JJ Doe

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Farim & Riona Part 2

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Flashback: Afternoon, After The Royal Curd’s Grand Opening

He took a moment, scanning the area as if to look for something in particular. ”If things do not work out I will make sure you will know so you can tell me that you told me so.” The Shehzade chuckled.

She wondered why he felt the need to tell her that. “Have I given the impression I desire your failure, Shehzade?” Riona followed his gaze skyward.

”Not particularly. I was just making a joke as they say. You bring tides of warning, and it is appreciated. It is a wonder that you even warn me at all - I have not done much to curry any form of favor yet here you are.” He keeps looking at Thara as she circles around overhead. ”We all are flawed in our own ways. Even if her outlook is not quite what most would want it to be - she is her own woman. If we are not meant to be, then it will become plain in time. I wish to see where things go and how she fares. There is more to that woman than some may believe.” Farim’s eyes looked down at her, his brows raised as if to silently appraise the woman he was speaking to - or even hint that she too was more than meets the eye. But he had no way of knowing such things, and thus merely smiled as he continued. ”But perhaps I am just being an optimist. I hear it is one of the few traits I get from my mother.” A brief sadness crossed his eyes as he thoughtlessly brought her up, but he moved on quickly.

The subtle quaver in his voice drew Riona’s gaze just in time to catch the flicker of sorrow in his eyes being tucked away deep inside. “Your mother sounds quite like my cousin,” Riona said. “He always sought out the best in others, regardless of how much of a طيز they were.” With deliberate timing, Riona placed her hand over her mouth and coughed into it, as if it was not too late to mask the crude word she used.

“And he was endlessly forgiving, no matter how poorly he was treated. I loved him very much, but that part of him also frustrated me to no end.” Riona shadowboxed using only her shoulders. After a few “punches,” she turned to Farim and gently ventured a question. “What other traits have you inherited from your mother?”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the use of foul language. Farim held back his snickering as best he could and looked at her to answer her question. ”To be frank. I do not know. I was removed from my mother once I was able to walk. But I was…reminded how much I seemed to inherit her charm and good will. Oh and her hair - something about the way it curls or some such.” Farim explained this while returning to a slightly more contemplative look. His thoughts wandered to what he saw back at the ritual the other night. Was it real? A premonition? Or all just one bad drug trip? Despite his thinking he played it off with a shrug. It would do him no good to think on such things now, but he decided it was time to get some answers soon - perhaps tonight even.

“Removed? Why?” The question came out before Riona could catch it. She winced inwardly, realizing too late that she’d stumbled into potentially sensitive waters. “I beg for your forgiveness, Your Highness. It is not my place to pry into personal matters.”

Farim crossed his arms and furrowed his brows as they walked, the man's finger tapped on his elbow as if to contemplate something. His tone however, was still pleasant as he spoke. ”Apology accepted. I take no offense, it is only natural for one to be curious or worried over something like this. But to answer your question….” His eyes darted around, as if to look for someone who may be watching. Farim leaned into her ear and a venomous whisper dripped from his lips, as if the malice contained in his words threatened to physically manifest. ”Because Hafiz is a cruel man who wishes nothing more than the worst for the son who refuses to be his trained puppet.” For the moment, his eyes portrayed that same malcontent his words carried.

Once Farim finished, however, he switched back to his more personable demeanor. The Shehzade straightened his posture and looked at Riona. ”To further explain, I believe it was to exert a form of control over me. Or to simply traumatize me. I was never told the reason behind her ‘departure’. When I managed to see through that lie, all I was told was she was taken for my own good. One lie replaced with a load of crap.”

The maid’s eyes widened fractionally before she schooled her expression. Life in Alidasht was known for its harsh strictness, but this… And for the Grand Vizier’s son to refer him by his given name spoke volumes. “That’s terrible,” Riona said frankly and without hesitation. “What kind of person would do that to prove some twisted point? That’s just—” Realizing she was getting herself worked up, she cut herself off. Stopped walking. Closed her eyes and exhaled sharply through her nose.

After a thoughtful pause, she asked softly, “Did you ever discover what became of your mother?” The unspoken questions hung in the air between them: Was the woman even still alive? And if she was, was there any hope of finding her?

Farim could only offer a slight shrug in response - his eyes beginning to glaze over with that of a forced indifference. If he thought too much on it, his emotional self would likely bubble forth. ”I have my theories. She is likely being held in some safehouse - or prison - and unless I … persuade him then I do not think I would learn much about her whereabouts.” The man huffed as he added another clause. ”If she is still alive that is.” Farim turned to face her, gauging her reaction and whether or not she wanted to dig further down this rabbit hole.

Riona’s face lit up, and she felt a spark of excitement. “Then there is still a chance! You—” The words died on her lips as she noticed a familiar look in the eyes of this man she barely knew.

Her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before she finally found her voice again. “I… have another cousin, younger than the one I mentioned before. You remind me of him.” Though they looked nothing alike. If the Shehzade was the sun, then her cousin was the moon dancing with the stars. “He had a terrible habit of suppressing his emotions, often behind a smile.” She shook her head. “No, habit is not the right word. It was a necessity, a skill he learned, practiced, perfected... to survive.” Riona never forgot the time she found her cousin quietly crying alone, hidden in the shadows of a dark room. Or the times she’d watched the essence of who he was slip away during a particularly brutal training session, leaving an automaton in his place.

Riona’s brows stitched together. “At the risk of overstepping my bounds, Your Highness, may I do something that I should have done when I knew he was pretending to be fine?”

Farim offered a tilted smirk at the comparison to her cousin. It was nice to know his tale seemed to be a shared one - even among souls he did not know. There was a moment of contemplation to himself as she shared the experience of her extended family. Was this all just an act? A skill developed just to survive his cruel and unloving upbringing? He didn’t entirely dismiss the idea, but to say his happiness was not genuine might not be the most accurate statement. It was an interesting morsel of food for thought. As Riona posed her question he stopped their walking pace and faced her with a gentle beaming expression.

”I am sorry your cousin - and frankly myself - have had to endure such a life. If it is any consolation - my demeanor is a genuine one. Misfortune is everywhere, and I choose to smile despite it. I want my friends, and enemies, to know that I persevere no matter what. I am by no means impenetrable emotionally - I have had my sad moments, my angry moments, and bitter moments. I wear my heart on my sleeve - as foolhardy as it all sounds.” The Shehzade pauses for a few moments to let his words sit for a moment, then replies to her earlier question. ”And yes, I grant you permission to do whatever it is you may want to do - if you only tell me first.”

“So you were not suppressing your emotions when you were talking about your mother?” Riona eyed Shehzade Farim, saying nothing. She wasn’t buying it—that glazed look was the opposite of wearing his heart on his sleeves—but she bowed her head anyway. “Then forgive my presumption, Your Highness. I misunderstood.” She smiled briefly. A blend of polite and pinch of teasing. “It appears my offer is unnecessary.” Without telling him what the offer was, and she continued their walk.

After a few steps, Riona spoke again. “Are you certain your father is the only one who holds the key to your mother’s whereabouts? If he has proven untrustworthy before, why believe him now? What if your father is misleading you so that he can continue to have some hold over you?” She frowned. “If you truly wish to break free from his influence, to uncover the truth... perhaps you should seek her out on your own. It would certainly be a powerful message to your father.” Her expression softened. “And if you found her alive. That would be... quite the victory, would it not?”

He seemed to be befuddled for a moment, pausing in stride before jogging to catch back up. ”Now hold on!” Once he caught up he would resume their strollong pace. ”How cruel to pique my curiosity and then decide against telling me.” He breathed a slight chuckle. ”It is more than that. I do not really have a uniform ‘rule’ for how I carry myself. I am simply doing my best. It would be inhumane of me to not frown at the thought of my mother - let alone any of the horrible things that man has likely done to her.” His face became more stoic as he steadied his breathing. ”But to explode into tears or sadness over every errant thought that crosses my mind would not be healthy either. Life is all about balance, young lady.” He addressed her casually in his Mother Tongue with those last few words - smirking at the playful nature of his banter.

“... An errant thought so intense that it threatens to overwhelm you with sorrow is not something to be dismissed, Shehzade.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Flashback: Night Sola 23, 1739

Callum & Riona Part 6

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with @princess

To be honest, Riona expected a library with towering shelves crammed with musty old books and classified documents… not a storage filled with forgotten relics and curios from who knows when. Not that she was complaining. If anything, Riona was intrigued. Someone had gone to great lengths to conceal this trove. “It’s a lot of effort to hide stuff… Think any of it’s magic?” she asked Cal as she approached the colored scrolls. Her fingers traced over the one tied with a green ribbon. Carefully, she tugged it loose and unrolled the parchment to see what was written on it.

Riona’s eyes widened and lips parted as she read. “Cal…” She spun to face him. “Cal, look.” Thrusting the paper his way, she pointed at the incantation, barely able to contain her excitement. “Spell scrolls!”

Callum took a few cautious steps toward the mirror in the center of the room. Dust that had accumulated on the glass obscured his reflection, but a strange handprint was burnt onto the mirror. He slowly reached out his hand, letting it hover but never quite touching the burnt print as he measured the size of the hand. He wondered what would happen if he touched it. Probably something bad, he struggled to keep that in mind. His eyes moved to the strange crown, glowing and gilded with sharp spikes that clearly warned not to touch, and yet before he realized it, his hand was already reaching towards it.

Riona’s voice broke his trace and he turned to scan the scroll she’d opened. “Curse scrolls.” He whispered, a gleeful grin spreading across his face. “Do you think anyone else knows about this room? Doesn’t seem like anyone’s been here in ages.” He eyed the other scrolls for a moment before reaching past Riona and taking the red one. Opening another couldn’t hurt, and even as he unfurled the scroll his eyes wandered around the room again. “What do you think would happen if I drank that?” His attention turned to a small glass bottle with a shimmering liquid.

Riona moved through the room, her maid’s eye taking in every detail. The air hung heavy with neglect, undisturbed by any hint of ventilation. The layer of dust that blanketed the floor was untouched, save for the footprints she and Cal made. She walked over to the pedestal topped with a pair of gloves and a wooden box, and examined the accumulation of grime before swiping a finger through it. “Even if they did, they haven’t been here in a decade. At least.”

“Looks like these curse scrolls have a fire theme going for them.” He commented as he read the spell’s effects aloud. “And I’m liking the sound of this one.” He added before rerolling the scroll and stuffing it into his pocket.

She picked up the music box, brushing away the dust in search of markings, but it was a plain as a box could be. The hinges creaked as she opened the lid and peeked inside. There was a tiny wooden dancer figure, ready to twirl upon the box being wound up.

Closing it again, Riona cranked the handle as her gaze flickered to the mysterious bottle. “Besides getting sick from drinking something that’s probably well past it’s expiration date?” She shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. But if you’re dead set on chugging it, can we do it in or next to an infirmary, just in case?” Maybe a sip first, to be extra safe. If it the effects were powerful in small doses it’d be a terrible idea to drink it all at once. And taking a sample to study it’s components wouldn’t hurt either.

“If it’s anything like these scrolls, probably best not to.” He agreed with a disappointed sigh.

Her hand suddenly jerked to a stop when the small handle refused to turn further. With a flick of her wrist, Riona opened the music box again.

A sweet, lovely tune began to fill the air. The song would lure both Riona and Callum in with its enchanting sound. However, Riona would begin to hear the music shift into something more sinister that only she could hear. The song gradually became a nightmarish cacophony of the screams of those most dear to her. Those she loved most would scream in agony and cry her name with desperation.

It was a tune Riona knew all too well—agonized screams, shrieks of pure terror, the wails of the heartbroken, desperate cries for help. A song that had seeped into her dreams and waking thoughts for fourteen long years. Familiarity didn’t make it any easier to listen to, but it let her endure, listening far longer than she should’ve.

The chorus of suffering changed, voices from people she met after the massacre joined the ensemble. And when she heard his voice among them—Riona slammed the lid shut.

Her first instinct was to smash the music box against the floor, to shatter it into a thousand splintering pieces. Instead, she fumbled it back onto its pedestal and backed away, her breath coming ragged and shallow. Tears tracked hot trails down her cheeks, and she scrubbed at them frantically with shaking hands.

As soft music filled the room, Cal continued to look around while absentmindedly humming the tune that played. For a moment the music lulled him into believing maybe everything in here wasn’t entirely dark after all. So when he reached a shelf containing a compass whose needle spun erratically, he thought nothing of picking it up for a closer look. The compass seemed to point at the mirror momentarily before moving straight to point at the crown. Then he heard the quiet thud of the music box being slammed shut and turned to see Riona wiping tears away.

“What happened?” He asked. “You alright?”

For a while, Riona just wrapped her arms around herself and said nothing. The words seemed to stick in her throat. “No,” she managed at last, “I heard… screaming. Endless screaming. My family, my friends—everyone I love crying out in agony, begging me for help…” Her voice cracked and faded away. She walked over to Cal. “Sorry, I just…” she sighed and tried again. “I could really use a hug right now. Please.”

Callum set the compass back on the shelf, the needle continued to spin only to rest in the direction of the crown once again. But the strange device was momentarily forgotten, his curiosity tempered by the anguish in Riona’s words. “You are helping them, right now, and every day. Keeping them from being forgotten, seeking justice for what happened - that’s the most meaningful way to help them now.” He said as he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

Riona clung to Callum, her arms tight around his body, fingers digging into his back to anchor herself and chase away the echoes of those terrible screams. She needed this, the solid reassurance of someone real and present, someone—something—-who wasn’t just another voice in her head. Pressing her face against Cal, Riona inhaled deeply, breathing in the smoky scent of the bonfire that lingered on his clothes, mixed with the earthy musk of the forest undergrowth he’d trekked through. Each inhale, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and the rise and fall of his chest, brought her closer to composure.

As the tension drained away, self-consciousness rushed in to take its place. Riona sniffled exaggeratedly, grabbed a fistful of Cal’s clothes and blew a loud, wet raspberry against the fabric. Pulling back, she made a show of wiping her “dirty” hand on him. Cal only laughed at that and patted her shoulder.

For a beat, she just stared at him. Then a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Thanks,” she said. Her voice was still a little rough around the edges, but the gratitude in her eyes was genuine.

Turning to face the room, Riona sucked in a long breath. “Okay,” she huffed, her brow furrowed in thought. “I’m starting to think these were hidden for a reason. Maybe they’re cursed. Or just too dangerous that not even the people who knew about this place wanted to touch them with a ten-foot pole.” The cobwebs and dust coating every surface were proof enough that no one had set foot here in a long time, and it stood to reason that no one used the artifacts either.

“I touched this,” He said, grabbing the compass again and offering it to her. “And nothing bad happened, it just points out stuff.” He shrugged, it couldn’t all be bad, something here had to be useful. Tonight couldn’t just be a waste.

She glanced at the entrance, toward Wystan’s room. “Why stash all this behind the Royal Battlemaster’s bedroom? What if it’s not just about preventing the artifacts from getting stolen? What if it’s about protecting people from them?” Her shoulders sagged as she grimaced, “But if that’s the case... this isn’t the scandal we were hoping for. It makes it sound like the Crowns were actually doing their jobs, locking this stuff away so no one, not even they, can use it.”

“If they wanted to protect people from these things, why not destroy them?” Callum refused to accept that the crown was ever capable of doing anything good. It wasn’t even a possibility. “It was hard to get here, sure, but not that hard that they could reasonably expect them to never be found.” He wasn’t willing to let all this work be for nothing, something here had to be useful.

“Cal… you do realize the only reason why it’s easier for us get in here is because we live in the castle, right? That’s not the same for everyone.”

“Castle’s can change hands. Or have traitors living in them.”

She felt her heart jump slightly. “... And when’s the last time the Castle changed hands? Riona didn’t think Cal knew the exact answer, but she wanted to make sure. “Traitors, sure, but you’re missing the point: it doesn’t matter if there’s traitors in the castle. What matters is how much the Crown knows about this room and what’s in it.”

Riona started to walk around the room again. “Look, I’m not saying that the Crown have been protecting it’s people from dark magic this whole time. But it’d be easy to spin that story in this situation wouldn’t it? Even if we tried to use the items to incriminate Edin and Alibeth.” What would be the ramifications if people actually bought that tale? And what if the only reason why these items were untouched until now was because the Crowns never knew about it? Her eyes focused on the music box. “As for destroying cursed items… it might be more complicated to do that than we think.” Especially old, powerful ones.

“So this isn’t the room we really need…” Callum trailed off, distracted by the compass as it pointed at the crown.

“Still could be something here we could use against them.” He was mumbling now, paying more attention to the compass than the conversation. Even when the needle spun it eventually landed back on the crown again. Callum decided that had to be it. Without any more thought, he moved towards the crown. There was no denying that it looked sinister; it held an unnatural glow, made of twisting metal branches covered in dramatic spikes. Sharp too, even as he carefully lifted it from its cushion he still managed to slice a small cut in his finger. Just holding it he could feel its draw, a powerful presence radiated from it, called out to him to wear it, just for a moment.

“Cal.”

He shouldn’t, he’d never desired a crown of any kind, why start now? Or he hadn’t until he picked this one up. Just for a second, he could take it off and leave it in this room after. A second or two couldn’t hurt, just a small indulgence. He didn’t know why he wanted to wear it so badly but it felt like it was here for him, like it called to him.

“... Cal?”

With a quick impulsive motion, Callum lifted the crown above his head.

“CALLUM!”

And then he sneezed. The sneeze came without warning, powerful enough that Callum dropped the crown and it clattered across the dusty floor. “Huh,” He mumbled, and waited a moment to see if he sneezed again, it was probably all the dust. After a moment passed he moved to pick the crown up again.

Suddenly, a blur of brown came flying out of nowhere, smacking his hand aside with a sharp crack. Another one—the matching leather glove—whipped through the air and struck the crown, sending it skittering further out of reach.

Using the glove as a makeshift barrier to avoid touching the headpiece directly, Riona pinched it off the ground. She fixed Cal with a withering glare, “What made you think wearing a creepy crown would be a good idea!? Did you miss the part about us being in a room full of mostly harmful magical artifacts? The crown is literally one of the two things here that unambiguously looks like it will curse you!”

“The compass pointed at it!” Callum immediately replied while rubbing the hand the glove had hit. “And I was only going to wear it for a second. Just to see.” He added, and it still sounded like a mostly reasonable thing to do.

“I’m keeping the compass.” He returned to where the compass rested and picked it back up. Its needle spun; glove, mirror, and eventually pointed at the crown again. “I think it’s saying ‘Callum wear that crown and know all the king's secrets,’ how can I pass that up?” He asked.

“... Cal, you’re not making me feel reassured by telling me the compass is trying to tempt you.” Riona shoved the crown into the corner before retrieving the gloves. “And you know ‘just a little’ can lead to a lot more.”

When she returned to Cal, she looked down at the compass in his hand and watched it carefully. “That’s pointing at a lot of things. How are you sure that it’s saying touch this and not don’t touch this?”

“If we don’t touch things, how will we know what they do? If they’re useful?” He asked, but now he suspected he’d only decided the compass pointed to things he should touch because that’s what he wanted it to mean. “It does always land back at that crown…but I’m not going to touch it again.” He noticed she was still armed with the gloves she’d thrown.

“I’m all for studying them so we can harness their full potential without it backfiring. What I’m not for is using random super suspicious magical on yourself and hope for the best.” The jolt of fear Riona had been holding onto suddenly left her body and her shoulders dropped.

“When I saw you trying to put that crown on… I got scared. I get you don’t care about what happens to you but what if it was cursed? And you died or you started committing indiscriminate genocide or something? What then?”

“Then I trust you’d put a stop to my evil plans. But point taken, no crowns for Callum. I won’t test anything else on myself.” He said, despite still wanting to take a sip of the potion that sat nearby.

Riona’s eyes narrowed slightly when she saw Cal’s gaze flicker to the side. She rubbed her eyes as she sighed. “Take the potion if you want. But like I said, if any ingesting is going to happen, we’re doing it in an infirmary… and in small doses.”

“What do those do?” He asked looking at the gloves.

Riona removed her fingers from her eyes and looked down at the gloves. Then she hit him lightly with them, “They give those who wield it the power to stop boys from doing stupid things.”

“Like you need magical gloves for that.” He paused and took another look around the room. “This room could still be useful, if we ever need something incriminating against them. Under the right circumstances, show this room to the right people, clean up the dust…we could make it look like the crown keeps dangerous magic here for their own uses. I’m not saying it’s honest but hey, neither are they. Just something to keep in the back pocket.” Cal spitballed his thoughts, thinking up scenarios where the idea could work.

The idea hadn’t even crossed Riona’s mind—she’d been so focused on uncovering the untainted truth to expose the Danroses and see them face the consequences of their crimes. But how feasible was that, really? The possibility that they might’ve already destroyed everything incriminating always lurked in the recesses of her mind. But, if that was the case, she’d assumed she would just activate the spell and be done with it. The truth would be lost forever, her mother’s family name never restored, but at least she would have exacted her—everyone’s—revenge.

Could they fabricate it, then? Spin the narrative, just as the Crown had done? “Hm. It’s worth considering,” Riona mused. “Let’s keep digging up some proper dirt to bury them with. But if that doesn’t work out…” She let the thought dangle in the air, unfinished.

She surveyed the room, then glanced toward the exit. They’d been here too long already, and Wystan could return at any moment. “We should go,” she said. “We can figure out what to do with all this once we’re somewhere safer.”

“Yeah, good idea.” He agreed, if they stayed any longer he was going to touch, or ingest, something he probably shouldn’t.

Riona turned back to Cal, a thought striking her. “Do you want to take the sword that opened the door to this place or should we leave it where we found it? It’ll prevent others from taking this stuff.” A shrug, “Of course, we’ll need to find a decent hiding spot… And hauling a blade around every time we want to pop in for a visit won’t exactly be inconspicuous.”

“As much as I want to take it, make sure no one else can get in here…Wystan would notice. Best not to alert the Watchdog.” Cal suggested.

“You think he actually knew about the sword and the fake wall?”

“I think it would be a mistake to underestimate Wystan and how much he knows. Knowing things is his job, and this is in his room.” He paused for moment. “Or…this might be a good way to see just how much Wystan knows. If we take the sword and he seems on edge in the next few days, we learn a little bit more about the Watchdog. I’m willing to risk it if you are.” He offered. “Wulfric and Auguste wear swords all the time, I could pick up the habit.” It wouldn’t be that strange to see a prince wandering the palace with a sword, he’d just have to make it seem less strange for him.

“I am,” Riona said after giving it some thought. “As long as you promise me you won’t use the artifacts on yourself.”

“I will not drink any strange potions or place any evil hats on my head.” He promised. “Well, not in this room.” That received a look from Riona and she slowly raised the gloves like a warning. “And I won’t come here alone either.”

She stared at him for a little longer before lowering the gloves. “Okay. Let’s get out of here then. Did you get everything you want?”

“If I say no are you going to hit me with a glove again?” He teased.

“Only if you use them without thinking.” Riona teased back, “Or if you ask nicely.”

“Would I like to test everything in this room until I find something terrible enough to ensure the demise of Edin and the aristocracy? Absolutely. But you’re right, that’s a bad plan and there’s probably little good in this room. Better to look elsewhere another night.” He shrugged, held up the compass with one hand, and patted the scroll he’d tucked away in a pocket with the other. “Something’s better than nothing though.” Callum said before placing the compass in a pocket.

TLDR

Riona and Callum inspect some of the magical artifacts in the secret room. Callum is prevented from placing a very evil-looking crown on his head. Riona leaves with a pair of leather gloves while Callum takes a scroll with a curse and a compass before they exit the room.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Stratya & Riona Part 2

Stratya & Riona Part 2

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Shite. That went over well. Stratya groaned softly, “hrmmgh.” she sighed, rubbing her neck awkwardly, “”that's no’ wha’ I mean’..” Her hand dropped and she shook her head, “anyway.. It was this mornin’. I found ‘is ‘ead behin’ the stables. Folk ‘ad been complainin’ about an awful stench from there, tae boot, so it wasn’t too ‘ard t’ find. He’d been bea’en, poor fella, presumably before it ‘appened. I ‘ad a dog follow ‘is scent, through town and into the woods. I found the rest of him there. That’s when I got the samples. There’s bits of bone and fabric intact. You’ll see that the vials have different compositions within them, as well. I did my best to gather a bit of everything there was.” She wouldn’t mention the sword. That would be her little secret. Her trap to spring on someone who shouldn’t know about it. It wasn’t a hard secret to predict, but the certainty with which someone might allude to its specifics would be the giveaway.

“Hm..” Stratya eyed Riona and took a slow breath. She didn’t like asking these questions of someone who seemed to have been close with the lad, and now she'd somehow managed to lose her good repoire. Great. Smooth. Luckily, Riona still seemed motivated to help. Hopefully, that would be enough. “When was the last time ye saw Darryn?”

The image of Darryn’s severed head tangled with the memory of her father’s death. Frustration toward the Knight-Captain flared into anger and redirected itself to the killer. “The morning following the annual ball,” she answered.

Riona turned, picking up the first sample with careful fingers. “Illustrious Dame Inquisitor Knight-Captain Durmand, I hope you will permit me to ask a few more pointed questions. Though it is not my place given my lowly station, if you could find it in your heart to indulge me, I would be forever grateful.” The words tasted like ashes, but Riona had spent years learning to stroke noble egos, and the speech rolled off her tongue with ease.

Stratya sighed again, remembering the previous night and where she'd been. She managed to get a rather humorous reaction from Wulfric, but now, “is this how The Prince felt abou’ ‘is crow ti’les..?”

“This ‘awful stench’ the people spoke of, did you smell it yourself, ser?” The odor seemed unlikely to have originated from a naturally decaying corpse. Last night’s weather had been mild, lacking the oppressive heat and humidity that hastened decay.

Key word being naturally.

“The odor from behind the stables was tha’ of rot. Due to the location on castle grounds, it had to be cleared up. The odor in the forest, however, smelled more.. boiled.” Stratya rubbed her chin thoughtfully. She didn't know, herself, how long it would take to boil a body down, but surely the timeframe was too short? It all kept on pointing to impossibility, pointing to something supernatural.

The answer only sparked more questions. Even if last night had been a hot, sticky night, a body wouldn’t reek enough to draw complaints for at least a day.

Riona uncorked the vial and took a cautious sniff. Holding it out to the Knight-Captain, she asked, “Pardon me, ser, but does this resemble the boiling odor you described?”

“‘at’s it, alright.” Stratya nodded, coming away from the stench quickly.

Back at her workstation, Riona divvied up the samples into individual vials. “Did anyone manage to pinpoint the source of the rotting smell?”

“The hound followed the scent from the head, through town, and into the forest. Right past the enforcement centers. Very bold..”

And very weird. Wasn’t the complaint that there was a smell coming from behind the stables? How in the world was the source of that smell in the forest? Also, why the change in smell? Did the melting process cause the rotting stench and change to a “boiling” smell over time? Was the body melted behind the stables first before being moved to the forest then? What about the head?

“You mentioned you found Darryn’s head, most honorable and valiant Dame Inquisitor Knight-Captain Durmand. May I humbly inquire as to what condition it was in?” Riona figured it couldn’t have decomposed or melted too badly if the Knight-Captain could tell that Darryn had been beaten, but she had to be sure.

Stratya took a slow breath. This would not continue. However, handling this with authority would only make things worse. She did, however, know someone who could tame an irritated young lady. What would her mother do..? Mm. Too aggressive. It might work, but it might backfire. Hm. How about, “you're no’ using more adjectives for me than y’do if you ever address a member of the Royal Family or a count or such?” That might be bad, “if someone were looking for an excuse to do something, we shouldn't give them any opening, no matter how small. Then again, I s’ppose you know the dance be’er th’n I.” The knight shrugged and looked at the door, rubbing her face slowly once, “proba’ly jus’ paranoid.. it'd be a real pain if someone wanted to be petty, though. Could make you take a whole minute each time you address them. A cer’ain rooster I could think of migh’ do such a thing..”

Riona paused her work to face Stratya with a carefully neutral expression. “You wish for me to use fewer epithets than I would for royalty or other higher-ranking nobles? As you wish…” Riona inhaled deeply then in one breath said, “Most gracious, valiant, esteemed, chivalrous, honorable, illustrious, gallant, revered, intrepid, august, dauntless, magnificent, stalwart, exalted, steadfast, serene, resolute…” She turned back to her work, hands moving with practiced efficiency as she mixed ingredients and observed the reactions, all while keeping up a steady stream of words and phrases. “...noble-hearted, loyal, courageous, and indomitable Dame Inquisitor Knight-Captain Durmand.” There. One fewer epithet than the longest byname ever bestowed upon any Caesonian noble on record.

Riona made a few notes before glancing back at Stratya, a hint of mischief in her eyes.

“Al’ight, so I'm bein’ silly and paranoid, please sto’.” She was getting stressed and overthinking things. She needed to calm herself, but this badgering wasn't helping. Riona had been amicable until Stratya said one wrong little thing to her, and all that had once been ease was being turned into frustration.

The impish light faded from the maid’s eyes as she studied Stratya. She then gave a single, curt nod.

A sigh of relief. “Thank ye..” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “As for the ‘ead, it was intact, but..” It was hard to tell her. Stratya’s hand paused. Nobody wants to hear that the people they care about suffered. The knight chewed her next words, “he was.. bea’en so bad I barely recognized ‘im.” Riona and Darryn had been close, Stratya could tell that much. It must hurt, to hear.

“... If I may clarify my question regarding the state of Darryn’s head—I was hoping you could provide some additional details. Were there signs of decay or liquefaction? Or did his head appear relatively… ‘intact,’ save for the bruising and trauma?” She paused, her fingers fidgeted with the writing utensil. “More specifically, I am interested in what caused the head to separate from the body.” Did it rot or melt off? Or was Darryn’s head taken clean off his shoulders by a weapon of some kind? There’s no way someone ripped it off... could it?

Riona was taking this all rather well. Perhaps she was just ready, mentally, for this kind of thing to happen? It seemed more like she was driven, than she'd particularly prepared herself. It was just her kind of personality to move forward, then? As she thought about the scene, she remembered the picture. It would have the blade on it, so maybe hiding the blade wasn't going to pan out like she thought. She took a breath, her mind settling. “The head was,” she thought briefly about which word to use, “er, in ‘normal’ condition?, apart from the missing body and the beating. Ehr.. I did.. not, find anything unusual about its state, apart from-” she cut herself off and cleared her throat. She'd already said that part. “It was severed by a blade. The rain had washed away any blood.” Strictly speaking, she could not confirm the executioner's blade she found nearby was used for this. It seemed like the obvious conclusion, but it could be a trick is. Maybe if she'd woken up earlier.

Riona bit her lip, disappointment plain on her face. “That is unfortunate… I was hoping we might find traces left of whatever was used to…” She grimaced. “Melt the body.”

Her brow furrowed deeper as the cogs of her mind whirred and clicked. “So they lopped off Darryn’s head first, then liquified the rest of him. But… why?” The question wasn’t directed at Stratya, Riona was mostly thinking out loud. “Leave the head, destroy the body... Someone wanted proof he was dead, but not the how or why of it. Like there was something about the body they didn’t want anyone to discover...”

“Aye, tha’s one thing botherin’ me. Why? I can only assume some.. message is bein’ sent, and tha’ ‘oever it is intended for will understand what tha’ message is. Twisted gobber, to ‘ave such cursed handwritin’.” The knight leaned up against the wall nearby, her eyes watching Riona at work with a passive interest. Stratya seemed to be relaxing a bit. Looking at Riona work the way she was prompted her to stretch her neck, resulting in a nice “pop”, “ooh,” in either direction, “ooooh~, hoh hoh hoohhh.”

A message…

Riona checked the time, jotted a few notes, then turned her attention to the vials. She added measured amounts of this powder and that liquid, a pinch of herbs, drops of different tinctures into the samples. “Knight-Captain, how much of Darryn was left when you found him in the forest? Was it still recognizable as a body or was it literally just bits of bone and fabric?”

The daughter of a guardsman pushed off the wall and moved toward the table, “Nae body, jus’.. what had once been a puddle.” Stratya removed the small pauldrons she had on, carefully laying them with the interior up, on the seat of a chair. She then stretched her shoulders across her chest, getting some nice, thick pops, after which she'd carefully move her arm in a full circle. “T’was nae well hidden, jus’ dumped deep enough in the forest you couldnae smell it from the train station.”

That narrowed down the list a lot: there were no flora or animal byproduct readily available in Caesonia that could liquefy a full-grown man within a span of a few hours.

“And yet, the odor was pungent enough for people to complain about the stables?” Riona shook her head. “Something does not add up.”

She'd start to put the couple of pieces she laid on the table back on. It took longer putting it back on, naturally, but she seemed able to manage, even with the awkward position of reattaching something to her own shoulder. “Gonna ‘ave to go down for a bevvy on the pub, I think. I'll ‘ave to repor’, first..”

Riona could use a stiff drink herself.

With a sigh, the maid carefully placed her notes on the table before her. “I am afraid this next part might take a little while, Knight-Captain. And based on what you have shared thus far, I would not hold out much hope regarding the results.”

Quiet settled over the room. Riona watched the Knight-Captain put pieces of her armor back on until she finally said, “I want to believe that my initial assessment of you is accurate, Knight-Captain. That you are an honorable and honest person who would protect both highborn and lowborn alike. The kind of person who would ensure that justice prevails regardless of societal standings or titles.”

Riona straightened her posture. “I apologize for causing you frustration. It troubled me that you seemed to prioritize the manner in which I posed my questions over helping me, help you, figure out Darryn’s murder.”

Stratya was just finishing with fastening on the first pauldrons, listening as her hands worked. She nodded thoughtfully, “’at’s fair.”

“Furthermore,” she placed her hands on her hips, “your remarks about the adjectives and ‘knowing the dance’ came across as patronizing. Why bring any of it up in such a roundabout way if you truly believed I knew better?” Her voice became increasingly impassioned. “But if it was not obvious, then yes, I do know the dance very well. There were times when it was literally beaten into me. I am also acutely aware of the pettiness that people are capable of, having been punished on their whims for things utterly outside my control.”

Riona stopped abruptly and took a moment to compose herself, exhaling slowly. Don’t start up sh*t again. Just apologize. “I recognize that my approach was counterproductive, and I would like to believe your warning was sincere,” she said. “For that, I am sorry. I will not, however, apologize for prioritizing uncovering the truth behind Darryn’s murder over adhering to the proper etiquette of questioning you, even if you are nobility. Nor will I apologize for taking offense to the manner in which you chose to admonish me.” Now to see how right or wrong she was about the Knight-Captain.

Stratya was fussing with the second pauldrons as her movements slowed while Riona formed a carefully worded complaint. She nodded slowly and resumed, “Nae, you're right. I'm sorry, too. Makin’ a right arse o’ m’self, like tha’.”

Beaten? Yes, Stratya heard that right. Somehow, the murder had not been a reminder of the cruelty of nobility. Yes, Riona was at the mercy of such whims. Such lowly behavior. Yes, the knight supposed it was better to tell Riona what secrets she was working with. At least, then, she knew what she was getting involved in.

“I’ feels like I've been dancin’ ‘round this.. great, big.. thing in the middle o’ town. It's so ‘uge, every time I loo’ at it, I cannae help but wonder ‘ow I could even do anythin’ to it? So I stay away, dealing with the lit’ler things on the wayside. Lit’le rocks I can pick up and throw. But, now.. it feels like I've run smack into the damn boulder in the middle of i’ all. It's go’ me right spooked, lookin’ up at this massive thing that feels like it could crush me just by turnin’ over. So.. sorry, for bein’ an arse.”

She took a deep breath, looking at her hand as she flexed it, “S’ppose I better go report to the Queen, and get some other evidence processed.” The knight looked at Riona, thought carefully about their conversation, and smiled, “shall I come’n get ye, when I go for the pub?”

Riona felt the tension drain from her, glad that Stratya took the complaint in stride and even offered an apology of her own. She decided she did like this knight.

But the mention of the Queen sent a fresh jolt of tension through Riona’s body. She chewed her lip, uncertain whether to mention what she saw. If there was even the slimmest chance it could be connected to Darryn’s murder, shouldn’t she bring it up? “Knight-Captain, when you have audience with Her Majesty… could you inquire as to how the Royal Advisor is faring?”

“Oh? Ah, sure. Erm.. Any partic’lar reason?”

Judging by her reaction, the Knight-Captain didn’t know about the incident then. “Ser, can you trust me, as you have trusted me with this analysis?” Riona asked.

Stratya stepped slowly toward the door. A blind question wasn’t her favorite thing to ask the Queen, but, “well, a’right..” She stopped and turned, just before opening the door, “but you never answered my question.”

“I withheld an answer, Knight-Captain, because I thought it best that you enter the situation with a clear and unbiased mind.” Riona’s gaze drifted to the vials, pale bits of stableboy suspended in different colored liquid. “Truth is, I cannot say if this bears any connection to Darryn’s death. If it does not, I see no reason to add to your burdens.” She wrapped her arms around herself as her eyes returned to Stratya. “However… I fear the boulder you speak of might be the tip of a mountain.”

Stratya bobbed her head, “Eh, aye.. it does kinda seem tha’ way, don'it. The other question, though.”

Riona blinked, genuinely confused. “The… other question, ser?”

“The pub?” Stratya's gauntlet gave a soft “clack” as she motioned with a thumb over her shoulder. “It'll ‘af ta be on the evenin’, I think.”

Riona blinked again. A drink sounded tempting. And she could raise a glass to Darryn’s memory too. “I will join you.” she answered. “I should be done with my duties and the analysis by then. Which establishment did you have in mind? I would like to dress appropriately.”

“Figure we can pop on down to Ol’ Toughy, yeah? No’ as stuffy.” Stratya’s other hand rested loosely on the door as her gesturing hand wiggled vaguely.

“Just two colleagues on a night out.” Riona proposed as their cover story, then bowed. “Until then.”

The door clicked shut. Riona just stood there, counting silently. One. Two. Three… Only when she thought Stratya walked out of earshot did she let the tears come, quiet sobs muffled against her sleeve.

TL;DR

Riona asks questions about Darryn’s murder and agrees to meet Stratya later to give the results of the analysis.

Ríoghnach "Riona"

Time: Nighttime, Sola 24th
Location: The Tough Tavern
Interaction(s)/Mention(s): @CitrusArms

It’s been a while since she’d been in a tavern. She’d forgotten how lively it can be. And dirty. She felt her fingers twitch, itching to grab a rag and start scrubbing every surface in sight. Pushing aside the urge, Riona settled into her seat and placed her report on the table, careful to avoid the suspicious stains.

When the drinks came, Riona slid one across to the empty seat, raising her own in a wordless toast to Darryn’s memory before taking a long swig.

As she lowered her mug, Riona’s gaze drifted to Stratya. The Knight-Captain was clearly in her element, belting out a tavern song with gusto. Riona allowed herself a small smile. Let Stratya work it out of her system. There would be time for serious discussion later. For now, Riona was content to nurse her ale, tap her foot to the rhythm, and soak in the lively atmosphere.

Avalia

Time: A.M.
Location: River Port
Interactions/Mentions: @mole@Conscripts
Equipment: Knife, drugs, and wallet looted from dope peddler

✠✠✠✠✠

Vasco, quick on his feet, sidestepped Rowan’s haymaker. He was fixing to return the knuckle sandwich, but one look at Aurora’s waterworks and he held back.

At this rate, she’d shrivel up like a sun-dried prune. Word was Vasco had some kinda power over water - could he juice her up to keep her pretty face from cracking?

“You’re going to ruin her.” Rowan spat, snapping Vasco out of his thoughts.

Vasco let out a dry laugh. He might’ve been enough of a gentleman not to lay out the elf right in front of his sis, but Vasco sure as hell wasn’t about to let him get the last word. “Nah, you already beat me to that punch.”

Suddenly, Vasco felt himself hauled up by the collar. A button flew off from the force of it. Barrock glowered down at him with a look that reminded Vasco of old Mother Superior when she caught him doing something she didn’t approve. Actually, the guy kind of looked like her too, just greener and more beef on him. “You stay quiet.”

Vasco flashed the same wise-acre grin he’d have given the nun herself. It stayed there while Barrock tore into Rowan, and didn’t budge an inch when the orc rounded on him next.

But it was the “You are not a messiah as you think you are. Stay in your lane!” that made Vasco howl with laughter. He gave the orc a friendly slap. “Barrock, you may be ugly as sin, but damn if you ain’t a riot!” Him, a messiah? Not in this lifetime or the next. And where did this palooka get off telling him to stay in his lane? The orc had another thing coming if he thought Vasco was the type to dance to someone else’s tune.

Vasco brushed him off with a cocky wave. “Well, you heard Mother Superior, ladies. Let’s shake a leg.”

Too bad for the boys, Vasco being Vasco, he couldn’t split without ruffling a few more feathers on the way out. He leaned in real close to Aurora, so close it looked like he pecked her on the cheek. But his lips never touched her skin. Like how those ritzy French folks do. La bise or la bees or something like that. “MWAH!” He gave an exaggerated smack before pulling away with a wink. “Ruin you later, toots.” Then he lit off like his keister was on fire, cackling, before any of those mooks could grab him.

He kept cackling even louder, trying to drown out that damn ringing in the distance that just wouldn’t quit.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Flashback: Night Sola 23, 1739

Callum & Riona Part 4

---

with @princess

When they reached the kitchen entrance, Riona said, “Play the Callum who decided never to change.” Snagging his wrist, she slung his arm over her shoulder and grabbed his waistband. “Ready?” Cal nodded, he couldn’t think of a more perfect role for him to play.

Riona shouldered through the door on an indrawn breath, half-carrying, half-dragging Cal into the kitchen. A knot of servants whipped their heads around at the intrusion, their hushed gossip and midnight snacking interrupted. “There we go, Your Highness, home sweet home,” she sang out.

The tensed servants relaxed. They recognized the familiar routine that played out. One chuckled, “His Highness been overindulging again, has he?”

Riona opened her mouth to respond, then she heard something that just barely sounded like her name.

“Rhonda,” Cal patted Riona’s shoulder. “Thisisnotmyroom. Where, are, we?” He looked around, wide-eyed confusion wasn’t hard to fake. “Soooorry, wroooong hoooome.” He announced to the room, howling out the words in an off-key song. The small crowd laughed in amusement.

“Sorry, we’ll get out of your hair, guys.” She hauled Cal toward the other entrance leading deeper into the castle. “This is the kitchen, Your Highness. Bedrooms upstairs. Hold tight, we’ll be there in no time.” The servants tossed out their good lucks and goodnights before returning to their chatting. When the echoes of the kitchen finally faded behind them and they rounded a corner, she halted. Quick glance around, then she let go of him. “All clear.”

“Guess it’s onwards and upwards then.” Callum gestured towards the staircase. A silence that was appropriate for the library was eerie in the palace that normally bustled with activity. It was a lonely place late at night; staff lingered in only a few rooms to avoid disturbing those who slumbered, and sparse guards stood sentinel near rooms that held the most value. He hoped that the number of guards sent out to keep an eye on him and Ana had thinned their ranks out even more.

“Any idea how many guards to expect up there?” He whispered as they climbed the staircase past the second floor.

Riona stopped and gestured Cal to do the same. She pressed a finger against her lips as the jangling clamor of steel and the buzz of voices swelled louder down the corridor. They stood stock-still till the sounds receded into the distance.

“Depends,” she finally said, “on the King and Queen’s mood. But sometimes security increases by order of your brother… Or Morrigan might do it randomly.” She risked a glance down the hall where the guards headed, spying the increased security now posted at the Princess’s bedroom door. A crease formed between her brows. “It might be one of those ‘someone’s feathers are ruffled’ nights.” She turned back to Callum, mouth a flat line. “We better hurry upstairs and check if there’s more… If it comes down to it, we can use the service corridors and other passages.”

“Weird, Ana’s not even in there.” He followed after Riona, wondering why they needed extra guards for an empty room.

“I’m thinking that’s for when she gets back… You know, so that she doesn’t bring any ‘unwanted friends’ over? Heard Edin was getting pretty antsy about that.” She glanced at him. Callum made a face at the mention of his sister’s late-night rendezvous. “Your room might have a couple of guards too.”

As Riona and Callum ascended to the third floor of the castle, they noticed a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The grandeur and extravagance that adorned the lower floors give way to a more modest and functional design scheme. The security presence was notably lighter compared to the floors below, reflecting the lesser importance of the individuals residing here. While there were still guards stationed at intervals along the corridor, their numbers were fewer, and their demeanor was less tense. The concubines' bedrooms seemed to bear the marks of importance, but even then the air was still more relaxed, as if the weight of responsibility had eased somewhat.

Paintings adorn the walls despite the simple atmosphere. Their dated art style suggested they had stood witness to the test of time. A portrait of King Callum I Danrose commanded attention to all immediately upon entrance to the third floor. His solemn expression speaks volumes to those who gaze upon him, hinting at the weight of responsibility he bore. In his hands rests an open book, its pages visible to the viewer.

Further down the hall, a maid labored with uncertain hands with laundry. Despite her efforts, she appeared hesitant, as if wrestling with an unfamiliar task. Positioned at the end of the hallway stood a laundry chute near the maid. Adjacent to it, a table held a woven basket, patiently waiting to receive its load. After she finished packing the garments into the woven basket, she approached the chute and set the basket inside, hanging it onto a mechanism.

With a hopeful expression, she reached out and grasped a lever mounted on the wall, pulling it downwards. However, to her dismay, nothing happened. Furrowing her brow in confusion, she frowned and scanned about the area until her eyes locked on a smaller switch. She pressed it and the floor beneath the basket dropped. With a sigh of relief, she began to rotate a nearby wheel to guide the basket down the chute just as an older maid passed by. She touched the younger maid’s shoulder, muttering a word of comfort.

Callum stared into the eyes of the long-dead king that shared his name. He tried to figure out what book the man was reading and wondered if he’d ever read the same book. His mind spiraled as he thought about this king’s rule, The Dark Period, a time of rampant plagues, starvation, and war. He looked up at the man who had started witch hunts and left nothing but devastation. As his mind wandered he was left wondering; just how similar he was to both a long-dead king and one who still ruled. The intense eyes of the portrait bore into him.

He moved a bit to the left, then back, and then a bit to the right. However he moved the eyes followed him, glared into him. “It’s like his eyes follow you. All evil and judgy.” He whispered, still fixated on the portrait of King Callum I Danrose. He glanced back at Riona, “Right, sorry, I guess we wait and see if they leave,” His head nodded in the direction of the maids as he stayed out of their view. “And if not, we’ll need a distraction.”

Riona gaze lingered on the maids before looking at the portrait that Callum was transfixed by. “There’s lots to get done so I don’t think they’d stand there for long.” She said as she leaned closer to the painting, squinting to make out the text.

As Callum and Riona had fixated their gazes on the text, their eyes adjusted to the small writing of a cryptic message:

Beneath the shadow of the king's gaze, in the room where legends lie ablaze, seek the heart of the monarch's might, where the sword of truth casts its light.

Retreating a step, she tore her eyes from the portrait, refocusing on the maids with a considering tilt of her head. “I’ll go say hi to them, just in case.” With a gesture for Callum to remain, Riona crossed the hallway to her coworkers and greeted them. “Is everything alright?”

The younger girl perked up and smiled, “Oh, hello there! I'm Hanna. Everything's quite alright, thank you kindly. Only started me duties yesterday, you see, and I got a tad befuddled with the laundry chute. Tried me hand at pulling that grand lever, but it didn't seem to budge.” She sighed and anxiously tapped her foot.. “I hope I did not seem incompetent on the first day to you girls…”

“Fear not, my dear. It's not always as simple as it appears. We've all had our fair share of such moments… In fact I believe I got confused by the same very thing when I first took a gander. “ the older maid chimed in with a warm chuckle.

“Believe us, Hanna, everyone’s pulled that thing at least once, it’s like a right of passage in these parts.” Riona smiled at the girl, and Hanna smiled graciously in turn, before glaring at the lever.

“And, come on, honestly? Look at that thing. What kind of architect thinks that it’s a good idea to place a giant lever right next to the laundry chute but make the actual button so small?” Clucking her tongue Riona traced her fingers over the lever. “Do you know what this is actually for Ms.Buttersworth?”

“I always assumed it was broken, and that the button was added later.” The elder maid replied to Riona.

“Huh. One of the many mysteries then.” Riona took a few steps back to get out of the maids’ way. “Sorry to keep you two. You’re doing great Hanna. If you need help, just ask.” They all said their goodnights to each other and Riona watched them leave.

Callum stayed where he was, focused on trying to read the cryptic text. Beneath the gaze of the king is a book? He thought but wasn’t sure if it meant the king in the portrait. Where do legends lie ablaze? His eyes shifted to the concubines’ room. Lie ablaze with lust? He continued to ponder as Riona left to speak with the other maids. He didn’t like looking up at the portrait’s gaze, but he turned around and tried to match positioning to the portrait’s to see if was looking at anything or just hanging there and judging everyone around it. In the portrait, the king was simply staring at a sword.

“We’re good,” Riona said when she returned to him. “Figure something out?”

Callum gestured first to the text on the portrait, then at the sword. “Beneath the king’s gaze…” He whispered part of the riddle. “I guess that’s the sword of truth? So where do legends lie ablaze?” He continued.

“A library? Museum? Hall of fame?” Riona guessed. But the third floor had none of those. After rereading the riddle and checking behind the portrait itself, she said, “This might be saying that there’s a hidden room ‘where legends lie ablaze’ located ‘beneath the shadow of the king’s gaze.’” It was also wishful thinking. Because if that was true, then the ‘heart of the monarch’s might’ could be exactly what she was searching for.

No. Don’t get your hopes up, she warned herself.

Stepping back, she took in the full portrait. “Do you think this is anything like the library puzzle?” Riona pointed at the sword first. “Shine light on the sword.” Then swung her finger toward the lever at the end of the hallway. “And then pull that lever? It’s been there forever, maybe even before the laundry chute was installed, but nobody’s figured out what it does.”

Cal grinned at the mention of a hidden room and his thoughts overflowed with what they might find in there. Enchanted artifacts? Stacks of books containing arcane and esoteric knowledge? A magic sword? He rifled through his pockets, pulled out a book of matches, and promptly struck one. “Do you think it’s enough light?” He asked holding the lit match near the sword.

“Let’s find out.” Riona jogged back to the lever and pulled.

Nothing seemed to happen, but for once, the hallway had been very still when the lever had been pulled, and the sound of a mechanism unlocking could be dimly heard from one of the rooms in the hall. A couple of the rooms had their doors ajar upon closer inspection. A concubine’s bedroom was open as well as Alden and Wystan’s bedrooms.

The sudden soft mechanical click echoed in the quiet hallway from one of the ajar doors and caused Cal to jump. He glanced down the hallway, a careful peak in case they were about to be caught. The match burned its way down to his fingertips. “Ow!” He hissed as he dropped the burnt out match. The sound had to have come from one of the three rooms. “Oh, look, I think it worked! Should we try again and listen by the doors?”

The mechanical click was music to Riona’s ears. It had worked! By the Gods, it actually worked! Where had the sound come from? She mulled over the riddle once more, parsing each word, each nuance.

Beneath the shadow of the king's gaze, in the room where legends lie ablaze, seek the heart of the monarch's might, where the sword of truth casts its light.

The “shadow” could refer to an advisor or guardsman, those who lurked in the periphery of the king.

Riona still thought that “the room where legends lie ablaze” was a hidden chamber housing historically important artifacts and documents. But if she had to pick, then the Royal Advisor’s quarters best fit that description.

The “heart of the monarch’s might” could be hinting at a room that held the essence or symbol of the king’s power. That could be any of the three.

There was no way “the sword” wasn’t the Royal Battlemaster. And while the Royal Advisor was more likely to be in the know of the king’s “truths,” the concubines had access to a different kind of “truths” too.

Mentally tallying up the scores, she nodded, “Yeah. You take one room, I’ll take another.” If both of them heard or saw nothing from the rooms they chose, then it meant that the room they didn’t check was the one. “Ready?” As soon as Cal lit up another match, Riona yanked the lever and rushed over to Alden’s room.

When Riona approached Alden's door, she noticed through the crack that the room was in disarray. Furniture was overturned, and papers were strewn across the floor, leading to an overturned journal by his desk. A faint, metallic scent lingered in the air. The normally tidy room looked like a whirlwind had swept through it, leaving chaos in its wake. A single chair sat in the middle, one of its legs broken. She didn’t like the look of that at all. Not one bit.

Riona stood before the door, ears strained to catch that telltale click. When she didn’t hear the sound get any louder, she should’ve just turned and walked away. There was no reason for her to go barging in there.

But... What if Alden was injured? She’d have to go in and help him, which would only delay their exploration. And if there was a body… well, this might be their last chance in some time to comb the third floor thoroughly. How could she know, unless she looked?

With a resigned sigh, she steeled her nerves and slipped into the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her.

The metallic scent in the air grew stronger, mingling with the musty odor of overturned ink as Riona entered. There was a trail of blood that wound its way across the floor, a twisted ribbon of crimson that spoke volumes without uttering a single word. The trail led up to an open window, curtains billowing as a breeze blew through her hair.

TLDR

They make their way to the third floor where a clever riddle leads them to three possible bedroom rooms, one containing a secret room. Before choosing the correct room, Riona finds an alarming scene left behind in Alden’s room. What’s become of the King’s advisor?

Avalia

Time: MORNING
Location: INT. TAVERN
Interactions/Mentions: Guy affiliated with The New Dawn @Lava Alckon; Zion @Helo
Equipment:

[+]

⋆ Attire from Avalia
⋆ Backpack
⋆ Smartphone
⋆ Wallet and key
⋆ Computer
⋆ Headphones
⋆ Spare eyeglasses
⋆ Plastic bag
⋆ Letter
⋆ Zion's hunting knife
⋆ Clothes from Earth
⋆ Canteen "borrowed" from Malachi's
⋆ Map "borrowed" from Malachi's
⋆ Some food from breakfast

---

Jun sat at the table, as quiet as a mouse in a room full of cats. His eyes nervously ping-ponged between the group members, their lively chatter filling the air. He kept his mouth shut, but his ears were on high alert, desperate to catch any nugget of information that might aid in his grand escape plan. Though calling it "grand" was perhaps overselling it. "Clichéd" would be more accurate. Or "unlikely to be seriously injured in the next 10 minutes" at the very least.

While he nibbled his way through breakfast, Jun squirreled away the extra food he’d ordered into his backpack. After forcing down the last bite, Jun mumbled some excuse about needing to visit the restroom. With his bag slung over his shoulder, Jun made his way to the back of the tavern, his heart rate increasing with each step.

TLDR

Jun commenced Plan B: excuse himself to the bathroom and make his escape through a back door or window.

Avalia

Time: A.M.
Location: River Port
Interactions/Mentions: @mole@Conscripts
Equipment: Knife, drugs, and wallet looted from dope peddler

✠✠✠✠✠

Vasco threw his head back and let out a belly laugh. Slapped his knee and everything. The way Rowan had spit out “Zara was our friend” like it was poison, well, it told Vasco all he needed to know about how the elf really felt about the human who came before him.

Rowan’s frosty glare only tickled Vasco’s funny bone even more, sending a shiver of gleeful defiance down his spine. “Touch her again like that, and we will be replacing you,” the elf hissed.

Vasco met his gaze head-on. Brazen as brass, he reached out and grazed Aurora’s cheek with his hand, tucked a stray lock behind her ear before trailing his fingers through her hair. All while never breaking eye contact with her steamed brother. He brought the white strands close and twirled them between his fingers, taunting-like.

“You’re welcome to try,” Vasco smirked. “But answer me this, hero - what’re you gonna tell the big cheeses when you botch the job a second time on account of losing your marbles over kid sis here? Think they’ll trust you with a third human?” He shook his head. “Face the music, pal. Play the incompetent sap or fess up to putting me in the ground cause I got under your skin, it ain’t gonna paint a pretty picture of any of you.” Vasco threw a quick glance over at Barrock and gave him a short “alien slang” lesson. “Where I come from, ‘paint a pretty picture’ is called ‘looking kosher.’”

He let Aurora’s hair slip through his fingers and eased back, hands raised. “Believe it or not, I’m doing a good turn by not mollycoddling her. You all keep squawking on about this being a war. So, what’s she doing here if she’s gonna go to pieces every time someone kicks the bucket, huh? Doll’s hanging by a thread, but you’d rather keep her in the thick of it than send her somewhere cushy to get her head on straight. If she snaps, that’s on you palookas, not me.”

As Vasco turned on his heel, his one good ear caught Aurora’s pained whisper. He halted, just for a second before moseying over to Barrock.

The orc’s tidbit about his three-month stint as a hitman got the ex-mobster’s attention real quick. Vasco felt a spark of kinship with the big fella. “No kidding? We oughta bend an elbow sometime and swap stories.” He socked Barrock good-naturedly in the arm. “Got a few doozies of my own I could jaw about,” Vasco crowed, puffing up with pride.

While Barrock mapped out the plan, Vasco’s mind was cooking up a shopping list of the kinda hardware he wanted. Sure, going up against an army with just a blade he’d picked up on a whim sounded exciting, but even a tough nut like Vasco knew that'd be a fast track to the bone orchard.

“Or,” Vasco piped up when the orc had finished, “you could quit pussyfooting around and use me as bait to smoke them out. Save us a lotta time and legwork. And!” He shot Rowan a sly grin. “You’d get your crack at replacing me without getting your mitts dirty.” His gaze slid to Aurora as he added. “After all, I ain’t no Zara.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Night Sola 23, 1739

Violet & Fritz Part 2

---

But before she could succumb to the primal urge within her, a sudden force tore his hand away, snapping her back to reality with a jolt. "No!" she hissed, her voice dripping with venom, as she recoiled from him, her back pressed against the cold embrace of the hedge, its shadows swallowing her whole. "Why are you here! You should go." She said desperately.

The count’s gaze locked onto the woman, his face expressionless, his body still. Slowly, as the world regained its colors, his senses realigned with it. At last, a faint smile graced his lips. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly as the smile spread on his lips as she felt panic slip in.

Emboldened, he approached her with purposeful steps. “Lady Damien,” he began, his voice calm and controlled. “... You are a remarkably kind and strong woman,” he said. “I can only imagine the pain you’re in, battling this.” Ryn reached out and held her hands.

Her red eyes dropped down to her hands as she felt his warmth against her cold skin.

“You’re staying away from your home to protect everyone inside, aren’t you?”

Violet's eyes looked up towards the windows as she felt a sharp poke of anger and frustration.

“But I can see that your control is faltering. How long will you be able to resist before the craving takes hold?”

At this rate, she might snap and attack the first living thing that crossed her path. If she could not control how much she took, then they would surely perish from exsanguination. Better to curb some of that maddening need while she still had a semblance of self-control.

After making a rough estimation of her height and weight, Ryn calculated how much blood she would require, at the very least, to stave off the worst of her thirst. “If you fear you won’t be unable to maintain your grip on yourself much longer and you’re scared of inadvertently killing someone… then I will offer a portion of my blood.”

Violet's eyes shot towards him.

Stunned silence.

“At my weight, I have about 4,270 milliliters of blood in total. It’s said that humans can lose up to 15% of their blood volume without severe medical consequences. Which means I can safely spare around 640 milliliters.” The smile on his face widened a fraction as he took in her reaction to his sudden babble. “That’s a bit more than what’s in a soda bottle.” He gestured with his hands, sculpting the air to illustrate the size and shape. “Have you ever had one? It’s delicious.”

Lowering his hands, he arrived at the crux of his proposal. “I am willing to donate one bottle’s worth of blood to you, if you are willing to risk it.”

The silence echoed around them as Violet nearly pressed herself into the large hedge behind her as if trying to flee from the situation but yet she hesitated. She had already killed someone. Not just an hour ago…

…But the smell that lingered in the air and the taste that still stained her lips… "Why?" her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "Why?..what do you gain from this. No one does anything for free." Her tone turned back to its venomous state, each word biting after the next. "I cant even trust my own family, how is it you believe i’d trust anyone with something like that?"

“It would make me feel like I did some good by helping someone, so there is that. And maybe I’ll be able to make a new friend along the way.” Ryn tilted his head, confusion written on his face. “I understand why you might not trust me, but why can’t you trust your family? Do they not know about this?”

A darkness shrouded over Violet's face as her eyes narrowed. A grin slowly crept on her face, her lips curling to reveal the toothy secret she held behind them as darkness encased the pair. “Who do you think chose this life for me?” She asked him, “It wasn't me.” She snapped angrily, her head shaking in disagreement.

Her grin faded nearly as quickly as it came. “What does it matter anymore?” she said, rolling her eyes. “I was good…never did anything wrong, read my books while they dotted over my sister. Living a boring life in the shadows of someone else.” She then gestured to herself. “I end up with an ax in my head, dead. Only to be pulled from peace…sun…calmness to a world where my body was failing me, my eyes blind, my face disfigured…just so they could pine over another sick child.” tears well in her eyes as she dropped her head. “Forced to drink someone else's blood to survive…” a tear rolled down her face as she gently wiped it away.

Lady Damien’s words and tears spilled from her in a torrent of raw anguish. Ryn bore silent witness as she unburdened her soul. A pang of sympathy pierced his heart, for hers was a tragedy oft-repeated amongst those forced out of death’s slumber. From the folds of his coat, Ryn withdrew a crisp, neatly folded handkerchief. “Here,” he said, proffering the fabric. She stood still for a moment before reaching for the handkerchief.

“Do you wish to die again, rather than live like this?”

"I thought for a while about it, even starved myself in denial." She offered back the Handkerchief after drying her tears with a soft smile. “I dont think i’d return back to where I was if I did…" she said softly,knowing her actions of survival would lead her down a much darker end. “They created the monster, so they will need to live with it." Her voice dropped to a more venomed tone once again.

Violet's red eyes shifted to look at him as her eyes pierced into his with a stare, unblinking and focused. “I haven’t entered the event…because I would kill them all." including alexander she thought as she tried to tear the memories of earlier from her mind but it was no use. “...You asked me before…about the craving. I dont think I could stop myself if I were to go through with your offer. You’ve been kind to me which many have not. You even kept me company in the park… " her voice trailed for a moment as she felt a few of the memories slip in. Taking a deep breath she reached down and slipped the shoes back on her feet as if preparing to leave. “So I will show you kindness and decline your offer."

Udo’s desperate quest for the honorable death that would let him pass on with his goddess’s blessing flickered and faded behind Ryn’s closed lids. A bone-deep sigh rattled in his chest. “Then I hope you can take some small comfort in knowing that there are ways to put a permanent end to your existence, should you desire.” An unthinkable thing to voice for most. For those who had contemplated suicide, though, the power to draw that final curtain provided bittersweet comfort. To know that there would be an end to their living nightmare.

For Violet, living had become her nightmare.

Shifting in her spot, Violet swayed softly as the air around her seemed to darken. She wasn't sure anymore what awaited on the other side but she knew what waited for her here and that was death and not that of her own.

“And though your family chose this, from the sounds of it, they must’ve loved you so dearly to want you back no matter the cost.” His gaze fell to the damp cloth, imagining the bitter rain of tears that must have fallen the night of Lady Damien’s murder, before tucking it away. “You’re also blessed with friends such as Lady Charlotte, who would support you through this. It speaks volumes of you as a person, Violet.”

The red eyes that fixed upon him as he spoke, narrowed at the thought of feeling remorse for the ones who supported or perhaps even had some hand in her condition. Blessed… There was no blessing here, only whispers and laughter. Death.

Ryn paused, his expression shifting as a subtle frost crept into his tone. “However, if your motivations stem from a desire to punish your family, I must urge you to reconsider your method. Please, do not involve those unconnected to your grievances. That path will only breed more pain, more darkness. They don’t deserve to bear the consequences of your family’s actions.” With her condition, she risked devaluing people to mere sustenance. If she decided their deaths could serve as a means to settle the score with her family, it would be all too easy to start viewing all other life as expendable, much like them. “Don’t let your pain and anger destroy yourself… You deserve better than that.” He wondered if he spoke these words to Lady Damien or to his own family—his grandmother.

Little Ryn stared unblinkingly into his grandmother’s eyes as her hands held his face in an inescapable grasp. Though neither were the same color, they were so dark it he could not really tell, even this close to her face, they just looked black. “They are the ones who robbed us of everything. But they twisted the narrative, turned us into monsters to be hunted without mercy.” Her weathered hands trembled, from what, he could not say, “And if not for the oath, I would have gladly become one, in body, mind, and soul.”

“It’s a bit late for that Lord Fritz. Much of me has already been destroyed.”

“But not all.” The tears were proof of that.

For the first time, Ryn’s gaze completely left Lady Damien and he contemplated the problem before them, brow furrowed in thought. “I believe securing a stable source of blood must be the priority. Establish a reserve of sorts that doesn’t involve slaughtering people left and right. It may also be worth exploring whether your hunger can be sated by non-human blood.” When he halted his pacing, he met her gaze. “Putting the issue of morality aside, even from a practical standpoint, you cannot afford to draw attention to yourself with unnecessary killing. You may end up having to deal with an angry mob with torches and pitchforks. And you would be depleting valuable blood resources.”

“Your concern for my actions are misplaced Lord Fritz. Respectfully you nor any of the other nobles cared until I became some circus act to gawk at for the morning newspaper. I would be shocked to even believe any of you cared or even knew of my death.” She looked away uncaring. “What I do with my time is my own, and if any of this information bleeds out, I will ensure that it isn’t the only thing bleeding.”

“Was… that a pun?” Ryn chuckled softly before settling into a troubled smile.

“... It seems like you’ve decided everything about me, for me, as well.” He said, the unspoken comparison to her parents hanging in the air. “May I ask why the concern I had when we walked together or the concern I am expressing now is less meaningful to you?”

From what he could gather, she seemed to be somewhere between resigned to her perceived fate and enraged at the injustice of it all. “I’m sorry people aren’t grieving for you in the way you wished. But as I understand it, your parents, with the crown’s help, have kept your murder a closely guarded secret. The newspapers haven’t reported it. Few even know of your passing, and I learned of it only by chance.” He assumed the Damiens did this in order to protect their daughter, to give her some modicum of normalcy.

Leaning forward, he pinned her with an intense stare. “What you do has always been your choice alone, Violet. You can give in to despair. Allow circumstances, or others, decide everything for you. Seek revenge or offer forgiveness. End your life or embrace this new existence. Become the monster you dread or the person you want to be. Fight alone or with allies. Every decision has consequences you must shoulder.” As Ryn straightened, he began to put his glove back on. “I’ve listed potential alternatives. Whatever avenue you pursue to slake your thirst, hereafter, know that it’s a road you walk with open eyes, fully aware that other roads exist.”

“You are not what they made you, Violet Damien. You are who you choose to become.”

“Spare me your pity party Lord Fritz. My life has been chosen for me.” She let out a long sigh as her chest collapsed down, the wind picked up again and as she breath in the smell once again hit her nose. The pungent, iron scent…called to her as she swallowed hard to pull it back. With so many people at the event, she needed to find some place less crowded…quite. “Regardless of what people want to say or believe, I am the one who needs to look in the mirror. The constant reminder of my disfigurement. On top of all of that I am now subject to remove life from others to spare my own. You may keep your advice for someone who wants it. Until someone is in my position, to know what its like to be ripped from what I could only understand as heaven, To be pulled back to fulfill some sick joke of sparing my parents feelings. My actions may be of my own, but they were fueled by what lurks inside that manor,” her voice deepend slightly.

The comment about the disfigurement puzzled him. True, there were scars, but they did not diminish her beauty in his eyes. She was beautiful despite it, even because of it. Much like kintsugi.

“Most living things take life to sustain their own. Even you did before you died the first time. Unless you secretly knew how to do photosynthesis, I assume you’ve had your share of meat, fruit, vegetables, and yeast.” His fingers traced the veins of his wrist. “Living things can make more blood as long as they live. You don’t have to kill anyone.”

He knew that the conversation had reached an impasse. Lady Damien made it evident that she was unwilling to entertain his words, at least not at present. Maybe if the words came from someone she cared for, it would be different, but not from Ryn, some random stranger. Thus he ended the discussion with, “I may not fully understand what you’re going through, but I’m here to help however I can,” and left it at that for now.

An idea suddenly came to mind and Ryn flashed her a boyish wide grin. “You said you’ve always been a good girl who never did anything wrong, living a boring life. Then, why not be adventurous in this one? Try out new things that you couldn’t before? We could even do something deliciously naughty, like fling eggs at your parents’ house.”

Violet's eyes glanced over at the party. Alexander had made it rather clear to her what she was instructed to do and while she did hold the thoughts in the back of her mind this offer sounded much more exciting.

“What… do you think?” He watched her, hopeful, waiting on her response.

“What do you have in mind?” she flashed a toothy smile, her sharp canines peeking beneath her red stained lips.

The smile that It returned to her was wholly different from the ones which came before. A feral thing, all sharp edges and glinting teeth; a bestial baring of enamel that mirrored the lady’s own wolfish grin.

---

With the masquerade party concluded and his commitments met, Ryn made good on his final promise of the night by introducing Lady Damien to the city’s nightlife. They indulged in the revelry offered by various disreputable establishments—shabby taverns, smoke-filled public houses, and rowdy saloons. Laid wages at a gambling den thick with the reek of desperation, the rattle of dice and the slap of cards punctuated by curses bitten off behind clenched teeth. Using charcoal stubs, they left their mark defacing walls with crude drawings and inscriptions. And they danced. Danced to every music that caught their fancy. Everything Lady Damien had always been curious about but never dared to explore in her previous life because she was a “good girl.”

All the while, Ryn kept a watchful eye out for trouble. Which may be the only reason why he spotted the group of shifty characters who had been tailing them for quite some time. Their sidelong glances and hushed exchanges spoke of opportunistic thieves awaiting just the right moment to make their move upon the unwary pair.

A rather intoxicated Violet giggled off to the side as she clumsily fell into a gentlemen. He had his arm outstretched looming above her head as he gave her a coy smile exchanging words that made Lady Violet's face flush with pink as she attempted to steady herself.

Oblivious to the people that Fritz spotted, Violet took a long sip on her glass as she leaned up against the wall continuing to giggle at a joke that was more then likely not funny.

Deciding it was time to intervene, Ryn approached his inebriated friend. “I think it’s time we call it a night, Violet,” he said. Lady Damien’s protests bubbled forth, giddy and slurred, her cheeks flushed a deep pink, but Ryn held fast. He carefully guided her towards the door and out into the cool night air, his arm securely around her waist, anchoring her against the pull of gravity.

Rather than take the most expeditious path back to the Damien estate, they wove a circuitous route through narrow side streets and dimly lit alleyways. Better to muddy their trail should any unsavory sorts give chase, and the added time afforded a chance for words.

“Well, well,” Ryn began with a playful tone, “who knew you were such a party animal! How was your first taste of the city’s nightlife? Did it live up to your expectations?” Even as the questions left him, he wondered if this night of reckless abandon would ultimately prove cathartic for her or if it would only compound the issues that drove her to seek solace in the first place. Ryn watched her carefully, his hand gently rubbing slow circles on her back when she needed to pause and reorient herself.

Stopping to lean against a stone wall Violet caught her balance. Grinning at Fritz she let out a small giggle. “Better than some horrible masquerade” she adjusted the tail of her gown that she had borrowed from Alexander's wife. Realizing that she would need to go home, at least to find a better change of clothing she frowned. “ I should probably head home…” she said softly in defeat however she had no intention on staying. “Thank you for turning my evening around. You really opened my eyes” she smiled as she attempted to straighten up but ended up falling back into the wall.

Ryn gestured toward the far end of the dimly lit alley. “Worry not, my lady,” he assured her. “Once we exit this passage, home shall be but a stone’s throw away.” With genteel courtesy, the count hooked Lady Damien’s elbow with his own and continued down the uneven cobblestones.

As they emerged onto the gaslit street and her stately manse came into view, Ryn jovially said, “Thank you for allowing me to accompany you tonight. If you ever wish to go on a similar adventure, let me know. I would love to do this again.” He paused, before his voice took on a softer cadence. “And I want you to know that my offer of companionship extends beyond just drinking and dice. If you ever have need of a friendly ear, or a helping hand in finding your killer… you need only send word, Violet. I am but a missive away.”

Ryn’s eyes held hers, willing her to absorb what he just said. “I hope you don’t forget my words this time.” His hand found her arm and patted it.

Violet's red eyes glanced down to his hand that offered her a supportive pat then back to his face unsure if his words were genuine or held some sort of motive behind them. It was as if in her drunken state there was a small part of her still there, the part of her that never died that day. The one that wanted to trust someone.

Forcing a smile she nodded “Thank you…” she said softly as her expression shifted from her giggly state to one more somber as they approached closer to the manor. “...I will keep it in mind.” Her eyes glanced up to the Manor as it came closer in sight. Every time she saw it, she felt as if the world around her was closing in. Nailing her inside of a coffin. It was no longer home.

“I hope you can keep this night between us.” she said, before stopping them just a block from the back gates. “I don’t know who to trust right now…” her voice dropped to nearly a whisper.

Ryn took note of Lady Damien’s curious reaction—she seemed more distressed by her parents’ decision to resurrect her than not knowing who had cut her life short and why. For the time being, he resolved to grant her the space she needed. He trusted that she would seek him out should she decide to accept his offer. With a nod, he acquiesced. “Understood.”

Mischief sparkled in Ryn’s eyes, accompanied by a conspiratorial smile. A finger pressed to his mouth. “I cannot vouch for the other patrons’ discretion, but my lips are sealed. As far as I am concerned, tonight is our little secret. If someone asks about you, I will tell them I saw you returning home.”

In a gesture of gallantry, the count brought Lady Damien’s hand to his lips as he swept into a bow. “I hope to hear from you soon, Violet. Until then, good night, and don’t be a stranger.”

Offering him a smile and a very off balance curtsy, Violet nodded in understanding. “Goodnight Lord Fritz” she smiled before turning her back to him and walking back towards the dreaded manor, pausing she turned back around peering over her shoulder at the man. Flashing another smile, this time showing off her fangs as her lips curved into a playful expression “You’re lucky I don't bite.” Giving him a final nod of her head she turned back around and walked off.

He wished It could say the same.

Avalia

Time: MORNING
Location: EXT. DOCK / INT. TAVERN
Interactions/Mentions: Guy affiliated with The New Dawn @Lava Alckon; Another guy affiliated with The New Dawn @SilverPaw; Zion @Helo
Equipment:

[+]

⋆ Attire from Avalia
⋆ Backpack
⋆ Smartphone
⋆ Wallet and key
⋆ Computer
⋆ Headphones
⋆ Spare eyeglasses
⋆ Plastic bag
⋆ Letter
⋆ Zion's hunting knife
⋆ Clothes from Earth
⋆ Canteen "borrowed" from Malachi's
⋆ Map "borrowed" from Malachi's

---

"I'll take that as a yes to all of the above then. Unless you want to, oh I dunno...elaborate?" Jun frowned at Tanithil's response. He was absolutely, positively, one-hundred-percent certain he had shaken his head. Last time he checked, a side-to-side head wobble meant no in every country except Bulgaria… and Sri Lanka… and maybe India. Turkey. Okay, maybe there were a lot more regions than Jun initially thought. That wasn't the point. The point was, he was pretty sure the Captain was just trying to get him to speak.

When both Tanithil and Arlen strode off in different directions. Jun realized that they made the mistake of taking their eyes off of him. Time to make a break for it!

As Arlen, Zion, and Jun wandered toward the tavern Tanithil had pointed at, Jun tried to oh-so-casually drift off course, edging towards sweet, sweet freedom. But every time he steered himself in any other direction than the one Arlen was heading, Zion would either pull him back or block his path with his hulking frame. It was like the lion-man gained mind-reading abilities or something. After several failed attempts, Jun reluctantly shelved Plan A.

Plan B then: excuse himself to the bathroom and make his escape through a back door or window. Classic.

They plopped themselves down at one of the larger tables inside the tavern, and Jun claimed the seat at the far end. Perusing the menu, he jabbed his finger at his breakfast order, then tacked on a few extra provisions for good measure. Since Tanithil was treating them to breakfast, he might as well stock up for his soon-to-be life on the run.

Jun sat quietly, biding his time and waiting for the moment to set his plan into motion.

TLDR

Plan A to slip away while Tanithil and Arlen were not paying attention to Jun, failed because of Zion. Jun decided he would attempt Plan B in the tavern.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Ríoghnach "Riona"

Time: Daytime, Sola 24th
Location: The Primitus Church of Sorian
Interaction(s)/Mention(s): @Helo@princess@TpartywithZombi@Lava Alckon@SilverPaw@FunnyGuy@Rodiak@Potter@Apex Sunburn

Riona fixed the lordling with a long, hard look, her eyes traveling over his figure as if searching for any shred of evidence to support his claim of being fashionable. His fashion sense wasn’t bad, she had to admit—he kept up with the latest whims of the nobility well enough, and he hadn’t completely abandoned tradition for the sake of trends. But the careful blankness of her face revealed nothing. “If that is what you must tell yourself to sleep at night…” she said at last, her gaze sliding away to some distant point. She let the implication hang in the air between them.

The arrogance of the man, thinking he was doing her a gracious favor with his talk of olive branches when he couldn’t even be bothered to remember her words from one moment to the next. Did he really not understand what the problem she had with him was, even after she’d laid it out as plain as day? Even Shehzadi Nahir had practically drawn the Lordling a diagram, but apparently his ego was too impenetrable, his skull too dense.

“Gods spare me from fools and slow-witted lordlings,” Riona muttered, letting her maid’s mask slip. But Lordling Smithwood was too busy prattling, and she doubted he’d even noticed.

He was critiquing the shoes she’d left, in excruciating detail—too gaudy, too dull, unbefitting a man of his stature, on and on. Except for the lion slippers. He liked those. Because of course he would.

“I cannot understand why Lady Morrigan finds this an appropriate remedy, the burden of correcting unruly servants should not fall upon guests. This would never happen in Varian. Have I offended her somehow?”

Clearly, he didn’t expect Riona to answer, but she gave him one anyway. “Is it not obvious, milord? She’s waiting for you to snap. See how much you take after your father when that happens.”

Out of nowhere, the Lordling began rattling off demands about rearranging his room. Riona could only stare, incredulous. Why? What’s the point? Was this some stupid power play?

It was.

One condescending lecture later, he strode on, so pleased with himself.

Technically, she had followed his orders about the shoes to the letter. It wasn’t her fault the young lord hadn’t specified what kind of shoes he wanted. A mistake he seemed determined to repeat, given his vague instructions about the furniture. Riona smiled to herself. Oh, this is going to be fun.

Brushing down Menace, on the other hand, would be a welcome respite. She’d encountered the stallion before, helping in the stables. Prickly at first, Menace had a sweet side once you learned the trick of him. Nothing like that insufferable rider of his, she thought with a snort. Maybe she'll slip Menace an apple or two next time. He deserved it for putting up with that ass.

Inside the church, Lordling Smithwood asked, “Refresh my memory, do you worship His Royal Majesty as if he were the embodiment of a god or because the King is divinely chosen?”

Riona bit back her first response. I don’t. But she couldn’t say that out loud in church, could she? So instead she recited the official line. “It is believed that the ruling family were chosen by the gods to lead the kingdom, blessed with perfection by Zivita himself.” Then Edin became king and his god-complex demanded that he specifically should be the object of worship. “Ever since His Royal Majesty ascended the throne, some have started preaching that he is more than just chosen. He is a mortal god. Born of divine blood, an avatar of Zivita himself.” Blah blah blah. What a crock.

As Lordling Smithwood’s attendant, Riona didn’t sit next to him, but stood against the wall near him. From her vantage point, she got a clear view of those who assembled.

The Monets’ presence came as no shock. The real gut-punch was seeing Count Calbert. His own daughter was still out there somewhere, lost or worse, and here he was attending some stupid ceremony. Priorities, indeed. Maybe Cal had the right of it after all.

Princess Anastasia was with, what Riona could only assume was her new fling, Shahzade Farim. All thoughts of Darryn had clearly been wiped from her pretty, empty head. Darryn… Still missing, still gone. Each hour that passed without a word from him coiled the dread tighter in Riona’s gut, a sinking feeling that something terrible had happened.

Riona also spotted the Vikenas. Nerves played across the Duke’s face, but there was courage there too. Why else would he be attending this event? Lady Charlotte hovered at his elbow, but her attention seemed focused on jotting notes on a journal she carried. Of what, Riona had no clue. She just hoped that Edin’s sycophants were too enraptured by the ceremony to notice one noblewoman neglecting her most holy of duties—fawning over her blessed sovereign.

A trace of a smile ghosted across her lips at the sight of Shehzadi Nahir, memories of the last night’s dance returning to her. But the warmth flickered and died as quickly as a snuffed candle when Wulfric walked into view, his presence an icy draft that seeped into her bones and snaked around her throat. The smile faded into a taut line.

Four unfamiliar faces caught Riona’s eye. Three were complete strangers. The other, Riona recognized vaguely as one of the Shehzadi’s many servants. Four very different, but very dangerous people. It was all in the way they moved—the coiled alertness of their posture, the calculated precision of each step. They were weapons, honed and deadly. (Of course, the literal weapons strapped to the foreign duo were also a dead giveaway.)

She watched silently as the assembled took their seats.

Then, the ceremony began, and Gods, every second of it was torture. Riona wanted to rip her ears off, listening to that stupid f**king song extolling Edin’s virtues and supposed divinity. To gouge her eyes out so she didn’t have to witness the farcical spectacle.

But why stop at harming herself when the true objects of her hatred were right here, within reach? The very people she despised most in this world, all gathered in one place. It would be so easy, whispered a voice in her mind. She could do it now. Here, in this church, while they celebrated the glory of these monsters. What delicious irony it would be. And the best part? The Gods wouldn’t lift a finger to stop her.

Because if the Gods were real, if they truly cared about their chosen, they would have acted long ago.