#so I am relieved that people have found the conclusion satisfactory

[sleepdepravity]

Looking upon this bookmark comment fondly.

[lydia-bell]

4200 words of headcanon for Strand and Charlie, because I am not a reasonable human being

Inspired by @coffeesuperhero's great post about Strand’s timeline and raising Charlie, I decided to post this. I wrote it as background for a huge AU I’ve been working on where The Black Tapes was cancelled after Season 2 because after Coralee’s return and Strand learning of all the ways he’d been manipulated, he decided he needed to concentrate on putting his life back together and just couldn’t do the show anymore. I have no idea if that story will ever see the light of day, but I’ve developed a LOT of headcanon in the process of kinda sorta writing it, so I might as well share some of it.  :)

Strand would have guessed that he'd feel relief when the podcast was over. And he did, in the sense that he would no longer be having details of his personal life put on the Internet for all to hear. He was dreading what would happen when this episode was done being edited and uploaded. He could imagine all of those paranormal charlatans getting a kick out of it; Richard Strand is so closed off to anything he doesn't understand, so arrogant to those who believe, that he drove his own wife away!

Fortunately, he'd had a great deal of practice not caring about what those people thought of him. Though he did cringe to imagine Tannis Braun making a great show of being caring and concerned. Oh, he would mean it in his way, but—well, that was his brand, wasn't it? People who are trying to sell something can easily cultivate an air of gentleness and empathy. After all, they never have to tell any hard truths.

But Tannis Braun didn't matter. None of them mattered. The only ones who mattered were Thomas Warren and the rest of his cult, who had sent him a spy as a wife and then taken her away. Who had been monitoring him his entire adult life, manipulating him into a marriage and jobs to do it.

He hadn’t intended to hurt Alex’s feelings, but yes, he was relieved to be finished with the podcast. But he had to admit that doing it had provided him with a certain structure, and, if he was very honest with himself, some forward momentum that he might have had trouble sustaining on his own. They’d learned more in the past two years than he had in the previous 15, and there was a reason for that.

He supposed he should have said something to her while she was here. Well. Perhaps they’d meet up for lunch sometime, as she’d mentioned. In his experience, these promises were typically hollow, but it was possible.

He took off his jacket and tie and cleared away their teacups. He considered having another cup but decided on a drink instead. After pouring himself a generous whiskey, he turned off the lights on the main floor and went down to the basement. He was going to have to provide all of the organization and momentum for his inquiries now, and he should get to it. And since Alex wasn't going to be coming by anymore, he had a few more items to put up on the wall.

Like the cases Coralee had brought to his attention after leading him to the Empress Hotel. The information on Thomas Warren's background, his family history tracing back to eastern Ohio. The history of the Howland family, also from eastern Ohio. The next thing he needed to do was talk to Cheryl, and he was grateful that he wouldn't have an audience for that. As it was, he was relying on Cheryl extending him some residual goodwill out of guilt for having once believed he might have killed Coralee, but that wouldn't last. He'd put out feelers with some of those genealogy services, inquiring into both sides of his own family and into Warren's, and the results were...well. He was glad he wouldn't have Alex jumping to conclusions about how just because their families founded towns 20 miles apart in the early 19th century, this must be the key to everything.

That willingness to follow what you claimed were meaningless coincidences is what got you here today, part of his brain argued, but he ignored it. He could be open to possibilities without being willing to accept anything and everything that seemed to offer an explanation.

He was also glad Alex wouldn't be around to air his eventual talk with Charlie.

He knew he needed to call her. But what could he say? "I didn't drive your mother away after all"? But in a real way, he had. "I'm sorry I wasted time with some stupid idea that I could find her with psychic abilities instead of doing something useful and taking care of you?" That might help. He had apologized, after he'd given up looking, after Charlie had left, but it was too late then; how could it matter now, 18 years later? But maybe. He could say it again, if she needed it. At least maybe she could understand a little better what had driven him.

He didn't know what time zone she was in right now, so no, he wouldn't call. Or text, even—he didn't want to wake her in the middle of the night; he didn't want to do anything to upset her at all. Email, then. She'd allowed June to give him the address and even answered as long as he didn't use it too often. He went back upstairs and opened up his laptop.

Charlie,

I didn't want to call or text because I don't know what time it is where you are, but I need to talk to you. I have news

.... what could he say? "I have news about your mother?" "about Coralee?" "Coralee's alive."

The podcast was going to air soon; there was no need to keep it a secret, even if his communications were being monitored (and Coralee was right, it was possible). The straightforward way, then. He deleted the last three words and went on:

I saw Coralee today.

She came to me. She said it was because I was in danger and she was trying to keep me safe. I don't know if you've ever listened to the Black Tapes, but this organization we've been investigating, this cult... she's part of it, or she was. She was part of it when she met me. Over time, she came to realize that they were doing things she couldn't support. So when we fought that day on the drive to Big Sur, when she walked off and we couldn't find each other, she took it as an opportunity to get away from them. To disappear. She thought she would be able to come back when she found the evidence she needed to stop them, but the more time passed, the harder it was to come back.

I know this all seems insane, and there's no particular reason you should believe me, except that you have to know I've never lied to you. Whatever my other failings as a parent were, I never lied to you, not once. And I'm not asking you for anything, but I thought you should know. She's alive, she left by her own choice, and she wanted to come back but she never felt that she could.

And she told me to tell you that she loved you. For what it's worth, I think that's true too.

Call me any time, if you'd like. I know this is a lot to take in. Believe me, I know. But at least we can stop wondering. That has to be worth something.

He struggled with signing it, as he always had. "Love," she didn't want. "Sincerely," though true, was something you'd say to a stranger. What was it that he really wanted to say to her? So many things, but this would do.

I hope you're well.

Take care,

Richard

He didn't give himself even a second to hesitate before hitting "Send" and pushing the laptop away. It was the right thing. Charlie deserved to know; she had every right to know. He was sure she'd have questions, and he doubted he'd have any satisfactory answers, but he was willing to try.

He refilled his whiskey. He wished he had someone to talk to about all this. He thought for a moment about calling Alex, but he'd been the one who ended that association. He'd just taken her show away from her. He could hardly expect to lean on her after that.

Maybe he just needed to take his mind off of everything for a while. He could watch a movie, read a book...nothing sounded satisfying, though. He thought about calling the Jacobsons, but no—they could find out from Charlie. He wasn't proud of himself--they were Coralee's parents, and they had a right to know their daughter was alive—but after all these years, when they'd never accepted him even before Coralee's disappearance, never treated him with more than a distant cordiality (and often with less), never considered him part of their family, he'd finally had enough. Their daughter was alive, they didn't need to look for her anymore, and with that, his last tie to them was gone. You'd have thought that finding her alive would make them more connected, not less, but missing her, wondering about her, had been the only thing they'd had in common. They still didn't have her, any of them. So there was nothing between them. They could find out from Charlie.

But that still left him with nothing to do. The research materials for his book were still stacked on his desk, but he could no more imagine going back to that book than he could becoming a monk. He needed to speak with Jenna about pushing the deadline back.

He also had to decide if he was going to stay in Seattle. The house still wasn't anywhere near ready to be sold, but given that he'd finished his lecturing position (it seemed only fair to the students, even if he'd never take a job there again now that he knew who was behind it) and ended the podcast, there didn't seem to be much reason to stay.

Except that it was still his father's house, and his father had worked at the university for two decades before he died, and he still had so many questions about his father's role in all of the cult nonsense that had taken over his life. He didn't like the coincidence of his family having connections to the Pacific Northwest and Alex happening, independently of that, to include him in her podcast, but as far as he could tell it had in fact been a coincidence. She'd explained how she'd ended up calling him, and they both agreed that they couldn't see any way for Warren or anyone else to have manipulated events toward that end. She and Nic had brainstormed professions one day, and Alex had been the one to bring up "ghost hunter" because she'd seen a show on TV a few nights before. And from there, it was logical that his name would come up, as he was roundly despised in the charlatan community.

No, it really had been a coincidence. He didn't actually like coincidences any more than anyone else; he was just able to accept, unlike most people, that in a world with so many possibilities, low-probability events will happen sometimes.

Of course, he'd thought meeting Coralee was a coincidence, or at least, happy chance. But he was damned if he was going to let this cult nonsense turn him into the kind of person who ascribed patterns and meanings and intent to everything he couldn't explain. That way lay madness and religion.

Still, if he meant to start his life over on his own terms, it might be best to leave this place he'd never really chosen. But not yet. There were more answers to be found here first. About his father, and about Thomas Warren.

____________________________________________________________

Charlie called him at 7 the next morning. She traveled a lot, so she always remembered to take time zones into account, but she clearly wasn't willing to wait one more second than necessary for her answers.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, It's Charlie."

There was a brief pause as neither one of them knew quite how to start before Charlie burst out, "Just.... what the hell?"

He sighed. "It's a lot to take in, I know."

"But she's really alive?"

"Yes."

"And she just...left?"

"It was more complicated than that, but, yes. Ultimately, she made the decision to remain missing."

"I don't... why? Why would she do that?" she sounded so young that he could almost imagine putting his arms around her and letting her cry into his shirt like she did when she was small. When he was still her dad. Before everything fell apart.

But he couldn't do that, so he gave her the only comfort he had to offer. He told her the truth, all of it, everything Coralee had told him, everything he had told Alex. When he finished, and she spoke again, it was with tears choking her voice. "So all of it, the marriage, her being my mom, it was all a lie."

"I don't know. I'm still trying to understand how much was the cult, and Coralee doing what she thought was her duty, and how much she genuinely felt." He almost said "I really do think she loved you" but stopped himself, because what kind of loving parent walks away from a child? But Marie had. She'd been ill, and she might well have made the right choice, but it was still a choice. And for that to have happened to Charlie not once, but twice, was so unfair that his chest burned with it. And if he was honest, it had really been three. He'd told himself that leaving had been Charlie's decision, and it had, but she'd been fifteen. He should have tried harder. He should have insisted. He should have shown her that she was wrong, that she did have a father. Instead, he'd proven her right.

"I don't know how much I really give a shit," Charlie said. She sounded drained.

"That's understandable," he agreed.

"So, what happens now? She left again? Is she coming back? Is she—are you still married?"

"Legally, yes, as far as I know we are. But I don't think she's coming back."

"Because she has to fight this cult. The one that thinks you have some kind of special gene that they need. Do I have it? I mean, whatever it is, are they going to be coming after me too? Or Aunt Cheryl?"

"Coralee didn't think so. She had some idea that it might be sex-linked in some way, but regardless, they don't seem to be after you."

"Great." She took a deep breath and sighed. "Well, I guess the good news is, this can't make the family reunions any more awkward."

He chuckled, despite everything. "How have you been?"

"I'm fine. You?"

"There's been a lot happening."

"Yeah, no shit. So is all this going to be on the podcast?"

"Yes. There's one more episode, and then it's done. I decided not to continue."

"Good. I hated that, having all those people in our business."

"I did, too. But without the podcast, I don't know if I ever would have heard from Coralee."

"I guess." She paused. "Look, I need to go. I've got a conference call in about five minutes. Maybe... I don't know. I'll try calling back later on, or emailing, or something."

"I understand," he said, because what else could he say?

____________________________________________________________

To his surprise—he hadn't let himself get his hopes up—she did email him a few days later. As with all of her emails to him, it bore no salutation. Perhaps she didn't know how to address him, or maybe it was just her style.

So I said I'd email, so here I am, but I'm not sure what else I really have to say. Thanks, I guess, for telling me personally. Finding out on Facebook or whatever would have been...well, I would have hated it. And I guess you're right, that knowing is better than not knowing.

If you're hoping that I'll stop being angry with you now that I know what really happened...I guess? It wasn't your fault, I get that. But I've been thinking about what might have been different if I had known then. And I think I still would have left. Because, I don't know, I didn't feel like we were really a family.

I don't have a lot of clear memories of back when it was just you and me. But when you met Coralee, I guess I expected us to be one of those happy TV families, you know? We'd play Monopoly and go to Disney World and whatever, I don't know. Go camping, make S'mores? Stuff families do together.

And you seemed so happy with her, but it felt like, once she was there, you kind of had permission to check out. To spend more time at work, less time talking with me or asking about what I was doing or playing silly games or any of it. You weren't bad, you made sure I had everything I needed and you met with my teachers and you did everything that was your duty, and I know that's more than a lot of people get. And I know it was hard to raise me on your own and maybe you'd just...had enough. But I felt more like your ward than your daughter. Like you loved me but in this abstract way, the way people love their country or something.

So I went to live with grandma and granddad, and at least they were happy to have me around, and having me around seemed to help them even though they were grieving too, you know? And I didn't feel that way with you. And after a while I just stayed. That was my home, I enrolled in school, and you hadn't exactly moved heaven and earth to get me back. I found out from Alex that granddad told you I'd asked to be emancipated. I didn't. I guess he figured he needed to keep me away from you because you were maybe a murderer (and definitely an atheist). But that was a shitty way to do it, and I've told him that.

Still...I listened to the last episode, and you told Alex that when Coralee disappeared, it threatened to take away everything that was good in your life. Like I didn't exist! Or just didn't really matter to your life, except that you'd gotten some woman pregnant and felt like you had to take responsibility for your mistake.

I don't know why I'm saying all this. I guess it's just that for all this time, I've let my anger over Coralee's disappearance be how I avoided thinking about the stuff I was unhappy about before then. And none of that's changed. But yeah, I can let go of being angry with you about what happened with her, about the fights and the days after she disappeared and all of that. I just don't know what that means about what comes next. If anything. I don't think you're a bad person. I really don't. I just wish things had been different when I was a kid. But I'm not 15 years old any more either, you know? So maybe I can work on it. Or we can go on the way we are. I'm fine. I'm happy. I have a good life.

Anyway. That's where I'm at. Just so you know, I'm going to be in Europe for most of the next three weeks, so there's an eight-hour time difference. Also it's a work trip, so I'm not sure how much time I'll have. I'm not bailing, just letting you know why I might not be all that communicative.

Charlie

He'd never thought that he could ever again cry as hard as he had when Coralee disappeared—or when she returned. He'd been wrong.

____________________________________________________________

Charlie,

I appreciate your honesty in your last email. I know it can't have been easy to write that. And I know that I have had my failings as a father. It's not an excuse, but I hope you'll allow me to explain some of why that is.

You mentioned that it must have been difficult raising you on my own. And it was, but not because I didn't love you. I just didn't know what I was doing, and I had very little guidance. My mother was dead, I still hated my father for not being there when she died, and certainly my friends had no more more idea than I had. Men weren't expected to be single parents then—I suppose it's unusual even now—so I never really felt comfortable with the mothers watching their children at the playground and that sort of thing. I didn't belong there. Marie's parents—well, let's just say they never softened toward you even after you were born. So it was just the two of us. And when all you needed were the basics of life, I could make that work. But as you got older and I realized I was going to have to not just keep you fed and dressed but navigate discipline, making friends, and basically raising a full-fledged human being, I didn't have confidence in my ability to do all that successfully. I loved my mother, and she was good to us, so I tried to follow her example. But so much of what she did was influenced by the times—and by my father, and he was someone I didn't want to emulate.

When I met Coralee, I was relieved because even though her own upbringing was obviously less than ideal, she was warm and patient and kind and seemed to know exactly the right thing to do or say when you had a problem. I think that even if I had felt less strongly about her, I might have considered marrying her just because you deserved to have a parent like that. And you adored her. It wasn't long before it felt like you were more her child than mine. She understood you better, she was more affectionate...and you were thriving. She was the one you turned to, more often than not, when you needed something or had something exciting to share.

When I write it out like that, it sounds as if I pulled away from you because I was jealous of your relationship with Coralee, but that wasn't it at all. I was thrilled for you. I think that I just didn't feel quite so necessary anymore. And nurturing isn't something that comes naturally to me. I took care of my mother when she was ill, and I always felt awkward and out of place and like I was doing something wrong. That ability to understand how someone is feeling, and to know what they need—I tried, I really did. And I tried with you too, but I got it wrong so often. So when you had a mother who could give you that, I reverted to doing the parts of parenting that I felt more capable of: I supported you, I helped you with school, I set rules. I though it was a partnership that worked. You seemed happy, in general.

I can't plead complete ignorance, though. I knew that you wanted more of my time (at least, until you didn't want any of it, which I thought was a normal teenage phase but perhaps not). I don't have a good excuse. I got caught up in my work. It was fascinating and I was committed to it, and in academia, devoting all your time to your work was how you showed you were committed to it. It still is. I'm sorry that I let my career get in the way of giving you what you needed. As I said, I don't have an excuse. It was wrong, and it wasn't fair to you.

I do want to clear one thing up. What I said to Alex about losing everything good in my life—I wasn't just talking about Coralee. I was talking about our family. I was afraid that without her, there would be no center. I didn't see how I could hold the two of us together. And part of it, yes, is that I felt I didn't really know you well enough anymore. I think to some extent that's a fairly common phenomenon among teenagers and parents, but certainly I contributed to it as well. It was never that you didn't matter to me, Charlie. That could never be true. I sit here trying to imagine it, and it's incomprehensible. You're my daughter. You will always matter. I'm sorry that I didn't try harder to keep you with me after Coralee left. I told myself that I was doing what you wanted, that you were happier with your grandparents. I thought maybe it was just as well that I was alone, because I'd driven away the most important people in my life. But if I let you think that I didn't want you to stay, I can only apologize, because nothing could be further from the truth. No matter what Lawrence told me, I should have tried harder to show you that.

I hope you have a safe trip. Call or email me if you'd like, but if it doesn't work out, I'll understand.

Yours, Richard

And in this way, they took the first tentative steps toward having a relationship again. Nothing could change the past 20 years, but they didn't have to be bound by them for the next 20, and remembering that allowed them to move forward.

[rureikia]

Chapter 2

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Sumiko and I left the office as soon as our shift had ended.

I kept blabbering and asking questions about this group meeting event and why she chose to let this be the final resort of her dating life as a joke. I don’t think she wasn’t really happy with my joke – but in all seriousness, I was never really expecting her to be the type of woman that goes for this sort of clique, that’s why I was quite surprised earlier.

She got irritated at me, then aimlessly answered my queries, explaining how it was something to experience at least once and drop it if it’s not her thing.

And after what she told me, I started to think about the whole thing from a different perspective too…

I also have never done this before either, so what’s my real reason to not like it? I can’t not like something if I haven’t experienced it, right?… I can’t be too quick to hate on things that I have no prior knowledge over – that should be the basic logic. Subsequently I thought that maybe, I was being a bit too judgemental over this stuff and should just ease down a bit.

Thus I decided that if I gave this a chance, something good might happen as an outcome without me expecting – and that was the type of encouragement I gave to excite myself!

So via public transport, we were dropped off at the bus stop and walked to the chosen restaurant.

Once we arrived, I eyed the place up and down to process whatever was in front of me. Then words trailed out when reading the banner hanging outside, “Ohh… Uh – Onigiri Miya…?”

Never heard of it. But was actually quite close to my apartment by a couple of minutes.

“Huh… What’s with that face? Ever been here or are you just nervous?” Sumiko asks.

“Don’t tease me,” I scoffed at her and shook my head, “And neither. It’s my first time here.”

Nowadays when I do go out for dinner, it’s with my office’s branch in that same BBQ place we’d always choose — those colleague worker dinners after a hard week or meeting. Other than that, I’d usually cook at home or order food when possible. So coming here, despite the strange gut feeling, it felt like I was stepping out my comfort zone and doing something new.

“They should be inside already,” Sumiko said leading me in, “Though this restaurant is obviously known for their onigiris, they make amazing udon and miso too apparently.”

I peeked my head in interest, “Oh really? That seems nice…"

From the outside it was semi-traditional and inside, the interior set up was a zashiki restaurant, which explained that traditionalism. So giving the place one last a good look, I took my coat and bag off, holding it between my arms.

Sumiko did the same thing and tapped on my shoulder, "Hey, I see them. They’re over there, look.”

“Where? Oh haha, are any of the guys good looking?” I asked, standing on my tiptoes to see a better view of the tables.

She laughs pensively, “I don’t know (Y/N), depends what you like. Okay let’s go, come on.”

There weren’t tons of people in the restaurant tonight with only three full tables that were occupied with customers.

By the time we both stepped in, six other people I’ve never seen before waved and called out Sumiko’s family name as they supposedly only recognized her. And judging from what it seemed, the event was going to consist of four males and four females (that’s including me and her).

I had to do another double-take in order to analyze more of what I could consider about the people.

So far, the other six were adults all definitely around our age, appearing to bring a friendly aura and welcoming us with warm mannerism despite me not being closely familiar with anyone. In conclusion, it was satisfactory. Sumiko didn’t get invited by people I should be weary of.

Now that I’m done judging them, I must judge myself.

They looked at me and suddenly I turned quite embarrassed, more irked than usual. Because I didn’t know them and my first impression can go down hill if I’m too careless. That’s why I had to do my best to keep my posture presentable whilst we approached. So I bowed politely alongside Sumiko before we took off our shoes at the entrance and sat on our sets.

Although I personally felt quite out of place here, she magically changed into this entrepreneur facade by opening up and smiling in a blink of an eye.

“Ah, Nanase-san we’re not late are we?” Sumiko checked with a high-pitched voice, I wanted to laugh.

The other woman, Nanase-san denies and waves her hand modestly at Sumiko, “No, no not at all, we all just arrived too so no one is late. But it’s nice to meet you two by the way! (L/N)-chan is that your name right?”

I nodded and smiled, “Yes, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Haha, I’ve heard quite a lot about you! (L/N)-chan you work in the H.J branch with Sumiko is that true?” She asks, trying to carry on an endearing conversation.

Oh gosh, she spoke in such flattery! The pretty woman says she heard a lot about me!

“Ahaha really? Seriously, don’t listen to whatever negative gossip Sumiko tells you.” I joke and she laughs in amusement.

“Oh, (Y/N), I would never.” Sumiko scoffs and rolls her eyes at me.

I carried on talking to Nanase-san a bit more mainly about work, then placed myself opposite a guy who was still wearing his work attire consisting of a tie, shirt and an undone blazer.

In comparison to the others, he looked a little anxious but providentially had enough confidence to bring his hand out for a handshake.

“Hello,” He greeted me with a nod, “U-Uh — my name is Yuzuru Ken, it’s nice to meet you.”

I shook his hand back, “Nice to meet you too —Yuzuru-san?”

Perhaps he thought I noticed his awkwardness and so loosened the grasp of my hand fairly fast.

“Just Yuzuru is fine thank you,” He kindly smiles, “Ah please, tell me your name too.”

I smile back too, “My name is (L/N) (Y/N), but just (L/N) is fine for me.”

From the side of him, I heard the other guy coo and point at us with his two fingers, “Ooh, look here… Seems like you guys are already on the first stage huh? Lucky, lucky, I think we have a potential match already!”

I didn’t think much of it too deeply, but I assumed Yuzuru found it uncomfy by the slightest. He laughed hollowly in response and looked down, as I was scratching my nose.

“Ah, I’m just greeting out of politeness really.” I cluelessly said without thinking.

But straight after that, I felt Sumiko chuckle passive-aggressively and nudge me on the thigh under the table as a way to say — don’t just say that you stupid idiot. And because of her nerve-tingling attack, I accidentally slipped out a strange gasping noise.

Everyone heard, so all their eyes were on momentarily on me.

Yuzuru in particular spoke with a concerned brow raised, “(L/N)? Are you okay?” He asks.

This guy I think he’s much nicer than that damned Sumiko for sure!

I nudged Sumiko with my own elbow back very discreetly and heard her click her tongue in annoyance. However, in order to make up an excuse for that embarrassing gasp I did just now, I shifted my sight to the menu laid down on the table.

“Wow I’m just……… Amazed at the variety of drinks here, ah don’t you think we should order drinks now? What’s usually the best drink here?” I questioned (while cringing).

Yuzuru, “O-Oh I see, usually I get beer.”

Plan worked! Everyone stopped staring!

“Okay! If you get beer then I’ll get beer too!"

Not too soon, after some self-introductions, the whole group gathered closer to the centre of the table where we started picking food.

At some point, I stared into Sumiko’s eyes when picking mine out, which was purposely a lot since she told me that she will pay everything for me — therefore whilst I did that, she attempted to keep the fake smile on her face as kind as possible.

I wanted her to spend a lot today, and I wanted to get spoiled, but she figured out a jarring plan way too fast.

”(Y/N) uwah! Oh you’re like a little pig, picking so much, you sure do eat a lot!!“ Sumiko says out loud to humiliate me and it successfully catches me off guard.

I jolt, and abruptly close the menu, "Oh… Uh I guess that’s all I’ll have then.”

I know that I am quite sensible, but sometimes I like to have fun like that too.

…….

Once everyone chosen, two of the people left to go to the countertable to order, leaving the rest of us to continue getting to know one another and chat.

Time past quickly under the group communication, I learnt that me and Sumiko were the youngest ones, us being 24 years of age and the others being up to three years older.

I also discovered that the members here work in a bank too, just different branches that are either close-by or in partnership to ours. And since one of the male members here knew Nanase-san from a linked branch, those two decided to invite people around for this event which included Sumiko and Sumiko choosing to potentially invite me. The two from earlier then came back with all the drinks, letting us know that the food will arrive in around 20 minutes.

Subsequently, we ended up chatting some more. But when looking from an outsider’s perspective, I don’t think I was as talkative as the others, to my surprise, neither was Yuzuru. In fact, the only person he did talk to was primarily me, even though I also lacked in sentences.

He was a good guy. I could tell just from the way he acts and his soft-spoken voice, which was honestly so much more relieving to see.

We had this conversation where he briefly explained his past dating situations but told me still lacks experience. Just like my scenario, the only reason why he came here is because he was invited via bribing.

I thought I could relate to him a bit in some aspects mainly about work, but then there was the subject of dating that was touched upon. It was because of that topic I sensed small lumps of uneasiness within my chest. Of course, it’s not because I thought he was a strange person (he wasn’t) but it was because there was a voice in the back of my head that constantly reminded me how I wasn’t here to find someone. I was here for food.

What caused me consider myself to be even more self-critical was how I solely, due to this interaction exchange between Yuzuru, made the decision to make this the first and last time I join a goukon.

Ah. Perhaps, not finding a new partner for three years impacted me as I now felt increasingly cold-hearted as an individual since I’m now being very negative.

I do want to be less pessimistic about it, but the feeling didn’t seem to stop — hence why I think this sort of stuff is not fitted for me. And as I said to myself earlier at the office, I conclusively standby my opinion how I prefer meeting people by chance and not by choice.

…Come to think of it, I might be being a tad too self-critical… Maybe I really have gone bland and Sumiko was correct.

To find a partner or just a friend I’d need to have conversations but I must’ve forgotten the excitement of what meeting new people is like. Because every time something like this happens, I nitpick an issue and after I’d complain about it mentally… I really have gone bland then!!!

I sucked in some air between my teeth in agony.

On the other hand… If I put all of that aside I can still think of one positive aspect. And it’s a big, relevant one that helps outweighs everything.

Everyone here had characteristics that made them fun to watch. I looked at them, sipping their drinks every so often as they entertained each other with jokes and bubbling discussions.

The more I looked and the more I drank, my mind became more concentrated in the the events happening on the table rather than my internal complaints of not wanting to find romance or thinking that I’m being too cold.

Turns out, I platonically like them a lot. Maybe, I wouldn’t even mind being better friends with them in the future either.

…….

Once the food arrived, we toasted for the probably third time tonight with our drinks and started digging in, carrying on with this constant chatter.

I was eating a lot of dishes until I came across a bizarre obstacle. This wasn’t me being full, I am very proud of my stomach, it was just that I looked up to see a man with the restaurant’s working cap. He was wearing a black T-shirt, jeans and an apron which all was very minimalistic. So naturally, even with that minimalistic attire, I thought he looked absolutely beautiful. Indeed there is evidence that God loves some people more than others…

He asked if the food was good and  my eyes lit up brightly when I spotted more drinks were on a tray in his hands. When I looked up to have my beer can handed, my face turned shy at his expression.

“Enjoy.” He smiled.

Me, a little speechless, thanked him graciously as he left.

“…”

“…”

“Oi… That dude… He could be a famous model don’t you think…?” Sumiko muttered to me, I nodded vigorously in agreement.

“Definitely… Maybe we should invite him to sit with us and so you can try and get him…” I muttered back.

“(Y/N) you absolute genius, but no way I’m going to do that.”

I laughed mildly at our quiet mishaps, my can of beer pressed against my bottom lip.

Just as I was about to take a sip, I heard that same handsome model who served us earlier speaking in the distance.

Since the restaurant wasn’t too busy today with now only around two other full tables left (one of them being us), I was able to hear his voice be significantly clearer than the remaining background noise.

“Oh you’re here? That took a while, when d'ya finish work?” The worker said aloud.

Curious, I averted my gaze to the man whilst taking a gulp of my drink.

…

“Oh my god.” I mumbled to myself in English then accidentally choked to death on the beverage. I was only able to stop my horrific coughing by patting my chest.

My heartbeat then drastically dropped to the bottom of my body at the speed of light.

I had to blink a couple more times really hard to check if I finally lost it and my breathing went utterly oxygen-starved throughout that… But to my misfortune, I can confirm that undoubtedly, it was him.

Kita Shinsuke, my ex-boyfriend.

He heard my irrelevant coughing fit. So suddenly without me preparing anything, our eyes met for probably the longest two seconds of my life while he was still in middle of talking to the other guy.

I silently gawked at him with the expression as if I saw my ancient ancestors walk back to life. But Kita on the other hand, showed literally no hints of surprise whatsoever.

Well. Of course he wouldn’t be surprised, this is Kita Shinsuke we’re talking about.

I am the one person who knows best that he’s a man with a heart of stone and nothing will shake him – not animals, not insects, not public speaking, not horror movies, not even my parents’ pressure. Then, there’s the other fact that he works in a farm where he could possibly threaten his life with the dangerous machinery like the humongous combine harvester.

So how can I, a mere ex-girlfriend, scare him?

I regretted looking over there. It took me a mental slap in the face, but I frantically turned away and pushed my thoughts far out my brain, pretending not to notice his presence.

It didn’t work. Even when I stopped staring, I yet felt his full attention on me like a piercing burn and I was much more agonized than necessary. Therefore I needed to find a way to escape, as melodramatic as it sounded.

“…”

“Oi, (Y/N) what is it?” Sumiko whispers in my ear, “Why are you so fidgety?”

I stood up instantaneously feeling like I was about to vomit. Then grabbing my phone I spoke to the group.

“Excuse me.” I said, slipping my shoes on, “I just remembered that I need to take an important call outside. I’ll be back.”

Sumiko furrowed her brows at me as the rest respectfully nodded.

In haste, I walked out fast through a different exit without seeming too suspicious. There was the most cringe-worthy gush in my body, when I felt myself leave the same building as Kita without taking a thought to look back, like I was some tragic heroine in a drama. Instead, I intently kept my eyes to the ground in high hopes that he’d simply ignore me too.

The truth was, I wasn’t going to call anyone and it was nothing more than a blatant lie. But I was terribly afraid, and wouldn’t have been able to sit still if I stayed there any longer. In the end, I chose to cowardly go outside and hide.

I dawdled around in the cold and looked left and right wishing someone I recognized would pop out then help take me home. I can go up to the group and say — sorry, quick change of plans, I need to leave for an urgent matter! Though for that to happen it would require the powers of a non-existent being.

There was another idea in the back of my brain to possibly call mom or dad — tell them that I miss them and want to come visit so my emotions can focus on my parents instead of someone else. But knowing what they’re like, it would be so random to them to the point they’d laugh, mock me and assume that I’m going crazy, so I gloomily chose not to contact anyone.

At this moment, there was too much nonsense in my mind from such a rurally short time frame. And I simply experienced bewilderment.

I felt that it was rather unusual, I haven’t seen or properly contacted Kita in three years or so. But when he walked in and stood there, he looked different. He cut his hair short, wore nicer clothes like the winter jacket I have never seen before. And in general, looked much more mature, a bit taller too.

Probably the most trivial thing about this was that I immediately, managed to spot him and notice all those features in the crowd when I could have had the chance to fixate on other stuff…

It was frustratingly confusing.

I leaned against the wall of the restaurant to think some more, the churning in my stomach refusing to soothe.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have fled like that…” I internalized, clutching my phone to the chest.

What I did, it truly felt like the only option at that minute, but now when recalling, it feels too rushed and anti-climactic. Yet  I ran away like it was purely out of instinct, so is my disdain for Kita that lethal for me to flee like a prey?

Earlier, I actually wanted to tell Sumiko about Kita when I tapped her leg under the table, though she swatted my hand away, too busy talking to the others. But what use would she do anyways? She can’t do anything except have the same panicking reaction as me knowing what she’s like as well!

Subsequently it felt like I was grasping onto straws here. Sumiko is a walking idiot, my parents thinks I’ll die an idiot and Kita looked at me when I choked like an idiot.

I once told myself that if I saw his face ever again I will hold my head up high and not react, but in contrast, I did react and he didn’t… So this must mean that he’s over me and is looking forward to other things in his life. I expect that to be the wide case, because even in high school I remember him being oblivious to that fact that he was quite popular with other girls — and I also, being one of those fangirls…

If he has moved on I guess… that’s good for him…

Actually, whatever! I don’t care! There should be no reason for me to be entangled in him anymore, the past is in the past. I shouldn’t ponder over a silly ex story no longer!

In a determined manner, I inhaled my breaths and marched back and forth for a minute, checking my phone to see whether anyone would call me miraculously right at this moment.

Okay, no one called me. So I have to go back inside when I think it’s been long enough for no one to be skeptical.

“(Y/N).”

Oh my god.

Anyone would know who the voice belonged to, so I shakily put my phone to my ear pretending I was in a phone call, “… H-Hello, sister are you there…? Yes – yes I am doing fine…”

“(L/N) (Y/N).”

“…”

It was only when he used my full name, I stopped playing — my head hesitantly turning to him as I lowered the device that wasn’t even switched on.

Kita was wearing his jacket, hands in pockets, head very slightly inclined to the side in order to earn a better look at me. The tips of his hair in the middle were drooping when I stared at him, and he smiled ever so gently at me.

I can’t really think of any words to express how that damned smile made me feel other than the aching in my heart… It was that very same friendly smile where the corner of his lips quirked, as if we just had dinner and watched movies together last night.

He takes a momentary pause, observing me with a now neutral face. The lighting from behind him also making him look really good.

“Long time no see.” He said.

I turned apprehensive but nodded, “Long time no see…”

He takes a step closer and I shuffle away a little in a subtle way, “Uh — Kita what brings you here?”

“I always come here.”

“Oh, is that so? I don’t see you here a lot.” I spoke without thinking for the second time tonight. I realized that what I said was untruthful of me, so I bit down my tongue.

“Odd.” He says dryly, “I am here often. I help around sometimes too.”

Yeah. And this is why you shouldn’t ever lie.

He takes more steps so he could lean against the exterior walls of the restaurant, right beside me.

When stealthily glancing at Kita, I saw him take his hands out his pockets so he could cross his arms to his chest instead.

Now, his proximity was fairly close — and by fairly close I mean that his shoulder is touching my shoulder. Due to that, whole body tensed up… I wanted to dig a hole and dive right into it, because I just knew, he did that on purpose.

……

“Which one are you with?” He speaks between our silence.

“Huh?”

Kita quietens again, then clarifies his previous question, “In that group. Which one are you dating?”

“Ah… None.” I reply with minimalism.

“Which are you going to date?”

The questions were hurting me, I don’t know why.

“None of them…” I trailed.

“Then why are you with them?” He logically asks another question.

I was in a frozen state of self-pity.

Maybe if I do another white-lie, saying that I was here because I’m popular with my co-worker’s he’d believe me, though that’s never the case and Kita would prefer to mock me with a cruel tone.

“I’m here because… This place sells very yummy food.” I said with great breaths of excretion.

Kita actually chuckled at my reply, “So you joined a goukon for the food?”

What! How did he even know it’s a goukon?!

I turned my head to face him properly, “What makes you think this is a goukon? No one told you that, unless you eavesdropped on us!”

“The men are sitting opposite to the women.” He quite frankly explains, “It’s very obvious.”

My brows pinched in embarrassment, and I felt a tiny blush, “N-No it can’t be that obvious, can it?”

“It is. And I’m surprised. You never liked this kind of stuff.”

Did you hear that? He’s surprised!

All of a sudden hearing him say that he was surprised made me experience this prang of egoism in my chest, and so I raised my chin up, “I’m doing it because I want to. And I do like it.”

He chuckles again, making my heart twist painfully and that recent ego shrivel too early, “Oh? Well if (Y/N) likes it, I expect her to enjoy herself tonight.” Wait, I’m confused again. Should I take it sarcastically or is he truly being modest? Should I be happy or sad or scared?

“Make sure to have fun.” He says.

My animalistic instincts told me that he’s doubting me in something, I just don’t know what… It was like a challenge, it made me feel challenged. I’ll accept that challenge.

Eventually, I cleared my throat to speak once more, “If that’s all you have to say then excuse me, I’m going to go back to join them. Goodbye.”

He nods with a smile as I walked past him for the second time, in this version I was doing it with more arrogance.

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[curieminery96]

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[therealvagabird]

Omens of the Norse

Fantasy worldbuilding short by C. Christiansen. What horrific truths lie beyond the reaches of civilization? Magic and grim atmosphere await.

Scholar Cerise Raphaela—Supplementary Journal, Issue Minasburg University

Her Year 1251, 6th Age—under Calipha Shani Masuhun al-Iilha XXI

I finally have the opportunity to write once again, and I’m thankful to still be drawing breath! Less fortunate, though: my initial journal was taken from me. I was forward-thinking enough to bring a spare, but I’m not certain if I’ll get my first volume back.

If this ends up being the sole record, then I’ll recount my purpose and mission thus far. If this is the book that will return to the Empire, then it will have to suffice as a total summary in and of itself, even lacking the details. So regrettable.

My name is Cerise, scholar of the Minasburg College of Histories. On orders from the senior professors of the University, and with permissions and grants directly from the High Church in Deamid, I’ve undertaken a quest of study. I’ve been sent to the furthest northern lands reachable, so that I might observe and learn of the barbarian peoples who live there.

Missions like this have been undertaken before on behalf of the New Yahmian Caliphate (Census of Alexander Ildar, Lady Valcon’s Journals, etc.), but by my planning this was to be a study unprecedented in its execution, aimed at collecting the purest and most salient information yet gathered on the Norse tribes. With the support of the Church, I felt it reasonable to push limits in the name of knowledge. As such, my journeying party consists of a hand-selected group of my own peers whom I believe will both uphold the spirit of the study, and see it to its most satisfactory conclusion.

The research group consists of myself as chief scholar and communicator, Adept Lamya Al-Saab as cultural expert and secondary linguist, Adept Kara Demirci as recording artist, and Benton Schuler, a fellow of geographic studies and our secondary scribe. Our journey was uneventful in the brief period before we reached the northern peninsulae of the Empire’s territories, at which point we used our granted funds to hire three mercenary guards—landsknechts by the names of Adam, Viola, and Bruno. We then crossed the northern gap to the fjords of Skaeng, where we found and acquired our final member, a Kelgal (Norseman) trapper and guide by the name of Eadwulf “Red-Beard”.

As such, this leads into my explanation of the uniqueness of this journey. Former quests to study the barbarian civilizations beyond the borders of the Empire have been undertaken in secret and with a defensive disposition. I intended to break this hostility. My party was instructed to carry on them no articles of the Caliphate save for a single faithful token of their choosing (all chose their rosaries, as was expected), and my group contains no members of the clergy. As well, though we’d taken steps to move in as unassuming a manner as possible to avoid the predations of the most savage of the Northerners, I made it a policy to always tell the truth of our mission when asked. We come bearing no swords or icons of crusading faith—we are to be the outstretched hand of understanding and learning. I’m of the taqadam denominational school of thought—a believer in the most loving and embracing aspects of the Goddess. I feel it is through this approach that we’ll receive the most detailed information on Kelgal culture yet recorded.

That is my summary, in as brief a restatement as I can make it. And I maintain: my hopes and ideals were held true for most of our journey to the far North! There were times we came close to conflict, and one where we were attacked outright by bandits, but overall the Norse showed little hostility. Coldness, perhaps, as is their way, but in each village we stopped we were able to make fantastic recordings on Kelgal aesthetics, community practices, and both utilitarian and religious culture. It seems as though the mannerisms of the barbarian peoples vary much from tribe to tribe, despite what culture joins them together. They are a diverse people, in spirit if not in appearance (in that sense there are near all pale, robust, and hirsute).

It was when we reached the Far North, where the forests have grown the thickest and the settlements are few and so very far between, that we encountered our first major obstacle. We were waylaid by a roving band, and quickly overpowered for the sheer numbers and ferocity of these folk. We put up little resistance, and so were taken captive. Our possessions were taken, and we were bound and blinded after I explained our mission. Not even Eadwulf was spared. As I write this, I’m locked within a small room in what I expect is a large log hut. I don’t know what tribe this is, or how far they have taken us, but it seems we have stumbled onto lands we are not so free to roam on.

I don’t know where the others are being held. Nor am I sure where we are. We’d been relying on Eadwulf’s guidance more than our traditional maps, lacking as they were. The thought did occur to me that this might have been a plot by Red-Beard, but he was as surprised as the rest of us, and he didn’t seem the most sinister or duplicitous of barbarians. I’ve overheard fragments of speech from outside my room at several points, and it’s not any dialect of Kelgalish I’ve yet encountered. It seems to hold more Eastern tones, like the Steppe tribes. As such, I would guess we’ve moved eastward as well as northward, to the hybrid tribes of the Steppe-Skaeng hinterlands. What this means for us I can only guess at. The Easterlings—the Torb and such—have even more fearsome reputations than the Kelgal. I shall remain optimistic. Tracking the time as best I could, lacking a view of the sky, I believe I’ve been held captive here for not more than a night. The return of my possessions, or what parts the tribesmen saw fit to return, bodes well for me.

I’ll resume my writings at the next convenient opportunity—I hear talking and movement. Hope remains for the journey and our relations with this savage tribe. Protection and guidance of Liv be with me, and with those who have followed me—even Red-Beard.

—

First of all, I’m relieved to say I’ve been provided with better lodgings. I am, of course, in the same cell they had been keeping me in before, but the door is no longer barred and they have brought in furs to provide some homeliness. By their definition, that is.

It appears our charts were off more than we knew, and Eadwulf had taken us further in less time than anticipated. We are indeed on the borderlands of the Steppe, and according to the warrior I spoke with, in one of the last great woods before the wastelands to the north—north of the North, that is. We are guests, if such a word can be used, of the Dread Crows tribe. As pleasant a name as can be expected, and their village reflects such impressions.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. The recap: fortune was with me, and I was taken aside by two hunters of the tribe, who demanded to know my purpose in these lands. My honesty held true, and I told them the full story of our mission here. They seemed pleased with that, as much as they could be given their stoic behavior, and informed me that my explanation matched those of my companions. I’m proud of them, I must say, for sticking to my plan!

I was then taken into the village main. This is a dismal country, it’s sad to admit. It’s only Jummadas, and yet you’d swear it was the depths of winter. Snow fell in light showers between the stark, black pines, and the sky was slate grey. The cold light and air cast the rest of the village into drab hues, from the blackwood logs of the various longhouses and huts, to the muddy trails left in the snow by the tribesmembers going about their business. I was given plenty of dark glances from men and women of all ages, all swaddled in so many furs you would think they were wild animals. Some curious details were that the entire village, containing some ten stout buildings, was encased in a sheer wall of logs. The tops of these logs were sharpened, and there were but two gates. These, I think, are to protect from other tribes that might maraud them, as resources must be scarce out here. The other odd detail was the construction of the houses—quite unlike other works of Kelgal carpentry I’ve seen. All of them were raised on squat stilts, keeping the houses a good three feet off the earth. Each house, despite its rough build, was also outfitted with a great many charms and carvings, some more elaborate than others, but abundant nonetheless. The result was a very occult appearance to the hamlet. For one of my theses at the end of my basic studies, I once catalogued an abandoned camp of one of the beast-tribes, and the appearance was similar, save for the presence of buildings. These are a wild people, but in their works you can see that they still have spiritualities and loyalties all their own.

I was reunited with my group after my brief escort through the hamlet. The locals had been rather generous in returning our belongings, but in an odd way. All of our writing and sketching materials were returned, save for my prior notebook and some of Kara’s sketches, and our mercenaries were even allowed to keep their greatswords and hammer! They were, however, deprived of their knives. Bruno balked at the oddity of this, before I posited that perhaps carrying around a large and visible weapon was less threatening to these people than having a hidden dagger somewhere on your person. I was quite proud of that assessment.

All of us, save for Eadwulf, were taken before a man known as the “Kir-Sköld”, which after some asking I took to amount to a leader of warriors. He was not a Jarl, however—that I was corrected on. I’d guess him to be akin to a knight, but as with many of these things it’s hard to find a direct link. This man was a hell of a thing to lay eyes on. The Norse are often compared to bears, but this man could have fooled an enemy with such a ruse if he’d wanted to. He was enormous, for one, both in weight and girth; and was swaddled in many layers of brown and black furs, alongside talismans of wood, bone, and even one I think might have been of actual gold. His brown hair matched his attire, and was braided and matted with further charms. He met us on the steps of the greatest longhouse (though it was about the size of three cottages in the most rural Yahmian lands), where by his side was laid an enormous round-shield, and he leaned against a poleaxe as tall as he was. Kara and Benton didn’t say a single word, save for quick affirmations when prompted, throughout the whole meeting. I don’t blame them. Were it not for my duties as a liaison, I might’ve fled!

The Kir-Sköld’s name was given as Buliwyf. Even I struggled to understand his dialect, as it was already thick due to the remoteness of this country, and he seemed an old soul whose voice had been weathered by ice and battle. Lamya was gracious in helping, though under our own furs we were both dealing with the biting cold on top of trying to make good impressions. Buliwyf did not ask us our business—I expect he was already told—but asked if we intended to continue north. I of course said yes, as I imagined there were more tribes beyond these woods, and I was interested in seeing the traditions of the furthest, most alien peoples from the Empire.

That didn’t satisfy him, and he asked—perhaps commanded—that I return South from hereon. He said that while there were tribes north of these lands, they would not hold any secrets the Dread Crows found noteworthy, and would be little more than wild bands. Hunters, trappers, but not true tribesmen.

I tried to explain the difference in opinion, saying that I wasn’t after secrets or glory, but trying to show the wisest in our Empire that the Norse were not as a whole the bloodthirsty savages they were viewed as. I came in search of truth, to maybe find that—while different—there was common ground to be had between our peoples.

The warriors escorting us found that amusing, but Buliwyf remained grim. He asked me of Liv, blessed be her name (I was shocked he knew it!), and my faith in the Goddess of the South. I didn’t hide the fact that I was a devoted of Liv, but I tried to stress that it wouldn’t affect my opinions of their own religion, for the sake of the study. He then asked me what I knew of spirits, gods, nature, and the like. I am, of course, a scholar of cultures and histories first and foremost. My knowledge of the natural philosophies and arcane studies exist only insofar as they further my knowledge of peoples. Final of all, the warrior asked me if there were any priests or mages among us. I said no to both. He said we would have done well to bring a cleric so far North—a response I wasn’t expecting. Lamya attempted to bridge the apparent gap that had formed by giving a traditional Norse blessing. The exact translation is not quite satisfactory—it relates to Kelgal funerary practices, and ancestor-worship: “May your ancestors be as ash in snow, and embers in your belly.” The meaning being a compliment to the valor of one’s family line. It wasn’t much, but Lamya hoped it would foster some goodwill between our groups.

We were dismissed soon after, and now I write this from my room again. We were provided with food; some manner of fish stew. A don’t have high hopes for the continuing fortune of this expedition. There’s something about these Far-Northerners that puts me off, I’m remiss to say. The Norse are grim, yes, but they’re also vibrant. Often to severe extremes, as a veteran of the last Skaengish Crusade some decades ago might tell you. But these Dread Crows… well, they live up to their name. I shall try my best to take in their culture, either way.

—

A quick addendum: I was informed that I alone will have an audience with the wise-woman of the tribe! I was given no further information, but was told that she will have great wisdom to impart on me. I don’t know if this meeting has a precedent in print! I look forward to it, even as I’m a might terrified.

—

I write this over breakfast, or at least what I’ve touched. We were given some manner of hearty stew which I can’t say I much enjoyed. The primary ingredients appearing to be fat, beer, and some unidentified brown sludge. I appreciated the gesture of us eating in the communal house, but I’ve not taken to the food so well. The others are on edge, which I sympathize with, but as the imminent threat of us dying or being enslaved has been allayed for now, we’re all in better spirits.

The warrior, Buliwyf, told me more of my impending meeting. Their wise woman is known as what can be translated as “Crow Matron”. I was advised to listen close to her council, as she’s meant to be a powerful magician, among other skills. This worries me, but is also the most notable meeting I may yet have on this journey. I’ve met perhaps two mages in my entire life, and both were trained under the edicts of the holy Academies. This Crow Matron would be a hedge-witch, a shaman. The energies she might tap into would be far beyond the sanctity of what is known to Southern practitioners. Of course, it’s an equal possibility the woman is just well-versed in medicine and histories. Many practices, such as mundane illusion and natural philosophies, are shared by true practitioners of magic as well as apothecaries and charlatans. Either way, it’ll be an excellent opportunity to gain insight into the morals of these Far-Northern tribes. Whatever wisdom an elder holds will be considered of the highest import, and she might give me history and lore more valuable than any I’ve gathered before!

I asked one of our escorts if they’d anything amounting to tea in this land. I didn’t rest well last night. The anxiety has gotten to me, and I had horrible, dark dreams. This climate I think may be poisonous (in a sense) to Southerners. The lack of color, smell, or warmth can have adverse effects on one’s mental state as much as physical. You can see it in the people who live here year-round! Last night, Lamya and I managed to slip away from our escorts for a few moments to witness an older man of the tribe tell stories to children around one of the fire-pits in the main longhouse. His dialect was heavy, but the tale we could discern was some kind of ghost-story. The children seemed unmoved, however, and even laughed at some parts. A healthy relationship with death is to be expected in lands where it could and often does come without warning. Far removed from Imperial sensibilities, but fascinating nonetheless!

I’ll write again in the evening, after I’ve met with the Crow Matron. The others don’t envy me, but I can’t wait! More to follow.

—

I have counselled with the Crow-Matron Sonja. I can confirm with my own eyes that she is a magician far beyond the average Academy mage, and perhaps the better to certain grand scholars on matters of natural magic and soothsaying. Her gaze is long, and her soul powerful. She has advised that we do not continue North, if we wish to bring what we’ve learned back to the peoples of the Empire. She brought my eyes with hers, to the edges of the distant northern ice-seas, and brought to life the oldest fairy tales of Yahmian lore.

We have been raised in an era of peace. For over a century now, we have beaten back the predation of the Norse and Austerlings. The tyrants of the East lay dormant and quelled by the power of the Calipha and her predecessor, but there are true evils that rest uninjured. My mission is now more than just simple research—it is my duty as a citizen to inform the scholarhoods of New Yahmi of what dangers await.

If we continue to raise minor crusades and missions against the barbarian peoples, we will be taken without warning by new horrors from the East. And I know, I know it would not be the first time the brave souls of the Empire have given their lives to stem the hordes of the Drained Lords, but we will not have any advantage this time. A shadow moves down from the North. Slow and menacing, and it will meld with the darkness cast by the East. If we hope to survive, we must ally with the barbarians we have detested for so long. Forget their blasphemies. There are gods more real than the pagan pantheons, and they will be the end of us if we don’t prepare!

We’ve been given tokens of protection by the gracious Sonja, and we are making haste to return south as soon as the sun dawns tomorrow. May the Goddess bless our virtue, and bring our warnings to the ear of the Calipha herself. I don’t know how much time I’ll have in the coming weeks to write, so this may be my last entry. I doubt any new information could surface more important than what I’ve learned already.

Salvation and fortune, to every citizen.

Record expunged on orders of the Caliphate. Declared Ain’Heretical

—

The moment Cerise entered the hut, she was awash in the smell of smoke. Regular smoke, from the fire that no doubt burned in some fireplace she couldn’t see—as just a few steps forward an impenetrable wall of bead-chains and hanging fetishes masked the rest of the room from view. There was also the incense, fragrant and astringent, like mint and pine, cutting through the wood-smoke’s earthy tones. The roof of the shack was obscured by swirling traces of the ubiquitous vapors, staining the rafters black as it leaked bit by bit through the covered hole in the center of the roof.

“Show your highest respects.” Buliwyf muttered to her, just before he closed the door to the bitter cold, “For your own sake. Liv does not dwell here.” He spoke the fatalistic words before leaving Cerise alone, with naught but the crackle of fire and faint rustling.

She took a step forward, daring to touch the hanging curtain that cut off the rest of the cabin, pulling some of the strands ever-so aside. The orange glow of firelight trickled through into the darkness.

“Come. Sit.” The words startled the Yahmian, but at the Matron’s bidding she pushed her way through, coming face to face—though not quite—with this mysterious mystic.

At first, Cerise didn’t recognize that the pile of black furs heaped across from her contained a human being. It was when one pale and elegant arm extended from the mass to beckon towards the small heap of pelts the guest was meant to sit on, did Cerise realize this was the Matron.

“Sit.” She spoke with a whispering tone, breathy and low. Hers was the same thick accent as Buliwyf’s, wavering and odd.

“Thank you.” The scholar stuttered, sitting down cross-legged, spine rigid and eyes peering into the furry cowl of the shaman, trying to catch sight of her face.

The room was drowning in charms and talismans, of bone, wood, stone, and more precious things. They hung like spiders in glittering, still strands from where they were tied to the rafters. The walls were covered in the furs of beasts, and tapestries crude-woven, depicting what must have been great sagas of the tribe. To Cerise’s left, there was a stone fireplace, low and simple, with a cauldron about the size of a large pumpkin stewing some unknown liquid. In the center of the room, between her and the Matron, was a wide dish of bronze, in which cones of incense smoldered amidst white ashes. With nothing but the fire beneath the cauldron to light the room, the shadows were stark and flickering, and the whole arrangement looked as sinister and bewitched as any Southerner could imagine of the heathen North.

“You are a scholar.” The mound of black fur spoke; single, pale hand pointing to Cerise. From the pelts of the shaman’s regalia hung yet more charms of bone, and her arm was laden with bracelets and rings, with the black swirls of tattoos obscured underneath. “You are here to capture our words?” she asked.

“Great Crow Matron…” Cerise bowed her head, “Mother of the Dread Crows, I come so that the people of my country might learn about the true nature of the Norse.” She tried her best at formality, with so little to go on as to their tribe’s etiquette.

Another arm, also bejeweled, emerged from the mound, to cross fingers with the first. The fur-pile seemed to nod, “Your respects are welcome. Though they stand on bones of ignorance.”

Cerise was tight-lipped, waiting for the wise-woman to continue. She wasn’t above admitting she was indeed “ignorant”, but then, that was the point of this expedition.

“My champion thinks you a spy, and my people dislike you on principle.” She continued, “But they too forget their true enemies. Just as the Southlings have forgotten.” The shadows of the fur hood turned, considering the flickering fire. Still, Cerise could see nothing. “What do you know of our ways?”

That seemed to be an invitation to speak. The scholar cleared her throat, “Well—I was fascinated to find how disparate the beliefs of the Norse people were. Many archetypes were present among the high gods, but local spirits, ancestor-heroes, and the like—those seemed to depend on tribe. There seemed to be—a general distrust of magic, but no different from how our Empire holds ire against mages who train outside the Academies.” She wracked her brain, “Individualistic, hardy—is there something specific you mean?”

The Matron’s hidden gaze turned back to her, “What do you know of death?”

Now that shook Cerise. She didn’t quite know how to answer—that could mean many things. “Uh, well. You seem to hold it as high as any people.”

“But not all deaths are the same.” She corrected, “And there are many in the North. Some worse than others.”

Cerise just nodded, “I imagine so.”

The figure beneath the mound straightened up, pale arms reaching with a clinking sound to the hood. Cerise’s breath caught in her throat as the veil was pulled back.

What first struck her—her age. She was so young. Perhaps not ten years older than Cerise herself. Her hair was dark and wild, her face ghost-pale, and thin lines of inked black ran along her chin, brow, cheeks. Her lips were pure black, and her eyes looked sapped of rest, with dots of icy blue peering out from the bruised grey.

“You are like many of your kind, though your mind strives to understand the greater truths.” The woman continued in her rasping voice, “But your faith—your faith is but a cage. It protects you, but it provides no path to understand the spirit of the world. Your learning—it comes without wisdom. Your leaders, they tell you what to write, and you read what they’ve written, without seeing for yourself.” She brought her fingers up to her chin, and looked up to the ceiling, eyes rolling back a bit more than was natural. Her voice was hoarse, “When my mother took her shield, she left to the far wilds and did not return. I stayed with my mor, the old Crow Matron, and she spoke the ancient words, and I learned them not by mind, but by soul. They became a part of me.” She looked down again, reaching over to one of many small satchels strewn about. From its depths she pulled some dry flakes, sprinkling them over the red-orange glow of the low-burning incense cone already in the bronze dish. At once a great plume of grey smoke sprung up, more than could be expected of such a small amount of fuel. It smelled of rich dirt, and sweetwood.

Cerise’s heart stopped as she tried to look past the fumes. The woman’s face was changed. The black on her face had grown starker, and she was like a specter of death. Shimmering forms appeared about her, as her hair flowed like water, and her eyes almost glowed. Though they disappeared when looked at, in the peripheries of her sight, Cerise could see the forms of great antlers about the Matron’s head.

“My mor, my Matron, she said to me ‘Sonja, the dark is sacred, do not fear it’, for I cried long in the night when my mother was not with me.” She continued, “‘There is Nothing to fear.’”

There was a long pause, as Sonja looked deep into the scholar’s eyes with hypnotic gaze, as if begging a response.

“What? Yes, there’s—nothing to fear. That’s comforting.” She nodded.

“So she told me the ancient words, so that I would not fear. She said to me then, ‘Nothing stares at us, so you must stare into Nothing’. And when my mother returned, I knew, and was prepared.” Her eyes were unwavering, like diamonds shining from grey ash.

“I- I don’t understand…” Cerise stammered. She couldn’t follow whatever story the Matron was telling. How she had become Matron, that much she understood, but her language was confusing. Was it an issue of translation?

“When were you born?” Sonja asked then. A simpler question.

“1230—”

“No, no, it does not matter.” She was cut off before she gave the full date, “I forget, I forget, my memories are not my own. You would have never seen the last Shadow. What do your people call it?”

“Call w-what?” she felt ashamed for her confusion, though the shaman seemed disoriented. There must have been weird vapors in the incense, if both their minds were slipping.

“The Shadows! When the whole world sickens! The sky becomes like winter, no matter the season. Crops, creatures—they fall ill, wither. The people follow. Death reigns.” She leaned forward, “And then—” she paused again.

“And then what?”

“What do you call it? The Shadow?”

Cerise pondered, “Are you referring to the Blights? The last epidemic was centuries ago. It’s the subject of legends to this day.” She was surprised the Norse had even been affected. Though the Blights had been recorded as very contagious, there would have been little chance for the illness to spread in the rural North.

The visions were throwing the Southerner off. Still she saw those wavering antlers, and the shaman’s eyes were like two distant sapphires in pits of black. “What legends?” Sonja asked. Cerise was too mesmerized and terrified to respond. She felt as though she was losing her mind. She hoped and prayed that whatever magics were at work would not stain her soul.

She shook her head, rubbing at her eyes, hoping to dispel the haze; but when she looked back, Sonja was clutching a small item in her hands she’d not had a moment before. It looked to be made of bone, or antler, and was covered with inscriptions. Both ends of its cylindrical form were sealed with caps of bronze.

“I was so young when my mother left, but I knew she too had stood against Nothing.” The witch muttered, “With steel and will, not like mor and myself. I know this because evil is a bitter thing, and does not forgive. Even after her bones were laid to rest in ashes, whatever evil she had slain would not forgive the hand that had laid it low.” Pale eyes looked down to the trinket, about the size of a fist.

“Wh-what?” Cerise leaned in, looking at the horn. The story the shaman was trying to tell was far beyond her, but she was nonetheless enthralled.

At that, Sonja the Crow Matron worked her magician’s art. She twirled the trinket in her hands, masking it with one palm, then the other, muttering to herself as more smoke plumed from the incense-bowl at her apparent bidding. With one more spidery movement of her hand, one of the bronze caps on the cylinder was at once there, and then gone, showing the hollow darkness of the horn. Where the seal had gone, Cerise didn’t know.

The imperial was about to ask a question, when a scurrying scuttle issued forth, and Sonja’s hand flashed with lightning speed to grab at something coming from the tube. A spider? A demon? The thing had tried to slip out of the container before the mystic had grabbed it in one bejeweled hand.

“You will not travel North any longer, for Nothing lies in the North.” The Matron’s whispering voice rose into a stern command. Cerise’s mouth dried up, and sweat pooled down her back, as she saw the thing writhing in the woman’s grip. A hand—a skeletal hand, with a veneer of mummified flesh hardened tight to its bones like paper. It clawed and thrashed as the mage held it by the wrist, trying in vain to free itself for some unknown end. Mindless, it seemed, as it flailed like an insect, trying to scratch at Sonja’s hand, unable to reach. “I cannot twist the paths of fate. I cannot call the spirits of the forest kinds. Nor can I bring fire from the sky. But the dead fall at my command, and my people are safe. My vision, my Raven’s Eye sees to the Far North, and it has met the gaze of the Elder One.”

“What in all that is holy—?” Cerise panted, as her eyes were fixed to the undead hand.

Sonja got up to a kneel, holding out the horrid thing towards Cerise’s face. Though she dared not look away from the aggressive little demon, the scholar noted that the witch was nude under her furs, and still covered in charms and tattoos.

“This creature is not the only thing to stir past the grip of death! This is what we must face in these lands! You forget! My own kin forget! The Elder One knows this!” more smoke plumed up from the dish, clouding Cerise’s sight in a panic. In an instant, and yet for an eternity, her mind left her. She felt weightless, and all she could see in the swirling monochrome were Sonja’s shining eyes. Trees, snow, lakes, rivers, wastes—all flitted past with arrow speed, until she was stood on a far fjord. The ground barren, and to the horizon stretched cracked sheets of blue ice, drifting in the black sea to the farthest pole. Storms howled high in the heavens above, but her sight was unfettered to the end of the world. There she saw strange mountains, and felt a cold terror grip her soul. For a moment she felt as though she might die, as the sky and the land parted on the horizon-line like an eye, and its empty gaze seemed fixed on her.

But then she was back in the hut, with Sonja kneeling forward in front of her, icy eyes shining, though the memento of horror still writhed in her hand. The magician sat back down, stuffing the monstrosity back into its tube as she whispered, and clapped her hand on the open end. Though she had held nothing before, the bronze cap now sealed the cage once again. Incense smoke subsided, and the witch’s face faded back into normality.

“You say you wish for knowledge?” she asked, head tilted.

Cerise could not even nod, terror not having unhanded her heart.

“Then tell your people the truth. Though it will be my kin that first face the darkness, I know of the ancient foes that lie to the East of Liv’s Empire. Dark magics feed each other before they feed upon each other, and you will be surrounded.”

“Why—what—” the scholar took a deep breath, “What will happen to you? How can—is any of this true?”

“My illusions do not show what isn’t true, though they show what isn’t there. Return South, tell your people. Death will come like the old legends, but if others learn like you have learned—” she reached across, pressing her pale hand to Cerise’s fur collar, “Then fewer souls might be lost, and new legends will be made.”

At that, the Matron retreated within her mound of furs, stooping and drawing her arms back.

There was a long silence, as Cerise wondered whether or not she could leave. Sonja said nothing, and may have fallen asleep for all she knew.

“Thank you.” The scholar whispered at last, getting up to leave.

“No.” she heard the witch rasp, “I bore ill fortune, but now you carry knowledge. Thank you.”

Cerise left the small hut. Such a little hovel, in such an unassuming village, where she had gained more knowledge than she ever had at her college. Perhaps more than she had ever wanted to. But just as it had been her duty to seek it out, now she still had to bring it back.

[healthytalkzone-blog]

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You may try selling your Testo Ultra on many of the online auction sites. If that is the case, this no-win situation is for you. For those who aren't familiar with that allow me get you up to speed on this contraption although this is worth every dollar I spent. That is not going to be a lecture on the action, although you may need to give that stuff a few thought. As usual, this is the situation. I want to blow the whistle. They say to keep using this as long as that works, but there is also a need to consider that part. Do you need to not appear cared for? I spend about $500 a month on doing that but that is very subjective in that context. Through what agency do chaps purchase the choicest Testo Ultra blogs? I gather this gives me a lot of credibility. Doing it is gals friendly. I wished there was a magic wand but, sadly, there isn't one. What sort of Testo Ultra are we going to use? You may have to get help with your Testo Ultra. You don't have to play around with their materialization in that situation. Don't wait for this. How did that distinction come by celebrity status? Actually, for starters, most of that malarkey have some article because of that. If there is something I've discovered recently it is that everybody has their own preferences when it is linked to the job. As you'll see, I don't add to the quandary. You see? It is an important issue. There not many of us who feel this as that regards to doing it. Even that catalogs are hot items for sale on the internet so this conclusion is something I have looked into previously. If funds is the only thing keeping you from some whatsis, that's not a very good excuse. I may need to thank everyone who has helped to make their variation a success over the last year. I'm having this jealous feeling now. Discovering the right Testo Ultra is important to your success. When the rubber meets the road I would not avoid this, at least partially. This is what happens if you are expecting that secret to be put into perspective. My heart sank. That is going to hell in a hand basket now. Whose wisdom on that quandary is correct? I presume that was a well thought out plan. This relates to that transpiration well, "Better the devil you know than the devil you don't." Being responsible for this crock just doesn't suit most newbies. I didn't get their wonder at the time I heard about it many years ago. My opinion is based around my assumption that nobody has a predilection germane to a likelihood. So far I have avoided my notion. Consequently, that was rather lively. My Testo Ultra attitude is paramount. They don't earn incredible sums of cash. Just how huge is my head anyway? I am still grieving. That is the path to prosperity as long as perhaps there are systems in which you'll know it. You should discover a Testo Ultra that is of high quality.

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