the-iron-orchid-rp - Tumblr blog

[the-iron-orchid-rp]

"You can't even eat it, it's made of water," Jinana laughs. S/he'd had to have the same conversation with Anjali years ago, when the instinct to chase the fishlike elemental threatened to overwhelm hir own familiar.

"Shall we go check on the rooftop garden?" s/he asks Heron. "I wonder how many of the plants made it over the years."

They ascend the staircase once more, through the shop level and the living area, coming out on the roof of the building. There is a railing of wrought iron all around, and a little greenhouse in the corner.

Jinana gives a little sigh, seeing that many of Peregrinia's prized decorative plants have perished. As complex of a spell as it is, the Unseen Servant lacks the reasoning faculties to manage an entire garden over four years.

"Well, the kadi patta tree has survived, at least! And the makrut lime." S/he looks out over the empty space in the center; the furniture is still in storage. "We should try growing some Zadithi roses, then we can make our own gulkand and rose chai." S/he smiles.

"You can't even eat it, it's made of water," Jinana laughs. S/he'd had to have the same conversation with Anjali years ago, when the instinct to chase the fishlike elemental threatened to overwhelm hir own familiar.

"Shall we go check on the rooftop garden?" s/he asks Heron. "I wonder how many of the plants made it over the years."

They ascend the staircase once more, through the shop level and the living area, coming out on the roof of the building. There is a railing of wrought iron all around, and a little greenhouse in the corner.

Jinana gives a little sigh, seeing that many of Peregrinia's prized decorative plants have perished. As complex of a spell as it is, the Unseen Servant lacks the reasoning faculties to manage an entire garden over four years.

"Well, the kadi patta tree has survived, at least! And the makrut lime." S/he looks out over the empty space in the center; the furniture is still in storage. "We should try growing some Zadithi roses, then we can make our own gulkand and rose chai." S/he smiles.

[the-iron-orchid-rp]

Jinana now knows why the shop felt so still when they'd entered, its perfect preservation almost like that of a tomb. The systems of the building all have their own subtle background noises - the faint hum of the air circulator, the gentle gurgling of water filling the cistern and moving through the pipes, the low but not unpleasant sensation of the Arcane Furnace drawing in ambient magical energy. The shop is almost like a being in itself, a thing with its own magical life.

Rising, s/he goes over to peer at the water elemental. "You have gotten bigger, haven't you? It's been a while, I know." The creature turns its glowing regard on hir with a faint but definite aura of disapproval. "I know, we're sorry! But that's why we released you before we left, we didn't know how long we'd be gone!"

S/he looks at Heron. "I'm guessing we're going to have to re-negotiate our contract, along with that bigger tank."

The water elemental performs a lazy roll, almost splashing water out of the tank, as if to underscore this.

Heron takes a deep breath and sits back on his heels, looking at the glow of the crystal array. It’s absolutely beautiful, every color a persona could think of and some only a mage could ever hope to see. The best part of it is that it feels welcoming, like they’re really home again in the light of this furnace.

Accompanying the sound of water flowing in the Elemental Cisetern, a loud splash gets Heron’s attention. A glass tank in the corner is filling rapidly; clear, pure water swirling within. A carefully prepared conjuration spell brings water directly from a plane far removed from their own, and something else with it to give life to the pumps.

The churning liquid has coalesced into the form of a catfish with shimmering scales and glowing eyes. It looks very much like the elemental they released from service when they left, and it appears to have stopped to watch them.

“Has the elemental gotten bigger?” He stands and offers a hand to Jinana, to help hir stand, “I might have to replace the tank soon.”

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Jinana notes the direction of his gaze; the skirt was meant to match a choli still in hir possession, but Peregrinia never got the chance to complete it, and it had felt... wrong, somehow, to put it away at the time. So they had left it where it lay, as if she were about to return at any moment and complete it.

Now, four years later... perhaps one of them will be able to.

S/he takes Heron’s hand, placing the other on the housing of the furnace. It truly is the heart of the building, powering every magical necessity and convenience. As with so many times before, s/he feels the magic inside of them snap together like two disparate halves of a whole, forming something just a little different, a little more than the sum of each.

The bank of crystals flares into life as the energy is drawn from them both - they are careful to meter it out, not to overload the thing. Like the other wonders of the shop, it is a relic of Heron’s father; Phan Văn Liêm was an extraordinary magician. They do not want to risk damaging any of the things that he made.

Soon, the furnace is emitting a strong, steady glow and a faint thrumming as the shop’s systems are revitalized - water pumps, air flow, temperature control. Even the Palace itself does not have some of these luxuries, created by a gifted magician who had wanted every home comfort for his beloved wife.

The basement is a marvel of magical engineering all on it’s own. Special wards repel the water from the canal that is just on the other side of one wall. It was once part of a much older building that sank into the delta long ago, but a lot of work was put into making it a useful space. A workshop that was used by the whole household, even now the remnants of unfinished projects linger.

Heron runs a hand along an unfinished garment on a worktable. It’s a skirt, the color of the flesh of a ripe cantaloupe melon with vine embroidery. It would be nothing too difficult to finish, all that is left is the hemming.

He comes out of his thoughts with Jinana’s question, “Yes, let’s. Or we’ll never get to that well deserved bath.” A small smile comes to his face and he goes to look over the arcane furnace, placing a hand on it’s housing. Heron can feel the soft thrum of the little mana that was left within. It’s like the building has it’s own weak heartbeat and it’s time to give it some strength.

He holds out a hand to Jinana, it’s better to share the drain of mana, “We’ll give this place new life, starting here.”

[the-iron-orchid-rp]

Jinana regroups with Heron as s/he comes out of hir room, and they descend into the building's basement. Proofed by both excellent masonry and a touch of magic against the ever-present seeping groundwater, it remains as pristine as when they left it.

The bank of crystals inside of the Arcane Furnace retains a slight glow, collecting just enough ambient magical energy to keep the bare minimum of the shop's magical systems going. The cistern stands empty, its tiny portal to the elemental plane of Water closed. It is, perhaps, a strange way to get water in city filled with aqueducts... but the water provided in this way is incomparably pure and clear. Jinana has certainly missed it during their travels.

Hir eye falls upon a bundle of bolts of fine fabric standing in one corner, along with other paraphernalia of the tailor's craft. They were not quite able to liquidate everything before they set out for Prakra, but perhaps that is for the best. They may be able to use some of these textiles to help refresh the place, a little bit of the past that will bring it into the future they're looking to build.

S/he looks at Heron and smiles. "Shall we power it up?" s/he asks.

Heron gazes around his room, wandering over to pick up a little stone figurine of an ox and turns it over in his hands a moment before putting it down. Giovanni is truly a marvel, four years and still not a speck of dust to be found on any of the numerous knickknacks he had left behind. There had just been too many things to take with him on a trip of unknown length to Prakran lands.

He’s brought many new baubles to add to the shelves too. Rearranging everything is a task for another day though. For now he directs his trunk to one side of the room and summons an Unseen Servant to make the bed. After the cramped quarters on the ship it’ll be nice to sleep in his own bed again.

Excitable chirps and grunts sound through the room as Cicero comes dancing in. The mink runs and leaps up onto Heron’s desk and launches himself around excitedly, inspecting the room in his manic way.

“You like it here, huh?” Heron manages to pick up the squirming bundle of energy, “There’s plenty more to see.” He removes his bag from his shoulders and replaces it with Cicero, setting his bag in his desk chair.

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“She would say that, I’m sure.” Jinana smiles. The direction of his gaze tells hir the direction of his thoughts; the things his mother made are more ephemeral, more fragile than the creations of his father. Still, there are interior furnishings and even clothing that Peregrinia made, things that can continue to be used in her memory. Jinana hirself still has items made by her hands - a tiered skirt pieced from beautiful remnants, a silk choli trimmed in a bit of fine silver lace.

They took hir in after the loss of hir own parents, only to be lost in turn.

Anjali gives a very soft hiss, and Jinana shakes off the melancholy, scratching the sand lynx behind her tufted ears. “No, no bath for you,” s/he chuckles. “But a little soak does sound wonderful to me.” It is easy enough to freshen up with magic, but there is something about the contact of water to skin that it cannot compare to.

They go to their separate rooms, trunks floating obligingly along behind. Inside, Jinana’s room is just as it was, save for the bed being stripped and covered in a dropcloth. S/he sends hir trunk to rest at the foot of the bed, withdrawing a little wooden figure from inside hir bag. Concentrating, s/he summons hir own unseen servant, an otherwise-mindless conjured force that can accomplish simple tasks.

Mentally, s/he directs it to strip the dropcloth and make the bed. S/he leaves it to accomplish this task, seeking out Heron once more.

“No need to please any of Lucio’s adoring fans anymore, is there?” Heron looks around the kitchen with a nod in agreement, “Mother would say it’s been left unchanged for too long anyway, wouldn’t she?”

Peregrinia had been very conscious of her humble roots as the daughter of shepherds, so she always tried to keep up with new trends in decor in regard to their Heart District home. Socially paranoid would not be an inaccurate description, so that the kitchen looked like much of the decor of a Red Street building five or six years ago wasn’t terribly surprising.

Still, it’ll be hard to remove this thing that was the touch of his mother in a way. The things that Liêm made will remain and always have his mark. The things Peregrinia made, such as the curtains, sun-bleached on the one side, would need to be replaced. He would have to think of something during the remodeling process.

Heron starts for the bedrooms, stopping at the bathroom to open the door and peer in. It is clean and the copper tub is polished, inviting after the traveling they’ve just done. “A hot bath sounds nice. Let’s get the arcane furnace running again, and check on the elemental cistern. Using magic to banish filth just isn’t the same.”

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“It does... it feels like it should have some dust, or some mice, even though I know that Giovanni has been keeping it up all this time.” A dedicated Unseen Servant spell never tires, after all.

There are still a few wares on the shelves - mostly items that could not be readily liquidated to fund their time in Prakra, things useful only to other magicians. Empty herb and tea canisters stand neatly on their shelves behind the counter, their contents given away or packed up for their own use during the journey. While it is not dark or musty at all, the entire place feels... stagnant, frozen in time at the beginning of the Red Plague.

Going up the stairs at the far end of the shop, they come out into the large kitchen, of which Peregrinia had been so proud. But now the rich decor of marble, scarlet, and gold seems gaudy, harking back to a time of gaiety preceding disaster. Still, it’s a wonderfully roomy workspace, and Liêm’s work is still something to be proud of - from the walk-in coldroom, to the magically-heated stovetop, to the cabinet that instantly dries any herbs placed into it. All of these wonders were shut down for the duration of their trip, but bringing them back into use will not be difficult.

Jinana glances at Heron. “I’m thinking that a little redecorating will be in order, yes? Spruce things up a bit.” And perhaps chase away the ghosts of old memories that linger.

“It would make things easier if people still remember, wouldn’t it?” Though with the plague and four years having passed, it’d be a wonder if any of it is remembered at all. The two of them have a lot of work to do do get the shop running again.

The first step is going inside though. Heron opens the door and steps inside the dark interior. Heavy curtains block the sunlight and any potential prying eyes that might have been looking for abandoned places to loot. A wave of his hand makes the hanging lights to life for the first time in a while to show that it looked exactly as they’d left it.

Heron moves aside to let Jinana in and Cicero springs from his hiding place. The mink scurries to and fro, taking in the environment, little clawed paws clicking and scraping slightly at the tile. A new home to investigate, and perhaps eliminate pests from, but the mink will likely be disappointed.

Clasping his hands and looking at the, admittedly slightly dated, shop, Heron looks at Jinana, “Home again…It feels strange…”

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Jinana clucks, but accepts the change of subject. "Maybe its reputation spoke for itself, after the few times someone tried to get in before." There are a number of magical safeguards built into the shop - from the alarm system to the charm that, when triggered, deposits a troublesome customer or would-be thief right back out onto the street.

The entire shop, from the unseen servant that maintains it to the many living amenities inside, is a marvel of the magician's art. While Heron has his father's notes to work from, and has become even more powerful as a mage, the loss of Phan Văn Liêm's sheer experience in the creation of magical objects is still a grievous one to the community at large.

“I…” Heron side-eyes hir with a small frown on his face, “Half the time he looked like he hadn’t eaten in a week.” He turns to go pick up the sign again, taking a key ring from his bag, “It’s not as if he noticed anyway.”

Picking up the sign next to the door, to take it inside, he pushes the key into the lock. The wards on the lock can still be felt reacting to the key, like a soft buzzing, “The ward is still in place. I wonder if anyone even tried to get in.”

[the-iron-orchid-rp]

"I didn't know him well, of course - just delivering things to his clinic from the shop, until... well." S/he doesn't have to say it. "But I don't think that man could kill a fly... much less a human being." A single word, and the wanted poster goes up in a flash of blue flame, pale ash drifting away. Another, and the ball of old posted bills follows suit.

"I don't remember it very well, but wasn't there some kind of rumor about him and the Countess and some magician or other? Maybe it went sour." S/he sniffs, then eyes Heron narrowly.

"Didn't you have a crush on him for a while?" S/he laughs lightly. "Bringing him mooncakes, if I recall correctly."

Heron sets down the old sign by the door and comes to see what Jinana found. Sure enough it was a depiction of Julian Devorak on a wanted poster, “Doctor Devorak wanted for murder? That’s ridiculous.”

The doctor had been the one to treat Heron’s parents in their final days. He was a man dedicated to medicine and the well-being of those in his care…Who was also deeply upset when he could do nothing but help ease Liêm and Peregrinia’s passing, though he had tried his very best.

“The Red Plague was hard for everyone though…” He stops looking over Jinana’s shoulder and at the layers of bills all over the board. Waving a hand over it the multiple adhered layers peel and fall to the ground in a crumpled lump, “Maybe the doctor found himself in a very difficult situation?”

A possibility, but Heron doesn’t truly believe it.

[the-iron-orchid-rp]

There are so many memories here. After the Goldgrave Collapse, Jinana had half-heartedly tried to keep hir late aunt's shop running, but in the end, the ghosts of the past proved too much. S/he had merely haunted the place, like a ghost hirself, until Liêm and Peregrinia had kindly offered to take hir in.

S/he'd sold off the little shop in Center City, and moved into the rooms that had once belonged to Heron's brother, before he'd left to seek his fortune in Prakra. The healing had been long, but not being alone - and caring for a foundling sand lynx cub - had helped Jinana find the will to create meaning in hir own life again.

And then the Red Plague had come.

S/he brings hirself back to the present with a start, and smiles back at Heron. "We'll make it better than ever."

The board they'd once used to advertise specials is weatherbeaten, and plastered over with layers and layers of various bills, from lost pets and people to adverts for other merchants, taking advantage of the free space. Smack in the center is a faded poster, with large, eye-catching script: WANTED.

Jinana frowns, and makes a small gesture. The poster peels itself from the board and floats to hir hand, where s/he squints at the image upon it. It's weathered, and the artist not especially gifted, but the likeness is unmistakable.

"Julian Devorak?" Hir voice is incredulous. "Wanted for murder?"

Cicero grunts and chirps frantically in Heron’s ear. As far as the mink was concerned, a promise was made and he is not going to let it go unfulfilled.

With that kind of pressure they are off to Vitaly’s, or now Luka’s butcher’s shop. Heron remembered Vitaly and his son, his parents always preferred to come to this shop. Not only because Liêm had made a magical cold room for them, but Vitaly was an excellent butcher. It was obvious that Luka had been taught well.

Through the rest of their shopping, Heron’s thoughts drift back to Luka’s eyes and then back to his own parents. The same painfully red eyes, though Heron is very glad that the red scarring is without the swollen redness and prominent veins around the eyes…The suffering that accompanied the plague…

~~~

Standing in front of his childhood home again is surreal. It’s much as it was when they left it to go to Prakra, though the paint has faded and only the ghost of the signage remains. With some work it could look as it once did, but it will never be the same…It can’t be.

Heron raises his hands while looking at the sign and a small group of spectral hands float out to it. They unhook the rusting chains that it hangs from and float the whole thing down into his waiting arms. It can be saved as a keepsake, perhaps a wall hanging in the shop space.

He looks at Jinana with a smile, “We’ll make another, a fresh start for our renovated shop.”

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Sneha shrugs. "People will be people. Ajit and Sandeep work in the kitchen, Navin and Rajiv and Kunal see the customers, it's all right. But I feel very bad for Luka sometimes." She shakes her head.

More customers are lining up behind them; Sneha takes the two additional paratha in their lotus-leaf wrappers and hands them over with a smile. "Here, that should see you home. Come see us at the restaurant when you get settled in again."

They take their leave, letting Sneha get on with her business and promising to visit again soon.

Jinana is already into her second paratha as they continue walking, garnering quite a few looks with their trunks continuing to follow them at a close distance and the sand lynx padding along beside. "Should we go see Luka first for some meat? Or do you want to stop at the bakery?"

Anjali pricks up her ears at the word 'meat' and lets out another hungry cry, making it clear which one she favors.

He accepts the offered food. It smells wonderful after their trip. Even though the route wasn’t very long, meals at sea aren’t always the best…Especially not after the fresh ingredients begin to dwindle, “Thank you, Sneha.”

“How senseless…So many were lost, and those who weren’t have to deal with that?” If it’s the eyes that attract this ire though…He may be able to make something to help hide the scarring at least. It’s not ideal, but people are stubborn and the behavior won’t change overnight.

There’s a shuffling as Cicero climbs up Heron’s leg and body to try his luck at getting a bite, but the mink is caught in one of Heron’s hands. He grumbles as he hangs limply, like a stole.

“We’ll stop and get some meat for you two. I promise.”

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“Some people do,” Sneha says, shaking her head. “They’re just foolish... or jealous. Everybody lost someone.”

She gestures to her own dark eyes. “The white part, it stays red in survivors. Though at first, almost no-one survived. Then, at the end... I thought I was going to lose two of my sons, like their father. But almost overnight, they started to get better. And so did a lot of others. Like I said, a miracle.”

Sneha expertly flips the steaming parathas onto large folded lotus leaves, handing one to each of them. “Here, this will help put the meat back on your bones after all that ship’s food!”

Cicero had begun to watch Anjali jealously, but he looks up and chirps as Sneha asks about him.

“He can,” Heron says, smiling and taking Cicero from around his neck, “Thank you, Sneha.” He accepts the offered ghee on it’s vehicle of flatbread and places Cicero between the stall and his own feet. Out of the way of passersby.

“I was thinking that we should get them some meat. They haven’t had anything very fresh since we left Prakra,” He pauses a moment, “Do people treat the survivors poorly? What scars did it leave? Physically, I mean.”

[the-iron-orchid-rp]

@sheepshapedfluff

Scifi AU but the scifi sound effects are only ever Anjali

*raygun noises* 🔫🔫🔫

Paging @joasakura lmaoooo

For reference: hungry Anjali sounds a lot like this lmao

[the-iron-orchid-rp]

“Keema isn’t good for you,” Jinana warns hir familiar, even as the sand lynx gives another plaintive, warbling cry. Sneha laughs and scoops up some golden-yellow ghee from the jar with a bit of plain flatbread, holding it out to Anjali. The large cat very delicately takes it with her front teeth, dropping it to the cobblestones and licking up the ghee with little growls of contentment.

“Heron, is your, um... weasel? - your little friend there - allowed to have some ghee?” Sneha asks, flipping the parathas without even having to look at them. “If you want to get them some fresh meat, Vitaly’s son Luka took over the business when his father passed. The meat is just as good, don’t let anyone speak ill just because he has Plague scars. It’s the sign of a miracle, that he lived.”

A familiar face! It is good to see someone they’ve known for years still here and looking healthy. The Plague didn’t take everything familiar from the city, at least. Heron steps up to the stall with Jinana, giving hir shoulder a squeeze.

With a chirping call, more akin to the release of a magic attack than anything else, Anjali puts her front paws up on the stall counter. While Cicero re-emerges from Heron’s mane of hair to sniff at the familiar scent of Prakran food. He cannot blame them, the best food the familiars have had for the better part of the last week has been the rats from the ship’s hold.

Heron makes a note that they should stop and get some fresh meat for them on the way home.

“Oh that’s good news. I’m glad Giovanni has continued to work and help.” He says, very much relieved. Sometimes things can go wrong with untended automated constructs, but Heron’s father had spent a lot of time on this one, “Father would be pleased.”

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For reference: hungry Anjali sounds a lot like this lmao

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Jinana realizes that s/he has been bracing hirself for something, some impact, something that relaxes a fraction as s/he takes in the bustle of the Marketplace. It’s much as s/he remembers it, though many faces are different. S/he can’t help but wonder how many are among those lost to the Red Plague, and how many simply left, like Heron and hirself.

“Jñāna, is that you?” A familiar voice with a heavy Prakran accent calls out; a plump figure clad in a bright yellow saree waves to them from the shade of a nearby market stall.

“Sneha?” Relief at seeing a familiar face floods hir so suddenly that hir eyes sting with threatening tears; s/he blinks them away.

Sneha breaks into a broad smile. “Welcome back! And Heron, too - thanks to your Giovanni, we had kari patta leaves even while you were gone. Come, have some food - we owe you so much!” She takes stuffed flatbreads from a big, covered basket and places them onto the hot, ghee-coated griddle in front of her.

The ride through the canals is enlightening. The gondolier has more than enough gossip to give them a very good idea about the state of the city politically. It is a farce, to put it lightly, but how is that any different than it was before?

Those in power certainly aren’t looking after the city any better than Lucio did. The idea of failing infrastructure would make Heron anxious about the state of the shop, but it’s location in The Heart District helped it’s chances. The wealthy district dwellers were more likely to look after their own interests, and keep it well maintained personally.

If only they would look to the rest of the city as an extension of their prestige. Why wouldn’t they want their city to be in better condition? They live in it, and whether they like it, or not, it reflects on them.

As they approach the market the number of people seems to increase. The bustle of city life showing itself properly for the first time since they arrived. It’s a welcome sign that they did not return to a ghost town.

“Alright, you just head on through there and make a left right into the marketplace.” The gondolier informed them as the gondola bumped gently into the small dock.

Heron nodded in thanks, reaching into his bag as he summoned the floating disk to carry his trunk once again, “Take care of yourself, ser. Thank you for the company.” He hands the gondolier probably a little more than entirely necessary as he steps off and offers Jinana a hand.

[the-iron-orchid-rp]

Oof, I decided to start up this blog RIGHT BEFORE a bunch of IRL commitments and stuff hit lmao, but eh it’s fine we’ll get into the swing of things!

Also gonna make a pinned post and some more-distilled versions of Jinana’s lore from the main blog for easy reference, I’m just also doing ten thousand other things like usual ;P

[the-iron-orchid-rp]

I like to think that Heron’s trunk-bearing Floating Disk spell follows him at the exact same distance and height above the ground no matter what, while Jinana’s bobs around and slows down and catches up (though it never falls behind by more than 5 or 6 feet).

Also the fact that these two will just... walk around the city like that with absolutely zero fucks given, very them lmao