#i wonder how many gems they have locked in their drafts

[bllemons]

we were ROBBED of this beautiful pilot

[tact-and-impulse]

Holiday fic for @shepherds-of-haven! Thanks for the deadline extension. I hope I’m not too late! More under the cut or on AO3.

midwinter depths

It all started with an innocent conversation, Lavinet asking what they were planning to wear for the Wintersun Gala. The confused, collective answer was: what gala? After some back-and-forth, it became apparent that the Diminished-majority members of the newest government agency had not been invited to the illustrious holiday celebration. The reactions were varied, but they eventually came to one conclusion. Couldn’t they host a competing, more inclusive, and most importantly, better party? Certainly not as fancy, but in terms of community outreach, it would be far superior.

Responsibilities were dealt, and by dawn, the Shepherds set out to prepare.

***

The bus was late. Croelle adjusted his hat and clenched his teeth. Another inconvenience, just the latest obstacle to his work. The shelter’s glass panes looked very fragile and tempting at the moment, but ultimately, he didn’t move from his current seat on the metal bench.

A tall woman approached the bus stop, ashen hair pulled into a high ponytail to reveal slightly pointed ears. Her hazel eyes glinted with the iladrin, and one hand carried a bag of groceries. She checked her wristwatch, which sparkled with miniscule gems, and stopped at the other end of the bench. A strong wintry gust blew past, rattling the shelter. Heavy silence descended upon them.

“If you’re waiting for the bus, you might as well walk to your destination.” He intoned.

“Excuse me?” Her polished voice was more amused than affronted.

“It’s been twenty minutes. I hope you don’t have anywhere urgent to be.”

“And why are you still here?” She retorted.

He lifted the brim of his hat, to look at her again. Pale brows, an aquiline nose, a thin mouth colored by dark mauve lipstick. Handsome, he supposed. “Are you a Shepherd?” He had dragged his line of sight away from her face to the embroidered hound on her coat.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Dragged into it, really. Speaking of which...” She handed him a blue and silver flyer, detailing games, raffles, and a potluck dinner. “We’re hosting a party tonight at our headquarters. Ten danars admission, though I’m not sure whether it’ll be enforced. It’s mostly for the rest of the Shepherds, and their friends and families.”

“Is that what your bag is for?” He turned his attention to her purchased items.

“Oh, I don’t cook for groups. But I was assigned to buy ingredients for punch and I’m very good at making vytas.” She rummaged through a variety of fruits, before removing a jar of honey and admiring the color in the weak morning light. “I’m picky about my ingredients. No alcohol though, to be palatable for Mages like us.”

“I’m not a Mage. And I don’t eat fruit.”

She tilted her head, stepping in his direction. He flinched, as her gaze ran over him in obvious scrutiny. “How are you still alive?”

This close, he was able to see her hair clip. Three birds in flight, carved out of lacquered wood. He evaded her question. “For the same reasons anyone else is.”

She didn’t respond to that, still analyzing and trying to puzzle him out. Definitely, this Mage was a strange one. He hadn’t heard of any such figure in the Shepherds, but he could always use his resources to find out. She pivoted away from him, putting her jar back. “So, are you going to attend?”

“I have work. Why? I’m not your friend or family. Are you desperate for my company?”

“No.” She easily replied. He refused to feel a twinge of disappointment. “I only want to make sure that my effort pays off.”

“You hate holidays, don’t you?”

Her slight smile became brittle. “Do you only ask questions and never answer them?”

A short, derisive laugh escaped him. “Part of the job.” Wait, what was he doing? Conversing, letting down his guard, still sitting here instead of headed to his next assignment. He might have suspected she was an Enchanter if it weren’t for the wristwatch. The pearly face bore the symbol of the Shifters, the points and curls in fine etching.

“And what is your job?”

“You’re a nosy woman.”

“I prefer ‘curious’.”

“There’s such a thing as being too curious for your own good.”

“I’m not particularly interested in being good.”

He grabbed her slender hand, and she emitted a startled noise as he pulled her towards him. He lowered his voice, speaking into one tapered ear. “Interested in being bad then?”

She was perfectly still for a moment, her pulse rapid under his fingertips, and then, she roughly pulled away. Her eyes locked him in a deadpan stare. “That’s another question, and for this one, I’ll follow your example and decline to answer.”

“Hmph.” Determinedly looking past her form, he spotted a van turning the corner, the Shepherds’ emblem on the hood to mark its status as a government vehicle. “There’s your ride.”

She followed his line of sight and blinked. “Oh. So it is. Would you like to come along? The driver’s my kin, and he won’t mind.”

“I’d rather not.” He scowled, standing and brushing himself off. “Goodbye.”

“Well, if your work allows it, feel free to stop by tonight’s dinner. I don’t have to remind you to try the vytas.” She pointedly lifted her bag and then laid a hand upon her lapels. “You can ask for me, Zoegea. And you are…?”

He grunted. “Croelle.” And with that, he walked away before the van arrived. Minutes later, he wondered how he could be so foolish to tell her his name. Just for that, he had to pry more information out of her. He crumpled the flyer in his pocket but it stayed there.

***

The smell of baking bread was one of the best things in the world. Trouble knelt down, to peer into the oven. The rolls were puffy and golden-brown, nearly ready to eat. There was something nostalgic about waiting and watching, like he was five again and his mother was cooking in their tiny kitchen.

A rustle of movement caught his attention and he met bright amber eyes as his partner mirrored his position. “Hey, so the mashed potatoes should be done soon. What’s next?”

“We should be good for now. Thanks, Senna.” He grinned.

“No problem! So, what’re you doing?”

“Just checking on the rolls. Best part of being on the team in charge of side dishes.” It was always enjoyable to mold the balls of dough in his floured hands. He splayed his fingers over the warm glass. “It takes me back to when I was a kid. My mum made her own bread.” Right now, the yeasty aroma of the dinner rolls was just like the one that permeated the cozy apartment of his childhood.

“So did mine!” She eagerly shared the similarity. “Not that the Westwood bakery’s was bad, but I always liked hers best.”

“Yeah, that’s how I feel!”

She rocked back on her heels, her tanned face flushed. “I actually remember my mom’s recipe, so I bake now and then. It’s not exactly the same though.”

“But it’s something. I couldn’t read before my own died.” His memory of her was vague. She had pinned her hair when washing other people’s clothes, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her hair had been blond like his, but her eyes were a warm brown. Her voice was sweet though it was harder to recall now. Her scent was the easiest: clean linen and a touch of spiced apples. Other than that, he didn’t even have a photograph. “Wish I knew how she did it.”

“Maybe, we can figure it out. Or at least, get pretty close.” She suggested. “We can bake multiple batches and narrow it down from there, based on what you tell me.”

“Trial and error, huh?” He chuckled. “I like the sound of that! When should we start?”

“Probably sometime in the new year. When are you available?”

“Don’t worry about me; I’ll find the time. Just text me and I’ll be there. Do you have my number?”

“Yup, I saved it when you recruited me.” She flashed a thumbs-up. “I’ve just never had to text you before, because I keep running into you.”

“Hey now, you’re the Diviner.” He joked. “You’re not using magic to find out which bar I go to?”

“Trouble, you always go to The Burning Crown.”

“It’s the free drink Nessa gives me every time. Actually, I think I should probably switch it up. Too many fights break out in there, and uh, I’m trying to follow your advice.” If she hadn’t stopped him, his old gang would have been too glad to bring him down to their level. That wasn’t what a Shepherd did, and having her near was a good reminder.

“That’s great!” Her smile was wide and honest. “I know it’s hard, but I’m really happy you’re trying. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. You can do it, I believe in you.”

He coughed, as an excuse to stop staring. “Well, you’ve shown me that talking out of a brawl is an option.” Then, he winced. “Ah, shit, I gotta stand up again. My legs are killing me.” He stood, his thighs burning, and offered a hand to her. She grasped it, and as soon as she was upright again, she quickly squeezed.

“I don’t think I’ve had a Wintersun like this before. Today’s been so much fun.”

“Me too. It’s always fun spending time with you.”

She looked at him through her dark lashes, and he felt suspended in place. Then, with a sudden draft, Riel stepped in, carrying a clipboard.

“Are we on schedule?”

Trouble noticed she had let go, and he crossed his arms, pressing his empty hand against his body. “For sure, we are. Even though we won’t be serving until six tonight, we’ll be ready by then.”

“Parties usually start late, anyway.” Senna added, with a sparkle in her eyes.

Riel pinched the bridge of his nose. “And guests arrive early. Regardless, if you need anything from the supply team, tell me before five so I can accommodate you accordingly.”

“Understood!” A whistling ringtone began to play, and she removed her phone from her apron pocket. “Oh, good. I was waiting for them to call back. Sorry, this will be just a few minutes. But if not, I’ll see you later. And I’ll text you about our meeting, Trouble!”

“Looking forward to it!” He replied as she sprinted out.

Riel’s cool gaze shifted between Trouble and the swinging door. “A meeting?”

“Yeah, we’re going to bake bread together. Isn’t that nice? She’s a great friend.” In response, he gave such a long sigh, that Trouble demanded. “What’s eatin’ you?”

“Never mind.” He was already walking away.

“Oi! Just tell me!”

***

The knife moved easily in his grasp, as he sliced the parsnips. If the rest of his family could witness what he was doing, they’d be delivering the full brunt of their disapproval. Before today, he also thought he was better suited to security detail, but he had been convinced to join the rest of his friends. His squad insisted they’d be fine, Trouble had extolled the benefits, and a particular pair of deep brown eyes had been disappointed as the owner asked. “Are you not going to cook with us?”

Thus, here he was, preparing roasted vegetables for an impromptu party.

His partner for this task had her own tray, and she carefully sprinkled garlic salt over the halves of looked like miniature cabbages. When he brought over the parsnips, she glanced up at him. “Oh, you’re already done? Thank you, Blade!”

He stiffly nodded. “Do you need any assistance?”

“No, I’m okay. These are ready, so I’ll put them in the oven. You can get a drink.” A quick smile, and she was off to the adjacent kitchen. The storage room wasn’t as warm, and soundlessly, he crept out. He returned before she did, with two water bottles retrieved from the cooler in the hallway.

Wintersun was just another day, or at least, that was what he believed before. Now, far from the place of his upbringing, he was often out of his comfort zone. However, he didn’t mind learning more about the world, outside of the family business. And today had been very pleasant.

When Captain Enris walked past, he held out the extra bottle, nudging it against her hand.

She blinked. “Is this for me?”

“Yes.” He raised his brows. “Take it. You haven’t been hydrating.”

“It slipped my mind.” She admitted but accepted the water. From under her sleeve, her tattoo peeked out, the inky scrawl of Kettish script unconventional but poetic. She removed the lid and drank deeply; her mouth was red and gleaming.

He abruptly dropped his gaze. “You have the tendency to put yourself last. It’s not sustainable, so you should remember to look after yourself as well.”

Her laughter rang out, clear and crisp. “Ultan said something like that, a long time ago.”

She had never mentioned the name before. He tensed, the plastic bottle crackling in his grip. “Who’s Ultan?”

“He owned a little bookshop in Courtshore. I worked for him, after Drummond’s Point was…wiped out. It was my longest job, about two years, and I really enjoyed it. He, um, found some old magic books for me; that’s how I started learning magic.”

“He must have liked you.”

She hummed, considering the possibility. “I think so. He was a Norm but his late wife was a hedgewitch, so he always kept me safe. If anyone was suspicious, he said I was his granddaughter sent to live with him. I’m not sure if they really bought it though…”

He was a tiny bit happier that the connection was familial, although he was unsure how to feel, being compared to someone who was like her grandfather. He decided on tentative compliance. “Would you have stayed with him?”

“I don’t know. He fired me, you see.”

“What? Why would he? You’re…a good worker.” Damn, that sounded utterly inadequate. As if two words could describe how important her presence had become to the Shepherds.

“Well, I’m glad you think so.” She smiled. “But what he thought is still a mystery. He just gave me the week’s wages and told me I wasn’t welcome anymore. So, I just kept moving, and I never heard from him again.”

His anger on her behalf lingered but he kept his response neutral. “It’s his loss and our gain. I’m glad you’re here in Haven. It would not be the same without you.”

He was certainly not as eloquent as she was, but he hoped the Enchanter was more at ease. Her shoulders lowered a fraction, and she rested her back against the wall. “That’s kind of you to say.” Fondness colored her expression.

“Does it surprise you?”

She laughed again, and he welcomed the sound. “No, not at all! You’ve always been kind. Strict, but you truly care. You’ve never led us astray, despite how you’re not a big fan of Wintersun.”

“Was I obvious?”

“Compared to everyone else, just a little bit.” She pinched her fingers together. “But I noticed you’re not frowning as much. Are you having fun?”

“I’ll take the quiet now, before the crowds arrive.” He wryly answered.

“It’s close enough!” She set her half-empty bottle down and clapped. “Let’s finish seasoning the rest. I was thinking of having lunch afterwards; how about you?”

He deliberately paused. “That sounds agreeable. Do you have anywhere in mind?”

“Tallys mentioned a sandwich shop the other day. I can call ahead for pick-up.” She was already pivoting.

“Linaria.”

At the rare use of her given name, she immediately turned, lips parted.

“Let me see the menu first.” He grumbled.

With another giggle, she offered her phone. “The next thing we should work on is your pickiness.”

***

The free chair was inviting, and Chase took it, sliding over to the other person at the raffle table. “Hey, sunshine. How’s the sprain?”

“Better today, but not enough.” The newly incapacitated Battle-Mage scowled reproachfully at her left foot. “So I’m still stuck here.”

“You wanted to cook?”

“Even if I could, that’d be better than tearing up tickets.” She snorted. Her fingers pulled at the paper chain, twisting at the perforated end and depositing a fresh one in his open hand. She kept the other half, flicking it into a large glass jar. Valeriana had let her hair down, which was a first. Wine red and pin straight, it framed her face and grazed her elbows. She seemed more vulnerable, her features relaxed and youthful. He idly wondered who else had seen her like this. She must have sensed his regard, because her gaze shifted to him. “Did you need something else?”

“Nope, just hanging here and watching the rest of the hospitality team. Mostly, it’s Lavinet though.” The heiress had taken charge over the decorating business and she was ordering some of the newbies around to meet her standards. Embroidered white tablecloths, silver streamers, tea lights, and authentic pine trees for ambience. It all sounded magnificently meticulous, and he was trying to avoid her, just in case. “My side’s done with the party games.”

“Yeah? What have you got?”

“Elements, dreadnoughts, pin the tail on the ahfuri for the kids. We dug up some sui boards for the older folk. Anyone with spare change can play intrigue or Angels and Devils. And darts. Bet you’d like that.” As strong as she was, he knew she valued precision most of all. It was also what he liked about her, that she could run rampant on their missions given half a chance but opted for control.

He was interested in what she was like, if she lost it.

She leaned back in her seat, the motion steering him to the present again, and cracked a smile. “That depends on what prizes you have.”

“Ah, and like with all games, your prize is based on your stakes. Anything from chocolate truffles to plushy Shepherd hound toys to gift cards. Or I can always surprise you.”

“The bar is high.” She raised her brows but her eyes glittered at the prospect. Good.

“I’ll do my best, gorgeous. So...what has our dear organization obtained for the raffle prize?”

“You’ll have to win and find out for yourself.”

“Fair enough. Let’s hope this is a lucky one.” With a flourish, he brought the ticket to his lips in a light kiss and pocketed it. Then, he gestured towards the fall of her hair. “No bun or braids today?”

One hand tucked a stray lock behind her ear. “I want less tension for now, I’ll tie it back later.”

“Gotcha.” In the meantime, he’d appreciate the view.

“Caine asked me the same thing too.” The kid was eager to help out, and at the other end of the hall, he was stringing icy blue lights on one of the smaller trees. “He said it was nice.”

“He’s right, it suits you. You look lovely.” And he meant it, not even winking.

She held his gaze, about to bite back, but she paused. The moment stretched, before she quietly replied. “Thanks.”

His skin itched and he rubbed the back of his neck. Huh. She was attractive, it was hard not to notice since the day they met. It was only that she was a lot more so, because of how intimate her appearance was. It was lust, he decided, and he could deal with lust. Yeah.

“Well,” Chase cleared his throat and ruffled her hair. To his pleasant surprise, it was very soft. “I’m off to check on my people. Keep getting stronger, sunshine.”

“Uh…right.” Her dark eyes were wide, and he couldn’t look away.

“I’ll bring you a plate of food at dinner, and then, we can swing by the darts. Sound good?”

“Sure, I guess, mm.” She didn’t blush easily, but she was clearly flustered, blinking rapidly and tripping over her words. Cute. Her long eyelashes fluttered and he was transfixed.

Then, there was a clatter, and they both whipped towards the sound. Caine had dropped a third of his lights. Wincing, he called out. “Sorry!”

“Are you hurt?” Valeriana asked.

“No, I’m okay! How’re you?” He was giving them a trepidatious expression.

Oh. Chase was still touching her head. Slowly, he let go and forced a two-fingered salute. “We’re fine here! You’re doing good, little man!”

“I’ll see if I can help him out.” She muttered.

“You don’t have to, I’ll send a couple of my guys to check on him. Get some rest before tonight, alright?”

She didn’t seem fully appeased but she grabbed her ticket chain and reluctantly nodded, echoing. “See you tonight.”

“It’s a date. Later, Valia.”

If she protested at her shortened name, he didn’t hear it. He strolled along, starting to whistle. After making sure no one else was around, he glanced down at his hand and grinned.

***

The pressure cooker must have disappeared into an adjacent plane of existence. Red sighed as he closed the latest cupboard. “Nope, not here either.”

“Seriously?!” Alcea popped her head up, from behind the counter. Her golden curls bounced, her gray eyes brimming with dismay. “Damn it, where else could it possibly be?”

“At this point, I’m wondering if we should go to the nearest mall and buy another one.”

“Yeah, but we just bought this last week! Riel would throw a fit if we went back. Anyway, it should still be in the box!” She dove again and he smiled, leaning over the granite.

“Or we could always just do it the old-fashioned way. There are plenty of pots that no one else is using.”

“I guess we can.” She grouched. “It’d just be easier to make vegetable curry when we don’t have to be watching the stove the entire time.” She pulled away from the clutter of miscellaneous cooking utensils, and agonizingly rose to her feet. “Augh, my back!”

“Are you alright?” He rushed around to help, but she shook her head.

“Only out of shape, but I’m alive.”

“Good, because I still need you.” He grinned, hiding his relief. “Who else is going to taste test?”

“Uh, nobody, because that’s my job for today? A privilege of being on the entrée team.”

“Just one?”

“One of many.” She smirked. “But I’m not giving up on our missing item! I’ll send a text to the group chat.” She dug out her phone and her thumbs flew across the screen, her charm bracelet jangling with its trio of silver birds. As they walked through the corridors, he kept a close eye, ensuring she wasn’t bumping into anything.

Their allotted kitchen space was looking rather colorful. Onions, garlic, ginger, cauliflower, peas, cans of coconut milk. Jars of spices were lined up on one end, their labels in large print. And in the midst of the ingredients, an open book waited, displaying the pages of the recipe.

He rolled up his sleeves. “So, we’re making two batches: mild and spicy.”

“Yup. Oh! Should we ask Mimir for input on the latter?”

“If she ever shows, and doesn’t she have a high tolerance? Like, she inhales what would kill everyone else?”

“Right…maybe not.”

“It was a nice thought.” He squeezed her shoulder. Years ago in Capra, he wouldn’t have imagined this scenario.

They hadn’t been close then; they shared mutual friends, but he was only aware of her as ‘the other Conjurer who was always in the stacks late at night’. Conversely, she knew him as ‘the guy who tried to descend the university into Hael itself’, but mercifully, she didn’t blame him at all. In fact, the first thing she asked upon their formal introduction was how he did it. The rest was history. The Shepherds had inherited a massive library from a Mage, and on their coinciding off days, the two of them claimed a study room and filled a whiteboard with spell runes and equations. She was bright and vivacious and daring; his younger self had made ignorant mistakes, and now, he could add overlooking her to the list.

After plenty of scrambling and bitten-off curses, some of which were Elvish, their main dish was bubbling. She ladled a spoonful, blew, and sampled. Her eyes shut as she broadly smiled.

“That good, huh?”

“Don’t take my word for it. Come on, try for yourself!” She grabbed a new spoon, taking from the top. Holding the steaming mixture to his mouth, she ordered. “Open wide!”

He chuckled. “Sharing a privilege?” However, he accepted. It was delicious, fragrant with coconut and bold with delayed heat. He ran his tongue across his lips to catch any left.

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Nope, it’s a second to see you eat something I helped make.”

“I hope your expectations were met.”

“Exceeded, for the entire morning actually. I love working with you.” She was incredibly close, her cheeks rosy. He tilted his head-

“Hello?” A timid voice called, and they both spun around to see Shery, standing at the threshold. Her hands shook as she lifted a large, familiar box. “Um…I saw your text to the group. Were you looking for this?”

“That’s it! Thank you sooo much, Shery!” Alcea bounded forward, relieving the other blond of the pressure cooker. “Where did you find it?”

“On our side.” She pushed the nose bridge of her glasses. “It was behind one of the trash cans.”

“We really appreciate it.” Red smiled. “We’ll save a bowl for you later. Mild, of course.”

She seemed very reassured. “I’ll look forward to it, and I’ll hold some fairy bread for you two. See you soon.” Just as silently as she arrived, she hurried off.

He peered at the box. “I’ve never used a pressure cooker before. Have you?”

“Not for curry.” She conceded, lowering it to the floor for unpacking. “But here, let me show you the basics!”

Settling in for the explanation, he watched her animated face with pleasure. This was a privilege he would claim for himself.

***

The van slowed to a stop for the red light, so Ayla propped her feet up on the dashboard. “Think a lot of people are going to show up?” They’d been traversing Haven for a second round, buying additional supplies and plastering the last of the flyers.

“It’s cheap food and entertainment. So, probably a fair amount.” Her companion answered, sliding his hands around the steering wheel. His green gaze didn’t move from the road. “Are you inviting anyone?”

“Who would I invite? You’ve been in Haven longer than I have.”

He huffed. “Sure, I have a head start of six months, but I’ve been away on missions. Some of them were with you.”

“As if I could forget.” The light changed, and the van continued on its path.

She had hoarded every piece of information she learned about him. He was an Elementalist like her, but his skillset was well-rounded, with a preference for ice. The tattoo under his collarbone was of three birds, belonging to a species with a distinctive call, which his clan had taken for their own name as well. That song had not been heard in decades though, and he always shut down when it came to the fate of Vale. He couldn’t join the military because he was Diminished, so he had been a mercenary for a number of years. He liked his khav strong and bitter, and his toast just this side of burnt. Alright, the last bit was extraneous, but it wasn’t like she wanted to make him breakfast or anything.

“Hey, E.”

“Yeah?” He responded in kind.

“What’s eggnog taste like?”

“Did they not have any in the desert?”

“It has raw eggs, right?” She glanced behind her, to the milk jugs and egg cartons they had purchased. The other bags had remained stationary, teeming with chocolate, peppermint sticks, and whipped cream cans. “It would spoil in the heat.”

The corner of his mouth pulled into a half-smile. “True. Did you ever have custard?”

“Something like that, a milk and rice pudding my parents gave me once.” She remembered the little bowl in her hands, how she licked the spoon clean. Her mother and father, grinning as they watched her try the dessert for the first time.

“It’s similar, but more drinkable. You add cinnamon or nutmeg, and sometimes, alcohol. If you don’t like it, you can just stick to the cocoa.”

“I’ll try both.” She countered. “Do you add spices to the cocoa too?”

“Some people do. I like mine with cinnamon and a pinch of chili powder.” Interesting. Another thing she learned.

The car in front suddenly braked, and she swore. The van lurched, Erigeron’s solid arm bracing over her front. As they halted, way too close to be comfortable, his other fist slammed the horn. Up ahead, a couple scurried across the road. Noticeably, there was no pedestrian crossing.

“Tourists.” She scoffed.

“Too busy looking around them to care about anyone else.” He was still touching her, and he slowly pulled away, studying her face. “You okay?”

“I’m good.” Her pulse was elevated from the near hit. The intensity of his stare made her shift in her seat. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He twisted around to examine the back, grimacing. “Hope nothing’s broken.”

“That would really suck.”

They started moving again, and she glanced at the speedometer. He must have caught her wary expression, because his rough baritone added. “Don’t worry. I’ll take it slow.”

Damn, that was really smooth. She fixed her gaze out the window, trying to think of icicles and snowstorms.

It was a matter of minutes before they parked at headquarters. As soon as he removed the key from ignition, a familiar figure entered the garage.

“Oh, wonderful. I was just about to call you, darlings.” Lavinet tossed her hair and marched out to meet them. “Have you procured what’s left on our list?”

“Sure did.” He grunted and removed his seatbelt. “Check for yourself before we bring them in.”

“No need, I trust you two.”

Unloading was going to take longer than expected; they would need multiple trips. Fortunately, nothing seemed to be leaking. Ayla took a few bags, but he stopped her from grabbing the next.

“You can go inside first.”

“I can take more.”

He firmly clasped her shoulder. “Nah, just come back. Everything will be here, and you must be cold.”

She was, but she nudged his side. “Hurry up, won’t you? Elementalists can still get sick.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Nevertheless, he smirked. Stupid, sexy, silver-haired Mage.

Lavinet held the door and joined her for a short distance, eyes glittering. “How was your outing?”

“O-outing?” She spluttered. “We were running an errand, that’s it.”

A lofty laugh escaped the other woman, shielded by a fur-lined glove. “You aren’t fooling me at all. I noticed those little touches. I expect every detail over appetizers, dear.” With a wink and wiggle of her fingers, the heiress glided off to her next task.

“Hey!” Her protest went ignored. Burrowing her face in her scarf, she redirected an air current to cool down. It wasn’t enough.

***

The door opened, and Halek glanced towards the direction of the noise. “You’re late-” He stopped, noticing that while the newcomer also had violet eyes, she wasn’t who he was expecting. Black hair was styled in a braided crown, with a finger’s width of white weaving down the left side. One hand gently closed the door, as she hastily ducked her head.

“Sorry, I’m not Briony. We switched last minute. I’ll be helping you instead.” She went to the sink, quickly scrubbing her hands.

“Well, I’ll take any help right now. What’s your name?”

“Kalmia.” She even pronounced it the way a Hunter would, the first syllable in the back of her throat. But she was a Mage, apparent enough from her eyes, and her hair color automatically disqualified her from being a pure-blooded Hunter.

“Are you a Battle-Mage too?”

“No, I’m a Healer.”

“That’s better. Briony means well, but she tends to break things and I need the stove today.”

The corner of her mouth lifted, as she turned off the faucet. “I read the menu. It does seem like a lot…”

“It’s why we’re the first ones in the kitchen.” The pot roast was going to take most of the day to cook, and the glazed ham was a new addition to his repertoire. But he was excited to try.

She joined him in peeling the carrots and potatoes, introducing herself. She had been adopted by Hunters in Maj; he vaguely recognized the town as a former refugee campsite. After they passed, she slowly made her way to Haven. Meanwhile, this was the first year he spent beyond the largest Hunter city, The Reach. She didn’t fawn over who he was, and perhaps, that could be chalked up to how distant Maj had been. Either way, he was secretly happy.

By five, the pot roast was keeping warm in the slow cooker, and he closed the oven door on the ham. “This will be ready in a couple hours.”

“And what’s next?”

“Next, I’m going to take a nap. You can do what you want in the meantime. I’ll be in the back.”

“Oh. Alright.” She looked around, hesitant. “Um, sleep well?”

His attempt at a nod was more of a head droop. “Later.” The nearest break room had a decent couch and when he stirred awake, he felt a little better.

And the kitchen hadn’t burned down. Kalmia was taking a kettle off the stove and acknowledged his return with a little wave. Her braid had been undone, her hair falling in waves past her shoulders. “I made tea. Would you like some?”

“Sure.” He yawned. When he sat down, a steaming cup was waiting for him. The liquid was a dark gold color, still spinning gently. Used to the blends their quartermaster liked to offer, he expected sugary sweetness. Instead, this herbal tea was surprisingly mellow, like chamomile at first, before giving way to a deeper bittersweet flavor. Complex and refreshing. “This is just what I needed.”

She beamed, hands wrapped around her own cup. “It’s one of my favorites from when I was living in Leore.”

He stared at her for a few moments, before remembering to look away. “You have good taste.” His phone suddenly vibrated and he scowled at the caller ID. He let it ring, watching as the inevitable voicemail notification appeared.

“Is it a spam call?”

“Worse. My fiancé. You know, Hunters and their arranged marriages.”

“You don’t like her.”

“No, I don’t. But the other choice is to condemn everyone at home, depending on more new Hunters.”

Her expression was melancholy, and barely above a whisper, she said. “If you’re trapped, it’s not a choice at all.”

The sentiment warmed him as much as the tea did. But there was also the ring of truth in her words and the strength of memory in her distant gaze. He wondered what had happened to her, who could have hurt her. If he wanted to, he could reach across the table and pat her shoulder. Pushing the thought aside, he refilled their cups. “I have a recipe for almond cookies. It’d go well with this, next time.”

“I’d really like that. Thank you.”

The implicit promise cut through the tension, and he exhaled. “I’m free whenever. In the past, I always liked Wintersun, because I have the time to cook, eat, and sleep. Or because it has ‘sun’ in the name.” Halek dryly noted.

“Oh, that’s right. I like Wintersun too. The hanging laurel especially.” She sounded wistful. “Probably because Kalmia means laurel. But you already know that.” She added, self-conscious.

“Mm. Did your parents want you to fly?”

She laughed, for the first time that day. She seemed almost surprised by it, and tried to answer him but her giggles kept breaking through. “Me, flying? As a baby?”

Happiness suited her better than sorrow, and he started to shake with repressed laughter too, at the mental imagery of a pair frantically running after a dark-haired infant drifting away from a farmhouse. He didn’t have to think of other traditions involving laurel.

***

The icing smeared in a runny white trail, drawing a groan from Briony.

“Come on!” She glared at the sugar cookie she was currently decorating, and then at the rest of the tray she had wreaked havoc on. She thought switching to the dessert team would be more fitting to her skillset and it was, until the baking was done. Somehow, all of her miniature Shepherds appeared awkwardly proportioned at best and hideous at worst.

“Everything okay?” The kind voice meant to comfort but she only felt more ashamed. Gentian’s recreation of Tangriel’s Tower was the most impressive cake she’d ever seen, with its fudgy center and raisin-lined battlements. Also...he was really cute in an apron, with his blue-black hair gathered into a bun for convenience. Really cute, even if she was kind of jealous.

“Oh, it’s just fantastic.” She grumbled. “How do you make everything look so tasty?”

“I don’t know?” He sheepishly shrugged. “How are your-oh. Well...they’re definitely original.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Yeah, her creations stood out, compared to the cake, Tallys’s individual servings of Elvish trifles, and Shery’s traditional fairy bread. “But they should taste okay! I think...”

Gentian reached for one of the smaller cookies, intended to be one of the few replicas of herself and topped with light pink frosting and violet sprinkles for her eyes. He took a bite; she held her breath. She tried not to stare at his throat as he swallowed.

“This was your first time making them?”

“Technically, yeah. Shery read the recipe I was using and said it seemed alright. I just followed the instructions and hoped for the best. I mean, I don’t remember baking anything before.” Briony nervously laughed. Beyond the past few months, she only knew her name and the password to her phone, which had been wiped clean. The Shepherds had found her in an underground fighting ring, where he slipped inside to recruit her. The glaring lights had targeted his figure when he stepped forward as her next challenger. Unassuming at first glance, but she immediately recognized he was a skilled fighter, just by how he moved. “Anyway, what do you think?”

He smiled. “I think if the rest of the tray is just like this one, you won’t have any left at the end of tonight. It’s delicious.”

“Really?!”

“Try one for yourself.”

She chose another doughy Shepherd, a navy-colored mess, and chomped it down before he could notice. It was slightly warm, the edges crispy. Vanilla and sweet icing filled her mouth. “Ah, it’s good! I need to save that recipe…it should be in my phone’s history.”

“If you need help tracking it down, I can help.”

“That’d be great! But didn’t you only see it during this morning’s meeting?”

“It was enough.”

Now, she was certainly confused. “You memorized it in less than a minute?”

Hesitantly, he replied. “I have an eidetic memory.”

“Eidetic?” The word was unfamiliar.

“Photographic is another word. I don’t forget anything I’ve seen or experienced once.”

“Wow, that’s amazing! That’s like the opposite of my problem.” That earned her a laugh, which was encouraging. She paused. “But if you don’t forget anything, that includes things you don’t want to remember, right?”

“Yes, that’s true.” He became quiet, his thoughts obviously far away. She’d seen him like this on occasion, especially around the Ket members.

She strode around the table and as his blue gaze drifted to her, she hugged him.

“Briony?” His soft voice had dipped low, and the vibration against her cheek made her heart flutter.

“You look like you needed a hug. And Wintersun is exactly the time for hugs. Well, so is Lovelace Day, but that’s not right now!” Lovelace Day was also a long ways off, and she imagined it would be nice to spend it with him. If he agreed. “Is this okay?”

“It is.” His hand touched between her shoulder blades, with the lightest pressure. She was about to hold him tighter when there was the distinct sound of a throat clearing. Immediately, they let go of each other. Tallys stood at the door, appearing spotless despite the day’s work.

“I was about to ask if you two had finished.” She gave them a very pointed look. “But it looks like you just started. See you around.” As she spun on her heel, she was definitely smirking.

“Oops.” Briony grinned at him. He was even cuter when he blushed. “She crept up on us.”

“I should have noticed though.” He sighed but smiled when he finally met her gaze again. His expression was gentle, without a trace of sadness. “Thank you.”

“No problem. If you’d like any more hugs, just let me know.” She spread her arms in offering.

“I’ll remember.” His tattooed wrist lifted, and he quickly tugged a lock of her pink hair, his fingertips brushing her cheek. While she was still processing that, he cited a need for more powdered sugar and headed out.

Alone, she pressed her hands to her burning face. Maybe, she could pass by him under the hanging laurel later…

***

The party lasted into the late hours of the night, and by the end of it, the Shepherds were exhausted and trudging during the cleanup. The leftover prizes were fought over, though most somehow ended up in Caine’s arms, and there was enough cake remaining to bring home, so no one was going to leave unsatisfied. The laurel branches had been plucked clean, petals stuck to sleeves and clinging to mussed hair. The unanimous consensus was that it had been a success, one final fun celebration together before they began anew. And really, that was what Wintersun was all about.

[dashesofink]

The Expected Meeting

Pairings: slight Kili x Ianthe (my oc)

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: none

A/N: so I finally decided to post my oc story on here, especially after thinking about it a lot during my hiatus. Quick disclaimer that she is clearly a made up character in this world, and everything related to her is mostly made up. Hopefully I’ll be incorporating her into my writing more, especially if y’all like her. Please let me know!! Also this has sat in my drafts for a very long time, please ignore the typos :)) Also I’ll be posting an update in regard to The Speaker soon, so if y’all have forgotten about that keep looking forward too it!!

Taglist: @legolaslovely @t00-many-th0ughts @fizzyxcustard

Ianthe wasn’t expecting to have her nap time interrupted by a loud banging against her cottage door. But alas, her groans filled her bedroom as the knocking continued. “Alright, I’m coming!” She knew that if her father hadn’t already answered the door then he was probably out tending to the gardens, or if not that, then he was out in the main court having a meeting. As she threw her legs over the bed she stretched her arms over her head, a satisfied moan falling past her chapped lips when the bones in her back cracked and settled again. Ianthe was sure that the few framed photos on the wail were now on the floor due to the incessant banging. Much to her surprise though, as she exited her room and scurried to the front door, everything was still in place.

“What in Mitéra Gi’s name is— oh, hello.”

Ianthe felt a deep blush settle on her freckled cheeks as she craned her neck, her bright eyes locking with her new company. A grey pointed hat sat on top of a long mane of grey hair, and hidden beneath the rim of the old hat was a familiar face, one that Ianthe and the other Mages in her rank knew very well. “Gandalf, it is quite a surprise to see you here!” Ianthe’s lips spread into a smile as she stepped aside, allowing the tall wizard to enter. Gandalf gave a small hum as he removed his hat before stepping inside. “Would you like some tea? I’m sure we have some of your favorite lying around somewhere.”

“That’s quite alright, thank you my dear.” Gandalf gave a chuckle when Ianthe’s round cheeks raised, her lips pulled into another dazzling smile. He watched as the young mage hurried into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Gandalf always did like the company of Mages; such a hospitable race who had a wonderful knack for making the most marvelous tea and cakes. But snacking on sweets and tea wasn’t the only reason he came to visit the Mages on that afternoon. “Ianthe,” Gandalf called, his keen old eyes dancing around the little cottage. “is your father around?” The cottage remained silent for a moment as Ianthe worked on the refreshments. Gandalf took this opportunity to survey the household once more, his gaze falling from an overfilled bookshelf to the small umbrella stand that held a few staffs before his eyes landed on a little wooden box. A box which could barely contain the glowing light of two small gems. Gandalf chuckled at the odd placement for the gems.

The silence lingered for a moment longer before Ianthe responded, and she reentered the room with a small tray filled with cakes, cookies and some freshly brewed tea before letting out a small hum. “I believe he’s tending to the garden.” She dusted her hands off after placing the tray on to a small table. Ianthe smiled up at the wizard as he snatched a cake and a cup of tea, her hands now resting upon her plump hips. “If not then he might be in a meeting. May I ask why, mister Gandalf?”

Curiosity filled the eyes of the young mage. She watched as he ate away at his snacks for a minute, his lips drinking down the sweet tasting tea before he finally spoke. “I have a proposition for you, Ianthe.” The aura in the room shifted from one of joy and merriness to a solemn one after his words. Ianthe’s lips formed a small frown and her eyes shifted from one side of the room to the other. The little cottage creaked and groaned as the ground under their feet shifted, and Gandalf gave the young mage a knowing look when he saw a faint yellow glow form in her eyes. “Please, my dear, it’s nothing to get worried about.”

When Gandalf’s hand touched Ianthe’s shoulders the groaning stopped after her eyes shifted back to their usual blue ones. She twisted the silver rings around her thick fingers as she peered up to the wizard and her feet padded lightly against the stone floor as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Then what is it about, Gandalf?”

The old wizard took another sip of his tea before clearing his throat, his cup hitting the tray with a small clang as he set it down. “How would you feel about joining me on an adventure?” The thought of exploring the world again caused a surge of excitement to course through Ianthe’s body. Her lips pulled up in a large grin and she bounced up and down almost instantly. “Please, now, don’t get to excited. You don’t even—“

“Oh Gandalf, I can’t help but get excited!” Ianthe’s glee filled laughter echoed throughout the small cottage. Her body was buzzing with joy as she danced around the room, her hands stretched high above her head. Her brown hair danced around her shoulders and slapped her in the face as she whirled around, just the thought of getting out into the world again made her feel like she was flying. “I haven’t explored the world in ages! And here you come, saying that you'd like me to join you on an adventure?! It’s a dream come true!” Gandalf was quick to grab her by the shoulders as she danced passed him, his eyes shining with amusement as he tried to hold the young mage still. “Oh please, tell me; when can we leave?”

“You don’t even know what this adventure is about, Ianthe.” Gandalf gave the girl a knowing look. Ianthe tried her hardest to contain her glee, her teeth biting down on her lips as she gave him a quick nod to continue. “Now, I’m sure that you are aware of a dwarf named Thorin—“

“—Oakenshield, yes! Father told me about him!”

“Good.” Gandalf nodded in approval at the Mages words. He made a mental note to speak with the Elder Osier before departing from the Mages again. “The time has come for the dwarves to reclaim Erebor, Ianthe. Thorin Oakenshield is gathering a group of dwarves to join him on this quest— to take back their mountain from the dragon Smaug— and he has asked me to find a guide, as well as a protector, for his company.” Ianthe’s eyes blew wide as he explained the purpose of his adventure, her mouth parting with awe when he told her of the dwarves quest. Ianthe could only recall one time in her life where she had met a dwarf, but that was nearly sixty years before, and she was still a young and impressionable mage. However she would happily interact with more if it meant exploring the world again. “Would you be willing to join Thorin Oakenshield’s company as a guide to Erebor?”

“Me?” Ianthe couldn’t believe her little ears. It had been long since she wandered the lands last. Despite her rank of Mages being a wandering rank, the Elder— her father— had decided it was time for them to find another forest and rest. That was nearly two decades ago. The longer Ianthe stayed put in her village the more her bones ached to be out in the world again. Her excitement, however, slowly dwindled upon realizing something; what would her father say. Being an Elder meant that anything that was to happen inside or outside of the rank was to be approved by him first. And being an elderms daughter was no exception. “What of my father?”

“He will approve.” Gandalf gave Ianthe a reassuring nod, his fingers squeezing her shoulders before he let go of her. Ianthe chose to ignore his choice of words. Her smile appeared again, and it seemed that the air in the room grew light when she laughed a joyous laugh. “A meeting has been set for the end of this week. Do you know your way to the Shire, more importantly Bag-End?”

“The Shire…” Ianthe’s eyes darted around the room as she thought. It had been years since she had heard of the little area, her mind drawing a sudden blanket before she squeezed her eyes shut. Gandalf watched silently as the mage tried to remember, his eyes catching the veins popping out on her temple before she let out a cheer and opened her eyes again. “Oh yes, the Shire! We visited that area almost thirty years ago!”

“Wonderful.” Gandalf gave a single hum of approval before he turned away. Almost as if a dog was nipping at his heels, Gandalf made for the door after grabbing his hat, but not before snagging a few more sweets off of the tray. Ianthe followed close behind him as he exited the cottage, her bare toes just stopping at the grassy lawn in front of her. “I would suggest you prepare your things quickly,” He added over his shoulder, turning suddenly to the left in search of the Elder. “You must be there before the meeting ends. A mark will be on the door, a blue rune.”

Ianthe nodded along to Gandalf’s instructions. She watched as the wizard paused before turning back, a small smile pulling up his lips when he caught the twinkle in her eye. “We’ll be expecting you, dear Ianthe; don’t be late.”

“Never! I will see you then, old friend!” Ianthe pressed against her toes as she waved, watching as the wizard disappeared behind a few cottages before she turned back to her home. She couldn’t contain her excitement anymore, a loud laugh echoing against the wooden walls as she closed the door. Her body was buzzing as she bounded for her home, her hands fidgeting with the lock on her chest before she yanked it open to grab a large pack. Her once tidy room soon became a mess as she stuff her things into her pack. An assortment of spell-books and herbs were shoved inside the heavy-duty bag, followed by some random clothing and a small vile of deep blue liquid that oozed of a sweet smell. She paused for a moment to suck in a deep breath, her hands falling on to the top of her chest as another small laugh feel from her lips.

Ianthe couldn’t believe that she would actually be exploring the world again. She couldn’t seem to remember the last time her eyes fell upon the ever-green forests that grew through the vast lands, or the grey, steeping mountains that added a wonderful texture and feel to the earth. She could feel her magic surge through her body at the thought. How she longed to breathe the crisp mountain air, or to run her fingers along the rough bark of trees she hadn’t seen in ages. “Focus, Ianthe.” The Mages gave her freckled cheeks a small tap before she shook her head, the large grin on her face never leaving as she once again began to pack for her adventure.

The closer that Ianthe got to Bag-End the more her nerves began to talk to her. It had been nearly four days since she departed from her village, her old green cloak wrapped securely around her shoulders and her heavy pack resting against her back. The staff in her hands was old yet sturdy, weaving branches holding a single stone of greens and blues shining against the moonlight that lit her path. Despite her anxiety Ianthe hummed a small spritely tune, one that her father had sung to her as a young mage. A sad smile grew in her lips at the thought of her father. Before she had left the village and her rank of Mages Ianthe had to make sure that her father knew of her quest. But Gandalf had beaten her too it.

Ianthe remembered the way her father's face grew solemn and the wrinkles that lined his face deepened when she met him again that day. Her heart clenched and she reached out for him, pulling him into an embrace. It was then that she decided against going; Gandalf would have to find some other mage to guide the dwarves to Erebor. Ianthe couldn’t just leave her father. It was true that the Elders had their advisors and warriors to watch over him, but Ianthe was his daughter, his family. She couldn’t just up and leave the one who had cared for her and raised her because she wanted to explore again. At the mention of her deciding against going, much to Ianthe’s surprise, her father’s frown seemed to grow.

He knew how restless she was becoming and how she longed to be out in the world again. Osier would miss his daughter, yes. But he knew that she would be of better use to the dwarves then she would be in the rank. “Go. Explore the world and see what it offers you once again.”

“But father—“

“I will be fine.”

Ianthe shook her head, trying to rid her mind of the negative thoughts as she came to a short stop. The grip she hand on her staff tightened as her eyes looked over the horizon of the Shire. Many of the Hobbit were asleep by now, dark tendrils of smoke climbing out of their chimneys as their hearth kept their little homes warm. Fireflies danced across the many gardens and fields that literally the Shire, making it appear that stars had fallen from the sky and were twinkling over the land. The peaceful sight brought a smile to Ianthe’s face again, and she sucked in a deep breath before continuing on her journey. The moon was high in the sky, and she was sure that she had missed the supper that her company’s host had probably provided for them. But that didn’t matter. She had an apple or two in her pack. That would keep her satisfied until morning.

For the time she spent wandering through the Shire in search of her host’s home, Ianthe’s humming hung in the air like pillowy clouds. However despite her cheery tune and chipper smile, her feet ached from her long journey and though her magic had been revitalized from her weaving in and out of the forests and hills, her body longed for rest. Lucky seemed to be on Ianthe’s side though. She felt herself relax and the tension in her shoulders disappear little by little when she saw a glowing rune stand out against a green door. Her lips twitched as she neared the hobbit-hole. Finally. She found herself thinking, her feet suddenly carrying her and her heavy pack quicker to the entrance of the hole.

Ianthe found herself taking the steps that led to the door in twos, and if it wasn’t for the staff in her hand she would’ve fallen against the green door. She smiled down at the familiar rune before she looked to the shiny round doorknob. If his front garden and flowers were kept so pristine and healthy looking then surely the inside of his house looked just was clean. Despite the excitement that was buzzing around in her body again Ianthe found herself hesitating, her curled fist just brushing the wood of the round door. Her bright eyes looked to the ground for a moment, her eyebrows knitting together before she reached up and tugged her hood over head. The rim of her hood just reached the bottom of her eyes, leaving her freckled nose and pink lips visible.

“Just knock.” Ianthe found herself gripping her staff tightly with both hands. Her nerves were chewing at her gut, and her hands tingled for a moment, a familiar surge of magic running through them as her anxiety spiked. “Knock and get it over with.” Gathering as much courage as she could Ianthe slammed the top of her staff into the wooden door, the sound of stone and wood hitting each other drawing whatever heated conversations were being held in the hobbit hole to a sudden stop. Ianthe made sure to keep her eyes hidden when the door opened a few seconds later, a hobbit with curly brown hair and an irritated look on his face popping into her view.

“Oh,” His eyes blew wide upon taking in her appearance. “Y-you’re not a dwarf.”

Ianthe chuckled at the hobbits comment, her hood bouncing a bit when she shook her head in reply. She remained silent as the hobbit stood aside to let her in, and she made sure to brush her boots off on the mat before stepping on to his wooden flooring. A warmth spread through Ianthe as she looked around the homely hole, her eyes dancing between mud-stained rug and the beautiful arched doorways before she found herself looking back to the hobbit. He was staring up at her in awe, his lips parted. Ianthe chuckled at the sight, the sound knocking the hobbit out of his trance before he shook his head.

“Oh goodness, where are my manners!” The hobbit scolded himself, and looking back to his new guest he gave a small bow. “Bilbo Baggins, at your service, Miss…”

“Ianthe.” She finally introduced herself. The mage watched as the hobbit tried speaking her name, a small smile forming on his lips when he watched her nod encouragingly. Ianthe found her eyes wander around Bilbo’s home again, however this time she was drawn towards a warm light that seemed to be coming from the dining area. Bilbo must’ve seen the curiosity that ran through her, as her nose twitched ever-so-slightly when she turned in that direction.

“Everyone’s already in there.” He spoke from besides her, peering up to look at her for a second before his gaze darted elsewhere. “Gandalf said you would be arriving around this time.”

Ianthe chuckled at the comment, and she gave a small nod before heading towards the dining area. The tap of her staff and the click of her boots against the floor alerted the dwarves in the room of her coming, and Gandalf let out a small chuckle before pushing himself to stand. “And here I thought you decided against coming.” He spoke clearly, gaining the attention of each dwarf as he looked to the doorway. When Ianthe stepped into the light the company froze, each dwarf looking to this new member with a mixture of curiosity and slight contempt.

“And miss seeing the world again?” Ianthe quirked an eyebrow when she saw the dwarves flinch at her voice, but she brushed their reactions off as she turned her focus to Gandalf. “Never.”

“A woman?” Ianthe felt her blood freeze when a biting voice broke through the air, her eyes immediately landing on the brooding figure at the head of the table. Grey strands mixed together with deep raven hair that flowed effortlessly down the back of this dwarf, his deep blue eyes piercing into her as he looked between the wizard and herself. Ianthe could feel the tension in the room build the longer he glared at her, and for a second her confidence faltered, the grip on her staff tightening. “You’ve chosen a woman to be our guide?”

Gandalf breathed heavily out of his nose when he saw Ianthe shrink into a small corner, the shadows seeming to eat her up. He felt a surge of anger run through him when he looked back to the dwarf who had spoken, his eyes blazing. “You trusted me to find the only person who could guide your company safely to Erebor, Thorin.” Ianthe’s eyes widened at the name, and she found herself glancing between the wizard and the dwarf a couple of times before she settled her gaze upon Thorin. The dwarf in question let out a low growl, his eyes only dancing over to her small figure again before he went to challenge Gandalf. “She is as good as a guide as any mage I know.”

“No. I refuse to let any woman— a girl, no less— be apart of this company.”

“Thorin please be reasonable, you will need her more than you—“

“We do not need some girl on this quest, Gandalf.” Thorin’s tone was biting, his thick eyebrows casting a shadow over his blue eyes. The Dwarven leader looked between the old wizard and the girl in question, her bright eyes and freckled nose remaining hidden under her hood for the time being. He sized the girl up, looking between the old boots laced on her feet to the dark green cloak clasped around her shoulders. The fabric nearly brushed the ground, dirt stains and holes lining the edge as if being trampled on one to many times. Thorin looked back to her hands that were laced together in front of her, his eyes narrowing at the smooth skin of her fingers and the few silver rings that sat around them. Those weren’t the hands of a warrior.

The girl watched quietly as her old friend and the Dwarven leader argued, seemingly forgetting that she was present. She knew from stories that her father had told her that dwarves were stubborn in their ways, not really willing to open up to others outside of their kin. But man, did she underestimate what he meant. Thorin’s tongue was sharp, his words aiming to kill and dishearten the mage from wanting to join his quest. But she had made a promise to her father, a promise to go out into the world and protect those who needed it. And the dwarves needed it, she could tell. Her eyes surveyed the room of dwarves in front of her, taking in the wary looks they cast her way and the exhaustion that was slowly creeping up on them from their journey to the Shire. She frowned at this, her eyes casting to the ground before she sucked in a deep breath.

“If I may interject, Master Oakenshield.” The room of dwarves froze again when her smooth, accented voice sounded out. Everyone turned when the girl finally stepped into the light again, her fingers pulling back the edge of her hood to finally reveal her face. Her blue eyes were piercing as she looked around the room, her dark hair falling around her plump cheeks and just past her shoulders. Her dulcet tone reverberated through the small dining area, her lips turning down slightly when she set her focus back to Thorin. “Perhaps you would feel more comfortable if you knew of who I was?” Her head tilted to the side while she gripped the body of her staff, watching as the leader looked her over again.

She kept a stoic expression as he scrutinized her, taking in her apparel and lack of weapons. Not that she wasn’t armed though, he just didn’t know exactly where her weapons were hidden. After moments of speculation Thorin let out a huff, and crossing his buff arms over his chest he gave a curt nod. A ghost of a smile spread on the girls lips and after she straightened, her right hand curled into a fist before it rested against her heart, her left palm facing outwards as she pressed the back of her hand against her lower back. The dwarves watched as she gave a deep, respectful bow, her hair falling over to shield her face before she came back up again. “Ianthe, at your service.”

She could hear the odd dwarf in the room whisper her name, another small smile forming on her lips as she turned her gaze to Gandalf for a half second. The wizard gave her an encouraging nod before she turned back to Thorin, who’s face had hardened yet again as he watched her. “My family hails from a long line of Mages— Terra Mages to be exact.” As Ianthe went about telling her story to the leader, she found herself once again watching the dwarves for their reactions. “Long have we watched over the lands of Middle Earth, though it hasn’t been until recently that we Mages have settled deep in the forests.”

“And why is that, lassie?” Ianthe’s eyes darted over to an older looking dwarf, his kind eyes hidden slightly behind white bushy eyebrows. She found herself smiling at the dwarf, for she could see genuine curiosity swimming around in old, wise eyes. Though from the way he held himself and the knowing look he sent her, Ianthe could tell he knew exactly what she was and what her story was. “Oh, where are my manners!” The old dwarf gave a small chuckle before bowing at the waist. “Balin, at your service lass.”

Ianthe gave a small nod in return to Balin’s introduction, a grateful smile pulling up her lips before she turned away from him. “Decades have Mages spent their lives wandering the earth, protecting its people and the creatures that reside here.” Ianthe continued with her story, her fingers grasping one of her elbows behind her back as she looked around the room. “However the longer we wander, so our lifelines dwindle. The Elder Mages have decided it best for us to stop, to try and keep our lights from going out completely. But hope still remains for us.” Brown eyes suddenly stopped Ianthe in her tracks, a warm glow budding in her chest as she saw the kindness that swam in the orbs. This dwarf seemed different than the others, she noticed. His beard was kept short and stubbly against his jaw, his soft lips pulling into a gentle smile as he leaned across the table in curiosity.

“What hope is that?” Ianthe tore her gaze away from the dwarf as Thorin’s deep voice ran through her, her eyes meeting his before she cleared her throat.

“The young Mages.” She spoke clearly to him. Her hands suddenly fumbled with the clasp of the pouch that was clasped to her hip, and she dug inside the leather accessory before she pulled out a smooth gem. The crystal in her hand shone brightly against the candle that sat on the table, and the dwarves eyes blew wide when shining spots danced against the walls and the ceiling of the dining area. Ianthe looked to her right when she felt a small tug against her cloak, and her smile grew when she saw their host, Bilbo Baggins, look at the gem in awe. “It’s called Dýnami Zoís, or a Zōḗ Stone,” She explained, smiling fondly at the gem as she brushed a finger over the many glowing sides. “Each young mage, upon coming of age, is given a Zōḗ Stone.”

“A lifeforce.”

“Indeed, Master Baggins.” Ianthe felt proud to know that the hobbit knew a bit about the gems and their significance, her smile growing when she turned to see him looking up at her in awe. She placed a hand upon his shoulder before turning back to the dwarves and wizard, her eyes meeting a pair of dark brown ones again briefly before she turned away. “While Yavanna has given us our magic, the Zōḗ gives us our lives. And with our lives we protect those who need it.” To show her respect Ianthe placed the gem over her heart, as she had done with her fist a moment ago, and gave another deep bow. But before she had time to straighten up Thorin spoke again.

“And what do these stones have to do with your wanting to join our quest?” Thorin’s eyes were guarded again, his lips pulled into a tight line. He still didn’t quite like the idea of having this mage on his quest, and while he had heard of the stories of Mages wandering the lands of middle earth and he knew of their great power, he couldn’t seem to find himself agreeing with her coming. She was just a girl after all, she didn’t belong on this dangerous quest. Thorin held a breath, as did the rest of the room when Ianthe took a step forward, her hand held out towards him as she offered the stone to him.

“As the stone protects and guides my life, I shall protect and guide yours on this quest.” While Ianthe’s tone was quiet, barely loud enough for Thorin or the others to hear, it held a certain strength in it. The offering caused Balin to let out a sharp gasp, all eyes falling to him when he realized the severity of her words. “That is, if you shall have me, Master Oakenshield.” Ianthe ignored the shock that radiated from the older dwarfs body, her eyes locked in Thorin as he looked between her and the stone. His eyes drifted over to his advisor, his eyebrows knitting when he saw the look on his face, it was one of both shock and what appeared to be horror. Whatever Ianthe was offering him must have been something that the Mages considered precious. Would she really offer this lifeforce to join my company?

Ianthe held in a breath when Thorin looked back to her, her skin burning with anticipation while his blue eyes looked her over for the third time that night. It felt like forever had gone by before he spoke again, his head dropping in a single nod. “So be it,” His words brought a sudden, quiet cheer to fall past Ianthe’s lips, his eyebrow quirking at the sound. Soft ‘thank yous’ fell past her lips as she went to place the stone into his hands, but he was quick to shake his head, his hands curling into fists to refuse the precious gem. “If you are to be a proper guide and protector, you will need your stone.”

Ianthe felts a wave of excitement course through her veins at his words, her fingers curling tight around her stone as she nodded frantically. “Of course. Thank you, Master Oakenshield.” Her eyes inadvertently turned to the dwarves around the room, and once again she found herself looking to the brunette with deep brown eyes. His lips were parted in a wide smile as the blonde dwarf next to him spoke quietly, and suddenly she found herself blushing when he set her a wink. Ianthe’s heart thumped loudly as she looked away from him. What is this feeling? Her mind was racing with a million thoughts as she shoved her stone back into her pouch, but despite her precious thoughts of the quest all she could seem to think about now was the puppy dog-eyed dwarf with the soft smile.

“My dear,” Gandalf was the one to pull her away from her thoughts, his beard raising as he smiled softly at her. Ianthe shuffled her way over to the wizard, tossing Bilbo a grin as she passed him before her eyes traveled up the length of Gandalf’s tall figure before she meet his eyes. His hand landed heavily on her shoulder and the look in his eyes caused the smile on her lips to vanish, a sudden wave of worry burning in her arms and legs. Ianthe ignored the burning gazes that followed her out of the dining area, and for a moment she felt tempted to look back to the brown-eyed dwarf, but she resisted the urge while Gandalf pulled her to a secluded area in the hobbit hole. “Ianthe, I know how desperately you wish to help others, but offering—“

“I know what I am doing Gandalf.” Ianthe interrupted the wizard with a raise of her hand, the silver rings on his fingers glistening against the light. Gandalf gave her a stern look, but nonetheless he let out a small sigh while he held his tongue. “If my father has taught me anything it is to follow what the heart in my chest says and where the veins in my body pull.” Though the metaphor made little sense to the wise man, he understood how the Mages felt toward quests such as the one she was about to embark on. Gandalf’s fingers curled around her shoulder fondly, giving it a small squeeze before motioning first her to head back towards the dining area.

Ianthe gave the wizard a nod of thanks as she walked past him, her eyes glancing back into the crowded room as he meekly made her way back inside. The dwarves had settled down again, waiting for their earlier discussion to start once again until she entered, all eyes curiously watching her. Ianthe felt a blush form on her freckled cheeks, the sudden attention now causing her heart to race until another hand landed softly against her shoulder. It was Balin.

“Just sign here, Miss Ianthe.” He spoke, her eyes looking down to find a rolled piece of parchment in his fingers. Giving a single nod she grabbed the parchment before unrolling it, her eyes dancing across the long list of conditions until she reached the bottom. A quill was handed to her, a small smile forming on her lips as she went to sign it. However, she movements slowed to a stop when she glanced up again, this time her body freezing when she met the intense gaze of her Dwarven admirer. He appeared to be waiting for her to sign it, excitement being clear in his expression as he clasped his fingers together. She had to admit, the dwarf she couldn’t seem to get out of her mind was handsome, and the aura that oozed from his body was one that she had never quite seen before. He intrigued her. The two kept their gaze fixated on each other, her round cheeks darkening and her emotions swirling with each passing second while his heart raced wildly in his chest.

It wasn’t until a hard cough sounded in the room did Ianthe tear her gaze away from the young dwarf, her cheeks a permanent red as she looked back to the contract. She scribbled her name on to the line in a hurry. Ianthe watched as the older dwarf accepted her contract graciously, her blue eyes once again drawn to the brown-eyed dwarf as the other scanned her contract.

“It’s all here,” Ianthe quickly looked towards Thorin when Balin finished inspecting her contract, his eyes dancing between his nephew and the mage for a moment before he let out a low grumble. He shot his youngest nephew a stern look before gazing Ianthe. The mage was practically buzzing in her spot from excitement. “Welcome, Ianthe, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

[kaoarika]

I rarely do written posts in Tumblr anymore because I am still figuring out how this new UI works in general (and there might be still be some bugs about writing posts + leaving them on drafts + publishing them accidentally as well), and tbh, between the past two months have been sorta chaotic and very mentally draining (besides some work I have been doing) and me attempting to think around some of my few active fandoms... well, haven’t had an eureka moment where I sit and write what I think about stuff.

So, let’s talk about some “stuff”.

Some days ago, I accidentally noticed by PURE CHANCE that some of the completed webtoons I was going to “eventually read” in LINE were going to get “locked”/converted  for Daily Pass. I mean, tbf, I knew that they were going to stick to this plan since past October, but it seems they really went full force this month (they only “locked” like a couple of series back then). And it’s exactly how I thought they would do so - popular series that have been already completed, old and recent.

I’m not going to complain about “Daily Pass” because I do have some thoughts about that and the fact they could use another model than just readers farming/buying coins, but, what do you do, especially since lots of these series are PRETTY long (140+ chapters long)?

My complaint does come from that, as a web user, I found this by pure chance, despite them saying they would announce what series would be locked in a 30-day advance notice. Because there’s no apparent indicator in the main page about THIS (The only Notice/News detail you see down below the page is about Canvas creators). Heck, I don’t think they even tell you about it in their mail newsletter, which kinda suck :))).

So, anyway.

I checked and, yes, a couple of VERY old series I was interested in reading were/are going to get locked. Problem, like I mentioned? THEY are pretty long! I know I can binge read as much as I want, but I cannot make miracles like reading over 100 chapters (if one series, try thinking about 2 or 3 -  I WAS NOT GOING TO DO THIS) in less than 12 hours! ESPECIALLY if those series were going to get locked THIS WEEK.

FML.

...anyway crisis was averted when I had to let go some interesting series that I may would get my way to read them (if there is a new buying/rental model they would apply) in the future... BUT I did read stuff I was curious or wanted to read... and mainly old stuff that I was willing to eventually finish one day.

Opinions on those series?

Okay, as brief and spoiler free as possible:

Untouchable: A story about modern-day vampires that instead of drinking blood, they have evolved to absorb the energy of their preys. This one is a romantic series about Sia, a vampire model and this human guy who has a very deep microphobia, and she puts her eyes on him when she realizes that his energy is like none she has tasted before. But, again, dude has microphobia (that is more or less controlled as time goes on).

I stopped reading this one for a while because  I was sorta smelling love triangle from a jealous friend of hers that OBVIOUSLY didn’t want to be looked as “just a friend”, lol. Like “how would this get solved”, kind of thing in your typical romance stuff. But then, last week I retook it... and it wasn’t as bad... but it leaks typical shoujo stuff/problems that become a newer obstacle as time goes on and on (misscomunication, lack of trust, overprotective family ANNOYINGLY hurting their own offspring, sudden deux ex machina...?). So, I think it finished fine... But man, I was so pissed off in how some stuff was managed at the end, lmao. Especially the way a “villain” was redeemed? I know that they say “karma is a b*tch”, but, DUDE KILLED PEOPLE BEFORE!? and you redeem him in a “lol, you will find out how love will make you feel” LIKe, DUDE, WHAT THE HELL. DON’T REDEEM HIM LIKE THAT.

Ghost Wife: I started reading this series in an unofficial manner a long while ago, but I supposed that the first chapters are pretty slow and it didn’t catch me on in the first place. It’s about a girl that starts seeing ghosts/spirits, and there’s this one that becomes WAY too attached to her, that offers her two options: either been eaten/killed or agreeing to be his wife. Given the title of thise series, you might wonder she accepted the second one

My lesson? Should have kept reading. The story picks up when other ghostly creatures are introduced and they start interacting with the main female character and her “ghost husband”, especially since this ghost cannot really imitate human interaction and his solution is “hypnotizing” everyone so he can “normally” fit. And the interaction between those two becomes more gracious and natural. You can feel that she likes being with him, despite the dangers of attracting ghosts that might kill her and all that. Heh.

Other lesson I had is that: the artist isn’t EXACTLY well into action scenes and some other details (but their ghostly creatures’ designs are TERRIFYING), so, I thought “well, I know there are other artists like this in the webcomic/webtoon environment, I shouldnt be too worried about my art once I get done with mine, right?

Also, some details started to make sense later on. And I cried like a baby in some moments, as well. Don’t have too many complaints, though. Perhaps more obvious “falling in love” moments... but then I realized that some actions speak lots better than words.

About Death: And speaking of “crying like a baby”, this one. This is a very old work, and it’s a gem, and it’s short, to top! And HECK, the art was AMAZING. Very touchy, and it makes you think. There’s quite a lot of South Korean webtoons that have made me cry because... they really make you think a LOT about stuff... especially about life and death.

Oh! Holy: Story about a shy and lonely loveable dork that is in love of his childhood friend, and that they eventually find each other in high school. Said childhood friend is idolized in school (but she is... hmmm... a dork as, well). Oh, he sees ghosts. OH, and she dies within the first three chapters accidentally :3. Shenanigans happen.

I HAD A LOT OF FUN WITH THIS ONE. SURE, it’s another shoujo but WAY less dramatic than Untouchable, because this was comedy (so, a rom-com!). And this one made me want more and more to read it. The characters all had an amazing personality, chemistry and their interactions were FUN AS HELL. The author seems to have my my sense of (dumb) humor, and the art was too attractive and knew where it should bright.

I don’t think I have too many complaints about this one. I may have felt unsatisfied in some minor stuff, but everything else felt “okay” to me, in general. 

A couple of things, though: localization and some quality stuff relating to translation in this series. I cannot judge the translation, but I do think it could have handled more quality checking on this one or proofreading, I’m not sure. I know that these (licensed and translated) series come in a weekly basis, but they REALLY need to pay more $$$ to their own staff to not let this stuff happen THAT frequent.

Localization is a bit of an issue I do HAVE though, and it is the same as in “Ghost Wife” and some other recent Korean series they have licensed in the recent past: Why using English-localized names, though? SURE, they retain their original last Korean names... but... why don’t keep their FULL NAMES, I wonder? I mean, weren’t we supposed to be over that kind of stuff already (videogames, JPN anime, manga other foregin stuff)? Is it because marketability? And/or because some names are “puns” that couldn’t easily be translateable in other languages? 

If it’s the latter, I think the same is applied in other regional language localization, like, in Spanish, original English language “Axed” is called “Natacha la del Hacha” and you cannot wonder how it crawls over my skin. I know this series is BUILT ON and is full of puns (as I am following it)... but... “Axelia” is a much more cooler name than “Natacha”... :I or so I THINK? Don’t take me too seriously...

In “Ghost Wife” I get it, you have spiritual creatures... their “human” names are puns of what they really are, and these words MAYBE don’t have too much meaning in English or Spanish or whatever... but... its a bit... glaring... when the main cast has English first names... and then you have a side character called... I dunno, “Soyeon” :I. or Haetae (a creature that didn’t have a human character name...) or, heck, characters that never appear again like... there was this “Damien” dude that for some reason, his name is slipped a couple of times as “Suho” (I wonder, his original name). But, then, you have people named “Liz”, “Drake”, “Sarah”, “Nathan” ????

I suppose that in “Oh! Holy” that might be the case, too. The original Korean name of the series is “오!주예수여” that is translated as “Oh! Lord Jesus”, because Holy in Korean is named “Yesu”. And, *sigh* I think that says enough. The pun STILL works... but :’))

But at the same time, I think my thing with the English localized names in “Oh! Holy” is that they are... blatantly boring and I don’t think they fit their faces. At all. But, maybe that’s me? (I mean, the “ultimate” reaper is called Norman. NORMAN.) Like I said, they still keep their original Korean last names... but... ugh.

(this is coming from someone who gave two of her characters very not obvious Spanish names given that they are Mexican, but I do have some valid cultural and VERY obvious explanations about those...)

Also - I don’t get LINE Webtoon’s selectiveness in this localization decision. Some of the South Korean series they bring, they do KEEP their original full names (see “A Good Day to be a Dog”, “Ghost Teller”, heck, the afforementioned “Untouchable”), but then you have stuff like “Oh! Holy”, “Ghost Wife”, “Scorching Romance”, “Mom, I’m Sorry!” or “Lookism”... ?????

And, this is very blatant annoying because a) K-Pop is HUGELY global mainstream nowadays and you can hear/read fans screaming their NAMES?! And 2) K-dramas are also pretty popular these days??? 

?????? 

*LONG SIGH*

There’s a few series that I want to check out, but I still have some more days for that to happen (heck, even a bit of more than a week). But, it SURE DOES suck that most of the interesting series I had my eyes on all were going to get locked this WEEK. :))))

[pepperstrawberry]

While I am slowly working on art things... have a bit of fiction?

So, I did a post earlier about Elly, and figured that I should post this maybe for amusement. It’s a drabble I puttered on after being inspired by @wearepaladin‘s post that I linked up there... There is more that is starting to form. I was originally going to add her to my ‘Dragon Quixotic’ story (and she still kinda is, but becoming less and less direct so), since the main city I came up with has a strong history of Paladin stuff (now thanks to this drabble is called ‘Mithvalor’... for now at least XD )

Going to put it under a cut cause it’s like a few pages long on the googledoc XD

Note: This was tossed together as a sort of ‘character moment and background’ thing… Feel free to make any commentary, but please do it in the light that a) I haven’t really tackled Paladins until very recently in any tangible way and b) this is more or less a rough draft take on a scene that popped in my head.

Note the second: One of these days I -will- make a straight forward paladin, but I’m still in that beginning ‘break all the things/see where things stretch to phase of character creation ^_^;;; (I do have a whole story that plays with the idea of gods, paladins, right and wrong, good and evil, and all that where the heroes do end as more or less proper pallys, but the start isn’t what it seems… at the moment that idea is on the back burner though)

The Gods are fallible.

This statement was the backbone of her faith.

Elizabeth Camilla Makeda had come to distrust any priest that would proclaim the perfection of any single god. Not in that she hated them or thought they were leading people wrong. It was more that they had blinded themselves to the bigger picture.

In a world where there were multiple gods, each with their own domains and focus, she could not believe that any single god could understand enough of the universe on their own to be anything but a flawed, incomplete creation. For many, this revelation would bring a deep distrust in the gods if they believed in them or even a complete rejection of any value in religion if they didn’t. But for her?

It brought her a sense of relief.

If the gods were fallible, then it just meant that the problems of the world, how sometimes monsters could win, how children could die from plagues, or how people could fall to their own vices made more sense.

Some gods would show a streak of hubris just as man does. Other times, it was pettiness. Some gods tried so hard but their domain was limited in scope, and thus was their ability to change things.

If she viewed the gods much as she viewed her fellow man, it made a lot more sense.

It was these thoughts she took into the academy of her city of Mithvalor. Paladins were a traditional position in her home, a place of many faiths, working together to make a stronger world. Her home, a hub city of trade and community, had once housed a council of seven paladin kings known in legend as ‘The Faith’. It had been many generations since The Faith was broken, but the grand tradition of this land to be a bridge between countries as well as the material and the ethereal worlds made being a Paladin both a privilege and an honor.

While she had a leg up thanks to her mother being a Paladin of the God of Courage, it didn’t mean she had a free ride either. Her family had always been about hard work and helping others. Her father had helped her train her body by working the fields of their farm on the outskirts of the city. She was put to work during festivals to help bring food around to those that needed and deliver parcels of ingredients to cooks preparing the big feasts.

Her father was big on the God of the Harvest and while her parents where in a bit of a bet of who she would chose, they knew she would make the right decision for her and continue the proud traditions of both the city and her family.

And so it was that her training began. And trouble soon showed it’s head. When it came to lessons on the gods, she would ask strange questions. Not improper ones, only ones that kept everyone guessing with which god would she finally plague her oath to, let alone what that oath would even look like. Many thought she might side with either the God of Knowledge given her persistent questions, the God of Wisdom due to how they were worded and thought out, or even the God of Mischief given how vexing some of the questions could be.

It would be the day she found her weapon that would reveal all…

---

“Come on, Elly. I know you have been paying attention to your lessons.” Sir Dulgear sighed.

Elly was once more on her butt. Her sword and shield to either side of her, the result of being so astoundingly disarmed. Again.

“It… It’s just doesn’t feel right, Sir.” She growled.

Dulgear knew that growl well. It was not directed at him in the least. It was directed inward. Her mother, the Lady Gallamir Pearl Makeda was one of the absolute best with a sword and shield. Having actually been her training partner when they were in Elly’s position, he could confirm it without any doubt. And he could see some of the parent’s talent in the child. Hell, she was worse with a warhammer or even a mace. They had tried many other combinations and while she wasn’t bad with any, she was never that great either.

And the forces she might have to face needed to be met with greatness in all aspects.

This girl had something in her, he knew it. It’s why he kept as an instructor. His best was in seeing through the rough bits to the shining gems that were waiting to be revealed. Still, he was getting worried. While she excelled in all other areas, she needed to be able to protect those around her as well as herself. And right now, she was barely above a regular great of soldier.

“Come on Elly. I know you can do this. Remember…”

Elly stood, picking up her arms and took her stance. “Think around the problem, then push through” she repeated. It was Sir Dulgear’s way of saying ‘stop and think’. She rather liked it, and it had fit her own way of thinking very well.

And thinking was what she was doing. Dulgear stood ready. She was to make the first move, so she had time, not forever, but some. She, too, stood. It was a perfect stance, the forms where never an issue. She could swing any weapon as is with just as much aptitude as any other recruit. Of course, those were also practice weapons designed to do little damage and be primarily for training and nothing else.

In her hand was a live sword. A dull blade, sure, and her trainer had protections all over him. But it was still a live blade.

A blade can cut with ease, sometimes too easily. She had seen even veteran guards accidently do too much damage to someone they were trying to subdue during a tavern fight. A mace can disfigure or even cause permanent brain damage with a strike to the head. A warhammer can crush unenchanted platemail with ease.

Deadly. All her options were decided to kill as their primary function, with little thought to what other potential these things might have.

Of course, staves, saps, and other blunt weapons didn’t quite feel right to her either, but they rarely served as good weapons for a Paladin. Those you would more often see in the hands of a monk or a cleric. Not that she didn’t try them. Still, a stave felt too ‘reed’y to her and even a sap felt like it would be better just to…

She had an epiphany.

Dulgear saw Elly square her shoulders and then charge him. He could already see the sword strike a mile way. Infact, there was even less finesse then before. Could Elly be getting tired? Or maybe she was about to try something? He smiled and brought up his shield rather than dodge. This lesson was about getting used to live weapons and focusing the potential of using a Paladin’s most universal and signature attack: Smite.

Sure, the magic the trainee’s were bless with only simulated the power, as they had yet to take their oaths, but the mook smite could be used against anything with a nice pop of pressure to give positive feedback for a success.

The sword hit the shield as was intended by both parties. Dulgear flicked his gaze to the shield being raised. For a split second, he wondered if she was going to try to bash him with it. She was always a touch more defensive minded then many of the other recruits, and while exceedingly rare, it was not unheard of for a paladin to make their weapon of choice some modified take on a shield.

However, he discarded that notion as soon as it came to mind. With how quick her bulky frame was, he would have been already feeling it. Clearly she was assuming he would strike back, and he did so not wanting to disappoint.

His sword came down and she moved the shield to properly block him. The clang didn’t have time to fully echo when he noticed something felt off about the block. She twisted and pulled to her right. That didn’t make any sense. That was her sword hand, and you don’t get another chance to strike if your opponent has locked swords with you.

The moment Elly felt her trainer’s sword make contact, she flicked both shield and sword down to her right, letting them go. Her foot work shifted, sliding her right foot back and around her left, before left followed along. She turned her entire body around, a clockwise spin, bringing her out of danger of counter attack as her shield was still between her and Dulgear’s sword.

The first weapons she learned would always be her most trusted. She had to use them against thieves in dark alleys when they tried to catch her unawares when on errands for her mother. She had employed them against drunks that would get a bit to roudy when she visited her uncle’s tavern. And she made plenty of use of them in play with her elder brother.

Spinning her body completely around was a showboat move, but it was the easiest way to allign her attack and make sure it connected. With concentration, she pushed the energies down her arm. Her right fist clenched within the gauntlet.

Dulgear had a split second to see Elly had already fully turned herself around, and her fists up near her face. His eyes widened in complete surprise.

Elly’s feet finished their turn and she planted the ball of her left foot to the ground, twisting her hip, continuing the force of her spin, drawing power from the earth, through her leg, the alignment of her hips, her upper body leaning into the motion and finally the strike.

The last thing Dulgear saw was the golden energy collecting at the knuckles of her gauntlet as Elly’s left fist fired out. The strike  connected right against the side of Dulgear’s helmet right at his cheek. And then a burst of light blinded him as he felt his entire body followed with the arc of his head being thrown back. He flew through the air and landing square on his back several feet from where he once stood.

Pieces of her gauntlet floating in the air as her fist made it’s follow through, the armor not built to handle power flowing through it in such a fashion. The glove under was smoldering from the radiant fire that exploded from impact.

Many of the other students that had been watching, as well as a few of the teachers, were rooted to the spot in shock. They had never seen something like that from a paladin before. All of them stared save her mother, who had subbed in that day for a friend. Her smile was incandescent.

Elly didn’t mean to knock him back that hard. She ran over quickly, checking her instructor for injury. While the side of his helm was dented a bit, the magic protecting him was still intact. Fortunately for him, the wards on his armor were ‘one size fits all’ in that they didn’t just keep it to the power level that should have come through the pseudo-smite effect, but from a full attack. Of course, the enchantment was also one shot, so the helmet needed to be repaired and re-enchanted before the next time it’s used. But that was just working as intended.

What was less expected was being thrown that hardback by a punch from a girl a spare few years from full adulthood. Even one as strongly and stoutly built as Elly.

Dulgear was surprised, “That… wasn’t the test spell. You… used the power ‘Smite’. The actual ability…” It wasn’t unheard of for those that had already taken an oath to seek formal training here. Hell, he was one of those sort. When he had sworn to his god, the divine being specifically led him here for training. But no one was aware that Elly had taken any oath. In fact, by all accounts, no god seemed fit for her in any direct manner, at least if her many questions during lectures and her interesting debates with some of the scholars was any indication. “When did you take the Oath? And with whom?”

As Dulgear took her hand, Elly smiled warmly, “I took no single god. The gods are fallible. I do not deny their greatness, but nor will I ignore that if all the stories are true, they are no less weak to lying, cheating, avarice, or any other vice known to mortals. I could not swear any more devotion to a god then I would to any man.”

Once her trainer is standing again, she holds his hand in both of hers, turning his hand palm up, “Faith in a friend is a powerful thing. I have that faith in many gods. But I can not worship them. I do not worship anything. For many, worship is liberating. For me, it’s stifling.”

She looked back into his eyes, “Sir Dulgear, I swore my oath on the roof of my home, laying and staring at the stars. I had thought to myself, ‘The gods are fallible’ and I was not afraid. I was happy. A god is like a king, a force for good or ill, a seat of wisdom and a source of authority and hope. But a king can fall.”

Dulgear wanted to say something, but he remained quiet. This wasn’t just one of her debates with a scholar, she was speaking her oath. “If an Angel can fall, a Devil can transcend. A god can make a mistake just as a mortal can. And we work together, we strive for better. So to do the gods together. I seek no one master, but I vow my word to the very heart of what a Paladin is: the hand of the gods in the world of man. A hand to help, a hand to defend, and when needed a hand to bring low the true monsters of the world.”

She looked back at her sword, “Blades kill too easy. But my fists are my hands. A sword must be sheathed to be seen as peaceful. I need only open my hand and offer it to do the same.”

Having spoken it out loud for the first time in years, Elly was able to start to form a more codified version. Stepping back, she held her hand out, palm down, “The gods are fallible as are men. My oath is to the very concept of Honesty, Compassion, Honor, and Duty. That I might serve the needs of all gods, all men, all that have good will and the need of help.”

She turns her hand palm up, “The Angel can fall, and the Devil can transcend. I will give quarter to any that ask save a true monster. A true monster is that which has actively rejected all light from their heart. Such beings, whether in heaven or hell, deserve my full wrath.” She punctuates her statement by clenching her fist and punching it into her left palm.

She spread her arms wide, hands open again, “I pledge to help any that I can. To do the least harm I am able. To strike down the true monsters. To lead the fallen and the lost to the light, and I look to all the gods and all my friends to help me stay in that same light.

“My oath is to the Hallowed Hope that springs eternal in every heart”

Sir Dulgear smiled, “Unorthodox, and while I don’t fully agree, I can’t see any personal fault with your view point. Such an oath would normally be a tenous thing. Swearing to the very nature of things. So nebulous. But… you don’t look at it that way. Your faith is in a deeper ideal.” He offers his hand, “I hope you find strength in your oath always and that the gods find favor in your devotion, even if it’s not directly to them.”

Dulgear smiled. Sure, a paladin could get silly with their speachafying, but it was also a part of what they did. It wasn’t so much pageantry of words as much as their words guided by their faith and hearts. “Elizabeth Camilla Makeda of the Sacred Oath of Devotion to the Hallowed Hope. I welcome you.” He grinned wider, “Now, let's look into designing you some ‘hallowed knuckles’ to go with that oath of yours.”

[ladysloane]

Where Am I?

Home of the Nain Rouge, 1922

Alexandra woke up in a strange cellar, unable to remember what happened to her or how she got there. The room was lit by only one oil lantern, which illuminated the only apparent door out. She looked around for a moment, trying to gather her bearings, but could not figure out what was happening. It almost didn't feel real, like she was dreaming.

She felt a soft draft coming from under the door. When she opened it, a hallway lead down to another room, where she could very faintly hear what sounded like singing. Alexandra wasn't one to scare easily, but whatever was going on scared her.

She followed the hallway to the next room, where she found a little girl in a red dress, sitting at a table. The room was bare, save for the table, a few torches, and a tapestry on the wall.

“Who are you?” Alexandra asked. “And where the hell am I?” “So many questions, so few answers. So little time.” The girl replied. Alexandra cocked her head. “What?” The little girl gestured for her to sit. Once Alexandra got a better look at her, she noticed her skin was pale, almost a white as paper. It looked unnatural.

“Where am I?” Alexandra asked, annoyed. “Where you were. You have not moved. Not your physical self, at least.” The girl said. Alexandra studied the girl for a moment before realizing what she was. “You're the Nain Rouge, aren't you?” She asked. “A Nain Rouge, yes. I wondered if you would figure it out.” The Nain Rouge replied. “You only show yourself when bad things are coming.” Alexandra said.

The Nain Rouge pointed to the tapestry. “Woven from the hair of the fates. It senses when things are imbalanced.” The Nain Rouge said grimly.

“Do you feel it? Out there? In the ether? I do. It's coming. And it wants blood.” She said, looking at the tapestry. “What's coming?” Alexandra asked. “I don't know. Something hidden, something forgotten, something locked up and imprisoned?” The Nain Rouge replied.

She stood up and handed Alexandra a gem stone. “I am not supposed to interfere with fate, but I fear what is coming. Take this and find The Lady. She is the key to stopping this.”

“What lady?” Alexandra asked. Before the Nain Rouge could answer, Alexandra woke up, in her bed. Still in her hand was the gem stone, and a feeling of dread.

[jakejamesjournalism]

vampire weekend in the post-rostam era

6/8/2019                                                     

A group of high school kids starting a rock band is a great American past time… especially for those kids cut from the baseball team, THE great American past time.  The type of practice and commitment to collaboration it takes to become a good band or a good ball player is what makes both past times so appealing to the rest of us.  It was the love of the songwriting process first.  It was the smell of the fresh cut infield grass that got the particular individual in a single-minded mission in trying to turn the past time he chose into art.  Famous songwriters and performers loved and obsessed over the music they were recording long before the record deal came the same way pro athletes dedicate their lives to training years before draft day. 

That in itself, becoming successful at your chosen past time, turning it into art, and making a career out of it makes you all the more appealing to your inevitably growing fan base.  Aside from giving their specific audiences an emotional release, the love also comes from the acknowledgement that none of what you had was inherited, it was earned from tireless hours seeking perfection way before any dollars rolled in.  Sadly, most high school bands that scrape together money for studio time and college athletes who put it all on the line don’t ever come close to getting the recognition for their hard work.  They certainly don’t get the money.  This is not to say either activity is a waste of time.  Almost everyone comes out the other end of a band or sports team a better person.  Forming a band and being part of a team can build future collaborative skills that can positively affect the participant in numerous aspects of life…but the money and fame escape him.

Fortunately for some already privileged Columbia undergrads casually starting a band after a night of beer games turned into more than what any of them at the time could’ve imagined.  Although true, it was clear from the very beginning that Vampire Weekend wasn’t just another band.  Ezra Koenig, Rostam Batmanglij, Chris Tomson, and Chris Baio (excuse my oxford comma) made a name for themselves on the indie rock scene within 18 months of their inception.  While some critics spent time whining about how much the band sounded like Paul Simon’s ‘Graceland,’ most heard it as I did.  An indie record at heart with accessible pop ideas that weren’t carried by synths and predictable filler but rather tribal African drum rhythms, live instrumentation, and brilliant, witty wordplay.  This was highlighted on A-Punk, a self-referential gem about New York City that ironically catapulted them to fame way out of the five boroughs.  The two members of the band benefitting the most from the increased acclaim and exposure was Ezra Koenig, lead singer and lyricist and Rostam Batmanglij, who was the multi-instrumentalist often credited with being the brainchild behind the bands entire sound. 

“Rostam and I are the two main songwriters” Ezra said in an interview early in the bands career.  With Contra, the 2010 follow up to their self-titled debut that mythology continued to grow.  The two of them became masters at employing subtle differences in their recording styles.  Instead of using familiar echo sounds and various chamber effects that previously yielded glorious and simplistic pop harmonies, Rostam opted for a more digital sound.  Contra did this while also staying true to the bands organic DIY style.  From a critics standpoint this time around, it was more of a Talking Heads 80s experiment than a Paul Simon one.  While Ezra remained a capable songwriter, he felt the liberty to have more fun with his vocal palette.  On Contra, the band expanded the vocal possibilities.  There was gibberish wailing on the standout track ‘White Sky’ and even distorted speed rap on the song ‘California English’; both came off as successful sonic endeavors.  Rostam mixed Ezra’s vocals beautifully, knowing exactly when to let his feral tendencies run wild and when to harness them into gorgeous vocal textures.  The winning team was making their pastime a thing of true art.  A tandem now responsible for writing two of the most significant indie records of the new era.  It seemed like a partnership that would yield classic tunes for years on end.

It initially seemed this way on the bands third LP Modern Vampires of the City.  A level of maturation some detractors never thought the band could reach was on full display here.  Rostam’s production (this time assisted by pop guru and future collaborator Ariel Rechtshaid) was darker and more experimental without losing a shred of accessibility.  Ezra’s lyrics were far more introspective, dealing with themes of faith, mortality, and ‘Dying Young.’  The album features both ‘Step’ and ‘Hannah Hunt’ the two best songs the band has ever written.  Overall it was a masterpiece.  The band hit full stride; headlining major festivals, winning Grammy awards all while remaining true to their sound.  They were able to solidify themselves as serious artists with a singular vision.  No longer prep school boys who create decent music by taking the best pieces of their influences and mashing them together, this was the sound of a band in total control of their past time. 

It went unsaid, but it was understood, and well deserved, that Vampire Weekend would be enjoying a hiatus after the success and laborious touring schedule surrounding Modern Vampires.  Even so, after the Grammy, the critical acclaim, the incredible sales numbers, something totally unseen to the general public between the two main songwriters wasn’t right.  To everyone’s surprise and utter bewilderment, Rostam decided to leave the band indefinitely.

“My identity as a songwriter + producer needs to stand on its own.” Read Rostam’s public statement.  The news instantly polarized fans.  Many, like myself, criticized Rostam for leaving a good thing, while coming off extremely pretentious and ungrateful.  The man is lucky enough to be cooped up in the most successful songwriting duo in modern day rock music, why would he feel unfulfilled achieving greatness in the setting of a great band? Why must his work stand outside the efforts of collaboration? Who does he think he is?

It was known that Rostam, the multi instrumental production guru was always responsible for the sound of Vampire Weekend, while Ezra supplied the lyrics.  The parting seemed amicable, but all in all it left the future of the band in a precarious situation.  What was Vampire Weekend without Rostam? That very question went years unanswered. 

In the years since Rostam left Vampire Weekend, he has had limited success finding any traction as a solo artist.  His best effort thus far has been a collaborative record with Hamilton Leithauser of the Walkmen.  A brilliant record full of the same elegant strings, organic drum sections, and blissful pianos that came to define the sound of his former band.  Even so, it was still a behind the scenes production victory to add to his resume.  Hamilton is excellent on that record, giving Rostam’s instrumentals a visceral feel with his raspy passionate hoarse vocal delivery. 

As a front man himself, Rostam hasn’t achieved much.  His debut album Half-Light, released in 2017 came and went without much of a peep from anyone.  Indie circles overlooked it, it didn’t have a repeatable single, the vocals were shaky at best I gave it two listens and it passed it into the pile of albums that came and went without making a sound.  Since then, Rostam has not been able to find his voice.  Whether or not he can be an important voice in pop music remains to be seen, the talent behind the boards is there but it’s time for him to realize what he can and cannot do.  It takes a necessary self-awareness to know one’s limitations in any job, in any past time.  A contact hitter who plays his role by getting on base doesn’t swing for the fences.  I believe Rostam’s ego and infatuation with being the front man took him away from his true self a bit. 

Left alone in all this is Mr. Ezra Koenig. Years went on without a whisper of any new music and people started to wonder that same question: What is Vampire Weekend without Rostam? and more pressingly: Can Ezra write a Vampire Weekend album without him?  Turns out, answer is both yes and no.

Enlisting in pop guru and Max Martin collaborator, Ezra and co. brought back Ariel Rechtshaid to give the band help in the production department.  Ezra also used his smarts to understand the best way to go about marketing the new album.  A record far more freewheeling than previous releases, Ezra became more eclectic than ever, and shared a plethora of wide-ranging singles way before the album was scheduled to drop. 

The fourth album by Vampire Weekend, the 18-track record titled Father of the Bride was finally released May 3, 2019. Noted for its fusion of nonchalant broad-ranging grooves and witty pop songs about love, summer days, locking hate at the gate, and a few morbid things as well.  Ariel creates a template of shade from the warming sun for Ezra to bask in and the results are often satisfying.  While this new album won’t go down in history as an instant classic like its predecessor, it’s still hard to consider Father of the Bride to be anything but a monumental success.  Quality songs exist all throughout this thing and contain some of Ezra’s best songs yet.  An arena tour on the way, good new songs to play, and first week sales eclipsing 140k.  Say what you want about sales in today’s musical landscape, it’s impressive when a group of guys who still primarily play guitars can sell 140k first week.  It’s special.  You would have a hard time listing bands that released their debut record after 2000 than can sell over 100k first week and sell out Madison Square Garden.  What Vampire Weekend has is special.  

I’m predicting FOTB to be a summer 19’ novelty.  I’ve already heard cuts out on the streets of Asbury Park NJ, backyard cookouts, and New York City bars alike.  Can jam, car rides with the windows down, and poolside convos, Father of the Bride is a free-wheeling summer record that also has a thing or two you can learn from. 

It’s a wonder to me, knowing what he knows now, if Rostam would make the same decision all over again.  Joining a band is an American past time.  Playing in a band that influences the masses on a grand stage is special and should be cherished and appreciated as such.  Leaving such a beautiful situation seems egotistical. It may not be the case here, but it is the perception.  Ezra has proved himself to be just fine without him.  Rostam has time to blossom.  He is still young and has shown shades of greatness (the production on Frank Ocean’s Ivy is otherworldly) but that once again, is a highlight in music production-something behind the scenes.  Rostam, if you have a voice worth hearing, now is the time. 

[jakejames09]

No Rostam, no problem?  Vampire Weekend in the post-Rostam era

A group of high school kids starting a rock band is a great American past time.  Especially for those kids cut from the baseball team, THE great American past time.  The type of practice and commitment to collaboration it takes to become a good band or a good ball player is what makes both past times so appealing to the rest of us.  It was the love of the songwriting process first.  It was the smell of the fresh cut infield grass that got the particular individual in a single minded mission in trying to turn the past time he chose into art.  Famous songwriters and performers loved and obsessed over the music they were recording long before the record deal came the same way pro athletes dedicate their lives to training years before draft day.  That in itself, becoming successful at your chosen past time, turning it into art, and making a career out of it makes you all the more appealing to your inevitably growing fan base.  Aside from giving their specific audiences an emotional release, the love also comes from the acknowledgement that none of what you had was inherited, it was earned from tireless hours seeking perfection way before any dollars rolled in.  Sadly, most high school bands that scrape together money for studio time and college athletes who put it all on the line don’t ever come close to getting the recognition for their hard work.  They certainly don’t get the money.  This is not to say either activity is a waste of time.  Almost everyone comes out the other end of a band or sports team a better person.  Forming a band and being part of a team can build future team skills that can positively affect the participant in numerous aspects of life...but the money and fame escape him.

Fortunately for some already privileged Ivy League Scholars from New York the band casually started at a Columbia party turned into more than anyone could imagine on that alcohol fueled evening.  Ezra Koenig, Rostam Batmanglij, Chris Tomson, and Chris Baio formed Vampire Weekend.  (Excuse my oxford comma).  From the very beginning it was clear that Vampire Weekend wasn’t just another band.  Within 18 months of their inception, Vampire Weekend made a name for themselves on the indie scene.  While some critics spent time whining about how much the band sounded like Paul Simon’s Graceland, most heard it as I did.  An indie record at heart with accessible pop ideas that weren’t carried by synths and predictable filler but rather tribal African drum rhythms, live instrumentation, and brilliant, witty, self deprecating wordplay.  This was highlighted on A-Punk, a self-referenial gem about New York City that ironically catapulted them to international stardom.  The two members of the band benefitting the most from the increased acclaim and exposure was Ezra Koenig, lead singer and lyricist and Rostam Batmanglij, who was the multi-instrumentalist often credited with being the brainchild behind the bands entire sound. 

“Rostam and I are the two main songwriters” Ezra said in an interview early in the bands career.  With Contra, the 2010 follow up to their self titled debut that mythology continued to grow.  The two of them became masters at employing subtle differences in their recording styles.  Instead of using familiar echo sounds and various chamber effects that previously yielded glorious and simplistic pop harmonies, Rostam opted for a more digital sound.  Contra did this while also staying true to the bands organic DIY style.  From a critics standpoint this time around, it was more of a Talking Heads 80s experiment than a Paul Simon one.  While Ezra remained a capable songwriter, he felt the liberty to have more fun with his vocal palette.  On Contra, the band expanded the vocal possibilities.  There was gibberish wailing on the standout track ‘White Sky’ and even distorted speed rap on the song ‘California English’; both came off as successful sonic endeavors.  Rostam mixed Ezra’s vocals beautifully, knowing exactly when to let his feral tendencies run wild and when to harness them into gorgeous vocal textures.  The winning team was making their pastime a thing of true art.  A tandem now responsible for writing two of the most significant indie records of the new era.  It seemed like a partnership that would yield classic tunes for years on end.

It initially seemed this way on the bands third LP Modern Vampires of the City.  A level of maturation some detractors never thought the band could reach was on full display on MVOC.  Rostam’s production (this time assisted by pop guru and future collaborator Ariel Rechtshaid) was darker and more experimental without losing a shred of accessibility.  Ezra’s lyrics were far more introspective, dealing with themes of faith, mortality, and Dying Young.  ‘Ya Hey’ is still the most ambitious undertaking of the bands career.  Coming off as an eerie baroque pop anthem marching its way through a catchy uneven time signature with huge heart and a singalong melody made the song a special moment in the storied bands catalog.  ‘Unbelievers’ is another one.  One the surface the song seems like your average guitar pop bop but Ezra’s lyrics about mortality and the seriousness behind it add an appropriate darkness that gives an upbeat song a human feel.  A feeling amplified and perfected on Hannah Hunt and Step.  The two best tracks in the bands discography.  The band hit full stride.  Headlined major festivals.  Won a Grammy.  All while remaining true to their sound they were able to solidify themselves as serious artists with a singular vision.  No longer prep school boys who create decent music by taking the best pieces of their influences and mashing them together, this was the sound of a band in total control of their past time. 

It went unsaid, but it was understood, and well deserved, that Vampire Weekend would be enjoying a hiatus after the success and laborious touring schedule surrounding Modern Vampires.  Even so, after the Grammy, the critical acclaim, the incredible sales numbers, something between the two main songwriters wasn’t right.  So even though the latest release solidified the bands immediate legacy Rostam decided to leave the band indefinitely.

“My identity as a songwriter + producer needs to stand on its own.” Read Rostam’s public statement.  The news instantly polarized fans.  Many, like myself, criticized Rostam for leaving a good thing, while coming off extremely pretentious and ungrateful.  The man is lucky enough to be cooped up in the most successful songwriting duo in modern day rock music, why would he feel unfulfilled achieving greatness in the setting of a great band? Why must his work stand outside the efforts of collaboration? Who does he think he is?

It was known that Rostam, the multi instrumental production guru was always responsible for the sound of Vampire Weekend, while Ezra supplied the lyrics.  The parting seemed amicable, but all in all it left the future of the band in a precarious situation.  What was Vampire Weekend without Rostam? That very question went years unanswered. 

But in the years since Rostam left Vampire Weekend, he has had limited success in finding any traction as a solo artist.  His best effort thus far has been a collaborative record with Hamilton Leithauser of the Walkmen.  A brilliant record full of the same elegant strings, organic drum sections, and blissful pianos that were similar to the ones that came to define the sound of Vampire Weekend.  Even so, it was still a behind the scenes production victory to add to his resume.  As a front man, Rostam hasn’t achieved the same success.  His debut album Half-Light, released in 2017 came and went without much of a peep from anyone.  Indie circles overlooked it, it didn’t have a repeatable single, the vocals were shaky at best, and it passed before the world knew it existed.  I think even I only gave it one listen.  Since then, Rostam has not been able to find his voice.  Whether or not he can be an important voice in pop music remains to be seen, the talent behind the boards is there but it’s time for him to realize what he can and cannot do.  It takes a necessary self awareness to know ones limitations in any job, in any past time.  A contact hitter who plays his role by getting on base doesn’t swing for the fences.  I believe Rostam’s ego and infatuation with being the front man took him away from his true self a bit. 

As Rostam struggled to find footing without the band, and as the years went on it seemed like Ezra was in the same boat.  Years went on without a whisper of any new music and people started to wonder that same question: What is Vampire Weekend without Ezra? and more pressingly: Can Ezra write a Vampire Weekend album without him?  The answer is both yes and no.

Enlisting in pop guru and Max Martin collaborator, Ezra and co. brought back Ariel Rechtshaid to give the band help in the production department.  Ezra also used his smarts to understand the best way to go about marketing the new album.  A record far more freewheeling than previous releases, Ezra became more eclectic than ever, and shared a plethora of wide-ranging singles way before the album was scheduled to drop. 

The 18 track record is noted for its fusion of nonchalant broad-ranging grooves and witty pop songs about love, summer days, locking hate at the gate, and a few morbid things as well.  Ariel creates a template of sunshine for Ezra to shine under, and the results are often satisfying.  While this new album won’t go down in history as an instant classic like its predecessor, it’s still hard to consider Father of the Bride to be anything but a monumental success.  Quality songs exist all through this thing that contain some of Ezra’s best wordplay.  An arena tour on the way, good new songs to play, and first week sales eclipsing 140k.  Say what you want about sales in today’s musical landscape, it’s impressive when a group of guys who still play guitars can sell 140k first week.  It’s special.  You would have a hard time listing bands that released their debut record after 2000 than can sell over 100k first week and sell out Madison Square Garden.  What Vampire Weekend has is special.  

Father of the Bride is the soundtrack to many good summer nights.  I’ve already heard cuts out on the streets of Asbury Park NJ, backyard cookouts, and New York City bars alike.  Can jam, car rides with the windows down, and poolside convos, Father of the Bride is a jubilant summer record that also has a thing or two you can learn from. 

It’s a wonder to me, knowing what he knows now, if Rostam would make the same decision all over again.  Joining a band is an American past time.  Playing in a band that influences the masses on a grand stage is special and should be cherished and appreciated as such.  Leaving such a beautiful situation seems hard to believe.  Ezra has proved himself to be just fine without him.  Rostam has time to blossom.  He is still young and has shown shades of greatness (the production on Frank Ocean’s Ivy is otherworldly) but that once again, is a highlight in music production.  Rostam, if you have a voice worth hearing, now is the time.