In time

Browser lacks capabilities required to play.

Upgrade or switch to another browser.

Loading…

<div align='center' style='font-size: 120%;'>\ In Time \ </div> ''In Time'' is a high fantasy interactive fiction piece that I hope you enjoy. It is a work in progress and will be subject to changes and updates over time. It is planned to include: -Appearance and Personality customization for a flawed MC -A brother dedicated to helping the MC -Romance -Choices that will impact the story Content Warnings: This game is for 18 years and older it will contain violence, gore, blood, injuries, deaths, trauma, sexual and suggestive content If there is a warning I have missed, please let me know [[Begin]]

<<if settings.achievements>><<notify 3s>>Achievements active!<</notify>><</if>>Ultrices in iaculis nunc sed augue lacus. Duis ultricies lacus sed turpis tincidunt id. Amet dictum sit amet justo donec enim diam. Sodales ut eu sem integer vitae justo eget magna. Amet justo donec enim diam vulputate. Turpis egestas sed tempus urna et. Erat imperdiet sed euismod nisi porta lorem mollis aliquam. Quis varius quam quisque id diam. Ultricies mi eget mauris pharetra et ultrices. Nulla at volutpat diam ut venenatis tellus in metus. Accumsan sit amet nulla facilisi. Libero nunc consequat interdum varius sit. Sit amet tellus cras adipiscing enim. Urna et pharetra pharetra massa. Libero justo laoreet sit amet cursus sit. Mattis aliquam faucibus purus in massa tempor nec. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et. In nisl nisi scelerisque eu ultrices vitae auctor eu. <div class="choice">[[next - pronoun setting|3]]</div>

<<if settings.achievements>><<notify 3s>>Achievements active!<</notify>><</if>>Elementum nisi quis eleifend quam adipiscing vitae. Ullamcorper dignissim cras tincidunt lobortis. Dictum varius duis at consectetur lorem donec massa sapien. Eu scelerisque felis imperdiet proin fermentum leo. Massa id neque aliquam vestibulum morbi blandit. Nec dui nunc mattis enim ut tellus. Rhoncus dolor purus non enim praesent elementum. Ante in nibh mauris cursus mattis. Nullam non nisi est sit amet facilisis. Orci sagittis eu volutpat odio facilisis mauris. At risus viverra adipiscing at in tellus integer. Ultrices neque ornare aenean euismod elementum nisi quis eleifend quam. <div class="choice">[[next - pronoun setting|3]]</div>

Insert achievements here

<<link "Stats">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Stats"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("stats").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>> <<link "Credits">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Credits"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("credits").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>

Stats page here (WORK IN PROGRESS) $name Mavar You have $eyecolor eyes, blessed with the Mark of Stars, and $haircolor hair. You are $height. Charming: $charming Blunt: $blunt Stoic: $stoic Emotional: $emotional Intelligence: $intelligent Intuitive: $intuitive Bold/Reserved Flirty/Shy $name's favorite element is $element

Shay Dae

This Time

A High Fantasy, Interactive Story

<<set $skincolor to "null">> <<set $eyecolor to "pretty">> <<set $haircolor to "gorgeous">> <<set $height to "maybe tall, maybe short">> <<set $name to "Love">> <<set $ruthless=1>> <<set $possessive=1>> <<set $charming to 0>> <<set $blunt to 0>> <<set $stoic to 0>> <<set $emotional to 0>> <<set $intelligent to 0>> <<set $intuitive to 0>> <<set $bold to 0>> <<set $reserved to 0>> <<set $flirty to 0>> <<set $shy to 0>> <<set $nickname to "Bambi">> <<set $romarenn to "Rosie">> <<set $element to "water">> <<newmeter ‘Stat’ $stat>> <<colors "#0000FF" "#480000">> <<sizing '100%’ '2em’>> <<label Stat black center>> <</newmeter>>

<<widget "are">><<switch $plural>><<case true>>are<<case false>>is<</switch>><</widget>> <<widget "were">><<switch $plural>><<case true>>were<<case false>>was<</switch>><</widget>> <<widget "s">><<switch $plural>><<case true>><<case false>>s<</switch>><</widget>>

select your pronouns: <div class="choice">[[plural - they/them|4][$plural to true,$they to "they"]]</div> <div class="choice">[[singular - he/him, she/her, xe/xem|4][$plural to false,$they to "she"]]</div>

<<liveblock>>$they <<are>> happy. $they <<were>> sad. $they run<<s>> down the road. <</liveblock>> <div class="choice"><<link "She/her Pronouns">><<set $they to "she">><<set $plural to false>><<update>><</link>></div> <div class="choice"><<link "He/him Pronouns">><<set $they to "he">><<set $plural to false>><<update>><</link>></div> <div class="choice"><<link "Xe/xem Pronouns">><<set $they to "xe">><<set $plural to false>><<update>><</link>></div> <div class="choice"><<link "They/them Pronouns">><<set $they to "they">><<set $plural to true>><<update>><</link>></div>

<a href="https://www.motoslave.net/sugarcube/2/docs/">Sugarcube 2 Documentation</a> <a href="https://github.com/ChapelR/custom-macros-for-sugarcube-2">Chapel - custom macros collection</a> <a href="https://github.com/cyrusfirheir/cycy-wrote-custom-macros">Cycy's custom macros</a> <a href="https://unsplash.com/">Unsplash</a> for sidebar images (<a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/4CpyhNQ-LdU">light mode</a> and <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/1L71sPT5XKc">dark mode</a>)

IF ADDING BACK TO MENDU LINK: <<link "Using StoryInterface" "StoryInterface Special Passage">><</link>> <<if settings.achievements>><<link "Achievements">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Achievements"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("achievements").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>><</if>> <h3>StoryInterface</h3> The StoryInterface special passage, used by creating a special passage titled StoryInterface, allows you to override the default UI layout of Sugarcube. At its most basic, it consists of a div with the id "passages" that displays the data from your passages on the screen, as shown in example 1. You can add more complex layouts by adding more elements to this passage, such as menu bars, splash screens, headers and footers, as shown in example 2. Defining these divs is as simple as adding the necessary HTML to the StoryInterface passage; however, note that if a div is assigned a "data-passage" property, you should not add content to it within the StoryInterface passage. This property assigns a passage to that div. In example 2, the div with the id "ui-bar" has the data-passage property "UIBar", meaning it pulls its content data from a passage with the same name. These designations are case-sensitive. If you're just starting out with Twine/Sugarcube, it's a good idea to familiarize yourself with the language and the UI before working with StoryInterface. ''Example 1'' {{{<div id="passages"></div>}}} ''Example 2'' {{{<div id="ui-bar" data-passage="UIBar"></div>}}} {{{<div id="passages"></div>}}} {{{<div id="footer" data-passage="Footer"></div>}}} This will create a layout with three basic elements: the UI bar, the passage, and the footer. Content for the UI bar is found in the UIBar passage; likewise with the Footer passage & div. <h3>Accessing the UI functions</h3> Using StoryInterface by nature removes the built-in UI bar and the links contained within (Saves, Settings, Restart etc); these can all be replaced using their relevant APIs. The most common & useful of these are listed below. These commands can be placed inside links or buttons. {{{UI.saves() - opens the save UI}}} {{{UI.settings() - opens the settings UI}}} {{{UI.restart() - restarts the game}}} {{{Engine.backward()/Engine.forward() - undoes the previous action and returns the player to the previous passage/moves the player forward one action}}} Similarly to the above, you can use {{{<<back>>}}} to create a button that automatically undoes the last action, or {{{<<return>>}}} to return to the previous passage without undoing any variable changes made. <h3>Dialog functions</h3> You can set up dialog options to pop up upon clicking a link or button, which allows you to share information with the player without adding a new passage to the player's history or changing the state of the game. In order to do this, you need to set up the Dialog box, tell it what passage contains the content you want to display, and optionally, add a title. {{{Dialog.setup("Dialog Box Title");}}} {{{Dialog.wiki(Story.get("PassageName").processText());}}} {{{Dialog.open();}}} Any of these commands can be used in the default layout as well as StoryInterface - if you want extra save buttons, back buttons etc. <<back "Return">> <<link "Settings">><<script>>UI.settings();<</script>><</link>> <<button "Saves">><<script>>UI.saves();<</script>><</button>>

First, the basics of House Mavar's second child, the Marked, please. <<link 'Configure your gender and pronouns.'>> <<pronouns>> <</link>> What is your name? [[Dimitra|Confirm Name][$name to "Dimitra"]] [[Ines|Confirm Name][$name to "Ines"]] [[Ingway|Confirm Name][$name to "Ingway"]] [[Daian|Confirm Name][$name to "Daian"]] [[Eden|Confirm Name][$name to "Eden"]] [[Azari|Confirm Name][$name to "Azari"]] <<textbox "$name" "">> <<link "[[Confirm Name]]">><<if $name is "">><<replace "textbox-error>> Please enter a name. <</replace>> <<elseif $name is "Romare">><<replace "#textbox-error">> Please select a different name. <</replace>> <<elseif $name is "Zavan">><<replace "#textbox-error">> Please select a different name. <</replace>> <<else>> <<replace "#textbox-error">><</replace>> <<run Engine.place("Next Passage")>> <</if>><</link>><span id="textbox-error"></span>

You are $name, the second child to Fabian Avis Mavar, the Left Hand to the Empreror of the Elven Empire. You were born with the unfortunate blessing of being Marked, with stars in your eyes and a body that they said would be too weak to reach adulthood. "Have you seen the elder twin? ?He has been confined to ?his_ room, recently no? Poor little one, to carry such a heavy blessing. Lord Mavar has done so much to keep ?him alive, they say. The amount of healers coming and going from the Mavar home is- well substantial." - some courtier at some point Is this correct? [[Yes|Prologue]] [[No|Begin]]

The courtyard is familar as you step through the intricate gate, cold stone clicking beneath your boots. It is obscenely large, blending a stretching garden within, a fit of opulence from an ancestor. The high arches of the walkways leading back to the warmth of the indoors nearly hidden by the stone walls and tall evergreen shrubs, currently covered in a layer of snow. The trees are strategically placed, shaped and twisted as meticulously as the gate's metalwork had been. It was one of your favorite places, growing up. You take a deep breath, cold air filling your lungs. As is often the case, the relief you feel that you can take such a breath nearly betrays you. Your heart is hammering, a beat you can feel in in your temple, and you do not remember the last time you slept well. It is a miracle your body still holds up, that you have not had an attack recently. Just a bit longer. A little bit longer, surely, and then you can rest. You try not to think about how your body will respond, when you release the tension. Instead you adjust your long coat, warm and rich as it fell to your ankles with lush white fur lining and soft cream velvet. You have the large sleeves folded, presenting the fur lining and the gold embroidery with the array of green and blue beads all across the coat to catch the harsh winter sun. The array of knotted tassels along your thick woven belt are a comforting weight, the gems and beads like little bells of offered protection and love. An ostentatious display, especially with your <span id="cycle"><<cycle "$haircolor" autoselect>>/ <<option "void black" "black">> <<option "pale blonde" "pale blonde">> <<option "golden blonde" "yellow blonde">> <<option "honey brown" "light brown">> <<option "mahogony brown" "dark brown">> <<option "vibrant red" "red">> <<option "rich burgundy" "burgundy">> <<option "warm ginger" "ginger">> <<option "soft lavender" "purple">> <<option "jade green" "green">> <<option "bright blue" "blue">> <<option "fairy tale pink" "pink">> <</cycle>></span> hair falling down your back, the intricate pearl threaded plaits and loops secured with turquoise hairpins, camellias and winter roses added to adorn the headdress that you knew caused a stir. Perhaps you should not have picked a piece so close to the Commandment. Perhaps you aught to have avoided such a statement. Your uncle had thought as much, you knew, wanting you to accept being the Incandescent, the Lantern to Lead the People. A darling little symbol of the mercy of the Neptunizal, of His grace and power. Your uncle did not understand, or perhaps had hoped as an Archbishop to take it for himself. You, however, would not bow. You were not the Emperyean. Nor were you the Emperor. Yet here you stood, finally, at the precipice of it all. The cost- you did not have time to consider the cost. You do not consider the blood you imagine seeping through your white gloves, the hole in your chest where once a heart with love beat. “$name,” a soft voice calls, carried on the cold winter wind. You turn to look at Romare, your younger brother. Your twin. Not just the second piece of you, but all you have left now. He wears the heavy silver armor, white cape fluttering behind him, as if connecting him to the snow that fell around you both. His helmet is held under his arm, his hair fluttering on the breeze and leaving his concerned expression bare. When you were younger, simple children playing within these very same same gardens, everybody had thought you both near impossible to tell apart, what with your identical hair and <span id="cycle"><<cycle "$eyecolor" autoselect>>/ <<option "spring green" "green">> <<option "autumn brown" "brown">> <<option "nightsky black" "black">> <<option "snowstorm grey" "grey">> <<option "forget-me-not blue" "blue">> <<option "amethyst purple" "purple">> <<option "peach pink" "pink">> <<option "opulent gold" "amber">> <<option "lusterous silver" "white">> <<option "carmine red" "red">> <</cycle>></span> eyes. If only yours hadn’t been Marked, you might actually have been. [[ Continue|pro-pt2]]

Even now, the stars in your eyes catch the magic that drift and float across the garden, like little petals. The blessing is in the power in your veins, the way the magic has always flocked and listened to you. You had an understanding of it most only dreamed of. The curse was your frail body, the court always shocked each time you returned for the celebrations of the Turning of the Year. You can feel your nails biting into your palm through your glove and it is a concious effort to unfurl your fingers. “Our guests approach,” Romare says, eyes snapping to the opposite side where the trees have parted, bent and twisted as gates, before back to you. He doesn’t say more or even shift in place, but you see the concern that heavies his brow and the strain in his shoulders from tired wounds. He hadn't had time to rest, either. Your eyes meet and then he slides the helmet over his head. “Then, it is time,” you acknowledge, sliding your hands into the wide sleeves of your coat and straightening your spine. A steel sword donned in velvet and furs, as your father had once instructed. His standards high and praise always brief, especially when your elder brother had already been so perfect, but he had been intent in preparing all three of you for life as the children of the Left Hand. Sometimes it snuck up on you, how much you missed him and the protection and safety he had provided. The group that emerges through the bowed branches of the trees is small, and led by an archbishop and two priests who will bare witness to the meeting. They wear the traditional robes of the holy, heads covered with warm white fur hats for winter and long delicately looped lace veils falling over their heads. The archbishop's embroidered shawls depicting the Neptunizal in all his glory is the only color in the group, the array of deep purples and soft greens bright against the white. The archbishop who leads is a broad man with a round frame, walking with an unhurried stide, big shoulders lax. But even obscured as he was, you knew your uncle. Knew under that veil he had the same $haircolor hair you had inherited from your father and his calculating gaze all too similar. Jai Simone Mavar had the family’s sharp jaw and assertive personality, but had never portrayed the stoic determination to do what had to be done that your father had carried, and it showed in the frown he had given you when you had explained your actions. You were not here to coddle your uncle, however, instead fighting the scowl that threatened to spread across your face as you saw Royal Duke Stellan Raul Uzuriene approach behind them. He wears the royal blues, the black boar embroidered across his coat as overstepping as your headdress, decorated with gloves embellished with gold embroidery and a pearl inlaid circlet, long strands looped to lay over the length of his hair. It had turned grey and silvery years ago, the deep dark brown nowhere to be seen anymore, and he has left it to fall loose down his back in waves. A simple style, and no doubt a deliberate choice against a prediction of your own. Your steps are light, especially in contrast to the snow crunching beneath Romare’s armored boots that follow you like a beat. You approach, stopping at a respectable distance. A safe distance. This, at least, you trusted in. You were confident in your magic, especially in comparison to the old elf across from you. [[Continue|pro-pt3]]

The three groups stand, spread across the courtyard as the snow continues to gently fall. You glance from the holymen to the duke, appraising the situation and the courtyard. Through a few gaps in the trees you can see peaks of the massive fountain that has frozen over, the water having turned to ice and the statues that decorated it coated in a layer of fresh snow already. For an instant it fills you with a deep yearning for a time long before, when promises were made and you had the silly notion that they were always to be kept. You know the plants hibernate, gardeners carefully cultivating the appearances as best they can, but it would look nothing like it did that summer day so many years ago, when ?he had held your hand and flashed you that smile that showed off ?his_ dimples. Nothing would ever be the same. Behind you the trail led away through the stone walls that led towards the estate, a few tall evergreens decorating the pathway in a palsy maze, vines and flowers once covering the garden. An array of colors, all now hidden. The estate itself was empty, often only kept during the warmer seasons, where it was bright and the animals had returned. That, however, made it an adequate place for the meeting. You knew your own guards were stationed among the evergreens, a slight distance away. The duke's were likely on the other end, each of you bringing one guard into the meeting, proper. Jai shifts, the slightest fidget, as he glances between you and Stellan. “We of the Mist welcome you both, regal suzerains.” He holds out his hands before clasping them. “Under the gaze of the Neptunizal, we are here to bare witness to this exchange to see that each upholds a code of honor and to carry the truth forward.” He then bows at the waist, the two behind him following. As is done, you and Stellan both bow your heads in acknowledgment. Then, again, it is only the wind that sounds between the two of you, as you wait for Stellan to speak. He is the one to take up arms against you, as if there aren’t true problems that require attention. No, he thinks he knows better, thinks you somehow are not worthy. As if you are not deserving of this power, and that somehow you would relinquish it after everything you have already lost. “Thank you, dear Incandescent, for agreeing to this meeting at such a time. I appreciate the wisdom, when it’s not just the empire that has suffered such a loss, but when you as well were suffered with such sorrow.” He gives a respectable bow, grey hair catching over his shoulder. Not deep enough to respect you as an Emperor. A sour feeling grows in your gut, to have it all summed up so, as if that covered what had happened. Did he refer to the murder of your father, a years prior? The betrayal of your beloved, as ?he turned to the arms of that woman? Or perhaps when ?he had turned ?his_ blade on you? That moment, watching one brother die at the hands of your love and the other being forced to kill ?his_, kill the Mad Emperor Yael val Uzuriene, in your defense? [[Keep your cool.|pro-4.1]] [[He's hardly worth your voice.|pro-4.2]] [[This is not only insulting, but a waste of time.|pro-4.3]] [[Scoff at this foolery.|pro-4.4]]

<<set $stoic to $stoic +1>> <<set $charming to $charming +1>> You fold your gloved hands into your sleeves, tilting your head in response. “But of course, Duke Uzuriene. This trying time has led only to further turmoil. In such a crisis, I am more than happy to listen.” Stellan’s long ears twitch as he frowns. “Generous.” He pushes his hair back over his shoulder. “I am unfamiliar with yourself, Incandescent. Is this how you were able to fulfill your plots? Or perhaps in succeeding, you feel lenient?” “Pardon?” You both pretend the word is not covered in ice, as you speak it. “Pleasantries honored, I am here in hopes you will do what is right for the country, for the people, for those lost, and assist in crowning myself as emperor.” Your eyes narrow. “You have no claim to this throne, Cleric $name.” “As the eldest heir to the Left Hand, and no Uzuriene left in line, it is not just a claim I have, but a duty to keep this empire safe.” His hopes could die. “I am sure,” he spits, ears twitching as his passions rise, “that the line of succession does not honor those that commit regicide for the throne. Though, worse, you and your twin dog have inflicted both regicide and familicide to take this reign. Was it because of your delusions of love and betrayal, over how my brother’s beloved child found love elsewhere? Or was it always greed? How far back does this plot go- perhaps you have spent years with your terrifying master plan and it goes as far as patricide as well?” He gestures widely as he speaks, the sleeves of his cloak billowing in the wind, each word snarled at you with the hatred you had expected. You clenched your jaw, a moment to consider the man, the horrible accusations, before raising your nose at him. “Forgive me, Duke Stellan, I had not been aware you were one of those present during the tragic disaster that befell our kin and liege. I had thought you were where you have always been- at the fringe in the Duchy of Ul Oujuria as you were long removed from the line of succession. Was it not both your mother and brother that deemed you unworthy?” You give an elegant shrug. “That those present speak of the horrors that Emperor Yael had succumbed to with the curse, and the death that followed, your fallacious claim is a disgusting, devious grab for power that stands against your very family’s will. Such a farfetched conspiracy is insulting. ” That he was not even called a prince, so removed had he been from the royal family and the power that they carried, was a known sore point for the eldest Uzuriene. That his mother had turned him away in favor of her second son, that his brother had done nothing to bandage the old wound when he had ascended- you remember the careful lessons your father had given you for each soiree and promenade that you attended where Stellan deigned to show an appearance. [[Continue|pro-pt5]]

<<set $stoic to $stoic +1>> <<set $blunt to $blunt +1>> You keep your calm, knowing there was more to come. Your $eyecolor eyes meet his stare easily, a relaxed poise to your stance as you wait. It is truly unfortunate you were even forced to have this meeting. One would think the Royal Duke would have learned his place, after having both his mother and brother point it out and leave him out of the line of succession. Stellan pauses a moment, with his flourish, before frowning to realize you would not be returning the pleasantry. You see him take you in again, considering, before he speaks again. “I do hope you are aware of the just concerns over what has all transpired, and understand the point of this meeting.” You tilt your head, a twitch in your brow, “I'm sure you will tell me.” He once again stops for a small moment, brows furrowing at your lack of compliance. The silence is only broken by the wind as he frowns harder. You watch as his fingers curl and a fist clenches tight before he composes himself. Persistent, you note. “Unfortunately, one might be getting the impression that you don’t care about the people from this, dear Incandescent.” There is snideness peaking through as he flicks his wrist in your direction. “Your callousness and disregard? Perhaps it is expecting much of the sheltered middle child of the magnificent Fabian Avis Mavar, but this is a disappointing display. Was he as disappointed? Is that what led to the patricide?” Your eyes narrow and your heartbeat picks up. “Did the plan go that far back? It took more than simple regicide for you to take this power for yourself, of course. With what I am seeing, however, does this plan you’ve hatched, using your attack dog of a twin and callous disregard for those who truly hold love for this empire, for it’s emperors, go so far back that it was you that pulled the strings that killed your father? Killed the Empyrean and my brother? Everybody knows your sickly years were cumbersome, that you resented the restraints. Were you not just opportunistic, but one to force a change, Incandescent? Do not think the people will fall for or allow such heinous acts.” You do not raise your voice but none the less it carries over the garden. “If either of us had cause to harbor and carry such bitterness, it would not be me. One twice scorned from succeeding the val Uzuriene line would surely have cause for a deceitful attempt as such laid out, yes?” [[Continue|pro-pt5]]

<<set $emotional to $emotional +1>> <<set $charming to $charming +1>> You don’t try overly hard to hide the sneer on your face as regard the Duke across from you. “My generosity has it’s limits, Duke.” You roll your wrist with a flourish. “Do get the point before it freezes over, as my fingers are threatening to do.” It wasn’t entirely true, your gloves enough to keep you, but it was still time for this vain meeting to be finished. You cannot imagine he has anything of real worth to say. His thin lips purse, neither of you able to contain your dislike overly much it seems. “Of course,” he says, voice overly friendly in contrast, “I had almost forgot to take your failing health into consideration, and that is a poor act on my part, dear Incandescent. Allow to rectify and swiftly move to the point.” “Please do.” Stellan takes a breath at your interruption, smile straining. “This meeting is to understand your intent. The empire is in a precarious position now, and you will play a great part in what is to come.” He speaks with his hands a great deal, his sleeves and hair caught in the wind. “Much has happened in a short amount of time, and the people are concerned not only for the kingdom, for the state of the royal line, but also for yourself. There are questions towards what you intend, and how you have hoped to achieve it.” You fold your hands back in your sleeves, frowning heavily at the man across from you. “Forgive me, when I had stepped up to protect this Empire I had forgotten that I was supposed to explain myself to the discarded heir of years past. For you’re the only one I’ve heard a worry from, as others are trusting the words of those who had been there when the terrorists had the audacity to strike upon our late Emperors and leaders.” “My status towards throne has no bearing on my worry over what has happened to my family, Incandescent,” Stellan snaps, and you can appreciate you have gotten under his skin. “Yours, however, does. Ambition, as they say, is a slippery slope, and it is well known your rise has been intentional, and swift.” “Is that how you’ve seen it? All the way from your little abode at the fringe in the Duchy of Ul Ozuria? While the rest of us suffered and attempted to survive under attack, you have quietly observed, and come to such conclusion of myself, Duke Stellan?” “Your contempt does you no favors,” Stellan sneers. “It is well known your ambitions, and reactions to the Late Emperor’s scorn of your misguided feelings. Your family was meant to care and protect the Emperors, and yet went through two! Did you simply become inspired by the death of your father, or was patricide the first thing you dabbled in?” [[Continue|pro-pt5]]

<<set $emotional to $emotional +1>> <<set $blunt to $blunt +1>> You cross your arms, staring down the Duke with a narrowed gaze. “Not something you must have suffered much, Duke Stellan.” You can hear the anger in your voice, contained but not at all hidden. “I cannot say I recall you here for any funeral. In fact, you have only just returned, now that the throne you were never allowed is surrounded by rumors of being empty. Quite frankly, Duke, this farce of a meeting is worse than a waste of time. Your attempt at taking what you feel was unjustly denied to you by both your mother and brother is not just a slap in the face of what the imperial family has stood for, but a show of your true colors. As our empire is under attack, as our people die, you look towards your selfish ambition.” You watch as he takes a step back, shock on his face as he attempts to keep up. Perhaps he thought you’d be more willing to play these games, as if there was not so much at risk. But then, this man stuck in his little duchy at the fringe of the empire truly might not have been aware, though that did little to endear him to you. “I will not be abdicating the throne to you. The child of the Left Hand is to hold the throne until somebody worthy is found, at the loss of the Emperor. Your very family found you wanting and we are to trust you to protect The Empire in a time it is in great danger?” You scoff, waving away the very notion. “Thus, Duke Stellan, this meeting is-“ “You judge me as the one with immoral ambitions?” he all but screeches, face twisting and red. “You, who undoubtedly held the most ambition. You, who was known for your spats with the Emperor and the Empyrean. You, who conveniently survived each attack. It is not I that the throne must be protected from!” “How dare you.” “This and more, thief!” [[Continue|pro-pt5]]

“Honored ones!” your uncle intercedes, hands up as if to pacify. “This is not a trial, for anybody.” You huff as Stellan straightens, fixing his coat as he glares at Jai from his peripheral. “This meeting was to discuss how to best approach the future, with unity and peace between each faction, for the sake of the people and for the Empire.” “Indeed, Archbishop, the initial intention was to try and understand what going forward was going to be like.” You note the distinct chill in Stellan’s voice that rivals the winter winds around you. Romare does as well. You can feel how his weight changes, a small reaction that has made a world of difference before. You absolutely don’t think of Romare stopping the blade of your lost love as it comes for you. “Royal Duke Stellan-“ Jai starts, brows furrowing. “I will not suffer such insult upon my families legacy. To have it end by ''you''.” He’s only half way through that sentence when you catch the priestess that had moved to your end of the garden casting. You’re not sure what they expected, when you can see the magic shifting and the flair of it as it is pulled and formed by the priestess. Your head snaps in her direction as the energy snaps from her hands, face caught in the glow and twisted in concentration, and you raise a hand. It is nearly effortless, shaping the magic with your hands as it flows for you like an eager pet, smooth and comforting against your senses. The priestess’ blast shatters mid air as you launch the ice that surrounds you to meet her spell, the magic meeting it half way and shattering in rain of flurry and ice. You might have said something scathing, flicking away the residue of the blast, except Romare’s own hand snaps out to your wrist, pulling you in a spin that has the snow flying around your ankles, as his shield comes up to block the three arrows that had been aimed for your chest. Jai is yelling, arms swirling and pulling at magic, Stellan across the way looking far too smug, but you watch as the people swarm into the garden, their forms hidden by cloaks and hoods and still you recognize them. Your teeth grind as you remember the afternoon your father was murdered as the traitorous rebels attacked. You quickly regain your balance behind Romare, ears twitching to hear your guards already clashing. How many did Stellan bring? You twist your wrist, fingers spreading as a fan, the force of your telekinesis slamming the priestess now behind you through the bushes and further in a tornado of force, her second spell fizzling out. Romare blocks another set of arrows, the second set of archers already knocking their’s, and there is not time to think as two of their swordsmen charge. As you step up, Romare steps back, a deep understanding in each other, as he raises his sword and you your arms. Your leg sweeps before you, the toe of your shoe drawing in the snow, as your arms tense and your magic swells, taking advantage of the elements around you for the quickest casting. The snow between you and the archers explodes in the air, sharpening until it’s a rain of ice and fog. One arrow still flies, catching a sleeve and nearly nicking your arm. It’s a shot in the dark, you can’t see the archers anymore than they can see you, but you shift again and the ice storm flies. You hear a scream in the blizzard and know blood stains the snow. A body falls behind you, groaning and struggling as the life bleeds from them and you only glance once, quick enough to assure yourself it isn’t Romare, before you turn your attention back to the falling ice. The bushes are ruined, shredded and deformed with two archers sprawled across. One is on the ground, face down and unmoving. Blood seeps from them, mixing with the mud and snow. The other pushes themselves up onto his knees, attempting to get his fingers to work, to knock another arrow. It was a simple matter of ending another life. Magic had been your everything, your only calling for so long. The way it danced, moved, folded and weaved itself, it was the one thing you had as your body routinely failed you growing up. Something that felt like cheating, the ease of it all. It is instinct and want that guides your hand and twist, a speed the archer has no chance of matching, and you send his body flying away. [[Continue|pro-pt6]]

“I admit, I had expected the rumors of your prowess to be exaggerated,” Stellan says, careful in his movements as he stepped through the garden. “Still, there is only so much even a Marked can do. Surrender, and we can focus on a peacef-“ You whip your head towards him, especially when his words turn to a scream, and watch as a bolt made of ice that had speared Stellan’s shoulder begins to spread, ice growing like a flower down his arm. His hand shakes as he holds it over the wound, eyes wide with sudden fear and shock. “You- you can’t-“ he stutters, or tries, but another rain of bolts flies at him and he stumbles back, barely summoning the magic in time to shield him from the two he couldn’t completely dodge in time. You follow the trail of the bolts as you feel Romare’s arm come around you and pull. It is easy enough to let him lead, focusing instead on the one emerging from the broken foliage. They had range, which was concerning, but that paled to the feeling you had when you saw the topaz brown eyes under their hood and the way they shined with their own constellations. It felt like the ground gave way, the way their eyes shimmered with stars and their hands raised again in smooth twist, their magic eagerly swelling together. You had never stood in contest with another Marked. “Down,” Romare says, voice reverberating behind the metal of his helmet, and you ease into the direction he leads. It ends with you behind him, fitting yourself into the space and there is a ringing that hurts your ears. Two blasts of ice hit on either side of you, shards of ice becoming short pillars. When you raise your head, two things happen. You realize the shards had gone through your twin’s shield, the ice growing over the metal where the holes formed, and second that the edge of your vision was becoming blurry. There was pressure in your chest that had yet to loosen, building around your lungs. You have an arm on Romare, but for once it doesn’t help. You can’t feel him under the armor, you can’t follow the rhythm of his heartbeat. Your chest tightens but your eyes snap to follow the flow as the traitor continues her approach, with a dog of all things at her side. Romare hasn’t stopped, however, readjusting his shield with one hand before getting a hold of the edge, ice continueing to cover more and more of the metal. As the Marked weaves her magic, he pulls back and launches the broken shield. The woman’s glowing eyes widen, stepping back a few steps with a small yelp and her spell flying to the side, luckily into at least a few of the other traitors. She glances from where it explodes in a rain of snow, before turning the glare back on Romare. He, of course, doesn’t back down as he falls into position with his sword. “Go to Uncle Jai. I will cover your retreat.” [[Continue|pro-pt7]]

“Only if you follow.” You know, reasonably, that you cannot stay. You both are in a terrible position, your soldiers are being overwhelmed through numbers, and it is a disaster. The only good thing is that it seems Stellan’s group is also being targeted. Still, as you focus on Romare’s back, his words bouncing in your head, all you can remember is the last time it was like this, when you returned to a dead father, his corpse laying with the Empyrean and Emperor. The terror as you ran, leaving Romare to attempt to give you time, and realizing you were alone- //until you weren’t//. Romare glances over his shoulder, once, before giving a shake of his head. “As best I can. You need to be- you need to go while you can.” Your chest aches and your vision blurs. He’s right, in that your body's time is limited. The additional stress- you both know what it does to you, no matter how much you've improved as an adult. Worse, you’ll be a liability. You won’t even be able to help, being here with your body failing. You cling to a groove in his armor to keep your hands from shaking. For a moment, your vision swims in a blur of lights snow, the swell of magic to the side not helping at all, but there is an increase in your peripheral and you don’t have to see the rest to channel enough to create an explosion, using your feet as you cling to Romare to funnel your magic into the correct shape. You can feel the magic weave into the tapestry you want, as the snow and stones around you shifting and erupting forth into a frozen wall between the two of you and whatever the Marked Traitor had been attempting. You can feel as well as hear the impact of the traitor’s murderous spell attempt, the ice giving mournful song as it cracks. You try to breathe as it all rattles through your body. Your hand slips from your brother’s back as he twists, sliding you out of the way as the snow settles. An arrow whizzes to where you were, one of the traitors running along what's left of one the stone walls, and you stumble as Romare’s arms slip from around you. Still, you move in that direction. You have to watch the Marked, the way her magic pulls at your attention, but it means you watch the dog as well. It stands at her side, reaching her hip easily with all the leg it has, long black fur catching the snow. You hear behind you a shrill, “Fern!” but you don’t look. Especially when you see the dog react, head swiveling before bumping the Marked. Bumping the one called Fern. Only when the dog alerts her does her head snap to look, brows furrowing under the hood and scarf. You slow, realizing, and she uses the moment to step back, a sharp nod to whoever had called, and her shoulders tense. The wind itself seems to rise for her, coat billowing, and her hands move in a arc as they pull. But, for you, something deep in your gut begins to swell and grow, boiling over as you realize she is deaf. You spent your entire life one bad winter from death, your body unable to carry you, watching the rest of the world live, because of the stars in your eyes. And she simply couldn’t hear. Romare is beside you, concern in his voice as he says, “$name, you must go!” You shake off his hand, ignoring the way your legs want to tremble and how your heart has tightened, beating all wrong, but the ugly feeling inside you, growing and shifting and clinging like fungus gives you strength to move. You only focus on that, the ringing in your ears and burning in your veins as you glare at the Marked, the delicate looking elf across the courtyard with those damned brown eyes. //That new woman stared up at ?his_, her small hand pressed against ?his_. Yael all but beamed down at her, pulling her close at the waist with all the confidence of a beloved royal. The woman's warm burnt ember eyes, framed by thick lashes, were wide in awe and adoration, pretty pink lips parted. At least, until Yael swooped down to-// [[The rage at the unfairness drives you.|pro-pt8][$ruthless +=1]] [[A mighty grief pushes you to retaliate.|pro-pt8]]

<<if $ruthless is 2>> For years you have carried this pent up rage against the fact that everything has always been taken from you, starting from your body and it's refusal to work- that you are a disappointment. Your elder brother had been perfect. Zavan had been smart, talented, charming. It wasn’t even so much as Father doted on him so much as Father had relied on him. It was unquestioned- Zavan would not only be given the task, but succeed stunningly. In some ways it made things easier, to know there would never be a competition to meet such standards. Your younger brother never held a candle to Zavan, either. Of course Romare didn’t, not really. Reclusive, quiet, a follower, too soft- all things father had mourned. But still, Romare held his own achievements. The best warrior in the Empire, they said. A swordsman like no other, they said in awe. In terms of skill alone, he often trounced even Zavan. That was something //he// did. That was something Father boasted about in that way he did, where it was just a fact that Romare was good and could be relied upon. You remember more days than not, staring out a window as the rest of the world lived. You were forced to watch, sheltered away, as your brothers- as Yael! As they all flowered and blossomed and grew farther and farther from you. All you had was the Mark. All you did was be born wrong, blessed as they said with pity. You remembered each time you’d wake up, bleary and barely able to breathe and your Father staring down at you with that stoney expression before demanding the healer again work their magic, Romare clutching your free hand. And each time you clawed your way up- in your lessons, with the nobility, into the Church- everybody cooed the same way they spoke about your blessing. Like it didn’t matter, that you would be gone by next year. And each time, each pitying remark, each sad glance, every single winter you were stuck in bed, was another log for the fire of rage and refusal to bow down you carried secretly until the inferno brought you here. You'd destroy her, before she could ruin anything else! <<else>> So many times you found yourself wailing at the unfairness that was your life. As your brothers, as your love, as everybody around you flourished and left you behind. Every winter was a life and death roulette as pneumonia and influenza’s left you at least bedridden, if not threatening to purge you. Every summer, no matter how lovely the weather, you were left to sit, to watch, to remain calm and unstressed in the shadow of a parasol. You were the sheltered one. The useless one. Your elder brother was perfect. Father had relied on Zavan unquestioningly, as charming and smart and talented as he was. Calm, beautiful Zavan who was always a step ahead, with a smile and wit to disarm, or a lethal sword arm if that failed. For all his kindness, for all he had doted on you and Romare, he was too much older, and far too busy with his duties, always standing behind Father. Father, who was always watching with that stoney expression, assessing for weakness, for the next time your body would fail and another healer needed to be called in. Your younger brother, Romare, was so much sweeter. Softer, your Father had said once with resignation, sounding so different than when he praised Romare as a warrior. He was a prodigy, his prowess with weapons and duels leaving others awed. The amount of contests of prowess he had won over the years a mighty acclaim to the family name. So often did you have to watch from the windows as he and Zavan were able to live, thrive- as they supported Father and then Emperor Yael. Even if Romare always came back, always there holding your hand each time you woke up from your usual fight against your own body's failing, it was at best a patch to the hurt you carried. Your brothers both had so much and did so much. You had the Mark. You were born, blessed and broken. Each pitying coo and back handed remark leaving it’s own bruise. No matter how much you clawed through the courts or the Church, and tried, no matter where you looked to find a place it was the same. The same disregard and assumption you could not, that you did not matter. You had so much taken from you, every oppertunity they tried to take-that they did. No more. <</if>> You watch as the magic swells at her hands again. You can see how the shining particles pull to her call and dance at her whim, watch as they flair to attention. Her dog shifts, adjusting as her hands twitch and snap. It’s nothing trained, unlike the movements you’ve seen the elves you’d grown up with practicing again and again to try and shape their spells. It’s too sharp, and yet not mirrored at all. Maybe, at another time, it would be interesting. Instead you simply hate her a little more. You will not be bested. Raising your arms, it is muscle memory that has your fingers bending and folding in shapes, fanning and mirroring themselves as you were taught- as you mastered- and the very air around you crackles. Your cloak and hair billows and floats as the world snaps into place, ignoring how your shoulder and arm burns in protest at the strain. Her hands erupt in fire, billowing out in a blast that melts all the snow around her, and a moment afterwards your magic shifts into a lightning strike that cuts through it. The lightning travels with numerous, thunderous cracks as it arcs across the courtyard, overpowering her blast. You watch as the lightning eats the fire, devouring it as it aims for the heart of the Marked, exploding when it connects with something, and you stumble when you finally let the magic go. The lightning dances a moment longer before flickering out, fires flicking to life in the foliage, but you turn your heavy glare on the Marked. She is sprawled out to the left where she had lept to dodge your magic, eyes wide as she meets your stare. The dog is whining and pushing against her. There’s a deep, addictive, satisfaction in knowing how you had overpowered her. It lasts for as long as you can stare her down, which is right until you can see an arrow embedded in the ground at your feet, the thunk of it hitting vibrating through your legs. You whirl your head around and glare at the archer next, heart continuing to pick up pace with it’s rabbit feet beat in your chest. [[Continue|pro-pt9]]

“$name!” Jai calls, voice a boom that carries over the courtyard. He was always the vocal one, able to lead his flock with confidence and charisma. His robes are torn and you can see blood trailing down the side of his face. “What are you doing? Retreat while you can!” It’s all he can do before having to twist again, pushing what magic he has into a shield to deflect. The magic sliding to the side and just missing him. You know Romare is still here as well, you can sense him behind you, protecting your flank, the battle ringing in your ears. Stellan has already been dragged off the field, screaming and crying at the betrayal. He, you think, is next. After this one. You turn back to the Marked, who shakes as she gets her feet beneath her. However, it’s her hands you watch, expecting a spell the way they twitch. But no- no magic swells to her. She’s speaking, you realize, catching the archer who had been dancing around you, or really Romare. You purse your lips, glancing to see the archer has discarded the bow in favor of a sword. As if they have a chance against Romare. “Refocus, swing steps,” the archer yells, a moment of hesitancy before committing. You turn back to the Marked, hands twitching as you consider. Obviously, they’re planning something. You can see how the ambushers shift at the command, momentum for a new approach happening. Tears leak from the corner of your eyes at the strain, each breath feeling a little shorter, and still, you extend your arms. Thankfully, while your body continues to fail, magic has never let you down. //That’s not true.// Your hand tenses and you hear the world around you respond to your command. The pull of your will lifting the massive stone walls of the garden in the air, the trees being uprooted, the courtyard itself your weapon. All of them stop, for a moment, watching with wide eyes at an example of your power. You hide the weakness of your legs by keeping them planted, knee's locked, ignoring how the pressure that builds in your head shifts to a throbbing painful stabbing, as you prepare to decimate the entire area. The rocks rise higher, firm against the winter wind, and you are able to see the Marked take a step back as she looks from you, then up at the stones. It’s all set. You’ll destroy them and then depart, possibly in Romare’s arms as you aren’t sure your legs will carry you. A simple, easy plan, as the rocks begin their orbit. You hear somebody yell your name again- your uncle? The massive stones gain speed, snow and gravel raining over you all. Everything suddenly happens all too quickly, starting with a sharp pain in your shoulder. You scream, body jerking, and your head snaps to look at your left shoulder to see the spread of red over your robes from your waist, the damned archer cursing behind you at the missed their inteded target, scrambling around Romare. Unfortunately, it was enough as the stones begin to fall around you all. You ignore the stinging burn, the way the stain grows, attempting to redirect some of the stones as they crash. The ground shakes as the ones you couldn’t catch smash into the ground, wrenching a few in the direction of the Marked. In the motion you can see the swarm of traitors attempting to dodge, the few able to swerve trying to get to Romare, leaving the knights they had been dealing with. You spin, searching again for the traitorous Marked, finding her leaning against one of the massive stones, brows furrowed and blood trailing down her nose, but some sort of magic is swelling towards her. It seems sharper, darker, looking like a blooming poisonous flower as it begins to take form for her in her hands. You're bleeding too much, you know- because you know how your body doesn’t work. Still, with a hand pressed to the wound and ignoring the protest of your side, you twist your hip and focus with a sweep and curve, sliding your leg forward with purpose to watch the Marked slam against the rock, the snow around you flying. She doesn’t stand a chance, head smacking against the stone with a satisfying thud, the magic around her wavering as she flinches. Your hand shakes where it clutches your wound, nails digging into your coat, and even when you hear your uncle, you are too slow when the ice slices through your arm and shoulder. Everybody is screaming, including yourself, as you stagger and wail against the surprise and pain. The cold that seeps through your robes as your knees hit the snow doesn’t help, tears at the corners of your $eyecolor eyes, and you whip your head in time to see Jai, a haggard mess himself with his veil missing and braid half undone, turning the wind around him into a whip against your assailant. [[Continue|pro_pt10]]

Your movements stutter, unsure which wound to address, hands unsteady as you try to fight the tears of pain, and a cold panic settles under your skin when you feel it. You look away from yourself, swiveling to find Romare, knowing you have to find your twin. It's too easy, with how he dives for you. His white armor is splattered with vibrant red and cape in tatters fluttering in the wind, he cuts through one of the terrorists to reach you, ignoring the other three. He leaves himself open, something the traitors take advantage of as they try to reach him. Romare doesn’t even stagger as one of their blades finds a gap in his armor, instead crossing the distance and reaching you. You can see the massive crack in his helmet, $eyecolor eye peaking through the shadows, dropping and sliding on his knees to hover over you. A living shield, his arm coming around and pulling you to better hide. For a moment you don’t understand why. You have seconds of confusion, trying to catch up from realizing he’s wounded. He doesn’t flinch, instead his entire body tensing, the way his eyes clench shut more telling than any other sign, following by you recognizing the bright glow of a halo around him as the magic hits. Magic that had been aimed for you. He doesn’t move, braced where he is to keep it from you. One of the traitors is yelling, confused, and your uncle is on the other side with worry in his voice. You don’t look away, staring at the magic that engulfs Romare and trying to ignore the way you can feel your pulse in your throat. It’s- It’s wrong. Your brows furrow as you watch, the way it tries to stab and consume your twin. You don’t know this magic. It isn’t familiar, known deep in your bones the way most spells are. The way common spells are easier than breathing. It overwhelms, wrapping him like ropes, binding and controlling in a way that you can see it seep through the skin and into the veins. You’ve felt this before. No, not this. Not exactly- but the pressure and the pull, a gravity all it’s own as it clogs your throat and entices. “$name,” Romare starts, trying to speak between clenched teeth. They will not have him, you decide, and reach out, bloody hands on either side of his helmet. [[You took to your studies too well to let them go to waste.|pro-pt11][$intelligent +=1]] [[Already, you can feel how the magic pulls, and you trust your gut.|pro-pt11][$intuitive +=1]]

<<if $intelligent is 1>> You had one of the best educations in the empire. You were the second child of the Left Hand of the Emperor- there was no option but simply the best //especially// when you were Marked. Your studies were important, your father placing no doubt on what was expected of you, of what you could do. New professors brought in if you out grew your old ones. So, while you didn’t know this spell, had never seen this exact pattern in the threads of magic, you knew how spells worked. You knew what was needed for each spell. You followed the threads, twists and turns, to understand how each piece worked. It was with confidence you reached out for Romare, your shaking hands pressed to his shoulders, bloody hand prints staining the white of his armor. You can feel when Romare flinches, a small action but so noticeable, before his eyes tentatively open. You meet them squarely, the bloody prints smearing with each shift, as you press harder against him. Your magic swelled and pushed against the threads of the marked that clung to your twin, attempting to pull at the knots and twists. The way the magic attempts to ensnare and contain is worrisome, a powerful spell. It’s not an illusion, not from the way it wraps and binds, the patterns of the threads, but something even more sinister. Romare lets out a haggard breath, hand twisting over the handle of his sword as you worked. You don’t have the chance to be meticulous, not exactly, with what’s happening. If you could have studied it, if you could have carefully looked over reach wrap and glow, perhaps you could even understand what it was, exactly. Instead, carefully you follow each pattern, extracting it from Romare’s essence. Everything is shaking, everything is running on seconds, and you take what knowledge you know, what you understand of magic, and you don’t have time to question your choices. The magic, however, doesn’t move like you want it to. It sits heavy against Romare, insistent in a way that makes it difficult to peel back. It spreads and invades, growing. Your own magic attempts to control, pushing and guiding. <<else>> Magic had never been something to study. You had, of course. Your father made sure he had the best education available for all things, a privilege of being the second child of the Left Hand of the Emperor. It was something you took advantage of for some interests, was forced to endure for others, but for magic? For all the professors tried, you had no patience to study something that just flowed. It made more sense to you, it was easier, to not worry about the theories, but to listen. You don’t fret about what it means, what the history and scholars have stressed and poured over in an attempt to trace each thread and each spell and what their creation means. No, magic simply sang and danced at your fingers, and it wasn’t hard to follow its’ lead and go along with the music. You pressed your bloody hands against Romare’s shoulders, vibrant red against the white of his armor, catching in the scratches and grooves as you pushed when he shifted. An adjustment of positions, Romare grunting between haggard breathes. You already know the magic here feels wrong. The way it sticks, like ichor coating over Romare. It wraps around him, again and again, with twists and knots that ooze power. You press your hands harder against Romare, focusing on the way the magic moves, and then push with your magic. You start as slow as you risk, at first, tentative pushes and tugs with your magic until you can see how this spell responds to tampering, to learn its’ steps. A give and take as you gain confidence, looking to overwhelm and overpower the spell- to take the lead in the dance, your fingers twitching and skimming with the magic you weave. <</if>> You grit your teeth against the disconcerting feel of the magic as it probes against you, clinging where it touches. For all you unwind and push, you can feel it spread, blanketing you with a pressure that has you instead clinging to Romare to stay sitting up. You can feel a trickle of blood from your nose, an itch and ringing in your ears, and you still can feel the spell trying. “Let go. Let it go,” Romare grits out between clenched teeth, eyes watery as they struggle to stay open against the pain. “Please, $name, you have to leave.” You dig your fingers into the grooves of his armor, refusing. [[This time, you’ll save him.|pro_pt12]] [[They cannot have your brother.|pro_pt12][$possessive +=1]]

Romare’s free hand comes up, gently encasing your wrist, and you refuse to budge. The armor he wears is cold against the tender skin of your wrist, where your gloves don’t protect it. It’s even easier now to feel each twitch and flinch as the magic attempts to crush, or absorb him. And then you. You feel like your head is about to explode and you can feel your vision going in and out as you stare at the breastplate of Romare’s armor. You know you’re losing against the spell, for every move you make there seems to be a counter. A way it overwhelms each push or tug. It’s unfair- you aren’t supposed to lose! Not at the one thing you had. The one thing you were given to make up every other failure. As you could feel yourself being dragged down, Romare’s hand on yours tightened and pulled, until your fingers found purchase against his neck to feel his pulse. You focused on quick rhythm of it, not the trembles or pain or blood, a way to push away the panic. It was an old tactic of Romare’s, something he had figured out much younger, often ending up holding your hand-a privilige allowed as your twin. The court had thought it cute, not understanding how he was protecting you. Then, your twin opened his magic to you, a steel support to use and draw from. Your vision still blurs and you can taste your own blood on your tongue, but your spine straightens. Between the both of you, molding Romare’s magic to support your own, you are able summon forth the strength. The bond you share with Romare, with the last of your family, with your twin- you cling to the support he provides. The magic ebbs against the force of both of you, a shield and battering ram at the same. You wield the magic as Romare enforces it, a wall to lean on for your tired, exhausted efforts. It’s not that you need his magic as a source to draw from, but the security and stability he provides, the bracing he provides, allows you to refocus. As you twist the magic, attempting to counter the spell, your ears are still ringing too much to hear a lot. But even still, you can hear the screams that alight again around you and Romare as the people begin acting again. As they started moving, but you cannot focus on them. Not as the magic is renewed with a purpose, the Marked Traitor doing something. Not as the magic looks at the bridge between you and Romare as an opportunity instead of a blockade. The magic invades the link, latching and spreading. Your twin inhales and curls further around you, shoulders hunching and teeth grinding. Your nails dig into his neck as every muscle in your body tenses, the pain more than anything you’d ever felt. It seeps under your skin, an electric burn against your nerves, your mouth left hanging with a silent scream. //How can anything hurt this much?// When the haze of pain momentarily clears, when your body tries to function again- because that’s what it did each time- you groan at being jostled. You flinch, blinking the tears away, maybe attempting to clear your vision but it does little to help, and you distantly realize the ground is moving beneath you. You try to focus on- on something anything to make sense of it all. “Uncle Jai-“ “Go! I won’t- I can only hold them-“ “Get to Fern and-“ “Don’t let them-“ Your head rolls, bumping against something far too hard and cold. Romare- his armor, you think. You’re drooling on it as your mouth hangs open. You feel numb in the way that your body is refusing to register anything. In the way that leaves you distant, as if your thoughts and actions are delayed, sluggishly moving through honey. Romare, though clumsier than usual, doesn’t seem to have the same affliction as he gets you away. [[It’s awkward for him, considering you’re even taller than him. (Very Tall)|pro-pt13][$height to "very tall"]] [[Being the same height as him doesn’t make it easy. (Tall)|pro-pt13][$height to "tall"]] [[You had never quite reached the same height as him, and sometimes that paid off. (Average)|pro-pt13][$height to "average"]] [[You had taken more after your mother, never even getting close to the usual Mavar height- but that made it easier for Romare. (Short)|pro-pt13][$height to "short"]] [[It was disgustingly easy for him to carry you, considering he’d stolen all the height between the two of you. (Very Short)|pro-pt13][$height to "very short"]]

You pant for air, leaning heavily against your twin. He glances down at you as you shift, brows furrowed over dark $eyecolor eyes. His face is coated in fresh blood. His helmet, is shattered. You try to will your hands to move, hand jerking up to touch the blood, confused on why it’s there, but your hand doesn’t listen. You, at best, press a few fingers to his chin, unable to feel any of it through your glove. Romare’s hand comes up, taking hold of your's and pulling it away. “Just hang on,” he mutters, gaze snapping back to look ahead. Your hand hovers where he leaves it, your uncle’s voice somewhere in the distance, but when you attempt to focus- Your hand snaps back against your chest as you tense again, the pain spreading through your body as a wave hits. Every limb tenses again, the pain enough to cut through the numbness- right up until you black out again. //They take everything. Ruin it.// //Are you next?// Your consciousness bleeds like the rest of you, coming and going as everything becomes a fog you struggle to process. Your thoughts run like water through your fingers, when you can have any. Ultimately, you end up thinking of them again. ''Very well, Little Bell, this one will give you a chance.'' [[Continue|pro2_pt1]]

Part 2 of the Prologue is still heavily a WIP Please Continue to [[Chapter 1|chp1_pt1]]

Malakai doesn’t think because it would only slow him down as he darted along the stone steps. He finds, past a certain point, that thinking really only becomes a hindrance and action is required. Especially with the stairs looking as they do. He’s already got wet pants and the cut along his chest stings. Going out to stairs, of all things, seems abyssmal. Especially stairs like these, which have obviously seen better days. The stone chipped and cracked, some of the banister having crumbled away, they aren’t pretty anymore. Even the rug is thin and fraying, used and never replaced. Perhaps, in it’s prime, it had once been a majestic rise to the upper halls. Now, it’s likely to kill somebody. He also hopes the guardian down below doesn’t kill him. Or his guard. She is a prickly beast all her own, but he likes her. Also, she’s the only reason he isn’t currently a casualty on the road somewhere. He can hear the clash of the two of them below, the sounds as sharp as the blades they are wielding. He doesn’t think about those either, overly much, as he reaches the top of the stairs and glances each way. He spends three seconds considering before picking a path. While massive abodes such as this have a large quantity of rooms to choose from, the set up is often the same. He starts running down the hall. It’s ornate and old, with the massive windows of the old elven style fogged and dirty, the curtains moth eaten and discolored with age. The tiles that cover the floor are mostly intact, echoing as the heels of his boots hit them, once a pristine white and blue. What’s interesting is how the magelights attempt to flicker to life as he charges through. It’s near the end he slides to a stop, long coat catching along his legs, as he comes to the door that catches his attention. It, unlike the others, looks used. It is sturdy, cleaner, and at least one of the bedrooms for the family of the house. Or would have been, had it not been old and broken down and instead the prison for a beautiful lost liege. Cursed to slumber, contained by the horrifying Guardian that keeps all heroes from entering. So the story goes, at least. Malakai grins as he opens the door, pleased at how easy it opens to let him slip inside. The room is the nicest thing he has seen in the dilapidated estate. The massive floor to wall windows have the thick heavy curtains drawn, the small fire in the fire place lighting the room. A lush chair and footstool positioned in front almost welcoming. The room isn’t heavily decorated, but there is care to it. The rug is still soft, each piece cleaned, the drawn bed hangings not moth eaten. Each wall has intricate trim to resemble trees in each square, though the paintings have seen better days. Whoever has been caring for this room had no idea how to take care of art. The man can see a dark, carved wooden desk to the side that has been used, the chandelier above still lit. He can imagine that in the day it would be lovely. Gorgeous in it’s prime, when it was filled with little touches of who lived here. He shuts the door behind him and steps quietly to the bed. The fabric is heavy as he pushes it aside, Malakai almost feeling like a secret lover as he takes a peek inside, unsurprised but still in awe of the lovely elf he finds laying within the bed. ?He lays upon ?his_ back, arms folded and chest rising in slow, even intervals. The smallest puffs of air given from between soft, gentle lips. Even ?his_ $haircolor hair lays perfect, the long strands spread out like in a storybook. Malakai belatedly realizes he is holding his breath and, worse, that he had stilled. He does not have time to sit in amazement if he is to save the cursed elf. While Camille is quite skilled, it would be better to not be a sitting, sleeping duck with such an angry Guardian still on two, living legs. Which, from what he can hear, it is. He carefully leans over the bed, placing a knee upon it to reach the elf in the center, to attempt to wake ?him as the story says to. [[He oh-so-gently presses his lips to the elf’s.|chp1_kiss]] [[His lips never make it to the elf’s.|chp1_nokiss]]

You rouse from slumber slowly. It clings to you like honey, attempting to keep you. You don’t remember falling asleep, nor what you dreamed about. It’s comfortably blank, with hazy thoughts at best as you drift between. What you know is that you are, in fact, asleep. Comfortably so, as you lay in a soft bed, curtained in with heavy blankets. Still, something has roused you enough to be aware, though not enough to make you care to open your eyes. At least, until you feel a slight dip to your side, rolling you enough to be noticeable, to ruin the fantastic position you had been in. Your brows furrow as you attempt to figure out how to properly get back to sleep with the new angle you were at. The scales were tipped as you wake up just a bit more, enough to be upset at this new development. The haze passes just enough to realize that, no, you’d much prefer to remain in blissful slumber a few minutes longer, at least. Then you felt the pressure on your lips. You press yourself a little further into the pillows and finally fight the pull of slumber enough to snap your eyes open. They go nearly cross as you realize somebody is leaning over you, lips pressed to yours. Warm brown hair reminds you of pretty brown owl feathers as it falls over the man’s shoulder, eyes closed and face far too close to get a better look at any features besides the warm tawny skin and a clean shave. His lips are surprisingly soft and unfortunately insistent against yours. He has an arm braced on either side of you, no hesitation. Multiple questions run through your head as your mind attempts to catch up, to slip fully out of sleep. Who was this? What was he doing in your room? Did he do this often? He was awfully confident about it. You shift, letting out a little noise and brows furrowing in confusion. Or discontent. Both, really. Thankfully the stranger pulls back at that, pale blue eyes opening. Then, he smiles and speaks. The problem, being, that you have no idea what he is saying. You consider flinging him across the room, pushing yourself up and away to the other side of the bed. It’s a struggle, moving against the blankets and pulling to get your hair from underneath you. The door slams open, hitting the wall with a startling bang. Your hand instantly tenses, heart alarming fast in your chest as you sit up, still attempting to catch up. If you didn’t instantly recognize the armor that pushes into the room you might have just set the entire place on fire. Which, you’re belatedly realizing, this isn’t actually a room of yours. As you take a quick glance around, still leaning towards Romare, you jerk as the human starts to talk. He sounds as if he’s trying to be confident, to be smug even. Romare, however, inspires a tremor he’s not completely able to hide. Romare, however, doesn’t let him finish with a sharp interruption. Except, he’s also speaking a language you don’t know. His voice deeper, carrying a resonant to it that makes you sit even straighter. Perhaps it is the helmet? [[Interrupt their conversation.][$emotional +=1]] [[Attempt to leave the bed.][$stoic +=1]]

You rouse from slumber slowly. It clings to you like honey, attempting to keep you. You don’t remember falling asleep, nor what you dreamed about. It’s comfortably blank, with hazy thoughts at best as you drift between. What you know is that you are, in fact, asleep. Comfortably so, as you lay in a soft bed, curtained in with heavy blankets. Still, something has roused you enough to be aware, though not enough to make you care to open your eyes. At the shift of your bed, the dip of the mattress to your side, you give a quiet mumble of discontent. Something, you realize, is happening. Has happened, perhaps. With great effort, you attempt to rouse yourself. The mattress dips again, closer to your shoulder, and it feels like your eyes have sealed shut as you struggle to pull them open. You end up staring, brows furrowing, at the face of a human. He hovers over you, his own light blue eyes going wide and lips still puckered as your eyes meet, and your heart picks up pace in startled panic. At least you’re properly awake now. “Oh,” the human mutters, still hovering over your prone form, noses nearly touching, before his brows furrow in confusion. He pushed himself up, finally out of your space, as you hurry to fight the heavy covers and duvet to sit up. With an arm you shoved him away, mildly appeased when he let you, shuffling to the other side of the bed. “How dare you!” you snarl, one hand clutching your blankets, the other flexing, grasping at the magic you see shimmer like fine dust. He flounders, as if looking for an answer to that himself, before his eyes fall back on you. “Are you… you are awake?” His voice is low, soft, but the part that catches your attention is how odd he says the words. He speaks slowly, like the vowels are too big for his mouth, tongue tripping over trills or rolls. Your $eyecolor eyes narrow. “Yes? Yes, I am. Explain yourself, human,” you snap. He seems even more shocked when your respond, floundering over his words. He trips over sounds, words you don’t immediately recognize. “But- what I mean is- I was saving you.” You quickly scan the room, not wanting to take your eyes off the intruder longer than necessary. You think the room is familiar, not that you can place it in the moment. Your clothes are simple, soft and comfortable, $haircolor hair falling over your shoulders. Nothing feels right, exactly. Especially not as you attempt to piece together the last things you remember, but you don’t feel like you’re in danger. Besides, of course, the stranger in your bed. “And what, pray tell, are you supposed to be saving me from?” He thinks, you can see him attempting to piece together a sentence, your own frustration mounting. Until you both hear the sounds of clashing metal and thuds of bodies in the hall. Both your heads snap to the door, color draining from the human’s. You shift further from the bed, startling as the door breaks, a large armored body rolling through. There is an instant relief swelling within you to see Romare, his armor familiar, if lacking his cape and shine. [[You call to your twin, the single name full of multiple questions.][$stoic +=1]] [[Stumble from the bed, calling to your brother.][$emotional +=1]]

"I will not have you all talking around me, in my room at the edge of my bed," you declare, hands twisting in the blankets at your waist. Both heads turn to you, the human blinking foolishly and mouth falling slightly agape. You spare him a glare. Romare shifts his grip on his sword, and you are patient enough to give him a moment. Just one though, as your attempt to hide just how confused and bewildered you are is fraying. Except he was simply preparing to dodge the incoming sword. The human, still on your bed, gives a scream to match your startled exclamation of Romare's nickname. "<span id="cycle"><<cycle " $romarenn" autoselect>>/ <<option "Rosie" "Rosie">> <<option "Roro" "Roro">> <<option "Rory" "Rory">> <<option "Mars" "Mars">> <<option "Merry" "Merry">> <</cycle>></span>!" He, of course, doesn't respond and focuses on the attack. He uses the warrior’s over extension of the arm to grab them, pulling them in and off balance. They jerk inward, as if attempting to return the grapple, but Romare is able to toss them inward. You watch, eyes wide, as they twist, landing with a roll before they grab the ottoman to launch it at Romare. He side steps the furniture, it thumping against the door behind him, and moves to parry the blow as the assailant had followed the throw. You fight the layers of blankets to get out the bed, almost making it before a hand grasps your wrist. Your lip almost curls as you follow the arm to the human. “I’m helping. You must leave.” His accent is terrible, you think, attempting to yank your wrist free. “Unhand me.” You know Romare will struggle with the crowded space of the room, though at least his opponent should have the same limitations. However, you don’t have time to spare, even if the human is speaking true. “You are safe.” Now your lip truly fights to curl at him, and unfortunately he’s stronger than he looks. Thus, you resort as you should have sooner, to magic. You watch it slowly flair, as if it too had been slumbering here and awakens as you call. It moves, however, like molasses for a moment. As if you have to remember how to pull it. That, of everything, strikes a bit of fear in you. Romare, as always, comes to your rescue. A book from the vanity flies across, hitting the human straight in the head. He finally lets go, falling from the side of the bed with a startled, pained scream. You waste no time, slipping out of the bed as well, feet hitting the plush rug over the floor and stumbling a bit as they adjust to standing again. How long did you sleep? You press a hand on the bedpost to keep upright. The human jerks up, arm slapping on the bed and screaming something again, sounding incredibly indignant. You ignore him to instead focus on the magic, to reacquaint yourself with it again. With the movement and intent. Your heart hammers and your breaths shorten as you focus on that as the human continues to shout. The second one has unfortunately pushed their advantage with the opening Romare had given them. [[You focus on summoning an arc of lightning, a quick twist before throwing the magic.|chp1_interrupt2][ $element to "lightning"]] [[You pull the magic taught, knowing it will snap to cause a spark.|chp1_interrupt2][ $element to "fire"]] [[You dig your heels in, a forceful push to gather forth the earth.|chp1_interrupt2][ $element to "earth"]] [[Your magic build upon itself as you pull and strengthen the ice into the room.|chp1_interrupt2][ $element to "ice"]]

You use the oppertunity of their conversation to begin to fight the sheets of the bed. The thick comforter provides ample challenge against your shakey hands, but your succeed as the victor, reaching the edge of the bed. As you reach for the column, the intriciately carved wood smooth beneath your palm, you can hear the human's shock and glance about. The human flinches as another barges into the room, your twin shifting with practiced movements to block the incoming attack. Romare uses the attack’s over extension of the arm to grab them, pulling them in and off balance. They jerk inward, as if attempting to return the grapple, but Romare is able to toss them inward. You watch, eyes wide, as they twist, landing with a roll before they grab the ottoman to launch it at Romare. He side steps the furniture, it thumping against the door behind him, and moves to parry the blow as the assailant had followed the throw. Your panic rises, feet finding purchas on the soft rug, and you only realize how weak your legs are as you attempt to stand and have to cling to the column. The human behind makes another startled noise, and reaches for you before you can right yourself. "Do not touch me," you snap, forcing him to lean back some. "You are safe," the human says, placating with a hand up. "We are helping." He's inching closer, you note. You do as you should have sooner, summoning your magic. You watch it slowly flair, as if it too had been slumbering here and awakens as you call. It moves, however, like molasses for a moment. As if you have to remember how to pull it. That, of everything, strikes a bit of fear in you. Romare, as always, comes to your rescue. A book from the vanity flies across, hitting the human straight in the head. He finally lets go, falling from the side of the bed with a startled, pained scream. You waste no time, slipping out of the bed as well, feet hitting the plush rug over the floor and stumbling a bit as they adjust to standing again. How long did you sleep? You press a hand on the bedpost to keep upright. The human jerks up, arm slapping on the bed and screaming something again, sounding incredibly indignant. You ignore him to instead focus on the magic, to reacquaint yourself with it again. With the movement and intent. Your heart hammers and your breaths shorten as you focus on that as the human continues to shout. The second one has unfortunately pushed their advantage with the opening Romare had given them. "<span id="cycle"><<cycle " $romarenn" autoselect>>/ <<option "Rosie" "Rosie">> <<option "Roro" "Roro">> <<option "Rory" "Rory">> <<option "Mars" "Mars">> <<option "Merry" "Merry">> <</cycle>></span>!" Unbidden, Romare's nickname spills from your lips in panic. [[You focus on summoning an arc of lightning, a quick twist before throwing the magic.|chp1_interrupt2][ $element to "lightning"]] [[You pull the magic taught, knowing it will snap to cause a spark.|chp1_interrupt2][ $element to "fire"]] [[You dig your heels in, a forceful push to gather forth the earth.|chp1_interrupt2][ $element to "earth"]] [[Your magic build upon itself as you pull and strengthen the ice into the room.|chp1_interrupt2][ $element to "ice"]]

Elements are one of the first, and for some, only magic they would be taught. Manipulating an element that already exists is considered essential and basic. For those that are masters, it can still be powerful, especially when there is an abundance of of it present. To be able to just focus on the control and empowering, some thrive with that. However, each element is different, and for some there is limited elements they can even manipulate. Creating an element is much more difficult, to weave the raw magic into a form. To create, control, and empower an element and spell all at once can become dangerous as it escalates. A caution, or fear, your instructors had attempted to instill in you. It, however, never truly soaked in. <<if $element is "lightning">> Lightning always came easy to you. The sparks at the edge of your fingers, hair rising as you summoned, created it to strike. It was fierce, alive, thriving as it vibrated beneath your skin. It made you feel like that. It made you powerful. You remember the other students and their faces as you formed the lightning, as you stood across from them for a supervised duel. Your instructors attempted to dissuade you, to push you towards something less inherently destructive, let alone something that required such concentration and conjuring. No matter the beauty, no matter how the celestial and holy you felt as you watched lightning danced across the sky, it was limited they said. You, however, were not to be stopped. The magic still struggles as it reaches for you, as if unsure, before you were able to snap it into place. It begins to crackle for you, the familiar thrum helping calm you. You force it to hold, a moment, savoring it, before the arc flies across the room. The human man screams. Your eyes narrow as smoke dances its way up from where your lightning hit the wall. The enemy has shifted back, to keep an eye on both of you, the sword glinting. A special sword, you realize given how they apparently deflected the arc. You can see them a bit easier now, half their face covered by black mask of metal. Their build is slight, compared to Romare who towers over them, long dark hair catching the light as it falls from its ponytail and over their shoulder. They carry two blades, you realize, though only one is drawn. Green eyes glare at you from beneath their fringe. <<elseif $element is "fire">> You had taken to fire like breathing. It was one of the first elements dealt with, one of the most common for people to use and master. As an element used everywhere from a kitchen to the battlefield, it was a requirement at each step of life. Duels of different mages attempting to wrest control from each other’s fire was always a spectacle for the masses. To master that which everybody dabbled in, that your opponents often attempted to hold over you, to be a favorite of such a crucial element to life, you had flourished. Your instructors had tried to slow you, to inspire caution- that fire consumed and one should never forget. For others, perhaps, an important fact. But you found peace with the burning, with feeding the fires and basking in the warmth of the destruction. The room grew hotter as your hand twisted, pulling for the magic. The fire in the hearth dancing, excited, as your will turned into sparks of flame that splutter for a moment. You let the fire go, the blast of fire traveling swiftly across the room. The man shrieks, but your target doesn’t even flinch as they step and twist. With a flourish they catch and disperse the fire, the end of their blade glowing hot. They shift, the swing of their blade keeping Romare back enough as well. It gives you a moment to look better at them. Romare towers over them, their build slighter than his. Half their face is covered in a mask, dark fringe falling over the rest as the ponytail dances behind them. They carry two blades, though only one is drawn and held carefully between you and Romare. Green eyes dart between you and Romare, unnervingly calm in the situation they found themselves in, their sword slowly beginning to lose the glow. <<elseif $element is "earth">> Earth had never been a problem for you. A deceptively simple element, common even, known for it’s immovable sturdiness and defense. Not that it changed your opinion that the best defense was offense. Your professors had bemoaned that you didn’t simply use what was available more often, until they understood the severity of the earth you willed into action. There was danger in using the earth available, in playing with the ground beneath your feet when entire buildings, when trees and fortresses and castles all rested on it. You had once even considered the long term effects one could inflict, hypothesizing that it was the most powerful element surely. Your father had raised a single, immaculate brow as you ranted about it over a meal. You don’t especially wish to take from the walls holding the building up around you, which leaves you little choice but to will it into existence. The hexagon grows in reluctant spurts before you achieve the mass desired, and then it is easy enough to shoot it at the swordsman. The earth breaks as it travels, turning into multiple dangerous pellets, a concussive force to be reckoned with. Unfortunately, you didn’t make the blast big enough. You watch as the enemy twists with a spin of the blade, the sharp sounds of the earth hitting metal, the arch of the swing enough to keep Romare a step away. Your pellets hit the wall, embedded in the stone, and you glare at the enemy. You see a cut along the bridge of their brow, freshly bleeding from a shard of earth, their drawn blade oddly glowing. Their dark, long hair is pulled up in a ponytail, half falling loose, and the bottom of their face covered by a mask. But their green eyes, sharp and bright, dance between you and Romare with not nearly enough fear, in your opinion. <<else>> Ice was the element that felt most right. Water, as a whole, was something you gravitated to, but ice itself was the form that was what answered your call. There was power, fluidity, and strength to ice. The absolute ease it took to shift, dance between each shape and form. It made you efficient in class, the flexibility you could have in response to any problem, especially in duels. When you were allowed to participate, your mentors had attempted to stress you expand your arsenal. You had, of course, but it was so rarely required. You found ice took care of most of your problems without any fuss. It was an element that was often on hand, in small ways, and even easier to conjure than most given how it existed in most places if you knew where to look. Crucial, and lethal, making it all the easier to reach for. Except, at that moment. As you pull and twist your heart jumps to your throat as the magic is sluggish to respond. The water thick, slow, requiring a harder tug at the strings that puppet it, before the droplets swell and dance around your fingers. The relief eases the tension on your throat, letting you breath again, and you fall into easy motions. A roll of your wrist, your elbow rising and arm snapping outward. The water spirals, twisting as it freezes in flight. The shard of ice is fast, vapor trailing behind it like pale smoke. You watch, annoyed and impressed, as the enemy’s blade twists with their body, a swipe to keep Romare in place as they deflect the ice enough to dodge. The blade shimmers, even as your ice spreads frost across the tip. Their green eyes meet yours in a glare, catching the light from their blade ominously. Their hair is disheveled in its high ponytail, falling over their face and between that and the half mask they wear, you can’t quite make out their face. Still, their poise is commendable, and the two blades they carry obviously a threat. A confident one, considering how little fear they show as they assess you and Romare. <</if>> “Ah, no no! No! She is friend! Camille is going to save us!” the man shrieks, arms waving. You summon the $element again, enjoying how this Camille shifts in response but turning to glare at the man. You flex your fingers, the the magic pulsing perhaps in anticipation perhaps in a threat. “Tell your friend that she is to not touch my brother.” The man’s noses scrunches as you speak, but you shift to match the woman’s. It’s a standoff between the three of you, the human man still floundering and mouth flapping. He says something to the woman before his head snaps back towards you, half on the bed in his frantic confusion. “Ah- did he not- he is holding you against your will, no?” [[“Pardon?” Your hand lowers in confusion, face scrunching.][$charming +=1]] [[You raise a brow, turning to look at Romare.][$stoic +=1]] [[Leaning away from the human, you scowl. “No.”][$blunt +=1]]

His nickname spills forth, confusion and worry making your voice tight. "<span id="cycle"><<cycle " $romarenn" autoselect>>/ <<option "Rosie" "Rosie">> <<option "Roro" "Roro">> <<option "Rory" "Rory">> <<option "Mars" "Mars">> <<option "Merry" "Merry">> <</cycle>></span>?" Romare spares you a glance, $eyecolor eyes bright beneath the helmet, before looking back to the human. He says something you do not understand, a fact as startling as the human waking you up. Still, even as you blink in shock, you also notice the way his voice reverberates, deeper than you recall. Perhaps the armor? Perhaps you are still a little frazzled from everything? "Romare," you call again, full name this time and a little more stern in your need for answers. The human looks stunned, mouth agape and still perched on the other side of your bed, and Romare doesn't even spare you a second glance. For a moment you are stunned, patience fraying, before you realize why. Your twin shifts his grip on his sword and lifts it as another figure bursts into your room, making you and the human flinch as their swords clash. The human on your bed screams as the two warriors clash. Romare twists as the second human attempts to push him back, slipping and stepping in a way that forces her to dance with him. It leaves him just enough of an opening to step forward, kicking her in the gut and sending her rolling inward. Not that she leaves him a more than a moment of respite. As she rights herself she takes the leather chair by the bookshelf and launches it at Romare, your stomach dropping at the strenght she presents. Your brother dodges with a parry that leaves swords shrieking, of course, but you surmise it doesn't leave him in an advantagous position, given the way they both stop and assess each other. You drag your legs underneath the heavy weight of the duvet and covers, attempting do something. You fold your legs beneath you, emerging from the warmth the blankets provided, the human man making flustered motions. You're not sure what he see's, but he doesn't seem to like it overly much. You flinch when he attmepts to grab your wrist. "Please, we must leave while the golem is busy. You are safe now." You yank at your clenched hand away, leaning on your other arm to put distance between you and the human. Fear and adrenaline pushing you, you do what you ought to have done sooner. You pull at your magic, watching it slowly flair, as if it too had been slumbering here and awakens as you call. It moves like molasses, thick and lumbering. As if you have to remember how to summon it. That, of everything, strikes a bit of panic in you. Romare, as always, comes to your rescue. A book from the vanity flies across, hitting the human straight in the head. He finally lets go, falling from the side of the bed with a startled, pained scream. You waste no time, slipping out of the bed as well, feet hitting the plush rug over the floor and stumbling a bit as they adjust to standing again. How long did you sleep? You press a hand on the bedpost to keep upright. The human jerks up, arm slapping on the bed and screaming something again, sounding incredibly indignant. You ignore him to instead focus on the magic, to reacquaint yourself with it again. With the movement and intent. Your heart hammers and your breaths shorten as you focus on that as the human continues to shout. The second one has unfortunately pushed their advantage with the opening Romare had given them. [[[You focus on summoning an arc of lightning, a quick twist before throwing the magic.|chp1_interrupt2][ $element to "lightning"]] [[You pull the magic taught, knowing it will snap to cause a spark.|chp1_interrupt2][ $element to "fire"]] [[You dig your heels in, a forceful push to gather forth the earth.|chp1_interrupt2][ $element to "earth"]] [[Your magic build upon itself as you pull and strengthen the ice into the room.|chp1_interrupt2][ $element to "ice"]]

The human wilts in confusion that matches yours. You look him over for a moment, feeling exhausted even though you had just woken. Rudely, perhaps, but you don't think this level of tired is fair, and you sigh as you rub a finger over your brow. You're used to managing it, as your head feels like it's going to explode and float away, the way each breath is a concious effort, but it hardly makes dealing with any of this pleasant. The magic, swirling and sparking, but uncooperative, that is new- and until you have a moment, you won't be able to properly deal with it. You glance to the side a the human stutters on the bed, meeting the green gaze of the swordsman. Her eyes are bright, intense as they're framed by thick lashes, reading the room with a warrior's talent and shifting her hold on the magical sword. A threat, for sure, if she wasn't immediately put down by Romare. The thought draws your eyes to him. At a glance he looks easy, confident and poised as he listened. A facade that would have your father's approval, if he could actually be here, an appearance of ease. You, though, can see the way his eyes are sharp, visible beneath his helmet and they jump to the woman's hands as they adjust the hold of her sword, to the man as he flounders on the bed. It's the same ease he had during your meetings with visiting nobles and dignitaries. His gaze drifts to you, and it is a single little moment but it gives you just the boost in strength you need to square your shoulders. Romare is here, he will defend you. Even if the human blabbers about in a language you don't understand- even if the way Romare tilts his head lets you know he does, it doesn't matter. You can do this. You unclench your fingers, ignoring the pain where your nails had dug into your palm. "As gripping as this has all been," you say with a gentle twist of your wrist for emphasis, "I would like a concise explanation on why you are you, and, more importantly, why yours has drawn a weapon on my brother." The man on the bed frets a moment longer before offering an apologetic shrug. "Well, all of this is... a misunderstanding." You quietly release a breath you were holding through your nose, unimpressed. "The stories- ah you see, the villages- towns they tell... passed down stories of this place with monsters.." He picks each word like it's an apple from a tree, carefully appraising before speaking. You roll your eyes towards Romare, a brow raising in silent question. For him, you wait. Your brother doesn't outwardly react to your shift, both of you too well practiced at silent conversations while another drivels on. What offends is when you watch his eyes drift away. As if he's ignoring you. Then you catch the way the magic is moving, the knight weaving, his eyes giving a slight glow beneath his helmet. Romare was taught. Like every elf, he had his affinity, and like you, he had his lessons. He knew how, he knew the principles, but he'd never flourished in it. His magic never seemed to get too far from himself, held close to his chest as a boost, or a last resort. You watch the magic, reminding yourself to breath, before realizing he's searching. He's attempting to use his magic to sense for something. [[You don't get to do the same before the floor begins to give away.|floordrop]]

You hardly consider the man a threat, instead able to keep the real problem in your peripheral as you look to Romare. Neither warrior has moved, a stalemate. You know enough about these sorts of things to know that one wrong move here could end the entire thing instantly. You seen such a move from both brothers in their duels. She has no problem meeting your gaze, that green eyed stare focused, sharp. They look poisonous, deep set with thick lashes and glaring between you and Romare. He, however, holds himself with a confident calm as he appraises the room. An illusion your father had trained Romare in. He takes even breaths, sword even pointed downward. It's only his $eyecolor eyes that let you know how he frets as he assess the situation. It's not hard to catch his eyes, tilting your head in a silent demand for an explanation from Romare. You find the human man tedious, his words superferlous. Romare, surely, has some kind of idea of what is going on. Besides, you would be better equipped to deal with the humans, with whatever they would further spew at you, after a brief word from Romare. Preferably, you'd earn the upper hand through a flick of your wrist and your magic. But even still, you feel if frayed at the edges, writhing like a petulan pet at the edge of your senses. It leaves you anxious, that you are less able to compensate for how you can't catch your breath fully, that your head throbs enough that the light hurts. A problem you cannot openly acknowledge with two enemies in the room. Romare blinks, turning to the human man and says something. Something in that new language. It's short, whatever he says, but you feel your stomach drop. How does he speak it? Your brother took to languages like he took to the lessons on the tea ceremonies. Which is to say, the bare minimum. The less he knew of them, he had said, the less he would be required to deal with the ambassadors and nobles. But he speaks something, and the human man lights up and responds. You keep your face neutral, eye brow ticking higher when Romare looks back to you. "There are certain rumors I have allowed to circulate in regards to your- our situation," Romare says, that rumble still in his voice that has anxiety building in your core. "That they also believe that I hold you here against your will is... was acceptable." Your lips purse, brows furrowing as you try to consider what this could mean. How long had you been asleep, then, for this to have been a choice? To have you both here in hiding? Where was your uncle? Or, rather, had he even survived? You feel incredibly unprepared for whatever is happening. When you bring your attention back to the present, opening your mouth to ask something else of your brother, you snap your jaw closed. Romare's eyes have drifted off, not towards the human man who is still sniveling to the side, or the warrior who has at least shifted to a less tense position, no- his eyes drift away. As if this conversation is done. There is a shift as he moves, but not his eyes. His eyes are focused on something. Something not here, you realize. Romare, like any elf, has magic. Like you, he had some of the best tutors and professors summoned to see to his education. You can see the tell tale glow to his eyes as he summons his. Your bother's magic never went much farther than himself. He hadn't taken to magic the way others had, and no matter the training and theory he learned, instead used it as means to buffer himself, strengthen a part of himself. Romare, your realize, was using magic to attempt to search for something. [[The next thing you realize is the floor falling from beneath you.|floordrop]]

The human's face falls, though at your tone or your answer, you're not sure. It doesn't really matter. You can't honestly bring yourself to care, not about this confused stranger. If it wasn't for the way your head still felt light, your lungs heavy, and the magic for some reason being stubborn- like a bitter, petulant child- you think you might have simply been done with it all. You're sure you could have had both of them reconsidering this rude awakening, especially with Romare here. You peek another glance at the actual threat. She hasn't moved, green eyes meeting yours in the moment. She has sharp eyes, slim and deep set, reminding of you poison as they glare. You look away first, towards your brother. He looks lax. His sword is pointed down, shoulders straight, posture elegant and easy enough to even get your father's hum of vague approval, if he could have been here. It's only looking at his $eyecolor eyes that you see the careful attention he pays to the room. They are just visible beneath the helmet, carefully scanning from each person. You have no doubt both warriors are ready to move, given cause. Still, he holds your gaze, for a moment. Like always, there's a reassurance in his presence. In his support. You square your shoulders, a pressure in your chest easing. Even as the human man starts speaking again in that odd language, something that irks, Worse, you cannot recall what language you don't know, that Romare does. In fact, Romare had complained, in your youth, at learning different languages. Being ignorant meant he didn't have to deal with the guests, he had said. "My patience wanes," you huff, the human man's head snapping to you. "What is going on?" "Ah, well-" the human man seems to tense and shrug. "It is a story, of sorts? Yes, and I think a misunderstanding. Definietly, yes. The people must have- they had a story they passed down about- here." "No. Stop this-" you growl, a hand on your hip as you snap, turning your glare from the human to Romare. You can feel that pressure again, behind your eyes, your throat already becoming sore. "Explain this." Romare doesn't outwardly react. You wait, expecting this. At least, for a moment as Romare assessed. Not for longer than that. Annoyance begins to claw at your throat, brows furrowing. You almost miss the way the magic begins to swarm, catching the llight with blinding sparkles. He's weaving, you realize. Romare never took to magic, not like you at all. But, like any elf, he had the affinity, and like any noble, he had the training. His magic never got too far from himself, and it takes you a short moment to recognize his attempt to sense what is happening elsewhere. You can see how his eyes start to shimmer and glow as he weilds his magic. [[He moves at the same time as the floor.|floordrop]]

You're taking a few steps forward without thinking, a hand in the air with a noble wave as you call out, so relieved you use his nickname. "<span id="cycle"><<cycle " $romarenn" autoselect>>/ <<option "Rosie" "Rosie">> <<option "Roro" "Roro">> <<option "Rory" "Rory">> <<option "Mars" "Mars">> <<option "Merry" "Merry">> <</cycle>></span>? Are you- what is happening?" Romare spares you a glance, $eyecolor eyes bright beneath the helmet, before looking back to the human. He says something you do not understand, a fact as startling as the human waking you up. Still, even as you blink in shock, you also notice the way his voice reverberates, deeper than you recall. Perhaps the armor? Perhaps you are still a little frazzled from everything? You do not wait for either of them, brows furrowing as you lean and roll, kicking at the blankets. The human stammers over words you do not understand, fingers flexing like he meant to grab at you, but your feet touch the soft rug and you are safe from his grasp. Your hands wrap around the intricate pillar at the corner of the bed to steady yourself, legs only attempting to keep yourself standing. "What is happening?" you try again. Romare lets out a deep hum, and then the human on your bed is shrieking as another figure launches into the room. You flinch as their swords meet, When your eyes open again Romare has used the newest additions mistake of over extending to reach under and toss them. They roll into their landing, grabbing the blanket tossed over the chair and throwing it over Romare to stop his approach and give them time to stand up. Romare, once free of the blanket, steps back and the warriors carefully assess one another. The human on your bed fumbles, glancing between all three, before settling on you. "I do not think you understand but we can help!" He leans forward, closer now, eyes big and brows tilted, and his hand is on your wrist. You'd almost think the worry was genuine. Your fingers grip the wooden pillar tighter as you firmly step onto the plush rug, attempting to pu distance between you and the human. It causes the room to shift, both warriors subtly changing to accomodate your new position and the human's hand clenching into a fist as he watches you, grip stronger than you had hoped- though you hadn't truly expected to win in a battle of strength. Instead, you do what you should have sooner. With a twist of your other wrist, you summon forth your magic. You watch it slowly flair, as if it too had been slumbering here and awakens as you call. It moves, however, like molasses for a moment. As if you have to remember how to pull it. That, of everything, strikes a bit of fear in you. "Please!" the human says, distracting you. "We can help you get from your captor!" Romare finally says something, a deep, short sentence that has the human nearly jumping from his skin as his head whips around to look at your twin. The book flying smacks him straight in the forehead and the human flops back, and you take the opening to stumble to the nightstand by the bed. The human jerks up, arm slapping on the bed and screaming something again, sounding incredibly indignant. You ignore him to instead focus on the magic, to reacquaint yourself with it again. With the movement and intent. Your heart hammers and your breaths shorten as you focus on that as the human continues to shout. The second one has unfortunately pushed their advantage with the opening Romare had given them. [[You focus on summoning an arc of lightning, a quick twist before throwing the magic.|chp1_interrupt2][ $element to "lightning"]] [[You pull the magic taught, knowing it will snap to cause a spark.|chp1_interrupt2][ $element to "fire"]] [[You dig your heels in, a forceful push to gather forth the earth.|chp1_interrupt2][ $element to "earth"]] [[Your magic build upon itself as you pull and strengthen the ice into the room.|chp1_interrupt2][ $element to "ice"]]

Your stomach is suddenly in your throat, blood pounding in your ears as, for a moment, you're suspended in air. Your eyes stay on Romare until the broken shambled remains of the floor block your vision as the entire room is upended by something. The room, the building, the tower- it crashes around you with thunderous anger. Briefly, for a moment, you remember being so much younger on a soft summer day where the weather was just a touch too warm and the day too long. You had been walking, glowering and huffing as you had once again found no news or letters from Yael. The heir had been off on the front lines with your elder brother, assisting with the dissent and worry over the spreading sickness after a flood. Romare had followed, three steps behind and bored of your fit, no doubt. Still, even then, he was the first to respond. The way the world shifted, tilted instead of turned, his arms around your waist and tugging as pieces of the tower that had held your father and the ailing Emperor. You hadn't been able to move, watching the massive burning pieces of stone sail towards you. There is no flames here, now. There's no floor either. You let out an unseemly sound as your shoulder connects with some stone, fumbling and grasping at air as gravity takes hold. The sound of shrill screaming and something large letting out a rumbling growl echoed around the crumbling stone, combating with the blood rushing in your ears as you fell. Your robes twisting as you flailed, magic flickering and sparking in your peripheral. You know- you know deeply that you have to do something. Your throat is closing and it's so hard to think past the thrum of panic that pulses behind your eyes, and you do not have the moment to attempt to figure out what that something is. You instincively look where you thought Romare had been. Where he should have been. He's not there. He's not there. Romare's not there and there's the taste of blood on your tongue. Your spiral is halted by strong arms around your waist, under your ribs, painful almost as your fall stops. Fingers dig into your hip as you jerk, arms instinctively grabbing at the hands as you turn. "$romarenn-" You meet intense green eyes as the human woman adjusts her grip on you, the wire hidden along the reel of her belt latches to what is left of a wall. She lets out a grunt, attempting to twist you both mid air as th erocks continue to fall, turning to protect you as best she could from the brunt of it. You end up between her and the wall she can find purchase in <<if $height is "very tall">> You stare down at the top of her head, $eyecolor eyes wide as she's able to manhandle you into position. Her fingers dig into your hips, likely leaving bruises, entire body pressed to keep yours where she needs it as she compensates for the height difference. Still, that seems to be her only problem, the amount of limbs to accomodate, rather than any particular strain over how much more of you there is. You hadn't realized she was that strong. <<elseif $height is "tall">> She is noticably shorter than you, and that doesn't seem to matter. She maneuvers on the wire easily, toe of her boots catching against the wall and forcing you to slam back, making you gasp most unseemly. You aren't able to do anything against her grip, the woman pinning you with efficiency. Her eyes snap to yours, looking more annoyed than straining as she asseses. You have no choice but take note of how strong this woman is. <<elseif $height is "average">> You'd thought the woman was the same height as you, and are slightly annoyed to note she's just a bit taller than you as she pulls you into position, a thigh shoved between your legs and pinning you. You are forced where she puts you, not even a strain in her expression. You expected her to be strong, just not this strong. <<elseif $height is "short">> She hoists you around easily, taller than you and unsurprisngly stronger. She crowds you against the wall, You almost miss how her hand snaps from her hip to the back of your head, keeping you from banging it as she attempts to protect you from debris. <<else>> You knew she was taller than you, like everybody else ever. Your head is tucked against her shoulder, one hand behind in a vain attempt to save your from a headache, the other at your waist, her hips pinning you in place. She's unmovable, arms strong as she keeps you in place, away from the falling debris. You can only just peek over her shoulder, trying to make sense of what is left of the room, the human more or less holding you up entirely. <</if>> You can hear the panicked screaming of the human man over the crumbling of stone. The entire room rumbles and sways, reminiscing of an earthquake as you realize the roof is threating to fall as well. You can feel the human woman tighten her hold on you, twisting to attempt to find a way out for the both of you. [[You decide not to wait for her to think of something.]]

You release your hold on her, attempting to ignore how her hold tightens further, and reach around. It is a bit awkward with the woman hugging you, but you snap your wrists and fan your fingers out, creating the shapes needed to weave the magic. It is relief that it comes to you easier this time. Perhaps, it simply was just that you were tired and sluggish, nothing more. <<if $element is "earth">> You can feel the earth around you and it doesn't take as much to force it to your will. You start with the closest near you, catching them before they can hit either of you. From there you push, catching the stones from the ceiling as they begin to break and tumble. Your brow furrows, which is the extent it takes to twist and push the stone through the other sides. There is a pressure as your magic takes hold, the earth shifting to your will. You can hear as they break and grind against the walls, what is left of the room turing to dust as even the walls fall away to you and the stone. It's not that you know the intricacies of keeping a building standing, but you know enough about the earth you wield, Perhaps the tower will not last the night, but it will stand for now. You flick your wrists in opposite directions, the dust settling like a fog around the destruction of what's left, obscuring anything in the distance into blurry shadowed shapes. You can see as the woman shifts, discerning jade eyes reassessing you after the display. Good. It does nothing for the thing that had started this destruction. It lets out a mighty roar as it continues it's assault on the the building, vibrations against your back. You attempt a discreet cough against the dust. <<else>> You don't take time to wrestle with the stone around you. It's simpler to use the magic itself to move things as you need. Telekenisis isn't considered a delicate practice, but it can be incredibly useful. Especially for somebody forced to remain in bed for extended periods of time or with a body that refuses to function. Your hand snap through the different shapes as best you can around the woman, magic manually catching the stones nearest to you both. The reach of your magic in this way is limited, but you find that just means you have to be a bit creative. The stones you catch, you take with your magic and pull. The stones are yanked and tugged into a barrier between you and the falling ceiling. They grind against eachother, a brutal noise that echoes in your ears, as you force them to fit against one another and stay. Rather than catching everything around you, a task you are sure you could do but seem highly ineffecient, you simply use the strenght of your weave to keep your barrier in place. As long as the stones last, so too will your shield. The woman shifts in front of you, discerning jade eyes reassessing you. You wonder how much she knows about magic, about what you did. Either way, you're glad to see the change in her gaze as you hold the stones above you both. Eventually the pressure of stones hitting your shield lessens to just constant pressure, and with a slow exhale you flick your wrists in opposite directions, clearing the way to see the destruction. Most of the roof has fallen through, dust creating a suffocating fog that is impossibly difficult to see through. Still, it does nothing to hampen your hearing. You scan the dust, unable to find the origin of the massive creature growling from below. <</if>> "$name!" Your eyes instantly snap to the distance at Romare's growling voice. "I am here, with the warrior!" You think you can make out the gibberish of the other human. "You need to get outside and try to stay high." He says something afterwards, short but in the language you don't know. The woman pressed against you scoffs, and the other human still hasn't stopped yelling. You glance around, hoping to find a direction to go that follows Romare's instructions. Especially with whatever is collapsing a building still milling about below. [[The woman shifts.|chp1_gettingoutside]]

The woman glances about as well. Her fingers dig into the wall, leaning back and glancing about. You make sure not move, not wanting to fall, though she keeps one hand on you to help stabalize your position as she moves. The man is still screaming, or perhaps he simply is incapable of speaking quietly at this point, but you take heart in it. Romare, you're sure, won't be making much noise. The woman jerks her masked chin in way of pointing, green eyes cutting back to you from where she still leans. Her brows are furrowed, serious, and she doesn't even attempt to try to speak. She releases her hold on you, making you stiffen, the free hand drifting to her belt. <<if $element is "earth">> You glance to where she pointed, doing your best to not move more than you needed. You had removed the ceiling, making it easy enough to get outside. At least, if you could climb up to the edge. However, you did have to go up, especially since you weren't exactly thrilled to further destroy the building you were still using, if it could be helped. The light streaming in cuts through the dust with ribbons, making it glitter and dance, and burns your eyes. The headache you feel at the base of your neck and up does not approve of the light. You do see the dip the woman was motioning to, however. It is lower than others and close enough to be feasible, you imagine, to woman who had the finger strength to hold on with one hand as she leaned back from the ledge she perched on with her toes alone. You, however, will not be making any such attempt, no matter what this lady is thinking with her contraption. Your magic swells to you again, eager as if it now remembers who you are, and you slide your fingers along the stone. You watch as the wall shifts, a ledge growing that you can shimmy across. The sound of stones grinding echoes through what's left of the room, the vibrations startling you. Still, you hold strong and can't help but feel a bit smug when you glance back at the woman for a second time. She lets out a hum, pulling her hand away from her contraption, and instead swinging a bit to give you room to go first. The human instead focuses her attention to the dust clouds, watching for the sign of the beast below, brows furrowing as it lets out a deep rumble in response to your stone. No longer bracketed by the woman you begin moving with as much grace as you can muster with a throbbing head and lungs that can't fill completely. You shuffled up the incline, pressing a sleeve to your mouth with the freedom you have, the other hand pressed to what is left of the wall. The warrior, you assume, is behind you. She is a quiet being, you think unhappily, and unwilling to shift and move to peek at her. Not when you risk tumbling down, all your hard work going to waste. As you reached the edge you stretched to dig your fingers into what was left of the wall. It is rough against your skin, pieces crumbling as you attempt to leverage yourself. Your arm shakes as you attempt to hoist yourself up, brows furrowing in concentration as the pain from your migraine shoots down your neck at the physical labor. You startle when you then feel hands on your hips, lifting you essentially over the edge. Wide $eyecolor eyes snap over your shoulder, meeting the electric green of the warrior. There is a very quick attempt to keep as much grace in your movements as possible as you get your feet over and drop onto the roof. You try to decide how offended you are as she drops beside you, not even looking at you as you dust off your clothes. <<else>> You glance to where she pointed, doing your best to not move more than you needed. You can see where parts of the room has collapsed, a window of sort where she's gesturing nearly glowing with the light from the outside, thespace right behind your eyes throbbing when you look at it too long. The wall shakes, ever so slightly, as whatever creature had raged through the estate continues to lumber about, tiny pieces of the wall falling to the floor. You look back to the human, incredulous. She, however, has already turned attention elsewhere. One hand still clings to the wall, the grip of her fingers the only thing keeping her up, the other pulls a wire from the contraption at her hip. She swings the tip of the wire in a circle, obviously prepping for some sort of action, and you glance from the wire to the window and back to her. You take a moment to realize she has a hand held up to her mask, finger extended in a way to shush you, brows furrowing until it dawns on you that means she's not holding on anymore. The same hand snaps from her mask to you and suddenly you're both falling. Youlet out a noise half swallowed as you tip forward, arms flailing as you attempt to catch yourself. Her arm comes up and wraps under your arm and around your back as the wire whizzes past your ear. Your hands claw into her shoulders as the wire finds purchase, jerking you both up. She twists you both, controlling the swing with practiced ease. You can feel when her boot catches on the wall, body angled to give you a bit of support with one arm still around you and the other now clinging to the edge as the wire snaps back to her hip. She gives a light push with her shoulder, the hum she gives the softest thing you've seen from her in an attempt to get your attention. With a breath you hadn't realized you had been holding you reach for the ledge. The startled panic is still coursing through you, stronger than your pain at least but common enough you are able to keep, hopefully, your composure. Enough she doesn't notice even as your nails scrape across stone. It is rough against your skin, pieces crumbling as you attempt to leverage yourself. Your arm shakes as you attempt to hoist yourself up, brows furrowing in concentration as the pain from your migraine shoots down your neck at the physical labor. You don't let go even as your feet meets solid ground- or roof. Your $eyecolor eyes snap to her, watching as she does a small hop over to match you. Besides a sheen of sweat to her brow she is unphased and a bitter little familiar feeling sits on your chest, heavy against your lungs that struggle to get enough air. <</if>> The woman makes her way carefully across the shingles of the roof, ponytail catching on the wind. She rests one hand on the hilt of her sword, fingers tapping along it like a song. Your eyes catch on the charm hanging form the hilt of her second blade, the beads of it shimmering. It's cute, and unexpected. She looks over her shoulder at where you still lean against the ledge, tilting her head to point at a direction. You straighten, glancing at the shattered shingles as you approach to keep from sliding and falling, keeping a certain, safe, distance betwen you and the warrior. At least, until you get closer. Then your steps quicken as you see across the roof Romare is perched. [[You cannot help yourself, stepping forward to call Romare's name.|outside_emotion][$emotional +=1]] [[Carefully, you begin to find a path towards Romare.|outside_stoic][$stoic +=1]]

You balance carefully across the shingles, trying to limit the amount of squinting you did against the bright light. An unsightly expression, you remember your teachers saying with a tut. It's hard, however, as you attempt to keep from flinching and frowning constantly as you make your way directly to Romare. Or as directly as you can, across the roof. You can hear the quiet steps of the woman following you. You don't understand the woman that follows you, in multiple ways. But still, you trust her enough to let her trail behind you, for now. Whatever their misguided reason is that they thought Romare was a danger to you, Until this is cleared up, until answers are shared, you trust that she'll protect you. You'd say Romare protecting the human man meant something was shared in that odd language, but you also know Romare has always been a protector by nature. Especially for helpless, pathetic little things. From his peripheral he must notice you, Romare turning to glance in your direction. You're a bit closer now and you think you can see his shoulders ease in relief. Maybe, you're projecting. The human notices as well. He jumps up and points. The woman behind you lets out a deep, soul encompassing sigh. You can't help but wonder, mildly, what her relationship is with the other one. Together, with you leading, you make your way to the others. The human gives a wave, which both of you ignore, Romare standing to his full height. A deep rumble is your only warning before the whole roof begins to shake. Your foot slips on the shingles, a strong hand on your arm to keep you upright as a resounding roar fills the courtyard. The deafening sound of another wall collapsing is quick to follow. The monster finally emerges, breaking through another wall below you all with a growl that resonates through your bones. The cyclops was of the northern variety, covered in grey fur and speckled tones. It walks hunched forward with it's knuckles brushing the ground, dragging with it whatever impromptu weapon it managed to find. The massive block head was supported by a thick neck with heavy jowls and thick scruff, with one massive dark eye, an upturned nose, and an even bigger smile full of sharp crooked teeth. It's head twisted as it swung it's arms around, slobbering and grumbling as it searched. The brown eye bouncing along the roof. You can see the exact moment it spots a target. The massive maw opens, tongue rolling and spittle flying as it screams, latching onto the crumbling walls and pulling. Either it was coming up or the building was coming down. They were known to be tenacious creatures, of stronger will than thought. The other human tumbles across the roof, unable to keep his footing. Romare doesn't respond, sparing a glance in your direction before unsheathing his blade and leaping across the gaps and crumbling shingles in offensive action. There's another quiet word from the woman, who still has a hand on your arm, and you're absolutely sure it has to be a curse of some sort. Then she slips from your side, dancing across the roof to assist. [[Focus on providing support]] [[Focus on attacking.]]

You're taking a few steps forward without thinking, a hand in the air with a noble wave as you call out, "$romarenn!" The woman, you can see from your peripheral, lets her head fall back with a long suffering, if admittedly quiet, sigh at your noise. She is unimportant though. The loud human as well startles, nearly falling over before spinning around. Romare jerks, head swiveling back to you and you find yourself wishing he wasn't wearing that helmet. You start making your way across the roof, newfound determination in your steps. The human across the way shouts in response, relief evident. The woman lets out a noise that sounds like a curse, but follows. You still don't understand, exactly, what is happening or how this relates to what was. What you remember. But, you do get that this woman and the loud man were here in a misguided attempt to save you from Romare of all people. It stands to reason that, until things are cleared up, she'll continue to keep you safe. So you tell yourself, at least, as you pick out a path over the roof. Your eyes are set on Romare, and your feet occassionally, and so you see it as the shingles begin to shake. Your brother reaches for the human, shoving him away, and then you feel the hand gripping your arm and tugging as the vibrations turn violent. The monster finally emerges, breaking through another wall below you all with a growl that resonates through your bones. The cyclops was of the northern variety, covered in grey fur and speckled tones. It walks hunched forward with it's knuckles brushing the ground, dragging with it whatever impromptu weapon it managed to find. The massive block head was supported by a thick neck with heavy jowls and thick scruff, with one massive dark eye, an upturned nose, and an even bigger smile full of sharp crooked teeth. It's head twisted as it swung it's arms around, slobbering and grumbling as it searched. The brown eye bouncing along the roof. You can see the exact moment it spots a target. The massive maw opens, tongue rolling and spittle flying as it screams, latching onto the crumbling walls and pulling. Either it was coming up or the building was coming down. They were known to be tenacious creatures, of stronger will than thought. The other human tumbles across the roof, unable to keep his footing. Romare doesn't respond, sparing a glance in your direction before unsheathing his blade and leaping across the gaps and crumbling shingles in offensive action. There's another quiet word from the woman, who still has a hand on your arm, and you're absolutely sure it has to be a curse of some sort. Then she slips from your side, dancing across the roof to assist. [[Focus on providing support]] [[Focus on attacking.]]

You know you aren't a fighter. You were never trained as a warrior, especially in anything non magic related. What experience you have is in magical duels against other students, where it was regulated with rules and confinments. Professors and mentors were very strict about keeping it safe, and that you weren't heavily strained in anyway. All of which means it's absolutely not at all like the situation in front of you. Perhaps if it was just Romare, who you understood and who you had seen fight regularly, you would feel more comfortable with a more active role. But you steal a glance at the other warrior. She is a lithe figure, slipping to the ground with grace and doesn't stop moving as she lands. Unlike Romare, who moves with power and wasting as little movement and time as possible as he approaches the cyclops. The roof is in shambles around you, making it difficult to move and find a favorable position. Still, carefully, you make your way around as the warriors begin to push the back cyclops back, away from the building. Still, as you move, you press your two middle fingers to your thumb and swing your wrists, creating a snapping sound. In tandem, the magic pulls and explodes in front of the cyclops, creating a blinding light. An easy enough spell, that you do not watch as your head throbs. The cyclops give a shrill shriek, big eye blinking and squinting as it stumbles back. Romare twists his blade, the magical item responding to the command and shifting in shape to some sort of greatsword. You were, no doubt, told the offiical name at some point. You might have forgotten the exact minute afterwards. You had spent more time watching the way the magic swelled and shifted- creation magic contained. He slips between the stumbling feet with the massive blade, large circular motions of the blade hypnotic as he pushes at the beast. It's thick skin and thicker coat are a hinderance to attacking but something must make it through as the beast jerks, nearly falling over. As it bends, the human rushes forward, into the range of the mighty, but sloppy swing. The shorter of her two swords in hand, she disappears in an explosion of dust and dirt as the monster's arm meets the earth. It's hand drags back, blood dripping from a slash, both warriors already moving forward to follow it's retreat. She is careful to make sure she isn't hit, swift dodges as if she always knows where each swing or stomp was going to land. Romare stays on the offensive, determined to keep the cyclops off kilter and away from the building. Your heart ends up in your throat, however, when you watch him fly across the courtyard. His armor drags across the stone tiles with a grating sound as he rolls. Your hands fly, a twist and wrapping them until palms touch, wringing out the magic as your feet dance forward into position. The magic circle grows where Romare lands, bending with the weight and force of his landing. He has rolled himself, getting his feet underneath, and nods. You hold your breath, flinching as the cyclops throws the makeshift club. It spins in a dangerous arc, but you hold your magic because Romare holds his position, massive sword held in two hands. He braces himself, and you have no idea what happens, but the fake club scrapes along his massive sword, landing to the side with a cloud of dust, and your sigil thrums with the force contained within from where Romare braced. You release your hold, letting the momentum in the sigil send him back. The magic disperses with a small bang, and Romare is launched forward It's not something you'd have offered if not for Romare's armor, which you can resonate your magic with, or the fact that you knew Romare knew these tricks. Enjoyed them, even, when he trained with combat mages. You press a hand to your nose, making sure you're not bleeding, as Romare embedds his sword in the cyclops, feet braced against it's abdomen. As it roars and staggers, and then you can see the wire of the warrior fly, at the other end. She uses her own weight to fully pull the creature off balance. The thud of it hitting the ground shakes even you, atop the roof. You watch, the other human letting out a loud whoop and cheer. [[The cyclops begins to thrash.]]

You are not a combat mage. In another life, perhaps, you'd have absolutely risen through the ranks, a star soldier. But with the body you have, with the titles you obtained, it was never even considered an option for your course of life. The battles you trained for were in court. Still, there are some things you learned, in your magic duels, as you watched your brothers train, as the Emperor fought the rebels and the plague. Battles of attrition were rarely the better choice. With how your bones ache and head throbs, you wouldn't survive such a fight. So, you summon what energy you have left and step up to the edge of the roof, trying figure out teh best way to get this over with. You can watch the human warrior hop down, bouncing off of the wall to land with grace, drawing the shorter of her two swords. As the cyclops zeros in on her, massive impromptu club swung, she charges to get underneath. From the other side Romare lands with power, his own sword changing shape to the massive kind. The big greatsword that you probably were given a name to, at some point. It doesn't matter, though, because he steps forward into the fray with a big arc of the massive sword. The dirt and tiles explode where the club lands, You hold your hands up, snapping between shapes and pushing, bracing with your legs as you attempt to force the club to stay down. If you had time, if your head didn't feel too small and like it was going to explode, perhaps you'd do more than telekenis for this. Gravity and force and space, to contain and manipulate. As is, you watch the cyclops startle and for a minute fall off kilter as the club doesn't move. You nearly fall over at the first tug it gives. On the second you shift, watching as the club is yanked high overhead. Both warriors, in the seconds of time you gave them, began cleaving at what they could reach. Romare turned his blade on the legs, where as the human twisted to the arm. As the dust settled, you can see her crawling up, that wire swinging as she aims with one arm, the other holding the blade impaled on the creature's forearm. With the magic you still hold, as the club goes over the head and the woman, in a feat of strength, holds herself there, you use the same magical mental force to shove the club down. Momentum and natural gravity assists, and the cyclops rolls into a fall. The other human, the one on the roof, gives a whoop of excitment but your eyes quickly scan to make sure Romare was alright. Thankfully, it wasn't hard to miss considering the way he swung his sword in a arc, clearing some of the dust, before he slices into the ribs of the creature. It screams and thrashes, nearly catching your brother in the flailing. You breathe through your nose, attempting to keep up, to come up with a next course of action. The warrior has ripped into the arms of the creature and it drops the club with a massive thud before it attempts to fling her off like a big bug. Romare wastes no time, using the creatures own movements to inflict more damage with the massive sword as the thrashing rips more skin before pulling the sword out in a bloody arc. As the creature shifts to roll, trying to get its' limbs underneath it, the woman is flying again, the wire flying in some sort of plan, probably. Romare moves and shifts, never going far as he was always trained to not waste any movements. The cyclops wheezed as it shifted, distracted by the two warriors as it rolled. You made sure you were braced against a part of the roof still standing, mostly because your legs were shaking, and with a deep breath, summoned forth another spell. The magic glowed bright, nearly burning, as your hands rolled and threaded it together. You then give a sharp flick of your wrist your fingers snapping. The burning light shoots from the impact of your fingers, hitting your massive target. [[The cyclops staggers with a roar.]]

The human warrior uses the fur as hand holds to quickly climb up, sword poised to stab at the sensitive face. She attempts, at least, as the head thrashes and arms start flying. Both of them attempt to inflict enough damage, if not a killing blow, while avoiding getting smashed. Your eyes follow the blood as it flies, and then pools, as their swords cleave through flesh. The other human, on the roof, lets out a deep gag as innards start to spill out from where Romare has dragged his sword down, twisting and shifting. You cannot imagine, even if the monster was to attempt to flee, that it was going to live as Romare guts it and the human rips it's mouth and nose open even wider as she balances on the head. She slips with a roll, disappearing on the other side that you cannot see, and then the cyclops' fist grazes Romare. You watch him brace, but it doesn't help him stay atop the beast. His sword rips further thru flesh as it almost goes with him. The creature still flails and attempts to roll over, screaming all the while. You hold your breath, scanning for Romare. Tension eases as Romare steps out of range of the dying cyclops. It attempts to stand up, screaming and whining as it braces its arms, blood continuing to gush and pool beneath it. You think the other human might be vomitting. Your brows furrow as you watch the puddle grow and slosh. Romare holds his hand out, and you know even if you cannot hear it, that he calls for his sword. The other human looks up in time to see it rip through the cyclops to reach your brother, bending over to heave again. He swings the blade to free it of some of the gore, watching a moment longer as the cyclops collapses. Then he lets the sword return to a simple longsword that was easier to manage, and turns towards you. You work up a smile for him, glancing for a way down that wouldn't require more magic at this point. You could. You absolutely could. You really did not want to. Romare assists, pointing out places to try and where to put your feet as you ease down. At least until he can reach you, his gloved hand wrapping around an ankle and motioning to slip the rest. You stop to take a breath only because of the exhaustion. You trust Romare to guide you in the fall. He'd done it pleny of times when you were children, exploring places you weren't supposed to. Your feet hit the ground and you sigh, leaning on Romare for a moment. You let him assess the situation, closing your eyes. [[You let the exhaustion, finally, take over.]]

The light burns through the cyclops shoulder, the wound catarized as is made. You grunt, lowering your arm and frowning. You had been aiming for the head, but at least with such a big creature it hit. While the wound isn't gushing blood, you can see the way the weight of the arm and the vicious movements tear the wound open further. You push your hair out of your face, not thinking about what a mess it must look. Or you, in your night robe. Romare and the human warrior waste no time with the oppertunity, and you watch as Romare cleaves through the creature. Guts spill at his feet, blood pooling into a disgusting pond at his feet. The warrior swings and dances along it's head and neck and the cyclops turns pitiful as it dies. In the corner of your eye you can see the other human beginning to gag at the scene. Still, there is some fight left, desperate and useless. But, still, it aims for a phyrric victory. As it whips its head, the human warrior falls into a roll, disappearing on the side that you cannot see, and then the arm you shot finally falls off against all the thrashing, It nearly hits Romare, who has to step aside. He swings the blade to free it of some of the gore, watching a moment longer as the cyclops collapses. The sword glows a moment, and then is a simple, elegant longsword again. Easier to manage, and clean. Then he turns to find you. You work up a smile for him, glancing for a way down that wouldn't require more magic at this point. You could. You absolutely could. You really did not want to. Romare assists, pointing out places to try and where to put your feet as you ease down. At least until he can reach you, his gloved hand wrapping around an ankle and motioning to slip the rest. You stop to take a breath only because of the exhaustion. You trust Romare to guide you in the fall. He'd done it pleny of times when you were children, exploring places you weren't supposed to. Your feet hit the ground and you sigh, leaning on Romare for a moment. You let him assess the situation, closing your eyes. [[You let the exhaustion, finally, take over.]]

You attempt not to sag too heavily against Romare as you take a deep breath. He moves you to a place you can sit, in some shade, and you don't fight it. You feel incredibly empty, besides the pain. Your throat is parched and your stomach twists on itself. It leaves you shaking as you rest your head against the pillar on the side. It would almost be worth it to just throw up, get it over with, except you are still aware that the humans are around. Somewhere. You really don't want to open your eyes. Romare stays nearby. You can sense him standing as a shield. Presumably, under the impression that you'll compose yourself. Not that you are, sweating and suffering as you are, but he doesn't need to know that yet. You do peek, just for a moment, when you hear the other human falling with a shriek. Just enough to see him land in a billow of dust and for the warrior to give another long suffering sigh as she makes her way around the corpse. Words are shared, briefly, before Romare turns back to you. You force your eyes open a second time. Romare, in his less than pristine armor, kneels beside you. In the distance the humans have turned, giving you both a sembalance of privacy. The man gestures wildly and voice carries just enough that you likely would have been able to pick out words, if you knew the language he spoke. The woman ignores him, instead apparently appraising the monster. A breeze picks up, gentle and kind against your warm, damp skin. The trees in the distance dance with it, the branches shuffling. You can see the path the cyclops took, the broken and bent trees that were forced to make way. The stones that had made the courtyard having shattered under the weight of the beast. You still don't recognize where you are at, but then your mind rebels against deep thought. You turn back to Romare as he settles. He's never been one to rush into a conversation and even without seeing his face, you can imagine how his lips purse in disgruntled thought at the coming conversation. At your questions. Still, you focus on his helmet. [["Take off the helmet, $romarenn, please."|ch1_helmet]] [[You gesture at it, before reaching forward to feebly attempt to remove the piece.|ch1_helmet]]

You can see his eyes from beneath the visor, and they stare in a way that makes you frown, chest tightening. You don't fidget, you were taught better than that. Your teachers were adamant you not be so unslightly. So you sit, waiting, pretending don't vividly recall Romare shielding you. You hadn't been able to ask if it hurt for him the way it had for you. You also weren't sure what it did, still. What if you hadn't succeeded? Was he mad at you? He interrupts your thoughts by moving, reaching up and unlatching the helmet. He lets you take it from him, something to hold. It helps, even as you stare at it and the scrapes and chips. You turn it so it sits nicely, Romare with his head bowed a moment longer deal with the silk arming cap and letting his braid fall over his shoulder. When your eyes meet, you aren't sure what expression you're making but it makes Romare look sad. You drag a finger first along a healed scar along his foreheard, short and above his brow. It's the least offensive thing, even if it's far too healed for something that feels like yesterday to you. You press your thumb against it, eyes trailing to the other side of his face. The spell, you think, hit him on the left, along his back shoulder, sliding and squeezing past his armor for him. You can see the golden cracks threading up that side of his neck, like smoke or lightning. You can just peek at the way it cuts around his neck, like an execution, and stretches up into his left eye. It's magic. Not just magical scarring, but part of the spell itself embedded into him. You aren't sure what that means. You aren't sure what else is being hidden under his armor. He takes your hand, which you belatedly realize was digging into the scar on his forehead, and press the pads of your fingers to his throat. "Close your eyes," he says, and you catch it. Romare has always had a hushed way of speaking, slow and calm. But there's a growl, or rasp perhaps, to it now. You clench your eyes shut, focusing on feeling and counting his methodical heartbeat. Each breath, slowly, becomes a bit easier again and your own heart slows down to match. It makes it harder to ignore the vast emptiness inside, the way your throat clenches, and the headache that throbs. But you can think, at least. "$name." [["What happened?"|ch1_helmet2]]

He lets out a quiet sight. He has dark circles under his eyes, which makes the golden fissure even brighter but you don't focus on that at all, his face more gaunt than you recall. You let your hadn fall from his pulse, gripping at his helmet, the weight noticable on your lap. "What do you remember?" he asks. "The traitors ambush during my meeting with Stellan." Romare nods. "I carried you away as you fell in and out of conciousness. Uncle was injured, but survived. As did Stellan. With all the turmoil, and you not rousing, Uncle assisted in hiding you away. There was too large of a target on your back." Romare glances at the small castle behind you. "It was his old mistress' abode. Some healers he trusted were sent, wizardous scholars, all in hopes of figuring out what was going on with you." You take a breath, as stable of one was you could. "By your manner, I assume they were useless." He nods, before settling his gaze on his hands. "You slept on. Briefly, you would awaken though never coherent." The pause here is telling. Romare, as your twin and knight, stood vigil many times during your bad bouts with the weakness. You are not surprised that he did so again. "Eventually, you would always fall back into that slumber. Your body remained- it stayed healthy. I expected to watch you wither, as many do, but the magic sustained as much as it caged you over the years." "Years?" He looks up, somber in expression. "How long, Romare?" "A millennium, give or take." [[You cannot stop the tears that begin to pool, the panic that returns at the edge of your senses.|ch1_helmet3]] [["You kid, surely," you say, voice shakey as you struggle to believe.|ch1_helmet3]] [[Your eyes are wide and you take the deepest breath you ever have, trying to comprehend what he said.|ch1_helmet3]]

End of Current Demo If you're interested, you can currently support me over on <a href="Ko-fi.com/A6205U4"><<button "Kofi">><</button>></a> or leave a message on <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/shaywrites-ifs"><<button "Tumblr">><</button>></a>. As this is currently unbeta'd and only has the minor editing, any thoughts or bugs found are always helpful. Your time and interest in this passion project of mine means a lot. I hope you have a fantastic day! Thank you so much for playing! ♡