#progressday25

[diarmad]

@prcspero & @agnesisolda location: unknown notes: for the most recent prompt

The air was so sickly-sweet that it clung to the back of Diarmad's throat like spoiled honey. His limbs hung slack in the silken strands that bound him, but every breath, every twitch sent a ripple of pain through his body - the genath'asir was many things, had done worse but he wasn't a sadist - he was reformed to walk this path. To stand apart from the Dark One's influence, he should have known that it would come with consequences.

He had lost track of time, but he heard the tide overhead, smelled the ocean, saw the water as it dripped from the molded stones of the ceiling. The cold had seeped deep, past skin and sinew, curling around his bones, whispering something worse than death. Somewhere nearby, a ragged breath. A shudder. The faintest stir of movement.

He forced his head up. The web shifted slightly, tightening, biting. It took all his will not to groan. A genasi hung to his left, a druid to his right... Based on the woman's words, he'd understood that the man must be a darkfriend, and the woman had a similar thought to him. Their bodies, pale and trembling, were caught in the same gossamer chains that held him. His voice came rough, cracked. "Still alive?"

There were curses in this world that even he had not seen, but there were rumours from the Age of Darkness of Forsaken with the power to create something truly vile - but all things had conditions. "Whatever she asks, don’t say yes."

[alrikhart]

@adrianvoll location: Alrik's Forge (she's connected to Hartbound) notes: business is good (Progress Day)

Work was good. Steady. Really good, actually. Alrik had expanded before Progress Day but now - well - he had humbler beginnings than most, laced with the sort of tragedy that left him discontent. Lysara wasn't his home, it would never be his home, but he couldn't deny that in the time since he'd arrived things had improved for him. Love. Purpose. Destiny - they'd all integrated into one, tethering itself to his inherent curiosity and sure-footed pursuit of moving ever forward. It was in his nature to continue to tinkering, his father was a blacksmith so where runed iron were where his origins began, he'd managed to bridge that to his hammer, his body - and now the witch questioned: what was next?

Obsidian eyes flickered from the forge, the midday sun beating down on him as the embered flames glint across his hues. "Adrian." Alrik greeted, it had been a long time since their road from Iskaldrik to Lysara, now with those robes there was no denying where the other had landed. "I didn't know you were an Accepted, my sister joined the Tower too."

[witchertorsten]

@freydis-freydat location: Off to the Races notes: he either looks pissed or crying - Progress Day!

A whirlwind of dust kicked up and washed across the lower benches as the mechanical horse-drawn chariot whipped around the corner. He'd been perched in the corner, his body recovered from Orryn's attack but his ego still bruised, when he caught sight of at least one familiar face. Scattered though the Iskarans all were, the witcher still had his oaths - and as a member of the Guild that took on another shape now. "I think I might put my name in." Torsten stated plainly as he saddled adjacent to her, gesturing toward the race track again. He'd been riding Harold for years, how different could a chariot be? This was mechanical, not magical, narrow as his thoughts could be he took no issue with progress in that sense. "Doesn't look difficult."

[xpolarisx]

@talisa-the-steel location: Comedy Keep Courtyard notes: Progress Day!

It had taken Polaris a beat to recall where he'd seen the woman before, but recall he had. On the other side of the eluvian there hadn't been much time for idle discourse, but while he'd once been in Aetherian chains, building structures at the behest of his captors, he had seen her at the side of the Archon himself. There was a... visceral reaction... but the Baran was old enough to know that not all cages were universal. Some were certainly more comfortable.

A petty exhibition of his own orchestrated itself through the quasi-sentient statues he'd carved of the magisters in question. One laughable display after another, a guffaw here, a flatulent joke there, it paid him a measure of amusement to see the Lysarans laughing at the figures that had, at one point, destroyed everything that Polaris once held dear.

"Talisa, was it?" He asked, brow raised as he gestured candidly to the statues. "What do you think?" The statues captured the likeness of Kansaldi, Anthin, Aeldhert, Aelthryth, and the Archon quite well - if he did say so himself.

[studentalthea]

@sigtryggrx location: On the water, Tiber Bay notes: Progress Day Boat Cruise (she had a Groupon)

A sunhat larger than was needed with more wine than she'd ever drink herself, the legionnaire had secured a spot for herself on a lovely little cruise meant to shepherd her from island to island. It was the least she could do for herself after spending three months living among giants, and then another three of rigorous study. One might say she'd been, booked and blessed. Of course, no time had passed here but she felt lifetimes older. What she hadn't expected, was to see a witcher among the celebrations. "Careful, Sigtryggr, I might begin to think you're following me." Or was it the other way around? Not that it mattered.

[napoleonxfalon]

"A task you've yet to accomplish." Falon's office, Lupercalia - seemed where Napoleon went, Theon had a habit of appearing. They both knew the truth but if Theon wished to pretend otherwise then Falon had no difficulty pressing him further, eyeing the other with playful, casual suspicion. Had Falon suspected otherwise, then this conversation would have had a different tone but he didn’t believe for a moment that Theon had any intention of harming Falon’s Sinarian other half - at least not at present. It wasn’t to say he trusted the assassin, but Falon had enough confidence that the other didn’t pose an immediate threat - Theon was an opportunist and he wouldn’t find a better paying client.

Again, Falon repeated the bindings of a contract, mere jargon etched on paper and Theon simply shrugged, infuriating as always, "No, you paid me to leave him alone." He smiled then, something sweet and knowingly vexing because he knew that was not true based on everything hashed out within that small room above the gladiator skirmish where Theon had first met the other half of Napoleon. Even if a contract had fallen apart or if there were far more variables than noted, Theon typically tended to succeed within them and he knew, completely, that this was why he lingered so, a half step outside of the bounds of whatever contract held their meetings in place.

[witchertorsten]

@arr0s location: Mercury's Bazaar probably, Eterna notes: Progress Day vibes, he don't know what's going on

There was always more going on than Torsten cared to entertain. He'd recovered physically from the wounds he'd sustained a little over a month ago, but the echo of his failure still settled in his bones. Arros, of all people, was perhaps the last face he'd expected to see in Eterna. Torsten, it seemed, had become all too comfortable with the notion that there were simply people he'd never seen again. Grateful as he was the Queendom had offered Iskarans refuge, ducked below some extravagant display of magic and some entertainer sending whirring, mechanical doves fluttering from his hat, he couldn't help but wonder if this was where all witchers had come to die.

"Back from the dead," Torsten commented, aiming to get Arros' attention. "again."

[studentalthea]

@shewolfaurea location: utp! notes: progress day and catch-up time

"And then, Thora demonstrated some of the most exquisite sword skills I've ever seen." Althea had been regaling Aurea with everything she'd seen and done while away for - well - no time at all for the Alpha, but six long months for her. The three months she'd spent deceiving the giants, living in fear that she'd end up in their soup pot - prepared to vaporize whoever she needed to in the end. It had been a lot, "Sylvanis was beautiful though," she added, thoughtfully, "a rare glimpse, I think, into what could've been. What could be." Unfortunately so long as they were being burned at the stake or thrown into mines, that past would never come again. "I wish you'd been there, a werewolf was the only thing that ragtag group of misfits was missing."

[alrikhart]

“Fharzai, druid of dreams, ambassador to the world. Your name sings in my ears - and someday it’ll sing in the world’s ears, I’ll make sure of it.” An Iskaran skald who’d spin the tale of the dreamer from the East, who shepherded them to safety, and who helped bring them home. It was an epic worth telling again and again.  

Reality was better. Healing in its way. Alrik cherished their dreams together, but never deception. If their reality was that beyond these four walls the whole world was at war, then Alrik would acquiesce to it, the burdens beyond their doors would be there whether they were open or closed. The veil, like a river, did not want for anything - it couldn’t. Fharzai knew as much but Alrik listened with a sympathetic ear, letting Fharzai fill the early morning silence between the delicate rhythm. He trusted the druid more than most, but the Iskaran would always be suspicious of magic - that these thoughts were manifesting now, when the other’s ring was clearly active - “The veil does not decide who lives and who dies. Neither do you. This ring, Fharzai-” Alrik’s hand moved to thread through the cold, dead-like thing as the weight of his palm and calloused digits wrapped around it. “It’s a poison. You have to learn the difference.” 

When the Last Battle came, Alrik didn’t think either him or Fharzai were expecting to survive. At least, the hidden one wasn’t. He’d consecrated his life to fighting the shadow, for that alone he knew what the cost would ultimately be. “Whatever comes, I will find you again in our next turning of the wheel, and it’s there that I’ll make our dream a reality.” A life unconcerned by the pattern, removed from the machinations of fate, and liberated from whatever duty that destiny had in store for them. Simplicity, happiness. Iron under his palms, fire in their forge, warmth in their home - perhaps in the next turning he’d have a different trade.

Fharzai was not made to be seen, let alone remembered. It hurt, but he completely separated himself from that pain long ago. This was the burden the Arches prepared him for, and it was one he readily accepted. Not once in his life had he scorned Fate or his decision to serve the pattern. Still, there was something significant to Alrik admitting he'd been saved. The darkness wasn't gone and the scars of his past remained, but the witch who enraptured him in his giant arms was not the same man whose nightmares clung to him like his own shadow.   A heavy breath of acceptance flew from Fharzai's lips as he settled into the fact that his time with Alrik was truly well spent. For all the mistakes that he'd made in recent months, at least the decision to be a persistent light in Alrik's life wasn't one. "It's so much harder to go on when I'm involved as I am, but I still don't regret letting go of my detachment for you. I love my queen, I love the Tower, and I love Lysara. But it was always love from a distance, on my terms, like a cold mother watching her child from afar. I didn't know how to love with warmth until you. It overwhelms me and I lose myself to it. Caring for you makes it so I care for so many others more deeply than I ever have before and it causes me to cling too tightly. I'm sorry Alrik. I never should've tried to trap you in a dream."   Fharzai held Alrik's hand too, the mere feeling of it keeping him grounded now that his eyes were open. Blurring the lines was fine, but walking exclusively in the dream realm would be to turn his back on the mortal realm and the queendom he swore he'd protect. That meant allowing himself to get wrapped in the romanticism of Alrik's words was okay. Things may have been tumultuous in Lysara, but the Wheel would continue to turn and life would go on. The simple comfort of Alrik's body draped over his was to be cherished just as much as the fantasy of the life they could have Fate wove simplicity into the fabric of their lives instead of duty.   "No heartbeat is as steady and true as yours. I've only been able to involve myself more in this age without falling apart because of you. It's your courage that flows in my veins. It's your strength that inspires me to embrace love instead of detaching myself from it. If we must fight, then fight we will, for this realm and for the lives we'll get to lead in the next turn." Fharzai trusted Alrik. The witch was his light-filled dream now. If Alrik wouldn't scorn what they had, then neither would Fharzai. They didn't need to live in a fantasy because, for all the shadows that swirled around them, their reality was perfect. "I couldn't say. I don't see their names but their faces … it's like the Veil is trying to show me who they are. Or who they will become? My dreams have been muddled, but what I know for certain is that if I miss the chance to hurt them first, they will hurt me." As his heart flutters gleefully from the prospect of Fharzai causing pain, one hand drifts to his collarbone to rub just above it gently. It felt like a mantle missing the weight of something that was destined to be placed there…

[studentalthea]

@emissaradia location: Progress Day, PROGRESS DAY!!! notes: here go

Three months living in Angrboða's cage, then another three studying in Sylvanis. One could say that Althea was something of an expert on matters of - well - most things. All in all nothing had changed except she'd gotten quite good at braiding strands of hair as thick as Aradia's water-retaining thumbs. "Your girlfriend won't stop talking to me about you," she sighed into her wine, observing the festivities from a respectable distance - a balcony overlooking the bazaar. Broad sunhat in place, sunglasses to match. "it's wretched, please ask her to stop."

[diarmad]

Hadn't Njal just heard what Diarmad had said? Of course the genath'asir was going to be there, there were few places - perhaps no places - that Njal could go to where Diarmad wouldn't follow in some form. His fixations, however dark, always seemed to lead him back to the witcher. "One for luck," Diarmad stated plainly before he pressed his lips against the other's, "and another because I want to." A second time, growing more and more familiar with seeing the subtle charm of the witcher's unnerving leering grin. "Do you know anything about your opponents yet - will the fight be to the death?"

Anyone that knew Njal knew that a real, genuine smile was rare to come across when it came to him. Honestly, he preferred not to so people didn't get the wrong impression. His intentions were always the same. Well, actually, he wasn't even sure he could say that anymore. After everything that happened during their little adventure, there was a part of him that had changed. He was still bloodthirsty as ever, but he didn't want to wring the necks of any witches he saw anymore. On sight at least. The only person he wished to wrap his hands around the throat of was the one standing in front of him and that had nothing to do with death. Smile firmly planted on his face, he let Diarmad's fingers lace with his own and pull them through the crowd. "Right, of course." He shook his head at the crypticism. Apparently, it ran in the family. "If you won't be there, then..." He stopped the both of them and tapped a finger to his lips. "A parting gift before I go out there to win?"

[witchertorsten]

There was a creed that all witchers lived by, an oath sworn to the High King and his ring of air and oaths: to speak no word that is not true, to create nothing that can be used as a weapon, and to obey the High King's command without fail. Torsten lived without fear and the comfort that Afshin would not be alone on his expedition was a source of comfort - whatever Ormir's failings and whatever Torsten's initial impression of him might have been - he had grown to understand that the Hand would do whatever was necessary to protect Afshin. Be that for his own gain, the prince's Iskaran value, or another reason.

Torsten had never walked away from a fight in his life, he wouldn't begin now, but Afshin didn't need him to reiterate that. "I'm calling on the witchers that have been scattered across Lysara since we arrived." Torsten wouldn't leave without saying goodbye, but he would return, "We'll be departing from Haven the day after next, it will take a couple weeks to make the trip into Ymir's Spine, but-" and a witcher could not lie, "I will return to you."

Freydis had asked him not too long ago if he was happy, Torsten didn't have much conception of the idea then. The Kingsguard lived a life that didn't save room to accommodate joy, but he'd found bliss - happiness - in standing at Afshin's side. It was unfair to put that on one, singular person, but that didn't negate the truth. For all Torsten's failings, not being able to properly express his gratitude toward the prince was at the summit. "I will always return to you."

closed starter for @witchertorsten note: PROGRESS DAAAAYYYYYY

A trip around the Queenset Isles didn't sound all that bad. Really, it felt like the kind of thing he had done back home. Throw a party. Show off Iskaldrik's many...wonders? Honestly, Lysara was so far from what he was used to that he wasn't even sure he could consider this something he had done before in any capacity. Seeing their innovations sounded intriguing, but magic still felt so foreign to him. Sure, he had the other side of him that could do more than what he had grown up believing in, but that wasn't what he himself could do. Then again, he still wasn't even sure about that. This place was so damn confusing and so damn...odd. Regardless of it all, he was positive that the only thing keeping him from wanting to go on this ship was Torsten.

Afshin wasn't going to say that he wanted his Kingsguard stuck to his side like glue, but he did. What if something happened to him again? Last time, he hadn't even been able to find him in time when he had been left in the gutter. What if someone tried to do that to him again? What if someone tried to take Afshin while he was on this ship again? His hand tightened within Torsten's non-mechanical one. Then the other lifted to gently poke the other's chest. "Be safe. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. If you see someone that wants to fight, you could always just turn the other way. People leave fights all the time. It doesn't mean you're weak. You just know your limits." He paused. "Well, actually you could probably beat anyone you wanted to. You're very...strong." His finger moved so that his palm was now firmly placed there instead. "Just be here when I come back please. Promise me?"

[xpolarisx]

Karme did enjoy talking, which was apt because Polaris enjoyed being engaged. Listening and asking questions in turn, Karme was going on a great deal about skytrol-fueled vessels, which was, in fact, a subject that the dragon happened to know very little about. Still, he was beginning to know when Karme was deflecting. He'd circle back to the skytrol and the airship later. "I'm surprised you're not more nervous about the fight tonight, I have to admit, I was surprised to hear you'd signed up at all -" everyone knew those fights weren't real, they were a waste of time as far as the Baran was concerned, however, "some friends of mine have a booth, I'll be watching with them." Cheering Karme on went unsaid but he had confidence in the witch's ability to survive the match.

who?: @xpolarisx where?: tiber bay when?: progress day

Sitting on the docks with festival food, talking about the specs of the airships that danced above was the perfect way to spend his time with Polaris. At least Karme thought so. However, there was a notable lack of quiet and not just because he kept changing focus the moment he ran out of things to say about a specific ship. His mind was jittery and his fidgeting betrayed his anxiety. Still, Karme continued, "…and that's why skytrol-fueled vessels will become obsolete real soon despite grandmama unveiling the first less than a year ago! Isn't that exciting?! Two generations beyond steam engines all within my lifetime, like wow. I'm glad I didn't have to hide out this year and gott to participate with everybody. This Progress Day has been…" Fun was the word to use because Karme did enjoy walking through the festival before he met up with Polaris, but his stomach was twisting to the point where he stopped eating the food in his hand. What if he made a mistake by signing up for the gladiator match? Luckily, he was quite skilled at avoidance. "Hey! Did I ever tell you how I won the ship? Prepare yourself for a tale of flower arranging and saucy dancing. I've never pulled a muscle so hard in my life!"

[xnikandrosx]

Where despair was weakened, Pride was at his strongest.

Familiar sights painted rows on rows of stalls. Excitement abound - progress! Achievement! Huzzah. The simplicity of it would be endearing if it wasn't so blatantly pathetic, where Pride might have reveled, Wisdom was somewhere rolling his eyes. Despite whatever strength Nikandros might have drawn from the celebration, it served nothing but to feed his discontent for the city as a whole. There was something very gratifying about being right - not that Nikandros was ever wrong.

He glanced sidelong at the daemon adjacent, rare, but not unexpected. "For?"

Who: @xnikandrosx

Where: progress day

Even with everything going on, the darkness biting at their heels, humanity found a way to cling to hope. It was days like progress day that Lyklor felt the weakest he ever had. Aventia had granted the right conditions for a vessel but today if they weren’t careful hope could be their undoing. With their power weakening within the city the Daemonfey became suspicious of everyone thinking that they be able to see through him, see that he was no normal elvhen. Not that they were closer to figuring out what it meant to be merged, why everything was so messy, why there were impulses that couldn’t be ignored.

Lyklor was trying to find someone, anyone that he could draw strength from but he was out luck. He was looking across yeh crowd like a man who hadn’t eaten in weeks when a man walked beside him. He had an aura that made him shrink immediately. “Sorry…” his immediate assumption was that he’d been in the others way.

[abelasx]

Abelas was fuming. Cheeks puffed and red, there was a palpable sense of frustration emanating off of the elvhen as he looked at the profane caricature this so called 'artist' was doing of his son. "Keep looking?!" He all but demanded, "Look at what he's doing to my boy!" Abelas pulled out a sketch pad and pointed at his doddle, then Icarus, then the portrait that was being done of him. "Where are his muscles!?" This was one of the many reasons why he never came to the city, rude people like this with big dumb eyes that couldn't see anything. Icarus, dopey as ever, with his tongue half flopped out and a scroll of plane shift tied to his collar, just sat there as he looked at the three. The artist - who should be afraid at this point - Abelas, and then Elris.

Who: @abelasx

Where: Progress day

They were meant to be looking for anything that would help with the ring situation. Progress day was the prefect time to see what in innovative mortals had come up with. It was a small chance they would be able to find something but if they didn’t look it would be foolish of them. Well they would be looking if they hadn’t stumbled across an artist who had offered to paint Icarus. “Abelas we should keep looking.” He tried to encourage the other to move on. “We can always come back.”

[alrikhart]

Alrik had paused mid-swing, hammer hovering just above the molten piece he’d been shaping. The sound of Adrian’s voice didn’t surprise him - he’d heard the familiar cadence beneath the clangs of steel and fire. But the words? The smile? Those lingered. He let the silence stretch for a moment longer, hammer finally dropping with a dull thud onto the anvil, resting beside the smoldering blade. The heat of the forge curled the air between them, the scent of smoke and steel thick in his lungs. Alrik exhaled slowly before dark mirth painted his features, eyeing the Accepted in his robe. "Nice dress."

His sister had a way with warnings, she was also a great conversationalist and had a habit of making friends everywhere she went. Additionally, Alrik was a prolific storyteller. "Sounds like her." Alrik brought the back of his wrist across his sweat-ridden brow, smearing soot across the expanse of heated skin before he fixed his hands upon his hips. He didn't get the Tower hype but if he was going anywhere it'd have been to the Vessel. "The Tower would have the whole world believing there's only one way to be a witch." Just as the Iskarans were fond of saying there was only one way to be a man.

He tilted his head slightly, inviting Adrian to come take a closer look, "Ditch the maternity robes before they get ruined and see for yourself."

Adrian nodded in greeting to Alrik, always sassy enough even before the Tower robes came into the picture, "I've seen her around, she's tried to give me quite a few warnings about Tower society," his lip curled upward into a humored smile at the recollection. "She's just a bit ahead of me - Warrior of Mars, it seems fitting." He didn't know her deeply, not outside of their shenanigans with Kay or the late nights studying within the Tower; her secretive nature screamed Minerva, but it was clear she had a fighter's resolve and with that Adrian always noted the other witch respectfully, waiting to see how each audition for her could go.

Adrian looked around the humble forge, smiling more than any would ever believe him to be capable of. "Vulcan's Forge is...." he trailed off because there was no way to truly describe the expansive brilliance, "But this, this feels more like home." And he was grateful for that, missed it, vied for it. "Working on anything special?" That tattoo deal had the runic knight swamped before but Adrian was impressed.