(This is my example of an entry using my NPC Jonas, please note that you do not need to use the same format or style and are encouraged to use any writing style that calls out to you. Post them below mine, do not start your own thread.)
Jonas Kane (Part I)
Jonas wiped a cloth along the top of the Dragon’s Claw bar, soaking up the spilled ale from a drunken patron, some tree logger passing through town. He took a long draw on his cigar and stared at the man, contemplating either to pick his pockets for sport or throw him out on his ass for laughs. Instead he allowed the thoughts to pass and walked towards the main hall, calling for Pearl to take over. Pearl eagerly put down her mop and bucket and limped behind the bar excited to do anything other than mop up the mud or other peoples messes.
In the main hall Jonas found a seat at the corner table where the scholars books used to be. Nowadays, he often sat there watching the few who would come in and out. More than often he would stare beyond the people of the present and remember the past; for those memories were far sweeter to him. It felt like just yesterday he was laughing and conspiring with Chet to scare Marcy with a wrapped up dead fish; but that was almost five years ago. The present times felt far less interesting to Jonas, and how could it not be? So much had changed and the strange and quirky place that Jonas had grown to love deteriorated into a simple and uneventful watering hole for transient workers traveling from one province to the next. He would occasionally see a welcome familiar face pass through, but most of his friends had either moved on to other parts of the world, or were so busy in their lands that they never had time or need to visit the Proper.
He wondered how long he would stay here, before he gave up on it as well. Perhaps he would pack up and sail to the isle of Rinn Quinill Nurbonis to live out an easy and lavish life, in fact why hadn’t he, he often thought. Why stay here?
A loud thunk on the table awoke Jonas from his dreaming. “Here you go boss” gruffed Hardwin, a burly goon on Jonas’s payroll. “The Sirens Apothecary was short this week, so I told them we isn’t no charity and they’d better pay triple next month” Hardwin was twice the size of a normal man with only one good tooth and a brimmed hat. He worked as the Inns bouncer, whenever he wasn’t out making the rounds.
Jonas grabbed the pouch of coin and spilled it on the table to count it. “Go grab yourself a whisky and a bed for the night” ordered Jonas. Hardy tipped his hat in response and walked past into the bar room. Things had gotten so boring around town Jonas resorted to some good old fashion merchant extortion to pass the time and drum up some excitement. All the merchants in the proper would pay a fee just small enough to not cause too much unrest, and he made sure they would fear reporting him to the authorities far more than the loss of coin. Not much he thought, but its honest work…
Late at night when all the patrons would leave or go to bed, Jonas would break out his personal stock and drink heavily until he passed out. His thoughts were darker at night and when ten drinks in. It was during these times, that his feelings of abandonment would surface and have its way with his mind. For almost two decades a being of power found him worthy of its attention, and out of the blue, one night it was over and it had left him. When something that great enters your life and is suddenly gone, it creates a hole that’s seems impossible to fill. No amount of time that passes seems to fill the void. He sometimes felt abandoned by the Heroes of Travance, at least when drunk, though when sober a measured mind knew there was simply no longer a reason for most of them to stay, so once again he would wonder why did he? Jonas threw back another shot of londwynian whisky and rested his head down on the table. He closed his eyes and drowned out his thoughts by listening to the sounds of the ghosts in his mind.
From the journal of Captain Oakley the Inked/Oakley Greenblood/Oakley Rudnare
Date: uh?? Its sunnee?
Evereeones gone and flew to the seven winds, they have. Arigoth says we shud be thankfull fur this moment of peace, but I don’t bye it, not fur halfa coppur. If theres aneething I’ve learned in my life, its dat peace don’t last longer den it takes to say the word. Heed my warnings, anee day now the ground will tremble beneeth our feet and sum demunspawn will try n swallow us up, I just kno it. I wanna be wrong, sure, I wanna have peace but lordy lou is it hard to have much faith in that sorta thing when you’ve spent so long livin in Gaaldron than Travance…
But still. Arigoth’s smile is too sweet to argue against, and if there’s gonna be SUM wee bit of peace, might as well take advantage of it, aye? So we’re gonna have our wedding! Gotta get while the gettings good and make an honest man out of that big green oaf afturall! We wanted it on Saint Astrid’s day, he bein a man of Andora's cloth and all, but Travance has a bad habit of a bloody affair outta most weddings, so if times be as “peaceful” as dey say, well, who knos when we’ll get this oppoortuneaty again!
Date: three weeks aftur MY WEDDING!!
IM OFISHALLIE A MARRIED WOMAN! Nevah thought I’d be so happee to have a ball and chain around my ankle! Sorree fur not writing sooner, I’m onlee now just getting ovur the ol’ “Honeymoon Hangover”, ona count of sum weird “treats” I was given at the reception…
We had the seremonee on the Feverfew and of course it was beautifull--and since he’s a priest and I’m a captain, we married ourselves to eachothur! Cut out the middleman we did! That big soft rosebud blubbered and happee cried the entire time. Cant say I blame him, I’d cry two if I was marrying sumbodee as beautifull and as good in bed as me! …. I cried a bunch two. The man nearly died and the world nearly ended and I thought I’d never get to see him again or tell him I loved him!! So what if I shed a tear or two-- I don’t need to explain myself to you! Yer a book I nicked frum Varkelby’s study! You aint nothing!! Fuck you!!
…Aneeway, the party was at The Half Pint, to the depths with paying for a “venue” on MY wedding day when I gots one alreadee, ya kno? Eveeone was invited, of course, though it ached my heart to see sum emptee chairs…
Hopefullie if this truly be peacefull times, I wont have two worree about losing friends aneemore.
Speaking of friends, met a few strange fellas I aint ever seen before, least I don’t think I have. No surprise really, The Half Pint’s almost as popular as yours trulee! Funnee folk they were, talked about the “pleasures of life” and “wonderous indulgance” and hedonism and debaucheree and stuff like that…then they gave me those weird “treats” I mentioned befur. …Dunno why I wrote “treats”, I meant drugs. They were drugs. They gave me drugs. Powerful drugs.
Honestly I cant really remember much about them once they started putting drinks and snuff under my nose… just voices and colors and weird visions. Arigoth says he didn’t see anyeeone, but he was rubbin elbows with his old priest pals, so maybee he just didn’t notice them…
Date: the winds are chillier now and the moon's full
Moved Ibn's grave to the catacombs undur Arigoth's church since we've been traveling to Coasthaven and back fur awhile now. I kno he'd hate being put in a temple of love but I've been tendin the Temple of the Yellow Rose more often then I've been tending the pub, since my customers have been waning with the peace times, so I dont get to see him as often as I used two... plus, with all my weird dreams latelee I miss havin sumone scarier than the sea's wrath on my side. Arigoth and I are talkin about moving to Coasthaven proper. Wait...is Coasthaven in Travance or is they two different cities? Is Travance a city? A county? Wots the difference between a county and a country?
I need a drink...
Date: A day latur
Sum regulars at the pub told me wot the difference is! ...Can't remembur fur the life of me wot they said though. Im pretty sure that, at the very least, Travance is a place.
Date: ???
More weird dreams again. I shud try and write them down aftur I get them so I can remember the details proper. Are they still dreams when they happen during the daytime?
They're not bad, mind you, in fact they're awful fun! I get a good crowd and we get up to no good fur hours or days at a time! Arigoth's a touch worried, but this izznt the first time I've heard voices aftur snorting weird dust off a stranger's neck, so I'm sure it's fine.
Date: Late fall I think… I dunno why I’m keepin track, nobodee else is readin this…
Peace is still going strong, believe it or not! Varkelby found out I stole you from him and stole you right back, the little theiving rat!! Thankfully I re-stole you and here we are! Bastard ripped sum of the pages out though, the ones where I tried describing my dreams. He said they were "sexually grotesque", "morally repugnant" and "crude". Luckee fur him I don't know what anyee of those words mean so I cant get proper mad.
Ofishiallee moved the pub to Coasthaven. I got stiff competition hear but with tits like these I get customers just fine.
Date: Aboutta year since I started this damned thing. A year and change.
Arigoth and I are back in Coasthaven full-time now, and as wonderfull as married life is.. being a captain in the navy don’t really mean much if there’s no reason FUR a navy. I’m startin to get a liddle antsy, sure I got Arigoth and his church and our house and the bar to tend… but I’m now realizing I’ve built so much of my identity off of adventuring and saving folk, that I don’t kno what to do with myself with all this extra free time. Maybee I shud start painting again, or build an extension to the pub, or maybee I’ll stretch my itchy fingers and dust off my lock picking set and make a little extra coin…
or maybee I’ll get pissshit drunk and have amazing sex with my hot hunky orc husband.
Date: A few hours later? Maybee?
I did the last thing. It was pretty great. Shit got a little crazy when we shared some satyr wine, though, I had those weird hallucinations again. Weirder than usual, I mean.
Arigoth and I talked aftur our pretty awsome sex and he says I shudn’t go back to stealing since its “wrong” and stuff. Says I shud keep spending my free time hanging out with those fellas I got along with so well at our reception? I told him I haven’t seen those guys since the wedding but he insists I’ve seen them twice aftur? Apparently they gave us the satyr wine? I mean, I black out sumtimes sure, but usually not so often. Maybee my age is finally getting to me…
Date: Two daze later
Ate some REALLY good chicken today!
Laric // Future For a long and lingering moment, there was no sound, naught but that his mind could conjure up on its own: the scuttling of some minute creature pitter-pattering within the floorboards raised hackles; the creak of far-away floorboards a warning of his imminent capture. Were it not for the circumstances, he’d be reveling in the thrill; It’s been a long time since he’s had to evade capture. He’s gotten too used to having the upper hand in fight-or-flight situations, and then later not having a hand to play. He’s out of practice, and if it weren’t so damned inconvenient, it might’ve been something like fun.
As it stood however, he had places to be, and-
“-you say you haven’t seen him?” Reiterated a gruff, impatient voice.
“You are aware the particulars of my employ under the great Kingdom of Kormyre do involve apprehending and submitting criminals to the guard,” replied a sharp, too-sweet tone.
He grins.
-things to do.
Heavily-booted feet shuffle on otherwise sturdy boards above his head.
“Ma’am-” “Dame,” snipes the second voice,
“Dame, please, my compatriot means no offence, only that we pursued the scoundrel this far in-land, and we have reason to believe he’s in the area. We must make a sweep of every house. This check-in is not an attack upon your person,” a third voice, softer, more inexperienced than the first, attempts to placate the offended homeowner.
“He’s laden with goods taken from a ship - the Pentacle, a merchant vessel - so if you happen to see-” “I am well aware what to look for, guardsman,” snaps the Dame, icy and impolitic now as she had been pressed beyond her limits of patience, “or had you no idea whose home and privacy you so intruded upon?”
There’s a half-moment’s uncomfortable tension before the guardsmen finish their business in equal-parts muttered and placating tones. The next noises he hears above the shuffle of feet and clank of armor is the front door, opening and closing only ever-too-forcefully.
He scarcely breathes, waiting for the sound of all invasion to dissipate. He bites down on a finger of his burned, scarred, but otherwise unmarked left hand - an unfortunate habit carried over from when he wore those leather gloves to hide the old marks, now the source of some little annoyance with himself - listening to heeled shoes click softly now, above him, shuffling to the room adjacent - the kitchen - and a tired sigh is heard.
Moments later, the cellar door opens accompanied by a sharp swath of natural light.
“You can come out now, I know you’re down there.”
He grins sheepishly as he presents himself to the knight with the high ground on him who only stares imperiously at his presence.
“You look wonderful,” he announces to his sister, who in fact always does, but especially so today in her formal dress.
Elysia sniffs, the only tell in an expression full of otherwise apathetic distaste.
“You’ve got dust on your sleeves,” she snipes.
He clutches theatrically at his heart as he makes his way up the stairs, reassured that he’s not in trouble.
“Would you help brush me down? This is a brand new coat after all,” he pleads, eyelashes batting with maximum charm. She pivots on her heel and leaves him to pat himself down as he emerges into the light, hissing- again, for the theatrics of it all. He looks up and she’s perched upon a stool, staring him down.
“What?”
“Care to explain why you’re here, and with so little warning?” He shrugs.
“Navy tipped off the guards I was on my way up the little spit-offs from the Trallion after I docked the Night Divine at Bordertown, as far as I can guess. Knew you lived in the area, and I’ve got to be in the city in an hour. Truly, I had no other option,” he sighs with such drama as to make her roll her eyes.
“Oh yes, what good fortune you just so happened to be in the area,” she scoffs, but they’re both starting to grin.
“And I suppose you’ll be leaving your ill-gotten gains here?” “Please?” he bats his eyelashes again. She sighs the sigh of the eternally put-upon.
“Three days.” “Five?”
“Three.”
“Deal!” he claps, already slipping toward the door.
He pauses on the threshold, an earnest quality coming over his expression.
“See you at the reception?” he asks. Elysia grins.
“Yes, little brother.”
Laric grins wide and unburdened in response, winking at her before sliding away into the morning, richly embellished wedding coat fluttering in the wake of his steps.
Chud Larsson – Warrel Trow Finds a Story Warrel Trow stumbled into the moonlit clearing, shivering stiffly beneath the furs binding his limbs. He shuffled through the snowdrifts like a perverse straw doll, buffeted by winds. This place matched the descriptions. Big clearing, one conifer, cliff face with a crack in it. He'd traipsed through every trading post and tavern north of the rift. The further north he got, the more likely he was to hear mutterings of Chud. Eventually, after a few coins, those mutterings became directions. And they had led him here. A frozen clearing so far north the days stopped, and the night stretched on for months. Half frozen, Warrel Trow crept through the crack in the cliff. Inside, he found a channel, side walls hollowed by years of howling wind. Gusts buffeted Trow, guiding him down the natural corridor. As he exited, he found a ravine, walls carved out into a courtyard, and a wide doorway with a fire burning inside. By a small pool, a hulking figure stooped, a slender fishing spear dipped in its silvery surface. A furtive twitch of his arm, and spraying from the water came a twitching flexing whiskered fish, eyes pale and unblinking, mouth gulping breathless air. "Eh, excuse me sir," Trow called through chattering jaws "Are you the one known as Chud?" Looking up from his quarry, the mass of hair and shoulders replied "That's me name. You look cold." "I can't feel my fingers" "Well come inside, mister, got a stew going. Yer more than welcome to some." Trow followed him into the doorway. Inside it was warm, and dry. The smell of lemongrass wafted through the air. A vast array of insect chitin plates were piled in a corner, and a smooth cauldron sat in a firepit full of embers, softly bubbling. Mounted to a wall was an angular slab of metal with a handle. "Keep yer voice down, don't wanna wake the kiddies up." a low frequency rumble bounced softly off the stone walls. Chud ladled stew into a stone bowl. "Now, why have you come here?" "Did you know that tell of your monster slayings stretches from here to Travance?" "I spent some time in Travance" "I sir, am a writer." "A what-now" "A writer. I tell stories. Ooh this stew is good, what's in it." "Crawler." "What do you mean." "A crawler. You ain't seen one?" Chud gestured in the direction of the pile of insect chitin. Trow uncomfortably swallowed. Chud chuckled, a low thumping sound. "Do you need help around here?" "S'pose I could use a hand. Not sure what yer good for, though, southfolk don't take to the cold up here." "I've got the furs. And I'll pull my own weight I swear it. I want to tell the story of one of your slayings. And I'm willing to wait until you find a good one." "Well, we're harvesting cabbages pon the morrow. It's hard work, and the kids keep gettin out o hand." "Happy to help any way I can."
Verrill Lebastion - Guilty Pleasure Xualla danced with a smooth pace around the crystalline ballroom of Sevenlore- hooves and flaming feet dancing upon the ghost river- hands locked in Vim's gentle grip. His stygian eyes were perfect as they twirled about the chamber. Weeks ago the Hellprince couldn't imagine the peace he felt in the gaze of the ancient evil, nor the safety he felt with his hands in his-
"Hah-!" Verrill called out, pointing to the scene contained in the shimmering sphere,"Ms. Lebastion, look what I found-! 1 in 100,000,000- borderline edge of the finite curve-! Remember Xualla-!? I found a timeline wh-" A sound of exasperation as a frying pan whipped across the chronal-bed-and-breakfast. He ducked as he had 1,000 times before. The mithril pan panged against the houseplant which tittered and scuttled away. Time didn't matter here, but for her it always seemed to be 3 am and she was always trying to sleep. He'd tried to find any vision, any theater of their shared experience to free her from this state, but little seemed to satisfy. The chronomancer gave a tired breath. He was alone tonight. He didn't enjoy being alone so he sought out an old comfort. Verrill shifted the glass to a familiar show- a play he watched when alone. He thought most would find it dull- pedestrian- but to him it was the time his friends were happy, safe, and satisfied. There were variations and that made his dozens of viewings pleasant. The vision began- Jonas was alone in the inn, feeling sorry for himself. Verrill sat back with a bottle of something red and bitter, in the familiar comfort he had watching this timeline 100s of times prior, "I hope no one burns down Valdalas this time." He was happy, This time his friends would be safe and happy.... maybe...
Serr Thomas Bell - Last Rat Standing "Gotta be a good man- there's too many bad ones." Granny Esther's words set a pace- One raw hand over the next, each catching on cutting stone. Pulling with breathes and rasps that shredded his lungs. More ribs broken then set. The stairs were gone. Ladders too. One hand over the next. Had to get back to him. Had to die in the sunlight. Had to try.
Blinding pain as splinted fingers breached the soil. Cool autumn air licked the wounds. One last pull, tearing what was left of him from the rubble and dirt that remained of it's damned nest. That damned nest that lay under his family- his neighbors since the start. Took and took was all it ever did. Was the first and last of the rats that needed crushing- Just had to find the right rock and the right sling.
He lay soaking in the sun, coated in mud, blood, and other, breathed a sigh of a final jubilation,
"Got 'em..."
Azwren Vayli - Hellfire
((CW: Burns, blood and gore))
It had been nearly a month since Azwren had felt unnaturally compelled to run away from Darkwood Academy. It had been nearly a week since his arms started burning in his own flames, worse than ever before, and hadn't stopped. And it had been nearly a day since that voice decided to show up, and it wouldn’t. Stop. Talking.
“I’m not going to DO that! Please, just stop!” The shaman called out to the air around him.
“I saved your life that day, boy. You knew it came with a price. You’ve had your year, and in that time, all you’ve tried to do is betray me. And you’ve failed at that as well.”
The flames crawled further up Azwren’s arms, engulfing his shoulders. The untarnished skin began to burn, to match the rest, charring black and crackling, bubbling and bursting, causing near unbearable agony. Screaming, he fell to his knees, and cried out for relief. He knew, regardless of how badly the wounds were, he would not die. His hands hand already burned down to the bone, and he still could use them. He knew there was no end to this so long as he continued to refuse.
“There must be something else you want! Anything!” He begged.
“One year. Three-hundred-and-sixty-five days. Today makes that sixty-six. One life a day. *That* was our deal, and you’ve ignored it long enough. I granted you enough leniency already. You knew you would have to make up for lost work when your year was up.”
“I fought in Travance! I took lives! Bad people!”
“But not for me. Those were for other reasons.”
“Please!”
The flames crept higher once more, threatening the left side of his face. Azwren’s voice was raw, no more could he scream. His simply shook his head as he continued to fight against his fate. His face began to burn.
“You. *WILL*. Honor out deal, Azwren Vayli.”
Azwren wasn’t exactly sure how long he had managed to last after that. He knows it was long enough for his forearms to join his hands at burning down to the bones. When he finally relented, he could’ve easily been confused for a burning lich. But no. Azwren wasn’t a lich. He was just an elf, whose will had finally been broken. Whose curse has finally taken its toll. With no voice to verbally respond, vocal cords now burned as well as screamed raw, he could only start nodding, and hope his pact would recognize what he meant. Eventually, the flames died down, and Azwren laid in a smoking heap.
“By the gods!” A voice called out from a short distance, “Fetch a physician! Someone’s hurt!” Whoever this man was, his compassion was immediately clear, as he rushed to Azwren’s side to check on him. It was a complete stranger, who took one look at the crumpled elf, and grew sad. “…Looks like there may be no need,” he sighed, mournfully. “He can’t possibly still be alive… what could’ve done this?”
The burnt, skeletal hands began to twitch, and move, as Azwren opened his eyes. He couldn’t… he couldn’t let that pain come back. He wouldn’t. The man hardly had time to scream, as an elf with wounds beyond what he thought survivable stood up, and unleashed a torrent of flames.
One down. Three-hundred-and-sixty-five to go. The sun was setting. Soon it would be sixty-six once more. He’d needed to work fast.
William - Progress
While most people he knew were unnerved by the quiet after the disappearance of Amototh and the end of the Dark Clandestine, William Sterling was quick to see real opportunity. With a generous sponsorship from Lady Lois, he sequestered himself at the railyard, inviting only those with scientific or magitechnical minds to occasionally join him. Laborers were hired to continue the outside work, and less than two years after the peace had settled, the first steam locomotive chugged its way from the Proper to Valdalis Crossroads.
The work only increased after that, and William began to see the realization of his original vision. More tracks were laid, connecting Valdalis to Oringard, and the Proper to Honor’s Peak, Caer Bridaeg, and Mordavia. William personally oversaw the construction of each individual engine, customizing it and making alterations in order to better fit with whichever land it would be serving. He even finally struck an accord with the people of Kaladonia, who were ever cautious of any form of technology spoiling their woodlands; and two years later a steamship built with Druidic magitech, whose home berth was built onto the Valdalis Station, made its way up the River Aris to dock in Elvalion.
William didn’t relax after all this success. He dove headfirst into logistics. Timetables and maintenance became his new normal. While he established an office in the Central Stationhouse, he’s almost never there. Just like before, he’s usually to be found at the Railyard, with a makeshift office in one of the shacks where he takes care of paperwork. However even with all of this work to keep him busy, he remembers what things were like before. Occasionally, William disappears into a fenced off and covered area of the Railyard, with signs posted all around saying “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.” A lot of raw material has gone into this area over the years, and the banging and clanging can be heard throughout the night...
The Rusalka I The Inquisitor wet her thumb and forefinger to extinguish the lanterns at either side of the wide blackwood desk. Lira Ninnyhammer slumped further into her chair, stewing in the darkness. The sun had long since retired, the windows shut and bolted, and the thick ashen curtains of her Baronial office had been drawn since noon. The only light to court her eye was the warm glow from the closet door where she had assembled her shrine to the Ferryman. She frowned.
It had never sat right with Lira, this newborn era of harmony. It had been disorienting, in the way you might stumble when you bring down your heel too hard having expected one final step. It came too sudden, too easy, like a bribe. Like a trick. But she had begun to exhaust the possibilities. For a good eight months she had become convinced this was a collective dream. It took a celebrated ring of clerics to convince her that Chronicler’s Book had not been tampered with. Query, the research team she had assembled of theoreticians, augurs, boffins, and thaumaturges had long since dispersed. They had lives to live, they said. They no longer saw the problem.
But Ninnyhammer had been unrelenting. She wouldn’t accept non answers, she said, as the last of her colleagues took their leave. She would pursue the Answer on her own. Lira went back to her strengths, but found no success in blood rites and occult ritual nor holy pilgrimage nor Archon divination. The Spirits had no answers and the Siren spoke in riddles.
It was only a matter of time. Soon, the knife in the dark would be drawn. The Tower’s creature would re-emerge or some fresh terror would finally bear its teeth and announce that all had gone as planned. Arawyn was on borrowed time. Was she so alone in her fear? In her sight?
Heaving a great sigh, the Inquisitor wrenched herself up out of her chair to open the closet. Her grimace sank into something depressive and mournful, bathed in the orange light. The shrine was littered with wooden and paper statues, fruit, bowls of salt, carved beads, enchanted unshrinking candles, flowers, and apotropaic charms. Lira stooped to her knees and brought her lips to the cool face of a ceramic talisman.
“Please. Just one sign.”
There was no great flash of light, no apparitions, just the sound of crickets and the gentle perfume of the courtyard’s lilac bushes. In a moment, Ninnyhammer was at her feet a thin dagger drawn from her boot.
The window had been locked.
Now, somehow, it was open just an inch as a small black feather was carried in by the breeze and fell at Ninnyhammer’s feet. Something kin to a smile played on the Inquisitor's lips as she gathered her cloak.
To the Blackbird it is.
Owen Piper - Statecraft
“Because he will be merciful,” Owen declared before the council. “Think of how few have made such grievous mistakes-”
“Treason. You might say it aloud, Lord Heir.”
Owen gritted his teeth before loosing a brief, yet labored sigh. Second Councilor Vero, a thorn of an elf, grinned as she sat back in her seat behind Owen. The circle of stone chairs remained silent as the politicians spoke solely through their eyebrows. Candlelights painted great shadows about the room.
“Treason then. This dilemma, however, is how I know he will be just. We all know full well how brilliant Lord Meldicia is. We all know how his people love him, how they cheered for his safe return.” Owen circled the room, directing them to letter after letter of knights, scholars, and guildmasters declaring their support for Hystern.
“Lord Heir, is this a proposal for kingship or marriage?”
A chuckle skittered across the room.
“Were I not wholly given to another, Councilor, I might have considered it.” The chuckle grew to a brief laugh and communal smile. Owen continued, “But alas, I might only be a friend. A friend who knows of his devotion to the betterment of this kingdom. How, after having fallen so far, he has risen to love this kingdom and its people. He has found duty in his rehabilitation, and that duty shall be tempered by the mercy we have shown him. If we raise him to King, he shall raise us all. ”
“And what of you, Lord Heir, would his Kingship name you Hand?” Councilor Vero raised an eyebrow, this time no snide remark but earnest concern.
“I assure you, Councilor, this is no play of ambition. My duty is to the sea, and I shall not leave her. Once he has been Named, I shall return to my place. In truth, I recommend that Elijah, the original candidate, be named his Hand and Heir. He is bright, optimistic, and gentle. Under Lord Meldicia, he shall grow into a fine Hand.”
“Hm,” responded First Councilor Micai, a grizzly bear turned-man, “I think it best we discuss a potential Heir at a different time.” Muttered agreements colored the room. “For now, we shall meditate on what you have said. You may take your leave now, Admiral Piper.”
With a deep, quiet bow, Owen departed through the iron chamber doors, where the ever-loyal Cobus Puren awaited him. Dark circles rested beneath his eyes and he had clearly been chewing on his lip in recent days. As the two trekked through the halls of Castle Loez, Cobus spoke his piece.
“Sir, I just don’t trust the Second Councilor. Bloody ponce. Gods forbid they entertain an idea they didn’t have. Been tryin’ to keep my eye on her lately. She goes off alone with a fair few of the lords and ladies ‘round here and I don’t think it’s for fun reasons.” His empty hands flexed and unflexed unwittingly, grasping for a missing rifle.
“Cobus, this is the capital. Everyone loves their secret meetings.”
“I know, sir, but I just get a bad feeling about her.”
“Cobus, my friend,” Owen began, stopping to place a hand upon Cobus’ shoulder, “you have had a bad feeling about everyone lately. Were we in Septufas, I might be of the same mind, but right now we must restrain ourselves and maintain face. This is a different kind of battlefield. Vero would sooner damage my reputation than poison me, and the last thing I need is her thinking I am directing you to spy-
“She’s harmless right now,” interjected a familiar voice with a cough. Axiana Lockmoore, Cobus’ old, candle-like lieutenant had climbed into the castle hall through a nearby window, covered in soot and hacking up a storm. Owen pinched his nose immediately upon seeing her. “Hid in her chimney during a few of her meetings and they’re mostly talkin’ about her business investments. So... shitty for a politicker, but she’s not tryin’ to poison you or nothin’.”
The high-and-happy laughter of Cobus filled the halls, while Owen took a long stroke of his face, uncertain if now was the best time to discuss this behavior. Before he could settle, two more familiar faces found them, recognizing the captain’s laugh.
“Slow going with Steward Beck,” Winks opened, his hair greying with frustration. Though the hobgoblin was happy to drop pretense in the presence of friends, Consul Verity was not. Poised and sharp as a quill, she delicately held a number of scrolls in her hands.
“The Good Knight is correct, Lord Piper.” Verity’s raised eyebrow was perhaps the only hint at frustration. “Heyward Beck’s original position of strength was useful when he was first placed in charge of Robyrn; however, he is exhibiting some...difficulties grasping the concept that the criminal activity within his capital would decrease if his efforts were devoted to minimizing desperation rather than making a show of punishment.”
“Did you present him with the-”
“The numbers did not speak to him,” the Consul replied. A communal sigh filled the hall. A silence lapsed before Sir Winks continued.
“I have a couple old friends in his court. Heyward isn’t...perfectly aware that some of his officials
come from less reputable upbringings. I’m thinking that, if I can convince them to come forward and be an example of how people can change, then he’ll at least have to attempt to reconcile with the idea.” Wink and Owen shared a knowing nod before a handshake with their scarred left hands.
“The stagnation is rooted deep within these halls. Many of the nobles here have difficulty with the concept of amnesty, and it will keep the kingdom from progress. Keep at it, my friends. This is work worth doing. “ Once more, they all looked upon one another, sighed, and smiled.
Axiana Lockmoore- Crossroads
Usually hard work and determination led to the realization of dreams and goals.
That didn’t seem to be the case for Axiana Lockmoore.
With what seemed like a single stroke of a pen, the ship was decommissioned and the Navy downsized. Her hands shook as she read the letter. Just like that; all the work she had done, what she had accomplished, erased by a single notice. This wasn’t sadness; this was anger. Her chance to become a captain and head her own ship dashed by the cold piece of parchment in her hands. Which isn’t to say her dreams were totally crushed; of course there were other ways to captain her own ship. But this felt different. She didn’t talk to anyone the rest of that day; in fact she didn’t remember most of it.
Two days later and she had effectively resigned. It's not like they would want to keep her around. Now all that was left was to make her next move and say goodbye. Saying goodbye to the crew was hard, but she managed. Packing was far easier; she didn't have very much to her name to begin with. All that was left was to tell the Captain.
She hadn’t even closed the door to her quarters before coming face to face with Albine Duchamp, leaning up against the creaking wood of the ship. Startled and face a bit red, she offered the chief the best smile she could muster. “I wasn’t aware you were there Duchamp.” Axiana stated plainly. Duchamp simply nodded and, with a raised eyebrow, gestured to the packed bag resting on Axiana’s bed.
“So, you’re off as well. Have you told the Captain yet?” Duchamp inquired.
Axiana shook her head, “ No, I was on my way to tell him now.” She pauses for a long time, staring at her fellow sailor. “Albine, it’s been an honor serving with you. And thank you for putting your trust in me. I wish you only the best going forward,” she flashes her a brief lopsided smile, “And who knows? Perhaps our paths will cross again. It’s been far too long since my last trip to Coast Haven.”
Duchamp offers Axiana a rueful smile in return. “It was an honor to fight by your side. Take care of yourself out there Axiana. And good luck." Axiana stuck her hand out to clasp Duchamp's and while the other woman reciprocated, she soon pulled the young lieutenant into a hug. They parted ways not long after.
She found him in his quarters, door open as he stood overlooking the port from his window. Announcing her approach with a knock on the door frame, Cobus turns around to face her. It was not hard to tell how the Captain was taking the news. It was one thing to have had all his hard work be for naught, but it was another thing entirely to watch as his close knit crew had the rug pulled out from under them. It wasn’t an easy thing to accept for any of them.
Seeing the look on her face, he could easily tell where this conversation was heading as his features dropped. "XO, I was wondering when you would come around. Planning on staying until the end?" He asks, but she knows he already knows her answer.
“No,” she shook her head and offered him a small, somber smile, “No I'm afraid I won’t be sticking around to watch as the axe drops. I already bid Duchamp, Moran, Collins and the crew farewell. You were the last on my stop, sir.” She pauses for a moment before continuing, “I got my affairs in order ahead of time. There doesn’t really seem to be a need for plucky, chaotic lieutenants right now. And we both know how bad I am at clerical work.” she says with a small laugh in a failed attempt to lighten the mood.
With her laugh dying down her face takes on a more serious expression. Reaching her closed fist out, she opens it, revealing her crossed pistol pins.
“Since I’m no longer-”
Cobus shuts her down quickly with a shake of his head. "No. You've earned those, Axiana. They were not given freely. Keep them with you, they can serve as a reminder. You said it yourself, you're far better where you are than where you have been. Remember that."
"I...thank you, sir." Is all she can say as she places her pins into her jacket pocket. There is a very long silence between the pair. "You've taught me some valuable lessons over these past years. And I couldn't ask for a better friend. Please be good to yourself, sir. I can't always be watching your back now can I? You've got a lot of people who care about you out there." She laughs.
He chuckles at her response. "Well you're still my XO, after all, peace be damned. You be good to yourself out there as well, Axiana."
Axiana nods her head. "I'll be okay. Always am." She snaps him one final salute. "It's been an honor, Cobus."
Cobus returns her salute. "The honor has been all mine, Axiana." The two linger here for a moment before she heads back towards the door.
"Be proud of the leader you have become."
Back in her quarters, she pens a quick letter to send before she heads out. Once the writing is complete, she grabs her bag and takes one last look at the quarters she has called home the past several years. The only place stable enough for her to call home; the first place she could call her own.
And with a deep breath, she departs, leaving behind the life she had known for what could only be an unsure future.
Kanas,
It seems that with peace brings me more time to dedicate to being your squire, on a more permanent basis. I’ll be making my way to Alieander this evening. I will see you in a few days time.
Lieu
Axiana Lockmoore
Verity E. Arkwright – Condolences
(CW: Death of family, emotional abuse) This was the third bouquet of flowers that had made its way into Verity’s hands this morning. She rubbed a thumb against the rough stem, somewhat perturbed and confused by the bundle of viscaria presented to her by some philistine clad in finery beyond his station. Bending gently at the knee, she laid the bouquet on the pew behind her, freeing up her hands to accept the barrage of apologies and melodramatic condolences that had plagued her for the past two hours. History is always written by the victor, or so she was told. Perhaps that explained the gilded tales of her mother that wafted from the mouths of the shifting crowd. They settled into the cathedral’s vaulted ceiling as a soft din, but the weight of their words pressed down on Verity’s shoulders. “You knew very well that the moment you set foot in that room, every eye would be upon you,” her mother scolded between clenched teeth, removing her jewel-encrusted hand from Verity’s shoulder. She towered over Verity, who found a child’s diadem rolling over her fidgeting fingers. The diadem vanished as a set of black shoes entered Verity’s vision. “My deepest condolences, Consul.” lamented the elderly, bespectacled elf before her. “She was always such a kind woman. Did excellent work for the children, such charity.” “By the Gods!” she spit, as though each word were a droplet of venom on her tongue, “I told them I had a trained lady-in-waiting. ‘Afraid’ has no place in your vocabulary. If I’d known you’d have referred to the host as ‘sir,’ I’d have sooner sent a donkey to give an appropriate introduction for our household.” Verity inhaled sharply, quickly punctuating the moment with a hasty smile. “Thank you for your kind words,” she replied. It felt so performative, but then again, wasn’t everything else? “I’m afr- I wouldn’t be where I am today without her guidance.” She paused. Would she? Here she stood today, a respected advisor, an unparalleled strategist, a diplomat known in her own right and sought after by a King’s Candidate -she ought to respond to that missive tonight - and surely the envy of her sisters. She’d made great strides in the circles her mother frequented and beyond, and yet... was this her success? More importantly, was this what success meant to her? Lady Arkwright soon realized she’d balled her gown into clenched fists. Wide eyed, she loosened her grip, fervently smoothing out the shimmering material. She sighed and straightened her back, looking more like a statue than the mother of the little girl before her. “Consider yourself lucky that this is a charity gala for the gentry, so I can make up for the damage you caused from that excuse of a conversation.” “I’m sure that right now, she’s looking down and smiling on you,” said the man, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his halfhearted smile. This wasn’t palliative, it was patronizing. “Death doesn’t bestow the mantle of a hero on the backs of those it welcomes,“ she thought to herself, “nor does it wash away a lifetime of misdeeds.” Fearing her thoughts may have betrayed her and escaped her lips, Verity looked back at the man, whose warm countenance remained unbothered. “Now, unless you want to continue making good on your commitment to being a malignant blemish on this family’s name, I suggest you go out there and convince every lord and lady of the court that I didn’t just lie to them about my daughter’s ability to conduct herself.” “I’m glad you share her faith in me.” After swallowing several additional sorries from the gentleman, she began to wonder if she were better suited to the screened side of a confessional box for these tirades. After all, this was for their sake, not her own. Eventually, he continued to his seat, satisfied with the pleasantries exchanged, and another took his place shortly after. Eventually, the throngs of people funneled past her and into their seats. Verity waited forever for silence to fall, and then solemnly approached the podium. The seats were filled, the air fresh and still. She didn’t look left, even though the silhouette of that box screamed for her attention. Her mother was right, she conceded, she was prepared for this moment. Time for an introduction. Her lips parted.
Adventure (Kanas Part 1)
It was midday. Kanas was sitting at a cafe table in the heart of Aliander with coffee in hand. He was watching a pair of minstrels entertaining the crowds coming and going, his foot tapping along with the beat. He used to do this back when he was adventuring in Travance. It helped him center himself. A reminder of the people he fought for. Not kings. Not great concepts beyond his ken. But for people, so that they can live out their lives happy and free. But things change. The great evil is no more. There’s peace. He was no longer needed in Travance.
With peace in Travance came peace within the kingdom as a whole. Kormyre was entering a state of stability, and while there was no sitting king on the throne there was a feeling of reassurance. The tension in the air was starting to dissipate, and he was able to breathe a sigh of relief. In a way, his purpose as a knight was complete. He helped Kormyre in its time of need, to find a way through the storm. But knighthood never truly suited him, and like the paladins of ages past, he knew it was time to step away. He’ll have words with Piper and Magnus. Point his squire in their direction. Axiana had served him for a few years now, and she has grown leaps and bounds since they started. He knew she was ready. He’ll give her the Queen’s Shield too. It belongs with the kingdom, not with him.
He wasn’t sure where he would end up after this. Part of him wanted to settle down. But he knew there’s always people in need and he’s never been the settling down type. He never liked staying in one place for too long and while Kormyre was nice there’s a whole world to explore. He didn’t know how much of the wanderlust was Fiona guiding him or was his own. He just knew to follow it. Though this time he didn’t want to do this alone.
Kanas’ afternoon date was to arrive any minute. He didn’t plan for this day to be special. It wasn’t an anniversary nor a holiday for them. It just felt right to do this now. He nervously played with a silver ring in his hand as he saw Laric walk through the crowd. Fiona grant me courage.
Annora - Family
The Drake Queen sat in front of her house on the outskirts of New Avondale, staring off into the swamps and watching two drake hatchlings play-wrestle. They really did grow up so fast, despite how slowly time was passing these days.
Annora had always been a loner, by fate rather than choice, but she saw other humanoids even less than usual lately. It seemed no one needed her skills now. Drega'mire, at this point, was an administrative entity and she had never had a talent for paperwork. Talaniel and Angelica had that well in hand, Annora was sure. Kanas had grown into his role as a traveling protector of the people so well, that she had faith the common folk had a stalwart defender to turn to.
Annora let out a deep, mopey sigh. In this new era of peace, with the Dark Clandestine and its aura of evil gone, she was a protector with nothing to protect.
Lost in her own thoughts, she misses the warning signs of chirps and a waving tail. One of the hatchlings charges and knocks her into the mud in its attempt to rub his face against her horns. Laughing, Annora shakes herself out and shifts from bipedal to quadrupedal form, before chirping back at the hatchling. Mock-snapping at him, she playfully chases him into the marshes, while the other hatchling begins attempting to grab her tail.
Grinning a lizard smile, Annora runs after the young ones. At least she had her family.
"MEEOOOOW."
Maria looked up from her book. “What?”
The housecat sized black panther stared at her pointedly from across the room.
"MEOOOW."
“Look, if you want attention you’re going to have to come over here,” she sighed. “I’m in the middle of something.”
The cat hopped up onto the windowsill. Following it with her eyes, Maria noticed past it the colors of the setting sun on the horizon. “Oh. Alright, alright, we’ll get a move on. I’ll finish my notations at home.” She stuffed the book into her satchel alongside the tarot deck that had been in her lap. She stood up with a slight wince. Her body protested from being curled up in a chair since lunch.
The sound of bells chimed in through the open window. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. It was getting late. She could always continue her studying at home. And she still had some shopping to do on the way. Political meetings ran long that morning, barring her from getting that done during her midday break. If she hurried, she could still get back before Darius finished dinner. A smile crossed her lips, and she flicked her left hand to get a bit of stray ink off the gold band on her ring finger.
She paused twice when walking out of her office, a few seconds apart, thinking a question in that direction just in case.
‘Hey love, I’m stopping by the market on my way home to pick up some extra birthday treats for Storm. Do you need anything?’
Ravani - Progress
A blue-haired elf walks into the back room of Galladelights Bakery, Auralion, Kaladonia, with a large rolled up parchment in hand. She clears off the kitchen's counter, moving mixing bowls and knives, before unraveling her treasure.
Ravani peers over the incredibly detailed map of the Barony of Travance, muttering to herself. "Pendarvin seems the most likely option? Lady Ilana is partial to our treats. She could be convinced very easily to give us prime real estate. She's the annoying honorable sort, but if we play this right, the promise of regular baked goods deliveries will only sound like an offer of friendship, not bribery." The elf taps a finger against her lips, deep in thought. "Stonefall could also have potential, but Elric needs to widen their line of blood treats before we start a branch there."
Ravani looks up, a smirk on her face, as she speaks to the starlight swan that forms out of mist and sits on top of the map. "First, the Proper. And then, all of Korymre. It's time for a new Empire. And a Bakery Empress!"
Year have gone by. Deepwood has fortified their position and Cyan has expanded his trade empire. Aliester gave command of part of the Glomm Legion over to Cyan to protect the southern boarder. Fortresses, outpost and castles are being built all over the area to control the lands. Cyan frequently is giving food and other items to the peasanty. Fel spends the years tending to their son Amir and spreading the word of Glomm through the province. Indigo spends times traveling with Ireni to various ports making deals and wielding the influance they as a church continmue to grow. Henchman travels between the southern fortifications and their main stronnghold. Training and preparing forces.
Indigo and Cyan stand on the battlements of Cyans shadow fortress looking over the area talking about next steps and plans in whispered tones.
"Its been three years since Glomm came and claimed Jed." Indigo states
"Yes and we are almost ready. Money pours in from around the world from trade and we never stopped preparing. Tari is now with us and feels much better about herself and he new state." Cyan states.
As they discuss further fortifications and militerization Addy shows up on the battlements.
"Your back Addy how was your trip?" Indigo askes. Her responce is to hand him a letter. He reads it and hands it over to Cyan to read as well. "Its all ready" Ingigo muses.
"Yes gather everyone. The fun is about to begin. Its been quite for way to long." Cyan responds. As they reenter the showdowy fortress on a wind swept ridge overlooking the Deepwood.
Magnus- without connection "...496" Magnus closed his eyes trying to reach out to Fiona, to tell him where he was needed next, as he lowered his body closer to the floor but there was no call to action. This has become a common occurrence, for months now Magnus had reached out to the power that once guided him with no response. His connection to the greater good had not weakened, he still had all the powers granted to paladins, but there was no direction given with it. "...497" Sweat dripped from his forehead hitting the cold stone floor of his home in the United territory of Corvancia. The territory he was sworn to protect was located underground situated between a major city of Deepholm and Travance. O.nce a lively place full of adventurers, now it was peaceful and quiet. His retainers scattered to the winds. His first knight was out looking for adventure by land, his second knight keeping peace on the seas, and his third he had not heard from in some time. Friends, council members and squires were all scattered across Aarwyn living their lives, yet magnus could not figure out what to do. "...498" Magnus' muscles strained realizing he has not seen the sun in almost a week, and he wasn't needed in the capitol for another week. He looked over at his tattered General's coat, a small layer of dust has begun to form over it. In the beginning he would spend a great deal of time in the Capitol playing the roll he always has, of the brutish commoner at the nobles table, making a scene so Alister could actually get some work done, but this has become less and less common. "...499" Magnus wondered if he should have just went with Astraea to the high elven capitol. Magnus paused for a brief second, the thought he just had tugged at something. What it tugged at magnus could no longer tell, but it was something he was once quiet familiar with. "...500" Magnus stood up from his prone position and reached for a towel to wipe off the sweat, his mind spinning with everything he had just considered. "Does this world even need a creature like me and more... no not creature, you are a person magnus, remember she said you are a person" He finished drying off and walked towards the bath, "maybe sneaking out with the good prince to drink at the dragons claw will remind me of that, you know for old times sake"
Jackdaw - Bane of the Corrupt There was a cold silence in the Dragon’s Claw. The only sound Jackdaw could hear was the clack of his boots on the floor as he walked through it. Soft light from the occasional candle and the slowly dying fireplace left spots of orange glow throughout the otherwise darkened building. He had seen the building like this before, in the early hours of the morning just before the sun rose, when most of the town was sleeping off the latest battle. However this pre-dawn lull had lasted for months. Usually there was the occasional adventurer still awake, but now the building was just empty. After all of the work that had been done to see this town functional, the pieces began drifting away. It was quiet here, and Jackdaw abhorred the quiet. Travance it seemed had become distinctly dull.
By the end of the first year, in the most respectful way possible, he abandoned the responsibilities he had accepted to help ensure Travance kept running, and he began wandering. Quiet in Travance did not translate to quiet in the rest of the world. There was still evil, and terrible dangers, and that meant adventure and wealth. He rejoined the crew of the Winged Victory, and sailed to Sevenlore to test their mettle against the weavestorm. After barely escaping the Dreadiron fleet he saw to it that word of their activities made it to the right hero types. A few more adventures saw a few scrapes and death defying escapes (and maybe one or two deaths, but he’d apparently learned how to walk those off.)
By the end of the second year, he had a pile of treasures, and trophies from enemies defeated. The lack of Travance as a base of operations had made it clear that he and those who had been roped into his criminal enterprises would need some level of infrastructure. He began purchasing a few manors and estates dotted around the eastern side of the rift, and turning them into places to get supplies, and hide out. He built up contacts, and resources. It was draining funds, but one tended to commit crimes to gain the resources to commit bigger crimes. He still had friends that cared about laws that he wanted to stay in the good graces of. He still had Talaniel Starling who could deconstruct him with a glance. It became clear that he would have to be careful about who he targeted. However if he targeted people who deserved it not only would his allies cover for him, but the law would be less likely to come hunting him.
It was during the third year, while visiting Starling and getting into yet another deep discussion over dinner about the shape of the world, and how one could best help that he began to consider a new venture. Sure, there were no world ending events now, and the plethora of well intentioned heroes with nothing better to do were out and about stopping the easy to spot villainy. That meant a lot of hard to spot villainy was free to run rampant. People in power in Londwyn, Coast Haven, and even Kormyre who used their wealth and power to do what they liked, to hurt people that had no way to defend themselves, people the law had forgotten. Much as he didn’t like to admit it, Jackdaw was a person who cared, but he wasn’t good. He didn’t believe in doing what was right, he believed people should get what they deserved. That what you thought it was okay to do to others should be done to you. With a list of people in power who used that power to destroy others, he resolved to do the same to them. Not only steal from them, but to take everything. To take their money and power and see that it was used to help the people they hurt. To use the resources of vile people to destroy other vile people. This…. Was not a plan he could accomplish alone. He had always worked best with a team of heroes, and he knew a few people from Travance who would appreciate the work. A few invitations were sent out via letter, a few people were invited in person, a few just randomly showed up.
By the fourth year there was a small team of people directly working to undo the damage done to the world. There were even people still tied to official work who helped out when they could. This included getting a monastery to use as a safe house when things got bad. By the fifth year, the small group was locked into debate over who to focus on next. Now that the threats to Travance that no longer united them, there were former friends who warranted examination.
Julia- Two Forward, Three Back Femurs were difficult to carve into engagement rings. This is what the most recent hunt had taught Julia. Damned idiot. Her pocket knife slipped yet again as she attempted to chisel away portions of the bone, causing her to grimace. Maybe it was the wrong kind of knife? The wrong kind of bone? No, maybe she should get an actually bloody craftsman to do this kind of damn--
As the blade dug into the gleaming white surface yet again, it hit an odd angle, causing the femur to crack and split in two. Julia exhaled through gritted teeth, her eyes shutting tight. The remnants of the bone hit the ground as she hurled them in frustration, kicking up a small cloud of dirt in a ring round her feet.
The familiar feelings of rage bubbled in her chest. Immediately making her flush red, threatening to swell even further as her ears buzzed and a series of small, phantom pains attacked her clavicle. Her hand clawed instinctually at a necklace that no longer lay around her throat. Not finding it, the panic rose. However, she was prepared for this. She counted her breaths, steady and even. Between them were mantras, taught to her by Damien. Some in common. Others in Celestial. Over and over, muttered in a forced calm whisper as she leant forward, over the knees brought up to her chest. In several seconds, the frustration died, the burning in her belly fading to nothing but a mild flame.
Shoulders slumping in relief, she revelled in the calm. The rage never lasted nearly as long these days. If she could nip it in the bud before it grew, that is. Julia glared at the remnants of the bone, sitting in the dusty dirt of the forest path. She glared at it like it had slighted her personally. Horribly. Why did people propose anyway? They had already been dating nearly six years. Why not stay there? She already had plenty of rings. Surely she could just give Nalick one of those. He was a bloody Andorran, after all. Why would he ever go for a ring made of bone, for gods’ sake? He wouldn’t. Right?
There wasn’t time to linger on this long, she decided. Twilight was beginning to fall, the sunlight casting its last, long shadows across the forest floor. The usual group of children was coming around tomorrow for another lesson. If she wanted to teach them proper shelter craftsmanship, she’d have to collect materials for them ahead of time. In her head, she quickly counted how many branches she’d have to collect so they could each have a lean-to of their own. Dammit. Being a teacher was hard. Looking down, she sighed at the body lying next to her. It was cold by now. Right. Burying it would have to come before any gathering. Julia groaned at the inconvenience, but stood and began dragging the man further into the woods. It’d be a long night.
Allyce
Blood dripped down her forehead, obscuring her vision on the left side. Annoying.
Brushing her fingers over the trickle, she casually glanced at her hand to gauge the steadiness of the stream. Not bad. A typical head wound then likely. Not truly a concern, but still in this company not the best. Whispering under her breath, she mustered a bit of darkness to heal the wound and cleansed the blood from her skin smoothly and efficiently, careful to make no noise.
That fact addressed, she continued to monitor the situation. Two down, one up and moving with a slight limp on the right side. It, too, bled from the head and torso but much more slowly- but then, undead really didn't have a pulse much less blood flow. Still, not yet taken care of. Easily rectified.
Briskly, she proceeded to wrap the undead up in her magic and beheaded it. Releasing her magical bonds, she turned to review the situation, nodding her head as she determined this raid was finished. Nice, neat, complete. And before the rest arrived as well- but the witch hunters could deal with those. They kept complaining of boredom- they could clean up the mess. Besides, she had other things to take care of.
Turning her head, she viewed the small city she had helped found years ago- the inhabitants had no idea who she was but she added to their ranks from time to time.
"Slavery", she thought. "Not nearly as easy to deal with as vampires but just as satisfying."
Reminded of an appointment to keep, she pivoted on one foot and casually stepped through the portal that opened in midair for her. Emerging on the other side, she walked to her desk and checked her missives. Her bat flew around her face, but its movements were more satisfied than urgent and she spared it a fond glance. How strange it seemed to remember a time when she had hated magic and its uses- and now her bat was as much a part of her as her breath.
Overall, she decided, even losing the opportunity to help with Amatoth had barely affected her- she hadn't really had enough time to really get used to the idea before it seemed to have been taken care of. A part of her had been relieved while another part had regretted the disappearance. VIM vanishing seemed to her to be suitable- his task was done and she mentally saluted him as she had that day she felt him leave. As strange as others found it, she was happy for him- she had wondered before what would happen when his obsession was over. She still kept a thought for him but she had felt nothing since the day he left and so she felt sure that he was at rest. Glancing around her small domain, she rested her hands on her desktop for a moment. Maybe one day, she would be ready for the same.