stoneseeker-hq

[stoneseeker-hq]

[stoneseeker-hq]

Between Sisters and Spirits

Ashira waved a hand at the festival stage, where two dwarves were locked in what could only be described as a theatrical battle-waltz. The steps were oddly specific, the eye contact intense, and the footwork, well if she knew any better, she'd claim that it looked more like combat than celebration.

In all her years among humans, Ashira had seen her share of dramatic wedding dances, tavern jigs, and bard-inspired interpretive performances but nothing had prepared her for this dwarven display of synchronized stomp-flirting.

Thalindra snorted into her ale. Kelmara just sighed, as if she'd been waiting for this question. “Please,” Kelmara said with a grin, gesturing to her sister. “Do the honors.”

Thalindra rolled her shoulders dramatically and leaned forward like a fireside storyteller. “You see, Mother is an honorary member of the tunnel wardens. Being married to Captain Dain and all that, they let her tag along on the big expeditions. That particular adventure -” she pointed to the stage as the dancers suddenly twirled into a back-to-back pose “was actually our bedtime story for, like, a decade.”

Kelmara took a swig of ale and nearly choked. “No, tell it like they used to. Do the voice.”

Thalindra sighed like a long-suffering sibling, but smirked as she dropped into a gruff, overly serious tone. “Did I ever tell you the story of when Uncle Dulan got possessed by a warrior spirit and had to perform a fertility dance with your mother to escape a cursed tomb?”

Ashira blinked. “...You’re joking.”

“Oh no,” Kelmara said brightly. “She’s really not.”

Thalindra grinned and kept going. “So, imagine the following situation: the wardens are reinforcing the eastern tunnels near Khor’Muthril. Minor tremors, unstable stones, routine stuff. But Mother, who had zero business being there, heard about it and showed up already geared up, ahead of the squad.”

“She beat Dad there,” Kelmara added. “Wore her old expedition cloak.”

“Anyway,” Thalindra said, waving a hand, “they trigger a trap—of course—and get locked in an ancient dwarven vault. The only way out? A ceremonial puzzle involving a dance once used in spirit marriages.”

Ashira’s brow furrowed. “Spirit marriages?”

“Yeah,” Kelmara said, totally unfazed. “You know, when a living person has to partner with a spirit to unlock divine favor or a haunted door or something.”

“Completely normal,” Thalindra added with mock seriousness.

“So Uncle Dulan gets possessed by a long-dead warrior-priestess, and guess who the spirit decides to pick as her ceremonial partner?”

Ashira blinked. “...Mom?”

“Yup. Because apparently her ‘aura of determination’ or whatever matched the ritual's requirements.” Thalindra took a sip of her ale. “So they had to do this whole dance. In sync. Complex steps. If they missed a beat, the floor would give way into a chasm of spectral screaming.”

Kelmara widened her eyes like she was six years old again. “And Mother kept stepping on his toes. But he couldn’t complain because the spirit wouldn’t let him break character.”

Ashira covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. “That’s what they’re reenacting up there?”

“Oh yes,” Thalindra said with a smirk. “Tunnel wardens turned it into a full-blown performance. They do it every year now. Dad still insists it was ‘the most tactically awkward moment of his life.’”

Thalindra grinned. “Welcome to your dwarven heritage.” Three of them raise their mugs, clinking them before the group of girls errupt in laughter.

[stoneseeker-hq]

Buried in Sand, Bound by Secrets

"One blue, one brown." Your rather dull obsidian eyes shifted from his one eye to the other as you observe the young man with his shaggy brown hair in the flickering firelight. "Were you born that way?" Your voice ever playful, ever inquisitive as you bring a mug of ale to your lips. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he retorts with equal playfulness as he pokes at the fire, coaxing its light to stay. "I wouldn't be asking if I didn't want to," you reply, a lop-sided grin appearing on your face as your head tilts to the side.

You thought you wanted to be alone for this one. No Kelemvorian duty to pull you towards the plight of others. No party members to entertain. Just you and the sand in your boots, the dry air in your lungs and the unrelenting sun burning its presence into your soul. The monks of the Temple of Vauldrim considered you mad for wanting to cross the Sundered Lands. Their warnings and words of wisdom didn't fall onto deaf ears as you filled your flasks in silence. You couldn't argue with them.

Grief led people to the strangest of places.

With one last cleansing a prayer - for unharmed travels - you make your way through the dunes of the Sundering Lands. You say it with ease, as if to convince your children that the journey wasn't arduous. As if to convince yourself that what you had seen in those unending dunes didn't rattle your bones to the core. Unearthed by sand and time, were temples and buildings occupied by the whisps of a history that stretched even before your century. Freshly mangled corpses; a sign of life and something hungry. Dried up corpses, their fingertips a mere few inches away from the flask which withheld its last drops of water from them.

For the fact that you were convinced that you wouldn't perform any duties as a doomguide, you do find yourself taking off your boots, the hot sand burning the soles of your feet as time and time again you move around the corpses, your soul lantern swinging above these bodies which once carried a spark of life. A shepherd to sheep, a mother to a babe, you coax their whisps of souls with lullaby to usher them into the afterlife. Does it work? You don't know, but you like to think it does.

Days go on like this. You have a general direction in your mind. Memories of smaller feet following a taller shadow. Your archeological trips weren't only contained to the jagged mountains of the Shattered Peaks. Your father always strived for further, wider, higher. "Dwarves are everywhere, Pebble. You just gotta squint a little harder to find out footsteps." He'd always muse, the hammer in his hand swinging with an enthusiasm that you try to muster in your every day life. A century and it was still there. Grief comes in waves; so when you let them crash, you find yourself in moments like these.

Alone. In a void.

Or so, you think when you see a fresh looking head of hair poking out from the sand. It looked more alive than the other poor souls that you had the pleasure of meeting; therefore naturally your interest was piqued as you approach the figure. "Dead or alive?" you ask, your shoe lightly tapping against the outstretched hand. "Shhh, I'm listening." The reply comes promptly as his hand pulls back. Exceptionally alive. You crouch down. "Listening to wha-" You feel it before you see it. The sand under your boots starts moving, the earth trembling. "Move!" He pops up from the ground, a young man with shaggy brown hair, his clothes covered in sand as he grabs your hand and pulls you away from the ground you stood on.

Eventually he lets go as he dives for the cover of a rock. "What is someone like you doing here?" His voice reaches you from behind the rock both of you took refuge behind. "I could ask you the same thing," you reply, eyes on the moving sand. If there was something the last few days - or was it, weeks - in the sand had taught you is that any movement in sand was a bad sign. "A bullette." You hear him say matter-of-factly. You assume a certain kind of knowledge that had to be imparted to him. "A what?" You on the other hand did not possess such knowledge. "A bullette. Thick skin. Burrows into the ground just as fast it moves." As usual with you, your curiosity wins. "And you know that because?" He shrugged. "I just know these things." You regard him with the healthy suspicion of two unlikely strangers meeting in the empty vastness only occupied by an insourmountable amound of sand kernels. "If you get us out of here alive, you may keep your secrets," you retort before your eyes land on his face.

One blue eye, one brown and a rogueish smile to boot. "Silvermane," he pointed at himself. "Kelzira," you mirror him as you point at yourself, offering him a dimpled smile.

And the rest? Was history.

[stoneseeker-hq]

Where the Owlbear Sleeps

"Do you think you did good?" The voice has a hoarse undertone hidden beneath the softness of its initial question. A pickaxe to stone. A grinder to bones. People say that the first thing you forget is how their voice sounds like. And you are ashamed to admit that, yes, you have forgotten what he sounds like. That this gravel upon a feather was just what you thought he sounded like. The sayings stayed in your mind, forever ingraved onto your curious mind, the voice that spoke them had faded into oblivion many decades ago.

And yet.

This voice, made up as it is, gave you some sort of comfort as you look back at the world. War torn, yet alive. Barely, but survival had always been the best outcome; even if it was only by a thread. "I think I did okay for an old woman," she chuckled as she looked up at the shadow that looked down upon her. So vague. You would think over these last few years you would have reclaimed what was yours to remember. However, you have also become more honest with yourself over the years.

Thaldrin Stoneseeker was a ghost. One that haunted you for over a century. One you followed your every step. A shadow growing with every lift of your heel. Death has always been a steady companion of yours, you'd even claim the most loyal companion of them all.

Your silence stretches as you regard the world with its little srprises. Vareth finds the portal that sends him back to West Terralis where he originally came from. Facing his old mistakes with new determination. Welsifyire who, after so many years, gets to hold her daughter in her arms. Whereas a new daughter just made her name known through all the realms; Venturi's eighth child just arriving in the midst of a family that loved her with the fierceness of a thousand suns.

You turn your face to the east. Your children are there. Thalindra having piggy backing her son, the first boy in over three centuries in your family's line. Kelmara continues tinkering and moving towards the spirit of altruistic ingenuity and Ashira, ever the free-spirit, walks the same paths you have. You wished you had spend more time with her.

"So, are you ready to go?" The image of him asks, a hand of the apparition extends next to you as you look down upon them all. You waver. Thoughts come crashing as soon as the question is posed. What if they needed you? What if Venturi needed to vent? What about Atreus, was he going to forget about you? What about Freya? You had to get her back for hiding from you all these years. Always close by but always barely out of your peripheral view. You accepted all of that. Death has been nothing but kind to you. At least, in your own, it extended the hand to you which you had always extended to the dying as a doomguide.

You move to take Thaldrin's as you hear the meek whimpering of a creature. It's only in this moment where you look back to see your owlbear Bones, now a steadfast and thorough beast, curl up upon the ground that held your body underneath. You loved them all in your own way. But seeing that beast which you had taken care of since it was in its egg, did break something in you as a tear runs down your cheek.

"Please take care of yourself. Mama will always love you," you chuckle, a sob pressing itself out in the act as you wipe the tear away. More fall. "Don't fight Kendra too much when it comes to the last chicken leg, okay?" For someone who claimed death her constant guard, you, for the first time, understand when your ward would cling to life and didn't want to let go, even though it had been their time. A melody escaped you. The one you hummed so many times for the ones dying. A lullaby to remind them of the last warm meal they shared with their family, the warm embrace of a friend, the promise that you'd see your owlbear again as you take your father's hand and fade into nothingness.

[stoneseeker-hq]

A Sign in the Margins

[Context: From session 29, Feffy rolled a 64 on the 'does Kelzira find anything about Freya' table. This is what she finds.]

At this moment, time was just a concept. Leading the most bookish members of the group to a treasure trove that was a private library was like hitting the jackpot. Well, not quite for you and Vareth, but it came close to that feeling.

So, there you sit, on the cold stone floor, surrounded by books. Soaking up any information that you can find. You know that the others are focused on specific topics. Vareth's newfound interest in herbalism was evident in his focused scribbling as he copies information that he finds into his notebook. He was probably going to copy it in a more immaculate state when he had the time around the campfire.

Venturi, ever the selective diplomat, had her nose in a book which you recognize as historical in nature. You turn your eyes to something broader and practical. A born adventurer yourself, your search is for the minute details, the personal notes written in the margins. Stories of Thessa's own adventures interspersed with thoughts that ocurred after the fact. Advice to herself. Lessons she had learned. You skim, obviously, as you internally follow the trajectory of her journey. Riverside. Stonebrook. The Ashen Peninsula. She even touched the edges of the Shattered Peaks.

You wonder if you had met her in your own travels. Was a loaf of bread shared in a circle of anonymous adventurers who just needed a night of respite? Not aware that you'd sit in her lair, reading her notes? You smile to yourself at that thought as your finger skims along the lines of handwritten text. Some sentences were long and structured, while others were short, hastily scribbled. Good information, but in the grander scheme not significant or so you thought.

Your finger retraces the same sentences for the last three minutes. It's off-handedly stated. You've made note of the various people Thessa had met, but this one in particular makes you furrow your brows. For the fourth time you read:

Met an interesting tiefling on my travels. Kind of kept to herself but she had something bold and fierce about her. Her skin is like the night sky and her eyes are as blue as the sea. She wore beads everywhere. Seems very impractical but who am I to judge? After all we are just people travelling through these lands. Which brings me to the climb of these mountains. Why are they so steep?

You exhale slowly, the notebook being lowered as your eyes wander over to Avanis . There was no sense in asking him, but this was distinctly written after you had involuntarily parted ways with....You shake your head, deciding that this couldn't be. That she wouldn't just abandon you and roam the lands without notifying you! You would have seen her somewhere! She was like a sister to you! You should know -. That wasn't Freya. She's dead. She is where she always belonged. To the unfathomable freedom of the skies and the stars. She was another soul you couldn't shepherd but she wasn't walking on the material plane without telling you! With a huff, you toss the book to the side and lean over to take the next one. Perhaps there is more information about the next destination on your journey.

[stoneseeker-hq]

In death, peace. In punishment, control.

You are unfamiliar with this new Harrow's Edge. Yet, the path to the graveyard still remains the same. Bones upon bones. Grief upon silence. Between Venturi, Vareth, Welsifyire and the rest of your companions; between your knowledge of an impending invasion and the search for Zorkash's father which was at best the faintest sign of hope, and with the new revelations of Silvermane's vampire problem and hags' continued interest in Vareth, you felt like you were going through a whiplash after the other.

You didn't want the children to see your veneer crack under every new gut punch. The pipe wasn't helping, nor was the consultations with the stars and Freya. Nothing could offer you any reprieve. So you choose the great equalizer.

"Hello my old friend," your voice is warm as you approach the graveyard keeper. You had known him when his hair was still an ashy brown, the five o' clock shadow didn't show off the silver peppering in between and those crow feet around his eyes, they weren't there before. "I'm glad to see you are well after all these years," he greets you with similar familiarity. Unlike him, time has passed you by without any significant outward changes. "Do you happen to have a shovel for me?" He tipped the one in his hand in your direction. "Of course." He never probed. Not back then and not now. As a true graveyard keeper, he kept to his business, although you did catch him observing you from the corner of his eyes as you put down your backpack and start digging. You’d once shepherded his wife’s soul. Some debts are paid in silence.

After some starting problems, the ground gave way to the metal of the shovel as you focus on the task at hand, repeating a prayer the old doomguides had taught you over a century ago. This was not for Kelemvor. He'd never ask you to do this. This much you knew. "I already prepared the coffin." He speaks, a simple wooden coffin behind him in a cart. You smile at him, it reaches your eyes, although the fatigue is evident in them. "Are you sure you are not a mind reader?" He chuckles as you help him get the coffin off the cart and into its designated and newly dug hole. The next steps are accompanied with him by your side.

He is a silent witness to your routine as you strip every piece of jewelry, you put down every weapon that you own and take off your armor. Your backpack that became your only lifeline lands with a thud upon the ground, and your newly acquired boots are also put to the side. You hand him the shield and your warhammer before climbing down into the coffin before laying down in it. Your eyes meet his as he nods and closes the coffin. A thud follows. He had placed your warhammer and shield, both carrying the mark of Kelemvor, upon the coffin.

Your breath is calm as you take in the shuffling from above the coffin. The creaking of his boots as clumps of earth land on the lid.

Why are you doing all of this? Why are you continuing to run when you know that all roads led to a guaranteed suicide mission? Why are you not at home with your family? Spending the last years with them before the world gets swallowed up by war? Who are you to change anything in the grander scheme? Why are you helping an people who do not care for you when you have an entire home filled with love?

You take a deep breath. You can start to hear the throbbing of your own heartbeat in your ears. The scent of soil reaches your nose as it trickles through the cracks of the coffin.

Why did these children tug at your heart strings? Why are you so gullible? Shouldn't you know better at your age? What about all the people whose souls were now in Vecna's posession? The souls you couldn't shepherd because you became too attached? The divine beings that you helped slaughter to protect them? When would this stop? When would you stop? Didn't you see that you are marching towards losing your way? You have been praying and has Kelemvor answered?

Another deep breath. Sweat and tears rolling down the side of your face. You attempt to shift, but the wooden constraints of the coffin keep you in place.

Didn't you want to set out for your own last big mission? Was this all you could do for him? Simulate to know what your father went through in those last moments? How he was probably crushed underneath the weight of the rocks that landed on him? How the air was crushed out of his lungs, slowly suffocating? Why go on such a senseless last mission if you couldn't even remember how he sounded anymore? Was he really as important to you as you claim when you gave his heirloom away for petty information?

Another shaky breath. You attempt to wriggle - up or down - it didn't matter, you wanted out.

Why did you sell a memory of your child? What were you trying to prove? That you could endure anything? That loss makes you wise? You know what it made you. Less of a mother. Less of a daughter.

You inhale and open your eyes and squeeze your hands upwards against the lid. You could have sworn you felt something older and alive underneath you, using your thoughts as a step ladder to reach you; envelop you, drag you down.

Who are you to change fate? When was the last time your God answered your prayers? When was the last time you heard your children's voices? When was the last time you understood your father as your father and not as an icon?

Your fists pound against the lid as the sweat reaches the small of your back. Air was becoming a luxury as it became stagnant in the coffin under the earth. How long had you been here? How long- you hear yourself scream at the top of your lungs. It's primal. Alive. Begging to be giving another chance.

Time passes. For you - as always - too slow before the lid is opened and you shield your eyes from the sudden brightness. Coughing as your lungs fill with fresh air as you see something in the sky, passed the silhouette of the graveyard keeper. "Adad?" You blink again. For a moment, you are five years old again, at your father’s side. Forty, at Kelemvor’s. Ninety-two, holding your children's hands. One hundred seventy-three, at Venturi and Vareth’s backs. All of them, all at once.

"Good to see that you are back, Doomguide," the graveyard keeper says. It's casual, but you know he does it to make you arrive back into your body. You exhale and sit up. He hands you a dagger and you carve tallymark into the side of the coffin. It joins the row of six others before you hand it back and take his hand as he helps pulling you out. You can still feel the notches under your fingertips long after you’ve let go of the dagger. "Was it louder this time?" You eye him for a moment. He doesn't meet your eyes when he says it. You follow his line of sight. It was focused on the now open coffin. Perhaps he knows what it's like to be buried without dying.

One day, it would stay sealed.

"Let your daughter know that if your time comes, she should write a letter to Kal'Durn. Mention me and my daughters will let me know of your passing, so I can do the last rites for you," your tone is matter-of-fact, like he wasn't an accomplice in your self-impoved isolation. "That is a kind offer that you do not need to extend." You chuckle as you gather your possessions. He hands you your warhammer and shield. Your fingers trembled as you clasped your warhammer—the weight unfamiliar after pretending to be weightless. "It is the least I can do for you." Attaching your shield to your backpack, you help him gather the coffin out of the hole and reseal the tomb that you had opened for a seventh time. Before you leave, you turn around one last time.

You speak a prayer for the graveyard keeper and his garden.

May it prosper and usher many souls to the afterlife.

[stoneseeker-hq]

morning breakfast for us misfitssss

taking up odd jobs here and there while we travel really pays off huh hmmm i wonder how the pookies are doing. im sure theyre fineeeee

[stoneseeker-hq]

Entry #18

[the writing here seems to be made in haste.]

A vampire. Of course, there’s a vampire. Why would it be anything normal? I break up with Sylas and it seems chaos immediately strikes after.

Zorkash and I have managed to take control of the main floor of the tavern. It is in these moments that I truly get to show off that I am born to lead.

Also what’s with- 

[the letters come to an abrupt end.]

These commoners are reasonably shaken, and predictably uneducated.

Anyway, what’s with Zorkash always grabbing me and dragging me along? It’s not terribly often, and I’m not complaining, but does--

[the writing is interrupted again.]

ANYWAY.

But does that mean he likes being close to me, or like, likes touching me? Both? Actually, I should get back to managing these commoners, unlike Duke Veiltross does.

[stoneseeker-hq]

Entry #17

So much has happened.

We managed to get Vareth out from the charm of the Gentle Hag, also sidenote: What’s up with him and hags? Is there something I don’t know about with twinks and having a connection to the fey? Also, I hope no one really expected me to jump down some hole that could lead to our doom. That’s crazy, illogical even.

I hadn’t expected for Zorkash to ask me out for a drink, it was very surprising. I’m happy that he seems to have at least some feelings towards me, if I understood him correctly. Though, of course, he rejects me again under the excuse of me being a “taken woman”. A fact that I often forget because of Sylas’ frivolous nature, but a fact I’ve been meaning to correct for awhile.

Also, I shouldn't have told Zorkash that he cheats on me so directly by calling Sylas ‘Velindor’s Bicycle’, because he foolishly calls him that to his face! Of course, Sylas had to arrive here in Riverside! Why wouldn’t he?!

Since he’s here, however, I can finally correct my mistake. He and I will be over.

[stoneseeker-hq]

Venkash - Venturi + Zorkash

[stoneseeker-hq]

Entry #16

I finally got to speak with Slivermane about his intentions with my dwarf, and it went kind of as I expected. I’m just glad the air is clear now, I wouldn’t want Kelzira to get hurt by that creature. She’s a strong woman, so I believe she’ll move on pretty quickly.

Aside from that, I’ve had a moment of weakness…I truly just planned on teasing Zorkash for falling asleep while on watch duty, I swear! I didn’t think about my actions fully through that early morning, and I am guilty to say that I enjoyed the brief tender moment. But Kelzira saw everything! I just hope I can avoid anything she may say about it, or perhaps Zorkash will suffer the most of it.

[There is a scribbled addition, seemingly written in haste.]

Looking back through my writing, and it may sound it was more than just a small touch here, but nothing major happened! Nothing at all!

[stoneseeker-hq]

His Cage Is Wider

"I will be your witness."

Your feet carried you to her side. You have been dreading this moment ever since Vecna's presence had anchored itself firmly into your lives. The consistent drop-feeding of ideas which promised power - yes - fate-altering power was a meal that not even the most sated of noble would be able to resist. However, in the grander scheme you knew that these things come with a price. A loss. Immeasurable when weighed against a soul. You know where her temptation comes from. You've seen the cage she grew up in. The people who should have been nurturing and doting on her were nothing but surgeons looking to tear her apart and construct her in their own image.

Vecna gave her power. Vecna offered her options. On his terms. His cage wider than her parents'. His grip, firmer still should she disobey. You tell her this over and over again. He whispers next to you and you feel your hold slipping. Your position had always been a volatile one. A tightrope between mentor and friend, mother and colleague, protector and foe. At the end, you ask for her trust with empty hands. How can that hold up against a God of secrets who offers her the tools to unmake her enemies?

"I'm sorry," you hear Venturi whisper, the smallest of glances in your direction. You see them in her. Thalindra. Kelmara. Ashira. Each child asking for forgiveness as they knew they were about to step into the abyss. However, unlike them, the abyss would swallow Venturi whole. Your only reply was a mournful expression as you shake your head, a sob held back by the front of divine defiance who decided to put up in front of Vecna.

The next moments were a blur, even to you. You watch as she audibly accepts Vecna's proposal and all of sudden Venturi doubles over in pain. Before you can even reach over to cast a healing spell on her, she bursts up into flames. You can sense Vareth stirring in the back, uncertainty holding him in place.

Before you could even move, the next thing that fills the room are her excruciating wails of pain. "Venturi," just as you force yourself back to the present, you witness as golden plates tear through her green skin. The sound of tearing flesh in symphony with her screams will haunt you for an unforseeable future. That, you know. And still, you don't take your eyes off her when golden plate portrude from her shoulders and hips like ornate armor. The pact embodied in flesh before the young tiefling collapses. Your hands instinctively reach for her without hesitation. A mother cradling her hurting child, despite her skin burning hot. You look up as Vecna dissipates into thin air, his voice announcing her new title.

Venturi Rosewine. Heir to the noble Rosewine line.

Champion of Vecna.

[stoneseeker-hq]

On the Matter of Silvers and Wards

173 years. You should have known better.

Call it the heady blend between world-impending doom, shepherding a herd of involuntary, young heroes mixed up with the thrill of the companionship of a known soul. You let your guard down too fast. The shared evenings felt like a promise to new horizons. His recalling of your wisdom and your reliance on his knowledge made for an intimate familiarity that you took as an invitation for a last rite of partnership.

You don't think you all will survive what will come next. You thought you both had the same understanding of that fact.

173 years. And you should have known better. That humans, with their lifespans as fleeting as a dayfly’s, would make decisions based on time that was never theirs to claim. That humans act like they have an eternity to decide on what they want. It's a luxury that they didn't possess. A luxury that has been pushed further away with the impending invasion on your calendar.

Time was ticking and as foolish as it made you look, you had made your decision after seeing how he calmed down both boys, Sylas and Zorkash. The young rambunctious man with his shaggy brown hair and a tongue as smooth as silk had grown to become an equally rogueish, yet level-headed man. A quality he didn't possess back then and which made you treat him as what you perceived him: a boy.

And yet, with each passing day you were willfully dispelling that ward you had cast onto the tomb that was your heart. You were ready to hold him in the morning. You were ready to hold his last rites when the day came. You were willing to let him in with the risk of losing him. These were the considerations in the dark - curled up in his arms while watching him sleep. It occupied your thoughts during the tense watch shifts at the camp fire. Thoughts that reared its head when you observe the timid approximation between your daughter-at-heart and his young half-orc friend.

173 years. And you of all people present, should have known better than to open the gates to your heart, no matter how smooth and intimate he was. "Fun," you hear yourself spew as you throw the barrel onto the back of the carriage. "Business," you then curse as knot the rope to secure it. When Venturi and Zorkash approach to discuss the route to Riverside, you sense him from the corner of your vision.

And you do what you know best. Just as a stone encases obsidian, just as the tombs that you have warded a hundred times before, you close the gates. You press a sigil against the foolishness of your own heart.

This will never happen again.

Cross your heart. Swear to die.

[stoneseeker-hq]

Out Of My Hand

You look for her.

Hours were spend in the tavern downtown. The one where you had made friends with the tavern keeper as you and your eclectic group became a tourist sensation of your own. A dwarf, a tiefling and an elf was the reality for you and not just the opening line to a crude joke as you took turns celebrating, bedding, drinking, eating and sleeping. Your face periodically disappears behind a tankard. Obsidian eyes flitting to the door whenever the bell which was attached to the door would ring with the announcement of a new arrival. But it's never her.

Never Freya.

Never the skin made of night sky clad in thin veils of nothingness. Never the luxurious fur of her black cat form that would so comfortably sit on your broad shoulders. The hours turn into days. Your feet carrying you through the city. The patch of grass where you saw her last, next to the giants' encampment. They don't take note of you. You are either too small to be noticed or too insignificant to become notice, but you don't see her anywhere. You had a bad feeling about this. Had whispered to Freya that she shouldn't go. Tried to catch her nimble form, but she was more dexterous and ambitious when it came to ther conquests. When it came to exerting her freedom.

Your hands grasp the straps of your backpack. The buckles leaving identations in the palm of your hand as your eyes search for something that give you a hint; a clue where she could be. Your feet grow weary as you return to the same spot of grass over and over again. Eventually your feet simply follow the desire path that you have created on your own. Killian had moved on. He had tried to do the sensible thing. Accept the truth for what it was. Freya had left without a goodbye. Freya had chosen her next adventure and that didn't include you.

Days turn into weeks. Time simply became a concept by which you measured when you had to eat, drink and sleep, but you didn't give up on your search. Posters, whispers, tracking. You utilized all your abilities.

But to no avail.

At the end, Killian was right. You had to accept the truth. That, when it came down to the grand scheme of things, you just keep on losing the people you love. And perhaps that is all you are good for. A walking curse of loss and grief.

[stoneseeker-hq]

it’s awesome how we have unlimited chances to become a better version of ourselves

[stoneseeker-hq]

In The Name of Good Fortune

You have never been in a place that so distinctively smelled like - you take another deep inhale - roses.

Athedale.

The cradle of roses and the throne of the Rosewines.

You have never seen the illustrious family who adorned its lands wih roses, and yet you felt encumbered by their overwhelming presence. An immaculate image that is only complete with the thorns that accompanied the flower. An simultaneous invitation and threat. A complete image. The moment you and your group was allowed to step into the city, you could only feel out of place. The smell. The flowers. The underlying threat of your every step being watched. You were outsiders and Athedale's inhabitants - despite their smiles - let you know exactly that.

That has been the reality of the last few days. The hunt for information regarding the next location of your journey with the Silent Vultures extended your stay in Athedale, which meant you had comfortably nestled your routine within the city's rhythms. Although, on this particular day, the spirits seemed very high. After your morning prayer and meeting with the crew, you were left to your own devices, your path leading you to a local café where you could engage in your favorite activity - people watching. One couldn't possibly imagine the spring of information that was the small people. Paper boys, washing women, merchants, servers - they all had a piece of the puzzle. And the puzzle's current object was the festivities about the freshly born daughter of the Rosewine house.

"What is the little heiress name?" You ask the woman sitting at the different table, wrapped in light red robes, a rose broach pinned to her clothes. She seems at peace as she looks out of the window, the sun playing with the light silvery strands in her hair. Talking to strangers has always been your forte, despite your technique being based on dwarvish brute force than on elvhen eloquence. Your charm makes up for the rest, you tell yourself.

You observe her attentively as soft wrinkles caress the woman's face as she looks down at her tea. There is an instant fondness that you could only compare to a mother cradling the child she wished for in her arms for the first time. You've been there. It's intimate. "Venturi," she says, too quickly, giving away a personal connection, but staying humble about it. "It means good fortune, they say," she says, her hand still grasping the warm rose tea blend. Your smile is soft. In the face of admiration this pure, how could you show anything else but absolute compassion? "By Kelemvor, may she always prosper," you raise your mug of tea in a dwarven salute - a blessing this time - as the woman on the other side of the table raises hers to meet yours eloquent yet carefully rehearsed 'clink'.

"You must be one of the strangers who have entered Athedale a few days ago." An assertion of knowledge and the confirmation that the roses were watching. "Then you should know my name for I am only looking to make friends. I'm Kelzira Stoneseeker and you are?" You extend your hand in greeting, a warm smile on your face. "Iyana," she shakes your hand - a much tighter grip than you've imagined - "My name is Iyana."

[stoneseeker-hq]

you know what's wrong with me? i like information