CaliforniaState

Regalia

_{[Location] Landow, Estren
[Time] Sunday, 07:30 AM
[Interactions] N/A}

Camilo continued to eye the festivities, finishing the skewer, nimbly spinning the metal rod in his hand. Against his better judgment he kept finding his gaze hovering back to the tiny group of dominants bolstering in number. It was odd to publicize yourself so much, make yourself so readily available to the public eye just for some illusion of grandeur. Dominants might have been invincible, but the same pleasantries weren’t extended to family members or loved ones. It was more of a projection than a founded belief for Camilo. He hadn’t even been a regalia prior to having his family taken from him so what if he did have the power before then. Thoughts like that would soon make him go mad and fester an aversion to the rest of the dominants he encountered in his wake.

Gravel crunched undertow finding its purchase on the concrete. He propped his hood up, fished out some sunglasses from his pocket, and did the bare minimum in concealing his face. Touring through different tents with food and marketable paraphernalia he caught himself stopping just before spying a woman caked in a mask of skull face paint. She was speaking, or perhaps berating, another younger man, both unsurprisingly armed. His mouth creased in a frown, knowing he had entered the scene rather naked. At least almost naked. He prodded the tip of the skewer with his finger, testing the sharpness of it and whether or not he could rely on it if need be. It wasn’t too dissimilar to a needle of ice that he had sunk into so many before this. This should be no different.

Just before he drew close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation, there was a disharmony of screams loud enough to pierce through the loud murmur of the crowds just above the harbor. Camilo’s confusion was warranted when the reaction of the crowd closest to the overlook turned to terror and found themselves forming a wave that crashed back onto the confused onlookers who had not seen the source of dismay. Camilo worked his way through the crowd, having to claw his way through the stiff junction of panicked civilians. An aggressive shoulder check hit square into him, knocking his glasses off, shattering underfoot of the stampede. Swimming on, he ducked into an alley with a drainage that led to the harbor. His gait stopped immediately, frozen in place but not by Shiva, but by the grizzly image of white sand turned red.

Camilo studied biology in his time in school, there was even a time where he had originally planned to study that instead of the political science degree pushed onto him after military service. From what he did remember, it was his section on invertebrates. Arthropods being the family he most enjoyed: crabs, lobsters, scorpions, spiders. *Crabs*, the horde tearing into the flesh of men, women, and children with their chelipeds were a nefarious perversion of the crustaceans he remembered. In his inaction the other dominants had already begun their proaction in saving the people that so dearly worshiped them. A chill ran down Camilo’s spine, he could feel Shiva’s hand pressing on his shoulder. The cold radiated all throughout his neck and arm, she was silently imploring him to take form and help the others.

It was still too soon, still too many people that could get injured if he wasn’t careful. Instead he turned back to the soldiers firing off their rifles, barely making a dent in the ravenous reforming beasts. Through the corridor his gaze met one of the beasts that lunged at a soldier boring into their chest with red tooth and claw. Camilo gripped the skewer and began running towards the soldier, by the time he made the clearing the body was already limp, gear soaked crimson. He scanned for a moment, finding the crab once more and tracking its movements. A man, geriatric in age, had planted himself stiff in the middle of the shrines, eyes closed, head bent, hands pressed together in prayer, completely unaware of the demise racing towards him.

Camilo spun around and whipped the skewer at the crab, unfortunately it simply bounced off the hard carapace. He sighed, not really surprised at his lackluster weapon. His eyes scrawled around him looking for something else, the rifle. He took off in a sprint, grabbing the rifle and cocking it back, keeping his eyes fixed on the crab. Kicking off the ground he launched himself into the air, in direct line of the voracious creature. With mouth agape, Camilo fired the rifle into the soft palate of the otherwise hardened creature. An explosion of fluids and chitin covered him as he fell, leaving only the disciple continuing to believe dogmatically in his dominants. Perhaps in reverence to Camilo in this case.

Regalia

_{[Location] Near the outskirts of Landow, Estren
[Time] Sunday, 06:00 - 07:00
[Interactions] N/A}

The aromatic scent of freshly ground coffee beans sprinkled through the air, finally making their way into the nasal passages of Castaño. It was a luxury often forgotten for him to wake up to a scalding hot cup of tinto. It caressed his face, pawed at the blankets, pulling the curtains astrew to let little rays of light dance upon his eyelids.

“Ya lo se, es el hora para levantar” to whom he was expressing his annoyance, no one could know. Instinctively, his body rose and cajoled his mind into finally cracking up his lids to take in his childhood room that had not changed much. A poster of a Castralian singer whose hips didn’t lie was faded and had been covered by a religious illustration of Ultima, his mother’s doing no doubt. His toes dancing and spreading on the cold limestone floor granted him dexterity for the toll the push off his bed would ultimately take on his rapidly declining muscular strength. Walking down the short hallway to the dining room he was greeted with a basket of freshly bought bread, a myriad of selection, his favorite being the pan de bono. A bread made from cassava starch, cheese, and egg. His jaw ached in anticipation of housing three in the matter of seconds, only tempered by the swirling spoon and sound of metal on porcelain that rounded the corner in the hand of his mother.

“Buenos días mama, cómo amaneciste?”

“Bien hijo, tranquilo, siéntese para comer”

His mother always babied him, probably because he was the only son in his family. That’s right, where was his other family? They all should have been up before him. Castaño sat down and began to drink his coffee, but when he drank it was ice cold despite the heat clearly emanating plumes of steam. Disoriented, he looked to his mother who had been talking, yet there was no noise leaving her mouth. Just as he was about to ask her to repeat a group of suits busted through the doors and windows, guns drawn, taking aim to fire at him and his mother. Castaño rushed up to shield her, a bit too late as the bullet bore deep into both of them.

Castaño awoke gasping for air, expecting to be in a cold sweat with a puddle formed around his mattress, instead he was cold to the touch. Short gasps for air only left his throat burned and an icy breath with each huff. In the darkness before dawn, he rushed to the thermostat to confirm his psychosis. 26 degrees celsius, Shiva’s way of telling him or rather ordaining him to respond to her needs just as well. Then it came back to him, his purpose, why he was in the outskirts of Landow, The Festival of Lights. At this point he begged for a dream with Shiva over the laborious nightmares that plagued him. And so, with no coffee and nothing more than a half full water bottle, Castaño began getting ready to stalk this so-called festival.

It didn’t take long for Castaño to make his way into the festival grounds, getting lost in a sea of disciples and believers in nothing more than simple garb made him practically invisible. Attention by security detail was reserved for the regalia in attendance, kind of counterproductive in his mind. Once the main detail began to break off into separate locations, Castaño found himself sliding in shadowed alleyways and on the outside of the central commerce which was teeming with food stands beginning the opening of their fervently anticipated money maker event. He kept his eyes on the more renowned regalia in the likes of Laura Genevieve, a name too big for her britches. Despite his desire for anonymity, Shiva’s pull on his body to partake in the festivities was standing in the way of just that. It was hard being the regalia of a dominant so opulent and powerful and not being able to represent that. She would get her stage, just not until the pieces were set.

<sub>[Location] Downtown ➙ Food Stands

[Time] Sunday, 07:30 AM
[Interactions] N/A</sub>

The half an hour that passed felt like an eternity, the smell of fish and meat tore into the aching of his empty stomach. Close to insanity the festivities finally broke when the appearance of a meteor crashed through the sky. Clouds parted and shot away in rapid speed to avoid the nefarious rock making its entrance through an otherwise scenic sky on the heels of a breaking dawn.

“Marica mira eso”

Whatever Castaño and Shiva anticipated that day had been quickly dashed with the emergence of this world altering event. Perhaps all of his nightmares were a warning of what was happening today and why he was sent here amidst the other regalia. Either way, his belly would be satiated on the sustenance this newfound chaos administered to him. Castaño pressed the advantage of the ensuing despair in the crowd to cloak his movements. A watchful eye was kept transfixed on Laura and another largely built man as they served to direct the traffic of people in disarray. Preventing unnecessary injuries and bycatch on civilians while they dealt with the meteor was smart. Perhaps they were worthy of the ilk bestowed on them by their dominant, only time would tell.

Normally Castaño would have helped, however he needed to remain invisible until he was sure that releasing himself to Shiva was absolutely necessary and didn’t infatuate the masses with residue. Castaño swam in the crowd marking those who weren’t quick to panic, most likely regalia, and those who were tasked in protecting and evacuating them in terms of military personnel. He waited for all the dominoes to fall, waiting for his role in this event, but not before procuring a random skewer from a small tent and leaving a singular coin.

Regalia

^{_{Los Caminos De La Vida}}

‎

★

_{P R E S E N C E}

---

Castaño is a husk in a sense or at least how he sees himself. The proud, hot blooded Castralian he once was with the sense of pride that could not be extinguished even by the coldest winters was gone. His heart and soul that made him a man of the earth had been replaced with a sense of purpose that would only be quenched with vengeance regardless if it was a sentiment worthy of the chase. Castaño had not lost himself in obsession or hate, in his eyes as it seemed. In his outward disposition he wore no hint of emotion nor a mask that served as a faux perception for people. Not many got the privilege of seeing his face anyways and if they did the only description would be an air of grievous seriousness with a tinge of sorrow. He exuded an aura of chilliness, whether that was his doing or Shiva’s he did not know. An aura that made masses steer clear of him when he walked through crowded spaces or resided in the corner of a bar or pub.

Castaño is very meticulous, orderly, and precise about how he approaches everything, down to folding his clothes into his bag a certain way. He reacts to the world around him with a plan, everything had a plan and every plan had a series of back up plans for when things went tits up. He isn’t one for talking, despite constantly talking to himself because he believes he and Shiva share a bond strong enough that she hears him and humors him with a conversation. Dreams and visions are the only time that she is actually speaking to him, but Castaño still acts otherwise. Castaño hasn’t been unable to shed his ability to only process the world and the decisions necessary to navigate through it in a military/spec-ops lens. Every interaction is meaningful and filled with purpose otherwise he wouldn’t engage with waste.

Multilingual from his profession, he speaks in almost every language. Despite that he utilizes english the most even when talking at Shiva. His mother tongue only comes out when envenomated. Normally he feels unworthy of speaking it on a day to day due to his excommunication with his country.

_{C H R O N I C L E}

---

Castaño grew up in the less than lavish parts of Castral, that’s not to say that it was worth any less than the cityscape. No, you see in his eyes the jewel of Castral existed in the countryside. Where people were direct descendants of the soil, the lifeblood of the country that worked under the harsh sun and greenery that covered land to mountains like a warm rug. He grew up poor as did many Castralians, but that didn’t deter them from being one of the happiest countries to exist in their very crowded planet. Castaño was blessed enough to have a healthy family, a house over his head, and the ability to seek out an education. He often tended to the finca his family owned, where he learned how to fish, raise cattle and other livestock, and take from the earth to create but also provide for the earth as to not cheat their relationship.

Eventually he would finish his time in upper secondary and apply for universities in Monterrey, the capital city. He finished his degree in Ciencia Política, following his mandatory service in the military for his country. Castaño surpassed any expectation held for him during his service and offered the ability to join Castral’s special forces, known as the Brigada de Fuerzas Especiales. There were four sectors of special forces in Monterrey. However, of the four the BFE were experts in jungle warfare and direct action missions, not only internally, but abroad just as well. The BFE was the natural enemy of the FARM-EP, Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionaria de Monterrey-Ejército del Pueblo. A guerilla group that specialized in kidnapping, assassinations, extortion, and control of the drug trade in the mountains. Their goal being the redistribution of wealth as well as opposing influence from foreign governments and corporations.

Years of conflict and planned out assassinations had hardened Castaño, multiple bodies of his countrymen piling up behind him by his hands, while the rest of the country was blind to it all with their faith in the Dominants. Castaño would later be scheduled on his most intimate mission yet, becoming a spy and informant for the Monterrey Government and live as a FARM-EP member for the next few years. If he was compromised he would be tortured and made an example to the government and most likely end up dismembered and sent to the National Capitol. Saying goodbye to his family and erasing the rest of his presence, every being born and anything that connected him, he adopted a new identity and joined the revolutionary army. It didn’t take much for him to become a trusted peer with how expansive his skill set was.

He climbed the ranks and participated in the barbarism he had once fought to get rid of. Pieces of him shed and discarded until he was able to stomach his acts of heresy. He greased palms and was mostly silent unless his voice was needed. He advised and planned until he was introduced to the closer circle. They were able to stay afloat in operations by donations from other sympathetic paramilitary forces and governments that had special interests in their success in overtaking Castral. And that is where Castaño first learned of what power resided in crystals. He had been exposed to them before in the BFE but with a clearance too low to use them he had only heard through whisperers of their spectacle. They trusted Castaño with their supply, their secrets, their plans to create weapons that rivaled those of the government.

It was then he realized he had all that he needed to complete his mission and return home. That was until they released a secret that even Castaño could not stomach. The Castral government had been lying to Castaño, FARM wasn’t being supplied by the corporations at all nor were they killing innocent civilians. The Castral government had been turning into a puppet country with the president dealing intimately with the corporations at large to earn his place in their CEO’s inner circle. They had been collecting crystals and influence in order to bring a dominant under their control. Civilians were being silently sent to undisclosed caves to excavate materials to summon one, amassing bodies after bodies. Disgusted by the revelation, Castaño swore fealty to the FARM-EP and returned as a spy for them.

Little did he know that the corporations had eyes everywhere despite how slick he believed himself to be. Birds brought whispers of wind to the central government and were made alert of his plans. Unaware Castaño feigned fealty and brought the information he deemed necessary to the attention of his government. They awarded him a medal for his service and sent him on one last mission. To Glasia where he would infiltrate the company behind the provision of crystals.

Upon arriving at the harsh tundra rife with wind, snow, and everlasting darkness he made his way to the location given to him. The corporation coordinates turned out to be a location for an ambush where Castaño was violently gunned down and left for dead with his pack and winter gear stolen from him so he would freeze even if the gun wounds were not fatal. Castaño laid in a warm pool of his own blood, the heat from the open wounds creating small vapors off his body as the heat rose into the atmosphere. Betrayed by his government and his country he lay choking on his blood wondering if this was all that was left. Eyelids began to draw weak and could no longer remain open. The last glimpse he would catch would be the stars that illuminated the night sky, at least he would die with a view.

At least that was what he thought, until he saw the silhouette of a woman in what he thought was a shawl of white bedazzled with crystals.

“Do you wish to live just yet?”

Castaño on the ropes of consciousness tried to respond to the voice that rang through his head instead of his ears.

“Who, who’s there”

A cold wind chill raised the hair on his skin, followed by an icy finger caressing the wounds on his body, freezing them shut.

“It matter not who I am. Only if you are willing to become my regalia”

Castaño now felt his body suddenly being embraced, his head felt coddled and rested on a bosom that was unfamiliar to him.

“Soy tuyo. Ahora y para siempre, en cuerpo y alma”

Castaño violently awoke, somewhere that had a fire stoking in a furnace. His hands flew out in front of him perfectly healthy with no wound nor hole on his body. Whatever happened to him before must have been a dream or so he thought. Time passed and Castaño learned later the truth of his resuscitation and what it meant to be in indentured servitude of a dominant. Not that he didn’t mean what he said that night, he was forever Shiva’s and together would bring vengeance to the world. They worked over the next few years in secret, crippling Castral, getting closer to the answers of the who and the where without his identity slipping. The two would continue to look for answers with a lead hidden in a festival.


_{H O M E}

---

The land that is Castral is abundant and a house that encompasses a multitude of biota and landscapes. Castaño likes to believe it was the birthplace or the battleground for the Dominants during their initial inception into this world. The reason he believes in this personal fiction so much is because of the landscape that surrounds him. Castral is bisected in half by both snow covered volcanos and jagged peaks of mountains that act as a natural defense. The last time the volcanoes had erupted was about a century ago. The fear of magma and heated rock still loom over the heads of its peoples, but they learned to live with the imminent peril if the plumes were to erupt and spell their end. The Sande, is one of the longest mountain ranges that expand past Castral and encompasses glaciers, ancient ruins from past civilizations, and contain some of, if not the world's largest mineral deposit.

Beyond the Sande that erupts from the south into the west, lies opportunity for the north and east. In those cardinal directions exist exquisite tropical beaches, where the next two largest cities in Castral are nestled in. It makes for a popular tourist attraction with the amount of lush sands and waters lap at the edge of Castral. Just because they have beaches and mountains doesn’t mean they are excluded from being home to deserts just as well, the most reknown, La Guajira, being a department on the sea home to dunes, remote ranches, and villages of the indigenous Guayuu people. Beyond the harsh landscapes that are surprisingly home to a lot of tourism there is one final region in the country known as Los Solnalo, one of the world's richest tropical grasslands.

Lastly, geographically speaking, are two intertwined segments. The Castral Basin which is the second largest drainage basin that runs throughout Castral and provides the environment to create Castrals rain forest that extends to the countries immediately surrounding Castral. The biodiversity of fauna and flora are the mainstays of the forest that houses both endemic and extant species. Creating a very tropical and warm climate for Castral and its citizens.

Castral culturally has influence from many sources as its residents are a mix of several backgrounds. The indigenous tribes that were there before exploration, the Eastern settlers that ‘found’ Castral and the slaves they brought with them from multiple countries. This helps bolster the Castralians are a vibrant people who make a lot with what little they have. They’re known to be one of the happiest peoples in the world who focus on their antiquity which is represented in their exotic and fast paced dances, their traditional clothing and attire, the food which takes its most popular form in fish from their coasts, bread and bakeries, and range of meats. You would be hard pressed to find a Castralian who doesn’t emanate positivity, animated persona, and general cheerfulness.

The country's language is based on Spanish spoken in the Americas rather than that of European influence. Common language is barely spoken in Castral, only taught in primary and secondary education. Their religion is focused around the worship of Ultima and Gaia with their major show of devotion through a tradition known as the Novena. The novena tradition is where a family member or friend hosts the rest of the family and/or friends in their home to recite the prayers for nine days leading to the 24th of the 12th month. Between prayers there are folk songs to be sung by the group and small dishes of food to be shared. The host and location is changed each day until the celebration where they honor their dominants and then celebrate with gifts and dance until the sun comes up.

A brief history of Castral can be summed up pretty succinctly. Like most countries, it was colonized before it won its independence nearly two hundred years ago. A series of historically important battles took place to ensure its freedom. However it hasn’t been without its bumps. Multiple civil wars were fought until a republic was settled on as its major form of government. Drug trade ran rampant in the country to the point that iconic figures controlled the local police and some politicians with money and influence until he was finally assassinated. Narcotraficantes still plague the country but not nearly as much when it was at its peak. The most recent issue that has been raised is the presence and assembly of guerilla groups forming in direct opposition of the Castral government.

_{T R I V I A}

---

Likes:

• The Sun
• Tinto(coffee) with bread in the morning and at night
• Dancing
• Tanning at the beach
• Agriculture and Foraging
• Journaling to keep a record
• Sketching
• The comfort of alcohol

Dislikes:

• Senseless violence
• The cold
• Shiva’s personal obsession with him
• Being unable to go home

Castaño understands the role and governance of being a regalia in the world. And so he indulges in Shiva’s need to be worshipped and visibly seen even if that goes against and compromises everything the two have been working for. A part of him does enjoy the intimacy that exists when the two are one and he can unarm himself to imbibe in human interaction.

_{S O C I A L}

---

TBD

Regalia

‎

Castaño

^{_{Los Caminos De La Vida}}

‎

★

_{P R E S E N C E}

---

Castaño is a husk in a sense or at least how he sees himself. The proud, hot blooded Castralian he once was with the sense of pride that could not be extinguished even by the coldest winters was gone. His heart and soul that made him a man of the earth had been replaced with a sense of purpose that would only be quenched with vengeance regardless if it was a sentiment worthy of the chase. Castaño had not lost himself in obsession or hate, in his eyes as it seemed. In his outward disposition he wore no hint of emotion nor a mask that served as a faux perception for people. Not many got the privilege of seeing his face anyways and if they did the only description would be an air of grievous seriousness with a tinge of sorrow. He exuded an aura of chilliness, whether that was his doing or Shiva’s he did not know. An aura that made masses steer clear of him when he walked through crowded spaces or resided in the corner of a bar or pub.

Castaño is very meticulous, orderly, and precise about how he approaches everything, down to folding his clothes into his bag a certain way. He reacts to the world around him with a plan, everything had a plan and every plan had a series of back up plans for when things went tits up. He isn’t one for talking, despite constantly talking to himself because he believes he and Shiva share a bond strong enough that she hears him and humors him with a conversation. Dreams and visions are the only time that she is actually speaking to him, but Castaño still acts otherwise. Castaño hasn’t been unable to shed his ability to only process the world and the decisions necessary to navigate through it in a military/spec-ops lens. Every interaction is meaningful and filled with purpose otherwise he wouldn’t engage with waste.

Multilingual from his profession, he speaks in almost every language. Despite that he utilizes english the most even when talking at Shiva. His mother tongue only comes out when envenomated. Normally he feels unworthy of speaking it on a day to day due to his excommunication with his country.

_{C H R O N I C L E}

---

Castaño grew up in the less than lavish parts of Castral, that’s not to say that it was worth any less than the cityscape. No, you see in his eyes the jewel of Castral existed in the countryside. Where people were direct descendants of the soil, the lifeblood of the country that worked under the harsh sun and greenery that covered land to mountains like a warm rug. He grew up poor as did many Castralians, but that didn’t deter them from being one of the happiest countries to exist in their very crowded planet. Castaño was blessed enough to have a healthy family, a house over his head, and the ability to seek out an education. He often tended to the finca his family owned, where he learned how to fish, raise cattle and other livestock, and take from the earth to create but also provide for the earth as to not cheat their relationship.

Eventually he would finish his time in upper secondary and apply for universities in Monterrey, the capital city. He finished his degree in Ciencia Política, following his mandatory service in the military for his country. Castaño surpassed any expectation held for him during his service and offered the ability to join Castral’s special forces, known as the Brigada de Fuerzas Especiales. There were four sectors of special forces in Monterrey. However, of the four the BFE were experts in jungle warfare and direct action missions, not only internally, but abroad just as well. The BFE was the natural enemy of the FARM-EP, Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionaria de Monterrey-Ejército del Pueblo. A guerilla group that specialized in kidnapping, assassinations, extortion, and control of the drug trade in the mountains. Their goal being the redistribution of wealth as well as opposing influence from foreign governments and corporations.

Years of conflict and planned out assassinations had hardened Castaño, multiple bodies of his countrymen piling up behind him by his hands, while the rest of the country was blind to it all with their faith in the Dominants. Castaño would later be scheduled on his most intimate mission yet, becoming a spy and informant for the Monterrey Government and live as a FARM-EP member for the next few years. If he was compromised he would be tortured and made an example to the government and most likely end up dismembered and sent to the National Capitol. Saying goodbye to his family and erasing the rest of his presence, every being born and anything that connected him, he adopted a new identity and joined the revolutionary army. It didn’t take much for him to become a trusted peer with how expansive his skill set was.

He climbed the ranks and participated in the barbarism he had once fought to get rid of. Pieces of him shed and discarded until he was able to stomach his acts of heresy. He greased palms and was mostly silent unless his voice was needed. He advised and planned until he was introduced to the closer circle. They were able to stay afloat in operations by donations from other sympathetic paramilitary forces and governments that had special interests in their success in overtaking Castral. And that is where Castaño first learned of what power resided in crystals. He had been exposed to them before in the BFE but with a clearance too low to use them he had only heard through whisperers of their spectacle. They trusted Castaño with their supply, their secrets, their plans to create weapons that rivaled those of the government.

It was then he realized he had all that he needed to complete his mission and return home. That was until they released a secret that even Castaño could not stomach. The Castral government had been lying to Castaño, FARM wasn’t being supplied by the corporations at all nor were they killing innocent civilians. The Castral government had been turning into a puppet country with the president dealing intimately with the corporations at large to earn his place in their CEO’s inner circle. They had been collecting crystals and influence in order to bring a dominant under their control. Civilians were being silently sent to undisclosed caves to excavate materials to summon one, amassing bodies after bodies. Disgusted by the revelation, Castaño swore fealty to the FARM-EP and returned as a spy for them.

Little did he know that the corporations had eyes everywhere despite how slick he believed himself to be. Birds brought whispers of wind to the central government and were made alert of his plans. Unaware Castaño feigned fealty and brought the information he deemed necessary to the attention of his government. They awarded him a medal for his service and sent him on one last mission. To Glasia where he would infiltrate the company behind the provision of crystals.

Upon arriving at the harsh tundra rife with wind, snow, and everlasting darkness he made his way to the location given to him. The corporation coordinates turned out to be a location for an ambush where Castaño was violently gunned down and left for dead with his pack and winter gear stolen from him so he would freeze even if the gun wounds were not fatal. Castaño laid in a warm pool of his own blood, the heat from the open wounds creating small vapors off his body as the heat rose into the atmosphere. Betrayed by his government and his country he lay choking on his blood wondering if this was all that was left. Eyelids began to draw weak and could no longer remain open. The last glimpse he would catch would be the stars that illuminated the night sky, at least he would die with a view.

At least that was what he thought, until he saw the silhouette of a woman in what he thought was a shawl of white bedazzled with crystals.

“Do you wish to live just yet?”

Castaño on the ropes of consciousness tried to respond to the voice that rang through his head instead of his ears.

“Who, who’s there”

A cold wind chill raised the hair on his skin, followed by an icy finger caressing the wounds on his body, freezing them shut.

“It matter not who I am. Only if you are willing to become my regalia”

Castaño now felt his body suddenly being embraced, his head felt coddled and rested on a bosom that was unfamiliar to him.

“Soy tuyo. Ahora y para siempre, en cuerpo y alma”

Castaño violently awoke, somewhere that had a fire stoking in a furnace. His hands flew out in front of him perfectly healthy with no wound nor hole on his body. Whatever happened to him before must have been a dream or so he thought. Time passed and Castaño learned later the truth of his resuscitation and what it meant to be in indentured servitude of a dominant. Not that he didn’t mean what he said that night, he was forever Shiva’s and together would bring vengeance to the world. They worked over the next few years in secret, crippling Castral, getting closer to the answers of the who and the where without his identity slipping. The two would continue to look for answers with a lead hidden in a festival.

_{H O M E}

---

The land that is Castral is abundant and a house that encompasses a multitude of biota and landscapes. Castaño likes to believe it was the birthplace or the battleground for the Dominants during their initial inception into this world. The reason he believes in this personal fiction so much is because of the landscape that surrounds him. Castral is bisected in half by both snow covered volcanos and jagged peaks of mountains that act as a natural defense. The last time the volcanoes had erupted was about a century ago. The fear of magma and heated rock still loom over the heads of its peoples, but they learned to live with the imminent peril if the plumes were to erupt and spell their end. The Sande, is one of the longest mountain ranges that expand past Castral and encompasses glaciers, ancient ruins from past civilizations, and contain some of, if not the world's largest mineral deposit.

Beyond the Sande that erupts from the south into the west, lies opportunity for the north and east. In those cardinal directions exist exquisite tropical beaches, where the next two largest cities in Castral are nestled in. It makes for a popular tourist attraction with the amount of lush sands and waters lap at the edge of Castral. Just because they have beaches and mountains doesn’t mean they are excluded from being home to deserts just as well, the most reknown, La Guajira, being a department on the sea home to dunes, remote ranches, and villages of the indigenous Guayuu people. Beyond the harsh landscapes that are surprisingly home to a lot of tourism there is one final region in the country known as Los Solnalo, one of the world's richest tropical grasslands.

Lastly, geographically speaking, are two intertwined segments. The Castral Basin which is the second largest drainage basin that runs throughout Castral and provides the environment to create Castrals rain forest that extends to the countries immediately surrounding Castral. The biodiversity of fauna and flora are the mainstays of the forest that houses both endemic and extant species. Creating a very tropical and warm climate for Castral and its citizens.

Castral culturally has influence from many sources as its residents are a mix of several backgrounds. The indigenous tribes that were there before exploration, the Eastern settlers that ‘found’ Castral and the slaves they brought with them from multiple countries. This helps bolster the Castralians are a vibrant people who make a lot with what little they have. They’re known to be one of the happiest peoples in the world who focus on their antiquity which is represented in their exotic and fast paced dances, their traditional clothing and attire, the food which takes its most popular form in fish from their coasts, bread and bakeries, and range of meats. You would be hard pressed to find a Castralian who doesn’t emanate positivity, animated persona, and general cheerfulness.

The country's language is based on Spanish spoken in the Americas rather than that of European influence. Common language is barely spoken in Castral, only taught in primary and secondary education. Their religion is focused around the worship of Ultima and Gaia with their major show of devotion through a tradition known as the Novena. The novena tradition is where a family member or friend hosts the rest of the family and/or friends in their home to recite the prayers for nine days leading to the 24th of the 12th month. Between prayers there are folk songs to be sung by the group and small dishes of food to be shared. The host and location is changed each day until the celebration where they honor their dominants and then celebrate with gifts and dance until the sun comes up.

A brief history of Castral can be summed up pretty succinctly. Like most countries, it was colonized before it won its independence nearly two hundred years ago. A series of historically important battles took place to ensure its freedom. However it hasn’t been without its bumps. Multiple civil wars were fought until a republic was settled on as its major form of government. Drug trade ran rampant in the country to the point that iconic figures controlled the local police and some politicians with money and influence until he was finally assassinated. Narcotraficantes still plague the country but not nearly as much when it was at its peak. The most recent issue that has been raised is the presence and assembly of guerilla groups forming in direct opposition of the Castral government.

_{T R I V I A}

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Likes:

• The Sun
• Tinto(coffee) with bread in the morning and at night
• Dancing
• Tanning at the beach
• Agriculture and Foraging
• Journaling to keep a record
• Sketching
• The comfort of alcohol

Dislikes:

• Senseless violence
• The cold
• Shiva’s personal obsession with him
• Being unable to go home

Castaño understands the role and governance of being a regalia in the world. And so he indulges in Shiva’s need to be worshipped and visibly seen even if that goes against and compromises everything the two have been working for. A part of him does enjoy the intimacy that exists when the two are one and he can unarm himself to imbibe in human interaction.

_{S O C I A L}

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TBD

The Withered -- An Interest Check

Interested

MINERVA FORCE

_____

It was that time already? Moving through dirty tiled floor and half dead florescent lights buzzing with exhaustion by trying to cast full brightness, led into the darkened patio room of the barracks where a lonely Anastasia could be found. Her jumpsuit had been unzipped from the nape and hung snugly at her waist. A wifebeater, stained yellow at the edges of her armpits and collar, was slowly becoming darker with each bead of sweat soaked inside the arrogant cotton. The humid rain did something to alleviate Anastasia’s ability to overthink or worse, reminisce. Luckily, there was an immediate call to action for Nemesis team to mobilize into an Osprey ASAP. The lightning illuminated the window, only catching the half of her body that was burnt cadaver.

Anastasia walked in a daze really, finding her way somehow in the foldable seat on the aerodynamic aircraft she had stepped on so many times she had lost count. The others were quick to fall asleep or left to their own devices, but she never really slept more than three or four hours, let alone on mission time. She fingered her pockets fishing for her cigarettes, first meeting the band of her tactical eyepatch then finding the plastic wrapped paper instead. If aliens were real, it would be better for them to see her wear her weakness, not run from it with alloy and leather. She tapped the top of the carton, packing the cigarettes to her liking. Fire flickered to life at the flick of her zippo, clearly worn down to bits from seeing as much action as she had, adding to the flashing lights that broke the darkness that enveloped the cargo bay.

Deep pulls dragged the life from the cigarette, expelling cumulus clouds of smoke. There was a peaceful ambience to the quiet before the deployment. She looked around, eyeing the rest of the operatives aboard. Some were so young they should have been wet behind the ears still, while others looked more like her age simply from spying their mileage, stress had a funny way of aging us faster than intended. And so, hours passed as she idly glared at the shine of her boots and rotated one cigarette out for another, ashing the stick on the gap between her and some mousey faced man, with a jaw weaker than the weapons they provided for loadout. If she had her way, she’d smuggle in an AK-74U no problem.

Her quite peace was broken by a noisy gnat that clawed at her ear. “блядь!”, She quickly fished the earpiece from her canal and turned it off, smashing it between her fingers and palms. The little ill-fated jewelry piece found it’s way into one of her tactical pockets of her vest where it would stay until she had to link with her squadron. By now everyone was awake and looking blankly into space, no doubt listening to the orders of whatever commander was in charge. Remembering she was given the earpiece and an optical gadget; Anastasia retrieved it from her accoutrement. Unintentionally, she managed to affix it to her face in unison with the others. Technology never ceased to amaze her; it was a wonder wars were still being fought.

No doubt they would reach the LZ within a few minutes if the higher up rang in. Finally, this old gal would be able to stretch her old bones once again. Amidst her stretch the mousey one finally broke the silence. “девочка, I remember you from somewhere, no?” reaching across her personal space to shake hands with the squeaky one was brazen and unsettled her, an urge rose in her to grab the hand before it could make contact, but she was not as dexterous as she once was. She turned to the boy, “ha! You look like you would break easily if you were not so far away little мышь” scoffing with her thick Belarusian accent.

MINERVA FORCE

Belarusian Brigand

Anastasia Соколов
“Angel Dust”

---

___________________________________ P R O F I L E Age 31 Sex Female Race/Ethnicity White/Russian Nationality Belarus Spoken Languages English, Russian, Belarusian, Tatar Hometown Lida Height 175.9 cm Weight 69 kg ___________________________________ E Q U I P M E N T - Primary Weapon: HECKLER & KOCH MP5 - Secondary Weapon/Sidearm: SIG SAUER P320 - Utility Items: Blasting Demolition Kit (BDK), Claymores ____________________________________ A T T R I B U T E S Athletics: 10 Dexterity: 10 Perception: 14 (+4) Willpower: 12 (+2) Charisma: 14 (+4) Modifiers: (None at the start.)

____________________________________________________________________________ APPEARANCE Anastasia’s physique is a shell of what it once was, poetic in a sense, since shells were the vehicle of her disfigurement. Anastasia stands quite tall amidst her compatriots or perhaps it’s her titillating and domineering personality that gives her a few more inches in the eyes of others. Unkempt carrot colored curls slicked back with strands hang in juxtaposition with her completely shaven neighbors. Regardless if she agrees with her hairstyle matters not in the inability for hair to grow out her left cranial without looking like splotchy patches of orange grass. One eye has a spring green to its luster while the other has had the light robbed from it, leaving it glassy and opaque. In an attempt to draw more attention to it, she’s adorned with an eyebrow piercing snuggly on the ridge of her eye socket. Scars and piercings make up the sum of her facial property, extending down into her left side. Her arm from shoulder to fingertip is a mix of failed skin grafts and severely burned epidermis, losing severity as it reaches down her leg. A body that was once prized for its sinew, has now softened in shape and hardened with every theater of war. Her personal style revolves around casual military wear. Boots whether chelsea’s or combat are worn, with corduroy pants or slacks and a mix of colored button ups unbuttoned as to not take away from the snug turtlenecks and military jackets. ____________________________________________________________________________ PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE Psychological Assessment of Sokolov, Anastasia. Patient is exhibiting signs of Exposure to consecutive campaigns hasPatient has shown remarkable signs of retention of peers through charismatic disposition, has absorbed training like a sponge. In good consciousness I cannot approve Yet in my professional opinion and as a servant to the Motherland, I clear Agent Sokolov for the continued defense and indentured servitude of Mother Russia. Я не награждаю вас никакими баллами, и пусть Бог помилует вашу душу. ____________________________________________________________________________ BIOGRAPHY The life of Anastasia prior to her decorated military service beginning at the ripe age of 18 holds no real value or any significance. Her inception was right around the time that the collapse of the Soviet Union transpired and the day before that, the independence of Belarus. Growing up in a post war country under an axis power was rather rough for her parents, but they found a way to make a living in honest positions that would allow them to peacefully welcome a child into the world. Anatasia grew up shadowing her parents and learning all sorts of blue collar skills that otherwise would be taboo or rather looked down upon for a woman to inherit. Higher education was the norm pushed onto women in Belarus while men did their compulsory service and then took up a majority of the labor force. Higher education never appealed to the young tomboy, most of her time in education was spent either in suspension or continued absence. A headache for her parents until they gave in and trusted she would find her own way. And that she did, with her barely scraping through her final years of education she pivoted into joining military ranks and serving her country, even if that meant to further her opportunities she would become a puppet for the oppressive motherland. ____________________________________________________________________________ SERVICE RECORD -Second Chechen War | Special Battalions Vostok and Zapad. -Russo-Georgian War | Spetsnaz GRU -Russo-Ukrainian War | Spetsnaz GRU/Little Green Men -Syrian Civil War | Spetsnaz GRU -Classified Engagements ____________________________________________________________________________ MISC -Earned the operative name 'Angel Dust' from her proclivities towards explosive devices and death. -Became burned, blind, and disfigured from proximity to an IED in the Syrian Civil War. Lost two of her platoon to the eye of the blast. -Chain smokes like it's going out of style. -Выше нас только звёзды

MINERVA FORCE

Belarusian Brigand

Anastasia Соколов
“Angel Dust”

---

___________________________________ P R O F I L E Age 31 Sex Female Race/Ethnicity White/Russian Nationality Belarus Spoken Languages English, Russian, Belarusian, Tatar Hometown Lida Height 175.9 cm Weight 69 kg ___________________________________ E Q U I P M E N T - Primary Weapon: HECKLER & KOCH MP5 - Secondary Weapon/Sidearm: SIG SAUER P320 - Utility Items: Blasting Demolition Kit (BDK), Claymores ____________________________________ A T T R I B U T E S Athletics: 10 Dexterity: 10 Perception: 14 (+4) Willpower: 12 (+2) Charisma: 14 (+4) Modifiers: (None at the start.)

____________________________________________________________________________ APPEARANCE Anastasia’s physique is a shell of what it once was, poetic in a sense, since shells were the vehicle of her disfigurement. Anastasia stands quite tall amidst her compatriots or perhaps it’s her titillating and domineering personality that gives her a few more inches in the eyes of others. Unkempt carrot colored curls slicked back with strands hang in juxtaposition with her completely shaven neighbors. Regardless if she agrees with her hairstyle matters not in the inability for hair to grow out her left cranial without looking like splotchy patches of orange grass. One eye has a spring green to its luster while the other has had the light robbed from it, leaving it glassy and opaque. In an attempt to draw more attention to it, she’s adorned with an eyebrow piercing snuggly on the ridge of her eye socket. Scars and piercings make up the sum of her facial property, extending down into her left side. Her arm from shoulder to fingertip is a mix of failed skin grafts and severely burned epidermis, losing severity as it reaches down her leg. A body that was once prized for its sinew, has now softened in shape and hardened with every theater of war. Her personal style revolves around casual military wear. Boots whether chelsea’s or combat are worn, with corduroy pants or slacks and a mix of colored button ups unbuttoned as to not take away from the snug turtlenecks and military jackets. ____________________________________________________________________________ PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE Psychological Assessment of Sokolov, Anastasia. Patient is exhibiting signs of Exposure to consecutive campaigns hasPatient has shown remarkable signs of retention of peers through charismatic disposition, has absorbed training like a sponge. In good consciousness I cannot approve Yet in my professional opinion and as a servant to the Motherland, I clear Agent Sokolov for the continued defense and indentured servitude of Mother Russia. Я не награждаю вас никакими баллами, и пусть Бог помилует вашу душу. ____________________________________________________________________________ BIOGRAPHY The life of Anastasia prior to her decorated military service beginning at the ripe age of 18 holds no real value or any significance. Her inception was right around the time that the collapse of the Soviet Union transpired and the day before that, the independence of Belarus. Growing up in a post war country under an axis power was rather rough for her parents, but they found a way to make a living in honest positions that would allow them to peacefully welcome a child into the world. Anatasia grew up shadowing her parents and learning all sorts of blue collar skills that otherwise would be taboo or rather looked down upon for a woman to inherit. Higher education was the norm pushed onto women in Belarus while men did their compulsory service and then took up a majority of the labor force. Higher education never appealed to the young tomboy, most of her time in education was spent either in suspension or continued absence. A headache for her parents until they gave in and trusted she would find her own way. And that she did, with her barely scraping through her final years of education she pivoted into joining military ranks and serving her country, even if that meant to further her opportunities she would become a puppet for the oppressive motherland. ____________________________________________________________________________ SERVICE RECORD -Second Chechen War | Special Battalions Vostok and Zapad. -Russo-Georgian War | Spetsnaz GRU -Russo-Ukrainian War | Spetsnaz GRU/Little Green Men -Syrian Civil War | Spetsnaz GRU -Classified Engagements ____________________________________________________________________________ MISC -Earned the operative name 'Angel Dust' from her proclivities towards explosive devices and death. -Became burned, blind, and disfigured from proximity to an IED in the Syrian Civil War. Lost two of her platoon to the eye of the blast. -Chain smokes like it's going out of style. -Выше нас только звёзды

The Hourglass Order

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Event: Primitive X

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Dropping off at the farmstead was a stop she hadn’t foreseen but had no ability to pass up. Both rider and dragon had been sorely exhausted at this point and by no means had it in them to storm Wesca’s abode. It wasn’t long before Zarina, albeit apprehensive, was able to fall asleep in the company of the psychotic girl. The attendance of a massive golem and her always near dragon also served as a deterrent and steadfast security. Yansee waited around a bit, staring at the moonlight wondering if she’d be able to sleep in the bales of hay. Pauppaup would eventually find his way back to his finger, it beginning to shuffle in her pocket. Unaware of its placement she could feel a constant motion in her pocket before thumbing through it and finding a rather discolored finger.

His silhouette appeared in the confines of the door frame, hanging high in the backdrop. Yansee, elated to say the least, rushed over with finger riding her shoulder to hug the walking corpse. Like an inch worm the finger work its way down Pauppaups arm and back onto his hand. A few crunches and it was back in place. ”Pauppaup!” realizing waking up a dragon was a bad omen, her teeth gritted and her shoulders loosened. ”Pauppaup” she said in a hushed tone. ”We best be going now love, it won’t be long before Wesca sicks a third party on us”. Yansee nodded and the two took off in the twilight hours of night leaving the dragon and warrior behind, they would meet again.

Yansee arrived back in An Zenui waiting at the gates where the guards had inhibited her approach to Wesca’s estate once more.

The sun was just below the horizon, still a glow waiting to break over it, but there were already people moving about on the vast and incongruously lush estate of Talo-Tecazan-Mostix-Cazui and Zast-Wesca-fa-Bantarsca. The guards were out and they were unusually insistent on barring Yansee, who was - after all - known to them, or should've been. She had an ace int he hole in the form of Pauppaup, however. While he had taken a different and stealthier route, his finger was in her pocket, tapping along in the secret code they had developed. Yansee may have been in the process of being informed that she would have to wait for another hour and half, but he was, this very moment, telling her that there was something down the side lane, in an area blocked from sight by the mansion's lush gardens, that she had to see. The question was: could she do so without arousing further suspicion, and... was it worth it?

“Coom off et then” she patronized the guards vehemently against her entering, they paid her no heed or replied in any kind of body inflection. They were worse than zombies and that was saying a lot for the queen of the rotten flesh herself. “Ryt then, fook yuuuu” she said with emphasis as well as putting both her middle fingers, webbing and all, up at both guards. Just as she was about to powerhouse her way through, she felt the finger of Pauppaup sending her a message. As to not rouse suspicion she decided to relent and walk past the estate. Luckily, they were blind to her, allowing her to slip through the side lane of both estates. Passing the lush gardens which drank up all the valuable water the people could use, Yansee spotted a queer image. There was an unmarked carriage foreign to her or Talo and Wesca’s possession. She cocked her head seeing a person residing inside. She stealthily approached, pulling Pauppaups ear, ”Oo yu think tha es?” Yansee’s eyes plastered to the cart.

A very fancy but totally unmarked carriage that you know doesn't belong to Talo or Wesca. They appear to have a visitor. The figure inside the carriage looks like a sirrahi. Yansee stretched her senses out further, sensing more cazenax in the house. Most are clearly servants, but one seems to be flanked to either side by a pair of large sirrahi.

The curiosity got the better of her even if it killed the cat and she brought it back, it was still a cat. Not a Schrödinger in sight. A heavy hand stretched out from the shadow, bigger in presence than size as it seized her shoulder, ”Now hold on, are you sure that’s what you want to do?” Pauppaup asked with slight apprehension. ”Ya, leets go” the Eeaiko made her way to the carriage still using the shadows of the side street to obscure her. She creeped and crawled to the carriage door without alerting the Sirrahi to her presence, not that they were invested in anything other than the cazenax help.

Alarmed at the unwelcomed guest the Sirrahi shifted to the defensive. Yansee jumped at the Sirrahi with uncontrollable rage, her first caustic chemical attack nearly grazes the tenant. Of little mind and reason just as Yansee, they chose to attack rather than call for reinforcements, a mistake she wouldn’t take lightly. A massive rebuke aimed to send her back to the water, but Pauppaup jumped in the carriage and saved Yansee from being fried fish. Rolling back to her feet she readied a dark blast that zapped the life out of the Sirrahi passenger. The sirrahi coachman, who was simply doing his job sitting there with the carriage, is murdered in cold blood. Craabs, eye don et eggen. Deedn meen to keel em” Pauppaup shook his head like a disappointed dad and began pilfering through the carriage, while his daughter resuscitated the corpse into a mindless entity.

Pauppaup found a number of things in the carriage: A shawl with a floral pattern of nezan blooms in gold and purple - royal colours. A small, locked chest. A pendant in the shape of a stylized eye that exudes powerful dark energies. And a second unlocked chest full of gardening supplies. Yansee came over with her new blithering zombie to find the exploits of their ambush. ”Well be taken em all” already forcing the new slave to lug the materials around. The chest is what she eyed the most, carefully enough she was able to pick the lock revealing several strange oddities. Three small, strange coins that seem to exude dark energy. A few damaged scraps of paper with strange writing on them. A vial of blood. A control rod for a demon. A small pouch of gold coins. She wasn’t sure what any of them led to, but the dark energies called out to her. ”Powerful trinkets, especially in this carriage. Better keep them for now and find out the use for them later. Shall we be leaving Yans-“ he could not finish his sentence, seeing as Yansee had already begun skulking towards the other two cazernax. With that, Pauppaup let out a sigh and followed after her.

Yansee elected to take to the roof to get a much stealthier approach, at least in her mind. There was three chimneys in front of her, one tiny one she could herself barely squeeze through, one directly adjacent to that that could fit comfortably and one in the farthest reaches that had enough room for two. She dismembered her new zombie and threw a hand down the first chimney, which had caused quite the stir downstairs. To which she was deaf to seeing as she had already plummeted down the chimney adjacent to the first. Pauppaup stayed above, seeing the lack of decorum. Yansee had chosen the unfortunate placement of the chimney directly in front of those she was trying to avoid. Caught red-handed, Yansee lands clumsily and is rather badly scalded by the fire. While it's not horrific or anything, some medical attention would be a good idea. Wesca's eyes widen. "Yansee Kensen!?" she exclaims, her bodyguard immediately taking up a position between her and the interloper. "Explain yourself immediately!"

Yansee was blowing on a burn from plopping down the chimney, the sensation of pain for a semiaquatic being was doubled. "Gaards woodent let me en"

"You stupid girl!" Wesca roared. "Did you not think there might have been a reason for that!?"

The other older woman with her shimmered and shifted and then she was striding forward. "Let us not jump to any conclusions here," she followed up dryly, "perhaps it is part of her culture."

Yansee had been caught red handed, both literally from the burns to figuratively. It was by the elderly ladies’ grace that Wesca had not sent her cazenax posse to dispose of her. Not that she would go down without a fight. Luckily, the older woman had provided her sanctity with the perception that perhaps this was how her people entered houses. Yansee sheepishly laughed, “Yu see, aur howses aur under watur, so wee gots too swem into em from the top” knowing the refined culture of the Eeaiko and what they truly did in the water was unknown to most, specifically those who were locked up in a desert capital. Her hands began to sweat a little bit, feeling the warmth budding on the outer ears from anxious anticipation if they would buy her bold-faced lie. The sweat only served to anger the pain from the fresh burn causing her to grit her teeth a bit.

The elderly lady ended up acquiescing her lie, whether she knew so or not. This caused Wesca to settle in with her attitude a bit more. Not out of virtue of Yansee’s made-up cultural norms, but out of respect and cajoling of the older woman. Yansee was bid an audience in the room with the two, having disarmed her guard a bit more under the careful watch of the elderly woman who revealed herself to be the dowager. A name and rank that was way out of the realm of understanding in the terms of her correlation to An Zenui and Wesca. Yansee understood and spoke better with the dead than the living. She was on her own mission which left her tunnel visioned most of the time. The thrill of chaos was more enticing than the politics that ran the world and the shadows behind them. Before matters could delve any deeper, Wesca immediately asked about the mission she had assigned Yansee just before.

Rifling through her persons’ she found the amulet that signified the family Cuitmits had come from and his untimely death or, so she was meant to believe. The amulet was sufficient evidence to corroborate her tale. What luck she was lacking in subterfuge entering the mansion, she was gaining back in conversation. The two prattled on, leaving Yansee to follow every other word and sit silently as if she were a child waiting for her mother to leave a friend or aunt’s house. The subject matter finally turned back to Yansee with another mission in tail. Yansee felt sick, due to acknowledging the fact she had already bonded herself to Zarina. If she didn’t want to become charred fish, courtesy of her dragon, then she had to play double agent for Wesca and the now dowager. Without much option, Yansee entertained Wesca’s bidding once more and quickly exited the mansion to make off with her spoils of war.

There was bound to be something of use or value in her plunder.

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Present: @Force and Fury