ᴛɪᴍᴇ | Sunset
ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ | Northbound on the Eastern Sea
ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ | Mister Luum @FunnyGuy
ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ | Bardulf @Lava Alckon, Masako @dreamingflowers
ᴇQᴜɪᴘᴍᴇɴᴛ | Travel bag with essentials (money, rations, first aid, etc), sapphire pendant, twin daggers.

---

“Strong… Ehhh, they did not do much to help us win the war. They were built to fight, sure but they lack things that make truly good soldiers. Hmm…”

Zeva chuckled. His mention of the war reminded her of the townsfolk and her parents back home, who spoke endlessly of it. In those brief few seconds, it seemed like Mister Luum could’ve been just another elf from her hometown, though she could hardly envision the man in such humble environments. If it weren’t for his unpredictable whimsicality, she may have warmed up to him sooner, and trusted him like the knowledgeable mentors and elders she grew up with.

Zeva motioned toward the warforged and Bardulf with a nod of her head. “Well it looks like Bardulf is already beginning recruitment of said ‘war machine’.” Her fingers curled into two air quotes at the end of the sentence – she found it hard to imagine that this particular warforged, resembling a delicate teapot better preciously stored in displays rather than used, would be any good at war. It was a stark contrast with other warforged she had the chance of meeting at the Oak Tree, typically embellished in all manner of artillery and technological components.

An abrupt tap of Luum’s wooden staff on the hand by Zeva’s side interrupted her ruminations on bipedal machines. His lecture seemed sincere – despite his usual hijinks, she felt that she could trust his magical aptitude at the very least. There weren’t many teachers back at the academy that cared to nurture the skills of a delinquent student who struggled enough already with light magic. Many of them figured Zeva would focus on swordplay instead, and thus, she never gave light magic much more thought. Mister Luum sounded so sure of her potential, and these sweet words reignited Zeva’s fervor for continually surpassing her limits.

A large grin stretched across Zeva’s face. “I hope you’re right about that. Not that I ever was any good at school – I learned most of what I know now from my parents.” She put her hands behind her back, straightened up, and faced Luum with an expectant gleam in her eyes. “So, where do I start?”

Time: Evening
Location: Campsite outside Roshmi City
Interactions and mentions: Scathael @Apex Sunburn, Aerilyn @Alivefalling, Mari @princess, and Thraash @funnyguy

---

Although Aerilyn urged him to set Mari down, Five disregarded the request and waited for the light elf's explanation. Mari complied though only after apparently marveling over her suspended predicament. This, Scathael, Mari claimed, was an individual experienced in making repairs. Though whatever 'experience' that entailed, Mari hadn't specified. Yet specifics be damned at this point, the warforged couldn't afford to be picky now - even he was not finding any luck in accelerating his own repairs.

Still glaring at Mari, a sound akin to that of a groan echoed out from Five's shell just before he relented and gently lowered the light elf back to the earth, <<VERY WELL, AS YOU WERE.>>

Five's head then swiftly spun in Aerilyn's direction and appeared to lower into a bow, <<APOLOGIES.>>

And just like that Five withdrew back to his makeshift worksite and resumed where he left off with his broken limb. Though a single eye was now carefully observing the campsite inhabitants.

Time: Evening
Location: Forest clearing, campfire
Interactions: Aurora/Rowan @mole Zora/Vasco @JJ Doe Veric @Lava Alckon
Mentions: None
Equipment: Longsword and Plate Armor

---

The split second decision Barrock made upon seeing even just a glimpse of the dark elf's presence was a life-saver, because he would not have been able to dodge the shockwave if it was already halfway through the movement, or the ball. Only his foresight and slowed visions were the safeguard against potentially fatal damage.

"Assuming you're worthy enough to ruin our playtime." Barrock taunted, once he recovered from the dodge. He stood up straight, his longsword still held firm in his hand, but still in its sheathe. He held it close to his hip, the towering orc began to lumber towards the dark elf.

To the dark elf, it might seem like this was foolhardy buffoonery from a typical orc. Barrock was clearly slower, with a noticeable limp too, but he was going on the offensive, with his weapons sheathed no less. His clan's tattoo on his forehead could be an even bigger giveaway to the degree of intelligence he had. But could this be in any way a trick? This might be too easy.

'Come on, strike me.' Barrock beckoned in thoughts.

Time: Evening
Location: The Righteous Tern - main deck
Interactions: Bardulf
Equipment: Oil-paper parasol

---

Masako's acute senses picked up on Bardulf's discomfort. Instead of answering his string of questions she immediately sprang forward in concern. Her porcelain like fingers touched his forehead gently. Other beings seemed to able to gather information about another's person well being this way. It was a skill she was still trying to improve.

"You seem uncomfortable. What is wrong?"

The wind moved a strand of Bardulf's hair into his eyes which Masako gently pushed back behind his ear. She wondered what caused him to feel this way. Perhaps he was hungry and needed something to eat, or maybe his sleep had been terrible, plagued by nightmares. Unfortunately she didn't have much to offer him at this time. It proved much more difficult to care for someone when she wasn't living in a place where food and beds were readily available.

The Warforged patiently waited on an answer.

_{T I M E : One Week After Human Arrival
L O C A T I O N : Riverbloom, The River
I N T E R A C T I O N S : @JJ Doe, @Conscripts , @Lava Alckon
T A G S : @JJ Doe , @Conscripts , @Lava Alckon
E Q U I P M E N T :}




Aurora felt the movement of the Dark Elf rippled through the air. His scent lingered a path around him, and the faintest spirit that possessed his weapon shot through her vision.

What should have been a blow to her staff swished past her, and the death of Zora echoed in her ears.

“Zora…” the whisper was barely audible from Aurora’s lips. She felt her hand trembling around her staff. In front of her, Rowan’s own light was churning.

Suddenly, a sickening sound drenched the air.

“Zora!” Aurora called out as the Dark Elf dragged the human body through the air and the hellish sound screamed around them. Her hands immediately clasped over her ears, as her mouth opened, but her voice failed to cry-out from the pain.

Rowan pulled his weapon and lunged towards the enemy, in an attempt to retrieve Zora and help Barrock. He was shouting something at the Dark Elf, but Aurora could not hear it.

Time: EVENING
Location: INT. THE TIPSY TAVERN - RIVER PORT
Interactions/Mentions: Zion @Helo

---

Malachi made his return to River Port soon enough, driven by both leads and his own deduction as he approached the bustling tavern. The absence of any nearby settlements indicated that Jun couldn't have ventured too far overnight so it stood to reason that, after traversing the woods, he sought refuge in the familiar safety of the town. Gathering information from the locals revealed accounts of a perplexed individual with distinctive ears who had eventually wandered into the Tipsy Tavern, simplifying the task of pinpointing Jun's whereabouts much more than expected.

As he pushed open the creaky door, the lively chaos of the tavern assaulted Malachi's senses. The air was thick with the smells he despised and te stickiness beneath his shoes arose a feeling of queasiness as he stepped inside. Inwardly, Malachi couldn't contain his disdain for the filth. The disarrayed tables and the questionable hygiene of the surroundings fueled a list of silent complaints within him. A subtle scoff escaped his lips as he navigated through the sea of people, pushing past them without concern for politeness as he scanned the room for his target.

At the tavern's rowdy center, a drinking contest was at full swing, its fervor capturing the attention of all present. Bets flew across the room as onlookers speculated who would triumph or falter in the next round. The vanquished lay around the table, some bodies draped across it, others slumped to the floor, their endurance bested by those who still drank.

In this commotion, Malachi's gaze locked onto a familiar cloak amidst the contestants. As the figure turned, a glimpse of Jun's face emerged from underneath the hood. Seeing how Jun's eyes widened, and his face lost its color, it was clear he recognized Malachi as well.

Jun snapped his head away and pulled his hood further down. Praying for a divine intervention that Malachi didn't (and wouldn't) notice him. No no no no no!

Malachi scowled in reaction. Seriously? He made a beeline for him immediately, pushing through the crowd. As he approached Jun, his typically cold expression seemed to intensify, revealing his frustration with the situation. He halted just a step away from Jun, his gaze piercing through the hood. He looked ready to snap on the human, but he paused, gritting his teeth.

Finally, Malachi's voice, usually sharp and biting, softened just a fraction as he spoke, "What are you doing here, Jun?" Leaning in, he pressed further, his tone low and weary, “This isn’t Earth and I think you realize that now. “ He gestured to the passed out patrons on the floor. “ Sure, you might be able to fool drunkards, but out there, when others catch on that you're a human, it's not going to end well. The dark elves who dictate this land won't be too kind to you. “ His eyes searched the young man’s for any possibility of sense, “What is your plan here, Jun?”The question hung in the air as the two locked gazes.

Jun angled himself away from Malachi, as if ignoring him long enough would magically make the other man disappear.

"Is this fellow causing you any bother?" Jun glanced up to find one of the patrons had materialized at Malachi's side, a hand firmly planted on his shoulder. A few of his buddies flanked them, watchful.

He blinked. Huh. He didn't expect this. Were these people going to help him or was this part of their roleplay?

Malachi sighed and shot a glance at the intervening patron, his irritation evident in the deep furrow of his brow. “Save the heroics. We’re talking and it’s not your business.” He leaned in once more and whispered, “Jun, what is it going to take to get you to return with me? …What do you want? … You won’t come to at least see that Zion’s okay at the least?”

Jun's heart hardened when he brought up Zion. Using Zion's condition as bait was a new low for Malachi. He avoided looking at the other man, fixing his gaze on the disgusting table instead.

And that was enough of an answer for the patron. "Think that's your answer, Mister." His grip on Malachi's shoulder tightened ever so slightly. "It's best time you leave." He tried to pull Malachi away from Jun, but the elf didn't budge.

"Come on, take a hint. He don't wanna get back together." One of the patron's buddies chimed in. "Move on. There's plenty of fish in the sea."

Malachi ignored them, “Please come talk to me outside. If we cannot come to any agreement, I will find a way to get you home or I’ll let you run amuck as you please. I’ll stop bothering you and you’ll never see me again.“

Jun remained rooted to his seat. Malachi had his chance to 'talk' this morning and nothing came out of it. All that stuff about 'trying to understand each other' and Malachi didn't even tell him a single thing about himself. He gaslighted Jun and that was that, end of discussion. If you were to summarize that 'heart-to-heart' in four words, it'd be: suck it up Jun.

“There’s been reasons to believe it’s real Jun. It’s just easier not to… It’s easier to believe this is all a game and everything here is an illusion than to accept that your reality has changed…” No, it wasn't. None of the possibilities, 'real' or 'fantasy', made Jun's current situation any easier to accept. Both made him scared and feel so… alone.

…

Oh… oh yeah.

… He's … alone.

It didn't matter if this was a LARP cult or a bonafide isekai-tensei. The only people who ever really cared about Jun Ibuki were back home. Too many worlds away to get in touch—not by phone, not by letter, not even smoke signals—, leaving him marooned in a kind of loneliness he never experienced before.

Clutching himself tight, Jun fought off the tremors. He shook away the thoughts and refocused.

It was obvious Malachi was saying all this to get Jun alone so it'd be easier to drag him away. And this time? He wouldn't put it past Malachi to lock him in an actual cage.

Even if what he said had an ounce of truth…
“You can’t go home, Jun…”
“... I will find a way to get you home…”
… then that meant Malachi really was the type who'd say just about anything.

Jun had been more than clear about wanting to go home: everyone knew that. How many times did they have to have the same pointless chat before Malachi heard him? Jun wasn't gonna back down this time. He had to put his foot down. Maybe then he'd get taken seriously.

"... No. I already told you… I just want to go home."

If Malachi meant what he said… then he'd find a way to get Jun home or, at the very least, let him go, no matter his answer.

Malachi silently stood there as he thought through his options, then finally slunk through the crowd and went outside the tavern.

---

“Looks like we’ve visitors.”

The huntsman’s words were said nonchalantly, but the slight furrow in his brow and brief downward curl of his lips betrayed his unease. Scathael followed the man’s gaze, leaning as far back in his seat as he could and looking down the village’s main street. Despite being a visitor himself, he regarded both strangers with as much suspicion on his face as the blacksmith beside him. A village this small and this far off the beaten track might expect the odd wayfarer during the day, but at night? And two at the same time, at that? Either they were lost – their steps carried enough confidence to make that seem unlikely – or they were looking for something. Or someone.

And there was also something about the pair that struck Scathael as familiar. He didn’t like that.

The blacksmith shrugged and returned his attention to more important things, such as the half-empty mug sitting on the table in front of him. “Eh, they don’t look like they’ll be trouble,” he said and brought it up to his lips. Just before he tipped it back, however, he lowered it and glanced at Vallana. The foxgirl sat on the bare ground, deep in concentration as she glued pre-cut feathers to prepared arrowshafts. Headless ones, of course; Scathael knew better than to let a child anywhere near sharpened arrowheads. “It’s a little late for me to mention, Sadras,” the blacksmith said, addressing the huntsman. “But are you absolutely certain that it’s alright for us to drink in front of Vallana?”

The huntsman shrugged. “I’m not fussed, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

“It’s not you that concerns me. It’s your wife. I swore in front of your little girl the other day and I swear she would’ve torn my head off if Scathael wasn’t there.” The blacksmith glanced sideways as the dark elf with a grin. The gesture wasn’t returned, but Scathael did nod as if to confirm the story.

Sadras chuckled. “Ah, she’s far too refined for the likes of us.” He smiled softly, and his voice turned warm as he went on to say, “Gods alone know why she agreed to come back to this shithole with me.”

“Love makes idiots of us all, as they say.” The blacksmith raised his mug and drank heavily from it. “Can’t say that they’re wrong.” He nudged Scathael with the mug. “What about you, Scathael? I don’t recall you mentioning anything about a lady in your life.”

Scathael gently, but firmly pushed the mug away. “There’s none to mention,” he said curtly. It was, at best, a half-truth and at worst, a quarter-lie. He didn’t care either way; he had no intention of sharing that part of his story or his life with the present company. Or anyone, for that matter. Clearing his throat, he carried on in a level voice, “If there was, I don’t think I’d be here right now.”

“Makes sense,” Sadras said with a nod. “I suppose you’re still young for an elf. Remember us when you’re finally old enough to think about putting down roots, eh?”

Whispers of painful memories drifted through Scathael’s mind, and he pursed his lips. Sadras was right on one thing – by Elvish standards, Scathael had only just begun his foray into adulthood – and wrong on the other – Scathael had considered a less-itinerant life many times over the decades. As much as he enjoyed the freedom a life on the road afforded, he wasn’t blind to the security and simplicity that would come with settling down. In many ways, he preferred the latter. It was just pure misfortune and a string of strange and terrible coincidences that kept him moving. That, and he also had a promise to keep. The sort which would be quite tricky to fulfil without travelling.

Fortunately, Scathael didn’t have to spend too long dwelling on the matter, or even give Sadras a reply, for that matter.

"SCATHAEL! HEY SCATHAEL!!! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE, BOY!"

A thunderous shout echoed down the street, made all the louder by the prior quietness. The blacksmith let out a string of expletives, his colourful words and angry voice joining a chorus of similar voices and words thrown from open windows and doorways. “Gods above, Scathael. Did you piss off a banshee?” He said in a low grumble. “Haven’t heard a woman scream that loudly since Old Idrid dug up a dead deer in her back garden.”

“I think she was louder,” Sadras said wryly. He knelt on the ground, gently patting Vallana’s back. The poor girl was huddled on the ground, with hands over her ears. “But it looks like you’re wanted, Scathael.”

Scathael looked back at the strangers. Now that they were closer, and in better light, he could tell that they were a Light Elf and a Dragonborn. A strange pairing, if he ever saw one. Stranger still, however, was how familiar they seemed. Scathael was sure that he had seen them before; he just couldn’t quite put his finger on where and when. Perhaps they were past customers? They seemed to be adventurers, and Scathael had certainly done plenty of work for plenty of such travellers and wayfarers. It didn’t seem likely; he didn’t think that he would easily forget such a distinctive pair.

Well, it didn’t matter. If they were looking for him, it could only be for one reason. Work was work. Scathael wasn’t in the habit of turning down work over personal misgivings. He would be a lot poorer and a lot less well-travelled if that were the case.

“I'll call them over. Do you mind?” Scathael asked the blacksmith. Normally, he would have no problems with going over. But considering the manner in which the Light Elf had called for him, and the hour at which she had done it, he felt like making things just that little more difficult for her.

“Go ahead,” he replied with a shrug and stood up. “Come on, Sadras. Let’s get Vallana inside.”

The foxgirl looked up at Scathael as her father helped her to her feet. “Are they friends?” She asked.

Scathael shook his head. “No. I don’t know them,” he said bluntly. “Now go inside.” He got off his seat and walked over to the open gate, brushing off the dirt and dust from his earlier work as he did so. There was no need to rush. More like than not, whatever work they had for him would have to wait until morning. Not that he had any issues with working in the dark, but because he was already done for the day. Working on his personal arms was always his very last activity before sleep. It was an age-old routine, and he wasn’t going to break it without a very good reason.

"Be quiet, lady. It's too late for all that noise," Scathael called back from the gate with arms folded. "I'm who you're looking for. Come over if you've got work for me. We can discuss. If you're looking for me for any other reason, turn around and leave. I won't be interested and you will be disappointed."