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13 Mourningdove Lane


Rowan chuckled at Bea's remark about old elves before she watched her friend join Matt. She didn't move to join her, it wasn't that she was too bothered by second-hand smoke, more that the cat-man almost certainly implied murder. Though it slipped her mind to stop Bea from joining him.

Now that she wasn't standing next to anyone in the hall, Rowan hoped she didn't stick out like a sore thumb. Subconsciously, she held her elbows while she started to assess the Archivist.

Academic hubris was the worst kind of pride. Unlike sport or art, it is often far too late before humility is brought to the scholar; by then they have convinced others of their false knowledge and brought their own downfall. Her time in higher education had made her all too familiar with those kinds of people, more often they were men but not exclusively by any means. However, some would turn up with little more than C grades when results were brought forth while others would only see A+ on their papers. The harsh truth was that sometimes that braggadocio was legitimate and their behaviour would never be checked.

This was an old man, an old elf, who spoke like he had never seen failure before. For all her disagreements with the man's tone, it was difficult for Rowan not to acknowledge the sense of merit that swelled around him. Perhaps that is why her demeanour didn't shift so negatively as the others had. The Archivist had used magic to track them all down and already knew the nature of their powers. He had shown control over the house, for a rather silly application, but control nonetheless. No one could have learnt this all in a week; the old man was already familiar with magic and therefore was likely alive 500 years ago when it vanished.

And what did they arrive with? Rowan could shift a sunflower a little, Bea's magic was constantly whispering in her ear, Mason had just vented about having zero control over his gift. Before the Archivist started talking, the only person who showed true proficiency was Azure.

Rowan hated the Archivist's attitude. But she feared that putting up a resistance to him in the state they were in now would only prove his ego further. He had a reason to be like he was and there was no point in burning the bridge too quickly. She could learn about the new world they had all been plunged into first and, if need be, she could bring him humility when she becomes able to dish it out.

”What the fuck do you want from us?”

Rowan furrowed her brow at that question. It didn't seem quite right. From his behaviour, his language, his demeanour, he didn't want them there. He was a practised mage who spent no time expressing his disappointment at the group's perceived lack of talent. And yet, he had spent time and energy tracking them all down, knowing what their powers were, and had them all gathered here. It was something, but 'want' wasn't the right word.

“No, you need something from us, don't you?” Rowan added, her tone was curious and lacking the derision that might have signalled quick camaraderie with the others.

The Sun Seeker's Sorrow
Abyssal Forge Chapter 3



Event: Abyssal Forge | Location: In the Fog






The fog cleared to reveal a sparse canopy of trees above him. The branches rustled gently with a quiet breeze shaking the apples that hung from the stems. He was lying down in the grass just starting up and watching nature move. The distant call of cicadas ensured that this was a place of life. The sun shining through was nothing like the dim scrapings of Halge Larchelon. It was warm, it was home.

A group of voices sounding a short distance away brought his attention from idle gazing. Their cheerful and youthful tone made him sit up to see what the fun was about. He got up and rested back on his hands. He saw his friends, only, they were younger; not one of them could have been older than fourteen. In surprise, he looked at his own hands, saw they reflected the same youth, and came to recognise that his heart had felt lighter. They were at the precipice of starting that journey toward adulthood and looking toward the horizon with the brightest of dreams and ambitions.

Dory stood by a large pond with Manfred right behind her guiding her hand. The square-headed soldier boy was teaching her to skip rocks across the water’s surface. He hadn’t seen what she had in him but her smile was undeniable. She was happy like that.

Yvain and Jomurr sat at opposite ends of a small chess table. Their expressions were locked in the intensity of the game. Born of blue blood, they were always looking to prove their position in the world. Perhaps they found worth in their progress of learning it.

Miiras hung from a tree by his legs and juggled three apples while Atzi and Juulet giggled together at his antics.

To their right, an easel had been set up where Tku was painting the scenery. Yuli seemed content to look at the Obenjan’s progress while Carmillia braided her hair.

On a big rock overlooking the water, Zarina sat looking outward. A yasoi girl sat wrapped between her arms with her head leaning on the Virangish girl’s shoulder. Zarina’s runaway had finally come back home to her.

Leon smiled widely, it was the orchard he called home, the caravans had made the stop. He didn’t know how many travellers would be with him until next year. People came and went in the wanderer’s life faster than a pair of cheap boots. But for now, he took in the moment and hoped it would last forever. These people were more than any vagrant who tagged onto the trail. And they were all here, except…

There was a rustle in the bushes behind him. Leon tried to look but before he had the chance, she was already upon him. She pounced like a tiger, wrapped her arms over his shoulders from behind, and laughed at her successful ambush. ”Gaut yoo!” Kaureerah spoke in a playful voice. He laughed along and allowed himself to be dragged down back to the grass.

The moment didn’t last long. Before he knew it, Kaureerah let go and was standing over him with her hands on her hips. ”Yoo faurgaut augen, deedn’t yoo? Aur aure yoo joost beeing lezy? Deener ees aup soon.”

Lazy didn’t sound too far from the truth. Honestly, he was struggling to wrench himself from this moment as it was. He wanted to reply and thought he had. His words seemed lost and weightless in the dream. She reached a webbed hand down to him and helped him to his feet.

Kaureerah led him aimlessly through the trees as they ran along with a skip in their steps. It was like the teens he had seen when he first came home to this place. They waded through the woods with bright smiles and occasionally giggling at nothing in particular. She would glance back now and then just so their eyes could meet then quickly turn back to look where she was going.

It was the skipping of two kids finding their first love, unsure if they should dwell too long in that feeling or if they were even allowed to feel that way, but never staying away from it for too long. It made them happy in a way they had never known before. A scary but bright frontier for the soul.

They made their way into a clearing parted by a lone hill. She brought him up to see a single caravan cart resting atop it. It was painted a subtle yellow with red trimmings. A thin steady smoke billowed out from a metal piping at the top. A few side windows were open and dust brown curtains gently billowed in the wind. It was the cart he grew up in.

The woman who had raised him was sitting on the stairs to the door just ahead.

Leon froze. It had been so very long since he had seen his nonna and now she was only meters away. He didn’t know if it was wasting time with her to be standing still, but he couldn’t help it. He let Kaureerah slip through his grasp and continue forward to the cart.

Eleanor looked so very frail. She was wrapped in a blanket despite the warm weather. She looked at the approaching eeaiko with glassy eyes close to losing their vision entirely. He couldn’t grasp it back then, but he knew it now. His nonna wasn’t long for this world. Leon teared up and his throat grew tight. He was just happy to have one more chance to see her.

When Kaureerah reached her, his nonna greeted her with warmth and practically pinched her cheek with a thin, bony hand to the chuckles of the eeaiko. Eleanor gave Leon a very approving smile with what focus she had left. ”Is this your new girlfriend, Leon? Hmmm, this one is much better than the last one you brought here. You said she was a princess? Bah, hardly.” She brought her attention back to Kaureerah and smiled before nodding back to the door, ushering the eeaiko to get her dinner. ”No, I like this one much better.”

Kaureerah turned back to Leon. ”Caume aun, seelly!”

Out of his stupor, he took a step forward to join them. Maybe they could serve up some food and talk over the campfire pit. There was so much he wanted to say to her, to them, but if time would only allow for a single meal, then he would keep it brief.

However, the second the performer boy took another step forward, Eleanor looked up and directly at him. She had lost her smile and glared with a neutral, uncaring expression. ”Oh, you can’t join us, Leon.” His smile faded as a sense of dread washed over him.

”Did you forget?”

”You have somewhere else to be.”

She sat up with strain and looked beyond him. He was urged to turn around, and when he obliged, he saw a stone staircase on the hill. It led upward to the sky and was seemingly never-ending. Its end shrunk past the point of his perception. Never ending, never ending.

He struggled to recognise these steps. While he was surprised by the presence, he had a vague notion that he had seen them before, it held some place in his memory that he couldn’t seem to access. But from what he did recall, he remembered them being warm and inviting. He remembered them as a thing of happiness. Leon didn’t feel the same way now. Its stone bricks seemed cold and lifeless; it loomed over him like a titan before an ant.

He took a cautious step back. ”N-no… I think I want to stay here, with yo-” He turned around to see that he was alone on the hill. The cart was no longer there, nor his nonna, nor Kaureerah. He looked around to find them and saw nothing but the apple trees on all sides, and the staircase. He saw that the apple trees looked… more lifeless. Their leaves faded from a vibrant green; some had turned brown and hung lifelessly. The sounds of cicadas had come to a halt. All he could hear was the cold wind brushing through the leaves of this desolate place.

A familiar pressurised feeling returned in his chest. He looked down to his hands which confirmed he was nineteen again. That was right, aside from Miiras and his nonna, none of these people had ever come to the orchard. He remembered now, they all had their places to be…

A foul wind blew through the trees as he remembered they were all on the brink of war. His breathing grew shallower as the thought set in. They may not be safe, they could be hurt. He took a step forward away from the staircase to find them. Then the visions hit him.

Dorothea drank alone in a tavern, sending herself into another stupor over the passing of Manfred. She took a sense of security in the bottle, but the tides of war sent bitter eyes her way. A group of disgruntled peasants took advantage to rob and kill their duchess with a knife in the back. She didn’t put up much of a fight, she was helpless.

Yvain lay fallen in a small clearing propped up by the countless spears that pierced him. The valiant knight who had ridden out for the glory of his ideals and country was felled in an ambush. His face had lost its look of optimism for a bravely fought war. He died alone in the woods with no one who cared enough to bury him. The crows were circling.

Zarina lay face down, bleeding out in the mud of a Palapar coffee plantation. Sickles and pitchforks were stabbed into her back and all her murderers seemed to care about was looting the armour off her body. Would her family even know? Would Miret even look for her?

Tku…

Carmillia…

Jomurr…

Yuli…

Leon felt weak at the knees and fell to the ground. He brought his hands up to his face and closed his eyes. He just wanted it to stop, he didn’t want to see any more, but he couldn’t stop it.

It felt like an eternity…

When time allowed him the strength to look again, he was somewhere else.

The tiled streets of San Sameno sprawled out before him with the tall buildings flanking either side. Just ahead, was the tree where he married Bayani and Tala under. Their bodies hung together from one of its branches.

For whatever reason, against his will, Leon found himself getting to his feet and slowly stumbling toward the couple in the throes of his defeat and grief. They had met the end of revolutionaries. They fought the good fight and instead of living out their achievements with pride, they met the end of a noose for it. Tala never even fought, she died for the association.

He made it to the tree; he watched their feet dangle with only the gentle breeze to give them motion. He had so little energy left, how much more would the world take from him? In a slow, painful motion, he craned his neck up to look at the couple…

And met the lifeless eyes of Kaureerah.

It was them who hung from the wedded tree.

He couldn’t breathe.

It was them who met the end of revolutionaries.

His hands trembled.

The world struck back against their attempts to better it.

His jaw clenched.

She stared back at him with such sorrow.

He started to cry.

Leon had set out to change the world and Kaureerah went to join him because she wanted the same. But she was never born to climb that staircase like he was. Selfishly, he couldn’t tell her no, he wanted her to join him, he wanted her to be with him. He brought her to a place where she doesn’t belong…

He thought that he could pursue the power to change the world and hold onto his love. But what life would she lead? Living ever in the shadow of the person who was supposed to be her partner and equal. Could he expect her to be content with continuously being his lesser in the pages of history? It only made sense that as long as they were together she would wish to join him. That was love after all. She would run to be with him and die for the effort.

His ambition killed her.

It was all his fault that she was dead.

He screamed.

He screamed and screamed and screamed.

He fell down onto the grass of the orchard hill and thrashed about in ways the conscious mind could no longer control. His body flailed violently against the grass, his skin pushing across the dirt beneath it, the small rocks scraped his skin. He wanted to be out, he wanted to be out of this place, he wanted to leave he wanted to leave he wanted to leave he wanted to leave.

But it was no dream. It was reality waiting to catch him.

Then his hand met with a familiar stone tile step.

"If yoo ever have to ask if the ends jaustefy the meens, know thet they don't."

But what means could be worse than the tragedy he hoped to prevent? What methods were worse than a world that would take innocent people so carelessly from him?

He couldn’t finish the thought before the fog started rolling back in.








13 Mourningdove Lane


“That, or a man in a ghost costume is gonna chase us around a corridor full of doors.” Rowan replied to Bea’s speculation, the reference to an old cartoon was clear. Humour did somewhat well to calm the nerves.

She had thought she was smart by bringing a flashlight, had. When the lights went out, so did her torch, she thought she switched it off accidentally. When the lights went out a second time, she thought it might be battery problems. By the third time, she understood whatever ghost was messing with the house was also messing with her. Rowan decided to stop embarrassing herself fiddling with the switch. It stayed off from then.

The flickering lights were a settling thought though. Although a master of magic it seemed, this Archivist clearly had a penchant for the dramatic and one who spent energy trying to look scary and mysterious ironically appeared to be less so. Rowan was about to make a quip about it but decided she didn’t want the attention. Instead, she took in the faces of their company between the flickering lights. Luckily some were familiar

Rowan didn’t know Lena too well personally, but she was her parent’s favourite comedian at the Grinning Imp. Her recent ‘disappearing act’ after the fire was cause for more than one dinner talks speculating on what had happened to her. Lena’s presence at such a meeting gave Rowan a peer behind the curtain of that mystery; the small elemental floating next to her was enough to hit anyone over the head with the answer.

Next to her was Ja… son? He was undoubtedly the silhouette Rowan had seen earlier and she was glad for it. No one stands as tall as he does in Twin Pines without getting some sort of reputation. His was friendly and distinctly non-threatening.

Emmy was a pleasantly familiar face to see but it was no surprise. It was reminiscent of weekends cooped up in the library with faint rays of sun peering through to light her pages. The girl seemed to only ever appear in such a place; an entity of the scholarly arts who you could approach for a nice conversation. Even before the emergence of magic, those memories hung in her mind so ethereal. Of course Emmy was going to be here of all places.

Rowan knew a decent amount of these people and, unless they were secretly the friendly neighbourhood serial killer, they were safe. It settled her mind further that none of them tried ground on her and Bea between moments of darkness.

The next part happened in a blur. The man who introduced himself as Matt called out their watcher from on high, who floated down to join them. Pom dropped her pie. This ‘Azure’ was likely the Archivist. Flair for the dramatic, solid grasp on his magical abilities, and an unnervingly confident gaze that screamed he had this gathering of fledgling mages in the palm of his hand.

“Will you fucking shut up for one minute?” Bea suddenly spoke up in a manner that could have been addressed to anyone but only Rowan knew was truly addressed to no one. That didn’t matter though, heads were already starting to turn their way, Pom already apologised for something she didn’t do.

A quick panic set in for Rowan. What if the group started to suspect Bea was talking to nothing? What if they started to believe that magic was making her go crazy? That unknown of a person’s mental state brings fear and with the added danger of magic… could they see Bea as a threat? Were they going to turn on them? Oh no, oh no, even the Archivist Azure was looking at them now.

“Ah. Was that meant for me?” He said in amusement that could clearly be hiding that he was about to banish Bea to Mars in a second. Rowan needed to cover for her friend quickly. What were friends for if not ready alibis?

“Sorry!” She eeped out quickly toward the rest of the group. “I was talking the whole car ride over… I’m a chatterbox when I get talking.” A nervous and half-hearted laugh followed that did little to conceal the worst lie told this evening. “It’s Rowan.” She decided not to describe her powers. Truthfully, it wasn’t going to be of any use if anyone in this mansion was a threat and she would rather not scream ‘I’m defenceless’ to the gathering.

Luckily, before anyone could enquire, Pom had already started talking about cobbler and driving back to the diner for another pie. Rowan felt bad for the waitress, she knew a nervous wreck when she saw one, she was one. But at the same time, in a selfish train of thought, she was grateful that Pom drew the attention more effectively. Rowan took her preferred position as a wallflower.



Ballad of Songs and Wrongs
Abyssal Forge Chapter 2 - The Fissured District



Event: Abyssal Forge | Location: A Place Time Forgot | Including: Kaureerah @Force and Fury & Pluuri @YummyYummy













I might throw my hat in the ring. Looks interesting
A Sour Harvest

Location: Isle du Mirabeau


'You reap what you sow' is a phrase that exists purely in the minds of downtrodden men. For history rarely ever reflects such things.


The man woke up to the first rays of sunlight creeping in through the curtains. The birdsong was summoning him to begin the day. After a routine groan, he turned over toward the other side of the bed to caress his wife’s hip. His hand met nothing but the cold bottom sheet. He properly opened his eyes to confirm that the bed was empty aside from himself. The man looked around in panic for a moment before the faint smell of freshly cooked porridge met his nose. Oh right, she needed to feed the beast. They used to wake up together; he missed that. He sat up out of bed and let out another groan, this one was not routine.

The man had always imagined something greater for his life. He was the long-forgotten, oldest bastard of King Rouis, or at least that's what his mother told him. While he accepted long ago that it wouldn’t result in any kind of inheritance or recognition, he always liked to imagine that something more would come of his life if he had king’s blood pumping through his veins. But that never happened. Instead of wielding a sword and conquering lands for Perrence, he was wielding a hoe and tilling them.

Stepping into the kitchen space, he could see his wife at the stove stirring breakfast and the demon sitting at the dining table staring at him. It was his wife that wanted a child. He wanted to wait, he wanted the time to do… well, something else before that. But accidents happen and, before he knew it, he had a very happy and very pregnant wife on his hands. What could he really say against it? Get rid of it? He wasn’t a monster and he loved the woman. But if he knew it was going to turn out like this, he would have been more insistent.

His wife practically pirouetted on the spot with a hot pot of porridge. She was first to serve their son, dotting on him with a freshly poured bowl. The boy looked about four years old now and returned to staring at the man after thanking his mother. Those staring eyes were the same ones the man met when he was born a week ago.

The priestess called it a miracle of Oraff. She said that the baby may have been stillborn if it wasn’t for the god's blessing. His wife was over the moon with the news. But the man wasn’t so sure. His wife hadn’t seen the baby staring at her the second it greeted fresh air, it was unsettling more than it was blessed. On top of the baby’s rapid growth and the dull glare it had come out of the womb with, it was also deformed. Its ears were pointy and its skin was a sickly, pale green that only darkened as the days had passed.

They had bought a wardrobe full of baby clothes in preparation for the day. But in a matter of 48 hours, he had outgrown them. They needed to find quick replacements. They asked neighbours, asked tailors in town, and then begged the same neighbours again. They were even forced to barter with some travelling Mycormish fences. The yasoi vagrants had jumped the border to find a wealthier market for their stolen goods and shit they dredged from the bogs. There was a brown coat in their inventory, it was filthy and tattered, but at least it was child-sized.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yes?”

“When do you think the war will start?”

The man was taken aback by the question.

“Who’s been talking to you about that?”

“People.”

“Well… tell those ‘people’ to keep their words to themselves.”

They continued to their meal.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yes, Vert?”

“I think we should go to the casino and I think we should play blackjack.”






As promised, here is my character sheet.


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