Having sneaked into the Damien estate more than a few times at this point, the place was getting to be old hat. Peter knew exactly where to change into servant clothes and it was easy to figure out where certain supplies were being stored. Not that knowing all that made it a walk in the park to move through the Damien estate.

The security was tight, with strategic checkpoints and patrols, and occasional servants passing by forced him to stay on his toes. Peter’s servant outfit helped to some degree, but there was still a lot of waiting and watching involved. He had to carefully choose his moments to move, hide, or pretend he had every reason to be where he was whenever someone approached. But Peter lived for the thrill of it all. With each close call, his heart raced, and the risk only fueled his excitement.

He relished the chance to test his skills. It’s why he made the daredevil decision to be a little sh*t and take it further after he got his hands on a bag of gunpowder from the storage room. Since he was here, might as well snoop through C-Bert and Lili-A’s things.

Peter carefully made his way to the living area of the estate and randomly picked a room he could start his search in. While poking through various items, trying to find something remotely interesting, a sudden noise interrupted his explorations. He froze mid-motion, straining to listen. The sound grew louder. Without hesitation, Peter dropped to the floor and squeezed himself underneath the largest piece of furniture.

The door swung open, and a guard strode into the room, his boots thumping heavily on the floor. Peter watched intently as the guard’s feet paced around the room, eventually stopping right in front of his hiding spot.

Time seemed to crawl as the guard remained motionless, and Peter could feel beads of sweat forming on his brow. He was beginning to think that he’d have to fight his way out when the guard turned and exited the room. The door closed behind them with a soft click. Peter exhaled slowly and counted the seconds, waiting for what he thought would be a safe amount of time before attempting to emerge from his hiding place.

Just as he was about to move, muffled noises pricked up his ears. It was coming from the other room. Being the nosy bastard he was, the rogue listened good.

---

Back in the ballroom, Peter was just another faceless servant thanks to the servant-issued mask slapped on his face. But he had a harder time finding Olivia and Cowlick than he did with the gunpowder. Turned out Olivia bolted from the party a while ago. And after playing a few rounds of servant roulette with a crowd wearing the same drab uniforms and bland masks, Peter finally found the guy he was looking for.

“Hey Vincent,” Peter called out, “you dropped this.” He handed a leather pouch to Cowlick, then clapped him on the arm, putting a little extra oomph into it. “Next pint’s on you, and we’ll call it square.” Gunpowder delivered, Peter turned away, leaving the farmer boy to do whatever scheme he had cooking.

---

---

Lordling Smithwood scurried away, his tail tucked so far up his ass you could barely see it. The sight should’ve filled her with a rush. But it was a hollow victory, and she knew it. Shehzadi Nahir’s presence was the only reason he backed down, not because of what Riona did or said.

A stark reminder of the true disparity of their power.

Riona’s grip tightened around the bracelet as a heavy weight of impotence settled in her guts. With each pounding beat, the sensation spread, a knife twisting deeper and deeper into her heart.

She drew a deep, steadying breath, then flagged down a passing servant. “Excuse me, a guest is missing a pocket watch, and he found this bracelet.” Her voice betrayed no emotion as she handed over the jewelry. “Could you see if anyone is searching for a lost bracelet? And if anyone comes across the missing watch, please see that it is returned to the man wearing a lion’s mask.” She pointed at the Lordling in the distance. “Yes, the one who’s laughing like a madman.” After thanking the servant, he immediately departed on his errand.

“Quite a handful, isn't he? Adorable.”

Riona didn’t bother to stifle a groan. “There… can be a certain charm to childish, even self-centered, behaviors in small, occasional doses, I will grant. But even you would not find him so endearing when it reaches King Edin’s level of petulance.” She gauged the Shehzadi’s reaction to her not-so-subtle jab at the King. “It is all good fun to watch from afar. Less so when one is made the brunt of it.”

She noticed the amusement playing across Shehzadi Nahir’s face as she watched the earlier exchange between Riona and Sh*tlord. People did so love a bit of drama, didn’t they? Especially when they could simply sit back and enjoy the show without risking a scratch themselves.

Her gaze drifted to Lordling Smithwood who was still cackling for some reason—seriously, what’s wrong with him? Then, back to her dance partner. “You could do better, My Lady.” A sigh escaped her. “Though it would be a great win for him. He would certainly benefit from having a partner as mature as you. I imagine your words would reshape him in a way mine never could.”

That sinking sensation of powerlessness returned. And with it, doubt.

… What was she even doing?

All of this is a distraction.
Only one thing matters, and it’s the reason why you still draw breath.
Do not forget. Do not falter.
Focus.
But I—

Shehzadi Nahir’s silken voice cut through Riona’s thoughts. “Well now, will my nameless and lovely dance partner finally introduce herself?”

“Far be it from me to point it out, My Lady, but you never introduced yourself either.” The most unladylike smirk appeared on her mouth. “Since Lord Smithwood offered but one name, Nahir, I will reciprocate and share only part of mine.” Riona paused for a moment, weighing the risks of it before saying, “Dantès.”

Riona gracefully dipped into a deep, sweeping curtsy. Her movements were fluid, her back straight and her head held high as she bent at the waist, one foot stepping back to support her weight. “From House Dantès.” After a moment, Riona slowly rose.

“You may have gleaned as much already, but I was not officially invited to this party. House Dantès has fallen somewhat out of favor with… certain families. I would be most obliged if you kept the knowledge of my attendance to yourself.”

Location: The woods
Interactions: @TaeMina. With brief mentions of Farim/Roman/Torvi.

Their eyes met. When Mina would see, beyond the tears and surface emotions was that Munir was full present with her. His devotion and focus shone through what people would call the windows to their souls. He listened to her carefully, taking in every word and all the emotions she put behind them

"Then help me understand what is causing you such distress... And we will face it together. I am never letting you go. You fucked up Lady Mina Blackwood. You're stuck with me forever now."

His last words were said in an obvious jest, but yet they held such indisputable truths. Munir fully intend on remaining with Mina for the rest of his days, however many the Sun God sees fit to grant him. He does intend on facing whatever troubles his beloved so much with her together.

How Mina behaved subsequently cause Munir to back up slightly. Not to distance himself but to allow Mina the space and air to express what she needed to express. He observed her silently, feeling the fatigue from his overexertion starting to creep in. In the distance, he can hear various commotions, and someone he thought sounded like hiss dear cousin.

Letting out a small huff of breath, he stepped back up towards Mina and swept her into his arms. "We will. It seems like we're unwanted guests in these woods..." He noticed Mina's pained expression and it caused him nothing but anger and sadness. Anger from the fact that he cannot suffer in her stead and sadness because she is feeling any pain at all.

Munir moved as quickly and steadily as he could, keeping Mina close to him but not so tightly as to cause her more pain. On his way back through the woods, he met back up with Hakim. "My friend. As you can see, our night is at an end. I must ask you to do an unreasonable task for me. Return to the gather, and get me some sort of transportation. I care not if it is a carriage, a cart, a horse or a camel. Lady Blackwood needs to be out of here, as fast as possible and I feel the adrenaline leaving my body and I am unsure how fast I am going to be able to move." Munir said to his retainer with a small nod. The quiet man simply offered a small bow before dashing back in direction he had just been running from.

"I'll get you out of here, even if it kills me..." He said to Mina, with a small kiss to her forehead...

---

From the balcony’s vantage, Ryn scanned the estate gardens, searching for any sign of Ms. Persephone. Pale moonlight filtered through the breaks in the clouds, casting long shadows between sculpted hedgerows and flower beds. A flicker of movement caught his attention. A figure, little more than a silhouette, stalked to and fro along the footpath before melting into the dark.

He leaned forward against the balustrade for another glimpse, but she was gone. Still, he had to check. Without a moment’s hesitation, Ryn was down the stairs, bursted through the courtyard doors, and stepped out into the night-cooled air. The summer wind teased at his clothes and hair, heavy with the green tang of newly sheared grass and wafts of perfume escaping from the ballroom. The nearby river’s murmurings joined the nighttime chorus—crickets’ rasping trills intertwined with leaves rustling in the breeze and muffled music. He paused, orienting himself to the direction the shadowed shape had taken, then set off at a purposeful stride.

Ripping the shoes from her feet, Violet tossed them to the side as she let out a soft relaxing sigh. Her feet were screaming from pain from the heels, she wondered how she could have ever worn those all night.

Violet continued pacing, her dress swishing amongst the blades of grass as she nibbled nervously on her fingers. He’s dead…I killed someone..So I could live.. but yet the strength she felt, her eyes… her strides. She felt herself again and yet she didn’t. Lost in her thoughts Violet didn’t notice the shadowed figure in the distance closing in on her location.

Ryn slowed his pace, shoes sinking into the soft grass. Ahead, something moved, the outline of a woman made distinct by the glow of the moonlight filtering through the trees. Not wishing to startle the lone walker, he gave voice to the evening quiet. “Good evening. A fine night for a stroll, is it not?”

Her foot hovered over the ground as the pacing ceased. She leaned her weight into her step as she turned to look at the masked man. The long horns stemming out like twisted branches. The voice was unrecognizable to her. As the moon painted his outline, Violet took a reluctant step back as his scent caught on the wind. She held in her breath as the familiar luring scent seductively called out to her.

As she turned towards him, the moon illuminated Lady Damien. Her pale skin seemed to glow, a porcelain canvas framed by flowing dark hair that cascaded over her shoulders. The deep red dress she wore hugged her figure with elegance, the plunging neckline and high leg slit adding a touch of glamor that left little to the imagination.

“Lady Damien!” Ryn called out, relief in his voice. “There you are. When I didn’t see you at the party, I feared you taken ill.”

Ignoring her complexion, she looked far from ill. Her ruby eyes burned with an intensity he had never witnessed before, sharp and aware, more alive and hungry than he had ever seen her. The way she looked at him sent an involuntary shiver down his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge.

The beast grinned in anticipation.

“Are you feeling well?” He asked, even though he knew the answer. The red eyes of the woman looked the man up and down before returning a very forced smile.

“ I am well, thank you.” Her voice sounded stronger, even confident in its tone yet the cold delivery of it minced the chill in the air. As he continued to approach she broke eye contact attempting too ignore the allure of his scent as it catched on the wind again.

Violet took a step back offering him another forced smile too show everything was fine. Attempting to ease the tension in her face. ” Feel better then I have in a long time.” this time the smile that followed was genuine but it was as if a sick joke caused it. She could feel the darkness within her chest start to crawl slowly to the surface, that same feeling that consumed her as she fed on the boy in the stable. In an attempt to subdue it she spun around slowly on her heel before taking another step back.

Good, so she could still exert some control over the insistent thirst clawing at her insides. “That’s fantastic. The last we spoke at the park, you were not fully...present,” Ryn said, beginning to slowly circle around her.

Her shoulders pinched upwards slightly as he moved closer towards her. Her red eyes fixated on the masked man as he circled her like prey. Violet breath

He produced a coin identical to the one he had given that night, letting it flip and tumble across his knuckles. He hoped the metallic flash would jog her memory. However, considering her disoriented state back then and her current condition, he would not be surprised if she did not remember him or if she was not particularly concerned with who he was. All that mattered was that Ryn was living, breathing flesh with a heart steadily pumping warm blood.

“Now, you’re awake…” Ryn studied her closely. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, the flutter of her throat as she swallowed hard. “But you seem...distracted.”

The coin spun through the air before he snatched it back. “Are you...hungry?” A pause, weighted with significance. “Or is this… a craving?”

A subtle, yet crucial distinction—the former a natural, bodily need. The latter an insatiable mania, capable of twisting someone into unrecognizable contortions to sate it.

Swallowing hard, Violet offered him a reluctant smile. She locked her fingers together in front of her body, squeezing to distract. ” Lord..Fritz..” Violet managed to say. Her memories were shaky but she seemed to hold many of the ones she once lost. ” I hope you are well” she breathed pinching her lips together in another forced smile. She attempted to not play into his little game, her chin inching slightly higher as she continued to keep her eyes on him.

Ryn’s smile was less forced, softer. Considering the curse Udo had placed rendered introductions impossible the last they conversed, he was happy she was able to piece together “Fritz” from what fragments remained.

A wan chuckle flitted past his lips. “I wish I was.” He admitted. “A lot of things happened since then, not all bad, but… not all good either. A dear friend was taken from me, murdered and… I can’t stop wondering if things might have played out differently had I been stronger.”

The coin vanished from his hand as he stood in front of Lady Damien. “But what of you?” He gauged her response before removing a glove from one hand. “Are you doing well?”

“I’m sorry for your loss…that is awful. I hope-” she froze for a moment as the thoughts of her own demise tormented her. ” They are in a better place…” she added, her tone was more of a statement then a wish. ”I..’ she stuttered on her words but managed too pull herself back ” much better then our last meeting. That I can assure you at least. “ she played with her fingers nervously as she nearly bit back her grins attempting to hide the secrets that hid just beyond her lips. “ I’m sorry if my presence out here made you inquire as too who was out here…Wouldn’t want to pull you from such a lavish event after all.” Violets voice laced with desperation as the cravings he so casually mentioned continued to bite at her.

Torment twisted her features as she spoke, fighting the feverish want corroding her from within.

“You do not need to apologize. I chose to come here, and I choose to remain.” His bare hand lifted, fingers splayed so she could see them. “I’m going to check your vitals. If you wish me to stop at any point, say so and I will.” Inch by inch his hand advanced, giving her a chance to cry halt. When she remained mute, he pressed his fingers against her forehead.

Her skin shocked cold against his, her entire frame wracked by infinitesimal tremors. That should be reason enough to pull away, but his fingertips trailed down to the thrum of her pulse, counting out the erratic beat. No one had touched Violet with such a gentle touch before, other then Roman, that it quite literally shocked her. She felt herself freeze as he continued to count the beat of her heart.

“How bad is it? The urge.” Violet red eyes shifted slowly to his, staring for a moment. She was stunned slightly, unsure of what he was speaking on…did he know?”Urge? What do you mean…?” biting back a nervous smile. ”Something wrong with my pulse?” She wasn’t even sure she actually had one at this point.

Ryn met Lady Damien’s anxious gaze, considering for just a moment whether to feign ignorance. But what purpose would that serve? “The thirst for blood,” he answered her first question plainly. Any color that may have been left in Violet face dropped as those words left his lips. “That’s what you’re feeling, isn’t it?” He felt her pulse spike beneath his fingertips. As he answered her second question, Ryn favored her with a reassuring smile. “Your pulse is racing.”

He fell silent, giving her a moment to process his words before asking, “Have you ever drank blood?” Her red eyes, gleaming with an otherworldly intensity, traced every contour of his face, their gaze unsettling in its intensity. The smile he offered only deepened the unease that gripped her, its warmth a stark contrast to the cold feeling of her skin.

Words stumbled out of her mouth, disjointed and hesitant, as if struggling against an invisible force. She shook her head, trying to ward off the encroaching darkness that seemed to envelop her thoughts.

”I…” Her voice trailed off into a whisper, barely audible over the pounding of his own heartbeat, which echoed in her ears like a siren's call.

Her gaze fixated on the pulsing vein visible on his neck, a tantalizing invitation that beckoned her closer. With trembling hands, she reached out to touch it, her fingers grazing his skin as if drawn by some unseen compulsion. But as her touch made contact, a primal hunger surged within her, overwhelming reason and restraint.

Her eyes darted to his outstretched arm, still extended towards her, a lifeline offering solace in the darkness. But as his fingers brushed against her skin, she felt the coursing of his blood beneath, a symphony of temptation that threatened to consume her.

Lost in a haze of euphoria, she found herself drawn to his wrist, almost unconsciously, as if guided by some sinister force. His pulse pounded against her lips, each beat a seductive promise of ecstasy and danger.

Then the world turned into a monochrome of black and white.

---

Sjan-dehk followed half-a-step behind Kalliope as she led him away from the docks. Most of these streets, with smoothened cobbles sheened by warm lantern-light, and narrow grouts coloured by stubborn mosses and hardy lichens, were familiar to him. Well, they were to his feet, in any case. His eyes recognised none of the buildings lining his flanks – even though he had trudged past them several times since he arrived to Sorian – but all the same, his legs seemed to remember his current course as one he had charted before.

Not that it mattered a great deal; Kalliope did most of the navigating. She kept a hand around his arm in a gentle hold, and used it to guide him through the thronging crowd and into the encroaching night.

And it was a pleasant night, he had to say. The fading light did plenty to hide away the few imperfections which day had been so unabashed in showing him. Dancing shadows, cast by murky lanterns swaying in a soft wind, concealed from sight the muck and grime which caked the ground in patches. Were it not for the not-so-occasional squelching of his boots, Sjan-dehk might have even completely forgotten about the disgusting, sticky stuff. Accentuated by the low light, every source of light – no matter how little – seemed all the more comforting and warm. Even the narrow side-streets leading off into the warrens of slums, with flickering lamps hanging precariously from doorways, managed to look inviting.

Of course, being in good company played a major part in keeping Sjan-dehk’s spirits buoyant.

Despite all of his earlier misgivings – about Cassius and Kalliope, about how he should conduct himself in her presence, about the entire masquerade itself, about why he even had such concerns – Sjan-dehk was strangely at ease as he walked with her through the city. Granted, the light and relaxing atmosphere surely helped him to push such thoughts aside, but there was something disarming about Kalliope herself. What it was exactly, he didn’t know. Maybe it was how she carried herself, or maybe it was her natural charm, or maybe it had been that long since he had a night out that wasn’t related to his duties. Either way, he found himself chatting with her about everything and nothing, all at once. Just simple small talk about their days, about what they had done, and yet it still brought smiles to his face and pulled quiet laughs from his lips.

“Stop, thief!”

The booming, angry shout – loud enough to rise high above the din of the crowd – interrupted Sjan-dehk’s retelling of his earlier adventure at sea. Looking away from Kalliope and further up the street, his eyes fell upon a diminutive figure clumsily weaving between surprised pedestrians. A woman yelped and tripped as she flung herself out of their way. “That boy’s a thief!” That same, booming voice bellowed. “Someone stop him!” A sharply-dressed man tried to do just that, and reached for the elusive darter, but his fingers found naught but air. The boy threw a glance over his shoulder, but continued scrambling ahead.

As the commotion unfolded, and the lively atmosphere of the pair’s conversation was brought to an abrupt stop, Kalliope’s instincts had her tighten her grip on Sjan-dehk’s arm. Keen eyes, sharp and green, tracked the accused thief as he flitted and stumbled through the crowd. A look of determination hardened her face, and a plan materialised in her mind. “Grab the boy, but try not to harm him,” she said. “There may be more to this than we realise. I’ll handle the man.” Glancing at Sjan-dehk, she swept a hand over her dress. “I’m better suited to deal with the pursuer currently, anyways.”

Sjan-dehk understood right away what she meant. He responded with a nod when she loosened her hold on his arm, but she didn’t notice. She was already taking action.

Kalliope dashed ahead, expertly navigating the sea of densely-packed people. Neither the fleeing boy nor the man chasing him expected her sudden appearance. Kalliope swiftly intercepted the former, positioning herself directly in his path. The boy let out a surprised yell as he collided with her. She left him little time to recover his bearings or even realise what was going on, however, as she skillfully redirected him towards Sjan-dehk. Unable to stop himself, the boy’s own momentum sent him crashing into the Viserjantan’s legs.

So waifish was the boy that Sjan-dehk felt little of an impact. It didn’t take much to restrain him, either – a firm grip on his shoulders was all it took to root him in place. “Let off!” The boy yelled through gritted teeth, his feet kicking against the ground as he struggled with all his might to break free. Sjan-dehk tightened his hold on the boy, but only slightly – the boy was so skinny that it felt as if his bones would snap with even a touch too much force. “Let off! I didn’t do anything!”

“Be calm,” Sjan-dehk said gently. Or at least, he tried to. The boy’s wild flailing – futile as they were – had annoyed him somewhat, and his words came out sounding like an order. Not surprisingly, they did little to assuage the boy, and he continued to struggle. “Be calm,” Sjan-dehk repeated. “Or we cannot help.”

The boy’s pursuer soon caught up. He was a rotund man, with a round face, and wearing a white shirt that was mottled with old stains. Sweat dripped from his brow and clung to him like a second skin. He glared at the boy – who glared back – but could do little else. Kalliope stood firm in his way, arms crossed over her chest and back straight. “Alright,” she began. The man almost looked small in her presence. “Let’s calm down for a moment, then you can explain the situation to me. My friend stopped the kid, but I’m not about to allow you near him till I know the full story here.”

“That boy stole from me,” was all the man managed to say between gasps and pants before he hunched over, hands braced against his knees. He drew in a deep breath and grunted as he righted himself. “A loaf of bread, would you bloody believe it? Now, I’m not looking for trouble. Have him return what he took, and I’ll consider the issue settled.”

Sjan-dehk immediately looked at the boy. “What he say, it is true?”

The boy bit his lip and stared at the ground for a moment. All Sjan-dehk could see of him was the shock of dirty, unkempt brown hair covering his head like a mass of seaweed washed upon shore. “So-So what if I did?” The boy said defiantly after some time, but there wasn’t as much of a fight in his voice as before. “It’s just bread, and it’s not like the old man’s selling much of it! I-I’m not hurting anyone!”

Sjan-dehk grimaced and looked at Kalliope. Regular thieves weren’t the sort to steal something as cheap and as worthless as stale bread. Such an act was that of the desperate, and the boy certainly looked as if he was in desperate need of just about everything.

Kalliope’s gaze shifted between the boy and the man a few times before she caught Sjan-dehk’s. Hearing the boy’s words ignited a burning fury within her, the sort which wouldn’t – couldn’t – be easily doused. In an instant, she rounded on the man. Her eyes burned with indignation, and disdain dripped from each and every one of her words when she spoke. “You chased this boy relentlessly and caused such a scene over a fucking loaf of bread?” The man shrunk before her, his earlier anger gone, replaced by worry and some amount of fear. His eyes looked to Sjan-dehk, as if asking for help. The Viserjantan merely responded with a grin and a shrug.

“Can’t you see this child is starving?” Kalliope’s voice rose, and she gestured vehemently at the boy, who by now had stopped struggling against Sjan-dehk’s grip. A disgusted smirk played across her lips as she leaned in towards the man. “But no,” she continued, her voice dropping to a threateningly low pitch. “Your fat ass has decided that your precious profit comes first, doesn’t it? One look at this boy, and anyone with a shred of decency would see that he’s desperate. Yet here you are, making a scene over a morsel.” She stepped forward, her eyes burning unabated. She looked the man up and down. “You’ve probably never missed a meal in your cushy life, have you? I can tell you haven’t! How about showing a bit of compassion for once? Or is your heart as bloated as your belly, filled with nothing but greed?”

Sjan-dehk said nothing as Kalliope verbally lacerated the man. What else was there to say that she hadn’t already said, and with far better words? And so, he simply listened and watched. It heartened him greatly to see Kalliope rebuke the man and defend the boy with such passion. That alone would have earned her his deep respect, but she managed to go even further. With each successive word, the man’s discomfort grew until it became impossible to hide. He shrank and looked as if he would rather be anywhere else but here. Kalliope was clearly not a lady to be trifled with.

But they couldn’t stay here forever. Neither of them could order the man to leave, and once he figured that out, he would likely recover some modicum of courage. And after that, things would simply devolve into a shouting match where nobody won. “Kali,” Sjan-dehk called out to her. “Can you get my coin pouch? Left side of my belt, on my back.”

Kalliope snapped off a few parting words – all of them dripping with acerbic contempt and accompanied by a withering glare – at the man before moving to Sjan-dehk. She plucked the pouch from his belt and gave it to him. “I am well aware that stealing is wrong,” she said in a voice low enough for just him to hear. “But I’d rather this boy steal food than starve to death. No one deserves that fate.”

“I agree,” Sjan-dehk said and fished a coin from the pouch. “And I honestly wouldn’t pay this man for a loaf of stale bread, but I don’t think he’s going to leave us be, otherwise. Could always use threats of violence, but…” He trailed off as he beckoned the man over. The man hesitantly approached, his eyes gazing at the ground, but glancing at Kalliope every so often. “Think of it as me paying him to piss off,” Sjan-dehk added and pressed the coin into the man’s palm. With a wide grin on his face, and keeping his gaze locked onto the man’s the entire time, Sjan-dehk said in a cheery voice, “Now kindly fuck off, thank you very much.”

The man eagerly turned and hurried back the way he came.

With that settled, Sjan-dehk turned his attention to the boy. “So why steal?”

“I told you, I–”

“Yes. You were hungry. I know.” Sjan-dehk released his hold on the boy, but he didn’t run. Kneeling to look him in the eye, Sjan-dehk continued, “You do not have money, yes? Not enough to buy food. What…Why is that?” The boy didn’t reply, and instead stared at the ground between his fidgeting feet. Sjan-dehk’s lips curved into a frown, but he had expected this. Here he was, a total stranger who couldn’t even speak the local tongue with any sort of fluency, questioning a child. Of course, the boy would be uncomfortable. But still, Sjan-dehk pressed on. “You tell us, and maybe we can help.”

“He’s not a bad person,” Kalliope added, and cast a sidelong glance at Sjan-dehk with a teasing smile. “A little rough, but he’s not bad. We want to help you, but we can’t if you don’t tell us anything.”

The boy looked up at her, then at Sjan-dehk, then back to her. He gulped. “T-There’s this gang,” he began, his eyes darting around as if he were worried that someone might be listening. “They-They’ve been askin’ my mother for money. Tellin’ her that she either pays or somethin’ bad’ll happen to us.” His lips trembled and he gulped once more, but he carried on. “So she’s been payin’ them most of what she earns, you see, and what’s left ain’t enough for us to buy anythin’. I just wanted to help, is all.”

Sjan-dehk sighed. He had heard this story – and many others like it – far too many times. In the immediate aftermath of the war, Iwa-Jafi’s poorer quarters had been rife with similar gangs attempting similar rackets and schemes. An unfortunate side effect of the chaos and confusion that came with the end of a conflict. It had been Shim-sen’s – one of Sjan-dehk’s brothers – to put an end to such criminal activities, and that he did with ruthless efficiency.

But Shim-sen wasn’t here now, and Sjan-dehk was. And so there was only one thing for him to do.

“This…Gang. You know where they are?” Sjan-dehk asked.

“Yeah.” The boy nodded, looking at Sjan-dehk momentarily before turning his gaze to Kalliope. “Everyone does. We’ve to go there to pay our dues.”

Sjan-dehk nodded slowly, then stood back up. “I can’t leave this,” he said with a heavy sigh and placed his hands on his hips. “Not as how it is. It’s not the Way. By the Abyssal Depths, it’s not even the right thing to do, Way or not.” He turned to Kalliope with an apologetic look on his face. “I know I promised to join you at the ball, and it’s not my intention to break my word, but…” He trailed off and nodded towards the boy. “This is something that must be fixed, and I need more guns and more swords to do that. Means I have to return to Sada Kurau before teaching some ruffians a lesson, and I think the ball will be long over by the time I’m done with everything.”

Kalliope reached out to gently touch his arm, her eyes soft with understanding. “Sjan-dehk, darling.” There was warmth in her words. “You don’t have to apologise to me. I would never expect you to turn a blind eye to injustice like this, especially when it’s right in front of us.” She spoke reassuringly and gently at first, but then her lips curled into a playful smirk. Twinkles of mischief lit up her eyes. “But you’re a damn fool if you think I’m going to stand aside and let you have all the fun, especially in my own city. I’m coming with you and you can’t stop me. First, though, I need to do one thing.”

She had been listening intently when the boy related his story earlier, and her heart had grown heavy with empathy for his struggles. The desperation that drove him to theft, the threats made by ruthless people far more stronger than him, she understood them all, all too well.

Crouching, she met the boy’s eyes with a compassionate gaze and smile. “Listen, sweetheart,” she began, her tone gentle but firm. Even so, the boy looked away, as if he were expecting a scolding or a lecture. But Kalliope continued anyway. “I understand why you had to steal, but stealing is dangerous, especially when you’re up against those gangs. You could get yourself or your family hurt, or even worse.”

She paused for a moment, a thoughtful expression painted across her face. “But I have another idea. How would you like to work for me?” She asked, her voice brightening with enthusiasm. In an instant, the boy’s attention returned to her, his eyes snapping back to her face. “You see, I need someone with sharp ears to keep me informed about what’s happening in the city. Just listen out for any interesting tidbits of information you come across and bring them to me. I’ll pay you weekly, no matter what, but I do expect you to keep me updated from time-to-time. Another thing I’ll occasionally need you to do is to deliver messages for me. Do you think you can do that?”

“Y-Yes,” the boy croaked, eyes wide in surprise at the generous offer. He quickly cleared his throat, and repeated in a clearer voice with a series of enthusiastic nods, “Yes! I can do that for you, miss!”

Kalliope smiled. “Perfect. Your first job will be to deliver a message to my sister who should be at the ball at Count Damien’s. I’ll write up the letter and give you the details on how to find her.”

She looked up at Sjan-dehk, her smile bright. “My dear captain, do you think you could spare some clothes, weapons, paper, and ink?” She asked, eyes sparkling with mischief as she stood back up. “I don’t think this dress, beautiful as it is, is quite suited for a fight.”

Sjan-dehk chuckled and nodded. In truth, he had been half-expecting Kalliope to come with him. Part of him wanted to turn her down – things could get quite rough, after all – but then there was something about her that made him feel as if she could handle herself. Something about the way she carried herself that reminded him of some women he knew. Women who were proper terrors on the field of battle. “Can’t say I’m not curious to see how you’d fight in that,” he teased with a grin. “But sure, there’s more than enough onboard Sada Kurau for the two of us.”

He turned around, facing the way they had come. “Let’s go.” It was difficult for him to hide the excitement in his voice, and so he didn’t. Who could blame him? This was far better than any ball. “We’ve got a long night ahead of us. Best not to keep it waiting.”

A fellow joined them as they went through their game. The strength of the drink was starting to hit her, but that was to say nothing of her latest companion taking perhaps very heavy swigs right from the bottle. That was no way to play a drinking game, pacing was very important. Go too hard and the night ends early.

Their new participant was, ah, impressive. He'd apparently managed to burn “a piece of bread?” She looked at the man, “i's really some’tin, t’way burnt food fills a place. Wha’d y’do, walk away? Easies’ way t’ burn a t’ing, ah tell y’wha’. The firs’ time ye do i’, ye’ll be thinkin’ i's ready, the firs’ scent y’catch is the smell o’ it bein’ done. As ye go to i’, though, ye get the smell of burnin’, and ye know i's too late. _{Aw, shite, I forgo’ abou’ tha’.}” Sip.

The fellow brought his own question to the table, and Stratya had to consider it. “‘til I was ill? N… naaay.” She had to think about that one. She could remember being hung over a few times, but never ill. Before anything else could happen, the devilish master of ceremonies for this game gave them a devilish question. The knight questioned, staring at the last of her glass, “does it really count if it was only just now..?” but sighed in easy defeat, finishing her glass. “Got me, ye ‘ave. My glass -” her tone shifted from one of theatrical defeat to surprise, “and the bo’le! - are empty! - my dear,” she slipped her arm around the woman's waist, steadying her and slipping the empty bottle from her hand, ”le’s ge’ y’some, ah,” the nearby table was full of booze, she caught the attention of a nearby servant, “wa’er and brea’ afore we carry on, ey? Y'll be grateful in the morning, I don' min’ sayin’. An' 'en we'll carry on with a foine ale or wine, yea? Somet’in’ a bi’ less of a punch t’ yer gut, maybe more flavorful, aye.” She gestured gratitude as the servant departed, and wondered if maybe they should try something else? Maybe something with a slower pace. A song, perhaps. Ah, but that would be so disruptive. And a ballroom was no place for physical drinking games. No throwing stones into buckets of water on the nice, expensive floor.

“Anyone know another game? Anythin’ I’ve go’ is more suited to, er, another environmen’. Unless we can use the courtyard..?” Well, she never imagined this was how she would break the ice with the upper class.

Time: Evening
Location: Edge of Lover's Lake
Interactions: Torvi/Mina @Tae, Roman @ReusableSword, Anatasia
Mentions:

---

"Of course nothing goes smoothly."

Without a beat, Frederick swung his hand on the back of Anastasia's head, strong but with tempered measure, very forcefully make her go as gently as possible into the dreamland.

"Wait, that's the princess." John just realized who their target was, as she fell on his arm unconscious. It sent a cold up his throat.

"That's why I acted. She does not need to know." Frederick cracked his knuckles. "We've seen enough. Let's move."

He did not hesitate to dash in already, not even waiting for John's readiness or observation. He was a military man, he trusted John to be right behind him with his syringes at the ready.

When John and Frederick emerged clear from the forest, entering the fight with Roman from the side, with Farim at one end and Torvi on a tug of war with him. They did not stop to consider what Torvi seemed to be doing, they jumped straight on Roman one at a time, who seemed to be more than distracted at the sight in front of him. Frederick was first, he stomped on Roman's knee joint from behind, then he would slam his fist on the back of his head. If it knocked him out here, all the merrier. John is right behind him, ready to detoxify him.

Time: Evening
Location: In the forest somewhere
Attire: Outfit
Interaction: @Infinite Cosmos Munir
Mentions:



As Munir enveloped her in his arms once again, Mina couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over her. Despite the chaos and uncertainty swirling around them, his presence was a comforting anchor, grounding her in the midst of her turmoil.

She leaned into his chest, seeking solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a soothing counterpoint to the cacophony of voices still echoing in her mind. She barely even heard anything he said to Hakim with everything spinning in her head. Closing her eyes, she focused on the feeling of his arms around her, the warmth of his embrace chasing away the chill of her fear and uncertainty.

"I'm sorry, Munir," she murmured softly, her voice barely audible above the din of the forest. "I'm sorry for everything... for pushing you away, for not being able to explain that night... I just... I'm so scared of what you'll think once you know."

Her words were tinged with sorrow and regret, her heart heavy with the weight of her burdens. But as she listened to the sound of Munir's heartbeat, a sense of peace began to wash over her, easing the tension that had coiled tight within her chest.

"Thank you," she whispered as exhaustion from the magic and everything else that happened that night threatened to overtake her. "Thank you for being here... for never giving up on me… for loving me."

With each beat of his heart, Mina felt herself growing more and more drowsy, the comforting sound lulling her into a sense of security she hadn't felt in a long time. ”I love you, Munir…” Snuggling closer to Munir, she let out a contented sigh, her body relaxing against his as sleep finally claimed her.

-

Time:Evening
Location: Calbert's Estate
Attire: Mask, Dress/Wings

---

Charlotte carefully slipped through the dimly lit halls of the second floor of the Damien Estate, pressing herself to the wall. Fear gnawed at her insides, urging her to turn back and retreat to the safety of the ballroom. As she forged ahead, her heart hammered against her ribs at the sight of only one guard stationed per hallway, their weary posture betraying a lapse in vigilance as the night wore on. A silent prayer of gratitude escaped her lips as she skirted past a figure slumped against the wall, their face obscured by a curtain of unkempt hair, seemingly lost in slumber.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of nerve-wracking evasion, Charlotte arrived at the door to Calbert’s study. She reached the door to Calbert’s study and drew a steadying breath. She reached out with trembling fingers and gently pushed the door open, revealing the chamber beyond.

Stepping into the study, Charlotte felt her senses assaulted by the overwhelming intensity of the Count's possessions. Her gaze swept across the walls adorned with mounted animal heads, their glassy eyes seemingly following her every move with an unnerving intensity. However, it was the sight of the deceased gator lurking ominously in the corner that sent a chill down her spine, its monstrous form casting a foreboding shadow over the room.

Shutting the door quietly behind her, Charlotte made her way further into the room, her eyes fixating on the desk at the center. However, before she could even touch it, the sound of a throat clearing shattered the silence.

Frozen in place, Charlotte kept her gaze downward as she awaited the inevitable confrontation.

"I'd like to say when my guard informed me that a girl was sneaking into my study, I was surprised to find it was my beloved family friend Lady Charlotte Vikena..." Calbert mused, his voice carrying a tone of amused resignation. His steps were deliberate as he approached her, his fingers delicately tracing the edge of the desk as he came to stand before her. "Alas…”

The amusement left his voice as his tone shifted. "I'm not."

As Calbert's gaze met hers, Charlotte couldn't help but notice the seething fury that lurked behind his seemingly nonchalant facade. Despite his outward demeanor, the intensity in his eyes betrayed the storm raging within.

"You seem to have developed a penchant for betrayal," Calbert continued, his tone calculated. "Your recent actions speak volumes, Lady Charlotte. But what surprises me more is your willingness to align yourself with those who seek to harm my family."

Charlotte's silence lingered, which seemed to only stoke the flames of Calbert's anger. His brow furrowed, and he lowered his voice when he spoke next.

“I know you provided sanctuary to Kazumin and the blonde,” he revealed suddenly, relishing the shock that crossed her features.

"I suppose you must have a vendetta against me for how our little chat went that night at the ball, but really, Lottie? " Calbert's voice oozed with condescension as he leaned in closer, his gaze piercing. "I had always held the belief that your affections for Crystal ran deep, yet here you stand… in cohorts with her stalker."

There was a pause, a moment of silence that spoke volumes, as Calbert let his words hang in the air. "Your mother's tragic demise has undoubtedly left its mark upon you… Hasn’t it?" Calbert's tone shifted seamlessly from mock sympathy to cold indifference. "But let us not allow personal grievances to cloud our judgment, Charlotte. What you have done is very serious."

Calbert then slammed his fist on the table with a sudden, jarring motion, the sharp sound reverberating through the room. Charlotte recoiled at the outburst, but Calbert's smile remained chillingly calm as he leaned in closer, his eyes ablaze with calculated fury. "Do you understand that?" Calbert asked demandingly, "That I could have you hung for an assassination attempt with your two little peasant rats?"

With a languid grace, he circled the desk, his gaze never leaving Charlotte's trembling form. "What I have planned for you," he hissed, each syllable laced with icy venom, "is worse."

His lips curled into a wicked smile. “For one…” He paused, savoring the moment before delivering his decree. "You are hereby forbidden from any association with Crystal or Violet," he declared with an air of finality, "And as for my son," he continued, "the last thing he needs is a criminal like you tarnishing his name."

"Consider yourself warned, Charlotte," he purred, a twisted satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "Cross me again, and you will regret it."

Charlotte's breath caught in her throat at his words, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.

“What are you going to do?” Her voice trembled slightly as she dared to confront him, her gaze locked with his. From the gleam in his eyes, Calbert was overjoyed by the question. She could tell he had been prepping the answer for a long time, his twisted satisfaction evident in every word he spoke.

With a flick of his wrist, Calbert gestured toward a large globe positioned prominently in the corner of the study. He moved to stand by and pressed his hand against it. Its surface shimmered as it seemed to activate upon his touch. "Behold," he intoned.

As Charlotte approached cautiously, Calbert beckoned her closer. The map on the globe shifted and transformed before her eyes. Images of distant lands flickered into view, their names swirling and shifting in a mesmerizing dance. And then the map settled on a familiar sight: the sprawling city of Sorian. But what truly caught Charlotte's attention were the moving names that danced across the globe's surface. She felt a sudden chill run down her spine.

"The invitations..." she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Precisely," he confirmed, pressing his hand to the globe once more. The imagery dissipated, leaving the globe again a normal, innocuous object. "I am acutely aware of your conspiratorial machinations." he added with a cold certainty, his gaze locked onto hers, probing.

Suddenly, a chilling smile crept across Calbert's features like a spreading stain of darkness. “But worry not about me pursuing any prosecution of any of you… Though you may wish I had…” he drawled.

A hollow laugh, devoid of any semblance of humor, escaped his lips as he concluded, “You will wish that I had you all sent to your deaths. ” Leaning in closer, his eyes ablaze with vindictive satisfaction, Calbert continued with a twisted relish, "I have decided to take your punishment into my own hands."

His words hung in the air like a curse, heavy with impending doom. " You will not know when, or whom, or how, but each of you will find yourselves suffering in unimaginable ways, and no one will be able to trace it back to me. No one will even entertain your claims, Charlotte,”

Casually, he smiled once more and said, " You see, I have procured a copy of your records from your sojourn at the sanatorium,” Her eyes widened as if she were surprised such even existed. “Who will they believe? A woman plagued by insanity? Or one of the most esteemed figures in all of Caesonia?” His eyes bore into hers as he spoke, his speech quickening with each word, “I can tell you everything. I can tell you every little detail of what I am going to do and I will not lose an ounce of sleep… Because I know if you tell a single soul, I will ruin you.”

“ I will not tolerate further threat to my lineage. If ensuring your suffering is the necessary price to protect my family, then so be it.."

Charlotte clutched at the delicate fabric of her gown, her fingers trembling with urgency as she made a desperate dash for the door. Each step down the stairs felt clumsy, her panic escalating with every descent.

It had gone according to her plan. Everything.

Charlotte had played her part to perfection ever since the deliberate portrayal of vulnerability she had maintained since their encounter at the beach.

She had played the foolish amateur who dared to sneak into the villain’s study in a place.

She had even played the girl silly enough to utilize a motif within her costume that Calbert would recognize immediately.

Despite it all, Charlotte knew she had lost tonight.

No matter how she had undermined herself, it had been Calbert who had been underestimated.

Questions swirled in her mind, each one more ominous than the last. How had Calbert known that Persephone and Kazumin had been in her home? Was he bluffing about punishing everyone? And, more importantly, how would she protect them?

How would she even tell them?

The weight of these questions bore down on her as she found herself back in the foyer once more, the grandeur of the ballroom looming ahead. With a shaky breath, Charlotte ventured back into the crowd.

As she scanned the sea of people, searching for the familiar faces of her friends, a suffocating wave of panic threatened to engulf her. The air grew thick with the pulse of the music, the laughter and chatter of the guests echoing in her ears like a cacophony of raw noise.

Her chest tightened with each passing moment, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps that were scarcely heard amongst the noise of the crowd. The room seemed to spin around her, blurring into a dizzying haze. Amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, their familiar features remained elusive.

Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision as panic tightened its grip around her throat. Everything that had happened in the last few days seemed to overwhelm her brain all at once in flashes of imagery and echoes of voices.

I don’t want to lose them.

A sense of familiar helplessness washed over her, threatening to drown her as a sob escaped.

For a man who was held at the points of several muskets, bayonets, and cutlasses, the Caesonian captain was remarkably calm. He stood with his back ramrod straight, his hands clasped behind his back, and his head tilted just enough to allow his frigid, blue eyes an imperious glare down his aquiline nose. Dressed in an immaculate uniform – with its yellow trimmings bright against the night and spotless fabric shimmering in the lamplight – his presence contrasted starkly with chaos unfolding around him.

Cynwaer met the captain’s contemptuous gaze with a mocking smile. The two men said nothing, with only the clamour of looting punctuating the extended silence. With a wave of his hand, Cynwaer dismissed the men guarding the captain. They hesitated for a brief moment, glancing at each other with uncertainty upon their grimey and sooty faces before nodding their acknowledgements and moving off to join their fellows in plundering the captured merchantman.

“So,” Cynwaer began and hooked his fingers into his sword-and-pistol belt. “Are yer gae’n– goin’ tae finally start talkin’, or do I ‘ave tae ‘elp yer find yer tongue?”

The Caesonian captain's eyes narrowed. Then, he exhaled sharply through his nose. “I am Captain Oscar Soderman, Captain of the Summer Evergreen.” Exasperation and impatience laced his words, and he did nothing to hide the scorn in his voice. He looked Cynwaer over, examining him as if he were nothing more than some strange specimen to be studied. “Surely, you are tired of hearing the same thing over and over again as I am of saying it…Captain.”

The Caesonian spat that final word out like it was some disgusting thing, clearly meaning for it to be taken as an insult. But Cynwaer instead chuckled. As much disdain as he had for anyone serving under any and all Caesonian flags, he had to give credit where it was due. Only a Caesonian officer could willingly strike his colours and surrender after the briefest of skirmishes, and still sound like an arrogant lordling. It was, if nothing else, highly amusing.

And Oscar – insufferable as he was – did have a point. Although Cynwaer was the captain of his own ship, he certainly didn’t look like one. At least, not one similar to his Caesonian counterpart. Where Oscar was refined, with clean features and holding himself with the airs of a gentleman, Cynwaer was rough, and not just around the edges. From his drab and roughspun clothes – over-patched and stained – to the shadow clinging to his chin and jaw, and to his unkempt mane of rusty hair, everything about Cynwaer spoke of a man who cared little about the elegance of higher society. And judging by the smirk on his face, and by the confidence in his mossy eyes, that was a source of pride for him.

“Aye, I am,” Cynwaer replied. “And I’m nae interested in any o’ that nonsense. ‘Tis yer cargo that I’m after knowin’ more about.”

Oscar stiffened – if that were even possible – and his thin lips cracked into a frown. “You know as well as I do that I cannot tell you that,” he said. “The Rule of the Sea is explicitly clear on such matters. The captain of any boarded merchantman is required to divulge only three things. His name, his ship’s name, and their destination. I have already told you all three, and I am under no obligation to tell you anything more. I trust that your…crew will undoubtedly discover all that you wish to know whilst ransacking my ship.” He paused for a moment before continuing, “And I do hope, captain, that you are aware of your obligations to myself and my crew, seeing as how you accepted our surrender under the white flag.”

Cynwaer shrugged. “Cannae say I dae, ta’ be honest.”

“You are to treat myself and my crew fairly, captain,” Oscar said pointedly.

“Aye, aye.” Cynwaer waved his hand dismissively in front of him. “I’m nae sure if you’ve noticed, cap’n, but we’re nae privateers. We’re feckin’ pirates. Yer rules mean piss-all ta’ us.” For the first time since boarding the merchantman, Cynwaer’s smile disappeared. “Aye, I’ll treat the lot o’ yer fairly, yersel’ and yer lads, but it’ll be what we consider ta’ be fair. Not what feckin’ moronic rules yer crown decided ta’ be fair.” The threat in his words were clear, but Oscar didn’t seem too perturbed by it. Perhaps he believed that Cynwaer was merely trying to sound tough. Perhaps he simply didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. Either way, Cynwaer decided to approach this in another way. He tilted his chin towards Oscar. “Soderman’s a strange name fae a Caesonian. Yer nae Varian, are yer? Or ‘ave yer got some Varian in yer?”

Oscar scoffed and folded his arms across his chest. “Of course not,” he replied, sounding almost offended and looking like he had just been slapped. “Montauppe has been my home all my life, and so it is our King Edin’s authority which you go against, should you decide to be…Unreasonable.” He fixed Cynwaer with a glare, and the corners of his lips twitched in a smug smile. “I am sure you know what the consequences of doing such a silly thing would be, captain.”

Cynwaer ignored everything Oscar said about the King. “Montauppe, aye. I’ve ‘eard good things about the place,” he remarked with a series of nods.

Then, very casually – as if it were the most natural thing in the world – he drew a pistol from its holster and pointed it squarely as Oscar’s chest. The Caesonian captain’s eyes widened. Panic broke his composure, and his face visibly paled. “Wha-what–” he stammered, holding up both hands in front of him.

“Oh, ‘tis simple, cap’n,” Cynwaer said with a shrug. “If yer nae wantin’ ta’ return ta’ Montauppe in a feckin’ box or barrel or whatever the feck we’ve got fae a coffin, then I suggest yer gee’s– give us aw’ that I want ta’ know.” He thumbed the pistol’s hammer. It locked into place with an ominous click.

“You–” Oscar began, his voice starting to crack and waver. “You would really shoot a man over grain? Are you mad?”

Cynwaer smiled darkly. “See? That was’nae so hard, aye?” He kept the pistol aimed at Oscar, and took in the look of realisation creeping over the Caesonian captain’s face. “Yer’ve almost a thousand tons burden o’ grain in yer hold, aye? An’ aw’ bound fae yer capital o’ Sorian, no less. ‘Tis a lot o’ grain ta’ take frae the common folk. Aw’ frae just one village, aye?” Oscar began to stammer something, but Cynwaer cut him off before he could even get one word out. “Surprised? Word o’ advice frae cap’n ta’ cap’n, make sure yer lads can ‘old their drink, an’ if they cannae, make sure they’re nae the sort ta’ get loose lips after just one drink. ‘Twas feckin’ embarrassin’ for aw’ involved, mysel’ included.”

“If you knew,” Oscar swallowed hard and hissed. “Then why do all this?”

“Just wanted ta’ ‘ear it frae yer, ta’ be honest,” Cynwaer replied with a nonchalant shrug. He briefly turned his eyes towards the deck. “So aw’ o’ this ‘neath our feet, ‘tis just grain ta’ yer, is it? Ne’er crossed yer wee mind that ‘tis what some folk need ta’ live, aye?”

“We didn’t take everything,” Oscar protested. “Just what is rightfully the crown’s by tax. Those people have enough to eat. You are making a mistake, captain.”

Cynwaer didn’t reply immediately, and instead raised his brows. “Are yer a farmin’ man, cap’n?” He asked, and when Oscar didn’t respond, chuckled. “I did’nae think so. Yer types ne’er are. But I s’pose I’m nae the person ta’ talk. I used ta’ fish fae a livin’, yer see, but I knew some farmin’ types. Want tae know somethin’ interestin’ I learned frae ‘em? See, aw’ the grain they ‘arvest duin’ ta’ season’s nae just fae eatin’. Some o’ it’s stored awa’, some turned ta’ feed fae livestock, an’ that livestock’s made ta’ salted meat ta’ last ‘em the winter.” He paused, and upon seeing no understanding on Oscar’s face, continued. “So if yer leave ‘em wi’ just enough fae them ta’ eat, then they’ve nothin’ ta’ feed the animals an’ nothin’ ta’ store. They’ve nothin’ ta’ feed the animals and nothin’ ta’ store, they’ve nae salt meat or stores to last ‘em o’er winter. An’ when they’ve nothin’ ta’ last ‘em o’er winter, then people start dyin’.”

He jabbed the pistol towards Oscar. “An’ everythin’, cap’n, starts wi’ yer takin’ their grain. Ta’ me, it sounds an awful lot like yer’ committin’ murder, aye.”

“That– That’s ridiculous!” Oscar protested loudly. “You can’t know–”

“Oh, but I dae, cap’n,” Cynwaer interrupted. “‘Tis a story I’ve ‘eard and seen many times, aye.” He stopped smiling, and gave Oscar a hard look, one discomforted the Caesonian captain greatly. “Normally, I’d shoot yer and be done wi’ it, but I’ve places ta’ be. More o’ yer bastard king’s ships ta’ rob, yer see. An’ I s’pose ‘tis yer lucky day, ‘cause I’m feelin’ particularly generous. I’ll let yer live, but only if yer turn this ship around and bring it back ta’ where yer came frae. Gee’s o’er the grain ta’ the village, gee’s ‘em an apology, an’ I’ll consider everythin’ o’er. That’s more than fair if yer ask me.”

Oscar baulked at the suggestion. “Th-That’s crazy! I will be branded a criminal–”

“Aye,” Cynwaer agreed. “Yer can join our wee club.”

“–the King will place a bounty on my head–” Oscar’s words tumbled and fell from his mouth, each melding into the next, in a semi-coherent ramble. He barely noticed Cynwaer’s interruptions.

“Again, we’ve a club for yer ta’ join.”

“–And I have a family–”

“So did I, pal. Yer’ll be fine.”

“–I need the money–”

“The people need ta’ eat.”

“–What will I do–”

“Yer free ta’ join us. Plenty o’ yer kind sailin’ wi’ me.”

“–No, I cannot do this. Please, you must understand–”

Cynwaer sighed heavily and shook his head. “Took yer own sweet time ta’ say that, did yer?” He grumbled with a huff. “Yer know what, feck it. I’ve nae the time ta’ reason wi’ the likes o’ yer. Yer bastard king’s grain ships’ nae gae’n ta’ wait.” He lowered the gun, and pulled the trigger. The frizzen flashed, flames shot from the muzzle, and the crack was deafening amidst the relative silence of the night. A bullet crashed through Oscar’s knee, snapping bones and cutting flesh as it sliced cleanly through the joint. The man immediately crashed to the deck, howling in pain and clutching his thigh.

“Y-You bastard!” He managed to shout through clenched teeth. “When my family finds you–”

“Oh, nae bother, pal. I’ll send ‘em aw’ yer way, don’t yer worry,” Cynwaer interjected and casually stepped over to Oscar. Kneeling beside his head, Cynwaer said, “Yer cannae blame everythin’ on me, aye? I gave yer a chance ta’ walk awa’ untouched, and yer did’nae take it.” He patted Oscar on the shoulder. “Learn ta’ take some responsibility fae yer decisions, aye?”

“Gods damn you,” Oscar hissed. His eyes were wide with both pain and rage. “Just kill me, pirate. You’ll be joining me soon enough. When the King’s forces find you, you will pay with your life, but only after days of suffering and pain. You will find no respite and no relief.”

Cynwaer shrugged. “Tell yer what, pal. I’m plenty damned as ‘tis, aye,” he said. He leaned over Oscar with a wicked grin pulling his lips wide across his face before continuing. “Nae need ta’ worry. I’ll be sendin’ yer on yer way in due time, but what’s it yer people say about me? Was it that I torture folks like yer until death seems merciful? Nae sure I like the sound o’ that, ta’ be very honest, but reputation’s reputation, aye? An’ I hate disappointin’ folk like yer, so I s’pose I’ve ta’ live up ta’ yer expectations. Pretty sure some o’ my lads would want ta’ ‘ave a go, too.” Oscar’s face paled even more. His lips trembled, as if he were trying to say something, but no words left his mouth.

“Take it as time ta’ reflect,” Cynwaer said and stood up. “I gave yer a chance ta’ show some compassion fae us lowborn folk, and yer chose ta’ be selfish. Kept thinkin’ about yerself, din’t yer? S’pose yer just bein’ what yer are. Dis’nae matter. You showed nae compassion. Yer kind ne’er showed compassion fae us little folk, and so now we will’nae show you any.” He nudged Oscar’s ruined knee with his boot, and that was all it took to get the man to start screaming once more. His pleas for mercy gradually turned incoherent, and his screams into nothing more than animalistic, blood-curdling shrieks.

“An’ we’re makin’ nae excuses fae our terror,” Cynwaer said and turned away. There was plenty of work to be done. By the time the night was over, Sorian would have a new taste of the Seahawk’s vengeance.

Location: The castle/Munir's room
Interactions: @TaeMina

"Hush my love... we will talk when you're ready..." was all that Munir whispered to Mina as he walked. He kknew she needed and wanted rest. And his attention was being given to simply holding on to her, and not causing her to fall from his arms. The adrenaline has definitely worn off now and Munir's body screamed in pain and fatigue from overexertion. "We will be back at the castle in no time..."

As soon as the pair reached a clearing, Hakim has arranged a carriage for them, and a horse for himself so that he can keep up with the pace of the carriage. "My lord, the carriage is ready for you and Lady Blackwood. I will accompany you on a horse." Munir nodded to his trusty retainer. With Hakim's help, Munir gently placed Mina on one of the bench seats inside the carriage while settling down next to her, resting her head on his thigh. With another small nod, Hakim stepped back and closed the door to the passenger compartment and ascended his horse. Without much commotion, the carriage set off, the lights that hung from either side of the driver swayed as they illuminated the path back to the castle grounds.

Munir finally allowed himself a moment of respite, the gentle rocking of the carriage and steady hoof beat of the horses soothed his mind. Nothing else mattered right now. All he wanted was to get Mina to safety. And sleep.

A slew of castle guards rushed out at the sight of a late arriving carriage. Hakim rode up and waved them all off, as to not disturb Munir and Mina. When the carriage made a full stop, Munir finally blinked awake from his momentary dreams. Without much of a word, he scooped Mina back into his arms and carefully climbed out of the carriage. His body being pushed forward by sheer will at this point. As the trio arrived at Munir's quarters, Munir gestured for Hakim to take his leave and rest with a turn of his head and gracious nod. Hakim bid his lord farewell and took his leave for the evening after that.

In the room, Munir placed Mina on his feathered bed and worked on undressing her for the evening. Munir took extra care to cause as little disturbance as possible as he took off whatever clothing Mina had on, save for her smallclothes. With a soft silk towel dipped in warm water, Munir did his best to wipe off any signs of dirt Mina had before slipping a long silken tonic of his over her, gently cinching it at her waist. Satisfied, he draped the fur blanket over Mina and walked softly over to the hearth in his room and added more wood to it to ensure the fire would last the evening.

Finally, without undressing or cleaning himself, Munir collapsed into a heap onto the floor next to his bed and a sleeping Mina and drifted off into the night...