#it’s like this subtle hint that Dally is going to die

[made-my-peace-with-all-the-bad]

Why did I never realize that when Ponyboy introduces everyone in the musical, it’s all in present tense, except for Dally who he introduces by saying “every Wolfpack has its alpha, and ours WAS Dally”

[the-fae-folk]

*Quoth* every bit of writing advice ive read talks about having a really good hook. but nothing actually explains what that means or how to do it.

(transcribed and translated from Quoth the Raven) Of course they don’t tell you how. Most people who tell you to do that have no idea how to write a good hook. They’re just parroting advice that they’ve heard. Lets start with what a hook is. A Narrative Hook is just a literary technique that “Hooks” the reader’s attention and keeps them interested enough in your writing to actually want to keep going. So many bits of advice emphasize that your hook has to be the very first sentence. In many cases they are correct. But not always. A hook can also be several paragraphs, or even the first few pages of a novel. Only academic writing needs to place so heavy an emphasis on your first sentence and paragraph because you have to make your point immediately and move on. There’s no time for dallying or dillying in Academia. But even though you have a bit more leeway in other types of writing you’ve still got to be careful. This isn’t just something you can scribble out and move on. A good narrative hook takes some planning. You have to think about WHO your audience is and WHY this particular bit of writing will hook them. What about it will intrigue or interest them enough that they’ll resist other plays for their attention in order to follow those thoughts. And of course not only does your hook need to be for your audience (or audiences if you insist on writing for more than one at a time), but it also needs to be relevant to your story or characters somehow. It should give us a reason to keep reading so that we can see more where that came from, to see how it connects and keeps giving. Even something that touches upon the themes of your book would be good if the writing is clever enough. Dialogue will give insight on the characters, setting, or even signs of the conflict. Let me give you an example. ��The skies are always dark when I stop at the McDonald's on my way to work in the morning. Just a breakfast sandwich and a sprite is enough to keep me going. I always see the strangest people when I come out this early. But the strangest of all was when I saw Death herself feeding the starlings with french fries.” In this paragraph I’ve done several things. I purposefully did not put the hook at the beginning of the paragraph. Instead I’ve given you both a general setting for your story (Set in a contemporary world where such things as a McDonald’s exists and people actually want to eat there) and some insight into your character and their life (someone who is unfortunate enough to have to get up for an early morning shift and doesn’t have time for breakfast at home). It tells you about the sorts of things they’ll eat and what the general expectation for this part of their life is like (they see lots of weird people around this time of day because that’s just what happens at McDonald’s around 6am).

Then I drop the bombshell. Disguised as a casual statement that is merely continuing the previous thought I happen to mention that I saw Death doing something as ordinary as feeding starlings her french fries. This sentence, though seemingly tame is quite extraordinary for a number of reasons. It introduces the metaphysical concept of Death as a character who can move about and do person things like eat (or not eat) french fries. It tells us that Death is not just a person...but a HER! How many depictions of Death are female in our contemporary media? A few...but not that many. Even something as mundane seeming as Starlings might have significance. Besides being initially odd (Because usually one might say crows or pigeons when someone is feeding birds), you might have starlings have some greater significance later on, perhaps some kind of symbolism you hint at. Or you might just really like starlings and think that they themselves are odd enough to mention that it might help, either one works just as well. Even though Death is just feeding a bunch of birds some fries we already have so many questions that NEED answering. Why is Death there? What’s her story? Why starlings? And why McDonald’s french fries of all things? We’ve hooked the reader into wanting more. But did you know that you don’t have to begin things with a scene? A question could be a startling and interesting way to start out a piece of writing. Drop straight to the heart of the matter and question the reader themselves. “What is your third favorite reptile?” Is a fun one I’ve heard, especially since you can immediately elaborate on that with your own favorite reptile and why any of this is relevant to whatever your writing is supposed to be about. Really there are lots of ways you can start a story. A declaration that something is so! A significant quote that pulls your reader straight into the middle of a heated conversation. Perhaps an interesting fact or statistic might help you (it can even be entirely made up if your story is set in a fictional world. I once read a book that interspersed the entire story with encyclopedia style clips about places, people, things, and creatures that didn’t exist outside of the story’s world). Even just describing something in great detail is acceptable, whether an enchanted forest, a cold and empty moon, or an apartment filled with half filled cups that your protagonist keeps forgetting to finish and put in the dishwasher. You can even begin with a particularly unique or really well chosen metaphor (or simile) that will set a certain tone or idea for everything that comes after it. (I read a short story where they used a popular spiritual cliche as their first sentence and then spent the entire piece undermining the sentiment.) So many ways to make a hook, and even better, make a good hook. However... You don’t HAVE to use a hook. It’s a literary technique that has become rather popular, but it’s not set down in the rules that you must absolutely use one or your entire piece of writing will burst into flames and die. There are a lot of good stories, essays, and other pieces of writing that don’t use hooks. It does get a lot more difficult if you don’t  use one though. The point of a hook is that initial attention grab. If you decide not to use one you will run the risk of many people not reading past your first few pages. It’s not the end of the world, but its a dangerous game to play. The rest of your work will have to be truly worth the read for you to get away with that sort of thing in this day and age. Well, I hope that answers your question and gives you a good place to start writing hooks for your stories! (or essays). In thanks I request that you go feed some birds (not starlings because they’re so annoying. Always like “look at me! I’m so mateable and majestic even though I’m flying in a swarm of a thousand others who look exactly like me and none of us will shut up for five minutes about who can get it on the best or who can find the best fruit and insects.” Ugh. Stupid little things. They think they’re so pretty. I agree, they’re pretty irritating.) (Notes from the Author of the Blog: One unmentioned form of Narrative Hook is called “In Media Res”. It literally means “in the middle of things” which is fairly on point because the technique is about beginning your story in the middle of the action instead of slogging through all the boring exposition. It’s a little hard to pull off well because it demands that the writer find fluid and subtle ways to introduce all that worldbuilding and essential info to the reader without giving a pages long infodump later on when the reader needs to understand something for plot reasons. Also, a Hook can be found in other types of media besides writing. In music it is a musical phrase or idea that is used to catch the listener’s attention and make the music seem appealing. In film they have something similar that is used to try and grab the viewer’s attention in the first 5-10 minutes. It is a very good tool to know how to use and use well, though it may take a bit of practice to get right. Finally, the Author of the Blog does not share Quoth’s views on Starlings; though maybe still don’t feed them (or any bird) french fries.)

[fanesavin]

The crowning ceremony of the High Raj Avitej Sharma, First of his Name.

[ Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (x) | (x) Part 4 ]

@danisavin / @faye-andrews / @thatwhichbindsus / @bumblingbrujo / @mayaparker @scarlettxruby / @avitejsharma / @xxtuaharjunaxx

Iann stayed the night in the Castle, mostly because he already had his things here for the Coronation, but also because he met a Duchess who needed attending to for the night. He'd left her chambers early though, getting his ablutions in ocean water and change into formal attire done first, before he wandered back into the courtyard in the hopes that the servants hadn't completely cleared the feasting table from last night. He was glad to find some mead still remained. It was Honeywild, but it would do. Besides, that meant the Forty Isle casks had been drained last night, while Honeywild's remained. The drink of desperate men. Iann smiled, pleased at the thought. He sipped the mead and nibbled at handful of berries, slowly surveying the Castle. Inside the main part of the castle would open up to the Grand Hall. That was where the Sunlit Throne sat, where the Bluesprings crown would be, guarded by Rajisthangard day and night. The coronation would be happening in a few hours, once nobles managed to get their heads out of their cups, or off the thighs of a lover. Iann was looking forward to it. Or rather, he was looking forward to it finally happening, so that he cold return to his Flagship and continue his travels. Back up North, to release the White Lady back into the northern wilds, and to visit his son in Blackspire. And then perhaps a trip back to the Forty Isles. Perhaps the sight of his eldest son would encourage his dear father to die faster. Plans for the future; but for now, he waited, patiently. Iann drank his mead and ate his berries and leaned against one of the spired columns, watching the servants and Cloverry members hustling around him.

Miguel was surprisingly well rested for someone who had gotten so little sleep. Before he went out into the public eye, he skittered toward his own room and changed into something a little more subtle. Not the outfit for the coronation itself, that would come later - and it would look like his mother dressed him. Which he wasn't looking forward too, so he enjoyed the course fabric and easy movement of the warrior's garb he donned. The only item that was a bit more ceremonial were the obsidian and gold daggers he kept close to his chest. It seemed most people were sleepy or hung over, so Miguel lidded his eyes a little - no one needed to know how good he felt, or how ready he was to conquer the day. He bumped shoulders with Iann and took some of the berries he had in his hands, payback for the apple. "Have a nice night, Iann?"

Iann "Somewhat. A ruined red dawn though, at the sight of you," Iann said, but at the same time offering Miguel a sip from his cup of mead. "See how they move and bustle. The people move forward, eager for someone to be crowned. Even in the light of yesterday's incidents," he murmured thoughtfully. "Then again, plenty of 'incidents' happen with the commonfolk, that is beyond our knowledge." Or care. "We only remark about this because it's affected our own. And I believe what happened to the Grand Lady and your Witch of the Wilds friend, is what slipped through the cracks of a rather tightly held ship. Imagine how much more 'incidents' surge around us noble few..." Iann looked around the empty courtyard (aside from the servants and guards). "Trying to break into this peace and shatter it for good."

Miguel grinned and took a little mead from his brother's goblet. The only time they took food from each other was when it had obviously been eaten of drunk from the other. But the false brotherly intimacy amused Miguel to no end. "The sight of you fills me with joy I can hardly express," he crooned to Iann. "What would I do without you? Get my own drink? Unthinkable." The mention of the incidents with Cassandra and Lady Lacroy dampened the mood somewhat. "Hmm. True, I wouldn't spare a thought for these incidents if it involved parties other than our darling sister-in-law. But there are plenty of things I don't know, and I don't bother myself with the knowledge of not knowing," Miguel chuckled a little at his sentence, at the sheer absurdity of it. "In fact, it hurts my head a bit to think of. I'll leave the mind and tongue twisters to you."

Iann snorted. "You forget who you're talking to, Miguel. Drop the hapless clownfish act." He didn't believe for a second that his brother's head 'hurt' from thinking too much. That was his brother's problem, half the time - he overthought things, far too much. The youngest Cardero was incredibly intelligent, in ways that Iann didn't dally in. It was Miguel's cunning that Iann paid more attention to. "What I'm saying is that this is all to be expected. A few desperate attempts to stir up trouble, and discontent in people's hearts, now that we are all collected here to be admired and to admire. The problem with desperation is that it's a very dangerous weapon on its own...." He pressed his lips together tightly. "And both incidents certainly gave the commonfolk a show, spectacles that they've been denied by the Cloverry's austerity. I'm not sure which they'll be talking about more for weeks after: the actual Coronation, or the glimpse of frilly underclothing they got up Cassandra's pretty dress while she was being whisked down the streets of Upper City."

Faye almost hadn't returned to the capitol after the previous evening's debacle. Her pride had been viciously bruised, her trust betrayed, and her hope that maybe, just maybe, /he/ would be different shattered. So Faye had took the glaringly obvious hint that she was as unwelcome with him as with any other, and taken her leave. But as she'd gotten further and further away, that bruising hurt had turned to anger. And that anger had turned to something else. Something that had spurred the actions of her ancestor. Revenge. Though on a much less murderous scale. So Faye had stopped in a tavern, freshened herself and changed clothes, and headed back towards the Capitol for the coronation. She'd been invited after all. She was still of a noble House, despite everything else. And she wasn't going to whine about it. Nor was she going to let some... man... keep her from representing her family name. None So Fierce, was the motto that hung above her hearth. It was time to live up to her name. After stabling her horse, Faye made her way up to the palace, dressed in stark contrast to the black robes of the day before.

Miguel let out a soft harumph. "I'm not a clownfish, more a squid I suppose." But he listened to what Iann said. "There's no way to make everyone happy, but I think giving people a show is one way to ease desperation. If they're talking about the incident with Cassandra, they're also talking about how quickly and efficiently we dealt with the issue - I'd say not a soul left alive is one way to discourage any..." he waved his hand, unconcerned with whatever could come from a common peoples' discontent. "If House Kesley can't stand against us, then what chance do the urchins of the city have? I thank House Kesley for their buffoonery, they make my job easier."

Iann clapped Miguel on the back. "My little brother," he proclaimed at Miguel, and it almost sounded like praise. As of Miguel had finally set his sails properly, figured out the wind, and almost caught up with his eldest brother's ship. Not quite caught up, but close enough that they could cheerfully hail each other from on deck, while their crossfirebows made aim at each other in the decks below.

Maya spent the morning baking an elaborate celebratory gingerbread. Once it was complete, she headed upstairs to see where else she might be needed. While technically she was only in Lord Savin's employ and only a kitchen girl, as far as anyone knew, it would still do well to see what she might be able to overhear upstairs. While baking she'd already gotten the full gossip report from the Capitol's servants. She slipped into the back of the room, quiet and likely unnoticed.

High Raj: ~bells started tolling, slowly at first then carrying down through the city. It didn't last long. It was merely an announcement for the start of the Coronation, for the nobles to assemble in the Grand Hall of the Bluesprings Castle~

Miguel blinked at Iann in surprise, where did the sudden praise come from? If he didn't know any better he would think Iann was proud of him. But the bells distracted him, and he ducked his head to excuse himself. "I must change before the coronation proper, see you soon." He pat his brother's arm in response and ran off toward his room.

Faye heard the tolling of the bells, so she didn't bother stopping to speak with anyone. Not that anyone tried to strike up a conversation anyway. She would be leaving after the ceremony, and wouldn't be coming back. There was nothing for her here. There was nothing for her anywhere.

This was it. Ciara felt a momentary thrill run up her spine. Truthfully, there was no Council until there was a High Raj. Her role did not truly exist until it did. She walked alongside others, keeping pace with them, her hair twisted carefully to hide her scars and exemplify her status. Every person had a position in the Grand hall, dictated by centuries of tradition and years of warfare. Hers, as representative of House Florent, was far back and far to the left. She could hardly see The royal throne, but could just well enough. It was, however, a perfect vantage point for watching everyone else. Even the best men and women in the kingdoms had momentary flickers of expression in response to things. Tiny, often imperceptible flickers, but she knew them, and planned to record them. The reception was as critical as the coronation, and her mice had made her well aware of the doubts in this hall.

Iann "You look beautiful, you vain thing!" Iann called out, his voice echoing (and slightly mocking) as Miguel hurried off to change. He laughed then, and drained his mead, strolling towards the Grand Hall. He was in no rush. He'd probably be the first one to arrive before anyone else anyways, and Iann always loved the idea of being first.

The coronation ceremony started at high noon, when the sun shone directly above the throne perched on the dias. The Grand Hall of the Bluesprings Castle was grand, with high arches and domes of beautiful wrought metal and glass that allowed light in from strategic angles, all of which subtle directed people towards facing the Sunlit Throne. Today the glasspanes were removed, allowing the much-needed seabreeze to flow and circulate through the room, as it gathered with nobles, courtiers and their various entourage.

The members of the Cloverry took their places to the sides of the Hall. The crown itself perched on the seat of the throne. it was heavily guarded by six Rajisthangard for two days now, as it was warmed and imbued by the sun's power as per traditional dictates of a Bluesprings Coronation. It had been decades since anyone had even seen the crown itself. A dense, heavy but beautifully crafted thing, not ostentatious but certainly eye-catching in its gold and jewels.

No one was appointed to crown the High Raj. The crown was a representation of the High Raj's responsibility to the people, a reminder of the heavy burden being placed upon that human brow. A reminder through duty and strife (and headaches), the ruler would need to think carefully but quickly for any decree that would affect the realm. The throne was different from the crown - it was large and elaborate, intended to remind the people: this was their High Raj, and the Raj commanded respect and honour. When the High Raj sat , it was raised higher than those assembled - not only so that the Raj could see them, but also so that they could all see their ruler.

To Iann's disappointment, there were already quite a few ahead of him. All the courtiers and cronies, and actual nobility that populated the Capital itself. But being a part of the Quiver of Houses, Iann strode easily through the gathering few, to take a place designated for the Forty Isles. The stones on the floor, colour-marked for these positions, had all been finely polished. Some of the stones would have no one to stand upon them, Iann thought. But that only made the Quiver that much more powerful, because each member would then be considered absolutely necessary should it ever come down to that. He did spot Lady Florent drifting her way through the crowd, and wondered if she would even take a stone for herself, or not. Houses weren't required to take their stone, but usually that was a political move. Protest, or disgrace, or mourning, or some other reason. Florent or Phyre? He amused himself thinking of it, as he waited.

Faye took her place in the position of her House. She ignored the fact that at some point it appeared that someone had taken a blade to the insignia, but had given up after the old stone refused to be marred beyond a few nicks and scrapes. She stood silent, hands clasped demurely in front of her, and observed the rest of the gathering.

Tuah nodded his head and walked outside, speaking softly to his confidante on what he was planning during the coronation. When Fane was ready, they walked side by side towards the castle, his confidante on his other side and the Dawnguards behind them. Once they have arrived his eyes trained towards the crowd, studying each face that was present as he took his place.

The Red Priestess entered the hall along with the rest of the invited nobles. While having no official place as did the Cloverry, she found a respectful place to stand that would not draw attention away from those that deserved it. She was merely a messenger. A conduit for the Lord of Light. She still carried no blade, but that was no matter. It would come when it was required. The Priestess stood calmly, looking at all the gathered faces, and hoped that this was the start of something good. The start of a new age of peace.

Fane walked in thoughtful contemplation alongside Tuah, his eyes scanning a few of the familiar figures who opted for fashion trends that were almost blinding. Everywhere you turned your eye there was some emblazoned crest or another to catch the attention, peacocks, Fane thought to himself sullenly. Preening and plumping their chests to be deigned the most attention here. Arriving at the hall his eyes scanned those already assembled noting Iann already in place, Lady Ciara and several other notable figures until his eyes caught on the back of... He blinked as if the act would clear his vision and she would no longer be stood in place looking... resplendent. A part of him wanted to step towards her, to ask why she'd come back after their argument this morning but now wasn't the time. Opting to swallow he dipped his head and made his way over to his place, those of the Guard who opted to accompany him falling in to stand nearby. Their presence a sign that the Guard would also uphold the peace but equally a small peace of mind for Fane.

Maya stood quietly in the back of the hall behind the space designated for Blackspire. She watched quietly, searching the crowd for faces she recognized as well as any potential trouble. Peace had been promised, but Maya knew too much of war to trust that promise. She saw the Red Priestess enter and made a mental note to avoid the religious figure. While Maya was certain that the woman didn't know who Maya was, her looks had been all too calculating to make Maya comfortable. Luckily most everyone's attention was on the other nobles as well as, of course, the High Raj.

Miguel made his way back through the castle, looking just a bit more regal than when he left. He took his spot beside, and slightly behind his brother. People were continually filing into the room and he was thankful for the sea breeze that blew on them - keeping the air fresh and salty.

High Raj Between the nobles, down a deep green carpet that led to the throne, Avitej Sharma walked in slow and measured pace. There was no fanfare; the still hush and occasional rustle of cloth set the sombre but still elegant tone of this particular Coronation. A baby wailed, but the open vaulted ceilings allowed the breeze to carry the sound away, rather than letting it echo through the Hall. Avitej barely heard it, but was glad for sounds of normalcy around him rather than loud trumpets or ominous drums. From up in the Castle, voices from below carried upwards, and all the Nobles were aware of the hustle and bustle below of the people who waited to be ruled while going about their daily lives. That was the point of opening the rooftops, a decision Avitej made with his Council. The nobles were not stashed away in their own world of elaborate and lavish decor, music and the pleasure of their own voices. They had the sea breeze that sometimes smelled of fish, the calling of hawkers and arguments of commerce, the life of everyone come together for this occasion. Even if the commonfolk were not in the Grand Hall themselves, they were still present.

Avitej reached the dias and ascended it slowly, picking up the crown in both hands. He turned, holding the crown high. All of this symbolic of course. He picks up the crown, he holds it aloft, he places it on his head. He makes this choice, and it's his alone to make as he will be High Raj. No one else can do this for him. Avitej stood there for a bated moment, crown held high for everyone to witness this momentous scene that would shift the realm of Bluesprings - hopefully towards a better life. Better than a decade of war and strife.

Avitej placed the crown on his head and he didn't smile. His face was as sombre as the occasion and smiling would only look smug. Instead, he stood there for a few moments, his face carved out of stone but not unpleasant, letting his people see their High Raj for what he now was.

It was just a little 'shhhk' sound, and then the face of their High Raj, stoic and carved out of stone, was suddenly sheeted in bright red blood. High Raj Avitej gasped and stumbled backwards. By the time he sat in the Sunlit Throne, he was already dead.

A Herald of the House Sharma, in a panic at seeing his High Raj murdered before his eyes, cried out in anguish: "THE HIGH RAJ IS D--" But before he could finish the sentence, Iann only needed the two striding steps towards the man, and he sliced open his old throat with his obsidian blade. Maybe he should've just covered the man's mouth - but this was more efficient and Iann was reacting from the instinct of shock. He only realized what he'd done belatedly, and also how it would look. He held his reddened hands up, dropped the dagger with a clatter to the stone floor, then dropped to his knees as the Guards surrounded him with their weapons drawn.

Ciara eyed Lord Savin as he entered with a group of guards at his flanks, and could hardly believe her eyes. She turned her gaze to the elder Lord Cardero instead, so hide from herself her response to the man. No faith in the Rajisthangard, no faith in the peace deal and all for everyone to see so blatantly. For all the world to see bright and clearly, during the coronation of all places, and flanked around him, rather than to the rear. But then Avitej entered. Lord, to become Raj. She watched, with a tight throat and deference. She knew war as everyone else did, and she also knew what made the peace after it. Her eyes were fixed on him, transfixed. He was beautiful to behold. He held the crown, and placed it on his head. And then, he died. Bright, red, crimson. Ciara froze still as the Herald began to yell, as lord Cardero sliced his throat, spilling more red onto the throne. By the time his knife had hit the floor, Ciara had disappeared through a wall, and not even those standing beside her noticed she had gone.

The Red Priestess watched in silence as the man who would call himself ruler placed the crown on his head. She felt nothing, strangely enough, as she watched him look out on the assembled. And when the somberness was cut across with cries of fear and screams of horror as red sprayed across the stones, the priestess of the Light barely flinched. Instead, she let out a breath, her shoulders sagging slightly. The chaos that followed was none of her concern. She turned, and slowly left the great hall.

Maya's eyes went wide with shock at the scene before her. She couldn't find it in herself to be entirely surprised at the High Raj's death, but Lord Cardero's slaying of the herald caused her shock. It was poison. It had to be. Meaning likely suspicion would fall on her and by extension Lord Savin. She slipped from the Great Hall during the commotion to head back to the kitchen to learn what she could from the servants there.

The Red Priestess: watched in silence as the man who would call himself ruler placed the crown on his head. She felt nothing, strangely enough, as she watched him look out on the assembled. And when the somberness was cut across with cries of fear and screams of horror as red sprayed across the stones, the priestess of the Light barely flinched. Instead, she let out a breath, her shoulders sagging slightly. The chaos that followed was none of her concern. She turned to leave, but found the way blocked. The great doors of the keep already closing upon the assembled.

He wasn't going to fight the Rajisthangard, because he knew it would make him look guilty for a murder he didn't commit. His eyes remained glued in disbelief to the Sunlit Throne, and the man - only a man, and young too - slumped into it. Iann didn't know Avitej Sharma well, he hadn't even really cared about who was taking the Crown. But there was a certain hope and relief in the idea of peace in the Bluesprings realm, no matter how tenuous. It was naive, and Iann hated himself for thinking it. So when a Guard roughly dragged him up, tears in the man's eyes as he wanted to turn his own horror and fear on something, Prince Iann looked back at him evenly. "Do what you must," he offered, but then a Prelate instructed the Guard to place the Prince in irons for now and remove him from the Grand Hall. Others might also suspect that Iann had a hand in the death of the High Raj, and the Prelate didn't want any more bloodshed in this accursed Hall today.

Faye didn't make a sound as the smell of blood and the screams of the people assembled filled the air. She froze, hands flying over her mouth to contain the sound that wanted so badly to come out. She took a step back, and then another, and another... as fear swept over her like a flame. She knew that sort of death. Poison. And she'd already been seen using something similar on a man that had attacked her, though to much less harmful effects. She had to leave. She had to leave right now.

Miguel There was a moment of internal silence. And then a giddiness filled Miguel's chest and he bit his lip and looked concerned to hid his joy. What an exciting turn of events. And so fortuitous. He hadn't killed the Raj, but it coincided so well with his own plans, it had to be fate. He watched as his brother was taken away in irons. The sight was honey in his tea. There was work to be done, and Iann out of the way would make that work so much easier.

Fane was left standing in belated shock as the High Raj fell on his throne, crimson staining the flagstones. He'd worried that something would happen, that... something would go wrong, and here it was for all to see. Death was not a new sight in the Inquisitors eyes, he'd seen men far younger die under far more gruesome circumstances. But the High Raj had been a beloved figure. A symbol of unity and peace. A man to bring about a prosperity for ages to come and in one act, that peace was shattered. So where there were gasps and screeches echoing out around him in a world that seemed to have slowed substantially he stood silent. A vigil of passing. Time only sped up once more when he saw the sudden movement to his right, the Crown Prince slaying the Herald, to silence him before his call could even echo, instead, letting it die in a gurgle of blood. The six of his men, who had all come relatively unarmoured and unequipped as a show of fealty to the crown - that the Guard would equally be beholden to the one ruler had all gone to draw their smaller arms. Yet were stopped by a sharp signal at his hand, "no, no weapons and no force, help the Rajisthangard re-establishing some order."

Tuah felt a swell of emotion as he stood among the nobles, bearing witness to such a momentous occasion. His eyes followed each step the High Raj took until he took his rightful place, crown on his head and a sombre expression on his face. He could feel his lips curled into a soft smile, the hope that glimmered behind his eyes that peace between the nations could be achieved under the banner of the High Raj. It would be an uphill battle, he had no doubt, but one he hoped to achieve nonetheless. But the hope turned to shock then horror when he bear witness to the murder of the newly crowned High Raj stumbled backwards, blood splattered from his mouth and life soon left the young body. Tuah gripped the pommel of his sword, jaw clenched as his eyes scanned the panicking crowd, suspecting everyone that was present. He caught the commotion around Lord Cardero, watching with hawk eyes as Iann being dragged by the Rajisthangard, before moving his attention towards Fane. He calmly made his way towards the Lord, his confidante hot on his heel. “I hate it when you’re right,” he muttered under his breath.

Ciara had already begun to head to her own destination, but she was not the only one to slip out. A servant girl, or something of the like, serving Lord Savin. She grabbed a servant of her own, completely unaware of what had just happened two halls away. One of Ciara's mice, but by design not one who often served Ciara herself. "Follow the Savin servant girl. Inconspicuously, now. You have wine to fetch." Her voice was sharp as steel, and brooked no argument. The servant nodded sharply. If Prolate Theodore had any sense, the keep doors were already locked. No one was to leave. And while in this moment she trusted no one, least of all him, she trusted him to hold to expectations. The Lords and Ladies would be trapped here, and Ciara had enough mice for most walls. She would learn who caused this.

Faye watched as the guards descended on the prince as more blood spilled over the stones. She watched as the prince was placed in irons. She watched as a ripple went through the crowd. She watched as the doors started to close. She watched as the Dawnsguard went for their weapons. Watched as they were told to stand down. Watched as it all fell apart. Again.

A random Prelate under Theodore's guidance pleaded with the assembled people to remain calm, the Gates had been locked for their own safety and no one should leave. And what they needed now was to assemble the Quiver of Houses from all representatives present, to decide what was to be done now. The poor man was so beset by grief and the immediacy of this act of violence that he broke down in tears halfway through the announcement.

"You know I am a representative of the Quiver of Houses," Iann said, hearing the announcement made as he was being escorted to the gaol. "When you realize that I was not responsible for the High Raj's death, I expect you to give me a similarly protective escort to the Quiver Hall. If you please." Because the last damned thing he wanted, as he realized just how hasty his actions were, was for his little brother to represent the Forty Isles in the Quiver of Houses.

Maya sensed she was being followed. Since she had nothing to hide about what she was doing though, she walked calmly down to the kitchens. The news had yet to trickle this far down. She asked a few innocuous questions designed to discover who had access to the High Raj's food and drink. The list was too long though. Believing the promises of peace the servants had been lax securing the High Raj's meals. She returned to her work as if that were the most normal thing in the world for her to do. After all the meeting of the Quiver of Houses was likely to go long. The nobles would need sustenance.

Unable to leave the keep, and unwilling to use other methods to dissuade the guards to leave their post, the priestess turned back to the assembled. The Raj's death was sad, yes. An unneccessary act of violence. And people wondered why no one believed that peace could exist. Seeing the young prelate fall to his knees in grief, the priestess came over and lay a hand on his shoulder. "Strength, brother..." Looking up at the slowly panicking crowd, the priestess stepped up onto the dias, uncertain if anything she said would help. Closing her eyes, she pressed her hands to her chest and spoke a prayer to the lord of light to help those in need. Moments passed, and then all around the room, the torches flared with violent intensity. A roar of flame and light and heat that might have been the gust of wind that blew through the hall. Or something else. Hopefully it would get their attention. "Are you not the bravest and strongest of your Houses?" the priestess called out calmly. "Yet you act like frightened children who have never seen death before. The Raj is dead. But peace does /not/ have to die with him. You are the ones that make peace. Not a man on a throne."

Fane frowned unhappy by Tuah's comment "I wish I wasn't'." As his men aided the far more numerous Rajisthangard to secure the room Fane turned his attention to the throne and the Raj's body. "We need to make sure the scene isn't disturbed. And the Raj's body needs to be secured..."

Iann was taken to a cell - not too deep in the bowels of the castle, at least. Something fitting for a Prince, he thought grimly. He couldn't hear what was going on above him, but he answered the Guard Commander's questions patiently, and then the Prelate's questioning as well. Iann couldn't tell how long it took - an hour, perhaps more. Regardless, it was determined that he would be allowed to sit in the Quiver of Houses, but remain cuffed and escorted by Rajisthangard for the duration of the meeting. He wasn't a suspect but at the same time he was a suspect, as much as anyone else in this castle was, it seemed. It was a humiliating compromise, but Iann gravely took it. By the time he was taken back up to the Grand Hall, it was mostly empty, save for other Rajisthangards, and some members of the Cloverry. The body was removed, the crown remained on the Sunlit Throne, bloody now and sullied.

Miguel came forward and nodded to the Inquisitor. "May I inspect the crown?" He knew a thing or two about poisons, Iann had hinted as much already in Fane's presence - there was no harm in inspecting it. Unless he touched it and encountered the poison.

Faye watched from the back of the hall, pressed against the wall of the keep in order to keep herself from trying to flee. The prince was taken away, and the Dawnsguard started securing the room. She saw Lord Savin helping to get the Raj's body secured, and something in the back of her mind screamed to tell him not to touch the crown. Poison worked in many ways, including prolonged skin contact. A brush of a finger might not do much, but one never knew. Miguel came forward to join him, asking about the crown specifically. Faye frowned, but couldn't make the words come.

The Red Priestess stayed in the keep as the lords and ladies were quieted and reassured. To their credit, most did well after the initial shock had worn off. But the death of the Raj - while terrible - was no longer important. Not the the priestess. What came next was important. Who would rule? Who would be held responsible for today's death? She kept her own council until the prince who had slit the heralds throat was brought back in under armed guard. Making her way over, she took a seat near the prince. "You stopped a city-wide panic, doing what you did."

"Perhaps you can vouch for me, then," Iann replied, as he watched, both grateful and seething, as his little brother stepped towards the Throne with the Inquisitor. He looked over then at the Witch of the Wilds, pressed closely against the wall, and then finally at the Red Priestess. He was still standing up, she'd taken a seat on a stone bench next to him. "Are you attending the Quiver of Houses assembly? I think you should. The servants were talking about that grand speech you made, to shake the fear out of people's boots. Did it actually mean anything, Priestess?" He was still shaken up about all of this, truthfully. But Iann knew better than to let it show.

Ciara flitted through the halls. She was torn on where to go first, and opted in the direction of his bedroom. There were poisons that took hours to act, and some which could still be timed to the minute. They may have been in the soaps of his bath, and lingered in his hair until pushed into his skull. She needed to see, and she needed to see before the Prelate. It was perhaps her next duty to learn Avi's sex life, and those of his servants. She had only had days to establish herself in this castle, she didn't have the months of knowledge - she needed the Prelate's spies too. She needed to convince Prelate Theodore to let her in. Guards stood before his doors, and did not let her through. For the first time, she flashed the small Council medallion. "Your commander will tell you soon. The High Raj is dead. Assasinated. You will allow me to investigate this room without delay, or I will have you charged with treason." Her stature and status did nothing to intimidate them, but the medallion pinned under her cloak was more convincing. They hesitated moment, and then there was a wail along the hall, pure grief. The Raj had been loved. They stepped aside, and let her in.

Fane checked on the general state of the room now that it was mostly settled (as settled as it could be following what had happened). He looked the Prelate's men also helping to reestablish some sense of order. Following the path of the High Raj he slowly made his way up the steps towards the throne, the stone still bearing the marks of what had happened here. He touched nothing, moving to rest on one knee as he took in the area. There was nothing untoward about the scene specifically, no strange odour hung on the air, only the slight staleness of some disturbed dust the next thing to be inspected he supposed was the crown.

"I can vouch for the truth," the priestess told him, which in this instance was the same thing. At least to her. "Letting that fool scream to the masses about what's happened would've seen the city in flames within the day. You saved lives." She glanced up at him where he stood. "I never speak words I don't mean, Your Grace. These men and women don't have the option of showing weakness. What started with the Raj - may the Light bless and keep him - will only trickle downhill."

"Ah." Was the most he replied for a long while. Then Iann looked down at her, and well - down her dress exposing her cleavage. It was right there, after all. "So that Unnamed Sword of yours, it remains where ever you keep it secured."

Miguel stood with the Inquisitor - and wasn't the title accurate today? He pulled a pair of black leather riding gloves from his pocket's and paused a moment. "Would you like to get a closer look, or shall I?"

Faye knew she needed to move. She had been in the same place for far too long. But going unnoticed seemed the best idea at the time. Though she felt eyes on her regardless. By the time the prince had been brought in - under guard, she saw, with no small amount of trepidation - Faye had at least moved to sit on a bench along the wall. Afraid her legs might fall from beneath her. She watched as the the Inquisitor walked the path the Raj had taken, her breath speeding up slightly as he knelt to inspect the crown. Miguel was there too, thankfully pulling on a set of gloves. He knew of poison. Faye had learned that much from him. Perhaps she should go. People were being allowed to leave the hall, but not the keep itself. But where would she go?

The Red Priestess watched the Inquisitor and the other man as they inspected the crown. She suspected a topical poison herself, but it wasn't her place. Surely between the two of them they could come to a conclusion. The priestess felt the prince's eyes on her at times, but he didn't speak for quite a while. When he did, it was to ask of the sword. "It does. Though I know not where that is."

Fane similarly opted to pull a pair of leather gloves from his belt. "I shall, your royal highness shouldn't expose himself to potential toxins if any happens to be in or on the crown." They'd lost on King today, no need to add a prince to the list. He was neither and therefore it was expected that he say such a thing. With his own gloves pulled on he carefully raised the crown from its resting place on the throne mindful of any hidden contractions or mechanisms by which a dose of the poison might be administered. "A topical toxin wouldn't act as fast as it took for the Raj to fall..." Carefully he turned the crown over in search of some delivery method murmuring under his breath "I wonder..."

Iann: "Unnamed sword in an unnamed location. That bodes well," he replied, then called out to Miguel and the Inquisitor, "Yes, yes we understand that the High Raj is dead. He was killed. We all saw it. We are rulers of kingdoms in this realms - well, I am. And the Inquisitor is. And I'm sure she is, to her own extent," he said, eyeing Lady Faye. "As rulers I think we should concentrate on who should rule. My brother has skills in such things, Inquisitor, Don't sully your own hands with such menial tasks. Come, we should convene in the Quiver of Houses."

Miguel pulled on his own gloves, hands ready if the Inquisitor heed Iann's advice. It wasn't that he didn't trust Fane, but he wanted to touch it himself, to figure out this puzzle with his hands and his mind, without relying on Fane. Miguel didn't mind if the Inquisitor went with Iann and the Red Priestess to talk politics.

"It bodes as well as a murdered King does," the priestess said in return. Though she said nothing of the crown or the two men inspecting it.

Fane looked back at Iann's summoning, "go on, I want an answer here first I'll join you shortly." The crown in his hands he turned it over slowly tilting this way and that in the light of the the Great Hall. There was a subtle metal seam inside, and as Fane applied pressure on the circumferential side of it little barb-like thorns emerged from the thicker rim above. Mechanically designed. Cold and calculated death as soon as it had been placed on his head. Releasing the pressure with his thumbs the barbs retracted back into the frame of the crown. Miguel had his hands out and Fane carefully let him take it. "A cruel death..." but efficient in a chilling sense.

Iann shook his head. "No, Inquisitor, leave this...investigation to the lesser folk. Your duty is now to the realm."

Fane exhaled under his breath, he had the answer he needed regardless. He looked at a few of the Rajisthangard and then Miguel. "The crown is evidence in the Raj's murder... Once it has been fully examined I wish for it to be kept secure. It cannot be tampered with." Noting Dani approaching he gave them a small nod trusting they would see to helping secure the evidence before heading back down the steps.

Faye knew that there were few poisons that could cause death quite so quickly. They would have to be absorbed into the skin over time. Minimum of a few hours. Even the fastest acting poisons took several minutes to do their job. The Raj had died nearly instantly. That only left... "Venom," Faye said without realizing it. She looked up at Fane and Miguel as they inspected the crown. They seemed reluctant to leave it behind, and the prince seemed eager to get them to leave.

Miguel 's jaw tightened to hold in a grin. A cruel death, for sure, but so effective. He fiddled with the mechanism, holding it so Danian could see. Then he held the crown close to his face and took a sniff. There were plenty of poisons that were odorless, and more still that left traces. There was a faint smell of blueberries, but Miguel wasn't sure if that was the poison itself or something used to cover a worse smell. In any case, the dried barbs held barely any evidence. What was more interesting was the mechanics. Either the crown had always been like that, or someone had enough time to tinker with it enough to install the mechanism. Since he doubted this was a fake crown - what with all the guarding of it. Which meant that someone had tinkered with it before many of the nobles had arrived. He took a deep breath before relaying the pertinent thoughts to Danian. "What do you think though? Fake crown or tinkered?"

Maya returned without a word to the Great Hall once she had learned all she could for the moment outside its walls. She'd heard many rumors. although sorting out the true from the false would take time and more information. Standing again at the back of the room, she whispered with one of the guards to learn what had been discovered while she was 'attending her duties.' She knew that she needed to speak to Lord Savin. While she had secrets she didn't expect to be found out and that weren't relevant, she should inform him of them just in case. There was no such thing as knowing too much on a day like today.

Faye: With Lord Savin leaving the room, and Miguel - who was the only other person in the city she trusted even a little bit - standing holding the crown, Faye finally swallowed her fears and slowly approached them. She didn't step up on the dias, merely stood at the bottom looking on, her soft, white robes catching the light from the high windows. "Venom, my lord," Faye said, voice as even as she could manage. "Your likely not looking for poison. But venom."

Iann wasn't so much eager to leave, as he unfortunately understood responsibility. They could spend hours sitting here studying a crown, while the people - the commonfolk - waited and waited for nothing. No news, no Coronation, nothing to give them. Just closed gates and silence. Decisions had to be made that were about the kingdoms and this supposed unity they were supposed to have. Not poring over the murder of their short-lived High Raj. That was important of course it was necessary to determine why the High Raj was even killed. But the little details were for leaders to trust their lessers with. Perhaps the Inquisitor didn't have that trust, or perhaps it made him feel good to get his hands dirty with the details. But in the meantime, nothing was actually being done. "Lady Faye, you should come with us. The future of this realm lies with you too, I'm afraid."

Danian had been wandering around the keep, searching for any sign of suspicious figures that might have been hiding in the crowd, admiring their bloody work. Nothing had turned up, really. So, after several minutes of scouting, they joined the nobles gathered around the king's fallen site itself. They were in no rush to follow them further to the Quiver of Houses. After all-- they weren't even sure they belonged in such a meeting. They weren't the head of their house. Not yet. Instead, they stood themself next to Miguel, studying the crown as he held it for them to see. "I can't say for sure," they hummed thoughtfully themself. "We'd have to get a closer look at the mechanism itself." They paused to glance at the prince once more. "Do you think they would allow us to inspect it- if we asked, of course?" Faye's added point earned a raise of their brow. "How can you tell?"

"Shall we move this to someplace that might do some good, your grace?" the priestess asked just before Iann called out to Lady Lacroy. The woman had finally moved from her spot on the wall. It was true. Dying House or not, she was still of the Quiver.

Faye nodded at the prince. "Yes, your grace. Just one moment, if you please." She turned to Miguel and the person she didn't know, but had seen their face the night before at the celebrations. Taking a small step up the dais, Faye swallowed. "Rarely does a poison cause such... massive hemorrhage." Faye indicated the stains on the floor. "They exist, but they're exceedingly rare. Venom... especially the kind found in certain species of vipers... can cause massive bleeding within moments, depending on the dose and the delivery."

"The Quiver Hall," a Prelate announced, motioning down a path leading off of the Great Hall and into a room. Not far from the Great Hall, still within easy reach. Iann was escorted there, shaking his head once he was situated in the Quiver Hall. "Venom? I wouldn't be surprised if it was my own brother who did this, if he ever got close enough to the crown to do so." There was a time, about a month ago, when the Crown was taken on a tour of the regions, to curry excitement and engage enthusiasm for the Coronation and announcement of the High Raj. People liked to look at pretty things, it encouraged them and allowed them hope.

Miguel felt the need to show off a little, besides - Danian already knew he wasn't the useless muscled clownfish that he pretended to be when it suited him. "Thank you, Lady Lacroy - another hint is in the method of action, a poison would more likely be ingested, while this was jammed into the skin..." He glanced between the investigation party and the politics party. "I won't demand your time if you're needed elsewhere, Lady. But I beg your company when you're finished."

Danian nodded to Lady Lacroy - it was nice to put a name to a face without having to ask - when Miguel gave his thanks to indicate their mutual feeling. "It seems looking into the particular effects of these vipers and the mechanism itself might be a good place for us to start, then." They tilted their head to Miguel. "Would you agree?"

Miguel nodded. "Yes. I assume this castle has a library - do you happen to know where it is?" There were also human resources, but Faye would be busy, and he didn't see the Master of Whispers.

"Careful who you accuse, Your Grace," the priestess told the prince as they walked.

[niedolia]

58? Things you were afraid to say? :3

send a number & pairing for a fic!

this prompt is perfect for it so unfortunately i’m giving you my old Russian mafia au. based on the “criminal” song Murka. translation for the song is here and more here. the unequivocally best rendition of the song is here, i completely suggest listening.

warning: major character death  (for real this time)

Hello, darling Murka, hello, you little smirker,Hello, darling Murka, aren’t you sly?You’re the damned impostor, you’re the double crosser,You’ve betrayed our gang, I wonder why.

The moon was rising when they met, Christophe and Georgi and Mila and a few faces he didn’t recognize as well looking to him expectantly. The town was quiet when their questions started pouring, all expecting answers from him that he didn’t have. And Viktor stared at them for a moment, considering their words and looking back on who could have done this. Who could have thrown their dark path and deeds into light, into the loss of friends.

“C’mon, Vitya, you have to know something. Who’s rounding us up?”

“Someone snitched on us, who? Who could have done this?”

“Someone betrayed us. Who tipped off the Man?”

Viktor cracked his jaw, leaned back against the building. He didn’t know, oh he didn’t have a clue. But they looked at him with such accusing eyes and he knew he had to provide some answer, eventually. Before another member of their gang was taken from the streets.

“I told you all already, I don’t know who ratted us out.” His voice was weary, exasperated, a hint to leave him alone for a while.

Taking the subtle warning, the gang fell into infuriated chatter amongst themselves. Further accusations and threats and calls for unity because if they were going to find who did this, they needed to make an actual effort instead of looking at every member with suspicious glances. It was a tight-knit group; it always had been. And this was the first time they had been directly threatened by the state. Yet they knew they could handle this as they did everything else. They were tough, hardened, bitter for the fight. Their crimes knew no mercy, each had some bounty on their head, and each did what they had to do to survive. For this there could be no light.

But someone dragged all of their crimes to attention regardless.

“Hey, Vitya, where’s your kitten? Yuuri’s the one running this show. Shouldn’t he be here?” Christophe asked, turning to him. The rest of the gang fell silent, breathless waiting.

Viktor shrugged, smirked. “You know how my Yuuri is. He’s probably tracking down our betrayer as we speak. Put a little trust into our boss.”

“Whatever you say, Vitya,” Mila chimed in, voice dripping with skepticism. “Someone has to be doing something around here. I got a girl at home, she doesn’t need to be involved in this. And I don’t wanna be tossed into the can just because one of you ratted me out. I don’t think we can withstand another raid and roundup.”

Viktor sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose as if that could help him think. Finally he stood and took a few steps forward. He threw his hands to his sides, palms outwards, to gain their ease and attention. “Listen, we’ll get this straightened out. But it’s not gonna happen in a dark alley, not for me. First things first, let’s get some food and drink. All you incessant complaints have been a nuisance, I can use something good for once. We’ll go to the Shikarni restaurant and drain their vodka.”

Leading the way with his confident step, Viktor was the first through the doors of the restaurant —  and stopped abruptly. He could recognize the police uniform anywhere and knew better than anyone to run. Pivot on his heel and hurry from the building, back to the alley where they always dally. His breath came too quickly and his fear he couldn’t disguise.

“What’s up, Vitya?”

“Don’t tell me the Shikarni restaurant is unsafe now, too.”

And Viktor shifted uncomfortably, not daring to meet their eyes. This was his gang, his family, to them he would tell no lies. They didn’t see it, no, but he did. He knew too much. It was too much to admit but he forced it through clenched teeth because he had to.

“I saw a policeman in there. Sitting across from Yuuri. I saw him in there chatting, and patting the police agent’s hand. What more do you want?”

His Yuuri was the chief, not much of a speaker or a fighter but he was a looker, crafty and audacious though disguised. Never raised a gun in his life but he had the loyalty of the best criminals just from his sly nature, and no other boss dared cross him in case he said too much. But Yuuri, he was supposed to be on this gang’s side, the chief, the boss, not an informant.

So what was he doing sitting across from the Man?

“Alright, so who’s gonna do it?”

“It can’t be me. There’s a policeman in there, and I got a girl back home. I can’t be this close to Yuuri’s mistakes.”

“Well, someone has to do it. Who will be our hitman? Someone has to take him out before he ruins all of us?”

Viktor waved them aside, wishing desperately for that drink. What he had to do was sinister and malicious, but he did what he had to do to survive. He walked past them without a word, his hand subconsciously on the pistol at his side.

“Hello, darling Yuuri, hello my dearest kitten. Won’t you follow me outside?”

The policeman was long gone and the restaurant empty but a betrayer is not good enough to die inside. Viktor laced his fingers through Yuuri’s, gently tugging him outside to that alley from where the rest of the gang had fled. No one wants to be there when the echoing sound goes off.

Yuuri leaned against the wall and smiled at him innocently, waiting for a purpose. And there he stood all dolled up, dressed up like a king. Viktor had built his fortune, and spent it all on Yuuri over time. He dressed Yuuri up like a king, wedding ring and golden chains, shirts of silk and coats of fur. And there he stood and had let it happen, to Viktor’s disbelief. What kind of gold-digger had he been?

Viktor remembered well what Yuuri had been before he was made chief. A poor laborer only dreaming of the wealth beyond belief. Wore revolting galoshes that were molting, carried a bucket in his hand. But Viktor gave him black market boots, patent leather worthy of the tsar. Yuuri was dressed like a nobleman where he had once been poor.

But now Yuuri, hadn’t he been sly? With that smile that seemed like a smirk and secrets no doubt never meant to hurt. He had double-crossed them all, he had betrayed their gang. He had been a tempter in disguise. He had gotten them mixed up with the Man, and that would be his final blunder.

Raise the gun and cock it, put a bullet right between his eyes.

And there Yuuri laid dying, collapsed in his rich gifts from Viktor in the alley where they always hide. Beside him Viktor fell to his knees, hands in his hair and crying, wishing this could never be. His heart in his chest was pounding, though he felt nothing, he could only think of how empty his life would be without Yuuri.

And there was his darling bleeding, not what he was needing. But if Yuuri was going to betray him, he would be the one to hold the gun.

“For all my gifts and compliments, this was why I never told you I loved you. I always fear something like this would happen. I just wished it would be me.” Viktor brushed a hand against Yuuri’s cheek and stood.

And off he went, tears staining his face but not looking back.