Boop :)
The Muse
Member
-
Last Seen:
0-24 hrs ago
- Joined: 9 yrs ago
- Posts: 751 (0.23 / day)
- VMs: 1
-
Username history
- The Muse 9 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Snowdrops,
PrinceAlexus,
Silent Showers,
SpicyMeatball,
ChronicleMan,
c3p-0h,
AWildSquirtle,
BlackRoseSiren,
Theyra,
Dezuel
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
 |  |
|---|---|
| Location: Royal Cabin | Time: 9am |
By the second day, Flynn tried to busy himself with various tasks. Placing a chessboard near the fireplace, Flynn set up the pieces with the hope that Amaya might want to play a game with him. He was sorely mistaken. On most days, he ended up moving the pieces himself, playing both sides in a game that became more about distraction than strategy.
Occasionally, Flynn would converse with the royal guards and let them inside to warm up before they returned to their shift. They spoke about the storm, the state of Dawnhaven, the blight-born’s gracious volunteer work to help the guards during the blizzard, and at times they would even entertain Flynn with a game or two of chess.
On the third day, guilt weighed on Flynn for making the cooking staff brave the relentless blizzard to cook meals morning and night. Determined to take matters into his own hands, he attempted to cook. The results were mixed, the kitchen often left in disarray after each try. On three occasions, he managed to produce an edible meal and would proudly set aside a plate for Amaya. However, by his final attempt on day six, he forgot a batch of pancakes on the stove, turning them into charcoal. Smoke filled the cabin, forcing him to crack open a window despite the blizzard. After that, the kitchen staff insisted that they do the cooking.
As the days passed, Flynn found himself sitting by the fire and staring out the window watching snowfall more often, silently contemplating his next move. The search for the cure and the prophecy weighed heavily on him, gnawing at his thoughts. If he wasn’t staring at the fire or the snow, he’d find himself staring at the statue he had been gifted by Ashe, his eyes locked onto the visage of Aelios. Placed beside her was the statue of Selune, the two twin goddesses staring back at him. At times, he could’ve sworn they were smirking at him. Eventually he took both statues and put them into an empty kitchen cabinet, hoping to forget that they were even there.
When the storm started to show signs of dying down, Flynn instructed the guards to prepare a feast to be held by the tavern, a gathering for when it was safe for people to emerge from their homes. Though grand gestures had never been his way, it was the Aurelian way, and this felt important—a celebration of their survival, a moment for the town to come together after days of isolation. It was his first blizzard, and for many of the Aurelians, theirs as well.
Despite the cold and the isolation, he found the blizzard oddly beautiful. The quiet of it, the way the snow coated everything in a soft, pristine blanket. It was nothing like the warm, sunny days of Aurelia, but there was a harsh beauty in it that he couldn’t deny.
More than anything, Flynn found himself wondering how the Lunarians had endured this kind of weather for generations. It was a testament to their resilience, their strength in the face of adversity. His admiration for them deepened, recognizing that their survival, like the blizzard itself, was something to be respected.
On the seventh day, Flynn awoke with a rare sense of excitement as the blizzard had finally passed. The winds had quieted, and the heavy snowfall had softened to a gentle flurry. The storm's end brought a lightness to the air, and after a week of confinement, Flynn felt a renewed energy. Though the past week had been stressful, it had also given him a chance to reflect and rest. Now, with the celebration ahead, he was ready to reconnect with the townsfolk and share in the sense of survival.
The guards outside were already preparing the streets, shoveling the snow and calling for people to join the feast at the Eye of the Beholder. As he dressed and got ready to head out, Flynn’s thoughts shifted from the storm to his next steps. The blight still loomed large, but now, after a week of rest, he felt more focused and determined. Today, they would celebrate together, and the work would resume.
Hey all! Now that the timeskip is up, feel free to start posting as usual again :)
 |  |  |
|---|
For seven long days, the blizzard had roared over Dawnhaven, an unrelenting force of nature that piled snow upon the trees, houses, and streets, sealing everyone inside their homes. The howling winds seemed endless, drowning out any attempt at communication beyond the walls of the town. The streets were abandoned, as no one dared venture out into the storm. Guards took short rotating shifts, braving the brutal cold and conserving precious firewood as they huddled together, trying to stay warm while protecting the town as best they could. Blight-born who could withstand such harsh weather proved to be highly useful, keeping watch where the humans could not.
Now, a week later, the storm has finally begun to ease. Around three feet of snow blankets the town, with many snowdrifts built up along buildings. The winds, once fierce and biting, have died down to a gentle breeze. The snowfall has slowed, though it hasn't stopped completely. The streets, once impassable, were now being cleared by the guards who shoveled diligently, making way for the eager citizens who had been trapped indoors for days on end.
As the snow is cleared, another unit of Aurelian guards move through Dawnhaven, lighting torches along the roads. As they make their way from door to door, they announce that everyone is welcome to gather outside the Eye of the Beholder for a warm meal, generously provided by the Prince and Princess to celebrate the end of Dawnhaven's first blizzard of the season. It’s a moment of much-needed relief and community, after days spent isolated in the cold.
Slowly but surely, people begin to emerge from their homes, bundled up in thick coats and scarves. They make their way to the Eye of the Beholder, where a large bonfire blazes outside, casting a welcoming glow. Around the fire, hot soup and steaming bowls of stew are passed around, the savory scents filling the air. Laughter and conversation flow freely, as the townsfolk—grateful to be together again—share in the warmth of community, and the joy of having survived the storm.
Though the storm hasn't fully passed, Dawnhaven feels alive once again.
 |
|---|
| Location: Royal Cabin | Time: 10:30am | Collaboration with @c3p-0h |
"I’m sorry," Flynn muttered softly, his tone laced with guilt as he glanced over at Amaya. She gave no indication that she’d even heard him. He knew he had taken far too long to wrap up that conversation, despite feeling it was the right thing to do from the citizen’s perspective. As they neared the cabin, Flynn quickened his pace slightly to reach the door first.
"Thank you for your escort," he said to the guards as they stopped outside, then turned to hold the door open for Amaya, his eyes drifting down to her hands. He watched for any sign of her magic—water pooling at her fingertips, mist forming in the air, ice crawling along her skin. As far as he could tell, there was nothing.
Amaya managed to control herself until she heard the latch of the door slide closed behind her. And then she fell apart.
The flickering statue of Seluna gave a dull thud as it hit the floorboards, and Amaya’s hand shot out to connect with the wall beside her. Magic flooded out of her like grief, painting the cabin wall with the complex geometry of ice. A layer of frost coated the wood in a wide swath from her hand, expanding until the last edges of ice nearly touched the ceiling.
When Amaya came back to herself, she was gasping. She was barely holding herself up against the wall, her hand embedded in a thin layer of ice against it. There were tears on her face. Her whole body shook, her other hand splayed against her stomach as her breath escaped in puffs of white.
She squeezed her eyes shut, eyebrows pulling together as she tried to fight for control – but it was a losing battle, now that she’d opened the floodgates. She couldn’t stop the way her ragged breath tore through her body, couldn’t keep more tears from streaming down her face as her own treacherous emotions tried to drown her.
Flynn froze in place as the temperature of the room plummeted, watching in stunned silence as the frost crept up the walls, his body tense from the sudden outburst. The sound of the latch had barely faded before Amaya’s magic exploded from her like a torrent of grief, freezing everything in its path. His gaze darted to Amaya, her form trembling against the wall, struggling to steady herself. His heart twisted.
For a moment, he didn’t know what to do. The memory of her rejecting his attempts to comfort her when they learned about her mother’s death flashed in his mind. The last time he’d reached out to hold her, she had recoiled from him like his touch burned. He had failed her then, and the sting of that failure still hung over him. But now… he couldn’t just stand there, not when she was barely holding herself together.
Gently placing the statue of Aelios on a nearby table, Flynn cautiously moved toward her from behind, angling himself slightly to the side so he could see her face. His heart pounded in his chest, his brow furrowed in deep worry as he tried to close the distance without alarming her.
When he reached her, his hand hovered for a split second of hesitation before he gently placed it on her shoulder. She flinched at the touch. “Amaya...” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper. The warmth of his palm offered little contrast to the frigid atmosphere. He searched her expression, trying to gauge what she needed from him—whether his presence was a comfort or an intrusion.
“Breathe in deep," he instructed softly, his gaze locked onto her expression as he listened to her ragged breathing. "Focus on your breath—slow and steady." He took a deep breath with her, his mind racing as he tried to remember all the different techniques he had been taught to control his own magic. It was something like meditation, meant to center and control the chaotic energy that buzzed beneath the surface. He wished Eris were here to provide better instruction.
Amaya’s world shrank. There was only the chill wrapped around her body, the numbness of her hand against the wall, and –
The warmth of Flynn’s palm against her shoulder. His voice was so close as he murmured to her softly. It was an alien feeling, to have someone else sharing this tiny world she’d enclosed herself within. But everything was too raw, too overwhelming to be examined.
She tried to focus on his words through the roar of her emotions. But when she sucked in a breath, it was like her body was too full. There was no room for air. She couldn’t control her lungs, or the shallow, harsh gasps that escaped her.
"I'm here… Just breathe." he said, his voice calm and steady, though his expression of worry was unmistakable. The instinct to pull her into an embrace was almost overpowering, but he held back, remembering all too well how badly things had gone the last time. Instead, he remained patient, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder, hoping that just being there to offer her space to fall apart if she needed, would be enough. His concern deepened as the ice continued to grow, as though her magic was pushing to break free in a way that unsettled him. Amaya’s magic was volatile, and so was her grief.
Finally, one Amaya’s frantic gasps pulled her voice with it, in a sharp, pained sound. A hand clamped over her mouth. Amaya shrank in on herself even more, like she could fold herself away. All the while, ice continued to creep its way along the wall, claiming more of the cabin.
She wanted her mother.
But instead it was her father’s voice she heard, cold and derisive.
How easily you fall to pieces.
Amaya opened her eyes.
She was looking at the floor. The small drops where her tears had landed were frozen coins of ice against the hardwood. Something else started to bleed into her grief – anger. Amaya’s hand tightened against her mouth, willing herself to get back under control and stop embarrassing herself.
Amaya didn’t know how long she stood there, wrestling with her emotions as her body shook and ice climbed up the ceiling. But all the while, Flynn’s hand stayed on her shoulder. His voice murmured quietly to her. She tried (and failed) to pretend he wasn’t here, witnessing all of this. She tried not to focus on the warmth of his hand.
Flynn’s eyes squeezed shut, a dull ache spreading through his chest as he listened to Amaya’s hiccups and gasping breaths. It felt like her pain was his own, a visceral, unrelenting pressure weighing him down. Her pain was difficult to witness, and helplessness gnawed at him, making him feel utterly powerless to ease any of her suffering.
Finally, when she’d carefully put all her shattered pieces away and her breath was even with only a few stuttering hiccups, Amaya dropped her hand from her mouth. She sniffled.
Gritting his teeth, Flynn steadied himself, searching for calm within the storm of emotions. He focused inward, reaching for the chaotic tangle of magic inside him—magic he hadn’t tapped into in far too long. Slowly, he pulled at the threads of his fire magic, coaxing warmth to the surface. His hand, resting on her shoulder, began to glow faintly with heat. The warmth spread from his palm, attempting to wrap her in a soft blanket of heat, though it was being fought off by the frigid magic that continually leaked from Amaya. Flynn knew this would exhaust him, but in the moment, it didn’t matter.
She felt hollow. She turned her head to finally look at the wall. It was nearly completely covered in ice. Another hiccup shook her.
Amaya couldn’t feel her hand anymore. The ice around it had melted and frozen and melted again, over and over so it now formed a rippling, glass-like shell around her hand.
Flynn’s gaze shifted to her hand, encased in the jagged layers of ice. He was about to raise his fire-infused hand to melt it when her voice broke through.
“Open the door.” Her voice came out in a broken, emotionless whisper.
Flynn froze for a moment, glancing at the door. He knew the royal guards were stationed just outside, enduring the blizzard in short, rotating shifts. "Are you sure?" He asked, his voice filled with concern. "The guards—"
He trailed off, watching her, but her silence spoke volumes. Worried she was on the verge of frostbite, he shifted his attention back to her hand first. Gently lifting his palm from her shoulder, he hovered his hand just above the ice trapping her. Slowly, the ice began to melt under the warmth he fed into the air. It took longer than usual, her magic still spilling out like a relentless flood. Flynn felt it—how hard it was to keep up, to balance the energy without exhausting himself completely. It had been so long since he’d used his magic—he felt rusty, clumsy, like he was forcing a muscle to work that had long atrophied.
Something about his slowness, his gentleness, only fueled her anger — like she was a frail child that needed to be coddled. Even as her body wanted to pull towards his warmth, she grit her teeth and focused on her hand.
As the last bit of ice melted away, freeing her hand, Flynn glanced at her again, meeting her gaze. She looked at him with such force, such fury in her expression, as if daring him to question her again.
Stepping back, he settled his hand on the door handle. His eyes locked on hers, silently asking for one last confirmation. Her glare only hardened, the answer clear—she wasn’t going to repeat herself. Without another word, Flynn opened the door, the cold air rushing in.
Amaya flexed her hand, phantom needles piercing it as blood flowed again. And then in a swift motion, she raised it and pulled.
She’d been a skilled magic user before her world fell to pieces. Precise. Logical. Creative, with whatever shortcomings she’d possessed. But what she had in skill and practice, she lacked in sheer power.
But the world had changed much, since then. And her magic begged to be used.
Pulling from the well of magic in her that always seemed to overflow now, Amaya grabbed hold of the frost coating the inside of the cabin. Her specialty had always been turning water to ice, manipulating it to her will. She’d always known how to freeze better than she could thaw. But Amaya grabbed hold of the ice now, forcing it back into fluidity. It was water just long enough to pull away from the wall before freezing itself again, still in motion. Shards of ice shot through the air, past Amaya and Flynn, out the door, to bury themselves in the growing layer of snow in front of the cabin. The guards shouted in surprise. A stray shard flew too close to her hand, slicing a thin line of crimson that burned in the frigid air. It burned like clarity.
The tears were gone from her face, tracks of dried salt crystals marking her skin.
Staring out at the winter world beyond the door, Amaya let out a slow, shaking breath. It filled the air in a white fog. Her face was carefully neutral again. Her hands still shook. She was still empty. But the frantic storm of her magic had quieted to a dull hum.
She didn’t look at Flynn as she turned away from the door and began walking towards the stairs.
Flynn flinched as ice daggers shot past his face, their sharp edges too close for comfort. For a split second, he expected her to impale him and bury him beneath the same storm she’d unleashed on the walls. As the shards buried themselves in the snow and dirt outside, his heart pounded as he locked eyes with one of the guards who had shouted in alarm.
“Prince? Everything alright, Sir?” The guard’s hand moved for his weapon, clearly worried and on edge. Flynn gave a sharp nod, forcing himself to appear calm, though he was sure everything was not alright. Slowly, he closed the door, shutting out the guard's confused expression and the winter storm beyond.
He turned just in time to see Amaya walk away, her face devoid of emotion. His chest tightened as he watched her, the ache of helplessness returning. “Amaya…” His voice wavered, unsteady. He paused, searching for the right words, his mind racing in a thousand directions. “What… What can I do to help?”
It felt like a feeble offering, but it was all he had.
As he waited for her answer, the warm glow from his hand began fading as he withdrew his magic, the tendrils retreating back inside him like the dying embers of a fire. Exhaustion swept over him in a heavy wave, making his limbs feel sluggish.
Amaya paused on the steps at the sound of his voice. She didn’t mean to. But something in her, cold and small, ached for that warmth. His voice echoed in her mind, soft and close. She didn’t let herself look back at him. The cut on her hand stung in the open air, blood drawing a bright line where it dripped down her hand.
“I wish to be alone.”
When she made it up to her room, she closed the door behind her.
Flynn stood still, watching as Amaya ascended the stairs, a dull sense of defeat settling in his chest. He let out a slow, controlled breath, not daring to call after her again.
His thoughts drifted to his younger years—those long, familiar days spent looking after his younger siblings. Back then, it had been so easy to know what to do, how to soothe their tears and ease their worries. But here, with Amaya, he felt completely out of place.
Despite the exhaustion that tugged at him, he forced himself to move, making his way to the hearth in the living quarters. Kneeling, he carefully stacked logs into the fireplace, and then with a final flicker of his dwindling magic, lit the kindling. The fire crackled to life, casting shadows across the cabin.
He sat down in front of the flames, staring into the light as it danced, his hands outstretched to warm them. The howling winds of the blizzard outside sounded distant, muffled by the quiet that had settled inside the cabin. Flynn’s thoughts spun in circles, wondering how long the storm would last, both the one outside and the one brewing inside Amaya.
 |  |
|---|---|
| Location: Town Square |
As the Prince and Princess began their announcement, Kira listened carefully, her ears tuning in to every word. The news of Queen Anjali's death brought a slight pang of surprise, but Kira couldn’t say she was entirely shocked. The King had always been cold, calculated, and devoid of empathy, even when it came to his own family. The Prince did not specifically say that the Queen had been murdered, but to Kira there was no other explanation. It was obvious to her that the King would “replace” the Queen as soon as Amaya was gone and there was no one left to contest him. That was who he was—a man who saw people as chess pieces, easily discarded when no longer useful. It was sad, but Kira knew the game he played all too well.
As Amaya spoke of her mother, Kira's thoughts drifted to the few interactions she had with the late Queen during her own time in the castle. Queen Anjali had been a rare figure of kindness in Kira's life, offering her food when she was at her weakest, starved and battered from endless training. It was Anjali’s empathy that had sustained her, though the Queen never truly knew Kira. The Queen had helped many of the orphan children who had been put to work by the King. Still, in those fleeting moments, it felt like Anjali had been the only one keeping her from breaking entirely. Clearly, Queen Anjali had taken pity on Kira—a child stolen from Aurelia to be molded into the lethal Lunarian weapon she was today.
As the meeting came to a close, Kira's orange gaze wandered across the crowd, observing the mix of reactions to the news. Her attention was briefly caught by the rising wind, tugging at her cloak and flicking strands of her fiery red hair into her face. Irritated, she pulled her hood up, her mind beginning to swirl with thoughts of the King. What was his plan? He wanted to replace Amaya, no doubt. He had already offered her up as a sacrifice, which would leave him with no heir at all and put the entire kingdom’s future at risk. He was old, and his time was running thin.
Kira would wager that the Aurelian King would do the same, if he were in the same position. After all, power and control came before all else to men like them. With a quiet sigh, she pushed off the wall and stalked away, deciding to retreat to the safety of her home before the storm worsened. She needed time to process everything—Anjali’s death, the King's next move, and what all of this meant for the realm. Keeping her hood low, she disappeared into the winding streets, ready to hole up and wait for the storm to pass.
In
Kings and Killers: A Classical Fantasy Adventure (Chapter 1)
→
5 mos ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
 |  |
|---|
Months had passed since then. Nylah had spent her days indulging in luxuries she’d never imagined. She had traveled across the world, hitting a few places on her bucket list. Eventually, she found herself on the Isles of Bishop & Knight, hopping from island to island, relishing the beauty of white-sand beaches, crystal-blue waters, and sunrises that cast the sky in hues of gold and pink. There were no contracts, no missions, no sleepless nights spent wondering where the next job would take her—who her next target would be. Instead, she allowed herself to relax, to simply exist without the ever-present weight of her mercenary life.
For a brief time, she had been happy.
But as the days drifted by, her spoils from Dalious Durendail’s capture dwindled. The lavish meals, the fine wines, and the carefree days came at a cost. Nylah could feel her coin purse grow lighter with each passing week, and now, the inevitable truth was staring her in the face—she couldn’t run from it any longer.
She’d been on the run from her employers, too. The ones who always expected their cut, their share of her success. For months, they had allowed her to enjoy the fruits of her labor, but patience was never their strong suit. Nylah knew they were waiting, and their patience would soon expire.
Sitting on the edge of a cliff, Nylah stared out at the vast sea. The cool breeze tugged at her cloak, the scent of salt filling the air. She knew what had to be done. The respite was over. It was time to pick up her bow and arrows once more, to return to the life she’d grown so skilled at.
Her fingers brushed the golden locket around her neck, a rare moment of contemplation as she stared at the horizon. The carefree life had been brief, but she couldn’t afford to be careless any longer. Reality was knocking at her door. Nylah Aldaos, the mercenary, would need to get to work again.
In
Kings and Killers: A Classical Fantasy Adventure (Chapter 1)
→
5 mos ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
For everyone not in the discord:
Please begin wrapping up your scenes at the town square! The weather is taking a turn and is forming into a blizzard which will force everyone into their homes for a week. I'll do a time skip soon!
Please begin wrapping up your scenes at the town square! The weather is taking a turn and is forming into a blizzard which will force everyone into their homes for a week. I'll do a time skip soon!
 |  |
|---|---|
| Location: Town Square |
Her question was abruptly cut off as a herald's voice rang out over the crowd, announcing the arrival of the Prince and Princess. The words were barely out before a ripple of anticipation spread through the town square. Eris glanced at Ashe, her curiosity about their past momentarily set aside as the atmosphere shifted towards the grand occasion.
Eris’s heart raced with anticipation as the Prince took the stage, but nothing could have prepared her for the announcement that followed. When the Prince spoke of the Queen of Lunaris’s passing, Eris felt as if the world had momentarily tilted beneath her feet. Her mind reeled with the gravity of the situation—what had led to this? The implications were overwhelming, and her thoughts raced to the possible political maneuvers of the King of Lunaris. The notion of him remarrying and having another child to secure his lineage unsettled her deeply, casting a shadow over her thoughts.
Her eyes welled with tears as she watched Amaya speak about her mother, feeling the raw, palpable grief of the young Princess. Though Amaya had always been reserved, the emotion in her eyes was undeniable, and it tugged at Eris's heartstrings.
As the snow began to fall heavily from the night sky, Eris watched as the delicate flakes melted before even touching the coat Ashe had lent her. For a moment, she was grateful to be encased in warmth, immune to the frigid air.
When the Prince returned to the stage, Eris felt a renewed sense of purpose and pride wash over her. She had a role to play here, and she was determined to assist the Prince in finding a cure for the blight. Talking with Ashe earlier had been a triumph in itself, and now, with the Prince’s unifying words ringing in her ears, she felt a renewed bravery. The fear she had harbored towards the blight-born seemed smaller in comparison to the overwhelming resolve she now felt.
When the Prince and Princess exited the stage, Eris remained quietly contemplative, barely registering the change in temperature as the warmth from Ashe’s coat guarded her. “May Aelios and Seluna guide Queen Anjali to the next realm…” she said softly to herself, barely above a whisper.
With a final glance at the retreating figures of royalty, she turned back to Ashe, unclasping the coat and offering it back to them before they parted ways. The cold night air now bit at her exposed skin and the warmth she had felt from the garment was replaced with a stark chill as the wind whipped her hair around her face. “Thank you for your generosity, Ashe,” her voice soft but sincere.
"It seems the weather has taken a turn, as if the Winter Queen herself has joined us this evening." She smiled and tucked her hair against her shoulder, her gaze lingering on Ashe with a newfound appreciation for the warmth they had provided, both in the physical sense and in her growing confidence.
Interactions: Ashe @Timemaster
© 2007-2025