RPC has moved! These pages have been kept for historical purposes

cuideag · **01-13-2016, 05:09 PM**

It wasn't quite Shaelen Stormchild but it was close enough. Delial never claimed to have an artistic hand, and if some features had been exaggerated (not necessarily on purpose) to encapsulate the Essence of Stormchild As Interpreted by Grimsong then the skittish man assigned to keep the damned thing firmly sat upon its stump dared not say a thing of it. It was really just a popoto sack full of sand, after all, and the Highlander was the one with the gun.

BANG. From the stump came the short gasp sucked in through teeth but she heard nothing more. Breathing out, she lowered the firearm - a fine weapon, Lady Primrose assured her - and carefully set about reloading it. It had taken her half a sun to figure out how to do even that and she was no faster for it now than she was the first time. Such weapons were not foreign to her, not completely, but it clicked and clacked and felt unlike anything she had ever held before. Primrose spared her no teasing (â€œThe end with the hole is the bad one!â€) but there was a weight she found comforting despite what the metal meant. It was a weapon first and foremost and weapons were meant to kill.

â€œI met him,â€ Primrose also confessed. â€œThe man who claims to have let Gharen die.â€

BANG. â€œWhew!â€

The thought had always been there with her, pressed deep down beneath the feet of the great stony walls she kept up around herself. Too many moons with too few signs, and the few that had been found spelled nothing inspiring. Gharen would not give up his private belongings so easily. Gharen would not forsake his sister, no matter what. Gharen would not.

Nor would Gharen Wolfsong would not be put down so easily, and yet there they were. Between sword and lance and axe and gun, they would surely make something of Wolfsongâ€™s killer.

Another cartridge clicked into the chamber. Delial scowled and raised the firearm again, sighting her target over the barrel. Shaelen, with her chaotic red hair and her exceedingly large nose, remained moderately slumped and infuriatingly bullet-free.

The memory of it held strong in her mind, of Roen Deneith in the cold, thin air in the heights of Ishgard moons before. She had tried, Delial mused, to take the iciness around them into herself, to become hard and rigid and indomitable. But her voice had cracked and her eyes, grey and weary, took shelter beneath her hand. â€œPlease get him back,â€ she had pleaded, her voice a hoarse murmur, and then she was ice once more.

Delial would need to give her something.

BANG.

McBeefâ„¢ · **01-13-2016, 06:14 PM**

Quote:"To the Concerned,

Ser Crofte has been away on sensitive matters for some time. We cannot divulge her location or her mission.

Knight Ashlyn,
Ul'dah Sultansworn

"ARRGHHHH...." Evangeline crumples up the letter, tossing it towards the fire. "Insufferable cretins."Â

The Elezen rocks back and forth in the cheap chair, "She can't be dead... that bitch must have been lying." She bursts upwards, a bundle of anxious energy, "First Gharen and now her..." grabbing her coat and heading out the door of her inn room.

"I best not ask anyone else for training in the sword, it seems to be quite the death sentence."

FreelanceWizard · **01-13-2016, 07:02 PM**

A chilly breeze whipped through Tailfeather, causing the dim candles in one of the storehouses to flicker. The orange light illuminated two faces, set on opposite sides, an invisible wall between them. To the north, a purple-haired miqo'te, clad in a black and silver robe, sat cross-legged with her palms upon her knees. Her eyes were closed, her face impassive. To the south, a bright white chocobo paced across straw, claws clacking against the wood planks below. Behind him was the form of an au ra, wrapped in white robes, lying insensate.

"Wark," the chocobo warned with a snap of its beak.

"I'm not going anywhere, bird," the wizard replied, not even sparing the chocobo a glance. "So you might as well sit down and shut up, because I'm trying to meditate."

The white bird huffed, fluffing its feathers, and resumed its patrol.

McBeefâ„¢ · **01-20-2016, 12:46 PM**

The cord loops neatly around them, binding as Evangeline ties a simple knot. "There." She nods in satisfaction, the three leather-bound volumes neatly stacked. She'd pulled them from the cold and moldering halls of her family estate, vacant aside from a part time custodian. They were not new, the covers and pages well worn, giving off the faint odor of Chocobo with the turn of each page. She'd used these once as a child, trying to fuss out the secrets of the strange beast known as the Chocobo.

Reginallian Filloustam's Encyclopedia Chocobo

- Volume 1: Feeding, Care, and Grooming
- Volume 2: Physiology and Breeding
- Volume 3: Training

Evangeline wraps the package in brown shipping paper, tying the outside with more string. "To the care of Lady Scarlett, Carline Canopy, Gridania, The Shroud."Â

A small envelope is pasted alongside, its contents a stiff card filled with words by a cramped and enthusiastic hand.Â

Quote:"Dear Lady Scarlett,

Whoever people may think you are, it is a question only you can decide for yourself. Regardless of what you decide, I was fond in my own way of the woman who's face you seem to wear, and I wish you success. Enclosed is a set of books I found well useful as a young woman, learning to care for her first bird. I hope they prove similarly helpful for you in your new line of work. Â

Stay Safe,
Evangeline Primrose

Looking satisfied, Evangeline leaves with the parcel under her arm, and it is soon on the next Post airship to Gridania.

Jancis · **01-20-2016, 03:36 PM**

Jancis stopped by the Chocoforge, the colorful boiler keeping the room, and the entirely of the adjoining rooms, cozy and warm.

Sitting at the small table, she left the curious ingot in the cloth that was left in. She looked around for parchment, taking the first blank piece she found to leave a small note.

Quote:Sir Gegenji,

One of the kin in Summerford gave this to me. He was quite insistent on it; saying the metal was important and to take care of it.

I know no one else who has shown such for it over you. I will come back and check on it soon.

Be safe and well,

Jancis

Inside the cloth was a ingot of tin. Oddly enough, it was sloppily made for it was slightly over-sized at first glance.

=============

Leaving the Hall, Jancis looked up at the sky, it was still sunny enough to travel further. She wanted to learn more about what answers Barengar might have that Deadeye was interested about. She pondered about who else she knew that had business and knowledge of the Ala Mhigan as she walked across the long stones of the Mist towards where Avery was.Â

His nails were probably growing. Someone might be happy to trim them. Limb movement... like a coma they would have to be helped, too. Taking a deep breath, she hastened her steps. One thought at a time.

Shas · **01-31-2016, 02:58 PM**

"HA! You really fell for it didn't you! Lilith came in and took everything from you. Your dignity, your fame, your purity.... your daughter... hmmm. You fell for her, and look where she is now! Somewhere else probably laughing at you while she is in the arms of another!" A younger woman was laughing almost hysterically as she was speaking to Sharla. "Wow...you know I really hate to say I told you so but...no, no I really don't. And now you know the full truth about Crofte, well...almost anyway. I'm actually surprised you left the little bitch live after what she told you.But...I'm guessing you have plans for her...right? So...you finally ready to take this seriously and do what you need to or what?"

Sharla stood silently at Oschon's Torch looking out towards the sea. She stood there for what seemed to be hours, barely moving, not saying a word. She payed a younger woman a brief glance before she looked to the gem in her left hand as it began to faintly glow. "....."

"Well...it's about gods damn time!!"

Leggerless · **01-31-2016, 10:44 PM**

"Let's see here... officer discharge, replaced by a Lieutenant, no longer can formally work with other Grand Companies... quite the list indeed." Seated in a simple, wooden chair, she finishes up the flask in her hand before setting the empty container down on the table in front of her.

"Right... what in the seven hells was I doing?" She tilts her head, thinking for a bit. "Ah yes." She rises from her chair and grabs the sheathed blade resting against the table, attaching it to the left side of her belt.

"Visiting the underworld. The wolf shall be back once more." Elise smirks at the thought and grabs a small book resting in the middle of the table as well, stashing it inside of her attire. She pats down the part of her clothing holding the book twice, then heads out the door of the house into Pearl Lane.

"All according to plan so far."

JudicialHunter · **02-01-2016, 11:23 AM**

The petite Raen pulled her beret firmly over her head and she looked herself over one final time in the mirror. The room, filled with the scent of cinnamon, was dark, save for the moon that shone its light gently through the window. Arata drew her curtains closed, and with a final tug on her coat, she turned on a heel and headed out the door. Even if the hour was late, she could hope she could find someone to speak with.

She realized, now, that she was lonely.

It wasn't until recently that people had begun making their way to her. She sat in taverns and kept quiet, drinking her tea and making herself as unknown as she could. And yet, people still spoke to her. She hadn't thought of it before, but now it would seem she needed someone's company.

Perhaps this is what the Miqo'te did when she gave her the blessing of Menphina.

She missed them. Loxus. Kamaka. Roark. All of them, she wanted to see again; now, though, she didn't know for what reason. Was it love? The feeling she hadn't felt in many, many years? Or simply a longing for the company of friends, as she'd thought before? She didn't know the answer, now, and this troubled her.

They say we can love who we trust. But what is love without lust?

The Raen looked out to the sea.

Perhaps the answer would come to her in time. It would be another sleepless night.

Star Lin · **02-02-2016, 10:31 AM**

John settle on his bed in his room, touching the linkpearl at his ear to let his mom know that he would see her in the morning for the trip back to Ul'dah. He removes his gloved fingers from the pearl, before turning the visor over in his hand. Titor's mark on the magitech piece was there, how simple in design, but having full function in what he needed. "So much color," he said to himself, remembering the color and brightness of the aether he was able to see instead of feel.

Still, he needed a place to test it, not only that had high aether, but also void energy. He set the visor on the table near his bed before crawling into bed. "Eastern Thanalan would be the best to test the visor." He pull the light sheet up, letting his eyes close. Yes, the Invisible City would be his testing ground for the visor.

(ooc: little short but it's basic for a miniplot for John)

***Nero*** · **02-13-2016, 11:50 PM**

The Elezen lay perched upon a pyre of corpses. The occasional errant limb twitched amidst the charred remains of the heretics, their ragged chainmail scorched by the dragon's fire. Surrounding him was miles of snow and stone, and endless, blasted battlefield pockmarked with corpses and weapons.

It was a good scene.

...ourt...

The roar resounded in his ears again. It was closer now. His lip curled. It was time.

My l...lancourt...

He stood upon the cadavers, violet armour streaked with blood and spikes. The wings of the Gae Bolg unfolded with a clank. There it was, in the sky, beating wings and a maw filled with a thousand razors.

The Elezen pulled the visor over his eyes, and jumped.

"My lord Valencourt!"

He was shaken out of his reverie. Maximilien blinked several times, spots fluttering in front of his eyes as his vision adjusted to the light of the ballroom. Ah, that's right. He was, unfortunately, not on a war-torn landscape about to engage a hated foe with equal parts vigor and might. The dragoon shook his head, clearing the spots from his vision, and was greeted with the beautiful yet cold gaze of a platinum-haired Wildwood female staring at him sternly. She was dressed in an immaculate azure gown, trimmed with gold. Maximilien, in turn, wore a form-fitting doublet with buttons of silver and a cravat that was entirely too puffy.

She snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Have you returned to us, my lord?"

Ah, yes, the soirÃ©e. That was where he was. An utterly dull and boring affair filled with posturing nobles, simpering clergymen and other inconsequential elements of politics. House Durendaire was quite proud in its sizable expansion of the western front in Coerthas, and in what was both an honest gesture and a rather insipid act of sycophancy, the lesser House Rienois saw fit to honour the efforts of their knights and dragoons by conveniently creating an excuse for them to become intoxicated on wine. Maximilien's father had insisted that a dragoon attend, and unfortunately, Maximilien himself lacked a creative enough excuse to refuse beyond "fighting a tornado".

He was certain that one would work, though his father knew better.

Maximilien responded by lightly slapping the Elezen woman's insistent hand away like a fly. "I have, unfortunately. I was having a wonderful day dream, too. Now, Lady Auzenne, was there something in particular you wished to argue about, or would you prefer that we begin squealing at one another and make it up as we go along?"

"Squealing?"

"How about yowling?"

Lady Auzenne's frown deepened into a scowl. "Yowling!?""

"Screeching? Caterwauling? The Fury forbid, even ululating?"

"My lord, you are an accomplished knight and a most skilled wielder of the lance, but once again I recognise that you are utterly devoid of anything resembling a comprehensible thought." She turned away from him in a huff.

"Believe me, my dear Audrielle, I am not unpleased to leave the comprehensible thoughts to those who care for these distractions," Maximilien said lightly. He brushed a hand through his own champagne-coloured hair, wincing as the shoulders of the doublet tightened with the motion.

"And your...manservant. Is there a reason why he is acting like that?" Lady Auzenne tugged at the dragoon's sleeve, gesturing to a flustered Hyur repeatedly bowing like a flag in the wind. An amused Duskwight lady held a hand over her pursed lips, and Maximilien could not tell if the gesture was indicative of genuine amusement or polite refusal.

He waved an idle hand. "Does Baldred require a reason to act a certain way?"

"Do you mean to imply that your squire is always like that?" Lady Auzenne sniffed derisively. The Hyur in question had begun attempting to juggle a handful of fruit, and by his performance appeared to be about as coordinated as a drunk chocobo in an avalanche.

Maximilien folded his arms, one hand resting against his chin. "Baldred is...very enthusiastic about his duties and the people with which he is enamoured with."

"He is a Hyur. I know of Hyur. And your squire is the most Hyurish Hyur I have ever had the misfortune of meeting."

The dragoon glanced at his date with feigned shock. "Come now, Baldred is not that bad.

"Are you quite certain? He is choosing to flirt with Lady Braicaird, of all people. She is a respected chirurgeon, but I have seen more intellectual thought come out of...well, out of you."

Maximilien shrugged, ignoring the pointed barbs of Audrielle's words. "I am not one to stand in the way of love. If Baldred and Lady Braicaird are meant to be, then it is the will of Menphina that it be so."

His partner looked at him in equal parts disgust and suspicion. "What has Menphina to do with this?"

He waved his hand again, even less interested than before. "You know, Menphina's will. Love. Tends to knock holes in one's judgment and such. Supposedly is responsible for making life worth all of its trials and tribulations, though the scholars have yet to confirm or deny that particular aspect."

Audrielle's gaze and tone both became what could only be described as venomous. "That is a fascinating viewpoint, my lord Valencourt. Do go on."

He either ignored or failed to notice the sarcasm. "Well, my dear, as you may know, when one falls in love, the wits and rational thinking both evacuate the head by way of a...I believe the correct term is a dribble."

Her scowl deepened. "Your talent for eloquence does not go wasted."

Maximilien smiled at her cheerfully. "Yes, dribbles, like a diseased pustule."

His next sight was of Audrielle Auzenne haughtily walking away from him, handily repulsed by the description. The dragoon shrugged.

I wonder if it was something I said.

Leggerless · **02-19-2016, 06:41 PM**

Elise yawned as she got out of her bed, opening her eyes to the ceiling of a guest room. The rumours of a rundown mansion in the Lavender Beds proved fruitful and she found a place to go into hiding. Despite being considered rundown in the past, as she soon learned shortly upon arrival, a new mistress took to remodeling the battered down building into a business estate.

"Ye gods... haven't slept in a bed like that for at least a moon."

She moves around the room and gets ready for the day; a somewhat elaborate jacket coupled with simple pants and boots in addition to small knives hidden in the jacket. It was a day of relaxation afterall; no need to carry around the typical weapons in such a safe location.

On the nearby nightstand, a plate with freshly made toast and butter as the centerpiece was surrounded by a ring of rolanberries. To the left, a small cup of Gridanian Black tea. Once dressed, she sat on the side of the bed and ate the meal properly, rotating between the toast, rolanberries, and tea until the plate and cup were empty. She set the items back on the nightstand and made her way outside of the room, proceeding outside into the foyer. Grabbing a new issue of the Lantern, she soon made her way out into the courtyard, took a seat in one of the benches, and started reading to herself.

A few minutes passed before she looked up at the clear sky above if only but for a moment.

"A nice place, indeed." She starts monologuing to herself. "Haven't been attacked, not lying starved and parched on the cold, stone floor, and yet..." She turns her head to look at the mansion. "I haven't bared my teeth since coming here." A small smirk shows on her face as she glances up in front of her.

"Let's change that."

**Unnamed Mercenary** · **02-26-2016, 03:29 PM**

A stack of leve plates clinked at they were placed onto the levemeteâ€™s table. He made a nice-looking smile. â€œI would like to collect my payment for these. Youâ€™ll find all have been addressed appropriately.â€ The air in Mor Dhona felt heavy. Thick. As if he were walking through a film or through water. But it was distance from the other cities. And it wasnâ€™t as cold as Coerthas would have been. If anything, the aetherial gloam was at least keeping him together.

What had started out as a trip outside of Ulâ€™dah had become a temporary relocation to Revenantâ€™s Toll. There was no shortage of work to be found around the settlement. And there were plenty of people willing to pay the â€œadventurerâ€ plenty of gil to do their chores. Franz found it easier to simply say he was a travelling adventurer in the land. Fewer questions.

With a new collection of leves in his hands, he walked out of the settlement towards Silvertear Lake. He was cautious not to stare at the magitek scraps of fallen airships along the way. There was work to be done. Or rather, time to waste. The leves were simply the easiest way to pass it.

Virella · **02-26-2016, 09:05 PM**

"Because what else would you call this relationship? Or are you unaware that everything about this is complicated?"

She hated that word, and every time he used it she wanted to scream. She hated the idea of belonging to someone. She'd done it in the past. In several forms and shapes, and every time it had ended up shattering apart for one reason or the other. No, she'd sooner kept denying they had anything going on. She knew it was far from true, but she could continue to try to deny it.

"Of course whatever we have goin' on be complicated. I be a Fist. Yer be a pureblood. We couldn't be more stupid, yet we continue makin' th' same swivin' mistake over 'nd over again, whether we like it or not."

The argument continued and soon enough he had walked out onto her as usual.

It had no use to follow him. He'd probably would tell her to leave him alone again. Or worse. He threatened he would leave for the Shroud if she dared to seek him out again, even if she didn't do it on purpose this time.

Making her way to the spot she had intended to go to in the first place, she seated herself. "Destroyer smite me for my sins." she mumbled quietly to herself before she shut her eyes close and started to drift away from her troubles.

Star Lin · **03-04-2016, 05:08 PM**

(Part of a monthly challenge on Aethertide's site.Â This month is "Please Don't Go!" and this is what I wrote for it.Â Set about a few days before and after the Battle of Carteneau.)

"Please don't Go..." she heard just before a not so little blue and purple hair Miqo'te grab onto her. "Please... don't go to war, Tanya." The miqo'te held on tighter, burying his face to hide his tears from the rest of her 'crew' as Pick like to call themselves. 'Though crew wasn't right,' she thought, looking to the empty spot that would have had Micky on his chocobo. 'A month now since we lost him and all of us still feel that aching lost... especially John.'

"Oh, little brother...John, I wish I didn't have to go either..." she said, looking up at her parents, as she wrap her arms around the miqo'te. She could feel the others acting like they weren't listening in but she knew they were. "But we have to try and stop what is about to happen..." Though looking up at the red moon, hanging so, so very close, she wonder if this was the last battle for any of them.

"Then take me with you..."

"I can't do that, John," she said, burying her face into his hair. "You don't have the training." Yet her own thoughts were more on how she couldn't bare the future if something happen to him. 'You have so much ahead of you,' she thought. 'It's why I have to go...so you can see that bright, bright future that's ahead of you.'

"Johny," Pick voice, calm and soft, their brains of the group. He was the only one that had pick a nickname for her brother. "We'll make sure to come back...all of us."

"You promise."

"Of course." Bless Pick, even if they thought it was a lie. She then reach out, 'touching' that part of herself that John held, a part of her aether that she had used to bring him back from the edge when that damnable hearer made her sick brother think that the world didn't need him and his curse/blessing. She felt him finally let go and their dad finally drew him away, allowing her to mounted Ruth. She took in the sight, all of Ul'dah come to say goodbye to those soldiers that were going off to Carteneau. She only hope that Pick's words have a ring of truth to it.

*****

"PLEASE DON'T GO!" John scream, clutching onto the bloody form of his sister's body. The pain in his chest, where his sister's aether had been only became more painful. One glove hand closed on the crack sunstone chocker, even as he let his head bury itself into the bloody robes. "You promise...Pick promise. PLEASE COME BACK!" All he was meet with was a good body and his parents and the others in grief. She couldn't be dead...she promise to come back.

He could bring her back. She would come back if she felt his aether. It was slow at first, pouring his aether into his sister's body...no into his sister. John's world narrow down to just the vibration of his own aether flowing outward and into her body. His arms shook and his heart falter as he pour more of his aether. "please...come bac..." He wobble before falling over onto his side. Everything was so far away, so distant, and there was a darkness creeping up along the edge of his vision.

"John...Oh gods... he's going to..." Different voices and then distant feel of hands try to pull him away. He tried to fight, he was so close...so very close... and the clasp of the chocker gave way and he was finally pull from his sister. Warm arms wrap around his cold body, his mom voice whispering far away. His dad was knelling over him but he couldn't make out the words. He could see the others ring around him as if they were keeping the darkness that was roaring up into his vision from taking him.

He saw her, standing outside the circle, looking sad. Her red hair blowing in an unseen breeze. 'Tanya...'

'You can't go with me, little brother.'

'Stay...'

'I can't stay either. Live, John, live for me.' She began to turn even as he felt aether flowing back into him.

'Don't go...please...' But she was gone, disappearing into the light as the darkness won it's battle and wrap around him. 'don't g...sist...' He slip from the waking world, his Dad's sleep spell allowing him to slip into a healing sleep.

cuideag · **03-06-2016, 11:41 PM**

When first she came to the Shroud years ago, it made Delial uneasy. Even with the Conjurer's blessing, she could not help but feel as though there were a presence mere ilms above her shoulders, waiting to press around her throat the moment her guard was let down. The stories of the wood and the things that lorded over it did little to ease her worries. Not once did Delial ever think she was anything but an intruder, and she was sure she stank of the blood spilled by Ala Mhigans who had come before her.

Not that she was innocent, of course: Marcineux was left for the birds and the boars. Sometimes, she thought she could smell him. Sometimes, she thought she might choke.

Her every step was as loud as a gunshot, muted as they were in the soft ground beneath. If the birds remained they did not sing, nor did they flit or flutter. It was as quiet save for the steady trudge of boots ill-suited for travel through the forest. Surely it was the Wolf they feared, especially now that he was loosed from his bed of chains. She wondered if he hunted them like he had hunted men. She wondered if they would be sporting at all.

She did not know where she walked. Somewhere to her left was a thin stream that snaked through the underbrush, and somewhere behind her waited the Wolf. Her things had been gathered, what little there was: a bag bounced against her thigh as she walked and the butt of her staff (no, no, not hers) left tiny craters in the the earth, breadcrumbs in negative that may or may not remain should Delial decide to turn herself around. The thought of it did not concern her for she did not think of it at all. Every dozen yalms or so, she paused and raised her head a little higher to listen hard before she inevitably decided to continue. The shadows continued to crawl, chasing away the shifting sun.

It was as silent as silent could be when Delial was finally satisfied. The canopy was low and thick and the wind touched not a single leaf. Somehow it felt cold, though not quite as cold as the staff in her hand. It was too still. It was just still enough. With a nod, she began to work.

Moving stiffly, she cleared away loose roots and stones to open up a circle of raw earth just wider than the span of her arms. She planted the staff outside its perimeter, dropped her bag beside it, and with soft words and a softer gesture called forth a pair of witch-lights small and faint enough to barely cast their pale gold glow across the circle. She sat herself in its center, tugging and folding her legs beneath her. Then, gently, she set each light down: one at her right hand and one at her left.

The little lizard girl seemed so proud of herself when she made her offer. It was just some little trinket, Delial convinced herself, a pretty trinket bearing false promise. That the girl knew her name was not important; that the girl knew her weakness was just a lucky guess. Even after she waved her hands and her cards, it was the word that stuck with her, one final festering sting. â€œPowerless,â€ Sarangerel said and knew she hit her mark, just as it was meant to.

It sat in her possession ever since with hardly a thought given to why and how it was in her hands. Then Roen asked after it, posing warnings of untrustworthy scaled men and schemes. Then the Sergeant summoned them and plead for their aid. Then the Wolf spoke of power to be bestowed. Delial could feel where it burned cold in her pockets, and she could feel the hole where it occupied her thoughts.

She reached out to draw a knife from her pack and sliced neatly across the face of a palm, not so much as flinching as the steel cut through her skin. With practiced delicacy, she dabbed her thumb in the rising blood and marked once, twice across her cheeks, and then three times over her dead eye. A wary part of her thought, for a moment, that the stone was not quite as cold as before when she drew it out of her pockets. A foolish part thought she felt it throb when she laid it over her bloodied palm. Yet another worried of the trees she caught sight of in the corner of her eye when she cradled her hands together and bowed her head: of how they seemed to bow with her, looming so close and so low that they might smother her where she sat.

She ignored them all. She shut into herself, grasping for threads of aether and whispered to the black stone in her hands.

Later, after the lights were long gone and her blood had gone dry, when the staff that was the witchâ€™s legacy glimmered in her hands and her heels dug cracked grooves in the drying earth beneath, did Delial know that it finally whispered back.

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