Fantasy The Golden Road

[Mango137]

On this day- the same as many before- Joko found himself a solitary traveler. Though road beneath his feet had once been filled joyful travelers, those memories of better times had been washed away long before today’s rain. It had been little more than a fortnight since he had set upon this path, with nothing but the clothes on his back and the sword Hanwon at his side- a blade he prayed he would not need soon.

The rain, though light, shrouded the world in a grim embrace. Joko’s guide, the three-legged crow, had vanished into the mists a few days before, leaving him to ponder its cryptic parting words about seeking wisdom hidden in the folds of the storm.

The path seemed to sense Joko’s isolation, and perhaps natures humorous way of preventing any sort of impending loneliness was to send some most unsavory company. A ragged band of bandits slunk from the thicket, their eyes alight with greed. They demanded coin, a toll for passage, their hands eager for the weight of gold that had become exceedingly rare. Though he would have liked to help the impoverished who were forced to turn to a life of crime, Joko’s pouch was as empty as the road was barren, and he could only offer words where they sought wealth.

"Friends," he implored, his voice a calm amidst their rising hostility, "The road is weary and the fates have been unkind. Let us not darken this day further with strife."
With a heavy heart, Joko's hand drifted to Hanwon. He could feel its bloodlust, the sword yearned to be tested but Joko loathed to free it. He stood, resolute yet reluctant, knowing the path of violence was a road from which one could not return unchanged. In these hard times, many only spoke the language of blood- and as a traveler in a foreign land he was obliged to learn the language.

As the bandits closed in, a silence, sudden and deep, fell upon the road. From the mists emerged a figure, her presence commanding the tempest around her. She moved with the grace of an autumn leaf upon the wind and her stature was that of one who walked with legends.

The bandits found themselves undone by the mere sight of her. Their weapons clattered to the ground, their bravado washed away in the rain. Without a word, they vanished back into the wilderness, leaving Joko alone with this enigmatic savior.

She turned to him, her eyes reflecting the storm above and the calm within. In her gaze, Joko found an unspoken understanding, a recognition of the roads they both had walked- separate yet intertwined by the threads of fate.

"Who are you?" Joko asked, his voice barely above the rustle of the rain.

 

[Gordon_Greenwood]

Tetchie Fairweather sat by a running stream, knickers in hand and a stubby pipe clenched between her yellowed teeth, while her granddaughter played a jaunty tune nearby. The crone gripped the heavy fabric with a grumble, wringing them to draw the water out. Laundry—she loathed laundry. Hated the time it took her to get it done, and abhorred the pruney fingers on her hands after she finished. Though Tetchie hated being without clean clothes to wear even more.

She sucked the edge of her teeth in frustration. Despite her wringing, the garment still felt heavy and sodden with water. Tetchie threw the rags onto the ground, and the cheerful tune of the wooden flute faded into something somber. A funeral dirge…

The old woman craned her neck and gave her daughter a stern eye. “Think it’s funny, do you?” she demanded.

Alaryss laughed, setting the instrument onto a patch of soft grass beside her. “Let me do that, gran.”

“Pay it no mind, girl! Get on with your practice. Your playing reminds me of a Tengu’s mating cry.”

“How kind. You know, I’d remind you that a quick shove and you’d be at the bottom of that river. You’ve gone heavy in the rear lately, after all.”

Tetchie offered the girl a barking laugh at that. “I’d like to see you try, beastie. I’m over one-hundred and twelve and I could still whip you. Besides, fat floats. You’d know that if you ever bothered to cook with it instead of letting all of our food burn.”

“The day you dragged me over your threshold as a babe was a dark one indeed,” Alaryss giggled.

“Play on, dearie,” Tetchie asked, her mouth turned up at the edges. “See if you can get a breeze going to help me dry these godforsaken unders I’m meant to wear.”

Alaryss reached for her flute with the shake of her head, unable to stop the grin spreading across her face. She placed the warm wood against her lips and—

“CRAAAW!”

“By the shogun’s floppy teat!” Tetchie cursed, falling off her sitting rock and rolling onto her side. “What in the four hells!?”

“It’s a bird!” Alaryss said. The thing perched on a low-hanging branch, and the young girl stood to inspect it. “A very peculiar one, I’d say. It has three legs, gran. Have you ever seen—”

“Get away from it, Alaryss!”

She’d never heard her gran sound that way before—her voice drenched in worry. Without a second need to be told, the young woman jumped away, as if too close to a bubbling cauldron. “Why? Was is it?” she asked.

“What do you want?” her grandmother replied, but not to her. The old woman's intense stare fixed on the bird, as if she could see right into its soul.

“CRAAW!”

“That’s none of our concern. Now, begone with ya before I make you into a mincemeat pie!”

“Are you speaking to it?” Alaryss asked.

“Yes, child, of course. Open your ears and listen like I taught you!”

“CRAW! CRAW!”

Alaryss settled her heart. She hadn’t realized its beat had become so rapid since the winged creature’s appearance. Her nerves vibrated beneath her skim, blocking out the training she’d been taught her whole life. How silly of her.

“CRAAaAaaaand he needs supporters. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important, witch!”

“Fine way to ask a favor,” Alaryss mumbled.

“Quite,” her grandmother agreed. “I think not.”

“You’re as foolish as you are old,” wheezed the creature. “I thought you Sizrek Witches kept a code of honor! Wait until my voice reaches the council!”

“We’ll be waiting a lengthy time, then. They’re all dead. Slaughtered by the shogun’s men. And so’s half our town, for that matter! You’re but newly divine—not worth the air that slips between your feathers while you plummet from the sky. Come, Alaryss, let’s be gone from here. Laundry can wait.”

The old woman turned with a swish of her skirt and began crossing the long patch of summer grass toward home. Alaryss made to follow, but hesitated on her heels.

“A boon for a boon,” Alaryss whispered. Tetchie, over thirty feet away, gorgonized mid-step.

Are you certain, child? Her grandmother’s voice asked, flitting inside her head. A deal with a god’s pet is no deal with a god.

If he’s newly divined, then perhaps his god does not know that yet. Alaryss thought back, connecting their minds.

Clever…

“A boon for a boon, crow. My grandmother’s aid for that of your ward’s.”

The crow, hideous and disfigured by celestial magicks, cocked his head at her. “The terms?”

“Protection from the shogun’s forces. An end to his tyranny.” The girl demanded, brushing a strand of pitch-black hair away from her eyes.

Though the beast had only a beak to offer his expressions, Alaryss swore she watched him smile. “I swear.”

ღ꧁ღ╭⊱ꕥ ꕥ⊱╮ღ꧂ღ

“Who are you?” Joko asked, his voice barely rising above the drizzle of rain.

Tetchie groaned, taking a seat on an overturned tree. “Oh, just your average doting grandmother, trying to keep her granddaughter happy.”

 

[Mango137]

Joko studied the figure before him, her presence commanding all his attention. "Average, you say," there was an edge to his tone, "yet there's been nothing but abnormality in the air since you’ve arrived."

His hand now firmly gripped his blade- an extension of his wary spirit. In the presence of this woman, no mere mortal by his reckoning, Joko's grip was both a plea for strength and a declaration of his readiness to defend. Yet the blade remained sheathed; for despite the power he could sense within the woman, he did not sense the slightest bit of malice.

"It seems to me," he continued, eyeing her with a mix of caution and newfound curiosity, "That not even this cursed blade could lead me to victory against such strength as yours." His stance was defensive, he was far too proud to lower his guard even if he was facing certain death, yet his voice carried a note of respect- a warrior's acknowledgment of a formidable presence.

He stood motionless, save for the rain tracing paths down his weathered garb. In her, he felt no evil- only the immense and inexplicable. The sword at his side felt almost hesitant, as if it too recognized the gravity of the soul standing before them.

 

[Gordon_Greenwood]

Tetchie hummed a little tune as the boy before her spoke, and as she hummed, the rain softened further. Slivers of light pierced the gloom-ridden gray around them. Bit by bit, every trace of foul weather lessened, until finally, it vanished completely.

The fizz of a struck match met the crinkle of pipe tobacco, and when the boy finished his speech, a fine cloud of puffy smoke hovered in the clearing. She eyed him for the first time then. Orbs of silver washed over Joko, taking in what his figure could tell her. And as a Sizrek witch, that was a lot.

“Quite the sword you have, young man,” Tetchie said. Her appraising tone came out like a mother’s listening to her child prattle on about a fat worm they caught by a lake. “Don’t knick yourself shaving with it. The results would be disastrous.”

The old witch sucked down another cloud of heavy smoke from the stem of her pipe. “Your little bird told me you have a quest that needs doing. Came whistling for my help, he did. Unfortunately, I’m not the young girl I used to be. Bones ache when you stand too long at my age.”

“We had a deal, you toad!” the crow screeched. “Your granddaughter—”

“Silence, beast! You think my granddaughter has the power to make bargains on my behalf? If so, you’re no shrewder than a common dove!”

The crow’s beak snapped shut with an audible click. He twitched his feathers at the woman, marking his displeasure. Though, Tetchie noted, he possessed enough intelligence not to meet her eyes after that.

“Sorry, lad,” Tetchie continued, smile fixed in place once again. “I’ve already gone on all the adventures I have in me, I’m afraid. But I have someone in mind—Alaryss, my granddaughter.”

 

[Mango137]

Joko watched in silent amusement as the crone before him hummed, the storm yielding to her melody. As the clouds parted and the world brightened around them, he couldn't help but marvel at the display of her power. Magic was as much a part of this world as the rain that now ceased to fall.

A smirk found its way onto Joko's lips when the crow was chastised into silence. The bird, so often imperious and commanding, now seemed nothing more than a chastened pigeon, its arrogance clipped by the witch's sharp tongue.

He eyed the old woman and her granddaughter. "Your magic is impressive," he conceded, "and I must admit, there's a certain satisfaction in seeing our feathered friend there reduced to silence."

"But tell me," Joko's voice lowered, deepened by the weight of his curiosity, "why offer aid when you know little of me or the road I must travel? Why put forward your own kin for a journey where even I do not know what perils await?" He paused, his gaze shifting between the witch and Alaryss. "You emerge from the woods and declare yourselves as allies. What prompts such willingness to venture into the unknown, and what assurance do I have of your intentions?"

His hand had eased from the hilt of Hanwon, but his stance remained guarded.

 

[Gordon_Greenwood]

Tetchie laughed as Joko finished his questioning. But Alaryss, at least, had the grace to cover her mouth to hide her amused smile. Her heart-shaped face turned toward the line of trees behind her, as if captivated by the slight breeze that had stirred their leaves.

The witch’s laughter sputtered into a choking cough. She lifted a plump hand from her lap and knocked a heavy fist against the center of her chest. Alaryss turned back with a wary glance, plucked the pipe out of the old woman’s fingers, and tapped its smoldering contents out on the side of a tree. Before she handed the thing back to Tetchie, she drove her heel into the ashy heap on the ground.

“You know what Healer Gettie said about your pipe-smoke,” she chided in a whisper.

“Healer Gettie’s in more danger of death by vice than I am, child, considering the married men that wander in and out of her home at all hours.”

“No.”

“Fine. Keep me trapped upon the earth then. When I do finally go, it’ll be your hearth I haunt!”

“Then you’ll have answered my wish of keeping you around forever.” Alaryss replied, smirking at the woman beside her.

“Well,” Tetchie said, turning back to Joko, “that should be enough as a first answer. You’ll never meet a more motherly hen to watch after you. Second, Alaryss does not share the same peril as you do, even in sharing your quest.”

What the old woman meant by that, not even Alaryss knew, for she gave her grandmother an arched brow in response. The old woman waved her questioning gaze away with a dismissive hand before she continued.

“Last, but by no means least,” Tetchie pressed on. “You have no other alternative. Or would you prefer we packed up and doddled back home to our laundry? I will be in far less stress that way.”

The crow, which had shifted from his perch to a limb just beyond the witch’s line-of-sight, jiggled his head ‘no’ in the would-be king’s direction.

 

[Mango137]

Their laughter only increased Joko’s hesitance, which drew his eyes to Alaryss. He took in her stature, the set of her shoulders- broad and unyielding, the subtle confidence in her stance that spoke of hidden strength. His eyes traced the line of her jaw, noting the scar that bisected it, a mark of survival, perhaps even defiance. The crow's silent nod towards her was not lost on him; it was an unspoken endorsement, a belief in her latent power.

Joko addressed her, his narrow eyes pierced into the gray shades of her own. His voice carrying a hint of the steel that Hanwon itself possessed. "Your grandmother's magic is beyond question, and the crow seems to believe in your potential. Yet, potential alone does not sway the hearts of men or topple tyrants."

He stepped closer, his scrutiny unabashed. "Speak, then. It is my intention to become king of Esolu. I will not sully my throne with a court too meek to state their ambition. I must hear it from you, what drives you to take up this mantle? I will not permit the company of one who takes this quest with only half of their heart."

Joko's words hung between them, a challenge not just to her abilities, but to the very core of her resolve. His journey was one of destiny, and he would ally himself with no one who lacked the courage to forge their own.

 

[Gordon_Greenwood]

Alaryss listened as Joko spoke. He had a passion woven into his words, conjuring an image of trebuchets and the sound of drums. A thought passed through her head; that he might make a formidable Sizrek. She heard the power in every syllable, felt the energy as it bubbled and swelled.

An utter shame that only women possessed the ability to release that power.

“I’m unsure of what exactly you are questioning, my king. If it’s simply my ambitions, well, those are clear as the morning’s summer sun—destroy the shogun’s and install a leader worthy to lead. If it’s my resolve? Well, my grandmother tempered that at an early age with steel.”

Here, the young woman paused, taking a moment’s time to run her fingers through her dark hair. The smell of wildflower honey and oaken wood smoke caught the wind as it fell from its red silk ribbon to frame her face. Her eyes, wide and alert, showcased the color of that steel she promised that lurked in her soul.

“If it’s my ability to sway the hearts of men,” she delighted, “then look no further than the arch of my lips, the lustre of my hair, the flash of my eyes… Aside from those men that prefer a more rugged touch. I’ll leave those to you, my lord.”

Alaryss’ grandmother, attention caught tugging green-velvet moss from the surface of her makeshift bench, barked a hearty laugh at that. “He hasn’t ever plucked at another's strings, my dear. Let alone another man's. Don’t tease the lad!”

“But do not question my power,” she continued, ignoring her gran’s words.

When she opened her mouth again, a voice clear as a crystalline apple filled the air. A song! Joko knew better than to let a witch sing, but from the first note, the enchantment bewitched him.

“Oh, oath sworn man,
As grave as death,
Sensations build beneath your breast.

And though to stop,
You try your best,
It echoes over talk of quests.

For what is life,
Without a jest?

When faced with danger,
Laughter is best.”

The grin spread before Joko knew what came over him. It stretched the curve of his cheeks, crinkled the corners of his eyes. Then, the first wave spilled out of his throat. A hearty chuckle that pitched him forward at the waist. By the next, his chest flared with the force of it, sending him caterwauling into a fit. Tears rolled from the edges of his obsidian eyes and slid down the sharp line of his jaw.

And just like that, as soon as it had begun, it ended.

“I hope I’ve made a convincing argument, my lord. But if not, I’ll take my leave and be done with this. It seems to me you plan on fulfilling your end of the bargain, whether or not I uphold mine.”

The young witch eyed him. “Then again, I’ll probably follow along, anyway. I’m very stubborn…”

 

[Mango137]

Joko's initial reaction to Alaryss's words was a mix of surprise and a touch of embarrassment- he was not a king but a young man caught off guard by the blunt humor of the old witch and the bold confidence of the granddaughter. He opened his mouth to speak, attempting through his fluster to formulate a response befitting a future king, but the words were snatched away by the charm of Alaryss's song.

Laughter overtook him, rich and uncontrollable, a sound he hadn't known he was capable of producing. It was a laughter that seemed to cleanse, to strip away the layers of caution and wariness that had settled upon his soul.

As the enchantment waned, Joko caught his breath, his sides aching pleasantly from the unexpected mirth. He took a moment, letting the silence envelop them. It seemed for a bit that the future king would retaliate to such a brash move. He studied her for a moment, a stern look on his face, though it was a poor facade. A smile- this time on completely of his own- curled the corners of his mouth and he burst out laughing once more.

"Well played," he finally said, the amusement still dancing in his eyes. "Your moxie is as clear as the notes you wield. And I must admit, the thought of such company on my journey is... refreshing."

His grin broadened, genuine and warm. "For too long, my road has been walked in the shadow of a three-legged crow, his company my only respite. A change in companionship is welcome. Your spirit, your resolve, they are as formidable as any warrior's. I would be grateful for your presence on this quest of mine."

Joko's laughter had faded, but a lightness remained- a buoyancy he hadn't been allowed in years. "Let us walk this road together, and may our laughter bring a light more powerful than any sword."

Alaryss nodded, mouth tugging up to mirror Joko's own. "I knew all you needed was a good laugh! I'd be honored."

"Good then," Tetchie said clapping her hands. "Now, what we need is a parting feast. The start of an adventure is not complete without one."

With the accord struck, they returned to the humble abode of Tetchie Fairweather, where Alaryss gathered her belongings- a collection of essentials, her flute among them, and the silver chains from her sash jingling softly with each movement. Resources, too, were mustered, more than Joko had seen in a long while, enough to sustain them for the initial stretch of their journey. That night, under a roof that did not leak and with bellies full of a hearty meal, they found rest.

Come morning, the farewells were a tapestry of emotions-gratitude, anticipation, and the bittersweet tang of departure. Tetchie, her eyes glistening yet proud, imparted words of wisdom and hidden warnings in her embrace. The three-legged crow watched from its perch, its gaze inscrutable as always.

As they stepped onto the Golden Road, the dawn greeted them with a palette of hopeful hues. For Joko, the day before had filled him with a warmth he had not known since the days of his innocent youth. They walked, their shadows long in the morning light, but ahead, the sun rose, sharing their promise to turn even the darkest path bright.

 

[Gordon_Greenwood]

“Oh! It’s beautiful,” Alaryss murmured, hand splayed against the shop window.

She and Joko had walked the Golden Road for the past two days without seeing another soul. They talked a bit to pass the time—about their homes, growing up without their parents, the weather on multiple occasions; things of that nature.

When they arrived at the gates of Arovale, Alaryss felt overwhelmed with wonder. This town expanded further than Soldane dared to dream. It’s buildings stood two, sometimes three stories tall. And the people… they lingered everywhere! They milled about the streets, shopped between wide racks of clothing, and huddled on corners to chat wherever they could find the space.

Then Alaryss spotted it. Across the street and past a group of playing children, it sat on a red suede pillow in the center of a window display. It called to her, as if she could already hear its haunting melody—the most stunning hurdy-gurdy she had ever seen.

“Obsidian keys, Bronze-Haired Poliko strings, and lacquered with Sylvanite sap. I’ve never wanted something so much in my entire life. Joko,” Alaryss said, turning wide, glimmering eyes upon the man in question. “My king, savior to us all, so strong, bravery beyond compare. How much money do you have?”

“No.”

“Ah, but with this, imagine the power. With this I could—”

“No.”

“But I could—”

“No, we have no gold.”

Alaryss huffed. “Fine.”

As if by fate, the doors to the building next to them crashed outward, depositing a rather intoxicated looking man onto the ground, face down into a puddle. The man groaned, coughing past bloody lips and sporting a darkening black-eye. He rolled over to glare at the oak-framed entrance—or exit, in his case—that he’d just come careening out.

Looming over him and snarling from the threshold stood a woman that looked as if she could pick up the entire building by its foundation and toss it into the sea. ‘Giantess’ popped into Alaryss’ mind as a descriptor.

“Thirrd bleeding night in a row, you useless fek! Drrunk as a fae on nettle wine ‘fore yev even climbed on the stage! I’ve ha’f a mind to pluck a busker off the road and pay’em yer fee!”

The man stumbled to his feet, swaying dangerously. He pointed an accusatory finger at the woman. “I’d like to see you try, she-demon! Go on! Find someone else as talented as me in less than—”

“I can play,” Alaryss chirped.

The man froze. His jaw waggled up and down a few times, but no sound came out. He still had his finger stuck out as if he were on the verge of declaring a new land discovered. He hadn’t moved by the time the woman spoke.

“Oh?” she hummed in thought. “And what can you play, lass?”

“That depends on what you were paying him.”

The woman let out a rumbling laugh, patting her wide belly. “Yer a smart girl! Twenty-five gold.”

“Kashta, you’re not seriously considering—”

“Hush, you!” Kashta snapped at the man. “Yer betters are havin’ a wee chat.”

“Fifty,” Alaryss countered. “I have my eye on something.”

The woman laughed again, but its tone told Alaryss it wasn’t from good-humor. “Fifty?! Fer a single night? I’ll take me chances on the dumb drrunk.”

The dumb drunk gave the woman a wide, stupid grin.

“I’m a Sizrek!” Alaryss blurted at the woman.

No laughter this time. Kashta clambered down the two steps of her establishment, pushed past the man she’d just tossed onto the street, knocking him to the ground for a second time, and got close enough to Alaryss’ face to touch noses. The woman had to bend low to do it, too. At five-foot-eight, the top of the witch’s head just grazed the bottom of the other’s chest.

“Yer speaking the truth at me, girl?” If yer lyin’ I’ll grrind you up fer slop and give ya to Cork!”

“I’m not sure who Cork is, but—”

“Me dog.”

“Ah, yes, well, no. I’m not lying to you. I’m a Sizrek, taught by my grandmother, and she taught by hers before that,” Alaryss replied, chin held up to meet the other’s eyes.

“Fifty, then, lass,” Kashta agreed. “But you sprrinkle some magicks into yer song and I’ll double that. Now, what can you play?”

“Everything.”

“Yer hired!” Kashta confirmed, straightening up to look over her shoulder. “Off with ya, Vark! I’ve managed to find that talented artist ya claimed I’d never find. Run off back to yer husband so he can knock some sense back int’ya! Come with me, lass.”

Kashta motioned for Alaryss to follow, and the two began toward the door together. “I’m Kashta, and this is me wee little pub…”

 

[Aridis]

The “wee little pub” was stuffed almost to capacity with patrons. Even without music, it was a loud and lively place, though there were plenty of complaints about the lack of entertainment. The drunken masses were getting a tad bit unruly, so it was good fortune that Kashta had found a replacement so quickly.

Among them was a knight who would never actually be knighted. Peregrine, having been rejected for the final time, just decided to give up on home entirely. The denial was so fresh in her mind that she hadn’t even come up with a proper plan yet. She was still deep in her grief, brooding over the lost life that she’d never get to have. While others were running around the pub and enjoying themselves, or sharing drinks with good friends and business partners, Perry was alone at the bar. She wasn’t the only solo patron in the building, but it goddamn felt like it.

She still had her armor on, a sword at her side, too stubborn to let either of them go just yet. Perry sat slumped at the bar with a keg of ale in her hands, but she was barely touching her drink. She wasn‘t drunk yet. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to get drunk yet, though the idea of drowning her sorrows was forever at the back of her mind.

As the law currently stood, someone of her political and financial standing could only become a knight one of two ways; perform an astounding feat during a battle, or gain the favor of a king. Where the hell was she going to find a king? And one desperate or gullible enough to need her help, at that? Were there any wars being started nearby? Maybe she could sneak into someone’s ranks and achieve something great. Maybe that was just a fast way to get caught and killed.

“This sucks!” Perry whined, resting her head against the counter. “What happened to ‘hard work can achieve anything?’“

Completely unnoticed to her at that moment, the solution to her problem walked right through the front door at that moment. Kashta had found a replacement for the bard, and her unfortunate, unknown royal companion was just a few steps behind.

 

[Mango137]

As Joko trailed behind Alaryss through the bustling streets of Arovale, he found himself caught in the unpredictable current of her latest whim. The hurdy-gurdy she coveted - a peculiar name for an equally peculiar instrument - had somehow captivated her entirely. Joko, despite his initial skepticism, couldn't help but admire her determination. She had an eye for opportunity and the drive to chase it, navigating the crowded city with a comfortability he found himself lacking. This, he mused, must be the kind of sharpness that allowed her to grasp the complexities of magic.

Upon entering the lively confines of the pub, Alaryss and Joko's paths diverged almost immediately. Kashta had ushered his companion towards the stage with an air of expectation. While Alaryss, ever the opportunist, followed with a confident stride, leaving Joko to navigate the crowded room alone.

Now, inside the bustling pub stranded without a companion, Joko took a seat at the bar next to a solitary figure- a woman in armor with a sword at her side- her stance exuding a stubborn refusal to relinquish her warrior's garb. She voiced her woes while she nursed her drink. Her scars, numerous and telling, spoke of a life not lived easily.

Well at least she's got enough for a drink he thought to himself here I am: the penniless king. The irony coaxed a small, earnest smirk onto his face. Surrounded by the pub's lively chaos, with the clinking of mugs and the hum of conversation, Joko found a moment of silent camaraderie in their shared plight

"Here's to hoping it still can." He turned to the woman, raising an imaginary glass in cheers.

 

[Gordon_Greenwood]

Alaryss had never seen a place like this in her life. Well, Soldane had a tavern once. It sat along the high road about eight miles from the center of town, pulling in merchants and travellers from all over for a good night’s sleep and a bit of hot food. But by the time Alaryss was old enough to remember the place, it already teetered on the brink of collapse.

Soldane’s tavern became the first casualty of the shogun’s rule that she had witnessed firsthand. With trade quieted and thugs prowling the Golden Road, the Happy Harp tumbled down the steep slope of economic failure until its owner closed the doors for good.

One day, its rotted floors and overgrown walls would finally collapse, and all who knew it would be buried in the ground—forgotten.

Alaryss slowed at the thought, her spider silk eyes sinking to the floor. In this moment, it all seemed ridiculous to her. The quest, filled with hardships and horrors. What point did it hold?

She didn’t realize that she’d stopped moving until something huge and solid slammed into her.

“Watch where you’re going, you stupid slag!”

He had startling green eyes the color of spring. That was the first thing Alaryss noticed about the boy. Surely, many a woman had described them as breathtaking before, and Alaryss might have done the same, if not for the way they looked at her. Narrowed under screwed up brows, glazed, unfocused, and brimming with malice; his eyes glared.

“That’s my best tunic you just knocked ale all over,” he spat.

That brought Alaryss’ attention to the second thing she noticed about him—a darkening stain running down the front of his deep blue tunic. An amber liquid dripped off the hem just below his waist, and he scattered more of the same droplets about with the shake of his hand.

“I’m very sorry,” Alaryss said, placing a palm against her heart as shock spread over her features. Her tone carried like the first note of a mournful violin concerto.

The boy gave her a smug smile. Alaryss returned it.

“I’m sorry,” the witch continued, “that the cells in your brain simply aren’t enough to comprehend the nuances of forward momentum. You see, when someone is standing still, that means they can’t ‘run’ into anything. You, on the other hand, blundered into me.”

The boy snarled. “I’ll knock the teeth out of your ugly mouth, bi—”

As if he’d downed an enlargement elixir, Alaryss’ would-be assailant grew two feet taller in an instant. He loomed over her, massive and—and… terrified?

“Are you thrreatenin’ tonight’s enterrtainment, John?” Kashta hissed, right hand holding him off the floor by his recently not best tunic.

“John?” Alaryss mused. “That’s an unusual name.”

“No, Kashta, I swear,” John scrambled, kicking his legs in the air like a child on a swing. “I—erm—spilled my drink on her and—uh—was offering to buy her one to apologize.”

“Is that what happened?” Alaryss asked.

John’s eyes, so full of malice only a minute ago, now widened at her with intent. “Oh, yes, I’m very sorry.”

“Oh, alright,” the witch conceded. She gave a nod to Kashta, who deposited John back on his feet. He looked far less surly than before, but a bit more shaken. Kashta let out a ‘hmph’.

“Yer lucky this girl has a soft heart, John.” Then, with a shake of her head, she mumbled, “Probably those big grreen peepers saved his arse again.”

John ducked off into the crowd the second his toes touched the sticky hardwood floors once more. Only the closest tables had turned their heads to look during the ordeal. With the clamoring of the patrons and constant clink and thud of drink ware, the three of them had gone unnoticed.

Kashta waddled toward the stage again, and Alaryss made quick to follow. The giantess glanced over her shoulder as they curved around a large table packed with laughter.

“Forrty-five. Disturbance fees.”

“That’s unfair!” Alaryss accused. “It wasn’t my fault!”

“Not sayin’ i’twas yer fault, lass. But me arm’s a bit stiff now, and the only other perrson I can fine ran off after you agrreed to let ‘em go.”

They had arrived at the stage, a rather wide semi-circle raised from the floor at a half-foot. Kashta proceeded to the back wall where a crimson red curtain hanged. She pulled the fabric back, motioning for Alaryss to join her. Inside, a treasure trove of instruments waited.

Kashta had everything from lizard skin drums to strange tubes of brass that Alaryss could not name. It took only a cursory glance to find the one she wanted. She wrapped one hand around the wide neck, and the other beneath the base.

“Need a bit of help?”

Alaryss wobbled for a moment under the thing’s weight, but she found her footing fast enough. “I can manage. Thank you, Kashta!”

“Bein’ thanked ‘fore yer paid? Tha’s new.”

Kashta found a way to help her in the end. She grabbed an unused chair from the dining hall and dragged it back on stage for Alaryss. The witch nodded to the barkeep as she took a seat, propping the enormous body of the instrument between her knees.

“Yer sure that’s the one you want?” Kashta asked her.

Alaryss followed her warm brown eyes as they roved over the mass of people packed together. Course language, arm-wrestling, screaming laughter, lewd jokes, and stale liquor floated around them like buzzing flies.

“These aren’t exactly the types who tap toes to somber sounds, ya kin?”

Alaryss hummed, running her fingers along the strings. “I’ve always wanted to play one of these.”

Kashta’s eyes flashed at that. “You mean ya never have?”

“Don’t worry,” Alaryss said, offering the woman beside her a warm smile. She turned her attention to the lacquered wood in her hands. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Would you mind getting ready for me?”

The pegs turned on their own with a timid squeak. Kashta leapt back as if lightning had struck out at her from the sky. Her lips slipped open with the tiniest gasp.

“You really are,” she whispered. “I thought you a liar until—but ya are, aren’tcha?”

Alaryss nodded, eyes closed and smile small as she listened to the soft humming of the strings. “I am.”

The wonderment fled from Kashta’s face as the witch’s words took hold, and the understanding of what that meant collided into the barkeep at full force.

“Then,” Kashta frowned, “I’m sorry fer what yuv’ lost.”

The girl said nothing in response, didn’t even glance in the taller woman’s direction. But Alaryss nodded—almost imperceptibly.

“I’m going to start now,” she whispered. Her fingers tugged the ribbon from her hair and let the silky length spill over her shoulders. “Any requests?”

Kashta nodded, her jaw set. “Their Final Song.”

Alaryss looked at her then—really looked. How did this woman have the courage to ask her that? Where did she find the nerve?! To ask her, of all people, after knowing the truth! For what reason?

She believes, Alaryss thought. She believes in it…

“I’ll try to do it justice.”

“No one else in the world would know how,” Kashta replied, walking away from the stage.

The first pull of the bow across the cello’s strings brought the entire pub to silence, and with the second, Alaryss’ spell was cast. Deep, throaty notes flooded the air, rich and vibrating along every table; around every wine glass. The melody swelled and sank in sweet, mournful sounds.

The musician kept her eyes closed. She couldn’t see the watery eyes, the tight throats, the faces filled with both sorrow and hope. But she heard them. As she sang, whispering voices joined her own, ghostly and echoing. They felt more an oath than they did a chorus. Alaryss’ magicks had no part in their reverence, and she understood that, just like Kashta, they believed.

"Blood and ash on roses strewn,
Beneath the light of a pale white moon,
The wind was cold, and the night was long,
Listen, listen to their final song.

The wielders of words, the tempest of storms,
These daughters of verse, of tale, of lore,
All gathered together to ring the war gong,
Listen, listen to their final song.

Oh, how we all grieved them that night it went wrong,
Listen, listen to their final song.

Outnumbered and weakened, their time had come,
The last of the Sizrek, they chose them to run,
And so we await the two that have gone,
Listen, listen to their final song,
Listen, listen to their final song,

Listen, listen so this song may live on…"

The last chord flitted to the rafters like a death rattle, the final breath of the Sizrek Witches.

Alaryss opened her eyes and found the entire room at a standstill. So silent it seemed, that the clipping and clopping of horseshoes on the cobblestones outside slipped through beneath the closed door. She waited for something, anything to happen.

 

[Aridis]

"In these times? Hope is all we've got." Perry raised her mug to meet the stranger's imaginary one.

Arovale was by no means a small town, but Perry liked to think that she was familiar with nearly all of the faces that frequented it. She'd been prowling the streets since she could walk, and made a habit of remembering as many citizens as possible for her own survival. She may not have known their names or their lives, but she made sure to memorize who was friendly, indifferent and outright hostile. The face that sat before her was completely new. Strangers in Arovale weren't unusual, merchants and travelers were a dime a dozen. Even so, new faces always brought new stories. Sometimes, they brought new fortune. At the very least, this one could provide a brief distraction.

"Hold on, let's try that again when you have something solid in your hand." Perry snickered, then flagged down the barkeep to snag a proper drink for the man. She wasn't terribly well off, so he'd have to settle for some standard ale if he wanted a drink at all. And if the king-to-be didn't want her hospitality, then that would just solidify her decision to go home stumbling tonight. While they waited, she put down her own keg and held out a hand to the man. "I'm Perry, by the way."

With her hand still outstretched toward her new friend, Perry took her free hand and pressed her palm against the pommel of her sword. She didn't draw her weapon, but she did push it back so that the blade and scabbard poked out behind her. It was right at that moment that John--the idiot bastard himself--skittered by to escape further embarrassment. His foot caught on her weapon, and he was sent tumbling to the ground. Before he could recover, Perry pulled her sword back to her side, and left it be from there. The evidence of her little trick had been removed, and no one could prove it was her. If he hadn't wanted to be tripped, then he should've grown a better personality.

Her smile just grew bigger when she heard the satisfying thud behind her. "You came in with the bard, right...?"

Any further questioning was halted at that moment. An enchanting melody reached her ears, and Peregrine was far too easily swayed by such magic. She craved a distraction, and another one was delivered to her. The song was a sorrowful one, and it stole her smile in an instant. As the room was filled with music, it was all that she could pay attention to in that moment. A tale of loss that had become too common. But then there was a note of something more. Hope. The one force that drove the desperate, including her, to look toward the next dawn.

The silence that came after was too much. It was almost suffocating. So, Perry did what she always did, she stubbornly took action and started clapping as loud as she could.

That's what you were supposed to do at the end of an incredible performance, after all.

 

[TheFelineverse]

It had been two weeks since he had made it out of the jungle. Small animals, berries, river water and rainwater were his only source of sustenance. He had reached his physical and mental limit which caused him to start regretting ever leaving his home.

“I don’t think I can go on” Leo said weakly as he leaned against a tree. He was wearing an oversized brown robe with a hood that had become muddy and torn from his long journey.

Look, you have made it. Sol spoke to Leo telepathically. His voice was deep and mighty like a bass drum.

Leo lifted his head before squinting his eyes to take a look. He could see the outside walls of a city and the tall buildings behind it. The initial excitement he had at the beginning of the journey sparked back into life. “Woah!”

He pushed himself off the tree and then quickly walked out from the tree line to get a better view of the city. “Wooooow! It’s amazing!” The fatigue, hunger and thirst seemed to have vanished due to being overwhelmed with awe.

You must be very careful around hu-.

Completely disregarding Sol’s advice Leo ran towards the main road where merchants, travellers and soldiers were moving towards and away from the city gates. When he reached the road he looked at the many different faces with wide-eyed curiosity. He then began to walk with a horse that was pulling a carriage. Not being able to resist he reached out to touch the horse but was interrupted by the carriage driver. “Oi, child! Don’t touch the horse!” He shouted angrily.

Startled, Leo jumped back while quickly putting his hands down to his sides. “S-sorry” Leo responded with multiple bows. He swallowed nervously as he found himself getting swept up in a crowd that was heading towards the city. Why do they have funny ears? Leo thought to himself as his feline ears twitched underneath his hood.

As he approached the main gate a tall muscular guard who must have been in his mid-40s spotted Leo. “Stop right there” He ordered with an authoritative tone while suddenly stepping in front of the lone Nystis. Leo walked straight into him causing his head to bang against the guard’s metal chest plate. “Ouch!” He stumbled back before looking up at the unpleased human.

“Remove your hood, child. There’s been a lot of pickpockets around recently and you look suspicious” The guard said sternly.

“I am not a thief nor a child!” Leo replied sharply.

Leo, do not show your face. Your appearance will make this situation more difficult Sol advised quickly.
Leo's anger was quickly swallowed by fear as he saw the guard place his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Remove your hood, now” He said with an intimidating glare.

‘When the thread of violence threatens to harm the great tapestry you must use your weave to remove it’ That is what the elders constantly repeated to the young Nyctis, though Leo never really listened to their preaching.

He reached into one of his large pockets before quickly pulling out a grapefruit-sized glass orb. It had an incredibly smooth surface and a bright white glow that emanated from inside it.

“Sorry!” With no warning an intense white flash exploded out of the orb, temporarily blinding everyone around the Nyctis. Leo used this opportunity to run past the disoriented guard, through the city gate and into the city proper. He was swift on his feet, allowing him to disappear into the crowd before anyone could recover their sight.

After a few minutes, he parted from the crowd he was using as a cover and ducked into a nearby alleyway to regain his breath. “Th-that was…fun!” Leo said with a slight laugh. His heart was beating fast, pumping adrenaline around his body. It made him feel alive and able to do anything in this moment.

Do not use me like that without my permission Sol grumbled. From now you will do as I say or you will get yourself kil-

A beautiful melody from the building next to Leo cut Sol off mid-sentence. It was enchanting, yet filled with sorrow. The Dragon’s heart stirred in response, due to their mental connection Leo could feel what he felt. It was the first time Leo could feel anything from his mysterious companion.

Deciding to investigate the music he walked around to the front of the building. The mixture of ungodly smells hit Leo like a wall causing him to gag, his keen sense of smell amplifying the stench. Undeterred he cautiously approached the doorway and peeked into the pub.

The witch's song had just reached its end leaving the pub in an eerie silence. Leo felt a tear roll down his cheek. Was he crying? No. The dragon’s lamentation had manifested through Leo.

Before he could ask Sol what was wrong the sound of loud clapping caused him to jump in surprise. He did not understand why everyone was so sad, it seemed he had a lot to learn about humans.

Leo’s attention suddenly shifted towards the direction of where the sweet smell of fresh bread was coming from. He had never smelled something so heavenly. He found himself automatically walking towards the source of the smell with no way to stop.

He ended up walking into a bustling market full of a variety of stalls and shops. The stall he ended up at was selling freshly baked loaves of bread that looked irresistible. Unable to think past his hunger Leo grabbed a loaf before biting into it like a wild animal.

“Are you going to pay for that?” A large bald man with a raised eyebrow and his arms crossed over his apron asked in annoyance.

Leo slowly looked up from underneath his hood and blinked a few times in confusion while continuing to chew on the bread.

The man leaned forward and squinted his eyes in suspicion. “Well? Are you?” He asked again.

 

[Mango137]

Joko's thanks were a simple nod as he accepted the proffered ale, his eyes meeting Perry's with an unspoken gratitude for her gesture. "I'm Joko," he introduced himself, his voice a low hum that mingled with the tavern's cacophony.

He savored the ale, its coolness a balm to the dust of the road still clinging to his throat. As he observed Perry's deft, almost playful retribution on the stumbling man, a laugh escaped him, soft and fleeting, like a shadow darting through the light. Their conversation was momentarily lost to the world as Alaryss's music weaved its magic through the air. The song, laden with the sorrow of ages yet buoyed by an undercurrent of hope, resonated within Joko, stirring a depth of feeling he had not expected. He listened, entranced, as the haunting melody spun a tapestry of loss and resilience. The final chord hung in the air, a poignant silence following its wake. It was a silence that spoke volumes, a testament to the power of the music that had just filled the room. Joko, drawn from the reverie, joined Perry in a hearty applause, their claps a defiant echo against the sudden stillness.

"Yes, I'm with her," he said, nodding towards the stage where Alaryss had captivated the room. His voice carried a warmth, an anticipation of the evening's promise. "And if she continues to play as she just did, we might indeed find this night to be more joyful than anticipated."

Raising his voice so it carried over the renewed buzz of the tavern, Joko called out to Alaryss, "Now, something to lift our spirits and make these fine drinks even more enjoyable!" He turned back to Perry, a smile playing on his lips, the light of an evening yet to unfold shining in his eyes.

With his call to Alaryss hanging in the bustling air, Joko swiveled back to Perry, his smile a quiet accomplice to the tavern's newfound vivacity. "So, is this a typical night or has an occasion brought you to this tavern?" he quipped, a playful edge to his voice as he took another sip of ale.

 

[Goonfire]

Ah, the marketplace... Though Hulta had never been to these parts, all markets were fundamentally alike: assorted merchant stalls, tents, and shops in the streets and square of the appropriate district. One simply roamed until they found that which was needed. Hulta gripped a shopping list between her delicate fingers, purple eyes scanning from top to bottom. On this list were herbs of various kinds, reagents, and dried rations. Though the market was still busy, the Shogun's influence was still felt as the once-glimmering storefronts had lost much of their warmth and the merchants' radiant smiles dulled.

After several minutes, Hulta discovered her first stop: a small alchemist's shop. Rust encroached upon the edges of the double-sided sign protruding over the street. Before she even reached the door, the mixed aroma of herbs, spices, and smoke washed over her. It was a smell she quite enjoyed, one that reminded her of home. Basket in hand, she selected several sprigs of the plants she most commonly used, as well as vials of mineral compounds and mild acids crucial to alchemical processes. After paying, she unfurled a black leather roll bag on the counter and, with the shopkeeper's assistance, packed her purchased goods into their proper slots.

Hulta's next order of business was to procure her rations. This wasn't as easy as the tales made it seem. To replenish this kit, she wanted dried fruits, salted meats, hardtack, and nuts. The search for each relevant vendor comprised the bulk of her hour. The actual bartering and buying was the easy part; odd and exotic trinkets her coven had pilfered paid for her survival needs.

The final stop on this resupply run was the bakery. The stall was posted in front of a busy kitchen. Wicker baskets overflowed with fresh bread, though Hulta was after the hardtack, stacked into paper sleeves and positioned off to the side. The bone-dry commodities were undesirable to the layman, yet essential for the weary traveler averse to starvation.

Gradually, the woman's eyes trailed over to the loaves placed front-and-center. Those must have been from the freshest batch. With a contemplative hum and her index finger gently tapping her chin, she acquiesced to temptation. Hulta placed the packages of hardtack before the baker and reached for the warm loaf... only to have it snatched from under her nose!

Whoever this ill-mannered hooded stranger was, they wasted no time tearing into the bread. Hulta's surprise turned into disdain, her lips pursing at the offender. The baker demanded recompense, but was there any to be had? The blank stare in reply gave her nothing except doubt. Was he completely ignorant of the notion of fair trade?

Hulta retrieved a silver coin from her purse and held it at the level of her eyes, her arm still pulled close. The thin fabric of the bell sleeve fell, revealing two bracelets around her wrist: one of round black beads and one of flat silver beads with tiny arcane sigils etched into their faces. "Coin. Do you have it?" she clarified in a patronizing tone.

Interactions: TheFelineverse

 

[TheFelineverse]

Leo's mouth was full of bread causing his cheeks to puff out and making it hard to talk. He turned his confused gaze from the baker to the woman who had started talking to him. His eyes widened in surprise at what he could see around the woman, it was a strange magical aura that he had never seen before.

“Someone better pay up or I will get the guards!” The baker said growing rapidly impatient.

Leo panicked as he mentioned the guards, he had already caused trouble at the gates and he did not want to face that angry gate guard after blinding him. He then slowly backed away from the stall and the woman while still chewing on the bread in his mouth. Not paying attention to where he was placing his feet he accidently stepped on the bottom of his robe which caused him to suddenly fall backwards.

With a small thump, he landed on the ground. The loaf of bread flew out of his hands onto the ground next to him, and the large crystal orbs in his robe pockets also rolled out. They were remarkably clear with incredibly smooth surfaces. The light that passed through them became a beautiful rainbow of colours that made it hard for one to look away from their magnificence.

The fall had caused his hood to fall back revealing his tall fluffy ears and his big green oval eyes. He blinked quickly as he found himself looking up at the sky while wincing in pain from his head and back.

“What in the hells is that!?” the baker shouted in shock. People who were walking around the market turned to look which was followed by many gasps and whispers.

 

[Gordon_Greenwood]

A sound like a cracking whip broke the deep well of silence that had formed throughout the tavern. Alaryss flinched against the noise, quick-silver eyes scanning the crowd to find its source. For a moment, she thought someone had conjured a bolt of lightning to strike at her, perhaps dissatisfied by the mournful song.

The witch spotted her then. A warrior, at first glance, and one with a solid build to boot. Her arms looked as powerful as an ox’s charge and covered in scars from sleeve to knuckle. If Alaryss had to pick a single word to describe the woman, then intimidating came to mind. But there she stood, slanted mouth upturned to hint at a smile, and slapping her hands together loud enough to drown out a war.

As if she had broken a century old enchantment, the rest of the tavern sprung to life. They whistled and stomped and called out for more. One voice in particular caught Alaryss’ attention, and it bellowed out from the warrior-woman’s side.

“Now, something to lift our spirits and make these fine drinks even more enjoyable!” Joko called.

Alaryss nodded back to him, to the entire room, a grin threatening to tug at her lips. She let the cello down and traipsed back to the closet. If they wanted a happier tune, she'd gladly indulge them, but it would take a melody that danced with joy. A cello possessed the ability to portray a myriad of intense emotions, but it struggled with one thing—fun.

Instead, Alaryss pulled out the instrument’s smaller cousin, tucking it under her chin.

“Very well,” she called back. “Then this one’s for you, young lord.”

And with that, she launched into “Mountain Thyme”. The tune flowed with a jaunty step off the strings, as if the song itself could grow legs and prance about. Commissioned by a minor lord on the return of his prodigal son, it seemed to fit the mood—joyous as it felt. It took less than three notes before patrons began to tap their feet, and only a little longer than that to push tables out of the way to clear space to dance.

Kashta sped from one side of the bar to the other as people lined up to fill their mugs. She had a boy, half her size and sweating through his tunic, lugging barrel after barrel of wine and ale from the cellar. He’d drop a fresh cask of wine onto the counter, wipe his head, and run down for the next keg of beer. By the time he got back, Kashta had already sold every drop of the grape. She glanced toward the stage with a massive smirk spread between her ears.

It always amazed Alaryss what a tiny ‘lure of indulgence’ spell could do for a business, especially when woven together with a courage charm. The perfect combination for a place like this. Her grandmother taught her well. When she’d finished “Mountain Thyme”, cheers broke out right away, and Kashta approached the stage.

“Take a brreak,” the giantess grunted.

Alaryss shook her head. “I’m fine,” she assured her. “Besides, I’ve only played two songs.”

“Och, rright! You might be fine, lass, but I need a bit of a sit. Yer magick’s a wee bit too much to keep up with. Go join yer frriends and I’ll brring over a round on the hoowse.”

Alaryss nodded, crossing from the stage to the little table she spotted earlier without further argument. Seeing the warrior woman up close made her all the more intimidating. She looked the type that fixed her problems, grand and grubby alike, by drawing a sword. Still, something about her had promise. A spark of loyalty and nerve lingered behind her bright blue eye.

“Hello,” the Sizrek greeted, sticking out a hand. “I’m Alaryss. Who might you be?”

 

[Aridis]

The distraction was a welcome one. Perry found herself swaying slightly to the music as the bard played her second song. Like the first, it held a decent influence over her state of mind. She knew that there was magic attached to the tune, but she hardly cared. It just added a new, entertaining layer to the whole situation. The more energetic melody pulled her from the pit of her own thoughts, which was very much appreciated. Perry didn’t go as far as dancing, though. She happy enough in her seat.

When the performer responded to Joko’s request by calling him ‘young lord,’ she paused for a moment. There was a flicker of hope in her chest, but it died as a spark. It was an ill timed joke. That word could mean many things, from referring to lower nobles who only got their title through recent wealth, to a harmless teasing nickname for a poorer citizen. ‘Young lord’ didn’t automatically mean royalty. Especially not when the lordling in question couldn’t afford his own drink. Before she thought too much into it, Perry shrugged off the phrase as an unfortunate jest.

”Mmm… More of an occasion, I suppose. Though, I have yet to decide what that is. I‘ll consider telling you more once I’ve figured it out.” She hummed with a shrug. Was today the day that she mourned the end of a lifelong dream, or a celebration for a new future? Perry was trying very hard to spin her tale toward the latter. She just needed to find the silver lining before the urge to get drunk took over. “What of you and your companion? Do you have business in Arovale, or are you simply passing through?”

As the Sizrek woman came to join them, she responded to the greeting with a wide smile. “You can call me Perry.” She tried to be a bit more gentle with her handshake this time around, not wanting to hurt the musician. “Your performance was brilliant, by the way. I’ve never heard anything like it!”

 

[Goonfire]

The lack of a reply slowly chipped away at Hulta's patience, but the baker was clearly faring worse than she was, his irritation nigh palpable. His threat caused the stranger to stumble back and land on his arse, scattering his belongings on the ground. Hulta found herself momentarily captivated by the crystal balls and their evident magical properties. Her eyes trailed up to his ears. After a couple seconds, a knowing look crept onto her face and she slowly nodded.

Quickly, the sorceress snapped out of it and offered a hasty reply. "Clearly a foreigner. I doubt he realizes his faux pas," she dismissed the baker's dramatic words in a calm voice. "I will see what he can tell me... and if he can reimburse me for this." With that, she lifted a small handful of coins to the counter and flicked a few onto the table with her thumb. Their value totaled enough for both his 'purchase' and her own provisions.

Finally, there was the matter of the onlookers—mundane folk drawn by the commotion. Some pointed in awe while others stared in fear. Regardless, it was unwanted attention. With the subtle flourish of a wand at her side and the echoing whisper of an incantation, Hulta cast a spell. Unseen arcane energies rippled around her, permeating the air. The chatter diminished to a low murmur as the magic soothed the small audience. "There is nothing of concern here! A small mishap," she asserted as she interposed herself between the bystanders and the cat man. Her long, opaque cloak blocked most people's view of him.

Turning back to the stranger, Hulta beckoned for him to rise with a sly wink. "Gather your belongings and let us go," she instructed, gesturing to the prismatic orbs. "There has been enough excitement for now."

 

[TheFelineverse]

Leo slowly sat up while rubbing the back of his head. It was hard for him to get up onto his feet because the long journey had taken its toll on his body and mind. This was clear from the dark bags under his eyes and the lack of colour in his face, it was a miracle that he made this far without passing out from malnutrition.

He placed the orbs back into his robe pockets before struggling onto his feet. After picking up the loaf of bread and going back to taking bites out of it he looked at the female with a thankful smile. “Thwunk wooh” He said with a mouth full of bread.

The baker quickly took the coin with a huff. “Just keep him away from my shop”

The Nyctis pulled his hood up with one hand as he took a closer look at his saviour. The magic she weaved was strange to him, alien even. He also did not understand why no one else gave off magic like her, where he was from everyone gave off some form of magical energy or their weave as the Nyctics called it

She is a sorceress, only some humans are practitioners of the arcane arts. Their species seemed to have advanced since the time I was last awake. The wave of magic had snapped Sol out of his melancholy episode, though Leo could still sense lingering sadness with a hint of guilt.

Leo tightly closed his eyes and swallowed before looking down into his pockets with a confused look. “How do they get anything done without being able to weave? I can’t imagine not being able to weave…” Leo spoke to the orbs, briefly forgetting the woman was there.

After lifting his gaze back up he decided to speak to his first human, the woman that had saved him. “I…um…hello?” He spoke awkwardly not knowing how to introduce himself properly. Back home everyone knew each other, there was no need for introduction.

 

[Mango137]

Joko watched, a contented observer, as the lively notes of "Mountain Thyme" flowed from Alaryss's violin, setting the tavern alight with a new energy. The patrons, once content in their seats, now found their feet, drawn as if by some ancient spell to dance. Their movements were a blend of the graceful and the clumsy, a merry dance that twisted and turned with the rhythm of the music. Some spun with practiced elegance, their steps a dance of shadows and light, while others stomped and clapped, their movements as hearty as the ale that flowed freely from Kashta's barrels.

He turned to Perry, his eyes still twinkling with the joy of the scene before him. "Just passing through, I'm afraid," he said, a hint of regret lacing his words. "Though, with evenings such as this, I anticipate a certain dread when the time comes to leave Arovale's warm embrace."

The arrival of Alaryss at their table drew Joko's attention. Her presence seemed to carry with it the remnants of the music she had just played, an aura of enchantment that lingered in the air. "Your music was nothing short of captivating," he complimented her genuinely. "It's a rare sight to see such a joyful crowd."

As Alaryss and Perry exchanged greetings, Joko leaned back slightly, a silent participant, content to witness the unfolding camaraderie between these two quite intriguing individuals. His gaze shifted back to his drink, a thoughtful smile playing on his lips as he savored the ale and the moment.

 

[Gordon_Greenwood]

Alaryss beamed at Joko and Perry, basking in their kind words. The atmosphere in Kashta’s bar seemed to ease out of a whirling mania and evened out into a gentle, sunny stupor. Alaryss’ music had faded, but the patron’s joyful demeanor remained. All they needed was a nudge into a more festive spirit.

“Flatterers,” the Sizrek accused, eyes wandering between the two. “The both of you.”

Gathering up her long, raven-black hair, Alaryss twisted the mass to the top of her head and tied it back with a bit of ribbon. It felt soft to the touch, thanks to the hot spring Joko had found on their way into town. The mineral rich water had added a sheen to her tresses and a glow to her skin. Back during Alaryss’ youth, when roads were safe, her grandmother would take her to the hot springs near Llydons. She missed it there.

Now that she had closed in on the table, Alaryss took a moment to look over Joko’s newest drinking companion. Most might notice the enormous sword clasped to the woman’s armor, but the witch found her eyes drawn to hers. A startling shade of night sky around the outside, it swept into tones of cobalt and azurite as it neared the center with silver chips of ice woven throughout. The ring of inky black that encased the edges gave the impression of a vast ocean held in place by an obsidian dam.

No wonder the fates had chosen to take her other eye. If one could ensnare a mortal so entirely, then two could shake the will of the gods themselves.

Then Alaryss noticed the scars. They ran through Perry’s face as silvery white lines; some thin enough to vanish in the sun’s light, and some that ran in jagged bolts and marred her features. She found herself curious about each one, wanting to ask how they had happened, but balked at the thought of offending her.

The Sizrek regarded the warrior’s armor last. It looked as if it had seen less battle than the warrior herself. Candlelight still bounced off the smooth surface of her cuirass, and her sword’s pommel shined with the glow of fresh-poured steel. No, that wasn’t quite right. They weren’t new to Perry at all. She sat far too comfortably in the armor and kept her hand rested gently on the sword’s pommel—the caress of an old friend.

And just like an old friend, the warrior treated them well…

“That’s quite the set or armor you’re wearing. Tell me, under whose banner do you serve?” Alaryss asked.

Perry spread her hands out—palms up—with a grin, but her eye remained without humor. “None at the moment, but not for lack of trying.”

“Well, you look quite capable to me,” Alaryss went on, taking a seat next to her. “Any lord who’s turned down your allegiance doesn’t have the wit to rule.”

Alaryss supplied Joko with a much pointed stare over the rim of her mug. Before she could say anything else, however, Kashta had reappeared at the edge of the table.

“Rright, lassie, brreak time’s ovvur!”

The witch responded by downing her drink, giving Kashta a warm smile, and pushing herself up from the chair. “Ask not for whom the bell tolls…”

 

[Goonfire]

The sorceress's ears twitched at a foreign voice, echoing from next to her. "The orbs..." she murmured to herself while the stranger spoke to it. They were more than a spell focus; they must have housed a soul, if she could hear it when other passersby did not. It seemed ancient when it spoke of how far humans had come, yet neither fully understood the tenacity of humans.

With one finger, Hulta beckoned her new acquaintance and slowly drifted away from the baker's shop. She did not grace the defensive remarks from the gruff proprietor with an answer. The Nyctis looked exhausted and famished, long overdue for a stay at an inn. "Hello, stranger," she responded in a soft tone, her lips curling into a simper. "... And hello to your companion. Am I right to assume you had a long journey together?"

Pleasant aromas wafted from buildings on the street down which Hulta headed. Alcohol, meat, stews... there were surely taverns and inns nearby. "Save some of that loaf for later. There is nothing quite like dipping fresh bread in hot soup." She seemed to speak fondly of such a thing, as though she enjoyed the simple pleasures in life.