#it’s just snow and his slutty little skirt against the world

[allthethoughtsandstuff]

pretty sure the filmmakers made up those slutty little skirts bc I’m rereading the book and haven’t seen any mention of them and fr that was so slay of them they said hmm what do these little capitol kids need? long ass skirts over their pants of course

[cypris-thalsian]

The Stolen Mark

Holiday’s weren’t ever simply holidays. Even amidst the drunks and fools lost in celebration there was something needing done, promises to be kept, traditions to be honored. “I need to see a man about a dog.” Cypris laughed as she excused herself from the festivities. The look on her husband’s face seemed a little confused but he didn’t question, simply agreed to meet back at their room. 

Leather boots prodded through the snow, weaving in an out of the crowd with a bit more purpose than finding a discrete outhouse. Fortunately most let their inhibitions go at any form of festival, Brewfest had simply amplified that. Left patrons numb to the hands of pickpockets, uncaring where they’d lost a hat or scarf. It was far to easy to forget a face if it blended in just right. 

A cloak lifted from a stool, hood drawn up to cover the flash of long fiery tresses, Cypris did what she did best, hid in plain sight. Making her way to the outskirts of the festival to a little clearing of tents of patrons who hadn’t been wise enough to plan ahead. When eyes were diverted to their own deviant desires, the cloaked figure faded into the shadows cast by canvas and bonfires until she found the one she’d been summoned to. 

The name had been given, delivered on the whispers of a dream. River Edwards. To anyone else they’d have thought they’d gone mad. For the Firestarter, it had been direction after she’d made a promise in the form of a bargain, nearing on three years prior. A soul, a life, at regular increments to pay the price for an enchanted protection fetish. It had perhaps been the longest she’d gone between being given a name. 

Finally finding the tent from her dream, steps eased mindful of the dull crunch beneath her feet until she came to lurk just on the edge of canvas. A stirring at the shadows was enough to draw attention to a different sort of energy just within the tent. The movement within more like that of the wind than breathing. The life within far colder than one might expect of a passed out drunkard. 

Inching slowly inward, light from a distant fire exposed a lifeless foot not yet blue from the cold but on the edge of a ghostly pale. Her jaw tightened, the mark was already dead. No life to steal, no blood to deliver, left no sacrifice to honor and appease the Ghede Loa. Casting a last look around for any movement, likely long gone, Cypris moved inside, intent to inspect what had taken her payment and perhaps who. 

The hushed energy of wind began to churn within the small confines of the tent. What looked like a ripple of energy spilled from the darkness only to rush the firestarter in a sicly warm wave that made even her skin crawl and her stomach churn. Breaths deepened far too rapidly until the lack of proper oxygen brought the woman to collapse in a heap of a fever dream. 

Consciousness eventually stirred and the cold abated revealing the world about her. No longer splayed on the ground was the lost sacrifice, but a plush dwarven rug. Honeyed hues searched out her surroundings. Had the tent itself been a dream, she couldn’t be sure. It had felt entirely real, but here she was waking in the room she and Percival had taken for the holiday. It was the chill spilled down her spine that confirmed the whole ordeal had been real, and the fumbling keys at the door that told her she was out of time. At least for the moment.  Pressing up from the floor, hands hastened to tidy her garb. Finding bits of her skirts still damp with snow, the underskirt was quickly lost and the rest tucked up and away to present the appearance of a slutty barmaid.

"Honeyyyyyyy, I'm hoooooome~" he called out with a laugh as he nommed on his pretzel. "Did you find your dog? Or... what was it you said?"

Hearing the warlock and his robust entrance, Cypris laughed a bit hurrying around the coner to reveal herself. Remnants of the festival clung to her as much as it had him, save she she managed a bit of grace even if sloppy. Leaning against the wall, one arm up with the other on her hip. "I was wondering if I needed to come look for you."  Eyeing the warlock over as he regarded her search for a dog, "Oh I think he found me."

@daily-writing-challenge​​  

Day 24/25 Brewfest/Sacrifice

@thalsianiii​ for mentions