In a world far flung and fantastical, there lies the continent of Megistos. A land of competing magical clans, jockeying for power and authority. The one space where all the young scions of these houses go to learn together is the Great Magic Academy - formed in the Free State of Phoebonon. A land whose magical ruling family retired from active reign to instead give room for the young to learn, apart from the mythologized curse that supposedly originates the strife between the clans.

This is yet another year in the Magic Academy of Phoebonon, and as always the early morning brings the screeching drakes flitting from their coves as the new class of young magi arrive...

The Magic Academy of Phoebonon floated above the great lakes of the Free State.

Archmages from across the land in accordance with the arrangements worked as teachers, school security handled by Phoebonon's illustrious Knights of the Cuckoo. Five spires arise along the Academy, the four dormitories set up in a ring. Further off, the Mage Tower games area allowed the young Magi a healthy space to deal with any aggression or competitiveness.

The grand hall, at the front of the Academy, plays host now to the gathering accepted and soon to be accepted Mages. People gathered from across the lands, some adopted by the magical families, others born into their gifts and station, and still others traveled from far and wide to try for a spot at the Academy.

Today, a certain group of accepted Mages from the various families would enter the grand hall while awaiting the start of the first day. A grand crystalline ball above depicting the arena wherein the remaining yet to be accepted Mages tried out against various challenges.

Six pillars reach to the ceiling, which bears a brilliant fresco painting - depicting the early Archmages. A supposed depiction of the pre-Curse Mages who gathered together - the spirit of which the Academy was supposedly formed to emulate.

Food was laid out on floating table stands, both familiar and fantastical. Drinks made available likewise. The crowd is large within the grand hall, but with that amount of room it could never feel too crowded.

Marah Asadi, Grand Hall

Marah did not put much stock in flashy appearances. She dressed plainly in black, the jet-dark shade matching her hair, the black lines on her exposed skin, and the fur of the cat that perched on her shoulder.

Azi's ruby eyes gleamed as he watched the world around him, taking particular note of the other mages. She brushed a crease out of her dress, and scratched him on the chin, drawing a purr from his throat.

She pursed her lips, painted devil-red, the only hint of color she bothered to give herself, and walked over to the tables to grab a drink and frown at the decor.

"Such opulence. How wasteful." She muttered. "And they call this a place of learning. Pitiful."

Edited by kagescorpionakki on Feb 29th 2024 at 12:38:01 PM

Menos Memori, Grand Hall

Menos wasn't impressed. They appreciated the arts. They could have spent hours observing the mural, pouring over every facet. A feast had its own appeal. But she wasn't here for pleasantries. They were interested in one thing and one thing only and that was knowledge.

She stood near the drinks, raising a glass to her lips. Her pale skin complimented her wardrobe, black as sin and dull as a paper bag. She scanned the room, searching for anything that looked remotely interesting.

She didn't have to look far. She could spot an Asadi several yards away, but they'd never been so close. She'd be a fool to pass up such an opportunity.

"Indeed. You would think they'd be concerned with matters of far greater importance. I adore a good feast, but that's no way to start an education."

Meriam Genus, Grand Hall

Meriam was sitting at the table, conveniently she had some empty spaces on both of her sides, which was likely due to the strange creature on her lap. In size it reminded a pug, it's six legs and bug head quickly dispelled that confusion. As for the girl she was wearing an opulent robe with golden detailing, it's innards were a crimson red much darker though complimentary of her ginger hair that was flowing down her shoulders from underneath a decorated pointed hat, a single gem hanging from it's tip which paired with a gem on her collar. A decorated book laid next to her on the table opened, seemingly Meriam was more interested in her studies then the surrounding buzz.

Merriam ate a strawberry and handed another to the creature on her lap, before turning a page in her book.

Edited by Faelisya on Feb 28th 2024 at 11:14:19 AM

Alicia Blackwood—Grand Hall

Alicia stepped about lightly on tiptoe, which was about as close as she could get to normal walking before her primary curse registered that she was not dancing, leaving paradoxically dainty footprints behind her, which glowed red-hot for a moment before fading away. Every step was placed precisely and neatly, and yet her grace was juxtaposed with the reality of the curse meant to torment her. She carried a tray of drinks with one hand, maneuvering her way around the crowd and casting her gaze downwards as she was taught to do, while keeping her single snow-white wing folded closely by her side, since it would only hinder her in this situation. Heaven help her if it bumped into anybody!

Be seen, not heard, she thought to herself like a mantra. Speak only when spoken to.

Edited by JumpingFruit on Feb 29th 2024 at 2:12:13 AM

Cecilia gazed about the room. The academy, whatever its flaws, sure knew how to welcome guests. The promise of good food, and hopefully good company made her grin to herself. The young woman was dressed in a robe of gray and blue. Despite its simplicity the quality of the fabric made it clear that it could not have been cheap to make. Her brown hair was cut short, and wrapped around her arm was some snakelike creature; if snakes had wet, mucous, skin instead of scales. Empty seats seemed to be vanishing fast, so she was happy to see a few still open where another girl, some sort of creature on her lap, sat by herself. Given the red hair and the homunculus, this was likely the apprentice from Genus. Cecilia wandered over to her fellow student and took a seat.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" not giving any room for an answer, she continued to speak "My name's Cecilia, whats yours?".

Apollyon - Arrival in Phoebonon

They came and went with few words and grim intentions. Scorchlands and firestorms lay in their wake. Legionnaires, often hundreds strong, and each with the competence and power of ten men in their own right. Pragmatism was the through-line of all the battle tactics of that burning banner, and all its subjects worshiped the practical gods of victory, intelligence and heat. Words fail to express the depth of their apathy for the lives of those who they faced off with. All they cared for was battle. Bloody, valiant. They wanted to fight, to kill. Ravenous like a pack of wild dogs. Mongrels, almost, but refined like hounds.

And at the tip of the lance was the greatest distinction of house Phenemeon from others of its make. Raving madmen. They of one mind and one ambition. To rip and tear, until it is done. Battle-mad warriors, minds broken, bodies morphed by mortal combat. The most effective of all shields was the human body. It was easily pierced, but near impossible to run through. And all the while, it cut at you, punishing your attempts to break it. The mind made for a sword, but the body? It was the Warmasters decree that no peace be made known to the insane. That no respite be made known to the opposition.

Among those lost minds stood he, no less a flickering candle, who dealt not in fire, but smoke. Kinslayer, they called him. Murderer of his brothers in arms. Child of war, child of death. A question posed to the ever-faithful, who fathered such a beast? And no one claimed him, and no one dared to take him as their own. And so they too called him orphan, and he was alone in every regard. ‘Twas not where he was content to die, however, without legacy and without respect. Nail in hand he tore holes through enemy lines, annihilated all who stood before him. Skirmishes became proving grounds, stages for the outcast to rise above. And rise above he did. Upon the cold bodies of his adversaries, Kinslayer Apollyon became Sentinel Gaus.

And now he was here.

There was a shyness in his presence. He skulked in, the Phenemeon scions dour, shifty expression clashing against the brutal elegance of his clothing. Black over iron, he seemed as ready to fight as he did to dance. His hand and another reached for the same cup, and he made something of a show of taking it quicker. Time passed as he nursed the drink, acknowledging first the Asadi and Memori standing side by side. Their house’s distinctions were the most apparent. Then his eyes came upon, and focused in on, the Blackwood. He only assumed she was a bastard from the tray in her hands, and only assumed she was even a Blackwood for the wing and the odd movement.

“Curseblood,” he muttered aloud, speaking to no one in particular.

Imposing even at his less-than-average height, Apollyon stood near the corner of the room. There was little recognition of him. The smoke-warrior wore armor, and his flesh was naked in the room’s lighting. All they knew was what he was. It was forced upon his face, a magic seal that all knew the meaning of. ‘Kinslayer.’ It was his first title, his defining feature. Never to be without the brand, Kinslayer Apollyon. Sentinel Gaus.

Edited by Yayakuza on Feb 28th 2024 at 11:39:27 AM

Alicia Blackwood—Grand Hall

He isn't requesting my presence, Alicia noticed, as she made her rounds. He was just noting it. But still, I can...

Quickly, now: she turned her head a little as she rounded a table, peeking at him from a corner of her gaze, hiding behind the curtain of her hair. So that was the heir sent from House Phenemeon. He looks so lonely. And just as quickly as the observation was made, Alicia turned away. A new tray of drinks was taken up, the type matching that which Apollyon had chosen before. He looks so sad. She swept back under the pretense of meek servitude. Or would have swept, if her mutated wing-arm were still not folded tightly at her side. He's like me. Useless unpaired. Too weak and heavy to fly.

But Alicia braved the crowd to the outcast's side, gracefully coming to a halt: any other resting position would have left a leg protruding away from her center, and that would not do (What if she caused someone to trip?), so she settled on third position, with one foot in front of the other, heels all but touching, parallel. Painful. She presented a glass to him from her tray, still not looking up at him, but passing the drink under her gaze so that it began to frost over delicately, perfectly chilled.

And waited.

Edited by JumpingFruit on Feb 29th 2024 at 2:12:47 AM

Introductions in order...

As Alicia timidly and quietly moved to get to the tables and drinks, a larger, more vibrant and outgoing presence contrasting though very much close by her moved through the crowds. Not easing through or criss-crossing paths, but accidentally making use of broad, powerful shoulders and a frame that stood tall above many of the Mages in the crowd.

The young man that Alicia might see on her way to get food and drink from the table had all the tell-tale signs of that auspicious lineage. At least six and a half feet tall and probably not even done growing yet. A powerfully built body that seemed to almost come naturally to the young man. And golden blond hair and peculiar brown eyes trending toward amber, almost fiery.

Those were the features of a Nord. Yet dressed not in the furs and thick armor of his people, but in the traveling garb of a farm boy. A coarse spun tunic, a belt at the waist, and thick brown pants. A traveler's jacket made of haphazardly selected fibers and bits, more made for function than appearance.

The young man seemed utterly delighted to be here. Wowed, completely astonished and taken by the opulence of the Academy at Phoebonon. Enough that as he piled up food on a pair of plates to eat, he almost bumped into Alicia!

"Ah...ah! Oh woah wha—-wow! Sorry about that!" He frantically rebalanced, almost dropping a plate as he prioritized apologizing to Alicia. "I am so, so sorry. This was just...the most food I have ever seen in my life!"

The crystal ball above announced, "As expected, a resounding success and another year for the von Dracstein Family representative, Alfredo von Dracstein!"

As if on cue, a swarm of bats materialized in the entrance to the grand hall - the adolescent vampire himself seeming to emerge from the swarm, a smug, satisfied grin on his face. As if to say "As if there were ever any doubts".

Alicia Blackwood—Grand Hall

Any servant should be able to catch any object about to fall—or else, was the implication. And so, Alicia gracefully dipped, knees bending, feet still in third position, and opened her wing halfway. The dish's fall was arrested as she straightened back up, giving no indication of distress, balancing the dish on the flat of her wing, just behind its thumb and wrist, and gently offering it back to the flustered Nord. The porcelain dish was probably worth more than Alicia's life, but that was not the important thing here.

"That's alright, Master," she said, glad to have an opportunity to converse with somebody, even in a limited fashion. "It's true for this one as well. And if the tall Master will wait a few moments for this one to serve the other Masters and Mistresses their drinks, this one will carve more roasts so your welcome at the Academy is properly to your liking."

It was not as if she could leave, as she was still holding out the tray of drinks to Apollyon, but she tried to smile nonetheless.

Edited by JumpingFruit on Feb 29th 2024 at 2:15:24 AM

Meriam Genus, Grand Hall, Dinning table

"You may sit where there's space, Lady Cecilia." The girl said calmly, not moving her eyes from the book or strawberries. "My name is Merriam, and if I recall You're of House Abdera.".

Edited by Faelisya on Feb 29th 2024 at 2:36:05 PM

Yune Asclepia

"Cuckoo" was a strange word.

It just sounded so odd. Less like an actual thing and more like a sound you made to wake people up. There was no way to say it and have it sound particularly serious. "Knights of the Cuckoo", thus, sounded even stranger.

These were the thoughts Yune Asclepia was absorbed in, and being absorbed in them was why he arrived late.

He was an odd sight. A petite, tan-skinned youth with blue eyes and curly brown hair, dressed in simple blue clothes and peering at everything around him with a curious expression. Those well-versed in global politics could pin him as likely being from Pitoha'ai, but the island nation had never once sent a student here.

Yune, for his part, simply took a seat and started tracing a butterfly on the back of his hand with a finger to pass the time.

Marah Asadi, Grand Hall

"It's unsurprising." Marah replied, giving the representative from Memori - for who else could it be, with that corpselike pallor? - a nod in greeting, stepping closer so they could converse. "This place was founded for the houses to show their power to one another. Wealth is a kind of power, albeit one coveted only by fools. Knowledge is the only power worth seeking."

Azi hopped off her shoulder to trot along the table, sniffing Menos with interest, while Marah observed the rest of her fellow students.

She spied two others with pets of their own, one a chimera whose monstrous form marked it as a creation of house Genus, the other an eel or snake of some descriptor. A summoned servant of Abdera, perhaps? There was the Nord, a surprising addition, though pleasantly so; it seemed war with the Northmen was not inevitable. Dracstein, she ignored, because the pompousness of vampires was dull.

More interesting was the warrior of Phenemeon, who had been marked with a traitor's seal. Marah had to genuinely stifle a laugh. "Funny how House Phenemeon thinks marking one of their own as Kinslayer somehow shames them. Warmongers never learn."

One other caught her eye as well: the little angel. An outcast of Blackwood, no doubt, with curses piled upon her. Poor thing. She was quite beautiful, in her resilience, even with her mismatched swan wing. A symbol of rebellion against the needless cruelties of the world.

Between the Sin-Eater and the Kinslayer, it seemed this class was rife with outcasts.

How wonderful. Perhaps there is hope for this academy yet.

Corwin Ostavia: Grand Hall

A little late, the newest member of House Baldesion stumbled into the grand hall as if having been pushed, and an offended look over her shoulder suggested this may have actually been the case. Either way, she beelined towards the most populated table, dressed in her layered and colourful robes that had been provided to her by her new House. Sitting down at the occupied table, she took in the appearance of everyone there, carefully studying them before casting her eyes towards Marah, having caught what she had been saying while she was approaching the table.

"I don't know who you are but I like how you think," she said to Marah, giving her a nod. The robed girl had a somewhat unreadable expression, but a pretty face—albeit one that most of the upper class would consider common due to her ruddy complexion. "Everything's been so... excessive. When are we going to learn magic? Do we have to have a ceremony about how it's so important and better than everything else, or whatever they're saying? I've been trying to pay attention but it all sounds so..."

She trailed off, realising she hadn't even introduced herself yet, before shaking her head slightly and straightening her posture in her seat as she changed the subject.

"Corwin. My name's Corwin Ostavia. Of... House Baldesion? Does that matter?"

Edited by Enirboreh on Feb 29th 2024 at 7:25:41 PM

Micaio Antero, Grand Hall

There was little chance any human student was going to loom larger than the Nord boy currently socialising with the bastard of Blackwood. The same could not be said of the inhuman students. A delegation the Academy had never really had... until today.

Admittedly, the Beastman loping around the Grand Hall in a giddy stupor couldn't have had a more different build to a Nord. He certainly sported impressive height, 7'5'' in all, but it was mostly legs, his whole body a spindly mass of sinews wrapped in thick orange fur. His gait was loping, with an odd curling motion to it, looking for all the world like he was constantly about to trip over his own windmilling overlong limbs and clatter to the ground, and yet he remained absolutely steady. There was a kind of drunken-boxing grace to his movements, once you paid attention to how careful and precise his seemingly wild steps truly were. The patchwork shawl he was draped in, a symbol of diverse experience more than an expression of a cohesive aesthetic (or, indeed, basic understanding of colour theory), added to the immediate off-beat impression.

The maned wolf was awestruck. Not by any one thing, but by the simple reality that he was here, an honoured guest of the human race, gifted the privilege of learning their magical secrets from their finest tutors. It was a dream come true, made all the more sweet by how many people even among his imaginative kin had told him this dream was one he may as well abandon before it was crushed. Micaio Antero had proved them wrong! He was ready to become a scion of Beast-human friendship, right here, right now!

He stared up at the ceiling, admiring the fresco. Beautiful as the painting was, it was the joy of creativity itself that made Micaio's heart truly soar. Countless fine strokes of paint, painstakingly arranged so that, from down here, one could look up and see a convincing facsimile of a frozen moment in time. The sheer euphoria he felt as he contemplated the otherworldly power of art overwhelmed him, and he suddenly burst out into a loud, keening laugh, one with a distinct undercurrent of sharp barking to it. It was uncouth, he knew, but he couldn't help it - everything was so wonderful? Look - he span around like a tornado of fur and fabric, making sure he was, indeed, looking at his fellow students, still giggling dizzily to himself - at all these humans! So dour, so uninvested! Were they oblivious to the beauty all around them? Was he, perish the thought, surrounded by people who would not appreciate the natural artwork of the world were they to wander into the wilds? Ghastly! He'd have to fix that.

"My reputation precedes me I see" said Cecilia; either indifferent to or ignorant of Merriam's reticence. "You're Genus then are you? I've always been by your house, secrecy breeds curiosity after all." She turned to look at the boy who had just sat down next to her. He didn't seem to be all there, absentmindedly gazing at his own palm. "Whats your name then?" she asked through a mouthful of food.

Cecilia's line of thought was cut short by the sound of barking. Her eyes almost bulged out of their sockets when they rested upon the source of the noise. Towering above the other students and dressed in a truly garish cloak was an honest to goodness beastman. She had never seen one before in her life, she doubted that many of her fellow students had either. Yet he (she presumed they were male) seemed blissfully ignorant of the peculiarity of his circumstances. This whole thing was simply surreal. Lost in her stupor, Cecilia was hardly aware that she had been staring for an uncomfortably long duration.

Menos Memori

"Indeed. Yet power itself is not all that's worth seeking. Nor is power all that knowledge is. Knowledge can be satisfaction. Satisfaction fulfilment. Fulfillment purpose. All of these and more are worth achieving. Endless prattle achieves neither. Time is finite and therefore precious, yet they insist on wasting it."

She took another sip. Everyone that walked through these hallowed halls was in some way interesting, some more than others. Yet it was the maned way that caught her attention. She had seen Libero's and Blackwood's but had never seen a Beast. There was so much to learn, but she couldn't help but feel anxious.

"Menos Memori you may call me. A simple name for a simple woman. Yet I cannot say I've seen anything close to our furry friend. A beastman is he not? I've heard rumours of their inclusion, but scarcely thought it was possible..."

Juna Libero

One could generally tell House Libero members apart at large gatherings of mages, often eschewing plain, ordinary robes and clothing for something far more practical or fashionable to move in, or being so loaded up with mechanical marvels that one would almost confuse them for a golem. The ideas of 'socially acceptable attire for the occasion' was not one the House paid all that much heed to. They would wear what they chose.

Juna wasn't much different in this regard, garbed not in stuffy robes, but the flowing attire of a dancer, accentuated by a tight shirt, bright and colourful amidst the crowd of others as she wove her way between people. Up above, a lovely mural of the original Archmages gazed down upon them. Juna never had the biggest interest in the visual art, but she could no more deny its beauty than she could deny the sunrise. So much food as well! The chefs must have put their hearts into these dishes for such a momentous ceremony. Everything was...was so breathtaking. It almost matched the sheer aesthetic bliss of the manors of Libero back in her homelands. Grand dance halls, masterpieces of all materials in the corridors and rooms. Off in one of the corners of the hall, a group of other members of House Libero (presumably) were performing, their music magical and enticing, stoking a fever that burned up within the newest scion of House Libero, a itch in her feet at the rhythm of the beat.

She had to dance. There was a crowd here, greater than one she'd ever had before. And what better way to introduce yourself than through action, not word? And...a dance partner! That would ensure she made some friends, and a show. Her eyes flitted around the hall, looking for someone suitable. They widened a little upon seeing the obvious member of House Phenemeon, and swiftly ignored him and moved on.

"Partner, partner...he'll do!" Her eyes stopped upon a plainly-dressed tanned man and her mind whirred with the thought of the symbolism of her outgoing attire juxtaposed against his simple outfit. She scurried over to Yune, pulling him out of his seat and dragging him over to the music performance, her feet already burning and heart aflame, though tight strings clenched around it. "Hey, you, I need a dance partner! Just follow my lead!"

Edited by UndyingPhoenix on Mar 1st 2024 at 1:02:50 PM

Introducing Brenton

"Oh...oh wow! No no! I'm—-I'm not a Master or anything like that, really!" Brenton set his food down to eat while he prepared for the big moment. Of all the people trying out for inclusion here, he had not yet been put through the trial outside - though he was free to mingle here. And this girl really was making him blush! Here she was calling him Master this and Master that, when he was...well...

"My...uh, I'd prefer it if you just called me by my name. I'm Brenton Thaine, a...a common seaside village farmhand. I was—-I was told by a traveling sage that he could see a great gift in me. So I came all the way out here." He smiled and then bit into a slice of fried drake's wing. "What's your name?"

Brenton found himself glancing a bit longer at that odd wing on the girl, then looked around. People seemed to be staring at him. He didn't know who all these magical folks were, just that there were all these powerful clans that sent their kids here.

Apollyon - Grand Hall

The Kinslayer shifted uneasily where he stood. Conversation was seldom afforded to him in the warcamps, and he wasn’t permitted to dine among the legionnaires. In truth, he felt no less out of place than a wolf among sheep. He didn’t reach for the glass immediately, instead failing to fully register it was being offered to him. Once that truth processed, he grunted and accepted the offering.

“Blackwood.”

It was naught but the faintest acknowledgement, preserving the balance between them as servant and master, one above the other. Compassion, however, was birthed from familiarity, and the similarity of his and Alicia’s circumstances, even if it could now only be assumed, was not lost on him. He gestured her off instead of voicing this bubbling emotion. There was a way you did things, after all. His attention shifted to the vampire. There was always the lingering question in every warrior’s mind. ‘Can I kill the unkillable?’ Folly was friend to no mortal, and Apollyon went to great lengths not to become acquainted with such a ruinous power. But still, he’d often fantasized about the duel. About the fiery conclusion…but then, never for him to be set ablaze.

“You betray your simplicity, nord.”

At first he was content to ignore the hulking presence, but habit prevailed. Provocation among technically peaceful groups of skirmishers was the norm closer to the coast, and Apollyon was no stranger to the rough nature of Nordic peoples. This fish out of water was bereft of his kin’s typical ferocious fervor, however, and as such the smoke-sorcerer found himself looking down upon the farmboy.

But he was not the only outlier.

The beastman spun and lumbered and made its presence known. By the second, the Sentinel felt his opinion of the state of Phoebonon diminish. But then, he thought, the strays did have most of the continent in a vice. Proceedings, especially the formation of a ghost-house in order to bypass registration limitations, seemed to suggest the animals were posturing for a push towards equity. Already the bleeding hearts in Libero likely supported such a movement. Radical shifts in power seemed near-common within the present political climate, though the status quo wasn’t broken so much as bent. The houses were either apathetic or, in some cases, outright liberal, and to the conservative sensibilities of House Phenemeon it seemed in best interest to all to quash such ideas before undesirables became diffused within the general population.

Apollyon himself found the scowl on his face deepen. It didn’t surprise him; the weakness of traders in securing their routes through stray territory was a well-known factor. It did disappoint him, however. He wondered how many officials within Phoebonon’s administration were willing to bend the knee to the beasts. It mattered little to him the opinions of the government here, though allowing those cretins an inch would inevitably result in a mile lost. And then it would fall to the strong to wrench it back.

Edited by Yayakuza on Mar 1st 2024 at 12:09:10 PM

"We are neighbours, yet like any of my kin, I'll tell you the same, our Knowledge is best kept secret and forgotten. She'd then reply to Yune, "what's that?"

When she heard the barking laughter she'd turn around to the source. Seeing the Beastman her face brightened, she'd begin turning only to see that Yune was being taken away by Juna to dance. "Hrm. I was talking to him hey!" But it was too late, both were already gone "I might aswell join them. Think the wolf would be interested in a dance?"

Edited by Faelisya on Mar 1st 2024 at 12:08:36 PM

Alicia Blackwood—Grand Hall

Alicia cringed inwardly at the comment from Apollyon, even if she wasn't allowed to display it openly. I need to get this Nord away from him, she thought. And keep him away from Alfredo. I don't like him. He seems like one of the cruel ones. They're all the same. With this, Alicia swept a foot back into a curtsey in response to the acknowledgement. But she couldn't hold onto the tray of drinks and use that arm to drag Brenton away at the same time, so she gestured with her wing, flaring its mismatched form regally, pointing at the roasts.

"Allow this one to accompany you to your choice of meats, Master Thaine," Alicia said diplomatically, missing the point about using his name intentionally. It was best for servants to pretend that they didn't hear certain things sometimes. "As it seems you are unfamiliar to Phoebonon's hospitality. This one is a bastard of House Blackwood, sent here to serve, and will answer to any epithet given to her." And though she folded her wing once more, she remained there, making it clear that she wouldn't budge until Brenton followed her away from Apollyon.

Edited by JumpingFruit on Mar 1st 2024 at 3:28:17 AM

Marah Asadi, Grand Hall

"Marah Asadi." She replied, introducing herself to both Menos and Corwin. "And no, the House doesn't really matter. Names are only names. Something that most forget."

Brushing a loose braid behind her ear, she offered Corwin a small smile. "Don't worry too much about things like this. The 'Noble' Houses enjoy adding pomp and circumstance to everything. Hence this needless time-wasting. Nothing but a mindless wand-measuring contest."

She eyed the beastman with interest, ignoring the obvious Libero dancing like a fool. Between Beast and Nord, she doubted the Kinslayer would try anything, but it was amusing to imagine Phenomeon's enemies ganging up on them to dispense karmic justice.

"That is indeed a Beastman. They founded a shadow-house for the purposes of attending. A wonderful little trick. I, for one, look forward to learning about him and his culture. Who knows what secrets he might hold?"

Yune

"...huh?" Yune looked up as Merry addressed him, casting her a curious look. "Did I say something? I don't think I did..."

Whatever ruminations he might have had on this topic came to a halt when another one of the scions suddenly grabbed him and dragged him over to a group of performers to dance.

...

Well, she danced. Yune just followed her lead, which in this case meant being spun and twirled around as she moved. He was a bit perplexed at what was happening, and it showed on his face, but he didn't hate it.

Brenton for his part... if there was a lack of ferocity in him before, he certainly made up for it in the moment that he glared daggers at Apollyon. The farm boy clenched his fists, keeping them by his side for fear of starting something far more serious in the heat of the moment. After all, he didn't want to come all the way out here on the funds so generously given to him and then...just get into a fight like that.

All the same however, anyone watching would readily be able to see the ferocity lurking beneath the surface.

He barely felt Alicia pulling at his arm and eventually succeeding in dragging him away from the proximity to the Phenemeon scion. The young man spared one final glare at the smoke mage as he left...and then let out a long, harsh sigh as he stood by the girl.

"...A bastard. That's...that's honestly funny enough I think I could punch something." Brenton wiped his forehead and stared off at the direction of the arena - where he'd yet to be called to prove his stuff. "I'm a bastard, too, of a sort. My mother worked on the farm with the man I'd be more proud to call my father." Staring at the floor, Brenton grit his teeth before he relayed the next part, "My...father, whoever he was...was an animal. A creature of wanton nature. He hurt my mother in ways no woman should be hurt."