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[trin-llewellyn]

It was early evening: Trin and Vincent had been in front of the fireplace in the little apartment off of her office, sharing a bottle of arcwine whilst finishing up their separate calculations on a rather complex bit of runemancy. The magically fortified and sound-nullified building meant they hadn’t immediately heard the chaos outside— hadn’t had a chance to register what was happening as they turned to look out the window, only to see swarms of Nerubians spilling out of dozens of portals. 

Vincent— a prodigious mage in his own right— was first out the door, clad still in his pyjamas and slippers as he pulled his wand from his robe pocket and strode into the street. A jet of azure light shot from the end of his wand, shearing off a Nerubian’s wing at its joint: the insectoid let out a blood-curdling shriek, and around them citizens fled as Vincent turned and took on two more— both of them twice the size of the first one. 

Trin snapped from her horrified daze as the building rumbled and shifted ominously. She reached up to the bun atop her head and pulled her wand from its tangles, and slid her feet into a pair of boots before striding out of the flat and across the office. Vincent had dispatched the other two Nerubians as the first bled out, twitching in an unsightly way on the rubble-strewn cobblestones while across the street, a stream of panicked citizens poured from a shop and ran in the direction Vincent directed them— hopefully further away from the chaos. 

It all happened fast— so fast; too fast. 

She put a hand on the doorknob and made eye contact with Vincent as the ground beneath them began to rumble and shake, more violently with each passing second. The building’s supports groaned; dust shook loose and fell from the ceiling as the purple plaster walls began to crack. She turned the knob, but the door wouldn’t budge— in all the chaos— in the minute between Vincent using the door and the time she got there— the building had shifted enough for the door to become physically stuck in its frame. 

“Vincent, the door—!” She looked down and rattled the knob again; when she looked back up, he was standing right in front of the door, a palm to the glass. “Blink!” she yelled. “Blink through— !” She pressed a palm to his against the window, knowing full well the shop was warded heavily enough to prevent him from doing so, and to prevent either of them from simply blasting the door away without a few lengthy, complicated, and fiddly bits of magic. As a last ditch effort she tried to kick the door, her only result a bruised foot. 

The building shook more violently: chunks of plaster fell from the ceiling, knocking over displays and experiments, destroying decades of careful work in mere seconds. All the while, the two maintained steady eye contact. 

“You have to go!” Vincent yelled, his raised voice distant and muffled through the heavily warded glass. Trin shook her head. 

“I will not!” she yelled back stubbornly. 

“Break the lines!” he yelled back. Then: “...I love you!” 

Trin pressed both hands to the glass— the stupid, magically-fortified, unbreakable glass. 

“Vincent—” 

“I love you, Trin Ebrill Llewellyn with six L’s!” he called out, smiling as he backed away from the doorway and into the chaos in the street. 

“...I love you,” she whispered back, her voice cracking as she picked up her wand and maintained eye contact with him, determined to remember every detail of his face. “I always have.” 

Always will, she saw him mouth back through the glass. She took three steps back and started to draw a series of runes in the air. The shop— the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the windows— began to emit a pink glow as the magical bonds that kept the inside of her office anchored to Dalaran began to fall away: soon, the building stopped shaking, though outside was getting worse as entire city blocks began to crumble and the tops of towers broke off and dove heavily into the streets below. 

There was a low rumble— deeper than any that had come before, lower than the pounding of a million Nerubian feet. It was as if the city itself was opening its mouth to yawn; a baleful roll that shook the floating city to its very core. The connection severed, all Trin could do through the quickly-disappearing portal was watch. 

It happened so fast— too fast. 

One moment she stood, helpless, staring out at Vincent in the street; the next, there was nothing. 

A blinding flash of white light, and then nothing. 

Nothing at all.

***

The bell tinkled in the small shop, just as the portal to Ironforge closed behind Quai. Trin waved a hand dismissively and the glowing runes around the portal were swept away into nothingness. “Can I help you?” she asked as she turned to find a young man about her age standing by the door, his left hand fidgeting with the sleeve of his deep blue robes. 

“Er— I’ve come about the job posting— only it was rather vague, it just said ‘magical assistant required’.” He paused; Trin continued to watch him expectantly. “...I was wondering if your assistant had to be inherently magical, or if ‘magical’ was more of an ambiguous quality, in the way one might describe a particularly wonderful person. Like a muse.”  

Trin, for once in her life, appeared at a temporary loss for words. “I… had not thought I needed to clarify that particular adjective— I’m sorry, are you here to apply as a skilled magical assistant, or are you here to apply as a… muse?” 

The man beamed at her; Trin blinked owlishly behind her round frames. 

“I’ll take any job I can get,” he admitted. “Though I feel I should mention that I am inherently magical— frost, some arcane, a fair bit of runemancy.” He stuck out a hand to her. “Vincent Mallory Torbel.” 

Trin looked down at his hand, then extended one of her own with no small amount of caution.

“Trin Ebrill Llewellyn— six L’s.” 

Vincent chuckled softly. “Well, you’ve got me beat by three— I’ll work on that,” he joked. 

“...You intend to alter the spelling of your name for it to include more L’s?” 

Vincent looked at her to see if she was joking, though it was evident by her look of total confusion that perhaps she wasn’t even certain what a joke even was. He smiled gently. 

“No, I was just joking.”

“...Ah. Well, if you are going to work as my assistant, I would ask that you either clarify when you make jokes, or you refrain from making them.” 

“You’re hiring me? Just like that?” 

“Well, you are the only one who has applied.” 

“I feel so loved and appreciated.” 

“...Another joke?” 

“Sorry.” 

***

Everything beyond the windows was dark: a yawning, black maw that stretched out infinitely before her, swallowing everything beyond the thick panes of glass. Bits of dust continued to fall from the ceiling every so often, though the rumbling and the noise and the building shaking had stopped. 

Everything was still. 

Everything was silent. 

[trin-llewellyn]

Trin and her temporally-displaced office/laboratory. Pictured without duck.

[trin-llewellyn]

Trin’s eyes narrowed as she looked up from her desk, a quill in one hand; outside, silence had fallen over the floating city.

“Fuck.”

The word was uttered without inflection or emotion, said more with an air of resignation than anything else. She watched through the open window as the clouds outside rolled in, pewter-coloured and heavy with rain. The dozing cat on the corner of her desk cracked his eyes open to narrow slits, whiskers twitching as he regarded the impending deluge. He turned his head to look over at the seated mage and stretched out a lazy paw towards the window as thunder rumbled low in the distance.

“You’ll want to—”

“Yes, thank-you, David,” Trin snapped as she set the quill down and raised her wand: with a tight swish-and-flick of the rune-etched yew branch, the window slammed shut… a split second too late.

Papers lifted from her desk amidst a blur of wings and the sound of panicked flapping; bile rose in her throat. Hatred— an emotion she had never felt and could not quite place— blossomed in her chest as she laid eyes upon it.

The quacking— that vile quacking.

“I have asked you repeatedly,” she intoned firmly, “to please return to your own dimension or plane of existence.” She stared at the duck.

The duck stared back, its eyes beady in the increasingly dim light.

“Quack,” it replied.

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that,” Trin replied dryly. It was the only time in her life she would ever employ sarcasm correctly, and her only witnesses were a mistakenly transfigured ex-student and an extra-dimensional duck.

“You are stuck in a time loop and you do not even belong here,” she added.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” the duck replied, and a second once-in-a-lifetime moment occurred as Trin’s eyes widened, leaving her momentarily agog. David-the-cat rose up and arched his back, fur bristling and ears flat against his head at the new and horrifying duck development.

Trin, having quickly recovered her senses, spoke:

“You speak Common,” she stated. On the desk, the quill sprang to life and began to scribble notes messily across a piece of parchment.

“… You can understand me?” the duck asked.

“Yes, though I am uncertain as to why,” Trin replied. She raised a bony finger and tapped her chin twice. “Do you object to—”

“Yes,” the duck interrupted, “I object to being experimented upon. I’m not even a duck!”

“I disagree, based on visual evidence and the fact that you have shat on my floor every time you’ve flown in here.”

“Everybody poops, Trin,” David pointed out as he backed away to a corner of the desk furthest from the duck, bottlebrush tail straight in the air.

“Yes, but does it have to be on my floor? It should go outside, preferably on that horrid statue by the Eventide bank,” she replied.

“It doesn’t matter where I shit!” the duck honked insistently. “Listen— I was sent here to check in on you—”

“Check in on me? Are you from the Kirin Tor?” Trin demanded. “You have to tell me if you are, it’s the law.” The duck slapped its little webbed feet impatiently on the dull marble.

“No! We were keeping an eye on you—”

“The Tor?”

“The Bronze Dragonflight,” the duck clarified.

“I did not know the Tor were in league with the Bronze Dragonflight.”

“They… they aren’t— is she right? In the head?” the duck asked as it turned its gaze on David-the-cat, who shrugged inasmuch as a cat could shrug.

“Jury’s still out on that.” He hunkered down into a compact loaf as Trin snapped her fingers between the two.

“Explanations! I still require explanations!” she said sharply. The duck looked back at her. Rain began to patter against the window.

“Your experiments— your temporal experiments— are of interest to us. Not enough to warrant us putting a stop to them,” it added quickly as Trin opened her mouth to protest, “but enough to send someone out to… gently correct the things you get wrong.”

“And what have I gotten wrong?” she asked haughtily.

“Just the one thing, actually— your conveyance factor calculations ten years ago, when you—”

“Sent Andrew accidentally back to the War of the Ancients,” Trin interrupted. “Yes, but I brought him back and wiped most of his memory. He sometimes still dreams about it, but I do not think he actually remembers anything.”

“He hit on Illidan and was nearly eaten by a dragon,” the duck pointed out.

“Yes, but he doesn’t remember it,” Trin insisted, “and I’m certain she doesn’t, either.” The duck sighed, inasmuch as a duck could sigh.

“That isn’t the point. The point is that what you’re doing is dangerous, and occasionally someone is sent to… look out for things. And to gently correct mistakes.”

“You said I’ve only made one mistake, and I corrected that one myself, without aid. Once I realised I’d forgotten to carry the two, I did the correct calculations and got him back in less than two days,” she pointed out.

“Yes, but if you hadn’t—”

“But I did.”

“But if you hadn’t—”

“But I did.”

“Guys?” David interrupted. Trin and the duck turned to look at him. “Uh, not to get in the middle of this, but just to recap— the time-locked extra-dimensional duck that’s been terrorising us for over a decade can now speak Common and has revealed themselves to not be a duck, but actually a Bronze dragon— likely a lesser one— who was sent to keep an eye on your experiments with time,” he said to Trin. “And you,” he added as he trained his yellow eyes on the duck, “need to tell us why you can suddenly speak Common.”

“I don’t know,” the duck admitted. The three lapsed into silence as the rain outside continued to fall. A minute later, Trin raised her hand— though for whose benefit, it was unclear.

“It could have something to do with the Dragon Isles being rediscovered.”

The duck blinked.

“The what?” it asked before vanishing on the spot before their very eyes.

“The Dragon— oh, bother,” Trin sighed as she looked outside to see the clouds beginning to thin on the horizon. The rain slowed and quickly trickled to a stop. David rose to his feet and jumped down from the desk.

“There’s always next time,” he said as he padded silently towards the kitchen. Trin looked down at the quill, which was hovering over a piece of parchment upon which the word ‘duck!’ had been written in increasingly wild and uneven script. She waved a hand and the quill fell motionless on the desk once more.

“I suppose,” she mumbled, her voice heavy with disappointment.

[trin-llewellyn]

There once was a duck.

That isn’t the start of a riddle; it is a simple statement of fact. 

There once was a duck. 

There also still is a duck. This duck, as it happens, is stuck in Trin’s office. It doesn’t want to be there; Trin absolutely does not want it there.

And yet, its existence persists. 

The duck, through no fault of its own, became an unwelcome fixture in her office some years ago, when she was training a young apprentice. Of course, the duck was also there long before that as well. That’s what happens when you deal with temporally adrift beings: they tend to show up at unexpected times. 

“He was terribly clever, you see,” Trin explains of her former apprentice, “but he lacked the ability to visualize cause and effect from a space-time standpoint. When he opened the window, a duck flew in; when he caught it and threw it back out the window— instead of taking it through the door and outside, which would have been fine— the duck became untethered in its own timeline and started to reappear at different points throughout the history of this particular office. It wasn’t until I saw him handle the duck that I realized that must have been the initial sighting and cause.” 

“Have you tried untethering its temporo-spatial threads from your office’s own temporally locked position?” you might ask. Well of course you asked that— it’s the logical thing to ask; the first step in ridding oneself of an angry, time-locked mallard. 

“Of course I have,” Trin replies, indignant to your question. As though she hadn’t thought of that (although, just to be safe, she tries again— to no result). 

Chronomancy is a tricky thing. 

“When a person—or in this case, a duck— becomes temporally untethered and is set adrift in time, it is likely to continue showing up in the same place over and over— never growing old, though possibly growing increasingly frustrated at its futile and anomalous existence. It is nearly impossible to re-attenuate the duck’s chrono-aberratic reflection filament and get it back to its origin point,” she explains. 

Her words, of course, mean nothing to almost everyone (except herself). 

“Have you tried killing it?” you might ask. Well of course you asked that— it’s the logical next thing to ask. In your mind, simply killing the duck would end the madness. 

“Of course I have,” Trin would reply, indignation flaring up again. She has tried everything: killing it; untethering its timestream from that of her office; putting it in a cage so it stops making a mess every time it shows up; adding seven volatile fluctuating binding points to her banishment spell in an attempt to simply erase its existence. 

Nothing has worked. 

“What about the Bronze Dragonflight?” you ask. “Couldn’t they sort this out?” Another excellent, logical next question from you, a person who likely hasn’t dabbled in chronomancy. 

“Who?” Trin replies, as the duck reappears and flaps angrily at nothing, its hollow quack punctuating her query. 

[trin-llewellyn]

“You don’t think that’s a bit much?”

“Of course it isn’t,” Trin replied with a huff. “I was studying twice as much at her age— as were you. This is simply an introduction, anyhow… the real work comes later.”

“Later?”

“After I’m certain she’s got a firm grasp on the basics. Her portals have an eighty-seven percent less fatality rate, that’s true, but that fatality rate before was twelve hundred percent. They are still one hundred and...fifty-six percent fatal, in ideal circumstances. She killed her goldfish.”

“Her—”

“Goldfish, yes. Nasty business, undoubtedly terribly painful for the poor creature, but the pain was brief and the death was swift.” A pause. “Most likely. And before you go telling me that it is impossible to have a twelve-hundred percent fatality rate,” she continued, “might I remind you about the incident with the gorilla?”

“Ah.”

“Yes, ‘ah’. It would still be here, too, if not for my own quick thinking. That’s how I came to write my second book, you know.”

“Mm.”

“You know, I think I may add in a course on Pelham’s Law. A young mage who doesn’t have a thorough understanding of gravimetric pulse flow matrices is a poorly-trained mage, after all.”

“You’re sure you’re not piling on too much work?”

“Absolutely not. If she is serious, she will do the work.”

“Okay, but Mass-Irrelevant Thrust And You: Things Go Zoom— isn’t that a bit advanced for her?”

“Of course it is, don’t be silly. I won’t be teaching that until her introductory lessons are finished, anyway.”

“Well, you’re the boss, boss,” came the reply with a vaguely sarcastic air.  

Trin looked down at the cat and frowned.

“Yes. And as soon as I figure out how to reverse that side effect from your paradox fusion, I promise we’ll get you changed right back,” she assured him. The cat flicked its tail.

“I don’t know. I’m growing accustomed to this life,” he reasoned. Trin turned back to the towering bookshelf and crooked her finger at a hefty volume on a high shelf: it wiggled itself free from between two other tomes and sailed over to the desk on the other side of the office. She then looked back at the cat and frowned.

“Honestly, if you’re going to do that, please find a secluded spot, David. Licking one’s privates in front of others is a very poor display of manners.”

The cat stopped in his grooming and looked up at her with a baleful gaze.

“Listen, you’re the one who got me turned into a cat. If I’m going to lick my balls, I’m going to lick them wherever I damn well please,” he replied haughtily. Trin shook her head and turned to walk back over to her desk.

“You’re the one who failed to heed my warnings on the use of an un-grounded sigil stone, David. You know I would like to get you transformed back, but lest we not forget— you were the headstrong apprentice who was performing untested spells in a temporally-detached space. Without the proper grounding, there is an untold number of side effects to any untested spells performed within these walls.”

“I daresay I won’t be making that mistake again,” he snapped.

“I daresay you’d at least require opposable thumbs to even hold the wand,” Trin fired back. She sat in her chair with a heavy sigh and looked at the cat. “I’m sorry, David. I know this is a trying time for you.” She paused. “Would you like a fish treat?”

An incredibly human-like sigh came from the cat. “Oh, go on, then,” he answered quietly. As Trin pulled a little container of Auntie Anthania’s Good Kitty Salmon Treats from a drawer and gave it a shake, the cat’s ears perked up: in two graceful leaps, he was balanced atop a precarious pile of books on the desk with a paw extended upright towards her. Trin smiled and placed one small treat into his outstretched paw, and the cat popped it into his mouth.

“Feel better?” she asked gently.

“Mm. Starting to.” He held out his paw again: Trin rolled her eyes.

“Fine, but this is the last one for the day. You’re starting to get a bit of a paunch.”

((Mentioned: @renghar-the-pal​‘s alt))

[trin-llewellyn]

It was a beautiful day in the Hinterlands, and Trin was a horrible mage. 

She stood in the clearing with her skinny arms raised to the sky as four men floated before her, held tightly by hot pink chains made of Arcane magic. 

“Are we all following along?” she asked. She tilted her head up to look at them: the sun caught the lenses of her glasses, rendering them flat white, opaque discs. One of the men swallowed. 

“This—” he wheezed and struggled against his magical bonds. “This’s bullshit—AAH!” He screamed as Trin flicked a finger and he started to slam into the ground, over and over. She looked to the other three, unfazed as the man’s bones made audible crunching noises.

“I’ll need someone to verbally confirm my request,” she said as the first man smacked into the dirt and flew up into the air again, still bound by his magical chains. He’d stopped screaming by the fifth or sixth hit to the ground. Trin made a mental note. 

“P-please—” one of them started. The first man flopped uselessly to the ground as the magical chains vanished from around him in a puff of pink smoke. He did not move, or breathe. 

“Please, what?” she asked as she turned her attention back to the last man who had spoken. The other two men were quiet, and were avoiding looking at Trin. “I will need verbal confirmation,” she repeated slowly, “of my request. Will you or will you not vacate the area at the request of my employer?” 

“We don’t even know who your employer is!” he yelled back at her. 

“I hardly believe that,” Trin replied with a scoff. “You’re criminals. Criminals have been known to lie to save their own skin. Is that what you’re doing? Are you lying?” she pressed. 

“No, honest!” the man yelled back. “Please! Y’already killed Phil, please— we won’t say a word.” 

Silence hung in the air about them for a long moment as Trin considered. Her lip twitched. 

“You are criminals, are you not?” she asked. 

“Yes! Yes, we’re criminals! But we ain’t out for your turf or anything!” 

“But criminals,” she said slowly, “lie. It is a well known fact that criminality often correlates to lying. Do you deny that?” 

The man glanced at his other two buddies, who shrugged to the best of their abilities. 

“Er...no?” he responded, uncertain. After another moment’s thought, Trin shook her head. 

“I’m terribly sorry,” she said, her tone sincere. “I cannot take your word at its value, as there appears to be no inherent value to it. I’m sure you understand, and can sympathize with my position.” 

All three of the men looked confused. 

“What’s that mean?” not-Phil asked. 

“Yeah, are you gonna let us go?” asked other-not-Phil. The third man simply wet himself. 

“Oh, no. I’m afraid you’ll have to follow your friend Phil to what awaits you in the next life. Do send my apologies to him for the gruesomeness of his demise, but examples must be made,” Trin added. Before any of the men could utter so much as an indignant shout, she twisted both wrists in outward motions and swung her arms down hard: all three men flipped upside down and were driven hard into the ground. Their skulls split open with sickening cracks on the rocky earth, and red spilled quickly out in ever-expanding pools. 

Trin clicked her tongue. 

“Fascinating,” she said emotionlessly. She pulled a notebook out of one of her pockets, along with a red crayon, and scribbled a few things down.

[trin-llewellyn]

It was several hours before Trin looked up from The Book of Ogre Diseases and found herself standing in a far corner of the library at the Breach. She tilted her head as something occurred to her. 

That child was almost certainly not a doctor, she thought. 

Well if that’s the case, another voice chimed in, then it stands to reason that the horned elf was not a doctor, either. 

Why? she wondered. 

Come on, Trin, put it together. Think back to your days with the Kirin Tor. Remember the cafeteria? 

She frowned. That was nothing like the cafeteria: there were gun racks all over, and a distinct lack of magi or flowing, purple banners. And no one had dumped banana pudding on her head. 

Think, the voice pressed. 

“There was no banana pudding, though,” she insisted aloud. 

“Banana pudding?” 

Trin wheeled around and clutched her chest at the sound of a live voice from behind her. She squinted through her spectacles at the blurry shape, then pulled them off and wiped them again on her sleeve. 

“It’s Andrew, Trin,” the blurry shape said. She put her spectacles back on and blinked a few times and focused finally on a familiar face. 

“Khadgar’s beard!” she exclaimed. Andrew laughed and clapped a hand to her shoulder. 

“How’ve you been, loony?” he asked. Trin bobbed her head side to side. 

“Oh, you know.” She clutched the book to her chest and looked around the expansive library as though it were the first time she was seeing it. “Where are we?” 

“Hinterlands. I’m guessing Quai gave you your ticket in here?” 

Trin stared blankly at him in response. 

“The necklace,” he pressed. 

Another blank stare. 

“...With the compass on it? Like this?” He reached into his top and pulled out his own silver compass on a chain. Comprehension dawned, at last: 

“Ah! Yes—” Trin rummaged through her pockets and pulled out her own compass, and held it triumphantly aloft. “Nearly everyone I’ve met has asked me to show this to them, you know, they don’t believe I am part of this… Collection,” she added. She squinted again at Andrew: something about the man was different, but she couldn’t quite place it. The compass vanished from her hand in a puff of purple smoke. 

“It’s Collective. And yeah, they do that ‘til they get to know you,” Andrew replied. Trin hummed to herself. 

“How many doctors are here?” she asked, curious. 

“Uh… like medical doctors? Some, I’d wager…” 

“No, no— I mean, from a specific school. The Institution at Drustvar South?” she asked. Andrew scratched the back of his head. 

“That’s not—”

“Or the Institution of Illidari at the Black Temple, sister school to Karabor?” 

“Trin, those aren’t… real schools,” Andrew replied, visibly confused. His confusion was matched by Trin’s. 

“So the hungry child is not a doctor?” 

Andrew goggled at her. 

“Hungry ch—” He thought quickly. “You mean Maud?” 

“Yes.” 

“No, I’m pretty sure she’s not a doctor.” 

“And the horned elf? Dale?” 

“... Decrend?” 

“Yes.” 

“Dreamy though he may be, no, I don’t think he’s a doctor either. Why are you asking?” 

Trin hummed to herself. 

“Oh, just thinking about banana pudding,” she said with a sigh as she held the large tome to her chest. “Congratulations on un-melting your face, by the way,” she added as she looked him over again, “you look much less disfigured now. It is a vast improvement.” Andrew chuckled to himself. 

“Blunt as ever,” he muttered, then patted her bony cheek with his hand. “Good to see you, Trin,” he said over his shoulder as he turned to head off. Trin seemed to struggle internally with something for a moment. 

“I don’t think they like me!” she blurted out. Andrew stopped and spun back around on a heel. 

“Who?” He folded his arms. 

“The… people here,” she gestured vaguely. “I don’t think they like me, they were doing that thing where they were talking as though I couldn’t hear them. That’s a rude thing, is it not?” 

Andrew rubbed the back of his neck, visibly uncomfortable. 

“They just don’t know you, Trin. You did just kind of wander in off the street,” he added. “I mean, think back to when you and I first met.” 

“You were fifteen, hell-bent on locating your half sister after she came to me for a portal out of Dalaran. You held the smallest little blade to my throat,” she replied fondly. Andrew even smiled a bit at the memory. 

“It was a letter opener I stole from her mother,” he clarified. 

“It was not just a tiny dagger?” 

“Nope, it was Ella’s letter opener. Still got that old thing kicking around somewhere,” he noted. Trin took a moment to process a few thoughts. 

“You don’t wish to threaten me anymore, do you?” she asked. 

“Nah, we’re pals, you and I,” Andrew replied with an easy, genuine smile. “You saved Quai’s life.” 

“Quai!” Trin exclaimed. She pulled a notebook and a crayon from the depths of her robes and flipped to a specific page. “I have it written here as Quality. And her sister is still Marbles?” 

“Monette,” Andrew clarified. “Quai and Monette.” He chuckled. “You’re gonna do just fine here, loony.” 

“You’re the only one I allow to call me that, you know,” she responded as he turned away again. She scribbled out the incorrect names and wrote in the closest approximation to what she could remember in the notebook. Andrew waved over his shoulder. 

“I know, and I’m grateful for it,” he called as he rounded a tall shelf and disappeared from view. 

Trin looked back down at the notebook for a moment, then tucked the crayon between the pages and put it back in her pocket. The Book of Ogre Diseases, which had been hanging in the air in front of her while she’d had her notebook out, bobbed expectantly in front of her. 

“Yes, yes, I’ve got you,” she assured it as she plucked it from the air and held it snugly to her chest. 

Where to, now? she wondered. 

There’s likely more tomato juice around here somewhere, the voice suggested. 

“Hmm, there’s a thought,” she muttered as she wandered off through the maze of library shelves. 

((Mentioned/relevant: @andrew-mason @monettemason @levionia-nightmane‘s alt @harvee-sarah-zena​ @maudgravesham​ ))

[trin-llewellyn]

[trin-llewellyn]

“How did you feel about that?”

A grunt met the question. Sunlight filtered in through the Kirin Tor eye-shaped window; dust danced and sparkled in the golden rays as they splashed across the workbenches of dusty, disused equipment.

“My dear?” Edward pressed. He stepped further into the laboratory and moved towards Trin, who was standing hunched over a far table, facing away from him. The usual whirring gizmos that puffed and stumbled around the lab of their own accord lay silent on the floor and on tables, lifeless and grey.

“I’m not hungry,” Trin finally answered. Edward came up behind her and set a hand on her shoulder as he leaned in to peer at what had the focus of her attention.

A conical pile of black ash sat on the workbench, unmoving. Edward sighed.

“I didn’t ask if you were hungry,” he said gently, “I asked how you felt about what happened the other night.”

“It’s like losing everything all over again,” she replied, her voice quiet. Even her hair seemed to be affected: it hung lank and straight around her face in strips of white and grey, not a frizzy wisp or flyaway to be seen.

Edward squeezed her shoulder. “I know,” he said softly. They stood in silence for a few minutes; Trin contemplated the pile of ash, and Edward contemplated Trin.

“Do they blame the blacksmith when the sword punctures them?” she asked after a long silence. “Do they blame the ax for the trees that are felled in the forest? Am I to be held responsible if they swallow a comm stone instead of talk into it because that was their interpretation of how it should be used?” She scoffed, her hands balled into fists on the table. Her eyes shone bright with tears.

“I don’t think—”

“Gregor, Ed! I lost Gregor when that accident happened— a real, true life! He had a functioning circulatory system and a name, and he was precious and he was mine. And now he is gone! Do they not care that I’m the one who truly suffered in this scenario?”

Edward cleared his throat. “Dearest, the cat died twelve year—”

The pile of ash burst into bright, purple flames. “I know how long ago it was!” she yelled. “And it was my own negligence that allowed it to happen in the first place! How do you think that makes me feel? And now—” she spun around to face him, black tracks of eyeliner and mascara running down her cheeks. “Now they blame me for something I created that helped them,” she hissed. “Is it my fault the instruction page was torn out by that red-headed whore? Is it my fault it was used improperly?” Trin’s eyes flashed. Edward took a step back.

“No, but I think—”

“I helped— in a roundabout way— to catch that well-manicured pile of pond scum. They get commendations, and I get a bunch of heavily-armed lunatics demanding that I destroy the very thing I created that helped take down that pitiful excuse for a woman.” She let out a bark of harsh laughter. “That’s how it always is, isn’t it?” With a swipe of her right hand, a jagged portal ripped open in the air next to them, its edges crackling and sparking with magic.

Still crying, Trin stuck her arm into the portal and came back out with a hamburger. They both heard a distant, “Hey!” on the other end before the portal winked shut. Edward let out a sigh and folded his arms.

“You can’t go around stealing people’s lunches because you’re upset,” he explained, his tone patient. Trin took a defiant bite of the burger and chewed as she looked Edward straight in the eye.

“Mmf cat died,” she said around a mouthful of meat and bun. Tears continued to stream down her face. She swallowed and took another large bite.

“Fvey mafe me demfstroy mmf book,” she continued as she chewed. She started to pace around the office, the hamburger flapping dejectedly in her hand. A few globs of green relish fell to the floor.

“Amf fvey omffer vero fanks for vuh hemlp.” She took another huge bite, chewed, and swallowed.

“Thanks for the book that helped us catch Venifica, Trin. Destroy one of your best creations, Trin,” she said in a sing-song tone. She gestured at Edward with the hamburger; Edward appeared at a loss.

“You know,” Trin continued. She swiped her hand through the air again and threw the hamburger back through the portal. A dejected, “Thanks…” came from the other side as it popped shut.

“You know,” she started again. She nodded angrily and put her balled-up hands on her hips. “You know,” she repeated. She sniffled. Edward approached her slowly and placed both of his hands on her shoulders.

“Breathe,” he intoned. Trin shut her eyes and nodded. She took a deep inhale, and let out a long exhale. Her shoulders dropped. She let her hands fall to her sides.

“Breathing,” she replied. She licked some mustard from the corner of her mouth. Edward nodded.

“Now listen to me,” he said calmly. “No one cares as much about sandwich selection as you. Understood?”

Trin nodded.

“Good,” he continued. “And no one cares about your dead cat, because they didn’t know him. Yes?”

Sniffle, nod. Edward smiled gently and pulled her into a hug.

“Don’t let them get to you,” he whispered. “Deep down, I am certain they know that your intent with the book wasn’t malicious, whatever they said.” He kissed the top of her head. “Our intentions create our reality, and shape our souls… it is not up to us to decide how people interpret those intentions, even when they are wrong,” he said softly into her hair. Trin hugged him tightly.

“I miss Gregor,” she said into his chest, her voice muffled by the front of Edward’s robes. Edward rested his chin on top of her head and sighed.

“I know, love. I know,” he whispered.

((Relevant: @blackbay-wra @ephriza-dawnblade @killerkyara @juniper-rose-blower @malodarstarstrike @mycoronervinny @brian-wellson))

[trin-llewellyn]

Witch’s Library Aesthetic

Request by @bluelightning42

Pictures found on Weheartit (X/X/X/X/X/X)

[trin-llewellyn]

“Where are you off to?” Edward asked, his spectacles peeking out from over top of a large book. The round lenses glinted in the firelight, so that they appeared to be opaque, white discs as he stared across the room. Trin paused, finger poised in the air, purple runes shimmering brightly where she had drawn them out. A white cat was tucked snugly under her other arm.

“I have to return this.” She held the cat aloft. It let out a forlorn ‘mrow’ and stared dejectedly at some spot in the middle distance.

“It is well past midnight, my dear,” Edward said gently. “No shops in the city will be open. Why, exactly, are you returning the cat?”

“It is defective.” She swiped her other hand through the air and cleared the purple runes with a wheezy puff of purple smoke, then set the cat on the ground. Trin shoved a hand into her robes and pulled out by the tail a tiny, wriggling dormouse. “Look.” 

She set the dormouse on the ground. It took off like a shot towards a cluster of boxes; the cat, meanwhile, had flopped onto its side and was purring loudly, seemingly unaware of its prey. Edward gave a slow nod. Trin waved a hand and the dormouse was lifted into the air by some unseen force: it wriggled and squeaked, and became silent only as it was lowered once more into Trin’s pocket.

“Yes, it would appear it’s been over-bred. Perhaps when you are able to return it, you could pick out something with a more suitable demeanour. One with a missing eye and a propensity for being overly territorial, I think. This one clearly lacks a survival instinct…” He tilted his head down and peered over the top of his spectacles at the cat in repose. “Poor beast.”

Trin gave a nod. The cat rolled onto its back and batted a paw lazily up at the mage, who gave him a thoroughly disgusted look.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” she chided the cat. “You are undeserving of the name Felis catus.”

The cat did not appear bothered by this information.

“As a point of interest,” Edward said as he lowered his gaze once more to the yellowed pages before him, “where did you purchase this cat?”

“Oh, I found him.”

“Mm. Where..?” Edward asked absently as he made a motion with his hand. The book levitated before him and a few pages turned as he pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and his spectacles from his face. He squinted down at them and started to rub at a smudge on one of the lenses. 

“Somebody’s living room,” Trin called over her shoulder as she made her way back down the hall towards the rooms. Her door slammed distantly a few moments later.

Edward gave a long-suffering sigh and continued to clean his glasses.

(Relevant: @blackbay-wra)

[trin-llewellyn]

"What a dump."

"That's not very nice. I believe they prefer the term 'homey'."

"It's covered in dust."

"They've been away for months, love—"

There was a snapping of fingers and, a moment later, a strangled yell and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. A third voice spoke.

"The bloody hell was that for!"

"It's dirty in here," the first voice pointed out.

"I'm supposed to sweep from a fucking war zone?"

"You did take over custodial duties," the first voice pressed. Andrew goggled at the pair before him as he smacked dust from his red onesie pajamas. Trin and Edward stared back, politely puzzled. 

"I wasn't...here..." he said slowly. They blinked in unison. Their heads tilted slightly to the left. 

"That's fucking creepy," Andrew muttered. He cleared his throat. "Alright, so I," he pointed at himself, "was not," he wagged a finger at them, "here." He pointed to the floor. "So I," he pointed once more at himself, "was unable," he gave an exaggerated shrug, "to clean," he said as he pretended to sweep.

Trin and Edward were silent for a few moments. Edward leaned towards Trin.

"I think he's a bit...simple," he stage-whispered. She let out a long-suffering sigh.

"They always are, aren't they?" she said sadly. Andrew scowled.

"I'll show you who's simple, you twice-baked potato—"

But he was cut off suddenly as he disappeared from sight with another snap of Trin's fingers. Edward turned to her and smiled.

"Dead clever, having the stones react to snapping like that," he said as he waved a hand at the long-neglected room. At once, the dust began to lift from every surface: it drifted lazily towards the center of the room and coalesced into a large, grey ball.

"Makes it look a bit more impressive, doesn't it?" Trin asked as she watched the dust float through the air.

"Mm," Edward agreed.

"Shall I see what I can do about the colour?" she asked as she wandered over to a wall and gave it a tentative lick. She smacked her lips and made a face.

"Yes, I think so. And perhaps later on we can work on the state of the furniture."

Hundreds of miles away, Andrew reappeared on his cot— or rather, four feet above his cot. He hovered for a moment, and then dropped heavily. The cot buckled under his weight, and collapsed. 

“I hate them,” he muttered as he lay on his back, staring up at a lantern that swayed from the ceiling. 

(Mentioned/implied: @blackbay-wra @andrew-mason @brian-wellson @monettemason @juniper-rose-blower @justinegrotius @alastar-wyatt @quai-mason)

[trin-llewellyn]

The faint pattering of rain on glass kept a steady rhythm as Trin sat on the bed, her gaze fixed on a book that was open before her on the blanket. She waved a finger absently as she read, and the page flipped.

"Legion..." she muttered to herself.

"What was that, dear? Is something the matter..?" Edward asked as he slipped into the room in a swirl of grey robes.

"The Legion has invaded. Dalaran has moved to a cluster of islands in the sea. My favourite sweet shop has closed, and was re-opened as a laundrette. They no longer serve peppermint hot chocolate at the Legerdemain. They took away the table I liked at Hero's Welcome. My hair is white. I was dead for one year, nine months, twenty-three days, twenty-one hours, forty-three minutes, and thirteen seconds."

The book on the bed burst into flames. She observed calmly for a few seconds, then snapped her fingers. Edward scuffed a foot on the floor as the book and the purple flames vanished.

"I tried, you know," he said quietly as he eased himself into a chair. His fingers twirled his mustache nervously. "I tried to get into your flat straight away, but there was a guard put on it. The other items I required were locked in that vault..." He trailed off. "I tried," he repeated, insistent. Trin blinked, as if just noticing he was there.

"I hadn't noticed," she replied vacantly, her gaze sharp as it moved over his face. "You never had the mustache, before. You always told me you agreed that it looked too..." she waved a hand. "Something."

"I did. I found myself quite fond of it after it had grown, however— the in-between part was the bit that didn't—"

"It ages you," she interrupted. "It's quite clever looking, but it ages you."

Edward steepled his fingers and touched the underside of his chin. He took a breath, and sighed deeply. Silence hung between them for an uncomfortably long time.

"Does it matter?" he asked at long last. The patter of the rain continued to underscore their conversation. Trin smiled to herself, a bit sadly.

"No," she admitted. "But I feel as if I've a lot to re-learn about you, haven't I?"

Edward smiled. "My dear," he said as he rose from his seat and crossed the room towards her, "we have the rest of our lives for that."

He extended a hand to her and helped her from the bed. His arms enveloped her in a strong hug, and she pressed her face to his chest. Books, ink, parchment, Arcane, she thought. Good.

"As a point of interest," Edward said, "the rain sounds quite natural. I've never been able to get the sound exactly right." A low rumble of thunder answered him. Trin smiled into the folds of his robe.

[trin-llewellyn]

Legs. I've got legs.

She could hear laughter— wild, unrestrained laughter. A thump against wooden floorboards. Sound was muffled. 

And feet! They've given me feet. Good.

Bony fingers felt around the fabric. She breathed through a tube.

Female. Five-nine and a half. Hair— long. Her head swam. Where am I?

Suddenly, she found herself bursting from the surface of the purple liquid. Unsteady. She ripped the snorkel mask from her face. 

Eyes wide with a combination of fear and shock, she gripped the edge of the metal tub and stepped onto the floor. These feet are half a size larger than I am accustomed to.

Hello! she thought.

"LAST MONTH I ORDERED THIRTY THOUSAND LITTLE SPRINGS, NO QUESTIONS ASKED!" she bellowed.

What? she thought wildly as the blackness at the edges of her vision took her over completely. She fell to the ground. Volume control issues, she thought just before she passed out. 

When she came to, a familiar woman was asking her questions.

"Do you know who I am?" the woman asked, her brow knit in concern. 

"Brown-skinned Tanari of indeterminate age, likely late twenties. Of course I know who you are, Moffat," she replied, indignant. Strange to hear myself through this mouth. "Thirty-thousand-and-four floorboards, forty-nine books, four humans, three Gilneans, and a partridge in a pear tree!" She laughed wildly— the same laugh she'd heard before she'd risen from the purple liquid. Her gaze settled on a blond man, tears in his eyes. She couldn't seem to stop shivering.

Doctor! she thought.

"Can I offer you a yogurt?" she asked, then grimaced at her lap. Connection to mouth from brain not solid. Must fix. Some of her hair fell into her face, and her eyes widened.

"White? WHITE?!" Well, I got that one right, at least. The brown-skinned woman took her by the elbow and helped her to her feet. An older gentleman with long, grey hair stood and picked up a box.

"We can dye your hair," the woman said gently. She instructed someone to get dye. Someone else—another familiar voice— spoke up. People watched from dark corners, their eyes sharp and dark, like bits of flint. The box that the man was carrying gave off a particular scent.

There is something magical in that box, and I want it, she thought as she was helped to the lavatory on unsteady feet. She looked to the man, and made another attempt to convey her thoughts.

"Have you done any clown work?" she asked him, blinking politely. No, that's not it. Wait, he— ...Edward?

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY MOVED DALARAN AGAIN?!" Damn it! She shook her head and shut her mouth as she was undressed and put into the bathtub. The warm water stopped her shivering, for the time being.

"Red," she said as she grabbed another fistful of her own hair. "Red! Red-red, redred. Red!" What the bloody hell was that nonsense? Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth.

The brown-skinned woman bathed her as the grey-haired man worked at something in the box. Soon, she was out of the tub and in a dressing gown. Someone had asked her what she wanted for breakfast in the morning.

Just a coffee and some murloc caviar on an onion bagel.

"Banana pancakes!"

She sighed inwardly. Someone pressed a wand into her hand: jet black, with a golden Winter Veil tree star jammed onto the top of it.

Wave the wand, Trin. She did. Harmless sparks winked before them. She smiled thinly. The woman helped her to a bed, where she promptly collapsed.

How long was I out? she thought.

"I buy a new fire extinguisher every two days."

Fuck.

(Mentioned/relevant: @brian-wellson @monettemason @justinegrotius @juniper-rose-blower @killerkyara @alastar-wyatt @blackbay-wra )

[trin-llewellyn]

[trin-llewellyn]

Instructions for Trin’s Soul Fragments for Dummies

Hello to whomever has obtained this set of instructions, and a very merry Winter Veil to you! If you are reading this message, I have likely perished, or have otherwise damaged my current flesh vessel beyond repair. Please be advised that if I am still living in some form while you attempt the following, a time paradox likely will occur. In the event of a time paradox, please kill off the weaker version of me, and that should set you (and time!) once more on the proper course. Onward!

Using a clever bit of magic that I do not expect you to grasp, I have managed to copy and split my soul into three main pieces and contain them within the jewelry you now hold. Please do not wear the jewelry, it is quite dangerous. If you follow my explicit instructions, you will be able to place those soul fragments into a new flesh vessel and I should be back at your side, lickety split. Please be advised that parts of my instructions require either murder or fresh corpse thievery— I will leave it up to you to decide which is less morally objectionable to your tastes. Please be advised that only a very recently deceased corpse will do— within twenty-four hours is the best, before they really start to expire. A third option is removing the soul of a living Human and placing my soul into their flesh vessel, if that is an option you would prefer. Please be advised that it is against my dying wishes to have my soul put into anything other than a Human.

Firstly, you will require the three soul fragments (an amethyst necklace and a pair of emerald earrings), along with all of the jars in my laboratory labeled ‘Trin’. There are twenty-three of them, hidden in various locations. These jars contain concentrated versions of...well, I do not expect you to understand and I won’t bore you with explanations that will just go over your head. Just get the jars, they are important.

Next, you will require a flesh vessel. If I have any say in the matter (which I should hope I do), I do require myself to be Human, as I am less familiar the circulatory systems of other beings, and that may result in a mild discomfort and death for myself. Gilneans are acceptable, though you must remember that—should I shift— I will require constant care, training, and containment, as I will likely be feral.

Now is the more difficult part.

The flesh vessel must be laid out and (preferably) clothed.

Next, you will take the jewels from their settings and place them (the jewels, not the settings) within the flesh vessel’s mouth. The settings may be discarded. Please note that you will find the jewels are quite delicate and are prone to chipping easily— please do be careful, as any fragments lost could mean consequences for my resurrected body in the form of lost memories or abilities. If you are squeamish, I suggest finding someone who isn’t and having them do it, as I do not wish to awaken with somebody else’s sick on my face.

Once the jewels are in the flesh vessel’s mouth, you may submerge the flesh vessel in the vat. Did I mention the vat? You will need a vat that is large enough to contain the flesh vessel, and you will have to fill it beforehand with the contents of all of the jars.

IMPORTANT NOTE: Please ignore the jars if they attempt to speak to you, as they will lie. Please discard the jars using total magical elimination once they are empty, for the safety of yourself and others. Please keep count of the jars, they are prone to wandering. Please affix a snorkel and mask to the flesh vessel’s face, as I do not wish to drown when I awaken submerged in liquid.

Once the flesh vessel is submerged, you will require Edward (or a sufficiently skilled warlock)  to perform a ritual of soul binding. Please advise Edward (or the warlock) that they will be binding my soul to the flesh vessel, and not my soul to that of a demon or anything else. This mistake was made once before, and...well, I feel that I could have been more specific, so as to avoid the whole mess with that dead family and the sheep. Please be advised that Edward (or the warlock) may die in the process. Death can be avoided if you have access to an Arcane orb—this will aid in channeling power so that Edward (or the warlock) will not succumb to extreme exhaustion and die. If an Arcane orb is unavailable...well, it’s not the first time I’ve had an assistant die, now is it?

Once the ritual has been performed, there may be a period of up to two-and-one-half hours of waiting time, and there may be no waiting period at all— it all depends on how temperamental my soul fragments are being. I should awaken with most of the memories I had just before dying, as I have been copying, splitting, and containing my soul every week for the past two decades. Please clothe the flesh vessel prior to awakening.

Onward and upward to greatness, dear friend!

—Trin

[trin-llewellyn]