#khazamaran

[reliquiaen]

finally did up some really short and crappy profiles for venin and all his friends. plus the abridged versions of how they met and a little on the cultures they’re from.

Name: Venin

Pseudonym: None

Age: 27

Species: Rynaveir

Occupation: Assassin/Mercenary

Sex: Male

Gender: He/Him

Sexuality: Asexual

Height: Tiny. 5′4″

Family: Orphaned at birth, no known relatives.

Affinity: Shadow (major) & Water (minor)

Weapon: Dirk (melee, like a sword), magic, biological excretions

Combat: Prefers stealth and close combat. Uses magic to escape if necessary, he’s not stupid or easily goaded into a fight he can’t win. Can manipulate shadows to make himself invisible and will use the acid and poison he produces naturally to give him an advantage. He is a survivor.

Brief:

A grumpy, stoic chap (no surprise given his past), Venin takes zero shit from anyone. He’s softly spoken if brusque and often rather rude, very precise with words and actions both, he’s also quite patient. But only with those who deserve his patience, everyone else is liable to get slapped. He doesn’t much care if he steps on feelings and he keeps his own very close to the vest. Even those closest to him find him somewhat inscrutable and baffling, though his primary motivation for pretty much everything seems to be his simmering hatred of slavers.

He considers himself a criminal, someone who probably deserves a little ruthless justice. In spite of thinking himself a bad person, Venin generally only targets those who have done something he finds irredeemable. He has little concern for personal wealth and isn’t really interested in money, beyond needing it to survive.

He struggles to make any sort of bond, be that with friends or for business. He’s standoffish, painfully introverted and isolationist. Venin enjoys silence and calm periods and is a methodical planner. He almost never does anything spontaneous. Given that he keeps himself at a distance from everyone, it would probably surprise someone to find out how much he cares about the weird found family he stumbled into. Woe be upon anyone who messes with them. He has a vengeful streak; he’s stubborn, determined and fiercely loyal.

Name: Osprey

Pseudonym: None

Age: 26

Species: Celachi

Occupation: Merchant/ Healer (Quartermaster)

Sex: Intersex

Gender: He/Him or They/Them

Sexuality: Demisexual (prefers females)

Height: 5′6″

Family: Father died in conflict with Rynaveir, mother lives in colony, no siblings

Affinity: Water (major) & Earth (minor)

Weapon: Non-combatant, good with magic

Skills: Not interested in fighting, instead he maintains a garden because he thinks it helps calm people down. Much of what he grows has medicinal properties of some kind too, or they’re edible.

Brief:

An actual soft nerd. Osprey is so gentle, so quiet. He very rarely speaks and never joins a conversation unless prompted. But he likes to smile and he likes when others are happy. He has been known to gift flower crowns to lift spirits. There isn’t a violent bone in his body; instead he’s a dreamer, a story-teller, a healer. Conflict makes him uncomfortable, even when it’s just an argument between his friends, it makes him squirm. He’s a pacifist who wants to be an adventurer.

He’s shy and softly spoken, it takes him ages to warm up to new people and more often than not he’s perfectly happy sitting by himself in the gardens. Though he does love having friends. He’s not a very confident person, either, but hates that he needs reassurance from others. Osprey likes to bottle up his emotions.

Osprey wishes more than almost anything to be more than he is. He is driven by a need to help others. Sometimes that’s small things, like helping someone find their cat, or their keys; but sometimes it’s more. He likes to feel useful, needed, that’s why he stays with Venin. It’s why he takes on so much responsibility. He is so determined to be someone they need.

And it’s his warm smile and excellent hugs that hold them together.

Name: Aleira/ Aphid

Pseudonym: Sweetpea (or just Pea)/ Lady Talura

Age: 28

Species: Haera

Occupation: Librarian/ Accountant (she’s not the Spymaster)

Sex: Female

Gender: She/Her

Sexuality: Homosexual

Height: 5′5″

Family: Monastery family

Affinity: None (manifested energy)

Weapon: Non-combatant, magic proficient

Skills: Aphid is a master at being someone else. She has a fascination with different societies and their upper classes, ruling structure and politics. She often finds excuses to visit courts around the world because she likes to dress fancy (it’s not because they’re hotbeds for spies, obviously).

Brief:

Polite and generally approachable, Aphid conceals her scathing wit and limitless potential for exasperation behind a practiced smile. She’s first and foremost an intellectual, common among her people, and keeps the monastery pedantically well organised. Aphid is a walking encyclopaedia, always the first stop for information of any kind. While she’s not interested in fighting, she’s fierce and not unwilling to deck someone who annoys her (her magic is useful for that). She will also not shy from saying something nasty or biting if the moment calls for it.

Aphid would rather have friends than enemies, something that has left her with a persona that she wears specifically for others. Those who are close to her can take solace in the knowledge that if she’s calling them on their shit it’s because she likes them. She does enjoy making friends, though; is warm and generous and always worried that her idiot friends will get themselves hurt.

A bit of a social chameleon, Aphid is anyone she’s needed. She’s also competitive, systematic, organised and easily irritated by someone messing with her stuff.

Name: Daeddrin

Pseudonym: None

Age: 28

Species: Eylin

Occupation: Prince (third in line)/ Warrior

Sex: Male

Gender: He/Him

Sexuality: Pansexual

Height: 6′4″

Family: Mother, father, two older brothers, little sister, one uncle (maternal) and a cousin

Affinity: Earth (major) & Wind (minor)

Weapon: Dual wields swords (sometimes axes), wears armoured braces on his forearms in lieu of a shield, also fists and anything else to hand, rarely magic.

Combat: Dae is a charge in head first and beat things up, kind of strategist. He meets problems with his fists more often than almost anything else. He is brute strength and door-kicking good fun.

Brief:

Daeddrin is charming and witty and clever and suave and he likes people. Here for a good time, for a laugh, for a bit of harmless flirting, there’s not much about him that’s serious. First and foremost, Dae likes to smile, to explore and to challenge himself.

Laid back, gentle, calm, good with kids, he is surprisingly soft considering he’s a bulwark in a fight. He likes a nice chat, enjoys meeting new people and hanging out with his friends. Most of this, however, is surface stuff. Anything deeply personal he guards closely. He talks very little about his family or his royal blood, if that line is crossed; his serious face is nothing to joke about. When he lets himself forget about all the heavy stuff, though, he’s sweet and dorky and a die-hard romantic. He’s easy to get along with for the most part since he keeps most relationships fluff but when he lets the serious stuff rest for a moment on a friend’s shoulders, that’s the moment the real Daeddrin can be seen. Soft, fragile and quite often a little bit scared.

It’s easier to be friends when everything is superficial, but he’s dying for more than that.

Name: Her real name is a mystery (Rahna)

Pseudonym: Blacklight, Crow

Age: 25

Species: Avex

Occupation: Thief/ Technician

Sex: Female

Gender: She/Her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Height: 5′6″

Family: She doesn’t talk about family, presumably to protect them from criminals she’s wronged in the past. Has a mother and father, merchants, harmless folks who probably think she’s dead.

Affinity: Light (major) & Shadow (minor)

Weapon: Bow and magic, sometimes daggers.

Combat: When at range, her bow is her primary weapon, and typically, she prefers to stay at range. She’s been known to add ‘abilities��� to her arrows with magic, sometimes they produce a blinding flash of light on contact, or they might travel through shadows to pop out elsewhere. At close quarters, she almost exclusively uses magic. She blinds her victims or manipulates light to create illusions, cause people to stumble or induce panic; she can also create a shadowy mist to incite fear. Other skills include light barriers or shields, blasts of pure light energy and latent ‘trap’ runes. Her magic can also overload electrical circuits and gives her an edge when it comes to electronic locks and other mechanisms.

Brief:

Although friendly and charming, Blacklight ostensibly makes it her life mission to be as annoying and childish as possible. She enjoys pranks, bad jokes at inappropriate times, and teasing everyone. Easy going and spontaneous, Blacklight is energetic and always up for a new adventure. She’s talkative and extroverted and is a master at redirecting conversation without anyone knowing. For all her open smiles and friendly demeanour, she’s very secretive and keeps her past close. She’s vibrant and cheerful, always smiling and always seems so naïve, so guileless.

She’s brazen, often haring off into situations that she can’t handle alone. But she’s not stupid or full of herself and she knows when to back off, when a fight is too much for her or when something is a touchy subject and not up for joking. She’s also a little bit of a coward. But she’s like Venin, a survivor, and she’ll do anything she has to in order to keep surviving. If she has a serious side, it’s hidden very carefully beneath layers of whimsy and bad pick-up lines.

She is a loyal friend though, and once she considers someone as such they’re stuck with her. Forever. Something they may or may not come to regret eventually.

History:

The Rynaveir are typically a deep sea dwelling species. Their internal glow (visible in their gills and mouth) is the only source of light at the depths they’ve historically kept to. More recently (the last thousand years or so), the species expanded upwards and into shallower waters. Out of the crushing depths, the explorer groups began to evolve; they grew larger, developed eyes, and became much more capable on land. Though their eyes are still quite sensitive to light.

Eventually, this split within the Rynaveir boiled over. The sighted population believed themselves genetically superior, more intelligent, stronger, the better suited half of the species. Instead of wiping out their perceived ‘lesser’ brethren, they enslaved them. The blind populace was kept under tight control and breeding was allowed only at the whim of their owners for population control purposes. Within their society, the different halves were labelled as Greater Rynaveir (sighted) and Lesser Rynaveir (eyeless).

Whether pockets of Lesser Rynaveir escaped the enslaving of their kind is unknown. Greater Rynaveir are not adept at detecting things in the dark and may have overlooked some small holdouts. Seems unlikely that there are descendants still out there, though.

The Greater Rynaveir had significant limitations, however. As they were expanding out of the deep oceans it became apparent that, while they were larger, they were not stronger. Rynaveir are not a robust species and in the more heavily populated parts of the oceans, they are quite vulnerable.

Slavery had worked well for them, though, so the brighter members of their burgeoning society decided to try that again. This time with a little genetic modification thrown in, because that was a thing they were discovering how to do and it was exciting.

Another, developing oceanic species at the time, the Celachi, was an unusual divergence from several different breeds of shark. The aspiring Rynaveir scientists had many failures as they attempted to create the best race of slaves they could using the Celachi as a base. Eventually, they did meet with a sort of success. The Celachi as they are known in modern times are an amphibious race that are more robust than the Rynaveir and physically far stronger and more capable. They were meant to have quite limited intellect, but their development as a species was a little unpredictable. Parts of the species were more amenable to working as protectors and labourers (which was what they were meant for) than others. The more mentally developed Celachi did not much appreciate being slaves and freed themselves in a violent incident. The biological tampering of the Rynaveir resulted in frequent cases of genetic fault. Birth defects are quite common amongst the Celachi and some are very susceptible to disease.

The Rynaveir still breed the less intelligent Celachi as slaves that work alongside their Lesser Rynaveir brethren. The two species are cousins, in a way.

  Venin was born and raised a slave.

As far as owners go, his wasn’t the worst out there. A scientifically minded fellow who was determined that Rynaveir would join the other, more advanced, cultures of the world (something the Rynaveir have struggled to manage all this time, no doubt in part thanks to their anarchistic style of governing themselves and the opportunistic way they handle relations with others). Wealthy by Rynaveir standards, he had an estate on one of the islands within their territory. No islands were very large, but many held what might be considered small towns. The largest islands could support a couple of towns (though the term town is a little loose when applied to Rynaveir settlements).

Venin’s function, more or less, was to collect samples for his owner’s use. This often had him travelling away from their place of residence. Less obviously, he worked as the slave owner’s guard and secretary. He did a lot of work gathering information and was required to quietly ‘take care’ of anyone his owner considered an enemy. He was very good at this.

Although he was considered quite trustworthy by his owner, considering his efficient and precise work, whenever he was out of the estate he was usually accompanied by one of the Celachi slaves (since the Celachi were considered more reliable, less likely to run and always given instructions to stop a Lesser Rynaveir should they try to escape). Venin, though he often considered attempting an escape, knew it would be stupid to do so without aid.

There had long been an understandable tension between the two Rynaveir groups; although considered inferior, the Lesser Rynaveir actually didn’t have much of a disadvantage. When enslaved and brought up from the depths it took a long time for them to adjust, many died from the stress. But their small size made them unobtrusive and made it easier for them to thrive on solid ground. Although eyeless, magic runs powerfully through them as a race and, over time, they developed other ways of seeing by utilising this. Even the weakest of them – magically speaking – can use their strongest magical affinity to detect shapes in their surroundings. This fact is kept secret from their owners, though.

The Greater Rynaveir didn’t just have to worry about the coiling discontent among their Lesser slaves, however; other free Celachi groups had been trying to secure freedom for all their slave cousins. In doing so, they would attack settlements in order to free the Celachi slaves. One such band attempted to free Venin’s Celachi overseer one afternoon and were horrified to discover that he was actually more interested in freedom than the Celachi. They helped him escape.

The Celachi who freed Venin listened to the explanation that Lesser Rynaveir are more slaves than the other Celachi (who are kept deliberately stunted mentally to prevent them from contemplating escape). Osprey was the son of the Celachi who freed Venin. When Rynaveir retaliated a few days later, Osprey and Venin fled. Osprey’s father was killed in the conflict (his mother lived in a more secure colony elsewhere).

They travelled together, leaving Rynaveir controlled waters. For now. For the first time in his life, Venin set foot on a proper continent, outside of Rynave. This, more than anything else, felt indicative of his newfound freedom. It was a strange sensation, knowing he could do anything, go anywhere. Venin silently wanted to go back and try and free the others like him. End goal.

  The Celachi who were not retained by the Rynaveir as slaves became one of the most adept colonisers of the oceans. They are highly adaptable and, thanks to their magic and the biological tampering of the Rynaveir, can survive both saline and freshwater environments. Predominantly they act as caretakers and fisher people. They make sure the consumption of aquatic life is never too taxing on the environment and have farms set up in various biomes specifically to ensure the longevity of various creatures. Beyond this, they make excellent healers, despite that they are mostly a carnivorous race, they have some of the best knowledge of underwater flora there is, combined with their ability to thrive on land as well they have skills second only the Foren in the forests of the world.

They have no overarching government, each settlement runs itself, but typically they abide by a form of democracy. Celachi have little interest in conflict and the only race they have any real issue with is the Rynaveir, for obvious reasons. Without a ‘proper’ government, they have no organised military, either, but they are predominantly explorers. This also works in their favour when individuals act violently against others; it means that incidents are isolated.

Osprey had always craved adventure and excitement. He loved to read stories about great heroes and wanted nothing more than to be one of them. That’s why when his father and a group of others decided to go and see what they could do to help the Celachi slaves he desperately pleaded to go with. His mother, a kind and warm soul, didn’t want him to, but his father was sure he’d be fine. They weren’t going to do anything drastic (or they didn’t plan on it).

So when they brought Venin back to their waypoint, Osprey was thrilled to meet him. This was something worthwhile, he thought. When the Rynaveir attacked, though, and killed his father… that was less awesome. Fleeing for his life with an ex-slave wasn’t very much fun. Osprey has since decided that leaving the adventuring to others might be best, he likes being safe.

That said, he was pretty keen to go ashore. He’d been on land before, his mother was a herbalist and she taught him a lot about plants, it’s what led him to his garden and why he settled as a healer.

After he and Venin left Rynaveir territory and made their way to the nearest landmass, it was a matter of survival. Venin had very good skills for making his way through towns and cities, like an instinct (and probably being a slave for a wealthy individual had helped). Osprey was a little jealous and didn’t like that he relied so much on Venin’s assistance. He made it a point not to ask Venin where or how he got supplies, though.

They stayed nowhere very long, but did linger in a couple of larger cities. Venin took ‘work’ of a questionable nature that Osprey never pried into. While Osprey preferred to volunteer at shelters or healing centres and occasionally as a gardener. The longest they ever stayed in one location was the two weeks they spent in a sprawling port town two countries away from Rynave.

There, a quiet underground trafficked slaves, utilising the ports to get individuals around the world. Venin took great offence and immediately decided to put a stop to their endeavours. It was there, posturing as a representative from a Rynave settlement investigating the possibility of acquiring a few other species as slaves, he met Aphid.

  Among the Haera, family is about more than blood. The monasteries and other, smaller, settlements are comprised of many familial groups but even though that rarely means they’re related, everyone is considered family and friendships are highly emphasised. Children are raised by the clan as a whole rather than just their parents, inter-clan relations are very important for peaceful cooperation and trade, and learning is considered vitally important. Haera are incredibly sensitive to magic and are among the foremost experts on its various forms. They are a pacifistic people interested only in maintaining the serenity of their mountain home, though they do also produce the best wool in the world which is their primary export.

From her mountainous origins in the east, Aphid left her little academic home intending to scour the world for knowledge. Her primary avenues of interest are magic and politics, though she’s also fascinated by history and science. Considering Haera are fairly reclusive and don’t tend to get involved in world affairs, Aphid was remarkably intent on seeing everything. Initially, her travels took her to universities and the great libraries and some academies even.

Many tried to take advantage of her kindness and perceived innocence. They never tried again. Aphid knows how to take care of herself and her manifested energy always seems to come as a shock as if no one has ever encountered someone who can use it before. And maybe they haven’t. It is a rarer gift.

At some point that she’s never been able to accurately pinpoint, she stopped merely searching for knowledge and started looking for information. The distinction between the two is often glossed over, but she found that knowledge was just for the sake of knowing things, whereas information could give her an advantage.

Knowledge was learning languages to better communicate with other species to make learning about their cultures easier. Information was learning why the lords of Honsleith were so close mouthed about their marital affairs. In finding information, she discovered how corrupt and broken the world really is; a dark place where things are never what they seem. Where good people are crushed and the nobles are elevated. Given that Haera are all considered ‘lesser’, she took great offence to this, but instead of silently grinding her teeth at the state of things, she resolved to do better.

Haera typically didn’t get involved in world affairs, no. But Aphid found she enjoyed being – if not personally involved – at least aware of everyone’s affairs. She enjoyed the pomp of courts and the high standard of dress required and the manners and the gossip. She enjoyed creating personas to hide behind, enjoyed the ladies of the upper class, enjoyed playing their game. And bursting their bubbles, if applicable. Or messing up the carefully laid plans of the arrogant lords.

She remained foremost an academic, a counsellor, a librarian. But the possibility that she left… contacts in the cities she visited remains. Contacts being the polite term for people who keep their ears to the ground, who keep Aphid informed and keep an eye on the goings on.

When she made an appearance at a court somewhere it was because something needed to be done. Her timing in Uorvis, at the same instance as Venin and Osprey, was equal part coincidence as it was fortuitous. Aphid had been told that Haera were being kidnapped from institutions around the world, or stolen from their quiet homes in the mountains, and trafficked as slaves. Her people make unique property, reclusive and careful as they are, there are not many of them actively broadcasting their presence in the world and it infuriated her that this would happen.

But while Aphid had the information she needed to stop it, she didn’t have the means. Spying is one thing, but mercenary or wetwork was well out of her comfort zone. She had the information and Venin had the blade. When he materialised at court she knew something was going on and within hours knew what it had to be. Within the day she had his help and within the week her people had been returned home and the slaver group had been completely decimated.

They worked together within the city to right a few more wrongs and eventually Venin decided that having all the information was indispensable. Aphid, too, found that having a way to actually change things was something she couldn’t give up. Being able to make a difference meant too much to her.

Having caused a bit of a stir in Uorvis’ court, she decided it would be best to retire for a little while and let the world forget about her. Her contacts aside, at any rate. She joined Venin and Osprey (with whom she got on swimmingly), at her direction, they travelled to the mountains near her home.

Haera was once a much larger region than it is in the present day, many of the outlying monasteries have been abandoned but some are still in decent repair in spite of their long periods of neglect. Aphid used one as her own personal library, a repository of all the things she’d learned, full of books and scrolls and assorted magical artefacts. It was still a full monastery, however, a sprawling building of white stone carved into the side of a mountain, a glorious testament to the ingenuity of the Haera. Venin and Osprey moved in.

Osprey began his garden and, with help from Aphid, arranged for some quiet shipping to nearby waypoints that he could collect. His role as unofficial quartermaster for them came on accidentally, but Aphid finds it a great boon. Sometimes, he even acquires new books for her and as his reach expands, the type of book grows ever more to Aphid’s satisfaction. And sometimes, he even hears things pertinent to her work. She’s made plenty of new contacts thanks to him.

  Eylin is a large territory, a great sweeping desert region. Their politics are fairly typical of a monarchy and held little interest to either Venin or Aphid (and Osprey couldn’t care less). Their tendency to adopt lower class children (born with ‘royal colours’) into wealthier, noble families was perhaps the only thing of note. They were a fairly peaceful people, had no issues with their immediate neighbours and didn’t indulge slavery.

Royal colours refer to the eyes (wings) and the inside of the mouth and are purple and blue; children born with those colours are seen as noble. Middle class are more in the yellow and green range, while lower classes are oranges and reds. Hair (body) is almost always earthy in tone, dark russets and browns. The royal colours are not recessive and sometimes children of commonfolk will sport them. They are then adopted into a noble family; this keeps the bloodlines from in-breeding, since – although colour isn’t recessive – most nobles would never marry someone of a lesser colour.

The Eylin are one of the better functioning monarchies in the world, where the monarch is advised by a body of councillors and the needs of the people are always of the highest priority. The number of nobles who used to be commoners makes sure of that and the council is always comprised of various social colours to encourage fairness. The royal children are encouraged to engage with the commonfolk and the palace is always open to visitors. While fond of ceremony and grand appearances, nothing makes a nation stronger than its people.

The royal family had four children; the queen was born to a common family. Their eldest son, Neirin, a calm, composed boy who took his responsibility as heir very seriously; Cadael, the second son, was loyal and steadfast, was the epitome of a royal guard. The two were close, both in age and in friendship, they worked together and although Neirin would succeed his father, Cadael would definitely be his guard and advisor.

The family’s youngest and only girl, Eiwen, was gentle and artistic, preferring stories to adventure. Generous and kind, she did her best to provide for those in need and was far and beyond the grounding her eldest brothers needed, the one to remind them of their privilege and how best to use it.

Daeddrin was the third child, and despite understanding and respecting his position as a prince, he had very little desire to actually partake in any of the things he was meant to. His magic proficiency was pretty pitiful and his interest in following any plan for lineage his parents might have was courtesy at best. Unlike his sister (who he loves fiercely), Daeddrin wanted more than just stories.

He explained his need to travel to his parents as a matter of seeing the world they were a part of, to better understand culture and politics; to learn. And it was, in part. Daeddrin had always respected the cultures of others and is quick to apologise and rectify mistakes he’s made in ignorance. But also he just really wanted a little excitement, more than combatting bandit raids in their dusty corner of the world.

For a time, he travelled as a protector; someone who would aid those who needed it, free of charge (he does, after all, have the time and coin to spend). From helping elderly folks with mundane tasks to recovering stolen goods and breaking up street fights, he’d lend his arm to any who might need it. And he was plenty happy to flirt his way through taverns too, though he did his best to make sure his intentions were clear from the start.

He didn’t stumble upon Venin and the others in a typical manner. He was hired by a seemingly respectable woman who claimed she was a merchant having her goods destroyed or stolen by a petty rival. Which is how he ended up on the pointy end of Venin’s dirk.

It took a long moment before anything was said, and it was a heated discussion after that before realisation kicked in. That the woman wasn’t a merchant at all, but rather a supplier of arms to the underground gangs in the city, the goods being removed were the same ones being used to shake down the poorer business owners in town. At first he was a little sceptical of this, but Aphid always has receipts.

Daeddrin, irritated that he’d been fooled like this, gave his sword to Venin and even though his tiny new friend would’ve preferred a little tact in taking down the woman in question, Daeddrin had always been more of a kick-down-doors kind of guy. Needless to say, she regretted her decision. Briefly.

At first, Daeddrin wasn’t convinced that further helping someone like Venin (an assassin) and Aphid (a spy) was such a good idea. No matter their mild mannered gardening associate. But when it was pointed out that he’d very nearly helped keep a weapons trafficking operation in business (thank you, Aphid, you sassy shit), he reconsidered. It was nice to have facts and information on his side, after all. And learning that not everyone can be trusted is a hard lesson.

  Blacklight makes no apologies for being a thief. None at all. Her origin is the best kept secret she has, but it’s clear she started picking pockets and snatching trinkets from stalls very young. And she progressed to wheedling her way into the lives of the rich and powerful in order to swindle them, naturally. She’s charming and brilliant and seems so naïve and harmless on the face of it. No one ever really expects her to rob them blind.

The Avex are a forest dwelling people without much by way of actual social hierarchy. Considered by some other races to be less developed and therefore inferior, the Avex don’t much care for technology or science. They’re very magic oriented and, like the Haera, are one of few races in the world to occasionally produce children with manifested energy. They live in small family clans and keep mostly to themselves. Groups on the fringes are typically more interested in trade than the others. They have no formal military and specialise more in guerrilla fighting styles, they also produce some of the best thieves and assassins. Never particularly refined, they don’t have what other cultures would consider nobility and are equally disinterested in politics. They produce some of the highest quality natural resources anywhere in the world and have plenty of connections with other countries because of that. The borders of their territory have some of the largest and busiest trade centres in the world. Trade, they are very good at.

She grew up in a trade town, a bustling location where many different peoples meet, on the fringes of her homeland. The unusual mix of poor and wealthy where faces change with the seasons made it an excellent place to start. It’s just that when she began targeting wealthier individuals to steal from, she made no distinction on who they were as people. It’s something she regrets still, stealing from actual nice people. Especially when, she found later, there were so many awful rich people she could land in poverty.

Notably, she means Cleira, a nice young noblewoman who ran a shelter for orphans. Blacklight flirted because that’s what she does when confronted with a pretty face. She flirted and she pretended and she took all the gold Cleira had to her name. And then she vanished. And when she found out about the orphanage closing down later she felt awful. (Worse because she did kind of like Cleira and maybe there were other paths she could have taken, better ways of handling it. Cleira had liked her too, and the look in her eyes when Blacklight left still cuts deep.)

She resolved after that to at least do a cursory check on the person she was swindling before she took all their worldly possessions next time. And it worked just fine for a while, thugs and abusive mercenaries and corrupt lords and once even a gang leader, all were fair game. It was this that brought her to the attention of Aphid.

A lordling that Blacklight had discovered kept girls in his basement was her target, she had him all lined up for a delightful fall when Aphid intervened. Asking after her motives, her reasoning, what did she do with the money, a right interrogation it was. And why did Aphid care, she wondered? What did it matter?

Of course Aphid cared, as if she (or Venin for that matter) would let some asshole lock girls in a dungeon for his enjoyment. Make it hurt were Aphid’s instructions. Destroy him. So she did. With a little bit of help from Aphid, of course. And she made a point of finding Aphid later, not hard if you know where to look, made a point of giving her some of the money she acquired.

Daeddrin, who funded quite a bit of what they did (with help from Venin’s side jobs), only found it amusing that someone so young had swindled so much. Enthusiastic and determined to make up for past mistakes, Blacklight wanted to help them more than Venin really wanted her help. Too bad for him, he got it anyway. It’s hard to turn down someone so charming and capable even if she can be incredibly annoying. She does it on purpose.

  Together they fight crime.

Name: Dribblerawr

Pseudonym: None

Age: 11

Species: Leviathan

Occupation: Trickster

Sex: Male

Gender: He/Him

Sexuality: ???

Height: 4′7″

Family: Most of his family is dead. He has two older – twin – sisters, Khazamaran and Onahli

Affinity: None (manifested energy, specialises in trickery and shadows)

Weapon: Just magic, sometimes a dagger.

Combat: He’s not much into fighting, honestly, more of an evasive style that wears folks down until he can get by them without trouble. When he does engage it’s mostly with magic and generally he prefers to incapacitate than injure. Deception, illusion and trickery are his forte.

Brief:

As might be expected of an eleven year old, Dribble is cheeky, wilful and excitable. He thinks the adventures these guys go on are just the best thing. He likes getting up to mischief and teasing folks. He’s almost entirely guileless and doesn’t like lying (though he will if it’s to his benefit), mostly he just wants to have a good time. Earnest and cheerful, Dribble has little trouble making friends, he’s outgoing and chatty and entirely too trusting. He’s a good kid, but a troublemaker.

And they hardly need more trouble in their lives.

Name: Khazamaran

Pseudonym: None

Age: 13

Species: Leviathan

Occupation: Brawler/ Cult Leader

Sex: Female

Gender: She/Her

Sexuality: ???

Height: 5’1”

Family: Most of her family is dead. She has a twin sister, Onahli, and a little brother, Dribblerawr

Affinity: None (manifested energy, specialises in close physical combat)

Weapon: Magic. And her fists.

Combat: Not one for finesse, what you see is what you get. She has a powerful presence and even though she’s not imposing, she packs a punch. Which is lucky because that’s all she really wants to do in a fight. Nothing fancy, just fists.

Brief:

Khazamaran is angry. She’s lost a lot in her life including her entire race and culture and she wears this on her sleeve. Snappy and waspish, she’s not easy to get on with and isn’t interested in being friends. Mostly, she just wants to hit things. Not a bad kid, but driven to extremes, if not going full tilt she’s probably passed out, definitely a go hard or go home kind of girl.

Obviously, she’s not angry all the time, but her rage is often on a simmer. She doesn’t much care for holding her tongue, is easily frustrated or irritated and finds other people to be a bit of a letdown. She doesn’t half ass things and she doesn’t compromise. She’s petty, bitter and even when she’s at her easiest to tolerate, she’s barely nice. Passionate, driven and unyielding, she’s a determined force of nature.

She named Dribblerawr. Upon finding their culture gone, she figured naming their baby brother didn’t need to be fancy. So his name is a little spiteful on her part. He doesn’t mind, weirdly enough. Khaz loves her siblings, but in a strange, distant way. She wants so much better than what they’ve been given and so help her she’ll make sure they have the best if it kills her. Which it may yet.

Name: Onahli

Pseudonym: None

Age: 13

Species: Leviathan

Occupation: Priestess

Sex: Female

Gender: She/Her

Sexuality: ???

Height: 4′10″

Family: Most of her family is dead. She has a twin sister, Khazamaran, and a little brother, Dribblerawr

Affinity: None (manifested energy, specialises in healing and manipulation)

Weapon: Just magic.

Combat: Not much into combat at all, Onahli tends more towards mediation. She lives in a mountain colony (on the borders of the Haera territory) where she keeps to herself and does quietly nice things for those with her. She prefers to avoid fighting.

Brief:

In stark contrast to her twin, Onahli has long since decided that the trials of their past should remain in the past. It’s better to move on than dwell on things. So rather than think about that, she does her utmost to make life better for others. She’s calm, quiet, reserved and cautiously optimistic. She enjoys artistic endeavours and meditation; she smiles easily and often, is kind, compassionate, understanding and always willing to listen and offer advice if she can. Of the three children, Onahli is far and beyond the most mature.

That’s not to say she’s always a ray of sunshine, she has bad days. And on those days things are inexplicably darker, less lovely. Her patience is not infinite but she does her best not to snap or disparage, but there’s only so much a positive outlook can do.

The Leviathan children are an altogether different story.

Their people were a race that lived in almost complete seclusion from the rest of the world. They were advanced both technologically and scientifically. Their magic, even, was different to what is used by most other races. It’s less confined to one spectrum, it’s purer magic, more malleable and responsive and to the eyes of the uninformed, looks limitless in the power it offers.

Little is known about Leviathan culture beyond their pacifistic nature and their magical prowess and there’s nothing left to find now anyway. Their isolationist tendencies mean that almost nothing is known about what happened to them. It’s believed that their experiments with magic as a source of power for… well everything; from magically driven carts, to light sources, to mechanisms for protection; it’s thought these trials brought about their end. Even so their advances are legend. For more than one reason.

Something… something happened. And no one knows what. But one day Leviathans simply… ceased to appear. Sure, they’re isolationist, but the location of their grand capital city wasn’t secret. It was possible to see them, not visit, the Leviathans guarded their city jealously, no outsider was allowed within their glowing walls. It was a vast hub for all Leviathans, their population small and their city massive enough for all to live within. But some merchants did make trips to nearby trade centres in order to keep produce flowing. They were seen, people knew they existed, they were real and tangible creatures. Until one day they weren’t. They simply stopped appearing, their city turned to rubble overnight.

The reason for their secrecy is as mysterious as their disappearance. Perhaps the two are connected, but perhaps not. It wasn’t even noticed at first, so withdrawn were they, but of course, eventually someone realised they hadn’t renewed trade agreements in a while. Too long a while, in fact.

People searched, from all different races, individuals went to search for the Leviathans and their impressive knowledge. But nothing was found. There was simply nothing left. The city turned to rubble and ash and completely empty.

The site became an archaeological fascination for many. Years have been spent searching those ruins for any hint of what might have happened, but beyond the conclusion that it was truly devastating and likely instant, nothing new has been found since the event. Over two hundred years.

The Leviathans passed into legend along with their technology.

So no one really believed a Leviathan might still walk the world when Khazamaran and Onahli surfaced. Protected by the magical catastrophe that wiped out their entire race, the sisters and their unnamed little brother had been kept in a sort of stasis deep within the ruins. Why it took so long for disturbances in the ruins to awaken them is just another mystery. But emerge they did, slowly and disoriented, realising what had become of their people took a while but hit no less hard for that.

Onahli, a gentle girl who has no desire for anything grand, moved to an isolated part of the world and remained there. The mountainous regions where the Haera live offered her solace as she grieved her culture. And the Haera are a kind people, gentle and pacifistic, withdrawn from the world, meditative and full of magic. They are one of the few races to have developed manifested energies like the Leviathans once controlled exclusively. (Onahli wonders some days whether the development of manifested energies in the few races that now occasionally birth children without another affinity might not have something to do with what her people had been doing with magic before they died.) They are not Leviathans and they will never truly be a satisfying substitute, but they are alive where her people are not, and that counts for something. They remind her of home.

Her twin sister, meanwhile, took their little brother (and named him Dribblerawr out of spite which Onahli considers an insult to their entire culture) and set off into the world. Khazamaran wanted to make a name for herself, wanted to do something epic, something to prove the Leviathan are still here, still better.

It took a while to build a force, a cult more than anything. She dubbed them the Nahr. And with them, she did her best to carve out a place in the world all her own. Dribblerawr she used for her ends until he decided that wasn’t what he wanted. She was furious when one morning he was simply gone. Her rage was beyond compare. The Nahr did good work (or good in her mind anyway), and while they weren’t Leviathans, they worked towards her goal. If not establishing a new Leviathan city and rebuilding her people (something that’s probably impossible), at the very least she would have a tribute to them on a scale fitting their awesome accomplishments.

It didn’t work, of course. A couple of other nations decided they weren’t going to sit idly by and watch a cult take their lands and peoples – no matter who was in charge of the cult. Their force hit the Nahr hard but Khazamaran wasn’t going down without a fight. It took nearly ten long and bloody months before the Nahr were defeated and Khazamaran was chased out.

She disappeared into an arid mountain region (not the same one as her sister, it should be noted) to lick her wounds. After that, she decided to try something a little less ostentatious. Now, she infects the minds of lords for fun, distorts their perception and turns them into toys. The world’s political intrigue became her favourite thing to meddle with. Her desire to return her people to the place they used to be held in the minds of other (lesser) beings turned bitter and despairing. Now lost to the belief that the Leviathan will never be what they once were, that her sister is wasting her life in the mountains and her brother abandoned her, Khazamaran busies herself by starting fights between houses and counties as if the entire world is merely her private dollhouse.

Not evil, just misguided and frustrated, Khazamaran has been behind many of the incidents Venin and his friends have stopped. Perhaps what she needs is a little bit of compassion. But her sister refuses to meddle and her brother is honestly a little scared of her. Well he should be.

She’s terrifying.

For his part, Dribblerawr took his magic and dived deep into the oceans, knowing Khazamaran would find him on land, it seemed logical. It was there he heard of Venin. The Rynaveir never forgave the traitorous slave who spurned them and escaped. Now, Dribble isn’t much interested in serious matters; he’s a child, after all, he wants a good time and a place to rest his head. He misses his sisters but doesn’t think Onahli is what he needs.

He searches for Venin. Hearing whispers of the slave that escaped, hushed and reverent, made him wonder if perhaps this daredevil is someone he might have a good time with. He’s disappointed when he finds him.

There’s nothing fun about Venin at all. He’s grumpy and quiet and serious and Dribble thinks he should lighten the hell up. Unfortunately for Venin, Dribble’s magic lends itself well to mischief. He taunts Venin in so many ways; stealing things and slipping away, turning up in the monastery to rearrange stuff or frame Blacklight for taking Venin’s belongings. He paints the walls, he shuffles the books on Aphid’s shelves, he ties Daeddrin’s shoes together, he does everything he can possibly imagine to be a nuisance to them.

So when he’s caught – by Blacklight – it’s not what he expects.

She positively beams at him, insisting he help her out with some scheme she’s got brewing. And boy is that the wrong thing to do because suddenly Dribblerawr is caught up in something exciting and dangerous and he gets to flick through the shadows to make life hard for this one stubborn nobleman Blacklight has been conning.

And he has fun.

Somehow, in spite of his initial disappointment with Venin, he ends up staying with them. On the down low at first, Blacklight tells him it’s a secret and the others can’t know and it’s the best thing ever. Then when they find out he gets mixed reactions. Osprey is pleased to at last meet him (but lays down rules about the garden), Daeddrin tells him he never had a little brother and asks if he wants to train some time, Aphid rolls her eyes and tells him he’s never allowed in the library again. Venin is silent, as usual.

But in the end it’s mostly just a shock that they somehow adopted this tiny miscreant.

Eventually, Aphid relaxes a little and lets him see the books she has on the Leviathans. It’s not much but it’s probably the most information on them in one place in the entire world. He’s thrilled. And when he finds out that Venin is resolved to obliterating slavery one pit at a time, Dribblerawr merely tells him that the Leviathans executed slavers or those treating workers unfairly. That’s all it takes for their relationship to improve.

Although Dribble doesn’t stop pranking him. Both with and without assistance from Blacklight.

When Onahli hears about what’s happened to Dribble she’s quietly pleased he found a place to belong with people who will look out for him. People who won’t lead him astray or use him like Khazamaran did. And when she finds out about what her sister has been up to she’s softly disappointed. If she perhaps lends a little magical aid to Venin and provides Aphid with some information on stopping her wayward sister that’s… details.

What she wants most is for Khazamaran to be the girl she was when they were younger. Fierce and energetic and adventurous and willing to beat people up if they picked on Onahli for being soft or small. She misses her sister. Her best friend.

She hopes maybe Venin and his friends can bring her home.

She wonders if maybe then – at last – they can start again.

[reliquiaenfr]

Sanctuary

Within the borders of the canyon, the barrier magic that protects their lands has changed. It came slowly, gradually, almost unnoticeable at first. As their clan began to expand for the first time in years, dragons with those odd new colours arriving every other day, it seemed, the shift became more pronounced.

 Anthelion noticed it first; a prickling along her spine, the way the fur at her shoulders would lift inexplicably. She didn’t want to say that the change in the magic was connected to the arrival of new dragons, but the more it happened the more she came to think that was the only explanation. The why of it eluded her, however. Serendipity, one of those new dragons, a soft and scared sort of Skydancer; she noticed it second, bringing a quiet yet concerned question to Anthelion and Kieri about the nature of the change. The fact that the shift was pronounced enough for someone to notice when they had been at the lair for barely a month was telling. None of them had any explanations, though, for nothing had really changed. Or at least, not in an obvious way.

Something had definitely happened, however. Anthelion no longer had to concentrate on her protective barrier, no longer had to consciously maintain it, no longer had to make sure there was enough magical energy feeding it. As if it had gained some independence and was capable of sustaining itself. When she whispered this possibility to Kieri in the soft twilight under the trees she could tell it bothered her mate as much as it did her.

 “That’s disturbing,” were Kieri’s exact words. Anthelion didn’t have the heart to reply. Because it was.

 She could still feel the magic of the barrier, doing the same work it had ever since they arrived and she’d established it. But it was different now. No longer just a boundary, the magic filled the lair, the entire canyon, permeating the air and hanging gently beneath the leaves of the Greenwood, floating downstream on the breeze, hanging in the warm dry air to the south. As if it had joined with the magic that fed the shrine of Fida’an, Anthelion couldn’t pick them apart anymore. It felt like the magic was growing. The only place it didn’t touch was the harbour.

 The largest of the three canyon mouths, terminating in a broad sandy beach, with docks for visiting merchants and the clan’s Federation ships. A lodge had been hollowed into one of the tall rocky spires nearby for guests to stay and the official, public part of the Assembly was accessible from the ocean side as well. Ji Qeng’s orchard and markets sat nearby, the better for visitors to make trades with him at their leisure. The Peripeteia bobbed in the bay reserved solely for her use whenever her captain was home. It was a not inconsiderable section of the lair, the areas the Assembly had officially set aside for public use.

 Seven always told guests not to leave the approved areas for a number of reasons. The thieving habits of some of the residents, the unpredictability of Xhinhai, occasional violence of Khazamaran, Tarryn’s concoctions and her propensity for dispensing them on unaware visitors, among other things. The lair’s warriors maintained a constant, if rotating; presence at the docks keeping the area comparatively safe and most guests heed her advice.

 The disappearances and deaths of visitors that had begun occurring a few months prior had settled down somewhat. But then again, most of the travellers that passed through listened to Seven’s warnings and stayed at the docks. Occasionally, someone wouldn’t listen and their body would be found the next morning, overgrown in mounds of foliage that couldn’t possibly have had the time to mature like that, or pulled inexplicably into rock walls.

 Not all guests suffered this fate; the ten new dragons living permanently in the canyon were a testament to that. They had all – somehow – passed whatever magical test the shrine of Fida’an used to evaluate new residents. Even Khazamaran was protected.

 Anthelion’s best guess as to what the changes meant was simple: the magic she’d used to grant Fida’an a semblance of sentience and power had… for lack of something more reasonable, actually gained a modicum of independence. The shrine drew power from every last resident in the clan, it was a symbiotic relationship; Fida’an derived strength and a sort of sentience from the clan, and in exchange she kept them safe by removing unwelcome outsiders. As new dragons and familiars joined the clan, her strength grew, binding them all together in this strange magic.

 Of course, knowing how the magic functioned didn’t mean they got any better at keeping their guests safe.

 --

 The trees grow tall in the canyon, taller than perhaps they should in the otherwise craggy landscape of Dragonhome. They grow tall, so tall, and they are old. Some of the oldest trees in Sornieth, perhaps, it’s hard to say for sure because beneath their boughs the air prickles with magic, a faint sense that something more lingers nearby, something else. Something that should probably shoot alarm down spines and hasten a traveller’s feet. Instead, calm sinks through skin and scales, feathers and bone; easing worries and allaying fears. And lowering guards.

 Visitors always come through the docks, no one can say for why or how this is true but it is. No one has ever entered the clan’s territory by coming down from the top of the cliff, folks don’t enter from the desert in the south, they don’t drop out of the sky and land just anywhere. They always arrive at the docks. And you are no exception. You are greeted by one of the largest dragons in the lair, Seven, a great blue Imperial, she shimmers brilliantly in the sunlight, so luminescent she can be hard to perceive correctly, as if perhaps she’s not really there. But she is, large and solid and very soft, a kind dragon, considerate.

 She shows you around, points out the other boats in the harbour, explains that one of the airships is leaving in a few days if you want to take it down to the Plateau. You vessel will be safe here, protected by the harbour, until you return for it. The way she says that makes you think it’s the kind of protection that not even the residents can violate, a binding promise.

 She lifts a claw to indicate a short stall surrounded by an orchard of various fruit trees, on top of the stall is perched a bright yellow Nocturne adorned with flowers and wearing a brilliant smile, he munches on a golden apple. Her son, she tells you, is their head merchant. Pride rings loud in her tone and you smile with her. He waves at you but rather than be distracted by his wares, you trot after Seven again. Your gaze snags on a hodge-podge ship with pastel green sails and a bizarre contraption perched aft. Seven rolls her eyes but refuses to elaborate. You tear your gaze away lest you miss some of her words.

 Again she points at what looks like a giant naturally occurring spire of rock. The public Assembly, she calls it. A place for guests to make requests, air displeasures and communicate with the lair’s leadership. Why she specifies that it’s the public Assembly, you don’t get a chance to ask, she’s moving again and she has much larger strides than you.

 The last thing she gestures to is another spire, this one much closer to the canyon wall. You tilt your head back to take in its full height as you listen to Seven tell you about the Lodge. It’s a place for guests to stay if they don’t wish to stay on a ship, it’s more comfortable, she says this jokingly but you’re sure she’s right. And besides, it’ll be nice to stretch your legs. The fee for the Lodge is waived for those who come by ship, like you have, and only applies to travellers who don’t have to pay a docking fee. It’s more reasonable than you were expecting and you can’t help but wonder how they make any profit at all. Some clans charge for everything they can. It’s nice, really.

 She makes a vague gesture with her paw, telling you to find a room to your liking – as long as it’s not already claimed – and that’s that, just keep it tidy. You smile, of course, with hospitality like this it’s the least you can do. She beams, and informs you that her son will arrange for meals later and if you need any special supplies don’t hesitate to ask him or Passage, the yellow phantom who helps out at the Lodge. She turns to leave but at the last second swivels her head around, long neck bringing it as close to you as she can, clearly intending to impart a sense of severity to her next words.

 “Do not leave the docks,” she says, tone flat, formal. It’s serious, but troubled.

 Unbidden your eyes lift to look past the boundary she has outlined; you can’t help but be curious as to what lies beyond. You nod vaguely, but are probably too preoccupied thinking about it than you should be. Seven doesn’t look particularly convinced that you’ve taken her warning to heart, lips twisting slightly in a way you can’t read. But she turns properly this time and wanders off, no doubt required elsewhere.

 Throughout the afternoon, you see only a few of the other locals. An earthy Guardian meeting with a delegation of centaurs on their odd boats. A dark Bogsneak who appears to converse with the merchant whose name you learn is Ji Qeng, the Bogsneak leaves two sacks full of supplies, no doubt requested by someone else, and leaves. The guard changes once, the grumpy Mirror disappearing to be replaced by a cheerful Ridgeback who stops to chat with you for a moment, he asks after your home, how you make your living, your family. A colourful Pearlcatcher and a sandy Mirror engrossed in their own private world as they head down to the beach and turn into a small cove you hadn’t seen before. It’s very clearly one of the more active portions of their lair.

 But your eyes turn inland again all the same, curiosity burning in your chest.

 Pulling at you. Calling.

 “You shouldn’t,” comes a sing song voice. You look over to realise you’ve wandered closer to the merchant’s stall and Ji Qeng is watching you with knowing eyes. “It’s really not a good idea.”

 “What isn’t?” you ask, wondering if maybe he’ll be more forthcoming than his mother.

 He just smiles; his voice pitches lower, similar to yours when he replies, “Head further into the lair. I advise against it.” One of his paws rattles a tray of gleaming jewels and trinkets, trying to catch your attention perhaps. “Make a trade instead. It’s healthier.” Something in his smile suggests those words are not at all truth.

 You lie and say you have nothing to offer and step away from him, though you can feel his eyes on you anyway. His mother’s words ring in your head but you don’t know why. And you don’t know why you’re so curious either. It’s probably a privacy thing; the regions inland belong to the dragons who live here, their dens and other personal spaces, no doubt. You shouldn’t pry.

 It niggles away at your ribs anyway. And when the sun begins to sink over the waves you watch it fade. A haze seems to settle over the beach then and you find your gaze once more drawn back to the canyon and its trees, its secrets.

 Do not leave the docks.

 You can hear the words, but they are less urgent now. How bad could it be? Your eyes cut back to the stand but the little Nocturne is gone now, probably to fetch the foodstuffs for the guests as Seven suggested he would.

 Your feet itch; carry you without explicit permission towards the markers that outline the public space. It’s not a small region that guests have been permitted to use, not really, but your feet move anyway. The sand crunches beneath your claws, turns to grass and cracked dirt. You pass the entrance to the public Assembly.

 Your scales tingle, twitch and an odd sense of alarm rolls down your spine and out the tip of your tail. It doesn’t linger, the peace that hangs about the docks settles around you once again. The niggling feeling that something isn’t right remains easy to ignore.

 At first your surrounds are consistent, the rocky ground mostly bare, hardy greenery springing from cliff walls and draping the pillars in a living blanket. You turn away from what you suppose is the main canyon, not wanting to be caught out of bounds before you’re ready to return. You imagine it’d be easy to get lost in the interconnected canyons, the ground doesn’t keep level, it is stepped in places, arches over itself in others, there are gates and paths carved into the rock, some lead up the walls and some wind between them. You just keep wandering, looking about you and wondering what the space is used for.

 There are impressive stone carvings in some of the walls and spires. You stop to inspect them, dragons and beastfolk you know but there are other creatures too, the kind you can’t put a name to. They’re all highly detailed but weathered. You move on, hoping to find something else, something impressive. Perhaps to take with you, a souvenir maybe or something that might fetch a nice price back home, but more information on your hosts and their clan, their history, their culture would be welcome, better even. You can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to them and their lair than they let on.

 The canyon grows dark all at once, the sunlight behind you disappearing without warning and throwing you into a suddenly ominous world of inky shadows and dangerous drops. You hold your wings out to the side to steady yourself and are stunned to feel leaves. You squint up through the gloom, straining to make out shapes that don’t leap at you while shrieking with laughter. The trees close around you and you glance behind yourself, trying to pick out the direction you came from, but even when you swing your tail to either side all you can see and feel is more plant life.

 Do not leave the docks.

 You swallow, Seven’s warning seeming much more dire now, still not making much sense but the vague feeling of dread grows within you. It prickles like thorns between your ribs and down your spine and is smothered by a calm you’re sure you don’t really feel.

 Soft light flickers ahead of you, sputtering to life and winking out again. Not knowing what else to do, you step slowly towards it. More lights flicker around you as you progress, casting a warm glow against the leaves. Perhaps there’s nothing to fear after all.

 Something moves off to your right but you keep your focus on the lights to control the fear that struggles beneath your unnatural calm. You’re sure it’s unnatural, but at the same time you’re glad for it, glad not to be fighting a blind panic. You ignore the whispering too. It’s probably just the leaves after all.

 Until the lights go out. You can feel those thorns in your chest again, winding around your legs and holding you fast. Seven’s words toll in your head and it’s suddenly obvious that you should’ve listened. She knows her lair better than you and clearly it doesn’t like outsiders.

 Your certainty of this only grows when you make the decision to leap into the air and fly back to the docks only to find the thorns you imagined before are actually keeping you prisoner now. They tether you to the ground. The ground that shifts below your feet and when light blooms again, this time you wish it hadn’t.

 A large creature stands before you, concealed within the trees, its face is a bark mask mostly but behind it is the light, glowing green and orange. You’re not entirely sure what shape it is because the longer you look the clearer the realisation that it is the plants around you becomes. Its shoulders are heavy and thick, the arms growing from them equally so. Its hunched back rattles as it shifts again and the thorns binding you creep further up your legs, pulling you in.

 It occurs to you that perhaps now would be a good time to start screaming, to struggle, to unleash whatever elemental magic you can conjure in such a state. The moment you open your mouth, however, the creature lifts one massive paw, made of roots you think vaguely, and wraps it around your entire face, snapping your jaws shut, useless. You struggle anyway, throwing your entire body weight this way and that, shrieks muffled by the creature’s hold.

 You will lie here.

 The words vibrate through your bones, a kind of agony you didn’t know you had the capacity to feel. As if your entire body is shaking to pieces. You flap your wings weakly, still trying to break free but soon they are pinned to your side by more of the creeping plants.

 Slowly, very slowly, the forest consumes you. But you can feel that horrible voice in your bones all the same.

 You will feed the forest. And you will become part of it.

 Those ominous words cause one last dawning realisation: the creature before you was spawned from some misfortunate fool just like you. That is your fate.

 You should not have left the docks.

 --

 The ship sits untended in the harbour come morning. Seven watches it carefully at Anthelion’s side; her eyes are sad. But Kairos emerges happily from the ship’s hold, the drawstrings of a sack held between her grinning teeth. She drops it in front of them and pries it open.

 Gold glitters within.

 “A merchant,” she says. “There’s more below.”

 “A merchant travelling by himself?” Anthelion asks, head tilted to one side.

 “He was alone yesterday,” Seven confirms. “Perhaps a smuggler.”

 It didn’t matter what he was because it was past. Tarryn had found the mound in the early hours, the corpse well on its way to becoming one of her creatures. A better end than some, as far as Anthelion was concerned. Death was preferable to the hollow husk creatures she’s seen the Greenwood spit back out, better than being ground into dust by the rocks that grow golems, better than the binding contract that leaves some as spectres, haunting Sornieth ‘til the end of time.

 “Do you know what this is, Anth?” Kieri’s quiet voice is concerned. It’s hard to keep the guests safe when they don’t heed warnings. And some clan leader she is if she can’t protect visitors to her territory. Nothing Anthelion can say will ease her anxiety fully, but so help her, she’ll try.

 She bobs her head back and forth, a noncommittal gesture. She thinks she knows what it is, but without being certain she doesn’t want to say for sure. “It is keeping our lands ours. I suppose magic protects magic.”

 “Protects who?”

 The tremor in Kieri’s tone is enough to send a soft vibration through her antennae, distress and fear. Anthelion’s gaze turns to meet hers properly.

 “It’s protecting us, Kieri.”

 --

 The canyon is protected, a magic that permeates everything – and everyone – within. None enters the lair without permission, or invite. And none but the residents ever leave.

 Do not leave the docks.

[reliquiaenfr]

alright here we go. the next chapter in my lore (post “the lair eats folks”). this one comes packaged with my annual opening-of-things-a-thon so keep an eye open for that sometime next week (it’s usually on my anniversary but that’s today so nah). it will include me crying as i open all my eggs lmao (i will set up a thread on fr, lmk if you want a ping to that disaster)

part two will be forthcoming after my exam wish me luck lol. keep tuned for more of tahvi’s adventuring! feel free to place bets on whether or not she regrets it haha

The Left Behind

The Reliquary was not always an overgrown ruin of a canyon. It was lived in, once. Or perhaps twice, Tahvi has never been able to ascertain for sure but given the variation in artworks and styles and depictions… well it stands to reason that it was lived in more than once before they found it.

Whether or not it was cursed then too, she’s not sure.

Isn’t sure she wants to know.

Especially not if the reason the old residents are gone is because the lair turned on them and ate them or something. Yeah. Best not to think on that too hard.

Regardless, she’s been methodically combing through all the old, crumbling structures left behind by individuals (dragons? beastfolk? something else???) long dead. And she’s been at it for weeks.

It was just such a fascinating area to explore. And there were only thirty-five dragons safe to do so. What with the whole… ‘everyone who enters the lair uninvited dies’  curse thing.

Parts of it were old – no, ancient. There were odd markers all around the place, remnants of something that had preceded them by easily thousands of years. They were crumbling and faded and few and far between besides, but they were the border stones. Or so they had been dubbed. After some very careful prodding at the magic and its limits, Anthelion had concluded that these border stones marked the edge of the cursed lands. They were functionally the canyons borders and, by extent, the edges of their lands.

Anything inside those markers belonged to the Reliquary.

And Tahvi had spent more of her time in the canyon poking about and examining the ruins than almost anything else. Aora was probably getting sick of her staring at carvings for six hours a day, but they are mysteries she plans to unravel. Eventually.

The wall before her is one such. She’d found the small, square room a few hours ago. The only entrance collapsed on one side so the archway was almost impassable with rubble. But the smooth walls and slightly domed ceiling (tall enough for an Imperial and then some) were all intricately carved.

Meticulously so, in fact. It had taken her the better part of two hours to realise that the scenes depicted on the walls were some collection of ceremonies, perhaps indicating the worship of ancient gods. She wondered if they were more or less involved in worldly affairs than the Eleven.

It probably didn’t matter; the iconography was unfamiliar to her so whatever the gods were there was no one left to worship them. She had a feeling the artists were dragons though, from the shapes. That, or truly remarkable beastfolk.

Again, she didn’t want to think about what they were if neither of those. It couldn’t possibly be left over from the Second Age. Couldn’t possibly. (And if Khazamaran stood as a testament to what could linger from then, well… well she was doing a good job of ignoring everything else, why not that too.)

Once more she ran a paw across the intricate carvings, tail swishing behind her, stirring the half inch of sand coating the floor. This wall had held her attention for longer than the rest thanks to the almost invisible grooves outlining a single section. The faint indents in the rock ran from floor to ceiling and she probably would’ve overlooked them if her earth sense hadn’t cast glittering strings of light across the wall, highlighting the differences and drawing her gaze.

She suspected it was a door. Of some kind.

Despite leaning her shoulder into it and pushing as hard as she could, or pressing her claws into various places she thought likely to conceal hidden switches or pressure plates, the panel of wall remained resolutely solid. If she were any other dragon, she might even be inclined to rethink her assessment of it as a doorway.

But she was not any other dragon.

So she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. (Aora always called this cheating.) It took a moment for her to focus but soon the dust beneath her paws stirred, lifting off the ground just slightly. The section of wall in front of her shuddered and a thin coat of sand shook loose, cascading down to join the rest a fraction of an inch off the stone floor.

When she opened her eyes again, the sparkling lights that always let her know where things of interest lay had brightened across her vision. None of the glittering magic flickered into warning hues, indicative of danger ahead, so that was nice.

Unless the earth had suddenly developed a macabre sense of humour anyway. She decided not to dwell on that too much, either.

Instead, she followed the lines of light to a seemingly innocuous part of the carvings and pressed the heel of her palm against it. She was rewarded with a satisfying click. Then, with a truly awful grating sound, the wall sunk inwards, the edges were the grooves she’d noted. That, too, was satisfying.

The door moved no further, so after a moment of blinking at it in frustration; she turned side on and leaned into it, huffing when it proved heavy. Lending a little more earth magic to the task she planted her feet more solidly and heaved again. Magic solves everything, after all. The panel shuddered and moaned and eventually there was another harsh click. With that, the door swung backwards, away from the room and tucked itself neatly into a niche in the passageway beyond. It fit so snugly into place that if she hadn’t just watched it move herself, she would’ve thought it part of the wall permanently.

Tahvi didn’t move at first, tilting her head to observe the dark of the corridor beyond. It seemed to be a single shaft, all square edges and more detailed carvings. There was no light, however, and despite the way the earth always lit up softly for her, the light it provided was not enough to illuminate the hallway. Actually, she wasn’t sure it gave off any light at all, what with it not even being there and all that.

She took another deep breath and, ignoring the little Aora-voice in the back of her head telling her she was being stupid – stepped into the corridor.

Blissfully, the door did not swing ominously shut behind her.

So there was that.

The tunnel ran straight for quite a ways without a hint of variation or a break in the walls. The carvings remained too, she could sense the shallow indentations just vaguely and she spared no time or energy in focusing hard enough to pick them out with magic in the gloom. There were more panels outlined with floor-to-ceiling grooves, too, she could sense them just a little more clearly than the carvings, but Tahvi wasted no time investigating them or the tunnels they might lead to. She merely pressed on, hoping there was an end at some point.

And, of course, there was. A faint greenish glow began to softly illuminate the passage but it took her a few more silent moments before it clicked: sunlight. The light filtering through came from outside, an arch of brilliance appearing through the dark of the hall. Vines of some sort hung across much of the elegant archway (an arch, she noted, filing it away for later, where all the others had been square) explaining the green tinge to the light in the tunnel. Once she brushed past the greenery, she found herself standing in great circular room.

Or… perhaps room wasn’t quite the right word.

It was, very clearly, carved out of the rock of the canyon wall, and yet all the walls were smooth. Like the walls in the corridors and rooms she’d been through previously, these ones were decorated with intricate murals. Tahvi had spent plenty of time in the other rooms deciphering their messages as stories and myths but these were different. She’d need to puzzle them out eventually (at a pinch she’d say they look like a tale of creation… some sort of worship).

There’s a step down from the archway, just a shallow one, and then another, before the room spreads out below her. She turned to look up at the arch she’d come through, around the edges runes had been etched. She had no idea what they meant, but they looked familiar: the same kind as on the boundary stones. A larger stone had been inset into the top of the arch, ruining her theory that the entire structure had been carved from the canyon wall with no adjustments made. A wavy rune with three lines attached graced the stone and she wondered at its importance.

For now, though, she turned again to take in the rest of the room.

There was no high ceiling, instead the room kept going up until it reached the top of the canyon wall, the sunlight filtered down through the narrow crack up there, and the closer to that slit the walls became, the more rough-hewn they looked.

On the far side of the cavern two columns lanced upwards. At the base, they seemed freestanding, but as she followed them up she realised they merged into the wall. Between them was a plinth, carved with runes and vines and leaves. And on top of the plinth sat a statue that sent a shiver down her spine.

They had always assumed that their patron god, Fida’an, was an entity brought into existence by the magic in the clan – a protective essence of pure magic. But this statue was very close to all their representations of her. It was uncanny.

Tahvi glanced down at the floor, not wanting to activate some kind of defensive mechanism (something she had done in the past to her immediate regret). The floor seemed perfectly flat and polished, though, no indication of joins or carvings here. Not even any paint.

As she dropped down to the second step, however, she re-evaluated that assumption. The dust on the floor seemed to shift and a tingle ran along her back. It felt as if the room had taken a deep expectant breath. Crazy. She shook her head.

But as she moved to place her paw on the floor proper she realised she wasn’t actually going mad just yet. Something was moving. Under the floor? Above it? She couldn’t tell. But it swirled into patterns and glittered like her earth sense did when it was showing her something. Her brow creased.

With a last fleeting thought of Aora telling her not to do anything stupid, she placed her paw on the floor. It was cool.

And it instantly flickered to life beneath her.

A warm yellow light burned under her palm – not hot – but bright, shimmering like sunlight in the desert at midday. Lines coiled and darted away from where she stood and runes lit up all around the room.

“It’s been waiting,” she realised, so stunned by that she said it aloud.

And it felt like the room released that breath – satisfied.

Tahvi stepped out properly onto the floor and the lights beneath her moved when she did, always where her paws met the stone, lights shone beneath them. Experimentally she lifted a foot and the light faded as she did so. When she planted it again the light returned.

“Fascinating…”

Carefully she walked across the floor – taking her light with her – towards the plinth and the odd statue. She was lucky she kept staring at the way the lights swirled around her because otherwise she might’ve just stood in the pool of water at the base of the plinth. She blinked, wondering momentarily how this water came to be here. Then she remembered the ceiling. When it rained the water puddled here. Hm.

She turned her gaze back up to the statue. Most of it had been carved to look like fabric draped across someone’s shoulders – not a dragon though, perhaps a serthis? The stone was worn now after years of rain running down its flanks and thanks in part to the greenery curling around it, no doubt. There was no face. In place of that was a mask that looked to Tahvi exactly like fossilised wood and from immediately behind the mask grew two forward curving antlers like a strange crown.

As if that thought had triggered something, the lights shot forward, climbing the plinth and rustling the leaves until they coiled on the mask and bloomed into a glittering crown.

This was powerful magic.

Honestly, Tahvi half expected the statue to come to life.

It didn’t. But the lights beneath her feet shifted again and she turned once more. The light spiralled away from her towards the edges of the room and they licked up the walls highlighting a door.

Not the door she came through.

Swivelling her gaze, Tahvi realised there were three archways in the chamber: the one she’d come through and two others, one on each side, neither of these two had steps.

Warily, she made her way over to one of the arches and peered through the vines dripping down, covering the runes and obscuring her view. There wasn’t much of a hallway beyond, she could just see into the room but it was gloomy and hard to make out.

The lights above her shimmered again.

“Oh so you want me to step into the strange room then?” she asked.

The lights kept flickering.

She sighed.

Once more, the glittering followed her through and once she’d entered the other room properly the lights illuminated it for her. It was stupid to think of these caverns as being sentient but it was hard not to, really, with the lights in the floor guiding her around. Or maybe it was something else? Maybe someone still lived in here? She tried very hard not to think about that.

A great slab of stone filled the middle of the room – standing on a little circular platform – and it was what the swirling lights coiled around first. A single large rune was etched into the middle of the stone with others at the rounded top and bottom. The lights whorled around that big rune as if it was important.

It towered above her as she stepped over to it, careful to check for more water but there was none. The stone slab wasn’t very thick, but it was easily as tall as Daeddrin, the rune in the middle was probably not much smaller than she was, actually.

As she peered up at it, wondering what it was for, the rest of the room lit up slowly so she turned to investigate.

The walls were carved away just above her head so that a great big ledge ran right around the circumference of the room. On the wall above that it looked like more runes or something was etched but she couldn’t see it very well so she wandered over to the ledge and clambered up.

It wasn’t easy. The sides were almost completely smooth and she struggled to get a purchase. When she did finally manage to haul herself up she immediately slipped and tipped headfirst into a hole she hadn’t realised was there.

“Ow!” she cried as her hip caught something hard.

The hole wasn’t deep thankfully, but it was full of great big rocks. How weird.

She shook herself off as she stood and squinted at the rocks. Tahvi lifted a paw to wipe at the dirt and green clinging to the surface. This one was quite large, about the same size as she was and for the life of her she could not fathom what someone would want with a rock this big.

She kept peering at the rock in the flickering light and extended her earth sense towards it.

And she staggered back into another rock. Well.

It wasn’t a rock at all and she blinked around herself taking in the four rounded shapes that were not rocks and were in fact actually eggs.

Tentatively, she reached towards the nearest egg and used her magic to inspect it for any indication that it had turned to stone, petrified like the mask on the statue in the other room. Instead she felt life burning within.

Tahvi rubbed her hand across the surface in awe. “How long have you been here?” she breathed. “Must be centuries. You poor things.”

Four abandoned eggs down here in this weird temple.

It occurred to her abruptly that this might not be the only nest on the ledge so she hauled herself back up.

And nearly fell down again.

That nest was one of ten in the room and all had eggs in them. She counted a few of them but there was easily thirty eggs. Maybe more.

“Are they all alive?” she asked the room, not really expecting an answer.

(She actually was fully expecting this strange, strange place to answer her somehow.)

(It didn’t, thankfully.)

And there was another room too. She figured they’d be the same but to satisfy herself she jumped down from the ledge and raced across the main chamber kicking up dust and glitter as she did so. When Tahvi skidded into the other room and the lights coiled around a pillar and up the walls to glimmer across the stone her mouth fell open.

This room was full of eggs too.

So many eggs. And not in a public space. If this was a temple… or some place of worship anyway, then what were eggs doing in here? Why had the chamber been sealed from outside? And why had the lair been abandoned with so many eggs still stored here?

Another very important question: if this place was old – so old she’d tentatively say it pre-dated most other draconic structures she’d seen – then what were eggs doing here? Was it even a draconic lair? If not, then whose? Perhaps she’d have to ask Venin about it, he might be old enough to know of the significance… or who had built it. Maybe. She wouldn’t hold her breath.

It seemed likely that her theory that dragons had lived here after someone (or something) else was correct. At least when taking the graphics and eggs both into consideration. Though that wasn’t especially comforting, really.

Tahvi smoothed a palm across one of the eggs.

Why had they been left behind?

She supposed there were a few options; maybe they couldn’t be carried with. (Maybe everyone died in an accident… or worse.) She thought about the runes carved everywhere like some kind of charm, about the statue of… well she assumed it was Fida’an… somehow. So perhaps these eggs were special somehow. Like how she was special. Or Anthelion.

Maybe they were dangerous.

It occurred to her briefly that she might not even want to know the answer.

(That was stupid. Of course she wanted to know.)

After another moment to glance around the chamber at all the eggs she launched herself from the ledge and hastened from the temple.

For the more she thought about it, the more convinced she grew that it was precisely that.

But she had to tell someone about this. Kieri would need to know and maybe she could pass the whole thing off to her. Or Venin. Regardless, the sooner she told someone else about this, the less responsibility she’d feel if they hatched into horrible monstrosities.

And given how their lair was turning out, she wouldn’t put it past them.

[reliquiaenfr]

once again, multiple days of jandragon.

3. exalt/sell: this unnamed girl i picked up and then decided i didn’t really vibe with. like don’t get me wrong, she’s stunning, it’s just that i have two dragons like her already and i can’t keep a third i just can’t.

4. most adorable: seven by far. she’s just too soft and kind. maybe not the most adorable appearance wise? but personality she might as well be a cinnamon roll. too pure for this world. too good. what a darling.

5. biggest eyesore: wicked? does this mean eyeburner? most out of place? idk but he’s the brightest, most ridiculous dragon i own for sure. absolutely wild, a clown. that’s all there is. only clownin.

6. most monstrous: khazamaran. will probably also be my rep for most evil just bc she’s the only really morally questionable one i have these days. very old, may not even be a true dragon tbh. a little bit shade-touched, a little bit too fond of necromancy, a little bit doesn’t care about personal boundaries. would sacrifice you for a packet of ketchup.

[reliquiaenfr]

7/8 , 12/13 (lazy serious?)

*waves* Thanks kiz you’re the best <3

Questions are here pls hit me with more I’ve been feeling sick all day take my mind off it pls u.u

7. Laziest

I think this depends on what constitutes work honestly. Like do you mean lazy because they don’t do chores? Lazy because they just don’t want to do anything at all ever? Do you include dragons who don’t do a lot of “work” other than whatever their designated job is? Idk.

Bereave and Chevron immediately come to mind as dragons who vanish whenever someone says ‘hey can you help me with this?’ and are impossible to find when you need them. But I’m not sure I’d call them lazy, they do spend a lot of time hunting or stealing things which is their idea of work so? There’s also Pencil who is entirely too fabulous do dirty her claws doing like yard work and chores like that, so maybe she counts? But she does know exactly where every book in her library is so??? Khazamaran maybe? A little demonic and well and truly above chores hahaha.

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8. Most energetic

Well there’s Helix - a spiral - who is constantly in motion. He’s the postmaster and is very good at delivering things. Never a dull moment. He fidgets whenever he’s told to just wait a moment haha. Even has a motor mouth. Dribble is pretty energetic too? He likes games and playing and will be sure to run circles around folks.

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12. Least intelligent

Idk kiz what are you saying hahaha. I feel like the easy way out is saying “well there are three children in the clan you can pick one” but there are many types of intelligences so let me think.

Greymarch and Kairos both missed out on an education. Grey can’t read or write very well and is often considered sort of slow. He makes up for that by being loyal and fierce and kind. He’s an excellent warrior and has a head for defences. So while he’s lacking in academic oriented fields he’s great in a tight spot. Similarly, Kairos doesn’t have many refinements, but she’s street smart (insomuch as that applies lol). She’s good at negotiating and navigating, but not very good at politics for instances. So I dare say they’re probably my “least intelligent” but yeah. My feelings on that phrase are complicated so I’ma leave it there haha.

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13. Most playful

Have you met Dribblerawr? Hahaha. He’s only a child (in lore) but he’s the gamesmaster and he loves playing games. It’s often thought he should help out with the hatchlings more, but then it’s pretty obvious why he doesn’t: he has no interest in keeping them in line all he wants to do is play hide and seek in the woods lmao.

Bonus points to Calla who can turn anything into some sort of dumb game. She keeps score in her head who’s winning the game of ‘how many books can I steal from Pen before she gets mad’. Pen isn’t doing so great.

Playful does not equal competitive. If it did Bereave and Chevron would feature again hahaha.