CLOSED SIGNUPS Map & Compass [IC]

Sketching101

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Credit to Min-Nguen

The Pious Wayfarer - Léonard Thibault

The Pious Wayfarer shuddered and rumbled as it trudged its way through the clouds. The Templars’ prized galleon had taken damage during the previous night, when they were in pursuit of Bridger’s Galley of the Downed after their ambush. To the dismay of the Prince-General Léonard Thibault, the ship slipped past them, but they managed to capture Bridger himself, and a couple of other polymorphs in his company. Along with the pirates and Ithyans, the Wayfarer carried several other polymorphs and convicts. Among them were several stand-outs: a long-time fugitive, a noble, an anarchist rebel, and even a royal. Cortez, Von Emris, Dei Allinari, and Liberya had all either been captured by other Templars, or had simply been turned in by their families.

On board, there was another person of interest: Dei Allinari’s former Royal Guard, Amélie Octave, a new recruit for the Templars, transferring to Isle Montaire as a prison guard. It was unusual for a non-royal woman to be accepted to the Templars, but she had proven to be capable enough during her time in the Royal Guard. Otherwise, her position was very similar to another former Royal Guard who had asked to join the Templars at Isle Montaire, where the prince the man had spent his years guarding was held. In order to avoid another such incident, Thibault had her called to the captain’s quarters.

The Pious Wayfarer’s Brig - Theo Russell

A heavy series of footsteps roused Theo from his restless sleep. His eyes slowly opened as he tried to get his bearings, sitting up. He felt something tugging on his throat, bottling up his polymorphy. He brought his hands up to scratch the itch, but he stopped when he heard the ringing of metal. Looking down, the young man tried to make out what he felt around his wrists. His hands patted the planks across the floor until he grasped a pair of glasses with a broken lens. After properly putting them on, he looked down at his wrists to see a strange contraption that bound his hands together, making use of a linked chain and metal. It took him a moment to realize that the itch on his neck was caused by a similar device, linked to the binds on his wrists.

After a loud metal clutch noise, a pair of men dressed in red and yellow appeared in the center of the room. The larger man was carrying a plate in each of his four hands, filled with loaves of bread. He pushed three of the plates toward the metal bars and slid the bread down onto the floor. The other man shook his head in disapproval, cautiously placing down cups of water through the bars. The fourth plate the first man was carrying was considerably larger, and covered with a metal lid. It levitated off the man’s hand and phased through the bars, sliding down neatly onto a table near a hammock. The larger man pulled out his sword and rang it across the bars. "By Ydran, wake up! We’ve almost arrived to your new home," he said spitefully. He turned to the bars next to the stairs they came down from, grabbing a hold of them and glaring down at the pirate lying down on the hay. "Murderous scum like you should feel right at home." The other man pulled the brutish guard aside and led him back up where they came.

The metal clutch rung again, and their footsteps faded away. The wind violently whistled just outside the window. The outside seemed completely white, with the exception of a glimpse of teal behind the clouds. From where he sat, Theo couldn’t see where Willow was, but he could see both Omen and Sasha nearby. He seemed to be about to say something when he leaned his back on the wall with a queasy look.
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Danny

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Abandoned, shamed, framed, and perhaps most notably, betrayed. Neoh Alistair Von Emris, a respected noble, an honorable commander, and a most trusted general was known through his home as a reliable force. A young man who made it his duty to stand amongst soldiers, on the front lines, and inspire moral among troops, moments before a vicious clash. 'The Little Commander', they called him, but not in a derogatory manner, no. Neoh had earned respect from his peers, and on an equal note, those who followed him into battle did so, knowing that he would fight for them, for what he believed in, and for his country. Fair was it then to say that the scandal which swept across his home, pointing at the vicious nature of war crimes, came as a surprise, for all. Indeed, there were those among his ranks, his soldiers, who claimed that allegations thrown at his feet were false. There were more than a few who rose in aid for Neoh Alistair Von Emris at the court-martial which would proceed to seal his fate. Such were the ways of nobility, of the aristocracy. Backstabbing, an endless dance of the venomous tongue, and a never-ending pursuit of power over siblings and blood, it was a commodity those of lower birth would not be able to consider a norm.

Leaning his head against the wall, Neoh had been a quiet passenger upon the ship where, in fact, his name was known amongst many of the guards. Whispers outside his quarters often strung along the nature of disgust, and hatred. Guards who had never truly met the young commander, men who knew of him in name, only. It was a reputation sullied beyond repair, but one he would seek to polish, to cleanse of filth, and lies. Perhaps Neoh was not suited for the life of a noble, after all, for his honorable disposition had managed to draw him a naive spectator in the machinations which proceeded to destroy his legacy, his very life.

With a small sigh escaping a pair of pale, slender lips, Neoh's eyes closed, a melancholy blanket draping itself over him in a manner of defeat. Yes, he had been bested, indeed, by none other than his twin brother, Nello. Cast to the dirt, and used as a stepping stone to greatness, Nello likely dipped his lips in the succulent wine of an aged, old line. A bottle priceless enough to buy a farmer's home, his land, and his daughter, twice over. A notion of victory, which in turn demanded Neoh's presence among The Pious Wayfarer. At his side, Neoh had been able to deduce whom he shared an arduous journey with. A young woman, with the aura of a huntress. She appeared to carry herself with a sense of integrity, something Neoh could only hope to see in military recruits, before experience eventually chiseled them into respectable soldiers, like a whetstone sharpening the edge of a sword. Besides her, it was difficult to ignore the sight of a well-built man. Indeed, the term could be skewed, especially when compared to 'The Little Commander', as most would find themselves described as such, when focused on comparisons. Most would likely consider him average, and little more, which was a step above the scrawny creature, only a mere few feet from where the man sat.

Without his uniform signifying standing and occupation, one would be forgiven for mistaking the young, pale noble for an urchin, which was quite an ironic development. However, Neoh found himself asking a question which continued to linger within his fatigued mind. How many of these miscreants were, in fact, criminals? Among them sat he, a noble stripped of title and birth, in a coup for power. Indeed, he had done nothing to warrant such extreme measures, but having a brother who stood beneath him in name and blood, was enough for such to transpire. Yes, Neoh needed not dig deep to find undying hatred for one he had once loved. Love, it was a curious concept, one which smelled of roses, felt like silk, and hid a blade beneath perfect fabric.

His attention would soon be stolen by an unwelcome addition, to say the least. Men who found themselves in a position of power, amongst the downtrodden. They were guards, ferrymen, one might say, whose task in this story was to spirit prisoners away to a dreary cell they would then know as home. Large, dimly glowing obsidian eyes maintained a fixed glare at the men who proceeded to speak. None would dare to carry such a tone towards Neoh, only a week prior. It was a horrid development, one he would need to grow accustomed to, if he aimed to unlock a path through these miserable circumstances. Murderous scum, he was called. An ironic statement, a title which had replaced honored commander. A crown he would proceed to wear throughout conflicts to come. This was a new battlefield, one Neoh had never ventured across, before. However, a battle like any other, he would not yield to those who held a blade to his throat.

No. Every single breathing entity circling him were all in the pursuit of the very same goal. Freedom.
 
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Polaris North

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Willow Howst
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Location: The Pious Wayfarer

Waking up in chains was the last thing Willow had expected to happen in her life, considering her type of lifestyle. Her body had shocked her awake a few minutes before the guards had come. What had happened before her waking up was hazy at best. The Galley of the Downed had been attacked by the Templars - people she had actively hidden from when she had arrived to Irve. And the next thing she knew, she was waking up in some prison cell with other people. One of the first thing she had noticed were the metal bindings and then the fact that she couldn't use her polymorphy. She raised her hands to her neck, wincing as she heard the metal clinking together, and then ran her fingers against the device around her neck.

Ever since she was a child, Willow could never be shackled down. Too energetic, too adventurous, always on the move. There was always something that pushed her to do something - anything - besides sitting down unless she was dead tired or was in complete danger if she did move. They told her that she got that from her great-grandfather who led his own nomadic tribe. And there was her magic - something that was ingrained in her everyday life that knowing she can't use it sent panic coursing through her body. Ithya was a harsh land and being useless was far from a good thing especially when you're a traveler. So this was not a good position for her.

She took a deep breath. She needed to collect her bearings and get out if possible. She carefully brought herself up and looked around - there were two others with her right now. She recognized one of them, Martin Cortez. Willow had bought information from him about Elodie's possible location. Considering he's right there in chains just like her, Willow imagined that he didn't give her false information and led them right into the Templars. The other one was someone she did not recognize at all. She looked around, noticing now that Theo was nowhere in sight. Omen and Sasha were not there as well. There was a hammock on the far corner with someone on it but she couldn't get a clear visual on whoever it is.

Before Willow could think of finding the crew she was with, there seemed to be footsteps coming towards them. Willow sat with her back against the wall behind her. Two people came up, one with four arms and larger and the other look more mellow. The four armed man dumped the bread onto the floor which seemed to earn a look from his companion. Willow looked at the bread on the floor for a moment before turning her attention to the cups that were placed meticulously on the floor for them. Before Willow could stand or even reach forward for the bread or water, loud noises began to ring across the brig as the guard ran his sword across the bars while yelling for them to all wake up from their sleep.

She didn't move just yet and just watched as the guards went off. Her eyes moved to the food and water and then back at the guy she didn't know. No words were exchanged, Willow still couldn't get rid of the itch she felt that blocked her polymorphy. She stayed in her position, waiting for someone else to do something. A signal to rise up, perhaps. Maybe Omen will take charge like he always did as captain, if he was around that is. Or maybe someone else will do something. Nevertheless, Willow was silent as she waited.
 

Snowflake

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Martin Cortez

What a set of unfortunate events. They really cracked down all at once. He couldn't help but wonder what exactly was going on that made the Templars act with such efficacy. They were often a disjointed mess that let pirates, criminals and others roam free so long as they don't mess with the ones in charge or threaten with magic. Curious indeed how all at once they captured him, that big Omen fellow as well as at least two nobles. Well at least one of them was an unfortunate set of circumstances, perhaps he was lucky to still be alive but somehow Martin thought this guy prefered death to dishonour. Or maybe that was just the look that anyone who was met with such terrible defamation will get. Either way, their little group was quite a unique band of troublemakers. In a way, it was oddly nostalgic to his early days.

He laid on his cot, opening one eye when the sound of footsteps grew and they were about to be given their 'meals'. He smiled at the behaviour, it was too easy to act superior in such a situation, childish and immature too. As they left he reached for the bread and dusted off the side that hit the floor. He took a bite and as expected needed to soften the stale hard thing with a bit of water. Just like old times. At the very least it wasn't mouldy confirming once and for all that prisoners do in fact eat better than urchins. Sitting up he eyed his nearest cellmates figuring the others were over on the other side of the room. Such a gloomy mood for a bunch of anarchs, pirates and troubadours.

"So y'all gonna mope or ya plan on doin' somethin' about this? How about it Von Emris boyo? You plan on poutin' or ya gonna go back and give your brother a good tussle? And you girl? I take you didn't find your friend?" He gave them both a grin. "You don't even know who everyone in this cell is do ya? Y'all LISTENING?! ALL O' YA!" He raised his voice so everyone could hear him. "You gonna bloody let them chain you up like that? All the while you have Shark fella over dere? Just have him bite the chains down, I'm sure it would work." He laughed loudly. "Wake the fuck up criminals! It's time to cook up a plan. With all of you together there's no Templar that could stop you!"
 

TheQueensGuard

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Amélie Octave
The Pious Wayfarer

"Octave, you're needed in the Prince-Generals quarters." The raspy, older voice of a man called too her from the barracks door. Amélie glanced up from her meal of warm stew, bread and cheap beer with a frown. While she wasn't particularly fond of the food, she'd rather be eating than conversing with Thibault. She wasn't worried her cover was blown, if they knew her plans too free Silbur they would've just tossed her in the Brig alongside the other prisoners. They may suspect her of doing so, but it was too risky imprisoning an innocent nobles daughter if they only had a hunch. "On the way sir." She replied, standing from her meal quickly and grabbing her hat.
Adjusting her attire, she headed down the corridor towards the captains quarters. She stepped out of the way of an engineer carrying some wooden planks on his shoulders, before continuing on the way. Heading up the stairs, she glanced down towards the Brig were the prisoners were being held. She watched as two men, a man with four arms and another closed the heavy door of the brig, the larger of the two talking obnoxiously loud.

"I'm tellin' you, it'd save a lot of time, resources and lives if we just executed those poly'fucks on sight. Bunch of murdering bastards."
Amélie's neutral face curled into a scold as she eyed the four armed man. Silbur wasn't a killer, sure she'd get into scraps but most kids did. She never did anything to warrant being locked in the bowels of a ship. Let alone, one that housed pirates and other dangerous people.
"Got a problem with me?"
The man called out, walking down the pathway towards Amélie, who blinked realizing she had been staring. "Err, no. Sorry sir I was lost in thought. Pardon me." She bowed slightly, giving the man a soft smile before heading upstairs as the the man scoffed at her. Without wasting any more time, Amélie knocked on the Prince-Generals door.
"Sir? It's Amélie Octave, I believe you asked for me."
Omen Bridger
The Pious Wayfarer ~ Brig
Sketching101 Sketching101 ItariChan ItariChan

Even with the uncomfortable itch on his throat and equally uncomfortable restraints, Omen managed to drift off too sleep relatively easy. He was dreaming the same thing he dreamt every night he was fortunate enough too sleep. He was beneath the waves, drifting deeper and deeper towards the ocean floor. All around him were voices murmuring and singing soft-songs, though the exact words were drowned out from the water. At his feet were various hands and tentacles as unseen figures gently pulled him lower and lower.
The deeper he sank, the clearer the voices became and the more creatures would pull on him to get closer to the ocean floor.

When he first had this dream, he was but a child first fishing on ship with his father. It was a nightmare for a young Omen, and in his mind, a curse given too him by the gods for being a polymorph. In this dream, no matter how hard he tried to swim to the surface, he would only sink lower. His lungs would scream for air as his hands grasped for anything too pull him free of the waves. He thought the voices were the screams of drowned souls, lost to the oceans waves, calling for him to join him. Those very voices were dragging him lower and lower to his demise.

Over time, he adjusted and expected the dream. The water wouldn't let him return to the surface, because the waves were his home.The screams weren't the chaotic wales of those lost too the sea, but the combined voices of those welcoming too his rightful place in the sea.
Though it felt like this dream would go on for ages, he never reached the bottom of the ocean floor, nor could he ever clearly hear the voices. Despite that, in this strange aquatic world was the one time Omen was at peace.
~~
"By Ydran, wake up! We’ve almost arrived to your new home,"
Omen's eyes flickered open, an unsatisfied frown on his face as he sat up from the pile of hay he laid in. He looked towards the man that leaned on the bars before he was pulled off by the other guard. Seemingly uncaring, Omen glanced towards the two others within view. One was a member of his crew, unlucky enough to be beside him when the Templars ambushed them.
Sasha was fine enough in Omens eyes. Followed orders most of the time and got along with the crew. The man he didn't know much about. Theo was his name, and he payed good coin too be a passenger on his ship, which was good enough for Omen. The pirate met Theo's gaze, expecting him too speak before he got a sick look on his face.
Indifferent too the fact the glasses-wearing man was about to puke, Omen grabbed a hold of two of the pieces of bread and took a bite of one.
"Sasha." he uttered aloud, his voice gruff and emotionless before tossing the young girl the other piece of bread. Taking another bite of the stale bread, he glanced at the sick man and gave what sounded like an annoyed sigh. "Theo." Grabbing the third piece of bread, he tossed it towards him before Omen reached for a mug of water for himself
 

Danny

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Optimism, though decently unexpected, was not an unwanted addition to the scene. No, it was quite a variation from what had been presented, so far. Indeed, most remained quiet, and withdrawn. Neoh was no exception to this, his dimly lit, obsidian gaze shifting from those who had made themselves known, and fixed their attention on the man at his side. Martin was his name, from what the young commander had been able to gather. A carefree individual, a jolly gestalt, one might say. Though Martin's approach would have been considered disrespectful, and perhaps even warranting retribution, Neoh offered little more than a smile, in turn. The commander had spent enough time amongst soldiers to consider himself of their ranks, rather than what a birthright dictated. A birthright he had now been stripped of.

'Von Emris Boyo.' The improvised title managed to rope itself around a small chuckle which proceeded to trickle through Neoh's lips, the noble's attention shifting to those of whom he shared captivity. There were a handful, indeed. However, if they all rose to strike back at those who shackled them to these quarters, a somber ending would proceed to be written. Yes, Neoh agreed, with an honest heart, in regards to suggestions making their way through the scoundrel, Martin Cortez.

They did need to rise, and they were going to fight back, but before that scenario could play out, a tactical approach was preferred. "Your words emanate reason, Sir Martin," came a response from the military commander. His voice was soft, and some would even claim it innocent. The boy's home country, and birth within aristocracy could be easily deduced from his accent, and manner of speaking. Of course, this was a sentiment further displayed in motions and intent. "Freedom is a preferable outcome," Neoh continued, a small hand moving to his chin where dainty digits tipped with black claws began rubbing the shape of smooth skin, in thought. One might have wondered if Neoh took the time to coat those small, if sharp claws in a layer of reflective black paint, but this was not the case. Rather, his nature displayed notable animalistic features, in the form of shark-like teeth and claws adorning dainty, slender digits.

One thing was, however, clear. Those who viewed Neoh without knowledge of his exploits, would under no circumstances consider this androgynous boy a soldier. Even less so a commander. Judging from the noble's appearance, he had never seen a day's hardship, in life's long journey. "However, we ought to consider our options before participating in a tactical exchange with our enemies." Words spoken, clearly clashing with the light tone of Neoh's voice, and his now established appearance.

"Know that I stand at your side in confronting adversity." Narrowing his large, obsidian eyes into a soft frown, Neoh continued, "I aim for an exchange with the brother whose dagger sunk deep into my spine, but my battle cry has yet to be silenced." Raising a scrawny arm, Neoh pointed his clawed finger at a window blanketing him in a layer of light. "Our destination is close at hand," the boy explained, "it is reasonable to believe, that lady luck would smile upon our endeavors, once the cell door no longer remains locked." A gentle motion shifted Neoh's focus to the obstacle standing between them, and freedom. "Physical strength will aid us with adequate results," the boy's large, round eyes lowered to the floor for a moment, a sense of melancholy prevalent within them. "Alas, I cannot do much without my magic. Such is my downfall."

Leaning against a thick, wooden wall, Neoh managed another lingering sigh, but soon raised those obsidian orbs, above his nose, to meet Martin, once more. "A battle will ensue, irrelevant of a disadvantage. I pray we are ready."
 
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ItariChan

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Sasha woke up to clanging and attempted to stretch her limbs out as best she could and yawned. She sighed in frustration as her attempts to get comfortable failed. The lock around her neck seemed to stop her from using her Sopia and her magic was repressed. As she inspected the locks, Sasha made a mental note to get a set of lock picks tattooed somewhere. After a bit of thought, she added on a reminder to learn how to pick locks. It was hard for her to be locked up like this. She was used to always being on the move. Even now she couldn't help but unconsciously shake her leg or fiddle with her chains to keep her body in motion. Looking around her she saw Theo and Omen. Further down was a blonde girl she didn't recognize and Silbur Dei Allinari. "Sasha." She turned as she heard her name, just in time to catch a stale piece of bread. "Where's Willow?" She asked as she started chewing. A voice rang out then. A man she didn't recognize. Based on where his voice was coming from, he was somewhere kitty corner to her. The Templars had really outdone themselves this time. From their ship alone they had captured 4 polymorphs. Assuming Willow was here as well, there were at least 7 captives. She waited for the man to finish and then called out, "Willow? Are you there? Theo, Omen, and I are all here."

Sasha frowned as she noticed the larger meal, hammock, and table given to the Silbur in the corner. It seemed even in prison it paid to be a noble. "Silbur did they give you any meat? Or silverware?" At the moment they had no tools at their disposal. A knife or a fork could end up being useful. Hell, even a spoon might be able to be used for something. She doubted their guards would be so careless but there was no harm in asking. She attempted to stretch again and looked to her right, "So captain, any plans? I"m thinking we'll have to wait until we land before we do anything."

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Silbur Dei Allinari
location: The Pious Wayfarer's Brig

Fury rolled off her in waves, vibrating hotly in her bones, writhing and curling around the humiliation of the thick metal collaring and cuffing her, metal that could not be spoken to or coaxed to her bidding. Silbur had resorted to rattling and yanking at her chains in a fit of pique, before the soft skin of her wrists and neck began to chafe, stalling her small tantrum, and she stewed in uncharacteristic silence for a long while, resting motionless in the small hammock her captors had provided, watching with a baleful blue eye as the prisoners who shared the cabin snored and fidgeted and otherwise polluted the stale air with their breathing. None of the guards she had seen thus far were familiar to her, nor were any of the other prisoners in her direct line of sight, and therefore they were uninteresting, at least for the moment.

Silbur did her best not to think about the circumstances that had brought her here, specifically the useless, spineless excuse for a man who called himself her father. What was a father? What gave him the right to assign himself that role? He was a cuckold, even if it was the king who had usurped his wife. He should've been grateful he had been gifted a princess to raise, but instead he had given her away without a whisper of hesitation, not a blink of regret as the Templar Knights had taken her, her mother crumpling to her knees in the doorway. In Silbur's memory, she had gone gracefully, head held high, disparaging scowl on her haughty face. She had absolutely not screamed for her mother until her throat burned, wrenching limbs away from firm, Templar hands until the blackness of unconsciousness had taken her.

As footsteps echoed through the floorboards, Silbur yanked her mind back to the present, gritting her teeth at the mental lapse, rage filling her mouth with the taste of ash. The two gingerbread men who appeared came bearing food, a platter settling itself onto the table beside her, accompanied by the clanging of metal on metal—one man's sword against the bars. "By Ydran, wake up! We’ve almost arrived to your new home. Murderous scum like you should feel right at home." He seemed to be addressing someone Silbur couldn't see, the posts and bars blocking her view. As the pair of them moved to vanish, she flung herself off the hammock and slammed her cuffs against the bars with a snarl.

"Too scared to come in here?" she hissed after them. "Afraid you'll get eaten?" There was a soft, teasing lilt running beneath the words, but they provoked no reaction. The men had gone. With one last clang of her cuffs against the bars, Silbur turned back to her corner, scooping up the cup of water on her table and itching with the impossible craving to shred all the metal in the ship.

"So y'all gonna mope or ya plan on doin' somethin' about this?" Her gaze snapped to the prisoner to her right, lip curling. Something about this man seemed decisively unscrupulous. He kept talking, words twanging with rising volume in his uncouth accent in some mockery of a call to arms. Uninteresting. Useless. Silbur didn't need motivation or optimism or meaningless words; she needed a plan.

A familiar voice to her left said her name, and she turned, an odd feeling prickling in her chest that she tried to drown with a deep draught of water. She set the cup back down and carelessly tossed the silver lid into the corner. Indeed, a still steaming cooked fish stared up at her from the platter, where it lay beside a cup of pale broth and a warm crust of bread. The glassy, dead eye of the fish provoked a low wave of nausea deep in her throat, and she swallowed. Picking up the platter in her left hand, the fork and knife in her other, Silbur strode towards Sasha's bright voice, past two prisoners she did not recognize, her stomach plummeting when she peered around the corner and saw the unmistakable countenance of anarchist rebel Captain Omen Bridger.

"Captain," Silbur greeted flatly, depositing the platter and silverware on the table in front of Sasha and picking up the cup of broth, sipping the hot, tasteless liquid with a grimace. "I was hoping you and your crew would be able to continue at least a little while without my support." She gestured to the fish and bread left on the platter, meeting Sasha's gaze. "Please, help yourself. I find my appetite somewhat lacking as of late."

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Sketching101

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The Pious Wayfarer’s Captain’s Quarters - Léonard Thibault

As the ship trembled its way through the tumultuous weather, Thibault sat leaned back in his chair as a pen twirled in the air, next to a floating piece of paper. He tapped on his chin repeatedly, as the pen shuddered impatiently. Just as the pen moved to write on the paper, Octave knocked on the door.

"Ah. Come in." The pen and paper both gently floated down onto the desk, neatly next to one another. Once she entered, the man gestured for her to sit across him. "I’m sure you have your suspicions for what I’ve called you here for. It’s quite simple: I wish to make your position here clear," the man said in an imperious tone. "Your history reminds me of another recruit we had from the Royal Guard. A man following his lord on his way to prison. A cruel little shit, that princeling was." He paused for a moment. "You are to carve these words into your skull. Should you harm a hair on the head of a member of the royal family, prisoner or not, you will spend the remainder of your days in a dungeon with a torturer Clockworker, hoping the machine would slip up and accidentally cut an artery while it flays you. Do I make myself clear?"

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Sunderlake Prison
As the Pious Wayfarer flew over the prison on the southeastern edge of the island, the longtime prisoners dreaded what the arrival signalled. Another set of “transfers”. Every time more prisoners arrived, an equal number of prisoners would be chosen from the lowborn ward, and be taken away. Supposedly, they’d be transferred to another prison, but even among the Templars there has been chatter about how they’re not transferred off-world, but simply to the fort at the center of the island.

During most days, the prisoners were allowed to roam freely with their magic dampened greatly, and their polymorphy completely suppressed. They still had their collars on, but shackles were a rarity saved for those who misbehaved or irritated the guard. The Templar guards were stationed up on the walls, closing the prisoners off from the sea, inside some old ruins. One of the guards came up to the usual stand, and read out a couple of names. A couple of the men and women followed the Templars quietly, but three polymorph mages put up their magic in a panic. The Templar who announced the names dispatched them quickly with the Templars’ renowned Holy Magic, binding them and rendering them unconscious.

As the men and women were dragged off out of the ward, things seemed to return to normal in camp. People went back to their usual routines: meeting their friends, trading cigarettes, food, luxury items… In the center of the courtyard, a woman hung upside down from an overgrown tree by her tail, giving a small theatrical performance to her cellmates, right next to a small circle of anarchist rebels captured in the struggle in Aepia, whispering loudly about “a plan”. And finally, there was the jail’s fixer Addrick’s tax collector towering over the diminutive Ioseph. "Well, ‘en? Y’know the drill, kid. Whatchu got to off’r?" The man eyed the two “Art”s nearby. "Child’r not, Addrick’s due his payment."

The Wanderer The Wanderer Jess Incognito Jess Incognito Desert Bee Desert Bee

The Pious Wayfarer’s Brig - Theo Russell

Theo ripped into the bread Omen tossed his way, before downing the entirety of the contents of the cup of water in front of him. He dropped the empty cup onto the floor, his mouth dripping with water. "Ah… I needed that." He looked up at the woman walking over to Omen and Sasha, and then back to the manacles on his wrists. The irons rang as he separated his hands as much as he could. "We… I remember we were surrounded, then..." Straining the chain between the shackles again, he continued, looking toward Sasha and Omen. "Why are we still alive?"

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Miriel

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Liberya the Anarchist Rebel

"By Ydran, wake up! We’ve almost arrived to your new home,"

Ria blankly stared at the dark ceiling. Pains were lingering from all over her body under the reddish-brown military coat, but the girl paid no attention to those bruises and wounds, even though they normally should have been healed due to her power that works even in sleep. For a respected walking symbol of hope and the cherished youngest active member of the rebels, perhaps this was her first time waking up by such hostile and offensive voice. Even then, she had something more important in her mind.

Ever since being rescued and recruited by the rebel, the girl never lost any single battle in this whole 4 months. So this was her first time being captured and taken away from her big family. She remembered being taught something along the line of "when captured alive, try everything you can to escape as soon as possible. And if you start considering what else you could do, think of another way to escape." So she needed to think about way to escape and not anything else?

Sounds of footsteps were moving away from the brig when the blonde-haired girl noticed a limit of movement thanks to the cold, metallic objects around her neck and wrists. A few attempts told her that her polymorph power as well as pyromancy were indeed sealed by some unknown method, either involving the shackles on her body or possibly the entire room which had roughly 6-7 people other than herself. As she was about to try physical enhancement, another voice echoed.

"Y'all LISTENING?! ALL O' YA! You gonna bloody let them chain you up like that? All the while you have Shark fella over dere? Just have him bite the chains down, I'm sure it would work." Who was this Shark fellow? Ria noted the fact that some people already knew each other before she heard the man continue "Wake the fuck up criminals! It's time to cook up a plan. With all of you together there's no Templar that could stop you!"

While that was something she would immediately support, she didn't say anything. The name mentioned was still fresh in her memory. A group of knights introduced themselves proudly before displaying a formidable skill and teamwork totally on a different level than that of the soldiers she had encountered thus far. Even though the rebel girl did her best and almost took down a couple of them, their flexible formations just never let her finish the weakened one off. Before she knew it, Ria herself was weakened to the extent that she passed out due to injury and exhaustion.

So people like that existed. If possible, she wanted to get back to the base and ask everyone in details. Unfortunately, it seemed she was currently unable to do so...

Back to the present, the man's plan to escape was objected by another... boy? Given what Ria could make of height and physique of a figure located at the opposite side of the room, that person might as well be a girl.

While being a skilled fighter, she never interested in strategy and information and usually followed whatever her fellow rebels came up with. Decided that it would be best to let those two and possibly someone else settle their ideal course of action first, the girl nonchalantly went for the bread.

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Polaris North

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Willow Howst
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Location: The Pious Wayfarer

"Geez Martin, I know you're right but you're pretty loud aren't you?" Willow piped up with a small grin on her face as she stood up, her grin wavering when the metal chains that bound her together and stopped her from using any of her magic, but she took a deep breath and calmed herself down. Willow bent down to take the bread and water - taking a sip before taking a bite from the bread. Admittedly, these weren't all that bad. Interesting, how they treat their prisoners.

She turned over to the other person she had noticed. Von Emris - Martin called him. It was a familiar name but Willow couldn't really think of who they were. As the boy continued to speak, she took a few more bites and sips of water. He had quite a way with words, definitely a noble of some sort. She swallowed and opened her mouth to respond - to perhaps agree to muscle their way out. Willow normally wouldn't want to get out of the clutches of the law, but Irve was different. Willow wasn't as useful without her magic, her polymorphy or her weapons, and there were the binds that would make it very hard to fight with their hands.

But, she didn't get to respond when she heard Sasha's voice calling for her. Willow let out a sigh of relief. So they were around. She should have guessed as much. "Yeah, I'm here!" She called out. She gave the two a bow of her head as if excusing herself before moving closer to the woman who held herself quite regally. It wasn't very difficult to remember royalty, of course, considering the time Willow spent in Enia as a traveler. That was... odd. Silbur - Sasha had called her - had strode towards where Sasha was and Willow followed behind. There was another prisoner she did not recognize at all but at the end were Theo, Sasha and Omen.

Willow had finished her bread by the time she reached them. Despite the captain's intimidating presence, Willow had found some reassurance in it. Perhaps it was just the familiarity of the current group that made her feel more at ease. Seeing Theo relatively fine was good though. Willow wouldn't have been able to keep herself still if something had happened to the younger Troubadour. "Glad you guys are..." She stopped, raising her hands and the chains rattled. "Relatively fine."

She fell into silence once more because they might start discussing plans of escape. Omen looked calm enough. Perhaps they would escape considering they have some silverware there, courtesy of Miss Silbur. Willow made another cursory glance around them - perhaps Sir Von Emris and Martin would join them in this corner. Willow wasn't really much of a planner, always letting the wind dictate where she could go and instinct dictates what she should do. But here, trapped... well, a plan might not be so bad especially as she had to work with people she doesn't really know against a group of well-trained Templars.
 
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TheQueensGuard

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Omen Bridger
The Pious Wayfarer ~ Brig
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"So captain, any plans? I"m thinking we'll have to wait until we land before we do anything."
Sasha had asked after calling out for Willow, who was another unlucky passenger using his ship as a ferry when the Templars attacked. In truth, Omen had no plans. They'd live their lives in shackles, up until the Templar's decided it would be better too execute them. In his mind those in the Brig, himself included, were as good as dead. Without weapons, magic or outside help there was little a group of prisoners could do against one of the most well fitted military groups in the worlds. And the captain was fine with this. He had tested his luck one too many times and it had caught up too him. While he didn't care too much about the rest of the prisoners, he had only wished Sasha had managed too escape on his ship with the rest of his crew.

Ofcourse Omen didn't any of this. He wasn't the sort too bring down moral, even as emotionless he seemed too be. Before he answered Sasha, other prisoners made their way too their corner. Silbur was the first one, who dropped her platter of fish on the table as she greeted him. "Captain, I was hoping you and your crew would be able to continue at least a little while without my support." Omen grunted, in different before muttering. "Sorry to disappoint Princess." Omen half-way expected to find out Silbur had betrayed them, but it seemed he was wrong in that assumption. Theo let out a sighed, satisfied with the water which caused Omen too glance his way.
"Why are we still alive?" Omen shrugged. "No idea. Maybe they're gonna gut us too see what makes us tick." Willow came too their corner, greeting them before falling silent, her eyes on him too. So now a noble, two Troubadours and one of his crew members were expecting him too hatch a plan to escape the ship.

Grumbling beneath his breath, Omen stood up from his pile of hay and made his way to the table in front of Sasha.
"No plans yet." He said, a bit anti-climatically, before grabbing a piece of the fish with his fingers. Taking a bite, he chewed loudly before making his way back too his pile of hay.
"Like Sasha said, it'll be better if we escape on land. We don't have enough experience hands at piloting an airship, nor the means to actually take it." He laid back on the hay, closing his eyes. "I'd get comfortable, we outta' be reaching the prison soon."
Amélie Octave
The Pious Wayfarer ~ Captains Quarters

As Léonard Thibault motioned for her to sit across from him, she obliged. She listened to his story of a Royal Guard following his prince into prison. Indeed a very similar story to hers, though Amelie didn't plan on hurting Silbur. "Of course sir." Amélie began. "I took an oath too never harm Lady Allinari. I only wish I had seen what she really was when I was assigned to her. In truth sir, I do feel betrayed and used. But I have no intention too harm her. I only want to atone, by making sure Polymorphs are where they belong. Behind bars." She fell silent, giving Thibault a soft smile.

Even the thought of hurting Silbur made Amélie's stomach curl. She was a sweet girl, beneath her hard and bratty exterior. At least Thibault wasn't expecting her too free the princess, though he probably expected a mission like that would be pointless. It would definitely be a challenge, but Amélie would see it through until Silbur was free.​
 

Snowflake

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Martin Cortez

So as it turned out not a lot of people thought it was possible to get out of this situation. Unfortunate really. It was going to get infinitely more troublesome when they arrive and they are surrounded by tall walls and countless guards. Seeing the response he simply laid back down and placed his hands under his head. "If you say so, Commander. Some more positivity would've been more useful. Hell, even anger would've worked. Like that princess, she had the right idea for a brief moment. Of course, if she was useful she'd be able to pick the locks on her bonds and get us all out of here. Instead, she's like a chained dog. But I am being too harsh of course, I just don't like privileged folk like her." He was well aware of his bias and he didn't care to hide it. Even in prison, there was a class system it seemed, unfortunate and sad.

All things considered, it wasn't as bad as it could've been, the only issue was that he was having a constant migraine, his stomach was turning inside out and every fibre in his body ached. Whatever kind of bonds they were using seemed to drain him of any and all energy. He couldn't think clearly, he couldn't properly move his appendages without feeling like they're lagging and worst of all his hands were trembling and teeth were chattering unless his jaw was clenched. It seemed resting was perhaps the only thing he could do but that offered very little release.
 
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Kat

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Makatza

Maka sat in a circle with a few young children, demonstrating what she believed to be the ancient teachings of Ydran through a series of personal experience and visualizations with herbs, crystals, and leaves. She pointed to a clear crystal quartz with her long stick and spoke, "This represents the clear, healing energy that Ydran sends our way everyday. She asks that we do not panic, that we do not fear, and simply embrace what is and what will become. If we live our lives here wallowing in pity and struggle, that is the kind of person we will become."

She walked around the children in a soft, yet deliberate manner, "If we pray every day to Ydran and visualize our way to freedom, that day will come. It could be tomorrow, a month, or even in a years time. Ydran will allow light to pass through completely when she feels the time is right. The quartz is quite abundant and soothing for emotional pain. It protects us against negative energy, which is why I placed it all around our circle. I want you to think about a time when you felt sad or disappointed. Why did you feel that way? Remember, use your indoor voices."

Maka smiled as all five children began to lean in to each other and whisper their thoughts. Her eyes wandered across camp and she swallowed back some of the bile rising in her throat. It wasn't the best conditions to live in and her throat was sore and red from the collar she'd worn for over a year now. There were many times where she'd crossed the lines; only just recently did they give her back the freedom to walk. Maka's eyes scanned the crowd for anyone familiar and she spot him.

An audible sigh left her mouth, "Oh goodness, not again."

"Children, please continue. I'll be right back and drink your water."


Maka walked over to Claude where he was towering over a young man; surely, a young man that was not any younger than a teenager or older than her. The damn tax collector was like a doll; always praying on young people and saying the same things over and over again. It disgusted her and this time, she intended to stop him once more. Maka lifted the base of her skull up and lengthened her side waist as she stepped in front of Iosef to face Claude who was still over a foot taller than her and quite intimidating in some aspects, "Claude, leave this young man alone. This is injustice. He's working hard to survive here."

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Danny

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🌙 The Pious Wayfarer.

Words held power, to a certain extent. Rather, there was a more nuanced way of expressing the notion. Words held certain power, when expressed towards those of high birth, and that power was not one brimming with strength, within those whose lips had parted. Indeed, Martin's statement was enough to raise Neoh's brow, the young commander shifting his gaze towards a royal whom had accompanied them throughout the transfer. Indeed, Neoh was aware of Silbur, and her standing as a now exiled part of Enia royalty. Despite this, however, titles maintained a strict presence among highborn.

Neoh had been the subject of this rule during his unfortunate incarceration, as well. Where a select few guards viewed him with disdainful glares, others would afford him respect, and offered the young commander an honorable salute. Though exile wrapped its fingers around his throat, a reflection revealed in the royal princess now stripped of her crown, their presence warranted more than one would expect.

"I would advice caution, in how you wield your words, Sir Martin." Neoh spoke. There was no animosity in his tune, and neither did the boy speak with shades of frustration coating his utterance. Rather, a warning, a plea for caution, one might say. "Truth may elude me, but Lady Silbur has not painted a picture of forgiveness, to those who have wronged her." It was difficult to place the girl, considering how Neoh had not interacted with her as of yet. However, Neoh served her family as a royal commander of Enia. He had many titles, indeed, most of which were spoken beyond his ears. "I will make my presence known, for our exiled princess."

The boy turned his obsidian gaze from the royal, towards Martin where he would proceed to exchange words. "Earning allies afforded a hot meal, where you are limited to scraps, will warrant notable advantages." With a small, dainty hand, Neoh softly placed a friendly pat on Martin's side, before following along Willow's steps, where the commander soon joined her, along with a group of others. His attention would, however, remain fixed on the princess.

"Your Grace," came a soft approach from the youngster, accompanied by a noble bow of his head. "A melancholy sight, to see you amongst us in shackles," Neoh continued, a small, if somber smile gracing his dainty, pale features.

"My name may elude you, as would be the natural course of vacancy, between you and I," Neoh explained, a hand rising to gently rest against his chest. "Neoh Alistair Von Emris, Blade of Enia, and Commander of the Emris Circle." It was a noble introduction, indeed, one which was quickly brushed aside as the boy shifted import towards the princess. "As was my duty, free of captivity, I fought in the name of our royal family," growing, ever so softly, the smile on Neoh's face was now far more prevalent than previously displayed. "No matter scenery, nor battlefield, I remain true to my purpose, Your Grace, if you would have me."

A soldier, to the core, Neoh could not and certainly would not abandon that of which drove him. He had once commanded a fearsome force of elite soldiers, celestial blades glimmering across the front lines, but was now reduced to little more than a prisoner. Be that as it may, the dice had been rolled, and it was time to shake them once more.
 
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The Wanderer

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Arthur Wilhelm

It had been months since he had committed the murder. And in those months, waiting in between the trial and landslide of a conviction, Arthur's hair had grown out somewhat. A beard had formed along the lower portion of his face and his hair had lengthened past his ears, only kept in check by using rocks and whatever he could use that wouldn't get the guards on him.

Did he regret what he had done?

No, his father had been avenged. And he'd find a way out. He had all the time in the world. So what if by the time he finds a gap, he's nothing more than an old man?

He'd only been allowed out in the camp after a few weeks of no trouble from him. Said freedom was used to exercise, nothing too complex to attract attention such as sparring or anything. Simple pushups and pullups. Things that were to be expected of a prisoner that wanted to stay in shape. Beyond that, he kept his distance. Didn't talk to anyone beyond simple stuff. Like "how're you doing this morning?" And whatever else one felt like asking to what was essentially acquaintances.

But today was different, the guards seemed a bit on edge, which could mean more arrivals soon. And some of the occupants of the camp were just as riled up. Not obviously, but some retreated into groups, whispering stuff that Arthur couldn't pick up without making it obvious he was eavesdropping, and that someone was shaking down a fellow prisoner, and someone was stopping it.

Deciding to come on over because what else was he to do? Sit around, exercise and wait for the time to go back into cells and such?

"I still don't see the point in shaking down a fellow prisoner in here. Aren't we all in the same boat where barely anyone here having anything to pay with?" Was what he said.

He stood next to the kid that was being shaken, and near the woman who was also defending said kid.

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Desert Bee

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Sunderlake Prison, Camp Ruins - Iosef vi Faust
Mentions - Sketching101 Sketching101 Kat Kat The Wanderer The Wanderer



"Murderous scum like you should feel right at home!"

"Too scared to come in here? Afraid you'll get eaten?"

"Wake the fuck up, criminals! It's time to cook up a plan..."

"Sir? It's Amélie Octave, I believe you asked for me."

"Should you harm a hair on the head of a member of the royal family..."

"I aim for an exchange with the brother whose dagger sunk deep into my spine..."

"So, captain, any plans? I'm thinking we'll have to wait..."

"Maybe they're gonna gut us to see what makes us tick."

"Glad you guys are... relatively fine."

"Why are we still alive?"




A heavy kick plowed into his leg.

Iosef opened his eye and winced at the blinding sun. Clear as a painting, the sky was a far too vibrant blue without a cloud in sight to offer relief until fortune arose in an eclipse the shape of a brutish giant, though it proved a misfortune once his eye adjusted. Six and a half feet of scarred ebony skin towered over him, arms crossed but with hands tucked to illude large biceps. Perhaps he was compensating for his even larger stomach paunch, but then weight was hardly a sign of weakness. Perfectly evident in Iosef's own slim body.

He blinked a few times to readjust to this location, used a hand to massage his shoulder. Laying on stone rubble might have been fine for the common criminal, but Iosef was still adapting to the lifestyle. But not there yet. A thick shoe again kicked Iosef's raggedy trousers dangling off the fallen, horizontal pillar. He grunted and brought another hand to his temples. "I've been awake, you know, for quite a while."

"Well, 'en?" the fixer Claude said, his pleasingly deep voice mired by lowspeak. "Y'know the drill, kid. Whatchu got to off'r? Child'r not, Addrick's due his payment."

Sitting up from his rest, back groaning, Iosef brought his leg up crossed and continued massaging his brow. Kid. His mother had told he would reach a man's age once twenty and would officially inherit her title. The prison seemed to have different views on maturity. Maybe it was his androgynous looks. "Well depending how quick you act upon it, I suppose I've rather a lot," he sighed, aimed an index finger at the warm sky. "Was listening in on our new lodgers, several of which your boss will likely take an interest in. Would you care to know about them?"

A guttural rumble came from the fixer's throat, he spat on the dirt. Iosef casually recrossed his legs away from the wet lump. "Pretending to know what Addrick's int'rested in, eh?"

"Well I don't like to assume, but I'm going to anyway."

Claude jerked his chin up. “Hurry it up then, let’s ‘ear whatchu got.”

“First off, we’ve a couple of noble for starters, one by the name of Von Emris.” Iosef stared faintly over Claude’s shoulder, recalling the details he’d gleaned from the Pious Wayfarer’s shadows. “Seems just a child without his magick but I recall the name belonged to a famous Enian military commander. Might be his son. There’s something off about him at any rate.

“There was another noble as well, possibly even royalty from her attitude. Heard mention of the title ‘princess’ as well. If Addrick has any interest in such a young girl, she’s definitely someone Addrick would want to see out of the ship. In case any other denizens are considering some untowardly business.

“The rest are just commoners from what I could tell, but you and the rest of Addrick’s ilk ought to recognize one of them. Mark Cortez.”


“Hold on there.” Claude held up a beefy paw, brow raised. “D’you mean Martiz Cortez? The shadow broker ‘imself?”

Iosef cleared his throat. Names were never his strong suit. “Ah yes, Martin Cortez. As I said. Your boss might want to see him off the ship before any others do. I would think a fair number of denizens incarcerated here are just so due to his influence, further he’d be Addrick’s best source of current information from the outside. Invaluable, I would say.”

Straightening his posture, Iosef took leave from the fallen pillar to stand arms-crossed face-to-chest with Claude. The sleeveless rag he’d been given by the prison had large open arm holes, light breeze wafting into and against his exposed side chest. He had his head looking up but tilted, and said, “Shall that suffice Addrick? I might’ve had more, but it’s hard to concentrate with someone kicking you.”

Claude just arced his brow further, forehead wrinkles lining his dark, shaved head. Perhaps he would assault Iosef for apparent sass, perhaps he was evaluating the information. Whatever the situation inside the hunk’s head, his churning cogs were interrupted by an older lady who jerked herself between Iosef and Claude, bumping Iosef in the stomach.

Even from the back, Iosef had no trouble recognizing her. The religious nut. She'd entered the prison soon after Iosef he believed but, based on her harassment of Addrick’s collector, must not have been around long enough to understand the prison’s program. On second thought, she seemed rather familiar. Maybe she had been here longer, Iosef couldn't recall. Either way, she can deal with Claude and Addrick.

And that, he decided, was her problem to deal with. I would say thanks for the reprieve, he thought. But you’re just causing a nuisance for me to deal with later, so have fun. Iosef shrugged to himself and took a side step to make his exit when out of nowhere another denizen lodged himself in front of him. Oh for fuck’s sake.

The older man reminded him of the fishermen back in Welhurst, scraggly and unkempt beings without an ounce of intelligence.

“I still don’t see the point in shaking down a fellow prisoner here,” said Scraggles. “Aren’t we all in the same boat where barely anyone here having anything to pay with?”

Seemed the peasant commoner had never heard of prison commissaries. Then again, neither had Iosef until a week ago. All the same, Ioself would leave this conversation to the socialites.

Not bothering to offer comment, he slipped his hands into his pocket and walked off. Pulled a traded cigarette and held his little finger to the end, a miniature spark lighting the tip, and put the roll between his lips.

Yes, whatever happened wasn’t his problem. And when it became so, he’d shrug through that too. Iosef began looking for a quieter place to lay down.
 
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fish-writer

chelmon rostratus
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Silbur Dei Allinari
location: The Pious Wayfarer's Brig

Silbur felt her lip curl in disgust as she watched Captain Bridger manhandle the fish and make the most barbaric noises as he ate a piece. To be perfectly honest, his comment about being gutted like animals in some sort of infernal research had unsettled her more deeply than any appalling future she had imagined, and she dropped her half-empty bowl onto the table, broth splashing. "Like Sasha said, it'll be better if we escape on land. We don't have enough experience hands at piloting an airship, nor the means to actually take it. I'd get comfortable, we outta' be reaching the prison soon." His words were sensible, smart, if grating, and she huffed a tiny sigh as the captain reclined on the pile of hay.

Seating herself at one of the table's chairs, Silbur took a moment to assess the two strangers gathered around the captain. The man seemed young, at least compared to Captain Bridger, and the birthmark on his cheek was stark, easily noticeable. He must have been Ithyan; no one in Enia or Aepia could have made it to adulthood with marks that prominent. The other was a woman with watchful eyes who moved like a hunter. Beyond her sat a girl who still looked like a child, silently eating a piece of floor bread. Well, this was a merry band of misfits, wasn't it?

That voice from earlier started in again, and Silbur repressed a groan. She shouldn't be so quick to write off this unknown man, despite his appearance. Sure, he looked like a scoundrel, but they were all prisoners of the Templars.

And then she heard the word 'princess' and zeroed in on what, exactly, he was saying. "Like that princess, she had the right idea for a brief moment. Of course, if she was useful she'd be able to pick the locks on her bonds and get us all out of here. Instead, she's like a chained dog." Heat flooded her chest, her face, her vision, drowning out his next words, and she slid her chair sharply back, the scrape of wood on wood loud in her ears, standing up and pressing her hands onto the table, one hand curling around the knife, her eye lining up the throw through the bars separating them. "Lucky for you, that I'm chained," she snapped, "lest you meet my teeth—"

"Your Grace." The use of her title instantly cooled her blood, drawing her gaze to the approaching boy. Given a moment to think, she knew that even if she was able to throw the knife accurately, her range of motion would be limited by the shackles, and lacking speed, the attack would have been easily blocked or dodged. Silbur returned the boy's smile with a practiced one of her own, releasing the knife and the tension in her jaw as he introduced himself. The Emris Circle? No wonder his likeness was unfamiliar to her. The family of Von Emris did not typically lend itself to mingling; they were known for their prodigious skill in war. As such, Silbur had kept news of them in her periphery. The last she had heard was a scandal; their son stood accused of war crimes, but Silbur had been arrested before getting word of the verdict. She supposed it was obvious now.

"As was my duty, free of captivity, I fought in the name of our royal family," he continued. "No matter scenery, nor battlefield, I remain true to my purpose, Your Grace, if you would have me." She sat back down on the chair and smoothed the dusty fabric of her skirt, though her gaze remained on the boy's face, her features arranged into careful expressionless calm as she considered him. This did not seem like a commander who committed crimes of selfishness and greed, but a judge had clearly found him guilty. He claimed to want to carry out his duty to serve the royal family, but did he know that Silbur was a supporter of the anarchist rebels?

Regardless, it was advantageous to have capable allies, even ones she didn't trust. "As I have been exiled, I am no longer a legitimate heir to Enia's throne, and therefore no longer a part of the royal family." Her smile relaxed, a hint of warmth seeping into it. "However, if your offer still stands, I will gladly accept your service."

interactions: Captain Bridger TheQueensGuard TheQueensGuard , New Nemesis Snowflake Snowflake , Neoh Von Emris Danny Danny
mentions: Ithyan Man Sketching101 Sketching101 , Red Haired Woman Polaris North Polaris North , Quiet Girl Miriel Miriel
 

ItariChan

Daughter - Youth
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Sasha grabbed also grabbed a piece of fish with her fingers. after Omen, but left enough for Willow or Theo if they wanted some, then finished off her water. "I think they're transferring us to the prison." she said in response to Theo's question, "They'll probably decide if we're gonna die or not there." The idea didn't seem to bother her and her nonchalant attitude made it seem like she was talking about getting lunch instead of being executed. She smiled as Willow walked up. "Willow! Glad you're alright. Here have some fish.". She pushed the platter towards her. It was likely the fish would be the best meal they'd get until after they got out of prison. Well, if they ever got out of prison.

As Silbur released the knife when addressed by the newcomer Sasha snatched it up and inspected it. It was a simple butter knife, not very useful. And their rags didn't really give them any space to hide it. When they arrived they'd probably be searched. No point in taking the silverware with them then. "We probably can't use these. If we can use magic at the prison though it shouldn't matter. Get me some paper and ink and I can draw a better one." Sasha couldn't help but roll her eyes at Neoh's declaration of loyalty. She generally got along with everyone, but this kid acted like he had a stick up his ass. No matter scenery, nor battlefield, I remain true to my purpose, Your Grace if you would have me. Cheesy and boring. Sasha stood, "I'm going to go meet the others."

There were only two other people in the brig. The man who had been speaking and the other blonde girl. She gave them a friendly wave and a smile as she walked over. Well, the best wave she could give with her chains, "Hello I'm Sasha." She sat down next to them.
 
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Jess Incognito

Edgepeasant
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ARTURO LEONE


Arturo rested with his back to a rough stone wall, the high sun casting but a few feet of shadowy respite. It was one of the coolest places in the yard, aside from the tree in the center area. As usual, a dust cloud of people gathered under its boughs. He did not often seek their company.​
He held a small notebook against his thigh, scribbling in it occasionally with a blunt pencil. It was really just a handful of pages bound together in a strip of linen, a rag compared with the one confiscated nearly four months before, but its size and weight in his hand was the only familiarity afforded to him in the prison. True to form, Art ignored his problems (including being wrenched from his family and imprisoned indefinitely) by keeping his nose in his work, though it no longer mattered that he did so. The research team he worked with had been held up by some key issues of speed and cooling. The goal was to be as fast as possible, but fast always came at some expense or another... He scratched a few lines out, lamenting the loss of the precious paper.​
He noticed movement in the corner of his eye and lifted his head. A small group had gathered on the outskirts, including Claude, which more or less explained the situation. There was Maka - who he'd had a few interactions with, ever energetic - and another man he had seen, but not met. Art watched curiously as the conversation went on and the initial victim snuck out in the distraction. Heh. Air forced through his nose - it may have been a small laugh. That was one way to dodge the tax collector, but it would, of course, not work forever.​
The young man, Iosef, he'd learned at some point, though they had never spoken, wandered in his direction and while Art usually kept to himself, something in that moment urged him to speak when he saw smoke trailing from the stranger's newly lit cigarette.​
"Might I ask a small favor?" he called just loud enough to be heard from his seat against the wall. He produced a cigarette from the folds of his notebook and held it up for the other to see, returning the small notebook to his pocket. "I can never get a light." Though he was ironically more free now in terms of magic usage than he had been a free man, Art was still wary of it and had in fact ruined several cigarettes in the past by attempting even a simple flame. It was a peculiar request, he realized.​