#amon illiad

[qhostqizmo]

Intertwined Hearts / Intertwined Fates

Gods I am currently so obsessed with noblewoman Essatha and urchin Amon AU I shake it like a ragdoll between my teeth I love it I love it I love it arf arf

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Was this real? Of all the places that life could lead him, how cruel the humour if it held any sort of intention within its grasp. Splendid the luxury; how it made him feel sick with wanting, and with that wanting sick of himself for having the audacity to want at all.

Lady Essätha had no shortage in her kindness. If not for how early and unsuspecting this was all, he would have believed himself a charity case. For show: maybe; but for to better her own self-image would be more like it. This concept too would have run into its doubts, however. Every glance at her came with a great difficulty not to see the poetic version everyone drew so endearingly of her. She was it seemed every bit as was sung and said of her: generous, considerate, thoughtful and wise.

And I am a fool for staring, Amon Clermont thought bitterly. She was something of class and refinement; something far beyond the realm of his thoughts. He didn’t deserve to close his eyes and think of her so softly; or the way the light shone from her eyes whilst she smiled at him.

How long had he been here on her property now? Nor more than a week, and he could feel the disaster of John Keats and Fanny Brawne burrowing into every detail of his life. She was like a flame, and he the moth. He was not so clever and imaginative as the late author, but oh, Bright Star she was. There was an understanding in his heart now, how men could buckle and break to write such passionate odes.

It was all circumstantial. He reminded himself this again and again as he stepped into the mother-in-law suit on the Meduza estate grounds. Proving to her hospitality again and again, when he had held doubt on the very idea of staying in her home, she had finally convinced him of at least taking the extra dwelling unit. More importantly: it gave him some much needed distance between his crazed thoughts, and of her, though he tried not to admit it to himself. The smell of her fragrance lingering in the air of the manor; the sound of her moving throughout the hallways, her laughter; Gods to yearn for something so maddening like a boyish crush and a madman’s obsession.

There was a possibility that his time tied to Essätha Meduza could lead to his death. But what better fate to die, then? He had nothing, and she provided him with all humanely needs and all desires he gently attempted to rebuke. And there was her of course; her mostly importantly. The way she fidgeted her fingers, pulled back her hair, turned her eyes away as though shy when their gazes caught and lingered to long-

Pity him, he must be blind. Seeing things he shouldn’t, definitely. Amon gave a shake of his head, laughing at himself harshly as he moved about the room to undress. He opened the dresser (when was the last time he’d gotten to use one of these?) and gathered out some attire to wear to bed. There was no running water to this unit, but he had bathed and brushed his teeth in the main house before mulling down the walkway to the smaller house. Amenities on top of amenities, he was becoming spoiled.

Grunting, Amon tossed back the sheets and comforters to make space for himself in the mattress bedding. He took a great delight in the plush mattress; though Lady Essätha warned him that it was old and likely lumpy. It felt heavenly enough for him, and he took up the covers to shield himself from the chill of the night. Leaning over to where he’d left the lantern bedside that he’d walked down with, he blew out the lick of flame, and turned over to rest.

The world danced behind his eyelids as sleep swiftly overtook him. Nestled in warm bedding, full from a grand feast for dinner; all his dreams and thoughts were plentiful fantasies. All the comforts he had been missing out on for so long; all the literature at his fingertips, the access to humanity he’d been rejecting for so long.

Then of course, there was her. The glow of her in any lighting; it mattered not the sun or moon, the candlelight or magical baubles. It flowed through her, along her, beside her; filled her like an ethereal glow. She was the light, and it beckoned to her welcomingly. It came home to her readily; and brightened her eyes, her face, her smile-

A rapping at the door abruptly shattered him into awareness. At first he thought he had imagined it. Then Amon thought better of it; wearily remembering the hostile intentions of the murderous assassin. They would not come knocking in the middle of the night, no; but what if it was the Warden, or one of the temple healers. What if something had become of Lady Essätha?

Amon rolled quickly out of bed just as the second knock timidly rapped upon the door. He blinked at the blurry darkness that was his room, stumbling around the bedposts. There was so little moonlight on this night, and he could hardly see a damn thing. Tripping over one of his boots at the end of the bed, he growled to himself with annoyance as he finally made it to the doorway to tug the handle open.

I must still be dreaming.

Like Heaven’s Gates had opened before the very doorway, Lady Essätha stood awkwardly, her arms wrapped over her bosom in the chilled night air. Though he had grown accustom to the visible light catching off the golden hues of her iris like a predator stalking the night, her gaze was like a beacon in the night, guiding in warmth.

“Lady Essätha?” He drowsily grunted with shock. “Did something happen? Are you alright?”

The noblewoman reached up, pushing strands of curly black hair from her face. Her expression was naked with a kind of vulnerability he only ever saw at the Temple of Torm, when they had been admitted for healing after he’d saved her from the attempt on her life. Everywhere else, she had managed to hold a cool demeanor of strength and refinement. She was unshakable in that way.

“I’m sorry to have woken you at such an hour, Amon,” she rasped. Amon. He loved the way she said his name. It lifted his spirits; how she curled it just right, announced it in such a way that gave it meaning and life and vibrancy. Not Mister Clermont, but Amon.

Call me anything, and I’ll answer to it, milady.

“It’s no trouble at all, Madame,” he answered with a rough clearing of his throat, “how can I be of service to you?”

She rubbed her elbows uneasily, dropping her gaze from his. Her entire body folded inward with doubt.

“I shouldn’t be bothering you-”

“Upon my mother’s name, milady, you are not causing me bother in the least. Is there anything that I can do for you?”

With a sigh, the woman’s shoulders sagged. “Would it… be alright if I slept here, tonight? I can’t seem to garner and rest. Every little noise sounds like someone’s in my room.”

Her throat flexed. Amon could still see the distinct impression of the rope that had at one point been tightened there, attempting to suffocate the life out of her. His own throat swallowed heavily, burdened by the reminder that still remained there.

“Of course, ma’am. This is your house, after all.”

Essätha lifted her eyes to gaze up at him with relieved fondness. “Thank you- but this is your space while you are here. I don’t want to intrude.”

“Not at all,” he quickly remarked, stepping aside as he gestured with a respectable bow. “Please do come in: the night is chilly, I wouldn’t want you to catch cold.”

Her eyes were grateful as she tentatively stepped into the small dwelling space. “I’ll take the armchair-”

“The bed is most certainly yours, milady.”

“I promised this room to you; the bed is yours,” the noblelady insisted as he quietly closed the door after her.

“Madame: respectfully, I have slept on much less comfortable things than an armchair. I’ll be alright.”

To his great astonishment, she jutted out a finger at him, her voice stern: “I will take the floor, then, if you must take the armchair.”

“That is a waste of a bed milady,” Amon countered, slightly exasperated.

Though it was too dark for him to see it, her cheeks inflamed with color. “Why do we not just share in the bed, then? It is large enough for two people.”

He knew she could see him blushing; with her remarkable vision that adjusted to even this inky black. Amon swallowed thickly as his heart leapt in his throat; enthralled with the idea. One that, he knew, he should be taking no interest in.

“I- That would be indecent, madame. I’m not worthy-”

“Amon,” say it again, he prayed; latching on to her every breath and word; “This is not a matter of philosophy, nor class; this is simply about rest and impartial equality. You were granted this space as your own; therefore, the bed is rightfully yours. However I will bend in this matter to share with you the bed, since I know that you are far too much a chivalrous gentleman and wouldn’t allow a lady sharing the same space as you to be less than comfortable. We can share in the bed.”

The matter-of-fact way that she said it, well, how could he refuse her? He should; he needed to, but he didn’t wish to. There was a thrill in his body; tingling from nerve end to nerve end. The very idea of her pressed so close to him while they rested, it made him feel a giddy restlessness of joy in his heart that he wished he could vomit out. He needed to be rid of it; this longing. It was unhealthy. It would lead nowhere.

“… Fine. Fine, but I can lay at the end of the bed-”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Essätha snorted, making her way to the bedside. She climbed in with ease beneath the layers of fabric, and patted the adjacent side as she glimpsed up at him.

Join her? Now? His heart was pounding; sweat beading on his brow.

With an aching lightness in his chest, Amon shuffled around the other side of the bed; his eyes having adjusted better to the dark. He sank down at first, giving her time to change her mind, but she was already ahead of him; pulling back the sheets on his side, smoothing out the bedding cover. Her mass of black curls flopped into the pillow, burying herself in like it was a Queen’s comfort.

Slow as a snail, Amon took a seat on the mattress. One by one, he raised a leg to shimmy beneath the blankets. Lady Essätha huffed softly at his sluggish delay; tugging up the covers like a shroud before he had even laid back.

“Goodnight, Amon.”

Feeling inadequate and stupefied, Amon inclined back into the mattress, immediately turning his back to her. He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t bare to. He feared that his own passionate desire would be plain on his face.

“Goodnight, Lady Essätha.”

“I told you before my dear: you can call me just Essätha, or Essie.”

“Of course, milady.”

She sighed on the other side of the bed, and it sounded sad. He hated that sound, but couldn’t make any sense on why it sounded that way. The framework of the bed creaked and bounced slightly as she apparently rolled over, curling herself up into a ball.

He allowed himself a single glimpse over his shoulder, seeing nothing but the thickness of her locks and her body rolled up in a balled up indistinguishable shape beneath the sheets. It didn’t take his thoughts much though to fill in the gaps: the soft, suppleness of her skin; aglow with the rich autumn tones. The gentle valley of her chest rising and falling, the curves of her hips, the line of her throat as her head tipped back-

Clamping down on his thoughts with an bear’s iron trap, Amon turned his head over. His lips were white; pressed together firmly as he bit the inside of his cheek. He was being incredibly indecent; daring to think of her so boldly when she was right there. Gentle and funny and sweet and right there. Like fate teasing him. Or how her voice so boldly challenged him; had him biting his tongue and finding no fault in how she approached him with an answer before he could dissuade her.

It would be over soon enough. He would wake and she would not be there; like the dream he believed it to be. Or he would wake and she would not be there, having fled from his side as she should. He was hardly a prize to be won, in status or appearance with his hideous scars. She was just lonely, and frightened. How could she not be, after what she’d been through?

And he would not take advantage of her fears. He would not abuse her kindness. She was here because of her night terrors, and he would respectfully be humbled by her finding security in his presence. Nothing more.

Eventually, his eyes fell closed. Sleep this time was dreamless; almost in a knowing that the reality he sought to ignore couldn’t be matched by a fantasy. To have her so close to him was far more than an urchin like he deserved. A nobody. A cast out. A failure on his family name; a would-be murder, a mess, a disaster.

When night fell to dawn, and he blinked in the morning light to stir to the world, he thought that maybe he was still asleep. It must be a pillow in his arms; it had to be a pillow.

But Lady Essätha groggily hummed in her sleeping state, curling herself bodily into him.

He wanted her. Not sinfully; though he may be a sinner. He wanted this casual comfort; the connection of human touch so peaceful and so long forgotten. Exploring bodies in carnal lust was easy to come by; a welcome lull to a deeper kind of loneliness. This though; blissfully content, was fulfilling in every way he could ever want day by day.

How on earth had they come to this though? She in his arms, her legs tangled with his, the heat of her breath wafting against his chest?

Tentative; fearful he would wake her and she would headbutt him right in the face, he nuzzled his face into her lush ebony curls as he knew he shouldn’t. She smelled of morning dew on marigold’s bloom; like the freshness of the cotton sheets and the ozone in the air before rainfall. There was a sweet hint of vanilla on her skin, and Gods, she was soft against him; loose and relaxed with trust and faith. Her skin as warm as a summer day, the sound of her breathing muffled against him as she shifted as though to get closer; to climb into his ribcage.

Let her go, his mind demanded. Get out before it becomes too much. Before you’re pulled in any further. The loss will destroy you otherwise.

She slept so serenely now. He could recall her restless nature even now at the Temple; how she’d been struggling against invisible nightmares and horrors that gripped her. How could be possibly refuse her a moment of tranquility, even if it was with himself? Yes it was selfish to take any joy in this moment; in a moment not warranted for him, but it wasn’t just for him, was it? She had come to him asking for his presence; wanting of this feeling of protection she felt assured he offered.

The noblewoman sighed, rubbing her cheek just beneath his collarbone. A stillness took over him bodily; hoping she did not wake and scramble away from him. Not yet; just give him a moment more to pretend, to craft a memory so vivid from this moment that he might yet be able to find comfort within it long past his time here.

Amon gave a muted thanks to the Gods, and clutched her closer; swearing her felt a reflexive tightening of her own arms around him as he pressed his face into her locks. He peered wearily at the rising sun filtering in through the curtains, knowing that all too soon it would rouse her completely from her slumber and they would have to unweave from this nest they made together.

Gods help him, he prayed he could find a way to learn how to unweave his heartstrings from her unknowing grasp one day too, before he lost. Before leaving was such agony that he couldn’t bare it. Before he settled down here, watching her, wanting her, and witnessing her grow with someone else yet being unable to live with the idea of never seeing her again.

Maybe his father had been right about him all along.

He was just a pathetic boy, with a weak heart.

[qhostqizmo]

your honor they’re stupidly smitten with each other

Just two morons deeply and fondly in love, neither one giving in completely to admit to it- yet.

Between fighting their natural attraction and the chemistry that's created a lot of friction between the two, it's a wonder they haven't jumped each other's bones. Look at those libido's lawd

[royal-writer]

look at these absolute fools

They love each other, they just don’t know it yet >:3c

[stellarcheetah-archived]

Silence

It's waiting, always trying I feel the hands of fate, they're suffocating Tell me what's the reason Is it all inside my head Can't take it no more

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, staring down at the makeshift memorial in the grass. The brightly-coloured flowers seemed to stare back at him from the arrangement, seemed to sap the strength from his bones even as he stood there. He was vaguely aware of the tiny hand that found a grip on his finger, making his heart jump in his chest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Stay close, please,” Amon chided the girl gently, keeping an eye on her as she stared at the displays that lined the market square.

“Yes, Amon,” she answered, hurrying to walk a bit closer to him while still watching the stalls with curiosity. There was so many things to see; so many bright colours and shiny trinkets, flags and banners waving in the breeze as merchants tried to get the attention of passers-by. The height of the summer was the busiest time of the year for Briarton. Folk of many kinds passed through with their wares, bringing wonders from far away that never ceased to amaze her.

The nobleman couldn’t help the faint smile that pulled at his lips, watching her. The child was still so young, and still so full of wonder for the world despite the tragedy that had befallen her. He watched her pause for a moment as they passed a stall of fresh flowers, standing on her toes to stick her face among the blooms.

“What are you doing?” he teased gently, stopping to keep from getting too far ahead of her.

“Smelling the flowers! Mom always said it was important to take time to stop and smell the roses. These aren’t roses, but they’re important too,” she announced, breathing in the scent as he walked over.

“Your mother was very wise, then,” he said softly, letting his gaze pan over the selection before glancing up at the merchant watching them. She offered a respectful curtsy, and he nodded an answer. He glanced back down at the little girl at his side, then back to the merchant, before fishing a coin from his pocket to press into her hand. Receiving another curtsy and a thanks, she tucked the coin into her purse as he plucked a pure white bloom from among the carefully-pruned flowers.

Marie turned her head from her inspection as he knelt at her side, curiosity turning to surprise, then awe as he offered it to her.

“For me?” she asked, eyes like saucers as she looked from the flower, then up to him.

“For you,” he affirmed, tucking it delicately behind her ear. She reached up, her fingers brushing the soft petals. The smile that spread across her face as he stood back up was worth far more than anything he’d ever owned. She caught him by surprise as she suddenly flung herself against him, squeezing his leg in a big hug before she pulled away again.

“Thank you!” she squealed, reaching up to touch the bloom again. He patted her gently on the head with a chuckle, starting to move forward.

“You’re welcome, Marie. Now come along, we still have a lot to do today,” he said. She offered a quick wave to the flower merchant before hurrying after him; catching him off-guard a second time as her hand found a grip on his fingers to hold on to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The soft, chirping sigh from the cleric beside him drew him back from his reverie, the grip on his finger slipping away as they stepped forward. The loss of the touch left him feeling cold, his other hand closing tighter around the symbol of Pelor tucked against his chest.

He tried again to swallow the lump that strangled his throat, wanting to say something- anything- to contribute to the tiny ceremony, but the words would not come. It was too much.

Brutus.

Fontane.

Marie.

Now, Alexis Merrikson.

He had only perhaps seen Alexis once or twice, and he couldn’t remember ever speaking to the man. But Alexis had been under his jurisdiction; his subject, under his protection. He knew in his mind that there was nothing he could have done, no protection he could possibly have offered that would have prevented this.

His heart disagreed. Another. They were mourning another, so soon. A tiny twist of black ink, seeping through the cracks and stabbing icy needles through his soul, burrowed itself into him. The curse of Amon Thomas Illiad, it said. Wherever you go, death will follow you.

He tried to crush the thought.

This wasn’t his fault.

This wasn’t his fault.

This wasn’t. His. FAULT.

A new touch on his arm snapped him out of it, forcing his attention onto the half-orc that had come up to his side. He loosened his grip on the holy symbol, where the rays of the sun shape had begun to dig into his glove.

“Are you...” the man trailed off, hesitating a moment before starting again. “...Would you like comfort?”

“I’m fine,” he answered, the response coming out instinctively without a thought. Abernathy seemed unconvinced, his expression turning to one of sympathy as he patted the noble’s back gently.

“If you ever need someone... I am here, Amon,” he said, Caesar scooting up to his feet as though in agreement.

“I said I’m fine,” he repeated, dropping his hand from his chest to pat the dog on the head in reflex. Abe looked... hurt, but stepped back with an understanding nod.

“Of course.”

He didn’t need anyone. He was a man, and a lord: an Illiad. He had shown more than enough emotion in front of this haphazard band already. His father would be ashamed of him. He couldn’t afford to be weak anymore.

So he forced down the cry that rose in his throat, bit back the tears that stung behind his eyes; slamming shut the doors to barricade them with silence.

There is dignity in silence, Amon. If you cannot meet adversity with grace, then meet it with silence. To show anything else is weakness, and they will use it to strip you of all the pride you and your name carry. Do not disappoint me again.

He remembered. Of course he remembered. It had been beaten into him.

Why are you crying, boy? If you cannot handle a few bruises, how can you expect to defend your people? You are to be lord protector of the Emerald Expanse; you cannot squeal like a kicked pup at every slight against you. Dignity in silence, Amon! I thought you had learned that by now.

He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to calm. His jaw clenched, lips pulling into a thin line. He had to hold it together. He had to remember who he was. Though he did not deserve it, and he knew he would be stripped of the title soon enough, for now he was still Lord Amon, and he had to act like it.

It was the only way he knew how to survive.

[dicey-situations]

Don’t you dare cry at my funeral, // because I’ve been dead for years now. // My body just finally caught up with my soul.

[unionizedwizard]

like. okay i've already made a billion poasts about this so i won't elaborate but one of the (many) strokes of genius of shadowbringers, in my opinion, was the addition of the meta-narrative/metapoetic hero aspect. at this point your wol may start realizing they're in a story (or they may not!), that everything is made up of stories on different scales, that it's all about finding out the facts about history so that the narrative can be as faithful to reality as possible (the truth about the warriors of light and the flood, the true origins and nature of zodiark and hydaelyn and the ascians) (hence emet-selch inventing fascism: what is fascism if not the complete erasing and rewriting of history?). remember that g'raha tia's introduction (as a disembodied voice in ARR) was to call himself a historian, with a preference for epic tales. okay. okay

then you get to endwalker. if shadowbringers was a commentary on fiction and history, endwalker was the actual play. once again i have already talked about this Way Too Often in the past but it was very obviously a recreation of aristotle's poetics, with direct references (following the same structure, etc). Fandaniel (as Amon moreso than Hermes) being the key of the entire plot was highly significant, because he *does* realize he's in a play, and he hates it, and he's trying to nuke the theater and the entire city from the stage (or backstage)

he did remind me of the opening of An Illiad by Lisa Peterson and Denis O'Hare:

in this regard it is also highly significant that the reason we managed to defeat the Endsinger was through the help of Zenos, whose boredom and high intelligence seem to suggest he knows it is all... a story. Of course this is only *my* theory, but i genuinely think the post that goes "zenos is a cutscene skipper" was correct. zenos is sort of... an embodiment of the apathetic, unhappy, hardcore MMO player. he doesnt engage emotionally with the other characters, whom he sees as (literal) NPCs, or the story or environment, and it could be said that the kinship he sees in the wol was the recognition that they were a fellow player character. i come from world of warcraft, so let me tell you i have seen this kind of gamer before lol sorry for the tangent ANYWAY

ultima thule is quite literally (at) the edge of existence, where physics laws don't apply; of course this is where the veil is thin between fiction and metafiction, and at this moment, both the wol and zenos perceive some truth about the world they're in- whether the wol understands theyre a fictional character evolving in a narrative or not depends on each player's sensibilities, but zenos sees it quite clearly. the player stops controlling their character for longer than expected as their fight degenerates into an actual fistfight, and zenos addresses them *as* such: referencing the character creation screen ("you, given a name and thrust into a life of adventure"), putting their lack of agency in the spotlight. your wol was never asked about their opinion because they were a vessel for you, the player, to experience catharsis. and now the play is over. zenos might return, or he might not, but he strikes me as someone who has stared at some unfathomable comic truth and will not go back to "normal" because his vision of "reality" was forever altered; and more specifically, i think his defining character trait was always his reckless pursuit of freedom and autonomy (killing varis in order for him to stop denying him his sport, for instance). knowing he is a fictional character, i think he *would* refuse to submit to the writers' plans and would rather stay half-dead in ultima thule indefinitely than relinquish his autonomy.

and then there's dawntrail. i think we were all worried about dawntrail and how they could manage to keep the story going after everything that happened in endwalker. specifically, the wol came so close to understanding their own place in this fictional universe that it would have been weird to simply ignore it and pretend nothing happened. and so i think the decision to have them take a mentor role to wuk lamat was great, because on top of mirroring a real gameplay element (the mentor role!), it also mirrors the player seeing their friends go through the MSQ for the first time (or doing a replay themselves), a situation that keeps getting more and more common as more and more new players are joining the game. not ignoring the situation, not removing themselves from the premises like zenos and fandaniel did, but taking on a new role and quietly seeing everything repeat and form patterns both new and familiar and observing & guiding a new, inexperienced friend through it all, with the "hear, feel, think" motto as a guide (:

i think the best thing about dawntrail was that they managed to keep the meta narrative they've got going on since shadowbringers and peaked during zenos' monologue in ultima thule, in a way that was natural, subtle, and meaningful

[heppenfeld]

Bricolage by Amon Tobin

...

[qhostqizmo]

Shared Tragedy

this is all over the place but rn so i am

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Heart hammering against her ribs, Essatha let out a strangled gasping-hiss as Atmara dragged her into a wrestling grasp. One arm locked around her, the other flashes up to her neck with a knife produced from the spy’s person. The cool steel settles against the warmth of her vulnerable throat, leaving the sorceress fearful that swallowing or breathing too heavily would knick the blade into her skin.

“By Gods woman- sorry you haven't been kept in the loop. As Adela pointed you, you don't exactly have a Sending Stone on you right now to get information or to have received notice of our arrival, otherwise you would have known to expect the Hand of Jubaeta.”

Regardless of how incredibly agitated she was, Essie does her best to keep her posture calm and her words factual. It doesn’t stop the anger from biting into the rasp of her voice, and as she looks to her companions; protective and ready to skirmish for her safety, a brief flash of love and gratitude warm her heart. These people weren’t perfect, or always saw the world she did, but they were family, and they cared about her- and she cared about them.

The snarl of the woman behind her; hot breath on her skin, reveals that no one’s words were calming Atmara in the least. Although she couldn’t see her face, the wood elf’s firm arm remained unbending against her middle.

“Release. Her. Now.”

The only one who had remained silent through introductions and correspondence; Amon, finally asserted himself with enough frost lining the rumble of his voice it felt like an arctic chill had entered the room. Essie shivered unexpectedly, wincing as Atmara stiffly dragged her into the outline of her body like a shield, the blade angled into her flesh. The fiery-blue fury of the ex-nobleman’s gaze was enough to give everyone in the room the barest pause for thought.

“I don’t think any of you are in a position to make demands,” the spy seethed. “Answer me this: when did you hear about the supposed ‘assassination attempt’, huh?”

“We don’t have to answer shit,” Face replies with a sneer, angling his crossbow. “My finger may just slip though; I wonder how you’d like a bolt in your eye.”

The tension in the room felt like a rapidly depleting fuse to dynamite. Swallowing tensely, Essie trained her gaze on Amon’s for reassurance. He didn’t return her glance, however; the hate in his eyes trained upon the woman caging her as hostage.

A curse of some sort slips past the elf’s lips, but she didn’t sound afraid. She sounded pissed.

“Tick-tock, my arm’s getting tired.”

“Some agent you are; do you apprehend everyone sent to pass along information?” Penimra chimes in, almost sounding bored.

“Maybe we shouldn’t antagonize a lady with a knife to someone’s throat,” Sulhadur states with a nervous edge. The tip of his tail twitches back and forth; anxious as he looked about the room.

“Why don’t we let her use our Sending Stone to contact Seeker Aero, and straighten this whole thing out?” Adela offers, offering her hands out with palms open placidly.

“Nice try,” Atmara glowered, “the lot of you don’t have a Sending Stone.”

“I have it, actually,” Rava pipes up, reaching for her pocket.

The dagger moved, but Essatha didn’t see it. She didn’t even feel it; not at first. The only reason she knew something was wrong was the moment that Amon tore his eyes away from Atmara’s to look into her own, and she could see his anger melt away for the briefest of seconds into a look of total and complete horror intermingling with terror.

Then the pain came; burning and freezing all at once, as though she had shoved herself into frigid icy waters. She spasmed, coughing and gagging on blood that rapidly filled her airway. It was all over; the metallic tang, the scent of it in her nostrils, coating her tongue. Everything was red. Her neck stung; pain lacing its way through her like a snare grip.

Suddenly she was launched forward at a dizzying pace. The table came hurtling towards her and knocked the wind out of her as her abdomen connected, slumping towards the floor. Of the first things that came through all the sudden shouting and clatter of weapons and explosive magic, the alarmed shrill of Pri’cha as they came diving beneath the worktable for her, their golden carapace glittering in faint lantern light.

Oh Gods. She tried to breathe, and suddenly she was choking, gasping desperately for air.

Oh dear Gods was she going to drown in her own blood?

Helpless and alarmed, the sorceress clawed at the air and at her face, the shock swiftly being replaced by the reality of the situation and the jarring sense of fear as convulsions rocked through her. The whites of her eyes were alarmingly large as she finally attempted to slap a hand over her throat. Looking upon the floor and her chest, a puddle of blood and staining coating her upper clothing made her fingers slick with her ebbing life.

“ESSATHA!”

As the Thri-Kreen reached for her, the table lurched and went hurtling to the side. A violent howl of anger and Pri’cha’s cry of pain as the table landed upon two of their limbs rang through the sorceress throbbing eardrums as she flinched.

“ESSIE!”

Her vision swam as she searched for whoever was howling her name. Even in the cramped space of the basement, with all the noise, it was like a thunderclap. She gargled on saliva and blood; dripping from her mouth. The hand she didn’t have cupped over her wound pressed to the floor for stability as she attempted to stand, but she faltered and her palm slid upon the slick surface left behind by her bodily fluid.

The room was suddenly dimming, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of lanterns being knocked out or that the random flashes of magic spiraling around were making it seem otherwise dark. She felt light-headed.

“ESSIE, HOLD ON, PLEASE-”

Blinking, a shadow suddenly obscured her vision. It took her a moment to recognize Amon’s face; she hadn’t seen so much panic written there in some time. Not since…

Something grabbed at her pants leg as she blinked up at him once more, only, she couldn’t find the strength to open her eyelids again.

A tingling sensation began somewhere around her calf, where the feeling of thin spindly-like digits pressed into her clothes and began to throb in her neck. The sensation was warm, and not altogether unpleasant. But she still felt so sluggish; so bizarrely vertigo from lack of blood.

“It’s going to be alright; I’ve got you.”

Ears ringing, the world began to fall away from her conscious. Something heavy and warm lay atop of her. It smelled of cedarwood, leather, coriander and a touch of rose. The aroma brought a wave of memories and a feeling of sanctuary. She knew the fragrance blend well; knew its layers and knew the guardian of it that blanketed her with care.

“Essie, can you hear me?”

Amon’s pleading was so far away. Her lips trembled as she tried to use them; eyes flickering behind her heavy eyelids. Breathing felt easier, but everything was still muffled and growing further and further away.

“Please-”

She shivered involuntarily, floating; no longer tumbling, into some essence of a void that she had no control over.

“I need you.”

Inhale. Exhale. She couldn’t even feel Pri’cha’s hand upon her anymore; and the fierce grip of Amon���s arms as he pulled her in was like a blissful dream and less real.

“I love you.”

She sank into nothingness; neither dreams of bliss with her nobleman nor nightmares of the woman who’d just attempted to murder her.

Just emptiness, and nothing more.

[qhostqizmo]

Love and Loss and Found Again

whoopsie doo, this is ur fault Ammy

-

He opens his eyes, and all is bathed in a pale luminous glow. No identifying features stand out; the outline of trees that lack definition and color, buildings, roads. He isn't sure if it's just the realm in which he has found himself in, or if it's because of her.

Her presence; filled with color and vibrancy as he knew in life. Her expression; astonished to see him once more. There is no blood in her hair; no scars, no wounds, no discoloration or crusty pieces of her scales rotting off flesh. She is here, and she is just as captivating as he'd seen her in life.

The silence is deafening. Amon was never certain if he would see the sanctuary of this sort of afterlife- not after what sins he had committed and the silence that held his tongue for so many years. But even his questions on how or why were short-lived; a flash like a firefly blinking in the dark. If she was here, then this was paradise.

Without knowing he does so, the nobleman races for her. She does not move; wide-eyed and slack-jawed. When they collide it is rough; panicked, the wind knocked out of the both of them as he embraces her on impact, staggering. She wheezes against his chest out of breath, with fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Essatha," he breathes; her name like forgotten ambrosia's nectar on his tongue. Such a sweet sound; such perfection breathed into each syllable. He'd only spoken it with such loneliness for so long, now; ached with it, drowned in it.

"You're here," the sorceress rasps. Her voice is both staggering with emotion, and gasping in the strength of his arms wrapped so tightly around her. "You're here-- but you shouldn't be here, it's too soon-"

A broken and harsh choking sound escapes the Lord as he buries his face in her hair. "It was too soon for you, too. The world lost something grand, and beautiful, and exquisite the day it lost you. I was lost, without you."

No longer does he know if he's shaking like a life, or if she is, or if they both are simply too overwhelmed that their limbs and ribcages have tuned to the same overpowering force. His sobs become hers-- or maybe it's the other way around. They lost. They found. They lost again- and found, even here. Even now.

"I'm so sorry-"

"Don't," she hushes; voice softer and sweeter than any songbird melody. "Don't. Don't tell me you're sorry. Don't be sorry for things we couldn't control; for events we couldn't rewind."

"I should have protected you better," Amon mumbles; the guilt even now like lead in his chest.

"You did. You did, m'lord you aren't to blame for what happened to me, you never were. You did everything right; everything you should have, everything you could. I don't blame you. Please don't blame yourself. Please."

Heavy, agonizing moans tore through Amon's throat as he clutched to her with everything he had. He knew better than to think he deserved her, after he failed her so totally, but she didn't just forgive him-- she never put the blame he so rightfully deserved on his shoulders. As much as he wanted her to be furious with him; he wanted her to upset, or hurt; he was relieved by her generosity; her compassion. His Essie, still too good for him; kind, considerate, seeing the best in him, seeing the shades of gray in scenarios he insisted were black and white. After all: he was a failure, a weak boy, and a monster; a killer- but she never stopped insisting on the good in him, on his heart, on his spirit being unwavering.

"I missed you. I was lost without you."

"I know, beloved, I know. But this… this may not be your end-"

"I won't go back," the Briarton Lord sobbed. He heaved for oxygen, burying her into his ribcage, into his skin. He wanted her closer; needed her closer; needed her in the safety of his arms and in his heart forever.

"I'm never letting you go again."

Her breathing shuddered, in and out. "But Amon-"

The desperation in her voice made him whimper, pathetic, needy. A hiccup shook his chest as he peeled himself off her just enough to look her in the eye- hers such as bloodshot as he expected his own to appear.

"Essie; my Essie," he crooned, shaking on each breath, "I could have been a race with lifespan to last a millenia, and it would still have been worthless without you in it. The life I had been leading before you was no life at all; walking from point A to point B, trying to uphold a family legacy, mechanical, desolate, meaningless. It held no value. I was pointless. I looked after my people, and the Emerald Expanse, but anyone could have done that. I had nothing- I was nothing.*"

"I know that look, darling- please let me finish, I beg you. I know you would want me to go on. I'm selfish, I'm stupid- I'll be any kind of fool the world wants to call me, I don't care. I want you. I only want to be with you- I have missed you in every way, in every day; in the ruddy evening sunlight, in the bed we'd share, in the place by my side. I saw you in every sunrise; I longed for your touch in ever triumph and failure; that warm reassurance, that soft smile. Gods you're so beautiful, I feel as if i've forgotten every fond crinkle by your eyes when you smile-"

He reached for her cheek and Essatha shuddered, a fresh spring of tears meeting his palm as he cupped her face. The heat of her beneath his touch; the softness of his skin, it was all the same here as it had been in life. Bright, like a sun going supernova.

She turned into his hand to kiss his wrist. He wiped at the wetness beneath those golden butterscotch eyes, a dull throbbing in his heart. How he hated to see her cry; it mattered not the reason, tears did not belong in his beautiful gentle Essatha's eyes.

"I want to be with you," Amon murmured. "*I need you. I- I love you, Ess'. I could operate the Emerald Expanse; I could move through a daze in life doing as I'm needed, as I'm told; doing what's best and good but it's not what I want. I want you- I wanted you there Essie; I wanted you there for all of it. I want to live for myself a life *worth* living, and without you there… Without you- holding your hand, balancing my flaws, encouraging me, living with me…"

His throat jumped, swallowing.

"I would have married you, if you'd have taken me."

"… Why not, now?" she asked; voice faint and soft as she peered into his gaze through her long lashes.

Breath hitching, Amon trembled from head to foot. "M-… Marry you?"

She nooded, lips slightly parted.

"I love you, Amon."

Like himself, she had said it so simply; effortlessly. It was as wonderous and enchanting as the way she said his name; matching it in euphoria.

He should have asked first-- he'd laugh with embarrassement and berate himself later-- but the nobleman leaned in as he cradled her cheek, both tender and protective, and kissed her with delicate yet loving passion.

And to his delight, she reciprocated with a measure of equal enthusiasm and tender heat, wanting of him.

"I need you, too," she mouthed against him; her words barely audible even pressed nose to nose. "I would have come back to you, if I could have."

A grunt escaped him; his lips ghosting against the suppleness of her own. "I have you again, in my arms. Let me love you if- if you'll have me-"

"Always. Always and forever, my beloved m'lord Amon."

Her lord. Her beloved.

Feeling as though he was being strangled; so full of emotions surging and ebbing in hope, anguish, elation, hurt, comfort-- Amon tugged her in once more, meeting her in the middle with exact shades of adoration, and respect, and love he'd always wanted to share with her in life; listening to the sharp inhale of anticipation through her mouth before he claimed her in another kiss.

His. His darling Essatha, back in his arms, where she belonged.

[qhostqizmo]

The Flirt and The Jealous

me, praying To The Gods Amayla does not assault me-

-----

-----

He had a thousand watt smile bright enough to light up a room, but a brain the size of a pea, Essätha reasoned. Money could buy this wealthy aristocrat his many trinkets, his glittering gold bangles, and the shining gemstones decorating those shimmering rings on his fingers; but they weren’t going to buy him the ability to comprehend the atmosphere around him. Unable to read the room or grasp reality, he outstretched his his hands with purpose to reveal his jewelry and flaunt his expensively embroidered vibrant blue-dyed fabrics and gesture to his paintings, the architecture of his home, his vases and oddments.

The sorceress didn’t much care; zoning in and out, that this particular rug was four-hundred years old and made by a blind priestess in the mountains of Etheron. Nevertheless, the man continued to eagerly boast the accomplishments of his many generations of family legacy in collecting these assortments. It sounded less and less like achievements hard-earned, and more and more like a silver-spoon lineage.

“Master Mévouifulin, I appreciate the tour of your enchanting home, but-”

“My dear Miss Essätha, you may call me Arcamend,” they cut off with a twirl of their hand. “But yes, I appreciate your adoration for my treasured family home. Now, if you’ll follow me-”

“Sir,” she stressed, barely containing the urge to roll her eyes or yawn of boredom. The Yuan-Ti woman stepped forward, blocking the heir’s locomotive urgency to continue full-steam ahead.

He frowned at her, truly baffled. “My apologies, madame. If these things do not interest you, perhaps you would like to see the bedrooms? You’ll find the guest quarters are adequate, but the imported silk sheets in my room are quite luxurious and fitting of royalty. If you’d like a chance to examine them closer…”

Essie stared blankly in response to the odd statement; the man’s casual playful smirk completely missing their charm and mark. She gave a shake of her head, sighing.

“I’m sure they’re all lovely Master Arcamend, and I am grateful for your willingness to spend your time with me, but I’m afraid I’m a bit pressed for time. You mentioned you would show me to your impressive private library, if I recall? Could we perhaps go there next?”

“Private indeed,” Arcamend agreed with a lided gaze that swept over her features. He rested his big stupid brown eyes on hers after a fumbled step on his expensive carpet in a sad attempt to do a casual lean against a sidetable. She wondered how the man had managed to lose his footing staring into her eyes all doopey; perhaps the weaving had bunched up in the middle somewhere and caught on his boot?

“Alright,” she stated; cautious. “Lead on, if you’d please.”

“Right,” he stalled slowly. “I could have a servant fetch us a nice merlot; would you fancy some cheeses while we read? I could get you the finest gaperon you’ve ever had, or perhaps you would like boursin blue cheese with some pepper crackers?”

How insufferable could one gentleman be, Essätha pondered. Did he not get the hint that they were going into a library, a place usually reserved for peace and quiet, not for snacks and beverages to be knocked over and stain precious rare copies of literature? Did he not see that she was pressed for precious time, and did not wish to spend any of it on him where possible?

And how did he not see how incredibly obnoxious and pompous he was behaving? As if rubbing it into everyone’s noses how many rare and exotic things he owned was going to make him more interesting or likable? She had half a mind to grab Arcamend by the earlobe and drag him out to the streets, and take him to the nearest shelter where the luckier homeless went for temporary food and shelter. Not that it would matter, she reasoned; anyone that full of themselves would probably spend the whole time clutching to their things fearful of dirt rubbing on them or believing that a little thief may snatch their pearls.

Well, perhaps she would get some dark amusement out of either of the two happening, anyway.

The sorceress cleared her throat, politely folding her hands in front of her abdomen as she murmured; speaking as if to a child, “If it would not be too much trouble, Master Arcamend, I would like to be alone. It will make my work quicker, and more efficient. Your library follows the standard dewey decimal classification, I presume? I will be in and out of your hair, no troubles at all… Unless you feel as though you need send any of your attendants to watch over me, just to make sure I do not damage nor take any of your belongings.”

As she spoke, she watched as the wealthyman began to deflate like a balloon. Whatever was bringing him down, she couldn’t put her finger to. Disappointment for his conduct, she prayed. Still, her final remark seemed to cause him the most discomfort at all; a flush of color warming his face as Arcamend ruffled a hand through his bronze colored locks.

“I- no of course not I- meant nothing by it- I mean-”

Essie quirked an eyebrow.

Shoulders slumping, Arcamend heaved a heavy exhale, reaching as though to take her hand. “Miss Essätha, I meant no harm to an outstanding and delightful woman such as yourself. Please, allow me to reconcile this atrocity I’ve brought to your honor.”

She stepped forward, just out of his arm’s reach. “I care not for what you meant, Master Arcamend; I care for what I came here for. I do not want to take up any more of you day or your staff’s than necessary, and would like to return to my companions as soon as possible. They need me.”

“O-of course, madame, whatever pleases you,” the elitist mumbled, “I will show you the way. My humblest apologies.”

When she did not respond, the man strode forward with a pouty lip to lead the way down the elaborately decorated passage. The Yuan-Ti woman huffed, blowing a few stray curls out of her face, and moved to follow; careful of the carpet. What a childish prat, she thought with sincere sympathy. To grow up with more coin than you ever had need or want for, and then to spend it on such nonsense without recourse or care. He never had to lift a finger; never had to struggle, to fight, or even leave his cozy home if he so desired.

What a lonely, miserable existence.

It hit her, then, like a strike of Magic Missiles. Perhaps the poor man was destitute. That would explain the clingy, needy, chatty mannerisms. She’d pity him if he wasn’t so annoying, and she wasn’t so uncomfortable. Usually her commiserative ways and gentle heart lead her to easily bending and stretching for a moment to help the weary, the broken, the lost and the hurting; but in this case, she felt a surprising amount of nothing.

Swallowing, the sorceress gazed up from the floor that she had been glued to to see that the rich snob had stopped before a looming set of doors. He pushed it open before her, revealing indeed a vast wealth of knowledge. Books upon books in neatly aligned shelves and rows; tall enough that it required a mobile ladder to traverse to the top shelves.

Her heart nearly swooned.

And then she looked to Arcamend; so miserable he could not catch her eye. Finding a bit of remorse returned to her, she reached out to touch the man’s forearm.

“Thank you so very much for your assistance, Master Arcamend.”

The man once more began a beacon of light so radiant she almost had to squint to look upon him. Grinning from ear to ear, he retrieved her hand from his skin to press a humble kiss to her knuckles.

“It is my utmost pleasure to serve you, Miss Essätha. Could I get you anything at all? Or perhaps you would like me to walk you through the archive, and I can help you look? Or explain to you the history of how my family collected-”

And just like that, her compassion for the man was gone with the slimy feeling of his sweaty palm clutching helplessly to her fingers, and the moisture of his lips on her hand; the feeling of his breath bathing her skin. Her insides curled; a far-away memory being clutched at by the ghostly hands of her thoughts. Rough hands, and warm breath dancing against her, and dark, dark eyes…

She snatched her hand away a bit roughly.

“Thank you again, Master Arcamend but no thank you; I can take it from here.”

As though she owned the very estate she walked on, the sorceress stepped confidently into the library.

“V-Very well-” Arcamend called, moving as though to follow her. “And if a little dove shall require anything-”

Essätha turned to close the door right into the aristocrat’s face, thumping her forehead against it with a silent gasp of relief as she heard the muffled voice stall and fizzle out on the other side. Her gaze, slowly, turned upon the true vast wealth the man had at his disposable in the enormity of his collection. The sunlight coming from an upper balcony window sparkled in the golden sunshine hues of her iris.

At least now she could enjoy some silence, with something far more interesting than Arcamend Mévouifulin.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~

Blowing a raspberry, the Yuan-Ti woman flopped backwards onto the bed with a final exasperated huff. “Honestly m’lord- you wouldn’t believe how incredibly obnoxious one man could be!”

A soft chuckling answered her. “Oh, I’m sure I can imagine.”

Lifting her head, Essätha looked over to see her nobleman; shed down to his tunic and trousers alone, sitting on the edge of mattress and looking directly over his shoulder at her. Her heart did cartwheels beneath that warm regard held in the depth of those ocean-hued eyes. She loved how he smiled at her most of all though; not just with his lips, but how the entirety of his face grew relaxed and soft as he looked at her. She had to wait to catch her breath until he turned back to untying his rather large boots.

“S-Seriously, the man gloated the entire time,” she vented. “He came to check up on me almost every ten minutes; I thought about barricading the doors!”

“Sounds difficult when you’re busy reading.”

“Exactly! I’ve seen pride, and I’ve seen vanity, but this Arcamend fellow was a level of ego I could not wrap my head around. And this was only after I had to try, numerous times, to get his attention and remind him I was there for his library. All he wanted to do was parade me around like a young pup on a leash, showing me around to all his big, glistening, expensive knick-knacks. ‘This was owned be so-and-so who was once held a seat of the Council’ this and ‘my sheets are made of silk spun from the hairs of an angel’ that… More or less.”

“… Did he, now?” Amon murmured slowly; hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Essie responded; growing equally cautious now hearing the unease in his voice. “Presented me to his ‘secluded secrecy's’, like I was already showing any interest in his sculptures, he felt the need to take me to his gallery room. I mean, the craftsmanship of the paintings and mediums was nice, but how many people find it logical to have a room dedicated solely to paintings and a single sofa made of some rare fabric? How often are you going to go in there, if not to show off that you can have a room dedicated just to paintings? With a sofa you refuse to even sit on, or allow guests to sit on?”

This time her nobleman grunted, setting aside his footwear.

The sorceress swallowed anxiously, rolling on to her side to reach out for him. “… I’m not upsetting you about all of this, am I?”

“Hmm? Why would I be upset?”

“I-” her face warmed, and she glanced away. “I don’t want to sound like I’m picking on the guy just because he’s… loaded with coin.”

A hand blanketed on top of hers; worn and calloused. A flutter emerged inside her, and she felt like she was floating as her gaze moved up, trapped instantly in the softness of Amon’s soothing gaze.

“No, Essie, I don’t think you’re releasing your frustrations because Master Mévouifulin happens to be rich.”

Her brow knit. “Then why the… unresponsiveness. You usually love talking to me.”

Her smile was mirrored in his own expression. “I do love talking with you.”

“Then…?”

The Bearmaster licked his lips nervously. Gradually, he turned to face her, taking her hand in both of his own to give a careful squeeze.

“… His arrogance is not something new to me,” her nobleman began. “It is something easy to fall into. Even I have shamed myself by wanting to appear more larger than life; extravagant events, large parties, venues; wanting to show off my abilities and skill with what I had, what I killed, what I could afford. He has growing still to do, if he wishes to better himself as an individual rather than an accessory to money. Luckily I had great teachers; time, humility, embarrassment, Marie, and… you.”

She felt the blushing feeling in her face intensify beneath the fond way that he looked at her; the way he cradled her hand between his own. It was entrancing; intoxicating, the man could rip away all her thoughts, all her fears, her worries, her past. All she ever saw; all she ever felt when she was with him, was the here and now. Experiencing the joy of just belonging in the same space as him. The comfort he exuded in his understanding and compassion. The ease of his presence; the way he made her feel secure and confident and wanted. There was no before, and there was no future to worry about, as long as she knew he would be there.

There was no place on the planet, and no time, she would rather be at than this. To have him hold to her hand and to see those tender eyes. To be the one to witness him smile; genuine and kind, it did things to her she could not describe. Of all the treasures she ever longed for, she never would have dreamed he would be the only one she’d ever come to crave so deeply that nothing else in the known universe mattered or compared. Not even by a thousand miles. She’d give up her very last breath, for him.

Amon cleared his throat after a moment, and let go of her hand. His posture stiffened as he informed her, gazing away: “I do not think that Master Mévouifulin was simply showing you these things to make himself look better or more successful, Ess’. Clearly he wanted you to think well of him and to be impressed, but I think his intention was to… flirt with you. Terribly, it seems. I think he wanted to show you the things he could get and afford and… perhaps to show you an example of how comfortable a life with him could be.”

A hush fell over the room. It seemed as though everything was muffled; even the sound of Caesar’s groans as the mastiff flopped over with a bored huff. The sorceress could see the strain in the muscles on her nobleman’s face. His knuckles were bone-white clutching to the sheet, and his jaw and throat moved at random as though he was clutching his teeth and swallowing deeply.

Essätha remained quiet for a while longer, absorbing this suggestion. It was utterly… absurd. And yet the almost comical desire for him to remain attached to her side; to show her everything, to even suggest his bedroom upon his sheets of all things as a place to mingle… It wasn’t that far-fetched, when she really bothered to see the obvious slides right in front of her.

Finally; with annoyance, she grumbled: “Does he think I haven’t seen a plate before?”

Her nobleman turned to stare at her, his mouth agape at the amount of exasperation still in her tone. She didn’t even have the time to meet his shocked expression, busily drawing her hand in the air to theatrically show her vexation.

“I mean really, his idea of wooing a lady is to show her his old plate held on the wall that was painted? Or his sheer curtains made of lace that require special washing? If he wanted to impress me he could start by showing me how gracious and generous he can be; not by how much crap he owns. He could do more to prove that he is kind, and warm, and thoughtful, and intelligent, and loyal, and funny…”

As she spoke, Essie’s eyes finally captured Amon’s astonished gawking inspection. Her rosy cheeks; which felt like they had only just finally simmered down, heated up once more. She found it incredibly difficult to draw air into her lungs until she could bare to look upon his eyes any further, and glanced shyly away with a shiver dancing down her spine.

“… Or that he could protect my heart,” she finished in the smallest, softest voice imaginable; looking to the bedspread. Her pulse had accelerated a hundredfold in a split second, the image of one man appearing every time she blinked behind her eyelids. If she could only turn her head and look at him in the face without giving away everything; everything inside her. How she wanted, how she craved, what she’d give for just a chance with him, even brief. Even just a moment to taste the reality of calling him hers.

So engrossed in the throw-blanket, she could not see the yearning in the man’s gaze that was so breathless enraptured just watching her. Suffering in his yearning; tongue-tied in his hunger but unwilling to yield to it. Oh he ached for her in more ways and words than and language, dead or recent, could describe; in a burning nature that was beyond rational or expression, past reasoning or primal thirsts for things. He desired her in a way that was profound in realms few rarely got to touch; in styles of art written about and few experienced, as though two souls were bound to each other invisibly by choice as much as fate.

As she could not help obsessing about the shape of his lips and how they may taste in her thoughts, his own were following the exact same trail of rational as his regard dropped to her mouth and then roamed all around what he saw as golden perfection. The vision of an angel.

It was not courage that brought Essätha back to the presence of the now; it was the gravity relaxing between them, the urgency to climb into him that subsided enough that she could look to him without grabbing for his collar and begging him to love her, and to kiss her that allowed it. Still his eyes mesmerized her just the same. They’d been waiting for her, after all. It still gave a the rhythm of her heart a new song to play, but she liked it.

“I could never fall for someone as blind and careless and dull as Arcamend Mévouifulin,” the sorceress concluded firmly.

Amon licked his lips, spellbound to her luminous beholding. Her every work had sunk into him; aspirations to live by, things to do. She was writing him a list to lead by without her knowing, and one that he desired to live by; little knowing it was all that she already saw in him and more.

“You… You are much to good for him.”

Essie smirked a bit tightly, raising her browline. She had hoped for a moment that maybe her nobleman might…

No, she should be careful of her heart and its wanting. This was virgin territory; a frightening realm. Her heart was delicate; never offered, always behind a barrier. She shouldn’t expect much, and yet…

“I am, aren’t I?”

She watched, wanting to once more drag her fingers into his hair and pull him in to her lips as his expression collapsed into one nothing short of pure admiration.

“You’re too good for this world and everyone in it, but I know you can do better than him.”

So much better. She drew the tip of her tongue across her lips reflexively, wishing the lingering taste of his mouth was on her own.

“I suppose he’ll just need to find a new dame to impress with his nude marble figures and lavish sheets then, mm?”

To her great delight, her nobleman gave a throaty laugh of amusement. It was a deep and liberal sound; so free and hearty and delightfully homey. She loved it. She loved everything about him.

“Good luck to the both him and his figures, hopefully they do not go sliding off the bed.”

Stifling her giggles entirely proved impossible. Essie sat up a little to swat against his shoulder lightly, falling into his side.

“You’re terribly naughty.”

He gave her a grin; albeit a bit anxious. “But you like me anyway.”

“I very much do, m’lord,” she agreed; swiftly and without a drip of hesitation. Her arms found their way around him, wrapping tight as she squeezed herself perfectly into the dip of his pelvis bone and up into his scapula, she she could rest her chin along the nook of his shoulder. It was a perfect angle to view up into his face, and watch as his cheeks turned pink and flush.

Amon wormed his arm free to wrap around her side. He folded towards her; ending up resting his bearded chin upon the crown of her head so she could nestle her face against his collarbone instead.

“I like you, too.” Gruff; raspy, as though he was whispering a secret into the black waves of her hair.

She hummed, clinging to him a little tighter as he turned further into the bed to be able to grasp her fully and pull her into chest. Right back into the home she wanted to be in. Right where she felt like she was meant to always be.

It would have to be enough, for now.

[qhostqizmo]

Made To Fall In Love With You

Every creak of the floorboards reminded Essätha of a series of Eldritch Blasts going off as she tried sneaking her way down the hallway. The sorceress was no professional burglar; and despite picking her steps with care to where her weight would not awaken the shifted building’s quirks, each footfall was too loud in her ears. Every few steps her eyes trailed behind her, catching no sight nor sound of any waking murmuring or hobbled shuffling. So far, so good.

To her great surprise, no one manned the front desk as the sun peaked upon the horizon. The smell of bacon grease drifted from another room. It was distant; the Yuan-Ti woman assumed the keeper of the inn may be about while their help worked on preparing a meal for travelers willing to pay. Naturally her tummy grumbled and gurgled in a fit to the delicious aromas. Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment while hurrying the last few steps to the threshold.

By some grace of the Gods, the hinges of the door did not creak and it barely stuck as she pulled it open. The first rays of sunshine blasted her in the eye; a blinding array of dazzling white. Essie squinted for a moment, blinking as her sight adjusted to soak in her surroundings. The large front porch greeted its way to a gravel walkway, and down to the road littered with potholes out of town.

Her heart stammered in her chest uneasily. Licking her lips, she gazed over her shoulder once more.

Nothing.

An ill feeling of trepidation sank in her stomach, yet still she persisted on. The door sealed shut behind her with a click. It was a sign: there was no turning back now.

She took the steps off the porch in a hurry; twitchy that perhaps her sloth-like speed within the dwelling would have ripped precious seconds away from her escape. Rock and dirt crunched beneath her boots as she hurried for the street. The heaviness of her bag began to slap against her back; supplies giving a sturdy thump and rattle with each step. It fell in tune quickly with her rapid pulse. What was she doing?

What was best, she reminded the fearful voice in her head. It quieted, but did not release its grip on her conscious.

From the stoop, a figure raised its head as she paused, panting from street-level. The shape defined itself as a mastiff tilted its head; a solid swish of its tail thumping against the porch. The beast began to stand, shaking its mane of black and chocolate brown.

“Ssstay!”

Her hissed warning surprised the hound, which jerked its posture backwards and away a step down the stoop. It began to whine; deep and throaty and remorseful.

Essie licked her lips again. “Please,” she begged, insisting.

Again, the great canine whimpered, pacing the deck with uncertainty. Should it follow, or should it obey?

From within the structure, there was a rustle, and someone called out. The mastiff pricked his ears to swivel its gaze towards the door.

There wasn’t going to be a better distraction.

I’m sorry, Caesar.

Feeling a tear forming in her heart, Essätha let her feet fly. She knew how to push it; run past the point of lungs burning and the wobble in legs threatening a collapse. She’d been doing it all her life, after all. This was no different.

But it felt different.

Her throat jumped; swallowing around a great and heavy formation in her throat. All she could hear was her heavy breathing, her pulse pounding frantically in her chest, the pebbles and debris kicked up with each launch of her feet from the ground. It was a sprint against the sun; chasing shadows and disappearing between the sparse houses and closing in on wooded forest. The world was an endless blur of smells and colors around her; hues and spectrums of clean laundry hanging, flowers in bloom, tarry-pine trees freshly cut, the streaks of muted house-colors of greens and browns. A startled bird took flight before her into the sky, cawing. She didn’t look twice, but her dread thought that it may have been a raven.

She wasn’t going to survive long alone. Not like this. Not with two adversaries on her tail; one a personal vendetta, the other a vast network of cult members.

But it wasn’t her chances she was worried about.

Someone yelled at her in a startled voice from a smithery as she ran by, but her spare time had already been bought and sold. She beelined for the treeline that was rapidly approaching. At least her knowledge of untamed wilds would give her a clean escape. If she hit water, she’d even be able to throw off the dog perhaps if they decided to pursue her.

The timbers and undergrowth swiftly became a dense jungle too thick to traverse full-hurtle. Forced to pick her way around thorny bushes and clamor over fallen trees, progress began to waver. The sun rose slowly higher in the sky, little by little. Sweat covered her back from the fabric of the backpack, and her stomach growled and complained from lack of breakfast.

It couldn’t have been even an hour when her knees hit the ground, exhausted. She blinked, shivering from fatigue. A series of wet droplets hit the ground, and continued to fall from her face.

Lowering her head, Essie swallowed. Her forehead touched the dry earth; inhaling dust. An irritable bug bit at her arm. She could hear past her own heavy gasping, the sound of distant birds singing Pelor morning praise for raising the light into the sky once more.

A heaviness overtook her queasiness, and another whimper drew past her lips. She crumbled to the ground even more, falling to her side among the leaflitter, the weeds, the grass, the moss. Just the spot she belonged, among the mud and filth.

It seemed only a moment; and perhaps it was, that she closed her eyes. Breathe. Just breathe. However when she opened them again, the thicket was crashing and shaking; something large charging through and headed straight in her direction.

The sorceress reached for the hilt of one of her daggers, but didn’t grasp it yet when the barreling of fur and claws hurtled through the bushes.

“Caesar!” She exclaimed, dropping her hand as the beast scrambled just enough to stop before her. “I told you to stay-”

The mastiff whined, his butt wiggling with overzealous glee. He’d found her, and he was more than happy to lap his big, wet, sloppery tongue on her face.

“You might have told him to stay, but I told him hiruvalyë.”

A tremor raced down the Yuan-Ti’s spine. Her exhale rattled out of her like a last breath; uneasy and fearful. Goosebumps trailed and dotted down her arms with knowing as she lifted her head higher, spotting the void expression staring back at her. The man wearing the expression was dressed in a heavy garment cloak with a bear-fur mantle. She knew the texture of better than she recalled the memory of her own skin, or the feel of the kinks in her wavy hair.

“… What’s that mean?” she rasped. Her voice cracked, throat dry.

“It is Elvish; translated literally to ‘thou shalt find’.”

Essie dug her fingers into the dirt; lodging grime to the bed of her fingernails. She looked away from the nobleman’s sharp features and blankly staring eyes. Despite the fact he could no longer see her face, she self-consciously wiped at the tear tracks on her face now dusty dried-lined. Though she wanted to beg for forgiveness; to kiss the ground he walked on, she bit down upon her wobbly lower lip as he made his way to stand before her.

He took a knee, ushering the frantic and whining mastiff circling her back. Reluctantly but obediently, the massive dog sat where indicated and waited patiently.

Time slowed to a crawl. The pacing was worse than that of her break-out of the inn. Each breath came and went, with nothing happening. The quiet lingered. The guilt rose in her; mighty as the crashing of a thousand bison thundering hooves on the plains. The guilt burned into plumes of shame. The shame to self-loathing, like so many daggers stitched into invisible wounds on her skin.

When she did not move or speak after the seconds turned to minutes, finally the figure sighed ever so quietly. Essie did not flinch or shy away from the hand that reached for her face. She wished it would strike her, or push her, rather than cradle her chin as carefully as it did; guiding her to look skyward. She wished the thoughtfulness of this touch would hate her as much as she hated herself.

Instead; her eyes golden as the sunlight, stared up to find the red-rimmed void of blue and black staring hauntingly back at her.

If she thought she hated herself before, she wanted to succumb to Asmondeus’ themselves worst trails in the Nine Hells now. She deserved it. She deserved fates worse than death, for being the cause of such agony and hurt in such gentle eyes.

“… You promised you would never leave me.”

The words fell out of her faster than she could catch them: “M’lord Amon, it is safer this way, for all of us.”

More than anything, Essie wanted him to be angry. She wanted him to be furious; she wanted him to spit on her and tell her he despised her. That he had been burned and left too many times to accept this betrayal. That she was worthless. That she was a mistake.

Amon blinked; a fresh spring of tears in his eyes, and he looked at her with all the things she did not deserve. None of it she was warranted. He looked at her with reverence beyond any known language, and a gut-sense knowing wiser than the lifespan mankind could survive.

“I know you that you’re scared,” he whispered hoarsely and with understanding. “I see it in your eyes, I feel it in your body laid next to mine, I can tell by the way you breathe that you are terrified. But you never have to run from me, Essie,” Amon murmured. The rough pad of his thumb swiped away a stray tear that had fallen from her eye.

“I was so scared when I woke up, and you weren’t there-”

Her throat tightened, words barely audible as she wheezed, “Then I am a failure and a liar, and you should never have followed me.”

“I’m not upset with you.” She knew this, even as he spoke the words; reaching to hold her face in both hands now. “I’m not upset with you; I swear. I forgive you. I… I know what it’s like to push others away; to run from everything, to turn from hands that want to help you. I’m so relieved to see that you are safe. There was no note, no sign I… I didn’t want to believe or consider what could have happened… ” He swallowed; adam’s apple jumping.

“Neither of us is going to be if they find us here,” she reminded him, panic rising in her voice. Her gaze shift as though to search for the ghost of her past behind him, but his hands held her steady and true. It was out of habit to seek his eyes. She could not stay away long from them; they anchored her, completed her, soothed her like the lull of the ocean deep and true. Quietly mesmerized; fully enamored by the reflections of color off those shadowy eyes.

“I would die a thousand deaths, before I lived a day without you.”

The quivering in her lip returned, only time time it took over all of her body.

“I don’t want that, m’lord. I didn’t want to- to hurt you or to see you hurt or-”

With a conviction that he displayed only in private; only in brief moments, he moved closer to her and dropped to both of his knees. Amon’s face was alive now; emotions moving in his eyes, his browline knit, his mouth open wide and gasping for air as though he was avoiding hyperventilating. He shifted closer still; the smell of leather and firs, his eyes swallowing her into deep pools.

Essätha breathed him in, shaking, as his forehead pressed to her own.

The nobleman licked his lips. “If you have to go, know that I will go with you,” he swore, reaching for her hand. He brushed a kiss to the back of her knuckles, and heat inflamed her face.

“Amon-”

He ignored the desperation in her plea, continuing: “You can choose to flee but you can’t choose who follows you. You never left me alone in my worst moments; not when you found out my dark truths, not during trial, not when others warned you that I was nothing but smooth-talker, and I am not leaving you. We are in this together. I don’t care what dangers I have to face, as long as I am with you. If I am only allowed a second for a final breath, I would just die happy because I shared it with you.”

“You are worth the fight. You are worth whatever sacrifices I have to make, to make sure that you’re protected. Just as you have taught me, you do not have to face your demons by yourself, Essie. I’ve got you. I always have your back, no matter what happens. You don’t need to run away from me. Nothing is going to keep me away from you. We can get through anything as long as it’s you and I, remember? You told me that we could make it through anything together.”

The pressure of his hand interlocked with hers was a lifeline. There were no words to describe it; the coarseness of his palms; weathered, firm, rough. They should be almost frightening to someone like her; soft, delicate, weak. Where his struggles had lead him to his sharp edges, her own had lead her to careful hands and swift feet. There were opposite products of tragedies and misfortune.

“But I need you to live,” she wept, tears freshly falling to drip from her chin.

“Then let me live with you,” her nobleman urged, tenderly wiping tears from her face. “You helped me to meet a better version of myself I didn’t know existed. I’m stronger; kinder, more patient and merciful because of everything you’ve taught me, Ess’. I’m all of those things and more, when I’m standing by your side. You’ve taught me compassion and freedom and strength on a whole scale I never imagined. I never want to stop learning and growing with you; I never want to stop looking into those beautiful bright eyes and that warm smile, not for even a second. I can’t imagine an existence; cold and dark, after witnessing so much light that comes into the world when you’re in it.”

“I need you,” he crooned. “I need you more than air, or food, or water, or shelter. I need you; your persistence, your joy, your fearlessness, your heart, your drive and graciousness. You are everything to me. You mean everything to me. You and I Essätha; we can take on the world. We can do it, together. I look out for you, and you look out for me. You have nothing to fear; until the last fight is over we can stand side by side. I am not leaving you alone. Not… Not like this. Not until… Not until I’m sure you do not want me, that you…”

Heartbeat hammering in her chest, Essätha shushed him gently, wiping her filthy hands against her shirt. When she was certain they were clean, she reached to take hold of his face. He melted into her touch with such open want that she audibly exhaled unsteadily with shock.

“I am never going to forgive myself, if something happens to you.”

“It would not be your fault.”

“Amon-”

“Let me do this,” he insisted. “I can keep you safe. Forever, I swear.”

She hated the agony in his voice. The anguish. The desperation. He wanted her to believe; needed her to believe. And she knew his every word was true. She knew this; a fact, as the sky was blue, as the moon would rise even if there was overcast, as the grass was green and the days would continue on she knew.

It was what could happen that frightened her the most.

“You wouldn’t stop following me even if I told you not to, would you,” she mumbled. She knew the answer to this, too, even before he replied. Spoken as a statement, not a question.

“Not until I knew you were out of danger”

Another shudder racked down her spine, and she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, he was even closer; his breath now tangling with her own. Her thoughts scrambled dizzily; mind and heart buzzing with her pining.

Her nobleman licked his lips anxiously; eyes darting from her own to her lips and back again. “… What I would sacrifice to the Gods right now, just to kiss you, even once,” he whispered gruffly.

Her heart launched into the stratosphere.

Brushing her lips against his own, Essie whimpered faintly, “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

Groaning thickly, Amon pressed closer; barely restraining the temptation of her lips, but he didn’t have her consent. Not yet. He was holding back by the tiniest of margins, nesting her face in his hands.

“Essie… I love you.”

The sorceress’ breath hitched.

“Prove it to me, then, and kiss me.”

She should have known anything her nobleman committed himself to was going to be nothing less than perfect. His lips were light and soft; a stark contrast to the rugged feeling of his palms to her face. It was a kiss barely-restrained; chaste and longing but remarkably controlled. Gentle. Considerate. Giving. Something that lasted all of a few seconds, and it stole all oxygen from her lungs and left her there, eyes closed, reminiscing the moment over and over again. The pressure of his lips against hers. The tingles that it sent hurtling through her; humming in her veins like liquid fire. The taste of him on her lips as she tasted them.

Finally, she opened her gaze to meet Amon’s own, and his mouth hanging agape. He immediately looked between her eyes to her lips, and back again. His throat jumped.

“… I love you too, Amon.”

His years of patience must have snapped; the final thin hair-line fragment breaking. He did not wait for her approval for a second kiss, melding against her in a mess of sweetness and lingering want.

It was her weakness. It broke her. It was infuriating and exhilarating; she knew there would be no turning him away. She should have realized this would happen when she had been so careless and brainless to vanish on him as she had in the first place He was willing to chase her to the ends of this world, and beyond it if necessary. It made her heart swell, and it made her putty, and it felt like a blow to the chest all at once. Even after she’d left him; run away, his worst fear realized that once again he was alone, he came racing to her side anyway with a golden heart of amnesty and his endless yearning.

Essätha had been wanting this sense of completion for so long. She couldn’t believe she had wanted to deny him the very same satisfaction she so selfishly wanted of him just because it was the easier answer.

Caesar gave an exasperated ‘boof’ from his lack of attention as they fell into each other; gentle love-bites and muted gasps of ‘I love you’s between grabby hands latching on to each other. Desperate for something to hold; to cling and merge and fold into each other.

There was no separating Amon Thomas Illiad from Essätha Meduza, just as there was no breaking the cycles of the cosmos. In the end, they’d always seek out each other.

And that was more of a blanket of security than all the weapons she could ever own and all the years of isolation she’d ever have. The risk was worth it. He would always be worth it.

[qhostqizmo]

If I have a dream that won’t come true,

I’ll see it come true on a journey with you / You’re a half of happiness to me

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

It was the first truly brisk day of autumn’s harvest: the wind carrying a sharp edge, the edges of green leaves beginning to curl and decay, the smell of rain’s fresh ozone lingering in the dewy morning. Flocks of black birds screeched at the sight of departing snow birds headed south for the season. A rumble of thunder echoed in the remote hillside, bouncing its deeper pitches along the interior walls of the quiet settled housing. The gathering thunderstorm approached closer still with a threat of cold drizzles and despair.

Leaning against the window the sorceress exhaled heavily; her breath fogging along flecks of frost. Tingles of goosebumps raised along her skin as she rubbed her arms, trying to banish away the chill. It wasn’t like this back where she grew up. The temperature there rarely ever fell enough to even bring a freeze, no matter the time of year, let along the growing doom of what was brewing outside now. She’d felt the sting of these weather patterns in years past; seen a thin veiled attempt of snow once even before her travels had brought her further south. This year, with a lonely ache in her chest, she felt certain she’d be witnessing the truth wrath of what a winter could truly bring.

Even below her sleeved arms, Essätha shivered. The light material of her clothing blends and her flimsy hooded cape did nothing to fend off the chill. She sniffed defiantly, finding the energy to pull her head away from the creaky windowsill and drink another steaming cup of coffee. The relief it provided was temporary. She couldn’t be more grateful to have the warmth it spread throughout her fingers and belly though, to cradle the mug close.

“We should head out before the storm,” Adela’s tell-tale voice advised, “I’d hate to get caught in a downpour.”

“S’too bad none of you know Control Weather, ‘n’t it?”

“So you’re saying you know how to?”

“I didn’ say that.”

Essie turned her gaze to the commotion solemnly, catching the Adela’s soured expression towards the shit-eating grin of Face. The pink sorceress looked a little more reddish tinted in her face than usual with frustration.

Well, now seemed a good time. Scooting her chair back, the Yuan-Ti woman arched her back in a groggy stretch, groaning.

“I agree with Adela; I’m going to go ahead and fetch my things from my room.”

Penimra scoffed over his plate of sausages; tongue snaking out of his horrid toothy maw. “What, so just because the two of you agree on something means the rest of us have to put up with it?”

The two sorceress’ exchanged glances, offering mutual grins.

Adela shrugged at the Warlock. “Seems the logical choice.”

“It is two women against four men,” Essätha taunted in agreement.

“What about Rava?” Sul piped in, his empty plate of eggs and bacon pushed aside. “She’s a woman too?”

“A young child,” Essie scoffed.

“Ouch, thanks,” the wild elf sighed, her eyes barely visible beneath her mane of wild hair. “I mean, not that my vote counts according to Essätha, but I’m fine moving ahead too rather than being stuck here for hours because we’re scared Pri’cha might drown, or Pen might melt.”

“Krrr, I think that was a little unnecessary,” the cleric piped up worryingly, their antenna twitching uncomfortably.

To Essie’s right, Amon raised his hand to rest against the Thri-Kreen’s gently with a smile. The comfort from the brief contact seemed to soothe Pri’cha’s unease as they visibly relaxed, taking up their spoon to start nibbling on the bowl of fruit in front of them once more.

“Sounds like we’ve got a plan,” Essätha reaffirmed once more, getting up from her seat. A commotion of murmurs moved throughout the group, but no open defiance or objections emerged.

“Meet at the front door in about fifteen minutes?” Pri’cha suggested in a friendly, up-beat voice. Again- a series of murmurs, this time a few head nods.

Thankful that for once a simple decision didn’t escalate into a squabble, Essätha left the table to head down the hall to the inn’s residency. The empty lobby was freezing; worse than the dining room. At least there her companions had been huddled around the same table, creating an environment of warmth. Alone the air went from uncomfortable to frigid.

She gathered loose articles of clothing and any items left atop the dresser in the room she’d slept in last night. It was peaceful; almost too easy to forget what they were traveling for. Sometimes in the quietest part of the morning, or the moments right before she fell asleep, she liked to believe that those moments were eternal. She’d wake up huddled in blankets, with an arm draped around her and quiet snoring and know she’d eventually roll out of bed to discover a fresh bright morning with the promise of a hot meal. Nothing else; no battles to be won, no strenuous walks, no struggles, no faces to peer into wondering if they’d be the next to stab you in the back or die under your protection.

The cold and heaviness made her shoulders slump. Essätha sighed, staring blankly down at her Bag of Holding. The nip in the air was making everything feel more melancholy than usual.

Though she had not closed the door, there was a gentle rapping at the jamb. The Yuan-Ti woman turned to see the outlined shadow of the man standing close to the ajar doorfame, unsure if he should let himself in.

Essie passed a lopsided smile. “You may come in, m’lord Amon.”

Her nobleman granted her a shy grin. “I didn’t want to startle you by rushing in.”

“Nonsense; you couldn’t have. I’m fairly attuned to the manners in which you walk.”

Only when the words escaped her did she realize how alien and strange they sounded. She trembled all over, reaching around to rub idly at her arm. For all that brief time her gaze tore aware, she missed the gaze of longing and swell of joy in Amon’s face as he looked her over.

“Am I really so loud?” he joked.

“No; even with your boots, you are very… precise. Measured,” she informed him softly, folding over the top of her other pack containing her clothes. “You’re very regal and aware of yourself even when you’re not.”

A scoff drew her attention back. At a glance, she could see something in his eyes. A swirling in the ocean of his eyes; another storm building.

“I like it. I feel safer hearing you; knowing you’re near.”

Like he had suddenly sprouted wings, the man was transformed and flew out of his ravine. His face lit up with warmth as he studied her. She felt a weakness fall over her beneath his gaze.

Amon stepped forward, his elation dispersing to mild alarm. “Essie, you’re shivering.”

“Am I?” She gazed down at herself. She wasn’t sure if she should tell him it was quite possibly from her inherit reaction to him. The way he made her feel sometimes overwhelmed her in ways she couldn’t explain.

His frowned deepened, creasing his forehead. “You’re not catching cold, are you?”

“Uh- no I don’t think so, it’s just bitterly nippy today.”

“Nippy,” the nobleman chuckled, “this is warm compared to how cold it’s liable to get.”

Essätha pouted, whining. “Don’t tell me that...”

“Here, come here.”

She watched as he opened his arms, unfurling the heavy fabric of his cloak with a rustle. There was no sense of apprehension in the way her heart stuttered. It was longing that made her heartstrings twist into pretzel knots.

Pretending as though he had asked her of some minor inconvenience, the sorceress huffed and trudged her way across the room. By the time she had crossed the space between him and was nearly in his arms, the smell of his cologne was now coiling around her. He smelled like leather, vetvier, and a hint of fresh cut wood. Something about it reminded her of Briarton; with its homey atmosphere, the muddy riverbanks smelling of earth and dampness and grass, and of the imposing treeline.

She shuffled the remainder of the way into Amon’s arms and he embraced her without hesitancy. It was effortless to succumb to his requests, and to the feelings she had with him. Harder to say them aloud. A sigh escaped her, letting of to rest in his arms.

Essätha leaned into him as he pulled her close. Now she shivered; surrendering. The strength of his arms captured her into safety, holding her with tenderness and care. The feel of the weight of his cloak as it tumbled around her sides like a shield. She pressed her face into his collarbone, nuzzling against him. Pressed this close, she could hear the gasp catch in his throat, and the feeling of his heartbeat jolting into a stride then a sprint against her. His hands; rough and weathered and bordering cruel, were delicate and cautious as he rubbed her back.

All sorts of feelings tangled together at once. The heat of his body; a save haven, a physical wall of warmth and muscles and hard lines. The blanket of him surrounding her; a guardian on duty. The prominent craving always scratching at her ribcage as her pulse ran wild beneath his touch; desiring the whispered promises every caress gave her. All the hope she had built up, wanting just this very thing, day after day, morning after morning; a ritual she could always reliably and comfortably know would be there. This was it. This was all of the things she wanted and needed, and the very thing she had just wished for; to have each moment, each day. Let it last. Let nothing become of this.

She leaned into his side. Amon took her weight easily; strong and brave and gracious as a gentleman he was. Her lungs grabbed at him; breathed him in deeper as she clung to him hungrily. All the world and her possessions she’d give for this. What more she would willingly give up to have a little more; the brush of his lips, the taste of his skin beneath her lips? Her quivering increased.

Her nobleman whispered something in her hair she could not truly make out, but she had heard her name, gruff and darling and affectionate. It bathed her in warmth. It was not for her eyes to see, buried in his chest, the awe in the rounded pupil’s of Amon’s as he looked at her. Watched her; the fondest and most adoring smile pulling on his lips. Shocked to have her there with him, sharing this moment. Slowly, as she hid herself away in his chest, he rested his chin on the top of her head.

A grateful groan ricocheted off the back of her throat. “Gods, I wish you’d never let me go…”

Essätha could feel the thick swallowing in the jump of his throat against her.

“I never will.” So quiet his words; so deep the rasp of his voice it reverberated from his chest into hers.

She bit her lip, briefly, before timidly teasing: “You’ll have to let go sometime.”

A rumble moved through him, and her nobleman clutched to her a little tighter. He didn’t seem to like her comment. His reaction made her swallow back a shocked squeak of surprise; nevertheless, eager and happy as always to have him close. She closed her eyes, absorbing him. Taking in every precious second of this solitude; of this moment they shared.

A soft clearing of someone’s throat, and they peeled away from each other in a chaotic lurch.

Face looked between the pair of them, a twinkle in his eye as he rested a hip against the doorway. There was a sort of smugness even in the lack of seeing his full expression that oozed from his posture. Essie was willing to bet there was a smug little grin hiding beneath the mask covering the majority of his visage.

“You two need me t’a close the door?” he offered.

Amon narrowed his eyes, his arms loosely still around her as he pulled her back in. “No.” His posture was rigid against her as she moved back in, almost defensive.

The Hunter sniggered, waving a hand as he withdrew himself from the wall. “I volunteered to fetch you two lollygaggers; everyone’s been waitin’.”

Essätha gasped. “Oh- gosh okay, I didn’t realize the time.” She turned her eyes up to her nobleman’s. “I’ve got our things together, we should join the others-”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”

“We could get you some warmer things…”

“She can borrow one o’ my shirts?”

Amon threw a look of murderous fury Face’s way that practically shot daggers.

“I’ll be fine, really,” she reassured the two aloud, although mostly kept her eyes locked upon the nobleman’s. She offered him a sweet smile, easing most of the tension from his body.

Face shrugged, and politely offered a slight bow from the waist in her direction. “As you wish, Miss Essätha. We’ll be seein’ you an’ Amon shortly then-” With that, the Tiefling sauntered his way down the hall and out of sight.

Almost immediately, Amon let out an exasperated growl in the man’s direction.

“Oh, stop it,” Essie scolded, gently squeezing his forearm. “We are holding everyone else up.”

“No I-… As if you would wear his things,” the nobleman muttered, his face pink as though he were flustered. He avoided her gaze as she tried seeking his eyes out.

Men were so confusing sometimes.

Sighing, the sorceress leaned in a final time, hesitating. She relented to simply giving him a peck on the cheek before pulling herself totally free of the solace and comfort of his arms, taking only his hands. She gave them a squeeze.

“M’lord?”

Now, he met her eyes. A smile spread once more on his face, easing around his eyes. He squeezed her fingers back tightly.

“Would it help if you walked under my cloak today?”

As if you would wear his things.

Heat blossomed in her face; a shining light appearing to emerge from her eyes. “I’d like that a lot,” she whispered, leaning in as though it was a secret just between the two of them. She would very much like to wear her nobleman’s things.

A blush deepened on Amon’s face, and she felt giddy that perhaps he had been reassured by the unspoken words. It was certainly an attractive idea…

Amon looked over her features with admiration before glancing swiftly away, as though a guilty child caught doing something he shouldn’t have. It was puzzling; her lips parted, head tilted, observing him in turn. How curious, the nature of things they shared- and have yet to- between each other.

She wiggled her fingers, relinquished of a grip that left her empty inside. They parted ways to grab their belongings in silence.

Pausing before the door, the rugged gentleman offered a sweeping gesture of his arm. “Lady’s first.”

Essie giggled, faking a curtsy. “Well thank you.”

Grinning from ear to ear, Amon shut the door behind him, catching the open invitation of her side to wrap his arm; and his cloak, around as they headed down the hall linked at the hip.

[qhostqizmo]

In Perfect Union (mini)

What was more righteous than this; the harmony of belonging, the unguarded vulnerability of being seen, of feeling whole and treasured despite the ugliness of flaws hidden within? There was not a choir of saints to accompany the peace; no flawless dreamscape, no Gods or gates of white wonder to set the scene that this was heaven. The limitless depth of his eyes; dark as the oceans ran to inky indigo the deeper you went, were her declaration of eternity. She loved everything about them; from the soul connected through them shining outward, to the reflections of the world that looked cut with glistening clarity of the rarest blue diamond. Everything was wonderful, in those eyes.

It should be alarming to Essätha, how near those eyes were. Her awareness was of his forehead pressed to hers, and to where the rugged almost coarse feeling of his palms blanketed hers. The heat of his breath was enticingly close. She could feel each exhale sweep across her skin, chasing shivers down her spine. Every impulse pulled on her. Just a little closer, it wouldn’t hurt anything. Her being would fall a little more into those eyes where nothing bad could happen to her. There would only be her ache for him left; her love for him; joy and warmth and nothing else, nothing but security and happiness and him.

He spent much of his youth searching for someone to love him; a woman to share his affections and life with, little knowing she'd find her way to him and to his doorstep when he needed love the most. It was almost as if destiny itself had stepped in, and finally, finally granted him an answer to all his pain and suffering; had finally listened to his prayers. Things he never knew he needed, parts of himself he never knew he wanted to grow and prosper were flourishing. He was alive again for the first time since he was a naive child, clinging to his innocence.

Whatever brought his angel to him, Amon was grateful. She was here; warm and soft, a graceful, beautiful tangle of contradictions and chaos, ferocity and strength and intelligence and humour. She was everything and more that his heart longed for. He was found; standing in the sunlight cast off her eyes glittering with light and hope. It was reflex to curl his fingers tighter around her hand, to clutch to her with everything he had. Hues of the world blurred together, and he was obsessed with the aroma of strawberry, peony, and jasmine traveling off her skin. It arose a hunger from him not unlike an animal; he wanted to devour her until she was in his blood, in his bones, buried in his chest where he would not have to share her; where he could protect her.

This moment was no different than the private intimacy of any other, yet the forceful tug on her heartstrings grew unbearable. Essie’s breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat as they both shifted forward; his musk and burnt amber and freshly chopped pine wood invasive on her senses. Beneath the fan of her draping eyelashes she could see his own fall lower. The shift of his blackened pupils moved over her face and she was drawn closer in, a willing victim to the abyss. She wanted to conquered by it. She wanted to exist no where else.

A helpless whimper echoed in his throat, and he could taste the hesitancy in the air. So close yet so far; the tip of his nose brushing her cheek and the caress of the back of his hand against her neck. He could feel the goosebumps on her shoulder as his hand traveled further down her, discovered the sudden ridge of scales rising to meet his touch. He paused to hold her there; anchoring his fingertips where she felt the most loathsome unflinchingly. Nothing could chase him away from her; nothing would make him stop wanting her, adoring her, longing for her. Nothing.

They move in at the same time; waiting for no questions when the answers were clear right before them. It was a gentle caress and nothing more; born from yearning. It was not enough, sweet and light and perfectly budding of what was to bloom.

Her nobleman pulls her in in the same second she comes crashing closer. Essätha gasps weakly into the heat of him and his mouth; all passion and tenderness and raw edges of hunger. She’d been bridling her fondness and impulses for him for so long that the freedom to kiss him as he kissed her was overwhelming. The euphoria left her with tingles; goosebumps dotting up and down her body as she folded her arms around him and he anchored her to his chest; his rough hands against her spine. Her willpower melted like frost beneath a blazing sun. A softened, breathy exclamation of pleasure fled her in the brief moment they parted for air and her fingers found the roots of his hair to angle him and press closer; his beard scraping against her delicate skin.

Amon was immediately enamored by soft love-bites and the sudden shifts from timid to assertive. He smothered her; willing her into every line of his body as though her curves would chisel through his broken might. She molded to him eagerly; filled the cracks and crevices, made him anew. Her lips against his, the tease of her tongue, the scrape of her teeth and sweetness of her mouth and he was gone. The magnetic attraction that they had fought off so long to keep from colliding was gone and now there was nothing left to stop him from giving her everything. All that he had. Against his body, hers lay, like a warm, soft star. She lit him up. She was the center of life in his world.

Every noise was a melody; another note to the chorus of the song to their story. One moan shadowed another. They were engulfed in fire; in roaming hands warming and grabbing for each other, wanting closer. Pressed into each other wasn’t nearly enough; it would never be enough no matter how tightly they held hip to hip, chest to chest, interlocked. The ravenous appetite could be sedated, but never quite fulfilled; always rushing back for more, always wanting to straining to fill the ache of wanting inside by pulling the other tighter and tighter and tighter to becoming complete.

Huffing and panting for air, Amon ghosted little pecks to the sorceress trembling lips as her chest breathlessly rose and fell for air. Heaven was a place on earth, and it was here. Heaven was where she was; his personal angel. He grew fascinated by by the tickle of her breath against his nape, by the smooches along his beard, by the brush of her smile beneath his chin. He loved her. He loved her so much that it was less than life to be without her; that a moment without her presence was to not be at all.

“I love you, Essie.”

It was a barely audible husky whisper pressed to her ear as her nobleman nestled against her. The first words to break the whirlwind of feelings and grabbing hands and yearning. A shudder overtook Essätha; bodily claiming her. What lovely words, from such an equally captivating man. She did more than trust him; his loyalty, his faithfulness, his steadfast resolve; she believed him. As much as she depended on his strength, his resolve; as often as she knew he would be there when she turned a corner no matter how hard the day or unpleasant she behaved, he was there. He would always be there, just as the gravity that had drawn them together since the very first day. Just like the draw that had lead them to meeting at the same moment, in the same space and time, unquestioningly, searing kiss to searing kiss.

“I love you too, m’lord Amon.”

And like all great magics spun with love, the distance between two was shorted into one more lingering kiss, blocking out the world in a crystal clear vision where only the other belonged and stood, in perfect union.

[qhostqizmo]

Little Slice of Heaven

“I would like to be left alone, Theophilus.”

“Come now Lord Amon, no one likes to be left alone.”

A quiet growl rumbled in the nobleman’s throat. His head whipped around, turning a piercing gaze towards the statesman. The corner of his lip peeled back in a snarl nearly feral in nature, prompting the gentleman to hastily take a step back.

“Well I do,” he opposed in a thick tone.

The mousy broad-bellied man shifted sheepishly before him, trying to shrink their figure inward. “P-Please m’lord- you will be rejoining after recess, won’t you?”

“I will need a moment to consider if I shall; or if your wingbagged alias has the ability to be silent and allow someone else to speak at these proceedings, before I pass judgment on that matter.”

“You’re being fatuous, m’lord-”

Amon exhaled sharply. His nostrils flared, the shape of his shoulders growing broader as his spine stiffened. The nobleman peered down at the politician as he spoke in an ominous whisper: “I am being sensible, Master Theophilus. If I waste my time any longer in a room full of arrogant rambling administrators, then I am wasting the time of my territory and those who seek my authority and guidance to protect and serve it. I do not have the hour to sit and be spoken over by the likes of Roulf Boude or Claudia Fulvianus, or any of the like with their hubris and tactless greed. I have other obligations that demand my attention, and when everyone has finally settled into peaceful discussion and respectably appropriate delegations, I would be happy to seek audience again.”

“But for now,” he rumbled, taking a step forward, “I suggest that you go, Theo. I need space to think, and I have responsibilities to attend to and contracts to review and sign. So if you do not mind getting off of my property, and allowing me to go undisturbed into my home-”

Nodding vigorously, the short and stout Theo began to retreat in a backwards scuttle off the Briarton Estate’s pathway. “Yes sir, of course sir, I hope we’ll see you s-soon sir-”

Amon grunted to himself, turning away with a dramatic flick of his cloak. Unlikely.

Bricks laid out the foundation of the walkway to the manor. Within the cracks along some of the blocks; squeezing with determination between slots, a few common wild violets had taken root. He took care not to step on any of them as the tenacious little flowers guided him to the threshold. A strong scent from the house-hugging flora greeted him as he breathed in deeply, opening the heavy oak door. The geranium’s and hydrangea were in bloom, competing each other for dominance in the landscape. They also had a delightful calming effect before stepping in; taking in the range of colors and relaxing scents they provided in the mellow summer breeze.

“Lord Amon?”

“Yes, it’s me,” he called out, shutting the door softly behind.

A young maid stepped around the corner, offering a bow. “Would you like an afternoon snack, my lord?”

“Not at the moment, thank you.”

She curtsied. “Very well milord. Call if you need anything.”

He nodded shortly, sliding the dense mantle from his shoulders to drape over his arm. The nobleman watched the young woman retreat as he stepped further into the foyer, the sound of claws scrambling hastily coming from the east side of the house.

Sighing, he anchored his boots to the floor just as Caesar came barreling from the gallery room. The great mastiff skidded into his knees, letting out one of his tremendous bellowing barks that filled the entire space with his eagerness. He gave a butt wiggle that shook in tandem with his tail, leaving Amon to chuckle as he reached down to scratch the hunting dog’s ears.

“A very dignified entry Caesar,” he reported as the pooch groaned with pleasure. “How’s my good boy?”

“Arf.”

“Excellent. Have you been out recently?”

The hairy beast of a creature gave a mighty shake, sitting upon his hunches. He tilted his head, panting heavily up at his master.

“Outside?” Amon asked, patting his head.

A simple whine answered him as Caesar stood up, circling his legs eagerly.

He pat his thigh, signaling for the mastiff to follow. The duo made their way into the gallery room; no longer a dull space of gray stone with only the taxidermy stuffed game to bare their teeth in greeting. Paintings lined the wall; and the new throw rug added a splash of color and pattern to the otherwise uninspiring space. A few seating arrangements had been added, along with a card table and sculptures. There were still a few bare spaces, particularly near the south-side of the room, but that was Part D of a rather extensive project to liven various areas of the house.

Crossing through the identified ‘man cave’ of the lower level, Amon entered the kitchen with Caesar fast at his heels. He propped open the door to the backyard with his foot, allowing the dog to bolt through with a delighted series of yelps as he chased off the closest songbirds rooting the grass for insects.

“Afternoon, milord.”

“Afternoon-” he barely managed to utter, catching just a glimpse of the houseaid before she disappeared into the extended pantry. He cleared his throat: “Would you mind listening to let Caesar in? I’m going to head upstairs.”

“Certainly milord; not a problem.”

“Thank you Carla.”

He took the way back in which he came, passing through the dark-lit interior of the ‘men’s sanctuary’ and into the gallery. His gaze passed the portrait of Fontane to his right; no longer lonely with canvas work added of loved one’s now passed. It was a small memorial space; with pressed lily flowers in frames and a few plaques quoting heartfelt quotes. A large branch had been recently anchored to the wall, with hollow holes allowing small metal dishes to sit sustaining candles. There were even some recent additions he hadn’t seen until this moment: peace lilies added to the vase at the corner nook table, and a new ivy plant along the bottom of the branch.

A twinge of pain radiated through his chest. Pressing his fingers to his lips, Amon blew a kiss to the beaming expression of Marie looking back at him before he moved on.

The Illiad heir hopped up the stairs with a spring in his step, meeting the second landing. Sunlight cascaded past the curtains, the smell of the central courtyard garden entering the open windows. He picked up on the rustling coming from the sitting room just ahead before he saw a figure moving quickly into the doorway.

“M’lord- Oh… Do you want to talk about what happened? You look stressed my love.”

Amon absorbed her appearance; soaking her in like flora to sunshine. The smile that graced her face upon first glance faded quickly with a knit of her worried brow. Shadows fell over her golden eyes like clouds blocking rays of the sun. She fiddled her fingers in front of the pale blush off-the-shoulder shirt she wore; cinched at the waist, with ruffled short-length sleeves. It was a pleasant rosy hue, making the shade of her skintone appear deeper, more a rich brown.

She was a breath of fresh air, deep in the depths of his lungs. He slid his feet forward slowly, finding her arms instantly open to welcome him into her embrace.

He inhaled the faded aroma of soap in her loose black curls, pulling her in close to rock from side to side. The shape of her was a familiarity to him; warm and soft, curving into his frame with the same shade of longing he felt beneath his ribcage.

His wife pressed her lips to the ticklish skin below his ear, and he chuckled.

“Rough day, beloved?”

“Vexing,” he agreed heavily, “but it’s already feeling a bit better.”

“Well I’m happy to hear that,” she hummed. “Can I get you anything? Was the summit dreadful?”

“A mockery Essie; truly. I’ve rarely dealt with such immature individuals. Would you care to join me when we reconvene? I could use your sharp tongue.”

Essätha pulled her head back to arch her brow, a playful smile on her face. “That depends; am I kissing you with it or spearing someone else?”

Amon’s eyes widened with surprise. “Quite the spirited tease today, darling.”

“I do enjoy a good game,” she admitted, reaching back around to pat his chest. “While you were out I went ahead and assessed the contracts Edger sent us; triple-checked them a few times. Our ledges and estimates all seemed in order and correct, but I didn’t sign anything until you oversaw it just in case.”

“You could have, you know I trust you.”

“I know, but I love hearing you read contracts aloud in that sexy deep droning voice of yours.” She winked at him as he chuckled, venturing onward, “besides, it’s a team effort. I would rather you catch my mistakes now than later down the road.”

The nobleman grinned, staring down into her smiling face. He leaned forward, basking in the glory of the way her breath hitched expectedly, and how her lashes fluttered low. She slid her arms around his neck to dig her fingers through his air as his lips brushed hers. A shaky exhale escaped her, waiting patiently, until he pressed closer for a more earnest kiss.

They separated slowly, with her eyes peering up at him beneath dark lashes. The sorcereress dropped her hands from around him, and grabbed gently at his bicep.

“Come, sit with me.”

Amon let go of his noblewoman, allowing her to take his hands instead. She guided him back into the sitting area where she had come from, walking at an angle so her eyes could remain holding his. It was a holy experience, following someone cut from the heart of divinity. He would follow her blindly anywhere, anywhere at all. She was in his blood, in his heart, the sun in his eyes glistening so brilliantly; she was everywhere he wanted to be, the only longing he could not live without.

“You’ve had a long enough day already,” Essie urged sweetly, taking a seat upon the sofa. She pat the spot beside her with her free hand. “Rest.”

He obeyed her willingly, obliging by sinking gently into the cushion beside hers.

She carefully detangled her hand from his. Her fingers brushed against the side of his face and up, pushing stray hairs away from his forehead. His eyes darted over her, watching as she indicated a sweeping gesture over her lap. An invitation.

Once more, loyal and willing, he began to drift towards her. Bunching his knees in, Amon kept his boots mostly off the clean couch by dangling his ankles off to the side as he rolled inward. Scooting and wriggling, he steadied himself to flat on his back, head in her lap, looking up into the vibrant joyful expression peaking down at him. Her smile was stunning; making an already beautiful woman ethereal in ways that slackened his jaw. It was a small gesture, but it softened around her eyes as the edges of her cheeks rounded.

“Wow,” he cooed, “you look incredible from every view.”

Essätha scoofed at him, the bridge of her nose wrinkling in disagreement. “Hussssshh…”

Leaning forward, she grazed her fingertips through his locks. She combed hair back from his forehead, stroked along his eyes, and rubbed the pads of her fingers near his temples.

A groan rose up in his throat, his eyelids falling to half-mast in bliss.

Softly, Essie began to hum. It almost felt as though it was filling his chest; radiating into his ribcage and bouncing around like an orchestra in a cathedral. Amon sighed heavily, allowing the heaviness in his body to drift away as he succumbed to her touch more and more.

She began to whisper slowly a hymn. He understood none of it, but he didn’t have to. Whatever the lyrics were, they were words of an angel, and of love. The words fell into a melody as her voice higher; louder, sweeter. It was not just the celestial tongue that had him so smitten, or the nature of the words. It was her body language that captivated him; the tenderness that poured out of her, the enormity of her compassion and unbridled will of strength.

Gods themselves would weep, hearing something so precious.

He melted; enamored and adoringly staring up into the halo of the sun that was wreathing her head. It was all so dreamy; so beyond what mortals could be capable of. Her touch was a saint’s blessing, carding through mane of fading-black. Her nails scrapped against his hairline; her palms rubbed metric gestures that seemed to coordinate with the rise and fall of her chorus against the side of his head. He imagined he could close his eyes and drift away to sleep; the most comfortable slumber he’d ever have, if he wasn’t so stubbornly enticed to being aware and there in the waking world with her. No fantasy’s ever did justice on the fascination and depth that resided in her soul. Nothing compared to the reality that was being beside her.

Clearing his throat, he reached up to cup the side of her face, sweeping his thumb against her jawline. “I’m in awe of you a little more every day,” he mouthed, breathing deeply.

Essie laughed shyly. “People are going to think I’m charming you with talk like that,” she teased.

“You are quite charming.”

“M’lord Amon.”

“Even when you say my name with disapproval, it’s still the most enchanting thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You’re love-drunk,” the sorceress murmured, ghosting her lips intimately along his palm, and down to his wrist.

“I have been,” he agreed in a lulled hush. “I have been for a long time, and I couldn’t be happier.”

“Do you not want a cure?” she mused, massaging her fingertips from behind his ears down to his neck.

A shiver rushed over him. “You are my cure. I love being intoxicated by you. You relax me, and you challenge me. You make me stronger, and you bring me to my knees. Your wit and charm make me feel invincible and intelligent, while also humbling me that I still can always learn more from you. I am in a constant state of balance and bliss, when you are by my side.”

Her eyelids dropped a little lower as he spoke, while her smile grew broader. Essie skimmed her touch from his forehead through his hair and back, making his groan again.

“I love you.”

“I love you too Essie, so much.”

“I love you just as much,” she whispered, huddling over to give him a peck on the cheek.

Amon tilted his head a few degrees, allowing her hands to comb through a different section of his hair. His eyelids drifted a bit lower as she began to pick up the tune to the song she had been singing, the angelic lines floating through the air, giving harmony to his heartbeat.

Sighing, the nobleman nuzzled his face into her thighs, reaching around to wrap an arm around her waist. She half-giggled, continuing to sing as he peaked up at her from her abdomen, admiring the most gorgeous woman in all of the world. His home, his heart, the entire pillar of his contentment hindered on that soft, private smile made just for him. This moment alone with her reminded him of the true meaning of life: at the end of the day, love was all that mattered, and it would conquer all else… Even if all it had to overcome was the brief stormcloud of his sour mood. It never stood a chance against Essätha Illiad; vanquisher of darkness, and keeper of his heart.

[qhostqizmo]

There’s only one person like you (mini)

and I like that person a lot

“We’re not just going to fight our way into an aristocrats house, no matter how annoying and rude they may be.”

“They called you a demon, Adela. They called me a demon.”

“You didn’t look that insulted, Face.”

“I’m not,” the blue-toned Tiefling replied to the pink one. “They could have come up with a more clever insult. But! They weren’t display good manners. All I’m saying is: we could definitely overpower their guards, and get the audience we’re warranted.”

“Or we could look for another way in, and I could pick the lock,” Ravamora jumped in, a spunky little grin on her face. Her ears drooped a little as all eyes turned upon her. “What? I could.”

“It is not healthy to have such a big ego, niss,” Pri’cha scolded. “It’s even worse when it is about committing a crime!”

“Okay so if we’re not breaking and entering, and we’re not beating anyone up, why can’t I speak to them? Nobility to nobility. You know, since Amon’s a nobody now.”

“Watch yourself, Lord Korvis.”

“Fuck off Amon.”

“What did you say to me-”

Sighing heavily, Sulhadur stepped between the duo. Smoke plumed up from his nostrils as he gave each of the men a steady glance. “Let’s not start a fight right now.”

“I had no intentions to,” Amon replied, adjusting the sleeves of his tunic. He glowered at the high-elf, snarling like a bear. “We know exactly what Penimra would like to be inside.”

“… You’re not wrong-”

“First of all: ew,” Adela cut in. “Secondly: we need a real plan. We already set ourselves up on a bad impression. If we wait around, maybe we’ll be able to meet them when they leave their manor to go do something?”

“That could take days,” Essätha finally chimed in.

“Got any better ideas?”

The Yuan-Ti sorceress met the Tiefling sorceress’ gaze. The later quirked a brow at the former, waiting.

Essie’s jaw ached as she ground her teeth together. They really knew how to dig their own pit, but climbing out of it was another thing. She looked to her nobleman, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder with reassurance. Some of his tension evaporated as his posture relaxed, but he still continued to glower at Pen from his place behind the Dragonborn paladin. The warlock showed his maturity by opening his maw to stick out his tongues at Amon like a child. The ex-nobleman growled and rolled his eyes.

“I do have… a thought,” Essätha admitted. “It’s only a little illegal though.”

The youngest elf-child’s eyes blew up. “Share?”

“Niss.”

“No no, listen-” she reached into her bag, pulling out a single coin. The others watched as she turned it over in her fingers. As it flipped, the gold piece flashed in the lighting, revealing on one of its sides the face of Queen Morwen.

“I did not speak with this baron, so they do not know what I look like. A bit of gold dust on my scales, and I think I might be able to pretend to be related to Her Majesty herself. A cousin, perhaps. I would like to see the man turn away someone related to the Queen of Etheron himself without wetting himself  first.”

“Impersonation of royalty? That’s bold, even for you.”

Essie shrugged at Adela’s remark. “It could work.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Come on, Sul-”

“No.”

The air was ripped from Essätha’s lungs. Her head turned to look towards Amon, utterly shocked at his tone.

Face surprised her next; the only one able to find their voice as everyone turned to look at Briarton’s Protector with silently stunned faces: “Ya know, I agree with Master Illiad. Normally I wouldn’t worry, but since we are under orders of the Crown, ya wouldn’t just get a slap on the wrist or some fines for that kind of lie. That’s some series misleading, especially in relation to someone so important.”

A moment of quiet discomfort passed. Rava raised her hand. “So, I get to pick a lock then?”

“What is with this sassy baby child and her crimes?”

“Don’t forget I’m the one who got you your telescope, old man.”

“What did you call me?”

Choosing to disregard the bantering, the sorceress fidgeted beside the ex-nobleman. She took her hand from his shoulder silently to fiddle with her fingers.

“Essie…”

She peaked over at Amon. He reached for her hand. She did not pull away, and he gave a sigh of relief quietly as he slipped his fingers against hers. His callouses were rough against her tender palms.

“I’m only disagreeing with you because I know how serious the consequences for such a fabricated spread of misinformation could be,” he explained. “I don’t want to see you hurt, or imprisoned, or dead.”

A nod. “I understand.”

He grimaced in a way that suggested he wasn’t sure he believed her.

Essätha graced him with a half-smile. “It’s alright. I probably would not make a very good Lady Etheron, anyway. It would be a shame upon Queen Morwen’s good name.”

Amon shifted uncomfortably, his throat jumping as he swallowed deeply. “I never said I didn’t think you could pull it off,” he disagreed softly. “But I prefer Essätha Meduza to a pretend Lady Etheron any day.”

Her face grew flush. The bottom of her chin trembled as he lower lip wobbled. Words were lost on her, but she opened her mouth regardless, knowing something would come spilling out-

Rava fist-pumped the air a bit too close though, startling the Yuan-Ti woman.

“Let’s do a heist!”

Face nodded. “Be gay, do crimes,” they remarked sagely.

Essie offered a quirky half-smile towards her nobleman instead. “I guess we know which option we were outvoted on.”

Amon groaned, dragging his free hand over his face. “I am never going to be respected in this community again-”

The sorceress laughed softly, stepping closer to him. She carded her fingers through his hair, allowing him to momentarily lull his head over to rest against her arm.

“I may not be an Etheron heiress, but I could probably talk you back into anyone’s good graces.”

A delightfully warm smile greeted her as Amon pulled his head back up. He tightened his grasp on her hand, meeting her eyes with a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t doubt that for a moment.”

[qhostqizmo]

A Well Earned Break

Amon couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been to a pub as dynamic and energetic as this place. Every bench and seat in the building was occupied from one end to another. A few women even boldly took it upon themselves to sit at the edge of bar’s counter. Row after row of table tucked from corner to corner, wall to wall, were covered in dishes and empty tankards; leaving attendants and maidens to hustle swiftly in and fetch them for cleaning. It was messy, it was loud, and it smelled like sweat, liquor, and strong perfume.

Beneath his boots, peanut shells crunched. A few surface-spots stuck to his heels, causing them to peel up from the floor with a sticky squeak. A young woman caught his wandering eye as he stood uncomfortably off the side. She slanted him a smile; her ruby-red lips puckering into a kiss she blew his way with a wink. He quickly adverted his eyes upon spotted the jade beaded bracelet on her wrist. Many individuals throughout the tavern appeared to be wearing the same piece of jewelry, and the symbolize didn’t go without his notice. Different places did different things: sometimes earrings, or neckties, or bracelets, or tattoos; but he recognized a pattern such as that in a venue such as this. It he wanted a ‘good time’, at least he knew where to look.

Face and Penimra already found laps to occupy instead of stools. Even wearing masks, both appeared to be in the same state of bliss: hooded eyes, heads tilted to lean forward with intent, curious hands exploring the surface of the gentleman’s chests they sat on. Their company’s wrists each had the same glistening beaded bracelet as the lady who had previously been giving him a lingering gaze.

He grimaced and looked to his side where Sulhadur stood. The red Dragonborn wasn’t that hard to pick apart. Young; almost innocent, Sul kept his own eyes fixated on the floor and quickly turned away from any approaching curious individuals. If he’d been human, he’d probably have a face as crimson as his the scales on his body were.

Pitying the poor lad, Amon placed a hand upon his shoulder. The sprouting Paladin turned his snout quizzically towards him.

“We don’t have to stay here, Sul. You and I can go, if you’re not comfortable.”

They swallowed nervously. “Maybe-” he choked, turning to shake his head at a Tiefling who begun  sauntering over. She had a lovely figure; no bracelet, and a sullen expression to be so quickly shot down.

Amon snorted back laughter. Tall, youthful, and clearly in good physical health; Sul had caught a lot of eyes rather quickly. They were fresh faces to this region, and a great many intrigued local gazes were trying to size them up for a snack. Sul however seemed more content to be a solitary fish rather than school in the haze of breeding swarms. The ex-nobleman wasn’t sure if he was simply naive, shy, indifferent to the art of sensuality; or all of the above.

“Let’s move around the room,” he offered, “Face and Lord Korvis appear to have this area covered.”

“Good idea.”

Exhaling with relief, Sul trailed at his side as they roamed through the tightly people-packed spaces of the room. A couple of men they passed were being torn apart from a drunken brawl, and there were was an intense beginning of an orgy between a handful of individuals at another table they passed. Some girls giggled; shamefully young for the crowd of old men they were giving their attention to, but the fellow’s looked well-off in their wealth, and women were wearing the jade wristlet as many others. They hit the proverbial jackpot.

Squeezing around a chatty group, Sulhadur’s shoulder collided with Amon’s. He looked up to say something, seeing the eagerness in the Dragonborn’s expression as he looked off. Training his eyes in the same direction, he looked upon a group of individuals who managed to lay claim to a rickety table. The various races were all snarling and chuckling, a board game in front of them Amon recognized as seeing a few times: jump chess.

“I haven’t gotten to play in ages,” the Dragonborn whisper-shouted, his gaze glittering.

Amon winced internally, dreading the idea of pacing around alone. That was his selfishness talking though…

He indicated with a wave towards the group. “Go, introduce yourself. See if they’ll let you in their next game.”

“Why don’t you join me?”

“Jump chess isn’t a particular favorite of mine; besides, I’d probably end up somehow swindled out of coin. You should enjoy yourself now though, like everyone else. Go, I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe you should go look for Pri’cha and the ladies?” Sul offered, something mischievous in his tone. He tilted his maw down; eyes wide and teeth bared in what should have been a grin, but appeared more like a menacing and sadistic smirk. He turned tail; quite literally whacking the tip against the ex-nobleman’s shin, and parted his way through the crowd to the table.

Taking a moment to rub his leg, Amon glimpsed around the room. An older halfling man; probably around his age, wearing jade licked his lips as their gazes jumped to each other. Finding the others sounded like a safer option than standing awkwardly around, alone.

He shuffled his way into the throng; going in the opposite direction of the flirtatious individual. A foot stepped on the edge of his cloak, snagging him backwards as he grumbled and cursed. A half-slurred apology with whisky-scented breath acknowledged him as a shoulder jammed into his ribs. This place was miserably busy; how on Earth did anyone enjoy this sort of atmosphere? And was that the smell of urine coming from the corner of the room? Revolting.

Sure enough, a young lady came whisking by him, trying to balance a full bucket of water and not slash too much of it as another followed with a bristly old mop. The duo cursed and spat at some of their pedestrians, swatting a few towards the door for their behavior. They were about to have their hands full.

Amon sucked in his chest, pulled up his cloak, and slid along the wall to avoid a few drunken fellows to scout along the other side of the pub. His eyes boggled for a moment, spotting Ravamora of all people arm-wrestling a line of folks. A small stash of coin had stacked up in her favor; bets it looked like, and people were howling and hooting as the young elf finally managed to slam down a beefy half-orc’s arm. They growled, shoved back their chair, and immediately the next contestant was taking their place.

Always after a bit of cash, that one. He wondered if she was still somehow cheating to earn it like she had tried on him all those years ago. He sighed, shaking his head.

“Nister Anon!”

Now that was a recognizable voice. Amon strained to listen for its speaker, peering around others knees.

Pri’cha poked a man, squeaking a polite request for them to move. They did, to the ex-nobleman’s surprise. Sometimes he forgot how startling it could be to see a large, sentient bug-like individual in Etheron. When someone such as Pri aimed for your attention, if it wasn’t their wholesome politeness that got you, it was the sheer wondrous oddity of their presence.

“Hello Pri’cha,” he greeted warmly, “having any fun?”

The golden Thri-Kreen’s antenna wriggled. “I an learning a lot about this location’s culture,” they admitted a bit nervously, mandibles twitching. “I do not see Sul, Face, and Pen nith you anynore, nister Anon.”

The ex-nobleman smiled sheepishly, swallowing. “They all found their niche things to do, Pri. What are you doing by yourself? Where is Essie, and Adela?”

“I have been trying to find a barkeep to get drinks! Niss Essie and niss Adela are over there, if you’re looking for them?”

“Do you wish for me to go with you?”

“No thank you, I have enough arms to carry the drinks. I’ve been making friends along the way too, krr.”

A soft smile tugged at his lips. “I’m sure you have Pri.”

“Would you like ne to get you anything?”

“I’m fine, but thank you.”

“Of course. If you’d excuse me-”

“The bar’s that way actually, Pri’cha!” He piped up, pointing far to the left.

The little cleric bounced happily at his aid. “Thank you, nister Anon!”

Chuckling merrily, Amon followed the general direction Pri’cha had pointed to. The bodies of strangers began to thin out and disperse; giving room to more and more space. He began to wonder why, until a few people began to sway around him. Instead of shouting, he could make out a noise he hadn’t paid more attention to or picked up a lot until now: music.

It had a wild swing to it; almost a festival sort of jig. The instruments collided and crashed; they coordinated and collected into a collage. It was certainly an entertaining tune that even he found his foot tapping to as he pushed through the group. Some were stomping their feet and clapping their hands, forming a wall around the band.

Amon poked his head around an elf to see what everyone was staring at.

His jaw dropped wide open.

It wasn’t a sophisticated choreography performed before the orchestra; not like the kind he was often used to, but he’d seen versions of it before. It was wild; a routine not learned, but following the improvisation of the beat. The symphony of the song swelled, and arms raised; feet spinning, hands interweaving and crossing in some foreign move he didn’t know, but immediately was transfixed by, like magic.

He was immersed in how Essätha moved; her rhythm striking with different unexpected cords to create a painting. He blinked as Adela hopped to the forefront; intruding on his vision. He blinked a few times, capable of finding his breath and smiling to himself. The pink Tiefling twirled and spun; gemstones and precious metals flashing in the light of the room radiantly. The noise they gave off almost seemed to add to the music, although was mostly drown out by the cheering and sound of the instruments themselves.

The duo was graceful as they spun towards each other; greeting palm to palm. They ladies grinned; feet gliding around in a circle and drumming against the floor like the beat of the drums. Amon felt a creeping heat in his cheeks as his eyes soaked in Essie’s movements; the sensual twist of her hips as she curled her body away from Adela’s and then back in to bump her hip against hers, laughing.

Her laugh stole the air from his lungs in a pitiful wheeze.

The Yuan-Ti woman swayed and hopped, pivoting and dancing away from some of the more eager individuals of the crowd trying to leap in on the two sorceress’ frolic. She laughed, grabbing Adela’s arm and spinning around and around again as someone reached for the pink Tiefling, dragging her safely away from a boisterous young man eagerly trying to leap in.

Essie was elegant and poised as she moved from heel to toe, drawing the eyes naturally along the flow of her body where the light and shadows broke as she turned the opposite direction. Her movements were not simply dancing, it was an adventure’s storytelling in motion. A chasse turned into a journey to new lands, and her playful heel-turns fleeting from playful outreached hands were both a tease and a sense of character. It said:  I am my own first.

Prancing around each other; sweat on their brows, the two women panted for air as they stopped, facing each other, to swing their hips and drop lower; raising back up to the whooping approval of the crowd. Amon joined a few of the bystandards in clapping. Gods knew dropping that low on bent-knees was probably agony; he’d probably end up on his ass trying anything similar.

Adela swung to the left, and Essätha the right. As they turned, Essie’s shining eyes met his.

Amon felt his heart stutter as his breath stilled. He swore for two heartbeats, he stopped hearing the music altogether as her gaze rounded, and her mouth hung open.

Waving an arm, Essie tip-toed around Adela to bounce his way. “M’lord!”

The color quickly spread over his features. Should he feel guilty and shameful caught staring? There was certainly enough people watching. His throat tightened, and his hands felt clammy and sweaty as he fidgeted stiffly.

“Sorry if my uh, watching ruined your dance.”

“Nonsense, we were trying to encourage Pri to join earlier too but they weren’t interested; something about not knowing the dance?” She laughed weakly, trying to catch her breath. “I tried explaining it’s not really something you learn, you just feel it, but I’m not sure they got it.”

Amon smiled stupidly, his heartbeat galloping. He could feel something just watching her. There was emotion in her movements; passion; joy, happiness, beauty. She made dancing seem raw and intense and damn sensual. He hadn’t been able to tear his gaze away.

It was simple. It was spontaneous. It didn’t make sense; it didn’t necessarily have an order, or a reason, or a professional’s years of study. But when she moved, she was breathtaking.

“You should join us,” Essie encouraged, grabbing at his sweaty palm. She raised her eyebrows suggestively, grinning at him. “You could show off some of your noble moves for me.”

The tightness in his throat increased. The ex-nobleman cough-wheezed, feeling heat and tension gripping his body in a rigid line. Was she teasing him, or flirting with him? Or both?

“I um- I’m okay,” he fumbled, nerves on edge and sweat beading up beneath his clothes. Pelor it was hot in this building. Stuffy. Humid. His skin was growing terribly flush, and he was beginning to feel an uncomfortable amount of sweat between his legs. If his thighs chafed, he was not going to be happy.

She pouted out her lower lip, tugging gently on his arm. “Please?”

How was he supposed to say no to that? His heart ached, even knowing she was messing with him.

“I-” he took a step forward helplessly, “what do I do?”

“You know, just- grind your hips a bit.”

“What?”

A different, more complicated heat and stiffness began to form between his legs. Even worse, the way he moved, the more it rubbed against his inner leg; stuck unpleasantly in place. Hidden, but annoying; and the friction was not helping.

Adela eyed him as Essie encouraged him into the middle of the crowd. She looked him up and down like he was a hair in her drink.

Amon deflated more. So much for confidence.

Giggling warmly, Essätha grabbed for Adela’s hand. The Tiefling instantly brightened a bit, and whirled around with her dance partner with a laugh of her own.

If he could blush and deeper, he’d probably look a lot like Sul; or maybe even darker. He shimmied in a fixed position, uneasy and fearful of his erection becoming noticeable. A couple of individuals in the surrounding semi-circle whispered and outright laughed at him. This was borderline mortifying.

Still…

With the fingers of one of her hands still clasped with Adela’s, Essie reached out for his hand, offering him a dazzling smile.

Yet again he was awestruck; automatically reaching for her hand without thinking. He wanted her touch. He wanted her hand, and the promise of salvation that came with it. Take me with you.

Her dance moves were simple and delightful; lacking a little of the complexity and alluring quality as before. She pulled all three of them into a sort of child-like merry-go-round before bumping her hip to each of theirs; making him grunt and swallow the frog in his throat. She twirled Adela around like she was a princess, and tossed his arm back and forth like they were talking an afternoon walk.

As he waved his arms awkwardly and jumped from leg to leg; certainly the worst excuse for a sober dancer this tavern had ever seen, Essie released his hand, and once again Adela and her began to form their integral duet. He watched more than moved, and then moved even less as they used him as a center-point to spin around. Not the best view from any angle, but gods he wished this was a private session for two instead of room filled with dozens of drunk, loud, rambunctious strangers and the rest of his companions.

Essätha shifted closer; her waist rocking from side to side dramatically, her body dancing to the beat. Amon felt her hip hit his; and she didn’t move as the heated grating of her clothes rubbed against his. He could smell the lavender on her skin; the sweat, the shampoo in her hair. She was close, and warm, and bright and golden and flush…

He began to pray; his lips twitching as his nostrils flared, trying to control his breathing. She made everything intimate and sexy and he was so gods-damn thirsty-

“Niss!! Niss Adela, niss Essätha! I have brought back drinks!”

Perfect timing.

Some of the mass groaned as the cleric presented themself proudly, holding up a tray filled with four mugs.

“I got you a nater too, nister Anon. I thought you night nant a refreshnent.”

Not exactly the sort of thirst he had, but bless that Thri-Kreen and their good life.

“Thank you, Pri,” he grunted, inching forward. Each shuffling movement caused his hard-on to brush against his inner thigh. He pulled his cloak around his frame, hoping to hide the inevitable tenting that was going to start forming.

“Your nating naneuvers were nost superb,” they encouraged, holding up the tray.

“Thank you, Pri,” Adela echoed in a sing-song voice, raising her volume over the ongoing song.

Amon bent a bit to grab for his drink. Essätha, not paying attention as she began to string out a ‘thank you-’ bonked her noggin against his as they huddled close to the cleric.

“Ouch-!”

“Fuck- I’m sorry-”

“You’re fine, it was my fault,” Essie mumbled, tenderly rubbing at her head. She smiled into his gaze warmly.

His brain fritzed out.

He watched as her gaze shot past his face to his trousers. At the slanted viewpoint they were at, she was nearly face-level with them, and his cloak had fallen aside…

The color in her face instantly deepened as she looked away, snatching for her drink.

If she hadn’t been so quick to advert her gaze, he could have convinced himself she saw nothing. As it was, he shakily picked up his water; slopping some onto the floor, and rearranged his clothing, hoping it was mostly an inconspicuous gesture. Fuck he d give anything to fling himself into the void for just a few minutes right now to scream.

“We should go find the boys,” Essätha bluntly announced, clutching her drink close after chugging most of it in a few gulps. “Make sure everyone’s okay.”

Adela eyed her quizzically. “If you’re sure?”

She nodded. “We should see about getting a meal- right Pri?”

“Oh-? Yes, dinner would be nice.”

A curt nod. “Good.”

Offering a gesture, she invited Pri’cha and Adela to take the lead; pushing through a disappointed looking crowd of onlookers. Amon downed his entire glass of water, sweating bullets.

Turning to look up at him, their gazes locked. The heat in his lungs was almost unbearable.

She offered out her hand to him wordlessly. A shy, nervous smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “You comin’?”

He couldn’t resist taking her hand, mutely nodding. Her golden butterscotch eyes were more addictive than the treat they represented.

Her fingers curled; finding the spaces between his. She guided him forward; parting the crowd like a deity’s chosen vessel to speak through. More importantly, assisting him; leading him. To where, he didn’t know, but he was willing to go anywhere, as long as she would be there, too.