#her family are from a long line of Arcanists and she was raised as one

[elizabethrobertajones]

Evil AU: raised in Sharlayan as a snob and harasses the mammets about rare books

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV: A Spark of Knowledge

#FebHyurary 2022 Day 11 + 12: Begin & Tomorrow

A/N: While trying to catch up for day 11, realized that thematically speaking, this fit for day 12, too, so yay. :D

Timeline note: set post-Endwalker.

RATING: G WORD COUNT: 922

--

Synnove brushed a speck of lint off her assessor’s robes. It had been a long time she had last worn them—as Vice Chair of the Arcanists’ Guild Aetherophysics Department, she wasn’t expected to work the ships coming into port, unless an emergency necessitated all hands, and if that was happening, no one gave a rat’s ass for proper uniforms—but for an event like this, they made the best impression. There would be no denying she was Lominsan, not Sharlayan.

From the other side of the doors, she heard her name announced, and the applause of the gathered audience. She took a deep breath to steady any lingering nerves, and nodded to Alphinaud. He grinned at her, depressed the handle, and pulled it open for her, stepping back to ensure he couldn’t be seen by anyone in the hall. “How would Rereha put it?” he whispered conspiratorially. “Knock ‘em dead?”

She fought back the urge to snicker, and gave him a wink as she walked out into the auditorium.

The Studium had many lectures halls, but the primary auditorium at its heart was reserved for special assemblies—graduation the foremost among them—and could seat the entire faculty and student body, plus family and assorted other officials. Today, the room was fit to burst, every seat filled and people lining the walls and sitting on the recessed steps leading up and back out to the exits. The Lominsan official in her eyed the size of the crowd and muttered about fire hazards, but the scholarch had assured her the room was filled with emergency teleportation magicks in case of disasters.

Well, she had insisted to Montichaigne that if he wanted her to do a special presentation on arcanima, it was going to be open to anyone, not just the Studium, and Sharlayan was home to many academies and colleges.

The scholarch smiled and bowed to her as she walked onto the stage, moving aside, and Synnove squared her shoulders as she reached the center and pivoted to face the audience, the applause quieting as the audience focused their attention upon her. They had set up a desk for her, for her grimoires, and an enormous slate chalkboard behind that; for the moment, she leaned back against the desk, crossing her arms in front of herself as she looked out at the crowd.

A flicker of movement in the upper balcony caught her eye, and she tilted her head just enough to see Alphinaud slide into his seat in the front row, between Alisaie and Urianger, having no doubt run up the stairs three at a time to get there so quickly. The rest of the Scions—even Estinien, who normally wasn’t one for high theory, and her sisters, who had been listening to her ramble about arcanima for seventeen years now—were arrayed around them to fill out the rest of the row. Even at this distance, Alisaie and Rereha giving two thumbs apiece was visible, and she mentally grinned.

“Can anyone tell me,” Synnove said, never one for pithy courtesies like hello and my name is, especially when all assembled knew exactly who she was, “what the most important thing you need is for a carbuncle?”

The auditorium’s acoustics were wonderful; she barely had to raise her voice for it to carry clear as crystal. The rustling of clothes and the low murmuring of voices was her immediate answer, her audience apparently not expecting to be thrown right into the presentation. Finally, someone far enough back that she couldn’t see who spoke called out: “A gemstone!”

“Close, but not quite,” Synnove drawled. “Do not help, Alphinaud.”

Laughter rang out as the young elezen in question gave a theatrical sigh and shrug.

“Living aether,” a young Hellsguard lass in the third row, in the colors of one of the other academies, said suddenly.

Synnove smiled, and canted her head towards the girl. “Exactly right,” she said.

Behind her, one of the pieces of chalk that had been laying on the desk began to float upward, and move towards the board. As the faint sound of chalk-on-slate echoed, another low murmur ran through the crowd.

(Normally, she wasn’t one for such displays, but a bit of showmanship never went awry, as Montichaigne had so aptly demonstrated not all that long ago now. And practicing her fine control as she recovered from her aether shock in the aftermath of the Final Days had been one of the few things she had been capable of.)

Synnove pushed off the desk, and as she used her aether to write the equation that was the foundation of her artificial intelligence array, she began to pace along the length of the stage. “It’s only when living aether coalesces around a gemstone of sufficient aetheric resonance that a carbuncle may be summoned. But what is living aether, precisely? All things have aether, living and not, so what is that extra spark that makes a gemstone a catalyst for creation? And what happens when we push the boundaries of what living aether is capable of manifesting?”

Galette tumbled into existence, shouts of surprise and appreciative coos filling the auditorium as she leaped from the floor, to the desk, to Synnove’s shoulder, draping herself around her summoner’s neck with an imperious sniff.

The Highlander smiled and reached up to scritch behind the emerald carbuncle’s ear, eliciting that familiar comforting windchime purr. Her voice just above a thoughtful murmur, she said, “You get something a bit more than just a familiar.”

[safrona-shadowsun]

A Yawning Absence

The Harvester walked across the mounds of scattered bone and armor littering the estate courtyard, noting the tattered remains of old Winter’s Veil decor in silence. In strewn piles, remains lay on the parlor stairs, where once the House of Final Respite would have welcomed and comforted the living when they most needed it. Windows shattered, doors unhinged and tables upturned, it was a haunted ruin that was comforting nothing. A war had come to the sanctum, to her Elysian Sojourn, and in the aftermath it had left behind a graveyard of second-hand death.

Safrona knew from the start it was silly to think any place could be called a Sanctum, that any physical location could be safe enough to call home. Her Circle of Perished had given her that much, had made her believe it for the handful of years they made it so. But even off the face of Azeroth and cloaked in the space between realms, it had all come to a brutal end.

What stung the most was the cold truth that she had not been there to help stop it. She had not been there when the First needed her most, and now he was lost. She had been thrown down into the Maw, a living bloodhound used for the hunt of another. There was little victory in her eventual escape, returning now too late to find what had grown precious to her scattered to the winds. It was some cruel turn of fate, some curse even, she thought. Some fitting fate for something living off of stolen lives, to never be able to build a foundation for her own. Or perhaps a child of the Void was meant to be alone, if it dared to serve a purpose other than its own?

She took a deep breath, pulling her mind from the webbed refuse of despondency, blame. She had found the Voice and the Ears, and this reunion even if only by voice had been everything. They kept some hope alive that the one that held her heart was not another body strewn across the estate. The First of the Perished had returned many times before. Why should this turn be his last? Not when a piece of her burned still, somewhere within him.

She continued walking down the ruined halls, further scattering the remnants of discarded bone. A shambler was found within, noisily responding to her own steps on an unsteady frame. The weak light that animated it faded all too quickly as she set her Voidwalker upon it, brittle bone smashed to dust. Beneath bone and ash, she eyed something gentle, a flicker of shadow, caught between the ruin. She reached to delicately pluck it - an intact orchid, its black, velvety petals reaching toward its centerpoint red, ebon bleeding inward to its hybridized burgundy.

The vision washed over her with sudden sight, and sound. The sound of coins rattling against bones, the clanging of blade against blade. " How much will this one fetch in Revendreth?" Words whispered and shuffled in the dark before being consumed in flame and shadows, vibrant green and a deep plum purple. Orbs of gold filled with silver shimmering wisps, seemingly carted along paths in crowded streets, following the rhythmic sounds of a heart beating. " I don't believe the containment field will withstand the flames the Hybrid is releasing."

“Hey!” the unattached voice shot like an alarm, the vision and previous memory quickly fading to deliver Safrona back to the current day, and time. The bone, metal coin her Soulsinger often carried was hot between her fingers. She could not recall how long she had stood behind the counter of Empyrean Star Trades, polishing it religiously with her thumb. “You got that new route established yet?” Wennefer Shadowsun asked quizzically. Setting her jaw, Safrona tilted her face up toward the younger Shadowsun, trying to make her fingers appear fully engaged with the paperwork before her.

“I...no. Which one of our couriers is this one going to again?”

“Madpass.” Wennefer approached, turned the first page of contract from Safrona’s fingers to view it herself. “I even wrote it all for you. Just needed your okay and the sign off. That one’s a little above her pay grade and into hostile territory but you know Ceyla likes her challenges. You’d officially be promoting her from Runner to the Courier title. I think she’s been dependable enough...but...” The young arcanist narrowed her eyes on her sister’s face introspectively. “You good?”

“Fine,” Safrona exhaled, quickly signing her name to the lines expected of her. “Madpass has my,” she chuckled witheringly at the unremarkable pun that came to mind, “pass.”

Wennefer finished the chuckle into something much more cheery. “She’ll be ecstatic. She’s been waiting for you forever to clear this. I have another prospective runner we need to interview for the Trade next week. But better than that, I managed to schedule us both a night off. We’re going to that Howling Owl place you were talking about the other night the next time they have an event. I think we both deserve something a little fun. It won’t be anything crazy, I promise.”

“Wenne.” Safrona stated the name plainly, intently. “I need to go back.”

“Back...what?” Wennefer put her fingers to her temple. “Flame take me now - are you talking about going back to the Shadowlands?”

“Yes. I need to find someone.”

Wennefer snapped as she gathered the papers away from the Warlock. “Are you joking right now? Isn’t this what they had you do last time? FIND someone? Who’s god’s damned contract are you taking THIS time, Saf? Huh? They trying to put you down into that shitty hole they call the Maw too?”

A hand was raised, both to calm the escalating questions, and to ascertain this was of her own design. “No, Wenne. Listen to me. It isn’t a damn contract. This is just….this is me.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Both of the delicate mage’s hands were thrown into the air.

Truth was a hard bottle to open and pour for her sister, as it was for anyone not within her very personal circles. The attempt was made, however, that bearing. “I am missing someone, Wenne. Someone that slipped through the cracks when I was away. Someone that I don’t feel...right... being here. Being without.” She held Wennefer’s eyes. “Next to you, he is family to me.”

Blessedly, she saw the young mage calm, slowly, her features giving way to concern. “And you think he is out there? In the Shadowlands?”

“...I’m fairly certain of it now. And I don’t think it will be the Maw. It’s...elsewhere. I need to do my research.”

“Then you’re going to let me help you.”

“...wenne.”

“You know you aren’t going to talk me out of this.”

“I know. But again. I need you here. You did so well with the shop here. And you are a full Shadowsun now, with all my crediting. This is all in your hands as much as it’s in mine. If you want to help me, do it from here. Help me find what I’m looking for, build the routes where I am going, keep me on track.”

The arcanist nodded after a silent moment, seemingly pacified. “I can do that. But you need to promise me you’ll be answering me back to back on that Hearthstone channel. Because I WILL come after you if you don’t and drag you back here.”

Safrona smirked at the little spitfire as they came to their understanding. “That is fair. I will keep in contact. If not by Hearthstone then other ways. I am a courier after all.”

“Good, great. Because you’re a courier than needs to know that she has family here too. And we’re in this together.”

“Overdoing it on the sap there.”

“Deal with it, Saffy. We’re bringing it in for a hug now.”

“...Only because you’re my sister.”

“Awww.”

“Ugh why.”

{ @thefirstperished @nixyandrith @howlingowl-wra }

[charlettebffxiv]

Prompt #11 Preaching to the Choir

“You ever wonder if these sorts of things are actually necessary?” Alistair stood with his hands on his hips, looking at a carved, marble plaque. It stood on it’s own plinth, inside an alcove of a long hallway he, Charlette and A’nidreah were currently walking through. “No, never. Why wouldn’t they keep something like this for others to see? It is important to remember these sorts of things.” Charlette came to a stop next to him, glancing over the words cut into the white stone, telling a short summary of the events depicted in the statue that sat above it. Three order members, standing valiant with shield, staff and bow raised and pointed towards what looked like a wave. But within that swell of expertly-cut marble, so convincing as liquid despite it’s solid state, were thousands of screaming faces with slitted eyes and long, forked tongues wriggling from between jagged lips that lined mouths, like tears in their features.

“I don’t know. There’s plenty of things we don’t forget, and all they needed to be remembered was to be written in a book. This though.” He swung his heavy, sledgehammer like hand at the depiction “It’s like a spectacle. Like a side attraction at a festival or for one of those traveling minstrel groups, you know? ‘Pay ten gil and see the freakish wonders of the wider world beyond Eorzea!’, but this one is just our history. It’s a tragedy too, but they made it all look so epic.” Charlette’s eyes dropped down over the piece. The man who had carved it was a dramatic sort, that’s true. “Gogogi Nogi was a brilliant sculptor Alistair. The Order and Willow’s Heart were lucky to have ever had the chance to home him. Granted an artist like that doesn’t decide to hide away in a little village like ours for happy reasons.” They exchanged looks, Alistair shrugged. Gogogi Nogi’s life was filled with interesting mysteries, none of which were solved before his passing away. Not that anyone allows his remaining family to forget it, Bobobcufu and Ogi Nogi are constantly requested to expose the truths. Both refuse, but do not confirm or deny whether they know it. The scamps. “But yes, it is a bit garish in some of the details. But goodness the details, just look at it. I feel like I could scoop up some of the Shadow Tide with a cup and drink it.” Charlette took that moment to break a little rule, stepping far out of character, she reached over to the statue and placed a hand against the cold swell of the wave. No, that was indeed stone, but carved to such a smooth finish she could barely tell it was ever chipped from a block. “Yeah, I guess. But even the inscription is a little much. They all died, didn’t they? Stopping The Tide from escaping and sacrificing themselves in the process?” Looking over the plaque, Charlette did have to give Alistair this one at least. Whoever had written it, had wanted to up the scale of the battle, rather than focus too much on the noble sacrifice made by the heroes themselves. “In the depths of ancient ruins, roared perhaps the greatest battle between the Order and the depraved manifestations of the ancient cities' abhorrent end. Blades cut, spells burned, arrows flew. But the Tide of Shadow roared onwards, devouring all that fell in its path, adding their screams to its horrific choir. In the abandoned, lifeless depths, it had grown hungry, it’s eyes were set. The surface was to be its meal. But oaths cried loud in defiance, the Order’s few stood defiant. Five brave souls chose to fulfill their vows, and allow no aberration the freedom to defile our pristine world. A plan was formed, the tunnel was sealed, and the Tide was trapped. We honour these five: Lorianne Monet, Order Agent Bibiwe Biwe, Order Arcanist Orianne Croftte, Order Guardian Sweet Night, Order Arcanist Delphine Garnier, Order Guaridan They died an example, in hopeless combat, for their hearts were one with the Order’s mission.” Charlette had read the entire piece out loud. Grandiose yes, but there was a true melancholy within those words. Each member named on the plaque was there. Bibiwe and Sweet with their staves raised, hands clasping warping aether, beautifully carved to show even the sigils within. Delphine and Orianne, with shields held forward and broadswords clasped in hand, holding the front line. And Lorianne, Wood Wailer mask hung around her neck, and her longbow drawn. All of them looked serene in their duties, the great evil that was bringing an inevitable end to them evoking no fear in the five heroes of Order legend. “You have to wonder, if it was really like this.” Charlette pondered aloud. Alistair snorted, brushing down his beard “It was not. We’ve seen enough to know it was not. Our vows inspire, and we keep our Oaths true. But only a fool believes fear is something you can be free of.” He reached out, fingers running down the list of names. “Makes me think about them. Brienne and Frederick.” Charlette wrapped a hand around his shoulder. “Me too.” Silence took over for a moment, only disturbed by A’nidreah, who forced herself between them, an arm around each of their waists. The Seeker stared up at the statue, then looked to Alistair, and Charlette. “Enough.” she said, pulling them both away from the statue and pushing them towards the doorway. “It’s all nice and stuff, this Hall of Honour, but really they’re preaching to the choir here, aren’t they? We’re all super, duper willing to give our lives for the Order and earn a statue here. But this sun, we’re alive. So let’s go do some alive stuff, like getting Charlette ready for her hearing. She’s got a week to prepare, and the last Gods damned thing I want to do is go out on another mission without her.” They let the tiny Miqo’te push them out of the hall, after all she was right. And if they were going to find Brienne, and get justice for Frederick, they weren’t going to do it here. Charlette needed that hearing to go well. Good thing they had the spirit of a Sunseeker to keep their fires going, Alistair and Charlette ran too cold where that was concerned. That or, no... “A’nidreah, did you break something? Is… is this a rushed getaway?” Charlette turned to look back at the entrance to the hall. “Nope!” She reassured Charlette. It did not work.

[clockwork-storyteller]

A Prophecy of Shadows

              ↳ a wip introduction by @clockwork-storyteller

❝ Our story begins in the land of Altisora on the 90th year in what was called the Age of Light. It certainly wasn’t the best of times, but it was certainly better than what had come before. It was better because the invaders from the Dark Realms had been confined within the Shadowwake. The Dark Realms had been trying to invade Altisora under the leadership of King Regevis. He wanted to make this world his own as well. The people of Altisora had been fighting back for decades, but had, thus far, been unsuccessful. Eventually, the gods of this world, whose names had been long since forgotten, stepped in. The people had forgotten about them in such a time of darkness, and they were quickly losing their power. So, they decided to save their people with what little power they had left. They gave their power to the people. Well, some of the people. 

The gods gave them the power to see beyond the mundane. They gave them the ability to see the future. ❞

BASIC INFO

title // A Prophecy of Shadows

genre // high fantasy; epic fantasy

pov // third person limited; multiple characters

status // outlining

themes // found family • destiny • free will • abuse of power • fighting against the darkness • lies and deception • love despite the darkness

SUMMARY

Seers wander the lands of Altisora, holding the power to see the future. But these Seers do not walk free. They are hunted by the three largest political powers in Altisora: The Layann Empire, ruled by Empress Rhea, The Kingdom of Sorgiia, ruled by King Azel, and The Allesani Territories, ruled by Sovereign Reyle, in an effort to keep their power. But as one Seer runs across Altisora in hopes of survival, they deliver one last prophecy. One that would change the fate of Altisora. 

For some context, years ago, the creatures from the Dark Realms had invaded Altisora. But with a gift from the long since forgotten gods, the Seers were given their power and thus contained the invaders into the Shadowwake. The Shadowwake is ruled by King Verebris, a mysterious and calculating ruler. 

Now, back to that big prophecy. The prophecy that stated that 3 heroes would rise up and take control of the Shadowwake. This prophecy was delivered in 3 parts, the first in Layann, the second in Sorgiia, and the third in Allesani. The towns in which each part of the prophecy was given to believe it to be about them, about one of their people. And neither of the towns know that there is more to the prophecy.  

Zell, from the town Sidécera in the Layann Empire, has been trained since birth to take her place as the hero from the prophecy. She, along with another member of her town, could fit the descriptors given in the prophecy. The two of them undergo a series of trials over the course of three years. At the end of those trials, the two will fight to the death. The survivor must be the only one worthy of fulfilling the prophecy, and Zell has decided that she will win. After all, she told herself that she’d ask out Ari, that cute flower seller at the market, if she survives. 

Hasea lives in Ulties, a city of hatred and fear. Everyone who was around to hear the prophecy has either left or died by the time it could be fulfilled. The prophecy has been a beacon of hope to everyone in Ulties. Well, everyone but the possible hero, that is. King Azel sent a troop of his cruel guards down to Ulties to patrol for the pirates rumored to be roaming the Southern Coast of Sorgiia, but Azel has an ulterior motive for sending those guards down. Hasea knows she could be the hero, but she also has bigger problems to worry about. Her and her older sister Bella need to help feed their family, and they can’t do that if Hasea’s off saving the world. 

Kair is the son of a prominent military leader, stationed in Teniris, one of the largest military towns in Allesani. Kair never knew about the prophecy, because Teniris is the town where the Seer who delivered the prophecy was found and killed. Kair does have a significant weight upon his shoulders, despite not knowing about the prophecy. He is expected to take over his father’s position as soon as he turns 21. But when Kair is invited to stay and study in the Sovereign’s palace, he can’t exactly say no, can he? And he can’t leave behind his best friend Ordza, who’s always dreamed of studying to be the Sovereign’s Chief Arcanist, can he?

And while these 3 heroes are walking right into their destiny, whether they like it or not, revolution is brewing across Altisora. A Seer’s Rebellion, to be more specific. This rebellion is led by Kiran, a young seer who hopes to end the public executions of their people. Kiran’s goal is to train a new generation of Seers. One who will survive, despite being hunted. But the seer’s rebellion is getting some unexpected help. Leonn Iborris, the son of King Azel, has been confronted with a terrifying realization, and would rather help the rebellion against his family than acknowledge the truth. 

CHARACTERS

ZELL: (she/her) Zell, one of the possible heroes of Sidécera, is strong and fearless, but only because she has to be. Zell has been raised since birth to be a fighter, but she wishes that she had the chance to just exist as Zell, not as the woman who will fulfill a prophecy. Despite being a fairly solitary person, Zell craves a close companionship that is hard to find when everyone sees you as a mythical hero instead of just a person.

ARI: (they/them) Ari has grown up working in their parents’ flower shop in the market of Sidécera, but they want more than anything to leave. Ari has never felt any real connection with anyone in Sidécera, and has been aching to let down the resilient walls they keep up day in and day out. But Ari will wait for the right moment to finally escape. They’ve gotten good at waiting, after all. 

HASEA: (she/her) Hasea is a cunning young woman, but she wishes she was anything but. Having to lie and steal to feed her family for years is exhausting, but Hasea knows that she doesn’t have much of a choice. She likes to dream that she could be the hero in the prophecy, though. No one is really considered important in Ulties. No one except for the hero, that is. And Hasea would love to be a little important, just once.

BELLA: (she/her) Bella has never hated Ulties the way most people do. She’s never hated having to steal to survive the way that her younger sister Hasea has. Whenever she lies to save herself or steals to keep her and her family alive, it makes Bella feel like she she has some control over her life, a feeling that’s fairly uncommon in Ulties. But she wishes she got to choose who to protect. She loves her sister, but has always been stifled by the obligation to protect her family just because she was born to them.

KAIR: (he/him) Kair has never had a shortage of responsibility. Raised by a prominent military leader, Kair has been taught since he was a child to prioritize his Sovereign over anyone else and forsake his own thoughts and feelings for his duty. But despite these lessons ingrained into him, Kair continues to care. He is kind in a world where that is one of the most dangerous things to be. Kair is a relentlessly optimistic man, despite his looming future.

ORDZA: (she/her) Ordza is an ambitious woman, which is especially foolish for someone in her position. As Kair’s tutor, she is expected to teach him and nothing more. But still Ordza wants more. She dreams of training to be the Sovereign’s Chief Arcanist, but she knows she has no chance. But still, Ordza wants more than what she’s been given. She wants the option of choice, rather than accepting how it is and refusing to want better.

KIRAN: (they/them) Kiran is a good and strong leader, and though they’d like to say it’s because they love leading the Seer’s Rebellion, that would be a lie. Kiran does love leading the rebellion, but they also deeply understand the need for such a group of people like them and the gravity of what they’re doing. As they’ve led the rebellion for years, Kiran has never had much of anyone to rely on and has bore the burden on their own. But when an errant prince decides to help, Kiran begins to rethink their reluctance to rely on others.

LEONN: (he/him) Much like his father, King Azel of Sorgiia, Leonn is a headstrong man. Just not in the way his father would want. Leonn is strong in his beliefs, which is good for a future king, but not when those beliefs differ so drastically from those of his father. Despite his high position, Leonn has very little sway over the governing choices of his father, but he stilly tries. He decides to help the Seer’s Rebellion rather than confront a harsh truth about himself. 

VEREBRIS: (he/him) Verebris is a child who was thrust into a war he wanted no part in. After the death of his father, Verebris prematurely inherited the throne of the Dark Realms, but he was quickly overthrown in a coup and used as a pawn in a game of politics. He wishes he had the power to take back his thrown and stop the injustices being committed by his people, but he knows that he’d be killed without a second thought if he tried. And and imprisoned king is better than a dead one, isn’t he?

RHEA: (she/her) Rhea is a manipulative Empress, to say the least. She is a woman who is comfortable in her power and makes sure everyone knows not to try and take it from her. Rhea is known for her political assassinations, a method she used to keep her subordinates in line. She has no qualms about lying to further her own goals, but would much rather flaunt her wealth and power in some extravagant manner than put in the necessary work.

AZEL: (he/him) Azel, much like Rhea, is a king who loves his power and will go to extreme lengths to prevent it being taken from him. He is a man who has had lots of power his entire lire, and has become quite fond of the feeling of being in complete control. Azel is also a stubborn man, but that same quality that is so positive within his son has caused him from losing Sorgiia quite a few political alliances.

REYLE: (they/them) Reyle is a cunning and calculating ruler, but in a way very different than Rhea. The Allesani government does not allow extreme amounts of power to go to the Sovereign, so they figured out how to use more power than they are given. Reyle has a talent in convincing people to accomplish their goals for them, which has allowed them to have more control over their people than one would assume. 

Tag List (reblog or ask to be tagged/removed): 

[chainofbeing]

Having recovered from his injuries, Adam goes to Dhara Jamina in the hopes that he will learn more about the foe he is pursuing. Unaware of what truly awaits him.

Narration and Inspiration-Besides-Death : David M. Sledge

Eikal: Erik Smith

Captain Anktares: Frances Gillard

Announcement: George Pritchard

Adam Delta 5, and Sound Design: Cai Gwilym Pritchard

Follow the podcast on twitter @/chainofbeing

Email us at chainofbeingofficial@gmail.com for enquires and stuff

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[a deep voiced narrator speaks, the sounds of a creaking old wooden building]

It was immediately unsettling. Ghost had woken up and felt a sense of unease in their stomach but couldn't quite piece together what they were experiencing. it was only as they clunked down the hardwood stairs and persuaded the rehydration machine to actually work that they understood what was wrong. the sound of the waves had disappeared. instead of the ordinary rush of waves flinging themselves upon the scattering of unmoving and unwavering rocks there was a suffocating, deafening silence. It created a pressure in their ears which was worse than the static of thousands upon millions upon billions of water droplets falling. They had gotten used to that, they had accepted it as a daily occurrence, as anyone would do cope with monotony. They threw on their coat and swung open the lighthouse door, 

[the sound of a town can be heard lightly, wind and birds too]

 they could already feel the surface of their body begin to freeze. Ghost was 6-ft tall and fell into the third gender category of Malgaric. They had a great pair of glowing green eyes, their body criss-crossed with glowing lines of a similar colour in majestic patterns. Hovering around their head were decorations which adorned them as was customary for the Malgaric. Around their head silver horns hovered lightly above their temples and crescents followed their ears as they moved, bobbing up and down with each step. Their full name was "Ghost-of-Sunken-Dawn" however they found that their life was made much easier if they introduced themselves simply as Ghost. their full name is on their plaque of course, hung up by their sheriff's certificate and above their medals in service to the army.

Obviously they were not pondering their family name as they were charging down the semi frozen hill, their mind was preoccupied with the momentous task of trying to comprehend the unfathomable physics defying event that was taking place in front of them. Stood close to the edge of the cliff, puffer jacket zipped up to avoid the cold, Ghost stared deeply into the still wave and slowly began to feel a haze creep into their mind,

[the soft drone, permeated with shattering glass that plays forward and backward can be heard]

It toed the line between a physical and mental sensation, the strangely familiar haze seeped across their whole body as they felt themselves caught in the grip of something far greater and more complex than they could ever hope to understand. And as the birds cawed and the wind blew they felt a pulse travel from their stomach and ooze outwards to the rest of their body, a repeating pattern of four beats, and as the haze travelled outwards, ambling its way to their throat the pulses evolved, becoming incrementally more word-like, mutating from its true form into a shape far more cohesive with the reality around it. And as the haze enveloped Ghost completely, the pulses, now in the form of words, escaped their mouth and they spoke them out loud 

“Ovig Nadal!” 

and with that, Ghost was lost entirely 

[the hum of a ship interior, new and clean adam now speaks]

I stand and stare into the mirror inspecting the scar on my abdomen, the diamond shape a lighter tone then the rest of my skin. I take a moment to stare at the other scars, all manner of bumps and shapes covering my body, never quite having healed properly. I follow the trail of past fights and battles, a history of my conflicts etched into my body, my gaze eventually landing on my eyes, run through with matching lines. I stare at myself 

“you’re still human” 

I say, my warped voice and dark eyes tell a different story. All the Arcanists and scientists of the galaxy cannot explain why I look like this, my immortality is a punishment, for what I did in Eden, for learning what I did in Eden. Whatever that was. Perhaps my aberration is part of that punishment as well. “You are more than Eden,” I tell myself. 

That one I refuse to believe without any help. 

I head downstairs and In the lift, an announcement pings overhead “Could operative Adam Delta 5 please make his way to the quartermaster,” I go down an extra floor and enter the Inventory, rows and rows of shelves with all manner of equipment and supplies, there’s a row of tills each with a visored quartermaster behind it.

[the sound of an office, some light talking and typing]

 Waiting for me is what I imagine to be the captain of the ship, before she can introduce herself I interrupt her

 “I thought hospital ships didn’t have quartermasters?” the captain, a Veatorian, looks me up and down

“I am Captain Anktares, nice to meet you.” she says, annoyed but unsurprised “Recently the council felt it necessary to..” she pauses to search for the right word “elevate, certain facilities at risk to certain threats, this ship was in the way of something or other, beyond my paygrade unfortunately,”

“It’s only been a few weeks, yet you’ve already built an inventory,”

“And a fighter craft docking station in the hangar. what can I say?” she smirks “we’re Veatorians, we get things done,” 

“Careful, or you’ll start to sound like that Arestophsis Hand lot” I say half joking

she smiles tersely but says nothing and gestures to the quartermaster tills

“the council have issued you a fighter craft and a spear”

“A spear? What is this, the second dark ages?”

“It’s a very nice spear,” she reassures me. I look at her incredulously. “It’s extendable!”

[the sound of a hangar, maintenance on ships, clanging of metal, all reverberating around the space]

The fighter craft is so new it doesn't even have a name yet, the designation code is blank too. The chair screens and most surfaces are still wrapped in plastic and it hasn't been changed from the standard issue council blue and grey. I look back at the minimal storage space behind me, a bed, a few shelves of supplies and leaning against the wall, my new spear. I didn't want to admit it in front of the captain but it is a nice spear. Fully extended it reaches around 2 metres but right now it’s a nice manageable 70cm. I name the ship and the Ehedydd make its first spaceflight. It’s been a while since I’ve sat in a new ship so the lack of noise from the engine is a real surprise. 

[the engine spins up and goes silent before activating and entering the widening field]

The Ehedydd was fitted with a WFC drive so the journey should only take about an hour or two. Which gives me some time to have a look at my mission brief. I hate military procedure, all the needless jargon and detail only helps to confuse things. From what I could decipher there was a recently established colony on a small planet, just big enough to be qualified as such, by the name of  Dhāra jamīna. There wasn't a huge amount of space for the usual mega city to be constructed, due to most of the land being raised up to 7 miles above sea level, so instead most of the major settlements in the continent in question are towns with populations of around 30,000 each, each with their own sheriff. Also known as an administrative fucking nightmare. What had drawn my investigation here was the fact that the  7 mile tall waves that battered the cliffs holding up the small towns of Dhāra jamīna had stopped. They had not frozen, but had simply, paused. To add to this, there was a sheriff who was reported to be acting very strangely. An old Insistoris who was living there said it was similar to demonic possession but wrong, somehow. Sounds like what I’m looking for. The fact that he was still alive and hadn’t died or even transformed like Aiek Tubalcain meant he could be spoken to, and maybe, if i was lucky, he would speak back. 

 Dhāra jamīna is so new that it doesn't even have an Orbit to Land Transference Station, OLTraS for short, so instead I just transfer my clearance codes and go to land on a small pad at the edge of town. As I fly over the vast ocean I look into it, it’s stillness is unsettling and it amplifies the already quite strong anxiety I feel chasing after this thing. 

[the sound of a town in the distance, wind and birds]

standing at the edge of the landing pad is a Vint and a Malgaric, joint mayors of the town, the name of which I've forgotten. I take me spear and affix it to my hip 

“Welcome to Jalis,” the Vint says, offering both of his hands, I take them and we bow together, he has to bow his long spined neck quite a bit in order to match my level “I am Eikal, mayor of this small community”

“Joint mayor” the Malgaric reminds him, irritation apparent in his voice

[his voice is slightly robotic and gruff]

“I am Inspiration-Besides-Death, however for your ease of communication you may refer to me as Inspiration” in the dusk his blue light is just starting to illuminate the black soil grass at his feet.

“I thank you both,” I reply. Both mayors seem visibly uncomfortable speaking in Human, however I am physically incapable of speaking in Malgaric and my Vint is about 450 years outdated and I don’t want to seem like a weirdo. They lead me through the town,

[the town is quiet, some conversations can be heard through the walls of houses, somewhere someone is using a drill]

 the two mayors seem intent on outpacing each other, gradually getting faster and faster until I have to start jogging in order to keep up with the two who are considerably taller than me. The people seem, understandably, anxious. They were expecting a quiet life in a new colony away from the overcrowded societies of their people. It’s late in the day so most people are resting or attending to prayers. Religion has no place in the Council of Nimonea, it's not actively discouraged, but provisions aren’t really made to preserve or protect it either, it's one of the more major issues most species within the council have. Unusually for most council towns, the houses here are 2-3 stories high most likely to make up for the lack of sprawling land on which to build. The whole town is only about a mile wide. We reach the detainment building and pause outside. Eikal turns to me “I must warn you, the manifestation is quite…disturbing,”

“I have not witnessed anything quite like this, even in my military days,” Inspiration chimes in. Eikal shoots him a look, “did you not identify my assessment to be adequate?” Inspiration looks back at him, his expression unwavering “I have said my piece,”. As they argue I look off at the edge of the island at a wave, unmoving and unwavering, like a painting. 

[the ambience of a quiet office, some machines beep, overall though it is quite silent]

We enter the dimly lit building and find ourselves in an oval shaped room, the Vint draws a small tablet from within his robes and presses a few keys. The room elaborately rotates and shifts until we are face to face with the sheriff separated only by glass. They sat on a curved bench, their legs crossed. I can only tell this because the green light that covers their body pulses in beats of four, providing more illumination by which to get a sense of the room. “Why aren’t they moving?” I ask. They go to answer at the same time

“Well-”

“Well-”

They stare each other and Eikal takes advantage of the pause to speak before Inspiration can

“We placed them in a stasis field, for their own wellness you understand”  

“Why is it so dark in there?” Eikal and Inspiration turn to each other, a mild panic on their faces

“Apologies, we misplaced our realisation-” Eikal pauses and translates in his head before trying again “We forgot the humans light requirements, allow me to attend to your needs,” with a few more key presses the whole building lights up. With my newfound visibility I see what Eikal meant by ‘for their own health’ Ghost’s fingers are scratched and worn and the entire back wall of the cell has been etched into with that symbol that has brought me so much dread. Surrounding it are adornments which trace around its edges, criss cross around each other, play off of one anothers curves and angles, all centred, but never interacting with, that symbol in the middle.

[k-scourgestrike]

The Fall of Quel’Thalas - Whezzan on Deviantart

The End - 22 Nov 2019

Spellbreaker Captains Thea’rys and Kael’rien Sunstrike, of House Stardawn. Elite of the Northern Eversong army. Protectors of Silvermoon.

They stood as one: a bastion before the Western Gate, as the Farstriders flanked them. Kel’dar, their elder son; Thael’rin, their younger – they held the line further down. Their daughter, Kianna, would have stood with the arcanists atop the wall, if she had survived the birth of her child years ago.

There were screams. There was carnage. Each ranger that fell added to the horde of the undead. They tried make their stand, but it would not hold. Their shields might have been effective against the horrifying spells, but not against the physical brutality of the charging abominations, and ghouls.

And a singular death knight - one of Arthas’ guards, perhaps - commanding them in the background.

She saw them out of the corner of her eye: Kel’dar and Thael’rin, along with the rest of the guardians. Their position was weak, and the incoming charge knew it. A raised runeblade, glowing with darkened energies, pointed towards that particular position, and the Scourge detachment turned.

She saw Thea’rys, husband and love of her life for almost a millennium. He charged before the weakened line and took point, shouting commands. She ordered her own breakers to maintain their position, and turned to join him. For whatever it was worth, they both would reinforce the break in the line, and hold them off. Help buy the others time to retreat into the city via the Shepherd’s Gate on the eastern side. Her sons, and their families, were all they had. It was their duty as parents to ensure that they lived. It was their duty as Captains to order the retreat.

Blades of warglaives met putrified flesh. Death and shadow spells broke upon their shields. They were protectors of their people. They would hold the frontline for as long as they could.

But it was not enough.

She saw the Scourge breaking through the flanks, necromancers in their midst, protected by the summoned army that they have created.

“I surrender!”

Thea’rys dropped to his knees. “Allow me to join you, my lord!”

Kael’rien did not react. Could not react. It was only a ruse. Thea’rys was drawing attention away from the advance. He could not grab the interest of all of them, but at least he brought enough upon himself.

She, on the other hand, was relentless. She would take down as many as she could. Farstriders battled them in the distance. The arcane remnants from the flinging of spells to defend the walls formed a disgusting mixture with the reek of death and shadow. A fallen scout was pulled up against his will, like a broken puppet on invisible strings. He - no, it - shambled awkwardly with an unsupported broken neck and a dismembered leg. It swung its spear at her, skills in life not lost with reanimation and disfiguration.

Thea’rys had not sprung back when the death knight approached him. He did not retaliate. Why? He has its attention on him now.

Her angry snarl and the swing of her glaive met air. The encroaching undead surrounding her halted, and then stepped back, as if obeying an unspoken command.

“Kill her.”

The voice was ethereal. Commanding. And directed at Thea’rys. Kael’rien spun around to face the one who spoke, ready to charge forward to cut off the legs of the undead horse and its rider. And she would take off the head of the accursed human necromancer that finally appeared next to the horse, veiled face not hiding the contemptuous look of appraisal in his eyes as he observed them both.

However, Thea’rys rose to his feet, blocking her path to the Scourge commander and his undead-raising lacky. His winged face guard was flung to the side, revealing his bloodied face and hair. His shield had dropped to the ground, but in his right hand he still held his warglaive.

What in the name of the Sunwell is he doing?

The love of her life. Husband of almost one thousand years. Three children together, and two grandchildren. Guards of honour, from the days of their training to becoming elite Spellbreakers.

The memory of his expression: the pain and anguish, and regret that he bore seared into her mind. “For our family.” For all the determination in his posture, his voice trembled.

Thea’rys had the enemy’s attention on them both now. The entirety of the Scourge could not be stopped, but at least he bought time where they were, for those under their charge. He bought time for those they swore to protect to retreat.

He did not reach for her to fight her. She was frozen, stunned by the turn of events. He was her husband. They knew each other like nobody else. Their hearts beat as one, others used to say.

What was she meant to do? How was she meant to react?

No. There has to be another way.

Bloodied gauntlets touched her face in the familiar way that she had always known. He leant forward, tears freely falling down his cheeks, and pressed his lips to hers in a final kiss.

In sickness and in health. For better or for worse. For richer or for poorer.

No. No no no no no no. Not like this.

“Death will never part us.”

Kael’rien Sunstrike’s last memory was of her husband’s resolute, tear-streaked face, his voice tight as he spoke those last words to her. His blade impaled her chest, through her heart. 

All turned black as she fell, before her body struck the bloodied, desecrated ground. 

[shadowphoenixrider]

SPR’s Horde characters

Draggka ♀ Darkspear troll Hunter (Marksmanship)

Younger sister of Dranka, Draggka has protected Azeroth and its people with her loyal raptor companion Spike from the numerous threats that have arisen. During the campaign to stop Garrosh in the Alternate Draenor, she fell in love with Archmage Khadgar, they later married after the Legion’s 3rd invasion. Despite being loyal to the Horde, Draggka has unofficially left, due to Sylvanas’s actions. She is currently pregnant with her and Khadgar’s first child, Zal’ria.

Dranka ♂ Darkspear troll Druid (Feral)

Old brother of Draggka, he was presumed dead after being kidnapped by Zalazane’s thralls. However, he escaped and lived with the druids, becoming one himself. He finally returned to Draggka after the Echo Isles were retaken, and reintegrate himself into society. He was instrumental in getting his sister and Khadgar together, and looks upon the relationship favourably. After Draggka retired from adventuring due to her pregnancy, Dranka took up a Heart of Azeroth and the Speaker of the Horde mantle in her place.

Zal’ria ♀ Half-Troll Mage (Frost)

Oldest daughter of Draggka and Khadgar, she was accidentally conceived on their honeymoon, coming into the world sometime during the war between the Alliance and Horde. Raised both in Karazhan and Dalaran, she grew into an accomplished mage, not least due to her father and her Uncle Medivh, who has taken her under his wing as his apprentice. Although she identifies more with the Horde due to her mixed race, Zal’ria is not part of either faction, and refuses to engage in combat with any of them.

Khara ♀ Half-Troll Shaman (Enhancement)

Youngest daughter of Draggka and Khadgar, even though it seems the other way around, Khara was also a happy accident. Unlike her sister, however, she is boisterous and almost always ready for a fight - woe betide anyone who insults her family. Instead of the arcane arts, Khara heard the elementals, and was trained by several shaman to harness her powers. She is closer to the Horde than Zal’ria, but has refused to take the Blood Oath, under advice of her mother.

Harnaka Fireforge ♀ Orc Shaman (Enhancement)

An orphaned orc adopted by a troll and orc pair, Harnaka was going to follow in the path of her mothers by learning how to smith. The discovery of her connection to the elements led her to becoming a shaman, although she uses them in her smithing now. She has known Draggka since they both began inventing, and they are very close friends. She has recently began a relationship with Cayeli.

Aiyaona Grimtotem ♀ Tauren Paladin (Protection)

One of the few Grimtotem that remain in Thunder Bluff, Aiyaona constantly harbours guilt about her tribe’s actions, and tries do things so that other members of the Horde never question her loyalty (which is becoming challenged in light of Sylvanas’s leadership). Painfully shy, the only people she really opens up to are Draggka and her group of friends. However, she is getting much closer to the Highmountain tauren Jeipuh, and some suspect romance is in the air between them.

Elizabone ♀ Forsaken Warlock (Demonology)

Once a priestess of the Light, Elizabone turned to darker magics after her mind was freed from the Scourge, believing the Light had forsaken her in her darkest hour. Although possesses a cynical attitude, her time in the Plaguelands and long friendship with Draggka and the others softened Elizabone’s grudge against Life. She always wears a veil to cover the lower half of her face for a reason she will not divulge.

Cayeli Sunflare ♀ Blood elf Monk (Windwalker)

Cayeli is one of the two black sheep in her staunchly arcanist family - her older brother Solaen was lost and presumed dead, only to be revealed in the Legion’s 3rd invasion that he’d become a demon hunter. Choosing to learn to brawl with her bare hands and feet, she later refined these ways when the Pandaren came to Azeroth, becoming a monk. In a move that is likely to annoy her family further, she has began dating Harnaka.

Tinkerspring ♀ Goblin Priest (Holy)

In typical goblin fashion, Tinkerspring uses her ‘faith’ in the Light to make money, and when that doesn’t work, she has health potions to sell too. However, unlike her twin brother Fizzlespring (a mage who has a habit of setting fire to his debtors), she possesses a softer heart, and will occasionally treat people for free in dire situations. Her friends rely on her skills and appreciate her courtesy at not charging them for her healing powers. 

Lasai Vustri ♀ Nightborne Mage (Fire)

A privileged mage in Suramar, Lasai subtly aided the Nightfallen resistance against Elisande by providing masquerades to rebels and arcwine to the needy, as well as sabotaging the disguises of Elisande’s infiltrators. Excited to explore the outside world, Lasai befriended Draggka and later managed to provide Khadgar with a Zandalari disguise so he could meet her in private. She also sews in her spare time, and made the magic carpet she relies on for transportation.

Jeipuh Proudleaf ♀ Highmountain Tauren Warrior (Protection)

Whilst Jeipuh came from a line of herbalists and druids, she decided to become a warrior, and distinguished herself enough to become one of Mayla Highmountain’s bodyguards. She met Aiyaona during the Legion’s 3rd invasion, and the two became fast friends. When Mayla granted Jeipuh indefinite leave, she joined Aiyaona to see the world beyond the Broken Isles.

Tamorn Mellowbrew ♂ Orc Monk (Brewmaster)

Orphaned as a baby, Tamorn was found by a Pandaren pair and raised as their own, hence his unusual surname and upright posture. He learnt the ways of a Brewmaster from his parents, and has become a loose friend of Draggka and her company, who often come to him if they need someone to distract the enemy. When not fighting, he is often formulating other brews or maintaining his hair and beard braids. Tamorn was wounded after the Battle for the Undercity, and has taken up carpentry while he recovers.

Razla Forewatch ♀ Mag’har Orc Hunter (Survival)

A member of the Warsong tribe from the alternate Draenor, Razla was only too happy to come to Azeroth, to test herself against the wilds. She used to hunt alone, until she came across a hyena she bonded with after it  inexplicably defended her from an ambush. With Shenzi by her side, Razla continues her mostly solo exploits, helping the Horde only when its motives satisfy hers.

Jala’wi ♀ Zandalari Paladin (Retribution)

A prelate of Rezan, Jala’wi devotes her life to protecting Zandalar, though always nursed a curiosity about what was beyond the island’s shores. Her questions were answered by the arrival of the Horde, in the tow of Talanji. After Rezan was killed, she found a new Loa in the form of Torcali, drawing on her vow to protect her people. She has also now left Zandalar to protect her people from the threats that seek to destroy them and Azeroth. And seeing the rest of the world is a good bonus too.

[selowyn]

The Magistrate’s Mandate

“Confessor?” The question, following a knock and asked delicately from the doorway by a soft-spoken messenger, prompted a quizzical glance up from her desk inside the Sanctum.

“Yes?” Her musical voice further broke the silence.

“Pardon the interruption. The Magistrate would like to see you.”

Oh. Ohhh. “Very well.” Her voice was far steadier than she felt as she rose to follow.

The day was clear upon the Isle, the trees ever-bursting with eternal foliage of golds and reds. A small breeze teased up from the sea and she took a deep breath to steady her nerves as they made their way across the main square and up the steps to the summoning platform. The Magistrate’s office in Quel’Danas, situated high in a tower at Sun’s Reach, overlooked the harbor with a clear view of the Terrace. She had been here a few times before. Recalling it as well-appointed, she was curious as to the occasion. When she materialized before the open door to his offices, she was quickly ushered in.

“Ah, Miss Sunhawk,” the Magistrate intoned, rising from his ornate desk in a splendor of carnelian and cream silk, the faint crows feet in the corners of his eyes crinkling with the upturn of a smile. “Thank you for coming. A pleasure to see you. Please, please, come in. Make yourself comfortable. Yes, yes, have a seat, there you are.” Bowing low at the waist in the old way, the Magistrate pulled out a chair at his conference table, into which she invested herself following a deep curtsy. After offering her something to drink (politely refused), he admitted his time was short. A folder from his desk was fetched and brought to the table, slapped down softly as he took a seat opposite her.

Sliding wire-framed glasses over glowing golden eyes, he flipped open the chart, humming idly as he skimmed. “I have been reading your file, and am taken to understand that for a time you studied the arcane.” Peering at her over the top of the lenses, he awaited confirmation.

Interesting start. “Yes. My father was an arcanist and we shared a love of books.” The ensuing surge of sadness was expected, but could not be indulged presently. It was shoved back down with an intense exercise of discipline before it could pose too much distraction.

“How lovely! A right and proper calling for a highborne.” More skimming. “Ah, but that’s not all. He was an accomplished fencer, isn’t that right? And so perhaps it was through a mutual love of fencing you eventually found your way to more...martial pursuits.” A flip of a page. “How interesting. Was that here, in Quel’Thalas as well?”

She held her breath, shaking her head. His tilted in response and he sought his answer in the document rather than from her lips with a rapid shift of focus. “Ah. Ahh... I see. Perhaps it was in the City-State of...Theramore.”  

The rapid descent in his tone from praise to disappointment was palpable, and the Confessor shifted in her seat. This seemed a broad leap, glancing over many years and experiences, but... He wasn’t incorrect. “For a time, yes, that’s right.”

Tossing the dossier to the side, he leaned back in his chair, eyeing her appraisingly. “I suppose it at least shows some level of discernment that your family followed the Expedition rather than remain in Lordaeron, doomed as it was.” Breaking eye contact to peer out the window, he shrugged. “Why you all did not just...come home to the open arms of your Kingdom; well, that begs other questions.”

A swallow. “Sir, if you would like me to explain…” The wave of his hand silenced her.

“Those were dark times and Lady Proudmoore an accomplished sorceress. Many highborne cleaved to her side, and when the Prophet gave his warning she was wise to leave. Undoubtedly the Kaldorei are thankful for your aid at Hyjal as well.” A soft snort. “For all the good that’s done them.”

A blonde brow arched as lips set into a thin line, but prudence won the moment and she remained silent. Seeing no comment was forthcoming, the Magistrate fiddled with his robe before leaning forward once more to dig into her file. “Northrend. Uh-huh. Argent Tournament...working under the wing of her grace, Bishop-Confessor Morningdove...you know,” he suddenly remarked, tearing off the spectacles to rub his eyes, pausing a moment in thought. “I rather wonder how you rose to Confessorship so quickly. Not just any common arcanist or soldier can apply their brand of skill to cultivating the vulnerable minds of the Azerothian populace. Just what happened up there in the frozen North?”

She knew better than to comment, or raise objection to his tone, or to ask just how he knew all of this. His query was rhetorical, as was his pattern in this chess match. With a deep inhale, a prayer was whispered under her breath. Honestly is truth, and truth is pure. It would be her shield.

Her relief came quickly enough through his love of hearing himself speak. “Nay, please. It matters little for the issue at hand, and your station is one deserving of respect.” He sighed, his tone going conspiratorial. “It just seems the history written upon the annals our beleaguered world goes faster and faster, fate cramming as much as she can into the shortest man-measured years as possible. One war, two wars, three wars….a score of wars! One can hardly keep it all straight.” A wry hurmph is issued as he shifted in his seat. “Would that we had the long, languid eons of the past back...”

With that, the spectacles were shed, slapped to the tabletop with a clink of glass and wire. His hands wove themselves together, gathering at his midsection as he pressed forward. “Miss Silverhawk. You came here, a pilgrim to the Sunwell, and we granted your entreaty. You requested then to remain here, finding it to your liking--as many do.” His eyes sought hers. “This is a favor we do not grant easily, anymore.”

The quirk of her lips was surely visible and so he quickly continued. “Now. We understand all too well the siren call which our blessed font presents for our people; the importance it represents both symbolically and on a more personal basis.” The slightest smirk bloomed upon his face at that.

Her eyes sank downward to hide her shame. He doesn’t understand. I’m not like the others. I never sought to go to Draenor; never supped of the green crystals. I wasn’t even here when...

“We also wished,” his sharp voice cut into her internal cascade, “to display a show of good faith to your service to the stalwart Argent Crusade, in thanks for all they--and you--have done. After all, that was a very select organization, I’m told.”

“Yes, it...was.” Tirion hand-picked every one of us. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. “It still is.”

“And yet, for all the good offered the world,” and he did, to his credit, incline his head in respect, “the Crusade is just not what it once was, correct? I understand the Highlord and most of the prime force perished upon the...what are the humans calling it? The ‘Broken Shore’? And that now, the leadership has been assumed by a human paladin, a Lord Maxwell, and subsumed back under the auspices of their Order of Knights?”

A swallow. It was clear now where this was going. “Yes, that is correct.”

“Interesting.” Abruptly rising, the Magistrate recovered his glasses and wandered to his desk, fiddling with a few scrolls, fingers sliding down the pages until he found what he was looking for with a smart tap. “See here, it says reports indicate that members of this order, this...Silver Hand, have been present at the warfront of Arathi, fighting for the Alliance.” Peering up at her now, his face was void of emotion. He wielded fact with cold efficiency. “It would seem that they have chosen a side in this conflict. The side which, given the geographical location, represents a threat to the safety of the Kingdom.”

Her stomach lurched. She had wondered if and when this day would come, and...so it seems it had. Many of her new friends in the Outreach wandered in with their tail tucked between their legs, hesitant and vigilant. Is this how they felt, faced with conflicting loyalties?

Watching her a lingering moment, the Magistrate made his way to the nearby liquor cabinet, choosing a decanter of garnet hued liquid and pouring what looked to be a glass of dark port. Turning, he raised it in offerance - would she now partake, perhaps? At the shake of her head, he capped the pitcher once more and paced, robes whispering in time to the idle tapping his fingernail made upon the petite glass.

“You’ve been gone quite a bit lately,” he began again, the prior more circuitous train of thought replaced by a new level of directness. “Less and less at the clinic here, where some of our most wounded come for replenishment and renewal.” Long, pale hair shifted like melting snow with the disappointed shaking his head gave as he meandered to the window, eyeing the wide expanse of placid ocean as he sipped his drink

“Now, Miss Sunhawk, I understand completely the urge to follow one’s heart. The drive to offer your unique benediction to the far flung corners of the world, such as...salt-abraded prison islands and the shattered hamlets of Lordaeron. It must at times be practically impossibly difficult to resist.” The knowing smile he offered her with a side cant of his face made her blood run cold. “But lest you forget, you are a first and foremost, by right of birth and bloodline, belore’dorei of the Kingdom of Quel’Thalas, with all the rights, privileges and expectations that grants.

The world shrank, her vision clouding as her breath caught in her chest. With a soft clearing of her throat, she sat up straighter, mentally raising her shield to speak her truth. “Sir. With all due respect, I am, first and foremost, a Confessor of the Argent Crusade. Sworn to fight evil wherever it may manifest and offer healing wherever it is n--…”

“Confessor,” he interrupted. “Let me make this simple.” Turning toward her once more, he stood framed by the window pane, features in shadow as the light from behind streamed forward around his shape. “You will focus more upon your duties here. You will heal our wounded and you will counsel the bereaved. You will help train the Spellbreakers as needed. And you will do all of this not only because it is your privilege as one of us; but you will do this because you enjoy the proximity to the Sunwell afforded to those in Quel’Danas.”

A lead weight took up residence inside of her stomach. Her greatest failure now held her in chains. Despite all her discipline and work, the indelible mark Northrend had left on her made her vulnerable, a pawn for a war machine spinning out of control.

He must have noticed her wilt. “Oh come now my dear. Just to be clear, you are not a prisoner. No, no. However, we just wish…” He swirled the last bit of drink in his glass with a flourished gesture of his arm, casting garnets upon the wall as it caught the light. “For more of your precious time. That’s it.” Down went the dregs of the port, and so too her mood. “So. Are we clear?”

Her golden eyes meandered to the beveled glass in his hand. The intricate array of engraved facets glimmered with multidimensional promise of possibilities reflected, yet held in check by the singularly firm grip of his fingers.

“As crystal,” she whispered.

[taeon-nightvale]

Getting to know the High Enchanter

Name: Taeon Nightvale

Age: 300~

Height: 6′1″

Weight: 180-190~

Blood Type: Never really thought of it, to be honest. O negative.

Eye colour: Gold

Hair colour: Black. Either with some purple/gold highlights.

Date of Birth: October 31

Zodiac sign: Scorpio.

Shoe size: 10.

Favourite Color(s): Gold, Black, & Purple.

Favourite smell(s): Gwain’s cologne and natural scent, plumeria’s, after a good rainfall, he also loves the smell of vanilla and coconut.

Birth Gem: Sapphire

Race: "Quel’dorei”

Talent(s): He’s exceptionally well versed in enchanting items. Sometimes he goes out of his way to make powerful enchantments just to ensure the quality of the product that his customers want. Taeon also makes his own line of drinks. He uses his own magic to make each one unique. An exceptional dancer, self-proclaimed stylist. He is known as the High Enchanter & Cursor of Alenor Vale, meaning he can also collect souls of the dead or the living.

A wish they have always wanted: He very much wants to be married and to have or adopt a child with his partner. We’re getting there, and he’s close to getting one of his dreams. He’s quite excited about this!

An item they hold dear to their heart: The purple band that Gwain gave him as a sign of trust, devotion and love. It is also a knight’s tradition. Anything that Gwain had ever given him, means a whole lot to him. 

Favourite sound(s): Gwain’s heartbeat. It calms him and lets him know that the moment he’s living in right now, is real. The sounds of rain hitting the windows. To him, it has this therapeutic effect to it. 

Fear(s): Losing his family to the corruption of his species, also losing Gwain. At this point, he doesn’t know what he’d do without him. 

Accomplishment(s): Being happy for once. Truefully, happy. It’s been a long time since he’s given a true smile. 

Your muse’s catchphrase(s): The roll of the eyes with a smug grin and he just says, “Well then.” And he just stretches his fingers out then sort of quickly puts them into a fist from pinky to index. It’s hard to explain. 

Likes: Practicing his magic, reading, horseback riding, flying, enchanting items, making new drinks and testing them either on his brother or his fiance. Gwain! Odysseus!

Dislikes: The Silens, corruption, Rolen (fuck this guy), Lorien (he’s going to be dead soon), Beridan (he’s dead now but still), abusers, cheaters, HATES Karim (he’s fucking dead now).

Any scars?: Tae has a scar on his left arm that goes from his fingertips up to his collarbone. He uses his “tattoo” to mask it. Once he activates the tattoo which is a living pseudodragon that stays on his arm, the scars show. He enchanted the small dragon a very long time ago to fuse into his arm as a tattoo unless he activated him, or when the eyes of the dragon flashed and that’s when he knew that Odysseus wanted to fly around for a little while.

Birthmarks?: A few, not gonna say where. Only Gwain can know.

Something about your muse that is different from everyone else: I guess his confidence? He’s not confident like how everything thinks? It’s sort of a very feminine/manly sort of confidence. There are some other aspects but I don’t want to outline them here, people will have to get to know him.

What makes your muse cry?: The feeling of losing someone whether it’s his family, his fiance, or his fiance’s family, his friends. He loves each and every one of them dearly. He’s made some horrible choices in his past and now he feels like he has to make up for it by loving the people that surround his life.

What makes your muse happy?: Gwain. Glitter, magic, dancing, making drinks, flying.

What makes your muse laugh?: Gwain’s ability to make him laugh! It’s great. Witty interactions.

Does your muse love his/her parents? Why or why not?: He doesn’t know his parents. The only form of parental influence he’s had was his stepfather that raised them until he died, and then his older brother Valerian who took up the role. He’s currently met his birth mother, but he’s conflicted on it. 

Does your muse have any friends? Which friend is closest to him/her?: Tae has so many friends, I can list them all here but the list will go on and on. The closest he has is his best friend first and foremost which is Gwain [ @spiesandcaptains ]. Their interactions are honestly the best, they’re lovers, they’re best friends, they’re honestly just everything you’d want a partner to be. Another close friend would have to be Variandra Sunsorrow [ @sunsorrow ], because who wouldn’t call her his best friend. She set up our babies together. And Keyianna Starsun [ @the-little-shining-star ]. He loves this little ball of sunshine so much and does his best to be there for her.

Your muse’s favourite food?: The Mount. Hands down. Anything that Gwain makes for him.

Does your muse follow a religion? Nope!

What would get your muse to fall in love with someone?: Not being abusive, showing him that it’s okay to love someone of the same sex (if he’s in a gay relationship - or starting one). He’s an abuse victim (rape, mental & physical abuse) so being considerate of that is major plus points. Allowing him to show some PDA, he used to get beaten if he ever attempted. Being there for him, whether it’s the good or the bad.

Has your muse ever killed/murdered somebody? Why did they do it and what was their motive? He has killed. Many people actually. He’s completely decimated an entire town of 250,000 people with his brother. All because they were a threat to the leader of the Clan.

Does your muse have a type when it comes to physical attraction?: So far he’s fallen for the guy with the auburn hair, the fiery eyes and the lopsided grin. The lopsided grin gets him. Every. Single. Time. Also a nice butt. He likes his butt. It’s a nice butt.

What does your muse find endearing personality wise?: People that are strong, inside and out. He kept his emotions hidden for so long and now they’re finally coming out. So when people can be strong, but can also cry. He finds that endearing, whether it’s an attraction or just appreciation. 

What is the stupidest/ most illogical thing your muse has done and why did they do it?: Loved and continued to stay with an abusive man for over 200 years. He used to beat himself up over this a lot. Kept himself hidden behind a lot of guilt, self-depreciation, and worthlessness. For a long time he felt like he was never good enough.

Tagged by: Nobody! I stole this from @vitka-wra a looooooooooooooooooooong time ago. And just kept it in my drafts and never filled it out until now.

Tagging: @spiesandcaptains (Gwain) | @sunsorrow (Both) | @the-little-shining-star | @eve-daniels | @loveherdekay | @hmratking | @marquis-teren-kiden | @adilynia | @fallstride | @kat-hawke | @anierous-sunblade | @alexkestavin | @unabashedrebel | @the-real-arcanist-val | @caterinaprimrose | @radiantsong-family | @j-phoenixfire | @calaglin-iarian - @caladhel-iarian | @elutia-shadowstar | @feathersandfoxtails

[secretlystephaniebrown]

Letters To No One: 5/6

Summary: Lucretia writes letters that she can never send over the years.

Beginning

Previous

Also on Ao3

Lucretia pulls the Bulwark Staff out of the sea.

It whispers in her ear—promises of invincibility, of protection. It’s full of the magic of abjuration—it is the subtlest of the schools, lacking in flash and glamour in the way the others have.

She would never say it was harmless—none of the Relics could be called that. But she does think it’s… gentler, than the others. But in some ways, that makes it more insidious. It does not offer raw power, or wealth, or an army. In many ways, it speaks to the kindest of souls, or the timidest. It offers them defense, it offers them protection. And then, like all the Relics, it brings destruction.

She wraps her fingers around it, shoving aside her creation’s attempt to enthrall her. “None of that,” she says. She raises it into the air, and tries to call up the shield.

But it’s not strong enough, despite the power flowing through her veins. It only carries one-seventh of the light. It needs the full thing to do what she needs to do.

Abjuration is the school of protection—Magnus, she thinks, would have chosen it, had he taken to wizardry. In the past, she’d used her powers to protect her family.

Now, she will protect the entire plane.

She wraps mage armor around herself, bolstered by the staff. She closes her eyes and breathes.

She can do this.

--

Magnus,

Fisher misses you. They sing every day, playing with the wooden ducks. One of my recruits, a bard named Johann, is the only one who can calm them down, by playing music for them.

I don’t think Fisher understands why you haven’t come back. Or why Davenport is different. Their mind is so different than ours… I’ve tried to explain, I have. I’ve told him you’re happy. You’ve got a shop now, I hear. The Hammer and Tongs. It’s odd to hear you referred to as an apprentice, but I suppose you must re-learn all those years of skills.

-L

--

Every breath she takes hurts. The last game broke her ribs, and she has no spells that could heal her. Barry had, one cycle, followed Merle around, ad then joined a local temple, becoming a cleric, to help Merle with healing. Lucretia should have done the same; even though a life of faith is not for her. But healing spells would certainly be useful, right now.

She leans against a tree, wiping blood away from the corner of her mouth. She needs to get out of the Wilds, to a cleric or a temple or… something. She has to make it out of here, otherwise she’d have abandoned Cam for nothing. She will need to set up contingencies, when she gets back. Tie her wards to her death, so Barry can find Fisher. Leave a letter for Maureen to find, explaining, listing her friends’ locations, because only Lucretia can cast the barrier spell, so her plan goes to ashes if she dies.

She can’t do this again. At least not until she’s stronger. She’ll need to be more careful. Hire people to hunt the relics for her. And save Wonderland until last, because she can’t send anyone in there until they’re ready.

--

Magnus,

A rebellion? Really?

I don’t know why I’m surprised; I’ve seen you rail against injustice in far too many worlds. But I suppose I had hoped I’d managed to find you a place where you wouldn’t need to protect people.

Good luck Magnus. Fight well.

-L

--

Lucretia carves sigils and wards into the foundations of the base which will one day become the Moon Base. She is still an arcanist, despite her own wariness of those skills. She protects them from scrying, sets down powerful wards against teleportation, and everything else she can think of.

It takes weeks, expending her spellslots, until she’s satisfied. She crafts glass spheres to travel in and bracers. She makes a grand tank for Fisher and puts a glamour over the portrait of her family, which she hangs in her office.

When Maureen visits, she whistles, looking at the work that Lucretia has done.

“You’re a lot more powerful than you let on, aren’t you?”

Lucretia smooths down the elaborate folds of her robes. She wasn’t that powerful, not really; she had nothing on Lup or Barry or Taako or Davenport. She was good at what she did, but she was just an abjuration specialist. She was simply making a base that was meant to survive, to protect its inhabitants. She thinks that Magnus would have approved. “I survived this long, haven’t I?”

Maureen doesn’t quite realize how impressive that is. She could know—she’s the only person who could, inoculated as she is.

But Lucretia fears what Maureen would think of her—she disliked Lucretia leaving Cam in Wonderland already. Surely, she would leave if she knew what Lucretia did to her own family.

So Lucretia says nothing and listens to Maureen speaking about her plans for anti-gravity.

--

Magnus,

I sent one of my agents through Raven’s Roost. I promise, I don’t spy on you too often, but there was a rumor of the Oculus in the area.

I wonder what poor Robbie thought of me dropping my cup when he mentioned the marriage of one Magnus Burnsides to a woman named Julia.

A wife. I honestly don’t know what to say. Congratulations, I suppose. I wish I could have been there. But then again, I suppose you might wonder who that old lady was, standing on the edge of the crowd.

I wonder what kind of woman your Julia is; surely, she is wonderful, and I hope she makes you happy. I hope she makes you so, so happy. You’ve earned this, Magnus. Your happy ending.

-L

--

For Magnus’ wedding, she arranges for a beautiful rosewood tree to grow and then collapse near Raven’s Roost—a good tree for him to carve, she thinks. She’s seen the way that Magnus has gone out of his way to collect good wood for his work, in the past. And now, he is a carpenter. Not a wandering star-traveler, not a man who throws himself recklessly into the path of danger, knowing he’ll be back a year later.

He’s a carpenter and a husband, nothing more.

And he’s so, so happy.

--

Magnus,

I heard about Raven’s Roost

I heard about Julia

I heard

I’m sorry

--

Magnus,

I went to the grave today.

It was foolish and sentimental, maybe. Certainly, Maureen has been giving me strange looks all day. You were already gone, of course. I’ve heard you’re in Neverwinter, finding work as a sell-sword.

But I went to the grave.

It’s beautiful, Magnus. The flowers you carved are beautiful. I used a few spell slots to enchant them, to protect them against wear and weathering.

I’d promised myself not to interfere in your lives. But I don’t want you to be alone. Merle is also in Neverwinter now, preaching the word of Pan on the streets, and adventuring on the side. I should be able to arrange a job for the two of you.

It won’t be much, but it will be something.

-L

--

Magnus’ skill as a carpenter has only grown. The flowers he’s carved for his Julia’s grave are breathtaking. She touches the petals and appreciates the polish, the grain. She sketches them twice, once for her journal, once more for her letter to Magnus.

She sinks spells into the grave, into the flowers, into the headstone. No grave robber will disturb Julia Waxmen-Burnside’s grave. The weather will not wear down the stone or the flowers.

Magnus will blame himself for not being able to protect Julia. The least Lucretia can do is to protect the grave.

Maureen pours her a glass of wine when she gets back. “How many spellslots did you use?” She asks, her mouth a disapproving line. She knows better than to ask what Lucretia had been doing. She’d seen the look on Lucretia’s face when she’d left.

Lucretia sighs. “One of my old allies from the Relic Wars needed my help.”

“You erased yourself. They wouldn’t know who you are,” Maureen points out.

“That didn’t matter,” Lucretia drinks her wine, and watches as Davenport sits in a window, staring up at the stars with wonder in his eyes.

--

Magnus,

Somehow, you two found Taako. Of course you did. You always manage to amaze me.

Do be careful out there.

-L

--

Lucas tells her that Maureen is dead over the sending stone and Lucretia feels herself go cold.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Lucas,” she says automatically, bottling up her own grief. What does her grief matter, in the face of his loss? Never mind that she wants to demand how this could have happened, never mind that she wants to crack right down the middle like a stone. Could she have saved Maureen, if she’d been there?

She’s just lost the oldest friend she still has. The person who’s known her the longest.

She turns to Davenport, who looks sad at the loss. She hangs up the sending

Lucretia hugs him tightly, even though she knows it’s not him, not really, and she weeps.

--

Magnus,

I wish you could have been here to see this.

Fisher had a baby.

It’s beautiful, Magnus, they’re so beautiful.

And it might just be the solution to the dilemma that I’ve been facing.

Maybe I’ll see you soon.

-L

--

Lucretia watches Fisher and the baby swim in their tank.

“They’re beautiful,” Johann says.

Lucretia thinks about the cave full of Voidfish, and about Magnus leading her into that cave, and the pure joy he’d carried with him.

The baby is smaller than Junior had been, even then.

She touches the tank, and they both sing.

An ancient carved wooden duck sits at the bottom of the tank, waiting to be played with.

“They are,” she agrees.

--

Magnus,

I don’t know how to do this.

Did I make a mistake?

One of my people got their hands on the Philosopher’s Stone yesterday. They turned an entire forest to diamond. Boyland, Carey, and Killian put him down, but in the process, the stone was lost. One of my best Reclaimers, dead.

No one can resist the thrall of the Relics, it seems.

I’m running out of options. Barry hasn’t been seen in far too long, Lup is still in the wind, and Davenport is unable to go on missions. I need you. All of you.

I… I’m afraid I might have made a mistake.

If I inoculate you… you wouldn’t help me. You’d all made that clear. You won’t listen to me.

But I might not have a choice.

I miss you. All of you. I think Fisher misses you too—they’ve been throwing their ducks around the tank in a fit for a week now, singing loudly. Johann has no idea what to make of it.

I need to do this, Magnus. The Gaia Sash resurfaced last week, and a dozen people died in the resulting hurricane. It was lost at sea, but it will wash ashore somewhere. Our relics have caused nothing but death and destruction.

We once promised we wouldn’t sacrifice lives for a cheap victory, but look at the damage we have unleashed on this world! One of my projects for the Bureau has been to compile a list of those who have died either fighting for the artifacts or were killed by them. It’s… a very long list, Magnus. It’s less now that the wars have stopped, but every now and then, one of them comes back to haunt us. The Sash, the Stone, and the Oculus are the most common: The Bell is safely in Wonderland, you hid your Chalice well, the Gauntlet vanished with Lup, and well… my Staff remains with me. Sometimes I wonder if I’m enthralled by the staff I am determined to stop this. The shield will work. It must.

-L

--

Lucretia stands in front of her friends. Magnus looks so old, she thinks: he’s covered in scars, and he looks battered and aged. He’s no longer the fresh-faced boy with a black eye that she’s seen a thousand times.

Somehow, she realizes, staring at him in wonder, he’s aged in a way that goes beyond what a hundred years had managed to do.

He’s changed and that terrifies her.

She welcomes them to the Bureau of Balance, pretending it isn’t breaking her heart.

--

Magnus,

Seeing you in front of Fisher again…

I’m so sorry

Fisher won’t sing when I’m in the room anymore.

It is so good to have you here. You fight… differently. It’s like looking back in time, watching you all fight. I hadn’t quite realized how much of your skills you’d have lost. I’ll have to put off sending you to Wonderland, even if it is the only Relic that we know the exact location of.

Davenport has been in a strange mood lately. I wonder if he knows that something is about to happen…

-L

--

Lucretia hates their blank looks. She hates the way that she’s a stranger to them. It’s her own fault, she knows, but she hates it She wants to fall to her knees and weep.

They’re here, and they don’t know her, and the gaping hole in her heart screams in pain anew, all the worse for ten years of festering in isolation and their suffering.

She sets her expression to serene and dignified and shoves down her hurt. One last grand lie, one last great wrong to inflict upon her family, all in the name of saving the world.

--

Magnus,

You realize the dogs will literally run off the moon, right? Please stop trying to smuggle chihuahuas in your armor.

-L

--

She watches as they flourish, here at the Bureau. They torment Leon, they befriend Carey and Killian, they get drunk with Avi, and it makes her smile, in a way she can never let them see.

--

Magnus,

Carey showed me the duck you carved for Killian today. I felt as if I couldn’t breathe it.

No one else remembers the ducks, now. I gave those memories to Junior; I was afraid that Johann might make a connection. Fisher was furious at me for taking their ducks, but I gave them to Junior and told them this, which seemed to calm them down a little.

-L

--

Lucretia loves them all, she really does.

However, it seems that absence makes the heart forget the absolute scale of the chaos that her friends are capable of causing.

When Lucretia walks out of her office one morning to see that Magnus has set up a picket line with the demand of “dogs on the moon,” she nearly breaks down laughing.

--

Magnus,

No dogs on the moon.

-L

--

Lucretia learns that Magnus has taken a level in rogue.

She has to stop to think about that.

The end result has her burying her face in her desk as she realizes that Magnus Burnsides now knows how to pick locks.

If he ever remembers who she is, she will lose every prank war for the rest of her life.

--

Magnus,

Why are the three of you so determined to be mean to Angus? Honestly, he’s a bright, brilliant boy, and he looks up to all of you. I know you’re goofing, but he’s a child, no matter how brilliant he is. He looks up to you.

-L

--

Angus McDonald is an unexpected gift. He can fill in the holes in the narrative, put it all together and find locations and details that none of her seekers ever have put together.

He found them while being inoculated. His is a mind that Lucretia has never seen the likes of.

Lucretia smiles at him, and thanks him for the work he’s done.

--

Magnus,

I found a duck in Fisher’s tank today.

It took everything I had not to cry in front of Johann.

I’m glad the two of you are becoming close again—I should have known that you wouldn’t let that stop you. You never would. Your family is your family, no matter where you find them.

Maybe that’s why the three of you didn’t run when you met Barry in the lab. Maybe some part of you knew him, and even all my warnings couldn’t dissuade your instincts, honed over that century, to trust Barry Bluejeans.

Fisher is happier, now that you’re visiting more often. They’re playing with the duck like they used to. Johann says they’re singing more lately as well. I’m glad.

-L

--

Lucretia thinks that they’re ready.

Or, at least, as ready as they can ever be.

They’re running out of time: the Hunger’s been scouting and she’s been counting the days. The Animus Bell is the last one left, and she needs it to complete her spell, she needs it to solve all of this.

She thinks about Wonderland and goes cold.

She just hopes she’s prepared them enough for what’s next.

--

Magnus,

I take everything back, I should never have sent you to Wonderland

I should have gone myself

What have I done?

I shouldn’t even be writing this. The Bell is here. I can finish this.

But I owe you this much, Magnus.

Farewell old friend. I hope you find happiness on the Astral Plane.

-Lucretia

--

Magnus tells her about Cam, and it’s like something Lucretia hadn’t even realized was intact shatters.

She cries. She knew what she had done, but she had been sure he was long dead. It’s been ten years. Lich magic was clearly more powerful than she had realized, if they could keep him alive as a head. She puts her head in her hands and feels the tears fall down her face, hot and heavy and itchy and exhausting. She’d barely been able to manage a few short rests since the Hunger, and exhaustion is warring at her.

“I’m leaving,” Magnus tells her, once she’s done crying for a man she has no right to mourn.

Lucretia’s fingers tighten in her robes. She doesn’t let her hurt show on her face. Magnus is the only one of the IPRE crew still on the moon. She’s known he wouldn’t stay, not forever, but it still hurts.

“Where to?” She asks. “Raven’s Roost?”

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m... it’s time to go home. Put new flowers on Julia’s grave. I’m sure the ones I carved for her are gone by now.”

“They should be fine,” Lucretia says, before realizing her slip. 

Magnus stares at her.

Lucretia shifts in her seat, carefully unclenching her fingers from her robe so she can fold them on her desk. “After I… heard, I went down to Raven’s Roost to investigate. I saw them and… I enchanted them.” Lucretia hates speaking out loud sometimes. Writing is so much simpler—she’s better than she used to be at speaking, after ten years running the Bureau, but she still isn’t comfortable with people the way Magnus is.

She keeps her letters to Magnus in a little wooden box, along with a handful of strange carvings she’s collected over the years. She takes them out of her desk and hands it to him. “I… I explain better in these.”

He leaves after that, but he comes back the next morning, enveloping her in a hug that smells of leather and wood polish.

“Thank you. For Julia.” 

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #22: Decisive Battle

Prompt: argy-bargy | Master Post | On AO3

SPOILERS for Sorrow of Werlyt through 5.3, and a semi-sequel to the earlier prompt fill “Cruel Arcanist’s Thesis.” Thanks to @tehjai for helping me with the title and sticking to the NGE music theme I’ve apparently decided to go with for Werlyt nonsense (and without having to pun this time, thank fuck.)

--

“You rebuilt and refurbished an Allagan warmachina AND DIDN’T INVITE US!” Synnove bellowed.

“The nerve!” Nero said, waving a wrench for emphasis.

“The audacity!”

“The betrayal!”

“Oh my gods, I will throw you both over a cliff,” Cid said, rubbing his temples.

The G-Warrior had been brought back to Revenant’s Toll for a retrofit that couldn’t be performed in Terncliff. Synnove, of course, had used the opportunity to call up Nero on the linkpearl (that is, ranted on the open line that she knew he eavesdropped on because he refused to carry any actual linkpearls on himself, the snob) to rat Cid out to him about the existence of the warmachina, dancing out of reach of Cid trying to take the ‘pearl cuff from her. Nero’s outraged squawk had near deafened them both. And within just a handful of bells, the Red Baron had dropped out of the sky into the Garlond Ironworks courtyard with an enraged engineer aboard.

Cid had not known peace the whole damned day.

“Look at this,” Synnove said, gesturing up at the G-Warrior with Ivar, who was dozing in her grasp. “Look at it! It can’t even channel primal aether anymore.”

“It drew its power directly from the Warring Triad in the flagship,” said Cid tiredly. “If you think I was keeping that function—”

“You could have adapted it,” Nero sneered. “Just how many summoners and their egi have the Immortal Flames recruited by now?”

As Cid shouted, “How do you even know that?” Synnove added, holding up Ivar, “Or, easier, carbuncles with egi subprogramming!”

Cid gave her a flat look and said, “And as you’re the only arcanist with carbuncles installed with egi subprogramming that I know of…”

“What a lovely coincidence!”

“And, truly, Garlond,” said Nero, “I cannot believe you passed on the opportunity to enact poetic justice and use the VIIth’s own tricks against them, using a primal-infused weapon against their forces.”

“No, no, that is a trap,” Cid growled, jabbing a finger into Nero’s chest. “Not when the basis of their work is partially your research.”

Nero sniffed and smacked the other Garlean’s hand away. “Please, their synthetic auracite system is an abomination, even you could do better with the original Ultima Weapon’s blueprints on hand.”

Cid’s face turned a fascinating shade of red as he gaped at Nero, hands flexing in the manner of someone who desperately wanted to strangle the person before them.

“Have you discovered which lunatic legate is now in charge of the VIIth, by chance?” Nero said to Synnove while Cid fought the urge to commit homicide.

“Alakhai spoke to a former conscript in Terncliff who mentioned a ‘Legatus Valens,’” Synnove said thoughtfully. “And that’s a given name if I’m not mistaken, not a family name.”

“It is,” Nero murmured, frowning. “Certainly, it doesn’t narrow the field very much, and that is a shockingly informal address for a legate, to refer to one by their personal name.”

“Especially after so long in the XIVth,” Cid muttered.

“Mmm, Baelsar was always a stickler for protocol, it was a bone he rarely let go.”

Cid, despite himself, snorted a laugh.

The temperature in the hangar noticeably dropped.

“The next person who makes a wolf pun in my presence about Gaius Baelsar,” said Synnove with forced cheer, “will have Ivar sicced on them.”

Nero paused, glancing over at her and her too-large, dead-eyed smile, and then down to Ivar. “Duly noted,” he finally said, genuinely serious.

Cid glanced at him, eyebrows raised.

Nero scoffed and said, “Garlond, I would like to remind you that of the two of us here, I have in fact already had Ivar sicced upon my person, and I am not keen to repeat the experience.”

Ivar suddenly jerked awake with a snort, looking around in Synnove’s grasp. Whazzat, I heard m’name.

Synnove scratched behind his ears and said fondly, “Just threatening people with you.”

A chatter. Did it work?

“Yes.”

Yaaaaay. He yawned, and fell back asleep.

“…Your carbuncles are terrifying instruments of wanton violence and destruction,” Nero said, staring at Ivar, “which speaks volumes about your actual levels of relative sanity and inherent bloodthirstiness.”

“That is the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” said Synnove, genuinely touched.

“Now!” Nero turned on his heel to loom over Cid. “The aether mines could have had an increased output of at least twenty percent if you had taken into account something as simple as concussive force.”

“Which could have meant more power put towards the aether cannon!”

“Or the pyretic booster!”

Cid sighed and put his face in his hands as the other two scientists renewed their haranguing. Bloody godsdamned nerds.

[schwazombie]

Random fun facts about my worldbuilding and characters because I feel like infodumping a little:

The Ssimshaieesatlo’n are not originally from the continent the story takes place in, but travelled there from across the sea so long ago that no one alive remembers when they first came.

That’s why their language has no similarity to any of the other Elven languages on the continent.

They did, however, meet the native subterranean elves when they fled the surface. Their cultures (and peoples) blended -- loan words, synchronized myths and pantheons, food, clothing, all that good stuff.

Most all Ssimshaieesatlo’n learn to speak at least a little of the native elves’ language; well-educated Ssimshaieesatlo’n learn to be conversational.

M the Companion is half Ssimshaieesatl; his mother is a native elf. He is very proud of this fact, and grew up bilingual.

His family are fabric merchants, and he was a fabric merchant for years before becoming a trained companion.

A the Companion only speaks Ssimshaieesatlzha. He thinks listening to M speak with his mother and her side of the family is absolutely fascinating, and asks M to teach him a little so he can at least say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’.

Arcane ability is due to an extra ‘muscle’ which only some people are born with. Like any actual muscle, it can be trained and grow stronger; but, like any muscle, some people can build it more easily while others, no matter what they do, will never be able to make it stronger. Level of arcane ability is what separates arcanists from mages.

T the Mage is actually an arcanist.

Some mages prefer the term “theoretical arcanist”, calling arcanists “practical arcanists”.

T the Mage hates this. Violently. With a passion. He will rant.

If a magic user does too much, the metaphorical muscle will get sore (kinda like when one goes too hard at the gym). The resulting muscle ache is magic sickness. It can range from feeling a little unwell, to feeling like a really, really bad hangover.

A magic user can, in fact, die if they try to use magical ability out of their metaphorical weight class.

Gnomes believe in reincarnation, but that individuals may choose to rest in the afterlife before their next incarnation.

T the Cleric is a priestess of a non-binary gnomish deity. She thinks she might have been a doctor in a previous life.

There are hill gnomes, plains gnomes, and tundra gnomes. T the Cleric’s mother is from a plains gnomish family, and her father from a tundra gnomish family.

The elven languages on the continent are related in the same way the Romance languages are. Elven Common is, to extend the metaphor, Latin. Elves on the continent are, therefore, usually at least bilingual.

S the Assassin speaks three languages before meeting the rest of the group. She learned one specifically to eavesdrop on her father.

She and her best friend, M the Rogue, had a fling when they were still in school. Her father still doesn’t know.

She also had a pet chicken, a laying hen, growing up. She thinks chickens are very ladylike pets.

E the Soldier plays fiddle. Really well, actually.

S the Assassin and E the Soldier come from a line of elves originated by a pirate. E curses T the Pirate’s blood every time S gets up to trouble.

H the Soldier smokes a pipe. S calls him grandpa. He is not her grandpa, but fills in the role since E the Soldier’s parents are both gone.

L the Thief is not actually named L. His name is J, a good coastal dwarven name. L is a nickname given to him by the man who raised him, originally to mock him, but then the name just... stuck.

L the Thief shaves his beard because it grows in a very distinctive colour, and he doesn’t want to be recognized.

Everyone thinks L the Thief is a man of few words, and he is, but it seems even more this way because Coastal Dwarven is a pro-drop language. L follows the same pro-drop rules for Coastal Dwarven when speaking the common tongue.

He doesn’t talk much about his early life -- not because it was bad, but because he never really forgave his parents. Besides, what happened after he got taken in makes for much more interesting stories.

N the Spy plays kalimba and writes poetry, but denies both. If given enough alcohol, though, he can be convinced to recite.

[odessii-dragonblade]

The Sisters Dragonblade

“Look at this!” Melany rushed to the center of Darkshire, where jack’o’lanterns lined the fountain, all lit up and staring out into the night. A particularly large lantern had been perched upon the fountainhead, the water cut off so that it, too, could be glowing bright. The young Arcanist couldn’t help but bounce at it all, folding her hands together just to stop from waving her arms in excitement. The decorations lined the streets of Darkshire, were strewn across the walls, and on top of Duskwood’s natural state of being, the place was a Hallow’s End paradise.

Chloe approached behind her sister, playfully knocking a plated shoulder into the excited girl. “I’ll never understand why you get so hyper around all this... It’s just another holiday, Mel, the world’s got plenty. Even murlocs get a friggen’ holiday...”

Melany pouted, kneeling down to pick up her staff and lean it against her shoulder before straightening her posture and following after Chloe, down the road out of town. The mage turned her nose up, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes at her un-festive twin, but soon lost her cynical look as they passed by a home that was in the process of giving children candy. “It’s just... Gah! Look at it all! It’s so mystical, and mysterious, and, and, and...”

She inhaled sharply as a realization passed over her. “The candy! Chloe, we should go around getting candy if we still have time! Come on, even you can’t pretend you don’t like something sweet every now and then!”

“First of all, we’re in our twenties now, Mel - we passed the trick-or-treating threshold a while ago. Second of all, we have jobs... Okay, we work - we can afford to buy our own candy, if you really want some that badly. I’m sure plenty of general stores still have some. Third, we came here to do a job - there’s some real horror-story level crap happening out in the woods according to these folks...”

Melany rolled her eyes a bit, furrowing her brows. “First of all, you’re never too old to have a bit of fun, you grump. Second, I know we have money, but mom could’ve bought us candy whenever she wanted, too. Trick or treating was about having fun, not just getting candy. Third, if there was a necromancer raising feral Worgen out here, the Kirin Tor would know about it! They’d send the Tirisgarde and stop it! We’re wasting our time, when we could be out bobbing for apples, or going through a haunted house, or-”

Chloe stopped suddenly, slapping a hand over Melany’s mouth and muffling her speech as magics flashed in the woods. The mage quieted and followed her sister in a crouched stance, moving to get a better look. Lo and behold, there in the center of a clearing outside a cave, a Forsaken was casting spells on the ground, where claws with limp patches of flesh and fur shot up out of the ground. Canine skeletons, with various assortments of flesh remaining on their frames, climbed from the Earth, giving a haunting sort of howl as they did so.

Melany stared, slack-jawed, before turning to Chloe. The dual-wielding warrior communicated silently with her twin, using various hand signals the girls had made up together over the years. Once the plan was clear, Melany nodded, gripping her staff and standing straight, tilting her head back one more and taking a deep breath. Chloe followed suit, rolling her shoulders and reaching up for her axe and the family sword, grinning as she nodded at Melany. In a moment, the pair was rushing onto the field, giving their war-cries into the night.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chloe flicked a piece of rotted Worgen flesh into the bushes along the path back to Darkshire, scowling a bit in disgust. She rested her greatsword on her shoulder, clutching the Necromancer’s necklace against the hilt as proof of the kill, while Melany straightened her cloth armor. The mage took after their mother, never being one for long skirts, but an Arcanist like her couldn’t very well be wearing plate armor. “Fine, he was real... And so were the undead Worgen. The Kirin Tor will want to know about this... I guess I should probably start making my way to Dalaran so I can-”

Suddenly, the much stronger warrior grabbed Melany by the shoulder, tugging her along up a short path. “Chloe! What are you-?!”

“Quiet... I can’t stand the thought of you moping about this until Winter’s Veil.” Soon they found themselves at the door of one of Darkshire’s residents, as Chloe pounded on their door. Melany was embarassed for a second, before noticing the lights were still on inside - whoever’s house this was, they were at least awake. A middle-aged man opened the door soon after, eyes flicking between the pair. Chloe prodded Melany on the back, before taking a pack off her belt to hold open. Melany smiled, following suit and speaking in unison with her sister. “Trick or treat!”

The man looked between them, crossing his arms as he leaned against the door frame. “Aren’t you too old for this?”

Chloe looked deadly serious, while Melany maintained her excited smile, letting the warrior speak for them both. “Listen, we just fought our way through a whole pack of undead ferals and the necromancer who raised them. I think my sister and I have earned a bit of indulgence?”

It took a moment, but soon the man shrugged, grabbing his bowl of candy and pouring half into one bag, and half into the other. “Not like any kids are coming by this hour... Stay safe.”

The door shut behind them, and Melany couldn’t help but bounce again as she stared into her pack. “See?! Come on, there’s another house with lights on! Hurry!”

She dashed off as Chloe hurried after her. “Melany, wait up! This armor’s heavy!”

[lostinthestarstrand]

Starwood Clan Lore - Pt2 The Starwood Burrow

The sun was just rising outside, causing soft, warm light to filter in through the canopy above them. Verdant and Alva made their way past the forested entrance of the oversized greenhouse. They often worked in silence well, tending to the many flora and fauna residing within the green sanctuary jutting off of the clan’s wing of the observatory. Today however Ver couldn’t seem to get his mind off of a particular subject that had came up before in their occasional conversations. Glancing at the quiet fae flying beside him at head height he hoped she wouldn’t mind his curiosity.

Clearing his throat, the sage gave Alva a warm smile as she turned her head to glance at him before he began. “You know… you never told me of your previous garden… at least not in depth.” He slowly came to a halt, glancing around the beautiful garden they had arrived at within the greenhouse. “Every time you mentioned it I’ve been dying to hear more. It must have been beautiful...” His grin spread and fortunately it was contagious, pushing back the nervous look that had come up on the fae’s face. 

Alva’s crests fanned out and flicked expressively as a smile crept up on her face. Wonderful memories of her old sanctuary flooded back and she alighted on a nearby statue, standing atop the head of a stone dragon. She sighed softly and tilted her head, crests flicking again in a way she knew Verdant could recognize. “You always know just what to say to get to get me to open up… you’re just as bad as Rory.” She giggled and grinned beneath her butterfly mask. “Ah… I suppose I should really share its memory, at the very least verbally. Fable has a few records and even some illustrations that survived but nothing could do it justice.”

Verdant moved to find a comfortable spot on the grass and plopped down with a soft thud. He nodded at the fae’s words and his grin grew as he waited patiently to hear her continue. Alva ran her claws over her silks before lifting one to the mask she often wore now, taking it off and settling it in her small lap. “Hm... I suppose I should really start at the beginning though, can’t just dive straight into it.” She smiled mischievously. “After all if you want to hear about the Grove you really should know the full story of the whole Starwood Burrow.”

Alva sighed and sat back on the stone dragon head, getting comfortable. “We made the move several years following Azura and Mello joining the clan. It was not long after Rory and I announced her as the clan’s head leader and Daedra as the clan’s knight captain as well as second in command. Azura knew the clan was only going to continue to grow and we saw it coming but just simply didn’t want to admit it. She suggested moving to the Starwood Strand which after some debating we agreed would be best as long as we could find a suitable lair location.” Alva’s crests fluttered and she ran a claw gently over her butterfly mask. “It was such a radical change for us… Rory and I… we never thought our clan would grow bigger than our family. Yet here we are, years upon years of dragons choosing to follow us, join us and come together to call ourselves a clan.” She smiled warmly, crests fanning out in a mirrored display that only fae and those versed in their body language could understand.

Verdant nodded, mostly trying to remain quiet he softly spoke up. “It certainly sounded like quite a large step for such a small clan at the time. However if you hadn't done it then we wouldn’t be here, in this diverse clan with so many beautiful minds from all walks of life. I think that’s why you… we, became so famous after all. You need that kind of melting pot to help in magical innovation.”

Alva tilted her head and chuckled. “You know, that’s so true. I agree, I think that’s what makes us so special and certainly what helps attract all the attention we began to get and still do...” She hummed in thought, crests furling back in for a moment before she shuffled atop the statue and waved a claw. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes the burrow… it was a miracle we even found the location but that was why we chose it. The area was already incredibly well concealed and the only thing that attracted us to it was the open cavern ceiling leading to what would become the Grove.” Alva motioned with her paws as she spoke. “The canopy was already rather thick in the area and the way the massive ancient trees hung over the cave it practically made it invisible from above. We had our own night sky made of the Starstrand whenever you gazed up at the open maw of the cave roof.” She sighed at the memories, many fond moments shared with Rory as they gazed up into the leaves.

“The whole burrow was dug out mostly by the tundras of our clan at the time with Rory leading the excavation. Once the basic layout had been made we created supports while staying mindful of the trees root systems. Some of the oldest ones actually became features within the walls of the burrow, creating a beautiful natural support system. The rest of the lair was cleared with magic and many spaces were carefully opened up wider for our bigger clan mates.” Alva flicked her tail, considering how much in depth she should go about the rest of the lair. 

“I miss it so much Ver... I had… before I left my clan I learned how to make this absolutely stunning blue amber from the Strand’s trees. It was a signature of many fae hives in the forest. I wanted to make the burrow unique, something that truly belonged to us. So along the walls and to help with supports I inlaid a mix of amber and crystals that acted as light sources. It looked like an ocean of stars Ver...” Alva smiled, a few tears pricking at her eyes and the tundra lifted a paw forward. Alva rubbed at her eyes and put her paw atop his, smiling sadly.

“It was the one thing besides the Grove that was mine in that lair… something I alone contributed to that everyone could appreciate. And it was beautiful...” She whispered the last part, rubbing the few newly formed tears away. Taking a deep breath she continued on, crests raising back up. “The Grove was mine from the beginning but it wasn’t until we were officially settled in that I could finally begin work on it. And to tell you the truth, it wasn’t all that different from this greenhouse.” She paused and looked up and around the massive glass enclosure. “Of course… not nearly this big however.” She smiled and Verdant returned it, letting her paw slip away as she at back on the statue before he set his own back in the soft grasses. 

“I had planted some of the Strand’s saplings down inside it, they were too beautiful to leave outside. Many of the natural flora of the Isles also flourished inside the cave, mixed in with pre-existing fungi and other subterranean life. We even had a small creek that we dug through the cave, connecting two flowing underground sources.” Alva traced the shape in the air, smiling as she recreated the image of her Grove in her mind’s eye. “But it wasn’t just flora Ver, I had all sorts of creatures too, kind of like in here. We had insects, my wonderful butterflies who would flock around me while I flew about and many of the familiars who were not bonding wandered the Grove. I carefully tended to each inhabitant, making sure they didn’t hunt or injure each other. Honestly they were all tamed but it felt like I had my own little piece of nature, of the wild.”

Verdant’s lips curled into a smile again hearing his friend recount her old home. He carefully wiped away his own tears, listening intently to Alva’s words. “It sounds so beautiful, I wish I could have seen it.”

“I wish you could have too Ver, I wish everyone could have...” Alva sighed, crests falling again. “Everything was crushed by the end of the attack. I think the animals made it out, by the Arcanist I hope they all did… But I never found any bodies in the rubble. One of Azura’s meteors landed in the opening, smashing the flora to bits. I know she had no control over them but I just wish it could have missed...” Another deep sigh came from the small fae as she rubbed more tears that threatened to fall. “Anything to have preserved that beauty...” She whispered, “I’d have given anything...”

The tundra slowly stood, moving closer to his friend to carefully cup her and pick her up. He held her close, letting her hide her tear streaked face against his cloak, the leaves within crackling softly. Small claws gripped the worn rags tightly but his presence reminded her of her mate, big and comforting. Verdant understood fae, after all he had grown up amongst them and that she appreciated in this moment. The nature sage also understood her deep love for the life around them, of the plants and even animals that filled their world. Where Rory was her rock in the magic tide of the Starfall Isles, Verdant was a life line that reminded her why she left her clan, just as he had his. He was her closest friend and knew what he had asked of her when sharing the history of her dearest memories.

After the fae’s soft crying came to a stop and her breathing returned to a calm, normal pace, Verdant finally spoke up again. “Thank you for sharing that with me...” he said softly. “I hope… I didn’t push you too far.” He let go of Alva, allowing her to move away if she wished. The fae sat back on one of his large paws, nestled somewhat in the sleeve like glove.

“No… I don’t mind sharing it and I needed to get that out. Rory… he knows it hit me hard but he doesn’t understand the way you do. I appreciate how he’s tried but it feels good talking to someone who just… gets how I feel about that loss of life. It was more than a personal project or my own sanctuary, it was my own way of preserving the beauty above.” Alva sighed and flittered up into the air, moving to where she had dropped her mask and picked it up. She returned to her perch atop the statue and adjusted her silks again.

Verdant smiled sadly, understanding completely. “I know Alva, I just hope maybe I can help protect this sanctuary beside you. And I’m sure we’ll have more dragons arrive in time who will continue preserving it.” He stood and moved closer to his friend, placing a claw on the statue.

“You’re right...” Alva’s smile returned and she placed the mask back on. Leaning forward she patted Ver’s claws. “That and I’m sure all those warding spells will keep our new gorgeous grove safe.” She winked past the mask, her grin growing as they both let out a genuine laugh together.

[windsinger]

A New Queen

 "Hey Aphyria? I have a question for you, If you don't mind me asking." Aphyria turned to the smooth voice that spoke to her. A Pearlcatcher looked down at the small Fae, trees surrounded the two of them. Jeremiah was one of the three dragons that arrived at the place where the mighty clan once stood a month after Aphyria and Zephyr arrived and made it their temporary home. He, an Imperial named Xiao, and a Wildclaw named Casper (she could practically hear the offended Wildclaw saying "That's Dr. Casper to you!") were confused and scared when they heard that the Mirror and Fae found the clan destroyed a month ago. Amidst the confusion, The Pearlcatcher, Jeremiah, suggested that they should find out what caused the slaughter of the clan that once resided in the area so that they could warn other clans. The five of them agreed and settled down in the area, building homes high up in the trees. Many months have passed and the group of five grew into a large group of dragons living here. Some are searching for answers, and others simply want a place to live in for a while. It's been busy to say the least and Aphyria has finally had some of her day off to relax and let herself dwell on her past for a little while, at least she did until Jeremiah came to speak to her.

"You do have a mouth you know. It's something you can use to inquire someone about something. What is it that you want to ask?" Aphyria asked. The elegant Pearlcatcher settled down next to Aphyria, with an air of elegance surrounding him. Who knew sitting down on grass can be done elegantly. Jeremiah looked at Aphyria, seeming to consider what he was going to say before speaking. "It seems that we keep on hitting dead ends when it comes to finding out how the old clan here perished. Even my magical abilities couldn't pick up on anything, and that says something." Jeremiah said. Aphyria nodded in agreement with him. "Yes, it seems we can not find any information at all. Perhaps it was meant to be that we would never find the answer." Jeremiah studied the Fae's features, silently agreeing with Aphyria's sentiment. It seems to be that Lady Luck was not on their side. "Me and all the other dragons here talked about what should happen next." he started. Aphyria whipped her head towards the Mage. Since when did everyone discuss that? More importantly, why wasn't she involved? "Everyone agrees there's no point in continuing the hunt so-" he smiled at what he was about to say to Aphyria, almost giddy with excitement. "We all agreed to starting a clan here." Aphyria raised an eyebrow, not showing a hint of being surprised. To her, it looks like they accidentally started a clan here for the past couple months, so it isn't surprising that everyone wants to start a clan here. The next sentence from Jeremiah was unexpected. "Due to an anonymous vote, it was determined that if you choose to, you would be the clan leader, or as we would call you, the queen of the clan." The Fae's jumped up in absolute shock. Why would these dragons think she's a good political leader? Her face scrunched up slightly before pointing a claw to Jeremiah while he sat on the ground and grinned. "As much as I am flattered, I'm telling you right now, I'm not a good candidate for that position." The next sentence Jeremiah says has Aphyria's blood run cold. "Well, you are the one that has the most political experience, considering that you're from a long line of royalty." All of a sudden, the Pearlcatcher's breath was taken from him as he fell to the ground. Aphyria pounced onto Jeremiah, holding him down so she could speak. The Fae leaned in close to Jeremiah, snarling at him in rage. "How in the Arcanist's name did you find out that information?!" She hissed. She made sure she never gave away that kind of information and Jeremiah here seems to have revealed it to the entire clan! "Aphyria, I'm from a prestigious background myself. I need to know some of the royal families. Do you think I'm that stupid? I don't know whether to be hurt or not." His face gave away the fact that he wasn't hurt in the slightest considering his grin stretched even more as he talked. He swatted the Fae away as he got up. Holding his pearl in his claws, he continued to speak, though this time with a more serious tone. "Aphyria, I don't know why you left your clan, and I won't ask out of respect for your privacy, but you do have the most political experience. Please consider taking over the role of clan matriarch." The Fae's fins flattened somewhat onto her head, showing that she was at least thinking about it. She hated the fact Jeremiah has told everyone she's royalty, but she also did not want to abandon everyone out of fear. "You said to everyone that I was royalty, right?" Aphyria asked. Jeremiah nodded to confirm. The Fae thought for a few more moments before sighing in defeat. There was no way out of it from Aphyria's perspective it seems. "Well, it wouldn't be fair to say no... alright, fine. I'll become the clan matriarch. I'll need to start developing a form of government and put word out there that we actually exist, etc. I have a lot to do to keep me busy for a while." Jeremiah coughed to get Aphyria's attention. She looks at the Pearlcatcher with a questioning look, eyebrow raised. "It would probably be good if a meeting is held in the near future to discuss, well, the future itself. Well, I should be off to my own duties... your majesty." With that, Jeremiah smirked seeing the slightly irritated look that Aphyria was giving him for calling her "your majesty", turned around and made his way towards the group of dragons, his outfit looking as radiant as ever. Or should Aphyria call them a clan now? Aphyria stayed in her little corner of the world, thinking about everything that has transpired. Her bright pink eyes welled up with water. Tears, her mother had told her, hold secrets to one's thoughts. Whether they're happy or sad thoughts. While eyes are windows to the soul, tears are the mirror to one's thoughts and emotions. "If only you could be here, mother. You always said I'd be a queen. I don't think this is what you meant though." Aphyria chuckled weakly as she wiped the tears away. "It's a shame you aren't around anymore to witness your words become more than whispered promises." Aphyria pondered some more, this time solely on the name for the clan that is in the process of being developed. What should the name be? Perhaps something to do with the Isles that the clan resided in. Aphyria has always been fond of names with special meanings behind them. Suddenly an idea struck. The clan started because some of them wanted to find out why the clan that used to reside here had been slaughtered. Memories seem to stay despite the clan being gone. Aphyria hasthe perfect name that hopefully everyone will agree with. The Isles of Memoria.