#char: vesuvia

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Alright, real full hc ask & this time it's full of angst >:D

So, one night MC has a really bad nightmare where the M6 die horribly, and wake up from it in a panic that only increases when they realize their beloved is not in the bed with them.

Turns out the M6 are just in the next room over getting a drink or something, & have to rush back to the bedroom to comfort MC

The Arcana HCs: M6 when MC has a nightmare of them dying

~ @themushroomgoesyeet here are your headcanons, friend, thanks for the lovely ask! ~

CW for descriptions of loss, grief, and panic. more notes at the end regarding the content of MC's nightmare

-- to set the scene --

It's dark. Dust and smoke settle in your lungs as you stumble through the streets of Vesuvia, trying to get through the press of bodies making a hurried trek towards the docks. You just want to get to your shop, you just want to see the lantern and your beloved's face in the window, you just want to be -

Home.

Your body goes still, cold as the grave as your blood sinks into your feet. Home is gone, the splintered apothecary's sign creaking as it swings from the chunk of rubble on the sidewalk. You stumble forward into the charred pile of wood and stone, searching for a sign, a scrap, anything, to tell you that something has survived. That someone has survived. It's hard to recognize it at first, coated with the same grey dust and poking lifelessly out of the rubble, but as you crouch for a better look, there no mistaking the thing you've lovingly grabbed a thousand times.

It's their hand.

You jolt awake when your voice chokes on a scream. The room's gone dark, the bed you're lying in is missing a body, and the pillow by your head has gone cold. You're not sure what comes out first - the panicked sob from the horror of losing them, or the fearful cry of their name as your nightmare seems to come true.

Julian

He's going to feel bad about this for weeks - he'd stayed up researching in his medical textbooks waaay past when he'd promised to come to bed

He thought he heard you call his name, and, surprised at how late you're awake, he came upstairs to see if you needed anything

As soon as he gets close enough to hear you panicking, he's bursting into the room so he can pull you into his arms

He's asking what happened right away. He's not going anywhere or trying to move you until you can talk to him

He's also going to ask you what the dream was about, if all you can say at first is "nightmare." He's learned the importance of voicing your fears and he doesn't want to leave you alone in that story

The best active listener. Brushes your hair out of your eyes, sighs and winces with every horrific detail you share, and murmurs empathetic responses to each description of loss

Ultimately ends up talking through your fears with you. He knows you've had to watch him die before, he understands why reliving it would be so traumatic, and he wants to help you process it

He'll guide your hand to his pulse point and breathe in time with you, reminding you with every exhale that he's alive and well

Asra

They'd fallen asleep next to you earlier, but they'd also told you before bed that there would be a celestial event tonight that they didn't want to miss. They're stargazing on the rooftop

He's jolted out of his reverie by a sudden, sharp tug on his bond with you. He can feel your magic scrambling for any sign of his presence and the underlying panic and fear

They don't hesitate, they're running down into the house and sprinting for your room as fast as they can to make sure you're ok

As soon as he spots you, he's putting himself where you can see him and asking if it's okay to hold you. He's quick to check you over for any injuries while he asks you what's wrong

Once they know it was a bad dream, they're taking you by the hand and collecting pillows and blankets to take to the roof. They've already got tea and snacks up there from their stargazing session

He buries you in a pillow pile with him under the night sky, where there's nothing to see but the stars and each other, and pulls your hand to his heartbeat while he tangles all your limbs together

They remember what it was like to lose you, and the comfort they craved from you as they grieved. It's oddly cathartic to give you what they needed and stay with you as you go back to sleep

Nadia

Her insomnia was acting up again, so rather than idle away time in the dark, she went across the hall to her office to get some work done. There's always a stack of proposals waiting her approval ...

She had a hard time hearing you from two rooms away, but you sounded so urgent she put her teacup down immediately and hurried over to investigate

You can imagine how her heart wrenched when she saw you sitting up in her bed, wearing the same expression she used to feel when she was trapped in a coma full of nightmares

To say that she's beyond sympathetic is an understatement. She's climbing in bed next to you and pulling you into her lap right away

She'll hold you until you calm down, and then invite you to come sit with her in her warmly-lit office and share her tea

If you want to talk and process what you dreamed about, she'll listen closely and come up with ways to help you feel safer

If you want to focus on something else, she'll pull out her favorite book of Prakran poetry and read you her favorite verses

And if you're too tired to think and just want to sleep in peace, she'll lay you down on her sofa with your head in her lap, gently petting your head to the sound of her quill on the parchment

Muriel

He'd woken up because he was thirsty

Normally, you keep a jug in the hut filled with drinking water, but it hadn't been replenished before bed so he went out into the clearing to draw some more from the spring

When he came back inside to see you huddled and sobbing in the furs, his first instinct was to look wildly around the room for any signs of danger and violence while he reached for his staff

Once you spot him and show relief, he gets a better idea of what's happened and joins you on the bed while he quietly asks if you're okay (you're obviously not, but it's the best he comes up with)

He knows what horrific nightmares are like. He's not going to let you hide away and work it out by yourself

As soon as he knows it'll help, he's holding you as closely and firmly as you need him to

He'll settle against the wall by the bed, wrapping both of you in the weight of the furs while Inanna lies across your feet

And then he'll tell you in a low, rumbling murmur about all the good things you have around you, replacing each bleak image with your warm, safe reality. You have the soft clothes on your back, the sound of Inanna's panting, and the brush of his lips on your face

Portia

She woke up annoyed because Pepi felt the need to sit on her face and screech into her ear until she refilled her food bowl (in classic cat fashion, said food bowl wasn't even completely empty)

She was too sleepy and distracted with her task to hear you, and didn't know what had happened until she walked back into the bedroom and saw your state. Once she did, she was wide awake

Immediately turns on all the lights to make it easier to stay present and asks you whats wrong

A nightmare? She doesn't get many of those, but from the look on your face, it must have been horrific. You need a change of scenery and lots of tender loving care before she goes back to sleep

She'll set you both up in front of the fire in the living room, carding her fingers through your hair and bathing your face while you calm down enough to tell her more

Once you've told her everything, she's finding you both a distraction. She's making hot chocolate while you read aloud

She doesn't want you to have to go back to sleep in the same spot where you panicked, so she sets up a pile of blankets in front of the fire and snuggles up with you before falling back asleep

Pepi feels so bad she brings you her catnip toy to help you relax

Lucio

He had to use the bathroom

Which, at the particular inn you're staying at, involves him leaving the rented room and walking down the hallway because he doesn't like the lingering smell of using the chamber pot by the bed

When he walks back in to the sight and sound of you panicking, he starts panicking too. If it could scare you, it must be horrifying

The sound of him panicking is enough to ground you in the present, and he's never one to resist you yanking him into bed

Nor is he one to resist you holding him close. Squeeze him as tight as you need to, MC, he'll squeeze you right back with no complaints. Though he's still worried and confused

Pesters you until you tell him about your nightmare - which, after the warzones he's participated in, isn't hard for him to imagine. He's a little shaken up too by the time you finish

Spends the next several hours telling you why what you saw isn't going to happen. You're the best magician there is, MC, and he's the best fighter, and together you're too strong to die (again)

He'll offer to keep watch, if it'll make you feel safe enough to sleep again, though he'd rather doze off together

Holds your hand every night for the next few weeks

A/N: if the content of MC's nightmare sounds familiar to you, that's because it's a fraction of the horrific reality that thousands (if not millions) of people have been suffering through in Gaza since early October. I haven't been sure how to carry my real-life concerns into a space as relatively insignificant as a headcanon blog, but here we are.

[vesuvianhermitcrabs]

HC for how the M6 would react if after the upright ending, the black plague happened.

HOW THE ARCANA CHARACTERS WOULD REACT TO THE BLACK PLAGUE:

(A/N: this was supposed to be funny... it is not funny... also this has been marinating for so long i can't finish all of the m6 so it's just asra and nadia I'M SORRYYYYYY)

For context: The red plague is over, you tell the devil to suck it, you and your LI are happy and in love and then some dumbass gets too up close and personal with a rat, beginning the black plague.

Asra

You're coming home from a trip with him when you enter the city and notice the streets of Vesuvia are completely empty

Before you can even reach your shop you know something is terribly wrong

Asra turns to look at you, worried

You decide to visit the palace, surely Nadia would be able to explain what was happening

When you get there, a single guard is posted inside the gates wearing a plague mask

"In light of the recent plague outbreak, the countess will not be seeing any visitors," the guard says, unmoving, monotone as if they had turned away many before you

Plague?

A moment of stunned silence passes before you feel Asra grip your hand with his own

He's shaking

Asra's brain is so hectic that the only thing he can think of doing is getting you away from here. So he takes you back to the shop and he's stuffing everything he possibly can into a travelling bag

They're completely unresponsive when you speak to them

...but when you take both of their wrists in your hands and ask them how they're feeling they immediately shatter

Full blown panic attack

He can't stop thinking of your charred bones in the ground, can't stop imagining you so ill that you can't walk, can't stop dreading that you'll want to stay in Vesuvia and try to help people and end up dead all over again

He can't stop

They're sobbing now, wrapping their arms around your waist and burying their face into the space above your clavicle so they can listen to your heart beating through the pulse point in your neck

You stay like that for hours

He's no fool and he knows he can't mourn you like this when you're still with him, so when he finally parts with you, it's to ask you to run away alongside him

Asra's begging you to leave with him, but he's not going to go without you. Not again

If you choose to leave with him, he's taking that chance to whisk you away as soon as you're ready

Takes you to his cottage in Nopal so you can both lay low until the new plague relents

If you're adamant about staying, he'll stay with you

Knows that if you fall ill and he's not there to help you he won't ever forgive himself

He's willing to stick with you in Vesuvia, but just know he'll hate every second of it. Every moment is spent filled with his fear for the both of you

Whatever you choose, the whole ordeal digs up your shared traumas, so, yk, all in all both of you are doing pretty terribly

You're having constant nightmares about being cremated alive

He's having nightmares about finding your bones in the ground, about being unable to save you and all of your loved ones

On nights like those, you cling to each other and try to offer the most comfort you can

Nadia

Before the outbreak even happened her intuition told her something bad was going to happen

As soon as her suspicions are even slightly confirmed she's sending out warnings to all Vesuvians

To the average person she appears uncannily composed about the whole ordeal, but you know how much of a toll it has taken on her

Nadia's people are dying around her AGAIN and she's as frantic and upset as you've ever seen her. She is so very determined to do better than last time

She wants to be a better ruler

She's imposing rules on quarantines, finding ways to supply food and water without spreading the disease, attempting to help those who are already sick, she is trying

Her stress levels have long surpassed even Julian's

She's overworking herself and most days you think you're the only thing keeping her sane

It consumes her

Part of the reason the plague affects her so heavily is because she knows you died from it

The very fact that someone as wonderful and lively and beautiful as you could have their life torn away from them haunts her. She can't let that happen if she has any say in it at all

Wants to keep you safe despite the fact you're the court magician, tries to keep you away from it all but isn't sure if that means sacrificing the rest of Vesuvia

Nadia might actually explode so be nice to her please...

Lucio

FUCK.

It's no longer Lucio's good time party town it is now trauma central

[chilltouch]

Welcome to my blog where I talk about my various ttrpg characters!

Most of them are dnd ocs, and only one (1) of my characters are from a non-dnd system. It is two OCs now :) (Torne and Val) 

Current characters:

S-POR, Oath of Redemption

LUC-A, Oath of Vengeance

Torne Thorne, Oath of the Bro (Devotion)

Iris the Beguiler, Oath of Redemption

Praden, Oath of Ancients

Mayuyu, Oath of the Open Sea (Mercer Homebrew)

Ignatius Brenton, Oath of Conquest

Mycena, Oath of the Crown

Val/Bedlam, Oath of Glory

Vesuvia, Oath of Friendship :) (Devotion)

Revelry Starsage, Oath of Redemption(?)

Troy Cassidy, Oath of Devotion 

Guarlualin Lothorloth, Oath of Redemption

Mar “Cotonea” Asteria, Oath of the Crown

Kostas Leventis, (Hopefully!!) Oath of Vengeance

Chadictus the Ninth, Oath of Devotion

Belladonna, Oath of the Crown

Magdla, Oath of Conquest

Kohaku [Redacted], Oath of Redemption

Anastasia Phlox, Oath of Devotion

Detective Fortuna Foxglove, Oath of Redemption

Mayari, Oath of the Open Sea

La Bruja, Oath of Redemption

[vampiresuns]

Look After Your Dead

✴︎ LOOK AFTER YOUR DEAD ✴︎

In which Anatole is very bad at staying dead, and Amparo and Valerian Cassano look for him. 1.9k words. Art is ‘Fruit of Life’ by Megan Rieker. For Anatole’s Apprentice timeline, pre-game, compliant with all routes. Content warning(s): Death.

You can read the rest of Anatole’s apprentice timeline series here. 

First came the silence. Both of them had promised themselves in their own way they would not check on Anatole while he was dead; or perhaps they would only to know if he was safe where the dead are supposed to be. He wasn’t, not for long. He had the energy of a wandering dead; a soul, or cumulus of former living energy, which was traversing through the realms still, albeit not because he didn’t know he was dead. On the contrary, like always, their Anatole felt like he was looking for answers — like he was waiting for something to begin, or something to click.

Second came the turning. Anatole was a restless yet restful dead. He didn’t come back to deliver any messages, he didn’t come to sit in anyone’s dreams. Both of them could tell it wasn’t because he didn’t want to do it, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to turn and tell them something they could only imagine. Anatole was still searching for something, and they both knew him enough (one saw him grow, the other grew up with him) to know Anatole would keep going, even if he turned his head to look back, until he found what he was looking for. Giving up was not in his vocabulary: if it were, he wouldn’t be dead. 

Third came the jump. It would take both of them a while to realise what had truly happened. Valerian had never witnessed it before like this, Amparo had never witnessed it at all, used to the energy of those who were gone and came back as ghosts, or sometimes, never left, changing into something which shouldn’t walk their world. Those were the kind of changes in the dead that she was used to. This was different. It felt as if Anatole’s presence had jumped and relocated somewhere to never be found, somewhere which wasn’t the realm of the Dead. 

In the magical realms, the person known as Aelius Anatole Radošević De Silva had climbed to the highest peak of the Fool’s realm. There he could see a dragon fly above his head, getting lost in the horizon while he stood alone in the overgrown island. The words had been clear: We will look after you, and then the Fool’s: When you’re ready, all you have to do is jump, I will be waiting.

Waiting for what? For whom?

For him, of course, he knew that. But where? And most importantly why?

He stared at the horizon as darkness faded, and the greyish first tints of sunrise left way to an explosion of colour, and as if the shoe he was waiting to drop finally hit him on the head, he laughed. The conclusion came to him like a realisation, and on top of a building that was once shaped like the Lazaret he cried. He only hoped his mother would forgive him for making her weep for however long. He would walk the clouds again, he would see the faces of the people he loved again, he would step on the cobblestones of Vesuvia and breathe again. 

Giving up had never been in his vocabulary. All he had to do was jump.

“Am I dead?” He had asked, a year ago.

“Yes,” he had been answered. “But I do not think you’ll stay dead for long.”

He recalled that conversation as he drew a breath and, like a lover running to the arms of the subject of their affections, he ran to the edge of the precipice and jumped. 

It took Amparo and Valerian about eight months to piece together what had happened and to dare say it to each other. The first clue came in the shape of energy, picked up by Amparo before Valerian could; energy which reassembled Anatole’s, was Anatole’s, but faded like a fire which stubbornly fights against its nature to be lit. Or perhaps, like a fire which does not have the right conditions to do so. Amparo had promised herself she would leave the dead alone, but she guessed that if the energy of the dead felt so alive, then she was allowed to look. 

She didn’t do it immediately, too hurt, too scared for all of it to be wishful thinking. But what if it was him? What if it was him and he needed someone who knew how to transverse energy and life and death? Amparo felt she was justified enough to ‘create a tether’ between that energy and herself, a way of keeping tabs on her dead cousin. 

That energy disappeared suddenly after three months, and reappeared two weeks after that just like it had gone: with no warnings. This was when Valerian picked it up too — the distinct energy of someone who had died and come back to life, someone who, against all odds had come back as themselves but didn’t know who they were yet. Valerian had never witnessed such a thing face to face, instead he had seen the results of it once when he was in his twenties. Most of the time necromancers did not interfere with the natural order of things, and when they did, it usually was for their own selfish reasons: a necromancer who did not understand that everyone eventually had to die was either a very incompetent necromancer, or a very dangerous necromancer. 

It took both of them some time to raise the topic with each other. When they did, they felt like they could breathe again, like there was someone else to bear this weight with; Valerian was old, older than most, and while he had no intention of dying yet, he didn’t know if he could bear something like this alone again. 

Their plan was to track the energy so they could come to the bottom of it, with Amparo doing the tracking and neither of them doing the talking, too aware of the negative consequences this could have. If they were wrong, they’d break their families hearts for nothing and they couldn’t do that to them, especially to Anatole’s parents, Valerius, Amparo’s own mother, Milenko or his friends. However, if they were right, Valerian had advised Amparo to tread with caution. 

“Death is not a pause, but often a reset. How people come back, or how they remember who they are — if they remember at all — is a very delicate matter, my dear.”

Amparo now was one of the few living people who knew Valerian Cassano, former darling of Vesuvian theatre and window of Iovanus, former Consul, was a necromancer, but it seemed like a light secret to keep in comparison to the possibility of Anatole being alive. Without saying it, they both knew the secret would be their responsibility to keep, theirs to carry until they knew more of the situation. How had he come back, had there been side effects, was it really, truly him? Valerian explained to Amparo that there was a possibility the person who came back would look like Anatole without being Anatole: his entire personality and everything that made him himself misplaced, lost, as something new and alien took its stead. A new personality, for a new person. 

Amparo hated to admit it made sense, even though she insisted this had to be Anatole, it felt too much like him. Even if it felt like he was coming from behind a veil, or from underwater. With a determination not even Valerian’s well-meaning advice could temper (though she accepted it, as she knew he cared deeply about Anatole) Amparo swore she would find her cousin. She owed it up to him. 

“Valerian?” She said one day, after much thinking, finding the old man in the winter garden. “I think I know how to find him without being seen. I think we have to wake up Antu.”

“I’m afraid you’re right, Lele, darling.”

Valerian stood up with the help of his walking cane, moving towards the closest bed of flowers; Amparo rushed to help him kneel down, but he shook his head telling her to save it for when he had to stand back up. He ungloved one of his hands, handing the garment to Amparo as it revealed a perfectly youthful hand in its absence, the skin looking more like it belonged to a 20 year-old than a centenary, and counting, old man. When Valerian had stopped practising necromancy for his own reasons, all that pent up magic began working its way through the magician himself, or affecting his immediate surroundings. 

One of those side-effects had been his abnormally young hands. The magic regenerated them on its own accord, the instrument it had been one casted with. 

He cut a handful of flowers, and in their place new ones began to grow in a blink. “Here,” Valerian said after Amparo helped him up, “if I cut them, they will last a little longer.” 

It was three o’clock, the Palazzo moving to the rhythm of its afternoon shift. Amparo would have to go through most of it in order to reach the small external garden it had, and from there she’d have to descend to the family’s mausoleum. Of course, Anatole’s actual body was missing. Or rather, it was nothing but charred bone so there had been no body to bury. As she made her way, no one from the staff stopped her, nor asked if she needed anything, the flowers on her hand were telling enough. She prayed to the Sun in high-heaven and the Moon looking after her that no one would.

Amparo also prayed she didn’t run into Anatole’s parents. Nothing would ruin her tries more than running into Louisa, or even worse, Vlad. Valerius was a different matter entirely, she was angry at him over some argument he had had with her mother in the Council, so while she had no desire to cross paths with him, he was relatively easier to get rid of. One would think Louisa would be the hardest, but Anatole’s mother grieved her son in different ways which luckily involved staying as far away from the mausoleum as possible. 

Dr. De Silva, as a former war doctor, was no stranger to Death, nor she was unevered by it or the rituals the living had to reminisce on those they have lost; however, Louisa De Silva would not cry tears to an empty coffin. She said her son was in other places, not there, so she didn’t need to go as often as her husband did, even if she still went down to leave him flowers once a week. 

Vlad, on the other hand, had practically become as part of the family’s mausoleum as the dead themselves. 

Like Anatole’s father, his familiar had also become a permanent fixture in it. After Anatole died, Antu kept going back to the East Docks on his own, waiting for him to come back, trying to throw himself into the sea to swim all the way to the Lazaret. He was too smart of a creature to stay doing that forever, so sooner rather than later it sunk in that his magician, his companion, his saviour and protector was well and truly dead. Amparo wasn’t sure what sounds Racoons made when they were sad, strangely, she had said they must’ve sounded a lot like dogs, or perhaps, howling foxes. 

She had never expected Antu’s outward noise (a sad little series of chirps) to be nothing in comparison to the wailing cacophony that would echo in the mind of whomever could communicate with the raccoon. Would’ve she been able to drink enough alcohol, drink whatever potion, undergo whatever spell to not hear it, Amparo would’ve done it.

But if anyone could track Anatole it would be Antupillán. Luckily for Amparo, he was the only thing in the mausoleum, except of course, for the Dead, but the Dead were always everywhere.

Antu came back two days later. 

He is alive, my Anatole, he is alive! 

[moth-and-raven]

CHAPTER FOUR

The rest of the day passes in a haze. Loud cheers met Nadia’s announcement and Portia slipped into the rush just in time to board the carriage, tear-stained but determined to fight through it.

I must have been imagining things. I don’t want to think poorly of Julian, but I have to face facts: people will do and say anything to keep themselves off the gallows. He’s smart. He’s charismatic. He knows I’m working with the Palace. I can’t help but think he was just trying to endear himself to me, taking advantage of how obviously attracted to him I am. I can’t blame him for that. It’s my own fault for chasing what was a pathetic pipe dream from the start.

I retreat to my room after we return to the palace. It’s not unreasonable, considering I haven’t slept much in the past few days. From my bed, I watch spots of sunlight creep across the ceiling until I fall asleep. At least it’s dreamless this time.

Portia comes to get me for dinner in the late evening, when the sky’s turned purple. She’s itching with curiosity, peeking at me from the corner of her eye the whole way to the dining hall. Before we enter, she clears her throat.

“So, um.”

“It was nothing.” If I keep telling myself that, maybe it’ll hurt less. “Did you—?”

“Safe and sound. At least as much as he can be.”

“How long had it been since—?”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth just like he does. “Ten years, give or take. The last time I saw him was right after his apprenticeship. He came back to Nevivon for a few months while he was figuring out what else to do. I was only sixteen, so he must’ve been… twenty-five?”

The same age I am now. I didn’t realize he was that much older than me, though I suppose it makes sense. He’s lived quite a life. Yet more reason for him to see nothing of interest in me.

Portia pushes on: “What will you say to—?”

“I’m not telling her anything.” I shake my head and look away. “I don’t have anything to tell her anyway.”

That’s not a lie. I may know more about him now, but nothing pertinent.

“She’ll ask.”

“I know.”

I must not be doing as good of a job hiding my sadness as I thought I was, because Portia rests her hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. I don’t have it in me to say that whatever she’s imagining isn’t true.

I can’t do this.

“Could you tell Nadia that I—” Humiliated, I choke on my tears. “I'm— I’ll be in the library.”

I’m already around the corner by the time she agrees. I don't know what I’m going to do there, but at least I’ll be alone. Again.

I may not remember beyond the last three years, but I know in my heart that I’ve never been loved like I am in my dreams. I probably never will be. With all the beautiful people out there, who would choose me, the fat twenty-five-year-old virgin so gullible she falls for every man who looks at her twice? What could I possibly offer someone like him?

Nothing.

Painful, empty nothing.

I end up at the library eventually. At least I can navigate the palace better than I could the South End. My tears have almost stopped before I feel the metal arc of the crescent moon still hanging around my neck and break apart again. I manage to reach an armchair, nestled in an alcove near a half-flight of stairs, and curl up in it as best I can to weather the storm.

I’m so ugly when I cry. Thank god no one can see it. No one ever should.

When the waves settle and my breath doesn’t feel so foreign in my lungs, I press my palms to my eyes and sigh heavily. I have a headache now, as I always do after I cry like that. I know I should be hungry, but I’m not. I don’t know what I am.

But I made a promise. To Nadia and to Julian. Even if I never see him again, I’ll help him as much as I can. And with all of his research, all the palace staff who knew both him and Lucio, all the magic echoes swirling around waiting for someone to hear them, I think I can help him a lot.

------

I was always more comfortable at night. I sleep a little bit, curled up in the armchair, but it’s not very comfortable and I wake up sore. I’m glad I came to the library, though: Julian’s desk is a mess of torn papers and marked-up books, underlines and strikethroughs and question marks in the margins, and I have so little time to piece it all together. If I hadn’t slept yesterday away… yesterday. I shouldn’t be thinking about yesterday. It was nothing. It is nothing.

He’ll be nothing if I can’t figure this out.

Portia brings me something to eat in the very early hours, right before dawn. Without saying a word, she draws up another chair and starts sorting through things too. She can read his handwriting much more easily than I can.

And Count Lucio’s name shows up. And again, and again. Lucio’s temperature rising. Lucio says wine tastes metallic. Alchemical fluid in Lucio’s prosthetic turned red, wouldn’t survive replacement. Observations in clipped clinical speech, but scrawled with ever-increasing desperation. Lucio spitting up blood. Lucio not sleeping, complaining of bad dreams. Lucio too weak to eat, still alive.

Notes on the dissection of a beetle, a cross-section of a human brain, a map of the palace with large red Xs over half the rooms in the east wing. Peeking over my shoulder, Portia points at them.

“That’s the Count’s Suite. He had the whole wing, actually. No one goes up there anymore.”

I straighten up, my joints crackling from the hours I've spent hunched over. “Why?”

She shrugs. “Nadia had the whole thing blocked off. It’s really dirty, from the— all the ash and stuff. And people say it’s haunted.”

“By Lucio?”

“I guess. One of the other housekeepers swears they saw the ghost of a weird guy at the top of the stairs once. That it looked right at them with spooky red eyes. I think they’re full of shit, but maybe it’s worth a look?”

There could be a thousand things worth a look. If I had more time… “I don’t know. I have a couple spells that might be able to pin down a ghost, but I’ve never actually tried them.”

“If it is Lucio, though, wouldn’t he be able to say who killed him?”

“Hm. That’s true. Is the wing locked?”

Portia grins and fishes in her pocket. “Not if you have keys.”

The main staircase is close to the library. I feel the air get colder as we approach, and the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck start to stand up even before Portia unlocks the corridor that leads to Lucio’s bedroom. It’s eerily quiet, all gray and black, luxury gone to ruin in the wake of a disaster. I’ve seen reproductions of burned-out buildings that look like this, after heavy battles. It crosses my mind that destruction of that caliber had taken extremely powerful magic to accomplish, not the actions of a single man weakened by pressure and long hours in the midst of a plague. Julian can’t even do magic. He said as much during our long conversation at the Raven. I can’t imagine anything else that would do this much damage without bringing the entire palace down.

Interesting.

Cinders crunch underfoot. Charred paintings watch us pass. A primal fear creeps along just behind us, whispering then asking then screaming at us to flee. I can feel my heart in my throat and adrenaline in my blood, every sense heightened. Tattered curtains move at the corner of my eye: I’m terrified to look and even more terrified not to.

But I can tell without bringing magic to my hand that there’s nothing here. At least nothing that wants to make itself known. There’s just a spark of pure rage somewhere deep inside the wing, but it doesn’t want to be seen. No ghosts, no goats, no ghost goats. No spooky red eyes. Just soot and smoke stains and three years of neglect. The fear lurking in the back of my mind isn’t supernatural, just the normal human mistrust of the dark and abandoned.

We go all the way to the end of the suite to no avail. Part of me thinks I should stay, but I’m getting tired now and the idea of sleeping in these rooms isn’t appealing. Portia takes my sigh as an admission of defeat and pats my arm. It was a distant hope anyway.

Near the end of the corridor as we leave, a small glimmer catches my attention. If I hadn’t been looking that way to start with, I never would’ve noticed it.

“Hey Portia, what’s in there?”

She lifts up the lantern and peers into the room. “Bath chamber, I think.”

We see it at the same time, as the light catches the red gleam again: falling from the sink are drops of blood. More of it trickles across the floor. The walls are stained from it, up to the window.

“What the fuck?”

My sentiments exactly. What is this? It can’t be actual blood, can it? This is the top floor of the palace. Is it bubbling up through the plumbing?

“Nadia’s gonna want to know about this,” Portia says in a small voice.

“Wait. Let me check it out first.”

She turns to look at me, pale in the lantern’s glow. “This is way beyond whatever my brother might have done. It could infect the whole palace!”

“Do you think it’s infectious?”

Portia frowns. “Did you… Were you in Vesuvia back then? During the Plague?”

There’s no point in lying. “No.”

“Neither was I, but I heard about it. Before I left Nevivon, some sailors docked and told everyone what they’d seen. People died so quickly, there wasn’t space to keep their bodies. And they were all red, their eyes and their fingertips, everywhere you could see veins.” She shudders. “I can’t believe Ilya worked with it and… and…”

She must’ve been so scared, knowing that he could die any day.

“You know that big ugly crematorium out in the bay?” she asks.

“The Lazaret.” Everyone knows about that. You can see it from shore, a jagged silhouette reminding everyone of the toll the Plague took on the city. I don’t like looking at it: it makes my heart ache.

“Yeah. Even with that, there were too many bodies. So many people… There was a rumor that the Palace stored the extra ones, until they could be burned.”

“Where would they have been able to keep them?”

“Dunno. But there’s a huge tunnel system under here, all the way down into the cliffs. And the dungeon’s really big.”

I’d wondered how Julian could escape the prison cells, when the only way out was through the palace itself. Tunnels would explain that, I suppose. “So do you think there’s still something tainting the water?”

Her eyes are wide in the dark. “There might be. Kinda like here, no one’s been in the dungeons for ages. Probably since then.”

I frown. It’s unlikely, but I can’t deny the evidence right in front of me. I take another step into the washroom and trace the flow towards the wall. Some of the stones are loose now, after years of water damage. There’s more than enough room for it all to drain away between them.

Weak dawn sunlight floods the horizon as I stand up and glance out the window. I can see most of the city from here, out across the harbor to the Lazaret and down through the South End and directly into the lush gardens below.

And beyond the gardens, flowing from the palace along the channel of an aqueduct, is a stream of blood red.

------

Nadia scowls at the dripping red water, then summons her bodyguard to her side and dispatches them with a whispered order. Both Portia and I follow her out of the wing, but Portia splits off at the base of the stairs to see to her duties while Nadia invites me into the dining hall for breakfast.

A massive, gaudy painting hangs over the table, eyeing us as we pick over the array of egg dishes and sliced fruit. It depicts a celebration scene, I think, presided over by a muscular blond man with his arms spread wide over a crowd of adoring citizens. Nadia notices me looking at it and chuckles.

“Admiring my late husband’s art sense, are you, Reyja?”

I don’t want to offend her, but I think Count Lucio should’ve stuck to partying. “It’s, um, very vibrant.”

“That was typical of him,” she laughs. “Ostentatious to a fault.”

People don’t talk about Lucio much, unless they’re cursing his name for all the damage he did to the city with his warmongering and overspending. I’m trying to solve his murder, but now that I think of it, I don’t know much about the man himself. “What was he like?”

Nadia grimaces. “Much as you’ve heard, I expect. Loud, brash, insolent. Committed to his life of luxury. I would not have married him, had I been sober when he proposed.”

She must catch my surprise, because she fixes me in her dark eyes and raises a brow as if daring me to judge her.

Of course I won’t. “How did you two meet?”

“He was visiting Prakra,” she says. “To present himself to Empress Nasrin, my mother, as the Count of Vesuvia. He had been in power for some time by then, as I recall. I believe he told me that he’d first come to this city nearly twenty years before, on a mercenary contract.”

“He wasn’t from here?”

“No. He was of the Southern tribes.”

That’s confusing. “How did he get to be Count?”

“The former Count grew quite fond of him. Lucio was named his heir shortly after he arrived, and took the throne shortly after that. He spoke often of the battle in which he lost his arm—” She points at the painting. Lucio’s left arm shines, gilded in gold leaf. “—the same in which Spada was killed.”

Lucio may have been bloodthirsty, especially fond of the fights to the death at the coliseum Vesuvia used to be famous for, but everyone knew his roots as a successful mercenary. Even in his forties, when he died, he was strong and virile.

Which was why his death came as such a shock. Who would’ve thought such a man would die in his bed, ravished by sickness and weak enough to fall to an unskilled assassin?

“What about the Plague?” I ask quietly. People talk about Lucio a little bit, but no one discusses the Plague at all, as if the mere mention of it will cause its return.

Nadia nods. “It appeared nearly overnight, five years ago. No one had seen its like before. To my knowledge, nothing like it has been seen since, either.”

“Do we know where it came from?”

“I’m afraid not. Little is known of it, save that it killed thirty thousand of my people in two years.”

Her people. Nadia may have been Prakran by birth, but this was her city now.

“I had been visiting my sisters when it struck,” Nadia continues, gaze unfocused as she looks back through her memories. “As such, I was forbidden from returning until we were certain it had passed.”

I remember the parade that welcomed her back, but I didn’t realize she’d been gone that long. It’s been less than a year: she must be so busy, trying to pull Vesuvia together again. No wonder the search for her husband’s murderer hadn’t been her top priority until now. “I’m sorry.”

She tilts her head, looking at me. “Understand this, Reyja: if the Plague has not truly left the city, and what you and dear Portia discovered today is proof of that, then the search for Doctor Devorak must be set aside. I am eager to see justice done, but one man’s life, when weighed against the lives of thousands, will not tip the scales. I hope I may rely upon your services regardless of that outcome.”

Her visit to the shop feels very far away. I’m attached to this now, however big it gets. “I’ll be here.”

“Thank you. I have sent Yazakh to fetch an expert on the Plague from their estate. I hope they will return soon, but in the meantime, I urge you to rest. We may have much to consider in the coming days.”

I take a small pastry with me when I leave the table and make my way back to my room. I don’t doubt that she’s right, but even with this additional set of problems, I can’t keep my mind away from Julian. Thoughts of him cloud my head as I lay down for a nap and they’re still there when I wake up. My stomach isn’t happy with me, swirling with guilt and humiliation and anxiety, but I don’t know what to do about it.

The expert still hasn’t arrived when I go up to Lucio’s suite to check. I pass the library on the way back and my fingers fly to the silver moon pendant still around my neck, following the divot Julian’s own nerves wore in the metal. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to look through his notes while I wait, if I can concentrate enough to get anything useful out of them.

I can’t.

When the sun sets again, I give up. Another day gone, and I’ve only discovered more things to do. I need something to focus on, something with a solution, something… something that might distract me from the fact that I’m no closer to clearing Julian’s name.

I can follow that water, if nothing else. I don’t know where it’s coming from, but maybe I can learn where it’s going. And I can get out of the palace, maybe work off some of this nervous energy. And I won’t be surrounded by pieces of him, distracting me from my mission. It’ll be perfect.

---------------

prev || next

[yelena-salamander]

The Journey of the Fool--03

When the sky turns from black to gold, a man walk to magic shop quickly. When the man search his bag looking for key, a lavender snake climbs out from the bag up to his arm and hiss.

“Yes, we are home, Faust.” Asra smiles, but remember the scene of three months ago, when he fight to Yelena and left Vesuvia, he can’t help but sigh deeply. “Hope Yelena has already not mad to me…”

Although Yelena mostly appeared cool, but she can angry for a very long time. And the worse thing is, she prefer freezing relation… so mostly is Asra to apologize first.

Open the door of magic shop, something strange make Asra frowns. The air is cold. It seems there’s no one live in for a long time. Those cupboard even covered with a thin layer of dust.

“Yelena?” Asra calls, walk to upstairs, but still no one there. He starts to feel malaise. He take a break, and soon goes to Julian’s clinic. But still no Yelena.

Maybe palace?

Asra becomes a little anxious. Julian rarely let Yelena stay up late in his clinic. But Asra talked to Julian long ago, keep Yelena away from Lucio. So Asra and Julian both resist Yelena to help them in palace.

If she is in palace… there must be something happened.

When Asra arrive palace by a secret way, there’s already noon. He goes to Julian’s desk which is in library first, but still no one. Then he turns to Nadia’s room.

“Nadia?”

“Asra!” Nadia surprised by Asra’s appearance, but soon she seemed pathetical. “Why… why you come back so late?”

What does that mean?

Asra feel weird, but still ask her: “Do you know where is Yelena?”

Nadia tries to talk but failed. She hesitated for few seconds, then gives Asra a letter. “…This is from her.”

Asra opened the letter and read. Nadia look at him lose color, and those paper fall from his hand.

“No! That’s…that’s impossible…”

“I am sorry. Asra.”

“That’s impossible!” Asra shouts loudly, but falls on the floor. “That’s impossible! I only leave for a short time… And where is Julian? What is he doing?”

Nadia shakes her head. “He doesn’t know yet. He was trapped in palace for a long time, and Yelena cheated him until she died.”

“But how is about the medicine!? Lucio…”

“Yelena didn’t use those medicine. After she knows she was infected, she use her own body to experiment which medicine and cure do work.” Nadia look at Asra’s wide eyes with fear, not until this moment, she is aware of that he is still a child. “Asra...”

“No…I don’t believe. There must be something wrong…” Asra stand up staggeringly, “I am going to find her… “

That is not true. No.

That is not true!

Asra runs away.

His fingers are trembling. Follow the compass which can find what you’re looking for but point to north. But when Asra realizes it point to Lazaret, he gets sick of it.

But he doesn’t believe. He refuse to believe.

Until the compass bring him to a vacancy deep in Lazaret, he can not to cheat himself anymore…

There is nothing.

“Why…”

Asra kneels. Tears dropping on the compass.

“Why her…”

This is not fair. His parents has already gone, why take Yelena away from him again?

He drops the compass, and starts to dig the ground.

At least, let him see Yelena’s face one last time.

But, there’s nothing under the ground. Nothing. His fingers began to bleeding, but still nothing.

No… please. Don’t fail him even this. Please.

Asra cries like a child, but still digging. From dusk to midnight, nothing can he found but charred bone and ash.

When he finally stop digging, is Faust climbs out from his bag and rubs his cheek. Asra looks up to sky, notices it is dawn.

His tears already dried. Only the aches in his eyes tell him how long have him cried.

Enough.

He closes his eyes and pets Faust. “Let’s go home.”

Go back to the home. The home…where Yelena won’t come back again.

[asras-hat]

I want to get more into longer writing rather than short lil headcanons (I’ve written longer pieces before, but they’re really not my strong suit), so here’s my attempt at interpreting the scene between Asra and MC when Asra decided to leave town during the plague (MC’s POV).

 I might be posting more stuff like this (and if you have prompts, hmu), so keep an eye out :)

The confines of my tiny desk in the Palace library are beginning to feel like a prison. Day in and day out, I toil here, fueled only by the vain hope of discovering a cure for the uncurable. The musty smell of faded books chokes me like a vice; the dappled light spilling from the stained-glass window is nauseating.  Any hope I had of ending this plague has dissipated, chipped away like soapstone each time I despondently watch another tiny rowboat paddling its way to certain death across the harbor.  I can’t see the Lazaret from my desk in the library, but by the docks the smell of charred flesh traveling on the sea breeze from the crematorium is enough to turn my stomach at the mere mention of the island. People working near the harbor have taken to covering their mouths with cloth to avoid the acrid smoke and all its implications. Whose family members are we inhaling today? Mine? Yours? It never matters in the end; we’ll all end up on the island eventually.  

I don’t realize how much I’m squeezing my quill pen until it buckles in my hand, spraying my already-illegible notes with tiny spots of ink.  An anger disproportionate to this inconvenience begins to build up in my chest, and after all this time I’ve finally had enough. With the jaw-clenching screech of metal on polished wood, I shove my chair backwards and clamber to my feet, ignoring the quizzical stares from my fellow researchers as I stumble gracelessly towards the exit.

After bodily shoving the sturdy door open, I’m greeted by the soft glow of hallway lighting that nudges its way through my hazy vision. I stretch out the crick in my back with a satisfying pop, glancing around the mercifully-deserted hallway. Shaking the fog from my head, I make my way through the winding corridors and, finally, out onto the streets of Vesuvia.  

What once would have been a source of contentment – the smells of food vendors’ stalls floating through the warm summer air, the chatter of crowds walking by – now feel alien to me.  The air is heavy with the scent of death, soot from the Lazaret collecting in every crevice of every cobblestone and board.  As I glance around at the few passers-by, I size them up with a trained eye, gauging the likelihood of each contracting the Red Plague.

You… you in that red shawl.  You’ll be lucky to make it through the week. It would be best to get your affairs in order, before it’s too late.

I cringe inwardly at my own detachedness, disgusted with myself as much as I was my surroundings.  I was warned that dealing with death for too long would desensitize me. I suppose they were right.

I need to get to the shop, maybe grab a cup of tea to clear my head and pick up some spell ingredients while I’m at it.  I can almost hear my aunt’s voice in my head, stern but kind as she regarded me over the flashing bronze frames of the glasses resting on her nose. Take better care of yourself, she’d say. Can’t have you going crazy on my watch.

I laugh softly to myself, shaking my head.  

“I’ll do my best,” I murmur, allowing the corner of my mouth to quirk upwards slightly at the memory.  “For you.” 

This promise, though seemingly superficial (as its recipient was no longer around to hold me to it), guides my footsteps through the streets until I find myself standing outside the familiar façade of my and Asra’s shop.  Pushing open the door, I’m somewhat surprised to find that Asra is home, rummaging through a drawer, his back turned to me.

“Asra?” I say, and he visibly jumps, smacking his head hard on a shelf full of glass bottles, which clink together noisily.  I wince as he slowly and painfully straightens and turns towards me, one hand buried in his curls and most likely cradling a rapidly-swelling bump.  

“Are you alright?” I ask, concerned.  “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I didn’t realize you’d be home so early,” he says, refusing to make eye contact, instead staring at the floor.  “…Aren’t you staying at the Palace?”

“Aren’t you?” I counter.  “Where have you been all day?”

I can practically taste the waves of guilt radiating from him as he bites his lip and continues averting his eyes.  His guarded childhood days as an orphan sculpted him into a person for whom secrets are second nature, but as far as I’m aware he doesn’t often keep them from me, and certainly not with this much discomfort.  

“Asra,” I insist.  He inhales deeply before finally looking up at me.  

“I think we need to leave Vesuvia,” he proposes. I furrow my brow, uncomprehending.  

“Leave?” I ask.  “What are you talking about? We can’t leave; they need us here.”

“You’ve seen the numbers, (MC),” Asra sighs.  “Death tolls are rising every day.  At this rate, one of us will get the plague sooner or later, and I’d rather throw myself into the harbor than see you suffer like that. The only way to escape this, truly escape, is to leave. We’ll go somewhere the plague hasn’t traveled yet. Nevivon’s safe, or so I’ve heard –”

 I smack my palm loudly against the surface of the counter, cutting him off.

“Can you hear yourself?” I ask incredulously. “People here are dying.  The Palace is relying on us – Countess Nadia is relying on us. You’re suggesting we just waltz out of here and find a new home?”

“Not a new home, but –”

“And what happens when two tiny plague beetles clinging onto your scarf jump off in Nevivon and repopulate and infect the people there? Will we walk out on that plague as well? Leave an apology note to Ilya for killing off his entire home city?”

“(MC)…”

“No, I won’t have this. You can leave, but I’m staying here. And when you find my festering corpse among the others, know that I died doing what was right. What we should both be fighting for.”

I turn to leave, but Asra clasps my wrist, his fingers pressing the glass beads of my bracelets into my skin. I try to shake myself free, but his grip is strong, and I resignedly turn once more to stare at him. His eyes are large and pleading, and I wonder for a moment if he’ll cry, but my heart doesn’t soften for him in the slightest.

“Please,” he begs, an edge of desperation creeping into his voice.  “I don’t know what I’d do if this were the last time I spoke to you.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” I say. “Stay here. Come with me to the Palace and work with me on a cure.  We can do this, together.”

He sighs miserably, loosening his grip on me and curling his fingers into the curve of my wrist.

“If only that were true.”

“Goodbye, Asra.”

Tears welling in his eyes, he tries to pull me in for a hug, but I push him away.

“Come and find me once you’ve changed your mind.”

I turn on my heel, snatching my bag from off of a table and walking out the door. I ignore Asra’s voice behind me as I storm off, and I can swear I hear a frustrated sob before the door swings shut behind me. Combing my fingers roughly through my hair, I set a brisk pace away from the shop, away from the marketplace, away from Asra.  The sounds of the plagued city echo around me as I wonder whether what Asra said would ring true.  Were those the last words I’d speak to him? I shake the thought from my mind, not wanting to burden myself with what-ifs.  That could be a thought for another day.

[asras-eyelashes]

Book 0: The Fool

Full AO3 Fic //  Previous || Next

Chapter 3: Potent Potions and Promises

“Hey, I have an idea - why don’t you teach me potions?”

It's another hot day in Vesuvia. The Masquerade is tomorrow, and the streets are filled to the brim. Every inch of shade is occupied by either merchants, shoppers, or wares. Those selling refreshments are definitely profiting in this heat.

Miraculously, Asra had found some time to chat. The last few times they had tried to hang out, one of them had been busy with customers. But your friend had soon discovered that right after lunch, everyone was so hot that no one wanted to wander down a narrow street for a card reading. Not now, anyway. Vesuvia’s night markets were another playing field, however.

“What? Me? Teach you?” You're taken aback, staring as Asra laid down, hands cushioning his head. How could you teach him anything? Thinking back to the short tarot lessons, he's always so confident and reassuring with you. Plus he also knows water magic and some basic illusionary magic. What do you know?

“I’m sure you could,” he says with a smile, absentmindedly stroking Oberon’s head.

You find yourself pausing. In order to personally deliver some orders to the palace, your aunt had entrusted the shop to you. While it's closed to any new orders, there are a few she had told you to prep for her to immediately put in a cauldron when she gets back after dinner.

“Uhhhh...” Your hesitation dumbly fills the air. On one hand, you could see yourself having a blast trying to brew a potion with Asra. But on the other…if your aunt found out…

“Oh come on, your aunt isn’t coming back ’til after dinner. That’s plenty of time to make something?” Asra tempted, as if reading your mind’s worries.

Maybe…

“Alright,” you sigh, giving in.

“Cool!” Asra immediately jumps up, excited. Faust also seems to perk up, curious at what you could offer.

You glance at Oberon, wondering if you made the right decision. He comes up to your hand, happily licking your fingers, before climbing up to your shoulder.

Asra rolls up his rug and gathers his things, to avoid theft. You lead the two of you to the back door to the shop.

As your hand grips the handle, embarrassment washes over you. The back of the shop is always so damp and rather untidy. Would Asra say anything? You desperately wonder if the two of you could brew something in the front. But all the tools and ingredients are safely stored in the back, and there is no way you could move the cauldron.

“Something wrong?”

You jump slightly when Asra asks so close behind you.

“Um, i-it might be a little gross. The back’s sort of ended up dark because of all the ingredients my aunt’s collected. So-sorry about that…”

“Don’t worry about it, you should have seen some of the places I stayed before Muriel found that hut in the woods.”

You smile, thankful. You had always been curious about Asra’s story. He had told you bits and pieces, funny tales and brushes with trouble, but not much else. Making a mental note to ask later, you open the shop door.

Once inside, you head over to the ingredient cabinet. Asra blinks a few times to adjust to the darker setting before looking around in slight awe.

“Wow, I can really feel the magical energy in here.”

“You can?”

“Yeah, especially around the cauldron.”

You hadn’t really noticed the magic before; it's just the back of the shop. But thinking about it, spending so much time here probably means that you're desensitized to the energy. To someone else who’s in the shop less frequently, they could probably sense it.

“We’ll have to prep the ingredients before we use that,” you say with a smile, feeling the anxiety from earlier melt away as you watch Asra inspect the stove salamander curiously. How is it so easy to be around him?

“What are we making?” he asks, turning his attention to the ingredient cabinet. Oberon is already out and getting ready to climb to the higher cabinets.

“Just a couple of cooling potions, to help with the heat. Not too hard either, my aunt lets me make them in the mornings to sell to customers.”

“Why aren’t you selling them now? I bet people would be dying for some.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t trust me with handling money,” you explain with a self-deprecating chuckle. You turn to Oberon, asking him to grab an ingredient that lived up higher.

“Here, you can chop. Half the magic is preparing the ingredients,” you say, offering the prep counter to him.

“It is?”

You open a couple other drawers to grab the rest of the ingredients. “Yep. Here, why don’t you mince these?”

Grabbing the knife, Asra sets to mincing the ingredients. Meanwhile you pour some water into the cauldron, and politely awaken the stove salamander to light the charred hearth.

“If it’s a cooling potion, why do we need to light a fire?”

You let out a giggle, knowing he's trying to be clever.

“It’s still a potion so you need to brew it. It’s like the cold tea those merchants are selling - they still have to use hot water to brew it.”

“So we’re going to stick ice in the potion after?”

You let a laugh escape your lips, which makes Asra smile. If he was aiming to make you laugh, he succeeded.

“No, we just let it cool. The ingredients and magic will do the rest.” You hop over to grab the mortar and pestle, which are carved with symbols that helps channel magic.

“Now try grinding the ingredients down in this. The symbols are supposed to help you channel the magic through the pestle and into the mortar. As you’re grinding, imagine a cooling sensation flowing through your body to get the strongest energy out of the ingredients.”

“Kind of like reaching out to read the cards,” Asra states, looking to you to confirm his connection.

“Yeah, actually, kinda like that.”

With a nod, the white-haired boy turns to the mortar and pestle and let his energy flow. You notice a brief flash of purple from the symbols, signaling that Asra’s magic is being infused into the ingredients, as well as drawing out their properties.

Smiling, you go to check on the cauldron. The water is almost at a boil, you could hear it wanting to start bubbling.

The silence between the two of you is comfortable, the air filled with nothing but the quiet, crackling fire and the sound of grinding. Soon, the water begins to boil. Killing the heat, you call Asra over.

Peeking into the mortar, you hum in satisfaction at his handiwork.

“I did alright?” he asks.

“It looks perfect.” Asra smiles wide before carefully dumping the powder into the hot water.

The two of you use your magic to stir the cauldron, making sure the contents are homogenous. The roiling water soon thickens into what almost looked like dark blue molasses before thinning out into a bright blue solution. It emits a dull, playful flicker of light.

“Wow…this is amazing!” Asra breathes, making you smile.

“Here, you can use this to carry it with you,” you offer, grabbing two empty glass bottles. Grabbing the ladle, you scoop the potions and give both to him.

Asra meets your eyes inquisitively. “Isn’t one for you?”

“Oh, uh,” you feel your voice and heart stammer, suddenly nervous. “I-I figured maybe Muriel would want one? You always mention your tiny hut, so I thought it wouldn’t be too great in the heat…”

He pauses before smiling again. “You…thank you. I’m sure he’d appreciate them.”

I return the smile, feeling nice and warm.

Outside, we both hear the gradual crescendo of the market’s crowd, venturing out as the day cools.

“I better get back to my spot,” Asra says, breaking the silence. “With the Masquerade being tomorrow, there are desperate souls looking for masks, and I’ve got plenty left.” A mischievous smile graced his lips.

You’ve seen, and tried on, many of Asra’s and Muriel’s masks. They aren’t the most extravagant, but anyone could tell that they are each unique and well crafted.

“Hey, once the Masquerade is in full swing, let’s explore the market!” Asra suggests, halting his steps and turning back to you.

The invitation sends a wave of excitement through you. You usually either spend the Masquerade alone, or frantically helping your aunt with last minute orders.

A promising smile droops into a frown. “I don’t know…my aunt may need my help…”

“I can even try to convince Muriel to come along - you can finally meet him!”

You bite your lip, not knowing how to answer. If your aunt finds out…

“Alright, I’ll try to slip out once the sun sets.”

[sunheathen]

The Arcana Music Video AU to Power is Power- SZA ft. The Weeknd and Travis Scott

The song is a bop but it also fits so well the the arcana characters so hereeeee we gO-

Intro:

Camera settles on a forest floor layered thick with snow, the weather grey and unforgiving. As the music builds, young Lucio, presumably running from his mother, cuts across the screen, sprinting through the woods. He looks across his shoulder, and as he does, the screen goes black.

Verse 1:

I was born of the ice and snow

With the winter wolves, in the dark, alone

You now see Lucio sitting on a large, golden, intricate throne in the Vesuvia palace. Lucio sings this verse like how he talks about his past: overzealous and overblown. The winter wolves are Mercedes and Melchior, who sit loyally at his feet.

The wildest night I became the one

And you’ll know you’re mine when the silence comes

Lucio leans back on his thrown, reflecting on his deal with The Wyrm and the night he fought his father and ripped his heart out. He also reflects on his success as a mercenary, when silence is caused by those that he killed on the battlefield

heavy is the crown only for the weak

Lucio stands at his coronation ceremony when he was first crowned King of Vesuvia, his crown being placed on him by Valerius while the courtiers stand behind him

Verse 2:

I been down with the coldest war

And I know where I been ‘cause I bled before, yeah

The camera now cuts to Nadia, just arriving to Vesuvia to become Lucio’s wife, looking straight ahead as her carriage tumbled down the crowded streets. The second line shows her in a large palace room getting prepared for her wedding, with Nadia’s sisters all surrounding her and fussing over her.

how do I know if I let you stay?

How do I know if we did it your way?

You wouldn’t take my place

Put me away, I’d die looking up at your face

How do I ever know? Who can I trust?

Feelings of emptiness

Only love could kill me, god bless

Nadia stands by her new husband as she doubts his ability to rule, but stays complacent as she truly is t sure what to think or do since becoming queen. Her doubts plague her as she realizes the mistakes being made and realizes that she needs to do something, but isn’t sure how. The last two lines now show Lucio and Nadia sitting in a portrait, a stark contrast to the large family Nadia was surrounded by earlier in the music video.

Verse 3:

Breathe, feel the air that I breathe

Air that I, air that I breathe

The scene drastically changes as Vesuvia is plunged into the plague, a dark red haze enveloping the city. The camera pans through the sick and empty streets of a once vibrant Vesuvia. It settles on a surprisingly bustling dock, where hundreds are being loaded onto ships to be taken to the Lazeret

Asra, Julian, Muriel

who’s hotter? Been a monster with a crown

Asra seethes with rage as he and Julian walk down the docks, observing the destruction.

so swamped by high water, keep your head up, you might drown

Julian tried to reason with Asra, who very obviously is leaving the city as seen with his travel bag and hat. Julian, in contrast, is wearing a plague doctor uniform.

in this world, it’s way colder, by the day, we count it down

The camera now pans to the residents of Vesuvia, those still alive muttering to themselves as some realize that the plague could kill them all

Been around, just been waiting up, she gon’ come around

Other residents talk and try to keep positive, referencing “she” as the new queen who they are now hoping will take over the city and try and cure the plague since their King has now fallen ill.

I took a drag, bust it out the gate, my lil baby slay

I wore a flag, out that on my face, ain’t nobody safe

Lift the mask, they gon’ have to see what they can’t erase,

I took a lot, so I took it back

The camera now cuts to Muriel, in a heavy cloak and lurking in the shadows of the city as he watches over the crowds. He’s reflecting on the trauma that he has faced as a gladiator in the city, a reminder that the city took no prisoners, even their own people. The last line transitions to Muriel’s now secluded life in the woods, where he shuts himself down to protect himself and ignore the plague ravaging the city.

danger’s on my mind

Ain’t no knife, dagger, bullet, that can do it

‘Fore you, yeah, you know, I go right straight through it, yeah

Time passes, and Julian, now locked in his cell and sitting at his desk, sick and dying, sings these lines as he realizes that he must kill Lucio to stop the plague.

heavy is the crown,

But never for a queen

The ornate golden throne now sits Nadia, who has her crown placed on her by Valerius who looks significantly less pleased in comparison to Lucio’s coronation. The courtiers also share looms that range from indifference to annoyance. The camera goes to a wide angle, that now shows all of Nadia’s sisters standing around her and Portia, who loyally stands next to her queen.

Final Chorus:

A knife in my heart

It couldn’t slow me down

‘Cause Power is Power,

My fire never goes out,

I rise from my scars,

Nothing hurts me now,

‘Cause Power is Power,

Now watch me burn it down,

Now watch me burn it down

The time period goes to where the main story of the arcana takes place, and goes through the now changed lives of Nadia, Asra, Julian, Portia, and Muriel as they go through the events that lead up to MC’s meeting and interactions with them throughout the story. The last line “watch me burn it down” closes as Lucio’s charred and heavy room is framed, and you see in the shadows a large, goatlike monster open its ruby red eyes that shine through the darkness

SO YEAH if anyone wants to add or draw anything let’s add on to this song bois

[dontcallmejules]

Made this a while ago and never posted it... Meet Zui.

What is their full name?

Zui. That's it.

In detail describe how they look

5'11, slender, slight athletic build yet considered on the waifish side. Dusky, smooth complexion with gray tones.  Erratic, un-combable, silver-white hair that stands out in a crowd, hence the hood.

How old are they?

Mid to late twenties? Age unknown.

What clothes do they like to wear?

Black/gray/purple muted tones. Suede. Things that hide in a crowd and make no sound.

Any piercings? 

A lot.

Do they have any other jewelry they wear?

Necklace coils in pure silver. A favorite stolen item from foreign royalty visiting Vesuvia.

Any tattoos? No

What do they smell like?

Clove, ash, and vanilla.

What are their four trinkets? Questionably stained dagger. Half empty whiskey bottle. Wanted poster that looks nothing like her. A pouch full of stolen trinkets.

GOVERNMENT MANDATED FERSONA No.

What kind of magic are they good at? Illusion/invisibility. Control of localized wind bursts and whirlwinds. Some healing magic comes in handy.

What kind of magic are they bad at? Love and happiness spells, earth magic, accurate tarot readings.

Of the four, six or seven magical elements which are the most connected to? Four: fire, air water earth. six: fire, air, water, wood, earth, metal. Seven: fire, air, water, wood, earth, metal, aither. Air

What does their gateway look like prior to their memory loss?  What does it look like afterward? A dark, lonely, narrow collection of alleys in an unnamed city.  Calm with a light drizzle of rain.  Zui hasn't seen it since after the memory loss so she wouldn't know what it looks like post-memory loss.

Do they have a familiar? If they do. What type of animal is it? What is it’s name? Is it still around after they lost their memory? A minuscule, snow gray rat named Rat. He's still around after the memory loss although she doesn't know he's her familiar. Zui goes days without seeing Rat. When he's around he likes to stick close by and prefers naps in the base of her hood. He's much older than a rat should be and, although she's seen him injured or possibly killed numerous times, Rat always returns unscathed.  

Have they ever cursed someone? Cursed their names, yes. Physically harmed them, yes. However, cursed magic has consequences not worth dealing with.

How do they handle those headaches/migraines? Drinking. Sex. More drinking.

What tarot card do they connect the most with? The Moon, Upright: unconscious, illusions, intuition.

Where were they born? She doesn't know. Assumes somewhere in the slums of Vesuvia.

What is their favorite color? Plum purple.

What is their least favorite color? Orange. Yellow. Anything bright and offensively cheerful.

What were they like as a child? Quiet, fast, smart. She learned how to pickpocket to survive.

What were their parents like? Parents?

Do they have any siblings? If the answer is yes how many? Probably, who knows.

Do they have any other relatives they are close with? Doesn't know any relatives and really isn't close to anyone anyway.

What are they afraid of? Showing weakness. Growing attached to another person. The majority of her own emotions.

What do they identify as? She/Her

Do they have any allergies? Nothing so far... except stupidity.

Do they have any other medical problems? Headaches, insomnia, night terrors, sleepwalking, and memory loss, obviously.

What about mental health issues? Distrust of anyone. Promiscuous. Alcoholic.

What’s their personal hygiene regimen like? Near religious. Prefers to bathe in streams with scented soaps and herbs she carries on her person at all times unless there's a high-quality spa available... then she's all over that.

Favorite rock or gemstone? Amethyst, granite, the crooked cobblestones of Vesuvia.

Favorite tree? The weeping willows that line streams outside of Vesuvia with their wispy, ground-sweeping branches and long, slender leaves. Great for afternoon naps.

Favorite type of weather? Overcast and either cool, damp, or both.

Least favorite type of weather? Dry summer heat.

What is their favorite season? (remember winter is summer and spring is fall) Whenever the weather is mild and the sun not beating down.

How many languages could they speak before the memory loss? How many do they currently speak? Understands one yet can't speak it. Speaks some important phrases of another. Speaks fluent Vesuvian.

Do they sing or play any instruments? She sings quietly to herself. What do they tend to joke about? Dark sense of humor. Or sarcasm. Both. After a stressful day, how do they relax? A drink, someone attractive to sleep with, a long, quiet bath. Guilty pleasures? Everything. Idiosyncrasies? Will silently appear next to you. Whether by magic or practiced stalking of the city streets. One minute she's absent, the next, looming over you.  Her height and slightly disconcerting presence make this alarming to some. How do they act when they first meet someone new? Hesitant, guarded, quiet besides bad jokes. How quickly do they warm up to them? Slowly. Very slowly. Unless they click, then too fast. In what order would they prioritize Love, fame, money, power, and knowledge? Knowledge, money, power, love, fame. List four or more things they love to do Drink, get a full night's rest, wander through Vesuvia's bustling markets, fuck. List four or more things they hate to do Pay any form of a bill. Attend parties. Small talk. Kiss ass. List five or more things they have said that sum up who they are "Ah, I see... you're an idiot." "I would love it if you bought me a drink." "How do I know I can trust you?" "You certainly take yourself very seriously..." "Go away." How do they react to (both verbal and physical) conflict? Verbal: Stern, silent. Off-putting smile.  A very sharp tongue and no qualms. Physical: Fast, sleek, uses magic to avoid injuries let alone contact at all. Terrible to fight as you can never get a shot in. Disarms first then threatens until the offender gives up.  If her adversary doesn't give up, they get hurt.  If the injury is serious, they get fed to the palace eels.

What kind of bad habits do they have? All of them. Just list the seven deadly sins, well, besides gluttony.  Never quite got the hang of that one. What kind of character faults do they have? All of them, or at least she feels she does. Swears, does not fit into social standards, steals to survive, uses sex as a tool and a weapon, vain, prideful. What’s their best trait in their opinion? Stubborn and strong-willed. Entirely resilient in all situations.  Fearless. What do they think of their appearance? Vanity is a large part of her life. She uses looks to her advantage in all situations. How do they interact with people in a position of authority? Is mindful of authority to the point they'd rather not get killed for pissing off the wrong courtesan. Otherwise completely ignores authority and social statuses to a fault. Who did they look up to as a kid? The older, more skilled child thieves on the streets. She also saw their flaws and learned from their mistakes. How do they interact with kids? She doesn't. Do they want kids of their own someday? She doesn't. Are they religious? If so what god/goddess or gods/goddesses do they worship? She is still waiting to see a sign of actual "higher" life. What do they think the meaning of life is? There is none. What would they want their last words to be? Hopefully nothing foolish. What do they want to do before they die? Live a full life. What/how do they want to be remembered for after they die? She doesn't expect to. How do they express affection? Protective to a fault. If it's romantic affection she can be fairly obsessive and will tail them around the city to learn their routine. Super attentive and great gift giver. However, she gets bored easily and may ghost at the drop of a hat. What do they normally eat for breakfast? Whatever is fresh on the market to snatch that day. Unless in a mood, then liquor. Do they like spicy food? If it's free. Favorite fruit and or vegetable? The ones that "roll off" the cart and accidentally make their way into her bag. Do they like sweets? Easy to pocket, so of course. Do they drink alcohol? Do fish swim? If they do, what do they act like when they are drunk? Tipsy: calm, relaxed. Drunk: flirtatious and more aggressive. Dead drunk: fights whoever is near or just naps it off. How do they take their tea/coffee? Spiked. What food would they refuse to eat? Anything rotten or dirty. Brings back too many memories of childhood. Is there anything they eat that most people would find unappealing? Eel, snake, anything charred to a crisp and served on a stick is fair game. When going on the road what food could they not live without? Bread and dried meat travel well. What meal gives them a sense of nostalgia? Fresh berries, a favorite as a kid and easy to pluck off the bushes outside the city. What do they do when no one’s around? Wander aimlessly, enjoying the silence. Check her bags to see what loot has been recently acquired. How would they react if a prized possession got stolen? Vengeful. She would retrieve the item at all costs and take as much of the thieves possessions as possible for their foolish actions. Depending on the item, she may take more than just their belongings. What’s the first thing they would buy if they won the lottery? Liquor. A new, more inconspicuous bag or two. A few nights in one of Vesuvia's luxury spas... or luxury brothel. What would their favorite modern invention be? Air conditioning and running water. In a new unfamiliar place, what do they do? Properly assess the situation. Learn the layout of her surroundings and the patterns of the residents. Proceed with caution. Someone just threatened them what do they do? Depends on the person, the threat, and the situation. Usually, just smile. A rather well rich looking woman just dropped her purse and didn’t notice. What do they do? Enjoy the free dinner, expensive liquor, and additional purchases made with whatever gold and jewelry are in the bag. Plant the empty, stolen bag on an enemy. Watch what happens next while eating free snacks. What’s the worst thing someone has said to them? "I know you actually care." What is the strangest thing they’ve ever come across? She once stumbling upon Count Lucio in one of Vesuvia's worse-off brothels enjoying a harem of filthy whores representing all shapes, sizes, sexes, and creeds... all wearing only goat masks and braying like barnyard animals.  The Count invited Zui to join. She did not. Luckily this memory is currently lost. Let's hope it stays that way. Someone just stole food from them what do they do? Retrieve the food. If the thief ate it, still retrieve the food out of principal and dispose of the critically wounded offender with the palace's handy, dandy eels. They meet a man at a crossroads. The man says they can have everything they’ve ever wanted. What happens next? Seduce the man. Take everything he has. Leave him drunk and pantsless in a field nearby. As a child what would they say they wanted to be as an adult?  ie. When I grow up I’m going to be _______ Never filthy and shoeless again. What’s their D&D alignment? Chaotic Neutral. What is the stupidest thing they’ve ever done? Fell in love. Made friends. Things that can get you in trouble. Have they ever got in trouble with the law or been arrested? Illusion magic comes in handy... so no, not yet. Do they know how to win a fight? Always. Are they good at hand to hand combat? Quick and skilled at disarming/subduing foes. Have they ever stolen something? Is this a joke question? Have they ever killed someone? No, but those eels certainly have. What/who do they find disgusting? Brown-nosers. Family life. Status. Body odor. What upsets them the most? Being exposed as having human feelings. Body odor. What anime character would they be? What is Anime? What Disney character would they be? What is Disney? What monster would they be? Humans are monsters enough. What mythological figure would they be? The invisible kind. List three songs that you associate with them. "World in My Eyes" Depeche Mode / "Rid Of Me" PJ Harvey / "IOU" Wolfsheim The more adult round What kind of gift would they be the happiest about receiving from a lover? The lover naked, possibly holding a fresh bottle of bourbon. Are they an easy lay? Nothing is ever easy with them. If it appears easy, she's probably stolen all your items and left before you could blink. Major turn-ons. Sarcasm, a sharp wit, intelligence, clean and well-manicured individuals who smell amazing. Major turn offs Crude comments, arrogance, bad hygiene, vile body odors. Erogenous zones? Wouldn't you like to know? Who are they romantically interested in? This Julian fellow who seems to be conveniently wherever she is. The Countess also comes to mind.  Plus there's this woodsman type although she’s currently forgotten his name. How do they interact with someone they're romantically interested in? Sly jokes, inappropriate comments at appropriate times, a lot of bodily contact. Where do they like to be kissed? Everywhere and anywhere. Do they like cuddling? She likes touching in general so- Big spoon or little spoon? Big spoon. What traits do they look for in a lover? Fast whit, sharp tongue, does not restrict her, reliable, generous. How many past relationships have they had? If one-night-stands count, too many. If they don't, not enough. How many people have they had sex with? Enough to know what she likes and really, really doesn't. Giving or receiving? Yes, please. Top, bottom or verse? Top, usually. Sub dom or switch? Never a sub.

[dinoswrites]

Clothed in Light || Chapter 4: Masquerade

Arranged Marriage AU. Asra/Apprentice/Muriel. Ongoing.

| Previous | Masterpost | Next |

It’s two weeks to Kai and Asra’s first anniversary, and it seems like the whole city has gone mad preparing. Asra’s uncle announced months ago that the entire city of Vesuvia would be welcomed into the palace for the celebrations, promising an entire week of feasting, displays of magic or art, and dancing.

It’s going to be a masquerade. Muriel’s been carving masks since he found out, whimsical animal shapes, and Asra’s been painting them, imbuing them with magic to make them shine a little brighter, and hide their wearer’s identity a little better. They’ve already sold quite a few, at Asra’s makeshift Tarot stand, but Muriel has refused to take all of the money so they’ve been putting it aside. “For a rainy day,” Asra says.

Kai is doubly busy, helping not only with preparations at the palace but also with the orders flooding her aunt’s magic shop.

“Perfumes, mostly,” Kai had explained, dark circles under her eyes as she, Asra and Muriel polish their hundredth glass bottle each. “And, um. Contraceptives. Lots of those. Aunt Jay has a lace making spell, but I haven’t quite gotten the hang of it yet, so I’m filling all of these orders for her.”

Asra had immediately scrutinized the closest bottle. “Is it all magic perfume, or what?”

“Pretty much all of it has enchantments to make the scent last longer when you wear it. The more expensive ones have other properties—this one will make the wearer’s eyes glow when they say the word please.”

“That’s… weirdly specific.”

“She ordered it special for her wife. And her wife ordered her that one you’re holding, Asra. It will create an illusion of horns on the wearer’s head.”

Asra’s cheeks had flushed, and he had immediately put down the bottle.

“But most of them are simpler. Oh! I almost forgot!”

She had run off, then, over to a corner of the room, and come back a moment later carrying two ceramic jars.

“I made these for you when I was practicing! You should wear them, and let me know what you think!”

Muriel had taken the heavy, earth-toned jar home with him that night. And he had opened it and smelled it—and then immediately closed it again, because it was strong, and Inanna had coughed and hacked and refused to come into the house for a solid minute, she was so surprised by it. So he shook his head and put it on a shelf, because the jar was nice enough, and forgot about it for a while.

Until today, two weeks to the masquerade, with Kai spending the night with him instead of Asra.

“I just need a break,” she had confessed in the shop that afternoon. “There’s so many people at the palace, and I’m supposed to know who they all are, and Cinis gets so upset because they always want to pet him…”

Muriel had glanced up at the cat in question. He was crouching in the rafters at the time, eyeing Asra and Muriel with his usual air of resigned tolerance. He’s grown a little over the past year, though he’s still an unusually small cat by far, and still so skinny that in spite of his fur he looks like someone put a bunch of charred sticks together and called it a cat. Not to mention that his since eyes are permanently narrowed, and glowing like hot coals, he remains the most unfriendly looking animal Muriel has ever seen.

In his opinion, anyone who tries to pet that cat deserves what’s coming to them.

“Cinis always feels better away from the city. Why don’t you have dinner at Muriel’s? Maybe stay the night?” Asra had suggested, with a sly glance at Muriel.

Muriel had glowered at Asra, who pretended not to notice.

“I still have dancing lessons…”

“I could cover for you. Say you’re not feeling well. You need a break, Kai, you’re running yourself ragged, and it’s only going to be busier once the masquerade starts.”

“You could come too,” Kai had prompted.

But Asra had only waved his hand. “I have one more dress fitting, remember? I’ll meet you both for pumpkin bread in the morning. Alright?”

Dinner is simple—they cook it together over an open fire, and as usual they don’t talk too much. It seems like Asra and Kai can talk all day about magical theory or which courtier was wearing what, but whenever Kai and Muriel are alone she draws quieter. But it feels comfortable—she’ll ask him about a plant, or a tree, as they walk, and he’ll tell her where he found the sticks for this talisman or that charm, but their time spent with one another is largely in quiet, in the softness of their steps on the soil, in the song of distant birds or the contented clucking of his chickens.

Today, Kai radiates nervousness. She picks at her food, and sighs a lot, and is so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t notice Cinis trying to steal some of Inanna’s deer leg.

The wolf puts one paw flat on his back and pins him there, ignoring his indignant howling while she continues eating.

Kai starts when Cinis cries out, and lets out an annoyed sigh when she sees him.

“I don’t know how you thought that one would end,” she scolds, when Inanna finally releases Cinis and he scampers back over to Kai. “Have some of mine if you’re still hungry.”

But even when her cat is sated, and happily curled up in her lap, she still doesn’t relax. She fidgets with her spoon, and the dinner she has barely touched, and generally radiates unhappiness until Muriel sighs, puts his bowl aside, and asks, “What’s wrong?”

She blinks up at him, owl-eyed. And then she bites her lip and looks down at her food again. “My father is arriving tomorrow.”

Muriel knows. Asra had told him, weeks ago, that Kai’s father had announced his intention to attend the masquerade. Asra’s mother has been threatening to enchant the dock planks to flip him into the ocean the moment he steps foot in Vesuvia.

“And?”

Kai shrinks in on herself. She picks at her food some more, sighs again, and finally admits, “He’s been… sending me letters.”

Muriel’s brow furrows. That, he didn’t know.

“I haven’t told anyone,” she continues. “They’re not… they’re not good letters. I stopped responding to them after the second one. I only read them just to make sure he’s not going to show up and take me away again.”

“We wouldn’t let him,” Muriel assures her.

She smiles, and a thread of fondness works its way through her anxiety. “I know that, now. I didn’t at first, but… I’m pretty sure Aunt Jay would turn him into a fish if he tried.”

He can’t help but chuckle at that. “She should, anyway.”

Kai almost laughs. But then her expression falls again, and she puts her bowl aside, and tucks her knees close to her chest.

“He’s… he’s angry that Asra and I haven’t had children. And he says that I’m ungrateful, for everything he’s done for me, and that I’m not taking any of my duties seriously… And I guess he’s right, because I’m hiding out here instead of practicing my dancing…”

“So? Practice here.”

She looks at him like he’s speaking another language. “Here.”

He shrugs, and then gestures to the clearing. “It’s flat.”

She smiles. “I need a partner, Muriel.”

“For what?”

She shakes her head at him, radiating amusement. “Have you ever seen people dance before?”

“… Yes.”

“Okay, then.” She shoos Cinis off her lap, stands, and dusts herself off, before walking around the fire, and holding her hand out to Muriel. “Show me.”

He stares at her hand. “What?”

“You said I should practice here. So, dance with me.”

Part of him wants to say no. Part of him wants to roll his eyes and make a fuss over it, and then get up and go feed his chickens.

But… she’s smiling at him. And her nervousness has vanished, and she’s looking at him, not thinking of her father, or the upcoming masquerade…

“You’re close,” he tells her, moments later, as she guides his hand to her hip.

“That’s the idea,” she replies, a little embarrassed. “I uh—maybe I should lead. Asra says I can lead when we dance if I want to, he likes following better.”

“Is it easier?”

“Uh. I won’t be able to like. Spin you or anything. I’m too short.”

He gets the distinct impression that Kai was not at all expecting him to actually take her up on this. “I’ll lead,” he says. “If you… tell me how.”

She swallows. “Okay,” she says. “Okay. Um. So. You go—your right foot, first.”

“Go where?”

“Towards me.”

“Won’t I step on you?”

“No, I’ll step back when you do. You kind of like… guide me. Push me? A little? Whenever you’re ready.”

He looks down at his feet, just to be sure. It brings him closer to her, and he can smell a subtle, floral scent in her hair. A sweet flower, and something like the ocean… But not like dead fish. Nice ocean smells; salt and clear air.

She looks up at him, her eyes wide. She’s suddenly nervous again—but it feels different, this time. A little closer to excitement.

He takes a slow, halting step forward.

She does not notice, and he bumps into her.

“Oh! Sorry! I wasn’t—um. Looking.”

“This is stupid,” he says, and immediately drops her hand and takes four steps back.

“No it’s not! I’m sorry. Can we try again?”

He almost says no. But she sounds so eager, and…

They try again.

“Maybe we just… sway a bit. Pretend there’s music.”

“Sway?”

“Yeah. Get a feel for the rhythm. That… isn’t there.”

She’s very close to him. She has to crane her head back to look up at him, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

He takes a deep breath—and smells her perfume—before starting to sway.

It’s not like there’s no music at all. The sun is starting to go down, and there are birds singing elsewhere in the forest. There’s the wind in the trees around them, and the sound of the brook he gets his water from.

The sound of her breathing. The beating of his heart. There’s that, too.

Eventually, Kai takes a step, a gentle pressure from her fingertips pulling him along with her. She steps backwards and he follows, startled, but she goes slow, and steady. She smiles up at him after the first step, and then she does it again, and her smile spreads, and with each halting step they take together, he can feel her nervousness slowly fade away, replaced in strides by the warmth of affection, and the familiar, steady contentedness that he has come to associate with their time alone together.

They dance like that, or sort of dance, to music that they cannot really hear, until it begins to rain.

He can hear it before he feels it—the rush of wind in the trees as it shifts, and then the patter of water droplets on the leaves above their heads. And he knows he should hurry and get her inside, before she gets soaked, but… there’s a part of him that doesn’t want this to end. This closeness. With her.

She doesn’t even seem to notice the rain until a drop rolls from his forehead to her nose. And she blinks, startled, before laughing.

Muriel shields her with his cloak and hurries her inside—in spite of her protests—before going back out to put out the fire, and collect what’s left of their dinner.

When he finally ducks inside his hut, Inanna is curled up on his bed, and Kai has started a weak fire inside. She’s sitting on the furs before it while Cinis howls indignantly and stomps around her, tail up in the air.

“Oh you didn’t even get wet,” she scolds the cat. “Not even a drop. Oh—alright, fine, you were traumatized, you silly creature.”

Muriel closes the door behind him. The cat levels him with a withering look, before immediately climbing into Kai’s lap, standing on his hind legs, and pressing his face into her neck. He purrs as loudly as possible, while Kai sighs and strokes his back.

“You’re completely dry, you know,” she informs the cat, who only purrs louder in response.

Muriel shakes off his cloak, drops it onto his chair, and then joins Kai by the fire. She smiles up at him as he sits, and then regards the growing fire a while longer.

Muriel shoves a few more pieces of kindling in, and the logs start to take, finally.

She exhales. “Sorry. No good at fire magic.”

“S’fine. Don’t need magic for this.”

She nods, and he tries to ignore the hint of relief that she’s feeling.

He wonders how long she’s been afraid of fire. What happened, to make her that way. Maybe he’ll ask her, one day—but not today. Not in the woods, where it could break the comfortable calm that always settles between them out here.

“Muriel, can I ask you something?” she ventures, the second time Muriel uses a poker to move the logs around.

“Sure.”

“Are you an empath?”

He stills. And then he fusses with the log some more, even though it doesn’t need it. “Why?”

“Well. Aunt Jay’s been teaching me about crystals, and what they’re used for, and I noticed she always wears Malachite around you, and she has it enchanted to hide what she’s feeling…”

He doesn’t say anything. He knows he should, but he doesn’t really know what. And the longer he’s silent, the more Kai’s nervousness begins to build, and the louder her cat’s purring gets, and the more she keeps talking…

“And you just always seem to know when something’s wrong, even when Asra doesn’t, and you’re so good at just being close when I need you to even though I’m not sure you really like it…”

He clears his throat. He leans back, sitting next to her once again. He doesn’t look at her, but she stops talking anyway, her uncertainty filling the air with a sensation of grinding teeth.

“Yes,” he answers, finally.

She exhales, and relief spills out of her in a bubbling laugh. “Oh, good. That would have been embarrassing if I’d made that all up in my head.”

He can’t help but laugh, a little. A low, rumbling chuckle that just sounds so rough, next to hers.

But she only beams up at him, when he finally dares to look over at her. “That’s a very rare talent, Muriel.”

He shrugs, cheeks burning. “I guess.”

“I mean it! Is it very overwhelming? I guess I see why you’d want to live out here, away from everyone.”

He watches her as she pauses to consider the fire again. And she tries to disguise it, but the idea of living out here worries her. Or maybe, that he would rather live out here than the city.

It worries Asra, too. So Muriel’s used to that.

“What’s happiness feel like?”

He frowns, confused. “Being happy.”

“Muriel. Someone else’s happiness, I meant.”

He sighs. “Pot boiling over.”

Kai giggles, and shifts a little closer. “I guess. How about… surprise?”

“… They go blank. And quiet.”

“Blank?”

“… When everything’s too loud, so you close the door, and you can’t hear anything anymore, but the silence is loud. Like that.”

“Huh. How about… How about love?”

“Love?” Muriel pretends he has to think about it a moment. “It’s. It’s not one feeling. It’s… a lot of them.”

“Tell me about them,” Kai prompts.

He can see the reflection of the fire in front of them in her eyes.

“Dunno,” he mumbles, feeling his cheeks warm, but not looking away.

“Just try. For me?”

He… does. He thinks about people he’s passed on the street, before—and he thinks of Asra’s parents. The adoration Salim feels when Aisha combs her fingers through Asra’s hair, or the fierce protectiveness that rises so frequently from Aisha. And then he thinks of the butterflies he gets in his stomach when there’s moonlight in Asra’s hair, or when he smiles so broadly his cheeks dimple…

Or when he danced with Kai, just now, to birdsong and the sound of oncoming rain. How safe he feels, next to her, firelight in her eyes, and a subtle, sweet perfume in her hair.

“I’m sorry,” Kai blurts. “That was too—personal and—I’m too close, aren’t I? I know you don’t like it, you like your space, I’m sorry…”

She gets up, and Cinis complains loudly even though she holds him close to her chest. She starts to walk towards the door, radiating anxiousness and embarrassment.

“I don’t mind,” Muriel says.

She stops. She looks, tentatively, over her shoulder. “Mind what?”

He clears his throat. “Being close to you.”

She takes a moment, as if she doesn’t quite believe him. But he does not look away from her, even though he can feel his cheeks burning like he’s shoved his face into the fire.

Eventually, she smiles. And she comes back to the fire, and sits next to Muriel.

They don’t talk again for a while—but she does rest her head on his shoulder, her embarrassment easing into comfort, and calm, and the warmth of belonging that comes with them.

 --

The Masquerade is loud, and there are so many people, but Kalani does not step on Asra’s toes once when they dance.

She leads, after all—and Asra bends down to whisper jokes in her ear whenever she feels herself begin to falter, or when she starts to hold him too tight so it turns out alright in the end. He’s wearing the perfume she made him, and every time he moves closer, she catches the smell of patchouli and black pepper, and feels herself relax a little.

Asra does his best to keep her away from her father. At dinner she can’t even see him, and she wants so badly to find out who made the seating plan and give them the biggest, fiercest hug she can manage.

Only part of her feels guilty, avoiding him the first night.

Because she thinks of Aisha and Salim, and even Asra’s uncle, and she thinks… maybe that’s what family should be. So, maybe if she gave her father a chance, and showed him…

Wishful thinking, Aunt Jay had told her.

And Aunt Jay is… usually right. Usually.

Cinis shadows her, sometimes directly under her feet, sometimes lying across her shoulders like an overprotective scarf. He glowers at anyone who gets too close, which doesn’t always stop people from bothering her and Asra, but at least his growling gives her an excuse to leave conversations she doesn’t want to be a part of.

It drains on Asra, being around this many people.

Kalani feels like she’d be alright with it, if she wasn’t terrified her father was going to walk up and start talking to her at any minute.

As the night drags on, however, she gets separated from Asra, briefly. She lets her guard down, maybe—she sees the baker, and for a moment forgets that she’s not Kai, and he doesn’t know her. And she’s left Asra’s side before she even thinks about it, and then she loses track of him entirely.

Just as she reaches for the enchanted lepidolite pendant she’s wearing, a spell to locate Asra on the tip of her tongue, suddenly her father stands before her. Arms behind his straight, straight back, and his eyes narrowed as he looks down his nose at her.

“If I may take a moment of your time, daughter,” he says, his tone perfectly polite and civil. “I believe we have much to discuss.”

She flounders a moment. Cinis, standing at her side, lets out a low warning growl.

No, Cinis warns her. He doesn’t talk much, and it can be a little jarring to hear such a deep, threatening voice come from such a small cat.

Don’t you dare, she thinks back at the cat, as hard and loud as possible. This is a party!

“I should get back to—to my spouse.”

Her father only steps closer, ignoring Cinis entirely. “Really? You expect me to believe you have any relationship with him other than a kept pet? I instructed you to seduce him, girl, and you have yet to cement your position with children. Have I taught you nothing?”

She smells, very suddenly, the scent of myrrh.

“Lady Kalani,” a familiar voice rumbles just behind her, though she has never heard him call her that. “The count… requires your presence. Immediately.”

She turns, and Muriel is standing just behind her. He hardly looks like him at all—he’s dressed head to toe in a formal guard’s uniform, white and gold, a wooden bear mask resting on his face. His hair has been slicked back, he actually looks like he’s shaved properly for a change, and he’s standing up straight for… possibly the first time that she’s seen, anyway.

He’s… very tall. She forgets that, sometimes.

“I believe whatever the Count of Vesuvia has to say to my daughter, he can say to me,” her father retorts, moving to grab Kalani’s arm.

Muriel physically places himself between Kalani and her father.

“State business.”

And then before anyone can say anything else, Kalani feels Muriel’s hand on the small of her back, and he begins to lead her away.

She hears Cinis hiss behind them, and her father sputter indignantly, then the scamper of claws on tile as the cat chases after them. He leaps directly onto her shoulder, curling protectively around her neck. She’s so nervous and jittery that she swears he feels bigger than normal, for a moment.

Muriel’s hand on her back is warm, and trembling.

“Muriel,” she hisses.

“Keep walking,” he whispers, his voice shaking.

He leads her into another hall, and then another, and another, and his hand starts shaking so bad that Kalani realises he’s lost. She slips her arm around his, thinking calming thoughts and hoping Muriel feels them too.

At first, he tenses. But she hums, a little song Asra sometimes sings to himself, and she leads him gently away from the ever-growing crowds.

She leads him into a room that smells of forests, and ripe apples. There aren’t many people in it at all—and they all seem to be lingering near the door, as the room doesn’t seem to hold much appeal for them. But Kalani sees rows and rows of trees, probably magical constructs because they don’t breathe like real trees, but not illusions because she can see them. There is a fog winding through the trees that obscures the size of the room, and it feels like Asra’s magic on her skin—moonlight soft, nighttime still.

She tugs Muriel through the trees, deeper and deeper, until the voices drifting through the doorway vanish somewhere behind them, and there is only the sound of leaves crunching under their feet, and Muriel’s laboured, panicked breathing, and until no matter how many times she turns around, all she can see is Muriel, and trees.

Muriel lets out a relieved sigh, and then finally, finally, turns and faces her properly. He puts his hands on her shoulders, his touch so light she wonders if he’s worried she’ll break under the slightest pressure.

“You okay?” he asks. “He didn’t… he didn’t hurt you. Did he?”

“Am I okay? What about you? Muriel, what are you doing here?”

“He was scaring you. What did he say?”

Kalani exhales. She reaches up, and takes off her gemstone-heavy jaguar mask, looking down at it as she turns it over and over in her hands. “Nothing I shouldn’t have expected, I guess.”

Muriel hesitates. She can feel him waver three times before he lifts one hand from her shoulder, and tentatively touches two fingers to her chin, guiding her gaze back to his.

“Nothing you deserved,” he tells her, his green eyes soft and warm under his mask.

She feels… very warm, all of a sudden.

They are interrupted by the sound of leaves crunching nearby—and Muriel whirls, reaching for Kalani as if to run off with her. But it’s only Asra, holding up his skirts in both hands, looking frantic and worried until he sees them both—and then he just looks equal parts relieved and confused.

“Kai,” he says, rushing forward, “are you okay? Did he find you? I turned around and you were gone, and you kept moving every time I tried to find you…”

“I’m alright,” she assures him. “Muriel was amazing! He just walked up to my father and interrupted him, and whisked me away like it was official palace business.”

Muriel looks like he might faint. “Don’t remind me.”

“You did what?” Asra turns, and looks as though he wants to check Muriel over. “You—Muriel, that’s amazing!”

He looks like he’s starting to sweat under his mask. “Please stop talking about it.”

“Where did you even get this uniform? I don’t think there’s a guard that’s your size…”

Muriel clears his throat. “… I asked Jay.”

“Did she just have that lying around?”

Muriel just looks even more embarrassed and shrugs but honestly, Kalani wouldn’t be surprised if she did.

But it seems Asra isn’t really expecting an answer—he fusses over Muriel’s uniform instead, plucking at the seams. “I mean, it’s good, but it obviously doesn’t hold up to any sort of scrutiny… The number of buttons is wrong, I’m. I’m kind of sure.”

Kalani tugs uneasily at her hair, and shakes her head to clear it. She still feels all warm, and almost fuzzy, from what Muriel said a few moments ago. But that warmth is mostly embarrassment now—because Muriel was just being a good friend, is all. Poor Muriel looks torn between letting Asra fuss and running off into the distance, never to be seen again—and Asra, of course, has no clue.

She wishes Muriel would just let her tell him. They’re perfect for each other.

Cinis chirps, and Kalani bends over to pick him up. She scratches his ears while he purrs in her arms, and she steps up next to Asra, mock scrutinizing the uniform. “Nope, that’s the right number.”

“Well—these seams are too nice, you know? And I see where she could have put in—a dozen protection spells. I could right now, actually, it would be easy.”

“… Please don’t make me turn blue again.”

“That was one time! Wait, you smell different. What did Jay put on this? Myrrh?”

Kalani can see Muriel’s flush spreading out from under his mask, down his neck. “… Perfume. Kai made it.”

“Oh. Oh. Well, in that case, you smell great.”

Poor Muriel looks like he wants to turn invisible.

“Asra,” she says, “We’re both fine. I’m happy Muriel’s here, and I’m sure my aunt was happy to help.”

Asra crosses his arms over his chest. “Well. You could have just said you wanted to help, Muriel. I would have snuck you in. I just—what were you planning in the first place?”

Muriel glances back at Kalani, and then stares down at the ground.

“… He doesn’t feel nice things,” Muriel mumbles, just loud enough for them to hear. “I don’t like him.”

Asra’s expression softens, his lips curling up into a smile. “You didn’t have a plan at all, did you?”

Muriel keeps staring at the ground, and does not reply. So Kalani reaches, low where he can see, and slowly takes his hand. Hesitating just the moment before, so he can pull away if he wants.

He doesn’t. She slowly twines her fingers in his, and then stands on her toes and kisses the cheek of his mask.

“Thank you,” she says, softly.

He swallows.

When Kalani steps back, Asra is looking behind them. She thinks she can make out a flush past his fox mask, but it might be the rosy, false-autumn sunset around them. “Well I think we’ve made enough of a public appearance for tonight, don’t you, Kai?”

“Well…” she glances over at Muriel, who looks like he’s had enough for the night. “Maybe. But the bubble room sounds like so much fun…”

Asra winks. “I agree. Let’s go freshen up first, though.”

He refuses to elaborate the whole way up to their rooms—through all the secret portals and back ways that they know—but when they arrive at Kalani and Asra’s rooms, there are two expertly carved wooden masks, and two matching outfits, laid out on the bed.

“Asra!” Kalani picks up the dress meant for her—the colour of the sky at noon, with glimmering amber accents—and holds it up to herself. “Where did you get these?”

“Just used my share of the mask money. I was worried they wouldn’t be finished in time—oh, that reminds me.” Asra disappears into the closet, and then comes out again with an armful of green and black fabric. “I had a feeling you might change your mind,” he says, beaming at Muriel.

Muriel is still standing in the doorway, looking uneasily around their bedroom. “… Only one bed?”

“We used to take turns sleeping on the floor,” Kalani explains, bending to pick up her new mask. “But… it just seemed silly after a while. We share, now.”

“It’s big enough for like, six people,” Asra says, louder and quicker than he needs to.

She glances up at Asra. His mask is off, and she can see him blushing as he hands the bundled outfit to Muriel. “You can change in the bathroom, if you like. I’ll use the closet, and Kai can just… let us know when she’s done. And we can all go back to the party and have fun and no one will know it’s us.”

Asra hurries Muriel into the bathroom, and then comes back for his own gown—and Kalani stops him before he takes it, with a hand on his arm.

“How long were you planning this?” she asks him.

His returning smile is coy. “Well. You just got so excited when we were planning all the different rooms, but I knew it would be hard for us to just… enjoy them. So I thought, maybe our secret identities could come to the party, too.”

She laughs. “Secret identities.”

“What?”

“You don’t even use a fake name, Asra.”

“I told you, there’s like a hundred Asras my age.”

“Do any of them have white hair?” she teases, standing on her toes to ruffle the hair in question.

“Hey, that look like an hour—”

“And purple eyes?”

“Uh, lavender, thank you.”

“And cheek dimples when they smile?”

He’s well and truly blushing, now. “Well. I’m sure they have some of those things. Maybe. Dimples? Do my cheeks really—”

He turns, as if to go to the closest mirror, but she touches his arm again.

He stops, as suddenly as if she’d grabbed him.

“Thank you,” she says, feeling her own face begin to warm.

He clears his throat. “It’s no big deal.”

“No, I mean… Not just this. For everything.” She rocks back onto her heels, and tugs at her hair. “A year ago, I was so scared.”

He turns back to her, slowly.

“I could barely remember not being at school, and all of a sudden I was expelled, and this person who—he’s my father, he’s supposed to—to look out for me. And I was six years old, the last time I’d seen him, but he was so…”

Cinis starts rubbing his face against her ankles and purring, as loud as he can.

“And then we’re up here, alone together, and I was so scared. Because he had told me what—what I had to do, to make you like me. But instead—instead you took me to see a forest, and I’d always wanted to see one, Asra, so badly. I met Muriel and his chickens and Inanna, and then you helped my find my Aunt, and your parents let her teach me magic even though I know you mother doesn’t like her. And tonight—everyone trying their best to keep my father away from me, even Muriel, and this…”

There are tears in her eyes, now. She rubs furiously at them with the back of her palm—only for Asra to step forward, and catch her wrist. He takes her hand and holds it between his, a moment, before reaching up himself, cupping her cheek in his palm and wiping the tears from her eyes with his thumb.

He looks, for a moment, as if he’s about to say something. But then the moment passes, and he smiles instead. “You never had to make anyone like you, Kai.”

She lets out a breathy laugh. “I had some teachers who would seriously disagree with that.”

He laughs, low and soft. As he starts to withdraw, she curls her fingers tighter around his.

“I’m—I’m trying to say that this year has been the best year of my life,” she tells him. “So… thank you. For your part in it.”

Finally, she drops his hand. He ducks his head.

“I should… go change.”

“Yeah! Yeah, me too.”

He doesn’t turn from her immediately. He lingers, his eyes wide, his lips slightly parted. And then he closes his mouth, and she’s close enough to hear the clack of his teeth as he does, shakes his head, and picks up his gown and mask, and heads into the closet to change.

She lets out the breath she’d been holding, and tries to calm the racing of her heart.

 --

By the time Kai finally agrees to go to bed, she’s nearly falling asleep on her feet, she’s so exhausted.

Muriel carries her all the way up to her and Asra’s rooms, and Asra pretends not to notice his furious blushing the whole while.

“You should stay tonight, too,” Kai mumbles into Muriel’s shoulder while Asra unlocks the door. “It’s late.”

And Muriel must be exhausted, too, because he doesn’t even argue with her.

Muriel and Kai fall asleep right away—Kai on her side, as usual, Cinis curled up into a ball at the small of her back, and Muriel flat on his back in the middle of the bed, snoring ever so slightly. Faust is already curled up on her own pillow, on the corner of Asra’s side of the bed, her tongue flicking lazily as she dreams.

Asra takes a few minutes to cast a laundering spell on their clothes, before folding and tucking them away in the chest in the closet. The chest has grown to bursting over the last year—Asra keeps all of Kai’s street clothing in there, as well as his own, and a few books he prefers to keep to himself.

One of them has the flowers Kai wore on their wedding night, pressed between the pages. Another has a few of the forget-me-nots that grow near Muriel’s hut.

When he returns to the bed, he doesn’t slip under the covers right away. He watches them both sleep a while, in the slivers of moonlight that slip past the curtains. He watches Muriel’s chest rise and fall, admires his peaceful, relaxed expression. He sees Kai’s hand, resting on the bed so, so close to Muriel’s shoulder. As if she were reaching out, in her sleep.

Sometimes, he forgets it’s been a year.

Sometimes, he marvels that it’s only been a year.

It seems at the same time that Kai was thrown into his life yesterday, and that she’s always been there. He thinks back to his childhood memories of running through the streets with Muriel, and it’s jarring that he cannot place Kai there in turn.

More often than not, when he is alone with Kai, he turns, and is surprised that Muriel isn’t there, too.

It’s strange, because of how not strange it is at all, to see Muriel in this bed, too.

They’ll make a great couple, someday, he thinks, as he slips into bed beside Muriel.

It’s not a sad thought. It’s not.

He drifts off to the slow, steady rhythm of Muriel’s breaths—and half-wakes later, as Muriel slings an arm over his side, and tucks himself against Asra’s back. Like they used to, when they were kids—only, Muriel’s a lot bigger now.

Just as Asra is about to fall asleep again, he hears the blankets shift, and a low mrr of complaint from Cinis. And then Kai’s arm slings over Muriel’s side, her fingertips just resting on Asra’s hip.

Asra lies there, his heart in his throat, listening to Kai and Muriel breathing, feeling the rise and fall of Muriel’s chest at his back like a burning fire, Kai’s fingertips like lightning sparks, and he thinks: they will make a great couple. Just the two of them.

If his breath catches, and his eyes water—then no one else is awake to see it.

[chilltouch]

my mind decided to focus on what different subclasses all my active-ish characters could be:

S-POR, Circle of Spores => Circle of Stars

LUC-A, Forge Domain/Rune Knight => Light Domain/Champion

Torne Thorne, Wild Magic (if he was in dnd) => Shadow

Iris the Beguiler, Oath of Redemption => Oath of Ancients

Praden, Oath of Ancients => Oath of Devotion/Redemption

Mayuyu, Diwata/College of Spirits (Diwata Sorcerer from Sina Una supplement) => Storm/College of Creation

Ignatius Brenton, Oath of Conquest/Swashbuckler => Oath of Treachery/Soulknife

Mycena,

Val/Bedlam, Assassin (if he was in dnd) => Mastermind

Vesuvia, Drakewarden => Beast Master

[s0diepop]

Reborn I

[its 3am when I write this and I just rly wanted to Hurt(tm) my apprentice lol so take this]

It had been a few months since the plague finally came to its end. Though, quite remarkably, no one was entirely sure how it had happened. The end of their torment seemed to be overlooked when paired with the news that their beloved count had been murdered. Burned in his own room, at his own masquerade, by his own doctor.

Before the doctor had left the city, escaping his death sentence once and for all, he had stood at the docks and looked out at the island which held his mistakes. Every failure, charred and left to decay in the horizon. He swallowed, and shook his head, and found himself unsure of the tight feeling in his chest as he stole a boat, and fled.

Yet, when he passed the island, he knew the feeling all too well. Grief.

The Lazaret, by now, was unused. The crematoriums ached with neglect, crumbling bit by bit each day. Lifeless stone cluttered along the walkways of sand, and the vague structures of buildings left shadows stretching across the ground. They turned the chalky ash into new shades of darkness, as if the lack of light revealed their true horror. As if the shadows highlighted the plague this island had left on the history of Vesuvia.

The shoreline of the island, much like the rest of it, was coated in layer upon layer of dark ash. Lives, once full of promise, had melted into nothing. The screams still echoed in the winds, and if you listened very closely, you could hear the last words of those who met their end here. It was dead, completely. Every tree was coated with rot, and every flower had become nothing more than a grey stem.

The only sign of life was the raven that hopped anxiously on the shore, circling one spot. She was small, potentially a baby, and her beautiful silver chest had been masked with the ash of the beach she stood on. She cawed, but the sound was hopeless and weak. Every time she hopped, she kicked up more ash, and seemed to caw out again, as if apologising. Some days, she screamed so loud that the folks on the shore could hear her. And some days, she fell silent, blending with the noise of her omen.

One day, the raven had been sat very still for a long time. Those who saw it may have theorized she was dead, but she was far from it. The raven had been staring at the spot again, feet still, gaze unwavering. The stance lasted hours, the sun beating down onto her feathers through the heat of midday. She was focused. She was determined. She dug her talons into the ash, willing, praying, begging.

And the Arcana heard her.

With a flash, and a sound, and a blinding light, the island was a cacophony of life and sound and energy for just a moment. If you had blinked, you would have missed it. Missed how the red rays melted into orange and yellow, missed the silhouettes rising from the ash, missed the screams of children and the cries of lovers lost. The island came to life, just a moment, to remind the people of Vesuvia that they were still here.

When the light died, and the raven looked again, she cawed in desperate delight. In front of her, he lay. Her owner, her master. The same tanned skin and dark red hair, the same intense golden eyes, the same man.

But not.

Because when he looked at her, he didn't cry or laugh or smile. His eyes were dazed, mouth agape slightly, his face an echo of emptiness. The raven hopped closer, until he shuffled and something fell from around his neck. They both stared, fascinated with the cold chain that had appeared from seemingly nowhere, and even more so with the golden, freshly polished ring that hung around it. The raven gauged for a reaction from her master, but found none as he quietly babbled.

Her attention was quickly drawn by the sound of distant voices. When she turned, craned her neck, she saw a boat. Headed towards them, with people yelling and waving towards them. She watched her master turn lazily towards them, still on his stomach, struggling to find the strength to push himself up.

So she screamed. Cawed, yelled, begged for their help. She watched him turn, slightly amazed, hearing the words she cried without having the tongue to pronounce them.

The boat arrived, and a group of men approached her master. They asked questions, gave queries, but he did not have the answers. Didn't have the words. One of the men began to wrap him in blankets, while the other held his hand and read his palm, confirming what the raven knew. By some form of magic, alchemy, some kind of witchcraft, this man had been brought back from the dead. They all conferred, agreeing he didn't know how to speak, he couldn't remember anything, he was the equivalent of a newborn child. They took him onto the boat, and let the raven perch on his shoulder, and they set sail back to the docks.

The first word he said was on the way there. The sailors laughed, as he had only mimicked the cawing of the bird. But the raven understood. She always understood him. And she nodded, knowing his message was to her, and not them.

Thank you.

[embersrevived]

can we see some of nadir's poetry sometime? c:

@magicthwink

Of course!! Though as a general disclaimer, some of them, namely the earlier ones, were written at times when Nadir merely had a certain or biased perspective of certain characters (such as Lucio) in mind, and thus may be riddled with inaccurate depictions and portrayals based upon initially erroneous judgment and the like. 

^^” Take this very early draft of one such poem that’d been composed about Lucio for instance: 

1. 

The Lyric of Lucenzo the Libidinous

Thigh high ebony boots clacking smugly upon the palace floor

The dread brimming within mortal eyes as he opened the door.

Carnelian tainted sclera surrounding each frigid argentine iris,

An entrance as if he were a god king akin to Alexander or Cyrus.

His face perpetually engulfed by that ever widening, ravenous demonic grin.

His lascivious musings dwelling on the likes of torture, debauchery, and sin.

A spoiled sovereign who thrived and clung to even the most meager applause.

The petty prince who indignantly grasps the peasant’s chin with his claws.

A Narcissus enthralled with the sound of his own Echo and tone inflection,

A hammy thespian flirting with and lavishing praise upon his own reflection.

The flamboyant pharaoh’s cape trails on marble like the azure peacock’s plume,

His aquiline nose held high as he drowns all in his path with pungent perfume.

A self-proclaimed Apollo in all his aureate glory descending the palace stairs,

And ethereal emperor beloved by every one of his subjects, blissfully unawares.

And the one impudent scum who dared slight him roasted on a spit upon a pyre,

All whilst the court musician was coerced to strum his tribute upon a worn lyre.

The gaze of an adored Adonis bearing a most chilling hue of gelid cerulean,

Pressured youths and maidens to sigh and swoon before a physique Herculean.

And only one such as he could ever snag a heliotrope-haired beauty as his wife,

His endless tantrums and proclamations of grandeur only a fraction of her strife.

In vain at times the silenced former princess did make herself scarce and hide,

Only to be yanked by the brash, blonde brute by a metallic arm to his noble side.

His men intoxicated with liquor, he commanded them all to marvel this prize.

Tauntingly parading her before them to be gawked at by a myriad lewd eyes.

An ashen-haired mage’s brows furrowed at seeing his dear friend thus treated,

And an unlicensed ginger physician cringing as his patient so crudely bleated.

Although that fateful day nothing but his charred remains were left by that fire,

The apparition of the salacious satyr yet lingered and haunted them with his ire.

Incisive claws swiped through the feminine form of his once long suffering mate,

In denial the Lady had since liberated herself of him to embrace a better Fate.

Based on the various accounts and begrudging recollections of the late Count by the other characters (Nadia, Asra, Julian, Muriel, and perhaps even Valerius), Nadir initially did indeed latch onto something of an insidious image of Lucio at the time she had scribbled all of that down. 

Though in this particular poem she also managed to  inadvertently not give such characters, namely Nadia, enough credit for having the fortitude to confront and stand up to Lucio and his behavior and more narcissistic attributes. This is perhaps most clearly seen in that one paragraph where Nadir imagines the pre-plague Lucio parading Nadia about in a manner that indicated he valued Nadia more for how well she complemented him physically rather than for her other attributes, namely her levelheadedness, maturity, and tactfulness in dealing with sensitive and diplomatic issues both within Vesuvia as well as abroad. Perhaps Nadir had mainly focused on the perceived suffering that Lucio was said to have caused the other main characters when she included that one passage. As such, without meaning to, she perhaps hadn’t given Nadia full credit for the times she most definitely endeavored to put Lucio in his place. 

And of course there was no way for Nadir to know if such a scenario as Lucio  callously embarrassing Nadia before his subordinates had ever even occurred. Though she probably had put it in there to emphasize her then fully villainous take on his perceived self-absorbed and ignoble character.  

And in addition, with Lucio’s route not having been released yet, there is still his perspective that we must take into consideration as well concerning recollections of key events and the like and the possible further development of the Count’s character in general before she can make any definitive judgments. 

And I anticipate and hope that as Nadir interacts with various depictions of Lucio via rp interactions and develops a fuller and more in-depth understanding of his character, she will be more willing to make adjustments to some of her preconceived notions concerning him. 

Also, I headcanon that she has written several concerning a certain rowdy redheaded rabble-rouser. Take this one for instance: 

2.  

Ode to the Ginger Physician Rogue: A Devorak Limerick

“ He appeared before all in stealthy guise,

Trouble prone hellion with mischievous eyes.

Either danger or sin.

Lay within that rogue’s grin.

A pirate looting hearts ��neath raven skies.”

Also, sometimes the little poems she has written about Julian are completely devoid of any seriousness or form whatsoever. Take this one for instance: 

3. 

There was once a pirate doctor who’d sprawl out like a crimson noodle. 

Despite his towering and dramatic appearance, he was sweet as a strudel. 

Sparkling and argentine eyes curiously staring, innocent as a ginger kitten. 

The wee mewls and squeaks he’d make when elated, surprised, or smitten!

 And after a lengthy day of patients, surgery, and struggle. 

He’ll so warmly and affectionately purr and snuggle. 

And should you need comfort when things get tough. 

He smothers you with his auburn fluff. ~ :3

This particular one had been written about @plague-doctor-jules ‘s Julian muse specifically, since their Julian has demonstrated a tendency to request and seek cuddles and snuggle in a manner akin to a giant, floofy, ginger feline haha. Basically this particular ‘poem’  just one silly, short little fluff piece. xD 

[marsalaandthearcana]

Heartbeat (Book XIII Asra X Apprentice)

I’m not going to lose you, please. Please don't let this happen.

The sight of the Lazaret really was a sight, not for its beauty, but because it looked like the sight of death, and it was. 

I could remember us and the last time I saw you. I thought I would never see you again.

The boat moved closer to the island, rowing closer to the sounds of death that was alluring, almost like as if they were calling for you.

I remember the last time we spoke. It was the quarrel about leaving home, leaving Vesuvia. You just wanted to help everyone.

The boat bumped the ground and as soon as I felt the signs of land, I ran as fast I could, not knowing where my feet would take me, but I was willing to go anywhere just to see you again, just one more time.

And I wanted to run away, I wanted to keep you safe. I wanted us to a place where we could call home, but I didn't call for you when you left.

I saw the ruins of the island they called the resting place of the doomed, It was covered in vines intertwined with the walls and the trees. The winds whispered death in this place.

All I did was run away. I didn't want to come back.

Till I found out you were sick, close to dying,

I moved the branches and the bushes away from me. I called out your name, maybe you would come back to me.

Are you here?

There was no reply. Not even a sound of shock, happiness, or even despair. No, please don't let this happen. I called your name over and over.

That's when I realized, I was too late.

I walked to see the traces of magic on the ground. The site of smoke arising from the small flame, close to being extinguished. I looked closer to see the sight of charred bone and ash. That's when I knew.

No, this can't be real. You were safe with him, in the palace. Why? Why would this happen? It could've been anyone, but it had to be you.

I had to see if this was real, maybe it wasn't. I dug through the ashes and cracked little bones. I dug till my fingers had hurt and bled. There was nothing left, this was me holding all of what was left of you.

I can't accept this, I lost you once and now you're gone forever. You're gone.

My tears streamed down by itself. I couldn't control what I felt. I could never see you again. I could never hold and feel you again. Your face, your embrace, your touch, and your bright smile.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry...

I couldn't leave you here. It hurt me to see you like this. Just like that, you were out of existence in this world.

I'm here now, I'll save you this time.

I was too late. I would do anything to bring you back. Anything that would make it sure that I'll see you the next morning. I'll do anything to feel you and see your smile.

I would do anything to feel that heartbeat again.

[arcana-duderino]

Rocco/Asra

@padrooke I promised you a fic so here it is. (No cut due to Mobile)

The words hit his stomach like a lead balloon. Leave? His shock and horror quickly mutated into anger.

"Leave! We can't leave."

To Rocco Vesuvia was his home. His shop was here, his friends were here. He needed to stay.

"Our magic is needed. Your magic is needed"

The man the added pointing harshly at Asra.

The Magician was gathering a small bag while his scarf rested haphazardly on his neck.

"We will get sick if we stay."

Asra replied. His eyes were looking over the bottles and jars of various magical items, but his attention was on the conversation.

The response made Rocco's blood boil.

"I don't care. We need to help!"

Asra clicked his teeth in annoyance.

"Rocco! My magic can't bring you back from the dead!"

He yelled. Asra's pale eyebrows furrowed in growing anger.

Rocco matched the look.

"I don't care. We're needed more now than ever."

"I can't lose you!"

"Well I'm staying."

Rocco looked away from Asra and walked to the table in the back. He sat down in one of the plush chairs and silently watched Asra gather things before he quietly slipped out of the door.

-----

"We got into a fight"

Asra's voice cracked as he spoke. His hands trembled as memories of that night.

"You wanted to stay and I wanted to leave."

Tears formed in Asra's eyes. Rocco watched in distressed dismay unsure what to do. Asra continued.

"When I learned what happened I came back to try to find you."

The man started to break down. His voice completely shattered.

"All that I could find of you was charred bone and ash."

Rocco was silent. His throat went bone dry, with his free hand, Rocco clutched his shirt. He didn't know what to think. All he knew was that Asra deserved the world and he wanted to give it to him.