#you had a guild. a trade. a master. maybe tutors

[advancedscurvy]

i still want to tear my hair out thinking about how hard it is to escape the like. "boarding school/university" for magic sort of vibe when youre trying to functionally create a fantasy world from a time period where things like that weren't common practice. witch hat atelier (shirohama kamome guide me) does it well by using a guild/tradesman and apprentice approach and i like. like more power to her. but as i dabble in the concept of monastic/abbey styled situations alongside this, it's like. you start realizing how firmly entrenched magic school is in the public fantasy conscience

[sealofzeal]

Childhood

City life gave me all that I could ask for. My parents were well off, both working in the trade industry, and were able to provide me with academy level training and education. Sometimes the lifestyle was daunting but because I knew I belonged here I pushed when other faltered.

I had few friends, but of them the closest was Rhalyf. We shared most of our schooling time together and during our free periods we made up games to play. Looking back, it seemed so childishly delightful. He was so extremely adapt at playing hide-and-go-seek, but, no matter the hidding spot, eventually I could find him. Other times we would practice our fighting. Being as young as we were they only taught us the defensive stances but it was only a matter of time until we out grew our lessons. Once we snuck into the city guard's training grounds. Rhalyf, being the crafty one that he was, helped me scale the walls so we may watch together. He had such an uncanny ability to know which stones were loose and where to grab. We spent hours together watching the men and women train. My job was to take notes and memorize the movements so we may practice together afterwards. Somethings that Rhalyf would miss, I would notice, like the way to set your footing before swinging a sword, or how their hands were placed on a bo staff. Between our games he would find fun in quizzing me. He knew my favorite subjects were history and lore. Often he would marvel at the little things I could remember from our class. He loved bringing up the far out land of the elves, Evermeet. Over and over he would ask. I knew he knew everything that I said, after all, we shared the same lessons. I think that he just liked hearing about it. He shared with me one day about his anxiety of being half kin and that he wouldn't be welcomed into Evermeet or that if he was it was merely an act of petty. I hugged him tight that day and told him that any one who would turn him away clearly misunderstood how incredible he was.

We grew up eventually. I had a few years on Rhalyf but his human side made up for that quick. Rhalyf would eventually apply for apprenticeship as a Bladesinger but when no word returned he feared the worst. Whether it be from his half human blood or the fact he was no Evermeet citizen he took the news hard. He was at the top of our class, only riveled by me, so whatever the reason he was sure it was something due to that.

I met him the day before he left. He had been crying, one of the few times I've seen him ever do that. Being a Bladesinger was all he ever wanted. Powerful guardians. Champions of elven kind. Adventuring was in his blood. And that's why he had to leave. A college had accepted him when Evermeet and her master's did not. My memory is so vivid of that night. We were in his room for hours, from set to rise. Perhaps my mind knew already the long length of time we would have to endure before seeing each other again and so it captured every detail it could. We sat in his room, near the open window. It was summer and the wind stayed warm many hours after the sun had left. He had candles burning, a mix of fresh pine lumber and lemon, something he always burned when worried or stressed. We talked but also enjoyed comfortable silence.

His time to go came. The sun had it's first light over the city and Rhalyf was adamant about leaving without other people's knowing, wanting to avoid the fuss of good byes.

I hugged my friend again before letting him go down his path but not before he asked one last question.

"Vox, why don't you want to go?"

Adulthood

But why would I leave? Where would I go? What place could I go to that was better than here? Perhaps I was too bought in on the idea that our elven differences were so firm, at least that's what others thought of me. But what can I say? I am a full blooded sun elf. A lot is expected of me wether they admit or not. Time out "adventuring" could be time spent on bettering myself and I must be the best me.

When finished with the academic portion of my life the next series of months blended together. My memory is very strong but there's not much I could tell you about that time. I wouldn't discribe it as a 'blur', but more like the gears of a clock. Days mimicked days and weeks were mirrors of each other. The only breaks of the continunity were the local festivals that my city observed but those matter much less after Rhalyf left. Those days were better spent with personal projects.

Cooking was an interesting venture for me but was short lived as I don’t eat much. I tried my hand at my parents' own vocation but rarely did they require my help. Most hours with them had me idle and anxious to be else where, doing something different. Tutoring was a promising start. I was with a youngling named Ceara. Access to an apprentice came in handy and I was most pleased to influence her and give guidance. She had fallen behind in school due to what her parents thought was a poor immune system. It turned out to be more than that. She would fall ill randomly and after enough encounters with our family physician we took it into our own hands. I admired how willing and brave she was. It took some trial and error, something that wasn’t easy on either of us. Eventually, over the course of months, we discovered that Ceara had an sensitivity to the weave of magic that was omnipresence. When the threads suddenly changed course and caused a peak or valley Ceara would experience something akin to vertigo. After that we found prescriptions useful to her and mindful meditation aided Ceara’s mental strength to withstand the occasional shifts. It wasn’t long after that she was caught up with her classmates and no longer required my tutelage.

That lasted for a little over a year and maybe it was for the best. Teaching wouldn’t be my calling. Maybe in a century or two later would I consider but not now.

By this point it had been close to four years since Rhalyf left for college. Letters were sparse, mainly sent in time for each other’s birthdays. I had gathered enough spare gold to send a care package of some of our home city’s goods. Fresh fruits, a green and gold ribbon from the Day of Color festival, a supply of candles. The item most pleased to send was a flat palm sized slab of obsidian. It came to my possession via my parents. It was an oddity that never sold after years of trying. The material was rare but in such small quantities it hardly had any appeal. It was always warm to the touch and I suggested he store it in his glove or a pocket. He was far north in the snowy lands and judging by his correspondence afterwards he’ll never receive a better gift. This was quite some time ago and had recently been considering sending another. Tutoring Ceara had landed me a windfall of gold. Her parents insisted on paying extra after going such lengths for their daughter.

It would have been such a surprise for Rhalyf had he not surprised me first.

The Silver Hymn

I threw my arms around my dear friend and hugged him tight. He had grown but not quite to my height. His clothing choices were different too. He sported a more fashionable attire that leaned on ostentatious. His hair wasn’t cut short any more either and was pulled into a low pony. So much had changed but I could still quickly pick my friend out in a busy crowd.

We exchanged our pleasantries before finding a place to sit and talk. We traded our stories from the past four years. I asked questions about some of his letters and he did the same back. He was impressed on how much I could recall from them and accused me of rereading within the last few days. I teased him, saying that he wishes and was quickly reminded of how acute my memory could be. He then asked about Evermeet and about the Bladesingers. Of course I remembered as children how he used to do this but there was something he was leading up to, I could tell. And he didn’t let down. After my brief lesson of the Bladesingers he asked me if I thought they were the only ones, sword fighters with a wholly original style of combat. I said yes and he thought so too, until he left. His theory is that there could be others. He hailed from the sword college now and that the talents he learned from the mountains were cousins to the Bladesingers, and that there could be more. He showed me an insignia that I later learned was for “The Silver Hymn”.

The Silver Hymn is a guild of lore seekers, or would eventually be. As of now it was just him and one other, the guild’s benefactor. He explained to me that he needed me, that there could be no one else to do it. Anyone could memorize text from a book and retain knowledge but only in me did he see the passion for it. He described the types of roles I would play and after two days of considering I said yes.

It was interesting work to say the least! Within a month we had grown from two, to six. Actually it was seven but it was hard to consider the guild’s benefactor as a member. Rhalyf and myself were looked to as the founders. Darcan and Jhaan were the first to join, classmates that had also stayed with in the city. They were revered well but were having trouble finding work without dedication to a mage college. After we had Eleyon join, a half moon elf who out grew her peers in the classroom and was eager to start their adulthood. She was the youngest but carried her weight just as much. We weren’t sure if the guild needed any more until a wood elf of the name Kel joined. He was older and had experience far outside the city that both Rhalyf and I knew we couldn’t pass up on.

Gold was steady for the guild. We would receive a payout every two weeks. Darcan would prep and send the progress report in the in between weeks. Darcan has the finest of penmanship. Sometimes I would review his report just to see how that man writes his o’s. Jhaan had a knack with accounting and was quick to fill the role of treasurer. She made sure we had everything we needed and budgeted accordingly. Eleyon lacked initiative to work on her own and found her time better suited with me as an assistant. Kel we were still getting to know but he was delightful at the six string and had a tongue of silver, something useful when ever the need showed. No matter our talents we all poured over every book.

It took some time for any honest progress. Eleyon felt like we were shooting an arrow with out a target. She didn’t like the ambiguity of what we were looking for. It was actually Ceara that gave us our first step in a new direction. I had the sudden impulse of checking in on her, seeing what improvements she had made. I told her what I could of what we were doing. Until then we had just been cataloguing events of Bladesingers but they had been kept factual not instructional, likely to keep the artform's secrets. Ceara asked why do that if we were looking for something like the Bladesingers. From there Eleyon suggested we look into folk lore, specially since Kel always said stories like those always had some truth to them.

It was the best months of my life. Rhalyf and I, working closely again. Making new friends. Together we separated fiction from non. There were examples of what Rhalyf was searching for. A sword fighter had returned from the Moonshae Isles and was completing feats of mastery, with acts discribed similar to a Bladesingers but not exactly. Many books mistakenly called them a Bladesinger or even The Bladesinger. This just wasn't true as this character lacked key attributes from the fighting style. None of them discribed the whistle of the blade or gave examples of a dancer-like manner of fighting. Jhaan found examples of the character being refered to as a "she" while still fitting the description from other books when refered to as a "he".

We slowly found other stories of them. It seemed that this person lived a full and fantastic life. We had to cross reference passages told within novels with historic events. It helped us form a better timeline of them. Whole works of literature being read and boiled down to a single page of factual text.

Satisfaction came when Darcan finish the report of our findings. I must have read those pages a dozen times over. Our guild's magnum opus. I would still consider it largely unfinished but our benefactor would be nothing less than pleased. After finding an appropriate carrier suitable for something this important and paying the large sum to have it delivered most of the guild broke off for some rest. Rhalyf went with the package to better present it. Kel was "getting the itch" which meant he wanted to go deep wood hunting and camping. Jhaan and Darcan kept quite about what they did but likely went off acting on the chemistry they experienced during our work. Eleyon went home with most of her earnings but only after a day venture of shopping. She was raised by an elderly woman, unrelated to her, who took Eleyon in and supported her education. I spent time with Ceara and my own parents. Rhalyf asked me to join him but understood when I declined. I had been surrounded by people and needed some alone time. Not to mention that my physical maintenance had lessened after the guild's formation and I was determined to return to form.

We would have to wait until Rhalyf made it to his destination, which we learned via a missive spell, and then for his return. Eleyon was curious on what would happen next. She wasn't entirely pleased at the idea of doing exactly this again for other examples. Not that she had intentions of leaving if that were the case as the take in gold was too good to pass on. She had woes when it came to money coming from a life that struggled to make all ends meet. We got to know each other along with Kel after a night of camping together. The two of us wanted to check in with him, letting him know Rhalyf had made it. Kel was much harder to locate than anticipated but eventually the fun of watching us struggle wore on him and he made himself known. He played for us on his instrument and treated us to his hunt of the day, this time being fish. He was much better at cooking than myself.

Moonshae Isles

Three days after Rhalyf's arrivle we received another magical note from the carrier's guild. These were not cheap to request and already had major significance. Rhalyf had news, huge news, to share when he returned and asked us to be ready for his arrival at an appointed date. I didn't delay on informing the other members. Eleyon had a flurry of questions for me but she would just have to accept that I knew nothing more than what I had told her. I spoke with Darcan and he took on telling Jhaan. Kel was again tricky getting a hold of but didn't play games this time which helped.

We gathered together in our research room. There was an air of unease that lingered. It felt very cryptic in is nature. Rhalyf was intentionally vague in his letter and Jhaan was clear on how she didn't enjoy this position of not knowing. She also didn't like that none of us other than Rhalyf knew this benefactor. Anxiety was getting to us all. Kel had went with playing his six string to pass the time. No one said anything but he was noticably jumpy. Eleyon couldn't stop fidgeting. She was in a new position every ten minutes. Darcan was straighting some notes we had left behind after our work completed. I was reading a short story that Ceara had wrote. She wanted me to judge it and help with mistakes if any. There weren't many but quickly did I realize that the main character was embarrassingly based off me. I wouldn't tell Eleyon what it was and that frustrated her to no end.

Relief came when finally Rhalyf showed. There were some men with him carrying something heafty. They set it on the table and then left. Rhalyf thanked, tipped, and locked the doors behind them. He apologized for the wait and got into explaining his trip. The benefactor was pleased with our findings and wanted to support a expedition. The next step was to obtain physical proof to back up our research and thought we should be the ones who go about finding and studying anything found. The idea is to keep the number of eyes and minds to a minimum. That notion struck Jhaan as odd and asked to meet this person, now wanting to know who she was working with and how they plan using our work. Rhalyf eased her and everyone else's worries by claiming that they were a promising historic practitioner and specializes in finding heroes lost in lore. I found this off putting as that wasn't Rhalyf's original pitch to me when founding the guild. None the less, I choose to trust him.

Finally we open the box after Eleyon insistence that we do. It contained six soft in color purple cloaks with an insignia of The Silver Hymn as clasps, sized and fitted for each of us. It was a gestures made not by the benefactor but my Rhalyf. He wanted to show their union and how close he felt to everyone.

The rest of the box was a large bag filled with gold and platinum. This was a combination of our compensation for our report, and funding for supplies and travels with an early bonus if we accepted. There was only one caveat, no one person may accept unless we all do.

We all stood in a circle, cloaks clasped on, and agreed.

Personal affairs were to be put into order. I spoke with my parents about where I was going only saying what I could about it. We had together all sworn to some level of secrecy. We weren't doing anything illicit or something that needed protecting, it just felt like the right thing to do. With Ceara though I broke that swear to the others only after she made her own promise to me to never share what I said to anyone. I handed back her story with some notes about. I told her that I expected more to read when I returned and hugged the girl tight as a goodbye.

The surplus of gold allowed for a new sword, masterfully crafted, as well as armor fitted to me. I didn't know if either would be necessary but I felt better with them. I was also able to afford a rounded shield and painted the face with our guild's insignia. The others has similar ideas on preparation. Jhaan bought a new tomb for spellcasting as well as a few scrolls. Kel was more interested in practical supplies, but did also get a cooking kit for travel. Eleyon picked up a hand-crossbow and after seeing what I did to my shield she asked me to do something similar. Darcan had a cracked orb as a focal and with a bit of his gold had it repaired. Rhalyf had eyes on this elegant elven thin blade since we were young and after this lump sum of gold it was his.

Travel was uneventful, which was good. Eleyon would disagree but she also didn't know better. We opted for renting a horse and being pulled by carrage. It saved time at the cost of more gold but allowed us to bring more supplies into port. From there we obtained a vessel to the Isles.

None other than Kel did well on ships. He had been on a number of them in the past. Rhalyf found enjoyment between bouts of sick. I watched my friend as he gazed out into the open sea with such a large smile. I could tell adventuring was for him. I'm not sure what he saw in it but then again, here I was too.

The Moonshae Isles were not welcoming as the travel from home had been. We didn't obtain any lasting injuries but it was a good warning to stay vigilant and careful. Kel took lead and sometimes would scout ahead. We had our notes and eventually we started noticing landmarks from our readings. We found safety and formed a camp in a suitable space and began our dive into history.

Weeks passed and progress was good. We had a map drawn in the main tent with landmarks and notes written all over it. It turned out Eleyon had a great sense of direction and made for a talented cartographer. She had made many revised copies and eventually started drawing maps of all the tunnels and caves we came across. Jhaan spent every possible chance she could detecting any magical aura in the area. Darcan would always be the one to volunteer to join her but with how less hidden they acted with their relationship we all knew why.

It wasn't until the end of our eighth week here did we come across something tangible. We did as before, separating tale and fact. Moonshae Isles were the origins of the hero and in the stories about them the character reference the area often but never spoke where the abilies came from. Some supported to notion that this was a narrative device that allowed for other authors to spin their tales about the hero. Others, like myself, think it was deliberate, an attempted to keep it secret. The others debated their pet theories while I reviewed the maps. I was laying on my back with the papers stacked on top of each other to better review what changes had been made. Normally this would be done over the fire so the light may shine through but tonight the moon had been full and bright. With each revised copy they became better detailed. I was about to compliment Eleyon on her improvement when I realized that she always left out one corner of the land mass undetailed. I asked why and she said that not a single passage in any of the books spoke about it. We had visited there early on but determined that it had no real importance due to the lack of mentions. Her eyes went wide with the same realization I had. Rhalyf was fine with taking another venture out that area but declined joining. He was working on his own angle on this problem and wished us luck in the morning.

Kel, Eleyon, and I went together. Kel again took the forward position which allowed me and Eleyon to review her map. She had chosen an older one with more of the tunnel system drawn in before she started to separate the layers. Some clever deductions were made and she theorized that the tunnel should continue all the way out here. Kel's survivalist ability kicked in and noticed that there must be a underground spring nearby with how a stream of water didn't flood the area. We did find that cave, the entrance well hidden, and went on searching inside. It was rough and rugged as a tunnel ought to be but farther, just as it was starting to tapper off and shrink, the texture changed. In a cube like formation it was smooth and sort of man made. Some sort of magic must have carved into this portion of the underground. Turns became 90° corners and there were some gradual slopes downward. The hallways opened into a large room. Tapestries decorate the walls and although they may once have been brilliant in hue, they now hang in graying tatters. Despite the damage of time and neglect, I could make out their once-grand images and symbols of spellcasting. Messages in strange languages were carved into the ground in chalk somehow untouched by time and the elements. I was sure they were likely written in such ways to aid in casting. Me and Kel both had the sense to stay still but Eleyon jumped and cheered at their find. She had ran in excited, moving before we could stop her. The runes on the ground became lit and flashed in a spark. At the time we were sure it was a trap but guessed it fizzled with age. Kel and I sighed with such relief.

We were sasitfied with finding that room and after marking it on our map we turned for home. At first we didn't know what was different but something felt wrong. It had been much later in the day from when we entered and the ground was soaked from rainfall. Kel suggested that maybe we couldn't hear the rain because the tunnel went that far deep. I didn't fight that as an answer then but it was when the sunsetted on us and the moon became apparent. It was clear something had happened. The night before it had been full and yet here and now I see it as a just a thin cresent. There was no denying it now and matters only worsen when we returned to camp. It was gone. Our tents, our supplies, and most importantly our friends. Eleyon shouted, saying that this isn't funny. She didn't understand what me and Kel did. I grabbed her and asked her to please stop. I think she must have seen the fear in my eyes because she didn't resist.

Kel saved us that night. Eleyon too. Her map gave us some ideas on where to set up a makeshift camp and Kel's took over from there. We didn't have much with us. No food other than some traveling jerky and water skins were low. My pack only had some parchment and writing utensils. I had my weapons and shield, and luckily the cloak was weather resistance. Eleyon had her short sword, crossbow with a few bolts, and a cartographer kit. Kel traveled light and thankfully that means he carried only supplies to survive. Even with the rain earlier he managed a small fire for us. We would take turns to keep watch and I took first shift. I wanted Eleyon to sleep and not dwell on thinking this was her fault. Kel meditated on my right and Eleyon laid her head in my lap on my left. We eventually all got rest and started answering new questions the morning after.

Kel went off to hunt, leaving me and Eleyon to focus on what happened. Not only had the camp gone missing bit the signs of it even being there were gone too. Grass had regrown and the places where the stakes had been driven in at had closed. There was only the faint circle of stones that gave hint that someone had been there. Eleyon was distraught. I was too but I guess I hid it better. Together we spent a few days looking for Rhalyf and Jhaan and Darcan, but when no signs appeared we had to change our goals. The three of us couldn't stay here in the wilderness forever looking.

We returned to the port where arrived from and asked there. I could feel my hope drain with every puzzled look I received after pointing to my insignia or showing my purple cloak. In the end the light showed and someone mentioned three others. The troubling part was this man remembered them from almost over four months ago. He remember them catching a boat to Waterdeep.

Waterdeep

It took some convincing for Kel to agree but eventually he went with going to Waterdeep. Eleyon and I had brought no personal gold with us. Mine was with my parents and Eleyon gave all of hers to her caretaker, spare some traveling coins. Only Kel kept his on his person and ultimately it was his choice on what to do with it. He saw no other recourse obvious and went with it.

Some how the seas were worse this time through and me and Eleyon were unless during the choppier parts of travel. Kel managed us a less expensive ride to Waterdeep at the cost of manual labor. We did what we could but clearly Kel carried more than just his weight.

The Sword Coast greeted us with I suppose a typical hello. Pirates of the sea had caught us unguarded by other ships and the winds too dead to escape. We managed with our lives, quickly coming to arms against them, but not without cost. Kel has taken blows to the side with a flintlock. He lived but needed rest and care.

Now we three find ourselves, drained, injured, hopeless, and in Waterdeep.

[the-sargerei]

Childhood

City life gave me all that I could ask for. My parents were well off, both working in the trade industry, and were able to provide me with academy level training and education. Sometimes the lifestyle was daunting but because I knew I belonged here I pushed when other faltered.

I had few friends, but of them the closest was Rhalyf. We shared most of our schooling time together and during our free periods we made up games to play. Looking back, it seemed so childishly delightful. He was so extremely adapt at playing hide-and-go-seek, but, no matter the hidding spot, eventually I could find him. Other times we would practice our fighting. Being as young as we were they only taught us the defensive stances but it was only a matter of time until we out grew our lessons. Once we snuck into the city guard's training grounds. Rhalyf, being the crafty one that he was, helped me scale the walls so we may watch together. He had such an uncanny ability to know which stones were loose and where to grab. We spent hours together watching the men and women train. My job was to take notes and memorize the movements so we may practice together afterwards. Somethings that Rhalyf would miss, I would notice, like the way to set your footing before swinging a sword, or how their hands were placed on a bo staff. Between our games he would find fun in quizzing me. He knew my favorite subjects were history and lore. Often he would marvel at the little things I could remember from our class. He loved bringing up the far out land of the elves, Evermeet. Over and over he would ask. I knew he knew everything that I said, after all, we shared the same lessons. I think that he just liked hearing about it. He shared with me one day about his anxiety of being half kin and that he wouldn't be welcomed into Evermeet or that if he was it was merely an act of petty. I hugged him tight that day and told him that any one who would turn him away clearly misunderstood how incredible he was.

We grew up eventually. I had a few years on Rhalyf but his human side made up for that quick. Rhalyf would eventually apply for apprenticeship as a Bladesinger but when no word returned he feared the worst. Wether it be from his half human blood or the fact he was no Evermeet citizen he took the news hard. He was at the top of our class, only riveled by me, so whatever the reason he was sure it was something due to that.

I with met him the day before he left. He had been crying, one of the few times I've seen him ever do that. Being a Bladesinger was all he ever wanted. Powerful guardians. Champions of elven kind. Adventuring was in his blood. And that's why he had to leave. A college had accepted him when Evermeet and her master's did not. My memory is so vivid of that night. We were in his room for hours, from set to rise. Perhaps my mind knew already the long length of time we would have to endure before seeing each other again and so it captured every detail it could. We sat in his room, near the open window. It was summer and the wind stayed warm many hours after the sun had left. He had candles burning, a mix of fresh pine lumber and lemon, something he always burned when worried or stressed. We talked but also enjoyed comfortable silence.

His time to go came. The sun had it's first light over the city and Rhalyf was adamant about leaving without other people's knowing, wanting to avoid the fuss of good byes.

I hugged my friend again before letting him go down his path but not before he asked one last question.

"Vox, why don't you want to go?"

Adulthood

But why would I leave? Where would I go? What place could I go to that was better than here? Perhaps I was too bought in on the idea that our elven differences were so firm, at least that's what others thought of me. What can I say? I am a full blooded sun elf. A lot is expected of me wether they admit or not. Time out "adventuring" could be time spent on bettering myself and I must be the best me.

When finished with the academic portion of my life the next series of months blended together. My memory is very strong but there's not much I could tell you about that time. I wouldn't discribe it as a 'blur', but more like the gears of a clock. Days mimicked days and weeks were mirrors of each other. The only breaks of the continunity were the local festivals that my city observed but those matter much less after Rhalyf left. Those days were better spent with personal projects.

Cooking was an interesting venture for me but was short lived as I don’t eat much. I tried my hand at my parents' own vocation but rarely did they require my help. Most hours with them had me idle and anxious to be else where, doing something different. Tutoring promising start. I was with a youngling named Ceara. Access to an apprentice came in handy and I was most pleased to influence her and give guidance. She had fallen behind in school due to what her parents thought was a poor immune system. It turned out to be more than that. She would fall ill randomly and after enough encounters with our family physician we took it into our own hands. I admired how willing and brave she was. It took some trial and error, something that wasn’t easy on either of us. Eventually, over the course of months, we discovered that Ceara had an sensitivity to the weave of magic that was omnipresence. When the threads suddenly changed course and caused a peak or valley Ceara would experience something akin to vertigo. After that we found prescriptions useful to her and mindful meditation aided Ceara’s mental strength to withstand the occasional shifts. It wasn’t long after that she was caught up with her classmates and no longer required my tutelage.

That lasted for a little over a year and maybe it was for the best. Teaching wouldn’t be my calling. Maybe in a century or two later would I consider but not now.

By this point it had been close to four years since Rhalyf left for college. Letters were sparse, mainly sent in time for each other’s birthdays. I had gathered enough spare gold to send a care package of some of our home city’s goods. Fresh fruits, a green and gold ribbon from the Day of Color festival, a supply of candles. The item most pleased to send was a flat palm sized slab of obsidian. It came to my possession via my parents. It was an oddity that never sold after years of trying. The material was rare but in such small quantities it hardly had any appeal. It was always warm to the touch and I suggested he store it in his glove or a pocket. He was far north in the snowy lands and judging by his correspondence afterwards he’ll never receive a better gift. This was quite some time ago and had recently been considering sending another. Tutoring Ceara had landed me a windfall of gold. Her parents insisted on paying extra after going such lengths for their daughter.

It would have been such a surprise for Rhalyf had he not surprised me first.

The Silver Hymn

I threw my arms around my dear friend and hugged him tight. He had grown but not quite to my height. His clothing choices were different too. He sported a more fashionable attire that leaned on ostentatious. His hair wasn’t cut short any more either and was pulled into a low pony. So much had changed but I could still quickly pick my friend out in a busy crowd.

We exchanged our pleasantries before finding a place to sit and talk. We traded our stories from the past four years. I asked questions about some of his letters and he did the same back. He was impressed on how much I could recall from them and accused me of rereading within the last few days. I teased him, saying that he wishes and was quickly reminded of how acute my memory could be. He then asked about Evermeet and about the Bladesingers. Of course I remembered as children how he used to do this but there was something he was leading up to, I could tell. And he didn’t let down. After my brief lesson of the Bladesingers he asked me if I thought they were the only ones, sword fighters with a wholly original style of combat. I said yes and he thought so too, until he left. His theory is that there could be others. He hailed from the sword college now and that the talents he learned from the mountains were cousins to the Bladesingers, and that there could be more. He showed me an insignia that I later learned was for “The Silver Hymn”.

The Silver Hymn is a guild of lore seekers, or would eventually be. As of now it was just him and one other, the guild’s benefactor. He explained to me that he needed me, that there could be no one else to do it. Anyone could memorize text from a book and retain knowledge but only in me did he see the passion for it. He described the types of roles I would play and after two days of considering I said yes.

It was interesting work to say the least! Within a month we had grown from two, to six. Actually it was seven but it was hard to consider the guild’s benefactor as a member. Rhalyf and myself were looked to as the founders. Darcan and Jhaan were the first to join, classmates that had also stayed with in the city. They were revered well but were having trouble finding work without dedication to a mage college. After we had Eleyon join, a half moon elf who out grew her peers in the class room and was eager to start their adulthood. She was the youngest but carried her weight just as much. We weren’t sure if the guild needed any more until a wood elf of the name Kel joined. He was older and had experience far outside the city that both Rhalyf and I knew we couldn’t pass up on.

Gold was steady for the guild. We would receive a payout every two weeks. Darcan would prep and send the progress report in the in between weeks. Darcan has the finest of penmanship. Sometimes I would review his report just to see how that man writes his o’s. Jhaan had a knack with accounting and was quick to fill the role of treasurer. She made sure we had everything we needed and budgeted accordingly. Eleyon lacked initiative to work on her own and found her time better suited with me as an assistant. Kel we were still getting to know but he was delightful at the six string and had a tongue of silver, something useful when ever the need showed. No matter our talents we all poured over every book.

It took some time for any honest progress. Eleyon felt like we were shooting an arrow with out a target. She didn’t like the ambiguity of what we were looking for. It was actually Ceara that gave us our first step in a new direction. I had the sudden impulse of checking in on her, seeing what improvements she had made. I told her what I could of what we were doing. Until then we had just been cataloguing events of Bladesingers but they had been kept factual, likely to keep the art form a secret. Ceara asked why if we were looking for something like the Bladesingers. From there Eleyon suggested we look into folk lore, specially since Kel always said stories like those always had some truth to them.

It was the best months of my life. Rhalyf and I, working closely again. Making new friends. Together we separated fiction from non. There were examples of what Rhalyf was searching for. A sword fighter had returning from the Moonshae Isles and was completing feats of mastery, acts similar to Bladesingers but not exactly. This fighter single handedly protect

[bornfromscarletcords]

A Wolf’s Splendor

John was lounging outside of his hut, observing his farm lands which looked fruitful. He had cabbages and carrots and potatoes along with wheat and some other choice delicacies he would sell, consume or surplus in later days. It was a gentle enough season and so rarely did he need to hire out help from the village tradesmen, and women, who were more or less always looking for work somewhere. John was a werewolf so when most men , or women, were exhausted beyond movement, or groaning from aching ankles, John was more or less still beating along to some internal hymn, sweaty but barely into his reserves of energy. John’s internal hymns usually sounded something like the stacking and unstacking of coins, or the weighing of produce, or the careful and fevered observation of lovely looking bodies. Occasionally he’d be transported, figuratively, to some internal dreamscape of lush forests, clear crisp rivers, and skies like roads to the heavens, an animal’s paradise so to speak. John didn’t interact with people for much longer than he had to and like many of his kind, did not enjoy the tight confinement of inns crowded in pseudo strangers or parties with humans getting too loud or too drunk neither mutually exclusive. Oddly enough, he was still well liked amongst the townsfolk, and I suppose it might have something to do with people occasionally enjoying attaching emotions and ideas to a person in which most labels seemed to bounce off of. Like a dependable surface to lean on when you feel you can’t walk on any longer.

John was a swarthy man with short hair, of mostly average height and with a strong and fit build, like most of his kind. The majority of the village folk did not know he was a werewolf, which was healthy for them as knowledge of those obscure regions of creation tended to encourage more trouble than it stopped, and humans were already troublesome enough. John mostly dressed in tunics, worker’s pants and strong boots, but in his hut there were a number of spaces hidden from view housing any number of weapons and armor from less serene times in his existence. Oddly enough as each season came and went John became more and more assured that he was as deadly with a hoe or shovel as any bow or blade. There were a number of caches hidden across the region with similar, if slightly less mundane armaments but he had no real need for his safe houses or his somewhat sorrowful reminders of times come and gone. Tragedy and humor had taught him to exist in the present wherever or whenever that might be.

John was not the only werewolf in the region, far from it in fact but aside from getting into specific numbers, suffice to say there were enough. He supposed they were a pack but few official gatherings were called and few were attended by much of the population, mostly because their was little need or interest. The last time the pack had congealed itself it had been during a time of war, it was bloody soul scarring business and few wanted to awaken the demons born within them from those times which they had since, put to sleep. So they were all mostly scattered across the region, occasionally traveling in small tightnit groups with one another or rushing to the aid of friends from once upon a time but otherwise they mostly kept to themselves. Werewolves tended to be hard headed but big hearted people but the the biggest of hearts could be called to the greatest of transgressions. Being friends with another werewolf was hard even if you were one, being pack was simpler, more like the concept of family and it’s difficult to pick your family. Still as lonesome as John could get, there were some close few persons who he was not completely appalled at sharing a story, or a night of hunting, or even an adventure or two with.

There was Johanna, who was beautiful whether you looked at her with a beast’s eyes or a humans. She had red hair about as fiery as her spirit, which tended to have her bucking at any limitation someone tried, and would ultimately fail, to shackle her with. She had been something of a bard, and even when she didn’t have something of a legend she was always off marching to one place or another causing trouble and making things interesting. Aside from being one of the greatest bow-men, or bow-women if we’re splitting hair’s, and warriors in the region, she had somehow gotten goaded into becoming a master thief. It was a long story, and Johanna’s stories were always long, not because she told them that way, but because their always seemed to be a missing chapter scattered or plopped into another nest of mischievous and miraculous events. As far as she told it, she noticed some humans running a very “shoddy and vaguely ridiculous” larceny scheme. She tracked them down and had all of them begging for their lives and freedom, as they were sure she was some super assassin, or hard boiled private detective, or just a really skilled person that they had the misfortune of stealing from before she explained to them that “you have potential but you work was just so inefficient and without finesse or art or something. You’ll never get out of chump change at the rate you’re going and that the local sheriffs were probably making more money pretending to track them down than they were actually stealing.”  It was at this time they requested she join them and they’d tutor each other in the ways of subterfuge, misdirection, and getting rich. From their Johanna tuned her weird almost ghost like pattern-acquisition-sense onto all things thievery. In no time at all they were one of the most profitable, if slightly too infamous thieves guilds in the region. John always kept his eye on those nimble fingers of hers, and not only because they were gorgeous, he still had a couple of things left to him he’d rather not see fenced onto the blackmarket. Before he only had to worry about her shooting him with an arrow or slicing him with some hidden knife, now even his money wasn’t safe. Still she made him laugh, and the girl had absolutely no quit in her; those emerald eyes of hers were always shining with something like hope.

There was Gregory, Greg for short, and Rolland who were brothers. Greg was something like a general these days, so when he wasn’t hunkered down in capital city he was moving from encampment to encampment directing soldiers and dolling out orders and justice alike. Greg was bulky and gruff in speech, so most mistook him for a brute, and though he could kill a man one minute and be sleeping soundly the next he was more of a philosopher than your run of the mill savage. Rolland was in charge of a small armed company who seemed to appear as anything from a local militia, a secret society of heroes, to warrior monks. Some called them mercenaries which John could understand to an extent, sometimes it was simpler to look like something familiar to a people’s sense of enterprise and morality, especially when you followed the ways of iron and steal and death. They were not mercenaries. Both seemed hell bent on trying to induct John into one group or the other, once they even decided that they were “willing to let him be apart of both if it would make him happier” it wouldn’t and didn’t as John was content to staying on his farm. Those three often had talks about time and alchemy and the nature of force and the weakness of common men.  

Then there was Neil who was, well, an assassin. Most times when he saw him John was worried some hit had been finally put on his name, or that Neil had decided to stop ignoring the ones which already had been. John couldn’t confirm if any or just how many people would or did want him dead, but he considered it responsible to assume that everyone had their enemies even if slightly invisible, or intangible for that matter.  Neil knew about as many ways to kill a person as a master chef knew dishes and spices. He was a shortish lithe man, with a devil’s smile, and a somewhat lyrical voice, which tended to convince many people that they should listen to what he had to say. If they didn’t believe it they were inclined to pretend to as it could be that pleasing to the ear. It made the ending of his prey all the more simpler. John didn’t really know what group of dark slayers Neil belonged too, and as the man himself had told him many a time, he did not want to. Some things and people know when you are looking for them. To be honest John wasn’t even sure if it was one group at all, maybe it was dozens, perhaps all independent or all centered around a masked force puppeteering their actions. Regardless, he was absolutely sure it was all very dramatic and entertaining. Neil did not do well with boredom, or dumb people. John was not sure if he could call Neil his friend, not in the way he could with the others, but he was definitely a very dear rival who often challenged him to view things from the unexamined or rarely observed point of view. It was a habit of his which had kept John moving and breathing when so many others had fallen and stilled. In return, when Neil needed a place to sleep off his drunkenness, often brought about from some run in with his conscious which might have seen him hanging himself from a noose had he not run for a bottle, or to lay low from the vigilance of others, or simply to find a person who actually cared about his existence, John allowed him to stay with him. Rarely did it last more than a couple of days, Neil was restless and the calling of coin and blood usually had him mobile and trying to forget whatever dark lesson his angered soul had tried to teach him, though there were a couple of months when he had made quite the capable farmer. He’d almost given up his trade which was like a second skin by that time, but it appeared he was not ready to ease down into more balanced styles of existence.

These wolves had all been pretty experienced and well established amongst their kind, but John had taken under the wing, and in turn been taken under the wing of one of the newer werewolves. Her name was Tanya. Where Johanna was fair, as in light and creamy in color not a plays by the rules type of way as she could be a rotten cheat when she wanted to be  (It was probably what made her such a good thief) Tanya was dark. She had skin like violet berries though her hair was as white as a blooming lotus or seafoam. She had been making a survival, as it could hardly be called a living, as a bounty hunter until a carelessly labeled wanted poster had her going toe to toe with a mean and terribly angry feral werewolf. She managed to kill the bastard by some stroke of fate and it’s miracles but when she laid down to succumb to the mortal wounds which he’d inflicted upon her, she woke up the next day stronger and faster than she’d ever been. Her wounds were gone, though some ghostly scars remained for a day or two before they also faded, and the world seemed filled with new hues and sounds which she could sense had always been there but seemed to hide from the perception of humanity. She knew enough about the creature she fought to know the likely cause of her survival, and though her body seemed to burn at impossible temperatures leaving her confused and on edge as she trudged her way back to civilization, raw determination kept her from succumbing to some of the residual challenges of her wolfish fall from grace. The town’s folk seemed distant and annoying and so often, too often she considered orchestrating their destruction. Her bones seemed to shift beneath her skin, groaning to change and unleash, her blood boiled, and her heart and soul howled such sweet unholy sorrows. It was maddening, terrifying, and she cursed the gods more than a few times until finally she holed herself up on some abandoned fort or two, to burn out the wolf’s baying in change after change after change. When she finally felt she had reached some time of understanding with her inner beast, she went to go track down more of her kind. She’d found Rolland, and took up with his band, and eventually he sent her John’s way. John was pretty sure she was Rolland’s attempt at baiting him into his fold, but he also admitted that the sentimental bastard probably knew they both were in need of a bit of change of pace. Outside of the occasional flirting or fevered passionate embraces, often when the moon was peaking near its zenith, the two were more like two peas in a pod than lovers. Tanya ran a tavern, as it kept her busy which kept her sane while also allowing her to keep an eye on the villagers without having to get too close. Close with humans meant unnecessary questions and unnecessary questions often had people disappearing when no one was looking. She occasionally assisted the local law enforcement with some of the more interesting gossip or even some combat advice from her days hunting down marks but mostly she tried to lead as quiet an existence as possible. She had John’s back and John had hers as John was usually the first to notice anything amiss outside of their village and she knew just anything of interest going on within it. After some humorous scrutiny she revealed that she’d been spying on him for Johanna who seemed to want to know if he was eating enough and playing nice with his neighbors. Apparently the two had become well, thick as thieves in the the few short but admittedly wild times they’d been around one another. John began to suspect that Johanna’s visits to their territory weren’t so random or as small in number they appeared to be. She was always good at moving unseen.

There were a couple of others we could mention, but one of the more dynamic members of John’s list of “do not shoot on sight, and maybe invite for a meal or something” wolfy kinsmen was the man, or creature depending on how you consider it, who operated more or less like their alpha. The term did not have the same meaning as it might have had in past times, the wolves were too scattered and generally independent to care about some ancient title that just about anyone with an ounce of gumption could claim. There was another title though which most if not all werewolves who had survived the great meetings with death could remember. A title that had meaning even in those wild tribes haunting groves and castles unvisited by manlings for many years. Lord Of Beasts they called him, for an alpha could command werewolves, but this wolf of wolves demanded the respect and, well, fear of any who claimed fur and fang simply in the invocation of his legend, which had been fought for and earned through trials of hell, heaven, and earth. Through trials of those mortal and immortal. Through trials of fire and the end. John could not remember his face, and it was not a normal thing this lapse in memory, as few things with werewolves were normal. John had escaped detection in his lupine form and his more manish one’s through too many miraculous means to not understand that he was, more or less, denied the right to remember the more mortal visage of his commander and chief. The Lord Of Beasts, though John called him Luthor when face to face, was almost always seen in some armor of typically ghastly image, or primal brilliance, and when not masked in less mundane humors, he appeared disguised as your typical town watchmen, or helmed courier, or even priest. It was all very humorous in explanation but John like many of his closest companions had an understanding that most humor came from fear, and most fear came from truth though very often corrupted beyond recognition or origen. The name was most likely an alias, though like a childhood pet, or a friend parted too soon, John understood that Luthor had a certain fondness for the barriers he put between himself and the world. John told him the family name he’d chosen had been a bit much, Luthor Nightpyre wasn’t really incognito, but Luthor explained that people’s senses were contained by belief and that so many people’s had such fragile and disturbingly limited beliefs he could have called himself “Master of Souls And Fine Cheeses” and all they might hear was apparently there was a dairy salesmen in town. He also added, because he was extremely fond of strange jokes, that he said his name in such a way that it was often unrecognizable to its written form. He claimed it was because of his accent, which could have been true enough, Luthor’s language of origin was not human in nature. John would be lying if he said he didn’t often feel a little on edge when his “lord” payed him a visit, it was like standing next to your king, or your executioner and not in the assasin type of way like with Neil. If Luthor was going to kill you most likely there was little you could do to avoid that fate and most likely you probably deserved it. With that said John did believe it beyond his , friend would be too incomplete a word, soul brother to have had a mysterious plot in motion all along that would make dying not so bad a thing, potentially even one of the better outcomes. Luthor had seemingly done just about everything in one way or another, from leading armies, guiding assassin disciples, holding one of the farthest reaching network of bandits and thieves known to man, and inspiring  the creation of many folktale heroes and villains. He also may or may not have been hold up in some strange city of stone, which was at least half underground, serving as advisor to their prince, while also haunting their nighttime hours. It was rumored to be located out west, but with Luthor it was usually a matter of “west of what?” as everything was relative to him. John contented that he’d never find it unless Luthor or something close to him allowed it, and seeing as the man all but existed to be thrilled, farbeit for John to get caught in the middle of some ridiculous, if momentarily entertaining, plot he’d set in motion years ago. Mysteriously enough somehow it would have entirely relied upon the entrance of a “strange wolf” who had arrived by “chance” and then as they killed, laughed, and ran their way from one danger into the next, Luthor would be howling and toothilly whispering about destiny and how he hoped John hadn’t let his get too boring. Luckily for him John found plants to be terrifyingly entertaining.

When Luthor didn’t approach himself it was not uncommon for one of his sons to make the journey in his stead. Though it was typically hard to tell them apart, not only because they all had such similar fashion choice in their vaguely sociopathic shelled beast taste, but John would say they had a very similar aura or manner of being. John wasn’t sure if their were bioligocally his or simply some adopted misfits, but he doubted Luthor would see much of a difference, he had seen enough to know that miracles, though John saw them more as paradoxes, had their own logic somewhere between those of gods and man. One of the sons was chatty and eccentric and had his father’s sense for almost unconscious humor which rolled out simply by existing a good portion of the time. The other was moody but had his father’s sense of loyalty and commitment to a cause, he would see a thing through to a finish even if lamenting breathing the entire time. They were both terrifying, the former because he was more than likely in some bout of insanity or another, and very good with just about any weapon he picked up, the other because he resembled a graveyard haunt and you knew even if it broke his heart he’d smash your face into the dirt over and over again just because he believed he had to do it. Rarely did he see them all together at once, but when he did John knew a very large amount of people were going to be cosmically humbled, perhaps for generations to come. The chatty brother Hector, often questioned his father’s methods and sought to improve, match or one up them. The gloomy brother Arnold, did not often actively speak out against his father, but did rebel in his own quiet yet subtle dynamic ways, though John was mildly horrified by the fact that he may not have even been aware of his own actions. So as much grief as the werewolves could give Luthor on his less than orthodox and occasionally overbearing manner of rule and guidance, one rarely had to look farther than his kids to understand that the man had his hands full and was far from unchallenged. John was glad someone was keeping him sharp.

Speaking of challenging relations. Luthor had a daughter, one which was, by confirmation adopted, though when he explained it to John, he said it had everything to do with how family can protect a thing even if they want nothing to do with it, unlike a business for example. Her name was Jennifer, though a few people called her Jenny, while most said “aw look out for that she devil she’s coming to eat your souls” or something like that. Jenny, as John called her when he wasn’t calling her an arsenal of slurs which typically described an unscrupulous or mean spirited woman or she-beast, was a vampire. The specifics of just how she aquired this trait are a bit foggy, but many say it was at Luthor’s directions after she expressed little to no interest in becoming a werewolf. Luthor had a hard time stomaching the presence of humans except the ones he felt personally invested in, and as the story goes both he and Jenny knew she had untapped potential in spades that would be wasted in a human existence. Many suspect that it wasn’t so much that she hated the idea of being a werewolf but that she wished to follow a path slightly more unique to her own story than be enveloped in her adoptive father’s legacy, some even say she believed being a vampire to be a strong and smart choice from the beginning but needed her father to believe it was at his directive. John conceded that both versions were probably true in their own right as Luthor was not one to surround himself with the stupid and though he was weary of pride and desires he couldn’t help but be thrilled by interesting and excellently executed plots even if he had to be fooled, a little,  for them to be done. When pressed on the issue Jenny often said that “clever people know how to work around their own stubbornness as they were close companions with the unorthodox”. Well Jenny was about as clever as she was powerful, which was very. It wasn’t to say that she didn’t have internal fortitude, in fact she was almost determined to a fault, but she had a habit of serving her desires a bit too often rather than having them serve her. Still we’re all entitled to our sin’s now and again, few things are perfect and the world is all the more interesting because of that.

Jenny had little to fear about being eclipsed by her adoptive family or clan, she was nearly as famous, well infamous as her father. Her stories tended to be slightly more bloody and classically terrifying than Luthor’s mostly because as much as he enjoyed a good time he hated people trying to attach dumbness to his image and so he was more like a dark whisper in the wind, a whisper with large claws and fangs and crossbow bolts mind you, as opposed to the almost wraithlike scourge from the underworld tone of many of Jenny’s stories. We suppose you could say many of Luthor’s stories were scary because at any time it could have just been some weird guy with a lot of imagination, maybe even your best friend who had been behind it all. A very real fear that followed you everywhere if you let it. Jenny’s stories were like the stuff of nightmares too ridiculous to be true around enough people or in enough sunlight, but when you were alone, and in the dark, or about to rest for the night, you remembered.  

Jenny was one of the most powerful vampires in the region, and alternated between helping oversee the central night court, looking after her thralls and blood born vampires, and more or less wandering the countryside searching for new thrills to fill her time. So it was that she occasionally visited John and his farm, often jesting about his choice of profession considering his less than docile past, and trying to seduce him, either into passionate writhing of the flesh, or some grand adventure she had dreamed up halfway on the road to see him. Her jesting was often a little too cruel for his taste but he understood her existence was not an easy one full of kindnesses, a debate between vampires often felt like a trading of backhand smacks. He knew she also had a sweeter tone of voice filled with honey and warmth. The warmth he didn’t mind what he did mind was how layered the honey seemed with power and influence which he was positive she used with companion and prey alike, and he wondered if she knew the difference. So he preferred a bit of her meanness because it meant she was probably being a little more like her real self rather than what he would like fantasize her as. He didn’t mind being seduced, it was not often you found women as independent and forward as she was, someone who really knew what they were doing and didn’t care about doing it, but he was weary about when and where these things happened, and just why she had appeared at the times and places she had. Jenny had survived for as long as she had because she didn’t waste time and she knew how to multitask, she could push a thousand plans forward with a doting smile. He also knew that she conducted similar behavior with some of his closer companions. He did not fault her or them for indulging in certain pleasures, god knows they were more than old enough to go about their own business, but he was weary about what internal dark machination she satisfied by consorting with them in such strange patterns. Her adventures, he had to admit were amazing, though he was always a little on edge of their paths got a little too steep, or their exits too few, or their enemies too numerous and began to do internal calculations about what he might of done to really tick her off, or what he hadn’t done; vampires had a strange relation with conflict some liked you more if you were an interesting thorn in their side. They weren’t friends but she was hardly nothing to him, like Luthor she deserved something of a special derivative; shadow sister.

From how John understood it, vampires liked feeding on humans, one because of the nature of their curse, two because humans were sentient and interesting predators and prey that could think and evoke relatable feeling appealed to a certain pleasurable sinfulness in many creatures werewolves included. With this said, some vampires didn’t mind expanding their feeding patterns and from how Jenny had described it she enjoyed feasting on the powerful and strong be them man, animal or of more otherworldly variety. Though specifically, she admitted, she had something of a forbidden desire for werewolf’s blood. Forbidden because Luthor was not exactly ecstatic about her feasting on his wolves and potentially tainting their blood, at least not without his supervision or permission. As rumors went, many suspected Luthor was not only a werewolf and that some of his energy was rooted in more obscure designs. Werewolves also weren’t easy prey, though John had to admit he found it hard to believe that Jenny could be denied something for very long if she truly wished it hers. So far he had only let her feed from him a handful of times in the many years he had known her, many of those times were to save her life or unlife, and though he had heard many a rumor of just how many times a vampire must feed before you are theirs each of those times Luthor had been there (eventually) to “disrupt any hold she might place on you, or destroy any taint” as he phrased it. John wasn’t sure what Luthor had done exactly but he’d been grateful for his intervention. Jenny was beautiful, she all but glowed when she wanted to, as if she were more an earthbound angel guised in silver hair and aura, and her curves were taut with muscle and womanly essence, still that didn’t mean he wanted, or needed to be her slave. She reminded him of some ancient cave sorcerous sent to monitor the process of man’s evolution, all primal excellence and beastly charm. It was easy to forget that she was as comfortable in a suit of mail as she was in dresses or fancy boots; John couldn’t imagine getting in the way of her and a battle axe. John was unsure about if his companions relations with her cravings compared to his but a night of pillowtalk with Johanna confirmed that during an expedition with Luthor, Jenny, and herself, Jenny had been wounded and nearly blood starved and Luthor allowed her his blood, and when Johanna offered hers as well, he did not stop her though he did induct some type of cleansing ritual on her wounds afterwords most likely not unlike John’s own treatment. The rest of that night was blurry due to Johanna’s general mind numbingly tempting, and satisfying naked bits, but he had liked to believe he remembered the most important parts.   

Jenny was known as the Mage, the Magus or the Magister amongst her fellow vampires as their most powerful or at least most influential had an interesting way of cloaking themselves in archetypes or ideals. Even as a human she’d had an unusually potent capacity for magic often being able to turn the simplest of spells and concepts into devastating obstacles for her enemies and extraordinary bounties for her allies. Vampires hungered for power almost as much as they hungered for blood, so it wasn’t surprising to see them trying to overload themselves with abilities, the only problem was that few were actually worth the legends that surrounded them and the actually talented tended to get themselves killed off, or self destruct, early into their renewed abilities. It seemed natural selection was active even in supernatural communities, everything was balanced by something, for one thing to be gain another was sacrificed. Still, as dangerous as Jenny was with magic, John had met some scarier one’s in his time. Luthor had to contend with the occasional challenger’s or half hearted schemers, the worthy one’s he spared so that they might be useful and spread his legend, or he honored them with a glorious death, the unworthy, well what happened to them was best not spoken of. This meant his only true competitors were the extraordinarily well hidden and patient, and Luthor always wore a mask and was about as patient as the heavens were unusual, as well as his sons who may not have been able to take their father one on one, but could probably manage something if they teamed up together. Still in his time John had seen some extraordinary things and one of the few creatures who could claim to actually be Luthor’s equal and perhaps even his one true rival happened to be a strange lady out of nowhere.

Eleanor, Nel for short, Moonhaven was about as powerful as wolves come. She’d titled herself Lady Noir because it was funny and sounded mysterious, and if Nel Moonhaven was anything, she was mysterious. As far as John understood it, werewolves worked best when they focused more on internal strength and determination rather than conventional or corrupted ideas about control. He would say that that was one of the main differences between them and vampires, who often couldn’t get enough of control. They had met Lady Noir back in the last couple of years of the congealed pack. Luthor had been taking a few of his closest companions on an expeditions into the tombs beneath the surface of the region as one apparently had been devoted to some “Moon Clan” and it’s “Guardian Wolves”. John had been apart of that expedition, and he’d seen many horrors down there, some beauties as well, though the catacombs of knowledge and art almost made up for it; they were true wonders. Still one of the most miraculous of all was watching a coffin bound in silver chains detailing the moon’s cycles snap those bindings, open itself to allow a skeleton rise from its chambers pulsing like a scion of magic and death. The skeleton sort of hung their for a moment and it’s constant quaking sent ripples of wolfish pressure through the air all but calling the party into the change, it was only Luthor’s resilience which kept them sane though some were still called into their more bestial shapes. Then the skeleton began restoring itself with flesh and magic, and the essence of wolves. What dropped to the ground with almost thunderous quakes, John was almost sure the ceiling would fall down on him, was a woman. She was nearly as beautiful as Johanna, and though her ribs spoke of her hunger it was hard to convince his wolf to ignore the appeal of her naked form. She had dark hair like tree bark or autumn leaves which slightly curled down her back and shoulders.  And between her breasts was a pendant marked for the moon. She looked frail but it only took one moment of glancing into her eyes for John to understand that he had been mistaken. They flashed back and forth between the woman’s chestnut orbs and the wolf’s violent gold. The whites of her eyes darkened to black and back. They were a mad beast’s vision and if John wasn’t mistaken they flashed at a perceivable though subtle pattern, like echolocation, like a dark chorus. It was Hector who reached to kill her, though he nearly had to turn his blades on his brother who tried to stop him. It was upon seeing this that John realized she was influencing them, that she was influencing all of them, all at once, like tendrils in their minds without even having to utter a word. Luthor parted his sons with a firm shove and growl layered with the pressures of a true werewolf and before she could corrupt them even further he wrapped her in his cloak and placed his forehead to hers. Their eyes met for a moment, yes his mask gave suitable vision to his peepers, and though they held the gaze for a long time eventually she bowed her head just slightly and decided she liked resting on his shoulder more than fighting him. After that he carried her out of the tomb, his troubled yet functioning wolves in tow.

That had been John’s first introduction to Eleanor Moonhaven, and from that day on he was even more terrified of her than he was Jenny. The tomb was put under close surveillance with much of its artifacts and scrolls moved topside for more guarded research. Luthor wouldn’t allow any of his wolves to go down there without him or his sons as a type of shield. Somewhere within that time frame, Nel made herself known to the werewolf community, proclaiming herself as a chieftess of the moonclan and an “Elite Werewolf”. At first it sounded like she was just boasting but upon further investigation it turned out that Elite Werewolves may have been something like the last remnants of the original species as far as her culture perceived it. Their “blood” as well as “magic or curse” was supposedly more potent. It only took a few flexes of her energy for them to understand just what they meant, and potentially why there were not more Elite Werewolves left in the world. Strength of will meant little to Nel as she had a way of collapsing a person against their own might and then churning both in a direction of her choosing. She could compel a wolf into their change with little more than a glance or a wave, and if their man like illusions were drawn to her, their wolves seemed all but inclined to serve and defend her with their bodies and spirit. Those under her influence she could extend her senses through, to an extent. A pack took time and conviction to form but her extensions could tether a clan together in moments with so little as a nudge in the idea of unity or cohesion. It was disturbing, and though Luthor did not like indulging in magic unless necessary he had charms created to ward off against her influence. He did not destroy her though, though he had destroyed other miracles for less. What she did was mostly unconscious, as if reaching through and connecting to other wolves was as natural to her as breathing. That they bent to her will so effortlessly had much to do with their own hidden code, like a masked desire or need, it was hard to fight your genes.

“She scares me back to my swadling days, but I need that, been too not afraid for too long. It can dull the senses, make you lose track of the bigger picture. She gives me hope.” Luthor explained to John.

“But aren’t you worried she might destroy you or try to steal us from you.”  

“I’ve lived long enough and fulfilled enough to be able to accept my destruction with happiness, though a sorrowful sort. From what I’ve seen she’s smart and her will is strong. She’d be a worthy replacement. And if you lil’ bastards can’t fight her off maybe you deserve a tyrant, though beautiful and childish.”

“You’re pretty childish yourself sometimes.” John said.

“I earned it, you guys can be so boring, if I limited myself to your whims I’d probably turn back into a ghoulish corpse or something.” Luthor said.  

“Back into a corpse?” John said.

“A turn of phrase.” Luthor said though he was probably lying.

“So basically we get to keep our dignity as long as you’re in charge.” John said.

“If that’s how you want to see it go ahead, or you can dig into your gut and pull out enough fire to keep her at bay yourselves, you knuckleheads. I’ve come to terms with it.”  Luthor said.

Nel had other magics to claim though most smelled of her inner beast. She seemed to enjoy Luthor’s company as she said “most of the wolves were boring” and that he “told the best stories”. It was clear to everyone who met her that she was lonely though she could hide it well in her disturbing acquisition social cues, she could imitate them as if she’d grown up in the cultures themselves but she didn’t seem to understand them. Luthor was also one of the few wolves who could keep up with her love of games. She confided in John that their Lord of Beasts  was one of the few people who could make her laugh, something that had been something of an astrological event even back in her own time, it was around that time that she began asking John about what the rituals of romance were in this era. John told her about eating dinner together or cultivating friendship but she claimed they had already hunted together and played much. John was severely uncomfortable and would have left but her eyes began doing the strange flashing again and even with his charm he found it hard to negate the full effect of her influence. He explained that there were marriages, or partnerships with less clear labels. Nel explained her people had marriage though it didn’t really resemble the modern fashion as John described it. She had never intended to get married and still didn’t which is when she asked if wolves still mated to one another. She wasn’t talking about sex though the topic was so closely connected John felt a little hot under the collar. He explained that wolves still formed mate bonds with one another, though rarely and often with much challenge from those involved. Usually it was worth it, but the process could cause as much tragedy as it had been trying to avoid maybe even more so. Then she asked if Luthor had a mate, to which John replied “not to my knowledge” and even as he said it he knew he had failed his soul brother. Vaguely he felt like he was throwing him into the serpents pit.

The next day Nel called for him again she looked pouty and though she pretended to be bored, there was a disturbance in her usual silky demeanor, like she’d been electrified or like an inferno smouldering.

“You okay.”

“He said he didn’t want to be mates.” She said.

“Oh, that’s…” He was going to say unfortunate but that would have been a lie and she’d have sensed it, in fact them not being mates may have been the most fortunate thing for werewolf kind since the the invention man’s folly “...awkward.” He settled on. She sighed and gave him quite the scary glare. He felt like he was twelve and being scolded by his older cousin.

“He said that it doesn’t make sense for us to mate.” She said seeming a little unsteady, perhaps unsure of things which John imagined might have been a little new for her.

“Why’s that?”

“He said we’re both too unstable. Perhaps in time after we understand things a little better.”

“Does that make you sad?” John said. She shrugged after considering the words and pulled out a bouquet of roses.

“He gave me these as well as a key to a house he owns, where we ‘can gain understanding with less distractions around’.” She said, her cheeks growing red as her roses despite her attempt at a serious expression.

“That’s uh...interesting.” John said.

“Then he flashed me this like weird expression, like his thumb was pointing up and he was posing in a weird way or something. It was pretty cheesy.” She said.

“Okay.”

“And cute.” She said

“That’s uh, sweet.” John said.

“I’ll make him make up for being mean to me.” She said.

“Well a refusal isn’t really being mean, necessarily.” John said but she ignored him.

“He’ll see he was wrong, but first we’ll have lots of fun, and babies.” She said.

“Well now you see...wasn’t he just talking about rushing into things and...how you shouldn’t be doing that.” John half said half murmured but she ignored him.

“This was a good chat John, you uh got a good head on your shoulders. I’ll need people like that when I build my empire.”

“Okay, just don’t uh like, torture me, Or Luthor, or like anyone.”

“No promises.” She said starting to laugh.

“Yeah but the thing is I’m not joking.” John said chuckling along if only so she didn’t try to eat him or something.

“Oh that’s a rib tickler. Okay you can get out of here John, you’ve made your daily sacrifice.” She said and he took the chance to leave as soon as it was presented, she made a fake lunge at him as he got out of his chair causing him to trip a little. Her face was beautiful but those gold eyes looked hungry “You’re a real sport Johnny, knock um’ dead.” She said but all John knocked that day was nail’s into the boards against his door.  

[themallows]

Mallow past before Ana was even on the server pt 3

A NEED She had finished her quest, or at least, as far as she could go with it and tried to focus more on what the guild needed. Right then, they were short on healing. Missions and quests were coming in but with only one liable healer, Felis amongst them someone else would have to be found to fill the void.  Mallow, felt dirty, she had never been able to get clean since that day outside of the Invisible City. Her skin always felt dusty and covered in sand, the stench and grit  which laid on her then seemed to haunt her nose from time to time and she'd do her best to ignore it and pretend it didn't happen.  

The Guild or Free Company's needs would come first and maybe Mallow could find someway to cleanse herself of the nightmare. So, for a time being, she put her black mage gear away and dawned the new cowl, made by Einy, of an Archanist. Luckily this guild was in Limsa, just south of Hawkers Alley, a place she knew well thanks to shopping and venture travels with Einy.  She found herself liking it there more so then Gridiania's own Rosewood Stalls. Something about the air there seemed cleaner and cleared her mind more so then Gridania. Maybe that was it, she just needed to clear her head. She returned back to Gridania after acquiring her Carbuncle and continued her studies under Felis who had now become a Scholar and was acceling in it. His tutoring in the healing arts helped to take her mind off of things and when she wasn't practicing her spells she was out running lengthy errands for Einy.

Einy Home Einy Po was a relatively new member of The 88 but was well liked and working his way up in ranks. Not only was he an accomplished Bard but he also enjoyed doing things with his hands. The lalafell was nothing short of a artisan crafter and took pride in his ability to make just about anything and everything he could get his hands on. His room was proof of his  skills with any tool placed into them and Mallow found herself often admiring the look of it, even the shelf full of master books and the way he always smelled of wood shop or metal.

She wasn't that great of a healer, a joke of her being a voodoo priestess and having to offer up a "tank sacrifice" to the gods everytime she went out had become  a thing within the Free Company. A running joke if you will and for once Mallow didn't mind being the one to cause laughter for a change. It helped her smile and fueled the need for her to hear it often. She wanted to be useful to them. To Einy.  She always asked if he needed anything and Einy, who not only knew the in's and outs of the Market Board but was worldly versed in trade and field craft.

Mallow soon found herself spending long stints away from the 88 (which had become Acquitions INC upon Einy inheriting the FC) she had now started to refer to as home. If she wasn't harvesting something she was mining. Her trips to Ul'dah were purposeful and she made no long stops or talks to her mother when in the area. But she did look in and check in on her from afar.  

Mom Her mother still currently works in the Sapphire Avenue Exchange offering less flamboyant haircuts for the busy folk or those short on gil.