princess

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: Castle Dining Hall
Attire: Dress, Amulet
Interaction: @JJ Doe Fritz @FunnyGuy Lorenzo @Tae Thea @Helo Leo

---

“Actually, Lorenzo, I am beginning to suspect that Alexander Deacon may not be the most good-hearted of gentlemen—” Charlotte began in a whisper, leaning slightly toward her stepfather with lowered voice. But before she could finish, Lorenzo’s voice cut loudly across the table, calling out to the Grand Hafiz with cheerful abandon.

She nearly jumped in her seat, her gloved fingers tightening around her wine glass. “…Perhaps we might refrain from shouting across the banquet hall,” she said delicately, “We may yet survive the evening without incurring His Majesty’s wrath.”

Her eyes flitted nervously around the room, surveying the damage, as though she might smooth it over with sheer will. That’s when she caught sight of Count Fritz. Ever kind, he offered her a little wave. Her posture relaxed a touch, and she returned the gesture with a warm, grateful smile.

The herald's voice filled the air once more as it had incessantly ever since they arrived, and this time to announce the Damiens.

It felt as if her stomach dropped a little, and her breath caught in her throat. She soon found herself eye to eye with Cassius as he sat diagonally across from her. And he certainly wasted no time devoting his gaze to her. She straightened instinctively, her spine taut, but her cheeks betrayed her with a slow, unmistakable flush. Her lips parted in a soft breath.

"Good evening Cassius," she said softly, a whisper meant only for him, as if it could protect them both from the watching world.

But there was something different about the way his gaze bore into her than from the way it had that evening.

It wasn’t something she could easily explain in words. But at the very least, she knew it was heavier.
If she were forced to name it, to pin it down to a single truth—It felt as though he was trying to memorize her and forget her all at once.

Charlotte blinked, her breath catching again before she willed it steady. She tore her gaze from him, forcing herself to return her attention to her plate—though her appetite had all but vanished. Her blue eyes flicked toward the wine glass, and for a moment, she studied the way the deep red liquid swirled within, as though it might offer some answer.

Her heart betrayed her with a flutter, and she closed her eyes.

But even in the dark, she could not escape him. His voice clung to her bones, his voice echoing in her ears, his face—the way he had looked at her just the other night as if she were a secret he wanted to keep.

"Don’t stop dancing with me, Lottie."

That voice, a whisper etched into her ribs, returned now like a memory unwilling to fade.
Her eyes opened slowly, sorrow pooling in them like ink dropped in water, and her shoulders curled inward, as though the very air around her had grown too heavy to bear. And then, she briefly met Calbert Damien’s cold, unrelenting gaze with her own somber blue eyes.

“I promise, love… I’m right here.”

She let her gaze return to Cassius. There was still desire behind those eyes of his—oh yes, the pull between them remained, a flame refusing to die... But now, with their minds sober and the weight of reality pressing in, it was all painfully easier to dismantle the idea of the two of them. What once felt inevitable now unraveled quietly beneath the eyes of watching wolves.

She could no longer afford to be reckless. No longer dance like the world wouldn’t dare interrupt them.

And Charlotte felt deep in her marrow that he knew it too. Whatever they were... Whatever they had almost become, needed to be buried.

Because the way Cassius was looking at her… She could finally name it.

It was a goodbye, dressed in the eyes of a man who never wanted to say it.

And Gods, Charlotte, too, was so tired of saying goodbye.

She suddenly rose from her seat, a small box with a ribbon tied about it in hand. Charlotte quickly made her way around the room until she lingered before a certain birthday girl. With a tender smile, she set the gift down with care near Thea’s plate "Happy birthday, Thea," she said warmly. She reached out then—one hand resting briefly, affectionately, on Thea’s shoulder, the other offering a light touch to Leo’s arm. "I hope you are both faring well this evening."

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 6pm
Location: The Castle Dining Hall
Interactions: @Potter Kira @JJ Doe Hala @Lava Alckon Farim @Tae Thea
Attire:Dress, Hair

---

Anastasia blinked as the dignitary marched over, only for a vision in turquoise and gold to gracefully steal his seat, sip his drink, and dismiss him with regal flair.

Leaning toward Auguste, she whispered, “Did you see that? He got dethroned in three moves.” She tilted her head thoughtfully, then leaned slightly toward Hafiz, her eyes still fixed in awe.

“Grand Vizier,” she whispered, “who is that hurricane that just stole that poor man's dignity?”

Hafiz's lips twitched into a subtle smirk, amusement glittering faintly in his eyes. Without turning his head fully toward Anastasia, he responded in a low, velvety voice laced with dry humor.

"That radiant hurricane, Princess, is none other than Hala Sami—child of Vali Malik Sami. A word of caution: dignity isn't all they'll take if one isn't careful."

Before she could process that information, a familiar movement caught her peripheral vision. She turned—and immediately beamed.

“Thea! The Birthday Baby!” she exclaimed excitedly, sitting up straighter with a gleeful sparkle in her eyes. She returned the wave with both hands, like a child seeing their best friend at a festival, entirely unbothered by the stares it earned her from the more composed royals at the table.

“She looks so pretty,” she whispered to Auguste, grinning. “And she didn’t trip. I’m so proud.”

Anastasia’s eyes then lit up as Kira approached, her smile brightening with a touch of genuine excitement.

“Oh, hello there!” she beamed, straightening in her chair with a slight bounce. When Kira gave her name, Anastasia clapped her hands softly in delight. “Kira! Your name is so pretty by the way!" she chirped warmly, tilting her head with curious affection. “You look so elegant tonight. Look at that posture! We love a dignified lady in this house.” She cast a playful, exaggerated glance toward her brothers with mock suspicion, then giggled. “Please tell me you’re here to keep me entertained. Everyone's been so serious.”

And then, just to seal the deal, she leaned in with a whisper that wasn’t exactly quiet:
“Also, sit near me forever. You have bestie energy.”

Anastasia had already been glowing with the warmth of her bubbly welcome to Kira, her fingers still brushing the fabric of her gown as she fidgeted excitedly. But when she felt the distinct flutter of wings—and heard his voice—her entire body visibly perked.

She turned sharply, eyes locking on Farim with such giddy urgency that it was as though the entire banquet faded behind a pink, heart-filled filter.

“Faaaarim~!” she sang, breathless and wide-eyed as if he'd just floated in on a gust of wind and moonlight. Her voice sparkled with uncontainable delight. “You always know exactly how to make an entrance!”

Her hands clutched at her chest, dramatically overjoyed, before she stood quickly, her chair shifting just a little. “You’re too kind! Really, too kind! I didn’t think you’d mention my music again—I was so nervous I was going to ruin it—” she gasped, caught herself rambling, and waved it away with a bashful flutter of her fingers.

Then came Thara.

Anastasia’s gasp turned soft and dreamy as she looked down at the falcon, her lips parting in awe. “Oh, Thara! Darling girl!” she cooed and gently stroked Thara’s head, eyes shining with admiration—though it was very clear who she was really gazing at.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” She smiled at Farim.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Location: Castle Dining Hall
Interactions: @Lava Alckon Farim @JJ Doe Hala @FunnyGuy Lorenzo @Potter Kira

---

The Grand Vizier’s goblet hung loosely between his fingers, untouched for the last several minutes. His gaze, cool and calculating, had followed the shimmer of turquoise silk the moment it entered the banquet hall. While the rest of the room turned politely away or tried not to stare, Hafiz did not even blink. His eyes drank in every step Hala took—the casual dominance in their stride, the dismissive elegance, the haughty tilt of their chin that declared they were exactly where they belonged, whether anyone else agreed or not.

He watched Hala's dramatic entrance from the high table, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. The boldness, the sheer nerve—it was exactly what he had come to expect from Malik's child. A faint smirk curved his lips as he noted the dignitary's panic, savoring the ripple of tension that spread through the room.

He raised his goblet subtly in Hala’s direction—a silent acknowledgment, both a commendation and a challenge wrapped in one. Hafiz leaned back comfortably, clearly entertained.

It seemed tonight's banquet had just gotten far more interesting.

Without a single word spoken, Hafiz's eyes delivered the unmistakable message: Hala Sami is exactly where I intended them to be—challenge at your own peril.

Hafiz’s eyes flicked toward Farim only once the prince had already bowed to the company—too late to stop him, and far too early to pretend it hadn’t been noticed.

The smile that slowly crept across the Grand Vizier’s face was a thing made of iron and honey, all politeness on the surface, but cold underneath.

“Farim,” he said smoothly, each syllable enunciated like a lesson. "How thoughtful of you to interrupt.”

He raised his goblet slightly, the same one Farim had praised, and turned it between his fingers. “You always did have a fondness for sipping from cups you did not pour.”

The words came soft, almost teasing but anyone else listening would catch the undercurrent.

Still, Hafiz didn’t look at him directly. No, instead he cast a glance across the room—toward Hala, radiant and unruly in their stolen seat, and then toward the subtle chaos rippling through the banquet in their wake. His eyes narrowed with satisfaction.

Then finally, he turned back to Farim. The gaze now direct.

“But if you admire my taste so much, dear boy… do take care not to choke on it.”

And with that, he smiled again but it never reached his eyes.

A woman spoke his name and his gaze turned to her. Hafiz regarded Kira with a polite, composed smile, inclining his head just slightly to acknowledge her greeting.

"Ah, Lady Kira. The evening finds me quite well," he answered smoothly, his tone carrying a faint note of cool amusement. "And I trust you're finding Caesonia's hospitality...satisfactory?"

His gaze remained on her for just a moment longer than necessary,

Then Hafiz’s eyes narrowed sharply as Duke Vikena's grating voice suddenly reached his ears, jaw tightening with unmistakable irritation. He refused to raise his voice across the crowded hall, instead lifting his goblet in a mocking salute toward Lorenzo, his lips curling into a contemptuous smile.

Through gritted teeth and in a low voice meant only for those nearest him, Hafiz drawled sarcastically, “It seems the court jester has announced himself and dared to embarrass me yet again. How thoughtful...He feels he must announce himself lest anyone fail to notice his perpetual incompetence.”

He turned away dismissively, the subtle shake of his head enough to convey his displeasure, deliberately refusing to dignify Lorenzo's antics with a shouted response.

Hafiz, though initially irritated by Lorenzo’s obnoxious shouting, shifted his attention subtly toward the royal conversation. His expression turned from annoyance to veiled amusement as he listened, particularly enjoying Edin’s crass commentary when he could catch bits of it, especially as the man's voice rose with volume overtime. Hafiz’s lips curled slightly in a barely hidden smirk, savoring the biting disdain directed at those he himself found beneath contempt.

However, his eyes narrowed at Edin’s open contemplation of Cassius Damien and the Vikena match. His gaze briefly flicked toward Lorenzo—still obliviously causing embarrassment—before returning to the King with quiet scrutiny. Hafiz leaned back casually, swirling his goblet with faint disdain.

“Indeed,” he murmured quietly, just loud enough for nearby ears, “one must question the wisdom of entrusting any real power to a man foolish enough to choose to interact with Duke Lorenzo Vikena of his own free will on such a common basis.. Madness seems contagious these days.”

His words, though quiet, were sharp enough to carry his derision clearly. Hafiz took a long sip, his gaze coldly amused as he settled back, content to watch the evening unfold into chaos.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 6pm
Location: The Castle Dining Hall
Interaction: @FunnyGuy Alexander/Lorenzo
Mention: @Silverpaw Wulfric @Tae Thea @Lava Alckon Drake @PapaOso Cassius/Milo

---

Queen Alibeth turned her head ever so slightly, her expression composed, eyes cool and unreadable as they regarded Alexander with the faintest trace of a smile.“How flattering,” she said softly, voice smooth. As she cut into her steak, she added without raising her gaze. “Flattery is best served with subtlety.” Her gaze flicked briefly toward Edin, still devouring his meal with reckless abandon, then returned to Alexander. “But yes, the food is… palatable. If one has the appetite.” She raised her glass in the most restrained of toasts, then sipped without waiting for a reply.

As guests entered and time went on, the man Edin had chosen as his advisor spoke up once more, but to their son this time.

“Now that’s the kind of thinking I like to hear!” Edin declared with a broad, greasy grin, slamming his goblet down with approval. “A young man who knows how to serve and flatter in the same breath—delightful! Yes, yes, Wulfric could stand to pass a few things off. Keeps the face pretty for the ladies.” He chuckled, tossing a grape into his mouth. “You’ll make a fine little workhorse if you keep this up.”

Alibeth didn’t look nearly as charmed. Her fingers traced the rim of her wine glass, and her gaze slid to Alexander with cool precision.

“Offering to serve before proving you’re trustworthy is ambitious.” She tilted her head ever so slightly. “Still… Caesonia does favor initiative. If you wish to take on responsibility, I trust you won’t fumble it.” Her smile was polite—too polite. “We’ll see what you're truly capable of soon enough.”

Though many continued to enter, Milo St. Claire in particular stood out for a moment. Edin was enamored by his words and grinned, “Ah, now that’s the kind of praise I could frame!” Edin beamed, thumping a hand to his chest. “In fact—someone already has.” He chuckled, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Milo St. Claire is my go to for a painting." He glanced at Alibeth, “Said I radiated power, charisma… something about divine masculinity, I don’t know—wasn’t really listening after the word ‘divine.’”

Alibeth, meanwhile, was not as impressed. In fact, her brow had twitched as the artist's gaze had lingered on her and she went back to her meal with more intensity.

“Now,” Edin said, swirling his wine and leaning forward with a glint in his eye, “let’s talk about these pairings we have forming this season, shall we?” He smirked as if he were about to deliver royal decrees, not personal opinions soaked in wine and arrogance.

“I’ll admit, I like the look of that Gideon's boy with the Smithwood girl, Phea. He’s got presence—handsome, talented, charming enough to keep the dull ones entertained.” He shrugged, then added very softly. “Could’ve been a smart match, if she weren’t one of Varian’s many wandering whores.”

He chuckled, low and crude, as he whispered in Alibeth's ear. “The Varians—gods, they let their women run around like stray cats in heat and still expect us to call them noble. No class. No discipline.” He scoffed and took a long sip from his goblet. “All that snow and still no cold in their veins.”

His eyes trailed lazily across the room. “Not that I mind watching it unfold. There’s an art to watching pretty little messes try to pretend they're royalty.” He grinned, shamelessly.

Alibeth didn’t bother hiding her disdain. She glanced at him sidelong, fingers drumming softly against her armrest.

“Yes, how fortunate Caesonia has you to uphold all standards of grace and restraint,” she said with sarcasm.

Edin grinned wider, unbothered. “You’re welcome, darling.”

“Oh—and speaking of questionable pairings,” Edin drawled, not even bothering to whisper as much as he waved his goblet as if it were a scepter, “I hear our dear Damien bastard, has been sniffing around little Charlotte Vikena.”

He barked out a laugh, loud and theatrical. “Poor lad. Too new in town to realize what kind of lunatic family he’s getting himself tangled up with.” He leaned back in his chair, grin wicked. “Imagine wanting Lorenzo Vikena as a father-in-law. That alone should earn him a padded cell and a priest.” As if on cue, Lorenzo was heard hollering across the table to Hafiz.

Edin paused his chatter for a moment, staring down the table at Lorenzo for a long thirty seconds.

“...Still… politically? Not the worst idea. It ties the Damiens closer to the Vikena seat and keeps the big seat of the Duke with Caesonian noble blood... But could a bastard even handle being a Duke... ” He tapped his chin, “Where the hell did he bloody come from anyway? Where has he been all this time?"

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Duke Gideon Edwards & Duchess Victoria Edwards

Time: Evening
Location: Castle Dining Hall
Interaction: @Lava Alckon Drake @Tpartywithzombi Ariella

---

A hush of silk and whispered gasps followed in their wake as Duke Gideon Edwards and Duchess Victoria Edwards swept into the glittering banquet hall.

Gideon was the picture of dignified restraint, dressed in a deep maroon coat with subtle gold embroidery at the cuffs and collar, his stride confident and calm. With practiced ease, he approached the dais and offered a graceful bow first to King Edin, then Queen Alibeth.

“Your Majesties,” he greeted with smooth reverence, “What an honor to attend this magnificent evening. ” Though brief, his words carried warmth and diplomacy. He straightened and offered Prince Wulfric a courteous nod, his eyes lingering a moment longer on Queen Alibeth, always more attuned to her quiet scrutiny than Edin’s theatrical indulgence.

Behind him, the atmosphere shifted entirely.

Duchess Victoria Edwards arrived like a storm cloaked in opulence—her gown a sweeping cascade of crimson and gold, layered with embroidered tulle and shimmering stones that caught the chandelier light like a sea of stars. A fan of gilded lace snapped open in her manicured hand.

She did not bow.

“Your Majesties,” she purred instead, eyes sweeping over the room, taking in each lesser noble with barely concealed boredom. “What a vision this room is tonight. So many familiar faces... ” With Gideon’s quiet sigh beside her, the two turned toward their assigned seats.

Duke Gideon took his place at the head of the leftmost noble table, his seat exuding authority without the need for decoration. Victoria claimed the place beside him with a flourish, her skirts fanning dramatically as she sat, her fan twitching before her lips as she began eyeing the arrivals with critical delight.

Their children were expected to follow suit behind them, especially by their mother.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Location: Castle Dining Hall
Time: Evening
Mention: @PapaOso Cassius, Milo @Tpartywithzombi Violet

---

“Presenting the Lord of House Damien and Earl of Montauppe, Count Calbert Damien… His wife, the Countess Liliane Damien… their daughter, the Lady Crystal Damien… and the good Count’s son, Lord Cassius Damien.”

The herald’s voice rang clear through the grand ballroom, silencing conversations as all eyes turned to the great doors.

Count Calbert Damien stepped forward first, his silhouette striking beneath the golden glow of chandelier light. His coat, deep navy with subtle silver embroidery at the cuffs and collar, was cut to perfection, his posture as straight as the blade of a well-honed sword. In one gloved hand, he held a dark cane tipped in silver, and in the other, the gentle arm of his wife.

His expression was warm, dignified, and just the right amount of humble charm woven seamlessly with his every step. His eyes swept the room as if taking the measure of it with quiet confidence.

He stopped before the thrones and dipped into a flawless bow.

“Your Majesties,” Calbert began, his voice rich, composed, and carrying through the room with quiet dignity. “It is always an honor for House Damien to stand before the esteemed rulers of Caesonia. You have our enduring loyalty and unending support.”

As he rose, he offered King Edin a knowing smile—not smug, but bold, the kind a man gave only when he knew his worth in a room.

Countess Liliane Damien stepped forward beside him, her shimmering white gown catching the light like frost at dawn. The gown hugged her delicately, pearls adorning the sleeves and neckline in a way that whispered purity rather than flaunted wealth. She bowed gracefully her hands clasped sweetly in front of her, and her golden curls tucked into a soft, elegant chignon.

“Your Majesties,” she said gently, her voice soft and sweet like spring honey, “It is a gift to be in your company tonight. May your reign continue to bless this kingdom with peace and strength.”

There was a sincerity in her eyes, and her deference—so perfect, so practiced—only added to the impression that House Damien was, indeed, a loyal and well-bred family. She was exactly what the court expected a countess to be: lovely, composed, and devoted to her husband’s station.

Crystal followed, offering a curtsy as delicate as she was pale. She said nothing, letting her silence be read as graceful reserve.

And then, of course, Cassius. He bowed slightly, just enough, and offered nothing more than a passing glance to the king. There was power in that too—measured indifference. A man not raised by court, but one who could stand among them without flinching.

King Edin studied them with a scrutinizing eye, but his lips quirked at the corners as Calbert spoke again.

“If there is anything my house may offer to serve the crown during these difficult times, I hope Your Majesty knows he need only ask.”

The king gave a slight nod. “We are pleased by your presence, Count Damien. As always, your conduct reflects well on your house.”

A subtle victory, but a victory all the same.

As they stepped toward their seats, Liliane leaned into her husband’s side ever so slightly, speaking in a gentle whisper.

“You’ve charmed him yet again.”

“Of course I have,” Calbert murmured smoothly, offering a gallant smile as he nodded politely at a passing duke. “We don’t come to banquets merely to dine, my dear. We come to remind the realm who still moves the board.”

He reached to lift her hand gently to his lips, pressing a kiss to her gloved knuckles.

“Shall we?”

Liliane smiled up at him like a blushing bride, and the two glided further into the ballroom—leaving behind the echo of a perfect entrance. He led his beloved wife gracefully toward the banquet tables, greeting each noble he passed with effortless charm.

Calbert’s gaze discreetly followed Cassius as he moved across the banquet hall, taking careful note of his son’s intense focus on a singular figure—Charlotte Vikena. His jaw tightened imperceptibly, the subtle signs of tension etched into his carefully controlled expression.

Liliane gently squeezed his arm, leaning close enough that her voice reached only his ears. Her tone was soft, soothing even, as if attempting to ease a wound before it could fully form.

“You know, my love,” she whispered gently, eyes lingering briefly on Cassius, “it might be a rather clever match, strategically speaking. Imagine Cassius as the Duke of Veirmont.”

Calbert exhaled slowly, still watching his son. He placed his hand reassuringly over Liliane’s, his tone quiet yet firm. “Perhaps it would be strategic, Lily,” he acknowledged softly. “But above all else, I value our children’s safety.” His voice lowered further, filled with a quiet intensity. “And right now, Charlotte Vikena is a risk I cannot afford to trust.”

Liliane tilted her head slightly in understanding, gently brushing her thumb over his knuckles. “I trust your judgment, Calbert,” she murmured reassuringly. “I always have.”

Liliane nodded softly, recognizing the sincerity in her husband’s words. A moment of quiet passed before she gently changed the subject, her tone cautious. “Speaking of concerns… Have you heard from Violet? Did she confirm where she’d be this evening?”

Calbert’s expression subtly tightened, though his composed exterior never faltered. He straightened his shoulders, voice low but reassuring. “She will be arriving shortly.”

It was then Milo St. Claire entered the room.

Calbert watched the introduction unfold, his piercing gaze settling thoughtfully upon Milo St. Claire. Though his expression remained pleasantly composed, something keenly analytical flickered within his eyes.

Intriguing, he mused inwardly, fingertips gently brushing his chin as he considered the newcomer. Calbert knew power came in many forms, and this artist—Mr. Sunshine, as some called him—wielded it effortlessly through presence alone. He took note of Milo's subtle, almost intimate regard toward Queen Alibeth, filing it neatly away for future contemplation.

Beside him, Liliane softly sighed, eyes bright with admiration. She leaned slightly toward her husband, voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, how marvelous he seems. Such grace in every step. Do you suppose his paintings truly capture the soul as they say?”

Calbert’s lips curled into a faint, indulgent smile, never breaking his gaze from Milo.

“Indeed, my dear,” he murmured, gently squeezing her hand. “But remember, my Lily, artists—like their art—are often more complex beneath their beautiful surfaces. I would be most curious to see precisely whose soul Master St. Claire intends to paint next.”

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

🌸 Race: Half-Elf 🌸
🦋 Class: Druidic Mystic 🦋
🍄 Location: The Bar 🍄
🍃 Interactions: Gears @PapaOso Menzai @Samreaper Arya @Potter Wendel @FunnyGuy 🍃
🌼 Equipment: 🌼

Full Equipment List

✦ Druidic Staff
✦ Stone-Carved Dagger
✦ Poison-Tipped Blowgun Darts
✦ Her amulet
✦ Satchel
✦ Flint & dried tinder moss
✦ Waterskin
✦ Dried Medicinal Herbs
✦ Bag of pretty trinkets, marbles and rocks
✦ Sharpening river stone
✦ Oruna tribal moon bracelet

🪷 Attire: Outfit 🪷

Attire

✦ Antler Headdress – Elegant branching antlers wrapped in vines and blooming wild roses and other flowers, dangling with purple crystal teardrops.
✦ Thick Magenta Hair – Flowing in long, heavy waves with many braids, tiny beads and blossoms braided throughout.
✦ Forest Bralette – A natural fabric top adorned with layered leaves, hide, flowers, and shimmering gem accents across the bust.
✦ Arm Jewelry – Vine-wrapped armlets and bracelets studded with glistening stones in violet and turquoise hues.
✦ Green Cloaklet – A light green cloak clasped with a gem like amber—crafted from flora and fauna
✦ Layered Skirt – Flowing petal-draped skirt with high side slits, woven from cloth and flower petals
✦ Waist Adornments – A golden vine belt holding a satchels, feathers, and a charm pouch of herbs and trinkets.
✦ Leg Jewelry – Beaded anklets and thigh cords with gemstone charms
✦ Nature Tattoos & Paint – Faint tribal markings or nature-inspired body paint peek beneath her outfit

🪞 Gold Balance: 20 🪞
🌸 Injuries: Faint Scrapes on Shins & Knees 🌸

As the shiny female nudged the marble with one of her fingers, Phia's eyes locked on it like a jungle cat on its prey. She watched, transfixed, as it spun. However, as she informed her about her "knickknacks," her gaze slowly slid back to her, and her brows furrowed with both confusion and some frustration. She looked down at her sparkling treasures with betrayal, then she immediately protested, almost interrupting as she proclaimed with rising horror, "But this one's blue."

The warforged kindly explained, and Phia’s lips parted in soft realization. “Coin,” she echoed, as if tasting the word for the first time. She immediately dove into her satchel with the urgency of a hungry raccoon, wrist-deep in bones, feathers, polished stones, and various sparkly “not-coins,” clearly trying to decipher what might count as worthy.

As her rummaging grew louder, the warforged offered gently, “But tell ya what... If you are hungry, I’ll pour you a cup of somethin’ warm on the house while you go figure out where your coin purse wandered off to. That sound fair?”

Phia looked up from her frantic sorting, her hands still full of pebbles and string. She blinked again, a spark of awe in her voice.“Wait… Warm? ... On what house?”

It was in that moment the wind shifted. Her nose twitched as a familiar scent swept past her senses. Her head snapped up on instinct and her eyes lit up.

“Menzai!”

She half-gasped, half-giggled just as his voice flowed in like winter wind through tree branches. Her posture straightened with excitement and relief, her satchel forgotten momentarily. Her arms twitched like she might launch herself into a hug until the firm tap of his clawed finger landed atop the counter, right next to her crumpled message.

Her eyes dropped to the paper.

"...Oh."

Her stomach let out another theatrical growl, loud enough to earn a glance from a passing patron. Just as she lifted her head with a pitiful pout, a soft clink sounded against the wood bar. Menzai had placed a coin atop her crumpled message.

Phia lit up with recognition, pointing to it proudly like she’d just solved a puzzle. “A shiny round,” she declared with absolute certainty, giving an enthusiastic nod. “That’s what they want. Not the blue, not the bone—just shiny rounds.”

She paused, then leaned closer to the coin, whispering like it could hear her. “Don’t get any ideas. You’re only slightly more valuable than my glittery bug shell.” And yet, she gently patted the coin with affection… just in case.

"And this should be served with the meat. As much as the young miss wishes though I must ask to add some vegetables."

Phia wrinkled her nose at the v word the moment it left Menzai’s lips. She leaned back ever so slightly, as if recoiling from an invisible force.
"Vegetables?" she repeated suspiciously. With exaggerated slowness, she shifted her wide eyes from Menzai to the bartender, then back again—clearly weighing the possibility of escape. "I didn’t say vegetables... I said meats. Meats don't grow from the ground, Menzai." Still, after a beat, her stomach growled again, louder than before. She sighed in defeat and poked the paper with a reluctant finger. "...Okay. But only if they hide them under the meats."

“You two from a traveling circus, orrr...?”

Phia blinked and tilted her head in confusion, however, she quickly lost interest as she took notice of the drink on the counter. With the reverence of a squirrel discovering its first acorn, she seized it with both hands like it was holy nectar. She threw her head back, pouring the contents down her throat like a dehydrated beast at a jungle spring as Menzai had been speaking.

Her eyes crossed briefly. Her soul briefly evacuated. Somewhere in the distance, an ancestor probably facepalmed. She exhaled like she’d just swallowed a forest fire and she slammed the cup down. “Delicious pain,” she gasped, blinking rapidly.

As her eyes refocused, they drifted down the bar… and paused. A hunched, cloaked figure sat just a few stools down. A horn poked out from beneath the hood. Phia stared long and hard as she leaned closer to the girl, squinting at her to try to catch a look at her face.

“…You smell like secrets,” she whispered toward the figure. “And maybe… smoky berries?”

But then—her curiosity ping-ponged back to the shiny bartender as she recalled that she should thank her for the refreshment. The Oruna tribe had warned her after all that people outside the wilds needed assurance of their good deeds, or else they would feel slighted. “Thank you, shiny one,” she said sincerely, bowing her head with both gratitude and lingering heat trauma. Then she perked up, lifting her hand like a student with a Very Important Question™.

“Can you tell us your name? And what species you are?” Her eyes sparkled with genuine wonder. She leaned in again, whispering in awe with widened eyes: “Are you a rock girl?”

A creak of a stool shifting drew her attention. A short, bearded man had taken a seat beside the hooded girl, his voice rising to address the barkeep before Gears could answer her question. Phia slowly turned her head to fix her gaze on him. Not with malice... But with wide, unblinking intensity as if she were trying to determine whether he was a squirrel or a beast in disguise.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

🌸 Race: Half-Elf 🌸
🦋 Class: Druidic Mystic 🦋
🍄 Location: The Bar 🍄
🍃 Interactions: Gears, Bastion @PapaOso Menzai @Samreaper 🍃
🌼 Equipment: 🌼

Full Equipment List

✦ Druidic Staff
✦ Stone-Carved Dagger
✦ Poison-Tipped Blowgun Darts
✦ Her amulet
✦ Satchel
✦ Flint & dried tinder moss
✦ Waterskin
✦ Dried Medicinal Herbs
✦ Bag of pretty trinkets, marbles and rocks
✦ Sharpening river stone
✦ Oruna tribal moon bracelet

🪷 Attire: Outfit 🪷

Attire

✦ Antler Headdress – Elegant branching antlers wrapped in vines and blooming wild roses and other flowers, dangling with purple crystal teardrops.
✦ Thick Magenta Hair – Flowing in long, heavy waves with many braids, tiny beads and blossoms braided throughout.
✦ Forest Bralette – A natural fabric top adorned with layered leaves, hide, flowers, and shimmering gem accents across the bust.
✦ Arm Jewelry – Vine-wrapped armlets and bracelets studded with glistening stones in violet and turquoise hues.
✦ Green Cloaklet – A light green cloak clasped with a gem like amber—crafted from flora and fauna
✦ Layered Skirt – Flowing petal-draped skirt with high side slits, woven from cloth and flower petals
✦ Waist Adornments – A golden vine belt holding a satchels, feathers, and a charm pouch of herbs and trinkets.
✦ Leg Jewelry – Beaded anklets and thigh cords with gemstone charms
✦ Nature Tattoos & Paint – Faint tribal markings or nature-inspired body paint peek beneath her outfit

🪞 Gold Balance: 10 🪞
🌸 Injuries: Faint Scrapes on Shins & Knees 🌸

The morning sun caressed Phia’s skin with all the tenderness of a long-lost lover as she stepped onto the upper deck. Warmth kissed her shoulders, and she welcomed it with outstretched arms as if to return the sun's embrace, her eyes fluttering closed. For a few seconds, she simply stood there, smiling and basking, before her golden eyes opened to the breathtaking view: clouds drifting not only above, but below them, like waves on the sea.

She had no words for the marvel beneath her feet. This giant, humming wooden beast that sailed through the sky like a bird with no wings. The very idea that she could now dance among the skies she had always gazed up at felt like a miracle whispered straight from the spirits. With a delighted giggle, she lifted her staff high into the air and released a wild, euphoric cry. Birds from below and above responded in kind, their calls swirling around her like an enchanted chorus(much to the confusion of those nearby).

She twirled... then paused mid-spin, remembering her original mission: food.

Menzai had still been asleep when she slipped away, so she'd left him a scrap of cloth with the word “hongry” scrawled across it in a barbaric, chaotic script. Hopefully, he'd get the message.

With hunger now guiding her steps, Phia turned on her heel and began making her way. However, then her steps slowed, her bright eyes suddenly drawn toward an unfamiliar-looking figure standing near the deck's railing. Her smile softened, lips parting slightly with surprise and gentle curiosity. At first glance, the being seemed carved from the earth itself, shimmering like stone beneath the sun.

She paused mid-step, head tilting inquisitively. Her gaze traced over his metallic body, noting the glowing lights of his eyes, the curve of his mouth. Her eyes widened slightly in realization: it was alive.

Wonder filled Phia’s expression as it turned its attention from the sky to her. She hesitated, but then a decision bloomed inside her and she beamed at the being kindly before continuing toward the bar over yonder. Her pace quickened again, footsteps light, but her thoughts lingered on the fascinating stranger she had just encountered. Phia practically danced across the deck up to the bar, each step accompanied by the jingling of gemstone charms and anklets that adorned her legs.

Phia noticed yet another curious figure standing behind the table. This one was slimmer than the other rock being. It had features that suggested a feminine grace. Her gaze traveled over the warforged bartender, absorbing every shimmering detail, before she finally stepped up.

Biting her lower lip in concentration, Phia rummaged through her pouch, its contents softly clinking. Without much finesse, she began placing shiny marbles, polished stones, and tiny crystals onto the counter one by one. Each item was meticulously chosen and arranged as if it were a precious offering.

She lifted her gaze to meet the warforged bartender’s glowing eyes.

“Can I… trade these for meats?”

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

The world of Eberron is one where magic fuels invention and ancient powers simmer beneath the surface of progress. A place where steel meets spell, where elemental-bound machines streak across the sky, and where the scars of war still bleed beneath the glamor of modernity.

For over a century, the continent of Khorvaire was locked in the Last War—a brutal conflict that shattered the once-unified Kingdom of Galifar. Nations rose and fell. Millions perished. Trust fractured. And then, without warning, it stopped.

On a single, terrible day, the proud nation of Cyre was consumed by a blast of bright light, and then a rolling wall of gray mist. Cities vanished. Forests withered. People died without a sound. The skies are said to have burned so brightly that even soldiers stationed miles away were blinded by the sight of it . That day became known as the Day of Mourning—a tragedy so horrifying that it brought even the most hardened generals to the peace table.

The Treaty of Thronehold brought peace… but not closure. Not truth. Not answers.

Now, just four years later, a new era dawns—an arcane industrial revolution.
Lightning rails whistle across the land. Elemental galleons carve through the clouds. Warforged soldiers, once created for slaughter, now seek identity in a world no longer at war. Magic is no longer rare—it is commerce, convenience, and conquest.

And it is in this fractured, electrified world that you fly.

Each of you has your reasons—buried, bitter, hopeful, or hungry. You leave your past behind as your eyes turn toward Khorvaire, a land of secrets, opportunity, and the unknown. Whatever brought you here, whether for the first time or simply back after time away, you now share the same vessel: The Stormrider.

A state-of-the-art elemental airship, the Stormrider is suspended in flight by a bound fire elemental—its hull crafted from gleaming soarwood, its arcane ring pulsing with controlled flame. The ship is sleek, beautiful, and alive with energy. Passengers line the open decks, mingle in the lounge, or sip drinks in the touristy tavern onboard. The sky stretches infinitely in every direction, a sea of clouds painted in gold and violet.

At the helm is Captain Jovik Cindralis, a charismatic half-elf known for simply being the best there is at what he does.



Among you are merchants. Scholars. Refugees. Mercenaries. Each with their own baggage—some literal, some dangerous.

But for now… there is calm. You find yourselves scattered somewhere on board— some may be seated near the bar or pacing the deck— suspended between continents, between identities, between destinies.

You do not yet know it, but this is where your story…your REAL story begins.

“When the fire breaks, and the skies scream… Even the stars will forget their names. The pattern will fray, and the unwritten shall decide the fate of all.”
Everything is about to change.

Stormrider Directory

✦ The Bar Deck
An open-air circular bar with glowing crystal panels and the Warforged bartender, Gears. Perfect for drinks and casual mingling beneath the skies.
There are wooden tables, shaded canopies, and passengers playing games or swapping stories over a mug of something strong.

✦ Upper Viewing Lounge
Elegant and exclusive. Plush seating, private tables, and breathtaking views; reserved for upper-class passengers.

✦ Lower Viewing Lounge
Cozy benches and shared travel stories. A more humble but comforting space for the everyday traveler.

✦ Tea Room
A warm, wood-paneled space lit by lanterns and packed with books, plush chairs, and small round tables. A haven for quiet conversation, tea, and calm.

✦ Interior Lounge Rooms
Small, semi-private nooks with sofas and lantern light, perfect for one-on-one chats, naps, or contemplative cloud-watching.

✦ Passenger Cabins
Rooms fitted with basics: cot, trunk, and a porthole window. You need to pay extra for private room vs a shared space.

✦ Cargo Hold
Heavily secured, full of crates, luggage, and whatever mysterious items make the Stormrider's journey possible.

✦ Engine Core
Home to the fire elemental that powers the ship and accessible via a door in the cargo hold. Off-limits!

✦ The Bridge
The private domain of Captain Jovik Cindralis. Maps, charts, swords, and secrets dwell here.

✦ Observation Nook
A peaceful, tucked-away area at the bottom of the ship where passengers can sit quietly and take in the views through windows.

✦ Bathing Rooms
Communal yet private stalls enchanted for warmth, water, and cleaning comfort. Self-drying runes included.

Bar Menu Highlights

Signature Drinks:
"Brelish Brass" Ale: A hearty, nutty beer served in a tankard shaped like a griffon’s head.
"Aundairian Arcana" Cocktail: A sparkling, lavender-colored drink that changes flavors every sip, thanks to a simple enchantment.
"Mourning’s Shadow" Stout: A pitch-black beer with smoky undertones, served with a swirl of silver mist over the top, referencing the Day of Mourning.
"Searing Heights Shot": A fiery cinnamon whiskey served with a small flame hovering above the glass.
"Highrider Special": A tropical fruit punch with floating pieces of enchanted, glowing ice cubes.

Snacks & Gimmicks:
"Thranish Sunbread" : A golden, lightly sweet bread served warm with honey.
"Zilargo Poppers": Spicy stuffed peppers that sizzle slightly due to alchemical spices.
"Dragonshard Cookies": Sugar cookies shaped like dragonshards, with edible glitter.

Meals for Travelers:
"Karrnathi Ironplate": A savory platter of seared meat strips, smoked cheese, and dark rye, served with pickled roots and buttered herbed potatoes.
"Skyraider’s Stew": Hearty beef and vegetable stew, slow-cooked with floating dumplings and spiced with lightning pepper.
"Sharn Skewer Sampler": Assorted grilled meats and vegetables on enchanted skewers that keep themselves warm.
"Vegetarian Verdancy": A fresh salad bowl with enchanted greens that shimmer faintly, tossed with nuts, berries, and citrus drizzle.
"Breland Breakfast Anytime": Fluffy eggs, crisped ham, fried tubers, and a biscuit with jam, available even at midnight.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: Castle Dining Hall
Attire: Dress, Amulet
Interaction: @Potter Olivia @FunnyGuy Lorenzo @Silverpaw Wulfric
Mention: @FunnyGuy Alexander

---

Charlotte dipped into a graceful curtsy, her fingers clutching at the maroon folds of her gown as she lowered herself before the majesty of the banquet hall. Her raven hair cascaded softly in loose waves around her shoulders and down her back as if ink had spilled upon her. Meanwhile, her gown had a midnight blue bodice, embellished with black lace and subtle gold detailing. A trim of soft white lace kissed the edge of her neckline while the flowing crimson fabric of her skirts and off-the-shoulder sleeves pooled like wine around her in an almost haunting way—much like the turmoil she carried within.

As she rose, Charlotte's thoughts spun uncontrollably while her heart pounded like a distant drum in her chest. Though her posture remained poised, chin lifted as she took her seat, on the inside she felt practically ill she was so overwhelmed. The hum of conversation, the clink of crystal, the glow of candlelight—it all blurred together like a fevered dream. She felt watched… and worse, she didn’t know by whom.

“Girls, it looks like I have a twin- No… We’re TRIPLETS!” Lorenzo's boisterous voice suddenly pierced the haze of her thoughts, accompanied by a playful nudge “Prince Callum and uh… who is he, Charlotte?” Her gaze followed her stepfather’s gesture, and her jaw immediately tensed. Her heart skipped sharply, a flush of discomfort washing through her as she hesitated a beat before replying.

"...His name is Alexander." She informed Lorenzo, her voice even and sweet despite the faint tremor she pushed down deep inside. "Alexander Deacon. Vice President of the Black Rose Trading Company... ” Her gaze flickered ever so briefly across the table—just enough to acknowledge the man in question, but not long enough to invite his attention. Her hand rose to tuck a curl behind her ear as she added,“And—so I’ve heard—recently appointed as royal advisor.” Her gaze quickly retreated, focusing intently upon the empty plate before her

Before Lorenzo could respond, the herald’s voice rang out once more: “Presenting the crown prince, His Royal Highness Wulfric Danrose!” The sheer power of the announcement led Charlotte to lift her head back up. Her spine instinctively straightened as her eyes were drawn to the Prince. As he passed, she inclined her head and offered him a graceful curtsy from her seat.

“Your Highness,” she greeted, her tone demure yet sincere. Once Wulfric passed and the room resumed its murmur, Charlotte's gaze drifted across the table piled high with delicacies and landed on Olivia.

She smiled gently at first, however, the longer the moment passed, the more melancholy seeped into her expression, her smile saddening. There was a faraway glint behind her gaze, as if her mind had wandered somewhere her heart wasn’t ready to follow.

For a moment, she simply watched her, her hands still in her lap. Then, as if a decision had bloomed quietly inside her, Charlotte’s fingers reached for the clasp at the nape of her neck. The amulet slid into her palm and without a word, she stood from her seat. Her gown swayed as she stepped around the table, stopping behind Olivia’s chair like a whisper. “You look lovely, dear, ” Charlotte murmured, as her hand gently swept aside a lock of Olivia’s hair. “Truly radiant... But…” she tilted her head with a playful note and smiled once more, “Something’s missing.”

She then lifted the amulet around Olivia’s neck. The chain fell with a soft click against her skin as Charlotte fastened the clasp, then she gently adjusted Olivia’s hair once more with a tender touch.

“There,” she whispered, “just perfect.” Her voice softened even further as she leaned in, her words warm against her friend’s ear. “Keep it safe for me please? Just for tonight.” And though the smile she gave was sweet, her eyes held a solemnity that said she wasn't simply passing a necklace, but a prayer.