#[starter;;]

[moonflowerofacedia]

who?: open to all where?: level 7, common room

Burcu knew his experience before he submitted his existence to the program would be useful, but he never thought he'd have to profile other operatives. In fact, he tried incredibly hard not to in his first year following his initial training, however things changed. Missions would go poorly if agents suspected each other of being the mole, so Burcu was determined to find the truth for himself. Gently, of course.

Tensions had been high for days now so he went around filling every space in Atlantis with the sweetest aromas he could produce, relieving as much stress as he could manage. The perfumes were potent, calming, and—as Burcu secretly desired—would make it easier to open his fellow agents up and find the truth his way. "You don't mind, do you?" he asks the other while preparing tea. Floral, fruity, with hints of delicate spice, Burcu continues to push his abilities to swath the common space with this particular perfume. "I thought we all deserved some rest and relaxation before the next mission. Here, I made enough tea for two if you'd like some. I promise it'll pair well with the fragrance."

[rancorasael]

who?: open to all where?: mercury's bazaar when?: in the neptunalia verse

It was a passing comment on a stranger's lips, something vague about wanting to learn more about the Vanguard. It pissed Asael off to hear such nonsense and the thick threads of frozen water he began to tug at would've visualized his displeasure. Unfortunately, the glint of Olympian rings distracted him for a moment and his weave misfired, launching his frigid magic haphazardly into the crowd.

Asael didn't have time to stick around and get the scope of his accidental destruction. He slipped away in the resultant chaos, knowing a nearby entrance into the Bazaar. Clutching his hurting, ice-covered hand to his chest, he hoveled through his pain into the darkest alley he could reach, worried that the Olympians were still following him. Asael was visibly in rough shape, however stepping in pain was just second nature to him. When he walked back into another, his immediate reaction was to leap away and raise his uninjured hand, demonstrating that no matter how he may have looked, he was ready for a fight still.

"Well? Think I'm easy all you want, but I'm not," he says, hiding the strain in his voice well enough. He wasn't coughing up blood yet so he could pull off a few more spells before passing out from pain. "You won't get anything if you rob me, I don't got anything. Except for an ass-kicking. That I can give you for free."

[ageofkarme]

who?: open to all where?: boreana when?: neptunalia

The Duchess of the Skies, Athena's Hand, the most graceful airship to grace the skies. She was a gift Karme was still trying to prove he earned through diligent practice of its piloting systems. Participating in combat maneuvers on the front lines of the Queenset Isles was meant to streamline Karme's development as a pilot, but honestly he felt he got the most experience from flying around as he was currently.

The ship dipped, twisted, and flipped in the air, proof that Karme was practicing the controls daily. There was still more work to be done before he could call himself a pro, but the small crowd that had gathered to watch his aerial performance was proof Karme was making progress. As he landed and disbarked he pulled his goggles on top of his head and grinned widely with his arms on his hips. "If you thought that was cool, check this out!" From his pocket, he produced a small object he'd tinkered together in his spare time. It floated in the air and spat out colorful sparks, sparks that changed hue when he tapped the item. He thought it was super cool, plus he made it with his own hands. Sure, flying around in his grandmother's groundbreaking new invention was awesome, but his little trinket had merit too. He thought so at least. "Let's just say this buddy helps to keep the vibe light in the control room," Karme says, showing off how the sparks change color when his finger taps on it.

[steadythora]

when?: early morning after the last night where?: what remains of nornwatch tower who?: the babes that are there kith kith

Thora watched them build the pyre as she cleaned her sword, though she didn't help. There were so many that had come so far only to end up beneath a fire, her own mother among them. Thora's stomach could barely handle it. It churned in disgust and twisted in anger, coiling into knots as she contemplated her life over the last few weeks. The circumstances of the Iskarans weren't random, someone was going to pay. Good thing too, she thought, because I actually enjoy wiping blood off my steel.

Not one for commiserating, Thora seemingly broke out of her trance-like state when Kari shifted her attention, growling in warning as she always did when someone stepped too close to her companion. The pyre no longer interested her, and neither did discussion beyond what came next. The wolf settles once Thora pets her neck. "You look well enough," she interjects abruptly as if she hadn't been soullessly breathing in smoke and death. "Have you been around? Do others seem ready to move? The longer we stay the higher chance there'll be another attack."

[aegeanxcalla]

where?: tower of olympia library when?: sometime between the iskaran arrival and neptunalia who?: open to all

Calla may not have been an instructor at the Tower, but when her senior Scholars call on her mind to help guide the next generation of witches, she always answers the call. Teaching or holding demonstrations for the Novices was always fulfilling, and even though Calla's ability to cast was far beyond anything they could hope to achieve, their applause after seeing her weave a mini cloudburst before their very eyes was enough to make her bashful. "Please, that was hardly anything to write home about. Honestly, on my own, I'm nothing special..." But saying so out loud sparked a new idea for her. The girl with mist swirling at her feet hurried to the library's threshold, sensing the perfect addition to her small seminar. "I knew it, you're the perfect one to help," she says wistfully, her eyes visibly lighting up as her fingers interlock. "Would you be willing to help with this demonstration? I know the Novices would appreciate the knowledge we can provide them together."

[uegg]

who?: open to all || capped at 3 replies where?: east/southeast of lysara, wherever when?: in the now

While it would've been exceptionally more fun to turn Lysandra into a darkfriend and use her as a pawn under his thumb, Dantalion's promotion essentially accomplished the same in terms of access and influence within the Vanguard of the Light. "High Inquisitor" suited him nicely, and just like the he promised the Synod he would get to work rooting out apostasy and heresy from within Lysara. Gently, of course. Dantalion Althais would never upset the delicate, temporary peace between the queendom and Astoria.

The small contingency of faith militants he led were traveling with intention, following up on reports of Vanguard members behaving in disgraceful ways. Of course, to demonstrate their goodwill to the kind people of Lysara, they've already burned more than a few criminals with magic in their veins. The queen's law may have ruled the land, but members of the Vanguard of the Light walked with a higher purpose. Dantalion was well in his right  to enact the One God's justice while Lysara licked her wounds. They were so diligent in this purpose that they didn't just set up camp when they needed rest, they created checkpoints to investigate anyone who came through, seeking only the guilty of course. "All heads bow! All knees bend! Every being in the Realm Of Opposition pay homage, for the Maker of All Things Returns to you!" he recites the words of the faith as he obstructs the way forward for the oncoming travelers. "Today is a glorious day, for you walk in the Light of the One God. If you are weary, our encampments have provisions for you, assuming there is no sin you must repent for," Dantalion offers with his signature smile, unwavering despite the tortured screams coming from somewhere within this Vanguard camp. "Where is it you're heading to today?"

[travelervesper]

who?: open to all || capped at 3 replies where?: eterna, courthouse looking magister hq in the city when?: in da general timeline nondescript

Vesper hired a personal assistant specifically to prevent this very scenario. Between his household staff, documentation for his various cases, and the constant stream of parole requests from the punished he'd undoubtedly reject, he relied heavily on his assistant to keep his busy life in order. Someone walking into his office without an appointment was a sign that perhaps, it was time to find a new one.

"Leave it to a witch who couldn't pass their trials to fail at such a basic task. Really, how difficult is it to keep people out when I'm busy?" he mutters as he tosses his quill down. "I hope you didn't just let your replacement walk in! You may as well start cleaning out your desk because they already seem ten times more competent than you!" he shouts out beyond the doorway despite suspecting his assistant has abandoned their desk. Vesper pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought about all the paperwork he'd have to waste time interviewing candidates yet again. Honestly, how could he be expected to keep up with the Speaker's directives when it was nearly impossible to hire appropriate staff? The younger generation had no work ethic at all. "I'm quite busy, and now I have to fire someone. What do you want?" he asks, finally addressing the one who waltzed in without scheduling a meeting. Eyes still clenched shut as he shook his head, Vesper only looked at them directly once he reigned in his irritation enough. "Mind you, I'm incredibly displeased. You should know better than to assume random drop-ins are conducive to my work. Do try to keep this brief. The clock on my agreeableness started ticking when you stepped foot here."

[fharzai]

who?: open to all || capped at 2 replies where?: the dream realm when?: post hestia's cove whenever

Those within Lysara were afflicted by far fewer nightmares than others across Taravell. Whether they were aware of this fact or not, the destruction of their nightmares could be attributed to the druid of the Tower. Fharzai walked the dreamscape to protect the citizens of the queendom he viewed much as his child nightly, as he had for over a century now. He staunchly believed that the people would benefit more from restful nights of dreams than fitful nights of horrid nightmares, but did that make nightmares worthless?

More and more, Fharzai has had to wield them, forcing him to accept an aspect of his abilities he once believed were too dark for him to dabble in. Now, he walks through the nightmares of dreamers with intention. He doesn't destroy them upon contact but instead adds further nightmare plague to the scape with every step he takes, intensifying the horrors bubbling up from their subconscious and satisfying some small urge he constantly repressed. That's not why he was here, at least not tonight… Fharzai walks until he finds the dreamer, moving fluidly through their nightmarescape in a way they could not. Paralyzed by fear and trapped by the nightmare's intensity, Fharzai appears before them, shrouded by the hood of his billowing cloak of stars. His Torch of Valor shines as the only light source in the darkness, a beacon of hope for the dreamer. They need not suffer any more than they have. "Hello, traveler. The seed of these terrible sights has taken root in your mind, and the night is still young. You will not wake from your nightmare any time soon. This twisted anguish has only just begun." The power of choice was potent, and unless Fharzai had a good reason, he'd never choose on another's behalf. He extends his gloved hand to the dreamer, letting them know he had a way to free them from this darkness. "If you let me in, I can deliver you to a better dream, one free of this nightmare and any others. I'll always be able to find you when you drift into the darkness of the dream realm so you can rest easy. Will you accept my help?"

[refugejerah]

who?: open to all || capped at 3 replies where?: the streets of eterna when?: some time in the general sense

Jerah saw him do it from the shadows of Eterna's rooftops. It was magic, the Old Woman taught him how to recognize the signs of it even if he couldn't perceive the weaves. The man hurt another man, took something from him, then left. Both of them smelled of sin, but his instincts had him ignore the prey who was hurt on the ground. He wanted to hunt the one still walking.

He was careful, but the city was not his territory. Jerah's prey fought back when he attempted to drag him into the shadows and escaped his hold. There wasn't much space in the alley they both rolled into, but Jerah's mobility trumped whatever strange powers his prey could wield. He fought like a beast so the confrontation ended in less than a minute, but it was still a hard fight. Too hungry to move his prey somewhere more secure once he landed a fatal blow, Jerah crouched in the dark as he feasted hastily. He didn't bother removing the robes or the ring on his finger, which got in the way, but the moment he sensed another nearby, he spun to face them. This prey belonged to him, and they couldn't have it. Jerah communicated this by baring his bloody fangs and snarling. On his hands and feet with his back arched in case he needed to lunge, Jerah snapped his teeth to signal this was his current feeding ground. He was not letting some vulture steal his food.

[elokian]

where?: the port™️ (caribella) when?: troupe 1's happenings who?: open to any who'd be there

It's been a while since Neptune's Fleet sailed the straits of Taravell. Elokian's latest treasure craze has kept his eyes beyond the Veiled Sea, but true to form his navigator's route had his armada sailing to Caribella. With a flagship as iconic as his, Elokian figured that word might spread about his return before he even reached the island, but docking in the port would undoubtedly get gums flapping.

Each vessel of his mighty fleet brought its own, unique intrigue to the dock dwellers, but a flagship as magnificent as his dwarfing every other docked armada was what people would be talking about. Elokian knew how Caribella loved to spin its tales. And while he enjoyed being the center of it, there was no telling what some brash upstart might do with that information. That's why while his crew all went ashore to tend to their stomachs and lovers, Elokian remained behind, swinging low in a hammock rigged to the high bow of his flagship. "Aye, she's a beaut' wouldn't ya say?" he calls down to the passerby. The question comes seemingly from nowhere as the hat pulled over his eyes and aimless strumming of his lute gave the impression of carelessness. But Elokian was on guard no matter what his vibe may seen. Anyone who stared at his ship for too long, even if out of adoration, would be questioned. "No ship is as loyal, vicious, or stunning as she. Ah, the stories she could tell ... making every raft in this port shrivel in shame like a rat's cock wouldn't even make the list. The Captain is quite fond of her, as I'm sure you can imagine."

[spawnuriah]

who?: open to anyone living in haven/passing through after aventia where?: haven when?: after the fall

Between the stress of recent events in the Borderlands and the fact that fewer returned than had gone to support the effort, Uriah was keenly aware that his pack was too close to a compromised state for his liking. Those who had yet to turn, those who didn't have the gumption to fight, and all others currently residing within Haven looked to those who maintained level heads in times of crisis. Uriah was one such werewolf, telling stories in front of a bonfire to distract the Feronia pack while also imparting important lessons.

"That was the fourth Alpha Feronia, the greatest werewolf to walk this earth, cut down on her path to supremacy. And just like with the rest, the blood around her mouth hadn't dried before she was running again. Through the woods that surrounds our home, between the trees of the forest as a tribute. She wasn't alone in her conquest nor was she alone in her victory." With the crowd drawing into his tale, Uriah suspended his pause beneath the crackling of the fire as a thump began to increase in volume. His foot tapped harder and harder until he was stomping in time, a steady rhythm like a pulsing heartbeat cut off by his own roaring howl, a howl that was returned by the wolves nearby that roamed the Wildlands. "That right there is the how and the why," Uriah points out, smiling at a group of youths who seemed especially entranced by his tale. "The wolves are our friends in times of triumph and defeat. We owe much to them and the forest they inhabit, which is why both will be there to comfort you in your time of need. So long as you don't forget what Feronia never did: there is always somewhere for you to run when you follow the sounds of howling." The crowd applauded him, but anyone with senses as keen as his would see the displeasure written on his face. Uriah was prepared to do anything for his pack be that spin distracting tales or tear darkspawn apart with his own claws. What he couldn't bear was seeing them torn apart. The applause meant people would go to bed at peace tonight, but how long would it be before Aventia's destruction found its way to the home he cherished?

[bountiesofkian]

who?: open to all || capped at 2 replies where?: veilcrest when?: in the now

Kian had tried to tell Valdís that the Tower was a waste of her time, that he had claimed more power for himself in the years following the abandonment of his trials than anything those Olympians could've taught him. She didn't listen, which meant her crew would be without his aid until they returned. Hopefully, she had a crew to return to because The Dreadnought would be in hiding until then. He was too annoyed about his bad gamble to care much about keeping them alive for Valdís to return to.

The Deadlands seemed like the best place to hide. Lady Aetos never committed crimes there, and Kian could adopt a temporary mask of a loyal thrall. It was easy to find a wealthy vampire to bite his neck and even easier to use the blood they ingested to hex the vampire for leverage. He didn't want much, just permission to wear a mask and follow the vampire around Veilcrest as a loyal, leashed thrall in exchange for not inflicting the vampire with unimaginable pain. Everybody won, except Kian, who was beginning to feel shortchanged. A life of opulence in the role of pet was incredibly dull. Moments of independence were far and few between but cherished nonetheless. That's why he wasn't willing to risk losing it. "Forgive me, but my Master's kindness extends so far. If I keep him waiting, he won't let me out by myself any longer," he says worriedly to the one stopping him, trying not to gag as he did. Kian served no one, but his collar and skimpy attire conveyed that his body was meant for the pleasure of a superior. A kept thrall didn't have time to waste. Beneath his mask, his eyes were pointed and focused, but his voice remained as meek and needy as he could manage. "I can feel his hunger growing with each passing second. The worse it gets, the rougher he is with me, which is … so enjoyable, but even I have limits. I hope I haven't offended you? I just really really want to get back to him…"

[ageofkarme]

who?: anyone in eterna where?: the streets™️ when?: during this hrimthur's wasteland stuff

It hit him like a bolt of lightning so intense Karme dropped the schematics Verna had him bring to the Tower so he could crouch down and scrawl his thoughts out in the dirt of the walkway. He'd never thought about weaving concurrent enchantments through a triple-layer circuit before. "I'd need a different conducting material and would probably need to account for heat output when stabilizing, but if I modify the base enchantment then..." Considerations of mechanics, weaves, and conditions flashed haphazardly in Karme's mind, increasing the potential avenues of thought by the second. Only something like a misplaced footstep over a portion of his etchings could break his flow. In fact, a long stretch of silence follows his barked 'Hey!' as he stares the culprit down with furrowed brow. "No, that's a good point. I will need to double the coefficient first..." he comments as if the person's clearing of his dirt squiggles was an intentional correction, before sticking his nose back into the walkway to continue scribing his calculations. Naturally.

[abaddonofpride]

who?: open to all where?: level 5, the colosseum

Agent Abaddon only needed a quick breather. Lying flat on his back in the middle of the Colosseum, the last agent who stepped in with him really went to town on him, wailing on him with their best attacks until they reached fatigue. Abaddon didn't possess a single injury and a grin was clearly plastered on his face, but the damage to the combat training room proved that the last agent in there didn't pull any punches.

"What say you? Got any new techniques you want to try out? A good agent never goes into the field unprepared," Abaddon says with a groan, sitting up to look at the next agent entering the Colosseum, hopefully jonesing for a few rounds with him. "Testing new moves out on dummies or concrete blocks is such a waste with a living, breathing punching bag right here. Why not try them on me? No need to hold back either. C'mon, I can take it." He stood, stretching his arms and warmly inviting them to step in. This wasn't a sparring match, just a small way for him to help his fellow agents out. Abaddon really didn't mind the pain. "A little target practice can't hurt."

[aegeanxcalla]

where?: tiber bay when?: stretch of time between the iskaran's arrival and neptunalia who?: open to all

Amidst the hustle and bustle of Tiber Bay was an elderly woman shaking a cup to any passerby. The few coins held within jangled as her decrepit hand shook it desperately. "Spare some coin? Anything please, I haven't eaten in days..." She coughs, obviously ill, but even though flecks of mucus are visibly flying out her mouth, the entire display is a farce. One meant to be discovered too. Aegean's weave was intentionally weak, detectable, and far below his capabilities. Any guild member or thread weaver worth their salt would be able to see through the deception since this mask was meant to fail. The old lady grins before the illusory mask begins to unravel around the thief, revealing his true visage. "Wow, there was no chance of me fooling you, huh?" he lies, scooping the coins out of the cup with a grin. "And here I thought I'd be able to get enough for a new pair of shoes before high noon."