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Shadows Never Die
@alphaeus-streamside
Character inspiration and RP writing blog for Dr. Alphaeus Streamside. He was rolled in World of Warcraft in early 2007, and I began RPing him in Final Fantasy in 2020. Alphaeus and Alecalius have been together since January 11th of 2011. They married September 5th, 2014!
There is something so beautiful about reaching out to the monstrous with intent to touch it gently. To risk the sharp teeth and the lethal claws, to defy fear and revulsion, and choose to be delicate with something that can be, and often is, incredibly brutal.
My favorite ship dynamic is "they're both extremely stupid in completely different ways and extremely smart in completely different ways, but rarely is any of that useful because they just get extra double stupid when together"
September 30th, 2021
They got their answers, though it cost Hroudland a few more teeth.
Near Blackbrush station there was an unassuming building. Ostensibly a warehouse for the temporary storage of goods being shipped between the settlements of Thanalan, it had long served a double purpose. Though it had changed hands many times, it had most recently come into the possession of one Hroudland Alvey.
Temuulen and Theja took custody of Hroudland and hauled him in to complete Theja’s adventurer’s guild assignment.
Alphaeus, Nona and Rhy’sae entered the building unchallenged. Hroudland had surrendered his keys, and given them directions. It proved true, though Alphaeus had kept an eye out for potential traps.
Underground, hidden tunnels once used for smuggling goods now held people and drugs. Cell after cell of drug addled captive. Rhys’s heart sank as he saw each of them, his gut hollow.
This could have been him. This might very well have been him.
When finally they found the man Nona was after, he hung back, watching, eyes trained on the drug-addled man.
“Sohan!” Nona choked his name out. It was the most upset Rhys had ever heard her.
“Celeste….?” The man asked, pressed back against the wall.
“No, Sohan,” she said, hands moving to pat his sweaty, hair, “It’s not Celeste.”
He blinked at her in the darkness, though Rhys’s Keeper eyes saw it clearly.
“No….” Sohan reached for her face, touched her cheek. “You’re not Celeste. ….You’re not real either.” He pushed her away, but he didn’t seem to have any strength.
His mind was not in the present.
Rhys took two steps backwards, looking down the hall to all the doors they’d left unlocked and ajar. Some of the wretches had wandered out into the hallway, where Dr. Streamside was standing, keeping watch as he murmured into a linkpearl.
This could have been him, if Nona and her friends hadn’t come to him. If they hadn’t pulled him into their fold and into the know. If he’d failed to win enough to pay down his debts, if he’d fallen even further and even deeper into his debts…
His imagination was spinning out abstract plausibilities, one scenario after the other, each worse than the last.
But, it hadn’t happened.
It would not happen.
Something in his chest loosened, a tension he hadn’t realized was there. He approached Dr. Streamside, moving to join him. The elezen glanced down, nodding.
“Galeni. The Brass Blades are on the way. Let’s get to work helping these victims, aye?”
Hroudland Alvey was many things. Wealthy had not always been one of them. His was new money, and he dressed the part, clothes the finest money could buy. Gold and precious stones accented embroidery that had cost some artisan dozens if not hundreds of hours.
His most immodest home resided in the Goblet, a towering mansion, one of many dotting the cliff sides overlooking the residential sprawl lining the Goblet. He wasn’t lacking in security either, but there was little they could do against a determined party of Mahjong tournament failures.
Theja and Nona took the lead, Alphaeus, Temuulen, and Rhy’sae close behind. Khet had departed with the Den Master, hauling him to the Brass Blades with a written confession and promise to roll on his partner in exchange for leniency. That was the mercy they had chosen for him, and he’d latched onto it like the opportunistic leech he was.
But they weren’t going to leave the rest of this matter in the Brass Blade’s hands. Theja’s job for the adventurer’s guild was their ticket to handling this their way, and they were taking advantage of it to the fullest.
Rhy’sae and Alphaeus worked together to bypass the mansion’s magical warding, though it took some doing. Nona and Theja handled the guards that came for them while Temuulen guarded everyone’s back.
When they finally came upon Hroudland Alvey, he was holed up in his office, brass knuckles adorning each fist and a simmering rage on his face. But as his men fell one by one before him, and he was left standing alone, the realization that he was outnumbered and out of time was slow to sink in.
It wasn’t until Nona’s plate gauntleted fist broke his lip and shattered a tooth that he really realized how serious they were.
Hroudland crumpled to his knee, and Nona stood above him, a spirit of dark vengeance, ringed by the solemn, threatening faces of her comrades.
“Start talking.”
Stunned, he stared up at her, naked hatred in his eyes.
She punched him again.
“THE GAMBLERS!” She barked, “From the DEN! Where are they?”
He spit blood, glowering at her, “Why should I tell you? You’ll only kill me.”
Alphaeus drew his rapier and flicked it under the man’s chin, letting the point rest above his throat, “No,” he said, and Hroudland’s eyes found his, and the fallen highlander froze. Something in the elezen’s gaze would not allow him to look away. “We would not kill you. No matter how much you begged. Time and time again, I will put you back together, until you have told us what we want.”
His free hand moved forward, touched Hroudland on the top of the head. There was a surge of aether, and the pain in the highlander’s face eased and faded.
Then Nona punched him once more, the pain white hot and fresh. “WHERE ARE THEY?”
“So, I don’t know how long we can use the space without upsetting my bosses,” Alphaeus was explaining.
The whole band was back together, poking curiously around the rather oppressive looking dungeon Alphaeus had led them to. He was borrowing it from the company he worked for. Better to ask forgiveness than permission and all of that. They’d all whisked themselves away once they were a safe distance from the gambling den, teleporting back to the mansion Alphaeus called both work and home.
Within the small cell, the Den Master was kneeling on the floor, head bowed as he pleaded for his life. Nobody had yet thought to inform him they didn’t intend to kill him.
Nona and Theja finished their quiet discussion of the prisoner’s fate, and they approached the bars. Nona took the lead, though now she had her hand on the hilt of her massive sword, rather than a broken bottle.
“Tell us what we want to know, and you just might get to see that rancid little den of yours again,” she started.
“Anything!” The Den Master cried, interrupting her before she could launch into any monologuing, “What is it you want? Gil? I can get you gil. I’m very good at getting gil—”
“The missing people.” Nona cut right to the heart of it.
The Den Master froze.
“The men and women who entered your den, never to be seen again. Where are they?”
Slowly, he raised his head, face ashen.
“Is it related to the drugs?” Theja asked, stepping up beside Nona.
Nona shot her a look, but didn’t speak up.
The Den Master was quivering, “Oh, oh my, oh my that’s not something I—”
“You don’t place much value on your life,” Alphaeus said, joining the women with an air of boredom about him.
The Den Master gulped.
“This is what passes for a man in the gambling dens of Ul’dah?” Khet thoughtfully fingered a knife at his belt.
“Those are… you see, the drugs are a… it’s an arrangement.”
“With who?” Nona demanded. “Where are the missing people? Where have they gone?”
The Den Master spilled his guts. Metaphorically. “They were… they were unable to pay their debts to the house, you see, and they were… taken by my partner. For business research. For…. they’re working their debt off.”
Rhys was quite interested in anywhere but the lalafel at the moment. If he’d gone through with his plan to try to cancel out his debts with gambling… that could have been him.
“Cooperate with us,” Temuulen spoke up from behind the others, “and the gods have bade me that we show mercy.”
“What he said,” Nona grunted, “implied threat more than implied.”
Time stopped for an instant. In that moment, all of creation held its breath, waiting between one heartbeat and the next. Nona did not wait.
Full of vim and vigor, she rushed for the Den Master without even so much as a battle cry. It broke whatever trance had fallen over the room.
A hostess screamed. The Den Master screamed. A few of the other gamblers screamed.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Theja whispered under her breath, groping through her pockets for something to pass as a weapon.
Temuulen broke a bottle of his own, booze splashing to the floor as Khet fell into a combative stance beside him.
“YOU FACE PROUD WARRIORS OF THE STEPPE!” Khet cried, “For the BUDUGA!”
“The gods have sent me this day!” Temuulen intoned, his voice a dire warning as he brandished his broken bottle.
Rhy’sae ducked behind Alphaeus, digging through his pockets much like Theja. His glasses slid down his nose, his ears laid flat to his hair as he started to all but turn out his bag, digging through his botanical collection. “WHAT’S PLAN B?” He demanded.
Alphaeus clapped his hands together, a surge of aether rising. He grabbed at the shadows of his right hand and pulled, the darkness peeling away from his skin and taking solid shape between his fingers, a sword drawn forth. The shadow seemed to pulse and harden into a rapier, and he yanked his heavy pendant off. Aether caught it, and the disguised focus bobbed in the air above his palm. “Make it up while we go along!” he replied.
“Then, then cover me!” Rhys shot back, scooping up his things and diving under a table where he kept frantically cobbling something together. He opened a bag, the salty-sea smell of dried benthos weed hitting him in the face. He didn’t stop. He’d prepared this bag for the vague Just In Case scenarios they’d talked about in the days leading up to the tournament. Too bad they hadn’t actually made a solid Plan B together.
Across the room, the roes had gathered together, Crane holding the men back from diving gleefully in, “It’s just a stupid game, you idiots!” She growled at them.
Security seemed torn as to just where it had to go, but the Den Master’s shrill, wordless shout drew their ire. Nona shanked her broken bottle where the small man had been standing, and he scrambled away shouting for aid.
The security guards jumped Nona. Temuulen and Khet jumped the guards. Theja still hadn’t found a weapon and held back. Alphaeus slid between the action and the table Rhys was hiding under.
The smartest patrons were rushing out the door with the hostess and the bar keeper. Nobody tried to stop them. Gwayne and F’zula were pressed back against a wall, making hasty bets on the outcome of the action.
Drunken Stump somehow broke free from Crane and made a bee-line for the unattended bar, starting to shove whole bottles into his pockets. Proud Hill, after a moment’s hesitation, joined him. Crane threw her hands up imploringly to the gods.
Under the table, Rhys was bundling more dried botanical bits around the benthos weed, string securing it all together. “Just need… a moment!”
More of the Den Master’s goons ran into the room, weapons drawn, voices rising. Nona had the Den Master by the legs, that horrifying dark knight power clutching at him even as she shanked her broken bottle into a guard’s side.
One of the new security goons went for Alphaeus, drawing a short sword to clash with the doctor’s rapier.
Gripping his tied bundle, Rhys finished it off with a small cloth bag, green and red crystals clinking together as he shoved them in and tied them off. Wind and fire shards. Finally, Rhys shook a glass jar, a pair of dried, shriveled red peppers into his palm. He dropped the open bottle into a pocket, shoving one of the peppers into his mouth and pressing it between his teeth and cheek, holding it but not biting.
Quickly, he crawled out from under the table, just as Alphaeus pushed away his bleeding attacker. Rhys shoved the second pepper at Alphaeus, “Bite this when it goes off!” He shouted.
“When what goes off?” The doctor demanded, incredulous as he grabbed the pepper with the hand his focus floated over. He stuffed it in his mouth.
“THIS!” Rhys tossed the dried bundle above his head, whole body tensing as a surge of aether left him. He winced, and the bag caught flame mid air above them. Smoke poured from the bundle, and a jolt of wind aspected aether shoved the smoke out, enveloping the whole room with the scent of sea and smoke.
Wooziness struck almost instantly. Rhys bit into the pepper, flooding his mouth with distracting, spicy heat. It snapped him right out of it, kicking the smoke’s effects to the side.
Alphaeus swayed. Bit his own pepper, then straightened, making an indignant choking sound. “Thal’s balls that’s hot!”
Rhys could barely speak around the burning heat in his mouth—he hated spicy food, it disagreed with his Sharlayan palate—”Get the, get the Den Master. I’ll, I’ll get everyone else!” He managed.
Around them, the fighting was slowing, everyone in the room stumbling, losing their balance and slumping towards the floor. Weapons clattered as bodies fell. Not unconscious, not quite, but too dizzy and disoriented to continue the fray.
Alphaeus let his shadowy sword dissipate into nothing, and went to grab the Den Master off the floor. Kidnapping hadn’t been on his Bingo card for that night, but there he was.
Alphaeus, Nona, and the rest had drifted together after the final round. None of them felt the need to ask the others how they felt they’d done. The disappointment and tension were palpable.
Up at the bar, the miqote woman was making the next announcement, and with a dramatic flourish, the final scores were set on display.
Not a single one of them had made it to the final round. The failure struck deep, and Alphaeus stared at the scoreboard as if he could change it with his gaze alone.
Nona lifted a bottle, pouring herself a shot and throwing it back. Her shot glass thunked to the tabletop. “Well. I expected that to go better for all of us.”
“What now?” Alphaeus asked, looking at the others.
Nona rose, “We didn’t get what we came here for,” she said. Their group’s heads turned her way, nods and murmurs passing amongst them, “But there’s a silver lining in all of this.”
“And what would that be?” Theja asked.
Nona smiled, plucking up her bottle. “Den Master’s right there.” Then, she turned, slamming the bottle against the edge of the table. It shattered, leaving a ragged, cutting edge. Instantly all conversation halted, and every eye in the room, both patron, staff, and host alike, was on her.
Tensions were high in the third round, each table finishing their games after what felt like an eternity to most players.Once the scores were taken, the players were left to wait for an announcement.
Alphaeus anxiously milled his way to Nona’s side. “Not feeling great about my prospects,” he admitted.
Nona grunted. “There’s still one round to go, kid. Things can change on a whim and whimsey, so just keep your chin up and don’t get anxious.”
“Too late.”
She laughed.
“...even if I don’t end up placing in the top three—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“But the… you know… that I want to learn…”
“Mmhmm.”
“...”
She arched a brow.
He sighed. “You will?”
“I said I would consider it, didn’t I?”
“That’s not—”
Alphaeus was cut off by a woman’s voice that cut through the low murmur of the room. “Attention, please!” The woman, a miqote, stood atop of the bar, her scanty garments marking her as one of the den’s many hostesses. “The final round of qualifiers will begin shortly! We will now reveal the current standings!”
An elezen man behind the bar lifted a chalkboard up and set it on a tabletop stand beside her. She gestured grandly, reading the scores off.
Current Standings:
Nona 110300
F'zula Tia 102500
Fafasamu Hihisamu 98700
Rhy'sae Galeni 95200
Khet Buduga 88600
Towering Crane 82600
Eon Hamyon 80400
Temuulen Mol 78100
Alphaeus Streamside 72300
Didiraka Guguraka 64800
Rhel Gamduhla 64600
Nonolu Nolu 58500
Proud Hill 58400
Gwayne Piper 55000
Drunken Stump 46500
Theja Arda 38000
When she reached the end of the list, she turned back to the lot of them, “And now—allow me the honor of introducing the illustrious Den Master Mimilan Lilian!”
A door behind the bar opened, then closed. Moments later, a feathered hat was visible behind the bar. That hat ascended whatever step stool had been set up behind it, and a male lalafel joined the miqote woman. He was short and wide, his beard and mustache impeccably waxed, and he was dressed as lavishly as any noble.
He struck a pose, “Many of you have answered the call, and the rare chance to join the inner circle of my den. But only the three most worthy of you will be allowed to challenge me! Who will it be? You?” He pointed lavishly in random directions, “You? Or perhaps even you? Well, I’ll be right here, watching the final round. Everyone, you know where you placed. To your tables, to your tables. Let the final round begin!!”
Between the next rounds, it was still raining, though the downpour had become a drizzle. Alphaeus sat beside the window overlooking the courtyard, turning his glass in his hand. Khet and Rhy’sae sat with him, and each was mulling over the score sheet.
Only one of them could take first place at their table, and of the three of them, Alphaeus was furthest behind in score. But that could all change in the next game. It was still too early to predict who would make it to the final round.
“What should we do?” Rhys muttered.
Alphaeus lifted his glass, “Let the chips fall where they may. It’s all we can do”
“We fight,” Khet said, rising, enthusiasm in every line. “We fight, we struggle, we survive! “ Khet gestured grandly with his own score sheet, his soulful speech carrying. The room around them fell quiet.
“When the dust settles, we will know who stands tall! We are here one and all to gain entry to the master’s round and to join the exclusive parlor! But even our struggle to win will not dampen our friendships for such bonds are too strong to be tested by such-“
Khet kept going as Rhys leaned towards Alphaeus whispering an urgently confused, “what’s going on?”
Alphaeus only shrugged while the xaela waxed poetic about the divine bonds of men and something about pride. When finally Khet finished, he drew a smattering of confused, uncertain applause from across the room.
Table three saw little action, and by virtue of accomplishing nothing at all, neither winning a hand nor losing one, Theja managed to come in second.
Table four was a dour lot. Most of them were already behind the others, having all come in last at their previous tables.
Alphaeus looked around the table. The two roe men and the hyur had all come in last in their games as well and all of them were now scowling down at their hands as if their fates rode on them. To be fair, they probably did.
But, it wasn’t irrecoverable. In one game, a bad hand isn’t the end of it all. In a tournament, built such as this one, one bad game didn’t spell the end either. He could still recover from this.
He looked to his left, smiling at the hyur there. Gwayne glanced his way with an appraising eye.
A sudden plan hatched in Alphaeus’s mind. He and Crane had been so distracted in the first game that they’d messed up a few calls here and there. What if he did that…. On purpose? To the others?
One way to find out. “Hey, handsome.”
Gwayne blinked, then glanced around, “W-what? Me?”
Alphaeus grinned, lazy and slow. Oh, this would be far too easy. The man was already flustered. The doctor proceeded to flirt, outrageously, with the entire table the whole game.
Round two began after a brief interlude. The players shuffled to the seating they’d won in the first round. Temuulen and Khet found themselves at table one and instantly in a peaceful if fast paced game. In the end Khet pulled ahead of the rest.
Table two, where Nona and Rhy’sae took their seats, was a bit of a different story.
Rhel Gamduhla dominated from the first hand, and though Nona managed to eek out a small victory, Rhy’sae didn’t have that much luck. He was sitting in fourth from the first hand. After the third hand, he gave up, feckless and reckless, he made his calls after just barely glancing at his drawn tiles. It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t change anything. He was scowling even as he clicked his discards away.
Until… it clicked. He drew a tile, looked to his hand, and saw it. His brows drew together, and he studied his hand before making his move. Three discards later, and he reached riichi. In the end, it was enough to turn the tables.
Nona let out a low whistle, “Damn, kid,” she said, when the points were tallied. “Surprised the shit out of me.”
Between rounds, a break was called. While most of the players had drifted towards the bar and the promise of alcohol, Alphaeus and Nona had followed one of the attendants into an enclosed courtyard. There, they stood under an awning, lighting up a shared cigarette. Nona took the first drag, handing it off to the taller man.
“It’s only the first round,” she said, as if reading his mind.
He grunted agreement, before handing the cigarette back. His attention strayed to the worn stone before them, squinting as patches of dark caught his eye. It was the only warning before a sprinkling of rain began to fall.
“Thanalan rain,” he said, “isn’t that a good omen?”
“Where’d you hear that?”
He took the cigarette back, breathing deep of the scents stirred by the patter of rain, mingling with the smoke. “I don’t know,” he admitted, lips curving to a frown.
The game was quick paced and silent until the later hands, when an explosion at table two caught their attention. Heads swiveled up, watching Proud Hill’s antics, though their game continued on. When the chair broke, a chuckle rippled across the table.
“Thinkin’ there might be somethin’ to what he’s saying,” Drunken Stump grumped, “that there’s some folks what might be cheating.”
Nona laughed, a tile clicking to the table as she discarded it, “Alright, let’s say there is, how are they doing it?”
Theja arched a brow, calling Nona’s tile and sliding a triplet to the side.
“Long ‘nough sleeve and you can hide anythin’ up ‘em.” He was watching Eon Hamyon pointedly.
“Me?” The lalafel scoffed.
“You’d be most likely t’be cheatin’, with the score you’ve got so far this game.”
“I don’t think anyone’s cheating,” Theja said, shaking her head.
Nona grinned, “But, if they were? I suppose Stump could have a point.”
Eon rolled his eyes expressively. “No one is cheat- ah. Tsumo.” He set his drawn tile down.
Non and Theja laughed. Drunken Stump scowled.
End of Match:
Eon Hamyon 47200
Nona 26000
Theja Arda 19800
Drunken Stump 7000
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