ashes to ashes

Fiadh || 40+ (looks 30) || arcane vampire

[crownswarrp]

𝐅𝐈𝐀𝐃𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐘

12 years ago fiadh (roughly 30+/- years old at the time) lost all of her memory when she turned, she was abandoned to starve in the woods of withermore as a failed experiment when she was found by a hunter. Instead of killing her the hunter took pity and pointed her south to avoid any of the other hunters of his family. she spent the last 12 years climbing her way to the title of emissary in an attempt to discover what happened to her.

TW: Blood, Death.

Nameless at the time, she had woken in the forests of Withermore, starving, dirty, and nameless. The feeling of bugs on fire crawling under her skin was the first thing she could remember. The wet mud caked under her nails was the next. It had taken her almost dying of hunger before she had trapped a rabbit and found herself drinking from it. Instinct had won out and she learned to trust hers. Following her gut through the deep woods she made herself at home in a cave feeding off whatever animal she could get her hands on, but it was winter and even with tracks to follow the animals around her were also struggling to find food and were not often worth the energy to chase.

One night a hunter stood before her, 'a boy' she had thought to herself trying to ignore the sound of his heartbeat. Had she not spent the last few weeks of the harsh winter lost in the forest. only finding sustenance when she felt close to death, she may have not feared him. However, she was unaware of her full powers. He had towered over her emaciated form and she opened and closed her mouth several times in an attempt to beg for mercy. But was it mercy she wanted? Or was it death? She hadn't known what a hunter was either but her instincts told her this man was a danger. Her internal drive to survive won over any other emotions she might have had and she scurried backward into the cave. The movement itself came accompanied by words she hadn't meant to say. She pleaded with him to let her live, to let her escape. She told him she didn't know what she had done to deserve to die while she begged for a second chance. 

He had taken pity on her and granted that second chance. When he had offered his blood to her she hadn't understood at first but the way her mouth watered at the thought she agreed hastily. When her fangs sunk into his flesh every cell in her body awoke from hibernation. She could feel the blood invigorating every exhausted tendon and aching muscle. She wrenched herself back, afraid she would take too much from the stranger, and looked at him. She thanked him and in return he showed her his ring, telling her to avoid the crest, and then he told her to run. Run south as far as she could.

So she did just that, she ran. But not before she caught a last look at the stranger who saved her wondering if she'd ever have a chance to repay his kindness or if he knew more about her past.

Fiadh was a name given to her by the vampire who had taken her in when she had finally found her way to civilization. Having a name was a sigh of relief for her soul. She hadn't known how much it had been weighing on her as it was a heaviness that had tied itself to her before she had opened her eyes on this life. The two of them spent a year attempting to find out more about Fiadh's missing memory but to no avail. The older vampire had told Fiadh stories of vampires created with magic and the blue lines it left across their skin, arcane is what he had always called them. Imbued with powers other vampires didn't have but not as strong as the bitten, the arcane vampires were the product of witchcraft.

As the years came and went Fiadh found herself creeping closer and closer to the court of Withermore. No one seemed to know who would have been powerful enough to create a vampire like herself or, more likely as she learned over that time, they liked to keep their secrets. Bound and determined to find those who had done this to her, Fiadh used the older vampire's court connections to build her own and create a need for herself. A vampire who had no past to hold allegiance to and could enter a private residence without invitation was always handy, at least that's how she pitched herself.

Over time she earned enough of the king's trust in hopes of gaining access to the royal records to discover her own history, however in that time her past became less important to her and she found herself running more errands for the king. With her bright and talkative personality, not many expected her to be collecting information and running surveillance but that's who she'd learned to be in order to gain the trust of those she wanted things from. She found joy in deceiving those around her, like her past didn't matter, she could be whomever she wanted to be. Maybe she'd never find out who had done this to her but the years of chasing the information taught her to bide her time, collect secrets, and take what was offered.

WHAT ARE YOU...?

species: arcane vampire. weaknesses: direct sunlight, cannot enter running water, silver, wooden stake through the heart, beheading, must drink blood (at minimum) every seven days. strengths: ability to do fire magic, enhanced senses, immortal, enhanced physical traits. physical description: pale skin with blue lines branching out from an impact mark on the left side of her ribs, very pointed ears, and her irises are ringed with red. additional info: arcane vampires are created from overexposure to magic. most who are turned this way succumb to insanity and have to be put down, few come out stronger but lacking the full strength of a bitten vampire. none have made it through with the memory of their former lives in tact. the blue lines across their bodies are remnants of the magic they were exposed to during the change. they gain an ability to weld the magic energy used against them but they cannot use magic as freely as a witch, they must feed to use magic.

fiadh is played by shell and their fc is rose leslie

[madkingmerry]

event: crowning the jester king

with: fiadh ( @fiadh-aich )

Flittering around like a tingling butterfly, Merrymock, now King, has been making his rounds. It is what he believes a king should do, after all. Be seen by his adoring citizens! They are here for him, naturally he must speak to as many people as he possibly can, so there he goes, meandering around with someone always refilling his goblet with more wine, more mead, more ale and offering him sweet things and pastries and cured meats. "You there! Darling, darling, you stunning creature," Merry practically floats toward her, wine spilling from the edge of his goblet, "We must dance now, yes we must! If you would please, grace yourself with my hand," he extends his hand, a wooden and half metal prosthetic toward her.

[fiadh-aich]

Chaos. It was all chaos. Fiadh loved it. What a turn in her story, unexpected per usual and yet comforting. Part of her wondered if she would have seen this coming if she had actually been paying attention to the court around her instead of only when she was asked but where was the fun in that? Losing herself in the crowd, she was drunk on blood and upheaval. It was a chance to be someone she hadn't been yet. When she heard the voice of her new king, she was surprised but ran with it. She moved in a mock curtsey, pulling at invisible skirts before putting her hand in his. He was a more riveting creature than she imagined. She was realizing how uninterested in others she had been and how much of a waste of time it had been. Now was a time to find out what she had been missing "My liege of course we must! Even without a crown, how could I say no to an offer like that?"

[kallistetheharpy]

Though it appeared a rather small and ordinary bookstore from the outside, once a patron stepped inside they were at once privy to the true size and whimsical décor. Before her very eyes, Kalliste saw Nirvana. Before her was a small forest. Tall, dark stained trees were carved with twisting branches laden with books. Brightly painted, glass fruit dangled from tree branches, filled with a warm glow, softly lighting up small reading nooks and clusters of seating areas. Birds tweeted merry little tunes, flying from branch to leaf, leaf to lap, as patrons curled up with books and sweet teas. Kalliste gasped aloud when she looked up and found the second floor of the bookstore was a network of human sized bird nests, all connected by a web of delicate bridges.

It was a literal literary forest.

"A long way from home?" somebody's bright, and friendly question interrupted Kalliste's awe inspired veneration.

Kalliste blinked, long brown lashes framing hazel eyes that found Fiadh's. The vampires' red eyes were illuminating, lit up by the surrounding tea lights, and the Harpy gasped once more.

During her years as an escort to the underworld, Kalliste had sacrificed her memories but gained in turn, a kind of sixth sense. It could not be so easily defined as a gift, but if one were to attempt to explain it, the closest quantification would be a sensitivity. Kalliste was sensitive to the journey of death, familiar with the feel of it, the look of it. This sensitivity was for the most part useless and in this instance, it was no different. Had Fiadh's electric blue markings not hinted at her species, the red in her eyes did.

"Oh!" Kalliste smiled timidly, at once eager to conceal her prior shock at the appearance of a vampire. It was not that she had a fear of vampires, only that she had not connected with many, and Fiadh's crimson ringed irises were striking. "Aren't we all?" Kalliste's voice was breathy and soft when she spoke, her pinks growing rosy as her gold eyes peeped at the undead stranger.

Kalliste's attempt at a rueful joke was unlike her, given she was speaking with a stranger, but the Harpy felt unusually safe. Perhaps it was the environment, but Kalliste was not succumbing to her nerves.

[fiadh-aich]

There was a chance Fiadh was already taking this city for granted, it was clear in the awe of the eyes before her. The carelessness in how the woman expressed herself. Maybe not carelessness, Fiadh corrected herself, just a lack of a mask so many others wore. The mask the vampire had donned for herself prevented her mind from wandering to lands of if. If this part of her was from before or after. If she was strong because of what happened or if she had always been this way. If she even inhabited this body before it's change. She wore her mask to hide, this winged creature's face didn't hide. Fiadh had done so much to blend in, she found her own awe in the blush on the other's cheeks.

It was her words that turned Fiadh's smile genuine, bringing a small laugh forth. She hadn't expected banter, just some mundane yes or no answer followed by similar conversation. Something to convince herself she'd made an effort to feel less alone. "I supposed that all depends on your definition of home, doesn't it?"

[forgottenbloodfather-deactivate]

Doran’s arms tightened around her in silent answer. Not too much, never too much. She wasn’t breakable, and if he treated her like she was, she’d bite his throat out. But still… she felt smaller than he remembered. Or maybe that was just time. Time always did something cruel.

Until I die, he thought, and it almost made him laugh.

“For how long will you have me, darling?” he murmured into her hair, the words soft and half-mocking, a kiss pressed to her temple. “Maybe I should move in. Start living with you.” Another kiss, this one to her nose. “Abandon everything, join you on your witch hunt…”

He smiled, but his mind itched.

How long until she noticed the signs? How long until she realized he could grow a beard now? How long until she saw him feeding, and the body rotted right there in his arms?

He ran his clawed fingers gently along her jaw, dragging down where a mortal’s pulse should’ve been. It was a tender gesture, in its way, just sharp enough to remind them both what he was. What he’d become. He was quite sure all the angels had freckles and ears like hers. If angels had ever existed at all.

“Oh dear,” Doran drawled, voice rich with amusement, “I’m getting blood all over you. Tsk, tsk.” Not an ounce of apology in it. His hands settled at her back, cold, calloused, careful. He’d never been good at softness, not when it cost him something. But this was Fiadh. And with her, the cost had always felt worth paying.

“Come,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “Let’s eat. Let’s smoke. Let’s dance.”

Her scent clung to him already, under the sharp burn of ink and fire magic. Storm-drenched stone, copper, and something older. Something ancient. Something hers. He hadn’t let himself miss it, not consciously. That would’ve been dangerous. But now that he was here, now that it was here, he clung to it like a dying thing might cling to breath.

His gaze dropped to her hands, still fisted in his shirt. Gods. He’d been gone too long.

“I know a baron who lives nearby,” he added casually. “His manor’s much more fitting for you than this place.”

[fiadh-aich]

Doran. Doran really here, in her apartment. Smelling of home, blood, and something off. The smell created pause in her mind but she tucked it away. This wasn't the time for questions, this was the time for enjoyment.

This wasn't a dream, his teasing was proof of that. She sneered, fangs out, glaring at him but she could quite fight the smile at the corners of her mouth. Wrinkling her nose at him, she changed her tactics. She looked up at him through her lashes, doe eyes glistening in the lantern light trying to catch his eye. "I know how much you love hunting witches I was only thinking of you."

She held the look for a beat before melting into giggles, she couldn't take herself seriously. Not here, not with him. It was a tactic he had overseen her perfecting. Nothing in this world could convince him to stay if he didn't want, which was probably why she hadn't let go yet. He was real, his body pressed against hers, her fingernails threatening to tear through his very real clothes.

Fiadh had dreams of him on occasion, when she felt lost or hit another dead end. Some of those dreams bled into her waking sight when she found herself consuming pages instead of blood. This wasn't one of those. This was real. Doran was real.

The glare returned immediately at the mention of her clothes, "Unlike my rug, these aren't new." Fiadh was not about to let her rug go, these clothes on the other hand? It was just an excuse to shop, maybe visit the interesting seamstress again.

Excitement pickled at her skin with the mention of dancing, "Gods yes. Please. It's been ages."

With one last deep breath she relaxed her fingers and attempted to flatten out the spots she held while he spoke. She scoffed and rolled her eyes, before offering him her petulant deal. "if you stay. I'll go to the manor."

[wrestmeridian]

From Esoteria, She Became Featuring: Fiadh ( @fiadh-aich ) & Wrest Locale/Time: Western Tower of the Library of Destarin / Wrest's Personal Quarters @ 8PM

The tower had been uninhabitable when he discovered it. Up a dangerous, spiraling staircase with only the light from shuttered or crumbling arrowloops to go by, piled to the collapsing rafters with erroneous scrolls, rotten tomes, and dilapidated furnishings. It was obviously once a private office with accompanying ( if humble ) living quarters which had turned, over the course of however many centuries, into a store-room, then a dumping ground, and eventually a hazard to anyone who ventured into it. Wrest saw its potential right away. When the shutters were taken down, the view of Destarin was far-reaching and spectacular. When the dust was swept away, the floors polished, and the beams replaced, it resembled a cozy, livable space. After several years of his diligent attention and many more of his settling in, it had become his very own, private, comfortable haven.

Along the curling walls were high shelves, packed to the max with his most precious books, enchanted tools, rare and suspect artifacts, and even a specimen jar or two. Painted tapestries hung above his desk, detailing the expanse of The Twelfth World he'd charted, and angled out the largest window was a telescope in a state of disrepair; one of his many incomplete, pending projects. The space was never neat. In fact, it often looked like a hurricane of unbidden energy had cycled through it, but it was secluded enough without being remote that Wrest was able to focus on his work and even manage an accomplishment here and there without disappearing into himself.

It was reflective of his very polarizing moods: mania & despair. The empty whiskey bottles and cracked mirrors streaked with suspect powders told the story of how he tried, very poorly, to mitigate the effects of them without blowing himself or the city he loved away in an astral-charged mushroom cloud.

The hours had gotten away from him. In fact, he'd totally forgotten the date he'd set with Fiadh. It was only because of his sincere interest in her predicament that he found himself swallowed up by research on the topic of the strange, azure markings that glowed just beneath the veil of her skin. Without that fixation anchoring his focus, he would have been completely empty-handed when she showed up at his door. Still, he never invited anyone to his quarters, so the knock nearly threw him off the windowsill where he'd been so precariously perched — reading, as it were. Last he'd looked up, it had been bright afternoon sun streaking through his rooms. Now, it was twilight. No wonder his eyes were exhausted. Reading by the light of the moon would soon blind him.

❝ Just a moment, ❞ he called, setting his book aside. On his way to answer, he lit candles and switched on arcane lanterns as he passed them. The juxtaposition of warm fire light and the cool blue emitted by the lamps was strange but comforting to him. It felt almost like the astral realm. Opening the door, he pushed his hair back from his face. ❝ I might have forgotten when we agreed to meet. ❞ A shite greeting but honest. ❝ Uh, come in. But no judging. I'm a sorcerer with no one to answer to but himself. ❞ It was his only excuse.

[fiadh-aich]

Not a single book or creature she'd spoken to had been useful in her hunt for history. That was until Wrest. His fascination rivaled her own, in his own ways but that made him a practical connection to have at minimum. His invite to his tower brought down a new wave of curiosity on the arcane vampire and as much as she wanted answers about the chaotic fractals under her skin, she was captivated by the cerebral way he he took interest in something he didn't understand.

The tower had been easy enough to find with his directions, it stood before her in all the glory it had gained and lost. The only sign up it's reanimation, a body in a window. She could see what she could only assume was his outline, unmoving except to turn a page. Fiadh had arrived early, Doran had taught her better than to enter a location without casing it, and walked the grounds from the shade of trees to familiarize herself with the scents. Out of all of her senses she relied on her nose for a warning system, anything out of place always raised a flag in her mind. Another thing she had wondered if it came from this life or the last.

Finally, she approached the building as the sun finished setting. The light left in the horizon warmed her skin and for a moment she was grateful that indirect sunlight had never bothered her. A knock sounded from under her fist, his words returned the call and an excitement found itself in her blood.

At his greeting she snorted softly, it didn't bother her any that he had forgotten. She was one to get lost in her own world most of the time. She waved her hand as if to physically brush off any concern, "As long as you remember why I'm here I couldn't care less. As for any mess, I'll probably just feel more at home. I don't trust people who exist without clutter let alone messes."

[hasbakianeji]

"Me too," he agreed, because he wondered what had become of the monster his Uncle had sought. Had they also been an innocent? Someone who was just trying to survive. Hasbaki couldn't think on them, guilt would become too strong. He need only think of her and be grateful his efforts had not been in vain, that at least he had been the one to find her and not anyone else in the coven. It was good she had lived.

He laughed, wondering what he had seemed to her before if he was handsome now. He'd been so young then, just a boy of ten and eight. He'd been more slender certainly, probably near as starved as she was, maybe she'd tasted it in his blood, or maybe was so hungry then she hadn't noticed. In the past few months of partial freedom he'd tried so much food though, it had made him bigger, the training he had now sustained by something. Yes, he probably was more handsome now.

"In a few years maybe you'll say otherwise," he offered, because age would come for him, unlike for herself.

Hasbaki shrugged his shoulders slightly, "they still sort of are." He didn't mean it as insult, though maybe she'd take it as such. "And still would, vampires aren't the only dead that wander these streets. You should be careful." Words said by someone who did not know who she was now. Maybe she could protect herself better, it had been so long, but he still said it, because he couldn't not.

[fiadh-aich]

His words didn't need a response, they had both witnessed horrors this world had to offer. She didn't feel like reliving the early days in what if's or what could have been's when the now much more welcoming. There weren't many days she didn't think of the man before her, hoping that he was safe and that survival had found him the way he had her. She thought more of him than she did the people who may have known her in the before. Maybe because he was real and because maybe they weren't. She could never be sure.

Laughter. His was nice. Fiadh took her time memorizing his features in this light, this angle, this emotion. It would make a much better replacement for the starved memories she had. He was much more handsome now, she was thrilled to have meant it. They'd both grown and the world had not seen to their deaths like she thought they would that night when she ran from him, the trees reaching for her as if they wanted her to return home to them. "I don't know about that," She grinned back, fighting the twinge of jealousy, "some mortals wear age well."

The comment caught her off guard and it was her turn to laugh. It bubbled past her lips before she managed a retort, "fair point. Let me amend to an unanimated corpse."

She nodded to his words in acknowledgement. Had she found another to take care of her at the start this warning would have been welcome. But he didn't know who had taken her under his wing. That Doran had turned her into a quiet weapon. Her fingertips had found the blue lines visible on her sternum. "I have taken notice of that, what an interesting thing magic is. Creating life in death."

[kallistetheharpy]

Closed starter @fiadh-aich Location: Bookstore

The last couple of days had been spent resting. Kalliste had overindulged in her explorations of the local areas, spending several hours on her feet walking or standing which had exerted the Harpy. Thoroughly spent by her explorations of her chosen home, Kalliste had succumbed to heavy slumber, only emerging to drink or to read where she had the energy. The room she paid weekly for, was situated in the centre it seemed of a social hub within the district and as such was rarely quiet. The noise might have disturbed the average person or creature, but Kalliste was a heavy sleeper and found comfort in the revolving commotion.

When the Harpy finally emerged from her bed, her eyes seemed brighter, her skin more flushed, and she brimmed with anticipation. While she took a great deal of time, inexpertly dressing herself, thoughts of the dusty bookstore began to fill her mind. She imagined so much of it. What drew her to it, had been its clientele. Despite the unrelenting motion of the streets outside, the patrons in store had seemed so passive, focused on their readings or combing of various books. It was though their entire world outside had disappeared, and here was a place someone could put down their cap, and dive into a whole other realm or existence.

While she considered herself to be an optimist, Kalliste could not deny that certain elements of her new home were rough around the edges. A little escapism was just the kind of self-indulgence Kalliste decided she could afford.

Kalliste gave up on a flowing gown that she could not adequately secure herself into, and opted instead for a simple linen shift, the hems of which had been elaborately decorated with the faintest of gold threading. She paired this with a pair of oversized, worn leather boots. The footwear seemed at odd with the delicate shift, and the whimsical way in which she braided her hair, but they were a purely practical decision. Though they might appear a rather sad choice of footwear; they were several sizes too big, and had been left over by the previous strange tenant of her room. However, they protected the Harpies feet which were blistered and bruised from the abrupt change in lifestyle. The soft soles of her feet seemed stubborn to her new routines, and cried out for a once familiar leisure.

As Kalliste made her way back to the bookstore, she made for an amusing sight, shielded by her wings for the entirety of her journey. In a place such as Destarin, a woman with wings was far from the most interesting or awe-inspiring creature, but due to her fearful behaviour, the very eyes she sought to avoid fell on her. It drew a target on her back in such an obvious way, many felt pity, while others undoubtedly saw an easy mark. Had it not been for the great tawny wings shielding her, leaving only her legs and ankles vulnerable, she might very well have fallen prey to thievery. Though the wings were made of glorious golden-brown feathers, each feather might as well have been cast iron for all the good it would do to try and inflict damage upon them. They are not infallible, but they came damn close.

Arriving at the bookstore, Kalliste reluctantly drew back her wings so she could gain entrance to the store, and manoeuvred around the swinging door. Each feather shifted back, a rippling shimmer retracting. A small, uncalloused hand reached out and pushed the door open. She stepped inside, hopefulness painted on her delicate facial features, her hazel eyes almost gold with anticipation. Perhaps she had found a reprieve, perhaps this might be a place she could disappear to when she grew overwhelmed. Perhaps this place might introduce her to likeminded individuals, similar to her, softer creatures. Then, Kalliste thought, she might feel a little less home sick.

[fiadh-aich]

With Doran in her little apartment, Fiadh was starting to agree with him she needed something bigger. Or at least an escape. Even with the change in locations to a manor, she would still want her busy places. Escapes from the quiet she preferred to exist in. A break from her patterns. Perhaps she needed a new on with how often she haunted the bookstore but she would look around for one another day. Today she wanted fiction.

A book to get lost in for a few hours while she played pretend, disappearing into her own mind the way she always had when changes swept past her faster than what was deemed acceptable. Back in Withermore she would have found herself with blood on her hands and laughter on her lips, hunting with Doran or one of her cohorts she had left behind. Maybe that was her problem, Fiadh needed to get out. Run. Chase. Hunt.

The man that Doran had brought her had satiated the hunger for now but it did nothing for the restless feeling in her bones. If only she knew what it was restless for. Even hunting didn't soothe the tingle in her marrow when it started. She knew it was something from before, something from who ever existed in this body before she did.

Fiadh's mind was full of thoughts of oblivion when the door opened and a new scent interrupted her absentminded tracing of the blue lines across her chest. Intrigue filled her as she observed the woman who made her way inside. She was a sight to never be witnessed again. She stank of grace and light, walked with the talent of a new born deer, and had a shadow made of wings. By the smell of her, she was much newer to town than Fiadh, maybe just as new to society. The winged woman smelled of somewhere Fiadh had never come across. It was different, and the red headed vampire liked that.

Time was never wasted on the arcane vampire, Fiadh slipped her way through the stacks to the other woman and pushed a smile to her lips as she approached.

"A long way from home?"

[fiadh-aich]

"You better." She said sternly, faking the anger in her voice. A peace had washed over Fiadh as she closed the door behind them. Warmth spread over her with his critic of her apartment's location. Doran. Doran was here. Her second savior. Her protector. Her favorite creature. She took in a deep breathe, taking in his odd smell then spoke to his back with faux exasperation as she dragged the man further into the apartment, "Gods it's like you think I can't take care of myself. I'm still not convinced you weren't turned by a cat."

Once upon a time that smell had been off putting, odd, distinctive, but now that was the smell of home. Here he was in her newest home, bringing a mess as he always did. What didn't expect was how welcome it was. She had missed him so much she had buried it under her books. It was so much easier to only think about magic and destruction than to dwell on the fact she had emotions that weren't rage or hate.

Rage had driven her her whole life. Or at least what she knew of it. If the magic that had changed her had changed her personality perhaps at one point she had been a girl of joy and naivety but she doubted it. Her drive for knowledge and power was carved into her bones. Doran had nurtured that in her before she even knew it about herself.

To Doran she always felt like a book that was written in a language he spoke long before they had ever met. There was never a thing she could keep from him, even if she knew there was plenty she would never know about him. It was a fact she accepted years ago. It didn't bother her as long as she had her Doran.

While he washed his hands, Fiadh couldn't stop her eyes from gluing themselves to his shoulders and as much as she missed him she couldn't stop herself from giving him attitude. "Maybe I didn't care if I was easy find. Maybe that's what I wanted." She challenged him. Of course she didn't want to be an easy target, but she didn't even know who she would be a target of and it seemed like an easy way to draw any curious parties out.

All of the fight drained from her when he turned to face her. A smile she tried to fight pulled at lips as he closed the space between them. When his lips found her forehead she all but collapsed into his arms. Being alone in this city had been weighing on her in ways she wasn't going to admit. But here was Doran, swooping in with perfect timing as per usual.

She sighed happily into his shoulder, tucking herself tight against him, arms snaking around him. The blood on his clothing met hers and she couldn't have cared less, this is what she wanted. She fought the urge to bury her face into him, to hide like she wanted to in the beginning, instead her fists twisted in the fabric of his shirt and she inhaled deeply. Time had passed enough that her things were starting to smell like Destarin instead of home. She hadn't realized just how much it had been weighing on her until that moment.

"Doran." She breathed his name into his collar like he was an answer she had been searching for and tightened her arms around him. Her voice was a quiet exclamation of gratitude hiding the loneliness she had been encased by whenever a book wasn't in her hand. She pulled back just a little to look up at him, eyes betraying the hope she had managed to school out of every other feature. "How long are you here?"

[hasbakianeji]

Better than ever really.

The lies his Uncle had told him, the image of her dead, it had all been to keep him in line, to make him feel as if the coven had control. Clearly it didn't. Not only was she alive but she was smiling, she was thriving.

He should have smiled back, it would have been polite, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He was angry in ways he'd never been angry before. The mental manipulations his Uncle had inflicted upon him had always felt very clear in his head, and either because of the emotional state he'd been in after letting Fiadh go, or perhaps blood loss, he'd allowed something to slip through the cracks of his awareness that resulted in him lingering in his coven for longer than he ever would have had he known the truth.

"I'm glad you're okay," he asserted, perhaps a statement that contrasted his features. "I was worried that you would not be," Hasbaki continued, eyes softening somewhat. He wouldn't bring her into the harm his Uncle had done, why tell her he'd thought she'd died. It was not her burden.

A smile did rise when she asserted his face had changed. "I look old now, you mean," he joked.

"Your face has also changed." Not because she'd aged even a single day but because she wasn't starved, wasn't on the run, she looked quite beautiful as she'd said, definitely a prettiness that while did not suit his nature he could see appealing to him at least in a capacity of comfort and kindness. He had believed her sweet when she looked worse, of course he would believe it now too. "I am glad you look so...well fed, and well cared for."

[fiadh-aich]

The air between them didn't taste the way his words were said. A taste that was much too familiar. She watched him carefully now. This wasn't the same boy from before in ways that weren't just age. Fiadh's chest felt cold when she questioned if his soul probed the world the ways hers did. There was no comfort in questioning she was full of. She imagined it was the same for him.

Her years with Doran had built her up in ways she didn't see in the man in front of her. Doran had been her family, her support, her light in darkness she hadn't asked for. At least, darkness she didn't think she asked for but she was never entirely certain. The shadows left behind from the erasure of her life before still hung over her, still hanging on by her curiosity, but Doran had wiped them from her eyes. They were no longer the only thing she saw.

"I'm glad you were the one to find me." Was all she said, there was no reason to push where it seemed he had a line in the dirt similar to her own.

His smile on the other hand, that changed things. No matter how small. His face changed for the better. Fiadh laughed lightly back at his response, and couldn't help herself. "You're much more handsome now if anything."

It was true in the ways that concerned her. She saw a man now, one with his own smile. Not a boy who had seemed as scared as she had been but a man who came with his own history. One who managed a joke in the face of a ghost. And she liked that. She liked the way his face changed.

His compliment was odd and it made her smile wider. There was only one other creature that had witnessed her in that state and Doran would have agreed. She was well fed and cared for, even if Doran was convinced she had an eating disorder. Her hand had floated to her cheek, fingers brushing her cheek absentmindedly as she thought about what she might have looked like at her worst. It was her turn to jest, "Thank whatever gods may exist for that. No one would sell books to a corpse."

[pandokofswamp]

Yazi nodded firmly, and gestured for her to follow, his back straight and his eyes scanning the streets for the route he did know. At her question, he did not beam, he was momentarily confused. “Well, I am, obviously.” It was not obvious, and he’d been told that enough times that he should at least know. “My witch changed my shape to look like this, but I am a Pandok. What are you?” They passed through the market, will all kinds of vendors trying to sell them things. 

[fiadh-aich]

As she followed she watched. He was an interesting thing to say the least, and she liked that. Smiling to herself at the first part of his reaction, Fiadh struggled to maintain the same pleasant look when he mention that a witch had changed him but all the same it remained even if strained.

She looked at the stalls they passed for a moment before answering with only a partial truth and a fangs to grace her smile, "just a vampire." Was her simple reply before redirecting, "Tell me more about the form you prefer? If you don't mind of course."

[djinnoffire]

@fiadh-aich

Notelaih did like to seek out those new to town, but with his increasingly demanding new position, his own dreamlike state about the friendship - or more - he had with Bella seemingly in bounds, he hadn’t had the time in some weeks now to see what fresh faces had made their way to the town he very heavily considered his home - perhaps outside of the desert his own home. His eyes roamed the streets with a fondness, amusement turning them amber, the seeking gaze of an extravert. He spotted a creature who couldn’t have so easily missed his gaze before then, with fiery red hair and a curiosity to her. 

He’d never been one for beating around the bush, his interest in those around him was one of the main reasons he hadn’t turned sour yet. As a semi-immortal, his final breath would be spend to send himself back to the desert he came from. But chaos kept him young and gave him boundless energy.

“Excuse me,” he said, tapping the stranger on her shoulder. “We have not met yet, I have a sense you are new to this place, or perhaps newly returned? Am I correct?”

[fiadh-aich]

The city itself hadn't changed in the aspect of architecture but in culture. Which threw her off in ways she hadn't expected. It had been weeks since she had been back, yet she hadn't mastered the streets. Perhaps she had spent too much time with her nose in books but she didn't care. She was taking her time getting to know the city as if she had never seen it before.

There was a beauty in the chaos that she reveled in. It was easy to get lost among the sea of creature. There was something refreshing about being new again. Maybe it was just the fact that was the only experience she was familiar with or maybe it was just the excitement. Again, she didn't particularly care. It was a feeling she enjoyed, there was no reason to dig any further into it.

She smiled genuinely sweet at the new voice as she turned to face the man who had grabbed her attention. "Either you've got much too time on your hands or you're wildly observant. These streets aren't mine to claim yet." She stuck her hand out, "I'm Fiadh."

[fiadh-aich]

The smell of blood tinged the air.

Fiadh shoved the thought down with excuses, a neighbor cut themselves cooking, another vampire brought home dinner, or maybe even she was imagining it. It wasn't as if she needed to drink blood at the time but living with Doran had built up her appetite and now she craved it more than she craved her bed back home. She shot a glance around the flat she'd chosen trying to remember where she'd put the book down she had been reading the night before.

The smell of blood was stronger now, closer.

Her eyes closed and she took a deep breath, enjoying the scent, before starting to pick up random titles. Almost every flat shelf outside of the kitchen area was covered in books on every type of vampire she'd ever encountered and a few on some she'd never heard of and yet none had anything she cared about. Maybe it was time to just have some fun. She was bored of these walls and sticking to herself. She flopped down on her back across her couch deciding to go out drinking. The smell of blood was too strong to ignore anymore, it was all but calling her name. Half way through the list she was running in her mind of what to wear out a loud noise came from her door.

She sat up staring at the door confused, who in this city knew her let alone knew where she was? Huffing, Fiadh pushed herself to her feet and swung the door open, anger passing immediately at the sight of Doran. Then flaring just as suddenly.

"I like that door mat." She pointed indignantly at his feet and the person in his grasp, as she held the door open wider "Well come in, come in. Out of the hall. And that better come out."

@forgottenbloodfather

[hasbakianeji]

The silence felt better than her words did. Though the intention of her words was, potentially, appreciation, Hastalik only felt a washing of guilt coming over him. Not only had he hunted her, but he had believed sparing her had saved her from nothing, and let her to be on her own. If he had not trusted his Uncle, trusted the mind tricks his coven played on him, then he could have gone after her, made sure she was okay. For all he knew since they had parted ways she had only suffered, maybe not at his hands, but at the hands of the world.

Hastalik shook his head, rejecting the thank you. "No, you are...I thought after I had left you, more had come. They told me more had gone after you," Hastalik insisted of his shock that she was alive, not intending for her to believe his words were spoken with a pride, like he had been a part of keeping her alive, when he had simply not done what he was told by his coven because he was too weak to see to his task. Weak on all accounts in his own mind.

"Are you alright?" he asked, worry still in his mind that not having checked on her after all his years meant she could have been suffering.

[fiadh-aich]

A smile she couldn't control bloomed slowly across her mouth, she hadn't ever considered that he thought about her again more than a fleeting thought. The mild amusement on her features was shadowed by knitted brows. She was missing a huge part of this story and it certainly played a part in how he was looking at her.

"I'm fine, better than ever really. I made it through Withermore and another vampire took me in. He kept me safe and taught me to fight on my own." She rocked a step back and motioned to herself, "Turns out I clean up nice and have a face many struggle to say no to."

She offered him a smile as she returned the question, "Are you? I never thought I'd see you again. Your face is so different now."

[pandokofswamp]

Yazi hadn’t picked out his own clothing since he’d become a two-footer. He thought it was ridiculous, that two footer skin wasn’t made to weather the elements. And Zaya always got the good deals. He had however brought clothes to the seamstress, since he ripped through them very quickly. He’d grown a lot in the past years.

“Oh! I think I know that place,” he said. “But I don’t know if I know the fastest route. I know how to get there from my place of work. So if you don’t mind a d-tour. If I were a Pandok right now I could fly you there, but I only have two feet.”

[fiadh-aich]

A smile bloomed on her face, he looked confident enough in the place she was fine to check it out. At worst it was going to be a very entertaining adventure based off of the side quest it needed to start.

"Whatever works best I'm in," she motioned with her arm for him to lead, "but please, tell me more about this Pandok."

[hasbakianeji]

Direct was certainly easiest, Hastalik had a hard time creatively lying without preparation and honestly was usually still only capable if he could convince himself the lie was, in some way, also true. When she offered a polite smile the man reached up with a dark hand, covered in tattooed markings and withdrew the mask that covered the lower half of his face. "You're alive," he noted, prepared for them to be confused if it was not who he thought, if his mind was playing tricks on him.

For all Hastalik knew Fiadh had never existed. So much of his upbringing his mind had been warped and twisted by his Uncle and his Father. Some memories he had in his mind had never been real, while some had been altered. Maybe he had never gone to the woods, maybe his Uncle simply used the likeness of someone he had seen to make Hastalik believe a story that he never been true. If she had been his Uncle had at the very least convinced him Fiadh had died, and clearly, whoever she was, she was very much alive.

[fiadh-aich]

Usually she wasn't one to stay unnaturally still but in this moment she had no other choice. His response was all but confirmation to her real question. She remained stilled for a few moments after his words before taking a few steps forward. This moment had crossed her mind so many times over the years, what if they met on the street, in a restaurant, a dark alley, a bar, the woods again? She had wondered if it was even possible. If he were dead after letting her flee. She had thought of what she would say, but here and now she didn't know what to say. So she simply said the one thing that had been consistent in every rehearsed speech, "Thank you."

[bellamychevasym]

"Perhaps I am fortunate, I do not foresee anyone expecting much heroism from me," she laughed. Bella could be kind, when she cared about people but it tended to take her a while to get there. The woman did not trust easily and did not waste her time on things that did not bring her joy. Sewing did, so it was easy to keep walking with the other, eventually reaching the establishment. "I think breaking some fingers will help you avoid that title, at least."

The woman offered a small nod as she pushed open the door, a few still lingering within who had waited for Bella so they needn't lock up. At least for herself she hadn't experienced many returns from the dead but she also disposed of her meals in the waters by the docks. Not much to come back from the dead when they had been torn apart by crustaceans and fish within the waves. "You are new to town then?" Bella asked as she gave a soft wave to the other seamstresses who took her arrival as a chance to slip out.

"I won't raise it too much," she offered, guiding the other vampire to a small curtrain she lifted to expose the small room that was her space. Each tailor had one, not big, but enough to fit someone on a small pedastill with a mirror by it, and a sewing machine. In Bella's own space as she lead her in there were also a few pieces on fitting forms that she was working on, embroidery clearly a theme of hers as both had very detailed bodices, and a tall cupboard left open and filled with various fabrics.

"I'll raise it enough to get rid of the damage and then I should be able to apply something to the end that will enforce it." It was what she was known for, incorporating magical elements into her work that suited who it was for. She could not do magic but she knew what potions to purchase, how to soak fabrics, what species of spiders to get threads from. "Certainly not. My sire is an alchemist, and while I do not have a knack for his gifts, I think I would do his teachings a great disservice to be careless with something requiring precision. If you'd like to stand on the pedestal I can take a better look at the hem."

[fiadh-aich]

"The perfect way to live, expectations are the death of most things interesting." She couldn't help but join in with the other's laughter. Conversations hadn't been this fun in much too long, Fiadh was enjoying herself and was thrilled with woman's response. "All I can ask for really."

The shop itself was more beautiful than she would have imagined, she trailed behind the dark haired vampire slowly as she looked around taking in the sights. The fabrics around them were so varied and unique. She was going to be spending a lot of money here. It took her a moment to drag her eyes away and respond the question after she heard it, "Yes, a change of scenery was in order so here I am. With quite the change on my hands."

The question brought her attention back to the matter at hand and she followed the woman further into the store. The second they entered the room her attention was captured immediately by the works in progress, making her reply a bit absent, "I trust you, do what you need to."

Fiadh turned back to her with a smile, "that would be incredible. Who knew wandering into a stranger was exactly what I needed to do." Following directions to step up, she thought over what it would have been like to learn from her creators. "An alchemist, that's absolutely fascinating. I can appreciate the mastery of applying someone's teaching of one subject to another. You must be an excellent student if your work implies anything." She nodded her head at the fitting forms.

[bellamychevasym]

Bella had perhaps been spending too much time with her sire, no laughter falling when it came from the other woman, but she did give a small smile, one that lingered at the woman's own comment. "Consequences? Of what exactly?" Bellamy asked, unsure of her meaning.

"So long as you're mindful of who they are you should be okay, I'd be more worried about breaking the wrong fingers. Broken fingers still connect to someone who can identify you to their guild or their lover." Bella was less afraid of a dead meal than a living one by a mile.

Bella glanced down at the edge of the woman's cloak and gave a slow nod. "I can see, perhaps raising the hem will help?" she suggested as they wandered still. "I work at Red Thread, I should be able to take a better look once we arrive. I am typically the only one who works nights so you may be stuck with me."

[fiadh-aich]

There hadn't been a lot of outward showings of emotions around Fiadh in Withermore so she wasn't certain where her own outbursts had come from and she'd never been one to shove down her reactions when it wasn't necessary. She knew there were plenty of people who judged her and found her annoying but the smile from the other vampire was more than enough of a response. "People developing expectations of me of course. Nothing is more annoying or dangerous than someone who sees a hero among common folk. Except, perhaps, being that imagined hero."

This was useful information, typical but useful. She made a mental note that a dead body was potentially a free pass but a broken one would possibly provide her with enemies to play with if she were bored. The smile on her face cemented further with enjoyment, "Memories do tend to be short lived without a living reminder."

"Probably what will have to be done, it was a gift and I should have had it altered before I decided to live in it," She laughed a little, her features widened with pleased surprise, "Although being stuck with you doesn't seem to be such a misfortune. Unless you're careless with measurements but I highly doubt that."