#{the thing called shayl}

[liminal-storage]

X-Wheel of Fortune

Prompt: Quarry

Characters: Florian Marlowe, Shayl.

Content Warnings: Blood, violence, death.

Snow fell in a violent swirl around two figures slowly making their way down past the Arc of the Venerable towards the airship landing. Wind buffeted the pair, whipping knitted wool scarves into the air before tearing them away completely.

There would be no airships on this night. Nor, Florian suspected, would they encounter any other living souls along the way there. Not with the blizzard moving in so swiftly and with so much intensity. If they were smart, they'd hole up like the rest of the city, windows barred and hearths roaring. If only they hadn't set out with a purpose.

Florian couldn't hear footsteps behind him, but he knew they were being watched. He was counting on it. There wasn't much distance left to cover. He reached out to grip the girl's forearm and pull her closer, adjusting her coat against the cold.

A shadow in the shape of a winged body melted across the path in a blur. When Florian turned he found himself face to face with his own son's corpse, a crooked grin stretched upon his features. The thing wearing him took its time to peel off the dark leather gloves meant more for concealment than for warmth. Florian's body jerked as if to run and he felt claws raking his face.

Deep crimson looked so vibrant atop the freshly fallen snow, rich as claret wine. Hot enough to melt the surrounding snow just the tiniest bit. The bulk of it soon vanished beneath more of the swirling white.

Florian drew deep and ragged breaths, each one flowing out of him like smoke. He ran fingertips over his newly torn cheek before barking out a harsh:

"Run, Cygni!"

The smaller figure did as she was told, booted feet carrying her across paving stones growing slick with the layers of snowfall. It would be difficult to pick her way back through the blurry streets, but the shroud of snow might help hide her. She just had to turn and make a dash for it.

Except she never did.

Instead of seeking a chance at safety, she ran to the edge of the landing dock. Wind screamed in the abyss below, the yawning void stretched further than any eye could hope to see. Shayl ignored the old man in favor of smaller prey. With nowhere to run, he caught her quickly. With nowhere to run, he ensnared her in his claws

A sweep across the throat ought to do it. Messy enough to be dramatic, and he couldn't wait to hear the old man's cries of despair. But when he tore open flesh to see spinning gears and wires instead of muscle and blood, the creature found itself, for the first time in a good number of years, dumbfounded.

He didn't see the old man running towards him until he had already tackled him off of the edge.

The clockwork doll fell too, the gentle whirring of its motors mocking him. Together they plummeted into the abyss, a vortex of wind and water waiting to consume them both. There was no way for anything living to survive the brutal maelstrom of aether, let alone the distance of the fall. Enraged, Shayl grappled for the falling tinkerer. Warm blood flooded over his knuckles as he drove his claws in deep.

Florian spat in his face and laughed. The wind swallowed his voice, but before darkness took them both the creature could swear he saw him mouth something with a triumphant grin.

"I got you."

[destage-arch]

CAST ( IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE )   ,     CEREMONIALLY IN THE ROLE OF TABITHA ‘TABBY’ SHAYLE   ,     DESTAGE IN THE ROLE OF EVAN ‘BUCK’ BUCKLEY   .     THE SCENE OPENS TO A BENCH OUTSIDE THE DISPATCH CENTRE, THE AFTERNOON TICKING ON, A CLOCK THAT SAYS THEY’RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME. ( @ceremonially )

TABBY : wait, you think i’m cute?

an  easy  laughter  takes  over  the  expanse  of  his  faces ,   eyes  lit  up  so  that  blue  shades  shine  brighter ,   dimples  engulfing  cheeks  until  every  inch  of  him  holds  light .   he  lets  it  linger  a  moment  in  the  warm  breeze ,   watching  the  sun  as  it  catches  on  her  cheeks ,   sticks  to  her  as  if  it  is  making  marble ,    enshrining  her  beauty  so  the  whole  world  can  pay  tribute .   he  knows  nothing  of  poetry ,   taught  too  young  by  an  old  woman  dreary  enough  to  make  even  the  most  amusing  an  ageing  affair ,   but  for  a  moment  he  wishes  he  paid  attention ,   that  he  knew  the  kind  of  big - enough  words  that  he  thinks  would  fit ,    that  might  impress  her .   as  it  is ,   with  his  words  lacking ,   he  adjusts  himself  on  the  bench ,   lets  one  arm  fall  against  the  top ,   fingers  so  close  he  could  catch  a  strand  of  her  hair  between  them ,   if  temptations  were  surrendered  to . 

and  so ,   with  an  arm  almost  around  her  shoulders ,   knees  so  close  he  can  almost  feel  the  warmth  of  her ,    he  relies  on  honesty .         ❛    i think you are very cute.    ❜      eyes  remain  wide ,   a  depth  to  them  that  feels  too  deep ,   too  intense ,   like  the  moment  will  strip  him  down  and  leave  him  raw .    he  never  did  learn  how  to  hold  a  delicate  thing ,   always  too  tight ,   glass  smashed  between  his  fingers .    elsewhere ,   a  woman  chases  her  dog  down  the  road ,   a  man  speaks  too  loudly  on  the  phone  about  being  in  a  rush ;    the  moment  slips  away .    later ,   he’ll  wonder  if  he  should  have  said  something  else ,   called  her  beautiful  in  a  way  that  would  prove  the  reverence  he  holds  for  her .   he  always  has  known  how  to  carry  regrets .       ❛    as cute as someone about to go into work and leave me on my own on my day off can be.    ❜

[leagueoflegends-confessions]

I want ShenxKayle shipping to be a thing and it shalt be called Shayle!…Look, the pun alone is worth it, I'm just saying.

Artwork by MeikoArtDA

[dykeogenes]

Based on this super-cool template!

Inquisitor’s Name: Brooke Cadash

Relation to dwarven Inquisitor: Distant cousin. The two overlapped very little in their work for the Carta.

Race, Class, & Specialization: Dwarf Warrior (Templar)

Varric’s Nickname for them: Chatterbox

Default Tarot Card: Judgement

Recruitment:

A scout approaches the Inquisitor after The Threat Remains, telling them that an armed dwarf carrying Carta documents was caught approaching Haven. She insisted she only wanted to speak with the Herald, but the scouts apprehended her and tossed her in a holding cell until a decision was made about whether to trust her. The Inquisitor can speak with her, and learns that— until recently— she was stationed in Redcliffe Village as a Carta liaison to the rebel mages. When she heard about the events at the Temple of Sacred Ashes and the formation of the Inquisition, she left her post and made the journey to Haven to offer her services.

The Inquisitor can free and recruit her, leave her imprisoned (which leaves her open to be released and recruited at a later date, albeit with a starting approval score of -25), or free her and reject her offer of service, telling her to return to Redcliffe.

Location in Skyhold:

Beside the exterior entrance to the dungeons.

Things they Generally Approve of:

Straightforwardness, honesty, critiquing tradition (including the Chantry and templars), humility

Things they Generally Disapprove of: 

Unquestioning obedience, manipulation, deception, excessive pride

Mages, Templars, Other?: 

Brooke generally supports the mage rebellion. She looks at the conflict through a logical lens: in her mind, it was the inevitable end of a corrupt and inflexible system that refused to listen to the people it subjugated. That said, her opinion is not extreme.

Templars allied with: Disapproves Templars disbanded: Approves Mages allied with: Slightly Approves Mages conscripted: Disapproves

Friends in the Inquisition:

Blackwall, Vivienne (eventually), Josephine

Romanceable?:

Yes, for all Inquisitors. She is explicitly bisexual and has both party banter and conversation options that mention this.

Small side mission: Carta’s Calling

Brooke’s family in the Marches aren’t happy with her decision to put smuggling behind her. In an effort to dodge a rivalry with the Carta, Brooke has agreed to carry out some odd (and dubiously legal) jobs throughout Ferelden and Orlais. All jobs can be done with or without her in the party. If Brooke is in the party, she Approves; if not, she Slightly Approves.

Dead Drop in Redcliffe Village: Collect a package from under the docks in Redcliffe Village. Evidence in Val Royeaux: Destroy a box of records in Willvan’s shop in Val Royeaux. Contracts in Old Crestwood: Retrieve a set of trade contracts that were lost when Old Crestwood flooded during the Blight. A Buyer in Fort Revasan: Discreetly deliver information about a lyrium sale to a soldier stationed at Fort Revasan.

Main side mission: Sky Above, Stone Below

Without the modern-day Cadash family breathing down her neck, Brooke has begun to wonder about her more distant ancestors. She asks the Inquisitor to assist her in learning more about House Cadash and their eventual exile. If the Inquisitor is a dwarf, there are special dialogue options with which they can express a lack of interest or outright opposition to learning more about their family history. Brooke is understanding, and recognizes that her curiosity will not be shared by most of her family. She respects the Inquisitor’s feelings on the matter, but requests that they let her know if they change their mind.

If the Inquisitor agrees to help, they investigate rumors of a sentient golem with a mysterious connection to the Cadash family. The Inquisitor accompanies Brooke to a small town in the Frostback Mountains, where they track down a stone golem that refers to themselves as Shale. The golem confirms that they were once Shayle Cadash of Orzammar. Further research leads Brooke and the Inquisitor to discover that Shale is the reason House Cadash was exiled: desperate efforts to track her down after the First Blight put them on the bad side of the Assembly.

With evidence that her ancestors were only trying to save one of their own, Brooke thinks she may have a case worth bringing to the Assembly. She considers going to Orzammar to argue for the reinstatement of House Cadash. The Inquisitor discusses this with her, which leads to the resolution of the quest in one of two ways:

Option 1: House Cadash Remains Disgraced. The Inquisitor urges Brooke to put aside questions and concerns about her history. They encourage her to focus on the present, telling her that her bloodline has little to do with what makes her, her. She abandons efforts to reconnect with her heritage and focuses her energy on the Inquisition. (Varric Slightly Approves)

Option 2: House Cadash Reinstated: The Inquisitor encourages Brooke to embrace her family legacy and dwarven heritage, and assists her in addressing the Assembly and dealing with the Shaperate. Dwarven politics are slow, and arguments about reinstating the ambivalent surfacers will continue to rage in the Assembly for years. Brooke cared more about getting an answer than a caste, and having her name redeemed in the Shaperate is more than enough for her. She furthers her study of dwarven history and culture, which is reflected in some ambient Skyhold dialogue and party banter.

Cole’s reflection on their thoughts:

It’s quiet in there. Quiet on purpose. If I panic, everything is lost. If I give it an inch, it will take a mile. Feelings fastened on a short leash. You can learn to let it out, you know. It doesn’t have to be all one way or the other.

Party Banter:

Dorian: So, Brooke, you’re a templar. Brooke: If I am, I’m doing a pretty shit job at it. Dorian: What’s that supposed to mean? Brooke: Well, let’s tally things up. I spend my days running around Thedas with the Inquisition’s favourite apostates. I have a tendency to punch authority figures in the face. I’m a dwarf. I’m not religious. And I haven’t collared you yet. Dorian: I suppose that’s fair. Brooke: I learned the basics from an ex-templar in Kirkwall. The Order might be shit, but the techniques aren’t good or bad—they’re just tools. Like your fireballs. Dorian: I do love my fireballs.

Brooke: I read your book, Varric. Varric: Everyone’s a critic. All right, lay it on me. Brooke: You didn’t do Darktown justice. I only found one reference to the ever-present stench of death. Varric: Books have to sell, Chatterbox. You have to strike a balance. Not too gory, not too clean.

Vivienne: Brooke, darling, I have to ask. What in the world are you wearing? Brooke: Armour. It’s like a shield, but broken up in lots of pieces, and strapped all over your body. Vivienne: Yes, dear. But it doesn’t have to look so tremendously practical. We’ll have to find you something better. I’m sure that blacksmith could help. I’m thinking something in veridium. It’ll bring out your eyes. Brooke: If you say so.

Sera: Inky’s asked you on an awful lot of missions lately. Brooke: What are you trying to imply? Sera: Just that she lights up whenever you walk into a room. Awful nice to see, yeah? Brooke: It is. She is. Sera: Ew, that one’s something out of one of Varric’s books. Sap! Brooke, laughing: I won’t apologize for being happy.

Miscellaneous Dialogue:

When looking for something: I feel like we’re missing something. Let’s look around. When finding a campsite: This seems as a good a place as any. Should we set up camp? When the Inquisitor Falls: Oh, you’re gonna regret that. When they are low on Health: Not sure how long I can keep this up for. When they see a Dragon: Damn, that’s magnificent. Let’s keep our distance. When during their small side quest: Thanks, Inquisitor. This means a lot. Friendly greeting: How are you doing? Friendly farewell: Good to see you, as always. Neutral greeting: Morning, Inquisitor. Neutral farewell: You know where to find me. Disapproving greeting: What is it now? Disapproving farewell: I’m sure we’ll talk later. Much later.

Approval-Dependent Dialogue

Friendship Dialogue: It was scarier than I let on, you know, abandoning the Carta like that. I knew I was throwing away the only family and friends I’d ever known, just for a shot at making a difference. I’ll never stop being grateful that I took that leap. You’re something special, Inquisitor. [If House Cadash reinstated:] Kalnath-par kallak, Kalnath-gat parthas. Family through war, and into peace. [Else:] You are like family to me, and I choose you every day. Thank you for everything.

Leaving the Inquisition/Disapproval Dialogue: I joined you because I thought the Inquisition was a chance to make a difference. I thought you were enough of a (man/woman) to rebuild this broken world and make it stronger. It’s a shame I was so wrong.

[jchb32273]

Chapter 32 of Kylara’s Story is FINALLY up!

Took me almost a month... I know I was slacking... NO excuses! But I feel pretty darn good about it! Here is hoping that Chapter 33 won’t take as long! >_< Sigh...

Current Chapter

The whole shebang!

A snippet... ^_^

I searched up and down the streets of Denerim looking for Alistair. Finally, I found him in the narrow alleyway behind the Gnawed Noble. How he’d managed to get his tall frame in such a small space baffled me. I wedged myself in, sat down next to him, and leaned my head against his arm. I heard him sob softly.

“I’m so sorry Alistair… that your visit turned out that way.”

“This is the family I’d been wondering about all my life? That… bitch is my sister? I just… can’t believe it.” I took his hand into mine and gave it a squeeze. He sighed. “I… I guess I was just expecting her to accept me without question. I thought that was what a real family would do. I… I feel like a complete and utter fool.”

“You’re not. But most people are out only for themselves. You must really start looking out for yourself.” I gave his hand another squeeze.

“You mean… I should stand up for what I believe more often?”

“Yes, Ali. If someone says something to you that you feel is wrong, make your feelings known. Speak up. Don’t keep silent. This will really help you…” I couldn’t finish what I was going to say – when you become King… because I knew what it would mean for me… and I was afraid.

“Ali? You've never called me that before,” he gave a small smile. “I… I really like that.” He tenderly kissed the top of my head.

“You don’t need her,” I said softly. “You have other people who care about you…”

“Like… you?”

“Yes,” I whispered. I could deny it no longer. I was falling for him again.

“Thank you…” He was silent for a moment, then asked, “This may seem like a totally random question, but do we still have that crate of clothes that Isolde gave to us? You know… the ones she gave us as kind of a half-hearted apology?”

“I think so… Pretty sure they’re in the cart. Why?”

“I want to do something really special for you. But we are going to need some nicer things to wear.”

“Why do you want to do this?”

“Because you’ve been with me from the beginning… through good and bad. Thick and thin. You can also, if you like, think of it as a true apology for the way I treated you after Ostagar and West Hill…”

“You don’t have to- ” I started to say.

He put a finger to my lips. “But I want to. You are worth it… to me.”

I was quiet for a bit, then murmured, “If you really want to, then I guess that will be all right.” I stood up from the dusty alleyway and brushed off my robe. Then I held out my hand to assist Alistair in getting up from his cramped position. “Just… nothing crazy, okay?”

“It’s a deal, love.”

We both headed inside the inn and to our room. Once there, I grabbed the bag of crystals that I’d bought for Shayle. “Might as well give them to her, since I’m heading to the cart. Guess I can also check on the horses while I’m there too.”

“I’ll be here when you return then.”

I nodded. While Alistair busied himself with something in the sitting room, I quickly checked to make sure my other purchase from the Wonders of Thedas was still hidden under the bed. Why do I still have this?! I really should take it with me and return it on my way to the cart…

But when I left the room a moment later, the box was still under the bed.

“Hello Shayle,” I said as I approached. “Things are going all right for you?”

“Its spell is working wonders,” she gave me a grin. “Not a single bird has been able to come anywhere near me. As for its belongings, a few people have tried to come up and get into the cart, but then they see me… and quickly run away.”

“That doesn’t bother you?” I hoped she wasn’t going to be upset, but to my surprise, she laughed.

“It is concerned about my feelings? Thank you, but you need not worry. After thirty years of not being able to do anything about the humans of Shadmoor making fun of me, defacing me, or other not so pleasant things to me… I am finding much humor in scaring them away. What has given me the greatest humor are the ones who have come back in the middle of the night, thinking I’d be asleep!” She laughed – a sound akin to rocks grinding together. “Besides, I said I would protect its belongings, and I will do just that.”

“Thank you, Shayle. That means a lot to us.”

“But I also assume it did not come here to just chat with me, though I do appreciate it.”

“Actually, Alistair wanted me to come and get a few items from the cart. He… wants to do something special for me.” I replied quietly.

“Is it considering getting back together with the other Warden then?” Shayle cocked her head at me. “That would make me… happy.”

“Really? Why?”

“When it… had the fight with the other Warden, I remember how sad it was; how the crystal on its neck stopped shining… I really would like to see it smiling again.” She paused for a moment, then said, “The crystal necklace it shares with the other Warden… it is not shining now, but there are flecks of color in it again. Hmmm… that is interesting.”

Curious, I asked, “Why is it interesting to you?”

“Since I am a rock golem, and I use crystals to enhance my abilities, I am sensitive to the properties of them. Yet, I have never seen crystals like the ones it shares with the other Warden. They are… rather unique. Where did it find them?”

Omitting the part about how sex with Alistair seemed to have something to do with their magic, I simply explained, “We found the rock containing them on the shore of Lake Calenhad. My… magic may have altered the rock somehow, but that is all we understand about them ourselves. Even a master jeweler in Orzammar had never seen a crystal like it before… though he told Alistair that it seemed to share properties with lyrium, but without the negative side-effects.”

Shayle seemed to think about that for a moment, then said, “Would it mind if I took a closer look at it?”

“No, I don’t mind, but the clasp of the chain doesn’t want to come loose, so I can’t take it off.”

“Understood.” She held her large hands together and told me to sit on them. I did so and she lifted me up so that she could get a better view of my crystal. A moment passed in silence and then she lowered me back to the ground.

“Any ideas?” I asked.

She shook her stone head. “I’ve never seen a crystal like it anywhere before.” She seemed to pause in thought for a moment, then asked, “Besides reacting to its emotional state with the other Warden – which I do still find most curious – what exactly do they do for it?”

“Mine seems to hold onto any excess magic… and his seems to hold onto energy.”

“Is that why it occasionally put its hand on the crystal when we were fighting in the Deep Roads? It was accessing its extra magic and energy?”

“So you noticed that?” I asked with a smile. “Yes. The Deep Roads were especially hard on Alistair and me since we are the only ones who can sense the darkspawn from afar. As we were running low on potions, we had to rely on the power being held by the crystals.” I gave a sigh. “But even that ran out before we were finished down there. I am glad we had them, however. The fighting could have turned out a lot worse… had we not had access to that extra magic and energy.”

“Why did it not share these crystals with the rest of the group? It could have given extra magic and energy to everyone.”

“I had thought about that once or twice while we were down there, but something tells me – especially after seeing what happened to the crystals when we… separated – that they only work for us.”

“Because the chains will not come loose?”

“Yes. That too.”

“Very interesting.”

“It is just something that we will eventually figure out.” I then reached down and picked up the bag of augmentation crystals I had bought for her. “Besides coming to get some items from the cart, I got these for you at the Wonders of Thedas store.” I handed her the first one.

“Oh! I haven’t seen a crystal of this quality for quite some time!”

“What does this color do for you… and will it work with the other one you already have?”

“Sadly, no. They do not work in conjunction. Can it imagine how pretty and colorful I’d look if they did?” She sighed as I hid a smile. “As for this particular crystal, the will replace the fire with lightning. With a crystal of this quality, you will even see little sparks jumping from crystal to crystal on my wrists. The overall effect will be quite striking.” She plucked the crystal from my hand and eagerly swallowed it.

Bemused, I asked, “Does it… taste like anything?”

“Since I lack the ability to taste, no,” she chuckled, “I can feel the electricity, however. This crystal quality is quite potent. Thanks.”

“I have one other for you… I hope it is the other kind – the defense one? I have to admit, I couldn’t be sure when I purchased them. They both looked similar in color.” I handed her the second crystal.

“This is a defense one. This will provide ‘spirit’ protection… attacks against the mind. This should provide extremely useful for me since I no longer have a control rod.” She swallowed it. The green crystals that had been on her shoulders were now replaced with ones that pulsed with an eerie purple glow. “I thank it very much for these.”

“You are welcome, Shayle. Now… I need to get into this cart and find those clothes that Isolde left us.”

“Who is that?” she asked as she gave me a boost into the cart.

“Isolde? That’s right. You haven’t met her yet. She is Arl Eamon’s wife and together they rule Redcliffe. You remember me telling you once that Arl Eamon helped to raise Alistair, yes? That Eamon was like his father?”

“I believe so… yes, I do remember that. So the Isolde – she was a mother to the other Warden?”

“Hardly! She was actually quite hostile to him. Alistair told me she used to punish him for the smallest, most insignificant reasons… all because she thought her husband was his father.”

“But it is the son of the former King, yes? Which will make it King someday… so how could the Eamon have been its father?”

“This is true, Shayle… but no one back then was supposed to know that truth. So the rumors were that Eamon was Alistair’s father… and Isolde resented that.”

Shayle looked cross upon hearing that bit of news. “Do you think it may want me to squash the Isolde?” she asked.

I almost burst out in laughter. “Ah… no. As tempting as that may be, we need to keep Eamon on our side… Squashing his wife might not be a good idea.” I found the box and opened it. “Besides, she knows the truth now. She gave Alistair and I these clothes as a sort of ‘I’m sorry’ gift. A bit on the weak side for an apology… but there isn’t much else I can do about it since we are here and she is still in Redcliffe. I might have some words with her in private once we return to Redcliffe. We will see.”

[uncleyarn2-blog]

Crowded 43rd Ward Race A Vital One As Lincoln Yards Looms Over Neighborhood

LINCOLN PARK – After a close call in 2015, Ald. Michele Smith (43rd) is on much better footing as the campaign for her third term ramps up, her office said.

But that hasn’t stopped a crowd of candidates from entering the race. 

The 43rd ward is an affluent one, undergoing significant economic development with both Lincoln Commons and the massive Lincoln Yards development. Still, crime — including recent carjackings — and traffic congestion are among the top issues according to residents. 

Smith has everything an incumbent could hope to have: name recognition in the community, a large campaign war chest of more than $275,000 and deep ties to Mayor Rahm Emanuel and other Chicago heavy hitters. A poll released in September showed she would win 53 percent of the vote when put up against the other announced candidates. 

But those candidates say there is still time for them to make a case to voters, and some have already raised enough money to stay competitive.

Derek Lindblom

Derek Lindblom

Already raising more than $265,000, Derek Lindblom has the biggest campaign war chest of any Smith challenger. With campaign backers like former Deputy Mayors Steve Koch and Mark Angelson and businessman Matthew Pritzker (cousin to soon-to-be Gov. JB Pritzker), Lindblom is considered to be a significant threat to Smith.

With more than 170 donations — and no amount higher than $5,600 — the Harvard graduate has more individual contributions than his other challengers.

Previously, he was chief of staff for Emanuel’s economic counsel, where he “helped government run more efficiently.”

“I think with the mayor not running, we need someone who is going to have creative policy,” he said. “We need someone who is going to fight for efficiency.”

Lindblom said he has a clear track record of “cutting through the red tape” and he believes that he has significant experience in both the private and public sector to make that happen.

Lindblom is also a venture capitalist who invests in health technology, and said technology could be used to solve some of the biggest issues facing the city. 

“We have had too many instances of a criminal committing multiple crimes that could have been stopped with the proper technology,” he said, adding that we could be using traffic cameras to track down stolen vehicles.

When it comes to Lincoln Yards, Lindblom echoed what’s been said at community meetings, citing the need to avoid congestion and add green spaces.

“Let’s make sure we are getting a ton of park space for our community,” he said. “If we are not thoughtful about putting improvements in place, I think we are going to regret it.

Lindblom aims to run a positive campaign, saying that an alderman needs to bring people together and “bring fun to the community.” He said that things like ward bike rides, senior walks and block parties can be extremely valuable to the community.

“I’m a very positive person,” he said. “The more this race is about the people in this community, the better my campaign will do.”

Leslie Fox

Leslie Fox with volunteers.

Leslie Fox For 43rd Ward / Facebook

Candidate Leslie Fox said she wants to bring “common sense policy” to Chicago Public Schools and beyond.

Fox has been deeply ingrained in Chicago politics for more than two decades, and although she may not have instant name recognition, she is well known in political circles. She worked with Mayor Richard M. Daley and helped coordinate the World Cup in 1994 and the Democratic National Convention in 1996.

She describes herself as being heavily involved with her family and is proud of her Jewish heritage. Fox is a self-described “politics and news junkie” and her family still gets four print newspapers delivered to their home each morning.

Her campaign reported over $151,000 — $45,000 of which came from her own pocket and $45,000 more from her father, Shayle Fox.

Fox is particularly passionate about Chicago Public Schools and she said it is one of the major reasons she felt compelled to enter the race in a very competitive ward.

“You have to fund your public schools,” she said. “You can’t be building new schools without funding the ones that are there and that work.”

Fox said she is proud of the progress parents have made through their “tireless work” with the schools, but the city is “not doing enough.”

Fox plans to rely heavily on her political circle, which runs deep throughout the city. Her husband Bill Griffin was previously an aid to former Chicago Mayor Jane Byrne, and has been a long-time player in Chicago politics.

The longtime politico is not running his wife’s campaign, however.

Fox also has complicated ties to Emanuel. She is a personal friend of Emanuel’s wife, Amy Rule, and worked with him on Daley’s early campaigns. However, she endorsed Chuy Garcia over Emanuel during the 2015 mayoral election, which surprised many.

“People had told me, ‘expect a lot of money coming to keep you out,’” she said. “So I suppose that’s going to be coming. But I wish Rahm well and I don’t think his political career is over by any stretch.”

Fox said that “crime has become a very real problem” in the 43rd ward. She referenced the recent string of armed robberies and carjackings that have occurred in Lincoln Park and said she has family and friends that have been affected.

Fox said too many police officers in the area get moved to higher-crime neighborhoods.

Concerning the pension crisis, Fox believes that Emanuel’s current proposal to borrow billions in bonds from investment bankers is “kicking the can down the road.”

When it comes to the massive Lincoln Yards development Fox said “there has to be a win for Lincoln Park.” Like the other candidates, she said she’s concerned with congestion and the “lack of park spaces” in the ward.

“I’m not against development,” she said. “But the congestion in Lincoln Park has become landlocked.”

The last 43rd ward election was widely-considered to be a nasty — and expensive — one and although Fox hopes to stick to the issues she said she is unafraid of dirty politics.

“I’ve worked in politics for 25 years,” she said. “Bring it.”

Jacob Ringer 

Jacob Ringer

Jacob Ringer is one of the lesser known 43rd ward challengers, but he is in no way unfamiliar to politics — his father ran for alderman in 1967 and lost in a runoff election. His campaign recently opened a headquarters on Halsted Street and a black and white photo of his father on the campaign trail is proudly displayed in the office.

Ringer previously served as president of the Lincoln Park Zoo Auxiliary Board and as chief of staff to former city Chief Financial Officer Lois Scott. 

Ringer provided his campaign with an early shot in the arm, campaign finance reports show he gave his campaign $90,000 in June. As of Monday, his campaign has more than $115,ooo in the bank. Why run? Ringer said he wants to battle “unattended bureaucracy” and government inefficiency.

“My job is to advocate for the neighborhood and to understand how the city works, and make it work better.”

Ringer said a digital billboard project he came up with while working for the city highlights his “creative solutions” to city revenue issues. 

“Those digital billboards are projected to bring in $200 million in 20 years without cutting services or raising taxes,” he said.

And while he did work for the city, his ties to Emanuel are minimal. He said he wants our next mayor to be more “accessible.”

Another focus of Ringer’s campaign is economic development, particularly vacant storefronts.

When it comes to Lincoln Yards, Ringer said it “isn’t a yes or no,” but rather about determining how to “accommodate growth.” He said the main issue should be building an East West bridge in order to provide easy access to the expressways.

“We should be talking more about infrastructure, and parks are a part of that,” he said.

Ringer hopes that the campaign does not turn negative.

“That really was a personal and brutal election,” he said in reference to the 2015 election.

Ringer said that although he hopes everyone is able to stick to the issues, he is not naive to the arena he has stepped into.

“My eyes are open,” he said. “This ain’t stickball.”

Matthew Roney

Matthew Roney is 22 years old and will soon be graduating with a bachelors degree in political science from DePaul University. He originally declared his candidacy to run for mayor, but has since decided to run for alderman instead. He admitted that he “did not have the infrastructure in place to sustain a mayoral campaign.”

Why run? Crime, Roney said. Though residents have reported feeling less safe, police say crime is actually down in the area, one of the safest wards in Chicago.

“I am tired of walking past caution tape and vacant lots,” he said.

Roney said he originally came to Chicago with plans to study medicine, but after witnessing firsthand the high price of medication, he decided to run for office. Roney believes that his lack of experience is actually a good thing.

 “I am not corrupt and I do not owe any corporations or politicians anything,” he said.

Roney plans to run a campaign heavily based on social media and viral marketing tactics.

 Steve McClellan

Steve McClellan

Provided

After being knocked off the ballot in 2015 for not having enough valid signatures, Steve McClellan is ready to run again. This time, he said he is better equipped for a campaign.

“You have to always be on point,” he said.

A 36-year-old Old Town resident with a business background on the Chicago Board of Trade, McClellan describes himself as a “happy but concerned neighbor.”

McClellan said that he would bring a “fresh perspective” to City Hall. He said the 43rd ward is not being properly utilized and under his leadership he would provide economic opportunity, not just for the ward, but for the entire city.

“We live in a powerful ward,” he said. “It seems like the current administration doesn’t realize the political influence they could have.”

When it comes to crime, he said more investment in youth is the answer. 

“We need to be more strategic,” he said, adding that more after school programs could help prevent much of the petty theft that has been occurring in the ward.

McClellan knows he has a long way to go, as his fundraising efforts have just begun and he is far behind his other opponents when it comes to money. But he hopes his experience as an organizer helps.

“I’m just going to keep shaking hands and getting to know people,” he said. “My platform is about the conversations I’ve had with neighbors.”

Rebecca Janowitz

Attorney Rebecca Janowitz, a Special Assistant for Legal Affairs for the Cook County Justice Advisory Council, has no reported campaign cash on hand and faces formidable challengers, but said she is “not worried” about the money — she wants to connect with 43rd ward voters.

“This is a ward that pays attention,” she said. “I’m going to have a chance to show voters my policy in the upcoming debates.”

Janowitz, who once served as a special assistant to Cook County Board President (and mayoral candidate) Toni Preckwinkle, thinks that the ward needs to pay more attention to “housekeeping items,” such as noise pollution from construction sites or parking issues. She said the spike in crime within the ward can be mitigated through “better communication and collaboration with police.”

Janowitz said that one of the big challenges of the 43rd ward is “voters who don’t actually vote in the ward.” She said she will target her campaign exclusively to those she believes “will actually show up on election day.”

Source: https://blockclubchicago.org/2018/12/04/crowded-43rd-ward-race-a-vital-one-as-lincoln-yards-looms-over-neighborhood/

[inerginc]

GTM Smart Grid http://ift.tt/2eJlQnQ

Energy Secretary Rick Perry’s demand for market-disrupting price supports for coal and nuclear power plants has broken multiple rules for how energy policy is made, from upending the facts to subverting regular order. And it’s being pushed through on a hyper-fast, 60-day review period that’s not only unjustified by the Department of Energy report it cites as justification, but “practically and legally impossible” to meet. 

This is a collection of the critiques that have emerged since Friday’s shock DOE filing with the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission. In a rarely-used notice of public rule making (NOPR), DOE asked FERC to create market rules to provide compensation for power plants that, among other features, have a 90-day supply of fuel on hand — something that only coal and nuclear power plants can do. 

The NOPR cited the grid reliability study ordered by Perry in April to argue that baseload power plants need compensation to shore up grid reliability. But as we covered when it was released in July, that report doesn’t actually support that conclusion, stealing some of the thunder from clean energy and environmental groups’ arguments that the report was a Trojan horse for pro-coal and nuclear power policies all along. 

Friday’s NOPR seems to have vindicated those views, as well as drawn the fire of a much broader coalition of energy industry players. On Tuesday, FERC received a joint motion from a coalition representing literally every sector of the energy economy except coal and nuclear power, asking it to deny DOE’s request for an interim final rule to take effect within 60 days, and extend the comment period out to at least 90 days. 

The coalition includes the country’s biggest solar and wind trade groups and renewables boosters like American Council on Renewal Energy and the Advanced Energy Economy. But it also includes the Natural Gas Supply Association, the Interstate Natural Gas Association of America, and the American Petroleum Institute — a highly unusual set of bedfellows. 

“This is the first time we've filed a motion in conjunction with API,” Gil Jenkins, a spokesman for ACORE, told The Washington Post. “So  it’s unprecedented, just as this very action taken by DOE.” 

Also joining the motion were the American Public Power Association and National Rural Electric Cooperative Association, representing municipal and co-op utilities, and the Electricity Consumers Resource Council, representing big commercial and industrial power users. Even the generator group Electric Power Supply Association — the same one that sued FERC to overturn its Order 745 regulations allowing demand response equal play in capacity markets — has signed on. 

“This is one of the most significant proposed rules in decades related to the energy industry and, if finalized, would unquestionably have significant ramifications for wholesale markets under the Commission’s jurisdiction,” the group wrote. 

This view was shared across the energy industry spectrum this week. Former FERC chairman Jon Wellinghoff, a Democrat, told Utility Dive that the DOE rule would "blow up the markets” that the agency has spent the past four decades creating. Former FERC commissioner Nora Mead Brownell, a Republican, told RTO Insider that the proposal is “the antithesis of good economics. It’s going to destroy the markets [and] drive away investment in new, more efficient technologies.”

Even energy company CEOs are crying foul. At a Gulf Coast Power Association conference Tuesday in Austin, Texas, Dynergy CEO Bob Flexon called the NOPR a "red herring for subsidies" for nuclear and coal, while NRG Energy CEO Mauricio Gutierrez said that propping up coal and nuclear power plants, while leaving other resources open to competitive forces, would be “a recipe for disaster." 

But the Edison Electric Institute utility trade group, which did not join the rest of the energy trade groups in Tuesday’s FERC filing, took a more neutral stance. In a Tuesday statement, EEI vice president of energy supply Richard McMahon said the NOPR shows DOE recognizes that "a balanced energy mix that includes 24/7 energy sources is vital to sustaining a secure, reliable, and resilient energy grid,” and that ”New market rules should recognize the role that all generation sources play in maintaining the reliability and resiliency of the energy grid.” 

Coal and nuclear-reliant FirstEnergy Corp. was one of the lonely voices in support of the ruling. “Correcting the faulty market conditions and keeping essential baseload generating plants operating will help ensure customers continue to receive safe, reliable and affordable supplies of electricity while maintaining the security of the electricity grid,” CEO Charles Jones said in a prepared statement.

Why 90 days of fuel supply doesn’t make the grid more resilient 

These views are complicated by the fact that DOE’s proposed "Grid Resiliency Pricing Rule” is lacking in so many details. Ari Peskoe, senior fellow in electricity law at the Harvard Law School Environmental Law Program Policy Initiative, pointed out in a Monday Interchange discussion with GTM Research head Shayle Kann. 

In simple terms, the rule does two things, Peskoe said. First, it defines reliability and resiliency attributes, including the 90-day fuel supply requirement. That in and of itself is a conclusion unsupported by the facts at hand, however, he said — a point echoed by multiple parties since Friday. 

“I called a lot of the arguments in the DOE proposal — well, they’re certainly cherrypicked, but they’re also often specious,” said Devin Hartman, electricity policy manager at R Street, a free-market think tank in Washington, D.C.. For example, the NOPC cites FERC and grid operators’ market design concerns as reasons for including 90-day fuel supply as a requirements — but what evidence does exist indicates that fuel supply problems are only a minuscule cause for power outages in the U.S., he said. 

To back that up, he pointed to an analysis published Tuesday by the Rhodium Group, which crunched DOE data on the causes of the 3.4 billion customer-hours of major electricity disruptions from 2012 to 2016. Of that time, only 2,815 hours, or 0.0007 percent of the total, was due to fuel supply problems, it found — and of those, 2,333 hours were due to fuel supply disruptions at a coal-fired power plant in Northern Minnesota. 

The real culprits for outages are instead severe weather, with Hurricane Sandy accounting for nearly one third of the total hours of power lost over that period, and severe weather accounting for nearly all the rest. Puerto Rico’s nearly complete power outage in the wake of Hurricane Maria has already accounted for nearly twice the total number of outage hours in 2016. 

DOE’s choice of 90 days of fuel stockpiles as the sole metric of reliability also fails to take into account the much deeper analysis presented in the DOE’s report, he noted. This built on existing work at FERC and the country’s big grid operators, calling for improvements in energy price formation and valuation of essential reliability services such as voltage support and frequency response.

Natural Resources Defense Council senior attorney John Moore told the House Energy and Commerce Subcommittee on Energy on Tuesday that the DOE proposal is “sowing confusion and suggesting the power grid will be imperiled if we don’t pay large subsidies to keep specific types of generators afloat. We can achieve a higher level of reliability at a lower cost and with less pollution by defining reliability and resiliency needs first.”

Kann asked Peskoe whether DOE or FERC were under legal obligation to consider these alternative metrics for reliability and resiliency. Peskoe replied that "FERC rules have to be non-discriminatory — that's a really fundamental premise they operate under." But that only strictly applies to rules that are "unduly discriminatory — they can discriminate if there's some valid purpose.” 

From “flimsy and vague” proposal to final rule in 60 days? 

Second, DOE’s NOPR seeks to define a special rate that these resources should provide, Peskoe said, which “kind of suggests that these resources are going to be taken out of the competitive market construct and are now going to be compensate based on cost of service rate making principles.” That’s the general view being taken by industry observers, since the rule would only apply to power plants in competitive wholesale markets, not those already subject to state or federal cost-of-service regulations. 

That's not entirely clear, however, because the NOPR also cites the need for markets to support the benefits and services of reliability and resiliency, and “being compensated for benefits and services is different than cost of service,” he said. That could open the options for other methods, such as some kind of “value of coal tariff” to mimic the value of solar tariff (VOST) proposals being fleshed out by a handful of states and utilities, or defining a new set of reliability and resilience attributes and creating a new market for them.”

Unfortunately, the DOE’s NOPR is quite vague on what it’s asking FERC to undertake, he said. The questions left unanswered by the NOPR, according to a series of tweets he published after its release, include:  “Is this cost-of-service ratemaking or is DOE suggesting that rate should be based on a plant’s ‘benefits and services? Does an eligible generator always receive this rate, or do they normally get paid LMP but receive this rate under certain circumstances? How does dispatch work if an eligible plant is not bidding into the market? Or is an eligible plant ‘bidding’ this special rate?”

These kinds of details, so common to traditional FERC rulemakings, are completely absent from DOE’s NOPR, he said. That would make it “practically and legally impossible” for FERC to actually comply with DOE’s request to have a final rule completed within the 15 days left between the end of the public comment period and the 60-day deadline it set out, he said. 

NRDC clean energy attorney Miles Farmer agreed in a Friday blog post, noting that “DOE’s proposal is so vague that FERC could not possibly adopt it as is, making it hard to see how FERC could possibly advance it in a manner that complies [with] the procedural requirements for a formal rulemaking proposal.” 

That’s the same reason that the 11 energy trade groups asked FERC to extend the comment period for the new rule. Despite the NOPR’s claims, the groups said, “both DOE and NERC recently released reports categorically concluding that there is no reliability emergency” that would require such a speed-up.

FERC this week filed notice that it was taking comments on the NOPR on the accelerated schedule, with Oct. 23 as the deadline for initial comments and Nov. 7 for reply comments. But it still hasn't ruled on the groups' proposal, leaving open the potential for extending its timeline. 

Jason Johns, partner in Stoel Rives’ energy practice, suggested in a blog post that the short timeframe could be “perhaps intended to allow Interim Chairman Chatterjee and Commissioner Powelson to take action on this notice alone before FERC has a full set of commissioners.” Chatterjee has already expressed his support of recognizing baseload power “as an essential part of the fuel mix” that must be “properly compensated to recognize the value they provide to the system.” 

But to remain legal, any action FERC takes will have to be rooted in several fundamental principles, Peskoe noted. First, it will have to find that existing grid operator tariffs are “unjust and unreasonable,” something that DOE’s NOPR does not take up. Second, it would have to show that the new rules being promulgated are “just and reasonable,” which is again difficult given that "FERC is going to have to address the total lack of detail in this document” on that matter. 

[cometladyicarus-blog]

Character Sheets - Dragon Age Elissa Cousland

I love my Elissa to bits, though I freely admit to muddling up the story of Origins just a little bit because I really hate certain characters and wanted to give more reason to hate them. I freely also admit that if I had my way, certain events in other games would go differently, and Elissa’s story is a multi-Wardens story.

Some spoilers as well. though I tried to keep them mostly vague-ish for anything after DAO/Awakenings since El has little to do with 2, and I haven’t played Inquisition and instead just went on a long wiki walk on the wikia...

Name: Pioup Elissa Cousland (Prefers Elissa)

Nickname(s): El, Pup, (Inq Era- Queen, The Commander, Varric calls her Snow)

Codename/Title: Lady, Teyrna, Warden, Highever, (Inq Era- Queen, The Commander)

Race: Human

Gender: Female

Age: Twenty-Three

Faction: Grey Warden, Ferelden,  

Class: Noble Warrior, Shield Maiden, Grey Warden, (Post DAO-) Warden-Queen 

In Game Class - HN Warrior Shield and Sword Templar Champion

Weapon(s): Sword and Shield

Armor: Heavy plates

Place of Birth: Highever Castle, Teyrnir Highever, Kingdom of Ferelden

Parent(s): Brysce Cousland, Eleanor Cousland

Sibling(s): Half-Brother Fergus Cousland

Spouse/Significant Other: Alistair

Other Relatives: Most of the Ferelden Nobility, sister-in-law Orianda and nephew Oren.

Magic Using Relatives: None she knows of

Mentor: Matron Myrand, Ser Riggs, Fergus, Warden Duncan (d. Ostagar),  

Friends/Allies:

Ser Gilmore (Knight, d. HN Origin)

Ser “Te’pler” Riggs (Elder Templar, d. HN Origin)

Matron Myrand (Shield Maiden Commander)

Mabar Cousland (Mabari)

Solona Amell

Natia Brosca

Serada Aeducan

Darrian Tabis

Theron Mahariel

Alistair

Morrigan

Leliana

Sten

Zevran

Shale/Shayle

Oghren

[More to be added as I remember them]

Alignment: Has her Lawful Stupid moments, but she tries to be Lawful Good. She believes in the laws, but also believes the laws can be too harsh. She would rather destroy the truly evil, instead of those forced to work for him or her.

Warrior/Peacekeeper: She wants what is best for Ferelden and joined the Wardens to better defend it when it became clear her only future was as the Spare or a marriage pawn.

Torture/Healer: She has no healing skills except for tossing a bottle of health poultice, Lyrium, or injury kits.

Range/Melee: Melee. She can use the archery skills she had been taught, but her aim has been reportedly as poor as her pre-Blight cooking skills.

Rusted Knight/Greenhorn: Greenhorn, she’s only had the training to become a Templar-like Shield Maiden, but until the attack on Highever, she never actually fought to kill anything more than rats and other pests. The loss of her family home to darkspawn and Lord Howe’s attack after has made her more focused on justice being met under the law.  

Cynical/Optimist: She wants to believe in the best in people, but she reacts volatilely when betrayed, though not as violently as Solona does. Instead, if she is betrayed, she only seeks what the law says the betrayer deserves. Except for Arl Rendon Howe, since he arranged for his best friend, friend’s wife, and friend’s heirs to be murdered.

Appearance: Slender and soft build from life as a noble despite her Shield training, almost completely lacking in pigmentation so she has white-silver hair and red eyes. Braided and pulled around her head hairstyle.

Disability(ies)/Health Concerns: Blighted while fighting for her home (’cured’ by joining the Wardens); Light sensitivity to very bright light (She wears her bangs loose around her eyes to try and block out some of light);

Scar(s): She collects several after Highever is attacked- The most notable one is her shoulder where darkspawn taint was shot into her shoulder after she killed an ogre; mental scars include abandoning her family in Highever during the attack, Ostagar, Warden dreams, and then Aramathine

Tattoo(s): Sword behind a shield bearing the mark of Andraste on her right shoulder blade which marks her as a Shield Maiden

Accent: Ferelden Nobility – Human Experienced Voice-

Prized Personal Possession(s)*: Family Sword; Family Shield; Family armor; Warden’s Oath pendant;

Pet Peeves: Being mocked for her unusual coloring (technically lack of coloring); being reminded that she is Fergus and Oren’s heir; not having a proper ‘place’ 

Likes: Family; Honor; Lawfulness; Duty; Dogs

Dislikes: Being the Spare; Arl Howe after HN Origin; the idea of getting married without being in love; having her cooking skills (lack thereof) mocked without truly helpful tips to improve with; Being set up with a romantic match by her well meaning friends and family;  

Vice(s): Hates being referred to as a spare; Tries to find the best in people even if they don’t deserve it; (Awakening) Drinking

Natural Abilities: Charisma (apparently) and passive Champion talents; (As a Warden) Darkspawn detection;

Trained Abilities: Swordplay; Templar talents;  

Understand Language(s): Ferelden Common; some Quinlat over the course of Origins; “Darkspawn”

Communicable Language(s): Ferelden Common; Some Quinlat; (Inq-) “Darkspawn”

Signature Outfit: Cousland House armor set; Warden Commander armor

Formal Attire: Warden Commander armor; Queen’s garb

“Tainted” Attire: Broodmother at worst; Ghoul/Shriek; 

Lazy Attire: Tunic and leggings, might have some light armor pieces over it or parts of her plate armor over it.

Catchphrase(s): “I am a Cousland.” “Couslands have always [been] [insert ideal trait/concept here].” “Shield Maiden, not Templar. We don’t deal with magic for one thing.”

War Cry: “Highever!” “Ferelden!”

Nightmare(s): Taking over Highever because Fergus won’t or can’t; Warden Dreams; Civil War; (Inq) False Calling; People of Kirkwall blaming her for recruiting Anders instead of sending him to the Templars; People who died fighting the Blight blaming her for their deaths

Hope/Goal(s): Ending the Blight and making sure her family, whatever is left, is safe; Marrying out of love; Making her own way;

Secret(s): She is terrified about being the Spare and has no desire to fulfill the duties of the Spare if she is required to; She didn’t really want to join the Wardens, but in her state, she had little choice; Really does not want a fancy title

*Story behind this/these

Family Sword - She used it in the fight to retake the Highever estate from Darkspawn, and her family insisted that she take it with her as she joined the Wardens. It’s an otherwise simple longsword with a handle that has branches lightly engraved to appear woven around the guards. At some point in the past, a dwarf had refashioned the blade so the handle could be removed and a replacement blade installed more easily instead of retiring the sword from use.

Family Shield - Like the sword, Elissa used it while taking back the estate, and her family also insisted she take it with her as she joined the Wardens. The shield looks like any other metal shield, except the leather handles have the family motto stitched into them.

Family Armor - Heavy plate armor with an underlayer of quilted fabric embossed with an uncolored image of the family crest on the shoulders, chest, and knees. She received this armor as she leaves Highever.

Warden’s Oath Pendant - The pendant made from the Joining. When the party reaches Lothering, she asks the local blacksmith if he could have the names “Jory” and “Daveth” engraved onto the back for her.

[liminal-storage]

XXI-The World

Prompt: Free Write

Characters: Auriga Marlowe, Soren Lessard, Shayl

Warnings: None.

There's a strange delight he has come to know since making himself at home among the living.

Oh, certainly, discovering the pleasures that came with satiating his body has been fun. He'd never known the sensation of a full belly or a hot bath or a good fuck before coming to this realm. The Threshold seems so dull in comparison, so lifeless and stagnant. They expected him to remain in stagnation forever, did they? He never believed that nonsense about his perception of the world.

But his joy comes not from the flesh. It comes from seeing all of the ways he's left an impact in the world.

The horror that Auriga, his lovely Auriga, wears like pins in a hat. The way her face contorts in grief on moonless nights. He loves the sight of her all undone and torn apart, her mask of composure shattered as she screams for the lost. It's fascinating to watch, really, because she just as easily slides the mask back into place, the very picture of calm when morning comes. Each sob has a story to tell. Each sound a line of prose in the book of memories he's written for her bloodline.

She's reckless when no one's looking, vials of laudanum clutched between her fingers, never taken in but readily available should she choose the fall. He admires her, really. So many of her relatives have proven more pliant and far more weak-willed. The woman named for stars seems determined to wrench her destiny out of his hands. He does so love to see her try.

There's joy in creation, as well.

It didn't go the way he desired, but he loves to see proof of his power in the man called Soren. He wishes he could taunt the souls he left behind, and flaunt his success in their faces.

'You see?' he would hiss, eyes wide and dilated with delight. 'I can create. I can give others the gift of eternity'

All it had taken were a few well-placed words, a deception, and a feast upon the flesh of another immortal. Soren walks on, years upon years upon years after he should have rotted away.

The Threshold's boundaries are but a cage, fetters meant to keep him from reaching his full potential. He never needed it! He's grown his own little interconnected world, and as his influence grows, his triumph becomes ecstasy.

Now, if only those two can stop whining so much and falling all over one another for comfort whenever his name comes up, that would be fantastic. If they'll just shut up and listen, they'll understand that he's giving them both important roles within the history of his world. He never expected them to be such ungrateful little mourners.

Let them keep dreaming of a world without him. He doesn't plan on going anywhere any time soon.

[liminal-storage]

Gnashing

Prompt: Deleterious

Characters: Various

Warnings: None really.

He gives the fangs which tear and pierce. A thirst for that which is forbidden. An eternity to wither beneath the burning sky. He gives a bane wrapped in the promise of a boon.

Seek him not.

He gives long-lasting prosperity in exchange for a vessel of flesh. A suit woven from sorrow and suffering. An endless funeral procession, urns decorated with carved flowers and vials of perfume. He gives fortune with the caveat of decay.

Seek him not.

He gives ruin and heartache to the shadows which spawned him. A reflection of guilt and incompetence that cannot be unmade. An eradication of sacred pieces meant to be cherished and preserved. He gives devastation and regret to those who once loved him.

Seek him not, for he himself has already sought too much.

[liminal-storage]

XV-The Devil

Prompt: Free Write

Characters: Shayl, Louis Marlowe

Warnings: Sleep paralysis, night terrors. Tapping into my own childhood affliction for this one~

The blinding fear always seems to strike in the dead of night.

Screams trapped in his chest, limbs stricken with the need to run and yet trapped in place, his body refusing to obey... Young Louis has been stricken with these terrors since he was five years old. Mama tells him that she used to have them too, and that they'll grow less frequent in time. All her cousins had them. Her parents, too. Everyone born into the Marlowe family and its branches must contend with them at some point. As far as she knows, even the woman responsible for their family's dreadful fate had terrifying nightly episodes as well. At least they know they aren't related to Shayl. Just another heirloom that miss Ophelia Shaw passed down.

Cygni talked him through the terror when he was only six. She taught him what to do. He walks through each step whenever he wakes like this, once the nightmares slip out of his fingers like icy tendrils to coil beneath his bed.

Tonight, he's woken by dreams of mutilated flesh and whispering voices, of colorful paper birds and many, many eyes. His screams in the nightmare translate to painful waking gasps, his own saliva a choking, burning obstacle. The dark of the star-shaped room smears into the dark of his own bedchamber. He can tell even behind closed eyelids.

"Hello, Louis."

Here, now, my Louis. First of all let's control your breathing. Count up to ten, then back down again.

He does so, just as he remembers his mother saying. One breath, then two, and then three. He coughs, but he's no longer choking on his own saliva, no longer gasping desperately for air. Four breaths. He can hear the thump of a crooked gait across the hardwood floor. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. The moment he can breathe again, the footsteps stop at his bedside.

"You look so much like your mother."

That's the way. Now let's focus on moving again. Don't open your eyes yet. Start with wiggling your fingers. Concentrate. One at a time, now.

It's a struggle. For a few frightful, frustrating moments, his fingers refuse to heed his command. Then he feels the twitch of his pinky and curls it in towards his palm. Next the ring finger, its movements stiff and stilted. He feels his middle finger tense, feels the sensation of something brushing over his forehead. His eyes remain shut. The middle finger curls in. Then the index, and finally his thumb. The muscles of his calf twitch violently and for just a moment, he feels like he's falling.

"Such a sweet boy. How cruel of your mother to keep you from me."

Keep going. Just as you're doing now. One by one, until you're sure you can move again. You know, it helped me to have a little light when I was your age. I might still have the special lamp grandpa Florian made for me... I can dig it out of storage and keep it in here for you.

He knows what he'll see when he opens his eyes. In those moments of uncertainty after waking, he fears that he may have dragged his nightmare into reality. He can smell the creature, the blood covering every limb which now smears over his quilts. The rot wafting off of him in a stinking cloud. Louis doesn't need to open his eyes to know that those countless eyes are all staring right at him, a few errant ones swiveling wildly out of control.

"Open your eyes, Louis."

Don't open your eyes yet. Feel the base of the lamp with your fingers. Press the switch. Turn your face towards the wall. Then, and only then can you open your eyes. Focus on the pattern of stars cast over the wall. Then, I want you to call for me, understand? I will come running for you, no matter how deep in dreams I am.

"I said open your eyes."

Louis moves as quickly as his addled state allows, hands darting out from under the covers to take hold of the small lamp upon the nightstand. It's lightweight, sturdy, and warm. He turns his face towards the wall, flips the switch, and opens his eyes. A pattern of constellations dances on his bedroom wall, mesmerizing and bright. He blinks away the sudden spots in his vision, and calmly calls out.

"Mama?"

The thing at his bedside shrieks as if he's thrown burning oil upon it.

[liminal-storage]

VII-The Chariot

Prompt: Lend an Ear

Characters: Soren Lessard, Auriga Marlowe. Mentions of Vincent Marlowe and Shayl.

Content Warnings: Minor mentions of blood, death, mild sexual content.

Note: This piece serves as a follow up to these two pieces.

When he woke, he assumed it was late afternoon. Some time during the night, Auriga had risen to cover the windows with heavy, thick curtains which blocked out any threat of the sun's deadly light. He could see the brightness of it shining around the very top edge, but it wasn't anywhere near enough of a threat to concern himself with.

Instead he busied himself with sitting up, his sharp predator's eyes taking in the surroundings, slightly disoriented from sleeping in an unfamiliar place.

Unlike Auriga's parlour room, her bedroom was small, cozy, and very traditionally Ishgardian. Everything about the space seemed designed to trap as much warmth as possible, and even he could feel it permeating his cold skin. Auriga was nowhere to be seen, and he had no real memory of making his way to this room. He didn't have to go far in order to find her. She was exactly where he'd first seen her in the night, shuffling around the parlour room.

Soren watched her for a few moments while she busied herself with little tasks; putting up small bottles of perfume, dusting off a wooden surface, lighting the multitudes of candles in the room. There was a calm to her that he'd overlooked last night.

"So this is what you've been up to the last six years."

Auriga turned away from her little tasks to face him instead, a tiny smile playing at her lips.

"Mm. When I am not busy catching up with an old friend, certainly."

There was no missing the suggestive lilt to her tone. Yes, they'd certainly spent time catching up. Though his hunger for blood had been easily sated, his mouth had not stopped wandering. His hands followed; encircling her thighs and shifting skirts away from warm skin. She blushed prettily and he knew he hadn't taken too much from her.

He started things as a means of burying the pain and grief that seeing her brought back to the forefront of his memory. That changed all too quickly. The heat of her breath, the warmth of her, the way she sighed his name... Yes. He was greedy for them both after all.

"I...guide others forward," she added. "I help them navigate their troubles. And sometimes their grief. I have ever since that day."

Soren's lips parted and despite a silent vow he'd made to never ask about that day, a tormented question slipped free.

"Why did he have to die, Ari?"

The woman's nails caught in the lace of her gown. Threads tangled and tore and Soren regretted speaking at all. He thought she might throw him out, then and there, into the sunlit street. It would be her right. But her apparent shock passed, and she let out a long breath, resigned.

"He chose to die the way he did so that the thing we call Shayl could not use his body."

Here, it was Soren's turn to freeze. He clenched his teeth hard enough for them to cut his own lips. It was a name he had not expected to hear from her. But many little things slipped into place. Fate had an ironic sense of humor. So this was the entity they'd spoken of for hours, until the stars burned away to a sky blushing pink with the threat of sunrise.

He'd known him all along.

Soren sighed too, and he stepped forward to gather her into his arms.

"Is there anyone who has helped to guide you forward too, Auriga?"

[liminal-storage]

III- The Empress

Prompt: Stamp

Characters: Cygni Marlowe, Eleanora Levett, Renard Dumas, Shayl.

Content Warnings: Violence and implied abuse, mentions of death.

The light metallic scratching of a tipped quill pen on grainy paper accompanied the frantic, hushed murmuring of the woman seated at the heavy wooden desk. Aside from the mumbling and the scratching, the slow rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock served as the only noise in the room.

Each monotonous click of its mechanisms seemed to synch with the writer's heartbeat, driven ever faster with each scrape of nib on page.

Tick, tick, tick, like some inevitable and dreadful countdown.

The ink in the pen's nib skipped and smeared, and yet the figure continued to write, pausing only to brush an errant strand of pale white-blonde hair out of her face.

Darkness enveloped the room, its sole source of light coming from a single sputtering candleflame washing the page and the woman's face in a faint orange glow. Its flame danced back and forth, back and forth in time to her quickened breathing.

Cygni only had the latter half of an hour left to complete her writings, seal and stamp it so that it could be sent. If she dallied, she would lose her one and only opportunity to give someone a vital warning.

Breath fanned out in a sigh, nearly snuffing out the candle, and Cygni allowed herself but a moment to look over the letter in progress.

To Miss Eleanora Levett,

Under ordinary circumstances I would offer my most sincere felicitations for your impending marriage to my cousin. However, as the circumstances under which I find myself writing this missive to you are anything but ordinary, I hope you can find it within your heart to overlook my rude behavior. Indeed it is my hope that you can forgive me for putting aside proper etiquette within this letter, as time grows short until your eternal bonding with Renard.

A bond which I sincerely implore you to reconsider.

Though I remain fully aware that the man you came to love was patient and good-natured, I fear I must inform you that such a nature has been cruelly dispatched. The man you know now exists as a shell of the man you knew then and in quite a literal sense. You may find the information within this letter to be alarming and perhaps beyond belief, but I implore you to read it thoroughly before you decide to act or to discard the paper.

There is no clever or eloquent way in which to deliver this truth to you.

There is a darkness which hangs over our family, perched upon our shoulders as a great and terrible bird of prey. I know not of its origin, or why it haunts my family in particular. I know only that every member of my family has been met with a horrific death and an even more horrific treatment thereafter. Some creature emerges from the darkest halls of our home where children are forbidden to roam. It takes the bodies of our deceased and puppets their limbs in such nightmarish ways.

I know that my mother and aunt think me delusional, that I never quite recovered from the fever which afflicted me in my youth. Yet I speak nothing but truth. Ask Renard about your first meeting, and you will see the wrongness there with your own eyes. He will not remember, for there is nothing within him which remembers.

Leave him. Leave him and travel far and never look back. If the accursed creature takes hold of you, your children will carry a curse which will----------

The clock chimed loudly and Cygni gasped. Out of time already. Shaking hands hastily worked to fold the letter into thirds and stuff it into an envelope. A small red stick of sealing wax hovered over the candle's flame, dripping messily onto the envelope and the desk and her hand. Cygni hissed with pain and dropped the wax just as the door to her bedchamber opened with a heavy slam.

Booted feet crossed the distance from the door to where she sat, a long-fingered hand tangled in her hair, and the letter was snatched from her hands quickly enough to slice open the skin between her fingers.

"Clever," tsked a voice. "But not clever enough, little swan. The old clock isn't anywhere near loud enough to cover the sound of your ragged breathing."

The hand tugged hard, wrenching her head back, and a bright light seared into Cygni's vision as the letter fed into the candle's flame. The scent of burning paper and melting wax clung to her, seeped into her hair with a promise to haunt her hours later.

"The smell of candles isn't overpowering enough to mask the stink of your fear. Ohh, dear swan. Haven't you learned this lesson enough by now? I commend you for the attempt, however."

Tears gathered in her eyes and blurred the lambent spark. A single whimper slipped past her lips. Her one and only chance had come and gone.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, even as the figure's sharp fingertips raked over her scalp. Her apology was not for the creature above her, but for the tragedy she could no longer prevent.

"I'm so, so sorry."

[liminal-storage]

0-The Fool

Prompt: Steer  Characters: Ophelia Shaw, Roland Shaw, Shayl Content Warnings: Mentions of taxidermy, insects, and odors related to decay.

Envy makes a foul and fickle monster, a creature hewn of lies with sickle-sharp teeth. And envy holds the door for its hungry cousin greed, whereby together they spin the world around them into a wasteland. Ophelia knows this better than most. For someone like her, life holds only one path. Hers is a modest existence, the life of a lady's maid neither shameful nor overly glamorous. Perhaps if she works hard enough she can rise somewhat within the household, but even so she shall never be anything more than a maid.

A maid who envies the very lady she serves, who pockets little trinkets and perfume bottles to sell off for a few extra coins. A betrayer and a thief. She tells herself it's out of necessity. Her brother Roland's gambling habits have their savings in shambles, and she's only doing what she has to in order to keep their larder from going empty. And should an extra bit of jewelry or a prettily embroidered handkerchief make its way into her pockets for her own personal use? Well, that's simply her due for being such a diligent worker. It isn't as though her Lady will miss such things. Ophelia doubts she even thinks about them once she puts them down.

Life is no fairy tale.

Of this, she's so, so keenly aware. Should her Lady or one of the other servants catch her in her sticky-fingered practice, no amount of excuses will suffice. There will be no divine intervention or a handsome stranger to save her. That ruin which she so fears will chase her, hungrier than any slavering hound, and tear her life into pieces.

She needs a way out, a different solution. Something substantial. Something big. Ophelia spends her days dreaming of a miracle she knows will never come.

She spends her nights listening to her brother and his companions kicking up an obnoxious raucous in the room next to hers, the shared wall being thin and offering little in the way of noise dampening.

Sheets twisted about her legs in her tiny, plain, room, she sips upon a bottle pilfered from Roland's space when he was away during the day. Liquor goes in, and hateful thoughts come out. Slurred curses and complaints slip free from her mouth, drowned out by the noise from next door. They'll never hear her over the sound of clinking bottles and raunchy jokes. Such is her one and only catharsis, she thinks, eyes shut tight against a blinding headache.

Further sipping does nothing to alleviate the pain, and when her ears catch something interesting she sputters, showering the bedding with cheap alcohol.

"If your sister's still giving you so much trouble, you could go see old Owlface. I'm sure he could help you out."

"Nah, no, don't be dealin' with that one. M'brother in law says his help's not worth the price. Said he smells like rotten meat, too."

"Aye? But he can help with anything. Helped me get rid of my own debts and now I'm living free as a bird."

"And yet you're still coming around to this rathole to be with us. I don't know about the rest of you, but that has me feeling all warm and tingly inside. I think this calls for another round!"

Ophelia does what she can to drown out the rest, her mind buzzing. 

She has not heard much about this…Owlface. Then again, she rarely hears much about anything at all. She knows the strange man came to town about a year ago, that he rarely leaves his place of business, and that no one has ever seen his face, hidden as it is behind a wooden mask carved into the heart-shaped face of an owl. Ophelia scoffs a little. Is it a name he gave himself, or something the uncreative masses came up with instead?

Regardless, she also knows that he has a certain reputation, and no specific occupation. A jack of all trades, they say, a helper and a fixer. Her brother’s friends might be loud and obnoxious, but unlike him (and unlike her), they are honest and hard workers. If they say this strange man with no name helped them clear their debts, she believes it. Through the haze of alcohol, Ophelia begins to plan.

She goes to him on her next day off. Hands shaking, and pockets free of stolen trinkets, she sets off across town to find the stranger who smells of rotting meat. The building he resides in looks oddly crooked from the street, but once she comes to a stop in front of it, everything seems perfectly straight and perfect. A swinging wooden sign board hangs above the door, faded lettering greeting her. A brown and white bird of prey startles her nearly out of her skin when it turns its head to regard her. A barn owl, and a large one at that, looms perched upon the sign. So still and ghostly silent, she mistook it for a part of the sign. It makes no sound as she places a hand upon the door. Ophelia already feels half the courage chased right out of her, but all she can do is carry forth. 

She’s not sure what to expect. A bar or an antique store or a taxidermist’s shop? A book store or a tailor’s workshop or a woodworker’s stall? 

The cluttered mess of furnishings and knick-knacks suggests none of those things, and yet somehow all of them at once. She supposes she’d call it a “collection,” because no other word will suffice. Expensive liquor bottles sit on worn, crooked shelves where their dusty bodies barely catch the few rays of light filtering in through the building’s frosted glass windows. They’re all fine vintages, the sort of bottle that would take years of saving to purchase, things meant to be savored over the course of a lifetime. Some seem to be missing corks. Others have the necks of their bottles shattered off completely, cracks splitting from top to bottom and held in place only by the other bottles around them. There’s no care here, no reverence, no proper storage. They’re merely taking up space, like so many of the other items around them. 

Items like books with torn pages and frayed binding, or wooden figurines with chips and warping which have been tossed haphazardly into boxes in the corner. Or things like a half-done bear taxidermy, the treated hide pulled taut in some spots while puckered and folded in others, blocking pins stuck into the mannequin beneath. Everything looks like it has been ruined by neglect, thrown into whatever space the floor has available to accommodate it. A storage room left forgotten and almost hated.

So engrossed is she in looking at each object with an odd, forlorn expression on her face, that Ophelia fails to notice the building’s unusual tenant at first. She is, once again, startled near to death by movement in the corner with the taxidermied bear and the voice which speaks from beneath a disc of burnished wood. 

“It’s not often that we get visitors this time of day.” 

Once her heart stops trying to escape from her ribcage and her breathing levels out, Ophelia realizes there’s been someone there the entire time, black-clad hands running over the broken taxidermy base. His entire body’s shrouded in black, actually, the only exception being that damned mask. Ophelia stutters something out, words completely lost in the attempt, and the figure rises, and oh, she realizes that Roland’s friend had not been lying. 

The smell hits her hard. It is a cloying odious cloud, like rotting fruit and meat left in the sun to the mercy of carrion insects. It is the stench of a raw, festering wound, of sour sweat and sour dairy. She isn’t sure that she’s ever experienced such a foul cocktail of decay. It’s overwhelming, sickening, and for a moment she wants nothing more than to run to the door and forget she ever considered meeting Owlface to begin with. She tries to run for the door. 

Her legs refuse to obey, and the figure slithers closer. 

“Ah.”

He makes a tutting noise, condescending little clucks of his tongue which might be meant as soothing. 

“None of that, now. You came all this way, after all. I would be an incredibly rude host if I let you leave so soon. There’s no need to fear. I know the smell is a bit…overwhelming, but I ask that you bear with me for a moment. It will become easier to endure as you get used to it. Something about going nose-blind once you’re exposed to certain smells and all. Ah, but I am rambling. Please, tell old Owlface what it is you need. Although, I think I can hazard a guess.” 

He reaches out to touch her face and Ophelia tries to scream. Her voice won’t work, either. 

“You desire freedom. Freedom from debt. Freedom from worry. Freedom from your wastrel of a brother. Am I correct? Nod, if you will.” 

Her head bobs once, and the rotting stranger seems pleased. 

“I thought so. Fear not, dear lady. I can grant you your freedom. If you agree, in three days hence you will find yourself with a twist of good fortune upon your doorstep. Ah, you must be wondering what the catch is. You need not worry. I assure you that I want nothing but your happiness. No harm will come to you, and you shall live out the rest of your days in peace and security. That is what you desire, is it not?”  

She’ll never be able to tell just what made her nod again, what force compelled her to agree with this horrifying stranger so intimately close. Nor will there ever be a soul who Ophelia trusts to speak of that day, but she knows that like before, her body refuses to obey. Her head nods, her heart sinks, and still her legs refuse to run. 

“Very good, then. You have nothing to fuss over. I will see to every arrangement, and in three days you will forget about ever having worried in the first place.” 

He lowers his hand, and Ophelia runs

Yet, true to his word, in three days, her fate does change when a man she’s never met comes to call. His name is Raphael Marlowe, the young owner of a textile business who recently came into a moderate fortune thanks to a few investments he’d made. She’s apprehensive at first. As any young woman might be. But she has no other prospects, and Roland’s gambling debt has grown worse. Besides, Raphael is a handsome young man with dark hair and strong hands and eyes as green as an emerald. This is the solution she's been dreaming of.

She thinks nothing of the strange, cloying odor she can smell in his hair at times. Nor does she think much of his family crest, which soon becomes her family crest to be displayed proudly in their new home. She never again thinks of the stranger or his cluttered shop of things long abandoned. 

She never asks about the burnished wooden mask that Raphael keeps in a trunk of old keepsakes, its smooth surface carved with the heart-shaped features of an owl.

[liminal-storage]

Hollow

Note: Just a sort of abstract thing delving a little into the Threshold things I've created for Kuni. An attempt to get back into writing. This is from the point of view of the entity known as Shayl, who also ties into Auriga's story.

------------------------ This hollow world. 

Once a glorious citadel of intertwined spaces, of pieces stolen and taken for our own, long since warped into a prison of twisted thorns and crumbled stone.

Though lacking the glory it once held, it birthed creatures like us all the same. The craven, the twisted, the silent, the hungry. Stripped of the bounty that our home might have given us, had the stolen lands not fallen, we hunt your kind. We come for you in the dark. The night’s reaching fingers swallow the setting sun, and we emerge, our ghastly visages capturing both hearts and tongues with fear. 

You can draw tight your curtains, bar flimsy doors, and snuff out your candles and dare not utter a sound while you wait out the darker hours. It matters little. You may not see us, but you can hear us. Our cries tear through the thick mists of deepest night, and we beckon you to follow. 

Listen.

We call to you, screaming in the twisted voices of your dead, long since gone to dust. Wise men know better than to heed us. Some listen all the same. Into the darkened woods they go, across broken ground into the shadowed lands where brambles and briars tear at their hands, where stones scrape the skin from their feet as if pulling them back, barring them from venturing any further. 

Yet those fools push on, hoping to see the faces of those long lost. Praying that when they meet face to face, they’ll remember themselves and come home. 

Why should they? 

We ourselves have no home. Only ruins, a moldering hole kept by rat-kings and leeches, rust-stains and carrion beasts.

The golden halls of our mighty palaces have all tarnished. Ossuaries alone await us now, bone stacked upon bone stacked upon bone. The bones of your mothers. Of your fathers, of your sisters and brothers and lovers and children. The halls of the dead wind deeper and darker than any labyrinth, and should you venture inside to reclaim what was lost, you shall find something far worse than any guardian monster.

Silence. Despair.

Our glowing memories have flown away on fickle wings, leaving us behind before they could be consumed by the monsters we’ve made of ourselves. We surely would have sucked them like oysters from their shells, only to be left with the taste of bitterness for what we once had. 

This hollow world. A kingdom fallen, thrown to ruin by shadows who were once princes and queens, wisps of the past murmuring half-forgotten prayers by the side of a moonlit altar.

Their prayers fall upon the deaf ears of an uncaring god. It was he who answered them in the first place, and now leaves his worshippers to face the fruits of their own twisted and misguided devotion. They’d longed for change, and he had given it to them. They should have been more specific. 

For we, those monsters, set upon every living soul we could find and the common people paid the price for the folly of those kings. They paid in flesh and blood, fire and grief, rage and despair. The threshold is no kingdom. Its people are no lords. Instead they fancy themselves caretakers of stolen pieces which can never be returned.

And by the time she was born, the names of those fool kings had been stricken from history too. No monuments, no slates, no gleaming holy tombs. They’d been consigned to ash and blood just like everyone else, their children left to discard their flesh in some form of desperate penance. And we, their children’s children, with no bodies to call our own, no vessel to hold us beyond the boundaries of this hollow, hollow world. 

We are left with nothing. 

Our forefathers wanted everything.

[liminal-storage]

#14: Third Daughter

FFXIVWrite 2021 Challenge. Day 14: Commend.

---------------

"Clever," says a shadow at the corner of the room.

To a woman crouched and clutching at cuts coaxed to crimson bloom.

"It was easy," says the doomed girl to a voice that isn't there.

Holding fire and embers vainly at bay with a wooden chair.

"Thirty years in leisure and then thirty years gone

Thus spoken were the terms of your fell lie-laden song."

"I learned it from the dreams and from a pattern simply painted

And I know my life's the next to pay in this deal gone so tainted."

Says the shadow "It was worked out so much quicker than predicted.

And to your delicious mind one could easily grow addicted.

I will cherish you dear morsel as my favorite soul ascended

Despair not for your death, for your wit shall be commended."

So as the fires spread and the wallpapers did crumble

The dying woman hissed and cursed the creature in a mumble.

A third soul devoured and a third life then forsaken

The thing called Shayl looked forward to the next one to awaken.