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Ilyana Sera Verus "You want a battle? I will give you a war." Name Pronunciation: IL-lee-awe-na SARA VER-us Name Meanings: Ilyana - "Sun" Sera - "Princess" Verus - Family Surname. Nicknames: Ily (Only used when she was younger) open to others Age: Physical - 21-23 Years Old True - 23 Years Old Gender: Female Sexuality: Heterosexual/Monogamous Moral Alignment: Chaotic Neutral ⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹ "We do terrible things for the people we love" Kingdom: Born in The Kingdom of Tyris Currently hiding in The Kingdom of Dagon Occupation: None Esteemed Ability: Binary [Dual Abilitied] Spouter + Flicker (Does not know of this ability until later in story) Physical Appearance: Ilyana stands roughly 5 foot 6 inches, her body a slender build, her strength hidden below. Her physical appearance has affect to the powerhouse she has become, the warrior she trained and forced herself to build. Though she may be strong, her features help her blend in to the towns she must travel. Ilyana is a beautiful woman, locks of a deep oaky brown flow down her back in soft curls, settling just at the small of her back. Her eyes are two pools of brown, ones that seem like never ending tunnels that see through you. Her smile, that intoxicating smile that could light up a room, one that was contaigious to all around her. One that hasn't appeared in years.
Freckles softly kiss the bridge of her nose and cheeks, soft and faint though pop when she blushes or burns.
Though hidden away from her beauty is the ugly memories of her journey. Small and faint scars litter her hands and arms from her playful battles as a child and learning. Now larger marks hide behind cloth. Her back is marked with thick scars, whips and knives from her capture leaving an everlasting reminder of her past and future. One main scar is the one that sits on her throat. One gained during her escape after accidentally killing the Queen. Personality: Smart ⋆ Skilled ⋆ Caring ⋆ Impulsive ⋆ Closed-Off Emotional ⋆ Protective ⋆ Reserved ⋆ Avoidant ⋆ Impatient ⋆ Strategic Thinker ⋆ Difficult ⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹ "She wasn't looking for a knight, she was looking for a sword." Fears/Phobias: Philophobia (Fear of Love) Anginophobia (Fear of Choking/Hanging) Backstory: Ilyana was born to a human mother and a father with abilities. Her father was a binary, a man with powerful abilities the kingdom saw useful. He was a Coterie and Bearing, using his skills mainly to listen in and find information for the royals. Ilyana was taken in at a young age when he mother passed due to illness, the royals using her for daily chores. Bringing meals, bath water, helping to tend to the stables. Any task she could find. She befriended Baron when they were children, her one and only friend when her father was busy. They both taught each others skill, growing a bond that was impossible to break... until the fatal day came. The day her father died. When his abilities began to falter due to age and health, he was framed for a false crime, hung to his death where his daughter saw from the windows of the castles. As she watched his lifeless corpse sway in the wind, a fire burned in her chest, a plan beginning on how to take her revenge. A plan that failed fatally. . "I wonder which will get you killed faster- your loyalty or your stubbornness " ⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹ "Pain shapes a woman into a warrior." |
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Darkseeker
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Please do not post here unless you are ANTIDOTE or myself. Thank you and feel free to read along :> - Plot: Muse A hadn't seen Muse B in months and they'd hoped they never would again, but they're forced to find and retrieve them when the King receives word that Muse B has been spotted in the sister kingdom of their own. After all, Muse A is one of the closest advisors in the court of the country Muse A betrayed. He'd been on duty when the only woman he'd ever let his guard down for shot the Queen, and then disappeared without a word.
Muse B has been on the run since the day she killed the Queen. In her defense, she'd been aiming for the King. It wasn't her fault his wife stepped in the way. Had her shot landed, this fight to survive would be worth it. When that fight ends in a prison cell, she knows what fate awaits her. What she didn't expect was for Muse A to be leading the team sent to escort her, looking very different from the man she'd known before.
The journey back to the capitol is as long as it is dangerous. Muse B is forced to rely upon Muse A for protection from his fellow advisors, despite him being the only one with a personal vendetta against her. He doesn't know why he bothers keeping their hands and weapons off of her, but he tells himself it's because she's his to hurt. |
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Darkseeker
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- Lore - - Two hundred and eighty years ago, the Land of Eir was peaceful... or as close as you could get to that in a world with fire-breathing dragons. The kingdom of Tyris was known not only as the land's most militarily powerful kingdom but also for the magic that lay within everyone born there—whether that be the ability to teleport or wield fire. These people were The Esteemed, a proud and formidable populace whose talents were celebrated in both the court and the fields. Tyris was a monarchy, ruled by the first ever rulers; King Luran and Queen Fiona—known and loved deeply by nearly everyone, not only for their just rule but also for their unwavering support of the arts and education, ensuring that every child had the opportunity to learn and grow. This kingdom sat in the pine forests of Eir's southern border, atop a great plateau that dropped to raging sea cliffs, where the waves crashed against the rocks like a relentless army. Food was plentiful because of the river that wound its way through the kingdom, nourishing the farmers and their crops, ensuring that the tables of Tyris were always full. The people thrived in a vibrant community, celebrating life with grand festivals that filled the air with laughter and music. Even a new heir had been born, Prince Raphel, a child of promise who was destined to inherit a legacy steeped in magic and valor. However, a few years later, the King received word of a group of warriors—humans without abilities—who were navigating the treacherous Southern Mountain Range, notorious for its brutal fire-breathing creatures that lurked in the shadows. As any decent ruler would do, King Luran sent out a group of his most elite soldiers to ensure the warriors had safe passage through the mountains, a gesture of goodwill that would soon lead to unforeseen consequences. These warriors, weary from their journey, took cover in Tyris, where they were welcomed with open arms and warm fires. The head general of the warriors, Dorian Gray, formed a sort of alliance with King Luran—promising military strength and protection in exchange for food and shelter, a mutually beneficial agreement that seemed to herald a new era of cooperation. An alliance began, flourishing for the next thirty years, during which both kingdoms shared knowledge, resources, and even cultural practices, creating a tapestry of unity that stretched across the lands. However, as seasons changed, so did the hearts of men, and Dorian's true intentions began to surface. His ambition to overthrow and conquer the Land of Eir culminated in a brutal betrayal that resulted in the shocking death of Tyris's beloved Queen Fiona. The kingdom mourned, its grief palpable in the air, as the loyal subjects struggled to comprehend the loss of their guiding light. King Luran, heartbroken and desolate, succumbed to the weight of his sorrow, leaving young Prince Raphel thrust into the tumultuous role of ruler far too soon. In the wake of this tragedy, Dorian's soldiers and their children fled to the safety of the mountains, establishing their own dominion known as the Kingdom of Hael, confident that King Luran would never dare send his troops into the dragon-infested cliffs that Dorian's group was so accustomed to navigating. The people of Tyris hung their heads in despair, grieving not only for their fallen Queen but also for the loss of their once-unbreakable unity. As the years passed, the weight of leadership pressed heavily on Prince Raphel's shoulders. The kingdom's need for more land grew alongside its burgeoning population, and in a desperate bid to secure the future of Tyris, the head councilman, Emile Rol, proposed an audacious idea. The council convened, deliberating late into the night, until it was decided they would move across the river and conquer the territory there. With a heavy heart, King Raphel agreed, sending along his most trusted warriors with Emile to establish a new foothold. The Kingdom of Dagon came to be, a new ally that would hopefully bolster Tyris’s strength. Yet, as the days turned into years, it became increasingly evident to King Raphel that most of his military had been dispatched to Dagon, leaving him vulnerable and isolated in a kingdom that once stood proud and invincible. The specter of Dorian's treachery still loomed large, casting shadows over any hope of stability. In this precarious situation, King Raphel needed to think creatively. Dragons. The fire-breathing creatures were known to travel south every winter in search of warmer climates, and it was this seasonal migration that sparked an idea in the young king's mind. Harnessing the power and majesty of these magnificent beasts, King Raphel instituted the annual Dragon Taming Tournaments—a tradition that would not only rekindle the spirit of Tyris but also renew its military strength. Young warriors would come of age and, upon turning eighteen, would have the privilege of taming a dragon, forging a bond that would elevate them to a new level of respect and power within the kingdom. As the years rolled on, this practice became a rite of passage for the youth of Tyris, symbolizing resilience and the indomitable spirit of the Esteemed. Yet, amidst the excitement of the tournaments, a burning hatred for the Loemen—the traitorous faction that had once sabotaged their kingdom—festered in the hearts of many. This animosity would shape the future of Tyris, as whispers of revenge began to circulate through the kingdom’s halls and taverns, threatening to ignite a firestorm of conflict that could engulf not only Tyris but the entire Land of Eir. As the dragons soared above the cliffs, their roars echoing through the valleys, the stage was set for a tale of ambition, betrayal, and the relentless pursuit of peace in a world forever at the mercy of fire and fury. |
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Darkseeker
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The Kingdoms of Eir: - Kingdom of Tyris -Dominant Kingdom- -Social Status; Predominantly Merchants/Farmers, Theives, and The Kings Counsel [Underclass/Working Class] -Current Rulers; King Lucyan [83 YO] + Queen Kacelyn [79 YO] -Military Strength; Dragon Riders [65%] + Soldiers [35%] -Esteemed [Gifted] Citizens + Few Humans Undercover -Capital; A large town called Foroot [More commonly known as The Ghetto/Known for its higher criminal rates] -Kingdom Land; 588 Square Miles/Pines Forests/Temperate Weather -Alliances; Kingdom of Dagon -Notes; Known as once a strong kingdom that dwindled throughout time- nearly half of its population decreased with time. They are slowly forming back together. Everyone is quite close to each other. They hold annual dragon-taming tournaments every year. Kingdom of Dagon -Sister Kingdom to Tyris- -Social Status: Predominantly Soldiers and Landowners [Working Class/Higher Middle Class] -Current Rulers; King Michael [78 YO] + Queen Adelaide [72 YO] -Military Strength; Dragon Riders [10%] + Soldiers [90%] -Esteemed [Gifted] Citizens + Humans -Capital; A small town called Broten -Kingdom Land; 410 Square Miles/Rolling Hills/Temperate Weather -Alliances; Kingdom of Tyris -Notes; Originally made up on Tyrisians who migrated to take over more land. They are close to Tyris and often go through trading and military support with one another. They are quite secure and often attend The Annual Dragon Taming Tournaments. Kingdom of Hael -Rival Kingdom of Tyris/Dagon- -Social Status; Predominantly Criminals/Merchants/Soldiers [Underclass/Working Class/Higher Middle Class] -Current Rulers; King Addonis [55 YO] + No Queen [As of now] -Military Strength; Dragon Riders [45%] + Soldiers [55%] -Purely Human Citizens -Capital; A city with the name of Deerts -Kingdom Land; 533 Square Miles/Rocky & Mountainous/Frigid Temperatures -Alliances; None as of now. -Notes; The betraying kingdom of Hael is most known for its history with the other two kingdoms. They have learned how to survive in these frigid temperatures and live with dragons. |
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Darkseeker
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Abilities: *All Esteemed often appear younger than they actually are. Life Spans; 90-140 YO [Even at this eldest age, they won't appear a day over 65.* ☆ - Predominantly in Tyris ★- Predominantly in Dagon ☉- Both - Prosiacs [Slights/Economically Abject (Lower Class, Farmers/Criminals)] : Guile - Emotion Inducement ☉ Labile - Enhanced Senses ☆ Savant - Enhanced Intelligence ☆ Bearing - Altering Physical Appearance ☆ Aegises [Neutrals/Economically Stable (Working Class, Work For The Kingdom)]: Mender - Quick Healing ☆ Utter - Teleporting To Anywhere In Sight ★ Drift- Levitating Off The Ground ☉ Targe - Defensive Skin Covering ☉ Mirage - Illusion Manipulation ☉ Glisten - Light Manipulation ☆ Spouter - Wildlife Communicating ☆ Florays [Powerfuls/Economically Advanced (Royals/Court Members)]: Flicker - Fire/Explosion Manipulation ★ Blight - Shadow Manipulation ☉ Greeny - Plant Manipulation ☆ Pitch - Stone/Earth Manipulation ★ Douse - Water Manipulation ★ Thewy - Enhanced Physical Strength ★ Binary - Dual Ability Manipulation ☆ Quip - Moving Objects With The Mind ☉ - Lethals [Scarce/Seen As Dangerous/Often Killed Off Young]: Scour - Weather Manipulation ☉ Theurgy - Raising The Dead ☉ Coterie - Seeing The Future ☉ |
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Darkseeker
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Current Weather: - Season: Spring Temperature: 68 °F Chance of Rain: 63% Chance of Snow: 2% Sky View: Sunset/Dark purples, pinks, blues/Few clouds - [This will be updated regularly throughout the roleplay so be sure to keep checking!] |
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Darkseeker
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Edited at October 8, 2025 11:50 AM by Biologist at Work
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Baron Streiler The roar of an applause met the ears of the man before he even stepped out of the shadows. It was a cacophony of sound, a vibrant tapestry woven from the cheers and shouts of a crowd that had gathered to witness the ultimate test of skill, courage, and perhaps even fate. The third and final competition—an enchanted maze—had just come to a conclusion. Baron had reached first place by a longshot, his heart still pounding from the adrenaline of the chase, the thrill of narrowly evading the fire-breathing dragons that roamed the winding paths of the ivy-covered labyrinth. The memories of his screaming peers mingled with the roars of those magnificent beasts echoed in his mind, a haunting refrain that underscored the perilous nature of their trials. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the giant winged creature being dragged away to the aerie, his dragon. A sense of pride surged through him, an astonishing realization that he had not only survived but triumphed. Sure, he now bore the scars of his trials—each one a testament to the pain he had endured—but they were not enough to deter him from the thrill of victory. Baron’s eyes scanned the stands filled to the brim with the esteemed members of his kingdom—the power-gifted, the wealthy, those who had everything to lose or gain from the outcome of this competition. Their faces were alight with a mixture of awe and envy, and he felt a rush of satisfaction at the sight. As he made his way toward the two guards stationed near the sidelines, he couldn’t help but notice the slight limp in his stride, a reminder of the gash in his calf that was slowly seeping through the cloth of his trousers. Yet, the pain was a distant echo compared to the roaring applause that filled the air. The guards were hurrying to his side even before he could call out to them, their expressions a mix of concern and admiration. They quickly sent for the Mender, settling him down on a stone bench under the stands, where the echoes of celebration faded into a hushed murmur. An older woman arrived, her hands steady and sure as she assessed his wound. With a few whispered incantations, she moved her hand over his bloodied leg, and Baron watched in a mix of awe and disgust as his skin slowly stitched itself together, the magic of the Mender working its wonders. Oh, he was never going to get used to how that looked—the way flesh closed and healed, leaving behind only the faintest trace of the injury. The celebration of the surviving competitors was brief, a banquet of sorts held in honor of their accomplishments before they scattered to their respective homes, either staying late into the night in the capital or slowly making their way back to the palace to begin the process of packing away their memories of this grand event. Baron, now fully healed, had made quick work of his food, the feast of roasted meats and sweet cakes barely registering as he focused on one singular purpose. He needed to see her. Ilyana. The name danced in his mind, a sweet melody that filled him with warmth and longing. He’d promised to survive long enough to see her again—long enough to confess everything that weighed heavily on his heart. She had been on edge in the weeks leading up to the competition, a tension that lingered in the air like the storm clouds before a downpour. It was to be expected; many had perished in the trials, and the stakes had never been higher. But Baron had sworn to come back to her, to find her after everything was over. And he planned on doing just that. With urgency coursing through his veins, Baron couldn’t have made it to the palace any faster. The steed he rode matched the rhythm of his own racing heart as he slowed down, nearing the castle gates—gates that swung open at his approach, welcoming him home. The stablehand met him at the front entrance, taking the horse's reins with a practiced ease. Baron murmured a small thank you, slipping the boy a silver coin that seemed to burn in his hand before he squared his shoulders and strode briskly toward the front steps. Yet, the moment he stepped into the great hall, the world shifted. What awaited him was anything but what he had anticipated. His prideful grin was swiftly replaced by a grimace as the metallic smell of blood assaulted his senses, thick and cloying in the air. The great hall, usually bustling with life and laughter, was eerily silent. Nobody was around—nobody except for the horrific sight that gripped his heart. Baron’s head snapped to the large wooden door at the sound of shuffling behind it, a sense of dread creeping into his bones. His heart raced as he moved, hand instinctively reaching for the silver dagger strapped to his side, his instincts honed from years of training kicking in. With a swift motion, he pushed the door open, and horror struck him in the face. Blood. Death. The Queen. The King struggled to drag himself toward the lifeless form of his beloved, a stream of blood trailing behind him like a dark cloak of despair. Baron couldn’t breathe; the air felt thick and suffocating as he gasped for composure, staring in disbelief at the dagger protruding from the Queen’s chest, its hilt glistening in the dim light. Her eyes—those once warm, inviting eyes that sparkled with kindness—were now fogged over, devoid of life. The King wept, his body splayed over his spouse, a picture of anguish as blood leaked from his own leg, where he too had been stabbed. Tears streamed down Baron’s face as he fell to his knees, cradling the cold, pale skin of his adoptive mother's face. He tucked back the long blonde locks that had fallen across her brow, a gesture of love that contrasted sharply with the brutality of the scene. Who would do such a thing? Tyris’s beloved Queen, brutally murdered in the heart of their kingdom. Baron’s shoulders shook with emotion, his head falling into his hands—elbows propped against the cool stone floor of the empty room. A glint of silver caught his eye as he shifted, and he froze, lowering his hands to take in the sight of the dagger. The dagger… The weapon that shouldn’t look familiar in the slightest—its ornate hilt, the intricate designs etched into the metal. The realization hit him like a tidal wave, and a wave of pure rage engulfed him. His heart pounded in his chest, not from sorrow but from a seething anger that threatened to consume him. Betrayal. His hand clasped over the handle of the dagger, pulling it from his mother’s corpse in a swift, decisive motion—its blood-soaked blade glinting ominously in the light. As he stood, shaking with fury, he moved to the open window, dagger in hand, his gaze lifting to the horizon. The sun was setting, casting an orange hue over the kingdom he loved, and fury ignited in his eyes as he snarled his next words, a vow carved from the depths of his soul. “Mark my words, little dove. I will find you. Or I will die trying.” Baron woke up gasping for air, sweat trickling down his bare neck and chest as he shot up from the cot he lay in, the remnants of his nightmare still clinging to him like a shadow. His breath gradually slowed to a shaky rhythm, and he ran a trembling hand through his hair, seeking to dispel the lingering dread. What had begun as a celebration had turned into a twisted nightmare, one that haunted him even in sleep. “Sir,” came the deep, baritone voice of a guard poking their head into his tent, nearly making Baron jump out of his skin. His hooded gaze turned to the young, blonde man in the entryway, shooting him an exasperated look before nodding for him to continue. “Ehm—the men are stirring awake, the sun is peeking through the trees now,” the guard informed him, his tone respectful yet tinged with concern. There was a stretch of silence before Baron let out a small sigh, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He buttoned up his pants, pulling on a white undershirt before adding the light armor he had been wearing for the last few days of traveling. Finally, he pulled on his boots and nodded to the guard in the doorway to take down the tent as he stepped out into the crisp morning weather. The few soldiers that were awake assisted each other with taking down the camp they had set up in the forest the night before, offering him nods and murmured “good mornings, sir’s” as he passed. An hour or two later, the men were on their way once again to the Kingdom of Dagon, Baron leading the line of soldiers atop a sturdy grey stallion. The forest around them was alive with the sounds of morning, birds chirping and leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. Yet, Baron’s mind was elsewhere, lost in thought as a dark shadow overhead passed, drawing his gaze upward. Cerus, his dragon, soared a few miles above, her long, dark wings spread wide as her head scanned the land below. Good. The dragon would alert them of anything or anyone ahead, her keen instincts a source of reassurance that he desperately needed. But even with Cerus watching over them, Baron found that his thoughts drifted to Ilyana, the woman who had captured his heart and, in many ways, his very essence. It had been seven months since that fateful evening—the night of the competition that changed everything. Seven months and twenty-four days since he had last seen the woman he once thought he could have a future with, since he had last felt the warmth of her laughter wrapped around him like a comforting blanket. All he could see now was a haunting image — A girl, a woman, chained to the wall of what looked like a cell. The darkness of the cell closed in around her, tally marks etched into the stone walls, a record of time spent in captivity, and a cool, moist scent that filled the air. Baron’s eyes flew open, letting out a sharp breath as he shook his head, the image lingering in his mind like a ghost. What had this woman done to him? Why did she haunt his thoughts, even in his dreams? He had made a promise, and he would do whatever it took to keep it. |
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Ilyana Verus Day after day Ilyana had run her plan in her mind over and over, so much so that she felt as if she was going mad. A plan she was set on, an action that had to be taken, a life for a life. She had waited 2 years after her father’s death, building up her strength, learning everyone's moves and patterns, the plan forming in her mind like a violent storm over the ocean. Finally the perfect day had arrived, one where everyone would be so occupied and distracted, hopefully giving herself enough time to succeed and leave. But would it truly go that way? No. The complete opposite would take effect and cause her to spend the remainder of her life on the run, losing any home or safety she ever had. Losing the one true person she had left as well. To this day Ilyana could still smell the blood that streamed from the Queen’s chest, the phantom warmth of the crimson liquid running over her skin as a constant reminder of her sins. The sound of the Queen’s harsh gasp seemed to linger in her mind, hiding in the shadows and calling to her in any moments of rest or silence. Haunting her. There was nothing she could do except stay on the move, to hide herself away from the world and to escape to where she would never be found. That soon became just a dream, a reality that would never happen. Ilyana could not hide long, the whole vast Kingdoms had their gaze set to the lands, searching high and low, even the criminals and peasants were on the lookout, a heavy reward for whoever captured the assassin…dead or alive. She had tried her hardest, running until her feet burned and bled. She had left without any preparations, no food, no water, nothing except the clothes on her back. She kept strong for just shy of 6 months, forcing herself to stay strong and focused, hoping one day they would give up thinking she had perished in the woods. But that would never come. Her body grew weaker by the day until her once honed skills seemed to vanish, letting her training go to waste and her guard down to enjoy the cool water of a stream. She never knew someone had caught her trail until it was too late. A rope tossed over her neck as if she was cattle, laughter erupted from the trees. A group of men had finally found the elusive assassin and it was time to claim their reward. Of course it was not that simple, these men wanted fun, to watch her suffer in return for her crimes. So for the almost 10 miles back to a village in the Kingdom of Dagon, Ilyana was dragged with her noose by horseback. Rocks, sticks, everything scratched at her skin as she clawed for freedom, the rope just loose enough to not kill her. Her screams were silenced by the air that struggled to fill her lungs, her body growing weaker and weaker as her fingers began to bleed against the thick rope. Everything finally went black, the world around her fading for the remainder of her torture, her body shutting down to fight off the pain. Now almost two months later, the men had finally alerted the Kingdom of her capture. These low life men didn’t want to give her up so fast, that way she could not have a quick death. That would be too easy. “Today’s the day lass, your escorts are on the way” One man teased her through the small bars of the wooden doors, chuckling before smashing his fist against it, the sound echoing around Ilyana as she flinched. At this point Ilyana wished for the penalty that awaited her, hopefully a swift and painless death. A way to silence the thoughts and whispers that plagued her mind. The remainder of her time waiting for her escort back to the Kingdom she had betrayed felt like another eternity. The rhythmic pattern of water droplets seemed to count the seconds, one after another after another. Drip…Drip…Drip. Now this once strong and graceful woman seemed to be a lifeless shell against the wet stone floors, her body hidden in the shadows. Ilyana hadn’t even seemed to notice when the metal cell doors at the end of the hall squealed open, her mind counting the seconds of each water droplet. The approaching footsteps brought her mind too back to reality, her arms holding her knees tighter, her face turning more to the shadows. Anyone who knew the past Ilyana would have walked past this cell, for that woman was gone. Her sun kissed skin was now pale, her skin having been hidden from its rays for weeks. Her back was bare of cloth, her scarred skin on display as well as marks still trying to heal. A simple white cloth slip was all she had, the white more of a tan from the dirt and grime of the cell. Goosebumps dotted her skin with each passing ripple of breeze. “Here she is, be careful though, shes a feisty one. I know dogs that have better manners than her” A man said to his surrounding fellows as the metal click of the lock echoed, the door creaking open with a sharp pitch. Two of her capturers stepped in, Ilyana shifting her body away before their arms roughly grasped her and pulled her to her feet. She thrashed as much as she could though it was not much. Her legs were weak from the hours she had spent down there. “Get your hands off of me” She snapped, her voice hoarse, begging for water as she protested. She continued to struggle, hoping to give herself some advantage. But soon she had fallen silent, her tired, dead eyes widening in utter shock as she now stood in the dimly lit halls, her gaze meeting the one person she hoped to never see again. Baron. |
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Baron Streiler From the last checkpoint on Baron’s map, he and his men had traveled 33 miles more. With a week’s travel, every day being around the same length and if Baron had read the plan correctly- the horses should be coming up to the gates of Dagon in the next hour or so. The men had become increasingly exhausted the past couple of days and having less than a two-hour break to rest the night before didn't seem to be helping in the slightest. It was rare that Baron got any sleep nowadays as well- the fear of what may lie in his dreams plaguing him like a weight on his shoulders. The last time he had full-on clonked out to sleep had been three days ago. When he had been startled by the horrific replaying of his Queen’s assassination and the betrayal that followed. The man’s eyes were heavy from the lack of sleep he had been receiving, his gaze shadowed through the dark hair that framed his face as he forced his posture straight… it took every ounce of sheer will not to fall asleep right here in the saddle. He blinked, his dark top lashes getting exceedingly close to his bottom ones as he tried keeping his eyes open- a shriek. The dragon a few miles into the sky above the men on horseback head swiveled down, her golden eyes visible, even from the distance that she kept contact with Baron. “Don’t even think about it, executioner.” The creature's golden eyes narrowed slightly as her voice rang through the man’s head, and her neck straightened to look ahead as she swerved through the trees in front of her. Baron’s gaze followed her movements before his head shook, blinking back the sleep from his eyes. “I wasn’t thinking, period. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cerus made a sound that sounded almost like a scoff before another stretch of silence fell between riding. Baron’s head only rose from the gaze on his lap when his dragon’s roar filled the air, alerting all the men to the oncoming walls that would be showing up any time soon… There. The great iron portcullis aligned with a small wooden bridge to cross the moat that seemed to snake as far as the stone walls of the kingdom went. A hushed murmur went up through the men as they neared, Baron’s own gaze flicking to the kingdom guards stationed as lookouts. The beating of wings stopped the horses as gusts of air made their way through the man’s hair, his eyes turning to gaze at the creature he was lucky enough to call his companion. Her gaze was already on his before she spoke, her voice flooding through his head. “The men are weakened from the week's travel and there is a clearing not too far outside the kingdom walls where they could make camp for the night.” Baron stiffened. No. The King had made it quite clear that the soldiers were to be on their way back to Tyris later in the evening. The man shook his head, noting how the dragon's eyes narrowed as he did so. “We do not have any more time to waste. Have the soldiers and their mounts hydrated and ready to go as soon as I return with the assassin.” The last word tasted bitter on his tongue as soon as he spoke, a small sneer crawling onto his lips as he moved to kick his horse forward. A low growl sounded from the scaled creature as she took a step forward, though her gaze was anything but cruel. A sympathetic warmth filled those golden eyes. Reminding him of something along the lines of…pity. He hated it. “You are in no right sort of mind to start the move back to Tyris and you know it. Allow the men and yourself a night's sleep. It’d be well deserved.” Baron’s lips parted to argue back but the dragon’s head tilted before he could say anything, suddenly aware that the creature could quite literally fry him to a crisp if he refused to listen. His shoulders squared and his gaze flickered from the dragon to the men, and finally, the reigns he held in his hands. He thought hesitantly, “Fine.” The dragon bowed her head in a slow nod before turning to lift off. Baron called over his shoulder to the men who followed, “Everyone is to follow Cerus. She has a place in mind where we can set up camp for the night. Don’t do anything rash, soldiers.” The hundred and fifty or so men collectively turned to start their short journey to wherever the clearing was as soon as the giant black dragon lifted off of the ground. However, Baron’s sharp command to the two guards closest to him seemed to startle them. “Riordan, Kite- follow me.” . The prison was small enough that if Baron hadn’t been told that it was a prison, he could have easily just mistaken it for another stone building. He and his men dismounted, following on of the guards that had led them inside the gates into the front entrance of the jail. The unnervingly familiar scent of moistened wood collided with Baron’s senses, a small scowl forming on his lips as he moved further into the dimly lit hallways filled with a surprisingly small amount of captivities. The round man ahead of him stopped at the front a cell, his keys clinking against each other as he spoke, “Here she is, be careful though, shes a feisty one. I know dogs that have better manners than her.” Oh, Baron was well aware. That feist was what had drawn him to her in the first place. What a mistake that had been. Baron’s head gestured the soldiers behind him to go ahead and retrieve the woman inside the cell. The man couldn’t see her from where he stood, but from the sound of the grunt of one of his guards, she was putting up as much of a struggle as she could. It wasn’t until she spoke that he was finally able to see her. He must have stopped breathing the second his gaze caught hers, holding it for what seemed like forever before letting his gaze flick to the rest of her form. Good gods. It didn’t look as though prison life had done her any favors. The last time Baron had laid eyes on the woman, her skin had been bright and a lighter tan and now… she looked like a ghost. Her skin had grown pale from the lack of sun, her clothes looking nearly as though they were going to fall from her form and into dust at any moment, and from the way she had spoken not two minutes ago- the jail hadn’t been paying much attention to how much they were feeding or letting her drink. Baron hated it. He hated that even in this state he found her absolutely breathtaking. He hated seeing the face of the woman he had grown to trust his life in, in shackles. He hated that he had to tell himself repeatedly internally that this treatment was what she deserved. Baron’s gaze may have very well burnt a hole through the eyes he was staring into. He needed to look away- gods. He forced his eyes to lock with the guard- Charlie Riordan- to her left, “Put her on my horse and follow the other soldiers' prints to the camp. Cerus is flying me back.” Baron’s eyes met Ilyana’s once more as his voice lowered dangerously.
“Don’t let her out of your sight.” |
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Spring Month: 3 
Night 
Clear Moon: 
