[IC] ⚫ The Fates' School for Gifted Monsters ⚫

[Shard]

Location
⚫ Cloud's Spire, Castle of Cloud's Reach.

---

A mere gaze at the diving, snow-covered valley beyond Cloud’s Spire would have been enough to conjure awe among any observer of such beauty. However, one would be forgiven for considering the three women presented before their King unamused, and untouched. Indeed, mysteries and tall tales spun like silk within tavern walls did not begin to scratch the surface of what had been said about The Fates. Some believed them to be actual creatures of myth from a far distant land, and others simply brushed the notion aside as a mere fairy tale. Yes, they themselves were observed stating, on more than one occasion, that a bard’s song held power. A cryptic message, to be sure, but one which hinted towards rumors, more so than truth. One could, of course, argue that a desire, or an agenda, dictated such motions. As most stories involving these exceptionally otherworldly beings ended, ‘the world may never know’.

“Well..,” came an old, gruff voice. It was embodied by a large, well-dressed man who had clearly grown accustomed to luxury, which proceeded to be reflected by not only his regalia, but also an extravagant scene. A ceiling painted by masterful hands, furniture carved with grace, and gold lining every surface of note, this was the venue of a King. Not a throne room, no, but rather an enclosure dedicated to business, and conversation. A room that offered view of what an uneducated man would have considered the entire world. “Another year, and your school seems to have lived up to expectations,” the man continued. “How do you plan to move forward?”

Lacquered wood and cushions of rare fabric, chairs accommodating the King’s guests would surely have halted most, where consideration for one’s own worth took center stage. However, with one leg over the other, each sister maintained a comfortable position upon their soft, golden-red surface.

It was an easy mistake to make, thinking The Fates a single individual with the ability to mirror herself, but no, such was not the case. Truthfully, no one knew of the sisters’ abilities, as they had never been displayed. However, considering their alleged age of ancient existence, not even a King dared ask. “We plan to proceed as we have,” Shale spoke, the middlemost madame with Wisp and Spin at her side. It was no secret that Shale was the eldest, and less so that she maintained the highest form of authority among the three.

“Silvermist has documented an increase in contracts from each successive, previous year,” Wisp added, her voice an exact echo of her older sister’s. Melodic, and pure.

“Students are maintaining a constant level of improvement, and civil safety is undisturbed,” Spin continued, a voice yet again heard twice before. Each word was reflected in several documents gathered into a large, if organized pile. Naturally, only a fool would entertain the thought that King James would dedicate time to reading through every line, as it was far from his immediate responsibility. However, he had insisted on having annual meetings with the sisters, if for nothing else, the relationship between humans and mutant kind. It was a proposition that was met with little reluctance.

“We’ll make sure to look through the numbers,” King James commented, patting a large hand onto the pile before a single motion towards his servants brought them to his table, where they proceeded to relieve him of the paperwork. This meeting had been in progress for far longer than a bystander would have cared to linger, but such was the way of bureaucracy. Stability was not always a fun, nor cheerful endeavour, but rather, a necessary one. “I take it we can summarize it, then, on a positive note?”

A small smile stretched its way across Shale’s features, her bright, blue eyes meeting the king’s chocolate-colored gaze, “Silvermist Academy strives for happy endings, your grace.”

“From within, and without,” Wisp added.

“A colorful display,” Spin grinned, “and our students never cease.., to surprise us,” she finished, each word a playful tease, but filled with truth. Silvermist Academy was presented with new conflicts every single year, and each obstacle was always met by its unique, and mystical attendants. This year would be no different, and the expressions meeting King James spoke of anticipation. One could only look forward to an ever-unfolding future.

[twannyman]

A tall, somewhat scrawny figure with a long cloak could be seen slowly treading the snow. It was early in the morning and the cloaked figure was slowly jogging through the various snowcovered buildings. Those who crossed his path would see two deep, red glows coming from underneath the cloak, and may perhaps catch a glimpse of blue hair. For the tall figure was a mutant, one with otherworldly abilities.

After a short while of continuing along his path, the figure had stopped, only to knock on a wooden door of what seemed to the side entrance of a tavern. "Excuse me, your requested help has arrived." After a little rummaging behind the old frame, the door swung open, nearly hitting the face of the lanky individual. A gritty looking man would open the door and try to look down on the person who had knocked on the door, only to shortly after realize that aformentioned individual was taller then him.

The gritty man spoke with a deep voice; "So you should be able to catch however is drinking my ale at night, you don't look as if you could. But eey, if you fail it will only deepen my pockets."

The lanky figure would just smile underneath his cloak, pointed teeth reflecting the light from the rising sun. "I'll find whoever is responsible for your ale dissapearing, but I only came to check in today. I'll return later for a few... mmmhh, inquiries shall we say." Hendrik, the tall figure would just stick out his tongue and walk off, not caring about a response.

Slowly but surely the academy would come into sights, and just as Hendrik entered the school ground, the sun had fully risen above the horison.

[Red7VII]

Mentions: None | Theme: God's Gonna Cut You Down (Manson Cover)
Location: Langston Forge > Silvermist Academy

"It doesn't have to go this way, Tomas," Benedict warned, his voice ending with an upward inflection. The rotund young man stood just a bit taller than your average man, but he was significantly greater in terms of girth. There was barely evidence of hair atop his head as he liked to leave it close cropped and clean. His eyebrows, however, gave away his hair's nearly midnight black color. His face was as smooth as a baby's and his garb was ornate, vibrant and clean. The quality of his clothing was a testament to his financial status and the vast riches afforded to him by his particular line of work. "Give us what you owe, old man. We've kept this shit hole protected for nearly a year now. We've fulfilled our end of the bargain. When's the last time you've had to deal with any ruffians or hoodlums?"

"Before now, you mean?" Tomas was curiously brave for a relatively poor blacksmith that currently found himself restrained to a metal chair of his own creation, the dry ropes digging into his anchored wrists and ankles. Coby, Benedict's younger and a bit more visually appealing brother couldn't contain the huff of laughter that escaped his lips at the audacity of the tied up man before him. Sharing his brother's sense of fashion and grooming, the two of them looked like a comparison of the same man, one before eating three massive turkeys in a row and one afterward.

Benedict's face went sour. If facetiousness was the emotion dominating this man's mind, then Ben wasn't making progress. Tomas lacked fear. Ben would need to correct that. Being the underground prince to Robert The Barber, the elder son often just assumed he would inherit his father's infamous reputation. Every now and then something happened that reminded him that he would have to earn it. Baring his teeth and snarling, Benedict's arm raised up before introducing the back of his hand to the side of Tomas' face with a hard slap that induced a blink from everyone looking on.

"Have you forgotten who the fuck I am?!" Benedict shouted almost directly into the man's ear, spit spraying into his canal. Tomas, his face already beginning to show signs of bruising, winced at the acoustic assault. Without waiting for an answer, Benedict let his fist fly into the bridge of the man's nose, ending its journey with the sound of a sickening crack.

"He's gonna kill him..." Coby whispered to Dante, quiet enough that Benedict didn't notice. Dante, dressed starkly different than his two cousins, grunted out an affirmation. Wrapped in clothing with a dark, earthy tone, Dante looked more like a common man than any sort of criminal royalty. Despite his uncle by marriage being the notorious Robert the Barber, Dante's father insisted on being humble and blending in. When your job is to protect a man who everyone wants to see dead, then being able to become a shadow is invaluable, he had explained to his son many years ago.

If you ever got the opportunity to meet Luthor Stagnum, you'd likely laugh at his words. His body defied expectation. As you looked upon him, you would see a husky man in his twilight years. Were you to give him a poke, however, you'd quickly discover that the meat under his flesh was rock solid and that this bear of a man was still capable of breaking bones with ease. He was hardly someone you'd ever expect to be able to hide in shadow. As Robert and Luthor's hair went from dark to gray, they knew it was high time to start training up their predecessors; their sons. To that end, Benedict had become much more involved in the family business during his teenage years whereas Dante was being groomed as his enforcer.

"L-look, it's not that I don't want to pay, it's that I can't. I just don't have... I mean, business just isn't..." Tomas' defiant attitude appeared to have suddenly vanished, replaced with yellow, sniveling pleas. A quick glance at Benedict revealed his obvious satisfaction with the change in Tomas' tone.

"I don't want to hear it, you steaming pile! If you want to do this on your own, that's fine by me. You fend off the hard folk. You keep the perverts and rapists away from your family. Go ahead! See how long you last without The Barber," Benedict dared. He then pointed at Dante who stood off to the side, his arms crossed as he spectated. "You see him? You know who he is? What he can do? Who's going to keep the freaks away from you without The Barber's Blade?" Benedict then gave Dante a nod, a silent order that demanded a demonstration. Dante complied.

The young mutant whipped his arm out as if he were about to throw a flying disc that didn't actually exist. Once the arm straightened, it elongated out of his sleeve. His joints and bones cracked while his musculature slurped as it's form quickly and nearly instantly changed. Suddenly, where once there was a wrist and hand now existed an organic sword that extended out of Dante's sleeve to a tip that rested just under Tomas' chin. Benedict grinned malevolently at the display while Coby scrunched his nose in disgust. Tomas appeared to share the disturbed young man's sentiments as his eyes grew wide and his mouth fell agape.

"I'm telling the truth!" the man shouted in a panic. "I just, I don't have the money right now... I-"

"I call horse shit!" Benedict fired back. "You're a smithy for crying out loud! There has to be something around here worth our time." Ben then moved his attention to his own surroundings within the workshop, his brow beading with sweat from the heat of the forge. Nothing immediately stood out. There was a lot of iron tools, but if Robert wanted to keep siphoning this well, it would be foolish to take the man's ability to generate coin. Once his cousin had distracted himself with the scavenger hunt, Dante retracted his organic blade, reassembling his veiny hand to it's previous state. His face was stone. He took no pleasure in these sort of errands, nor this side of the business in general. Stealing is one thing. Intimidating, torturing, killing, threatening... that part continued to make him uncomfortable no matter how much exposure he had to it. Benedict's frustration rose exponentially with each passing second that he couldn't find a suitable tribute. There was no way he could go back to his father empty handed with nothing to show for the effort. That's when his eyes fell on the blazing forge itself. A devious, sickening thought crossed his mind and the monster of a young man embraced it whole heartedly. On his way to the flames, moving to Tomas' backside, Benedict picked up a dirty towel from a work bench and grabbed an iron poker by the handle before shoving the pointed tip into the inferno, holding it there as the heat became acquainted with the metal.

"I'll tell you what," he began slyly, speaking to the back of Tomas' head. "I'll exercise a little compassion. Business has been rough. I get it. Do you think you could have what you owe to us by tomorrow?" His voice had gone from sharp as glass to smooth as silk in mere seconds. Coby and Dante looked on, knowing what was coming next. Poor Tomas, though... he had no idea.

"Abso- Yes! Yes, I absolutely will. That's all I really need. Just another day and I'm sure things will pick up!" The sincere relief in his words made Dante's stomach turn. Coby appeared to be suffering from affects even more severe as his hand nervously began to elevate to his mouth, covering it up as he watched.

"Not a problem, Tomas," Ben assured him. "I just want to make sure you don't forget," he explained calmly.

"Oh, no. No, sir, I most certainly won't ever forget."

"That's good. It really is." Slowly Benedict turned the poker in the flame, the black iron now glowing red hot. "All the same, though, I would really prefer to leave you with a surefire reminder. Dante. Hold his head and open his mouth." Coby and Tomas both immediately looked to Dante as if he were a haunting specter. The intense and utter fear projecting from them both ironically steeled Dante's reserve. If Dante refused, it was obvious now that Coby would not acquiesce in his stead, which would just lead to more problems for the both of them later on. The Barber was not a fan of insubordination. And so, Dante obliged. Moving behind their captives' chair, he took a good grip of his forehead and chin and moved them apart from one another, displaying Tomas' pearly yellows and flailing tongue as the man moaned out in panic.

"I'm going to be sick," Coby announced, the once rosy color of his cheeks now looking like porcelain and perhaps even a shade of green. Quickly and dramatically, the youngest cousin fled the scene, stopping just outside where their trio of horses were hitched as he leaned over, staring at his own feet, gagging at the thought of what was about to happen in there.

Benedict made his way to the front of Tomas, pointing the business end of the hot poker just a finger's length away from the forced opening of his mouth. The hairs in Tomas' nose began to curl at the heat emanating from the red hod rod. "Ha, I bet you don't forget for a loooong time," Benedict declared with a maniacal laugh. And then, he shoved the rod forward.

The sounds that escaped that workshop were not ones that Coby had ever heard in his sixteen years. Immediately his breakfast forced itself up his esophagus and made its new home in the snow below. Shortly after, Dante and Benedict emerged, the two of them strolling to the horses as well before stopping to witness Coby's shame.

"Methinks you should exchange your tunic for a dress, Coby," Benedict stated harshly. "I can't believe you're my brother. Mother must've slept around. Perhaps she cheated on father with a shit collector and now here we are with you years later." He spit toward his sibling before looking to Dante. "You should have been my brother, Dante. You were unflinching. A real man. One who will serve at my side and help me rule these peasants, aye?" Dante forced a smirk while a dirty look from Coby did not escape his peripheral vision. "Until then, 'O Barber's Blade, I suppose it's off with you back to the 'Mist. You keep sharpening that mind and those arms. I need my Second at the top of his game." Looking at Benedict's smile, you never would have guessed he had just, moments before, mutilated a man beyond repair. There was always something terrifyingly sinister behind his eyes, no matter what emotion the rest of his face telegraphed.

"Right," Dante said finally before mounting his steed. Without so much as a proper farewell or even a wave, Dante rhythmically bounced upon the horses back as the snow gave way under the its feet, sounding like a sort of unique drumline as they continued on the trail back toward home.

Dante soon would have to slip back into the grounds as quickly and quietly as possible. He liked to keep this part of his life locked away. For the past six years, he had done a relatively good job at keeping it under wraps. As he and his cousin were preparing to replace the previous generation in this twisted family business, he knew it was only a matter of time before word got out of his darker deeds.

He would deal with that day when it came. For now, all he wanted was to be along in his room in his bed thinking of literally anything else other than what had just transpired.

[Lightning Fast]

Shimon examined his reflection in the artificial pond below. He watched as needles began to pop out from the mossy bark covering his arms and his old leaves started to fall away. I am never ready for winter... he thought to himself groggily. The heat no longer bothered Shimon, but the reduced sunlight and dry air would wreak havoc on him if he did not adapt. Years of personal experimentation had taught him that in the winter, when subzero temperatures made it necessary to preserve more water and the sun was not as bright, needles were simply better than leaves. He would be able to make it through this winter without his usual extended hibernations, although to be frank, such sleeps didn’t bother him. The underground garden was comfortable enough, and he was used to lying in soil reading or slipping into a gentle plant coma, sometimes for weeks at a time.

This year would be different, though. While Shimon was fortunate enough to have developed his powers under the guidance of other plant-oriented mutants and instructors, his classmates had all begun to set out on contracts of their own, leaving the garden lonelier than normal. That, and Shimon wasn’t really a fan of the fiery hearths people tended to gather around when it was cold out. Christmas celebrations made the matter even worse, as he could scarce walk a few feet without some stranger trying to string decorations on him.

Shimon had been strictly limited in the sorts of contracts he was allowed to take for two reasons. First and foremost, he had perhaps expressed one too many times his desire to return to Prague, and that meant there was a hypothetical risk of him leaving. Shimon did his best to convince them otherwise, stating that to try and cross England, let alone all of Europe, would be suicide for such an easily-identifiable mutant, but this did not assuage their second fear. Shimon was brutishly large and frightening to peasant folk. Pitchforks and torches could easily be brought against him or the Academy if things went south.

There was an unspoken third reason the Academy sought to hide Shimon’s presence from the King, although they would never admit it. Shimon tried his best not to think about that.

I will leave the garden. I will not spend an entire season alone in here. Elohim give me strength. The hulking green creature stood up to his full height, loosening his roots’ grip on the soft ground. He felt a slight sting as he ripped himself from the earth, shaking off the clumps of dirt that were still attached to his legs as he walked in the direction of the garden’s exit. A few mutants observed him leaving, nodding and expressing their approval at his new pine-like appearance, but all seemingly too busy to strike up a full conversation. They are not unlike me, but they are luckier. Most of them can hide their marks. The others are at least the right size for a world of humans.

Walking through the halls of the Academy reminded Shimon just how much the world wasn’t made for someone like him. It made him feel freakishly huge, claustrophobic even. He desperately wanted to be in nature, to have a reason to leave the school grounds, and so for the first time in what felt like months, Shimon visited the board, hoping to secure a contract that made good use of his natural skills... and hopefully one where his inability to hide his mutation would not be a liability.

[Shard]

Location
💀 Recollection.
💀 Silvermist Academy.
💀 Art Room.

Interactions
💀 Open.

---

He could still recall it, Connor’s obsidian gaze landing on a display of his very own making. Flakes of white slowly drifted towards the ground, a chilling cold piercing his skin, and clawing its way towards his core, and yet, it had remained ignored. Every moment was fresh within his mind, mist-like energy as if ghosts moving at his behest. Six fallen farmers rose to their feet, death only a matter of inconvenience as abyssal black overtook their faded eyes. Limbs cracked, and twisted into life as a snowy blanked beneath their frames shifted in tune with every sickly motion.

Hearts had been pierced, throats cut, and blood drained from open wounds. Villagers sought to reach their loved ones, women struggling against their husbands in an attempt to hold their fallen children one last time. Brothers and sisters called out for their elder siblings, tears streaming down their cheeks, an icy cold chill enveloping them beneath snowy winds. “You do not blame a wolf for eating sheep,” came the voice of a man who stood amongst his group of raiding bandits.

Fittingly known across the countryside as ‘The Wolves’, they were notorious for attacking small, barely defended villages where pillaging soon followed. It had become an issue stretching further than domestic murder, when traveling merchants fell victim to highway blades. It had become a contract when enough wealth was hampered, for those of a high-standing position to finally act.

Overtaken by hubris, and basking in the presence of fear, the group of ten bandits had fixed their attention on tears and screams which acted as nourishment all on its own. ”I grant you vengeance..,” a quiet, ghostly voice trickled through a gathering crowd. A calmly extended hand revealed black claws where fingers ought to have been, and accompanying every spoken word, as if a passing breeze, a mutant’s power came into view.

It was not often that Connor, the boy known as Corpse Walker, or in some venues considered something as bombastic as The Reaper, was treated to a warm bowl of soup. It was not often that he found joy, and shared smiles within the comfort of a warm home, where stories were offered, revealing the grand beauty of Cloud’s Reach. No, it was not often that mutants of a less appealing presence were afforded such compassion by those they were sent to protect.

Little can be compared to the shock conjured from a corpse sinking its teeth into the neck of an unexpecting victim. Less so, when the murder now was a thing of the past. Slowly exposed from the crowd, a boy dressed in notably finer garb than a humble villager emerged. The cloak he wore clearly attempted to protect the scrawny, fragile frame beneath from winter’s unforgiving touch, and an insignia upon the fabric revealed his position as a Silvermist Mercenary.

Each step was a calm progression, and a keen eye would have been able to spot the melancholy expression beneath the boy’s dark, grey hood. He raised his eyes to witness a panicked skirmish between the living, and the dead, where uncoordinated attacks left wounds on unfeeling carcasses. Fear quickly turned from sheep to wolves, and the hunters would soon know themselves as the very prey they had attempted to subjugate. Behind the mutant, silence reigned, and with every fallen bandit, another rose to attack his once-beloved brethren.

Amidst blood-soaked snow, a once confident leader was forced to his knees, held in place by teeth and nails forcing themselves into exposed areas of his flesh. Deadweight was a difficult thing to move, and more so when sentience occupied it. Indeed, where panic had previously taken center stage, deathly silence now replaced its loud screech. “You’re the Devil..,” a trembling attempt left bloodied lips.

”The Devil..,” Connor repeated, his voice enough to pierce a grown man’s state of comfort, as if a poltergeist had made itself known. ”I aim to afford you an exchange with him.., and you will know who to prefer.” Black claws gently found their way to the man’s chin, where they raised his gaze towards Connor’s own, their eyes meeting as pain proceeded to overtake the bandit. Once more, screams echoed through the village, empty black eyes witnessing the sight of a man’s flesh withering, and melting, until the visage Connor had once known decayed into memories.

---

Clenching his teeth, Connor’s grip of the brush tightened for a brief spell, the small creature’s stature stiffening, before he released a shaky breath. Gently retracting his trembling appendage, the mutant lowered his hand, and shut his eyes tightly. “Connor?” A woman’s voice trickled past the many rows of canvases stretching their way across the room, paint, and supplies scattered in an organized mess. “Are you well, sweetheart?” She continued, her hand finding home on the boy’s shoulder.

”Y-yes, lady McOwan.., apologies..,” the petite mutant offered, forcing a faint smile as he once more opened his eyes to meet the nearly glowing, purple orbs staring back at him. He had always adored the art teacher, Lady Jenna McOwan. A motherly figure who more often than not reminded the boy of his peers.

“That is beautiful, Connor,” she continued, shifting her attention towards the painting before her. “Is it the rabbit you saw this morning?”

”It is,” the boy offered, his previously forced smile mellowing into a somber, if genuine expression once focus of his painting blanketed every sense. Little else offered comfort quite like the art of breathing life into a canvas. It was where he could pretend like nothing else mattered, nothing but the world he had created. "I hope he’ll be alright, out in the cold..,” the boy finished, feeling Jenna’s hand tenderly squeezing his shoulder.

“You are a sweet boy, Connor,” she finished.

[Fallenreaper]

🔥Ciara Smith🔥

_{🔥 Location: Silvermist Academy, Dorm-> Baths -> Mess hall
🔥 Time: Afternoon}

---

Ciara curled into a ball. The white ashes, remains of wood and coal, spread across her skin. Her eyes opened to observe her room. Her bedtime fire went out a few hours ago leaving a pleasant but cooling the heat in its wake. Already the red coloring had faded to white causing her to sigh. A mist floated into the chilly air. Casually she pushed herself upright and flipped her feet over the edge. Her feet hissed when they made contact with the cold floor. Ciara’s arms stretched out over her head while she collected herself before relaxing.

She took the measure of her surroundings. Unlike most students, she found it easier to sleep while engulfed by fire. Childhood memories from her mother and being placed in a stoked fire filled her mind. The heat cradled her and soothe her fears, encouraging peaceful sleep. Sometimes she thought she could hear her mother’s sweet voice ring out in the background. Without that comfort, nightmares plagued her. Nightmares led to eruptions and carnage.

Her head shook away the thoughts as she rose to her feet. Dragging herself to the end of the bed, she crouched down by a metal trunk. The lid flipped over with a little effort, exposing her clothing nestled safely inside. Ciara took out a simple loin cloth, breast wrap, dress, and apron. With a quick push down, the lid slammed down when she stood upright. Sleeping naked stopped nightmares from wasting her money.

Taking a sooty blanket, she wrapped herself in it for modesty. She pushed the door open and began to walk toward the baths. Ciara knew being covered in ‘ashes’ wouldn’t do for the cleanliness requirement at Silvermist Academy.

As she began to descendent down the stairs leading to the underground caverns, she entered the pool room. The waters bubbled slightly and heated the cavern. Already some students had stripped then waded into the inviting water. Ciara just shuddered and sped past them. Her ‘bath’ consisted of fire rather than water. Water hurt her in ways it didn’t for others causing scars that took years to fade.

She paused at a small hole. Leaving both the blanket and her clothes on the marble bench, she began to climb down the metal ladder. Her movement caused it to creak on her way down. Darkness crowded her as her veins gave off a faint light, illuminating close proximity. Ignoring her fear, Ciara stepped into the center and sat crossed legged.

A small breath inhaled then exhaled. With a little effort, her core began to heat. The section of her heart glowed orange then turned to white. Flames began to spew from the veins spread across her surface. With each passing minute, the lines grew brighter and wider until it engulfed her in a fire. Light erupted from her surface as it chased away the shadows. When the peak of the fury pass, Ciara’s skin darkened into its default state once more. She gradually lifted upright and walked back to the metal ladder, her surface clean of any blemishes. With a quick motion, she quickly made it to the top to dress.

Now for breakfast, she thought. Ciara dropped her blanket into the basket for someone else to clean and dry later. At least one perk of being so strongly associated with fire, she got out of certain chores. Laundry and dishes being the most notorious ones to her health.

[Red7VII]

@Lightning Fast

Shimon
+
Dante

Shimon entered the room known as the Board, where various mutants chatted amongst themselves about their past, present and future contracts. Silvermist mutants, in exchange for room, board and legal protection, were expected to contribute to the wellbeing of Western and Central Europe by answering calls for aid. While not the only one of its kind, Silvermist Academy was the largest mutant-oriented institution that Shimon knew of. Which meant the largest mutant organization in the world was essentially a mercenary company. Shimon wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Granted, not all the work they did was of a violent sort. Shimon himself rarely went on combat missions, as his brutish style tended to frighten people he was trying to help. Besides, his more impressive and useful powers were the ones which aided in the growth of vegetation. Shimon had solved a number of minor famines single-handedly, and frankly, starving peasants didn’t much care where their food came from so long as their bellies were full. He silently sorted through the papers, looking for a job that suited him.

Dante’s footsteps echoed through the vast halls. Each step reflected his own heartbeat as he tried to focus. One foot after the next. Look down. Don’t draw attention. Be normal. His breathing began to get short and his steps much faster. The air seemed dense, shrinking around him. An internal pressure seemed to close it’s hands around his throat, squeezing with a gradual force that he couldn’t shake. As students passed, he tried to hide his struggle, turning his shoulder outward, cowering behind his own silhouette. Each wheeze was more effort, more panic. His eyes were hot and yet they were drowning in his own puddled tears. He finally turned the first corner available to him and gasped out an audible breath that sounded like it had fought a years long war just to exist.

He focused on his feet, on the ground, on relative quiet. He breathed. He willed it. Slowly he found his breathe and his muscles began to unclench. A sort of soothing overwhelmed his body as oxygen made its way back through his system. Through blurred vision, he looked around. His eyes fell on the only movement he immediately noticed.

“Sorry…” he began, his gasps lessening with each passing second. “Any, uh… Any good… huh… leads?” The water in his eyes began to evenly distribute and the person before him slowly came into focus.

The green giant looked down at this more ordinary-looking man, a new arrival who’d come into the Board looking rather shaken. He was tall, to be sure, although still dwarfed by the plant mutant. The man seemed to be breathing heavily, which did concern Shimon. “... You okay? You look as if you’ve seen something even scarier than me,” he joked, his suppressed accent shining through, “Or is it the big green guy freaking you out?”

“Meh,” Dante grunted with a wave of his hand, attempting to dismiss any questions about the matter. You’d think such a fantastical sight would send any man screaming. Whether or a curse of a blessing, Dante had seen this sort of thing for years now. Despite that, he still managed to silently revel at his schoolmate’s size and composure. “It’s nothing,” he finally declared. “Happens sometimes. What’s on the docket?” His last question sounded more like an order, his tone becoming authoritative, determined to change the subject.

As he looked at his peer, he began the inevitable process of sizing him up. Everyone here could do something and that could do it more spectacularly than anyone else on the planet. As Dante took in the visual clues, it was not hard to imagine the nature of this person’s assets, for this person’s assets was, largely, nature.

Shimon glanced down at Dante, fully turning around to face him even as he shuffled through the papers. “I mostly deal with famine-related fieldwork. When I do fieldwork at all, that is. Plants, crops...” Shimon paused, smirking, “You might be able to guess, that’s sort of my thing. Yourself?”

“I do a different sort of thing,” he answered matter of factly while shuffling over to the contract offerings. He didn’t look up or even extend a welcoming hand. As he glanced through the text he just simply said aloud, “Dante. You?”

“Sh-... Simon,” Shimon replied, “Simon. I think I’ve seen you around once or twice, but I don’t believe we’ve met.” The hulking creature gestured towards a set of tables where some of the other students were discussing contracts of their own. He carefully sat down in one of the metal chairs (taking care not to break it) and placed his stack of parchment and paper on the table. “More dangerous contracts, then? Real fighty stuff?”

“Hmph,” Dante huffed in return as he continued scanning the material as he sat. “I’ll do what I can,” he said finally. In the back of his mind snapshots of past horrors flickered on and off. With a clenched brow, he pushed those images aside and focused on the present. “You could probably do well with the… fighty stuff,” he offered. “You’re no shrimp and there’s a lot more money, most of the time.” All the while, there was nothing he was reading that piqued his interest. Nothing that said Yes, this is it!. His thin line of a mouth slowly formed into a frown of disappointment.

Shimon rolled his eyes, though he seemed more amused than frustrated. “Money for clothes I can’t wear, food I don’t eat, and furniture I can’t use. I think I’m going to stick vit’ the safer jobs. And besides,” he continued, setting his papers down, “They tend not to send me out on those missions unless there’s othe’ mutants to fight. No point in frightening a bunch of peasants into thinking a giant is attacking their town over some petty thieves. I know torches and pitchforks are cliche, but, velllll...” he gestured to the thick moss covering his chest, then motioned sticking himself with a sharp object, “They also happen to be two of my least favourite things. If ‘dey vant some crook dead, someone a little more subtle ought to handle it.” As the green gentleman became more comfortable speaking with Dante, his accent appeared to show more and more. Speaking English was hard enough; Shimon wasn’t going to bother pretending to be a local if he didn’t have to. “I just want to get out of this place every now and then, help a few people in the process. I get that some contracts need some blunt force behind them, but uh...” he gestures to himself, “Most... ehhhhhn... they do not need this much.”

For a moment, Dante forgot himself and couldn’t help but chuckle. Simon’s logic was charmingly flawless. He envied and admired his outlook but became somber once more at the notion that such an outlook was out of his grasp.

“You do what you’ve got to do,” he said finally, his voice trailing toward the end. His mind was too scattered. He set aside the contracts and looked toward the nearly empty hallway. In a tranced gaze, he surveyed the distant floor ahead, his eyes glossing over. Sleepiness was beginning to take hold. “Well…” he drolled. “Simon. Good to meet you.” His expression remained blank as he stared one thousand yards away. “I ought to be… going.” The words struggled to make their way out as the young man was running out of steam. The stress was taxing. Off doing the will of a madman, trying to keep everything underwraps, pretending to act like everything was fine. The void of slumber was beginning to call in response and Dante was finding it increasingly difficult to avoid it. “We should get fighty with something, sometime,” he said finally.

Shimon frowned and nodded. “I think... maybe you are someone who has done a bit too much fighting as of late.” Holding up a finger-analogue with one hand, Shimon held out his other hand flat as a series of white flowers began to sprout from it. Leaves and petals formed before Dante’s eyes, undergoing weeks of growth in mere seconds. “An Egyptian plant, called chamomile. Grind up these leaves, place them in boiling water, drink the resulting broth. It will help you sleep. You look like you may need it.”

Dante looked to the earthly mutant initially with suspicion. Many other students had an unhealthy appetite for competition and then here was this man in a tree’s skin offering him aid… for nothing. Hesitantly, Dante reached for the herbs and plucked them, quickly looking up to gauge Simon’s reaction, silently hoping that he didn’t inflict any pain. Satisfied, he stashed the plants in one of his pockets and gave a nod of respect to his new acquaintance.

“That’s good of you,” he offered. He sized the mutant up once more, still trying to accept his vast size. “And you’re sure you’re not into fighting?” The pitch in his voice continued to escalate in disbelief. “Well, thanks in any case.”

“Only for the right cause,” Shimon replied, smiling as warmly as someone with a moss-covered face could, “You are very velcome, khaver.” And with that, he returned to looking at the contracts, muttering to himself in some combination of foreign languages.

With a wave that reflected less enthusiasm than his actual appreciation, Dante started back on his journey toward his sacred temple of solitude; his chambers. Well there you do, he thought. This year’s off to a different start…

[Floch]

Rin- Art Room

"Cold?" Rin immediately was flustered upon misunderstanding what Connor mentioned thinking that the phrase was directed against her. She stopped frowning for a while as her ice sculpture was losing shape and form and it lead her back to the dream she had earlier this morning. The thought of anything icy unwittingly makes her prone to fidget and irate, Rin tried to calm herself from retaliating and counted to seven in her mind but then it suddenly put her on a state of spacing out.

Rin found herself in an imaginary world.

The images that mentally flashed upon were vivid. Rin found herself in a Fruit Market, there were a lot of fruits to be chosen except for apples to which she favored, Rin found herself in a Fruit party suddenly and she was dancing with an orange and watermelon, she felt joy and comfort as she danced while the fruits were holding her hands in unison. The music was akin to a children's party and the grapes and the grapefruit and other berry fruit started joining the party which led her to dance even more.

Having felt that she was exhausted by the party, a group of tomatoes challenged her to a Fruit fest. She was accompanied by the a group of bananas to rejuvenate by eating all types of fruit and drink all sorts of fruit juices. Rin seemingly won the competition but then the last bit didn't went well with her when she asked for a drink.

The tomatoes told her to eat the apple and she may only drink.

Rin refused three times and by the fourth time, the tomatoes ordered the bananas to restrain Rin. The bananas appeared as spores all over her body infesting her, Rin started drooling as she heard the voices of the banana to eat the apple that manifested in front of her.

"Eat, Eat, Eat" The tomatoes said as the bell tolls to tell the sound of death.

"Eat, Eat, Eat" The grape family said like as if there is no vines and thorns torn in the wine's husk so that she may only quench her thirst.

"Eat, Eat, Eat" The lemons said for they know the cries beneath the desires of Rin's cold stone heart.

She refused.

The lemons started crying and violently killed each other and peeled each other skins mutually and the killing spread to all fruits.

She tried to stop them but a wall of papaya stopped her.

"You may only prevent this if you accept the desires of your heart." Said a voice from afar and it was the apple.

"Eat, Eat, Eat. Eat me so that you may never thirst for this outburst is acursed. There is no need to feel greedy for the pity is not witty! Do not be weary for the berries. Once you eat me you will feel merry!"

Rin cannot contain her temptation as the apple was shoved into her mouth rather appeared inside her mouth assuming she doesnt consume it will choke her to death.

"Be it or need it. There will be no climax without a full course cherry. You will not be merry for you will become dreary!"

As she swallowed the fruit, Rin started feeling a sensation she never felt before.

Back to reality.

"N-Nevermind. Anyhow Connor what do you think of my sculpture?"

Rin flawlessly created a nude figure of 20 inches shaped Connor who has a fading figure and was fading from hugging him from behind. Surely it must be difficult for her peers to gauge her range emotions and what not since her face is obscured with her mask.

@Shard@DC The Dragon

[twannyman]

A short period later, Hendrik arrived on the schoolgrounds. Since it was still early, and not a lot of his fellow mutants had arrived, Hendrik decided to check at a few classrooms, and perhaps the library.

After a short stroll around, Hendrik thought that he should visit the art room first. Perhaps early risers are trying to capture the scenery, who knows. To his suprise the door to the art room was already open. Hendrik slowly entered the room, to see a masked individual and a pale, scrawny boy inside. It took a little bit of time to notice the ice sculpture in the room.
"I'll leave you two to it.. I'm sorry for disturbing." Hendrik spoke before quickly leaving the room. He made a mental note off the sculpture. "Hmm, the style of the sculpture was oddly familiar. I have seen it before, but where?"

Then Hendrik left for the library, where he would walk up to the librarian and ask the person there if they had any books regarding ale brewing, the history of ale and the likes. It seemed they had. Hendrik gladly went on a search for the correct aisle and took out a few books.

He would sit down and start reading about the tedious process that was making ale. "It seems the innkeep would need hop, some malt and yeast. From what I have heard, he was very standard on his ale.. So it is weird that people would steal to drink form him. Perhaps it's on a different angle."

Now it was time for class, Hendrik did not really like to go to class, usually it included a lot of repition, and well, having a photograpic memory, he absolutely dispised repition. Hendrik was a silent type in class, a very big difference from his usual talking self. He did not really want to bother the teachers and his fellow mutant students with questions. He would give a few answer, to make sure the teacher would know he was still doing something, but really did tend to keep to himself.

Throughout the later part of day, Hendrik would use his spare time to research more about ale, brewing and perhaps the establishment whomst had asked him to investigate the stealings of their ale, all while trying to be alone. If others would try to strike up a conversation, he would try to find a way for them to leave him alone, or make the conversation as short as possible.

@Indra@Shard

[Shard]

Location
💀 Silvermist Academy.
💀 Art Room.

Interactions
💀 @Indra

---

With his eyes wide, Connor’s attention shifted towards a sculpture of.., him? Had his fellow student crafted a statuette of him? He appeared to have been lacking clothes, and someone was apparently embracing the boy. There was generally a word for situations like this. It was quite awkward. ”That’s.., me..,” the boy tried, tilting his head before his abnormally large, black eyes narrowed into a squint. He was not mistaken. She had actually conjured forth a sculpture of Connor. This was most certainly what one would call ‘a first’. ”Uhm..,” the young mutant tried, his clawed hand rising to gently scratch his pale, pointy ear. ”It looks great.., for sure..,” he tried, hesitant to utter the words. However, finding himself on the receiving end of his peculiar situation, Connor turned to his teacher who appeared to admire Rin’s work in another fashion, entirely.

Raising a brow, Connor considered his teacher’s late behavior. She seemed careful, more so than usual, and far less willing to engage in conversation. Not only her, for that matter. This held true for most of the faculty. Equally so, The Fates had not been seen for quite some time. They did not usually lock themselves into the castle peak, meaning that whatever they were debating must have been serious.

Adding to this curious development, Connor was unable to accept any further contracts. His last journey into the countryside had been far more confrontational than he would have hoped, but anything else was foolish. A crew of raiders could only be dealt with in a singular manner. Other beliefs of the scenario were naive. However, contracts catering to his specific abilities were slowly fading out, and this could not possibly have been considered normal. Winter could have affected this inconvenience, but such an outcome was not reflected by any previous year.

”Lady McOwan,” Connor spoke, earning the woman’s attention. ”Have you seen the principals, lately?” It was a question founded in curiosity, but also an attempt at digging deeper into this mystery.

The question quite blatantly caused the woman to stiffen, before she cleared her throat, and shook her head. “I am sure The Fates have been quite occupied with bureaucracy, Connor.” She did not ask the boy why he presented the issue, clearly attempting to brush the conversation aside. It was the same reaction some of the older students had given him when the boy echoed his statements. Was something bothering the teachers? Why where The Fates unavailable? Why was there an odd atmosphere at the academy? Not a single question answered, but rather, each one highlighted by a lack of response.

”Right..,” Connor offered, ”I’m heading out, thanks for the lesson, Lady McOwan.” He finished, lowering his brush before starting towards the exit, where he turned into a stone corridor, acknowledging Rin with a soft wave. Someone had to know something, or rather, someone had to be willing to share.

[DClassified]

---

Part One

---

A swift breeze washed across his face as he bent backward to dodge a swiping rod. A foot extended outward in the same motion for his opponent’s stomach. Though, opposed to it being an attack, it was a means for further evasion, the boy pushed off and leaned into a back handspring.

With the distance made, the lad stared down the giant man. He stood firm in his defensive stance, raising his staff with one end aimed at the boy’s chest. The child with hair of the rising sun lowered his stance, clawing his fingers as though a tiger. His tail swayed back and forth slowly behind him like a pendulum, with the tip trained on his boulder built opponent.

“Hoooah!” He yipped.

His approach was a pounce forward from on all fours, and a small exchange ensued. Aggressive, clawed strikes were blocked and countered by the man easily. He was clearly more experienced. Though, when he went on the offensive due to a strike with the staff, the boy drew his fingers together to form a snake’s head. In a fluid motion, he zipped the fanged beast directly into the man’s front wrist and simultaneously kicked his back hand. Loosening his grip on the weapon, the sun child’s tail came in and wrested control, snatching it.

Retreating once more, he cartwheeled several feet away. Dancing in a in an impressive display of dexterity, he twirled on one foot and spun the staff from his tail to the right hand above his head. A smirk glimmered his features with a giggle. As soon as he was to finish with a pose, he was met with unexpected speed.

A heavy shoe was aimed at his head, and in a desperate measure he raised the staff to block. Though, it wasn’t much help, as the bigger man still launched him from his feet. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he couldn’t even fly away as the man caught his foot in mid air. Dangling upside down by his foot now, the light haired child dropped the stick. Fumbling, he raised his hands to protect his face from an oncoming punch...but it never came.

Hesitantly, he opened his eyes to see disappointment on the man’s face.

“You have lost focus again, Xiao.”

His voice matched his body, aged and burly. Xiao went limp, and the man let him go. The kid dropped on his head, displacing some dust, but it didn’t seem to hurt in the slightest. Simply lying there, the preteen looked up at him from the forest floor.

“I...I am sorry, Sifu…” The student addressed the master, though Yuan shook his head.

“You may have the ability to apologize to me, but your enemies will not be so gracious. Your theatrics mean nothing in true battle.” Master Yuan critiqued, stern in his delivery. Xiao stood up but his face did not leave the ground.

“Yes...I know…” His voice was more diminutive in comparison. The older man sighed, pulling his stick up from the ground.

“You remember why I teach you these things?” Master Yuan took on a more compassionate tone.

“To learn myself and grow strong?”

“Yes, and that strength, to defend.” He explained resting the staff on his shoulder, slowly raising his open palms. Xiao remembered this exercise, and took a neutral stance. He threw a snake jab, but Master caught his wrist and took the opening to jab a finger into the boy’s side gently. Once there, his finger waggled. Tickled, little Xiao wiggled and giggled a few paces away.

His eyes closed for a second, but as he opened them, he noticed his master staring off into the distance. His expression was very serious, and it shrunk the little one’s smile. He wanted to ask what he saw, but the boy was afraid of the answer.

Yuan turned back to Xiao, and smiled.

“Come, let’s find food.”

---

Darkness. Utter darkness that Xiao could no longer see through. Dreaming? It had been a while since he did that. It was likely because he was more comfortable in the outside world. Or at least the part of it natural to the planet in which they lived. Over the years of residing in Cloud’s Reach, he found that he was more at peace with himself here rather than in the building. It was why he was laid up in this tree in the courtyard. He had often slept here instead of in the dorm room provided for him. Though, temperatures at night more recently, had changed his mind.

Xiao was reclined in a branch toward the top of the tree, near one of the watchtowers. That way he could feel the comforting heat of the sun occasionally peeking through the heavy winter clouds. It was nice and quiet....maybe a little too quiet.

There was the question of wondering what he was doing before he got here, but waking up was bringing memories back quickly. He was a tutor to other students in the realm of physical combat, as it was more or less his strong suit. His job was to teach them how to learn about themselves more from it, as well as to defend themselves, just as Master had taught him. It was what he was doing earlier up until about an hour ago. Though he felt like needed his meditation time...or nap time, whichever came first.

Besides, there was always a mess among some of the teenagers socially. The rumors and 'backstabbing' happened, the drama that came with adolescent mercenaries. This business with the job slowness didn’t help.

In his own experience, he had maybe a year of so of that under his belt before his abilities experienced a monumental shift. After that, some looked at him differently, like he was a strange person. Of course he did get taller, and his hair grew longer, and his ears grew somewhat pointed...and sometimes his eyes glowed in the dark. However, he didn't pay much attention anymore. His new masters told him not to indulge those ones and to continue on in learning.

Xiao decided that maybe it was time that he actually did something other than sitting. There were many students, but the intensity of the sun above implied sometime near afternoon, which meant that he couldn't bother them. It was around the end of lunch time and he had to wait until they were finished. You put egg shells in a kid's sandwich one time and you never hear the end of it! Still, he didn't want to just sit here bored like this....

A feeling of slight change in wind direction met his skin. He turned his head towards the east, where the gust was going. It was always about this time that it switched in direction, and his tail flicked freely in the breeze. One picks up on little things like that when--

Wait...his tail was holding something when he went to sleep…The mask! Xiao’s eyes jolted open and he looked around, then down. All the way down. Toward the bottom of the tree, on a low hanging branch, was a white kabuki mask hanging by the strap. It was very reminiscent of his best buddy Rin’s. Granted, hers came all the way from her home, Xiao tried to make it really detailed to match. Monkey see, monkey do. It was supposed to be his art project but it was kind of fragile. He didn’t want it to fall on the ground, but if he climbed down slowly, it’d get blown by the wind.

So, he rolled off of the top branch. Free-falling for a few moments he felt the many branches in the air around him, many thin. Because of his weight, Xiao didn't try to grab just any old limb as he didn't want to hurt the trees that the birds lived in. Though, just as he was nearing the target, his eye caught indicated a big one just to his right. He bounced off of a stone wall to his left and latched to the limb above the twig holding his mask.

The monkey boy hung upside down like a sloth at first, causing his waist length hair to droop like a cape.

An arm extended for a hand to reach for it. It was just out of reach.
So, he flipped around and hung by his knees to reach it. It was still out of reach.
So, he took it a step further and held himself upside down only by his feet.

Now able to reach, he jostled a tad to pull it off, but he didn’t take into account the weight of snow on the branch too. Just as he managed to grab hold-- SNAP!

Just one capuchin yowl later, down went the monkey and into a snow pile he went. A poof of white powder later, and Xiao was grounded, but the mask was safe in his arms. Well that could have went worse. He could have knocked the Owls’ nest out of the tree. The Hooters wouldn’t have been too fond of that.

He stood up and shook his head of the cold, trying to warm his fur back up. Likely a good time to go back inside...He had a little mask lady to find.

[Shard]

Location
⚫ Silvermist Peak.

---

“This silence cannot linger,” Shale spoke, her bright eyes fixed on an ever-stretching mountainside. Though the beauty of snow blanketed every facet of a castle peak’s breathtaking view, worries simmered far closer, than the distant image of nature.

“Questions are abundant,” Spin offered, long slender fingers gently placed on a grape attached to its many siblings within a marble bowl. Plucking it from the stem, she proceeded to place the sweet fruit on her tongue.

“The younger students are getting curious. Panic is sure to blanket our academy,” Wisp sighed, her head slowly shaking in response to the statement. “Cornelia has risen in power, and we have allowed it.”

“What we allow,” Spin added, motioning towards her sister, Wisp. “Is peace,” she explained. “Cornelia squandered that peace, and we ought to meet her desire for war.”

“Most of our students are but children, Wisp,” Spin frowned, crossing her arms as she witnessed the relaxed nature of her sister. It was difficult to blame the woman, however, considering the luxury and comfort of their forum. An open fireplace was sure to grant heat, and sofas surpassing even the King’s furniture carried their frames with ease. “They will not sit idly by if we send their elders into combat.”

“There are several attendants surpassing expectations, Spin. You are aware of this,” Wisp protested, raising a brow. “I believe them prepared.”

“Cornelia wants a war,” Shale spoke, earning her younger sisters’ attention. “It is difficult to ignore that,” she explained, and slowly approached the fireplace where a pleasant warmth laid itself across her frame. “We failed her. This is our fault.”

“We did not tell her to start a cult, Shale,” Wisp rolled her eyes, “we cannot blame ourselves for her decisions.”

“She was our sister,” Spin spoke, her voice shifting to a more somber tone. “When we left Greece, our parting was bittersweet, but never in our wildest dreams did we think her capable of this.”

Silence blanketed the conversation, lingering upon them much like the abundance of snowflakes just a stone wall away. “The students will learn of this, eventually. Either we warn them, or Cornelia does,” Shale finished, her eyes closing along with a soft sigh. “They need to know that strife is at their doorstep.”

“Cornelia’s war will break the fragile peace between mutants and humans. We’ll be back at square one,” Spin noted. She was correct. The peace between humans and those of a powered state was fragile, at best. It was a peace put in place due to the Academy, and many other venues like it. Mutants were cared for and regulated in tandem. However, with a rogue creature like Cornelia free to cause havoc, one did not need to look far for incoming disaster.

“She will not attack Cloud’s Reach, not yet,” Wisp spoke, “but her actions have already reached our ears. How long until the King realizes that our sister is gathering a mutant army?”

Again, silence lingered. However, Shale eventually broke the serenity. “Cornelia is a fearsome creature, but her promises are stronger still,” the woman clenched her teeth. “We cannot act in desperation.”

“But act..,” Spin stated, “we must.”

[Lightning Fast]

The perception among younger mutants was that the Silvermist Academy contracts all involved some sort of fighting. This was far from the truth. There were many ways even the most pacifistic mutant could aid the academy’s causes, and although Shimon didn’t much care for the academy, he would take any excuse to get outside. Perhaps it was an effect of his growing mutation, but these days Shimon relished any time he got to spend in the great outdoors. The Underground Garden was a wonderful place for a tree-creature to make his home, but deep down Shimon couldn’t shake the feeling of artificiality. No matter how similar the earth felt, no matter how rich the soil was and how well-hydrated his roots were, Shimon felt constricted.

One does not usually think of plants as having instincts, but Shimon felt as though he had been neglecting his. A tree was supposed to grow taller, reach the sun and spread its leaves far and wide. If it were up to Shimon, he would return to the little village outside Prague where his family and friends lived. He would increase their harvests and the harvests of everyone in Bohemia, and then travel east to Poland. He would see Prague and Krakow and Warsaw and then do it all again until his limbs grew too large to move without exhaustion, then plant his roots permanently in his hometown, providing the village with all the food they could need and moving only to protect it if they came under threat of pogrom.

But then there was the human side of him. Trees might not be social creatures, but humans definitely are. Shimon yearned to feel like part of a community again, and would never get that if he simply stopped suppressing his growth, acting no differently than any other plant. If he stayed just outside the school and rooted himself in the courtyard, he would certainly get more sunlight, but he would also be apart from the thing he missed the most while he was underground: people. This would be especially true in the winter. So instead, he gathered up the contracts he intended on completing: three in total. Perhaps by completing contracts in lieu of his normal hibernation, he could send some money back home to Bohemia... assuming his family was still alive, of course.

The first was less a contract and more a hastily-scrawled note from the Academy’s kitchen staff, requesting that someone from the Garden help to restock their pantries. One of these requests came every two weeks or so during weather like this, and Shimon had helped with them several times before. It would not take long.

The second one was simple, something that Shimon had done dozens of times before. In the winter or during times of famine, villages would send out requests to local lords and institutions for aid. Some of the more desperate ones would even send for aid from mutants. He’d dealt with the tiny village of Whitewood before, and they had treated him fairly (although with extreme caution). There was a rumour that the mayor’s daughter was a mutant studying at the academy, but it was just that: a rumour.

The last, while not difficult in the traditional sense, tested Shimon on a more... personal level. It was not a difficult mission. A harsh winter has killed off the vital medicinal herbs used to dull pain for surgery, treat illness, and heal burns and infections. We require a mutant with the ability to heal, or give us the ingredients we need. The contract’s mission was not an issue: it was the folks giving the assignment. Monks or no, Shimon instinctively distrusted any representatives of the church. Their schools and monasteries were harmless enough, but their knights and priests thought of mutants as despicable devils. Still, most peasants had no other means of accessing medical care, and completing this contract would almost certainly save lives. Sighing, he gathered up the papers and stuffed them in a hollow wooden cavity in his torso, then sealed its opening with vines. These were all jobs he could technically complete without even leaving the Academy, though. Shimon thought about taking on a fourth contract, something a bit more... adventurous.

The words of Dante echoed in his mind, however. Me, a fighter? Preposterous... But Shimon’s new acquaintance had a point. Shimon’s new body was, if nothing else, well-suited to violence. His skin was now bark, and could shrug off the hardest of blows. He could regenerate any injury given enough time, and he could pulverize any knight who dared stand against him no matter how heavily-armoured. The Academy would not waste my time with a small contract. They would give me something that they would risk losing a less hardy mutant on. His mind still had doubts, and yet his roots betrayed them, as he returned once more to the counter where an old man with glowing eyes sat, pouring over contracts and distributing them to various mutants. “I want one more contract. Something more... action-oriented.” It was almost as if the words belonged to someone else.

The man monitoring the Board simply shook his head. “We have nothing that suits you, for the moment,” he replied. The same person had been managing contracts at the Academy for as long as anyone could remember, to the point where some simply referred to him as “Board Man”.

“Nothing? That’s unheard of,” Shimon replied, confused, “Surely you must have--”

“Sorry, Shimon, but there’s been a bit of a drought lately,” Board Man explained, “I heard you talking in the corner, and I doubt anything I have will really interest you.” He placed what few combat contracts he had on the table. As Shimon looked through them, he was disappointed to find that the assumption the Board Man made was correct.

“I... see. Thank you, Board Man,” Shimon mumbled disappointedly, “I don’t know how you manage the load of this job.”

Board Man smiled. “So long as Board Man gets paid, Board Man will do whatever the Fates ask of him.”

...

It took Shimon under two hours to complete the three contracts with food and herbs grown in the garden, courtesy of his mutant powers. He handed off satchels of herbs and baskets of freshly-grown fruit and veg to outbound couriers along with the paper copies of the contracts. In exchange, he was given a portion of the promised reward; the rest went to the couriers, with a small amount for insurance should someone successfully intercept the packages. Given that the couriers were also highly-trained mutants, this was unlikely. Even if Shimon had been denied his adventure, perhaps it was for the best. He needed training if he was going to use his sheer size and strength in a real fight.

As these thoughts ran through his mind, Shimon arrived in the mess hall carrying what could have easily been two-hundred pounds of various vegetables and spices in large burlap sacks. I will go to the training center after this. Maybe. Perhaps I will replant myself in the garden for another day or two instead. My classes are all down there anyways... Shimon had to take these things slowly, after all. Or maybe he was just making excuses for his lack of progress. He did eventually reach the kitchen to drop the food off. He glanced around the hall, lamenting how he used to enjoy cooking and eating so much, two things which he would never be able to experience the same way again. Sighing, he sat down on one of the mess hall benches, silently wishing for a return to the normalcy which had been stripped away from him years ago...

[Darcs]

MENTIONS: N/A

---

_{Literally Nowhere (The wilderness, about 50 miles north of Silvermist Academy and most forms of civilization)
40 hours ago
Afternoon}

_{" 'There must be some way out of here'
Said the joker to the thief"}

"Fucking fuck. Fucking by the god's rancid fucking shits-- fucking cunt piss whore fucking, shit smearing FUCK. HOLY FUCK, SET ON HIGH, GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK. ♠"

A black-cloaked figure swore to herself, the mist that came from where the hood covered all semblance of a face the only indication that the rider was even alive. Could you not hear the constant stream of curses she was muttering, that is, each 'fuck' growing louder with each step the horse made. The thing this rider was on, however, gave not indications of frustration. It looked as strong as a workhorse and trotted proudly through the snow as if it were an accomplished race horse, perhaps it was the light rider, and nearly empty saddle bags that allowed the horse such vigor, despite the weather?

Regardless, with each trot came a loud crunch as the horse's weight met with the ground-- in that way it was much similar to it's rider, clearly not being bred for subtlety-- pulling back up whitened hooves and horseshoes that clung to the animal didn't seem to phase it as it walked along, breathing from it's nose occasionally, creating a plume of mist. It was a sickly-chlorine color in an odd juxtaposition to it's obvious strength, with spots of brown scattered around it's neck and rear, it's mane was black and brown, as was it's tail-- and were in dire need of a trimming, it's tail dragging along the ground behind the pair as they made their way through the English wilderness. Around the pair, for now, at least, was a rather desolate sight-- endless white on the ground before them, and trees who knew all too well what to do in an English winter.

Like sickly brown hands, drowning in some white, endless abyss, even worse than the darkness above-- reaching for a sun that had long abandoned them all in favor of clouds and cold. The rider, while a thinker in her own right, preferred to focus on subjects, the state of spirituality, the philosophies driving those who, for reasons she couldn't understand, lived the way they did in this world, and the psychology behind them. The rider didn't like being reminded of her place in it, with those thoughts came the inevitable dives into her past. She much preferred to focus on what could be, as opposed to what was. Predators didn't think back on their prey, where they grew up-- they lived in the present, making most of their moves based off of instinct and scents. For them, it's eat, sleep, fuck, and self-defense. Something so simple, you could just watch and place bets. She lay even closer to the horse than she was before, both for warmth, and for the kinship she felt with the animal. He may not have been wild, but he did what he did because the instincts for it had been bred into him. He wasn't human. He didn't have to constantly wonder 'Why? Why? Why?'

The rider's cloak dragged along the snowy ground as the lonesome pair made their way to their destination. The rider practically hugging the horse as she laid her chest fully against it's back. She fully a relatively full bosom press against his neck. That was a good thing. The negativity this cold was making her feel was drastically slowing her rate of residual energy loss. Perhaps even freezing it? She didn't smile to herself as she continued to curse the gods, continuing to think, despite wanting nothing less. She missed her home she had to admit to herself. She hated it, but denying the truth was for fools and leaders. She may have only been born in Egypt to parents from other lands, but she was a citizen of Cairo, a native, through and through. This land would never be hers.

She missed the heat, she missed the feeling of hot sand on her bare feet, and the joy one could feel from a simple breeze on a hot day. As much as she respected this horse, she missed camels even, fucking camels. But most of all, she missed the fighting-- the wars of the naive dynasties and foreigner invaders, and how those wars made the people around her feel-- she was always plump and well fed in Cairo. The people here, in this foreign land she found herself in, were miserable too, but the flavor wasn't the same. The fear didn't taste like om ali, the anger wasn't like honeyed figs, frustration wasn't kunafeh-esque. Sadness here was bland, like a soup with nothing in the broth, desperation was unseasoned, and lust? The rider did give a giggle in between curses at that-- she wasn't sure how these Europeans were so prominent at all! It was like they never wanted to fuck. And if they did, they repressed it to their Christian hell and back. All because of some church. The average Englishman's lust was as bland as a communion wafer. Perhaps if she killed those in power in their English and European churches, people's shame here may start to taste better?

She shook her head, fussing with the horses mane. Doubtful, and besides, it's not like monks or popes or what have you were fighters. They wouldn't be worth the blood spilled, like most of the cattle in this land.

Of course, there were all the exotic flavors of the Academy she could work with. She'd been there for some years now-- and while many mutants did come from this pale excuse of a continent, there was enough variety to keep every day interesting. Children, told by the world that they don't belong, trained mostly for combat, going through the emotional shifts that force one to become an adult? Many of her peers' angst gave the rider a fully international buffet-- it was just difficult to distinguish between the bland and the sweet. That black hunger that grew in side her told it didn't matter, that it kept her alive. But the human side of her wished she could get foreign sweetness on it's own. She smirked beneath her hood-- in more ways than one.

A part of her would always resent the Fates-- they had made it seem like Silvermist would be a gauntlet of difficult foes for her to best. And while she had found some challenge in this land, that was after years of ineffectual training. No one knew how her powers worked, no guidance was received on how better to consume misery, or prevent her luck from turning on her-- and so for years, she had lived as she did in Cairo, figuring things out on her own-- except this time in a completely foreign land, torn from the few people who's company she found enjoyable, and cold most of the time. Were it not for the prey she was finally allowed to hunt upon her 15th, she may have made an attempt on the Fates' lives by now. The rider shrugged under her cloak. Still might at some point, there were certainly students she wished to best, but couldn't because of their rules. By that logic, they must be strong enough to enforce them-- so certainly they'd make worthy opponents. Right?

The rider scowled. She'd never fought another mutant before-- skilled humans, sure-- but the darkness inside of her seemed to scream at her that fighting a mutant, a worthy mutant would be a whole other level. The darkness wanted her to grow, get stronger, change somehow. But how? She asked herself. She'd had this conversation with herself many times before, and always, there was never an answer to be found. Just that familiar hollow feeling her black insides left her with. She needed to keep training, she supposed-- keep getting stronger-- keep killing things that considered themselves strong until she could figure it out.

Speaking, metaphorically, of killing things. Was she nearly there? How long had she been riding now? The sun was no help-- but her guess was at least 10 hours since she had left that inn. The horse, strong as he was, would need to rest for the day soon. The rider adjusted herself to sit on the horse upright, the environment was still dead as she looked around. Easily fishing out the contract she was pursuing, along with a crudely drawn map of the region. She gazed at both, keeping them in front of her face-- she frowned as the horse continued to trot along, every now and then slowly moving out of the way of a barren tree.

"What the fuck does '2 days ride north' even mean, anyway?" She asked with a tilt of her head, pink hair peeking out beneath the hood as she did, "We have been going north, right? ♥" She leaned forward, asking the horse gently, receiving a snort from the animal in reply. "Hmmm..." here eyes still narrowed, she glanced from the map to the actual contract. Nothing of real use to her was on it, high danger, be prepared for a long trek, it was recommended as a multi-man job, no exact known location... whatever. The only part of the contract that mattered to her, was that these rebel knights were seeking to build up some sort of rebellion. Trained knights! And there were possibly more of them now, holed up somewhere up here-- her anticipation for the challenge filled her with such exquisite bloodlust that she had to stop herself from drooling!

Suddenly, a strong breeze picked up-- much stronger than the rider was prepared for-- both sheets of parchment went flying out of her gloved hand. She gazed expressionlessly as the two sheets seemed to fly forever into the sky, never to be seen again. As she slowly gazed forward again, she could make out a medium sized stone shack in the distance, seemingly attempting to be hidden by the snow, perhaps intentionally covered by the snow? It fit the description, that was probably it. How lucky! With a click of her teeth, the rider prompted the horse to pick up the pace toward the cabin.

---

_{Rebel Knights' Hideout
A bit over 38 hours ago
Late Afternoon/Early Evening}

_{"There's too much confusion
I can't get no relief
Businessmen, they drink my wine
Plowmen dig my earth
None of them along the line
Know what any of it is worth"}

After tying up her ride to a tree a ways away from where conflict was certainly about to ensue, the pink haired woman began to approach the cabin, "So damn cold..." she shivered, gripping the corners of her heavy cloak, further burying herself in the thing. Her boots, which she resented being forced to wear by the weather made soft sounds as she walked. She'd certainly be seen before she was heard. As she slowly left the scarce cover of the skeletal brown trees and entered the clearing where the cabin was located, she got a better look at everything.

The one story cabin was simple from what she could make out, underneath the artificial camouflage of snow, uneven and made out of gray cobblestone, it was wide though, presumably wide enough to house the beginnings of a revolution. The door was wooden and looked about ready to fall off of it's hinges. A single stump with an axe lodged in the middle was about 15 feet away from the door of the cabin, all along the sides and back of the building was firewood, save for a gap where a cellar door was-- she assumed this was where they kept the food needed for this little operation. There was a single crude window on the front of the building, through which the pink haired woman could make out figures walking back and forth, drinking out of flagons, and generally making merry. Listening closely, she could hear laughter coming from inside. Otherwise, the trees surrounding the cabin created an almost perfect circle, 30 feet in diameter.

All of this was useful information, the more variables in play, the stronger she was. Though, ideally she could get out of this without destroying the cabin, since she and the horse would need a warm place to spend the night. She continued taking steps forward, more confident than cautious, until she was next to the woodcutting log and axe. Suddenly, a voice boomed, to the pink haired woman's surprise, a feminine one. "Alright. That's quite far enough!" The pink haired woman eyes scanned everything in sight looking for the oddity, the source of the voice. On top of the building a figure had popped out, a brunette woman with skin like ivory lay prone, snow on her head, crossbow in her hands, one eye closed as she aimed at the pink haired woman.

The pink haired woman shrugged but responded enthusiastically, "Okay! ♥" A polite smile crossed her lips as soon as she was able to make eye contact with the woman. The pink haired woman's mind raced-- so was this woman just who they had on guard duty? Or was she their leader? The tone of authority in her voice certainly suggested this-- but a human woman leading a group of former knights? That was certainly... something. She could have been one of their wives perhaps-- or maybe the rebels were recruiting and arming peasants and she just happened to be competent enough to be put in some position of importance, even just as a lookout. Still... Meanwhile, inside the cabin, the pink haired woman could hear the sounds of merriment come to a halt-- they must be getting suited up, ready to fight the new threat. That was good, an organized group of knights would be a real challenge! The pink haired woman had to struggle not to let her excitement show on her face as she gazed up at the sniper.

The sniper fell silent for what felt like a long time. A slight commotion could be heard inside as men struggled to get their armor on and ready their weapons. She's stalling, that much is obvious. She decided to let the sniper have her way-- the pink haired woman was curious to see if the men would rush out on their own, or if she'd be the one giving the command. So the two would stand in silence, if that was what she wanted. However, the pink haired woman did activate her ability, maintaining her polite smile, she closed, or rather nearly closed her eyes, while looking up at the woman-- curious what effects her luck might have on their armor, she focused, bringing forth her ability from her unconscious, keeping her eyes nearly closed to avoid drawing attention to them with the sickly pink glow they gave off when fully active. The pink haired woman was fairly sure the sniper hadn't gathered she was a mutant yet.

After some time, the sniper broke the silence. "Wh-who are you? Who sent you? What do you want here?" The sniper was unnerved, the pink haired woman could taste it, though, not enough to drop her aim.

"Surely you've put it together by now, you've been laying in wait for someone like me all this time, after all!" She shook her head, "Really! You must be freezing. I know I am." The pink haired woman shrugged, briefly opening up her cloak as she did, holding her hands in the air. In an exasperated tone she told the truth. "I'm a dog of King, sent here to kill you all. ♠"

The sniper let out a laugh, her nerves subsiding. This annoyed the pink haired woman, "Just you?"

"Just me! ♥"

"And how do you intend to do that all on your own...?" As she said this, the pink haired woman was already fully opening her glowing eyes and pulling back her hood, feeling the cool wind on her face (much to her annoyance), revealing her unnaturally pink hair and horns. This did unnerve the sniper a bit again. _{"Mutie scum..."} she muttered, before continuing, "Even so, you're still just one pawn-- I have nearly 20 trained knights here!" The sniper lied, revealing more than she realized.

So she was their leader, the pink haired woman confirmed-- that was good to know, she'd need to keep her alive. Leaders tended to feel the most potent despair after an utter defeat. Especially ones like this, who actually believed in something, that they were doing something good. She had a few more suspicions to confirm. The sniper would probably reveal more if she could keep her talking-- which meant she'd need her to feel she had all the power in this exchange.

The pink haired woman was careful not to let the sniper know she knew she was lying, as she spoke "I am just a pawn..." She echoed, giving a sigh, "I'm obviously hopelessly outnumbered, and even with my pathetic powers I doubt I could even stop you from just shooting me here. How unfortunate." She gave a light pout.

The sniper's eyebrows furrowed at this. "Y- That's it? Then why did you even come all they way out here?"

"Well, why did you?"

"W--" The sniper stopped herself, took a breath, and gave a speech. One, it seemed to the pink haired woman, she'd never had the chance to use before, but had rehearsed many times in her head. "The King and Nobility have oppressed this land for far too long! Knights are seen as tools of war and are used by those in power to maintain a violent status quo over peasants who are too overworked and miserable to change anything themselves." The pink haired woman was well aware of the crimes and inequalities in this land, she didn't care, but she had eyes-- the real question was why did this woman care so much? "The Lords of this land live in a constant state of luxury and excess, while it's peasants, the farmers and smallfolk barely scrape by day to day--" She just gave it away. "-- either in a near constant state of squalor and terror in the cities, or enforced malnourishment in the countryside, due to the poaching laws, land regulations-- or, put simply-- government sanctioned criminals. The--"

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I've heard. Her thoughts interrupted the sniper as she continued to speak-- of course, that wasn't all she was. A few things had made the pink haired woman suspicious, but the word 'smallfolk' brought it all together. The woman was obviously educated, there could have been other explanations for that. Her use of the word 'pawn' was another big indicator-- as far as the pink haired woman knew, the poorer citizens of this land didn't play chess. However, what confirmed in was her use of the word 'smallfolk,' only someone raised in the nobility used that word. This woman wasn't some peasant revolutionary, she was a guilty noble! And the pink haired woman could feel the lady noble's guilt rising as she went on and on about the inequalities of the land, about the use of 'muties' to clean up the king's messes, how it was all a bandage to a solution he didn't want properly healed because he and the nobility actually benefited from a state of near-war in the land.

"Sure, sure. ♥" the pink haired woman interrupted... whatever the noble was saying, something about uniting the peasants and knights against the real enemy, with a gentle tone and a smile still on her face, "What I'm wondering is, why is a noble woman leading this little... rebellion?"

"How did y--"

"No, dear, it wasn't in my contract. You weren't mentioned anywhere at all. Just the 7 knights you defected with..." She was attempting to make this woman feel small, and by how she felt-- the anger welling up from within her, it was working, "I imagine your family has already disowned you. They probably want this done as quickly as possible, your treason erased from your family's memories-- I'm sure your brothers and sisters will forget you soon enough anyway." She crossed her arms, "You'll die here, with knights you used as tools before, and use as tools now... ♠" Her smile went even wider, "And those peasants, of course, won't be spared either-- you've led them into a slaughter. ♠" The pink haired woman was getting bored-- she knew what made her opponent tick, and she could feel despair beginning to overtake that. "And in it all, you'll be seen as nothing, just a guilty nobody-- a guilty failure, at that. You've only made the King richer by raiding some duke's carriages, contributing to the war you detest so much."

The noble woman's blood was boiling at this point, fire burned behind her eyes. she shifted underneath the snow to take better aim, taking her time to stand on the slippery roof as she aimed at the pink haired woman. Harsher winds began to whip around the two as the woman spoke. "I'll kill you!"

The pink haired woman had to focus on containing the growing warmth between her legs, "Oh don't look at me like that! She said, blushing a hot pink, "You're getting me distracted from the job. ♥"

As the woman fired, the cocked string snapped, snapping the bolt and sending it flying backwards-- directly into her eye. She let out a shrill howl that echoed into the dead woods as she fell backwards with all her weight against the uneven roof. She rolled off the cabin, landing first against the logs of firewood, then falling face first into the snow, where scarlet could be seen slowly pooling around the eye that had been shot. Like clockwork, the roof began to groan, the firewood fell in a messy pile on top of the noble woman, and a large man, a bit taller than the pink haired woman, covered in full plate armor kicked the door open responding as quickly as he could to the scream, now ready for battle. Men clamored behind him to fight whoever had harmed their leader, but only 3 more could exit before the cabin had had enough-- with a final groan, the ceiling collapsed, and the walls fell inward. Hard cobblestone clanged against armor, trapping-- or outright killing anyone still inside.

_{"No reason to get excited"
The thief, he kindly spoke"}

"Aww, gods be damned. Just my luck..." The pink haired woman muttered, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Well where the fuck am I supposed to sleep now!" She asked the sky. As she returned her focus to the newly formed pile of rubble, and the 4 men before, her she eyed the cellar-- still probably not collapsed. "Ugh. ♠"

As the pink haired woman lamented her luck, the four men before her were torn between trying to save their comrades, and dealing with the black cloaked, pink haired threat before them. The men in chain mail recognized her after a moment, they were feeling fear, a bit scared to approach-- muttering between themselves that she might be the pink devil, the pink demon, the pink this, the pink that. It got old. You can't just put 'pink' in front of something and make it some terrible moniker.

The pink haired woman sighed, "Look sirs, those titles are all terrible. You should feel poorly about yourselves for subscribing to them. I'd rather you just call my by actual name, Im--"

The tall knight in full plate finally spoke up, "The Woe of the Sands..." He whispered softly.

"Oh! ♥" She snapped her fingers and pointed at the man (though, this was hard to manage with her leather gloves, "Not quite what I would have chosen, but points for creativity! I rather like that." She smiled politely at the man, "May I have your title, sir?"

"Nay. We chose to abandon our titles when we followed Lady Gwen--" He stopped, forcing himself to call her by just her name, as she had instructed them to, "Gwendolyn's crusade. And a plague like you isn't worth our names. You may call me, your death if you wish, woeful one." With this final comment, the man drew his large greatsword. The two average looking men in chain mail beside him drew short swords and shields and flanked both his sides. The fourth man was a bit smaller than the other three, drew two daggers, and got low to the ground, taking up the rear. It looked like these men had abandoned chivalry-- and were going to fight her all at once. A M A Z I N G!

Lady Gwendolyn, so that was her name, she looked briefly over to the pile of log wood, before returning her attention to the knights. "As you wish, Sir Death! ♥" She clapped her hands together giddily in excitement for the upcoming struggle. "If you hurry and kill me, you might be able to save her before she freezes!" Her small smile went menacingly wide, giggling as she spoke, "You won't though! Kill me, that is. I'm pretty fucking strong! I give you less than 5 minutes. ♠"

The 4 approached where the pink haired Woe of the Sands stood-- where she had been standing since she first began moving-- fast. They had gotten used to fighting together for... however long they'd been doing this. The pink haired Woe made no effort to move as death approached, instead letting her body go limp as the winds whipped around her. As the large knight went for a horizontal slash, attempting to decapitate the woman, she found herself pushed by a particularly strong gale to the left, which ended with her tripping over the woodcutting log she'd been and loosening the axe that had been lodged inside of it. The large knight shifted his weight, and brought down his sword on the pink haired woe just as she sat up, rubbing her rear from the mild pain of the trip, still giggling. Unfortunately the man to his right, had made a lunge toward the woman with his short sword, tripping on a rock hidden in the snow-- he landed right in the path of the powerful vertical slash-- chain mail only did so much against something that was 6 feet long, five inches thick, and generally more of a slab of steel than a sword, coming down with the force of pure muscle and gravity. His head rolled several feet away, his torso staining the snow next to the stump a deep crimson red.

One down.

The large knight was paralyzed by what he had done. He had just murdered this man-- his comrade-- his friend. Battle wasn't supposed to go like this. The other man with a sword and shield let out a scream and charged the laughing pink haired plague of a woman-- she wasn't even really doing anything, but it was like something was fueling her. When the first man had lunged, his trip had instead bashed her with his shield, sending her rolling away several feet as she let her body move with the force, she stood slowly and began to dust the snow off of her cloak. "That man had a family, you demon pink haired cunt!" The second chain mail knight yelled as he prepared to slash her, having closed the distance-- her back still to him-- with as powerful a horizontal slash as he could muster.

"Had. ♠" She said coolly. Her back was still to him, but she turned her head, so that a single, scarred, glowing pink eye gazed directly at him-- or rather, into him.

"W-what?" His strike was halted by that single word. His sword trembled in his hands as it failed to follow through on the slash.

Turning toward him completely, she spoke with a smile, throwing in a laugh every so often, "Well you know... We had to make sure there were no loose ends..." She lied, continuing "Anyone we could identify as being connected to being part of your little 'group' had to be killed so there would be no further chance of a coup, or even any revenge killings." She patted him on the shoulder twice as she began to walk past him. The man dropped his sword and fell to his knees. His despair tasted like biscuits. Bland. Still, she needed as much of it as she could get right now, so she'd let her new cattle be until it became too unruly. Placing a hand to her breasts, she could feel them a bit smaller than they were an hour ago, she was loosing a little essence, a little muscle, the returns from these men's misery weren't as great as the demands of her luck.

The large knight was pulling his sword from the woodcutting log it had lodged itself in. He was still feeling great despair over decapitating his fellow knight, but he was steeling himself for an attack. The pink haired cunt decided she'd let him approach her when he was ready. As she wondered where the other guy, the sneaky one was-- she had a coughing fit, bowling over on her knees-- coming from one of the sicknesses slowly eating away at her, she was sure. However, as she fell to the snow, two hands holding knives sliced the air where her throat had just been. Looking up, she noticed just who she had been looking for! The sneaky man! Reacting quickly, he flipped both knives around in his hands, and brought them down on her, like the fangs of a cobra. Instinctively, she brought an arm up to protect her neck. Both daggers sunk deeply into her arm-- in fact they sunk all the way through! The tips dripping pink blood onto her, mere inches away from her eyes as the handles pressed hard against the top of her arm. She couldn't help but let out a loud moan of pleasure at the sheer pain of it.

She needed this. The pain. There was something beautiful about it. Her pupils practically became the shape of hearts as the man began attempting to pull out the daggers. Snapping back to the fight, in between moans of ecstasy, she quickly gathered that while this man was the fasted and sneakiest of the group, he wasn't the strongest. He struggled for more than a second to pull out both daggers, before giving up, and using both hands to remove one. Instead of attempting, then, to remove the other dagger lodged deeply in her arm. He went for another killing blow with just the one-- the pink haired cunt assumed he thought her moans were those of pain, instead of pleasure-- she quickly brought up her arm, blocking the strike to her neck with the broad side of the dagger sticking out of her arm. Her legs tingled as pain shot up her arm. More pink blood fell on the snow. The sneaky man quickly jumped back several feet-- for second she had thought she'd unnerved him. But then she heard loud, heavy steps crunching through the snow-- the large knight attempting a lower horizontal strike as he charged at her. Attempting to get up quickly, the pink haired cunt found herself getting wrapped up and tumbling around in her cloak. The man's attack completely missed her due to this.

The large knight had to work hard to bring himself to a full stop. Giving the pink haired woman enough time to slowly get up, brush the snow off her cloak (again), and pull the dagger out of her arm. Pink blood dripped down her leather glove, spilling more onto the snow. "You gentlemen really know how to treat a lady! ♥" The two, the large knight and the sneaky man-- were circling her like starved predators, hunting other predators, like an oversized lion and a one-clawed cheetah circling a pink genet. She felt hunger for her life from both of them-- neither of them were thinking-- they were acting on pure instinct. She could respect these two as more than cattle. For what felt like a long time, but was mere seconds, no one moved.

The large knight was the first to move, charging the pink haired genet. The breeze pushed her, but even if it hadn't, she could have dodged his blow-- bringing up her arm, she splashed all the blood she could from her arm into the small visor that hid the man's eyes. The man had planned this obvious attack to be a feint, of course-- he had planned on kicking her when she dodged-- but his vision suddenly being taken from him-- he hadn't accounted for. He overshot his kick and fell backward, hard, creating a thundering thud next to where the pink haired genet stood. The lion temporarily out of commission, she turned her attention to the cheetah. She held her dagger, in her off-- non stabbed hand, as if ready to throw it. Wordlessly she seemed to ask the man, Shall we compare our knife throwing? The man, flipping the knife in his hand, wordlessly agreed-- showing just the slightest ghost of a smile. She closed her eyes and threw.

The pink haired woman had never thrown a knife in her life.

When she opened them, the sneaky man lay on the ground-- apparently, two pieces of parchment had flown into his face right before he threw-- a crudely drawn map, and a contract for rebel knights. The dagger lodged between his eyes, affixed them there like nail to a painting. As the parchment soaked up blood, it dripped onto the snow, adding more crimson to the white desolation that the ground just became around here this time of year. His, for the record, had hit her square in the right horn-- even without his eyes he nearly got her. Nearly. With a bit of yanking back and forth, she managed to pull the thing out.

Now it was time to deal with the lion. He was still on the ground, it seemed his armor was a bit too cumbersome to allow him to get up with ease, clawing at his face-- or rather, his helmet-- desperately trying to get the thing off. The pink haired woman's smile softened, eyes becoming harsher, and dimmer, as she returned her luck to her subconscious-- she wouldn't need it for him, after all. Out with a whimper? Pathetic. Dropping the dagger in the snow, she went to pick up the axe, laying next to the headless man. Waiting for the large man to finally unclasp his helmet-- admittedly he was probably having such a hard time due to simple bad luck, that she'd lain upon him-- but it was still quite the pathetic display. He was blonde haired and blue eyed with a chiseled jaw and high cheek bones-- the perfect vision of a knight. The pink haired woman had never been particularly fond of people like him. When his helmet came off, the axe came down-- he was immediately greeted by another strike, and another, and another. This went on long enough for the pink of her blood, occasionally spurting from her arm, to mix with the crimson, pink matter, and skull chunks of his in the snow. She laughed with each strike.

She had predicted the battle would last less than five minutes, and if you counted the man who had simply given up, it hadn't even lasted two.

_{"There are many here among us
Who feel that life is but a joke
But you and I, we've been through that
And this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now
The hour is getting late"}

Sighing, and panting. She moved nearer to the man. He was resigning. No longer feeling the despair she needed to live. She'd figured she could use the man to keep her feed for at least some of the ride back, but she couldn't get full off of someone who had completely given up-- resignation became a lack of feeling. She figured she had better just get rid of him too. Sighing, she walked over to the man, whistling an old Arabic tune she'd heard as a child. The man was still there of course-- on his knees, in this cold ass snow somehow-- but he looked noticeably worse, as if he'd aged by a decade and hadn't gotten a wink of sleep for a day of it. He was completely despondent, he didn't react to the pink haired woman squatting in from of him at all, didn't notice the arm that she let go limp-- dripping bright pink blood, didn't blink as she took his sword-- still dropped at his side, inches away from his hands that didn't react to the coolness of snow. Aside from the ravages of his despair, he had a rather plain face. Kinda curly brown hair, brown eyes so dark they almost looked black in the dying light of the afternoon, completely unremarkable aside from his freckles, and even those kind of added to the 'averageness.'

They sat like that for a minute, him, expressionless, staring at the ground-- her, a faded smile trying to find life in his eyes. She tried snapping a few times with her gloved hand. Nothing. He seemed... gone. She was just going to kill the guy, and finish this job-- but then she got it in her to ask something. "Hey, do you believe in God?"

The man remained silent for a long time, and then, like a candle was lit, his eyes raised from the ground slowly. _{"I... Do I what?"}

"God. You think He's real?" She tapped her fingers on the hilt of the sword-- his former sword--that she had drove into the ground to help steady her. "Christian God, specifically. The one all these Europeans are so crazy about. We can talk about the other ones later."

_{"I... think so?"}

She shook her head, visibly displeased with the answer, "Faith is a leap, sir-- you either take it or you don't." She sighed, "Let me put it in terms you can understand-- as a knight, what good is thinking you killed your opponent? You either did or didn't-- if you only think you'll never know, and if you never know, it'll always come back to bite you in some way."

_{"I received blessings as a knight--"}

"Lotta good that did you."

_{"-- I go to church every Sunday, I pray daily, I-I... I..."}

The pink haired woman blew a raspberry, "You're not answering my question, dammit! Those things are traditions-- but they're not belief."

_{"I-I don't think I know..."}

She tilted her head, "Know what?"

_{"Know... what belief is... or..."} He spoke up a bit, pulling off his chain mail cowl, "I think I only believe in things that are... there."

"Like Lady Gwendolyn, or your family?"

He winced at this, but nodded quickly, before adding, "Why... why are we talking about all this?"

The woman shrugged, favoring the arm that hadn't been stabbed twice. "Bored." She yawned, "But you're a pretty boring guy, I was hoping talking to someone going through such a crisis of faith might be more interesting. But all you have faith in is something to lead you around. You're worse a dog, what spiritual insights are to be had from a creature robbed of all instincts?"

The man went silent again, eyes back on the snow.

"So," She stood, wince-moaning as she dusted her cloak off as best she could, despite the fact that a good portion was covered in her own blood. At least there wouldn't be any fucking snow. "I guess it's time to finish you off. Got a job and all that. ♠"

_"W-wait."

"What?" She said with a forced smile, "You want last words or something? I don't really do that kind of thing, sir."

_{"You never told us your name..."}

"Oh! ♥" Her eyes glittered, "You're so right, sir! I tried, but things got a bit crazy when I tried to!" She sighed, "I'm Josephine! I've always gone by Josie though! ♥ What about you? What's your name?"

_"Adam..."

"Adam! And you don't believe in your Christian God?" She laughed, "That's just... Really ironic, sir!" As her giggling subsided, she tried her best to put on a sympathetic smile, she was sure this is how farmers felt when they put down an animal that could no longer produce, "Well, goodbye, Adam."

The man closed his eyes, looking down, seemingly accepting his fate. Pulling the sword from the ground with her remaining good hand, she held the tip just at the softest spot on his neck, a small bead of sanguine blood appeared. The two held this position for a long time. He finally spoke what would be his last words, _{"I hope you find your peace, Josephine."}

"Hey, what if I told you something insane?" She leaned down to whisper into the man's ear. Almost as soon as she began to speak, his eyes exploded open, they seemed to be bigger than dinner plates. He felt an explosion of emotion all at once, some of which Josie could even consume-- but so much of it at once actually hurt. She wasn't sure that had ever happened before. The man tried to stand up, and the sword slide cleanly into his throat as he did-- beginning the process of drowning the man in his own blood. Josie was thankful for it, as he began to focus on the pain and loss. Soon he crumpled back down to his knees, and then on his side. He was crying-- almost enough tears to rival the amount of blood he was losing. Josie turned to leave him to it-- there was another source of her nourishment nearby, one that could last as a source of food for her during the trip back.

---

_{Ruined Cabin Cellar
37 hours ago
Night}

_{"All along the watchtower
Princes kept the view
While all the women came and went
Barefoot servants too
Outside, in the distance
A wildcat did growl
Two riders were approaching
The wind began to howl"}

Pulling cut logs away from the pile was a pain with only one arm, but Josie had managed-- it took about an hour in her state-- but she'd managed. And she would continue to manage. She always did.

Especially now! Because now she had a steady supply of misery. The woman tied to the chair across from her in the mostly barren cellar was the failed revolutionary Lady Gwendolyn. The woman-- while being dragged by her hair by Josie across the snow as she retrieved her horse, made a fire for it, gave it all the meager vegetable matter she could find in these failed revolutionaries pathetic "stores", and just generally as she scavenged enough from the destroyed building above to make sleeping in this cold cellar some approximation of 'comfortable' for the night-- had muttered nothing but _{"I'll kill you."} over and over again. Josie found it kind of romantic, actually.

But now that she was tied up? She'd simply resorted to glaring angrily at Josie with her eye and the occasional fit of crying. Josie to her credit-- actually took the time to read the full blood soaked contract and found that it would only be paid in full if Gwen was returned 'ALIVE.' Lucky that she'd gotten curious about that. As such, Josie had to take care to do what little she could to mend Gwendolyn's injuries. She'd yanked out the half of a bolt that took her eye-- that thing was definitely gone-- disinfected it as best she knew how. And done her best to set most of her broken bones. Which was a lot of them. She was no medical expert, nor did her powers have any real medical usage, aside from maybe luckily curing a disease one could naturally recover from, but she did what she could for the woman. The real trouble was the broken ribs. Josie had had her ribs broken before-- many times-- but she didn't have the abilities of the Academy here to fix them. At least they didn't seem to be piercing her lungs? As long as the ride over the next few days was smooth, she'd survive.

She'd be in immense pain, physically for at least a few months. Emotionally? Forever, maybe? Josie didn't care about all that though.

Josie herself was already feeling a bit better after the fight. She'd wrapped her arm tightly in some cloth after pouring the small bit of alcohol they had in this cellar on her wounds. She already found herself falling asleep-- she doubted she'd get many hours in these cold conditions, the nights were much colder than in the desert, but she had her cloak, now with blood mostly dried, and had made something of a coffin for herself out of the blankets and tunics she could scavenge from above. Her eyes felt heavy as she leaned against a pile of scrunched up tunics on the wall.

In the morning, there would be two riders.

---

---

_{Silvermist Academy
Today
Noon/Afternoon}

The pink haired-- cunt, demon, devil, plague, The Rider, The Woe of the Sands, the whatever was restless.

_{The board didn't have anything.}

Josie laid in her bed, staring at the featureless ceiling. In 5 years, she hadn't ever taken the time to really decorate her room. The walls around her were spacious, but barren-- they felt like the holding cells of Cairo, but less warm. There was a simple wooden desk (where there often bandages, bloody or ready to be bloodied, and a simple box for her jewelry sat) an uncomfortable chair, and her bed. Admittedly more comfortable than the scraps she'd share with her siblings in Cairo, but something about it was missing-- being more comfortable didn't make it better. She remembered when she first arrived here-- she hated remembering things-- she would often spend nights sleeping under the bed, or in the corner with a sheet wrapped around her like a mummy. It was uncomfortable and hard, just like home. The hard was underappreciated-- why sleep in a huddle with your brothers and sisters when you can sleep alone in a bed? She felt too many people thought that, that the soft and comfortable thing was the best. If you spend enough time around soft things, you'll perish like an over-pampered dog in the jaws of real hunter when the hard thing happened. If you weren't getting stronger to best the bigger threat, then you were worthless. Her hunger had taught her that.

The board didn't have anything.

Her thoughts turned to Lady Gwendolyn. She had just gotten back, but she found herself thinking a lot about the woman. It took some time to determine what she was tasting from the woman on their ride, during their stay in that abandoned shack where the two had to huddle together beneath her cloak. The woman still wanted to kill her, Josie had a difficult time understanding why, but she respected it. The woman was physically very soft-- but she had the resolve to become much harder. She wondered if Lady Gwen would agree with her worldview. They had gotten to talk a little, about philosophy, the spiritual world... the conversations, when Gwen was in the mood to talk and not just cry or remind Josie that she would kill her for hours-- were interesting. She saw revolution as something as not ending with the overthrow of a soft king ruling over those who were tricked into being his subjects, or simply did it because it was the 'soft' thing-- revolution was permanent, and existed on all levels, a philosophy couldn't dominate others much in the same way that a person couldn't. If there were gods, attempting to dictate fate without consent, we should kill them. Josie agreed, she wished they could have spoken on more.

The board didn't have anything.

Looking again at her room made the woman sigh. Maybe it would be pretty to decorate? She hardly spent money on anything, she could hang some of her dresses on the wall? Or buy new ones? Surely there had to be someone in this stupid Cloud city that specialized in Egyptian fashion? She could arrange them in any array of pleasing colors. But her hunger reminded her that there would be no point to this. She needed to consume, and fight, and get stronger. And then maybe she wouldn't be so empty. Her encounter with Adam reminded her that it had weaknesses she'd yet to discover-- so there must also be strengths she's yet to reach. She asked the blackness that swirled inside her body how to reach those new heights. She knew it wouldn't respond. She had to be patient and fight. But she couldn't do that right now because...

The board didn't fucking have anything.

"Fuck." she said aloud.

She sat up with a grunt. Maybe she'd head to library? Or just wander the halls and eat holiday angst. She needed to clear her head. Or kill something.

[Duoya]

Joseph

Shavings fell like brown snowflakes as Joseph eased the knife along the wooden shaft. Of all the craftsmanships that the young man participated in, he felt most comfortable and relaxed while working on new bolts for his crossbow. Not many things were as monotonous yet attention-demanding as the craft - a single mistake or surprise could snap a bolt, or ruin it irreparably. It didn't allow time for retrospection like basketweaving did, nor was it as exhausting as forging was. It was light busy work that allowed the time to pass by productively. All of Joseph's chores were done for the day - the chickens would need to be fed again at dinner and the cloak that wrapped protectively around Joseph's body would need to be given a quarter-pound of meat, but other than those tasks, Joseph would be left staring at a blank wall for the rest of the day.

He didn't mind the possibility of intense boredom. Boredom was a pointless emotion that served no real endeavor and only fueled laziness. No, Joseph simply did not want to waste the precious hours he had done absolutely nothing. Joseph knew he probably wasn't the only person who created their ammunition for their weapons at the academy, but he had a suspicion that most of them chose to simply buy arrows or bolts. Wasteful.

Joseph shook his head and placed his work to the side, unfinished. He had already completed a few dozen bolts over the last few hours, which would last him at least two missions, much more if he was conservative. Despite his desire to continue, Joseph forced himself to stand and leave his room, carefully undoing the bell alarm he had connected to the door. Leaving his work unfinished for an hour or two, constantly gnawing at his mind would be a suitable punishment for thinking poorly of his peers. They were, for all intents and purposes, his equals - Now that he was 15, he had to learn cooperation and associating with other people if he was meant to succeed at his missions. Pack strategies were integral to numerous animals' survival and would enable safety in numbers.

More so than anything else, however, being considerate to other students was an academy regulation.

The difficulty involved in this was more than Joseph had expected, however - how was he supposed to join someone's herd? Cattle and sheep were simple - simply blending in with them is enough to become one of their kind. Others, like wolves, could risk Joseph being killed...

Joseph paused and collected himself briefly. No, that was stupid - death was an impossibility at the Academy. There were rules that enforced that, and they were punished very harshly. Therefore, joining would be as simple as walking up and blending in with a group. The young teen nodded to himself as he passed the stairwell leading to the baths... before immediately turning around and deciding to take a bath. Joseph's clothes were already immaculate, but the teenager found any chance to visit the baths of the academy to be worth abusing. The baths were one of the main attracting factors of the establishment to Joseph - back on the farm he grew up in, the best tools Joseph had to clean himself were lukewarm water and washpans. The waters here, however, were warm enough to leave his skin soft and pleasant to the touch - and Joseph's creations were always pleased with the warmer environment the water provided.

Joseph received a few looks for bringing a cloak into the bath with him, but nothing outrageous - many of the other boys had towels nearby or in the water with them. After a pleasant half-hour of furiously rubbing his skin down and frantic self-maintenance, Joseph felt pleased to continue on his way, perfectly refreshed...

Until he finished getting dressed, when he realized the error of his detour - he was supposed to be rectifying his lack of teammates, not taking relaxing baths! Joseph's cloak shook slightly as it noticed his nerves, occasional black tendrils reaching across Joseph's body in anxiety. After buckling his belt and tightening the string of his cloak, Joseph was left with a final, trying challenge - who was he supposed to approach first with his offering of comradery?

Joseph normally would never consider moving closer to one of the more intimidating students in the school of his own volition - there was nothing wrong with them, but the more physically impressive or dangerous a person was, the less comfortable Joseph felt associating with them. This time, however, was different - the tougher a person was, the more hits they could take. And the more hits someone could take, the fewer hits Joseph would need to run away from. Despite what he wished, Joseph understood the importance of finding someone that covered his weak areas. While Joseph couldn't see anyone else getting dressed, he did see someone just finishing up their bath and beginning to leave...

She was somewhat short, but she had a presence that demanded attention. Mostly because she was on fire. This was perfect - burns were some of the worst pains there were, and by joining this girl, Joseph would have a far better chance with his future missions. More importantly, he'd have a much easier time approaching other students if he had someone like that with him. Joseph rushed slightly to catch up, his cloak unnaturally moving and pushing him forward. When he caught up to the flaming girl, he paused briefly - how was he supposed to initiate an interaction like this? Ah! The weather was a topic that was frequently touched upon by the faculty of the academy, so maybe that would be a good opener. Joseph turned to the flaming girl and spoke.

"Greetings. How are you enjoying the weather? I despise cold weather - my chickens always lay fewer eggs, and on especially cold days I have to leave my cloak with them or else they'll die from frostbite."

That... was the perfect way to initiate a conversation. Pride was a sin, but Joseph couldn't help but allow a small amount to leak into his thoughts after that display. Now he just needed to follow through, allow her to reciprocate, and he would accomplish the hardest task of the day.

"I am Joseph Robiquet. It is a pleasure to meet you."

@Fallenreaper

[Fallenreaper]

🔥Ciara Smith🔥

&
Joseph

_{🔥 Location: Silvermist Academy, Baths--> Messhall
🔥 Time: Afternoon}

---

Ciara glided through the crowd of students moving past her. She shifted one way then the other before a larger student forced her to grind to a halt. A large grey skinned girl with a deformed nose, white tusks from her lower jaw and a hulk-like form. Ciara failed to puzzle how the student managed to fit, but she shrugged it off. She hated it when answers didn’t come easily.

Her arms crossed over her chest while she waited for the student to move. Red veins snaked across her surface, cracking the dark and flawless surface. Budding signs of her growing irritation. She hated being in close proximity to those who weren’t fireproof. Constance entered her thoughts causing Ciara to sigh, missing her usual partner on missions. Out of the numerous students, those who had powers associated with fire or resistant elements allowed her to be herself. Not tip-toeing all the time. This was the only drawback of being trapped in the Academy, but it wasn’t any better out there.

Her thoughts shattered when her ears caught a voice talk to her. She turned her head to catch the student’s image and clue her into his name. Joseph. The word hauled itself from the ashy remains of her mind. Her expression still looked annoyed despite him not being the source. Numerous black pustules covered areas near his fragile-looking body.

“Ciara Smith. I’ve seen you around, but why choose now to say hello? I figured you would’ve been with your own group of friends instead.”

Her ears caught a soft thump in the courtyard but ignored it. It was likely some snow falling to the ground from a tree or something.

The boy hesitated slightly before nodding, his voice echoing in a slightly raspy tone.

” Precisely - I would be, if I had a group of ‘friends.’ I do not, and am therefore attempting to join your group instead.

The boy then pulled his cloak around himself tighter, in a far too rigid and stiff motion. He paused briefly before continuing.

”Of course, that is only if you would want that - I can leave now, if you find my presence irksome.

Ciara turned to face him. She narrowed her eyes, studying him closely. Her head tilted as her smoky hair continued to float off into the air. Any heat that radiated off her had lowered in a few degrees from before.
“I guess? I don’t feel like I have a group. Just a few people I hang around with or go on missions with. It’s not easy getting close when you can burn someone. Know what I mean?” Her voice sounded unsure, but not an outright no. Her posture relaxed from its tense stance before gesturing for them to head out.

The boy’s facial features didn’t soften or change, but his cloak was clutched less closely, and the black tendrils inside of it occasionally twitches or grabs for his hands.

”Yes, I know what you mean - it sounds quite inconvenient. I would like to meet your partners, if you ever have time to spare. Alternatively, we could exchange personal information and resources at your leisure, as I have read ‘friends’ do on occasion.”

“Right now, I am heading to the mess hall for breakfast. I spent all night keeping the fires lit and need something to eat. Want to join me? Constance should meet me there soon.” Ciara offered as she decided to lead the way. Her feet moved toward the door and shivered at the chill greeting her, forcing her to core to increase her temperature.

“I fucking hate snow. Burns me when it melts and takes a while to stop.”

Joseph didn’t immediately respond to the request to join Ciara or her complaint about the weather, but he did follow her. His cloak responded to the sudden cold with a small hiss and small tremors, but the boy was calm otherwise. He only spoke a minute or two after Ciara spoke.

”It is understandable - snow was a very bad thing in my old home, so I have never found it comforting either.”

The pair quickly moved through the academy courtyard, crossing the plants that have died or lost their foliage. Joseph seemed to focus on a small structure close to the dorms, but made no motions to go towards it or point it out to Ciara.

Eventually, they finally arrived at the Mess Hall, where they started to get their food. As they did so, he addressed Ciara, attempting small talk.

” Where would you like to wait for your friend? I rarely eat in the Mess Hall, so I would not feel comfortable choosing where we will wait.”

Ciara pointed to the table near the kitchen as she moved toward it, expecting him to follow her. She didn’t sit when they arrived. Instead, her eyes looked to the staff walking in and out. They looked a bit busy, but she didn't mind. Her eyes caught the towering tinder box in order to avoid scorching him. She would never hear the end of it if he got singed and ignited the whole academy.

“I usually find it warmest near the kitchen, the fire is always going. I’ll grab us something. Want something specific? They have some pretty good stew and bread.” Ciara turned her head to show her attentiveness.

Joseph paused for a second in hesitation, before nodding his head and giving his normal monotone response.

”I would like that, yes. Please pick whatever you think is good, but please make sure there is a decent amount of meat, if you don’t mind. Thank you very much.

Joseph sat at the table, moving to take the corner seat and looking somewhat anxious.

@Lightning Fast