The Blood Pact

Starting post info:

The path ends where the maps do.

A ring of weathered stone rises from the forest floor, half-swallowed by roots and moss, as if the land itself has tried—and failed—to erase it. Ancient symbols are carved into the standing pillars, their meaning long forgotten… yet faintly warm to the touch. The air hums, subtle but constant, like a held breath.

One by one, they arrive.

Strangers, drawn by the same letter, the same sigil, the same pull they cannot explain. Some come cautiously, hands near weapons. Others step forward in disbelief, or defiance, or quiet curiosity. Each feels it differently—the heat beneath their skin, the shadows stretching just a little too far, the ache of something waking after centuries of sleep.

When the last of them crosses into the stone circle, the forest stills.

A tall figure steps from the shadows between the pillars, dark brown eyes reflecting an ageless calm.

“You’re here,” Seth says softly. “Then the seal truly is breaking.”

The symbols along the stones flare with dim light.

“This place,” the guide continues, “will be your refuge… and your trial. What you carry in your blood can no longer remain buried.”

The air tightens, heavy with unasked questions and unspoken fear.

Training has begun.

Atasen Info:

Location: Training grounds

Time: Early afternoon

Season: Early spring

Things to note:

Setting: Loosely medieval fantasy. Think swords, cloaks, simple tools, and pre-industrial life. No modern technology.

Arrival: Characters arrive individually, having followed the coordinates from the letter. You may choose how long it took and what emotions brought them there.

Knowledge: Your character (unless a nymph) does not know about the seven families, the pact, or Maloria yet—only that something strange has been happening to them.

Abilities: Powers may manifest uncontrollably or subtly (flickers, sensations, instincts), but full control comes later through training.

Weapons & Gear: Basic medieval weapons and travel supplies are fine. Magical items are rare and should be discussed first.

Power Balance: This is a growth-based RP. Nobody starts overpowered.

Please use the following format when posting-

Character name||Age||Family||Mentions:

Important links:

Sign-Ups

Discussion

Aeloria DeLacroix||22||Banshee|| Mentions: none

Aeloria had known the moment she read the letter that she would not be able to ignore it.

It had been waiting for her when she returned to her small rented room above the town's flower shop, resting neatly on the rough wooden table as if it had always belonged there. No seal she recognized, no name written upon it—only a strange sigil pressed into dark wax. The instant her fingers brushed the parchment, a sharp pressure bloomed in her ears, a distant echo like wind howling through hollow stone. She had not opened it right away. She had sat, unmoving, listening to a sound no one else could hear, until the ache in her throat reminded her she was holding her breath.

The letter had given her little information. Coordinates. A place beyond marked roads. And the certainty—bone-deep and absolute—that it was meant for her. So she waited until dawn to throw what little she owned into a large sack and leave.

The road out of the village was familiar at first, winding past low fields and sagging fences, the air still heavy with sleep. Aeloria kept the hood of her black cloak drawn low, as she always did. As the sun climbed, the land grew quieter. Villages thinned, then vanished altogether, replaced by forest paths choked with roots and shadow. With every step, the pressure in her ears returned, rising and falling like a tide. Sometimes she swore she could hear whispers that carried on the wind—broken words, unfinished laments—but when she stopped to listen, there was only birdsong and the creak of branches. So she pressed on.

By the second night, Aeloria was sleeping lightly, wrapped in her cloak, the only thing to bring her warmth, beneath twisted oaks. Dreams came whether she wanted them or not. Faces she did not recognize. Voices calling her name with unbearable sorrow. She woke more than once with her hand clamped over her mouth, a scream clawing to escape, her throat raw with the effort of holding it back. It had always been this way.

On the third day, the forest changed. The air grew heavy and still, as though sound itself had been swallowed. Her footsteps made no echo. Even the birds fell silent. Aeloria slowed, every instinct screaming warning. She could feel something ahead—an old resonance that vibrated through her chest, setting her pulse out of rhythm. It was the same sensation she felt near places of tragedy, where death had lingered too long. Only this was deeper. Older. She followed it like a moth drawn to a flame.

The trees thinned abruptly, giving way to a clearing where ancient stone pillars jutted from the earth in a broken ring. Moss clung to them in thick veils, and roots coiled around their bases like grasping fingers. Symbols carved into their surfaces glimmered faintly, just enough to be seen, just enough to be felt.

Aeloria stopped at the edge of the clearing.

Her throat tightened painfully as the hum in the air sharpened, a note so close to sound it made her eyes water. Her hand rose to her neck without conscious thought, fingers brushing the skin as if she could soothe whatever stirred beneath it. She had spent her life fearing moments like this—places that answered her presence too readily. But she stepped forward anyway.

The moment she crossed into the circle, the world shifted. The air thickened, pressing against her lungs. The hum grew louder, vibrating through her bones. She staggered once, catching herself, heart hammering as a surge of emotion—fear, awe, something dangerously close to recognition—threatened to tear loose the wail coiled inside her.

Light pulsed along the carved symbols, faint but undeniable. The sound in Aeloria’s ears surged in response, and for a heartbeat she thought she might finally lose control—that the scream would rip free and shatter stone and silence alike. Instead, something steadied her. The hum did not vanish, but it aligned, settling into a low, mournful harmony that felt disturbingly familiar. For the first time in her life, the power bound to her voice did not feel like a solitary curse. It felt… answered.

Aeloria lowered her hand from her throat, fingers trembling.

If this place was calling to her blood, then the stories whispered by the dead—the warnings, the grief, the prophecies half-sung in her dreams—had not been madness after all.

She had not come here by accident.

And whatever awaited her within this circle, it was no longer something she could outrun.

Yoshi Takashiki ||25|| Kitsune|| Mentions: Aeloria (briefly)

Yoshi’s body straightened in her stool as she was abruptly taken away from her work. A man’s hand clamped on her shoulder and sent a cold rush up her spine, almost making her shudder.

“It’s them again,” his deep voice spoke.

Her fingers froze in place, yarn entangled around them. The spool of the cotton wheel in front of her spun to a stop. A thin letter feathered down into a bucket of cotton she drew from. A red seal flashed by, but slowly fell face-down into the wooden bucket.

Turning to see the man, she took in a deep breath and put on her best smile. “Why, what would make you think that?” She cocked her head to the side and tapped her index finger on the corner of her lip.

The plump man scowled and tugged his silk tunic into place. “Get back to work,” he boomed, then turned to the exit of the spinning floor. As he left, he spit under his breath, “Maybe they do not want you either.”

Both Yoshi and the other women knew what he meant. She had recently got into a kerfuffle with a priest and the rumor running around the streets was that she was going to be convicted of heresy, therefore excommunicating her from the Catholic church.

Her gaze fell past the yarn still laying in her left hand. Maybe they do not want you either… He clearly didn’t mean for it to be heard, but his opinion reached her ears nevertheless. She was always good at picking up those kinds of things.

A condescending deacon had once reminded her of her place in society, telling her the truth at far too young of an age. Her mother was a merchant from Asia and left not long after she was born, leaving her dad to deal with the aftermath. In her culture, heterochromia was less of a rare trait than it was an omen. The church cared not for such omens. They were only concerned with the marriage, which was, well, nonexistent. Yoshi’s parents had failed to wed, some people even saying it was only a temporary courtship for the sake of their business in either country at the time.

Although she got along fine with her more European appearance, the multi-colored eyes were not something she could run away from. Multiple times in her childhood she got into fights with other children for being “different”, and would return home with her amber eye being a black eye. Her father did the best he could for her, although had a business to handle. When she turned fourteen, his business hit a rough spot and he had to trade her to a rich cotton farmer to keep money coming in.

Yoshi bit her lip and leaned over the bucket to collect the letter. The thin letter remained relatively clean despite its journey. The seal, however, did not bear the symbol of the church. She peeled off the wax and flipped the envelope open.

Coordinates?

That’s it?

A fancy letter with a mysterious sigil and all she gets are bloody coordinates? Not even a map?

She let out a slow breath and folded the envelope flap back over the contents. From the looks of it, it would be a two-day journey.

Her hands wove through the yarn, then reached to feed more cotton fiber into the spinner. They worked meticulously, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

A seal that fancy had to come from someone important. But someone important should be able to afford enough time to attach a letter to the coordinates. How might anyone find them with that vague of instructions?

Rich people had good food though. Their elaborately decorated mansions had many rooms to explore, and their banquets had amazing entertainment. She had heard of the king bringing a bear in for dinner once.

One glance around the spinning floor told her all she needed to know. Eleven years stuck spinning cotton into yarn with all these other women. They were so plain too- not a single one of them tolerated jokes!

That settled it; she departed that night.

🝔

It had been two long days. Two days of trekking through mud and trees, two days of lugging a small pack, two days without a proper bath. Two days and she had finally made it.

The journey led Yoshi off of the main routes and into the forest. By this point, she had given up the idea of finding a rich man and was purely continuing on for the idea of buried treasure. She was glad to avoid the bandits, but quickly found that it was easy to get lost in the woods. But how could that be considered her fault? The forest was filled with so many peculiar creatures and new flowers for her to gather.

She arrived at a ring of mossy stones with a crown of flowers she had woven. It wasn’t too different from yarn, just it required a delicate touch.

Light broke through the canopy of trees, illuminating pollen floating through the air above the stones. Her arm lifted to touch one of the dots, like a child chasing fireflies. The scene looked almost magical. The air even felt alive.

Her gaze drifted back to the stones. Each of them had a unique symbol etched into it. They reminded her of the symbols brought to the market by viking traders, but looked almost older. The forest felt ancient, like it was holding a great secret that it refused to tell its classmates. It chose to torture everyone with anticipation.

Another girl had already arrived. She looked more anxious than Yoshi had ever been. Maybe someone was missing a memo? From where she was standing, the girl ahead of her looked almost skittish. Her eyes darted around the circle like she expected something to happen soon.

This must be something greater than treasure, if others also received a letter. The circle did seem a little large for a few gold coins.

She slowly took a step into the circle, first putting a toe over as if checking the water temperature. Then, she completely stepped in.

Nothing?

Well that was anti-climatic. It’s almost like it’s a literal stone circle. Stones can’t hurt you unless they’re being thrown at you. Was she supposed to wait around or…?

She turned to leave. Maybe they’d let her back if she made up an emergency.

Her foot had barely touched the rock when it felt like something was beckoning her back into the circle, like someone was calling out to her.

Yoshi looked around the trees to see if someone was hiding, then looked over at the girl to see if she said anything, but everything was mysteriously silent.

Okay then, o living circle, what secrets do you hold?

Remington Fletcher ll 27 ll Witch ll Mentions:

Remy squeezed the dropper between his middle finger and thumb. A clear liquid e

ased its way out and fell onto the sample below.

Plink… Plink…

He quickly positioned the dropper back into a glass bottle and backed away from the desk. A thin sliver of a grey metal in a shallow disk. The liquid sat on its surface, unmoving.

Disappointing. He had half expected something to ignite, as his experiments had tended to resolve.

Once again he picked up the dropper.

Plink… Plink…

Two more drops ought to do it. He returned the dropper to the bottle and pushed his glasses back up his nose.

Knock knock-

Remy’s head flicked to the door. He was staying in an inn near the outskirts of a small town. Nobody should know he was there other than the inn keep.

His heart felt like it was about to leap out of his chest. If he made it to the window within the next five seconds and started running, maybe he could make it before-

A thin letter slid under the door, a delicate red seal facing the ceiling.

He froze, waiting for another knock, but one never came. There was no shadow on the other side of the crack, no deliverer for the message.

His fingers fumbled over the lock before finally pulling the door open. No one? He wiped his glasses on his tunic as if cleaning them would make someone appear. Still, there was no trace of life in the hallway. Well, maybe other than the assortments of mold growing, but there was no human life.

The door clicked as the lock slid back into place.

Remy leaned over to pick up the letter. The seal was like none he had ever seen before. Thankfully, it bore no resemblance to the duke’s.

He returned to sit in the wooden chair next to his desk. The candle light flickered amongst the dark room like a dying star far, far away from the Earth. (Technically, they’re called pulsars but those probably weren’t known about back then.)

The letter contained a single parchment. The paper itself was perfectly intact, with no visible wear. It didn’t seem to contain any secret codes and was only one-sided. What kind of a monster sends a one-sided message? The only thing listed was a set of coordinates.

He lifted himself from the chair and walked over to the map overseeing the inn bed. If he was about… here- his finger marked the location of the town- then the coordinates should be… here! His hand that was holding the letter marked the location of coordinates. It was far away from most civilizations, far from the reaches of the monarchy.

A million questions ran through his head. Who had this letter come from? And what was their purpose? Were there any dangers involved?

He shook the questions out of his head and returned to his experiment. One problem at a time, only so many things could be controlled at once.

During his absence, the sample had begun to fizz- presumably. The dish had a foamy-like substance covering it, but the sample itself looked slick. The grey metal and the liquid reacted to form some kind of coating, and a gaseous liquid. The rest of the gas was slowly releasing as bubbles popped, which was a comforting thought for the one who had to sleep in that room.

He grabbed a set of tongs laying near the glass bottle on the desk. Carefully, he could transfer the dish into a barrel of water that he kept nearby. That usually did the trick for flaming substances.

The dish and its contents submerged within the water. Bubbles began to rise to the top, which was usually a good sign.

Remy returned the tongs and watched the bucket carefully. He peered over the top when-

Poof-

The sample inside dissipated completely, and was carried up by the bubbles. A grey powder showered everything within two feet of the bucket.
A curtain of smoke clouded his vision. His glasses were coated with a layer of dust and ash, which definitely was not good for the respiratory system.

After coughing for a few seconds, convincing himself that he didn’t have asthma, and cleaning his glasses lens, he decided to follow the coordinates in the paper. Maybe, just maybe it was the location of the legendary philosopher’s stone- the one object fabled to remove impurities within a substance. It could heal, turn lead to gold, and could be the one thing explaining why so many of his experiments have gone wrong recently.

🝔

The journey had taken approximately two and a half days. It should have been shorter, due to his displacement to the location. However, he had avoided any and all main routes. This led him through stretches of woods and plains, and almost earned him a snakebite.

However arduous the journey had been, he eventually arrived.

Remy stared at the location with wonder. It seemed like a biome of its own. The forest could not compare to the space hidden deep within it. It looked reminiscent of ancient ruins, a society long lost to time.

Mossy stones ripped through the Earth. Vines covered them as if they tried to hold back the stone from surfacing. They looked trapped, and slightly out of place. However, that was not the oddest thing.

Sigils were marked into the rocks. It didn’t look hand-carved, but as if the stones were born with those markings. They looked strangely familiar but different at the same time. Even stranger, they seemed to glow. It let out a faint light like a candle hidden under a basket, like its true purpose had yet to be revealed.

A few others had already arrived in the circle. Maybe it was a meeting of sorts?

Yes, a meeting. A group of people experiencing weird happenings. For him, it manifested in his experiences. From the looks on their faces, theirs could be more dire.

He took a deep breath. If more people were to arrive, he wasn’t sure how the meeting would proceed. People weren’t exactly his strong suit.

Regardless, he took a step into the circle.

It was like a blanket of warmth had been thrown over his head. Unexpected, but could be welcomed if that was what one was seeking. The circle wanted him to stay.

Kasil Cain|27|Demon|Mentions: All breifly

Kasil had known something was wrong long before the letter found him.

It started small—too small to be a coincidence. Flames leaning toward him when he passed the hearths. Shadows thickening when his temper flared, stretching just a breath longer than they should. People listening too closely when he spoke, their resolve softening without him even having to try. At first, he’d enjoyed it. Power was familiar. Comforting. But the longer it lingered, the more it felt… incomplete. Like a blade still half-sheathed.

The letter arrived at dusk, pressed beneath the door of the inn he’d been bleeding dry of gossip and coin. A dark seal with a symbol Kasil had never seen before was pressed almost to perfectly into the envelope. No name. No return address. Just the sigil etched so deeply into the parchment that it seemed to drink in the lamplight. The moment his fingers brushed it, heat curled up his arm like it was trying to engulf him, and something ancient in his blood stirred in recognition.

He let out a small chuckle as if it were an amusing game.
“About time for some fun.”

The letter had offered almost nothing by way of explanation—and yet, somehow, it had told him everything he needed to know. Any sensible person would have laughed, tossed it into the fire, and gone on with their life.

Kasil just grinned mischievously.

From the moment his fingers brushed the page, certainty had settled into his bones—heavy, unshakable, intimate. The message was meant for him. Not addressed to him. Meant for him, in the same way hunger belonged to the body and fire belonged to flame. Whatever waited at the end of those coordinates had already decided he would come. He didn’t question it.

Preparation was brief and practical. He took his lucky knife from where it rested within arm’s reach—a well-balanced blade, worn smooth by use and habit—and slid it into its sheath. Food followed, dried and easy to carry, along with a modest pouch of coin gathered from places and people who wouldn’t miss it. Nothing excessive. Kasil never traveled burdened by doubt or excess weight.

The blood-red fabric of his floor-length cloak settled across his shoulders like a promise, its color too rich to be mistaken for chance. He fastened it with a practiced motion, shadows clinging to its hem just a second longer than they should before falling away. For a moment, he paused—listening to the low, restless hum beneath his skin, the familiar presence that had been growing louder by the day.

Then he stepped outside, letting the door fall shut behind him without a backward glance. The road ahead was unmarked, the destination unknown, but Kasil’s stride was confident as ever. Whatever waited beyond the maps had already called to him. And he had never been one to ignore an invitation.

The journey took days. Kasil didn’t rush. He never did. Roads bent easily for him—bandits reconsidered, guards looked the other way. Still, with every mile closer to the coordinates, the pull intensified, a low, thrumming call beneath his skin that no indulgence could drown out.

When the forest finally swallowed the road whole, even Kasil felt it. The path narrowed, twisted, then simply… ended.

Ahead, the stone circle rose from the earth like a scar that refused to heal. Ancient pillars leaned inward, roots gripping them as if the land itself were trying to drag them back under. The air hummed, and Kasil’s steps slowed—not from fear, but from appreciation.

“Now this,” he murmured, “is dramatic.”

The moment he crossed into the circle, warmth surged through him, deep and intimate. His shadow peeled away from his feet, stretching unnaturally across the stone before snapping back with a faint, displeased ripple. Kasil exhaled through his nose, smile widening. A few other people were already there, a guy and three girls. Strangers. Potential assets. Potential liabilities. He catalogued them lazily as the forest fell silent.

Carcel Koenig

26 | Demon | M: Others

“I told Red to discard anything that came for me.” The words Carcel spoke were simple, polite even, as he held the gaze of a scrawny middle-aged man who squirmed uncomfortably behind the counter. The man’s shoulders hunched with great tension, his breaths sharp but careful while he remained caught in the intensity of Carcel’s stare. The discomfort was not without reason, of course, not when moments ago Carcel had tossed an unwelcome letter that had been picked up by the other man only for the towering blond to drive a blade into both the letter and the hand that had been unfortunate enough to hold it. With both inconveniences nailed in place to the bar counter, Carcel was satisfied that his point had been expressed clearly if nothing else.

“Tell that one-eyed thing that if I find so much as a blank parchment delivered to my room, I’ll personally orchestrate his reunion with his wife,” the blond stated calmly, or rather promised. Without breaking eye contact, Carcel wrapped his fingers more firmly around the hilt and drew the blade upward in a single, efficient motion. An agonized hoarse groan of pain from the older gent was the only sound left between them in that moment. Maintaining his level stare just a moment longer to watch the bartender cradle his wounded hand against his chest in begrudging fear of being on the receiving end of more action, Carcel then pulled a cloth from the pocket of his trousers to wipe the knife of the blood it had accumulated.

For just a span of a moment, an eerie, unnatural dimness crept into the entirety of the tavern. A trick of the light, Carcel had brushed off in passing, as the firelight and torches resumed their room-filling glows within seconds. The tense silence within the tavern following the incident was followed only by a hoarse cough that encouraged low chatter among the patrons to proceed. With the tall male’s retreat to the stairs that led to the upper level of boarding rooms, all aside from the bartender who inherited a casualty not truly meant for him, went back into a state of tentative ease. The last door on the second story was one routinely given to Carcel whenever he came into town. It was a small space, adorned with the absolute basics this palace could afford to provide, but not uncomfortable. A narrow bed, relatively pristine washbin for a tavern, and a desk beside the window that overlooked nothing spectacular and was complimented by candlelight and a modest quill. Certainly more hospitable than a stable or roadside camp. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford board in places far more luxurious, but this specific tavern was a welcome place he had found to comfortably lay low before taking on an inevitable next hit job.

He settled into the space he had only occupied for half an hour before his scene downstairs. Unlacing his shin high boots and kicking them beside the bed, Carcel languidly walked toward the window in sync with loosening his white tunic. It was only dusk, but having spent the last couple months crawling in the underbelly of the kingdoms dark markets and reaping lives in exchange for copious amounts of coin, all Carcel truly wanted was a brief reprieve. A week at most of rest and pleasure before he would grow restless and move on again.

Sparing a glance down to the desk he loomed over, his lips instinctively pressed into a tight line of confusion, his brows following in a tight furrow. The letter he had most certainly nailed to the hand of a man downstairs stared back at him, seal up. A challenge. A taunt. An impossibility that led Carcel to grow annoyed with its existence rather than afraid. An unknown seal wasn’t uncommon in his line of work. Although letters stained in fresh blood appearing in a place he had cast it out from, on the contrary, was very uncommon. Well, if whatever force behind this curious thing wanted his attention so badly, he was peeved enough to decide they ought to be ready to face the consequences.

Using the blade he had stabbed it and flesh with just a short time ago, Carcel cut the seal and unfolded the persistent thing. Coordinates. Also not exactly a new or daunting thing for him to receive in his line of work. While the writing was stained with blood and had a perfect thin slice through the center where the knife had pierced it earlier, his eyes were easily enough able to make the coordinates out. The blond had fetched a map from his satchel to confirm the location - nowhere and somewhere at the same time. He might have considered it a more high-risk job by the lack of detail, spurred by a royal fuel perhaps, but an innate sense of gnawing intuition in the back of his mind told him it was otherwise. Something far more complex than he understood now. While he had mentally already accepted the fact he would heed to the destination, it was not from acceptance or curiosity. There were only two things that compelled Carcel to make the journey - learn how someone was capable of playing wizard with letters, and kill them for disturbing him.

• • •

A week and a half ago, after a day of lazy preparation, Carcel had thrown a pouch of coin at a stableboy to look the other way as he saddled and properly readied a sturdy enough looking horse to make the journey to wherever his summoner had directed. With few stops and even fewer interactions as they crossed through lively townships and isolated roads alike, the nearer their approach, the more stubborn and resistant his ‘borrowed’ steed became. On their day of arrival, the horse’s resistance to continue past a stream the young man had stopped to wash himself and his clothes in was where he parted ways with the animal. “Good luck, horse,” he had bid goodbye dismissively, retrieving the knapsack he had attached to the saddle and properly attaching his various concealed weaponry and smaller pouches to his midnight black attire of mixed cloth and specialized, custom steel before sending the gelding off toward the path they had come from. Somebody would find the horse. Probably.

Having already memorized the general direction he had left to cross, Carcel descended further into deep woodland territory. It had seemed the same as any forest back at the streams banks, but now that he was walking in the thick of its looming expanse, something about it prodded his intuition in a way he was not pleased with. Familiarity? He pondered the sensation while his blue eyes tracked his surroundings with steadfast observation. It eventually seemed to look more overgrown than simply forested. Like someone or something had carved this place out as their own long before the maps were drawn. It dawned on him only then, and the only explanation he would reason with in the moment, of why this place might have seemed familiar. There had been a section of forest from his childhood he had become attached to long before he abandoned it, and the first living thing he had ever forged a connection with, when he was seventeen.

Carcel didn’t allow himself to let their name echo in his head. Too distracting.

To provide relief from that nearly uncomfortable spiral of contemplations and regrets, a clearing presented itself almost too suddenly. He stopped before his feet could enter it. Stone pillars stood out of place being dominated by moss. Symbols he could make out from where he stood but could not understand etched into them. The air and atmosphere alike here felt wrong- no, that wasn’t the right word. Different, perhaps, was what Carcel settled on. The stone circle was the most commanding thing in this strange place he had observed. From his vantage it was impossible to miss the collection of bodies already standing within that circle. Assumably also having received the inconvenient letter. Briefly he wondered if this would turn into a game of survival that rewarded the last one summoned here standing. None of these people, aside from one male of visibly equal height to Carcel himself, looked even remotely worthy of being physical or trained adversaries.

Running an easy hand through the blond hair that was nearly dry from his morning wash, Carcel pursued forward to the circle with the gait and ease of a man who might have led someone to believe he visited this place often. The presence of other people was also ponderous but not yet something he deemed troublesome. Unless any of them were the messenger, they held little interest in his eyes anyway. But just how long they had been standing on the stone he found his boots on now? Between glances exchanged from each other and their surroundings and the acute silence, he had almost wondered if half of these people were sworn to silence. Because if they were too wary to speak, it certainly couldn’t have been blind confidence that would compel anyone to follow a cryptic set of coordinates.

“Well, I certainly didn’t come here to admire the sound of silence,” Carcel commented easily with a casual wave of his wrist in gesture to the clearing as a whole, facing his back to a stone pillar. His gaze swept from the tall, darker-haired man he eyed with consideration to the other unremarkable faces near him. If it weren’t for his own focused motivations, he might have stopped to consider the sensation being in this circle gave him.

“I’d hate to think I was summoned here so unceremoniously to just stand and stare in anticipation,” he shrugged light-heartedly, letting his blink last a drawn out second before his blue eyes fixated to the side, as if he could will the messenger from the surrounding woods if he pondered their death vividly enough.

Zephyr Eden Goldmere

24 | Nymph | Mentions : Carcel, Others Gathered (ind.)

Eden was comforted by their home , far away from the sight of villagers . People who knew how to break things they didn't understand , he gritted his teeth as his nails dig into his wooden table. His kind, had been slaughtered - hunted to the brink of extinction, their life force stolen and abused by mortals. Mortals who waged their flimsy wars without care and shed more innocent blood than they cared to acknowledge. And they , as a Nymph, had to preserve the knowledge and history lost as a desperate attempt to save the ungrateful urchins that were humanity. The nymph huffed as they moved about their cabin, the night was fairly quiet. The flickering of their candle was the only light source they had at the moment. As they stepped out into the cool air, they breathed a heavy sigh.

Knowledge was a curse. Especially with what he knew, and he looked at his hands. The slight clawed hands which only hinted at his inhumanity . He longed for the earth , to feel it thrum under his feet and tingle in his hands. He could only imagine how powerful nymphs were in their prime, and he was but a child by his species standards. One who hadn't even had the change to get into the powers they were born into . He could remember his mother's soft hands , as she showed him how to control water , how she would playfully splash him with it. The way she could command it as an extension of her - she was a master of her craft. Even the plants and earth beckoned to her honied call. She had said, it is best to lie in the forest and just listen to the world around you, and feel the way it moves beneath you. He wondered if he would ever be graceful like her when she raised the tides or as kind as she was when she caused the earth to rise and fall.

Only time would tell, and she was one fickle mistress . . .

He sighed again. Standing up, he used his hands to smooth the creases out of his pants . And he reentered his home, to find a figure sitting. And he froze immediately, the figure then stood up, tall and imposing. An aura of magic coming off them in dizzying waves. He knew this aura, it had been ages since he last felt such power .

" It is time for you to answer the call , little sprout. Do us proud . " came the silken voice , as they calmly strode over, their darkened hands illuminated by the moonlight as they softly cradled their cheek . A simple kiss was then pressed to their temple, and in a flurry of leaves they were gone .

And they noticed the letter left on their table and they rushed over, a chair nearly falling in their scramble to get the letter. They held it with shaking hands , and their breath hitched as they prepared to open it. This was what the Elders had died for, this damned secret , they had only heard whispers , and they weren't pretty. The return of an evil figure from legends, ones that the Elders had sealed and hidden their children away from to protect the world. Their eyes furrowed as they realized that there were only a sigil and coordinates to an unknown location .

Of course, the young nymph huffed to themselves, cryptic bastards - well, it was time for an adventure.

⟢

The young person had taken time to pack a little sack for this trip. They didn't know it would take them around three days to get to their destination. Why? Because they kept pausing to take in the forest .

Lying in the ground to listen to the thrum of the earth and the rushing waters .

They soon found the coordinates to the location . And it was a beautiful area, the surrounding rocks held the same emblem and the fog added a level of mystery to the area. Yet the way the light parted through the trees was positively magical.

They could feel the thrum of magic , as they stepped on the smooth stones, they were mirrored by tall grand pillars with moss , yet they still held care even for their age . The scene before them was interesting, a group of people that were eye each other warily, and remaining silent . Until a bold voice spoke up, one of a man they'd hope to forget, and yet somehow he'd manage to end up right beside him.

And they gave an audible scoff of disbelief at the appearance of the man, " It seems the ancestors are just letting anyone in on these things. " they sneered with a sweet honied voice , emerald eyes narrowed and sharp in disapproval of the man . Their emerald eyes glowing slightly . " I doubt anyone would want to stare at that ugly mug of yours too long darling, they'd catch whatever disease you're carrying." They said fluttering their eyes at Carcel innocently, whilst their long dark hair framed their face - their lips pulled into a mocking smirk. Before turning to one of indifference.

They then realized how differently they were clothed from the others . They golden rings around their neck, and a gold shoulder bracket on his right arm and a snake one on his left arm. These pieces of jewelry belonging of their mother . They wore a piece reminiscent of a chitonikos , a golden belt holding it at the waist . They didn't realize how it looked how the cloth connected to the gold ringlets around his neck, went and covered the right side of his chest leaving the left side rather exposed , the beauty marks on his chest could be seen. They wore a golden wrapped sandles, and one couldn't miss the golden thigh right due to the short nature of the outfit, it barely going over the knee .

They found themselves self aware of their appearance. And took their thick himation and wrapped it nearly around them, and they found themselves more comfortable in this manner and less exposed ( and less embarrassed ) . Their himation was a stark contrast to the pure white chitonikos , instead it was a emerald green, with hand stitched embroidery of golden leaves and vines, one could tell that this creation was well loved as it was well worn by its wearer. Even their hair was well cared for , the curls manicured to perfection and it was held in a low ponytail by a golden band atop a green ribbon. And spiked golden , sun like earrings adorned their ears , and they wore 10 simple golden bands on their fingers.

They were just as curious as to what was going on as the guests here them. Their eyes burned with a determination to find out what was going on . And they gripped the fabric of their himation like it was their lifeline . And they refused to acknowledge that Carcel was one of the families whose power had been sealed. No, no, that was something to unpack for another day.

They could swear the gods were having a good laugh somewhere about this .

Elaxi Willow Vayle | 28 | Nymph | Mentions: Aeloria, Carcel, Zephyr, Sorscha, all gathered

The branches cradle Elaxi like a hug, having stretched for her to perch herself comfortably on a lower-hanging one when she arrived to an empty clearing home only to a stone ring pulsing with forgotten power. She is fairly sheltered from sight in the trees, and until now, no one had thought to look. Why would they?

She had watched people trickle in, from a nervous-looking girl grasping at her throat, a banshee, to a comfortable-looking man who was the first to speak and then was immediately insulted by a person beside him. Another girl had arrived moments ago, staring with narrow eyes at the stones as the wind picked up, surging around her, before the circle finally yanked her in and muffled her magic. She was likely a witch, and quite a polite one at that, judging by her diplomatic greeting to the others. A noble, maybe. Elaxi wasn't aware of witch lineage being passed down through any high-ranking families, but it was possible this one had slipped through the cracks. Or she was just exceptionally well-carried.

Elaxi's fingers ran absentmindedly up and down the bark of the branch she sat on. She worried Maloria had been the one to call them all here, so she had yet to step foot in the circle. The cryptic letter she had received had put her on her guard. It had been plain on the front, embossed with a sigil she recognized, sending dread creeping through her. The page itself had read simply:

Hello, Nymph. The time has come.

Followed by a set of coordinates. Elaxi had worried over it for a long moment, further slipping into shock at the prospect of it truly happening, the seal breaking, magic returning to the bloodlines. Elaxi knew it had been about ten generations, and she had known for a long time that she would likely be called to take a stand and guide the descendants on their path, whatever it may be. Despite the knowledge, the truth and the call and the confirmation of her fears had been like stepping into icy water.

She had been happy with her simple life, having completed her final years of schooling and settled a few years ago into a comfortable job in her city's substantial library. She had a small flat, cozy and full of plants she tended carefully and had tasked her neighbour with looking after, warning him she would likely not be back for a long time but withholding an explanation as to why. It would be harder now, Elaxi knew this, because sitting here in the boughs of a tree and watching as descendants gathered in the stone circle simply drove home the sickening knowledge that Maloria was returning.

Maloria. Elaxi had only heard the name, thankfully had never met the sorceress. Rumours reached Elaxi, because she did pay attention, of people being found dead in mysterious ways, hollow as though drained. One such rumour had come to her through her mother when she was young, listening at the top of the stairs as her mother spoke in hushed voices with her aunt. They had murmured about the family that had been slaughtered, that being the word Elaxi's mother had used, in the capital city. Elaxi wondered if those had been this witch's family.

Elaxi's mother and aunt were safe, thankfully, tucked away in a small and unassuming village which was nowhere in particular. She felt safe in the knowledge Maloria would not find them, or even bother trying, especially now that the descendants had begun to gather. Elaxi had written a short note to her mother and asked a carrier pigeon to fly it out to her before Elaxi left home. Her mother would be worried, but Elaxi knew she would not come after her. Vayle women were smarter than that.

Elaxi rubbed the small charm on her necklace, a blue seaglass droplet filled with water. It soothed her, and she turned her attention back to the group in the stone circle and prepared to wait some more.