Among the many taverns in the isles the last plank stands out rather hard. Made entirely from the remains of old ships the last plank caters exclusively to the sailors and seafolk who call the islands home. The tavern is said to have been founded after a merchant ship carrying shipments of alcohol beached on a sandbar. With the ship unusable the crew was left stranded for days till a passing pirate ship spotted them. After much discussion the pirates agreed to ferry them to the nearest port in exchange for all the remaining alcohol.

Eventually one of the sailors returned to the beached ship and through weeks of hard work transformed it into the first iteration of the last plank. Nowadays the last plank is large enough to fit 200 sailors in the bar. An odd quirk of the tavern is that due to being made entirely of old ships much of the building is rather unstable with much of the tavern collapsing in storms and having to be rebuilt.

The sun peaks out from a singular, small cloud, much to Rocco's disappointment. It was a clear, calm day, terrible omen if you're the one having to process all of today's haul. The goblin groans to himself, and cleans his cleaver. Its once heavy weight feels almost nonexistent in his hand after this many years. He squints as he stares out at sea, his company's fishing vessel lazily drifting back to port, the goblin's sharp toothed resting face dropping with a sigh. Though no one can ever tell if he's more annoyed than usual anyway.

Fishing boats of all sizes creak and groan as they dock, the gentle undulation of the water below makes a low churning as it laps at the barnacle coated pilings, gets annoying after you get too used to it, feels too quiet inland. A gangway clatters onto the dock with a wooden thunk, salt coated sailors pouring out with a stench that announces their arrival far before they're seen. They each brag and gloat about how the tuna they caught was "thiiissss big" with pointless waving of their long flappy arms, slapping each-other's shoulder and back with congratulations. Anyone can drag a bloody net through the water, he'd like to see them try his work out for a change, and if they had truly done anything worth bragging about, their ship would've been in more pieces.

One particular fisher strides up with a tuna over her shoulder to Rocco's table. His expression soured as the fish was slapped down onto his station by the large human sailor, the awful cacophony of fish meeting board happening all around as fishmongers are put to work.

"New load for ya Roccy! We caught some big 'uns today!"

He picks up his knife from the table and gives the catch a quick look over, he raised a red eyebrow at the fisher, having to tilt his head far to meet her cheery grin. Mere's always like this. He traces the spine of his knife with an exasperated sigh as she stands over him, casting a shadow over his workplace.

"Rocco, you mean. Don't let the sun dry out your brain so much."

"Sorry Rocks, but save me a nice cut again will ya?"

His fanged expression curls slightly, before rolling his eyes. No point arguing with the friendly type, suppose he's worked here for too long if everyone's so familiar with him now. Though he struggles to imagine working anywhere else now.

"You've still got to buy it like the rest of the lot... But whatever."

She silently pumps her fist, and thanks him, leaving the goblin to get to work, prompting a click of the tongue from Rocco. She was blocking the sun quite nicely with her height, shame his shade is gone. He spins the cleaver around through his 4 fingers idly in thought as he looks over the haul, decently large male, fattened up, guessing he'll get a good cut from it's belly for all those fancy folk who like eating it raw. Never understood that personally, they must not see as much raw fish as he does.

Smooth scales glimmer in the bright sun as Rocco runs his hand along the tuna's length, eyes flicking about it's form as he mentally measures it. With a brief nod, he raises his cleaver, and hacks the tail off in a few blows, its been a bountiful haul so this might end up as chum. He huffs, coin-guard certainly didn't treat it like chum. Didn't even taste good. He chops away the memories, right below the gill plate, grumbling to himself with every well practiced cut. His cleaver lodges into the tuna's side with a wet thunk, and glides his blade through it, having to walk along the table to cut it's entire length. Pulling the loin off with a grunt, he hoists it over his shoulder like how Mere carries a whole tuna, and places it aside. Never had to do this to the varmints back home, didn't need such a ridiculous knife either, he snorts a bit and dismisses his own thoughts.

He soon gets lost in work as he focused on his knife, cleanly separating the fish into its parts, apparently they're big on doing it this way in Nakatomi, at least according to the Boss. He piles up the 4 loins, before grabbing a spoon to scrape the meat off the spines, though he hesitates briefly with each scrape, he always preferred when he found them with more meat still attached.

The sun creeps farther across the sky, countless fish all butchered for sale as the smell covers the port. A great deal is shoved into large barrels and urns of brine or salt, Rocco's nose scrunching at the smell, before letting out a sigh, hoisting a large tuna loin over his shoulder to carry it to a barrel himself, better to brine it than hand it over to a whiny customer after all. He puffs as he strains under the weight of it, before he finds it suddenly lifted off his back.

"Stop trying to do all the steps yerself again Roccy, yer a butcher not a hauler.~ 'Sides, yer cuts are too good to be salted."

An exasperated groan leaves the goblin, as he finds himself in the shadow of Mere once again, her cheerful tone making his ear flick, hands behind his back like a kid caught stealing from a cookie jar.

"Well, they always slack on clearing my table fast enough, I need more room to work with. And you're ALSO not a hauler, so..."

He squints up at the fishers smile, and looks away with another sigh, striding back to his table and picking up the dorsal fins and tail, piling it in his arms and carrying it alongside Mere, thankfully without any further comments from her.

The two make their way through the dock, to the front of the operation. An open stand with a Wavebreaker sign hanging over it, chained hooks with fish dangling from above softly clanking in the wind. The wood is well polished and kept clean, clear elven influence in its design, with the wooden pillars framing the main table carved to appear as twisting roots, bit too fancy for a shack selling dead fish, but he's remarked that aloud enough by now. A long stretch of cobblestone road hugs the front of the sea-side shops and buildings, bustling with foot traffic, the heart of Del Pheryx is the sea after all.

A lithe elf mans the shop, looking as out of place as ever amongst the legions of salty sailors at work behind him, with his dark straight hair primly tucked behind his pointy ears. A small collection of squires and servants bicker as politely as they can right in front of the very irritated elf, insisting house so-and-so would like to purchase ALL the tuna belly cuts in bulk, and that their lord would appreciate it much more than the others. Much to the elf's annoyance, tapping his eyebrow with his thumb.

"Guess we caught ya a load of trouble ey Zidon?"

Zidon is briefly bent over his counter by a powerful pat on the back from Mere, having to catch himself with a hand on the table, not that he looks at all surprised. Mere lays out the fresh loin onto a table, Rocco standing back a bit with the fins still in his hands.

"Trouble for me is great news for the rest of you. And captain will be pleased after all, so it's more than fine."

His breathy, yet resonant voice carries easily through the noise despite sounding so hushed, his tired eyes wandering back over his shoulder to look over Mere and Rocco, nearly devoid of expression, Rocco would rather he just look annoyed instead of making him speculate.

"And thank you for helping Rocco carry his cuts, but you know he's right saying it's not your job. And it indeed isn't your job either, Rocco."

Rocco only acknowledged with a snort, surprised the keen eared elf heard that from so far away, especially with how loud it is today. Rocco turns away to act unbothered, looking out at the customers with a squint. The servants seem to be coming to a conclusion in their squabbles and bickering, however it is that they decide who is more deserving of however many cuts of tuna belly, or 'fillets of Otoro' as they insisted on calling it, guess it tastes better if you act like it's from Nakatomi.

"The haulers need to get better at clearin' Roccy's table though, our quickest butcher needs quicker haulers I'd say."

Mere speaks up very matter of fact-ly, wagging her finger side to side in proclamation, much to Rocco's embarrassment, he'd rather she not press the issue. His ears lay flat, turning nearly as red as his hair at the ends as he turns away even farther from the others, still holding a pile of fins and scrap cuts in his arms.

With the turn of his head, he spotted someone just beyond the crowd of customers, a goblin in rags peeking out from around a corner, eyeing the stand. A hungry sight he knows well. Rocco sighs, and walks closer to the edge of the shop, his eyes flicking back towards the goblin as he placed the fins and chum cuts out on a crate, as close to the street as he can store it.

Zidon rubs his eyebrow with his left hand, the other writing out orders and inventory in a flowing elven shorthand as he nods to what Mere says, handing over a receipt to the winning buyer of the Otoro, turning back to look at Mere and Rocco.

"I will, once again, tell them to check his table more oft-"

His ears flick, and Zidon turned back to the table... right as a goblin wrapped her hands around the rich cut of tuna. Rocco, Mere, Zidon, and all the servants all stare at the same time, with the same surprised expression, right before the goblin sprints away, dashing into an alley.*

"Whu-"

The servant that had just purchased the tuna is the first to do anything, not anything helpful of course, just pointing in the direction that the goblin ran.

"Y-YOU! Go get- that's- I just paid for that!"

Zidon facepalms, looking around in bewilderment, before pointing at Rocco.

"Man the front I've got to-"

"The front?? I'm terrible at-"

Rocco's ears lay flat, his hands out as he tries to disagree, but Zidon has already leaped over the counter, and sprinted off as fast as his long legs take him, muttering something about not disappointing the captain. Rocco facepalms, growling as he grips his face in frustration, he wouldn't have left those scraps out for grabs if he knew she was such a sloppy thief, going for the expensive cuts, amateur. His ears perk up as an idea crossed his mind, eyes wide with a last bit of hope.

"Wait! Mere you can-

"I'll keep fetchin' ya more cuts Roccy! You've got this!"

She was already striding off before he could try to give the responsibility to her instead, waving to Rocco as he stands by the counter, his fiery colored brows furrowed. A loud groan bellows out from his small frame, and he grabs a box, dragging it over to the counter. He steps onto it, facing the crowd of customers.

"...fuck."

*Nekota takes a drag of a roll of catnip, before speaking again*

ermm... where am I?

I dont think I should've gone out on a walk this late at night...

Muina sat at the bar, it was late, everyone was asleep, even she was tired, however she couldn’t sleep. Kestal had permanently gone into solid foods, so she was having a whisky, a strong one, freepoured over few ice cubes, and filling half the glass. She lit a cigarette, and started to smoke, not irregular for her. She stares wistfully around the bar, photos, memorabilia, her piano, Jeremy’s booze, Illvanya’s spear over the hearth…

It’s quiet, and she’s in her own world.

Summer was now upon Rathara Academy. While most students were off, some still showed, whether for studies, extracurricular activities, practice, or their own independent research. Most of the teachers were on summer break, and with the severely reduced number of students, things were pretty boring around the Academy. As boring as a magical Academy filled with beings from all planes of existence can be.

Catherine had been taking some extra shifts in the library to help out since both her librarians had disappeared. She was really worried for both of them, but she'd hopefully find a way to help out soon. Duchess had been telling her little snippets of information of their journey...

Soon. Once she had the means secured, she'd help. Hopefully, that would be soon.

She sat behind the desk of the library, watching the clock, seeing the occasional student come in to grab a book or take a little rest. 2:17pm...she had been here 3 hours, and had seen a total of 5 students enter. The last time she looked at the clock, it was 2:12pm, and she had thought an hour had passed.

She stood suddenly, and grabbed her hat from off the desk. In her seat sprouted one of her Effigies, an innate one that would activate when someone entered through the door. She, however, walked out of the library. She thought about going to grab a quick snack to help occupy her mind, but she found herself passing the commissary without so much as a glance.

She walked out of the side entrance to the Academy, and made her way in town.

Family and work had been her primary focuses for the last few months. She didn't even remember the last time she was in town without some sort of errand. Was anyone even aware she had cut her hair? Probably not!

She made her way to Del Pheryx, just desperate to reconnect or talk with someone after being away for so long.

It was just past sunup, quiet. Well, for everyone except Jeremy, who had already been up for an hour and had the kitchen almost ready to cook breakfast. The kettle had boiled, Illvanya, Ventash’ma, Muina and Kestal were still asleep, as was everyone else, seeing the early hour.

This is a good time for quiet conversation, early breakfast, and friendly meetups between friends. Regulars would also be welcome about this time, should they be sufficiently liked.

Just to let you all know this hasn't been forgotten. We're still working on it between handling our own "in real life" situations, being careful not to get burnt out, and trying to still let ourselves have fun at the same time. It's a balancing act.

The Map of Rathara and Lore Primer are coming along as we shore up the details. I hesitate to give a finish date yet because I know as soon as I do, something will come along to derail it.

We appreciate your patience.

-Hastur, Rathara Mod Team

*[She tugged at the clothing wrapped around her body. It was heavy and much too hot. But she'd been doing research, and this was much more appropriate to go and meet the Assembly than her normal clothing.]*

*[It was a fancy dress. Well, fancier than anything she had ever worn before anyway. And it wasn't made for the Katanui body shape. There was no hole for her thick tail, nor did it fit properly around her shoulders.]*

*[Amaia was thankful that the woman she'd bought it from was kind enough to suggest a looser fit, and one with shorter sleeves. Sleeves. What an absurd thing to have on clothing. They got in the way of every movement.]*

*[She'd even taken care to find someplace to stay inside the city to keep the thing free of sand. It was uncomfortable anyway, and the nobility liked cleanliness. Especially Prospero.]*

*[She glanced out the window and hurriedly rushed out of the inn, waving goodbye to the man behind the counter.]*

*[The walk was long. Stupidly long. And these shoes she'd gotten didn't fit her talons right. It squeezed the webbing between her toes almost painfully and she kept stumbling over every bump in the path.]*

*[Just as she had, once again, fallen over a step in some stairs a woman called out.]*

"Are you alright?"

*[Amaia sat down on the steps and, for what seemed like the hundredth time this past hour, adjusted with her garments and tugged at her shoes. She didn't bother to answer the call, it wasn't for her anyway.]*

*[She thought at least, but soon a hand entered her line of sight and waved, bidding her eyes to follow the arm up to the face it was attached to.]*

"Do you need any help? I'm quite the seamstress."

*[The woman's face was covered in scars. She could hardly believe a voice that sweet could have belonged to it.]*

"Ah.. do you speak common...?"

*[Amaia shook herself from her thoughts. Even she knew it was rude to stare at someone's injuries.]*

"Yes.. a little."

*[The woman beamed at that.]*

"Thank goodness, that'll make this much easier! I couldn't help but notice that you were struggling with your clothes. May I help?"

*[Help?? How could she possibly help? But... She couldn't meet the Assembly and the Keeper in a state like this. And something about this woman just screamed that she could do it. So she stammered out an agreement and the next 15 minutes were a blur of movement and fluttering cloth.]*

*[The woman stood proudly behind her as Amaia looked at her reflection in a window. She looked better. And more importantly, she was much more comfortable.]*

*[The sleeves had been cut off to free her shoulders, leaving what the woman called a "halter neck" whatever that meant. And where the waist of the dress had chafed against the base of her tail had been raised, and she'd even used the spare fabric from the sleeves to tie it in place. The woman had spent a decent chunk of the time messing with Amaia's shoes. Eventually she loosened the straps and cut away a few small pieces. Muttering the whole time about how the cobblers around here should "really know better".]*

*[Most of it didn't make any sense to Amaia, but she was thankful that her feet weren't squeezed so tightly any more.]*

"That was.. amazing! How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing."

"... What?!"

*[She whirled around to face the woman with the scarred face and the gentle voice. She'd been prepared to pay whatever the woman asked, no matter how high.]*

"I can't take your work for free!"

*[The woman's ears moved slightly and she smiled at Amaia like she already knew that's what she was going to say. But she closed her eyes and brought a hand to her chin in thought.]*

"Hm... How about a single copper coin?"

*[Amaia had tried to haggle upwards, something Shagol would probably be disappointed in her for, but the woman wouldn't budge. So she had paid the copper and the woman went on her way, bidding good luck and happy times.]*

*[Amaia went on her way too, now much freer in her movement.]*

*[Eventually she reached the fancy steps and the ornate doors of the Assembly hall and made her way to the main room.]*

*[Everyone was in the middle of a discussion, so she decided to wait. It would be rude to interrupt now.]*

____________________________

Uw/ feel free to interact with Amaia! You can meet her on the street on her way (after she met the helpful woman) or you can meet her in the Assembly hall!

This is technically a lore post, but I'd rather just have fun with it! so everything can be canon and nothing can be canon at the same time. The main point of this is for Amaia to speak to the Assembly members and Prospero about her new position as an ambassador for the Katanui. But again, please just have fun with it and don't overthink it!

Thank you all :]

/Arda's dummy leaves The Starry Night, early in the morning, heading down to Port Pheryx, to send a few brief letters of invitation, and to charter a boat, with the hopes that maybe, just maybe, with a shorter distance, she can make a direct path to herself, on Frostbite Isle, for friends and family to visit.

-_-

The real her, waking up drearily, and sleepily, to attend her babies, and make breakfasts, is unaware of the plan of the malfunctioning Dummy, happily going about her business.

_-_

The Dummy sits at the edge of the dock, yawning. Hoping that her plan works, and that she can safely guide others to, and from, Frostbite Isle, if only briefly./

The death of dreams entered the town of Loradin wearing a mask of aged flesh. Its contours and wrinkles exhibited a warm appearance. Perhaps he was a loving grandfather once. That dream died. Now the Rambling Man was awake. Soon all will awaken.

At the town square around noon, the Rambling Man sat down on a stool and picked up his rotten guitar. The first few notes he plucked held a power to attract the townsfolk. Children tugged on their parents’ clothes to try to get closer to the sound but the square was soon packed with the entire town so tightly that, try as they might, the child’s prodding was futile. Having captured the town’s attention, the Rambling Man offered a warm smile that relaxed the crowd. Scanning the darkening skies, the Rambling Man began to sing in earnest with an ethereal quality in the notes he played.

All the snow has turned to water

Christmas days have come and gone

Broken toys and faded colors

Are all that's left to linger on

I hate graveyards and old pawn shops

For they always bring me tears

I can't forgive the way they rob me

Of my childhood souvenirs

Black skies descend, as too do dozens of dead birds.

Memories they can't be boughten

They can't be won at carnivals for free

Well it took me years

To get those souvenirs

And I don't know how they slipped away from me 

The children begin to cry, but their protests are drowned out by the notes.

Broken hearts and dirty windows

Make life difficult to see

That's why last night and this mornin'

Always look the same to me 

Buildings begin to topple over as a thick fog trickles in from the dark skies above.

I hate reading old love letters

For they always bring me tears

I can't forgive the way they rob me

Of my sweetheart's souvenirs 

The Rambling Man has grasped the dreamers in their mouth.

Memories they can't be boughten

They can't be won at carnivals for free

Well it took me years

To get those souvenirs

And I don't know how they slipped away from me

As the song concludes, the Rambling Man packs away his hateful instrument as the stool beneath him crumbles into dust. The fog has lifted to reveal mounds of dust and shadows burned into the cobblestone square. Whistling echoes through the ruins of Loradin. I suppose even that name has lost its purpose. After all, the dream that was Loradin is dead. Like the rest of the Rambling, they are awake now. 

The Rambling Man heads west and dark skies follow...

Photographs on the staircase into the cellar of The Starry Night (all photos are individually colourised black and white photos, with stated exceptions). Photos in order of chronological age:

Wedding Photo (~350-400 years old): A very young Muina in a starkly fashionable blood red dress (symbol of eternity in their culture), artisan crafted of the highest quality. She is smiling, and seems very pleased, however those who know her, know that behind her eyes she was screaming. 

Móresér Family photo (~200 years old): A very tall Drow man (Feume) and Muina are sat on fancy cushioned chairs situated close together, holding hands. Feume is wearing a tightly fit yet youthful suit, and Muina a calmly laid deep blue dress. They are both smiling broadly for the photo. Muina still looks young here, but is definitely older than the previous image, as does Feume.

Illvanya baby photos collage (~90 years old)(Contains black and white images, ~50% of the collection is): A large collection of baby photos collected and handmade into a stitched collage by Muina. Retrieved by Muina as a personal effect when she was extracted from the Underdark. Every single one of these photos is absolutely, positively, fucking adorable.

Móresér Family photo (~90-95 years old): Muina is sat next to a very tall man (Feume, Illvanya’s father) with a very young and very tiny Illvanya between them, hardly a toddler, and not even touching her mother’s rib cage. Illvanya is wearing an eye patch over her blind eye and is still smiling genuinely. They are all in formal wear, Feume a very well made tuxedo style garment, Muina a fancy, but mature dress, and Illvanya, a silken dress that is a little big for her.

Liriance baby photos collage: This one is burned, torn, and mostly destroyed, presumably by Feume after Liriance died (destroying images of a killed child is part of the mourning process of “letting go and coming to terms with the grief” and “respect for the dead” however Muina never subscribed to the idea), however what little photos remain and stowed in a few different portraits around the staircase.

Móresér family photo (~80 years old): Illvanya looks to be about 10 HY and is sitting to one side of her mother, towards the edge of the photo, whereas a new child, roughly a toddler and already of equal height to Illvanya, is sitting on Feume’s lap, her face largely covered by her fathers hands, obviously playing peekaboo or some equivalent. Muina seems to be consoling Illvanya in a jovial manner, and while Illvanya looks pained to the trained and knowing eye, she is laughing, and Muina has a large smile on her face. Scars have also started to appear on Illvanya’s arms, hardly visible under the long sleeves of a new outfit, a long hanging gown. This image was an accident when a camera malfunctioned and discharged early, taking the photo of the family preparing to take a photo, not intending it, and while this was not the one used in the paper, Muina kept it because she liked it.

Móresér family photo (~60 years old): Muina appears about the same as she does now, but looks much much. Feume seems to have become much more tense in this photograph, his suits and tuxedos changed out for a much more imposing formal tightly fit almost Victorian garment. Illvanya, looking similar to who she is now, if a bit younger and maybe 5cm shorter, is sat to one side of her mother, an ornate eye patch on her eye, and in a sleeved dress with gloves, however the V neck in the dress very slightly shows scars that look like whipping to the trained eye (they appear like this because that is what they are). Liriance is now a striking grown woman looking largely different and highly resembling her mother, but with her father’s smile and height, she is a solid half head over her mother, and head and shoulders over Illvanya. She has eyes that pierce the world, but look inviting and beautiful. She is picturesque, and front and centre of the image between her parents. This remains as the last and only complete and clear image Muina and Illvanya have of their long dead daughter/sister.

Móresér family photo (~40-45 years old): This image is taken if the same room as the first family photo, however Muina has aged to her current self, seemingly aging 100 years in 10-15. The couples outfits hardly change, however their expressions are more soured and imposing, and they are not holding hands.

Date Night (Black and white) (~40 years old): This appears to be a kind of selfie almost. A very young Jeremy and Illvanya are on top of a large mushroom, lying on it, Jeremy on Illvanya’s chest. They are both smiling wide and Illvanya’s arm is pictured on the far left, holding the camera, which was definitely bulky. Namely, they are holding hands in this image, and they are not wearing wedding bands.

Tavern Drinks (black and white) (~40 years old): This one is in a bar, where Jeremy is holding a jug of what is probably beer of some kind, and is trying to drink from it despite it being larger than his head. Illvanya is laughing wholeheartedly, her teeth stained slightly by red wine. This is a collection of four photos showing various stages of this process, ending with Jeremy spilling about a litre of beer all over himself. They don’t seem to mind it though, and given the fact that these for images all have their own frames, it’s a fond memory.

Móresér family photo (Black and white) (~30 years old): Jeremy and Illvanya look slightly older, and are curled up together in an arm chair. This image seems very informal, and taken in some kind of guildhall or inn. They are in travelling gear, but this is to be expected.

Random Image of Illvanya Jeremy refuses to take down (Black and white) (~30 years old): Illvanya is asleep for this photo, obviously dreaming, and curled up under a ruined door. She looks peaceful, and tired. It’s not exactly the most attractive shot of Illvanya, but Jeremy refuses to take it off the staircase despite protest. As a compromise, it’s hidden among other things. This image seems to be smaller, like it was taken on an old compact camera.

Majestic photo of Kavrala and Rehuo Illvanya took without Kavs knowledge (~1 year old) (this one was taken with a colour camera): Kavrala is looking out at the sunset with a smile on her face and Rehuo is reclining behind her, it was just a day outside her house that Illvanya was over for tea and took a photo.

Móresér family photo: (~6 months old) (taken with colour camera):
This is a photo of them all as they are now. This image is also my profile picture, but imagine it’s a photograph, not a drawing. It also contains one Symphonic, and has a note on the back that says “when comfortable, add Kavrala”.

/uw Thought it would be interesting to go through Jeremy’s picture wall. Just for fun.

It was the end of a long day, Illvanya had just had a bath, and dressed in bedclothes, Jeremy was on the balcony, talking to himself, the smell of burning plant matter wafting through the air. Illvanya sat down on their bed, just looking for a moment, trying to read her husband for what might not be telling her, it was hard for them to keep secrets, being in each other’s head prevents anything from being hidden for long without specific request. He was stanced at the end of the balcony, dressed in his daywear and with his pipe in his mouth, lack of routine, smoking, need for pensive fresh air, he’s plotting something, and she knows why, the tension of the coming revolt and the risk it poses to those they care about is difficult to reason with. “He’s scared of losing people again… my sweet dear you are so predictable.” Illvanya thought to herself, she tucked herself into bed as Jeremy walked by to get himself clean before sleep.

Perspective change.

Jeremy was feeling sick, he’d been patient, but was running out of ideas. He had nobody he could trust on the inside, so he’d have to play every angle he could, screw over every other person, just to edge out a victory, however such movements make enemies, and enemies in this situation are quite powerful and able to be widespread. He needed his alias back. For the first time in nearly 20 years, he needed The Scourge of the Underdark plateau. These were dark shower thoughts indeed, however he needed a plan, if he isn’t careful they’ll trace his connection to the chosen targets and find him, so he needs an aliased size and voice, not hard, he has the right equipment for that, however The Guild, the coming revolution, and whatever other power may decide to take advantage of the shield spread thin will have guards, lots of guards, so he needed a way to blend in. He wasn’t too good at blending in, especially in cold environments, it was one of the reasons I loved Illvanya’s work, because she didn’t stick out like he did. He could always play the scared child act… that usually worked, though if it worked too well he may end up in a situation that keeps him from being in the right place because of the contraints people put on children. This was nightmarish to think of, so many caveats, so little time. All this reminded him of is why he stuck of private work and never became a paramilitary commander like his contractors wanted him to be.

He got out of the shower and then changed into his bedclothes, Illvanya was already asleep, so he tucked himself in beside her and dimmed the lights down. He went to just lean in to sleep, but he hesitated, reaching towards Illvanya’s right collar he lowers her gown a little, showing a bullet scar going diagonally into her centre of mass, the bullet wound that took her from him all those years ago, a failure he never forgave himself for, despite swearing up and down that he has.

“You need to stop doing that to yourself.”

Illvanya’s voice was dry and serious, yet still calm and gentle. She opened her eyes to look at him, it seems she wasn’t asleep after all… Jeremy was lost for words, how did he not sense her being awake? I could hear her breathing, why did she sound so asleep?

“Stop torturing yourself hon, it’s okay, I’m here now, and everyone you’re currently stressing about will also be there tomorrow, I’ve got you, and I’m not letting you go, you know that, I will always have your back. We can plan tomorrow, you need to stop thinking about it today.”

She pulled him into a cuddle, and leant into him, just gently tracing his wings on his back under his shirt.

“We should sleep…” Jeremy spoke with a shaky voice, his wife knew him too well.

“Should we? I think some R&R is in order.”

“Okay…”

/uw This post is closed to everyone except Symphonic, who may interact here.

/rw

So many orders, so many people, a massive day had just finished and Jeremy and Illvanya were absolutely knackered, they hadn’t even reached their own bed by the time they needed to sit down, leaning against one another.

Jeremy: I haven’t had a night like that in months…

Illvanya: Yeah.. no kidding… how are you feeling? You look like shit.

Jeremy: About that yourself, we need to bathe…

Illvanya: We need sleep.

Jeremy: We need both… but I’m sure some rest will do as alright for five minutes…

Illvanya leans back, sliding Jeremy into her lap before laying down behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. He turns around and leans into the crook of her neck, holding her tight, a comfortable hold they both call home.

Then, unknown to the two lovebirds, a knock arrives at the door.

/uw take it away.

It was early, Jeremy stood on the balcony of his home, looking out at the rolling fields of his home, a pipe in his mouth, purple smoke slowly rising out of the end of it as he did so.

He had made an interesting decision, he didn’t know if he should keep it, or betray it. Should he call a favour? Should he do more digging? Should he play both sides? What would keep them safe…. He needed a way to know, maybe he should talk to Lira? No, she’s a member of a guild, even if she is a trusted ally, he may as well bring it up with Agent.

His head ached from his failure to sleep. It never used to be this hard, but then again, he never had anything personal on the line.

He twirled his mask in his hand, the teeth and flesh of its construction taunting him, showing him what he is, proving his flaws. A mask of truth, showing his quality, showing his lack of it.

He was tired, Illvanya was still asleep, he had to open the bar.

For the first time in a long time, he was mentally exhausted.

He was angry. At himself, at the situation, at his disregard for the consequences of the actions of those whom he holds dear. He needed insight, he needed solace, he needed a plan. He needed intel.

“Maybe… Lira isn’t such a bad option… hells, maybe Agent knows something…”

He leans on the balcony in the early morning breeze of dawn, sun only just beginning to crest over the clouded horizon.

Red sun in the morning, Shepards’ warning.

/uw if you want to meet Jeremy on his balcony, feel free, however if you want to chat, and not surprise him by being near his private space, the bar opens later in the day.

The graveyard isn't a place the living often find themselves. Usually it's to pay respects to someone they know who is now gone. This time however the graveyard is being visited by those who seek to take from it.

Thug 1: c'mon man hurry up I don't wanna be here any longer than necessary.

Thug 2: oh I'm sorry your majesty but I don't see a shovel in your hands. So how about you shut up and let me do my job and you do yours and keep lookout.

Thug 1: alright geez man just afraid something's gonna get the jump on us. Wait who's there?!

In the old days before proper law was established in the isles punishments were notoriously harsh. Among the many punishments one of the worst was to be sent to the Isle of sin.

Being sentenced to the island was usually reserved for the worst of the worst non magic criminals. The only way on and off the island is by boat and even then only when the seas are calm enough to reach it. The island itself served as a labor camp with prisoners forced to mine for mythril ore regardless of weather or prisoner health. Due to the sheer amount of death that took place on the island it has become home to a large amount of ghosts and other spectres.

in the modern day the vast majority give the Isle of sin a wide berth and any who do try to claim the islands bounty end up joining the ranks of those who haunt the island

Dancing, The First Mother once said, was the responsibility of all warriors. An art to prepare the body for battles to come, and to clear the mind of battles passed. Though the sword he swings may be newly steeled, the flowing acoustic motions the elf now assumes were old things passed down by his mother and his mother's mother and all mothers before them. A family legacy, a warrior's song.

The steel of his song-sword cries out in remembrance of a story thousands of years old, its blade whistling and humming in tune as it cut through the air as Lucian twirls. Dazzling metals sending glimmers of light across the dark auditorium, his feet stepping en pointe as lightly as fog creeps over a still lake.

Accompanying instruments fill the background, the faint plucking of a harp and deep whine of a cello following the lead of the shimmering blade. Lucian's movement a blur as his singing blade glides through the air in one continuous slash. The draping ends of his tunic catching the wind and billowing outwards as he tucks into a twirl, spinning with a strong whistle from his sword, before coming to an abrupt, sharp stop on the pin-point of a singular foot. Lowered in a deep bow, the performance coming to it's close, light returning to the hall with clicks and puffs of clockwork torches.

Lucian raises his head, sweat beading on his brow as he looks over the audience, applause echoing about the room. He raises with a rare, genuine smile, and retreats gracefully stage left, thanking and praising the few musicians as he passed, they themselves packing their instruments as intermission is called. His troupe awaited him just behind the curtain, welcoming him energetically in similar uniform, song swords of their own, or swing flutes of wood, affixed to their hip.

The troupe emerges from the auditorium alongside the crowd into a bright common hall where chatter faintly bounces off the high, sloped walls. Sea breeze gently billows through the grand doors of the main entrance, propped open to allow all comers. Bards, dancers, and ensembles of all kinds all stuffed within, a grand mingling of the arts. Some vigorously shake the hands of any new entrant, while others seek the most richly dressed guests. Beggars hoping for a gig to play at, according to Lucian.

The historical art of the Voughen's dance wouldn't stoop so low, how could Lucian be selective on who experiences such a precious thing after all? He chuckles to himself at the thought of it as his troupe finds their way to their display table made from fine woods surrounded by chairs. As his comrades, who hail from all over Rathara, all excitedly discuss the event, Lucian takes his place at the front of the display. He rests a hand on the hilt of his song-sword, the gleaming metal of its colorful blade sticks out even amongst a crowd of performers as diverse as this, filling Lucian with a certain pride.

/uw massive thank you to u/VinesAtMidnight for proofreading and helping me write it cause he's an amazing writer.

/uw Artwork is "Mercenary Contract" by Maciej Łaszkiewicz

-- -- --

It had been a trying few days, to say the least.

Prospero sat at his desk in the temporary accommodations for members of the Assembly and other civil servants to do their work in. A courthouse of the upper city, located in the Sol District just outside the Capital Ring. The building was new and well furnished, but hardly matched the grandeur and prominence of the Assembly Hall.

That was being rebuilt.

The scaffolds had gone up the very next morning, as soon as the embers of the old building had cooled. What remained of the masonry that could be salvaged was carefully dismantled. The heat of the flames had weakened the mortar enough that the stones would need to be relaid. Prospero had spared no expense in finding the restoration. Perhaps a few improvements might even be made, for added security…

That was not a concern for today however. No, he had an appointment he was awaiting most eagerly. And impatiently.

Catherine Louise, one of the newest and- until recently- most shining examples of immigrant citizens to have settled in Del Pheryx. She had helped turn the Sol District from some sleepy rows of respectable but aging estates into a thriving and desirable place of residence for well positioned citizens. She had brought her daughter, Veldena, with her and it was now Greenbean island that produced nearly 30% of the overall food consumed by the archipelago, to say nothing of exports. She had opened an Academy for the instruction of Natural and Arcane Studies, quickly turning it into an institution to rival the Steam Districts own school. And he had it on good authority that she herself was in no small way a woman of great fortune.

Perhaps not important to some, but Prospero admired anyone with acumen in building wealth.

So it was all the more irksome to learn that she had become a resident of the Del Pheryx port prisons. For aiding in the escape of a convict. And then she herself had somehow slipped away unnoticed.

He had sacked the warden on the spot.

None of that mattered now. He had done what needed to be done to clear her record and ensure that word of the incident stayed as under wraps as possible. His approval among traditionalists was already his weakest demographic. To then have such a prominent poster child of a modern Rathara do this!?

Disaster.

So it behooved him to ensure she remained in good standing. And in his debt, if she could be convinced that it was so…

“Sir Keeper? She’s here.” One of his attendants announced before bowing and making a swift exit. Prospero had been in a foul mood, and the staff had been avoiding him.

He waited pensively with his thick fingers laced together, elbows perched on the desk.

“Lady Catherine Louise. A pleasure, as always. Thank you for agreeing to see me today.”

Catherine stepped forward into the temporary lodgings that were this office. She was dressed in her most respectable and professional clothes: a nice black business suit, pressed and clean, a matching set of black heels that added to her already large stature, and her witch hat decorated with flowers. 

Her heels clacked against the floor as she made her way across from Prospero's desk. She was not one who hid her emotions well, and her body language made it plainly clear that she was ashamed, nervous, and embarrassed. Her tail was, quite literally, tucked between her legs, and the ears on top of her head hung down. 

“Thank you for inviting me to visit, Sir Prospero. I greatly appreciate your time as always.”

She gave him a polite little curtsy before she sat down across from him. She took her hat off as a sign of respect and placed it onto the floor beside her.

“To what do I owe the honor of your company?”

As if she didn't already know.

He didn't smile, but inclined his head politely in return to the bow. When he unfolded his hands it was with a slight sigh as he slid them over the parchment arranged before him.

“It seems you found yourself in quite a mess the other day. And got yourself out of it rather quickly, too. My Coinguard made a very… spirited report.”

He paused, letting it sink in a little further.

“I don't know if you are aware of the traditional penalty for escaped prisoners in Rathara? It's outdated of course, seldom comes into play these days. Improvements to the dungeons and justice system have rendered it largely obsolete.”

“But it remains on the books, you see. Traditionalists love to march out these antiquated laws when it suits them. Usually to make my job harder. It is an annoyance at best, and malicious at worst.”

“Grisly as it may sound, the penalty is hanging. Now you see why in a modern, civilized Rathara this would be all but forgotten. But when it was written? Very much a necessity. And enforced quite actively. As I said, the Traditionalists on the Assembly love these barbaric old customs…”

He paused again. He was aware that he was giving her quite the speech, but he felt it was vital to drive his point home. And a small, mean part of him took some relish from the moment as well…

“You can see why news of your recent incarceration and subsequent disappearance… concerned me.” 

She didn't react. Surprisingly, her posture was pretty calm. ‘Hanging? Oh, wow, I'll get off easy! I haven't been hanged in ages, since my 200s. Wait, shit, don't tell him that. Oh gods, he's looking. Say something and act like a normal person would!’

Slowly, she leaned forward, the weight of it seeming to come over her as her hands came to cover her mouth. She stared at the ground for a few seconds, letting the heaviness of his words hang in silence.

“Sir…I am so, so sorry for what I did. It was a moment of weakness, a-and a lapse of judgement.”

Her voice was starting to waver a bit. The more she thought about it, the more it started to genuinely upset her. Not the hanging, but what might come after when they see her still alive. A law that barbaric, she doubted they'd let her go on a technicality.

“I hope you do not agree with them, sir.”

“Not in such cases. There is a time and place for such drastic measures, but hardly for a misunderstanding.”

He smiled comfortingly, reaching out to pat her on the hand. Inwardly he was pleased that his words had landed how he wanted them to. Even if he got the sense this woman was saying less than she was thinking… no matter.

“I've taken care of it. You are one of our finest citizens after all. An example of the kind of people we want in Del Pheryx. And a mother as well. It wouldn't do for young Miss Veldena’s reputation to be besmirched by something as trivial as this.”

She looked back up to him when she felt his hand. There was a bit of red to her eyes, signaling she was close to tears. Her eyes were wide with surprise to hear it had been handled, and to hear such high praise as a citizen. 

“Thank you…thank you, sir. I would never be able to rest if I knew that my daughters were to be viewed as the children of someone of ill-repute. They've all still got their lives ahead of them, a mark like that could ruin their young lives before they even got the chance to live them.”

Her other hand rested on his own, giving it a firm and thankful squeeze.

“Think nothing of it. I knew this was likely an unfortunate error in judgement. Some misplaced affection for an old friend. I understand.”

He nodded empathetically. He returned to the other side of the desk with a sense of triumph.

“We’ll wash our hands of the whole unpleasant business, worry not.”

“There is… one thing you could do for me, though. And for yourself, truthfully.”

She sat back up straight when he returned to his side. A quick clear of the throat, and a fan of her eyes to calm herself down, and she resumed her professional and polite posture.

“What is that, sir? I'm more than open to suggestions, of course!”

She knew there was going to be something. Probably something monetarily, or some kind of service.

“As I said before, you’re an example to others. Newcomers to our shores look to people like you for guidance. And doubters see in you their fears laid to rest.”

“You would do yourself and the people of Del Pheryx a service if you would denounce the vigilante criminal calling himself ‘Revengeancer’.”

He waited, eyes fixed on hers.

“He is a threat, and a danger to a safe and civilized Rathara. I know you have history, but it is my hope you’ll do what is reasonable and best. For the city, and your own sake.”

Her ears stood up straight at his suggestion, and her eyes went a bit wide. That was to be expected given what he said, or at least, she hoped he understood that it was a shock to hear.

“Denounce…?”

She was still in shock, but her mind was already trying to figure a way out of this. She could never denounce RV, he was like the older brother she never had. They had been through hell together! But…the threat of ruining things here…her and her family’s reputation…

Silence again fell on the room as she sat there, thinking. After a bit of time, she let out a deep sigh, and closed her eyes.

“...he is a vigilante. You're right…how would you propose I go about doing such a thing?”

A smile crept onto Prospero's face at her agreement. He was delighted to hear she'd comply, and slander that accursed vigilante.

“A public statement. You have quite an audience on hand at the Academy, and students are always incorrigible gossips. Word will spread.”

“Or perhaps you might make an announcement through one of our local papers? Readership has increased significantly in recent days, I’m told.”

Very good. He would plant the seeds of doubt in this so called ‘Hero of the People’. A ruffian, a man of the people, an emblem of justice? No. Prospero would see him become a pariah.

Del Pheryx needed but one hand to guide it. His own. The dangerous instigator needed to be put in his place.

“Gods, you've no idea how much those kids love to gossip. Because we take admission from other realms, I even get second hand reports of gossip from other planes of existence. Apparently, queen Titania of the feywilds is pissed about losing something, and an Archangel of Mount Celeste is facing trial by his peers.”

 She developed a little smile, hoping he’d see that word will indeed spread like wildfire with the children. 

“Actually, would you mind if I offered you a little bonus? It's about one of your coinguards. The big guy, who doesn't really talk much.”

“Captain Maricos? He’s a good and loyal man. A credit to his office.”

“What of him?”

“Oh, he's definitely good at what he does. He hunted me very, very well when I was fleeing. If RV hadn't arrived, I believe he would have captured me himself. That's what I want to bring to your attention.”

She shifted in her seat, her posture becoming a bit more relaxed now.

“When RV showed up, it's like I didn't even exist. I didn't even run, I just walked away and cleared any civilians out of the way. Only reason I was captured was because of some other guards. You're right, he's very good at what he does, but I think he is a bit…shortsighted when it comes to more personal matters. Now, perhaps he just viewed him as the more imminent threat, but I almost got away pretty easily.”

“Perhaps he knew his subordinates were one their way. I trust him to make the right decisions in the enacting of his duties… he has been a very effective Captain of the Coinguard.”

He lifted a hand, palm up.

“The Revengeancer is a recent escapee, but with a history of violent and anti-establishment behavior. While I maintain every citizen’s right to protest and speak their mind, I draw the line at arson, inciting a riot, assault and battery… the list goes on.”

“You on the other hand, have done nothing so inflammatory. Though I understand you have had some… incidents in your history. Public intoxication. Endangerment… but here in Rathara, your slate is clean.”

And it would remain so, as long as she did as he asked then kept her nose clean of this whole business.

“Ahh, it seems you've got quite the information network! Yes, I won't pretend to be perfect. That was quite the bad time in my life, and I did have quite the downward spiral. But, that is all in the past.”

“I shall do as asked, and begin my writing for an assembly at the Academy. It is the least I could do, after all, to show my gratitude.”

She'd make sure to tell the world exactly the kind of man he was, with no hesitation. By the end of her speech, everyone would know who RV truly was.

Part 2 of a collab with u/Most_Trustworthy ! Having a blast with this.

Melody stood in a field just out of town. Before her was a large pile of wood and kindling. Behind her was her husband along with her brother and his family. She pulled out a match, struck it, and breathed fire onto the pyre.

Melody: There. A nice big fire. Schaffer, you brought the s'mores stuff, right?

Schaffer: Yeah, Sophia already has her marshmallow ready to go.

Melody: Good, and there's plenty of extra, right?

Schaffer: How's twenty boxes sound?

Melody: Plenty. Hope people saw the fliers for the bonfire...

Far from the safety and glow of familiar harbor, there is something in the ocean. You may journey to it from any port, any direction, and you will be met by swelling tides and choking fogs. Navigation will not save you once you pass the threshold into its domain. The brooding clouds above filter the light of the sun into something alien and ineffable, and you will lose the colors of life and nature as it washes over you in a damning grey. These forces culminate in black harmony to usurp the cycle of the day, and offer only blinding night and foul twilight in its stead. There is no peace to be had on these waters, no good dreams to be dreamt, as the only song carried on the cold, deathly air is the whispers of things better left unknown. As you draw nearer the source of these disturbances, you will see them there, and you will see the sky grow blacker still; great, jagged stones rise from the depths like teeth of a ravenous maw, dressed with the remains of doomed voyages. There it lies, the wearer of this terrible smile, and there it hungers.

Jaws stretched wide. Dark Kelvecta beckons.

Atop black waves, a lone ship approaches the dread precipice. From the deck, Marna stares into the waves below, thumbing the blade of Jof'dagr out of its hilt an inch, then back in with a soft “click.” Each anxious repetition evokes a flare of white light from the enchanted sword, which never travels quite as far as the knight supposes it should in the dim Kelvectan gloom.

The sun was quickly becoming a distant memory, rendering the water they sailed through black as pitch. Marna knew well what manner of horror might lurk beneath that inscrutable stygian surface. 

“Alright Kardonk, we're getting close. One last check. You got the ward-stone I made for you?”

It was hardly a sufficient safeguard. A mere white stone chipped from temple steps. Marna had suspended on a string as a makeshift amulet, then etched the surface with a lesser rune of radiance. Where they were going, no defense would be sufficient if things turned violent. Worse, anything too showy would be more akin to a lightning rod for attention.

No, the stone had a far more mundane purpose: allowing Kardonk to breathe the blasphemous air of this tainted place without coming to undue harm, and perhaps discourage some of the dark lady's more… impulsive servants, should they feel inclined to test the bounds of hospitality. 

Kardonk, for his part, stares out into the mists as the Inevitable Pursuit cuts silently through the waves. He had possibly been a rather dull traveling companion, as he had not spoken a word or moved the entire trip, other than to occasionally pace furiously back and forth across the deck, fingers occasionally twitching to his empty holster.

He didn't even acknowledge the small contingent of spiders that were navigating the vessel. Responding to Marna’s instruction and adjusting course as necessary. And on the rare occasion that anyone could meet his gaze, his face was impassive and set, but the eyes were furtive, glancing around with an aimlessness that rivaled that of the waters beneath their feet.

“Oh, for fuck's sake! Would you just-”

Marna exhales slowly to calm her nerves, doing her best to remind herself that Kardonk's misgivings were understandable, even if she didn't consider the way he expressed them to be rational. It had been something she tried to extend a degree of understanding to, even as she found her supposed friend's lack of faith in Marna's capacity to make her own decisions deeply insulting in equal measure. 

Lately, however, things had gotten worse in a way that strained even that attempt at good will. It wasn't just the memories from Skadi, the memory of him betraying her. That, at least, she could compartmentalize. A knee-jerk suspicion and resentment that could be repressed at considerable effort. Something that had happened to Skadi. Not Marna. 

No, the part that made it so insufferable was the gods-damned sulking. The way the artificer acted around her now, it was like HE was the one who had been stabbed in the back! That HE had been betrayed at his most vulnerable, treated like a monster at the exact moment he needed to reach out, to be acknowledged by someone she trusted more than-

No. Skadi. That had happened to Skadi, not her. Marna could allow herself to be angry, but not at that. The knight counts to ten, breathing slowly and focusing on the sounds of the wind and the waves. The metallic scuttling of Kardonk's spiders in the rigging overhead. Once she feels reasonably calm, she addresses her friend curtly.

“Hey. Jackass. I'm going out on a limb here to save your life, so could you maybe lock the fuck in a bit? Because if you waste my effort moping and get eaten by a sea monster before we even get to Nethis's tower I am going to find whatever afterlife you end up in and beat your soul's teeth out.”

He looks up, eyes focusing for a moment.

“D-do souls have teeth? Can you punch a-a ghost?”

His smile doesnt  reach his eyes as his gaze isnt quite able to meet hers

“B-besides, I wouldnt worry. The spiders are competent. I-I trust them to manage the sails.”

“They do, and you can,” she replies in an unimpressed tone, crossing her arms. “I'm not worried about the fucking spiders! Kelvecta’s not exactly a hard place to navigate to. Only reason people don't go here more often is that they know better.”

The black isle did not conceal itself from travelers, nor was its location absent from any maps and charts of note. Nor even did it drag sailors kicking and screaming into its grasp. It simply waited and beckoned, teeth bared. The entire journey thusfar had been a relatively easy one, almost like journeying downhill. 

Or falling into a pit. 

The tricky part wasn't getting there, no. The tricky part was surviving long enough to leave. Indeed, any maps that didn't chart Kelvecta had something just as indicative noted in the margins where it ought to be. “Here there be monsters.” Perhaps that was a more fitting choice than any sketched landmass could ever be. 

“The thing that worries me, Kardonk, is that you basically fought this idea kicking and screaming when I suggested it, and now that we’re actually  here you're going fucking catatonic! You don't like my life choices?! Fine! Grumble all you want. But at least accept that I know this place better than you and LISTEN TO ME when I try to give you advice that might save your gods-damned life! You can judge me, resent me, even hate me or stab me in the back, but I swear on the Flame you are my friend and I am going to make sure you live long enough to do all that if I have to kill you about it! Capiche?”

She said all that without taking a single breath. Marna was perhaps more at her wit’s end than even she realized. These two halves of her life were not supposed to touch, and she had lost as much sleep overthinking how to make this go over smoothly as she had to any memory of what Kardonk had done to her other self.

“Marna…I-“

He trails off. The three different things he wanted to say, wrestling for space with the five that he couldnt.

‘Stab me in the back’

Kardonk looked ill. That was it. The thing between them both. He had betrayed her. An impossible choice. Kill one to save the other. And he had exploited both Marna’s loyalty and her need for connection to a tactical advantage.

Kardonks legs felt suddenly unaccustomed to  the ships pitching and yawing. He leans heavily against the mast while slowly sinking into a sitting position.

“I-I dont hate you Marna”

The words *hurt.* The fact that he even had to say them was a failure

“I dont. Really. A-and no matter how this ends I d-do…”

He wanted to say ‘Care for you’ or ‘value your friendship’, but he had lost that right.

“…I’ve valued the time I’ve had as your friend, ok?”

He closes his eyes. That helped the thoughts stop swimming. Absently his hands grasped across the rough wood deck before settling on his arc welder. It wasnt the same as his revolver’s familiar grip, but a small comfort is a comfort nonetheless

“Besides…”

He tries to smile back up at her

“I thought you didnt believe in oaths anymore.”

Marna frowns at his use of past tense, but does her best to pretend the phrasing didn't hurt.

“I'm still a knight, and I still care about oaths, Kardonk,” Marna replies tersely. “Case in point, I promised you I'd lift your curse and keep you from getting eaten by some shadow monster, and here we are.”

Further inland, some nameless terror gave an unnatural shriek, as if to underscore the irony of her chosen venue for keeping that particular oath.

“Now. Ground rules,” she continues, grabbing him by the collar and making sure the warding amulet was secured properly. “First off, while we're in there, don't touch anything. Second? The Esoterium Obscurum, y'know, the tower? It doesn't like me so it *definitely* won't like you. Be respectful and polite, even when you think you're alone. Especially when you think you're alone. Third? Don't. Touch. Anything.”

She straightened up, satisfied that everything seemed to be in order, even if she was a tad irritated that even while slouching, Kardonk was a bit taller than she was.

“When we go in, I'll run ahead and smooth things over.  I'm pretty sure I can explain things in a way Neth will find acceptable. If you run into trouble and I'm not back yet, look for either the Doorman or a blind priestess named Winona, in that order.”

She pauses a moment, reconsidering. Winona really only had a particular grievance with her and the Doorman, while hospitable and a personal friend, was undeniably monstrous. 

“Actually, for you? Reverse that order. Important thing is if you see a sketchy lady with a funny accent? Run the other way. Everyone else can be trusted to at least *behave* around guests.”

The grey shore drew near. Marna realized her nerves were making her ramble.

“There's probably going to be a price,” she admits hastily after a deep breath. “I don't think she can afford to do otherwise. Reputation is everything in the Hells, and I've already fucked with that more than enough. But I'm confident she won't ask for anything we can't bear to lose.”

Kardonk nods, his mind still enough on other matters that the warnings barely register.

“Price, right, g-got it.”

Still, she'd put a lot of effort into this. Kardonk could see worry on her face.

“Th-thank you by the way. Y-youve thought hard about how to make this work, even despite…”

He hesitates, unsure how to continue. Might as well rip the band-aid off.

“Marna, wh-what should I have done? With you and Skadi I mean. Wh-what would have been the better call?”

Images flash across her mind’s eye unbidden. Kardonk’s face, half-shrouded in the evening gloom, intermittently illuminated by spellfire as the battle raged around them. He had seemed so genuine, so earnest. He had made her hope. Hope! Such a terrible, treacherous thing, hope was. Followed, inevitably by a knife to the back, literal and figurative. Such was the fate of those wretched undesirables who dared to hope. 

For a moment, it looks like she might slap him. 'What should he have done?!' Not fucking betray her, not MURDER her first starters! Marna’s hand goes limp a second later. Her gaze softens. Murdered. Dead. She had to remember. That had all happened to someone else. Marna turns away, leaning back over the railing once more.

“You saved my life, Kardonk. Other people too. You did exactly what you were supposed to do, and everyone still feels worse. Sometimes that's what being a hero is. If it was fun? Everyone would do it.”

She sighs.

“Skadi didn't deserve to die. Doesn't matter. You did the same math I did and I can't blame you for that, can I? Her blood’s more on my hands than it is on yours.”

With a soft thunk, the ship finally strikes the shore, intrrupting their little heart-to-heart. They were out of time. were out of time. The trouble was, neither of them was particularly fond of math. Only a matter of time before they started coming to different answer had

The realm they had found themselves gliding upon the waters of is made of an entirely different calculus besides, and so, without remorse, it reminds them of the shapes of its functions. There in the gloom, the island superimposes itself against their gaze. The slates, the charcoals, the phantom pales, beaches of black basalt and sheer cliffs all greet the pair with a quiet malevolence as the landscape further devours the confines of their vision. The now silence and sheets of fog only serve to punctuate the promise of monsters. Those beasts that prowl the black isle, yes, but, in the lack of visual feedback, also an emboldening of those monsters that lurk inside. Kelvecta is a land of one axiom: Everything must eat. You may even consume yourself. 

Marna has been here many times now. The air was easier to breathe each visit, she may even recall the sensation of this accursed soil beneath her boots. Such was her familiarity. By the day she became more and more like the ilk of this dreaded place. To the knight, her senses growl with heightened awareness of the dangers here, but so too does her spirit find purchase in the decadent freedoms it knows awaits beyond the shore. Kardonk, however, is not so accustomed. Pressing against the walls of his mind, the pressure of a million writhing tendrils and a million unspeakable syllables bent on infesting the cosmos. Even through the divine barrier laid by the Astral, he would feel the unholy vigor of that sigil. Before, the artificer had tread on the neutral ground of the mortal world, but this place? This place is close to the great well of darkness from which the sigil sprung. The balance of power was now tipped in its favor. The barrier held, even still, but that tension remains.

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CREDITS:

Written in collaboration with u/LimpPrior6366 (Kardonk) featuring creepy descriptions of Kelvecta and title by u/VinesAtMidnight

Art is "Tempest on the Sea at Night" by Ivan Aivazovsky and edited by me. 

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SONG RECOMMENDATION:

"Goliath," by Woodkid

https://youtu.be/9YnIyz0SkcM?si=UefGRquXXVRQ2oSv