#🗡~ 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏 // 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅

[oakthcrn-a]

𝑺𝑯𝑬 𝑶𝑭𝑻𝑬𝑵 𝑾𝑬𝑵𝑻 𝑾𝑨𝑳𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑨𝑴𝑶𝑵𝑮 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑶𝑷𝑷𝑬𝑹 𝑪𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑹𝑬𝑫 𝑻𝑹𝑬𝑬𝑺. The perpetual autumn had left a chill in the air, and  Queen Larkspur Oakthorn I wrapped her arisaid around her shoulders as she walked. Harvestine was drawing near, and soon Autumnal; a great celebration of harvest and hearth. Days of dancing, singing, and good food, it was the official holiday of her realm, and once she adored. Every year she would come up with something new and exciting for her people to celebrate. This year, she would host a grand tourney. She was the Queen of Swords after all. 

For the moment, she walked, her long dark gown billowing a train of light fabric behind her. She needed some time to think and solitude would be scant the closer Autumnal drew near. Moving through the sea of oak trees, she sensed something amiss. Furrowing her brows, she stepped forward until she saw the shape of someone. Her sapphire hues widened as she drew near the other. 

How was a being able to enter her realm? More specifically, how did she not sense a ripple in the schism? It was a human? No…not quite human. Was that how it was able to traverse the Forest of Umbra and live to tell the tale? It was a beautiful human thing…with long golden hair. Lark canted her head and studied him. 

❝ 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞? ❞ She asked as she rested her hand lazily on the hilt of her blade. 

❝ 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐫? ❞ she asked before checking them over for any kind of injuries. 

@dhampirul

[oakthcrn]

𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑵𝑬𝑹𝑽𝑬𝑺 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻 𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑴𝑨𝑪𝑯 𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑶 𝑲𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑺.  It wasn't every day that she got to meet the savior of Thedas—the Inquisitor. She made sure her appearance was neat, her long coppery hair pulled back into a fat braid, her armor polished, and her blades tucked at her side. She knew it was probably silly being so starstruck, but she couldn't help herself. She lived on the stories of the Inquisitor and how they saved the world. 

Now it was Lark who was attempting the same. Lark entered the Cobbled Swan and glanced around. Morrigan had arranged the meeting. Sapphire hues surveyed the empty pub and found the Inquisitor. She moved with purpose, her hands becoming slightly slick with sweat; she made an effort to wipe it away on her coat. Maker, this was too much. She wished she had brought one of her companions with her. 

When she approached the table, Lark bowed her head in respect. 

❝ 𝐈𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐋𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧, 𝐈 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞? ❞ She asked. She made sure her tone was polite and light, just as Viago had taught her. She always had a bad habit of being too…blunt. She had to remember her training. 

❝ 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞. ❞ 

@fatescarred liked for a starter.

[oakthcrn]

𝑳𝑨𝑹𝑲 𝑩𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑲𝑬𝑫 𝑨𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑻𝑰𝑻𝑳𝑬.   She wasn't a noblewoman and it sounded odd to hear. She canted her head to the side. 

❝ 𝐎𝐡, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐤. 𝐈 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲. ❞ She replied and gave a sheepish smile. It sounded too odd. She nevertheless took the lead and strolled out of the pub. She led him through the streets and to where the eluvian remained. She stared up at it before turning to Zevran. 

❝ 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐄𝐥𝐮𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐬, 𝐙𝐞𝐯𝐫𝐚𝐧? 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡. ❞ She said and demonstrated by walking through it. After a moment she reappeared. 

❝ 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭. ❞ She said before leading him into the Crossroads. It was a bit of a hike back to the Lighthouse, it's towering steeple a silent vigil against the endless sky. Lark looked up and smiled. 

❝ 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞. ❞ She hummed before stretching her arms a bit. She shifted to Zevran before putting a hand on her hip. 

❝ 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐲. ❞ She hummed in thought. 

❝ 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨,  𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐧, 𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐩 𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐧. 𝐇𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐰𝐢𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. ❞ 

The elven assassin gives a polite smile at her confirmation. While he had no problem with the Dellamorte's, there was no forgetting they were still Crows. He wasn't afraid, but had to remember to keep on guard. As long as Lucanis didn't start anything and Zevran didn't wake up in the middle of the night, finding himself as a target for more Crows again, then he would remain as the perfect gentlemen.

After all, they had work to do, what with saving the world.

"I will remain as sweet as a kitten." He smirked, vowing to keep true to his word, especially if he needed to use his claws when the situation arose. Standing up, Zevran motions ahead of him. "Lead the way, Lady Lark." He was curious to see what their headquarters was like.

[oakthcrn-a]

𝑳𝑨𝑹𝑲 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝑨 𝑳𝑨𝑪𝑲 𝑶𝑭 𝑨 𝑩𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫; 𝑯𝑨𝑫 𝑹𝑼𝑵 𝑨𝑾𝑨𝒀 𝑭𝑹𝑶𝑴 𝑯𝑶𝑴𝑬. How could she even begin to explain that she was a condemnable bloodsucker? That she had become some monster that relied on blood to survive? Damn blood mages, damn Tevinter. She was feeling low, and while she had never tasted human blood, the blood of ox and rabbits had sustained her. The taste was disgusting but it was better than the alternative. 

Letting out a soft, morose sigh, Lark remained curled up on the floor, her knees to her chest as she sulked beside Claude's desk. She needed to track down Aurelia Amadeus and murder her for what she had done. For that, she needed the Crows. She sighed. 

She glanced up at Claude working at his desk.

❝ 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐞? ❞ she asked before slowly standing to see what he was working on. 

@blightworn liked for a vampy starter.

[oakthcrn]

𝑲𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑫𝑨𝑴 𝑺𝑴𝑬𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑫 𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑹𝑰𝑩𝑳𝑬.  It was loud and brash and had far too many people. Grisha were indentured to wealthy merchants and made to be nothing more than servants. It was a far cry from her beloved Ravka. While Ravka had her fair share of problems, at least there were places one could go to enjoy a bit of solitude. She missed the rolling hills and dirt roads in the countryside. 

Sighing, she wandered the alleys of 5th harbor until she found her destination. The Crow Club. Of course, her king would send her so far away. Well, the quicker she completed her mission, the quicker she could go home and not have to think about this place. 

She entered the establishment only to see none other than Nina Zenik. She blinked and moved to her. 

❝ 𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐚? 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮?  ❞ 

@cravedlove liked for a starter.

[oakthcrn-a]

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑫𝑬𝑳𝑳𝑨𝑴𝑶𝑹𝑻𝑬 𝑪𝑬𝑳𝑳𝑨𝑹 𝑯𝑨𝑫 𝑩𝑬𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑬 𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑩𝑬𝑫𝑹𝑶𝑶𝑴. It had been a month since she returned from her captivity. It bothered her that Aurelia Amadeus still lived. The anger dwelled deep within her. She took so much from her. She could no longer walk in the sun. She had to sustain herself on blood--cow's blood was nasty but it got the job done--and she could no longer enjoy food as she once did. 

Lark could understand Lucanis' anger towards Zara, not that she didn't before, she just felt it more keenly. She had moved to the Dellamorte estate, they had several basements and one without windows. It made it easy for Lark to sleep during the day. Lucanis had been accommodating and it seemed he didn't spare any expense to make it an actual bedroom, though she had a feeling that Viago also contributed to the cost for there was some House de Riva heraldry on the wall. Lark did like the wallpaper. The most important thing it was windowless, and it was cozy. 

Sighing softly, she settled on her bed and kicked her feet idly. She wasn't quite ready to be around people, and she didn't need to eat to survive, so going to dinner would be awkward. Why did she feel like she was still a prisoner? 

Just then, she heard distant footsteps. She blinked and canted her head. Maker, she could tell who was drawing near by gait alone. How interesting. The subtle scent of coffee and cologne tickled her nostrils. Lucanis! He was probably coming to check up on her. How thoughtful, he was a busy man, after all.  Lark smoothed out the wrinkles of her long skirt and called out to him.  ❝ 𝐘𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧, 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬, 𝐲𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐤. ❞ She said and got up to open the door. 

@perditus gets a vampire lark.

[oakthcrn]

𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬 𝑾𝑨𝑺 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑴𝑶𝑹𝑬 𝑫𝑬𝑳𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻𝑭𝑼𝑳 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑨𝒀 𝑳𝑼𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑰𝑺 𝑲𝑰𝑺𝑺𝑬𝑫 𝑯𝑬𝑹.  Loving and light. He said a lot with such a simple action. It was no wonder why Lark found herself swooning when he kissed her. She couldn't help but brighten. Each kiss returned with a loving one of her own. Kissing was a language. Her heart fluttered as he indulged in another long kiss. His words were muddled in her brain, something about a good skill for an assassin. She wasn't sure, she was too busy getting lost in his visage. 

When he finally pulled away, she nearly pouted. If time allowed, she would've spent the rest of the evening getting lost in those sweet kisses. 

❝ 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥,❞ She huffed and smiled, she reached up and gently ran her fingers through his dark hair. She saw the flash of purple in his eyes, a beautiful shade, she always thought. Spite must've been stirring. Spite had an undoubting charm to him. She enjoyed their brief talks when he took over. 

But right now was all about her husband-to-be and their union. Lark blinked at Lucanis' teasing and a grin spread across her freckled cheeks. 

❝ 𝐌𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧. ❞ She couldn't risk not getting any more kisses for the evening. Sorry Spite. She canted her head to the side. 

❝ 𝐀 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭? 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ��𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞, 𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩.  ❞ 

     “ A good talent for an assassin in theory. Just try not to get yourself mixed in any more trouble. Maker knows we’ve had enough, ” Lucanis notes with a chuckle, keeping her close to him while she elaborates further on her mischief. He sneaks another kiss when she peeks up at him, nudging her chin up with his hand for a better angle. The Crow indulges himself for a few seconds, humming slightly against her lips before pulling away finally. 

     “ Besides. Spite has promised to respect a few boundaries. So it will not be as easy as you think ” He rests his forehead against hers for a moment, basking in the moment. The demon stirs slightly at the mention of his name but Lucanis chides him internally, a very brief flash of purple in his eyes in response. Spite pulls back for now though, annoyed but begrudgingly giving them space again. 

     “ If you say his name again I won’t kiss you anymore tonight” Lucanis teases, pulling back a little. “ I also have a gift for you…but only if you promise you’ll behave ”

[oakthcrn]

𝑳𝑨𝑹𝑲𝑺𝑷𝑼𝑹 𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑷𝑷𝑬𝑫 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑮𝑯 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑮𝑹𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑨𝑹𝑪𝑯𝑾𝑨𝒀. She found herself in the great hall where guests would be greeted. Several noble and royal families had graced the doors of Driftmark, and Lark was used to seeing all sorts of people. It was why she spent her days in the skies with her sapphire colored dragon, Hizenfrae. However, it seemed that no matter how much she tried to be stealthy, she would come face to face with a new face. 

It seemed this time, it was Ser Wymond. 

❝ 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰, 𝐒𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝. 𝐈 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐭. ❞ She greeted him before giving him a sloppy curtsy. 

@ozgog liked for a starter.

[oakthcrn]

@ondothlim // continued from here: xxx

𝑺𝑯𝑬 𝑳𝑬𝑻 𝑶𝑼𝑻 𝑨 𝑺𝑶𝑭𝑻 𝑩𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑯. Glorfindel had a way to always slip passed her defenses and obliterate her walls. She gazed at him with a timidness that had only been reserved for those tender moments she allowed him to have with her. 

❝ 𝐍𝐨…𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟. ❞ She couldn't help the small smile spreading across her freckled face. 

[oakthcrn-a]

𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐓  𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐃  𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 // accepting // @redsuitsycu THE  MAGICIAN:  A  bustling  street  market  under  twilight. ( kaz )

𝑳𝑨𝑹𝑲 𝑾𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑫 𝑹𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑭𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑨 𝑯𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑽𝑶𝑳𝑪𝑹𝑨 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑵 𝑻𝑶 𝑩𝑬 𝑺𝑯𝑶𝑷𝑷𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 𝑲𝑨𝒁 𝑩𝑹𝑬𝑲𝑲𝑬𝑹.  However, his cooperation was needed, and Lark would not go against Nikolai's request to investigate the missing Grisha in Ketterdam. They were supposed to only stop at the port in 5th harbor and return to Ravka. They were Fjerdan refugees, and they had disappeared right out of Kaz's backyard. 

Lark followed behind Kaz Brekker, her blades at her side; she rested her wrist lazily on the hilt as she walked among the market stalls. She rolled her eyes. How was this going to solve the disappearance of the Grisha? She was beginning to suspect that Kaz was taking her on a wild goose chase. 

❝ 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧' 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐤𝐤𝐞𝐫? 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲? 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩? ❞

[oakthcrn]

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑯𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬 𝑷𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑺𝑬𝑫 𝑨𝑮𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑺𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑶𝑭 𝑭𝑳𝑨𝑴𝑬𝑺. She knew she couldn't go on like this, not for this long. Her hands were already trembling under the strain of the flames. However, she was of House de Riva, and de Rivas never quit or backed down. Gritting her teeth, Lark dug her heels into the terrain. She braced herself, breathed, and began to form the wall into a thin, intricate line. Not just a line that the darkspawn were afraid to cross, but into a blade. Sharp and deadly. She had managed to achieve it once before, also in a time of great distress. 

She sucked in a sharp breath before motioning her hands to set the fire guillotine on their prey. With a melodious hum that almost sounded lyrical, the fire blade flew and sundered the remaining horde in two. The screeching mixed with the putrid smell of burning rotting flesh echoed in a cacophony of cries. Their victory was secured. 

Lark exhaled a raspy breath, steam billowing from her burnt fingertips. She trembled in her legs, her knees threatening to buckle, but pride wouldn't allow her to fall. She willed her legs to be still as she pivoted to face Gwen. 

The silence was welcoming as the valley was littered with darkspawn corpses. Some fled to Lark's dismay, but they would regroup and hunt them down. The people of the region would be safe for another day. 

 ❝ 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭, 𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐧? ❞ Lark asked as she ignored the thanks instead of examining her friend's throat. 

❝ 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭. ❞ She grumbled and swayed a bit on her feet. Her vision blurred as a dull ache pounded at her temples.  It was only then that her stomach let out a rebellious growl. 

❝ 𝐄𝐡. ❞ Her cheeks were a light shade of pink as she looked away, her ears heating up. Her stomach had betrayed her. 

❝ 𝐀𝐲𝐞, 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧. 𝐖𝐞'𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫. ❞ Her stomach growled again as she moved towards the eluvian. 

She  trusts  all  of  her  companions  implicitly,  so  many  of  which  have  pulled  her  out  of  the  fire  more  times  than  she  can  count.  For  a  mage,  she  was  far  less  concerned  with  staying  back  than  she  ought  to.  She,  who  would  much  rather  get  into  the  thick  of  it  than  remain  ranged,  knowing  how  dangerous  it  was.  Proof  of  it  now  as  Lark  springs  into  action  before  any  serious  damage  could  be  done.

"  This  is  getting  tiresome.  "

A  sentiment  that  she  shares,  Gwendolyn  looking  to  the  other  woman  with  a  nod  before  rolling  out  of  the  way  as  Lark  conjures  an  overwhelm  wall  of  flame.  It  gives  her  time  to  regroup,  raising  her  hand  to  launch  a  stray  attack  at  a  straggler  that  was  approaching  from  behind.

Then,  quiet.

The  only  sound  is  the  sizzling  embers  that  used  to  be  darkspawn  after  Lark's  quick  thinking.  She  can  feel  the  flush  of  sweat  on  her  skin  as  she  turns  toward  the  other  with  a  heaving  sigh,  sheathing  her  mage  blade  at  her  hip  as  she  begins  to  make  her  way  back  over  to  Lark.

"  Thank  you,  "  She  speaks  earnestly,  though  it  is  somewhat  rasped  and  worn  from  the  undue  pressure  against  her  larynx.  She'd  live,  but  it  stings  to  speak.  "  I  think  we  should  head  back  to  the  Lighthouse.  We've  cleared  out  as  much  as  we  can  for  now.  "

@oakthcrn

[oakthcrn-a]

𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐓  𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐃  𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 // accepting // @redsuitsycu THE  MOON:  A  foggy  forest  path ( alina )

𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬 𝑾𝑨𝑺 𝑵𝑶 𝑷𝑳𝑨𝑪𝑬 𝑴𝑶𝑹𝑬 𝑭𝑼𝑳𝑳 𝑶𝑭 𝑴𝑨𝑮𝑰𝑪 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑺𝑼𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑰𝑺𝑳𝑬. Here, the old ways were observed. Myths of mushroom circles that transported a weary traveler to the realm of the faeries was as abundant as there many highland cows out in pasture. 

This was Lark's home. One she could barely remember. She remembered the cobblestone fences and the thatched roofs that lined the villages. The mountainsides that faced the crashing waves of the Bone Road. What most people would say is to avoid the thick forests of the isle, even the Marshal's militias wouldn't dare cross into and that is exactly where Lark and Alina were hiding. 

Lark moved through the dense forest, there was a thick mist that would not shift. Lark had a fiery orb following them for light. 

❝ 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞, 𝐀𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐚, 𝐲𝐞'𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. ❞ She said as she slowly navigated through the dense foliage. If they could get back to the docks Sturmhond's ship should be waiting for them. Lark cast as stare over at Alina. 

❝ 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧' 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐚𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭, 𝐲𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧' 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞? ❞ 

[oakthcrn-a]

𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐓  𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐃  𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 // accepting // @redsuitsycu THE  HIGH  PRIESTESS:  A  midnight  masquerade.

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑭𝑳𝑨𝑴𝑬𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑹 𝑾𝑨𝑺 𝑾𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑺 𝑯𝑨𝑫 𝑪𝑨𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑫 𝑯𝑬𝑹. The Darkling's Inferni swordsman. A title that remained in the curses of her enemies. She thought she could leave it behind now that she was free from the yoke of the Darkling in this new regime under Nikolai Lantsov. Yet the name followed her in hushed whispers behind the gloved hands of the Ravkan nobility. She wasn't ignorant to what they called her: a warrior, a Kaelish savage, a monster, a protectress of Ravka; Flamesinger. All things Lark happened to agree with. 

It was Genya who had approached her first about putting on a performance for the foreign dignitaries and diplomats. Lark had been hesitant at first, dancing and performing had been an expectation under the Darkling and not a request. Lark agreed and took to practicing at night at the Little Palace. Now was the moment to shine and show the talent that Ravka had to offer. 

She felt all eyes on her as she stood in the middle of the grand ball. Everyone was dressed so fancifully in their masks and elaborate gowns, the theme was celebrating the cycles of the seasons. So many elaborate costumes of the different seasons, some even dressed as the solar occurrences, morning, day, dusk, and night. Nothing seemed off limits. Genya and Lark suspected a bit of Zoya's input; had a dress made specially for Lark. It was a form-fitting gown with a slit up the side for easy movement. Her bodice and outer skirts were a dark blue that melded into a muted orange. Both are adorned with flecks of shimmering gold in the shape of fallen leaves. Her inner skirt was a plain burgundy with the same flecks of gold to decorate it. The garment had been sleeveless for practicality. Lark liked the fit of it because she could move quickly should there be a threat to Nikolai's life. She also enjoyed the hidden compartments to keep tiny knives and daggers. Her trusted swords, sadly, remained out of reach, but she was no less dangerous with daggers. Her mask was the same shade of gold as the leaves and it was in the shape of a cat. Her lips were a blazing red for contrast. 

This was the moment. The performance. Not every battle would be waged with blades and machinery. This was more than entertainment, this was a well-crafted statement that Ravka was resilient. It would prosper under the new Lantsov king. Lark would see to it. With a flick of her wrist, the candlelights dimmed just as the orchestra began their playing. The score also had been cleverly crafted to be a mixture of Ravkan traditional music with brass instrumentals that blended with the tribal drumming and string instruments of the Kaelish clans. Many of their representatives were present for this very ball. With expert precision, Lark stepped forward in time with the music, her movements were fluid and beautiful thanks to many years of ballet lessons her mother insisted on. Barefoot upon the stage, her voice behind her crafted cat mask could be heard in every part of the ballroom. 

The room was dim but only for a moment, as the music began to rise so did her elegant movements, from her bare hands came a burst of flames, and they danced around her like slithering serpents for a moment before slithering around the room only to burst into tiny orbs of light. Little fiery wisps that flickered and meandered in the air like fireflies. Her flames engulfed and danced as she did but they did not burn, no matter how many people were brave enough to touch them. Her flames were hers to control. 

The performance went on, Lark danced and sang, her languages switching between Ravkan, Kaelish, Kerch, and even Shu, though her Shu and Fjerdan could use some work. Unity. However, the song ended in the old Ravkan, she was sure she earned some points with the older crowd for that. When the song ended, Lark gave an extravagant bow before slipping away during the applauds. 

She returned some time later in a new more modest gown and more importantly, shoes. Her hair was done up in a simple style and she adorned a similar cat mask, this one only covered half of her face. She glanced around before eying the food table, she made her way to swipe a lemon cake when she saw Nikolai nearby. 

❝ 𝐎𝐡, 𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬! ❞ she called and swiped the lemon cake, and made her way over to him. She was shocked to see him alone, she would've thought he'd be surrounded by people, good fortune for her, she could talk to him for a bit. She stepped beside him and glanced up. 

❝ ��𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞? ❞ She asked, she hoped he did. It had been incredibly nerve-wracking, but she had pushed through and didn't let her nerves be known. One of her little fire wisps floated nearby and landed on his shoulder only to dissipate into nothing, not even leaving a trace or a burn mark on his finery. 

Lark examined Nikolai. ❝ 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞? 𝐀 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐧? ❞ 

[oakthcrn-a]

𝑰𝑻 𝑾𝑨𝑺 𝑨𝑵 𝑨𝑵𝑪𝑰𝑬𝑵𝑻 𝑻𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑻𝒀 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑯𝑨𝑫 𝑳𝑨𝑹𝑲 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑨𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑩𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑶𝑭 𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑳𝑴. A great schism had sundered the realm of humans and the realm of fae. A treaty was enacted in hopes of finding a semblance of peace between the two realms. Autumnal Queen Larkspur Oakthorn I knew her ancestors had the wards in place to keep the humans out. The treaty had her hands tied, and so, every hundred years, Lark would lower just a piece of the wall to allow the sacrifice--or more endearingly known as her bride or groom--through the schism. That is where she stood now. In the archway, she stood like a marble statue, still and every bit regal. Her freckled face and deep blue eyes, along with her pointed ears were a giveaway to her fae ancestry. 

Canting her head to the side, she studied Sabu, her expression remained unreadable as she glanced at the Yakuza lord. 

❝ 𝐈𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦?  ❞ She shifted her gaze back to Sabu.

 ❝ 𝐎𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 ��𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤. 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬? ❞ 

@saburaito liked for a starter.

[oakthcrn-a]

❝  𝐀𝐡'𝐦 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧' 𝐰𝐢𝐭 𝐲𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧' 𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬.  ❞ 

"Man, you know how often I actually hear this? You're all like 'Omg you're such a terrible person' but when I do all the cartwheels and gymnastics to be better, I'm still the asshole. It's like, not adding up."

[oakthcrn]

𝑺𝑯𝑬 𝑯𝑨𝑫𝑵'𝑻 𝑴𝑬𝑨𝑵𝑻 𝑻𝑶 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑳𝑬 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹. She had slipped into the stables in hopes of a bit of respite from socializing with others. She had no idea someone was already tending to the horses. 

❝ 𝐎𝐡, 𝐧𝐨. ❞ She said sheepishly as she moved to grab a grooming brush. A small smile spread across her freckled face. 

❝ 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞�� 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬. ❞ She stepped into the next stall over where an aging dapple gray mare lounged. Lark smiled as the soft bristles roamed over the coat. 

❝ 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬, 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐎𝐈𝐠𝐚 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟. 𝐒𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐰. ❞ She blinked then. 

❝ 𝐎𝐡, 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞? 𝐈'𝐦 𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐤. ❞ 

        elspeth hums quietly to herself as she works a brush along her favorite horse in the little palace stables. she almost doesn't notice when someone else slips into the room, jumping slightly when she does, then glancing between the black mare and @oakthcrn, a woman she recognizes as one of the darkling's favored grisha. “ah—forgive me. were you looking to prepare the general's horse for a ride?” / sc.