#tqh troupe 3

[thequeendomhq]

"It's easy to use doubt as a crutch, but doubt is the first step toward surrendering to the dark." - Queen Arethusa Mordecai of Lysara

March 21st, 3025 will mark the 50th annual celebration since House Chrysanthos invented the steam engine. Since then, technology within Lysara has improved leaps and bounds with the engineers of Eterna churning out marvel after marvel. To acknowledge the progress of this great nation, the Queendom hosts this annual celebration and encourages the public to engage in the festival while uplifting those who continuously contribute to the progressive, advancing society. 

Progress Day is a celebration of gadgets, gizmos, firearms, and more. From the mundane to the awe-inspiring, it is here that greatness is unveiled, celebrated and distributed among the public. 

Celebrated across Eterna, Progress Day’s main festival is held on the docks of Tiber Bay, spilling into Mercury’s Bazaar, but has echoes of the celebration all across the Queenset Isles. With the unveiling of House Chrysanthos’ first airship at the Winter Palace, and the subsequent ships that were released over Aventia, blimps are already taking to dot the skies - with faster aircrafts soaring ahead of them.

While the darkspawn have begun skirmishes in Southreach, Aventia is under the rule of the dark, and Astoria is in the midst of a Civil War following the death of King Henry at the hands of a Vanguard Crusader - Progress Day is meant to remind and unite the wary populace of their common goal. Strength in numbers, strength in progress, in putting one foot in front of the other and keeping to the path. 

Many events will take place over this three-day festival, sky races, chariot races, colosseum battles, escape rooms, skirmishes, and more. The real excitement always surrounds the grand unveiling that takes place on the first day. This year, the Sitters of Vulcans have unveiled a potent new power source - harnessing aetherium to bring energy to the city and new strength to the arms of Lysara's military. Lanterns lit without flame or magic, guns that fire without bullets, engines that replace the need for steam that burns clean and will, at long last, lift the smog that has plagued the Lower Quarters for years.

It is with these staggering achievements that the darkspawn will be pushed back and, now officially decreed by Queen Arethusa herself, help their Iskarans take back their home in the West. Allies from Ankhuria and Sinaria have already begun trickling in, reinforcing Eastreach, trailing through the Queenlands, and taking up positions across Eterna and the Queenset Isles. For now, this is for all intents and purposes, a celebration of unity and progress to face the coming Shadow.  

OOC: 

This is the beginning of Troupe 3, attendance for all characters at the Progress Day festival is mandatory.

Progress Day is a 3-day event, beginning on March 21st. You may begin posting immediately for the event’s first two days. 

There will be a plot update on March 21st for day three. 

All threads that predate Progress Day must be closed, wrapped, or dropped by April 14th without exception. 

[ruyaceres]

who: open ⚜︎ three when: progress day where: eterna, lysara

To the delight of young patrons, stalls crammed with pocket-sized inventions hummed as thousands of tiny gears clicked and whirred. Under sun-bleached canopies, the usual smell of simmering meat and imported spices mingled with the tang of sulfur and gasoline. The Bazaar’s winding paths were strewn with discarded trinkets, while overhead, lanterns glowed with the same strange energy that drove the smog from the city.

Rüya stepped carefully past the crowd, trying to go unnoticed. The market, with all its chaos, was everything Asclepius' sterile halls were not. Among the hum of the machines, she could be an ordinary citizen for a few hours. Lost in the fantasy, she barely dodged a steaming tray of turtle soup. "No, thank you," she smiled, raising a hand to fend off the oily bowl.

"Apologies," the vendor spluttered, but his eyes lingered on the lapis stone adorning her finger. It was a delicate thing, but forged in dragon fire, it signified her status as an Olympian. It was not a curiosity that Rüya welcomed after Valerius' escape. She offered a polite nod in return, retreating as gracefully as she could towards a tunnel.

Its tight walls closed around her and the din of the bazaar faded instantly. The world outside seemed far away, until she glimpsed Tiber Bay at the end of the passageway. The water looked like a ribbon of gold in the setting sun, and massive blimps punctuated the horizon, hovering like ghosts in the clouds.

Rüya didn’t register the figure following her until a hand lashed out. Glass vials flew from her bag, dancing across the cobbled ground. Her magic surged, prickling beneath her skin as she whirled. "Touch me again, and you’ll regret it."

[hiddenvaldis]

where? Eterna, before the Tower of Olympia when? The Day after Aventia was retaken

The Tower stands before her. A bastion of magic, standing strong even as Eterna cracks under the weight of Valerius' escape and the Dark’s approach. Wild magic plagues the city, and despite it all, the Tower remains tall; self-assured on its own legacy, on its own power. 

How could Valdís refuse their invitation?

Months of planning have all led to this moment. Hushed conversations with her second in command, to keep the Armada running for the time she will be moored in land without means of contacting them. Deals made with Kian to prevent him from fleeing and never returning, and agreement of a bloody return once she has passed the initial stages of her training in the Tower. Rumors seeded, each wilder than the last, to ensure that there is no surety as to her whereabouts. 

Valdís had been meticulous on her planning, unwilling to fall prey to unpreparedness when she was heading into dangerous waters. From going to a hair stylist to change her hairstyle, to changing her clothing style just enough to make people look twice, she put in the work to make herself seem just different enough from the Captain of the Ran Armada to have people hesitate to accuse her. And even then, she knows it’s possible the Tower knows exactly who she is. There is nothing she can do about that, but the precautions are more for her peace of mind than anything. 

After the events of the second night of the Progress Day celebrations, she is glad for her choice. As far as she is aware, only Captain Tula got the inkling of her true identity, and for all that is a threat, it is also a relief to know she can pass for someone unordinary well enough amidst trained witches. Even if she hadn’t done well, though, she knows she would still be here, standing before the Tower. 

There is a ring on her finger that doesn’t belong, an unexplained cruelty sitting at the back of her head, and a hand that she feels as if it's no longer fully hers. There is a witch within the Tower that knows more of her plight, and Valdís wants answers. 

She wants the truth of this, of her origins, and more. 

She will always want more. 

There is an emptiness within her that will never be filled, and empty space where love should have taken root but never did. There is an emptiness within her and it hungers. It starves. It wants power, it wants recognition, it wants a legacy. She is nothing but the sum of her parts, just an empty thread cut from the tapestry that makes the Weave. 

Alone since she could remember, Valdís always knew she was not meant to be loved. The path she had chosen was meant to account for the deficiency. If she could not be loved, she would be respected, she would be feared, she would be known. 

A girl made herself from nothing, from urchin orphan to captain, from nameless to named. Every one of her accomplishments was built by her hand, by her blood, by her sweat, by her pain. From a nobody, she had become a somebody.

It is not enough. 

Nothing will ever be enough. 

Greed flows through her veins, it motivates her and pushes her forward. She wants and wants and wants. She will never stop wanting no matter what she gets. She wanted a name, and she got it. She wanted a ship, and she seized. She wanted an armada, and the captain she became. 

Valdís Wavebreaker wants power, and power she will get.

Kian’s warnings echo on her head as she looks up at the Tower. She is outclassed, entirely and absolutely. No matter how confident in her skills she is, she is a toddler playing with mud when compared to the architects of magic she will be meeting. Back in Caribella, she is a big fish in a small pond, and by entering the Tower, Valdís will be wading into an entire ocean. The meager skills that she has gathered through her greatest efforts mean nothing when compared to the precise mastery taught in the Tower. She remembers the Prince’s performance, back in the arena. The demonstration of raw power and sophisticated magic, the confidence that came from training and knowing one’s limits.

She wants that. 

She wants beyond the magic she has cobbled up together, beyond the scraps she grips ever so greedily despite knowing they mean nothing to those who have been properly trained. 

Valdís wants. 

She became the Captain of an Armada with the barest of scraps, with magic even the most incompetent of initiates could manifest. But what if she reached beyond that? What if she steps into the Tower and learns beyond her means? What will she be able to achieve then? 

She wants to find out. More than she wants to be cautious, more than she wants to pay heed to Kian’s words.

Valdís Wavebreaker is entering the lion’s den, and she can’t wait to see what she finds inside. 

[temperednuvi]

who? @arr0s where? Eterna when? Progress Day, Day 2

Festivals were always a nice break to the relentless desire for answers, and Nuvi had taken the time out of the day to explore Progress Day with the glee akin to that of a child in a candy store. Her work is all about Progress, even if it manifests in an entirely different manner than that of the Tower, so she is beyond delighted to have the opportunity to zoom around the place, gathering information and making notes about possible updates to her own research tools. Anything to improve her data gathering, anything to get closer to the truth. She is finishing her visit to one of the exhibits, when she spots a familiar face on the crowd. 

Instinct has her freezing at the sight of the witcher that doomed her to the mines, her spine straightening up as her eyes bounce around for an escape room. Then, logic takes hold and she recognizes the face as Arros, and a tentative delight blooms on her chest. They are not exactly friends, but after surviving all they did together, she can’t declare the witcher her enemy either. 

“Arros! Long time no see,” she comments as she approaches slowly. “How have you been faring?”

[theportaraceli]

who? @abelasx where? Companion’s Sanctuary when? Day 1 of Progress Day

It feels a bit silly when she admits it to herself, but ever since the fall of Aventia, Araceli had felt unbearably lonely. She is surrounded by friends, Kay is living with her, but there is a deep and all-encompassing loneliness that she can’t quite seem to get rid of. What is more, she keeps remembering the sheer love between elvhen and owlbear she had witnessed back in the temple of Mythal. The Prince’s brother had given his immortality for his owlbear, and the memory of it still moved her to tears, even months later. That is why she is here, before his animal sanctuary months later. The only reason why she isn’t shifting in nerves and discomfort at the implication that she will be admitting some weakness to a near-stranger by admitting to her loneliness is due to her careful training in the game. 

Clearing her throat, she steps deeper into the sanctuary and calls out. 

“Hello? I heard I can get help getting an animal friend here?”

[temperednuvi]

“Are you sure betting on the power source is wise?” Nuvi asks amused as she comes to a stop next to Thalin and waves her fingers at Vee with a delighted smile. There is no disapproval on her tone, though, because part of her does agree with Thalin on the fact that there is something bound to go wrong sooner or later. Inventive as the mortals are, no true progress comes painlessly. Be it through constant failures, or through something going awry, it is likely that one of the power sources used in the event will glitch or something of the like. She can only hope that it will not cause any harm to the crowds surrounding them. “I believe it’s my turn to entertain the little lord,” she comments playfully, looking at Vee fondly as she opens her arms to see if the fox wants to jump into them or perch on her shoulders like with Thalin. “If there is anything you want to look at more closely, you can go ahead.”

Person: OPEN Location: Tiber Bay, Docks notes: PROGRESS DAY BAYBEE "Alright, I get it." He says to the tiny fox laying across his shoulders, handing it a blueberry from his pocket. He'd gone into this whole ordeal skeptical because what progress could the mortals possibly be making? But they do indeed have gadgets and gizmos aplenty and Thalindor can't help but take notice of not just the magic, but the careful craftsmanship of the metalworking had him missing the forge. It's probably the most interesting day he's had in Lysara, he'll give the people that. There are things he sees that he thinks could help Varda's Cavern and he tries to take note, but mostly he's people watching until it's Nuvi's turn to deal with their furry friend who refused to be left at the vineyard. "Ten blueberries says that power source of theirs goes sideways." He's talking to the fox who he's pretty sure stopped listening after the word 'blueberry' was said, but he's not particularly being quiet about his skepticism.

[alrikhart]

@fharzai location: dreamscape notes: his leg isn't fucked up here :)

When Alrik closed his eyes, the druid was always there. Even without Fharzai's influence, Alrik thought he could conjure him now when he wanted to. When he needed him; lately, that had been more often than not.

There was a lightness that came in the waking hours when Alrik was liberated from his dreams, but the darkness remained, giving contrast to the scape that spread out from the hill in all directions. Clouds of pink and lavender, permeated by shallow rivets of a darker emerald and deep violet. In the distance a storm rumbled, flickers or thunder that sparked and flourished, a shadow stretched from their hill to the horizon - but it was a distant thought. One that Fharzai helped stave from Alrik's mind while he slept.

Idle, calloused fingers trailed against Fharzai's side as Alrik kept his cheek pressed to the top of the druid's head. Eyes fixed on the horizon as he ruminated over what was awaiting him in Lysara. What sort of life he'd have, and what he and Alessia would do when they were reunited. She'd spoken so often of the tower, but now when Alrik thought of his place in the world he thought of so many things; The Old Woman in the Mountains, the Legion of the Dead, and the Tower of Olympia. It wasn't possible to have everything, but now and again obscurity had its own appeal too.

Would that he could just dream forever.

"Will you show me something?" Alrik's head tilted from the horizon toward the man on his chest, unbroken legs stretched in front of him as the pain he felt in the waking world was a thing of the past. There was such an odd symmetry between not knowing the man at all, and feeling as though he had always known him. Fate was fickle in its machinations and, this feeling wasn't enough, he found he wanted to know him for real. All of him. "Anything, your past, your present - what you want for your future." Alrik thought briefly of his own story, "I'll share after."

[alucardrakul]

@etienneulven location: Hrimthur's Wastelands notes: congratulations you've reached the 'attempts small talk' stage

The cold blew down from the mountains and battered the ridges of the mountains; through one of the valleys, the woodsmen had set snares and traps in the hopes of bringing something worth eating back to the troupe. The pair were set to rally with the others come nightfall and since there was no danger of the blight here, Alucard had joined the huntsmen in an attempt to make himself useful while safeguarding the man as well.

That was the justification that Alucard had unnecessarily explained to those who hadn't asked, and to the huntsmen when they'd met up together. Etienne didn't look like he could survive in the wilderness, he looked like a strong wind would blow him away, or if he stood up too quickly he'd get dizzy and fall over. Here he was though, surviving.

"So." Alucard had prepared some tactful questions to broach Etienne with, in his mind they were thoughtful and well articulated, but when he spoke it was with the same blunt directness that followed his candor. "Do you have parents?"

[thequeendomhq]

"We do not belong to the past, you and I. We are the future." -- Valerius Noctis.

Fifty Years Ago...

She was running long before the bells stopped ringing, through a sea of legs and swishing coats. The bazaar, alive around her, smelled of roasted almonds and the acrid tang of metallurgy. The city itself was alive in its own right, so loud, so beloved. Her laughter, alongside the laughter of other Tower children, was lost in the crowd and the great fanfare. 

Darting between the thick wool skirts of a baker’s wife, then nearly barreling into a man carrying a stack of books. He yelped, stumbling as pages scattered like startled birds. She laughed, quick as a spark, and twisted herself through the crowd, too fast, too small to be caught.

She knew she wasn’t supposed to run off. But what else was she meant to do? Stand still like some statue while the grown-ups droned on about whatever great thing Lady Juliana had made? No, thank you. The world was wide, and she had legs that could move.

A flicker of gold in the corner of her eye caught her attention - something glinting beneath a merchant’s cart. A coin, maybe? A trinket? She crouched, reaching for it-

And then a hand closed around the back of her collar, firm as a hook snagging a fish.

“Caught you,” came the reprimand of her mother’s Queensguard.

Arethusa yelped as she was lifted onto her feet, the familiar scent of jasmine and ink surrounding her. She twisted in Agron’s grasp, only to find a raised brow and a knowing smirk.

“You are impossible,” he sighed, “Do you know what today is?”

Arethusa crossed her arms, scowling. “Loud.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, loud. And important. And not a day for you to go scurrying about like a gutter cat.” He turned, his grip on Arethusa’s wrist gentle but unyielding. “Come. The Queen has been looking for you.”

Arethusa grumbled but followed, her small feet struggling to match the long strides of the Queensguard. The Red Knight. Ten years the war had been over, ten years Valerius had been locked in the Tower, and ten years he’d sworn himself to Queen Damodred. At barely six years old, Arethusa couldn’t even pretend to know what any of that meant. 

The closer they got to the raised marble platform, the more the crowd swelled and Arethusa was led to her mother’s side. Damodred spared her daughter a sidelong and withering look that straightened the princess’ spine, then another - more knowing - at the Red Knight, one that softened. At the center of it all, standing tall and regal, was Lady Juliana of House Chrysanthos.

Arethusa recognized her - sort of. She had seen her before, speaking in hushed tones with the Scholars, always carrying strange blueprints and books filled with scribbles Arethusa couldn’t read. She looked as if she were made of metal herself, sharp-eyed and gleaming, her deep robes rippling like water.

She raised a hand, and silence fell.

"For centuries," Lady Juliana said, her voice ringing over the gathered people, "we have moved at the pace the world allowed us. Today, we take command of it." A hush. A breath.

Then - The lever was pulled, and the world roared. Arethusa flinched as a deafening hiss of steam burst into the air. The great iron machine, sleek and shining, trembled, and then - with a shuddering groan—it moved.

Not by horse. Not by wind. Not by any magic that she could feel. By itself.

The wheels turned, slow at first, then faster, the churning pistons shining like molten gold in the sunlight. The crowd gasped, some cheering, some staring in stunned silence. Arethusa gripped her mother’s hand tighter, eyes wide.

Damodre’d voice was soft, but firm. “The world will never be the same again.”

Today

King John Mordecai, often forgotten but never replaced, stood on the mechanical platform high above Tiber’s Bay, gears, cranks, and propellers sustained the flight as he grinned wide. His likeness was projected in the sky, addressing not just the Bay, but all of Eterna.

"My dear friends, fellow revellers, curious minds - esteemed sailors of the skies and seas! Welcome, welcome, to this most auspicious of occasions - where grand ambition meets grander folly- where we humble students of progress stand in the balance, hoping for the former but always entertained by the latter!” He laughed, a laugh track - played over gramophones across the city set to amplify John's voice - followed, and whether or not anyone else in the city so much as chuckled remained to be seen. 

“We stand upon the threshold of something… marvellous. Something that will shatter the boundaries of distance, and redraw the very maps upon which we place our dreams, and, more importantly, ensure that even the laziest merchant will no longer have an excuse for late deliveries!” Another laugh, cue the track. 

“Before us stands the culmination of genius - the lifeblood of progress. It is the work of a mind that peers beyond what is and seizes what could be! A beacon unlike any other, one that calls not to lost ships, but to every ship, ushering them through the ether with a flicker of light and a whisper of magic. Today, science and arcana meet, today we celebrate the union of innovation and industry.” John held for dramatic effect, drawing out the anticipation.

“And for this miracle, this triumph, this revolution in movement, we must bow our heads - not in sorrow, mind you, but in awe - before the incomparable Lady Juliana of House Chrysanthos and the boundless investment made by the Jewel of Sinaria. Juliana, a witch of wit, wisdom, and - if my sources are correct - far too much patience in dealing with the likes of her unruly house. The woman for whom began this anniversary of Progress, one who has gifted us with a means to travel across our vast continent in the blink of an eye!” Lady Juliana stepped forward on the platform and came into view of the projection as the focus shifted from John to the witch who’d been firmly ingrained in the great history of Lysara. 

“Lords and ladies, sailors and scholars, mystics and merchants alike - I give you the Beacon of Chrysanthos! May it light our way into a new age!” An extravagant gesture pointed to the Tower of Olympia as a glamour was dispelled, revealing a great oculus at its summit, merchant vessels drifting on the water suddenly lifted into the sky - the marvel of innovation carrying them higher and higher as the oculus began to hum with life. “A shipment to Ankhuria,” a set of ships hovered before the Tower’s Eye before a radiant burst of blue light vanished them completely, “arms from Sinaria,” again the Tower hummed with life, this time receiving instead of sending as a different set of ships appeared. 

"For those who look to the Aetherian Empire to the West for innovation, I say, look to your neighbour instead. There are no friends in those who threaten our borders, who spit on our doorstep, who attack those with whom we once held alliance." The King rarely - if ever - touched on political matters, his position was a jovial one, but the current climate required it. "Lysarans do not beg at the feet of aggressors, and we do not turn our backs on those who need us. From the pyres of Astoria, to the mines of Iskaldrik, the dunes of Ankhuria, and the glimmering tides of Sinaria."

“Welcome to the future! Welcome to Progress!”

ooc:

canonically this unveiling takes place near the end of Day 2.

there are no set reveals for Day 3, it's just another day of celebration to wrap things up.

tldr: John Mordecai unveiled a big teleporter that I stole from Arcane Season 1 <3

[abelasx]

@ikarosx location: Aventia notes: Troupe 2, part 2

Found knelt amid the rubble and smoke of Aventia, Abelas usually aloof was stuck permanently twisted in anguish. His hands, weathered from years out in the world, cradled Icarus' massive, feathered head. His tongue flopped out, pox-marked and dry, but Abelas made no motion to try and put it back in his mouth. Icarus's thick fur coat was matted with blood and grime, his oversized body trampled and Abelas held him tighter. He didn't care if he got sick- he didn't care about anything right now.

Animals didn't live forever, they should've and it wasn't fair that they didn't. It wasn't fair that Abelas had been here before, making friends only to say goodbye. Live forever the elvhen said, what's the point? Was the only thing he could think of in moments like this. Cruel men had left his friend deformed, but it was Abelas who'd brought him into this fight. This was his fault. His fault for not being strong enough to leave him in the Silverlands, his fault for being arrogant enough to think that the darkspawn wouldn't get their claws into his friend. Abelas had done this, this was his fault. He should've known better, he knew better, and still, Icarus was quivering with his massive head in Abelas's lap.

“Icarus...” Abelas’s voice broke, his words swallowed by the chaos of the siege that raged outside the fortifications. People were dying: elvhen, humans, witches, and everything else in between and outside the lines "Icarus please- keep your eyes open, don't. Don't close them." Whatever was going on outside these walls didn't matter to him, he'd trade the life of every single person in this Keep for the owlbear in his lap.

Ikaros was there, just showing up seemingly out of thin air like he always did.

Almost everyone, maybe.

“No... no, please, stay with me," Abelas whispered, his voice trembling. His fingers curled tightly into the fur at the base of Icarus’s neck, desperate to hold on to what little strength his friend had left. "You can’t give up now. Not like this. Not after everything we’ve been through. I need you." They still had so much left to do, Abelas hadn't found Oberon yet - Icarus hadn't met him!

Icarus let out a ragged, wheezing breath, his glazed eyes rolling toward Abelas, their deep, mismatched gaze flickering with the faintest spark of recognition. His tongue, slack from exhaustion, quivered in the cold air, and the great beast let out a weak whine as if trying to respond, to comfort his friend in his own way. He tried again to stand, pushing his massive body against Abelas’s lap, muscles quaking from the effort, but collapsed with a heavy, pained thud, his body shaking from the strain.

Abelas had been to Blackrock and scoured most of it while he was studying the dragons there, but according to Arvandoril there was a pool that could help them. He had to get Icarus there- to the other side of the Queendom, with, at most, a couple days.

Utterly helpless, Abelas looked up to his brother once more, hoping for guidance. "I don't- I don't know what to do. I can't say goodbye to him." The lines on Abelas's broken features deepened. "Ikaros you- I need you to tell me what to do."

[hiddenvaldis]

who? @aegeanxcalla where? Captain Tullia’s Boat when? After the Drowned King’s Quest

“What do you make of the rings?” The question is not necessarily a good conversation starter, but she had seen the witch’s abilities in combat, so she wanted to talk to her. If nothing else, she wanted to figure out if she was Tower trained, and if so, for which specialty. With her entrance to the Tower coming up, she needed to figure out if she wanted to become a Warrior of Mars or something else entirely. “You seemed to be looking at them intently back in the island, and I would love to know what mess I was stuck in.”

[witchertorsten]

@afshinxeldar location: Hrimthur's Outpost notes: the squad is getting ready to roll out.

"Harold is saddled and ready for you." It went unspoken that the drake would protect the prince with his own life; if it meant that Afshin's chances of surviving his journey through the Lostlands were increased, then Torsten would gladly walk beside the King into battle on foot.

Legionnaires had spoken of the swollen numbers of darkspawn, this was not like any single raiding party and would be far greater than the force that attacked them at Nornwatch. This mission could only be doomed, but even if he were not bound by Orhan's oath, Torsten's honor wouldn't allow him to stand idly by while the Princess was held by the broodmother. Tales of what she must be enduring turned his stomach, and he'd already promised Afshin to see her safely home.

Torsten lingered in front of the Prince, so much had been unspoken, but whatever secrets the witcher harbored regarding the other would die within his breast. There was only one that could not be contained; Torsten should have taken his leave then, bowed to the Prince, and wished him a safe journey to Lysara. Good fortune when he stood in front of the Elysian Throne and asked Queen Mordecai for aid in returning his Kingdom to the rightful hands.

Instead, he stayed.

The witcher's body moved of its own accord as he stepped in and brought his lips to Afshin's; the weight of the Kingsguard and his mithril plate pressed against the Prince as the gauntlets he wore cradled the line of the other's neck. Another wandered, slid across the Prince's thigh, and lifted his leg in a single, smooth motion. Lips parted, tongue seeking, he'd thought of little else for the last three years - standing in stalwart observation behind the King while Afshin dined and laughed. Torsten hardly spared the other a look, his duty had to come first, but his thoughts idly entertained what it'd be like to bask in the other's laughter while sitting as a guest. Arm draped across the Prince's shoulders, casually, as if Torsten could have belonged in that world.

He might have, once, had the Norns deigned to deem it so.

[spiralailani]

Her unimpressed look remains for another beat, before she sighs fondly and she gestures for Fiore to follow her. He might have forgotten that he had agreed to spend some time with her on the first day of the Progress Day celebration, but he had still left his apartment early enough that it was not much of an issue. There was still plenty of time, after all, and Fiore looked tired. He definitely had needed the rest. 

“You wanted to see the temple for Mythal at the outskirts of Eterna,” she reminds gently as she gestures at him to follow. Although most Lysarans followed the Lysaran pantheon, there were enough elvhen in Eterna that there were temples for their gods all over the city. The one she was taking Fiore towards was one of the smallest ones, perfect for a first venture into elvhen religion. “And I remembered that the temple does a soup kitchen for orphaned elvhen during big festivals, like this one. So we will be volunteering for a few hours.”

It had taken some effort to convince Fiore to do as much, but she had pointed out that it would give him the opportunity to talk to the other worshippers and learn more of how others worshipped the All-Mother, something he couldn’t experience just by relying on Lailani’s stories. 

who: @spiralailani

where: eterna, current

notes: giving them something fresh!

Fiore ran a hand through his hair, sighing as he stepped out onto the quiet street. The early morning light cast long shadows against the cobblestones, but he barely noticed. His mind still clung to the last vestiges of sleep, of the same nightmare that had been haunting him for days. He could still see the reflection in his mind’s eye, that cruel, knowing grin, the sharp glint of the blade.

He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake the feeling off. It was just a dream. A fucked-up, disturbingly persistent dream, but a dream nonetheless. Didn’t mean he liked the way it left his skin crawling. Didn’t mean he liked the way he woke up with the phantom sensation of loss clawing at his ribs.

Fiore blinked, shaking his head out of his thoughts before turning to see Lailani standing there, arms crossed, an unimpressed look on her face.

Shit, he was supposed to help her with something today. Shit.

There was a second where he considered bluffing his way through it, but his brain hadn’t caught up yet, still stuck in the fog of too many sleepless nights. “Right,” he said instead, dragging the word out, as if that would somehow stall the inevitable. “Yeah, let's do this. Just, uh—refresh my memory. What exactly are we doing again?”

[theportaraceli]

who? @studentalthea where? Aventia babeyyy when? Day 3 of Progress Day

The streets of her city are shattered, nothing but ruins of once a magnificent citadel. Absent-mindedly, Araceli wonders if this is how the elvhen would feel if they were to find a way to return to a fallen branch. It’s a gutting question, and one she is experiencing at this moment, but luckily, she is not experiencing it alone. 

“Thank you for coming with me,” she offers her thanks to Althea, her smile less forced than it had been for months. They had been finishing brunch, when the news of Aventia’s retaking had spread, so after much begging, Althea had agreed to come with her to check what remained.  “I promise, next time we go for brunch it’s my treat, and I can even try to get a private booth in the Dragon Draught for us.”

[alrikhart]

@alessiathepath location: The Lostlands notes: im ready to be hurt again.

Alrik would know if she was dead.

Vicoya was gone and no longer working on his leg, but because of her he could still walk, and while he was doing it with a limp, Alrik managed his way around the old stones of the ruin just fine. The earth was soft here, deceitful in that way, one wrong step and a person could go in. Stray too far and the mist might take you, or something venomous might perceive you as a threat.

Keep them safe. That's what Alder had told him. It felt like the sort of affirmation you'd give a child and at first, Alrik had resented it, but a talisman hung on his chest and when his ire toward the Iskarans began to build, he'd find himself touching it.

For the first time in a decade, Alrik found peace in his dreams, Fharzai's rune let him shake off the darkness and settle somewhere more quiet. Serene. When the druid wasn't there, Alessia was. He'd talk to the ghost of her memory so that he could continuously commit her to his mind's eye. They'd sit for so long that the fantasy allowed him to forget the truth, and then when he awoke the horror began again.

He found comfort in distraction, his mind couldn't wander far if he was distracted. Alrik recalled Prospero's promise, and he let the validity of what the druid had sworn to settle on him. If Alessia died, Alrik would die: Prospero had saved them once, he could do it again. There was no reason for Alrik to trust him beyond that singular sentiment, but he did.

Idle hands saw him tinkering with what he could, fixing the bearings on carts, sharpening or mending swords in case the troupe was attacked here. They'd be ready this time.

A sound like a door creaking open muddled with the crackle of energy as the telltale note of arcana pressed itself against the tarmac of his tongue. The ball of Alrik's meteor hammer hung at his side in a heartbeat, already taking a turn as he searched for an advantage point. Ephemeral blue and wide split the air open like a door, and people began to step through.

The Princess looked insane, but he recognized most of them. Alrik's heart began to beat rapidly in his chest, harder and harder:

I would know if she was dead. I would know if she was dead. I would know if she was dead. A final figure skulked from the door like a shadow, a cloak of raven feathers with the cowl drawn low. The last of them. Beneath he saw the tip of what looked like bone.... But that wasn't his sister.

She wasn't there. She wasn't-

Something hateful bloomed in the witch's chest as his eyes bore into the hooded figure, they seemed to look at him from under their cowl, and then it was pulled back, the mask removed, and Alrik recognized Alessia immediately.

And yet, she no longer looked anything like his dreams. Older somehow, changed: Alrik could not know what she'd been to, but his hammer fell without a thought as it hit the ground beside him.

"Alessia."

Alrik was running, limping, and running and pushing despite whatever pain reverberated from the injury.

"Alessia!"

Alrik felt the smile on his face and heard it in his voice. So many years the Harts had worn their masks, now when he ran toward Alessia he felt it abandoned behind him, if only for the moment.

He'd watched the darkspawn take his sister and spent the last two months conjuring every possible scenario. Falling into despair and madness, lashing out at anyone who tried to broach her to him - but here she was. Alive. He'd been right.

Alrik's arms fell around her, large and crushing as he squeezed without thought, lifting and turning her in the air. He couldn't be cognisant of the way his tears fell, how they streamed as if he was taking his first steps from that Iskaran mine once more. They'd been children then, but if there was anything young about them still, it had died along this road.

"I knew you would find your way to us- I knew you'd-" His eyes searched her face, his thoughts worked too quickly to conjure a story of comfort or gratitude. He made eye contact with Alder and Prospero, they had kept their promise, and he would address that later.

Alrik smiled and tugged her toward his camp.

"Tell me everything."

[thequeendomhq]

“Do you know what happens when a darkfriend betrays their oaths? Erased.... enthralled... consumed.... no more turns... no more chances. If you're lucky, perhaps you'll come back a servant... but you will not be allowed to die until your suffering has served its purpose... tell me, would you like to be Gray?” -- Kiaransalee

Progress Day, Day 3 - shortly before dawn.

From below the rippling tide of the Gulf of Taravell, the first of the dreadnoughts silently broke the surface, with black hulls that cut through the waves like knives moving through flesh. The assault began immediately as the dreadnoughts rained fire down upon the countryside surrounding Aventia. Wave after wave of explosions, lighting the sky, sending plumes of blighted smoke into the air as the Kossith left the Blight itself untouched. 

Among the varied races and factions of Taravell, there were none more prolific in the killing of darkspawn than the Kossith of Itzcoatal. 

The ballistae loosed until dawn, corralling the darkspawn into the city, pushing them from their caves, and drawing them out from underground. Iron cast bolts, thick as a man’s leg, screamed through the sky again and again. 

From the decks of the lead dreadnought, Arishok Vasaan watched in steadfast silence. His heavy-plated form was motionless, save for his breath misting in the cold air. When the ground had settled and the sun was high, that was when the darkspawn would retreat into malformed caverns, hiding from their new and ancient enemy.

That was expected. That was planned for.

When the outer defenses lay in ruin and the darkspawn were scrambling about the battered and blighted streets of Aventia, the gas ships advanced. The Kossith’s artillerists worked tirelessly, fitting great brass canisters prepared by their alchemists to the launchers mounted along the ships’ prows. One spark, one mistake, and they would all choke on their own creation - but in the art of war the Kossith did not make mistakes. 

With a hiss of released pressure, the first wave of toxin drifted over Aventia’s bones. The wind carried it deep into the broken city, curling through shattered windows, and slithering down into the tunnels where the darkspawn lurked. The screams came next. There were few sounds comparable to a darkspawn’s agony, the shrill cry of a broodmother giving birth was perhaps the only thing that matched the withering cry of a blighted beast’s flesh curling off of its bones.

These were not human screams. Not even the howls of beasts. These were the wretched, unnatural shrieks of creatures that had never feared death - not until now. The toxin was not made to burn, nor suffocate. It was crafted to kill darkspawn from within, flooding their bodies with bile, and forcing their blighted blood to curdle in their veins.

The Kossith listened. They waited. When the silence finally fell, the Arishok raised his hand.

Each landing craft cut through the tide, their hulls reinforced with steel, their warriors packed shoulder to shoulder. They hit the shore without hesitation, boots sinking into the bloodied sand.

The Tamnok, the Kossith's heavy infantry, led the march through the crumbling streets, great shields raised. Behind them were the Rahaat, the Kossith’s auxiliary forces, collared, their magic operated by the Sul’dam.

Any darkspawn that had survived the gas - few as they were - were met with steel. The Kossith never wasted bolts, nor did they engage in drawn-out battles. Every strike was meant to kill. A single, clean cut across the throat. A swift hammer blow to the skull. Those who did not meet the blade met fire or lightning as the Rahaat wove elemental threads to devastating ends, linking, and synchronizing to bring a cleansing storm to the streets of Aventia.

The Kossith was a wave upon the occupied city of Aventia, in the depths of the city, in its twisted underbelly of collapsed tunnels and rotting passageways, the last remnants of the darkspawn scrambled. They tried to flee, to burrow deeper. But the Kossith knew their ways. They had fought them before, fought them still, and would fight them forever if need be. The Kossith did not hunt the darkspawn. They buried them completely.

Explosives lined the tunnel mouths, set deep into the broken ground. The stone groaned as the charges ignited, collapsing the tunnels with an earth-shattering roar. No passage was left unsealed. No darkspawn left to rise. For whatever ghosts remained, the Rahaat sank threads of earth and air beneath them, fire and spirit, steam rose from the ground, the last ghoulish cries whispered into the midday sun - then at long last, Aventia was purged. 

But the Kossith did not leave.

On the outskirts, but still within city limits, the Arishok formed a compound as his dreadnoughts disappeared below the tide once more. One envoy remained, docked like a sword against the coast.

 A messenger was dispatched to Eterna, the contents of the letter for Queen Arethusa and the Tower Sitters alone, but word soon spread - from Nightingale to spy, to the common bard to fish merchant. Their presence was felt, clear, and understood.

Aventia is reclaimed. The Blight is purged. The tunnels are sealed. Lysara may return. Trade may begin. The city stands. We remain. The Kossith are not to be disturbed. There will be no negotiation. -- Arishok Vasaan

ooc:

Aventia has been reclaimed, players may return, the city is under Lysara's rule once more.

The Kossith have taken up residence in the most western section of the city, rebuilding it, and fortifying it. Darkspawn that may trickle down from the Spine are promptly cut down as the Kossith patrol outside their gates.

The Kossith have begun trading different alchemical regents and substances with Lysara, as well as other exotic products from Itzcoatal: rubber, coffee, medicine, and gold among them.

The following characters went missing the morning of the second day of Progress Day: Diarmad,, Prospero, and Agnes. Their survival hinges on tomorrow's session.