#carégarn

[sparrowwritings]

Day Two: New

Day One -- Masterpost -- Day Two

Happens some time after Wound

“What’s that?”

Squirrel delighted in watching Chronai freeze in what he was doing. It only happened when she successfully snuck up on him. He was incredibly perceptive for a human (though she didn’t have much experience with any one other than him), and his frequent visits to Elven lands had only increased his abilities. She could only catch him off guard about once every eight times since he’d started coming to the forest every couple of months.

Not that she’d been counting, or anything…

Once he’d realized that it was just Squirrel and not anyone else, he relaxed and showed off what he had been messing with. “It’s just a pretty bit of glass I picked up during my last job. Forgot I had it til I searched my pockets.” 

She held out a hand and Chronai gently placed the piece in her palm. It was the size of a couple of almonds, though its shape was hardly symmetrical. It was pockmarked unevenly throughout, but the surface of the glass was smooth to the touch. What really made it special, Squirrel discovered, was what happened when the light touched it. Each side of the piece of glass produced a new color or funny shape to the sunlight from around them. Holding it with just the tips of her fingers, she illuminated different leaves and small creatures with the miniature prism. “It is very pretty! I can see why you picked it up! I would have too, if we had glass here and not just flint. Or water. Oh, or ice sometimes!”

Chronai had been watching her as she happy-chattered on. She could tell from her own peripheral vision. It was just one of those things that he did when he thought she wasn’t noticing. He had one of those rare, small smiles on his face. Before Squirrel could wonder what it was he had been smiling about, he suddenly said, “Well then, you keep it.”

Her teeth made a clicking sound from how fast she shut her mouth. Did he really mean it…? She turned her head to face him directly. “But…Crow, this is yours. I can’t just take it…” 

“You’re having way more fun with the glass than I ever will. Plus, I don’t need to have extra stuff in my pockets so…” He gave a dismissive wave. “Go ahead, keep it.”

For a moment it was like the world around her had frozen. Over the years of their friendship, Chronai had been very gracious in finding things in his travels that Squirrel asked for. She even had the bits and bobs of the world outside of the forest safely secured in her home. This was the first time he’d given her something unprompted. A gesture that would, in other circumstances, would have a very specific meaning. One of wanting to be a mated pair.

Except, there was no way that he was aware of such a meaning. Absolutely none. He was human, for one. He probably meant to let her have it purely because she liked it, that’s all. They were friends and didn’t Crow say that friends gave each other gifts, before? There was no other reason. None.

Squirrel ignored the strange, fluttery feeling in her chest as the world unfroze and she smiled at him. “Well...alright then! Thank you!”

If he noticed that her voice had pitched itself higher than usual, Chronai didn’t say anything.

She kept the bit of glass in a much more hidden space than just with her knicknacks. 

---

Crow’s visits continued to happen about once every couple of months. The amount of unprompted gifts, however, had steadily increased since that first instance.

He called them souvenirs. When asked, he explained that in human culture it was common to purchase or pick up bits of places one travels to. The purpose was to bring them back and admire them as reminders of where you had been. 

She hadn’t really understood (“Is such a ritual part of how humans cast magic? Or are most humans’ memories so unreliable that reminders are a must?” Chronai’s answers only helped her curiosity so much) but Squirrel continued to store the gifts as she received them. It was only when a previously undiscovered rip spilled out the contents of the bag onto the floor that a kernel of understanding bloomed inside her. Each item was a piece of him. A physical representation of a time that he’d thought about her and decided to take that reminder with him.

Even if Chronai was ignorant of Elven customs...in his own way, he was still following them. For her. No one else. Just her.

That realization unleashed a flood of a new feeling through Squirrel’s whole body. Her face grew warm and her chest and stomach fluttered almost unpleasantly. It was almost as if she’d suddenly caught a disease, but as a Scout she was very familiar with certain symptoms and this was not indicative of any that she was aware of. On top of that, there was a desperate desire to see Chronai and…

Well, first find out if it all wasn’t just in her head. There was no way to know for sure if he actually wanted to be with her as a mate or stay as friends or some other odd human thing.

That particular thought cut a sharp sadness through the warm feeling, which helped her focus on the present. Squirrel gathered the little odds and ends together and tightly wrapped the whole of them in a cloth. One piece still managed to squeeze itself out, despite her work. 

It was the little bit of glass. Chronai’s first unprompted gift to her. She bent down and gently cradled it in the palm of her hand. A warm smile started to grow as she allowed that feeling to fill her up again as she thought about how he thought of her. Even if he, somehow, wasn’t aware of the why, he went out of his way to bring them here.

After all, he wouldn’t bother to carry unimportant things in his pockets.

[worldofcaregarn]

Basic Information: Adronis

Physical: The land mass of Adronis would make it the largest next to Scaptulon, even if it were separated from Bibliano and Sanatig at the mountain range to the west that divides the three continents. The continent is much more varied than her sisters: consisting of a desert covering the southwest, thick forests to the northwest, and flat lands interspersed with thinner forests and hills throughout the rest of the east. The south eastern part of the continent is home to spacious beaches, though that isn’t to say that the rest of the coastline is beach less.

Population: Adronis by far has the largest and most mixed population of humans, Elves (the forest people) and Derar (the desert people) in the known world. While the “pure” Elves and Derar tend to stay among their own people, humans and part-humans alike have spread across a vast part of the continent. Many towns that one might encounter on the road are much too small to be mentioned on conventional maps, as the population tends to stay so long as the traders and travelers are in good supply and the resources of the area can support them. 

Government: No one kingdom rules the entirety of the continent, to do so would be foolhardy. Instead, there are a number of kingdoms great and small exist within Adronis, all ruled by Kings or Queens of varying importance. The largest kingdom within Adronis is that of Carim, which has its trading influence felt quite farther than its borders.

Trade: As noted above, Carim is foremost in trade of all sorts. Its capital city, Capital, is the center of many major trade routes on land and by river. It’s said that nothing is worth a single copper unless it passes through the city first. While inland trading is more prevalent in Adronis, there are a number of port towns on the northern and southern coasts that regularly send and receive ships to and from Kulepe, Turkon and Refin and carry goods of all sorts.

Other: It should be noted that the town of Ten in the desert to the south west is where the normally nomadic Derar of Adronis tend to settle. There are a few Elven towns of note to the north west, but due to the nature of their habitats it is difficult to determine where exactly they are located and hence are not normally recorded on maps. The opinion of magic and those who wield it is evenly split among the peasant population of Adronis. Some view magic warily and want nothing to do with it, while others think of it as a tool to gain their fortune by and are very willing to abuse it. Either way, this leads to mandatory mage training by those who are proficient with using magic.

[sparrowwritings]

Day Six: Curtain

Day Five -- Masterpost -- Day Seven

Five years after Warm

The weather in Greatwood was almost always consistent. Summers were hot and winters were cold, though neither normally had so great an extreme to cause alarm to its populace. Compared to places like its closest neighbor of West Plains, the city tended towards more mild climes. 

On occasion, however, the hot air of the south and the cold air of the north collided with Greatwood as its epicenter. Depending on the time of year, this could lead to either immense rainstorms or thick snows. 

The winter after his sister got married, a blizzard hit the city hard enough that Robert Sophos was forced to room with them until utilities could be restored to his own home. This meant that he would be living in the same house as two other adults and two young children for an unpredictable amount of time. Not only that, he couldn’t even retreat into his work or his books for very long due to the constant distractions of the household.

To say that Robert was unhappy was an understatement.

He could sense the watchful eyes of Caleb and Jerran boring holes into the back of his head as he attempted to type out his intended lesson plan for when university classes would resume. Very recent experience had taught him that merely ignoring the boys would have the same result as indulging in their antics. Still, Robert pretended not to notice them until they had taken places on each side of him. The grey eyes of his 12-year-old brother and the blue eyes of his 10-year-old nephew went wide with identical pleading expressions. He sighed through his nose, already giving up on having a productive day. The tone of his voice was flat as he said, “You have my attention. What is it, you two?”

“Brother, can you play with us?” Caleb started to pout, predicting Robert’s typical answer. There was a reason why their sister was his primary caregiver.

“Yeah, Uncle Robert, can you play with us?” Jerran, less used to his uncle’s behavior, smiled sweetly as he begged.

Robert called up a new tab on his browser and searched for the local weather. Once the page loaded, he pointed at the screen as if the boys couldn’t see it for themselves. “It’s already in the negatives out there, I can’t think of any game that would be worth the potential frostbite.”

Rolling his eyes, Caleb responded, “We didn’t ask for you to play with us outside, we just asked for you to play with us.”

“I’ll concede to that particular point, but I still wish to know what it is that the two of you want me to join you in playing before I agree to anything.” 

Caleb opened his mouth, then closed it with a frown. He was deep in thought when Jerran piped up, “Hide and seek, duh!”

Resisting the urge to mention that the younger boy’s suggestion was not the most obvious choice, Robert asked, “And I take it I would be “it” first?”

The boys looked at each other before turning back to him with faux-innocent expressions. “Well...we were *hoping* you would be…” Caleb gave a sheepish grin.

That left him with two options with similar unfavorable results. Either he declined and the boys bothered him until either his sister or her husband could distract them away or he agreed and got caught up in the children’s game for far too long. After a moment or two of deliberating (and realizing that he’d lose approximately the same amount of time working for both options), he sighed and covered his eyes. “I will count to 50. Neither of you can hide outside or in the bedrooms. Starting now.” Robert heard the boys scramble away as he started to count.

“That was nice of you,” Matilda commented. He took his hands away from his eyes to find that she had been standing just out of sight until that moment. “Usually you wait until the begging stage to give in and play. What gives?” 

Without looking, Robert carefully moved a hand so that it was pointing in the direction of the bedrooms upstairs without anyone being able to see him doing so from behind. “In the past four games of hide and seek, one or both of them have hidden behind a set of curtains in one of the bedrooms. I’m attempting to teach them how to be more creative.”

“Ohh, I see.” She grinned at him. “You’re actually giving yourself time to work some more while they find places to hide.”

He couldn’t help the smile that started to grow on his face. “Your words, not mine.”

[sparrowwritings]

Day Fourteen: Pregnancy

Day Thirteen -- Masterpost -- Day Fifteen

About a decade after Motto

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” Terrence asked for the eighteenth time that morning. 

Noramena laughed and patted her husband’s cheek. “Dear, you will know if I need anything. This isn’t my first child, after all.”

As if on cue, Malena marched into the sitting room. She was very seriously carrying the faded but still colorful blanket she always slept with. Once she stood in front of her mother and stepfather, her young voice loudly declared. “Mama, Papa, I want the new baby to have my swaddle.” Malena held it in front of her. “She’s going to need something nice and warm to sleep in, and I’m always warm while I’m using it so…” Her formerly confident voice trailed off. 

The two adults looked at each other. Terrence wasn’t exactly sure what his wife was trying to communicate to him, but he was pretty sure that Malena would miss her blanket very much. The gesture was a nice touch, though. He gave a nod to Nora before moving his head towards the girl. Even disregarding the gender roles that he accepted when he married her, Terrence would always follow his wife’s lead regarding her daughter. 

“That’s so sweet of you, my little flower.” Nora sat up from her lounge and opened her arms. The seven-year-old rushed into the offered hug without hesitation. The girl’s long black hair was soon being combed through by patient and steady fingers. With a tease in her voice, Nora continued. “But what if you end up with a brother instead? Do you think he will enjoy your swaddle?”

For a moment, Malena looked up from her comfortable position against her mother’s chest. Her lower lip pouted adorably. Terrence just barely kept a chuckle to himself. “...I guess he’d also like it…” She grumbled before going back to her previous position. Even with his good ear, Terrence almost missed her final statement. “It’ll warm up boys too…” 

He sat down next to his wife and reached over to rub at the girl’s back. “That’s a very grown up thing to do, Malena. We’re very proud.” 

The parents waited while she very obviously struggled to put together the words she wanted to use. Finally, she pushed away from both of them. “A-and! If the baby doesn’t like the swaddle she--he--the baby can have something else of mine! I’ll give and give and give so that the baby isn’t sad ever! You’ll never hear crying! I promise!” Malena seemed close to tears, herself.

Terrence and Noramena looked at each other. This time, each of them had an identical worried expression. “Hey, it’s okay.” He kept his voice soft as he offered a hand to his daughter. “You don’t have to do so much for the baby right now. They’re not even here yet.”

“B-but…” And now her dark eyes were dripping tears down her small face. “Some of the other girls kept talking about how their little sisters and brothers kept up their Mamas and Papas and how they’re always so tired and upset. A-and I just got Papa after my other one was so mean to Mama! I don’t want that to happen!” With a heaving sob she nearly tackled Terrence from the force of her embrace. “I love Papa so much!”

He didn’t really have the words that could help her. His parents died when he and his older brother were so young, Terrence didn’t have any real memories of them. Even with the Thieves’ Guild training the two of them in The Art, none of the people there were parents. Just outlaws and ruffians and goons doing what they wanted to while under the watchful eye of the King of Thieves. Instead, Maro was the one who really raised him. Who taught him how to be a person and not just a thug. If anyone would know what to say at this moment, it would be him.

Since his brother wasn’t around, Terrence had to improvise. “Shh, shh...it’ll be okay.” He went back to rubbing Malena’s back as she sobbed into his shirt. “I’m not going anywhere, Lena.” His eyes locked with Nora’s as he continued to speak. “Babies need a lot of help. It’s a lot for some people! That’s why your friends see their parents so upset.” At the approving nod, he kept going. “But I’m not going anywhere. Even if we disagree sometimes, I made a promise to your Mama that I was here to stay. I mean to keep every word of that promise.” He gently patted the top of Malena’s head. 

Nora made a grunting sound and two pairs of eyes turned to look at her. She waved them off with a wince followed by a smile. “The baby kicked approval. Quite strongly!”

The ease of tension helped the other two giggle at the interruption. Terrence carefully put a finger under his daughter’s chin so that she would look up at him. “But since you’re already being a good big sister and worrying so much about the baby, I think we’ll be just fine.”

Malena blinked up at him before giving a relieved smile. “Okay…” She breathed.

“I think,” Noramena piped up. “That the two of you should make some lunch.” She grinned. “Baby wants me to have something interesting today. Do pickles and sweet cream sound good to you?”

Again, Terrence and Malena stared over at her. This time they shared similar expressions of disgust.

“Why, though…”

“Gross!”

“Did this happen when you were having Malena too??”

“Eeeeewww!”

Noramena kept laughing at their expense.

[sparrowwritings]

Day Eleven: Dreams

Day Ten -- Masterpost -- Day Twelve

Over a century after Shaking

Being the first to fall asleep at a campsite when you barely knew the other person you were travelling with was a risky move. Gwion knew this. He’d been around for far too long *not* to. And yet, when his current travelling companion, Roven, insisted that he would take first watch Gwion didn’t fight it. He set up magical wards around the camp because he wasn’t an idiot, but he still was the first to go to bed. 

What he didn’t expect, however, was to be woken up a while before first watch was over.

“You were muttering in your sleep. I couldn’t concentrate on my notes because of it.” Roven explained.

Gwion suspected that he was only telling half the truth, but he was too awake to try to turn over and try again at slumber. Still, he didn’t hide his eye roll. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to disturb your *ever so important* writing. I’ll try to keep my unconscious ramblings to myself in the future.” His voice dripped of sarcasm.

“So we have an accord.” The other man nodded before going back to his writing. Gwion *could* have pointed out that the entire idea of keeping watch was to pay attention to their *surroundings*, but on top of his own wards were finely crafted ones that had Roven’s magical signature all over them. Even if something *were* to try to disturb them, one of the two mages would take care of it in a heartbeat.

For a while, the only sounds that were made in the campsite were from the fire. Gwion tossed another log in and watched the shapes the flames made as it started to consume the fresh wood. Images from the dreams he’d had that night played out in miniature among the embers. 

It wasn’t until Roven coughed that Gwion realized that he had been far too drawn into his own mind. His hands ached and he released his elbows from them. He stretched and curled them over and over until the pain settled down. “*Dare* I ask what’s consuming your thoughts?” The other man’s green eyes glittered oddly in the fire’s light. “You’re uncharacteristically quiet tonight.”

“Most people, myself included, tend to be *asleep* at this hour.” It was a legitimate excuse, for sure, but from the narrowing of Roven’s eyes he could see that his own bullshit wasn’t going to be enough to waylay the man. Gwion tried a different tactic. “I may not know you all that well *personally*, but those of us who sleep on a more regular basis have these unconscious hallucinations called *dreams*.” He wiggled his fingers to emphasise the word. “And the one I woke up from required further examination.”

For a moment, it seemed like this was sufficient. They both went back to being quiet for long enough that he felt safe in returning to his own thoughts.

“So I *shouldn’t* ask about why you were muttering about *giants* in your sleep?” The words cut ribbons through his cool and collected exterior. He normally had a better poker face, but in the face of this verbal attack Gwion couldn’t help but grimace. “I’ve remembered where I heard the name Gwion before.” Roven leaned forward, letting the fire give him an infernal appearance. “The stories of Gwion Giantkiller are juvenile, but old enough to provide an interesting insight into this world’s history. That the hero of such stories is still *alive*, so long after they were first told…”

“If you’re looking for immortality, only the gods have that.” He barked back. Folding his arms again, he looked away from the glittering green stare. “What *I* have is a cursed existence.”

“Many would say that having such a long life is a blessing.”

“Those fools don’t know the cost of living far past when one should have died.”

Roven gave another narrow-eyed stare. “Other fools would use their extended time to perform unnecessary heroics.”

“Saving people is *always* necessary.”

“Yes, because interfering in the affairs of a few people at a time does *so* much in the long term. If your goal is truly to help others and not just to provide yourself suicide opportunities, there are much better options available to you.”

Gwion finally faced the other man. “Oh really? And what, pray tell, are you proposing?”

Here Roven stood, finally having the opportunity to tower over Gwion for once. “Join me in my research of this world. You’ve had a century to travel the whole of Carégarn, surely spending a few more years travelling it again to crack open its secrets isn’t too much to ask.” Those glittering green eyes seemed dark against the fire that reflected from them. “And once all is said and done, I will ensure that you reach the end you’re looking for.”

The two stared each other in the eye for a long while. Then, slowly, Gwion stood up. He didn’t break his gaze as he spoke. “Swear on what’s most important to you if you mean what you say. I’ll not agree to anything otherwise.”

Without hesitation, Roven stated, “I swear on my life.”

After another moment of hesitation, he held his hand across the fire. “Then I agree. I’ll stay with you until either your life ends or you end mine.”

The smooth skin of Roven’s hand wasn’t a surprise, but the strength of his handshake was. “So it shall be,” He responded with a mad grin. There was finality in that statement, but it was too late.

Gwion was now bound to the man. For better or worse. 

[sparrowwritings]

Day Eight: Year

Day Seven -- Masterpost -- Day Nine

Takes place a while after Movie

Amou’s shit-eating grin was really starting to get on Sefané’s nerves.

“Could you stop that?” Her words came out as a growl, for all that she intended on sounding calm and collected.

“Stop what?” He asked with that fake innocent tone. It made his accent sound a dumb kind of babyish. “I’m just sitting here watching my dear partner have a mental breakdown over giving gifts to her girlfriend, that’s all.” 

The gifts in question were arranged on Barb’s desk. There was a vase full of flowers (a mix of roses, mums and lilies), seated far enough away from the secretary’s computer and keyboard that even accidentally knocking it over wouldn’t cause any problems. Propped up on the monitor was a rectangular box of chocolates wrapped in shiny paper. In front of that was a jewelry box that held a necklace with a heart shaped charm. And on top of that was a folded over card with Barb’s full name written in cursive. Even from her desk, Sefané could see her tiny, cramped handwriting that had filled the inside of the previously blank stationary. 

She may have gone a little overboard. Not that she’d ever admit that to Amou. “Oh like you wouldn’t go even more all out on your girlfriend for your first anniversary.” Sef’s grin back at him was more predatory than shit-eating. “Oh wait, you don’t have one.”

“Oooh, shots fired!” Called Kayden from the peanut gallery, aka her brother’s desk. 

Amou threw an eraser at her. The teen dodged it with a chuckle. “What are you even doing here so early?!” He called out to her. “I get why Hopeless Romantic here got to the station at the asscrack of dawn, but you don’t even have anything important to do!”

Kay rolled her eyes. “There was a robbery that got taken care of while Sean was in our neighborhood and I was already awake when he called and asked if I wanted a ride to work. So! I get to watch the fireworks before I even get to clock in!”

“I’m pretty sure child labor laws would have something to say about that.” Sef grumbled. 

“Child labor laws don’t apply to people over eighteen.” The teen stuck her tongue out. 

“I dunno, you’re still acting like a child.”

“You’re all acting like children.” The harsh, no-nonsense voice of Frederick Polinski called from his office door. He leaned against the doorframe, cell phone held to his ear in one hand. The speaker end was directed away from his mouth. “Barb’s gonna get here when she gets here. While you’re all gabbing, you could be doing some work.”

Raising a hand, Kay responded. “I’m not clocked in yet.”

“Yeah but the two so-called “adults” are.”

“You’re no fun.” Amou pouted at Fred. 

“It’s not my job to be fun.”

“It could be, though!”

“You’re lucky I’m on hold or you’d be--” Fred held up a finger from his unoccupied hand. “Yes, this is him. Yeah, I was calling because--” He walked right back into the office and shut the door behind him.

There was a beat between the three of them. Sefané took the opportunity to relax by taking in the rumble of Fred’s voice through the door. It was comforting, even when she couldn’t pick out what he was actually saying.

“Wow, I must have missed something.” A voice came from behind her that instantly put her on edge. She slowly turned in her seat until she faced Barbara Pryce, her girlfriend. She had on that smile that meant she was confused but trying not to make it obvious. “You’re all quiet. And here early. What’s up?”

Sef realized her throat was too dry to speak at that very moment. Amou leaned against his desk with his shit-eating grin plastered on his face again. “Oh, nothing. Just felt like being early, that’s all.”

Barb rolled her eyes and went to her desk. “The day you’re here early on your own volition is the day the world ends.” She was just about to plop her purse on the surface when she spotted the gifts. Her brow furrowed. “What the…?”

“Go on, open them up! Someone’s been dying about it all morning.” 

With a glare in her partner’s direction, Sefané cleared her throat. “H-happy anniversary, babe.” The grin she had was forced and awkward.

There was a moment of silence. “...Holy shit you’re right.” Anyone who didn’t know her any better couldn’t see it, but Barb was definitely blushing. “I almost forgot, I’m so sorry--”

“No, that’s okay! I thought you’d be too busy to remember so I just got you gifts! I hope you like them.”

“You didn’t have to--”

“Yes I did!”

“No you didn’t! I don’t even have anything yet!”

“You don’t have to do that!”

“Well now I do!!”

While they were distracted by mutual babbling, Kay moved next to Amou to talk to him quietly. “So, is this normal for couples who have been together for only a year, or is this just a them thing?”

He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Not everyone overcompensates in one direction and undercompensates in the other one. They’re unique that way.”

“Okay cool.”

“That being said, I wouldn’t go looking in office closets today, just in case.”

“Why--Oh. Oh, ew! EW! AMOU!”

“Definitely a child.” He mused with a grin. 

“No, you are!”

[sparrowwritings]

Day Three: Green

Day Two -- Masterpost -- Day Four

Three years after Rain

It had been a long and agonizing three years, but now Cevonnis Torrent finally could say goodbye to the island he had once called home. 

He waved at Rosallo and Saga until his arm started to hurt, then continued to wave until they were specks against the brown backdrop of the port. Even after they were out of his sight he continued to stay at the aft of the ship, staring as Kiteltera’s greenery became smaller and smaller on the horizon.

Absently, he ran a hand through his hair and was once again surprised when his fingers found air after only a moment. Cutting his blonde locks hadn’t been necessary, or so he was assured by his brother and cousin, but Cevo had wanted to be sure that his desires would be taken seriously. Whether or not he’d be accepted as a Queensman. Non-islander boys tended to keep their hair short. So, he’d look a little like them until he felt it was safe to grow his hair out again. Whenever that would be.

He’d just have to get used to the odd feeling of the wind on the back of his neck more often. That’s all. He could do that.

“Feelin’ homesick already, boy?” A voice called from just behind him. He started and whipped around to face the speaker in a panic. His reaction brought a hearty chuckle to the crew member that Cevo identified as Jolly. They were a stout, sturdy foreigner with a wild set of black curls and a wide mouth that was often in a gap-toothed smile. The sleeves of their blue-and-orange striped shirt and the legs of their patchwork trousers were rolled up and tied in place, revealing the uneven tan on their naturally pale skin. 

More importantly, the showing of their skin revealed the location of the prominent tattoo on their left forearm. His eyes locked onto the symbol, following the braided rope with passing glances at the flowers surrounding all sides but the top of the crown in the center. An urge to touch it filled him, and it took everything Cevo had to turn his gaze back to Jolly’s face and reply. “I’m not quite so lily-livered as all that.” Feeling a swell of emotion, he turned back towards the horizon. “I’m making sure that this is real. That I’m actually leaving.”

A sudden elbow to his right set of ribs was the only indication that Jolly had moved to join him at the railing. Somehow, Cevo hadn’t been able to hear them walking over. Maybe it was because they weren’t wearing shoes? They did stay up in the Crow’s Nest more often than the rest of the crew, after all. His observations were interrupted again by the crew member talking. “Oh aye, ‘twas a tease. Leavin’ home ain’t easy fer anyone, no matter the whys of it.” Without turning from the ocean themself, they looked at him with a gray eye and a gentle smile. “Time makes it easier t’ sort things out.”

“If you say so.” Cevo’s own eyes were back on the tattoo, now that it was so close to him. “Being a Queensman should help, right?”

Jolly laughed and held their arm towards him. “Touch it if’n ya like. Jus’ don’t go askin’ if it’s real or th’ cap’n might keelhaul ya. Can’t tell ya how many board th’ ship an’ ask stupid questions like if we’re actual Queensmen.” 

“Then those people deserve to be keelhauled. Your sails have the Queen’s symbol as well as your bodies.” He responded as he gently pressed the tips of two of his fingers against the ink. This close, he could observe details such as the braided rope’s fibers and the veins of the flower petals. It shimmered under his touch as if it were made of gold, but all he felt was leathery skin. “Can I ask how long ago you joined? Would that trigger anything?”

They blinked for a moment before chuckling again. “Smart. Not many think t’question what questions to ask b’fore they’re askin’ them. Yes yeh can ask that. Direct, even. ‘Twil be eight years next month.”

Eight years...that was more than half of his life that this person had been out at sea in the Queen’s name. Cevo felt both wonder and envy at once. “You look good for it, Jolly” came out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

“Hah! And here I’d thought I’d gone crusty with age.” They reached over with their other hand and mussed with his hair. “Always knew you were a good kid.”

Ignoring the odd feeling of having shorter hair for others to ruin, some things were starting to piece together in his mind. The quiet way that Jolly moved. The laughter at practically everything he said. The fact that Jolly should have been up in the crow’s nest to look out for newly arisen islands…

Jolly also had gray eyes. He knew this. The person with their hand on his head sported only one gray eye. The other was a deep, dark green. 

“You’re...not Jolly.” It was almost as if his words were weighed down by lead as realization overtook him.

Magic was abundant in Carégarn, but only one set of stories involved someone with unnaturally mismatched eyes.

The voice that now came out of the imposter held a higher pitch and a quick pace. “An appropriate name, all things considered, but it’s true that your crewmate and I, alas, do not share it.” They grinned. “You’re allowed to take a guess at my true one, though I can see you already know it.”

“Kitchren,” Cevo spoke in a whisper that somehow could be heard over the waves.

The person’s smile widened impossibly further than Jolly’s ever did and they winked their gray eye at him. Before him, the familiar round shape of the Spotter’s body lengthened into a tall, lithe figure. Blonde overtook the black curls until their hair was the color of straw. The clothes didn’t change, only shaped themselves to have a more snug fit. The uneven tan seemed to vanish in favor of a more olive shade. “Smart indeed.” The God/dess of Trickery mused as they leaned into Cevo’s personal space. “I’ve already had my eye on you, but it’s good to know that it’s started to pay off.”

He had no words. He could have blamed it on them cursing him into silence, but it was his own body that betrayed him here. Kitchren tutted as he continued to say nothing, and gently tugged on a lock of his hair. “What a shame. I do so enjoy seeing you with long hair.” 

“What are you doing here?” Again, his mouth moved before he could stop himself. He instantly regretted saying anything. Out of all of the gods, Kitchren’s whims could never be predicted. He could just as easily walk away unharmed as he could leave this interaction only speaking in riddles for the rest of his life.

They paused for a moment. Then, they took their hand away from his hair and gave a wide, unnerving grin. “Coincidentally, I was here to visit the captain. It just so happens that you boarded at just the right time.”

He didn’t want to believe Kitchren. They were known to be the origin of lying. And yet, Cevo could detect no untruth in their words. He wasn’t sure if he could, even if he somehow got to know them for years. “‘Just so happens’ that someone you blessed from a young age found this ship you ‘so happened’ to want to visit.”

They laughed a jolly belly laugh that would have made him want to join if he wasn’t so anxious. “Oh I’m so going to enjoy seeing you act on all of that potential of yours.” Kitchren mussed with his hair one more time. “Dream well, live well, learn as much as you can, and show those who doubt you how wrong they are. Be who you’ve always wished to be, and I will be nearby when you need me.”

Cevo wasn’t sure he really wanted to have the God/dess of Trickery near him at all times. “I-if you say so…”

“It’s about time to wake up. I hope you’ll remember some of this later. Teren says that it’s for the best that dreams such as this one fade, though, so perhaps we’ll have another introduction later.” 

“Wait, what--” Before he could say anything else, a bell appeared in Kitchren’s unoccupied hand. As they rang it, Cevo became more and more aware of netting around him, as well as movement and shouting. 

His eyes opened to the inside of the ship as his shift awoke for duty. He rubbed at his eyes before attempting to safely extract himself from his hammock. There wasn’t any time to muse on dreams and what they meant. Cevonnis Torrent had a long day ahead of him.

It wasn’t until the other crew members had started laughing that he realized that not only had his hair grown a couple of inches overnight, but he’d gained several streaks of green among his blonde. Cevo concluded that someone must have dyed his hair in the night. The mystery of the growth he decided to leave unsolved.

[sparrowwritings]

Writing Challenge Day Thirty-one: Engaged

Day Thirty -- Masterpost

Lady Musali Strebor frowned just enough to not show any wrinkles on her face. In her hands was a letter with her name on it in a practical but still elegant script. A member of the Knight Defenders of the Wall had arrived with a letter for her, with strict instructions attached to it.

Looking up at the man in question, she gauged his worth as quickly as court life had taught her. He was of average height. She couldn’t immediately tell his build due to the heavy black armor he wore, but from the way his unhelmeted face appeared, the knight was probably of average build. He gave a nervous grin at her scrutiny, his hazel eyes darting around the room. The Lady was certain that even the modest couch she had taken a seat in was worth more than any amount of money he could make in his life. 

If this was a joke, it was a poorly thought out one.

“And you are certain you need to be present during the reading of the letter.” She spoke delicately, though any who was more used to the ways of nobility could detect the note of poison in her words. 

The knight was no such thing, so he babbled loud enough that Lady Musali could hear his nervousness bouncing off the walls. “A-absolutely ma’am. UH I mean, my lady?” He bowed for what must have been the twentieth time in the most inappropriate manner and time. It was starting to get tiresome instead of amusing. “Er, anyway I-I have to uh, stand here while you read it. There’s--well, you’ll see in the letter I guess?” 

With a gentle sigh, she pulled her reticule from where she had placed it down. “If you must, then.” She’d have to have a word with his superiors, later. According to her handmaid, he’d come with an older partner. The instructions were that this Knight in particular--Heimdall, she remembered--be present alone. Perhaps she could speak with him? After she read the letter, of course. From the reticule the Lady produced a letter opener in an elaborately carved sheath. It took a practiced few seconds for her to draw the blade, cut open the envelope, then return it to its rightful place. She even noted from the corner of her eye that Heimdall had flinched from the quickness.

For all that the Wall Knights supposedly faced down evil mages on the regular, this one would be eaten alive at court. Lady Musali held back a satisfied smile and took out the small sheaf of papers and started to read. 

To Her Ladyship Musali Strebor of the noble house of Strebor, The letter began with some if not all of the usual pleasantries that she was used to, but she was thankful to have less to read. After the hundredth time of having to read off the lands that her family had control over, all of the letterheads started to blur together. This one was already unusual in that the only indication that the paper had come from the Wall was a stamp on the top left corner of each page with the symbol of the Knight’s order--a section of wall in the shape of a shield.

She continued to read. We do not know each other, and neither of us have had the opportunity to have our paths cross before now, but I write to you this day on a matter most urgent. It is my utmost hope that this letter reaches you before it is too late and that I can spare you the pain that I have suffered these last seven years. Lady Musali blinked. “A matter most urgent?” “Before it’s too late?” What could this person mean?

I am getting ahead of myself. 

My name is Sagacious Torrent, though I have taken to only being called Saga as of late. I am the current archivist of the Knight Defenders of the Wall. Before that, however, I was a candidate to inherit my family’s business. I am not certain how versed you are in the merchantry of the Turkon Islands, Lady Strebor, but the Torrent family specializes in inter-island trade. Due to the nebulous nature of the smaller islands in the archipelago, as well as the threat that pirates have on foreign ships, transporting goods from one place to another is a difficult endeavor for many, and impossible for most mainlanders. The Torrent family has made its business by stationing their headquarters on the safest island of Kiteltera and (either through direct trade or transportation on Islander ships) help foreign merchants ply their wares on the archipelago. 

To put it simply: My family has a lot of money, and with my cousin determining that he was male and that he would rather join the Queensmen than be forced into a role he did not desire, I was far more likely to inherit the entirety of the business. At this point I must ask that you ask Heimdall to provide the first portrait to accompany this letter.

Raising a thin eyebrow, Lady Musali looked up at the man in question. “Apparently I am supposed to ask you for the first portrait?” At the Wall, an archivist was a higher rank than a knight? That must be the only explanation as to why she was being put through this odd game. Still, the intrigue of the beginning of the letter was far too tempting to miss out on, even if she had to wade through an explanation of a part of the world that her family didn’t ever interact with.

“Ah! Right!” Heimdall patted himself until he found the item in question and handed it over. The portrait was the size of her hand, and clearly painted some years ago. The woman depicted had many of the traits associated with someone born in the Turkon Islands. Her skin was browned by the sun, and her straight dark hair--which grew long enough that the ends couldn’t be seen in the portrait--alongside the pure confidence in her deep brown eyes and posture, all were signs that pointed towards a woman who had been born into a society where she benefited most. She even had a scar that split her left eyebrow in two--something that would be talked about behind her back for years if she had attended court, but to the woman in the portrait it was hardly anything of note.

Lady Musali couldn’t help the pang of jealousy in her breast as she examined the portrait of Saga. This was a woman who had a plethora of choices in her life. Even if her family business had gotten run into the ground, this Saga could rise again in any position she desired. Even nobles with their life of excess had their duties picked out for them for most of their lives.

She glanced at the elaborately carved silver ring on her left hand. This was something she had been given a choice about, at least. Setting the portrait aside, she went back to the letter.

This is how I looked eight years ago. This is how I looked when I met the one who I thought was the love of my life. I am aware of what name he uses for himself now, but back then he called himself Orden Namil. The one he uses now is decidedly different. I apologize for being vague, but this next part is as difficult for me to write as it undoubtedly will be for you to read and you must understand why it is that I decided to write to you now.

Orden was a foreign mage. He came to the Islands, he’d told me later, to find his fortune as best as a man could. I had met him while wandering the capital city of Novel during one of my cousin’s rare visits. The three of us flirted, but he had a special focus on me and foolishly I believed with all my heart that his eyes were set on me for my own traits.  Instead of leaving to travel to other islands, Orden had picked up a job in the city and soon after we started seeing each other more officially. 

He asked me to marry him when we had been together for ten months. I am certain you can sympathize with the feeling, being engaged yourself as I write this letter. Lady Musali wasn’t surprised that an archivist, especially one for the Wall, had found out about the engagement. There were rumors that the Wall had connections to all of the kingdoms in Adronis, as well as the few human-run places on Bibliano and Sanatig. She was more surprised that the regimented straight lines of the words were becoming more and more shaky as the letter went on. Perhaps this wasn’t a joke, as she’d first thought.

Now, inheritance on the Islands works very similarly to how it does on the mainland. Normally, the firstborn girlchild is the one who is the heir to the lands and titles that the family owns, followed by the second one, and so on. If somehow a family only has male living relatives left, then it passes onto the oldest male up until an heir is born, then she will inherit. 

There is one notable exception to any inheritance. That being: when the living heir of a noble or wealthy family decides that she (or he, in this case) wishes to deny their rightful claim, the Queen must be the one to decide who the next heir will be. Each Queen has her own way of determining such. I will spare you old stories of contests and wagers and the like to tell you this: the day after Orden and I had announced our engagement, Her Majesty Queen Doranté III decided that Galline--the young niece to the former heir but still cousin to me--would inherit after her grandmother--my aunt--passed on. 

I was fine with this. At the time, I thought it would make married life that much easier. My children and I could be more free to pursue what we wished, and Orden would still be able to keep at his work. In fact, because he would have my name attached to his, he would be far more able to gain the trust (and business) of any Islander.

He did not agree. Here, the lines were harsh and regimented. As if Saga had been pushing the quill deeply into the paper as she wrote. We fought for the first and last time that night. Kindness and understanding had been utterly replaced by malice and jealousy. He railed against what he saw was an unfair and unjust appointment. Nothing I pointed out about the benefits of not being the heir were heard and were in fact shouted over. He kept going on about lost opportunities and how he had wasted his time. 

It was then that I realized that nothing short of pure greed had motivated Orden into asking for my hand. He hadn’t cared for me from the start.

I took off the ring he’d given me--a silver one, carved elaborately with all the correct signs for a long and happy marriage and extra flourishes besides--and smacked it onto the table. It quieted him down long enough for me to order him to leave and never return. 

I never mentioned what elemental affinity my ex-fiancé has when I mentioned that he is a mage. He is attuned to Fire. 

Fire was his magic of choice when he used it against me. Please ask Heimdall for the second portrait that is to come with this letter.

It took a lot to shake Lady Musali Strebor. Nobility in general had to act as if nothing other than gossip mattered in their lives while around other nobility. Playing the game was how one could make connections and rise ever higher in standing with each other. Being neutral about most everything could mean the difference between a very successful arrangement or being the laughing stock of the court. 

The fact that she was currently trembling as she lowered the letter and stared directly at the silver ring on her hand would have shocked the entire court. With her audience of one (and him being from outside nobility at that), this was the rawest emotion she had shown to someone outside of--

“I am at the part of the letter where I am to see the next portrait.” Lady Strebor’s voice was even, though her body was actively trying to betray her. She took that as a victory, although it didn’t feel like one.

“Uh, right.” Heimdall gave her an odd look as he handed over the second portrait. With shaking hands, she cradled the picture in front of her. Instead of being fully painted, this was more of a drawing that had been outlined in dark ink. The woman depicted was like night to the previous one’s day. She was hunched forward with a deep frown. The lack of color or even shading to her skin told of years of staying indoors. Her arms crossed her chest protectively, though her dark eyes were tiredly looking outward. It was clearly still Saga--the scar on her eyebrow was in the same place, and her face was still the same shape.

The biggest difference was her hair. Or lack thereof.

Instead of long dark locks, there was an almost bare scalp of rippled skin. Tufts of black hair seemed to be growing, but not nearly enough to hide the extent of the damage. This was a broken woman if Lady Musali had ever seen one. And the cause of it all, was…

She went back to the letter as she slowly removed the silver ring from her finger. I hope I do not need to elaborate any further. Your fiancé is a dangerous man, Lady Strebor. I would highly recommend that you break the engagement at your earliest convenience, but please take caution when you do so.

Heimdall and Gawain are two of the best Knights that the Wall has to offer. This is why I sent them with the letter, although I did not tell either of them the true reasons why. Tell them that their final task is to defend you from your mage fiancé and they will listen. If you do not wish for their presence, just send them back to the Wall. I only offer suggestions, you are allowed to do what you wish with this information. 

I understand that the pressures of nobility do not always give much by way of choice, but I pray that you will find happiness with a marriage to someone that is nothing like him.

Yours truly,

Sagacious Torrent

Lady Musali Strebor put the final page down and stared into the middle distance for what felt like ages. Finally she looked down at the ring in her hand and closed it tight. “Sir Heimdall.” She called.

He immediately snapped back to attention. “Ma’am! Er, uh--”

“Ma’am will do.” She snapped, but she went back to using her gentle tone immediately after. “It seems I need the help of you and your partner with a spot of personal business involving a mage. Will you both protect me while I handle this matter?”

A worried look flashed across his face, but Heimdall ended up saluting anyway. “We’re here to protect those who are in danger from those who would use magic for evil. So. I’m not really supposed to say yes without Gawain here but I think he’ll let it slide.” His smile was still nervous as he added, “You’ll send us a glowing review after, right?”

“That remains to be seen.” Lady Strebor carefully folded the letter and placed it and the portraits into her reticule before rising. “My fiancé shall be returning this evening. I’d like you both to join us for supper so we can take care of this matter today.”

From how he lit up, she was very certain that he was far more interested in the food than in any protecting he needed to do. Hopefully Gawain was more responsible. “Yes ma’am! Thank you, ma’am! I’ll, uh, go get him then.” 

She gave a dismissal wave towards his retreating back. With a sigh she stared at the ceiling, and then daintily tread to her writing desk.

Lady Musali Strebor had a reply to compose.

[sparrowwritings]

Writing Challenge Day Thirteen: Angry

Day Twelve -- Masterpost -- Day Fourteen

All she needed was a single hour. Just one where she could relax, focus on her research, and not be bothered by anything trivial.

The door to her workshop slammed open and Doctor Kofaranin Yasiq heaved the weary sigh of the overworked. “What is it now?” She barked as she turned from the open journal she had been writing in. 

The crew member in her doorway at least had the gall to act sheepish when her sharp gaze turned on him. “Er...Beggin’ yer pardon, Doctor, but uh...th’ Cap’n says we’re to be raidin’ th’ merchant ship soon and er…” He stepped aside. “He don’t want th’ Magpie gettin’ too ‘andsy while arrows are flyin’.” 

Right behind him stood the small and slight child that had been adopted by the crew. Terazin also known as Zin also known as a number of other nicknames, gave a slightly awkward wave. Her large pointed ears poked out of the cloudy dark hair that framed the girl’s face. They twitched upwards at the attention the doctor gave her.

Kofaranin made sure to look directly at the crew member who delivered Zin when she hardened her stare. “And keep her entertained, I suppose.”

“Er, not, not in as many words, Doctor Koffin…”

She waited for long enough that he started to fidget in place before she responded with a sharp. “Fine.” Koffin beckoned the child inside. “Come along, I have things to do before the inevitable disaster.” 

A negative emotion flashed across Zin’s face before she smiled and signed at the crew member. “Good luck! Find lots of loot!” Kofaranin interpreted from the child’s gestures. He at least gave a smile and a nod before waving farewell. As soon as Zin had entered, the doctor shut the door tight. If she hadn’t been anticipating injuries from this venture, she would have locked it. As it stood, the door would stay shut until either she opened it again or someone else barged in. 

Turning around, Koffin could see that Zin was already preoccupied with the various bottles and tools that were scattered about the tables she used for research. Most of them were held in place by way of specialized indentions in the wood, which were quite handy considering the constant movement of a ship at sea. There would be time to play with the tools later, though. She needed to prepare.

“Zin, I’d like your help setting up.” The doctor knelt down and opened a large drawer that was underneath the biggest of her work spaces. This one was completely flat, and polished to an unnatural shine. Still, there were a number of dark brown stains that no amount of cleaning had been able to remove. A hazard of the job. Taking out a large white sheet, Koffin placed it on top of the table. 

With the slightest amount of hesitation, the girl tiptoed her way to the table. It took a couple of tries, but soon the sheet covered the space on all sides. On top was the pig-like mask that the doctor used for her procedures and a leather bag of tools. 

Now all that was left was to wait. 

Terazin had sat on the single bolted down chair in the workshop while Kofaranin had begun to write in her journal again. The girl was swinging her bare feet with ease and pointedly not looking at the doctor. That was fine. The less interrupted she was, the more she could get done before the fighting started. 

Her luck wouldn’t hold out.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kofaranin could see Zin lift a hand towards the doctor’s coat. She did that motion at least four times before Koffin let loose a sigh. “Would you like paper, or would you prefer to sign?” She turned to the child.

Zin winced and started signing, clearly indicating her preference. “I wanted to know if you are okay. You seem,” Here she hesitated and her ears drooped a little. “Angry.” That particular sign was of an enraged face and a clawed hand coming towards it. 

Of course the child noticed. Children notice all sorts of things about adults that no one realized until it was far too late. Koffin gave a sigh and tucked some of her thin black hair behind her own slightly pointed ears. “I am. Angry, that is.” Zin’s already large hazel eyes widened further. “And not because I was told at the last minute that I had to care for you.” The doctor pointed a pale, currently gloveless finger at the girl. “If you have any misunderstandings about that, I ask you nip those in the bud, Reneh.

No, what I’m angry about is this mission.” She continued on though Zin had put a hand on her chest at the Elvish word. Reneh was a gender-neutral term of endearment, one meant to be used for individuals who had a familial love for each other (rare as it was to find among full blooded elves). Koffin’s face reddened at the sight of the girl’s sudden admiration and she coughed before she explained further. “It’s ill advised during this season to attack ships, regardless of how desperate one is to impress the crown. The heat increases the miasma of the world, causing sickness and further irritating wounds taken. Not to mention the potential for rot increases manyfold in the summer--” 

The doctor ranted about her misgivings about the mission for long enough that it took a sudden jolt of the ship for the two to realise that the battle had started already. Koffin could pick out arrows being fired from crossbows on both sides, and screams coming from the ship next to them. The workshop’s portholes had tinted glass, but there was light enough that she could see the aft of the merchant ship that the Merry Tale was attacking.

She clenched her teeth and went to grab her mask. “It’s like he’s asking to get hurt…him and the crew...” Koffin muttered to herself as she fidgeted with the straps on the inside.

Another jolt from the ship turned her attention back to Terazin, who was squinting from her to the porthole. Slowly, the girl’s face brightened. It was as if she was coming to a revelation. As usual, it was easy to read the child’s expressions. Perhaps it came from her inability to speak? Koffin tabled that idea as Zin started to sign. “I know why you’re angry.” 

“I’ve told you at length why I’m angry.” She tugged on her leather gloves as she spoke. “I doubt I left anything unsaid.”

“You’re not angry because you have to heal the crew.” Zin grinned triumphantly, showcasing the latest couple of gaps in her teeth. Koffin would have to examine them again to be sure of how many other baby teeth the girl was going to lose. She nearly missed catching the latest, very excited signs. “You’re angry that they’re getting hurt!”

Kofaranin froze as if she were caught in a lie. Except...that was far from the case. She didn’t know what to say, for once. 

“Your face says I’m right!” Zin clapped and twirled, though it was interrupted by yet another jolt. Really, this battle seemed to be gettin far more violent to the ship than usual. Unperturbed, the girl kept signing, though it was much harder to keep up in Koffin’s shocked state. “You work so hard to make all of the potions and keep everyone healthy. Sure you can be scary, but that just means you love us so much!” She paused, her elation temporarily halted. “Right?” The sign was her hands with their pointer fingers out, tapping on top of each other as she nodded and tilted her head with the question.

Clearing her throat, Koffin ignored the rising temperature in her face. “If I must assure you of my feelings, then I can say with utmost certainty that I--”

“DOCTOR!” A burly woman knocked open the door with one of her massive shoulders. “CAP’S BEEN HIT!” Sure enough, the figure she held in her arms was indeed Captain Cevonnis Torrent. He gave a weak smile, his false teeth having apparently been lost during the fight. His red jacket was unbuttoned, revealing both the crossbow bolt and the blooming amount of blood on his white shirt. 

Fury overtook the doctor. “Leave him on the table and get out there, Janika. Make sure no one else gets hurt or so help me--” Janika had already placed the captain down and was running as Koffin spoke. “Zin, get me the small saw and the second largest extractors.” 

Having been given orders, the girl hurried to comply. It took only seconds before the doctor was ready. “Now stay with the chair until I’m finished. I don’t want you to inhale his miasma for too long.” With a hesitant nod, Zin ran and clung onto the bolted down chair. “I hate you. You and every member of our crew.” She muttered darkly to the Captain as she pulled on her pig-like mask. 

“Glad to see your usual method of affection is well intact.” Cevo quipped as if he wasn’t severely wounded. “For a second there I’d thought you’d meant it.”

Instead of replying (not that she could have been heard very well while wearing her mask), Koffin stuffed a medicine-soaked rag into his mouth and began her work.

None of her crew were going to die today if she had any say on it. Even those as annoying as Cevo.

[sparrowwritings]

Writing Challenge Day Twenty-One: Discipline

Day Twenty -- Masterpost -- Day Twenty-two

“Newbie did bad. I get why he’s gotta suffer. So why,” Tyr grunted as he finished with his fiftieth pushup. He was on his fists as he lowered and raised his body once again. “Are we getting punished?” 

“You heard the commander,” Gawain folded his arms and leaned against one of the training dummies. “Newbie fucked up but it was your jobs to train him to do it right in the first place.”

“I’m right here, you know.” Trevor complained. He was dripping with sweat from his own pushups. He couldn’t even remember what number he was on.

“And how come YOU’RE not doing anything?!” Heimdall yelled from his spot on the ground. He was as fit as anyone in the Wall, but he’d collapsed after his sixth on and refused to do more. “You AND Fen!”

“I had my own thing to deal with.” Fenrir scoffed, standing in a similar pose to Gawain. Her face was as impassive as ever, but her one eye was bright with amusement. “If I’d have known that you guys babysitting Tyr would end up like this, I probably would’ve just kept the newbie here at the wall.” 

“My punishment is far worse than any of yours is.” Gawain said with as deadpan a voice as possible.

Heim snorted and glared up at his partner. “A likely story.”

“Oh it’s the worst, I assure you.” Moving his gaze to stare off into the middle distance, the oldest knight in the group spoke as if he were describing the horrors of war. “Paperwork. I’ve been assigned all of your paperwork.” Gawain stopped pretending to be traumatised for long enough to level his own glare right back at the three idiots on the ground. “Since it ain’t like any of you are gonna get to it.” 

“I was gonna! I swear!” Heim protested.

It was Tyr’s turn to snort. He sounded like a horse for a second. “Yeah and fairies are something you can see when you’re not drunk.”

“I TOLD YOU THAT IN *CONFIDENCE*---” 

“In any case,” Fenrir stepped into Heim’s outburst by stepping *on* his back very slightly. “Once one of you gets to one hundred pushups we can pretend like all of you got all of them done.”

Trevor blanched, his arms already trembling after his absolutely measly amount of pushups. “O-one  hundred? You’re sure?”

Gawain held a hand out flat and wiggled it a little--the universal sign of kinda sorta. “The commander said something along the lines of “Keep going until you’ve learned your lesson” but Sagramore likes to be a bastard about orders that aren’t specific and said y’all should do three hundred pushups. One hundred per person.”

On cue, Heimdall groaned like it was the end of the world. “Do pushups even help keep you fit? It’s just pushing your body up from the ground again and again! How is *that* doing anything?!” 

“Well even if the point was strength training, they ain’t doing anything for *you* since you stopped doing them after about seven reps.” Fenrir kept her foot on the smaller man’s back. “Here, I’ll help you with weight resistance. Do thirty with my foot on your back and we’ll call it even.” 

With a sigh and quite a lot of grumbling, Heim did indeed get started with doing pushups while carrying his companion’s weight. He started getting red in the face after a single one. Gawain had no remorse when he gave an amused chuckle about it. The glare from his partner was worth it.

“Is this what’s going to happen *every* time I mess up?” Trevor muttered. 

“Not *every* time.” Gawain confirmed. “We’ve got plenty of other disciplinary tactics we use around here. This one’s one of the easier ones to deal with!”

“Great...that’s, that’s great…”

[sparrowwritings]

Writing Challenge Day Eighteen: Wound

Day Seventeen -- Masterpost -- Day Nineteen

At first the scratch hardly hurt. She’d barely noticed it as she helped the wildcat out of the trap left by humans. It was only when Chronai had come out of his hiding place, his gray-blue eyes locking onto her arm, that Squirrel first started to feel any pain. She looked down herself and winced. The “scratch” was quite a bit deeper than she’d anticipated. Her blood now covered her forearm and hand. 

“Well that’s hardly ideal.” She muttered, her pale eyebrows furrowing as she went over what she would need for the wound.

“That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one.” Chronai was already patting around himself and eventually produced a waterskin. “Here, to clean it for your flashy healing stuff.” 

Squirrel uncapped the waterskin before taking it in her uninjured hand. “I’m going to bandage it, not heal it. It’s bad, sure, but not worthy of healing. A few days of herbs and wrapping should do the trick.” She winced as the cool liquid hit the exposed flesh. Rivulets of blood dripped onto the forest floor, mixing with the water and soil to make a dark mud. 

Then it was Chronai’s turn to furrow his brows. “What do you mean “not worthy of healing?” You’ve healed animals with less damage. Hell, you’ve healed me for stuff that didn’t even break the surface of the skin.” 

In a single smooth motion, she went from standing to sitting somewhat away from the new mud puddle. One handed, she rooted around in one of the bags she kept strapped to her waist. Different plants seemed to appear from the bag at random, though Squirrel was well acquainted with them and their various uses. She set them in several places around her before she finally produced a roll of fabric. All of this took place in a very well practiced maneuver. 

She started mashing up the different herbs with her uninjured arm before she replied. “All of Maminé’s children are vulnerable when they are in pain. We, as her chosen children, are tasked with making certain that the rest of them live for as long as they are able.” The tone was that of rote memorization. Once mashed, the plant mush was immediately spread over the entirety of the wound with a nasty wet sound. “It means that when we encounter anything in pain, we must heal them if we are able to.”

Squirrel gave a lopsided grin as Chronai’s face pinched and his mouth puckered with doubt. Not unfounded doubt, considering the Elves’ reputation for violence against trespassers. “Well! At least that’s what we tell the children!” She was already unrolling the fabric, but this time her friend had the sense to sit down next to her and help out. With a grateful smile, she continued talking while he wrapped the plant-covered wound. “In reality it’s more complicated. Remind me, how do humans use magic, Crow?” 

Chronai’s eyes moved back and forth, like he did when he was reading something. “Using their own energy, a human can call on the elements around them to cast a spell. The nature of the spell depends on what framework the human has in mind. Or, if a framework isn’t used, the effect is more akin to moving around an element purely with one’s own mind.” He blinked a couple of times, settling that piece of information back to wherever it was that he stored such things. 

She nodded, having heard this before. “And a mage’s limit is their own stamina usually, right?”

“Yeah.” He tugged at the fabric at a couple of places, making certain it wasn’t too tight before he finally cut the cloth and tucked the freshly made end inside the bandage itself. “Some limits like power can be set by what kind of family you have, but mostly the amount you can do with magic is about the same as what you can do for anything else.” Chronai shrugged. “I can’t do even a quarter of the things a mage can do without hurting myself, but I can maintain what little I know for quite a bit if I need to.”

“Right, right.” Squirrel opened and closed the hand on her injured arm a couple of times. When she was satisfied with the work, she stood up just as gracefully as she had sat down. “My point is that for humans, all of the energy they use can come back. Healing doesn’t work like that.”

“How does it work, then?” Chronai also stood, not even letting her offer a hand to him. 

“Mm.” She glanced around the woods, her pointed ears twitching. He waited until she gave a nod before he leaned in closer to hear what she was about to say. “It’s not something we’re supposed to tell just anyone, but I’ve known you long enough to trust you, Crow. Healing is the act of using your own life to prolong the lives of others.”

His eyebrows shot up into his hairline. Squirrel couldn’t help the reflexive giggle at shocking him so hard. “What.” 

She nodded. “It’s true. We were gifted with some of the longest lives in the world, so we give part of it to Maminé’s children to help them thrive.” Again, she gave a sheepish grin. “Or so the elders teach. I haven’t really heard of anyone living very far past two-hundred, but my clan’s far enough away from Her sacred woods, there could be many who have been around for centuries. Even longer.”

“Okay that’s fascinating and all but let’s go back to the part where you used your life to heal me.” He grabbed onto her shoulders and squeezed just hard enough for Squirrel to give him a curious look. “What exactly constitutes a worthy wound? Just wounds that aren’t on you or is there some other criteria? Do you have a rough estimate of how much life you have left or is it all just a guess? Can you even feel when you’re hitting your limit or is there some other indication?” Even with all of his questions, he still had time to shake her a little for his final one. “Are you just going to drop dead on me one day?”

She knew him well enough to know that the questions were more of a way to order his thoughts than anything. Sure he wanted to know the answers, but he was willing to take them at her pace more than the one he set. He was a very considerate human that way. “First of all, I’ve bandaged you up more than I’ve healed you.” Squirrel pointed out. “The worthiness of the wound really more depends on whether or not the creature that has one can survive while having it. A gouge that otherwise leaves the animal standing, for example, wouldn’t be worthy enough to heal. A broken bone? That’s a different conversation.”

Chronai’s face didn’t move for a moment, then he nodded. “So the same goes for you and the other forest guards.” His eyes wandered from her own to the bandage for a moment before refocusing back on her face. 

“Exactly.” She lifted her uninjured hand to pat at one of the ones currently holding her shoulders. “As for limits…” She bit her lower lip with her slightly more prominent upper teeth. “It’s hard to put into words...”

“If you can’t it’s fine, but I’d like you to try.” Chronai’s gray-blue eyes were intensely focused on her. “Please.”

Squirrel’s eyes shuttered closed at the request, lost in memory. “When I’m healing something, it’s like I am seeing their own life in front of me and I can feel my own life around me. I can’t see the edges of my life, but I can figure out what can be given to safely heal the creature.” Her eyes opened again. “So I’m not going to die from that quite yet!” 

“Yay.” He intoned humorlessly.

“Besides, if I couldn’t control my healing or if I lacked the ability to judge how much healing a creature needs at any given time I wouldn’t have been picked for my job.” She looked serious now. “There are plenty of stories about people not being careful enough with healing and dying trying to save someone or something beyond saving. Or worse.” 

“There’s worse. Then dying trying to save someone who can’t be saved.” Chronai’s voice was so utterly flat, she couldn’t tell if it was from disbelief or further shock.

“The only worse thing than that is to die successfully saving someone’s life who shouldn’t have been saved.”

“How the hell is that worse? Wouldn’t both healer and healee dying be the worst case scenario?” 

Squirrel shuddered. Her arm was starting to itch, which meant that the herbs were working. “I’ll tell you about it later. I can’t climb trees with my arm like this, so we really need to head back now if we’re going to get home before it gets dark.” 

Chronai huffed. “Fine.” 

An idea struck her as she checked her bags to make sure they were all closed. “Say, we haven’t had a race completely on the ground before…” 

He blinked slowly. As if to say “Really? Now?” without a single uttered word. 

“I might be injured, but I can still beat you!”

“Sure.” This time she was sure that Chronai disbelieved her. 

“Let’s go!” Squirrel took off in the correct direction, her friend close behind her despite the lack of proper paths. 

[sparrowwritings]

Writing Challenge Day 7: Abundant

Day Six -- Masterpost -- Day Eight

“...Honey, we have to talk.” 

“About what?” Catrene grinned all the way up her husband’s body as her dark brown eyes settled on his face. 

Telan’s brow furrowed as he crossed his arms. “...Are you really going to pretend like you don’t know what the problem is.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her grin didn’t move at all. She definitely knew what was coming up and was just playing up her obliviousness.

Or at least, Telan hoped she was pretending to be oblivious this time.

Very gently, he took his wife by the shoulders and turned her around towards the nearest window. “This problem, my love.”

There were so many cats outside. Big cats, little cats, fluffy ones, short haired ones, cats of every color and shape possible and a number that probably shouldn’t have been. Gibby and Vic were playing with some of the horde of kittens that vied for their attention while some of the adults pretended to not be watching. Whatever rodents the estate would have had, Telan almost hoped that they’d found someplace else to live. He pitied whatever creatures were brave enough to land or scamper nearby. 

“Ohhhh, that’s what you meant.” Catrene looked up, catching Telan’s eye as he in turn looked down at her. “Well I don’t see why it’s a big deal. Any pests just get eaten up!”

“Yes, but having such a huge population of them is hurting the population of animals who live nearby.” He ticked off the creatures in question on one of his large hands. “There’s hardly any birds that come around any more, we’re losing our population of deer...and the cats themselves are going to starve if this keeps up.”

“What?? How??” She whirled around and jabbed him in the chest with a sharp fingernail. “If they run out of prey, we can feed them! We have so much money, why not give some of it to the poor little kitties?” Her voice had gone babyish as her gaze was captured once again by the literal field full of felines lazing in the sun. 

He heaved a great sigh. “The money only goes so far, dearest. I can’t just use it to replace all of the animals that the cats have killed. Or will kill if this keeps up.” Telan hesitated, but steeled himself for this next part. “A few of them have already started attacking chickens.”

“WHAT!” Catrene’s attention was now fully on her husband.

“That’s really why I needed to talk to you. Some of the townsfolk came to me, demanding I do something. Their gardens have leaves full of bite marks and a few have had to threaten violence to get the cats to leave their chickens alone.”

“Oh that should get them exiled--” Telan gently put a finger in front of her face. She huffed and let him finish what he was going to say.

“I know how much you love them, Cat, but a hundred cats resorting to eating the grass that our cattle need to eat *as well as* trying to attack our poultry...it’s just too much for the town to handle. As their--” And here he paused like he always did whenever the subject of his actual title came up. “Their lord. I invited these people to live on my land and it’s my duty to protect them.” Just as gently as before he curled a finger under her chin, though her eyes were firmly set on his face. “I’m just sorry I have to sacrifice your happiness for it.”

Dark brown eyes met warm brown ones intensely. “What’s the highest amount of cats we can have without hurting anything?”

Telan blinked. “Er. Probably about a dozen.” It was the first number off the top of his head. A knowing voice in his head reminded him that the number would probably get talked up before the negotiation was over. He shoved that voice back into the depths of his mind.

She made a tittering sound and started to mutter. Briefly breaking eye contact, she counted something on her fingers for a moment. “There’s about twice--no, two and a half times--that many kittens around, not counting the ones that haven’t even been born yet…” Catrene’s eyes flicked back up to his. “We’re not going to be getting rid of the pregnant cats are we?”

“Wha--no, we can wait until they have their litters and the litters are weaned to send them off.”

“There’s got to also be a way to just, keep the ones that are here from having more too…”

Remembering something, Telan snapped his fingers. “I’ve heard of a healer who specializes in preventing pregnancies.” Cat paused in her calculations to look at him with an eyebrow raised. He started to turn red. “N-not, that I’ve needed to contact them for any personal reason. I’m just saying we could have them teach those techniques to anyone with the gift for healing magic in town. A-and it could apply to the cats!”

“...Fair.” Her eyebrow lowered back down as she started thinking further about the problem. “They’re wandering the area so much because there aren’t a lot of spots to hide. We’re on pretty flat land. They’ll need a safe place to stay. Permanently.” 

“Are you suggesting we turn the manor into a cat house?” 

“WELL--”

“No.” That much, Telan wouldn’t budge on. 

“Oh come on--!”

“Our servants have enough to put up with when it comes to you, Vic and Gibby.” She was too close for him to fold his arms, so he settled on putting his hands on his hips. “Cleaning up the messes that the three of you *and* a dozen--”

“Fifteen.”

“A dozen cats will inevitably make in the manor is too much to ask of them.”

Catrene’s face fell and Telan knew he wasn’t going to win this discussion. He just couldn’t stand to disappoint her. “...There is another option.”

If one could brighten up cautiously, she did so now. “Oh?” 

Heaving a heavy sigh, he answered. “I could have the builders make a cat mansion.” 

Now she definitely brightened up. “OH!”

“You’ll need to make sure everything’s up to snuff when it comes to the insides, but--” Telan absolutely had a point to make to his wife but she had hopped onto the window sill to jump into his arms and kiss him and all of his thoughts left his head at once.

His friends in the Wandering Knights constantly wondered why he put up with--and even married--such a spitfire for a woman. They just didn’t understand that for all the work that was put into directing Catrene’s outlandish impulses in a more controlled manner, it was moments like these that made him feel the best. Telan had never wanted to be with someone who just went along with everything he said. He’d wanted someone who knew what they wanted and would fight tooth and nail for it. Being with Catrene was all of that and more, and his heart swelled for his love for her.

The fact that he tended to cave in to her demands was just a side effect of his love.

When they separated, she was beaming with happiness. “It’ll be perfect! A mansion for twenty cats! And we can convince the townsfolk to adopt a few of them too!” Her eyes were shining with the millions of ideas that were filling her head. “And then--” She launched into rambling about said ideas as he easily held her. 

He could refine the details later.

[sparrowwritings]

Writing Challenge Day Five: Horizon

Day Four -- Masterpost -- Day Six

In the darkness of the glade, the light coming from one of the two moons was almost blinding. The second, the mage knew, was going to be on the horizon in about an hour. The one above her was full. While so far up in the sky, she could see some pockmarks on its surface next to the large hole bored within the rock. Some of them felt more familiar than they had any right to be. 

With a deep breath, Aven Gressel shifted into a more steady stance. There was no way to know if what she was attempting was going to work. It wouldn’t be the worst waste of several months of research she’d ever done, but there weren’t any other options if this one failed. She tried not to think about how there were only fictional instances of what she was attempting actually succeeding.

Holding her hands out to her sides, the mage took a deep breath and called upon her inner magic to affect the air around her. The wind reacted instantly, whirling in front of her as she raised her hands to her mouth, forming a cone. Without skipping a beat Aven shouted into the wind in front of her. “SHARDO, SON OF GARN AND HESARÉ, BROTHER OF LITA AND KITCHREN, GOD OF SHADOWS! I WISH TO SPEAK TO YOU AGAIN!” The sound was pulled from her lungs and into the miniature storm, distorting for just a moment before she pushed her hands upwards and sent the wind into the air. Her message rang out from above, crystal clear. 

She waited. 

And waited. 

What felt like an hour passed (though in reality it was only a handful of minutes) with absolutely nothing happening. 

Aven couldn’t help the sharp stab of disappointment going through her, though any academic worth their salt would have chided her for feeling that way about an unfavorable result. Experimentation took time and effort and trying things repeatedly. Just because she’d already spent months trying and failing to contact the God of Shadows didn’t mean that there was no way to do it. “Repeated failure isn’t always the fault of the method,” The deep, comforting rumble of her former mentor’s voice said from the back of her mind. “Sometimes you just need to look at the problem from a different angle and try again.”

She still felt upset, but stabbing pressure in her chest eased at his imagined words. “But what angle am I missing?” The mage stared up at the moon as if it would respond to her in its master’s stead. “I’ve tried calling for him with every phase of each moon. I’ve called when it was sunset, even, for a solid week.” Aven produced a notebook from one of her pockets and went over her notes in the bright moonlight. “If it’s a matter of where, I don’t think trying so close to a population would work. He’s not known to be sociable.” 

“It’s less a matter of sociability than it is that most everyone’s asleep at night. What else have you tried?” 

“This and that. Different messages, infusing my Wind magic with Earth to try to get his attention better. Nothing too incredibly different from what I was doing in the first place.” Aven flipped through the pages of her notebook some more. 

“Well that’s some dedication you have there. What do you need to talk to the God of Shadows for?”

“I just have some questions about--” She paused. Slowly, the mage turned towards the voice that had been answering her. Instinct had her shutting her notebook to hold in one hand.

There, leaning back against a tree as if he had been there the entire time, was Shardo himself. He looked no different than the first time she’d met him. The expression on his face was far cheekier than it was before, but this was still the god. “I’m surprised you’re not more dedicated to Rotin. You lose track of everything around you when you’re doing research, just like him.”

Her cheeks colored instantly. “That’s--what--you--” Aven sharply inhaled. Normally she would close her eyes, but there was that underlying fear that Shardo would just disappear the second she took her eyes off of him. She held her breath for a few seconds before exhaling. “Right. Okay.” She put her free hand on her hip and pointed at him with the notebook. “First of all, just because you can blend into the shadows doesn’t mean you can just show up without announcing yourself.”

“For all you know I’ve been here the whole time and you hadn’t noticed.” Shardo pointed out.

“Second of all,” Aven kept talking, utterly ignoring his commentary. “It’s also rude to question how dedicated someone is to worshipping specific gods. I’ve got my reasons, and you don’t need to know them.” 

He put a hand to his chin. “That’s a fair point. Sorry about that.” His statement rang true, which made her feel a little less annoyed. Only a little, though.

“And third of all--” She marched over and poked at his chest. In the back of her head she was only somewhat certain that he was going to be solid and was somewhat surprised that he was. Shardo also didn’t seem to have anticipated that move, at least going by his startled look. “I have a whole lot of questions. And until you either give me a reliable way to contact you or you answer all of them, I’m not going to quit bugging you.”

His white eyes flicked from her finger up to her face a couple of times. Now that she had the light of the moon behind her, she could read his expressions better. For as much as Shardo was considered mysterious and foreboding, Aven could recognize how tense he suddenly was. A far cry less relaxed than he had been only a moment ago. His voice lowered dangerously as his expression turned threatening. “If this has anything to do with that cult from a while back, I’m telling you now that it’s best to burn those books or scrolls before you do something you regret.”

She paused in her verbal attack, confused. “Cult? What cult? I just wanted to ask you questions because you’re the only god I’ve ever directly interacted with.” Aven’s gray eyes then widened and she took a couple of steps back. “Wait did you think I was actually going to force you into answering questions? No! Absolutely not! Wouldn’t dream of it!” 

Shardo tilted his head as she kept rambling, his sudden anger buried beneath his own confusion. “Even beyond what amount of magic or depraved activities it would take to even do that, that’s just--” She had already tucked her notebook into the pocket it had come from, so one of her empty hands clutched at her chest while her other tucked itself behind her back. Aven frowned as the hand at her front grasped at empty air, then she looked down and seemed to remember something before running that hand through her short brown hair. “That’s just wrong. Regardless of reason. I shouldn’t have tried to jest about something you’re clearly sensitive about.” 

She turned and bowed deeply before the God of Shadows. “I apologize if your second impression of me has tarnished my image in your mind. I’ll stop trying to call for you if I need to.” That stabbing pain of disappointment and of answers lost happened again, but it was far better to sacrifice her curiosity than it was to incur the wrath of a god. Even accidentally.

Silence surrounded Aven. So thorough and deep it was, that she thought that Shardo had left for good. Then it was broken by a deep sigh. “Alright, enough, stand up already. I forgive you, Aven Gressel.” 

Her body straightened up so quickly that she wobbled a little from a sudden headache. “I mean it, though. I don’t want to keep calling out for you if you don’t want me to.” Once the dizziness had passed, she noticed him giving a small smile.

“Your method’s certainly creative, I’ll give you that.” He chuckled and she was relieved to see that he seemed to have truly gotten past his anger. “I’ll give you this; if you need my attention on any given night, just find yourself a dark place and call my name. You don’t need to make it anything fancier than that. I can’t say I’ll show up every time--I’m far too busy with other things most nights--but I can guarantee that I’ll be listening. Or watching, if you prefer to call me when the moons are out.” He held a finger up towards the sky and her eyes followed it. 

Sure enough, the second moon had risen. The celestial body was just barely peeking over the trees within the glade. 

“And if you have any burning questions, I’ll answer what I can. Rotin’s really the one that does that lecture thing more often. God of Wisdom and all that.” Shardo gave a shrug. “Though I’ll grant that he’s much harder to contact directly than me.”

Her heart swelled with something like victory and excitement. Aven was so full of positive feelings she had to dance in her place a little to let it all out. She only stopped when he chuckled again, her face burning once more. 

“No no, keep going. Really.” Shardo’s smile, while warm, was somewhat awkward while he tried to gesture her to continue. “I didn’t mean to laugh it’s just--” Now it was his turn to look away while he scratched at his face. “Your little dance reminded me of something Kit used to do when they were young.” The grin widened sheepishly. “I guess I should ask your forgiveness this time.”

Aven was about to say something, when she remembered what he’d said to her earlier. “It’s less a matter of sociability than it is that most everyone’s asleep at night.” How often did Shardo even have conversations with people regularly? That wasn't whatever family he had that were awake while he was? How long had it been since he had to be social? Were his mercurial emotions something he had to deal with regularly, or was it just that he wasn’t used to being emotional around people?

In the middle of those questions was the nugget of an idea. “Sometimes you just need to look at the problem from a different angle and try again.” Echoed in her mind as the idea rolled around in it. As usual, her mouth started working long before her head did. “Instead of that, how about we start over?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

She made some vague gestures that she hoped would help her express her idea. “Let’s pretend that we met under less fantastical circumstances--” He snorted loud enough that she offered him narrowed eyes before she continued. “--and start from square one with our interactions. This way we’ll both be at least a little less awkward with each other since you helpfully agreed to answer some questions of mine.” She walked forward again and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Aven Gressel. Wind aspected mage and academic of some renown.”

He eyed the hand she held in front of her for a moment before offering his own. Once again she was taken aback by how warm it was for how dark his appearance and his known abilities. “Shardo. Son of Garn and Hesaré, God of Shadows, and so on.” 

They shook hands firmly. There was no magical sign that there was any binding pact, but Aven had the sense that this was the start of something important between the two of them.

“So for my first question I must ask: Is Kitchren going by they right now?”

“Sort of. It’s a long story.”

“Unless you need to go, I literally have all night.”

“Alright, then, if you insist.”

[sparrowwritings]

Writing Challenge Day Twenty-eight: Shadow

Day Twenty-seven -- Masterpost -- Day Twenty-nine

Shardo took in a deep breath as he steeled himself for what needed to happen next. It was one of very few deeds that superseded any other duty he might have. He couldn’t move on to something else and return to this one even if he wanted to. 

With a preemptive wince, he forced himself to roll back his shoulders and mentally reach out towards that force of power that defines the borders of where life can go. He reached for Death.

“Grandfather. I need to speak to you.” Within moments that very familiar presence made itself known just behind him. Shardo knew better than to actually turn around. The God of Death couldn’t form himself in a more physical way without dire consequences hitting the world. The pressure of someone being there was just a formality. 

Hello, Grandson. Hetad’s monotonous “voice” echoed in his head. What is it that you need?

The God of Shadows couldn’t help the wry smile on his face. “What else do I call you for?” His amusement faded as he gestured at the scene below him. “These ones were pretty hidden.”

He had been exploring a cave. This wasn’t very unusual--caves were places that his shadows were at home in, so of course Shardo needed to explore them every so often. What was unusual about this particular cave was the deep drop into complete darkness only a few feet from the cave’s entrance. The evidence of things discovering this odd feature was collected at the bottom. Bones, moldy fur, dried blood, clothing--all of this was nothing that Shardo needed to be concerned about.

It was the spirits that were left behind that were a different matter.

The depths of Garn are as much of a mystery to me as they are to most creatures. That these mortals died so far within them that I did not notice is not a surprise, but it is troubling. Hetad mused. Shardo could feel his grandfather’s concern by way of an outside presence squeezing on his chest more than an inflection in his words. How far gone are they?

The God of Shadows merged into the shadows of one wall before moving himself to the bottom of the basin. He stuck to the wall, but his eyes were visible to anything that might be living down there. Or un-living, as the case was here. “Well they’re able to pay attention to me.” Even with completely darkened eyes, Shardo could tell that he was being tracked by multiple pairs of eyes. That didn’t bode well. “Most of the ones I see have gone past the point of being recognizably mortal and look--well, like skin and bones if they had either.” 

Hetad was silent for a beat or two. He could feel the squeeze of concern tighten further, though it was mixed with a fierce surge of--Shardo would hardly call it anger. His grandfather was never angry. Duty probably fit that rising storm of energy that came from just outside of himself. Thank you for alerting me to these ones, Grandson. Since you have asked to speak with me, I must ask a favor of you.

“What do you need, Grandfather?” The reply was automatic. The God of Death wouldn’t ask for anything frivolous.

I need you to make yourself known in the middle of the spirits. You must allow them to touch you.

He shuddered. If the shadow he was staying in could be seen from the outside, the whole silhouette would have moved with it. The God of Shadows and his twin were the oldest of the third generation of gods. The two had been there when lost mortal spirits first started appearing. They had also been among the first to witness the transformation from lost soul to decayed nightmare. A spirit that has deteriorated enough to not appear mortal at all will attach itself to anything magical and drain the energy out of it to sustain its presence on the world. Them touching Shardo wouldn’t kill him--he was immortal, after all--but it wouldn’t be pleasant either. 

A faint buzz in his head indicated that Hetad found that reaction amusing even in this serious situation. You have mentioned before that it is the biggest disadvantage to finding the hidden ones. 

“I can’t help that they almost always congregate in big patches of darkness.” He grumbled as he prepared to get right up in the mix. “Just be ready.”

I always am.

Right. Shardo knew that.

He moved from his spot on the wall to the floor in the middle of the mass and reformed his more human looking self. “Come and get it, then.” Shardo spread out his arms to the spirits.

It wasn’t long before a whole throng of spirits set about grasping at him, at his shadows, at anything connected to him. Just as he expected, every touch sent an unpleasant ripple through him as the wrongness of their beings tried in vain to absorb his godly essence. Before they could even attempt such a thing, Shardo had distinct feeling of a pull from within him. One by one, each of the feral spirits were drawn into that pull--one that he had no control over whatsoever. He couldn’t be sure how much time had passed before all of them were gone, but it was long enough that he could sense that the moons were significantly further along in the sky than they had been when this had started. 

As always, thank you for alerting me to these kinds of problems. The God of Shadows could feel Hetad smile even though how weary he suddenly was. Spirits are not meant to stay on this side for very long. They must be found and brought across so that they can heal and be reborn.

“I know, I know…” Shardo warped himself back to the entrance and snapped his fingers. The shadows around him surged at the rocks and pulled them inward. The resulting crash and natural blockade of the cave made him feel a little better. “There. Dad won’t be happy about it, but it’ll keep the spirits in the area down. At least for a while.”

Garn will understand when you explain what happened. He could feel his grandfather’s ‘voice’ fading from his mind. For now I must turn my attention elsewhere. Fare well, Grandson.

“And you, Grandfather.” He replied just as the pressure in his mind lifted. With a heavy sigh, he merged back into the shadows.

It wasn’t often that he needed a break. Lucky for Shardo, there as a mortal he could count on to be awake even at this time of night. He could spend a while with her while he recovered from his ordeal.

[sparrowwritings]

Writing Challenge Day Twenty-four: Two

Day Twenty-three -- Masterpost -- Day Twenty-five

Sometimes the first try just doesn’t work out.

Matera’s first romantic love was gradual--a growth from friendship to something more with the slowness that comes from inexperience on both sides. Those who knew him would also describe the two’s pace as glacial. Not that such things were a concern for her. She was the Goddess of the Home, after all. Steady (if slow) progress was still progress, and she had all the time in the world to devote to him.

She didn’t see the signs that he wasn’t good for her because she didn’t know to look. Once he learned of how to travel to different worlds, he would spend far more time away from Matera’s side than with her. He kept her placated with souvenirs and brief moments of affection, but his visits became briefer and briefer regardless of how much love and attention she gave him.

Eventually, he just stopped returning. Soon after, the son that they’d had together took his own path into unknown worlds. 

Her next few decades were spent in a state of heartbreak. She roamed Carégarn, helping those that needed it but otherwise keeping a distance from painful reminders of what she had lost. Matera’s main consolation was in watching the life around her as she wandered. Being reminded that life continued on despite her deep sadness soothed her.

And then she met Daeglan. Well, more accurately he met her. 

The first time was when he was just a boy and she had disguised herself as a baker. He had a very precocious crush and visited the bakery at every opportunity. Matera didn’t do anything to encourage or discourage this. She listened to him ramble on about the things boys care about and gave him free pastries when he didn’t have any coin to pay with, but that was nothing. She was convinced that he would fall for someone much closer to his age once he’d grown out of his infatuation with her.

When already-wild rumors started to mature into accusatory ones, she had to leave that particular town. 

Decades later, Daeglan met her for the second time in his life though he’d barely remembered her at the time.

Matera had been strolling through the marketplace of a large farming community, thinking about finding a place to stay for longer than her travels usually allowed when a boy had attached himself to her skirts. After a moment or two of hysterics from the small child, his frantic father came by soon after and gladly took the boy from her. He introduced himself and Jerran. She gave her actual name in return, though she couldn’t fathom why she wanted him to know in the first place. Certainly she’d given a false surname, but the impulse struck her as odd even as they parted. 

It would be much later that she would recognize that the seeds of romantic feelings for Daeglan Faires had been planted in that second fateful meeting. 

Sometimes the second try is actually the best one. You learn from the mistakes of the first, and use those lessons to help make the next attempt better.

For Matera and Daeglan both, this was absolutely true.

[sparrowwritings]

Writing Challenge Day Twenty: Target

Day Nineteen -- Masterpost -- Day Twenty-one

“The goal is very simple.” Roven waved a hand and several stationary targets appeared around master and apprentice. This practice (or lesson? It could be both) was being held in the cavernous basement of the tower. All of the clutter that had previously been down there had been removed for the moment. “You must successfully hit every target using whatever magic you feel like.”

It was very simple. Too simple for something Roven put together as real practice. That’s why Marlin was suspicious of it. “And that’s it?” He asked.

“It’s all you need to do.” The older man folded his arms. “Though as usual we don’t have all day. Have at it.”

Still wary, Marlin called magic to his hands with practiced ease. He mimed throwing something at a target and the canvas and wood burst into flames. He didn’t bother to watch the fire continue to burn, instead making the same motions towards all of the other targets he could see. It didn’t take long for there to be smoking wrecks all around the two.

Roven watched the display with one of his more calculating neutral expressions. It wasn’t one that Marlin had learned to dread, but he still braced himself for whatever might be coming next. Finally, he waved a hand and the former targets vanished. “Decent form. A little too reliant on your affinity to guide you in what to use, but otherwise barely acceptable.” 

It was the closest to high praise as Roven ever doled out willingly. Marlin couldn’t help the swell of pride filling his chest when the older mage waved his hand again and more targets appeared. This time they were propelled in some way--moving left and right as well as up and down. “Now do that again, but with moving targets. Oh, and do switch up what kinds of magic you use.”

With a nod, Marlin called up his magic to try again. This time he snapped his fingers at a target and lightning crackled in the air for less than a second before the floating contraption exploded. Not wanting to waste his time, the boy drew several globes of water from the air and sent them flying at other targets. Just before impact he concentrated harder and the streams became icicles in the air. The sudden collisions made shreds where once were floating bits of canvas and wood. Marlin then stomped on the ground, making some stones kick up into the air. With a gesture of his head, the shards impacted the final targets. 

As requested, there were more types of wreckage around than there had been before. Marlin still found it all a bit too easy. He was wondering what the catch was. 

“Admirable. You avoided using wind, storm and magma. Why is that?” 

Having anticipated the question, Marlin had an easy answer. “You had initially asked for a quick display. Magma would have taken too long to release. As for wind and storm, they’re not nearly as entertaining to watch destroy targets as the others I showed.” 

Roven seemed to contemplate something before he nodded again. He waved away the remains of the targets. “Is there something you’d like to ask me before we continue?”

He knew better than to ask. He’d been apprenticed under the man for years, and the questions he so desperately wanted to ask only got him further in trouble.

And yet, Marlin couldn’t help but be a bit foolish. He sighed and asked, “Why are you making target practice so easy, Roven?”

A manic grin spread across the older mage’s face. His green eyes lit up dangerously. “It’s about time you questioned that.” He snapped his fingers on both hands. Hundreds of targets filled the area. Most of them moved in random patterns around master and apprentice. One moment they were along the ground, the next they were high up on the ceiling. Marlin could see that a few had X’s painted on them. 

“I got this idea from that carnival game that you insisted on playing some weeks ago. Of course I improved upon the original formula quite a bit.” Roven’s arms spread out wide as he indicated the room. “Hit all of the valid targets with any kind of magic you prefer, though try not to pull off the same tricks again. You will be timed for your efforts. Oh, and try not to get hurt by their defenses. Your time begins now.” Having said that, the mage vanished into thin air.

Marlin barely had a moment to register what had happened when green energy started flying at his face. He managed to dodge out of the way and quickly take some magical energy to spin a valid target into another one as he did so. 

He shouldn’t have said anything.