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speakersdisaster · 7 years

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pk writes some NPCs just being guys being dudes.

Didn't matter how many years he spent here, Sabal still managed to wind himself hiking around. He was trying not to whine to the kids he was meant to be teaching but the laughing and calls of keep up, old man kind of made him feel he should. They were basically asking him to!

Complaints aside it was a pretty good day so far, a nice haul of foraged and hunted goodies to bring back. There was that slightly concerning but not really roaring and screeching in the distance. He was pretty dang sure it was just a distant griffon. No one had horse meat, so they'd be fine, and it was a good opportunity to talk about the beasts.

...things were not fine as Sabal heard what he could only think as the sound of a brass band falling down stairs, a single triangle thrown after them.

"Sabal?" It took a moment for Sabal and the kids to look up towards the soft call, meeting wide yellow eyes. "Sabal, what are... what are you doing here?"

“What am I doing out here? I should be asking you! Why- why are you. Edward. Edward why are you up there?” Torn between being angry and laughing at the absurdity of not only Edward's current position and that question, Sabal's tone landed somewhere in the middle. He was not prepared to see an aasimar in a rather sorry state just... chilling out in a tree? Clothes torn like he had just wrestled a bear? Looking down innocently, like everything was normal? ...was this normal for Edward?

The slow climb down wasn't helping the urge to laugh until he realised how Edward was avoiding putting weight on one of his arms, and one leg. His mood dropped when the normal small talk and body language that Edward had was gone as he gave a stiff greeting.

"So Edward," Sabal could salvage this bad mood! "Did it huuuuoh gods that's your bone sticking out that's one of your leg bones sticking out plain in the air, Zekin don't look."

Never mind. That would explain the dull voice and not putting weight on the leg.

What followed was several minutes of curious kids wanting to watch Edward snap his leg back together and pop his dislocated shoulder into place ("Imnin, your mother will never let you go out again if she hears about this."), a talk on healing magic, and learning about some trouble with griffins, perytons, and attacks on an Eldath grove nearby.

"You need to go back to the caravan while I take care of this, it's not safe."

"Oh, really? An angel falls from the heavens, breaks his leg, and we're meant to think it's safe?" Oh forget Sabal laughing at this absurdity, Zekin and Imnin were all smiles and giggles as Sabal fussed and cleaned the dirt and blood from Edward. Even Edward was becoming aware of the situation, doubling down on aasimar stillness and impassivity, only moving to brush some feathers from his hair.

"We'll just. Show ourselves back to the caravan."

"A paladin of Eldath teaming up with our fearless leader, setting out to protect their people from threats hidden in the forest. How poetic! Let's go, Imnin, let the adults do their adult things."

"Of course Zekin, children should remain at home, safe and out of the way of important adult things."

Neither Sabal or Edward got a word in before the two young drow had ran off. Silence stretched out as Sabal focused on his mending and not how he would handle this... this. This thing that was happening.

"I fell off a griffin. She was taking me to the peryton nest." Oh praise Eldath for making her aasimar talk even if it was just to make the whole thing more ridiculous. Someone had to speak first after all!

"You... Ok." Sabal took a step back to glare at Edward. The pain from falling should have been gone from the healing they had both done, but Edward still had that same dull voice and unfocused look (a bit hard to tell, what with that no pupils thing). "Ok, you're going to go... hitch a ride off a wild griffin to fight some monster birds that eat elf hearts? Alone?"

"I have to."

"Just... yourself? No armor, a simple shortsword, and some wild man eating animals? You're not a fighter, Edward, you talk people down before they start fighting." This one sided argument went on for several minutes until Sabal finally saw a bit of damn emotion show itself on Edward's face.

"You're not listening. I have to, Sabal." Oh yes, there was definitely emotion there. He hadn't be expecting anger, however, as Edward made his way to his feet - though Sabal was glad to get something. "I don't get a choice. I either go and smite some monsters off this plane of existence, or I get to enjoy many nights of horrid nightmares and intrusive thoughts until I obey!"

"But-"

"But nothing." Edward seemed to realise how he been raising his voice and the harshness of his tone as he tried to smooth his face out. "You should go back to your people and make sure Imnin and Zekin got back safely." he said in a more controlled and even manner.

At a normal pace it took a bit of extra effort to keep up with Edward. At the brisk pace he had set? Sabal hoped he didn't have to keep up the jog he had to use to keep next to Edward. Oh he was trying, he really was, to stay by Edward's side, even as he purposefully picked out fallen trees and other obstacles to mess with him.

"You don't have to-" Whatever Sabal was going to say turned into a yelp as his daring jump from one river stone to another was too daring, foot slipping - and as abrupt as the fall started, it stopped, as he was pulled upright, picked up, and placed on dry earth. He couldn't let something as simple as being disorientated stop him, so he kept talking, smacking a hand over Edward's mouth before he could straighten up or start talking. "-to go alone. I can be pretty handy in a fight, and you'll need someone to patch you up afterwards."

...aaaand back to silence before a slow eye brow raise reminded Sabal that hey, he was the one with his hand over Edward's mouth, maybe that's why he wasn't talking. Nope, dropping his hands didn't make him start talking, nor did it make Edward let go. What he did get was a long sigh of defeat and some Celestial he didn't understand as Edward picked him up again and started walking.

"You wouldn't even be a snack to them, so I guess you'll be ok." Sabal was snapped out of the lull he had fallen into, looking up to see that the emotionless or angry look was gone. Well, it wasn't much past a blank look, but there was that slight quirk of a smile to go along with the dry remark. "...sorry for yelling at you before, and making you scramble over logs and rocks." Sabal saw the face fully turn into a wry expression. "And for carrying you towards a nest of elf eating birds."

"They eat the hearts."

"I guess I have to worry they'll target you now. Don't worry, I'll keep your heart safe."

How was he meant to respond to that? Did... did Edward even realise what he said? He could've just gone 'I'll protect you' but he'd said it like that and wow he shouldn't really read into it too much right? No time to think on it as Edward slowed and let Sabal down, talking him through what was ahead, and how they were going to destroy the nest.

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speakersdisaster · 7 years

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session 15 recap

#DnD 5e #dnd #Session recap

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speakersdisaster · 7 years

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welcome to basil’s gay shit corner

The job was very by-the-book: clean up a dungeon, look for anything interesting, shrug when they found nothing, walk back to the nearest town. All things considered, it went quite well! Maybe a few scrapes here and there, but Vynlar was able to stab their way out of wasting spell slots and he was very proud of that. The walk to Wolfwater was thus full of peaceful rambling about what to eat for dinner and their client’s stupid mustache.

Vynlar’s exhaustion was usually unnoticeable, but especially was it on nights like these. It’s the pride of a job well done and knowing the pay will sustain him for a while longer! Sure, but it was also Dresve’s laughter whenever Vynlar made a bad joke about sentient mustaches. Or Dresve’s content, genuine smile as they walked in silence. Or maybe the way Dresve would nonchalantly drift over until he was right by Vynlar’s side, or…

So yes, it was painfully obvious to everyone and now himself how much he loved his strange best friend. It was to the displeasure of Galladia, but her pangs of annoyance were drowned out by the waves of warmth felt in his heart each time Dresve locked eyes with him. He hadn’t intended to fall in love when they partnered up all those months ago, and yet here he was, allowing himself to be sincere for the first time in his life.

Unfortunately for Vynlar, he wasn’t sure if his feelings were reciprocated and uncertainty frightened him. There was a chance considering how much Dresve had warmed to him over time, but maybe he was just touchy with friends! Every time he thinks about dealing with emotions he feels a bit lightheaded, and right now was no different. It’s probably why he also feels particularly tired.

He takes a moment to process that walking takes more effort than usual and he’s breathing heavily. His body accepts he can’t stand before his mind does and he finds himself kneeling in the dirt road, very confused. Dresve’s peaceful expression is wiped and replaced with anger as he panic-lobs a ball of acid at nothing. Once quickly checking that nothing is actually there attacking them, he kneels in front of the very disoriented Vynlar.

“I guess I’m on the ground now,” Vynlar sighs out while not meeting Dresve’s worried gaze. “I… stabbed ‘em too well. Body can’t handle it. Lathander is forcing me to rest before I reach demigod status.”

“Well you definitely overexerted yourself by trying to kill everything instead of letting me incinerate them.” Dresve raises an eyebrow, shoulders relaxing. “When did you last sleep?”

“Uh... a while ago?” Vynlar wipes off the sweat that started building on his forehead. “Maybe two days ago. Oops.”

Vynlar had a particularly disturbing Galladia-induced vision and he hadn’t slept since then. Couldn’t sleep. Such situations happened many times throughout his life and it worked out fine before! But it turns out he’s still human underneath all the celestial and humans can’t always function properly without sleep.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Vynlar mumbles weakly, “I’ll sleep like a rock once we get home. Sorry if I snore—do I snore? I don’t snore, do I?”

Dresve rolls his eyes, usual smirk temporarily reappearing on his face. “Can you stand first?”

Vynlar does a faux indignant scoff and, with some effort, brings himself to his feet. His typical aura of confidence almost masked the extreme effort required for each step. Almost. No, Dresve knew him better by this point, and prevents Vynlar from moving forward with a grab of his shoulder. The two stare at each other and have a wordless conversation until Vynlar slumps over, defeated.

“Okay, I suppose I’ve reached my limit. We’re so close to Wolfwater too! Really, Lathander?” He tries to laugh off his frustration over the circumstances, but goes silent once he remembers there’s no reason to pretend around Dresve. “I’ll just rest out here tonight. Think you can make it back without me keeping you safe?”

Vynlar knows he can, but he worries anyway.

“You plan on sleeping right here tonight? It’s going to rain and mess up your pretty hair.”

Vynlar gives a lopsided smile in response as he leans against a tree for support. “Looks like it’s the sacrifice I must make. Unless you have the Conjure Wheelbarrow spell?” He waves a hand dismissively, more serious smile in place. “Don’t worry about little ol’ me. I’m just taking a rest until I know I won’t topple over again. Go on.”

Vynlar watches as Dresve doesn’t move and instead looks very thoughtful as he plans the best action. He hadn’t particularly expected Dresve to be hesitant about leaving him on the side of the road only twenty minutes from civilization. It was genuinely not a big deal! Still, Vynlar can’t help but feel that chest-warmth again knowing he hasn’t just walked away.

Finally, Dresve has his solution; the look on his face says it all. “Not to worry! I’ll just carry you back.”

Vynlar guffaws. “You and what army? Dresve, you are absolutely incredible, but I’m a foot taller than you and wearing fifty pounds of armor. Let’s be reasonable here.”

While he repeats why he’ll be alright staying behind, Dresve is busy adjusting his clothes and fishing out his spellbook. Vynlar’s rambling trails off once he realizes it’s another plan, oh sweet mercy, is there actually a spell to summon a wheelbarrow?

The spell he uses is not at all one which summons a wheelbarrow.

Instead he watches in horror as Dresve’s entire aura changes and he is suddenly, clearly much more physically powerful than he was a moment ago. He almost wonders if he’s hallucinating because this very muscular elf should not be muscular at all. The expression on Dresve’s face makes him look like he’s about to go bite someone’s jugular out, but no. His actual plan is to securely grab Vynlar and actually, genuinely, truly pick him up. Like a valiant knight heroically carrying a commoner.

There is only one feasible response to the events that just took place:

“Dresve, what the fuck?”

Dresve is already bolting very quickly down the path to Wolfwater with the most shiteating grin imaginable. Once the initial shock wears off, Vynlar can't prevent himself from laughing uncontrollably; the kind of laughs that are inevitably reduced to silent, breathless heaves and make tears pour from his eyes.

“What? What is this? Why are you like this?! Why is there a spell for this?!” Vynlar pulls the neck of his armor padding over his eyes to absorb the tears, still wheezing. “Goddamn muscle-wizard! You don’t even need me, just tackle your enemies to the ground!”

“You pick me up all the time. Haven’t you wanted to see what it feels like on the other side?”

“I feel so smaaaaallll, Dreeeeesveeeee.”

They make it to Wolfwater in record time. The residents, though used to the antics of these two by now, are stunned into silence as Dresve shouts ‘OUT OF MY WAY!’ and Vynlar is sent into another laughing fit. He is both physically and mentally incapable of handling his tiny crush handle him. The innkeeper pretends she doesn't notice as Dresve kicks the door open and does so again for the door to their room.

Once they make it inside, Dresve is able to drop Vynlar on their bed before the magic dies down. He makes a small grunt noise, shuffles to the other side, and ungracefully collapses next to him.

“Why don’t you have any normal plans?” asks Vynlar hoarsely as he rolls his head over to look at Dresve.

Dresve breathes deep and his mouth curves into a tired smile. “I just wanted to see the look on your face.”

That gets a weak laugh from Vynlar before the pounding from his headache kicks in and he’s forced to stop. He can’t help but smile at Dresve, so much love in his expression, so grateful to know such a weird man.

“That was both the sweetest and funniest thing anyone has ever done for me. You didn’t have to, but you did.” He feels the burning in his throat that indicates real tears are on their way. Amazing how he’s always overwhelmed by his own emotions.

“So sentimental! I’ve wanted a reason to try that spell for ages.” A few small tears force their way over Vynlar’s eyelids and Dresve wipes them away with the sleeve of his sweater. “Jokes aside… you’re always protecting me, Vynlar. I can return the favor every once in awhile.”

Vynlar nods slowly and… after some thought, doesn’t offer a hug; it would be awkward since they’re both lying in a bed. No, he instead silently, and in a somewhat vague gesture, offers his hand. He releases the breath he’d been holding when Dresve takes it.

“I can’t believe you cursed,” Dresve whispers a moment later. “I didn’t know you could be so vulgar, Vynlar.”

“I save the intense words for really special occasions.”

Before he falls asleep, Vynlar promises he’ll tell Dresve about his feelings sooner rather than later.

#end meeeeeeeee

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speakersdisaster · 7 years

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GHEMMA’S GAY FARM STORY PART THREE

~~~~~~~~~~~

PART THREE

~~~~~~~~~~~

When Cass arrived at the farm, a nervous half-orc in tow, her parents were inside, in the middle of what seemed to be a heated argument. Ghemma felt uncomfortable entering the room, like she was intruding on something. She just hoped it didn’t get violent.

When the two men saw the new arrivals, they stopped and addressed them,

“Cass, will you please tell Your Father that it’s pronounced ‘bAYsil’, and not ‘bAHsil’ like his silly ass seems to think it is!” one man asked, beckoning Cass into the conversation.

“Cassandra dear, will you kindly inform Your Dad that language is arbitrary and I will pronounce it any way that I see fit!” the other entreated.

“You’re both ridiculous and I’m ashamed to know you,” she deadpanned.

Both men started laughing, before closing in on Cass with a familial hug.

If possible, Ghemma felt even more uncomfortable now than she had when she thought there was risk of marital violence. Unconsciously, she began to back out toward the door, when one of the dads noticed her presence.

“And who’s this dashing figure darkening our doorway?” this was the second dad, the one with a progressive stance on language.

“Oh, this is, um, I didn’t actually catch your name,” Cass turns to Ghemma expectantly,

“I’m Ghemma.”

“Right, Ghemma. She’s been around town looking for work, I figure we could use the help, given Pop’s back and all. Shouldn’t you be resting it, anyway? What are you doing up and about?”

She looks at her father (this one the bAYsil acolyte) accusingly, and he shrinks back and sheepishly sits in a comfortable looking armchair.

It’s clear who is the boss around here, and it’s not either of the parental figures.

“You good with your hands?”

“Uh..yes, I’d say so,” she rubs at those hands instinctively, trying to mentally will herself not to bolt out of there.

“Then you are welcome here! We could use all the help we can get, what with that old infirm lug over there,”

“Love you too, honey!”

And so it was decided, Ghemma would help out at the farm for the time being, in return for room and board.

Ghemma did what she could to be helpful and earn her keep for her time there. Cass’ parents were kind, if a little corny at times, and they made her ache inside and think of Raz.

It was always bittersweet, when she stayed put for a while.

On one hand, the security of knowing where her next meal would come from was nice, and even the cot they laid out for her in the barn was a lot better to sleep on than the cold ground outside.

But on the other hand, as each day passed, she grew more and more aware that this wasn’t her home, wasn’t where she belonged, and that at any moment her luck may run out and she would be kicked to the curb.

Because it always did, without fail.

Sometimes, a few days in her hosts would run out of work, and would come to her apologetically and explain that they only just had enough for themselves, and she would thank them graciously and be on her way.

Other times, it was less cordial, and she was kicked to the curb without a second glance.

One notable time, she awoke to find her host in the room with her, just *looking* at her, and she noped out of there faster than she had ever gone before.

It was with this mindset that she went into the Laoghaire farm, knowing that any day here could be her last, and trying her best to make the most of it while she was there.

The work was hard, but rewarding when she saw that her presence was having a positive impact and lessening the load on her host family.

Cass’ dads were grateful for the help, and when they told her so, it made her feel warm and accomplished.

And being around Cass, well that had its own upsides and downsides.

For the first few days, their interaction was minimal. Passing hellos and dinners with the whole family in which even if Ghemma had felt comfortable enough to speak (she didn’t), there wouldn’t have been space for it amongst the loquacious bickering fathers, after which Ghemma said her polite thank-yous and escaped to her makeshift bedroom.

She wasn’t *avoiding* Cass, per se, except that she totally was.

She had no goddamn idea why the girl unsettled her so much. Like, her initial thought, that it was because of jealousy over the stability of her life and family, rang true in a small way, but if she was being honest with herself (a rare occasion indeed), she knew there was a whole lot more to it. The feeling had only increased since she had started working there, and it didn’t seem to show any indication that it would be slowing down anytime soon.

So she resolved to push it all deep deep down, and ignore the way her heart skipped a beat when she saw Cass heading off to market, or chiding one of her fathers, or, god help her, at the breakfast table, yawning sleepily with unbrushed hair. That last one caught Ghemma’s breath even when it passed through her mind fleetingly.

But none of that. None of the pull she felt toward the blonde beauty. None of it. Ghemma would ignore it, and it would definitely, definitely go away.

Quite predictably, it didn’t.

And after Ghemma’s first Sunday at the farm, she had had to amend her plan to push her feelings where the sun don’t shine when it came to Cass.

It was an unseasonably warm day, and after the morning’s tasks had been attended to, Ghemma had been released for the rest of the day.

She was sitting under a tree and fiddling with one of her rocks, daydreaming about not much at all.

“You’re pretty fidgety, you know.”

The scene was eerily reminiscent of the day she had come to the farm. She didn’t know how Cass kept sneaking up on her like this.

Startled, Ghemma dropped the rock, which rolled a while before coming to a stop. She scrambled after it, *oh god no, I’ve had this one for more than a year. I found it at that creek with the waterfall, I can’t lose it*

After retrieving it, she faltered, realizing how silly she must have looked, lumbering after what appeared to just be a stupid rock.

She turned back, still on her knees, hair falling into her face,

“Oh, um, I know. Restless energy, I guess, haha.”

Cass looked at her, assessing, “Hm. I was the same way, as a child. It was why I learned to knit. That helped.”

Ghemma didn’t appreciate the implication there, at being likened to a child.

“Anyway, I came because I’ve made a pie, and would like some of it to get eaten before Father eats the whole thing when he gets back from town. I keep telling him he needs to watch what he eats, at his age, but of course he never listens. But regardless, there is pie.”

Before Ghemma can even process that this was an invitation, Cass has already set off back to the house. She hops back onto her feet and races after the shorter girl.

The pie is delicious, maybe the best Ghemma has ever had (not that that’s a particularly impressive feat, she doesn’t get sweets on the road much), and the company even better.

Cass invites her into the sitting room to eat, her dads being gone. Ghemma is apprehensive, unsure what Cass would want from time alone with her, but wanting so badly to be around her.

It turned out, Cass was curious, in the way someone who has lived in one small place for their entire life often is. She asks Ghemma questions about herself, where she came from, what she does. Overwhelmed and clumsy with her words, as she doesn’t often use them, Ghemma tries to answer to the best of her abilities, of course leaving out her reason for being on the road now. Cass is particularly intrigued by the monastery.

“So your studies there, what did they focus on? I’d imagine they would have to address the mind-body link considerably.”

“Actually, yah. A lot of what we did was about control and conscientiousness. Knowing your body and mind and being able to sync them in harmony. And, uh, a lot of it was catered to the student past that,”

“Really? What did you focus on?”

“Oh, uh, I mean, control mostly, I did a lot of meditation, and, you know, other stuff.”

“Fascinating.”

It turns out, Cass’ life wasn’t quite the idyllic dream Ghemma had thought it was. She loved her parents, but she was so so smart, and there was nothing here to challenge her, to drive her. She envied Ghemma’s freedom just as much as Ghemma envied her security.

These conversations become a regular occurrence after that day.

Cass is well read, and brighter than the sun, and Ghemma finds herself entranced, day after day, as she gets to know her better. As beautiful as she had thought her upon first glance, that was nothing compared to the beauty she saw within.

Cass teaches Ghemma how to knit, and Ghemma gives Cass some very basic lessons in fighting and meditation. They spend every hour that they aren’t working or sleeping together.

Neither of them have ever had this, a friend that they can relate to on such a deep level. Both of them are intoxicated by it.

Cass tells Ghemma about her dreams to leave, to go off into the world and learn and grow and be someone special.

Ghemma looks at her and thinks *how could you possibly be more special than you already are*

Ghemma tells Cass about Raz, about her fears, about feeling like at any moment she could lose control.

Cass tells her matter-of-factly that this is bullshit, and that Ghemma seems to be doing just fine from where she stood.

They talk about the future, about Ghemma staying on permanently, about renovating the basement that they never use anyway to be *her* room. Ghemma has never felt more hopeful.

A month and a half has passed, and winter will soon begin in earnest. It’s been a tough few weeks of work, as Ghemma has done her best to help prepare the farm for the months ahead.

She looks forward to waking up every day for the first time in a long time.

It’s a cold night, and Ghemma and Cass are curled up with mugs of hot cocoa in the sitting room in which Ghemma had first seen her now friend.

Cass’ fathers have gone to bed.

There’s a *moment* where conversation stops for a second. They had been mid sentence, mid thought, when they both just *stop* and look at each other.

Cass, with her brilliant eyes twinkling in front of Ghemma’s, hiding depths of intelligence, wipes away a smear of cocoa from her upper lip.

Ghemma doesn’t think about it, doesn’t consider what she is doing, what the ramifications of her actions could possibly be, and before she knows it, she is leaning in.

Their lips meet, and Ghemma feels something surge inside of her that has always been there under the surface but never been allowed to break free.

It’s brief, and clumsy, but wonderful, so so wonderful.

Until Ghemma’s mind catches up with her body, as it always eventually does.

She pulls away.

Oh no,

What have I done?

And just like that the moment of serenity snaps like a twig, and Ghemma’s mind is off. She rushes to her feet. She’s not meeting Cass’ eyes. Not looking at her at all. Completely in her own head, running a mile a minute.

“Ghemma?” Cass’ voice is soft,

“I’m, I’m sorry.”

And Ghemma runs. Out the door and into the barn for a brief second to grab her few belongings and away and away and away from the farm and from Cass and from her feelings and from this awful thing that she has done and just, away.

She doesn’t look behind her, but if she had, she would have seen the face of her friend from the house’s doorway, confused and bereft.

Ghemma can’t breathe, can’t think, just knows that she has to get away from this, from everything. Never mind the cold of the oncoming winter or the fact that she was so so happy at the farm, she can’t go back now.

Ghemma never goes back to Bird’s Hollow. Tries her best not to think of the time she spent there or the person she had almost allowed herself to become there. She tries to move on, to not let herself get her hopes up like that again, because she knows that she will always, always mess it up.

She pushes it all down, will never think about that night again, about the way that Cass made her feel, or the press of lips against hers.

And she never, ever allows herself to consider the fact that Cass Kissed Back.

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speakersdisaster · 7 years

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Ghemma’s Gay Farm Story - Parts 1 & 2

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PART ONE

~~~~~~~~~

Ghemma’s been on her own for a few years now.

Sometimes, she stays in the woods, foraging for food and finding shelter wherever she can.

Other times, she passes through small towns, finding work wherever she can. She’s not trained in much, but she is good with her hands and a hard worker, so she usually finds a way to earn her keep, at least for a night or two.

These days are her favorites, the ones where she feels useful, and goes to bed warm, protected from the elements and with a belly full of real food.

But sometimes there’s no work for her, whether it be because of a lean year, a distrust of strangers, or some other reason. Those days are hard. It’s always more difficult to return to the unforgiving wilds and isolation when she was looking forward to a night of rewarding work and real rest.

This is one of those days.

She arrived to the small village of Bird’s Hollow eager and optimistic. Her first stop was to the few small inns the village possessed, but was turned away with a rueful “sorry love, no work today” or a “try one street over, they usually have something.”

Next she brought her search to the farms that surrounded the village. One by one she made the trek to each farm, asked for work, and was turned away.

By the time she made it to the last farm for miles, the sun had begun to set, and she had begun to lose hope.

She takes a moment to psyche herself up before approaching the main house of the farm, as she always does. You’d think after doing this literally hundreds of times over the years, talking to strangers would get easier, but she’s never been the most comfortable with interpersonal interaction.

She begins to approach the house, walks up the steps to the front porch. A large window makes up much of the front side of the house, and she can’t help but see inside during her approach.

She sees a cozy sitting room, in which sits a girl around her own age, reading a book in a comfortable looking chair in front of a fire. Ghemma stops, freezes almost, entranced.

The girl is...well...I mean….she’s gorgeous, obviously. Petite, but with some substantial curve to her, honey-golden waves of hair billowing around her lovely round face. She absent-mindedly tucks the hair that had begun to shield her eyes behind her ear, exposing its pointed tip. Some elven blood in her then! The light from the fire catches upon her face, enveloping it in a soft and warm glow. A small smile plays upon her full lips, her intelligent eyes focused deeply on the tome in her lap. She sighs contentedly, and Ghemma’s eyes flick down to the...substantial...chest that rises with the motion.

Ghemma’s cheeks grow hot.

But it’s not her obvious and undeniable loveliness that has caught Ghemma so off guard, of course. It couldn’t be. That would be silly, absurd even!

No, it must be the...fact that she is so relaxed, so at ease, at home in a way Ghemma had all but forgotten was possible. Yes, that’s it. It must be jealousy that Ghemma was feeling, a longing for the comfort that eluded her for so long. That was the feeling tugging at her guts, twisting inside of her, unfamiliar and uncomfortable (though, if she had been willing to admit it, not altogether unpleasant). It had to be.

And yet…

Before that thought could come to a conclusion the young half-orc was Not Ready For, she snaps out of her stupor.

Ghemma has no idea how long she had been standing there, staring in at the entrancing girl by the fire. It could have been a single moment, could have been minutes and minutes.

Either way, she suddenly grows aware of how intrusive her presence was here, how intensely she didn’t belong.

With one last (admittedly longing) look at the girl, Ghemma runs away.

Even the possibility of a warm bed isn’t enough to force her to knock on that door, and possibly be confronted with the girl she had unwittingly spied upon.

In her rush to get away, she is not paying much attention to her surroundings, and does not notice the wind chimes hanging from the porch until they have collided with her head.

It doesn’t hurt, but the chimes, well, they chime loudly as they clatter to the floor at her feet.

Without even a glance at them or back, she is out of there.

Ghemma finds a copse of trees on a hill not far from the farm, and decided it is a good a spot as any to try and get some rest tonight. She tells herself that it’s a coincidence that from her sleeping place, she can just see the house through the trees. She doesn’t do a great job of convincing herself.

As she drifts off to sleep, she can’t shake her attraction...er, fascination with the girl in the house, and in the final moments before unconsciousness, the ones in which you are no longer aware enough to be able to control your thoughts and feelings, the last thing she remembers is the thought of warm, soft skin against her own.

~~~~~~~~~

PART TWO

~~~~~~~~~

Ghemma wakes, as she often does, suddenly and harshly. Her body still isn’t accustomed to waking up in unfamiliar surroundings, and it always takes her a moment in the mornings to calm her panic, still her shaking hands, and slow her breathing.

*You are near the town of Bird’s Hollow,* she tells herself.

*It’s mid-autumn*

*You are Ghemma and you are safe for now*

She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, opens them, and is back to her normal state.

A wind blows past her and she shivers, it’s getting colder out here. Soon she’ll need to find a place to stay for the winter, or at least some more protective clothing than her current attire. She had grown out of the coat she had worn last winter, and traded it for some food a few months back.

As if on cue, her stomach growls. She remembers that she hasn’t eaten since early yesterday, and even then it hadn’t been much. She rummages around in her pack to take stock. Some simple supplies, a few stones she had picked up (as always), and ah! there! She reaches down to the bottom and pulls out a few coins. Not much, but should be enough to get some breakfast.

She could do some foraging and scrounge together a meal that way, but with the way the wind is chilling her bones, she decides that a hot meal is what she really needs, and that it’s worth the spending of her meager funds.

There’s another town pretty close by, and she knows that it would probably make more sense to move on from Bird’s Hollow, but….she’s just so hungry, and maybe there will be work somewhere for her today, and it’s really a nice town, and this definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the girl she saw the night before!

So she decides to go back into the town square of Bird’s Hollow, and try her luck there for one more day.

She remembers one inn in particular from the previous day in which the owners had truly seemed regretful not to have work for her. She decides to stop in there to get a morning meal.

She is welcomed into the kitchen by the warm, no-nonsense woman who owns the building, who remembers her from the day before.

“Hi! I, uh, know you didn’t have any work yesterday, but I wondered if I could maybe just have some food this morning...I can pay!”

Ghemma holds out her hand with the few coins tucked within.

“Of course, love! There’s always room for hungry bellies at our table!”

She sets Ghemma up at a small table in the corner of the dining room, and brings her a large, warm bowl of porridge.

“Did you get on down to the Laoghaire farm, like I told you to yesterday? They could always use an extra hand over there.”

“Oh, uh, no, I didn’t...I…” Ghemma tries and fails to come up with a reason that isn’t ‘I saw a pretty girl there and got scared’, so she just trails off.

“Well no matter, you can just pop down there today, after breakfast!”

She leaves to go back to her kitchen, which surely has already fallen into chaos without her guiding hand. And if she *forgets* to take Ghemma’s payment for the food, well, no one’s the wiser.

Ghemma eats heartily in the way only one whose meals come infrequently do. She finishes her meal, and thanks the innkeeper, who slips her a small pouch with some bread and cheese “for later”, before slipping out into the midmorning sun.

The town square is lovely, and Ghemma spots a sunny spot beneath a tree beckoning to her, so she decides to rest there for a while and soak in the sun while her body digests the warm meal she has just eaten.

And that’s where she is, leaning against a tree, fidgeting with a rock between her fingers, as she is wont to do, when she is startled by a voice behind her.

“Margie told me you’re looking for work.”

Ghemma turns to look toward the voice, and if asked later, would probably tell you that in that moment, she was literally deceased. No pulse, no life, just dead, for a few seconds as she processed the fact that *the girl* was standing in front of her talking to her.

After probably a few seconds too long has passed, Ghemma worked up an eloquent reply,

“Uhhh….me?”

The girl raises an eyebrow in a distinctive ‘who the fuck else’ manner.

“Yah, I mean, yes, I was, I mean, I am, looking for work, yes that’s me!”

“Good. Pop threw his back out yesterday, so Dad needs a hand around the farm for a bit. Laoghaire Farm that is. I’m Cassandra, Cassandra Laoghaire, but my friends call me Cass. We don’t have a ton to pay, but we can offer room and board while you’re helping us out, and depending on how things work out, we may need someone through the winter. Does that work for you?”

Ghemma is still struck dumb by the whole situation, but she pulls herself together enough to say, “Yes, that...that sounds great!”

“Good,” said the vision that Ghemma now knew was Cass, and promptly turned on her heels and began walking away.

She pauses, turns back, “are you coming or not?”

Ghemma stares for a second, then rushes to get her stuff together and on her back before bounding after the retreating figure of Cass.

As they walk in silence, Ghemma can’t help but reflect that this brusque, no-nonsense girl is not exactly what she expected. She had imagined a melodic voice, where Cass’ was even and to the point. She had pictured a leisurely and hip-driven gait where Cass walked briskly and straight.

She couldn’t say that the real deal left her any less flustered.

Ghemma just hoped she wouldn’t do something to screw this up, like she always does.

As they made their way toward the farm, Cass leading the way, Ghemma couldn’t help but notice that as lovely as Cass was from the front, the view from behind wasn’t half-bad either.

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speakersdisaster · 7 years

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hnnn have a nedlin write?

“Well at least I’m not some skeevy skumbag that without illusion magic looks like an umber hulk clawed two-thirds of my face off.”

A hand slams into the counter as those words are spoken and a few items roll off the edge. There is a moment of silence as Nedlin glares at the well-dressed Drow women in front of her. Uhlsas’ smile widens as she slowly and gracefully puts her hand on Nedlin’s with a suddenly tight grip.

“Oh dear child, is that how you respond to some constructive criticism? How uncouth of you. You shouldn’t criticize my appearance if you cannot acknowledge the odious state of your own.” The woman leans in slightly glancing over Nedlin’s should for a moment, “You seem to be in need of some reprimanding, I’ll leave your mother to it.”

“Fuck you.” Nedlin’s words are still dripping with venom not having been phased by the intrusion to her personal space.

Uhlsas leans back still smiling, picks up a small bag that was sitting on the counter and leaves a small pouch of coins. “Have a good evening Mrs. Zirath.”

Nedlin watches as Uhlsas turns and leaves, still fuming and staring down the door, she doesn’t realize someone is behind her until a hand grabs her to turn her around.

Even once she is spun around it takes a few seconds to fully realize her mother is staring her down. “What in the world do you think you're doing? Is that how I taught you to treat a customer, especially someone such as Uhlsas?”

“She kept harassing me!”

“I was watching and she was being generous enough to give you some much needed advice that you have obviously yet to learn.” Nedlin moves back as her mother gestures at her, “Look at you, you’re already over 100 and you continue to act so childishly. How long do you intend to make a fool of yourself and waste everyone's time?”

The anger that was with aimed at Uhlsas was bubbling again as she listened to her mother continue to scold her. Usually there is some backlash but her mother seems particularly infuriated today. So instead Nedlin stops paying attention. It doesn’t matter anyways, she’s heard it plenty of times before, the usual ‘why are you like this, start acting how you're supposed to, be useful, socialize properly, stop wasting people’s time, stop making me look bad’ blah blah blah.

I should just join a scouting party or something, maybe I’ll at least I’d get a few hits in before getting killed, that would be somewhat useful she thinks.

It's a few minutes before Sabuit stops scolding her, only stopping once she has let some of her own steam out, and moves quickly to the backroom coming back out with a parcel.

“Take this to your father; it’s the new tools he ordered. He should be home by now so get started on dinner and don’t come back to the shop today. We have a meeting with one of our suppliers tomorrow evening, don't forget. His son is accompanying him, make a good impression.” Sabuit voice is now even and sharp, leaving no room for interruption. She turns around dismissing Nedlin with a wave, now ignoring her daughter.

In a few swift motions Nedlin takes the parcel and is out the door not wanting to accidently anger her mother again. The streets are quiet with a few people loitering about. Nedlin moves about quickly still stirring over what happened today. Every time Uhlsas comes to pick up something she always has something to say. Today she was giving advice on how Nedlin could more easily find a partner if she were to actually learn to look more visually appealing, commenting on a multitude of visual flaws.

There is always something that Nedlin seems to be doing wrong and plenty of people are more than willing to point it out. It’s not as if she isn’t aware of all of the things wrong with herself, she knows that to everyone else she is a failure, and hopefully she won't be around when her mistakes come back around.

Nedlin quickly ducks into an alley that is her usual shortcut home. The path darkens and there is only two other Drow around that ignore Nedlin as she passes, too busy in their own conversation. She recognizes them as Solzt and Zeelin, the Dar brothers. They had passed along some information a while back about a friend of theirs who was willing to take a few Drow to the surface sometime within the next two years. Nobody else had been informed yet, Nedlin just happened to be lucky enough to be owed a favor.

Of course there was nothing concrete yet but she can hope. She muses over the different possibilities as she finishes her trip home. She could practice her faith openly, go on adventures, and see what the sky is. Talis and she could get one of those surface cats as a pet, they wouldn’t have to be worried about getting backstabbed by a fucking ‘friend’, or hear about how a friend was found out as and subsequently killed. Or have to see someone become brainwashed into nothing but a pawn for the priestesses.

She makes it to the door of her family’s small home, thoughts racing with both good and bad outcomes. She enters her home quickly and searches for Kroninyon finding him at his desk. She leaves his tools and leaves immediately to cook dinner. Her motions are aggressive as she goes over each and every scenario in her mind realizing yet again how much her own faults would fuck her over.

The food ends up being a little burnt but it doesn't t matter, Nedlin takes her plate to her room in hopes of avoiding any more unnecessary conversation.

Nedlin puts the plate on her desk but doesn’t eat. She sits and stares at the wall her anger completely subsided now only replaced with fear. She knows she needs to stop letting her emotions get the better of her. She is lucky Uhlsas is such a sadist and would prefer to keep mocking and taunting her for as long as she wants.

Her face is blank but her hands are fidgeting as she lets herself think about what will happen when she pisses off the wrong person? What if she gets caught? What if she accidently gets someone else fucked because she couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut? It would be always end up being her fault, her failures will only bring herself and others down. Right?

Maybe ten, twenty, minutes pass as she continues to run circles in her head. She eventually reaches into her shirt and pulls out a small stone hanging from a leather strap. Her fingers smooth over it mindlessly before she drops it.

There is a sudden clap in the room as she slaps both sides of her face. It stings as she rubs the sides of her face regretting it a little bit but at least she is moving now. Feeling like she needs a reminder she digs out her journal from under her bed. She takes some time reading prayers, stories and traditions. Reading them over always was always a good way to ground her on days like these. She stops on one quote that one of the older Eilistraeen followers once said to her.

“A rightful place awaits you in the Realms above, in the Land of the Great Light. Come in peace and live beneath the sun again, where trees and flowers grow.”

She reads it a few times and tries to imagine what the surface flowers look like and how tall the trees grow. Maybe she could collect flowers when she gets up there. There will be a place for her on the surface. She will survive, ahe will find her purpose on the surface.

She repeats it again and again. She keeps repeating it until she has pushed away all her other thoughts. Nedlin just sits there letting herself relax before realizing her dinner is now cold and begrudgingly eats it.

After eating she realizes there is still plenty of time to kill so Nedlin grabs her bag stuffing the journal inside. Quickly and as quietly as she could she leaves the house and heads back down the shortcut. Instead of continuing down the original path she took a turn by an older hidden away building seemingly abandoned. Checking that nobody was around she walked up to one of the doors knocking in a pattern and waited. After about five minutes the door opened and standing there was Talis looking at her confused.

“I thought you had work until late?” He steps aside so Nedlin can enter holding out his hand for her to take.

“Well, I did but now I don't.” She steps in laughing a little awkwardly. “Mother wasn’t too happy and I was sent away.” She accepts the hand that was offered without hesitation. “Can we play some darts? I swear I'll beat you this time?” She already spent enough time today moping, no need to bring it up right now.

Talis doesn't mention the quick subject change, it's not unusual for either of them to want a distraction rather than think on things for too long. “Sure, loser has to restock snacks.”

“Your on.”

#i hate writing #and yet #here i am #with this shit #enjoy?#im done looking at this lol

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speakersdisaster · 7 years

Text

well ok then: more of vynlar’s backstory

“Okay, I give up,” sighed the tutor as he closed his lesson book. “What have you been drawing, Vynlar?”

Vynlar, who’d been entirely disconnected with the outside world all day, jumped as he felt a mage hand jiggle his shoulder. When the tutor repeated his inquiry, Vynlar quickly added finishing details to his masterpiece and proudly held it up for the man to see.

“A thing from a dream I had last night. Pretty awesome, right? Her name’s Galladia! Her sword was the coolest.”

The drawing depicted an impressively comprehensible image of a humanoid with an orange skin tint, hair made of fire, and bright lights emanating from her skin. Indeed, the longsword she wielded was very cool.

Instead of gushing compliments, the tutors face paled. He read that aasimar had guides who revealed themselves early into childhood, but he had no idea how to handle the situation, or if this even was that situation. He had expected another drawing of a flower, not angels, nope! He mentally jogged through calming exercises before addressing Vynlar.

“I-It’s quite a drawing, Mr. Srivastava,” he responds timidly with a bow as he remembers this six year old is technically a celestial. “Would you tell me what happened in this dream?”

“It was pretty weird,” laughs an oblivious Vynlar, squeezing his cheeks with his hands as he props his head up on the kitchen table. “There’s this huuuge flash of light and a bunch of weird visions or something, but then I see her looking all scary, but the cool kind of scary. Like a knight! Man, I want a sword like that. How come you ask talk about the sword? It was—”

“Maybe later? Please focus, sir.”

“Okay, okay. There’s some stuff about Lanather and how she’s, uh… his knight. But anyway, she said I was his chosen! Because I’m an ‘aasmer’ or whatever you people call me. I think Dad used to be a… y’know, a guy who worships Lanather. I don’t know about now, but still, I bet this’ll get his face to stop being so grumpy.”

“You mean Lathander?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Great, okay, alright. Very good!” exclaims the tutor as he hurriedly starts tidying up teaching equipment. He had sort of hoped Vynlar would be Chauntea’s aasimar but supposed her partner would do. “I’d say this is cause for celebration, wouldn’t you? We’ll take the rest of today off, Lathander’s Chosen. You tell your father about this, okay? You make sure he knows!”

***

Heeding the advice, Vynlar waited excitedly for his father’s return from work. His step-mother, Daratrine, watched over him with mild concern about his excitement but knew Vynlar wouldn’t provide an explanation to her before Jakob. Instead she loomed subtly and pretended to seem interested in a catalog from an antique shop. At around 9 PM, Jakob finally returned.

“Good evening,” he deadpans with a flat smile as he enters through the doorway. Vynlar, who’d been passed out on the couch, quickly springs to life and bolts towards the door with his drawing from earlier.

“Check it out! I think she’s my friend now. Her name’s Galladia; wrote it in the corner, but you can’t read the god words. See how cool her sword is? She told me all sorts of cool stuff in my dream last n—”

Jakob busied himself with removing his jacket without even looking at the picture. “Weird dream, I take it? Dreams aren’t… oh. Oh.”

All of the information dumped onto him about aasimar after Vynlar’s birth suddenly rushed back. He sighed, vaguely irritated that he’d now have to deal with whatever bullshit angelic guides would bring, while Vynlar rambled about the details of his dream and how much he wanted a sword.

“Oh, oh, oh! I almost forgot the important thing! You know Lathander? Didn’t you used to worship him and stuff? Well I’m his chosen.” Vynlar struck a heroic pose as he awaited praise. He didn’t get any. Instead, Jakob’s neutral expression abruptly fell.

Atmosphere now entirely different, Vynlar meekly dropped his stance. “Dad? How come you look sad now?”

“So it really was his idea of a joke, wasn’t it?” Jakob scoffed to himself and started removing his shoes. “I knew it.”

Vynlar had no idea what that meant, but he knew that his father was upset and that invoked an overwhelming wave of empathy.

“Joke? I-I’m not joking, Dad, I really dreamt all that! Don’t be mad.” He frowned, eyebrows knitted together, and approached Jakob for a hug only to get rather violently shoved away.

“No, you—you stay away from me.” Jakob hadn’t been a particularly loving father, but that was the first moment Vynlar felt the pure hatred in his voice.

“From death, life? Well, isn’t that cute!” He pointed a needlessly accusatory finger in his son’s direction. “You ask that guide one thing. Does Lathander really think it was a fair trade to leave me alone because, oh, at least I have you? No, you’re no fucking blessing; you’re a curse. You hear me, Lathander?! If you were going to take one of us, it should’ve been...”

As his blind anger began forming into panic, he fell against the wall with labored breaths. “I didn’t want any of this. I’m just a shopkeeper, I didn’t—I didn’t want any of this.”

Bad days for Jakob had always been spent with him crying and not speaking to Vynlar or simply isolating himself in his store; not vicious outbursts like the one he’d just witnessed. Disoriented by the shove and terrified by the series of events that unfolded before him, Vynlar staggered backwards until he was steadied by the hands of Daratrine. The infuriated expression she wore panicked Vynlar further until he felt that it wasn’t directed at him.

Uncharacteristically, she delicately grabbed the young aasimar’s hand and walked him briskly out the front door, right past Jakob. Vynlar stumbled along, physically unable to ask where they were going. Two made their way to Daratrine’s destination silently for a few minutes until eventually reaching the beach. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, immediately calmed by the proximity to her previous home, and then ungracefully fell backwards into the sand.

“This is where I go to be away from people. No goes to the beach at night; too scary. But you are safe with me.” Her face smoothed, no longer contorted by anger, as she looked up at Vynlar. “Do you want to cry?”

Vynlar had been too shocked to react properly to any of this and stared at his step-mother, dumbfounded, no words reaching his lips. It only took a few seconds of dead silence for him to burst into tears and wobble into the sand next to her.

“Tears are an acceptable response to the experience you just had. I would cry too.”

In response to that, Vynlar curled up into a ball and sobbed inconsolably, trying to construct sentences and failing each time. It took a while, but he was finally able to say:

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t understand,” Daratrine responded, awkwardly attempting to pat his disheveled, fluffy hair down. “You are a child. He is a sad little man. Nothing he said was meant for you to hear.”

Vynlar’s tears intensified once more as she stopped speaking. “But he really hates me. I thought he’d be happy! What did I do? I don’t know how to fix it if I don’t...”

Daratrine said nothing for a while. What could she say? Vynlar wasn’t her kid, not really, and he had been hesitant to even speak with her up until that moment. Sighing quietly, she spoke carefully, trying to avoid overstepping boundaries.

“He has a burden he carries that you should not have to share the weight of. You are not responsible for his problems, Vynlar—and you are no curse.” She removed the cloak she was wearing and blanketed it over the child. “You aren’t going to forget what he said to you back there, but perhaps also remember me saying what you just heard.”

Vynlar cried through her attempt at consolation—cried long after it, too. He was only six years old, so she thought he’d earned those tears. Daratrine understood that the best thing to do was lay down next to him and let him exhaust himself. Thus, the two of them stayed on the sand until all of Vynlar’s energy to cry was replaced with sleepiness.

“Do you want me to carry you home, Vynlar?”

He nodded, throwing the hood of her cloak over his head to mask his reddened puffy face.

***

“Galladia’s sword is cool,” she softly acknowledged once they were home and she was in the process of exiting his room.

Vynlar nodded and sniffled weakly.

“Don’t worry; I will make you cooler sword. Better sword.”

#WELL BYE

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speakersdisaster · 7 years

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TIME FOR SAD - a story by abriel

“Mama, we’re gonna go play with the goats!” Called a tiny voice from the door. In her arms, she held a ginger cat that clearly wanted to touch the ground again. But she was latched onto the poor tabby, even when she locked eyes with her mother.

“Just make sure you’re back in time for supper.” Isalie spoke, dusting her hands on her apron. “And please let go of Poppy. She’s going to bite you if you hang on any longer.”

Ellie grumbled softly and leaned down, setting the ginger kitty on her paws and watching as she dashed inside the house. “Okay, Mama.” She fixed her skirts before giving her mother an extremely enthusiastic wave and skipping down the steps, off to the field.

The sun hung low in the sky, and the air was stagnant. The only clouds were wisps that floated here and there. The grass was taller than she was - a mere 1’10 - and she had to make an effort not to trip here and there. But that was part of the fun, wasn’t it?

Today the goats had decided to stand near the dusty road, but Ellie didn’t mind. Once she had cleared the long grass, she reached up to the top of her head to make sure her crown of pansies was still there. It was, and she smiled.

“Hi everyone!” She called. The goats turned towards her for a moment before going back and minding their own business. “If your dinner tasty?” She plopped down in the grass between two of the goats. “Grass doesn’t seem like it would be tasty. . . But you’re goats! It would probably taste very very terrible to a halfling.” Ellie looked at the goats for a moment, weighing her options. If she didn’t dine with the goats, would they feel left out? Guilt eventually got the better of her, and she reached down, grabbing a fistful of the greenery and stuffing it into her mouth.

Her expression quickly turned sour as she chewed, realizing her mistake. One of the goats was watching her, and she did her best to smile back at it. As soon as the animal looked away, she stuck her tongue out and got as much of the plant out of her mouth as possible. Ellie made exaggerated choking noises, but none of the goats seemed to pay any mind to that.

“Ew! How can you guys eat that? Okay, when Mama has supper made, I’m gonna bring you all to the table so you can try some good food! She’s making stew tonight!” Ellie reached up and set her hand on one of the goats’ backs, standing up. She was still trying to get the taste out of her mouth. “Bleh.” She mumbled.

The rattling of wagon wheels caused a few of the goats to look up. Ellie was used to people coming by on the road, and she’d always stand at the fence and wave or toss flowers in front of the wagons. Unfortunately, the only flowers she had at that moment were the ones on her head. She supposed waving would have to be enough. She dusted herself off and skipped to the wooden fence, stepping up so she could see over.

For the first time ever, the wagon came to a halt after moving a few yards past the waving halfling. Ellie tilted her head curiously, bringing her hand down and setting it on the soft wood of the fence. “Huh.” She breathed, watching as someone opened the flaps of the wagon. Her eyes moved as she saw another person walking around the wagon.

A huge grin came to her face, and she spoke. “Hi! Do you want to play with my goats with me?”

The two spoke quietly to one another, and it was in a language she couldn’t understand. Ellie frowned deeply, folding her arms over her chest. “You know, it isn’t very nice to keep secrets from one another.”

The taller, bulkier man of the two was quick. He reached forward and grabbed Ellie by her forearms, yanking her over the fence. The tiny halfling shrieked, and the crown of pansies fell from her head, landing at the edge of the road.

Turning her head, Ellie saw the orange and purple flowers on the ground. “Hey! Wait! I can’t go anywhere without my crown- ow! Let me go!” The man’s iron grip on her arm brought tears to her eyes. “That hurts!” She continued, trying to struggle her way out of his grip. Each time she wriggled, his grip just grew tighter until tears were a steady occurrence on her cheeks. “You- you’re gonna get my skirts dirty!”

Through her tears, she could see the two talking in an even more rushed manner before she was lifted off her feet, kicking and shouting. The flaps of the wagon were opened again and she was placed quite forcefully inside. “Umf!” Ellie grunted as she lost her footing and fell onto the wood. “Ouch. . .” She turned around and sat with her back to the side of the wagon, lifting her skirt to her knee and crying even more at the sight of the nasty scrape. “You’re hurting me! You’re a bad, bad man!” Ellie pointed an accusing finger at the shorter man, the one that had gotten into the wagon as well and was sitting not far from her.

Her mouth snapped shut when she heard the person at the front of the wagon shout something. Eyes flickered back over to the man in the back with her as he grumbled a few words back.

Something occurred to her. “Wait, wait! Mama said I have to be home in time for supper!” She brought a hand up and tried to wipe a few tears away from her cheeks, but they were simply replaced by new ones. “She’s gonna get mad at me!” The wagon was already moving, but she stood up and walked towards the back. Ellie reached for the flaps, but her fingers closed around nothing but air and the man extended his arm and forcefully pushed her backwards. Ellie’s balance was gone, and she fell backwards onto her behind, letting out another cry.

“Where are we going?” She sniffled. The man avoided eye contact with her and didn’t say a word. “Why did you take me?” Still no answer. She raised her voice slightly this time. “Why did you hurt me?” Ellie gestured to the rips in her skirts, her scraped knees, and the sore spot on her arm.

At that final question, he turned his head and stared at her. So he could understand what she was saying. There was a long moment of silence before he finally grumbled a few more words, pulling his expression into a cruel one again. He lifted his hand, and it looked like he was about to bring it down on her. However, when she flinched, he stopped and lowered his arm. More words were grumbled before he turned away fully.

Sitting back where she had been, she could just barely see outside. The tears didn’t stop falling, especially when she spotted the top of her house disappear behind the landscape. Ellie broke into a fit of silent sobs, bringing her scraped knees up to her chest and burying her face in her arms. She knew it was useless to fight back anymore. They were stronger than her, they were in charge of whether she lived or died now.

____

“Isalie, what field did Ellie go off to?” Darcey asked, walking in with a basket of fruits under her arm.

“Mmh, she’s in the West field with the goats!”

There was a moment of quiet. Darcey stared at Isalie for a couple of seconds before going on. “She isn’t there now. I was just there looking for her.” She set the basket on the table, furrowing her eyebrows.

“Elida is a very responsible girl, Darcey. And I told her to be in by the time supper is ready. I’m sure she’ll come skipping along in ten minutes.” She smiled softly at her wife, earning only a silent nod in return.

#I WANT TO DIE #rip ellie amirite lolol

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speakersdisaster · 7 years

Text

Abriel hates everything also this story is too long bye

Fingers drummed against the wooden table that she stood next to. For about the fifteenth time during her two days with the guild, she didn't feel comfortable or safe. Ellie could see people watching her and whispering. After all, she was the girl that tried to steal from their leader, and now she was with them?

The harshest stares were from those who knew Yondra the best. Her inner circle, those who knew everything that occurred within the guild. Word had spread like wildfire about how Ellie and Roran had joined, and many people thought it was a terrible idea on Yondra’s part. It didn't matter to her, though. As long as she'd be getting a place to sleep and food in her stomach, Ellie would find a way to deal with it, as she always had.

Eventually, she decided to hoist herself up onto the chair and order some food. While she waited, her eyes moved to the window, and she admired how nice the weather seemed to be. Her thoughts carried her elsewhere, and she eventually wondered where Roran had run off too. Maybe he'd already gotten himself a job for the guild? It would make sense. Ellie knew they'd trust him before they'd trust her, simply because of how personable he was. That was something that came so easily and naturally to him, but she'd somehow never picked up on.

Her contemplation was rudely interrupted by just that person. He plopped down in the seat across from her, leaning his elbows on the table and grinning. “Oi, you look like you're thinking.” Roran observed, tilting his head. “Don't do that, it's not good your your health.”

“Yeah?” A smile came to her face. “And you look like you just got out of a pig sty, but do I comment?” Ellie chuckled as Roran feigned offense. “Anyways.” Her tone grew a bit quieter. “Have you met anyone that hasn't given you the death stare yet?” She asked. Her food arrived, and she thanked the barkeeper.

Without asking, Roran reached forward and snatched a piece of toast from her plate. “Yeah, actually!” He spoke with a full mouth. “A dwarf named Mersa. She gave me a job this morning, and I finished it about ten minutes ago. She's a real sweet lady. I think you two would get along fine.” He finished the piece of toast and stretched his arms.

“Oh, that's good to hear!” Ellie exclaimed, toying with her braid in her hands. “I just hope I can make Yondra not hate me? I don't really know what she thinks of me,” she began. “Because it's weird to take people in that have just stolen from you. And, uh, then to mentor one of them directly?” She shrugged, frowning deeply. “It's just a little odd.”

When she looked up, Roran was staring to the left at another person who had walked up to the table. Ellie hadn't even seen them approach, much less set some papers down in front of her.

“Um. . . Hello.” She brought up a hand and offered a small wave and a smile. The gestures weren't returned.

She was an elf, Ellie observed. And the way she looked down her nose at the two of them made Ellie feel uneasy. The silence was finally broken when she spoke in a slightly raspy tone.

“Yondra has a job for you,” was all she said at first.

“Yeah? Some details might make it a little bit, um. Easier?” Ellie glanced to Roran, who just shrugged and grabbed her second piece of toast, stuffing it into his mouth so he didn't have to say anything.

The elf rolled her eyes and sat down silently. “There's been rumors of wagons coming through Eversummer with precious gems. Gems that they aren't supposed to have. Not just a couple in a wagon. Boxes and crates full of them. Yondra wants you to find out if this is true, and if so, which wagons that are currently in Eversummer.” Her monotone voice grated at Ellie’s nerves, but she managed to keep a pleasant expression.

“Mmhm. Okay. Which gate were they supposedly traveling through?”

“North.” One word answers. Great. That was just what Ellie needed.

“What's your name, by the way?” She asked, forcing herself to smile. God, it hurt to be so pleasant.

“Delliarla. Not that it matters, I don't expect to see you around often.” She shrugged. “I really don't expect Yondra to stay impressed with whatever the two of you have to offer.”

A few crumbs fell out of Roran’s mouth as his jaw fell open. “Hey now. That's a little harsh, don't you think?”

“I'm not going to make you think you're better than you are. Not going to feed your ego. Both of your heads are already too big for your shoulders. The rest of us had to work to get our status. Don't think you two can waltz in here and be all high and mighty.” Her narrow eyes fell to Ellie, and it was clear that her words were aimed primarily at her, as well.

Taken aback, Ellie leaned forward and took a small sip from her cup of water, not responding for quite a bit. This woman was certainly trying to test Ellie, to see if she'd get mad and make herself look even worse than she already did. Instead, she turned back to Delliarla and smiled.

“I'm terribly sorry that not everyone in the guild can be as perfect and talented as Roran and me. We just can't help it. It's a blessing and a curse. A curse because those of you without the talent just want to be like us, and will do anything to achieve that goal.” She brought a hand to her chest, mocking someone that would be giving a great speech. Anybody that knew Ellie could tell that she was bullshitting. “Ahem. Don't even worry about me. I'll do this job and it will be perfect.” Ellie waved a dismissive hand. Delliarla stared at her for a moment, working her jaw. Her eyebrows twitches, and the annoyance was visible on her face before she stood up, eyeing both of them. Without another word, she turned and walked off.

Roran was choking on his bread at that point. Between trying not to laugh and talk at the same time. Once he had finished dying, he spoke. “Holy fuck, Ellie. What was that?” He asked, gesturing at her.

Ellie made that universal ‘I don't know’ sound and shrugged once again. “She was being rude. So I just. Kinda. Did that.” Another sip of water. “I'm going to prove her wrong. I'm going to impress Yondra, and we are going to stay with the guild.” A newly confident aura surrounded the halfling.

“Seems like a pretty important job, Ells. How're you gonna go about it?” Roran asked, raising an eyebrow and leaning back in his chair.

She scratched at the back of her head, trying to think. “Wagons don't usually move in and out during the night. People stop to rest.” She thought out loud. “I'll wait until then, and when it's late enough, I'll just go for it.” Nodding, she felt satisfied with her plan. Considering she didn't actually have much more than that, she figured it would be improv once she actually got there.

“Hhhhhey Ellie. Are you gonna finish your food?” Roran whispered loudly, pointing to her bowl of soup.

“You steal both of my pieces of toast and now you want to steal the rest of my meal? Preposterous! Unbelievable! Terrible!” She exclaimed, holding back a fit of giggles. A few pairs of unwanted eyes were drawn to them, and she slowly ducked her head back down. Calming herself quickly, Ellie pushed the bowl towards him. “Sure, sure. Go ahead. After that conversation I'm not very hungry anymore.”

To Ellie's horror, rather than using the spoon like a normal person, Roran lifted the bowl to his lips and simply downed most of the soup. Once he was finished, he dragged a sleeve across his mouth and started. “Well, I'm sure you'll do great. You always do.”

The rest of the afternoon was relatively quiet for the two. They didn't see Delliarla again, which Ellie was relieved about. They spent most of the time talking and munching on food, but Ellie became antsy as the sun began to set.

Roran, having eaten nearly four times as much as Ellie, was complaining quietly about his stomach ache. She rolled her eyes and smiled. “If you eat any more, you may explode.” She shifted her weight where she sat, picking at the wood of the table with an absent mind.

“Yeah, I may just go to sleep. It's early but. . . Bluh.” He groaned, a small wheeze escaping his lungs.

“Okay. Sleep well, and don't puke. I don't wanna be cleaning up after your stupid decisions.” Ellie joked, glancing out the window. “I should probably head out pretty soon here, anyways.” A warm feeling of anxiety bubbled in the pit of her stomach. As Roran left for his room, Ellie hopped down from her seat and stretched her arms upwards. She was aware that she was stalling, and that she'd have to get on the job very soon.

Ellie turned and silently left the tavern. Even without the sun in the sky, the air was still warm, and the stars in the sky were watching her. Tiny hands tugged at the hem of her shirt as she began moving along the side of the road. As she passed the Misty Gardens, she glanced inside and saw it was empty for the most part. Paying no mind to it, she kept going until she arrived near the North gate.

Eversummer was nice at night. There was the occasional person passing by, coming home from a late job or closing up shop. The gentle twinkling of lanterns lit the streets, giving them a certain warmth. It was a pleasant place. . . Until you got something stolen from you by the young street urchins that always wandered about.

Ellie came to a stop and glanced around. She didn't tend to come up to this gate often when she was younger. Roran and her liked to keep to the South for the most part.

She stood there for what felt like an hour before she remembered that there was a rest stop for traveling caravans and merchants to park their wagons. It was a covered area, cared for and kept by the tabaxi named Finch That Flies. As Ellie remembered the tabaxi, she also remembered that he didn't like her very much. In the few times that the halfling had been up here, she'd been known to steal from parked wagons and make off with whatever she could carry. She grumbled at the thought of running into him.

It wasn't far away from the main road. If it was, wagons wouldn't be able to fit through the narrow streets and alleyways to get there. Ellie was able to remember where it was relatively quickly, as well.

As soon as she approached, she spotted Finch. He was sitting in a weathered wooden chair and was leaning against one of the posts. He looked like he was asleep, or at least pretending to be. While she hoped it was the first, she had a feeling it was the latter, based on the fact that he was literally being paid to watch these peoples’ goods and belongings while they slept.

How do I want to go about this? Ellie slunk in the shadows, away from any lanterns and leaned against the nearest building as she thought. I probably should have thought this through a bit more. She tugged at her braid while she stared at the dimly lit area.

Finch twitched ever so slightly, and his hat fell off of his head, landing in his lap. It caused him to jolt awake, ears perked. He glanced around before yawning again and picking his hat back up, placing it on his head. Grunting, he stood up and arched his back to stretch, walking into the covered area to make sure everything looked right with the wagons.

So he was asleep. Great work etiquette. Ellie threw her braid over her shoulder and moved quickly towards the rest stop, freezing every time she heard Finch grumble or cough. If only he would fuck off, this job would be made so much easier.

After making doubly-sure that she had nothing on her that would make a lot of noise, she ducked down beside one of the wagons and waited for Finch to walk past. Once it was clear, she stood up and crawled into the wagon, wincing as it jostled and made a quiet creaking noise under her weight.

There were crates. A lot of them. Crates stacked on crates stacked on crates. Ellie gave a small sigh and pushed a few blankets and clothing pieces out of the way, creeping over. As she opened the first crate, which was just about as tall as she was, she found that there was nothing more than knitted goods. Deflating at the sight, she put the lid back on and continued on. For the most part, hand-crafted goods were all that were inside of that wagon. Otherwise, there was the occasional trinket, but no gems that she could find.

She gave an indignant ‘humph’ as she hopped out of the wagon. Luckily for her, Finch was back at the front of the overhang, back in his shitty chair and minding his own business.

As time passed, Ellie wasn't able to find gems in the wagons. Or at least none that seemed out of the ordinary. A simple emerald or ruby here or there, but they never came in huge abundances like she was expecting to find.

She crept towards one of the wagons at the end of the bunch, glancing over her shoulder to where Finch was slumped before she lifted herself up and inside. These wagons were definitely not made for halflings, which just made the job that much more difficult.

Immediately, she knew something was off. From one of the crates in the corner, she could see small items that would normally be glittering under a lantern’s light, but were dulled by the darkness that shrouded the wagon. Her first observation was that the items in the crate were stacked too high for a lid, and she could imagine them falling off of the mound and getting lost.

Before she could move forward, Ellie stopped mid-step as she heard someone walking by again. Figuring it was Finch, she quietly sat down and ducked her head, watching the light of his lamp as he walked. Her hands scratched at her knees, which her pulled up towards her chest. Ellie felt her heart jump to her throat as she realized that Finch was glancing inside some of the wagons. She peered outside one of the flaps and caught a view of the back of his head just as he passed by. Her stomach lurched as soon as she saw him pause and back up towards the wagon that she sat in. Scrambling for a hiding place, Ellie managed to wedge herself between the side of the wagon and a large crate, eyes locked onto the opening of the flaps.

A pair of claws peeled the fabric back, and he held forward his lantern, making a quick scan. Ellie ducked her head between her knees, praying silently that she wouldn't be spotted. She could hear Finch say a few things about useless items before turning and walking away. She lifted her head and let out a breath that she'd been holding or what felt like ten minutes.

Not wanting to spend any more time than she needed to, Ellie squeezed herself out of her little nook and moved toward the overflowed crate. As soon as she could see inside well enough, it was clear that there was a large abundance of gems. She couldn't tell what kind they were in the dark, but she had a feeling that this was what the guild was looking for.

I wasn't told to remove the gems. Just to tell the guild about the wagon. They'll take care of it, I'm just gathering information. Ellie stared at the contents of the box for a few more moments before standing and hopping out the back of the wagon.

She finally turned and got one last good look at the wagon; it had dark wood as the base, and the cover over the top was a dark red. Based on what she could make out in the relative darkness, the back had yellow and gold accents sewn into the fabric.

Ellie turned and slunk out from the covered area and back into the street. She was more than surprised that Finch hadn't spotted her and nabbed her from where she stood. She shuddered at the thought of the gray cat lifting her off the ground by the collar of her shirt like he'd done in the past when he'd caught her. The halfling shoved her hands into her pockets, trying to look as nonchalant as she could. Her head was lowered slightly, and she had found a nice pebble to kick along the street.

Once she made it back to the Fizzling Fireball, she realized that it was the middle of the night, and that she would have to wait to tell anyone that her job had been a success. Roran didn't count as “anyone” to her, though. She walked up the stairs and down the hall until she came to their shared room, using the single key in her pocket to unlock and open the door.

Roran was asleep. He was turned on his side and faced away from the door, snoring. Ellie snuck up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. At first, he simply brought a hand up and scratched where she'd poked. When she tried again, he swatted at her hand. Third time, being the charm, she earned a groan from her friend as he turned over and faced her.

“Whaaaaat?” He asked, opening his eyes slightly. “Oh. It's you. How goes it, Ells?”

Before beginning, she threw off her boots and hoisted herself up so she sat on his stomach, earning a weak grunt of protest from him. “I'm pretty sure I found exactly what the guild was looking for!”

He reached up and lifted Ellie so that he could sit up himself before setting her down on the edge of the bed. “Yeah? You gonna report that to Delliarla, since she was the one to give you the job in the first place?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, heart sinking at the idea of having to talk to that elf again. “Mmhm. I'll find her tomorrow so that she can let Yondra know.” Ellie brushed her bangs out of her face and sighed, slouching slightly.

“I'm proud, Ells! I'm sure Yondra will be impressed, too. Already doing jobs successfully on your own at sixteen. Yeesh.” Roran rubbed his forehead before continuing. “It's like one in the morning. You should probably get some sleep, otherwise you'll be too tired to do anything tomorrow.” He reached over and nudged her arm, earning a quiet squeak from her in response.

“I'll do that. Thanks, Roran. Goodnight.” She jumped down from the bed and walked over to her own, lifting up the covers and finding a happy mouse that squeaked when it saw her. “Hiya, Gidget. How've you been?” Ellie sat down, picking the mouse up.

Once she was settled into bed, she reached over and turned off the lantern, yawning quietly. Ellie set Gidget on her chest and funky closed her eyes, feeling satisfied with her work, and proud of herself.

#why #UgGg hghghg #have fun with this lmfao #i h a t e i t #it was 11 pages on the google doc i used #FUCK

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