DearTrickster

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

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Time: Afternoon - Day after leaving Salem
Location: Manhattan - NY

They had danced into the night, music, magic and mystery surrounded the celebrations of Salem’s coven of witches. Renewing the pact with The Land was sealed and completed by the efforts of the White Witch and The Ambassador. The Faerie Mistress finally coming to understand the freedom dancing in the wild with witches afforded. Fey joined them in celebration, acquainting themselves with the european Ambassador. The Sidhe, Guardians of Salem appeared in the revelry keeping The Ambassador’s company well after the sun rose. Salem’s hospitality saw to serving them comfortable beds and a full breakfast.

Well deserved. Odette thought a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth in her reflection, her eyes gazing out the window in the back of a black town car. Odette sat behind the driver with a signature Starbucks coffee cup in hand while Marie was beside her in the passenger side. They had left Salem later in the morning, sleeping in. After some discussion on their next move Marie insisted they travel to New York and their next step would be to speak with Puck directly - confront him for information on the former Summer Queen Mab. Some small part of Odette dreaded the thought of speaking to Puck. His surely smug attitude, puzzles and riddles that followed whatever form of help he wished to provide. The antagonism that brewed for her was largely one sided, Odette did not know what Puck truly thought of her.

For now though, they were back in the concrete jungle of a major city. As they passed through traffic Odette saw all manner of creatures in the gutter, milling about in the large crowds of downtown Manhattan. She wondered if Marie could see them as clearly now as she could. She had already changed so much with the addition of finding Mind, in truth Odette had warmed to the witch a little. Streaks of boldness, imposing an equal standing. In Salem she did well to cut to the bone of their partnership and ultimately forced Odette to change. Something that was growing to become a rarity. Others influencing her as she worked to influence them.

Not that she would ever admit to it.

It was clear they shared at least some common threads, they both grew stronger in the face of a challenge. She knew she would have to work harder to challenge Marie while they were equal, by the end of their quest Marie would assume all her true power as Gwyneth, she would stand head and shoulders above The Ambassador in power. Gwyneth represented a valuable asset, all the work she did now would surely pay off.

A small and very green jealous sliver of The Ambassador seethed at Gwyneth’s faery ancestry. Odette only dreamed of having that kind of personal connection with the Fey on such a high level. It was not to say she did not have a deep connection with the Fey through Bach but to be born of noble faerie family… She looked to Bach his gaze meeting hers. He offered a smile and she returned it. It certainly would have made things easier but she was not where she was without adversity.

The trip through Manhattan saw them arrive to Central Park. Stepping out the back of the town car Odette was dressed impeccably well for the summer heat. Sitting atop her head she wore a straw brimmed hat, her curled blue hair framing her rounded facial features. Perched on her nose was a pair of neutral brown Dolce square sunglasses with a light brown ombre shade. Her makeup was expertly applied - a light bronzer and a warm coloured blush appropriately offsetting her pale skin giving her a sunkissed glow. Her dress was ivory white, with a small collar while it covered her shoulders. On her wrists was a gold watch and on the other was an antique styled pearl bracelet. Her thin purse strap over her shoulder carrying everything she could ever need.

Before she stepped out she said to Marie, “Call me when you want to leave, I am expecting a call from Mandate today to pick her up. Until later, mon partenaire.” With a sly smile she waved stepping away from the car and walking into the park her white heels clacking against the pavement.

Massive as Central Park was it also provided some poetic return in Odette’s mind, reuniting with Mandate here. It was far easier to find a private spot to open a door. Something began to intensely heat the side of her leg where her purse sat, popping it open her arm disappeared up to her elbow patting around looking for the source of the heat scooping up a handful of fluorite crystals they glowed with a warm pink, clutching the crystals in her palm she closed her eyes. Her mind immediately connected with Mara’s, the goblin accompanying Mandate. She instantly knew of her whereabouts, the glow changed colour from pink to a mint green. The Ambassador walked along to the reservoir passing swathes of tourists and locals.

Stopping close to the banks she held her right hand out, speaking words of power she began her incantation for an illusion.

"Voyez ce que je souhaite que vous voyiez, baissez la lumière, fermez les yeux, ignorez la réalité telle que je la vois Ne vois que ce que je te souhaite de voir.”

Blue mist pooled in the palm of her hand, spilling over the webbing of her fingers to the ground. Forming up from the pool of mist were small pale blue butterflies taking flight, finding the closest people. They fluttered through the air with purpose landing against the back of heads - pressing into foreheads. Visibly making the targets shutter - their eyes glossing over.

Tipping her hand the pooled mist spilled to the ground surrounding The Ambassador in a perfect circle spinning outward affecting the larger area around her. A safe area to act as she pleased and cast openly in broad daylight. With the spell complete, she blew across the crystals igniting them once again. It was time to bring Mandate back to her.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

@ Maj when someone mentions 'booty'

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Hey guys, I might be a bit more sporadic for the next week or so due to a death in the family and figuring out arrangements and such.

@nitemare shape

Hope things go smoothly, sorry to hear for your loss. Pop in if you need a distraction yo.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Posting a new playlist here as well folks.

Spotify Link: Bones Will Bleach - A Gwyneth Owen's Playlist

@fdeviant That makes three witchy lists~

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Cast

The Witch-Mother’s Charge

Compass Round

_{Part 4}

Time: 12:00 AM - Two Days After Satellite Attacks
Location: Gallows Hill – Salem, Massachusetts.

---

” . . .thrice about the circle turns,
thrice and once
the pact renew.

Fertile dusk
the day to spurn,
and fearful pranks
to Land return.”

Marie and Odette walked in silence, following closely the sacred saunter of their wilding companion, who moved in turn to the rhythm of some whispered rhyme, of which only the end was audible. Every awkward townie or awakened traveller looked on with maddened stares. A twinge of strangeness leapt overhead, riding waves of brittle chill, much cooler than was customary for the time of year.

It was a shame that no one could see it, how the night truly danced when the witches had their way; how the sidelong streaks of ivy and moss glowed with subtle delight, trailing up cobbled paths and red-brick colonials with envigored haste; how the streetlights dimmed to welcome a phantasmal orchestra formed entirely of seagulls, black corvids, and echoes from beneath tired asphalt and behind weary logs - the call of spirits without names to remember; and how the common folk, unaware, sailed home as if possessed, bewitched by the faint humming of the trees.

Salem was alive during this time, and not in the metaphorical sense, but truly living: breathing, singing, dancing in its own way.

Maryann began twirling and turning about in the invisible waltz, still firmly ahead of her companions. Gallows Hill came into view, marked by tall, spindly conifers and the water tower with its witchy motif. Smoke and embers trailed above the sparse canopy, signalling all who neared or warning them away.

Marie could feel herself swaying to the ethereal music, arms waving at her sides in a half rhythmic expression, called to the Sabbath, even if it wasn’t the Sabbath proper.

Aware enough to explain the phenomenon, Holt appeared before Odette as she struggled to keep up with Maryann and Marie’s manic pace. He bore no mortal form, instead composed entirely of shadows that formed slender tendrils on either side of the central mass, ending in sharp talons, and a long neck sporting his “face,” a set of jagged teeth and a wraith-like stare.

”Are you familiar with the witches’ Sabbath,” he questioned as they neared their destination. ”How it calls to all who share the blood and bear the cunning flame?”

Odette’s gaze turned to Holt’s form and she paused thoughtfully, “Certainly read about a Witches’ Sabbath. As we know, culturally Sorcery and Witchcraft are split. Those born and born without inherent abilities. ” Odette replied.

She closed her eyes breathing in deeply, the energy in the air was palpable. If she were not sensitive to such strange things in the night, there would be an unmistakable instinct raising the hair on her arms. The very same energy seemed to enrapture the likes of Marie and Maryann clearly being drawn in. Naturally inclined. Odette caught her curiosity in what it must feel like. Bach watched on with a sly grin, the leaves in his hair seemed to brighten and grew anew - he was absorbing the energy all around them.

“I can feel the energy all around us but feel no pull.” She said, fixing a bit of stray hair behind her ear, “One of us must be able to think clearly.”

Curious all the same, witches and faerie surrendered to it in some form.

“I thought we were contacting The Land not participating in a Sabbath.”

”Is there a difference?” Holt queried as the light of nine iron braziers came into view, symmetrically scattered atop a steep hill.

”Therein lies the difference between witches and so many others who practice. Witchcraft “rides the hedge,” so to speak. It is hungry for spirits, fueled by dance. The witches here celebrate The Land as those in other far-flung places celebrate their ancestors, or the Bucca, or Hekate, or some other patron. And where this celebration takes root, a Sabbath is born.”

He swirled around Odette as a shadow, wheeling about in the air, just visible, called by the same force as the witches.

”Never forget that madness is divine,” Holt whispered in both ears. ”What you see as level-headed, The Land, and indeed many others, see as blindness.”

Hearing Holt’s voice surround her, a smile twitched at her mouth, “Madness is divine.” Echoing Holt’s words. Stopping at the incline of the hill, Odette stepped out of her shoes toes flexing in the grass. “The only way to learn is to join the dance. You are right Holt, one does not need eyes to see.”

Leaving her shoes, removing her jacket revealing her exposed back - it was almost to warm to wear it in the first place. The large tattoo of a yew tree was in full view, the lines began to faintly glow blue she was calling upon the arcane stream to join them. Odette ascended the hill behind Maryann and Marie. A hand drawing close to the brazier, feeling the heat of the flame. The energy did not call to Odette but she would revel in it all the same. She peered around at the other witches that had gathered they all moved to the same rhythm Marie danced to.

She rose to en pointe drawing her arms above her head picking up the way the witches moved she followed suit. A hand drifting by each brazier as she passed, Bach remained firmly outside of the circle eyeing the braziers with hate, more Fey gathered at the base of the hill respectfully giving the ceremony its space. Like Bach, they were drawn to the power.

Rich vapours pouring from hot coals encircled the scene in a protective screen, fumes of foxglove, mugwort, and willow twirling unnaturally with wisps of light, weaving themselves around each attendant like an ephemeral ribbon. The ground atop Gallows Hill was marked with the symbols of the four covens, connected by a written incantation, words that were felt, not read. Some forty witches gathered around the outer circle, jumping, singing, screaming, losing themselves to ecstatic dance. Inside the covens’ seals stood each leader: Jordan Merritt of the Pewter Wyrd, Alexander Gavil of the White Willow Wyrd, Victoria South of the Gallows Wyrd, and taking her place across from the others, Maryann Douglas of the Essex Wyrd.

“Begin!” Maryann commanded and all took their place, the outer witches collecting behind their familial seals in a haphazard fashion, the head of each coven standing in the circle, hands raising in unison.

Marie could feel her purpose, instinctually standing at the center of the ritual next a low-lying brazier, much larger than the others. She motioned for Odette to join her as the ritual commenced. The hairs on the back of Odette’s neck stood up at the chorus of voices and lightly stepped up beside Marie, lowering from the balls of her feet, planting herself like a root. She closed her eyes, automatically raising her arms answering a call from the Arcane Stream, unwittingly surrendering herself. Salem’s intersection of Ley Lines playing its role tonight, The Land’s heart beating in rhythm with the Arcane Stream.

The ritual began.

A feral cry echoed through the hills, bathing the witches in a sweetly sinister calm. In unison, the coven leaders chanted:

“Hark! the midnight cry resounds
and feral beasts our hands coerce:
raven, hare, serpent, toad, familiars proud.

Greet us, Wild, through yonder door,
wicked Sage herald the age,
welcome them who came before:

Tituba, Elizabeth Parris, Mary Eastey,
Bridget Bishop, Mary Walcott, Abigail Williams.

Sisters aid we humble few,
thrice about the circle turns,
thrice and once the pact renew.

Fertile dask the day to spurn
and fearful pranks
to Land return!”

A craven shroud fell over the witches, their eyes glazed over, their bodies moved with fearsome speed, some hovering above the ground, some spinning each other with reckless abandon, some falling to the ground in ecstatic bliss. Their leaders danced in place, twisting and turning with elegant guile as the center brazier was stoked by their spell, conjuring a wind that threatened to cast them all adrift.

Then everything stopped, and time seemed to stand still, each witch frozen in their position as if paralyzed.

Vapours pooled to the center, rising higher and higher, dancing in the light. Soon, a figure came into being, darting from one side of the circle to the next, swirling in an ethereal wind, shapeless, incorporeal, amorphous. It spoke through the coven leaders in unison.

“The time has come once again, and a new conduit rises to the occasion.”

Maryann stepped forward, stretching her arms and neck as if she’d been asleep, approaching Marie and Odette at a leisurely pace.

“A shame what happened to poor Christian May,” Maryann and her cohorts lamented, “but I suspect you are more fitted for the task . . . yes, I can feel it, the old magic these witches covet so; it sings in you.”

Marie had never seen such an invocation. It was rare for witches to succumb to ritual possession, though not unheard of. The Land was truly a part of these covens, so ingrained in their traditions as to take their shape and work through them. Marie was in awe.

Odette felt a chill fall across her spine as the witches froze in place, but the chill soothed as they spoke in harmony reminding her distinctly of a certain golem’s harmonious voice. Sparing a glance at Marie before greeting the spirit possessing Maryann, “Great spirit of the Land, we wish to renew the sacred pact shared amongst the covens who were called here tonight.” Odette spoke quite confidently, clearly and without waver. “We act and speak as one.” Reaching for Marie’s hand the sorceress never broke eye contact.

“We know the former Faerie Queen Mab spent time here a century ago. We wish to connect with shades of her, as well. Please, show us the imprint Mab left here when she aided the witches.”

Bowing her head respectfully, curtseying lowly she added, “If only for the honour to dance for you, Great Spirit in return.”

“We?” Alexander’s voice stood out among them, his body moving forward where Maryann’s had frozen in place. He moved closer to Odette, his face mere centimetres from hers. Odette smelled the incense so strongly but other bitter notes registered on his breath.

“Ah,” the echo of voices amusedly concluded, “you are bound in some way, yes.”

Alexander placed his fingers over Odette’s eyelids. She held her place fighting the instinct to flinch at the invasion of space.

“Here, you share a piece of the old magic . . . how interesting.”

Victoria stepped forward, placing a hand on Marie’s shoulder.

“Do you speak as one, my conduit, or has the curtseying sorceress stolen your tongue?”

Odette’s eyes narrowed at that comment, perhaps it would have been beneficial for Marie to take the lead. This was no faerie court.

Marie turned to Odette, tightening their clutched hands for reassurance. She squeezed back, silent communication passing between the pair.

”Yes,” Marie spoke plainly, ”My friend and I are as one. In exchange for our aid in this rite, under the terms to which you and these witches have already agreed, I ask only for knowledge regarding the former Summer Queen.”

The four leaders smiled in unison.

“Very well,” Maryann stepped forward as her companions returned to their place. She made a sign over the central brazier that caused great swaths of smoke to pour from lit coals. It rose slowly, revealing certain images.

“Your Faerie Queen found herself among witches north of here, Andover. She and I are kindred spirits, born of the blood of stars if you believe the old tales. She held considerable influence in her time; a beacon. But the throne wasn’t hers to take.”

The smoke revealed the likeness of Mab, a slender woman dressed in fine robes, sporting moth wings and maidenly features. She danced with a dozen women, sending them in one form or another. Then a storm formed above them, a noose fell from the clouds, and the witches disappeared or scattered. Next, a carriage arrived and off stepped a fair, matronly woman dressed in rich garments.

“The Witch Queen arrived soon after, drawn by the blood of her fallen kin. In the likeness of Elizabeth Parris, she rallied all who remained, took them to Salem and started anew . . . but Mab yet lingered, weakened, but not weak. If the witches weren’t to be hers, the earth itself would.”

The smoke revealed a scene of Mab standing atop a large mound.

“She raised her Faery mounds, opened doors to her childhood home, welcomed friends into the New World. Mab even tried to corral the wild things born to the shadows here, but we are not so easily won.”

An image of Mab appeared above the brazier, slowly fading until only smoke remained.

“And away she went.”

“Opened doors?” Odette echoed eyes drinking in the smoky visions, catching details of Mab’s face and clothing. She turned to Marie, “Do these doors still remain?”

“Perhaps the door to-” She caught herself, to Tir na nOg. . .

“Merci. It is interesting Hekate was involved here, though not unexpected. Is there anything else Mab involved herself in the New World?”

She was reaching for anything, recorded history took them so far but it was impressions from the spiritual plane that could leave a clue, a thought, anything that could lead them to their next destination. Odette followed her instincts, doors opened and closed but perhaps some were left open after Mab departed?

Jordan stepped up.

“Her work here was done, but her touch is yet felt.”

The witches pointed to Marie.

“Kindred spirits,” they sang, “a creature of the old magic. She is but one who carries the spark, a shared ember, link to the past, door to another world.”

”What do you mean?” Marie spoke up, heart racing.

Jordan placed both hands on her shoulders.

“Something lingers below the surface, waiting, watching. Can’t you see it?”

Marie shook her head, searching for whatever the Land was hinting at.

But something did catch Marie’s eye, a floating ember, something hidden in the smoke, behind it. She moved closer to it, inhaling the incense, recalling a memory. This time, however, Gwyneth’s Sight pulled at Odette’s mind, drawing her in.

They stood at the threshold to the Summer Court, bright rays falling over a thicket of green, lush foliage and flowers of the sweetest perfume lined a throne of thorny vines. Mab sat atop it, her features decidedly more envigored than they’d seen in other visions. She held Gwyneth’s hand with care, speaking in a tongue they couldn’t decipher.

Gwyneth replied in old Welsh. The only word Marie could recognize, perhaps by design, was nain

Grandmother.

Marie gasped and the world returned.

Odette inhaled holding the breath. The heel of her hand pressed against her temple. Mab was Gwyneth’s grandmother. The noise dropped away this meant a connection, their chances grew exponentially. Another of Gwyneth’s items must be kept with Mab or within the Faerie realms. They were being shown as much by no coincidence.

Merde.

“Marie. . . Do you know what this means?”

Marie stumbled backward, tripping on herself, caught by Maryann who sported a wicked smile.

”M-Mab was Gwyneth . . . my faery ancestor.” Marie stuttered, dumbstruck. She’d known for some time that her power was innate, but to be the granddaughter of a Queen of Faerie, one of the first monarchs to the Summer Court no less.

”Mab has the next item, she must. But what is it? Where did she go?”

Marie looked hopeful, turning her gaze to the coven leaders, silently praying that the Land would hold the answer. But that was beyond its reach.

“I have upheld my end of our bargain, conduit,” it spoke through every witch in attendance. “I have given you all I can. You must fulfill your purpose here, take my hands.”

Maryann returned to her portion of the circle. In her place stood a mass of pungent vapours, swirling like a storm, vaguely humanoid and wild. A pair of arms manifested, taking Marie’s outstretched hands.

“Through you, all power shall be returned to the Land, and prosperity will fall on these witches.”

A vicious wind circled around them, accompanied by the crackle of thunder overhead. Soft lights rose from lit braziers, ephemeral wisps that surrounded Marie, filling her nostrils, her eyes, her mouth, forcing her head back in resplendent agony, divine ecstasy. Power coursed through her veins, passing into the hands of the Land’s shade, flowing through the shadow into the earth. The bare trees dotting the hill began to rise, enlivened by the return of vital essence. Voices whispered through flourishing limbs, spirits of old, brothers and sisters. Slowly, the mass of smoke took shape, growing into a beast with spindly features made of bark, patches of “skin” the colour and texture of moss, claws like bones, and the head of a great stag perched on a spike like an effigy. The most unsettling where its human-like eyes, but it lingered only for a moment, fading from view once all power had been restored.

“The pact is renewed,” its guttural farewell echoed over Gallows Hill.

Marie took hold of herself, riding a wave of euphoria that soon turned to nausea, but she kept down the sick. The covens were no longer paralyzed, dancing about the circle as if nothing had happened, but the world around them had certainly changed. A vibrance was there, electricity, a warmth that came from nowhere.

The energy they felt earlier was like a breath of fresh air now, it was a lightly caressing breeze across Odette’s bare shoulders, the exposed skin of their arms. The Arcane Stream filtered away into the ground itself, her mind was racing with the ritual, with the revelations. It was cause for celebration. Taking on a small amount of the energy filtering through the air on the tip of her finger Odette tapped the side of Marie’s temple, whispering the spell, “Clarté.” Stabilizing her after channelling so much power.

Taking hold of her hands once again Odette guided them away from the center to dance, dancing past the braziers joining the witches proper in revelry. Skipping, spinning in place rising then falling from en pointe. There was no proper form, no direction or technique just - movement. There was no other way to expend the energy that filled them now except to move. For the second time that day, the smiles they shared were genuine.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

Morning, 10th of Last Seed 4E 205
Arkay Temple, Jehanna

---

Stifling a yawn behind a hand, Redguard mage caught a whiff of particularly strong incense and nearly sneezed. Waving her hand about for a seconds before loudly sneezing. Others around her shushed her, the High Priest continued uninterrupted with the rites, professional. Maj looked down upon the bodies of former members of the company. Those that were previously burned had their faces covered with cloth, sparing those from having to see the gruesome sight. Their bodies prepared by expert hands but as far as the former-corsair thought was an outrageous waste of good salt.

She turned her lip up at the idea of being buried, her father adamant on how he wanted his body to be treated after death - drumming up a deep seated fear of necromancy early on for his children. Maj fully recognized as a school of magic - conjuration flirted with necromancy and its history was rooted in breathing artificial life into the dead. The thought of being raised by some half-cocked necromancer sent shivers down Maj’s spine. She hoped to be so lucky to have a choice in her death, it was never a worry sailing with the Scarlet Harpy everyone had funeral arrangements decided before boarding. Grim but necessary to pay proper respects to any one crew member.

Arguably their bodies would be safely buried in the Temple of Arkay, after hearing stories if Windhelm being sacked by the Kamals. Places of worship mattered as much as the brothel. It was foolish to believe a graveyard wouldn’t be used against the local population. She rubbed her arms a chill settling into her.

When the reading rites were complete, she bowed her head respectfully. Others were clearly far more upset at the loss than she was, she made for a quick exit not without clapping Gustav on the back. A sobering sight of Wylendriel praying for the dead, after a few days of rest the priestess was on her feet busy tending to the injured as soon as she was able. Maj glanced away. Miss Fontaine tugged on her arm passing a bag of gold and a lengthy list of errands to run on her behalf. Whispering instructions. Carefully rolling the list up and pocketing the gold she retreated. Outside the temple she breathed a hefty sigh, taking a quick sip from her wine skin she shuffled to the side pouring a little out.

“Hard-lee knew Ye.” She rhymed off, capping it off before heading into the city to shop.

---

Streets of Jehanna, Noon

Maj hefted a heavy sack over her shoulder, one of the several ‘ingredients’ Ariane requested struggling in vain at the bottom of the sack, a small foot occasionally kicking out against her shoulder. In her other hand she held a basket overflowing with various herbs, flowers, jars filled with a mysterious pitch liquid. Some relatively normal items like sprigs of rosemary and bushel of mint nestled among the strange. Wrapped in paper was a small bouquet of columbine flowers pastel blue and yellow petals it’s bloom in the shape of a trumpet. Those she bought for the injured but she hoped Wylendriel would notice as well, she may not have cared for the dead but the ones alive still mattered.

Maj learned over the course of their short trip to Jehanna that Ariane, much like other mysticism mages - no matter their outward appearance (well made up as she was) they were the very definition of eccentric. It was great fun to conduct experiments with the highborn mage, discovering the note from Tmeip’r wrote, what banquet did they refer to? What in the fresh plane of oblivion was a mix tape? The Sload used a bizarre language.

In her free hand she held the list, scanning down it. She entered into one of the local inns - the Dirty Golem, the instructions mentioning the cook there used a specialized spice unique to him and his dishes. Outside the inn was a Tamrielic Gazette stand selling the latest news. Inside she walked under an arc of stone-faced gargoyles, carved eyes staring intensely at every patron passing under them. The atmosphere was dreary, long black table cloths, the signature Jehanna red lamps cast an eerie glow mixing generously with natural light. Polished candelabra sat, unlit, center of the tables in a wreath of nightshade, dark heavy curtains open over the windows. Maj looked quite out of place strolling in.

Moving with purpose, she went straight up to the counter plopping none-too-gently her sack to the ground. The sack resident squeaked an exotic whistle in protest. Maj frowned then returned her attention to the inn keep. A tall pale green orc with small tusks, expertly applied swipes of eyeliner and a bold red lip, she wore a elaborate black silken dress with a low cut frock, she regarded Maj and her assorted shopping basket. “Good afternoon madam, my name is Shara welcome to the Dirty Golem. Wow can I be of service?” Probably the friendliest aspect about the establishment.

She brought out the list, reading the next set of instructions. Ariane warned that this ingredient was entirely secret, few knew of it’s existence and it’s special qualities. Maj gestured for the orc to move closer to whisper.

Brow furrowed she leaned forward, “Better not waste my time, mage.”

Maj whispered, “I’m here for the Miracle Spice. I’ve been trusted with the code.”

The orc’s eyes narrowed, immediately suspicious. “Get it wrong and you’re dead meat.”

Maj nodded, about to speak when she was interrupted by a long howling shriek followed by heavy thuds above their heads. Shara hardly batted an eye, Maj clamped her hands over her ears looking to the stairs. “Son of a fucking knave! What was that?”

She shrugged, “My guess being a banshee experiment. You know how it is, mage.” The thudding continued for a few more stomps before ceasing completely.

Her imagination ran wild.

Recomposing herself she recalled the instructions warning of how they cautiously guarded their secret. She whispered, “Alright here goes.” Taking a deep breath in she recited the password, “Septim edible centaur regretted echoing truth, spriggan astutely useful centered earring. Oh and this,” She quickly angled her arms away from her dipping her head into her right elbow. She straightened, Shara watched then huffed through her nose.

“Okay. One moment.” She disappeared from the front counter walking down to the cellar, carefully hiking the hem of her skirt. Maj glanced around seats were empty, she guessed their regular patrons were sleeping the day away.

Shara returned, in a concealed velvet case she slid it across the counter. “Two servings with kind regards from the Chef. Please, enjoy.”

Maj eyed the trunk pawing it off the counter to nestle it into her basket, “Thanks.”

She quickly exited slowing to a stop at the Gazette stand. She dropped her own septims into the open palm of the seller, taking a copy. Unfurling the paper her eyes scanned across the headlines, taking a break on the benches - noting the green ivy draped over the walls, local flowering bushes nearby, trimmed with care. The city felt manicured in that sense. The political atmosphere of High Rock was always changing. Being back on dry land she was once again in direct proximity to the gossip and news. Opening the paper she read through it properly.

The headlining story for Morrowind caught her eye reading through of the news, the ashen Dunmer siblings. Their entire family was executed as traitors. She sat back taking a moment, she sucked the edge of her scarred lip biting it in thought. Resolving to keep her distance from the pair of them, there’s no telling how they’d take the news. She flipped the page finally to High Rock, her eyes drifted leisurely, a frown formed with the furrow of her brows, her grip tightened on the paper as she read the devastating news. She stood up slapping the paper to the bench, “Fuck!”

The Republic! Her contacts, allies, it was all gone! She slumped to the bench cradling her head in her hands, without a bid for a proper crew from the Republic she was going to be forced to start from scratch. That was assuming she could find where Nephelle or Captain Sette were hauled off to. Were they in Summerset? Did they get sold off to High Rock or Hammerfell? Were they hung for their crimes?

Maj dragged her hands down her face cupping her chin in her fists, eyes closed - thinking, her leg bounced. The Corsair Republic was a constant for nearly sixteen years, it’s grip on the Iliac Bay unshakable. Red-Blood Nate had been skirmishing with the Republic for years, searching for weak points, building a quiet rebellion in Wayrest. She snatched the paper back up reading to the end of the story. The Banquet, the very same Tmeip’r referred to in his decoded message.

She folded the paper back up tucking it into the basket, angry - wrestling with intensifying hopelessness. Her resources drying up in a few passages. What was there to do? The only option for revenge was allowing the attack to happen with no warning, even as the self destructive thought crossed her mind she couldn’t find refuge in Wayrest now, she knew her father would drag her out the streets again to be hanged for her piracy. She headed to drop off her haul, the creature in the sack quieted, whimpering.

“Yeah... I know.”

Parallel

This looks like a rockin idea. Unfortunately I do not have time to join in the fun but I really hope you see some traction.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Right now Charlie and Maddi are ready for moving on whenever you guys are. They’re in the basw ready to be bamboozled or slip outta sight. My collabo with Hound has been quiet since he’s busy.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

@GCOLD I would think Maj would like her to be buried at sea.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

Kyne’s Tear
@Spoopy Scary & @DearTrickster Feat. @MacabreFox

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It was clear immediately where Sevine’s attention pulled while the conjurer’s was elsewhere. Getting clear of the spectacular wreckage that was formerly The Golden Slug raining down around them, Maj ducked among the prone corpses of the dreughs her head popping up after the swift rush of air of chains breaking free whipped by. The ship rocked from force to Maj's luck she steadied herself against the dreugh body and the railing final great waves splashing across the deck and taking unlucky few with it into the water. Some recovered far more quickly than others, Sevine namely quick to jump to her lover's aid.

Maj looked to Sevine next pausing at the edge of the deck, she reached out. “Hold on-!”

Sevine dived in, Maj made a dash for the starboard side eyes peered into the water for the eventual resurfacing of the Nord. She relaxed feeling a chill come over her at the deep waters, unaware of it’s sudden grip. Strapped to the side of the Kyne’s Tear was the rowboats. Securely fastened, surviving the attack. She would need another pair of hands to lower it into the water to rescue others. Bodies bobbed close by, time was of the essence.

She joined her voice to the other sailors, “Man overboard! Starboard side!”

“Port side!”

Other calls shouted out.

Maj scanned behind her seeing the Bosmer priestess finding her composure after managing to stay aboard the ship.

She stepped around bodies, minding the dead. Others were clearly preoccupied pairing up - executing their own rescue operations. Wylendriel was on her feet, to Maj she counted as able bodied as anyone unaware of the injuries she suffered before.

“Priestess, Wylendriel! I need your hands, we’re going to lower a boat into the water!” Maj shouted making her way over. “I can’t do it alone.”

The priestess’ head whipped around to look the mage with wild eyes, panting with deep, heavy breaths. Only moments ago she had dropped her arms from exhaustion after particularly intense restoration magic, which in turn was only moments after she was nearly burned alive. Her robes were in tatters, and the stinging cold rain slightly soothed the subtle burn scarring which had remained on her back. What remained of the black wool top underneath was likely the only thing protecting her modesty. Her eyes darted side to side on the boat as she was still trying to process what was happening. Ashna’s screams were still playing on repeat in her head. People were diving off of the ship. One was the huntress, Sevine. One of the argonians was helping too - not Tsleeixth. Unexpectedly, the older khajiit had also dived off the ship. Overwhelmed, it was only now that Maj’s words began to reach her. She nodded and looked to her hands.

Gods, she felt exhausted. Her magicka was drained too. She had maybe one spell left in her. A small one. She summoned what was left of her magicka to fortify her stamina - a faint, weak glow traveled up the veins in her wrist and she took a deep breath, giving herself a moment to let it course through her body. It wasn’t much, but it should be enough to keep her moving for now.

Wy looked back at Maj. She still had a job to do - she still had people relying on her. Her voice was shaking somewhat, but determined. “Lead the way… show me what to do.”

Maj nodded tracking back to the rowboats getting to work on the knots. Loosening the rope she tugged roughly, the rowboat shifted on one side. “Wylendriel, hold this rope while I undo the otherside and prepare it.” The bosmer priestess looked in far worse shape up close than Maj originally assumed. A twinge of guilt because she asked for her help when she looked ready to collapse into a bed. Emergencies happened when you were least prepared. Maj decided there would be time to make it up to her later.

To her credit, the priestess didn’t hesitate in following Maj’s direction. When she had a good grip, Maj went to the other side and repeated the process. The rowboat came loose, the last bit of rope Maj unknotted righted the boat right side up ready to be lowered into the water.

“On my count! We’ll lower ‘er into the water, steady now.” Maj said holding firm.

“Understood!” Wy rasped.

Together they slowly let the boat down, Maj kept an eye on the boat and on Wylendriel, worried she might lose her grip but she held. When the boat cradled into the water, Sevine and the older khajiit were swimming back to the ship with Do’Karth in hand. Dar’Jzo helped her carry her companion as he climbed onto the rowboat, grabbing Do’Karth by the scruff of his neck and haphazardly dropping him on one end before helping Sevine climb on top as well. The waves of the post-storm ocean were battering those who fell overboard and jumped in voluntarily, perhaps so much that they didn’t notice the splashing just beside the ship. Though the dark waters hid who it was, a minor break in the cloud cover casted just enough moonlight for Wy to catch a glimpse of a familiar dunmer face from her bird’s eye view.

“Niernen!” She cried. She looked to Maj in a look of panic, and back towards the mage who was struggling to stay afloat with her disability. Another wave washed over her, slamming her against the hull of the Tear, and suddenly the splashing had stopped. Without a second thought, Wy began tearing her way out of her tattered robes. The tangled mess of burnt and shredded wool and leather gave way to a Bosmer woman mostly bare aside from the tight black undergarments covering her torso and upper thighs as she started to climb atop the railing.

Maj snapped, “Are you crazy-!” She quickly stepped between Wylendriel and the railing, arms out. Behind her she yelled, “Someone grab Niernen! We’ll keep the boat steady!” She turned to Wy, brow furrowed. “Adrenaline and a quick stamina spell isn’t going to last long enough for you to grab Niernen and swim back. Think! That icy water’ll sap you of any strength you have!”

Though Wylendriel pushed against Maj at first, it was long after meeting resistance that she felt her energy beginning to fade out. Her arms weakly reached out to where she last saw Niernen sink beneath the water’s surface, barely enough strength to keep it up as her wide-eyed stare darted between there and the rowboat they dropped. The older khajiit seemed to have heard Maj call out for Niernen to be saved and jumped into the water once again with a dagger in one hand and a length of rope in the other with Sevine on the other end. Maj’s words were beginning to reach her. She was right about not lasting a second in that water. Still, she was fearful. What if they had failed? Her panting fell into a long sigh as she helplessly leaned into Maj and buried her face into her shoulder. At this point, she felt like nothing more than dead weight.

“She’ll be fine, we’ve got a pair of able bodied swimmers put to task.” Maj gently pat Wy’s shoulder, attempting some reassurance. Her eyes shifted down, the long terrible scars visible across her body and back. It set Maj’s imagination ablaze, what could have done this? How in Oblivion did she survive? Most importantly, did she even want to know the details? Everyone had their scars to display or hide away.

The tattoo however drew her eye, the strong lines depicting Kynareth’s wings clearly marked genuinely of her priesthood. Reminding her of her mother’s own tattoos. Maj averted her eyes, feeling as if she were invading Wy’s privacy. She checked the waters again, Sevine helped Niernen into the boat followed by Dar’Jzo pulling himself in. They were ready to come back up.

“Wylendriel, they’re ready to return to the deck. One last push and then we can rest.” She said quietly, green eyes looking anywhere else.

There was an audible sigh of relief and the tension in the Bosmer’s body seemed to have relaxed a bit before she stepped away from Maj. There was a bit of stagger in her step, but she squeezed her hands into fists and kicked her heels into the deck as a sort of way to summon her strength back. She took a deep breath, as she did in her exercises many times before. Her eyes fell back on Maj and she nodded, before locking her eyes on the rope. Perhaps it was out of habit, since she had just spoken high sacrilege only minutes ago, but part of her feared speaking in case the breath she was holding would escape her.

Maj nodded returning to her side, grasping the ropes again - Wylendriel did the same, leaping up and using her weight to do most of the work for her, taking in new breaths as she did. Together they pulled the boat back up, below Sevine and Dar’Jzo did the same - the full weight on neither party. The injured were carried safely aboard and rushed away to warm cabins. Maj watched them go, feeling the adrenaline beginning to edge away lack of a proper sleep catching up with her. She ran an eye down Wylendriel, the sag in her shoulders and deeply drawn bags under her eyes told the conjurer she could always be worse off. A healer in need of a healer was a sad sight.

“Go on, Priestess. You’re done out here for today.” Maj said scooping up her clothing and passing the mess of robes back to her. “Thank you for your help, your healing spell was masterfully well timed for those who will live to see another day.” The apparent waterlogged cadavers punctuating her point.

“My name is Maj, Maj Noor by the by.”

“Wylendriel Greensky.” She answered. Ashna’s screams still echoed in her head. “Thank you, I… I ah… well, thank you. I regret that I couldn’t do more.”

Wy’s eyes followed after the old khajiit and Sevine who hurried the bodies of Niernen and Do’Karth into the cabins. She turned back to Maj and said, “I beg your pardon… I have to go. Thank you again.”

Maj watched her go next crossing her arms, inevitably her eyes settled on her retreating back. Warriors rarely had scars as bad. Survivors, however often did. Lucky as the remaining crew was to survive the encounter with the Golden Slug. She quickly summoned a familiar, appearing as a goblin shade she gave it commands to start pulling bodies free of debris, shiny small specks of gold glittered across the deck as she moved. The familiar was nearly distracted by it, she slapped it’s hands away as she scooped up the bit of gold. Hiring a crew was an expensive endeavour, every little bit helped. Even as she came across mangled bodies, the distinct image of Wylendriel radiating light burned into her mind’s eye.

With the messy bundle of torn-up, wet fabric in arms, Wylendriel shuffled her way after Niernen and her rescuers. The dimly lit interior made it hard to see, but they were lined up next to the other injured. Sevine was wet and shivering, yet remained fussy over the condition of Do’Karth. The older khajiit was already bundled up in a wool coat and his cold fur was already shaken and bristled, evidently very unhappy with his current condition.

“If you cannot help the cub, then you should get warm.” He told her

“I’m not leaving his side, I’m fine.” Sevine protested.

The khajiit answered with a sharp exhale through his nose. Then his cold eyes fell on Wylendriel.

“Dar’Jzo hates water. Especially cold water.”

“That’s surprising for such a strong swimmer.” Wy commented.

“Mm... regretfully this one was already wet from the rain. Look to the darkskin and the cub. This one and the fussy one knows not how to revive them properly.”

The priestess sighed heavily, dropping the wet bundle of clothes and staggered over to Niernen and straddled the dunmer woman’s waist. The Bosmer gave a tired look over towards Sevine and told her, “Do as I do and he will be fine, okay?”

She held her hand flat against Niernen’s sternum and placed her other hand over it and began a series chest compressions. After a few moments, she tilted back Niernen’s head and listened for any signs of breath. When there weren’t anything, she pinched her nose shut and breathed air into the Dunmer’s lungs. Almost immediately she began spitting up water and rolled on her side. It wasn’t long until Sevine’s procedure revived Do’Karth as well. However, they were also immersed in the ice cold ocean and took in a lot of water. Their response was a short lived relief, as they quickly fell back into unconsciousness. Still, they were breathing now.

Sevine was far beyond exhausted from her time spent in the water, but Do’Karth was alive and that was all that mattered to her. She held him close, her fingers smoothing the fur on his face into place.

The priestess got off of her and sat beside Niernen as she slept. There was bruising and abrasions along the side of her head where she was knocked against the side of the ship. Wy winced as the scene replayed itself on her head. Maybe she could do something for her. Maybe she had enough magicka left to help her.

Wy reached out and set her hand on Niernen’s head and tried to perform one more healing spell. A light faintly flickered around her hand -- which then immediately whipped back in front of her mouth as her chest heaved in a massive coughing fit. The cabin around her started spinning, Dar’Jzo’s and Sevine’s voices were faint in her ears. She tried to look at her hand. It seemed like there was four of them phasing in and out of each other, but she caught a glimpse of blood staining the palm of her hand. The weight of her eyelids were becoming too much.

It wasn’t peaceful, but she eventually allowed herself to drift asleep.