#and then as a young druid he went traversing out and about

[ride-a-dromedary]

Just thinking about the implications of this, but Halsin's way of indicating that his family has long passed is: "save for [him], [his] line perished a long time ago".

Aside from it being a decidedly more old fashioned and more eloquent way of indicating what happened (as is shown in shades in Halsin's speaking patterns, which is likely trying to illustrate his age as well as push the "wise mentor" angle), by stating that his line has ended with him, practically, it means both sets of grandparents are gone, both parents are gone, and either Halsin is an only child (unlikely considering Wood Elves, but possible), or any and all of his siblings are gone, too. And if you stretch what you consider part of a line, rather than just keeping direct, that could extend to aunts and uncles and cousins as well (though it's hard to say concretely what Halsin includes in a familial line).

So it leaves me to wonder what happened to reduce an entire elven line to one elf, when Halsin himself is only just approaching middle-age and he pointedly says it happened a long time ago, so it wasn't a recent event, and the lot of them likely didn't die from old age/natural causes. Was his entire village wiped out at one point? Disease or a raid or orcs or a wildfire or what?

[thebaronfelidae]

Vitra the druid kobold

Vitra was born during the cataclysm in an underground tunnel near Aym, Solomnia, living undetected with her clan. They mostly kept to themselves, focused only on their expansion. She was born quite fragile then compared to the rest of her kin, but they loved her nonetheless and looked after her.

She had a curiosity for surface exploration and by the age of two she began to explore outside of the tunnels, looking for treasures and food that she could bring back to the nest. Her exploration took her to Fangoth, a town overrun by goblins. As she wondered the streets a young girl took notice of her and decided to introduce herself to Vitra as Valkrye, the little warrior thief.

Their friendship grew as the years went by and Vitra would visit the town often to build their wealth and hideout together, bringing in more little rouges to join their rally. One day however when she was 7 she drew the attention of an elf that was disguised in the town. He noticed Vitra using growth magic on a small patch of flowers, which she was going to bring to her friend. It turned out that Vitra had a natural talent for the druid arts, as if to make up for her frail then normal form.

He kidnapped her as she had left the town to return home and kept her in Wayfold, in hopes that he could help nurture her power. She fought him constantly and was distressed for years after, worrying constantly about her friends and family. She eventually accepted his tutelage but her hate for him never left. By age 20 she finally was able to escape him and return to her old home only to find nothing but ruins and death.

She grieved her losses only to remember her friend Valkyre who she prayed was still alive. When she arrived at Fangoth it was discovered that the goblins were defeated and that the humans had full reign in their town again. It made traversing the town far more difficult now that knights were roaming the roads, but to her dismay she could not find her friend.

Instead, she found a disguised draconian named Loge, who was surviving the town by gambling and theft. With no clan or friends to return to she chose to leave the town with the draconian and since then had been exploring Krynn to build her magic and their fortune as she wonders what happened to her dearest friend. It is now current day, a 34 year old Vitra now hears rumours of a Dragon highlord based near Balifor sending their troops to blockade between Micah and Trigol.

Might rewrite this like the last one but i'm happy with it for now. But yeah! My OC character is complete!

[sapphicknightaesthetic]

Prompt #2: The winds call me back to you

Ireland had proved to be more than Eivor had bargained for. She sailed home on the wind-tossed sea, wondering if the trade routes, outposts, and alliances she forged would prove to be worth it in the end, compared to their exorbitantly high cost. She remembered Barid’s eyes, soft but desperate, pleading with her to ensure  King Flann’s allegiance with his last breath, paired with an intensity of his love for his son. He had built a thriving city all so that Sichfrith could prosper...

“...Valhalla need not be a place, Eivor. It can be a legacy…”

She thought about her own legacy. Her intention had always been a life dedicated to fighting for honor, for the glory of her people, for some measure of peace where she no longer needed to pick up her axe to defend them at every turn. But is that what England had given her? She had spent much of her energy and immense skills at the whims of others with political aims and goals, not always aligning with her own. She had placed more than one puppet king on a throne, often needing to choose between the better of two evils. Was this honor? Was this a legacy worthy of entrance to Valhalla? 

Eivor felt exhaustion roll through her like the tide, filling every crevice. She felt unsure of her place in the world, and just needed the comfort of home. Of Randvi. That was her raison d'être, as Estrid would say. Her reason for being. If she fought for the betterment of her clan, if she made connections and alliances to ensure their safety, that was all that mattered. She shook the sad cobwebs from her mind, determined to have a genuine smile for her wife when she returned. She leaned against the firm wall of the longship, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Birna shook her shoulder. “Come on Sunbeam. Home time.”

Eivor’s eyes fluttered open, she blinked sleep back to its void. “Have we docked?”

“Not yet. We’re just around the bend.”

“Thanks for waking me, Birna.”

“I’m so glad to be rid of Ireland! Those Druids were something else, eh? Giving decent Pagans a bad name.”

“Mmmm.”

“Eivor, I don’t mean to pry. But you spent a lot of time with that red haired witch...what’s her name…”

“Ciara. I did. What’s your question, Birna?”

“I’m just wondering if you made any Druid magic of your own in that wet bog of a land?”

Eivor rolled her eyes. Birna knew full well she hadn’t, though this question seemed to pop up after every major journey they undertook. Eivor had tried to tell her multiple times that she would never be unfaithful to Randvi, that she could not bed anyone for the sake of it if her heart wasn’t in it. The concept had been lost on Birna, and so the questions had persisted. 

“You know I didn’t.”

“I’m just checking. You do have a type, Sunbeam. That red hair burns like fire.”

Eivor grinned ruefully, shook her head, and turned to look at their surroundings. They were just passing the trined point in the river that led to Grantebridge, the ruins of Duroliponte looming to the Southeast. One more bend and they’d be home. She wondered if Randvi would be there waiting; she had sent Sýnin ahead with a note. The evening was well on its way, Randvi might even be asleep. She pictured their bed, warm and soft, furs piled on top of them as they snuggled together, limbs entwined. More and more, this was what she wanted. The return home was always worth it, and was always something she looked forward to, but lately she no longer wanted to return, she only wanted the simple everyday fact of her and Randvi together, because she had never left in the first place.

She watched, wistfully, as the crew lowered the sails and started rowing, this part of the river too narrow to traverse safely. Her heart rate increased as the Raider’s hut roof became visible, growing closer with each stroke of the oars. She felt a swell of pride as more of her village emerged from the lowland fog. Her village . She had built this place from almost nothing, discarded hovels of canvas and sticks. Sigurd may have claimed it as theirs, but Eivor had been the one to turn it into something to be proud of, something worth protecting. She leapt to the back of the ship’s tail, standing on a ledge. “...Valhalla need not be a place, Eivor. It can be a legacy…” This was her Valhalla, and it would never be complete without the person at it’s centre, at its heart. 

Eivor realized then that while she was proud of Ravensthorpe, Ravensthorpe, much like her former idea of Valhalla, was only a place. Randvi was her true home. She’d go wherever Randvi was, without question. Their love, with all of its storied history of waiting, longing, and hiding, was her legacy. She saw copper hair, cloaked against the oncoming chill of the evening, waiting like a beacon between the posts of the village entrance.

The ship glided silently up to the dock, and Eivor immediately leapt off, running as fast as her exhausted legs would carry her. She grabbed Randvi, lifting her off the ground in a tight embrace, spinning her around. She inhaled Randvi’s scent, spice and fire blending with earth and ink and smoke. Her heart beat Randvi’s name in fast repetition, her hands holding onto her wife as tightly as she dared without hurting her.

“My love,” Randvi whispered, as she held fast to Eivor. “How I’ve missed you.” Her hands caressed the back of Eivor’s newly shaved head, luxuriating in the velvety feel. 

Eivor couldn’t speak, she did not want to break the moment with words, but slowly set Randvi down, quickly finding her mouth and communicating everything she couldn’t say with a long, slow kiss, paying attention to the feel of Randvi’s lips, the warmth of her mouth, the teasing nature of her teeth. 

Claps and pats of hands landed on her back and shoulders from the crew as they walked past the pair. Their hearts never failed to be happy for their Jarl, for the love that she had found and fought for. For all of her sacrifice, for the enormous work she had devoted to make their lives better, they gladdened at the sight of Eivor and Randvi together. They knew how hard her road had been, how much she had suffered, often silently, from such a young age. Her happiness was their happiness, and they showed her whenever they could. Birna let out a whistle. 

“You better get her to bed, Jarlskona.” Birna wrapped an arm around Petra, who had walked down to meet her wife when she saw the familiar Raven sails from her hut.

“Leave them be, love. I’d better get you to bed.” Petra wrapped an arm around Birna’s waist.

“You’ll hear no complaints from me, Petra. Good night, Sunbeam!”

Eivor and Randvi watched them leave, as Eivor sent them off with a wave. Randvi turned back around, seeing the edges of something in Eivor’s face. “What’s wrong, darling? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. I have a few cuts and bruises, nothing to worry about, my heart.”

“Thank you for sending Sýnin. I have a bath prepared. And some roast boar, thanks to Petra.”

Eivor felt overcome at the thoughtful care Randvi showed her in all things. “Randvi...thank you.” Was all she could manage. 

Randvi smiled at her, her wife was always so ready to display gratitude, a custom she never tired of, but she furrowed her eyes, wondering what was troubling her usually contented drengr.

“Let’s get you home.”

 

Randvi and Eivor sat in deliciously scented hot water. The worry and tension Eivor had carried home with her evaporated into the steam drifting to the longhouse ceiling. A satisfied smile now constantly fixed on her face. 

“This was a great idea, possibly the best you’ve ever had. And that’s truly saying something.”

“I aim to please, my Jarl.” Randvi felt self-congratulatory at the obvious change in her love’s mood. Years of observing Eivor, of seeing her come home in different states of health and happiness, of finding different ways of tending to that glorious body and soul made Randvi an expert in the proper care and maintenance of her physically ferocious wife. But one truth prevailed among her experience: Eivor always recooperated faster with a bath. 

“Are you ready to talk about Ireland?”

Eivor exhaled. “I will do my best. It still feels...fresh.”

Randvi sat up in the bath, giving Eivor all of her attention.

“You know I went to Ireland to help my cousin, Barid. And I did help, although Barid fell in battle. His High King did not heed Barid’s warnings. We were able to beat the Druids back, but I have been wondering if his death was needless, no matter how good and glorious his end. He died a hero, and is no doubt in Valhalla, but had his words been listened to, he would still be the King of Dublin, and his son would still have his father.”

“It is not up to us to change fate, Eivor. It sounds like the Nornir gave Barid a good death. What else can we ask in this life?”

“The love of the most beautiful and intelligent of women, for a start, at the very least.”

Randvi rolled her eyes and laughed, pleasure and embarrassment mingled together. When she looked back at Eivor, sorrow still crept in the periphery. “Is that all that troubles you, Eivor?”

“The Druids of Ireland are much like us, trying to carve out a life for themselves, trying to hold onto their traditions and culture, though the Christians would willingly wipe them, and us, away if given the chance. There was an extremist faction, the Children of Danu, that were causing all the strife while other Druids were forced to live in fear and even secrecy. It made me wonder if we will ever truly pacify this land. The Christians make no room for anyone else. I…I had to kill a Druid priestess who I thought was my friend, all for a Christian King who would rule over all. Was that honorable? I feel...stained, Randvi. I wonder if the decisions I’ve made in my time here are hurting our people, rather than truly helping. She was misguided, angry, she caused a lot of pain in the land there. I think King Flann Sinna saw the error of his ways in his treatment of the Druids, and he will make amends - he said as much. But these Christians...they can be false as well as unyielding. I’m not sure how far he can be trusted.” 

Memories of Fulke and King Aelfred made her skin prick involuntarily. The Norse and Danes were often met with a great deal more than suspicion and hostility, labeled as barbarians and savages for their voracity in war. But there was something honest and forthright in them as a people; they hid nothing, they lived openly and celebrated the customs and cultures of all who chose to live among them. Sharing resources through a community was their way, regardless of the people that community comprised; yet this was not the way of the Christians. From what she had seen, they feared all outsiders. She was unsure if this was unique to Anglo-Saxon Christians or not, but from all she had experienced, she was not keen to go looking for other examples. 

Randvi found Eivor’s hand under the warm water, and stroked soothingly. Her love never lost sight of the broader view and what it meant for her people. It was one of the many things she adored and cherished about her. She took Eivor’s fingers and brought them to her lips, kissing them lightly. 

“These are large questions, my love. Too large to confront in one night. But I promise I will help you as much as I can in our time come in this land. You try to take care of so many, Eivor Varinsdottir. I fear the world is too big, even for your very broad shoulders.”

Eivor felt her heart flutter. After all these years, after all this time, being with Randvi made her feel like she was falling in love with her over and over again. She never stopped falling. 

“But maybe, just for tonight, you can let me take care of you?” Randvi leaned forward, kissing one cheek lightly, then the other cheek, her nose, her chin, across her forehead, until she found Eivor’s lips, nipping lightly, until Eivor pulled her forward and kissed her with earnest desire. She opened her body, as Randvi lay on top of her in the bath, relishing the closeness after too many months apart. 

Eivor leaned her head back slightly, looking into Randvi’s eyes, darkened to forest green between her desire and the dim candlelight around them.

“Barid said something to me, before the Valkyrie came to claim him. He told me that Valhalla need not be a place, that it can be a legacy.” Eivor held Randvi’s gaze, needing her to feel how much she meant what she was about to say. “I think perhaps for me, it is not so much a legacy, as it’s you, Randvi. You are my home, my Valhalla. After all of our time in England, all of the campaigns, the politicking, the alliances we have paid for with sweat and blood, we could walk away tomorrow and I would not care. The winds always call me back to you, wherever you are.” 

Randvi felt strangely vulnerable, though deeply moved. She felt her heart race to echo and return Eivor’s sentiment. If Eivor ever left Ravensthorpe, Randvi would follow without hesitation. She used the moment to lean down and kiss Eivor again, with unashamed love and lust and pride and longing and hope. Their lives together had not been easy, but it had been worth every moment they had paid. 

She felt Eivor’s hands slide down to her lower back, holding her closely. She felt a hot rush in her center, and decided it was time to leave the bath. 

“Shall we adjourn to our chambers, my Jarl?”

Eivor smirked, knowingly. “Indeed, my Jarlskona.” 

Randvi made her way out of the bath, as Eivor followed suit. Randvi spied some new blade slices over Eivor’s body, and some fresh bruises getting ready to bloom; she’d be sure to kiss them all later. She took Eivor’s hand and led them naked to their bed. Their bed . A place she was never tired of acknowledging. 

Eivor pulled Randvi to her, wrapping her in strong, solid muscle. “I missed you, Jarlskona.”

“And I you, my Jarl.” Randvi pressed her teeth against Eivor’s neck, nipping and sucking her way along the tender flesh under her chin. She heard Eivor’s breath catch, and a gasp after she released skin from her teeth. She moved a hand, cupping Eivor’s sex, feeling the wet traces of her want on her fingers. Eivor bowed her head resting it on Randvi’s shoulder, her breathing deepening with anticipation. This fierce drengr, terror of England and Ireland, great Jarl of a proud clan, was made vulnerable and soft with a single touch. It was a power Randvi knew only she wielded, and she never took it for granted. 

She brought Eivor to the bed, guiding her down. “What would you like, darling?” She purred in a way that drove Eivor wild.

“You. I just want you.”

“I am yours, Eivor.”

And the sound of those words, said by the only woman in the world she needed to hear them from, snapped Eivor out of the worry she brought home with her. As the sounds of their love-making filled the longhouse, Ravensthorpe sighed relief, and for tonight at least, everything was well in the world.

[rallis-fatalis]

Snow

Rallis shivered in her sleep as she snoozed curled up into a tight warm ball on her bed. Her blanket coiled around her but did little to keep her cozy. Her teeth chattered from the cold, which soon woke her with a startled yelp as she bit her lip in her sleep. Rallis shuddered and tried to curl in on herself even farther. She was absolutely freezing! She could even see frost on her breath, something she had never experienced before. Why was she so cold? It was starting to make her feel sick and slow.

The door across the room opened up, letting in a pale grey light. In came an older man dressed in robes of white, the attire of a druid. His mane of white hair and beard matched his robes, though they did not sport the stains of green like that smeared across his clothing. He was carrying a stack of blankets when he noticed Rallis.

“Rallis, you are shivering! Are you sick?” He put a hand to the dragon’s forehead. She was icy to the touch, so it wasn’t a fever that ailed her.

She mumbled a quiet no. “I cold Uncle Cake.”

The druid in question, ‘Uncle Cake,’ or Kaqemeex rather, hefted the pile of blankets over to Rallis. “It is indeed cold. That is why I brought these new blankets. It is going to be much colder now that winter is here. There is even snow outside already!”

Rallis sniffled and grabbed two blankets off the pile to hide under. “What is snow?” she asked.

“You don’t know what snow is?” Kaqemeex said in surprise. “Hmm no I guess you wouldn’t seeing as how you lived underground your whole life. Snow is cold and white. It is frozen water that falls from the sky in winter. It is also very soft and fun to play with.” He added the last comment with a smile.

Rallis’ eyes grew wide in excitement over this mysterious substance she had never heard of before. “I see snow?”

“We can go outside to see. But if you are cold inside, you will be very cold outside. You need to be warm first. Let’s see if I can find you some better clothes.”

The druid searched through his drawers for something Rallis could wear. Some thick socks? No, not on those three clawed toes. His wool gloves? He’d rather not an old present be ripped at the fingers from dragon claws. Definitely not his prestigious herblore mastery cape. His spare clothes were far too big for the short thin dragon, and his extra winter wools were even bigger than his normal attire. He’d have to carry Rallis out like a pig in a blanket! Or rather a dragon in a blanket.

While Kaqemeex sifted through his clothes, Rallis was feeling much warmer now that she was under an entire mountain of blankets. She was ready to go outside and see snow, clothing or not! She took a blanket and tied it around her waist, giving her shredded robe bottom a much thicker extra layer. She did that once more and was left with a kilt of fluff. She happily curled her tail into the blanket skirt and away from the chilly air. Next she tied a third blanket around her torso in a similar manner as her robe bottom, and a fourth and final blanket around her neck like a cloak. She could hardly move with all the extra layers wrapped around her, but she was warm and ready to explore.

“Snow!” Rallis chirped.

Kaqemeex looked over from the mess he was making and laughed. “Well I suppose that’s one way to do it! Snow is very cold. You have nothing on your feet or head. If you start to feel bad, you tell me.”

“Okay!”

Rallis waddled over to the door. Kaqemeex couldn’t help but snicker. She looked so ridiculous! He held the door open for his dragon in a blanket, and Rallis couldn’t hide her wonder as she gazed upon the outside world. Taverley was a very green place, with lots of various plants and nature growing all around, even up the sides of the buildings. But now most of the green was covered with white. The dull morning rays made the white world glitter all around her. Rallis gasped in awe as she stepped outside. Immediately upon setting foot outside, something cold crunched under her foot. She yelped and jumped back. The floor was so cold!

“It’s okay,” Kaqemeex assured. “That is snow.”

Rallis looked down at the frozen white crumbling off the bottom of her foot. “Snow?” She grabbed a fistful of snow off the ground and smiled at the frozen fluff. “Snow!” The dragon screamed giddily and ran off as fast as she could.

All of Taverley was covered in snow! There was snow on the roofs! There was snow on the tree branches! There was snow everywhere! A huge pile of the stuff accumulated near Sanfew’s house, the older man undoubtedly being diligent in his endeavor to keep the walkways clear. Rallis leapt into the pile without a second thought and disappeared with a fwumph. She poked her now snow-covered head out and laughed. She burst out of the pile in an explosion of powder and ran to the river. A thin layer of ice rest on the surface of the water and snow piled along the banks before melting and floating down stream. Rallis grabbed a pile of snow and dropped it into the water to see what would happen. It slowly dissolved as it flowed away. She smiled and got a bigger pile to drop into the river. It went a little farther this time. She ran off again and shoveled an entire cape-blanket full into the water. It plopped in with a splash and shattered some of the nearby ice. She screeched with joy as she watched the ice flow away.

Kaqemeex stood under the awning of his house and watched Rallis with a wide smile. Young people didn’t usually traverse Taverley often, and the few young adults that did live in the area were rather serious, no doubt due to Sanfew’s strict training. It was a very missed sight, watching child-like wonder grace the town once more. He found himself remembering when he was younger, playing in the snow with his parents for the first time. That memory gave him an idea.

“Rallis! Come here!”

Rallis cocked her head and ran over, but not before tripping on her blanket skirt and face-planting into the slushy path. Kaqemeex winced and started to run over, but Rallis shook the muddy slushy snow off and smiled as she grabbed a wad of wet earth and held it up proudly. “Mud AND snow! Good!!!”

“Haha yes it is! Now come here!”

She bounced over excitedly. “Rallis, do you want to do something fun?”

Rallis’ eyes shone with excitement and ears perked up in joy. “Fun?!”

“Yes, fun. We need to find a lot of snow! Can you do that?”

“Lot of snow! Lot of snow! Yes, yes, lot of snow!”

The end of town closer to White Wolf Mountain was buried in a deep layer of snow. It seemed no one cared to shovel it away with how far from anyone’s home or areas of work it was. Rallis flopped onto the snow piles. “Shmow!” her muffled voice called out.

“Excellent. Now watch this.”

Rallis pulled her head out of the snow just in time to watch Kaqemeex hold his arms out and fall backwards into the snow. She watched in confusion as he flailed his arms and legs across the snow over and over until it started to pile up in a pattern around him. Soon he stood up, carefully not to step where he had been laying, brushed the snow off his robes, and held his hands out to the indent he made in the snow with pride. “It’s a snow icyene!”

Rallis admired the shape thoughtfully. “What is I-seen?”

“Oh, right, you wouldn’t know. They are humans with big feathery wings!” Kaqemeex pointed to the tiny feathered wings hiding under Rallis’ blanket cloak. “Feathery!”

She admired the angelic outline better and decided she wanted to make one of her own. She flopped down just like Kaqemeex had and flailed around. Unfortunately, she was quite a bit more messy in her execution, and when she got up to admire her work, it looked more like some warped devil than an icyene, especially with the added indentations of horns and a tail. Nevertheless, she held her arms out proudly. “I-seen!”

Kaqemeex rubbed the snow clinging to her horns. “Yes it is. Good job. Do you want to see something else?”

“Yes! Yes!” Rallis jumped up and down excitedly.

“Watch this.” Kaqemeex bent down and grabbed a wad of snow in his hands. He pressed it together into a ball shape and showed Rallis. “This is a snowball. Snow-ball.”

“Snowball,” Rallis repeated.

“They are very good for throwing,” Kaqemeex continued. “Like this!” He threw the snowball against the side of a storage shed and it exploded into a rain of white poofage. Rallis squealed happily and grabbed some snow to do the same. She threw her snow and it crumbled before impact.

“Make it tighter,” Kaqemeex instructed. “Like this.” He showed her the motions until she had made herself a perfectly round firm ball of snow. She threw it against the shed as hard as she could and it exploded into a flurry just like Kaqemeex’s. Rallis screeched happily and did it again and again and again.

Eventually, Jatix came out to see what all the commotion was about. He saw them pelting his shed with snow. “Hey! You’re making a mess over there! You better shovel all that away after!”

Rallis pouted and gripped her snowball. “Shush!” She threw her snowball straight at Jatix. It burst into a powdery explosion against his face, dyeing his brown beard white. Kaqemeex covered his mouth, both in disbelief that Rallis had just done that and also to hide the childish giggle forming in his throat. Rallis howled with laughter at her precise hit.

Jatix wiped the snow off his face and formed a snowball in kind. “Oh you think that’s funny?! Let’s see how you like it!” He threw his snowball right at Rallis, pelting her in the snout and ceasing her laughter. Rallis glared back with a smile and grabbed two snowballs to retaliate with. The first hit Jatix in the side but the second he dodged. It flew by him and hit someone else. Not far behind him, Tegid was out tearing the ice off the hang of his roof before they turned into real problems. He thought perhaps snow slid off the roof and hit his shoulder, but to his not-surprise it was Rallis with a snowball.

“Really, dragon?!” He shouted. “You trying to make my life harder?! Well then won’t you hate this when you learn--.” Tegid grabbed some snow and wedged a small definitely-not-dangerous piece of ice into the newly made snowball. “That I’m the best snowball fighter in all of Asgarnia!”

Tegid joined Jatix’s side while Kaqemeex backed up Rallis and the two began a proper snowball war. The sound of laughter and snowballs splatting against the sides of houses rang as the enlistment call for the other druids, and soon nearly the whole town was pitted against each other in a friendly battle. By the time the sun began to heat the snow and turn to either a slushy paste or a hardened crunch, most of the druids were down for the count back inside and snowballs painted the once clear walkways and house perimeters. Rallis was snuggled up on her ‘snow I-seen’ next to Kaqemeex, ready to fall asleep from both the cold and exhaustion of play. Kaqemeex went to pick Rallis up and take her back inside to sleep somewhere warm when the sound of footsteps crunching on the snow came his way. He looked over to see Sanfew, usual scowl etched across his face. His red face stood out against all the white. He looked around at the mess, the slushy walkways, the snow-pelted windows and walls, the neatly shoveled snow piles toppled over, all the hard work he had done from the night before and that morning just gone to waste. Kaqemeex could see Sanfew take a breath, a prelude to the shouting that would likely cause an avalanche. Kaqemeex grabbed Rallis and ran back to his house, slamming the door shut before Sanfew could get started.

Once the shouting began, the remaining druids lazing around in the snow scrambled up in a hurry to grab a shovel and get to work, and one could swear there was an ominous rumbling tumbling sound from the peak of White Wolf Mountain.

[kumeko]

A/N: For the Merlin zine! After so long, I’ve finally posted it, ahahaha. I wanted to do a piece on some of the lesser used characters, in that sad gap between end of canon/modern era.

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The path was well-hidden, with long grasses and weeds covering all but the faintest sliver of it. If Merlin hadn’t traversed it a thousand times by now, he would not have found it. As it was, he almost got lost three times. It was a good thing he had de-aged himself before coming here, or he would never have made it.

“Finally,” he grumbled as he emerged from the forest and walked toward the lake. Approaching the shoreline, he sank onto the grassy knoll next to the water. The ground was still soft after the spring rains. “That was tiring.”

You should rest then.  A voice bubbled out of the lake, washing around him like sea foam. Leaning forward, Merlin peered into the water to see a face smiling up at him.

“Freya,” he breathed, smiling broadly. Her face rippled in response, her image distorting slightly. Did she look the same as she had when they first met? He wasn’t sure; he could barely remember those early days. Not that he had to—she existed now, and for that, Merlin was grateful.

He was tired of saying goodbye.

How are you, Merlin? She started to emerge from the water, like an iceberg rising. Droplets ran down her body as she leaned against the lake’s bank. Resting her head on her crossed arms, she glanced up at him. “You’re scratched all over!”

“Nature took over,” he grumbled, gesturing back to the woods.  He could handle most things, but not the brambles and thorns. If only he had brought shears or a machete. “We should never have let go of the gardener.”

Freya blinked owlishly before laughing. “You never change.”

“I’d like to think I’m a little smarter.” Merlin pouted. Sitting back, he gave her a winning smile. “Maybe even handsomer?”

She broke out into a fresh burst of giggles, shaking her head. “Merlin!”

“Everyone has that exact response.” He frowned. Letting it go, he looked out over the lake at the castle. Avalon was just as untouchable, as unreachable as it had been that night. If only he had reached it then—would Camelot still be standing? Would Merlin still be alive now, centuries later?

There was a price for everything, and the price of failure was too much: a loss of home, of companionship.

Of memory.

Quietly, he asked, “Has he awoken yet?”

He didn’t really need to hear her reply, just as he didn’t need to see the pity in her eyes as she shook her head. “No, not yet.”

“He always did oversleep.” Merlin shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, trying to feign indifference. “That’s why I had to do all the hard work.”

“Well…” She gave him an impish grin. “You were very brave at least.”

“Were? And that’s all?” Merlin splashed her lightly and swiftly moved back before she could retaliate. He still wasn’t sure how much power over the water she had and he didn’t want to end up at the bottom of a lake.  Looking up, he could spot a white speck flying in the sky. “Is that Aithusa?”

Freya followed his line of sight, squinting. After a few minutes, she hummed affirmatively. “She likes to fly in the afternoon.”

“It helps her stretch her wings,” a throaty voice rumbled behind him. There was a soft grunt as a heavy body was dragged across the ground. “Her wings are slowly getting stronger and she needs the exercise.”

“Kilgharrah.” Merlin smiled. Getting up, he turned around to greet the old dragon. Unlike this place, time had not been kind to him. His wings were in tatters, his scales worn and dull, and, as he walked forward, there was a slight limp. “It’s good to see you again, old friend.”

“And you too, young warlock.” His lips curled back slightly, revealing his sharp canines as he smiled. “Though I suppose you are not so young anymore?”

Merlin sneered. “I don’t think you’re one to talk.”

“No, no, I suppose not.” The dragon didn’t argue, merely curling up on the ground. It had been centuries since he had flown, even longer since he had left this place. “How fares the world of man?”

Merlin sat back down, wrapping his arms around his knees. It had been almost fifty years since his last visit and yet, oddly enough, there wasn’t much to tell. Civilizations had risen and fallen, men had discovered new technologies and fought over them, and in the end, humanity remained the same. “I’m thinking of moving,” he replied instead. “I’ve been 70 for the past ten years. I can barely remember what it’s like to walk straight.”

Kilgharrah didn’t comment on the change of topic. “You still have not found any companions, Merlin?”

He shook his head with a wry grin. “It’s a little hard to make friends when I know how it’s going to end.” Almost everyone he met was an ordinary human, who would live an ordinary life and die an ordinary death. There were no kings, no noble quests and ancient monsters now.

Aside from this place, there was no magic.

“There are almost no sorcerers out there,” Merlin murmured. He looked down, playing with the ends of his shirt. “There are no druids, no witches—I even went to the source of the old magic and there was a small village there.”

“So it too has been lost,” the dragon murmured, glancing up at the sky.  Following Aithusa’s movements, he sighed. “I had expected it, but not so soon.  It seems the sky is the last untouched domain. Perhaps one day they will conquer that, too.”

“Are we safe here?” Freya asked, worried. She peered at the forest, as though humans would be marching out of the grove any moment now. Biting her lip, she dipped her hand into the lake. “I can’t leave this place.”

“No, they will not come here,” Kilgharrah consoled her, shaking his head. “Magic might be waning elsewhere, but here it is strong. Avalon cannot be touched by those who are not invited.”

“Why is magic disappearing?” Merlin lifted his head, watching his friend for his response. “I thought…you said I had succeeded.”

“You did,” the dragon replied simply, as though that was all he needed to say. And maybe, to him, it was enough.

But it wasn’t for Merlin. Not after all those years outside, those years spent watching magic become a fairytale, a story told at bedtime to help children sleep. Even Arthur had become legend, more myth than human, and Merlin couldn’t remember what was fact and what was fiction anymore.

“Then why is magic dying?” Merlin asked again, swallowing down his fear. “It’s even worse than it was during Uther’s time.”

“He would be happy to hear that.” The dragon snorted, annoyed to hear that name once more. “Even after death, the man still angers me.”

“I still can’t forgive him.” Freya frowned darkly, crossing her arms. “After all—"

“You’re avoiding the topic.” Merlin’s fingers dug into his shirt. They did this every time; Kilgharrah would change the subject, and Freya would follow suit. But not today. Taking a deep breath, he stared up at the dragon. “Did I fail?”

Taken aback, Kilgharrah shook his head slowly. “No—”

“Did I fail?” His voice broke, and Merlin trembled. “Is that why?”

There were things he could never forget, even if he wanted to. Arthur’s hand in his, his grip weakening. I’m cold, he had murmured, his voice barely a whisper. Hold me. His skin was clammy from sweat, cooling as the day faded away.

The light had died from his eyes before he could reach the water, before he could be saved. Merlin had lost his king, his friend, back then. What he had never considered was that he might have ruined magic, ruined Albion as well.

“Merlin.” A leathery snout brushed against Merlin’s body. He could feel the rumble from the dragon’s voice as he spoke. “You did not fail.”

“Then why is magic disappearing?” Merlin asked, gripping his wrists tightly. “Why is Arthur dead and Camelot gone and—” I’m left alone. He couldn’t say it, the words stuck to his throat like glue.

Kilgharrah seemed to understand anyway. “I do not know everything, Merlin. Despite my age, some things are secret to me as well.” Gently, he pushed his head next to Merlin’s body, calmly breathing in and out. Merlin could feel his own heartbeat slow down and follow suit. “I do know that you met your destiny and you did not fail. One day, the Once and Future King shall return and, with him, magic will flourish once more.”

Merlin leaned against the dragon, breathing in his scent. It was of charcoal, of earth and fire and centuries long gone. It shouldn’t have been as comforting as it was. They were kin, someone had told him once. Dragon and Dragonlord, connected by a deep magic. Perhaps that was why this felt almost like an uncle soothing him.

“All things must end.” The dragon sounded almost wistful as he spoke. “Even your wait shall one day end.”

“Will it?”

Freya pulled herself even higher out of the water, reaching out to grab Merlin’s limp hand. Squeezing it, she smiled. “It will. Until then, we’re here with you.”

“Freya…” Merlin grasped her hand back tightly. He was lonely, yes. Home was no longer what it was, yes. But what he had forgotten was that he wasn’t alone.

He still had Freya and Kilgharrah and even Aithusa. He still had a place to come back to. If Kilgharrah said his wait would be over one day, then it would. He had never led Merlin astray before.

“Thank you.” Merlin smiled, looking at Freya and then Kilgharrah. Wiping his eyes, he felt his ears grow hot with embarrassment. He had been acting like a child, and at his age, too. “Don’t tell Arthur about this. He’d never let me hear the end of it.”

The dragon chuckled. “Perhaps I was wrong. There are some things that do not end.”

“You’re supposed to reassure me!” Merlin grumbled.

“Don’t worry, we’ll keep it a secret. Just like with all the other times.” Freya deftly dodged his incoming splash before slipping back into the water. “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye.” Merlin waved. Turning back to the dragon, he grinned. “So I guess it’s just you and me now. Just like old times, huh?”

The dragon looked up at the sky once more, his eyes trained on Aithusa. She flew in figure eights, lower and lower with each lap. As she grew closer and closer, Merlin could see the slight dip in her flight, the shakiness of her movements. “I have a favour to ask of you, Merlin.”

“Sure.” Merlin couldn’t resist the rare change to tease his old friend. “It’s usually the other way around. It’s about time you asked.”

Kilgharrah didn’t take the bait. “Aithusa has been getting stronger. She might never be able to speak properly or fly as she should, but she is improving.” The dragon paused and closed his eyes. “I ask only that you keep an eye on her in the coming centuries, that you aid her in her growth.”

“I’ll…try…” Merlin winced, not liking it at all. Ever since he had killed Morgana, the dragon either tried to bite him or hurt him. “I thought you were taking care of her.”

“I was.” The dragon opened his eyes now, focusing on Merlin. “But I can no longer.”

The jest died from Merlin’s lips. This—this was serious. His voice came out a ghost, barely a whisper. “Why?”

“I might not be here next time you return, Merlin.” His words were casual, factual. As though they didn’t mean anything.

As though they didn’t mean everything.

Merlin froze. “No.”

“Everything ends, Merlin. Even I.”

“No.” Merlin couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Swallowing hard, he dug his fingers into his thighs. All he could think, could say, was that one word. That one plea. “No.”

“I told you centuries ago that my time was coming.” Almost tenderly, the dragon extended a wing to wrap around Merlin. “In order to save Arthur, I flew my last. Since then, it has merely been a question of when.”

“But…there has to be…” Merlin couldn’t deny the scars, the holes in the wing. Nor could he look away from the patchwork of scales on the dragon. When had he gotten so old? There were gaps in his hide, areas where aged skin showed through. Just when had it gotten so bad? Now?

“Not today. Maybe not tomorrow.” The dragon breathed out softly. “But when you return next, I will not be here. It is only too bad I shall not live to see the return of magic.”

“I can’t save you?” His voice came out a ragged whisper and he buried his face in his knees.

There was a price for everything. A witch had told him that, centuries ago. Merlin could barely remember her aside from her sharp blue eyes and the wicked curve of her red lips. She had held out a golden chalice as she spoke. There is a price for everything: an eye for an eye, a life for a life.

Merlin thought of his wait, of the eons that would pass before Arthur returned. What was the price of a king, of a friend? He had been paying it all these years, and he would be paying it for years to come. Even that was not enough to equal the price of a life. He looked up at the dragon, at the last of his kin.

He could not take that cup again, could not fill it with the waters of life and force him to remain.

“It is my time,” Kilgharrah said. “Just as it had been your friend’s time before me.”

There was no fighting it. Merlin blinked back his tears—he had already cried enough today. “I’ll take care of her.”

“Thank you, Merlin.” The dragon looked across the lake. “Perhaps I was too hasty back then.”

“Hasty?” Merlin blinked, confused.

“When I asked you to retrieve her egg.” The dragon sighed and lowered his head. Resting on the ground, he closed his eyes. “I should have waited longer.”

What if. I should have. Those thoughts had plagued Merlin’s mind for the past few centuries. Arthur could have lived. Gwen wouldn’t have cried. What if, what if.

“What’s this, doubt?” Merlin teased, forcing a chuckle. “The great dragon thinks he’s wrong?” Rising, he walked up and pressed his face against the dragon’s nose. “It’ll be fine. I’ll take care of her, and it’ll be fine.”

He would be damned if he let Kilgharrah die plagued with regret.

“Hmm…” The dragon sighed, ruffling Merlin’s clothes. “Thank you, Merlin.”

“It’s nothing.” He stepped back. Forcing a smile, he gestured at toward the forest. “I have to go now—I’ll come back soon.”

Kilgharrah gave him a long look before nodding. “Goodbye, kin.”

The finality of it all settled on him like a woollen cloak. Not trusting his voice, Merlin waved and left.

There’s a price for everything, a witch had warned him once.

He had understood that. He just never thought the price for waiting would be so steep.

[londontheatre]

Commemorating the 80th anniversary of the Nanking massacre, as well as the first production at the Finborough Theatre building in its 150th anniversary year, the European premiere of Into the Numbers by multi-award-winning American playwright Christopher Chen opens at the Finborough Theatre for a four week limited season on Tuesday, 2 January 2018 (Press Nights: Thursday 4 and Friday 5 January 2018 at 7.30pm).

In December 1937, in Nanking, then capital of China, occurred one of the worst atrocities of the 20th century – the rape, torture and murder of 300,000 Chinese civilians and the systematic mass execution of soldiers by the Japanese army.

In 2004, Iris Chang, famed author of The Rape of Nanking, a chronicle of the massacre that brought it back into public consciousness, committed suicide at the age of 36. What begins as a standard lecture and interview with the celebrated author, soon descends into a surreal nightmare. As ghosts from her research appear, she tries desperately to find order in the midst of mental chaos.

Into the Numbers by the Obie Award and Dramatist Guild’s Lanford Wilson Award-winning playwright Christopher Chen, is a thrillingly innovative theatrical exploration of the philosophical and psychological implications of researching genocide, as well as the toll media saturation plays in the process.

Director Georgie Staight returns to the Finborough Theatre after her four-star (The Daily Telegraph) sell-out production of Carmen Nasr’s new play Dubailand.

Playwright Christopher Chen work includes Caught (La MaMa Theater, New York City, and Volta Festival at Arcola Theatre), Home Invasion (Site Specific with The Flight Deck, California), The Hundred Flowers Project (Crowded Fire Theatre, San Francisco), The Late Wedding (Hub Theatre, San Francisco), Mutt (La Val’s Subterranean), Passage (Wilma Theatre, Philadelphia), The Window Age (Central Works, Berkeley) and You Mean to Do Me Harm (San Francisco Playhouse). His honours include the 2017 Obie Award for Playwriting for Caught; the 2017 Dramatist Guild Lanford Wilson Award; 2017 Drama League Nomination for Outstanding Production for Caught; the 2015-2016 Sundance Institute/Time Warner Foundation Fellowship for Theater; the Paula Vogel Playwriting Award through which he was the 2013-2014 Playwright-in-Residence at the Vineyard Theatre New York; the Barrymore Award; PHINDIE Critics Award; the Glickman Award; the Rella Lossy Playwriting Award; shortlist for the James Tait Black Award; nomination for the Steinberg Award; second place in the Belarus Free Theater International Competition of Modern Dramaturgy; a MAP Fund Grant; a Ford Foundation Emerging Writer of Color Grant; and a finalist for the PONY and Jerome Fellowships. His current commissions include American Conservatory Theater, Aurora Theatre, LCT3, Manhattan Theatre Club, Oregon Shakespeare Festival and Playwrights Horizons. His work has been published by American Theatre Magazine, Dramatists Play Service, Theatre Bay Area and Theater Magazine Yale.

Director Georgie Staight returns to the Finborough Theatre after her sell-out run of Dubailand, nominated for an OffWestEnd Award. Direction includes Roosting (Park Theatre), White Light (Arcola Theatre as part of PlayWROUGHT), Flood (Tristan Bates Theatre), Safe (Jermyn Street Theatre), Dreamless Sleep (Arts Theatre and The Bunker) and Next of Kin (Bristol Old Vic Studio). She is also a playwright and has had her writing produced at Theatre503, The Bunker, Arcola Theatre, Arts Theatre and Bristol Old Vic. Writing includes the adaptation and world premiere of Deborah Levy’s Billy and Girl (Karamel Theatre), Let There Be Light (reading at Chichester Festival Theatre) and Dreamless Sleep (The Bunker). Assistant Direction includes Our Town (Watermill Theatre, Newbury) and Legally Blonde: The Musical (Bernie Grant Arts Centre). Georgie trained at Mountview Academy of Theatre Arts, and is Joint Artistic Director at Flux Theatre.

The cast is: Elizabeth Chan | Iris Chang Theatre includes B!rth (Royal Exchange Theatre, Manchester), The Sugar-Coated Bullets of Bourgeoisie (HighTide Festival), The Odyssey (Almeida Theatre), Caught, Hamlet is Dead (Arcola Theatre), Light Shinning in Buckinghamshire (National Theatre), Henry IV (Donmar Warehouse), Chimerica (Almeida Theatre, Headlong Theatre and West End), The Wheel (National Theatre of Scotland), Greenland (National Theatre), Don’t Shoot the Clowns (Fuel Theatre), An Argument About Sex (Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh) and Cinderella (Lyric Theatre, Hammersmith).

Television includes Coronation Street, Motherland, Carters Get Rich, The Last Dragonslayer, Last Tango in Halifax, Cucumber, Holby City, Black Mirror – The Entire History of You, Spirit Warriors and Silent Witness.

Timothy Knightly | Brett Douglas / Interviewer / Doctor Productions at the Finborough Theatre include The Heaven. Theatre includes The Distance (Sheffield Theatres and Orange Tree Theatre, Richmond), Romeo and Juliet (The Tobacco Factory, Bristol and Tour), The Distance (Orange Tree Theatre, Richmond), Natural Affection (Jermyn Street Theatre), The Ashes (Nottingham Playhouse), Lady Windemere’s Fan (Royal Exchange Theatre, Manchester), Ruben Guthrie (Wimbledon Studio Theatre), The Amazing Vacetti Sisters (Tristan Bates Theatre), The Water Engine (Old Vic Tunnels), Leon and the Place Between (Unicorn Theatre) and Absolution (Theatre503) . Film includes The Inbetweeners, The Birthday, The World Turns and Lucky. Television includes The Evermoor Chronicles, Not Going Out and All Saints.

Jennifer Lim | Nanking Relative / Victim / Ensemble Productions at the Finborough Theatre include Acceptance as part of Vibrant 2015 – A Festival of Finborough Playwrights. Theatre includes The Good Woman of Setzuan (National Theatre), A Colder Water Than Here (Vault Festival), World Factory Tour (Metis Arts), The Fu Manchu Complex (Ovalhouse), Wild Swans (The Young Vic), Speaking to Him (Birmingham Rep), Cleaning Up (Theatre Venture), Hecuba (Foursight Theatre), Daughter of the River (Mu-Lan Theatre Company) and Pork Bellies (Theatre Centre). Rehearsed Readings include The Kumamoto Care Home Murder (Theatre Royal Stratford East) and You Need Some of This (Theatre503). Film includes A Monster Calls, Far Away, Piercing Brightness, Ten Thousand Waves, Womb, Still, Act of Grace, Hostel, Code 46 and Rogue Trader. Television includes Spirit Warriors, Holby City and The League of Gentlemen. Radio includes And the Rain My Drink and The Story of the Stone.

Amy Molloy | Minnie Vautrin / Ensemble Productions at the Finborough Theatre include Over the Bridge. Theatre includes Disco Pigs (National Tour and Irish Tour), Cyprus Avenue (National Theatre of Ireland – Abbey Theatre, and Royal Court Theatre), Playhouse Creatures (Bruiser Theatre, Belfast), Teaset (Pleasance Courtyard, Baron’s Court Theatre and White Bear Theatre), Little Boxes (Theatre503), Rock Paper Scissors (Brockley Jack Studio Theatre), Let Me Count the Ways (Rich Mix London), Tejas Verdes – Chilean Trilogy and Villa – Chilean Trilogy (The Mac, Belfast), The Parachutist (Cockpit Theatre), My Cousin Rachel (Gate Theatre, Dublin), Big Maggie (Druid Theatre, Galway), Belfast Girls (King’s Head Theatre), October, and Building Site (Arcola Theatre), John Gabriel Borkman (BAM Harvey Theater, New York City, and National Theatre of Ireland – Abbey Theatre), The Lieutenant of Inishmore (The Curve, Leicester), Black Milk (Brian Friel Theatre, Belfast), Kitty and Damnation (Lion and Unicorn Theatre),The Surveyor (New End Theatre, Hampstead), Once a Catholic (Upstairs at the Gatehouse), The Seagull (Chelsea Theatre), A Laughing Matter (Pleasance London) and Come on Over (Tristan Bates Theatre). Film include Raided House, The Sea and Black Ice. Television includes Virtues, The Fall, Call the Midwife and 50 Ways to Kill Your Lover.

Mark Ota | Deputy Japanese Ambassador / Soldier / Ensemble Theatre includes Poker Face, I Went To a Fabulous Party (Kings Head Theatre), How to Hold Your Breath (Royal Court Theatre), My Mind is Free (Edinburgh Festival), (Up)Rooted (SLAM), Theatre Madness Festival (Stratford Circus), Home is Where (Rich Mix), The Hotel, Romeo and Juliet (Jackinabox Productions), Speaking to Him (Birmingham Rep), Cleaning Up (Theatre Venture), Hecuba (Foursight Theatre), A Midsummer Night’s Dream (Moving Stories), The Tempest, As You Like It, The Memory of Water and Constellations (Arts Educational Schools London). Rehearsed Readings include The Sun (Yellow Earth) and Bird Bones (London Playwrights Lab). Film includes The Watchers, Silentville, Walking With the Ferryman, Mountain, Woman Forever Woman, Moumoku Samurai, Memory Lane and Lullaby.

Finborough Theatre, 118 Finborough Road, London SW10 9ED Box Office 0844 847 1652 http://ift.tt/NsSQwL Tuesday, 2 – Saturday, 27 January 2018

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