#but all i managed to get was the correct spelling in brackets next to it

[ei-mugi]

even though its not even the name i prefer to go by and could be called my deadname every time i see my legal name written or said somewhere i go HUH? THATS ME. my name is common but that doesnt stop me

[warriorofdragons]

Light in the Dark Chapter 4: Tear of Sorrow

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: language, petrified dismemberment (non-bloody, non-gorey, think of the elf woman in the wall and the shield of light guys), grief, trauma

Note: {Övüsi is in these brackets}

“You had an update on the key?” Kandomere asks strolling into the arcane researchers lab.

“I did,” the other elf speaks calmly.

He is already wearing a pair of black gloves and is seated comfortably at his station. The researcher has the black key placed in front of him.

“What can you tell us about it?” Montehugh asks.

The researcher’s gaze calmly shifts to him, “Well, the key is old, several hundred years for certain. And it is made out of obsidian,” he says, picking it up and holding it to his eye. Kandomere can see where the light catches it, that it’s translucent in places. The other elf continues to turn it slowly and then gingerly places it in the flat of his palm.

“Alright, what about the magic? What’s it enchanted with?” Montehugh inquires, gesturing at it. The researcher looks between the two of them. “I have found that it is impervious to fire, but other than that…let’s just say you should be far more worried about what it opens,” he says.

“And what might that be?” Kandomere asks.

The other elf jostles the key in his hand slightly. He then picks it up and gently places it back down on the desk. “A lockbox, and judging by it’s size, I’d say a jewelry lockbox,” the researcher finishes.

Their Bright had mentioned looking for a necklace. And the Brezzik shop keep had mentioned searching for an amulet years ago.

“Could the jewelry in question be an amulet?” Kandomere offers.

“An amulet would definitely be worthy of such magical protection. Though there are more than a few different stories and rumors about the ones that supposedly lie in and around the city,” the researcher responds. Montehugh looks at Kandomere and then slowly looks at the other elf, “What about one’s involving dragons?”

“Dragons?” the researcher asks intrigued.

The topic of dragons keeps coming up.

“Why the most notable amulet rumored to be on the outskirts of the city is the Amulet of the Dragon,” he answers.

“You said it’s made of obsidian, obsidian is also called ‘dragon glass’ if I’m not mistaken,” Montehugh coments.

“You are correct,” the researcher replies. “How interesting,” he then states, looking back down at the key.

“If the amulet is in the lockbox and we have the key, then where is the amulet?” Kandomere questions.

The other elf sighs, “Unfortunately, no one knows for certain, many have tried searching for it and failed. There are even some historians who believe it never left Europe after all. If this key is connected to it, then this may be the most solid lead on its whereabouts anyone has had in a long time.”

“What does it do?” Montehugh asks.

“A great many things: creation and manipulation of fire, augmentation of magic, understanding of Draconic, it is even said one can communicate with dragons over long distances and even command them,” the researcher continues.

“Command over such a creature would entice many ill-willed individuals in to finding it,” Kandomere says.

“Indeed,” the researcher responds, nodding in agreement.

“I wish there was more evidence to support this claim. If you want answers, you may unfortunately, just have to wait and see,” the other elf says coolly.

“Have it placed back in containment when you’re finished. We don’t want word we have it slipping out,” Kandomere says.

“Certainly,” the researcher replies.

And with that the two leave him to his work.

                                                                   *******

You step on to the elevator next to an orcish woman and are about to push the button for your floor when you notice it’s already lit up. You adjust the laundry basket to sit on your hip as the elevator doors close.

It took about two days and a lot of effort with a hairdryer to get your clothes to unthaw. Since you froze everything in your room you’ve been sleeping on the couch. Though, you’ve been staying awake as long as possible, only drifting off to sleep when you were too exhausted to keep your eyes open any longer.

And since you were finally able to pry the last t-shirt off the floor this morning, you’ve spent most of your Saturday going back and forth washing all your clothes and bedding.

“What are you reading?” a voice asks.

You turn to the woman next to you and then look back down at the two books on top of your pile of clean clothes.

“Oh! Just a couple of books about different fairytales and legends,” you answer.

The orcish woman in the studded leather jacket, band tee, and ripped jeans, nods at you, “Cool.”

“Any good ones?” she asks.

You think for a moment, “Oh yes! There’s this one called the ‘Tear of Sorrow,’” you say.

The elevator door opens and the two of you step out.

“It’s about this woman who saves this child who was cursed by a witch and turned to stone,” you continue.

She nods, seemingly interested in the story.

“And she saves her by shedding this tear and letting it fall from her cheek into the child’s eyes,” you say.

“Woah,” she responds.

“Yeah and then the stone slowly fades from the child and the curse is broken,” you finish.

“That’s so cool I’m gonna have to read that one,” she says.

The two of you round the corner into another hallway, “It should be pretty easy to find online, although if you want to read the other ones the book is called, ‘ From the Magic Within Us and Whence It Came’ and the other is ‘Dawn of Magic,’’ you explain.

She nods, “Nice, thanks.”

“No problem,” you reply.

She stops at her door and gets her keys out, you keep walking to your apartment which is a few doors down from hers.

“Oh Hey! My name’s Torva by the way,” she calls after you.

You stop and give her your name.

The two of you nod and you continue to your door.

You put the key in the lock and start to open the door, when you hear your name being called. You look over as Torva comes up to you.

“Hey, I know it’s none of my business, but,” she begins and then pauses trying to find the right words.

“You smell Really Fucking Sad,” she says.

Your face falls and your shoulders droop.

“Yeah I…my Aunt died recently,” you say.

Torva gives a sympathetic look, “I’m so sorry, that’s awful,” she responds.

You give a little shrug.

“How did she die?” she asks.

“Listen, I don’t want to dump all of this on you,” you state.

“No, I asked, was it at least peacefully like in her sleep or something?” Torva questions.

You open your mouth slightly and feel your eyes start to get watery and that choking sensation at the back of your throat. “No, actually,” you say, “She was murdered.”

Torva looks at you shocked, “Holy shit! I-Are you okay?! What am I saying?! Of course you’re not okay!” she exclaims.

“See, I didn’t want to put any of this on you,” you say a little choked up.

“Did they at least catch the guy who did it?” Torva asks.

You sigh, “The feds are still looking into it,” you say downtrodden.

“The feds? Shit, that sounds serious,” she says quieter this time.

You nod, “Look, I’m just gonna,” you gesture with the laundry basket to your door.

“Right,” she starts to turn away and then turns back, “Look, I’m really fucking sorry that this horrible situation has happened to you and your Aunt. If you need anything I’m right down the hall. Me and the boyfriend were actually about to go to a Fogteeth party if you wanted to come?”

“No, that’s alright. Thank you for the offer, I’ve just got a lot of laundry to do,” you say gesturing with the basket in your arms.

“Ok,” she says backing away slowly, “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” you reply.

She turns away finally and you open your door set the laundry basket down, close and lock the door, then pick up the basket again. You set it on the coffee table and then sit down on the couch and put your face in your hand and cry.

You continue to cry for about fifteen minutes and then finally feel it start to subside. You go to the bathroom and blow your nose and wash your face with some warm water. Then you go and sit back on the couch and turn on the tv and start folding your laundry. Even after you’re done you continue to sit in front of the tv for about two hours. You stand up to stretch and head to the kitchen and fix yourself a glass of water.

As you sip it, you stare at the brown package sitting on your counter that had been delivered earlier. You didn’t order anything recently and you can’t think of who would have sent you something. You had determined earlier upon receiving it that it wasn’t dangerous. A quick danger sense spell had told you that much.

But you still had no idea what it was.

Setting down your glass, you reach into a drawer and pull out a pair of scissors. You approach the package and cut the tape on it. Setting the scissors down you pry open the cardboard box. You frown.

You start to try to pull out the massive block of styrofaom. After a few tries, you manage to wiggle it out of the box. When you pull it free a piece of paper falls out and onto the floor. You set the Styrofoam block down and pick up the piece of paper. You turn it over and on it, it has typed: To replace the one that broke.

You knit your brows together and set the note on the counter. You use the scissors again and cut the tape holding the block together. You pull it apart and stare mouth agape at the new picture frame.

You run your fingers over the pristine glass.

Pulling it out you walk back to the living room and compare it to the one still sitting on the coffee table. It’s the same size, has the same matte, and the wood of the frame is the same black color as well. The only real difference is the one you’re holding is a lot nicer than your old one. You set the new frame on the couch and set to work removing the family photo from the old frame. You put the photo in the new frame and note that it’s a wire hanging frame, how very old fashioned. You move to the spot on the wall where it was hanging and put it up.

You look at it a moment and then step back. It looks good. Really good.

And you’re a little mad about it.

No doubt this was the elf’s doing. You remember he had held it and looked at it when he was in your apartment. Honestly, the fact that he remembered what size it was and then had it shipped in two days is what’s throwing you for a loop. I mean he had given no inclination that he was going to replace it for you.

You hear your phone vibrating on the table and go to pick it up.

You don’t look at the caller id before hitting answer.

“Hey I can’t believe you-“ you start to say.

“Hey, just a heads up we’re coming to get you,” a gruff voice says interrupting you.

“What?” you ask confused.

“It’s like ten o’ clock at night,” you counter.

“Yeah, well somethin’ happened and we need your…expertise,” Montehugh says.

You swallow, “Like what?”

He sighs, “We’ll explain when we get there. We’ll be at your place in ten, probably eight the way boss is drivin’,” he responds.

“Alright, bye,” you say, putting a hand over your face.

“Bye,” he replies and hangs up.

You rub your eyes and head to your room and grab the clothes hanging in your closet, that you had laid out previously in case the two agents wanted you for something else. You head to the bathroom and quickly get ready. You put your hair up again and instead of wearing flats like last time, opt for a pair of black boots. They look a little out of place on your outfit, because they’re an older, more worn pair, but they’re covered by your pant legs for the most part. You have no idea where they’re taking you this time, but if something happens you want to be able to run if you need to. You turn off the tv and gather your stuff.

There’s a knock on your door.

You look through the peephole and open it when you see that it’s Montehugh. You look around for the elf, but don’t see him. You step out and close and lock the door.

“Where’s Kandomere?” you ask.

“He’s down in the car,” Montehugh replies, as the two of you begin walking.

When you get to the car you notice that this time it’s the elf driving. He nods to you as you climb in the backseat.

“Oh hey, you’ll need this,” Montehugh says reaching into the glove box, after you’ve started heading to your destination.

He pulls something out and hands it to you. You take a moment to examine it under the passing streetlights. It’s a clip on id badge with your name and picture on it.

It says “Magic Consultant.”

“That should keep anybody off your back, although you’ll be with us the whole time,” he explains. “You have like no clearance. Just so we’re clear,” he adds.

You look up, “You still haven’t told me…where we’re going…” you trail off.

As you look up in time to see the car approaching the elven district. Kandomere stops at the checkpoint, flips out a badge and says, “Federal business, Magic Task Force.” The man immediately waves you all through.

After a bit the elf turns off the main road and continues on deeper into the elven district. There’s a growing knot in your stomach. You haven’t been here in over a week, but you know that HE has to be here. You grow more worried that’s what this is about, that is until you reach your destination.

Then you’re worried about something else entirely.

There’s red and blue flashing lights from police and ambulances as well as a number of federal agents that have already set up a perimeter around the building keeping bystanders out. Montehugh puts an elbow on the seat to turn and stare at you. You make eye contact with him.

“Listen, I’m not gonna sugar coat this. It’s not gonna be a pretty sight, there are a lot of people that were killed in this nightclub and we still don’t have the full count. One of the reasons we need you is because if that elf did this, chances are he could show up in the crowd. Killers often come back to the scene of the crime,” he says. “We don’t know for certain if he did it,” Montehugh adds quickly, putting a hand up, as your expression turns to panic.

“Just IF, and IF he does we’ll protect you,” he continues.

You’re not entirely convinced of that. If he’s found a way to open the lockbox, there’s very little anyone could do to stop him.

“What’s the other reason?” you ask quietly.

“Well, we thought maybe you could do some actual consulting,” Montehugh replies. “See what you could tell us about who or what did it,” he finishes.

He opens his door and Kandomere opens his.

Montehugh pushes the seat forward and he helps you get out. You don’t decline the offer for help this time, your thoughts a little more preoccupied.

As the doors to the car slam shut and the elf makes his way around the car, Montehugh says, “If you need to leave at any point you let us know.”

Kandomere nods at you.

Both of their expressions are serious.

You nod, “Alright.”

You take a deep breath and the three of you walk to the roped off crime scene. You’ve clipped your id to your cardigan and the federal agent near the barricades recognizes the two you’re with and let’s you all pass. You walk up the stone steps and an agent meets you all at the door.

“Sir,” she says in acknowledgement of the elf.

She briefly looks at you and then turns around, “Everyone follow me and please step in the designated areas.”

‘Designated areas?’ You mouth.

The grand entryway is mostly clean and is where a lot of different people have set up shop with their kits and the evidence they’ve already bagged and are preparing for transport.

But as you pass them and get closer, the woman starts pointing out different spots to step and you follow between Montehugh and Kandomere with the elf in front.

And at first you’re confused, because the spots that are numbered and marked just look like dust. That is until you walk through the final door into the ballroom and turn to see a broken stony arm still clutching the door handle. The broken pieces of the elven man it belonged to are not far, lying scattered on the floor. You breathe in shakily and then look forward again and your eyes widen, at the dozens of bodies scattered throughout the room.

To your dismay it’s getting harder to step around them all as you near the epicenter. Finally, you get to a place where you all can stand and you look back at all of them. There’s no blood, and despite the fact that every one you’ve seen is dismembered or their torso is separated from the rest of them, it’s just plain stone on the inside. In fact the only thing giving away that they’re actually elves and not statues is how real they look. That and their faces of sheer terror.

It’s clear that most of them had attempted to flee, and had turned to stone mid-run and fallen. Which is why they were in so many broken pieces. Their heads also seem to have been facing upwards if the way their necks are craned on some of them is any indication.

“Hey, you ok?” Montehugh asks.

You turn to him and he and the elf are both looking at you concerned.

It’s then, that you realize how fast you’re breathing.

You inhale, hold it, and then exhale.

“I’m fine,” you lie.

The big man walks over to you and puts a hand on your shoulder, “If you need to step outside,” he begins.

You look around again.

“Um…petrification, stone variant. Some of them are looking up so not a basilisk or a cockatrice,” you say quietly.

He glances around and nods solemnly, then looks back to you, “So a Bright then.”

He removes his hand and the three of them turn away for a moment.

And as you exhale through your mouth, you see a puff of cold air.

You instantly cover your face with your hand and try to make it look like you were rubbing your nose. And then spot on the inside of your hand a layer of frost on your palm, you clench both of your fists. You need to calm down.

You focus your attention on Kandomere.

On the way he moves, the way his hair falls as he turns his head, how his eyes sweep carefully over the room, his keen vision trying to pick apart anything that could help him. He steps into the middle of the room, shoes clacking on the hardwood floor in the silence. You step carefully over to Montehugh, who is also watching the elf. As Kandomere pivots back and forth a bit in the epicenter, his attention falls on the elf that was closest to the spell. You knit your brows together; with everything else going on in the room you hadn’t noticed this individual.

His face is expressionless as he regards the other elf. He leans down as he tilts his head back and forth. The elf is on their knees and has a hand raised in front of their face as if they tried to shield themselves. The elf in question also seems to be the only one in the room still intact.

There’s a brief pained expression on Kandomere’s face and had you not been watching him so closely, you might have missed it. But then just like that it’s gone again.

He looks to Montehugh; takes a step back and then thrusts his hand into the air. He looks at his hand, then back at Montehugh and smirks.

The fuck.

Montehugh just stares at him and raises his shoulders slightly and shakes his head.

Well, at least you’re not the only one who didn’t catch that.

Kandomere blinks a few times, gives the man a frustrated look and gestures with his hand in the air again.

“Ya gotta give me something to go off of, boss,” Montehugh says.

You look at Kandomere and then glance back at the bodies behind you. Your eyes fall on an elf whose head is upturned.

You turn your attention back to Montehugh, “Hold on, I speak elf.”

Kandomere lowers his hand and frowns at you, “You mean Övüsi?”

“No,” you and Montehugh reply.

“He’s saying someone used a magic item and held it up,” you explain.

“Right, that’s why they were looking up,” Montehugh responds.

Kandomere’s gaze fixes on you and he slowly nods.

“So we’re probably not looking for a wand, but it still needs to be something you could hold,” Montehugh speaks as he starts jotting some notes down.

“Something like a staff maybe?” you offer.

“Eh, not usually an elf’s style,” he says making a wavering motion with his hand.

“But a silver cane could be a possibility,” he continues.

Kandomere makes his way back over to the two of you and starts to offer some suggestions as well.

As their attention shifts from you, yours shifts to the elf. You glance back at them and Montehugh is absorbed in his writing, while Kandomere’s back is to you. The woman from earlier is busy talking to another agent on the far side of the room. You carefully step where Kandomere did earlier over to the kneeling elf. Once you make it to the epicenter you examine them closer.

Your heart sinks when you see that she’s a female elf.

And seeing the look of pure fear on her face as her mouth is opened in a wordless cry, is made all the more worse by the fact that she’s a woman.

Something like this almost happened to you.

And did happen to Selina.

If only there was something you could do…

Wait.

Maybe there is.

You remember that fairytale you had read earlier. You take a moment to examine her, you don’t see any cracks or breaks in the stone, it looks like being the closest to the spell is ironically what might have saved her. You look back over at Montehugh and Kandomere, then you look around the room. Everyone seems to be preoccupied at the moment.

And you may only get one shot at this.

In your nervousness you’re trying to remember exactly how the spell went. Okay so the tear has to fall from your cheek into her eyes. Her eyes are open and you can maneuver your head past her arm, ok good. What else?

It has to be a tear shed of true sorrow. The kind you would shed for the loss of someone. Which considering the enormous amount of loss of life of the individuals in this room, and your own personal loss of your Aunt, is…more than doable.

So you stare into the elf’s eyes and focus on your pain. You squeeze your eyes shut and then relax them. And when you open your eyes you feel a single tear start to fall from your right eye. You put your face above hers and try to tilt your head so that the tear falls in her eye. Which is more difficult in practice, because her arm is in front of her face. Your face is still like half a foot away and in the fairytale the woman had laid her face on the child’s.

God, you hope you don’t miss.

But as the tear nears your chin you see a soft white glow and it’s drawn, magically so, directly into the elven woman’s left eye when it falls. You pull back and stare.

You watch as the elven woman’s stony lids close, and the glowing tear, falls from her eye and down her cheek. Then it sinks in and the skin where it was is pink again.

And slowly it spreads outward and across her face, and as it starts to reach her shoulders, she takes a breath and opens her eyes. Her eyes are no longer stone, they’re the pale grey they’re supposed to be. She blinks slowly.

And then immediately screams.

Kandomere and Montehugh immediately whirl around and so does everybody else in the room. You look back at her and her eyes are darting around in a panic. You focus briefly on all the bodies in the background if she moves…

“Stop! Don’t try to move!!” you shout.

Her eyes are fixed on her still stone arm as she starts to hyperventilate.

“{Look at me!!}” you yell in Övüsi.

Her eyes fix on you.

You kneel in front of her, “{Don’t move okay? You’re going to be fine, okay,}” you tell her. “{Deep breaths alright? Do it with me,}” you say.

“{Inhale through your nose,}” you take a big inhale, she follows suit. “{Hold it, and then slowly out through your mouth,}” you say exhaling.

“{Again, Inhale, and Exhale,}” you say.

“{Inhale…Exhale}” you repeat.

You get her to do several more breaths. Your eyes flicker to the rest of her and the last bit of stone fades from her feet.

“{Now you can move,}” you say.

She tries to stand up and you have to grab her to help steady her.

“{Slowly,}” you say.

She grabs onto your arms and you help her stand. Usually elves are graceful predatory creatures, but with the way her legs wobble on her heels, she looks more like a frightened deer stuck on an ice floe in a pond.

Kandomere tries to move forward to help, but she immediately lets out a yelp and shrinks away from him. The elf woman just holds onto you as her head darts around to all the bodies and she starts to cry.

“{Uh..let’s go outside,}” you say.

Kandomere understanding you, gestures for the woman from earlier to help escort you out. The two of you carefully help the blonde elven woman out of the ballroom. You have to put your hands on the side of her face like blinders when she starts to wail louder at some of the dead elves she passes. Whether it’s because she’s now seeing them up close or she recognizes them, you’re not sure. Eventually, it gets a little easier to walk once you all make it to the entryway. The female agent helps you escort her outside and calls over EMS. A couple of them rush over to the elven woman, but as they try to usher her away, she holds onto your arm tight.

“{NO! PLEASE!! Don’t Leave Me!!}” she wails.

“{It’s alright I’ll come with you,}” you say.

“She wants me to come with her,” you translate to them.

They nod.

And you all walk over to the ambulance. They do a few quick checks on her vitals and examine her for any injuries, there are a couple of scrapes on her knees but other than that, everything checks out. She’s still a bit in shock and they give her a blanket. She hasn’t stopped speaking in Övüsi and any time they asked her a question, you had to translate for her. She just hugs you and stares into space as tears slowly trail down her face. You just hold onto her and try to comfort this woman who is very much like that small child in the story right now.

The night air is a little chilly as the two of you sit on the edge of the ambulance. She shivers and though it doesn’t bother you much, you remember that elves have a lower body temperature than humans. It’ why so many of them live in L.A. it’s warm year round. It’s also why Kandomere can wear a three-piece suit in the middle of the afternoon and not break a sweat.

You hug her tighter, “{Can you tell me your name?}”

She sniffles, “Fayleth.”

You spot Kandomere and Montehugh walking out of the building and then being pointed in your direction.

“{Fayleth, do you think you could answer a few questions?}” you ask.

She nods.

The two agents approach and Fayleth flinches when she sees Kandomere. Who notices and hangs back behind Montehugh. The man’s eyes dart to you and then to the elven woman.

“{Fayleth, this is Agent Montehugh and Special Agent Kandomere, they’re friends of mine and here to help,}” you explain.

She looks up at Montehugh and then nervously shifts her glance to the elf.

“{They just want to help,}” you reiterate.

She turns her attention to Montehugh.

“What can you tell us about what happened? What do you remember?” he questions.

“Well, I was just dancing with my friends,” she says finally switching back to English.

“And this guy pushes past me and knocks me down and then…he..he pulls something out of his coat. There’s this flash of green light…and..and then..then I see my reflection of my face turning to stone and,” Fayleth starts breaking off into another sob and buries her face in her hands. You rub her shoulder and rock her back and forth.

“Do you remember what he looked like?” Montehugh asks.

She looks up at Kandomere, “He had shoulder length hair,” she takes a few shaky breaths, “Silver though not..not blue.”

You look at Montehugh and Kandomere and they exchange glances with each other and with you.

So it was him.

“Is there anything else?” you ask.

“No,” she sobs , “The next thing I remember I woke up and saw you and then everybody else dead,” she continues to cry.

“Sir,” an agent approaches Kandomere. The elf turns to face him.

“There’s something you need to see,” he says.

The elf then looks back at you, “Will you be alright if-“ he begins.

“We’ll be fine,” you reply.

And then Montehugh and Kandomere walk back inside.

You continue to try to calm her until her crying subsides again. You both sit in silence for a bit until, “Did my friends make it out? Are they alright?” Fayleth questions.

“I don’t know, where they next to you when...” you trail off.

She nods.

“Then probably not,” you answer.

She draws in a shaky breath.

“Look, I know how you feel, the guy that did this also attacked me and my Aunt,” you say. Her head turns to look at you. “And he killed her so, I know how you feel,” you finish.

“You need to catch him before he hurts anyone else,” she says her voice hoarse from crying. “I know,” you say your eyes a little watery as well. “We’re going to and he’s gonna pay for what he’s done.” The elven woman nods, and the two of you fall silent again.

You look up and notice Kandomere some distance away and lock eyes with him. His face is grim and you wonder just how much he overheard. You turn away and try not to focus on him.

Eventually he and Montehugh make their way back over to you.

“Come on let’s go,” Montehugh says waving at you.

You let go of Fayleth and stand up.

You make it a couple of steps before you feel her tug on your arm.

“Wait!” she shouts.

You look back at her and she grips onto your hand with both of hers really tightly. It actually hurts a bit. Her eyes are wide as she stares at you, “You’re a Bright aren’t you?” she asks quietly. Your eyes widen and you give a small nod.

“Thank you so much,” she whispers, tears in her eyes.

You offer her a small smile and she lets go.

You walk with the two agents back to the car. You follow behind Kandomere to the driver’s side door, but he doesn’t open it. Instead, he spins around to face you. He seems angry.

You immediately duck your head, “Look, I know you told me not to use magic unless...”

“How did you do it?” Montehugh asks interrupting you.

You raise your head to look at him and he’s leaning on top of the other side of the car.

“It was a tear,” you begin, “A Tear of Sorrow.”

“I was reading about it earlier today in a…fairytale book,” you explain.

“A fairytale?” he inquires.

You nod, “Almost all myths and legends have a glimmer of truth in them,” you say.

Your gaze shifts back to Kandomere and you lower your head again unable to meet his steely gaze.

“I couldn’t save the others, but I could save her,” you say.

The elf inhales and then exhales.

“Get in the car,” he says sternly, opening the door.

You look up as he starts to push the seat back. You get in and settle yourself in the backseat. Then they both climb into the car and Kandomere starts the car. The three of you sit in silence as you leave the elven district. Kandomere’s eyes dart to the rear view mirror to look at you a few times and you continue to avoid his gaze.

It’s not long before you realize that they’re taking you to the MTF headquarters and not home.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

Neither of them answer you. You fall silent again.

When you park outside the office building you get out on Montehugh’s side and the elf immediately moves behind you. He places a hand on your back and guides you forward. You all walk into the building and then into the elevators.

The silence continues as you all ride the elevator up and then step out into the hallway. There aren’t a lot of people working this late in the office and the floor is mostly empty as you continue to walk towards Kandomere’s office.

His hand hasn’t left your lower back, he’s not hurting you, but it’s still firm against your spine. You reach his office and he moves to open the door and then gestures for you to step inside. You obey and his hand finally leaves you.

As you walk into the office it’s dark save for the unblocked window and a desk lamp; the elf passes you and heads for his desk. You glance behind you to see Montehugh close the door and stand in front of it. Silently, you turn and continue walking forward. Kandomere seats himself and watches you approach. When you near the desk, “Sit,” he orders.

You sit in the left chair again and see Montehugh approach, but he doesn’t sit down. No, he continues walking until he rounds the desk and stands next to Kandomere, putting his hands in his pockets. Your eyes drift towards the elf finally.

He’s staring at you intently.

You fold your hands in your lap and try not to shift in your seat as he his eyes pierce through you.

“Who else was there the night you were attacked?” Kandomere questions.

You shake your head, “No one, there was no one but me,” you lie.

He studies you for a moment. In the silence you’re aware that his breathing is getting heavier.

“Who Else?” he asks venom lacing his words.

“There wasn’t anyone else,” you continue to lie.

“DON’T LIE TO ME!!” he yells as he stands, slamming his hands down on the desk.

Startled by his sudden outburst, “I already told you what-“ you whimper.

“And you LIED to ME,” he says harshly, towering over you.

“It doesn’t matter anyway-“ you start.

“WHY?!” he counters.

“Because-“ you begin.

“WHY DOESN’T IT-“ he shouts.

“BECAUSE SHE’S DEAD!!!” you scream.

You can no longer bite back the tears threatening to slip out of your eyes.

“Because she’s dead,” you repeat.

“You wanna know so bad how I’m alive? Why I’m not dead? It’s because of her. It’s because of Selina. She died…protecting me. My Aunt, my friend, my mentor...” you start to cry. “Is dead because of me.”

The elf slowly seats himself once more.

Furiously you try to wipe at your eyes. You’re angry. You’re angry that you’re crying in front of these assholes, angry that Selina is dead and you’re angry…that it’s your fault.

You hear a drawer open and something being removed from it.

“Here,” Kandomere says quietly.

You look up and he’s holding a tissue towards you. You snatch it from him and wipe your eyes and nose. He then slowly pushes the box now placed on his desk towards you. You glare at him and snatch a few more tissues from it.

“Why wouldn’t you tell us that before?” Kandomere asks.

You stare at him open mouthed.

“WHY?” you scowl.

“Because you’re an ELF,” you seethe, pointing at him.

A look of confusion crosses his features.

You roll your eyes at him, “Selina was a half-elf,” you clarify.

Both of them exchange confused glances.

“There aren’t any half-elves in L.A. a half-elf would stick out like a sore thumb,” Montehugh says in disbelief.

“Exactly,” you say, turning back to glare at the elf.

“We would’ve known about her already is what Ulysses is trying to say,” Kandomere responds.

You huff, “Not a half-elf with illusion magic.”

“What? Why would she try to hide?” Montehugh asks.

“Ask HIM,” you say flatly, refusing to take your eyes off of Kandomere.

The elf leans back in his chair and sighs.

Montehugh looks from you to the elf, “Boss?”

“Half-elves are…frowned upon in elven culture,” the elf says.

“Reviled you mean,” you correct.

Kandomere clenches his jaw and glances down.

“You elves love to keep humans around,” you begin.

“Have us do things for you. Even warm your beds on occasion. But marriage? Children?” you shake your head.

You probably shouldn’t be saying these things to someone who could put you in prison with a wave of his hand, but that shining gorget hanging from his neck is mocking you. Making the elf a perfect target.

“No elf in their right mind would sully their bloodline with a human. Because the only people elves truly love are themselves,” you finish.

Kandomere steeples his fingers and exhales slowly.

“We’re done for the day,” he says simply.

“I will send an agent to take you home,” he says, gesturing to the door. You stand and walk to the door. And opening it you don’t look back.

[death-and-ruin]

In my department, the one I did my bachelor’s thesis in, we had a writing day, where all of us would sit down in a quiet room for 1-2 hours and just write. No internet. No phone. Just writing. I somehow was the most efficient writer of the group (2-3 pages an hour -- my colleagues usually only managed half a page in that time). Now, writing a bachelor’s thesis is not the same as creative writing, but pretty much all of the problems  mentioned above apply to writing a thesis as well. So, here’s some tips:

- Set yourself realistic goals. “I’m gonna write chapter XY today!” is very vague and also a pretty big goal. It’s a scary goal. An entire chapter? Oh god. How am I gonna write an entire fucking chapter? Instead, make tiny, more realistic (and less scary) goals: “Today I’m gonna write the scene where X thing happens”. Split your chapter(s)/writing into many small, easily obtainable goals. This will make it easier to start writing, and will take a lot of pressure off of you.

- You can’t write what you don’t know. Think of the plot first, then write. Take notes: what are you going to write about? What is/are the character(s) going through in that specific scene? And what do you need to know for that? For example, if I want to write a scene where someone gets stabbed, I’d a) think about how I want it to happen and b) I’d do some research on getting stabbed before I start writing. Like, I seriously can’t stress this enough. Take fucking notes first!! It will make your life so much easier.

It can also help to write down the plot in the form of bullet points, so that once you actually start writing, you can look at the bullet points for help and know what happens next.

- set yourself a time frame. For example, “I’m going to write for the next hour”. You can also think of a specific time frame, like 1-3 PM or something. If you do this every day, it becomes a habit.

- get rid of distractions. No phone. No internet (no, not even for looking up things like words, phrases etc. NO. INTERNET.) Nothing else that could distract you in some way or another during your writing time. Only listen to music if it helps you concentrate or if you feel it is necessary to really get the mood of the scene right (e.g. listening to sad music while writing a sad scene).

- Proofreading? I don’t know her. Don’t worry about spelling or grammar. Just finish that paragraph first. Or, at the very least, finish the sentence first. Even better would be writing the whole scene and then correcting it. Once you’ve finished the sentence/paragraph/scene, you can correct your mistakes. This a) allows you to get down all the important ideas first without you forgetting anything and b) you won’t get stuck so easily.

- on a related note: don’t fuss too much about wording. Just ... fucking write that chapter okay. You can worry about wording later

- Got stuck on something? Use brackets. A lot of the things mentioned above are situations where you get stuck because you can’t remember a certain thing, can’t think of how to describe something, or are missing facts. Don’t spend time looking them up. Instead, just do this: [...]

And then continue writing at a point where you know what to write again.

The [...] can stand in for a word, or a sentence, or even a whole fucking paragraph. Or several paragraphs. If you want, you can fill the brackets with some information about the word you can’t think of (”[word that describes X thing]”, “[english word for X thing]”, etc.), the facts you need to look up (”[specifics about blood loss from stab wounds]”) or some key notes on what’s supposed to happen in the paragraph(s) (”[The hero escapes by doing a, b, c, ...]”). Fill in the brackets after you’ve done most of the writing.

This prevents you from getting stuck for too long and going down a research rabbit hole.

- don’t proofread immediately after. Take a break of several days, and then read over what you’ve written again. You’ll see your writing with whole new eyes, trust me. You’ll likely also realize that the wording you were fussing over? Really didn’t matter at all, and now you don’t care anymore. Or if you still do, you can still change it. You’ll find sentences that are just yuck and find better wording for them. You’re more likely to find spelling and grammar mistakes. You might have new ideas for connecting everything. You might finally know how the hell the hero escapes and have done the necessary research on blood loss from stab wounds.

And also, very important: Take. Fucking. Breaks. Your brain will fucking nope out if you just mindlessly keep on writing past the breaking point. Don’t force yorself to continue writing when you feel wired out. It will only make your writing worse. Take care of yourself. Have a drink and some snacks ready to eat during your writing process.

Hope this helps someone out there! Happy writing, everyone! <3

why writing takes forever

[manascrwd]

FNM 36-2020

Friday was Modern FNM and I decided to bring a more competitve deck to the party. It did not go as planned, and I ended up 1-2 in the loosing bracket.

1-2 - Ad nauseam

I mulliganed to 5 two times and was not able to put a clock. There was nothing exciting about the games. He just scry-d a little, shuffled a little and went for the win game 1. In game 2, I sided in the spell pieres to counter a key spell. When he played [[phyrexian unlife]] with 1 mana up I went for it but he had a shaman to pay for the extra mana cost. I continued the attacks but his sidebord black fog prevented damage for a turn. I finally went for the kill we no answer from me possible. We played some pioneer after that

0-2 - Martyr proc (prison)

Game 1 and 2 whent pretty much in the same direction.

Game 1, he gained a ton of life with two [[Martyr of Sand]] and I did not put a fast enough clock. I tried to clear the board and attack but he gained life in the 20s and I burned him in the 3s. His one of [[Chalice of Life]] finished the game promptly. Game 2 did not go much better. I attacked and reduced his life total quite a bit. I had a few burn spell exiled with [[Light up the stage]], which he managed to dodge thanks to the sac ability of [[Ranger-Captain of Eos]]. He had a [[Path to Exile]] for each of my [[Stormwing Entity]]. A hawk squadron to refill his hand and a few [[Martyr of Sand]] later he was completely out of reach. He added a [[Ghostly Prison]] and flipped his [[Chalice of Life]] swiftly to end the game in a timely manner. We played some other decks after that.

2-1 - Dredge

This was not an optimal build as he was missing the [[Shriekhorn]]s and the [[Life from the Loam]]. I don't remebmer exactly how the two first games went but they where pretty much unilateral. I sided in [[Smash to Smithereens]]] that I kept in my hand as I discovered he did not have the [[Shriekhorn]]s so I sided them out on game 3. Game 3 I mulliganed to 4 and drew 7 lands but his dredges where abysmal. He started to get some creatures on the board which I cleared and got me to one with [[Creeping Chill]] one more and I was dead. In an unexpected tour de force I managed to stick a [[Stormwing Entity]] and two [[Sprite Dragon]] and went for letal the next turn with a few [[Lava Dart]] from my hands and flashed back for letal. That was exciting

Takeways

I mulliganed quite a bit with the deck and I don't know if I always should have. The way I see it is that I need one drops, a land or two (preferably two) and spells. The hands that where given that night did not look anything like that. I'm not sure in wich measures I can keep a hand with all spells and cantrips but I believe it is correct to ship them. I didn't play any [[Mutagenic Growth]] and I really did not like the [[Opt]]s, I'm thinking of changing them for [[Crash Trough]]

[itsworn]

Acapulco Blue 1968 Ford Mustang Cobra Jet Has Tasca Provenance & Date-Code Detail

As Paul Rosina tells the story, he may have been one of Kevin Marti’s very first Marti Report customers.

Paul met Marti at the celebration of the Mustang’s 35th anniversary at Charlotte Motor Speedway in 1999. Paul bought a copy of Marti’s book Mustang . . . by the Numbers and ordered a data report on the 1968 Cobra Jet Mustang that he’d bought—minus its drivetrain—a few years before. The report revealed that his car had originally been sold through Tasca Ford in Rhode Island. Bob Tasca, as the Ford faithful know, was largely responsible for getting Ford to make the Cobra Jet engine for the Mustang, so Tasca lineage was important to Paul’s car’s history.

In 2005, Paul went to a car show at Tasca Ford. There he met one of Bob’s sons, who told him about Dean Gregson, Tasca’s performance sales manager back in the 1960s. It was possible that Gregson sold Paul’s car originally, and if he did, he would have a copy of the invoice because Gregson had kept all his Tasca paperwork.

“I called him up, and he called me back 20 minutes later,” Paul remembers. Gregson did have a copy of the Mustang’s original invoice, and on it was the name of the original buyer.

“Milton Yulke,” Paul says, spelling it for us. “Not too many Yulkes in the phonebook.” The internet showed a listing for a Milton Yulke in the Bronx. Paul tracked him down in Florida. On the phone, Yulke confirmed that he had purchased a Cobra Jet Mustang from Tasca.

Yulke had read about the Cobra Jet in Hot Rod magazine and wanted one. “But none of his local Ford dealers had any idea what a Cobra Jet was,” says Paul. From the Hot Rod articles Yulke knew about Tasca’s involvement with the Cobra Jet’s development, so he called the agency and got Bob himself on the phone. “Come on up,” he told Yulke. “I have a whole lot of them.”

When Yulke got there, two Acapulco Blue Cobra Jet Mustangs were sitting side-by-side in the showroom. They were identical except for their drivetrains: one was a four-speed with a 4.30 rearend, the other an automatic with 3.91 gears. “I wanted the automatic,” Yulke said, “but I wanted more gear—4.56s.”

Gregson told him, “No problem.” In the service bay, Tasca had rearends setup with various ratios just for this kind of situation.

“My car was built on May 7,” Paul says, “and Yulke bought the car on May 22. So it had its original rearend in it for two weeks.”

Before he left the dealership, Yulke bought a C8AX-C performance cam. Then he drove the car home. “About a 140-mile trip,” Paul figures. “Broke those 4.56s right in.”

At home Yulke installed the cam, headers, and a Mallory dual-point distributor. Then he went racing. He’d drive the car to Englishtown, mount a set of slicks, and run mid- to low-12s, Paul says. In 1970, Yulke traded in the Mustang for another Cobra Jet, and never saw it again.

Paul knows little about the Mustang’s post-Yulke history. He bought it from a man who said it had been stored at an abandoned Army base in the Portland, Maine, area. The seller figured it had been sitting there since the early 1980s, “judging by the dust on it,” Paul says. “That’s why the car didn’t have much rust on it. It only spent 10 or 12 years on the road.”

Paul, who lives in New York State, brought the Mustang with him to the Charlotte show in 1999, and then took it down to Southpoint Auto Body in Florida, as the shop had a reputation for perfection. Perfection that took “11 years, three months, 18 days. Not that I’m counting,” he says with a laugh. “Life happened. He moved and couldn’t get the car done. It was a pain, but in the end, when I got the car back, I couldn’t have been happier. For what he charged me, I can’t complain. It would have cost double in New York.”

While the car was in paint jail, Paul had time to assemble a replacement drivetrain. He found an engine in a 1969 Cougar XR-7 convertible so rotten it literally “broke in half” when he put it on the trailer. At some point a 428 had replaced the car’s original 351. Paul says, “The first thing I noticed on that engine was a Cobra Jet intake manifold with an April 10 date code. My car was built on May 7, so I had my date-coded intake manifold.” The block was a “May 29–dated, 1968 1/2 Cobra Jet block, seven weeks late for my car, but it’s all I had.”

One of the cylinder heads had a partial VIN on it, so he sent the number to Kevin Marti. That head came from a 1968 Cobra Jet Cougar XR-7 automatic.

An even bigger surprise was waiting when he opened the Cougar’s trunk and found “the air pump, brackets, hoses, diverter valve, heat shield, all sitting in the trunk. That’s $2,500 worth of emission controls, all date-code correct. I couldn’t believe it.”

A 1968 Cobra Jet Torino that was built just four days after Paul’s Mustang donated its tailshaft housing, 3.91 rearend, and 31-spline axles. Likewise, the C6 automatic was rebuilt from one with a 1968 case.

Paul got his Mustang’s body back from Florida in 2010, and he spent the next two years assembling it. “I’ve only put 1,000 miles on it in five years,” he admits. “I’ll drive it to local shows, but for long-haul shows it goes in the trailer.”

Proving that these cars are never really finished, “I have one more story,” he says.

“Two years ago I was at the FE Reunion, and there’s a guy there with an April 3 1968 1/2 Cobra Jet block. That’s a primo piece. I figured he’d want $3,500 or $4,000. All the parts fit KR Shelbys, which is why prices are through the roof. When he said $1,200, I couldn’t get my money out fast enough. So now I have an April 3 block, perfect date code for my May 7th car.”

How does he know that date is “perfect”? Well, that’s one more story.

“The car that was sitting next to my car at the Tasca dealership showed up at this show in North Carolina. There was a Cobra Jet reunion within that show. He got 14 1968 1/2s, and the 4.30/four-speed car was there. It is three serial numbers away from mine. It was a mostly original car, so I went under it, saw an April 3 date, and figured that’s the block I want. By dumb luck I found an April 3 block.”

So this fall, after show season is over, Paul will pull out the engine, take it apart, and put the date-code parts on that April 3 block. He has already found the perfect home for the Cougar Cobra Jet block, but that’s another story altogether.

At a Glance

1968 Mustang 428 Cobra Jet Owned by: Paul Rosina Restored by: Owner; Southpoint Auto Body, Fort Meyers, FL; B&B Machine, Lynbrook, NY; Select Performance, Wyandanch, NY; R&R Seats, Plainview, NY Engine: 428ci/335hp Cobra Jet V-8 Transmission: C6 3-speed automatic Rearend: Ford 9-inch with 3.91 gears and Traction-Lok Interior: Blue vinyl bucket seat Wheels: 14-inch steel with trim rings and hubcaps Tires: F70-14 Goodyear Polyglas

All Paul Rosina knows about the Cobra Jet after its first owner traded it in is that it was in an accident in the mid 1970s. “It must have been sandwiched, since there was damage on the hood, bumper, and lower front valance, and a buckled quarter-panel.” A mint quarter from a “rust-free coupe” replaced the damaged one, and the body shop “did such a good job you can’t tell which side was changed.”

Paul wanted gold stripes on his car, but learned from the original owner that it came with white stripes. Kevin Marti told him Acapulco Blue Mustangs with blue interiors were accented with white, gold, or black stripes, and that the dealer invoice didn’t indicate stripe color. So Paul felt OK making the change. These are N.O.S. stripes, which Paul feels better match the original gold color than aftermarket stripes.

A self-described “date-code guy,” Paul worked hard to replace the Mustang’s missing driveline with parts correct for the car’s May 7 build. He did take a few liberties during the engine’s rebuild. An “old Wolverine Blue Racer” camshaft gives it “a little lope, and I did not go with the factory exhaust. I have a 2 1/2-inch dual-exhaust system that looks like a 1970 system. I take the points hit at shows because I like the sound and power.”

Paul was hoping to finish the Mustang in time to use it in his wedding. “I didn’t have the whole interior of the car in yet, just the front seats. But it rained that day so it stayed in the garage.”

Below that lever is a C6 built from a 1968 housing. It’s joined to the engine with a 2,800-stall, 10-inch converter from Select Performance. “It shifts real nice,” Paul says, and the 3.91 rearend gears “are perfect for the road.”

Paul’s attention to date-code-correct parts didn’t stop with the driveline. Even the seatbelts (made in the 34th week of 1967, per the date code) are right for the car.

Learning the car’s Tasca Ford provenance through a Marti Report, and a subsequent conversation with Tasca’s Dean Gregson, were key to Paul’s discovering his car’s earliest history via the original owner.

The paperwork Paul has collected for his Mustang includes the Marti Report (in the middle of the photo) and a copy of the sales invoice from Tasca Ford (at left). The car’s options, including Tasca’s “high performance tuning,” contributed to its $4,050 price.

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