#Ephriza

[ephriza-dawnblade]

It was just a dream.

No, a nightmare.

That is what Ephriza had convinced herself of. There was no other evidence supporting otherwise. It would not be the first time that her mind played tricks on her in the dark. Seeing figures that weren’t there or being caught in a half-dreaming state.

But it all seemed so real.

Not since she had been with Monette had she felt such dark thoughts creeping up on her. The Void was never really a blessing, as some of her kin might claim, but rather an unfortunate side effect to her circumstances. She had thought herself free of its disturbing, provoking influence. Was it all toying with her once again? Sick of her apathy towards the powers in which she’d been given?

Perhaps it was just a dream.

She did her best to settle down, calming her breathing and eventually her heartbeat followed. The elf settled into the grasp of her companion and eventually sleep found her once more. But that unsettling feeling in the back of her mind never truly left her.

@monettemason​

[malodarstarstrike]

Booty Bay was strangely comforting to the night elf. Having surrounded himself so long with roughnecks and unsavory types, the coarse, direct, and sometimes rude nature of the denizens of the port town made him feel as at home as he was on the decks of the ships he had sailed for years in search of his sister.

Ilana. He had almost forgotten about her. There was a part of him still yearning to find her. But reality had to set in. He had asked from seemingly one end of the world to the other and no one had heard of her, much less seen her. He had to face the truth that even if she was alive, he wasn’t going to find her by strolling around the streets. And he was wasting away his life in doing so. If fate intended them to reunite, so it would be. Until then, it was time his own goals took center stage.

He made his way through the tunnel and into the city proper. Looking out over the darkened city was eerie, yet comforting. The moon above was substantially dimmer of late, it seemed. Much of the cove was pitch black save for the lanterns and window lights dotting the tiered city, and the running lamps of the ships anchored at the docks and just offshore.

He strode down to the main pier and inquired to a laborer as to the whereabouts of the dockmaster. Might as well secure his passage south straight away. In return he got a course, “Piss off!” from the goblin, who then helpfully followed up by informing him that the dockmaster was getting drunk somewhere and wouldn’t be back until morning.

With an evening to kill, he decided that a drink and a steak for himself wouldn’t be such a bad idea, having traveled so far in the shadowlands. He made his way around the town, in the direction of the city’s main tavern. The scenery he passed was colorful to say the least. Booty Bay was the kind of town where pleasure-seekers could come to indulge in almost any vice. Exotic substances, strange potions, and much much more were being hawked quietly in alleyways and coins exchanged through barely-cracked doors.

Nearing the tavern, appropriately named The Salty Sailor, Mal became aware that it was even more crowded than usual. With so many of the ‘official’ ships being dedicated to the war efforts, Booty Bay’s business of privateers had grown exponentially. From the sounds of it, a healthy brawl had already started, and no one seemed to be that fussed about calming it down.

Though a good scrap was not outside his comfort, he would’ve preferred more subdued climes. Glancing down a side street that barely qualified as such, he caught sight of a hanging sign. The name had long since faded away, he could just make out the word ‘tavern’ and that was good enough for him.

The inside was occupied but far more sparsely. About half the common room was empty, and those that were there were largely huddled among their associated groups, keeping to themselves. The goblin bartender leaned on the bar, looking half asleep, while his hands polished a glass out of little more than habit. The ragged cloaks and hoods looked rather out of place next to Malodar’s comparatively new robes. His appearance certainly got the attention of the goblin who assuredly smelled money.

Malodar approached the bar and cut him off by dropping a fairly hefty coinpurse on the wood. “Three bottles of whatever’s strongest and your smallest available room.” There was more gold in that bag than it would cost to cover such purchases three times over, especially in an establishment like this. But goblins weren’t ones to argue such details.

“I’ll... uh... hafta move some folks around a bit, my friend. I’ll only be a few minutes if you wanna take a seat.”

Mal nodded and settled himself at the nearest table. As he waited for the goblin to return, he traced small doodles in the dust on the wood. Everywhere his finger touched a little smoking trail of shadow energy wafted up from the surface for a second before dissipating. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he caught sight of a hooded figure staring at him, but as he turned his head a fraction of an inch to check, it was clearly nothing but an old man who had slumped backward in his chair asleep.

Moments later, the goblin returned bearing a key and offering to show him to the room. “I took the liberty of leaving the bottles on the bedside table, mister. Not sure why you wanted the smallest room, but to each his own.”

Malodar nodded as they reached the room. “If at all possible, I’d like to not be disturbed.” He dropped another five coins into the goblin’s hand.

“Not a problem. Gotta get back to work. Time is money!”

As the goblin tottered off, Mal entered his room and locked the door. He settled on the bed and popped the cork on the first bottle. Quite content to spend his evening laid back on his bed with a bottle of booze, he was instead disturbed by a knock at the door barely a quarter of the way in.

“I thought I said I didn’t want to be disturbed.”

He trudged across the room and opened the door. Before he could say another word, the cloaked and hooded figure in his doorway threw off her shroud and leaned on the door frame.

“I promise to make it worth your while, shadowweaver.”

To be continued...

((Of interest, perhaps: @juniper-rose-blower @quai-mason @ephriza-dawnblade @mycoronervinny @killerkyara ))

[andrew-mason]

(Art by Thomasz Chistowski)

The others had long since passed. Six other soldiers— far tougher and more well-trained than he— had succumbed to torture and injuries at the hands of Thurg and his worn billy club. Others had come and gone, but Thurg was the main instigator of pain.

He wasn’t a complicated orc. He liked simple things: hitting soft, human skulls with his club; watching humans bleed out and die; pulling human teeth out; extracting information from humans; getting revenge for the death of his parents in the place that used to be an Alliance internment camp but was renamed Hammerfall after the Third War and recently rebuilt with Horde buildings to show the true might of the conquering Horde.

A simple orc with simple pleasures.

So you can imagine his displeasure when he encountered not only a fel-scarred and ugly human, but one who stood up to weeks of torture at his hands. A human who talked about his sister and his favourite soufflé recipes, but seemed to completely ignore the fact that he was actively being detained and tortured. This upset Thurg, and he’d finally decided he’d had enough.

Andrew looked up at the ceiling of the hut. Rough-hewn boards had been lashed together to make the base of the roof, and he could see red dyed leather peeking through the gaps in the wood. Thurg pulled his head back by the hair and held a blade to his throat.

“Useless human doesn’t talk,” he growled to Andrew. “Useless humans die.”

This is it, Andrew thought, almost happily.

He didn’t intimate to Thurg that that was his goal— that he was, in fact, a good soldier who didn’t give up his fellow comrades-in-arms just because some over-muscled hunk of green flesh smacked him around a bit.

That he was willing to die so others might not have to.

He looked up into Thurg’s snarling, green face and smiled placidly. “Have I told you about my sister?” he asked.

Thurg grimaced and sliced across Andrew’s left cheek with the blade. “She’s a Capricorn!” Andrew hissed through gritted teeth.

The orc drove the blade down into Andrew’s right shoulder; he let out a pained yelp and struggled against the orc’s grip.

“That reminds me of the time she knifed me on my birthday!” he shouted.

Thurg shoved Andrew’s head forward and kicked him in the middle of his back: the breath sucked out of the chained man’s lungs and he gasped.

“F—f—f—!”

“No more talk!” Thurg screamed. “You die now, useless human!”

He pulled the notched blade roughly from Andrew’s shoulder.

There’s an awful lot of red on the floor, Andrew thought as he struggled to catch his breath. Is that mine? Thurg unchained Andrew’s wrist and shoved him face-first into the bloody dirt, then drove his boot into the middle of Andrew’s back.

Andrew let out a noise somewhere between a yelp and a squeak as his spine fractured; like a mouse being trodden on. He couldn’t move.

“Wh—wh—WHAT— does a b—bee comb its hair w-with?” he yelled into the dirt. He coughed; everything hurt. His vision blurred. Thurg, who was about to kick him somewhere around his left kidney, stopped his leg mid-swing.

“Bees?” he asked. Andrew went limp on the ground, but he couldn’t move his head to look at Thurg.

“What d-does....a bee...comb its hair...with?” he slurred.

Thurg was silent. It was just them, there in the hut: Andrew with a broken back, sprawled on the floor, and Thurg with a bloody blade clutched in one hand, about to finish the job he’d just started.

A shadow passed across Andrew’s increasingly blurry field of vision.

“A honeycomb,” said a familiar voice, matter-of-factly.

He could hear sounds of a struggle, then another familiar voice: “I was just going to say that. Snap his neck.”

A dull crack met Andrew’s ears. “A h-honeycomb,” he gurgled into the floor. Little bubbles of blood popped at the corner of his mouth and splattered his cheek. A hand touched the back of his head, and he felt a wave of dark energy pass through him. He finally allowed his body to lie limp.

“Don’t move me,” he mumbled. “...broke m’back…” he said as the edges of his vision faded and everything turned black.

((Mentioned/relevant: @ephriza-dawnblade @quai-mason @mycoronervinny ))

[mycoronervinny]

Sending out an SOS

Vincent slowly opened his eyes, letting in sunlight in short, blinding bursts. His other senses had not quite caught up and for a moment he just laid still on the sand. His first thought was that he was dead, and the Light had finally accepted him into its all-encompassing embrace.

“You’re not a Priest, or even a Paladin. You’d go somewhere else, probably forced to haunt a library.” he heard some voice inside his head say. His voice.

Then, as if to punctuate this thought, he suddenly became aware of the pain. It was a very real, very acute soreness that latched onto every muscle in his body. He attempted to push himself up, but his arms (which both felt as if they were asleep) gave from under his weight immediately and knocking the wind out of him.

He tried looking around the immediate area but to his dismay, only vague shapes and colors were visible. His glasses must have gotten knocked off at some point, which was just a fine addition to this situation he reckoned. He might be lying on them, or they might just as easily be at the bottom of the ocean, tangled in some kelp or in the belly of a Thresher. Maybe a Murloc was wearing them now.

He tried sitting up this time, and pain erupted in his abdomen and chest. He fought through it, propping himself on an arm and wincing, then he got to see his surroundings.

In front of him was several wooden planks, or what looked like the shape of planks, likely from the boat he had been thrown off of. He crawled over to one, and picked it up, then flipped it over. It was dry, splintered, but decently sized. Could be useful for firewood if he needed it, but he was more concerned about the others who were on the boat.

He looked up and down the beach, scanning over the blurry shapes and trying to identify anything more human-shaped. Ideally, any moving human shapes.There were none.

“Stranded.” he breathed. His mouth and throat were dry. He rose an arm weakly, and conjured a half-filled bottle of mana water. “That’s it?” he thought. But Vincent supposed being able to instantly conjure any drinkable water on a deserted island was a blessing it of itself, and he took a drink.

---

As the sun waned, he wandered up and down the long beach, dragging his feet through the sand and picking up any pieces of wood he could find. He would gather up a bundle under his arm, then deposit them back by the spot where he awoke. It seemed like as good a plan as any, and in his current state he wasn’t able to conjure a portal, so he wasn’t going anywhere. He could be here a while, so maybe he’d need to make shelter, or a fire, or…

He stopped, looked around, looked out to the horizon. The waters were calm. In his half-blinded and slightly dehydrated state, he thought he spotted something out there. Land? A ship? Maybe Alliance? He wasn’t sure. He hurriedly shuffled back to his wood pile, dropping a couple sticks on the way. He threw them on the pile, then picked back up a few at a time and began to arrange them on the beach in the shape of an “H”.

“Never thought I’d have to do this, it seems so damned cliché.” he said, finishing his first letter. The thought never dawned on him that the beach’s angle wouldn’t be steep enough for a ship to be able to read from the water, but it was his only plan and he would be damned if he wouldn’t follow through.

Kicking up sand as he hurried, trying to beat the oncoming dusk, he finished the “E”, then the “L”, and realized he had run out of material in which to craft his distress message. “Would “HEL” be enough to get the point across?” he wondered. He looked out again, the shape way out on the water was still there. Maybe the ship is just anchored. He paced around, the last piece of wood gripped tightly in his splinter-riddled right hand. He stopped, then rearranged to the “L” shape to a “Y”, and stood back, admiring his complete (albeit very casual) “HEY” to the seas. He considered it an improvement.

As the sun finally started to set though, Vincent panicked, and thought his message would be lost to the darkness, and the ship would move on before morning. Feeling slightly more energized (though partially just running on adrenaline), he set the letters ablaze with a brief flash of fire magic. As the word “HEY” burned brilliantly on the beach, he sat and he waited for what he hoped would be a swift rescue.

Relevant: @quai-mason; @ephriza-dawnblade; @blackbay-wra

[trin-llewellyn]

“How did you feel about that?”

A grunt met the question. Sunlight filtered in through the Kirin Tor eye-shaped window; dust danced and sparkled in the golden rays as they splashed across the workbenches of dusty, disused equipment.

“My dear?” Edward pressed. He stepped further into the laboratory and moved towards Trin, who was standing hunched over a far table, facing away from him. The usual whirring gizmos that puffed and stumbled around the lab of their own accord lay silent on the floor and on tables, lifeless and grey.

“I’m not hungry,” Trin finally answered. Edward came up behind her and set a hand on her shoulder as he leaned in to peer at what had the focus of her attention.

A conical pile of black ash sat on the workbench, unmoving. Edward sighed.

“I didn’t ask if you were hungry,” he said gently, “I asked how you felt about what happened the other night.”

“It’s like losing everything all over again,” she replied, her voice quiet. Even her hair seemed to be affected: it hung lank and straight around her face in strips of white and grey, not a frizzy wisp or flyaway to be seen.

Edward squeezed her shoulder. “I know,” he said softly. They stood in silence for a few minutes; Trin contemplated the pile of ash, and Edward contemplated Trin.

“Do they blame the blacksmith when the sword punctures them?” she asked after a long silence. “Do they blame the ax for the trees that are felled in the forest? Am I to be held responsible if they swallow a comm stone instead of talk into it because that was their interpretation of how it should be used?” She scoffed, her hands balled into fists on the table. Her eyes shone bright with tears.

“I don’t think—”

“Gregor, Ed! I lost Gregor when that accident happened— a real, true life! He had a functioning circulatory system and a name, and he was precious and he was mine. And now he is gone! Do they not care that I’m the one who truly suffered in this scenario?”

Edward cleared his throat. “Dearest, the cat died twelve year—”

The pile of ash burst into bright, purple flames. “I know how long ago it was!” she yelled. “And it was my own negligence that allowed it to happen in the first place! How do you think that makes me feel? And now—” she spun around to face him, black tracks of eyeliner and mascara running down her cheeks. “Now they blame me for something I created that helped them,” she hissed. “Is it my fault the instruction page was torn out by that red-headed whore? Is it my fault it was used improperly?” Trin’s eyes flashed. Edward took a step back.

“No, but I think—”

“I helped— in a roundabout way— to catch that well-manicured pile of pond scum. They get commendations, and I get a bunch of heavily-armed lunatics demanding that I destroy the very thing I created that helped take down that pitiful excuse for a woman.” She let out a bark of harsh laughter. “That’s how it always is, isn’t it?” With a swipe of her right hand, a jagged portal ripped open in the air next to them, its edges crackling and sparking with magic.

Still crying, Trin stuck her arm into the portal and came back out with a hamburger. They both heard a distant, “Hey!” on the other end before the portal winked shut. Edward let out a sigh and folded his arms.

“You can’t go around stealing people’s lunches because you’re upset,” he explained, his tone patient. Trin took a defiant bite of the burger and chewed as she looked Edward straight in the eye.

“Mmf cat died,” she said around a mouthful of meat and bun. Tears continued to stream down her face. She swallowed and took another large bite.

“Fvey mafe me demfstroy mmf book,” she continued as she chewed. She started to pace around the office, the hamburger flapping dejectedly in her hand. A few globs of green relish fell to the floor.

“Amf fvey omffer vero fanks for vuh hemlp.” She took another huge bite, chewed, and swallowed.

“Thanks for the book that helped us catch Venifica, Trin. Destroy one of your best creations, Trin,” she said in a sing-song tone. She gestured at Edward with the hamburger; Edward appeared at a loss.

“You know,” Trin continued. She swiped her hand through the air again and threw the hamburger back through the portal. A dejected, “Thanks…” came from the other side as it popped shut.

“You know,” she started again. She nodded angrily and put her balled-up hands on her hips. “You know,” she repeated. She sniffled. Edward approached her slowly and placed both of his hands on her shoulders.

“Breathe,” he intoned. Trin shut her eyes and nodded. She took a deep inhale, and let out a long exhale. Her shoulders dropped. She let her hands fall to her sides.

“Breathing,” she replied. She licked some mustard from the corner of her mouth. Edward nodded.

“Now listen to me,” he said calmly. “No one cares as much about sandwich selection as you. Understood?”

Trin nodded.

“Good,” he continued. “And no one cares about your dead cat, because they didn’t know him. Yes?”

Sniffle, nod. Edward smiled gently and pulled her into a hug.

“Don’t let them get to you,” he whispered. “Deep down, I am certain they know that your intent with the book wasn’t malicious, whatever they said.” He kissed the top of her head. “Our intentions create our reality, and shape our souls… it is not up to us to decide how people interpret those intentions, even when they are wrong,” he said softly into her hair. Trin hugged him tightly.

“I miss Gregor,” she said into his chest, her voice muffled by the front of Edward’s robes. Edward rested his chin on top of her head and sighed.

“I know, love. I know,” he whispered.

((Relevant: @blackbay-wra @ephriza-dawnblade @killerkyara @juniper-rose-blower @malodarstarstrike @mycoronervinny @brian-wellson))

[meangreenlee]

Particular Inquiries

[ between Lee and @killerkyara, my alt ]

Perhaps word had gotten out that amongst the frequent population of freehold’s privateers, men brash and hostile to outsiders -- for good reason, one could argue, considering how many arrived only looking to ignorantly climb their way through the ranks and make some quick gold -- was a man called Lee, hard to find, usually in the back corner of bars and alleyways enjoying a smoke, but significantly more open to those who had recently arrived in Kul’tiras.

Or perhaps, he thought, Kyara had simply lucked out in deciding to talk to him.

When he made out the approaching rogue in his peripherals, there was not a doubt in his mind that she must have wanted something, his conclusion soon affirmed as she pushed over a small sack of gold across the bartop toward him. She was a fierce looking woman, as he had noted during their last idle conversation, and he talked to her accordingly.

“Can I be helpin’ ye, Miss Grey?”

“I’ve got a very particular inquiry,” She says, in that foreign accent that made him curious. “What do you know about these mists? The kind that ships don’t often come in or out of, perhaps?”

Lofting his brows a moment, Lee gestures for the desert born to take a seat beside himself, at the far corner of the bar. Sliding the pouch of gold against his chest, it was only when he was sure their words were between them only that he starts talking.

“Lass, out ‘ere it can be hard to tell which instances truly be just the waters, and which be...More.” His lips twitch. “Wot ye describe, though...Have ye been hearin’ whispers bout the missin’ Kul’tian fleet? How it wos hidden by twisted dark magic an’ corrupted sages in the mists? Don’ know where in particular yer talking about, but lass, wouldn’ mess with it if I wos ye. Jus’ wouldn’.”

“Sages...” Kyara starts after a moment of thought. “Like shaman, you mean?”

“Nay lass.” He shakes his head. “Tidesages be a beatin’ ‘eart to us. They bend the sea to give our ships calm water and speed. The way ye folk be believin’ in the light, ain’t that right? We believe in the tides. And sages, they’s can see everything we be needin’ to know in them.”

The scarred woman glances over toward him then, offering, “So it must be quite troubling to your people, that dark magic has touched some of these sages?”

Lee offers a quick nod. “Even more so than the threat of the horde, I would say,” he admits. “Knowing somethin’ evil is hidin’ in the deepest reaches below yer ship, even some of us here be weary to go far from port.”

Certainly explained why a larger force wasn’t sent out by the locals to this island of their interest, she thought, despite it’s importance for it’s watchtower to detect for hostile ships on the horizon. 

“Let’s say, if it’s necessary to know the source of these mists...Is there any safe way to get through?”

“Not by water,” He says immediately, mirroring what she had heard from the man who’d given them the job the night before. “By air, maybe, but it’ll be much easier to be dropped off then it will to be picked up again. If yer sure about this, lass, you better ‘ave a backup plan to get out of there. When ships ‘ave already been lost, I wouldn’ count on bein’ rescued.”

She nods, then more fully tips her head to him. “My thanks, then. You know, my comrades could certainly use someone who knows this area as well as you do, if you were ever looking for more permanent work.”

Chuckling lowly to her, Lee muses around his joint, “I’s just a sailor, lass. ‘Ave a feelin’ yer folk be doin’ much more than tha’, but should ye ever need knowledge or strong ‘ands, I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

[ @blackbay-wra ] relevant: @quai-mason, @brian-wellson, @ephriza-dawnblade, @mycoronervinny

[juniper-rose-blower]

When the Priest uses stealth on a mission

When the Priest uses stealth on a mission

When the Priest uses stealth on a mission

*coughs* @malodarstarstrike

@blackbay-wra @quai-mason @ephriza-dawnblade @killerkyara @mycoronervinny @brian-wellson

[killerkyara]

Gifts & Curses

Kyara’s hearthstone brought the two of them, bags packed, atop the dry, quiet dunes just outside of Ramkahen as it always did. As the rogue led them to her familiar room on the top floor of the inn, she stalls outside of the door and takes a moment to collect herself before making her presence known to Matin inside.

Expression softening, June reaches out to place her hand upon the top of Kyara’s arm. She makes no effort to shy away this time, but her features look quite withdrawn.

After a silent moment Juniper finally offers, softly, “I’m sorry if you wanted to be alone, I just thought—“

“No,” Kyara hushes. She leans down to connect their foreheads, and with a hum in response, June moves her hand from her arm to around the back of her neck. Ky continues, “I’m glad you came.”

The botanist smiles a little, standing up on her toes to push herself into a kiss; a slow, soft one only interrupted as the door beside them swings open from the inside. Though they part quick, Matin was an observant little thing.

Smiling wide, Kyara kneels down to catch his running hug. The boy glances up to her companion afterward, recalling, “June. That’s when I was born.”

He had said that before. It seemed to be his way to remember.

“That’s right,” Kyara says fondly, prompting Matin to look back at her. Seeming to mentally debate something, he shifts from foot to foot before finally spitting out what was on his mind.

“June, is she like ’um was to alab, to you?”

Kyara blinks, a bit wide eyed. With her loose knowledge of Tol’vir, June could likely realize he had just asked if June was to Kyara as his mother was to Asaad, or at least use context clues to gather such.

“Ah...” The rogue seems at a loss for a moment, thinning her lips, wondering how to explain it in a way that would be kind to an eight year old while still bearing truth.

“He partnered with his women for...his own reasons. People do that sometimes. Which isn’t always bad...I’m glad he made you, after all.” She reaches forward to ruffle his dark hair before continuing.

“But that’s not like me and June. We don’t expect anything from each other. We...well, we...” She supposed there was no other way to put it but bluntly.

“Love each other. And when you love someone, you...”

“Take care of them.” June finishes with a smile. “And support them. And—“

“Kiss?” Matin giggles. In response Kyara reaches down to tickle his sides, making him squeal and squirm before sweeping him up to set him atop her shoulder. “Now where did you even learn that word? Silly boy...” She smiles openmouthed.

“Sometimes,” June elaborates after she stops chuckling herself. “But what I was going to say is that you do it because you feel the same way about each other, not because of what you can get in return...”

Laying his head on top of Ky’s, he supposes then, “And friends can...love each other too, that way?”

“And family,” June adds.

Kyara murmurs, “At least, they should.”

After a moment, Matin nods in understanding. He squirms for Kyara to let him down, where he excitedly leads them inside to where his satchel was laid on the kitchen counter with goodies spread out. He takes the time to show them each and every gift he had picked out for the members of the team while he’d been in Uldum, with Sif’s help, of course. Some of which explained over a vast dinner the Ramkahen had prepared once she returned from running things downstairs.

For Brian he had selected a gold emblem of crossed arrows reminiscent of their lost friend; for Ephie, an onyx jewel he found when Sif had taken him out to explore the dunes, dark and lustrous. It felt lucky in his pocket, he said. He’d picked out a large, bright orange flower to show June, and a bottle supposedly filled with ‘wind’ magic he wanted to show Vincent. Kyara was sure some street hawker had hustled him into that one, but she went along with it, naturally. 

For his sister he’d gotten a golden scarab that reminded him of one of her tattoos. Kyara tucks it away safely into her breast-pocket, then bends to kiss the top of his head, touched.

Though by far his gift to Quai was the most thoughtful of them all; a handpicked stack of mostly old, thick tomes bind by twine he’d chosen from the nearly ancient collection in town. Months of bedtime reading material, no doubt. Some he explained he intended to read to Quai instead so he could start teaching her Tol’vir. Ky and June exchanged a knowing smile with that.

Though it was debatable if such was considered a gift, Matin also showed off his purchase of a scorpion encased within a lollipop he intended to dare Andrew to eat; and asked June to help him find something for Mal, as he didn’t know him that well and was still a bit afraid of the elf. Still, he didn’t want to leave him out.

After their late dinner, where Sif made sure all of them were more than well fed on stuffed grape leaves, shawarma, and tomatoes and fried eggs, they started on one of Matin’s books and tucked him in on the guarded patio, where he’d taken to Kyara’s old alcove that included a cushioned hammock with a sheer canopy hung overtop to keep out summer bugs.

Kyara and June slept inside; more or less, considering every few hours June had to soothe the rogue awake with gentle fingers, when night terrors left her drenched in sweat and shivering to the point her teeth audibly chattered.

[ @blackbay-wra ] mentions: @quai-mason, @juniper-rose-blower, @brian-wellson, @mycoronervinny, @ephriza-dawnblade, @malodarstarstrike, @andrew-mason

[brian-wellson]

A Spot of Hope

“Ain’ long ‘fore she pops, eh?” asked Henry. Having enjoyed an herbal tea, Elunara had fallen asleep minutes before, hand resting atop her abdomen, hiding her out-turned navel. “Ya think you’ll get this done? Get the land tha’s yers back?”

Wellson watched her breathe. She was sweating, even in the cool, damp air of the Wharf. He nodded his head absently. “It’s not my land, Henry — it belongs to the people of the House.”

He listened over comms for anything from the mission, but heard nothing. The two took off their socks, warming their feet by the fire. Both of their feet were cracked, callused from years of walking.

“Oi, sure I do, sir, it’s jus’ tha’, well, me an’ Elunara don’ know wha’s next, ya know? Guess we could be merchan’s or somethin’, be on the up an’ up. Sell the wines ya make.”

“I want you to stay on the Estate, remember?”

Henry rubbed his brow. “Sure... sure I do.”

“You’re worried about her?”

He gazed lovingly over toward his wife. “Course I am, Mas—”

Wellson shot him a glance.

“Mister Wellson, Doctor, sir.” Henry grimaced; deep-rooted shame swept across his face. “No’ very smart this ‘un,” he said. Clearly, he was referring to himself.

“What...? Why would you say that?” He moved in closer to Henry, pulling his feet back and resting his hands on his knees. “Did I say something?”

“Oh, no — no! Nothin’ like tha’.”

“I should hope not, Henry. How long have we known each other now?”

He thought about it for a moment. “‘bou’ three years now,” he said.

“Indeed,” agreed Wellson. He sat back. “You do recognize I trust you with my life. With Quai’s life?”

“Course,” he said.

“Why would I trust a stupid man?”

“Ya wouldn’,” he said, dropping his voice. “No’ after Lady Veni, I shoul’ say.” He chuckled, throaty and dark. Wellson joined him; after a moment:

“Henry, I don’t want to run the Estate. Not just yet. I need to ask you something, something most serious.”

He crinkled his brow. “‘kay, sir. Listenin’.”

Wellson took a deep breath. He exhaled slow. “I need to know if you would do me the honour of serving as Lord Regent. Until I am done with my service. Lord and Lady — and soon-to-be heir — Regents Henry Rollins of House Au’llon.”

“I... I...,” Henry stammered, mouth agape. “Don’ know nothin’ ‘bou’ fancy —”

“You don’t need to,” he replied.

“Are you sure, sir?”

“Henry, I wouldn’t trust anyone else with this. I know you’re a good man, that when the time’s right, you’ll relinquish the seat,” he said. He offered his gamesman his hand. “Are you sure, Lord Regent?”

“Aye, Lord Wellson,” he said.

The two shook hands. Wellson stood. He poured two glasses of cognac — two fingers each with no ice. He sat back down, passing one over to his friend. The two chatted; Elunara slept, though appeared fevered. After several minutes, he spoke into the small microphone on his wrist: “Captain?”

He waited. Henry shifted in his chair — “...Lord Regent...” he muttered — and finished his glass. After a minute, Wellson’s commstone pinged:

“Doctor...”

(( [ @blackbay-wra ]: @quai-mason @killerkyara @ephriza-dawnblade @mycoronervinny @juniper-rose-blower @malodarstarstrike ))

[selene-duskwind]

for anyone, for everyone

the letter at this desk

written with this pen

drafted for hours

ruminated for days

a thought left

to you —

that woman

that dreamer

she is not me

she speaks through me

she leaves love

ambiguous

we cannot help ourselves

we should not need help ourselves

just as heat races through metal

just as an owl sings to the moon

your essence is an elemental force

your body is its vessel

see yourself

blossoming

(( Relevant: [ @blackbay-wra ]: @killerkyara @ephriza-dawnblade @quai-mason @brian-wellson @mycoronervinny — everyone who could look on the desk & read it. ))

[ephriza-dawnblade]

It had been quite a while, perhaps a few months but the whispers had finally subsided to a bearable point. She was not sure if it was directly correlated with the use of her powers but she assumed the connection was stronger when opening herself up to the void.

Back to basics.

That is what she had told herself. No need for any trickery or shortcuts. She was trained for this - for decades actually. That however did not explain her nervousness. Had the voices broken her? Were they finally able to uproot the disciplined persona that she had spent the majority of her life crafting?

Click!

She was in. No need for passing between planes or enshrouding areas for cover. The time spent in Blackbay had paid off. 

Her hand caught the lock as it fell from the door and she slowly crept into the small bunkhouse. With any luck, no violence would be necessary. Her violet eyes strained in the darkness as indiscernible figures slept within. All were equal in the Void, no factions, no allegiances, no ties. It mattered not who they might be.

Ephriza shook the thoughts from her mind, thinking better of such notions. Fabric wrinkled under her boot as she stepped onto a cheap, stained rug. From what she could make out in the moonlight, the interior was drab and bare. A few nondescript paintings with shoddy frames and a seating area were all to note.

Her goal was a singular foot locker at the end of the room. The soft, rhythmic breathing from those present was enough to mask any sound that her tools made. Another successful click and she had her prize. Wrapping the large mysterious stone within a rag, she stowed it away with little more than a glance. It was the prize she was interested in, merely the means to an end.

[malodarstarstrike]

((Continued from several previous pieces on my tumblr.))

Malodar soon learned what the presence that was lingering at the corners of his vision was. Or rather, what they were. It was them again. The bodies of those he had fed to the darkness. Every step he took, no matter how far it took him, one or more of them were there, hidden somewhere. Almost, but not quite, out of sight.

And with every step, they changed. Their skin grew sallow and their faces more hollow. Their eyes, already devoid of life, grew dark. Wounds seemed to open in their flesh, pouring streams of swirling void energy. Yet despite their deaths, they seemed to whisper to him, beckoning him. With sultry tones and welcoming words they invited him to approach. For what... he wanted to know, but his discretion kept him away.

Steps later had him crossing the loch, the desert and volcanic lands, south and further south. Mile by mile traversed in seemingly no time at all.

When at last he approached his destination, a portal opened to let him leave. And yet at the same time, they all surrounded the portal again. Every one of the dead, standing now, as if daring him this time. They stared with lifeless eyes, shadows issuing from every orifice. Even more shadows, ones he couldn’t identify, started to gather like a pack of wolves.

With steadfast determination he ignored them all. Striding to and through the portal. A moment of dizzying transportation later and he found himself in the shadow of the tunnel entrance to the goblin port city of Booty Bay.

Immediately, he fell to a knee, exhausted and drained and frustrated. He needed a boat, but first he needed a drink, and a woman.

He pushed himself upright and moved into the tunnel, still forcing himself to ignore the whispers that lingered, whether in his ears or mind was not precisely clear.

(( @juniper-rose-blower @killerkyara @quai-mason @mycoronervinny @blackbay-wra @ephriza-dawnblade ))

[andrew-mason]

“What the fuck, Quai!” he shouted into the comm stone. He hoped he’d woken her from a dead sleep.

“What d’you—”

“What the fuck, Quai!”

There was a pause. He hoped there was a good explanation. There had better be a good explanation.

“Oh,” came the reply.

“Oh? OH? That’s all you have to say to me after dumping two metric fuck-tons of weird, magical garbage in my living room without a word of warning?”

“Listen, I—”

“Yes, you’re sorry, I know,” he said with massive amounts of eye-rolling. “Oh, you’re sorry you didn’t warn me, you’re sorry I came home to a pile of crap in my living room, you’re sorry there’s a fucking dog skeleton wandering around my kitchen.” He stopped, panting. There was silence on the other end of the comm. He brought the stone right up close to his lips.

“It bit me, Quai,” he whispered. “I walked in the room and I spooked it and it fucking bit me right in the leg. In the leg! Is it rabid? Do I need to go get some shots now?”

“I—”

“Oh, you’re not going where I think you’re going, are you? You’re not about to tell me that it’s technically not my living room, are you? You’re not going to pull that fucking card on me again, Quai, darling sister, are you?”

“Well—”

“Because you haven’t lived here in two years! And I’ve still got Trin on ice in the fucking guest bedroom, and do you know how hard it is to get a woman to come back here with you when there’s already one frozen in a block of ice in the FUCKING GUEST BEDROOM?”

“You—”

“I don’t want to hear it! I’m done! You can have your flat-slash-storage closet back, I’m finding my own place! ‘Goodness of your heart’, my pasty white ass— There’s a fucking owl in here, Quai! A live owl! Why the fuck would you throw a live owl through a portal? It shit on my jacket!”

“But—”

“You can’t just pop open a portal and—” He gesticulated wildly at the mountain of things. “AUGHH!” He kicked a small, ornate chest. “Keep all your stupid magical shit and the stupid bitey dog skeleton and your stupid mage popsicle and your tiaras and bullshit and just leave me out of it!”

He clicked the comm off angrily and stood in front of the mountain of junk.

“FUCK!” he yelled at the pile of stuff.

The pile of stuff did not react.

(Relevant: @blackbay-wra @brian-wellson @killerkyara @juniper-rose-blower @ephriza-dawnblade @selene-duskwind)

[juniper-rose-blower]

Life After Death

“Matin, can you show me where you found this flower?”

June’s curious gaze looked over the child, a soft smile on her lips, as she watched him look back up at her.

“I think so. Yes.” The boy looked back at the flower, “Is it dangerous?”

But June held the blossom up for them to see again - the bright white petals opened to reveal a fuzzy inside, shaded a pale yellow from its own germination, and the stamen looked like a long-armed star at the end of a rod - and shook her head.

“Nope. In fact, this flower comes from a plant that we can eat from.” Matin looked rather confused and shrugged.

“The plant is spiny and sharp; are you sure?”

Half an hour later, June had gotten Ky out of the house and the three of them went on an adventure to find Matin’s flowering spiny flora. They passed a number of animals and plants along the way, June giving Matin little lessons on plants she recognized.

By the time they reached the edge of the river oasis that was Ramkahen, June smiled at the little grouping of cacti trees that Matin pointed to. A few of the trees were in bloom, white and red blossoms similar to the one Matin had brought her displayed on the ends of very prickly cactus fronds that hung from the trunks like a wicked palm tree. June gave a proud nod of affirmation.

“Pitaya.”

“Uh... bless you?” Ky looked back at June with a brow raised, but the Botanist shook her head, laughing.

“This is a Pitaya tree.” She reached into her pack, slipping on her fingerless leather gloves. Matin watched her closely as she motioned to him, “They’re incredibly hardy and can live through very inhospitable conditions.”

Ky listened as Matin glanced up at her before moving to stand with June by one of the cacti. June gently placed the bloom he brought her into his hand and pointed to another flower.

“Can you dust it over some of the others?” She stepped forward, reaching gently to guide his hand in brushing the fuzzy part of the flower over the fuzzy part of another flower. And then another. And then another. The fourth and fifth he did on his own.

“What does this do?”

June gave him a smile and pointed to another tree - this one wasn’t flowering. Instead, it had a collection of round pinkish bulbs that looked like they had leathery green scales sticking up on them at the ends of its spiny fronds.

“It makes these.”

June reached in, maneuvering her fingers around the spines on the cactus leaves. As she tilted her hand down to grip the red bulb, a few spines scraped along her leather glove. With a gentle tug and a twist, it was soon free. She held it out to Matin with a smile. Those curious eyes lifted back up to June.

“What do we do with it?”

To this, June takes the bulb from him, flipping out a dagger from her pocket. She carefully cuts the bulb in half.

“We eat it. It’s called Dragon Fruit.” She motions to the leather ‘scales’ on the body of the fruit, “Not the outside, though. That would give you a tummy ache.”

As she holds out the two halves of the deep reddish-pink bulb, Matin looks closely at the strangely white insides, peppered with a great smattering of minuscule black seeds. June helps him peel down the skin a little to expose the fruit a little more, “Try it. It’s sweet, and light.”

With her gaze on Matin, she reaches up for a second pitaya bulb, pulling it free and holding it out to Kyara. She takes it absently, her own eyes also watching Matin’s response.

When the boy takes a bite and chews quietly, his eyes light up and he takes another in quick succession, “Mmm!!!”

June couldn’t help but smile and nod, “See? Very yummy.”

A slew of giggles and slurping is heard before Matin looks up - chin covered in seeds - and asks, “Can we take more with us?”

Another half hour later, the trio of them were headed back to the house, June’s pack overfilled with more Dragon Fruit for them to have for dessert, with a plan to visit Ramkahen proper before they left, as June promised to help Matin find a gift for Malodar before they returned.

(( mentions / allusions: @killerkyara ; @blackbay-wra @quai-mason @brian-wellson @malodarstarstrike @ephriza-dawnblade @mycoronervinny ))

[killerkyara]

Securities

It was in the hours just before morning when the two finally found their way back to camp, damp from the nearby falls and clad in various degrees of clothing, holding some articles, others pulled on rushed and ruffled, misaligned. All were shed on the floor of their tent now decidedly shared, and equally warranted a tangling into the cot comforters for the first bit of sleep they’d actually had.

The sun was high in the sky before either dared to part skin; even then June clings to Kyara at the first sign she was readjusting. The rogues merely smiles to herself in response.

“Need to...Matin?” June manages sleepily, likely still half asleep, though still having the mind to question if the boy needed tending to.

“No,” Kyara offers, nestling into the botanist’s arms loosely slung about her sculpted upper body. “I sent him home with my hearthstone. Sif was dying to keep him for a little while, and with us out here, I figured it was a good time.”

“Mmm,” June rubs at her eyes, taking some time to process, but immediately relieved Kyara didn’t have to leave just yet.

“He seemed a little unsure. I’m glad he enjoys himself with us, but I don’t want him to forget where he came from, either. Or only have bad memories associated with it...” She murmurs into June’s throat, pockmarked with bruises.

“It’s a good idea,” June finally manages, sweeping her fingertips into Kyara’s hair starting at the nape of her neck. The rogue relaxes nearly instantly and quiets a moment, even if she worries still.

“You don’t think the others will think I’m sending him away just for convenience? Or not caring for him enough?”

“They know better,” June hushes. “I know better, and I haven’t even been around as long. Plus, it sounds like Sif was a good mentor for you...And she’ll be the same for him.”

Kyara nods. Still she pondered the responsibility to raise him well, into a life not filled with the hardships she had experienced herself, a duty that would follow her through the foreseeable future. 

As if she could hear her thoughts, Juniper hums, “You’re doing well, Adinah. Don’t forget that.”

[ @blackbay-wra ] mentioned/relevant: @juniper-rose-blower, @quai-mason, @brian-wellson, @ephriza-dawnblade

[ephriza-dawnblade]

Her violet eye opened slowly as the sun started to peek through the ugly curtains adorning the windows. Ephriza rose from her bed with a stretch, caught up in the dream she had as she touched her toes.

Quai. She thought as details of the dream flitted away to the intangible. The elf stepped gingerly to the small stove in her borrowed room, lighting the fire and setting a kettle atop.

Just do it. This is what you've been missing. This is the family you longed for.

A low sigh escaped her lips as she moved to a solitary pack in the corner of the room. Squatting down, she reached in and produced a small but intricate metal box. In the light, it shimmered with magical qualities. The engravings depicted Elven imagery, flowing in a mural. As her fingertips touched the lid, the whistle of the kettle pulled her from it.

The doors to the small balcony folded open and she sat on the rusted, black metal chair - complete with matching table and decorative railing. Again, her hands went to the red box with golden filigree. As the lid opened, a melody started to play; gentle and relaxing. The magic was apparent as there were no moving parts within, rather a conjured image an Elven couple dancing.

She looked out at the city as the music played, the steam from her tea being the only indication that it was a cold morning. Her gaze drifted to the box as the song started to fade. A sad smile formed as she read the inscription, enchanted to show at the end.

We love you, Ephie.

Mom & Dad

Her hand carefully closed the lid and she moved back inside. 

"I will do it, Quai." She said softly to herself before moving to prepare for the day.

@quai-mason