SilverPaw

Revue of Annihilation

Just need to confirm, Silver, Est.

For selling off your assets, did you want opportunities for forming connections with any possible merchant, or would you rather just have that part truncated so you can move onto other things?

@ERode

Missed this, and mine are sold off, and for the buying, I think just noting down prices - what goods get sold at what prices, what gear can be bought for how much, who's reputable, trustworthy, has a decent price/quality ratio works.

Reborn in a Fantasy World, This Time I Shall...!

Sora

《 Level 1 Tamer 》
Location: Ruined Inn

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While Sora fiddled with the undead corpse, Tiny stammered something. The tamer frowned up at her. The small elf’s voice was high-pitched, wavering…on the verge of crying?

“Hey, hey, okay, okay,” he said, trying to calm her down. He raised his hand in a stop motion, but noticed his hands were definitely not sanitary right then. “I said sorry, didn’t I? This isn’t the kind of situation any of us are used to, right? We don’t actually know anything about it, we can just guess and try things out until we do find out, yeah? So, c’mon, I know it wasn’t your fault or anything…Don’t cry please?”

He almost went to scratch his head, but was reminded his hands were gross in time. “A fantasy setting…Then would you call our world a realistic setting? I wouldn’t, and I don’t know that thinking in terms of tropes is such a sure bet, either,” he rationalized. “Them being magic doesn’t tell me enough,” he shrugged. “That’s why I want to know why. Because there’ll be a next time, and we want to do better next time. Right?”

Tiny seemed to be calming down now, and was finally on the track of focusing on the positives – that they killed a zombie and cleared out the cellar without any injuries on their part. “Would you like a hug?” he asked, just in case. She said she wasn’t a kid, but she did still remind him of his younger sister a bit. “Ah, but my hands are a mess,” he remarked with a wry small. Whether Tiny accepted his offer or not, Sora went to the kitchen momentarily to wash his hands.

He brought the washbasin, cloth, and a piece of hard soap he’d discovered after looking around the kitchen for a while with him to the reception area. He set the items down next to the dead armoured lady (who'd died while still human), and started cleaning her body, and the area around it. He wanted to bury her. However, he wasn’t sure what to do about the zombie. Part of him was tempted to just chuck it out but…Maybe the others would have some better input.

However, it seemed at least Ryu and Blonde were already off exploring the cellar. “Anything good in there?” he didn’t shout, hoping they could hear.

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@VitaVitaAR @RolePlayerRoxas @Aku the Samurai @PKMNB0Y

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Wulfric & Torvi

FLASHBACK: The 23rd of Sola, morning. After the Tea Party.

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If Wulfric’s office was a haven of papers, it was still a mere fragment compared to the hub of information and activity contained in a meeting room on the second floor. The room was filled with smaller tables, several cork board stands, filing cabinets and bookshelves – and people.

One group was dedicated to compiling information on Black Rose and its mercantile activities; if there were any inconsistent or suspect monetary transactions, they would be found. This group worked heavily in cooperation with the Merchant Guild and other governmental and business personnel. Another group was focused on uncovering and empowering any local rivals to Marek, if only so as to hassle him. The annoying thing was, with how Black Rose had flourished, the company and Marek himself had some clear support among the nobility – even royalty. That was something he’d have to look into, especially with Edin and Alibeth.

There were a few other groups, for planning, intelligence, analysis, and security. Obviously, only key individuals with information to share would come here in the first place. Still, it made for a populated room, and plenty of scurrying to and fro. It was a set-up convenient for the prince, perhaps less so for everyone else.

At present, Wulfric was conversing with one of the knights who had accompanied the queen when she’d gone to fetch the missing nobles from the party. That night, even though it had been shortly after the party had apparently ended, nothing had been found at the warehouse.

The people he’d assigned to follow Anastasia when she’d tried visiting her ‘friend’ had barely anything to report. A mysterious ‘someone’ had visited, a person whose height and build could be a match for Calbert Damien. Though, his sister had been the only one brave enough to speculate on the stranger’s identity. The man’s visit coincided with an increase in security at Marek’s, so clearly, something of importance had gone down.

“And that is all that our men have uncovered since?” Wulfric sought to confirm.

“Yes, Your Highness. Other than the warehouse area being heavily guarded, there was no evidence. He had too many guards at the office to have anyone infiltrate it secretly.”

“Well, then it is high time we commence an overt operation. Have a team search this warehouse again,” his finger nearly stabbed into a point on the map which was spread out on the table. “As incredulous as it seems, be on the lookout for a basement.”

The captain nodded, and the prince continued. “Here are the known facilities which Black Rose has rented within the city,” he traced the warehouses in question. “Have them searched too. Be courteous to the neighbouring tenants, and see if they have recently noted any unusual activity. If they ask the purpose of this action, simply say there has been evidence pointing to potential drug trade.”

More nods followed, and though the captain appeared mystified, he did not ask.

Good.

“Finally, you will thoroughly investigate this location,” he pointed at Delronzo’s office building. This was the place Anastasia had gone to, and which he’d had a few agents observe from afar since that night.

He wanted to do something about the damnable man sooner rather than later. An open search, if nothing else, might pressure Delronzo. But would it provoke him into action, reckless or otherwise?

He was curious to find out.

Once the prince had given out the necessary orders, he paced across the meeting room, absorbing the information provided. Though he’d dismissed those he no longer needed, a number of his subordinates still remained. They worked on their assigned tasks, the chatter between them low in volume, and restricted to the necessary exchange of information.

The quietly intense, well-organized proceedings were interrupted by loud voices emerging from the adjacent hallway. These would be the guards trying to keep someone away from where they shouldn’t be – because of course, he had stationed sentinels outside for this very purpose. He trusted they would handle the matter.

Yet, the bickering continued. And was that a growl?

Annoyance overtook him, so Wulfric strode out of the room with purpose, and glared icy daggers in the direction of the commotion.

“Just what is going on here?” More so than a question, it was a statement demanding answers. His tone was just as frigid as his stare, and for a moment, he merely stood there, taking in the woman and her wolf.

She was a tall, fit, and evidently well-trained woman, likely hailing from Varian. He did not know her face, however. The animal standing by her side was a magnificent specimen, but this was hardly the occasion to admire it. The strangers were square in the middle of the hall, as if they had all right to be there.

“Why are these trespassers wandering so freely?” He inquired softly, but with a near-hissing undertone; an evident sign of danger. Reflecting the light emerging from the hallway’s windows, his irises were as clear and light as glaciers – and just as chilling.

His posture was entirely regal, and there was nary a twitch in the direction of his sheathed weapons. Yet there was something about him which, to the trained eye, was ready to strike.

The prince had no awareness of this whatsoever, but to the woman and the wolf, he appeared very much akin to a wild beast whose territory had been intruded upon.

He might as well have asked, ‘Why have they not been cut down yet’, by the way he was looking at the pair.

One of the guards bowed in his direction with a respectful, “Your Highness.” Smartly, the other watchmen kept a wary eye on the two unknowns. “She claims to be Her Majesty’s servant.”

“Oh?” Wulfric questioned, tone still softly dangerous. This time, he was clearly asking the woman rather than the guards. Throughout, his gaze had been aggressively affixed onto the woman.

Torvi had taken leave of the queen's presence, her mind abuzz with thoughts of the impending mission. She decided to explore the castle, familiarize herself with the layout of this foreign environment. As she wandered through the corridors, Fenrys paced gracefully at her side, his presence commanding respect and caution. It was surprising how silent the larger animal was, even causing some who didn’t hear them coming to shout out in surprise. Every time this happened, Torvi couldn’t help but laugh a little before softly saying something to Fenrys in an unfamiliar language to most around her.

Unbeknownst to her, they had ventured into a part of the castle that was off-limits to most. The commotion in the hallway caught her attention, and she turned her gaze toward the escalating voices and the unmistakable scent of tension in the air. It was then that she realized she was the cause for the commotion, glances of alarm and some fear landing on her as she slowly came to a stop.

Two guards, clearly agitated by her presence, made an attempt to halt her progress, reaching out to grab her arm. Before they could make contact, Fenrys growled menacingly, a warning that froze them in their tracks. His golden eyes bore into theirs, daring them to make another move.

It was at this tense moment that a figure emerged from the room, and Torvi's sharp eyes locked onto him. He was a commanding presence, his aura radiating authority. His piercing, glacier-blue eyes met hers, and she felt a shiver of recognition.

His question, delivered with a chilling undertone, hung in the air, and Torvi couldn't help but grin a little mischievously. She was well aware of the trouble she had inadvertently stirred, but there was something about his demeanor that intrigued her. She held his gaze, her striking golden eyes showing no fear. It wasn’t defiance; it was a warrior’s recognition of another warrior.

"Apologies for the disruption," she began, her tone respectful but not submissive. "I am Torvi Jorviksdottir, a serfant of Her Majesty, the queen." She inclined her head in a sign of acknowledgment.

Torvi couldn't help but notice the similarities in scent between this man and Queen Alibeth. It was a faint connection, but it piqued her curiosity. She had overheard the servant's address and put two and two together. "Highness," she echoed softly, a glint of understanding in her eyes.

For a moment, she weighed her words carefully, her wolf still poised and watchful by her side. "I meant no offense, Highness. I was merely exploring the castle, getting to know my surroundings. If my presence here is unwelcome, I shall depart immediately."

Her tone held a hint of challenge, but her posture remained respectful. Torvi was not one to back down easily, and the presence of this prince, whom she assumed was one of the rulers of this land, only fueled her determination to assert herself in this unfamiliar territory.

As Wulfric studied the woman, it became clear she was confident she belonged here. She confirmed she was a servant, but there was nothing servile about her demeanour. That could be a sign of competence as well as it could be of arrogance. While respectful, she seemed to want to stand above most others.

“Daughter of Jorvik,” he stated. He was familiar with the naming convention; some people in the far north used it. “You must be very new here indeed.” There was a slight yet firm rebuke in his tone as he raised a brow at her, subtly looking her down. “Even if you have just arrived,” he guessed she must have, “is the notion that you cannot simply traipse around another’s property as you please beyond you?”

“Besides,” he gave the wolf another brief look, then turned back to Torvi, lips pursed, “to bring in some animal?” As much as he would enjoy seeing it in its element out in the wild, he was still quite reserved about the prospect of beasts like it muddying up their castle. “That is a privilege we have recently permitted only to members of the Alidasth royalty. Whom you are very much not a part of,” he drawled.

Admittedly, he was curious why this woman had been hired. With a sharp glint in his eye, he decided to question her. “You did not care to mention, but what is your role, exactly? A glorified guard…?” Surely, it was not just that.

While the prince was no longer as aggravated, he was still dubious of this woman’s presence. It was unlikely that she had gained access into the castle without a proper invitation, but even so, he’d prefer to have confirmation of her identity. And if she was what she claimed to be, she ought to learn that she wasn’t all so special as she appeared to believe.

Torvi met the prince's gaze with a steady one of her own, her confidence unwavering. His rebuke didn't faze her; she was used to navigating situations where her presence was questioned. His words were sharp, but she could sense his curiosity beneath the surface.

"Indeed, Daughter of Jarl Jorvik," she echoed, acknowledging her lineage with a hint of pride. She inclined her head slightly at his remark about her being new, not offering any excuses for her presence in the castle.

"I am well awfare of the notion, Highness," she replied calmly. "I assure you, I did not traipse around as I pleased. I was merely exploring my new home, as any newcomar might."

His comment about Fenrys being an animal caused her to chuckle, and she directed her gaze to the magnificent dire wolf. She raised a hand to stroke Fenrys's fur gently, her fingers brushing over the thick silver-gray coat.

"Fenrys is no mere animal," she stated with a touch of amusement. "I suggest you look into his eyes again, Highness. You might find something intaresting there. He understands more than you may think." Indeed, if he were to look at Fenrys who was now staring at him, he would see a deeper intelligence there than one should find in an animal. It was as if the wolf understood every word that was being spoken and he had his own thoughts on everything that was happening. In fact, if one looked close enough, they might even say the wolf was now smirking at the prince.

Torvi's words were measured, her tone respectful but firm. She didn't intend to back down or let the prince dismiss Fenrys as a simple beast. She believed in the unique bond between her and the dire wolf, one that went beyond the ordinary.

As he continued to question her role, she maintained her composed demeanor. She couldn't help but appreciate his curiosity; it hinted at a certain level of intelligence and perceptiveness.

"Of sorts." she replied with a faint grin. "Her Majesty, Queen Alibeth, deemed the current circumstances to be...unique. She had concerns that her children's ordinary guards might not be quite equipped to protect them from certain threats that hafe arisen."

Her words were carefully chosen, meant to convey the gravity of the situation without revealing too much. Torvi respected the queen's discretion and understood the need for secrecy in such matters.

“Exploring?” he scoffed, only mildly irritated. He did realize that she had made a genuine mistake when she’d entered this restricted area. Also, though he by no means intended to admit it, a part of him was entertained by her words. She was opposing his uncharitable interpretation of her actions, and trying to put a positive spin on what she’d been doing.

But he didn’t agree with the justification, so he shook his head once. “The entirety of this castle is not your home. There will always be areas where you will not be permitted, or which you will require clearance for. As a newcomer, it would behoove you to find a guide to accompany you.” The suggestion for an escort was just that; a suggestion. He did not intend to enforce it, as Torvi struck him as clever enough not to land herself in too much trouble even without a guide.

“I have set these guards here for a reason,” he asserted, lightly chastising her. Either she had not noticed them, or hadn’t realized that as an unknown face, her presence would warrant their caution.

“Whether you consider it a matter of awareness or of cultural differences, I expect you will soon learn our standards, and abide by them.” He stared at her seriously. She needed to know that even if she was a direct servant to the queen, she was, after all, still a servant. Even if she met employees of a lower rank, she would have to consider that they too, had orders from someone above her station.

As the conversation turned to her animal companion, Torvi once again showed immense confidence in the being. Wulfric issued a thoughtful hum. “Well, pet owners do always claim that their beasts are special,” he began dryly, but humoured her, and took another look at the wolf.

This animal…

It might be his imagination, but there did seem to be something there. All he said out loud, however, was, “I suppose he is very well trained.” He met Torvi’s eyes then. “So be it. Feel free to have him accompany you. Just be aware that my father has a profound hatred of beasts being indoors, and my mother isn’t particularly fond of them either.”

As soon as the woman mentioned ‘unique’ circumstances, his gaze sharpened. He respected the secretiveness - it would serve her well. He nodded once curtly. “Accompany me,” he ordered.

He led her to a small drawing room down the hallway. It was empty, and once he ascertained their privacy, he turned to her once again. “This threat you are referring to…Is it magic?” He suddenly asked, surprisingly blunt. However, based on what she’d said, and knowing Alibeth, there was little else she could have meant.

Torvi met Wulfric's stern gaze with a calm resolve, acknowledging the boundaries he delineated without conceding any hint of submission. She understood the importance of rules and protocols, even if she didn't necessarily appreciate them. It wasn't the first time she had found herself navigating unfamiliar territories, and she had a knack for adapting quickly. His comment about pet owners drew a brief smile from her, but she didn't engage further. Instead, she followed him as he led the way to a private room.

She took a moment to assess the surroundings before turning her attention back to Wulfric, meeting his gaze with a steady one of her own. The prince's directness didn't catch her off guard; she had expected him to get to the point as he’d already proved to be one that didn’t tiptoe around things.

"It is…refreshing to speak to someone so sharp. Yes, I speak of magic." She confirmed, her voice low and confident as she grinned at him. She paused for a moment, choosing her words carefully before continuing.

"It seems the influence of sorcery and the supernatural is growing within Caesonia. Queen Alibeth beliefes it poses a significant threat not only to the royal family but to the entire kingdom."

Her words were chosen carefully, conveying the gravity of the situation without revealing the intricate details that were best kept secret. "I am highly skilled in…sniffing out magic users and the supernatural, if you will. Finding and keeping balance with these things has been my whole life."

Her tone was matter-of-fact, and her eyes conveyed a quiet determination. Torvi was confident in her abilities, honed through years of training and experience. She understood the gravity of the situation and the importance of her role in this mission.

She didn't elaborate further, leaving it at that, respecting the need for discretion in discussing matters related to magic. Her focus remained on the task at hand, ready to assist in any way she could to uncover the source of the magical disturbances within Caesonia.

The prince returned Torvi’s look calmly even as he assessed the proud woman. Not exactly one for bending or blind obedience, though that was just fine. She also appeared secure in her experience. If she could be relied on, that would be excellent. The warrior did have her quirks, and seemed unused to high-society. Yet, she was adaptable, so overall, he was looking forward to seeing her in action.

“Refreshing?” he raised a brow. “I do hope you aren’t trying to insinuate that my mother is dull.” However, his mild tone indicated that he didn’t believe she’d been trying to insult the queen, whom she’d spoken to most recently. It was merely a warning for her to be careful with how she phrased things.

He nodded at her explanation, and followed up with several questions. “Are you saying magic users can be detected reliably by mundane means? Or are you a practitioner yourself?” His neutral manner of asking assured that he wouldn’t judge either way. The next question, however, was more prodding. “What exactly do you mean by ‘balance’, and how would you ensure it?” He wasn’t sure if she meant that she specialized in eradicating witches, or else that she strived to prevent what she interpreted as ill-use of magic.

“Are you the only one who has been hired? I would prefer a team to deal with the numerous strange incidents which have cropped up,” he confessed. He didn’t truly doubt her skills as an individual, but relying only on one person to handle all magical occurrences would be poor management.

“What assignment has the queen given you?” he then queried. “I assure you - she would be perfectly fine with me knowing, and is sure to brief me when we next meet. However, our respective work does keep us busy, and I would appreciate the information sooner rather than later,” he explained. “It also so happens that I am pursuing a target who has surely employed magic - of the memory erasing type. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has given you a smaller scale mission first, however.” Certainly, if it were him, he would first test her with something else.

Torvi met Wulfric's gaze evenly, undeterred by his probing questions. She understood the necessity of caution when discussing matters of magic, especially within the royal court. His comment about his mother drew a small chuckle from her and she simply smirked at him as she replied with, “Of course not, Your Highness.”

As Wulfric delved into his inquiries, Torvi remained composed, answering each question with careful consideration.

“I am not necessarily a practitioner myself,” she explained. “But I hafe been trained to recognize the subtle signs of magic use, both through obserfation and certain… techniques. I hafe equipment that some may find…questionable, but I do not cast magic myself.” She didn't elaborate on the specifics any more than that, maintaining an air of mystery around her methods.

“By ‘balance,’ I mean ensuring that the use of magic does not disrupt the natural order of things,” she continued. “It is about maintaining harmony between the mundane and the supernatural, preventing any misuse or exploitation of magical energies. Often that requires…eliminating the target that is deemed dangerous.”

Torvi paused for a moment, considering his next question about her role within the investigation.

“As far as I am aware, currently I am the only one Queen Alibeth has hired directly for this task,” she admitted. “Howefer, I am prepared to collaborate with others if necessary. Teamwork can often yield better results in such matters, though I do usually like to work alone.”

As for her assignment, Torvi chose her words carefully, mindful of the need for discretion.

“The queen has tasked me with infestigating seferal incidents of magical disturbances that hafe been reported across Caesonia,” she replied. “My initial focus will be on gathering information and identifying potential sources of these disturbances while acting under the guise of you and your siblings' new protector.”

She paused, meeting Wulfric's gaze with a steady one of her own.

“This is all I am willing to say on the matter,” she said with a look that said that was final. “However, if you require my assistance in any way, you need only ask.”

Torvi's tone was resolute, her commitment to her task unwavering as she prepared to face the challenges ahead.

Wulfric listened carefully to the woman’s words as she spoke. He was fairly certain she was being politically correct (or simply cautious) and did not wish to indicate that she was using magic of some sort. “In the end, whether your techniques and equipment are supernatural in nature or not doesn’t matter per se - as long as you remain mindful of this ‘balance’, and as long as you provide sufficient results, of course.” He was basically giving his implicit approval and permission for her to rely on supernatural means if she thought she had to. He doubted she needed him saying so, but it might encourage her to gradually become more open when discussing her expertise.

It was unfortunate that he couldn’t use her as a magical consultant. But even just having a single person who was knowledgeable about the supernatural was a boon. “Well, if you are ever ready to share your tips and tricks…” he invited with a smirk. He did not expect her to do so at the moment, so he continued the conversation after a brief pause. “There have indeed been several incidents,” he nodded. “As a matter of fact, I have just talked to Lady Violet, who exhibited severe changes in her appearance, behavior, and her motor and cognitive skills. Hey eyes are now crimson, and she was thought dead a few days ago,” he summarized. “I would be curious to hear your professional opinion regarding her, so pay attention if she is ever in your vicinity.”

As for the other incidents… “There have been reports of strange, potentially magical occurrences at the circus. Then there is that whole after-party debacle which had happened a few days ago. Marek Delronzo, the owner of Black Rose, is suspected to have erased his guests’ memory of the party. My younger siblings - Callum and Anastasia - consider him a friend, however. I would not want them endangered because of their trust in the wrong man,” he concluded. Though he was unsure of her loyalty, Wulfric wanted to extend Torvi at least the basic amount of trust. She couldn’t do her job without the necessary intel, and he was curious how she’d handle it. Certainly, her conduct so far had impressed him, as she had firmly refused to divulge the particulars of the queen’s orders.

With that, the two concluded their introductory meeting. As they had discussed all there was to, they each went on to attend to their respective duties.

Avalia

Time: Morning Location: Desert Port Mention(s): Interaction(s): Tanithil @Lava Alckon, Amisra @Tae, Zion @Helo, Jun @JJ Doe Equipment Two short swords, two (concealed) daggers, two pistols, 465 amas.

While Tanithil took care of the business talk, Arlen studied the two new guests, a warm smile on his face as he bounced on his toes in relentless excitement. The human showed a slight hint of intrigue at the mention of treasure hunting, and had seemed impressed by his jumping stunt. Maybe he’s not so bad. Arlen waved at him where the guy was hiding behind Zion, waggling his fingers at the youth playfully. Maybe he was just shy or something? He didn’t answer Tanithil either – well, not with words.

He grinned at the demi-human’s cheer, finding it infectious. “Yeah, nice to meet you too!” he bounced closer. Not as close as he usually would, just in case the human got too spooked. “Well, you don’t have’ta worry about swimming right now.” He laughed at the joke; it started almost as a hiccup, feeling like the sound had to pass some boulders in his throat, but it went easier and smoother with each laugh. “No need for catfishin’ either,” he smirked. “Those are wonderful skills to have – do you have any experiences with deserts?” he wondered curiously. The man’s question was a good one; he didn’t know this place either, so Arlen just shrugged. “Why don’t we go and find out?” Smiling, he went on, eager to explore this town, and find a decent place for breakfast.

Revue of Annihilation

@Estylwen Sorry for the wait, but there ya go.

Revue of Annihilation

Theodore Valentin

//A3 - The Plaza at Morning

Interaction: @Estylwen Elys

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Theodore had put the swordswoman so far out of his mind that he was genuinely taken aback to see her. He’d noticed the stench first; the accumulated monster blood and viscera. The buzzing of flies drew him closer, and then there was that sensation of another Ichor Blessed. She’d gained some energy for herself now, and it was a strange thing – it still felt like absence, yet clearly, she had something. It was like staring into a gaping maw, a never-ending hunger driving it to consume any and all who would dare approach. Similar to the Abyss, in a way.

Was that her domain? Greed? Absence? The anti-thesis of being; nonexistence? He wasn’t certain. He wasn’t, but he was attracted and repelled to it in equal measure.

When he finally saw her, all miserable and beaten down, fatigued and unaware, as feeble as a nearly dead prey–
He hissed on an inhale and stopped in his tracks.

The surge of wrath and retributive desire was swift, powerful, and blinding; it was as if a surge of lightning had struck him that very moment.

Theo narrowed his eyes at the woman, bloody fantasies plaguing his mind. He could cut her down now, he could have her at her mercy, he could humiliate her.

How easy it would be, to surround her and beat the rest of her measly life force out of her. How simple, to pass by and run his spear through her, leaving her for dead. Perhaps even tripping her would suffice, and she’d meet her end in an ‘accident’, an unfortunate soul who’d fallen into a ditch and broken her neck after she’d chewed off too large of a chunk of the Abyss than she could handle.

Then, there was a second desire, the inverse of his first one, and nearly as strong.

He was tempted to simply meld into the crowds, disappear, and let this one meeting never come to fruition without her being the wiser. Why would he bother interacting with her at all? Why should he pay her any mind, when she was so downtrodden? Surely, he had already surpassed her?

But no.

That would be running away.

Her first run might have been tough, but who knew how the next ones would go?

He could become villainous enough to murder her in plain sight, but what would he gain? A small amount of Ichor and resources, in exchange for infamy?

Clenching his hands, straightening up, a blaze of fury brightening his crimson irises, he strode up right to her. “Hello, there,” he greeted a beat before reaching for her shoulder. His hold was firm, and he pulled lightly, urging her to turn around. Just in case she still had her reflexes, he was prepared to avoid any potential reflexive attacks on her part.

His followers were right by him, merely watching. Some were cautious, even spooked; the doctor and the child both looking at the blindfolded woman as if she were a fairytale monster manifest. Maris and Ezra were both tense, though they both oozed a particular smugness and sense of superiority. Sana appeared mostly neutral, if somewhat disapproving.

“You found it, didn’t you?” he asked rhetorically. His voice held a clear spark of anger; challenge, even. She couldn’t see him in the physical sense, but he stared right where he expected her eyes to be located underneath the blindfold. “Remember,” he demanded. “Remember who helped you.” He stared her down, studying her tired figure. She might be too out of it to appreciate subtle implications, so he’d spell it out for her. “You know I could have attacked you now as you’d done when you first met me. You know what would happen if I did, don’t you?” Know that I spared you. Know that I was merciful. “Remember that. If you have any honour,” he spat, finding it difficult to believe that she might, “you will find a way to repay me.”

He gave her the chance to respond, if she would, exhausted as she was.

But he did not expect the conversation to be long, if there even would be one. After their second meeting, he’d withdraw into the crowds, and continue with his plans – a shopping trip would be just the thing to clear his head.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Hunting gear -> A toga (over a tunic) and sandals Date and Time: Sola 24th, Predawn -> Morning Location: His room -> Knights' barracks -> The forest -> The castle -> The church Mention(s): AT THE CHURCH @Helo a very pink Leo, @JJ Doe someone he knows? Interaction(s): AT THE CHURCH @princess Anastasia, Calbert & Landon, @Lava Alckon Farim, @Rodiak Nahir & Ece, @PotterKira

EARLY MORNING

One moment, he was sleeping, the next, he was awake and alert. He’d startled, and was almost halfway up and out of the bed, but it didn’t take looking around to know he was alone. “Tch.” He dragged a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, and sat up. Raindrops pattered against the windows and balcony doors. Accompanying it was incessant, loud, overly-frivolous chirping. From where he’d set it on the night desk, Wulfric picked up his revolver, cocked it, and treaded lightly to the balcony doors.

Of course, opening them alerted the sparrows regardless, and they flew off away from where they’d been perching. “Damn birds,” he muttered. It was a dark, cloudy, rainy morning. It was the twilight before dawn; the clouds only partially covered the gradually lightening skies. It was blessedly fresh, and he inhaled, deep and long. He stood there for a while, soaking in the atmosphere – and the rain – not minding the drizzle the winds carried his way.

The rich earthly scent of petrichor hung heavily in the air. The rain washed away the usual smells of civilization, and enhanced those of nature. There was that distinctive freshly aquatic odor of the river and waterfall carried all the way from the direction of the forest. Then there were the woodland undertones of the trees, shrubs, and grasses. From the nearby castle’s gardens, the fragrance of flowering apple and magnolia trees was spreading, their sweetness as gentle as their budding blossoms.

It was pleasant, relaxing, invigorating.

Wulfric opened his eyes, staring into distances unknown.

He still wanted to shoot something.

With a low sigh, he retreated back inside. He had several hours to spare; he would go on a hunt. He dressed in simple, if high quality hunting attire, and donned a leather cloak.

THE BARRACKS

What he assumed would be a short stop at the knights’ barracks – he was there only to fetch his metaphorically dusty archery equipment – was unexpectedly prolonged when he found out about the previous night’s happenings at the Varian ceremony.

Despite its vicinity to the hospital, the knights’ barrack had its own medical quarter. As he neared the hallway leading to it, he heard an unusual hubbub. Wulfric changed his intended route, investigating the noise.

Within the infirmary, a troubling sight awaited.

One royal guard lay injured on a medical bed. His chest was heavily bandaged. A nurse had just changed the bandages, and was on her way to dispose of the old bandages which had bled through. The injured man had a deathly pallor about him, breathing shallowly in his coma, a layer of cold sweat clinging to him. Near his bed was a captain of the guards, and three other lower ranking men. The guards had been holding a discussion, though it died down at his approach.

“Your Highness,” the captain greeted, and all the guards bowed. “As you were.” At his sign, they straightened up.

“Captain…Blair,” Wulfric recalled his name after a beat. His gaze flitted to the recovering guard. “What happened?”

The head guard gave his account of the event. “We were searching for Lady Violet, Your Highness, which led us to the ceremony at the Lover’s Lake. There, a fellow named Erik, who introduced himself as the manager of the Ravenwood Artisan Guild, warned us away. We did not leave, however, and Lord Ravenwood, who wasn’t himself, charged us. Ravenwood’s guards tried to stop him, but it was in vain. We drew our weapons. Casey over there was the first in his path, and…” The man trailed off. “He looked like a fu– like some monster bear had clawed him,” he concluded quietly. A moment of grim silence passed before Blair finished his report. “Ravenwood was then led away by some others. On the orders of Prince Callum and Princess Anastasia, we left the premises. We carried Casey here, and alerted a doctor. I ordered several other guards to continue the search for Lady Violet.”

Wulfric nodded once, appreciative of the comprehensive summary. However, there were a plethora of questions which occurred to him. “Let us start from the beginning…Since when is Lady Violet missing? Why were you searching for her at the Lover’s Lake?”

“Countess Damien reported it last night.” The man proceeded to explain shortly why such urgency had been deemed necessary.

“Yet no one thought to search Lady Violet’s room to inspect the ‘disarray’ mentioned by the countess?” Clearly, the answer was no. Too, the guards had merely followed the count and countess’ suspicions that Violet might have gone to the ceremony.

“We will certainly have to review security and investigation protocols. A renowned noble he may be, but you do not follow Count Calbert’s orders or suggestions blindly.” At his stern tone, a murmur of apologies followed.

The guards’ contriteness was sufficient, so the prince nodded. “You said you were warned away? Did this Erik act antagonistically…?” he frowned.

“No, Prince Wulfric. He was genuinely worried. He said Lord Ravenwood had taken some sort of a drug which made him vicious towards perceived threats.”

“A perceived threat, hm?” Wulfric scoffed. It was telling that a Varian man in their land faced with their people considered Caesonian guards a threat. Drugged he may have been, yet obviously, the Varians were well aware of the potential risks. “How was the situation resolved? You said someone lured Lord Roman away?”

He was given the description of a woman he recognized – Torvi. Jorviksdottir had taken it upon herself to redirect the crazed lord’s attention by taking away Lady Mina Blackwood. “That white-haired woman is one of our agents. It was a good thing she was there,” he commented. A pause followed as he organized his thoughts. “What is Casey’s state?” In other words, would the man make it or not.

“He’ll pull through. They say he was lucky,” Blair added bitterly.

“I see,” Wulfric stated. There was a brief pause as he considered the situation. “His medical stay will be fully paid for, including his salary for any days of missed work because of his injury. Inform his family if you have not done so yet.”

Blair swallowed heavily, seemingly touched. “He’ll…he’ll appreciate that, Your Highness.”

There was a contemplative quietude shared among the men.

“Varian will pay.” Wulfric proclaimed.

The main culprit of the incident was certainly Lord Ravenwood. “Social faux-pas or no, permit or no, you adhered to your duties. To have one of the royal guards nearly slaughtered to death,” he shook his head. “It will not stand.”

The prince huffed. “Now, I don’t expect that the lord will ever so much as face charges for assault, however, I will ensure that the Varian royals compensate us for this matter.”

That, however, was for later. He had intended to go on a hunt, and so hunt he would. There were only two questions remaining. “Lady Violet is still missing?” The captain confirmed this with a nod. “…And what of my siblings?” he queried.

One of the guards who’d been silent thus far shifted awkwardly. “Er– Your Highness,” the man was awkwardly torn between wanting to look away and trying not to seem as if that’s what he was doing. “I ‘eard– I ‘eard the princess was carried to ‘er room by Sh-Shah– …by His Highness Farim.” He shuffled sheepishly, a hint of red creeping into his cheeks. “She– she was out of it – tha’s jus’ wot I ‘eard, is all!” he exclaimed, patently aware how this news would be taken.

“She what?” Wulfric hissed ferociously. The guard folded into himself with as much guilt as a scolded puppy. “S-sorry, I dunno any more, Prince Wulfric.”

The royal clenched his teeth. “Continue your duties. My siblings’ guards will be dealt with in due time.” It was fortunate none of them were there at this very moment, or he would have been irresistibly tempted to give them all a good whipping. The sheer incompetence was appalling, and Wulfric added ‘extra training for the royal guards’ to his ever-growing mental list of to-dos.

He exited the infirmary in an awful mood, though the knowledge that he’d get to unwind in the following hours helped. He fetched his sturdy composite bow, a quiver and arrows, a bow sling, and some other supplies. Before he departed, he had a very light breakfast alongside the few knights who had either risen early or were on their way to sleep following a night shift. He packed a few treats for the hounds he’d take today, and was finally on his way.

THE FOREST

He picked up a pack of short-legged scent hounds at the royal kennels. The building was sizeable for what it was, as they kept different types and breeds of hunting dogs. Inside, each had a spacious kennel which could be opened up into the outdoors area. Outside, they had fenced exercise grounds for the days when no one was taking them on a hunt.

The canines at the kennels were unusually restless. “They’ve been loud all night. Something’s got ‘em disturbed,” the hound master commented.

“Is that so…?” A number of select hounds were released to accompany him, barking loudly in excitement, and he crouched down to greet them. He petted the bunch as they crowded around him. “Let’s go.” He snapped his fingers, and the hounds followed.

Soon, they were trekking into the forested area towards the west-north of the castle. There were still plenty of trails to follow along this close to civilization. They passed near enough to the Lover’s Lake for Wulfric to notice the Varians at work already.

They were cleaning up after the ceremony – and after Roman’s rampage. The evidence of the man’s mindless wrath was plentiful; numerous trees had been felled or heavily damaged, and there was an eerie silence as the animals had vacated the surrounding area.

Wulfric couldn’t help but think that part of the reason for the Varian’s clean up was to remove evidence of all that had transpired.

Silently, he headed further northwards. The ground was soft due to the rainfall it had soaked up throughout the night, the muddy areas yielding under his boots. The underbrush swished between his ankles, growing taller and denser the further he strayed off the beaten path. Leaves rustled with the wind and rain, thick droplets penetrating the canopy to fall down below.

He sent the dogs ahead, and followed their communicative barks. As soon as they caught scent of a prey, their pitch changed, and he knew they were hot in pursuit. He followed on foot at a steady pace. When he closed in on the dogs, he took ahold of his bow from where it’d been slung on his back. He grasped it in his left, ready to shoot. When the pack was within sigh, he withdrew an arrow from the quiver. Then, the hare was within sight, and he nocked the arrow, aimed,

released–

and missed.

Had he had a rifle, he would have made the shot. Wulfric didn’t mind though. He wasn’t that good of an archer, and getting frustrated would be pointless. Besides, the hounds were still chasing after the animal. He took his time searching for the arrow first, because he did not wish to litter.

When he found the hounds next, they had managed to chase down the hare. It was a neat kill with minimal tearing. He cleaned the hare right away, letting the dogs at the parts he didn’t need.

The hunt went on afterwards, and two catches later, Wulfric deemed it enough. The second hare, he’d shot dead. The third, a rabbit, he had weakened with an arrow to its flank, and the dogs had finished it off. With three kills under his belt, it was time to head back.

TO CHURCH

At the castle, he took a simple shower, using a mild but pleasantly scented honey soap. He generally preferred long soaks in scented baths, but he was short on time. Since he had decided to attend the religious ceremony, he forewent stronger scents, additional oils, or perfumes.

An attire fit for a courting event had been prepared for him, but a change of plans called for a change of clothes. He retreated into his room in a bathrobe, calling on his servant.

His introspective mood was interrupted by a knock. He gave permission to enter. “Get me the damned ceremonial shroud, would you?” He ordered after a moment. “Ah…Your Highness will be attending the church, then,” Curran noted. He was too professional to be ruffled either by his cursing or by the request. It wasn’t an unusual request per se, but while Wulfric frequented the temple, his visits to the church were sporadic. The attendant excused himself, and returned a few moments later, bearing the requested clothing.

The tunic was simple enough to put on his own. Driven by a measure of paranoia, the prince added a belt, a sheathed dagger at his hip, and a holstered revolver at the small of his back. Finally, he turned to face the servant, extending his arms and standing still while the man wrapped the toga around him.

“It will be an event to honour His Majesty,” the servant noted. His tone was utterly blasé, but Wulfric knew the man was aware of his distaste for deification. It was a subtle warning to let him know what to expect. “Afterwards, The Royal Curd will have its grand opening,” the man added after a beat.

“The cheese restaurant?” Wulfric was tempted to sigh. He turned around at Curran’s subtle prompt as the man worked to properly place the complicated garb on him. Traditionally, wearing a toga was all about the method of wrapping and folding it, with nary a knot holding it in place. His left side was more heavily layered, which required him to keep his left hand in a fixed position at about 45 degrees, extended forward or held on his chest. He wore no additional jewelry nor any other accessories. The toga was a heavy woolen cloth, uncomfortably weighty, and rather stuffy this time of the year.

At times, he regretted that it had become somewhat of his trademark.

But it was what it was, and he hitched a ride in a carriage to the church. Plenty had gathered already, and he sighted many familiar faces. Immediately upon his entrance, there was an uptick of noise, some turning around to catch sight of him, many beginning to chatter amongst themselves. Wulfric nodded here and there in greeting, offering a sedate wave to the crowds. With his free hand, he gestured for the unruly masses to turn around and sit down. Gratifyingly, they obeyed.

More obvious than any other disturbance, however, was a blotch of…lurid pink?

Irrevocably drawn to the irregularity, Wulfric blinked at the sight of a pink Leo. What the–? He wasn’t sure if the lord was developing a penchant for absurdist humour, or if someone had played a practical joke on him. As distracted as he was staring at the out-of-place patch of pink, he almost didn’t notice the woman next to him. He blinked again.

Was that Dantès? He did not get the chance to confirm his suspicion – he had not stopped in his inspection, and was past the pair before he could get a second look. However, that woman was the same height, had the same build, and the same hair as the Lady Dantès he had met at the masquerade. However, the woman next to Leo was clearly a servant. One of their royal servants, even, if he wasn’t mistaken.

Option one. The two women were one of the same.

Option two. Leo’s hot pink visage had disturbed his sight to such an extent that a vaguely similar woman made him think of Dantès.

Frankly, both options seemed equally likely.

All thoughts of whether he’d just hallucinated or not were dispersed as he caught sight of a stranger trying to ingratiate herself to Anastasia. A random nobody, acting as if she belonged among a group of royals.

But first things first. There were royal peers and nobles he wished to greet.

“Shehzadi Nahir,” he bowed to her, “My lady,” he gave a respectful nod to Ece. “It is my hope you will find this gathering enjoyable and illuminating.”

He stepped forward, not yet acknowledging the intruder. “Shahzade Farim…” It was unfortunate that they were not in a more private area, as he wished to thank the man. “A good day to you, and may it be peaceful,” he said instead. “Count Damien, Count Monet,” he offered each a nod in greetings. “Good morning, Anastasia,” he graced her with a small, genuine smile.

Anastasia had already seated herself next to Farim, and thus, it was a simple matter to take a protective stance next to the pew. “Miss,” as he redirected the smile to Kira, it acquired a far cooler edge, even as his tone remained entirely pleasant and polite. “I understand the desire to mingle with such prestigious personages as ourselves. However, I am certain you can appreciate the need for caution and for proper protocol when someone as unknown as yourself approaches royalty.” Regardless of whether Nahir and Ece accepted Anastasia’s offer to sit with her, he did not intent to let the stranger anywhere near his sister. Not even if all the other royals gave their permission, he would not allow it.

Reborn in a Fantasy World, This Time I Shall...!

Sora

《 Level 1 Tamer 》
Location: Ruined Inn

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Sora got the hit in. He thought he might have gotten the brain, but he wasn’t sure. It felt down, but was that really it? Peering closely at it, Sora crouched down, ready to inspect it. “Don’t worry, we would have had to clear the cellar out soon anyhow,” he told the hammer lady. “But–”

Before he could say anything else, the thing picked itself up, and turned to face him. Sora’s eyes widened, and he jumped away from it faster than he thought possible. The zombie was still slow, but it knew to aim at him. Did that mean it could feel pain??

Either way, his stab hadn’t been enough to do him in, and Sora was ready to protect himself, thinking about stabbing it once again, this time in the eye-socket. However, hammer-lady grasped the situation as quickly as he had, and dealt the death blow. She swung the massive hammer as if it was second nature, splattering rotten, dried out brain matter all around. “H-huh. I sure hope it’s dead dead now, yeah.” He watched Blonde’s confident posture, gory hammer in her hand.

Now, he wasn’t queasy about blood but…this was a human – even if it was a once human – crushed into bits and pieces. Even though it disgusted him, Sora was still way too curious to let it be. He crouched down next to it, examining the corpse.

Before he could really start, Tiny went onto a tirade. That’s right, she’d shouted something or other when he’d stabbed the thing, hadn’t she?

“I was– No, I– It’s not–” He didn’t get a word in as she went on and on, shooting question after question in that sharp, high-pitched, near hysterical critical tone. “Would you just–”

He ground his teeth at that final interruption. Anger flared, sudden and bright. “I don’t want to hear shit from someone who just stood there doing nothing!” he snapped back.

Sora realized he’d gone too far as soon as that last word left his mouth, but the upset feeling wasn’t easy to overcome. He looked down– Bad idea. He looked out– It wasn’t much better. Was it just his imagination, or were the zombies starting to be drawn to the sounds from their inn again? He exhaled harshly. They couldn’t argue, not here, not now. They had to work together, or else they’d end up dead, like Tiny had said.

He looked back at the small elf, still disgruntled, yet also contrite. “Look, I’m sorry. That wasn't fair to say to you. I get that you’re worried and scared, ok? I am too. But it’s easy to talk about how things should have gone down after the fact. Doing something in the heat of the moment?” He shook his head.

“Besides…It’s not as if I went in without a plan, you know?” he tried saying gently. He inched closer to the fallen zombie. Without compunction – now that he got used to the grisly sight – he grasped the head. “Do you know which are the weakest parts of the skull?” he asked rhetorically.

“There’re a few of them. The eye sockets,” he indicated the area with his fingers. “But I was behind it, so stabbing it here would have been difficult. Same for through the mouth.” He pried open its jaw and showed off the palate. “Then there’s the temple – that’s why people shoot themselves here,” his hands moved to the temples. “But a knife ain’t a gun. And then…” His fingers travelled to the back of the skull, specifically, towards the base where the neck was joined to the head – and more importantly, where the spinal cord attached to the brainstem. “Here.” He felt up the stab wound.

For all his theoretical (high school level) knowledge though, it’s not as if he was an actual expert. Even after thoroughly rooting around the stab wound, he wasn’t sure how deep he’d gotten, or if his dagger had even really reached the brain.

“Maybe I didn’t get it good enough,” he shrugged, “or it takes more damage to do them in, or smashing the brain case is the only way…We can’t know that without trying a bunch of things.” His hands grasped the zombie’s neck. “Oh, and severing the head with a knife wouldn’t be any easier. That’s why they used axes for executions back in the days, ya know? Even with those, some still failed…” he fell silent in contemplation, then met Tiny’s gaze again. “Either way, I did think. But yeah, I agree we’re gonna need to be careful if we wanna survive.”

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@VitaVitaAR @RolePlayerRoxas @Aku the Samurai @PKMNB0Y

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Wulfric & Zarai Part 1

The 23rd of Sola, at night: After the masquerade

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Wulfric nodded as he noticed Zarai signaling him from the distance, acknowledging her nonverbal gesture, and subtly motioned for her to go ahead. After he and Lord Drake Edwards had drifted apart, the royal idled by the buffet. Perplexingly, he was soon drawn into a rather…intense interaction with Fritz, of all people.

When he and Zarai met up, it was later at night. Wulfric found her lounging on a couch in one of the guesthouse’s drawing rooms. He was still in his full costume; he must have just returned from the masquerade. “Zarai,” he greeted her. His tone was a notch warmer than usual.

However, as he examined her closely, his eyes narrowed. Her black sleeves were sheer enough for him to notice something off. Suddenly, he stepped closer. First, he removed his gloves, storing them into an inner pocket. Then, with gentle motions and a featherlight touch, he pushed the sleeve of her dress up her arm, revealing the bruise forming beneath. “Who.” His voice took on a deeply frigid quality.

He was asking because given its size and shape, the handprint must be a man’s. Had it been a woman’s, he’d have assumed the culprit to be her mother. In which case, he would have said nothing. Zarai wasn’t the only one with a hands-on parent. A shared commonality of theirs they had noticed years ago, and had decided not to speak of by way of silent agreement.

But because the mark was left by someone he didn’t know about, Wulfric reiterated, “Who needs to die.”

As she contemplated the bruise, Zarai's mind raced with thoughts and emotions. She knew she should be furious at Monet for even daring to lay his nasty, grubby hands on her, but the lingering dread and fear outweighed her anger. The realization that she had finally stood up to face Lord Monet's aggression left her feeling vulnerable and exposed.

Feelings she did not wish to linger on.

“Lord Marcus Monet,” Zarai spoke his name with disdain, her lip curling in distaste. Uttering his name felt like expelling venom with every syllable and left a bad taste in her mouth. She knew Wulfric’s options against him were limited due to Monet’s strong ties with the Varian crown. Despite this, the idea of his death brought some satisfaction. “He is my mother’s top choice for my hand.” And only one, so far. She sniffed her arm, “He didn’t leave his stench on me, did he? Ugh, I ought to burn this dress, but that would be a waste of perfectly good fabric.”

At the mention of that name, Wulfric clicked his tongue, as if dismissing the off-handed notion of assassination once he learned who the man was. But he didn’t.

Oh, no, indeed he did not. He merely shelved it for the moment.

Gently, he rolled Zarai’s sleeve back down, once again concealing the bruise. “And for once in your life, you are listening to her?” he questioned. He could surmise that the lord was her last option, what with her reputation in Varian. “Is that why you spoke to Auguste?” he suddenly recalled. Her question led to an amused huff. “A moment,” he drawled. He removed his mask, and put it on the nearest surface. The silver metal gleamed brightly, its curved, menacing shape set against the marble end table.

Wulfric shook his hair loose, and carded a hand through it. Because it was rather warm, he removed his feathered cloak, and threw it onto the couch where it landed with a soft clanking of chains. Underneath, he wore a simple if elegant black tunic lined with silver. Taking off the cloak revealed his weapons; a shortsword belted at his hip, and a revolver holstered at the small of his back.

"Yes," Zarai sighed. There was no point in lying to Wulfric; he’d just see right through her anyway. “Although, I fear my proposition may have been a touch too bold for dear Auguste,” she admitted, leaning back on the couch, her gaze fixed on Wulfric. She couldn’t help but let her eyes wander over him, taking in his every movement. He was undeniably attractive– and pretty, too– but she would never admit to it aloud. Zarai refused to stroke his ego.

Freed from his costume, Wulfric settled in next to Zarai. “Allow me…” he offered his hand palm up, waiting for her to set hers into his. When she did, he delicately scented the air around her. Immediately, his nose wrinkled, and he pushed her arm away - largely in jest. “It’s faint. I’m sure you’ll be fine,” he waved a hand dismissively. “So, are you now seriously considering courting?” he gave her a look, eyebrow quirked.

She appeared momentarily offended before realizing he was only playing with her. "What? Is it truly so difficult to imagine?" she retorted, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Mother left me with no choice; it's either I find someone else—someone who meets her demanding standards—or be shackled to that," she added, a shudder of disgust running through her at the thought. There was only herself to blame; had she fought against the rumors of her tainted reputation, the search might have been different.

“No choice?” Wulfric repeated. “No eloping, absconding, relinquishing your status and becoming a commoner?” he wondered. “Were those not the choices you had had in mind once upon a time?” A hint of that sharp criticism she despised so much crept into his tone. Yet, he genuinely was curious, and at least attempted to curb the sarcasm.

Zarai scoffed at the suggestion. “No, I won’t run away.” She glanced down at her hands. “Got any suggestions for me?” Zarai returned the quirked brow, “Any handsome, ridiculously rich gentlemen looking for an experienced wife?”

With a sigh, the prince leaned back against the backrest, observing his - as much as it pained him to admit it - friend. He seriously contemplated her question, sensing it was far more important than Zarai’s joking tone might lead one to believe. “Well, despite what you’ve said about Auguste, he isn’t one to balk easily. As I recall, you were the one to run away.” His gaze narrowed, and his chin raised haughtily as he gave her a warning look. “Yet, even if he were to permit it, I would not allow you to continue your openly promiscuous ways if you were to marry my brother.”

Yes, he too, was demanding; as Zarai liked to say, just as much if not worse than her mother.

But when the tense seconds passed, he eased up. “Then, in recent memory…Cassius Vael, now Damien. A bastard, but Calbert’s, and one he clearly intends to treat as a legitimate son.” Despite his personal distaste for Cassius, there was no indication of it, his tone entirely factual. “Shahzade Munir has a reputation similar to yours, I believe.” He did not know much else about the man, unfortunately.

“If rich is enough, even a merchant would do.” He was sure Duchess Lesdeman had in mind a landed noble, however. By way of association, something occurred to him, and he snapped his fingers. “Ah. How close are you to Count Fritz Hendrix, exactly?” He recalled having seen them together at the ball his family had hosted. “And before you say, yes, I am aware your mother would disapprove.” The mild grimace indicated he had experienced the duchess’ vitriol against anyone bearing the name Hendrix.

Zarai's fingers played with the edge of her sleeve as she considered the suggestions laid out before her. Among them, Shahzade Munir stood out as a viable option. However, she was much more drawn to his sister, Layla, who exuded a commanding presence that could persuade Zarai to do almost anything. Yet, she knew her mother would never entertain such a union, regardless of Layla's wealth or potential future role as a Sultana.

A memory surfaced, accompanied by a voice that made her stomach clench, and her heart flutter. “Your hands are beautiful… You are beautiful, Zarai.” She pushed the memory aside as shame overtook her. "Count Hendrix is a friend," she said firmly. And if he were to be safe, he’d remain so.

At her assertion, Wulfric gave her a look – the kind that made it clear to her he thought she was being silly. “Zarai…A friend is exactly who you should consider. Marriage with someone you can get along with— It is a valuable thing.”

“Tch.” Zarai slumped against the back of the couch, grateful for the tightness of her corset that provided some cushioning for her still-bruised ribs. “I could marry Monet,” she mused, her voice laced with bitterness. “Endure for a night or two, then kill him in his sleep. A nice soft pillow over his head for a few minutes.” She didn’t meet Wulfric’s gaze as she continued. “Or poison. They say poison is a woman’s weapon, don’t they? A bit of it in his morning tea or porridge would do the trick.” She was unsure if she said it in jest or was seriously considering it. Though, it would be her last resort.

While Zarai was averting her gaze, Wulfric studied her, free of judgment. “If you could endure it,” he pointed out, tone serious. “It might have to be for longer than you are thinking. Weeks. Months. Years,” he warned. He knew from his mother just how difficult it was to get rid of an unwanted but well-positioned husband. He told her as much: “It wouldn’t be difficult for him to guess at your designs. He could blackmail you. Threaten you. Manipulate and pressure you until you feel you have no choice, again.” He waited as long as it took for her to absorb that. When she did, he moved closer, within whispering distance. “If we are to arrange an accident, it will have to be very, very thorough,” he relayed quietly, the smirk audible in his tone. Then he leaned back, as satisfied as a cat who got the cream.

She considered his words for a moment, reluctantly acknowledging their truth. As much as she hated to admit it, Wulfric was right. Despite Monet's repulsiveness, he was a man of power who could indeed make good on his threats. How else did such a man turn a crumbling House into what it is today? However, Wulfric’s last sentence echoed in her mind like ripples in a lake of red. Yet, the fact he was saying those words to her felt somewhat comforting.

"And what about you?" Zarai inquired, suddenly intrigued by Wulfric's marital status. "I mean to say, not with me—gods, no—but has anyone caught Your Highness's eye?"

Immediately, the inquiry had him raising his brows. For a moment, he thought Zarai had taken his advice to marry a friend far too liberally. As she clarified, however, he grew visibly relieved. “Oh, good. You had me worried you had gone insane,” he flashed her a knowing smile and she returned the same smile, rolling her eyes. Wulfric was sure both of them would sooner see the world end than entertain marrying each other. He hummed and stretched as he mulled over the question.

“Well…There was Mayet, but she proved too immature, and had to return home. Before we could duel, even,” he sighed, evidently disappointed. “The dinner!” he suddenly exclaimed, as something occurred to him. “Had I been at that damned dinner, I could have demanded an honour duel.” He stood up, agitated, and paced across the room. He stopped at the alcohol cabinet, and collected glasses and a drink. “Oh, look, there’s one of your favourites.” He poured himself a shot, downed it, and followed it with another. He brought the drinks over, poured for the both of them, and handed a glass to Zarai as he retook his seat.

Zarai snorted at his reaction, unsurprised over his very obvious disappointment. “I did hear that the dinner was a complete shitshow, plates thrown and all. I would have paid to be there.” She took the glass and sipped from it as Wulfric continued. At least now their future dinners with the Alidasht would be more peaceful with Mayet gone.

“A shitshow indeed,” he confirmed. After a pause to ruminate on the event, he went down the list of the candidates for marriage.

“Of the Alidastht, there was that cousin of theirs,” he referenced Saiya, “but the Grand Vizier is her adoptive father,” he shook his head. “Then there is Layla,” he smirked at Zarai, “who is more your type, I believe?” Frankly, the woman’s age was an issue too; with her being almost 30, they would need to get to the whole procreating matter very quickly. “I have yet to acquaint myself with Shehzadi Nahir, but I would like to.” From his assessment, they were both manipulative, diplomatic, and secretive. Given their similarities, perhaps they would be compatible - or perhaps, they would clash.

“From Varian, I would consider only Princess Beatrice, but I do not believe she or her parents would be inclined to the union. In Caesonia, there are a few more choices…” he trailed off, unenthused. “I suppose if I had to pick someone, it would be Priscilla Edwards.” He did not mean the reluctance as a slight against her. If anything, it was a sign of his esteem that he considered her an acceptable option.

“The Edwardses are incredibly wealthy,” Zarai nodded, contemplating his choices. “What of the Damien girls; what was it? Violet and Crystina?” She tapped her fingers over her glass, humming in thought, “Doesn’t Duke Vikena have a daughter too?” She paused, recalling the rumors she had heard about Charlotte. She didn’t think the rumors about her were true; she found them stupid and unfounded. And still, they mirrored her own predicament back in Varian and she couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for her.

“Although, if you are seeking a strong union, I'd suggest considering the Ganasea princess. It's unfortunate that Mayet couldn’t be here, you two would have made quite a cute couple.” She flashed him a teasing smile before taking another sip from her glass.

“I do not wish to allow Calbert of all people to marry into my family,” he told her. “As for the ladies themselves…There is something off about Violet - have you seen her lately?” he commented. “And Crystal is like a rabbit,” he waved a dismissive hand. A sheltered, naive, fearful woman was difficult to see as anything but a child.

He grimaced at the mention of Duke Vikena. “Good Gods, to have Lorenzo as an in-law,” he mock-shuddered. “Charlotte is fine, though, I suppose. But I am expecting her to take the reins of her duchy as soon as possible.” In which case, she couldn’t exactly double up as a queen.

There was also the matter of his general lack of interest, but that wasn’t something Zarai needed to know.

“Believe me, I am considering all options,” he sighed lightly. He raised a nonchalant shoulder at her attempt at teasing; he frankly only regretted not having been able to duel Mayet. “She was far too volatile. Throwing a knife, and holding a foreign dignitary at blade-point in a fit of rage?” he shook his head.

"I found her arrogance rather charming," Zarai hummed as she not-so-gracefully rose from her seat. Almost instantly, the room began to spin in a pleasantly numbing manner, just the way she liked. With a carefree attitude, she kicked off her heels; they were just an accident waiting to happen. She sauntered over to the bookcases that lined one of the walls.

“Of course you did,” he snorted. “Yet, I distinctly recall you saying in the past that, and I quote, my arrogance was one of my most unfortunate traits,” he paraphrased with an eye roll. It’s not as if it offended or upset him, but it was a mystery why she favoured women the more insolent they were. Granted, he too, had found Mayet’s haughtiness intriguing, so he wasn’t in much of a position to criticize Zarai for the same.

“And still is,” Zarai shot him a pointed look before returning to her search.

Reborn in a Fantasy World, This Time I Shall...!

Sora

《 Level 1 Tamer 》
Location: Ruined Inn

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Sora listened to Tiny’s lists of reasons why fire wasn’t a good idea. He nodded throughout, though a pout crept into his expression. “So, no Molotovs?” he summarized, obviously disappointed. “Awwww, maan,” he sighed. He guessed that idea would be shelved for later. “I guess you’re right we gotta see first what actually kills zombies…Is it destroying the brain?”

At this point, the dragon-man – Sora decided to call him Ryu – produced a flame. “Hoooly-” Sora gasped, and just stayed there, mouth agape, utterly stunned at the evidence of magic. Still in a haze, he heard Tiny tell him about the ‘status’ thing. “Uh…Status?” he tried, and right there it was. Suddenly, out of nowhere, completely out of place – a holographic computer screen in front of his face. Listed were his name, age, race, level, stats, and a skill. “Taming…” That made sense. He didn’t know what to make of the idea that this world really worked based off of game logic.

Like Tiny had pointed out though, it’d be a bad idea to make assumptions based on media they’d consumed. They actually had to try things out to see how they worked. “Oookay, so there’s a fucking status screen, god, does that make me feel crazy,” he muttered. With a thought, he closed the screen.

He walked back downstairs, eyeing the zombies outside. Seemed like his exclamation hadn’t agitated him. “Hey, what’cha doin’–” the question died on his lips as he saw what Blonde was up to. She opened up the cellar, and an undead stumbled out.

It was slow, ungainly, but a walking corpse to be sure. Sora exhaled harshly, cursing out the intruder zombie in his mind. As his heartbeat raced, Sora felt adrenaline surge through him like lightning. Slowly, but faster than the zombie, he walked up to it as quietly as he could. It couldn’t see him, but he still kept to its blindside, approaching it from the back. Mostly, he focused on moving as quietly as a mouse. Once close enough, he unsheathed his recently acquired dagger, and aimed a stab at the base of its skull. If he was right, the zombie wouldn’t know what hit it.

Just to be on the safe side, he was ready to dash away at a moment’s notice, though.

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