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[theiciantales]

Hearth 3: Kapi’olani

She took in the sun hovering just above the horizon as it painted the sky with vibrant strokes of color. The ocean reflected the sky and bathed the shore of Ke’ulai in a radiant glow. Kapi’olani sat on the warm sand next to the ship, her ship… eventually. It was a work in progress, with wood in many different states of use, from unsplit logs to the beginnings of a hull around the mainmast. The Hīhīmanu was designed to be fast and have a relatively low profile for a sea-worthy ship. It was going to have two triangular sails, a small cabin for sleeping and work, and a sizeable cargo hold capable of taking goods and people wherever they needed to go. Her dad and big sister had taken the lead on the planning, while she and her brothers prepared the materials. She undid the cloth that was keeping her curly jet hair away from any pitch or blades and it fell around her shoulders and mid-back. Footsteps disturbed the sand behind her and her dad stepped into her periphery. Tall and broad-shouldered, his features were slightly harder than hers, their ochre skin was glowing in the evening light and the resemblance especially shined through their smiles and wistful sighs taking in the gleaming horizon. He sat down next to her, his bone pipe already lit.

“I’ll never get tired of that,” he gestured to the wonder before them with the pipe, “endless possibilities and people just beyond that line in the distance. A world full of wonder and potential waiting to be discovered”

The silence hung for a moment.

“You’ve said that every night we’ve been out here, dad.”

“Have I? Then why do you think that is, little captain.”

“I’m not so little anymore dad, I passed both the official trial of maturity and your impromptu one, with flying colors no less!”

“You barely made it through the full song before you fell off the kalimba, little captain, though I must say even I, the great Nakoa, was worried when we got caught in the storm that day.”

She lightly slugged his arm, smiles never leaving either of their faces, there was another pause where the sun continued to sink.

“It’s because once Hīhīmanu is done, I’m going to sail across the ocean for the first time. And you want me to hold this wonder close, even when the storm threatens to break me.” Her smile turned rueful, memories of plague, betrayal, and loss flooding her mind.

“All of what you said is true Kapi, but you forgot something important.” He walked to be in front of her, the last of the day’s sunlight filtering through his hair that was just like hers, and knelt down. “No matter where you are in the world, you will always have pieces of home to hold onto. My pipe,” 

He handed the intricate whalebone pipe to her. 

”your bracelet,” 

The polished wood and coral jewelry on her wrist, a gift from her siblings.

“the sun, the moon, the tide, the currents, the stars. All of them are telling stories of our past, and if you listen carefully, they will guide you home, wherever you hold that to be.”

He brought her in for a hug, and for the first time in the month since the loss of her dear friend, Kapi’olani wept.

(GIF by Living Stills)

[theiciantales]

Hearth 2: Herald

The sun was already high when he rolled out of his bed, the luxurious silks still cool even in the desert heat. His home was made of adobe and shaded with hardwood shutters. The floors had lush carpets with intricate patterns and censers hung from the ceiling, giving the room strong smells of incense. Like any morning, Herald rose slowly and stumbled his way to the mirror, and gazed into his reflection. He was stunned to see a creature that looked like no goblin he had ever seen staring back. His eyes had gone from a soft gold to a deep red. The skin had darkened to almost a greyish brown from the bright green of last night. His ears had fused with his head and neck to take on the appearance of a king cobra’s hood. 

“Rook!”

Herald’s familiar, an imp with lavender-colored skin, flew into the room on leathery wings. The small devil wrapped his scorpion-like stinger around Herald’s wrist and looked at the young goblin.

“What’s wron- Oh gods!”

“Give it to me straight, how do I look?”

“Well… it’s certainly… different. Much more of a sinister vibe and definitely screams ‘hey I’m in a cult devoted to the Lady of Vice.’”

Herald was silent for a brief moment, moving his sight to the mirror again, his new eyes blinked with two overlapping eyelids. He felt the beginnings of tears building as he noticed new fangs in his smile. 

“I can’t believe it finally happened… Vurt’s going to be thrilled that we can start preparations for the binding ritual!”

He sprinted out into the midday heat, Rook still wrapped around his wrist. The hamlet was made of a few adobe homes and buildings like his own, all on the edge of the nearby oasis. One of the few places in the deep Sea of Sands for merchants to rest, if they were willing to risk the trek. The surrounding vegetation grew larger than normal as it took in the emerald waters. They were favored by Rae’Goroth and were easily able to survive in the harsh climate. The other inhabitants gave him the usual formal greeting, as custom for his station as Vurt’s prodigy. They were extra enthusiastic about his new appearance, and he replied with the ‘I’m excited too, but I couldn’t have done it without all your help’ smile. Eventually, he found Vurt meditating on the edge of the oasis. He was old enough as an elf for age to show on his body, his tanned skin turned leathery and his hair turning white. 

“Vurt! Vurt! It happened!”

The elder’s eyes peeled open slowly as he came out of his deep meditation and took in the young goblin. 

“Ah, hail to thee, Herald of the Lady of Sin, I see you’re finally ready!” the reedy voice was interrupted by a shuddering breath, “Come, let us prepare for your ritual of ascension.”

That was the last day that the little hamlet around the oasis thrummed with life. The next day, only Herald and Rook would walk away from another ruin to be claimed by the dunes.

(Hashep Oasis by Jonas De Ro)

[theiciantales]

Hearth 1: Zomith

She felt the sweat on her brow as she hammered away on the breastplate. The workshop was sweltering with both the active forge and the coastal humidity that often visited the city of Wayland which sat on the southern coast of the continent. The family business had been booming ever since her mom joined up with a caravan headed for the city of Turley a couple months back, so she had taken some time off from her guard duties to help her dad and younger siblings keep up. Zomith stretched the tight muscles in her back while she reminisced. The workshop smelled of fire and oil, leather and steel, the smells of her childhood… well that and the dirt in the small yard they had where her mother trained her. She was honestly glad that she was six years older than Iza because her parents realized that having a toddler able to wonder around hot metal and sharp weapons wasn’t a great idea. Her jade skin still had plenty of burns from her early misadventures. It certainly helped her learn quickly to always assume metal was hot in the workshop until you prove otherwise. The day was winding down and the sunset filtered through the doors of the workshop, highlighting the neatly organized racks of tools, drafting benches, and three anvils. Zomith tapped a nail against one of her tusks while she considered if it would be worth it to finish the piece tonight or not, especially because the client wouldn’t even be by to pick it up for a couple days, and once she started on the filigree, she wouldn’t be able to stop until it was done. The smell of a spicy fish stew cut through the fumes of the shop.

“Zomy! Time for dinner!” 

Her dad had been calling her that for as long as she could remember. He was a large human with rosy cheeks and lots of muscle hiding under a layer of fat. He was also the main cook in the family, with a bevy of family recipes that ranged from light desserts to hearty stews that could fuel an army. He always had just the meal after a long day of getting her ass kicked by mom. She grabbed one of the spare towels they kept by the door and wiped off the sweat before tying her hair back up in a small bun. The cacophony from the kitchen was nothing compared to that of the forge, even so she still braced herself for the wall of sound. The kitchen was filled with both the din of shouted conversation and the wondrous smell of stew, rice, and grilled peaches. Her spot at the table already had a large portion, and all five of her siblings shouted in greeting. That was all the warning she had before she was ambushed by a swarm of the gremlins, each one latched onto a different limb, but she stood tall against the mass of sibling. Her dad’s belly laugh boomed through the home, shortly followed by squeals and laughter of his children.

(Image by Ōhashi Hiroshi)