Prose

One-shot/non-interaction writings.

“I want to show you something.”

Spark took Vahaadi gently by the wrist as she leapt in the air. Grudgingly he unfurled his Carpet, the tapestry snapping to life as he sat expectantly in its center. Letting go of his arm, Spark gestured for him to follow then shot upwards, through the clouds. She speed further and further from the ground, the horizons bending and vanishing around her. Concentrating with all her might she held her breath and plunged through the atmosphere, breaking into the utter stillness and silence of space. Though normally this sort of feat would be impossible, even for her, Vahaadi’s mood had required a change of surroundings. (read: Spark asked and Evie said ‘yes, you can go into space just this once.’)

Delighted at the complete lack of gravity, Spark felt even lighter than usual. She oriented herself as best she could, looked over her should to make sure Vahaadi was still following her, then sped towards her goal: the brilliantly glowing full moon. As soon as she was close enough to have landed on it if she had wished, she turned to Vahaadi. Edging close enough to be shoulder to shoulder she directed his attention towards the planet from which they had just come. “That.” She said with satisfaction. “The Earth. Look how small is seems from here! And so white too. It’s a little blueish green, but mostly it just looks like a ball of clouds, like a marble floating in the universe.” Spark paused, glancing at Vahaadi and trying to read him. He didn’t meet her gaze. In fact, he hardly seemed to be listening. But he wasn’t scowling or rolling his eyes, so she continued. “But YOU know and I know that there’s so much more to Earth than just a bunch of clouds. Once you get closer, you can see all the things that live on the Earth, what’s been built, what’s been destroyed, what each person is doing right now! Some things will be terrible. But some things will be grand. You can’t say that everything on Earth is right or wrong, because there’s too much going on and it’s too complex. Vahaadi, you’re like the Earth. You can let people get to know you better, exposing your faults but also your strengths, or you can distance yourself, and just seem like a marble.”

She placed a hand lovingly on his shoulder and smiled. “I know you don’t want me to know the real you, because you think its too bad, too terrible. But that isn’t ALL you are. I know there are good things about you! I just wish you could also see them.”

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((This was inspired from listening to “Demons” by Imagine Dragons after CallyAnn and I both agreed it’s a very fitting song for Vahaadi. She was so right when she said it’s the feelings expressed in that song that Spark wants to respond to with the song “Brave.”

Spark’s anti-gravity hair is fun to draw, but frames her face weirdly. Her head looks too big for her body with all that wild hair XD))

I’ve Become What I Can’t Be

((So, I mentioned before that I want to completely rewrite Vahaadi’s character for Ashen Shard.  Rather than changing Vahaadi back from the character he’s become for Loose Canon, I’ve decided to jailbreak him from the story entirely.  I will be writing a completely different character to take his place, and Spark now gets to have Vahaadi all to herself! This decision has been cemented by the recent ideas I’ve had about revamping Ashen Shard. Initially everything was hunky-dory, but the day after I had my epiphany about Ashen Shard, I started feeling some pushback from Lanthriel.  This surprised me, since Vahaadi’s exclusion will theoretically make his own story so much better. But much to his own chagrin, Lanthriel does feel strongly for Vahaadi and regrets the drama. Sending Vahaadi to a different story entirely means they will no longer have to torment each other with their mixed feelings.))

“I suppose this is farewell,” Lanthriel said softly. “I’m sorry it had to end this way.”

Vahaadi closed his pack without looking up. “It’s for the best,” he replied, trying to sound confident. He flipped the pack, filled with every sign he’d ever been a part of Ashen Shard, over his shoulder.

“You’ll have to spend hundreds of years a slave and a villain instead of only a few.”

“True…” Vahaadi responded grimly. “But, I’ll get to be a hero, too.” Feeling the confidence he’d been seeking finally coming into his voice, he looked up at Latnrhiel. “Ink’s promised me a happy ending.  There’s no guarantee of that for me here.”

Lanthriel’s eyes darkened, and Vahaadi was alarmed by the look of deep pain and regret he wore.

“Don’t worry,” Vahaadi tried to reassure him. “Spark will take good care of me.”

Lanthriel’s brow knit and he cast his eyes away.  His voice was thin when he spoke next.

“I’ll miss you.”

Vahaadi’s throat tightened uncomfortably. Why, why did he always have to make everything so hard? “I’ll miss you, too,” he murmured.

For a moment, the two just stared at each other. At length, Vahaadi moved closer, extending his hand to touch Lanthriel’s face. Lanthriel seemed to come to himself abruptly and turned faintly pink. He cleared his throat hastily and held out his hand, as if to shake.

“Let us part as friends, and nothing more,” he said.

Vahaadi hesitated, and Lanthriel saw the fleeting resignation and sadness in his eyes. But then he smiled.

“Friends, and nothing less,” Vahaadi agreed, and he pulled himself against Lanthriel in an embrace.  Lanthriel’s hand, still extended, hovered uncertainly in midair.  Then he relaxed, and tenderly returned Vahaadi’s embrace. Vahaadi sighed into his chest, feeling he would melt.

“UUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH would you stop with the mush and just GO already?” a harsh voice whined.

Lanthriel relaxed his hold but didn’t pull away completely, looking at Took with a mixture of scorn and embarrassment.

“Oh, Took,” Vahaadi purred with his teasing smile. “You KNOW you’ll miss me too.”

Took put his hands on his hips. “I can’t miss you IF YOU WON’T LEAVE.”

Vahaadi laughed at his retort and shook his head. “Alright, alright,” he chuckled, unwrapping himself from Lanthriel.  He smiled up at Lanthriel, inviting him to laugh with him at Took’s expense, but there was no trace of a smile in return.

“Oh, Ehric,” Vahaadi murmured. “Don’t look so sad.  Knowing Ink and Evie, we’re bound to see each other again! We’ll run into each other in an RP or some out-of-context meme for certain!”

Lanthriel rubbed the back of his neck and smiled at the ground. “Haha. I guess you’re right.” He sighed quietly, then returned his gaze to Vahaadi’s. “Well, goodbye for now, Vahaadi,” he said.

“Goodbye, Ehric. I’ll see you around.” With that, he stepped up to Lanthriel, and gently kissed him under his jaw. For once, Lanthriel had been more or less expecting the kiss and didn’t tense. Grateful, Vahaadi resisted the desire to over stay his welcome, and with a final smile up at Lanthriel, he turned and ran off toward his new home, his new beginning.

(( Mood music, by One Republic of course:

I like listening to this and imagining the scene and a montage of memories and Lanthriel and Vahaadi facing their new stories and just coming to terms with everything and mutually and separately moving on. <3

Also relevant is Rascal Flatt’s “I’m Moving On” but it isn’t as uplifting/encouraging as “Stop and Stare.”))

Caught

Kala breathlessly slipped through the room, her hungry eyes darting all around the furniture and walls.  Took’s quarters were littered with a peculiar assortment of tools, many of which looked like torture devices. There were numerous books scattered around, too, and pinned on one wall were several maps.  One looked to be a roadmap of Chen. One of them was a floor plan of JaniHarrii. The south tower was annotated with particular care, but there were other notes, too.  She stepped closer to peer at them.

“Well, well, well.  Look who it is.”

Kala might have jumped out of her skin. She spun on the spot.

Sahin was standing about 10 paces away, and in his hands he held a large, live serpent, which coiled around his arms. He toyed gently with it, as one would a pet. The snake, for its part, seemed agitated.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Sahin purred, his eyes glinting eerily.

Kala swallowed, hard, and drew a steeling breath. “What is it you do for Took?” she asked abruptly.

“Whatever my master requires of me,” he said silkily, though there was an edge of menace to his voice.

“Including killing trespassers.”

Suddenly, he whipped out of sight, and in the next moment, he was right in front of her. Before she could react, he shoved her against a table, sending a sinister looking instrument clattering to the floor. With one hand he pinned her wrists over her head, forcing her to bend backward painfully over the edge of the table, and for good measure, he pushed his knee into her groin to keep her from slipping away. With his other hand, he pressed a blade into her throat.

Kala gasped and attempted to struggle, but Sahin continued to push his weight into her.

“How long did you think you could continue sneaking around before you got caught, hmm?” Sahin snarled in a deathly whisper. “You think this is some kind of GAME? You are a stupid, insolent little girl.  How DARE you enter my master’s quarters, while Lanthriel agonizes over your protection!”

Kala shuddered and writhed, trying to twist her neck away from the bite of Sahin’s knife. But at the mention of Lanthriel’s name, she froze and met Sahin’s piercing gold gaze.

“Do you ever think what your moronic escapades inflict on him?” he continued, still in his intense whisper, eyes agleam with malice. Kala gagged as Sahin pushed harder on her. “You have no idea what terrible suffering awaits you, you sniveling brat! You think you can worm your way out of your inevitable fate by snooping around, but all that you are accomplishing is digging a deeper grave for both of you.”

Sahin seemed positively frenzied now.  He leaned right into her her face and growled through his teeth, “if you have single shred of intelligence in your abomination of a body, you’ll KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN.  You may gamble your own life all you wish, but I swear to God–”

A floor below, the whirring of the aegis sounded.  Took had returned.

Kala’s heart fluttered frantically. She looked wildly up at Sahin, whose furor had subsided into indecision. Kala attempted to wriggle away from him just as he made up his mind. Her grabbed her roughly by the hair and dragged her, gasping fearfully, toward a large cabinet.  A moment later he had shoved her inside, nearly slamming the door on her tail.  Her cry of alarm was barely muffled by robes that hung within.

Mind racing to understand all that had happened and the predicament she had found herself in, she struggled to turn around in the tiny enclosure. She lost her balance on the jumble of shoes and crumpled awkwardly into a heap. A narrow shaft of light gleamed into her face as her struggle accidentally bumped the cabinet door, opening it a tiny crack.  Her mouth went dry and she crammed herself as far back into the cabinet as she could get, hoping against hope that Took had not seen the cabinet shift.

“Djinni!” Took’s harsh voice snapped as he came up the stairs.

Through the thin slit, Kala could just see Sahin tense visibly and bow. “Yes, Master?”

There was a clunking noise as Took set something down.  “What have you been up to?” he asked suspiciously.

“I…” Sahin faltered.

Why did he hide me? Kala wondered suddenly, feeling blood seeping from the narrow cut Vahaadi’s knife had left in her neck. What in the world was going on?

“Djinni,” Took growled in warning. “Don’t you dare lie to me.”

“I found a snake,” Sahin said quickly.

“Excuse me?”

“Here,” Sahin said, and Kala saw him teleport over to the spot she’d first seen him. He gingerly slid the snake out from under a couch and caressed it as it writhed.

Took swore in repulsion. “How did it get in here?! Kill it!”

A brief expression of pain crossed Sahin’s face. But almost immediately his eyes shone smoky white. Kala, realizing what she was about to see, hurriedly turned her face away in horror. There was a sickening crack.

“Ugh! Disgusting vermin,” Took grumbled, striding across the room. “This fortress is ghastly. The sooner we can get out of here, the better. Speaking of which, I’ve got a job for you.”

Sahin did not respond.  Kala could no longer see him, as much of her very limited view was obscured by Took’s cloak.

“Did you hear me?” Took pressed, his voice edged with anger.

There was a sound like a whip and a startled gasp.

“Pay attention!” Took snapped. His voice dropped threateningly. “Are you going to cooperate, or am I going to have to Compel you?”

When Sahin replied, the anxiety in his voice was apparent. “No…whatever you ask…”

“Good. Listen carefully…”

* * *

The door of the cabinet wrenched open. Sahin looked down on Kala, absolutely livid. Eyes ablaze, he held out his hand a deliberately dropped the dead snake on her. It fell on her head and crumpled into her lap.  It’s head was twisted at a grotesque angle, its eyes staring vacantly.

She felt like she would retch at the sight. She looked up at Sahin shakily.

“If I ever find you out of line again, I will snap your neck,” he breathed.

“GET. OUT.”

“What Love Really Means”

Song:

Vitiator rose from his seat as instructed, the awkwardness of the gesture feeling a little less uncomfortable than it had in the past. He had begun to acclimate to the services held each seven days to “Honor the King,” the strange habit of singing songs in unison and hearing “testimonies of the King’s work” becoming routine. He and Tephra were required to attend as part of their sentence for criminal activity. There were others who attended for the same reason, but their sentences were less severe. Tephra and Vitiator were the only ones required to reside in the palace and be monitored during all daylight hours. Of course, given the circumstances, Vitiator hardly considered their condition to be a ‘sentence’ at all. He and Tephra continued to feel bewildered at the strange way their captors had decided to ‘discipline’ them, the terms feeling much more like a rehabilitation program or some sort of conversion attempt rather than a punishment. The whole kingdom seemed to think generosity and kindness were the best ways to handle a wayward individual. Initially he and Tephra both had soberly, if not scornfully, accepted their sentence, but he found himself lately feeling much less like a captive and more like a guest of honor. In fact, he and Tephra were asked to sit in the very front row of seats in the large Celebration Room, right next to the Protectors of Lunarious themselves. Each Day of Honoring he was given a custom ensemble of the finest Lunarian tailoring, as was Tephra. The citizens said they dressed in such a way as to please and delight the King, and rather expectantly, provided the means for he and Tephra to do the same.

Music erupted through the hall, a chorus of voices filling the room as the congregation sang “Faith is the Vitctory,” a ballad about trust in the King helping one overcome all obstacles. Vitiator glanced to his side to catch a glimpse of what would no doubt be a sordid expression on Tephra’s face. She loathed the assemblies of Honor. To his surprise he found her expression to be rather serene, if not slightly vapid. Recently Tephra seemed a bit less vitriolic towards the King than she had in the past. Or, perhaps, simply more resigned. In any case, Vitiator found himself glad, relieved, even. He too was coming to terms with all this talk about the King. There was a part of him that wanted to believe that all that the people said about Him was really true, that it wasn’t simply a deluded belief, but in fact, the Truth. Could it be that there was an invisible, all powerful Ruler who not only cared for his subjects but adopted them as His own children? A King who pardoned all who asked forgiveness, no matter the crime? A Sovereign who guaranteed victory and security? It all sounded far too good to be true, and Vitiator had yet to find any substantial proof of the King’s existence. Still, a nagging thought whispered in his mind, he had yet to find anything to disprove the King either.

When the gathering had ended and the people were filing out of the great hall, Tephra turned to him, her usual snide expression returning to her face. No doubt the “testimony” delivered that day had not sat well with her. Vitiator grinned in anticipation of her sarcasm, that while bitter, was often witty and almost always amusing. Before she had a chance to voice her thoughts aloud, however, a voice called out over the crowd, “Vitiator! Tephra! A word, if you please,” The booming voice belonged to Lord Sunustra, who beckoned to them with his arm to come over to where he stood at the back of the great hall. Resuming a more cowed expression, Tephra glanced at her feet as the two made their way to the place Sunustra stood. Shame plagued her as it was made obvious before the entire mass of people gathered that day that she and Vitiator were different from everyone else; set apart by their past, doomed to condemnation forever. No one else was ever singled out this way. Vitiator sensed the humiliation she felt and wanted to help her, but knew not how. She seemed to see everything as an attack, no matter how it was presented. As for himself, he was simply curious about what Sunustra wanted, but Tephra was still always suspicious, always doubtful of their intentions. For better or worse, Vitiator had come to realize that the people here really did not intend to harm them. They have no intention of requiring the two of them to pay for their crimes and in fact seem very eager to help them. Whether their actions were truly helpful was, of course, another matter entirely. But he knew that at the very least they meant well, which is more than Tephra could say for them.

Tephra wrapped her fingers around VItiator’s strong arm, pulling herself close. Her jaw was set, and Vitiator saw the look of reservation in her eye. Internally he sighed, wistfully remembering the look of serenity she had worn earlier. If only she were able to relax like that more often. She was such a lovely woman, the most beautiful he had ever seen, but each day that passed she seemed harder, angrier, more resentful. It never occurred to Vitiator that Tephra was the same way she had always been and he was the one who was changing. Finally, he turned his attention to Lord Sunsutra, who was exchanging a rather nervous glance with his wife. They both seemed slightly giddy, though Vitiator couldn’t imagine why. His brow furrowed slightly and the corners of his mouth turned up in a small smile. What was it that they wanted? Lord Sunustra found his voice and began to address them, his brown eyes bright and sparkling. “Vitiator, Tephra,” he nodded to each of them respectively, “Lady Novella and I have been discussing the two of you at great length. We know you’ve been through many trails and upheavals in your past and while we can’t excuse what you have done in Lunarious we can understand it. The two of you possess a faithfulness to one another, a commitment to your love and devotion that we think needs to be celebrated. For some time now you both have served your sentence obediently and have given us no reason to think that you are still plotting treason. Therefore, if it is acceptable to you, we would like to honor your union by holding a wedding for you, to finally officiate your relationship.” Sunustra and Novella both smiled at them encouragingly, though Vitiator found himself not quite as glad as they about this proposal. A wedding? He turned to Tephra who was already looking at him with an equally quizzical expression.

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When met with silence, Lady Novella decided to extrapolate. “It’s only that the two of you have never actually become husband and wife, and we can tell that you have an unbreakable bond. We’d like to give you the opportunity to openly celebrate your love and be able to publicly proclaim your promises to each other. We’ll have all the decorations prepared, and dancing, and a feast if you’d like. I think it would be beautiful,” she said kindly, smiling with elegance. Vitiator thought about this. It was true, a wedding was something he had never given Tephra. He’d considered her his wife for as long as they’d professed love for each other, but it would be meaningful to give her a vow assuring her that it was so. Warming to the idea, he ran his thumb over her knuckles gently. “What do you think?” he asked her, his sky blue eyes taking in her pensive golden ones. “I, I don’t know,” she said haltingly. There had to be a catch to this. A wedding? It was too nice. People just didn’t do things like that. People don’t throw parties for the criminals who killed their soldiers and tried to overtake their kingdom just because they were in love. It was crazy. Then again, they’d just sat through a ceremony of praise to an imaginary king so, she supposed, it was fitting that they were genuinely offering to throw them a wedding. They were just crazy. But besides that, she and Vitiator didn’t need any ceremony to prove their love! They were just as legitimately husband and wife as any other two people who committed themselves to each other. In fact, which their matching alchemy markings, they were probably bound together much more. Why did they need vows and rings and witnesses? It was all part of the Lunarians’ scheme to make them Servants of the King. Rejection on the tip of her tongue, she suddenly bit her lip when she heard Vitiator say “I think it’s a great idea.” What. He did? Tephra looked up at him, her eyes dark and brooding. He smiled at her, and immediately she felt her heart beat quicker. That smile was her lifeblood. As long as he kept smiling, she knew they would survive. Still, why hadn’t he refused the way she had expected? What did he mean it was a ‘great idea?’

“Tephra,” he said her name with affection, respect, and adoration all at once. “You are the most wonderful woman I will never know in all my life. I want to celebrate you! I want to declare to the heavens and back that you are the only woman I would ever call my wife!” He placed his hands over hers and leaned in to whisper to her “Won’t you let me do that for you?” He looked away, silence inferring the unmentionable. “I’ve never been able to, until now.” There was regret in his voice and it cut Tephra to the heart. No. There was nothing to be sorry for, nothing for which he needed to apologize! He was perfect, he always had been. If he was going to blame himself for not having thrown a wedding, Tephra wouldn’t stand for it. She would do anything to remind him that he was the best man in the world and not just for her, but for everyone. She would do whatever it took to restore him to his former confidence and help him remember he needed to be king. Even if it meant having a wedding in this deluded country.

Lord Sunustra held out his finger as he interrupted them with slight chagrin. “There is one caveat we have to add to our offer,” he said. “Weddings in Lunarious are always sanctioned by the King. Were you to be wed here, you would need to make your vow before Him.”
“Meaning we accept his adoption, that we repent of our actions and become his children, trusting him as our Father,” Vitiator clarified, surprising even himself how much he remembered from the testimonies.
“Yes,” Sunustra nodded solemnly.
Vitiator pondered this new element to the situation. He would do anything for Tephra, but it seemed cheap to lie about having faith in the King simply to give her a lavish ceremony. Of course, the only other alternative was to actually believe in the King. It was crazy, of course. But he wanted faith. All rational, strategic, logical parts of his mind raged at the notion of placing trust in an invisible being but his heart ached to believe. To finally let Someone else be in charge, finally surrender to Someone else to lead, finally love a Father who cares for his children, finally stop fighting so hard, finally have joy and be happy. Maybe it was delusional. But what did they have to lose? Vititator was never going to be a ruler, he knew that now. They could either live out the rest of their days here as criminals… or as children of the King.

Tephra watched him nervously. Why was he taking so long to answer? What could their possibly be to consider? The wedding was off. Believe in the King? The very notion was absurd! Even if there was an invisible ruler who cared for these people why would he love her? And if he really was King of all worlds like they said where had he been when her father ran away? When she and Vitiator were so hungry and despondent that he mutilated his body have powers that could help them survive? Where had he been when they’d first been forced to kill a man? Why hadn’t He helped them? Why hadn’t he cared for them like the Lunarians said He would? Because He wasn’t real. And even if He were, it was obvious He hated Tephra. If He really loved her, none of those things would have happened. The King was a lousy father, just like her actual father had been. Even if He was real, Tephra wanted nothing to do with him.
“If that’s the case, we refuse your offer,” she said coldly. Vitiator glanced at her, he face impassive.
“We do?” he asked.
“Of course we do!” Tephra stammered, her sneer quickly replaced with disbelief. What was wrong with Vitiator? He wasn’t acting like himself at all. Where was the man who had said he’d rise to the top and rule the world for her? Vitiator sighed heavily.
“Please give us some time to consider this,” he said apologetically to Lord Sunustra.
“Of course,” Sunustra answered. “We’ll take our leave.” He and Novella exited quitely. It was obvious things hadn’t gone as they had hoped.

Silence hung heavy in the air between them. The last time this had happened was the day Vititator had professed his love for Tephra and she hadn’t known how to accept it. That had been twenty years ago. Now, again, Tephra was faced with a love she wouldn’t, couldn’t, accept. “Tephra, what if we’re wrong?” He asked her. “What if the King is real?”
“W-we’re never wrong,” she immediately countered. “How could you possibly think these fools who follow an imaginary ruler know better than we do?” Vitiator closed his eyes. He heard the pain in her voice, the tremble, the fear. He had sworn to eliminate that fear. He had promised her that he would make everything in the world right so that she would never have to be afraid. But how long could he keep pretending? How long could he keep up this impossible dream of being a supreme ruler that would protect her from any and every threat? As much as he loved Tephra, and he did, he LOVED her more than his own breath, the weight of their fantasy was becoming more than he could bear.
“Because a King of the nature they describe would be able to protect infallibly, rule justly and love constantly. But a man… a man can’t do those things. And I’m only a man. I will never be a king, Tephra. I will never rule the world for you. I’ve failed. The only way I can live with myself now is if I believe that there is One out there who will protect you, will keep you from harm and heal your hurt, will love you perfectly.”
Panic started to swell inside Tephra. This couldn’t be happening. Everything her fragile psyche hinged upon was coming loose with each word Vitiator spoke. He was her rock, her security, her reason for being. He was the reason she had endured the hardest of times, all her faith placed in who he was. Now he was abandoning everything they’d ever hoped for in exchange for some myth? This was worse than if he had died in the war, worse than if he had never awoken from his coma, worse than if he had never rescued her as a child in the dungeon of her father’s castle.

“Tephra, please,” Vitiator asked her, reaching to take her hands in his, but she pulled away. “Don’t you see the way people behave here? Don’t you see how happy they are, how peaceful and generous they can be? By all accounts our projections were right, this should have been the easiest, swiftest takeover in history. Yet… we were defeated. And despite all our violence and destruction they’ve been nothing but fair and kind to us.” His familiar smirk crept out as he admitted “They are crazy. But how else can you explain it? I know it doesn’t make sense but there’s something about the King that makes me excited. When they take about him, as bizarre as it is, I start to feel hopeful. I want us to start over, Tephra. I’m exhausted from letting the past define us. I promised you once that people would someday call you ‘Princess’ again, but that was never my promise to make. But if we become children of the King, He would fulfill that. Just think how different we could be if we let Him establish us, like the people here do? All the power and authority we wanted given to us instead of taken by force!”

Tephra’s heart was breaking. She hadn’t seen this look in his eyes in so long. It just like when they were young. Vitiator’s grand vision, his optimism, his heroic ideals. All the things she had loved about him, now creating a divide so wide she felt she would never know him again.
“I’d rather not believe in the King at all than believe he’s my Father. He’s just like my real father, a coward who leaves me to suffer when I’m at my worst. You’re the only one who’s ever loved me or cared for me, you know that! Even if the King is real, it’s obvious Hhe hates both of us. You know why the people here love Him? Because everything is easy and perfect and happy for them. They’ve never been left to be used and killed like we were!” Tephra met Vitiator’s eyes, her lashes brimming with hot tears. “If the King is real, He has a lot to answer for.” Furious and confused she turned away from him and stode out of the hall. She had to get away from that place, the halls where the Lunarians praised their pretend Father. Everyone was wrong, everyone was deluded. Surely Vitiator would come to his senses. He’s just become a bit too sympathetic to their ways of thinking. Given time, he’d return to normal, Tephra consoled herself. But the heaviness in her heart wouldn’t disapate. A lump ached in her throat as she ducked into an empty room. Shutting the door behind her she crumpled to the floor, weeping. She was going to lose him too. Tephra had never felt more alone in her life.

ViItiator watched her go, not knowing what to do. He loved her so much, but he knew it was fear and hurt that were keeping her from believing. It wasn’t any rational argument or strategic analysis. It was the same fear and hurt that he’d worked so hard to abolish all these years. Despite her haughtiness and brilliance Tephra was still as frightened and vulnerable as she had been the night he had found her as a six year old girl. Vitiator dropped to his knees, grief overtaking him. He had built himself up to be a god, only to fail her. “I”m sorry!” He pleaded, his heart seeking out the King. “I’m sorry I thought myself enough to protect her. I’m sorry I fashioned myself a king to secure her, I’m sorry I killed innocent men and destroyed so much to try to take what was never mine in order to relieve her! I only wanted to love her. I only wanted to make things right. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry–” Vitiator felt tears running down his face for the first time in thirty years. It felt wonderful to be honest. He inhaled and felt as though he were breathing for the first time, his lungs were so light and full. Freedom.

“Then he heard a voice,
Somewhere deep inside
and It said ‘I know you’ve murdered and I know you’ve lied
and I’ve watched you suffer
All of your life
But now that you’ll listen,
I’ll tell you that I will love you for you, not for what you have done or what you will become,
I will love you for you
I will give you the love
The love that you never knew.”

“Father,” Vitiator said the word aloud, the beauty of it irresistible. He had to say it again. “Father! I want her to know this. I want her to know this love! Father, please,” he begged “Please help my wife.”

Sahin has a crush, Lanthriel is dense, and Kala decides to be Switzerland

“I should go,” Sahin said softly.  He stood, extricating himself from the couch.  Lanthriel looked as if he was about to stand as well, but before he could move, Sahin stooped and pressed his lips to Lanthriel’s in a lingering kiss.

Kala glanced up from the potion she was mixing, realized what she was seeing, and stared.  For his part, Lanthriel looked rather surprised himself.  He said nothing as Sahin pulled away.  Kala’s eyes darted between the two of them, then froze when Sahin cast his gaze on her.

“Kalarune,” he said curtly, as if in farewell.  Kala’s lips parted, ever so slightly, but she had no idea what to say in return.  She felt as if she had just witnessed something quite private. And there was something strange about the way Sahin had looked at her.  It was somehow…threatening.

Sahin lightly trailed his fingertips down Lanthriel’s jaw, murmured a goodbye, and vanished into a plume of scented smoke, leaving warrior and apprentice in uncomfortable silence as both tried to make sense of what had just happened.  Lanthriel touched his mouth, looking lost in thought. Then, as if suddenly recalling Kala’s presence, he shifted his gaze to her.  His pale eyes looked troubled.

“Um.”

Kala realized she was still staring wide-eyed at him, her flask suspended mid-pour.   She cleared her throat awkwardly and looked away, pretending pathetically that she had not seen and was fully engrossed in her potion.  Vaguely she realized she’d poured far too much and ruined it, but her mind was elsewhere.

Were Sahin and Lanthriel…? So it seemed…although, from the way he’d reacted, Lanthriel either hadn’t wanted her to know or hadn’t been aware himself that he was the object of Sahin’s affection.  Kala realized that she’d suspected something like this of Sahin for some time.  But did Lanthriel reciprocate? He hadn’t really done anything when Sahin kissed him but, then again, he hadn’t pushed him away either.  What would become of this development?  She knew of a certainty that such relationships were forbidden in Lanthriel’s faith, and yet…the way they’d held each other’s gazes in that last moment…

These thoughts flitted through Kala’s mind at an almost nauseating speed, landing at last on the look of warning Sahin had pierced her with.  Her stomach clenched coldly.  This all felt very wrong.

Yet…

“It’s…it’s none of my business,” she decided, tucking her hair behind her ear.

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Captured Epilogue Head Canon/Fanon

TookapprenticeLonja

A while ago I had this idea that after the catastrophe in Arporious Loucef has some serious second thoughts and tries to find Lonja. He approaches Took to find out what has become of her. Out of cruelty Took tells Loucef that he did horrible things to her and then discarded her because he thinks Loucef deserves to feel some serious guilt for how awful he is (nevermind that Took is just as awful for being willing to buy a slave XP ), concluding with Loucef’s own mantra, “it’s just business.” With that, he sends Loucef away and doesn’t tell Lonja about it. D&D girl (I can’t remember her name! D: I’m a terrible friend DX ) hears from Loucef or through the grapevine or something that Took had taken her sister and in a rage, D&D girl decides to try and avenge Lonja. She manages to get into Took’s home in the middle of the night. He’s sent Lonja to bed, but he’s still up working when the thief comes looking for him. She takes him by surprise but she’s not match for his sorcery. He assumes she’s an assassin and tries to force her to tell him who sent her. Lonja is awakened by the commotion and wakes up to find Took trying to drag information out of her long-lost sister. They’re both startled to see each other and Lonja convinces Took to release his old on her and there’s an emotional reunion with a few dirty looks at Took until everything is explained. XD

Loucef swallowed hard as he lifted his eyes to the grand estate before him. The weather was bitterly cold and grey and he shook his head sharply, willing himself to be warm, though no warmth filled him. He felt empty, drained of strength, a dead man somehow still standing. In all of his life he had never had to do anything as grave as he did now. Despite all the exciting, terrifying, harrowing experiences being a slave trader had brought him, none had prepared him for this. As he stood outside the manor of the King of Wharndgard Loucef retraced how he had been led to this time, this place: The doorstep of one of the smartest, richest, most powerful men in all the nearby regions to beg for his merchandise back; to beg for his sister’s life.

It had been a year ago, almost to the day, that the Invaders had attacked Apriorious. Loucef had been at the height of his success as a slave trafficker, relying on regular clients all of whom held some position of power in the community. He was untouchable by the law and favored by all of his clients. Loucef became selective of his captives, knowing which ones would be the most appealing to his employers. Dezamond, the duchess, had required his services the most faithfully of all, the two of them becoming more than passing acquaintances. Over the years Loucef had become charmed by her shamelessness, her theatrics, her ridiculous tastes and antics clearly designed to compensate for something. Loucef recognized those traits; the overly broad smile, the tight grin, the gaze that held a little too long and firm. He had the same ones, all of them to keep his internal turmoil from ripping out of the seams. Loucef wasn’t fooled by Dezamond, nor was she by him. They knew each hid deeply buried self hatred, loneliness, and desperation. Still, Loucef somehow found purpose in his work, if it meant giving Dezamond a plaything with which to soothe her pain. She, in turn, found refuge in his role as her confidant, knowing he would never tell a soul what she hired him to do. Loucef held no judgement against her, the same way she held no prejudice against him for his line of business. There was a kinship between them, as well as a natural chemistry.

Thus, on the grim night when the Invaders had seized the Duke’s manor, Dezamond fled to the only soul she had ever trusted more than her own. She wept at the sorry state of her existence that the only man with whom she felt safe or valued was her slaver, her supplier of young men who did little to truly abate her lust and console her heart. The duchess had never steered a carriage in her life and amazed even herself as she arrived at his residence in one piece. Dezamond flung herself against the iron gate at the entrance, her sobs choking her as she called for him.
“LOUCEF! LOUCEF! Please, you have to help me, PLEASE! Someone has attacked the manor, everything is gone! They’ve burned everything! Let me in, PLEASE!!!!” Strayat, Loucef’s business partner and primarily the muscles of the duo, recognized the duchess and came hurrying out to unlock the gate. Loucef had only just woken up and was about to go out on his nightly hunt when he heard Dezamond’s shrieks. He caught her as she threw herself into his arms, her petite head crashing against his ribs. She held him tightly and trembled, almost to the point Loucef had trouble knowing if she were crying or laughing. Dezamond finally gazed up at him with tear stained cheeks, proceeding to tell him everything that had happened when the Invaders attacked. Her brother, the Duke, had been captured and was to be publicly executed, as well as all the other official leaders found to be participating in ‘corruption.’ It was a pair, a man and a woman, who were leading the army. They seemed intent on earning the loyalty of the masses, taking whatever drastic measures necessary, including arson and murder. Their soldiers were impervious to weaponry, being not men but some sort of alchemic monstrosity made of sand and metal. No blade could chip them, no weight could crush them yet they moved with agility and skill. Dezamond had somehow managed to escape, having been aided by Lanthriel, the servant of the sorcerer Took, another of Loucef’s clients. Knowing it was only a matter of time before the Invaders came after Dezamond, as well as Loucef and Strayat for their role in the ‘corruption’ of Apriorious, the three hastily retreated to the border of Wharndgard, where they assumed new identities and occupations. Making use of Loucef’s hunting abilities and Strayat’s passable cooking skills they opened a tavern. Dezamond was unrecognizable without her makeup and lace and bows she had hid behind as the Duchess. She worked as a waitress while Loucef manned the bar. It was hardly the life any of them had thought they would be leading, but it was soothing, somehow. The daily tasks and menial labor became therapeutic, and the three of them grew fond of each other’s company. On a particular night no patrons had come in, Loucef and Dezamond found themselves alone, memories of the past unavoidable. Loucef confided in Dezamond that he had never seen her as a monster, as the ‘man eater’ she had garnered a reputation for being. He confessed that he had viewed his services as helping her, and that he’d always cared for her. Dezamond had never had a sincere word spoken to her by a man and was stunned by his words. Loucef immediately become the only man she had ever truly desired, the only man she had ever really wanted because he had said it first: he cared for her, he always had. Since then the two of them had privately married, and vehemently pursued a life of blatant, if not boring, law abiding character.

And so it was that Loucef found himself here at the door of Took A’Vahn, the man to whom Loucef had sold his own little sister. He came seeking two things: forgiveness and Lonja. Just hoping for one was more than any man had a right to ask for, but he had to try. With strength he did not feel he rapped at the door, his long, weathered fingers icy cold.
“‘Ello! Can Oi ‘elp ‘ou?” a small boy with feline features asked, cracking open the door. Loucef donned his ever bright, always charming smile as he addressed the boy, but found the phoniness no longer suited him. He glanced at his feet a moment, the facade falling away. His mouth a grim line, his eyes hungry and hollow he said “Yes. I’m here to speak to Took A’Vahn,” His voice lowered “If he’ll see me.”
“and who might ‘ou be?” the boy asked.
“Loucef. Loucef Debris.”

“This is getting in the way,” he said to her, trying to use his standard pushy, know-it-all voice.

Took pressed the tip of his finger against Lonja’s collar, murmuring the incantation that would spring the lock. It fell away easily, and he was glad to see that her delicate skin had not chafed under the collar. The magic collar, which he’d placed on her when he had purchased her from her brother, had been the fail safe to prevent her from escaping, especially as her command of her own magic grew. But, never once had she so much as hinted at a desire to be free, and the collar now struck him as unnecessary and cruel.

Still, his insides felt cold and uneasy as her removed the collar, and his face was impassive as he avoided looking into her eyes. If she did run away now, there was a good likelihood that he’d never find her. He had taught her all he knew about Faerie magic, and her command of invisibility and illusion was growing by the day. She didn’t need him any more. He, on the other hand, had come to depend on having her around to fetch his books, bring his meals, relay messages, hand him supplies, ask thought-provoking questions, and just be there. While he knew it was well within his power to compel her to stay, it didn’t feel right any more…if it ever had in the first place.

He met her eyes, and the usual arrogance dropped out of his face. The solemn significance of the moment suddenly felt forcibly apparent. If you choose to leave, I won’t stop you.

But…

A quiet urge to touch her bubbled up in Took’s mind. But, unpracticed as he was at such things, he didn’t know how. In his culture, touch was reserved for family members or subordinates, and she wasn’t quite either now. He’d touched her back before to monitor her breathing while she practiced, and he’d taken her arm on occasion. But he wanted this to be different, without really thinking coherently about it at all. Before he’d really wrapped his mind around his urge, his eyes fell back to her elegant, unburdened neck, and he silently and very lightly trailed his fingertips along the ridge of her clavicle.

After this quiet moment, he abruptly returned to his senses and stalked away in a fluster, leaving Lonja to ponder the peculiar gesture and, perhaps, see it for what it was: a vulnerable act of affection, from one who had spent his whole life fighting to be neither.

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“Loucef Debris,” Took spoke the name with disdain, as if Loucef ought to be ashamed to have it attached to his person. “You have a lot of gall to approach me in my own home.”

He never took guests in his own wing, so upon news of Loucef’s visit, he’d instructed Phineas to bring the man to one of the parlors off the main hall. It was one of the most impressive of his father’s meeting rooms, but more importantly, it was also the most secretive. The doors, walls and windows had been designed such that no noise would escape, and Took was especially keen that whatever Loucef wanted to discuss was not heard.

He sat on one of the parlor couches, one arm draped along the the back and his feet crossed and propped up on a coffee table. It was not a very polite posture for receiving guests, but it communicated clearly which of the two men was the master of the situation. Loucef would have never seen him quite like this before.

Lonja watched with wonder as Took removed the collar, her eyes wide. Truthfully the collar had become second nature to her; something she no longer even noticed. Perhaps once she may have resented it, but if she had she couldn’t remember. Lately it had served only as a faithful reminder that there was someone who wanted her, and a place where she belonged. His eyes met hers, his expression deep but unreadable. If Lonja had been able to hear Took’s thoughts she would have quickly assured him how necessary to her he was as well. As Took’s apprentice Lonja’s life had taken on significance unlike anything she had ever had experienced. She felt useful here, important, productive and helpful. No longer was she the the whiny, needy, weepy, lonely wisp of a young woman she had been. No longer did people talk about her in front of her, insulting her as though she weren’t present. No longer did she feel like a burden and a disgrace. When Lonja came to live with Took she felt as though she had finally come alive for the first time. To be with him was to be herself; to live here was to be home.

In a way, Lonja was almost sorry to see the collar go; it had been her tangible proof of her value to Took. She opened her mouth to thank him, but abruptly closed it again as he reached out and fingered the place where the collar had rested. Unused to the feeling she almost tensed, but resisted the urge, appreciating the gesture instead. It was… sweet. A hint of a smile crossed her face before he turned away, her eyes twinkling as she watched him go. “He trusts me.” Pride welled up within her as she relished in her victory. Lonja worked tirelessly to prove herself to him, to earn his attention and approval, but his trust had been something she had never dared expect; she knew how little and how rarely he trusted anyone. Only allowing herself a moment to wistfully gloat she put herself about the days tasks, but every now and again she would touch the place his fingers had brushed, a tiny smile on her lips. “He trusts me!”

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“Call it what you like, though I’d say it’s more guilt than gall,” Loucef muttered, an embarrassed, humorless laugh escaping him. He licked his lips, pursing them, trying to figure out how to begin. The numerous times he’d rehearsed this exact moment behooved him none now that he found himself here. He studied Took, the careless aura of the sorcerer was markedly different from the eager man Loucef had previously known who so readily made a deal with him to purchase Lonja.

“Mister A’Vahn, the last time I saw you I’d hoped to never need to again. No doubt you felt the same way about me. At the time I saw you as a savior in a way; I had to get rid of my treacherous little sister, and here you were, not only willing to take her off my hands but pay me a significant sum at the same time. It had to be fate, I told myself.” For a moment, Loucef’s old grin returned: his self satisfied smirk at having made another successful “placement of merchandise.” But it soon faded, the anguish in his eyes returning. He sank into a nearby overstuffed armchair, defeated. “But I know now it was a mistake. I’ve made hundreds, no, thousands of mistakes in my life, but I can assure you there is none I regret more than having agreed to take your money for the freedom of my sister. I… I can’t ask you to sell her back to me; I don’t have the money.” His pride completely obliterated, Loucef nearly sobbed. He clenched his fists, willing himself to press on, no matter how humiliated he was. “Still, I was hoping I could at least see Lonja? Ask her to forgive me? I want her to know that I knew she never meant me any harm. That I knew she just wanted me to live a better life, and care for others, or a least, I see it now. I want her to know that I’m going to do everything I can to get her back home and I just want her to understand that I am so sorry.” Loucef lifted his eyes from the spot on the handwoven rug at which he had been staring to Took’s face. “I don’t expect you to understand, or even care about me. But for Lonja’s sake, please Mister A’Vahn, let me see her,” he pleaded, his voice a low rasp.

Secrets Epilogue

Previously when trying to figure out how the RPishthing Secrets would end we discussed that Vahaadi could go back to Lunarious with Spark. That resulted in riduclous but endearing pictures like this.

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But the problem with that is once Vahaadi has recovered, he’s starting to live a healthy, fulfilled lifestyle, then what? Eventually people leave rehab. Where do they go? How do they start again? Would Vahaadi live in Luanrious forever? Highly unlikely, as it’s not suited for djinn at all. Then what is left for him? To return to his world, only to miss even MORE friends and feel lonelier than ever? This is not a good set up for Vahaadi, no matter how much he learned while he was in Lunarious.

Sad Serenade

so I thought up a scene for Loose Canon when we are trying to show the transition between Vahaadi and Krissy/Spark from hostile to loving.  I was listening to this song (http://youtu.be/uVY3sJYsg8g) (Don’t judge!  I know it’s a song about her and J. Bieber XP)  and it made me realize the entire emotion on this song is something Spark, in her childishness and wild ego, completely doesn’t understand.  So, I had this little scenario roll around in my head.  Let me know if you hate it, because it is really cheesy.

All the Broken Pieces

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((background to this scene:  Lanthriel was killed in a skirmish when he blocked an attack aimed at Took.  Took has an emotional break-down, and Kala and Vahaadi are so devastated they can’t even come to grips with what has happened.  Ultimately, it’s Vahaadi who convinces the other two that they will have to burn Lanthriel’s body to keep it from being desecrated by ghouls (flesh-eating wraiths).  He prepares to burn the body, but Kala insists that she do it.  She sets his body aflame and then the three leave, unable to bear looking back.