nasty

Wounds of the Soul

Catarina's anger dripped away from her face, almost becoming kind when Aïtana stared back. But she never broke her gaze. Never stopped analyzing and studying. The other woman's face was cold and inexpressive, but things were never that simple. In the same position, Catarina would hide her own emotions. She would be a fool to assume Aïtana wouldn't. The spitting told her everything she needed to know. Disdain, frustration, defiance, and hatred. Meeting this with more hate could never help.

Cata was the one to break the gaze when she paced over to the cabinet in the far corner. She placed the candle on a small raised slab and opened the cabinet door. Strange glass and marble apparatus filled the shelves, placed in tidy and organised rows. Rags were folded and stacked on the bottom shelf. Catarina lifted one from the stack. She walked over to where the spit had soiled her carpet, and crouched down to clean it.

"This was expensive, you know," she said. "I wouldn't do that again if I were you."

She stood and began toying with the rag before leaning against a nearby shelf, eyes looking her captive up and down. Her nails tapped on the spine of a wood-bound book. "Aïtana, darling, look. To be frank, I don't like imprisoning people. It's disgusting, honestly. I don't want to have you as my prisoner any more than you want to be my prisoner..." she trailed off. The tapping stopped. "So believe me when I say that I only want to know how you came to be here so I can avoid having to do this to others. It's just damage control, see?"

Cata closed her eyes for a few seconds and let out a long, defeated sigh. She slid the wooden book off the shelf and clutched it against her. Iron clasps held it shut, and strange shapes were burned into the back cover. "I suppose if today is to be a day for honesty between us, then I should take the lead... I do admire you. You have strong morals, which I would genuinely love to hear about some time." Her eyes found Aïtana's as she lowered herself to the floor to sit down. They were playful and full of interest. "Maybe after I've got you situated in a more appropriate cell. It's being outfitted to hold a guest of your esteem at the moment. It should be ready by tomorrow. But, I digress. You must have left traces, and so many people are wont to follow such clues. If they do, then they'll just wind up here, like you. You don't really want to get anyone else captured, do you?"

Avalia

Time: 10:00 AM!!
Location: Roshmi City Alleyway
Interactions: Orias @helo
Equipment: Sidesword, dagger, billhook, and armour. A pouch with 92 amas in. A long-sleeved cloak and a cat mask.

---

Nabarra smiled at Koldar when he handed her the bag. It was a warm smile, compared to her usual expressions. She sat back on her heels and started dragging the contents of the bag out onto the ground. After tying her purse back to her belt, she lifted the cloak up to admire. It fit the bill perfectly. She pulled it over her head and shrugged her arms through the sleeves. It fit well, but was ridiculously big for her. The hood slid down over her eyes. "Thanks, Koldar. I bloody owe ya one," she said, looking up at him through the hood.

She snorted at the image of the two of them, armed to the teeth, wearing such ridiculous masks, hissing at the patrons. "Now that's a fuckin' thought. I'd say hissin' would help sell it. These sleeves will really sell it," she said, lifting her forearms so the sleeves flopped back down. They looked almost like pyjama sleeves. She reached back up into the cloak and drew her dagger, cutting the sleeves to a more appropriate length. "Anyway, after we get on the piss and make some friends, wha's our plan? We can't jus' fuckin' be all "Oh yeah this one 'ere, she's a fuckin' Dark Elf, but don't worry yer pretty little face, she's on our side", can we? Don't expect they'll take that bloody well," she said, looking at the mask that was still laying on the ground. Nabarra reached down and picked it up. She rotated it in her hands for a little while before casually holding it up, saying "And this can only hide so much."

That the king was apparently a coward was something that kept eating at her mind. That couldn't be good. If they couldn't find an earnest resistance at that level, then what would they find? The idea that he'd sell his city out crossed her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. Surely a king wouldn't be that irresponsible. A safer option would be to appeal to the idea that the demihumans really had no stake in the war - it was Light Elves versus Dark Elves. Nabarra stood up, tying the mask on and slipping the veil over her lower face. "Koldar, let's circle back to that fuckin' king for a sec, she said. "What is he doing, if not resisting the Dark Elves?" Her tone was low, fear and danger creeping into it. An old adage slipped into her mind... If they're not with us, they're against us

Shaking her head, Nabarra hefted her billhook and walked towards the alleyway exit, gesturing for Koldar to lead the way.

Wounds of the Soul

The Ducal House

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The Duchess ;)

Duchessa Brunisente Scarcella di Castrolibero

The Duchess is the one who *technically* holds the ruling title to the city. She was born into the position, where the Duke married into it.

This means that the Duchess' blood will take priority when determining lineage.

The Duchess herself is a kind woman, often referred to as benevolent. She cares for her subjects and hears all who wish to bring their issues to court. She was known to hold wilder parties than anyone else in her youth. Now, her age has caught up to her, and her knees aren't what they were.

She has some low-level magical powers relating to judgement and justly ruling.

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The Duke!

Duca Salicaro Scarcella di Castrolibero

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The Heir

NAME Scarcella di Castrolibero

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The Bastard

Feri di Castroliebro

All I wanna write here is that there is a bastard!

This bastard was conceived by the Duchess after her and her husband attended an orgy.

Usually bastards hold a very weak claim to heirdom. But. The Ducal couple has only borne one legitimate heir. The line of succession would go: the heir, the Duchess' sister, the Bastard.

Nobody knows who the other parent is, and this may be a plot hook we can leverage. It's likely they were magical.

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The Handmaid

Nicola Veseli di Castrolibero

Brunisente's personal servant. The two are very close, and grew up together. There's a bit of an unhealthy dynamic here which developed from a crossover of two things: the Countess' rank, and the Handmaid's tendency to come out of situations with a better deal than her friend. This extends from youthful courtships where the suitor would run off with the handmaid, all the way to more practical skills where the Handmaid showed much better general hand-eye co-ordination than Brunisente.

All that being said, the two are as close as if they were sisters. They love one another nonetheless.

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The Sister

Lady Odette Scarcella di Castrolibero

Odette is the sister of Brunisente. She is the head of the military Office in the Ducal court, and has always loved the thrill of the fight. Low-key an adrenaline junkie. She's second in line for the Ducal throne.

She has a strong loyalty to her sister and no interest in ruling. She's a very positive personality, always chipper, and always looking on the bright side of situations. This doesn't mean she's one dimensional - she's known hardship, and she knows when a situation is sombre - she just tends on the positive side of things.

Her leadership as general is well-respected, even among her detractors. The general skill and morale of Castrolibero's soldiers has increased by huge margins since she entered office. This is in large part due to her chipper attitude rubbing off onto her underlings as she trains personally with them.

Wounds of the Soul

Ambience

---

Catarina walked down the spiral staircase behind the loose bookshelf in her study. Her footsteps reverberated off the stones and down the staircase, heralding her descent. She took her time with the stairs. Each footstep was allowed its own room, space to breathe, time for the echoes to decay. Time for her prisoner to digest them.

The stones in the stairwell were rough-cut and darkly coloured. A perfect fit for a secret chamber. The way was lit by a hand-held tallow candle, mounted on a little polished bronze dish. The wick had been soaked in oils to brighten the light it let off. Candles were cheaper and more efficient than an oil lamp, so Catarina saw no reason to not use one. In all fairness, it did reek like burnt animal fat, but small sacrifices must be made.

The last step always let out the quietest echoes, somewhat anti-climatically. The room at the bottom was a secret study, with books and alchemical reagents cluttering shelves, ink-stained carpets lining the floor, and arcane tapestries lining the walls. A tall, three panel mirror features against one wall, partially obscured by purple velvet curtains. Keen eyes would spot that this mirror reflects nothing. Instead, it showed smokey white swirls which shift and change when one isn't looking at them.

A writing desk occupied the opposing wall and a lectern stared over a large, circular portion of stone flooring. The lectern had shelves built into its column, which were filled with candlesticks and bowls.

Catarina stepped into the chamber and turned to her left.

There sat her long-time vexer. A subject of fascination and frustration, finally within her grasp. The rival, Aïtana Du'Vall, had been seated in and tied to a chair. The chair was made of a rich wood which matched the writing desk, and was well-cushioned. The ropes were thick cord, and tied well.

"Are you... comfortable?" she asked in her low, slow drawl. "I am terribly sorry about this situation. But then again, it would have been different if you knew where that nose of yours isn't welcome."

She turns and paces around the room, tending to the candles. "So. We both know I can't keep you here forever. Start talking. How - and why for that matter - did you come to be snooping through my shit?" A crack pierced the air as she slammed her hand against a nearby bookshelf, staring over into Aïtana's eyes, fury tearing at her eyes.

Wounds of the Soul

Concept: a court mage secretly in service of evil. She secretly works against the current power hierarchy, balancing subterfuge and courtly appearances. Appearing outwardly as a cocky yet charismatic courtier, while her soul rots from her naive pursuit of power.

Name: Catarina Loveti de Monte Scifo
Race: Human
Age: 33

Appearance

Abilities
• Spells of charm and beguilement
• Spells of binding
• Spells of scrying
• Spells of pain

Drive: Liberation
Belief: “Rules are made by those with unjust power they wish to brandish like a knife against others.”
Instinct: “When others talk, always analyse their ulterior motives"

Characterization notes
- Dripping with sarcasm. Will make fun of you in sideways jabs.
- Speaks in a low, sultry voice which cracks upwards when stressed.
- Comments are often enchanted – her words cut, enchant, sing, and tug at your heartstrings, as she desires.
- Rather than becoming guarded when challenged or questioned, she refocuses conversation. This speaks to her entire methodology regarding conflict when others bring it to her.

Personality
Cata knows what she wants and she plans to get it. She is an avid social butterfly, mingling easily into social dynamics and befriending strangers quickly. She’s known for both her thick, honeyed words, and her sharp wit. She knows what to say and when to say it. When to poke fun, when to nurse vulnerabilities, when to be kind, when to scathe, when to jest, and when to speak earnestly. She is seen to have impeccable timing of wit and a genuine kind heart. She is seen as someone who can be leaned on, but won’t entertain bullshit.

However, none of this is a genuine take on what she’s really doing. Catarina ruthlessly pulls the strings of all those she interacts with so she can advance her demonic agenda and uses people as tools. She plucks heartstrings in dissonant chords while polishing her faithful tools. It’s simply that maintaining a ‘genuine’ front happens to be advantageous to her. She will ruthlessly throw close friends under the bus if she feels it will be advantageous, and she will not hesitate.

Cata flexes between a calm front and an earnestly acted display of being hurt or enraged as suits her best. When she needs to be stoic, she will maintain composure, deflect inconvenient questions, and maintain a high ground. When she deems it advantageous to show emotion in order to get something she wants, she will pivot and lash out or cry, displaying how she’s been hurt to others.

Again, this conceals how she really feels. Her emotional range is just as broad as anyone else’s. Inconvenient questions make her seethe and heartbreak makes her empathise, but she has learned to put these aside and use them as learning opportunities. Her emotions become clues, betraying how others may be feeling, allowing her to act appropriately.

Occupation/Position: Office of Intrigue Mage – the Ducal household exchange a study, access to secret chambers, and a decent pay for her powers of scrying, binding, and pain.

Her Study

History
will fill out laterrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. soon now.

Wounds of the Soul

mithrilandmages.com/utilities/Medieva… <-- useful name generator/inspiration machine

Avalia

Time: 10:00 AM!!
Location: Roshmi City Greenhouse
Interactions: Orias @helo
Equipment: Sidesword, dagger, billhook, and armour. A pouch with 90 amas in.

---

"Yes. I would really bloody rather avoid improvisin' if we can," Nabarra shot back. The idea was genuinely scary to her - she'd been in the city for just about an hour and she'd already got into one fight, and narrowly escaped another. But now she had an ally, and that would prove valuable. Especially a Light Elf, people tended to trust them. "Disguising myself as another race entirely would be too fuckin' hard with the time we 'ave. Probably get somethin' with bloody long sleeves, like down to 'ere," she gestured to her mid-thigh, "and a mask. That'd be useful as shit. Don't want anyone seeing my ugly mug."

She walked past Koldar and over to the greenhouse, which was beginning to gently glow as the sun crested the roofs of the surrounding buildings. What a terrible place to build a greenhouse, Nabarra thought. She placed her hand on the gently warming handle and turned to face Koldar. "I'll wait in here,", she said, pulling the door open. A wave of heat punched her in the gut. She closed the door. "Fuckin' hell... or, I'll just wait out here."

She tossed her coin pouch across to Koldar. "If you spend any more I can cover it. Just gotta drop past a fuckin' bank," she said. Her coffers weren't exactly empty yet. She was a frugal spender, so her savings from the army had gone a long way. It also didn't hurt that she absolutely loathed the bureaucracy involved in withdrawing amas. With a short, sharp sigh, she turned around and sat down. Her back pressed against the cool alley wall, and she watched without speaking as Koldar left.

---

Timeskip to after Orias returns

---

Nabarra snapped her head up from her hands when the sound of footsteps echoed down the alleyway. Her left hand reached for the hilt of her sword, and got halfway there before she realised it was only her new friend.

"Oh. Thank fuck it's you. Ya find anythin'?" she asked, slowly standing up. "And how much do I owe ya?"

Avalia

Time: 10:00 AM!!
Location: Roshmi City Greenhouse
Interactions: Orias @helo
Equipment: Recovered (sidesword, dagger, billhook, and armour.) A pouch with 60 amas in.

---

Nabarra froze in her tracks as Koldar apologised, shifting uncomfortably at Koldar's careful consideration of words. She crossed her arms. He was clearly trying to say words that would mean something, but it felt hollow to her. Start over...? She turned slowly to face Koldar, but avoided his eyes as bitterness crept into hers. "Yeah thanks. Really," she scoffed, "I can't just fuckin' start over. You don't need to apologise. Your anger was fuckin' warranted."

A short and awkward silence followed. What she'd said didn't help, but she wasn't about to backtrack. She meant what she said, and as far as she was concerned, Koldar could handle it. Her shoulders sagged.

Koldar was the one to break the silence, mentioning the tailor and somewhere to get a drink. Brilliant. Better still if he was right and this Nest had someone who knew of a resistance. Nabarra's stance slackened as the air cleared a little. "A tailor sounds good. I'll need a bloody good disguise if we're goin' to a bar where people are lookin' for a fuckin' fight though," she said. "But good disguise or no, a bar's better than those fuckin' 'official channels'. Far as I'm concerned, it was never a fuckin' option," she said, scowling at the thought. Of fuckin' course the King's a coward. They all are.

Koldar joked about her getting a cane, and her scowl turned into a wry grin. With some renewed life, she looked up into Koldar's eyes. "Yeah maybe we should get a bloody big ol' grey beard to hide my face, too. Dress me up in some old fuckers' clothes. Really convince 'em tha' I'll be a valuable soldier," she said, chuckling. It sounded odd coming from her, a little awkward, as if she was remembering how how to chuckle. When she was done, she looked towards the alley exit and said "There's an issue. I 'ave barely any bloody money, an' I don't imagine anyone would want to sell to a fuckin' dark elf."

To illustrate her point she plucked her coin purse from her belt and jingled it for Koldar to hear. It made a pathetic tinkling sound. "So unless you're willin' to cover some of it, we may 'ave to improvise."

Outtakes

Start over...? Nabarra snorted at the thought. "aight bet but don't apologise, it's such a beta move, you gotta get on that sigma grindset bruh"

Avalia

Time: 9:00 AM
Location: Roshmi City Greenhouse
Interactions: Orias @helo
Equipment: Recovered (sidesword, dagger, billhook, and armour.) A pouch with 30 amas in.

---

The pain from Nabarra's wounds began to set in as the adrenaline died down. In the thick of a fight it meant nothing, but now it meant trouble walking without a limp until it heals. She put her weight on the uninjured leg and looked over to Koldar, who was gesturing to the exit of the alleyway. She knew what he was getting at. "Yeah alright. Just lemme get my shit first," she said, walking over to the pile of steel. She sat down and began donning her armour. "An' yeah. Yer right," she started, staring Koldar in the eyes "I'm not fuckin' welcome 'ere at the moment, am I? Nice to meet ya though."

The question as to who Nabarra was protecting caught her off guard. She hadn't thought of that. "Uh... jus' fucken' protectin' I guess. Before I came 'ere it was small towns. Shit's changed now."

She wondered... What next? Protecting small towns wasn't going to cut it now. The Dark Elves were sending out their proper armies, and Nabarra knew just how poorly that would go for her. "Maybe I'll join a resistance. But first," she said. She stood up slowly, placing weight on her uninjured limbs. She didn't wince in pain, but she knew just how important it was to keep cuts stable. With a final haul, she slung her billhook by a rope over a shoulder.

"Where do we get a cloak?" she asked, walking towards the exit of the alley.