Blackfridayrule

The Tree of Astra (LadyAnnaLee and Blackfridayrule)

Ridahne could hear Darin moving around in the room. She could tell she was trying to be quiet, but she really shouldn't have bothered. Ridahne had sharp hearing anyway, but she'd been trained to keep an ear open and sleep lightly. Not that she'd really slept much anyway that night. Her face just hurt too much for her to really get comfortable.

Ridahne was lying outside in a woven hammock stretched between two palm trees as she occasionally put a flat, smooth rock to her right jawline. Her whole face seemed to burn and the cool touch of the rock was at least some relief. She wished she could go plunge her face into the cool ocean, but she was told that could be bad for her brand new ojih. She didn't hear the fabric door being pushed aside, nor did she hear the soft footsteps in the packed dust coming towards her until her mother laid a cool hand on the unbandaged side of her face. Ridahne looked up. "I can't sleep."
Ikali sighed. "Neither can I."
Ridahne studied her mother. She'd begun to notice she had less energy recently, and wore a drawn expression. She and her father were always whispering about something. "Are you...okay?"
The woman smiled, tossing her black hair behind one shoulder. "It's...just a a bit of pain in my stomach. I'm sure you're in worse pain though," she said, playing it off. "How does it feel?"
"Awful," Ridahne admitted with a little smile. "Feels like someone raked my face into the coral."
Ikali sat beside her daughter on the hammock. "Do you regret it, Isfahan?"
Ridahne gingerly shook her head. "No. I'm very proud of it, even the pain. But...did your face swell this much?"
"Oh, yes. For a couple days. It was very brave of you to go through with it. I'm proud of you, Ridahne."

She was much more used to the pain now. Years of tattooing had toughened her against it for the most part, though no Azurei would ever say it did not hurt to mark an ojih. She just wished that she hurt a little less inside, too.

"Do you remember," she began, her voice low and soft, but cold. "When I first told you what I'd done? I was so ashamed. How could I tell the Seed-Bearer of Astra what kind of criminal I was? Do you have any idea how difficult that was? How much I wanted to deflect, or lie, or do anything but tell you what I'd done? In my mind, I would come clean and tell you, and I thought you would hate me and despise me as the snake everyone thought I was. How could you not? I reasoned that you would cast me aside, you would send me away, and I would be honor bound to return home and submit myself to the executioner's hand. In my mind, if I told you who I was and what I'd done, it would mean my death. And yet I told you anyway."

She had not moved from where she lay on the bed. "Do you remember," she said again, "that you once accused me of running from my problems? Running from my oath to you, from Ajoran, from my responsibilities...do you remember?" She finally sat up, her face now visible in the soft, wavering light of a few uloia. It was so swollen on one side that it nearly looked disfigured under the clean white bandages, now stained with little spots of black or red or some mix of the two where blood or ink had seeped through. "I wanted you to be there, Darin. I wanted you to share that moment with me, because you play such a big part in it. Obviously you didn't want to." Her tone was icy but injured. "The thing is, I don't even care that you didn't want to. Alright, maybe a little. But that's not the point. You wanted no part of it--that much I could read loud and clear. You know, I'd understand. Maybe you felt like it was too sacred for you, an outsider, to be a part of. Maybe you find the whole practice disgusting and couldn't bear to watch me stab myself six thousand times in the face with a piece of goat bone. I get it! You wouldn't be the first to feel that way. I'd have been a little disappointed maybe, but I would have understood, and I wouldn't have blamed you for it. If you'd just told me."

Her eyes seemed to glow in the dim light like two burning embers. "I have laid bare my soul, Darin. I have told you my dark sins and my fears and my hopes and my regrets. I have trusted you to be the one person in this world with power that didn't let me down. I very nearly died for you, and I'd do it again. I still have the scars!" Her voice had risen, but it dropped to a wounded murmur as she said, "And somehow you still don't trust me. You expect vulnerability from me but yet you do not give it to me in return. I am not your servant to be shooed away at your convenience," she said dangerously, tears glinting off the unbandaged half of her face. "I'm your partner. I'm your..."

The words caught in her throat, and though she didn't feel it in the moment, her heart knew it to be true. "I'm your friend, Darin. I'm here to help you. Why don't you see that? And," she added, her disfigured expression turning dark like a prowling wolf, "If you make for that door, so help me I will chase you down and show you my best impression of Mitaja on the hunt."

The Tree of Astra (LadyAnnaLee and Blackfridayrule)

Ridahne snorted, but didn't reply to Mrixe. What he didn't understand was that if they were there to keep an eye on her, then it was needless babysitting and an insult to her character that they didn't trust her in their city. And if they were there solely to keep guard over Darin, then it implied some measure of distrust of how Ridahne could do her job. A guide around the city to see the sights was one thing, but a night guard? It made it clear to Ridahne that the leadership of Lihaelen neither trusted her to keep the peace, nor did they trust her to protect Darin. She bristled at the thought. She expected as much in her home country where she'd committed terrible sins that could not easily be forgiven. But here? Was there nowhere in Astra where she could gain the trust of its people? In human lands, she was at best an intimidating, otherworldly figure to be avoided. In elvish lands, she was a criminal. She silently gritted her teeth and took a long, slow breath.

You knew this would happen when you did it. You always knew you could never find solace.

Darin suddenly sprang up, uttered some quick apology and bolted out of the room. Caught off guard by the suddenness of it, Ridahne made a move to follow but Mrixe stopped her. The look that she turned on to the soldier was venomous, like a cobra one sudden movement away from striking. If Ridahne cut an imposing figure before, it was amplified tenfold now that the full force of her ire was focused on him. She was a tempest held dangerously still. With all the charm of a growling wolf, she gave him a dangerous look that said "How dare you interfere in our business?" And then he had the audacity to follow after her instead, though he came back inside after only a moment.

"Yes. Very much so." Was her cold answer to Mrixe's question, before she pushed the bench she was seated on back with enough force to make the legs groan against the wood floor and stalked upstairs.

Angry didn't begin to cover what she felt. Anger at the Council, anger at Mrixe, and it took a little longer for her to identify it, but anger at Darin. She understood what the human girl was going through to a degree, with the weight of Astra on her shoulders. And she'd always done what she could to help her. But it was Ridahne's turn to need her. And when that moment had come, Darin abandoned her. A sick, gut-wrenching feeling of betrayal churned inside of her, shape-shifting into hurt and sadness. Ridahne had always been used as a tool, as a pawn in some higher power's game to be cast aside at the users convenience. Darin's sudden disappearance tapped on old wounds not yet healed, and it hurt all the more for the trust she'd laid in Darin. Was she nothing more than a tool?

"No," she said out loud through gritted teeth. She was Ridahne Torzinei, Daughter of the Night Sky, Sol-Slayer, Traitor, Seed-Chained. Guardian. And she would make sure the world knew it, alone if need be. Ridahne took a breath, knelt on the floor in front of where she'd propped her small mirror up onto a chair, picked up her bone needle and said with solemn determination, "Ai jane'ta jane'ta. What's done is done."

--

It took hours for her to finish. She was very proud of her work, though she would not really see how well she'd done until the swelling receded a bit. Her face was a puffy mess all over, but especially on the left side where she'd added the fresh black ink. The intense pain of the procedure had done a lot to dull her own anger, though she wasn't exactly in a good mood when she finished. She'd slathered the area with her special balm and stuck clean white bandages onto it that partly obstructed one eye. If she looked fearsome in her prime, she looked even more so like this, like she'd just fought her way through a hundred soldiers that had all tried to hit her in the face. She did her best to extinguish the lights, crawl into bed and sleep, but the pain and throbbing kept her awake and prevented her from falling into anything more than a hazy waking state of semi-rest.

The Tree of Astra (LadyAnnaLee and Blackfridayrule)

Ridahne double checked her supplies. She had candles--plenty to see by--a couple soft clean rags for mopping up extra ink and blood, and she'd retrieved her tattoo kit from her saddlebags down in the stables. She took the opportunity to visit with their horses and Mitaja, the latter of which was sleeping in Tsura's stable like a fat and lazy queen of the barn. The animals were glad for the visit, and especially since Ridahne saw that they got some treats before she left. Her three ink colors were well stocked and her needles sharp and in good condition. The mirror inside the lid of the box was clean and free from dust. She had everything she needed except...water! Of course, how could she forget? Not only did she need it to clean her tools, but the cakes of ink needed to be hydrated.

Ridahne came downstairs and approached the barkeep. "Tavernmaster, I need a cup of water. It has to be the cleanest, purest water you can get your hands on, not from the rain barrel."
The man studied her a moment, wondering why it had to be so specific. But when he took up the mantle as the inn's owner, the previous one had informed him that sometimes Azurei travelers made odd requests, and it was usually best just to humor them rather than try to understand their odd ways. "Aye, I'll see what I can get for you, Azurei."

As she waited, she turned and found Darin at the bar and practically beamed. "Ah! There you are! Do anything interesting today while I was busy?" Ridahne sat beside her and nodded at Mrixe, though she eyed the woman seated beside him. That was a guard, she'd bet money on it, and she also vaguely recalled seeing her the night before. It took everything in her not to groan. Instead she inclined her head towards the woman, and somewhat coldly said, "Hm. Guess one can't leave a snake in their home overnight without it being watched. You never know when it might strike..." There was a note of sarcasm in her voice. She had no plans to stir up any trouble or hurt anyone, but if they wanted to watch her every move and assume she would, then she wanted to remind them that she could. Mrixe was one thing, he had conducted himself especially honorably last night, and had the favor of Darin. And while this new guard hadn't done anything unseemly or wrong, she did not hold quite the same esteem that Mrixe did in Ridahne's mind.

The barkeep returned with a wooden cup of cool, clear water, which Ridahne sniffed and nodded her approval. He came back, however, with a bowl of stew and some bread that he set in front of her. Ridahne almost protested--she had THINGS to do, she did not have time for eating! But then she reasoned that her hand would be steadier with a bit of food in her, so she ate, scooping up little flakes of meat and carrots and potatoes with her bread. She looked to Darin. "I've got to admit, I'm nervous. You seem a little nervous too?" She wasn't sure if that was the right word, but Darin seemed a little quieter than usual.

In Dark Seas We Sail

Uban grinned impishly, and even went so far as to gently and playfully slap Yawar's arm with the back of his hand. "Oh, you got a lady love, eh? Good for you, mate. I had a lady back home, but..." Uban cringed, "There was this other guy who I had to compete with, you know. And I kinda accidentally killed him in a bar fight. Pretty much ruined my chances there." He shrugged, awfully casually for having just mentioned committing murder, however accidental it might have been. For a moment, Uban considered the benefits of a lens that would shade his eyes from the reflection of the sun off the water. It would be nice not to have to squint so much...maybe he'd figure out where to get some for himself and for Rohaan.

The man smiled, pocketing the scribed balls. "I've heard of mages out there sort of...redirecting lightning, but not one of them can create it like I do," he boasted, practically beaming. "I'll tell you what though, it takes a hell of a lot of energy to do it. We go through a whole lotta food on this ship between me, the kid, and Wheel, not to mention everyone else. In fact, just before you guys boarded, I'd been experimenting with what I'm really capable of doing, and I'll be honest with you, I'm barely on my feet right now. I'd probably chop off a man's finger just to get another cup of coffee, but how Rohaan got his hands on the first one I had, I'll never know."

Uban nodded in Hana's direction. "Oh yeah, she's real smart. Smarter than me, I tell ya! She knows all about things like runes and that sort of thing, and how they relate to magic. I came by mine just sort of on accident, naturally, you know. So I don't know anything about..." he gestured inarticulately. "There was a word for it. Erm, Candips, or some such." He shook his head. "I don't know, you'd have to ask her."

--

Berlin glanced over at the two men conversing and chuckled lightly. "That would be best. But I wouldn't worry about that one. He's pretty harmless." He said this right as Uban sent a lead ball and an arc of electricity sparking into the air, which, considering what he'd just said, made him smile a little self consciously. "What I mean is, Uban could probably make friends with a rabid dog. It's the kid you've got to watch out for. Wheel is a bit hotheaded maybe, and a little unfriendly at times, but the boy's far more devious."

Speaking of Wheel, Kaga-Met seemed to be fairly interested in the berserker. Berlin supposed that if he allowed himself the space to think about it instead of worrying about diplomacy, he'd be fairly interested in who this Millie woman was, too. Berlin scratched his chin, and absently thought it might be time for a shave. "Wheel mentioned at one point he came from Vyrm, though he didn't say too much about it..." Berlin studied Kaga-met, wondering just how much he should reveal. He figured the explanation did have some tactical relevance, so he said, "He's had a lot of training as a fighter, I know that much. But more importantly, he's a Berserker. We never discussed in great detail how he got it--some brief words here and there, but nothing entirely illustrative--but he's got a curse on him. I don't know how much you know of these things, but it grants him unparalleled strength, speed, and battle prowess in general. I've seen bullets bounce off him. A side effect is that he often experiences intense bloodlust. I'm better equipped to handle that sort of thing than most, but every so often I'll turn him loose on my enemies and..." Berlin shrugged. "We've found a good rhythm. But like your Millie, he's tight-lipped about his past. I only press when it's relative to the health and cohesiveness of my crew."

As Kaga-met signaled to Yawar, Berlin watched in a shifting visage of curiosity, confusion, outright shock, and thoughtfulness. He had an an initial jolt of surprise and...perhaps something like aversion before he began sifting through the implications of what he'd just seen. Uban took a step back, mouth hanging open but sort of loosely working as if he tried to say something but his jaw was broken. Finally he uttered in a breathless whisper, "Medical condition my ass..." There was a nervous smile on the sailor's face, partly to break the tension between them and partly to diffuse his own nerves.

Rohaan's sable fur stood on end as he hissed, and his little ivory claws emerged from the soft tips of his paws to prick Pieter's legs. He hadn't meant to, and as soon as he realized what he was doing, he extricated his claws from the fabric of Pieter's pants. The cat rubbed his small head against Pieter's chest in apology, but his ears were flat and his tail twitched.

Berlin wondered out loud, "Tevira's tits...what must that be like...?" Rohaan had told him something of the unique eyes of small insects, and from what Berlin knew, he guessed that seeing through that many lenses at once had to be nothing short of disorienting.

Berlin was relieved to hear that Kaga-met was willing to not only cooperate, but it seemed there'd be something in it for all of them beyond the mere satisfaction of retribution. The captain grinned and shook Kaga-met's hand, and this time there was none of his odd, subtle magic in the contact. "Pleased to have you, Kaga-met." Berlin looked out towards his crew and whistled, indicating that they should join him and Kaga-Met. Rohaan moved to Pieter's shoulder, opting to both stay close to someone he trusted and also to stay in animal form. He'd learned that if he was in an animal shape, people were less likely to try and speak to him or otherwise engage with him. When it came to strangers, he preferred it that way.

"Captain Kaga-met and I have decided to join forces for the time being. It should go without saying, but he and his crew should be treated with respect and cooperation while we destroy our common enemy." He gave particular attention to Rohaan as he said this, though he knew he'd need to have another, private conversation with him as soon as he got the chance. "Am I clear?"

The Tree of Astra (LadyAnnaLee and Blackfridayrule)

Ridahne returned to her task with renewed vigor and confidence. She tried to remind herself that while each stroke of her pen was permanent, she was at no point ever obligated to stick to any one design if she didn't feel it was right. She could draw and redraw until she got it right, and that was a comforting thought. She didn't have to commit to anything until the needle touched her skin. The elf felt a tingle run down her back at the thought. Marking an ojih was a significant event in any case, but the last time she'd done it, it had been one of the hardest moments of her life. She was ready to redeem the experience. And herself.

It was late evening and the sky was just beginning to grow a bit dim when Ridahne emerged from the study room with one single piece of paper in hand. Hours of research, trial and error, and refining got distilled down to one sheet of absolutely pristinely inked paper. It would be the template for her final tattoo, and the official record for the other marks. She even had a new version of her house sigil drawn out so that she could give it to a silversmith and have a new one made that incorporated the mark for Guardianship. She was so excited to share it with Darin and to actually put ink to skin that she looked like a dog who'd just been invited to a walk.

An archivist tapped her on her lofty shoulder. "Excuse me, Azurei." She held out a wet rag. "Your face..."
Ridahne gasped sharply and took the rag, fervently scrubbing at the spot the archivist indicated. When the woman assured Ridahne the stray smears of ink were gone, Ridahne bowed deeply in the manner of the Azurei. "Thank you," she said with extreme fervency. It wouldn't do for her to go walking about with a smudged face, and the fact that the archivist had said something told of her knowledge of Azurei culture, and also the depth of her character. "I'm finished with the study room, by the way. There is a stack of notes in there, please have them destroyed."
"I will see to it personally. Anything else I can do for you?"
"If you see my human companion, a young lad, tell him I've gone back to the inn."
"Of course."

Ridahne thanked her, and then bounded off towards the inn where they were staying. On the way, she went to a chandler and purchased an armful of candles. She would need more light than what a few uloia could provide for her work tonight. She was beaming, and hoped that Darin would find her soon so she could start.

Ridahne was about to change Azurei history. Again.

The Tree of Astra (LadyAnnaLee and Blackfridayrule)

Ridahne watched Darin quietly and listened to more than just her words. Ridahne had a decent eye for body language, and the quiet things left unspoken that filled in the silent gaps between conversation. Ajoran was good this too, which meant they didn't always have to say what they wanted to express, and she felt like he understood her silence. Ridahne did not know Darin nearly as well as Ajoran--they'd known each other for decades--but she felt like she knew something of Darin's silence, too. The quill might have been part of it, but Ridahne guessed it was barely about that. There was more to that feeling, she knew.

Ridahne snorted, and the sound might have seemed derisive to someone who didn't know her dry sense of humor. "Outclass you, do I? At swordplay, yes. But I do hope you realize that if you gave me a patch of land and some seeds, and asked me to make food grow out of them, I'd probably drown them in too much water and then try shouting at them until they sprouted. My hands were not meant to till soil. And anyway, calligraphy is sort of...inherent to Azurei culture, and we have far more time to learn it and perfect it than humans do. If you've ever wondered why elves seem generally very good at whatever it is that they do, it's not because we're superior. It's just that we have a long, long time to refine the art. You've got me beat in skills and accomplishments when I was your age. The only thing I was good at when I was your age was hunting and getting into fights. At least you know a trade."

Ridahne looked up at the leafy emerald sky and studied the way the leaves rubbed up against each other. "You talk a lot about farming like it's a lesser trade. Like it's lowly and mundane. And maybe to you, it might seem that way since that's all you've known. I think I felt the same way about fishing when I was growing up. I saw weavers and potters and jealously admired the results of their work. I saw horse breeders and far-traveled merchants and was envious of their freedom. And I saw the eija and how beautiful they were...not their faces necessarily, I don't mean that kind of beauty. But beauty in motion. With their beautiful sashes and glittering swords, and their glossy horses and the money and freedom and power they had. The absolute poetry of their skill in what they did. And I longed for that and resented every trip to sea and the reek of fish. Weirdly enough, I got what I wanted. And it was so much more than I bargained for. Well...you know how that turned out. And there are times that I regret not having a different set of skills. Don't get me wrong, I love the sword and the artistry and control it takes to wield one properly. I have no doubts that was my calling in life. But sometimes I wish that my skillset wasn't the harbinger of death and pain. Do you know what it's like to know that's your purpose?" Ridahne made a face that she quickly smoothed over, but even she couldn't hide it from Darin completely. Her visage contorted as if someone had pressed a block of ice against her back, and she was trying not to yelp or gasp.

"By nature, what you do is nurturing. You create and sustain life. I...destroy it." She grew deathly serious as she said, "Do not aspire to become me, Darin. I am not a model to shape yourself after, not for you." Her tone softened a little. "I need your calloused, dirt-smeared hands as much as you need my ink-stained ones." Ridahne put a hand on her shoulder and touched her forehead to Darin's. Whether the human knew it or not, it was a deeply intimate gesture in the Azurei culture, reserved for those who had earned trust, understanding, and kinship. She had to bend down to do it, as Ridahne was tall even among her own people. "We are two halves of a complicated whole, Darin Seed-Bearer. Each necessary for the other's success. The next time you doubt that, just remember this: If I did not 'outclass you' in some things, then you would have no need of me, and I would have long since been executed, and my bones would lie in the dust."

Ridahne pulled away, but she took Darin's hands and seemed suddenly to burst with excitement. "I'm going to go back and finish my research, feel free to join me or otherwise occupy yourself as you wish. But be back at the inn tonight, because I want you to be there when I mark my ojih. I will show you the ceremony, but I want you to have the honor of making the first strike of the needle. Don't worry! I'll guide your hand, you simply need to tap the needle. It would mean so much to me." And with that, she glided back inside to the study room to finish her task.

Of Blood and Bastards

Rohaan made no effort to hide his absolute disdain for being made to sit before the Emperor like a dog called to heel. He was not one, and he would not be pressured into obedience just for the sake of deference. He'd go along with all of this as long as it suited him, but no further. And no matter what the reward might be, Rohaan did not relish the thought of doing another contract with this man again. He should have eaten him instead of the cheese on his table when first they met, Rohaan thought with a scowl. He'd have done the world a service, no doubt. Yet Rohaan was determined to see his people freed. Freedom would be a hard life, but it would be theirs, and he knew that much of his time in the near future would be spent facilitating that transition and helping those who were either captured young, or born into captivity. It would be worth it, however, if even one of them was spared the experience he had as a boy.

Rohaan snorted. "C'mon Valdemar, don't act like you wouldn't rather have seen me dead. Takes a lot more than that to kill a villain like myself though. You'll have to try a little harder next time." It seemed impossible for Rohaan to say anything to Valdemar without some level of sarcasm or venom. He felt no guilt about it, either. Valdemar was a despicable person, and Rohaan would make sure the man knew it.

For the most part, he let Ash speak. It would be good for her to get acquainted with her father anyway. But as the conversation turned to their next steps and to transport, Rohaan openly rolled his inhuman lapis eyes. How had retrieving a girl morphed into destroying a mad cultist and reporting into soldiers and lackeys? He felt rather micromanaged, and did not appreciate it. Still, getting her back was something he'd been thinking about for some time. Theoretically he could fly her, but it would be such an effort to do it, and he'd have to get not only plenty of sleep, but massive amounts of food along the way. He did think of a vague alternative, but he was curious to see what the Emperor would come up with.

"Yeah, about that. If you were planning to give us horses, good luck. Last time I tried to mount a horse, it threw me and nearly broke my arm. They scream and flinch when I come near them. They know what I am, and I frighten them. If you found a horse with an iron constitution, then maybe I might be able to ride on Ash's shoulder as a bird or something, maybe. What kind of transport did you have in mind?"

The Tree of Astra (LadyAnnaLee and Blackfridayrule)

Some part of Ridahne did not want to go outside and take a break. Once she set herself to a task, she was difficult to sway from it, and she was really determined to figure this out before they left Lihaelen. That determined part of her itched at leaving behind the books and scrolls and sheaves of paper, but then the moment her mind entertained the idea of picking up the pen, she faltered a little and felt that dread loom over her again. Plus, she realized, it wouldn't just be for her sake. With equal parts resolve and reluctance, Ridahne abandoned the study and followed Darin outside into the fresh air. It had a wonderful fragrance. Wilderness in Azurei often smelled like dust, but here among the trees, the wind wafted a delicate fragrance of crushed pine needles, of soft earth, and the gentle decay of fallen detritus on the forest floor.

Despite Darin's efforts, Ridahne was too perceptive, and too knowledgeable of Darin and her moods to miss the panic that welled up in the human. Ridahne could almost feel it from where she stood. The elf wasn't certain what was on Darin's mind, and she hadn't yet made up her mind whether or not to press her directly about it. Ridahne just placed one cool hand on Darin's shoulder, her grip firm but gentle as if to pass on some of her stony resolve to the human. In that moment, she wished Hadian was there. He had often been an anchor for her, as his implacable personality lent itself naturally to being soothing and calming. Ridahne did not have this natural charm, but she did her best anyway.

"You've got something on your mind." It was a simple statement, not accusatory or tinted with any kind of judgement, and all that it implied was that Ridahne was there if she wanted to talk about it. Her father used to talk to her like that when she was upset. He never pressed her, though he did always initiate a conversation open ended enough for Ridahne to decide whether or not to expand on her thoughts and feelings. She always felt like it gave her a modicum of control when she felt she had none.

The Tree of Astra (LadyAnnaLee and Blackfridayrule)

Ridahne was engulfed in her work, and if one were to look over her shoulder at the notes and sketches she scratched out on the paper, it would become clear that she had narrowed in on some concept or another, and was refining its details. Whatever she put to paper, whatever she decided would be the final marks would be passed down for generations upon generations. They would outlive her. This notion unnerved the elf a little. Unlike Ajoran, who spent his younger years as a smith, Ridahne was not a craftsman. When she was young, she either hunted the land or hunted the sea, and then she was methodically and perhaps even brutally trained to destroy. Ridahne did not create things of importance, much less things that would outlive her (hopefully) long span of years.

But this...

People to come would see the work of her hand and would not know it was hers. They would not understand the events that came together to form it. They would not know the pain that came before it, nor the joy afterward. They would not feel the uncertainty of two young women trying to find their place in this world. They would know only the marks and what they stood for, not why they were ever there to begin with. She supposed that she ought to feel like she was leaving a legacy, but honestly she couldn't shake the feeling of insignificance that knowledge brought.

A cold sweat formed on her brow as this dread sunk its claws into her like a bird of prey that had swooped straight into her chest. Ridahne was a decent hand at tattooing, but she was no master artist. What if she got it wrong? What if her chosen design was mediocre and inadequate? Rough and unrefined? In any other situation, Ridahne might have walked away then to get a little distance between it and her, but the task was pressing. At the very least, her own marks needed to be sorted. She had to do this. She had to figure this out now. Suddenly every stroke of her quill felt deeply permanent.

A flicker of movement made her jump; Darin knocked her inkwell over suddenly with a startled gasp. Ridahne gasped too, instinctively leaping out of her seat with the nearest book in hand. The abyssal liquid pooled on the desk and dripped onto the floor like a black waterfall, but the ancient books were unharmed. Ridahne let out a breath, though it came out oddly choked. Darin was furiously apologetic, but Ridahne simply knelt and helped her clean the mess. The elf's face shifted from inscrutable to oddly contorted, and back again in the span of a few seconds as she wrestled with an emotion she didn't rightly understand. And then suddenly Ridahne burst out in a choked laugh marked with tears. The strength and warmth of her laugh increased, though the tears kept flowing as if something had been pent up inside her and was finding a way to come out.

Ridahne struggled to get a grip. "I'm not laughing at you, I promise, not really. It's just...well, it turns out making an Ojih mark and marks that will outlive me and my grandchildren and their grandchildren is ah...well, it's a lot of pressure. And...well I'm glad you're with me." It was not the most eloquent thing she'd ever said, but it was certainly vulnerable. For Ridahne, that was a feat in and of itself. She chuckled a little and shook her head. "Don't worry too much about the ink. Have you noticed that the floor is dark? In the countless centuries this place has existed, can you imagine how many times this exact thing has happened? You've just made your timeless mark on the Great Archives is all. Not many can say they've done that."

Of Blood and Bastards

Ash never answered him, but the fact that she was up and moving around was enough to convince Rohaan that, though she was a little battered, she'd be fine. Good, at least he didn't have to worry about that. The dagger still bothered him though. Not enough to make a fuss of it, but he sort of hated the thing and wished he didn't have to see it again. Rohaan reminded himself that he just had to get this girl to Valdemar and his contract was over, and he could go about his merry way. He could deal with a lot of uncomfortable things until then.

As Ash began the grim work of sorting through the bodies, Rohaan sat down on the floor and began slipping out of his gear--his leather bandolier of pockets, his leather vest, and his gray shirt--so he could mend both the cut on his arm and his clothes. His bare torso told stories of injury and abuse, and one of his ribs looked like it had once been broken and had healed a little crooked. A pale round scar on his left shoulder suggested an old arrow wound. From one of the pockets of the bandolier, he produced a little bundle of waxed cloth that contained a sticky greenish-gold salve that smelled both sweet and pungent, and a strip of old cloth. After unceremoniously wiping the excess and mostly coagulated silver blood from the wound and then wiping that on the stone floor, he liberally coated the cut with the salve. Rohaan wrapped a band of cloth around it as a bandage, using his teeth and his one free hand to tie the knot. With that sorted, he tucked away the wound care supplies and took out a needle and a little wooden spool of thread that he used to stitch the sleeve of his shirt back together.

The shifter was just donning his gear once again when Ash asked if he was ready. Rohaan looked at the glowing ring and made no effort to hide the derision in his expression as he pulled out a flask and took a long pull from it. He gave a long, begrudging sigh as he lowered the flask. "I am now," he muttered, and sat down to take Ash's hand. He'd be glad to be rid of Karl Valdemar when this was all over.