Her apartment had been too quiet lately. Or maybe it was that she had been too quiet. She closed her book. The restlessness had been coming for some time, along with the occasional word from Luminash. Her own research was in a lull at the moment, and she had the time. They had been apart too long in the name of security. She didn't want to worry him more than necessary, but it was time to find out in person what was going on. He hadn't been as forthcoming as usual in his messages--he was either distracted or hedging, or both.

She was betting on both.

Crossing the quiet room the magistrix went to her closet and opened the well-oiled hinges. Her dressing robe puddled on the floor around her bare feet. Nimble fingers used to incantations...

"I don't think she qualifies as a 'visitor' anymore if she comes over more than once a month, Ren."

"Shut it, Ian. She does."

"You look ridiculous. She's been here before, you know."

"At least pick up your dishes from lunch. Put them in the sink at the very least." Ren threw his cousin a glare over his shoulder as he wiped down the table.

Ian pointedly leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the tabletop with a thick thunk. His hands folded behind his head and he pushed the chair to wobble back onto its legs. When Ren turned around to take said lunch dishes to the sink, Ian toed the salt shaker over--just to be a dick.

Ren heard it, and the sprinkle of the granules hit, but he held his tongue. But if looks could kill... Ian gave his...

"Pick your poison, sir: we can do this the Easy way," Rimath smiled winningly, leaning onto the table, "or we can use some hard Maths. You choose. But choose soon." His finger tapped on the rough tabletop, nail clicking quietly. It was almost lost in the din of the busy bar they sat in.

"We've already done our part. Now it's your turn to make good on this little pact we set up. We got the goods--none too easy a feat, which is why you hired us. I got gilbins ready to bite my pretty little fingertips to get these damn pearls back. Vash'jir has a lot of pointy teeth and a lot of problematic people in it. ... I'd prefer not to think Boralus has been taking lessons from naga. You're not a problematic man, are you?" Again the winning smile...

The night sky was still  overcast, but even so, a few stars pushed through the haze as the rain waned. Khaeris looked up, catching the last few drops on her cheeks. She couldn't help smiling, feeling them slide down and drop onto her damp dress. Coming out of the barn and back into the open air was refreshing. The barn had been cozy and warm with all the folks inside, sweet with the scent of hay, that musty smell of lofts and stalls. Outside though... Outside, the fresh scent of rain swept away the cobwebs from her spirit. The breeze was chilly and she got gooseflesh on her arms where her dress didn't cover. The susurrus of the voices still in the barn and the shuffling of feet and jackets being pulled on was comforting.

They had all...

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Another week set. The gelatin capsules were swept into a small wax paper envelope and sealed. The flicking motion of her wrist with the counting stick were practiced and controlled. Khaeris never moved without the fascinating blend of precision and languid grace. People often got lost watching her move, just as she was lost in this steady count-capture-seal work fixture.

These little capsules had a tangy spiced smell and Khaeris enjoyed it. Filling the capsules had taken an hour, now filing them away to be sent to the client would take a few minutes more.

Other paper bags with prescriptions and requests were lined up on the basket on her desk. The cipher she used to label them was something her...

Khaeris squatted in the Eversong grass, leaning forward to better study something in the bush in front of her. Her head cocked and she took a breath. Had it moved? No. It was surely too far along for that. Her imagination. The protective casing was dark, though she could faintly see the shape folded inside. It was becoming clearer by the minute.

It would free itself soon. Oblong and alien. It was caged but nearly ready to 

She wasn't smiling. She was alone, except for the butterfly-to-be. She was fascinated. She had seen this process before, but she was always enraptured by it. It seemed at once defiant and hopeful.

Khaeris glanced back over her shoulder. The Scar was as desolate as it had been since it had cut it's course through the...

The dwarven woman had been the latest. Giving her that half-glance with the half-recognition squint. After this many years, you'd think she'd have gotten used to it by now. But she hadn't. It still sent a slight shiver up her spine and questions she'd spent the last few years trying to avoid would come flashing through. 

"No, I'm sorry, I don't think we've met." Her smile was easy and warm, dimpled with a hint of sheepishness. 'But you probably know the other one. I'm the lookalike. I'm the one that doesn't belong. I'm not who you think I am, I am not who you wanted.'

The dwarven woman had returned the smile, the bewilderment clear on her expression. Khaeris was sure it would have been nice to have met her.

Braedyn flipped open the book as she settled into her chair. Fortune was across the room going over accounts. Her eyes ran briefly over her husband and she smiled privately to herself. He would be up late doing them; it brought him pleasure doing this favor for old Magister Prothenius. And that it brought favor from the Magister was always welcome.

Her eyes went back to the book. She hadn't read this one in years. She had avoided it for some reason she could no longer remember. It wasn't all that gripping, but it was a sweet fiction of love and derring do. She started to make a mental note to loan it to Andaeros when something slipped out and into her lap. Her eyes flashed up to Fortune, but he was engrossed in his mathematical figures....

The sky was clear blue and the clouds were sailing across the sky. She watched them for hours while the biting scent of the pines filled her lungs and the grass cushioned her rest. There was smoke coming from the cabin nearby; Asarel was cooking for supper and giving her space. Kieran and Coire were out hunting.

She'd been here, like every year, tasting the Hinterlands and letting herself feel things she didn't let out except at this time of year.  This year she'd brought him a small bow and a quiver of arrows, along with the other offerings. Rowan would have been eleven years old, tomorrow. There were a burst of poppies to cut the smell of sap and bring some color to the hilltop. But every year it was the same, the wet-stone smell of...

“Any news from the field, Magister?”

The voice of Luminash’s Ren’dorei prisoner was muffled by the folds of space that kept Lithendras contained within a corner of the magister’s ruined spire. Further distorting his voice was the soft hum of runic wards surrounding the makeshift cell.

As Luminash entered through the open arch, the sun just beginning to set as it had days ago when Lithendras had first made his presence in Nazjatar known, he grimaced.

“You are still awake? I had hoped you had nodded off again so I would not have to hear you prattle on,” Luminash said dismissively, setting a few scrolls carried under his arm on his desk.

Ignoring the jab, Lithendras continued, “Are your friends well, the small ones,...

( Follows previous story posts, and takes place before the events of the Eternal Palace. )

With a sickening crunch, Lithendras’ body was hurled up and into the wall of Luminash’s tower, waves of arcane power pummeling him, and bonds constricting him, leaving his limbs to dangle helplessly below. The glow of magic was the only light in the darkened room, save the eyes of the magister and Rift Warden.

“Why have you come here, Ren’dorei? You dare show your face to me, with all the blood on your hands?”

The fury that had risen in Luminash upon hearing the familiar deep rasp of the Rift Warden’s voice - a sound seared into his mind in Nazmir, punctuated by the slaughter in his camp and the ensuing bloodbath at Dazar’alor -...

Duskwood Patrols, by the Shrouded Dawn, will be suspended indefinitely. Sadly, because of dwindling participation and me personally being very busy with work over the last three weeks, this seems like the most realistic course of action. Maybe at some point in the future, they can be revived. 

My sincerest apologies to those who had come to enjoy this RP event.

Bragh

Braghaman sat with his left sleeve pushed up to his shoulder and his arm draped across the table in front of him. On the other side of the table, a priest sat and looked at his arm. Gently, he took Bragh’s arm by the wrist and elbow and lifted it a few inches.

“Does this hurt?”

“No,” the paladin answered.

“That’s good. Flex your fingers for me.”

Braghaman easily opened and closed his fist a couple of times. He then looked at the priest who had been watching intently. The priest nodded and then looked up. “Good.”

“What do you think?”

“You said the pain comes and goes?”

“Yeah. It’ll happen without warning and my fingers will spasm some when it does.”

“How bad is the pain?”

“Pins and...

Her footsteps, even when angry, always ambled towards the shore.

Toirasa stomped down the pebbled beach, not sure where she was going. She had taken Aderise’s advice to heart, and after packing her bag, had taken what few possessions she had left in the world and just…begun walking. It had been days now, and at last she had left Stormsong and entered the autumnal hills of Drustvar. Toirasa had marched straight to the sea, standing up to her knees in salt water as the sun set before her. A walk on a western shore with thoughts such as hers had once been an omen of ruin. Now, Toirasa knew there was no point to fear it. Asar was gone, the same way Sindorel, Thalassa, and the Felclars she had loved were gone. For perhaps the...

It was supposed to be a good week.

She had returned from wandering and camping in the Eversong woods, haven taken her ram and her sunfur panda for her only company. She’d danced between trees, walked barefoot down deer runs, fished for her supper, woven flower crowns from weeds, and laughed with a crab on the beach. She’d only left a note for the clinic and tacked up a notice at her booth. She had needed it. Needed the time wandering, as only a Traveler could.

It had all been so freeing. It was supposed to help. A reset. Surely she’d feel herself after that.

She’d come back renewed and happy, dimples fairly permanent with her smile and remembering the Tournament of Ages just in time to make it to the Wonderlight Ball. So she ...

"To finish off the Tournament of Ages there is always the Wonderlight Ball. I’ve gone to this event stag more than with a date. It’s a beautiful space. I’d love to play this hall on my guitar some time, but tonight all I can think about is the people I have not seen in a long time. I didn’t make new friends this summer, but I feel as if maybe I lost a few old ones. I hope they are well. Please be okay."