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Darkseeker
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In the fantastical realm of Liorael stands the kingdom of Elarion. Long ago, it housed a myriad of mythical creatures: dragons, mermaids, unicorns, and monsters, among others. Such beings were driven out by a coalition of magic-wielding families; those families' descendants became the nobility of the kingdom, and until recently, peace has reigned. A faction of humans have formed a sort of overzealous idolatry toward the disappeared beasts, and the head of this new group is hellbent on bringing the kingdom under the control of the creatures (with him or herself taking the reins of the kingdom, of course). With the aid of one of the kingdom's greatest assassins, and with riots springing up all across the land, it seems that the crazed faction will soon succeed.
Powerful nobles, many in line for the throne, have disappeared or been found killed. Each execution has gone perfectly according to the Head's plan, except for one -- a young noblewoman. Having failed and nearly caught, the assassin is shifting his tactics from striking in the dark to attacking during broad daylight, blending in to castle life as someone so casually close to his quarry that nobody would see it coming. Edited at June 24, 2025 06:59 PM by Mother
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Darkseeker
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Reserving for list of minor characters so I can keep track of them (I have a problem) Note: capital city is Ilyrion Edited at June 24, 2025 06:59 PM by Mother
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Darkseeker
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Name: Nox Drayven Age: 24 Gender: Male Species: Human Appearance Image in progress; credits to me. Too much chin T-T Nox Drayven wears the night like a second skin. Tall and lean, standing at 6'3, he moves with the grace of someone who has long since mastered the art of being unseen. His presence is quiet but undeniable, like a cold wind slipping through a cracked window. At first glance, one might call him a sort of subdued handsome, with his sharp features sculpted with elegance rather than harshness. But there’s a precision to his looks, a dangerous kind of allure that whispers of a man who’s not quite safe to love, or even to trust. His skin carries a light olive tone, faintly weathered by years of travel and moonlit jobs. A narrow scar traces beneath his left eye, pale and clean, left by a blade’s kiss as a reminder from a job gone too close to failure. His eyes, an unnerving shade of pale gray, are devoid of warmth, yet hold an intelligence that flickers like silver under torchlight. In them is the promise of calculation, of hidden thoughts and lethal outcomes. When Nox fixes his gaze on someone, it feels less like being looked at and more like being studied. His hair is a dark, raven black, thick and unruly, often falling just above his eyes. He rarely bothers to tame it, and the slight disarray suits him, like a storm wearing a human face. A single silver earring glints on his right ear, the only hint of ornamentation on a man who otherwise wears functionality as fashion. He dresses in layered leather armor, dyed in varying hues of black, slate, and muted forest green. The armor is close-fitted but flexible, reinforced at the shoulders, forearms, and chest for silent movement and efficient kills. Every strap and buckle serves a purpose. Hidden daggers line the insides of his long, split cloak. His boots are worn but supple, perfect for scaling stone and slipping through tavern doors unnoticed. Nox carries no sigils, no house colors, and wears no crest. Nobody knows where he came from or how he got here, and his lack of a recognizable accent or appearance doesn't help. He is a weapon without a banner, a shadow with no allegiance. To those who see him only once, he’s a ghost in the dark. To those who see him twice, he’s death delayed. Personality There is an unsettling stillness to Nox -- the kind that quiets a room without a word spoken. He speaks rarely, and when he does, his voice is low and even, like the slow draw of a blade from its sheath. He is a man who listens more than he speaks, observes more than he engages, and strikes only when it’s too late for anyone to stop him. Nox is not heartless, but he has learned to wear detachment like armor. Trust, to him, is a liability -- a weakness too many others have paid for with their own blood or that of their kin. He was not born into luxury or nobility; he clawed his way out of the dirt and into the shadows, molded by betrayal and shaped by survival. Every scar, every death, every whispered name in the dark has etched itself into the person he’s become. He is methodical, cold when he must be, and ruthlessly efficient. He despises cruelty done for sport, and while he does not claim to be a good man, he won’t kill a child, won’t torture, and won’t let others suffer just to complete a contract. Those who know of him whisper that he once turned on a client mid-job for breaking those unspoken terms. No one has dared to test him since. Despite his solitude, Nox possesses a dry, quiet wit and a surprising sense of timing. He won’t laugh loudly, but he may arch an eyebrow, deliver a deadpan quip, or let a knowing smirk curl at the edge of his lips when the moment is right. He is not emotionless; he simply keeps his feelings hidden, locked away where no one can reach them. He believes everyone is wearing a mask. His is just way better made. Nox is a man walking between justice and revenge, between darkness and something just shy of chivalry. He is the kind of person who might save your life and disappear before you know his name -- or take it, if fate demands, and vanish just as silently. Skillset -Master of dual-wielded daggers -- fast, precise, and lethal in close quarters -Expert in thrown weapons (knives, darts, needles) and bow projectiles with pinpoint accuracy -Trained in counter-assassination and defensive evasion tactics Strengths Hand-to-hand combat Stealth, silence, and agility Precision and accuracy Slightly higher tolerance of a selection of common poisons Only needs to see a map, person, or place once to have it memorized Weaknesses Not built for heavy combat Ruthless pragmatism (willing to sacrifice others for his own cause) Hardly ever able to sleep Average senses compared to those of other species Pretty much incapable of trust Edited at June 16, 2025 06:38 PM by Mother
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Neutral
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─────•◈•───── Rosalie 'Rose' Harper ─────•◈•───── Age: 22 Gender: Female Role: Heir Kingdom: _____ ~•~ Appearance Rose is a little taller than average, standing at 5'8. You would expect her to be light and graceful like the princess she is, and looks like, but she is quite far from that. Rose is very clumsy. Broken vase? Scuff marks on the floorboards? Probably Rose. Her dark brown hair is slightly lighter towards the end, a sort of deep golden hue. It reaches her mid-back in soft waves. It can look frizzy when left unbrushed or in a hot environment. Usually, she leaves it open but ties it back into a ponytail whenever she's doing some kind of work. Her face is slightly rounded, not as refined and sharp as her family's which gives her a 'baby face look'. Her rosy cheeks are covered in freckles and her skin is lightly tanned from all her time outside exploring. Rose's eyes are icy blue, sometimes appearing to be light grey. They sparkle with curiosity and determination. Whenever she's trying to figure you out, it might seem like she's staring right into you. Her expressions are very easy to read, especially as she never seems to disguise what she's thinking. Though she can when she wants to. When she smiles she really means it. Her whole face lights up whenever she gives you a grin. It makes her seem all the more childish or even mischievous. Some might argue that Rose looks better in light colours like pale blue, mint green or baby pink. ~•~ Personality Rose is loyal as heck. It might take some time to get her to trust or perhaps no time at all but once you have, she'll stick by your side. She's very honest and straight forward, even too blunt that she can come across as rude. Unless she doesn't like you. Then she's most definitely being rude to you. She usually judges people on their first few meetings and her gut feeling which is usually right. She can read most people like an open book and guess what they are thinking. Rose is trustworthy and actually one of the best to just go and talk too. She hands out some decent advice too. Stubborn and hot-headed, Rose has little to no patience for some people. If she thinks you're wasting her time there'll be no hesitation to tell you and move on. She is also sometimes seen as the 'problem child's because of her reckless actions and impulsive behaviour. If she sees something she likes, close to nothing will deter her from her goal. Rose can be quite pessimistic at times. She loves teasing her older brothers but will do practically anything for her family. She can be a bit of a talker depending on her mood when you're talking to her but it's usually an interesting or at least a strange topic. She's a very curious person who enjoys her freedom and independence. ~•~ Strengths ~ Good at reading people ~ Intelligent ~ Quick learner ~ Loyal ~ Good memory ~•~ Weaknesses ~ Short attention span ~ Overconfident and reckless ~ Impatient ~ Inexperienced ~ Combat of any kind ~•~ Likes ~ Winter - I mean, snow, am I right? ~ Quiet places ~ Food. Mostly the sweet stuff ~ Teasing and joking around ~ Exploring ~ Birds Dislikes ~ Hot weather ~ Lots of rain ~ Being ignored ~ Boring people ~ Bugs Handwriting In between neat and cursive and scribbly. The perfect combination of each for it to look almost nice or, at the very least, legible. Sometimes it depends on her mood too. Voice Desc Her voice is lyrical and soft with a light accent. Edited at June 16, 2025 03:49 PM by LazyPanda
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Darkseeker
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The city of Ilyrion simmered with unrest. Beneath its gilded towers and enchanted lamplight, the backstreets ran dark with whispers and dissent. The zealot faction had their fingers in every crumbling corner of the kingdom now, fanning the flames of revolution with myth and blood. And at the heart of this quiet war walked Nox Drayven, one more ghost in a city teetering toward collapse. Tonight, he waited in the ruins of a forgotten watchtower, high above the city’s sleeping face. A small, robed figure stood before him -- the latest in a long line of messengers sent by the Head of the zealots. Nox could tell nothing of their identity: their voice was muffled, their frame obscured, their magic heavy and slick with protection. But their scent was wrong -- too clean. Noble, perhaps. Or someone who wanted to pretend. The messenger spoke first. "The Viscountess is dead?” Nox didn’t answer immediately. He simply pulled a pendant from his cloak -- a delicate chain with a family crest crusted in crimson. He let it dangle in the dim light, swinging slightly like a metronome. His flat tone matched the sluggish swings as he finally said, "Her throat was slit, as was requested. Two guards had to be dispatched as well." The messenger gave a slow nod, hands disappearing into the folds of their sleeves. “Then the pattern is intact. You have proven yourself thus far." Nox’s eyes narrowed. “You have another name.” "We do. But this one… was not meant to be difficult. An easier mark, a political message. Alas, our own people's attempts have all been unsuccessful." The messenger raised a hand, and from their cloak they drew a sealed scroll pressed between two runes -- a warning charm, by the looks of it, and likely one that would ignite if tampered with. “You’ll want to read this somewhere safer. The target is Princess Rosalie Harper.” Silence thickened the air. Nox’s brow twitched slightly. “The heir?" “Yes. Charismatic. Well-loved. And more importantly, she survived your predecessor.” Nox’s gaze sharpened. So, they'd called him back for a cleanup. Rosalie was a loose thread, a missed mark, and a threat to the lunatic's grabs for power. However, as ditzy as the zealots seemed, they had undoubtedly killed the last assassin they'd hired after at least one failure. Nox had no qualms being the harbringer of Death, but he wasn't quite in the mood to fall into its embrace. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t do it twice,” he said coldly, and vanished into the dark before the messenger could reply. ---- The scroll had contained a roughly drawn blueprint of the castle in which his next target resided. The princess’s chambers were guarded only lightly; the castle had grown lax, trusting in its walls, its wards, and its titles. Nox had scaled the eastern tower, bypassed the illusion traps, slipped between sentries like mist. He was inside the castle before midnight. By the third bell, he stood in what had been labeled as the princess’s private quarters. The room smelled even cleaner than the messenger, though this place matched the scent. A small candle burned beside the window, illuminating a pile of books. Her boots were at the foot of the bed, carelessly tossed. The girl herself was sound asleep, curled on her side, one arm tucked beneath her head. Freckles dotted her face, and her brow furrowed slightly in her sleep, as if she were dreaming of a fight she couldn’t win. Nox stepped forward, blade drawn. His breath was measured, his footsteps silent. All he needed was one thrust to the throat. One twist. No sound. But just as he raised his arm, she rolled sharply, knocking a half-filled mug of ink off the nightstand. It shattered. She jolted upright. Their eyes locked. Whoever this was, she was not Rosalie Harper, and whoever had drawn the map, they were an idiot. For a moment, neither the young woman nor the assassin moved. Her mouth parted to scream, but Nox was already lunging forward -- not to kill, but to silence. She twisted away. The knife caught her shoulder instead of her neck, and blood spattered the sheets. She cried out, her voice echoing down the halls with a frantic, "Rosalie, run!" The castle erupted into motion, wards flaring, bells ringing, and voices shouting in the halls. Nox didn’t finish the job. He turned and leapt through the window into the cold air of night, cloak billowing behind him. Arrows sang as they zipped past his ears, causing Nox to forfeit any safety measures in the name of getting down the wall faster. The fall was steep, and he landed hard -- too hard. Pain shot up his leg. Something was sprained, maybe fractured. He limped into the shadows, clutching his side where an arrow had grazed him during the escape. The guardhouse nearby was an old stone building where the off-duty guards smoked, gambled, and occasionally slept. Nox slunk beneath the overhang, pressing his back to the wall just outside an open window. Inside, two guards were mid-argument. “We’re short again. We lost three in the last damned week.” “Then start arming the kitchen boys. Hell, give the princess a maid with a halberd for all I care. They’ll start putting anyone close to her in armor soon.” Nox’s ears perked. His expression shifted. That spark — the one that always preceded a shift in strategy — lit behind his eyes. “Servants,” he whispered. No shadows. No rooftops. No blood on silk sheets. No wrong targets. Not this time. No, he would become one of them, a nameless face in the castle halls. An invisible hand serving wine, lighting candles, sweeping floors until the moment he could strike again. The guards inside were called to arms as the alarm spread across the keep. They rose with curses and clattering steel, shouting to each other that the princess had been attacked. By the time they spilled out into the courtyard, Nox was already gone, swallowed into the veins of the slums, where beggars and firebrands slept and none asked questions. He would need a new name, a new face, a wound stitched closed, and a forged letter of service. And time. This hunt wasn’t over. It was just beginning.
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Neutral
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The castle was quiet apart from the occasional movement from staff and the princess, Rosalie Harper, as she walked down the long hallway. Two guards flanked either side of her, alert. The golden glow cast from the candles illuminated her path. Finally reaching her bedroom, Rose yawned and nodded to the guards as they took their places outside the door. She knew it would only be a while before more replaced them. Rose was absolutely exhausted. She slipped out of the pale blue dress and into a fresh linen shirt, then began to unbriad her hair. She preferred to do this on her own. Rosalie had accidentally zoned out while her tutor droned on about philosophy and had to copy out three separate passages from Aristotle as a punishment. She didn't even understand why she needed philosophy but her parents had forced it on her, among the many other things they "encouraged" her to do. "When I have kids," she grumbled, getting comfortable in her bed, "I'm never making them learn anything as stupid as philosophy." Just as her head touched the pillow, a scream echoed through the halls - faint but recognisable all the same. "Rosalie, run!" Panick fluttered in her chest. She sat straight up. Armour clinking, loud footsteps, voices yelling, bells ringing. It was chaos. The door cracked open and Rose's personal maid slipped in - Cara. Everything about her was warm, comforting and calm. Her big, brown eyes glowed from the candle she held in her hand but Rose could see the panic in her eyes. "What is happening?" Rose asked. Cara came over, placed the candle on the bedside table and smiled softly. "Everything will be fine. It seems that there's been an intruder found in the castle but that's it. The guards are already sorting it out," Cara reassured. Rose nodded, still not fully convinced. Were her brothers okay? The voice...it sounded worryingly similar to her cousin's, who was visiting for the season. Why did Cara have to be so unnervingly calm in these kinds of situations? Rosalie was already cooped up all the time, the least she could get was some real information about what was going on in her own home. Some kind of emotion from Cara, or any of the staff, would help. She had to be more positive. After all, that was a good trait to have in a princess, wasn't it? Shaking the bad thoughts from her head, she attempted a joke. "Perhaps Aristotle would've made a theory about the intruder." Cara chuckled lightly. "You should get some sleep, Princess. All this worrying won't do you any good and you have a lesson with a counselor tomorrow." Right, she'd almost forgotten about that. Almost. Her parents alternated her schedule with tutoring lessons about philosophy, astronomy, and meetings with royal counselors that were supposed to educate her about kingdom affairs. Sighing, Rose settled back down in her bed and turned on her side. A small slit in the blue curtains let a sliver of moonlight through. There was a cobweb starting to form in one corner. The sounds from outside her bedroom were starting to die down. "Goodnight, Cara." "Goodnight, Princess." ~ • ~ That night, Rosalie slept fitfully. She even turned to the method of counting sheep. It did not help at all. Multiple times, Rose sat up, grumbling and turned over or flipped her pillows to find the colder side. By the time morning arrived, Rose was somehow more tired than before. Cara had left sometime during the night and returned that morning with a small trolley. "I brought some tea and a bit of fruit. You'll have a fuller breakfast in your family dining room." Cara then started to rush around the room to get Rosalie ready. The princess washed her hand and face in the basin Cara brought and changed into the dress that was layed out for her - a pretty navy blue dress with simple silver pattern embroidered on the side. As her maid began to style her hair, Rose couldn't stop thinking about last night. Had that really been her cousin screaming? Who was the intruder? Why had someone entered the castle? An assassination attempt of some kind? "There are a few rumours running through the staff that are more than likely true. You'll probably have many more guards with you now. And, you didn't here this from me, but apparently someone was injured last night. Someone of nobility, though I didn't have the time to find out who." Cara stepped back and smiled, admiring her work. Rose's hair was up in an elegant bun with a butterfly hairpin. "It looks amazing. No need to worry either. You know I never tell," Rose replied, a grin on her face. The walk to the dining hall was quiet. It wasn't like the guards were going to start gossiping with Rose. Cara was right, there was an extra two people outside her bedroom, though one looked so small and meek. Rose was so sure that she'd seen him working in the stables before. By the time Rose reached the dining hall, most of her family were already sat down. Her older brothers, from eldest to youngest, all sat on one side of the table: Alistair, Edward and Benjamin. Her mother had taken the seat by the head of the table where her father, the King, would usually sit. Her cousin, Iris, was already there too, two seats down from the Queen, which left a place between them for Rosalie. As Rose walked over, she noticed the mostly concealed bandages on her cousin's shoulder. "Iris, what happened to your shoulder?" "Oh, that? There was an intruder in the castle last night, I'm sure you know about that already, and he tried attacking me." "Sister, you do have to thank Iris for that!" Benjamin called out to her. "Why? What did I do?" "Come now. I know you aren't that oblivious. It was clearly an assassination attempt and he got mixed up. The two of you do look ever so similar," explained Benjamin as he took a grape and popped it into his mouth. It was true. Rose and Iris did look similar but she'd never expected something like this to happen because of it. It had always been fun to swap places as children and pretend to be one another. "Benjamin," her mother said sharply. That was all she needed to say. "Sorry, sister." "Now," her mother continued, " your father won't be here since he is attending some more important meetings, especially concerning last night's events." Rosalie turned to look at the empty seat at the head of the table. Was that really the end of it? "A Viscountess died recently too. Could it possibly be the same person?" Rose asked, stirring her tea. "Obviously not. Why aim for a simple Viscountess then for the rulers of the kingdom?" Alistair reasoned. "It makes no sense. And don't worry about it, Father is sorting everything out." There was definitely something going on. Rose would be the one to find out. Edited at July 6, 2025 10:12 AM by LazyPanda
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Darkseeker
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The forest was quiet in the hours before dawn, when the moon was at its apex and the crickets had stilled, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath. Nox limped through the underbrush, his cloak snagging on brambles, his boot soaking in blood from a torn ankle. His breath came in tight pulls. Not from pain -- he was too used to that -- but from restraint. The rage hadn’t come yet, though it waited like a hound on a leash. Rage at the false map. Rage at the noble girl he’d stabbed. Rage at the fact that for once, he had left someone alive. That wasn’t like him. He had spent the night in a hidden lean-to nestled into a hillside and covered in old brush and sod. A place he had built months ago, for emergencies like this one. Inside, he stitched his leg, wrapped his ribs, and stared into the silence until the sun began its slow crawl over the treetops. By the time light touched the tips of the trees, Nox had already broken camp. His destination lay deeper in the forest, past crumbling stone markers long since swallowed by ivy, and deeper still into territory no map dared mark. There, he found a crooked shack half buried in moss and roots, and smoke curling from a stone chimney. The old witch was waiting. “You limp like an old man,” she said, not looking up from her cauldron. “What did I tell you about escaping rooftops instead of dealing with your problems like the rest of us?” Nox didn’t smile. “I did deal with it. Then it screamed.” She snorted and beckoned him in. “Let me see the wound.” He obeyed. She pressed gnarled fingers to his side, muttering old words beneath her breath. Her magic was older than the Kingdom, drawn not from glowing sigils or flashy runes, but from roots and blood and the bones of the earth. It was subtle, almost inaudible to magical sensors, and that was precisely why he had sought her out again. As she worked, he unrolled the scroll from his cloak -- the one she had prepared on his last visit -- and laid it on the table. Ink shimmered faintly, the runes older than most remembered how to read. “This will change your face,” she said, not looking up. “Eyes, hair, your posture too if you let it. Your bones will ache. Your magic, if you still bother with it, will be dulled for a day or two while the transformation settles.” “I don’t need it.” “You never need anything,” she muttered. “Except apparently me, every time a job goes sideways.” He didn’t argue. He never did with her. She gestured to the vial beside the scroll. “It’ll hold until you either take the reversal tonic or bleed enough life out that your body gives up the pretense. Your old face will come back like rot if that happens. Anyway- mask the potion's magic with your own brews in the meantime. Mine hum quiet, but they still hum.” Nox nodded once and took the vial, throwing it back at once to get it over with. The potion burned like fire down his throat. For a moment, he thought it might kill him, but then the burning tunneled outward, through his lungs and chest and jaw and skull, like he was being pulled apart and stitched back together with new thread. His vision blurred, and his ears rang loud enough to mute his gasps. His skin felt tight, then loose, then tight again. When it passed, the reflection in the witch’s polished silver mirror showed someone else. Brown eyes. Dark auburn hair, wavier than his own and curled at the ends from too many humid summers. The scar beneath his left eye was gone, replaced with a faint line across his brow and another across the bridge of his nose like it had once been broken. His jawline was still lean, but softened. Unassuming. The kind of man who might work in a stable, not slit a throat in the dark. “Convincing,” he said, voice raspier now. “You’re welcome.” He left without saying goodbye. -- The castle was abuzz with repairs, patrols, and tightened security, though the latter seemed to have been built up by the children whose jobs Nox intended to steal. Banners still fluttered from the towers, but the mood in the walls was frayed, uneasy. Nox walked past two guards at the outer stables with a slight limp and a folded letter of recommendation. He looked up once, making sure not to meet their eyes, and offered a polite, deferential nod. They didn’t even glance twice. By midday, he was standing in the stone-walled servant’s office, the letter open in the head steward’s wrinkled hands. “Mr. Nox Errisson... Stable hand, hmm?” the old man muttered, squinting at the page. “You’re not built for mucking stalls, lad. Looks like you could carry the damned horses yourself.” Nox smiled sheepishly. “Worked with my uncle in a farm outside Merrowind. I just need a roof and steady coin.” “Hrmph. You’ll get both, along with shit under your nails and a bad back by the end of the month.” The man stamped the letter and waved him off. “I'll put you down in the east stables. Find our Head of Household. She’ll show you where to sleep. And keep your nose clean. You so much as look at a noble’s daughter the wrong way, I’ll have you out faster than a gelding on fire.” Nox gave a respectful nod and left. As he passed through the stone corridors, he did not lift his eyes to the noble tapestries, nor glance at the soldiers posted every few feet. He carried a bucket, a brush, and a limp, and wore a new face like armor. He was no longer the assassin in the tower; now, he was no one. And soon, he would be close enough to fix the mistake he had made.
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Neutral
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The rest of the day was, as Rosalie expected, dull and uneventful. It certainly hadn't helped when Benjamin caught sight of her watching through a window and started laughing at her, or when Edward offered to help with her extra studies as it was fun, or when Alistair started lecturing her about duty and responsibilities when she complained about her lack of freedom. "You'll have responsibilities soon, Rosalie. A husband, a household to manage, and, if you're blessed, children to take care of. You already get plenty of freedom that most don't experience in a lifetime, enjoy it." Rose huffed under her breath as she remembered that conversation with her eldest brother. He didn't understand. None of them did. Even her mother, who was supposed to relate, was cold and dismissive. The only person Rose wanted to talk to was Iris but she'd been flitting around the castle like a ghost. They just weren't lucky enough for their schedules to match up. However, she had seen a number of new staff around the castle. Rosalie could see a familiar face as a new guard assigned to watch her - Corvin. There were rumours that he was from a long line of healers and magicians who were prolific for their expertise in protective magic. Rose had never seen those rumours confirmed, even when she tried to listen in on the conversations between Corvin and her parents. He was usually just called as an informant or advisor of some kind, though it wasn't exactly an official job. Apparently Rosalie's father and Corvin's had been friends, which was probably the only reason the King kept Corvin around. Rose wasn't too sure but he was a similar age to her. Corvin stood in the corner. His dark eyes darted around the room, arms crossed, face unreadable as ever. It was strange. It was as if Rose could tell exactly what he was thinking but also had no idea what was going through his head. She always thought that he never spoke because nobody ever spoke to him - not unless it was absolutely necessary. People tended to keep their distance from him for a multitude of reasons, the most common ones were: "He's scary" and "What if he curses me? Why does the King even keep him around?" That was another question Rose wondered about a lot too. Rosalie looked away, slightly frustrated. She knew practically nothing compared to everyone else. Even her buffoon of a brother, Benjamin, was more in the loop than she was. Speaking of the devil— "Sister! I've come to save you from your terribly dreary life - let's go to the stables. I know that you've been dying to speak to Iris," Benjamin said, suddenly appearing. He poked his head out from behind the door, a massive grin on his face. "What— How did you manage to convince Mother to—" Rose began. "Nevermind that. We need to go." He turned to the guards, giving a puzzled look to Corvin before a smile took over again. "I'm sure you won't mind a small break, correct? Trust me, you won't face any consequences whatsoever." The guards didn't say anything. How could they; Benjamin was a prince after all. Nodding, Rose followed after him. Sometimes he could be useful. As they strode through the hallways, Benjamin stayed close to her side. Rose felt slightly giddy with excitement. Iris could tell her every last detail. A witness for her investigation. Iris and Edward were already at the stables when they arrived. "Will Alistair be coming too?" Edward asked, finally looking up from his book. "Of course not. We'd never get a moment of peace. Now," Benjamin replied, pulling Edward along by the arm, "we should give the girls some privacy. No one will interrupt - I already took care of that. We'll be just outside, shout if a horse tries to eat your hair!" Iris giggled and Rosalie raised an eyebrow with a smile on her face. The stables smelt strange, like pinewood but musty. It wasn't unpleasant, just strange. "I'm not sure what Benjamin's motive for this is but here we are. So, Iris? The assassin, what did he look like?" Iris frowned in thought. "It's... already sort of hard to remember. He had dark hair but it wasn't easy to tell. It was night and he was wearing a hood. His face was hard to see too. Definitely on the bigger side. I'm honestly surprised he didn't just off me right there and then, he could have. At least I think so." "Maybe he realised he got the wrong person?" It was a likely reason. There wasn't any point in killing people you didn't have to. Iris' details weren't very useful but Rose would just have to work with what she had. What did Iris mean by "on the bigger side"? Just as she was about to ask whether he was tall or muscular or both, Edward reappeared in the stables, hissing at them to go. The King was coming. 'Probably to go for a ride. But he only ever does that when he has something serious to contemplate. What's it now?' They managed to leave through the other side of the stables in time and Benjamin led Rosalie back to the room, where she was supposed to be learning customs from other kingdoms. > "I can't believe Father let Corvin of all people guard you." "What do you mean? I'm sure he could get rid of an intruder." Benjamin turned his head to her. "With spells or his strength? Who knows with him? He never talks, always just brooding in the corner. It's risky, especially if he does know some magic. I don't trust." "Ah, yes. You know, I'll ask whether he hunts for frogs to use in his cauldron." Rose scoffed as they reached the door. Benjamin frowned. "I'm being serious. Just...watch out. Someone broke into the castle. Despite what you might think, I do care." "I know." Rosalie entered the room and sat back down at the desk. The more she tried to focus on Kyrath traditions, the more doubt that creeped into her mind. Corvin was tall, muscular, dark-haired. Rose had seen him with cloaks on many occasions. She glanced up, gaze flicking from the suspect in the corner to the clock. The royal counselor finally entered the room and Rosalie jumped to her feet. He blinked in surprise then sighed lightly before quickly quizzing her. "Hmmm. That's good enough - five more than you knew an hour ago." Rose simply thanked him and left, hurrying for her room. On the way, she spotted a man - tall, dark hair but his was wavy, face was softer. Not at all the face of someone who would kill. Hunt a pheasant, yes, but not murder someone in cold blood. He had a limp too. How could he possibly attack anyone? Rosalie reached for her bedroom handle. It wasn't fun being a target in her own home. A mouse with a cat on its tail. Edited at July 8, 2025 04:28 PM by LazyPanda
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Darkseeker
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The sun hung high over the castle when the stable doors creaked open with the weight of morning duty. Nox was already well into his chores. He moved quietly between the stalls, pitchfork in hand, sweeping hay and muck into the wheelbarrow with ease. The horses shifted and nickered, already recognizing him as a constant. His limp slowed him, but not so much that the other stable hands noticed. They were too busy grumbling about tightened protocols and the upcoming royal visit. The work was almost meditative -- familiar, physical, and, most importantly, inconspicuous. "Wrap it up, Nox," called Hayle, the head of the stables. "Royals’ll be coming through soon. You know the drill; clear out before their boots touch straw." He offered a silent nod and wheeled the barrow out the back. But he didn’t leave. Instead, he returned through the outer pasture gate, slipping around the far wall and back into the stable from the east. Hoisting himself up into the low hayloft above the main corridor of stalls, he moved like a shadow, silent and deliberate. Once up top, he lay flat on the wooden planks and let the itchy straw obscure his form. He heard voices in the courtyard, boots on the cobblestones, the murmuring of siblings until finally, they arrived. He watched through the slats of the hayloft, eyes narrowed as Princess Rosalie and her cousin Iris entered, their silhouettes framed in warm light. From his perch, he could see their expressions clearly, could feel the tremor of memory tug at his thoughts. Iris. She was the girl. The one he'd almost killed. He stared at her now, taking in every detail. The arch of her brow, the line of her jaw, the way her shoulder still bore stiffness from his knife. Too similar to the real one, he thought grimly. The color of her hair, the shape of her frame -- they were enough to deceive in the dark. Especially with adrenaline in his blood and a contract humming in his skull. Below, the conversation turned. "So, Iris? The assassin, what did he look like?" He leaned forward, barely breathing. "It's... already sort of hard to remember. He had dark hair but it wasn't easy to tell. It was night and he was wearing a hood. His face was hard to see too. Definitely on the bigger side. I'm honestly surprised he didn't just off me right there and then, he could have. At least I think so." Nox’s fingers drifted unconsciously to his hair, now dark auburn and tousled in loose waves. He twisted a lock between his gloved fingers. Should it be lighter? He frowned. More like his original tone? No… no, the potion was perfect. Besides, her memory’s already smudging the truth. Good. Rosalie’s voice pressed, asking if perhaps he realized she wasn’t the right target. She was quite sharp and observant, but she didn’t know what she was stepping into, pulling threads and asking questions like that. She was dangerous. He watched them leave at Edward’s warning, the king’s approach turning the air tense. The young women exited, skirts trailing, Iris favoring her wounded shoulder as she passed beneath him. The moment they disappeared from sight, Nox exhaled and shifted, easing out of the loft with all the fluidity of someone who had done it a hundred times. He landed softly, brushing stray straw from his cloak, and re-entered the stables properly just as the final guard posted the area for the king’s arrival. But Hayle saw him. “You again? Off with you. You’re not touching that horse -- not unless you want your neck rung by the Master himself. Senior handlers only when His Majesty rides. Find something else to do.” Nox offered a bowed nod. Internally, he seethed. So close. So very close. It would’ve been the perfect chance to study the king’s gait, hear a murmured strategy -- maybe even catch a word exchanged with a guard or advisor. Still, frustration never served a mission. He turned away without complaint, blending into the movement of staff like a fish returning to its stream. He found a new errand quickly: a courier’s basket that needed return to the keep’s side wing, where tutors and scholars flitted like moths around flame. Carrying it gave him purpose, access, and a straight line into the castle’s heart. The corridors here were cool, lined with painted tiles and open archways. He moved slowly, limping by design, head slightly bowed. The less he was noticed, the better. Unfortunately for him, the princess herself soon entered his vicinity. Rosalie had stepped from a room at the end of the hall, the door swinging shut behind her. Her brow was pinched with thought, mouth set in that same small frown he’d seen in the stable. Her eyes were sharp, scanning before her as if hunting answers in the mortar of the walls. Nox dropped immediately into a bow, as the other staff around her had done. “Milady,” he murmured, his voice perfectly forgettable, pitched low and even. He didn’t need to look directly at her to feel her gaze brushing past him, lingering just a second too long, perhaps noting the limp, the size of his shoulders. No, he thought. She doesn’t suspect. Not yet. Rosalie moved on. Nox did too, noting the room, its placement, the nearby guards, the time of day. If she had just left it, she would likely return again soon. He made a mental mark of the tutor’s quarters. One more place to monitor. One more piece in the game. By the time he exited the hallway, the basket was delivered, and his purpose complete. He did not glance back at the princess, but he felt something curl at the edge of his mind. She's clever, he thought. Too clever. And the worst kind of mark was one that started hunting him back.
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