#seraanna

[longveil]

Passing Through the Weft

[ Photo by Nicolas Picard on Unsplash ]

hed·dle (/ˈhedl/) one of a set of looped wires or cords in a loom, with an eye in the center through which a warp yarn is passed before going through the reed to control its movement and divide the threads.

– – –

[ An unknown period of time after The Fall ]

The path to consciousness was dim and unmarked, chokingly narrow and strung with thick webs to block her path, chittering sounds echoing in the distance. Seraanna, though, was no stranger to twisted paths of the mind. She pressed through the fog of fading venom and slowly, hesitantly, stumbled into awareness.

Thick webbing still bound her in darkness; that much was unchanged. And, muffled through her enveloping cocoon, there was the sound of chittering voices bickering and arguing.

“We were told to stand guard here!”

“But these orders come direct from Anub’azal!

“Nej’karr ordered us to stand guard, and she’s a lieutenant of Zev’kall!”

“But she’s not Zev’kall. Do you want to disobey a direct order from Anub’azal himself? I, for one, like keeping all my limbs intact.”

“You – might have a point there.”

Distraction. Opportunity. Seraanna carefully tested the strands of her bonds, weakly attempting to draw upon Shadow. If she could break free, take her captives unawares…

“waitwaitwait. shhh. not yet. quiiiieeeet.”

The voice was thin, reedy, and close enough to be in her ear. She felt something small skittering on the other side of the silks that bound her.

“be still. soonsoon.”

Seraanna stopped testing her bonds and went still, allowing the vestiges of Shadow to fade. It seemed to be enough, enough to escape notice. The bickering continued a few moments longer before the voices agreed that heeding the orders of Anub’azal, whoever he might be, was most likely way to retain all their limbs. Soon after, Seraanna heard the muffled clicking of many legs departing the room.

“safenow. patience. heddle helps.”

She felt the skittering presence move away, shortly followed by the clink of glass and the sound of burbling liquid. It dribbled onto the surface of her cocoon, and she felt the silken strands loosen and give way. Seraanna twisted and pressed, freeing one arm and then the other, managing to tear away the rest of the cocoon away as it slowly disintegrated under the solvent her benefactor had applied.

“ready? go now. quickquick, Weaver is waiting.”

And there – it stood. A spider, no, a Nerubian. Small, not much larger than a dinner plate, looking up at Seraanna with half a dozen eyes and a cheeky fanged grin. It waved with a forelimb and turned towards the doorway.

“come. little time. patrol soon!”

Seraanna brushed the last strands of webbing from her face, her eyes following the spiderling’s gesture. The view beyond the doorway was a vast, skyless city, towering spires anchored with cables of silken webbing, multi-legged shapes moving in the cavernous distance.

A Nerubian city, deep underground. More than any person, alone, could hope to escape.

“come!”

Drawing close what little Shadow she was able to call, Seraanna followed.

[longveil]

Strange how you could barely know a person and they were still able to bring out the worst in you...

Dissent of The Remaining

For thirty long minutes, the two individuals persevered in their efforts to find a mutually agreeable solution to their dispute. Despite their voices never being raised, the tension in the air was palpable, causing any present staff or witnesses to quickly retreat. The atmosphere in the parlor was one of sternness, as both parties collected their thoughts and spoke in measured tones, as if the room itself were in the eye of a storm. Fueled by a mixture of whiskey and spite, Kat sat resolutely while Jasper paced and recounted the history of their disagreement.

"If you show up in Stormwind, everthin' changes, and that canno' be undone. Understand?" Kat firmly stated, idly spinning the glass of whiskey in her fingers. "Everything here changes, no' fer you, but everyone in the village below. Taxes, vassalage, levies, political battlegrounds. In mere days ye'd turn all of their lives upside-down."

"I understand the repercussions, but it 'as been years, nearly a decade, an' while this community has flourished, I worry it will go stagnan' without properly rejoinin' the nation." Jasper countered, pacing calmly in front of the parlor hearth. "Many in the village feel th' same way. We cannot continue to bet their livelihood on merely four trade contracts. I am no' worried about the political climate. Such foolishness is wot I have existed around since I was a boy."

To Kat's growing annoyance, Jasper continued to leverage facts in his argument. She knew of the positives that reintegrating into the nation could bring, yet she preferred the isolation and the sense of protection it held. Choosing then to shift the topic and rob Jasper of his footing.

"Be tha' as it may, the Kingdom isn't safe right now. Demons, quite literally, wander th' streets. Tensions are high and fights are rampant. Yesterday the Chruch attempted to hold a parlay, t'set basic understandings of the former enemies, but it turned into a bloodbath as traitors took the opportunity t'strike." The Director thew one leg over the other at the knee. "Once tensions calm, we can revisit th' idea."

"By yer standards, Stormwind will never be considered safe." Jasper quickly retorted. "There will always be some threat. There will always be a risk. It is th' very nature o' yer occupation, Katanie. At what point is it enough? The child comes and goes on yer coattails, even on 'er own at times. I think it amicable to request th' same freedoms."

Kat's jaw shifted, visibly irked, and her eyes shifted to the small pile resting on the table, which had been delivered nearly an hour ago.

"That 'as nothing t'do with this." Jasper interjected, catching where her gaze had gone. "I know wot yer thinkin', Kat. There is no ulterior motive 'ere, from anyone."

She lifted her glass to her lips and took a long drink, staring at him over the rim in blatant disbelief. Jasper remained silent, his expression unwavering as he stood by his claim that the letters weren't the origin of their argument. The tension between them was palpable, an overwhelming sense of frustration washed began to churn within the Director's core.

"Ye barely know her and yet she brings out th' worst in you," Jasper sighed.

"I know enough," Kat quickly spat back, setting the empty glass on the side table as she stood from the plush chair. "And I'll 'ave you know that we managed t'have a conversation just fine th' other day, even if it was interrupted before she could rouse m' ire."

Straightening out her sleeves and pulling the blazer flat of wrinkles, the Director exited the room. She ended the discussion as she said her final piece over the shoulder. "Th' answer is still no. No' until this man'ari nonsense is quelled."

Jasper's restless pacing came to a sudden halt as he found himself abandoned in the parlor. A deep sigh of despondency escaped his lips, and he shook his head in disappointment. He slowly turned to gaze longingly out of the window, his eyes fixated on the small village below. Like a bird confined within an ornate cage.

[ vague passing mention of @longveil ]

[annadia-thorn]

Aralya'diel

The clipper Aralya’diel cut a sharp profile moored at the docks below Paw’don village; her lines and craftwork showed the vessel as one from Suramar’s shipyards, although the cut of her sails, for those with an eye, bore the influence of Quel’thalas. A lanky figure with long tusks and a shock of upright hair stood on the forward decks, a three-fingered hand held over his eyes as he peered towards the village above.

“‘ey, Cap’n Tightpants,” the troll called out, “I tink dat be your sister comin’.”

Annadia ducked out of the clipper’s aftcastle, adjusting a tricorn hat adorned with a nigh-ridiculous feather to just the right rakish angle. Black leather pants, fitted tight enough to earn the troll’s epithet, were tucked into knee-high cavalier boots buckled close around her calves, the outfit topped with a bishop-sleeved loose linen shirt left dangerously unbuttoned and secured only by an elaborately embroidered half-corset.

All the ensemble required were her blades and pistols but those? Those remained below decks. The conditions of Paw’don's dockmaster were strict, and the local Pandaren had not forgotten the memory of what had once been Garrosh’ar Point.

“Yeah, that’s Seraa,” the sin’dorei agreed, walking across the deck to join the troll at the clipper’s forecastle. The distant figure was making her unhurried way along the winding path from the village to the docks, followed by a shadow far darker than could be accounted for by the springtime sun. “I’m surprised you remember her. And Ko’jin - you’re gonna have to stop calling me that when we get a full crew.”

Annadia gave him a sidelong look, golden eyes narrowing as the troll burst out in laughter.

“Only when you stop dressin’ like de covah o’ some cheap trash book,” the lanky troll retorted after his laughter subsided, “or mebbe you be plannin’ for an early Hallow’s End, eh?” His broad smile, echoed by Annadia a breath later, dulled the sharp edges of their banter.

She lifted a lazy hand with one finger extended in a near-universal gesture. “Let me have it, huh? It’s fun to play the part. We’re still breaking her in,” Anna patted the carved railing, “and I’ve been dreaming of my own ship since I was little. Besides…”

She checked the cinch of her waspie and adjusted her bosom emphatically, “If they’re distracted by my tits, they won’t see how blind we’re stealing them.” Her grin grew sly, long brows raised with hints of salacious intent.

“If it’s larceny on ya mind, you gon be needin’ more den dose baps,” Ko’jin snorted with mock derision, only to wince and move away from the punch Annadia aimed at his arm. “Spirits, ya be abusin’ yer crew already! Fine cap’n you gonna make.”

Annadia huffed an exaggerated pout of aggrievement before looking back along the path. Her sister was near halfway from the village, close enough that Annadia waved and shouted a greeting, the shadowed figure raising a hand in silent response.

A nudge from Ko’jin pushed Annadia in the direction of the gangplank. “You go’wan an’ meet her. Ghaz won’ be back from Two Moons ‘til mornin’, an’ I still gotta finish wit’ inventory in de hold.” He considered Anna for a moment, “You still tink settin’ aside dat space be a good idea?”

“…Yeah. I got a feeling.” She gave a curt nod, still looking towards Seraanna’s approach and waving again. “This time.”

“Best t’be trustin’ a captain’s hunches, ‘den. Mebbe I’ll stop in t’greet you an’ her after y’both had some time for catchin’ up.”

“Captain.” A pleased smirk. “I still like the sound of that. Don’t lose yourself in the hold, or all the wine’ll be gone by the time you’re out.”

“An’ here you be tinkin’ I didn’t lay in extra.” Ko’jin made a shooing gesture. “Now git, ‘fore she boards an’ takes de helm while we’re jawin’.”

Annadia flipped the bird at him again and left, boots clacking along the gangplank as she debarked. Ko’jin watched, the troll‘s thick fingers worrying a dull amulet worn about his neck until he saw the two sisters - sin’dorei and ren’dorei - meet in an embrace still a hundred-odd yards from the docks. Only then did he make his way belowdecks.

"Dreamer be walkin’ again..."

* * *

mentions: @longveil

Ko'jin & Ghaz have appeared in: Old Bindings (Seraanna, flashback) and Extinguished (Kyuusei)

[asherlin]

Current Characters

These are the characters I currently play and write for, all of whom can be found in Final Fantasy XIV on Mateus, Crystal Data Center.

If you're looking for my retired WoW OCs, they're here.

Serai Querel - @serai-querel, https://serai-querel.carrd.co

“Our father’s smile and mother’s fierceness. She carries them both.”

Daughter of the Qerel tribe, made in Nhaaama’s image for war. Serai left the Azim Steppe in her teens for the hustle and bustle of Kugane. Years later, that same wanderlust drew the young woman west - across Thavnair and Ala Mhigo to Eorzea - where she’s found herself in the company of mummers, heretics, warriors, and scholars. Bright and optimistic, Serai is an easily-underestimated pugilist of surprising ferocity; but more recently she's been seen carrying a red mage’s rapier and focus - and journeys regularly to Yedlihmad to meet with her “teacher.”

(art by @minoruru)

Seraanna Longveil - @longveil, https://longveil.carrd.co

“She has the delicate air of a person made of glass, knowing that once broken, glass can cut you worse than the sharpest knife.”

A young, fey midlander of Gridania, Seraanna and her mother Aralya were thought lost after the Garlean invasion that ended at the Battle of Silvertear Skies, over fifteen years past. In the confusion of the Final Days, a woman of that name registered herself alone among the refugees at Radz-at-Han. Her hair the color of ash and her voice soft and broken, she haunted the city’s alchemists before accepting travel to Eorzea. Seraanna now seems to move freely, almost randomly, between the Eorzean city-states, often visiting the less reputable of markets and shoppes. Shadows follow in her wake.

(art by @yuxingart)

Annadia Thorn - no links, currently

“All sharp blades and silver tongue.”

Annadia was born in the Black Shroud, the miqo'te Keeper chafing under the hunt marks enforced by the Gridanian Trapper’s League. Yet she was among the most skilled hunters of her tribe, with a brash demeanor to match. Differences with the Gridanians were set aside to fight the Garleans at Cartenau, and Annadia was among those few who survived Bahamut’s rampage after the red moon fell. She emerged from the battlefield's carnage carrying a Doman sword which she claimed to have taken from a fallen Garlean praefect. Five and more years later, Annadia has yet to return to the Shroud - instead hiring her skills out for coin and fancy. The Doman sword, she still wears at her side.

[longveil-ffxiv]

[ Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash ]

[lemongrace]

Commission - Seraanna for @longveil

[kyuusei-shadowleaf]

Illiaryn Swift (née Bentley), half-quel'dorei hunter Art by the delightful Elliezeekay

Kyuusei's going on sabbatical for the time being; even though she's heard the Song, Kyuu is committed to Bel'ameth and Amirdrassil. After all, she made a promise.

As things develop in The War Within, my attentions will be split between Seraanna ( @longveil ) and Illiaryn here - who I've been playing in-game and in discord since April, but doesn't have a tumblr of her own just yet (and may never get one). Looking forward to seeing everyone in Khaz Algar!

[maxparkhurst]

Fuck, Marry, Kill: Seraanna, Kevyn, Kat

A fissure in the Alchemist's manicured demeanor manifested by way of a perked brow. Her smile twitched upwards, revealing a flash of teeth as she barked a laugh. It was void of humor. “That… Is very bold of you to ask.” She settled back in her seat, resting her chin against steepled fingers. Several nods followed before she expelled a sigh. “Mister Thornrough is a generous man. Our conversations have been pleasant.” Her gaze narrowed for a brief moment before she waved off whatever thought lingered on her tongue. “Marry.” 

Then her gaze danced off to the side; focused on how the shadows cleaved to the wall. She clicked her tongue. “Seraanna knew this world long before I was even a glimmer in anyone’s eye. And she will know it long after I’m gone. Such an unfortunate truth.” Her smile turned wistful. “But I should like to dance with her again.  For I preferred the taste of truth over honeyed lies.” 

Max brought her attention forward once more. Her brow dipped in a momentary furrow, “Which leaves kill for the Director.” She wagged a finger, “But don’t share that with her.”

Thanks for the ask @damien-ward!

[tyra-greydawn]

My first thought: "Oh. Hi, Seraanna."

MOM'S BACK MOM'S BACK

[caedun]

@longveil , in “designated driver” and “I need a drink” variations. Working on my sub-pixel animation game for more subtle movements.

I accidentally added an additional colour but I like how it looks so you can’t stop me.

[longveil]

The Fall

[ Photo by Lloyd Newman on Unsplash ]

I want you to know All is blacked out but continues to grow

– Les Friction, “Who Will Save You Now”

Vor’min Evercrown offered a final shallow bow of farewell as the dark-haired man left the room, then returned to his seat. The sin'dorei steepled his fingertips together and took a slow breath before turning to his remaining guest.

“You’re certain, Lady Morrowsun,” Vor’min asked in flawless Thalassian, “that you wish us to extend our services to this man, this Gilnean, on your reference? You understand that it’s quite unusual. Our offices have endured scrutiny enough advocating on your behalf, even if the Lord Regent’s stance has… mellowed somewhat since his marriage and the years of armistice.”

A floating city provides no room for expansion, and Dalaran was a highly valued location - not only as a neutral space of business but for the prestige of proximity to the Kirin Tor. A decade and a relocation to the Broken Isles had done much to erase the memory of Lady Proudmoore’s purge above Northrend. In these times, over five years into the armistice between the Horde and Alliance, square footage in Dalaran came at a premium.

So it was unsurprising that the Evercrown’s “branch office” above the Legerdemain Lounge, sibling to a space in Suramar and an extension of his operations in Silvermoon, was a single, small, if exceptionally well-appointed, room. No. What was surprising was that it existed at all. That anyone would pay the exorbitant prices to lease a space in Dalaran spoke of money. Connection. And a certain sybaritic flair.

Which suited Seraanna entirely.

“I bring you a gift for your service of these… past years, and you question the shape it walks in?” Seraanna reclined in her seat opposite Vor’min’s desk, idly considering the contents of a wineglass held loosely between her fingers, wisps of Shadow wrapping the stem. “Already have I introduced the Lord Hawke to the more open… minded patrons I yet have within Suramar, and my sister is eager to sail the Aralya’diel to his shores. Yet if such trade is beneath… the brothers Evercrown, then I might –”

The ringing of a distant bell - soft, insistent, and atonal - interrupted.

Seraanna glanced question at the door, but her host only shrugged apologetically.

“Dalaran is the city of the Kirin Tor, Lady Morrowsun. Of mages,” Vor’min explained, even as he quickly stacked loose papers and placed a few items into drawers of his desk. “And they are wont to move at their own whims, with little regard for business. That is the warning bell that they intend to do so.” He nodded towards the sideboard, laden with fine wine and fresh fruit. “Do grab a bottle or two, would you? Things tend to become unsteady during teleportation.”

Her expression echoed doubt. Still, Seraanna reached out to grasp the necks of a bottle of port and another of cold voidblend. Arcane energy built in the air, tickled at the void tendrils hidden at the nape of her neck, filled her senses like the coursing static before a lightning strike.

She was nowhere. She was everywhere. She was somewhere. Here.

The shadows cast by sunlight from the window shifted abruptly, and Seraanna yawned to relieve the pressure in her ears as the air changed. A crash of dishware echoed from the Legerdemain below, followed by faint curses, the outcome of some shelf being unsecured before Dalaran moved from one place to a distant other.

“There. See?” Vor’min’s smile was full of reassurances, a gentle nod reminding Seraanna to release the bottles even as he relaxed his own white-knuckled grip upon his desk, the man eager to paper over the interruption. “Nothing but the vagaries of mages. Now, of course, we’re open to this opportunity you’ve brought, but I must ask if this supersedes the arrangements you’ve had us make regarding… the – Lady Morrowsun?”

The ren’dorei drew a gasping breath of shock and curled over her in her seat, her face twisted in a moment of pain as the Shadow cast beneath her twisted and writhed. Her wineglass tumbled from her fingers to shatter on the floor, a red stain spilling into Shaldorei weave.

“…something is… wrong,” she murmured, gathering herself with an effort as the moment seemed to pass. “This was in Telogrus, this was…-”

Seraanna rose abruptly, tenebrous wisps wrapping unbidden about her form as Vor'min leaned back in alarm. Sounds - screams, harsh bells of alarm, crashes of stonework - began to echo from the window. Vor'min’s eyes grew wide with worry, a yet-unspoken question for the darkened shape his client had become.

“…guard yourself." Seraanna's tone was near a whisper. “I must find Jasper.”

Vor’min was still struggling for words as Seraanna swept from the room, moving through the hallway to emerge upon a balcony overlooking Dalaran’s streets. At the other end of the city, streams of arcane energy flowed into the Violet Citadel to feed a shadowed presence that was achingly familiar yet beyond her reach or memory. Above, innumerable rifts tore open the sky to drop skittering creatures to the cobblestones. Chitin clashed against arms as defenders poured from the Silver Enclave and Sunreaver’s Sanctuary, and the city shook as enormous beasts tumbled spires and wreaked havoc.

Seraanna stepped over the railing, shadows carrying her to the streets, and began to snake her way through the chaos. Certainly, Jasper must have had the presence of mind to make for the Silver Enclave, she thought, lashing out to twist the mind of one nerubian - memories from Northrend finally recognizing the attackers - and whispering a Word of Death to another. But something tickled at her ear unbidden in the midst of the chaos, something beyond the whispers of the Void that she'd long endured, something insisting for its place among the myriad truths...

This city will fall.

She redoubled her efforts to reach the Silver Enclave, ichor staining the cobblestones beneath her feet, the screeches of dying arachnids mixing with the fading shouts of Dalaran’s citizenry. She was a creature of Will and Shadow and tousled hair, cutting through nerubians that were only replaced twice and threefold for each that fell.

Nearing the Enclave, Seraanna saw a knot of Silver Covenant valiantly attempt to hold the gate, only to be overwhelmed by the swarming numbers of the onslaught. She felt the gathered energies of arcane portals, heard the shouted directions, the attempt to wrest a retreat from overwhelming force even as defenders fell and Dalaran crumbled. Heedless of the cost, she gathered Shadow for a final press to reach –

– distraction. A glimpse of seemingly familiar crimson from the edge of Seraana’s vision, lost again in the swarm, caused Seraanna’s resolve to stumble over echoes of an old song and a small cottage…

…foxfire?

The prick at the back of her neck caught Seraanna unawares, the pain cold and sharp as it spread. She whirled, her wrath calling shadows that tore apart the nerubian that had crept up behind her. But venom already coursed through her veins. Her skull throbbed and senses grew dull, her limbs falling heavy. A silence that might have otherwise been a welcome respite quieted her thoughts and smothered her will.

Seraanna barely felt the unyielding strands of silk envelope her body, and heard a chittering voice speak from what seemed like an infinite distance.

“She’ll have use for this one. Take it to Azj-Kahet with the others.”

Silence bore the remaining memory into darkness...

– – –

References: @kat-hawke's Jasper Hawke, @maxparkhurst

[khazdorum-stonesplitter]

Searchers

Khazdorum looked over the crowd milling about in the briefing room in Sinfall. Venthyr Hopebreakers and huntsmen and enforcers looked at him with varying levels of enthusiasm and interest as they milled about and talked amongst themselves. He looked away from their grey faces, a shade not far from his own complexion, to look at the pamphlet in his hands. The parchment bore a rough illustration of a shapely Ren’Dori in robes and the name  Seraanna Longveil. He’d promised Tyra’s friend Sam he’d look into her disappearance where it might concern Revendreth. A promise made, to Khazdorum, was a promise to keep. And so he stood before the Court of Harvester’s finest trackers and huntsmen. To loose the Gargons. To set the searchers.

The Mad Duke at  his side called the room to attention.

“I must beg your attention, my dear companions! The good mortal by my side needs no introduction, of course. A Maw Walker, and one of our own by oath and action, the most splendiferous Count Khazdorum is to set you to purpose, as I must set myself to... TEA!”

Khazdorum shook his head, amused and, if he was honest, charmed by Theotar in every interaction they’d ever had. So much so that he’d voluntarily bound himself spiritually to him. He was a good man, provided one kept him on track.

“Thank ya, Duke Theotar. The purpose, like everything else in Revendreth, is simple in concept, but complex an’ exactin’ in practice. There may be a livin’ mortal kept against her will in Revendreth.” He holds up the parchment. “This Ren’Dorai lass was abducted under exceedin’ly strange circumstances, an’ may be being kept here. The Ren’dorai are a recent development in Azeroth, an’ frankly there should no be many of them here legitimately, aside from other Maw Walkers like m’self. Ye are ta search for her, and if her safety cannae be guaranteed, ye are ta report ta me or Duke Theotar. She is NOT ta be harmed. She’s here outside of our normal rules, our jurisdiction. She is no ta be harvested or drained in any way or manner.” His voice became quite cold, and the ambient temperature of the room dropped to match.

“I... trust ye understand th’ consequences should I find she was treated otherwise. Ye’ve come sae far, th’ lot of you. Proof that th’ system works. That redemption fer th’ wicked is a real thing. It’d be a cryin’ shame ta spoil all that good work, aye? Eternity is long. Eternity entombed in ice? Unthinkably long. Have I made myself clear, lads an’ lasses?”

There was a smattering of assenting answers from the crowd, but their expressions told a saga. They understood it was not good to cross the archmage standing in front of them.

“Good. My valet Higgins is providin’ ya with copies of this paper, with her description. You’ve yer tasks. Be about. it. If she’s here, I’ve faith th’ lot of you will find her. A thousand drams of anima t’ be split among the ones who find her, and fifty anima infused rubies ta yer gargons. Off with ye!”

He watched them disperse. A promise made, a promise kept, he thought. I remember most of it, Mama. I keep to most of it. He touched the jade hanging from his neck. Where I can, how I can.

He hoped it would be enough for Miss Longveil.

@longveil @tyra-greydawn

[longveil]

A bit of story from the other sister's perspective, but still the same arc. Set a month or so after Book of Burdens. We're still not to the present. Not yet.

Aralya'diel

The clipper Aralya’diel cut a sharp profile moored at the docks below Paw’don village; her lines and craftwork showed the vessel as one from Suramar’s shipyards, although the cut of her sails, for those with an eye, bore the influence of Quel’thalas. A lanky figure with long tusks and a shock of upright hair stood on the forward decks, a three-fingered hand held over his eyes as he peered towards the village above.

“‘ey, Cap’n Tightpants,” the troll called out, “I tink dat be your sister comin’.”

Annadia ducked out of the clipper’s aftcastle, adjusting a tricorn hat adorned with a nigh-ridiculous feather to just the right rakish angle. Black leather pants, fitted closely enough to earn the troll’s epithet, were tucked into knee-high cavalier boots buckled close around her calves, topped with a bishop-sleeved loose linen shirt left dangerously unbuttoned and secured only by an elaborately embroidered half-corset.

All the ensemble required were her blades and pistols but those? Those remained below decks. The conditions of Paw’don dockmaster were strict, and the local Pandaren had not forgotten the memory of what had once been Garrosh’ar Point.

“Yeah, that’s Seraa,” the sin’dorei agreed, walking across the deck to join the troll at the clipper’s forecastle. The distant figure was making her unhurried way along the winding path from the village to the docks, followed by a shadow far darker than could be accounted for by the springtime sun. “I’m surprised you remember her. And Ko’jin - you’re gonna have to stop calling me that when we get a full crew.”

Annadia gave him a sidelong look, golden eyes narrowing as the troll burst out in laughter.

“Only when you stop dressin’ like de covah o’ some cheap trash book,” the lanky troll retorted after his laughter subsided, “or mebbe you be plannin’ for an early Hallow’s End, eh?” His broad smile, echoed by Annadia a breath later, dulled the sharp edges of their banter.

She lifted a lazy hand with one finger extended in a near-universal gesture. “Let me have it, huh? It’s fun to play the part. We’re still breaking her in,” Anna patted the carved railing, “and I’ve been dreaming of my own ship since I was little. Besides…”

She checked the cinch of her waspie and adjusted her bosom emphatically, “If they’re distracted by my tits, they won’t see how blind we’re stealing them.” Her grin grew sly, long brows raised with hints of salacious intent.

“If it’s larceny on yer mind, you gon be needin’ more den dose baps,” Ko’jin snorted with mock derision, only to wince and move away from the punch Annadia aimed at his arm. “Spirits, ya be abusin’ yer crew already! Fine cap’n you gonna make.”

Annadia huffed an exaggerated pout of aggrievement before looking back along the path. Her sister was near halfway from the village, close enough that Annadia waved and shouted a greeting, the shadowed figure raising a hand in silent response.

A nudge from Ko’jin pushed Annadia in the direction of the gangplank. “You go’wan an’ meet her. Ghaz won’ be back from Two Moons ‘til mornin’, an’ I still gotta finish wit’ inventory in de hold.” He considered Anna for a moment, “You still tink settin’ aside dat space be a good idea?”

“…Yeah. I got a feeling.” She gave a curt nod, still looking towards Seraanna’s approach and waving again. “This time.”

“Best t’be trustin’ a captain’s hunches, ‘den. Mebbe I’ll stop in t’greet you an’ her after y’both had some time for catchin’ up.”

“Captain.” A pleased smirk. “I still like the sound of that. Don’t lose yourself in the hold, or all the wine’ll be gone by the time you’re out.”

“An’ here you be tinkin’ I didn’t lay in extra.” Ko’jin made a shooing gesture. “Now git, ‘fore she boards an’ takes de helm while we’re jawin’.”

Annadia flipped the bird at him again and left, boots clacking along the gangplank as she debarked. Ko’jin watched, the troll‘s thick fingers worrying a dull amulet worn about his neck until he saw the two sisters - sin’dorei and ren’dorei - meet in an embrace still a hundred-odd yards from the docks. Only then did he make his way belowdecks.

"Dreamer be walkin’ again..."

* * *

mentions: @longveil

Ko'jin & Ghaz have appeared in: Old Bindings (Seraanna, flashback) and Extinguished (Kyuusei)

[easternkingdomer]

"!" for Seraanna, because of course.

“Seraanna, the one who hears and listens even more. She is a powerful individual cloaked in grace and wisdom. She is a wonderful conversational companion and her silence I also find informative. I enjoy her company when we meet.”

@longveil

[longveil-ffxiv]

[ Photo by David Gavi on Unsplash ] How it started. The image that inspired what eventually became Seraanna Longveil, back in Jan. 2019...

[kyuusei-shadowleaf]

Of course I send it after someone else sends it but before you post it...💬: Write a banter between two of your muses. (Bonus: Sender chooses which muses)

Sorry, Tyra!

I'm afraid I'm going to be lazy, so instead I'll point you to this exchange between Seraanna and Annadia in the cliffs above Suramar, just after Seraa had completed a successful business proposition to Baron Laneval Karfost last year... (@lanerakes)