Helo

Avalia

Time: Morning
Location: Dugmaghord - The Pit
Interactions: Pâsh@Alivefalling
Weapon: Meliora, a cobalt glaive with unbreaking and returning charms
Armor: Just the clothes on his back
Equipment: Lockpicking kit, small knife, 3 large red potions, and a pouch of amas.

---

Leaf closed his tired eyes and the sound of dozens of orcs chanting his name washed over him. Even Pâsh, especially Pâsh, who even bestowed upon him the honor of War Chief. He nearly fell over as Pâsh slammed his maul into the ground to make the announcement, and truly he would’ve if the massive Grand Chieftain didn’t already have him damn near dangling by his arm. It took all he had left not to let more than a single tear slide down his fury face.

Leaf’s head was a bit too banged up to really think about what this all meant as he was fully caught up in the rapture of knowing that the orcs had accepted him. Folks all over had a lot of misconceptions about orcs, at least the ones in Dugmaghord, they really weren’t just mindless brutes. It took a lot to not only just survive, but thrive, in the harshest depths of the desert. That took strength, and sure their way of life was brutal but it had a purpose, it was exactly as brutal as it needed to be because when he really thought about it, orcs were a lot like predators, and Leaf could understand predators just fine. Nature was brutal, war would be brutal, so he could not be soft and expect to survive. Leaf would learn all he could from orcs.

“This is far higher than any honor I coulda expected.” Leaf said, bowing his head in respect for Pâsh. “To hear it from Avalia’s greatest warrior, Avalia’s mightiest orc, couldn’t ask for a better day.” Leaf said, grinning, as he tried to express proper gratitude to the Grand Chieftain. “I look forward to following you into battle.” He added, that seemed like the sort of thing an orc would say, and Leaf was almost, feeling a little bit like an orc right now, despite also feeling like a very tiny creature when standing next to towering Pâsh. He was even sure he could eat like an orc. His stomach growled again as it agreed.

Avalia

Time: Afternoon
Location: River Fairy Kingdom - Treeant Inn
Interactions: none
Armor: Adamantine Half-Plate and Steel Chain Mail (currently in his room)
Weapons: Apricus; a Mithril longsword, a steel sheild with barrier charm (currently in his room), and a steel dagger.
Mount: Cow, a black and white Oak Horse
Equipment: Bow and quiver of arrows. Small backpack: 1 large red potion, 3 medium blue potions, 3 medium red potions, darksight glasses, wayfinder, and fire kit. A transmission bracelet (connected to Augus) and pouch of amas.

Purchases During Time Skip

Longbow, quiver, arrows -75 amas
Mithril Longsowrd -350 amas
Steel Shield -60 amas
Barrier charm -400 amas
Adamantine Half Plate -420 amas
Steel Chain Mail -130 amas
Steel Dagger -15 amas
Potions - 25 amas
Darksight Glasses - 40 amas
Small Backpack -25 amas
Oak Horse -220 amas

Total Deduction -1,760 amas
Being Prepared for the War: Priceless

---

Orias’s day began the same as it had for the past four months; he awoke before the sun did, rising to watch Solaris’s might stretch across the sky during early morning meditation. These were his most peaceful moments before he had to assemble a mask to wear in front of others. Next came reminding himself of goals and duties that had to remain in the forefront of his mind; he had to project the image of a confidant prince, had to believe in his words and actions if he was to expect others to believe in them as well.

So many in the River Fairy Kingdom looked at him as if he held the answers to Avalia’s problems, if he let them down, if they lost hope in him, then he risked his allies losing the hope that they could win this war. He represented not only himself but the Biren name and legacy. It was hard to believe he could handle the amount of responsibility that had been so suddenly thrust upon him. He acted the part, walked with his head held high and confidant, and spoke as if he believed in his words.

He tried to look the part, commissioned a sword and shield from the finest smith he could find, fitting armor to match, and did his best to hide any trace of doubt in his eyes. The stress made his body ache in ways it never had before. Because he didn’t feel like a leader, he only saw himself as the coward who turned his back on his kingdom rather than face his own mistakes. How long could he keep this going before he, inevitably, ruined everything he was trying to build?

There was breakfast and training with the fae. He kept himself on a strict schedule; meditation, mealtimes, and sleep were the closest he came to taking a break. Despite the work Orias put into training and his continued meditations, his magic showed no signs of improvement, and so his primary focus stayed on physical combat. It was better to focus on what he could do than what he could not. He had to stay ready for anything, dark elves and demons could be at their door at any moment. He nudged and encouraged Xavier toward a more balanced schedule, opportunities for the human to explore and appreciate Avalia while also making sure he would be ready when the time came for battle. When it came to Aiko and Yuka, Orias did not find it his place to give orders, he was not their prince and they all were equals.

Aiko became a soothing presence as he began to understand their mysterious ways to simply be an aspect of their nature, rather than something he needed to be suspicious of. They were invaluable with knowledge of their demonic foes, and he trusted the dreakwalker implicitly. Xavier’s training was going exceptionally well, the human was strong, and a quick study. He not only showed a willingness to learn but to teach what he knew as well. Orias had faith in the young lad’s ability to bring and weather storms. Then there was Yuka, whose whimsical nature and mysterious motivations still made it hard for him to understand the lioness. He envied her unwavering confidence and the ease with which she acclimated into every situation. She so easily swayed public opinion in their favor.

Today’s training was cut short as Abertha was in full swing in the River Fairy Kingdom and Orias thought a hunting trip would be a fine use of the extra time. Taking part in Avalian holidays and customs would be good for Xavier, immersing the young human in the culture and people of the Avalia would only further impress upon him the importance of protecting this world. He hoped they would be successful enough that they could bring enough meat back to host a feast as a show of thanks for those who ran the Treeant Inn they were all staying at. He had offered the idea of a hunting trip the day before, and now he only waited at the inn for anyone interested in heading off into the forest.

Avalia

Are You Afraid of the Dark?

Valok Grimmrot ⋆ 162 ⋆ Male ⋆ Dark Elf

Dark Necessities

---

Appearance

Height:

6’

Weight:

185lbs

Hair Color:

Coal black that begins to fade into an ash gray

Eye Color:

Bright orange embers that burn with the intense curiosity

Skin Tone:

Pale gray, littered with scars

Brief Clothes Description:

Dresses almost exclusively in black as it allows him to better blend into the shadows.

Psychology

Likes:

- A clear night’s sky
- Quiet places
- Music
- Hot meals
- Fighting

Dislikes:

- Light Elves
- Bright lights
- Needless Cruelty
- Being automatically seen as evil
- Finding weakness or vulnerability in himself

Fears:

- That his nature as a dark elf makes him evil by nature and his past actions have already left him beyond any redemption
- His upbringing leaves him afraid of showing any signs of weakness or vulnerability
- That he is unable to think for himself or move past his upbringing

Sexuality:

Undetermined

Personality:

Valok is a quiet elf by nature, he takes things in, watches with intense curiosity, and tries to learn. He speaks when necessary but in general, tries to keep to himself. Primarily an introvert he does like having others around, finding comfort in knowing he’s not alone while still enjoying the peace of the occasional quiet moment when he is alone. Val does not know what it means to be selfish, his last thought in most situations is himself. While there are many who would see him as cruel, he sees himself as a faithful soldier who followed his orders as given, but given a choice, Valok would never choose to be cruel. He does not kill for the enjoyment of it, he will end his enemy quickly so that they do not suffer. Valok is the type to risk his life when necessary, he sees himself as disposable. That was how he was raised, how he was trained, and he knows no other way.

Val was raised from birth to be a disposable soldier, he has never had family or personal connections to give him any attachment to the world. While he shows no fear in battle to call him brave would be incorrect, for he has nothing to lose, he doesn’t even see his own life as his belonging to him. The blood in his veins seems to run almost as cold as the air of Daka, he rarely loses his temper, and violence is saved for when it must be done. He is patient, quiet of voice, and finds following orders much easier than making his own decisions. Underneath the cold exterior is almost limitless anxiety. A bundle of fears regarding who he is, things he’s done, how he was raised, whether being a dark elf means evil regardless of choices, and not knowing if he can be anything more than a tool of war. His reactions in combat are quick and instinctual, this is one of the few things that come easy for Valok, everything else is shrouded in doubt and confusion.

Not only poorly educated but most of what he has learned comes from the heavy-handed dark elf propaganda. All he learned in his early years painted every race but dark elves as cruel villains. The strongest form of hope in his life has always been his faith in Halastra, the goddess of the dark elf race, and her gift to her chosen people, of bending the darkness to their will, a kindness to help them bear their sorrow. His life experience has taught him to question these teachings but he has not forgotten them entirely. He is, however, observant and intensely curious. He lacks charisma, his tone is often soft and emotionless, echoing his own hollowness. Manipulating people is not a skill for a weapon, but the skill of leaders and so it is not something that would ever occur to him. Jokes are quickly lost on him, and rarely makes any attempts at humor. Valok was never given a choice in his life, and for the vast majority of it, he simply accepted his circumstances and lived with them.

Background

Occupation

Former soldier in the Dark Elf Army, now, he is nothing.

Living/Dead Immediate Family Members:

Entirely unknown, Valok has no knowledge of any family.

Current Companions:

None

Current and Past Lover(s):

Valok has never known any form of love, romantic or otherwise.

Are you a loner or with a group? Have you always been in this place?:

Val has both rarely spent a moment alone, but has in many ways, always been alone.

History:

As an infant Valok was either orphaned or willingly given up to be trained as a soldier. He was raised solely to be an instrument of war and of service to his people. He was never told the circumstances of why or who his family was, but Val does not waste time dwelling on such matters. He was not raised to think, but to fight. His life has always been one of strict order and discipline. All moments of his young life were scheduled down to the second, when he woke up, when he ate, when he trained, and when he rested. His schedule was grueling, keeping him exhausted, far too exhausted to think about his circumstances even if he had any interest in them, to begin with. All his life he has been taught that he does not matter; he is but one of many soldiers who fight not for their own glory but for the betterment of their people.

Even his surname is not his own, but merely the name of one of many schools that exists for the sole purpose of turning out disposable soldiers for the dark elf army. He has no name to pass on, no family ties to bind him down, no legacy to protect or further. Instead, he has just a single shared goal with every other graduate of Grimmrots; to serve dark elf interests.

Grimmrots was his home for the majority of his life, he grew up there, trained there, and learned there. From the second he was able he was trained to fight, both with weapons and with magic. His dark abilities have always been a part of him, his people take pride in being gifted by the night. He worked hard, he learned discipline, and any failure in this was punished with swift brutality. Wake up, train, eat, chores, train, eat, rest. The schedule repeated endlessly. Val took comfort in the schedule, he knew what he was supposed to do and where he had to be, he didn’t have time or energy left to worry about anything else. Those who did not take to this kind of life were made an example of and weakness was never tolerated. He learned how to face fear, to bear pain, and to kill. Once he was old enough, he was shipped off to The Pits for more intense combat training.

The Pits held a similar schedule and he adjusted quickly. He then put his training to use, fighting for his life in gladiatorial combat where he learned to kill without hesitation. Some of his comrades in the Pits enjoyed the killing, Val did it because he was good at it and because he was told to do it. This was the experience he needed to become a true soldier, killing was how he would serve his people, and he was raised for service. Once he was deemed worthy, he entered the dark elf army in full; he was loyal, obedient, and well trained. He believed himself lucky to have been born in the age where the great war they were being raised for was to take place, he would get to be one of many that changed Avalia for the betterment of his people. This was a great honor.

Being sent forth as a part of the occupation of Roshmi City was the first time he questioned any of this. He was prepared to be a nameless hero, sure there would be no glory for him, but his sacrifice would leave a better Avalia for his race. What he was not prepared for was to finally see the reasons why every other race in Avalia so easily saw dark elves as their villains. The endlessly brutal executions, the torture of the fun of it, the examples made of those who spoke out against dark elves, and the rampant cruelty that went so far beyond what could be reasonably necessary. There were orders he was sent to carry out that left deep marks on his spirit. Four months of witnessing a hell he helped bring about shattered any desire he had to remain a loyal soldier. The first choice Valok ever made regarding his own life was to turn his back on everything he knew in search of something, anything, else.

Combat and Magic:

Strength: 6
Speed on Land: 5
Speed in Air: 0
Magical Ability: 7
Dexterity: 5
Weapon Proficiency: 7
Stealth: 9

Best Ability:

Blending into the shadows; when you've been raised to believe you are nothing becoming nothing more than a shadow is as easy as drawing breath.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Morning, 8am-9:23 am
Location: Sorian Palace; Guest Room to the Castle Hall
Interactions: Several with the floor

---

“Lord Smithwood, your presence is requested in the castle hall.” The room to Leo’s guest room was cracked, and a servant, one of his mother’s as Leo faintly recognized him, cautiously peaked his head into the room.

“Who and why?”

“That would be Dutchess Smithwood, who sounded very cross this morning regarding certain activities that took place last night.” Leo didn’t care for how smug the servant sounded. If he could remember the creature's name he would’ve made a mental note to complain about it later, but fortunately for the man Leo barely remembered his own name right now.

“You are excused.” Leo muttered and the door was quickly closed again.

Leo could barely remember what activities took place last night; he remembered the two youngest Danrose’s, a group of Alidasht royals, Roman, and a few others all going to an after-party, but everything past that was a blur. Which was strange considering he rarely drank enough to forget an entire evening but apparently it had been one hell of a party. Why that needed his mother’s opinion was beyond him, as far as who was causing the biggest scandal in the family she was still the clear victor.

He let out an annoyed sigh and rose from the bed, taking his time getting dressed for the day. It was around the time that he got his shoes on, tied, and went to head out for the day that his foot slipped across the floor and he landed flat on his ass with a thud.

What the actual fuck. He knew he’d been right about the servants here over polishing the floors but this was beyond ridiculous. How did anyone walk about in this palace with the floors like this? Even getting back up off the floor proved to be damn near impossible as every time his feet touched the ground they slipped about as if his shoes were made only of melting butter.

The shoes? Oh goddamnit. He thought as he took off one of his shoes and tossed it across the floor. Sure enough, it slid across the room and as he touched the sole of the other one it was proved to be the slippery culprit. A fine pair of shoes, absolutely ruined. He shook his head, normally a prank such as this could be easily laughed off but today was not the day for it. He wondered who the culprit could be, Thea came to mind but based on the state she’d been in the last few months he couldn’t see her pulling any pranks.

He was willing to shelve the thought for later, maybe another mystery to bring up to Charlotte if the conversation of more serious mysteries turned too grim. He grabbed a different pair of shoes, ones he liked far less and noted that in socks alone the floor was perfectly manageable.

Leo’s ass again met the floor. No. He thought, no longer finding any amusement in the situation. Surely this prankster hasn’t ruined every shoe in this room. To his horror he discovered that every pair of shoes that come with him from Stravy was, in fact, slipperier than a greased-up pig.

What was he to do? He was already going to be very late to the unnecessary tongue lashing and walking around in slicked-up shoes taking baby steps and hoping not to fall was not a great option. Walking around the Sorian Palace wearing only his socks seemed equally idiotic. So for a few more minutes, Leo stood bewildered in his guest room with every pair of shoes tossed all over the floor. The sock option seemed better, less of him continuing to become overly acquainted with the floor.

He went to storm out of the room in a huff of annoyance, his weight leaning against the door handle as he went to throw the door open. This time the gods saw fit to spare his ass and he instead slipped forwards, out the door, and his face became acquainted with the floor. At least the incidents with his shoes had happened alone because the fall outside of his room happened in front of several servants who now either held their hands over their mouths or had their backs turned so that he could not see their snickers. As if he didn’t know.

Leo hopped back up off the floor for what felt like the dozenth time this morning. The back of his neck all the way up his ears was noticeably red from embarrassment.

“Sir you seem to be missing your shoes.” The servant who had woken and was tasked with escorting him to his mother’s lecture spoke, clearly struggling not to laugh.

“I am aware, go ahead, lead me to this idiotic lecture and while I’m there go and fetch me shoes from the market. Whatever it costs, this should cover it.” Leo pulled a fair amount of money from his pocket and handed it to the servant. “Normal shoes, quick as you can and the rest is yours.” Leo clarified because a vague order was no one’s friend and ‘if you want something done correctly and expediently it always costs extra’. He grinned a bit at that last thought, his father had taught him that one.

Due to the shoe debacle, Leo not only arrived at the Castle Hall in his socks but was noticeably late. Leo hated being late, more so than he hated being lectured like a child for attending a party because being late was a sign of incompetence. He muttered a soft apology when he arrived but said nothing further, excuses were also a sign of incompetence and he’d already spent most of the morning looking and behaving like a fool, there was no need to add to it.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Morning, ~9am
Location: Sorian Palace; Medical Wing to anywhere but here
Interaction:

Callum's night was spent tossing and turning, muttered strange things, and at many points during the night he wined and cried like a child. Even as the effects of the drink wore off, the melancholy of the experience lingered on. His restless sleep was disturbed by the sounds of faint feminine voices, the familiar sounds of his mother and sister in yet another argument about something. Well, "argument" might be the wrong word for it, if he knew his family the way he was sure he did, it was more likely that his mother was berating Anastasia for something. Funny how he only really noticed that sort of thing after her kidnapping, before he’d only ever thought of his father as the one who liked to drive the will to live from his children.

Callum groaned as he rolled over in the bed, planning to whine to his mother that he felt sick and needed a cup of tea just to distract her from her tirade just as he heard them leaving the room. That was when his brain finally woke up enough to wonder what was going on.

Why the hell were they even in his room? His eyes opened and looking up at the ceiling he realized he was not in his own room. Where the fuck am I? He realized he remembered almost nothing about the party last night but the way his head pounded when he thought about it was a pretty strong indicator that he’d blacked out. Shit. He was in the medical chamber. Double shit. Apparently sneaking back in undetected had not happened.

He sat up only to be greeted with instant nausea and the urge to dry heave but another set of eyes, crazed with fury, locked onto his. Edin. Callum bolted from the bed, his limbs tangled up in a sheet as he did so, which cause him to only fall wildly onto the floor. The prince, however, didn’t miss a beat and popped right back up, tossing the sheet and making a frantic dash for the door.

He knew that look and knew how much trouble it meant he was now in. Callum reacted on instinct with the desperate fear of a child and ran as if his life depended on it. He knew running would only make it worse, the only thing his father hated more than disobedient children would be the absolute spectacle of his cowardly son running from him. But he also knew that no king wanted to be seen in front of his oh-so-important guests chasing down his son through the palace. Maybe he could buy himself some time before he’d have to face the beast.

Callum’s mad dart through the medical chamber continued with him loudly slammed slamming the door closed and continuing to dart down a hallway. He was exhausted, felt a weird sense of déjà vu to be running like this, but thought nothing further of it. He paid little attention to where he was going or if anyone was watching, and focused only on getting as far away as he could, wondering if today was finally going to be the day his father sent him to the executioner. It seemed entirely possible.

Avalia

Time: Afternoon
Location: North Pass
Interactions: Rue @Potter

Armor: Leather Vest with Armor of Deflection charm, Rest of outfit minus the gloves.
Weapons: Steel Short Sword with Shift Charm transforming it into a chain knife, and a boot small knife.
Equipment: a backpack containing: 1 large red potion, 1 green potion, 3 large blue potions, 2 small blue potions, a hunting knife, a flask, small tent, blanket, waterskin, rope, fire starting kit, lightmaker, matches, cooking pot, a bar of soap, some drugs (skaula and zemak), rolling papers, pipe, and a pouch of amas.

Purchases During Time Skip

Leather Breastplate -25 amas
Armor Of Defection Charm -1000 amas
Clothing -100 amas
Smoking Pipe -60 amas
Short sword (Steel) - 40 amas
Shift Charm - 150 amas
Chain Dart (Steel) - 50 amas
Boot Knife (Steel) - 15 amas
Potions - 40 amas
Gorestria Gem Rings - 250 amas
Amount spent on vices -200 amas

Total Deduction: - 1,930 amas

Time Skip Summary

True to his word Bowyn had chosen to follow those that Rue put faith in despite his reservations with many in the group. Finding out the group’s destination would be the frozen lands of North Pass had felt like a positive omen. A land far from the overbearing sun they faced in River Port, surrounded by the familiar comforts of ice, snow, and the numbing cold. He even found a new respect for Annya when she had been willing to send a distraught Raven back to her own world; it had been the only right thing to do, to not use the humans as tools without a say in their own fates.

However, the journey by ship to North Pass was a turn for the worse for the winter fairy as he found himself surrounded by the oppressive feeling of being utterly trapped in such a small place. Confined to a boat that was packed with unfamiliar faces, too many elves, and little space to be alone. He was constantly seasick and anxious, and there was never enough alcohol on that damn boat to settle any of his turmoil. That first week was a blur of sickness, shaking, sweating, and wishing he could throw himself into the sea because if he could not drown his pain in drink the cold water of the sea was the next best thing. After that, he slowly started to acclimate.

Bowyn understood that within the group he was maybe the furthest from the ideal warrior; not even close to battle-ready and eventually he joined in on the majority of Annya’s strict schedule. Bowyn began to rise when the sun did and attended every training session with Kharne and Bron whether or not he was entirely up for it. He did so without a complaint for every drop of sweat and every moment of pain was all in preparation for something worse that he knew would come. Through his own sheer stubbornness, Bowyn never quit no matter how close or how far past his breaking point came. Over time, Bowyn grew stronger for it, and he almost even enjoyed the distraction it provided. Exhaustion, at least, left little time for thoughts.

He skipped out on Annya's lectures, which he saw as little use to him, and the mediation sessions, an activity he preferred to do alone and heavily under the influence of psychedelic aid but made no remarks about it. He understood these to be of use to the humans. Bowyn was more than willing to assist in training the humans in controlling and strengthening their connection to magic. Any interested in learning from him would find a blunt but surprisingly patient instructor for those who took the subject seriously.

His entire focus tunneled in on being ready for war, all his anxious energy fixated on making sure he would not fail those who mattered to him nor his ultimate goal of victory. Once they had arrived at North Pass and alcohol was again readily available, his sobriety ended that night same in a blackout but his work ethic never vanished. When his time was consumed with training it was easy to stay focused, when left alone with his thoughts all he often sought an escape from them.

He searched for common ground with their leader Annya and put forth an effort to better understand her thought processes and strategies. Despite the many differences he could respect the way she lead, and that was enough for Bowyn. When it came to Kharne and Bron, Bowyn respected their honesty, their dedication to training those willing to learn, and their ability to push others to be better. When it came to Bron especially he found someone with whom it was easy to find a comfortable silence on the occasions when they shared a drink. Bowyn already held an appreciation for the dwarven race, his tension with Arn had been an outlier, and that grudge was long forgotten. He admired the strong-willed Ishmael, who arrived at Avalia already a warrior in his own right. As for Bardulf, he was glad Rue had found a friend of similar disposition but Bowyn kept a good amount of distance from the human who seemed apprehensive of him. He avoided both Eris and Kaleb, both of whom he felt had already proved themselves as people he could never fully trust. In the end, his strongest connection remained with Rue, his oldest friend, the only presence that kept him grounded and provided a much-needed source of hope.

Although Bowyn liked this group well enough he maintained his distance from all but Rue. They were preparing for war, he didn’t need or want any more close bonds that would inevitably lead to pain once the fighting began, nor did he want to split his focus further. He would do all he could to protect those on his side, even those he didn’t fully trust, but any loss was hard enough for him without the added pain of attachments. Bowyn did the best he could, he did what he could live with, and avoided what he thought would make things worse for himself.

Today was a good day for Bowyn, Abertha was a sacred time for the fae, a time to give thanks for all the earth provided and for the sacrifices that made life possible. He knew what he was most thankful for and that was his friendship with Rue, who continued to stick by him despite his turmoil and fragile mind. So he had tried to find a gift for Rue that could help convey things he couldn't easily put into words. It hadn’t been an easy task to find something that could really show how important Rue was to him but he hoped what he had now was close enough.

His heart raced a bit as he heard a soft knock at the door to his room, he knew who it was by the knock alone. Most of the time Bowyn had little trouble saying exactly what he thought or felt in any given situation, but sometimes he found himself wanting to say things to Rue but lost for the right words for them. So he had tried to figure out what he wanted to say but instead, he got stuck on why it was hard to tell someone how important they were. He’d decided that words weren’t often strong enough to carry the weight of the feelings behind them. Not that figuring that out helped him much when it came to trying to tell Rue exactly how much she meant to him.

“Rue.” Bowyn offered a small smile as he opened the door. No use in wasting time now, he’d only lose what remained of his nerve if he waited. “Hey, I got you something, a gift, a small gift. I guess it’s not much, well, I thought it seemed nice.” He said before rifling through his many pockets until he found what he was looking for and he held it concealed in his hand.

“Anyway I just wanted you to know that it means a lot that you’ve always been here for me, just in case you didn’t already know, and I hope I’ve done the same. And that no matter what happens, with everything, you know, changing and getting all crazy, that I don’t want that to change, us being here for each other.” Bowyn opened his palm to reveal a silver ring set with a Gorestria gem. The gem was a mix of purples, blues, and pinks with white star-like flecks dispersed through it which perfectly mimicked the night’s sky. Bowyn had been wearing a ring of a similar design on one of his own fingers but he slipped it off to show them both to Rue.

“They’re bonded and enchanted, so if you wear it, the stars in the stone will look like the same ones I see and mine will look like the same stars you see. So then it’s like we’re always connected, no matter where we are or what happens. If you want it, obviously you don’t have to take it.” He wondered if maybe she didn’t want to have to think about him when he wasn’t around, he could understand that. So he waited, studying her reaction, and wishing he had been able to come up with something better to say.

Avalia

Time: Morning
Location: Dugmaghord - The Pit
Interactions: Random Orc
Mentions: Pâsh@Alivefalling, Slick @FunnyGuy, Rosaria @Potter, Aurora @Mole
Weapon: Glaive with Unbreaking and Returning Charms
Armor: Just the clothes on his back
Equipment: Lockpicking kit, a small knife, 4 large red potions (1 used in post), and a pouch of amas.

Purchases During Time Skip

-Cobalt Glaive -200 amas
-Charms; Returning and Unbreaking -200 amas and -600 amas
-Lockpicking Kit -70 amas? (idk how much this should be)
-Small Knife -6 amas
-4 Large Red Potions -6 amas each
Total deduction: -1,100 amas

---

Drip.

Drip.

The gash above the young catman’s head continued to drop blood into his eyes and even though it stung, amongst all the other pain in his body, it barely registered. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths.

No time to think, he dove away from the swing of the mighty war hammer.

Leaf on the Wind was swift on his feet, his energy often had few limitations, and he could outrun an orc, under normal circumstances, any day. Most orcs were slow, predictable, but ruthlessly brutal. It had only taken a couple of good hits from the orc to turn the feline into a bloody mess.

Several quick blinks tried in vain to clear the blood from his vision but his grip on the glaive remained tight. His tail flicked with anticipation as he caught the next movement of the orc that towered over him.

The orc swung the war hammer again with all his might.

Leaf’s ears pinned back and his mouth grinned in a way that showed his blood-coated teeth. Leaf ducked down, rolled forward towards the orc, missing the hammer, and he ended up parallel to the orc just to his left. The glaive that felt like a part of him shot forth, slashing through the back of the orc’s calf just above the foot. The trusty glaive slashed through flesh, the faint and satisfying sound of a pop reached Leaf’s ears, and a small bit of bone was flung loose as a tendon was snapped and severed.

More blood mixed with the sand. The orc’s blood. Leaf’s blood. All of it soaked into the sand as the sun beat down upon the two sparing warriors.

The orc let out a primal cry of pain and rage, that echoed through the pit and whipped the crowd into a frenzy as the spectators let out a deafening roar at the sight of more bloodshed.

The orc swung the injured leg and Leaf went to move but his glaive was now stuck firmly in orc flesh. The orc’s foot collided with his ribcage and Leaf heard and felt the cracking of several ribs as he was kicked to the side. His glaive remained within the orc.

The orc’s weight now rested mainly on his other leg, the injured leg toe-touching the ground, and the war hammer was briefly used as a cane to keep the large creature from falling over.

Leaf struggled back to his feet, knowing another hit from the orc and it was lights out for the catman. His ears were ringing so loud he couldn’t hear anything else, and blood continued to drop into his eyes making his already blurred vision even more useless.

Leaf had learned many things over the last few months. He’d learned that you couldn’t always trust what a pixie’s said and Aurora did not have some form of highly contagious blindness and was, without a doubt, the most genuine and kind creature he’d ever met. He’d learned that sometimes you really could trust orders from some folks and Rosaria wasn’t out here to use people up and toss them aside. He learned that men like Slick, who could lie as easy as breathing could make the most trustworthy of companions. The world was growing darker by the day but those with him here kept the light burning.

Most importantly to his current situation, he’d learned that when you fought an orc you didn’t even have to see them, cause you could always smell them clear as day. Especially in the desert.

The orc’s scent got stronger, the creature was against the light blow of wind. Leaf spun towards the wind and away from the orc, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the sand as he did so.

“Meliora!” He shouted the name he’d chosen for the glaive, his every breath already stung, the effort of shouting was almost enough to leave him doubled over but Leaf would not allow it. Not in the pit, not in front of the other orcs. He had to do better, had to be stronger.

Thhwwwaaapppp.The returning charm did its trick and the glaive ripped itself free from orc flesh with a wet sound and returned itself to Leaf’s outstretched hand. There was no cry from the orc, only angry grunts and snarls as it lumbered about.

Orcs were massive creatures, it was hard to miss the feel of heavy thumps their footsteps made against the sand of the pit. In a feat of pure strength, Leaf would never best one, even the smallest of orcs had fists like anvils.

So Leaf had to be better, had to use every advantage he had. They were going to war, people would be counting on him and he couldn’t let them down. If Pâsh could go out there and kill a hygora shrimp, and Leaf had damn well heard that story from just about every orc here, then Leaf could finish this fight and he had to do it quickly before the orc knocked him out.

Now Pâsh was scary, even without the added shrimp powers, and Leaf would rather chew off his own tail than disappoint the orc chieftain who he knew was bound to be watching the pit fights. Maybe that was all part of Leaf’s problem, when he was around an impressive figure he wanted to be impressive too, and the hard to please the harder Leaf tried.

He had to try harder. He had to win this one. He was so close he could taste the victory.

As the orc’s footsteps sent clumsy vibrations through the ground, Leaf’s feet dug into the sand, claws outstretched, weight shifting forwards. The massive blurry shape swung again, this time lifting the hammer upwards as the orc was forced to use it as both weapon and crutch. A swift jump out of reach, his feet slid against the sand. Then the glaive shot forwards, driving into the orc’s forearm as the orc swung the hammer back downwards again.

A guttural sound that was a mix of a warcry, shock, and pain, burst forth from the orc and broke through the ringing in Leaf’s ears. Leaf opened his mouth and emitted a similar sound, blood and spit spraying from his mouth as well. He ripped the glaive free.

More blood splattered the sand. The war hammer fell to the ground as well.

Leaf lept forward, the glaive now held between both hands with the staff hitting against the orc's throat. The big guy tumbled backward, hitting the ground with a loud thud with Leaf still atop him and the staff of the glaive still pressing down against the orc's throat.

Wide orc eyes stared up at him with fury, bulging almost out of their sockets, as the big guy struggled for air.

Some orcs would take the opportunity to kill the weaker, and straggle the air from enemy lungs. Some might also offer a swifter death, Leaf still had the glaive, in a quick second, he could burry the spear tip into the enemy's throat.

But the pits were not the war and Leaf was not an orc.

“Yield?” Leaf asked through gritted teeth. The orc whose color was darkening from the lack of oxygen sputtered a muffled reply. Leaf shifted his weight from the orc’s throat to better hear the reply only to find himself being knocked off the orc. The orc attempted to get back on his feet.

Leaf was knocked backward but true to his nature he landed atop his feet with feline grace, spun the glaive, and thrust it towards the orc and where his neck should be. The tip pressed against the orc’s flesh and Leaf held it there.

“Yield or die!” Leaf did not ask this time.

“Yield.” The defeated orc said before collapsing back into the sand with a sigh. Leaf let out a sigh of relief, and sunk down to the bloody sand. The adrenalin began to wane, and the pain of every hit took its place.

Four months of training with the fiercest race in Avalia. Several weeks of being constantly exhausted trying to keep up with them. Three months of being knocked out by orc fists in pit fights. Countless days earning respect for being able to take hit after hit and bounce back up again. Time and time again every pit fight he’d stepped into had ended in bloody defeat, only for him to try again as soon as he was able. Four months of him learning how to fight in ways he never had before. Today it paid off, today Leaf on the Wind was the victor. The roar of approval from the crowd made it even sweeter.

Large red potions were offered to the fighters after they had left the pits to make room for the next fight. With a bit of time the orc would be fine, his pride seemed to have taken the worst injury. As for Leaf, the potion headed up the gash to his head, his vision slowly cleared up, and the overall pain lessened a great deal. His ribs, his well just about everything, still hurt but he’d heal fine, and in time all trace of the beating would be gone. What he had now was well worth it, he’d beaten an orc, something didn’t think he could do four months ago, and that feeling wasn’t going anywhere.

His glaive was still held firmly in his hand because just like teeth and claws meant survival in the wilderness, his weapon meant survival both here and in war. He kept it close at all times, always ready, never forgetting the terrible sight he’d seen in the sky of demons and what they could do. They would not get him, they would not get his friends. Once he could move a bit more comfortably, he cleaned the orc blood from it and inspected his glaive for any sign of damage but the unbreaking charm kept it safe. After his glaive was tended to, Leaf cleaned the blood from his fur.

Now he could relax, Leaf looked forward to watching more pit fights, studying the way the more seasoned orc’s fought one another. The gurgle deep in his stomach, however, demanded lunch before he could truly relax and enjoy the day's festivities. He groaned with disappointment, getting lunch meant he had to move from where he sat, and right now moving sounded very unrelaxing.

Avalia

Time: Afternoon
Location: The Nest
Interactions:
Mentions: Cap’n Lizzie; The Oceanblessed and Goddess of the Seas
Equipment: A cutlass, 2 knives, 1 dagger, a spyglass, a wayfinder, a pouch of amas, and various jewelry.

---

“Any’un heard from Bamvur?” A shifty-looking demifox approached the bar, asking those he seemed familiar with.

“Been at least a day or so since he was in ‘ere.” The bartender offered with a sad shrug.

“Saw the ol’ bastard yesterday, went and got himself hung up with the rest o’ the fools. Ain’t no sense in it. Can hardly explain that to an orc though can ya?” An elf near them pipped up, shaking his head. Roshmi was plagued by public executions, bodies were left rotten in public view as a warning.

“Fools? Hardly call having a bit of courage left in ya foolish. Damn sure it’s what we all outta be -” The foxman was cut off when the bartender slammed a fist against the bar.

“Ain’t gonna allow no talk like that in here. You don’t know whose ears are about.” The barman was stern in his warning.

“Gonna have to agree with the lad, if ya can’t live free best to die free.” Nym spoke up.

“An’ so what brings a pirate into Roshmi?” The bartender eyed Nym with a bit of suspicion.

Roshmi was now a bleak place full of suspicion, folks turning on each other to keep themselves safe from Dark Elf vengeance. Now as far as Nym was concerned this was an elf war and he wasn’t keen on getting too caught up with either side. There were some dark elves he liked and some he hated. The same could be said of light elves. He had no ties to any nation; his nation was the The Harem and his people its crew, simple as that. But the environment that the dark elf occupation in Roshmi had created was a ripe one for the story he planned to tell to catch and spread.

“Anyone ever tell you the tale of Cap’n Lizzie the Oceanblessed?" Nym offered instead of a real explanation. Those around him gave a shake of their heads or shrug of the shoulders.

“Aye finest cap’n I ever sailed with; a voice more compelling than a siren’s song, hair like the cannon’s blast, and eyes that held the sea within ‘em. I tell you this, ain’t never met a creature more born for the sea than this force of a woman. They say she was the daughter of the goddess Cari herself, raised deep within the sea’s trenches, gifted by the Leviathan with a piece of the beast’s own soul. Cap’n Lizzie, aye she was no ordinary creature, she bent the seas and all their powers to her whims.” He began the tale before one of the men interrupted.

“Hogwash. Them celestials ain’t havin’ no kids. Ain’t even sure they’re real anyways.” The foxman spoke up.

“You callin’ me a lair lad? I seen it with me own eye and I’m tellin’ ya, Cap’n Lizzie could summon the mightiest gale in a blink, could sink a Man'o'war with a single thought, and call for the creatures from the depths of the ocean to swallow its sailors whole.” Nym spoke with absolute confidence in his tale, eyeing the foxman until the lad broke and shook his head, indicating that he wouldn’t dare call Nym a liar.

“You sure this wasn’t a human?” The elf asked.

“Aye, now humans ain’t nothin’ more than old elven fairy tales, and even in them ol’ tales no mere human could do what The Oceanblessed could. Now I know ya got a whole mess going on here but things ain’t all that different on the seas. A tyrant sails the oceans, fella named Ardyn himself the Pirate King, but ya see the sea, she holds no love fer a tyrant, and neither did the sea’s daughter, Cap’n Lizzie.” Nym continued on, unbothered by the interruptions, knowing that they only meant he was piquing their interest. He made the parallels simple enough and tweaked his story into something that would want to believe in, something that they would want to tell others.

“And if this cap’n is all ya say how come we ain’t heard of her?” The foxman asked, but his tone was more excited than doubting.

“Dead men tell no tales, and them what crossed Cap’n Lizzie all lay at the bottom of the seas or in the belly of a beast.” Nym offered, and the fox lad grinned at that.

“And where’s your captain now?” The elf asked, he still held doubts and Nym didn’t mind a challenge.

“The tragedy of sailin’ with a creature not entirely of the mortal world is they ain’t destined to stay. An’ Cap’n Lizzie, aye she was more akin to a goddess than a mortal. Them celestials, they never leave us, they watch down from the stars, eyes always looking into the darkest parts o’ this world. They watched as the seas, the one place on this world with infinite freedom, was being strangled by some self-declared Pirate King prick. So they sent us the Oceanblessed, a gift to teach us to free ourselves from tyranny. An’ that’s what she did. Took a stand far off in the seas against Ardyn the Tyrant, had we not had the power of a goddess with us the whole crew of The Harem would’ve fallen that fateful day.”

Nym continued his tale, one he’d spun through every port they’d stopped at along the way to Roshmi, the story of Captain Lizzie’s last stand against the tyrant Pirate King. In Nym’s version, the Oceanblessed took on a small fleet with a single ship and skeleton crew, there was a great sea monster with many heads that rose from the deep and fell under Lizzie's command. There was a typhoon in the sky powerful enough to fling sailors from their ships, a maelstrom that swallowed ships whole, and a use of mana so powerful that it lead the goddess he called the Oceanblessed to make the most final sacrifice and return to the seas. He painted Lizzie as a martyr for freedom, spoke of how her soul left her body in the form of a wave and returned to the seas, and claimed to have seen her mortal body dissolve into foam before them.

“And the Pirate Tyrant? What happened to him?” Asked the elf, eyes sparking as he spoke.

“Aye, now there’s the rub of it. Ardyn proved to be nothin’ more than a chickenhearted coward, there in hologram alone, too gutless to face his fate in person, he only sent his men to die in his place.” Nym spat onto the floor as he spoke of Ardyn, and the foxman watched and did the same. He went on to explain that he and his crew were in the process of recruiting before tracking down the cowardly Pirate King once and for all.

The Nest proved to be an ideal spot to find future pirates, the overall crowd was both tough and rowdy and folks with lax morals and a thirst for freedom were plentiful here. Those interested in a life of piracy were sent to the docks for further assessment.

The Harem had been restocked, ready for the next excursion, recruitment was going well enough, and he was keeping his promise to ensure tales of the fallen Cap’n Lizzie reached every corner of Avalia. Nym was keeping himself occupied because their other goal, a rescue mission for a pair of Helio’s friends was proving fruitless. Nym was about ready to just find himself a few random fae folks looking for an adventure and tell Helio to forget about his missing pals and make some new ones. Based on what he’d seen in Roshmi so far it seemed more than likely that they were already dead anyhow. Course he knew enough to know about how well that would go over with the lad but they couldn’t continue to lounge around Roshmi for the rest of their days either.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Night
Location: 420 Wicker St; The Pit of Pandemonium
Interaction: Callum

Leo had achieved the ideal state; drunk enough that everything blended into perfection, and the delightful blue cocktail had only added an undeniable sense of euphoria. At some point in the last hour, he’d lost his shirt but the warehouse was ridiculously hot even for summertime. Even minus the shirt, he was absolutely drenched in sweat, his jaw hurt from the constant teeth grinding, and the rest of his face hurt from his constant grin. Still, none of that bothered him, there was dancing and drinking and he had met so many people tonight.

He cared about nothing other than the dancing, and at some point, he’d separated from the others he’d come here with and found himself surrounded by new faces. Leo was all for it, ever new face, a new friend, even if he didn’t exactly remember a single name. The lights around the warehouse had him transfixed, he kept watching them as he danced, and the trace-inducing music overtook any possible thoughts. All he wanted was for this moment, this feeling, to last forever.

One moment everything was perfection and the next he felt as if everything inside him had been gutted out until he was hollow. His dancing slowed, fumbling to keep up with the music’s tempo. Even the lights around him seemed dimmer, their luster faded. Why was it gone? He was still drunk, that was indisputable, but the pure bliss, the ecstasy, it had just vanished. He stumbled from the dance floor, his head shaking, sweat filing from his hair, as he tried to snap himself out of it.

That hollow feeling was bringing him down, he had to get rid of it.

The last time he had felt this bad, was after his father had gone missing. It hadn’t been when he’d first gotten the news, that had only felt like a minor concern. Not because he didn’t care but because his father, the Duke of Stravy, was no ordinary man. Duke Feralt was larger than life, he was a presence that filled a room, someone who always held the answers and never second-guessed himself. His father was invincible, nothing bad could touch a man like that.

The worst of it had come later, staring at the pitiful scraps of evidence that had been collected. Then looking it all over countless times until he had it memorized only to finally realized there was no illuminating connection he could find there. He had no leads to follow, no great theories to work through, and no answers. It was like a rug had been violently ripped from beneath him and he was falling backward and never landing. His father was supposed to be invincible, and then he was just gone. Gone, and Leo couldn’t cry or grieve because he didn’t know, he was trapped in the shock of it.

And then Leo had to do things that he didn’t even know how to; he had to lead his family, look for answers, and try and fill the void his father left behind. God knows his mother wasn’t doing it, she went around acting like his greatest tragedy was the prelude to her fairy tale ending. It only got worse when everyone else just moved on, the search for his father went stagnant, and almost no one else seemed to care. There was just him, and Thea, who still cared, and he could not let Thea down.

So he could fill that hollowness with anger at everyone who moved on so easily, and for a while, that was enough to carry on. Then came danger, any sudden rush that made him feel alive again. And he kept going, kept trying, searching, and he thought he was doing well because he hadn’t felt this empty in so long. But now, even as he ran through every thought that could once ignite something in him, he felt nothing.

Despite the lingering sadness that became a baseline, there were still no tears and no grieving, no way to move on without an answer, and once again there wasn’t even the will to try.

And what if he’s dead? What if some shit-stained peasant slaughtered him for the money in his pockets and got away with it all on random dumb luck? Nothing. That thought should make his blood boil and he felt nothing.

If I had been there, maybe none of this would’ve happened. But even as this thought crossed Leo’s mind the guilt sickness didn’t follow the way it usually did. Nothing came to fill the void.

It could’ve all been an accident, what if he had simply died injured and alone. He could even picture his father lying dead, rotting into the earth as scavengers picked his bones clean. That should make a person sad, what normal person wouldn’t find despair in such a thought? Leo still felt cold and hollow, but not a single tear came to him.

Maybe he lives still, a head injury, and he’s just out there, somewhere, waiting for his memories to return. That used to give him some hope, a slim but bright possibility, but now Leo found no light in the thought.

What if she had him killed? My own mother, she’s cold enough. A fever chill ran through him, and he wanted the thought to make him weep, wanted to be able to feel something real again. Nothing.

He tried to pull from every strong emotional well he could think of; rage, guilt, despair, hope, and even the most frustratingly, maddening, conspiracy he could think of, one wrought with betrayal and he felt nothing. Every emotion that used to spark a fire was now dowsed, leaving not even a single ember to burn.

Leo felt everything he was collapsing into the hollow void, falling and spiraling downwards with his feet never hitting solid ground. He wanted his father, the man with all the strength and all the answers, even if it was just for a single minute. Even if it was just to look upon sun-bleached bones or a bloated corpse and finally have a small bit of closure but after so long he doubted any answers would be found. He wanted the hollowness to fill with grief and let tears fall until they were gone again. But there was only numbness.

He had no desire for more alcohol or food, his grin had vanished some time ago, and all the festivities around him required energy he no longer had. He shuffled around the warehouse, not sure what he was looking for but needing to do something to keep himself going. Eventually, he came across a passed-out Callum. Oh fuck, is he dead?

Leo gave the passed-out prince a couple of kicks to the ribs, but there was no weight behind it, and the slight jostling caused Callum to stir. Well, guess he’s not dead.

“Cal?” The only reply Leo got was a slight mumble from the prince.

“Callum!” He shouted over the music and this time Cal moved his hand from his face and barely opened his eyes.

“Who?” Callum’s response was still mumbled and confused.

“How much did you drink?” Leo asked.

“Don’no’. Enough?” Cal’s speech slurred slightly, words difficult to form.

“Where is everyone?” Leo asked looking around.

“Who?” Cal grunted out the response, his eye’s tried to close again.

“Ana, the Alidasht, everyone we came here with.” Leo continued, more confused than anything, but slowly the half-asses responses from Callum were beginning to grate on his nerves.

“Who?” Cal asked again. The young prince barely knew what was going on, where he was, who this guy was, or why he was being asked so many damn questions.

Why was he always like this? Leo thought, the frustration beginning to set in. Cal was giving him a headache, but at least it was something, he could deal with frustration over complete numbness. “Your sister and her friends Cal, focus, where’d they go.” Leo asked slowly.

“Don’no’. Where am?” Cal said, he tried sitting up only to slide back down, exhausted.

“On the floor.” Leo answered.

“Oh. why?” Cal tried and failed again to pull himself off the floor.

“Fuck if I know.” Leo said with a shrug before kneeling and throwing one of Cal’s arms over his shoulders. Leo pulled the prince up to his feet and Cal struggled even with the help to keep himself upright.

“Ew, someone puke.” Cal gestured to the floor near where he’d passed out. Leo said nothing but had a good idea of who that someone might’ve been.

“Yeah someone did, let’s get you away from that mess.” Leo said leading Cal around, letting the prince lean most of his weight against him. There was so much still wrong, so much he knew wasn’t going to get better, but Cal’s current problem, one of being too drunk to move, was something he could fix. Leo led Cal over to one of the sets of triangular tables and sat him on one of the chairs. Cal immediately laid his head down on the table and that was when the waterworks started. He could see the prince’s shoulder shake as Cal wept but if any part of his breakdown was audible it went unheard over the rest of the noise in the warehouse.

Then all chaos broke out.

The strange blond guy went absolutely crazy. Not only did this man now look like he’d crawled half-dead from a gutter, but he was spitting blood, muttering to himself, and crawling all over the floor. Definitly nuts. Leo’s earlier assumption about Chavez during, what he would now think of as the very mild, cupcake tantrum, proved to be true. No way am I riding back with that guy.

And where the fuck was everyone? Leo could’ve dealt with the one drunken Callum, but the rest of this chaos was too much. There was Chavez quickly becoming more and more unhinged, there was having no idea where the rest of their group was, and all he wanted to do was go crawl into a bed and not wake up for a week. Why do I have to deal with this, I got my own shit, and I can’t even deal with that. The entire situation only looked hopeless.

More chaos, the sound of something hitting crashing against a wall, and voices that rose to be heard over the music. The weird baker was attacking Anastasia and in a fight with Munir. The empty nothing feeling was just replaced with confusion more than anything. Things devolved further into a bizarre hostage situation and he was quickly regretting leaving Ana and Munir earlier. He knew he should do something, almost even wanted to, but there wasn’t much he could think of to do without making things worse. The thinking was only made more difficult as his mind spiraled again, reminding him of all the wrong choices he had already made, how different choices could’ve made this not happen, what a mistake this whole party had been, and he’d almost brought Thea here. What was clear, the one thought that stuck in his mind was, father would be so disappointed. None of this is what a future Duke should be involved in. So, maybe he just left, so he wouldn’t have to watch what a disappointment I’d be.

Avalia

Time: Night
Location: River Fairy Kingdom -The Pretty Flower
Interactions: A couple of locals
Equipment: Sword, bow and arrows, small knife, wayfinder, fire kit, a pouch of amas, transmission bracelet

---

Orias moved through The Pretty Flower, slowly taking it all in. It was a lively place, packed full of fairies who danced, drank, and laughed with ease. Yuka’s explanation, that fairies enjoyed an escape from reality held true. Who could blame them? Who wanted to face the reality they were all heading towards.

Orias certainly didn’t, he found soon himself at the bar with a glass of mead in front of him. Just need to loosen up a bit, he told himself. He was lost in a sea of unfamiliar faces and he clung to his glass as if it were his last lifeline.

He could understand the fae mentality, he’d take another reality over his own right about now. Maybe another night away from being Prince Orias, from having to think about war and all that came with it. A break from worrying about family he hadn’t seen in decades, from wondering if he ever would see them again. He finished a glass of the sweet-tasting mead faster than he’d intended. His cup was quickly filled to the brim by a smiling fairy.

He thought of how he should've stayed in Roshmi, kept his fake name and fake life, searching for ways to make the dark elf occupation just a little more complicated. He wouldn’t have to be responsible for a human boy lost in a world he did not belong to, wouldn’t be negotiating with allies on behalf of a kingdom and family he’d left behind. Another was glass emptied only to be refilled.

No one asked for his help, certainly not his own family. They wouldn’t want to see him, wouldn’t want him meddling in anything important. The Biren name had remained scandal-free since he left, they were all better off believing him dead. Another glass was emptied and refilled.

This was selfish. What did he think he could fix? Who was he to think he could go around playing hero when he was anything but one.

And it was too late to stop. He’d already thrown his name out, and already made deals with Augus. It was all happening too fast, too much responsibility. He glanced around for his companions, two familiar faces that, really, he barely knew anyway. They both seemed distracted, both would get along so much easier with the free-spirited fae. His eyes moved towards the door, an easy path out of all this. But what then? Orias finished another glass, he looked around again.

It took a long while before Orias left the bar to make his attempts at mingling. It took some awkward walks around the room before he found a group he felt comfortable enough to approach.

“...so there I was right, out on fishing by the stream, when I see the biggest Owlbear I’ve ever seen lunging on towards me. Teeth all snapping and sharper than any I’ve seen.” At a table two fairies sat, one, a lanky looking with a boyish face, telling a story.

“No way you fought an Owlbear, you’re full of shit.” The other fae said. This man was more muscular with harsher features.

“Let me finish. On my life, this happened just the other day. So there I was, deep in the forest, and it’s getting late and I can barely see enough to fly off without hitting a tree or something. I’m thinking, how do I get out of here, I’m a fast one but no way am I outrunning this thing and I can’t risk hitting some big ol’ branch and knocking myself out.”

“Now look whatcha done, drawin’ in a crowd with them damn fishin’ stories.” The brawny fairy shook his head as he looked at Orias. “You look like you’ve seen an owlbear or two in your day tell this twiggy bastard he’s full of it.”

“I kind of want to hear the story.” Orias said.

“Hey now, that’s the attitude I wanna see. Sit down bud.” The skinny kid slapped the table and scooted over to make room for Orias.

“So as I was sayin’, I see this owlbear lunging straight at me, and hand to Xylia I heard this owlbear scream a single word at me,” The skinny kid paused for dramatic effect. “Leave.” The fairy screamed the word with a guttural voice, imitating the sound he had heard from the alleged owlbear.

“You can’t talk to owlbears, you can’t barely talk to that cat o’ yours.” The second fairy interjected again.

“Swear on my life. No more interruptions, you’re disturbing the guest. He likes my story.” Orias just nodded and so the fairy continued his tale.

“Anyways, I hear that and somehow I just know what this creature’s all about, and boy am I in trouble. So summon up every branch, root, and vine I can muster to hold this big o’ beastie back, and it’s braking through them like it’s all nothing. But it bought me time, so while that owlbear’s all tangled up I turn to run outta there and damn near trip over another owlbear right near me. A little ol’ baby cub, cute as a button it was, and damn sure I was right about the first one, just an angry mama. Lucky for me I’m quick with the ol’ wings and I hop right over the little guy and use that boost to get my ass outta sight just as I hear the last bunch of vines, roots, and branches snapping like crazy. Pissed myself I was so scared.” The first fairy finally got to the end of his story.

“Now that last part I’d believe.” The second one said with a chuckle.

“Now you shut your big gob, I know what I saw and I’m tellin’ you something out there’s got the critters acting all sorts of crazy. I ain’t never seen nothing like that so close to the kingdom. World’s gone all topsy turvy.”

“That is most certainly true.” Orias voiced his agreement.

“This guy gets it. You come down from the Sun Elf lands pal?” The first fairy asked.

“Got a name?” The second fairy added.

“Course he’s got a name, everybody’s got one. Silly question. Name’s Gil.”

“Alvaro.”

“Orias. Came over from Roshmi.”

“Roshmi, now that place’s gone to shit. They just handed right over to those dark elf bastards, not a bit of fight in that damn king.” Gil’s eyes widened at the mention of Roshmi, and he spoke with the same excitement as he had when he told his owlbear story.

“That they did.” Alvaro agreed, clearly more troubled by the subject than Gil.

“A real shame, but your sort’s got a handle on it huh?” Gil asked.

“We hope so, can’t do it alone though.” Orias admitted.

“Right, makes sense. I’d like to see those bastards get what's coming, after what they did.” Alvaro spoke with fire in his words. Orias nodded, A good sign, there were at least a few fairies more than ready to go to war.

“Aye, poor Echo.” Gil said speaking softly for the first time since Orias had sat down. A sad smile crossed the face of the youthful fae.

“To a fine prince.” Alvaro said raising his glass, the other two did the same before drinking.

“The finest. You know, I went fishin’ with that lad once, let me tell you he reeled him in a fish bigger than I ever seen.” Gil moved his hands as far apart from one another indicating that this alleged fish was much larger than even the average dwarf.

“You ain’t never went fishin' with Prince Echo.” Alvaro said with a grin and shake of his head.

“On my life I did. Anyway, he was a real good kid.” Gil took another drink and tried to lift the sad smile back up.

“I’m just waiting for the orders, nothin’ would bring me more joy than to join up with your lot and make them bastards pay.” Alvaro said with a stern nod.

“Don’t know what’s taking so long, we shoulda be marching right after we saw that damn broadcast.” Gil muttered.

“They’re just grieving is all. One son gone, one gone rotten.” Alvaro replied, and Gil flinched slightly at the mention of the one gone wrong.

“So what brings you to River Kingdom?” Gil asked.

“Hoping to convince your King that now is the time to act.” Orias saw no reason to lie.

“No shit? You one of them important elves?” Gil asked and they both seemed interested in his answer.

“Not really. Just got something important I’ve got to do.” Orias continued to talk to the two fairies who he learned were cousins and who were more than willing to share their thoughts on the war. Alvaro was a seasoned soldier of the River Kingdom and Gil was a musician who, after the broadcasted murder of Prince Echo, was planning to enlist.