#Dejin;; IC

[ofthescatteredstars]

Dejin and Sebastian. Mainly because it would be fun to see Sebastian mess with him.

Suggest-A-Ship // Accepting!

"Please, I have enough experience with giving my life in service. Devotion is already what defines me, you see, and... well, it would hardly be right of me to demand more of it out of someone so interesting as you, would it?" "Ah, but it truly is no trouble, messere - for we have that in common, after all. So, please, worry not about imposing upon me, for this is what I am for. I have the honor to be your obedient servant - from now until forever."

That's how it begins; an all-too-familiar pledge of service, in exchange seemingly for nothing but the promise of his devotion. Eagerly would the rugged mercenary accept such a prize, so tempting and familiar, for what is a soldier with nothing to fight for? \

So easily is an old wound soothed with new love, new attention - and such tenderness in every move, it looked like! So quickly did the butler pick up on anything and everything he liked; his favourite foods, the activities he enjoyed most, even the right words to say for every single mood he might be in.

It was like something out of his wildest, most daring dreams.

And then, all of a sudden... it becomes too familiar. His most deeply-guarded hopes, his most treasured memories, the secrets he thought most closely-guarded lay bare in the mind of the butler. All that which was mistaken for a means of affection, another tool to prove his undying loyalty.

But then, if his whole heart and mind was bared to the butler, as he lay beside him each night, then surely...

"... this is a nightmare."

The question of whether it's worth it hardly holds water any more. In his rush to drown his only-too-fresh grief, he found himself lured like a shelled fish to the enchanting light of the anglerfish.

Could the same radiance he longed for yet be found, deep in the wolf's jaws?

[allthatisleftinthedark]

A letter is presented to Estranha, and once it's open, it has a familiar handwriting, that of one Nelia Zarin.

Hey, Es. It's been a while, I know, usually we have time to talk or we meet up a lot more often, but ever since the start of this journey, things have been going so fast it makes my head spin. From the moment I set out, I've been drugged, knocked out, got the boat i was traveling on smashed by a dragon...Caught in explosions, it's been a mess. Feels like I can't take a minute to catch my breath.

That's just the external stuff. I had a dream about an old friend and his little brother. I couldn't save the kid, he had a knife that cut holes into the elemental planes...At the end of the day, he was a scared kid with a shitty father. I should've been able to do more, should've saved him. Now he's scattered across the planes. Doesn't mean I'm gonna stop, I'll bring him back, no matter what it takes. You know me, I got a hard head that I'll keep banging against the wall until it breaks.

There's another dream I had. You were in it, and it was just us talking and hanging out while I worked out. And I...Gods, I'm so sorry I've been pulling you around for so long. I'm so afraid of losing you that I don't even know how to begin talking about how I feel about you. I've always been so damn uncertain, but now? After all of this? Nearly dying a few times, visions where you wind up dead...Or hell, even experiencing the feeling of seeing into other worlds and feeling my arm getting flayed to the point of uselessness...I know now.

Oh, and don't even get me started on meeting an ice dragon, or getting eaten by a Gibbering Maw, it's so fucking horrible on the inside of those things and I punched my way out with the help of my master, Ramona Hammerfist. I've seen things that people would only see in nightmares, and the cult...Let me tell you, I don't think I can take enough baths or showers to ever get the smell of rotting meat outta my clothes. I swear I can even smell the shit in my dreams.

I want to be with you. Every second of every day for the rest of my life. I'm supposed to be a wanderer, but I don't want to travel around for the rest of my life, and not have a home. Or at the very least, if I gotta travel for the rest of my life, I want it to be with you.

I want you to meet my friends, to meet Cassius when we get him back, he's such a good kid, and he just needs someone to encourage him. I want you to meet Junie, she's been the closest thing I've had to a mom, and Aika, she's a little serious sometimes, but she's got a curiosity about things that's pretty adorable. I don't know if you'd get to meet them, but the Crownswatch has been nice to know too, Dejin's kind of the serious type, but he knows good food and drink, Khiye, a little spooky, but she's good in a fight, I mean, she bashed a mound of flesh so hard the damn thing was knocked stupid. Garur, I think you'd look at them and then you'd understand why we get along so well. Nowhere...well, I might have to work to be her friend, I kinda can't translate her way of speech yet. I don't know when we'll meet again, but when we do...I'm gonna be a woman worthy of being your girlfriend. With love, Nelly

unprompted asks! | always accepting | @offrozenmemoirs

A/N's note: Any mentions of "Juniper" are replaced with "Ghost Whisker." Only Creed knows her private name and refers to her by that name one-on-one; everyone else knows her as Ghost Whisker and addresses her as such (Creed included when in public/group conversation).

Sheltered by the canopy of a weather-worn canvas tent, Estranha peruses speculative fiction of the to-be future during the 4000s from a tome published circa 3200 PC. Their roosting spot is on a sturdy wooden crate adorned with crimson-painted words. As alien as the language on the box is, its definition is meaningless. 

With weighty volume, they perch upon a sturdy wooden crate with painted crimson words on one side. Alien is the language to them, but its definition is meaningless. In this instance, this serves as a "seat" and nothing more. 

As their gaze skims across the printed character, a slender finger idly twirls a plum-purple stray lock. A sudden snort, reminiscent of crackling flames, disrupts the silence. Aimless exploration constitutes a significant portion of Estranha's scholarly pursuits. Uncovering peculiarities and pockets of amusements are commonplace amidst their research. Of course, these are abrupt conclusions in their currently fruitless endeavors. But not every dead end heralds a soured conclusion. Rather, they often encounter unexpected delights along the winding search of inquiry, each revelation saccharine in an otherwise dried pool. 

Upon the page from Grand Magister Salazar Silverwinds's The Revolution of Magicracy, Estranha's soft green irises race over the words, over and over, "Under the harmonious collection of the magically inclined and gifted, the natural world and humanity unite. The future order may see that those bestowed with gifts of casting would be better attuned to granting and guiding individuals into an enlightened society that bolsters and salvages the new world." They place their thumb on the tome's pages and ponder the publication details. Interestingly, it was not produced by any Graneyean territory or ally of the era. 

Besides the thinly veiled hierarchal oppression in the text, exciting sections recount the prestige of the fabled ancient era. Without a doubt, there are continuous odes to the times before from this book published over a thousand years ago. Still, the modern-day sees toward the future and ignores the possible reaches of civilization before the "Dark Days." Advancing past the point of where society was once at? That query died on the tongues of philosophers hundreds of years ago. 

As Estranha reads further into Grand Magister Salazar Silverwinds's work, an unforeseen event suddenly interrupts their scholarly pursuit.

A russet-haired man with lengthy curls tied into a neat ponytail peers into the tent. His hazel eyes twinkle in quite an ensemble of clothes—a uniform fitting any Four Seasons United Postal Service worker. The heat on the Nihiranian deserts must have had his sleeves rolling and hat slightly disheveled as if he were fanning himself with it before.

"Telegram for a Miss Extraña?" He calls out, looking around the barren tent before his eyes finally land on Estranha. 

The recipient closed the book and cast it aside when the man poked his head in. They approached, giving a dull nod before plucking the missive from his hands. They turned the envelope over. "I never realized you reached this far."

"Well," he speaks as his chest swells with pride, "it is a recognized global service." He removes his hat, placing it over his heart. "From the head of Rivera to the feet of Nihiran, we can be found anywhere across the world, through sleet, storm, sand--"

Estranha turns on their heel, squinting at the crimson seal. Two bare arms cross over the other; it is definitely Nelia's seal. "Mhm," they nod as their hand reaches out, grabs one fold of the tent's canvas, and closes it back up. 

Unfolding the letter, a several-month estrangement between "friends," as colloquially as Estranha can define, meets its end. All they recall was the tiefling mentioning a journey overseas on a boat to another continent like Tahrea. Creed never considered setting a hoof outside of Nihiran; her thirty and more years were spent in the red dunes. Though, anyone can change. Il'Surrish is the Wanderer; paths treaded, and new is how her worshippers go. 

Estranha's thumb guides their reading and marking of the paragraph. Returning to their perch on the crate top, they criss-crossed their legs. The twinkling mischief in their eyes fades further down as they read the letter. Hesitation draws the corners of their ever-smiling expression lower and lower. Two years after that conversation, Estranha still could not ascertain its intention.

A letter was drafted and sent within a few days of the initial telegram's receipt. It would only take some weeks before Nelia received a letter back. 

Hi Nel,

It is wonderful to know you are in one piece despite the destroyed ship, the hungry, hungry Gibbering Maw, and a suspicious number of assumedly extinct dragons on your latest travels. For someone who always enjoyed a surprise and a show, that was a lot, even for you. 

Tahrea brought on much more than I anticipated in a letter; I expected much more debauchery and other rendezvous with other women at the encampments along the dirt roads. As I reread each line before getting to the climax of my thoughts, everything is happening or has happened in a compressed and narrow time frame. Now, you are at the apex of it. From what I hope, you just survived another scrap on the long road and plan on continuing. 

On my side of this expansive pond, what remains true of the sands is that it brings me excitement and new ideas, but nothing that progresses my ongoing research. The tracks behind me will soon meet their end. The civilizations beneath the dunes and what came before the city that was a black speckle in the sun serve nothing to me. But are they fascinating tales? Of course. But the sea salt gales shall take me elsewhere after three years. Where they may take me, I have mapped out some alternatives and continents, but I cannot return to the university without any proper advancement in my thesis.  

Foregoing the timeline of when this chapter will come to a close is something I cannot bring myself to do. For as long as I have been at this, there is nothing else I can do until I accomplish this entirely. One may compliment my tenacity for conclusions rather than jeering it as aimless stubbornness or pride. 

It is at least a concrete resolve, no matter which direction I may go. 

Sifting between what I share and what you've shared, you now have a new conclusion, a revelation, about us coming together and going somewhere. But a question continuously spurs me as much as it has you. Your answer leaves only further queries on my end and our relationship. What else springs from this drive to be together besides the glaring external variables that are beyond stressing you out? 

Nelia, you remain seeking yet are convinced in this letter that you have something in mind. I entrust your goals to be well-meaning, and I ask what is there in the long run beyond doing things on account of other relationships? 

How much will you risk for the boy you dream of saving? Is guilt rooting you down to attempt to reverse a mistake you feel can be undone? As far as I understand from this letter, that is your current goal. That has been the clearest I have understood of what you have wanted to do. This is past starting a career in labor law and your past training in the Mduara Kuona. 

Become the woman you want to be, which will steady your future's compass. The arrow keeps turning and turning, unnecessarily working like a poor-functioning clock and needs calibration. You will soon find the direction you need to take. 

There, you can see who you want to become. There, you can figure out what you want and why. 

Time will only make us lose opportunities, but it will not lose us. I will still be here, as you will, accomplishing what we want to do. As you discover what you wish to do, I still have my fair share of goals. That remains something I still have to accomplish, but I at least know my calling. 

The duress you are under, with these new obligations and the people you are around, complicates many things. Do not abandon it, but remember that under such stress, one cannot ascertain what one wants. The mind focuses on the present and current fixes to a problem; the life of another, or your own, is not considered when solving things. 

When we meet again, it may not be at the right time and place, but we will be in another person's company again. When we meet after that, some things may even be wrong, but there are still us. So on and so forth, our paths will cross repeatedly because we desire it. 

Maybe then, we will both have the answers we want. 

Give yourself a break, Nel, and don't get in over your head. 

Until we meet again, Estranha Extrana 

[ofthescatteredstars]

"What if they kissed?" Seraph and Dejin

What if they kissed? // Accepting!

The best of all of a warrior's companions seemed to subscribe themselves to a single truth; that the best, and truest way to understand someone was in the heat of battle. Whether it be defending one's home side by side, engaging in a duel for one's honor, or even simply sparring, the dance of blades and the clash of steel had always provideded a greater intimacy than he had ever known.

Spear users were by no means a novel opposition to Dejin, for such was the weapon Yorgos once favoured. The rondo of sword to polearm inspired the boldest of moves from the once-weary secutor, his expression growing to match the ferocity and zeal of his opponent moment after moment.

Yes! Yes! This is what I've been missing! My blood boiling, my muscles aching with every clash! How I've missed this!

I can't let this go now.

His opposition, the elf, was unlike any he had faced - a warrior with an otherworldly bearing about him, shifting between the fighting style of a spear and a sword with all the grace of an ocean tide, yet all the fury of a midsummer tempest. More and more did he falter, feeling the impact of the spear's head against his armor thrumming against his chest, the way it forces a breath out of him, staggers him to the floor... and before he's able to register his own defeat, he finds his opponent atop him, staring down at him with a practiced bloodlust.

In that pause, in the feeling of a blade pressed to his throat, flashes of a life past come to him again - the roar of a crowd, the glory of a win, all dulled in comparison to the view of one he genuinely admired having bested him. He embraces it, all of it. He embraces it a little too much.

"Hah... well fought, congelamento," Dejin huffs, his sword dropping to the dirt beneath them as the cold steel of a gauntlet-clad hand snakes to his front. He can only hope that this fury within him, too, can be tempered by a meek reminder of the gentleness he embodies. "And, as promised... besting me deserves a reward of it's own, no? One that anyone who knew me once would kill for..."

He would have dusted himself off before this, sure - but victory has a way of leaving people off-guard to one final surprise. With a gentle pull on his armor, his opponent is assaulted, blessed, by one final attack - the surge of warmth and electricity that comes from the feeling of Dejin's lips against his. For once, there is no crowd to interrupt his passion with rancorous applause, nor a bystander or referee to their duel to scold either of them for any apparent lack of honor.

All that reminds is a frigid air around him to temper them both, to chill the sweat on their brow as they part. Blue eyes, more alike to an ocean than the tundra he's met with, open to meet his once more.

"I think we've had enough of the sparring grounds, no? But, I will admit... this made for a fine warmup for us both." With practiced agility, he slides out from underneath the stunned half-spirit, rising to his feet with his sword to support him. "If that wasn't enough for you... I'm sure we can continue this in my chambers."

[ofthescatteredstars]

"You know, I met Yorgos back in my fighting days. He was a hell of an opponent, but it was nice to talk to someone who was actually curious about me and my skills."

Creed thinks back to the man she met a few years ago.

"The sun's a little bit dimmer with him gone. Rare to meet someone who tried making things better for people."

She's a bit of a social butterfly, but as far as actual friends went, she can only think of a few people who were truly friends. Moments like these, she thought about what her life would be like in the future. Some days, she debates trying to settle all the business she has, so she can actually settle down.

"If you love someone...You should be trying to settle down with them, right? Show them that they mean more to you?"

Her mind wanders to Estranha, and that dream still bothers her, really, if she had to be honest, she's had too many dreams that bother her, because they all force her to look inward, to think about what she wants, and it terrifies her.

"Sorry, I don't mean to get all philosophical on you."

At camp, within Central Tahrea - 10 days until the Profane Awakening

"Si, that sounds like him... every new technique he encountered, every attempt at a parry, every swing of a sword was art to him. Like so many other things... combat was something he found beauty in. And, gods, did he embody the beauty he saw..."

He thought talking about this would be easier by now; about the man who gave everything he had to for the good of Tahrea, of his comrades, of the beautiful world he only wished to protect from those who would spoil it. The man who found his joy, his place in the world, fighting alongside the ones he loved, and all the warriors he could respect, and learn from.

The man who didn't even get a chance to die in his lover's arms.

It seems love that was lost still proved a sore subject for him. Love that could yet blossom, however... that was something he could at least provide some insight on.

"Ah, no, no, no, never apologise for a simple question! As for the answer... well, it depends on who you ask, my friend." Ah, how easily a sorrowful look is traded for mirth - and how willingly, too.""But, yes... if it were me, I would have liked to find an end to it. I am... more of what you might call a 'house on the hill' kind of lover, I suppose. Settling down, finding some peace in my own time through love itself... I know of many who have tried to find this, and many who have succeeded in doing so. Well... would that I could have been one of them."

His brow furrows - his mind drifts to a long-lost dream of a cabin, surrounded by snow. The crackling fire's light barely able to compete with the brightness and ease of his lover's face. Long gone, now.

"... but, you are not the first one I have known who follows the life of a drifter. It's one of the reasons I knew you would get along with our Garur, actually! But, if you asked them... then they would, at least, wish for a companion. If you cannot stay in one place for so long, then find someone willing to follow where you go, yes?"

The campfire they sit in front of sways to and fro in the winds. The Maelstrom pulls at the loose elements, even now, giving him pause to capitulate on their discussion.

"My point is this. You are right, Creed, that permanence is the best way to show love. Keeping a place in your heart for another, be it friend, or lover, or family... love takes the same form. With a lover, then... it is up to you to define your own 'forever'. The choices are far more vast than a cabin or a caravan. You have a choice between two people at a family gathering, or twenty. What matters is that every single choice you make comes from the truest part of you - and that is what makes a bond eternal. That is what will guide you to your home."

So much for apologising for the notion of philosophy - perhaps a romance with a poet has taught Dejin a thing or two about the elegance of life. But, still... not every moment calls for such grace. He knows this kind of question can only come from one place - the grin that grows on his face giving away how he knows all too well that this, too, comes from the truest part of Creed's heart.

"... so, who's the girl?"