::  @narvvhal​ & khioniya  ↤  PLOTTED STARTER  ::

LIYUE HARBOUR, 13 hours ago.

her majesty the tsaritsa, a brumal vision in liyue’s earthen tones. sunk from the mountainous north to find her wayward heir upon their bloody red walk bridges, beneath their geometric roofs - stalking among the many lights that herald the lantern festival. she, in search of a man who so happens to be responsible for an incident here ( as much her fault as his. )              so then, who better to make amends?

there are little ones lost to the dark maw of the chasm. only the shreds of information have made it out of there - but those did make it out, & the fatal loyalty on display so far below the earth has driven khioniya off her throne. ( m i l e s  &  m i l e s from home. ) alike those lost & yet, nothing like their strife at all.

“this is not our festival.” there is some satisfaction at the slackjawed surprise in those who recognise her here. ( shorter, smaller, but just as pale. as part of the deal she is to be but the briefest glimpse of herself within the city’s borders. ) the northland bank evidently continues to play its opulent part- as do its creditors, its hunters. ayaks’ deep eyes are such a welcome sight.        “but we may as well bring them home before it ends, no?”

THE CHASM

this place eats the light. the remains of the sun that was made to die one kind of death here, are sooty & vindictive. the rock is stained blue. asphyxiated by the shadows.                invited by her there is a hunger here, a thrill. pebbles tumble over each other in her blind spot. the scff of otherwise quiet steps; the faintest swish of his scarf trailing in the wake of his purpose—& he, in hers.

a few locations had been marked & a crude, partially filled in map had exchanged hands. what has been filled in has been done in firm detail; those who stayed in the cave system having done so at length. but they were all scattered, & what connects the known tombs are passageways that’ll leave them in the dark. & then there are the unknown...         chalk scratches along the rockface. an arrow. inward.

                          “they’ve not even eaten properly in weeks. anyone we find gets sent here,” here, where a cache of non-perishable foods awaits them. sheltered from the enemy outside yet, close enough to bask in sunlight as it slants into the pit they are descending through. it is a paltry apology, & yet the taste of home will invigorate beyond any other treat. any other necessity. since they are quite unwelcome, there is a silent understanding between her majesty & lady ninguang. not a toe out of line; but corpses- & their alternatives -free to retrieve. as long as the collected force moves linearly away from the harbour. they’ll need to climb—but that, that comes much later.                “we’ll find our own way.” doubtlessly.

“...i owe you an apology as well. they come first,” it trails off, chased down by the scratch of chalk as she chooses left - & marks it on another makeshift map. “...but i know the situation i have put you in.            i will compensate you. somehow. if you’ll let me.”