#thq troupe 1

[theportaraceli]

who? @forsakesor where? A random street in Eterna near the city gates when? Before Neptunalia begins

Eterna is as busy as ever, if not busier as the crowds flow through the streets of the growing city like the pulse of a beating heart. The entire city is looking forward to losing themselves to the festivities, the dark cloud of Aetheron’s presence pointedly ignored in hopes of focusing on something more joyful. It’s a baffling experience, but Araceli supposes that they need the festivities to dispel some of the gloom that has befallen them after the Iskaldrik attack. Morale is important, and she is glad that Neptunalia is just around the corner. 

There is no purpose for her current wandering across Eterna, and she is doing nothing more than wasting time waiting for the next invitation to come for the next party and so on. It’s her lack of purpose that has her slowing down when she notices a stranger looking too confused to be anything but a tourist. 

“Are you lost?”

[blightedmikhael]

who? @vuldak-juneau where? just outside the nornwatch tower when? post troupe 1: the last night

The bodies need to be piled up, not a single one forgotten, and the least Mikhael can do after failing so many is dedicate himself to the grim cause. The battle is long over, but the tension still weighs upon them, the feeling of loss keen for all that had lost people to sickness or the darkspawn. It’s been a tough week for all, but they had no time for grief or daddling around, not when there is work to do, not when they still are not out of the woods. 

He is returning to the tower from setting yet another corpse in the growing when he sees a thin slip of a woman slipping around in an increasingly suspicious manner. Being a vuldak does not help her in this manner, either. Carefully, he steps closer and places a hand on her shoulder.

“It would be best of you to remain inside,” he tells her quietly, eyes flickering around as he looks for witchers. “If you haven’t caused trouble yet, it’s best to remain out of the witcher’s sight.”

[blightedmikhael]

There are a thousand words he could say at a moment such as this, each of them as worthless as the last. Nothing will return what is gone, nor change what she has witnessed. The grief and anger she experiences will not be assuaged by something as simple as words, and frankly, Mikhael does not find it in himself to use those as a paltry commiseration. He has a home to return to, but the likelihood is that the woman before him will never return to hers, for it is gone with those who died. 

“Anger is natural, and very different from resentment,” he comments softly, empathy bleeding through his tone as he sends her a sad smile. “Resentment breeds bitterness, but anger can be an encouragement to survive. As long as you don’t let it consume you, I think you will be fine.”

Luna was never one for faith unless it was in the stars above and the trees that kept the air fresh, she could feel the spirit that existed in the world around her but what she put the weight of her beliefs in were things that were tangible, that she could reach out and touch even if the roots ran deep underground and there was much at work that went unseen.

"I've never like carrying anger with me, it hurts and wounds and yet when I think about the ones who led the attack against Iskaldrik and caused so much grief, I can't help but feel anger light within me and want nothing more than due punishment. I want to see them burn for killing my father and those that made refuges out of us all."

[theportaraceli]

who? @incubusnero where? Knight's Nectar when? during the queen mother king timeline

"Nero, dearest," Araceli croons as she enters the shop, a hand raised to rest to her breast as she sighs in mock delight. Narrowed eyes flicker through the room, sharp gaze taken the bottles lines up and, as always, pretending to find the wares wanting. All in all, Knight's Nectar's selection is fairly pleasing, but she has long found her signature scent, as required of her status, so she has the freedom to pester the annoying casanova that had gotten in her way without worrying she will not be able to get one of his scents.

"It's been far too long, hasn't it? And you haven't aged a day," she comments cheerfully as she wades through the shop, until she reaches the counter and slams her hands on it, leaning closer to the owner and giving him a smile that is all teeth. "Still coveting what belongs to others, dearest?"

[blightedmikhael]

who? @heroic-ignus where? the nornwatch tower when? post troupe 1: the last night

Mikhael had meant to check earlier, but he had ended up getting distracted with a thousand and one different self-assigned responsibilities. Or so he keeps telling himself, despite the grim reality of the truth that he keeps to himself. Deep inside, he is still the same wide-eyed child looking towards Maferath's branch of the Warrior Guild and dreaming of becoming a blademaster. It’s all he wanted then, and one of the goals he hopes to accomplish now. The respect he feels for the Blademasters is overwhelming and all-encompassing, and to know one of them is a Vuldak? 

It’s a startling realization.

Initially, Alder’s demeanor had almost convinced him not to worry, but the more time passed, the odder his behavior became, and— He is worried that staying in his hand and not revealing the former werewolf’s true nature will come back to bite him in the ass later, he truly is. But it is too late to say anything without revealing himself as well, so all he can do is watch him carefully and hope for the best, while preparing for the worst. 

“Quite a night,” he muses as he comes to stand next to the Blademaster, eyes falling on the Vuldak and taking a moment to examine him. “Were you wounded? I might not be a healer, but I know the basics so I might be of help if you were.”

[hiddenvaldis]

who? open to non troupe where? mercury's bazaar when? during the troupe 1 plot drop

The thing about rumors is that despite every attempt to stop them, they will only grow and grow and grow. In time, they will change and twist and bend, but the kernel of truth will always remain. Anyone keen enough can dig past the shell to find the pearl within, and Valdís delights of working out the precision necessary to do it. It's a test for a skill she rarely gets to use on the Sea's Peril and one she does not want to lose. Her occasional trips to hostile shores is more than enough to keep her sharp, and as good excuse as any to supervise the crew manning the merchant ship to ensure there isn't any funny business going on.

Mercury's Bazaar is an excellent place to start on her meandering journey through the streets of Eterna — a pulse point of commerce, all merchants flock to it's streets and in between the banter and barter the truth slips from careless lips. Not quite as careless as those found in the bars, but in plan daylight the clientele will probably be worthless to her.

Stopping before a booth full of books, she allows her eyes to move languidly across the covers. She is trying to figure out if there is any worthy addition to her personal library when she feels someone loom over her shoulder, blocking the light.

"You mind?" She snipes, glancing back to send the interloper an accusing look. "You are hogging the light. Move."

[blightedmikhael]

Consideration of their limited resources has Mikhael removing his gloves hesitatingly. It’s a preference to keep his hands covered, the cross shape burned on his palm all too telling as a sign of his Abyssal ties, but they are not somewhere where he can afford to be picky. Medicinal herbs are rare as it is, and traveling with refugees through the Hrimthur’s Wasteland means it is more than essential to make sure nothing is lost on a clumsy movement of hands or something of the like. Putting his gloves away on a pouch in his belt, he considers the table before him turning to Vicoya to ask a question. 

Said question is left to stall on his lips when he feels Vicoya’s hand brush against his. That alone already leaves him blinking in surprise, unused to touching others unless seeking pleasures of the flesh or amongst those he trusts nearly entirely like his mother. It’s Vicoya’s reaction, however, that leaves him off-balance, flinching back as surely as she recoils away from him, a confused and wounded expression on his face as he does.

“Are you—,” he begins to ask, but there is something in her expression that steals the question away. Again, he is left speechless and confused, wondering if he should offer to collect the herbs for him but deciding against it as he gathers that she would like him to leave rather than do anything else. Hurt swells, but he suffocates it under a guise of civility, a pleasant smile wiping any trace  of surprise or hurt from his expression as he moves towards the entrance of the tent. “Of course, let’s not bother our best healer more than needed.”

With that, he gives Vicoya a last, fleeting smile and heads into the cold.

Bright blue eyes watched her friend stack one crate, then another, then a third, until all of the supplies were secured inside her healing tent. Coya could spend hours talking the ear off anyone willing to listen to her ramble on about recipes and remedies and antidotes. She knew Mikhael didn't have that kind of time likely, so a simple demonstration would have to do. Delicate hands of a healer reached out for the empty bottle in palm, prepared to give her spiel on the medicinal properties of wormwood whilst she walked him through the potion making process. Yet, when she reached out to touch him, what she saw next stopped her in her tracks.

It didn't happen often, but sometimes touching another living being allowed her to see into their soul. It was unpredictable at best, and such a sudden shift caused her to startle, dropping the flask in her hand onto the floor. Mikhael's body became nearly transparent, with a glowing orb in the middle. It was made of shifting sands, whirling around tumultuously with dark veins of black energy crackling through the middle. The Blight. She'd recognize it's presence anywhere.

Vicoya recoiled involuntarily, quite unsure how to process the information. Why did the Blight run through his veins? He was no Legionnaire - some kind of demon, or vampire, perhaps? Either way, she felt uncomfortable knowing this information he clearly was trying to keep secret. She cleared her throat awkwardly, suddenly very busy with emptying the crates he'd just brought into the tent. "On second thought, I just remembered I don't have all the herbs for my potions! I'll have to ask the hunters to gather some later." she said with a lump in her throat. She knew she was a terrible liar. "Perhaps you can come back another time, and I'll show you then?"

[engineerzuleima]

who? open where? haven's wall when? the road so far plot drop

Haven’s Wall stands tall at the strigoi’s back as she eyes the distant shimmering dome with narrowed eyes. Anyone passing by will have noticed the thin layer of snow sitting at her shoulders, demonstrating that she has been standing in the same spot for hours at a time without moving and they would wonder why. The truth is simple: she had sent some of her conjurations to trail the borders of the magic dome to try and understand its circumference. Word had already spread about how the magic covered the entirety of Iskaldrik, and the more word spread, the more curious she became. Iskaldrik is in no way round, and yet the dome always seemed to be just that: a dome. The curiosity needed to be satisfied, and if she finds anything of help, the better. 

And so, she waits for the shadowy grims to return from their scouting, considering the magic before her thoughtfully. Zuleima has never come across anything like it on her long life, and part of her wants to know the mechanics and whether it can be replicated to protect Lysara. A bigger part of her, though, worries about the implications of unknown magic in the hands of the Aethereon empire. 

“You know I can hear you when you move, right?” She asks the watcher. “Don’t you have better things to do than to creep on a random strigoi?”

[temperednuvi]

who? @freydis-freydat where? in the wastelandddd, babyyy when? on their journey to the king

"Do you have a minute?" She finds herself at Freydis' side at some point in their journey, and her words as they left the cave keep repeating over and over in her head. Nuvi does not want to think the worst out of them, but she is far too oversensitive not to worry. Too much of her fate remains uncertain, in a way that is weightier than the uncertainty the humans feel. By virtue of being herself, she remains in danger amidst Iskaldrik nobility, and she needs to know if the Jarl's previous offer of friendship was true or if it had been born from a moment of desperation and despair.

[blightedmikhael]

who? @ormir where? Haven when? During the weeks that the refugees were being monitored

It had only taken him a few days in Lysara for Mikhael to have the bright and startling realization that he had fucked up by getting to know the old man at the bonfire and after. The conversation had been a respite during the arduous journey, and he had enjoyed it enough to seek him out through the journey, but nothing had grown beyond a few amicable conversations. As fellow warriors, keeping the conversation going without delving too much into the despair surrounding them had been bolstering, so he had not made efforts to keep a distance from the Iskaran. Now that they were in Lysara and he had seen the human next to the Princess and who he assumed to be the Prince — and yes, Mikhael will be ignoring the fact that the Iskaran Prince is a Changeling until his dying days to avoid that specific brand of drama — greeting the Lysaran officials, he is regretting his choice. He already found himself drawn to Aytaç, he didn’t mean to involve himself any further with the same group that would have killed him if they had known of his status as a cambion. 

It’s hard to avoid someone when they are both stuck in the same area, though, so he isn’t surprised when he runs into the nobleman a few weeks after the realization of his possible status.

“This trip made for strange bedfellows, didn’t it?” He asks as he greets the man with a nod, having decided not to act too differently in hopes to avoid him from looking into him. “And yet, here I am, still not knowing your name. My apologies.”

[blightedmikhael]

There is a brief moment in which Mikhael considers holding his tongue, keeping his thoughts to himself. The best result is to avoid confrontation, to stop any more conflict from erupting while still trapped within Iskaldrik’s borders. He knows this, and yet he cannot stop himself from clicking his tongue at the witch’s words, disgust escaping his tight grip on his emotions as he did so. 

“I have never strayed from the Creed of Light,” his voice is steady, arms clasped behind his back as he stares back at the witch steadily. There is much more he wants to say, a thousand and one accusations sitting on the edge of his tongue, but one argument raises above the others, his disdain for Astoria’s structure shining through all his other complain. “But it might be too late for you and all those who have fallen prey to your so-called Divine’s corruption of the One God’s will.”

To claim the level of holiness only given to the great Baal is heresy, to follow the words of a warmonger when the Light called for charity, a disgrace. With the evidence of the cost of cleaving on living creatures, the actions of the Divine and her Vanguard are nothing short of unholy in his eyes. 

Proof of their good work was in what the Vanguard of the Light were capable of, by invoking their creator's name they could do what normally required several Olympians. It was a shame that so many had fallen from His grace, that they'd walk the annals under the shadow of a mortal declared themself a deity. Reminiscent in the way of the prostrating Aetherians, there were some who'd encountered them and come to the Lostlands claiming to have encountered Gods of magic.

The ignorant always needed a name for things, a face for the enemy, and something familiar to cling to. There was nothing so foreign to mortals than Gods, so when faced with the things they were too narrow to comprehend, what else could they call it but divine?

"Walk in the light, Ankhurian" Nikandros said simply as he gestured for his man to follow him as he walked past the cambion with little intention to humor whatever the other's bland intention happened to be.

[hiddenvaldis]

who? @agrcn where? Caribellan streets when? during the road so far drop

“You don’t look like the usual sort,” Valdís muses as she falls into step next to the armored man. The armor is a good make, solid craftsmanship. Worth a pretty penny in the market, but easily recognizable too. Probably a heirloom or important enough that jumping the stranger for it would be too much of a hassle in the long term. That, and it’s really not worth getting into trouble in Caribella. The man is clearly not a pirate, the armor is too heavy and fancy for most raiders to take out in open sea and risk rusting, and he is altogether too clean for someone who calls the port home. “Lookin’ for a bounty or for passage? Or somethin’ more interesting?”

[engineerzuleima]

who? @sakkarathekeeper where? trivia’s cove when? during the  road so far

Zuleima touches down on Trivia’s Cove on Cloudy’s back, humming distractingly as she pats the wyvern’s snout affectionately before dismounting. Working through the different flaps on Cloudy’s mouth, she frees the bag she had secured back in Eterna and nods a goodbye to the wyvern before turning and heading deeper into the woods, her humming turning progressively louder as she approaches Sakkara’s above. Sneaking on the Dúnedain is amusing enough, but she has learned to only do so at odd intervals, or the famous Sakkara of the Serpents would begin to expect the attempts. 

That would be far too boring.

So humming to make herself known when she didn’t feel like sneaking on the other it was. 

Making it to the Keeper’s humble abode, Zuleima rattled her knuckles against the frame just hard enough to be heard but hard enough to bring the structure down. Though, with the rackety feel of the entire abode sometimes she wondered how long it would last. 

“Do we need to do the dance of you pretending not to be home, scales?” She muses out loud, head tilted as she listens for the Dúnedain’s heartbeat. “I can hear you.”

[temperednuvi]

who? @alessiathepath where? the caverns, the iron cells when? a week after the last night

There is a constant movement, that of the cart pulling them forward and towards their grim fates. If any hope had remained in Nuvi after her escape from the mines, if it had been strengthened through their journey through the mines, it did not matter. That hope is done, replaced only by overwhelming fear and grim realization. There are echoes of something dark on the Weave, and the more she understands the darkspawn, the less she believes they will make it out of this ordeal. Not without a sacrifice many of them will fear to make. Perhaps a quick death would be quicker, trying to fight likely useless, but— 

A quick glance around makes her wince once more. The mortals are so young. Many of them barely look more than a decade beyond maturity, and even if she doesn’t quite believe there is a way out, she doesn’t want to doom them. Nuvi has long made peace with death, her own misadventures a balancing act that one day could push her towards the edge, but she is older than all around her and there is a tragedy in that. A tragedy she wants to stop, even if she doesn’t quite know how. Even if she were at her strongest, she would not be enough to allow for an escape, and she is far from her strongest now. Broken and shattered, eight years removed from her blessings, she doesn’t know if she will be able to call the earth or the plants with the deft hand needed for any sort of plan to take route.

“I almost preferred the mines,” she mutters to herself, not bothering to lower her tone even if there is a stranger sitting close enough to her. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she sighs and closes her eyes. “At least the monsters guarding us there wore a human guise.”

[blightedmikhael]

Part of him still wonders why he had decided to stay in Lysara rather than venture towards Ankhuria, but as much as he tries to pretend bafflement as to his current situation, he knows. His choices are his own, and right now he wants to stay in Lysara in hopes he can be of any help. Aetheron has awakened, and that means the Dark One is closer than ever, and even in all of his cowardice, Mikhael can’t tuck his tail between his legs and flee south. Not when the refugees are barely recovering from the journey, and there is much he can do to help still. There is no greater risk for him, not when he can find jobs anywhere, but the economics of the whole thing are still troubling. 

Sitting at the bar in The Stumble Inn, he stares at his drink thoughtfully and considers his choices until a voice interrupts him. Glancing up at the banshee who owns the establishment, he nods to show he understands and glances down at his drink in consideration. 

“Nothing for me, thanks,” he says, deciding to nurse his drink for the next of the night. “Although if you happen to know of any establishment looking for mercenaries from the Warrior Guild to hire, that would be tremendously helpful.”

Barkeeps tend to hear everything, so who knows, maybe she would have the answer to his problems. 

Person: *Everyone* Location: Thee Stumble Inn House full of refugees from a land that hates magic or not, nothing is going to keep her from the nightly routine. Because the women and their children and the elderly were all snug in their beds, before her was a full tavern area, the weariest of traveler's. Hoisting herself up onto the bar, she cups her hands around her mouth and some staff and locals freeze which will never fail to amuse her. Smiling to herself and looking out over the many guests and calls out the two words that could be recognized in any language. "Last call!" And because it's also routine, she clambers back down and grabs a particular bottle from behind the bar and takes an ample sip. It burns down her throat as she turns to face the person nearest to her. "Right, what can I get you? I'm nearly out of space I'm afraid, but there's plenty of mead at least." She's joking, except not really.

[hiddenvaldis]

who? @shewolfaurea where? Hole in the Wall, Feronia when? During the road so far drop

Rarely does Valdís venture as far inland as Feronia, the region too far from the ocean she is familiar with to be comfortable. There is no denying the temptation to explore the Northern coast of the Wildlands, but her fleet has yet to reach that far. It’s a rarity for Valdís to take a Standing Stone deeper into Lysara, but she can’t help the curiosity. She knows the refugees and their welcoming party gather at the edges of the odd magical bubble, and she wants to know more. Not enough to venture too close to the barrier, though, not when she is sure there are plenty of eyes on them. Instead, she finds herself in Feronia’s pub, sitting at the corner of the bar as her eyes lazily flicker through the crowds, trying to gather anything of note. Deep in her musings as she is, she doesn’t react much when a pretty stranger sits next to her, only raising a brow in amusement at the entrance. 

“Let me guess, you saw me across the room and liked my vibes?” She asks, an amused smirk on her lips as she raises her ale to her lips. “Or did I fail a vibecheck, and now we are honor bound to duke it out?