Helo

Edenridge

Vin balanced himself on his skateboard deck as it rolled through town. The rhythmic noise helped clear out his thoughts until he was back home. Once he was back at his apartment, he stopped to grab the mail on his way in. He rifled through it, picking out those addressed to him and leaving the letters addressed to his roommates on a counter. Only one letter stood out to him, the one that looked exactly like all the others he’d been getting, the ones with things written by Charlie Decker. He’d read part of one, months ago, but since then he’d only opened them to check and see what they were and tossed the journal entries without reading them. It was just one of those things that were easier to not think about, or at least as little as he could help it. He opened the letter, glanced at it, and seeing that it was more of the same went to throw it away when he noticed Allison’s name on the paper.

He didn’t want to read it. Nope. But instead of tossing it in the trash, he set it down and paced around the apartment. Until he would inevitably end up right back at the table it was on, and he’d glance at it, then continue to pace around the small room. If anyone else had been home, he knew they’d think he looked like a crazy person. He couldn’t just not read it now, it was all he was going to think about until he read it. When he picked the letter back up again, his eyes didn’t even want to focus on it. He had to force them, as he slowly scanned over the text, and it took a few minutes for the words to settle in his brain.

Was Charlie Decker at his sister’s funeral? Just sitting there taking notes and watching the pain he’d caused? That was too creepy to think about, not that he could really think right now. The sound of his own heartbeat pounded in his ears. Every time he reread the letter it felt like a heavy weight was being placed on his chest but kept doing so until it felt like he couldn’t breathe. And he kept rereading, far more times than he really should have. He stared at the letter until his eyes burned and he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Vin didn’t cry; not when they carried Allison’s body out of the house, not at the funeral, and not really anytime that he could remember since he was a little kid. Even his dad had cried at the funeral, and people said that it would hit him eventually and that it wasn’t something to worry about. And the grief did hit him. At random times, it snuck up on him when he wasn’t expecting it but he never did shed any tears. He kept his grief, cemented it into his core just beneath the surface so he wouldn’t lose it. That was all he had left, and sometimes it made it hard to feel anything else.

He hadn’t even been angry at Charlie after it happened; he knew it wasn’t all Charlie’s fault, he’d only been a part of it. So many other factors had been a part of it, and Vin was one of them too. But he was angry now, angry that someone would send him this, send everyone in town these letters to keep reminding them of all the pain Charlie had caused. Shit, he really hoped neither of his parents were getting these letters, he’d never thought to ask before.

Eventually, he stopped reading the letter, he practically had it memorized anyway, and did the reasonable thing, and took it over to the kitchen sink. He fished around in his pockets until he found a lighter and burned the letter.

Then Vin found himself on the couch taking bong rips until he felt like the anti-drug commercial where the girl just melts into the couch and the small apartment was basically one big hot box. There was a cartoon on the television, but eventually, even that got too complex to follow, so he just stared at the screen and zoned out. He didn’t want to think about Charlie, or grief, or the shooting, or Allison right now. He didn’t want to think about how he said nothing about how she partied too hard because he was just happy to be at his first high school party that night. He just wanted to stare, half confused at a cartoon dog and maybe laugh a little. Then, if he woke up from a weed coma in time, he’d think about if he wanted to show up at the high school tonight.

---

Logan took a handful of the aspirin and swallowed them down with water. He then left the convenience store swishing the mouthwash about until he felt that his mouth was properly minty fresh before spitting it all out onto the sidewalk. Eventually, he made it back to his car, a lifted jeep with big offroading tires, he never actually went off-roading but it looked cool. There was a time when things like that made him happy, but now the car was really just more annoying to drive. His father hated the jeep, called it an eyesore and a waste of money, so selling it was out of the question. Logan wouldn’t give his old man the satisfaction of being right about the car even though it made his knee hurt every time he jumped out of it.

He drove home, beer in the seat next to him, a fresh pack of cigarettes in his pocket, and nothing stronger to take the edge off the unsettling feeling Edenridge gave him. The whole town just bought a paranoid feeling that being here meant something bad was bound to happen. Was it even, technically, paranoia if it was based on experience? Logan was inclined to believe it wasn’t. Everything he drove past looked the same as it always had, so it stood to reason that the luck of this town was probably the same too.

The house he’d grown up in looked more or less the same, and he was half surprised his key still worked. The response he’d gotten when he’d texted his father to let him know he’d be home for the summer was ‘good, clean your room.’ It wouldn’t have been out of character for him to change the locks just for the hell of it. Inside the house looked like a picture from a magazine; immaculately clean, organized, and cold. No one was home, which meant his timing was at least spot on and he wasn’t going to be forced to make conversation. Logan didn’t bother roaming through the rest of the house, he just took his bags and beer straight up to this room and tossed them on the bed.

Logan’s room was left in the state of complete disarray he’d left it in. Clothes covering the floor, drawers pulled entirely out of the dresser and left sitting on top of it, and never finished homework assignments from high school scattered about. A box of hockey trophies, some broken, were collected in a box half shoved into a closet along with his skates and equipment which were half falling out of the closet. There were various posters hung intentionally croaked and even upside down on the walls, or more accurately rehung that way about a year ago. His bed was unmade, hell some of the piles of clothes were year-old laundry and the only part of the room that was organized was a single spot on a desk where his father stacked mail that had come for him while he was at college. It almost made him chuckle to think about his father having to walk into the absolute tornado of chaos every so often to put his mail here, and then carry about his day knowing that one room in the house was an absolute disaster.

Logan had, very purposefully, left his room in such a state before he’d left last year. Knowing that it would irritate his father but that the man would never clean up after another adult. So, Logan had ignored several angry voicemails about it and had an excellent excuse for why he was never available to come home during the school year to clean it. There was really no escaping having to clean the room now, but this petty act of revenge, and knowing that it had gone on for a full year, brought him some joy. He sat down in the desk chair, placed his feet on the desk, and casually flipped through the mail, and tossed most of it into the overflowing trash can. Then all that was left was a small stack of letters with no return address on them. He wasn’t sure what he was excepting those letters to be, but copies of Charlie fucking Decker’s journal entries was about the last thing he would’ve guessed.

“Well, it’s way too fucking early for this shit.” He muttered and got up and grabbed one of the beers from the recently purchased sixpack. If he was going to spend the afternoon reading the musings of a psychopath it only seemed right that he should do so with a drink.

They all read more or less the same to him, started with some pretentious quote, and then went on and on with Decker’s whining. Even though just thinking about Decker made his stomach turn in a way a hangover never could, he read all those letters. He even remembered the time he’d grabbed one of the guy’s journals and read some of it aloud in the middle of study hall. Sure he’d pushed Decker but he’d had no idea what an absolute time bomb the guy really was. In Logan’s mind, it was less of a question of ‘if’ and only of ‘when’ Decker would’ve done something truly horrible. Maybe if he’d just left Decker alone that ticking time bomb of destruction wouldn’t have exploded in school, and his violent tendencies could’ve stayed contained with the rest of the Southside shitheads.

The knowledge that psycho-boy had a fan in town was not only bizarre but genuinely disturbing. Like those women who marry serial killers on death row disturbing. Logan especially hated that they were being sent to him. It felt like an accusation; like a year’s worth of buried guilt being ripped to the surface. Some of that was deserved, Logan was sure he was part of the reason Decker had targeted the school, but he was also sure Decker was a bad guy from the start. What else do you call someone who shoots up a school besides a monster? Hell, monster is a nice word for someone like that.

He wasn’t exactly sure why he didn’t throw the letters out, but he stashed them in a drawer in the desk.

The very last place in town he wanted to visit was the old high school, but he was going to be there tonight at 8 pm. He had to know; who was sending those letters, why, what they thought they were getting out of it.

Edenridge

It was late into the morning as unwelcomingly bright and artificial lights assaulted his eyes and Logan awoke with the taste of stale vomit still lingering in his mouth. His head pounded, his stomach was empty and twisting itself into knots. He groaned and pulled himself up into a sitting position and through half-opened eyes looked around. He was in a vaguely familiar place, one that smelled like piss, vomit, and of men in desperate need of a shower. How exactly he’d ended up in the drunk tank was a void that alcohol had carved from his memory. He laced his fingers together behind his head and used his forearms to cover his ears as someone nearby sang loudly, and off-key, an obnoxious song.

For most people waking up in a human cage without any recollection of how they ended up there would be concerning. Not for Logan. For him blacking out meant that when, and wherever, he passed out he would get to sleep without dreams. Or he wouldn’t remember those dreams which was pretty much the same thing to him. That easily made it worth the early morning confusion and splitting headaches the next day. He’d just gotten back into town the day before, and he was already sitting on the world’s most uncomfortable excuse for a bed because the thought of spending an entire summer back in Edenridge was more than enough to make him want to drink his memory away.

It would be a lie to say Logan was in any way glad to be home. Edenridge, when it wasn’t busy being an absolute magnet for every goddamn tragedy one could imagine, was absolutely fucking boring. Living here was like being in that cartoon about the dog that lived in the middle of nowhere, except instead of weird shit, it was endless grim melodrama. In Logan’s opinion, anyone who chose to live here had to be out of their mind. But after a year of aimless partying at university and barely managing to not fail most of his classes, he had to fix something. Leaving hadn’t made a difference, only made sense to try the opposite now. So that was the plan; spend one miserable summer in a place so obviously cursed and figure his shit out. Then leave it all behind forever without the need to keep looking back. Spending a chunk of his day in the drunk tank wasn’t exactly a step in the right direction but only an absolute masochist would want to experience Edenridge fully sober.

Eventually, he was released, handed back the handful of items he’d come in with, and only given a warning about the whole underage public intoxication issue. Surviving a high school massacre had very few perks but generally, people cut you more slack, and Logan was more than willing to exploit that. He slipped his cell phone, car keys, cigarettes, wallet, and an old worn zippo all back into his pockets and staggered out back into the outside world.

The summer sun was an even more unbearable harsh assault against his eyes but his sunglasses were in his jeep that still sat in a small lot by a local bar. It wasn’t a very long walk so he lit up a cigarette and headed that way. Logan took long indulgent drags from the cigarette, which helped with the foul taste in his mouth, but only further aggravated his bone-dry throat. So, on his way back to the bar he stopped at one of those always opened corner stores and flicked the rest of the cigarette into the street before heading inside. He wandered around through the aisles, grabbing a bottle of aspirin, one of those small travel-sized mouthwashes, and an overpriced bottle of water promising electrolytes. With the knowledge that the best cure for a hangover, other than a morning joint, was a bit of the hair of the dog he also picked up a six-pack of the first beer that grabbed his attention and headed to an open register.

He set his stuff down at the register and looked up at the cashier. It took a minute but he recognized the guy, someone he’d gone to high school with, he was pretty sure they had graduated together. He tilted his head and offered a half-hearted smile. Shit. He thought. It wasn’t like he wasn’t expecting to run into people he went to school with, but when buying beer with a fake ID it did make things a bit more obvious. Of course, his ID was a pretty good one, worked just fine in most places, where the person checking it didn’t know him. Well, now it would just look weird if he grabbed his stuff back up and went to a different register.

“Hey it’s uh, Owen right? How ya been?” He glanced around at the cigarettes behind the counter and then back at Orren who he thought was called Owen. He hadn’t known Orren very well, but it wasn’t a huge stretch to say he looked rough; like one of those anti-heroin posters kind of rough. Then again, here he was wearing yesterday’s clothes and smelling like last night’s bender, so not like he could judge.

“Gimme a pack of camel lights too.”

Avalia

Time: Evening
Location: River Port-Beach
Interactions: Lucia@Potter, Valamiir@Alivefalling, Valaeon@FunnyGuy, Risa@princess, Sakura@baraquiel, Myra@13org

Leon kept up his best impression of a man who was intimidating as two newcomers approached, although the much larger dragonborns seemed to have the bodyguard posture down perfectly. He watched, studying how they approached and talked to the newcomers, deciding this would be a useful persona to have. If he was to be involved in some high fantasy rebellion against a dark and evil overlord, he at least wanted to be able to look intimidating. The newcomers didn’t look all that dangerous, at least when standing near the two dragonborns who loomed over them, but he still hung back with Lucia and Risa. If they were a threat, it wasn’t like there was much he could do if the two dragons couldn’t handle them. His ability to incite a refreshing breeze or float lightweight objects wasn’t all that threatening. Leon was a level one noob who was somehow spawned in right before a final boss battle. He had to at least appear dangerous or he was going to end up dead and there would be no respawns.

“And what if I don’t want to go home?” Leon asked once Risa had finished speaking. “I know it’s not exactly a utopia here, but it still beats my home by a landslide and Earth wasn’t exactly short on people who wanted me dead either. Being here has already extended my life, so I don’t mind risking it for a revolution. We have a saying in my world, those who stand for nothing, fall for anything. I’d like to stand for this, for freedom. Feels like a better use of my extra time than anything else I could come up with. But don’t feel like you need to protect me, I doubt I’m going to be all that important to your cause, but I’ll do whatever I can.” He spoke honestly and in a hushed tone so others couldn’t overhear them. He was still hopeful that loyalty to the revolution, if he lived through it, would be enough that he’d be allowed to stay here. Though if he was just going to be sent back home it wouldn’t really change his answer. Lucia was the best friend he’d had in a long time, so if she was in, he was as well.

---

Time: Evening
Location: River Port-Healing Center
Interactions: Belle@Potter, Malachi@princess

Valok followed the instructions given by Malachi once he returned. Having grown up in overcrowded barracks, he lacked any concerns for privacy or modesty and simply stripped down and redressed in the new clothes without giving it a thought. His old clothes were torn and bloodied from battle and he would likely not wear them again, but he folded them up neatly anyhow. The new clothes fit just fine, and he held his head up a little higher, a little prouder, now that he had been given a new uniform from his commander. He eyed the strange food Malachi had brought them as well and wondered why one would need to eat a ‘treat’ before one ate an ‘actual meal.’ Perhaps this was a strange light elf custom, so he heeded Malachi’s warning to not get anything sticky, and carefully picked up the blas bun and took a bite.

“Thank you, this is good.” Valok managed a polite half-truth after he had managed to finish the first bite. The clothes were good, they fit fine and felt brand new, were simple and practical and he liked them. The snack, however, wasn’t good, but at the very least it was food and he was hungry.

The blas bun was overly sticky and sickeningly sweet. The pastry’s texture was soft and squishy like it was some sort of pillowy bread sponge used to soak up all the excess sugar in River Port. He tried holding it as gingerly as possible but every time he bit into the bun, honey seemed to ooze from it, contaminating his fingers further with the viscous sweetness. As strange and unpleasant as the food was, he ate it anyway because it had been given to him, he had been asked to do so, and because it was a poor choice to waste food. He tried to keep his expression neutral as he ate the bun, not wanting to offend Malachi, but even so his lip curled away from the food every time he bit into it. This at least helped to keep the sugar ooze from infecting his face as well as his hands. Once he had finished the snack he cleaned the residue from his hands.

Belle on the other hand seemed to enjoy the snack but had decided the clothing had needed work. She had returned from where ever she had gone with the dress noticeable altered. It was strange to him that she had simply altered the uniform given by Malachi without asking, but then again the rebellion seemed to run differently than the dark elf army did, and he understood little about humans. He had meant to ask why she had laughed at him when he had asked the fairies for water. It hadn’t seemed humorous to him but maybe it was funny to humans. He would have to ask later, for now, he stood quiet and alert awaiting commands from Malachi.

Edenridge

There was a soft clack as wheels hit the pavement, followed by the steady rolling sound as the skateboard swerved down the street. Vin found comfort in these sounds and preferred the old skateboard as his main form of transportation. It was reassuring, something he’d had since he was a little kid when everything was simple. He didn’t feel ready to trade it in for a car, another change that would only pull him farther away from the times when he had been truly happy. Some people kept a blanket or stuffed animal, but Vin had a battered old skateboard that made soothing noises. He didn’t tell people that. Vin only ever pointed out that it was better for the environment and loads cheaper.

He had a backpack with everything he needed and he carried with him a bunch of yellow sunflowers. Allison had liked yellow, he remembered that. Once he arrived at the gates of the cemetery, he carried the skateboard the rest of the way. It didn’t feel right to ride it around inside. The cemetery was quiet, not the sort of place that welcomed intrusive noises even if he did find them comforting. He came here once a month. At first, his parents had come too, even after their divorce when they couldn’t even stand to be in the same room together. Then, for a while, his mom occasionally came with him. And now, it was only him. He’d read somewhere that people weren’t really gone as long as someone remembered them. So, he did his best to remember, and he’d only ever missed a single month at the beginning of his senior year. And that wasn’t his fault; he’d been shot, and he figured Allison would get that, she’d been an understanding person. Some people deserved remembering, and others were better forgotten.

He didn’t mind the quiet walk through the cemetery; it was peaceful and always more or less the same. What occurred to him was just how many people he’d known who now rested here. Too many for any nineteen-year-old. And he had no control over it, who left and who stayed, but he could do this. So once a month he went to Allison’s grave and kept the headstone clean. Made sure it looked nice, took care of the weeds, and left fresh sunflowers. They hadn’t been exceptionally close; he talked to her now more than he ever had when she was alive. Vin regretted that, and all the slammed doors, arguments over music choice on family road trips, and the casual teasing that came with having a sibling. He wished he remembered more than just the shallow things, things like yellow flowers and someone who had been there to help and listen. But he didn’t, he could recall so few things about his sister that made someone a complete person.

Once everything looked right, Vin sat down in the grass with his back against the side of the clean granite stone. Part of his monthly ritual involved keeping her updated on everything; him, their parents, and any town gossip he’d manage to catch. He figured she’d appreciate that, even though he knew that he was just talking to a headstone. Maybe he did it because this was cheaper and easier than therapy, but this was someplace he felt like he could say whatever was on his mind.

“So I guess mom’s doing alright. Wants me to have dinner with her and some guy named Doug. I guess I should go, it’d make her happy. I really don’t want to, it’s gonna be so awkward.” He paused and gazed intently at the grass. If he didn’t go, it would keep being brought up, and he didn’t have enough going on to pretend like he was too busy.

“And dad, he’s always busy with something, you know how he is. I had lunch with him last week. He mostly talked about golf and everything he learned at that dental conference he went to. It wasn’t so bad, he didn’t bring up college or anything. Oh, and I got free shrimp, so that was cool.” Vin couldn’t remember if his sister liked shrimp, and both his parents hated when he asked questions like that. It made them too sad, he could tell, so he stopped asking them. He described the restaurant though, it was nice, fancier than anything he could afford, and he was pretty sure she had liked fancy restaurants. He talked about what he’d seen on his hike a couple of days ago and about the movie he watched the other night.

Eventually, he ran out of things to talk about. He knew only a little of the town gossip; he had less and less to share ever since high school ended. Vin didn’t mention the pages from Decker’s journals that people had been getting; he didn’t want to think about that. Vin hadn’t look at them, didn’t feel the need to know what was going on in the head of someone like that. So after he’d finished talking, he stood up and put a hand on the headstone.

“I’m sorry, you know, that I wasn’t a better brother.” He had always had an older sister looking out for him when he was a kid, Vin wished he’d been able to return that favor. He pushed forward and continued walking through the rows of headstones back towards the gates.

Avalia

Time: Evening
Location: Forests at the edge of River Port
Interactions: Cora @Potter, Elsea @Tae, Ezeri @Alivefalling

“This will do just fine, thank you Ezeri. It is an honor to fight alongside such a courageous warrior.” Cade forced a bright smile and slapped her shoulder with the hand not attached to his injured arm. The arm, which dangled about like a useless hunk of meat, was at least not dripping blood about. He would not waste time discussing the amount of damage to his arm, either he would get it healed in town or he would find himself a saber of some sort and fight one-armed. For Cade, as with most any feline, pride was deeply important. He would not bemoan a battered arm, and certainly not while a young demihuman laid there half roasted.

“No potions I’m afraid, but the faster we move the better his chances will be once we are in town.” Cade said brushing past Ezeri and nodding his head in the direction towards the healing center. He was dizzy, weakened from both the blood loss and the life force taken from him by Utsuro, but he’d had worse. Cade carried on as if he was barely injured because that was what a cat does. His gait was noticeably clumsier than usual but he did not slow his pace.

Cade had never cared much for magics, he had none and would never wish for it. He saw the ways so many used it irresponsibly, all the ways it was used to cause suffering. The ways those who possessed it acted as if it made them better. Magic made plenty of things easier but Cade saw a great deal wrong with doing things the easy way. It was rarely the right way, and everything came at a cost, whether you paid it upfront or discovered it later. Currently, all of Avalia was paying a great price for how the lich used magic, and save for necromancy, no other magic scared him the way fire magic did. It was wild and brutal, fire magic would burn, without hesitation, all that was in its path.

He gave Cora a grateful smile and nod as she extinguished the flames in the forest. She was trying and he could see that. Cade could tell by the looks worn on both Cora and Elsea’s faces that their intent had not been to harm the young man. But the rabbit still paid the price for their magic and the young demihuman moaned in agony atop the unicorn. Cade voiced none of these concerns, it was not needed, and he did not envy the difficult road that surely lay ahead of those humans burdened with this power.

“No need to make a fuss over me, Cora, I am more than willing to bleed for our cause.” He set his eyes on the dwindling lights of River Port, ready to make his way into town.

---

Time: Evening
Location: River Port-Healing Center
Interactions: Belle@Potter

Valok offered a small smile as the lights dimmed and shadows throughout the room settled more comfortably. His eyes could see more clearly now, it no longer hurt to look about the room the way did when the light was so very bright. He looked at Belle when she spoke to him, but never in her eyes. Commanders never liked for those below them to look them in the eye, and Belle had ordered the fairies around with the presence of authority. He wondered if she came from leadership in her own world, though now it was clear that she took orders from Malachi. Still, she was someone of much higher value to the rebellion, and Valok never forgot his place in things.

“Today has been a good day for me, but I am sorry it has not been so for you.” Valok said with a nod. For him today had been amongst his best; he had survived a fight, he had found a new commander to follow, and he had the strange experience of meeting kind strangers. The last one was new to him, and despite his gut reaction to the fairies, he did not find himself disliking them. He was surprised at Belle’s other question, he was not accustomed to being asked what he wanted. He gave it some thought, and he decided he was also hungry.

“I would like to eat as well. If it is permitted. Otherwise, I will wait for orders from Malachi.” Valok glanced back to the door, towards the fairies, and then again at Belle. He got up and walked over to the fairies, politely asking them for water for Belle and him. The fairy was impossibly chipper and unbothered by him asking for it. He returned to Belle and sat back down with the same stiff posture. Fidgeting was unbecoming of a soldier, he had learned that very young and so he was always careful to remain as still as possible.

“You said you needed a drink, the healer is going to bring us water.” Valok explained and then paused briefly choosing his next words carefully. “Much like the light in this room was, the fairies are too bright for me. Not the sort of people I am used to. But it must take a lot to use so much of one’s magic to heal others. They are very kind for doing so, they do not seem half as bad as I was taught to believe they were.” Valok explained as best he could, unsure if a human would understand. If their worlds were in any way similar. He found the fairies strange, too kind, full of too much light, but these were not things he held against them, these were intriguing qualities.

Avalia

Time: Sunset
Location: River Port-Beach
Interactions: Lucia@Potter, Valamiir@Alivefalling, Valaeon@FunnyGuy, and Risa@princess

Leon unlinked his arm from Lucia’s and instead wrapped it around her shoulders in a small sideways hug as she spoke about the friends she had lost. He smiled for a second, feeling like he had really convinced the others that he was indeed an elf. It was like a game. Lying, tricking people, convincing them that he was something other than what he was. He didn’t look much like an elf, he didn’t know all that much about them, and he’d convinced people who’d lived amongst them their whole life that he was one too. And that was fun, that was like winning. He wanted to see how long he could keep it going, just how good the act could be, but it wasn’t a game. Lucia had lost friends for this, this whole rebellion was something that mattered enough to the people here that they were willing to die for it.

“You were instrumental in finding me though. I don’t think anyone could’ve done a better job at protecting a clueless human.” Leon spoke mainly to Lucia, but he was sure Risa and the Dragonborn could hear him. That was fine, he could try his elf act again later, on someone new, and Risa was supposed to be a major part of the rebellion anyway.

“So, rebellion, I’m all in, certainly can’t side with someone who wants my head separated from the rest of my body. Let’s grind the bones of the lich to make our bread.” Leon added, looking towards the rest of the group. Leon could slip into a different act, one where he was brave, where he could be useful to rebellion in a place where there with ferocious dragon men, warrior princess fairies, and wonder woman elves. Even if it wasn’t true, not that he didn’t support their rebellion, but because he knew enough about himself to know he wasn’t half the things he pretended to be. Not exceptional; not in bravery, or usefulness, or anything remotely noble. He was good with machines, fun at parties, and occasionally had moments where he felt like a good person.

That wasn’t what a rebellion needed, they needed humans who could fight, who were brave and noble. Maybe if he pretended long enough he could be that too, he could belong here. Or maybe he’d just disappoint them. There’s another thing he was good at, letting people down. Leon betrayed none of this, he smiled wide as he spoke, puffed out his chest as if he could be someone who could fight by their sides.

---

Time: Evening
Location: River Port-Healing Center
Interactions: Belle@Potter

Valok snorted with disapproval as one of the fairies referred to the owlbear as cute. He would prefer the creature in a cage, or at the very least on a short chain. Kept confined in some manner until it was ready to be of use to them. After all, this was a wild beast, not an alley, or fellow soldier. He kept a suspicious eye on it, though it was less dangerous than its full-grown counterparts, he did not trust it not cause some sort of trouble.

He did not relax as he waited in the room. He sat remarkably still with rigid posture, keeping alert for any signs of danger. Valok waited for Malachi to return with new orders, and he stayed quiet except for the occasional soft noise of disapproval directed towards the small owlbear when it begged for attention or lumber about. Valok glanced over at Belle as she spoke, then looked around the room once more.

“It is very bright in here, but I am otherwise fine.” Valok said, not really sure how to put into words all the ways this place made him uncomfortable. He studied the human who looked almost as uncomfortable as he felt.

“You do not like being here either?” He added after another stretch of silence. He could think of no other questions to ask that would not give away to the others in the room that she was human. He didn’t know much about humans, but so far this one had been quiet and fearless and those were good qualities to have.

Avalia

Time: Evening
Location: Forests near River Port
Interactions: Zephyrin@Howlsofwinter, Kenia@Tae, Clara@princess

Once they had harvested what they could from the wyvern’s corpse, they continued towards River Port. Bowyn’s hand absentmindedly rubbed at his shoulder where Boreas used to sit. The lack of talons digging in bothered him, the absence of that comforting weight, and every so often he turned his head and expected to see feathers and beady eyes still there. But Boreas was gone, and everything seemed to remind Bowyn of this. He didn’t want to think about it, he welcomed any distraction. Silence no longer suited Bowyn; it was too uncomfortable to have to focus on his thoughts.

A few weeks ago someone rambling on about their entire week in excruciating detail would’ve been would have both bored and annoyed him. But something in him had changed. He found himself invested in the human’s story, thankful for her willingness to cut through the silence. It was uncomfortable to care about these people, to enjoy the company, but not nearly as difficult as being alone, as focusing on the void left by Boreas. When Clara had finished her tale and started humming strange melodies, Bowyn did his best to hum along as well. His timing off at first but quickly picking up on the rhythm of it. He had forgotten how much he had used to enjoy music.

He didn’t talk much as they walked, but he listened and tried to hum along with Clara when the others were quiet. When Clara announced they were almost at the port, he found himself more nervous than excited. What if he didn’t find Torvi or Belle here? Could he even handle that on top of Boreas? It was hard to keep pace, his feet were weighted down with anxious dread. He could only think of more disappointment, of the probability of only the worst possible fates. There was no other option but to keep going forward. He hated this, caring about so many people other than just himself. Hated feeling an uneasy sickness in the pit of his stomach over so many fates that hung by such a fragile thread. It was a distraction from his goals and it would only bring pain in the long run.

But in the meantime, they were a source of comfort. Loneliness also no longer suited him. He’d realized it at the ball, but it had happened before then. After spending so much time traveling with Torvi, he’d remembered how much easier it was to have others around. After so many years alone in the forest, it had simply been something he’d forgotten as music had been, and he didn’t know if he could forget it all again. Bowyn wasn’t sure he even wanted to remember how to merely survive and forget how to live again.

So he pushed forward. He fought through the dread of not finding his human friends. He remembered how Boreas had always been willing to fight, and this was a little easier than facing the wyvern. Torvi and Belle were strong too, stronger than he, and he would find them. He kept reminding himself of that as he walked, kept thinking it until he believed it.

“Once we get there, and sell these damn scales, we should find someplace with food and strong drinks.” He suggested as the silence had started to return. Bowyn thought the most likely place he’d find Torvi and Belle might be a tavern, and he knew they’d at least know that would be the place to find him.

---

Time: Evening
Location: River Port
Interactions: Malachi@princess, Belle@Potter

Valok silently followed Malachi into the healing center. It was a place wholly soothing and inviting, and the atmosphere there made him uneasy. The building was brightly lit and warm, the few people inside approached with a peaceful demeanor, and nothing about it was familiar. It only amplified the side effects of his head injury; dizziness, nausea, anxiety. He didn’t understand the purpose of this; he didn’t need healing, he should heal on his own and allow pain to strengthen him. But it was not his place to argue with Malachi, and so he followed the elf’s order without question.

Once they were led to another room by a demihuman Valok watched the two fairies closely. Ingrained distrust overtook him, an immediate reaction to look at them with disdain and suspicion. Fairies, beings so opposite to dark elves. Creatures that celebrated only the light side of nature; growth, healing, and connection. Fairies who claimed to champion benevolence, but had stood by and watched the dark elves’ banishment. Celebrated in the exile of a race which represented the darker side of nature; sorrow, pain, and violence. When one of the fairies touched his hand it made his skin crawl. He was more prone to expect a knife to the back rather than a helping hand.

The fairy held his hand so lightly that after a moment he barely noticed it. He watched the light that emanated from her other hand with intense fascination. Her hand with its soft warm light gently touched his head, brushing against the lacerations and hair matted down with blood. Even more, than building itself, the healing touch of a fairy was beyond his realm of experience. There was warmth in it, the magic had an innate calming effect, and it was kind. He hadn’t expected kindness, not from Malachi, and certainly not from strange fairies.

Today alone he had seen more kindness from those he was taught to hate than from his kind. Malachi had saved his life, treated him like someone with value. What was his value? Was it to serve the rebellion, to fight for them? It seemed reasonable, but his value as a soldier was still not equivalent to these kindnesses. Did they think he’d have useful information on The Great King’s armies? Perhaps that was the reason, although he knew they would soon be disappointed in how little he knew. But the fae healer was even more perplexing. What benefit did healing him have for her? Just as the fae had been no friend to the dark elves, his people had shown them no kindness, no mercy. He would not have lifted a hand to help a fairy during his time with the army.

Valok exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. To breathe still hurt, and in the serenity of the healing center, he failed to keep from showing signs of pain. While the head injury was now healed, the injuries from the hug of the owlbear remained. The fairy took care of that as well. He wondered how much magic the fairy willingly wasted on him.

“Thank you.” He said, an attempt to repay the kindness. Gestures, he’d never known, didn’t fully understand. But ones, he wanted to repay.

Avalia

Time: Sunset
Location: River Port-Beach
Interactions: Lucia@Potter, Valamiir@Alivefalling, Valaeon@FunnyGuy, and Risa@princess

Leon followed Lucia towards the source of the horn, nearly walking straight into her arm when she stopped suddenly. He hung back and studied the small group that had formed around a fountain. He starred at the two large dragon men with a sense of awe and wonder. Dragonborn, that was what Lucia called them, and he couldn’t imagine how a skeleton could’ve won a war when the good guys had an army of dragon people. He would hardly call their entrance obnoxious; sure it was loud but it was also pretty epic, it had flair and boldness. This was the side of Avalia he was most excited to see. Great epic warriors, like from ancient stories from Earth, but even more wonderful. He stared at the shining armor and massive ax that adorn the blue Dragonborn, he really wanted to take pictures of them but the last thing he needed to do was offend giant dragon men.

Lucia had gone on to mention that the other person in the group might be Princess Risa. He’d barely noticed the small winged woman, but he’d never met royalty before so that was exciting. Leon scoffed and rolled his eyes when he was instructed to act like an elf and not use the same fake name.

“Well, now you just sound exactly like the voice in my head.” He joked before they headed towards the group. She greeted the two Dragonborn and then headed straight to for the fairy. Leon remained a few paces from the Dragonborn and folded his arms across his chest doing his best to look unimpressed by their presence.

“What a pleasant surprise, always a pleasure to be in the company of such mighty warriors. I’m Elrond.” Leon said with a nod of his head. He also straightened his posture and puffed out his chest some, feeling small in their presence.

“Oh hey, I love your hair.” He added with a smile as he looked over at the pink-haired fairy. Leon wasn’t entirely sure how most elves acted, but he was getting the idea that Lucia did not behave like a typical elf. He wondered if he should’ve played things colder, more haughty, like the few elven shopkeepers he’d met before. He also didn’t want to make a bad first impression on a princess with an army of dragon people. So he tried to look like he was only partially interested in what was going on here. Seem friendly, but like he also had better things to do with his time. He made sure not to stare at any of them for too long, reminding himself that these were totally normal people to see in Avalia.

Edenridge

Vin Davies

Name

Vincent Andrew Davies

Nicknames

Vin

Age

19

Gender

Male

Sexuality

Heterosexual

Relationship Status

Single

Appearance Details

• Hair: Brown | Curly | Long and wild
• Eyes: Hazel
• Height: 5'10
• Body Type: Lanky with lean muscle
• Clothing Style: Casual | Vin wears a lot of jeans, tie-dyed t-shirts, and hoodies.
• Scars, Tattoos and/or Piercings: Scar from a bullet on his left shoulder, beneath the scar is his only tattoo, a speech bubble from a comic.

Personality Traits

When people first meet Vin they see the laid back, mellow, stoner. He’s never had much of a temper, it’s easy for him to shrug most things off. He’s always been patient with other people, forgives easily, and listens more than he talks. It’s always been easier for him to see the good in others than in himself. He doesn’t like to let others down, to disappoint, but inevitably he does. Vin’s never been good with pressure or stress, when things get to be too much he needs a way to escape. He’s flaky, forgetful, and usually lost in his own head. He avoids responsibility, doesn’t really feel ready to grow up, and he certainly wasn’t ready to have his childhood ended in high school.

He's always been anxious, awkward, and quiet, especially around new people. If he's stoned he's a little more willing to put himself out there but he's never been the outgoing type. He doesn't like to bother other people with his own problems, tends to shy away from heavy topics. Vin's an optimist, he looks for the good in the world, finds comfort in things like nature, art, music, and weed. He's never been ambitious, was never one of those people who knew what they wanted to do with their lives. He was always more of a go with the flow type, he'd rather travel and see new and exciting things than have money or nice things.

Biography

Vin’s early life was easy, quiet, and comfortable. His parents made good money, he didn’t have to worry about much, always got everything he needed and most of what he wanted. He was always a shy quiet kid who didn’t like too much attention on him and having an outgoing older sister who was happy to soak up the attention made that even easier. Vin was always thankful to just fly under the radar, while his sister, Alison, had to deal with his parent’s constant scrutiny and pressure. She was their golden child, the one with accomplishments that his parents could brag about to their friends and he was free to just be himself. For a long time, his life was pretty chill, just the way he liked it, no pressure, no expectations.

Then, while at his first party during freshman year, Alison overdosed, and everything changed. He didn’t just have to deal with his sister’s sudden death but now he was no longer just chill stoner Vin, he was the kid brother of the dead cheerleader. People were paying so much extra attention to him. His parents seemed to deal with it by trying to force all their expectations onto him, micromanaging every aspect of his life. They had this perfect idealized version of their daughter and he was suddenly expected to fill in for that. She had always been better than him at school, sports, extracurriculars, and if Alison couldn’t live up to all of it, how was he supposed to do that?

Vin couldn’t take that kind of pressure, he hated having so much attention. He hated people giving him sad looks at school, strangers telling him how much his sister meant to them. People who hadn’t even known Alison, not really, and it was more like people were using his sister’s death to talk about themselves, how difficult it was for them, what a beautiful tragedy it all was. He hadn’t cared much for school before but now it was unbearable. To walk down the same halls, to walk past her friends, to see her picture memorialized in the school, to be surrounded with reminders of the void in his home. He only became more withdrawn, tried less, because even his best wasn’t really good enough. His parents got divorced during his junior year. He was shuffled back and forth between their separate houses and eventually his parents were too wrapped up in their own lives to bother much with him.

Then came senior year, gunfire in the hallways, and truly being face to face with the possibility of his own death. He didn’t want to die, Vin was absolutely terrified of the thought that he’d die without having lived. He was in the cafeteria during the shooting, took a bullet to the shoulder, and played dead for the rest of the pure hell that followed. Vin laid on the floor starring into the eyes of another kid as the light left them. He didn’t do anything to help or comfort, he was too afraid of being shot again, afraid he’d die too. The rest of that year is a fog, days just trying to get by, trying to get to the next day.

After high school Vin put off going to college, he needed more time to just be and not have to deal with everything. He has a job at a local bookstore, which he likes, it's quiet, and spends free time doing set designs and lighting for the community theatre. He sells weed on the side, nothing harder, and he hasn’t been to any parties since that first one freshmen year. He likes nature documentaries, just about any outdoor activity, and prefers small groups of people to large gatherings.

Family

Father, Andrew Davies, dentist
Mother, Ellen Davies, financial manager
Sister, Alison Davies, deceased

Misc.

Kyle Allen | 0BF091
Music

Guaranteed-Eddie Vedder
I Need A Forest Fire-James Blake ft Bon Iver
The Kids Are Alright-Barns Courtney
Nobody Opened the Door-Cobi

edited to add a second

Logan Rivers

Name

Logan Matthew Rivers

Nicknames

Mostly just goes by Logan

Age

20

Gender

Male

Sexuality

Heterosexual

Relationship Status

Single

Appearance Details

• Hair: Blonde | Short | Spikey or slicked back
• Eyes: Blue
• Height: 6’3
• Body Type: Muscular, broad-shouldered, athletic
• Clothing Style: Frat Boy Casual | Overpriced jeans and t-shirt, shirts with popped collars, shorts, several hockey jerseys, Bruins gear, and a couple of Bruins and Sox caps.
• Scars, Tattoos and/or Piercings: A few scars here and there from hockey and from a car accident that messed up his right knee.

Personality Traits

Logan was always a loud, brash, outgoing kid. He was also someone who carried a lot of anger, and when he didn’t know how to deal with things he lashed out. He was driven, stubborn, and ambitious. He liked to party, have fun, always ready for a fight, often just for the fun of it. Throughout his childhood, but especially in high school, he had a well-earned reputation for being an asshole. One thing about Logan is that he doesn’t make excuses for himself, he is at least self-aware.

School was never his thing, most of his grades were gotten by cheating rather than earning them, but then how mattered less to him than the results. What did matter to him was hockey, that was what he was good at, what really clicked with him, and he put all his effort into it. In hockey, Logan found an outlet for everything wrong with his life. He was a high-energy kid with a quick temper and a lot of anger, on the ice was the one place where life made sense to him. Without that outlet, he resorts to self-destruction.

Logan’s never been able to move past the series of tragedies that marked his youth. He can’t let go of things like grief and anger, and he is even more at a loss for how to deal with his guilt over everything. Ever since the shooting, he’s lost his drive, his ambition to do anything but find ways to feel numb. He’s trying to be less of an asshole but it’s not something that comes easy for him.

Biography

On the outside Logan’s life looked pretty great, his dad made a lot of money, he grew up in a nice big house, got everything he wanted. Well, almost everything. He lost his mother when he was five, drug overdose, and Logan was the one who found her body. It’s one of the few things he doesn’t talk about, and after that, his dad was a lot more difficult to get along with. Logan was a very high-energy rebellious child, and his dad was a big fan of harsh discipline. It wasn’t a warm household, that had always come from his mom, and without her, Logan became more and more like his father. Angry all the time, cruel to others, prone to violent outbursts. That was his main role model.

Hockey was always his passion, the one thing he actually took seriously, put all his effort into. It was his outlet for all his excess energy, aggression, and frustration. Long hours practicing kept him out of his house, gave him a place that accepted him for who was, a group of friends he could relate to. He played right wing but more importantly acted as the team's enforcer, a goon, protecting his teammates and occasionally picking a fight, it was the ideal position for him. He loved it, it made him driven and ambitious, made him popular in high school. People cheered for him when he was on the ice and that was where life all made sense.

In high school, he was a star player on the hockey team, he was a rich kid, and a bully. He took Alison Davies’s death pretty hard, not because he’d ever known her but it reminded him so much of his mother. It brought up old wounds that had never healed and he dealt with those feelings by being even more of an asshole. Charlie Decker was a weird kid, an easy target for Logan, and he picked on him a lot. He did it because he was angry, he was in pain, and he didn’t know how to handle those things. Not that it matters why, because he knows he was a part of it, of why Charlie Decker came to school senior year ready to kill.

Logan didn’t see much of what happened that day, but he heard a lot of it. He heard the screaming and seemingly endless gunshots. The aftermath was all guilt, yet another thing he was unable to talk about or cope with. Instead, he found new terrible ways of dealing with things, drinking or getting high on whatever he could get his hands on. So many people had their futures taken the first day of senior year, but Logan went the extra mile to try and ruin his own future. A few months after the shooting Logan got plastered and wrapped his car around a pole. He messed up his knee, lost his hockey scholarship, not that there was any chance of him being able to play in college after that anyway. He’d always had a far-fetched hope of playing in the NHL, maybe even for the Bruins, but even losing that didn’t feel like punishment enough.

After high school, college was more of the same. He didn’t have hockey as an outlet, there was just a lot of drinking, drugs, anything that could make him feel numb. He did all things that were supposed to make him happy, went to parties, joined a frat, and had a string of meaningless hookups. For a short while, he even tried going to classes and finding something new to drive him but it was all hollow. He’d lost all ambition, nothing mattered to him, and even deeper than that was the notion that he didn’t deserve to have anything in his life that mattered. Now he’s back in Edenridge for the summer, maybe to find some sort of closure, maybe just to continue his spiral of self-destruction in a more familiar place, Logan’s really not sure.

Family

Father, Stephen Rivers, a corporate lawyer
Step-mother, Jenna Rivers, gold-digging trophy wife

Misc.

Alexander Ludwig | 59B9C1
Music

That Bastard Son-The Dead South
I Just Don’t Care That Much-Matt Maeson
Middle Finger-Dropkick Murphys
Bad Things-Rayland Baxter
Hit Somebody!-Warren Zevon