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varlaisvea · 5 months ago

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wip wednesday!

i was tagged (…. two weeks ago) by @yansurnummu and @pocket-vvardvark, so tagging you back if you have anything to share! sorry, i don’t know who else to tag, but speak up if you’d like to be included! Anyone have something you want to show off?

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I mentioned that the existence of Zerith-var has thrown a huge wrench into my main wip. It’s a great problem to have bc i lov him, but it means i’m back in the lab experimenting with how exactly i am going to unfold this story. idk if i’ll use this snippet or not, but i kind of liked it.

there’s two ta’agra words i invented in here… i’m not going to tell you the translation bc i hope their meaning is obvious from context, but if it’s not and you’re curious, lmk.

Zerith-var POV — Spoilers for his questline Rated: G? T? idk. it mentions that sex is occurring but there’s nothing explicit. Word count: ~2k

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He’d been only a day or two away from facing Ravith. He could no longer tell the dread from the drums, in his mind, but it did not matter; he had to face both of them, and he was finally exhausted enough to feel he had no other choice. Throwing his moonclaw in the fire, ripping his soul away from Azurah for good… that was the only part he worried about—the rest, he welcomed, in fact he craved it. After all this time and all this rage, it would be cleansing to join with Ravith-morna at last, and liberating to embrace the truth of his soul; the weak, cowardly creature of shadow that killed Talbira rather than face the darkness in its own heart. During those final days, his desperation to feel the relief of finally letting go was all that drove him forward. Each step was one step closer to the soothing, familiar darkness that beckoned him always. To her. To rest.

He had to go alone, he knew. Not that anyone would have gone with him; he’d alienated everyone he cared about. He hadn’t even heard Ja’kh’s bell in weeks. Just as well, though—by then, he hated himself far too much to be pleasant company to anyone. His soul belonged to Namiira already, in all but the final action.

Now, he can admit how much he always hated being alone for long periods, especially while traveling. How desperately lonely he was during those years, especially just before the end. Back then, the loneliness was so much a part of him that he had ceased to notice it; he could barely remember how to want company, let alone how to have it. But, a few days before he’d reached Moonmont, he’d decided he didn’t want to die (or worse) without one last evening exhausting himself with someone pretty. He can admit now… it was the closest thing to affection he was capable of feeling, at the time.

Athenior had just happened to be the next person he’d met who was pretty, charming, and willing. It is impossible to tell an Altmer’s age in any useful sense, but he seemed about the same age as Zerith, whatever that means. Zerith had never been with an Altmer before, and although he’d occasionally seen a Tsijii wanderer-witch in Rim’kha, or traveling with the clans, he’d never spoken to one. Athenior had beautiful long, pale hair, a comely face, and a lithe frame, tall and strong. He wore traditional Tsijii robes and an elegant silverthread arm band which he never removed, even when naked. He’d shown Zerith the enchanted pearl at the center of the jewelry—uncommonly lustrous, softly glowing from within, like the stone on Zerith’s moonclaw. That was how they’d begun talking; Athenior had learned much in his travels, and approached new things with curiosity and an easy smile. He had a gentle peace about him that seemed to come from somewhere much older than the mer himself.

Instead of getting an inn room, the Elf had suggested sharing a meal and spending the night under the stars, out in the Anequina scrub. They’d found a ruined temple alcove for shelter from wind gusts, but otherwise, the night sky filled their field of vision, vast and brilliant. It was quite romantic; even as shadowed and roiling as Zerith’s mind was, he’d had to give the mer that much.

It had taken only an hour or so for Zerith to decide to sneak off early in the morning. Pleasure of the body was one thing, but in the midst of it, he’d caught himself wondering what it would be like to let himself feel warmth of the heart from another person again. He had just met this mer, and already Zerith had briefly doubted, faltered in his march forward—that was dangerous. He was dangerous; he was practically Namiira’s now. Even if someone opened their heart to him, all he had in return was rot. His own heart was just a container for the nothingness that suffocates.

But after that night, the morning had been unusually crisp, and Zerith did not wake up early as he’d planned. As he and Athenior packed up their camp, they found they happened to be going the same direction, and so decided to walk together for the day. Zerith was trying to stay focused within his own mind, keep his eyes on the path ahead, but eventually the Elf got Zerith talking, and from then on, they had interesting enough conversations—Zerith even laughed a few times, despite himself. At the end of the day they camped together again… and did everything else again too, including marvel at the beauty of the boundless night sky. Despite Zerith’s intentions, it kept on like that for several days, and Athenior was glad to have him along. He seemed to genuinely enjoy Zerith’s company, even though Zerith was mostly gone already; too far deteriorated to enjoy anything at all, including Athenior’s company. But, he did not dislike this mer, and Athenior was quite a skilled lover as well.

It had not been a wise choice—by the end of that second night together, Zerith had already given in to the impulse to let someone show him sweet warmth and kindness within more carnal pleasures. Athenior was a relative stranger still, but he radiated love in all he did… especially that. Zerith had thought himself incapable of even a pale shadow of warm feeling, but for the next few days they traveled together, he found himself living in those brief moments of sweetness, as if he were gasping for air at the surface, desperate to fill his lungs with joy and light after nearly drowning. In another life, perhaps that might have been enough to start him on a path back toward Azurah’s forgiveness, but in that life, Zerith was quite invested in drowning, and soon. He simply could not allow his heart to soften. It was too late—even though a few times the drums quieted down long enough for him to almost forget their rhythm, he could still hear Ravith’s twisted song in his dreams.

On the last day he’d traveled with Athenior, they’d stopped for a meal somewhere in the Valenwood wilderness. Zerith went to fill their water jugs, and when he sat back down, he finally thought to ask Athenior where he was headed.

“Oh, nowhere in particular,” Athenior had said. “I suppose I’m just going wherever you’re going.”

“Where I’m going? What do you mean?”

Athenior sighed and put down his bowl. “I know that we have only known each other for a week or so,” he’d said, ��but you are a very special person, Zerith-var. You are needed in this world.”

The Elf’s non-answer had made Zerith furious, but he remained calm. “What do you think you know about me, Elf?”

“I do not know much,” the wanderer-witch had admitted. “I know you’re an excellent lover and a person of great conviction, with many delightful stories to tell. But…” he waited until Zerith met his eyes. “I suspect you feel like a person shattered, and you are on your way to do something grave.” He watched Zerith calmly. “And, I suspect you’re far more powerful than you have let on. I don’t know what it is you plan to do, but I fear it is something you could never undo.”

Zerith set his jaw and clenched his fist so hard his claws dug into his palm. He’d been telling himself he was just taking a longer route to Moonmont, but when they’d passed by the road to Moonmont—several days before—he’d just kept going. So far, he’d stayed ahead of the thought, batted it away fast enough each time it came to his mind. Over those last years, he’d become a master at such acrobatics. But Athenior was not going to let him ignore it: why was he avoiding the path he had been longing to take for years? Now, suddenly, being in the Elf’s company was more excruciating than being alone.

Zerith felt as if his voice came from somewhere outside of himself. “And you thought if you pestered me long enough, you might be able to stop me, maijiit?”

Athenior looked hurt, and Zerith hated him for it. But Athenior spoke flatly: “I have delayed you already, haven’t I? There must be a reason. I know we do not know each other. But when you talk about yourself, you speak as if you are already dead, my friend.”

Zerith stood up quickly, anger burning his cheeks. Athenior stood up too. He must have been staring daggers of hate into the Tsijii’s eyes, but Athenior did not back away.

“I am already dead,” Zerith hissed. “You have been traveling with a necromancer, Elf,” he said. “What do you say to that, eh, witch? Do you feel unclean now? Go and tell the guard in Arenthia about me. It will be too late.”

For a moment, Athenior’s expression went from alarmed to perplexed. “Even though it is often used for desecration, necromancy is not inherently sinful, my friend,” he said, with a scholar’s detach. “That does not matter to me, and anyway, I do not exactly make a habit of talking to the guard.” He put a hand on Zerith’s forearm, and even though Zerith’s eyes must have been full of rage, Athenior met his gaze and held it. “I wanted you to feel that a stranger cared what happens to you. I wanted to show you that even when life hurts, it is more tolerable when you do not try to bear it alone.”

Zerith tensed. “You do not know me.” He batted Athenior’s hand away and in the same swift movement, punched the Elf in the jaw as hard as he was able. As Athenior lay unconscious on the ground, Zerith packed up and left. He did not even stop to check whether Athenior was badly hurt, and when later the thought troubled him, he used the opportunity to refocus his thoughts on his goal. He could hear the drums in every stillness, so he walked as fast as he could.

Zerith had done what he’d needed to do. It was all he’d had the capability for, by then. It was unpleasant, and probably quite rude, but he has never regretted it—he had treated far dearer people far worse, in those last several years. Besides, the Tsijii was much too kind and generous for a stranger, and Zerith had to make sure no one could follow him where he was going. There was no need for a well-meaning fool to become collateral damage. Besha ahnz’ii, maijiit-dro. You deserved better. I did not have it.

He hadn’t thought about Athenior much, and not in a long time, but today he’d recognized a Tsijii witch instantly, even though she is the first one he can remember seeing in this pounce. Even her robes look similar to Athenior’s, even centuries later, so now, the memory of Athenior is unavoidable. It was only about a week that they’d traveled together, the second-to-last week of Zerith’s first life. He barely remembers it, and he doesn’t remember the week after it at all; the mindless, nearly-sleepless trek back to Moonmont. All he really remembers is arriving at the temple that night to face the void. Now, from a much happier place, he is heartbroken for his former self—by the time that Zerith-var had reached Moonmont, he had fully excised whatever measly slivers of light he’d been able to retain from the week with Athenior. It is only in the present, now that he’s healed enough, that he also remembers how he did not look at the stars as he’d climbed the stairs.

#wip: palimpsest #zerith var #elder scrolls online

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a-court-of-moonlight-and-ire · 1 year ago

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Ive been thinking about this, am I the only one whos kinda bothered when people say that ACOTAR was medieval aesthically while ACOMAF and onward are regency era/elizabethan/victorian/some other english time period? Like, again, im no history expert and this is all primarily vibes based, but the way I see it, the world of ACOTAR was already very aesthetically victorian, both the human and the fae part of it. Like, when Feyre leaves shes given this impractical dress with thin gloves and silly small hat, I dont know if she was wearing a corset which is like The thing that people think of when they think of that time period, but regardless, the vibes were all there, same goes for her sisters and their new mansion. And then in the fae world its like, Tamlin is living in a manor house, thats not exactly what I think of when I think of medieval times yknow. Honestly, I think when people say that ACOTAR felt more medieval while ACOMAF feels victorian, what theyre actually trying to express is the loss of whimsy between books, but that doesnt really have anything to do with the time-period its vaguely set in. The way I see it, Feyre was experiencing the victorian countryside lifestyle with tamlin and now that shes living with rhys shes experiencing the victorian city lifestyle, like the spring court and the night court are really not that different imo, except the way the spring court does the tithe is oddly medieval but I know that doylistically thats just to make Tamlin look backwards and archaic in comparison to Rhysand so I dont really feel like engaging with that on a deeper in-uinverse level if Im being honest

I will say that the men's clothes in both the SC and the NC do seem very medieval, but its like, 'commoner' medieval. Like, theyre just wearing normal ass pants that look like modern pants and then a shirt and then a garment thats kinda like a vest but it has a diffrent name, I dont remember what it is in english but in german its called Tunika. I bet they dont even wear stockings under their stupid modern pants! And its so annoying because its like, bro theyre monarchs, the monarchy is all about keeping up appearances and displaying their wealth whenever they can and stupid symbolism, thats why court clothing has historically slayed so hard, and here come these bozos, again, probably not even wearing stockings to emphasise their supple calves (although thats admittedly more 17th or 18th century iirc). And for Tamlin it atleast makes sense for his character, but we're told that Rhysand ascended to the throne when he was pretty young and that he actually wanted that unlike Tamlin, thats one of the reasons why hes sooooo much better supposedly, so how come he dresses like Tamlins slightly more goth cousin??

And what kills me even more is that I think actual 19th century european court clothes would suit Rhysand so well, like you know that style of suit with the shoulder pads with those weird little dangly strings, it has a kinda militaristic vibe and its often worn with a sash and a bunch of medals? Cmon, Rhys would absolutely slay that and it would fit his personality too. whatever, does he atleast wear something cool for Starfall? or for when he goes to reanact Feyre's sexual assault in the court of nightmares? Or is he just wearing that one fucking tunic thats just black but it has silverthreads worked into the fabric for thise scenes?? whatever, its midnight I gotta stop rambling about this shit and go to bed good nightttt

#miscellaneous acotar thoughts #anti rhysand #for his crimes against fashion

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rogue-of-broken-time · 2 years ago

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Spill the DnD characters, Rogue! (I'll be in bed when you answer most likely, but still!)

I have a lot of them, so I'll share the one that's taking up most of my brainspace right now:

*cracks knuckles*

Mini the Autognome

(pronouns they/them)

Mini is an autognome bard! For anyone who doesn't know what an autognome is, it's a bit like a warforged, but they're small and were actually created by rock gnome tinkerers (the official publication of the race for D&D 5e came with the Spelljammer: Adventures in Space set). In modern-day terms, they're essentially a robotic construct. As such, Mini doesn't actually play an "instrument" in the typical sense– they have an internal music box they use to play their magical tunes!

As I play them now, Mini (which was originally short for "Minstrel") is a happy-go-lucky little bot with a lot of love to share and a deep misunderstanding of how the world actually works. To them, everyone should just get along and be happy, and they genuinely don't understand why anyone would prevent that from happening. And with their limited comprehension of the way the world works, you'd probably wonder how they came to be in the first place, right? Surely their creator must've been just as cheerful, right?

The truth is that the people who invented Mini in the first place had much darker intentions (or at least, one of them did).

Mini's story begins with two rock gnomes: Alston Silverthread (artificer) and Callen Dazzledark (wizard).

The two of them, back in their younger days, came up with an idea:

What if there existed technology that could make someone immortal?

It was a wild concept to them, just wild enough to grab them both and put their heads together. Alston, master tinkerer, got to work on schematics and functionality, while Callen, secretive necromancer, researched tirelessly to see if such magic would even be possible.

Together, they came up with a name for their little project: the Metallurgic Immortality Network Services To Realistically Extend Lifespans, which they later gave the nickname "Project MINSTREL".

The first invention under Project MINSTREL was the Metallurgic Immortality Network Interface, an automaton-like device that was designed for one purpose and one purpose only: healing. Whatever your ailment, whatever your injury– whether it was a common cold, a wound on your body, or even just the frailty of old age– this thing could fix you with its magic. And if you kept using it, it could literally keep you alive for longer than your race's typical lifespan, essentially making you immortal until a time of your choosing.

This would've been considered nothing short of miraculous technology, if Alston and Callen hadn't had to keep it a secret. Where they lived, most magical practice was frowned upon at best, so any hint that they were making such innovations beyond the eyes of the law would risk everything for them.

At the beginning, Alston was more than happy to play guinea-pig to his newest creation, the prototype MINI. He had to be sure that the technology worked, after all– and for a time, that's exactly what he did (all the time he'd spend testing on himself effectively extended his life by a good handful of years in gnome standards).

But as time went by, Callen kept coming back to him with darker and darker ideas for additions to their inventions and research. Alston repeatedly turned him down, and the two eventually split off from one another due to disagreements on their morals. Alston kept the MINI, but without Callen's help maintaining it for its original purpose, it eventually fell to disuse.

Callen, on the other hand, grew mad with curiosity. All this time, all this research he'd poured into necromantic energy and preserving souls from death– why should he have to give it all up?

In response to Alston's rejection, Callen only became more driven. He'd plot out theories and calculations of how to extract souls from life and contain them in other things, reinvigorating his own life energy in the process. And eventually, because of his cruel experiments, Project MINSTREL was dissolved and the two largely fell out of contact, save for matters of extreme importance.

Flash forward some odd years in gnome standards. Alston is an old man now, even having had the continuous treatment of the MINI back in the day. He's having regrets about what he'd spent his life doing, and somehow, some way, he seeks to do something to make up for it all.

In the end, Alston knew he couldn't be saved; he'd done too much bad and too little good in his life to merit that. All the dark experimentation, all the secrecy, the dangerousness of it all– no, it was too late to redeem himself now.

But as he was nearing the end of his life and his eyes drifted over to an old automaton he'd once made with someone he once considered a friend… he realized, with what little time he had left, he could save something else.

In his final weeks, he worked tirelessly as he never had before, reconstructing the MINI for a new purpose: entertainment. He never took out the healer programming entirely, but he adjusted the MINI's prime directive slightly and designed them to be able to make their own choices and have their own personality, striving to make them completely autonomous in their own right.

And yet, when death edged closer and closer to him by the day, something was missing.

In the time the MINI shared with Alston, he was never able to get them to "wake up", so to speak. They were never able to override the base programming they had to obey whoever told them to.

So, after a long deliberation, Alston made one final reach to Callen, asking for one single favor: to erase the MINI's memory of their creators entirely after he passed on, in the hopes that they'd make their own life someday without the burden of grief.

Callen was more than happy to oblige, and, once he heard the details, he got an idea.

An utterly fascinating, horrible idea.

As Alston lay on his deathbed, Callen prepared to do his bidding. He was to use the spell Modify Memory on the MINI before it reactivated from its slumber, locking any knowledge of its creators behind a secret failsafe in its programming that even it wasn't aware of. This, Callen could do.

It was as Alston was drawing his final breath that he put his real plan into action.

Just as Alston was fading from life, Callen cast True Polymorph on his old friend, transforming him just before his spirit had the chance to depart.

All of the years Callen had spent researching necromancy, he'd tried, and thus far failed, to do what he successfully did to Alston. His theories and calculations– all were in an attempt to see if he could preserve one's soul by transmuting it into an object, just before departure. And all his experiments until now were failures, because he couldn't get the timing exactly right to capture the raw life essence before it was gone for good.

Alston was his first true success, and that was all the proof he needed to see that his vision had always been correct.

Because laying before him on the bed was not Alston Silverthread's elderly body, but a single leather-bound book.

And on that book's first page was this:

The rest of the pages were blank.

And Callen could find no better purpose for this tome than to give it to the very being whose message it was meant for.

So, deep within the MINI's chest compartment, he locked it away. And then he modified the automaton's memory, and then, well, he left.

…

A little while later, Mini woke up for the first time, a little confused but otherwise feeling more alive and themselves than they'd ever remembered feeling before.

And what did they do with this newfound autonomous feeling?

They went on an adventure.

#answered #theshapeshifter100 #mini the autognome #dungeons and dragons #rogue's ocs #long post

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lorriloo1109 · 4 months ago

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PAINT A PICTURE

See now, the grey turn to silverThreads in dark winter’s night,The promise of golden days aheadWhen summer’s sun my soul will warm Threads in dark winter’s nightPaint a picture in the treesWhen summer’s sun my soul will warmThe picture will come to life Paint a picture in the treesThough winter’s cold my soul does chillThe picture will come to lifeAs the earth moves round to face the…

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yursanksilverthread · 9 months ago

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Name: Yursan To Kalytero O Thrylikos Thanasima Theristis Ssychis Katastrofeas Kosmon Kyvernitis tis gis O prótos Silverthread" – Professional Necromancer Skills:

Raising the dead (success rate: 62%...ish)

Expert in bone reconstruction (depending on the quality of said bones)

Strong work ethic (have only lost one arm in the last month)

Efficient (can make a single ghost do the work of three!)

Doesn't attract armies (If they aren't looking for him) References:

"He only summoned four ghost in my tavern." – Generic Tavern Owner #3

"Surprisingly polite for a guy who deals with corpses." – Random Peasant, surely.

"He's very economical regarding town affairs, he only broke 3 castle walls, compared to the fox boy. That's 14 walls in profit." – One of the town managers from one of the towns out there.

#please hire me #spells cost way more than I imagined

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gloochi · 3 months ago

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Okay, I was posting on bsky about this scene, and I just realized something. Silica points out that this equipment isn't available in shops. This was all either crafted gear, chest loot, or monster drops. Kirito's been holding on to this for a while now, and if we consider what she said about inventory space in Progressive volume 1, we know she's not the type to hoard items she's not using.

The Silverthread Armor seems to be somewhere between leather and metal armor. It's mostly flexible, but it features a metal breastplate that wouldn't compress nearly as easily, so it probably takes a decent chunk of space, and I don't know if Kirito would've had the Expansion skill for a bigger inventory? Given that we already know she has One-Handed Swords, Throwing Daggers, Martial Arts, Dual Wielding, Hiding, and Searching. There's no way she would've held onto this gear if she wasn't planning on using it or had used it previously, I feel.

wait

hold the fuck on

so ok, i was thinking about the "silica's equipment" situation again and realised something

^her own equipment

^the equipment kirito gave her; which to say *kiri just had that on her at the time*

and just... that design

?????! the similarities?! the collar!!! the shape!

and we know kiri explicitly chose the ggo outfit!

that's kirito's style!

and also

while rereading the novel volume for this

???! wait why did the anti-harassment code not go off for this?!

so much going on here

reki what the fuck

explain yourself

#sword art online #transfem kirito

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kimageddon · 1 year ago

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Morgana was always destined for greatness. For power. She comes from a long line of dark and powerful witches.

The Grimmwood is an ancient and mighty forest far from any large cities or towns. Isolated and surrounded by enchantment, the woods are heavy with fog and confusion. Strange creatures are said to exist within, as well as a huge estate housing a secretive coven.

There are of course many types of witches, and the Grimmwood houses those known as the Sorrow. Dealing in necromancy, death and undeath. They feast on the sorrow and misery, often finding joy in the grief of others.

Morgana was meant to be heir to this estate, her mother teaching her for years about the ways of the Sorrow and the Grimmwood coven traditions. However, when a witch comes of age, they must journey from their home with their book of shadows in order to find spells to add to their collection and find a magical item to serve as an Arcane Focus. They may not reveal their true selves nor any information about the clan... And Morgana became Bryn Silverthread.

Bryn decided upon having this taste of freedom, that she would run and run far. Never wishing to return to her controlling mother.

Whether she stays free, is another matter entirely.

Tags: (If your name is crossed out then check your settings or username -- Tumblr is not letting me tag you!) @alwayssnivellus @the-chains-are-the-easy-part @ashotofspotchka @justalittletomato @nahoney22 @eloquentmoon @stardustbee @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @rain-on-kamino @bacarasbabe @lifeless-being @lazarithebellydancingmime @robotswithscarves

Wanna be notified when I post my next work? Join/Leave my tag list

#oc deep dive #kimageddon's oc's #witch #fantasy oc #lore drop

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the-world-of-errakor · 1 year ago

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People of Errakor - Warforged

Continuing on with posting about how some of the many species in D&D came to be in Errakor, next we have the warforged.

The warforged were built to defend the people of Silens during the Sundering. The first warforged were created when the city’s founder, Igden Silverthread, found the city he called home, and much of the surrounding area thrust into the sky, from the effects of the plane of Air, and under attack from creatures of other planes. He raced to provide the people of the new Elgarian Highlands with some form of defense. However after the war Igden no longer had use for their service and set his creations free to venture into the world, wishing the best for his creations. however some still see the warforged as less than human, and choose to experiment on them. Some warforged wrestle with finding a sense of self, unsure of themselves and unsure if they have true value due to being constructs.

#dungeons & dragons #dungeons and dragons #errakor #worldbuilding #d&d #warforged #eberron

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monards · 1 year ago

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noone talk to me i just remmbered the symbiosis update is gonna be next after the new silver thread game ttHHIS IS IT OHH MY GOD

#silver thread...#and spicaze's already posted some older updates on symbiosis #a whileeee ago #so it'll already have been started #in some way #AND SHE SAID THERE'D BE NEW AREAS.#GUYS.#DO YOU THINK...#DO YUOU THINK WE'LL GET MORE DOVENOLIA??????/#throws up EVERYWHERE #spicaze is such a genuinely lovely dev i know whatever she does will be great. im so excited #hey guys go play symbiosis & silverthread

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hunting-songs · 1 year ago

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When Kurapika had came to say his goodbyes to her, she had leaned into the little kiss on her cheek and gently tapped her fingers against the mans hand on her other cheek in a calming melody. When Kurapika had came to say his goodbyes, she had hummed a gentle, barely hearable: "Take good care, Kurapika." When Kurapika had came to say his goodbyes, she had been happy for him,but also in the same time there had been a pang of worry like a blade turning inher guts, because he was going alone and to her horror he had already been so many years all alone in his yet so young life. Accordingly the little blank paper passed to her, made the fist of worry holding her insides brutally ease a little and she nodded her head, whispering a quiet: "How kind of you to challenge me, I sure can´t resist to visit you like this now. Occupational honour as a Hunter and all this. I will do my very best to hunt you down than." They were both smiling when he left and the momnt she heard Kurapika walk out of the Nostrade Mansion, the woman was already inspecting the paper- fingering over the structure and smelling it, to find a distinct whiff of lemons. Finding this scent made her laugh melodically, almost as happy as a little girl- when she had been a young child her siblings and her, especially her only a little older sister, would send eachothers messages through secret pictures, be this pictures lines on the glass of the vardo that would only appear when one would breath on the glass or pictures drawn on paper with lemonjuice that would only be readable when the paper was browned with fire so the pale lemonjuicelines would appear. Shaking her head in all good humor Senritsu fished out a lighter, her mobile phone with the reading-app and her glasses out of her baggage. It was not that she was impatient, but still her movements were hasty and fast, as she was thrilled- she was thrilled that Kurapika had challanged her to this game, even if it was mostly to keep himself save out of pragmatic reasons, she was still thrilled like a cat running after a fake mouse. The name of the book on the paper was read aloud by Senritsus reading-app and she did not wasted any second to find the title on the back of the books Kurapika had arrayed where he hadplaced his belongings. Finding the fake page in the book was easier and Senritsu was a little disappointed,a little sad, a little unhappy, that the fake page was so easy to find with her much to keen hearing. Still she found the coordinates, still she let the reading-app read the coordinates, still she used the map from he rbaggage and the reading app to find a proper route from the nostrade- mansion to the coordinates with the train. Only four hours after Kurapika had left, Senritsu went after him with her baggageroll on her back and her flutesuitcase in one hand, aiming for the next trainstation.

Going by train, Senritsu needed longer to reach the coordinates- she spend one night at a Motel ,another night in a sleeper train and only at the on that following evening when the sky already had turned dark and stars appeared above like silverthreads on a piece of dark blue velvet she reached the green field. In the night the field looked as if it was made of ink and only in the distance she could make out flecks of gold from the lights of a near city. And between the wind playing with the grass of the field, between the rustling of trees, between the nsoise of her own small feet on the grass below, she heard something else. Soemthing big moving towards her. The big birds feathers semed to glow bright in the blackness, still Senritsu heard the bird before she saw it. "Oh.", the young woman laughed, but did not looked directly at the animal- she could hear that the bird did not wanted to attack her and in fact sounded just curious, but she was not going to challenge a perhaps wild animal by looking it directly in the eye. She hummed as calm as she could, melodically like a song the smaller birds she loved to listen to so much would sing: "Hello, who are you? I am looking for a friend, you happen to have met him,my now new friend?" Senritsu couldn't stop her laughter and she just shaked her head over her own little joke of talking to an animal she did not knew and which might not was intelligent enough to understand her, yet she was tiered, it was late at night and the tieredness made her already waggish humor a little more bizarre than usual, so she only dropped a little courtsey before her avian visitor and continued on the beaten path: "You want to accompany me on my vist, my new friend, mhmmm?" [ @skarletchains ]

Closed starter { @hunting-songs }

Even Kurapika knew it was too much. Light knew it. Basho and Linssen knew it. Neon, well, she didn't really care. Senritsu knew long before. Even the entire mansion staff knew it. Kurapika needed a vacation, and there was no longer any reproach or excuse after having fallen unconscious on the hall's floor due to overexertion.

Leaving Basho as his replacement during the vacation, Kurapika took his suitcase although he did not keep all the belongings, but only what was necessary. He knew that he would be fine, Basho, even if he kept bothering him, was a good worker and Kurapika had no doubt that he would do things well. Furthermore, being at a time where they had to remain more hidden than usual, he should only be in charge of defending Neon in case of that something would happen.

Kurapika said goodbye to everyone and then went to get his suitcase to the shared room. Before leaving, he handed a blank piece of paper to Senritsu. "I didn't want to make it public to avoid jokes from you-know-who. But if you want to come, you're more than invited. I'm sure you'll like the place where I'm going. First of all, it's far from everything, so far away that you won't hear the hustle and bustle of the city, nor suffer from light pollution. It'll be fun, think about it. I can also introduce you to a friend" Kurapika laughed, softly, before giving her a small, ephemeral kiss on the cheek and finally leave. The paper he had given her, when exposed to heat, would reveal the name of a book. If she looked in his little improvised library, she would find that book, and she would notice that as she looked through it, one page would make a different noise than the others. A false sheet, which, when exposed to heat, would reveal the coordinates of where he would be.

After getting into her car, Kurapika drove. Kurapika drove for who knows how many hours. Kurapika drove until the city slowly became quiet.

And finally Kurapika arrived. That refuge that he had found, far from everything, but at the same time, so close to what was important. It was a huge, green field, surrounded by trees, silent. A small cabin, enough for one or two people to spend a few days there. Nearby was a small town that he used to stock up on supplies. And a couple more hours by car, he could find Lukso province. A place to which he was still not willing to return, however, that green field was quite similar to his childhood home, and it offered him the same comfort, even with some of those giant birds that lived in freedom and occasionally transported him round trip to the small town. Towards the other side, opposite the town, a lush green forest, with a clearing in the middle and a river that ran down the mountain, a river so clear and so pure that you could see through to the ground without problems. Forward, pointing to Lukso, a cliff, at the base of which the water could be seen hitting the rocks gently, like nature's little caresses of itself.

So, there he was. Wearing the clothes of his clan, while he played an unknown waltz on his classical guitar, sitting on the branch of a tall tree. His back resting on the trunk and his left leg swinging gently to the beat of the waltz, while he stood with his right leg, which also served as support for the guitar. His friend was sleeping under the branch, who was one of those giant birds that when he was not there, was in charge of taking care of that place. Kurapika closed his eyes, enjoying the music, enjoying the wind that made his hair dance and wondering if Senritsu would want to accompany him at some point, even for a some days on that little vacation away from all the chaos of the city.

#skarletchains #V: Es saß ein klein wild Vöglein

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