#darkskies.starter

While his demeanor was relaxed and he carried himself with nothing but confidence and an almost regal authority, his body remained primed to defend himself should the need arise. The Courts were not always as safe as they appeared, or so they had been told, and traveling to any of the seven Courts had the potential for... complications.

Thankfully, Klaus had yet to run into any such development as he slowly wandered the glistening quartz-studded walkways along the outskirts of the capital city. His gaze remained locked on the dazzling display of sharp-carved cliffs and dancing lights from the brilliant sunlight overhead.

"The Day Court..." He mumbled to himself, taking in a deep breath of the salt-kissed air and letting it out slowly. "For such beauty to exist in creation, I would not have believed it so until today." He commented to no one in particular and paid little attention to the lesser faeries that quickly glided past him with hushed whispers - quiet utterances of awe and supposed 'rumors' of the Broken City mortals that his heightened hearing were all too able to pick up on.

Mortal. He chuckled at the word. It was still amusing for an immortal such as himself to be lumped together under such an umbrella.

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He had not, however, completely abandoned the Broken City. In the past year, he had grown rather fond of the mortals and their way of living. The idea of just up and completely abandoning them didn't sit properly with him. So, the general had added brief and sporadic sky patrols of the City to his schedules.

That morning he had been thankful for his timing.

A screeching sound somewhere between pain and terror cried out from just beyond the rippling veil at the end of the broken road that led into the Spring Court. Caelius hovered in the sky above the creature, his wings beating slow and powerfully as he kept himself aloft. The Ecosian's arm angled outward - crimson energy crackling around the siphons on his wrists as a buzzing spear of magic extended from his outstretched palm. At the end of the spear, the energy branch into several prongs that had dug into the ground all around the source of the screeching. Caelius grunted every now and then, as if maintaining the non-lethal design of the trap was more of a strain than it appeared.

With an inky black, scaled skin and long, frazzled hair, the creature contained within Caelius' makeshift trap glared up at him with amber eyes. Its scaled skin glistened as if eternally capturing the moment just before water's surface tension was broken. Sticky red glistened on the tips of the long black talon-like claws of one of its hands; matching the red that dripped from the Ecosian's side - a cheap shot the creature had managed to land.

A Naga - a nasty denizen of the fairy realms that had a penchant for torturing and eating mortals. If their kind had crossed the veil, it was for one purpose only.

"I'm fairly certain that we made it perfectly clear that the mortals in this city are not to be made into some plaything or meal by the likes of you." Caelius growled out.

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rebekah wandered the french quarter just before curfew, heels tapping softly against the cobblestones. the streets were quieter now—ghosts of music, the scent of sugar, and tension hanging thick in the air.

she paused at an old shop window, catching her reflection beside a faded “triad will not win” scrawled in red. her lips curved into a wry smile. “no, they won’t,” she murmured, then kept walking—just a little longer. just to feel normal again.

Lizzie Saltzman sat tucked into the corner booth of a cafe, hands wrapped around a steaming lavender latte—because of course this weirdly perfect place had her favorite. The scent of roasted espresso, old books, and a hint of something supernatural clung to the air like a second skin.

She stared out the window, watching as rain traced lazy patterns down the glass. This place was too quiet, and at the same time too familiar. Mystic Falls was supposed to be home, but ever since the town had somehow merged with New Orleans in what could only be described as a magical freak event, everything felt… off.

Sighing, Lizzie muttered under her breath, “Welcome back to the Twilight Zone. Nothing can just be.... normal, can it?”

She looked up just as the bell over the door chimed. Her eyes narrowed, curiosity piqued, and for the first time since arriving back in this stitched-together town, she felt a flicker of interest.

"You look like you've seen a ghost. Which shouldn't really be that surprising since dead people are popping up everywhere nowadays, I guess."

Darien sat on the edge of the fountain in the lower courtyard, flipping a dagger over the backs of his knuckles like he didn’t have anything better to do.

(He did. He just didn’t care.)

The sky above was a watercolor bruise—clouds thick and violet, the last light of dusk clinging stubborn to the horizon. Somewhere behind the tall walls of the manor, voices argued in low, clipped tones. Plans. Politics. More talk.

He hated talk.

He preferred motion. Action. Steel meeting steel and magic flaring under skin like wildfire. Not all this waiting.

A sigh dragged past his lips as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, dagger now dancing between his fingers like it was bored too. His hair was still damp from whatever that last fight had been—he hadn’t asked for the name of the creature, just made sure it didn’t get back up.

People passed by and gave him a wide berth. Good. They should. The last guy who looked at him like he was just some cocky kid was still icing a dislocated shoulder.

Darien smirked at the memory.

But when he felt someone watching—really watching—he didn’t look up right away. Just sheathed the dagger and tilted his head slightly, like he could hear the tension in their breath.

“If you’ve got something to say,” he called out lazily, “say it.”

A beat.

“Or don’t. But standing there looking conflicted is kinda killing the whole intimidating vibe.”

He finally looked up, eyes gleaming with something wild and unreadable.

“Let me guess—you want a spar, a secret, or a fight you think you can win. Go ahead. Surprise me.”

Zach leaned against the back porch railing, red Solo cup dangling from two loose fingers, hoodie half-zipped like he couldn’t commit to being warm or cold. His knuckles were scraped - nothing dramatic, just fresh enough to sting when the February air kissed them. He hadn’t noticed when it happened. Or… he had. He just hadn’t cared. Just rowdy wolves he had to get between before things got too heated for the night's vibes.

The yard lights painted everything that washed-out gold, catching the faint steam of his breath. Somewhere past the fence, a dog barked once, then thought better of it.

He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling slow through his nose then tipped his head back to stare at the stars like they owed him answers. His jaw flexed, subtle. Muscle memory. Instinct. Something under his skin that never fully shut up.

He swallowed it down like he always did.

Then he pushed off the railing, forcing that easy grin back into place - the one people expected. The one that worked. The one that meant nobody asked too many questions.

"Alright," he said, louder now, like he was addressing the yard, the house, the night itself. "If anyone out here is hiding from social interaction, you’ve got about five seconds before I decide you’re legally obligated to be my new best friend."

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The streets quickly puddled; the surfaces of the water mirroring the hazy sky hanging low above the city and the flicker of candle and oil lamps in nearby windows. At least he hadn't actually had plans that day. That was a good thing, right? His schedule had been free all morning and he hadn't even figured out what he wanted to do with himself as the afternoon began rolling around. The sudden shower had caught everyone off guard, it seemed.

( @darkskiesrpgstarters )

Arynn had settled into a corner table that evening - his grimmoire open before him next to a sweating soda glass he'd been nursing all evening. His hand moved here and there, jotting fresh notes alongside the older notation on the pages, while a soft curl of contentment settled itself upon his lips as he worked. He didn't look up at the sound of a chair scraping into place across from him.

He clocked the scent of whiskey, however, and finally glanced up. "Evening." The witch greeted. "Everything good, man? You know, they'll give you some water if you ask." He offered lightly and returned his gaze to his pages.

"What's this gibberish supposed to be?" The man's voice slurred out, but Arynn just gave him a soft chuckling sound in response. "Homework, I guess. Family kind." The response was simple and unhurried. The man leaned closer, however. Before Arynn could shut the tome, he felt the book leave his touch as the man lifted it and rose to his feet.

"Hey, come on, man. That's not exactly light reading for hanging out at the bar." Arynn remarked with a small laugh as if they two of them were just exchanging jokes. He winced slightly as the man sloppily flipped through the pages. "Nah, hang on, hang on. What's this supposed to be? Some sort of magic gibberish? You some kind of wizard or something?" The man questioned. "What's this one? Luh-men.... v-air... uh, v-airy...tay....tis?" He butchered the pronunciation so loudly that Arynn heard a couple tables nearby scoff into their drinks.

"That it? That the big scary words that you folks are gonna use to make everything right again? Hey - which one can bring back people that should be here?" The man stated and his tone dropped almost instantly, along with his expression. "My sister. She didn't survive that - that fog stuff. So, come on wizard - what gibberish in here can bring her back, then?" He demanded a second time.

Arynn rose to his feet now and a muffled silence fell upon the surrounding tables as the air thickened with tension. "Look, I'm sorry about your sister. Truly, I am. But you've had a long night and I need my book back. Now." He asked once more. The man barked out a laugh - ugly and spiraling. "Or what? You'll curse us? You'll do something to break this place apart again? That was you folk, right? You... freaks?"

The candles surrounding Arynn and the man guttered. "You mispronounced it." The words left Arynn, but the witch didn't recall telling himself to speak them. The overhead candles flickered in their holders. "It's Lumen Veritatis." The dead language rolled off Arynn's tongue with command and the candles around them licked higher and higher before cracking and turning an icy blue color - burning with a freezing cold instead of warmth now.

Silence fell upon the establishment and Arynn raised his hand; just to beckon his book back to him. Yet, something else inside him answered his call instead. Frustration. Grief - that he had felt in the days following the fog as the names of those lost or missing only seemed to grow longer and longer.

A white haze fogged over the drunken man's eyes as he was stricken motionless from a rush of images and memories that assailed his mind. The night of the fog; the sounds of the buildings cracking and crumbling before the man had lost consciousness; waking to find his sister was gone. When the fog cleared from his vision and movement returned to him, the man dropped Arynn's grimmoire with a panic - the witch catching it instinctively - and stumbled out of the building as fast as his body would allow him.

The candles returned to normal and slowly the tension bled out of the air as murmured whispers and conversations broke the silence that had befallen the witnesses. Arynn's fingers trembled against the tome in his hand as he watched the man leave - jaw slightly open as if to question what had just happened. Glancing around him, he quickly gathered his things and shuffled out the opposite entrance of the establishment and down the sidewalk.

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