Helo

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 10am
Location: Drake’s Birthday Bash
Interactions: Cassius @PapaOso, Drake @Lava Alckon, Calbert & Gideon @princess
Mentions: Charlotte, Wulfric

---

Callum watched Lorenzo as he spoke; rather, he watched the warm pink glow that engulfed the Duke as he spoke about Charlotte. It was another illusion, but that didn’t make it fake; Lorenzo shone with a captivating confidence. Whether or not he was worthy of the title of Duke, was beyond Cal, but it was clear he was more than worthy of the title of father. So, as Lorenzo led his daughter to a table, Callum softly applauded the man.

A wide grin spread across Cal’s face as Cassius addressed him merely as stranger,, not your highness, not prince, no pompous title. For a second, and it wouldn’t last more than a few seconds, Callum was just some guy getting invited to sit at a table. “I’d love to join, but I’ve got a few more words left.” He said with a shrug, before turning to look at Calby. Callum cleared his throat, let go of the brief moment where he felt like just some stranger, and tried to look princely.

“Count Damien, I feel the need to remind you that a Duke likewise deserves your respect. If you take issue with the conduct of a Duke, then bring your concerns to one of your betters for consideration. It is rude to do so publicly.” Callum addressed Calbert with a hand raised, signifying that he did not wish to listen to the Count. And why shouldn’t he? He was a Prince, it had its benefits, and smugly chastising Calbert Damien was even more fun than ordering knights to leave their shoes behind.

“Drake, Duke Edwards, my sincere apologies for adding to any discomfort at your lovely party.” He gave a standard polite smile before lifting his wine glass. “To Lord Drake, the reason we’re all here to celebrate. Happy Birthday.” He said before taking a drink. Then Callum followed Cassius and the Vikena’s to a table. He glanced around for Wulfric as he walked. Shit, did Wulfric miss this? He needed his brother to see him making an effort.

That was the new plan, how he was going to help Riona, Quack, and the Thornbreakers. He’d be more useful if his family trusted him and a better relationship with Wulfric was his best chance at that. Earn some trust, keep getting invited to secret meetings, and know the things they knew; there was no reason Callum shouldn’t be doing that. Other than he didn’t want to, and if he was going to stop holding back it couldn’t just be when he felt like doing things.

It hadn’t gone well this morning, he’d have to fix that. Cal mentally added making an elixir with a relaxation charm to his to do list. He’d use every tool at his disposal to do better.

But right now was a good chance to get to know Charlotte Vikena, whose eyes once glowed red, who once brought a dark, dreadful, energy, as she threatened Edin and Ana.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 10am
Location: Drake’s Birthday Bash
Interactions: Cassius @PapaOso
Mentions: Wulfric, Ana, Jimmy the cat, Drake, Ari, Farim, Stratya, Barry(Ryn), Zarai, Roman, Lorenzo, Charlotte, The Damiens, The Edwards.

---

As Callum walked the garden he watched his brother lead a horse to the stables. He ate a mouthful of bread. He watched his sister hold up a scruffy orange cat. He ate another mouthful of bread and wondered if that was real. Where did Ana even get a cat? He didn’t see Ari anywhere, Drake was busy talking to many people, so Cal continued eating and wandering. He almost went over to talk with Farim but didn’t want to crash what might be the man’s date with Ana, that was way too awkward.

He caught Stratya looking at him, so held up the half-eaten bread loaf and waved it at her, followed by a thumbs up. He saw Count Damien and his wife, but neither wanted to talk to or even acknowledge them. He felt the same way about Duke Edwards and the Vile Dutchess. He saw some of the other Alidasht royals and nobles but didn’t know any of them well enough to want to talk to them right now, so instead he filled his mouth with more bread.

Is that Barry!?!? Cal spotted a man who looked exactly like the man he’d talked to in an alleyway but he couldn’t remember if Barry was real or if he’d imagined him that night. Hadn’t Barry mentioned Marek might be aligned with Edin? He almost approached Barry, but he didn’t want to take the risk that he might also be an illusion and he wasn’t going to start talking to imaginary people with Wulfric around.

He saw Zarai seated, talking to someone else he didn’t know, so he avoided her too. Callum wasn’t in a meeting new people mood. He chewed obnoxiously on the bread, wondering why Ari wasn’t here and he looked around for Roman but didn’t see him around. He made his way over to the bar just as he finished the last mouthful of bread. He left moments later, a glass of red wine in hand. Well a second glass of wine in hand, the first one had been gulped down in front of the bar, untasted and just something to wash all the bread down with.

Duke Lorenzo’s voice cut through the music, heard over the rest of the softly spoken conversations, and louder than Callum’s thoughts. Count Damien’s bastard His mind echoed the words as he turned to look. Standing next to Sorian’s best-dressed noble was a man who had to be the Damien bastard and Charlotte as well. Oof, Calby looks pissed. He smiled a little, might as well draw some heat off Lorenzo and see if he could turn Calbert’s face a shade darker than the wine.

”CASSIUS VAEL, THE DAMIEN BASTARD?” Callum shouted matching the Duke’s volume as he headed in their direction. ”I can’t believe we haven’t met yet!” He added, his voice still inappropriately loud but not quite shouting. He was going to have to relax his stance on meeting new people today but he’d make it worth it.

Once he made his way over to them he smiled and offered a hand to Cassius. ”I’ve heard the most delightful rumors about you, sir. Nice to match a face to the man, the myth, the legend! And how fortunate for you that ya don’t look too much like your pops.” He spoke, grinning, and giving a wink to Calbert. Maybe this party wouldn’t be too bad after all.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Morning, 10am
Location: Edward’s home, for Drake’s party
Interactions: The Birthday Boy! @Lava Alckon

---

Rohit took a moment to take in the sights of the meticulously decorated gardens of the Edwards estate. A lush landscape surrounded the tables, with green standing out as the theme of the party, and soft music filled the air. A small array of servants followed behind him, continuing forward to place a collection of gifts, wrapped in shining emerald paper and each topped with a golden bow, on the table with the others. Rohit approached the birthday boy, dressed to match his gifts in golden sandals and pants with a vibrant emerald sherwani decorated with golden constellations, a fit designed to please Tārā herself.

“You must be Lord Drake, happy birthday! They say those born in Sola are aglow with the compassion and wisdom of The Emerald Star Empress, Tārā, and it is always an honor to meet those with such traits. I am Rohit Amar, son of Vali Navi Amar of Kimoon, and bring you the finest offerings from Kisoma.” Rohit spoke with easy confidence but ran through a checklist in his mind. Said happy birthday, complimented, and gave a proper introduction. Yes! Nailed it! He glanced back at the gifts of tea, jewels, and jade paperweight carved into the shape of a dragon. Rohit was especially proud of the last one, a dragon for a man named Drake, it was too fitting.

“Thank you for having me.” Almost forgot that part. But still nailed it! Rohit smiled and offered his hand to Drake, who he understood was the son of a Duke, a title similar to his father’s. “Oh, hey, is that a cat?” He asked suddenly noticing the little orange fella being offered to Drake. His outstretched hand swiftly moved to scratch the cat behind the ears. He noted another well-dressed noble leading a fine horse away, Should have brought live animals? He wondered.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Lord Leo Smithwood

Time: Morning
Location: Spa to the Guesthouse
Interactions: none
Mentions: Count Hendrix, and summons for Riona @JJ Doe
Daily Misfortune: None! Leo’s feeling great! For now...

A well-rested, and no longer hot pink, Leo awoke in an extravagantly comfortable room at the spa. He bathed and dressed for his return to the guesthouse, checking himself before he left. Nothing strange with his voice, appearance, or anything else he could detect. Today he was problem-free so far, which only added to his suspicion that it was something, or someone, in the guesthouse causing his issues.

Despite Count Hendrix’s desire to use Leo as a step to fling himself further up the social ladder, Leo did find that the Count was growing on him. Like mold or fungus, growing where it wasn’t exactly wanted, but there nonetheless. At least Hendrix had amusing stories when they weren’t about extra cookies. Still, he avoided the man, if even he still lingered around, as he left the spa. Count Hendrix ranked low on Leo’s list of potential pranksters, but Hendrix wasn’t fully ruled out yet.

Instead, he returned to the guesthouse, more than willing to bet something strange would occur to try and ruin his good day. He was cautious to touch as little as possible as he made his way to his room.

Or what he thought was his room, and for a moment he thought he was in the wrong room until he saw his lion slippers. The furniture had not been moved more desirably, no, it was replaced with the most ridiculous collection of items he’d ever seen. A toddler bed shaped like a boat, a terrible ugly and bizarre armchair, tiny end tables with tiny lion-shaped lamps, and…was that a potty training chair in the corner??

It seemed he was plagued by two pranksters, one who acted with stealth and one who intentionally failed at any task assigned to her in the most aggravating ways possible. Riona, of course, was the latter. He picked up a few of the objects and waited for something to happen. When no strange alignment popped up he helped himself to the coffee and croissant that waited for him on a tiny pink table where his desk should be.

A few bites and sips later and still nothing strange had happened. In fact, he still felt great, almost giddy even! He found himself softly chuckling about the furniture, including a candle that looked exactly like one of the hideous shoes Riona had previously filled his closet with. At least her intentional incompetence was creative. Eventually, he poked his head out the door, requesting more breakfast and for Riona to be sent over immediately.

Leo ended up taking a seat in the only chair that came close to being ‘adult-sized,’ an ugly, cheap-looking, chair that flared out at the top. It was too narrow at the seat, uncomfortable so, but a determined Leo continued to wedge himself in the chair as he drank the rest of the coffee. He only realized he was stuck when he went to go sit the coffee cup down and the chair remained attached to his butt. A roar of almost drunken laughter filled the room.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 9am to 10am
Location: Danrose Palace to Drake’s Birthday Bash
Interactions: none

---

Callum got ready for Drake’s birthday party, a quick shower to scrub the scent of the dungeon off him. He dressed entirely in black, it only felt right, after hearing about Darryn. Beaten, beheaded, the body turned into a puddle. Why? It didn’t even feel right to be going to a birthday party right now.

He stared at the words carved into his wall for a moment. He took the knife from his desk and underneath Alibeth’s name, in a small font he carved ’I did want him to die.’ Proof that his mother was the monster he thought she was. Once he’d finished he returned the knife to his desk and grabbed a bottle. He paced and drank and stared out the window, wondering where the sun got the nerve to be so bright on such a dark day. He opened the window and let a long pour of whiskey run down the side of the palace.

“Sorry I let you down, Darryn. You deserved better.” He said. “Gods, I wish I could stop say that to people.”

He left for Drake’s party shortly after. On his way out of his room, he saw Darryn watching from a corner. His skin a pale gray and covered in bruises, blood flowing from a wound around his neck, and his body melting into the floor. Callum met the gaze of red eyes, glowing and angry as they watched him leave. The price of the spell he’d used to show Ana, a day spent seeing things that weren’t real. “And here I thought I’d just be seeing imaginary butterflies all day.” He mumbled as he locked his door.

He was followed by guards, who stayed a handful of paces behind him before he even left the front door of the palace.

---

Callum made his way to the Edward’s backyard, everything entirely too bright and green for his liking, and a bracelet was placed on his wrist. Staff walked around with plates of food, and thousands of tiny spiders crawled out from an array of deviled eggs, swarming the plate. Callum hoped that wasn’t real either, but if it was he hoped that plate got dropped on the Dutchess. He took a risk and grabbed a spider-covered egg and stuffed it in his mouth. It didn’t taste like spiders at least but something else grabbed his attention. A table with loaves labled ‘alcoholic bread,’ grabbed his interest. He grabbed one, breaking off pieces and stuffing them into his mouth as he wandered around, avoiding taking to anyone he didn’t normally talk to, and wondering when he’d last eaten real food.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Flashback: Night Sola 23, 1739

Callum & Riona Part 7

---

They followed the secret corridor back until they were back in Wystan’s room. The same heavy mechanical sounds followed as the wall lowered behind them sealing up the room and its dark artifacts once more. He returned the candle he’d borrowed to its spot in the bedroom before snuffing the flame with his fingertips. Then he grabbed the sword, keeping hold of it rather than returning it to the wall. “Time to go before Wystan gets back.” He whispered. Cal scanned the room, making sure nothing was left disturbed, and made a mental note to grab the burnt matchstick he’d dropped by painting in the hallway.

“Good idea. Why don’tcha leave the sword behind too while you’re at it? Then Wystan won’t find out you tried to steal from him.”

The unfamiliar voice startled Riona, and she whirled around to face its owner. A figure lurked at the open window, all features but their amber eyes obscured by a dark cowl and mask.

“Stealing? Haven’t you heard of finders keepers, losers weepers?” Callum looked toward the window, falling back into the ‘I’m just a drunk prince causing mischief’ routine. “Maybe I’ll give Wystan his sword back when I get my trumpet back.” He added, haphazardly pointing the blade toward the window, waving it around like a toy. “Or maybe I’ll keep it, since I found it in my house and all. Now, identify yourself, creepy window lurker.”

The cloaked figure—a man, Riona guessed—snickered and clapped in a mocking ovation. “Spoken like a spoiled prince.” He pushed off from the window and strode forward, one gloved finger jabbing at the blade. “Better leave that pretty sword behind. Or a little birdy might just tell dear old dad what’s inside there.” The stranger cocked his head toward the false wall.

Riona’s heart stumbled in her chest. How long had this man been skulking about, watching them?

“Yes, please tell dear old pops that you were lurking outside palace windows, spying in the middle of the night. The king would love that!” Callum answered as he attempted to swat the man’s hand with the blunt side of the blade. “Why do you care whether I hang this sword on the wall or not? Planning on stealing from a room full of old junk?” He asked, trying to figure out what the stranger was even doing here in the first place, and how much he knew. Cal’s mind wandered further; could he run a man through with a sword? That would make a noticeable mess in Wystan’s room. Maybe force him back out the window and hope the fall ended things? Could he do it? It was better that no one knew what they had found here.

He remembered the scroll he’d grabbed, Illisonary Flames, inflicting the sensation of burning on a pyre might get information out of the stranger or distract the man long enough to push him out the window. He could do that, a perfect opportunity to test the scroll out. And it all became evident to Callum that his snooping around Wystan’s room was one thing but the masked stranger had seen Riona as well, it was too big a risk not to do something.

“Servant, hold my sword please. I don’t need it for this.” Cal extended his sword arm towards Riona, the blade was far more useful in her hands than his. The corners of his mouth twisted upwards as his eyes stayed locked with amber eyes that peered through a mask and cowl.

The man heaved a sigh, eyes rolling in their sockets, “And they say you’re the least blood-hungry of the three.” He shrugged and, to someone who wasn’t there, said, “Don’t say I didn’t try to play nice.”

That was all the warning they got before his fist cracked into Cal’s face. Without pause, he yanked Cal down by his collar and drove his knee upward, smashing it into Cal’s head.

The sword hit the ground with a clang.

Riona was already lunging, halfway to the man before she even saw the dagger appear in his hand. Her shoulder collided with the intruder, shoving him away from Callum.

She wanted to check on Cal, but the stranger was quick, too damn quick. He regained his balance with infuriating ease and came right back at them, dagger ready to strike.

Riona hitched up her dress and her fingers closed around the blade she kept strapped to her thigh. She whipped it out just in time to deflect the incoming slash, steel ringing on steel.

Don’t bleed on Wystan’s floor. That was his clearest thought. Callum cupped his hands around his bleeding nose. His face felt numb, his ears rang, and metal clanged against metal. Too loud. Someone might hear. He rolled over, pushed himself up off the floor, and flung himself at the stranger's back His arm immediately tried to coil around the man’s neck and grabbed a handful of his cowl. Cal knew he needed to ensure the stranger couldn’t scream.

“Urere hostem meum” He half spat, half-whispered in the stranger's ear. Burn my enemy, and each word was meant. The stranger wasn’t a man, only an enemy, one who threatened their plans. Callum wanted the stranger to burn, and the prince braced himself to feel the same pain.

Suddenly, Cal and the intruder writhed—bodies jerked, faces twisted, and sweat slicked their skin. Riona couldn’t see the flames searing their flesh, but she didn’t need to. The shared agony was unmistakable. Their breaths came in ragged gasps, wrestling to stay quiet while they grappled in the dark.

Cal clung to the intruder with white-knuckled ferocity. Each new wave of pain visibly drained him. The stranger looked to be hurting just as bad, but as seconds passed, his movements became eerily controlled—like someone who’d survived worse than fire.

The difference between them was obvious, a chasm of hard lessons and harder living. The man had a survivor’s edge, hardened by life they could only imagine. Cal? Tavern brawls taught Cal how to take a beating, not how to give one.

Callum was screwed.

Sure enough, Cal’s hold slipped. A blade caught the half-light and plunged into Cal’s side before Riona could suck in a breath to shout a warning.

Riona saw the stranger’s hand tense, ready to rip the knife free, or worse, tear it sideways and spill Cal’s guts across the floor. She wasn’t going to let either happen. Riona charged at the stranger with her dagger.

Again, too slow. The intruder’s hand shot out, clamping around her wrist. He twisted. Hard. Tendons stretched. Joints groaned. With a sickening crack, sharp pain exploded outward from wrist to shoulder. A scream caught in her throat.

A blur of motion. Her head snapped back and stars burst in her vision. Before she could process the high kick, the stranger’s boot slammed into her stomach. Air rushed from her lungs. She hurtled backwards, hitting the dresser. The impact dropped her to the ground, dazed and gasping.

Callum didn’t just feel flames eating away at his skin, he smelled it. A rich and rank scent of burnt meat and hair filled his nose, leaving its taste burning in his throat. Reality melted away, the illusion felt more real than anything. He barely felt the knife over the searing of the flames.

He saw Riona’s shape move, but the details were lost, his vision a wet blur of panic and tears.

This was his future, if he got caught, if he failed, his pyre would not be an illusion. All it would take was for his focus to slip for a second and that would be the end.

The curse persisted; it held both caster and victim suspended in peak, unchanging, agony.

“Only I. Can make this. Stop.” Words drifted out from behind clenched teeth. A partial bluff, Cal wasn’t sure he could make it stop. But he could make this continue, for as long as he could keep uttering the curse. His legs shook, threatening to give out but his grip around his enemy’s neck stayed locked. He felt the other man’s throat rumble. He was… chuckling?

He spoke again once the magic that fueled the illusory flames burned out and the illusion dissipated. “Who do you work for?” He’d hoped his question would sound intimidating, wished for a voice that could compare to the inferno he’d just conjured. Instead, it sounded like a whimper, it sounded like ‘please, don’t make me do that again.’ And that made the other man laugh.

Something wet dripped from his side as a new, sharp, pain snapped into focus.

Before Cal could blink, he was on his back, the wind knocked out of him. The man straddled him, knees pinning Cal’s arms into the floorboards. Cal tried to free himself but any movement sparked more pain from his side.

A gloved fist forced its way between his teeth, preventing him from casting, while a free hand pawed at Cal’s clothes, rough and purposeful. Fingers found‌ something tucked away and freed it. The scroll.

With a flick, the parchment unfurled. The man’s eyes devoured the words, and he let out a low whistle. “Nasty,” he commented before shoving the paper into his boot.

“Now then.”

Callum had no other choice, he wasn’t losing that scroll, and he bit down on the man’s knuckles with no intention of letting go. That was his scroll, the closest thing to real power he had, he needed it. His head shook with a desperate attempt to rip something from the man.

The intruder cursed, but instead of pulling back, he shoved his fist deeper‌. Cal’s throat spasmed, and his gag reflex betrayed him. His jaw went slack, releasing the fist.

“Good boy,” the man crooned, flexing his freed fingers.

Then he rained down blows—face, ribs, gut. Each impact was precise, brutal, ensuring the prince wouldn’t be able to get up anytime soon.

Riona’s skull throbbed, world tilting this way and that way. Through the haze, steel flashed. The intruder wrenched his blade from Cal’s side and raised it high.

Without knowing how, she moved. One moment she was on the ground, dizzy. The next, she and the stranger crashed to the floor.

Scrabbling at his face, her nails hooked into fabric and when she yanked, the mask came away.

They both froze.
Their eyes met.

A young man’s face stared at her, skin peppered with freckles and faint scars. Fiery orange brows and lashes framed amber eyes, widening with sudden realization—the realization that she could pick him out from a crowd. And that was a problem. A bloody big problem that had only one solution.

His lips peeled back in a snarl as he came at her again, wiry muscles coiled tight with lethal intent. They grappled on the floor, a tangle of straining limbs and ragged breaths. She fought like a wildcat, tooth and nail, but his scarecrow body had a strength it had no right to.

Weapon. She needed a weapon, and fast. Riona wrenched herself away, scrambling towards the first pointy object that she saw. The sword. Just a few steps away.

Stupid. Stupid mistake.

The second she got to her feet, an arm snaked around her throat from behind. And tightened, cutting off her air. Riona clawed at his arm, legs kicking out wildly. Black spots danced at the edges of her vision as she struggled. The room swam, colors bleeding together. Her lungs burned and screamed—

—just like the townspeople.

Nana. Des. Papa. Mama… Is this how it ends?

Memories crashed over her: smoke-choked air, the clash of steel, screams cut short. Her people. Her family. All of them gone, while she—

You survived, the voices hissed. You lived when they died.

The ginger’s assault had left Riona aching from head to toe. But the pain was nothing compared to the guilt that had hollowed her out.

Was it all for nothing? The voices pressed, relentless.

… No.

Are you going to die here, chocked out by some random bastard, without accomplishing anything?

Useless girl! Another choir of voices hissed. All this time wasted. You should’ve died with the others!

No, Riona thought, clinging to consciousness. I can’t.

Why?

Because I promised I would make them pay.

Then, they whispered in one ear, it’s time.

Riona’s eyes clouded, gazing inward at the embers smoldering for years, glowing brighter. Hungry. Anticipating.

They whispered in the other ear. Use the power we all suffered for.

Flames ignited from the embers. The fire grew, and with them, the shadows darkened.

You’re going to die… this is your last chance.

Sparks flew as magic stirred.

Don’t let all of that anger, and hate, go to waste, Ríoghnach.

The girl stood alone on an endless expanse of black powder, torch in hand. The grains shifted restlessly, like an ocean of darkness. Fourteen years worth of people’s suffering. At her feet, a fuse snaked across the dunes, promising destruction.

Do it, the voices urged in unison.

Ríoghnach’s fingers tightened on the torch.

Set us free.

An unnatural silence smothered the night, as if the world had taken a collective breath and held it. Callum’s skin prickled hot and cold all at once—the same eerie sensation from the gardener’s cottage.

In the darkness, shadows deepened. Shapes writhed and twisted within the blackness. Unseen things seemed to lurk just out of sight. Watching. Listening. Waiting.

A faint sound tickled the edge of Callum’s hearing. It grew louder, swelling into agonized wails mixed with the roar and crackle of an inferno. The scent of burning wood filled his nostrils, followed by the stomach-churning stench of seared human flesh.

“Feed us,” something said.

TLDR:

A mysterious figure catches Riona and Callum and a fight breaks out. Callum attempts to curse the intruder and something very strange happens with Riona…

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Night
Location: The Dungeon
Interactions: Ari@Tpartywithzombi

---

Callum didn’t like the basement floor of the palace. It had that old and damp creepy smell, shadows danced everywhere you looked, and rats scurried around the floors. Something about the air down there made the hair on the back of his neck rise with warnings. But after last night he doubted anything could compare with the amalgamation of horrid feelings he’d experienced in Wystan’s room. He shuddered even thinking about it, but it made the descent down those basement stairs easier.

None of the guards stopped him, they watched, a couple of them followed and he guessed they were going to make sure he wasn’t trying to free Ari. He wasn’t, he just didn’t want her to suffer down her alone. And he didn’t want to be alone, or sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he saw it, the thing from last night. Every time it was too quiet, he heard it, all that screaming…

He tried to stop thinking about it. Instead, he focused on keeping an eye out for rats, the dungeon rats were known biters and it would be nice to get through one night this week without an injury. He stopped by the wine cellar first, grabbing a dusty bottle from the room he’d once spent hours psyching himself up to sneak into as a kid. This time he grabbed two bottles, it was going to be a long night.

Once he found his way to Ari’s cell, and the redheaded curled up on a sad pile of straw was hard to miss, he tapped on the cell bars with the wine bottles. “You look miserable! And I hear misery loves company.” He said as he sat the wine bottles down and removed his shoes for the second time that night. He stuffed the end of one bottle into a shoe and smacked it against the stone wall.

“You didn’t think,” he hit the bottle against the wall a few times. “I’d let you suffer down here alone?” The bottle smacked against the wall a few more times. “Didya?” He pulled the cork the rest of the way out with his teeth and spat the cork on the ground. He then did the same with the second bottle before offering a bottle to Ari between the bars of the cell.

“I’ve got wine, a deck of cards, and secrets to share. Ya know, if you’re bored.” He whispered.

Callum spent a good portion of the night whispering the details of the previous night to Ari. He plans to search the castle for hidden rooms, how he found the hidden room in Wystan’s room, and what all was found there. How he’d almost put a strange crown on his head, how he’d felt that crown’s dark pull, but he’d left with a cursed scroll and magic compass.

He mentioned he had help, but didn’t give up Riona’s name, not because he didn’t trust Ariella. Riona’s involvement and use of magic just weren’t his secrets to tell. He mentioned the weird intruder, maybe exaggerating his own usefulness in the fight between them, and the curse scroll that had been stolen, but not before he’d used it once. Not before he’d felt what it was like to burn. The weird plot twist; that the intruder might not have been an assassin but a potential ally, who at least gave him and his unnamed accomplice a healing potion before disappearing into the night.

He left the dungeon in the morning, a few shared bottles of wine later, when guards fetched him to join in on a family meeting.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: Amusement Park & Circus
Interactions: none

---

“Test your aim! Test your luck! Ladies and Gentlemen step right up to Sorain Shootout! Six shots is all you need to leave here a winner!”

The line inched forward as someone stepped up for their turn to fire at the target. The colorfully dressed man who ran the game continued to address the crowd.

Rohit buzzed with excitement as he realized his turn was next. His weight shifted from foot to foot like an excited child. He turned back to the person behind him, his line buddy for the past several minutes. “...So there’s a loose fugitive, a crazed Duke, and a manbear that throws parties in the woods with drugged drinks!”

“And a disturbed Prince who eats onions while courting.” His line buddy added. “And a knife-wielding maniac who hates free pancakes!”

“That can’t be true! Who hates pancakes?” Rohit asked but his line buddy only shrugged while nodding his agreement.

“Sorian is the strangest city I have ever set foot upon.” The man was a traveling merchant from a small village in the south of Varian who made his living selling high-end clothing. He had a wife and three children and an ear for gossip, but for the life of him, Rohit could not remember the man’s name. They’d also been chatting for long enough that Rohit did not want to ask for it again. Three times felt like too many to ask someone for their name.

The man continued to catch Rohit up on all of Sorain’s most sordid affairs, and Rohit listened intently. He fidgeted with the gold and jade ring, the jade spun around the gold it rested on as it calmed his excessive energy.

The person whose turn it was fired their final shot, just barely grazing the white of the target and missing out on a prize.

“That’s some bad luck.” His line buddy paused his tale of the Harlot of Veirmont to comment on the game.

Nearby a small child began to cry. Both he and his line buddy turned to look at the child who stood next to a scoop of ice cream melting into the boardwalk while holding an empty cone.

“And that is tragic luck.” Rohit added. “Just watch, my luck never fails.” He patted his new friend on the back before stepping forward for his shot at the target.

Rohit couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a stroke of bad luck. He thought about it as he lifted the game’s rifle. Not a treat lost to gravity, never tripped over his own feet, and he always did well at games of chance.

His six shots rang out, a tight trio in the bullseye and a few that strayed into the yellow and blue. It was effortless and the large fluffy stuffed cat felt almost unearned. He gave to his line buddy to take home, a gift for his children. Rohit decided this game, like most games, was simply too easy to be much fun.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Flashback: Night Sola 23, 1739

Callum & Riona Part 5

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with @princess

Meanwhile, Callum had stuck a second match, held it near the sword in the portrait as Riona pulled the lever, and then took off running. He darted near the concubine’s room, held his breath so nothing would drown out the telling mechanical click, and leaned his ear near the crack of the door. However, the click did not come from the concubine’s room. It came from another room and such was clear.

As two maids strolled past, they stole curious glances at Callum. Neither dared to address him directly and opted instead to maintain their conversation.

"...Did you hear, Millicent? That watchdog's chamber has forever been reserved for the King and Queen's most loyal and stout defender... Yet, by Primitus himself, none forewarned us of its harboring the most handsome of them all. I merely yearn for his gaze to alight upon me."

Cal froze and stared at the pair, realizing it looked like he was wandering around at night trying to snoop in a woman’s bedroom. “I’m looking for my trumpet. I forgot it at the tea party.” He announced, answering a question no one had asked. “It’s shiny and …um… trumpet-shaped, if you happen to see it. Ya’know, maybe Wystan has it.” He pushed the door closed, tripped over his own feet in haste, and headed for Wystan’s room, pretending like he wasn’t up to anything.

When he entered the room, his gaze may have been drawn to the center of the room where a grand, canopied bed commanded attention. On the left, a heavy wooden writing desk sat against the wall, and next to it a sturdy dresser. There was a wooden door on the right that was shut currently. Moonlight streamed through the window, cutting through the dimness, and illuminating a sword diagonally across on an empty part of the wall. It was mounted majestically across the wallpaper that had seen better days.

Cal ducked into the watchdog’s room and studied the surroundings. He noted the sword displayed on the wall, where the sword of truth casts its light. This had to be the right room. Didn’t it?

So where was Riona? Was he in the wrong room? Should he be in Alden’s room? Or had Riona been caught by Alden? He decided he was already here, the sword on the wall had to match up with the clue from the portrait. He needed to keep going before Wystan returned, gods only knew when he’d have another chance to poke around here. His eyes fell to the door on the right, Cal decided he’d try there first, and gave the door a pull to see if it was locked.

The door was unfortunately locked and as Callum searched the dresser, he found nothing unusual. He headed back to where the sword hung on the wall and removed it. He inspected the sword, turned it, and looked for any clues inscribed on the weapon itself. Then he used it to reflect the moonlight from the window around the room to see if that illuminated any clues.

“Alden?” Riona surveyed the mess with a cautious eye. Had this been a simple theft gone wrong or a calculated attack on the Royal Advisor? The lack of life signs raised alarms. Her skin prickled with unease.

She called out again in a level voice. “Alden?” Her gaze landed on an overturned journal. Curiosity getting the better of her, she flipped through it.

The kingdom seems to be in distress, as the Alidasht doesn’t seem too fond of the current events that have been unfolding. That idiot Lorenzo is somewhat of a chaotic force in everything. Whether he intends to do his actions or not, he seems to be inciting a war all on his own. It is best to leave him on his own, I would not interfere as his antics seem to fall in line with my own desires. Then inside the own kingdom, things are definitely interesting. My dear Calbert is dealing with his own struggles now, with Violet now in her own state of rest. He will be dying to know what happened exactly, and is desperately looking for answers. He will be easy to influence.

Your majesty is still as dimwitted and unclever as ever, believing that he is a God in some way. His behavior alone will definitely incite some tensions amongst our guests. It's all about leading him in the right direction, and the rest shall unfold upon itself. His sons, on the other hand, will be a bit more difficult to play around. They do not seem too impressed of me, as I had been away for far too long. Perhaps I should play closer attention to them individually, and observe more of their intrusive thoughts. THEY will be necessary for the kingdoms downfall. But it needs to be in a way where they aren’t directly affected. I do have a soft spot for them after all. Them and Anastasia. They unfortunately will have to experience what is to come about, but they do not need to suffer. That will be reserved for “your majesty” solely.

Riona’s brain did backflips as she devoured the words in the journal. The King’s trusted advisor actually planned to dethrone him! But the cryptic references to the others left more questions than answers. What happened to Lady Violet? And why were Cal and his siblings so important to the kingdom’s downfall? Nothing about the Queen though, which didn’t sit right with Riona.

Glancing at the ransacked room, Riona knew she couldn’t leave the journal behind. Its contents were too valuable, and if Alden meant to overthrow the Crown, this could be used as evidence of treason. Journal tucked safely away, Riona made one last look around, eyes sharp for any other damning evidence.

At the window, she hesitated, half-dreading the sight of Alden’s broken form crumpled on the ground below.

But there was no sight of Alden. Riona expelled a breath, the knot in her chest loosening a fraction. No bodies littering the ground, at least—always a plus. She scanned the area, hunting for any traces of blood she might have missed, but saw nothing on the exterior of the castle.

Riona slipped out and crossed to Wystan’s quarters. “Any luck?” she asked Cal.

As Cal tried to use the sword to reflect moonlight around the room the sudden sound of footsteps followed by a question made him jump. A thud echoed through the room as he dropped the sword, just as he had with every sword he’d ever picked up. “I found a sword?” He wasn’t sure that counted as luck, finding a sword in the watchdog’s room. ”And that door is locked.” He gestured to the door he’d tried as he picked the sword back up and to keep from dropping it again. “You don’t happen to have any lockpicking skills, do you?” He asked, and he’d honestly be surprised if Riona didn’t have some lockpicking skills. She looked like she was about to answer when something else caught her attention.

If Callum had been paying attention to the sword itself, he would have noticed the light dance across the metal, revealing an inscription that had remained unseen in the dimness. As the light traced the contours of the inscription, the characters seemed to pulse faintly, like whispers from the past urging to be heard.

Bare the deepest shadows of your soul, thus the veiled way unfolds.

However, a curious phenomenon began in that moment: a thin wall, started to descend slowly from the top of the original wall. The movement was gradual, almost like the slow, deliberate lowering of a curtain in a theater, and the sounds of gears turning dimly filled the room. It slid into place with a click and obscured the once-visible mounting spot of the sword.

Riona blinked once, twice. Then again, for posterity’s sake. Seconds ticked by, each one more disappointing than the last as the realization settled over her. This couldn’t be it. There had to be more.

She rushed to the false wall, running her hands over every centimeter, probing, prodding, searching desperately for some missed clue or trigger. A latch, a lever, anything to reveal the greater mysteries she was certain lay hidden. But the wall remained infuriatingly unchanged. Immovable and inscrutable as ever.

Riona’s heart plummeted down, down, down, fell right out of her chest to splatter on the floor. She had been so sure, so convinced, that the cryptic puzzle would lead to so much more than a mere sword secreted away. Some chamber filled with old secrets and forgotten lore—a grand revelation. She squeezed her eyes shut. This is what you get for daring to hope too much, she chided herself bitterly.

With a weary sigh, she rested her forehead against the wall and focused on taking slow, even breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In, out. In, out. The same calming ritual she did after a particularly hard day and especially after enduring one of Lady Morrigan’s brutal disciplines. Somehow, the solid press of the castle wall against her skin brought a strange sense of comfort. Grounding her. Soothing her. The castle crooning its lullaby of cool stone.
Madness, of course. Castles didn’t sing. But what did it matter if it helped?

“The sword,” Riona said, not lifting her head from the wall, “does it have any inscriptions? Any markings at all?”

“Bare the deepest shadows of your soul, thus the veiled way unfolds.” Callum read the inscription out loud. He held the hilt in one hand and used the other to steady the blade as he lifted the sword, perpendicular to his mouth. His best guess on what to do next was to offer up a closely guarded secret to the sword of truth, and hope that held the key to move beyond the veiled way, or the newly formed wall.

“I think I’ll fail in the end, at doing something worthwhile, something good. I don’t think anything good can come from bad people.” He paused, closed his eyes and reached for something deeper, whispering to the sword. “And I am easily drawn into anything dark…harmful… addictive. I want the kind of power that will bring devastation to my enemies. I want to ruin everything, and everyone, I hate, and let those ruins topple down upon me as well.” He offered up his shadow to the sword and waited, expecting something to happen. They were too close for this to lead to nothing.

The sound of something heavy lifting filled the air, but it was occurring behind the wall that had covered the previous spot. Callum had been correct in his assumption, but a step was missing.

“I want… power.” The power.
“… bring devastation… To destroy.
“I want to ruin everything…everyone… All of it.
“I hate… The hate. Hate. Hatehatehate!... Give it to us.
“… me as well.” All of it. And—

Riona’s brow furrowed as she felt the wall shudder ever so slightly against her skin. She stepped away, pulse quickening. “That... did something.” Could it be?

“Do it again,” she instructed Cal, already backing towards the door, “this time I’ll pull the lever outside.” And left the room to do just that.

Callum waited for a moment until Riona was out of earshot. “You want a real secret?” He addressed the sword again while rotating the heavy weapon as his arm grew tired from holding it aloft. “I should probably be kept away from magic, I want to push its limits, make it my weapon. They’re afraid of it, more than blades and guns, and using something they fear to destroy them…I can’t think of anything more appealing, even if it drives me mad.” He stopped turning the sword and ran his fingers over the inscription. “How’s that for a shadow? Now, unfold that veil.”

Once the lever was pulled, the wall began to lift once more, revealing a hallway this time. A dark void seemingly stood before Callum.

Riona rushed back into the room. “Did tha—” she began, then her eyes caught the hallway that had materialized and her half-formed question dissolved on her tongue. She turned to Cal, a wide grin splitting her cheeks.

“Open up a creepy, unlit, secret passage? Yup.” Cal answered, returning the grin. He set the sword down and looked around until he found a candle he could use to light the dark passageway. He checked for any markings within the newly formed hallway that might indicate a boobytrap before continuing forward.

As the two went down the dark corridor, they finally came to a room at the end that was hidden behind a heavy door. As Riona and Callum pushed the door open, a musty air, heavy with the scent of aged parchment, greeted them. The faint glow of their candle cast eerie shadows on the stone walls.

The chamber itself was a trove of enchanted artifacts and colored scrolls, forgotten by time. There were no windows and it was obvious to the observer that the room had not been frequented in a long time. Dust-covered shelves lined the walls, each one holding a variety of items. Among the treasures, a gleaming sword with a green gem on its hilt lay across a polished wooden stand.

On another shelf sat a compass, its needle spinning erratically, guided not by magnetic forces but by some arcane power.

A collection of scrolls, each tied with a ribbon of a different color, occupied a gilded rack. One scroll, tied with a crimson ribbon, seemed to pulse with a faint, ominous glow. Another, wrapped in a sapphire ribbon, shimmered with a cool purple light. The third was tied with a green ribbon and seemed to have no unusual effect.

In the center of the room stood an ornate floor mirror. A dark handprint, burnt into the glass, marred its surface, as if someone had pressed their palm against it.

An old, weathered chest sat in one corner. It was half-open, revealing an assortment of trinkets and amulets. Nearby, a small vial of shimmering liquid caught the candlelight.

A pair of worn, leather gloves lay on a pedestal. Next to them, a simple wooden music box. Against the back wall, an object can be seen resting on a velvet cushion atop a solitary pedestal. It's a crown crafted from what appears to be intertwining branches of gold and silver. Delicate, thorn-like spikes jut outward, gleaming with a menacing sharpness. Set within the metalwork are stones that shimmer with an inner light, casting eerie, pulsating glows against the stone wall.

Whispers seemed to echo in their mind, ethereal voices calling out "Rionaaa... Callummm..." as if the room itself was aware of their presence and beckoning them.

TLDR

A treasonous secret is discovered in Alden’s room with no sign of the man himself. Riona and Callum unlock a secret passageway in Wystan’s room and discover a collection of mysterious artifacts.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: Amusement Park & Circus
Interactions: none

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Against a darkened sky the array of colorful lights that shone from the boardwalk outdid the very stars who struggled to compete with such brilliance. A large wheel slowly turned and its passengers dangled from bucket seats reaching heights that offered views of the marvelous city. A small train zipped by on an elevated track while riders screamed with joy. Children rode statues of horses engulfed in a glow that lit up their smiles. Food carts stretched out along the cobblestone streets, supplying an overwhelming mix of sweet and savory. Scents so thick that they melded with the air and lingered on the tongue. Turkey legs dangled in roasted perfection, cotton candy wheels spun their tornados of sugary confection, and gentle whisps of steam rose from freshly baked pies.

Music could be heard all around, light and jaunty, a sound so infectious it lifted the weirdness of travel from Rohit’s bones. Long stretches of utter boredom were washed away, any thoughts of rest were forgotten in a haze of excitement. Lines of people crowded around every source of wonder, and their chatter and laughter mixed seamlessly with music. A bell rang out as someone won a large fluffy prize, a child screamed with joy as she was presented with a toffee apple, and a man expelled his night’s treats into a trash can after exiting a large spinning teacup. Even the man vomiting still wore a smile. Rohit too, wore a smile that stretched to both his ears as he savored the sights of the amusement park.

Sorian stood as a mirage of paradise, never before had he seen so much joy spread across a single street.

Kapow! The sound of a fist colliding with a nose caught his ear.

Oh?

A woman had just punched a man who stood beside another woman. Perhaps not everything in Sorain was so idyllic. Lucky for Rohit he had purchased some freshly popped kernels moments before. A handful of popcorn entered his mouth as he stopped to watch.

Another punch followed landing in the man’s stomach. A small crowd formed as more stopped to watch the scene play out. A venomous threat was uttered before the woman with fists of fury took off. Rohit ate another handful of popcorn as his attention quickly pivoted to a game called Balloon Darts and without much thought, he wandered toward the game.

Pop! A dart hit a balloon and the crowd clapped. Rohit cradled the popcorn in his elbow and clapped along with them as the player was handed a prize. He stood in line for a handful of minutes, watching others attempt to pop a balloon before growing bored with the game. The line was too long and its prizes too unimpressive to continue to wait.

Thud! Again his attention pivoted and he saw a collection of small boats that seemed to be intentionally bumping into each other. Now that looked like way more fun than sitting around board on a ship all day. He made his way to the edge of the boardwalk and leaned against the railing to watch the bumper boats and wait in a different line.