JJ Doe

Avalia

Time: MORNING
Location: RIVER PORT
Interactions/Mentions: Zion @Helo; Enstille@GingerBobOh; Kenia @Tae

---

"... Would you accompany me for a stroll?"

Jun tensed. Malachi was trying to separate him from the others. Why? What did he have to say or do to Jun that he couldn't say or do in front of them? Better yet, what was Malachi planning to do if he refused?

He clutched his backpack closer. Who was he kidding? There was never a choice. He could either prolong the inevitable or face whatever "Malachi" (the character Malachi or the guy roleplaying him) had planned now. Best case scenario, he wouldn't hurt him. Even better case scenario, Jun would be allowed to go home. Though, with his luck, Jun doubted either of those outcomes. If anything, the gamer in him told him that this was the best setup for a battle encounter, the perfect distraction to shove his concerns and wishes aside and advance the story campaign to the juicy bits that the others were itching for. "... Sure."

The spicy sweetness of the ginger candy invigorated him to rise to his feet, but didn't give him the courage to put his glasses back on. If this ended up being the worst case scenario, Jun rather not see it coming. Literally.

With the grace and elegance of a blind bat that couldn't echolocate, Jun navigated through the house. He stumbled over almost every piece of furniture in his path, bumped into what he thought was one of the LARPers, broke something he prayed was nothing valuable, and smacked into the pillar before he finally managed to shuffle out the door.

Unfazed by the spectacle, Malachi rose in tandem with Jun, briefly glancing at the others around them. "Don't do anything stupid," he commanded with an air of authority before following Jun. He watched nonchalantly as the young man navigated through the house with, at best, half a functioning brain cell. Determined to remain patient, Malachi gracefully maneuvered after him, biting on the inside of his cheek to keep from yelling.

Stay calm. Don’t say anything. Don’t do it…

Malachi's breath caught in his throat as a portrait tumbled off the wall thanks to Jun bumping into it, and he hurried over to the fallen frame. His usual grace abandoned him as he crashed to his knees and cradled the broken frame in his hands. The broken glass was shattered over the floor beneath him, poking into his skin. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at it, his normally composed gaze darkening with emotions he struggled to conceal. His expression became inscrutable as he hung his head There was a long pause before he set it down and rose to his feet, the glass crackling audibly under his boots.

He moved after Jun and shut the door once outside. The bustling noise of the town filled the awkward silence finally. With the most unnatural, forced smile, Malachi spoke softly, “Lovely weather for a walk, isn’t it?”

Although Malachi controlled his voice, every syllable sounded strained through gritted teeth. Jun's head bobbed, "But... That's not what you want to say." The thought leapt from his mind to his lips before he could stop it. Jun's bottom lip shrank into his mouth. "S-sorry," he stammered for the tenth time since he broke the unknown object.

“No.” Malachi agreed, his eyes meeting his with unwavering resolve. “It’s not.” He paused at the sidewalk to allow Jun to catch up. The elf took a deep breath before continuing, his tone earnest and sincere. “But I would like to get along with you. I was thinking… perhaps you could explain to me your point of view. What you remember before you and I started this journey and how it’s made you feel.“

His gaze remained steady and serious. “ Then I’d like to also make you understand mine.”

Jun stared at the ground in silence for a good long time. "What's there to say?" he finally muttered. "I'm just some pathetic guy who fell down the stairs because he couldn't get a plastic bag off his face. You people found me and took me here… to 'Avalia'." His tongue fiddled with the ginger candy in his mouth. "Don't know why any of you thought that was a good idea… Whatever it is you want from me, you got the wrong guy. I'm no one and I've nothing valuable. I want to… have to go back home."

Malachi frowned. He paused before asking simply, “...Do you understand where Avalia is, Jun?”

"In a different dimension from Earth," Jun said to Malachi the character and paraphrased GM Vaeril's welcoming speech, "where 'magic pulses and the land is beautiful beyond comprehension.' It's ruled by the evil dark elves and you're on team good guys."

To the player playing Malachi, Jun said, "I understand the setting, it's a classic. Easy for newbies to get into and flexible enough to add details later. I like it, I do. A-and I know you guys put a lot of effort into this. I just—I have to go." He sighed, "Got adulting to do." Familiar faces filled his mind, making his chest tighten. "… People I miss…"

Malachi’s brows lifted. He folded his arms. Though the words did not exactly add up in his brain, he felt he was perhaps on a route to understanding his perspective. However, instead of commenting, he decided he’d hear out Jun as much as he could first. With a wave of his hand, he gestured for them to begin walking down toward the beach as he asked, “What do you mean by the setting, exactly? And… What are newbies?”

The weight on Jun's chest grew heavier as his heart sank at the realization that this conversation was a farce; "Malachi" wasn't listening, he was just pretending to be. This thought left Jun feeling more isolated and unheard than before.

Exhaustion suddenly washed over him.

Jun dragged his feet over to the closest structure and slumped against it. "Setting as in… where all this takes place," he explained to no one who actually needed the clarification. "Newbie, meaning newcomer."

Since this wasn't going to be about leaving the campaign, and not remotely brave enough to test his luck with the cranky team leader, Jun switched to the other topic mentioned. "Uh… so… What's your story, 'Malachi Elowyn'?"

“Setting.” Malachi repeated as if tasting the word. “...Like a chosen setting for a novel…”

He fell silent as he took a moment to mentally work out what was occurring here. In combination of the strange things Jun had uttered over the last week and what he had just said, he was starting to get a decent idea that Jun thought this entire situation was not real.

“Jun…” He paused to stare down at him. For a moment, he saw young elven child with long blonde ringlets and a pout on her face as she swore allegiance to her unique way of thinking. At first, he thought he had conjured her vision in his mind because Jun had requested his story, but he slowly realized that had not been the reason.

Regardless, It hurt to see her. He didn’t want to, yet there she was intruding in his memory even when he tried his hardest to push all of them away.

However, he could not push her away. He knew he needed to see her. Perhaps Rosamira would have been able to understand Jun in a way he could not. No matter what anyone had told her, she had always been determined to see the world in her own way. It had been difficult to get through to her, but when he had, it had been because he had been short and sweet. “This isn’t a fabricated scenario… This is real. ” He took a step back and opened his palm. Flickers of light appeared in small flashes as energy began to conjure above. A small ball of light energy began to grow from nothing, growing in size and brightness. “I have a feeling you may tell me you believe this is a illusion, but I ask that you hover your hands near it and feel the heat… From what I understand, no one on earth harnesses such ability. I need you to understand, for your safety, that you are not on earth anymore, Jun. You are in an entirely different place.” The light that danced in his hands reflected in his still blue eyes. Allowing a bit more intensity to fall into his gentle tone, he added, “I implore you to tell me what it is I need to do to make you believe me.”

Jun flinched as the figure he assumed was Malachi approached. Instinctively, he raised his backpack as a shield. However, whatever the other man had planned, he stopped short. Instead, a bright light illuminated the area. Without his glasses he couldn't tell, but Malachi was probably performing a pretty cool magic trick.

Believe me.

The sincerity in Malachi's voice took Jun back to the day he witnessed a patient having a psychotic episode in the middle of the ER. They ranted about the evil forces being upon them, urging everyone to unite and wield long-lost magical powers to fend off the impending doom. It had taken a team of nurses and a security guard to restrain them.

Was Malachi like that patient? Or was Jun the one losing touch with reality?

A long pause stretched out as Jun stared into the luminous display. "I don't know. There isn't much I think you can do," he finally admitted.

"Earth might not have real magic, but there are magicians and illusionists who do that kind of trick. With enough money and time, anyone can build a theme park like this. There's even communities that dress up like the people here and have fun playing pretend."

Jun looked up at the blurry shape above the bright orb. "… No one's given me a reason to believe any of this is 'real'." He hesitated. Just when he was ready to add further, the ginger candy made a surprise appearance in his windpipe, causing him to cough and splutter uncontrollably.

Once the coughing subsided, Jun, his eyes teary and voice raspy, managed to croak one question, "W-why should I trust my kid-kidnappers?"

Malachi’s face remained stoic throughout Jun’s words. He shut his hand, the orb dissipating, and then folded his arms. “There’s been reasons to believe it’s real Jun. It’s just easier not to… It’s easier to believe this is all a game and everything here is an illusion than to accept that your reality has changed… And perhaps you have lost everything. Believe I know.” He chewed the inside of his lip a moment.

The way Malachi said all that rubbed Jun the wrong way. This is starting to feel like an Asch Conformity Experiment, he thought.

“You can’t go home, Jun, because then-”

”SOMEBODY HELP ME!” A shrill voice suddenly filled the air. It was obviously coming from behind the homes and in the thick of the woods, but it was close enough to pierce through the air and cause several folks walking by to pause.

On cue. His gamer instincts were right: this "heart-to-heart" was the best setup for a battle encounter. Jun sighed and turned to the direction they came from."That's that then. Good talk. Time to save the day, hero."

“Come with me.” Malachi said without hesitation.

"No thank you. Go have fun." Jun kept walking. "I'll tell the others about the encounter so they won't miss out on loot and EXP. I don't want to participate." Even though he saw it coming from a mile away, he still felt salty for being used like this.

Not like they needed him anyways.

“It’s not an encounter, Jun….” He sighed with frustration. “Fine. Go inside.” He waved him off and waited to see Jun go back inside the house before running off on his own.

It took some effort to backtrack and find the door handle. Still, Jun managed to get back inside the right house and walk toward the voices. "Hey guys. So you know, Malachi ran off into the woods." Or, at least, that's what he thought the green mass was.

Having escaped the grouch's clutches, Jun relaxed. His stomach, which had been tied in knots, now roared for sustenance. Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, he hastily put his glasses on before getting himself some breakfast.

TLDR

Malachi and Jun took a walk outside to try to reach an understanding. Their conversation was cut short by a cry for help. Malachi rushed to the woods to investigate while Jun returned to the house to have breakfast. He let the others know where Malachi went.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Ryn & Prince Wulfric
Part II

Date: Sola, 23^rd
Time: Early morning

---

---

Ryn’s gaze remained fixed on the prince, eyes following his every move with a sense of silent fascination. Positioned at a comfortable distance, the count stood nearby, an ever-present shadow that faded into the periphery.

The prince’s bewildered expression and clumsy movements were a stark contrast to his regal demeanor. His lack of culinary prowess could not have been more evident. Every attempt was met with tiny missteps, transforming the task of cooking an egg into an insurmountable challenge for him. Yet, despite the adversity, the prince persisted. Never once voicing a complaint, plunging headlong into uncharted territory.

Judging purely from the state of his office, Prince Wulfric appeared to be a high-achiever who was both self-reliant and self-demanding—qualities capable of shaping him into a king who could create a better kingdom for the people or a tyrant, thus perpetuating the cycle.

In the kitchen, Prince Wulfric only reinforced this impression. After explicitly stating what his skills were, Prince Wulfric challenged himself by choosing a meal that did not utilize those skills. He did not bother to ask what Ryn’s skills were; he simply decided to take on the task of cooking all by himself. What stood out the most was that, from start to finish—from the moment he scoured the kitchen for tools and ingredients, to the moment he extricated the overcooked, unseasoned, and excessively oily scrambled eggs from the skillet—, the prince never asked for assistance or advice from anyone. “You’re not used to asking for help, are you?”

Despite Wulfric’s lack of cooking skills, and the eggs he’d cooked being what they were, he arched an eyebrow at the count. “Why would I need help?” It was a simple dish - or so he’d been convinced.

“Did you not? Correct me if I am wrong, because it seemed like you were struggling from step one. There’s no harm in asking where the tools and ingredients are, or how to cook a sunny-side up.”

Though his countenance was of one who would very much like to stubbornly deny it, the prince remained silent; they both knew he had been. It would be strange to say that he shouldn’t have struggled or needed help, but that was closer to his sentiments. It was also true that asking hadn’t occurred to him, since people usually either offered their help (freely or for a price), gave critique unprompted, or he simply ordered them to do what needed to be done.

Ryn took a bite of the scrambled egg. Contrary to its creator’s grim silence, the dish was palatable. “It’s a wonderful first attempt, Adel! We can certainly make use of this.” Ignoring the prince’s skeptical glare, Ryn took another bite, his mind already exploring recipes that could incorporate the prince’s eggs. When he found the one, he turned to Prince Wulfric, “I have an idea. Why don’t we work together this time?”

“I assumed you would make the ‘bacon’ part of eggs and bacon,” he informed the count dryly. That’s about the level of working together he’d expected. But by the way he spoke, Hendrix appeared to possess some cooking proficiency. Still, the prince remained unconvinced. “You want to incorporate that,” with his fork, he pointed at the overcooked offender, “into your idea?”

“In which case, you must learn to articulate your thoughts more clearly, Adel.” Ryn replied with lighthearted frankness. “We, the common folk, lack the ability to read minds.”

Wulfric huffed, because this was about reading intentions, not minds. “I stated the goal,and proceeded to pursue it in part. Is it not clear enough that the remainder should be done by someone else?” That someone else in question had been entirely content to study him, earnest and zealously intent. Had it been someone else, he might have thought it was for personal entertainment. But while Hendrix obviously wanted something, he wasn’t yet sure what that was.

“No, it is not clear.” The count gave a quick smile. “That’s what makes assumptions so dangerous… and why communication is vital if you want people to work at top efficiency.”

Ryn regarded the plate of eggs resting on the table. Unseasoned meant that they possessed the potential to be transformed into something extraordinary with the addition of the right ingredients. Overcooked did not mean burnt or rotten. There was still room for improvement, a chance for change. “It’s not too late.” He said to the next king of the Danrose bloodline. “There’s still hope for you.” For a prolonged instant, the black pools of Ryn’s eyes remained locked on grayish blue before turning away.

Wulfric wasn’t aware of all the implications of those words, but he could very well tell when he was being judged. So, for that moment, as they locked gazes, he stared down at Hendrix, a sense of pride exuding from the royal. There was an air of cold, haughty superiority about the prince while the count formed whatever opinions about him that he would.

He stood there; unmoving, unflinching, unapproachable.

But perhaps, not truly unchangeable.

When the count moved onto their cooking mission, Wulfric eased his imposing demeanour. He was resolved to follow through, and wasn’t opposed to heeding Hendrix, since he was obviously the more experienced cook of the two. Thus, the two men began anew, this time with a more cooperative approach.

“We won’t be skinning anything, but I require your expertise in cutting, dicing, and slicing.”

Together, they gathered additional ingredients and neatly organized the kaleidoscope of colors on the countertop. At the heart of the culinary stage sprawled a slab of uncut bacon, its marbled fat glistening in the play of light. Beside it, a block of cheese displayed its proud golden rind and rich, creamy hue. A procession of produce encircled the central duo, each one a burst of life and flavor. Plump, sun-kissed tomatoes shared space with onions cloaked in delicate papery layers. Glossy bell peppers spanned a spectrum from vibrant green to fiery red, adding vivacious energy to the ensemble. While the verdant bundle of spinach and cilantro cascaded like elegant emerald ribbons. Amidst this medley, a cluster of mushrooms added an earthy touch to the composition. On the sideline, the quartet—the flour canister, oil cruet, salt cellar, and pepper castor—stood in unity, awaiting their moment to join the symphony of flavors.

After delegating the task of slicing and dicing all the ingredients to Prince Wulfric, Ryn measured flour and sifted it into a bowl. Adding salt, oil, and water, he kneaded the ingredients into a supple, elastic dough which were shaped into balls, rolled thin, and set aside. Ryn shifted his full attention to the prince and gave a few pointers as Prince Wulfric sizzled the meat and sautéed the vegetables.

Throughout the entire process, he injected abridged lessons about the economic and business aspects of agriculture in the Northern Kingdoms, using the ingredients as examples and highlighting the distinctive practices that set Caesonia apart from other countries—for better and for worse. Pausing in the middle of a lesson on occasion to share tidbits of trivia about the ingredients they were using or to impart advice on how to cook them properly.

Here and there, the count’s lessons turned into surprisingly in-depth discussions, since Wulfric was well-versed in economics. The prince argued the merits and demerits of particular models and practices. However, he also interjected with an idea or three on possible improvements pertaining to economy, business, and agriculture. Too, he shared the rare tidbit of his own experiences of coming across – to him – unusual meals, ingredients, or customs.

Abruptly, Ryn asked. “What did you notice when watching the kitchen staff?”

“They’re better skilled, and more used to working with each other,” he replied with a shrug, because that much was obvious. He turned half-way in their direction to regard them once more. They had advanced in their meal preparations; they weren’t making only the usual breakfast, brunch, and/or lunch. Today, they were tasked with supplying the Tea Party event as well.

“There is a particular order which I appreciate…” Wulfric gestured at the process unfolding in front of them. He expounded upon what, to him, was key: that each person acted in accordance to their role and skills; that those who could do more strived to prove themselves yet that the whole remained unimpeded by excessive, self-sabotaging competitiveness; that if there was a lack, someone else stepped in; the existent hierarchy; the efficiency of their operations, and the wondrous final products which emerged as a result of it.

It was unnecessary to follow Prince Wulfric’s gaze; Ryn already witnessed the seamless collaboration among these individuals the day before. Their livelihood and well-being depended on it. Although the prince’s acknowledgment of the servants’ efforts was appreciated, there were other matters the count wished him to take note of. “... Is there anything else you noticed or thought?”

“Each individual and their quirks,” Wulfric sighed. “Is that your point?” He guessed.

“Let’s see…” He tracked each of them, analyzing. He didn’t know any of them, but discerning people’s habits, traits, and motives was a common practice for him.

“The head chef,” he first settled on the older man with close-cropped graying hair and short trimmed mutton chops. “His work is very much a matter of pride to him.” That was apparent by how he regarded each meal, from its conception to its conclusion. Each success served as a testament to his expertise. “He’s confident, and feels secure in his position.” He was aware of the few talents surrounding him, yet was unthreatened by them. “But he’s somewhat rigid, and - how did Zarai term that? - a sexist.” In the few interactions he’d witnessed, the chef was attentive to his most immediate male underlings, but ranged from dismissive to denigrating of the female staff.

With the exception of one. “She’s the one he can respect, possibly due to her seniority.” That woman was old; thinned silver hair tied into a bun, face wrinkled, weathered, and dry. “She’s also the type of person for whom this is her life’s work.” Yet she wasn’t even the underchef. “She is more concerned with cultivating the next generation. Kindly, but can keep them in line. Knows how to conserve her strength, however…” She was tired, strained, and with a certain heaviness about her. Focusing visibly posed her a challenge. “The ailments of old age, I suppose,” he concluded.

Wulfric went on, picking and selecting a few people to focus on. “He likes to experiment, and is familiar with foreign cuisine. There’s some strife with his more traditional superior.” An energetic youth from Felipina with a warm brown complexion, his black hair pinned up and covered.

“She is meticulous and exacting.” A woman with a heart-shaped face and braided wheat hair, whose portly appearance and soft features were belied by her intense, singular concentration on a given task. “Good for fine, delicate work. Though, she struggles where speed is preferred over finesse.”

“He is evidently enamored with swords, and fantasizes of adventure,” he nodded at a young boy. Even after one of his overseers had already twisted his ear for the distraction, the small brunette still snuck an occasional glance over his way, marveling at his sheathed sabre.

“She is skittish, wary of the two strangers here…” The willowy, black haired woman happened to catch his gaze, and he immediately realized it wasn’t quite fear that was causing her furtive glances. “No, never mind.” He promptly went on to ignore her, lest she get the fanciful notion that she had a chance, here.

Wulfric fell silent then, because he’d frankly had enough of this exercise. While he had been attentive for the duration of it, he hadn’t exhibited much enthusiasm; now, he was simply bored. He was still idly watching the servants, more so for something to do, but wasn’t interested in attempting to dissect any more of them.

Prince Wulfric’s astuteness for discerning the characteristics of the staff solely based on their actions in the kitchen was truly impressive—a skill that held great promise for future business endeavors. Although he showed little enthusiasm and harbored a noticeable reluctance towards the task, he carried out what he assumed Ryn had asked of him. The longer he continued, however, his momentum waned, and he gradually abandoned his observations, descending into silence.

A laugh cut through the stillness that had settled between them. “I must confess, I did not anticipate you to delve into character analysis… though, I suppose it’s an essential skill in this treacherous terrain we call court life.” He extended the plate of scrambled eggs back to its visibly bored maker. “Could you season this with a pinch of salt and pepper, and then mix it with the other ingredients? We’re nearly finished.”

“Oh, it wasn't that?” But if not analyzing, Wulfric didn’t know what Hendrix had meant him to do. He laughed shortly at a part of his comment, however. “This treacherous terrain is called life,” he remarked, darkly humorous. At the following request, he inclined his head. With exceeding caution, he seasoned the eggs, then mixed them in with the rest. He was rather looking forward to being done with this…cooking.

Ryn carefully transferred the dough disk onto a hot, cast-iron skillet, where it sizzled and blistered, creating pockets of golden-brown and the scent of toasting flour filled the air. “One might think one would have a clearer view of the world from the ivory tower, but the truth is, when you’re so distant from it all, it becomes challenging to see and hear what’s happening. … Unfortunately, when you venture too close, scrutinizing every detail, you risk overlooking other crucial pieces of the puzzle.”

“Perhaps,” was as far as the prince was willing to concede him on that one.

The tortilla somersaulted through the air and landed back onto the skillet. “When the staff came to talk to me, how much were you paying attention to what they were saying?”

“To the general thread of the conversation, and…”

“Concerns about security? Rest assured, Adel.” Without diverting his gaze from the sizzling skillet, he pointed the spatula in a seemingly arbitrary direction. Beyond the flurry of activity, near one of the exits, a sentinel stood watch—a knight belonging to Lady Morrigan’s retinue. “My ‘freedom’ here is an illusion. Your cousin has taken great pains to ensure that. From what I could gather, she has taken it upon herself to be the vigilant eye in places that often go unnoticed by those upstairs.” A brief, subtle nod of acknowledgement passed between the prince and the knight before the knight withdrew deeper into the shadows. “… Word has it that she doesn’t shy away from employing brutal methods if it means safeguarding her family.” Though the same rumors suggested less noble motivations were at play as well.

That last sentence, in and of itself, didn’t mean much to the prince. For one, violence in the name of safety (and other such lofty goals) was very much in line with how his family, and to an extent the country - nay, even humanity as a whole - operated. “You might want to be more specific,” Wulfric noted.

“Ah… so you are not aware… I see.” For the first time there was a hint of disappointment in the count’s voice.

As Ryn continued to cook the tortillas, he started to list the names of the servants who approached him and what merchandise they sampled or requested. On the surface, the goods were mundane, spanning from kitchen utensils to an assortment of remedies. To the casual observer, there was nothing amiss. That is, until one paused to reflect. Why were these servants having to rely on a foreign merchant for the provision of essential items?

At first, Wulfric simply memorized what he was told. Eventually, a pattern emerged. Remedies for various ailments, from cuts, to bruises, burns, even torn or otherwise damaged flesh, and the like. “Hmm.” A frown marred his expression. It took him a bit to even begin to try and figure out the purpose of servants purchasing kitchen utensils - items which should be available to them at their workplace. Could it be they were being made to ‘replace’ something…? In a similar vein, they had to get treatment from outside sources, and in a seemingly secretive manner to boot. Combining all Hendrix had said and implied while accounting for Morrigan’s other profession painted a rather grim picture.

“I can see how that would be a problem,” the prince stated softly. His expression was tight, though his gaze was distant and indiscernible as he stared at nothing. He had witnessed Morrigan’s expertise several times. On criminals. If she was expanding her pursuits outside of those boundaries…

At one point, Wulfric’s hand had found its way onto the countertop, fingers tapping away while he was lost in thought. So, quite possibly, Morrigan was tormenting their servants. If so, shouldn’t she be stopped?

But even as a part of him thought of the possible solutions: remove her, convince her, find someone else, run interference–

–Another part of his mind conjured the innumerable senseless brutalities he was aware of.

A maid fainted? Execute her. Looked the wrong way at someone? Gouge their eyes out. Broke a vase? Off with the hand, and be grateful it’s not worse. Declared a heretic? What else but the stake. Petty criminal? Flay them alive. They didn’t show reverence? Hang them. Bored of someone? Throw them away. Oh, but if they’re useless, best send them to the afterworld! Why would it matter? They’re roaches, the lot of them.

Care? What care? Oh, one got too close? You let? No, no, it’s a delusion, a trick! That filth, it must be cleared, it should be expunged, you will understand this one day.

Just what is this?! Treason! Treason! To the guillotine with that traitor! And don’t you dare ever–

Sometimes, it felt like multiple voices were whispering, Kill. Kill him.

Wulfric’s restless fingers had long come to a stop. Even as storm clouds gathered in his gaze, overcasting the crystalline blue, there was no change whatsoever in his countenance.

Yet It could sense it, even from the depths of the abyss. The nascent stirrings of a storm charged the air with tension. An electric current hummed and crackled, causing every hair to rise on end. The breeze twisted and turned with increasing vigor as it carried the unmistakable scent of petrichor and anticipation. Wisps of dark shades swirled together to merge into an ever-growing mass that swallowed the once grayish blue expanse. Thunder rumbled, a deep and primal growl that reverberated through It. As It inhaled the thickened air, It savored the tingling sensation that teased Its tongue. And grinned.

Suddenly, he affixed the count with a look. “Ah, not to worry,” there was quiet intensity in his words. “I happen to believe there is a difference between discipline and torture.” He smiled. “I will inquire into this…and deal with it appropriately.” If there was a hint of menace, it was as fleeting as a mirage. “Thank you, Count Hendrix.” His smile was still edged with sharpness, but he’d gentled his voice as much as he could.

Assuming this was the true matter the count had been leading up to all along, the prince made to take his leave.

“Ah-ah-aah.” A hand grabbed the prince’s belt, preventing him from taking another step. “Are you not forgetting something?” Ryn’s eyes twinkled as he pointed at the fresh tortilla stack, shredded cheese, and bowl of filling, waiting to be rolled into neat, tightly wrapped bundles.

The count’s hand was captured before it could make proper contact, his wrist held in a firm grip. There was a clear warning there as Wulfric turned around. However, a look of amusement soon overtook his features, and he released the offending appendage. “Are we still doing that?” he questioned. At Hendrix’s prompt, he went on to help finish their breakfast burritos.

Nonplussed, Ryn demonstrated how to assemble a burrito. “Of course we are. It’s said that breakfast is the most important meal of the day!” Each tortilla received a generous spoonful of the filling, followed by a sprinkle of shredded cheese. He folded the warm tortilla over the filling, then rolled it to ensure all melded harmoniously.

“Thank you for indulging me. I’ve learned more about you in this hour than I have the past 28 years.”

If that hadn’t been phrased so strangely, Wulfric might have said the same. “Well, there is something to be said about learning via interaction,” he retorted, ever so dryly. “Since we have only met the other day, I have to question what you thought you’ve been ‘learning about me’ from around the time we both happened to be born.” Though he was sure he also knew far more about the count now, it was equally true that he had even more questions. The uncomfortable sensation that Hendrix had managed to get more out of this conversation, even after Wulfric had gone along with something as ridiculous as cooking to try and figure out the other man, left him feeling slightly grumpy.

However, the surprisingly delicious breakfast did make up for the prince’s troubles.

“That’s precisely why I believe it’s important to see some things firsthand and not rely solely on the words of others… that can lead to assumptions.” Ryn watched the prince enjoy the burrito that contained the scrambled eggs he initially deemed a failure. “It would be a shame to discard a potential future based on assumptions alone. Wouldn’t you say?”

His mouth being too full to answer immediately, Wulfric allowed a minimal eye roll. He had expected Hendrix to turn his words against him; after all, the prince had done the very same to the count with his own point about learning. When it was polite to speak, he met Fritz’s gaze. “Yes,” he stated. “After all, it does seem that my assumptions about you have also proven wrong.”

“Oh? For the better, I hope.” Ryn took a hearty bite out of the burrito and made no effort to conceal how delicious he thought it tasted.

Wulfric, who had done the same, simply gave a curt nod. He was hungrier than he’d realized.

The answer caused the count to beam. “Then we should do this again, Adel. Next time I’ll take you outside. Maybe you’ll discover something that Prince Wulfric wouldn’t be able to.” He took another mouthful of the burrito when he noticed a yellow clump on the prince. Ryn offered a napkin to him after making a wiping gesture.

A gesture he ignored, because he wasn’t finished with his breakfast yet. “If we must,” he sighed lightly. “But give me more room to plan for it,” he advised.

With his mouth preoccupied, Ryn could only nod in response. Meanwhile, his gaze clung to the stray scrambled egg with the same stubbornness as the egg clung to the prince. Retrieving the napkin, he attempted to remove it.

Wulfric had been peacefully eating, when that damned interfering man reached out much too far into his personal space - only to find the air in front of his hand obstructed by the business side of the prince’s dagger. Wulfric’s expression, for once, fully encapsulated the phrase what the fuck.

A juxtaposition to the count’s impassiveness. His stoic countenance turned into one of pity, then eased into affable nonchalance. He swallowed what he had been chewing. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you. You have some egg on you.” Ryn pointed at it.

Slowly, Wulfric sheathed his weapon, and with equal care, removed the napkin from Hendrix’s grasp. He took a moment to finish his meal, watching the other man all the while, clearly bewildered. When he was done eating, he used the napkin himself, thank you very much.

“...Try not to get killed before then.” With that final warning, the prince departed.

“I’ll do my best.” Ryn cheerfully waved the prince off until he disappeared from view.

When his fingers brushed against the belt, Ryn sensed he had grazed something deep within Prince Wulfric. Of course there was discomfort, few welcomed the intrusion of strangers into their personal space, and the first prince seemed disinclined to tolerate such behavior even from acquaintances. Within that fleeting instant, Ryn detected something that went beyond unease. It was a feeling he had since their encounter in the entrance hall on the morning of the solstice, and grew stronger when the prince decided to equip an array of weapons and continued to wear them even within the safety of the castle. The feeling solidified as the prince’s mask shattered, revealing what had been there all along. A deeply ingrained paranoia, passed down from father to son. If King Edin was hiding behind peacock feathers, then Prince Wulfric was hiding behind weapons to protect themselves from “this treacherous terrain… called life,” where “enemies” lurked around every corner and one’s own shadow could betray them at any given time.

Ryn released a heavy sigh, contemplating whether this was what their forefathers had envisioned for their lineage. A prince who did not feel safe in his own home, another who loathed his own blood so much he punished himself for it, and a king who indulged in excess as if to fill a void. After all the sacrifices made to keep the Danroses in power, were any of these people content with their lives?

He wrapped the fork Prince Wulfric left behind in a cloth, minimizing any risk of contamination. Now he had two samples from the Danrose bloodline. Yet, instead of a sense of accomplishment, only guilt remained.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Evening Sola 22, 1739: Callum & Riona Part 2

Callum & Riona

---

“As far as I can.” Cal answered, it was the most he could offer without accidentally lying. “The wall is for me, to look at and remember. Last night, was also mostly for me, to teach myself my own lessons in a way I won’t forget.” There was nothing left of his fingernails to chew at, he picked and scratched at the wound on his hand as he thought of how to explain it.

“Yesterday in that room with Darryn, it wasn’t Edin in charge, that was all Alibeth. Cold and twisted and ugly; that was her real face. I have spent my whole life letting myself think that because Alibeth did not hate me as Edin does, that she loved me. That I owed her something for that. So I had to know whether she could even try to care about the things I care about. Show her that every time she, or my family, hurts other people, it hurts me too. But if she has any love for me it is only in the same way that Edin loves mirrors, with the hope that I’ll reflect something back at her that she wants to see, assure her that she is a good mother. She is not and I’ve wasted too much of my life wishing for monsters and parasites to love me back.” Cal hadn’t needed to do anything to know he hated Edin, it had taken root long before his earliest memories, a natural instinct to reciprocate everything he saw behind Edin’s eyes when Edin looked at him. But severing himself from Alibeth had been like carving out something malignant, painful and messy, and if it hadn’t been like that he would’ve probably found a way to forget what she really was.

“There is something dark in my family, it’s in all of us, not just Edin and Alibeth and dozens of dead kings, it’s in me too. They like making other people suffer, and I like making myself suffer, but either way, someone has to suffer. And if I’m not suffering, what if I wake up one day, and I’m just like Edin, not caring about anyone else? So I can’t say I’m not going to do something stupid again, but it is not because I think I’m some righteous martyr. I don’t want to forget to care.” He stopped as his voice faltered, waiting for the tightening of his chest to relax. It was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth, and it was tempting to try and just leave that as his answer. Except if he was going to accept that they were friends, and he already had, he couldn’t just try and sneak by with half-truths.

“I care, I do, but it’s not enough to make me a good person. I’m not scared of them anymore, but I am scared of me. I am not built for fixing things, I am built for ruining them. Doing better, for me, I think that looks like doing whatever I can to tear apart the Danrose reign. But if you want change for the better, something good that will last, that’s not gonna come from me. But I would like to help clear the road for it.”

Riona slipped her hand into Callum’s, effectively intercepting his hand’s—his mind’s—relentless endeavor to tamper with the wound… his wounds. “Stop.” She said firmly. They stood there for a few seconds in silence before she smirked. “If you start bleeding again, you’re going to contaminate the ingredients.”

With a tender squeeze, she released his hand, the warmth lingering momentarily. Her steps carried her back to the table where she started removing a few objects from its surface. “I think we should try the lozenge next time. The process is too sensitive to certain chemicals. And if that burnt sugar smell on you is anything besides actual sugar, I’d rather we not risk blowing up the house.”

“I would not blow up a house, well, unless it’s my house.” He joked back, it just seemed the better way to respond to that statement. “And I wouldn’t come here too far gone and fool around with magic. I am not that stupid. But I am tired and another night is not a bad idea.” If Riona didn’t trust his current state, he wouldn’t argue about it, not when came to magic.

“I said we should try the lozenge next time. I didn’t say we shouldn’t try anything tonight. But if you really are tired we can just hang out. Don’t want your effort getting here to be a total waste.”

It was obvious this time Riona was the one diverting the conversation. She wanted to lighten the mood, but she was also buying herself time to mull over Callum’s words. His admission that his actions weren’t entirely selfless or selfish brought both a sense of relief and worry. His answer confirmed and denied Lady Morrigan’s claims. That meant that the scales could swing in any direction. If Riona told him, would he help her or would he ruin her?

“The shaking, is it because you drank too much or you didn’t drink at all?” An unfamiliar jar caught her attention, her hands picked it up for closer scrutiny. Riona’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as she swiveled to Callum, the beginnings of a smile filled with excitement spreading across her face. “Is this what I think it is?” She raised the jar of geshrow root.

“See, I pay attention.” He could tell from her reaction he’d at least gotten something right yesterday. “If you ever need anything, I can do that. Just think of it as misappropriating Edin’s money towards his own downfall.” He offered, phrasing it more as an act of treachery than a favor.

“The best use of taxpayer money.”

“You don’t need to worry about me, I’m good. Probably just didn’t drink enough is all. I was at the tavern earlier, but just to pay something off, and then I ran into Farim there. He’s from Alidasht and yesterday I think I made a pretty bad impression, fighting with Ana, so I had to make a better one. I had a few drinks with him and we might even be friends soon. You should hear about his dad, really rivaling Edin for being the worst. Anyway, I am expanding my social circle, and seeing things more clearly now. ” Callum wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Riona or himself, but he knew he should try not to drag everyone else’s mood down to his. It was a better day than yesterday and that was good enough.

As Callum talked about how he was actively making friends and broadening his horizons through them, her smile grew wider. “That’s great. Maybe he’ll be able to convince you to leave Sorian and see the world while you’re at it.”

“Leave Sorian? Drink around the world, a thousand different taverns in a thousand different cities, running away from all my problems. Stopping by every now and then to remind my family I hate them before continuing a life that is one long indulgent vacation. Would you still be friends with that guy?” Cal asked, not that he needed an answer to know it wasn’t an option. The guilt, with his tendencies, he’d only rot away faster like that. The palace didn’t feel like a home but Sorian was home. He owed something to Sorian, even if it was just trying and failing, that was better than giving up.

“If you don’t tell me what the best taverns are in each place after visiting so many, then no, probably not. Stingy,” she joked. “But I know your other vice that’s stronger: learning. Once you get out of here, you won’t be able to resist the temptation of knowledge. You’ll be too busy learning things that being in Sorian could never teach you… You might even discover solutions to problems this place has.”

Riona rolled the jar in her hands before placing it, and all the other stuff in her arms, back on the table. “Now that we actually have the root,” she leafed through the pile of notes, “we have a better chance at the spells you said you wanted to do,” Riona pulled out the notes mentioning geshrow root and handed them over to Callum. “We can try one of these tonight or, if you are tired, choose which ones you want to do later. Just remember we don’t have that much root.”

“I’m going to make tea. You got two options.” Riona said as she started toward the back of the house. “One tastes Gods awful, but it’ll help with the shaking—useful if you want to work on the spells. The other is some fancy tea Sadie bought for me during her shopping spree. I want to find out if it’s worth the price or overpriced leaf juice. Which one do you want?”

He looked at the jar and back at Riona, who had suggested making lozenges to aid hungry people. He’d have never thought up something like that, all the good he’d ever attempted was really just a byproduct of something selfish. Even now with a powerful root within his reach, he could only think of things that protected his space and his secrets from prying eyes, or quick fixes for his own problems, or ways to send havoc through his world without a desire to predict consequences. What did other people need that he didn’t? He looked over the notes, trying to find something that wasn’t a selfish whim.

“Most tea is just overpriced leaf juice, but useful with a bad taste seems fitting, it is what I aspire to be.” He answered wondering why people even drank tea over just about anything else. Maybe his taste bud were all just shot from drinking, puking, and biting into raw onions.

He studied a page on purification, his frantic handwriting dragged out the memory of now abandoned hope that he could purify his own blood and erase the lifetimes of guilt, pain, and history that ran through him. But there was no clean slate for him, not if he wanted to avoid repeating the crimes in his family history. Stupid Callum, he thought. Stupid Callum, with stupid plans who gets to drink gross tea since I can’t be trusted with my own hands. Pretty sure people only drink tea because it’s slightly better than water.

He looked up from the notes. Water. Cal didn’t like drinking water but he knew he could without worrying about getting sick. He had that, anyone with enough money had that, but not everyone. They could change some things around, make the purification work on water instead of blood. Clean up some of the water supply and even though it wouldn’t last, it might help for a while. He put the notes down on the table, he didn’t trust his own ideas, but Riona had gone to make tea and he’d have to wait to hear her thoughts about it. Wouldn’t be doable tonight anyway, but a possibility. He tried not to get excited about the idea while he waited.

And he decided he shouldn’t be standing around waiting for Riona to serve him tea either.

Avalia

Time: MORNING
Location: INT. MAMA MALACHI'S SUMMERHOUSE - RIVER PORT
Interactions/Mentions: The guy cosplaying as an elf @princess; the other guy who’s also cosplaying as an elf @GingerBobOh
Equipment:

[+]

⋆ Attire from Earth
⋆ Backpack
⋆ Smartphone
⋆ Wallet and key
⋆ Computer
⋆ Headphones
⋆ Spare eyeglasses
⋆ Plastic bag
⋆ Letter

---

"Jun... Can we talk?"

Jun jerked at the sound of Malachi's voice. With a cautious slowness, he twisted his head to the source. Well, sort of the source. Technically, he was staring straight at Malachi's feet, but that was the best they were getting out of Jun. After all, when facing the armed and dangerous man, any sudden movements might be reason enough for Elrond 2.0 to bust some caps.

"Look… I come unarmed."

Tentatively lifting his line of sight, Jun confirmed that the spray bottle was, in fact, out of Malachi's hands. Still not out of reach, though. If he wanted, Malachi could snatch it back in a heartbeat.

Jun returned his gaze back to the bunny stain on the table, tracing its outline as he waited for Malachi to start talking. An awkward silence stretched between them. Malachi was expecting some kind of response. Jun shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"You can do it!" The blotch bunny, and definitely not Jun talking to himself in a high-pitched voice, cheered. "Even if you embarrass yourself, what's the worst that can possibly happen?"

He can blast me with a real gun and dump my body somewhere, never to be found again.

"Damn, June-bug, that's real messed up! You wanna dial that negativity down just a skosh? Ha-ha!" The bunny's chipper laugh sounded suspiciously like Mickey Mouse.

Jun heaved a weary sigh and removed his glasses to rub his eyes. It didn't matter whether he dialed it down or cranked it up to the max. As long as these people refused to free him, there was no chance of escape. This could very well be his last chance to persuade them.

The sound of something sliding across the table and a loud "THIS HELPS" startled Jun. He squinted and scanned the blurry surroundings, but without his glasses, his world was just shapeless colors. His hands explored the table's surface until his fingers brushed against a small object. Bringing it close enough to poke his eye out, Jun discovered it to be a piece of candy.

Unable to identify which colorful blur gave him the gift, Jun just nodded his thanks to the space in front of him, then popped the candy into his mouth. The familiar taste of sweet ginger flooded his mouth, conjuring memories of grandma's can of mystery treat assortments. It was always a gamble what you'd pull out of the can. Last time, he got a packet of roasted crickets. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt. Emboldened by the ginger candy, Jun found his voice at last. "I want to go home."

Silence. "Please let me go." Jun braced himself, fully expecting a torrent of words or water to attack him. When nothing came, he hesitantly continued. "I-if this week proved anything, it's that you need someone to replace me. Someone who can actually do what you want them to do. You know, someone competent and has time to w……………………………………………… adventure?"

TLDR

With the power of sugary ginger goodness, Jun mustered the courage to try to persuade Malachi.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Evening Sola 21, 1739: Bob & Barry Part 2

Callum Danrose & △△△

---

When △△△ and the self-proclaimed snake detector made eye contact, he posed the question, “But you know Mr. Delronzo’s allegiances?” He tilted his head. “Do you think Mr. Delronzo isn’t working for or with one or more of the Danroses?”

“Dunno anyone’s allegiance. Not really. Why you really asking about this Mr. Del-fonzi? He ever do anything to you?” Cal asked, but he wasn’t going to betray Marek, he didn’t know or care to know Marek’s loyalties. Cal liked the parties, he liked forgetting, and he felt welcomed there. “You think the worst thing going on in Sorian is secret parties?” He asked, shaking his head and trying to keep from making too much eye contact with the man. He didn’t like these questions, didn’t like how focused the other man got when he was asking them, and he especially didn’t like feeling like he was being studied. “Or just mad you didn’t get invited.”

His eyes softened at the prince’s attempt to protect his safe place, if not his “friend,” from △△△, but also from himself by turning a blind eye to questions he was too scared to hear the answers to. “Oh Bob, I really wish that was the case… but no. I’m not mad, I’m terrified,” he admitted, “If Black Rose is involved in… some very shady, very dangerous activities… I,” His throat and grip on Prince Callum tightened, “I fear I sent Udo to his death.” A raindrop trailed down his cheek. He lifted his gaze, only to discover a night sky barren of rain clouds. △△△ sucked in the air through his teeth, hoping it would clear his mind as it did the sky.

Though Cal didn’t understand what the man was talking about, or who Udo was; the signs of grief and guilt were familiar enough. “Hope your friend’s alright.” He patted the man’s shoulder, who simply nodded.

“I can tell how much you like this party that you can’t remember…” The next part was based purely on a hunch. “No, maybe it’s because it always makes you forget, without fail, that Mr. Delronzo’s parties are so appealing to you. It unburdens you, makes you empty. It’s your safe haven and anyone who questions it is a threat to that comfort. So you become defensive. That, I can understand.

But you do realize what the real problem is, right? It’s not the party itself. The real problem is that anything—kidnapping, theft, assault, torture, rape, murder, you name it—absolutely anything could’ve happened during the party… and no one would be none the wiser. Because conveniently, everyone loses their memories. As if the amnesia is induced on purpose.”

“Those not born protected, maybe gotta make their own protection. Maybe it’s not anything bad, just, self-preservation. Been to a lot of forgotten parties, always been fine.” Callum had his own guesses about the memory loss, he could see why it might be necessary. A few hours of escape and the price was only some lost memories; it didn’t seem a bad trade either. He knew how it all sounded, knew he couldn’t really make it sound any other way but selfish. Even if Marek was dangerous, he’d been kind to Cal and made him feel welcomed somewhere. Marek had never let him down because he didn’t remember most of their encounters. It made it very easy for Cal to stay loyal.

“So even if all that happened during the party, you think that’s perfectly acceptable? As long as you get to enjoy yourself and it’s happening to someone you don't know?” △△△ knew that people did what they had to do for survival and he could never truly hold that against them, but if Black Rose was providing torture, rape, or murder as a form of entertainment… that was an entirely different story.

“Been to a lot of forgotten parties, always been fine.” So, the prince did go to more than one of these parties. His lack of shock at the possibility that the host intentionally caused amnesia in the attendees was also very telling.

“Are you absolutely sure about that? You just said you have no memory of what happened during the party.”

“Think I would’ve noticed if I had been kidnapped, raped, tortured, or murdered. Even without memories.” Callum pointed out in a tone that made it clear he found it ridiculous to think such things were happening at Marek’s parties. “You assume the worst. It’s alight, I do that a lot too.”

“Can you say the same for the other partygoers? Not just the friends you invited, but everyone who went to that party. How do you know if none of those things happened to the other people when you have no memories? It also doesn’t rule out that something had been done to you during that time either.” Prince Callum’s loyalty to Mr. Delronzo was so blind that it bordered on fanatical. △△△ had to question whether it was genuine or if it was magically induced like the amnesia.

“Bad things happen here all the time. Party or no party. Can’t just betray someone on a maybe. Alibeth had our carriage driver beaten, almost executed. What do you think they’ll do, with someone to pin the whole thing on? Can’t let that happen to a friend. Won’t bring anyone next time, if that makes you feel better. I’ll try and keep Zarai out of it.” He offered.

Finally, the prince let it slip that he knew the host, one he regarded as a friend—even with the lack of memory. It made △△△ wonder if their encounters went beyond the secret Black Rose parties.

“Tell me, Bob. How often do powerful and wealthy people actually face severe retribution for a crime, real or fake, in Caesonia?” △△△ paused in case Prince Callum had an answer to the rhetorical question. They both knew that it was not nearly as often in comparison to the common folk. Caesonia law heavily favored the higher echelons of society, which included successful merchants.

“How much do you think wealth buys, when the crown has you marked as an enemy?” Cal returned the question with his own. “Maybe time. My house always wins. When they want retribution, they get it. I’d like to see them lose.” The other man was right about one thing, Marek had some power, power Callum didn’t fully understand or know the extent of, but it was there. If it could rival Danrose power, it was worth the risk to bet on it.

“A lot more than you think.” Much more than he could ever imagine. “You think someone who can host a party of that caliber, with that wide range of guests, likely uses magic, doesn’t have the knowledge or resources to protect himself?” He emphasized the word magic to gauge the other man’s reaction as he tried to ignore Udo’s prophetic dream. The island warrior had been marked, but how? If those men were under Mr. Delronzo’s employment, and there were no witnesses, the most plausible explanation involved magic.

“More than that, what makes you so sure he isn’t working with any member of your family? King Edin, for example.”

At the mention of the word, Callum stumbled and briefly became nothing but dead weight draped across the other man’s shoulders. “Shhh, that’s a dangerous word.” He whispered, placing a finger to his lips, as he struggled to get his footing back.

The supporting hand resting on Prince Callum’s back reflexively wrapped around his waist. △△△’s fingers gripped the fabric of the prince’s shirt, preventing any further descent. He remained motionless, watching the man try to stand up properly.

Callum was a Danrose, a name steeped in a history of enmity and bloodshed. △△△ tried imaging Edin, George, or Julian, in his arm, but could not. There was only Callum, as an individual and not a mere representative of his lineage. Yet, at the same time, △△△ could not dismiss the unmistakable resemblances, which went beyond physical appearances.

The prince’s reaction to the taboo word suggested that he acknowledged the existence of magic or, at the very least, it showed his understanding of the gravity with which the Caesonian crown regarded such matters. Surprisingly, though, Prince Callum displayed no signs of heightened caution or mistrust towards △△△, unlike the overt wariness demonstrated by Dr. Williamson or Miss Delilah when the topic of magic arose.

On the contrary, he showed concern.

“I hope anyone my family goes after finds means for protection in spades, Mr. Mysterious. You, your family, our party thrower, and anyone else. The enemy of my enemy is a friend.” Callum made the last statement with full confidence and with a troubled grin. He didn’t know why the man seemed so convinced Marek worked for Edin or anyone other Danrose.

The enemy of an enemy is a friend. △△△ smiled. He wondered if the prince was trying to tell him that people like him and Mr. Delronzo were not snakes, but mongooses. Little did he know that some snakes devoured other snakes. “Barry. You named me Barry, Bob.” △△△ paused. Mr. Berry Mysterious… Mr. Very Mysterious. “Unless it was set up for a pun all along?”

“Edin, Alibeth, Wulfric, none of them seemed happy about these parties this morning. Would be quite the twist if they were in on it, And Edin, oh if this was an Edin plot, he’d have had the perfect chance to get rid of me, all stealthy too, don’t think he’d pass that up.”

Prince Callum did not hide his disdain for the Danrose bloodline, including himself, but △△△ got the feeling that it centered strongly around specific members of the family. The prince had brought up Queen Alibeth and Prince Wulfric on his own volition. So △△△ brought up King Edin’s name to confirm that his disdain towards his parents were not limited to just his mother. It was not. Arguably, it was much stronger. Perhaps it was even the epicenter of his hatred for the bloodline.

That did not, however, eliminate the possibility that King Edin—or any of the Danroses for that matter—utilized Black Rose in some capacity. Especially with the king’s proclivity for decadence and the family’s need to make inconveniences vanish.

“He doesn’t seem like the type to need a valid reason to get rid of you. He’ll get rid of you when he needs to.” △△△’s hand reached up to toward Prince Callum’s, King George’s, face. “Maybe there’s a part of him that still cares for ‘you’ in his own broken way.” His hand lowered before he touched anything. “Or maybe he’s trying to prove ‘you’ wrong.” He would never know for sure.

“He could. Anyday, anytime, no more Callum. If you stop seeing me around, maybe I hit the right button.” He tried to say it as if it didn’t bother him, like he’d never spent hours laying awake thinking about it. “Edin cares about Edin. No one else, Not really.” He didn’t understand what the man had meant by his last statement, and couldn’t think of anything Edin would try and prove him wrong about. He didn’t care to ask either, he didn’t want to understand Edin.

Realizing how close they were to each other, △△△ chuckled. “You know what? I think you were right, it really does seem like I can’t keep my hands off you. You’re too irresistible.” He reclaimed his previous position before resuming their walk.

“If I haven’t ruined my chances entirely yet, I’d like to hang out with you again. Next time I’ll be sure I bring some booze.”

Callum snorted at that. “Sounds like you have bad taste. But if you want trouble, I’m sure you can find me. Don’t have to bring anything, I kinda like you, Barry.” He said, fake Barry wasn’t so bad, and other than the name, didn’t seem all that fake either. “Barry the Mysterious. Oh, I get it. Barry Mysterious. I’m not that clever.” He admitted.

“For now, a word of advice, as an enemy of an enemy…” He moved his mouth closer to the prince’s ear, “You don’t need me to tell you this, but forgetting your problems won’t actually solve them. If you truly want to punish yourself, Bob. You must carry the burden. Forgetting so that you can feel better… kind of defeats the purpose of punishing yourself, don’t you think? It also happens to be what Danroses do best. Forget. Make others forget.” He pulled away a bit to give Prince Callum a soft smile. “I hope all of you choose a different path than your forebears.”

“Lot of burden to carry, sometimes I set it down, so it doesn’t crush me. Always pick it back up. Just don’t know what else to do with it.” Callum spoke quietly and it was close enough to the truth. He shrugged himself off the other man and took a couple of unsteady steps away.

But Barry who was probably not called Barry was right. It wasn’t good punishment if he still got anything that made him feel better. It was also too late to change tonight’s plans anyway; he was practically at his destination, where else was he going to go? Not home, not yet. One more time, a little self-indulgence, he could do better tomorrow. That seemed like a good plan. “Thanks for your help, owe you one.”

“Any time, Bob. See you later.”

△△△ raised his arm and stretched his fingers out in a gesture of farewell to Callum until he vanished beyond the threshold of the brothel’s entrance. His smile dimmed like the retreating lights that spilled onto the desolate streets, as the weighty door slammed shut. As the stillness settled around him, △△△ reached into the depths of his coat, hands brushed against the touch of the bloodstained handkerchief. The blood of a Danrose.

---

The atmosphere inside the brothel hung heavy with a potent blend of smoke and perfume, barely concealing the desires pursued by its clientele. The promise of various pleasures, attainable at a cost, lured lost souls seeking temporary respite. Amidst the decadence and debauchery, few heads turned when the entrance door creaked open, too accustomed to the peculiarities of the establishment’s visitors; too lost in their own intoxicating indulgences.

Cutting through the haze, a figure navigated its way to the madam, who greeted it with the same warmth as any other potential patron. The beast’s lips parted, revealing a gleaming set of teeth that shimmered like the coins that spilled from its hands, cascading onto the table with musical clinks. “Can we talk business?”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

From the moment Lady Morrigan swept into the guesthouse, the Alidasht servant found themselves captivated by her presence. The allure of her movements commanded their unwavering attention. Their eyes traced the contours of her body, acutely aware of how her garments artfully accentuated her every asset, as she approached servants who had been present for the Alidasht dinner party. While most didn’t seem to mind talking to her, some eager to engage in gossip, a select few Danrose servants avoided eye contact.

Lady Morrigan bloomed with delight when she spotted a dinner guest. She trotted over to Lord Smithwood and brushed his arm with her fingertips, drawing his attention to her. He, though momentarily taken aback by the Lady’s sudden appearance, soon composed himself into a polite smile.

As members of the aristocracy in the Northern Kingdoms, they exchanged customary pleasantries. Foreign protocols guided the ensuing conversation. Distance between the two nobles and the Alidasht servant muffled their voices, but the occasional melodious laughter that spilled from the Lady traveled through the air easily enough.

However, as the conversation progressed, a subtle shift tugged at the corners of Lady Morrigan’s face, transforming her once-joyful expression into one of grave concern. Suddenly, her hands flew over her mouth, aghast at the Lord’s words. Based on how focused she was on the Lord’s feet, the source of her distress had to do with his shoes. How this, in turn, warranted her profuse apologies, remained an enigma in its own right. Footwear must be serious business in the North.

For the first time since they started talking, a hush fell between them. Lady Morrigan’s eyes fell, her cheeks tinged pink. The servant thought they detected a shimmer of moisture in her eyes. After a solemn reflection, she summoned the strength to lift her gaze and revealed her thoughts, which caught Lord Smithwood off guard once again.

Initially, Lord Smithwood appeared reluctant about what she said. In the end, when the Lady’s face clouded at his response, he relented, either accepting her request or promising to consider it. Whichever the case, her face brightened upon hearing his answer. She clasped his hands and shook them.

With a decision reached, the nobles bid each other farewell. Lady Morrigan, accompanied by her loyal knight, who clung to her like a shadow, drew close enough for the servant to eavesdrop on the latter half of their conversation.

“Are you sure that was wise?” he asked.

“Well, darling, we shall see how much the cub takes after his dear old daddy, won’t we?” she replied with a hint of amusement.

“Besides, as long as she’s breathing when all’s said and done, he can go on ahead and do as he pleases—chop her into pieces, sizzle her over a grill, earn extra coin as her procurer for the rest of the season. Gods knows, it’s none of my concern.”

She spoke her next words with chilling clarity, the cold steel of an executioner’s ax. “Dead men do not suffer… and she still has much to atone for.”

Avalia

Time: MORNING
Location: EXT./INT. MAMA MALACHI'S SUMMERHOUSE - RIVER PORT
Interactions/Mentions: The guy cosplaying as an elf @princess; the lady in a purple dress @Tae; the golden lion furry @Helo; the other guy who’s also cosplaying as an elf @GingerBobOh
Equipment:

[+]

⋆ Attire from Earth
⋆ Backpack
⋆ Smartphone
⋆ Wallet and key
⋆ Computer
⋆ Headphones
⋆ Spare eyeglasses
⋆ Plastic bag
⋆ Letter

---

Eyes, being the window to the soul and all, were a constant challenge for Jun. His weak soul made every gaze feel like staring into the scorching sun. Anger, disappointment, or shame transformed the sunrays into sharp chisels, chipping away at his spirit.

Encountering those kinds of gazes wasn't new. Malachi never missed a chance to shoot him a look filled with some flavor of anger or disappointment. Now, the purple-dressed stranger mirrored that all-too-familiar glint.

She hid it well under that smile, but that's what most socially competent people did, wasn't it? Tolerate people like Jun.

They all tolerated him because they needed a human for the story campaign. LARPing was supposed to be escapism. Why would anyone want to be a vanilla human, when that only reminded players of reality? And here was this damn idiot ruining their fun. Why can't he just play along? Inconsiderate ass. What a waste of space, a waste of time. Useless, even in a world of make-believe. Pathetic.

The surrounding conversation buried the whispered, "... I'm sorry."

A cancerous ball, the size of a marble, lodged somewhere between his heart and throat, began to spread. His breathing picked up speed as his body made a head start to that dark place where his mind always went.

"I'm sorry." He should've listed what he was apologizing for, but he could barely squeeze out two simple words before he rushed back into the house. He didn't even dare look at Zion or Enstille, too afraid to see what he might find reflected in their eyes.

When he reached the dining table, Jun was wheezing like he completed a marathon as an asthmatic. He slumped into the chair at the farthest end, clutching his backpack against his chest as negative thoughts continued their invasion.

Such a drama queen. It's not that big of a deal. Come on dude, man up. What kind of adult couldn't handle a little eye contact? There are people out there who dealt with a lot worse than you ever have or ever will. Get over it. Why does it always end up being about you? Snowflake. Stop wallowing in your own self-pity. People don’t have time for your fragile ego and your constant need for reassurance. You're such a disappointment. So worthless. You know they don't actually need you, specifically, right? You're replaceable. Nobody will miss you when you're gone. Not here, not back home. They probably haven't noticed you've been missing the entire week—...

A violent clatter jerked Jun out of the quicksand. The wind hammered against the window, demanding entry. He held his breath. When nothing else happened, he exhaled sharply, releasing the pent-up tension, and inhaled deeply, surrendering to his body's need for oxygen. The sensation of his lungs expanding and contracting grounded him.

As his breathing settled into a steady rhythm, Jun's attention drifted from the window and landed on a bunny-shaped stain on the table. He chose the cute blotch as his point of focus.

Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. With each breath, the window-rattling and invasive voices quieted down, until both faded into silence.

Lost in his task, Jun remained oblivious to the fact that the wind knocked only the window nearest to him—while all others stood silent.

TLDR

Jun goes back inside the house and sits at the dining table, just to stare at a stain like a weirdo.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

◆◆◆◆◆ "△△△" ◆◆◆◆◆◆

Time:Evening
Location: Sorian Park
Interaction(s): Lukas Larsen/Sir Mathias Larsen/Lady Zarai Lesdeman @Rodiak; Dr. John James Williamson @Conscripts

A deep rumbling emanated from the dragon’s throat, building in intensity until it erupted into a malicious laugh. “Fool! You dare order me, a mighty dragon? Our kind will never submit to a puny human.” His massive maw revealed rows of razor-sharp teeth that glistened in what little light the night provided. “Your words shan’t stop me from executing my diabolical plans!”

“After I rid myself of the bothersome Grand Healer and your father,” △△△ gave both Dr. Williamson and Mathias a wink as he unveiled his nefarious scheme, “I shall snatch your beloved prince and princess away. Condemn them to a life full of daily vegetables, with extra servings of onions and broccoli, and boring studies!” The horror of a nutritionally balanced diet and proper education drained the color from the knight’s face. “And you’ll be utterly powerless to intervene!”

“Long have I slumbered, biding my time, gathering my strength, and now the hour of reckoning has arrived!” With a majestic sweep of his massive wings, the dragon loomed over the knight, casting a foreboding shadow that enveloped him. “So revel in the spectacle, humans, as I lay waste to your kingdom. Bear witness to the chaos I bring, and tremble in the face of true power!”

The air was punctuated by the dragon’s laughter—an unhinged, maniacal cacophony that heralded suffering and brought promises of ruin.

But as his eyes fell upon the knight’s sword, his mirth came to an abrupt halt. “That sword… It cannot be! That sword was shattered and scattered to oblivion! How is it here!?” Disbelief widened the dragon’s eyes. “Unless… you’re the fabled hero of prophecy.”

“... No,” the dragon’s initial shock gave way to a renewed resolve. “You may wield the sword, but you will never defeat me! Prepare to meet your end, human!” On cue, Lukas lunged forward, his wooden sword aimed at △△△.

As the warm breeze tousled their hair and peals of laughter mingled with the night air, the pair danced around the picnic blanket that doubled as a battlefield. Lukas swung his sword valiantly at the scales of the dragon, doing his best to dart away from the deadly tickles which rendered him a squealing mess. △△△, in turn, roared with mock fury, swiping his claws inches from the knight’s armor or countering incoming attacks. Their make-believe skirmish was both playful and earnest.

In the heat of the battle, the knight’s muscles strained as he delivered a powerful and decisive blow. The legendary blade struck the dragon’s midsection, its razor-sharp edge cutting through scales and sinew, causing the monstrous creature to stagger back from the force of the impact. △△△ exaggeratedly clutched his injured side, grimacing. He slowly withdrew his claws from the gaping wound and stared down at the lifeblood coating it. “Impossible,” he uttered. The triumphant boy stood tall, his chest puffed out with pride.

Gagging for dear life, △△△ collapsed dramatically into the nearest mound of plush pillows. There, amidst the feathery comfort, the mighty dragon lay motionless; its reign of terror ended… at least for now.

Behind lidded eyes, △△△ waited for the jubilant cheers of victory to subside and the little knight’s excited voice to recede into the distance before cracking one eye open. “Is he gone?” he asked Luz sitting next to him.

He opened both eyes to look up at her. A constellation of nerine flowers, the very ones he gifted her, adorned her flowing locks. A tender warmth spread across his chest at the sight of them. “You’re still wearing these? I thought the Princes’ Court ended.” His fingertips gravitated toward the petals, “I’m glad you like them so much,” then something beneath her expression arrested his hand in its pursuit. “Please tell me the reason why you’re looking so bummed out is because all the royal children want to marry you and you can’t decide which ones you’ll have to turn down?”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

◆◆◆◆◆ "△△△" ◆◆◆◆◆◆

Time:Evening
Location: Sorian Park
Interaction(s): Major General Lyra Carris @Blizz; Dr. John James Williamson @Conscripts; Lord Roman Ravenwood @ReusableSword; Lady Violet Damien @Tpartywithzombi; Sir Mathias Larsen/Lukas Larsen/Ms. Mary @Rodiak

A peculiar sensation tugged at the very essence of △△△’s being as his gaze collided with the woman with striking crimson eyes. At first, she paid him little mind, her attention consumed by Lady Damien, relegating △△△ to the periphery of her awareness. He would have remained an inconsequential figure had her focus not momentarily shifted.

Indifference dissolved into a dawning realization. Recognition danced with emotions he struggled to decipher in the depths of those red eyes. Though, it could have been a figment of his imagination. After all, he could not recall ever encountering this woman before. No matter how deep his mind groped for memories, he found no traces of her. Yet, there was an undeniable familiarity in the way she regarded him.

When △△△ failed to mirror her expression, the woman’s eyes burrowed deeper into him, searching, questioning.

On any other day, he would have offered a proper introduction to dispel any uncertainties. Unfortunately, since this was the one thing △△△ could not do without someone’s aid, he had no choice but to substitute the introduction with a friendly smile and a graceful bow.

"Oh yeah, now that we're both here, Lord Ravenwood. Is it alright if I can see you later tonight? There's something I want to discuss with you."

Dr. Williamson’s words drew △△△’s attention. The good doctor appeared markedly less inclined to conceal his suspicions of △△△, a departure from the guarded countenance he had worn during their last conversation at the Vikena Estate. Given the circumstances, △△△ understood his apprehension.

“What a coincidence! I too have something I wish to discuss with you, Lord Ravenwood. Could you spare me a moment of your time later as well? But for now…” He faced both Lord Ravenwood and Lady Damien. “Enjoy your time together.” △△△’s voice dropped a few octaves as he placed his hand over his heart. “Truly.”

Leaving the two nobles, the count trailed behind Dr. Williamson, ever mindful of his steps or breaching the bounds of the doctor’s line of sight. △△△ positioned himself in the man's shadow, then waved at the onlookers who noticed him. A finger pressed against his lips, silently asking them not to alert Dr. Williamson of his presence.

While the adults graciously complied, young Lukas bubbled with irrepressible giddiness. His smile spanned from one ear to the other, glee sparkled in his eyes. The boy’s restless form betrayed his eagerness to pounce △△△ as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Ríoghnach "Riona"

Time: 6PM
Location: Guest House Dining Room
Interaction(s): Mayet @13org; Leo @Helo; Charlotte & Raif @princess

Tension-laden seconds inched forward with an excruciating sluggishness. Riona found herself trapped in an anxious limbo, waiting for the pivotal juncture when the Shehzadi would expose her as Reohg Knock. To her great relief, those seconds glided past without incident, releasing her from the grip of anxiety that held her captive.

"You are... different from these people, aren't you? Not only the other servants, but the Caesonian nobles as well."

Was she? Riona’s gaze swept across the room, taking in each servant and Caesonian nobility until her eyes finally came to rest on Prince Auguste. The answer came to her effortlessly. “Hardly.” She murmured, “Sometimes I wish I was… then things might have played out differently.” She was as guilty as they were, and she knew her excuses of powerlessness and inopportune timing only went so far.

"Don't hesitate in approaching me in case you need something or want to tell me something."

When Shehzadi Mayet broached the idea of accompanying her back to Alidasht, Riona brushed it off as a passing fancy. It sounded like the sort of proposition people tossed around without thinking, much like the one Shahzade Munir made about sending his personal clothier to her. Such fleeting remarks were sparked by the thrill of finding something shiny new, only to be dropped and forgotten once the novelty lost its luster. For some reason, this time, Riona was still shiny enough for this Shehzadi to be willing to meet the maid outside of work.

"...in case you need something..." SNAP!

“Young miss,” the Sultan said, “Please make sure Lord Smithwood gets something to drink and feel free to help yourself to some as well.”

The maid dipped her head and pivoted on her heel. “Your tutelage,” she breathed, her voice a whisper that brushed against the air surrounding Shehzadi Mayet.

The cup placed in front of the Varian Lordling barely held enough beverage to moisten a parched throat. Nevertheless, Riona had given the man a drink as the Sultan requested. “Should you desire more,” she stared down at him with her dark eyes, “all you need to do is ask, milord.” She only broke eye contact because the jolt from his neighbor forced her to redirect her attention.

Lady Charlotte sprang upright from her seat, on the verge of tears and ready to run out the doors. Lost in her distress, she didn’t realize that Riona could hear her say, "...I'm uncertain if I can endure this... Should I excuse myself momentarily or would that make it worse?"

Visions of the ebony-haired child crying in a dim room, far away from the adults, flashed across her mind. His body convulsed uncontrollably while he swallowed his sobs, desperate to remain unheard. Ríoghnach’s tiny hands rubbed his trembling back as she told him what her parents told her. “It’s okay to run to fight another day.” Riona didn’t realize she spoke aloud as she knelt down to press a handkerchief into Lady Charlotte’s hands. “A tactical retreat holds merit, My Lady.”

She performed a slight bow and stepped back just in time to catch a glimpse of Shehzadi Layla’s facial expression. Riona frowned in thought, her fingers rubbing the brooch adorning her neck. She then resumed her retreat to the sequestered corner, where the rest of the servants huddled together.

After dumping an assortment of random ingredients available into a tinted bottle, Riona gave it a good shake. For extra measure, she labeled it so that it wouldn’t get mixed up with any other bottle. Satisfied with her clandestine creation, the maid faced her fellow servants. “If Lord Smithwood doesn’t say ‘please’ when he orders refreshments, serve him this, will you?” The servants gave her puzzled looks. “It’s code.” Riona said, which elicited a chorus of whispered ahhs and nods of understanding.

“If he complains, just say it was me. I sometimes forget what the secret word and drink of the day are.”