SilverPaw

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment - On Hiatus

Damon Howard

---

---

“It's not your fault, Mr. Eckehart,” Damon offered him a faint smile. He wasn’t as antsy as Freya, but was ready to meet Rulania. He tracked along, marveling at the sights. As impressive as the building was – like a castle, museum, and great garden at once – his attention was more so on the people.

Like those automatons, whose movements were so fluid he couldn’t nearly believe someone or something had just produced them in front of his eyes.

Once the great doors were opened to them, the source of the Song was finally revealed. There were several elders surrounding the young royals.

What a beautiful pair of siblings.

Rulania stopped singing as she gasped upon seeing them. The Song was notably missing something afterwards but even so…It was ridiculously impressive that so many people had put in so much effort to be able to match someone known as the ‘True Voice’. Not only did Damon admire the sheer dedication to their craft, he was also awed by their performance.

The duo conversed shortly, but Damon still noted how different their speech patterns were. How curious.

But then, before he could really question it, there was a bundle of over excited princess right in front of him.

“Hello…Princess Rulania…Prince Ralek.” He waved at each of them in greeting. He did in fact remember Eckehart having mentioned Rulania’s brother by name. Now that he knew these people here wouldn’t be bothered or think it rude regardless how they were greeted, he forewent mimicking Eckehart and didn’t bow. Still, he had included the titles…just in case.

“Damon,” he introduced himself after the two girls had. He extended an arm for a handshake, but was receptive to hugs too. “Pleased to meet you too,” he smiled, bemused. “Did you see us like we’re here, now? How we are in our world? Or both?” he wondered curiously.

He hoped Rulania hadn’t formed any firm expectations of them. However, she did simply appear very eager and pleased to meet them. Though Damon very much wanted a sure way back home, he didn’t mind befriending her, either.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Business & dinner fit Time: 6:00 pm Location: Castle Dining Room Mention(s): @Potter Ezra Interaction(s): @princess Alibeth, Edin, Anastasia

The prince observed Ezra with mild curiosity. The baker’s act was quite good, but Wulfric had already noticed small discrepancies in it when they’d first met. There was also the fact that the man had gone on to drastically change his appearance for some reason.

Somewhat surprisingly, the man left of his own accord. That in itself was almost enough for him to wish that he’d kept the peasant around for observation for a while longer. Almost.

Wulfric supposed the baker would attempt to ingratiate himself to his father and sister while he wasn’t around.

In fact, based on their reactions, he’d already managed to do as much – to an extent.

At his sister’s comment, he turned to her with a serious countenance. “Seeming is not the same as being, Anastasia,” he stated, giving her an intent look.

To his father, he directed a confused frown. He didn’t like the idea that Ezra was considered as an option for their personal cook. But even stranger was that his father – the man who was only ever capable of appreciating people for what they provided him – was so quick to show regard for this baker.

He had even called him by his name, twice. Without getting it wrong. So, he’d genuinely remembered Ezra as someone noteworthy.

“I apologize father, I wasn’t aware that you were quite so fond of him.” A slightly odd tone entered his voice at that inadvertent yet subtle emphasis. Edin could be so fucking easy; he didn’t even realize how many of those who earned his like were playing him. And this, the man who had been so afraid of his heir showing genuine regard to someone, he had even–

Wulfric reigned that line of thought in, making no show of his minor distraction, and returned to the matter at hand.

No, he hadn’t realized the baker had nearly won over his father. And now Edin was in a poor mood. How bothersome.

This was an opportunity to sway him from the idea of hiring him, however. At the very least, if there was an attempt to be made, the man needed to be investigated. Though, Wulfric would certainly prefer it if he simply kept to his own bakery.

“His skills notwithstanding, I find his character dubious,” he decided to address his concerns. “The previous evening, he made a whole show of advertising his establishment, even using my siblings for it,” he summarized.

What else? Wulfric had been wary of him at the range…Ah. “From what I’ve observed, he had likely said something rude to Lord Smithwood before their archery match.” He was glad he’d remembered having seen something off there. It had mostly been an assumption on his part, but he did know Leo well enough to have surmised as much from body language alone. Admittedly, Wulfric didn’t consider this an especially valid reason, but his father might.

“I also do not like how fixated he is on my sister.” Now this, this did bother him. He was sure Edin would dismiss it out of hand, but it had to be said.

“Besides, he is entirely unknown. His background, his business…I merely advise for him to be comprehensively screened in the event you are considering hiring him,” he concluded by voicing support of his mother’s sentiments.

He went to his dinner then, but kept an eye on the servants who were to examine those desserts that had been brought in. When they began, Wulfric subtly turned to watch them. He was curious if they’d find something. If by some chance there happened to be any tampering with the food, that would be most convincing. However, Ezra hadn’t appeared worried at all that his goods would be tested.

So, the baker was perhaps going for some other angle…He would have to be watched.

Too, he waited for his father to eat enough for his mood to be restored. Once Edin put behind his sourness at his pet baker leaving, Wulfric would try to guide the conversation back to Guild matters.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Business & dinner fit Time: 6:00 pm Location: Castle Dining Room Mention(s): Interaction(s): @princess Alibeth, Edin, Anastasia; @Potter Ezra

Despite Anastasia's words, it was clear that she was in no way ‘okay’. Something must have happened between when he had last seen her and now. But what?

However, Wulfric let the matter rest, and sat down. “My day has been…eventful, to say the least.” By his tone, there didn’t seem to be anything troubling him, though several concerning matters had occurred throughout the day. It was also true that it had been a packed schedule till now.

“Things are going quite well at the Guild, father,” Wulfric answered Edin. He kept up the pleasant politeness as he was wont to do when interacting with his father. Even those who knew of his dislike for the king (such as his mother) would see nothing amiss in his expression or demeanour. He had years and years of experience tolerating idiots and imbeciles on a daily basis, after all…his father the prime culprit among them.

He chuckled at his father’s words, as if in affectionate agreement. “Of course; the Guild knows perfectly well who holds true power. Why; we are at the heart of economy, not just Caesonia’s, but the world’s. It is precisely because of the connections you have established and empowered that we enjoy this position,” he flattered, taking a page out of Calbert’s book.

And why not? The man was good at what he did. Wulfric did not enjoy feeding the old man’s ego trips, but there was something he wanted.

The prince raised a wine glass in a pre-dinner toast. “As you say, father…To a strong and thriving kindgom.” He hid a smirk behind the glass as he took a sip. His finely crafted smile didn’t falter even at the utter nonsense that he should follow his father’s example. The idea that he wasn’t yet ready was even more ridiculous. “Of course, I will.” He would succeed; he’d ensure it.

He turned to mother when she expressed concern for his youngest brother. “He should have guards with him,” Wulfric noted, eyes narrowing minutely.

He ignored his father’s habitual denigration of Callum. Besides, the arrival of unexpected guests caused an interruption. “You,” Wulfric made no effort whatsoever to conceal his displeasure as he turned a look of frosty disdain upon Ezra.

Not only had he formed an instinctual dislike for the man upon their first meeting, this fool was once again ogling Anastasia. He had also disrupted the angle Wulfric had begun to establish with Edin as to the direction he’d wanted to lead their conversation in.

Ezra and his helpers had brought both food and gifts. Thankfully, there were plenty of their family's loyal servants nearby. Wulfric motioned for one of theirs to come closer, and ordered for the gifts to be thoroughly inspected and the confectionary to be taste-tested. It wasn’t only because he happened to mistrust the baker; it was the standard procedure. After all, the prince – having once been poisoned in his childhood due to his own carelessness – was cautious enough to even have his family’s daily meals regularly inspected.

“Father,” he turned to the man with a note of concern in his voice. While he was genuinely wary, he modulated his response so as to appear both respectable and reasonable. “I realize you esteem this man enough to have invited him. It is certainly very thoughtful of you to have prepared such a surprise for us, and these creations of his seem fitting enough to grace our tables.” Not that he intended to have any, as he had no fondness for sweets.

“But is there truly a need to keep him at hand while we dine? I admit, I have not formed a particularly good impression of him last night,” he complained mildly. Wulfric was well aware food was quite the weakness of his father’s. But at the very least, Edin usually respected his opinion enough to take it into account. Hopefully, the man’s food and gifts would be inspected, he and his employees thanked for their work, and then, Ezra would be promptly dismissed.

However, the prince had the unhappy suspicion that he would be forced to endure this impudent baker’s presence far longer than the peasant deserved.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Business & dinner fit Time: 5:00 pm -> 6:00 pm Location: Merchant Guild -> Castle Dining Room Mention(s): Interaction(s): @princess Alibeth, Edin, Anastasia

After Charlotte had departed, Wulfric had not remained at the café much longer, perhaps half an hour at most. He soon took his leave as well, making a short return to the castle. After changing his outfit into something more appropriate for business, he headed to the Merchant Guild.

It was a neat building, one which displayed the might of capital of the Merchant’s Association. Nothing compared to his family’s assets, yet that did not in any way mean they could be dismissed out of hand. The prince had recognized the importance of money at a young age. Because of that, he’d made efforts to make allies within the Guild. Occasionally even with those rare individuals and companies who were unaffiliated with it.

It was because of these connections that Delronzo’s name – and that of his company, the Black Rose – had been immediately recognizable to him once he’d heard of them. Black Rose had become quite renown in the past half a year. It had enjoyed great success, and had managed to expand admirably. Of course, he’d heard of it; a few months prior, in fact. He’d not thought much of it then, beyond the company being a potential target of investment.

However…Now, there was not only the clear possibility, but a very high likelihood that Marek had fueled Black Rose’s success via illegitimate means. Was his company simply a front? Or was it all the same to the man, as long as he made a profit? Either was plausible, and given he was so well-established already, it would be a hassle to deal with regardless.

No matter. If that’s what it took, he would simply dismantle the company itself, ruthlessly and systematically. Limit the man’s options until he had nowhere to run, nothing and no one to hide behind. Crush him as the menace that he was.

But first things first.

He wanted intel, and the Guild was simply his first chosen avenue of gathering it. Regardless of whether Black Rose was its member, the Guild no doubt had information on it. Besides, it would certainly also have documents detailing who was renting each warehouse, including that ill-fated one. Thus, he could obtain concrete evidence for who was making use of the location at the time when the incident occurred at it.

As for why he was doing this himself? Well, some things simply required a more personal touch.

Wulfric entered the premises, greeting various acquaintances as he went. It was nearing evening, but many people were here on some sort of business before dinner.

“Oh, Your Highness, we weren’t expecting you today,” a graying man with a friendly constitution greeted him; Mr. Lesueur, one of the attendants at the reception, though he often worked a shift in the archive rooms. The older man adjusted his glasses as he looked up from his work with a smile. “Did you wish to meet with the leader? I do believe he is in a meeting…”

The prince returned the smile with a polite one of his own. “I would not bother him unannounced,” he waved a dismissive hand. “I may return for a meeting tomorrow, or in the following days. For today,” he leaned a closer, and passed over a note. “I should like to know if the company and individual listed are known members here,” he confided.

Lesueur seemed intrigued. Wulfric knew that if he revealed just enough, this man could spread the right kinds of rumours. But for this moment, he’d let him wonder just why he was asking for what he was. If he let the other man’s curiosity build, the impact once he fed him his suspicions – that Black Rose was dealing with drugs, and possibly had other operations underground – would be that much greater.

“I require information as to who is currently renting each of our warehouses,” he stated. To start off, this would be enough; later in the investigation process, he’d also ask for similar information for the past few months, with a focus on Black Rose’s known activities in Sorian.

Though he knew very well where to go, Wulfric was led to the relevant offices by the Guild’s employees. He obtained several copies of documents proving that Black Rose was the company using that particular warehouse at present. Of course, there were specific dates noted since when and until when it was contracted to them. Similarly, he obtained copies for the other warehouses Marek’s company was currently renting.

“This is…quite unusual, Your Highness,” Lesueur noted. The man had taken it upon himself to be one of the employees to accompany him. They’d retreated to one of the antechambers now. By the look on the man’s face, he was eager for more details. The other personnel, who were doing a final checkup of the gathered documents, were likely listening in too.

“It is an unusual circumstance. I’m afraid there is strong suspicion of drug trade…We gathered some witness accounts from here, yesterday evening,” he tapped the document indicating the warehouse the party had been held at. ‘Witness accounts’ was stretching it a bit, but he couldn’t possibly spread rumours that nobles and royalty had been inebriated and drugged. Even if such rumours may or may not be in circulation already.

“Khm…This Black Rose company is not one of ours, however,” Lesueur noted with an awkward reluctance. The Guild’s record had been checked already, and it had been confirmed that Delronzo’s company was not affiliated; meaning the man was an independent merchant.

The prince gave a nod, as he believed he knew what the man’s concern was. “I realize the Guild wouldn’t involve itself in any illegal business.” It was in their interest to keep any such deals on their side nonexistent – or in rare cases, hidden. As this matter pertained to an independent merchant, the Guild wouldn’t be as keen to crack down on the man as they would if it had been one of theirs involved.

However, there would be some interest in doing precisely that, and Wulfric would capitalize on it. “Independent or not, there may be drug dealing activities…That is a matter which disturbs the honest trading practices we so strive to upkeep.” In other words, it wasn’t profitable for the legitimate businesses to have illegitimate rivals.

“I’m happy you trusted me with this, Your Highness…but the scope of this–” The older man was clearly nervous. Wulfric raised a hand, signifying there was no need to say any more.

“I am aware. Yet, I trust that you will relay this on as is appropriate, Mr. Lesueur.”

After receiving assurances and farewells, and having the documents he’d come for compiled, Wulfric headed for the castle.

He was found by his mother in front of his office, who was seeking him for dinner. “Evening, mother…I have just had these compiled,” he showed her the documents he’d gathered. “If the investigation teams have already been assembled, I would recommend passing this on to them – the both of them.” He wanted to show the Alidasht that their side was willing to cooperate, after all. Wulfric then briefly stepped into his study to safely deposit the evidence.

“Shall we?” once he exited, he extended an arm to his mother, offering to escort her to the dining room.

As they entered, Wulfric’s gaze was first drawn to his sister. She did not look well. Had something happened to her? What had her guards been doing?

But then, he let his gaze settle on Edin.

“Good evening, father,” he offered a short though respectable bow. “Please excuse me for the delay; my visit to the Guild ran longer than I had expected.” His father would know that he was referring to the Merchant Guild; it shouldn’t be surprising to Edin that he’d been there. He’d frequented the place ever since he’d come of age, after all.

Technically, Wulfric was also not late, as it was a minute or so to six. However, he hadn’t managed to change, so he was still wearing his previous outfit. Thankfully, he’d chosen one which he believed just as suitable for dinner as it was for business.

“Good evening, sister,” he then greeted Anastasia, tone on the warm side of polite. Yet, he couldn’t help the minor concerned frown. However, since he was still escorting Alibeth, he first approached the seat he knew she wished to take, and politely seated her.

When he passed Anastasia on the way to his own seat, he touched his sister’s shoulder. “Are you unwell?” he asked her quietly. It wouldn’t do her any good to miss dinner, but perhaps she would prefer to eat later, or in private.

Avalia

Arlen Vanwye

Arlen Vanwye ⋆ 122 ⋆ Male ⋆ Light elf

Height:

5'6 (167 cm)

Build:

Wiry

Hair Color:

Black

Hair Length:

Mid-back

Eye Color:

Crimson

Skin Tone:

Pale

Distinguishing features:

⊛ His ruby eyes.
⊛ A petite, slender figure.
⊛ A pretty face.
⊛ Delicate bone structure.
⊛ Some old scars (whip marks on his back, knife wounds on his chest).
⊛ A healed cut under his right eye.

---

Likes: ⊛ Adventure. ⊛ Freedom. ⊛ Indulging his curiosity. ⊛ Good food, nice clothing, shiny trinkets. ⊛ The sky and the sea. ⊛ Sweets. ⊛ High places. ⊛ Music and songs. Fears: ⊛ Maiming. ⊛ Torture. ⊛ Being broken. ⊛ Starvation. ⊛ Capture.		Dislikes: ⊛ Being afraid, acting like a coward. ⊛ Falling for someone’s act. ⊛ Small, enclosed spaces. ⊛ Being on his own for too long. ⊛ Nihilism, pessimism. ⊛ Opening up; sharing personal, unhappy stories. ⊛ Avalia's tyranic oppressors and their willing lackeys. Habits/Quirks: ⊛ Barely ever sits properly. ⊛ Likes to get on top of various furniture. ⊛ Seeks out good vantage points. ⊛ Sticky fingers. ⊛ Sleeps lightly, with his weapons close by. ⊛ Sometimes hums under his breath. ⊛ Moves quietly without even thinking about it.

---

Sexuality:

Bisexual

Personality:

Brash | Lighthearted | Capricious | Adaptable | Self-indulgent | Sharp-tongued | Roguish

Arlen is lively and active, and wants to get the most out of life. He seems happy-go-lucky, and full of a youthful, brazen confidence. But he is rather adept at judging situations, and getting out of them before they turn awry. Danger does have an appeal to him, and he is a bit of a thrill-seeker. Still, he has a persistent survival instinct, and when that kicks in, there needs to be a very good reason for him to stick around. He has a penchant for nice things, and prefers to get something out of the work he does. He’s got the backs of those who have his, and does what he can for the resistance, but isn’t altruistic per se.

He is open, amicable, and affectionate, and can easily chat up strangers. He likes casual, friendly, or even flirty banter and touches, and enjoys a good laugh. He can be playful, mischievous, and teasing; sometimes provocative. However, Arlen is by no means trusting, despite the outward friendliness. He is socially cunning, learning what makes people tick. He may prod others to test them and their reactions. He is mercurial, and gets moody, at times childishly sulking. But he rarely stays upset for long. Anger in the form of hate or vengefulness gets channeled into the desire to kill, though.

Arlen can be patient, but often isn’t. He seems to get jittery with nothing to do. If pressed, he can remain eerily still and silent. It’s a bad time for him though, and he needs his outlets. His formal education is limited, and his knowledge more so practical than theoretic. But he is clever and quick to pick up on things. He is curious, but not dedicated to learning. Certainly crafty; not scholarly. Arlen’s reflexes and instincts are one point, but he also tends to be too quick to act out on his ideas. He likes to think he is charming, and strives to be. But he’s kind of a brat, too. He will persuade, manipulate, or even deceive if that’s what it takes. He struggles with trauma, and has some related issues, but it’s not usually apparent – which is by design.

Occupation:

Acrobat (former)
Thief (former)
Pirate (current)

Living Immediate Family Members:

A few relatives he hasn't met

Dead Immediate Family Members:

Gwyn Vanwye - older sister
Sulien Vanwye - father
Nuria Vanwye - mother
Aurelian & Iselin Vanwye - paternal grandparents
Armand & Genevieve Dalmas - maternal grandparents

Current Companions:

The Saltrunner's crew

Current and Past Lover(s):

Several dalliances

Current Equipment:

A pair of short swords.
A pair of daggers, concealed.
A pair of pistols.
Coin pouch.

History:

Early life

0 - 11 years

Arlen was born on the outskirts of the Sun Elf Kingdom to an elf couple who had had only one other child so far; his older sister Gwyn. They lived in a charming cottage within a small but tight-knight community. His parents were entertainers – musicians – and they performed at various festivals, events, and establishments. It wasn’t rare that they were hired by the middle district venues, and likely could have made a living there. But they always said nature was their muse. They also seemed to appreciate the serenity of a quieter, more sparsely populated location.

Arlen has fond memories of running into the nearby forest, trying to jump from tree to tree like the squirrels, taking a dip in the streams, or following the brooks to their sources. His favourite spot was a waterfall running over a steep cliffside into a crystalline lake. How many times he’d climbed up there only to make a leaping run into the water…Usually joined by his sister, who looked after him with fond exasperation.

As much as they enjoyed the local forest, the city had a special draw for both siblings. There was always so much going on! So many fascinating sights, people, and activities. Arlen marveled over it all. But what inspired his passion was the time he caught a circus performance. The acrobatic spectacles he’d witnessed had him decide then and there that was the thing he wanted to do for life. His parents certainly weren’t opposed, and supported him in his endeavors.

Much as they had done for Gwyn when she had decided to become a soldier.

No one thought much of his sister’s life path.

The war and its aftermath

12 - 23 years

But then, the dark elves declared a war on all of Avalia.

Tensions were rising, and it was as if terror had embedded itself into the mind of the general populace.

Arlen was afraid for Gwyn, and so were their parents. She was a young trainee, yet that wasn’t a position without its dangers. Thankfully, their paternal grandparents promised to look out for her, and came out of their peaceful retirement to return to serve in the army. Meanwhile, their parents remained at home with Arlen.

The war ended within five years with the dark elves victorious. When the Sun Elf Kingdom had fallen, they had to dismiss their military force. Gwyn had come home alive and hale, if distraught. Their grandfather had perished. Their grandmother has been hospitalized, heavily injured. In the end, she hadn’t made it either. The time they’d stood on her deathbed, her body failing and mind feverish, was the only one Arlen remembers having seen his father weep.

Both during and after the war, work was scarcer. Their parents still strived to connect people with music, but far less had the means to pay for it. The countless dead were only one cost of the war. The economy had suffered a blow. Natural resources were lost, reduced, or tainted.

The outskirts were struck the hardest. Swathes of forest had been cut through, so many fields burned and razed to the ground. Because they’d been in the way. Their local hospital was overfull, their communities broken apart or gone entirely. Hunting, agriculture, and various odd jobs altogether were barely enough for them to scrape by.

The worst of it all was the paranoia. In their village, where once upon a time, they could count on each other with their lives and more, there was now a miasma of suspicion. The rumours that their government had let them down, had been bribed by the dark elves, only deepened the mistrust. One elf – a local barkeep – had even volunteered to serve as an advisor to the new government.

Dark elven terrors became commonplace. Traitors were being hunted down, many publicly and brutally executed. People deemed suspicious were being taken in, some never to be seen again. Other returned, broken. Supplies were pillaged, or simply forcefully collected as a tribute. People were being stolen; kidnapped at a moment’s inattention. There were countless acts of casual violence inflicted.

One fateful day, his sister Gwyn was targeted. Accused of treason, she was taken. She’d apparently been witnessed attending odd meetings. She and some others – a group of would-be rebels – were apprehended.

Knowing his sister, it was not unimaginable that she’d genuinely had her heart set on resistance. But to learn of it like this? Due to some strangers’ condemnation? And then, his family and he were questioned, their house searched. Supposedly, there’d been enough evidence against her to remove her. Meanwhile, his family was let go, knowing they would be watched.

Had his sister truly been a rebel? Had she not said anything to protect them? Had she been falsely accused? Who had it been to betray her? Was it one of their neighbours? A supposed friend? Was it all dark elven fabrication, a tactic to break them down and subjugate them?

None of it mattered, really.

One day, his sister was simply gone. Disappeared, forever. His sister, so resilient, ardent, and brave; a soul so heroic she’d no doubt have tales written of her had she lived to pursue her ideals.

His sister, dead.

The journey

24 - 80 years

Neither he nor his parents could possibly stand to remain in their old home, then. So, they set out, making their living as traveling performers. Their earnings were paltry, and Gwyn’s absence was palpable, but it was better than remaining back there, in that house, in that village. There was the pervasive sense that if only they’d left sooner–

But even their grief and guilt were allayed with time. As a family unit, they could support and trust each other. They worked together often; his parents with their music, he with his gymnastics. His parents now warier of the world’s dangers, Arlen was intensively taught combat as a means of self-defense.

They spent years traveling, from city to city, from village to village. There were some areas where they preferred spending longer periods of time in, such as the River Fairy Kingdom (known as “Riverbloom” after the war). On one memorable occasion, they’d even been to Aldrakh. There was little good will between orcs and light elves, but it just so happened that the orcs had a large feast, and were in a good enough mood to ‘invite’ some stray guests. After the initial fear, it was admittedly fun, but Arlen was still glad that they’d not been held up there for too long.

They did return to their homeland once in a while, though never to the village they’d used to live in. It was nostalgic in some ways, but also painful. Thus, their visits to the Sun Elf Kingdom (now named “Illuminata”) were never lengthy.

However, traveling the world also gave them the perspective of how the tyranny they’d experienced back home was now present everywhere. Senseless suffering and violence were all too common, no matter where they went. Even as years passed, their new overlords didn’t give the impression that they’d ever come off their power high. The abuses of power would keep happening.

Nothing would change – unless it was changed.

They decided as a family to work towards the rebel cause, if less overtly than Gwyn might have done. They gathered intelligence where they could, and passed it onto whichever rebel group or individual had a use for it. Of course, they encrypted their intel, used disguises, had secret meeting locations, and so on and so forth. All the while they still acted as legitimate performers.

Despite all these precautions, misfortune struck. Their caravan was attacked on a secluded path by a group of bandits. Arlen had been in the back of the carriage, and had only heard some sort of commotion at first. Then, his mother managed to rush in, urging him into a hidden compartment.

Her last words to him were: “Please…You must live. Keep the light with you, always.”

She was killed while pretending she was trying to gather up hidden documents to escape with.

Paralyzed with shock, fear coursing through his very bones, Arlen remained compactly concealed in the cache, barely breathing. His mother’s blood slowly pooled over the wooden slating of the floor. The red life liquid slowly spread and oozed, staining the wood. Through a tiny opening, it dripped drop by drop into his hiding place. All he could do was watch wide-eyed, not daring to make a single sound.

Objectively, the attack did not last long.

But to Arlen, it felt like an eternity.

He was still trembling long after the attackers had departed. A few hours of silence later, he finally emerged.

His mother’s corpse was the first one he’d happened upon. It was right there, next to where he’d been hiding, after all. Tears silently streaming down his cheeks, he stroked her face. It was already cool.

The mercenary who’d killed her was collapsed next to her, slain. As if by instinct, Arlen rifled through the dead man’s clothes, searching for anything useful. For any identified marks of the group who’d attacked them.

Then, he headed outside. He was so dizzy, so sick…He stumbled out of the carriage and threw up.

He went to his father’s body next. Got a last, one-sided hug from him too.

There were a few other dead assailants around the carriage. The ones his parents managed to fend off. He collected some things from them too.

Then, he broke up the now useless carriage with a looted axe. He built a pyre, and held a small, unofficial ceremony for his parents. He sat by the fire till their bodies were consumed. Voice halting and rough, breaking up with each sentence, he sang them their favorite songs. And lastly, a very long, traditional olden elvish elegy for the departing souls.

After the ashes had cooled, he gathered up the remaining bone fragments, and wrapped them up caringly. When he could, he’d bring them back to their homeland and bury them there. It was the best he could do for them.

He took whatever supplies and weapons he could, and went on his way.

He’d left the killed bandits where they’d been. He didn’t care if they rotted.

For the next several decades, Arlen traveled mostly by his lonesome. Whatever companions he found were fleeting, temporary acquaintances.

His first mission – to bury his parents’ remains within the Sun Elf Kingdom – was done within the month.

The second mission – to find those remaining mercenaries, and finish them – took years.

It was a great relief when he had accomplished both.

Afterwards, he ran as wild as one might expect from an adolescent let loose. He partied, he gambled, he flirted and got around, he tried all sorts of substances. It was a way of coping with his loss, trying to keep a positive outlook on life.

He turned his acrobatic talents to thievery, because illegitimate work simply paid more, and was easier to come by. That, and he saw no reason to limit himself to so-called honest work.

However, one time he got too careless, too cocksure. Or maybe he was just unlucky.

On one of his grand schemes, he was discovered, captured, and thrown into prison.

From captive to pirate

81 - 122 years

At first, Arlen was left bored and idle in a regular prison, waiting out his sentence. He had nothing better to do, so he might have been snarky with some of the guards.

The day approached when he thought he’d be freed. However, he was taken for a ‘transfer’. Having a terrible feeling about it, he attempted an escape. But it only ended with him getting beat within an inch of his life, tied up, drugged, and thrown into a crate for good measure.

The journey was rough, and he was left there for hours, half-conscious at best.

When he came to, exhausted, he found himself within Roshmi’s Black Market.

He was packed into a cage with many others, where they merely awaited their turn to be auctioned off. Arlen had hope that someone from the outside would buy him, because he figured that’d make fleeing easier.

However, he’d had no such luck. He was purchased by the owner of ‘Forbidden Delights’, a brothel more expensive than the Love Rooms, but also offering special services and goods. In his three years there, he truly learned the meaning of lying, and putting on an act.

His mind sharpened, though he unfortunately grew thinner and frailer – they didn’t want him in a good enough shape to do anything damaging. He was kept inside ‘his’ room most of the time, where he attended various customers. He also had jobs as an escort within the Market. The latter he actively sought out, because it was an opportunity for him to learn the mazelike layout of the underground tunnels.

It was this single-minded determination to escape which kept him (mostly) sane and functional. The desire to get out burned away everything else. The lingering pain of the death of his family was thoroughly erased. He’d also ceased to care what happened to him (or anyone else) within the Black Market. As long as he managed to free himself, it would all be fine. And so, he planned, gathered information, and made whatever preparations he could.

He was waiting for the ‘right’ opportunity, but circumstances forced his hand. One day, a certain noble dark elven man came looking for him, having heard of him from acquaintances. This wasn’t unusual in and of itself, but when Arlen was introduced to this man…The way the dark elf looked at him chilled his blood. And that after having met his share of thoroughly vile people.

“His eyes are all I want,” the noble said coldly. He’d been looked at as an object, even a collectible before, but this…There was no humanity, no desire, no nothing in that soulless gaze. A mild curiosity, perhaps, but mostly the certainty that his order would be abided. The self-assurance that because the dark elf wanted it, he would obtain it. A conceited possessiveness, as if it was his natural right to take what he saw as his.

Terror took a hold of him, utterly and completely.

Shocked as he was, his mind somehow still followed the conversation well enough to realize that a successful bargain was reached. He turned a surprised look on his ‘owner’.

Oh.

How naïve.

Even everything that had already happened to him, he had still believed that some form of bodily integrity and safety would be granted to him.

As if a slaver would.

The noble man had hid held down. One of his attendants approached him with a scalpel, the blade was right there by his eye–

In a singular, intense moment of rejection, a powerful blast of light magic escaped him, blinding and even injuring all around him. No one expected it, least of all Arlen. He did, however, immediately recognize the chance for what it was, and ran.

It was desperation which fueled him, but cunning which guided him. He’d already engraved all he’d learned of Roshmi’s Black Market into his mind; all the routes he’d seen, the patrols he’d learned of, the hiding locations. Everything he knew, he used; whatever he didn’t, he improvised.

It was due to cleverness and luck both that he succeeded. He had a very tight time frame to run away further once he made it into the Roshmi City proper. While official patrols might not bother with a runaway slave, no doubt some excuse would be found to pursue him regardless.

He lay low where he could for the next few days. The news that a certain establishment within the Black Market had been destroyed by a ‘highly offended’ noble reached him. Arlen had a very good laugh over that. Even more hilarious was when official wanted posters with a listed bounty for him started making their appearance.

It was that which made him realize that in a twisted way, he did have power over his would-be maimer. Arlen was perfectly happy to leave him in the dust as he made his escape. Let the dark elf obsess over him if he would; he had finally regained his freedom, and he’d let nothing get in the way of it.

Within the year, he had himself smuggled to Port Vanarosa. There, he enjoyed an honestly dishonest life for a while. Eventually, he happened to meet Captain Drosis, who was looking for fresh recruits. Arlen was at the point of his life where he was both looking for something more fulfilling than petty thievery, and a decent group to do it with.

Trustworthiness was the issue, and the captain and he had a discussion in which they were both clearly gauging the other. In the end, they came to a mutual agreement; Arlen was deemed good enough to be accepted, and similarly, he thought it worth the risk to give a try to working under the captain.

Granted, he’d nearly ditched upon learning the man had dark elves as part of his crew. However, he did believe Drosis wasn’t working for Avalia’s resident oppressors in any capacity. Besides, just as he’d learned that not only dark elves worked for their new tyrant, he was able to recognize that not all dark elves supported Zanithel’s reign.

Since then, the 34 years he’s been part of the Saltrunner were enough to build both trust and comradery between him and the rest of the crew. He now genuinely respects and even admires his captain. Especially ever since he’s found out the man was actively works for the resistance; for Arlen, knowing that he was once again a rebel was practically like returning to his roots. He’s also developed a fairly good friendship and healthy rivalry with both Tanithil and Amisra. Though they’re still bound to clash, it’s not generally a cause for bad blood between them.

The below questions will ask you to name the number of years of experience with certain stats and to describe your athletic behavior. The GMs will present your character’s stats based on the information you provide below. Please try to keep this realistic. We will call you out if it sounds implausible. We may reach out to you for additional questions if need be.

Fitness Level:

⊛ Very active. He has a daily routine of exercises to keep himself limber, and performs feats of acrobatics for fun. That and a plethora of physical tasks associated with his profession keep him in shape.

Physical strengths:

⊛ Agility. Arlen has been an acrobat a good portion of his life. From his illegal pursuits, he knows how to scale buildings, lose a trail in a city, maneuver on the confines of a ship, and more. He’s quick on his feet, and very evasive. His balance is exceptional, and he’s quite dexterous too.
⊛ Speed. He’s often had to run away from law enforcement. To do that successfully, swiftness is essential.
⊛ Stealth. Because magic is not his forte, Arlen has learned all the conventional methods of stealth first. How to move quietly, how to blend in with a crowd, how to track someone unnoticed…
⊛ Strength. To perform the feats Arlen does, a well-developed body is required. It may be a specialized athletic strength, but it is strength nonetheless.

Physical weaknesses:

⊛ Raw power. There are simply limits to what someone of his size and build can do. Arlen is lean, not bulked with muscle, and thus exerting tremendous force – such as in lifting, carrying, or pushing against very heavy objects (or people) – is challenging at best, impossible at worst.
⊛ Endurance. There have been periods in Arlen’s life where he has subsisted on an incredibly poor diet; his years in prison especially. Though he’s recovered since then, the past malnutrition has left its marks. In longer engagements, he needs to take tactical breathers here and there, even if they’re short.
⊛ Durability. He’s been in his share of scuffles, and has developed a decent level of pain tolerance. However, he just isn’t all that tough, and prefers to avoid hits and injuries regardless.
⊛ Magic. He’s had a late start for one, since it wasn’t a skill prioritized in his education. He also simply seems to have less affinity for it.

Years of Experience:
Weapons:

⊛ Bladed weaponry: At a young age, bladed melee weapons were what his parents first introduced him to. He’s stuck to that throughout his whole life so far, whether it be in the form of a knife, dagger, or a sword. 100 years.
⊛ Short swords/daggers: Dual wilding specifically has been his preference for 44 years.
⊛ Pistols: He’s come across his two darlings some 20 years ago, when he helped his crew liberate some war supplies that were being shipped to a dark elf enforcement camp. He fell in love at first sight, and simply had to have them for himself. Ever since obtaining them, he’s been practicing his marksmanship, and even though he’s self-taught, he’s become a good shot.

Hand-to-Hand combat:

Hand-to-hand isn’t Arlen's primary means of fighting, but he has some practice with it. He knows how to evade, deflect, redirect, and use an opponent’s strength against them. 25 years.

Magic:

⊛ Offensive Photokinesis: By far his best and most used magic. He uses it in conjunction with physical combat, though more so as a supplement. 36 years.
⊛ Illusions & Invisibility: After some dedicated effort, he has finally become capable of performing short-term invisibility. He doesn’t have the finesse for illusions yet. 8 years.
⊛ Shielding: He tends to shield magically only when needed. This cost-efficiency means he’s taken longer to develop his skill. But he can employ shields practically on reflex when he has to. They’re quite sturdy, though not sizable. 22 years.

Best Abilities:

Bladed melee, Offensive photokinesis, Marksmanship

Arlen’s Stats

---

Physical Stats

Strength: ⬤⬤⬤◯◯

Ground Speed:⬤⬤⬤⬤◯

Stamina: ⬤⬤◯◯◯

Dexterity: ⬤⬤⬤⬤⬤

Durability: ⬤◯◯◯◯

---

Combat Stats

Hand-to-Hand Combat: ⬤⬤⬤⬤◯

Melee Weapon Combat: ⬤⬤⬤⬤⬤

Firearm (Pistol) Weapon Combat: ⬤⬤⬤◯◯

---

Magic Stats

Offensive Photokinesis: ⬤⬤⬤⬤◯

Illusions & Invisibility: ⬤⬤◯◯◯

Shielding: ⬤⬤⬤◯◯

---

Avalia

Arlen Vanwye

Arlen Vanwye ⋆ 122 ⋆ Male ⋆ Light elf

Height:

5'6 (167 cm)

Build:

Wiry

Hair Color:

Black

Hair Length:

Mid-back

Eye Color:

Crimson

Skin Tone:

Pale

Distinguishing features:

⊛ His ruby eyes.
⊛ A petite, slender figure.
⊛ A pretty face.
⊛ Delicate bone structure.
⊛ Some old scars (whip marks on his back, knife wounds on his chest).
⊛ A healed cut under his right eye.

---

Likes: ⊛ Adventure. ⊛ Freedom. ⊛ Indulging his curiosity. ⊛ Good food, nice clothing, shiny trinkets. ⊛ The sky and the sea. ⊛ Sweets. ⊛ High places. ⊛ Music and songs. Fears: ⊛ Maiming. ⊛ Torture. ⊛ Being broken. ⊛ Starvation. ⊛ Capture.		Dislikes: ⊛ Being afraid, acting like a coward. ⊛ Falling for someone’s act. ⊛ Small, enclosed spaces. ⊛ Being on his own for too long. ⊛ Nihilism, pessimism. ⊛ Opening up; sharing personal, unhappy stories. ⊛ Avalia's tyranic oppressors and their willing lackeys. Habits/Quirks: ⊛ Barely ever sits properly. ⊛ Likes to get on top of various furniture. ⊛ Seeks out good vantage points. ⊛ Sticky fingers. ⊛ Sleeps lightly, with his weapons close by. ⊛ Sometimes hums under his breath. ⊛ Moves quietly without even thinking about it.

---

Sexuality:

Bisexual

Personality:

Brash | Lighthearted | Capricious | Adaptable | Self-indulgent | Sharp-tongued | Roguish

Arlen is lively and active, and wants to get the most out of life. He seems happy-go-lucky, and full of a youthful, brazen confidence. But he is rather adept at judging situations, and getting out of them before they turn awry. Danger does have an appeal to him, and he is a bit of a thrill-seeker. Still, he has a persistent survival instinct, and when that kicks in, there needs to be a very good reason for him to stick around. He has a penchant for nice things, and prefers to get something out of the work he does. He’s got the backs of those who have his, and does what he can for the resistance, but isn’t altruistic per se.

He is open, amicable, and affectionate, and can easily chat up strangers. He likes casual, friendly, or even flirty banter and touches, and enjoys a good laugh. He can be playful, mischievous, and teasing; sometimes provocative. However, Arlen is by no means trusting, despite the outward friendliness. He is socially cunning, learning what makes people tick. He may prod others to test them and their reactions. He is mercurial, and gets moody, at times childishly sulking. But he rarely stays upset for long. Anger in the form of hate or vengefulness gets channeled into the desire to kill, though.

Arlen can be patient, but often isn’t. He seems to get jittery with nothing to do. If pressed, he can remain eerily still and silent. It’s a bad time for him though, and he needs his outlets. His formal education is limited, and his knowledge more so practical than theoretic. But he is clever and quick to pick up on things. He is curious, but not dedicated to learning. Certainly crafty; not scholarly. Arlen’s reflexes and instincts are one point, but he also tends to be too quick to act out on his ideas. He likes to think he is charming, and strives to be. But he’s kind of a brat, too. He will persuade, manipulate, or even deceive if that’s what it takes. He struggles with trauma, and has some related issues, but it’s not usually apparent – which is by design.

Occupation:

Acrobat (former)
Thief (former)
Pirate (current)

Living Immediate Family Members:

A few relatives he hasn't met

Dead Immediate Family Members:

Gwyn Vanwye - older sister
Sulien Vanwye - father
Nuria Vanwye - mother
Aurelian & Iselin Vanwye - paternal grandparents
Armand & Genevieve Dalmas - maternal grandparents

Current Companions:

The Saltrunner's crew

Current and Past Lover(s):

Several dalliances

Current Equipment:

A pair of short swords.
A pair of daggers, concealed.
A pair of pistols.
Coin pouch.

History:

Early life

0 - 11 years

Arlen was born on the outskirts of the Sun Elf Kingdom to an elf couple who had had only one other child so far; his older sister Gwyn. They lived in a charming cottage within a small but tight-knight community. His parents were entertainers – musicians – and they performed at various festivals, events, and establishments. It wasn’t rare that they were hired by the middle district venues, and likely could have made a living there. But they always said nature was their muse. They also seemed to appreciate the serenity of a quieter, more sparsely populated location.

Arlen has fond memories of running into the nearby forest, trying to jump from tree to tree like the squirrels, taking a dip in the streams, or following the brooks to their sources. His favourite spot was a waterfall running over a steep cliffside into a crystalline lake. How many times he’d climbed up there only to make a leaping run into the water…Usually joined by his sister, who looked after him with fond exasperation.

As much as they enjoyed the local forest, the city had a special draw for both siblings. There was always so much going on! So many fascinating sights, people, and activities. Arlen marveled over it all. But what inspired his passion was the time he caught a circus performance. The acrobatic spectacles he’d witnessed had him decide then and there that was the thing he wanted to do for life. His parents certainly weren’t opposed, and supported him in his endeavors.

Much as they had done for Gwyn when she had decided to become a soldier.

No one thought much of his sister’s life path.

The war and its aftermath

12 - 23 years

But then, the dark elves declared a war on all of Avalia.

Tensions were rising, and it was as if terror had embedded itself into the mind of the general populace.

Arlen was afraid for Gwyn, and so were their parents. She was a young trainee, yet that wasn’t a position without its dangers. Thankfully, their paternal grandparents promised to look out for her, and came out of their peaceful retirement to return to serve in the army. Meanwhile, their parents remained at home with Arlen.

The war ended within five years with the dark elves victorious. When the Sun Elf Kingdom had fallen, they had to dismiss their military force. Gwyn had come home alive and hale, if distraught. Their grandfather had perished. Their grandmother has been hospitalized, heavily injured. In the end, she hadn’t made it either. The time they’d stood on her deathbed, her body failing and mind feverish, was the only one Arlen remembers having seen his father weep.

Both during and after the war, work was scarcer. Their parents still strived to connect people with music, but far less had the means to pay for it. The countless dead were only one cost of the war. The economy had suffered a blow. Natural resources were lost, reduced, or tainted.

The outskirts were struck the hardest. Swathes of forest had been cut through, so many fields burned and razed to the ground. Because they’d been in the way. Their local hospital was overfull, their communities broken apart or gone entirely. Hunting, agriculture, and various odd jobs altogether were barely enough for them to scrape by.

The worst of it all was the paranoia. In their village, where once upon a time, they could count on each other with their lives and more, there was now a miasma of suspicion. The rumours that their government had let them down, had been bribed by the dark elves, only deepened the mistrust. One elf – a local barkeep – had even volunteered to serve as an advisor to the new government.

Dark elven terrors became commonplace. Traitors were being hunted down, many publicly and brutally executed. People deemed suspicious were being taken in, some never to be seen again. Other returned, broken. Supplies were pillaged, or simply forcefully collected as a tribute. People were being stolen; kidnapped at a moment’s inattention. There were countless acts of casual violence inflicted.

One fateful day, his sister Gwyn was targeted. Accused of treason, she was taken. She’d apparently been witnessed attending odd meetings. She and some others – a group of would-be rebels – were apprehended.

Knowing his sister, it was not unimaginable that she’d genuinely had her heart set on resistance. But to learn of it like this? Due to some strangers’ condemnation? And then, his family and he were questioned, their house searched. Supposedly, there’d been enough evidence against her to remove her. Meanwhile, his family was let go, knowing they would be watched.

Had his sister truly been a rebel? Had she not said anything to protect them? Had she been falsely accused? Who had it been to betray her? Was it one of their neighbours? A supposed friend? Was it all dark elven fabrication, a tactic to break them down and subjugate them?

None of it mattered, really.

One day, his sister was simply gone. Disappeared, forever. His sister, so resilient, ardent, and brave; a soul so heroic she’d no doubt have tales written of her had she lived to pursue her ideals.

His sister, dead.

The journey

24 - 80 years

Neither he nor his parents could possibly stand to remain in their old home, then. So, they set out, making their living as traveling performers. Their earnings were paltry, and Gwyn’s absence was palpable, but it was better than remaining back there, in that house, in that village. There was the pervasive sense that if only they’d left sooner–

But even their grief and guilt were allayed with time. As a family unit, they could support and trust each other. They worked together often; his parents with their music, he with his gymnastics. His parents now warier of the world’s dangers, Arlen was intensively taught combat as a means of self-defense.

They spent years traveling, from city to city, from village to village. There were some areas where they preferred spending longer periods of time in, such as the River Fairy Kingdom (known as “Riverbloom” after the war). On one memorable occasion, they’d even been to Aldrakh. There was little good will between orcs and light elves, but it just so happened that the orcs had a large feast, and were in a good enough mood to ‘invite’ some stray guests. After the initial fear, it was admittedly fun, but Arlen was still glad that they’d not been held up there for too long.

They did return to their homeland once in a while, though never to the village they’d used to live in. It was nostalgic in some ways, but also painful. Thus, their visits to the Sun Elf Kingdom (now named “Illuminata”) were never lengthy.

However, traveling the world also gave them the perspective of how the tyranny they’d experienced back home was now present everywhere. Senseless suffering and violence were all too common, no matter where they went. Even as years passed, their new overlords didn’t give the impression that they’d ever come off their power high. The abuses of power would keep happening.

Nothing would change – unless it was changed.

They decided as a family to work towards the rebel cause, if less overtly than Gwyn might have done. They gathered intelligence where they could, and passed it onto whichever rebel group or individual had a use for it. Of course, they encrypted their intel, used disguises, had secret meeting locations, and so on and so forth. All the while they still acted as legitimate performers.

Despite all these precautions, misfortune struck. Their caravan was attacked on a secluded path by a group of bandits. Arlen had been in the back of the carriage, and had only heard some sort of commotion at first. Then, his mother managed to rush in, urging him into a hidden compartment.

Her last words to him were: “Please…You must live. Keep the light with you, always.”

She was killed while pretending she was trying to gather up hidden documents to escape with.

Paralyzed with shock, fear coursing through his very bones, Arlen remained compactly concealed in the cache, barely breathing. His mother’s blood slowly pooled over the wooden slating of the floor. The red life liquid slowly spread and oozed, staining the wood. Through a tiny opening, it dripped drop by drop into his hiding place. All he could do was watch wide-eyed, not daring to make a single sound.

Objectively, the attack did not last long.

But to Arlen, it felt like an eternity.

He was still trembling long after the attackers had departed. A few hours of silence later, he finally emerged.

His mother’s corpse was the first one he’d happened upon. It was right there, next to where he’d been hiding, after all. Tears silently streaming down his cheeks, he stroked her face. It was already cool.

The mercenary who’d killed her was collapsed next to her, slain. As if by instinct, Arlen rifled through the dead man’s clothes, searching for anything useful. For any identified marks of the group who’d attacked them.

Then, he headed outside. He was so dizzy, so sick…He stumbled out of the carriage and threw up.

He went to his father’s body next. Got a last, one-sided hug from him too.

There were a few other dead assailants around the carriage. The ones his parents managed to fend off. He collected some things from them too.

Then, he broke up the now useless carriage with a looted axe. He built a pyre, and held a small, unofficial ceremony for his parents. He sat by the fire till their bodies were consumed. Voice halting and rough, breaking up with each sentence, he sang them their favorite songs. And lastly, a very long, traditional olden elvish elegy for the departing souls.

After the ashes had cooled, he gathered up the remaining bone fragments, and wrapped them up caringly. When he could, he’d bring them back to their homeland and bury them there. It was the best he could do for them.

He took whatever supplies and weapons he could, and went on his way.

He’d left the killed bandits where they’d been. He didn’t care if they rotted.

For the next several decades, Arlen traveled mostly by his lonesome. Whatever companions he found were fleeting, temporary acquaintances.

His first mission – to bury his parents’ remains within the Sun Elf Kingdom – was done within the month.

The second mission – to find those remaining mercenaries, and finish them – took years.

It was a great relief when he had accomplished both.

Afterwards, he ran as wild as one might expect from an adolescent let loose. He partied, he gambled, he flirted and got around, he tried all sorts of substances. It was a way of coping with his loss, trying to keep a positive outlook on life.

He turned his acrobatic talents to thievery, because illegitimate work simply paid more, and was easier to come by. That, and he saw no reason to limit himself to so-called honest work.

However, one time he got too careless, too cocksure. Or maybe he was just unlucky.

On one of his grand schemes, he was discovered, captured, and thrown into prison.

From captive to pirate

81 - 122 years

At first, Arlen was left bored and idle in a regular prison, waiting out his sentence. He had nothing better to do, so he might have been snarky with some of the guards.

The day approached when he thought he’d be freed. However, he was taken for a ‘transfer’. Having a terrible feeling about it, he attempted an escape. But it only ended with him getting beat within an inch of his life, tied up, drugged, and thrown into a crate for good measure.

The journey was rough, and he was left there for hours, half-conscious at best.

When he came to, exhausted, he found himself within Roshmi’s Black Market.

He was packed into a cage with many others, where they merely awaited their turn to be auctioned off. Arlen had hope that someone from the outside would buy him, because he figured that’d make fleeing easier.

However, he’d had no such luck. He was purchased by the owner of ‘Forbidden Delights’, a brothel more expensive than the Love Rooms, but also offering special services and goods. In his three years there, he truly learned the meaning of lying, and putting on an act.

His mind sharpened, though he unfortunately grew thinner and frailer – they didn’t want him in a good enough shape to do anything damaging. He was kept inside ‘his’ room most of the time, where he attended various customers. He also had jobs as an escort within the Market. The latter he actively sought out, because it was an opportunity for him to learn the mazelike layout of the underground tunnels.

It was this single-minded determination to escape which kept him (mostly) sane and functional. The desire to get out burned away everything else. The lingering pain of the death of his family was thoroughly erased. He’d also ceased to care what happened to him (or anyone else) within the Black Market. As long as he managed to free himself, it would all be fine. And so, he planned, gathered information, and made whatever preparations he could.

He was waiting for the ‘right’ opportunity, but circumstances forced his hand. One day, a certain noble dark elven man came looking for him, having heard of him from acquaintances. This wasn’t unusual in and of itself, but when Arlen was introduced to this man…The way the dark elf looked at him chilled his blood. And that after having met his share of thoroughly vile people.

“His eyes are all I want,” the noble said coldly. He’d been looked at as an object, even a collectible before, but this…There was no humanity, no desire, no nothing in that soulless gaze. A mild curiosity, perhaps, but mostly the certainty that his order would be abided. The self-assurance that because the dark elf wanted it, he would obtain it. A conceited possessiveness, as if it was his natural right to take what he saw as his.

Terror took a hold of him, utterly and completely.

Shocked as he was, his mind somehow still followed the conversation well enough to realize that a successful bargain was reached. He turned a surprised look on his ‘owner’.

Oh.

How naïve.

Even everything that had already happened to him, he had still believed that some form of bodily integrity and safety would be granted to him.

As if a slaver would.

The noble man had hid held down. One of his attendants approached him with a scalpel, the blade was right there by his eye–

In a singular, intense moment of rejection, a powerful blast of light magic escaped him, blinding and even injuring all around him. No one expected it, least of all Arlen. He did, however, immediately recognize the chance for what it was, and ran.

It was desperation which fueled him, but cunning which guided him. He’d already engraved all he’d learned of Roshmi’s Black Market into his mind; all the routes he’d seen, the patrols he’d learned of, the hiding locations. Everything he knew, he used; whatever he didn’t, he improvised.

It was due to cleverness and luck both that he succeeded. He had a very tight time frame to run away further once he made it into the Roshmi City proper. While official patrols might not bother with a runaway slave, no doubt some excuse would be found to pursue him regardless.

He lay low where he could for the next few days. The news that a certain establishment within the Black Market had been destroyed by a ‘highly offended’ noble reached him. Arlen had a very good laugh over that. Even more hilarious was when official wanted posters with a listed bounty for him started making their appearance.

It was that which made him realize that in a twisted way, he did have power over his would-be maimer. Arlen was perfectly happy to leave him in the dust as he made his escape. Let the dark elf obsess over him if he would; he had finally regained his freedom, and he’d let nothing get in the way of it.

Within the year, he had himself smuggled to Port Vanarosa. There, he enjoyed an honestly dishonest life for a while. Eventually, he happened to meet Captain Drosis, who was looking for fresh recruits. Arlen was at the point of his life where he was both looking for something more fulfilling than petty thievery, and a decent group to do it with.

Trustworthiness was the issue, and the captain and he had a discussion in which they were both clearly gauging the other. In the end, they came to a mutual agreement; Arlen was deemed good enough to be accepted, and similarly, he thought it worth the risk to give a try to working under the captain.

Granted, he’d nearly ditched upon learning the man had dark elves as part of his crew. However, he did believe Drosis wasn’t working for Avalia’s resident oppressors in any capacity. Besides, just as he’d learned that not only dark elves worked for their new tyrant, he was able to recognize that not all dark elves supported Zanithel’s reign.

Since then, the 34 years he’s been part of the Saltrunner were enough to build both trust and comradery between him and the rest of the crew. He now genuinely respects and even admires his captain. Especially ever since he’s found out the man was actively works for the resistance; for Arlen, knowing that he was once again a rebel was practically like returning to his roots. He’s also developed a fairly good friendship and healthy rivalry with both Tanithil and Amisra. Though they’re still bound to clash, it’s not generally a cause for bad blood between them.

The below questions will ask you to name the number of years of experience with certain stats and to describe your athletic behavior. The GMs will present your character’s stats based on the information you provide below. Please try to keep this realistic. We will call you out if it sounds implausible. We may reach out to you for additional questions if need be.

Fitness Level:

⊛ Very active. He has a daily routine of exercises to keep himself limber, and performs feats of acrobatics for fun. That and a plethora of physical tasks associated with his profession keep him in shape.

Physical strengths:

⊛ Agility. Arlen has been an acrobat a good portion of his life. From his illegal pursuits, he knows how to scale buildings, lose a trail in a city, maneuver on the confines of a ship, and more. He’s quick on his feet, and very evasive. His balance is exceptional, and he’s quite dexterous too.
⊛ Speed. He’s often had to run away from law enforcement. To do that successfully, swiftness is essential.
⊛ Stealth. Because magic is not his forte, Arlen has learned all the conventional methods of stealth first. How to move quietly, how to blend in with a crowd, how to track someone unnoticed…
⊛ Strength. To perform the feats Arlen does, a well-developed body is required. It may be a specialized athletic strength, but it is strength nonetheless.

Physical weaknesses:

⊛ Raw power. There are simply limits to what someone of his size and build can do. Arlen is lean, not bulked with muscle, and thus exerting tremendous force – such as in lifting, carrying, or pushing against very heavy objects (or people) – is challenging at best, impossible at worst.
⊛ Endurance. There have been periods in Arlen’s life where he has subsisted on an incredibly poor diet; his years in prison especially. Though he’s recovered since then, the past malnutrition has left its marks. In longer engagements, he needs to take tactical breathers here and there, even if they’re short.
⊛ Durability. He’s been in his share of scuffles, and has developed a decent level of pain tolerance. However, he just isn’t all that tough, and prefers to avoid hits and injuries regardless.
⊛ Magic. He’s had a late start for one, since it wasn’t a skill prioritized in his education. He also simply seems to have less affinity for it.

Years of Experience:
Weapons:

⊛ Bladed weaponry: At a young age, bladed melee weapons were what his parents first introduced him to. He’s stuck to that throughout his whole life so far, whether it be in the form of a knife, dagger, or a sword. 100 years.
⊛ Short swords/daggers: Dual wilding specifically has been his preference for 44 years.
⊛ Pistols: He’s come across his two darlings some 20 years ago, when he helped his crew liberate some war supplies that were being shipped to a dark elf enforcement camp. He fell in love at first sight, and simply had to have them for himself. Ever since obtaining them, he’s been practicing his marksmanship, and even though he’s self-taught, he’s become a good shot.

Hand-to-Hand combat:

Hand-to-hand isn’t Arlen's primary means of fighting, but he has some practice with it. He knows how to evade, deflect, redirect, and use an opponent’s strength against them. 25 years.

Magic:

⊛ Offensive Photokinesis: By far his best and most used magic. He uses it in conjunction with physical combat, though more so as a supplement. 36 years.
⊛ Illusions & Invisibility: After some dedicated effort, he has finally become capable of performing short-term invisibility. He doesn’t have the finesse for illusions yet. 8 years.
⊛ Shielding: He tends to shield magically only when needed. This cost-efficiency means he’s taken longer to develop his skill. But he can employ shields practically on reflex when he has to. They’re quite sturdy, though not sizable. 22 years.

Best Abilities:

Bladed melee, Offensive photokinesis, Marksmanship

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment - On Hiatus

This is usually the thing which ends up last on my backlog, mb. Also, no decent ideas (yet) of reacting to an overly excited princess XD

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Wulfric & Charlotte

4 pm

---

---

The Oasis Tea Café was a charming locale, located on the southern end of Priscilla Street. It had a nice view of the sea, but was still far enough from the hubbub of activity at the ports. It was a fairly popular, well-visited location. While not so prohibitively expensive that only nobles would visit it, it was still a high-class locale. Besides members of the peerage, merchants, businessmen, traders, tourists, and other relatively well-off patrons favored it.

It was seaside themed, and only very loosely reminiscent of an oasis. The façade was beige, and there was both local and imported foliage grown inside and outside of the building. The furniture and décor were tasteful yet with a feel of casual relaxation about it.

Wulfric was found on the upper level, on the terrace. He sat in a section which had been cleared of everyone else. He’d stationed a few guards on the imaginary borders. They were there to ensure that no curious onlookers from the other parts of the terrace strayed into his space. He could afford the privacy. Of course, he’d notified his guards and the host of the café that if Lady Charlotte sought him out, she should be permitted into his presence.

He sat on a couch by a long table adjacent to the railing, overlooking the street below. The table he had chosen could sit four comfortably, six for those who enjoyed crowding. There was one drink on his table. It was a so-called iced tea; a specialty of this café, with an assortment of tastes available.

Here and there, he sipped at the glass through the black straw provided. In one hand, he held a book that he leafed through casually. Occasionally, he set it on the knee he had crossed over the other. Seemingly in thought, he would then gaze over the railing, observing the environments and the populace below. Despite being at ease, he radiated elegance as if it were in his very nature. His attire was also more relaxed than usual, consisting merely of white trousers and a light, blue shirt. He did not know if Lady Charlotte would be able to arrive or not. Thus, he was taking the opportunity to read, think, and not do much else of import.

After a few minutes, the brief sound of a metal chair screeching against the floor for a moment disturbed Wulfric’s peace. Charlotte promptly withdrew her foot from the chair's leg, hoping to obscure the fact that her heart had momentarily skipped a beat at her error. As their eyes met, she offered a gracious smile to the heir. Her hair was neatly arranged in a bun, with softly undulating locks that framed her countenance. She wore a yellow dress with a diaphanous shawl. A heart-locket necklace adorned her neck.

“Your Highness.” She gave him a respectful curtsy with poise. Internally, she was cursing herself for the clumsy entrance. Despite her vexation, Charlotte remained as outwardly composed as she could.

Truthfully, Charlotte was rather nervous. It had been easy to forget herself as she had weaved between the tables. Her attention had easily slipped away from where she was stepping. It hadn’t been the guards that had eyed her down as she had approached, it had been the sight of Prince Wulfric on a couch amongst a sea of empty tables.

The air was still and the faint sound of the waves crashing had been filling the air. As her eyes had laid on him, she had found herself admiring him. When she had found herself face to face with the heir in the past, he had normally been intimidating. Seeing Wulfric relaxed, casually reading a book was a different experience, however. He had always been admired by many for his looks, but in this vulnerable state, his beauty was even more apparent. The prince was actually rather ethereal looking with his ashen hair and youthful face. His lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, and his downcast eyes gave him a pensive expression that seemed to add to his allure.

It’s just the two of us here.

She supposed she should have assumed he wouldn’t have wanted other people interrupting, but it hadn’t quite dawned on her what she would be walking into.

Charlotte could not remember the last time she had spoken to Wulfric so intimately. In fact, she hadn’t really spent much time with anyone the last year before the ball. She approached closer with folded hands but did not immediately seat herself. She couldn't afford to let her nerves get the best of her after everything Lorenzo and her had been through.

Wulfric had become aware of the company as soon as she’d passed his guards, but had elected to let her arrive without staring her down. That was, until an abrupt metallic screech resounded. He raised his head then, and met her gaze, eyebrow quirking up questioningly. The clattering noise reminded him of the incident with that heterochromatic peasant, who had stumbled over a chair when nerves had gotten a hold of her and she’d fled Callum’s presence.

Granted, this was far less offensive, though still somewhat surprising. He hadn’t taken Charlotte Vikena for being clumsy. He supposed she had grown distracted watching him - he had noticed that - which was an effect he had on many.

But she had remained acceptably collected throughout the embarrassing ordeal.

And, at the very least, there were no onions involved.

Nor did he expect there’d be any nonsense of the kind her father was a veritable harbinger of.

When she greeted him calmly, he gave an approving smile. “Welcome, Lady Vikena.” He worked in some warmth into his otherwise neutral tone.

He closed the book he had been reading, and deposited it to the side of the table. Charlotte would see from its title that although he’d been perusing it so leisurely, it was in fact a volume on economics. Elegantly, he uncrossed his legs, and with remarkable fluidity stood up to return her curtsy with a proper bow. “Please, do take a seat.” He gestured to the seating opposite, which was also a couch. Thus, there was no need for him to pull out a chair for her, but he did wait for the lady to settle in. Only then did he retake his seat as well. This time, his position and posture were more proper. Yet, the usual oppressive formality was absent.

“I am glad you had the opportunity to accept my invitation on such a short notice,” he commented, smiling charmingly.

“I’m very grateful for the invitation.” Charlotte replied with a smile in return, then seated herself on the couch. She sat up straight, holding her chin high and her shoulders back, just as her mother had instilled in her.

“How have you been faring?” He started their line of conversation with a polite inquiry.

Charlotte stifled a dry laugh that had risen in her throat. He certainly did not want to know about the day she had. It was best she redirected the target of conversation as to prevent the need to lie incessantly. “I’m doing well, thank you. And how about yourself? …What was your day like? ” Charlotte replied, her voice calm and composed. Her gaze set on him with genuine curiosity. It was hard to imagine a man like him having any flaws within his life, but she did suppose he had to deal with having King Edin for a father. With that in mind, she wondered if his life was truly the painting of sophistication he seemed to present to the rest of them.

There was no change to Wulfric’s expression but it absolutely did not escape his notice that Charlotte had avoided answering. Or rather, her reply had been the courteous non-answer of those who did not wish to speak about their day. He could only assume she’d dealt with something unpleasant. The exhaustion from the events at the ball? Perhaps the attack on Damien - her neighbor - had affected her? Though, that was the kind of thing people were usually ever so fond of retelling.

“Quite well,” he responded. “I attended some events, such as the archery and dueling competitions. The court as well, of course. I also managed to catch the tail end of the race,” he summarized. “Did you attend any?” he asked, curious about her activities now.

Charlotte's eyes sparkled with interest as she allowed herself to lower her guard slightly. “I wish I would have had the time to attend those competitions… Did you participate in either of them? Regrettably, in my youth, I was never permitted to touch weapons…” Her words trailed off for a moment then she thoughtfully added with a smile, “However, I suppose there is nothing to stop me now. Sword-fighting seems to be quite… Invigorating!" She concluded wistfully. "...Anyway, to answer your question, I did sample the pancakes at the park this morning. For the remainder of the day, I was occupied with entertaining guests at my home."

“I did participate in the swordsmanship tournament. It is, in fact, invigorating,” he confessed, leaning in a tad closer. Briefly, a tiny grin flashed across his face. Inevitably, as it usually did when it came to dueling and the like, a sharp glint appeared in his gaze. This time, there was a greater degree of vicious excitement to it, as the memory of his match against Mathias was still fresh in his mind. “If you are interested in learning…” he tilted his head at her, “I could introduce you to some people.” His first thought was Zarai. Based on Charlotte’s words, he’d surmised her mother (and possibly also her biological father) had been against her learning the blade, which was a situation rather similar to Zarai’s.

“That would be amazing!” Charlotte beamed.

At the mention of the park, Wulfric nodded. Rather than sighing, he picked up his drink and took a sip from it. She and Lorenzo must have attended together, and her father had mentioned violence. He’d not pursued the matter with the duke, but supposed he could with her. “Ah, the park,” he stated once he deposited the glass back onto the table. His countenance had smoothed out; his demeanour neutral to serious. “I heard there was some altercation there involving your father?” he questioned. “If you are willing, I should like to know what happened.” He affected a mildly concerned frown, because the details of that situation were something he’d prefer to know.

Charlotte's smile faded slightly as he fixated on the topic of the park dilemma. "I believe there was a misunderstanding, but I had missed the initial part of the argument." She began, her tone growing more serious. "I had rejoined my stepfather when I heard shouting. At that moment, a person began to verbally insult both of us… He even attempted to push Duke Lorenzo, which led to the nearby waffle table to topple over. The situation devolved into chaos from there… Ultimately, we decided to leave the park.”

“An unfortunate beginning to your day,” Wulfric noted regretfully. “And the kind of situation which would have benefitted from the presence of a guard, I imagine.” One situation in a long line of many. His gaze was drawn to the left, towards the city. It swept across various locations, not fixing on any one in particular. Better strategic placement? Perhaps, each event and gathering should have some enforcers in place as a precaution. But then, there was also the matter of their usual patrols. And to increase their response times…? His fingers tapped at his leg. But, before he could get too absorbed in his own thoughts, he mentally shook himself out of it.

“Oh, but please excuse me,” he turned back towards his company, offering her a slight smile. “We were in the middle of discussing our days,” he redirected his attention back to the conversation at hand. “Would you like to hear more about any of the events I attended? Or did you wish to say more on those guests of yours?” Wulfric purposefully gave her the choice here.

“Yes. I suppose I should have foreseen that the gossip from the newspaper and last night’s events would have traveled fast, and brought along a guard.” Charlotte agreed. However, the last thing she needed was a guard. They would just get in the way. Her thoughts had also ventured until Wulfric’s voice had pulled her back to the conversation. “Hmm, well, there isn’t much to say about my guests. I had Dr. John Williamson, Lord Smithwood and Count Fritz from Varian visit as well as Lady Thea. They were all wonderful company and I have no complaints.”

“I had meant the city’s guards should have been available…” Wulfric waved a hand, dismissing both the notion that he’d accused her of not ensuring her own protection, and the topic in general.

She then tilted her head and mused, “I would love to hear more about your experience in the sword competition… Though first… I am curious. You said you attended the horse race? Did you…” Her brows furrowed and worry crossed her expression, “Did you happen to run into my stepfather? “ She softened slightly, “… Lord Smithwood did inform me that he did well.”

At the mention of the duke, Wulfric’s expression acquired a further degree of severity. “Your father…yes,” he confirmed. “He did well - on the surface of it. However, when I chose to speak to him…” He gave Charlotte an intent look, and quite suddenly, there was the pervasive awareness that she was speaking to the crown prince. It had been a subtle shift, but now, his presence was heavy with the full weight of the authority befitting his status.

“Several issues were revealed to me,” he finished his sentence. “I assume you wish to learn of them, despite the fact that this will undoubtedly add to your already taxing day.” Though it had been a statement, the prince waited for the lady’s affirmation.

Only after she gave it, did he continue. “Duke Lorenzo Vikena is suicidal, has a penchant for abusing drugs recreationally, and seems rather…emotionally unstable.” Wulfric’s crystalline gaze settled on her as he gave her however long she needed to process this.

Charlotte’s countenance crumbled and it felt as if her heart had as well. The word "suicidal" reverberated in her mind, sending shockwaves through her entire being. For a brief moment, the horrific image of her mother's lifeless body sprawled out on the grass flashed before her eyes, etching itself into her memory with painful clarity. Her heart started to race in her ears, a deafening drumbeat of fear.

Charlotte only realized she had been staring down at her lap the entire time when she noticed a tear stain on her dress through her blurred vision. After a hard swallow, she blinked away tears in an attempt to compose herself. Then, she raised her head to speak, but it was difficult. Her words felt heavy, like trying to sift through a fog of emotions.

"What?" Her voice was barely a whisper, so she took a deep breath and tried again, putting more effort into her words. "Are you... are you certain? I've never seen Lorenzo suicidal nor using drugs.... I know he drinks occasionally, maybe a little too much at times, but..." Her voice cracked, betraying her own inner turmoil. Wulfric wasn’t high on the list of kindest men in Caesonia, but she was sure he wouldn’t fabricate something so serious.

The prince reached into his inner shirt pocket, and took out a very neat handkerchief. Carefully, he reached over to the other side of the table, and deposited it in front of Charlotte. Then, he leaned back and took care to gentle his tone for his next words. “He was intoxicated when we spoke. That it was more than alcohol is a suspicion on my part. A fairly strong suspicion based on his behavior and words, but I am not a medical professional. You may want to confirm this for yourself, however,” he said.

She had graciously taken it with a nod and patted at her cheeks. I need to get it together.

“As for the other matter…” his demeanour was calm, though reminiscent of one trying not to spook a wild animal. “It was but a fragment of our conversation…Yet, I deemed it concerning. Apparently, he believes that he was at fault for your mother’s death; that he might cause you to follow in her footsteps; or that perhaps you might be better off without him,” he summarized. “I do not know how seriously he meant that, or if it is a general disposition of his…his mood changed rather quickly,” he explained.

A longer exhale followed. “I wish I had something more comforting to relay to you.” Wulfric seemed to think on it for a moment. “If nothing else…he was in good spirits when we were concluding.”

"I… I see..” Charlotte lowered her gaze. “... Thank you for telling me.” If Lorenzo was truly suffering this much, she had been a fool to miss the severity. After a pause, she looked up at him once more. “If there’s nothing more, I think maybe I should depart… I do have the dinner with the Sultan to prepare for after all. Though, I am grateful for your time here, Prince Wulfric.”

Wulfric inclined his head in understanding. “May the Gods’ blessings be upon you,” he wished her as a farewell. She’d need quite some fortitude to deal with all that had occurred (and all that still would). It was unfortunate their conversation couldn’t have been pleasanter, but what he’d told her was something she needed to know.

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment - On Hiatus

Yeah, I'm fine with moving on too.

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment - On Hiatus

Damon Howard

---

---

For some reason, David thought Odaya needed ‘defending’ from his comment. “Are you saying you’re charmed by me?” he joked, but that conversation soon met its end.

Eckehart had a lot to say about the world – Yo’Bikur aka The Dreamland – and Damon listened to it quietly, absorbing the man’s words.

Then, his friend or acquaintances began comparing various trinkets they’ve received. “Oh, you guys got some stuff?” he asked curiously, inspecting the trinkets. He wasn’t jealous per se, but it did occur to him that he could get something for himself, too. He glanced at the pair of sneakers that hung off his fingers uselessly as he carted them along. “I’ve got an idea – be right back!” he said to no one in particular, and dashed off to the nearest stalls he could see.

They were set against a series of buildings which looked like they belonged in a desert. Colourful, patterned textiles stretched between the buildings, and hung above the stalls.

Damon approached a lizard-person merchant, and explained his issue. He didn’t mind going barefoot as much as he’d thought, but would still prefer some kind of footwear. However, his claws had almost ruined his. He showed the bipedal lizard the holey socks to demonstrate. “…I only have this to trade with, though,” he pointed at the sneakers sheepishly. “Unless you’d take…?” He had a wallet in his inner shirt pocket, and showed the shopkeep some banknotes and coins.

After some bargaining and bartering that was difficult for Damon to make heads or tails of – being used to buying at a fixed price – he parted with his sneakers, socks, and a relatively non-significant amount of dollars. (Maybe the merchant was interested in foreign currency?) In exchange, he received a nice pair of leather boots. As the lizardfolk apparently also had tough claws, they knew how to make durable clothing. For some reason, he got a matching pair of leather gloves as a bonus. Or a gift. Or an incentive to come again. He wasn’t quite sure.

It took a bit to find where he was supposed to go; a kind and dashing harpy helped him. He received from them a large, beautiful feather that he tucked into his belt.

He managed to return to the group while it was crossing the great stone bridge. Odaya found him, returning his jacket. “Oh, alright. Nice dress,” Damon said, a bit distractedly. As amusing as it was that the little gremlin child practically had a ‘fantasy princess’ transformation, there really was so much else going on just then.

When Audrey first mentioned wanting to return home, Damon wasn’t concerned yet. What really caught his attention was Eckehart’s answer. “Does that mean Rulania has no friends?” he frowned. It’s what she’d asked for, and she had to wait for some to come from another world? “And she’s sixteen?” They were the same age, but it struck him that the princess was young.

Then, both Ambrose and David chimed in to Audrey. “Guys, I’m sure they were just inviting us, and maybe they were too eager, but if there was a way here I don’t see why we couldn’t go back whenever we wanted-”

He looked at Eckehart. The man seemed concerned. His words were concerning. “Oh.” Damon swallowed, a thread of anxiety taking root. He suddenly remembered that when they were swallowed up by the surging water – similar to the depiction of Tyrdania, a part of his mind noted – it wasn’t just wonderful. It had been terrifying. And showing up here had been all sorts of weird and confusing.

But everyone also seemed so friendly, and open, and inviting. They were practically celebrated, their presence here welcomed. They were appreciated by the natives, even though they were all just some strangers, really.

Damon didn’t know what to do about the disparity. “…Let’s just go talk to the princess.” He agreed with Eckehart that she might know more.