#isles innkeeper

[yuriisclumsy]

I'm so excited that more people started taking cale request!!!✧\(>o<)ﾉ✧

Anyway hiii! Can I have an enemy to lovers with cale henituse and fem.reader idk something cliche like a dance scene or one gets protective of the other or maybe a cute "oh shit I'm actually in love moment"

Sorry I'm bursting with ideas rn.~

Love's Dance

Part 1 (You are here) | Part 2 | Part 3

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 2,729

Authors note: You ask, and I shall deliver. PS. why did you give me such a good idea? like, I'm at 5k word for the overall thing, and I am not even done yet... (send help)

The streets of Roan Kingdom's Capital were bustling like usual. The vendors selling their goods, children running around carelessly, mothers screaming at them to not get dirty, and the usual underground activity Arm did. 

I strolled through these streets, thinking of nothing and relaxing ‘til I get another mission. 

“That reminds me…Arm has been quiet as of late. Sigh…they are up to no good…” I spoke to no one in particular, walking back to the Quiet Isle lodge. 

Quiet Isle is an inn in an area a little off the center of the Capital. I stayed there for the past three weeks after finishing my last mission. The price to stay is cheap, while still being comfortable. It has comfortable rooms, a clear view, free breakfast, and most importantly, it wasn’t noisy at all! Bonus points for the innkeepers, as they have been nothing but sweethearts.  

All-in-all, a good Inn if you’re looking to get your coins worth. 

I went through the inn’s doors, a sweet aroma of lavender hitting my nostrils as I neared the front desk.  

The Innkeepers were an old couple, and the misses genuinely enjoyed the smell of lavender. That is why, as you walk through the inn, you’ll be met with an influx of light purples from the flowers. 

Reaching the desk, I was greeted by a senior woman whose smile could cure all kinds of child injuries. 

“Oh! Why if it is the youth I’m all too familiar with!” The old granny said, delighted to see me. 

 “Greetings, Granny Fes,” I vowed curtly with a small smile. “Have there been any new guests at the inn?” I asked as she extended her hand to give me a piece of candy. 

Receiving the small candy, I offered a small ‘thank you.’ She said a quick ‘You’re welcome!’ before responding to my question. “Yes, yes! I welcomed a few new guests shortly after you left this morning for a stroll!” she excitedly told me. 

“Two of the five I welcomed are a couple expecting a child! Isn't that exciting? Ouu, to be young again…” 

“Oh, please. I say you are still quite young!” I say to get her head out of that cloud. 

“Fufufu, you are too kind [Name].” Granny Fes pinched my cheek as she got a bit flustered. “I believe one day you’ll meet a handsome young man that is suited just for you.” She added. 

I blushed a little, “Oh no, I don’t think that will happen…” I pause for a second. “Do you really think I’ll get lucky enough to have that...?” I asked, not believing I would get someone special to spend my days with. 

“Don’t give me that!” Granny Fes yelled, as if scolding one of her own. “You are beautiful! Which man wouldn't dream of having a wife such as yourself!?” 

All I could do was smile in response. This is how I want things to always go. Living in a peaceful area, sharing memories with people I meet along the way, even starting a family. Arm is nowhere near that picture. And it will never be. 

But alas. Good things always end. 

“Ah! That reminds me. [Name],” she called my name and handed me an envelope, “You received mail from a young lad. He said it was urgent.”  

Looking at the envelope as Granny Fes left to continue her job, I had an ominous feeling, yet I couldn’t pinpoint what it was.  

I turned it around only to see Arm’s seal stamped on it. Arm only sends letters if it is an important mission, and based on the color of the seal, it is of utmost importance.  

I am already not liking this I thought, refusing to open the letter. Maybe if I were to pretend its existence was nothing but a useless paper, it would disappear. But alas, I needed to open the envelope. With worry present in my face I opened it with the seal. Inside was a letter addressing Agent White Gold.  

That code name. It is the thing I despised most in this world. 

To Agent White Gold, 

Play time is up, White Gold. You have been assigned a mission in the Henituse Territory. We have discovered the traces of the leader of the organization known as ‘True Arm.’ Your mission is to go there and find out who the leader of the organization is, dead or alive. It is your choice which one you pick.  

A carriage will come to pick you up at sunrise, so don’t miss it.  

Once you arrive at your destination one of our men will greet you and guide you to your resting location and hand you an envelope. Inside, you will find descriptions of the one we are looking for, alongside a list of individuals that we found to match the description of our target. 

Remember, Agent, we are counting on your success. 

Don’t disappoint us, 

Arm 

Dammit… The moment I receive some peace after working for them like a slave…! I angrily store the letter to shreds, as if it were them instead of the letter. All I wanted was to disappear from the eyes of those bastards. They took me from my home, changed me to fit in an identity they made…they just can’t leave me alone, can they? 

 

I wanted to say no. To be able to run away to a far corner of the world so they would never be able to find me. But it is impossible. No one leaves. Rather, they die. Dying was the only way out. 

Yet, I want to live. 

I looked at Granny Fes as she talked with a few guests that were checking out. At that moment I knew that if I tried to escape, they would get everyone I was surrounded by. She doesn't deserve that. Neither does her husband, or her children and grandchildren. 

It is best I comply. 

“Sigh…Once you're in, there is no escaping their grasp…”  

The sky was tainted in hues of blues, purples, and oranges. The sun was rising from the nap it took, and fully ready to greet us. 

A carriage arrived early at the Quiet Isle Inn. Inside stood Granny Fes and Gramps Liy right next to me. Their eyes expressed sadness when looking at me. 

“Why so sad?” I asked the couple. 

“Oh, it’s just…it’s just that we’re both sad you’re leaving so soon.” Granny Fes confessed. Her husband, a bit more stubborn, only scuffed. Granny Fes elbowed him hard with a smile still shooting at me, gaining a small scowl from Gramps Liy. 

“AGHEM,” he raised one hand to fake a cough, “I guess you will be missed.” 

I laugh at his antics. Deep down he cares, he just has an unconventional way of expressing his feelings. 

“I’ll miss the two of you.” I looked at them with a small hinge of sadness but kept a smile to reassure them. I looked outside to see the coachman wave his hand signaling that he was ready for departure. “It seems I must go,” I turned to them, “see you later?” 

“Yes, yes. Goodbye little lady.” Gramps Liy ‘shud’ me to the carriage as he and his wife stared at me opening the door of the carriage. 

“Farewell, sweetheart. Make sure to take good care of yourself. And remember to look out for good lads while you’re traveling!” Granny Fes nagged me like I was about to never come back. Although, she was right about that. I don’t think I will be able to come back if I want to protect them. 

I laughed and said a small ‘I will!’ as I climbed into the carriage. Closing the door the carriage started moving. I waved to the couple one last time before I could not see them anymore. 

Sighting, I took out the map I packed. Looking at my destination, it was a few days from the capital. “This is going to be a loong trip…” I commented, making myself comfortable for the journey ahead. 

I hope I get this mission done quickly, so I can get another vacation from Arm. I looked up at the ceiling. I mean…how hard could it be to find this ‘leader’ anyways? 

… 

An old butler walks dutifully around the state halls. In hand, he holds a tray with a fancy tea set with a steel dome keeping the food inside warm; its aroma could be smelled by the passing housekeepers with wet laundry. 

The butler knocked at a door, he did not have to wait long, as he got an immediate response from the person inside. Opening the door he says his greetings. 

“Good morning, young master. I brought breakfast along with your favorite drink.” He says as he places down the tray on the table close to the window. 

“Ah, thank you, Ron.” A male voice thanked the butler. 

“It is my pleasure, young master Cale.” The butler, Ron, bowed. 

The man, who is now identified as Cale, sat down on the table to enjoy his breakfast. 

“Young master, if I may…” Ron waited for permission to continue speaking. 

“*Sight* Just spit it out.” Cale said in an uninterested voice. This is another one of his tangents. Drinking the lemonade that Ron made as he thinks of Ron’s earlier endeavors. 

Ron smiled, “I have detected Arm activity within the city.” 

“PFF–” spilling all the lemonade on the cup, he looked at Ron with widened eyes.

What is Arm doing here?! They have more pressing issues to deal with! Like, figuring out who Real Arm is! Cale’s thought went haywire.

 

Ron took his handkerchief out and gave it to Cale to use. 

“What do you mean there is Arm activity in the city? Is it more bombs?” He asked while using the cloth given to him to clean the mess he made. 

He shook his head, “no, at least not yet. I have seen them snoop around the city for information. It would seem we left them a small lead.” 

“Not good…” 

“If you’d prefer, young master, I could go rabbit hunting.” 

Looking at Ron with a drop of sweat evident in his forehead, he reluctantly answered. “...do whatever you want.”  

“Hehe. Then I will take my leave.” He bowed before leaving the room without making a sound. 

Scary old man. He looked outside pouring more lemonade in his cup. It’s not a good sign if Arm is here. I need to prepare in case they strike. 

… 

“Hey, wake up! We’re almost there!” 

“WHAT? HUH–huh?” I got up from my seat at lightning speed, looking around in a daze. As I scoot closer to the window, I see the giant walls looming overhead. On top of one of the towers built in the wall was a flag. It was the Henituse’s family crest imprinted on it.  

I’m already in the Henituse territory! 

Getting closer at the entrance door of the city, the carriage stopped, as they had to do a check before letting anyone in. 

“Execute me, m’lady. May I have your identification paper?” A soldier asked me. 

Security check? When I traveled to other places, they didn’t ask for my identification but the coachman’s. 

I handed him the paper without complaint, receiving it right after he checked that everything was good. The other soldiers gave him a thumbs up after checking the carriage and the coachman. Without further interruption they let us through, wishing us a happy stay. 

“That was…something.” 

The coach man dropped me off at a tavern near the city square. Going upstairs to the second floor of the establishment, I sat down at a table near the edge of the balcony. Waiting for the man that was supposed to give me the information mentioned in the letter I looked out into the streets, I could see the liveliness of the people.  

They were too lively in my opinion. 

Hearing footsteps approaching my table I diverted my attention to them. I was greeted with a man wearing a hat with fancy clothing. 

“Hello, m’lady,” the man greeted by taking his hat off and vowing curtly. 

Didn’t know Arm also had rich allies. I thought, seeing the man's mannerisms. 

“Good evening,” I vowed slightly, “are you the one mentioned in the letter?” 

“Eager now, are we?” He sat down in front of me with a smug smile. He placed his hat down before taking out an envelope. He slid it across the table. As I grabbed it, I took out its content.  

It was a list of suspects. They all had red hair and were male. And that was it. No underground activities, no records, nothing. 

“That’s…it?”  

This is the only information they managed to find…seriously? I thought. Was someone able to sneak past Arm’s noses? How is that even possible? 

“Unfortunately, it is.” 

“Ha...!” I laughed at the absurdity of the situation. I looked up at the man after reviewing the list of suspects.  

“This is the only description we managed to find,” the smile on his face dropped into a frown, “only at the low cost of our scouts: a single spy was able to escape long enough to hide a piece of paper in a tree trunk…” he said. 

“....” I looked down at the list.  

To be able to kill all of our scouts…this is no meek foe. Just thinking of how strong they are sends shivers down my spine…  

“I have arranged a small room at an Inn close by here. I have left some equipment at your disposal. The location is on one of the papers in the envelope.” The man stood up and put his hat on, adjusting his suit a little before looking at me.  

“If you need anything else, I left a card at your place with instructions as to how you can contact me. Remember I’m at your service m’lady, Tata! ~” 

“I will keep that in mind.” 

Watching as he disappeared behind the doors of the second floor, I decided to order something to eat before heading to my fixed place. 

…

 

“…a festival?” Cale looked at the flier given to him. 

“That’s right,” Count Deruth, Cale’s father, said nonchalantly, “the festival will brighten the people's moods, as well as show that we are financially good.” 

Politics…. 

! 

“Wait, here it says the ‘Henituse’s’ are attending…I don’t have to attend…right?” 

Deruth raised an eyebrow in question. “You don’t have to go.” 

“...” 

I must go. *Sight* My well-deserved rest has been postponed once again… can’t I catch a break for once? 

“On that note, I have reserved a spot on the city square where we will be presiding during the time,” he said as Cale gave him back the paper.  

“You don’t have to talk–or better said–you don’t have to even move. Just sitting there is enough.” 

Cale smiled at this I don’t have to move? Seems perfect to me! 

“I’ll be attending in that case.” 

“The festival will start in a few days. Be ready.” 

Cale exited his father’s study, walking back to his room. 

I need to tell Ron about this. It’ll be no surprise if Arm takes advantage of the festival. There stands a man with black hair waiting outside Cale’s room for him to come. 

“!” 

“Young master Cale!” The man runs towards him with puppy-like energy. 

“Choi Han, is there something you need?” Cale asked. 

“I heard from Ron that there have been suspicious activities happening in the city. So, I came to ask for permission to investigate.” Hans explained. 

Cale hummed. Strange. Usually, you would do these types of things without letting me know. Perhaps he thinks this is a bit dangerous and if he doesn't return, we know where to look? 

“You can do as you please, no need to ask for my permission.” 

“I see…thank you young master,” Han vowed, “I will report back immediately once I find anything!” As he said that, he began to leave. 

“Oh, and, Choi Han?” Cale spoke before he could fully leave. 

“Yes, Cale?” 

“If you find anything, make sure to report first. Don’t go around making havoc, got it?” Cale instructed. 

“...yes” he responded with a bit of thinking, knowing it was the best decision. 

Let’s see what they have in store for us. Cale entered his room, he’ll laze around until the festival actually begins. What a bother… 

… 

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Master-List

[taevescence]

Romcoms night | A BTS Series

The movie theater lights begin to dim as the curtains that lightly cover the large screen are pulled aside to leave it completely uncovered. It is only then, when there is no trace of light or fabric to block the view, that the countdown to the start of the film begins. 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… 0...

| Kim Seokjin

Tired of waiting for a marriage proposal from your boyfriend, you decide to travel to Ireland to try out an old Irish tradition celebrated on February 29th. The problem? A severe storm stops your flight and forces you to stop on the Emerald Isle, miles away from your destination and your fiancé.

With time against you, you decide to ask for help to the handsome -but extremely irritating- innkeeper of a small hotel near the area, willing to do anything to reach your boyfriend and ask for his hand in marriage.

| Min Yoongi

Your life, in a nutshell, was perfect; you had a dream house, with an amazing husband and a good paying job. Things were finally starting to go uphill in your life - after the failed love affair you had before you met Yoongi -.

However, not all things are rosy, and that, to your misfortune, you found out in the worst possible way; arriving at your house -now in pieces- and finding your perfect husband holding a gun to his best friend's head.

| Jung Hoseok

Working as a ticket seller on the subway was not your idea of an ideal job, not even close. Your goals in life were far from being fulfilled with the minimum wage you were offered, but none of that mattered, not when you had Mingyu coming and going through the cars every morning and evening.

He was your dream man; handsome, tall, charismatic… you were completely in love with him, you would do anything to help him, even if it meant pretending to be his girlfriend to his family after he lost his memory in an accident at the station where you worked.

| Kim Namjoon

You were always an organized person, your life was planned from start to finish, every detail perfectly polished. Absolutely nothing could disarm that order that you had tried so hard to put in your life.

Until a little girl and an obnoxious co-worker come into your life, turning everything you believed in upside down, and messing up your idea of a perfect life.

| Park Jimin

Since you were a child you had had an impeccable taste for fashion, you loved touching those fine fabrics that covered people's bodies with beauty and elegance, how a single garment could make you feel like the queen of the world, just by the way you could wear it.

It was that same obsessive love you had for fashion that you ended up in this situation; working for a stupid finance entrepreneur, in a boring and horrible magazine you had never even heard of, going to great lengths to get to your dream job as a writer at the most famous fashion magazine in town.

| Kim Taehyung

Your job as a "night companion" had always been difficult for you, from the discomfort of flirting with complete strangers to the fact that you had to take them to bed. But there wasn’t much you could do; you didn’t earn enough money to afford a decent life. You could barely pay for a shared apartment, let alone a college education.

You had lost all hope of living a peaceful life, far from the dangerous streets and one-night stands—or at least that was the case until Kim Taehyung came into your life.

| Jeon Jungkook

Saying that the people at your workplace hated you was an understatement. You were quite a... strict boss. You liked efficient people, those who acted instead of talked; your life was far too busy to worry about such insignificant details, and you expected everyone to act—or at least pretend—that they shared the same mindset as you.

It was precisely that kind of thinking that led you to ask—beg—your secretary, Jeon Jungkook, to marry you. It was a simple business deal, no love involved; he wanted you to help him become a writer, and you needed to stay in the country without being deported. No feelings, no complications, easy and straightforward.

Masterlist.

Dividers by @silkholland <3

[thevelaryons]

What do you think the Velaryon’s trading looked like during the Corlys’ peak time as Lord of the Tides?

House Velaryon became rather “isolated” from the Crown’s influence within a couple of years after Corlys became the head of the family (due to their conflicting political aims from Jaehaerys and later, Viserys). So I think Corlys would’ve focused more on trade with Essos over Westeros. While trade with Westeros would still exist, it would be to a lesser degree than with Essos, and I believe Corlys would’ve encouraged trade in Westerosi port towns other than King’s Landing (White Harbor/Gulltown/Oldtown/Lannisport). He definitely wouldn’t want to provide direct economical support to the royal family he’s at odds with.

Driftmark is already conveniently situated in spot where many ships pass through. The book suggests that Corlys merely took advantage of this by further developing the shipping ports there.

Sitting athwart the Gullet, Driftmark was closer to the narrow sea than Duskendale or King’s Landing, so Spicetown soon began to usurp much of the shipping that would elsewise have made for those ports, and House Velaryon grew ever richer and more powerful.

Not only that, but I think it’s likely Corlys would maintain the same tax policy as his grandfather, which would help to build wealth in the long run (Corlys doesn’t really need to worry about building short term wealth at this point since he’s already so rich).

Port fees were tripled, certain goods were to be taxed both coming into and out of the city, and new levies were asked of innkeeps and builders.

None of these measures had the desired effect of filling up the treasury vaults. Instead building slowed to a halt, the inns emptied, and trade declined notably as merchants diverted their ships from King’s Landing to Driftmark, Duskendale, Maidenpool, and other ports where they might evade taxation.

If Driftmark is not charging the same tax rate as King’s Landing, it diverts even more trade away from the royal family and towards house Velaryon.

It is actually stated that King’s Landing wasn’t seeing as much profit from trade as Driftmark.

So much trade came to flow to and from Driftmark that the towns of Hull and Spicetown sprang up, becoming the chief ports of trade in Blackwater Bay for a time, surpassing even King’s Landing.

Any ships coming in from Essos would be more likely to make port at Driftmark just because it’s closer and because there might be advantages in place, such as lower taxes.

Corlys also gave priority to the shipping lanes in the Narrow Sea as well, especially when the Triarchy took power in the Stepstones. He was obviously concerned with the loss of profits through trade going to and from Essos.

Of themselves the isles were of little worth, but placed as they were, they controlled the sea lanes to and from the narrow sea, and merchant ships passing through those waters were often preyed on by their inhabitants. […] Order had replaced chaos, and if the Three Daughters demanded a toll of any ship passing through their waters, that seemed a small price to pay to be rid of the pirates. The avarice of Craghas Crabfeeder and his partners in conquest soon turned feelings against them, however; the toll was raised again, and yet again, soon becoming so ruinous that merchants who had once paid gladly now sought to slip past the galleys of the Triarchy as once they had the pirates. […] Of all the lords of Westeros, none suffered so much from these practices as Corlys Velaryon, Lord of the Tides, whose fleets had made him as wealthy and powerful as any man in the Seven Kingdoms. The Sea Snake was determined to put an end to the Triarchy’s rule over the Stepstones.

Since Corlys originally betrothed his daughter to the son of the Sealord of Braavos (a city known for its seafaring culture which includes trade), this further adds to the idea that Corlys was more focused on trade with Essosi ports.

Though once house Velaryon reforged their relationship with the Crown, I can definitely see Corlys allowing more of the trade to go to King’s Landing.

[maxparkhurst]

Druxy

During my tenure with the Seventh Son’s Trading Company, I specialized in mycology. Fungi are adaptive. They flourish in nearly any terrain; however, this particular species is resilient unlike variants found in places such as the Zaralek Caverns. These caverns below the Isle of Dorn house a myriad of lifeforms co-existing alongside the founts of residual magic left behind by Dalaran’s fall. The mycobloom has not only adapted but evolved with it. The mycelium, left untouched for thousands of years, seems to have fed on this teeming energy. It is a wonder what their limitations might possibly be… - from the field notes of Maxinora Parkhurst

It mattered surprisingly little to Maxinora where the Alliance embassy stationed her. Stored and transported in a velveteen coffer, her alchemy equipment was portable. Her and her work were bound by no border nor boundary; the only limitation was the conflict between ravenous curiosity and overwhelming apathy. Whichever won over the other dictated where the Alchemist would burrow. In the week following her arrival in Gundargaz, Maxinora found herself to possess an insatiable hunger…

By the misfortune of an Earthen innkeeper, Max charmed her way into a spacious room. Clever words and disarming smiles are a foxes key tools, after all. She retreated there after grueling days spent drudging through the Ringing Deeps. Her muzzle soddened in red as she drug the prizes of her hunt home - venom sacs and deepflayer glands, orbinid bulbs and luredrop heads, leyline ash and effervescent spores. A bounty of secrets and truths waiting to be gutted and devoured. And in the cool shadows of a slumbering hearth, she could digest in peace.

The carnage of Maxinora’s curiosity laid waste to any order the room might’ve possessed. Books and parchment, scrolls and maps, gurgling beakers and boiling admixtures. It was an organized chaos understood only by the Alchemist. She found it to be a welcomed comfort. A facsimile that echoed close to home. Enough for her to remember why she sank her teeth into her work, and how to emerge as human once she picked her molars clean. A stalk of mycobloom harvested from the Waterworks was her most recent prize. It lay on a metal tray beneath a the halo of an alchemical lantern. She breathed a slow hum as she cut into the flesh of the decapitated bloom. A skilled incision from the scalpel divided the gills from the cap. Irradiated spores oozed from the wound, drenching the air in a pungently sweet and metallic scent. It was inorganic. Electrical, even.

Max substituted her scalpel for a pair of tweezers. She worked the tip under plant tissue and coaxed the wound open enough to take a peek. She released an nonplussed whistle. Inside - clusters of spores made bulbous and fat from the arcane energy swirling inside them.

“And still I continued to be amazed.”

“What is it? Lemme see…”

The voice. Familiar yet different. Always continuing to be different. Somehow sounding exactly like her brother, and yet not at all. It possessed neither weight nor texture as it reverberated from the shadows, nestling close to Maxinora’s ear. The shadows at her shoulder shifted. A feline shape emerged from the dark, paper-flat and semi-translucent. Its gaze, lament eyes burning bright as green-glass fire, widened then narrowed.

“A mutation!”

Maxinora licked that morsel of truth from a canine as she worked the tweezers tips around an irradiated spore. With a great degree of care and deliberation, she coaxed it from the fungi’s fibers and placed it in an awaiting dish. “The mycelium must have absorbed the arcane energy from Dalaran’s fall.”

“This far underground?” The shadow cat glided from Max’s shoulder, collecting onto the table like a cloud of smoke. Its head canted as it watched her slide the dish under a scope’s lens. A moment of silence passed. Then its eyes brightened like midsummer fireflies. “Oh. The water channels… They’re all connected .”

Maxinora rewarded the shade with a toothy grin as she peered down the scope’s eye piece. It took adjusting the turret to a higher lens and a bit of fine tuning with the focus knobs to bring forth a clear image. The spore was composed of agglomerating pockets encased in a clear, keratin coat. Housed in the core of each pocket was a cortex of spiraling arcane mana. “Ah,” she laughed, the sound equal parts mirthful as it was sly, “You are capable of clever moments, little brother.”

Her jest was met with an unexpected fold of silence that momentarily curbed her appetite. She stole a glance up at the shadow cat to find its eyes gone dark and its form nearly transparent. It wavered. Struggled. Then lingered like an autumnal fog. She tempered her smile as she waited. A moment passed into a minute before the shade darkened and its eyes suddenly reignited.

“Ah! Sorry…” The voice sounded warped. Guttural. Pitch black. Wrong. The distortion lasted only a brief second before being corrected. Her brother’s voice spoke in sync with the shadow cat, “It is hard to keep the connection across such a great distance. What were you saying?”

The fox faded from Maxinora’s smile as she turned towards her work. “Oh, yes,” she offhandedly remarked as she opted for a pair of point tip forceps, “Simply that you are very clever, Augustine.” In a different time, different place, she would be all but certain of his puckish grin. Of the delight shining so bright in wonder-struck eyes. But things were inexplicably different, now. She did not dare to even glance at the shadow cat, afraid to catch a glimpse into its starved gaze. Instead, she pierced the spore and dug beneath its keratin skin. Electricity jolted up her arm as the tines clasped a thread of coalescing arcane, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to bristle. She gritted her teeth and uncoiled a cluster of cores with a single tug.

Nothing but a ringing in her ears.

And a sudden flash of white. A lightning strike.

Blood roared in her ears like the distant roll of thunder as her vision cleared. She possessed no recollection of the interim between extraction and now, though during such time she deposited the volatile thread into a separate tray. Her gaze momentarily flicked to the fiber, watching as it oxidized and was slowly reduced to shimmering dust. “Leyline residue,” she concluded, tossing the forceps onto the worktable, “How… Shocking.”

“Perhaps it would be best,” spoke the shadow cat, eyes following Max as she rose and crossed the room to a leaning tower of books, “If I were to travel there, too.” Its tail swayed from shoulder to shoulder, eyes narrowed in a display of concern. “I worry for you, you know.”

Max dismissed his concern with an offhanded wave. Her gaze scanned the tower’s titles: Letters of Avaloren, Coreway Catalysts, Curse of the Flesh, Observational Reports: Mycology, The Order of Azeroth. “Your concern is appreciated,” she remarked, casting the first tome aside and cracking open the second, “But misplaced. Mishka is a formidable combatant and a serviceable escort.” Coreway Catalysts had been devoured and digested within the first few hours of Max’s arrival, yet she found it worthy of a second glance as a sudden thought piqued her interest. The book spoke of the varying magical lifeforms inhabiting Khaz Algar, particularly those with close proximity to the Coreway. The link shared between them and the World Soul have caused some herbs to partially crystallize. This made Max exceptionally curious: If such creations were capable of adapting to both arcane and life energy, what else might they absorb?

“You know that’s not what I- Hm. Listen. Your methodology is a bit… Well, it lends itself to the extreme.”

“Oh-ho. So said the pot to the kettle.” Max plucked Curse of the Flesh from the tower and added it to her growing stack. Stepping over a moor of discarded notes and theories, she meandered back to the worktable. The tray of shimmering dust was scooted closer, and a fresh piece of parchment was drawn from an awaiting stack. “A bit of sacrifice is necessary, especially when unraveling mysteries as complex as the wilds of Khaz Algar.” She found a quill amidst the cluttered table and dipped it in a half-dried inkwell. There was enough pigment to draw up a legible draft.

“Sacrifices…” echoed the shadow cat.

“Yes. Such is the First Law.”

“I am aware of Equivalent Exchange…”

There was a momentary pause during which Maxinora refused to look up despite having not written a single word.

“But you must know that there are people who value you more than your work? Surely some part of you does.”

Max barked an arsenic-sharp laugh as she set the quill aside. Such a vulpine sound. Her lips twitched up into a sly grin, breath drawn in retort, when she looked up to find the shadow cat gone. Naught left but an ever-dissipating trail of smoke.

Alone again.

Max suddenly dropped her gaze, hands clasped in her lap. Sitting amidst the massacre of her ravenous curiosity, ink drying like blood on her fingers, cannibalized theories and speculations stuck in her teeth, mouth salivating for more and more and more… She suddenly felt very abashed. “I am my work…” she whispered, gossamer soft.

If Maxinora did not possess a shimmering spark for alchemy, an insatiable hunger for knowledge… Then what remained other than a husk of a mycobloom dying dark on a metal tray?

Prologue | Previous chapter |

[cozynerdreviews]

Best Cozy Games in Steam Fest

After Love EP

RELEASE DATE: Q3 2024

DEVELOPER: Pikselnesia

PUBLISHER: Fellow Traveller

A story that will pull at your heartstrings and let you experience many different emotions at once, all while you enjoy fun, rhythm-action gameplay. If you feel like playing osu! but want something less challenging to cozy up with then After Love EP will be perfect for you.

Just… remember things might get a bit emotional, so maybe get some tissues ready, just in case.

Tiny Glade

RELEASE DATE: Q3 2024

DEVELOPER: Pounce Light

PUBLISHER: Pounce Light

Tiny Glade wants to give you as much cozy as you can physically handle! Enter a whimsical fantasy world where you can build lovely, rustic castles without worrying about the details or needing a specific plan. Just let your imagination take over… 

Take a screenshot of your beautiful creation once you are done and fantasize about all the mischief you could do if you lived in a fantasy world… at least, that’s what I like to do on my lonely Thursday afternoons.

Airborne Empire

RELEASE DATE: Q3 2024

DEVELOPER: The Wandering Band LLC

PUBLISHER: The Wandering Band , Strayfawn Publishing

Do we have any fans of strategy games amongst our readers? I know some of them can stress you out with all the mechanics, but if strategy is your cup of tea and you feel comfortable in figuring out how to create your village, town, kingdom, or empire… why not take it to the skies!?

Airborne Empire gives you exactly that, and while my mediocre skills got my hangar burned rather quickly (don’t ask), I am sure strategy fans will love this take on the genre! This strategy game felt very relaxing, even if I burned down my hangar.

Amber Isle

RELEASE DATE: TBA

DEVELOPER: Ambertail Games

PUBLISHER: Team17

Are you bored of farming cozy games and need something more… EXCITING? Or maybe you secretly dream about opening a shop with handmade goods?

Amber Isle is a wonderful little game where you gather resources, talk with both residents and visitors of Amber Isle, and build your fortune by selling your own crafts! It was so nice to get lost in making all sorts of things, learning new recipes, and selling the products of your own making.

Oh, I almost forgot the best part! DINOSAURS! Yes! You will be the very best Dinosaur, gathering resources, crafting your items and rebuilding Amber Isle!

Tavern Talk

RELEASE DATE: 20th June 2024

DEVELOPER: Troll Entertainment

PUBLISHER: Troll Entertainment

Tavern Talk is your comfy fantasy novel in the form of a little game where you’re the innkeeper making fancy drinks and planning out quests in between listening to the stories of travelers who visit your establishment. 

The game has all the necessary vibes to make you feel like you’re in the middle of a D&D session – though, rather during the roleplay session while the party rests at the tavern than during action-packed fights. Which makes it perfect for your lazy evenings.

Angela de Frost (Writer) Lucine Zhang (Editor)

[scotianostra]

18th August 1773 saw Samuel Johnson and James Boswell set out on their three month tour of the Highlands and the Inner Hebrides.

Boswell enticed his famous English friend Samuel Johnson to accompany him on a tour through the highlands and western islands of Scotland.

James Boswell, 9th Laird of Auchinleck was a Scottish biographer, diarist, and lawyer, born in Edinburgh, like many young men he longed to visit the bright lights of London and in 1760 he deserted the family home to live in the English capital for a few months. It was during his second stay in 1762-63 that he met his literary hero and model, the poet, essayist and dictionary maker Dr. Samuel Johnson. In August 1763 Boswell embarked upon a 2½ year Grand Tour of Europe, during which he met many notable men and women, including Voltaire and Rousseau. On returning to Scotland he practised law as an advocate. During this time he made occasional visits London to spend time with Dr Johnson and others of his circle, including Oliver Goldsmith, Sir Joshua Reynolds and Edmund Burke. He was also on familiar terms with David Hume, Adam Smith and other leading figures of the Scottish Enlightenment.

Johnston and Boswell set off less than 30 years after the '45 Uprising, when whisky was still distilled illegally, roads were scarce and travel was by foot, bone-jangling carriage, horseback or over very turbulent seas in a rickety boat.

Their extraordinary journey to the Highlands and the Hebrides during an autumnal season of relentless rain and storms, took Johnson - plump, partially deaf and blind and who had rarely travelled outside of London - on a grand Scottish tour which led to two of the earliest travel books and paved the way for centuries of tourists who would also explore the nation’s wild islands and highland

While for the then 32-year-old Boswell there was a chance to witness Johnson up close for nearly three months, providing a wealth of material for his admired biography, Life of Samuel Johnson. The travel journal was a massive hit and a humorous account of their journey.

Boswell was Scots to his roots and is very defensive about the Scots and Scottishness, while Johnson has this very English take on it all. These two things fuel the humour, Johnson is like this English bulldog and Boswell is like a Scottish terrier. Together they are a hoot! Add to that the facts that as you would expect from a Scotsman, Boswell was a heavy drinker and Johnson was teetotal, which leads to all kinds of escapades. It’s like 18th century Laurel and Hardy.

Boswell, quoted their first conversation in the biography, Life of Samuel Johnson, saying: “Mr Johnson, I do indeed come from Scotland, but I cannot help it”. To which Johnson replied: “That, Sir, I find, is what a great many of your countrymen cannot help.”

It set the scene for a friendship driven by verbal sparring, with Johnson’s deprecating remarks about Scots robustly foiled by Boswell’s defence of homeland.

Their travels began in mid-August at Boyd’s Inn in Edinburgh, where the cleanliness dismayed Johnson. Boswell wrote: “He asked to have his lemonade made sweeter; upon which the waiter, with his greasy fingers, lifted a lump of sugar, and put it into it. The Doctor, in indignation, threw it out of the window”.

The pair then travelled up the east coast, stopping at St Andrews to indulge their interest in John Knox and Mary, Queen of Scots, Following the coast towards Aberdeenshire, a bit like today’s NC500 tourists plotting their route, they took an anti-clockwise course along the Moray Coast to Inverness and then to the Western Isles.

At times their journey resembled a lengthy pub crawl as they noted the quality of the inns and the food.

In Montrose, Johnson noted: “At our inn we did not find a reception such as we thought proportionate to the commercial importance of the place; but Mr Boswell desired me to observe the innkeeper was an Englishman, and I then defended him as well as I could.” Dundee, it was noted, was “dirty, despicable”. They even recorded their first taste of Arbroath smokies.

Having travelled through Glen Shiel, the pair arrived at the inn at Glenelg. Often praised today, Boswell and Johnson gave it the equivalent of a one-star TripAdvisor review. Having arrived “wearing and peevish”, they discovered “no meat, no milk, no bread, no eggs, no wine. We did not express much satisfaction.”

The Highland terrain posed even greater stress. Dangerous and often impassable except on foot, they were often in remote spots, miles from inns or shelter or ankle deep in a peat bog. Nevertheless, they trudged on through stormy weather and with Johnson often suffering from colds, increasing deafness and seasickness on the journeys between the islands.

The trip from Coll to Skye was undertaken during a vicious storm, with Boswell fretting over whether the boat might sink or explode, and troubled that he couldn’t understand the sailors’ Gaelic! Johnson was no great fan of the language, describing it as “the rude speech of a barbarous people, who had few thoughts to express, and were content, as they conceived grossly, to be grossly understood”.

But in Skye, they were delighted to meet Flora MacDonald, and slept in the same room that Bonnie Prince Charlie had slept in. “Both were over the moon because they were besotted with the story,” he wrote.

Don’t judge Johnson on his dislike of the Gaelic language though, the pair told of finding the Highlands still occupied by military garrisons, cleared by immigration and spoke of the suppression of Highland culture and oppression of the clans.

The isle of Raasay turned out to be a favourite spot, where the pair enjoyed the clan chief’s hospitality and a raucous ceilidh, with Boswell dancing a jig on the flat summit of Dun Caan. Both felt that in Raasay they had come close to authentic old Gaelic culture and way of life.

By October 1773 they were in the Saracen Head Inn in Glasgow’s Gallowgate, revelling in a roaring coal fire and conversation with professors from Glasgow University.

The trip would come to a sorry end, however, at Boswell’s family’s Ayrshire home at Johnson and Boswell’s father had an enormous row; they were total opposites in religious and political beliefs,

Johnson was a kind of father figure to Boswell. He knew Boswell could be a bit out of hand, but he also knew he was a real literary talent.”

Johnson’s A Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland, was published in 1775, followed a exactly decade later by Boswell’s The Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides with Samuel Johnson. Both wrote their own versions of their tour differently. They go to the same places but see things differently.

[brinefathomcaves]

Aug 24: The Normal Village (6, 10)

This island is home to a village that’s just… ordinary. If encountered on one of the other islands in the Whistling Isle’s archipelago, it would be completely unremarkable. The mostly-human population of about 100 grows crops, raises animals, and generally behaves as though they live on the normal ocean rather than the Sunless Sea. Travelers can get any service they could from a similarly-sized village—lodging, food, smithing, etc., especially by asking around at the single tavern, the Crooked Palm Inn. The locals have little cash and prefer barter.

The local populace deflects questions about their odd circumstances and become uncomfortable and annoyed if pressed. If a villager’s reality is challenged strongly enough, they may mutate into a screecher (long claws, hunched posture, bleeding eyes, constant screaming that deals psychic damage) and attack the nearest creature. There is a secret cavern under the mayor’s house where two screechers are being restrained and muzzled in cells in the hope that the village’s cleric can cure them. So far, nothing’s worked. The villagers do not understand how screechers happen.

Village NPCs

Obasi Mondesir (M Human, LG): Village magistrate and coroner. Late middle age, with receding gray hair drawn back into a ponytail. Desperate to convince his people that everything’s fine; willing to lie to do it but means well. Nervous talker. Always a little sweaty.

Calder Gammidge (M Halfling, NG): Priest of an ocean god. Blue-green robes, thick spectacles. Currently having a crisis of faith that some of his congregant are turning into monsters and there’s nothing he can do to help, but tries not to show it. Wears tall shoes. No inside voice.

Aolina Fors (F Human, N): Innkeeper and bartender at the Crooked Palm Inn. Fat, freckled. Knows everybody’s business and is happy to share gossip, though she pretends otherwise. Lost her husband and kids to a fever a few years ago. Easy mark for a good sob story, very interested in talking to people from outside the island.

Darice Sandeux (M Human, NG): Young windower whose wife turned into a screecher. Frizzy fright-white hair, deep eyebags. Spends all his time at the Crooked Palm now, drinking and generally being miserable. Doesn't know that his wife is one of the screechers Mondesir manged to subdue and capture.

[satoshi-mochida]

Shiren the Wanderer: The Mystery Dungeon of Serpentcoil Island coming west on February 27, 2024

Gematsu Source

Spike Chunsoft will release Shiren the Wanderer: The Mystery Dungeon of Serpentcoil Island for Switch on February 27, 2024 worldwide, the publisher announced.

Shiren the Wanderer: The Mystery Dungeon of Serpentcoil Island was announced during the Japanese Nintendo Direct broadcast on September 14, but did not appear in the western broadcast. It is the sixth numbered entry in the dungeon RPG series.

Here is an overview of the game, via Spike Chunsoft:

■ Main Visual

■ The Mystery Dungeon System

The Mystery Dungeon offers endless gameplay with procedurally generated dungeon maps, enemies, and loot to ensure that every game will be a new challenge for even the most seasoned adventurers. Shiren starts at level one each time he enters a dungeon, so he needs to grow by defeating enemies, gathering loot, and building strength. All the gear and levels Shiren accumulates will be lost if he collapses during exploration and must restart from scratch. The action progresses on a turn-based system, which allows players to plan carefully and thoughtfully. Players must use their accumulated knowledge, experience, and imagination to succeed.

This title brings new elements to the Mystery Dungeon, such as Shiren taking on new, powerful transformations and giant Behemoth monsters that hunt him through the dungeon.

■ Characters

Shiren

A heroic wanderer who travels the land in search of adventure with nothing but his partner Koppa, his wits, and his iconic hat and cape.

Koppa

Shiren’s loyal companion. Koppa is one of the last talking ferrets, able to speak with both humans and animals fluently.

Asuka

A wandering swordswoman who is old friends with Shiren and Koppa. She’s come to Serpentcoil Island for her own reasons and is reunited with her allies.

Suzuna

The cheerful innkeeper at Uzumaki-Ya, ready to support Shiren and Koppa while they plan their adventures on Serpentcoil Island.

■ Pre-Order the Physical Version Today

As a first-run bonus, a 2.75” x 3” sticker featuring the protagonist Shiren and the game’s traditional Japanese art style will be included with the game. *Image for illustration purposes only. Design and details are subject to change without notice. While supplies last. For details on where to pre-order Shiren the Wanderer: The Mystery Dungeon of Serpentcoil Island visit the official website. Physical version published in European regions by Reef Entertainment.

About Shiren the Wanderer: The Mystery Dungeon of Serpentcoil Island

After receiving a vision of a mysterious girl held captive by a terrible monster, Shiren and Koppa make their way to Serpentcoil Island—a distant isle rumored to be the lost stronghold of treasure-hoarding pirates. To brave the many dangers that await them, Shiren and Koppa must traverse complex dungeons filled with hostile monsters, hidden traps, and useful items. All the gear and experience Shiren accumulates will be lost if he collapses during exploration, so beware of rushing in unprepared! Rescue the mysterious girl and uncover the mystery that clouds Serpentcoil Island. The forthcoming release for Nintendo Switch marks the series’ latest mainline entry to come to the West since Shiren the Wanderer: The Tower of Fortune and the Dice of Fate was released on PlayStation Vita in 2016 and then on Nintendo Switch in 2020. While preserving the traditional gameplay, this installment introduces new elements and 3D graphics to create a fresh and exciting adventure.

About the Shiren the Wanderer Series

Shiren the Wanderer series of roguelike RPG games began with the 1995 release of Mystery Dungeon: Shiren the Wanderer for the Super Famicom in Japan. Players venture into a “Mystery Dungeon” that changes each time they enter. To succeed, they need to rely on their wits, experience, and creative thinking to overcome monsters, avoid perilous traps, and conquer the dungeon. Players who run out of energy during their journey will lose all of their possessions including tools, money, and gear, and must start again at level one. Players will experience a thrilling and tense adventure with unexpected events and risks that cannot be redone.

Watch the announcement trailer below. View a set of screenshots at the gallery.

Announce Trailer

English

Japanese

[whoislio]

Several Days Later

The crystal turns, night becomes day, a brief respite.

I've reached Mereldar in Hallowfall, the fight with the Nerubians and followers of some dark master brought me here. I took the time to restock my supplies, sharpen my blades, and grab a drink at the local tavern. Those like me, those from the surface, are scattered about the town here. Some merely seeking to aid the people here, others searching for lost loved ones from Dalaran or the various battles that have ensued since arriving on the Isle. I am an outsider on both fronts, no one lost, no skin in the fight, merely here because the surface held no answers for me.

The Empire's Edge is packed as I take a seat with my mug of something the Innkeeper called Blessed Brew. All that mattered to me was that it was cold and the drink would muddy and blur some of the images in my head from the battles that brought me here. One of the servers brings me another mug, setting it on the table before I've finished the last gulp of the first. I can feel a warmth begin to spread as I gulp down the second mug and finally relax against the back of my chair. My eyes wander as my thoughts return to my completely blank slate. I still don't know who I am, though given my ears I assume I am some sort of elf, I've seen others like me but no one looked at me as though they knew me so I didn't bother them with my problems. I sigh, just about ready to get up and explore the town when another elf sits at the table next to me.

"Hi there!" She was quite cheerful given the grim path it took to get here. "I haven't seen many of us down here, I'm Romassi, but everyone just calls me Roma. What's your name?"

I contemplated just walking away, but the way she said us piqued my interest. "Lio, just Lio." I force a smile that seemed to appease Roma as she smiled back.

"Boy my wings are tired, having to fight those flyers so they stopped swarming the fighters on the ground nearly wiped me out. Is that any good?" She pointed at my mug.

I was a little confused by her words, I remembered seeing odd creatures, something of a mix of dragon and humanoid, flying about the skies and battling the winged Nerubians. But she neither looked like one, nor did she have wings. Perhaps she took a particularly nasty bump on the head. I was just about to start inspecting her for any head injuries when she spoke up again.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She raised a brow, tilting her head as her hair parted from the shift to reveal a broken horn at her hairline. "Are you well?"

I stared, I admit it, not in a creepy way, but in a way that Roma apparently found funny as she started to laugh.

"You know, not that I am complaining, but compared to most of our kind your visage is somewhat plain. Beautiful in its own way, don't get me wrong. But plain. No horns, hardly any jewelry, no scales. It's like you said I want to be pretty but boring and instead your look became pretty boring." She continued to laugh.

"I'm sorry.. what? Visage? What are you on about?" I couldn't quite wrap my mind around what she was saying, was she calling me boring? Ugly? Dull? I don't think I've heard those words used to describe me. Before I could dig through my head to decipher her meaning two things happened all at once. Where a lovely elven woman with a broken horn, and laugh that was beginning to irk me, sat one of those humanoid dragons now did, their wings folded beneath their neck like a leathery, scaley cloak. And I fell out of my seat.

Nearly the whole tavern turned their attention to us, some craning their necks around those at their table to get a look at what was happening, but I seemed to be the only person shocked by her sudden shift in appearance.

"I.. you.. wha-.. huh?" I swore I knew how to speak, honest, but the words just tumbled out of my mouth and they weren't the ones I wished to use.

Roma chuckled and shook her head, her crimson scales catching the lamplight in an almost mesmerizing way. "What's wrong with you, Lio? You act like you've never seen this before."

"I haven't." Well look at that, chose the words, spoke the words, and they were the right words!

Roma appeared confused, though it was harder to tell with this face than the elven one she had only moments ago. "Surely this is some kind of joke?" From my place on the floor I could see her tail twitching, the spiked, club-like end rolling back and forth behind her seat. "You.. haven't? I.. aren't you.. I mean you have to be, aren't you? I can't be wrong. Aren't you?"

"Aren't I.. what?" I may as well get off the floor now, this conversation felt like it was taking a serious turn and me getting up might stop people from staring.

"One of us?" She leaned forward, glowing golden eyes searching for something in my own.

"You mean.. can I turn into something like that in the blink of an eye? No. Just an elf, sorry to disappoint. Nearly a month ago I woke up on some ship during a storm, crew said they found me in a wreck. All I had with me was a satchel and a book, Lio was written on the inside cover so I took it as my name." I looked over to the innkeeper and gave them an apologetic look for the scene I'd caused and tossed a few coins onto the table. "Anyways.. this has been fun, but I should get going. Best of luck with.. well.. whatever you're doing." I didn't spare her another glance, the look she'd given me stirred something dormant inside me and I didn't like it, it made my skin crawl. I'd barely made it out of the door, one foot on the path when I felt hands wrap around my arms and hoist me up. Only.. the up just kept going..

"Stop squirming! I don't want to lose my grip!" Roma shouted through the rushing winds as she flew higher and higher.

"ARE YOU INSANE!?" The ground was rapidly getting further away and all I could think about was the soldiers I'd seen being dropped by the flying Nerubians exploding against the ground like sack of meat and bones. "WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!?"

"Just proving a point!" She yelled hovering in place.

"And what point is that?!"

"This!" And she let me go.

Looking back this was sheer insanity, not knowing who or what I was, no proof beyond whatever crackpot idea she had in her head about me. Was she hoping an instinct that had yet to surface in my entire fight down here would suddenly come? All I knew for certain in that moment was that I was about to die and there was nothing I could do about it but hope she came to her senses before I hit the ground like some sort of nightmare water balloon.

"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" I tried to flatten out in vain, hoping to slow my rapid descent to no avail. "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU- "

Something stirred once more, this time stronger, I felt it reach into my very core and rip away the shackles of fear. It was instantaneous, one second I was falling to my certain death and the next I was leveling out and just missing the rooftops before banking left and coming back around towards the tavern. I could see her crimson form at the entrance, wings spread, arms pumping in the air. She looked happy. Did she not know I was coming? Did she not sense the approaching danger?

I crashed into her, slamming her to the ground, my momentum sliding us both several yards and nearly a foot deeper into the ground. "I should kill you!"

Black and silver scaled hands with curled black talons closed around her throat and through her struggles for air she managed to squeak out. "See... I.. told.. ya..."

I let out a growl of frustration as I released her, staring at these odd hands and arms that moved when I moved them. Standing up and inspecting myself further, I found that these scales covered my entire body, wings curled in, hooking together under my neck, something dragged behind me as I continued to examine every inch I could see, bringing my attention to my tail. MY TAIL! I HAD A TAIL! AND WINGS! I was one of those.. one of those THINGS! Unlike Roma's tail, my own was like a long and bladed spearhead that carved furrows into the dirt and clanked against the cobbled path as I turned.

Consider the shock I must have experienced, one moment thinking I was an elf, one moment thinking I was about to die, and the next.. I am something else, something entirely different that I'd believed myself to be all this time. I wasn't an elf, no, like Roma I was a Dracthyr, and the form I'd thought was just me was merely a visage. Take that in for a moment. Good? Great.. let's get back to it.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!"

Again, remember.. this was a shock to me, okay?

"Calm down! You can't tell me you didn't know this was who you really are, Lio." Roma chuckled as she got to her feet. "I've never heard of any of our kind not knowing." She gave me a once over. "Though the visage is starting to make more sense.. wow." Roma recoiled as she took in my form.

"I.. didn't.. know.. and you.. you.. y- ARGH!!!" I tackled her again. "WHAT IF YOU WERE WRONG!!?"

"HEY! KNOCK IT OFF!" The clank of armor and the song of drawn steel snapped me out of it as the guards approached.

I didn't wait to face the guards, I thought about being away from here and pushed off the ground suddenly finding myself hurling through the skies with Mereldar disappearing behind me.

"HEY! Wait for me!" Roma had followed me. "Come on! Let's touch down there!" She soared beside me, pointing to a nearby cliff overlooking the water.

I wanted to tell her no and fly away from her but I figured she'd just keep following me so I turned and began circling the cliff, slowing myself down before attempting a landing. I will admit, not my most graceful landing, but I did land on my feet, sort of, and Roma landed beside me a moment later.

"You really didn't know?" She asked, concern, the same expression she had at the tavern etched her scaled face.

"No. I didn't." I searched within, trying to find a way to turn back. I was about to give up when Roma placed a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry.. I thought you were pulling my tail." She paused briefly before continuing. "Focus on the image in your mind, hold it there, and push it towards the front of your mind. Do you have it?"

I nodded, struggling to keep my thoughts on the face I'd seen in the mirror so many times before today. I felt the stirring, only instead of breaking free, this felt more like bundling up..

"There you go.. not so hard, right?" She clapped me on the shoulder. "Of all the things you thought you were.. I bet this was the furthest from your mind."

I couldn't help but smile as I opened my eyes, seeing she'd returned to her visage as well. "This wasn't even a consideration."

I finally knew what I was.. but the question of who still remained. Was Lio even my real name? Was it short for something? Was I good? It would be a long, long time before I learned the answer to who I was, and how it came about was not in a way I'd ever thought of. But I like to think that it was moments like this that helped shape me into something better than I was. Because knowing what I know now.. there's no telling what kind of monster I'd have become.

[beyondthedustjacket]

Most Anticipated Books of 2024

Hey, readers! It’s the beginning of a new year and there are a bunch of new books coming out very soon! Let me know which releases you’re most looking forward to!

January 2 ⁕ Divine Might: Goddesses in Greek Myth by Natalie Haynes

January 2 ⁕ A Fragile Enchantment by Allison Saft

January 9 ⁕ Don’t Want You Like a Best Friend by Emma R. Alban

January 23 ⁕ Womb City

February 6 ⁕ Bride by Ali Hazelwood

February 13 ⁕ The Fox Wife by Yangsze Choo

February 27 ⁕ Lore of the Wilds by Analeigh Sbrana

March 5 ⁕ What Monstrous Gods by Rosamund Hodge

March 26 ⁕ The Emperor and the Endless Palace by Justinian Huang

April 2 ⁕ The Reappearance of Rachel Price by Holly Jackson

April 2 ⁕ A Witch’s Guide to Magical Innkeeping by Sangu Mandanna

April 9 ⁕ The Familiar by Leigh Bardugo

April 16 ⁕ Late Bloomer by Mazey Eddings

April 23 ⁕ The Stranger I Wed by Harper St. George

May 7 ⁕ Beyond the Isle of the Lost by Melissa de la Cruz

May 14 ⁕ A Crane Among Wolves by June Hur

[fishermcn]

Dream's still the same. Same as it were before the isle finally sank beneath the raging ocean's waves, same as they've been in the years since you've ran for your miserable life and no doubt the same as they'll always be. Above you is the gaping maw of the sky covered in clouds so thickly not a beam of sunlight could ever hope to shine through, with sheets of rain falling in reverse so heavily that, if there were anywhere for you to drift towards in your rotted rowboat, you'd never be able to see it. Beneath you is the abyssal sea sloshing to and fro with restless waves in time to the wakes left behind by unseen, unspeakable things.

Just beneath the agitated waters press hundreds of grasping, scrabbling hands never breaking the surface, the dead sea-stolen pressing against it as though it were glass trying to reach out to you. Every face you catch a glimpse of manages to be one you know, their flesh bloated from the brine and rotted teeth bared in a curse you're already afflicted with. Beneath even the countless dead are the ruins and remnants of your world, the remnants of villages and forts long having been swallowed up by the merciless waves... and beneath even that, a chorus that swells the nearer you are to death and thus the nearer you are to their embrace...

And they're singing so loudly now that the wood of your boat is trembling, threatening to capsize with the power of their joy. You wonder, idly, if this time the pistol you have here in these sodden dreams has dry powder for once. You wonder, idly, if that crow perched on the prow with a dusty croak is supposed to be some new way for the Tide to mock you--

-- and Crow seizes awake with a harsh coughing, chest tight and then suddenly aching with sharp lances of pain in protest. Panting, heaving, there's such a strong wave of nausea and hurt and sheer confusion rolling over him it's a wonder he doesn't faint entirely. It takes almost a full minute of clenching his teeth and screwing his eyes shut and simply breathing before Crow can properly begin gathering his head into some semblance of coherent thought.

Right. Still alive. Made it back to the inn somehow, some way. Managed not to bleed out too, judging by the press of formerly white cloth now properly stained from his sudden startling awake. Crow idly picks at a loose thread from one of the bandages, brows pulling together in further realization at the feel of his whalebone brushing against his collarbone. No shirt, no knife either. Saved, then. By the innkeeper? Something she'd done, the press of her hands against his chest and the reassurances spilling past her lips that he'd be all right...

His hand clenches around the charm in time to the setting of his jaw, his tired gaze flickering across the room to where she-- Maude, right, to where Maude sat, still asleep. Magic. Nothing like what he's ever felt or seen or been subject to, either. Comforting, warmth that chased the cold and pain from her claws away. Crow blinks, pressing a palm against his eyesocket with a sigh rattling within his lungs. Godsdamn but what a fucking mess this were.

There's a dog too. Crow blinks again, blearily, and doesn't bother resisting the urge to scratch the mutt behind one of his ears whilst gnawing the inside of his cheek. Listening to the thunderstorm still pounding outside doesn't do much to help with the direction of his thoughts; doubly so when he swears he can smell salt water in the air rather than proper rain. Nothing to be done about it now, not with the job unfinished and definitely not until the two of them can properly sort out just what the hell is going on here.

No time like the present, then. "Maude." Damn, but he's especially hoarse. Crow takes the moment to smack his lips and reach for the glass, taking a few greedy gulps before trying again. This time, there's less of a creak and more of his usual rasp coarsening her name. "Oi, Maude."

Something resisted her magic. Something pushed back against it. Sweat trickled down Maude’s brow, and her teeth dug into her lower lip. Her gaze flicked to the charm and Crow’s bone-white grip, feeling her magic seep toward it. When the resistance eased and a less-labored breath left the man at last, short-lived relief washed over the innkeeper — only for a different sort of opposition to surge against her fingers, sharp and freezing as a cold current.

Whatever the injured man had gotten tangled up in, its presence had clearly sunk deep into him. Maude didn’t relent, though. She kept her fingers against his skin and strengthened the flow of magic — added more warmth to fight back against the cold — until she saw the discomfort finally fade from Crow’s face. She exhaled and wiped the sweat from her brow.

The sudden rumble of thunder made the woman jolt. Rain pattered on the roof, heavier and heavier, and a howling wind joined it. An unnatural storm. Unease trailed its cold fingers up Maude’s spine, and she looked at Crow’s gaunt face. Something had followed him there. Likely related to whatever had wounded him. But what was she supposed to do? Refuse to let him stay in the inn any longer? She knew her own capacity for cruelty, but she couldn’t bring herself to simply toss him back outside and let him bleed out.

The sound of hurried footsteps reached her. Bran reappeared, breathless and with her medical supply kit in his arms. “Arthur’s on his way. I told Nettie to stay in her room. Dunno how long she’ll listen.” He passed her the kit, then stepped back and stared at the man on the floor. “What happened to him?”

“Something bad,” Maude replied quietly, focused on unlatching the kit and rummaging through it.

The boy faltered and glanced up toward the rafters, toward the thunderous rainfall, then looked at the bucket once more. “Is something… in there?”

“A crab.”

He blinked. “A… what?”

“Looks like one, at least.”

Bran swallowed and folded his arms over his chest. “Wh… what should we do with it?”

Maude smothered her immediate urge to kill the creature. She knew that such an action could have consequences when eldritch trickery was involved. Best to wait until she could ask the man if it was safe. “Wear gloves. Put it outside in a bucket of water with a binding ward, make sure it can’t escape. Then boil some water, please, I’ll need it while I patch him up.” Everything needed to be clean and sterile; she couldn’t risk infection on top of everything else.

He rushed off to obey again, while Maude focused on Crow. She would need Arthur’s help carrying him in a way that wouldn’t hurt him further. The memory of Arthur bleeding out flashed through her mind again — despite her best efforts, she had failed to heal him on her own, his wounds too severe. A lump rose in her throat, and she shook her head. These wounds were serious as well, but not fatal. This was different. She could handle them. Hearing Arthur approach, she took a deep breath and steeled herself.

Right, then. Time to begin.

——

Hours passed. Long, bloody hours of careful wound cleaning and patching, of replenishing her magic to keep Crow asleep and to keep the pain at bay, of waiting and worrying, with the torrential downpour outside a constant noise in the background.

When the man awoke, he’d find himself on his bed back in his room in the inn. A warm handmade quilt covered him. A glass of water sat on his bedside table, with a pitcher of more water beside it. His torn shirt had vanished. Bandages covered his stitched gashes, neatly wrapped around his chest.

He wasn’t alone. Maude sat in a chair in the corner of the room, asleep. An open book rested on her lap, her hands still clasped loosely around it.

A massive, shaggy dog lay at the end of the bed with his head resting on Crow’s legs. From the steady rise and fall of his side — and the occasional snuffle of a snore — he seemed sound asleep as well.

[v-thinks-on]

In the year 1187, I began as a journeyman to the village apothecary. When the call came to follow the noble King Richard the Lionheart, like many young men, I eagerly went. The Crusades brought honours and penitence to many, but for me it had nothing but misfortune and disaster. After months of delirious fever, I was fortunate to return to my native England with little worse than a limp and a lame shoulder.

I had neither kith nor kin in England, and was therefore free as air—or as free as a man with neither health nor livelihood can be. Under such circumstances, I found myself wandering the countryside, where all the loungers and idlers live by their wits and the fleeting generosity of strangers. It was a meaningless, comfortless existence, spending what little health I had far more freely than I ought.

I knew I could not last like this for much longer; I had no choice but to make some drastic alteration in my style of living. The day I had come to this conclusion was in late spring, graced with the charming weather of my native isle; a heavy blanket of grey hanging above the tree tops and a chill in the air, which made my shoulder ache and my legs stiff, and I feared a turn for rain.

I hoped it was not far to the next village. It had already been some days since the kindly innkeeper, who had traded some food and a place to rest for the night for a poultice for his ailing daughter, had pointed me in this direction. These woods were dangerous, he had said, but there was a man in these parts who might be able to help a poor wanderer such as myself. It seemed an unlikely solution, but even a brief respite would be a relief to me.

The deeper I went into these woods, the thicker the growth became; the trees gathered tighter together and it became increasingly laborious to pick my way through the dense undergrowth. Only a dim light filtered through the canopy of clouds and leaves above, leaving the whole forest in twilight, with who knew what manner of men or creatures lurking within—I thought I spied the glint of a Sacaren spear, but it was only a shiny drop of dew upon a thorny bramble.

However, the whiz of an arrow through the air was unmistakable. I had no sword—I was no knight, merely a village apothecary who had gone to tend the brave souls who followed the King into battle, but when the battle began, all men became soldiers—but still I tensed for a fight, glancing around me in search of my assailant. But I saw nothing, only the deep dense woods and an arrow embedded in the tree behind me, mere inches from where my head had been.

“You had better be careful, an old campaigner travelling through these woods alone.”

I started at the voice which sounded just into my ear and turned to find myself face-to-face with a long, thin man who appeared to have materialised from the woods themselves. He was dressed all in green, with aquiline features, and rough bow in hand, another arrow already knocked into place.

“You were at Acre, I perceive,” the man said.

“Y-yes,” I said, too startled to protest at the pronouncement, “did you also follow King Richard the Lionheart?”

He shakes his head, a laughing curl to his thin lips, though there’s a darker irony lurking in his keen eyes. “I have only heard tales of the destruction.”

I can only bow my head in acknowledgement; the evidence of my hardships is unconcealable.

[snowberry-crostata]

Languages of Skyrim

Back to our irregularly scheduled programming, with more headcanons about Skyrim.

Nordic is still the primary language spoken throughout Skyrim, but is slowly becoming less universal as Cyrodiilic, the lingua franca of the Empire, spreads. The Nordic language is descended from the Atmoran language (also called Nedic, which developed from Ehlnofex in the Merethic Era along a separate path from the development of Aldmeris by the elves). One of the most notable linguistic differences between Nordic and other Ehlnofex-derived languages is the influence of Dovahzul on its words and pronunciations due to the long subjugation of the Nords by the Dovah.

In the current day, most people living outside of cities speak Nordic as their primary language, even non-Nords born in Skyrim. For many Nords, Nordic is their only language. However, immigrants to Skyrim such as Dunmer refugees and Khajiit caravaners primarily speak the dialects of their homelands and often teach their native language to their children. Among Mer, attitudes vary around how important it is to speak the language of one’s ancestors; the Dunmer tend to feel strongly that their Skyrim-born children should know how to speak Dunmeris, and they incorporate Dunmeri words and phrases into their speech. Meanwhile, Altmer immigrants often choose not to teach their children any Altmeri at all (this is a result of both the political climate of Skyrim and the distaste that Altmer emigrants tend to have for the current rulers of the Summerset Isles). Merchants and innkeepers in all but the most rural settlements typically speak both Nordic and (at least some) Cyrodiilic.

Orcs living in strongholds throughout Skyrim mostly speak in the Wrothgarian dialect of Orsinian, though the Orcs of Narzulbur speak the Velothi dialect. They know enough Nordic or Cyrodiilic to get by with the occasional trader (trade is typically conducted in a Nordic-Orsinian pidgin), but the languages of men are not commonly heard inside the compounds nor are they formally taught to Orc children. Orcs typically pick up other languages through immersion, which is one reason why Orsimer who leave their strongholds are sometimes perceived as being “slow” or unintelligent by others - they are still learning the local language.

[quicksilverdrabbles]

Inside Dead Man's Drink

Lucien: Excuse me, er..

Morana: *staring blankly at Lucien through her mask* ...?

Lucien: *doesn't know what to call her* Um.. Si- Mada-? Uh.

Morana: *muttering under her breath as she pulls out her notebook* What on earth could he want..? *writing* Can I help you with something?

Lucien: *feeling uncomfortable* Ah, um.. I-I was just wondering-

Inigo: *heard Morana speaking, got curious* My friend, is everything- Oh, hello there!

Lucien: Oh thank Gods- H-Hello! My name is Lucien Flavius!

Inigo: It is a pleasure to meet you, Lucien! My name is Inigo, and my friend here is Morana. She has a very weak voice, and can not typically be heard by others, so she writes in her notebook. Please be patient with her.

Morana: *turning her head to look st Inigo, raising her hand to her chin in a sign for 'thank you'*

Inigo: Hehe, I remember what that one means. You are welcome, my friend.

Lucien: Oh! Do you know sign language? *moving his hands to gesture along with his words* I studied Imperial Sign Language quite a bit in Cyrodiil, but I didn't have much of a chance to practice.

Morana: !!! *rapid-fire signing* You know ISL?

Lucien: Yes! I've been studying a bit of Nordic Sign as well, but it's apparently much less common, even here in Skyrim. The local Nords seem.. rather offended whenever I try to ask about it, for some reason. Like they think the language is ridiculous!

Morana: Nords don't like talking with anything but their fists.

Lucien: Haha! You're not wrong there.

Inigo: Er.. Excuse me, but I did not recognize those words. What did she say?

Lucien: *chuckling* She said that Nords prefer to talk with their fists rather than with their hands.. But aren't their fists also their hands? Doesn't that mean sign language should theoretically be their preferred language? Questions for the ages.

Morana: *quietly giggling, her shoulders shaking* I don't think many of them would remember to take their hands out of fists in order to speak with them.

Lucien: You may just be right!

Kaidan: Right, I'm back with drinks for us. Innkeep was nice enough to- *spotting Lucien and Morana engaged in a conversation with Inigo looking quite lost* ... Who's this, then?

Inigo: This is Lucien Flavius! He knows sign language. I have no idea what they are talking about now. It is very confusing.

Kaidan: Sign language? The 'speaking with hands' Morana mentioned, you mean?

Lucien: Hello there! Erm-

Morana: This is Kaidan.

Lucien: K-Kay-den?

Morana: *shaking her head* Higher.

Lucien: Kaidan?

Morana: Yes.

Kaidan: Nice to meet you. So, Morana doesn't need her notebook to speak to you, does she?

Lucien: Well, I'm sure there may be times where she could still use it, but I'd be glad to be a practice buddy with her!

Morana: I haven't had anyone to speak to like this since I traveled the Summerset Isles.

Lucien: Which was how long ago?

Morana: ... *counting on her fingers* ... four years ago.

Lucien: You've been using a notebook for four years?!

Kaidan: Really?

Morana: Well I've had to use a notebook for much longer. I've travelled to just about every country, and not many people know sign language. Before I left, I had an entire wall of bookshelves full of notebooks in my room.

Lucien: Fascinating! I imagine the change in your handwriting is quite jarring if you compare your earliest notebooks to your current one. Did I see you writing with your left hand?

Morana: Yes.

Inigo: Is that such a strange thing?

Lucien: Most people back in the Imperial City write with their right hands! It's quite uncommon there!

Morana: Most people in the Imperial City never needed to wield a dagger while writing at the same time.

Lucien: You did?

Morana: It was part of my training.

Lucien: Quite gruesome training.

Kaidan: Do you have any idea what they're talking about?

Inigo: I do not have a clue. But, our friend looks happy. Perhaps this Lucien fellow can be another good friend to her.

Kaidan: *Watching the way Morana's hands move with a frown* Yeah.. Feels kinda like we're being left out though, doesn't it?

Inigo: Perhaps Lucien can teach us sign language! That would be fun! And we would be able to speak to our friend without waiting for her to write out her thoughts.

Kaidan: I suppose.. Yes, that could work.

~

Quick recap on Morana's forms of speaking

Italics - Writing, either in her notebook, or on scraps of paper

Bold - Sign language!

Small - Whispering, using her voice. Can't be done too often or else her throat gets sore.

[curiouselleth]

Chapter 3: In Which Elured Fails to Navigate Bureaucracy

He stood before the gate, scratching his head. 

“Hello? Anyone there?” he called out, “could someone perhaps open the gate? I’m tired and would rather not climb over the wall.”

No response. “Well, I guess I’ll start climbing,” he grumbled and stepped forward, sizing up the wall. 

“Stop! Stop stop! Uh, state your business here stranger!” a voice calls from over the gate. 

“I am Ereinion, and I come with a message from the hosts camped a short distance away from your city. I also carry a letter and message for Lord Cirdan. I wish to enter your city to deliver the message to your leaders and pass through the city to the Isle of Balar.”

“Ah-um, yes! I’ll open the gate and let you, uh, I’ll open the gate and let you in! No need for climbing of course!” the flustered voice replied. 

Elured still could not see the voice, but there was such a note of panic in her voice that he found himself glancing over his shoulder as he dashed through the slowly opening gates into the sleeping city. 

“There’s an inn a bit further down the road and to the right! Good evening!” 

The sentence was punctuated by the sound of a door slamming and the city gates clicking closed behind him. “Well, that was odd. Perhaps not as odd as that one owl, but still odd.” He began walking down the quiet street, heading towards the inn the guard mentioned. Hopefully.

“Oh who am I kidding, nothing is as weird as that owl was.”

---

“Excuse me? Hello?... Uh, pardon me…” This was not going well. He had gotten up at dawn like usual, though he was quite saddened to leave the nice bed at the inn. It was like a cloud after the nights in the trees. And the bustling camp now seemed tame in comparison to the chaos in these halls. He had asked the innkeeper where we could find… well whoever was in charge, and they had directed him here. To this building with hallways crawling with running and shouting elves. 

“If this is what politics is, I’ll make sure to keep well clear of it in the future.” He mumbled to himself. The chances of finding whoever I needed to deliver the message to in this mess… I suppose I’ll just choose a direction. He walked down the hallway to the left. Then the right. Then left. Then right. 

At least it’s quieter over here. He rested his head against the cool, stone wall, overwhelmed. 

“Are you alright?”

He inwardly groaned at the question from behind him, the second I found a bit of quiet.

He removed his forehead from the wall and turned towards the inquiry, “Yes, I am. It is just a bit… overwhelming trying to find who I need to speak to in this…” he trailed off, and glancing away from the short elf before him towards the bustling hallways. 

“Ah yes, everyone is in quite a panic, a large host of elves appeared camped a short distance outside the city, one of the watch fell asleep, and we, well…” he sighed. “We’re scrambling a bit to get a guards and a delegation together to meet them, we’re concerned that they have not sent a-”

“Oh a messenger! That would be me,” Elured smiled awkwardly. “I arrived late last night, I admit I spent the night sleeping off the journey in an inn, and well,” he paused, “I think I have been wandering these hallways since dawn, so perhaps 2 hours trying to find someone from the council to pass the message the leaders of the host gave me.”

He just stared at Elured for a moment, before breaking out laughing, “I am Orthoror, one of the council. This way, we were about to meet regarding your host.”

“Ah thank the stars, to be honest, I think if I had to wander in the chaos much longer then I’d run off screaming,” Elured jokes. 

“Oh me too, what was it you said your name is?”

“Ereinion,” he paused, “though I believe I was given the name Gil-galad by some in the host. I have never been given another name as such, though I think I like it… it’s just, different, I suppose. Ah apologies I’m rambling…” he trailed off as Orthoror guided him through the hallways, eventually stopping at a doorway to a meeting room. 

“Oh do not worry, I do the same, I believe it is called… hmm” Orthoror paused as he stepped into the room, then turned back to Elured, “ah right, socializing!” he winked and dramatically gestured for Elured to follow him into the room.

Elured laughed and obliged. 

“What is so funny?” a golden haired elf asked from the large table dominating the room?

“Oh nothing much Malgelir, just… socializing” Orthoror glanced mischievously at Elured as they struggled to hold in any further laughter. 

Elured lingered near the doorway as he took stock of the other elves around the table; in addition to Orthoror, there were two noldor, two sindar, and an avari, judging by their clothes and accents, as he realized… that they were staring at him and whispering… oh . He blushed and wordlessly looked to Orthoror, who thankfully noticed his plight and stood.

“Everyone, this is Ereinion Gil-galad, a messenger from the host.” 

Elured took a deep breath and stepped up to the table; “The message they have asked me to deliver is simple: they are refugees from Gondolin, the hidden city of Turgon. Their city was attacked some months ago, and that host is all that remains of those people. They received word of your city here, and hoped that they may enter today and live here in safety. Lord Egalmoth asked that I ask that you allow them to enter, they have children and many still recovering from wounds inflicted during the attack on their city.”

“Wounded?” asks the blond sinda.

“Yes, most wounded have healed, they lingered in the forest to the north for a few weeks to gather strength again but some of the wounds linger, some with head wounds and there are some in litters yet. I do not know the details of their injuries.”

The blond sinda nods, “I am Eston, the chief healer. I shall see about gathering a few of my healers to ride out to meet them, Malgelir, if you could have some guards sent to occupancy us?”

“Of course,” they nod. 

Orthoror turns to the avari girl; “can you send a message to the host ahead of the healers and guards, tell them that we are sending healers and an escort to guide them into the city, Eston, Malgelir, please go and send your people as well.”

They all nod and depart, leaving Elured with Orthoror and the two noldor. 

The noldo who had remained silent so far stood, and leveled his cool gaze on Elured, “you have not referred to these people as your own, so who are you, and why do they trust one who is not of their people to bring such a message for them?”

“I encountered them in Nan-tathren, for I too had received word of your city. I have lived out in the wilderness since my city fell, and when I heard your city had become a gathering point for refugees… I hoped that I might find some remnant of my people here, despite the odds.”

“After I came upon their host I met with the Lords Egalmoth and Galdor, and was invited to travel the rest of the way here with their host. I had found the slow pace tedious after traveling at such speed myself, so I tried to make myself useful by carrying messages back and forth through the column, and helping to carry bags and the like. Then after we made camp last night I was asked to deliver this message, and a letter to lord Cirdan on Balar afterwards.”

Orthoror nodded, “well, welcome! If you give me any names perhaps we could help you locate some of them. Though with the amount of paperwork the large influx of people from the host will cause, it may take some time. I shall arrange for a boat to take you to Balar, then perhaps after you have delivered your message you can send me a list of names, perhaps, and I can help you find your people.”

“Thank you, you have been so kind.” 

Orthoror bent over and scribed on a spare piece of parchment, “oh of course, I am always happy to help bring people back together, I like to think that is what the Havens are about.” 

He straightened up and handed the parchment to Elured, “if you present this to someone at the harbor, they’ll show you to a ship that can bear you over to Balar, you should arrive shortly after dusk if the winds are on your side.”

“You are too kind, truely.” Elured took the paper. 

Orthoror began to shake his head, but Elured interrupted before he could say anything, “really, you are so kind, thank you. I hope that we meet again soon.” 

“As do I.”

---

As the sun set, the deck rolled beneath him like branches in a summer storm, tossing the boat left and right and forwards and backwards in a strangely predictable dance. He hopped back and forth trying to keep his balance, pretending he was leaping through his trees again. 

He was also trying to ignore the ill-concealed laughter of the sailors. 

Hopping is better than falling on my face… the ship lurched and he almost tripped over a coiled rope .

As he regains his balance he finally catches a glimpse of the island. Balar. He feels the tension fall from his shoulders, thank goodness, if I had to listen to their laughter as I try not to fall for any longer I’d climb up.

He thanked the captain as his feet hit the dock. Hopefully it’ll be easier to find Lord Cirdan then the council at the Havens , then an inn, dinner, and getting back to the Havens to find Elwing, then take her back to the forest to live with him and Elurin. And Gwingloth, he fondly added. Together. Family.

Veil of Starlight (ao3)

Chapter 1; Beginnings

Nightingales had always been a part of their heritage. Their great-grandmother created them after all.

It had been so bitterly cold, they all should’ve migrated south months ago. But they were there, and they guided them out of the cold, chilling them to their bones down south where the sun still shone strong, and melted the frost on their clothes and dark hair. But not their hearts. 

Everyone they knew was gone. Slain in the halls their father had brought life back to. Dead in the snow. Their mother slain trying to find their little sister and get them out. Friends all gone. Their father slain before his throne as he tried to defend his home and people. They didn’t know what happened to their little sister, but she likely lay in the halls or snow like all the others. 

Everyone was gone and their home was gone and they were gone to the south away, away away away and they wanted to leave it behind. 

The nightingales stayed with them for a time. Teaching them where to find food in this new place. Showing them a small cave to shelter in. But it was still hungry, still cold. They clutched each other every night, small bodies shivering. They didn’t know how many cold nights they spent in that cave before some avari found them. But by then they were thin, wild and fey. One of the avari still bears the scars from their teeth, from these strange little children. Not wholly elf, nor man, nor maiar. An unheard of ancestry, only a few of a kind. But the avari did not know, barely whispers of their grandmother Luthien and her victory against the enemy had reached that part of the world. 

But nonetheless, the green elves took in these wild fey children whose moods stirred the wind to fury and whose laughter brought flowers into bloom in the dead of winter. In their small village in the trees they grew, faster than the eldar, even faster than the edain. So strange, it was. Such a light burned within them, and only ever increased as they grew. 

In those years, time moved faster around them, and somehow, they had nearly reached full stature and maturity and had learned nearly all they could from the green elves. The only thing they had not learned was to control their strange powers. And how to fit in. 

So the twins left. 

They packed, said goodbyes, and moved on. 

Journeying in Ossiriand, avoiding any and all other elves and edain. They had a lot of excuses for avoiding others. They didn’t want to be dragged back into the violence in the north. Didn’t want a crown or responsibilities to be forced upon them. Didn’t want to remember. 

It was so subconscious at first, they didn’t even realize. But they had slowly woven enchantment over themselves, over each other to hide who they were. To hide the features they shared with Luthien. To hide the edain features. The otherworldliness in their eyes that they inherited from Melian. The proud bearing that called Beren and Thingol to mind. To make others see what they wanted to see, or expected when others looked upon them. 

They would always come back to the forest of Taur-im-Duinath. To a little shared talan perhaps a days travel from the avari village where they grew up. Or at least a day's travel across the ground. Closer to a few hours when the twins raced through the branches in leaves with the skill of elves many millennia old. Not long after, as they seemingly could never have quiet for long; a young Noldorin woman arrived. 

Tired and beaten, drifting on a distributary from the Gates Sirion on a half sinking raft. The younger twin found her and pulled her from the river, and brought her to the twin’s small talan. 

She had woken up screaming that night. The twins understood.

As the week passed, the peace of the forest brought her comfort. She wasn’t ready to speak of what happened yet. The twins understood this too, more than they could put into words. 

From this understanding something wholly new began to grow between her and Elurin. When she was despairing, he made her laugh. And she balanced his overly carefree, inattentive personality with maturity… and an unforgiving streak of sarcasm and knowledge of pranks.

Eventually, she told them a little. How she had lived in the hidden city Gondolin. That it was attacked and destroyed, and she escaped. Drifted downriver because it would be faster than running. And how she had overheard some of the men attacking her city saying how they couldn’t let any of the people of Gondolin escape to the Havens of Sirion like the Doriath survivors had.

The twins froze and paled at this last statement. They excused themselves, and the moment they were out of her sight they fled into the branches, and they ran and ran and ran and ran and ran until they reached a large clearing and ran out of branches to leap through. 

They returned the next morning, salt streaks down their cheeks and staining their clothes. 

“Elured, you don’t have to do this, not alone!”

He reaches out and rubs Elurin’s shoulders, “yes, I do. I’m older, and you have Gwingloth here.”

Elurin blushes and tries to interrupt, but Elured continues “oh you know you cannot lie to me brother. I have seen how you two look at each other when you think I don’t see, the love, how you practically melt in her gaze. We all have been through so much. You two deserve happiness, with each other, if that is what you two wish for. Stay with her, I will go to the Havens, even Balar if I must. I will learn what has become of the last of our people. I will be like the wind, in and out and returning to you with the winter rains. At the latest in the spring. I will find our people.”

Elurin blinks away tears, “I shall hold you to that. And if you return a day after spring ends you shall never hear the end of it,” he pauses, “take one of the swords. We are safe here, you will need one more than us.” 

“Are you certain? I can take one of the avari swords or bows instead…”

“No, take one.” Elurin turns and kneels down, pulls out a dagger and pries up one of the floorboards. He sets it aside and stares at the cavity for a moment, before pulling out the silver twin swords. “They are the last of our heritage and family that we have, take it with you and remember me. I knew ever since the avari found them, they were not destined to stay together forever. Just hide the inscriptions…” he runs his fingers over the cirth runes; For my beloved great-grandchildren, may you wield these swords in a better world than the one you were born into. And the maker's mark, a tall thin “T” with a small crown above it. 

Elured slowly takes one, and he too runs his fingers along the runes. But as he does, they shimmer, and fade away, making the sword appear blank and uninscribed. “I’ll be back before you know it. I promise.” He looks up to Elurin and smiles mischievously, “and perhaps by the time I return you can tell me about the proposal.”

“Huh? Whatever are you talking abou- NO Elured, it is far too early, no, and in case your ears were clogged the first time, no no no you daft creature!” 

“Who is a daft creature?” A female voice icily asks from behind him.

“Oh just my foolish broth-” his voice explodes into an undignified shriek as Elured grabs him from behind and starts mercilessly tickling him. 

“Do not worry Gwin, I shall only be gone for a few months at most, just to see if any survived Doriath, and I shall leave as soon as I teach this child a lesson!” he laughs and continues poking and tickling Elurin. 

“You know I do not like it when you call me that, ‘red” she laughs.

“Fair point, I shall endeavor to use your full name when I return, so long as you do not call me that.”

“Gwin! Rescue me please!” Elurin begs between laughs.

“Ah you are the more foolish brother, not Elured. Did you not hear my wish not to be called such? Alas, I am afraid I must leave you to this torture unless you apologize!”

Elurin was laughing too hard to even try. 

Before dawn, they saw Elured off. He wasn’t bringing any bags, just whatever could fit on his belt and in his pockets without impeding his movement. He didn’t want to be weighed down by too much.

“There and right back, brother. Please, find out if any of our people survived but come home.”

“I will, I promise I will return to this very spot.” He pulls Elurin into an embrace and whispers “I promise.” Eventually they pull apart. “Gwingloth, make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble, just the right amount!”

“Of course.”

Elurin lightly pushes Elured toward the edge of the talan, “Go! For the sooner you leave the sooner you’ll be back! May the sun shine on your path, and may the nightingales help you find it!”

“Farewell!” Elured calls as he leaps into the branches and quickly disappears before the coming dawn.

Sirion was flooded, and raging like he had never seen. The ford was washed away. Swimming across would likely be a death sentence. Elured thinks about the map he and Elurin made last summer. If this ford was washed away, they all likely were. So there were only two options; trying to find a path through the mouths of Sirion would be the most direct, but likely a fool’s errand. Sailing obviously was not an option, he had sailed rivers on the small craft the avari made but the ocean was too risky. Which left the North. He could pass over the Gates of Sirion to the North, and hope that the Nargod wasn’t affected by the same weather that flooded Sirion. It would be a much longer journey, but the least difficult. 

He tucked a stray braid behind his ear, then sighed, irritated, as the wind immediately tossed it back out of place. 

“Well, I suppose there’s no good thinking on an empty stomach.” He mumbled.

A few handfuls of berries and a bit of bread later, he sighed, this time content. 

Gwingloth would likely scold me for such a meal he thought as he looked out over the river over his perch in a lone tree. Even at its narrowest it was still a massive river, and in some places leagues wide. There would be no crossing, of that he was now sure of. North would be the only option. 

He resolved to set out in the morning, laid down on one of the larger branches of the tree, and fell into dreams with Elurin.

“How fares your journey, brother?”

“Sirion has swelled with floods, there is no crossing. I travel North at dawn, to pass over the Gates of Sirion,” he replied.

He could feel Elurin’s concern twist around him restlessly, “are you sure? That is a long way, you do not have to do this, not alone. If you stay there for a few days perhaps I can catch up and we can go together?”

“I can do it. Please, stay in the forest with Gwingloth. She is not fully recovered no matter how much she may deny it, and you have more skill in healing than myself or any of the avari. She needs you. And I’m your older brother, I can do this.” He wanted to, had to. Had to see if their sister lived yet. 

“Just because you are mere minutes older, does not mean you have to bear this alone,” Elurin’s concern remained, but was now vibrantly colored by love as his fëa swirled around.

“I know, brother, I know. I just feel as though… this is something I have to do, I am fated for. I do not know what awaits me at the Havens, but something does, and I have to find it.”

“That may be,” Elurin deflated a little, “but after you find it, come back. You promised.” Elurin’s fëa gently brushes him, and fades back into the waking world, out of their small world of dreams. 

Elured lingered a little longer yet. They had never been so far apart, and he feared that if they were much farther they would not be able to walk in their dreams and visions together. To be disconnected from each other in such a way, Elured feared that he would become lost as a boat tossed in a raging storm. 

But slowly the sun began to peer over the blue mountains, and it was time. He drifted back to waking.

He ran with the wind in his hair and the sun on his face, his feet quickly and silently impacting the grass as he raced northward - he had been traveling for a few days and the Gates of Sirion were in sight. 

He could see where the river gushed forth from the twisting caves under the hill, and traced over the hills above with his eyes. He wanted to cross over as close as possible, the river being flooded had already brought him many leagues in the wrong direction. As the hours passed the hills grew larger, then slowly, slowly smaller as he turned back south. 

Eventually he grew near the forest of Nan-tathren, and just in time as his food began to run low. He hated foraging in the hills. Not nearly enough berries for his taste. 

Something was wrong. He had frozen before the thought fully reached his mind. There were people in the forest. He slowly resumed approaching the forest, using every trick he knew to stay silent. It was harder to remain unseen in the grass. He had to get into the trees. 

He moved barely breathing, tense as a bowstring, he slipped under the trees. He was back in his element, whoever was here would never see him, he thought as he leapt into the branches. Perhaps he could figure out who was here… to better avoid them , he rationalized. After all, he needed to forage and could find areas they had not been in if he knew their numbers. 

He flew through the branches, much faster than he had traveled across the ground, though leaping down here and there to gather berries, roots, and a particularly good bunch of mushrooms. 

But once more he slowed, the trees whispering growing louder. He was getting close to them. They were getting close. Perhaps a half dozen of them, a hunting party perhaps… or a band of warriors and scouts. He sunk further into the shadows of the tree and listened as voices approached.

He grew more tense as he recognized their accent. Faint as it was, it was the very same that Gwinloth had. Noldor. He loosened his sword in its sheath, fearful that they were the same who destroyed his home. Who killed his family. Who left him and his brother to die. 

He remained still as they got closer and closer. As he listened, it seemed like more of a hunting party. Likely tracking game. 

He resolved to wait until they passed. They obviously had little experience in the forest. Either they had not been here long, or there weren’t many where they were from. Either way, they were not native here, and spoke of building up stores for the remainder of their journey South. 

South. It rang through his head, to the Havens of Sirion. They are likely refugees from Gondolin then. He briefly smiled, Gwinloth will be overjoyed to hear some of her people survived.  

He continued waiting for them to pass, they nearly were agonizingly slow as they discussed what kind of game the prints seemed to belong to, or how many, and seemingly to him at least, could not tell a rabbit track from a deer. Eventually, what Elurin would call his “older brother exasperation” kicked in, and he slowly moved from the tree and onto the game trail behind them.

“About a fifth of a league further down the path, there is a small herb of deer. A little farther and you will likely find some rabbits if you are capable of being quiet. And for Orome’s sake be careful! There are two fauns in the herd of deer who are not ready to leave their mothers.”

The hunters spun around, drawing their bows, and he remained just long enough to smirk, but before they could even blink, he had disappeared into the trees again. 

His mirth at this little trick stirred a wind in the trees as he raced away, further South. He had enough food, it was time to continue to the Havens.

[scotianostra]

On February 16th 1746 Government forces under Lord Louden attempted to capture Prince Charles Edward Stewart at Moy Hall.

By 16th February 1746 Prince Charles had reached the town of Moy where he and a few of his men were entertained at Moy Hall. The seat of the chief of the MacKintosh clan he was entertained by none other than Lady Anne MacKintosh who had helped raise the clan for the Jacobite army. Meanwhile in Inverness Lord Loudon, one of the Government leaders, had caught wind that Prince Charles was in Moy and planned a surprise attack to capture the Prince.

As evening came in Lord Loudon set off with 1,500 men to enact his plan for capture. As they left though it is believed that the daughter of an innkeeper heard of the plan and set off to reach Moy Hall before the Government troops. She managed to reach the Hall and warn the Prince but the Government were not far behind and unprepared for an attack he had very few men with him to provide assistance. The Prince fled into the countryside whilst the dozen or so men that had been found set about forming their own counter attack.

As Lord Loudon and his men approached the Jacobite men positioned themselves around the road and began to make a great noise, shouting out to fictional regiments, banging their targes and running about to make it appear there was an entire army waiting. Their are suggestions that when they fired on the Government men they did so one at a time to help create the illusion of more men. As Loudons men approached they feared the worst and believing the lie that their were many men waiting retreated in panic. Thus, 1,500 soldiers were defeated by just a dozen men. (Some say it was even less with suggestions it was as few as just four men who saw the Government off)

The next day a Government council of war decided the Lord Loudon should retreat away from Inverness and move north over the Black Isle. This meant that Prince Charles was able to formally enter Inverness on 18th February where he regrouped with Lord Murray and the rest of his men two days later.

There is still a Moy Hall, but it is a pale shadow of the original, seen in the pic, which was pulled down in the 1950's.

For more on this including the Government version of the night check out the link here http://old.scotwars.com/battle_of_moy.htm