pywriting

[pywriting]

Letter for Elleynah

Elegant script covers the single page that’s attached to a small package. It’s delivered directly to the fortune teller’s new residence- from one of their most memorable customers.

Dear Oracle,

Hi. How are you? It's been a long while since we talked, but it's okay because i've been fine by myself. Esme has been working me to the bone, but that's to be expected when it comes to her. You know how she is, I bet, more than most.

I heard that you were moving around, so I hope this does actually find you. If you can, you'll have to tell me where you're at now so we can come and visit. I actually have a lot to talk to you about and maybe ask for your help about.

That aside, I do actually have a concern you might want to look into. See, me and Esme were speaking one night here recently and she made some talk that makes me suspect there might be foul play. What I mean by that is that warlock of hers might have bewitched her!

I don't know how I didn't see it before, but after our conversation, i'm almost sure of it. Is there some sort of charm or something like that that I can test to see if i'm right?

Also, i'm sending you some things for you. I found this really interesting little book that I think you'll like. I also am sending some dried local fruits that I think are really tasty. They might help you think of Shallowbrook while you're off on whatever adventure you're on.

Okay, that's all I had to say to you. I hope to hear from you soon and I miss you lots.

Yours truly, Taliori

P.S. If you can, can you also send me maybe a blessing or whatever they're called? Something maybe for luck to keep out of trouble. Some things have come up and it'd be real nice to know that at least some higher powers were looking out for us here.

[pywriting]

Fateful Echo

TW: Death, Gore

A girl sat in a dark house, the wooden boards around her stained with the remnants of death. At some point, the tears had stopped coming from her and her voice felt as if it had been scratched away.

It was painful. More painful than anything she’d ever experienced before.

She hadn’t known how much time had passed or cared honestly for it. All that her thoughts filled with were an echo of the past.

Mother’s face, twisted into pain. The dark red that had stained her beautiful dress that they’d worked on together. The door locked behind and the rushed words that made her heart pound in her chest.

She was scared. She was so scared.

Pounding at the door, their mouths covered as they hoped it would leave. That it would be gone. The strained breath of the older woman that held her close in her warmth. 

She was lost.

The moment that her eyes settled on mother’s dead eyes. Felt her stomach drop as she shook frantically, begging and crying. Praying to the light and beyond for someone to bring them back. She didn’t want to be alone, she couldn’t be alone. Just come back.

She’d do anything, just please don’t leave her here alone.

The pleads fell on deaf ears, yet the motions brought to life another horror. A shudder to the body, a strained sigh that almost gave her hope. But those weren’t her mothers eyes, and those weren’t the loving hands of the woman she knew.

It was all so quick, the sudden jolt of the woman, chasing after her. The way she tried to plead for her mother to stop. Stop, stop, stop. Please, mother, please. The stumble over a fallen chair, the tearing of her flesh by her back as it was raked into time and time again. Her voice cracked as she screamed in pain, falling to the side. Some prayer was answered, and the girl could push away. She’d turned to see the familiar woman turned horror and scrambled back away, her fingers slipping on the red blood that now soaked her back.

Please, mother, please. Please stop.

Mother got up. Free of the chair, and crawling towards her with a snapping jaw.

Please…. Please….

The girl was shaking, her world feeling like a haze as she stared in horror. She prayed for someone to take her away from this. To make this stop. She’d give anything to make it stop.

The answer came soon to her pleas, and a coolness seemed to spill out around her. Like the first brush of the morning air in winter. Darkness like the night sky followed, reaching around her fingers and holding back the oncoming horror.

Eyes were focused in as spears of night stabbed into Mother’s crawling form. Again and again, violently ruining the woman’s body as it cried with some mockery of pain.

Blood seemed to fall everywhere, shooting out along old furniture and ruining their floor. It was a sort of primal savagery that she’d never seen before, and it scared her. 

Please… please stop…

She didn’t want to see her mother’s face any more. Didn’t want to see her body jolt as spear after spear of that strange night ran into her. She didn’t want to be there.

But, instead of continuing, her saving grace drew back. A broken corpse left with a gorey scene surrounding it. Those tendrils of the deep dark sky fell away, back to her. Back into her. 

Her body was shaking, her breath heaving, and the girl vomited out all she had. 

She didn’t want to be here.

And yet, now, for however long it had been she sat there. Staring at her hands and praying to be saved from this. Praying to wake up. Praying and praying for her to find some other life to be in right now.

No one came for her now, though. No answer to those prayers but the numbness that came to her. Only the shadows and echo’s of her life there, ruined by her own hands. At a point, it seemed to dawn on the girl to move. To raise up on shaking legs and start to move.

One step after the other, again and again. Take down the wood that barred her from leaving this nightmare. Take the food with you that you could. It was as if another person just told the girl what to do, and all her poor mind could do was mindlessly follow.

One step to another to another. 

Her feet were sore, her stomach was empty. She didn’t sleep.

One step to another.

Her back hurt, she felt a heat that she couldn’t bear. She almost wished she could feel that coolness from before. Almost.

One step…

The news of what happened, the truth of it all. All that she’d lost. The girl cried in another’s arms, held close and protected by a deal that she begged to make.

Slowly, she was pulled up to her feet again. She was urged to follow and wipe away the tears. She looked back, across a land that was unfamiliar yet hers all the same.

She didn’t want to be there.

Eventually, her violet eyes turned forward again. Red and raw from tears, but a meek hope building in their depths. 

Prisa wouldn’t stay there.

[pywriting]

Myro’s Story: Late Thoughts

The young man was awake. Again.

There was still time before the sun rose, and Myro had long roused himself from some already passing dream, taking in the predawn light. He’d taken to walking out on the wide familiar streets, covered in the misty haze that sunk down into Varis. Despite the thickness of the coat he’d worn, a chill settled into his bones. It latched on to his weariness and made him even further discomforted.

The past week had been obnoxiously busy; not just with readjusting to the no longer familiar vistas, but worse, the necessity of duty. There had been an immediate summons to his father’s estate, their explanation of the situation lacking at best and useless at worst. There was a certain disdain in his father’s eyes, and Myro hated it. Made worse now that he actually knew what this was really about.

Murder. Preposterous. Who could he have even murdered?

In the past two or so years, he had traveled widely, never lingering, and never long enough to wish anyone dead. He frowned, tugging his cuffs as he ruminated. He didn’t think he’d even encountered anyone who even mattered enough to kill. At the very least, he knew for a fact that there was no one he’d murdered with his own hands.

Myro’s steps had taken him to one of the overlooks he frequented; one where no street lights interrupted the serene quiet. It was hard enough to get to, but refreshing to a beleaguered mind when he had too much to think about. Ambling towards his perch, he could see a large portion of the Cajhi and the hill leading to the residential district. A bench crumbled stately against one overgrown wall, the air of disuse lingering. Despite it, this felt like his own personal spot in the city. 

He settled onto the stone bench, the press of the ivy and tangling vines against his back. For a moment, he stilled in anticipation; as if expecting someone to follow. His eyes alighted over the angles and shadows of the world below, sliding to the small stairs that were the only path in and out. 

Only when he was satisfied that he was alone, did he allow himself to relax, the tension flooding out of him. Myro pulled his legs up, crossing his arms to rest on his knees. Folded so neatly, he could lie his cheek on his forearms. Even so tucked up, he made sure he could peek out to the world around.

It was a childish comfort, but a comfort all the same. The lassitude of being out of sight,-- away from judgment, from expectation– was incalculable. He was glad that he had the privacy for it, far away from his family and friends. All of them. For this moment, he was just… alone in his world. Myro’s thoughts drifted back to the accusation levied against him. Murder. It was true, of course, that someone had been murdered. An old clerk that worked– used to work– at the compendium Myro and his cohorts had frequented, had been found with unknown wounds, an unknown cause for the untimely death. The Anchli had kept it well under wraps, for the good of the city, he assumed. Murder was not a frequent occurance, and it was even more so alarming that no action had been taken up till this point.

He frowned from the cradle of his arms. It didn’t add up. He knew that they were circumstantial connections between his cohort and this crime: the timing, the location, the person themselves. But… he didn’t do it. If he had, he thought sourly, he wouldn’t have been caught. Yet it hung over him, and the question remained: who the hell had?

Myro harrumphed quietly as he racked his brain, eyes narrowing as he thought. The others surely wouldn’t. He would have been able to tell if they had killed someone they weren’t so careful with their secrets and he had learned from the best. That limited the culprits, if he could strike those he had worked with. Had it been a coincidence, really? Was there someone else that had been there that night? He was missing information, which irked him because he hated not knowing everything when it was important, and he couldn’t even find the holes in his knowledge– what was he missing?

“Struggling to sleep, Myrollan?”

Quineven stood at the stairs, his features unreadable. He had been entirely silent in his approach, a feat considering the state of the stair. He was alone; a blessing, or a curse.

Immediately, Myro scrambled up, his face flush. Quickly, he tried to school himself; it wasn’t as if he was found like some missing child. He was an adult. He was allowed to be here. He covered his discomfort with a respectful bow of his head, before answering, “I didn’t mean to make my absence known. I just wanted some air, Adeir. I can go back now.”

Without waiting for an answer, he began to walk away from his secluded spot. He did not want to be alone under his grandfather's scrutiny, especially since both of them knew about the visit to the island. 

He didn’t get far. After only a few steps, his feet slowed as if going through some thick mud that went too deep.

“No. I wanted to speak with you, actually, before today.” Quiniven said and walked past the slowed Myro, settling on the bench the young man had vacated. Weariness seemed to settle over him, and for a moment, he wore every one of his many, many years. “It’s exactly what you think it’s about, and more. You’ll give me the time, won’t you?”

Quineven’s single blue eye focused on Myro, and the weight on his legs dissipated. He frowned at his elder, as though considering his options, but he knew it was the illusion of choice. The questions would be presented and answered; it was merely a choice of doing it now, with Quineven alone, or to admit it in front of the whole council perhaps.

He released a long, slow breath, and tried to ignore the sinking feeling that he was being treated like a child. He hated it… but of course, it was always going to be the case when he was here. Slowly, he turned back and stiffly returned to his seat.

He said nothing, so after a moment, Quineven spoke. “How much of the situation do you know?”

“I know that Cayde was murdered, but I don’t know the details on how it was done. I know that Nirndil, Eldanil, Tusil, and I are all suspects, even though we very clearly haven’t done anything.” His words came out sharp, instinctively defensive in Quineven’s presence, “What I don’t know is why we’re being called back to this years later.”

Quineven appeared unphased by the sharp tone, “I agree that this has gone on for too long, however it was not up to me on the time taken.” He looked away from Myro again, letting out a slow breath, “Cayde’s death was caused by all of his mana being burned out of his body. There were no exterior markings to it, however other examinations showed tampering elsewhere and severe damage as a result within him. It would have been a very painful end. Because of that, the others had made the decision to discreetly deal with the investigation. The close family and the council are all that have known of it for the past two years.”

Myro listened quietly as Quineven continued, “I’ve had to get everything I can on similar instances. Most lead back to demons and the hounds of older times. Some match more closely to what we were wanting. The problem is, however, that there was no motive that could be discerned. It stalled our investigation until we finally found out that you four had been there the night it happened.”

“Well we didn’t do it or know who could have. Couldn’t that just have been asked to us? Why take us all the way here?” Myro sniped back.

“It’s the way of things. Even I can’t change the choices they make, only do what I can to shed more light on the situation. That is the role I have taken, and the role that I keep.” Quineven smoothly returned.

“You could do more.” Myro frowned.

Quineven’s voice remained even. “No, I can’t.” 

It was a quick response and offered no room for Myro to argue. He shrank back, torn between defending himself in frustration and the immense respect he had for his grandfather. He swallowed his words, averting his eyes.

After a moment, Quineven continued. “You are young, so you don’t understand why we may do things our ways. Sometimes, you’ll find that it’s better for you to play your part than it is to push yourself beyond. In this case, I am doing what I can to make sure that you are heard and understood, not to point a finger and put senseless blame on you.” 

He paused for a moment in consideration, and when he continued his voice had softened very slightly. “I know you didn’t kill Cayde, Myrollan. However, what’s to come must happen. All you need to do is allow them to see what they need. You are not to blame, but you may know things they do not.”

Myro’s brows came together, his lips thinned as he tried to understand and failed.

It seemed Quineven noticed, as soon after, he went on, “They are going to open your mind. It won’t be painful, but your memories will be displayed for all to see. It’s revealing, but if you have nothing to hide, then there is nothing to worry about.” 

He glanced at Myro, his gaze weighing. In turn, Myro’s features screwed in discomfort, lips thinning. He did not like the idea of it, and it showed in his face. “But there’s no reason for that- I’m being honest.” His voice was petulant to his own ears, but he had to try.

Any hope he had quickly died. Quineven shook his head. “This is how it’s going to happen, and it doesn’t matter what’s to be said. If you don’t let yourself be open to this, then it will only put more scrutiny on you. Rather than do that, you should focus on doing what is more important. That is, you should focus on what you might have seen, and why it is that this happened while you were there. Don’t be a fool to think that it’s entirely unrelated, Myrollan.”

It was the way the man said his name– Myro immediately looked up at his grandfather, meeting the one eyed gaze that was as intense as it was understanding. That was probably the worst part of it, the understanding. The weight of the words finally sank in. He still was troubled and uncomfortable, but… the point was made. 

It made sense he had to grudgingly admit. He didn’t have anything to hide. He would let the interested parties see into his mind, his memories, and show that he trusted them– that he was free of blame. But that didn’t mean he would remain idle while they trudged through their archaic investigation. 

It was true that there was something tying him and his… cohorts to the crime; this could be more than coincidence. This could be an intentional distraction– something to muddy the waters, complicate, waste time– distract from the real killer.

Myro wasn’t going to be pinned for a crime he didn’t commit.

Steeling his resolve quietly, he nodded once before looking back to Quineven. “What do I have to do?” He finally asked.

Quineven smiled, ever so slightly. “For now? Wait. Answer when asked and let them see what they want. You’ve nothing to hide, and if anything, you’ll be given a better chance at figuring out another piece to this puzzle yourself. From that point, though? Who knows. That’s for the future to know…”

“And the present to wonder.” Myro finished, nodding his head and looking away entirely. It made sense, but he couldn’t help but feel inadequate to the task, and worse, he didn’t even want to try. He wanted to go back to his new home, away from this tangle of crime and suspicion, away from the complication. He took a steadying breath. What he wanted was… irrelevant, because this investigation held much more weight than his desires, even if he could make them known.

As if reading his thoughts, Quineven smoothly shifted topics. “You’ve a nice home you’ve built for yourself. The island seems like a good resting place.”

Myro blinked, a very subtle heat rising to his cheeks. “It was an obvious choice. A new port bringing in plenty of ships, and no other informant.”

Quineven nodded, his voice as considering as ever despite the topic. “Yes, it is an obvious choice. The people around do not seem terrible. Such as Dylaine Sharpe. He seems to be very attached to you.”

That surprised Myro, and he let out a small breath. “He’s useful and amusing to talk to.” Myro did not wish to linger over this topic, and he lifted his jaw, mimicking Quineven himself when a conversation was done. He told himself he didn’t have more to say. Whatever else did not need spoken here. 

“Amusing enough to set up a commune enchantment?” Quineven raised his brows.

Myro shrugged dismissively. “I have to keep up to date on what’s happening on the island. You do the same.” He paused, then said, “Don’t you?” It was quieter than his other words, and he glanced sidelong to Quineven.

The older man nodded. “Of course. Although I doubt that he sees it that way. You might want to be mindful of that.”

“Oh.” Myro pursed his lips, uncertain. After a moment, he shrugged again. “It won’t cause any problems.” His assurance was broad… though perhaps meant for them both. 

He glanced away. Unfortunately, he couldn’t actually promise that it wouldn’t. Even as he turned over the implications, he realized… perhaps it was a mistake to continue to lead Dylaine on.  Yet, equally he didn’t want to shut Dylaine out– he genuinely enjoyed talking to his far-too-sincere friend.

A friend whom he was taking advantage of, most certainly. 

Quineven made a low, thoughtful sound, then spoke. “Tread carefully with that boy. He holds something unseen and powerful in him that may not be something you wish for.”

Myro’s brows came together, but not in worry. That was not a warning Quineven gave often, and his interest sparked. “What do you mean? What did you sense?”

Despite Myro’s interes, Quineven merely shook his head, slowly pushing to his feet. “I merely mean that you need to watch what you do with that boy. I will not intervene in your actions, but I offer that as my advice to you, Myrollan.”

Myro rose as Quineven did, not wanting to be disrespectful to the man he looked up to so much. “Yes, Adeir. Thank you for your time.” 

A warm hand settled on his cheek, and Myro met Quineven’s eye. There was a smile on the elders face again, wider now, more affectionate.

“Go with wisdom in your mind and strength in your body, Myrollan. Trust that we will both take care of this.” As Quineven spoke, he moved his hand and brushed his fingers across Myro’s forehead. The touch was cool, leaving a faint tingle; a simple blessing, customary but from Quineven, made special.

Myro flushed. He may have been a grown adult, but it still made him feel better to receive Quineven’s blessing, and advice. It wasn’t often he got to see him, and while these circumstances were… not the best, it was better than not seeing him at all.

His wisdom given and purpose completed, Quineven stepped away, his footsteps light and slow. He didn’t even make it to the stairs before he seemed to shift, growing more translucent with each step, before he disappeared completely. 

Myro was left alone in the space he had so recently called his own– and it felt emptier for it.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he slid back onto the bench. Perching, he cupped his jaw as he rehashed the conversation over in his mind, turning it this way and that as he tried to puzzle out the deeper wisdoms of Quineven’s precise words. After a time, his brows came together. No matter how he shifted the situation…he wasn’t sure that he could do anything other than precisely what Quineven had laid out.

He made a face. The realization was not the one he had wanted. Slowly, Myro curled himself up again, legs pressed to his chest. A pleasant quiet had returned, the emptiness of Quineven’s absence abating to something more serene. Perhaps… it would be fine to spend a bit more time here. Focus on seeing the familiar sights. 

His thoughts drifted, empty and aimless. As he shifted, though, Myro realized that while he had been thinking, one of his hands had moved to his earlobe, his thumb idly pressing against the earring there. 

Myro stilled, his fingers stiff over the metal as he considered Quineven’s words. A part of him wondered if he could just ask the young man what that Quineven might have seen. Knowing him, Dylaine probably would tell. And yet… he tapped the metal of the star, lips pulling sideways. Another part of him wondered just why Quineven felt the need to warn him; what exactly had he seen that Myro had not? What secrets was Dylaine keeping– Dylaine, of all people?

Slowly, he pulled his hand away from his ear, burying his face into his arms. His thoughts muddled and slogged just as his feet had in Quineven’s spell, and try as he might he could not make them turn. With a frown, he gripped his legs. He didn’t need to know right now. He wouldn’t bother. It wasn’t important, not with everything else happening. 

He certainly wouldn’t admit even to himself that… a part of him was starting to miss Dylaine.

Myro shook his head, the thoughts dissipating. Most certainly not. Not with a murder mucking up his plans, a murderer on the loose while the investigators wasted time with false leads. He would Instead focus on what he needed to do right now. Anything else– any complication– could come later.

Much, much later.

--

Thanks to @stormandozone for the assistance on editing!

[pywriting]

Myro's Story: A Calling

The cool morning breeze, scented with smells of the ocean and flowers surrounded Myrolan as he waved a simple goodbye to the half-orc that wandered back down the steps. While he was busy still setting up shop, he decided to give time to this new friend of his.

Myro thought that Dylaine was, at times, a bit too passive. Very self conscious of things and easy to rile up, in certain cases. He could easily tell the other man was an easy ‘mark’ if one was so inclined. Too naive of the world and almost stubborn to change that world view. Still, Myro looked at him for his uses, and was amused for the time at the idea of helping the poor man. Something to idly work on when not distracted with other things.

Other things, of course, such as the clear sign he heard halfway through the walk. While it hadn’t been so unfamiliar, it was almost alarming in what that light chiming noise meant. Like a whisper in the wind, but easily identified for him. Something that required immediate attention and privacy.

None of this made Myro especially pleased.

Luckily, Myro had long since set up the barriers necessary to deny ears and eyes access to his new home. When he walked back up the steps, he already tugged at the spell and let it drape along his home. When the door shut, the walls grew darker, slightly, and while he could still see out, any that tried to look in would see only a consuming darkness. Even the area of his home itself would create a strange ‘void’, for those that could sense it. It was an uneasy thing to look at.

Yet, Myro had no issue with it. Instead, he focused in and reached out for that hidden connection. It wasn’t easy, considering his location and experience with the spell, but soon enough there was a ripping sound, and around him there were cracks in the air. Dark blue and pulsing, but perceivable. He reached out, touching one of the cracks and the darkness spread quickly.

The man’s small comfortable house gave way to a strange dream-like place that was much longer than what it should be. Behind him, his home still resided as it should, yet before him was the slim path that developed into thick greenery. A wooden gateway was not far away, leading in further to a clearing. All around, it was like fireflies were floating about, lighting his way.

It was a place he had been before plenty, and as he walked through the gate, he felt that familiar tug, as though he walked through a webbing. The simple barrier to this existence broke briefly as he entered into the small circular clearing with more gates on its’ edges, all leading to dark forest.

This time, the source of that chiming noise was clear. Beautiful chimes of all kinds were in the trees above, scattered amongst their outstretched limbs. The chimes caught some unseen light and seemed to shimmer as a light wind caused them to sing their sweet tones. They were calling chimes, reaching out to those whom you would want to attend, so long as they were attuned to these sorts of places, as was common for his people.

In the clearing, there was a stone table, a very complex and enchanting pattern engraved into its aged surface. No chairs were around it, but there were three others that stood around talking quietly:

Two women and one man. Nirndil, Eldanil, and Tusil.

Tusil, the large man who seemed more like a idiotic brute in Myro’s eyes, seemed to notice the new face first. His expression seemed to grow more amused, and he quickly announced Myro’s arrival.

“Looks like I'm winning the bet. I told you he found a place finally.”

It seemed his comment was directed to both of the women next to Tusil, and in turn all of their eyes settled on Myro as he settled on the opposite side of the table.

Eldanil was the first to respond. “I never made a bet with you. It’s not like he had a choice this time. It wasn’t us that made the call, after all.”

She was a well dressed woman, but looked more like she had just woken up. Myro always saw her as vain, but she certainly had a more kind demeanor than others. That, and she was the most honest and forward of the three before him. He appreciated that fact of her.

“Do you know what this is about?” Myro raised the question, clearly wanting to get to the point rather than linger and be teased further about his lack of response when called other times.

Rather than a response, it seemed the last of the three had approached Myro on the side. Nirndil, whom he was all too familiar with, settled down on the stone table and brushed back some of her long silver hair. She, much like Tusil, had an amused expression, yet her eyes were cold and almost emotionless.

Her voice was so very sweet as she spoke, “Of course we do.” She reached out, brushing along Myro’s cheek with her knuckles. She knew he wouldn’t flinch back, too stubborn, and she enjoyed being a nuisance like this. “I suppose you might be a bit out of the loop, considering you decided to run away, but the issue still does remain.”

There was a moment she tilted her head, about to continue, but it seemed Tusil wanted to blurt out his own answer. “Arec’s real mad about it since they found out. Said that they wanted to see us all immediately for our involvement! That’s gonna suck for you, isn’t it.”

Nirndil seemed unbothered, still gently messing with Myro with small touches. Far too close. Not to mention, at the mention of Arec’s name, the man himself seemed too distracted to even care.

“How did they find out?” His eyes accusingly went STRAIGHT to Tusil. The main person that had the loosest lips simply raised his worn hands. Innocently, Tusil offered, “It had nothing to do with me. This is entirely Arec’s work.”

Eldanil snorted, “Don’t go blaming us because you didn’t cover your ass well. It’s bad enough that we got called in as well for this.” She seemed a bit annoyed, almost as much as Myro was at the comment.

Almost as if summoned with the words themselves, there was a shift in this illusion, and then through one of the darkened gateways, in came Arec.

The elder walked with light steps, their long dark brown hair more ruffled looking and their eyes having heavy bags under them. Despite this, they seemed to have an almost ethereal sort of look, the way they moved in such a fluid motion, only coming to a stop once they were at the table itself.

The others straightened up a bit, focused on the figure of importance here. Even Nirndil would casually slip off of the table and stop her pestering of Myro. She instead straightened up to give Arec the respect deserved.

The elder’s blue eyes looked between each of them, then narrowed in on Myro himself.

The young elf immediately found himself wanting to look away. He didn’t like having to report to the elders like he was some child still. It was frustrating and a waste of his time.

Arec’s voice was crisp and cool. Despite the almost tired look to their features, their tone hardly seemed to sound it. “I don’t think I very much need to explain my reason for calling you four here. While I would, of course, prefer for this to be in person,” A glance was stolen towards Myro and Nirndil at that, clearly intending to show that they were the reason they had to host this here, “But we can hardly do anything about that now.”

There was a pause, no words of argument or explanation tossed out from any of the younger elves. Each knowing that it was useless to say any such things at the time.

“You children have been foolish, and I have been going through nothing but headaches since the disappearance. Do you even know how much time I had to take just to convince the others not to gather all four of you forcefully? Especially when at least two of you ran off. What am I supposed to do with that?” Arec continued on calmly, despite the content of their words.

Brushing back some of their dark hair, the elder continued on, “The purpose of today is for you to be aware that you are summoned. You’re to report back to the Aetil by the full moon, -with- the items that you so casually took off with.”

“You two.” They pointed at Myro and Nirn now, “You both must specifically speak to Teil about the spells you ‘recreated’. Honestly, it’s probably a waste, but a necessary…discussion.”

Myro’s jaw tensed and he stared coldly forward. The news seemed to make the woman next to him equally as uncomfortable.

“Now then, the council has decided to bind you all to be assured of your appearance. The regular, as I'm sure at least Tusil is plenty familiar with.” Arec smiled coldly to the younger man, then looked along them all. “I can start now or I can answer any questions that you have.” Arec waited, patient for the younger elves.

Tusil was first to speak up, of course. “I don’t mean to really question you on this, but it really does feel like this is for punishment.”

Arec simply replied, “It is for punishment.”

That quieted the other man, who now glanced at his companions around the table. Each looked uncomfortable, except for Eldanil, who was the next to raise up her voice.

“Do you know what our punishment is going to be or if we can argue against it?” She clearly had more to say, but refrained for now.

Arec shook their head, “That is not my place to say, and you know it. I’m merely the messenger and guide.”

Again, the elder looked around, waiting to see if more words would be said. Even so, all of the others knew it was useless. They could ask Arec here and get non-answers, or just answer to those that were holding them responsible and stay silent here.

Eldanil would be the first, holding out her arm knowingly, “Then let’s get the binding started. I won’t question anything else.”

Myro glanced to Tusil, then over to Nirndil. The woman next to him would just give a slight shrug and a grin. Her own arm was stuck out, flexing her fingers slowly and preparing for the eventual.

It was frustrating, in his mind. Getting bound and being forced back home. He had things here, business now. Why was it they had to bring up old problems… Always with the nagging and looming over them as if they couldn’t manage their own. He’d grow tired of it extremely quickly.

By the time he focused away from his more annoyed thoughts, he realized he was the one they were waiting on. At some point, Tusil’s own arm was cast in. Of course, Myro was expected all the same, without argument. It was their law, after all, and no point in breaking it.

He felt a question on his lips, wanting to ask anything to clarify what was to happen to them, but it died quickly. He knew that Arec would merely repeat the same statement as earlier. He knew nothing of what was to come, just as they were. He was truly just the messenger in this case.

Slowly, the last young elf would roll up his sleeve and then hold out his arm just the same as the others. Bracing himself for what was soon to come.

Once Myro’s arm was in place, Arec didn’t waste time. Abruptly, Arec’s slim and tired features would light up to one side as the light tattoo would become more obvious with the arcanic glow. As if resonating with whatever Arec did, all four of the younger elves found their arms heavy and searing. It was a slow spell, and while not unbearable, it was not a comfortable experience.

Along their skin, starting from their knuckles, the shape of the spell began to engrave and bind. It was slim lines that wrapped around their own energy. Myro’s own would be more like vines curling upwards all the way till it reached his shoulder.

He hated it. It was a leash that they put on the troubled to make sure they would keep to their word. Saved for the dishonest and cowardly, really, which Myro saw himself as neither. It was so long ago, after all, so then why was it that they had to bother now. And especially on such short notice, treating him as if it were something so damning that they couldn’t let it go on any further.

Thankfully, the spell would be completed with no grand fanfare or such. Each of them now having their own ‘binding’ that would call them back forcefully.

The marking on Arec’s face faded, and they quickly spoke up again, “Well. That’s that. I don’t have to tell you what happens if you don’t show up, of course, but I will remind you all yet again- The next full moon, alright?”

Some of them nodded, and of course Nirndil spoke happily, “Clear and understood!”

Arec, of course, seemed to linger, nodding their head slowly. None of the others would move, respecting the Elders presence before turning their back to them. And, of course, Arec seemed to just want to be an ass and stay to force them longer into this oh-so-uncomfortable situation.

Myro waited, and waited… and then finally, watched as Arec said their blessing to the four before turning and floating back away from the table and to their own gateway. Once free of their presence, he immediately would turn himself, starting to move off.

Despite this, he still would wave his hand, calling back, “I have to take care of things. I’ll see you all soon, clearly.” He sounded annoyed, and because of that, he could hear Nirndil laughing and making some joke at his expense. As usual.

Once Myro made it to the gateway he came through again, there’d be that strange sensation of leaving through the space. The spell lingering on his senses like walking through a morning mist. But, of course, it didn’t last long.

He stepped foot back into his own home, dark and quiet as it were right as he left. He closed out the portal behind him, freeing him from the separate space entirely.

No… not entirely.

Myro looked back down to his arm, the dull blue markings now up his entire left arm. He had time, at the least, but it was frustrating to know that he had to leave already. He didn’t even know if they’d allow him to be out again, if they began to do their age-old ‘investigations’.

He shook his head a bit, then just tried to push it out of his mind. He muttered a low curse, finally releasing the spell that secured his home's privacy. His steps took him towards his bedroom, pulling the curtains into place to close the space off.

Despite the fact that it was still clearly morning, Myro felt very weary. He would go to rest on the bed, brushing his hair back as he looked upwards. Thoughts of the conversation blurred through his mind, and then the idea of having to talk to others about that incident. He hated the thought of having to go back home to deal with that.

Truly and honestly.

With a heavy sigh, the man let his eyes slip closed. Finally finding a rest that was quick to rush upon him.

[pywriting]

Forward

Prisa sat alone before a busy, bustling tent. Despite the state of the North, it seemed there was always something to do in the Argent encampments. Workers going about their jobs, shouts and laughter here and there as people lived out their lives.

So far, the journey had been rather stressful, but never had the woman felt as alone as she did right then. Even if there were so many around, none of them were more than passing figures in the background. She felt, for a moment, bitter at how things had turned out.

Of course they’d turn out this way…

For the thousandth time, Prisa began to wonder if she’d made the wrong decision. Perhaps she was making a mountain out of a molehill with Kordya’s ‘ignorance’ to her emotional needs. Was it fair to even ask that kind of thing of her partner? She was so busy, after all.

The priestess’ shoulders slumped downwards and she let out a long breath. She felt that dreadful sadness washing back into the emptiness of her stomach. It made her tired and heavy.

Abruptly, a thick figure sat beside her, the fur cloak around them causing their size to double at least. A mug was offered, steaming with warmth from the liquid inside. She caught the smell before anything- It smelled like Bricini. 

Coffee.

Prisa straightened, lifting herself to take the warm mug. “Thanks.” A simple, kind word. Beside her, there was a grunt, and the gravelly voice of the bear of a man next to her rose out of the cloak. “No problem, lass. Seems like you’ve been in a world’a trouble, eh? Never thought you’d be the type, of course.” He shook his head, his hood now falling back to reveal the bald head and thick beard.

The dwarf’s name was Kortiv. An ‘old friend’ as she said; one whomst she’d worked with back during the wars to the North. It’d been quite some time since she’d seen him– but the sight of him relaxing, back with his signature bear-fur cloak made her slip back to those stolen moments. He had been heavily burdened by the things they’d seen during the war and she’d been the shoulder for him as he needed. So often, they would get a drink and talk: about their beliefs and problems, and any other juicy bits of gossip from around the camp. 

Those few, nice moments when they were allowed before the undead swarmed once more.

Those times, of course, were behind Prisa. The undead were more controlled, and while still a present and terrifying threat, there were far more important things to worry about. Things that were not in the past, but the -present-.

“Ah, a bit.” She said, holding the drink closer to her now. “It’s more that I keep finding myself in difficult situations, that’s all. As if that makes it any better.” She looked down to the dark liquid and watched the reflection back to her in it’s inky surface. Kortiv stayed silent for the time, taking a drink of his own and watching the people as they passed. Nodding his head to something only he knew. Eventually, he spoke up again, “Well then?” Prisa gnawed at the inside of her lip, fingers pressing into the warm wood of the mug in her hands. So much had gone on, and so little she wished to say. Even so… she felt like she was boiling over with all that had happened, and had no one to -really- talk to. No one that wasn’t involved, at least.

Kortiv wasn’t involved, though. He was trustworthy and a kind ear, and always had been.

Taking in a breath of the ice cold air, she’d finally start to speak up, “It’s been complicated.” The dwarf snorted, saying, “Isn’t it always, lass?” He offered her a big, toothy grin, his own way of comforting her.

Prisa just rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Oh, most certainly. I wish life was far more simple, but I just… can’t seem to quite catch a break.” She huffed. “I mean--” She hesitated, then just let it out. “There’s so much that’s gone on. I’ve gone to all these places to ‘help’, when in reality I know that I did a lot of these decisions for selfish reasons. I mean, I -literally- had gone to Quel’thalas because of a woman who dumped me half a year later only to fall into the arms of the very -next- one and end up doing even worse things.” 

She sounded bitter. Hurt.

“And I do mean -really- bad, Korv. I mean, I practically killed myself going to the land of death and light knows that was worse than it sounds. I’ve gotten myself involved in… less than favorable business, and now I’m dealing with a woman I saw blow up in front of me coming back to life and trying to make sure I don’t bring the entire ire of the alliance down on her because they’re following after -me- calling -me- a traitor!”

She was keeping her voice down, but her inflection changed and became more strained. It was hard to talk about, but it felt good to let it out. She hadn’t even felt able to tell -Alana- this much.

“I’m not a traitor, I just… I’ve… I’ve made a few poor decisions. I’m allowed to make those decisions, aren't I? I’m not -trying- to become an enemy of the state or something.” She frowned, her brows furrowing in consideration.

“I wouldn’t have even had an alliance agent after me had I just not left--” she hesitated, then said, “If I had stayed in more neutral territory, I would be fine. I know I would. But now it’s bringing trouble to the people I care about from all angles. It’s -fine- if they blame me, but not them. They don’t deserve that, you know? Not from my mistakes.”

“I didn’t mean to make Kordya unhappy. I didn’t want to fight with her, but now I feel like it’s just ruined any sense of peace and happiness I had for a time. I didn’t want that to end.”

Prisa felt a lump forming in her throat, making it hard to breathe. She tried to swallow down the feeling uselessly. She felt her face heat, and a stinging in her eyes. Why was she being so emotional about it? She shouldn’t let this bother her so badly.

Kortiv stayed silent for a time, letting the priest vent her feelings. As he had always been, he was the ear that was needed at the time. When it seemed that she wasn’t going to continue, he’d merely cast a brief glance to her, then back forward.

There was a low hum resonating from deep inside the bear cloak, and the man took another drink. He motioned with his mug, “Look around you, lass. What do you see?”

Prisa’s eyes rose and she looked around, brow pinching.“A well established camp… people working…” She spoke the obvious; she didn’t know what he was asking.

Kortiv grumbled. “I see people that made their decisions. People that made their mistakes and have lived through varying levels of hell. That one-” He pointed to a short elf carrying a large sack over their shoulder, “Used to be a little thief. Fingers stickier than you could imagine. Bold little thing, too. Ended up killing the wrong person, almost was executed, and barely managed to escape to the Argents Custody to fight the undead.”

He continued on, pointing to an orc who was talking casually with another dwarf over some opened box of goods. “That one was all in it for glory and honor, wound up losing an arm and badly messed up their leg. Took almost a year before he calmed down that rage that’d been built up from it.”

Prisa felt like she got the idea of where this was going.

The man went on, “You see, there’s tons of them like that. I could go on, telling all the dirty little secrets, but the resounding idea of what I mean is there. We all make decisions. Some are like the thief, who had no other choice but to run and find a new life. Some are like the warrior who had to find a bit of peace in their new reality.”

“I know, I know. I should move on and look to the future. I get what you’re saying.. But it’s not that easy.” Prisa was quick to retort, bitterness tinging her tone.

“I’m not saying that it’s easy and I'm not saying that you need to move on. What I'm saying is that you’ve made your decisions, just like anyone else. You’re blaming yourself, just like others do all the time to themselves. It’s hard to step outside of your blame and realize that they are just the stepping stones to our path. Some are sharper and rougher, some are too far.”

Prisa listened to his words, but it was a thin comfort. She took a slow drink of her coffee, rather than trying to find words to say. Kortiv continued on, filling the quiet.

“I know it’s not something you’d like to hear. You’re in the worst of it. You said you left your lass, lost your home and comfort, and now you're being chased about by something- still not entirely sure on that one.” He shifted, leaning forward on his knees. It hunched his frame, the difference between them more striking. “You do need to move forward, but you need to decide what it is you really want. Out of all you’ve said, from the moment you’ve come back, I've been seeing what you look like. Lost. Like a wee babe trying to find her family again.”

He glanced at her again, and this time he met her gaze when she looked at him. “So the question is, what do you really want?”

Prisa frowned at the question, glance sliding sidelong to avoid the intensity of his eyes.

When she did not provide an answer, he continued on.

“Do you wanna go back to that home of yours? To the lass you left behind? Do you wanna move on? Come back to the Argents and do the work you did before?”

Prisa had no answers for him; or for herself. She remained quiet, offering him the same resounding silence that filled her thoughts when facing the only questions that mattered. Kortiv nodded, understanding warming the grumble of his words. “I’ll let you think over it, lass. You don’t have to make the decision now, and I'm not going to question you. I’m just here for you as you need, aye?” He pushed off the little seat they had shared, stretching as he straightened out, a loud ‘ahh’ escaping him. He kept his eyes forward as he spoke. “Listen to me lass. For now, you drink and eventually take yourself back inside to help out some with some organization we’ve been meaning to get done. Think a bit more on what I said. Think about what you want. What you -really- want. You’ll find the answer. I know you’re a smart lass” 

Prisa watched him uncertainly; how should she respond to the wisdom he had tried to share? 

As he turned to leave, she spoke quickly, breaking her silence. “Alright. I’ll… think on it.” She smiled at him, which he returned in kind. Her eyes flitted over his face as she fought for the right words. She settled on the simple. “Thank you, Korv, for listening for a bit.”

“Anytime, lass.” Kortiv shot her a wink, turning away. As he moved off, he said “We’ll I’ve got to knock some sense into Devon. Bastard bought twenty crates of cloth and didn’t list a single reason as to why it was twice the price we set for it. He’s going to be the death of me..” The old dwarf grumbled goodnaturedly, and meandered away.

Prisa watched him retreat, and she couldn’t help but smile enviously. He was a gruff old war veteran and even still, the man moved and acted as if he was thirty years younger than he was. Always busy, and always with something to say. No matter what life had sent him, he seemed to always come out on top in the end. His experience was one reason she felt comfortable speaking with him; he’d seen everything, and had no judgement left. 

Yet despite the comfort and wisdom, all Kortiv’s warmth left with him. Prisa settled, hands wrapped tight around the cup, a chill creeping into her frame and her thoughts. Without his mass, the emptiness around her was more pronounced, and not even the coffee’s heat, held close, could banish the sense of isolation.

“What I really want..” She muttered to herself, barely above a whisper. She snorted, shaking her head, “As if I know.” Frustration colored her tone. She really didn’t know what she was going to do. She’d been… too comfortable with Kordya and the scarabs. She should have known better. Should have known it could so easily break apart, just like this.

‘But,’ she thought, ‘had it been easy?’. After all, it had taken weeks and weeks and -weeks- of her trying to speak to Kordya. It hurt to see her partner show no empathy, no understanding of Prisa’s pain. How callously Kordya had told her to just ‘move on’. She didn’t, though; that had been the problem. Kordya moved on, and Prisa… hadn’t.

Was she really the one to blame? Could Kordya have done something more?

The thoughts continued to swirl, each chasing after the next, claws and teeth in her mind. She gripped the coffee cup harder, until the heat didn’t feel like anything but pressure. Did Prisa even want to even go back? Did she expect that things would somehow return to normal after leaving? After what she said?

Kordya was not often forgiving. 

Prisa closed her eyes. All this, and it wasn’t even her only problem. Of course. Her thoughts framed the figure then. Agent Black, they’d said their name was. They were a threat to Alana and her family situation. 

It was all tangled. How could she -move on- from being accused as a ‘traitor’ to her people? Were they even wrong? She had served a horde organization. All the alliance soldiers that had been killed… horror filled her, then and now. The disgust, discomfort of knowing what she had been party to. The only reason she’d been able to escape that quagmire was because… of Kordya.

And there she was again. It all came back to Kordya, again and again.

Prisa pursed her lips, silently shaking her head. She wished that she didn’t have to think about the blasted woman right now. Oh how it hurt…

Slowly, Prisa pulled herself up from her seat, setting the mug aside. Abandoned, for now. Taking a few steps away from it and the comfort it had offered, she decided to put away those thoughts. Kortiv had said she didn’t have to come to a decision just yet.

All she had to do was keep moving… and Prisa was determined to do so. Keep moving, and never stop. 

@postmoderndaughter

[pywriting]

Shadows Cast

Taliori had been in a rush of sorts as soon as she had gotten the call. It had been brief, but clear. The man that was so far away calling out to her and telling her news that was terrible in it’s own.

She had to bring it to the Lord of the lands. A man that she rarely had conversed with, yet deserved above anyone else to know of it.

Esme Sunshard was dead.

At least, her soul was dead. Her body was still alive somehow. Even Quineven had struggled to explain that.

It had been hard news to pass along, yet one she had to be honest with. She struggled with answering the stream of questions and a man breaking down with anger and fear. She could only offer so much, and before she could so much as try and explain that Quineven was working to fix it, the man was gone. Off to the mountains that the mage resided in.

It left Embertree empty. Barren of leadership and left with a woman that knew it couldn’t remain so. And thus, Taliori and made a decision.

After speaking with the staff, she finally made her way to the wide and open library. There was a desk there- the owner was the woman herself who was subject to such a terrible fate.

Tali glanced over the table of neat stacks and the few papers that had been dropped off. Work that had been left behind and surely to be attended to after the woman came back. 

That was, she meant to do it once she came back. No longer would that be possible.

There was a sigh that was released from Taliori, and she slowly slid into the foreign chair. She kept looking through the desk till finally she found blank paper and the ink required to write with. Preparing herself, she set out multiple sheafs of the paper and began to dip the pen to the ink. 

After a long moment of consideration, the pen was brought to the paper and the monk began to write with her oh so nice script. 

 Captain,

You know that usually I would come in person to deliver news, but i’m afraid the time it would take for me to make my way to your home personally would be far too long. I don’t know if you will find this as urgent as the warlock Faervell had, but I need you to know all the same.

Esme is gone. By such, I mean that she appears to be dead, yet her body remains alive.

It is far more complicated than I can adequately explain, however I will try.

According to Quineven, a spell had been cast not but a day ago. It was some sort of spell that sent her spirit or soul to somewhere that is beyond our physical reach. A surge of energy abruptly cut the tether that kept her attached to the physical plane, and from that point on, she no longer remained there. It is as if she is a shell with nothing inside. 

This led to a theory that she may have gone through what a few others appear to have gone through. There’s word around that there may be some sort of connection to the dead. I’m not sure how it works, and I don’t dare to assume that I could understand complex magic, but it may point us to where she went.

As of right now, I am assuming over whatever matters is needed here at Embertree since Faervell is gone as well. I can handle what affairs need to be, but I know that you would wish to know this news just the same.

I am sending for the others as well.

If you have any need for me, I am always at your disposal and will be here for you.

Be safe.

Taliori

Glancing over the letter twice over, she finally folded it up and set it aside. All prepared for the delivery that was to come. Yet, she didn’t go immediately. Instead she went to begin writing two more letters. Both were the same in their own ways, yet addressed to two different men.

It was short. Simple. Easy to understand.

“Come to Embertree.”

Both were folded and sent to the others of the crew. 

The small woman slid back the chair and swept up the letters. Making her way hastily off, she’d find herself going to pass the letters on to the carriers. From there, directions were given and the messages were sent. 

She watched until she could see no more, then gave a brief nod to herself as her eyes closed. She knew plenty of what she needed to do, but this was far more out of her range. She felt hesitant and a bit scared of herself. She never was good at this game that needed to be played in the absence of the Lady and Lord of Embertree, but at this point she felt obliged to take care of things.

Hopefully the others would come.

Hopefully she could maintain what needed to be done.

Hopefully Esme and Faervell came back.

Hopefully... Hopefully...

---

@sakialyn @raserus @jessipalooza @vaelrin

[pywriting]

Prompt 11: “Snuff”

The room was peaceful.

A fire radiated heat from its hearth, soaking the room in a warm glow. A clock ticked slowly.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Back and forth, one of the only sounds to join in the crackling of wood burning slow in the hearth. There was a flip of a page, slow and careful, paper folding back and pressing down to one another. A clink of a teacup setting back down on it’s small plate.

These little things filled the room surrounding one woman.

Peaceful. So peaceful.

And then it was not. There was a sudden burst, a gust of wind and a tremendous clatter of furniture tumbling down against the floor, muffled only by the thick rug. A shattering of glass somewhere nearby as the shards spun off to unseen corners.

The air was cold, uncaring. Pulling away papers and tearing at the hearth with it’s icy fingers. The flames fought against the rush of air, clinging to the wood to no avail and slowly diminishing till it was no more. A moment’s fight leaving nothing but darkness and a quickly cooling hearth.

The room was dark. All that could be heard was the slow moving clock, ever steady in it’s motions.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The woman lay unconscious, her figure prone on the floor. Red hair tangled and tousled, a stain of dark powder against her skin. A woman so familiar to the room, yet different in many ways.

This woman brought darkness and disruption, spilling across a scene that another had been ripped away from.

There was no more calm. There was no more peace.

This was not her place.

- - Tags - -

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

[pywriting]

Prompt 10: “Foster”

The markets were a busy place, and there was all the sounds and smells of wonderful things the stalls sold. Faeravel already had his hands full, a large sack over his shoulder, and yet still, he couldn’t help but stop at various stalls and look at the many different wares.

He’d already been there for hours, and he knew that there were two people busy waiting for him back home. Shifting the goods he had over his shoulder, he felt a tinge of excitement. He’d gotten a good few things for them, and he was certain they’d like it.

The last stall that had caught his attention was one that was selling fresh bread with some sort of filling. He wasn’t entirely sure of what it was, although his mouth watered at the sight and soon enough, more of his gil was passed over and given to the vendor. It took absolutely no time before the warm food was passed over in a little wrap.

Thanks was given, and the large Xaela started to move yet again, this time through one of the little alleyways besides the markets, trailing behind the large buildings to get to one of the back paths that would take him through Shirogane back to their home.

As he came out the other side, there was suddenly a rattle and clatter behind him from the alley he was just in. Turning about, the large man found himself looking at nothing but an empty space. The same as he’d gone through.

The only thing that brought his gaze down suddenly was the strange sound that was more close to a yap than anything else, down by his feet. There was a weight against his leg, and when he saw, it was a very, very, very fat looking cat. It’s fur was filthy, and the creature looked every part the word ‘mangy’.

Even so, the large black eyes gave the creature an almost ‘cute’ look to it.

For a long moment, while the cat slowly rested it’s hefty weight against his leg, little claws tugging at his pants, Faeravel could only stare at the creature. It made another yap noise, and a thought struck the Xaela.

Was it hungry?

The man held the freshly bought bun to the side, watching as the cat moved fast to follow his hand, pulling away from his leg and quickly circling under where his hand was. More yapping noises were made, as if this poor creature couldn’t even meow as most cats could. 

Faeravel would lean down then, taking a large bite of the bun, taking off at least half of the good before he offered down the rest of the food to the cat. 

Immediately, the fat creature started to stuff the bun into its face, starting to devour the treat. It was impressive how quickly the cat ate, and honestly, it somewhat reminded him of Jaran when he was most hungry.

There was a small laugh that rose up from the man, and he asked the creature, “You seem very hungry, little one. Does your owner not feed you enough?”

He paused, would it even have an owner with how dirty he was? Maybe it was a stray. 

“Do you have a home, little one?” He asked, setting the bun down entirely so that he could gently scratch behind the cats ears. Of course, the creature did not answer.

Faeravel glanced around, letting out a sigh. He gently patted the cat’s head, then would say, “I will leave you with that treat. You should go find your owner soon. I hope you will get clean soon.”

Standing back up, the man smiled to the feasting cat, then turned and started back on his way to walk home.

It was an uneventful little walk, easy enough to get to from the markets, passing the various other houses. Just as he saw their own house in view, there was suddenly something under his feet that caused his long legs to trip up and make the man stumble. A little yelping noise came from his feet.

Down below, there was the cat again, circling around his feet in a very dangerous manner. Faeravel just STARED a long moment, then another laugh bubbled up in his throat, “What is this? I have no more food, small one.”

The cat merely looked at him, and made a little ‘mrr’ noise. Something in him stirred, some automatic reaction that he couldn’t help, but he let out a small sigh. “Do you not have an owner to get back to? I am sure they have more food for you.” He leaned down, giving the cat more attention with a few scratches and pets.

The large creature pressed into his hand and purred loudly. Clearly pleased with the attention. 

Faeravel considered for a long, long, moment on this. Perhaps he could take it home. At least for a little. They could clean the creature, giving it a proper meal, and then they could find the owner. Or… perhaps they could merely keep the creature. It was rather ‘cute’, and it wasn’t as if the current owner, if it had one, was taking care of it.

“Do you wish to come home with me?” He asked the creature, which, of course, all the cat did was purr as he kept petting it. 

Finally, Faer came to his decision. “Come. We go home.” He announced to the cat, reaching down to pluck up the hefty weight of the cat. It was like holding a sack of rice or something similar. Solid, though its fat just fell around his arm. The cat’s purring amplified, clearly pleased with being held, butting its head into Faeravel’s chest.

He smiled, starting to move forward again. He soon came to the door to the home, struggling with the latch to open up the door. When he finally managed to get inside, he gave the cat one last little smile.

“Let us get Es’mena and Jaran to meet you.” He murmured quietly.

Turning his head up, he called out, “ES’MENA! JARAN! I have a surprise for you!”

- - Tags - - 

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast @jessipalooza @treyu

[pywriting]

Prompt 9: “Hesitate”

They’d been told not to go out, with all the attacks that had occurred. Every day had the looming threat of another attack. The dragons had grown more bold in the last year or so, and no day felt truly safe.

Even so, the ever-young, and bold, Prisa didn’t heed the warnings enough. In spite of her parents’ worrisome nature, she assured them the school wasn’t that far away, and that she would take the back routes to assure she was in the more central parts of Ishgard rather than the far more ravaged outer walls.

Tonight, though, she’d found herself late coming back. There had been an attack, of course, and the citizens had been told to stay inside for the time. When it was finally clear enough for her to leave, night had already fallen. 

When she stepped out and started on her way, she noted how the air reeked of fire. Not many others were out, and certainly none would walk with her back to the lower rings of Ishgard. None, at least, in the school.

It was a bit of a scary sensation, seeing how dead and cold the buildings grew. Lights had been dimmed greatly, and the entire city had grown to have a darkness with the constant fires that ravaged around the different districts of the city. 

There was a layer of soot that mixed in snow, clinging to everything and leaving it’s marks. It made her recall how many days she’d spent lately having to help back at the manor, to scrub the windows and clean it all from the nobles’ steps. Keeping that pristine image for those upper districts.

So much cleaning...

The young girl didn’t pay much attention to it, focusing instead on hurrying her steps to get through her route back home once more. Turn after turn, she went through the alleyways, keeping to herself and her thoughts.

It was all fine and as planned, until she took one of her last few turns. She was completely stopped by rubble and wood that had collapsed. There was no burning fire, but it filled the alleyway and kept any from passing.

At first, she was going to turn about, and figure her way around this mess, had she not been stopped by the glint of metal that caught her eye.

She stopped herself, looking back to the piles and observing it more closely. True to what she thought, under some of the stone and wood, there was the metallic form of one of the knights, caught in the fall of this building.

Not much could be seen of them, beyond their arm and both legs, but it was clear they were still there. She wasn’t sure if they were dead or alive, and she sure as hell wasn’t sure if she wanted to get herself in the way of trying to uncover a body all her own. Though there was something that nagged at her that kept her from running back to find more help.

Rather than turn her steps back down the alley, she instead moved forward quickly and called out to the man or woman buried here under this all.

“Hello? Can you hear me? Are you alive?” 

She started to pull at the stones that had fallen. All small ones at first, making sure nothing would collapse if she pulled it away. There were no sounds that came from them, and for what felt like an eternity, all she did was struggle to move stone after stone, shifting the rubble from this form.

Finally, despite having absolutely no answer, she’d uncovered the knight stuck there in the midst of the destruction, She struggled getting a hold of them, her strength barely enough to pull them sloppily from the mess they’d gotten themselves into. 

Setting them flat on the cold stone ground. Finally, Prisa could see the full extent of the external damage to them. A large gash in their chainmail had dug deep and clearly cut into the arm. It still bled, filled with dirt and grime. The breastplate had a sickening dent that surely had pressed deep into the chest cavity, and there was more blood that seeped through the cracks of the armor near their waist.

They were injured, and badly so. Did she really drag out a corpse?

No, no. She could make sure. Moving quickly, her hands were suddenly shaking as she pulled at the ties that kept the heavy helmet on their head. Tugging it free, she could finally see the poor man that had suffered this terrible fate.

He was unconscious, his eyes closed and dried blood on his lips, sloppily coating his cheek in a strange splatter. He looked pale, terribly so, and Prisa did not like the signs she was seeing so far.

Shaking herself some to hurry, she pulled off her thick gloves, tugging at the chainmail around his throat, and going to press her fingers against his skin. Everything around her quieted as her inside rose, her heart the loudest, as she waited and pressed deep to find just one beat of a pulse. She prayed to Halone and all the other eleven gods that there’d be just one beat. Please let him be alive.

After what felt like hours, she felt it. Weak, but the feeling was there. A heartbeat.

He was alive.

There was a wash of relief, yet it was followed soon by a set of more panic. He was alive, but for how long? She didn’t know how long he’d been in this state, and by all the signs, she at least knew he had lost more than his fair share of blood. The gash in his arm was perhaps the worst of the injuries… or was it the collapsed chestplate?

She knew she could treat the gash, but what of the internal injuries? She didn’t know how to fix that. She didn’t think it was the best idea to peel off the plate, though, considering it might be holding him together… or was it not? What if it was restricting breathing?

Should she go and get help? Would she even have enough time? She didn’t know. Right now, she didn’t know anything. 

She should cry for help. Should she cry for help? She knew there hadn’t been many outside, and there wasn’t going to be someone that could truly help nearby. Maybe they could run to get help?

Every moment was a precious moment, and she knew that much. That fact had been drilled into her in those lessons. She didn’t have time to think so much as act. She had to act.

Her fingers trembled, trying to calm herself some. She knew this could be fixed, but how? She had to try. She had to. She didn’t know this man, but she wanted to save him.

Finally, she resolved herself, grabbing the bottom of her skirts and tugging a bit. Trying to rip the cloth. It wasn’t as easy as some had made it seem though, and finally she raised the cloth up and used her teeth to start ripping it. Somehow she got enough of a rip to pull it apart in a manner that could work for her. A long, messy strip of her skirts, turning it into a makeshift bandage. Something, at least, to stem some of the bleeding.

Holding it, she hesitated yet again. Would this really help? She should cut off the circulation to help stop it from bleeding more, but it was so close to the shoulder, how could she? Would keeping the wound shut be enough?

It had to be.

She carefully moved the man’s arm, taking it and quickly starting to wrap the cloth around his arm. She pulled too tight, surely, but at least it was something. She had to do something. 

Finally tying the tourniquet around his arm, she saw blood soaking through the cloth. For a moment, she watched it, her mind racing with any sort of solution she could find.

Help. She had to get help.

Was he even breathing still? Should she check again? Was she wasting her time?

She stared at the too pale mans face, panic clear in her own features. She resigned herself to check one more time, to reach to his neck and feel for that pulse.

Silence.

She waited longer and longer, keeping her fingers there. Still, nothing came. There was no heartbeat at all. Nothing there.

He was dead.

Prisa pulled back her hands to her chest, holding the hand that had been on him close to herself. She stumbled back onto her feet, stepping back from him as if his corpse was suddenly a threat. She felt a shiver that would not stop course through her limbs, making her weak.

She didn’t save him. She couldn’t save him. He was dead.

Was it her fault? Could she have gotten help before he’d died? How long had she been here, trying to figure out what to do?

The young girl felt a lump in her throat, its weight threatening to choke her. The image of his corpse lying there, still and bloodied. The knowledge that he’d been alive moments before, and now he was dead. 

You couldn’t undo death.

Turning about, she found her feet moving before her mind had even decided. She ran from the alley. Running frenetic and away from it all. Even as she left, she could still see the man there. Laying in the dirty street and left alone.

She shook her head, running faster, and faster. Her lungs started to burn and she tripped over some of the stone streets that rose up and caught her feet. Even so, she kept going until her shaking hands reached the familiar door.

She pushed open the door, stepping inside and shutting it quickly with all her weight. Her knees finally gave out and she fell down, right in the entryway of her own home. Her breathing was heavy, her body shaking, and all she could do was hug herself.

She didn’t save him. She’d taken too long. There were so many things she could have done, and she told herself that he could have been alive if she did this, or that. 

The young girl curled up, and without even realizing it, warm tears had started to coat her cheeks. The shaking didn’t stop, and she felt as if she was suffocating.

Too long. That’s all she said. She’d taken too long.

[pywriting]

Prompt 7: “Forgiven”

Just say you’re sorry. You acted outrageously.

Tali curled up in the plush chair, pouting like a child would. Her ears were pinned down and her tail closely wrapped around her. She was mulling over the words that had been told to her the day prior, still far from happy at the situation.

It was his fault anyway, going around with those kinds of people. He always was like that. And she had meant every word she had said…. at the time.

It was always ‘at the time’ though, wasn’t it? If she sat down and thought about it, then she could easily see that it was her that was at fault. She had no control over his life, and had little-to-no-say in it either. Still, it bothered her. Every time, it bothered her, and she knew exactly why.

She didn’t want him to leave. She didn’t like seeing him leave. Didn’t want to watch as he turned his back and wandered away for months, or more, without even a word to a why or when he’d return… if he’d return. 

But that’s not how it would be in the end, would it? He said he wouldn’t, and she could trust him, couldn’t she? 

He didn’t lie to her. He never lied to her, not when it really came down to it.

She didn’t want him to go.

Just say you’re sorry.

Slowly, she took in a breath, and looked down into her hands where the linkpearl rested. She mulled over it, preparing herself, before finally raising the device back up to her ear. Resting it in place, she would tap into the appropriate frequency, then call out.

“Gaeb?”

- - Tags - - 

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast @sakialyn

[pywriting]

Prompt 6: “First Steps”

“Come on, Tali’a.”

The little chubby fingers held onto the longer, more slim ones, keeping the tottering babe safely on his feet. Little speckled ears flicking and eyes large and staring forward to his mother.

Tali sat before him, holding firm on his hands, making sure that he was well and supported. She smiled at her son, encouraging him still.

“Just a few steps… let’s just take a few tiny steps, eh?”

The small baby would make some noises, a babbling of noises as his lips made that goofy smile that his mother adored. He’d rock on his feet, shakey as ever… and then slowly his legs moved.

One step. Then another. And then no more, as he lost his balance and his mother gripped hold once more.

She raised him up, pulling him close to her and showering his little face with kisses. Smiling and cooing to him, “Oh ye so good, ye are. Bein’ th’ best, all gettin’ better every day. I love ye.”

There was a flurry of little giggles, from both the son and mother. Continuing on in their little moment together.

It was so small, but it was worthwhile enough.

- - Tags - -

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

[pywriting]

Prompt 5: “Vault”

Time always seemed to slow when Pyrar was up in the air.

The way that she felt the breeze against her cheeks, the sweat chilling her more than the northern air did already. The small loose threads of her hair raising and blowing at the edges of her vision, barely noticed yet seen all the same.

She shifted herself, pushed through the air and twisted her body. Adjusting, as she was trained again and again to do. Arching her back, then kicking forward her legs. Her head looking upwards, yet downwards, at the same time as she kept her target in sight.

Yalms below her, the wood and dirt, her sky turned into the ground. The stone and cloth figure below alone in it’s standing, awaiting the draw of the blade to pierce through it. 

Her lance adjusted in her grip, aimed downwards and straightened out. A wave of aether channeling from the grip and rolling down along to it’s sharpened ends. It washed along her body, strengthening and beginning to pull downwards.

Metallic boots pushed against a solidification of the air, resting to an unseen platform and her knees bent. Muscles worked and the aether grew stronger; the air hued into a purple aura around her.

In one movement, that suspended moment ended, and she sailed downwards. In a flash that struck like a beacon down upon the target, her lance speared through the stone. Cracks formed quickly, spreading through until the aether flowed down into it. Stone shattered and blew outwards in a minor explosion, sailing away from the invading force.

Once more her body twisted, using the force of the lance stuck downwards to adjust and let her feet slide back down upon the ground. A few steps negated the impact further and the lance was drawn from the ground with a hard pull, swinging through the air till it rested back down in it’s rightful place at her side.

Pyrar looked back to the decimated dummy, no longer standing where it had been just moments before. Dust blew away in the winds of Ishgard, leaving only it’s shattered remains.

A grin spread across her lips, her eyes lidding. She never grew tired of that feeling, ever.

- - Tags - -

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

[pywriting]

Prompt 4: “Shifting Blame”

“Do you think it’ll actually work?” The little light haired miqo’te asked, her ears turning about, making sure none of the adults strolled up to their little spot, perched on one of the higher ledges.

A darker haired girl sat besides her, pulling at the thick cloth as if to test it herself. “Of course it will! C’mon, it’ll be fun I bet. Besides, this was your idea, wasn’t it?”

“It wasn’t -exactly- my idea.” The light haired girl replied, “How do we even do this? Just slide on down?”

“Probably,” replied the second girl.

“Probably,” echoed the first.

They both stared down this drapery. It was wide and sunbleached, spanning down half the length of the canyon across the way. It wasn’t one of the highest ledges to begin with, but it still was certainly higher than some would like to jump from. Much less sliding from it down to halfway across their home.

There were homes underneath, and the further the cloth went, it thinned out more. Nothing too small, but nothing as large as the start.

The two young girls stared down this monstrosity that they both intended to mess around with.

“So here’s the plan again… We get on, we slide down, and then we grab onto it at the end part to slow down and stop, right?” Asked the light haired girl.

The darker haired girl nodded her head a bit, “Aye.” She said, already climbing up the way to get on top of the large cloth canopy. “C’mon Tali. I’ll help ya up.” One little hand was offered down.

Tali stared at the other girl, the drop, then finally she took the hand and help in hoisting herself up on top as well. She held tight to the heavy metal rings that hooked the sturdy cloth in place, staring down this makeshift ‘slide’ they were about to ride.

After a moment, Tali blurted out, “Race to the bottom, Baju?” She looked to the other girl beside her with a grin.

“You mean the thing that I’ve already won?” Baju asked as she let go, her form just slipping away quickly along the canopy, the cloth folding in with the weight in the middle as she went. There was a howl of laughter coming from her as she went, almost loud enough to echo along the canyon walls.

Tali would gasp, her mouth hanging open a moment before she quickly followed by releasing herself as well. Shooting down after the other girl and squealing with a delighted laugh as well.

It was a rush of color and wind, the feeling of being carried down by the cloth, despite how hot it felt against their skin as it rubbed against them during the descent. 

This little blissful moment of fun was torn to an end as they both started to grab at the cloth, trying to slow their fall… only finding that they couldn’t get a good grip. Soon one ran into the other and it was a mess of two girls struggling to stop tumbling down a big cloth canopy.

It had seemed luck was on their side that day, for right as they might have completely slipped off the side of it, there was a loud ripping noise. The cloth gave way, and one little child’s hand grabbed hold of the fabric right as they both fell like a rock down onto one of the roofs of the huts.

While it seemed to help the descent that much more from harming them worse other than some scrapes, bruises, and burns, it also had ripped nearly a third of the canopy’s width in half. Hanging above them, like some dilapidated flag.

When the dust settled and both girls managed to look up, each of their eyes wide with both the thrill and the fear of what had happened.

And their fear was well deserved. Soon enough, one of the older women came to the roof, looking aghast at what had happened and already crying out about the ruined canopy, again and again.

Tali’s ears flattened as she heard the words ‘Wait ‘til I tell your mother’, and Baju just cooly looked away as to avoid the trouble of seeing the nagging woman.

Finally the question was asked of them, “Which one of you decided on this outrageous idea?!”

Almost immediately, both girls pointed at one another, their words echoing.

“She did it.”

- - - Tags - - -

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast @jessipalooza @emmygosa

[pywriting]

Prompt 3: “Lost”

The morning had come and gone, midday now well on its journey. There was the smell of food cooking, as meal was prepared and set out.

It wasn’t fresh, but, rather, leftovers from the night before. Still, as the young Faeravel sat down with his tousled hair and his dirty face, he looked all too happy for it. Already greedily gulping down some water and chatting happily with some of the other young men of the tribe that had been working with him in caring for the animals. 

Even so, with such an enjoyable atmosphere, something was bothering the young Kha. As he looked around, he could not spot exactly the person he searched for. There was a slight frown on his face, but he put it past him for a moment, finishing his meal quickly.

The others were talking of going out and taking to some hunt or other sort, and already Faeravel was getting invited to come along. Even though he wanted to go with them, he gave a dismissive wave and apologized.

“Come on… Let’s go find something large to take down. Or is it you’re too scared after last night’s match, eh? Don’t want to be shown up for, what, a fourth time now, Faer?” One boy said to him, taunting in hopes to get him to rise to the challenge.

Faeravel let out a snort, smirking widely. “You only wish you would be able to defeat this.” He said, puffing out his chest. He then, for pure entertainment's sake, began to flex his muscles this way and that. As if to show just how ‘strong’ and ‘powerful’ he was with just that.

The other men boo’d at him, pushing and shoving playfully, which Faer returned with a grin. He even had reached out, grabbing for one of them to pull into a headlock. The victim, slow as ever, was Otgonbayer. A whiny brat, all in all.

“What was that? Trying to challenge me here already?” He would wrestle with the other, all of them clearly enjoying this.

For a while, they did tussle. More pushing, taunting, and generally being a pain in the ass for one another.

Still, Faeravel would wave them off, “Go on. Off with you sorry lot. I have to go find my true prey- I’m going to go find Jaran.”

“Ooohh… that’s a sorry hunt, Faeravel. Too easy to find- probably resting away in some field with the sheep.” A man named Chuluun tossed back to Faer’s excuse.

“Bah. So you think. Clearly, you misunderstand just how good he’s gotten at hiding in plain sight.” Faer grinned, then just turned with one last wave. “Good hunting, brothers!”

There were a few more taunts thrown at him, but eventually the laughter and chatter drifted off, and towards the horse pens where they surely would soon find themselves riding out of. Faeravel didn’t mind nor care at the moment, far more interested in finding the prior mentioned topic of his ‘excuse’. 

For the better part of the afternoon, he’d gone to search. First to the places that would normally be set for him… then asking further. He’d received no clear answer of where he’d gone, merely a few shrugs here or there.

Finally, when coming to one of the yurts, he called in, “Gansukh! Gansukh, have you seen Jaran?”

An old man was settled by the fire, looking irate at the interruption. He simply snorted, “What are you talking about? Of course I haven’t.” He kept slowly carving away at a wooden figurine in his hands.

Faer had let out a long sigh, “I’ve looked everywhere for him. Mother’s looking for him.” Sure, he’d lie a bit… but at least it sounded less like a random intrusion. Many knew Taban’s nature for getting into everyone else’s business, especially when it concerned her ‘son’. Either of them.

Gansukh would then furrow his brows, “You didn’t hear?”

Faeravel blinked at that, not understanding that sort of response, “Didn’t hear what?”

“Jaran left.” The old man tossed out so casually, never ceasing the movement of his knife whittling away at the wood.

The young man’s eyes widened a moment, then he asked quickly, “Where’d he leave to?”

The man shrugged, “Heard he was going to the sea. Off to find a boat maybe. He left late, though. Not sure everyone he told, but that’s just what the watch said. Surprised Taban didn’t know of it already, if she’s out sending you to bother me.”

Faeravel was dead silent for a moment, processing this new information. Jaran was gone? Why would he leave? Why didn’t he tell him?

Remembering his manners, Faeravel nodded his head a bit, “Of course. Right… Well, then i’ll go see what’s going on with that. Do you need anything before I leave?”

Gansukh snorted back, waving his knife a bit, “Go off somewhere else, boy. I don’t need anything. I’m not some frail old man yet.” He said with clear annoyance. He just wanted to be left alone to his own tasks right now.

Faer accepted that, leading himself out of the older man’s yurt and slowly going back through the gathered homes to where his own family’s stood. There was a deep frown on his face, and his brows knitted with worry.

The afternoon turned to evening. The evening turned to night.

Still, Jaran did not come back at all. There was little to any news, other than a mention from Taban with some worry, before his father quickly silenced the concern with some other business.

Faer had to admit he was a bit bitter- angry, more than anything. He swore as soon as he’d see Jaran, he’d make sure he wished he’d never left without telling him. Honestly, just who did Jaran think he was now?

There was no sight of Xaela the next day.

Nor the next… or the one after that…

A week passed. A month.

Soon, winter had come, and there was no word from Jaran at all. 

In the end, Faeravel grew to fill a different role. He traveled more from the steppes and each time, the thoughts of where Jaran had gone dissipated. They were lost, just like he’d lost the man himself.

His heart ached still, but there was little to do about that now. After all, he couldn’t go searching for lost things forever. He had to move on, like he imagined Jaran had.

And he did.

- - - Tags - - -

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast @treyu

[pywriting]

Prompt 2: “Bargain”

“All you have to do is sign right here, and we can have this all sorted out.”

Prisa heard the rumbling voice of the much older man. The lord of the manor residing right next to her and pointing to the endless papers that he’d set out for them. 

The young girl felt intimidated, using most of her willpower to keep herself still from shaking a bit. She felt lightheaded and on the spot at the moment, and for good reason.

Sitting in the brightly lit parlor, in one of the rich couches and the marbled tables that sat before them, she looked far out of place. Even after putting on her best clothing, she was not to a level close to where the Lord Delaisoux was.

It stunk of his cologne, and as he sat next to her to point to the papers, she felt like she was suffocating in it. Had it not been for a certain fear of a clout to her head, she would have probably let slip some of her disgust in words. 

This was a fine opportunity, after all, and she had to act like an adult. Not a spoiled child who would pout and complain about an unsatisfying smell like that. 

The fourteen year old girl came here for exactly what rested before her: A chance at a world of opportunity that was well above her station. A practically free ride through all the training it would take and the promise of a solid future beyond that. 

She heard her mother's voice in the back of her head, speaking softly.

‘Someday you’ll be able to take care of us too, won’t you? Become a bright and smart doctor for all of us. You’re a smart girl, my sweet. You’ll find the right path.’

She had found the only path she thought reasonable. She had no way of possibly paying the mere fees it would cost to step inside that door, much less keep herself in it. There were few you could really trust to get you there, but she had the luck of being born in the position she was.

A servant to the House Delaisoux was nothing to sniff your nose at, exactly. It was not some grand, high, House, but neither was it low. It was a perfect medium, and held a good reputation behind it. All of those employed under its banner were treated well and would honestly speak of it to any that asked.

The Lord of the House was caring, in his own ways. He often handled trade agreements and found his wealth in the many investments he’d made with such. Many described him as an enjoyable man with a handsome smile and a firm handshake. A man that could make sure that you get what you deserve when going into a deal with him.

Prisa never liked his face. Or his smell. 

Even so, the young girl didn’t say anything of the sort, focusing instead on what she’d come here for. To get her foot into the door as she had wanted: To start training as a doctor, like her mother whispered to her in the late nights. When Prisa carefully rubbed salves into some tiny cuts, or the sort she’d received that day in the kitchens.

He’d explained it all to her, in great detail. Pointed from page to page, and word after word, that she didn’t even know what they meant. It was all so much for her to take in, but absolutely no time to think on. Her father had told her that, after all.

‘Idle hands make idle minds, Prisa.’

She didn’t have time to be idle. She wanted to seize her future and follow it. She was a smart girl, just like her mother told her. She wanted to take care of her family and her future while following what she knew she could do best.

She took up the quill that had been left out, and slowly, leaning forward she had to take her time signing. It was no fanciful script, but rather slow deliberate letters. One after the other, until finally she finished her name.

The paper was pulled from her as soon as the quill left the page on its final stroke, as if it were drawn by the wind itself into the Lord’s hands. He looked over it, then smiled with that too-wide smile of his. 

A smile she didn’t like.

He held out his hand then, his voice rumbling out to her, “Then we have our agreement, Prisa Fontaine.”

Slowly, Prisa took her own hand to shake his, nodding her head. “Yes. An agreement, my Lord.”

- - - Tags - - -

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

[pywriting]

Prompt 1: “Voracious”

Each and every person has their own desires. 

Power and strength, knowledge, home, or acceptance. All things that some could wish for and achieve. To each their own stories; chapters upon chapters woven together to create that thread of fate that they follow. A guiding stone and drive to each person that pushes them forward.

Each person has their own desires. Each person has their own stories.

--

It was early in the morning, the mist from the night covering the ground in a slick moisture that stuck to the thick blades of grass. There was the scent of livestock and dying fires in the air. The sounds of a comforting silence, that moment suspended in time before so few awoke for.

Inside one of the homes, there was a Xaela with teal eyes, open and awake, having shucked away the lure of sleep. His fingers smoothed over his clothing, as if the appearance mattered in the moment. Beside him, on a lower bed, laid two peacefully sleeping figures. One other Xaela with his smooth scales and a miqo’te curled up under his arms and wrapping her tail around his leg.

A smile spread across Faeravel’s lips, deceptively gentle for the far more sharp Xaela. While a part of him wished to curl back with them, to wrap around their warmth and hold the other two, he stayed sitting there beside them on the edge of the bed. His eyes drifted from them, looking around the familiar room and all its features. Relishing just a moment's comfort.

Eventually, the man pushed himself back, carefully leaning over to give each of the sleeping forms a gentle kiss along their skin. A whisper of a promise to return to their sides in due time. He’d pull himself back up, using the momentum to drag his entire body to a stand and turn to the exit.

Pushing his way out from the heavy cloth and furs that covered the entrance to his home, he would glance around to the early morning around their gathered tribe. He took in a deep breath of that cool air, then took the steps further out. 

There were few others out doing their chores, and none that stopped him as he strode up to a tall horse, pulling up onto it with an easy motion and then beckoning the beast to ride forward. He took no care to glance back to his tribe as he went, focusing instead on a westward direction, towards the rising sun.

His pace varied, allowing the horse the respect and care it needed as not to exhaust it, but also make the best time that he could. The day grew older, the sun was higher. Even so, he did not stop traveling.

Eventually, he’d come to a slow stop, finding a familiar sensation. It was like a spiders string drifting in the air, barely seen and detected, and just as fragile. The area was nothing of note, simply another long hill in the Steppes of many. Even so, Faeravel could feel a difference, could practically taste it on the air as he turned his horse into the direction that this tendril of sensation flowed from.

More time had passed, yet the Xaelic man did not care. Riding forward more and more, getting stronger and stronger taste of the energies… the power… the call for him.

It was a message, a crumb trail from one man that held much for him. 

After another rise over one of the long hills, Faeravel’s eyes met to see his goal. A lone home- not even a true yurt, more of a tent than anything. There was a lone plume of smoke rising from inside, the only sign that there was life awoken in this little home, if it could be called such.

Faeravel urged on his horse, feeling more giddy as he came closer and closer. He sensed it, that thrilling lure of power. Perhaps in part it was his imagination and his endless hunger for power, or perhaps it was pure unabashed respect for the man that lay inside the hut.

Stopping his stead in a suitable range, he gently let the horse roam it’s all, trusting of it to stay close, while walking closer. He did not need to shout or yell, he knew he was already acknowledged as a presence here.

Pushing aside the cloth inside the makeshift home, he smiled brightly, hugging close the satchel that had hung heavy on his side for the entire day. In that dimmed room, he saw the figure across the fire, resting easy and such.

He took in a slow breath of the smoky air, then said only one word.

“Teacher.”

----

There was a loud bang on the floor, followed by a flurry of curses. The echoing wooden planks feeling like they made the sound ten times as loud as they truly were. The book itself did no favors to deafening the blow, it’s many pages weighing the tome down even more.

The woman climbed down from the tall ladder, her short heels hitting the floors and clicking in a dulled sound towards the poor fallen object. Overworked hands reached to pluck it up with a gentle motion, brushing it off quickly, as if the dust would somehow ruin the leather that bound it.

A smile spread across the young girl’s lips, and her violet eyes lidded a bit down at the title. There was a youthful joy in her as she drew herself away from the ladder that climbed the many shelves of endless knowledge, and instead brought herself to a well worn table with papers strewn out across its surface.

Scrawled notes in handwriting that looked like a creature’s prints scuttering across the page. A basket to the side with wrapped bread and cheese for nibbling on throughout the work. There was even the treat of a sweet tarte inside, resting at the bottom and carefully saved for the end as a delicious gift to the girls own hard work. 

There was a soft sigh, and she pushed back some of her loose black locks into her stiff cloth hat, pulling the scarf more close around her to keep the warmth in her bones. Even if the tall windows brought in the bright daylight, it didn’t disturb the creeping chill that surrounded this library in whole.

She pulled open the book that she saved, letting her hands smooth out the page and carefully lean over it to begin letting her hungry mind quench its thirst in the new words that spilled forth on the pages.

Prisa’s happiness was clear, the smile still on her girlish features as she rested one arm up to lean upon. Despite the discomfort that may be brought on by the wooden stools she was offered, she was happy and content.

How lucky she was.

----

Red wine spilled over into the glass, swirling and washing along the crystalline walls. Rising higher and higher, it drowned out the emptiness and washed up till it was nearly to the brim. Daring to spill over, had it not been for the slender long fingers that held the bottle it had spilled from.

The bottle was set down with a gentle thud, the glass pulled up from it’s silver tray and gently strayed to soft lips. A drink was taken.

Green eyes strayed to a bright window, showing clear skies as far as the eye could see. Brows furrowed at some troubled passing thought. 

Those lips now stained with the taste of wine frowned, and a gentle hum rose from the woman’s throat.

Pyrar focused on the reflection tossed back at her. A woman, sitting at ease and comfortable in a plush chair. Red hair like the red wine in her glass, vibrant against her flushed skin; tumbling and ruffled from brushed thoughts through the curling locks. Green eyes looking lost, bleary.

Drunk.

She was drunk.

She told herself that, and even so she didn’t give a care to how it might look or be perceived. She wasn’t going anywhere, that was for sure, and it dulled the senses- dulled the idea of where she was, and what she was doing there.

Dulled her mind off the fact that she was displaced, and away, from where she should be.

‘Home’, she thought. ‘I should be at home. I shouldn’t be here. Not here.’

There was a slow breath that escaped her lips and her eyes averted from the reflection she saw, the emotions that threatened to well up. She bit it down for the time, drowned it in another gulp of wine. 

This was not her home, not her timeline, not anything of hers. 

She wished it were nothing: a dream from a long night’s rest that she’d eventually awaken from. Even so, it was too real. All too real.

And so she numbed it. 

The glass was emptied, the bottle tilted once more, and more wine spilled over to refill the void.

---

Mahogany doors closed behind her, the soft perfumed scent still lingering against her skin like the mist of the oasis falls. A warm touch against her cheek, ghostly traces of fingers that felt like they were still caressing her lovingly.

Her mother's touch had that effect, sitting there with her just as the woman’s words did. While the words had been kind, like sweet honey to the ears, she held more meaning and sternness behind them. An endless amount of wisdom and advice that was woven with just an ounce of careful judgement.

Despite the more harsh nature of her words, the matriarch had nothing but good intentions for her daughter. 

‘You cannot always allow yourself to be a child, when you will have one of your own.’

Tali knew that. She really did, but it didn’t change the source of her frustrations. Sure it was childish in the way she presented it, but how else would she go around it.

She remembered that look in her mother’s eyes. A slight glint of disappointment that made her ears flatten, even after she had already left the quarters where her mother resided, and walked the long halls of their home, further, and further away.

Tali understood the weight of that look, the unspoken words that were there behind the clear ones she heard. 

She had to take more responsibility, and not just in the sense of taking care of the child she would bear. So long she’d played some part in acting it. She’d been careful to follow along the easy steps, assuring that she’d present herself as the best for her mother, first, and then the clan, second.

She had been proud of that, at least. 

But things were different. She did have to do something more, but the question was to be -what- would she have to do? She not only had to show it, but experience it, to get the full brunt of whatever her mother was telling her. After all, simply following orders wasn’t the type of thing a matriarch would do, and if she was to fill such a position, then she needed to think beyond that.

The woman swept into her quarters, closing the first door that lead to one of the two small living rooms. Taking in a deep breath, she swore she could feel the heaviness that still rested on her shoulders from mere thoughts. The weight of a task she hadn’t even thought to start until now.

Stepping along the way, she eventually came to rest in the plush pillows that surrounded a rounded table. Some papers were neatly stacked to the side, all business for her mother, but nothing of her own.

Tali stared at them for a long moment, thinking of all that she did and whatever she could do? It frustrated her, seeing as this all wouldn’t be a problem if only she’d not gotten into such a fit about some simple argument.

No, it wasn’t just that. It had been building, after all, and it was just what should have been expected. Wasn’t it?

The miqo’te leaned back, resting her head on the pillows and looking up to the ceiling and then slowly out of the windows beside her. Moonlight spilled freely through the windows, and what laid beyond was the high valley walls at a distance from their home. Seeing the homes that had been dug into the walls and the large canopies that gracefully moved with the cold evening winds.

For a moment, the young woman thought she couldn’t possibly meet the expectations of them. Someone who throws fits at the slightest thing. Someone who can’t even manage to do more than follow the same steps her mother took before. There was no growth from there, merely a stability that she wasn’t even sure she could maintain if things were to get bad for them all.

The clan deserved better.

Closing those silver eyes, she let out a small huff. Her brows twitched, and a frown was on her lips. She didn’t like that thought at all. Not one single bit. Her ears flicked and she finally murmured, “I have to do something…”

The only answer she received was silence from the room. She was alone there, for better or for worse, at the moment. 

Opening her eyes again, she adjusted her head to look further up. Towards the sky and its bright stars she could see beyond the valley walls. The clarity and beauty that she could enjoy right here in her own rooms. It gave her a slight comfort, her tenseness from the meeting with her mother easing just a bit.

She sat there for some amount of time, left alone to her wandering thoughts. But those wandering thoughts brought her to something… an idea while looking to the skies.

Her eyes widened, and she looked almost stunned that she hadn’t thought of something of the sort before. She’d sit up fully, leaning to grab hold of a blank parchment and pull it closer to her. Soon she had found something to write with and began to write hurriedly with a small smile forming along her lips, more, and more.

A week later, she had more papers made with far more precision to the words and their writing. She had sat it in a small, bound, pile, looking quite pleased. She’d prepared herself, dressing in a fitting outfit for a meeting, and making sure she was well and ready for the rather interesting conversation this was surely going to be.

Finally, Tali would reach up, tuning her linkpearl into the proper frequency before she called out crisp and clear to the user on the other end.

“Es’mena. I would like t’ meet with ye, if ye have th’ time.”

- - - Tags - - -

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast @jessipalooza @treyu 

[pywriting]

Swallow Down Your Pain

Burning.

It felt like burning through her body.

Every panted breath she took was another shot of pain in her lungs. Her mouth was dry, a bitter metallic taste through her mouth that she suffered through. Her muscles ached and the exhaustion was settling in so much that it felt hard to pick herself up, and even to look back from anywhere but the ground where she was now at.

All that her thoughts screamed for was rest and the darkness that threatened her consciousness. One side of her face was swelling, making her eye close some. She watched forward, focused on what was starting to blur: Dust clouds floating above the earth, strange in the way they drifted around her. The stone of a building beyond that, age clear in its worn face and the way some stones had fallen apart in places. A glint of water that ran through a crack. The light shafts that fell around them from the late afternoon sun.

Her mind drank in the details, commiting each one to memory.

She couldn’t hear the mockery around her. Not the questions posed in taunts. Not the crunch of the dirt under heels.

Nothing.

“Stop acting, Taliorinth.”

She heard the sharp familiar voice, commanding in its way.

The clouds of dust fell away, the stones melted and blurred until she saw something vastly different. Golden rays of light bathed down and through windows that stood tall and proud. Curling woodworks, suffocating in the way the encircled the room. Overstuffed pillows lining floors of polished marble.

The air of blood and dirt replaced by finery and golden glows.

Taliori looked to the giant before her standing with her arms crossed. Locks of gold flowing over her shoulder, held out of her perfect sharp features. There was a threatening look on her face, something that put more terror in her than should be.

Taliori’s lips moved, wordlessly trying to ask what she meant, even though she already knew.

She always knew.

The woman leaned down, grabbing Taliori’s aching jaw, ignoring the string of blood that smeared across her pale skin. Her features focused before Taliori’s eyes, similar so much to her own but so much of a difference to where she was.

“I said, stop acting, Taliorinth.” The sharp tone clashed with such a sweet voice. “You know it doesn’t hurt.”

There was a threat there. Taliori felt her lip quiver and she wished she could look away. Fresh tears sprang to already reddened eyes.

“Tell me the truth, little sister, does it really hurt?” the other asked with a tilt of her head. The pinch of her fingers around Tali’s jaw tightened.

The smallest hint of a noise escaped Taliori at the pinch, a complaint rising on her crimson-stained lips, but it was silenced by a hard slap to her face. A cold pain ran across her features as her world tumbled.

The marbled floor vanished - changed to cold wet stones. A chill ran up her spine and she raised her gaze again to see a grungy mess of a basement with others around. Dark shadows of men and women, golden clinking coins passing from one to the other. There was judgement in some eyes, excitement in others. Yelling out different things that rang in her ear so badly it caused a headache.

No… no, it wasn’t the yelling. It was the pounding of the punches she had taken.

It hurt. It hurt so bad, but she couldn’t complain.

It wasn’t her place to complain. She had to put on display that she was fine. Never open her mouth or let others see it. Hide it away inside of herself and let it go away on its own, as always.

She pulled her gaze off of the crowd around her and set it instead to the man that sat closest to her. He was crouched down and held that same evil glint in the eyes that she so feared before.

“Does it hurt?” his gruff voice mocked her. Burying one hand into her grungy tangled curls, he dragged her upper body off the ground. “Tell me, brat, have you learned your lesson?” He spat in her face. A disgusting sourness to it.

She grit her teeth, glared at him with all her will as if that would kill him on the spot. She knew that he was faster than her…pretty strong as well. And this was not the sort of fight that allowed her to have the swords she had spent so much time practicing.

She muttered lowly her response, “Go fuck yourself,” in the common tongue. Daring in its way. A challenge despite her position.

The man raised his brows, his fist clenching tighter and pulling at her hair. He shook his grip, her head rocking from side to side violently as if that would knock some sense into her brain. “What the fuck did you say? Speak up, brat.”

Again, there was that pain. Her head pounded with the raise of the headache, her face aching from punches that had fallen on her early, and god did it hurt to be held up by her hair.

“I said…” she spoke through her gritted teeth, “go fuck yourself, prick.”

He made a face and tried to toss her with all his might across the way, using his grip on her hair. Her small form sailed, slamming against the stone wall of the basement, and there was a sharp sensation of pain in her side.

Oh how she had to bite down the cry of pain, the heat of tears threatening her eyes that she didn’t dare let this bastard see. She heard him come closer, and her heartbeat raced.

She waited, felt him approaching, turning her head slowly to look where his boots now rested before her. It felt like time moved so slowly, her eyes taking in every detail - every miniscule point in the room: the faces, the way they moved. She saw his weight shift, the way his foot started to raise, and so she tensed herself.

As he swung back, she pulled herself around and in a quick moment, just when the leg swung and his boot went to hit her, she had a hold on his foot. Her arm quivered with the effort needed to hold back his blow.

There was his hesitation, the look of surprise in his features, and her one chance.

She never would hesitate for such.

Pushing herself away from the wall with one side of her still on the rough stone ground, she kicked up and aimed her foot right between his legs. There was no remorse at all as she landed a strong hit to such a fragile place on the man.

She heard his gasp, felt him pull back from the hold on his boot, and saw him collapse back. He held on to where her foot had once been and let out a slew of curses that sounded strained. He was stunned, stuck with the weakness of a man and unable to regain his senses quick enough.

Although Taliori could barely get herself up, she still did. She got herself up and went over to slam her foot into his side. Just as she felt it connect, she abruptly found herself away from a cellar filled with gamblers.

She was greeted again by the sharp kick to her stomach, taking from her the precious air she had been gasping for since she fell to the ground. She heard the echo of laughter, the way she sensed the way they stalked around her. She saw the clouds of dust, the crunch of their footsteps.

The shadows played tricks on her, her mind conjuring some whisper in her ear of her sisters’ demands.

She told herself to swallow it down.

Don’t show them the pain she felt.

Never let them know.

There was a crunch of a boot by her head, and Taliori’s eyes opened wide. In a quick sweep, she turned onto her back and kicked her feet up. Just as before, there was that look of surprise as her foot landed solidly on his chest, pushing him off and away.

There was two to deal with, and she knew that. She knew her odds.

Using the momentum, she turned her hands in the dirt and kicked herself back up to her feet. Quick to steady her footing, she focused in on the closest attacke. A broad man with an ugly broken nose, courtesy of herself earlier in the day.

She ignored the ache of her muscles and the stabbing pain in her side. She dug her toes into the dirt and pushed herself forward. She was quickly upon the man and she saw the way he moved to swing down at her. She prepared herself, stepping aside at just the right moment for his head to come down closer to her height.

Her arm had already been raised and she slammed her elbow down into his face, aiming for that broken nose. He screamed out, and she used the advantage of his hands flying up to deliver a sharp knee into his gut. It stole the rest of his air out of his lungs and left him limp on the ground.

There was a crunch behind her, and her ears flicked. Quickly, she ducked down and out of the way of a punch, swinging her leg outwards towards the man’s legs. She connected, putting all her force into it to bring him back down onto his side with a heavy grunt and a large puff of a cloud.

She turned, balanced still, and kicked him while he was down with her full force.

Again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Then there was a cracking sound, and she stopped as he gasped for breath, clenching his stomach.

There was no chance that he would be getting back up any time soon.

As she was about to turn, large arms wrapped around her, picking her up off her feet and hugging on tight. There was a disgusting feeling of warmth at her neck, and she heard the wheeze and panted breath of a man that could no longer breathe through his nose. There was no time to do much of anything before she was squeezed harder, save for squirming, trying dearly to get her arms free of this lockdown.

The hold grew tighter and tighter, pressing in on her wounds, making them scream in pain. Such terrible pain. But even so, she did not let it come through. She kept pulling, forced to hold what little breath she had before and push away the feeling of dizziness from the crushing grip around her.

It felt like an eternity - too long before she manage to pop one arm free. There was no hesitation as her elbow swung back. She missed a perfect mark, but still hit her assailant’s face. At this point, she was determined to destroy all of those ugly features with the amount of force she put to it.

Again and again, she punched back with her elbow, growing weaker with each blow. There was the concern of her starting to perhaps be unable to fight. She clenched her teeth hard and drew back for as large a hit as she could land, and it hit.

There was no satisfying crunch to the blow, no grunt of pain from him...merely a twist of his head before the hold released. She was dropped and fell to her knees in the dirt. She relished the moment to suck in as much air into her lungs as she could before scrambling back up to her feet.

Looking back, she saw blood seeping from the brute’s mouth. His eyes were wide and looking right at this small woman, looking right at Taliori. “What-- What the fuck.” he sputtered, a red spray splattering across the dirt with the hard, but choked, ‘ck’.

She walked towards him and slowly crouched down to look him in the eye, at his level more or less. Her gaze was cold, hiding away the waves of pain that came no matter how small her movements.

“I told ye. Never fucking talk about my crew like that again. Next time, ye be losin’ more than a bit o’ blood over it.”

She raised her fist and then connected it hard against his face, right in the sweet spot with just enough force to finally let him meet some sweet relief of unconsciousness.

Staring at him, she waited until she heard a groan, and then shook her head. She got herself back up with a quiet groan of her own. Wiping away as much blood as she could, she walked slowly out of the alley they had dragged her into.

Gods, was she tired, but she would be damned if she stopped now. Rest could always come later, and it most certainly would after today.

She swallowed down her pain, put one foot in front of the other, and left behind what mess she had made.

This is my pclass story for Pugilist.. and man, I have not written anything in so long. 

@thesunguardmg