#[ the blackroot rose ]

[whitherwanderer]

— Sharing ghosts.

[simulation-machine]

Syd’s childhood years flew by and also I want to check out that friggin’ High School Years EP already 

[madamlaydebug]

Eye was asked what is BLACK ROOT SCIENCE? BRIEF SUMMARY!

Our earth and solar system were created 78 trillion years ago. As soon as the earth was ready, 144,000 ancestors came from another star system, the star called Sirius that was worshipped by the ancient Egyptians. They inhabited the earth after preparing it by seeding it with plant and animal life. After about 7,000 years since their arrival, their population increased from 144,000 to one billion eight million (1b8m).

This number, 1b8m, is the most sacred number in creation. It is the total number of original people who inhabited the first earth of our universe countless trillions of years ago. Thus every earth inhabited thereafter keeps this number as their final and stable population. It was determined to be the ideal number of people that can inhabit a planet the size of earth in complete comfort, without imposing on each other or on the natural resources, as well as on the animals and plants. That enables complete freedom of movement for all life on the planet, and this is essential for peace, prosperity, and spiritual growth (the gaining of knowledge).

The reason why the number is specifically 1b8m is described in the mathematics section of BlackRoots Science.

The first earth mentioned above, was created by the b8m original Gods from the stars of the previous universe. They had existed in that previous universe, toward its end, along with trillions upon countless trillions of other people, in a state of mind called divine unity, or the oneness of God. It is a state of mind where all the people in the universe unite as one. This One is God in truth, not the 'spirit' God of modern religions.

When the trillions upon trillions of people at the end of the previous universe were united as one, they experienced an indescribable expansion of their minds, which were as one mind. It expanded to such an extent that it not only circumscribed their entire universe, but exceeded its boundaries by an immeasurable extent. The One Mind, or God, became so large that the previous universe could no longer contain him/her. He/she felt a need for a larger universe in which the experience of life would continue. The trillions upon trillions of people, still united as one, then decided to abandon that universe. They consciously left their perfected bodies and rose in mind far above the universe. They then looked down on it and saw it as a small sphere, the way our earth looks when seen from high above in space.

Now, the mind is always attached to the body. There is no such thing as a mind without a body, as so-called 'spiritualists' would like us to believe. The mind can extend beyond the outer reaches of space, even expand infinitely, but a magnetic attraction always attaches it to the physical body. The magnetic attraction dissipates at death, and the mind and individual personality, or soul, then ascends. I will discuss ascension at a later time.

The unified mind of the people, who were as One Person, was so immense that the stars appeared to be the size of atoms. As this Person was contemplating the universal sphere, he/she saw that it was adequate for habitation as a new earth, with all the stars being its atoms. He/she made one billion eight million new bodies corresponding to the size of the new earth, using some of its substance (the stars/atoms). Then he/she disconnected the magnetic connection to the old bodies and left them in the old universe. The 1b8m Gods then descended upon the new earth into the new bodies and became the first inhabitants.

The matter of every star and planet in the universe is created in seven forms. In modern words these are magnetism, electricity, light, ether, gases, liquids, and solids. The fourth substance, ether, is the central supporting substance of the other six. It is the womb of creation called space. It is black in color, as one can see by looking out into space at night. This absolute blackness called space not only supports the other substances, but it also gives individual color to all objects because the color black contains all other colors in itself. Hence when the b8m original Gods made themselves new bodies, they covered them in skin whose color is black, getting it directly from the ether. Because the Gods create all plants and animals from their own bodies, they need to have all colors stored in a single color in their creative germ, which is called the dark dominant germ or gene, the source of what modern people call melanin.

Upon arriving on the first earth, the One Mind of God incarnated instantly in 1b8m bodies, as already said. Half of them (504,000,000) were female and the other half were male. Each pair of male/female Gods are called soul mates. They always create in soul mate pairs, even when in large groups, because all creation has a male/female or negative/positive principle (negative is not used in a derogatory sense, but as the complement of positive). The b8m original people then proceeded to instantly create perfect plants and animals, called the original totems, from which all evolutionary life forms evolved. They also proceeded to create new stars and planets around the first earth by condensing part of their expanded mind. After living on that first earth for more than a trillion years, they finalized the plans for the completion of a new, much larger universe. They then gave birth to their descendents, and then passed out of life (ascended). Before passing, they established the society of the Black Nation.

They established it by withdrawing from or leaving their divine unity, in which they had existed for over a trillion years. They did this in order to be able to bring new life into the world, new persons who had never existed before, such as you and me. At the same time, in order to ensure the continuity of eternity, these same b8m original Gods continue to incarnate in the new people. They reside in the unconscious part of the person's mind and are called the mind of God, or the divine gift of ancestral memory (or what modern people call the spirit of God). Thus every Black person, even though he or she is born brand new, is simultaneously one of the b8m original Gods. Only the personality is new. The spirit is old, even eternal.

The b8m original people all withdrew from the divine unity except 24 people, 12 men and 12 women. They became the Kings and Queens called the 24 Elders, who are really 12 Gods or 12 soul mate couples. The 24 Elders are called the custodians of divine unity.

The 12 Gods chose 12 assistants each and called them the 144 Chiefs. The Gods divided the population into 12 tribes of 84 million people. They further divided each tribe into 6 clans, and set 2 Chiefs, a man and a woman, as the heads of each clan. The Chiefs chose 1,000 people each and called them the 144,000 Judges. They sent them in soul mate pairs all over the earth to set the foundations for 72,000 cities. Each couple took about 14,000 people with them to establish their city.

This was the basic organization of the Black Nation established by the original Gods on the first earth. When other earths were completed and settlers sent to them, this organization was repeated and remains as the divine form of Kingdom/Queendom on every inhabited earth throughout the universe.

The original Gods also established 7 great rituals of initiation to be used by the leaders to elevate all new people to divine unity. God's purpose for creating universe after universe is to increase himself/herself. Every person who completes the seven great rituals becomes full God, exactly like the original people. At that moment of completion, God rediscovers himself/herself anew, as if he/she had never existed before. That is how God renews himself/herself, thus overcoming the stagnancy that would be the case in an eternally all-knowing being who never changes.

In addition to the 7 great rituals, the original people also established many other rituals and customs covering every area of science and life. They then initiated the leaders of their descendents into this knowledge before passing. Their initiation rituals have been faithfully transmitted from generation to generation since the beginning.

On our earth, this form of divine rule existed uninterrupted for 78 trillion years, until 6,000 years ago, when a certain God decided it was time for all the other Gods (you and me) to experience that part of us contained in what is called the non-creative recessive light germ. He caused the birth of new races of people, the non-Blacks, who would be the vehicles to manifest all that is in that gene.

All things, without exception, are contained in God. God will experience all that is contained in him/her. He/she knows all, but has not experienced all. He/she uses the creation for this purpose of experiencing all that is known, including what is called evil. Hence 6,000 years ago, a God by the name of Yahweh, called Yakub in other ancient scripts, was born here on our earth. He together with about 60,000 volunteers who are called the Elohim made the non-Blacks in our image. They made them by suppressing the dominant black gene and slowly unfolding the recessive light gene over a period of seven generations of offspring, or 200 years. This caused the appearance of the first light race, born to Black people. After another 200 years of deliberate and careful breeding, they caused the second light race to appear out of the first. Then 200 years later the third race appeared and finally, 66 years after the appearance of the 3rd race (yellow race) the 4th race (caucasians) appeared. These 60,000 people, Yahweh and the Elohim, thus initiated the modern age and the process that would eventually bring our divine Kingdom to a temporary end.

That in brief is the sacred history leading from the first earth to our earth, and to the present situation or cycle called evil, which was preordained to last for 6,000 years.

[just-thal]

FFXIVWrite 2022 1. Cross

Shtaareh crossed the threshold to Ul'dah. He looked up at his father and saw the glimmer of hope in his eyes, a smile strained under its own weight. He shone the light back with his own as they reflected the flickering lanterns and luminous windows that lined the streets. There would be hearty meals behind their moth bitten curtains; the family çaydanlık would always steam against peeling yellowed wallpaper. Shtaareh tapped the dried moon daisies his mother hung from every rotting rafter, humming in circles. He sought the city's secrets and kept his own close.

X'shtaareh crossed pluto and blackroot rose—wisdom from the guild. He took in the acrid smoke and took in vigour from it. He crossed somnus and milkroot, even touches of coffee and tea just to see what would happen. He stirred in foam from cactus, ground talons as he learnt from his father. He let the beakers sit under the moon and nourish from it as he learnt from his mother. They cast Menphina's glow at him and he smiled at the rippling liquid.

Moui crossed the strip into Pearl Lane and soon he was known there. He leant on pockmarked walls with arms crossed, surveying so that he would not be surveyed. He learnt to blank his eyes so he could see into others and they couldn't see into him. He found how to narrow them so the manufactured wrinkles painted him stronger than he was. He brought home paltry bags that still rattled with coin; his father nodded and never asked.

Shtaareh crossed the hanging daisies into his room and slammed the door without touching them. He screamed and screamed and hurled colourful bottles to shatter against the wounded walls. They wept in myriad hues and shed scraps of paper. His father knocked and told him it would be okay. His mother knocked and told him they did not blame him. He only buried his head in his arms to wail. He looked down at them and saw his truths etched there.

Shish crossed the bridge to Radz-at-Han, alone. Vivid stone paved his way and bright walls lit it. Pleasant aromas followed him through the baazaar and the bustle opened its arms to him. There was the meyhane, bidding him welcome; there were pleasant faces that offered solace. Shish looked at all this, took it all in with his eyes deep as moonless night, and there was no glimmer in them.

[mistermaxxx08]

Roses Are Red (Live) - BlackRoots Academy Of Soul (Beyond Just The Beat ...

[thot-writes]

MAN I HAD TOO MUCH FUN WITH THIS I DIDNT WANNA STOP‼️ i want to do oneshots for ALL the ikepri boys (eventually) but here’s the first bit. next on the docket is clavis, yves, and nokto

beastie boys and the hunter — part I (prologue & chevalier) (NSFW 18+);

You are a Child of the Forests, raised in the wilds of the south with your kin, the Blackroot tribe. Four years ago you were honoured with the title of Matriarch, something given to the most skilled female warrior of the tribe. As a Matriarch, your duty is to venture into the worlds beyond the wilds and accrue knowledge for future generations.

prologue;

You broke into the palace.

You, what many of these folks would consider a lowly savage, broke into the palace of Rhodolite.

Perhaps it was a bad idea — it definitely was a bad idea — but you were raised to always protect your friends and allies, so by your pride as a Matriarch you simply couldn’t not do this.

As you were sneaking in, shrouded in the cover of night, you spot an unfamiliar man with hair the colour of lavender. High-born from the looks of his clothes. One of the princes? Seems likely.

For a moment, you consider killing him, but then you think of your friend Emma and decide against it. This was a rescue mission, not a hunt. You creep towards him on the balls of your feet, keeping as low and silent as you could. He hasn’t seemed to notice you yet. Good.

By the time he realises someone is behind him, it’s too late. You sling a cloth around his mouth and yank him backwards, and he immediately struggles against you. He’s stronger than you thought he’d be, most other city-dwellers are soft and squishy, but you continue to overpower him.

You leave him gagged and hog-tied behind a rose bush and enter the palace through the door he left out of. The halls were dark and empty, but you were trained to make use of other senses whenever sight failed you, and you swiftly make your way through the building.

The feeling of cold marble and wool rugs against your bare feet makes you cringe, but you keep your disgust from distracting you as best you can.

Arguably, you should’ve planned better for this. You don’t know where Emma is being held, and city-dwellers always have far too many rooms. You’re out of your comfort zone here, so all you can do is quietly try each door and hope your friend is behind one of them.

It takes longer than you like, but eventually brute-forcing wins the day and you find Emma reading a leather bound book by candlelight. You enter the room and close the door behind you in one quick motion, Emma still enraptured in the contents of her book. You sigh silently, she’s never as aware as she should be.

“Emma,” you call gently as you make your way towards her.

She sits up and locks eyes with you, “[Name]! You’re here— what are you doing here? How’d you know where I was?”

You hold a finger to your lips. “When I came back to town I tried to find you and Rio, but you weren’t there. The city-dwellers told me you’d been taken to the palace.”

“So you broke in?” She finally puts her book away and strides towards you, taking your hands in hers. “You could get into a lot of trouble for this! You need to leave!”

“I know. And you’re coming with me.” 

Before any heroic rescuing can take place, Emma’s door bursts open and light floods the room. Damn it. You wasted too much time searching the rooms. Four men enter, only one of them a familiar face, and you let go of Emma’s hands to draw your bow and aim an arrow at the towering blond’s forehead.

“[Name]!” Rio calls out, eyes wide in surprise.

“I knew it,” the blond said, glancing between you and Emma. “Someone was here for Belle.”

He sees your arrow trained on him and a dangerous glint shines in his dark blue eyes. His sword is drawn and he stares you down. You can tell by his confident movements that he’s well-practiced with that blade, and you keep your eyes locked on him.

“Do you really think you’ll get out of here alive?” he questions, his voice low and threatening.

“Maybe. Do you think you’ll be able to get me before I land an arrow between your eyes?” you answer. His lips quirk up a little in response.

You feel a shaky hand on your arm and look over at Emma, whose body is wracked with fear. “[Name], please don’t do this. I don’t want anyone to get hurt, let’s just talk about it, okay?”

You hesitate for a moment and glance to Rio. He’s also pleading you with his eyes. You scowl and return your gaze to the stranger in your sights. “What’s there to talk about? These princelings kidnapped you.”

“Kidnapped?” the man with dark hair muses. “I assure you it’s nothing so egregious. Please lay down your weapons and let us speak.”

The shorter blond one lays a hand on the taller man’s back. “Brother, please sheathe your sword. It’s clear she’s not an assassin. At least not for Belle.”

The warrior glares at you, but ultimately follows his brother’s wishes and lowers the blade. You follow suit and relax your bowstring, re-holstering the arrow. You don’t trust this, but you’ll try.

The man — who tells you his name is Sariel — leads you to another room teeming with books and paper stacks. Before an arched window stands a sturdy richly coloured desk surrounded by more strange men, and to your surprise the lavender-haired man is here as well. He catches your eye and scoffs, partly in amusement and annoyance, he didn’t seem to be a fan of getting tied up — but not entirely displeased either.

Sariel introduces himself and the eight princes. The ones you met in Emma’s room are Yves and Chevalier, the fifth and second princes respectively.

They explain the situation with Emma. For the past five days, she’s resided in the palace with Rio working as Belle, some kind of commoner that chooses the next King of Rhodolite. It sounded like rubbish to you, but then again so does most “civilised” culture.

In turn you introduce yourself. You are the Matriarch of the Blackroot tribe, roughly eighteen months ago you met Emma and Rio and you became friends. Whenever you came through Rhodolite after an adventure you’d return to the city to meet with them again. You cared for them both, so when you caught word that they were taken to the palace you could only assume the worst.

Sariel seemed strangely empathetic to this (maybe Emma’s influence?), and offered to let you stay for the duration of Belle’s service as an “unofficial knight” of sorts. You didn’t want to leave them alone in the hands of princelings, so you reluctantly agreed.

-

Chevalier Michel;

This wasn’t the first time Chevalier disagreed with the minister’s decision, and it sure as fuck wouldn’t be the last. This whole Belle farce was bad enough, but now she was allowed two guard dogs in the palace? One of them a barefoot savage that preferred to sleep in the dirt rather than a bed, no less.

Ah well. He supposed it wasn’t all bad. Belle would almost certainly be targeted by their enemies, and if someone else was watching her it meant he didn’t have to waste time doing it himself.

A few days after the commotion, Chevalier rises early to head to the training grounds. He’s spent too long cooped up in a study, he doesn’t want his sword arm getting rusty.

He can barely hold back his displeasure when he sees a familiar scant-clad Forest Child already there. You’re training with your bow, lining shot after shot into the straw-stuffed training dummies, and internally he wants to command you away. He feels that you wouldn’t respect his authority even so, but he’ll try regardless. He does not want to deal with another headache right now.

Chevalier heaves a sigh as he runs a hand through his pale blond hair and approaches. “Stand aside,” he orders, “I wish to train, and you’re in my way.”

You turn back and frown incredulously at him. You make a vague motion towards the row of dummies that you weren’t practicing with. “There’s enough to go around, help yourself.”

He clicks his tongue against his teeth. “I don’t want to get shot by one of your stray arrows. Move aside, now.”

After a few tense seconds of mutual glaring, you relent and put your bow away, stepping away from the yard. He thinks he’s won and turns to the dummies, but soon you return with a couple of crude hand-axes.

“What are you doing?” he grunts, not even looking your way. “Didn’t I just tell you to leave?”

“I decided I’d switch to melee practice. That way you won’t get ‘shot by one of my stray arrows’ right?”

He scowls. What a meddlesome woman.

An idea hatches in his mind, and instead of striking an inanimate object, he grabs a wooden practice sword and raises it in your direction. “If you’re not going to leave, at least make yourself useful. You will spar with me.”

You’re taken aback. Big old high and mighty prince wants to spar with a savage? And a woman, no less. From what you know of city-dwellers, women seemed to be treated as the more delicate sex, so it’s surprising that he’s willing to humour you.

“You want to spar with me, princeling?” you smirk, resting a fist on your hip.

“I’ve heard tales of the Forest Children’s aptitude in combat. If you wish to remain Belle’s protector, show me you’re worthy,” he answers nonchalantly. Then he looks at you with a challenging smirk of his own. “Not that I think you can touch me.”

You’re not too proud to say that you were enticed by his proposal. You drop your axes to the side and pick up a wooden sword like his, and return to face him.

“The rules are simple. Whoever lands a strike on the other one first, wins. And try not to feel too disappointed when you lose, Forest Child. Not everyone is made to be a hunter,” he mocks.

Your fingers twitch in annoyance. What could this prissy little lord possibly know about being a hunter? You look forward to wiping that look off his face.

You ready yourselves and he calls out when to begin. You decide to take the easiest course of action: rush him first and gage his strengths.

You’re faster than he expects, but he blocks your feeble attack easily and flings you back. His movements are fluid and confident, he’s faster and stronger than the average man, you can tell he’s a deadly combatant. But despite all his strengths, you can see an opening. It’s small, but it’s something.

You exchange blows in a flurry of blades, neither of you giving the other any quarter as you attempt to make contact. Finally, you see an opportunity.

You swing at him again and he meets your sword with his, but before he can push you back you kick at his imperfect stance and topple him. He tries to regain his balance before he falls, and you take the chance to fling his sword away. You grab his outstretched hand and twist it behind his back, bringing him to his knees with you standing tall behind him.

With a tap of wood against his neck, you say triumphantly, “Dead.”

Chevalier huffs, or perhaps it was a laugh? And despite not being able to see his face, you can tell he’s not too broken up about losing. “Not a bad showing. Maybe the stories of your kind aren’t all baseless.”

Something in him stirs as you let him get to his feet. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, and it’s almost like his consciousness is fighting against it, but he feels… respect? Admiration? Like he’s found someone useful for a change.

And he must admit, a woman with your kind of strength is… amusing. Maybe even a bit arousing — though he wasn’t ready to admit that to himself quite yet.

You don’t exchange any more words with him that day. And when you’re both in the training yard again the next morning, you say nothing then too. You spar again, another win for you.

The next day, he wins.

The day after that, you win.

It becomes a routine thing for you. Sometimes he manages to get ahead, but for the majority you’re able to best him.

A lesser man might feel emasculated, his pride damaged by the thought of being weaker than a woman, but Chevalier was no such man. Instead of brooding, he found your spars enlightening. Each morning he learned a little more about himself, and a little more about you.

For example, he hadn’t noticed that he guarded the right side of his body more than his left. Or that you reacted faster to sound than you did to sight.

You went from just sparring to discussing tactics, both on the battlefield and out in the woods.

“The ideal way to hunt is for the hunter to have already finished by the time the prey realises it,” he tells you simply as he thumbs through a tome. You bark out a laugh before you realise he’s not joking. “What, pray tell, do you find so funny?”

“I mean that’s… common knowledge isn’t it?” You tilt your head. “Obviously the best outcome for a hunt is to kill your target before it notices you. You can’t hunt something very well if it’s run off. That’s like saying ‘the best way to write a letter is with a quill and paper’, like… yes, thank you, I think everybody knows that.”

He scowls at you and lets out a disapproving snort. “Why did Sariel let a savage live on palace grounds, again?” A subtle glimmer in his eyes suggests he’s being playful, in his own way.

You lean back in your chair and throw your arms up. “Oh, so now I’m a savage. You’re fine with being seen as a hunter when it means you can use cool metaphors, but when the time comes to rip out a boar’s throat with your teeth and drink it’s blood you’re nowhere to be found!”

Chevalier stares at you silently. It’s unclear if he’s trying to determine your seriousness, or if he’s just completely unamused.

You weren’t joking though, you really did drink animal blood. It was a good way to offset the lack of fruits and vegetables in your diets. Roughly 90% of what Children of the Forest ate was meat.

“You…” he begins, but then he stops. He didn’t actually know how to respond to that, so he just decides not to. He turns back to his book.

You slump a little. “That’s it?” You were expecting him to get snarky at you so you could banter a little bit.

He notices your disappointment and smirks to himself. It’s kind of cute how you always want to pick a fight with him— wait, did he just think that?

Over time he comes to notice you more. Your curves, your muscles, the tattoos that sprawled across your body (a mark of being a Matriarch, you’d told him), and soon he became irritated with how little your leathers concealed.

It was common practice for Children of the Forest to run around half-naked or even fully naked, and at first he thought little of it but now it got on his nerves.

Were you intentionally trying to seduce him? Were you and your ilk always so shameless? Did you not know how other men would look at you? Did you not care?

Other men… The thought of them seeing as much of you as he did bothered him. He tried to quash these feelings, but it seemed the harder he fought against them the more they grew.

He lost a lot more in your spars. He’d get distracted at the way your breasts bounced, or the intense look you’d get in your eyes. You noticed something was off, but you paid it no mind. At least, you tried not to.

But it had been three weeks since you arrived, and Chevalier had gone from improving rapidly to making rookie mistakes.

You knock him on his ass — something you normally wouldn’t have been able to do — and stand above him with your sword lined up to his face. “This is getting ridiculous now,” you chide him. “What’s wrong with you? Do you have a death wish? You expect to be King when you can’t even watch your stance?”

He glares up at you. “Hold your tongue, [Name]. My patience only goes so far.”

“So does mine!” you retort. “At first you were a worthy fighter, but now it feels like I’m whipping a new-blood!”

Damn it, you’re right and he hates it. He still fights just as well, if not better, with other opponents but he continuously falters with you. He wasn’t ashamed when he lost to you the first time, but he certainly was now.

He tries to get up to leave, but you knock him down again. “That’s enough, wildling. I’ve had my fill of you for the day, let me leave.”

“Then leave.”

Chevalier eyes you curiously and tries to get up again. Again you knock him down. He snarls at you, rage bubbling in his stomach at the act of being repeatedly humiliated.

When you knock him down again, he grabs the practice sword in your hand and pulls you forward. It’s enough to throw you off your balance and he’s able to stand while you fumble. He gives you a final glare as he spins on his heel and starts to walk away.

He doesn’t get very far before you dash in front of him and block his way. “You can’t own up to your mistakes, so you try to avoid them?” you spit. “Strike me and I’ll let you go.”

“I’m not playing these games with you. I have more important things to do than play fight with a tree-hugger. Stand aside.” His aura is more commanding than it usually is. He isn’t playing with you, not this time at least.

You answer with only two words. “Make. Me.”

“If you think you can threaten me in my own home, you’re sorely mistaken. I am the rightful King of these lands, and savage or not you will respect that.”

You make no attempts to move, and he sees the only way to get through to you is force. He grabs the blade he’d discarded when you knocked him down earlier and readies himself.

Before you can blink, he’s on you. You only narrowly managed to block his attack and he winds back and strikes again. There’s passion in his hits now, something that was lacking these past few days, and you prepare yourself for a hard fight.

He moves faster than you’ve seen him before, but there’s still a sense that he’s struggling with something.

Like he’s running.

“You think you can just come into my palace and treat me how you want,” he grunts, landing blow after blow on your sword until the wood begins to splinter. “Who do you think you are?!”

When he pushes you back, you push him harder. The ferocity in his mannerisms continues to intensify, and you wonder if maybe he’ll win today. You’ll be damned if you make it easy for him.

“What do you plan to do about it?” you taunt, your breath becoming strained as you put more effort into your parries and attacks.

“You’re a fool, [Name], and I plan to put you in your place.”

The fight is the most draining one you’ve had thus far. You’re holding on, barely, and you notice the subtle signs of him struggling to keep up too.

Despite the sweat beading on your face, sticking strands of hair to your skin, you find enough energy to snicker at him. “Are you sure you’re not just horny for me?”

He pauses for a split second, and you knock the sword from his hands. He gains his composure and clenches his hands by his side, waiting for you to land the final hit.

But it never comes.

You toss your sword to the side and forcefully hold his chin between your forefinger and thumb. “Are you sure that you don’t want me to just take you?”

A scowl has once again carved into his beautiful features. “I want nothing of the sort. You insult me with these accusations, Forest Child.”

You let go and trail a finger down his jawline, following the contour of his neck and resting at his clavicle. He swallows thickly as a fire stirs in his belly, a primal desire the likes of which he’s never felt before.

“You city-dwellers are so prudish. Sex isn’t something to be ashamed of. You’re not as subtle as you think, prince Chevalier.” You smile coyly at him, you know you’re riling him up. “I see the way you stare at my tits. And my ass. I’m not offended, I’m just amused that someone as strong as you can’t come out and simply ask me to fuck you.”

A trickle of sweat drops down his temple, and despite his best wishes he can feel his excitement growing. “You’re truly trying to seduce me so openly? Your people have no shame. A woman shouldn’t approach so casually.”

Your gaze drops to his lips. “Your backwards social norms mean nothing to me. I have always approached, and I will continue to do so.” The finger resting on his collarbone trails a lazy path down to his lower stomach. “Besides, I can hear your heartbeat quickening. I wonder, if I was to look in your trousers, would you be soft?”

Chevalier knew that was a rhetorical question. You already had your answer, you just wanted him to admit it. He deigned to say nothing, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop you as you stepped in closer and undid his belt.

Before your fingers could make contact with his desperately yearning cock, he growled darkly. “If you do this, I won’t be responsible for what happens.”

“You’re welcome to try, you wouldn’t be the first,” you chuckle. “But no one’s managed to come out on top, if you get my meaning.”

Somehow, that didn’t surprise him. But his urges will let him resist no longer, and he watches you earnestly as you reach your hand into his pants and stroke the sensitive underside of his dick. He sucks in a breath but lets you continue.

You only stroke him a couple of times before you draw your hand away, and he almost groans in anguish. You hold your hand up to his mouth and say, “Spit.”

For a split second he’s confused, but he quickly gets the picture and leans his face down to your hand. He puckers his lips as a steady trickle of saliva drops down into your palm, and his deep blue eyes are locked on yours.

When he’s finished, he asks you, “Good enough?”

You grin at him. “We’ll see.”

Your hand goes back to his needy cock, and already he can feel the difference. The wet, slightly sticky feeling of his saliva coats him from tip to base, and his eyes almost flutter closed. His lips part slightly as he breathes out steady pants, his gaze locked on you through his long, pale eyelashes.

He’s quite big, you note, and his dick has a slight curve to it. You’re sure no one’s complained with him in the boudoir, but it takes far more than a big dick to impress you.

You twist your hand around him as you stroke, making sure that you touch every inch of him. You’re quite skilled, and Chevalier wonders momentarily if there’s anything you can’t do well.

The answer to that is read, of course. But you’ve never shared that with him.

The heat between you builds as you bring him closer to the edge, and unable to hold back anymore he leans towards you and captures your lips.

You smile into the kiss, and your satisfied snicker is swallowed by him. Chevalier rests his hands on your waist, running them over your hips and your ass as your tongues explore each other’s mouths.

His hips gyrate against your hand, and precum flows from the tip of his prick as you continue to work your magic on him. You part from the kiss and attack his neck with your teeth — thankfully, not to rip it out, but instead to leave a white hot trail of kisses and hickeys.

He groans as he tilts his head forward, feeling his release quickly approaching. “Fuck… just like that… you’ll make me cum, [Name].”

You laugh against his ear. “A prince getting jacked off by a wildling in broad daylight, how embarrassing.”

He grips your shoulders as he pumps himself into your hand. “You are… nngh.. an insufferable woman.”

You smile to yourself and he throws his head back as he shoots ropes of hot cum onto your hand and torso, giving a final grunt as he does so. His mind goes blank at the pleasure, and he slowly winds down as small spurts of cum drop to the ground beneath you.

You part — all too soon for his liking — and you have an annoyingly pleased look about yourself. Chevalier tidies himself up and goes back to his default state of looking mildly irritated. You’re the one who has his cum on you, so why does it feel like you just got the better of him?

“So,” you break the silence, “good talk. I should go get cleaned up, I’ll let you return to your princely duties.”

As you walk past him, you spare a hungry glance at his thick, firm ass and grab a handful. He jolts and twists back to face you, but by then you’re a couple steps out of his reach. “I’ll look forward to exploring the rest of you next time, Chevalier,” you say with a lecherous grin. That ass really seemed magical.

“Don’t get your hopes up, you perverted Forest Child,” he calls back. But you both know that’s a bluff, he’s just trying to maintain a semblance of his pride.

You wave a lazy hand in farewell as you saunter off, and he’s left staring dumbly in your direction.

This won’t work out. He’s sure of it. You’re from two different worlds, ones that can never merge no matter how many kingdoms he unites. Someday you’ll have all you need to fulfil your duty as Matriarch. Someday you’ll leave Rhodolite for the southern forests and it will be the last time he ever sees you, but for now…

At least for now, he knows he’ll see you in the morning.

[alphaeus-streamside]

Friable

September 9th, 2021

“That’s all of us, then,” Nona said, arms crossing as she sat back in the deep armchair. The sitting room was crowded with three xaela leaning against the wall, a miqo’te perched on the edge of the couch as if he were ready to dart shly away at the slightest provocation, a viera seated in the middlemost cushion of the couch, and their elezen host leaning on the armchair beside the midlander.

“And one extra,” Temuulen said, nodding his head towards Rha, who waved. 

Nona raised a dismissive hand, “We all want the same thing, but we want it for different reasons,” she said, “We want to win that tournament. But the thing is only three people get to go on to the final match with the Den Master.”

Several heads around the room nodded in agreement. 

“Now, for my part, I’m lookin’ into a missing person. A friend of mine got into that den, and not too long after, he vanished. He ain’t the only one who’s gotten membership then gone missing. There’s a pattern emerging from that place. 

“Now, Temuulen and Alphaeus are on board to help me solve what happened to my friend. So let’s all get on the same page here. What did you sign up for?” 

The miqo’te’s tail flicked and he averted his gaze, “I’m in it for money,” he confessed, “so, I uh, this arrangement is fine with, with me.”

“I am merely seeking the greatest minds of men in Eorzea!” Khet proclaimed. 

“Those worthy of the Buduga!” Rha agreed. 

They both looked at Temuulen. He did not look back. 

“I’m on a job,” Theja said, rising. All eyes looked to her. “I believe it might be related to your missing man.”

“Go on,” Nona urged, sitting forward. 

Theja pulled a leather wrapped box from her bag, setting it on the table. She opened it, turning the box to face the room. Inside was a set of Doman Mahjong tiles. “My client got their hands on these at great personal expense and risk,” she said, lifting a red dragon up between her fingers. “A set of tiles from the den.” She tossed the red dragon to the tabletop, and it clinked against the polished wood. “I wasn’t sure what they were going on about-” a green dragon clicked to the table as she began to toss tiles out of the box, “until I was given a demonstration.” 

Theja held up a red five dot tile, “Then, I understood.Some of the tiles are fragile.” She tilted her hand slightly and tossed the tile to the tabletop. It hit on the edge and split clean in half lengthwise. The top cleaved off of the bottom and something small and white came scattering out of the center. “The secret is in the aka dora.” 

“What is it?” Temuulen asked, leaning away from the wall. 

“Refined blackroot rose,” Theja said. 

Alphaeus frowned, mouthing the words as if they were familiar and he was trying to place them. But before he could give voice to his thoughts Rhy’sae whipped around to face her.

“WHAT?” Rhys demanded, voice climbing, “What bloody IDIOT would… They aren’t TAKING it are they!?” 

“Wait—” Rha cut in, “What is blackroot rose?” 

“It’s bad,” Rhys said, “the leaves can, can cause nightmare visions and extreme violence. It’s powerful, addictive, it can be fatal, and if you’re addicted you can end up dependent on the stuff forever. If they’re refining that stuff, it’s BAD!” Realizing that every eye in the room was on him, Rhy’sae slowly sat down, pushing his glasses back up his nose, redfaced. 

“Son of a bitch,” Nona breathed. “It’s bad.”  

[s-udarshana]

one to four

wc: 688

I did it again. Not once, not twice, but three times. Took me an hour after the last to stop my hands from twitching for more.

Self-appointed shepherd. More like an animal that can’t get enough of its fill no matter how fat it gets. But then, that makes me an animal with three more divine notches on my pelt, and maybe that gives me one right to hold the title.

Don’t think it was worth it in the end, indulging in it all. Aye, sure, was a great help to the expedition; already seeing reports of better efforts made to traverse the Quarantine Block, thank the heavens. If Azys Lla is a blight among the natural environment, that place is the sickening oversized cyst that throbs soon as you touch it, which makes it all th’ better to know we’re one step closer to lancing the boil. Not that I’m sure it even matters at this point - everyone feels it in the air, all of this, coming to a close. What word came back out of Circe’s Labyrinthine, what word we’re still waiting for from Gridania, Limsa Lominsa; hoping those efforts go just as well as the efforts in Ul’dah did, though I’m not expecting an impromptu queen to come to a throne just as easily as Lux did.

...how do I explain it? All about me this time (and if you came into my thoughts expecting anything else, go find a priest on duty). How do I explain it in a way that makes sense to someone that won’t believe a single word.

Recovering blackroot rose addict that swore to put down the chew for good, only to willingly choose to throw himself into a binge that sees him huff down three full tins with no care for the consequences. I don’t want you to pity me - why pity someone with a self-aware addiction to deicide. Folk always look to me do to the impossible as it is. What’s one more scar?

Easy to say they were just simulations for those that weren’t there, and that’s the holistic truth of it. The truth that matters is that they were memories. Old hopes and dreams and desperate desires of a people, peoples, far long gone. And we snuffed it out as easy as a cigarette. Just like that. And that sense of unappreciated finality to it all is what sickens me most to it, I’ve come to realize - the knowledge that, in the heat of the moment, we put ourselves before the memory, hungering for victory over commemoration, and feeling that way only when we have a fabricated sunrise as our reward.

Are you getting it now? “What’s one more scar?” It’s a scar on the soul, is what, because it’s a wound that never heals produced by a conflict of the mind. There is nothing more vindicating than the knowledge that you have rejected one more god, proven yourself - a mortal - its better, and yet it is equally as sickening knowing that the dominant reality is the one where the mortals prevailed.

I’d not felt this way since ripping out the mountain’s heart. - buried the feeling since, though I can’t remember if I did it out of self-preservation or out of misguided zeal. And now the dam’s shattered in three places, and the heart fills overly much, and I can think of nothing else-- and if you truly are listening up there, I know you know it just as well.

They were gods. Primals, eikons-- gods. Summoned to protect, and annihilate, utterly. And they fell - bodies, then memories, to mortals that sought the paths they left to become just as strong. What do you do with that knowledge? You think - specifically, you think about how far the range applies.

Vio told me once, when she gave me one of her first smiles, that I would not be like Rhalgr - I would be better. Become greater.

I’m terrified to think that such a reality might be coming to fruition. You’re supposed to be above me. Not beneath me.

[voidsentprinces]

WoL: All these squares make a circle. All these squares make a circle. All these squares make a circle.

Magnai: Okay, whats up with him?

Lyse: He got bored waiting for Hien and Gosetsu passing their trial so he dropped a gallon of Blackroot Rose.

Magnai: A GALLON!?

Lyse: A literal gallon. Out of a milk jug. We don't even know where he got it from. He never really leaves our side--

WoL: EMPEROR HIEN! I NEED YOU TO TELL ME THAT I CAN LEAVE DOMA, IF I WANT TO!

Hien: Warrior of Light, you can leave Doma, if you'd li--

WoL: BITCH DONT TELL ME WHAT TO DO!

Hien: ...

WoL: All these squares make a circle.

Lyse: ...Quite.

[qarukhel]

Third Circle -- Part I

One day, the shadows will surround me.

Someday, the days will come to end. Sometime, I'll have to face the real me. Somehow, I'll have to learn to bend.

And now I see clearly... All these times, I simply stepped aside. I watched, but never really listened. As the whole world passed me by. All this time, I watched from the outside. Never understood what was wrong or what was right. I apologize.

-- Five Finger Death Punch, “I Apologize”

(This story involves @eorzean-capitalist‘s FFXIV character Veig, and is told with their permission and blessing.  It takes place after the events in “Lost” and explains the events leading up to the story “First Steps”.  I hope you enjoy it!)

Day Zero

Vladimir was sitting in the dining room of his house.  People were coming and going as they made their regular buys.  Pluto, Milkroot, Dreamweed, Blackroot Rose… All were doing brisk trade this morning.  Of course, the big seller was Somnus.  Everyone wanted it and Vladimir had it to sell.  In Ul’dah, Vladimir was one of the dealers people checked with first for their daily needs.

The day wore on and sales picked up as people were getting off work.  Shortly before dinner, the door was opened by the watch and a Viera stepped through the doorway.  Vladimir noticed and waved her past all the other dealers in his front room, inviting her to his table.

Vladimir stood, pulling out the chair next to him as she approached.  She wanted to make her buy and leave, but custom prevented it and you really didn’t do things to antagonize a drug dealer of Vladimir’s stature and reputation.  She sat with him and they transacted their business over a friendly, brief conversation.

Vladimir had been somewhat smitten over the Viera the first time she did business with him, another life ago when he sold in the back alleys of Ul’dah.  He was still attracted, but the Somnus had dulled her personality as it does with all of its users.  She retained her beauty, however.  Light skin with matching fur and a heart shaped face he could look at all day long.  He enjoyed talking with her, as she was more intelligent than most of his clientele.  It saddened him that she was down this path, but his belief in people being their own keeper stayed his hand.

As she got up to leave, he watched her walk towards the door.  Vladimir hoped that he would see her again but he knew it was entirely possible that one day the Somnus would lure her to sleep and she would never wake up.

The door closed behind Veig as she left Vladimir’s house.  She felt the need wrap its arms around her, it knowing that what it wanted was in her coat pocket.  Its hands grasped her heart and head, squeezing them to a point where it couldn’t be ignored.  Looking around, Veig saw a path around the side of the house.  She followed it until the only light she could see was the dying light of day drifting around the corner.  Finding a comfortable spot on the ground, she put her back against the cooling brick of her dealer’s house.

A single blink and her pipe was in her hand.  She didn’t even recall pulling it out of its pouch.  She filled the bowl and put the tip in her mouth as she lit it, taking a draw as she did.  Filling her lungs, she pulled the pipe from mouth and held the smoke in for a moment before breathing it out.  Her eyes closed as the drug slithered through her veins.  Muscles that had various frustrations and fears etched into them began to relax.

A cool wind blew as the first drops of incredibly rare rain began to fall lightly in The Goblet.  Veig took another draw from her pipe as she rested the back of her head against the warm bricks of Vladimir’s house.  Her face was turned upward, allowing the falling drops to gently caress her face.  Moments later, the drug took hold and drew her down the steps of slumber.

As night fell, Vladimir’s lieutenants began to take over the front room and closing the dining room.  Anne, Vladimir’s chef, brought him a lovely meal which he enjoyed immensely.  Anne was one of his best and favorite hires, as she was magic in the kitchen.  She managed to find ways of making things that he would not normally eat, mainly vegetables, pleasing to his palate.

Vladimir finished his meal and complemented Anne on how spectacular it had been.  He begged off dessert for the moment, as he wanted to take his nightly walk.  Taking his walking cane, he exited the house.  The ground was wet and seeing it, he drew in a deep breath to enjoy the rarity of the water in the air.  He also let out a very satisfied belch, chuckling at how deep it had been.

He began his walk by checking around the house to make sure everything was all right.  As he rounded the corner, he saw something on the ground.  It was dark and the moon didn’t give enough light to completely distinguish what it was.  As he got closer, he realized it was a person.  He picked up his pace and seeing the body, he knew instantly who it was.

She had fell over, face first into a puddle that had formed, her mouth and nose under water.  Turning her over, he tapped his linkshell open, “Vasily, Kathrine, come to the side yard.  Quickly.  Bring a tarp with you.”  Both acknowledged the order without question.

His employees arrived within moments.  They lifted and rested Veig on the tarp, then proceeded to take her back in the house, “Carry her in and put her in the guest room.  Vasily, once that is done, get the chirurgeon.  Tell him he has a drowning victim to attend to and to get here quickly.  Pick him up and carry him here if he delays.  Katherine, get her out of her wet clothes after Vasily leaves and put her in something dry.  Ask Anne to help you if need be and keep her warm.”  Katherine frowned and opened her mouth to say something, but changed her mind.  Now was not the time.

Katherine hoped this was not another addict that Vladimir had taken a liking too, only to watch them die before him.  She would not allow that this time, even if Vladimir fired her.

***To Be Continued***

[thanidiel]

Prompt Thirteen: “Stash”

There was a quaint little tea store between the Consulates and the Kogane Dori.

To many, it was simply where to get packages of sencha or matcha, purchase a new mortar and pestle, sit down for a cup of silk-stocking-tea, or acquire a spice mix to copycat the palates of Thavnairian or Gyr Abanian teas.

To the Kuroiri, it was where they would sometimes stash dreamweed, blackroot rose, somnus - every nasty sort of substance that leaked through the tight borders of Hingashi onto Shishu. One of the many unsuspecting caches throughout the Foreign District.

It was laughably easy to do so, and even moreso when they started to utilise the quiet, head-down, personality of ‘Takeshi’ to do so. It was him who ran the deliveries for some time after the shipments got through the walls and were processed out of the warehouses.

No one questioned such a quiet, dutiful, laborer bringing in pungent, fragrant, crates of herb and tea from a wagon fresh from the ports - toiling seemingly endlessly as his long sleeves and neck drenched in sweat. Never trembling with his exertion as he politely waved off urchins who wished to earn koban assisting him or made sure to provide loud greetings of respect to those he had recognised as the teashop regulars.

Then he would step into the back and everyone would remark graciously to Mister Tanaka that it was good that his worker was both out of the sun and could sit down and enjoy a drink during the remainder of his duties.

Meanwhile, Jian merely continued to place down the goods fearlessly, without the worry of gazes through the thinly-opened doorway that separated the front room from the cold, dark, storage.

The perfume of chrysanthemums and jasmine, the dark richness of the most popular green and black teas, and the sweetness of dried persimmons and peaches, all covered everything in the most blatant of senses, even to the Kuroiri and Tanaka.

They had a subtle system of distinction, to be felt whether blackness or light fell onto the layers of disguising herbs.

An undistinguished notch of the knife used to break apart packages, and rope, and crates. On the underside of the lid. Something a worker could seamlessly notate with the way their thumbs brushed against the wood when they lifted it up by its right corner.

“Takeshi!” carried over into the claustrophobic room.

“Here, Uncle Tanaka.”

“Master Nakai has come for the white tea from Gridania. Can you please carry a crate out to his servant?”

Milkweed, then.

[whitherwanderer]

8 // shed

[ CW: body horror, self mutilation, kinning with a bug. ]

Nexianne’s thoughts had been preoccupied with insects lately. Ever since she’d found the shell of a cicada nymph clinging to her window frame long after the adult had emerged and flown. Alien and beautiful, a fragile image of a creature that traded its form for something greater and was rewarded with a sleek pair of glassy wings.

She’d read about it in a Garlean naturalist’s description of the provincial wildlife beyond the capital. While she’d be loathe to congratulate the enemy on anything more than technological accomplishment, the language around which revolved their taxonomic approach to the star and everything on it was, in itself, beautiful.

Exuviae was the term for this hollow carapace. “Things stripped from the body”.

There were times when she looked in the mirror and did not recognize herself. Times that her clothing seemed to do nothing but scratch at her skin no matter what she did and even the slightest shift of fabric against her was so offensive that she wanted to cast it all off. Burn it. Let the fire keep her warm instead. She kept herself from scratching in an act of self-restraint, but it didn’t stop the fantasy from replaying over and over in her head.

Self-published accounts by the ascetics of the Far East warranted some interest, though eventually she found that her ideals diverged with theirs. The more extreme among them found their purpose in death, but she was not content to wither and diminish. Only to become. But they did provoke a thought. She wondered how much could be stripped from a person before they were no longer one at all, changed into something else that could exist beyond the boundaries of what man only thought was their epitome. How much of a person was exuviae?

Standing in front of the mirror in the dead of night, she found herself tugging at her clothing again. Something on that far plane separated only by glass, her shadow-self, hummed a word at her over and over again until it matched the beat of her heart: Become, become, become. She felt it thrumming under her skin as she stripped off each article of clothing and stood there in the dark, palming her neck, her collar, the backs of her shoulders. If she stood still enough, she could feel the tiny fluttering of wings beneath.

She could make men forget their names, their homes, their histories. She could strip them of individuality and reduce them to feral beasts, if she wanted, guided only by base instinct. Hunger, fear, survival. It was a start, but it was a step backwards from the metamorphosis she was after. That transcendent change rewarded for stripping the self down beyond even blood and bone. Maybe it eluded them because they weren’t pursuing it. Maybe only she was capable of such revelation.

She screamed as she tore through her own flesh to free the wings beneath, but even as they glimmered, glasslike in the moonlight, her reflection begged her to complete them both with its persistent one-word mantra. Dread and agony filled her at the thought of going any further, but the thrill of this breakthrough pressed her on. Pain was but an obstacle, a cry of the cloying self she had to silence. The more of her that sloughed away, the quieter it became until even she no longer screamed. She unraveled quietly in the dark, disassembling herself like a puzzle box until there was no reflection. No separation between she and the shadow. Bare but for a soul.

Nexianne blinked, the flicker of blackened lashes momentarily dispelling the fixation on her soulless mirror image. Her skin no longer itched under her clothing, her ears no longer filled with cries. Her hand lifted and the reflection obeyed. Still herself.

[simulation-machine]

Summer to fall

[lawlesslane]

Drug Menu

At Lawless Lane there is everyone's fair share of illegal items and substances. One particular thing that LL dealers are known for is their drugs. So if you are looking for your next hit the dealers at Lawless are who you want to seek out. Just be wary because some of the substances sold are known to be quite deadly for mortals.

​All drug prices are purely for roleplay purposes. No actual gil exchange is necessary with our dealers.

All of our drugs are actual FFXIV mentioned substances, so they are 100% lore friendly to the FFXIV world. We have listed with them their drug type and their real-world equivalent to better help you understand what each drug is.

LAWLESS LANE DRUG MENU

Somnus . 1,500g Depressant - Opium A popular drug around Ul'dah, Somnus gives the user an euphoric rush followed by relaxation. Often used to relieve pain and stress, leaving you in a hazy state.

Milkweed . 1,000g Hallucinogenic - Ecstasy A strong hallucinogenic commonly used by Slyphs. Must be consumed in extremely small quantities by mortals due to it being highly toxic. Used to strengthen other substances.

Moko Grass . 500g Multi-Category - Marijuana A common and affordable drug that when used can have a varying sort of effects on the user from being a depressant, stimulant, or hallucinogen. Most often moko grass is smoked.

Dreamweed . 700g Depressant - Heroin Commonly used in medical treatments dreamweed works as a system suppressant and a narcotic downer. Typically will alleviate pains and numb the body to feelings temporarily.

Pluto . 2,000g Stimulant - Steroid A strong stimulant drug popular with fighters, Pluto will leave the user feeling 'harder than steel' and make them prone to violence if too large a dose is taken.

K'nahli . 1,500g Stimulant - Cocaine A popular stimulant drug that when snorted will usually leave the user feeling euphoric, energetic, wide awake, and hyper alert to everything around them.

Blackroot Rose . 25,000g Hallucinogenic - None A very deadly and addictive narcotic that when consumed will cause the user to experience nightmarish visions and extreme fits of violence. Large amounts will cause brain damage.

[raylin-ruhni-blog]

Mistakes

What had she done?

The past two hours were like a blur in the young woman’s mind. She had been at the top of the world, a young accomplished alchemist of her age, she was good, she didn’t mess up. She had just messed up.

She had joined this group a short time ago, a company that sold guns, and had mercenaries for hire. The young woman was used to working with people that could kill her in a moment, it was no trouble. Raylin was used to living a dangerous life, but it had been stable at this job. She had gotten her first real job, not drug selling, not patching up some troublemaker, she got paid to build guns. Give it she had no idea how to do that, the miqo’te was out of her element and that was where she messed up first.

Sticking it out and learning as best she could wasn’t enough, she just wasn’t cut out for blacksmith, she was an alchemist at heart! With nothing to really put her brain to use on, she got bored, she accepted an outside job. A new type of drug, a mixture of blackroot rose, and dreamweed, both some nasty things one would not want to mess with, it was in a fine powder. Just holding it felt like holding someone’s life or death in her hands depending on the dosage, and her job was to make sure people would be able to survive a trip on it.

What she didn’t think would happen was her boss coming in to check in on her and catching her with it, the fool he was. Not knowing what it was, thinking it was something else, something harmless, he decided to scold her tossing the powder to the floor, and letting it stir up disturbed into the air. With her mask on, she did not get effective, it was a safety measure she knew to take. Her boss on the other hand, in his slight anger had breathed in a bit with his yelling.

It started out simple, his eyes dilating, and his face going red with rage, or maybe it looked more purple on him. His breathing sped up, and his thoughts seemed more fueled by adrenalin, the visions starting to creep into his logical controlled world. Paranoia, labored breathing, and rage, that frightful rage.

She remembered the feeling of the barrel of an unfinished gun being pointed right at her head, the feeling of cold sweat on the back of her neck, and for once fear in her eyes. It wasn’t finished though, and the dead click of the gun was a surprise, but one that she would not take for granted. The au ra man had thrown the gun against the wall, the loud noise moving Raylin into action to leave, the air across the business contaminated.

He was suspicious the boss kicked everyone out of the company, leaving himself alone since he was the only one he could trust. Not even his most trusted were able to stay, he was alone, and in a way, he had saved everyone from a deadly drug-induced death.

No one knew this was her fault, she couldn’t tell everyone the reason this happened was because of her. What had she done? It felt like time was slowly coming back to her as the other abandoned members talked, start a new business, stay together, take care of each other. They had gotten close in this span of time, they were all looking out for each other.

Even if she shouldn’t stay with these people, these mercenaries who she had gotten kicked out of their home, she joined them. She would stay, and help them with their business, and work to pay them back for a sin they did not even know she carried.

She wouldn’t make a mistake like that again. This was her turning point.

((So my old fc imploded yesterday because of problems, instead of just accepting all of us being kicked out we made a new fc for everyone to go to! But I still wanted this old fc ending to help with Raylin’s development.))

[alphaeus-streamside]

Preaching to the Choir

September 11th, 2021

The next morning, everyone had returned. This time, Alphaeus had brought them into a meeting room. They’d set up a mock Mahjong game, playing through several hands as everyone circled the board while they discussed each seat’s best options. After what felt like hours, a maid had delivered trays of sandwiches, and everyone sat down to eat, still picking at the last hand they’d discussed. 

Soon, conversation turned to the upcoming tournament. The room quieted, unease filtering in.

“We can’t let them keep doing it,” Alphaeus said, standing, his sandwich still  in one hand as he gestured, “there’s more to it than just a few pills in a few tiles. This has to go deeper than that.”

“The missing people might have gotten too close to the truth,” Nona said.

“Or gotten in too deep,” Theja added. 

Temuulen tapped his fingers against the rim of his plate, “Or, the vanishing people could be an unrelated complication of the drugs.” 

Khet made a thoughtful sound, “But how likely is that?” 

Alphaeus made a sweeping gesture with his sandwich, “All of it’s tied together, and not all of us started this thing on the same page, but we’re in this together now. Some of us in this room right here could have fallen victim to it if we didn’t all get together and put the pieces together. We’ve got to stop this.” 

Rhy’sae tore a bit of bread off his sandwich, pinching it between two fingers, “The blackroot rose is too dangerous to let go unchecked. Shouldn’t we bring law enforcement into things?” 

Theja made a sound, “They don’t have enough solid evidence to pin anything on the Den Master. That’s why I got hired in the first place. The law knows, their hands are just tied. We know how they’re doing it, with the fake tiles. We just don’t know why, or where it’s going, or even who the supplier is. If the law moves now, it risks the source skittering away.” 

“So if we uncover the truth, the law can step in?” Temuulen asked. 

Theja nodded, “That’s right.” 

“Then we just have to get as many of our people into that final match as we can!” Alphaeus urged. 

“Streamside, sit down and eat your damn sandwich. We know. We will. You’re preaching to the Twelve damned choir.”