destiis-wayfarers

[destiis-wayfarers]

So there was some talk about our characters as deities, and this happened.

~~~

She is not afraid.

Across the field rises a heavy shadow of the enemy line, their banners still in unmoving air, their spears gleaming in the first rays of the sun. She cannot see a single face — not from this distance, not when the morning fog turns them into a murky, many-headed, many-limbed, bristling behemoth.

The silence feels unnatural — somber, as if nature itself holds its breath. The soil is too dry, almost begging for the blood that will soon nourish it.

She hears her fellow warriors shifting, breathing heavily.

They are not afraid.

Their banners are held high, but there is not a gust of wind to breathe life in them, to remind what they are fighting for today.

The heavy footfalls of her general bring her out of the trance. They make their rounds ahead of the front line, their expression obscured by an ornate helmet — but she can almost feel the tension in their eyes beneath the shadow.

They cannot be afraid.

The general stops and casts their gaze onto the enemy. All the words that needed to be said have been said. All amends and promises made. She grips her sword tighter, trying not to think about the wetness of her palm.

The general raises their sword high in the air — and the world comes crashing down.

The behemoth roars forward, and the same roar from behind crushes her ears and rips from her chest.

Soon the world is a hell of bloodied metal, burning limbs, and deafening yells. She hears battle cries, praises of the gods, and screams of pain. Her blood is boiling, and a name comes to her mind.

This one is not to be invoked lightly. To be honest, she is not the one to be invoked at all, not unless one wants to be scoured from this land. Yet the heat of battle, the wish to see the enemy swept away and destroyed puts the words into her mouth, as her sword seeks the heart of the warrior in front of her.

"Lady of Slaughter, heed my call!," she cries out, her heart aflame.

"Let my blade rip through their bodies, let it drink the blood in your name! Let the Wolf feast on their defeat!"

For a moment, she hears a distant howl — but maybe it's just her imagination. The Great Destroyer is not known to answer mortals.

She cries out in pain as a crimson slash cuts through her arm, yet her hand is unyielding. Her blade sings, her curls caked with blood. She swings, and rips, and tears through the enemies one by one. The man in front of her drops his sword, his arms raised in terror. The next second, he drops dead by her hand.

She is not afraid.

The battle rages. Red marks bloom on her body grow by the minute. Her muscles scream, her breath comes out in ragged gasps.

Then her swing misses. Her sword goes flying out of her hand. The enemy does not hesitate, and presses her down, blade cutting through her armor, seeking flesh, but before he can pierce her stomach — he falls. The figure in the ornate helmet gives her a curt nod, and swings away to push the enemy further. She scrambles for support, but her vision blurs. Her arm fails her, and the ground meets her back.

By now, the sun is high up in the sky, it's rays blinding, as she blinks the tears away.

Her body betrays her. And with it, she feels as if she betrays those who still stand fighting. Her lips are wooden as she whispers a prayer.

"Blazing Scourge, burn my wounds," her words shaky and stuttering, "give me strength, let me see it through. Just for today, let me fight again!"

She knows there are no vultures here, but she sees a fleeting, winged shadow cross over the sun — and then it's gone. Yet when she struggles to rise, her body listens again. She rips a sword from the dead hand beside her, and steps forward.

She is afraid.

Her excitement gone, her thrill exhausted — she tries to think of her breathing, and not the sickening metallic smell that engulfed the whole battlefield. Dead eyes stare at the sky all around her, her army overpowered, their defences falling one by one.

She catches a glimpse of an ornate helmet on the ground — with a gaping hole in it. She knows this was not a blow meant to be survived. Her heart sinks as she casts a glance around. Her fellow warriors fight on their last breath — those who still stand.

She can tell they are afraid.

A strike comes from the side, aimed dead at her neck, right between her gorget and her simple helmet. A spring of red burst forth, spraying across the frenzied face of the attacker as they move on — to strike the next, and the next.

Her blood falls into the earth, and she cannot look away. Her knees buckle. Her head hits the ground, and she sees droplets seeping through, letting the soil drink it's full. She knows that she is not going up anymore.

As her vision begins to darken, thin blades of grass stay in focus — bedewed by her life force.

She doesn't know what happens to her soul once she closes her eyes. But she knows that her blood will nourish this land. Her body, picked clean, will feel the scavengers. Her bones — a reminder of the battle lost.

There is just one god left to pray to.

"Great Antlered One, take my body. Let it feed the earth. Let this life not go to waste. Birth something good out of it.""

As she closes her eyes, she sees a heavily cloaked shadow, bones rattling gently as he moves. He will take care of what is left.

She is not afraid anymore.

~~~

Damsa the Lady of Inevitable Destruction belongs to @kemsyne

Rowan the Tender of Life and Death belongs to @destiis-wayfarers

Asmar the Blazing Scourge belongs to me

[destiis-wayfarers]

@destiis-wayfarers posted this beautiful creation so I figured might as well post mine. A bit about divinity, domains, and those pesky mortals.

She awakens in the raging fires of a volcanic eruption. 

In the beginning, for as long as that lasts, she is content - dancing with the gales as churning waters lick her feet, splitting the earth open to pluck hidden treasures from the depths. The world is full of wonders and she is content playing with it, but, eventually, she begins yearning for something more.

There are others, of course, much like her yet different. She has never noticed when exactly they had appeared, but she knows they were not there before. They are content in their dominions and do not welcome her. Quite a few of them seem to be particularly worried about the effect she has on the little mortal dwellings that slowly but steadily grow in number.

Mortals - those fleeting, fragile creatures - fear her. She does not care for them much, but when their growing presence becomes an annoying buzzing at her ear, she snuffs it out. They curse her then. Her and him.

He is never too far. Wherever she passes, he is sure to follow - sifting through the aftermath, burying some things, lifting other things up. He never blames her, he never approaches her, but he is there.

He is there after she runs with the wildfire; and little green saplings spring from his footsteps. He is there after she sets the blizzards rolling over the landscape, changing it in unpredictable ways; and forest creatures seek refuge underneath his cloak. He is there when the mortals pull her into their insignificant conflicts, when her rage and bloodlust cannot be satiated until every last one of them is no more; and he calls the animals to feast on their flesh, buries their bones deep in the earth.

Life, she understands, death.

She watches him with fascination. She wonders what it must be like to have the power of turning decay into something thriving. She listens to the many names the mortals call him. She feels offended at the blame they lay at his feet. 

She watches as he gently picks up yet another shriveled carcass and it turns to dust at the touch of his fingertips… 

The draught is not her doing and neither it is his, but the mortals curse them either way. They do not understand that there is no decay for him to turn into something else, they do not know how many bones his hands have laid to rest, nor how long he has been wearing the same crown. She does not want to leave him alone, listening to the dwindling buzzing of the mortal curses and pleas, bound to stay until the last one of them goes out. She wants to see him in a different cloak again. Now.

So she climbs the highest mountain and reaches for the sky. Whoever is keeping the rain away is no match for her will, and the sky turns black at her command. She drags her hands through the clouds, catching shivering lighting before it can strike the dry earth - she has to be careful this time. She twists her fingers in the dark, heavy shroud and pulls it down.

Her laugh is thunder.

The rain comes pouring down. Streams turn to torrents, rushing down the mountains, spilling over the edges of dry riverbeds. Lighting crackles between her fingers as she turns on her heel and sends another cascade down into the valleys. She will end the drought. She will give him a reason to shrug off his cloak heavy with bones, and she will be able to watch him create again. She will make sure of it and the mortals will thank him. She will be content for a while again.

Chaotic winds tear through withered forests and fields, stripping brittle branches and uprooting shriveled bushes. Roiling currents catch them and carry them onwards, overtaking anything in their way. The air shivers and shakes with a sudden deluge of energy; she laughs, spreading her arms wide, letting the lighting paint the skies, relishing in the downpour.

By the time it settles, there is no sign of any still living being around.

She looks over the flooded fields, barricades of debris, dead things torn from the ground and thrown into mass graves. It is silent. No life can come from the dominion of destruction. 

She thinks of the black hands burying bones. She thinks of the heavy crown upon his head, the long cloak dragging behind him. She thinks of all the times she had watched him patiently coax life out of decay… There is nothing left to keep him in this place and surely, after this, he will not be so accepting of her either. Blanketed by silence, she sinks into the wet, rocky ground and curls up with her bitterness. 

When she wakes up again, it is in a field of small white flowers.

[destiis-wayfarers]

A piece about Rowan as a god, featuring @kemsyne's Damsa since, wherever Damsa is, Rowan is sure to follow.

Nature & Life, Death & Destruction

He was formed in stardust, drifting through time and space, dormant. Until Life began and his eyes opened. 

There were others before him, but precious few. There was Turmoil, Darkness, and Light, holding dominion over the cosmos. And there was the greatest of them all, the one who shaped them: Creation. Creation went before them, forming space and time and dotting new worlds here and there. Darkness and Light followed, filling the space between worlds, and Turmoil came last, setting those worlds spinning, poking them like an eager child to watch them collide.

In the beginning, Life followed behind them all, alone. The others were still busy with their domains for the cosmos was still young, still a delicate thing being turned in their infinite hands. The worlds were still forming, rocky and cataclysmic. Being alive was a fragile state, like a single mote in a solar storm. If one did not cradle it gently, it would be annihilated.

And so it was. Like siblings, the others would squabble at times, and the cosmos would quake in response. Life cared little for their petty quarrels but — through their strife —  he found that his dominion expanded. Now he was a cycle. Life and Death embodied in one being. 

He spent those early millennia marvelling at the beauty of the process. He watched algae struggle to form as fire rained down around it, wondered at the resilience of cells as they bloomed under the perfect conditions of a nearby star. He was a gardener, encouraging life to flourish even in the most tumultuous of conditions, and pruning all that wilted and faded from the world.

Over time, the worlds changed. Many were ripped apart by Turmoil, or frozen by Darkness. Many more were swallowed whole by Light, engulfed in flame until only cinders remained. He stayed with these worlds until they passed beyond his domain, bearing witness to the end of his charge in its infancy. He wandered the planes until there was no fertile land or water in which to renew the dead to life. He sifted through the debris, raking through ash and ice and rocky dust to pluck the seeds from their tombs and carry them on to new worlds still waiting to be sown.

So it went for millions of years. 

Until, suddenly, there were worlds that his siblings were not permitted to touch. Worlds that Creation claimed, moulded to its will, a testing ground for new ideas. And, with them, came Life. 

It was almost overwhelming, in the beginning. He was all places at once, all worlds where life must be cradled into existence and death must be swiftly dealt. He sowed the seeds he had gathered. Creatures and plants that had stood no chance in the face of his siblings flourished on these worlds. Fish, rodents, grasses, and the first trees, tall and proud under clear, blue skies. It was beautiful and pure. 

When others began to emerge, he saw her for the first time.

She was formed in the fires of the world, deep in the molten rock where Life could not go. But he felt her awaken. He felt the death surrounding her birth like waves breaking around him. He felt the mountain shudder and the creatures cower as she stretched out her limbs and took her first breath. He watched the fires scorch the earth and wondered how long it would be before this world would be swallowed whole.

She was wild and capricious, like all his siblings. She ran with the wind, whipping up fires to blanket the ground. She swam in the oceans, forming great tidal waves to drown the land. When she slept, she burrowed deep in the earth, and the quaking formed great chasms. The creatures spoke of her in urgent, hushed tones. They feared the power of Nature and came to him in vast droves when she was abroad in their lands.

With her came the seasons, each one more fraught with peril than the last. Spring and flood turned to Summer and drought, to Autumn and decay, followed by the long, cold of Winter that only Darkness could have formed before her. For the first time, he walked the lands on physical feet, donning a heavy, warm cloak to keep her blizzards at bay and preserve life where he could.

He was protective back then. He was still young, relatively speaking, still learning his role in these new worlds. He was naive. After the chaos of the cosmos, he wanted to keep order in these new lands. He saw her as a threat to Life, mistook her as a child of Turmoil. 

But he was wrong. 

Where Turmoil might have dug their fingers into the world and ripped it in two, she barely grazed the surface. Always he followed in her wake, chasing the trail of Destruction, sowing new life in her footprints. Oftentimes, it grew back more abundant than before. And, eventually, he realised that she was another part of his own cycle, a facet of himself more so than any of his siblings. But, still, he followed her, for that was his role. Not once did she turn on her heel to stop him, though he almost wished she would, if only so he could look at her face. 

Those years were peaceful. They were the shaping and forming of the world. The coming of the mortals changed Life forever. 

They were a creature in Creation's own image, so imbued with its essence that they, too, might Create. They were strange, so far removed from any animal Life had nursed before. They were more intelligent, more compassionate, more violent... Just more.

As they grew, they began to upset the delicate balance of Nature. Like a wolf amongst hens, they burned through too much and too fast. Creation made more siblings to hold dominion over them, siblings Hunt, and Song, and Love, and Sky, and many more besides. But they were different from him, and from her. Their dominions were lesser, their power limited, and that made them bitter. Soon, they turned the mortals against them both.

There was no place for Death amongst these creatures, no place for Destruction. Yet they revered Life and worshipped Nature, left little offerings and said little prayers. His siblings did not teach them the truth, did not show them the harmony of Life and Destruction, Nature and Death, how all things work in balance. No, like Turmoil, the mortals would rip them in two and keep only the halves they liked best. They were, and still are, fools.

As the years went on, the dominions became more muddied. Lines overlapped, siblings scrapped for parcels of power. Elements were taken from them both. Birth, Afterlife, Wind, Rain, and so it went on. The Creations of the mortals formed ever smaller domains for siblings to go to war over. War, that was another one. They gave that to her, the hypocrites. Did she even want? He didn't think so. 

He'd seen her in the aftermath too many times, toes in the blood-soaked earth, fingers reaching into the skies to summon a storm. Wash it all away, pretend it didn't happen, go to sleep and wait for him to clear away the death. But War doesn't form new life. It simply stains the fields red. They were changing her, forming her into a mortal weapon, diminishing her dominion. It wasn't what she was made to be and, for that, he resented them. 

The mortals felt his scorn but were too blind to understand it. Their own ways created Disease and Pestilence, and Sickness, but they laid the blame at the feet of Death. He readily claimed each domain as his own, for which of his siblings could stop him? Only her, and she was too busy bathing herself in their blood and losing herself to War. 

So, he walked amongst them in his dark cloak, adorned with scorched bones and hands black with ash. He was a whisper on the breeze, a last breath at a deathbed, a shriek of pain in the dark. He gifted them their own creations, culling them like a gardener might rip out weeds. It was not enough. It did not stop the rot. It was too deep. It was in the roots.

The draughts were retribution. Rain withholding their meagre powers to punish Life, to scorch the grass and kill the tree, to push away the gazelle and starve the lion. But he has known Turmoil, he has witnessed the beauty of Destruction. He has watched worlds collide and stars explode and stood in the chaos of Death all his existence. The mortals wailed and cursed and begged for Life. But, even then, they could not fathom that Life and Death were one and the same. He continued his work, though his cloak grew long and dragged across the plains, and his crown grew heavy with bones.

Rain was a petty creature, stealing from Nature's domain. A distinctly mortal behaviour. It was only a matter of time before Nature took back what had always been hers. The floods started without warning, so the mortals would say. But he felt her coming. Always, he had followed her, and now he could feel her race across the dead plains like lightning, thunder in every footstep. 

He watched her upon the mountain, watched as the clouds gathered in her hands and the world became dark. The first rains were a blessing, and the mortals rejoiced. But dead earth cannot bear the full force of Nature. As the waters rose, those few creatures still clinging to Life came to him. He took them to a high place, laid down his heavy crown and threw his cloak over its antlers and bones, creating a space where the creatures might shelter from her fury. 

He rooted his feet in the earth, lifting his arms and face to the skies to feel her. The rain washed over him, the black ash on his hands trickling down his arms and mingling with the dirt as his feet, enriching it for the next crop he will sow. He felt a river of death pass through him as the torrents rushed down the mountainside, burst over dry riverbeds and streamed through the mortal cities. She washed away the bones and the blood and the filth. Sickness and Disease would always belong to him now, but, for now, she had purged the rot. Her laughter echoed across the valleys as she plucked the weeds and presented them to him like a bouquet.

After, it was quiet. So quiet, so peaceful. He found her on the mountainside, curled up in the mud. Her brow was furrowed, her body tense, her sleep plagued. War had changed her, but she was still Nature, still Destruction, still half of him suffering at the hands of mortal inventions. 

He touched her then, a thing he had never done before. His clean fingers brushed her brow, and the world trembled at the touch. He would not let them take her, would not let them change her, even if he had to destroy the whole garden and start anew. 

There was work to do now, much work. But, before he began, he left her a gift. A reminder of who she is, of who they both are, and how they share dominion over Life.

[destiis-wayfarers]

WIP Wednesday Monday

It's not Wednesday lmao. But I'm the worst when it comes to checking my tumblr so here we are. Thanks for tagging me @iredara, sorry it took me so long to respond :') I don't have anything I'm really actively working on right now but there are a few things on the back burner that I must return to eventually.

So here's a short snippet from a 5-6 chapter fic I'm I promise I'm going to keep working on when I get some time for @kemsyne, featuring the one and only Damsa Drende. Oranges & Honey, Chapter 5

Rowan pulled back as the tip of the sword swished past his chest, narrowly avoiding what would have surely been a fatal wound. His chest heaved, the hot summer air never seeming to fill his lungs. He spun to the side as a hand shot out toward his shoulder. His muscles burned from hours of exertion, his movements stiff and sluggish. He was too slow, like he was trapped in honey whilst his opponent practically flew through the air.

He was on the defensive now, taking a few steps back as the blade whirled back around toward his side. He barely managed to get his own blade up in time to counter it, the attack a feint that successfully kept his attention as a foot hooked around his leg and yanked him forward. He stumbled, tripping over his own feet on the way. He slammed down onto one knee, pain exploding at the point of impact and shooting up his thigh. 

Well, this was it, there was no coming back from this, not when his opponent was this capable. He'd let his guard down, again. He was distracted, had been for weeks. He feebly parried the blade that came for his throat, but his heart wasn't really in it and his sword was easily knocked aside. Rowan sighed and let it clatter to the floor as his opponent's blade rested against his neck, the blunt edge digging into his skin. He raised his hands in supplication and looked up at his opponent, waiting for the inevitable.

"You're slow today," Damsa said, a small grin on her lips as she looked down at him. It was her right to gloat, of course, but it didn't frustrate him any less. She breathed heavily, chest rising and falling as she sucked in deep lungfuls of air. Her hair was piled up high on her head, stray curls haloing her face in loose corkscrews. Her pale eyes were bright and fierce, her sweat-slicked skin practically glowing in the afternoon sun. She was as hard-edged as a sword, beautiful as Alassar steel. How was Rowan supposed to focus when she was so damn alluring?

[destiis-wayfarers]

@wayfarer-exchange treat for @cidre0 💎

[destiis-wayfarers]

[destiis-wayfarers]

My @wayfarer-exchange gift for @iredara!

Asmar is so charismatic and interesting character! I hope I did him and his captivating story some justice.

The prompt was "precious". He charmed me with his whittling skill feature! The archer by Alexandre Kelety was used as ref for the figurine.

Also bonus art versions under the cut

[destiis-wayfarers]

„No way it happened like that,” Aeran laughs, knocking his knee against Kai's.

The fire is keeping the night's chill away, casting deep, shifting shadows on their faces. Its soft crackle is mixing with the sounds of the desert - a rhythmic, hypnotizing sort of thrum that makes Kai's head spin. He looks at Aeran, so strange yet so familiar in the firelight, and for a moment he thinks it all a dream…

But the stars are bright above them, the fire's heat is seeping into their faces, and Aeran's knee is a solid point against Kai's. For the first time in a long time, Kai feels warm.

~~*~~

@wayfarer-exchange gift for @glitchy-npc !!

Kai just Kai is such a fun and interesting character, I had a great time drawing him 💙

[destiis-wayfarers]

I AM LOSING MY MIND OVER THIS!!! It's so freaking gorgeous thank you so much 😭😭💙💙

@destiis-wayfarers' kailis marcello for the @wayfarer-exchange!

i had a blast figuring out all the colors and the shapes for this one :) and the water motif for kailis was so fun to tinker with. i hope i was able to do this guy justice

[destiis-wayfarers]

My main piece for the Wayfarer Exchange is a snapshot of Bluerbell’s Arzhel! I hope I did your guy justice!

@bluerbell @wayfarer-exchange

[destiis-wayfarers]

@wayfarer-exchange gift for @kemsyne :D

I had so much fun with this exchange! Especially with drawing Damsa, her design and writing is amazing. I hope ya like it (^▽^)👍

[destiis-wayfarers]

hello hello!! I have a gift for @phantasmagoriatime for the exchange of @wayfarer-exchange

Their lovely oc, Ilias Fiora!

I had a lot of fun drawing him and rubbing my little hands together while sketching out the chibi's >:3

[destiis-wayfarers]

Exchange reveal time!

My @wayfarer-exchange piece for @purplecritter

I so enjoyed getting to know Leander better! Arsenian fields on the moodboard turned into a tribute to the Child of the Fields origin and better times

Leander's subtle one-sided smile is just such a distinct feature

A big thank you to the organizers for bringing us another exchange! Here is to more in the future

[destiis-wayfarers]

My main exchange piece for the @wayfarer-exchange! This piece is for @oncemoretoseayou, for their lovely Wayfarer, Levy Marcellis. I really enjoyed getting to know them and reading all the tidbits you've dropped about them over on the Discord server. I hope I did them justice!!

The whole piece is below the cut, but you can also read it here on AO3.

Summary: With Rona's climate, getting sick was inevitable. Levy is stuck in bed, bored and overthinking, until Aeran returns to their luxurious apartment for a delicious meal. Rating: General Characters: Aeran Kellis, Levy Marcellis, Rindan Cenric, other OCs Tags: Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Family, Found Family, Secret Crush, Nightmares, Comfort Food, Pining, Love, Romantic Friendship, Trauma, Childhood Trauma Words: 4,221

Of Gossamer and Steel

Levy held their breath as they peered through the crack between the ornate door and the hallway wall. Hunkered down to make themselves as small as possible, they tilted their head to the right to get a better view. Their mother was sitting at one end of the long dining table, a delicate glass of wine in her hand as she listened to the stranger sedately. Their father stood beside her, listening with his hands folded behind his back. His face had a distant look. Something about the tension in his body, about the way his jaw was set, made Levy's heart race in fear. 

What's happening? Levy knows what's happening; they just don't want to admit it. Maybe, this time, it'll be different.

"The apprenticeship lasts for around eight to ten years, depending on the child and their aptitude," the stranger said. Levy twisted their head, shifting their weight and wincing at every tiny scuffle of feet that might reveal their snooping. The stranger was a dwarf, sitting at the opposite end of the table as though their parents wanted to keep him as far away from them as possible. He gestured as he spoke, going into detail about the mysterious apprenticeship they were discussing. Training regimes, lessons, even lodgings and travel. 

Levy can't remember the words, but they know what they're saying all the same. 

Their mother listened impassively, sipping on her wine now and then, giving a slight raise of an eyebrow in that disdainful way she did when she saw something she didn't approve of. 

Levy crouched there, breathing shallowly, heart pounding as they struggled to fit the puzzle pieces together. It wasn't until they started discussing a price that everything became as clear as a bell ringing in their ears.

It was happening again. Again and again and again.

"So, you'll take them?" their mother asked.

"And... It'll be a good life for them?" their father added, which was met with a little tut of disapproval from their mother.

"Becoming a Wayfarer is one of the best options for Levy," the stranger said in their deep, gruff voice. Levy's heart skipped a beat, and their stomach flipped sickenly at the mention of their name. They'd been talking about them this whole time... All that about travelling, about training, about being far away from their family? Levy wanted to move, wanted to run away so their parents couldn't find them and they wouldn't have to go. But their legs suddenly felt like rocks, the weight dragging them over the edge of a cliff. The ground had fallen out from under them, they were plummeting and the dark waters were going to swallow them up.

'Please stop it,' Levy pleads with themself, 'don't let them do it again!'

"How much?" their mother asked, and Levy wanted to sob.

"I can give you 100 crowns," the stranger said.

"Ha!" their mother's voice cracked, smarting as surely as a slap to the face. "You said yourself that magiani are rare. You think I'd let them go for so little? I won't accept any less than 500 crowns."

The adults were haggling for Levy like they weren't even a person, like they were a particularly choice cut of meat at the market. Levy wanted to throw up. The threads that wove between them and their parents were thin at best, fragile as gossamer, tested and strained over the years. They knew that their mother never liked them, regarded them as a failure. 

But their father... Their father was just going to stand there and say nothing as their mother sent them away for a few crowns? The betrayal was too much. It manifested as a stabbing pain in their chest that burned through their little body and became an all-consuming self-righteousness. Even as the stranger gave their counter-offer, Levy surged up, bursting through the door with balled fists.

"What are you doing ?" They yelled, their body quaking. All heads turned to them, a mixture of emotions cast toward them like stones. Their mother stood, glass abandoned as they crossed the space between the table and Levy. She towered over everyone in the room, her melusine height as catastrophic as a headsman's blade swinging down upon them.

Her face was like a summer storm, beauty twisted into vitriol as she looked down at Levy. Their father followed close on her heels, panicked, mouth agape, swallowed up by her shadow. Even the stranger stood, barely taller than Levy, glancing between the others in the room.

"Levy..." their father said gently, voice full of sadness. 

"Daddy...?" Levy replied pitifully, pleading with him for the last time. He didn't reply, just closed his eyes and turned away, head bowed and brow furrowed. Somehow, that hurt more than anything else. Levy could feel tears burning at the corners of their eyes, but they forced them back. They refused to cry; they wouldn't show weakness, not now.

"Levy Marcellis," their mother said, taking a step to the left to block their father from their view, "go to you—"

" No! " Levy screamed, surprised by their courage. They'd never been so bold before, but what was the point of holding back now? "You're sending me away? Why ? What did I do ? Do you hate me that much?"

There's no changing it. It's done now. Levy can't go back.

"You will not raise your voice to me!" their mother shrieked, her lips curling into a grimace that revealed her fangs. Her long, cerise twists bounced about her face as she tossed her head. Her hands were turning into fists, balling up in her skirts. She bore down on them, looming over them like some undefeatable monster ready to swallow them whole. Levy stood in her path, but they weren't sure if it was fear or rage that made their hands shake and shivers tingle across their skin. 

"Why not?" Levy demanded, "you're getting rid of me anyway!" they screamed, every ounce of resentment and pain that had built up over the years bubbling to the surface.

"Because I am your mother! " she shouted back, eyes blazing, almost snarling as she bared her fangs at them. Levy bared theirs right back as the delicate threads connecting them to their family finally snapped, falling in tatters around them.

"No, you're not! You never were!"

***

Levy blinked open their eyes, breathing heavily as the ghost of the nightmare raked its clawed fingers across the back of their mind. They pulled the covers over their head, cocooning themselves in rough fabric and blocking out the late-afternoon sun that glinted through the open window. Their entire body ached, and they were shivering violently despite the way the sheet stuck to their sweat-damp skin. This sickness was exhausting.

Levy turned onto their side, restless and uncomfortable. They normally relished extra hours in bed and would love the chance to laze until the afternoon. But memories swirled in their mind and threatened tears that Levy had thought were long since dried. How often had they experienced the same dream since leaving their birthhome? Too often. But they hadn't really thought about their family in years, having watched them float away like flotsam on the ocean. The Order had become their home, the Wayfarers their family. Now, that was all gone too, washed away in the rain that was the shitstorm of their life. Still, they had Aeran now... The one solid foundation through everything. The one thing that pulled them out of the hole they'd crawled into after The Spire. 

They owed him everything.

Knowing Aeran was out there, working to keep them both fed and a roof over their head in this god's forsaken backwater whilst Levy was lying here useless... It left an ache in their gut like they'd swallowed a sharp stone. Still, he'd made it clear that he was happy to shoulder the burden while they were sick. He'd been insistent that Levy rest, even when Levy tried to protest that they could still work. Levy smiled in their little bedsheet cocoon, fingers inching out to twirl in the fabric idly. Despite everything, despite the grief and pain that Levy still carried, they couldn't help but feel a tiny mote of warmth in their chest whenever they thought of him.

With the dream finally fading from thought, Levy threw the blanket back, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the wan sunlight. They shuffled back, pushing themselves up on shaky arms until their back hit the wall. The room they were renting was sparse. Rona's finest, of course. Levy smiled ironically at the thought, shaking their head and immediately regretting it as the room spun around them. 

Two pallets served as beds and took up most of the room. Aeran's was pushed up against the wall, the bedding piled on top in a feeble attempt to keep out bugs. Against the far wall was their paltry collection of medicinal herbs and dried food, half of which had been decimated on the days they couldn't find work. Above that, there was a small window with thick, wooden shutters, which were half-open at the moment to let in whatever passed for a breeze in this place. 

Levy usually relished heat — a result of their Coverern blood — but Rona's sticky humidity and incessant rain were starting to lose their novelty. All in all, this place was thoroughly miserable. Still, Levy had been stuck in worse locations before. And being here with Aeran made it all a bit more tolerable. 

Levy stretched out one of their long limbs, reaching for their pack and dragging it toward themselves. With nothing better to do, they could at least keep themselves entertained until Aeran got back. Levy rummaged in their bag, fingertips brushing up against various shapes as they hunted for their journal and a pencil that was rapidly becoming a stub. 

Pulling the items from their pack, they settled their aching back against the wall once again, drawing their knees up toward their chest to become a makeshift table. They ran their hands over the smooth leather of the cover, fingertips catching the rough edges where the item was showing wear and tear from bouncing around in their bag for months.

They were only just getting back into journaling. Before... They would write often and fill little journals with drawings and notes. But they were gone now, and Levy's desire to write had died with them. But the last two years had changed things. They'd decided to get a new journal some time ago, and they were steadily filling it in, documenting their travels and experiences with Aeran. They flicked through the pages, reading their past thoughts with an idle interest, taking more joy in looking at the drawings of creatures they'd encountered or slain, of people they'd met. Aeran's face featured here more often than they'd like to admit... Gods, that was kind of embarrassing. 

They hadn't written much since they'd arrived in Rona. They'd spent most of their days hustling for a few crowns just to eat in this place, no time for sitting still and thinking. Well, now was a better time than any. Picking up their pencil, they bent their throbbing head forward to start a new drawing. Slowly, a gruff-looking dwarf took form in the upper corner of the page, accompanied by some notes on the mannerisms of their grumpy landlord. He was always badgering them to pay their rent, using his dog as a threat if he had to. Levy sketched out Worm too, bigger than Oleander just because they liked his three-headed pup far more than the dwarf. 

They stayed that way for a while, sketching and writing about the last few weeks, adding as much detail as they could remember but trying to keep it contained on as few pages as possible. They weren't sure how much time had passed by the time they were done, but when they surfaced and blinked out at the room, they suddenly realised how dark it had gotten. Dark and cold.

Levy shivered as they shoved their journal back into their bag and fumbled around in there for something to light the single lantern hanging from a hook on the wall. They kept the blanket wrapped around their shoulders as they stood on shaky legs, their entire body protesting at the movement. A wave of dizziness rushed through them, and they had to stand still until it passed, hand braced against the wall to stop themselves from collapsing. 

With a small sigh, they readjusted the sheet and deftly struck their flint until a flame caught in the lantern and the room was bathed in a warm glow, thin as it was. Then, they shuffled over to the window where a misty rain was blanketing Rona. It drowned out the sunshine from earlier, steel grey clouds covering the sky and turning everything in sight into a muddy brown or grey-green. 

This was the usual for Rona, though. Its citizens carried on their business in the streets below, passing between collapsing buildings on rotting walkways like this was a perfectly acceptable way to live. Levy usually loved light, warm rain in the middle of summer. But, gods, not here. Here, every kind of weather just seemed to highlight a different flaw. 

As Levy stretched to close the shutters, they heard hurried footsteps on the walkway outside their door and, for a terrible second, they wanted to dive across the room for Lifeblood, their sword, which was lying on the ground next to the pallet. But no sooner than they began to move did the door open, Aeran shouldering his way into the room, a bundle covered by his cloak in his arms and rainwater dripping from his hair.

Levy stopped in the middle of the room, breathing a quiet sigh of relief as the anxiety in their chest slowly eased. Was it the dream that had gotten them so on edge? Their sick-fog mind? Or maybe it was just this place? 

No... Nothing had really been the same since The Spire...

"Vye?" Aeran asked, concern obvious in his tone as he stood in the doorway, watching them, "what are you doing up?"

"Oh, you know, just waiting around to make you worried," Levy replied with a small shrug, throwing Aeran a forced smile as they clambered back onto their pallet. Aeran rolled his eyes and smiled back good-naturedly.

"Feeling any better?" he asked as he turned away to hook a foot behind the door. Levy appreciated that he didn't press the matter any further. They really didn't feel like talking about the Spire right now. And they knew Aeran sure didn't want to either. He'd been tight-lipped about it ever since they'd found each other again. But Levy didn't want to pry; some things were just too painful. 

"If I die, promise not to bury me in the swamp?" Levy shot back, pulling the blanket tight around their shoulders and wiggling on the pallet to try to find any form of small comfort.

"It'd be rude to ignore the local customs, Vye," Aeran replied as he shoved the door closed with his foot and began to make his way across the room. He carefully settled the bundle down on the floor before pulling off his pack and bow.

"What have you got there?" Levy asked, changing the subject from death and decay to something, hopefully, a little lighter. Levy crossed their legs, pulling them back obligingly to make space for Aeran as he sat down on the end of Levy's pallet. 

This close proximity was normal. They'd slept practically back-to-back in rooms smaller than this over the last two years. And, yet, Levy's heart fluttered as Aeran shuffled toward them and closed the space until their knees were almost touching.

"Brought you something to eat," Aeran said simply, seemingly unfazed, as he pulled the cloak away and folded it up neatly, laying it on the dusty floor.

"Oh wow, how did you know I like my soup extra watery?" Levy asked sarcastically, eyeing the two wooden bowls Aeran had revealed. 

"It's the best soup in Rona, judging by the queue to get any," Aeran said, leaning forward to pick up one of the bowls and press it into Levy's hands. Honestly, they could barely stomach the idea of eating right now, but Aeran had obviously waited in the rain for a while. The line for the soup kitchen was always long, even though the slop they gave out barely passed for food. But it was all they could afford these days. And he'd walked all the way back here without a cloak just to keep the soup warm and rain-free. Not that there was much point, judging by how thin the broth was already.

"Thank you," Levy said, truly meaning it, lifting the soup to their mouth and taking a tentative sip. "Ah, my favourite: hint of nothing," they concluded. Honestly, a little rainwater might have added some actual flavour. 

"Bland is better than disgusting," Aeran replied mildly. Levy screwed up their nose, reminded of all the times they'd both choked down the most despicable meals just for the sake of having something in their stomachs. 

"I'll take the small wins," Levy said with a nod.

"Just wait," Aeran said, pulling a brown paper pouch tied with a string out of his pack and handing it over, "I got you a treat."

Levy frowned, putting the bowl down on the ground to take the bundle. A treat? What could possibly count as a treat in this place? Opening the pouch to peer inside, they saw many light brown strands, like fibres mixed together. Anyone might be forgiven for thinking it was some kind of herb or medicine, but Levy recognised it immediately.

They glanced up at Aeran who was smiling at them nervously now, on the edge of anticipation, waiting for their response. Surely, this wasn't what Levy thought it was, right? Levy bent their neck forward, drawing the item up to their nose and giving it a cursory sniff. Gods, it was .

"Dried squid?" Levy asked incredulously, "where did you find this? How did you even pay for it?" Levy had been craving squid for weeks now, missing the food of their homeland. But, whilst Rona was next to the ocean, they didn't actually have much in the way of cuisine. Plenty of fish, but well-seasoned squid was a rarity. And certainly not cheap either.

"You don't wanna know," Aeran said with a small grin, finally picking up his own bowl and taking a spoonful. Levy levelled him with a steady gaze, but Aeran didn't break, just smiled placidly at them. Levy shook their head, dropping a handful of the squid into their soup. If he wasn't going to talk, Levy wasn't going to push. They knew what kind of work was available around Rona, and almost none of it was pleasant. Something small and vulnerable deep in Levy's core grew warm and tight at the thought of Aeran working hard just to get them something nice to eat.

"Here," Levy said, offering the pouch back over to Aeran, "share with me?"

"Sure," Aeran said, holding his bowl out for a handful of the dried strips. Levy watched as the squid slowly soaked up the soup, rehydrating. They were half-concerned that they were wasting the snack, but once they took a tentative first bite, all their worries melted away. 

The squid was deliciously tender, the seasoning seeping into the rest of the soup and actually making it taste like something. Finally, some flavour. It was hot and comforting, soothing their raw throat and lending some much-needed heat to their core as it settled in their empty stomach. 

The two of them ate mostly in silence, both of them too tired to talk, but it was a companionable silence. They knew each other well enough that there was no need for words, no need to fill the air with pointless noise. Just being close to each other was enough.

Once they were done eating, Aeran set the bowls next to the door. No doubt they'd be taking them back to the soup kitchen tomorrow if they wanted to eat. Still, there was enough squid left over for at least one more delicious meal. Levy carefully folded up the paper pouch, making sure it was properly sealed with the string before putting it into their pack. They'd save it for a special day, or maybe a particularly bad day.

"Here," Aeran said, pulling a tiny jar from his pack and handing it to Levy. Levy took it with a soft frown. Was this another gift? 

"What is this?" Levy asked, holding the jar up toward the light of the lantern to peer through the dark glass. There was some kind of syrupy liquid inside, moving sluggishly as they turned the jar one way or the other.

"It's medicine," Aeran said casually, pulling his pallet down to set up his bed for the night, "Emari said it should help with the fever."

"Aeran..." Levy breathed through a suddenly tight throat, hot tears gathering at the corners of their eyes. They cuffed at their face whilst Aeran's back was still turned. 

"What?" Aeran asked as he finished laying out his bedding and plopped down onto the pallet. The room was so small that it butted up against Levy's and when Aeran stretched out, propped up on one elbow, he was less an a foot away from them.

"How many crowns did you spend on me today?"

"Don't worry about it, Levy," Aeran said, rolling onto his back and shuffling down under his blanket. How could they not worry about it? Every day here, they were fighting to get enough gold just to eat, just to pay rent. Every day, it seemed like getting out of this town was further and further away. But Aeran was willing to waste crowns on them? On medicine for a fever, on squid just to make them feel better? 

Aeran was never a man of many words, never great at expressing his emotions. But the way he was looking after them, the things he did to show he cared, it filled Levy with more love than they knew what to do with. 

"Vye," Aeran said into the silence that was stretching between them. He reached out a hand, laying it lightly on Levy's knee through the blanket. It was just a few seconds, just a moment of touch to get Levy's attention, but it made Levy's heart beat faster, and their palms suddenly became sweaty. 

"You're sick, it's okay. Just take the medicine and get some rest." Aeran insisted, his face serious as he looked up at them, sandy brown curls haloing his face. Levy wanted to grab that face and kiss it. But they wouldn't. They couldn't. Not now, not yet. Not til they were sure he felt the same way...

Levy forced a small smile, unstoppering the jar to take a tentative sip. The medicine was bitter and thick, coating the back of their throat. They took a deeper draught, hoping it would help them sleep soundly. Afterwards, they stoppered the bottle and set it down on top of their pack. Aeran closed his eyes then, shifting his head left and right on the pallet to get comfortable. 

Levy lay on their side under the blanket, watching Aeran quietly. He looked as exhausted as they felt, dark circles under his eyes and his breathing growing deeper already. He hadn't even bothered to remove his leather armour. He lay on his back, one bare arm under his neck, and the blanket pulled haphazardly over his chest. 

Levy couldn't help but smile as they looked at him. They felt guilty for all the work he'd been putting in whilst they lounged around but, despite that, there was something else smouldering in their chest. A kind of warmth that wasn't from the soup, or even Aeran's body heat in the small space.

It was gratitude and longing and joy all at once. It was an intense kind of happiness that made them want to grab Aeran by the hand and dance, even in this dingy little room. They wanted to experience everything with him at their side. All the good and bad of life. They knew that, with him, they could face anything.

Tentatively, Levy pushed a shaky hand out until their fingers brushed up against the side of Aeran's arm. The feeling of his smooth skin under their fingertips was almost paralysing, blood wooshing in their ears and a jolt of adrenaline rushing through their veins. Aeren hummed a small noise in the back of his throat, and Levy almost yanked their hand away in panic. But Aeran pulled his other arm out from under his head to lay his hand over Levy's, trapping it, wordlessly, between the warmth of his hand and arm. 

Levy breathed shakily, shivering from fever and exhilaration. This thing between them was unvoiced, unnamed. It was special, precious and delicate. But it was as strong as alassar steel, unbreakable. As they slowly fell asleep beside Aeran, Levy knew that, together, they were family. Not by blood, perhaps, but they were the kind of family that truly mattered: one bound by love.

[destiis-wayfarers]

Updated portrait of Nadi, my character from @idrellegames’s Wayfarer! I never actually finished the portrait I did of her in 2021, but her old portrait is below the cut

[destiis-wayfarers]

A @wayfarer-exchange treat for @glitchy-npc !! Thought Kai would be the kind of person to climb up into the masts of the ships he's on lol.

[destiis-wayfarers]

@wayfarer-exchange treat for @ice-knife 💫