LIGHT / 日光

ZHOU LIAN, ALCHEMIST / CULTIVATOR KWON HANEUL, MAGISTRATE / POLITICIAN

[riguangs]

RIGUANG 日光 / daylight | shines —- my casement veils glowing pools of moonbeams , perhaps on the ground is simply frost it seems ; lifting my head i gaze up at the gleaming moon , bowing my head i ponder my homesick dreams .

i. zhou lian, cultivator and alchemist . twenty6 . he / them . -— intro. visage. threads. board. about. ii. kwon haneul , magistrate and politician . twenty8 . they / them . -— intro. visage. threads. board. about.

[tolvajok]

rook had a busy night ahead of him. meetings, to disputes, to judgement, from side of the city to the other, and it's been barely past midnight. he enters the tavern, mask covering his whole face, made of wood cut from a poplar tree, painted black with ink and decorated with golden, shimmering accents in two lines dripping down from the holes cut for his eyes. his hair is covered in cloth underneath a hood and robes that cover his whole body. he wears no gloves tonight, though the tips of his fingers and nails are painted black with the same ink as the one used for the mask, decorated with three golden rings.

alas, he is not here to make merry. he knows that the moment he sits down, he shall be swarmed with questions and requests. this is what he's come to do. rest shall arrive with the sun in the morning. he picks a table in the corner, taking a seat as hushed voices carry his name across the tavern. before long, his first customer arrives. an unexpected face, one that brings a sense of relief almost immediately to rook. his eyebrows raise under his mask, head tilting to the side to show his curious amusement at the comment of the other deeming it good to see him. "my day's only beginning." he leans back in his seat, one arm stretching out behind lian. "you may." he takes a moment, shamelessly taking in the sight of the other. "and do you need something from me, or are you merely here to grace our views with your beauty? if it is the latter, I reckon we'll need more ale! every cup makes a face fairer than the last."

[riguangs]

the gesture is taken as permission, and lian is quick to slip into the seat opposite the other. relieved not to be standing so rigidly amidst people loose and having fun, into drinks and merry conversation with one another. at the response, a fondly amused expression spreads, laughter falls from his lips, quick to agree. "you're right... i forget your day starts when most have gone to sleep." a great number of inhabitants in this gilded city wake up with the sun, and rest not too long after it sets. someone in rook's profession, however, likely prefers the shadows and cloak of the night to operate, where things are not as they seem, hidden and paradoxical. the direct compliment and the stare are unexpected, taken in with a flush to his cheeks and the shaking of his head. "i think you are being too kind again —" a gesture to the bartender to bring them both drinks, he also wants to have something in his hands to ground him. it is not a difficult topic, at least not with rook, yet it's not a simple one either. he has found that alcohol always eases things, one way or the other. "i did come to you to speak about a request — but wait-" a theatrical pause, a purse of their lips. "are you saying you need a cup of ale to see me fair?" a hand goes to his chest, all part of the joke. "should i be offended instead?"

[riguangs]

location : house of domerian ⏲ aurea from : zhou lian , liege of house zhou to : elessar domerian , lord of house domerian [ @hcdonism ]

it feels too indulgent to take time to attend parties, even if the world of aurea seems to disagree; there is a chaos that continues spread outside their borders, and inside, it is an entirely different world. lian only catches glimpses of the outer reality, as their work keeps them tied to that truth, the impending doom, compared to the glamour of the gilded city. the last year has been wrapped up so much in this; he manages to convince himself that a night out will do him good, that the normalcy is needed to start anew again tomorrow morning. once he steps inside the familiar house, music echoing through the rooms, accompanied by laughter — it's easy to forget the worries that plague his mind. suddenly, there is a drink in his hand, and someone pulls him to the side for a chat, and then another person, and another. it's only a bit later in the party that lian leaves friends to seek the heir, wanting to learn more about what he's been up to, to thank him for sending the invitation. it's easy to spot him, and a wide smile spreads across lian's face as he makes his way through crowds of people, waving once he is within sight. "elessar!" words are louder than normal conversation so that he can be heard, leaning into his space to speak. "i see that these celebrations have only gotten bigger now —" a few he has missed in between, too wrapped up in magic and experimentation to be able to spend time away. "thank you for the invite!"

[riguangs]

location : market place , during the day ⏲ aurea from : zhou lian , liege of house zhou to : sabina corvain [ @aurean-wabi-sabi ]

the city centre is crowded in a way that lian adores: people wrapped up in their own worlds, others in deep conversation or arguments — some trying to sell their wares, the rest trying to scalp any and all possible customers. it's the fabric of what makes aurea so fascinating, and he has a stack of books underneath his arm as he strolls through the streets, seemingly aimless, yet therapeutic in its own way. the chicken soup he had earlier in the day, from one of his favorite street vendors, sits comforting in his stomach, and being elsewhere rather than his workshop calms him, the opposite of being alone and stuck in his own thoughts. then again, maybe some caution should have been advised, as he does not look where he's going, too mesmerized by a street performer- and trips up over someone's feet, heading straight into pavement, sending the books sprawling across the ground, forearm coming up just in time to protect his face from its demise. a hiss leaves his mouth unprompted, even if he is too embarrassed by falling in the middle of the market amidst a sea of people. a gash in fabric lower down his sleeve, blood sluggishly seeps down, and he pays it little mind although it stings. just as he has gotten his bearings, he sees someone kneel down to help him collect the books, and feels gratitude swim to the surface, a sheepish smile on his face. "thank you — that's very kind—-"

[riguangs]

location : tavern , late night ⏲ aurea from : zhou lian , liege of house zhou to : spike greaves [ @mortifere ]

this is their usual spot for meet-ups, loud enough that their conversation wouldn't be overheard, discreet enough that they do not get bothered in the corner table. drinks do leave some to be desired, yet they are definitely not the worst in the city by far, compared to the much seedier taverns that litter the outskirts of aurea. so, with hope in his heart that the hunter will be there again, lian leaves his workshop late and heads to the tavern. the idea that he has in their head has been ruminating for quite some time, edges starting to take shape, the thrill of a possible new method leaving him sleepless. this could work- or it could start to become the breakthrough he needs — yet one crucial obstacle stands in his way: convincing spike. it's hard to hide the wide smile on his face once he spots the other, and the zhou does not waste time before he makes his way to where the other's sitting, easy to read from his body language how eager he is, and likely no secret at all that there is something he has been wanting to speak about. "spike! i was hoping you would be here —" cheerful, he slides into the seat opposite him, palms lying down on the surface of the table. slightly sticky in a way that does not bother him that much. not now, anyway. "please tell me you were not waiting for someone..." the thought that he needs to wait even more is jarring, and he can only hope it's not the case. "i really need to talk to you —" leaning forward, dark eyes meet blue, barely short of pleading. "i'll buy the drinks tonight?"

[decthless]

He remembers hearing stories of how the healers told his father once 'his little one had fought very hard to survive'. Baeksa didn't understand it at first, what made him so different, so strange—why he could never feel the way he should. But Haneul never made him feel alien, or strange, or weird. He'd always just been his little brother.

Their mother's passing was hard on them—Haneul would never speak of it, but they didn't have to; they never had to tell him anything. Baeksa knew, and so as soon as he could crawl, it was to them they could crawl to—and as soon as his little arms could reach, it was for him they'd reach towards. They never left them alone, not even for a moment, not even when they were mad. They became their shadow, and their name was the first on his tongue, and he knew in his heart it would be the last. He knew his sibling like he'd know his own reflection, all of their murky insides, and the parts they thought nobody could ever love. He told him once they had already loved him from the womb. That he knew he'd needed a brother, so he had to to survive, no matter what. He couldn't have been older than seven, and already his arms were draped around their shoulders. 'I carry all of her love for you and my own, that's why I'm here,' he told him. 'I'll never let you be lonely.'

Love was a treacherous word on the youngling's tongue, but their sibling knew well enough to know when he meant it. And he always meant it, with them.

He hurries over now with all the barely contained titillation of a child eager to unwrap a present, as if venturing within their den alone was some kind of gift; their little feet eager, padding over the couch with a gasp, his yellow eyes wide and excited. "Is this for me?" he looked at the pillow and blanket and smiled wide, briskly pulling the blanket with a sharp yank—a soft giggle falling from his lips. Baeksa wasted no time rushing to them, their outstretched arm an invitation he could not bring himself to deny. He drags the blanket, and wraps it around Haneul's torso, lowering himself to his knee, nestling against their chest, pulling the blanket around him, too, trapping them inside a cocoon. "It is late... why are you not in bed, mm?" the concern was mutual, that little, upturned nose hanging there like a challenge as he brings his hand to cup Haneul's cheek, his thumb brushing against the dark circles under their eyes. "You look tired... can't I help with anything?"

[riguangs]

to see those familiar golden eyes widen with excitement and surprise, followed by laughter, not faux or pretense, genuine — is something that haneul treasures. in secret, away from eyes that hold dark motives, in the safety of rooms where there is no one else but them. their protection is both like a cloak and a shadow, all-encompassing and ever-present, regardless of what one might wish. from the moment they held their little brother, they had made an oath, and they would rather stare dead in the eye of a forsaken before breaking that oath. most of their motivations had strengthened to stone that night, and now, hearing baeksa genuinely happy around them- is something they do not take lightly. ends of their lips turn into a small smile, eyes softening, all signs that would be difficult to spot to an unfamiliar eye, all signs of haneul being simply fond. a low hum from their throat, the younger settles on top of them as if it is second nature, and maybe it is. the blanket wraps around them both, and in his presence, they feel calmer, as if the chaos from minutes before has settled instead of buzzing around their head. how nonsensical, irrational- unlike who they are, anywhere else but here. at the question, their eyebrows move up slightly, in good jest, words similar to teasing, another behavior that is reserved here. "it's hyung's duty to worry- not yours." it's simple, and they wish baeksa to take it as it is. no denial that it is late, that they have been working for the entire day now — for they do not lie. not to baeksa, not between them. although they are constantly working to make sure the younger is well, in one piece, away from dangerous experiments and people, they have never lied to him, and never will. with their love, their respect comes; they find honesty to be the sign of their devotion, their trust in return. cold fingertips brush against dark skin, the purple of their robes not helping lighten the circles underneath their eyes. on worse days, they are known to use powder to not show the weakness that might be attributed to it; however, here, they are stripped bare. surprisingly, it does not bring discomfort as it should. a shake of their head, their eyes move to their own shoulder, where baeksa is known to rest and fall asleep on long nights where they study. "i am alright. nothing that requires an additional hand." they just need to think, and try to chart a course. a feat easier said than done when roads keep shifting. "rest. i'll keep you company as well."

[mortifere]

open starter . morgana var gurgaes & open . [ 1/3 ] setting; morning at the docks, near her enchanted ship, with fish gutters splashed upon the ground

the sea salt vapour clings to her linen shirt, open by the throat. an assortment of gold resting against her skin, hanging around her neck like laurels, most victory seized from the blood and brine of various treasures and ports. her waist is bound in leather, and above it, near her midriff, her linen resembles a cloth of white with smears of watery pink. " i can smell you over the herring. "  sitting upon a wooden box on the plank, morgana speaks over the silvered fin, like a tide whispering beneath a storm, the sharp edge of her voice slipping between her knife and the fishbones, clean yet impatient. and as her knife cuts down in violence, her hands and fingers move in haste.

she comes to nudge her foot against the bucket of dead fish next to her, the wood worn by the salt, by the labor of many morning on shore and wave.  " four coppers a pound. though staring i suppose it would be free. "  as morgana finally looks up, her violet eyes are darkened by the shadow, like a bruising dusk. there’s a breath, then a cord of intestine yanked from within the hollow.  " you know, most customers tend to speak. "

[riguangs]

ends of dark robes flutter against the wind blowing from the sea, revealing the maroon cloth underneath. amidst sailors and seagulls, haneul sticks out like a sore thumb. a mirage almost, grim reaper with its hands behind its back, not searching, simply there. face pale and expression steely, their eyes do not wander around as if they are lost, but as someone with a purpose. the smell of fish is revolting to say the least, and it only gets worse once they have spotted her. quietly they stop near the ship, gaze stuck on the entrails of whichever fish was unlucky enough for the day. soon enough, seagulls will find and feed, leaving only the smell and stickiness in their wake. it will remain there until the sea tides over and salt washes over it. the nudge against the bucket only seems to send another waft of smell out of it, and if haneul was a lesser person, they'd have grimaced. instead, they look up with a stare, unimpressed, dark eyes meeting violet, searching without word. long enough that it might seem they are mute. "i am looking for something of value..." other than rotted fish, or what seems like it. momentarily, their eyes wander over the ship different than the others on the dock, before turning back to its owner. "and i suppose i am unlike most other customers." if not from the way they speak, it's apparent by the cut of their clothes, the expensive nature of the fabric. "are you interested in a conversation outside of fish?"

[aenaos]

Who: Lenyra Caelestis & open (2/4) Where: her private gardens

In the distance, a peal of laughter carves through the quiet night. Cries of delight soon follow. Lenyra counts each one as she would her silver, records the sounds and the faces attached to them, then locks them away within the confines of her mind, with  its many cabinets and hidden drawers.

Verdant pillars of cypress circle her, silver smoke curling between the leaves like ribbons, like a woman's sigh, a caress scented with orange blossoms and longing. Perhaps a tad too overwhelming, Lenyra notes. More an assault on the senses than a slow seduction. She will look into that later, as she always does, even if her audience is by now too busy exploring the pleasures of her garden labyrinth—and the pleasures of each other. One flaw, after all, can unravel an entire scene.

The moon silvers her ivory dress, its elegant spill of silk draped over the low divan. Away from prying eyes, she is less a queen holding court and more a luxurious cat basking in the contentment of a night well done. She does not lick her chops, mindful of her own claws—and those of others with eyes everywhere. Instead, she pops another grape into her mouth, taking her own small gratification in the way the skin bursts between her teeth, the nectar sliding down her throat; in not spitting the seed back into the bowl, but swallowing it whole—a reclamation of everything the world once took from her.

Only after the third grape does she turn her head, so slight a movement it can barely be called one, to softly ask:

"Are the festivities not to your liking?"

Her eyes slide, blue and clear as water, toward her guest.

"Or merely the dessert?"

[riguangs]

the night is filled with a type of pleasure haneul does not seek, least of all in places such as this one. surrounded by others. it's a constant battle not to let their eyes wander, to fit in with the crowd, enjoy the scenery like the rest. perhaps, majority of guests are enjoying it in a more carnal form, through noises that echo through the labyrinth, barely masked by the melodies that swim over the gardens. they sit down with a drink in hand and count the minutes, watching others from the corner of their eye, faces worth noticing, information worth noting. for them, this is not a day for festivities or enjoyment, it is merely to show face here amidst those of similar stature, and to have a conversation with lenyra about whether there is further information she is ready to exchange. they could have perhaps met elsewhere, but it would raise more suspicion than haneul simply coming here instead. here, no one suspects seeing another high level official, no one bats an eye amidst the dizziness of pleasure and joy. they, in return, find what these men do, to be an unnecessary risk. inhibition making their mouths looser, hands wandering, rumors in the making. this is the vice of aurean magisters, their greatest pleasure and undoing. in a way, it revolts them to see them be so public about their weaknesses. then again, there is also someone else who watches. someone who rules this space, pulling the strings and shaping them in a way that haneul has simply no power over. this is her realm, and they should not be surprised that she has already taken notice of their reluctance in taking part. they raise the glass of wine up to their lips, and take a long sip, letting the silence linger before replying. "no, nothing wrong with the festivities." moreso with their preferences, which is left unsaid. "nor the dessert." dark eyes turn to meet clear blue, a tilt of their head, voice a low, deep baritone. "how have you been, lady caelestis?" a small movement with the wine glass to gesture towards the labyrinth, the cypresses, the sounds of pleasure and music. "i see caelestian nights are as popular as always."

[breweri]

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞.  the  crowded  bar  of  the  tarnished  tabernacle,  one  of  his  usual  dens  of  iniquity,  at  kastor's  usual  corner  seat. 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧.  @riguangs's  kwon  haneul,  a  loose  thread  he  can't  seem  to  stop  pulling.

❝  well,  well,  look  what  the  cat  dragged  in.  ❞  a  proper  turn  and  bow  would  be  the  more  polite  thing  to  do  —  as  befits  the  other's  station,  and  the  deference  one  should  show  a  repeat  employer.  in  kastor's  humble  and  very  backed-by-experience  opinion,  however,  it  was  familiarity  that  drew  in  the  most  coin.  and  perhaps  the  fact  that  he  had  imbibed  a  little  too  much  a  little  too  early  in  the  day  had  something  to  do  with  it.  if  he  could  keep  himself  bodily  off  of  these  floors  in  particular,  he  would  be  very  pleased.  so  as  it  stands,  a  wide  grin  is  what  greets  the  kwon  heir  instead,  partially  cushioned  by  a  hand  under  kastor's  chin.  ❝  if  it  isn't  my  favorite  tax  thief,  dear  magistrate  kwon.  ❞

a  foot  hooks  around  the  leg  of  a  stool  briefly  unoccupied  and  pulls  it  closer  to  him,  causing  his  neighbor  to  tumble  mid-sitting  motion.  kas  waves  an  apologetic  hand  at  the  angry  glare,  then  tips  his  head  toward  the  highborn  patron,  and  answers  the  frustrated  grumble  with  a  flick  of  his  fingers  toward  the  bartender.  altogether,  it  would  not  be  very  strange  to  say  that  this  is  his  element,  if  not  one  of  those  nice  hay  bales  outside.  each  time  the  two  of  them  had  crossed  paths,  kas  had  been  in  their  domain  instead,  pulling  at  his  collar  uncomfortably  as  the  trappings  of  gilded  excess  flowed  around  him  like  water.  it  was  only  fair,  he  reasoned,  but  he  would  be  as  hospitable  as  possible,  because  he  was  kind  like  that. 

❝  i  can  only  assume  you've  deigned  to  set  foot  in  such  an  establishment  because  you  wanted  to  see  me.  ❞  a  hand  curls  protectively  around  his  cup  as  the  other  pats  his  offered  seat,  flinty  eyes  narrowed  with  suspicion.  it  would  never  be  a  social  call.  ❝  if  i'd  known  you  were  looking,  i  would've  chosen  a  better  spot.  the  swill  here  is  garbage  —  unless  you'd  like  to  try  it  for  yourself,  in which case  i'd  say  it's  near  enough  to  the  nectar  of  the  gods.  ❞ 

[riguangs]

there's a certain discomfort that comes from being in places such as this one. where manners and etiquette take lesser priority, with its inhabitants drunk and ready to blow up at the smallest of sparks, looking for entertainment, then a brawl, and then forgetting what they were doing in the first place. it's crass, uncouth, and although haneul is aware this is the breeding ground for much information that has brought powerful men down, it does not mean they enjoy being here in person. put them in a room full of politicians ready to cut each other's throats with carefully picked words and thinly veiled accusations — they are at ease. put them in a bar with this much disorder and noise? they feel out of place. if these people weren't as drunk, they might have been able to tell haneul does not belong here. with dark purple robes with embroidered silk underneath, and the rigid straightness in their posture- they are unlike the other patrons. similarly, once they spot the reason for the visit, they slowly walk towards him, uncaring of anyone else around. expensive shoes halt in front of the corner table, eyes flitting over nearby tables, trying to spot if there is anyone who might talk. only two sentences out of kas' mouth, and it's more than enough to raise that familiar frustration up their chest. hands move to clasp in front of their robes, they let out a huff of breath, and speak through almost gritted teeth. "kastor." their voice low, monotone even through the noise. "it seems you still enjoy talking nonsense... loudly." and it does not help — especially considering there might be talk caused from haneuls' presense merely being here. then again, it is a low risk, low enough that they ended up here anyway. they take the offered seat without much complaint, finding it better to blend in rather than stand there as if a grim reaper. the glare they find themselves wearing all the time returns, and they reply, deadpan. "no, i come here all the time..." a glance towards the table next to them, the disgusting looking drinks that are spluttered over in conversation. "for the... swill." they return their attention back to kas once more. it is difficult to hold up decorum around him, to remain impassive, emotionless as they strive to be. he seems to be able to find right buttons to push, and haneul pushes back in return. "so- is this what you do in your free time?" a gesture around them, the rowdy drunkards, those trying to sing yet fail, awful dancers at one side. "seems... riveting."

[decthless]

closed starter for — haneul kwon ( @riguangs )

As he stood there in the open maw of darkness framed by a single rind of light, Baeksa didn't look quite human; it is often he does not feel so. As though his hand are not his own, and something strange and ancient stirred beneath his ribs, beneath his bones.

There were nights in which he did not feel quite like himself; where he'd stumble out of bed weak and weary, a wandering thing, the scent of jasmine trapped in the white wisps of his hair leaving a sickly sweet trail in its wake, his bare feet light and unbearably quiet against the stillness of the night, carrying him to places he did not recognize. He'd wander aimlessly through dark hallways, like a ghost waltzing through time, through memories that he could not call his own, fingertips brushing dust off windowsills and statues it found along its path.

He would not say a word during this trance state, only wander, only walk. He remembered vaguely, blinking awake as a child to find Haneul's strong arms wrapped around his chest—reeling him back to solid ground. Sometimes, he'd be facing down a riverbed, looking at his own reflection like something recognizable, his eyes non responsive to stimuli. Other times, his nightgown would be wet, his body half submerged, his hair floating above the surface like silk ribbons unspooled. Either way, Haneul always found him, and he'd always stumble back into their arms, disoriented and visibly frightened, as if plucked from a bad dream.

It is now he wonders with single-minded purpose, to pluck them back, and pay a debt that could not be paid. "Hyungah..." that sickly sweet voice called to them, not expecting them to look, its pale head lolling against the door. "You're up late... can I keep you company?" he wouldn't ask for anyone else, he should know this by now—he had no qualms about invading personal space when it benefited him, but there is something gentle, tender about the way the young Kwon looked at them, as if they were the only thing that mattered in the world.

[riguangs]

papers spread across a mahogany desk, books stacked in one corner, parchment crumbled and discarded on one side, waiting to be burnt so that no one can read them. a quill dips into a large pot of ink, and scratches against the surface of the parchment. again and again. only lulls in time are when a finger drags over the texts in a book, details in a letter, and then returns to write again. a problem with many causes, a solution with no end in sight. the cycle repeats itself, a book shuffled through, discarded. letters opened and ripped to shreds. the stack of written notes growing larger, written in cipher, sentences with seemingly no sense to someone who isn't haneul. they don't know how long it passes. the sun was up when they had sat down here, and it seems it's gone now. they don't take notice, mind wrapped up in the work of everything that has been going on, as if it's a tree with many roots underneath the soil, the road diverging one way, and then another. a magistrate who has missed a meeting. the whispers of a new betrothal in the making. new attacks from the forsaken near the border, another village wiped out from the face of the world. which of the patricians who have gone quietly much richer — all parts of a tapestry that is impossible to be in control of. nonetheless, they try, and they will continue to try- as this is where true power lies. to be able to understand where strings are pulled, to watch or pull them, or to know when they should be cut. the nib of their pen scratches an odd letter into their parchment again, other hand turning the page of a book, when they are suddenly pulled away from the world they have created. the pen pauses mid-movement, dark eyes moving up to look at the window in front of them. with outside this dark, light of the oil lamp reflects against the glass, turning it into a mirror. through it, haneul spots their brother, small and lingering, a comforting presence. though there was no doubt at all it was him, there is a lot to be spotted from his body language. haneul has always been able to read him like an open book. something softens in their expression as they turn on their chair, head tilted now that they can see baeksa better. a low hum leaves their throat, and they extend an arm, for the younger to settle next to them. "of course." there is no need for baeksa to ask. it means a lot from him that he does anyway. "however, it's late... shouldn't you go to sleep now?" said sleep seems to ooze from every cell of the younger, enough to cause concern. "you can sleep here, if you wish." they gesture to the large sofa near their desk, with a pillow and a blanket already prepared. just in case.

[riguangs]

location : marketplace , during the day ⏲ aurea from : zhou lian , liege of house zhou to : open starter [ 𝟎 / 𝟑 ]

the marketplace is as alive as ever, with the familiar noise of people haggling, speaking over each other, vendors trying to make their voice heard amidst all the chaos. it's a comforting place to be in, amidst the townsfolk, rather than being in stuffy rooms and uncomfortable robes, having to keep one's mouth shut and ignore the stares. especially after the last couple of days, experiments not going so well back at his workshop, lian feels now in his element. a paper bag underneath his arm, filled with a couple of different types of fruit, he continues to walk through the long street, chatting up with a few familiar faces, buying a thing and then another one. time passes easily, and too stuck in a conversation; he does not really look at where he's going when he turns, only to run into someone else. the clash isn't powerful enough to cause injury, yet definitely enough to imbalance both. lian's bag spills over the ground, but more concerned about the stranger, he begins to apologize. "sorry! sorry — i really didn't see you- nor knew you were so close—" in a crowded marketplace, there is little excuse as to why he didn't know better. "let me help you, please —" kneeling on the ground, he tries to collect what has spilled from the other's bag. "is anything broken? i am- so sorry —"

[riguangs]

location : house of zhou , evening ⏲ aurea from : zhou lian , liege of house zhou to : zhou sheng , lord of house zhou [ @decthless ]

lian does not even know how many times he has waited like this. sitting on the stairs of the grand entryway of their house, facing the large embellished doors, watching the engravings of some of the most famous battles the zhou has won. numerous soldiers at the bottom of the door, then the generals of zhou in their armor, shining, eyes hard, weapon drawn and ready to strike. the enemies are many, yet they are struck one after another, and it ends in glory. of course it always does. lian used to look at it and feel frustration fill his chest. casualties would not make the cut- neither would if a zhou passed in battle. no, only glory and bloodshed would be depicted. neither the before, the grueling hours training, nor the aftermath of robes soaked in blood. no matter how many times it's been, even if rationally, lian should not be this worried anymore — he is. he always will be. because he knows it only takes one misstep, one mistake, one arrow flying a few centimeters to the right, for all of it to be over. for sheng to never return home again. the thought is more than enough to raise that panic within his chest again, and he takes a deep breath. it'll be alright. it has to be. his hands toy with one of the talismans, feeling the time move slower than it usually does. regardless, he does not sleep or move away. continues to sit on the cold staircase, a familiar enough occurrence that none of the staff around the house bat an eye, having gone to sleep many hours ago. it's then the sound of familiar footsteps reaches his ears, and he jumps up to a stand. he's halfway through the room when the room opens, and sheng's figure is illuminated by the lights. the darkened patches of fabric make lian's breath hitch, and he closes what little distance left, hands moving to his brother's shoulders. "gē — is that yours? tell me that's not yours?" a hand goes to his chin, gently turning him one way, then the other, so that the light reflects, and he will be able to see the full truth. who knows how many times this has happened? will the panic every get any better?

[riguangs]

location : seedy tavern , late in the night ⏲ aurea from : zhou lian , liege of house zhou to : rook , leader of thieves' court [ @tolvajok ]

it is not as if people in this line of work operate on a schedule, there are nights when lian can find the right contact when he needs it, and nights where he waits and waits to no avail, ending up drunk and dancing with strangers. this time though, there is an uneasy element to him as he sits, eyes flitting around even though he tries to act as if he is any other customer. his leg moves under the table up and down, and even the familiar burn of alcohol does not calm his nerves too much. he's looking to find rook again, to see that familiar mask and inquire if there are more resources he can find for him, the kind that's not found easily or legally. unsure how much time passes, the crowds going larger and then drunker, the noise around him becoming more and more nonsensical. he joins it every now and then, as he continues to wait — until the light glints of that familiar mask, and lian almost spills his drink all over himself. the alchemist spares maybe a few minutes before heading towards the other, seemingly part of the scenery, yet also nothing but. a hand raises in a wave, and he stops near the other's table. "hey — hey- good to see you. busy day?" a gesture towards the seat, asking permission before moving to sit. "mind if i join you tonight?"

[riguangs]

location : outside of a hidden workshop ⏲ aurea from : zhou lian , liege of house zhou to : aurel , [ @sidereius ]

a puff of smoke, an ember of fire that dies. the room fills with an odd smell of rotten vegetables, and lian heaves a sigh. a thunk echoes through the empty room as he lays his head on the open notebook, a sign of another failed experiment. he supposes this is not the worst conclusion to one, having blown up this room a few times to know that when things go bad, they go really bad. however, even that thought does not alleviate the disappointment of failure. with a huff, he reaches for the pen and takes notes, handwriting more scribbly and half-heartedly than usual. a glance outside the small windows at the top of the workshop, it's easy to spot it's later in the day, and with this turn of events, he feels no motivation to continue. deciding to head out- to maybe go to a market or a tavern, he tidies up behind himself. shutting the notebook close and arranging the books. pouring the contents of the cauldron and filling it up with water. the workshop is still messy as usual, yet it is a more controlled mess than before. a pleased hum, he tucks the strands of hair back into the ponytail before pushing his chair back to its position. a hand wraps around the doorknob of the door, and opens it as usual, closing behind himself — and exactly then he's faced with a stranger, who has perhaps even caught a glimpse of the room where no one else has seen before. lian's heartbeat spikes, and he pulls the handle of the door even further, to make sure it's closed, the lock falling into space. the enchantment will follow later — not when he has more pressing matters at hand. "hi- hello there —" even if his tone wavers a little in nerves, he clears his throat. "are you lost? where were you trying to go?"

[riguangs]

name : kwon haneul / nickname : han ( reserved to very few ) / faceclaim : lee soo hyuk / age : twenty - eight / profession : magistrate + politician / gender : genderfluid ( they / them ) / orientation : panromantic pansexual / house : kwon of strategic renown / moral alignment : lawful neutral ( or evil ) / positive traits : ambituous , calculated , strategic / negative traits : brooding , gloomy , rude / inspiration : dark eyes scheming , following your every move , wind against your face as you run through the forest in a shape unknown to the world , the burning ambition to rise to the top .

TIDBITS

mbti : istj , the logistician enneagram : six , the guardian western zodiac : capricorn chinese zodiac : year of the snake greek temperaments : choleric hair : pitch black , slightly below shoulder length . very slight waves , but always pushed back away from their face , no strands peeking out , they use a very small amount of oil to make sure it stays that way throughout the day . sometimes tied down low with black or dark purple fabric , just behind their neck . does not wear any hair ornaments , unless part of official ceremonies , in which they wear traditional horsehair headgarb , tanggeon . eyes : dark brown , dark enough to look black when the sun's not out . when evading your eyes , for the briefest of moments , you might be able to see a swirl of maroon , just around their pupil . height : 6'1" / 1.85 cm build : strong and muscled with wide shoulders , even if they are not the largest in the room or particularly brute looking . years of training is not difficult to spot at first glance , as they make sure to train every day . distinguishing marks : calloused hands from archery and training , difficult to see scars over their knuckles . faded sun marks over their cheeks , which resemble faded freckles . a pale thin scar underneath their jaw on the right , from a few years ago when they took a hit and it needed stitches to heal . sartorial style : dark purple or maroon traditional robes , full length dopo with black inner robes within , embroidered on one sleve the name of their house with gold thread . on official ceremonies they wear more intricate robes ; a gradient of white on their shoulders , shifting to maroon or dark purple , more detailed embroidery on the back with sceneries depicting house of kwon history through the centuries . shapeshifts into a ██████ .

BIOGRAPHY

tws: death during childbirth, medical malpractice

you  are  born  to  a  house  of  knowledge,  one  that's  near  the  top  of  the  world  you  know,  giving  advice  to  the  most  powerful,  voting  for  and  against  what  becomes  destiny  of  all.  as  the  oldest  child  of  kwons,  you  are  raised  and  taught  to  be  a  strategist,  to  learn  about  history  to  be  able  to  shape  it  one  day,  martial  arts  to  fight  when  needed,  and  the  art  of  politics  to  know  who  to  befriend  and  who  to  be  wary  of. life  starts  with  that  weight  upon  your  shoulders,  yet  you  do  not  feel  burdened  by  it.  you  welcome  the  purpose  and  want  to  make  it  your  own,  to  take  it  further,  ambitious  at  your  best,  and  power-hungry  at  your  worst.  you  know  your  house  holds  the  potential  to  rise  to  the  top  — and  you  know  it's  only  a  matter  of  time  and  hard  work  on  all  fronts  to  get  there. a  tension  starts  with  your  father  from  a  young  age.  one  that  carries  over  to  this  day.  when  you  await  to  welcome  a  brother  into  the  world,  you  instead  spend  your  time  next  to  your  sickly  mother.  you  are  not  in  the  room  when  it  happens,  but  you  hear  her  wails  through  the  walls,  and  the  silence  that  follows.  it's  the  most  deafening  sound  you  have  ever  heard,  even  to  this  day.  the  only  solace  is  the  cry  of  a  baby  that  follows.  you  lose  her  that  day,  and  you  also  almost  lose  your  brother.  you  are  quiet  at  her  funeral,  with  a  baby  in  your  arms  and  tears  that  do  not  reach  your  eyes.  after,  when  the  ashes  have  turned  cold,  and  your  father  attempts  normalcy  —  you  are  told  it's  a  natural  malady  that  has  taken  over  her,  nothing  more.  however,  as  you  grow  up,  you  begin  to  put  the  pieces  together.  what  makes  and  does  not  make  sense,  the  tinge  to  her  skin  before  birth,  the  robed  figures  coming  to  pray  at  her  bedside.  you  start  interrogating  staff  around  the  estate,  and  the  more  you  pull  the  thread,  the  more  it  unravels.  the  uncovered  truth  chills  you  to  the  bone. your  father  had  tried  to  interfere  with  her  pregnancy  through  magic,  aiming  to  create  an  offspring  that  could  wield  magic  better  than  any  of  kwon  ever  born.  an  unnecessary,  ruthless  risk  —  which  had  resulted  in  such  sorrow  that  would  follow  you  all  for  centuries  to  come.  once  the  truth  is  there  to  bear,  you  spend  that  entire  night  in  your  brother's  room.  make  promises  to  air  that  no  one  will  hear  but  you.  to  protect  and  to  succeed.  you  don't  face  your  father  with  this  truth;  you  hold  that  resentment  safely  within  your  chest.  in  a  box,  ready  to  be  taken  when  needed.  an  explosion  awaiting  the  perfect  moment  to  strike.  your  father's  not  your  ally-  he  never  was,  and  you  see  him  as  a  danger  to  your  house,  and  a  threat  to  your  success.  you  use  him  as  a  tool;  while  he  believes  he  is  teaching  you.  you  leech  off  his  experiences,  his  connections,  befriend  his  friends,  and  create  an  image  of  yourself  more  powerful  than  he  ever  was.  you  plan  to  get  everything  out  of  him  before  a  decision  needs  to  be  made. you  know  the  clock  is  soon  to  strike,  that  the  right  time  will  come.  to  take  over  and  become  the  head  of  your  house,  to  make  decisions  your  father  is  too  cowardly  to  make.  with  forsaken  reaching  the  borders  and  the  looming  threat  against  every  single  magi  out  there,  you  need  to  be  in  the  room  where  decisions  need  to  be  made.  you  will  make  sure  you  will  be  there,  no  matter  what  it  takes.

[riguangs]

name : zhou lian / nickname : li - li , lia / faceclaim : xiao zhan / age : twenty - six / profession : alchemist + cultivator / gender : demi - male ( he / them ) / orientation : homoromantic homosexual / house : zhou of military renown / moral alignment : chaotic good / positive traits : emphathetic , kind , fair / negative traits : naive , sheltered , stubborn / inspiration : robes adorned with silk , long dark hair held by an ornate , gold hairclip , smell of herbs emanating from a cauldron , blind faith that does not see the dark looming within .

TIDBITS

mbti : enfp , the campaigner enneagram : two , the helper western zodiac : pisces chinese zodiac : year of the horse greek temperaments : sanguine hair : almost pitch black and waist-length , usually held up away from his face by a red fabric that flows down or an ornate hair clip that has intricate flowers designs with rubies adorning it . his hair is done up at the start of the day with only two strands not held by the ponytail in front , yet throughout the day it gets messier and he does not bother fixing it . eyes : dark brown , they go pitch black when he is focused on his latest project of cultivation . what he does not realize is that when practicing with magebane , when there is a lapse between reality as they know and the unknown - his eyes have a golden hue around the black . height : 5'10" / 1.78 cm build : wiry and slim , yet there is a fair amount of muscle that one would not suspect from first glance due to training with family over the years . even if he does not go out into the battle field , he can perform well in combat . distinguishing marks : a mole under his lip , both ears pierced , there is also a scar on his left eyebrow from falling down when he was a kid . it healed quickly yet the scar remained , and if you look closely , no hair grows at the corner of that eyebrow . his hands and forearms are also peppered with scars from experiments gone wrong . some burns , some cuts from small explosions . he usually does not wrap his hands with bandages , for it limits movement , yet if it is a bad one or if it is his forearms , he covers them with ointment and black fabric . it becomes difficult to tell apart from rest of his clothes . sartorial style : wears a black hanfu with a red belt most days . it has different layers of fabric ; the one on top is a firm matte fabric , the inner layers are embroidered with silk instead . wears a pair of matching black and red earrings , with small sparkles of rubies . on special occasions , he wears his red robes with inverted colors , and wears gold jewelry instead .

BIOGRAPHY

you  are  born  into  the  smell  of  iron  and  the  deafening  sound  of  clashing  swords.  war  is  your  birthright,  yet  it  has  never  come  naturally  to  you,  and  it  never  will.  no  matter  how  much  you  try.  born  as  the  second  and  last  child  of  the  zhous,  your  father  has  great  plans  for  you  and  your  brother,  from  the  moment  you  come  into  existence.  to  follow  in  his  footsteps,  to  fight  for  glory  and  the  protection  of  your  lands,  no  matter  the  enemy.  to  him,  it's  simple,  straightforward.  to  you,  it's  anything  but. you  are  of  a  gentler  disposition  than  him,  and  most  days,  you  wonder  if  you're  his  at  all.  you're  more  like  your  mother,  with  gentle  hands  and  a  careful  ear  that  listens.  instead  of  a  ruthless  leader  who  makes  his  soldiers  listen  no  matter  what,  you  want  to  befriend  and  converse.  you  cannot  bear  not  to  think  before  you  strike,  and  most  days,  you  cannot  bring  yourself  to  strike  at  all.  it  becomes  a  great  topic  of  content  as  you  grow  up.  for  a  long  time,  you  try,  do  your  absolute  best  to  fit  into  this  mold,  to  become  more  like  your  father  and  brother.  put  on  the  armor  and  don  that  personality  that  has  never  been  yours  at  all.  you  go  to  trainings  and  put  on  a  mask,  but  all  you  can  think  of  is  the  magic  that  spills  from  your  fingers,  what's  hidden  in  books,  and  what's  more,  how  much  there  is  to  be  found  not  in  pages  but  out  there. you  are  introduced  to  the  world  of  alchemy  by  a  trusted  friend,  someone  who  you  regard  as  your  mentor.  it  is  he  who  teaches  you  that  battle  is  not  fought  only  in  the  front  lines,  but  through  strategy  and  power.  your  eyes  shine  as  if  for  the  first  time  in  your  life-  you  have  found  an  answer.  you  can  protect  your  family,  you  can  protect  your  brother  and  your  loved  ones— in  a  way  that  feels  right  to  you.  power  thrums  in  your  veins.  shared  through  countless  generations  of  zhous.  you  wish  to  tame  it-  to  control  it  in  a  way  that's  helpful  to  others.  you  spend  nights  studying  and  days  travelling  through  aurea,  making  friends  and  confidants,  learning  and  sharing.  you  believe  the  fight  against  the  forsaken  can  only  be  won  through  such  camaraderie,  and  you  put  on  a  brave  front  and  a  gentle  smile. the  smiles  hide  another  reality  within;  a  fear  that  no  matter  how  much  you  try,  you  will  never  be  good  or  strong  enough.  how  can  you  be  strong  enough  against  angels?  your  years  of  studying  with  other  willing  houses  shed  no  light  on  an  answer,  and  while  you  do  not  act  like  it,  you  begin  to  lose  hope.  then,  you  begin  to  find  other  answers  that  you  should  not  seek.  hidden  shards  of  magebane  smuggled  through  bribing  soldiers,  hidden  from  the  sight  of  others.  you  start  studying  the  forsaken  as  a  secret  endeavor,  to  learn  more  from  them  instead,  to  harness  the  only  power  that  will  be  able  to  stop  them  for  good.  you  try  to  ignore  the  effects,  the  lapses  in  reality,  the  sick  feeling  that  sinks  into  your  stomach  that  is  more  than  just  a  bad  feeling.  light  that  flickers  through  you  at  the  worst  of  times,  and  the  way  your  magic  is  pulled  towards  something  that's  inherently  dangerous. the  good  thing  is  that  you  can  almost  feel  your  magic  growing  stronger,  the  talismans  and  potions  you  send  with  the  soldiers  working  better  and  better  each  day.  hearing  stories  of  glory  and  success  fills  you  with  more  determination.  you  can  ignore  everything  else  that's  happening.  it  will  be  alright,  and  you  will  be  alright.  you  believe  it.

[calisverse]

Scholar Who Walks The Night (2015)

Lee Soo-hyuk as Gwi

Episode 20