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Hidden 4 days ago 4 days ago Post by PapaOso
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PapaOso

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WIP Started writing this before Milo was interacted with elsewhere. Apologies for breaking timeline. Will fix and repost later
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Hidden 4 days ago 4 days ago Post by princess
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Duke Gideon Edwards & Duchess Victoria Edwards



Time: 6pm
Location: Castle Dining Hall
Inteactions: @TpartywithZombi Ariella @Lava Alckon Drake @Tae Thea @Helo Callum




As the herald’s voice rang clear—"Presenting Lady Violet Damien and Lady Ariella Edwards"—Duke Gideon turned his head immediately, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“There she is.” His voice was touched with unmistakable fondness as he watched his daughter enter the room. While most might see a scandal, he saw only his spirited, radiant girl.

Victoria, beside him, audibly gasped at her failure of a curtsy. Her fan snapped shut like a bolt of lightning.

“Dutchess Edwards, do you think yourself our betters? I noticed you did not bow, or curtsy, before your king and his family. Are you too proud to submit before His Majesty?”

Victoria narrowed her gaze at Callum, then forced a smile without kindness. She rose, presented a curtsy as she said through gritted teeth, "My apologies, Your Majesties."

As she lowered herself back into her seat, she glared daggers into Ariella, “And here she comes, sitting next to me, of course.”

“Yes. I also saw her come in glowing like the sun through the trees.” Gideon turned to Ariella and smiled at her,
“You look beautiful, little star,” he told her softly. “And quite honestly, I’m proud you didn’t fall. You had us all on the edge of our seats.”

Victoria took a sip of wine and muttered beneath her breath: “We’ll be speaking after dessert. And you will wish you had fallen.”

Gideon sighed and added kindly, “Welcome, my dear. I missed you.”

As the herald’s voice carried across the glittering banquet hall—“Introducing, the Lord of House Edwards…Sir Drake!”—both Gideon and Victoria turned in their seats.

Victoria let out a soft gasp as her gaze landed on her son, dressed in sleek black with the flourish of that orange rose on his chest.

“Orange?” she breathed, eyes narrowing like a hawk spotting a fluttering quail. “What is he wearing an orange flower for? He knows that clashes with the Edwards palette!” Her voice dipped into a near-hiss. “And where in the Gods’ name did he get those cufflinks? ”

Beside her, Gideon barely stifled a laugh and smiled proudly as Drake then held out a chair for Thea. “Amazing job with that greeting, son. I'm glad you're here."

His gaze then slid to Lady Thea and Lord Leo Smithwood, his expression lighting up with practiced charm and sincere warmth.

“And what a joy it is to see the esteemed heirs of House Smithwood tonight.” He rose slightly from his seat in polite acknowledgment, offering a gentleman’s bow toward Thea, then Leo. “Lady Thea, your grace is matched only by your reputation—I daresay we could all learn a thing or two from your sense of style.”

Turning to Leo, his smile widened into something more playfully respectful. “And Lord Leo, I’ve heard great things about you. What an honor to sit with you tonight.”

Just as Gideon leaned back in his chair, a flicker of black hair caught the corner of his eye. His gaze turned—and immediately softened.

There she was. Lady Charlotte Vikena.

He felt his heart ache for a moment, then he smiled at her kindly in greeting whilst Victoria grimaced and moved her seat back as if she might catch illness from the presence of a Vikena.

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Hidden 4 days ago Post by Tae
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Tae

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Time: Evening
Location: Banquet Hall
Interactions: @Helo Leo, @Lava Alckon Drake, @princess Charlotte & Duke Edwards
Mentions: @samreaper Kazu
Outfit: Dress, Hair, and Makeup




Thea was just about to pull out and settle into her seat when Leo arrived right behind her and leaned in with his remark about the feast. It gave her pause, and she smirked, plucking a grape from the nearest platter with the practiced ease of someone who had already indulged in a bit too much wine. “Indeed they have,” she mused, twirling the grape between her fingers before popping it into her mouth.

And then, her gaze landed on him.

Drake.

The shift in her chest was immediate—something light and startling all at once. He was dressed in sharp black, his polished look effortlessly refined, but it was the orange rose that struck her first. Her color. The realization sent an odd warmth through her, quick and unbidden.

She swallowed a little too fast, coughing lightly against her fist as he approached with that easy stride. By the time he reached her and pulled out her chair, she had just barely managed to recover…or so she thought.

Still, she hesitated, glancing up at him. “Matching me, Lord Edwards?” she teased, her voice coming out in an odd-sounding rasp to her. She attempted to cough and clear her throat again, a small blush creeping into her cheeks, before playfully continuing. “How bold.”

And then she saw the cufflinks.

Her breath caught for half a second. The stones gleamed under the light, the soft gold setting unmistakable. She reached out without thinking, brushing her fingertips lightly over the cool metal. “You wore them.” The words came softer than she intended, almost a gasp, as she felt her heart skip a beat. Slowly she looked up at him with an excited smile.

“They suit you,” she murmured and then caught her mother’s shocked, judgmental stare. She quickly realized she had all but grabbed his wrist and withdrew her hand, finally sitting down. “S-sorry.” she said as her face turned the color of the fashion trend of the night.

She watched Drake and Leo get acquainted for a moment, observing Leo’s ‘hurt my sister and I will throw you into the nearest body of water’ testing handshake, which only made her blush deeper. “We were just discussing the color trend of the night.” She tried changing the subject quickly.

Before she could steer the conversation any further, a new voice cut through the din of the hall. A voice that carried the weight of title and expectation. Her stomach clenched in nervousness as she realized it was Drake’s father, Duke Edwards.

Thea’s lips curled into an appreciative smile as she dipped her respectfully to him. “You flatter me, Your Grace,” she responded lightly, tilting her head as she held his gaze. “Though I do fear if I set any more trends, poor Leo might never recover.” She giggled while glancing at her brother impishly before actually turning to him to address him.

“To answer your question, dearest brother, it seems everyone has been set on fire in the name of fashion. A most noble sacrifice.” She glanced down at her own orange dress. “I was merely scorched.”

She then giggled before continuing. “Maybe you’re just starting the next trend. Green is the new red. You’re a visionary.” She tried to say it with a straight face but snorted instead. “Or a lost little leprechaun.”

She took a sip of wine, then leaned toward him slightly, a small smirk playing at her lips. “But really, I think you chose a complimentary color. See? You match that pretty lady with the very large fluffy puppy! Do you think she'll let me pet him?” She nodded toward Torvi and her dire wolf before looking between Leo and Drake as she asked the last question.

Leo’s attention shifted, and Thea could see him looking at something. It was a man in an incredibly colorful suit, and while she could see why Leo found it offensive to fashion, she didn’t entirely mind it. It was certainly… bold.

Thea hummed in mild amusement but shrugged. “At least he looks comfortable. Maybe he’s onto something.”

Before the conversation could continue, a familiar figure appeared beside them. Lottie approached with her usual grace, setting a small, ribbon-tied box before her.

Thea blinked.

A gift.

Charlotte’s voice was warm, and the soft touches to her shoulder and Leo’s arm felt genuine and nice. For a brief moment, Thea simply looked at the box, running her fingers over the ribbon. Then, she glanced up at Charlotte, her expression quieter than before as she gave her an adoring smile. “Thank you so much, Lottie!” she said happily, genuinely grateful as she pulled at the ribbon and began opening the present.

A gasp escaped her as she glanced into the box and saw the most beautiful hair clip she’d ever seen in her life. “Oh my goodness, it’s absolutely gorgeous!” she said excitedly as she pulled it out and then clipped it into her hair.

“How does it look?” she asked, looking at Charlotte, then Leo, and finally looking at Drake as her eyes lingered on him, grinning happily.

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Hidden 3 days ago Post by ReusableSword
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ReusableSword The (not so) Mighty.

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Time: Evening
Location: Banquet
Interactions: Violet @Tpartywithzombi, Alexander @FunnyGuy, Mina @Tae
Mentions in order: The King @princess, Wulfric @SilverPaw
outfit: See Leo plenty of people wear green.





Roman, his mouth full of roasted pheasant, swallowed and chuckled, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Lady Mina," he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin and a slight reddening on his cheeks from the unexpected kiss, "you flatter me." He spoke with a smile and a glance towards Violet. "And Alexander, I appreciate the offer, but I'm quite comfortable. Besides," he gestured with his fork, "I wouldn't want to disrupt the... delicate balance of the king's table." He gave a subtle, almost imperceptible glance towards the head of the table where the King and Queen sat, taking in for a moment the plates of food the king had already gone through. He had a lot of ground to make up if he was going to give the king a challenge.

"And what of you? You haven't even touched any of these delicacies the royal chefs prepared. I understand how nerve-wracking it must be for someone of your..." He trailed off in thought while idly restacking more delectable meats and veggies onto his plate. "...bloodline to be in this place, surrounded by so many nobles and royalty. Unless, you think you're too good for the king's generosity and food?" A quick jab with a smile, he would continue this ploy of seeing Alexander as beneath him and play this ridiculous mask he'd built for himself. All so he could keep his eyes and ears open for more information, usable or not.

He once again glanced at Violet with a smile, "Lady Violet, I must say you look stunning tonight. I do quite admire the choice of attire." He spoke with confidence and joy, drinking and eating merrily while continuing to devour the large plate of food before him. Roman may have been eating quickly, but he was still maintaining his manners as best he could. Still, the comment Wulfric made just a few moments before had not slipped his notice. In time, he would find out just how much the prince knew of their common enemy.
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Hidden 3 days ago Post by princess
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Hidden 3 days ago 2 days ago Post by Potter
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Potter

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Olivia

Persephone
Time: Evening
Location: Castle Dining Room
Interactions: @princess Charlotte ♞ @samreaper Kazu ♞ @Helo Rohit ♞
Mentions: [@princes] Edin/Calbert/Lily ♞ @Helo Callum ♞ @Rodiak Zarai ♞ @PapaOso Cassius ♞ @Tpartywithzombi Violet
Aesthetic: ♞ Dress ♞ Hair ♞ Shoes



The abrupt movement of Charlotte placing the amulet around her neck caused Olivia to freeze. Why had Charlotte given the amulet to her? She admired it. Speechless, she quickly told herself to speak up. As she went to utter her gratitude and confusion, the Damien entourage entered the vicinity. Olivia studied their reactions. Calbert, poised as ever with his wife, entered and commanded attention. How did his wife stand him? Was she as much a snake as he was? Violet and Crystal looked beautiful; and then last but not least, Cassius. Tension filled the banquet room between Charlotte and Cassius.

There might as well have been a mountain between them. She furrowed her brows. What happened between them? She turned to check on Lottie, but she fluttered away like a butterfly. Olivia watched her friend disappear into the crowd and then reappear. She approached the Smithwoods. Lorenzo glanced at her with eyebrows raised; a silent question of “what?” but she shrugged. It was none of her business to share it; that would be a breach of Charlie’s trust and confidence.

Next her gaze turned to the entrance. She watched as Kazumin waltzed into the banquet. What was he wearing? Her eyes widened and she pursed her lips. His outfit would draw too much attention. In the background, she heard Prince Callum’s voice and then King Edin’s. Her cheeks flushed, and fury rose inside of her. How dare they talk about him like that! She wanted to approach them and say something, but how could she? Her gaze turned to Asteroth and a snarl nearly escaped her. Suppressed memories raced through her mind. She didn’t know who she wanted to smack first; the royals, Damien, or him. She shut her eyes and took several deep breaths.

Kazumin’s arrival beside her pulled her out of her reverie. Olivia smiled and looked at him. ”Why yes, this is a grand feast. So nicely created by our esteemed ruler,” her voice remained smooth. Underneath, a layer of sarcasm was itching to creep out. ”Thank you, sir Kazumin. You look lovely as well,” She blushed at the sunflowers and laughed gently. Sunflowers were indeed one of her favorites. At her farm, she had dozens of them planted.

Then, he pointed out her amulet and froze. The abruptness of nearly saying her full name out loud caused panic to spike. His recovery was smooth, though, and she let out a deep sigh. ”Oh no, it was Charlotte’s. She was kind enough to let me borrow it. How sweet is she?” She smiled at his compliment and quick pat, one she wished she could return. Acting too familiar again would only raise more suspicion.

Prior to eating, she glanced round the room and turned in her chair. The noise level of the room had gone up significantly. The room was crowded with all these nobles. She saw familiar and unfamiliar faces. Nobody she knew, other than a few. Her throat tightened and panic surged through her. How would she survive this night? She didn’t belong here… She wasn’t truly noble. All these people knew one another and could mingle so easily. It was like looking at the scene from outside the window. She might as well have been outside. A cold sense of anxiety washed over her and she began bouncing her leg.

Her gaze moved to the far corner. Most of the Alidasht were seated farther away. To her delight, she caught Rohit’s wave and returned it with a grin. Hopefully, she could talk to him later. Her chest briefly fluttered. There was a woman sitting beside Rohit she didn’t recognize and marveled at her beauty; Princess Anastasia, Hafiz, and then others she didn’t know. She turned back to her plate.

Olivia quickly began to scoop food onto her plate. It was her safety net, her comfort and source of distractions. She looked over with delight at the mac and cheese serving and scooped plenty of it onto her plate. Then, she took the roasted vegetables and placed them over her mac cheese. She noticed Zarai had arrived and made a mental note to greet her later. There was a tall blonde haired woman with a wolf chatting with her. A live wolf was here? Olivia watched with fascination. She waved to Zarai and then turned back to Kazumin.

”All this food, and people are staring back home,” Her voice was hardly audible above the noise. ”It’s insane.” Olivia shook her head and continued eating and took more food, though guilt filled her inside. Then, her voice rose to a reasonable level. ”How are you doing tonight, Sir Kazumin?”
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Hidden 3 days ago Post by Potter
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Potter

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Time: Evening
Location: Castle Dining Hall
Interactions: @princess Princess Anastasia/Hafiz ☁ @Helo Rohit ☁ [@Concord] Hala Sami ☁
Mentions: [@PaperBear Oso] Cassius ☁ @princess Charlotte ☁

Aesthetic: ☁ Hair ☁ Dress ☁ Shoes



The banquet scenery was a delight. So many faces and so many people to meet. Kira leaned back in her chair to observe. She watched as nobles entered and were announced. The Vikena house caused her to raise eyebrows. Olivia Vikena. Is that what she was going by now? What a joke. Her gaze lingered on Charlotte for a fleeting moment. Then, her gaze passed over Lorenzo quickly. What was wrong with him? She watched them take their seats and sipped wine from her glass. Then, a noteworthy arrival: the Damien’s. She straightened up in her seat and avoided eye contact with Calbert. She passed over the females. Her gaze lingered now on Cassius. Kira was careful to make it overtly obvious and kept glancing near him instead. His subtle tension and the noticeable grief in his eyes as his gaze met Charlotte’s. Was there a quarrel between them? She would need to investigate that further. Kira finally looked away after observing what she needed.

The voices of those seated around her pulled her attention. She smiled at the Grand Vizier and listened attentively. A light laugh and a casual smile greeted him in return. ”I'm glad the evening finds you well,” she bowed her head respectfully. When his gaze met her’s, she matched his intensity. ”I am. Very different from the great sands of Alidasht. It’s amusing here, isn’t it? I am satisfied, yes,” She laughed and sipped more of her wine.

Princess Anastasia’s voice and energy was contagious. Her gaze shifted to the Princess now, and she grinned. ”Why hello!” she greeted. ”Thank you, Princess! I am honored to be in your company. Please, your dignity and beauty is as radiant as ever, Princess.” Kira tossed her head over her shoulder dramatically. ”I will be your entertainment for the night, Princes. Call upon me for whatever it is you need,” Kira winked at her playfully and borderline flirtatiously. Kira giggled genuinely and leaned over. ”You don’t have to ask me twice. Bestie energy for life.”

Now, the man across from her spoke, so Kira turned her attention to him. She smiled and leaned back. The man introduced himself as Rohit and damn was he gorgeous to look at. The company around her was delightful. This would turn out to be a great night. ”Kira Lockhart, a pleasure to meet you.” She dipped her head respectfully to him as well. She noticed Hala Sami leave and kept her focus on the group around her. The amount of attention he gave her was what she reflected back.

”The Alidasht corner is over here, isn’t it? You lucky Danroses have the best company. This is the party side,” Kira mused and laughed. She scooped food at random onto her plate and continued sipping her wine.
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Hidden 2 days ago 2 days ago Post by Rodiak
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Rodiak 𝔪𝔦 𝔪𝔞ñ𝔞𝔫𝔞, 𝔪𝔦 𝔥𝔬𝔶, 𝔪𝔦 𝔞𝔶𝔢𝔯

Member Seen 2 days ago




C A S T L E D I N N I N G H A L L | E V E N I N G
I n t e r a c t i o n s :
Farim @Lava Alckon , Anastasia @princess , Rohit @Helo , Kira @Potter
M e n t i o n s :
Hala's Stinky Dog



Fashionably late.

“Presenting Shehzadi Nahir Aysun Kadir, daughter of Sultan Raif Kadir!”

Nahir moved through the banquet hall with effortless grace, the sheer fabrics of her embroidered gown catching the light as she walked. Tonight, she had forgone her usual crimson for something softer—layers of violet and lavender, the delicate hues shifting like twilight against her skin. Silver, not gold, adorned her. Fine chains, delicate cuffs, dainty earrings, a constellation of gems scattered across her collarbones and wrists. Her hair, usually bound in intricate braids, cascaded in loose waves. The ensemble was regal without severity; every detail and move looked like a whisper of elegance rather than a declaration.

Eyes shifted from the what ever noble had just entered to her, naturally. Not that she particularly cared.

She came to a stop before King Erin and Queen Alibeth, dipping into a bow that was precisely as deep as custom required. No more, no less. “Your Majesties,” she greeted, her voice smooth as silk. “It is an honor, as always.” A polite smile, an exchange of pleasantries, and then she moved on.

Like windchimes in a summer breeze, a song of soft fine jewelry followed her wherever she went.

As she made her way further into the hall, Nahir’s gaze drifted over the gathered nobility—measuring, cataloging. When her eyes caught on Prince Wulfric, she smiled warmly. He always looked the part, she had to admit. Stoic. Broad-shouldered. Composed. Commanding. Cut from the kind of marble that demanded people listen. It suited him.

A pause in her thoughts, brief and weightless.

Some things looked perfect on paper.

Then, she moved on—unhurried and fluid.

Reaching the Alidasht table, she greeted them all with a warmth that was both natural and precisely measured. A moment’s pause, a quiet sniff. “Curious, I had not expected canine in the bouquet of tonight’s perfumes.”

Her attention moved neatly, efficiently, through each of them.

“Uncle,” she said to the Grand Vizier as she neared her seat. With a gracious dip of her head, and nothing more, she greeted him.

“Cousin,” to Farim, with a note of playful suspicion, she greeted next. “Looking too content. Should I be worried?”

To Princess Anastasia, she offered: “Princess, you carry the evening well. I do hope we can keep you entertained for the rest of the evening.”

“Rohit” she said simply, the corners of her mouth tilting in wry amusement. “It is good to see you again.” She continued with the other Alidasht guests until finally—

“Miss Kiraa,” Smooth. Even. No different from the rest, at least in tone.

But her gaze lingered a fraction longer than etiquette required. Not long enough to be considered rude, but just long enough to raise an eyebrow..

And then she sat, the silks of her gown cascading around her like a settling dusk, every gesture quiet and clean.

The mask, as always, impeccable.
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Hidden 2 days ago 2 days ago Post by Lava Alckon
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Lava Alckon

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Farim

Location: Castle Dining Hall
Time: Evening of the 28th
Mentions: Hafiz and the Danroses, @princess@Silverpaw@Helo, Nahir @Rodiak, Count Fritz @JJ Doe, and anyone who wants to approach Farim during his walk

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


The usual underhanded banter from his father was nothing to be surprised about. Farim had seen it a thousand times over since his youth. He hardly blinked at the words Hafiz slathered back in his direction as he placed the goblet back down. It was funny, in its own way, that the man who goes home to several wives and concubines talk about ‘wine from a cup he didn’t pour’. He pondered the last time Hafiz had even bothered to pour his own drink, and a smirk peered across his lips.

“Heavens forbid, I would choke on such a smooth and tame drink. Would be a tragedy really.” Farim paused. “As much as I enjoy your splendors, I think I shall partake of a more recent vintage - something more…modern.” A playful hint at the passage of time - and its inevitable effect on everyone. Farim stopped to hear Hafiz’s lamentations about Lorenzo, and chimed in just at the end. “Considering how much you’ve been around that man and how much his actions seem to brush off onto you - shall I call one of our sages to look you over?” Another deliberate pause before letting his breath exhale in a show of humor.

“I merely jest. I shall let you be for once, I have far grander things to attend to at the moment.” A final jab - which his father would likely ignore or chastise in the moment. But Farim would let him take that final swing if Hafiz so desperately wanted it.

There was a smile on his face as a certain someone had sung happily to his arrival. Anastasia had that effect on him, as if the world seemed to blur at the edges when she was in frame. He placed Thara gently along the arm of the Princess’ chair, in a spot that would not infringe upon her space. “Oh nonsense! You performed very well - it would take a lot to ruin such magnificence!” The Shehzade paused for a moment, his hands hovering as if suspended mid-grab, before he gently tucked his hand under hers to raise it up to his lips. Farim bowed down and placed a gentle kiss along her knuckle. “The pleasure is mutual, Your Grace.” He grinned at the coy use of her title due to the regal circumstances.

“Pardon me a moment, I must greet our gracious hosts. A most regal and opulent pairing of souls.” He spoke that part just a touch louder than most other words in case the nearby Danroses would hear - but if not he paid no worry. Farim approached Prince Auguste, the next in line in the royal row of seats that had been chosen at this far end of the table - his hand lingering just a touch longer on Annie’s arm. “I will be right back. Promise.” He said softly.

Now onto the greetings - starting with Prince Auguste. Farim offered a formal bow. “Prince, while our interactions are sparse, I hope this changes in the coming days - it is always such a pleasure to see you at these events and elsewhere. We simply must have a proper conversation here soon - perhaps tonight even.” Short and sweet, with possibly more to come later. Farim had in one way or another come into contact with at least half of the royal heirs - and a touch with the King and Queen themselves. It would only make sense to acquaint himself with the others.

Then came the King and Queen themselves. Already knee deep in interactions, judgements, and observations - Farim pushed one arm out and left the other over his chest as he bowed to his fullest extent in front of them. “Your Majesties…” His voice seemed to change at this greeting, a silver-tongued flourish coming out as he talked to them. “I am honored to be among the guest list tonight. Allow me to extend a personal thank you as well for gracing the theater with your extravagance earlier this morning - hopefully my show was educational and entertaining.” Farim paused - holding himself back from thinking about how the King had called Thara an “ostrich”.

“Having such charitable endeavors really speaks volumes on your generosity as rulers of this fine nation. I have come to really enjoy my time here.” At this point he had risen back to a standing position with his arms crossed as he talked. “There is a matter I wish to discuss in a more private setting if your itinerary and good graces would allow - but if not I can always make time for the both of you.” Farim gave good pause to give a chance for a short exchange of dialogue between them before giving another brief bow upon his exit. “One can rarely get the chance to see greatness in the flesh - so Your Majesties have given me quite the miracle today. I hope I can live up to any expectations you have of me or my nation.” Farim made sure that he locked eyes with both Alibeth and Edin as he said this, and made his way to the two male heirs seated adjacent to the King.

Farim stopped by Wulfrics chair and offered a bow, one arm crossing his chest with the other at its side - a more modest approach compared to the one he gave his parents. “Always the picture of perfection when it comes to appearances, Prince Wulfric. You seem to have quite the aura about you this evening - more than usual.” Farim took a brief glance over at Prince Callum. “As does your sibling.” His face seemed to change into perplexity. Something is different about him. Is it the crown? Was it just always high or drunk when we last saw each other? His memory went back to the last event they had been together - the forest on the edge of town. Where all the Varians had partaken in drinking a strange potion that caused interesting visions. Nonetheless - Farim took a mental note of this change of demeanor and continued.

“Prince Callum - a fine arrangement of fabrics you chose tonight. I hope the evening treats you well. It is always a pleasure to be around such reputable members of high society.” Even Farim began to think the brown-nosing was getting a bit much, so he toned it back for the time being. “I simply wished to pay my respects, so forgive any intrusions. If you have any need of this Trade Prince, I shall be seated over there.” He pointed over to his seat behind Alexander and near Rohit, and took his leave with a friendly wave.

It was here that Farim strode the long way around the room - taking lots of mental observations of who was in attendance. His long fabrics almost seemed to blend into the shadows and the floor despite their clashing colors - a weird visual effect that would trip up anyone not paying close attention to the golden trim that divided the clothes from the floor. There was the Sorian table on the western side, the middle table filled with a majority of this other land - Varians. Farim knew little of them - and hoped to possibly change this throughout the course of the night and onward. And the easternmost table that sat a majority of his homelands dignitaries and royals. At the head of each table, a figure of Sorian nobility. Fitting. Given this is their home turf. Only makes sense to sprinkle some personal influence amongst the nations - very aptly made seating arrangement.

Farim continued his measured stride around the room. There were quite a few sights to be had. A man showing off his gentlemanly nature, a few colored suits that outshined a lot of other guests, whether through sheer absurdity or particularly bold color choices. There were a few familiar faces that Farim mentally checked off in his head. Ariella, Kalliope, Lady Charlotte, Lord Roman, the puppet boy from the show….Kazumin was his name? What an interesting list of guests. Not the least of all….Hala Sami. What is he doing here? Why did Hafiz seem all too overjoyed at his arrival - definitely some curious figures at this banquet. Maybe tonight won’t be a simple wine and dine after all. He paused as he took the time to look around the edges of the room, spotting a familiar face. Ah, Count Fritz. Even here we meet in such intriguing circumstances - ever the mysterious bystander this one.

The man continued his lengthy strides around the room - offering professional and friendly greetings to any and all who would approach him, before he made his way back to his seat. It was here that he noticed the arrival of his cousin. His gentle smile only grew more at the presence of Nahir gently teasing him. “Never. Because if I am enjoying myself - then it is likely a good time to be had, no?” He sat down in his seat before continuing. “Good to see you, cousin. I see that you put the ‘fashion’ into ‘fashionably late’. I am loving the style and arrangements.” While he mentioned the ‘late’ part, he truly didn’t care. He just wanted to make a light joke and tell her what the whole room was thinking. She was obviously killing it. And she deserved to know it.

Farim turned back towards Anastasia and offered his hand towards her with a soft voice. ”Told you I would be back - did you miss me?”

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Hidden 1 day ago Post by Tae
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Tae

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Time: Evening
Location: Banquet Hall
Interactions: @Rodiak Zarai
Attire: Look Leo! Green! Also hair…




Torvi’s lips curled into an amused smirk, her golden eyes gleaming with interest as she studied the woman across from her more closely. There was a wildness to Zarai’s energy—blunt, indulgent, and unapologetically present. Torvi could appreciate that. She leaned back slightly, resting one arm along the back of her chair, the picture of ease, though her eyes missed nothing.

“I willl be sure to keep that in mind, Zarai,” she said, her tone low and playful, the name lingering just a second too long on her tongue. “But I should give fair warning, sweet is not always my specialty.”

She let the words hang in the air, then softened them with a small, teasing grin. “Still… I find honeyed things tend to be worth the effort.”

Her gaze flicked down to Zarai’s plate and then back up, a brow raised ever so slightly in mock intrigue. “So, what else is worth getting lost in tonight, hmm? You seem like someone who knows how to spot the interesting parts of a room.”

It was an innocent enough question, spoken like idle banquet chatter, but there was a thread of something beneath it. An invitation. A test. Torvi had learned that when people felt clever, seen, or entertained, they tended to start talking. And talking often led to truths.

She took a casual sip from her glass, eyes never leaving Zarai’s. “Or are you only here for the food?”

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Hidden 1 day ago Post by JJ Doe
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JJ Doe

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Fritz "Ryn" Hendrix
Time: Sola 28 1739; Nighttime Hours
Location: Castle Dining Room
Interaction(s)/Mention(s): @CitrusArms @Helo @Tae @princess @Lava Alckon @FunnyGuy @Potter @samreaper


While Ser Durmand’s request was unexpected, it was her hesitation that caught Ryn’s attention. She had delivered the question like someone might handle a suspicious package—gingerly, with one eye out for eavesdroppers.

Perhaps talk of “unusual laws or hazards” was an ill-suited choice of topic to speak at a banquet where walls had ears and servants reported to half a dozen masters. Or perhaps the Knight Captain wanted to speak in private about something entirely unrelated.

Ryn could not be certain. What he did know was that curiosity had always been one of his most reliable vices. He smiled. “I’d be delighted to assist, though I must caution you my knowledge extends only to places I’ve personally travelled or had dealings with.”

“I.. believe I’m due tae grreet t’ Rroyal Family.” A nervous chuckle escaped her, “perr’aps tha’ was due when I arrived?”

“Better fashionably late than never, I always say.” He raised his glass in a small salute. “Please, don’t let me keep you, Ser Durmand.” As she departed, Ryn noted how she subtly squared her shoulders like a soldier preparing to march into contested territory.

Turning his attention back to the grand hall, Ryn surveyed the scene. It was, in its way, a battlefield of silk and pearls, where the weapons were words and the casualties were rarely visible until much later.

Though unfamiliar faces beckoned from various corners with the allure of new connections, friendships demanded the first call on his attention.

His gaze first settled on Lord Smithwood across the room, engaged with his sister, Lady Charlotte, and Lord Edwards.

Ryn took a step forward, then froze mid-stride. The question burning in his mind might require privacy, unsuitable for their current grouping. What was also concerning was Lady Charlotte’s expression—something was clearly amiss there...

With considerable effort, he tore his eyes from the group and approached the other Vikena—or rather, “Vikenas”—in the room.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” he offered with a respectful bow to Duke Vikena. “You look particularly dapper this evening.” He turned to Ms. Persephone with a warm smile, lifting her hand and kissing the air just above her knuckles. “Lady Vikena, a pleasure to meet you again. How have you been keeping?”

For Mr. Kazumin, a forthright handshake completed the circuit of greetings. “Master Nagasa. How fare your injuries?” Leaning in closer, he lowered his voice to add, “Did the audience with His Highness prove fruitful?”

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Hidden 1 day ago 1 day ago Post by Tpartywithzombi
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Tpartywithzombi “Strong women are absolutely unpredictable.”

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Time: Nighttime Sola 28th
Location: Dinner event
Interaction: Roman @ReusableSword Alexander @FunnyGuy Mina @Tae Wulfric @SilverPaw
Mentions:

It had been some time since she last saw him—since that morning at the garden party, the morning everything had changed. So much had changed since then. She had changed. The memory of that day felt distant now.

“Good evening, Your Royal Highness,” she added with a graceful incline of her head, her voice touched with practiced ease. “The seating arrangement is quite comfortable.” Gratitude colored her words, but her expression—carefully composed—couldn’t entirely conceal the flicker of uncertainty that lingered in her eyes.

“It is true, Your Royal Highness—I’ve taken on the role of Mr. Deacon’s assistant.” She offered a delicate shrug, her tone light. “I’ve never been one for idle hands, and I thought it an opportunity to learn something worthwhile. I’ll admit, I was rather surprised to hear the news had already reached you. I’ve yet to share it with my own family.” “Perhaps we could speak more of it over a glass of wine? I would hate to take up your time with such ordinary matters when I’m sure there are countless others vying for your attention tonight.”

Her smile lingered before she respectfully excused herself, moving towards her seat.

As she settled, her gaze was drawn across the room—her red eyes catching the figure of Roman as he stepped into the dining hall. Her breath hitched subtly. The sight of him, dressed in a perfectly tailored ensemble embellished with the signature ravens on his shoulders. She saw, for a heartbeat, the man on the docks but the way he handled himself made her see someone else here. This version of himself was confident and commanding of attention. She couldn’t figure out if this version was the true Roman or if was it the one he showed her in private. Or perhaps it was neither.

Violet watched in silence, noting how the nobility turned their heads as he passed, whispering among themselves—judging, envying, admiring. She couldn’t help but wonder what stories they spun about him behind their fans and glasses of champagne.
When he approached the table, her lips curled into a soft, sincere smile.

“Roman,” she said with a nod, his name a quiet comfort on her tongue. Her gaze flickered briefly to Alexander, catching the subtle tension in Roman’s posture. “You look very handsome this evening. I particularly admire the adornments on your shoulders—they suit you.”

Her words were genuine, but they barely veiled the storm brewing behind her eyes.
Her attention wavered as Miss Mina, ever radiant, approached the table with an effortless grace that made Violet sit a touch straighter in her chair. Her heart faltered when she saw the redhead lean down to brush a kiss to Roman’s cheek.

Violet looked away too quickly, pretending to smooth the napkin in her lap, the fabric suddenly too fine, too irritating beneath her fingers. A blush rose unbidden to her cheeks, and a small, almost inaudible sigh slipped past her lips as the dull weight of disappointment settled in her chest.

She had noticed it before—at the gallery—the way Roman’s gaze lingered just a bit too long on Mina. The realization stung more than it should have. How could she blame him? Mina was beauty incarnate, her laughter warm and unburdened. And Violet? Violet was pale and sharp and shrouded in the scent of death.

“Yes, quite harmless,” she agreed smoothly, her tone light with a practiced lilt, “And thank you for the compliment.” She turned to Alexander, her lips curving into a gentle smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.“You look rather dashing yourself this evening—but then again, when do you ever not?”

Her voice carried the warmth of polite charm, but behind her words, the flicker of something more.

Then Mina spoke, her voice light and teasing as she addressed Alexander, mentioning their charming little escapade at the carnival. The words were casual, but they landed heavy, drawing Violet’s attention with a pang of curiosity.

Without a word, Violet reached for her wine, wrapping her fingers tightly around the delicate stem of the glass. She brought it to her lips and took a long drink, letting the rich flavor wash over her tongue and dull the ache in her chest.

Her eyes darkened to a deep scarlet hue, the color of old blood.

Scarlett stirred beneath the surface sensing Violet’s unease and stepping in like a hand catching a falling glass. Before Violet could spiral into the familiar pit of self-pity and doubt, Scarlett rose. Poised. Smiling. Guarded.

” Pleasure is all mine Lady Blackwood and Roman as well it seems. Her dark eyes glanced over at the blushing man while he continued to enjoy his meal before returning to Mina with a smile. ” My evening has seemingly only just begun, thank goodness for the wine.” She finished her glass before setting it down. “I hope yours is going well as well.

Violet’s thoughts scattered as soon as she heard her name—spoken in that familiar cadence that always seemed to stir something deep within her. Her gaze shifted, and there he was—Roman—meeting her eyes with a smile that felt both effortless and disarming.

His words were kind, carefully chosen, yet her mind remained tangled in the echoes of doubt and uncertainty. The flutter in her chest stirred again, deeper this time, blooming like a bruise beneath the surface. For a fleeting second, she felt herself beginning to fall into it.

But Scarlett was quicker.

The darker thread of her stepped forward, anchoring Violet in place with silent command. Now is not the time, she warned from within, pulling her back from the precipice. The emotions could be unraveled later. For now, composure was key.

“Thank you, Lord Ravenwood,” Violet replied with a poised smile, the confidence in her voice smooth and deliberate. “Very kind of you to say. I hope your night is an enjoyable one as well, you seemed to have caused quite the stir walking in this evening. ” She met his gaze with cool elegance, her features soft but unreadable.


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Ryn & Prince Wulfric - Part I

FLASHBACK: Sola, 27th




Having arranged with Count Hendrix a day for their outing, Wulfric was waiting at the training area where they’d decided to meet that morning. He had arrived early, curious what reactions his disguise would garner. So far, no one had recognized him as a prince, so he was counting it as a success. Taking his previous experience acting as a ‘sell-sword’, he had arranged for second-hand leather armour of his size to be delivered to him. His own sabre was unfortunately too distinctive, so he had taken one of a less artisanal make. This was part of the reason he had chosen this location; he was testing the weight and handling of the unfamiliar weapon.

Besides the lower quality attire, his appearance was only slightly altered. He had told Curran he required a disguise for undercover work. The servant hadn’t asked questions, and had helped dye his hair and eyebrows a dark shade of umber with what he was told was a washable dye. His valet was skilled enough with makeup to subtly alter his features – a warmer face powder for the base, a strengthened jaw here, a few lines and shades to add some visual heft to his nose there, thickened eyebrows, penciled in hooded eyelids, and some other details had done the job. His hair had been styled differently, too. It had been mussed to give it a more unruly look, all of it brushed back, his customary side fringe gone. His tiny eyebrow scar had been deepened and lengthened to make it more apparent. Another mark to point to his ‘profession’, as it were.

A few more casual swings against the training dummy had him habituated to his sword. He switched it out with his side-arms next. A dagger sheathed at the small of his back, and a knife hidden within a boot. Both were adequate, which meant he could comfortably use them if he happened to have need of them. He sheathed his weapons, and engaged in a light stretching routine, biding his time until the count arrived.

What Wulfic didn’t realize was that the count was already there.

The early morning sun cast long shadows across the training yard as Ryn leaned against the fence, his eyes fixed on the figure before him. He had arrived earlier than the promised time, expecting to be the first one there. However, His Royal Highness was even more eager for their rendezvous. Prince Wulfric seemed utterly absorbed in his training, oblivious to his audience of one. Ryn watched, fascinated, as the prince tested an unfamiliar blade, his movements a study in controlled power.

When at last the sword was sheathed and stretches began, Ryn decided it was time to make his presence known. He pushed off from the fence, his boots crunched softly on the packed earth as he approached. “Morning, Adel,” he called out, using the pseudonym they had agreed upon. “That was some fine bladework. Though I couldn’t help but notice you’re favoring your right side a touch more than usual. Is the new sword throwing off your balance?”

“Good morning,” he replied as he completed the last few exercises. The count had made his steps audible this time. Based on where he’d come from, he had already been at the training area for some time. Wulfric could have sworn no one had been there, hadn’t heard him arrive, and hadn’t felt being watched at all. “You might have said sooner you were here,” he commented, and finally glanced at the count. An eyebrow raised, both at Fritz’s comment, and his modest attire. “A bit,” he agreed. That the count had not only managed to assess his usual style, but had also discerned the subtle differences in his handling now spoke of his skill. “It shouldn’t be a problem, but…Care for a spar?” he tried, a hint of intrigue sparking. He had felt challenged by Hendrix in other instances, so he was rather curious how a practice match with him would go.

“Only if you enjoy sparring with opponents who fall short of your skill.” Palms open, Ryn shrugged, “I fear I’d offer little challenge for you.”

“I do not believe you would make for a dull opponent, but I shan’t press.” He motioned with his head towards the slums. “Shall we?” He didn’t take the lead, because if he was to act as the count’s guard, he needed to keep Hendrix in his view.

“Ah,” Ryn raised a hand. “A moment.”

He began to circle the prince, slow and deliberate. From a distance, his disguise was passable—worn leather armor and boots, a plain tunic and trousers, and a nondescript sword sold by the dozen. However…

Completing his circle, Ryn planted himself before Prince Wulfric. “Excuse me,” he murmured, reaching to test the material of the shirt between his fingers. Soft, finely-woven. His hand shifted to the leather armor—scratched, but beneath the wear, the hide was supple and expertly tanned. He could almost smell the richness of it.

Just as he suspected: second-hand, but high-quality. Perhaps too high-quality for where they were going.

“May I ask where these hand-me-downs came from?”

Tilting his head, Wulfric observed the man as he circled him. He resisted the urge to turn around to keep him within sight. For better or worse, he was getting used to Hendrix appearing out of nowhere, behaving oddly, and being in his proximity. Even so, he pinned the count with a habitual stare as he inspected his outfit. Fritz’s examination was entirely professional, revealing his mercantile roots as he explored the make of his apparel. He was tempted to capture the man’s wrist, but if he did that…It was for the best he kept himself still. Subtle tension lined the prince’s body until the count stepped out of his personal space.

“I made several inquiries for the armour, but this particular piece is from Ser Warren. He purchased it for his son with the idea that he would follow his father’s footsteps, but Warren Jr. was ultimately headhunted for investigative work. This was a keepsake they didn’t mind me having,” he rolled a shoulder as he explained. “It was either this, newly made leather armour, a collector’s piece, or army surplus - all distinct one way or another. Why, do you have a preference?”

When the title “Ser” was mentioned, Ryn smiled. “I don’t. However, you’re overdressed for the slums. Which usually leads to unwanted attention.” He took three measured steps backward, creating space between them.

“Thus your choice to dress down,” he nodded at Hendrix’s clothes for the day. “You do not intend to make it apparent in any way whatsoever that you are a count or a merchant?” he checked. When Fritz confirmed that was the case, Wulfric grew thoughtful. “I see…” He watched the man for a moment longer. “Is the idea of me going as your guard not feasible then?” he questioned. “I doubt your everyday peasant could afford to hire someone for protection, or that they would have a reason to do so in the first place,” he noted. He had expected they would act as the count and his guard. However, Hendrix seemed to have something else in mind. Wulfric wasn’t comfortable with the idea of leaving behind his weapons or armour. Yet, if he wished to blend in, he would have to make concessions. Resigning himself to last-minute alterations with a light sigh, he prompted, “Do you have any suggestions?”

The furrowed contemplation etched across Prince Wulfric’s features drew Ryn forward—one measured pace, then another—until his hand could rest against the pauldron. “I suggest… you learn what life is like without the securities you’ve grown accustomed to.”

His fingers traced the intricate fastenings until they found the first of the buckles. “No armor to shield you.” The buckle came loose with a quiet sound. “No blade to ward off threats.” His hands sought the next fastening. “No coin to smooth your path.” The second buckle gave way. “Nor title to bend others to your will.”

“It’s time you saw this kingdom from the bottom.” Of course, even the slums they would visit today were not truly the bottom—not by far. But it was as close as they could reasonably get.

For now.

Wulfric tracked Hendrix’s movements, entranced. He was reminded of their dance, the intricate back and forth they had been entangled in unfolding yet again. A bracing touch to his shoulder, then the count’s hands were already working to unleash his straps one by one. Disarming him. Unbinding him. Unearthing new possibilities. A frisson of excitement ran down his spine, electrifying. The awareness he had forcefully kept at bay surged forth as eager as flames stirred by a poker. He was interested in this man, but not only that - Wulfric was letting him in. Fritz had a way of working past his defenses, of testing boundaries, of shifting and blurring the lines until they could be crossed unnoticed.

And that, that was…

Dangerous.

“Careful.” A warning to them both. Listening to his earlier impulse, Wulfric grabbed Hendrix’s wrist, staying him from progressing any further. He was glad he was so practiced at controlling himself, truly. His expression and voice remained impassive, his breath even, his heartbeat steady. His muscles were taut, but that was the same as before.

He didn’t care to test if the heat he felt could be sensed in his gaze, so before they could lock eyes, he released the count’s hand, and walked away. “I will get rid of these, then, shall I?” He gestured to his warrior’s equipment with a wave, a casual glance thrown across his shoulder. On the way towards the training hall - the sole building in the training area, which was used for storage and changing - he focused on his breathing to regain his equilibrium.

He did not take any longer than usual to take off the armour and weapons, but the familiar process centered his mind on what was important: the mission awaiting him. Really, that he was thrown off that easily showed one thing, and one thing only - it had been far too long since he had last visited his favoured escort agency. He would have to book an appointment one of these days. Right now, though, there was work to do.

Having paid off a groggy receptionist for the use of a secured locker to store his gear in, Wulfric emerged in his boots, trousers, and tunic only. He had carried a mere pouchful of silver with a couple of gold coins in the mix, an amount he had deemed minimal. Yet, when he’d passed it all to the receptionist in exchange for the locker’s key, insisting the man keep the extra as a tip, he’d been given a look that said was out of his mind. He was sure the worker had the impression some shady exchange might happen at the training hall, now.

Oh, well.

The royal had achieved his goal, which was to divest himself of the money and the mercenary guise. He was sure he passed off as a peasant now. He strolled back to Hendrix, this time genuinely as unruffled as he appeared. “Well?” he questioned with a smirk, raising his arms, inviting observation and assessment.

There was something endearing in His Royal Highness taking such evident pride in looking perfectly ordinary. Ryn offered an approving nod.

“Much better,” he said, already shrugging out of his summer jacket—a well-worn piece of sturdy cotton, faded from its original forest green to the color of old moss, patched at the elbows and frayed just so at the cuffs, with brass buttons that had long since lost their shine. The garment, which had always hung somewhat loose on Ryn, settled perfectly across Prince Wulfric’s broader shoulders when he helped the prince into it. The prince’s shirt, while passable, still carried subtle hints of its finer origins in its weave. It was better to obscure the shirt as much as possible.

“And for the final touch.” Ryn dropped to one knee in the dirt and wrapped a hand around the prince’s ankle to guide his foot onto the propped knee with the practiced care of a bootblack preparing to earn his coin. But instead of polish and brushes, Ryn armed himself with a convenient stone and began systematically destroying several hundred gold’s worth of master cobbling. When the boot was sufficiently abused, he slathered a liberal coating of mud over his handiwork, working it into each crack and crevice until every scuff and scrape looked honestly earned.

The other boot received the same attentive ruination, his trouser knees collecting muck as he worked. Ryn paid no mind to it.

Wulfric raised an eyebrow as Hendrix went on to ruin his shoes, an amused smirk playing about his lips. Being coated with mud unexpectedly reminded him of Aiden. As a boy and a young man, his cousin was habitually mucky on account of his job. Nostalgia washed over him, and for a moment, he wondered what it would have been like if he was there to accompany them. He dismissed the idea with a huff, the wistfulness receding to the deepest recesses of his mind. When his second foot was released, Wulfric offered a hand up to the count. “Should I go roll over in a puddle of mud?” he joked. ”Or have all the details been attended to?”

Ryn chuckled as he rose to his feet, brushing off the lingering dirt from his knees. “If we were aiming for true authenticity, we’d do better to purchase some from a citizen,” he said. “But I dare say we’ve tarried long enough.” His fingers found the flat brown cap tucked away in his pocket and settled it atop his head. “Shall we?”

“You say that as if we’re running late,” he quipped, amused. “But let’s.”

They emerged from the training grounds into the city. Morning crept across the city like spilled honey, golden and slow. Already the streets stirred with life. Shopkeepers threw open their shutters with wooden groans and metallic clinks. Chimney smoke rose in lazy spirals from breakfast fires and bakery ovens, while darker plumes surged upward from smithy forges. Market-bound carts clattered over the stones, their steady rhythm mixing with vendors calling greetings.

The street they walked down was familiar. It was in the so-called respectable part of the city, the baron’s estate at the tail end of it. However, traversing it on foot was a different experience. When Wulfric had to go somewhere, it was usually in a carriage or mounted. He had taken strolls, of course, but most often in the noble area or the merchant district. Treading upon the cobbled paths, he took in the waking city.

The scent of freshly baked bread drew in early risers on their way to work. Sizzled sausages, fluffy waffles, sandwiches, and more were offered on the go by tiny street-bound food stalls. A few patrons had settled down in cafĂŠs, coffee or tea in hand. A young news hawker was charming her way into more sales as she went from eatery to eatery, proprietors and regulars greeting her with a welcoming smile. A milkman was in the middle of his milk run, hand drawn wagon rattling behind him, ferrying secured churns. Many craftsmen were already working away in their shops, preparing for customers who would visit later in the day.

Passing carriages forced pedestrians to the sides. On one such crossing, a man heading down the opposite way knocked shoulders with him, gave him a single angry look, and spat, “Watch out,” before hurrying along. A curious experience, that. The prince was not used to having to move out of anyone’s way. He remarked upon the action with a thoughtful hum, and moved on with a metaphorical shrug. He was in the guise of a peasant, so others had no reason to be so mindful.

“‘Ats how they get ya,” an old man smoking a pipe in a shaded corner announced to him. He was leaning in a rickety chair which was as aged and worn as its occupant, a gray-haired and bearded vendor. He was minding a fish stall. Some fish were laid out on a limited stock of ice while others had been smoked or pickled. A few specimens were still alive, stored in containers of saltwater.

“Pardon?” Wulfric turned to him with a puzzled smile.

“Thugs. Some o’em look real nice, like that,” he pointed his chin at the departing gentleman in the distance. “But they’ll knock in ya, fake a fall, drop some shit. Pretend yer at fault, demand you pay ‘em back. Miserable bullies, they are.” He took a drag of his pipe, blowing rings of smoke upwards. “Best take care, lad.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Hm?” The man opened his eyes slowly, not having expected the conversation to continue. He squinted at him, inspecting him. “Hrm…Yer not from around here, aye?” It wasn’t a question. “So, ‘ats why. Reckon’ ya were too cocky fer yer own ‘ood, or jus’ ‘ad yer ‘ead in th’ clouds, was tellin’ ya what type t’ avoid,” he shook his head, rambling half to himself. “Yer lookin’ fer a fight?”

“No fights,” he smiled. “Just gossip.”

“Psshh,” he snorted. Spying a potential customer, he called out, “FISH! FRESH CATCH O’ THE DAY!” He turned to the men. “Now, if ya ain’t buyin’, shoo,” he waved them away, turning to his prospective buyer.

Ryn stepped forward before the conversation could wander off entirely. “Actually,” he said, “we were wondering if you might have any work going. Or know someone who does?” He gestured between himself and the prince. “We’re a bit short on coin.”

The old man’s pipe bobbed as his eyes moved from Ryn to Prince Wulfric and back again, like he was weighing fish on invisible scales. Whatever he saw apparently met some internal standard, because he took the pipe from his mouth and pointed it toward the waterfront. “’Round the docks, they’s always needin’ muscle. Loadin’, unloadin’, that sort. Pay ain’t much, but it’s ’onest enough.” He paused. “Usually.” He squinted at them again. “Just don’t go askin’ too many questions ’bout what’s in them crates.”

Another customer approached, and the fishmonger’s attention snapped away. “FISH! FRESH CATCH O’ THE DAY!” The fishmonger turned back to them and made shooing motions. “Go on then, can’t stand ’ere gassin’ all day. Though…” He hesitated. “If yer still ’bout later, might be worth stoppin’ by t’ Shack. Buy an old man a drink, ’ear what’s what.” He turned to his customer, dismissing them as thoroughly as if they had ceased to exist.

Ryn and Prince Wulfric exchanged glances. The docks it was, then.
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Ryn & Prince Wulfric - Part II

FLASHBACK: Sola, 27th




The docks. A deceptively simple phrase for an area which spanned almost the entire length of Sorian’s coastline. Thankfully, following where the old fishmonger had pointed - straight south - did not have the pair searching for too long. On Lovers Lane, the multi-storied brothels stood in muted colours, their paint flaking off, dulled by the light of day where the cover of night might have lent them an air of mystique. Yet, the pleasure district was not abandoned; many peasants had dwellings nearby, and activity was teeming. The clanking of pots and pans was audible through a cracked open window, a launderer was hanging out clothes to dry, there was a mother nursing her babe while smoking here, a father carrying a child on his shoulders there, an old woman haggling at a stall over yonder, workers leaving from night shifts or yet on the way to their jobs all around.

The mill they passed was already in full swing, and the farmers too were toiling away on their fields. They took to the south, treading the narrow, muddy paths between the houses. Stone was supplanted by timber here, the poorer fishing families unable to afford construction sturdier than their wooden shacks. Their planks were weathered, rot beginning to take in a few places, newer boards dotting the walls where those too ruined had to be replaced. Salt lined their edges as heavily as the scent of brine permeated the air.

Mostly women, elders, and small children mingled by the cabins. They were preparing equipment for the fishers, processing caught fish, and performing other small menial tasks. Stopping by for short chats proved more fruitful than Wulfric would have imagined. Not only did they get more precise directions, they also learned that recently, pirates were becoming more of a problem. After a long stretch where sand was becoming more common than dirt, hissing quietly under their boots, they reached the docks. Wood groaned and creaked under thudding feet as men went here to fore. Labourers carted crates, sacks, and bales of supplies and merchandise. Fishermen were going out on their boats, taking with them nets, traps, and fishing lines, or coming back with their haul.

“MOVE, ‘e need ‘ese done by ‘alf past!” A harried supervisor split his time between counting boxes, helping carry the occasional one, directing workers, and ticking off items on a small stained notebook, worn and yellowed from use.

“Need help? We’re looking for work,” Wulfric approached, helpful smile in place.

The supervisor glared at them, a rebuke on the tip of his tongue. But after a second thought, he said, “Aw, ‘ell. Y’r fit, ‘ealthy, and sober. Names?” The pair introduced themselves. The man jotted their names in his notebook. “Alrigh’. ‘ired, now MOVE!” He waved vaguely in the direction of a stack of crates, then towards one of the moored ships.

Bemused, they went to it. In the midst of a shipping rush, there wasn’t much leave for chatting, but Wulfric still introduced himself as Adel to their new, temporary coworkers, learning their names in turn. Then, it was a cycle of loading, carrying, unloading, and back again. There were ups and downs in activity, and whenever things slowed down, the prince strategically built familiarity with the labourers.

As hours passed, the sun rising ever higher, Wulfric was unpleasantly reminded how multiple layers and heat didn’t mix well. It wasn’t as if he was about to strip, unlike some men, who walked around bare chested. A tunic with a jacket wasn’t worse than wearing armour for the day. Still, it was a different beast entirely to pick up, carry, and drop off boxes of varying sizes while utterly exposed to the sun. Even the water they had access to from a rare few wooden water barrels was awfully tepid. No convenient streams here, nor any shades to rest in. They weren’t so lucky that it’d be a cloudy day, either.

“OY, Del!” That was Jim, who had taken to shortening his assumed name to three letters. “Jacket’s naught ‘elpin ya wi’ ‘is ‘eat!”

Wulfric rolled his eyes out of the man’s view. “I know. But I’d rather sweat like a swine than get rashes from the bloody sun!” he called back. It was a valid reason, and a true one. Not the main one, which was keeping on his disguise.

A snorting laugh followed. “Rash? What, ya ‘ave-a sun allergy?! Oo–ooh, do ‘e ‘ave a vampire walkin’ round ‘ere?” He laughed to himself foolishly. There was some chuckling, and many headshakes. Those who were superstitious hushed Jim, fearfully making a gesture to ward off imagined evil.

“Do you see me burning up, you idiot?” More muted laughter followed, but thankfully, the supervisor noticed the distraction, and urged them to, “Get back to it!”

By the time lunch hour crept on them, the prince’s tunic was soaked front and back. The borrowed jacket hadn’t escaped being marked by sweat, and neither had his trousers. His hair was uncomfortably sticky. He really, really wished for a shower. Fresh water was limited, though, only enough to splash his face, neck, and wash his hands. Without soap, because apparently, that too was considered a luxury. How dreadful. No wonder diseases were more prevalent here.

Surprisingly, lunch wasn’t only fish. The fishing families exchanged part of their bounty for produce from the farm across the street. Fish could be made into good fertilizer, and in return, they received flour, eggs, milk, vegetables, and (if much more rarely) meat.

So, besides the fried fish, there was also a vegetable broth, a slice of bread, and a piece of cheese. Those with families in the area sat down by their shacks, others used the docks, the crates, or the handful of chairs scattered about. Plenty of folk were amenable to talking, and Wulfric learned all sorts of mundane details. What kinds of lives they led. The differences in earnings between long-term labourers or fishers versus the short-time hires. Which time of the year was better, and which was worse. How much they caught, who they supplied, who managed the operations.

Acting as a prospective employee, they got the idea he was after a quick buck. He received several vague warnings, and a few cryptic clues. Now, he wasn’t looking to uncover the smuggling the old fishmonger had hinted at per se - there were more effective ways to crack down on crime - but he was curious how much these peasants were involved. Though most were oblivious, there was enough general awareness about something going on that they couldn’t be completely unaffiliated. A couple of unknowns like them weren’t going to get anything more concrete, however.

Towards the end of lunch, Wulfric sat down next to Hendrix. He was intending to share his findings, but then, a stray thought stopped him. Glancing at the count, he remarked, “You can fit in well just about anywhere, can’t you?”

He blinked. “Do you think so? … Thanks!” Ryn smiled at the prince before turning his gaze to the people around them. “It might be because of my family. They have strong opinions about experiencing all walks of life.” The good and the bad. For both survival and understanding.

“I do. Had I not known how recently you had attained your status when I met you, I doubt I would have guessed. I realize it is a skill borne from experience and effort, but you seem to adapt with natural ease,” he noted. From what Hendrix said, it appeared to be a family tradition of sorts. “You lot have an unusual approach.” Wondering whether the use of ‘they’ rather than ‘we’ when the count had referred to his family was incidental, he prompted, “How is it from your point of view?”

Dark eyes remained on the people as their owner asked, “Meaning?”

“Do you agree with it? Would you recommend it as a rearing practice? Or have you been following along with your family’s expectations, and it’s happened to work out?”

A soft hum, like a bee considering a flower. “Yes. Not really. More or less,” he answered. Then, elaborating: “Understanding comes from experience, and yes, my family shaped that belief. But recommend it?” His mouth twisted slightly. “Not... all of it.” The count faced the prince fully. “Do you know what it feels like to starve?”

Wulfric, who had been watching Hendrix throughout, gently swayed his head from left to right. “I see. They subjected you to suffering so you might understand.” He suspected the intended lesson and the reasoning behind the act were radically different, and yet…It was an unexpected commonality between his family and the count’s. “Why go so far? Was the idea there that by doing what they did, they might further understanding in the world?” If it was, it required the appropriate amount of influence to pull off.

Ryn tilted his head. “... So ‘they might further understanding in the world’? What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” Wulfric brought his hands together, gesturing as he spoke. “One of the basic ideas of society is that we need some agreements - or rules - in place to ensure the group’s survival. Thus we subject ourselves and each other to laws; if for no other reason, the average person will be deterred from harmful actions because they wish to avoid punishment. It is similar in education, and in rearing. With the goal of shaping the desired character or conduct, teachers and families will implement negative or positive consequences for certain behaviour. Because we are closer to beasts than we would like to admit, we tend to deal in what we are most receptive to: pain and pleasure. Whip a child if they disobey, do what they shouldn’t, or not do what they truly should, and reward them if they do well. That much is not uncommon, yes?” The prince didn’t really give him a chance to reply.

“But according to your family’s creed, if we take it to its ultimate logical conclusion, each and every one of us should experience a variety of suffering in a controlled amount, preferably in childhood when we are at our most impressionable. In theory, that would lead us to understand that suffering is undesirable, thus we would avoid causing it, and possibly even work to undo it wherever it exists. Since your family is unable to induce such changes in the whole population, they are doing it on a smaller, more manageable scale. Perhaps each person in your family is raised in this way. Or perhaps one person per generation is selected to minimize casualties, as it were, and you were the sacrificial lamb placed upon the altar of their moral superiority.” His voice had grown rather dry towards the end, and he raised an eyebrow. “So, am I anywhere close, or are my assumptions entirely erroneous?”

Sacrifice.

“Are you worried if my family starved me on purpose when I was little?”

“That is one way to summarize it.”

Ryn gave Prince Wulfric’s arm a gentle, reassuring pat. “My family kept me well-fed, I promise. The worst they ever did was insist I eat my vegetables—” He stopped short, considering. “Actually, I take that back. The worst was making us finish our cousin’s cooking attempts, because heaven forbid we waste food.” Sheer blue irises peered at him, and after a beat, a nod followed.

Even as he laughed, Prince Wulfric’s earlier words about understanding through suffering niggled at Ryn’s mind. “Adel, can I ask you something?” he ventured. “Is that what you think this whole trip is about? Some kind of... suffering-based enlightenment lesson?”

“You may always ask,” Wulfric told him sincerely.

The actual question produced a perplexed blink. “No, of course not,” he shook his head, bemused. This time, it was the prince who was drawn to observing the people mingling about. “I am quite fond of this trip. It reminds me of learning excursions from my childhood. Though, as I am sure you can imagine, those were far more curated experiences,” a faint smile appeared like the flicker of an ephemeral mirage. “If anything, I wish I had done this sooner,” he admitted. “There is still so much I do not know…”

There was an unexpected gentleness in the prince’s “You may always ask.”

His gaze traced the sharp lines of Prince Wulfric’s profile—the aristocratic nose, the stern set of his mouth that seemed carved from marble. When that faint smile appeared, it softened what was usually stark, and Ryn could not help but mirror it.

“Glad to hear it,” he said, following Prince Wulfric’s line of sight.

Women mended nets in pools of sunlight while sharing gossip. Children darted between crates and barrels, their laughter mixing with the calls of dock workers directing cargo. Not far from where they sat, a weathered fisherman guided his son’s small hands through the motions of a sailor’s knot. The salt-laden breeze carried snatches of life with it.

“You weren’t completely off the mark earlier,” Ryn said into the comfortable silence that had settled between them, “but it’s not about suffering. It’s about experiencing all of it—the bitter, the sweet, and everything in between. If you walked away from this seeing only the hardships... well, you’d miss half the story.”

Wulfric nodded slowly. The idea was to taste life wholly, to appreciate it for what it was, neither denying the worst of it nor overlooking the best. Yet– “For me, it is key to strive for improvement,” he imparted softly.

“I expect nothing less from you.”

At that, an amused chuff ensued. “Good,” he proclaimed. The labourers were finishing up with lunch, gathering up on the docks once more. “Philosophical discussions aside, it appears it is time to haul more crates.” Brushing off as he stood up, he beckoned the count to follow, and they soon rejoined the others.

Having eaten and rested, work resumed. By mid-afternoon, they were done for the day, and collected their pay. A meager handful of silver and copper after the lunch fee was subtracted. The standard pay for a day hire off the street, as Wulfric had learned.

Pocketing the money, he stretched, andturned towards Hendrix. “Let’s see about that well, hm?” Earlier, he had inquired with the housewives about the water situation. Rather than taking showers, the inhabitants here usually cleaned themselves by rubbing their bodies down with a wet rag. They didn’t wash their clothes daily; when changing into nightwear, they would hang out their attire, airing it at night. Since the dockers had such a shortage, Wulfric decided on a trek to a nearby water source.

The well squatted in a small courtyard between buildings like a sullen toad, its weathered stone topped by a wooden crossbeam. A pulley wheel sang its one tired note from it, and the thick rope showed the wear of daily use.

The air hit them with an unsettling odor that grew worse with each step. It was not the usual well-smell of damp stone and mineral-laden water. This smell suggested that something had crawled down there to die, and then several of its friends had followed to express their condolences in person.

Ryn leaned over the rim. “You might be better off dirty.”

“Indeed.” Wulfric peered into the well, narrowing his gaze at its depths as if he expected to find an actual corpse down there. Whatever was fouling up the water was not immediately obvious, however. “Rather than haunted, this is contaminated,” he referenced one of the rumours the locals had relayed regarding the well. “Unless we are going on a well inspection expedition, or take a trip to the nearest source of running water…” Raising his shoulders, he began unbuttoning the borrowed jacket. He passed it to the count to hold for a moment, and stripped off the sweat-dampened tunic in short order.

“Hmm, much better.” Smiling, he rolled his neck with the ease of someone who knew he looked good, and was used to being admired. Motioning to Hendrix, he retrieved the article of clothing he had previously worn as a second layer, and donned it as his first and only covering. “I will have your jacket washed before I return it to you,” he assured in case the count was worried what state it might end up in by the end of the day. “If someone truly does try to make trouble because of this,” he motioned to the tunic he carried in his hand, “I may as well give it to them,” he joked. He might have ditched it by the well, but he happened to like his tunic well enough not to leave it to a pitiful fate at this rot-infested watering hole.

“We could ask around,” Ryn gestured at the surrounding houses. “Someone here might be willing to share.” Though he had no idea how well they purified their water. “And maybe they can tell us more about the well. It’s possible that whatever contaminated that well is also in the other wells in this area.” This was not unusual for settlements near shipping lanes. The ships came and went on the waterway, and what they dumped overboard went places—into the earth, into the groundwater, into the wells.

“Ask? Surely no one will entertain us.” Too, he wanted to protest that he would know if there was contamination as widespread as the count suggested. However, he had not even suspected until this day that access to water was in question for a part of the population. “Oh, very well. I suppose we can try.”

They went from house to house, asking for water or any nearby sources of it. They learned the one well they had been at was the worst, but there were other suspect ones. The slum denizens mentioned a variety of troubles and explanations for them when questioned for the specifics. Like in the fishing area, most people were used to collecting rainwater. There were one or two wells in use, and a couple which were usually avoided. If push came to shove, water would have to be gathered from the western river or the nearest stream in the forest up north. As for the issue with the wells, the inhabitants attributed it to everything ranging from a corpse chucked into one, ghostly grudges, plain old misfortune, a clogged up sewer, to careless waste disposal.

In the end, they found a tired middle-aged woman willing to give them some water. For a grand total of one silver, she let them stay at her house for as long as they needed. When Wulfric expressed his surprise - they had been turned away by several others - she just waved her hand with a scoff. “Naugh’ worth stealin’,” and “Bad sort don’t knock,” was her reasoning. While they were boiling the water, the prince had time enough to chat to the woman. Not that she had much to say, aside from paranoid mutters that they should watch out for them. With some coaxing, he learned bits and pieces of her life’s story. Her husband and son had got involved with a gang; the former had been found lying dead in a ditch, the latter had disappeared. The woman was convinced this same group of people had taken her youngest daughter, too. She wasn’t keen on saying anything more, however, and the prince didn’t push it.

The first thing Wulfric did once the boiled water cooled down enough was to remove the borrowed jacket, and wash himself. There was no soap to spare here either, and he outright refused to touch the filthy scrubber, cleaning his upper body with merely his hands. Had they been at a stream, he might have considered stripping entirely, but as it was, there was respectability to keep in mind. “Are you fine as is?” he queried, noticing Hendrix was content to sit there and watch.

“Hm? Oh, don’t mind me.” A teasing smile curved along Ryn’s mouth. “I’m comfortable right where I am.” He punctuated this with a wink.

A sly smirk spread across the prince’s features. Unexpectedly, a part of him was pleased at the count’s attention, even though people appreciating his good looks was ever-so common. He merely shook his head, however, and subtly checked whether their host was paying attention – she was not, absorbed in knitting by an open window.

Realizing he should probably give a proper answer, Ryn added, “I’ll wash up at the end of the day.”

“Suit yourself,” Wulfric chuckled, but didn’t comment otherwise. He was done washing up as it was, only the chore of laundering the tunic left.

“So. Adel, what’s your impression so far?” The question was deliberately vague—safe enough if overheard, but they both knew what he was really asking.

“The access to fresh water is abysmal,” he replied immediately. “The resources which shouldn’t be scarce - and in this country, aren’t - are so here. I consider that a result of mismanagement, so I will endeavour to correct it.” He hadn’t had much to do other than soak his garment, so he stepped out, and set it to dry on one of the laundry lines connecting neighbouring buildings. He perched upon the doorstep, keeping an eye on the alley while talking to Hendrix. “When I thought about those plagued by poverty - if I thought about them at all,” which admittedly, he rarely did, “I considered it either an inevitability or a lack of effort on their part. But I have realized that even performing more or less honest jobs,” he referred to their work at the docks, “the idea of having savings is, well. Rather improbable.” He stared into the distance, as if looking at something far away yet which he could see right there.

“The way I envision this kingdom, those who show dedication will have the chance to succeed. Talent will be recognized and rewarded, while ineptitude will be corrected or managed appropriately. If a woman is fit to lead, why not have her be a commander, or a queen? If a man is well suited to household duties, why should there be any shame in that? If a commoner demonstrates the qualities of a noble, why not elevate them? He inclined his head in the count’s direction. “You had a point when you criticized me for relying on chance to find potential. To allow circumstances such as these to squander it would be a waste,” he gestured at the slums with a wave. “It is shameful that in a nation as prosperous as ours so many should be dying due to thirst, hunger, exposure to elements…crime. I suppose it is self-evident, but if people’s very survival hangs in the balance, their spirits will eventually be crushed, and their talents will never see the light of day. At the very least, they need the opportunity to live a decent life. Only then would everyone contribute to the kingdom as they are meant to, and anyone could find their rightful place.” He turned towards Hendrix. “So? What is your impression?”

“If the prince is going to try to make things better around these parts, I think it’d be a smart move to work on the water infrastructure prompto.” Ryn said, “Lucky for him, I heard that there’s a Varian count from Erwynn that wants to help out with that kind of stuff. So, once they get things moving people’ll be getting clean water in no time.”

“True enough,” Wulfric offered a nod. Someone who was willing to help, even if he wasn’t directly affected…How nostalgic.

“Aside from that… These are some hardy people! And they’re pretty open to outsiders all things considered, don’t you think?” Ryn subtly reminded the prince of their earlier talk about not being too fixated on the negatives.

“Indeed. It would be interesting to see them involved in such restructuring efforts, would it not?”

“That it would.”
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Hidden 19 hrs ago 9 hrs ago Post by CitrusArms
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Stratya Durmand

Time:
28th Sola, Evening
Location: Castle Dining Hall
Attire: Military Formal, in Caesonian colors
Boar Pelt Mantle of Spring Hunting
Family Dirk + Crest, worn on the right
Swordbreaker, also worn on the right
Interactions: @princess Alibeth, Edin, @Helo Callum, @Tae Torvi, @Rodiak Zarai
Mentions: @JJ Doe Count Fritz, @SilverPaw Wulfric

The Captain of Sorian offered Count Hendrix a warm smile and nod before she made her march from the area around the hors d’oeuvres table.

A familiar sight caught her eye on the way. Her steward Garcian, and carried carefully with him, her mantle of furs! She had thought about wearing it, but where she had decided against it, it seemed her steward was going to insist she do so. As he would say when she came to meet him, if ever there was a time to wear it, it was an occasion like this. It could be cleaned and cared for afterward. The knight accepted the furs gratefully, gazed at them for a moment, and finally wrapped them around her shoulders. Yes, it felt distinguishing. Perhaps she should wear it more often.

Though it was made of many furs, it was far from a patchwork thing. A large boar pelt formed the centerpiece, and a carefully stitched pattern of traditions and stories created a tapestry around it, a legacy, carried on her shoulders. With her piece of home around her shoulders, she made her final approach, to stand before the Royal Family. Her posture was attentive and sharp, and thoughts of Lorenzo helped her relax; the bar he set was low enough she could step over it.

She offered a bow after her feet planted themselves where they needed to be, her poise and manner suggesting loyalty and respect, but not submission. She held her drink out to her side, holding it quite still through her motion, “a splendid evenin’ tae t’ Royal Family. And what a wonderful nigh’ i’tis, tae ‘old such a splendid banque’.” The knight straightened up to bring her warm gaze back to the Family before her, “apologies for my delay, Yerr Majesties, the arromas of the Rroyal Kitchen’s fine werrk and my own ‘unger simply woul’nae ‘ave allowed me tae prroceed well wit’ou’ a’ least a taste. Tha’ taste I ‘ad was deligh’ful, my complimen’s tae t’ baker.”

Her gaze swept slowly over them as she made her address, starting with The Queen, and working out, then coming back and sweeping out from The King. Wulfric seemed engaged in a conversation. When her gaze arrived at Callum, she got that strange inkling again, like something was different, and her gaze lingered. That’s when it struck her, he was wearing his crown! Something else felt off, but that was certainly one thing. Did the crown really make him seem so entirely different? Or was he just playing the part, suddenly? Perhaps he wanted something. That was something she and her brother had done as kids, before their parents caught on. Become suspiciously compliant in an effort to put Ma or Pa in a good mood, then ask for something they might normally say no to.

Stratya canted her head with a soft grin, fond but also a bit mischievous, “Prrince Callum, I donnae think I’ve seen yerr crrown ‘til now.” Her eyes scanned the adornment as she considered the way it framed him. She added, distantly, as the grin faded, “looks good on you, Yerr ‘ighness.” How different he seemed from the Prince she had spoken with just the other night. It couldn’t have just been the crown, right?

Was that a crystal stein of amber waiting at her place? “Ah, but I am due ferr my sea’, am I no’.” Indeed, her stomach demanded she feast. She left them with a bow of her head, turning and carrying herself past the gathered Smithwood and Edwards, and Charlotte Vikena as she rode a positive vibe after what felt like a decent performance. One of the two oddities on her end of the table were present, conversing with a noblewoman across the way, and as she passed, Stratya heard,

“Or are you only here for the food?”

A chuckle rippled from the knight as she took her seat and started piling food in reach onto her plate, “y’ coul’ convince me tae come, jus’ ferr t’ food.” She let out a hearty couple of laughs before she went to start with the ribs. Before she got into the rack of ribs she’d retrieved, she took off the leather gloves she wore to cover the thin scars on her hands, cuts from training and work and battle. She went to pull a chunk of the ribs off, but the bone came out clean, instead. She seemed stunned, and went again, but the same thing happened. She gazed at the second bone with wonder for an instant before going for a knife and fork, “am I gonna ‘ave tae cu’ these ribs because they’rre so tenderr..? I.. I think so..” She was bewildered, cutting a section of the ribs from the rest so she could actually get a bone with something on it. A chunk meat disappeared into her mouth and she leaned back, pressing the back of her hand to her lips and letting out a pleased, “mmm~” before taking a swig of her - aaah, he brought mead. Garcian must have done something.
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Hidden 14 hrs ago Post by princess
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Location: Castle Dining Hall
Interactions: @Lava Alckon Farim @Rodiak Nahir @JJ Doe Hala @Potter Kira @Helo Rohit






Hafiz’s eyes slid to Kira with polite interest, the kind that veiled calculation in courtesy. Her boldness wasn’t unwelcome, but it was useful. She matched his gaze without flinching, returned his tone with warmth, even flirted with the Danrose girl as if it were a game.

Why was she here? Among the Danroses, the Samis, the Grand Vizier himself?

She wasn’t Alidasht nobility. Not Danrose. And yet, she slipped into their company as if she'd been born to it. No announcement nor clear ties.

He didn’t like unaccounted variables.

He smiled faintly behind his goblet, gaze resting on her just long enough to acknowledge her poise. A woman like that wasn’t idle. And Hafiz would be sure to keep her in view.

Hafiz’s expression did not change as Anastasia loudly announced Farim's arrival like a starstruck maiden from a tale.

He turned to sip from his goblet.He certainly knows how to catch attention. Whether he knows what to do with it once he has it… well, we’ll see. He did not so much as glance at Farim.

There was no need. Flattery meant nothing without victory and Hafiz didn’t crown fools.

Let the fool charm her. Let her believe in love and poetry. If he failed? Well… he was easy enough to replace.

The leash would still lead back to him.

Hafiz watched Farim's grand performance with the detached calm of a predator studying a bird puffing its feathers. He didn’t rise to Farim’s jabs—not outwardly, at least. He merely offered a slow blink, as though humoring a child who thought himself clever. His goblet tilted ever so slightly between his fingers, eyes following Farim’s movements with that ever-calculating calm.

“So many words to say nothing of worth,” he murmured under his breath as Farim kissed the Princess’s hand. The sight of it soured the wine on his tongue. Farim then played diplomat and darling of the court and Hafiz tracked every interaction. The King. The Queen. The Princes. The Princess. Each bow and compliment noted, each attempt at favor logged.

His son was putting on quite the show. And shows, like masks, were meant to be removed.

But when Farim made his final round and returned, Hafiz allowed himself one subtle quip:

“And here I thought the performance was this morning.”

His gaze slid across the room, past the fluttering gown, past the eager smiles, and landed on nothing.

Not nothing... Her absence. His jaw twitched.

He could still see the way she trembled. The way she looked at that man as if he were her savior. Disgusting.

But beneath the contempt, there was a pulse of something else.

Hafiz’s gaze darkened the moment Rohit said his name. Of course. Navi Amar’s son. The spawn of a scholar. Hafiz had little patience for the father and even less for the son.

Where Navi dealt in wisdom, Rohit played in glitter. And now he was pawing at Hala like some treasured pet, clueless to the fire he was stroking.

You're not your father. Even he wouldn't be foolish enough to touch what belongs to me., Hafiz thought coldly. Hafiz’s expression barely shifted as Hala responded.

Milo St. Claire. Of course, that peacock had caught Hala’s eye. Flashy, fawned over, and utterly useless to the mechanics of power. Hafiz didn’t need to glance at him to know the type—men like that existed only to be worshipped and discarded. His gaze slid back to Hala, smirking ever so slightly as they ate from Rohit’s plate like it belonged to them.

Hafiz’s gaze then followed Nahir’s entrance with cool observation. Regal, poised, and fashionably late. Of course.

He inclined his head when she greeted him, a slight smirk on his lips.

“Shehzadi. As punctual as your father’s diplomacy.”

His eyes cut briefly toward Kira, narrowing ever so slightly when he caught Nahir’s subtle pause.

Hafiz leaned in and whispered to her, “You seem intrigued by her, niece. Should I be?”

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Hidden 3 hrs ago Post by PapaOso
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Time: Evening
Location: Damien Estate / Banquet Hall
Mentions / Interactions: @princess Lottie, @PapaOso Milo






He shouldn’t have looked at her. He knew better, from the moment he sat down. But of course, he just wasn’t able to stop himself. And when her eyes finally found him, soft and tentative, not unlike the way they were the night before, for a heartbeat of a second all was right in the world.

“Good evening, Cassius,” she had said—just for him. No one else heard it, but he felt it in his damn bones. The sound of it was quiet, almost apologetic. Like it knew something he didn’t.

And then he saw it—that flicker of recognition behind her eyes. The truth settling there like dust on silk. Her posture straightened, but her cheeks gave her away. The soft breath that slipped between her lips, the tension in her shoulders—that was the look of someone preparing to let something beautiful die.

It was the same look he’d seen in soldiers who knew the retreat had already begun.

The moment hit him like a gut punch. And for once, Cassius didn’t know what to do with himself.

He didn’t breathe. He didn’t blink. He just watched as she turned away, slow and composed, holding a ribbon-wrapped box like it could anchor her to the floor. And still, the moment felt like it was slipping through his fingers. A page turning in the middle of the story. No explanation. No warning.

And still—still—his mind tried to make excuses for her. For him. For all of it.

Everything in him went quiet.

Cassius stared down at his hands, flexing them once, slow. As if remembering they were capable of holding something. As if remembering what he wanted to hold.

Then...he stood.

Not out of decision, but out of instinct. His body moved without asking for permission. One foot in front of the other, carried by something heavier than pride, stronger than caution. There was no plan. No clever smirk. Just desperation, plain and unspoken, radiating from his eyes like a heat that refused to be cooled.

He had to say something. Anything. He had to talk to her. He had to—

“Forgive me,” came a voice. Smooth. Curious. Unwelcome.

Cassius blinked—and someone was standing in front of him.

Tall. Blonde. Perfectly dressed and smelling faintly of decadence. There was an artistry to the man that didn’t belong in this world. He looked out of place by design.

“You walk,” the stranger said, tilting his head, “like a man who’s about to chase something that can’t be caught.”

Cassius didn’t respond.

He shifted to move around him—but the man shifted with him. Effortless. Like he was part of the current, not just blocking it.

“Don’t let me stop you,” the stranger said with a warm smile. “I just had to say… you are fascinating.”

“Not the time.”

“I know.” The stranger’s eyes swept across his face. Studying him. “It’s just that I see… scars. Not just on your face, but deeper. Older. Scars of survival. Of guilt. The kind of weight that reshapes a man whether he likes it or not.”

Cassius froze for a beat. Then, with a tone full of tension, he said,
“You always psychoanalyze strangers, or am I just a special boy for this fuckin’ sweet talk?”

“Oh, you’re special, alright,” the man said, almost dreamily. “The silver streaks. The stare. The way you wear your pain like it belongs on you. Not everybody can see it… But I can.”

Cassius’s jaw clenched silently for a moment. He wanted to walk past. Gods, he needed to. But this man wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t shut up. His eyes moved back to Charlotte with need.

And then—just as Cassius started to shift again—

“It turns out,” the man added casually, “being the Scourge of Eisenholm leaves its mark on a man. Does it not?”

Everything stopped.

Cassius’s heart stalled. His breath left him in a single, cold exhale.

The words hit like a blade to the ribs. Quiet. Clean. Deep.

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t think.

He stepped forward in one smooth motion, grabbed the man by the collar, and slammed his back against a nearby pillar—hard enough to make a point, soft enough not to start a scene.

“You don’t know what you just said,” Cassius snarled, eyes burning,
“but you’ve got three seconds to fix it. One chance.”

The man met his gaze, utterly unfazed. He looked at Cassius like he was reading a familiar passage in a well-loved book.

“Oh, I'm Milo St. Claire. I always know exactly what I say. And I know exactly who you are, Cassius.”

Milo didn’t flinch.

Instead, he smiled.

Which to Cassius, in that state, in that moment…was just the wrong fucking move.

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Hidden 3 hrs ago Post by JJ Doe
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By request, reposting the last segment of the previous post.

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Hala Sami
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28 Sola, Night
The Grand Banquet

@PapaOso



The introductions between Rohit and the woman sitting across from them—Kira, if the castle staff hadn’t botched the name cards—barely registered in Hala’s consciousness. Their focus magnetized back to the golden-haired artist.

“I’m going to go say hi to this Milo man.” Hala announced, rising from their seat with sudden decisiveness.

As they navigated the crowd, Hala felt the familiar weight of eyes following them. Nadim's protective presence trailed behind like a shadow, and conversations briefly stuttered as they passed—a small pleasure Hala had come to expect but never tired of.

Hala stopped short of Milo, making no effort to hide their blatant assessment of his ensemble. When his hazel eyes met theirs, acknowledging their inspection, Hala merely offered a smile—part challenge, part approval, all confidence. They closed the remaining distance between them, fingers reaching out to ghost over—but not touch—the fine embroidery on his sleeve, examining the quality of the material while the rest of the room faded to background noise.

“Are you an artist who creates with your own hands, or do you direct others to make your vision a reality?”
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Time: 6pm
Location: The Castle Dining Hall
Interactions: @Potter Kira @Lava Alckon Farim @Rodiak Nahir @Helo Rohit
Attire:Dress, Hair





Anastasia lit up like a chandelier, clasping her hands together with delighted flair. “Kiraaa, stop, you’re going to make me blush through my powder!” she said with a giggle. “You’re so fabulous—I feel like I manifested you.” She leaned in conspiratorially, eyes sparkling. “I accept your offer of entertainment, and I expect a performance. ”

Then, to Kira, “Oh yes, this is the fun side. Over here? Chaos, Thara, and very little shame.” She winked and lifted her glass in a toast. “To poor impulse control and pretty people.”

As she was looking about their area, her eyes fell on Rohit, who she had gotten the lovely chance to party with once already, “Oh! And we got Rohit here!” she said, giving a warm, welcoming smile. “I’m so happy you’re seated with us—we were just claiming this side of the room as the most fun and now I know I was definitely right.”

Subsequently, Anastasia noticed Nahir entering and lit up once more, “Shehzadi Nahir!” she chimed, springing up just enough for a light, elegant curtsy—though her excitement nearly made it a bounce. “I’ve never seen someone enter a room like you do—it’s like watching a star float in.”

Her eyes sparkled with sincerity as she added more softly, “I’ve been hoping to get to know you.”

Not longer after that, Farim finally returned and Anastasia beamed, her cheeks already rosy from the flurry of interactions and compliments she’d received that evening, yet somehow, his return made her glow even brighter.

“You were gone an entire lifetime,” she teased dramatically, her fingers brushing delicately into his palm as she placed her hand in his. “The world dimmed a little the moment you left, but alas the light returns. And yes, I missed you.”

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, then, instead of releasing it, kept her fingers nestled in his, her thumb tracing an absentminded pattern against his skin. Her eyes lifted to meet his, her lashes fluttering.

“You know,” she murmured, “if you keep dazzling me like this, I might start believing you crossed kingdoms just to see me.”

A slow, playful smile curved her lips, an impish affection in her gaze. Then, with the softest of kisses pressed to the back of his hand to return the earlier favor, she finally released him, though her smile said she wasn’t done with him yet.

Then, with a turn of her head and renewed sparkle in her eye, Anastasia addressed everyone. “By the way, you all know about my charity performances earlier, right?” she asked, sitting up a little straighter. “It went well, but I don’t want it to stop there. I’ve decided I want to do more. ” Her tone was playful, but then softened into sincerity. “I want to go myself to pass out the food and supplies we raised money for. Talk to them, see what they need. Be with them.”

She glanced around, gauging reactions with hopeful curiosity. Her gaze slid back to Farim for a second, “And maybe drag some of you along with me. Does that sound fun to anyone here?”


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