Azy responded with a gentle smile.

About a minute later the steps of the stairs creaked loudly once again before it decrescendoed into silence.

Two days ago…

The repetitive sound of metallic clanking filled the otherwise silent smith shop. For the past few days, Azy has been getting used to the robust sounds of hammer and the heat of the forges. They were generally unpleasant and a striking contrast to the ones she’d usually experience back home. Despite everything she said to Sigrid, Azy actually remembered everything. Her past, her secrets, and her name…

It silently rolled off her tongue like bitter waves, and her hands had half-the-mind to reach out for the shattered pendant in her pocket.

A heavier clank cut her from her thoughts, and Azy assumed Sigrid was done putting the finishing touches on her latest craft. It was only then when she finally stepped down the stairs and onto the workshop, her footsteps were light and devoid of any trailing creaks. “Hello, good morning,” she greeted with a pleasant lilt the moment her soles met the warm ground. “Are you by chance done with work?”

Sigrid gave out a yelp, almost dropping the sword when Azy greeted her from behind. "Yeah, I am." She said with a nervous laugh, she was still adjusting from the amnesiac's rather light footsteps. She took note of how stealthy Azy was, the brunette herself was quite the opposite.

She held the sword with her thick gloves, feeling little weight from the hunk of shaped metal. She gave it a few swings before gently placing it on a rack. "Did I disturbed you? Sorry about that." She said as she walked closer to Azy while she wiped her face from the sweat. "Are you hungry?"

Azy shook her head and brought a hand over her mouth at the question, suppressing a light chuckle. “I like how that’s always your first question to me,” she pointed out, “I’m a tad embarrassed. Do I always seem hungry?”

Sigrid could feel her blood rushing to her face, warming up in a state of embarrassment. "N-no! That's not what I meant!" She stuttered out making herself even shyer than she already was. "It's just that… well, breakfast is important when starting your day!" Ironic when she herself hasn't eaten but she shouted, pressing her lips to a thin line. What she was saying made no sense at all, she just wanted the earth to open up and swallow her alive.

The blonde merely stared at her for a few seconds. It was a bit awkward as they both stood there, letting the silence gnaw while the earth refused to heed Sigrid’s wishes until Azy erupted into yet another light laugh. “I understand. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, yes?” She clasped her hands behind her. “Forgive me for being cheeky, but may I offer my service in your kitchen? I am fairly confident in my cooking.”

Sigrid looked away, face still tinted in pink as Azy asked if she could cook in her kitchen. "Well… sure." She scratched her cheeks and led the other woman to the kitchen and pointed out where she could find her stocks. "Utensils are in the cabinet below, spices are in the cabinets above, but if you need anything I could just get it for you. The cupboards are a bit high after all. And this is where the meat and vegetables are."

Azy looked around the kitchen, gauging each available ingredient in the small pantry with a narrow, scrutinizing gaze. She straightened up once she was done and gave a sheepish smile at the implication of her height. The smith was more or less six inches taller than her, so she supposed she had the right to point it out.

“You’re kind, but I think I can manage.” She replied with another amicable smile before nearing the apron over the wall rack. “I hope you don’t mind,” she muttered as she wore it and tied the strings behind. Once that was done, she twirled to face Sigrid. “Think of this as a small way to thank you.”

Hearing Azy's last statement made her frown, she leaned to the wall and tuck some pieces of her hair to her ear. "I told you, you don't have to thank me for that. Again, no need to thank me, helping others… well, it's the right thing to do." She said calmly, stuffing her hands to her pocket. "So don't worry about it, okay?"

Azy hummed in response as she moved to work and grabbed a few ingredients from the pantry. “You’re a good woman, Sigrid,” she praised as she set a loaf of bread onto the chopping board and pulled out the nearby knife, “the world would be so much better if everyone thinks as you do.” She sliced a piece and brought it closer to her right eye for inspection, before lining it with Sigrid in her vision.

Sigrid looked away, turning her gaze down, eyes suddenly fogged with troubles. Suddenly the floor was more interesting than the conversation of her being a good woman. She isn't as good as people think she is, no. At least, to her, she's not really that person.

A knowing smile tugged on Azy’s lips in response. She was young when she first realized there was no difference between food and people. Every food has its own unique and distinct flavor; no staple would ever taste the same. Only inexperienced tongues could claim such an atrocious lie. The same could be said for people. Every person has their own unique and distinct flavor; nobody could ever be the same as another. They could be a nice person like Sigrid, a liar such as herself, an optimist like her friend, and so much more, all in their own way. Alas, just like food, people could be deceiving. A nauseating aftertaste might be lurking beneath their piquant exteriors. Furthermore, both food and people could be consumed. The former was obvious, the latter less so. Be it the curse, love, hatred, or vengeance- people were inevitably bound to be consumed by something. Azy knew that oftentimes, the culprit was greed.

Suffice to say, it was best to be careful. Sigrid could easily return her to her family and she would be swimming in gold. Kindness was an easy mask to wear. She should know it best.

She lowered the bread and her smile returned to its original, amicable form. “But I didn’t mean to thank you for saving me.” Her expression didn’t shift with coy as she chipped a small piece from the slice of bread and popped it into her mouth. She briefly closed her eyes as she analyzed the staple’s flavor; it was frankly very bland and quite dry. It definitely needed something to make it delectable. “I’m thanking you for the bow.”

Bow? She looked up to Azy, wondering what she meant. There were never orders for a bow, nor did she mention wanting to desire one before. She blinked with dumbfoundedness and tried to process what the amnesiac had meant. "Are you saying you want a bow?" She asked with one brow raised, shifting her position to stand taller. "You know how to use a bow?"

Azy hid a snicker behind a palm. “Yes, I may not look like it, but I am quite good with the bow.” She did tell Sigrid she was out hunting when she got chased by wolves. Her skill in archery wasn’t a lie though. Azy prided herself as a remarkable huntress. However, she didn’t know if that was enough to convince the blacksmith to essentially give her a freebie. “I don’t mean to impose though, you’ve already done so much for me. It’s simply that…,” she rubbed her right cheek with her index finger sheepishly, “I only know how to use bows, not make one. And you’re an excellent craftswoman. You’re the only one I can turn to.”

Sigrid furrowed her brows, bringing her train of thought back to when Azy first woke up. "Ah! You did." She said with wide eyes as she pounded a fist to her palm. She then looked to the other woman in the room and tilted her head slightly, she didn't really mind helping out.

"Sure. If that was just it then you should have just told me so." She shrugged. Azy didn't have to compliment her, she just found it embarrassing being praised like that. "Do you prefer wood with metal reinforcing or one that is purely made of steel?"

“Well, just telling you directly would be quite boring. This way, I can be both dramatic and using your kitchen.” She winked before turning around and continuing to dice the bread into smaller pieces. Once prodded, she hummed in thought. “I prefer light bows, so the former would be more ideal. But I would be grateful for anything, even with just the simplest of wooden bows.” The small, rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the wooden cutting board followed her statement.

"Boring, huh?" Sigrid asked with a smirk. She took note of Azy's preference as she started to imagine the two different kinds of the bow that she could make. Flat or recurve. No, no. She said she used to hunt so a recurve bow would be more ideal. I still have some silk left, it would be better to use than sinew because using that would ruin the bowstring when it becomes wet. Her train of thought continued on, leaving herself silently staring at the round table while she stood on one corner.

Suddenly, the harsh sound of something scraping against the floor permeated the kitchen. When Sigrid turned to look at the source, she found Cordelia dragging one of her stools towards the high cupboards before stepping onto it to collect spices. She seemed to notice Sigrid’s attention as she turned to flash her an apologetic grin.

The brunette only gave a defeated smile as the amnesiac didn't take her earlier offer to grab the things she needed in the cupboard. "I'll get working on your bow." She said to Azy before continuing to mutter about yew and what other things she could do to the bow as an improvement.

In a matter of minutes, Sigrid is already working on the promised bow. Her attention was directed only at what she was doing, failing to remember that Azy was cooking and they were supposed to eat. To her right now the only thing there is was the scraping of wood and the sound of her hammer hitting the metal. In the midst of developing the bow, she wondered if she could enchant the bow to create flaming arrows when it is knocked at the arrow rest. She could test it out later, but she couldn't deny the excitement that flared in her when she thought of it.

So, when a flavorful aroma masked the pungent smell of fire and smoke, and Azy waltzed from the kitchen with a satisfied grin on her face and beckoned for breakfast, Sigrid immediately knew she would be having one of the best meals in her life. And that, she did.


Now...

Stalks of straw splintered as an arrow flew and embedded itself into the center of a circular, strawn-woven target butt. A couple of yards away was a woman with long, platinum-blonde hair, lowering her bow as a pleased smile steadily formed on her face. She then turned to look at her companion- another woman, way larger than her, with chocolate-colored hair and a white cat lingering by her feet.

“The bow’s perfect, Sigrid.” Azy praised, sincerity overflowing from each word. In her hands was the blacksmith’s latest handiwork: a recurve wooden bow with metal enhancement as promised. On her back was a hide-quiver, holding a generous amount of wooden arrows that the two of them cooperatively crafted and sharpened. It was safe to say that they have been spending a lot of time together.

"Nice shot." She said in amazement since bows aren't exactly her thing nor did her father teach her how to use one. "I'm just glad you like it." The blacksmith said to her companion while she felt Achie, her snow-colored cat, circling her leg for attention. She smiled, picking up her rather chunky cat.

"Achie, are you being affectionate because you want more food?" Her cat's golden eyes stared at her before looking away, shaking his head and jumping down back to the ground before moving his target to Azy. "He's gonna get fatter at this rate." She joked as she watched her cat vying for the other's attention.

In turn, Azy crouched down and gave the feline gentle pats on the head. It vigorously purred against her hand, and she couldn’t help the lazy smile forming on her lips. However, at the corner of her vision, she noticed Sigrid staring while looking like she was mulling over something.

"So," Sigrid trailed off, she isn't fond of prying but she found it odd all the same. "Where did you go last night?"

The caress on the cat’s fur came to a stop. Slowly, Azy craned her neck to Sigrid’s direction and for a moment, she only let her eyes bore into the latter’s. They seemed to be devoid of neither emotion nor interest- a huge contrast to the amnesiac’s usual facade. Regardless, it was a very brief moment, and when Sigrid blinked, it was an apologetic look on the blonde’s face instead.

“Oh, you noticed. Here I thought I was being stealthy.” Azy mused before returning her sight on the cat and continuing her earlier movement. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s a bit presumptuous, but I didn’t want to worry you.” She paused as she pursed her lips, looking reluctant to share the next part.

The brunette simply shrugged, she didn't really care for what reason she left. It was just that it was dark and she got worried. "I just happened to be awake when the window from your room creaked."

“I went back to the place where you found me…,” she shared, and her expression turned solemn. “I know I shouldn’t have, but I just feel so incomplete. A big part of me is missing. I thought if I go back then I’d find something which could fill this hole, even just a bit.” Then she sighed, deeply. “I was wrong.”

Sigrid’s lips formed into a thin line. To think that Azy was feeling this way all this time, it made her feel bad that she didn't even notice. "I get it… I think," she scratched her head with scrunched brows. "You just wanted to know more about yourself, right?"

Azy nodded her head.

"I can't say that I truly understand your situation, but I never even thought of how hard it must be, or scary to wake up in a house that you're not familiar with." A sigh escaped from her lips, "It's fine. I'm sorry. You're not wrong, I just got worried." She stuffed her hands to her pockets once again, rolling the balls of her feet. "Anyway, you really didn't find anything or trigger a memory?"

The crestfallen look on the other woman’s face remained even after she shook her head. “I’m still clueless.” Her fingers were now playing with Achie’s whiskers, gently strumming them as though they were the fine strings of an instrument. “Every day still feels like I’m trudging through absolute darkness with nothing but a candle.” A candle couldn’t point her the way, but it could brighten her path.

She tilted her head forward, resting her chin on the surface of her knees. “You’re that candle, Sigrid. I’m glad it’s your house where I woke up.”

Her face softened at what she had heard, it was nice to hear something like that even if it had only been a few days since she'd met Azy, but still, it gave her a feeling of warmth. "I'm glad too, even though we're gonna have to go our separate ways one day when your memory comes back, it's been a little lonely having just me and Achie here in the house." She looked away to hide the tinge of pink forming across her face, saying and hearing such sappy stuff never fails to make her feel awkward.

A familiar giggle followed the short silence. From her position, Azy’s eyes squinted with mirth and she gave Achie a boop on the nose. “Then in that case, aren’t Achie and I similar? You gave the two of us a place to call home, even if it’s temporary at my end.” She then placed her bow down in favor of picking the cat and bringing it closer to her face. The two of them then looked at Sigrid synchronously. “Meow!” Azy chimed, doing her best cat imitation. “What do you think? We even resemble each other, no?”

Brown-colored eyes merely stared at the two before bursting into laughter. She found it quite funny that the amnesiac would say that she looked like a grumpy old cat. "If Achie smiled then maybe he would. He'd always had that grumpy look on his face since I picked him up."

She reached out and gave her cat a pat on the head, a bright smile on her face as she did so. "Also, Azy, you have to work on your meow." She said flatly before replacing it with a smirk.

“Okay, I’ll take your suggestion at heart.” She replied as she carefully set Achie down and picked her bow up.

A small laugh elicited from her lips as Achie walked away from the two because he didn't get any food despite, "I think I'm gonna have to head back to the workshop. Organize my materials and clean it up. Someone will be coming a little later too," she said to Azy, looking at her and asking, "What about you?"

Her blue eyes darted around the room, and her grip on the bow tightened. “Someone?” She echoed, deep in thought. Nobody has ever visited the smithship over the course of Azy’s stay. It was something which she was truly thankful for, as she wished to remain hidden. “Can I ask who?”

With a tilted head, she wondered why the other woman was asking such a question but still, Sigrid provided an answer. "Schanzee, Art Schanzee."

Azy’s eyes visibly widened in response, and her breath hitched with an audible sharpness. She seemed to pale even more with each passing second and a single bead of sweat rolled down her temple.

Noting her reaction, Sigrid followed up with a question. "Why do you ask?"

“I’m sorry, it’s nothing.” Azy hastily responded as she placed her bow on a nearby table, followed by the quiver. “I think I need to use the restroom, if you don’t mind.” She told her although she was already navigating her way to the said location.

Sigrid merely watched the amnesiac's retreating form, not wanting to push further she let it be. She walked back to the workshop, deflating as she looked at how disorganized it was. Her tools were sprawled on the floor, and everything else was just piled into one corner.

She let out a sigh, making quick work with her items and noting how much more of each she had left whilst waiting for the person she had mentioned earlier to come. She'd known Art for years and the man visits her more than her siblings ever did. Sometimes she wonders what if his personality was different, would they have been friends? Perhaps not but if anything, she was glad to know Art.

mention: AI10100 || interaction: . D O V E

 

[DarKnight36]

Khilith awoke to someone stomping on his nards as they fled from the Brotherhood's dispersal efforts in the middle ring. Khilith bolted upright, then flipped over and threw up everything he'd ever eaten in his life. After his stomach was empty, Khilith rolled away from the smelly mess, one hand reaching out in an attempt to drag himself to his feet while the other clutched at the source of his pain. Truthfully, Khilith wasn't sure if his head or his manhood hurt worse, but one thing was for sure: he was wide awake now.

Groaning, Khilith pulled himself to his feet and attempted to recollect why he had ended up lying in an alleyway of Trine. How many bars had he gone through last night? At least three. Had he reached the fourth?

Squinting at the bright morning light cresting over the horizon, Khilith stumbled out of the alleyway and looked around. The inn he'd been staying at was on the other side of town, it seemed. Despite the hammer that was smashing into his brain, Khilith's memory of Trine was unimpaired, and the former Brotherhood warden began to make his way back there. Along the way, Khilith avoided the wardens, still chasing after a few reckless, enthusiastic commoners.

Khilith's eyes met a sign, and he blinked a few times as he tried to read the words: The Apothecarium. Maybe they would have something to help his splitting headache... or his aching gonads.

Pushing open the door, Khilith pressed a hand on the counter to steady himself, and spoke carefully. "Hello, I am very hungover and would like to die. Can you help?"

 

[PiePillager]

What's this?! A commotion! Tensions afoot?! Violence?! One could only hope. Perhaps the denizens of this destitute land may yet prove themselves worthy of the honor of walking the same land that he so gracefully soars above. Fight! The battle-bell rings! Fight! Let the drums of triumph yet resound in the hearts of the strong! But what disappointment, what a lark! Were they play-fighting like schoolchildren?!

Do battle! The King of the Condors wanted to cry out! To swoop down for the kill to show them how it was done! If they turn on he so be it, he'd best them all. And if he did not, the one who defeated him could be considered worthy! None of these pitiful mongrels could hope to match him in ferocity or fervor! He who is so swift, he catches the envy of the wind! With a gaze so sharp, the most whetted blade could not compare!

A rumble in his belly! So caught up was he in the machinations of mankind, that he forgot matters of greater import! So observant was he in surveying the folly of the nations of the hairless mammals that he briefly put aside his own needs as he was lost in his own thoughts of guiding them on the solemn path to glory! But even the mighty require sustenance! And to the mighty it was not earned but owed.

He changed course, the King of the Condors did! Turned around and shot through the clouds like an unerring arrow through a hapless target, he soared, high above the pitiable two legged, mewling peasants. With their unenviable eyesight, they could not even comprehend the sheer size of the great Lord of the Skies! Nay, not until their beasts had already been claimed by him.

"MOOO-!!"

"Thus cries the bovine, heaving it's last breath!" The Condor King squawked, sinking his talons into the beast and killing it instantly. "Be grateful you saw a king, a most majestic sight before death!"

With a mighty flap of his wings, the King took off! And the pitiable would-be-caretakers could do nothing but watch as they stupidly stumbled out of their stony dwelling! Mayhap, they will be better prepared to defend themselves next time for the King of the Condors will return for the next meal he was so rightfully owed...

 

[egglover]

“Mm, nothing in mind,” Myril sat opposite Urshta, her voice turning from serious to amused, “Though we may get more orders for, ahem, rat poison.”

Before she could take off her mask and eat, a drunken fool stumbled through the door of the shop. The two women stared at him for a moment until Myril broke the silence with a hearty chuckle. She stood swiftly and placed two gentle hands on the mans shoulders, bringing him over to where Urshta sat about to begin her meal. "Sit," the doctor pushed him to the other chair, noting that he smelt like shit, "Eat."

"I wont be a moment," she called as she went to the doors at the end of the room and disappeared through them, leaving Urshta and Khilith alone.

 

[AI10100]

S C H A N Z E E , A R T
Interacting with: Colorless Spectrum
Mentions: . D O V E
​

Art wiped away his sweat as he entered the walls of Thrine - their beloved sanctuary. He waved goodbye to his fellow Enneads who all planned to head back to their headquarters and rest. This mission had only taken them three days to complete. Staying outside for an elongated amount of time was not idea - in fact, it was dangerous. By the grace of their ward weapons as well as their sleep shifts, none of them were infected by the Tar. They had managed to get some scrap metals and what looked to be some steam weaponry, but they were pretty broken and non-functional. No one in their right mind would use them anyway but they decided to bring it back with them anyway. Once they successfully scavenged everything in the ruined workshop and fighting back a few infected, they quickly made their way back to Thrine.

He heard from a group that there was a protest happening again. It looked like it was escalating more and more. He wondered to himself where the Enneads would put themselves in once it escalates to riots. They had their reasons - justice for the common folk. Art couldn't say he didn't sympathize with them. The nobles sat on riches that could feed all of them, but they let the people starve. But he didn't have time to join the protests or whatnot. No, he had other priorities.

Being an Ennead and also finding his brother who had gone missing two months ago. He had been used to not being able to contact Aiden due to his position as a servant in the De Luca manor. It was only when he would head back to the middle circle did they ever interact. Art had no place in the inner rings and trying to get in would put him under the Brotherhood's eyes and that was the last thing he wanted. Some had already known him from his frequent visits to Snow, their guardian. And as such, he was also limited to his investigations to the middle and outer rings - neither of which had led him to anything. Everything was a dead end. Aiden's companions, his other Ennead connections - not one person knew where he had gone. He had speculations about the De Lucas - could they have found out about what they were doing and brought 'justice' upon him? It seemed highly likely but... there was no news about this. Was it hushed?

The heiress hadn't appeared for two months now either. Art could easily think that if Aiden had been caught, she would be constricted into her manor... that is if she wasn't punished herself. He had no means of communicating with her either considering the fact that Aiden was their only link. If she needed Art's help, Aiden would be the one to tell him. If he had information to give her, Aiden would be the one to give it to her. That was how their relationship worked. Though it did make wonder - would she even be open to talking to him? She wasn't very fond of him after the first prank he pulled with her - it was harmless, he swore! - but she was his best bet.

Something butted against his hand and he looked down at Ash who had noticed the man's inner turmoil. The snow leopard often caught the attention of the people around him which was understandable but after noticing Art, they dismissed it. Art didn't exactly keep the fact that he could summon a guardian. Of course, the question of why he had not entered the Brotherhood and took one of the most powerful positions there was thrown around. He laughed at those questions. Why would he ever join that organization? It seemed far too boring!

Before he even knew it, he was in front of Sigrid's smithery. He shrugged at Ash before he opened the door. "Heeey Sig!" He called out as he entered, a big grin on his face as Ash followed behind him. "Got a few things outside. Interested?" He took gestured with the sack he was holding and laid it on the table. "Mostly just some scrap metal. No artifacts or ward weapons though, sadly. But you know how it is, can't get them all!" He leaned back onto the counter and Ash curled up beside him.

"Sooo, any news lately? About anything?" He gasped. "Did you get a lover hm? Hm?" He teased.

 

[obscured_light]

"Ready to die, you say?" Urshta commented as she offered the drunkard a slice of warm bread and gestured to the rest of the spread for him to take from. "Seems rather early to be saying that."

Her gaze swept over him and his disheveled state, noting his strong smell of liquor, vomit, and piss. He also winced as he adjusted himself in Myril's seat and looked uncomfortable sitting down.

"Though it seems you've had a rather rough night already. I assure you, Myril does wonders with hangovers and food and rest are equally welcome for you to partake in," Urshta said welcomingly as she poured juice into the two glasses Myril had brought earlier.

 

[DarKnight36]

"Um, sure," Khilith said despondently, his nose crinkling at the food. "Rough nights are nothing new for me. I appreciate the food though. And, ah, sorry about the smell. I haven't found a laundry bucket to dunk myself in yet."

 

[Colorless Spectrum]

Sigrid Lindstrom

Sigrid had just finished organizing the materials and cleaning her workshop when she heard a familiar boisterous voice calling her name by the front. "Art!" She cheered with a wave of her hand. She gave him a light laughter as she walked towards him and replied, "I'm always interested in what you bring back."

"Hey, Ash." She greeted Art's guardian giving the summoned a gentle stroke on the head, She reached for the bag and went through every piece of scrap that her friend brought. "It's fine, even scraps have their use too." She stated, focusing on the bright side if things rather than sulking over the absence of the amazing items.

Sigrid looked up briefly to the ceiling, mulling over what to say when Art had asked her. "Nothing to report, really." She said to him dejectedly, there wasn't much that she could do rather than put up posters and ask her fellow Guild members if they saw anyone but it all came into a dead end. "But there was something that happened a few days ago, I found someone-"

She stared at Art, her mouth agape then closed before she started blinking. "W-Why would you think that?" She said aloud as her blood started creeping up her face. She knew that Art was merely teasing and yet she couldn't help but react in such a way. She should stop acting this way, it's what makes them tease her like this. "A-anyway, there is nothing of the sort! I found someone by the trough. Woke up four days ago with only bits and pieces of her memory."

Afterwards, Sigrid placed her hand on her hips with a satisfied smile on her face. "I'll take all of these." She told Art, holding the bag with ease and to the back of the counter. "So I was thinking that it would be nice if you meet her. Maybe you know her? Azy? Might help her into finding out who she was before getting amnesia?" She dropped the bag gently and started taking out it's contents. "She's really good cooking, really delicious..." The brunette trailed off, looking at Art. "Have you eaten?"

mention: . D O V E || interaction: AI10100

 

[AI10100]

S C H A N Z E E , A R T
Interacting with: Colorless Spectrum
Mentions: . D O V E
​

"Supply runs have been dry lately. Either Odu got to them first and just left some things or we really have to venture out further." Art was pretty much open to the idea of expanding the search radius. They were going to run out of supplies in their current radius soon, but he had other matters to handle in the sanctuary. He couldn't go on month long excavations with a very high possibility of getting cursed - those were far too long. But these short ones don't yield many interesting things. "I wanted to bring something back to you too..." He grumbled though he always did get dejected over the same thing every time he visited. Ever since he had requested the ward weapons, he's been giddy to help her in her own research of creating artifacts. It certainly had nothing to do with him wanting to buy artifacts for himself once she learned how to make them. No sir.

Ash let out a low purr as Sigrid petted her, bumping her head against smith. She stood up, ears up and paced around, sniffing at the ground. Art paid her no mind as he listened to Sigrid with utmost interest. He leaned over the counter with his elbow propped onto the counter and his head buried in them. He wasn't expecting for her to have any news about Aiden. If it was as simple as asking people around, Art would have found his brother already.

His grin turned into a smirk as she shifted her story to picking someone up before she burst into a blush - likely only registering his words after she had given her spiel. Her reaction was so adorable. For a moment, his smirk faltered as images of Aiden superimposed on Sigrid. He was usually so much more composed but whenever he brings up Cordelia, he turns into a stuttering mess of excuses and deflections. He forced himself to pay attention to Sigrid again. He will find her. Right now, he was talking with Sigrid and he needed to pay attention so pay attention-

"An amnesiac? Ha, funny, cause I got picked up an amnesiac too right?" He was joking and his grin was wide and he really wanted to meet this girl. But everything came crashing down when she mentioned a name. No, it could be someone else. A good cook too?

"Azy... are you sure that's her name?" His signature grin was missing from his face as he rose up to his full height again.

Unbeknownst to them, Ash had padded past all of them and into the residentials of the home. She expertly navigated through the house, having been hanging in it for a long time now. She followed the familiar scent before she reached the bathroom. Her eyes locked onto the blonde who was currently trying to escape through the bathroom window. It had no hesitations as it lunged to grab the escapee by her cloth and tugged. Despite all of this, there was a certain softness that came with the action as if it didn't want to harm the woman but didn't want to let her leave the bathroom either. The guardian looked like she was pleading even.

 

[Iamthemanfish]

"THE LAND IS CURSED, LEGION'S WRATH RAVISHES THE LAND AND THE ROYAL'S HAVE DONE NOTHING TO QUELL HIS FURY!!! IN FACT THEY, IN THERE LAVISH MANSIONS BUILT ON THE BACKS OF SLAVES, ONLY INVITE MORE OF HIS FUuuuurrrgggghhhh" the legionnaire's tirade suddenly cut off when a fist buried itself in his stomach and the madman doubled over to collapse gasping to the ground. "Yer best to keep that treasonous tongue from flapping round here lad or me kin and I might have a mind to take it from ye" said a low rumbling voice into the sudden silence. Merik Roricson Long-Iron took a deep breath and spat a sizable wad of phlegm on the man before turning and waving a greeting to a group of brotherhood apostles as they rushed up to arrest the lunatic. Whoever had convinced him to do his preaching in the hills, the neighborhood where most of the Trinian dwarfs called home, must be very good at they're job or the young man was an honest to gods lunatic.

Merik waited just long enough to shoot the legionnaire one last murderous glance before he turned and moved back to the table he and a few cousins from the High-Cliff clan had been eating they're breakfast. "No really, big as a house it was with talons the could cut even fat uncle Snori in half" the youngest of the group was saying as Merik pulled his chair back to the table, "Oh aye, and next ye'll be telling us it eats cows whole" replied his older brother sarcastically, "sounds like he ad a bottle to many to my thinking" taunted his sister, that got a chuckle from the others at the table, "Ye know I'm the one they call mad, right lad" Merik quipped, and the chuckle became a full blown laugh. The young dwarf's cheeks colored in anger and embarrassment, but a dwarfs laugh is infectious especially to another dwarf, and he eventually joined in on the laughter.

A few more minutes passed with lighthearted jibes being thrown around before Merik bid farewell to the High-Cliffs hefted his backpack on to his shoulders and started on his way to the Ennead headquarters, the party that had gone to search the old workshop was supposed to get back today and the second son of Roric was hopeful that they had found some useful steam-tech items for him. Merik had a pretty lucrative deal going with the scavenging crews that went outside the walls, if they brought him anything the even looked like it was once steam-tech he would repair or upgrade they're armor for less than half the going rate the guild was offering for the same work. Naturally that had made him very popular with the Ennead upper crust which got him more regular work and not a small amount of money but even more importantly it gave him almost exclusive access to new steam-tech items before they got sold off to the general public. The things he had learned from all of the stuff they brought him had saved decades of research time already and that thought had him practically skipping his way down the streets on the middle ring.

Dwarfs were a pretty common sight in Trine, they were one of the most numerous nonhuman species in the city after all, but even still the jubilant dwarf drew more than his fair share of staring eyes as he passed. Partly because of the little bit of infamy he had gained being the "mad" dwarf, but mostly because of his large backpack. Despite him being almost half as wide as he was tall it was comically huge on the short nonhuman being half again as wide as he was and almost as tall with the cone topped steam vent rising over his bald head. Needless to say the jauntily strolling dwarf made quite a sight.

As he neared the large squat building the was the headquarters of the Enneads he just so happened to run into the very group of scavengers he was looking for, "Ho gents, and just what have ye brought this humble steam-smith today" Merik called to them the second he realized who they were, and right away knew something was up. The group of nervously looked at anything that wasn't him for a solid ten seconds "ah yeah about that" said a middle aged man in the front of the group "We uh think Art has the stuff", "aye ok and why does that matter" asked the now suspicious dwarf, "well he mentioned something about going and selling somethings to a friend of his and we think he accidentally took your steam stuff with him" replied the man quickly. Merik's right eye twitched before he asked in a very....very calm voice "and where exactly did he say he was goin?"


Mentions, PiePillager AI10100

 

[obscured_light]

Urshta's eyes widened slightly as she wondered if she had made a face when he had sat down. But if the drunkard was often in in this situation, he was likely aware of how he presented to others in his hungover state. She smiled and shook her head.

"Ah, it is no bother at all. May I know your name however? If you have many a night like this, perhaps we shall see you come by again. I would like something more appropriate than 'drunkard'. Unless you wish to stay that way, then that is also acceptable," Urshta said as she took a bite of an apple.

 

[Melon Bomb]

A tired, thirty-something Darin Capel swapped shifts with the watchman with a passing hi-five, joining his fellow guards atop the sanctuary walls. Morning chatter stirred on the wide scaffolding below, the sound of cards slapping violently against tables accompanied by equally enthusiastic shouts and cries. Obviously, nobody ever actually has this much fun on the job. Tensions had been steadily growing lately, both inside the city and out -- and people were anxious to distract themselves any way that they could. Darin wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and looked out into the dark, grassy canyon in the distance. He'd only just donned his uniform, and already sweat was beginning to dribble down his hairline. Pinching the side of his iron helmet, he lifted it off his sweaty noggin and let it dangle over the edge as his arms rested upon the rocky banister.

Now normally, a shallow river would run down the center of the canyon -- effectively the city's choke point -- and pool off into a nearby pond. But with each passing summer, the waters thinned until eventually there was nothing left but a dried up bed of smooth rocks. Even the once thriving pond had become a glorified puddle, its sea life all but stripped away. Water had become scarce under the drought, and the skies, of course, were clear as ever.

Then, there was the forests. Specifically, the forests that hovered around the edges of the bank, winding through the ravine into a greater sea of trees beyond the mountainous formations. They were just close enough to the walls that watchmen, like Darin, could spot movement among the brush. Black, oozing beasts lurking in the shadows, eyes tiny pin pricks in the dark. Unlike the drought, the emergence of tar near their borders was a recent development, likely within the past few days or so; now the dangers of delving presented themselves not beyond their natural defenses, but as soon as one stepped foot outside the sanctuary.

It wasn't a glamorous life being a watchman, but at least it was safe. Darin looked over to his buddy, who was aiming his crossbow down toward the treeline. "Takin' potshots at the tar again?" he asked, raising his brow and gesturing with his helmet hand. "Better not. They'll whip you for wasting bolts." The younger guardsman ignored his advice and squeezed the lever, letting a bolt fly in the direction of a tarred dog halfway poking out in the open. Naturally, he missed by a long shot.

"Bah, shit goes missing all the time around here," he replied, ramming the crossbow's head into the ground and wrenching back the bowstring with one forceful jerk. The man squinted over at a small flock of birds soaring above them and then back to his partner with a shrug. "Every once in a while should be alright, otherwise I'd have gone mad with boredom weeks ago."

"If you love shootin' things so damn much, why don't you just become a delver?" Darin asked, half genuinely.

"W-well, I was, for a short while. Listen, I'd rather shoot at things from a safe distance. Out there?" The man pointed into the wilderness, a still look in his eyes. "Out there is death."

"Ain't wrong about that. It's why I-- FUCK!" Suddenly, a blur of black feathers thrashed into his chest and swiftly curved out in an arc, circling above their station with two other birds. The helmet fumbled out of his fingers and fell a great distance below, just outside the wall; Darin whipped his head around, first searching for his attacker, and then for his own crossbow. "Fuck! What just happened?"

"You got tagged by some stupid birds, that's what happened," the other guardsman said, his weapon already primed and aimed upward. With a snap, the missile founds its mark straight through the pigeon's skull, sending it careening into the stone floor in a cluster of dirty pinons. The dying bird twitched and spasmed, life fading from its beady black eyes and dark ooze spilling... out of its... wound... Stupefied, Darin lifted his forearm. There was a single gash engraved into his flesh. Mixed in with his red blood, thick, slimy tar dripped unmistakably from the talon's cut.

"You've got to be shittin' me..." he breathed.

***

"One... two... three... okay, and PULL!" Tanner and the shopkeep yanked the door handle with a mighty pull, breaking it open in a cloud of sawdust and splinter fragments as the edge of the door grinded against the door frame. Her boot heel slipped against the floor and she staggered back out of balance, just barely catching herself on the counter with her elbow. Panting, but ultimately relieved. The shopkeep offered a hand and helped her to her feet, dusting off her clothes with a few heavy brushes of his hand.

"Whew... thanks for the help," he said with a laugh. "I know you just came to pick up your junk, but that thing's been stuck since yesterday morning."

"Not a problem," she said, returning the laugh and patting the ash from her gloves. "Seems like you've been focusing so much on your work that you've been neglecting your own store."

"Aha, well, you know me. Right, see you 'round then!"

With a jingle of the entrance chime, Tanner left the workshop a pouch of coins lighter, but with a shiny new rifle scope in her hand. She turned the piece over between her fingers as she walked down the cobbled road, letting the reflective brass catch the glint of sunlight. She weaved around some rambling Legion doomsayers and running children, admiring the work but also judging the finer details of its craftsmanship. It was better than what she could make, admittedly, but the little flaws still stuck out like a sore thumb. A dwarven smith could've done it justice, but their skills were prized a little higher and she wasn't looking to spend that much money.

Across the street, some civilians were loading up something huge on a flat, metal platform. A comically large crate of some kind, covered by brown tarp, was lifted up via crank. She stopped and watched, a little amused as the men struggled to pull at the lever handling its weight. Once it was level, they tugged at a rope that slipped out from under the cloth coverings and heaved the thing into an equally massive open wagon. Whatever this thing was, its container was easily taller than a man. A ship part, maybe? Didn't look like they were with the Guild, though.

She adjusted her rifle strap, feeling it chafing into her shoulder.

Hm. Since she was already out and about, she could go pay one of the Ennead houses a visit, too. Her wallet was looking rather shallow after this recent purchase, so it'd be good to make some of that money back; if she was lucky, she'd find at least one or two job postings that would suit her needs. Standing under a street lamp, she nudged out a folded map from her bag with her thumb and forefinger and snapped it open.

The headquarters was her go-to, but she didn't feel like walking to the other side of town. Let's see, the other building is...

***

Silence reigned over the estate. All eyes gathered on King Argrave, who sat with his hands folded over his mouth looking uncharacteristically grim. He was a powerful man. Not just in status or physical strength, but mentally as well -- even in times of crisis, his charisma and force of personality shone through like a shining beacon. Such was not the case now, and several of the nobles present were themselves clued into the gravity of the situation.

"The sanctuary is in danger."

Argrave stated this aloud, clearly, and factually. He was not one to mince his words. If the king said the sanctuary was in danger, then it was in danger. Grave danger. With a scarcely suppressed sigh, the man leaned back into his seat and pinched the bridge of his nose. Slowly, he opened his eyes and took in a quiet breath.

"Some of you may know this, and some of you may not," he began. "Currently, to our knowledge, our Guardian is deeply ill with an unknown sickness. The past few days have seen increased activity from the curse near our walls, and so we suspect the beasts of tar know this as well. Simultaneously, we have lost a valued member of our nobility in this same month, and have seen its effects on the productivity of our city.

We will spend the coming days vigorously scouring the neighboring regions in search of a new Guardian, so that our beloved sanctuary shall not fall to ruin in Snow's absence. During this time, I would like you all to use this opportunity to restore order and morale within our walls to the best of your ability. At the end of this week, your individual efforts shall be evaluated by the High Court, and a successor to Lord Harmon shall be named. I may ask your cooperation in this time of crisis, but this corruption... it demands it of us all. As it stands, our city is divided, but if we wish to survive the coming onslaught we must work together. If you have any questions, you may ask them now."

"Restore 'order and morale'. Your instructions are awfully vague, don't you think?" From the left side of the table, Lady Ychelle Mortegala glanced down casually at her painted nails.

A servant standing at the king's side balled his hands into fists and took a single step forward. "Watch your tone--"

The king hushed his attendant with an open palm.

"Yes. Intentionally so, but perhaps I should clarify. As long as your actions will benefit our city, you will be granted special permissions to carry out your tasks. What this task is, is up to you. We are ailed with many things, after all. The growing civil unrest in our outer rings, the uncaught murderers stalking out streets, this dreadful summer drought which has burned out crops and dried up our wells, the beasts of the curse breathing down our necks, waiting to strike... All of these must be addressed in due time."

"I have a question to ask, Your Majesty." This time from the right, a bowed head from Lady Medea Silvertree. Her bangs parted as she lifted her head, revealing brilliant green eyes behind them. "About the passing of Lord Harmon... what exactly are the privileges of his seat?"

"An honorary royal." King Argrave sipped at his wine, maintaining eye contact with the nobles at the table. "Should our royal family become incapacitated or otherwise unable to perform our duties, the chosen representative will be allowed to succeed the the throne. There are other things, of course, but that is a discussion for another time. Now, have we any other inquiries? Or shall we conclude our meeting, and make haste in our work?"

Nulix

 

[DarKnight36]

Khilith pondered the question of whether he preferred being called "drunkard" or his actual name for a longer moment than was undoubtedly necessary.

"Khilith," he finally sighed. He ate a bite of the food. "Good food." Khilith shifted gingerly. "I'd ask for the recipe but I just burn things."

 

[obscured_light]

Urshta took a glance down at the bakery bread, honey, apples, and juice that were on the table between them. She raised an eyebrow at Khilith, deciding that maybe he had been speaking about the bread and not at all hit his head in his drunken stupor. Though, that was something to mention to Myril when she returned.

"Well, cooking can be very much an exact art form at times, particularly with bread," Urshta commented before closing her eyes and uttering, "Khilith, Khilith, Kai-lith."

She opened her eyes and smiled, looking a bit abashed.

"It is a very nice name you have, Khilith. I have a hard time remembering names so I try to repeat them once I am told. It also helps to make sure I can pronounce it correctly," Urshta explained as her entire tail moved in a small sweeping motion. "I am Urshta by the way. I am an assistant to Myril who greeted you first when you walked in. They are also the one to approach with questions on how to keep food from burning."

"I am very capable of doing the technical steps but Myril often stated how I had poor sense of taste," Urshta laughed. "Therefore, if there is time for a meal, Myril will volunteer to do so."

 

[Nulix]

"Order... and morale..."

The words crept from the back of Prince Cuculdo's throat like a fire down a chimney, intense but far away. His finger pushed into his temple as he spoke. "You want us to keep order? And morale?" Prince Cuculdo's eyes snapped to the King, a grin growing on his face. "You are the ruler of the Sanctuary. How can we, your nobility, do the job better than you? Or the city guard?"

Cuculdo scoffed. "I admit it... I could muster my personal retinues, a force that may be greater than yours, old friend... but unless you allow us to dispense law and order, we are powerless to help." Cuculdo's lip quivered as his eyes looked up. "If you were to grant us the power... of the guard, then your proposition would hold weight."

 

[Melon Bomb]

The king shook his head.

"I am only one man, and our guard continues to be pushed to its limits by these dire circumstances. Each and every one of you has a strength to bring to this table -- I know this, because you are sitting here now, before me. If you must make use of our men, then you have my blessing to do so."

"This stupid old man is going to ruin everything," Princess Ari sneered, turning her nose up at Cuculdo. "Ever since his name started making its rounds in our court, he has been nothing but trouble."

Princess Alisa clapped her hands together with a small smile. "Now, now, no need to throw accusations around at the table. Let's all believe in Lord Cuculdo's abilities, hm?"

Nulix

 

[Nulix]

"You have shown... great... wisdom," Cuculdo smiled. "We the nobility will enforce the law... and I will... with the powers granted in me, come down upon this sanctuary like a hammer on a nail."

 

[egglover]

"Only because I wish to keep my food down," Myril interjected, re-entering the room with a mysterious bottle in hand, "You are talented at many things, Urshta, but I'm afraid cooking isn't one of them. Here."

Myril passed the bottle to Khilith. When he popped the cork top an acrid smell wafted out, burning the hairs of his nostrils. The woman sounded amused, "It smells bad, but I promise you that it is a miracle hangover cure. Drink up before you change your mind."

 

[. D O V E]

A series of rushed footsteps crescendoed until the door to the blacksmith's bathroom flung open. In came a light-haired woman with sweat dripping from the side of her panicked face, her shaking hands fumbling with the knob in an attempt to lock the egress. Unfortunately for her, the bathroom wasn't spared of the place's entropy and the bolt has been reduced to nothing but a rusting decoration. A frustrated curse left her lips in return. For a craftswoman like Sigrid, her house was ironically dilapidated.

Shaking her head, she detached herself from the object and inched closer to the sink where a mirror hang on the wall in front. There, she caught sight of her reflection and a frown instantly settled on her features. Save from the healing cut below her right eye, she looked exactly like former self. It was impossible for him not to recognize her.

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. What a cruel twist of fate. Why did it have to be Art Schanzee out of all people? It has been two months, yet, she still didn't know what to tell him. A somber look befell her face as she was swamped with memories of his brother, Aiden. If he could see her right now, she wondered what kind of face he would be making. He would probably be wearing that foolishly kind smile of his.

Lost in her stupor, her mind began manifesting Aiden's form behind her reflection on the mirror. He was wearing his smile just as she imagined, and he leaned forward to embrace her. The warmth she would feel during their rare moments wasn't there, yet she stayed still nonetheless. She knew what would come next. He would draw closer and let his breath ghost her ear before whispering...,

"Cordelia... you must tell him the truth."

Azy's eyes widened and she watched as the phantom dissipated. It left nothing but the ever-familiar, sick feeling at the depths of her stomach. She pressed her hands against her abdomen, suppressing a retch as she gradually grew nauseous. There was no way she could tell Art, or anyone, the truth. She needed to get out of here at once!

With that in mind, Azy made haste for the nearby window. She hurriedly slid the covering open and dangled one leg over the aperture. It would be bad if anyone recognized her in the streets, but anything would be better than facing Art Schanzee. So, she prepared to climb out...

A series of rushed footsteps crescendoed until the door to the blacksmith's bathroom flung open. A sudden force yanked her clothes from behind and she abruptly fell backwards, landing on the hard ground with a thud.

The next thing she knew, she was staring Art Schanzee right in the eyes. Defeated, she allowed a droopy smile to crawl on her lips, "Hello, Art. Don't you know it's rude to barge in bathrooms?"

AI10100 Colorless Spectrum