Mystic — Roleplayer Guild

Lavender
Meaning: suspicion, distrust, failure, refusal
”I have a smile upon my lips, but a bouquet of lavenders in my arms.”

A petal falls.

Anthea Pendleton picked up the fallen petal with her fingertips, gazing upon it with a wry smile upon her lips.  A slender, white petal.  Too young and fresh to be shedding its petals yet.

How...Appropriate.

The petal belonged to the white chrysanthemum, a flower that symbolizes death and grief.

The smell of blood was thick in the air, casting a gloomy aura over an already dismal city.  Everyone already knew of the riot that had taken place earlier, there was no doubt that the city was currently in chaos.  Houses were torched, throats were slit…  Despite Anthea’s familiarity with violence and gore, she had never seen anything so brutal and on such a large scale.

Anthea had a gut feeling that there was more to this than it seemed. Riots can expand to include many many people, this was true.  Fear was contagious. Panic spreads like wildfire, and even though everyone puts up a civil act, fear dissolves it in an instance, making an average person capable of destroying things.  But something about this just didn’t read like a normal riot. She didn’t have any reasoning behind her deduction, it was just intuition.

She had an instinctive feeling that she knew which group was behind it, and she hoped that she was wrong.  Although mobs are powerful, they act fairly predictably.  This move though, was unprecedented, and she couldn’t find a way for it to fit into the puzzle with the factions that she was familiar with.  That left one option: The Forlorn Disciples.  Even with Anthea’s keen intellect, she couldn’t decipher a motive, a method to their madness.  That made them dangerous, perhaps even more dangerous that any of the other factions.  

Anthea was torn away from her thoughts by an incessant banging upon her bedroom door.  Frowning, Anthea rose, tucking her robe more securely around her slender frame.  She opened the door open ever so slightly, peering through the crack before it was forcibly slammed open.  She barely managed to jump back in time.  She glared icily at the two intruders, obviously not appreciating their sudden arrival.

”And to what do I owe the pleasure of entertaining an orc and a human?” Anthea asked with distaste, leaning against her doorframe.

She should’ve expected a house call sooner or later. Razghul seemed to have a habit of checking up on her every so often, probably to make sure Anthea ‘knew her place’, as he often put it.  She was just thankful that she had her own place.  She was living in the main Martovanni estate with her father before Razghul barged in.  She doubted he wanted her around, and Anthea most certainly didn’t want to live with the brute.  She fled to one of her favorite mansions, and fortunately, he didn’t pursue her.  

She was no stranger to Gols and Stephen.  Their heads were buried so far up Razghul’s ass, usually scampering after him like puppies. 

“Listen sweetheart,”  Stephen leered, planting his hand right next to Anthea’s head and leaning in. “We know that you were behind the riot.  So why don’t you just tell us how it happened, and we’ll take you over to Razghul?”

“That’s not how you interrogate someone Stephen,” Anthea chuckled humorlessly, “I had nothing to do with that, and even if I did… Do you think that I’ll just go along with whatever you’ll say?”

“I think that I can convince you to.”  Stephen smirked, tilting Anthea’s chin up with his index finger. Perhaps he meant it in a seductive way, but unfortunately for him, Anthea honestly couldn’t tell who was more physically repulsive, Stephen, or Gols, the orc standing right next to him.

“I think I can convince you to take my word for it.” Anthea stated before grasping Stephen’s hand.  She then proceeded to swiftly twist it downwards, pressing down until she heard a sickening crack.  

“What the fuck!?”  Stephen shrieked, jerking away.  “You bitch, you broke my arm!”

“Yes I did.”  Anthea said, a perfect poker face in place.  She then turned to Gols.  “Did you have anything that you wanted to say?”

Gols shifted uncomfortably, not quite meeting Anthea’s stony stare. He gave no answer, so Anthea kept staring at him until he grunted a soft “No’m” under his breath.

“If Razghul really does think that I’m behind the riot, he can come question me himself.  Now leave.”

Stephen looked like he was about to fire off a desperate retort, but Gols grabbed his uninjured arm and dragged him out of Anthea’s home.

Inwardly, Anthea smiled.  Even though she may have been knocked off of her perch, even though she’s a delicate looking elf…  Anthea isn’t known as Belladonna for nothing.  Her reputation still holds a lot of weight, especially against two cowards who are all talk.

Returning to her room, Anthea plucked the white chrysanthemum from it’s pot and deftly twisted it into her hair.

It was time to go outside and see the extend of the damage.

Moving swiftly, Anthea exited her home.
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