Sorscha Morgana Corsell | 22 | Witch | Mentions: Jacques, Remy, Elia (and Beau!)

Sorscha's greeting went ignored. Clearly, those around her were too invested in their own affairs for simple manners. She gathered her bag up again with a frown and stepped backward, making to leave the circle, but that same pulling in her chest stopped her. Whatever was going on, she was meant to be here. No matter how impolite the others were.

Well, that dramatic boy seemed nice enough, if a bit hopeless. He was pretty, though, with soft brown curls and long lashes. His poor heart, Sorscha thought with a quirk of her lip.

Sorscha jumped when another boy very loudly yelled the name of a rock. He explained something about the stones in the circle and the ice age, gesticulating wildly, before quieting and stepping back as if realising no one was listening. Sorscha shot him a small smile.

Moments later, another woman entered the circle, seeming to relax as she did so. Sorscha wondered if that same pulling force had embedded itself in this woman's chest. This new woman stayed to the edge of the circle, eyes catching whatever debacle was occurring on the other side, clearly wanting to keep to herself. Sorscha fought the urge to introduce herself, pressing against the manners drilled into her from birth, and left the girl alone.

Soscha adjusted her skirts, which had been blown astray by the previous wind, and glanced out at the forest around her. A horse stood nearby—that was new, it had probably arrived with the quiet woman. Now she was paying attention, Sorscha noticed an odd, low hum in the air, vibrating its way into her bones.

Magic wasn't real, of course... but Sorscha, thinking herself silly, believed anyway. Perhaps she wasn't so silly after all.

Sorscha sidled up to Rock Boy. "Hey," she murmured quietly, not wanting to scare him. She smiled at the smudges of dirt on his forehead and neck. Probably a field scientist. "Would you say a phyllite-quartz blend has the potential to host magic?"

He stumbled away from those engaged in conversation. Thankfully they weren’t paying attention, because he didn’t really want to deal with the mild violence gang. As far as he was concerned, pointing a knife at someone with that look on their face isn’t just an empty threat. The dark haired man certainly looked like he would be capable of more.

Another slightly shorter person stood amongst the disagreement. (Not that being short is bad or anything, Remy had drawn the short stick of the height genes as well. Although he considered himself average height, many of the people at the circle were freakishly tall.) They were dressed so strangely, as if they were not from this era. Of course, nothing seemed quite right about the dating age of the circle.

If only radiation dating was a thing back then.

This place didn’t seem like it would bode well with arguments, he thought. Ancient sites had an atmosphere unlike no other. Many ruins found closer to Rome felt suffocating with a foreboding air about them. Thankfully he hadn’t felt like his breath had been stolen away from entering the stone circle. Just- It’s a good rule of thumb not to do anything out of turn in case of invoking any ancient curses. Some believe that those curses truly exist. It’s likely the same problem as crop circles.

Remy continued inching away, glad they paid him no mind. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he drilled into his head. This is why we don’t bother the weird scary people at the weird mysterious stonehenge failure.

However, making a mistake and talking to the wrong people did get him a lab. What good that turned out to be.

He made it to the edge of the circle while scolding himself. There had to be some greater purpose to this, or at least some massive prank. Sighing, he looked over the premises. This was either going to be the adventure of a lifetime or a massive waste of his weekend that leaves him traveling to the next town for work. Maybe an alphabetical list of towns would be more helpful at this point.

While glancing around at those who were gathered, he noticed another boy studying the circle. Remy’s eyes lit up. Maybe he liked rocks too? And it’s not even the “rocks” part of the rocks, which sounds a little crazy to explain. It’s the fact that so much history can be revealed about the site just through the minerals residing on its grounds.

He hooked his thumbs on the straps of his working apron, which he thought made him look a bit like a blacksmith. The dirt probably begged to differ.

Right before he took a step in that direction, an unfamiliar voice ripped his attention away.

“Hey,” the voice sounded soft, so he hadn’t done anything wrong yet. “Would you say a phyllite-quartz blend has the potential to host magic?"

Her voice jarred him away from his thoughts. He subconsciously pushed his glasses up his face to examine her, then realized he was probably staring. Gosh, normal people don’t do this stuff, do they? But normal people have normal conversations- This is a normal conversation, right? Normal is just a social construct that people made to-

Shut it- Now the gap would just be awkward.

Then his brain processed the question that had just been asked of him. He almost laughed. Phyllite is almost impossible to find when mixed with quartz. Unearthed samples were so rare that it was almost impossible to think that something wasn’t off about the whole situation. And he didn’t even want to jump down the runes rabbithole. It was near impossible to carve into phyllite that smoothly, even with the quartz counterpart.

“Possibly,” he mused, trying to keep his cool for five seconds. “The rock itself is arbitrary when magic is involved, if a concept such as that truly exists.”

Wait, was this the same girl who had introduced herself maybe ten minutes prior? She was of darker complexion than him and had deep eyes. Her hair flowed over her shoulders much like the duke’s niece. Unlike the noble, however, her face showed no sign of malice. Maybe she actually wanted to talk to him? Because she didn’t seem to be poking fun at him, at least not that he could tell. Yet.

“But…” he trailed, “It would explain why my experiments never seem to work out. First small things would go wrong, things that could be easily explained by errors in judgement. They got progressively worse until the fires started.” He spoke as if this was a common occurrence in his life. These problems were always unexplainable, even for someone who bought into conspiracy theories and superstition. “Not long before I received a letter- which it seems like everyone else did as well- the duke’s barn just-” His hands burst outward to illustrate the poof of the barn’s final moments. He waited a moment as if grieving the glorified shed he had used as a lab. “And nothing else has gone quite right since.”

While studying her face for her reaction, an unsure smile lingered on his face. Maybe, just maybe magic would be the reason these people were inexplicably linked.

Yoshitsune Takashiki ||25|| Kitsune|| Mentions: Kasil, (The concept of others)

Yoshi sighed with content. Her fingers finished lacing the last stem into the flower crown she had been weaving. She had found over the years that her hands always had to be moving. She really couldn’t be left to her own devices.

After refastening the headwear over her hair, she continued to watch the people arrive. They could be so draining sometimes.

Individuals gathered like ants discovering spilt honey. They couldn’t resist its sweet allure. The circle attracted people all the same. Only, with honey there was usually a foot waiting to stamp out the insects. What would be the downfall of those gathered here?

She tapped her finger to her lip in thought, still watching others fall into familiar rhythms. It vaguely reminded her of a picnic. People arrived at a scenic location and chatted in their cliques. The only difference was now there was no food.

Her smile fell. Maybe she should have allocated more space for rations. She had but one apple left, and would savor its sweetness before having to rely upon the mercy of the forest. At this time of the year at least she wouldn’t be hard-pressed to scavenge.

Now… she thought. It’s about time to make things interesting.

Those who were not brave enough to interact with others teetered on the fringe of the circle. They either couldn’t muster up the courage or had no previous interactions with anyone else.

Who to start with…? She narrowed her eyes and picked apart the unsuspecting individuals. Some of them looked excited at the new prospect, others anxious, fewer bored to death.

Are they not entertained?

It’s okay, that’s what Yoshi believed she was on this Earth for: to entertain others and herself- not necessarily in that order.

Her stomach growled, derailing her thought train.

Sighing, she sifted through her pack for her last remaining item of sustenance: a red apple. She rubbed its waxy skin against her skirts to brush off any dirt, then bit into the fruit.

Crunch.

The crisp flesh almost snapped away, the sweet flavour of the juice flooding into her mouth. Fruit was a simple delicacy. It was not as showy as the deserts the yarn tycoon’s wife presented at her parties, yet it surpasses their heavy taste. Often, those things gave her the most pleasure in life.

Satisfying her hunger, she continued to examine her potential victims. Er- um- her new associates.

Her eyes scanned over those who had gathered in the circle, then the trees around everyone. The vines hanging down from their arms gave her an eerie feeling of a prisoner waiting for the block. At any rate, she could at least face social execution if the people gathered had their pretty floral bonnets in a tussle.

Bingo.

A tall man with wild hair was set off from the group. He wore a blood-red cloak that gave him a brooding look.

She pranced in that direction without a second thought , her movements appearing almost like she was skipping and her long hair floating in her wake. Her jaw worked over the apple as she journeyed across the circle, which seemed to take ages.

Pestering others was almost like a game of cat and mouse. It was so amusing to pounce on an unsuspecting individual after chapel. Some would appear distracted or lost in their thoughts, the perfect prey. They all reacted in such an interesting fashion. The thrill of the hunt was to discover a new one for her bingo card. If she was convincing enough, she could convince people to do things for her. Those were her favorites.

When she approached, the man looked like he was analyzing everyone else just as much as she had been, although likely for a different motive. Her smile almost slipped, but she conjured up a new one before popping up in front of him.

Gasp, she feigned a look of excitement. “I just love the cloak, what fabric is this?” Yoshi promptly threw out any ideas she had about personal space or social expectations and took the side of the material from his arm. She spoke with a theatrical flair, stressing all the syllables as if she would not be able to experience the quirks of speech the next day. “It’s lovely,” her hands dropped the fabric as quickly as they found it. “If not for the color scheme…”

Her thoughts were already flying a thousand miles a minute. She tilted her head to the side and scrunched her eyebrows in thought, “So what do you make of this gathering?”

Crunch, she continued to eat the apple whilst still in a currently one-sided conversation.

“Because I don’t have an inkling on who you are, nor anyone else.” She propped her left hand on her hip and shifted her weight. “And there’s no sign of this mysterious writer- or twisted cartographer.”

Sighing, she shook her head slightly. “Or maybe we all just took a three-day vacation for a brief meet-and greet.”

Kasil Cain | 27 | Demon | Mentions: Seth, all gathered

Kasil watched as people appeared from all directions, striking up conversations with each other. While Kasil was usually outgoing, he didn’t know any of these people, much less if he could trust any of them.

Kasil let his eyes linger on everyone for a few heartbeats longer than necessary, arms folding loosely across his chest as his gaze drifted from face to face. Fear. Curiosity. Suspicion. A little arrogance here, a little defiance there. It was a familiar mix. “Well,” he drawled at last, voice smooth and unhurried as it cut through the hush, “either this is the worst-organized ambush I’ve ever seen… or we’re all waiting on the same missing piece.”

A lazy smirk tugged at his mouth. His shadow flickered at his heels, stretching along the stone like it was listening just as closely. Before anyone could answer—before the blond brute could throw another comment into the air or the nymph beside him could sharpen their tongue further—the forest answered for them.

The air shifted.

Not violently. Not loudly. Just enough to be undeniable.

The hum beneath Kasil’s skin deepened, aligning with something older, steadier. The shadows between the pillars thickened, drawing inward like a held breath finally released. From that darkness, a figure stepped forward—tall, composed, his presence settling over the clearing like dusk over a flame. Kasil straightened almost imperceptibly.

Dark brown eyes swept the circle, calm and assessing, carrying the weight of someone who had been waiting a very long time for this moment. There was no armor, no ostentatious display of power—just quiet authority, ancient and unmistakable.

“You’re here,” the man said softly.

Not a question. A confirmation.

Kasil’s grin widened, sharp and delighted. There you are.

“So you’re the host,” Kasil replied easily, tilting his head as though appraising a piece of art. “I was starting to worry we’d been summoned by the stones themselves. “It's a bit rude that you kept us waiting this long.”

The man’s gaze flicked to him, amusement ghosting briefly across his features.

“Seth,” he introduced, voice steady as the ground beneath them. “And no—this place merely obeys me. It does not speak for me.”

At the sound of the name, the symbols carved into the pillars pulsed brighter, their glow responding like a heartbeat. Warmth rolled through the circle, tightening the air, pressing gently but insistently against Kasil’s chest.

Oh. That was interesting, he thought to himself.

Kasil felt it then, unmistakably: the resonance. Not dominance, not submission—but recognition. Whatever Seth was, he stood outside the usual games of power. A guide, perhaps. A warden. Or something far older wearing the shape of a man.

Seth’s attention returned to the group as a whole.

“The seal is breaking,” he continued, as if speaking of the weather. “What you’ve carried unknowingly in your blood is waking. This circle is both a sanctuary and a crucible. You will learn control here… or you will be consumed by what you are.”

Kasil let out a soft, amused huff. “Straight to the point. I like that.”

He shifted his weight, boots scraping lightly against the stone, posture relaxed but alert. “So,” he added, eyes glinting as he glanced around the gathered strangers, “we’re not victims. Not sacrifices. We’re investments.”

Seth’s gaze met his again, sharper this time.

“Call it what you wish,” he said. “But understand this–none of you were brought here by chance.”

The words settled deep.

Kasil rolled his shoulders, the restless hum in his veins no longer irritating but thrilling. Whatever game this was, it was finally worth playing. He flashed a grin at the others, all teeth and confidence.

“Well then,” Kasil said lightly, spreading his hands. “Guess introductions are in order. Looks like we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other.” His shadow curled at his feet, eager.

Carcel Koenig

26 | Demon | M: Fiachra {Dir.}, Eden {Dir.}

Initially, Carcel had opened his mouth to retort to Eden’s comment about his deflecting. Which was ridiculous. And also very accurate, he conceded with a begrudging clench of his jaw as his mouth closed. If it weren’t for the attire that had conveniently slipped far enough down to earn a deliberate glance from the blond to the exposed curve of their shoulder, his frustration would not have subsided in the moment.

When it came to Fiachra, as grating as that man’s face alone was, at the very least, Carcel had caught the scent of fear radiating from him when he had him by the neck. If only for a moment. It was all he needed, truly. The blond was a predator at heart. Even a faint reflection of fear in anyone’s eyes was as delectable as the scent of blood in the water for the vicious things that thirsted for it. As the figure whose company would be better appreciated upon their death further decided to open their mouth, Carcel made a sound between a scoff and a snort, flicking another small accumulation of blood along his hand off. “Consider it a date,” he stated with a flat glare.

What an absolute pest, this one. Carcel had let it go the first time Fiachra so boldly intervened with one of his marks solely because he was amazed by what must have been a grossly incompetent being. It became quite apparent rather quickly, though, that Fiachra was an idiot with intent. Equally, Carcel very much intended to kill him, sooner rather than later. They had a pattern of commencing in a lethal dance after dusk, anyway, so it wasn’t a complete impossibility for the mercenary to take another chance on slitting Fiachra’s throat as soon as the sun fell below the horizon. The messenger was still the first name on his current kill list, however.

Even as Eden stepped between him and the man, he made a gesture of a throat being slit toward Fiachra, just to further cement how much the others life was in imminent danger. He might have spit or made another comment, but disengaged from the weasel on the opposite side of Eden and allowed his blue eyes to cast down to the nymph’s shorter stature. It was almost endearing to see Eden pivot from a peacemaker to commanding attention regarding the matter of the letter and its coordinates to this horribly boring place. It was only natural to assume at this point that everyone in this stone circle was given the same letter. He had deduced this in the back of his head before the nymph brought attention to it. A snort followed as he dipped his head upon Eden’s general question staged for the group about the belief in mythical creatures. Carcel did more than just believe in such creatures, though he was sure he did not need to tell the nymph who he had both grown up with and slept with on numerous occasions that much.

Too suddenly was Eden’s attention launched back onto him, and in a less than desirable fashion at that, as he looked up from the ground in time to see the hand reaching for his ear. “Ow,” he muttered, a statement more than an actual admission of any physical discomfort or irritation as he went along with Eden toward their chosen stump. “A little warning before we play rough would be considerate - do I not give you such a courtesy?” He drawled, taking a seat on the lopsided stump, his uninjured hand lifting to absently rub at the appendage that he had been pulled along by.

For someone who was presenting to be vexed with him, Carcel was not oblivious to the delicacy of Eden’s movements - aside from the reprimanding hit to the back of his head. He smiled in response, amused. “I’ve been quite sensible today, actually. I gave heavy consideration to how dismayed you would have been if I killed that man and inadvertently showered you with blood spatter. You should be proud, in fact, of my restraint.” He countered, lifting a brow to pair with his tone that carried an echo of innuendo within it. As his blue pools traveled to the himation that teased the others' shoulders, Eden persisted in berating him with a lecture, and Carcel answered with the forefinger of his other hand tauntingly tracing the edge of the garment.

“If that had been the case, I might have enjoyed it more. Debilitating poison, an infection rendering me bedridden,” he flicked his gaze back up to meet Eden’s. “Then you would have had to take care of me. What a missed opportunity,” the blond mused with a shrug, his finger hooking the himation for just a moment before he allowed it to fall back to their frame.

“You’re right about the pants, though,” he considered, a smirk not sourced in innocence curving upward on his lips. “Should I just take them off now? Should I allow you to strip me of them in my horribly wounded state instead?” He teased, feigning faux concern as he raised his injured hand and allowed it to hang limply between them. “They’ll most likely need a proper wash in the creek a mile or so back to get rid of the blood. I would risk being rather publicly exposed to go to such lengths, however. I’m so terribly torn, dear, how should I ever mend this tragedy that has befallen me?”

After the conversation Sorscha appeared to take a moment to dwell with her own thoughts- then her dark eyes stared right through him as if he was a specter.

It wasn’t until another voice spoke that he realized someone else had joined the meeting. Her voice was confident, yet not brazen. She was calm in her words, “Witches, I presume.”

Remy turned. Off of Sorscha’s reaction he was expecting something to be behind him; thankfully, that saved him from a mild fright.

He wasn’t all too sure where she came from, but she looked wise. Her face was young, but her features made him think she had knowledge beyond what the others in the circle could attain.

She continued to explain to them the powers of witches. While small happenings could be mere accidents, they were tell-tale signs of “witch magic?” Apparently blowing things up could be turned into something better with practice, who knew.

Grimacing, he wiped his glasses on his shirt in idle. What he was hearing was that magic actually exists. What to do with that information- he wasn’t sure yet.

Magic, although helpful and awe-inspiring- could be extremely dangerous. If you want proof, just talk to the duke. Or even better, talk to the guy who the duke set a wanted poster out for.

The woman introduced herself as “Elaxi.” The woods accepted her as one of their own, and she radiated their approval.

Remy shook her hand as a formality, then paled as he realized he hadn’t introduced himself to anyone else yet. But before he- or anyone else- could get a word in, another individual took the center stage.

“You’re here,” echoed a man formed from the shadows.

This “Seth” guy gave a quick show of power. He either wanted to show off or let everyone gathered know who was driving this caravan. Most concerningly, some kind of a seal was breaking and the sanctuary would act as a crucible.

Crucibles were a good tool. Good may even be an understatement. In his line of work, the tool was a necessity. Within it, compounds could be ground up until you could hardly recognize what it was. Any of its physical traits would be rendered into dust. Then, the pot would be constantly heated until what was left within was purified. By taking its mass and running some quick calculations, it would tell you how much of your product was made up of by each substance in the compound or how much water was trapped within its makeup.

Essentially, this would either render everyone into dust or properly refine their abilities that have been laying dormant in their blood like tuberculosis.

Elaxi and Sorscha leaned in and began to whisper about this newcomer. Remy felt touched (to some extent) to be included in the group-huddle. Usually everyone just whispered and glanced over at him while he wondered what he did wrong.

Thoughts, facts, and opinions bounced around the circle. The basic rundown was that everyone here was magic. Hooray.

“So basically, our ancestors were some kind of magic and that trickled down to us? And I’m assuming this is trickling into the outside world- in some capacity- which is why we have to fight this big bad evil lady?”

He checked over his logic. Yeah, that checked out for the information they had so far.

“I just wish there was a more logical explanation to all of this.” In Remy’s mind, nothing ever made sense unless he was given the entire background. Like, why certain shapes of triangles could bear more weight than others. It made sense because of the angles they were made up of and the number of instances they have been used in. This was an entirely different scenario.