#tqh.troupe2

[theportaraceli]

who? @studentalthea where? Aventia, near the evacuation lines when? A few minutes before the memories hit, because I love drama

A day after the odd exchange with the merchant, it haunted her still. Araceli knew not the reason, whether because she knew the little fox toy was infinitely important but remembered not why, or due to the inherent oddness of the whole exchange. She doesn’t understand why, but there is something missing. A whole on her chest, empty darkness where something else once stood. The thought lingers at the edge of her mind through the evacuation, worry heavy on her brow as she continues her tasks and pretends everything is alright as to not to alarm her people. 

She manages just fine, until she meets Althea’s eyes across the crowd and sees the doubt clear on them. It’s no surprise the Emissary notices, not when their entire relationship was born while they were both wearing masks. Long had they grown from that, but that doesn’t change the fact that they knew each other’s masks, and when they were wearing them. 

With a sigh, she steps away from the crowd and deeper into the crumbling streets of her once home. The sight sends off another pang of loss through her, the reality of her rotting home ever present and sharing space with her worry about her deal. 

“There is no going back, is there?” She asks quietly, as she hears Althea step closer, eyes flickering to meet hers with a bitter smile on her lips.

[blightedmikhael]

Mikhael has long since learned balance. Balance between his human side and his infernal heritage. Balance between his instinct to destroy and his habit to protect. Balance in the hunt, and balance in respite. The balance between faith and fanaticism is a lesson he was first taught once he had learned why Ankhuria had stopped cleaving their witches, and that was practiced every time he was faced with yet another member of the Astorian Vanguard of the Light that worshiped senseless violence. He had never seen the appeal of violence for violence sake, always more partial to specific applications of destruction in order to eliminate threads. It is why he is partial to contracts meant to hunt down certain individuals, rather than more wide spread battlefields. 

“You were sent by the Divine?” His surprise is genuine, eyes dipping and looking to the side as he considers the rather tasty bit of information the devil had all but dropped to his feet. Is the Divine aware of the devil within her ranks? Of the wolf amidst her flock? He doubts it, and that only cements his disdain for the false prophet that the Astorian Vanguard of the Light had chosen to elevate. Weakness begets weakness, and it is clear the faith within the Vanguard’s ranks is weak. “She must have a great deal of faith in you.”

The observation comes lightly, a tentative thought to which he manages to inflict just enough awe to make it seem real. It’s a dangerous game he is playing, but the more he listens to the devil’s diatribe, the less likely he is to leave things well enough alone. The man before him is a snake, and Mikhael feels the disgust on his spine even as he keeps a hold of his self-control. 

“Doing some good after Aventia— Yes, I would like that,” he admits steadily, softly. The Dark One strengthens by the minute, after all, so it is his duty to mitigate some of his influence.

Fanaticism. That was the bare minimum Dantalion required of members of his Vanguard. And yes, the faith was his. His to use, his to exploit, and his to charge headlong into holy war. His advantage lied in the fact that he stood to win no matter the victor. What Dantalion was after was a country soaked in blood and its people crushed beneath the weight of conflicting beliefs. Mongrels were so easy, which is what made them entertaining.

Fanatics would get it done for him, and if someone didn't have the spark of fanaticism then it was Dantalion Althais' job to spark it. Or destroy the toy who resisted, either or. One didn't simply play a game like his by setting one path, he had multiple avenues to achieve his holy war. It wasn't a matter of if at this point, but when. And he was starting to get impatient.

"There's more than simple appeal in my offer. It's a necessity. Why do you think the Divine sent me here personally? To share the miracles the One God has bestowed upon me with these poor, downtrodden citizens, but also to prepare. The people will receive more than his Light, but also his divine judgment as well." Dantalion could speak to his faith and loved doing so, but he wasn't a clergyman. His sermons were merely preamble. Dantalion was a leading member of the militant faith, and sewing peace into the lowest tier of this queendom was merely phase one. "Increase the faith of the meek, strengthen them in His Light, and then work to topple those who reject him. What else would you call Aventia's fall if not punishment for the wicked? Holy war is coming, and for the sake of your soul I'd like to help you do some good before you must take up arms with me." Like the devil he was, every word was its own form of test and trap. Dantalion had been at this game for a long time and knew exactly how to root out those who'd be useful to him, and those who needed to be discarded.

[blightedmikhael]

“If your list is based in architecture, maybe,” Mikhael says thoughtfully, as he looks at Rowan. He is eternally grateful for the help, now more desperate for the opportunity to pray to his Lord than he had ever felt. Seeing an entire city fall prey to the Blight had been a shaking experience, and while he knows the One God has a plan for all of them, he still needs the reassurance of faith on moments such as these. “There are some design choices that are more likely to be found in Vanguard churches in contrast to the ones set before the schism. Newer buildings don’t have symbolisms alluding to the Great Ba’al, for one.”

Person: @blightedmikhael Location: Eterna notes: is it a flashback? idk

"Do we have a criteria?" He's got a list of churches he's seen around in his back pocket and he'd taken down little notes here and there. "Most of these are picked based on architecture, I'm not gonna lie to you." He was an artist, it's what this guy got for getting help from someone who spent time finding the details in everything. "But I'm sure we'll find you somewhere." It's not unlike him to aid someone new in town, in fact it's ridiculously on brand for him to be of aid to just about anyone.

[theportaraceli]

The beginning of the end of all Araceli has ever known begins with tremors. 

Her day had long started, by the time tremors began, most of her morning gone as she revised proposals and all manner of paperwork. Araceli notices them by the trembling of her ink, dripping upon the paper as the world seems to shudder in anticipation of the horrors they will witness over the next fortnight. At first, she thinks it could be merely a natural event, but then she looks out the window and sees smoke. It’s not enough to worry her overmuch, still, but enough for her to set her quill aside and stalk to the window, brown eyes scanning the horizon as her heart begins to race. 

It’s the first screams that have her rushing out the door and crossing Celaya’s path. The presence of the Witcher is not surprising, since she had done nothing to get rid of her just yet, hoping that her warning would stay her hand for long enough to persuade her to betray her loyalties. Yet, while Celaya’s words are not a surprise, the implied offer of aid is. 

The tension on her shoulders loosens ever so slightly, a sense of relief filling her as she realizes the other means to fight and not flee. As abhorrent as she believes witchers to be, there is no denying that they are powerful warriors, as having her fighting by her side will be beyond helpful. 

“Follow me,” she tells her with a nod, reaching forward to grab Celaya’s wrist — Carefully, loosely, just enough to guide but weak enough the witcher could get rid of it with a movement — and takes one of the hallways opposite of the direction the guards were taking. Best to properly attire the Witcher, now that her help has become essential. “What is your weapon of choice?”

starter for @theportaraceli.

where: inside lady severian's homestead

when: aventia siege, at the beginning

note: yikes

Whatever reliance she'd come to find within the faiman had snapped and warped beneath her reaction to a truth which Celaya was unable to change. She'd noted quickly that, though she could remember many faces as they cropped up, that none were often tied with kindred memories of positive pasts. It spoke of a scalding truth - that perhaps she was the monster Araceli believed her to be. Where Celaya had woken with a blank space of her former identity, she could still sense her former glories; the strength that imbued her musculature, her constitution to have endured so much and come back from the brink. It spoke of a hardy woman, one who'd many experiences under her belt, but she'd learned quickly that she was the very antithesis to a hero. To Lysarans, she was a monstrosity, a blight on their citizens, and as one did when feeling cornered; she'd lash out.

She was not one for theatrics; her bitter contempt was a much more silent lethality, a snake in the grass, a predator stalking close until their prey felt comfort.

Any petulant plans of resent collapsed the moment screams pierced the morning air, the moment the skies of Aventia were streaked with ashen smoke.

Celaya had little time to gather herself before the sounds of an all-out war resounded outside her window; close, but not yet on top of them. Tossing the doors of her personally sanctioned quarters open, she tried to remain neutral at the sight of Lady Araceli who also seemed awoken by the early morning commotion.

"It seems Borderreach is the new jewel in their eyes," if Iskaldrik had fallen, it seemed now their enemies were going for the head of Lysara's defenses. "Where is your weapons chamber?" She turned to head one direction, hardly looking upon Lady Araceli; guards of Lady Severian rushed past them in the hallway, barely sparing a glance as they rushed to bolster outside defenses.

[blightedmikhael]

Evacuations were a priority, once it had become clear that Aventia was lost. Every life they dragged out from the Blighted pit the city was sure to become was a life that could go on and turn towards His Light, and another body taken away from the pits of the Abyss and the masses of darkspawn and ghouls. It’s that reasoning that keeps him from saying anything of the Vanguard of the Light infecting their ranks as thoroughly and lethally as the Blight. They need all the help they can get, even that of infidels that are far more likely to end in the Abyss than anyone else. 

It’s a test on his patience, but one he will endure for the safety of the many over his own comfort. Yet, it is a test that gets infinitesimally more difficult once he takes one look at one of the Vanguard accompanying him and realizes, clearly and starkly, that the man is a devil. 

Handsome enough to be a temptation, and well-spoken as well, from what Mikhael has heard. A dangerous combination, and one he has taken to try to undermine as subtly as possible. It won’t do if the refugees find out there is a devil in their midst, that will just cause chaos and they cannot afford that. 

Despite it all, Mikhael doesn’t expect to be addressed. Bile raises on the back of his throat, even as he smiles pleasantly at the other, refusing to be the first to drop the mask. 

“His Light guides me today and in the future, and I am thankful to receive Great Ba’al’s favor, if that is the case,” he responds gently, but firmly letting the devil know that he does not work for Vanguard. He does not want their cursed light and corrupted doctrines, not when he sees the Light clearly and knows his path. And yet— He did want to spread his word, and working as a counterweight to whatever damage the other might make may prove to be a worthy cause. “I cannot deny the appeal of your offer,” he admits with a nod. “The people need his Light, now more than ever.”

who?: @blightedmikhael where?: on the way back from aventia when?: after everything fell apart oop

Yes, this was an opportunity clearly created by the Dark One, a chance Dantalion wouldn't squander. Lysara was weakening by the day which meant the time for the Vanguard of the Light to rally for one last offensive was quickly approaching. Holy war would be upon them soon, and Dantalion had to make sure all his pawns were in place. He made a show to lift a wagon with a broken wheel (a wheel his corruption broke in the first place) just to demonstrate his saintly benevolence before approaching the warrior. Dantalion knew how to approach men of duty and purpose. "You've done incredibly well for yourself, considering it wasn't that long ago you were trapped in Iskaldrik with the other refugees. I don't think I could've survived, which is a testament that you walk in His grace. The Light shines brightly on you." It would be those like him who'd fight when the full force of the Vanguard's crusade reached Lysara. Dantalion needed each and every fighter to be at their best if he was to see his plans executed in full. "Perhaps you'd find meaning in traveling to the small, forgotten communities of this nation with me. Spreading His word, blessing the sickly and weak, it's small but worthwhile work. I think you'd be good at it."