Qia

"What Did They Do To Us?" - A Mysterious Supernatural Escape RP!!

That's fine with me

"What Did They Do To Us?" - A Mysterious Supernatural Escape RP!!

ok. I'll probably have something out this weekend

Realms of Sun & Shadow

In the early morning hours, Dawnhaven was bathed in the pale glow of the waning gibbous moon. The moonlight cast long, eerie shadows across the cobblestone streets and the quaint, thatched-roof cottages, giving the town an almost otherworldly appearance. The air was crisp and still, with only the occasional rustle of leaves breaking the silence. Inside a modest, dimly lit room, Orion sat at his wooden desk, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows on the walls. His eyes were fixed on the flyer in his hand, its edges slightly worn from being read and re-read. The royal summons was unmistakable, its bold, ornate lettering commanding attention: a grand town meeting at 10 am.

Orion sighed deeply, the weight of the impending day already pressing heavily on his shoulders. The royal summons, an event that did not occur often, had set the tone for what was to come, and there was no turning back now. But first, there was the matter of his blightborn visitor. With a deliberate motion, he folded the flyer carefully, the crisp paper making a soft rustling sound. He tucked it securely into the inner pocket of his well-worn coat, feeling the familiar fabric against his fingertips.

“Willis,” Orion called out, his voice steady and commanding. The name echoed slightly in the quiet room, breaking the stillness. “It’s time to go.”

The silhouette of a bat stirred, slowly swaying on the ceiling. It groaned. “One second!” Unhooking a talon from the rafter above, bat Willis dived down behind Orion, his body expanding into a puff of smoke as it hit the wooden floor. The smoke spread, snuffing the candles before dissipating, leaving Orion’s home in darkness. Willis stood before Orion with a smug expression, striking a cool pose. “How do I look?”

Willis looked like he’d been dead for a week.

A wave of irritation washed over Orion as the room plunged into darkness. The sudden shift from light to dark was jarring, making his senses tingle with heightened awareness. He could feel the dark energy within him stirring, responding to the abrupt change in his environment, eager to be unleashed. He clenched his fist, reining it in, moving the hand that instinctively moved to the hilt of his dagger away.

Orion let out a slow breath as his eyes began to adjust to the dark, giving the figure of Willis before him an honest look over.

“Like hell.”

“Orion sometimes you don’t have to be so truthful y’know?” Willis mimed crying, stopping abruptly as his belly made a loud rumbling, vibrating the floating motes of dust around him. “Uh… do you happen to have a spare bottle of blood lying around?” He asked..

Orion raised an eyebrow, his expression softening slightly. Then, sighing, he shook his head. “‘Fraid I’m not really one to keep spare bottles lying around,” he replied, “But you’ll probably have a chance to hunt after dropping off your things. After all, it will take the blacksmith some time to return them.”

A sense of urgency began to creep in as Orion considered the daunting list of tasks ahead. He glanced at the clock, its hands moving relentlessly forward. They had less than three hours to complete everything before the crucial meeting.

“Let’s not waste any more time,” the blightborn said, his voice firm and resolute. “Gather your things, and we’ll head out immediately.” He turned towards the door out of his study, his mind already planning their route through the town.

And so the pair briskly paced down the winding streets of Dawnhaven, kicking up a cloud of dust as they blew past the scant morning traffic. Then, from above, they scaled a nearby house and jumped from rooftop to rooftop as they entered the tightly-packed commercial districts where all the shops were, making a beeline toward Wenyr’s forge by following the thickest, sootiest pillar of smoke in the sky.

They marched so fast that the heat from their bodies caused the drifting snow to melt before even touching their head.

Soon Willis smelled the odor of hot steel carried by the wind and heard the rhythmic clank clank clank of a hammer against an anvil. They stopped in front of the entrance, and Willis cupped his hands into a megaphone: “HELLO? ANYONE HERE? I NEED YOUR HELP!”

Orion glanced at Willis, noting the new blightborn’s barely contained enthusiasm and impatience. “There’s no need to yell, Willis,” he deadpanned, pushing the entrance door open and leading the way inside.

Wenyr had slept surprisingly well after the unintentional encounter with a certain blightborn's mobile drug storage, but that, unfortunately, didn't mean that his duties just magically vanished early the next morning. Flynn's request had been quite clear and so, he had set fire to the heap of charcoal in the forge over an hour ago already. Orion and Willis would be greeted by a wall of very warm air rushing out the now-open door. Wenyr would have been able to notice the disturbance even if it hadn't been for the blightborn's overly loud way of announcing himself.

The blacksmith turned his head away from the forge, tiny beads of sweat now clearly visible on his skin as they refracted and reflected the orange light of the glowing embers. The handle for the bellows still in his hand, Wenyr couldn't help but meet the situation with a bit of sarcasm: "I got a magical hammer that moves on its own and a phoenix pooped a fireball down the chimney this morning which ignited the forge. Of course, nobody’s here!" His words were directed towards Willis more than Orion for he was already a bit familiar with the latter's voice and thus knew that Willis had been the one yelling around.
Wenyr now turned towards his visitors properly and grinned at them in a friendly manner. "Good morning! What can I do for you ?" He tried not to take too much of an inquisitive look at Willis but noticed that he was a blightborn, too. Was he a newcomer who had just arrived?

The warmth of the forge enveloped Orion as he stepped inside, the heat from the roaring fire seeping into his bones, chasing away the lingering chill. The blacksmith, a bulky man with a kind face and a twinkle in his eye, greeted them both with a broad smile. His friendly demeanour and easygoing nature immediately helped to put Orion at ease.

“Good morning,” Orion replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “We need your help with some repairs. Willis here has some equipment that took quite a beating.” He gestured to Willis, allowing the young blightborn to step forward and present his gear.

Nodding, Willis began to shed various articles of clothing, stripping in front of Orion and Wenyr. He flexes his hands and ruptures the seams on his leather gloves, crumbling into 4 strips of leather. With his freed hands Willis began to grope around his body like a flea-infested peasant, unbuckling a dozen straps holding his steel breastplate, mangled with pock-marks like the moon’s surface. Lifting the breastplate Willis reveals a dirty gambeson worn underneath with large lacerations criss-crossing across his torso, as if a bear got to it. The ripped fabric exposes a hidden layer of chainmail woven inside the gambeson, whose ring links are pierced through a dozen points on his back and falling apart. Willis sets his breastplate down next to his feet, untying his damaged chaps and worn boots in the process, before kicking them off. With a moan, Willis wiggles out of his gambeson and lets it flutter to the ash-covered ground.

Willis is now standing half-naked in the forge.

“What do you think? How long would it take to repair all them?” Willis asks Wenyr. “I also have some weapons that I’d like you to take a look at.”

As the blightborn removed the multiple layers of armor from his body, Wenyr slowly, but surely transitioned into the state of a stone statue. The only movement he still performed was the steady widening of his eyes as his mind realized what the calamity of metal, leather and cloth he saw could only mean. There had been people coming to him with equipment showing extensive damage similar to this before, but these had all been mere deliveries while the actual users of said items had died. By the time Willis' had finished his procedure and thereby exposed all the old injuries as well, the blacksmith's lips parted only sluggishly. It was a movement that could easily be confused with just his jaw dropping -- an interpretation not far away from the truth.

"Erm..." he started his sentence and stepped closer to pick up the first couple of items. Each of them was turned and twisted in his calloused hands a few times and words spilled out one by one only as Wenyr's mind kept processing what he saw. "I don't see any significant corrosion here which is a very good thing, but the structural defects are... Let me put it this way: I have no reason to wonder what your blightborn trait might be anymore, just where the hell you've been through is located." Wenyr tried to ignore the fact he was standing right in front of an almost naked man the best he could, but both Orion and Willis would be able to see his eyes switching focus for a few brief moments still. He was no expert on how a human looked from the inside, but supposed at least half of the holes he saw in the chainmail and gambeson would have killed an adult fairly rapidly.

When he was done with the other items, Wenyr patted on the worn out gambeson: "That one will be the big problem, because it needs to be cut out, fixed and re-inserted in a new gambeson. Might have to contact somebody who works with cloth a lot for this. Cloth usually doesn't respond well to being put into a fire and then hammered down upon." That was a very, very rough simplification of what he considered his art to be, but it hopefully got the important point across.

"I'd say I can fix the breastplate within the next day, assuming this town meeting won't take forever. The gambeson will take longer, three days at least." Was there even a tailor in Dawnhaven ? Otherwise he'd have to either improvise or count on Sunni having something in store. "I can't tell yet about the boots. If they aren't deformed too badly I can reconstruct the shape fitting your feet without taking detailed measurements of your body."

Did this man even have some ordinary clothes? Willis was the very first customer to undress himself instead of just carrying things over in his hands while wearing other stuff. How could he package this into a sentence that wouldn't put him in the danger of insulting the man, however? Also… why was this Willis guy in the company of the town’s guard? Wasn’t he grown up enough to find the forge for himself or was there anything else that required Orion’s presence as well? Another question the blacksmith would have liked to ask, but couldn’t reasonably do just now.

"If you're willing to wait, I might have something in my quarters that would... erm... prevent you from having to walk around like this for the next days." Wenyr's hand gestured towards the obvious before he turned to pick up the boots and various leather strips. Some of these were a clear case for disposal.

For his part, Orion felt an immediate surge of respect for Wenyr’s professionalism. The blacksmith’s initial shock at the sudden naked state of the wild blightborn and deplorable condition of his equipment mirrored Orion’s own shock and dismay. However, Wenyr’s swift transition to a focused, problem-solving mindset was profoundly reassuring. His eyes, which had widened in surprise, quickly narrowed with determination as he assessed the damage, his hands moving with practiced precision, examining each piece with a critical eye. It all instilled a sense of confidence in Orion. It was clear that the man before him was not only skilled but also deeply committed to his craft, and this dedication was exactly what was needed to restore Willis’s equipment to its former glory.

“Thank you, Wenyr,” Orion said, his voice filled with gratitude. “As you can see, Willis here has endured quite an ordeal. He’s new to our community and is still in the process of finding his footing.”

Orion paused, his eyes reflecting a deep understanding.“Which…we both know can be harder to do given his…nature.” He gestured subtly between himself and Willis, emphasizing their shared struggle. “Ournature.”

“Whoa whoa whoa- Orion don’t scare him! If he knows what I do for a living he’s gonna hike up the price!” Willis hip-checks Orion, making little effort to hide his rather loud whisper. “Or… give me a discount? Since I’ll be a repeat customer?” Willis pauses and mutters to himself, directing his gaze to Wenyr.

Meanwhile his hands work in a frenzy flitting in and out of his pants, plucking out 8 daggers from inside his waistband. Held in-between each finger, Willis spreads the daggers into hand-fans before thrusting them outward to Wenyr expectantly. “Wenyr, right? Can you melt these down and make as many metal darts as you can? I need them pointy on both ends and to fit inside my belt.” As if on cue, his pants comes loose and flops down his knees, revealing a pair of hairy legs and his nether region. A heavily damaged sword, its blade bent into a V-shape, clatters to the floor behind him. “Oops! Can you repair that too?”

Wenyr had just picked up a piece of cloth and was idly cleaning his hands from any dirt when things happened: Obviously flabbergasted, he helplessly watched how Willis' last layer of protection virtually disintegrated all of a sudden. He looked at the pants now piling up uselessly around the blightborn's legs, then at the distorted piece of metal that supposedly had once been a sword, then returned his gaze towards Willis' face. Not as much as a bat of an eyelid, no blushing, no sweat... 'fascinating' would have been an infernal understatement for this.

Orion, on the other hand, felt a surge of embarrassment on Willis’s behalf, coupled with a hint of frustration at the young blightborn’s lack of decorum. The awkwardness of the situation was palpable, and Orion’s cheeks flushed slightly as he stepped forward, positioning himself protectively in front of Willis to shield him from further scrutiny. As he stood there, his eyes met Wenyr’s, silently pleading for patience and understanding.

It took a few noticeable moments for Wenyr to respond to the actual inquiry: "What shall I fix ? This, this or this ?" One after another, he let his index finger point towards the sword, the pants, and finally Willis' underpants that still were holding up to their job but who knew for how long. "I can only help with the sword and maybe give you something against the prying eye until you've found somebody for the other two." Wenyr didn't know whether he should smile to cheer the man up, smirk to make clear that not all of his previous statements had been meant entirely seriously, or let his words go out coldly to chastise Willis for his unusual entrance, so his tone ended up being the normal one.

The blacksmith stepped forward and tried to maintain some distance out of respect as he picked up the ruined weapon. That thing was not only bent but also more dull than Sya's rolling pin. Maybe that would also have been a better choice for the kind of fighting style the damage suggested. Wenyr's other hand reached for a bucket to hold beneath Willis’ outstretched hand. "Put the daggers in, please." Couldn't have the man try to 'walk' to a table with his pants still caged in between his crotch and his feet, could he?

As he waited for the tiny blades to find their new resting place, Wenyr darted a bit more than just a brief glance toward Orion. The fact that the other blightborn was hearing everything, but did not say anything gave the whole set of requests sort of his consent so far. Still, he felt a bit helpless and unsure at this point – the words 'repeat customer' made more and more of an uneasy impression in spite of the fact that repeat customers usually were the best.

"The Prince has organized this workshop and my current supplies. I have to talk to him first about pricing."

Willis pokes his head out from behind Orion, glancing curiously at Wenyr and says: “Oh, there’s no need to repair my dagger down here. Even small, it is quite deadly!” He performs a hip-thrust that is blocked by Orion’s body, hidden from Wenyr’s view. “Just the broken sword, please! But I’ll take your offer for a change of clothes!”

Orion felt a wave of exasperation wash over him at Willis’s antics. The young Blight-Born’s playful nature, while somewhat endearing, was slightly frustrating in such a serious context. Nonetheless, he stood firm, his broad shoulders and determined stance effectively shielding Wenyr from the crude display of Willis’s hip thrust. His eyes locked onto the blacksmith’s, silently pleading for understanding and forgiveness for Willis’s inappropriate behaviour.

Clutching the daggers in hand and holding the blades out like they are his fingers, Willis awkwardly waddles around Orion to drop them in the bucket held by Wenyr. On every dagger a unique name is inscribed on the blade, and each handle bears the military insignia of the Lunarian armed forces; a crescent moon. “There’s a lot more where that came from.” Willis winks at Wenyr as he pulls up his pants. “As for payment… I don’t have cash on me, but I just got a job as a courier in town, and right now I can offer you an alternative.” Willis glances back at Orion, wetting his lips before continuing. “I have a reliable means to acquire high quality equipment. I’m talking about war-grade steel helmets, armor sets, heavy weapons, all that good stuff you can use. Even a full armored suit from a knight! Would you accept a trade-in as payment?” He looks at Wenyr and asks.

“Who am I? An arms deal…” Wenyr stopped his words dead in their tracks. Yes, since the prince had put the manufacturing of weapons on the very high priority list, he effectively was in the lethal devices business. Quite the change to how things had been back in the Aurelian countryside. “I apologize. Forget what I just said,” he added more humbly as he reached down into the bucket to pull out one of the daggers.

High quality it was indeed, even so at the verge of him going to feel miserable for melting this down in order to make something else out of it. That insignia on all of them though, just where had he seen that before already? For a brief moment, he considered it to be sort of a family sigil, but that made no sense if one considered Willis’ mentioning of ‘reliable means’, unless the man had an extremely large family and no hesitation to get them rid of their heirlooms.

The blacksmith confronted both blightborn with a somewhat skeptical expression and put the dagger back in before placing the whole bucket on a workbench. Something felt quite fishy about this proposal, but he couldn’t pinpoint it yet. With his back turned towards them, he replied: “As already mentioned, the prince has sponsored most of this so far. Let me talk and think about this deal, alright ?” Not a clear ‘no’, but it would buy him the time he would need anyway. Maybe the whole issue of payment would resolve itself over time as Willis would certainly find a job for himself and start earning coins in Dawnhaven, wouldn’t he?

“Let me get you some clothes. You can return them later when you no longer need them.” While his actual house was not part of the workshop, Wenyr tended to have some clothes for changing around in the latter still. He went upstairs and the two men might easily have picked up his heavy steps from above.

“Alright!” Willis pumps his fist in the air, turning to Orion with a smug look. “See that, Orion? I just almost struck my first deal in Dawnhaven! Soon I’ll become the biggest deal in town! And I never forget the people who helped me when I’m at my lowest.” He winks at Orion and double taps his temple. “Or the people who wronged me, for that matter. Like that guy with the shovel.” A red light flares up in his eyes. “Don’t worry I’m not going to do anything to him or his family here.”

Willis’s comment about “never forgetting” those who wronged him concerned Orion. The man appeared to possess a huge capacity for vengeance. That was not good. It needed to be snuffed out, as it had been around when he’d first turned. He knew that look all too well—this was not just a fleeting anger but a deep-seated grudge that could ignite at any moment. He would have to address it promptly, but not here.

Instead, Orion decided to defuse the situation with a more neutral topic, hoping to divert Willis's focus away from any lingering thoughts of revenge.

“It’s good to show gratitude for those who’ve helped you. Perhaps, in the future, you could return that favour to me,” Orion said, his brow arching slightly.

About two or three minutes passed before Wenyr’s return. “Here. I think it might be quite a bit too large for you, but Dawnhaven will still respond better to this than the alternative.” He still could only shake his head internally.

Willis slips into Wenyr’s old clothes, stuffing the large tunic inside his pants so they don’t sag. “Thank you Wenyr!” He smiles at Wenyr and opens his arms wide to catch Wenyr with a quick hug. “I really don’t want to take advantage of your and the prince’s kindness, so I must insist on paying you back somehow.” He looks around the forge. “Hmm… How about I come in during my spare time and help you out with stuff? It’s not like I need to sleep. Besides, blacksmithing can’t be too hard, right?”
That man was giving him a slight migraine already, how could he ever possibly have a chance of long-term survival with this Willis guy as his apprentice? Having one would definitely have been nice given the amount of work ahead of him, but Wenyr nonetheless felt as if he’d be much better off searching for potential alternatives in Dawnhaven first before just accepting. He hardly knew anybody in the settlement so far.

Also, the feeling of something being not just odd, but actually dangerous about this man had anything but stopped. Orion’s way of emphasizing certain words in his speech had just given that another boost. Wenyr scribbled something onto his mental scratchpad: ‘Talk to Orion later, in private.’

The blacksmith put up his hands apologetically and tried to maintain a bit more of a separation between his words so as to make clear that he would easily accept further discussion about this at this point: “I really appreciate your offer, but please give me some time to think about it. Taking an apprentice is a time-consuming task in itself and paying for one is so, too. I have hardly settled in myself yet, so please be patient. Would that be alright for you ?” Did this guy even have the slightest idea about forging delicate stuff? Judging by the shape of the sword, Willis was probably excellent at just smashing at things, but this was not the point of the art!

“Is there anything else I can do for you, or you Orion?”

“Oh dang, alright.” Willis says to Wenyr. “Let me know if you want another pair of hands. You won’t have to pay me much, and not before I’ve paid off my debt to you. Oh, and think about our deal, okay? I’ll give you the first batch for free to offset the cost of my repair, then give you a steep discount afterward.” With that said, Willis got ready to leave with Orion.

Orion registered Wenyr’s polite but firm hesitation, a subtle yet telling gesture that stirred a mix of relief and concern within him. Relief, because Wenyr’s caution appeared to mirror his own deep-seated doubts about Willis’s stability, affirming that he was not alone in his apprehensions. Yet, concern gnawed at him as well, as this hesitation underscored the formidable challenge of integrating Willis into Dawnhaven society without sparking conflict. Every decision the advisor made here would surely ripple through their society.

What a daunting task this was.

“Wenyr raises a good point, Willis,” Orion said, his tone measured and steady. “Becoming an apprentice isn’t something that happens overnight. It’s a significant commitment, both for you and for the master. Let’s give Wenyr the time he needs to decide what’s best for his forge. Meanwhile, there are other ways you can start contributing to Dawnhaven, perhaps in a capacity that better suits your current skills.” His eyes remained fixed on Willis, gauging his reaction. Hadn’t he mentioned the possibility of a courier role? Was that not enough to appease the man?

Willis’ eyes light up. “Orion my man you are so right. I can’t wait to ‘contribute’ using my unique ‘skills’.” He grins and cracks his knuckles.

Then, turning back to Wenyr, Orion nodded appreciatively, his stern expression softening slightly. “There’s nothing else on my side of things. Thanks for your help today, Wenyr.”

“Thanks for the clothes Wenyr! By the way, now we know each other better, you can call me Willy. I’ll come pick up my chest plate tomorrow, so keep an eye out in the sky! Bye!”

---

Interactions: Willis-@BOOM, Wenyr-@Fetzen

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

Though not known at the time, her prayers had not been ignored.

With a heavy sigh, Harper returned to flipping through the pages of her father’s sketchbook, her fingers tracing the worn edges of the paper. Her eyes scanned the drawings, but her mind was elsewhere, lost in a haze of nightmares and heavy emotions. The familiar scent of old paper and graphite enveloped her, a bittersweet reminder of countless hours spent watching her father bring his visions to life. Each page revealed a new masterpiece: distant mountains kissed by the first light of dawn, serene lakes shrouded in a mystical fog, and bustling city streets alive with the energy of countless stories. The intricate details and delicate strokes spoke volumes about her father’s passion for capturing the world’s fleeting beauty, something that not even she felt she could do.

Except with people. There was always beauty, even if small, to find with those she loved.

She paused on one particularly captivating sketch: a bridge arching gracefully over a vast, serene sea. The bridge, rendered with delicate pencil strokes, seemed almost ethereal, its elegant yet oddly designed structure giving it a dreamlike quality. The sea below was depicted in a state of perfect calm, with gentle waves lapping against the shore and reflecting the soft, silvery light of the moon.

The scene stirred a flood of memories within her, transporting her back to countless beach visits with her father. She could almost feel the warm sand beneath her feet and hear the soothing rhythm of the waves, their shared moments of peace and joy by the water coming to life in her mind. Each detail of the sketch spoke to her father’s intricate artistry and his ability to capture the essence of their cherished times together. It was more than just a drawing; it was a portal to the past. A past that could never be again except in her dreams.

Perhaps that’s why she’d missed it at first. The bridge, though undeniably beautiful, seemed imbued with a quiet melancholy, its lines slightly skewed as if burdened by invisible weights. The sea beneath, while tranquil, held an eerie stillness, as if it were holding its breath, waiting for something to break the silence. The delicate details of the scene—the subtle shading of the moonlight on the water, the gentle curve of the bridge—hinted at a profound sense of unease and emotional depth. It was as if her father had poured his soul into this sketch, capturing not just a serene landscape, but the very essence of his inner turmoil.

His guilt. His regrets.

Harper’s heart ached as she traced the delicate lines of the drawing, her fingers lingering over the intricate details. “You beautiful, torturous soul,” she murmured softly, feeling the weight of both her father’s and her own pain woven into the sketch. The emotions were almost tangible, pressing down on her chest. She turned the page, hoping to escape the heaviness, and stumbled upon a new image.

This time, it was a building, its sturdy brick walls partially obscured by creeping ivy that seemed to cling to it like memories. The tall, narrow windows cast long, haunting shadows on the ground, adding a sense of mystery to the scene. In front of the building, two girls sat on a weathered bench, their faces alight with joy and laughter. Their expressions were so vivid, so full of life, that Harper could almost hear their giggles and feel the warmth of their friendship. The contrast between the lively girls and the sombre building struck her deeply, her finger tracing one of them in particular.

If you wanted me to be happy, why would you risk losing it all?

^{_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Canis Dorms-> Academic Quadrangle - Pacific Royal Campus}

Take On Me #3.056: Finding Haven

^{_{___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Katja-@Zoldyck, Amma @Rockette, Rory @webboysurf, Calliope (indirectly)-@PatientBean}

Previously: You're So Vain

In the common area, Harper and Rory spotted Amma and Katja waiting. The archer’s eyes darted between the two, her gaze sharp and alert, capturing every subtle gesture and expression. Amma’s intense presence drew immediate attention; her raven hair cascaded around her shoulders like a dark waterfall, and her piercing gaze fixed on Rory’s arms. Harper looked down, taking in the faded scars marking his skin. They must have been acquired during the gruelling trials they had endured, as she would have noticed them before. She instinctively brushed her sleeved arm, eyes following the hidden scars beneath.

Amma chose that moment to speak up.

A cold dread settled in Harper’s chest at her words. The description of the dark, isolated rooms sent a chill through her, evoking vivid images of confinement and despair. The suffocating darkness alluded to a place devoid of hope and light, where the walls seemed to close in and every breath was a struggle. It made her skin crawl to think of Haven being held in such a place, subjected to unimaginable horrors. Clinging to the glimmer of hope from before, she reminded herself of Haven’s resilience and strength.

Resilience and strength they both possessed.

There had to be a way to reach her, to bring her back from the brink before….

Her hazel eyes landed on that same shade of violet from before, now wrapping around Amma in a suffocating yet oddly comforting embrace. The colour pulsed with a life of its own, creating a cocoon of connection in solitude, a paradoxical blend of warmth and isolation. It was as if the violet hue was a tangible manifestation of the unspoken—a silent understanding transcending words.

“I don’t know the campus like most, and I can’t go far without being with one of you, and they don’t want me gone long from the infirmary, but I will offer my power to you to help find her.”

“Thank you…Amma,” Harper began, her voice soft and sincere as she met Amma’s piercing blue eyes. For a moment, her gratitude was palpable. But as quickly as it appeared, her expression hardened into a familiar steely resolve. Her lips curled into a scowl, her tone shifting.“But Haven isn’t just another statistic.”

The unspoken words hung heavy in the air: I won’t let her become like you.

Amma met her eyes with little to no reserve, unrelenting, that gaze which made her think of Haven and the defiance nestled there in swathes of green and brown, bisected with the bonds of kinship that inspired their resolve.

"No, no, she won't."She slowly dropped her palms, splaying them open, scars surrendered and mannerisms lax and poised despite the glare that sheered over her features at the words left unspoken."I made a promise I would never let someone suffer what I have. To become..." she paused, spindles of red bidden through the air left betwixt them, those decaying pulses of black minute as it warped over her scarred body.

"The world has enough monsters."

Harper sucked in a breath, chest tightening as she opened her mouth to respond, but the words lodged in her throat, refusing to come out. Thankfully, before the silence threatened to stretch into awkwardness, Rory stepped in, his response positive and perfectly aligned with the unwavering optimism she had come to associate with him since joining the team. A wave of relief washed over her, grateful for his timely intervention and the comforting consistency of his character.

However, as he stepped towards Amma, Harper observed their interaction with her usual nosiness, eyes narrowing as she tried to piece together the nature of their discussion. She couldn’t help herself, attention drawn to the subtle cues in their body language. Rory’s posture had shifted noticeably; his shoulders squared, and his movements became more deliberate and controlled, all suggesting a confrontation or at least a serious discussion. Harper’s gaze flickered to Amma, noting the way her lips moved as she spoke. Although her ability to lip-read was limited due to lack of practice, she managed to catch a few keywords like “promise,” “saved,” and “mask.” These fragments hinted at the intensity of their conversation, though they left much of its context shrouded in mystery.

And for the better. It doesn’t concern you, Harper Baxter, the internal reprimand sharp and unyielding, like a teacher scolding a student for peeking at answers they weren’t supposed to see. Her cheeks flushed slightly, the heat of shame creeping up her neck as her skin prickled with the uncomfortable awareness of her curiosity. Yet, the more she tried to pull away, the stronger the urge became, leaving her caught in a web of her own making. She only managed to overcome this internal conflict when Katja also announced her presence, breaking the spell and allowing Harper to finally step back from the edge of her inquisitiveness.

“I might know of a place. I don’t know if it’s where Haven’s currently held but, I’ve heard of a place that fits Amma’s description. It’s been long abandoned, but deep under the Quadrangle there’s a place large enough to base some sort of operation from.”

Harper’s vision, still attuned to the little details around her, caught subtle shifts in Katja’s demeanour. As the blonde paused, a flicker of tension around her eyes, the slight tightening of her jaw, and the way her fingers twitched ever so slightly at her sides. These small, almost imperceptible signs hinted at an underlying anxiety or determination, though Harper could only speculate about what might be going through Katja’s mind. Then, as if she’d read her mind, Katja continued.

“And I know how to get there.”

This brought a slight frown to Harper’s mouth, her brows knitting together in contemplation. Even if Katja had a really good conjecture as to where Haven was, was it really worth deviating from the trail she had painstakingly uncovered? Still…. the practicality of having someone who knew how to navigate this mysterious place was not lost on her. If they did end up at the location Katja mentioned, her knowledge could prove invaluable.

But where had Katja even attained this information? In the entire year she’d been here, this was the first time Harper had ever heard of the existence of a place like this at the school. Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized the tall woman, searching for any telltale signs that might hint at the source of her knowledge but finding none.

“I think…we should follow the tangible lead we already have,” Harper said then, a small smile forming on her lips as she tried to convey both confidence and reassurance. “But if it turns out to be the same place, you can lead the way. How does that sound?” Her eyes met Katja’s, searching for any sign of agreement or dissent.

“Of course,” Katja said, a shaky breath escaping her lips as any tension she might have felt seemed to leave her body. “We can’t be certain my idea might lead anywhere and time is of the essence.” She paused for a moment as her brow furrowed before continuing. “What lead do we actually have though?”

“We have a trail from Rory's room that leads away from the dorms,” Harper explained. “It’s faint, but something I can definitely follow.”

Harper glanced around at her teammates, her makeshift family, her eyes lingering on each of their leftover scars, each mark serving as evidence of how they had fought and survived something unexpectedly thrown at them. The unknown had shown itself to be a formidable enemy, and they had no idea what they were walking into this time. But what choice did they have? Haven needed them.

So, belief and trust in her team, at this moment, came naturally to Harper, as instinctive as breathing.

Taking out her phone, she shot a quick text to Calliope, promising to keep her updated as they moved. The blonde was sure to join them after all, but Harper could not wait any longer. Every minute felt like a drop of sand in an hourglass she could not see, each second ticking away the precious time they had to save Haven.

“Alright, let’s get moving.”

---

“I guess your hunch was right Kat.”

Harper’s face took on a sullen look as she led the others through the Academic Quadrangle with a determined stride, her jaw set and eyes narrowed in annoyance. Just yesterday, she had walked these very paths, oblivious to the sinister plans unfolding beneath her feet. The thought gnawed at her, a bitter taste of betrayal and anger rising in her throat.

How dare they? The nerve, the audacity to think they could take one of her most precious people away, right under her nose. She could not let whoever this person was get away with this. Not now, not ever.

As they reached the entrance to what looked like an abandoned maintenance shaft, Harper’s eyes scanned the surroundings one last time, ensuring they were not being watched. The entrance was inconspicuous, almost hidden among the overgrown shrubs and ivy that clung to the building’s exterior. A rusted metal door, barely visible behind a tangle of vines, marked where they could enter. The door, though old and weathered, was still sturdy, its surface mottled with flakes of peeling paint and patches of rust.

“Alright, the trail ends here,” Harper said, her voice steady despite the tension coiling in her chest. She reached out, pushing aside the thick vines that partially obscured the entrance, the rough tendrils scratching against her skin. As the foliage parted, a small, rusted sign came into view, its faded letters barely legible: “Maintenance Access - Authorized Personnel Only.”

The door creaked loudly as Harper pushed it open, revealing a narrow, dimly lit stairwell descending into darkness. The air that wafted up from below was cool and damp, carrying a faint musty odor mixed with the metallic scent of old machinery. The walls were lined with pipes and wires, some dripping with moisture from long-forgotten leaks. A single flickering light bulb hung from the ceiling, casting ghostly shadows on the cracked and stained concrete steps.

Harper’s heart pounded in her chest as she took in the scene, the oppressive atmosphere pressing down on her despite not having stepped inside yet. Turning to her team, she forced a wry smile to take over her features, trying to inject a bit of levity into the tense moment.

“So…who wants to do the honours?”

Realms of Sun & Shadow

_{Interactions: Sunni-@The Savant}

---

Elara’s curiosity piqued, and she leaned in slightly, her eyes intently focused on Sunni as he wove his tale. She found herself irresistibly drawn into the narrative, her mind conjuring vivid images of the resilient desert fox, Enu, navigating the harsh landscape it called home. She could almost see the tiny, agile fox bravely standing its ground against the formidable eagle owls, their wings casting ominous shadows, and the skittish kangaroo mice darting nervously among the sparse vegetation. The parallels between Enu's struggles and her own were unmistakable, making the story not just a tale of survival, but a poignant reflection of the conflict she now found herself in.

Elara felt a profound pang of empathy for Enu, fully understanding his deep-seated desire to fix things and the heavy weight of guilt he carried on his small shoulders. She could almost hear the tortoise’s calm, measured voice imparting wisdom, reminding her that sometimes, despite our best efforts and intentions, we cannot control the actions and emotions of others. The story served as a gentle yet powerful reminder that there are limits to what one can do and that accepting these limits is a crucial part of finding peace.

Listening intently to the entire story, Elara felt her heart gradually warming as she slowly came to realize that this was Sunni’s way of comforting her. She nodded in agreement at his advice, feeling a bit lighter and more at peace. “Thank you, Sunni,” she said softly, her voice filled with gratitude. “Your story and your words mean a lot to me. I’ll try to remember that.”

At his suggestion of taking a walk, Elara’s eyes initially brightened with a spark of interest. However, a wave of conflict soon washed over her, clouding her initial enthusiasm. She had planned to let Sunni down gently regarding his heartfelt confession, and now this unexpected invitation complicated things.

Didn’t it? It was just a walk, after all, right? Yet, the simplicity of the gesture seemed to carry more weight than she anticipated.

The young woman regarded him for a moment, the sincerity in his gaze tugging at her heartstrings, making it even harder to refuse. His eyes held a genuine warmth and hope that made her question her resolve. So why should she refuse? What was the reason again? The lines between her intentions and her emotions blurred, leaving her momentarily adrift in her thoughts.

“I suppose…” Elara began hesitantly, her voice soft and uncertain. “It might be a good idea to give my lady some time. To think.” It was an awkwardly phrased answer, one she supplied with a tentative smile and a nod, hoping it conveyed her willingness to consider his suggestion despite how it sounded.

“Let’s get some much-needed fresh air.”

"What Did They Do To Us?" - A Mysterious Supernatural Escape RP!!

A

---

As they were escorted from the dimly lit cell, A’s mind raced with a whirlwind of possibilities, desperately searching for any weakness she could exploit to turn the dire situation to their advantage. Up to this point, her resolve had remained unshaken, even in the face of overwhelming obstacles that would have broken lesser spirits. Yet, a flicker of doubt crept into her thoughts as her eyes locked onto a nearby scientist, who stood ominously with a syringe in hand, a precautionary measure meant to ensure compliance. Which meant there was no escaping what came next as she was brought under that familiar darkness.

As the memory washed over A, she found herself sinking to her knees, the weight of the past crushing down upon her like an unrelenting tide. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision and making it difficult to see what was in front of her. The cold, unforgiving floor felt like ice beneath her, a harsh contrast to the searing pain that still lingered from the crash. Each breath she took was a struggle as if the very air was thick with the ghosts of her past.

A felt a fleeting sense of relief as the haunting visions dissipated, but it was short-lived. A suffocating presence soon enveloped her, wrapping around her like a shroud. She felt a dread unlike any she had ever experienced before, as the presence loomed closer, its enormity eclipsing everything around her, casting long, dark shadows. Its words reverberated through her mind, each syllable dripping with malice, offering a sinister promise of power in exchange for their suffering and grief. The temptation to succumb to the darkness, to surrender to the pain and receive the promised power in return, was almost too much to bear. It was a seductive whisper that gnawed at her resolve, threatening to pull her into an abyss from which there might be no return.

Yet, as soon as it started, it was over just as quickly. A regained consciousness in a surge of panic, the unfamiliar sensation of the stitch marks on her chest sending a shiver down her spine. Her gaze darted frantically to her friends, taking in their own identical marks and the metal cuffs that bound them to their gurneys.

VV's voice pierced through the haze of confusion, her question lingering in the air as A struggled to make sense of their dire situation. The woman's announcement did little to quell her fear; the prospect of facing the enigmatic leader of the Wilds sent another wave of dread coursing through her body.

As the reality of their predicament sank in, however, A felt a sudden surge of anger mingled with her fear. They had been used, their bodies violated and transformed against their will, only to be sent out on a dangerous mission for the very people who had imprisoned them. The injustice of it all fueled her determination to fight back, to take control of their fate.

"We won't do it," she said then, her voice stronger than she felt. "We're not your pawns to be used and discarded."

Realms of Sun & Shadow

_{Interactions: Sunni-@The Savant}

---

“Good morning,” Sunni repeated, this time more confidently and calmly.

“Good morning,” Elara replied softly. Her calm and reassuring tone was like a gentle breeze, easing the tense atmosphere ever so slightly. The man appeared to be responding more positively to her presence now, his initial wariness giving way to a tentative sense of trust, though a hint of unease still lingered in his eyes. At least he didn’t run away, she thought, taking solace in this small but significant sign of progress.

As he listlessly pushed the food around in his bowl, Elara did her best to offer a warm, encouraging smile, hoping to break through the cloud of discontent that hung over him. It was evident that something significant and troubling had occurred before her arrival, casting a shadow over the morning. “I’m doing alright,” she replied, her voice gentle yet probing. “But I’m more concerned about what happened here. It seems like it’s been a tough morning.” Her eyes searched his face for any clues, trying to understand the depth of the situation.

It couldn’t possibly be about that right?

But it was just as Elara feared, her heart sinking at Sunni’s words. She dropped her gaze, her hand instinctively playing with a strand of her hair in a nervous gesture.

Octavia had been honest with Flynn, just as the handmaiden had asked her to be.

Regret washed over her almost immediately at this realization, a heavy, suffocating feeling that settled deep in her chest. She should have just kept her naive mouth closed, as was expected in these kinds of personal matters. Now, the consequences of her well-intentioned honesty loomed large, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had made a grave mistake.

“This…might be my fault,” she admitted, surprising herself with the confession. She lacked the courage to look up and gauge the other’s reaction though, her eyes remaining fixed on the floor. “I’d encouraged Octavia to be honest with Flynn about something, and now… now everything seems to be falling apart.”

“I don’t think I can honestly stomach anything right now.”

"What Did They Do To Us?" - A Mysterious Supernatural Escape RP!!

I'll have a post up by tomorrow or Friday :)

Realms of Sun & Shadow

_{Interactions: Sunni-@The Savant}

---

Elara felt it all before she saw any clues. The tension in the air was palpable, wrapping around her like an invisible shroud. Her heart pounded fiercely within her chest, each beat echoing the growing sense of unease. As she approached the front door of the wooden cabin, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Then she heard it. The odd silence.

It was deafening. An oppressive stillness that only served to amplify her anxiety.

Elara had half a mind to turn around and conjure up some pitiful excuse as to why she couldn't work today or attend the meeting. Instead, she found herself pausing at the door, her hand hovering over the wooden handle. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever awaited her on the other side, and with a gentle push, the door creaked open.

The cabin remained eerily quiet as Elara stepped inside, the air thick with unspoken words and lingering emotions. The dim light provided by the moon filtered through the windows, adding to the sombre atmosphere. In the kitchen, she found Sunni standing alone, leaning heavily against the counter as he slowly ate his food. His expression was distant, eyes unfocused, lost in a labyrinth of thoughts. The plates of food, covered with cloth, also seemed to hint at the recent turmoil that had disrupted their lives.

This was far from normal. Her princess was almost always the first to rise, her hums a melodic sound that filled the cabin as she prepared breakfast. The scent of freshly baked bread and brewed tea would usually waft through the air, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere. Even the prince, with his usual morning routines, would have been up by now. The absence of these familiar sounds and sights was jarring. Furthermore, someone would have surely made the effort to greet a guest, familiar or not, in the early hours of the morning. These were all clear indications that something was amiss.

Elara’s stomach tightened at the sight but found herself moving closer either way, her silver hair shimmering in the dim light filtering through the window. “Sunni,” she said softly, her voice carrying a note of concern. “Are you alright?” She glanced again at the covered food before her gaze returned to him, her mouth shooting out a barrage of questions regarding her charge now. “Is the princess not hungry? Is she unwell? Or is she simply tired?”

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

^{_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Science Wing - Pacific Royal Campus}

Take On Me #3.036: You're So Vain

^{_{___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Unknown Number / Nameless Insignificance}

Previously: Wing to Wing

‘Hey Rora, I was thinking it would be great to do something fun together tonight or maybe tomorrow if today is too sudden. How about we plan a movie night?’

‘Alternatively, we could go shopping with the girls. I think most of us still need to get dresses for the dance. What do you think? Let me know! 😊’

A flutter of anxiety surged through Harper as she pressed the send button and placed her phone down with a shaky hand. Her fingers immediately began to drum lightly on the desk, a subconscious attempt to release her pent-up nervous energy. Please, please say yes, she silently begged, her eyes flickering back to the phone every few seconds. The past few days had been tough for everyone, but she felt that Aurora, most of all, needed a break from everything that had happened.

All the while, her professor continued his lecture at the front of the room. Despite her best efforts to stay attentive, Harper found the whole thing to be a monotonous drone that did little to capture her interest. His voice, steady and unchanging, created an almost hypnotic rhythm, each word blending seamlessly into the next. The classroom’s dim lighting and the soft hum of the air conditioning only added to the soporific atmosphere. The brunette’s eyelids grew heavier with each passing minute, and she blinked rapidly, trying to fend off the drowsiness that threatened to pull her under. She shifted in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs, hoping that a change in position might help her stay awake. Her fingers tapped restlessly on the edge of her laptop now, a silent plea for the lecture to end. The clock on the wall seemed to move at a glacial pace though, each tick adding to her struggle to remain conscious.

The sudden buzz of her phone on the table shattered the monotony of the lecture, jolting Harper from her drowsy state. Her heart skipped an anticipatory beat as she glanced over, a flicker of hope igniting within her. The screen lit up, displaying a message from an unknown number—one she did not recognize immediately. Her excitement quickly evaporated, replaced by a sinking feeling of disappointment. Not Aurora. The brief surge of hope dissipated like a popped balloon, leaving her feeling deflated.

On the preview of the message, she read the words ‘Hi???’, finally sparking a flicker of recognition. Her memory quickly pieced together who it might be: one of the few contacts she had reached out to earlier, someone she barely knew and whose name she'd never bothered to save. She recalled having to coordinate with this person in the past, their interactions marked by a lack of cooperation and a palpable tension. One she desperately hoped wasn’t present still. There were notes to be borrowed, after all.

Her fingers hovered over the screen before she tapped to open the message, bracing herself for the snarky tone she was likely to receive.

And did.

Attempt #1: Fail

‘Hi!!! Were you here for Matt’s Biochem class yesterday? Missed it 😣.’

‘Hi??? You missed a lot then! but I guess that’s what happens when you skip class. Maybe try showing up next time? 🙂’

And there it was. Typical, Harper thought, shaking her head slightly, feeling her frustration bubbling to the surface. Her fingers flew across the screen, typing out a response before she could fully think it through.

‘Thanks for the life advice, Dr. Phil. Now, about those notes…?’

With a sigh, she backtracked the message, deleting the text with a few quick taps. Closing her eyes, she leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling, exasperation etched across her features. This wasn’t the time for a petty argument; she needed those notes, if only to guide her still foggy mind.

“You got a pretty nasty hit there,” one of the healers that had attended to her had remarked, their voice gentle yet concerned. “So far, there doesn’t seem to be anything to worry about, but if you find yourself struggling don’t hesitate to reach out, okay?”

Harper had merely nodded her head at the time, her face a mask of inscrutability. She’d had zero intentions of seeing anyone. Because here was the thing:

She despised hospitals.

She had spent too many hours in the cold, impersonal atmosphere she associated with them growing up. And if things continued on their current trajectory, she knew that feeling of dread and anxiety would never go away. And she needed it to go away. But not like that.

Pushing aside her irritation, Harper took a deep breath and typed out a new message.

‘Look, I really need notes for what I missed. Can you help me or not?’

She paused for a second, rereading the message. It was direct, perhaps a bit too blunt, but she didn’t have the energy to sugarcoat her request. Harper hit send, watching as the message disappeared into the digital ether.

The response came quickly, the tone unmistakably cold and cutting.

‘You really have a lot of nerve. Don’t tell me you 4got all about it?’

Harper frowned, racking her brain for what they might have been referring to. As if having read her mind, her phone buzzed again, a new message lighting up the screen.

‘You told me that I was incompetent and pretty much unreliable cus of it. All because I had a ‘poor track record’.’

Harper’s frown deepened. The words stung now, but she couldn’t deny having said them when she gave it some thought. She had always prided herself on being straightforward, but perhaps she had been too harsh here. Before she could formulate a response, however, another message appeared.

‘So, why would you want anything from me, Sergeant Baxter?’

Harper blinked, her head tilting to the side in vague interest as she realized something. Wow, proper grammar this time, and through text too. That’s new. And they'd only been texting for five minutes!

She was so proud.

A smirk curled on her lips like a cat stretching in the sun, her fingers moving to type a response.

‘But look at how much you’ve improved already!!!’

Harper, of course, did not send this message either. Her actual response instead showed the amount of sincerity she could muster at that moment.

‘ohhh mbbbbb! 😓’

Right 🖕

Harper's fingers stilled, her smirk fading as she stared at the screen. The message hit harder than she'd expected, her earlier irritation giving way to a sinking feeling of regret. She put her phone down, her fingers drumming restlessly on the desk once more.