A Billy Blauter merfolks AU story for @thepromptfoundry event AU-gust 2026 day 16 merfolk featuring my ocs.
The mermaid prince Makoto Fiston sit down with the school of fishes for his lessons for today and the mermaid teacher starts the lessons by writing in the whiteboard.
A My Hero Academia merfolk AU for @thepromptfoundry event AU-gust 2026 day 16 merfolk.
The mermaid Mina Ashido pose on the rock by the shoreline to let tourists take pictures of her in order to earn money to clean up the oceans that Mina called home.
Not the way his brother could. Not the way he'd seen others in the taverns they'd visited drink.
He'd always traveled alone, and he needed his senses to be sharp…on point. To drink to excess meant to dull those senses and to put himself at risk. So he didn't.
Normally.
But normally didn't account for finding your half-brother and traveling with him for the last year.
Normally didn't cover finding your mother after years of searching and finding nothing, only to find her alive and well and find several other half-siblings…and to discover that she knew as little or less than you did about why you were taken from her in the first place.
Normally didn't predict your recently discovered half-brother who you'd been traveling with for the last year just casually dropping the fact that he had a seven year old son that he'd been hiding from the world at large for the child's safety, which also included off-handily mentioning how dangerous said brother's life actually is.
Nothing about the last several days had been normal. And while he'd been able to put on a front while Raxwel was present (who was apparently unbothered by any of the events of the last year), pretend that everything was fine and he was coping, he most certainly was not.
"I'll be back in a week or so. Takes me a few days to get to where I'm going and then I tend to stay a few days, visit."
"…Yeah."
Raxwel paused, glancing over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. "You sure you're going to be alright, Kyden? You've been real quiet since we got back."
"Huh? Oh." A quick shake of his head and he was able to refocus trying to offer what he hoped was a convincing smile. "I'll be fine. Just a lot on my mind is all."
Raxwel appeared…unconvinced. "…Alright. Well - anything happens, Finn is just outside the city walls. I won't be gone long."
That'd been a few days ago and in the days since his brother's departure Kyden couldn't help but wonder what other secrets the older man was hiding.
Those spiraling thoughts had kept him up - and the inability to sleep had led him here…the bar, half empty drink in front of him, his thoughts once again racing, now with the room spinning a bit on top of it.
He normally didn't drink…and it was nights like this one when he'd hoped the alcohol was going to take the edge off only to realize too far in that the only thing it'd manage to do was make everything worse, that he really remembered why.
The ruins of the Dae’menel estate were as quiet as they ever were. Any life that wasn’t the crawling kudzu or other encroaching plants was long departed, and the only whispers that echoed off the walls came from ghosts and memories. The Void held its breath here, waiting with eternal patience for the next guest. It knew who to expect, and when.
Ilvisar stepped into the dilapidated Grand Study and released a breath in a heavy, burdened sigh. A stranger might almost mistake him for someone mourning by the deep furrow of his brow. Oh, how wrong they would be. His boots left a mild imprint in the dust on the floor, punctuated by the soft click of his heels as he wandered slowly towards a particular bookshelf near a fireplace that had long since lost its warmth.
Of many books and knick-knacks on the shelf, his eyes lingered on one intimately familiar to him. It was a small thing, blue-violet steel with silver filigree- a portable armillary. Star charts and sigils and celestial markings ran the length of the various bands surrounding its center sphere, and at his approach, it emitted the softest hum.. as if, perhaps, saying hello. With gently outstretched fingers, he reached and touched the top band, running his fingers along it in a practiced motion, and closed his eyes.
As he opened them, he gazed into the study as it was in the past. Vibrant, bright, lively, and even though he could see where every shadow lurked- as he always could- there was no sense of fear. No dread. Already for millenia, the Void had woven itself into the fabric of Dae’menel; it was as normal to any of them as breathing. To some, it had even become comforting- that, he knew, was dangerous.
He saw himself through the armillary’s eyes- younger, rejuvenated, before age and loss had haggard his appearance and mind both. His wife sat on a large, plush chair next to a bookshelf, bouncing a young girl in her lap while she mouthed some wooden toy. An older boy chased another girl around the hall with a stuffed animal, his mouth open wide in what Ilvisar knew was his best impression of a beastly growl- a noise that only made his middle sister giggle as she fled the ‘predator.’
Moraethan.. what happened? The thought came with melancholy, as it always did. His eldest son- the one who broke away. Altherei knew that, now- at least in part. She had no idea how much the present mirrored the past.
The memories shifted, swimming together gently like paint on water. His children were adults now. His jaw clenched at what the armillary showed him. His youngest daughter- precious, sweet Felynndra- lay in a makeshift cot in the study, with her family circled around her. Her mother held one of her hands. He had laid one of his own on her forehead, keeping the sweat-soaked hair off her face.
He remembered being told of the Amani ambush- the Troll Wars had taken much from human and elf alike. He never expected one of their poisoned arrows would take his daughter. All their magic and all their healing, yet nothing could touch it, and all they could do was keep her comfortable as she wasted away to the edge of death. For days, she stayed there- too tired to live, but too stubborn to give up.
Ilvisar never forgot what he did the night she finally died, and before the armillary could show him, he pushed through to another memory. There was enough to overwhelm him already; he didn’t need more. For what seemed like an eternity, he watched those memories- Rina’s death, the quiet disappearance of his second daughter, Annasae.. he watched Moraethan bring his would-be wife, Linarra, into the picture. Light that pushed back all his shadow. He watched the explosive fight with his oldest son; watched him storm out in anger to never return. He still hated that woman. She changed him.
Corrupted him.
His fists clenched, and with a simple thought, he returned to the present. The armillary hummed quietly, merely a messenger. Why had he come here, again? It wasn’t to torment himself, that much he knew.
Altherei.
Ah, yes. He’d watched the unraveling of his own family to remind himself of what was at stake. The house, the legacy.. all of it would go to pieces if this last generation couldn’t be reached. But there was more to it, now. More of history repeating in ways that he found particularly enraging. Just as the Light had stolen his firstborn son.. he could see it stealing his great-granddaughter now, too. Everything he had done- every life taken, every harm done had been to set her on the correct path.
At every opportunity, she refused it. Resisted it. Threw it in his face. She didn’t even know the half of what he’d done to try and reach her. To guide her. The more he turned it over in his mind, the greater the well of anger swelled up within him. Ungrateful. Still, all hope was not lost. He had the eldest brother now- Eldwin- and all he needed to do now was not overplay his hand. He could still draw her back; he was confident of that. Family meant everything to her.
He strode back out of the study with purpose renewed, gaze steeled. She would unravel. He just had to pull the right threads.
The colors war in sweeps of limb and swells of melody.
That night you changed it all.
Confessions painted Azure and Crimson,
A chaos you made harmony.
Your petals stained by lives unlikely matched but eternally connected.
You a result of love in contrast but when combined…
A violet lily offered to me as motion turned to life.
Do they know that you are the masterpiece they created?
Do they see the beauty their mingled colors bloomed.
Tragedy and Turmoil,
Denial and despair,
That you exist in full vibrance and music…
Is the love that they tried so despeately to ruin.
You told me your story, and granted glimpses of theirs,
You lament and mourned the loss of both as you changed,
Not red nor blue but the combination of the two,
So neither,
And both,
Undeniably you.
How did they overlook the lily in their hues?
I immersed myself in the awe that you expressed,
I let the muse of you overwhelm me.
When I confessed I saw you,
The Violet light that saturated your features,
You tangled fingers into my hair and pulled me into you.
I did not know how much it meant.
It did not soak in until you told me…
That all those before took without asking…
That they knew your lips before they whispered 'yes'
You excused their actions but I did not.
You forgave their desires because they taught you to serve theirs…
But I implore you prince of lilies,
Do not let anyone choose your colors for you,
Do not let them take what is you from you.
Kiss the lips you wish to taste.
You owe them nothing…
You are not obliged to give yourself to anyone.
In your kiss my world began…
From your lips colors bloomed…
You gave it me freely with so much there to offer…
But I will never take it for granted.
And I will never stop hoping to inspire your Kiss a new.
Jaesalia lifted the heavy satchel that contained all that she held important in the world and stepped off onto the path that would lead her to the main road near her father’s house. Her father’s house. Not hers any longer. Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she walked on, Sage at her side. He let out a concerned soft yowl and she paused, digging her fingers into his furry collar. She steadied herself and pressed onward.
Torad Moondown had not reacted well to the news that she had given up her Farstrider title. It hadn’t mattered that she had said she’d be staying in Quel’thalas to help fight the Void. All that had mattered was that she had shattered the family legacy. He hadn’t kicked her out, not out loud, but the heavy tension in the house had been too much to bear. So she had gathered her things; a spare outfit, her journal, her mother’s book of dried flowers. And had left.
It was an overwhelming mess of feelings that laid itself bare in her heart. Grief, elation, a pragmatic dullness that seemed to be winning the fight against the other two heaviest emotions. She was preparing for a shift in who her commanding officer would be. She had given herself up to the Horde itself. They welcomed her with open arms, not caring for title or who her family was. She’d be given the choice of partner in crime once she was settled into the Wayfarer’s Rest.
She was hoping that she’d run into a certain Gilnean hunter. The pairings in this war mattered little. Even if they were with the ‘other side’. Factions didn’t matter when Azeroth itself was at stake.
She walked onward towards Silvermoon and an uncertain new beginning.
read more about this week's daily writing challenge here! @daily-writing-challenge
word count: 1830
content warning: anxiety (mentioned, no anxiety attack or panic depicted on-screen)
summary: Blix is coming down off a high from last night's concert. If only spinning up for today were just as easy.
mentions: @indy-et-al (for Indy and Iranji!)
━━━ . °‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡
It was a remarkable thing, thinking about how far Blix had come in the last months alone.
It felt like, in some ways, the world had entirely inverted onto its head; for all of the anxiety she felt (and the enchanted ring she wore to enable her to avoid being so massively flooded in her nerves that she'd be reduced to a gibbering mess in public), she was… happy.
But, the aftereffects always caught up, didn't they?
She'd taken on a challenge for herself, this week: work as much as possible, be seen as much as possible, with the simple interest of trying to acclimate to being recognized. Public. Maybe a hint of the same outgoing, fearless individual she'd once been.
And here she was, on day one, coming down from what was frankly an amazing show the previous night by curling under her bedsheets and dreading the fact that she had to go out again, tonight.
Granted, she liked Murloc Summer Camp! It wasn't something that she didn't enjoy by any means; she liked getting to see people enjoy the games, and the food, and socializing. It's just that it put her in a unique position where she was talked to and seen more often than not, and right now, that felt…
Suffocating.
When she was onstage, at least, it left her with the simple euphoria of pouring her heart into her voice and song and the subtle shift of bardic magic in the air; she wasn't entirely sure when she'd learned that skillset, but it helped. She didn't have to think about the crowd, didn't have to think about how violently close she'd be to fleeing and never coming back when she was performing. It was simple. Easy. She practiced until she couldn't make a single mistake, and that was that.
But when it was something like this - no persona to hide behind, no stage effects to mask the subtle quake in her fingers, it meant that she had to be unilaterally approachable. Social. Managed. She'd done a very good job in avoiding people picking up that she was, in fact, a certified anxious disaster, but it'd have to crack eventually. Especially when feeling the wave of embarrassment and shame wasn't an option, once people noticed the soothing ring she wore. When Indy (and Iranji, gods damn it) had noticed it, she'd been about ready to curl in on herself and die.
Blix wasn't always the type of person to need that much help. She knew, in her case, that the circumstances begat the necessity of it. It didn't change the fact that there was a significant part of her that felt mortified to need it at all. She wasn't… the best, about asking for help. This was known.
Still, sometimes, preparation for more than one social outing in a week's time meant that she'd drop off the face of Azeroth, and become a recluse for the days between; ordinarily, she cherished the safety of it. The quiet assurance that, yes, she'd be able to take that time and decompress.
The fact that she'd been so much of a high-grade moron to go without it, this week, drew a long groan from her as she buried her face in a pillow. This was answered by the insistent bap of a darter wing against her head, and she turned her head enough to crack a silver-shot, blue eye open at Tilly. "Not now, Tils," she mumbled. "Mama's brooding."
Tilly, remarkable little thing he was, had absolutely zero reservations about continuing his assault. Tilly, the asshole that he could be, didn't care about the "brooding" part. Particularly as his tiny voice rang out insistently: "Mama! Beeeeee-rry. Berry. Berryberryberry."
This, of course, was Tilly for "get your ass out of bed and stop moping, you have things to do". Blix took it as a personal affront, and so her arm lifted from behind the sheets to drag Tilly into a hug, trapping him in bed with her. "Talk shit, get hit, son," Blix muttered, her eyes sliding closed. "I'll get up when I'm ready to be people."
That, feasibly, could be never. Unfortunately for Blix, Tilly knew this too. He significantly and singularly did not like the idea of that, considering it meant no more berries. As a result, amongst his squirming, he let out a long, shrill squeak, the sound ringing through the bedroom sharply enough to have Blix wincing and pulling away from the source.
"Ugh! Tilly, stop, that's so fucking loud -"
The sound of a deep breath taken in was all the warning Blix got before she pointed Tilly directly at the ceiling, and a half-second later, the resulting sneeze that ripped from the darter painted the entire ceiling in luminescent glitter-snot.
Blix looked up at it, blinking, and slowly turned Tilly around to face her. "Dude," she whispered. "Why. You know I'm too short to get up there and clean it, why would you ever."
In response, Tilly blinked, squirmed out of Blix's arms, and fluttered down to the sheets, stomping them as if to say if you'd let me hit these, it would have only taken doing the laundry.
Blix sighed, throwing an arm over her eyes as a snot-droplet fell from the ceiling, spattering against her wrist. "I know, I know," she sighed. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have pointed you in a direction that would've been a pain to clean."
The sound of the door opening hit her ears, and the reflexive slam of survival instincts had her twisting out of bed, one hand already pulling the knife she kept under the mattress free as she stared the one responsible in the face.
A murloc, nearly full-grown, stared back, looked at the knife, and then back to Blix with the most reproachful look a murloc could possibly gather.
"Sh - ffh. Sorry, Webs, it's - it's a day." Blix tucked the knife back into place, sweeping her tangled hair from her face and straightening out of the defensive posture she'd taken. "What's up, bud, how can I help you."
Webs - Finley Webster McMurgletron Voronin, in full, and by his own choosing - was a recent addition to Blix's haphazard, broken little family. She'd come across him in the Darkmoon Faire, apprenticing an oracle and positively miserable; while it was clear he loved the work and what he did, it also rendered him an unfortunate target for ridicule and substandard living practices. Blix had empathized with the little guy, and when he'd looked at her with too-keen, wide eyes and asked if he could go with her (to "read the stars", as he'd put it), something had pulled at her heartstrings so hard that she couldn't help but say yes. That had been the reasoning behind Webster voluntarily accompanying Blix, pseudo-adopting himself into her care, and taking on her family name. "As a gessssture of resssspect," he'd said. Blix had been touched.
But times like this, him staring at her with those same wide fish-eyes from behind her cowl was fucking creepy, and it did nothing to lower the hackles that Blix had raised.
"I heard. A noissse," Webster explained patiently. "I wanted. To make ssssure. All wasss. Well." Those eyes tracked up to the ceiling, then to Tilly, and the murloc oracle shook his head in disapproval. Blix knew that Webster was older than most of the murlocs the members of the Cast Company had taken into their care; as a race that generally reached adulthood at twelve, the others had held their charges from the day they hatched. Webster, by comparison, was an outlier at nine, and held himself as if he'd already reached twenty. It'd resulted in a rather amusing dynamic, considering Tilly's youth, in which Webster had taken on the gratifying position of "older brother" to the darter. This was made evident as Webster shook his head, letting out a low gurgle of discontent. "You know. Better," Webster chided Tilly. "Ssssneezes. Go on the sssneeze cloth."
That much was enough to have a breathless, shaky laugh burst from Blix's throat as she swept a hand over her face. In recent days, since Indy had helped her finally break her curse (with the blessing of Gral, no less, thanks to a railing stolen from Iranji's ship and reshaped into a branch), Blix had felt a more keen sense of camaraderie with the murloc. Something about the seas, she theorized, helped tie them closer together. Granted, Indy had yet to meet Webster; something in Blix told her that despite the closeness she was attempting to rekindle with the druid, that… wouldn't necessarily be the best thing to spring on Indy without due preparation. But, that time was rapidly coming to a close.
Blix hoped Indy liked him. He was sweet, and introspective - a grand hero of his own imagination, with the potential to live up to it, if the world treated him right. Blix thought that they'd get along well, especially considering that on most occasions, Webster seemed more human than murloc.
Webster padded across the room, the sound of his fins hitting the floorboards marking each step before he gingerly scooped Tilly out of the bed and nestled the darter into the folds of his cloak. He looked over to Blix, studying her for a moment, then nodded once. "Today'sss cardsss," he said simply. "Three of Clamsss, reversssed. Prince of Pearlsss, upright. Four of Plankssss, upright. Your time to be alone. Isss ended. You are hard at work, and the resssults will bring. Harmony. Inner peace. Ssstay the courssse. It isss. Worth it. You are. Worth it. … Clean yourssself. I am. Excited for camp, today."
Webster's little lips curled up into the closest equivalent of a smile that he could manage as he carried Tilly out, a contented little mrgl escaping his chest, and Blix tilted her head as she watched the pair depart. Webster had a penchant for surprisingly-accurate readings; apparently, he'd never favored the Darkmoon style of vague, non-descript fortunes veiled in scam artistry. He had a genuine love of divination: of the cards, and of the stars, and of the secrets they held. It showed.
Blix let out a quiet sigh, her eyes tracking to the full-length mirror on the wall as she studied her reflection. Consciously, she straightened her back, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin. She watched as the timid posture of someone uncertain of their own existence melted away, and the sight of confidence in herself helped push away some of the fear she'd held.
"You know who you are," she whispered to herself. "You're Blix fucking Voronin Darktalon. No one in this world can tell you otherwise. No one can take yourself from you. Now get out there and have a good day, like the badass you are."
Yeah. Yeah. Maybe today wouldn't be quite so frightening, after all. It was a hope she'd held every single dawn, but… this time, it felt a little more real.
(( DWC august 2026, Day 1, Overwhelm/Soak, @daily-writing-challenge CW: none ))
"We should have brought some gas masks."
"And miss this once in a lifetime odor?" Lorellai took in a deep breath, then gagged on the odors. "Okay yeah it's pretty gross down here."
Enid rolled her eyes at her diminutive companion. She'd been called up by Crusader Lord Dolraan to assist with the situation, but then gotten rug pulled when he revealed that he and a few of his usual comrades were staying in Silvermoon to assist the hunt for the Harbinger, leaving her to join what was left in the field. A field so disgusting it made her nostalgic for the plaguelands, or Drustvar before them.
The peal of an amani warhorn broke her from her reverie, as she and Lorellai turned their attention to the north. Lorellai put away her scanner. "Looks like the dead are getting restless again, that's your specialty right, miss Enid?"
Enid grinned, summoning lightning to her hands and forming it into a pair of axes. "First, no miss, Enid's fine. Edmund would never let me heard the end of it if he thought I was putting on airs with you. Second, you're damn right it is, let's send these old bones back to their rest in pieces."
"Fewest kills pays for the bathhouse!" Lorellai yelled as she hurled her grapple out, swinging down. Enid growled as she leapt down and gave chase, now definitely in no mood to hold back, lest those wonderful aromatics empty her infantry salary purse.
Terry looked up from the stack of reports and proposals on his desk, hand already halfway to the pistol he kept in the top-right drawer. It wasn't that shouting was particularly noteworthy in his keep, and certainly not on the approach to his office; it was that usually it was either his wife doing the shouting, or someone he needed to deal with in a swift and potentially permanent manner. Assassins were an aggravating waste of his time and effort and he typically opted to just take care of them on the spot. They couldn't all be Tully.
His millisecond musings were interrupted by his younger brother exploding through the door, ahead of shouted apologies from his bodyguard and a fairly half-assed warning from Wolf that did nothing but make him pause just long enough to get punched full in the face.
"D'AH! Leroy wot th' fuck?!" Terry rocked his jaw back and forth, testing his teeth as he put some distance between him and the other man who was sliding over his desk with clear intent to hit him again. Leon wasn't usually this pissed without reason, even if the reason was stupid, but Terry couldn't recall anything he'd done of late to warrant it. The notion that Leon was possessed or under the influence had of course struck him about the same time as Leon's fist had, but for the moment, all he did was grip the gun tighter, not raise it.
"You arrogant prick!"
Okay so possession was off the list. Leon called him that all the time, and sometimes it was facetious. This time, to judge by the red to the younger man's face, it very much was not, but Terry wasn't entirely sure what he'd done yet. Sometimes Leon was also right, which was the worst part of it all. But also, getting punched in the face fucking hurt.
"Y'already got yer free shot, Leroy, yer not gettin' another, so talk or square up proper!"
Leon wanted to go for him again, but by the time he'd vaulted over that enormous desk, his broken ribs had reminded him they were there and started shrieking, and he was privately thankful Terry spoke up to give him an excuse to slow down. Even as furious as he was, broken ribs ranked close to the top of the most bullshit non-lethal injuries, and he really, really wanted to stop making it worse. But he also still really wanted to hit Terry again.
Alas. Priorities.
"A bruffalon! In Gilneas! An' you let it roam like tha'? It was suffering!"
Terry blinked. "You found it?--wait, I didn't let it ro--wait, suff'rin'? Wot th' fuck 'appened?"
That both was and was not the response Leon expected. The blend left his temper to fall back from 'raging' to 'seething,' so he was at least better able to concentrate and realize he hadn't even tried to explain. That was how the wolf did things. Not him. Do better, Leon.
"Astaroth said you told 'em about an escaped pair. We..." He paused to get his breath back; the problem with forcing his temper to the back-burner was that his ribs forced their way back to the fore instead. "...found one. On our hunt. Not b'fore it found some leftover blight somewhere. Absolutely pitiful state... not pitiful enough not t' wreck my shit. You need a- mngh- cleanup crew by th' li'l village down th' coast a ways... got th' location...marked."
He wheezed, and finally sat down (despite the motion making it hurt way more for a minute) in Terry's chair. The older man opted not to complain about this; he'd clocked Leon's battered state once the guy had slowed down a little. Pretty distinctive wheeze, and the creaky movements clinched it. He'd be sympathetic if Leon hadn't busted in and clocked him to start their day.
"I did ask 'em t' let me know if you two found 'em..." Terry clucked his tongue in annoyance and finally safetied and holstered his pistol. "Th' boys I sent out 'adn't 'ad any luck, so I figgered best warn y'. Fin'ly got my first breedin' pair out 'ere, but th' pens were... insufficient." He rubbed at his forehead, suddenly aware of how tired he already was. "They 'ave much less courtesy than elder'horn. Broke right through, didn't even gimme time t' turn around."
"An' 'ow th' shit did we find it before you did?"
"I can't-- I 'ave t' be 'ere, Leon! I can't fuck off t' chase down an escaped animal anymore! Seein' to a san'layn friend o' yours an' makin' sure they know th' score an' I know their face so they don't get murdered th' second they set foot 'ere, tha' I kin make th' excuse for, but findin' a bruffalon? Tha' shoulda been easy, an' I'm gonna strangle th' incompetent fucks I sent out t' do it--"
"Bullshit! Dwyn kin take care o' wotever you can't until y'get back!"
Terry went a bit wooden, then looked at the pile of papers on his desk. "...She's gone."
Leon paused mid-tirade. "Fuck y' mean, gone?"
"We were--" His face twisted up until he forced himself to stop, huffing out an exhausted breath. "--in th' Voidspire. She didn't... come back. I don't know... where she is, now."
Even admitting that left Terry drained; Shedwyn had been invaluable in helping him keep the affairs of his protectorate in order. For one thing, she was far more used to it than he was, though he was learning. Shu-fen was filling in the gaps admirably and she got along with him well, but there were countless minute things that she would check in with him on where Shedwyn wouldn't, and while he respected that, he really needed that time. And, of course, no matter what Terry wanted, she couldn't sign off on anything that required the input of either the Baroness of the Brightwood or the Viscount of Keel.
Terry prided himself on his ability to find absolutely anyone, least of all his wife. Now it turned out he couldn't find a rampaging ungulate in his own backyard, either. He'd had to make the decision not to be the man who dropped everything for his animals for once, because it had been either that, or neglecting his people and his family, and he couldn't accept that. He'd reconciled with that by assuming any novice tracker could find a fucking bruffalon in Gilneas, but apparently, he couldn't have anything nice these days.
And his wife was still gone. For all he knew, she was lost in the Void; he couldn't do anything but move forward and hope for news. No body, no death, but what was the difference right now?
The man finally slumped against the wall, sliding his hand across his eyes and staying that way for a moment. He was already so tired. Worrying took as much out of him as the fucking desert.
Not even Leon, injured and enraged, could maintain his anger in the face of his brother showing visible exhaustion. "...You've got blight tha's still volatile an' accessible somewhere close by. Y' gotta find tha' b'fore anythin' else does. It prolly won't be difficult, once y' get t' th' body. I kin show you. We'll deal with it."
Terry looked up, blinking blearily. He was admittedly dense in personal matters, but even he could recognize Leon offering him a lifeline. For all his annoying little-brother faults, Terry realized that Leon was smart and had figured out immediately that he was being given the kind of task that the local authority--him--should see to personally.
"...yeah. Yeah, okay. I'll get my kit. You come straight 'ere?"
"Might've."
"Go get yer ribs mended, y' fuckin' numpty. Lucien's--" He frowned, then pushed off from the wall. "I think Lucien's 'ere t'day? I don't--fuckin' 'ell." Terry genuinely hated not knowing where anyone was at any given time, it left him feeling helpless and set him on edge.
"Go, get some bloody coffee, get yer kit. I'll get m'self sorted."
This goes with the Midnight Mercenaries Prompt
And Dicenne's story for today too!
Part of the crew of the Lady Lillium had only just arrived at the Amani Foothold, descending into the Vaults to prepare for a contract of their own. There was little to like about the place. It was dark and dank, there were toxic pools and lakes everywhere, and the air carried the unpleasant mixture of something that should probably not be breathed into the lungs. This place sucked. Ryland was finishing an adjustment to his leather armor and checking the placement of his dagger at his hip when quick movements near the stairs caught his attention.
Well now those were a couple faces he wasn’t expecting to see.
Nahilvi and Kaisina were suddenly hurrying toward the edge of the steps that led deeper into the Vaults, both staring toward something happening farther down the passage. Ryland followed their line of sight and caught glimpses of a wagon sitting crookedly in the roadway, surrounded by defenders struggling to keep a mass of serpentine creatures away from it. Whatever had happened, it was serious enough to pull both women away from the relative safety of the Foothold. "What happened?" Ryland called, already moving toward them. There was no time for small talk.
“Our crew…” Nahi pointed towards the caravan.
Ryland exchanged a quick look with Felonous, who was already assessing the distance to the stranded wagon, while Viggo, Red, Brute, and the others fell naturally into position around them. As they descended, the sounds of combat became more clear, and Ryland caught sight of familiar faces fighting desperately around the damaged cart. Dicenne, Tinnaire, and Fiorenze were the ones easy enough to pick out, and about to get completely overwhelmed as the creatures poured out of cracks in the walls and ground from every direction.
"Well shit." Ryland's expression sharpened, though the confidence in his posture never disappeared. These were people he knew, people he worked with and partied alongside, and there was no question about whether those of the Lady Lillium would leave them there. Felonous didn't waste time explaining the decision because none was necessary, he simply drew his sword and dagger and continued down the stairs, the rest of the crew moving with him.
The battlefield opened beneath them in a violent wash of venom, steel, and magic. The wagon was completely immobilized, one broken wheel leaving it tilted while Dicenne somehow held part of its weight and the defenders fought to keep the wounded from being reached. Toxic pools bubbled across the stone, neon green eggs ruptured beneath the fighting, and venomous projectiles cut through the air in every direction. Ryland looked over the battlefield once, measured the distance, and smirked to himself.
Ryland blinked a couple times across the battlefield in a flash of Arcane light, appearing beside the stranded wagon with his dagger already drawn. He landed lightly on the balls of his feet, straightened, and looked around at the chaos with an almost delighted smile. "Sup, friends! Looks like you guys could use a hand." Before anyone could answer, he spun beneath a venom-coated blade, came up behind the attacker, and drove his dagger cleanly into its side.
A pistol cracked from somewhere above them. One of the serpent-seers jerked backward and collapsed before it could loose its spell, followed by another shot that struck a second target between the eyes. Ryland glanced upward just in time to see Viggo calmly lower his pistol, cigarette still between lips, and began descending toward the fight, already reaching for his shotgun. "Took you long enough," Ryland teased. Viggo simply grinned, racked the weapon, and stepped into the fray.
The Lady Lillium crew fell into the battle like a well-oiled machine that had already been tested many a time. Felonous drove forward with sword and dagger in tandem, the two blades moving seamlessly together as he cut through anything threatening the defenders around the wagon. His sword carved through the chaos while his dagger followed in quick strikes that would kill the enemy on the spot. Red moved differently, slipping between openings with his own sword and dagger combination, striking from unexpected angles before vanishing back into the confusion. Neither needed to call for space or warn the other, they knew where the other would be, and their movements naturally complemented one another.
Brute hit the enemy line like a living battering ram…battering bull? There was a joke in there somewhere. He caught one serpent by the throat, lifted it clean off the ground, and hurled it into another before driving his one good horn into a third hard enough to send it sprawling. Another attacker swung at him from behind, only for Brute to catch the weapon in one hand and stare at the wielder for a moment before punching it squarely in the face. He released the broken weapon and kept walking.
Ryland laughed as he watched Brute tear through the formation, then immediately turned as another serpent lunged toward him. He ducked beneath the attack, swept one leg out to unbalance the creature, and finished the motion with a dagger strike before blinking backward in a streak of Arcane. The movement carried him several yards away, where he landed in a smooth turn and immediately raised one hand toward a gathering group of serpent-seers.
Brilliant Arcane light curled around Ryland's arm and spiraled outward, forming several luminous copies of himself that darted in different directions and drew the serpent-seers' attention. The real Ryland appeared above them in a flash, dropped through the center of their formation, and released a concentrated burst of Arcane that threw the casters backward. He landed lightly among the scattered enemies, dagger already flashing as he cut down the closest survivor before blinking away again.
Ryland brushed his shoulder and winked at the closest Amani defender before moving back toward the wagon. His magic wasn't something he treated as a last resort, nor was his dagger merely decoration. He moved between the two instinctively, using whichever was best suited to the moment. Against one enemy he might disappear in a blink and appear behind it with his blade already moving, while against a cluster he could turn the entire battlefield into a dazzling display of Arcane destruction.
Viggo was making his own path through the melee now. The pistol had disappeared, replaced by his shotgun, and each thunderous blast sent another serpent staggering backward before he closed the distance with his dagger. He moved with the same confidence he had shown from above, picking his targets quickly and never wasting a shot. Ryland watched him blast a creature square in the chest, the force sending it hurtling backward into another wave of incoming coilers. The collision sent them all tumbling over the edge of the nearby cliff. Cool.
Felonous and Red were already several yards ahead of them. Felonous intercepted a serpent attempting to flank the wagon, his sword catching the creature's weapon while his dagger struck beneath its guard in one clean motion. Red appeared beside him almost immediately, sword sweeping across another attacker before his dagger finished the movement. Their coordination was without fanfare, each fighter adjusting his position around the other without breaking stride.
Then a toxic tornado began forming farther down the passage. The swirling mass started throwing venomous globules across the roadway, forcing fighters to scatter and threatening to reach the wagon. Ryland raised both hands and threw up an Arcane barrier, the impact splashing across its surface hard enough to make the shield shudder while the others used the brief protection to reposition. The barrier began to buckle, but Ryland held it until Talonoa stepped into position. He had never met the man before, but given the intimidating presence, he assumed this was their Commander.
Frost spread across the battlefield, and Talonoa froze the poisonous mass in place before it could reach the wagon. Ryland lowered his hands and gave him a quick, appreciative nod as he slipped his dagger into a reverse grip. The frozen tornado shattered moments later, scattering poisonous fragments across the roadway, but the interruption had given the defenders exactly what they needed.
At the Foothold, Kriell had never left his position among the other healers. The wounded were beginning to arrive in waves, and he calmly moved between them just long enough to determine what they needed before sending them toward the appropriate care. When the Light could be tolerated, it flashed from his hands in quick, controlled bursts, stabilizing bleeding and closing lesser wounds before the injured could deteriorate. For those whose bodies rejected the Light, Kriell's other talent became invaluable, drawing on the patient's own blood to pull wounds closed.
Back in the chaos, the defensive line finally began moving. The wagon lurched forward as the wheel locked into place, and everyone around it shifted to begin clearing a path toward the stairs. Ryland dropped toward the rear of the formation, blinking from one side of the passage to the other and appearing wherever a serpent threatened to close the gap. When too many enemies gathered in one place, he raised a hand and sent a brilliant wave of Arcane sweeping across them, then immediately returned to the practical work of cutting down whatever survived. He fought with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what his crew could handle and exactly how much space they needed.
A serpent came flying through the air from somewhere in the mass of melee, tumbling end over end before landing squarely on a charging Brute's horn with a sickening shunk. Brute didn't even stop, he simply shook his head, sending the impaled creature flying, and continued forward as though nothing unusual had happened.
Ryland stared for half a second before his face split into a delighted grin, serenading the tauren at the top of his lungs, "He came in like a wrecking buuuuulll!" It was probably inappropriate, but so was this crew in general. This is how they fought, this is how they survived. Brute looked over at him, and the two shared a grin before Brute gave him a big, doofy thumbs-up. Then he lowered his head and charged straight back into the enemy line.
Ryland laughed so hard he nearly lost his footing before catching himself in another graceful Arcane blink. He reappeared several yards away with his dagger already moving, carving through a serpent that had tried to take advantage of his distraction. The moment passed as quickly as it had arrived, and the crew continued their retreat without missing a beat.
The combined assault began driving the enemy backward. Every creature that slipped through was met by steel, gunfire, magic, or Brute's fists and horn, and every member of the crew seemed to know exactly where the others would be before they moved. There was no panic in their retreat and no frantic shouting between them. Even when the battlefield became chaotic, those of the Lady Lillium remained coordinated, each person trusting the others enough to concentrate entirely on their own piece of the fight.
One by one, the wounded disappeared up the stairs and finally, the remaining serpent forces broke and fled back into the darkness. Ryland landed from one final blink, dagger lowered at his side as the last Arcane sparks faded from his fingertips. Around him, the passage was a mass of broken weapons, shattered eggs, smoking stone, and venom that continued to hiss where it had spilled. It wasn't pretty, but the wounded were safe, and everyone they had come to help had made it out.
Ryland wiped and sheathed his dagger, looking over the wreckage one last time. Between the venom-scorched armor, damaged weapons, and the number of people who would probably need a healer’s attention once they got back, there was going to be plenty of work waiting for them at camp. He glanced toward the darkened depths of the Vaults, then back to Felonous with a tired grin. "So, uh..about our own contract. Can we maybe just…not instead?"
A classic trope filled with chaos, romance, drama, or annoyance. There’s nothing worse for a character than sharing a bed with someone nobody likes. On the other side of the spectrum, sharing a bed with their crush might just make their boring business trip worthwhile. It was just a booking mistake, and there are no other rooms! What else can they do?
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