Morning in Talze Utera was not a morning, but just monotony. Perhaps some noticed the slight change in light, but overall, within the black miasma, there was simply the same light as there was normally, that was, not much at all. The light absorbing, bulbous plants were what provided lighting in the darker places of Talze Utera, and outside of that, it was all just a muted, hazy brightness that lit up the cursed land. But such a day was suitable for the man in red, who had not slept for two days. Blame his single-mindedness, but he rushed to test and perfect that summoning ritual of his. Two days worth of powdered catalyst, sweat, and animal fluids clung to his body, making him appear less like the noble he was dressed as, and more like a mad warlock, bent on achieving his latest obssession. He was finished, but he chose not to bathe or clean himself up. Appearances were important, after all, and for the man in red's next role, dirtiness was essential. Almost like makeup.

In that lavishly white room, humming with residue power and an ethereal veil, he made the final checks on the complex double-helix spell circle he had carved into the ground, before filling the grooves with blood so kindly provided by the vampires of this establishment. No doubt they were curious as to the results of his work. Immortals, after all, were bored existences after their initial phase of incomprehensible hedonism. Anything that interested them, they would seek to further.

Within each of the two circles making up the loops of the double-helix, laid a chalice. One held a gauntlet. Another held a dagger. Even without incantation, without applying his own power, the arcane runes were faintly pulsing with eldritch light, a sickly beating that reacted to the residual mana already present in the room.

It would still be some time before his associate on the 'other' side would be done their own part in this experiment. Six hours, at the very least.

Bringing his slick hair into a ponytail and flicking out one of his cards, the man in red murmured an ancient word, swiped the card over his eyes, and disappeared.
~
Corinkarus Courtright, ultimately, did not have a head for mysteries. He was a man who thought out of the box, of course, but he wasn't a person cwho could understand the intricate, irrational thoughts of others. In that view, animals made much more sense, because their deceptions were so much easier to unconver. Yet, what was the meaning of what lay in front of him? The aged man sighed deeply, resting his wrinkled forehead in the palm of his hand.

His room, a clustered mess of oddities, was carpetted with the lushest furs just to dampen the noise caused by his constant pacing and exuberations. But such defenses were unnecessary that day. He was tired, not physically, but mentally, trying to figure out exactly what was going on.

The spy, investigator, whatever that kid wanted to be called, was spect two days ago, during evening. That rapscallion came back today, with the first fruits of his labor, most of them just notes obtained from asking about. Yet even then, there was a wealth of information that was gotten.

More specifically, there was the fact that Horace, Riley's uncle, had not been at work for the past week.

Two hands were used to hold up the old man's face, as he sighed once more, into the stack of papers that made up the reports. So many annoying mysteries. And such an inadequate mind for solving them.
~
Finally! It felt so great! So good! Land again! Stable ground again! No swaying again! Freedom from the bed again! Ah, finally, Wynnara could feel that it would be a good day~

Beaming with the positive energy of the morning sun as she hopped, skipped, and jumped off off the gangplank onto the island of Frelia, the young God of War pilot yawned and stretched, enjoying the open-sea air on the only place that she could: on land. Her untied blue hair streamed in the air as the stench of many days of gagging and vomitting and chalk-eating was cleansed by salty winds. It just felt so good to be outside once more, and even though, on the inside, Wynnara knew that she would be back onboard another Illiserevian merchant vessel to get to the mainland, she treasured this moment while she still could. Going in a light, bright one-piece dress and sandals, with full intent on getting that fishy, shippy, puke-y smell out of her body by being blown-dry by the wind, she swayed from side to side on the wooden platform of the ports, dodging a few barrel-rolling seamen, before promptly spinning around and landing a kick on Moko's shin. It was a casual strike, nothing that was fuelled with earth-shattering rage, as Wynnara said cheerily, [b]“That's for feeding me chalk, Moko~ I'll let you off easy today, because I'm too happy to be mad!”[/b]

Like that, humming a peppy, circus-esque song, she walked on, taking deep, swinging strides without a care in the world.

[b]“It's a nice day to party, isn't it? Let's go shopping!”[/b]
~
And, on another part of the continent, in a cell that was more of an abyssal pit, a different type of food fell from sky that morning.

Real food, fit for a human to live off.