#aeriswrites

[catsfeminismchocolate]

So much for chivalry

I was going to draw a comic for this but it’s taking too long to get past the super sketchy stage! so.. Soon(TM). It’s not edited or proofread but it was fun to write.

The lumbering Norn crashed his way down the 10 storey tower, wailing as he fell. By the undoubtedly unhelpful railing at the top, stood a tall, fiery-haired woman with her hand over her mouth, a shocked look on her face. 

How did we get here?

It was a rowdy night at the Crow’s Nest, Lion’s Arch recently renovated bar. Perched high atop a spiraling staircase, it was the perfect place for patrons to climb up to the watering hole and be too drunk to crawl back down. Sølvi, at the insistence of her wonderful but pushy friends, had planted herself at one of the more reasonably sized bar tables for her large frame. She was thankful that the multicultural city allowed for multi-sized furniture, but was also more grateful for the appropriately Norn-sized pints the Nest provided. Here she was meant to meet someone who, Sølvi’s friends hoped, would not only not be intimidated by the Commander but also melt the ice around her heart. Or at least give her butterflies. Anything, really. 

The evening began smoothly. Live music set the tone, and not one to shy away from chanting sea shanties, Sølvi sang along. After a thorough warmup of her vocal cords (and several ales to help), she’d relaxed and let her hair down a little. Hopefully, with her tangle of red curls released, and her armour traded for a more casual attire, she wouldn’t be so easily recognised as the Slayer of Dragons (the title of Slayer of Issormir now long forgotten for her more ambitious exploits). Soon enough, the lone woman was accosted. So this is tonight’s handsome prince, she thought. Not too much of an eyesore. He approached her, drink in hand and a charismatic smile on is face. With one swift look up and down, she assessed him: tall (but still a head shorter than her), muscular but soft around the middle, hair partly tied in braids framing his rugged face. The tattoos snaking around his tanned forearms hinted at a nautical life; she could appreciate a sailor’s looks, but wasn’t too keen to put up with a sailor’s idea of flirting - particularly if he’d already downed a few. 

“Why hello, lass. Are you the one Morgana has been telling me about? She wasn’t lying when she said I’d be able to spot you in a crowd,” he said with a gruff voice. “Mind if I join you at this minuscule table?” Sølvi managed a smile — her friends, including the aforementioned Morgana, had told her this would ‘help’ — and motioned for him to join. It wasn’t uncommon for her hair to be the first point of conversation, but she hoped that it wouldn’t be the only one. “Morgana pointed you the right way. What’s your poison?” Sølvi extended her hand and the two grasped forearms. She made a mental note of his dirty fingernails. The man introduced himself as Leopold. He was drinking ale imported from Snowden Drifts’ large (and only) brewery. Not too bad. 

So they conversed, he was kind enough to buy her more drinks and she was fortunate enough that he was so impressed with himself that she did not have to say much about her own accomplishments. ‘The men in LA don’t like to be outdone,’ her friends had told her. There likely wasn’t a man in Tyria Sølvi hadn’t outdone, and she wondered why it was encouraged to spend time with people who were so insecure in themselves they couldn’t handle getting their egos bruised, but she kept the advice in mind and she kept her words to herself. 

Leo seemed to be quite pleased with himself. As the alcohol replaced his blood he grew more jovial, and more bold. So far they’d covered the weather, LA’s transformation, his work, his thoughts on music, and his apparently valuable opinion on beer. Sølvi, on the other end, had slowly but surely tuned out of the conversation. That is, until she was jolted out of her reverie by the surprise of a foot rubbing against her own. More bold indeed.  “So, what do you think of all this Elder Dragon business?” Ah. The dreaded question. She opened her mouth and began to speak but was quickly cutoff by Leo’s abundant expertise. Sølvi retracted her foot. Leo, undeterred, framed the side of her that was open to the rest of the bar with his leg. “I think it’s all a bit of nonsense. Blown up to be a big deal, you know? Zhaitan, Mordresomething and Kraalky. People call them elder dragons, but we - us Norn - know the truth. The only dragon that’s out there that’s big enough to pick a fight is Jormag, and even then, that one’s not all bad.” At this, Sølvi raised a brow. With three dragons killed by her hand, she was curious to know how exactly another one could be ‘not that bad’. “In what way?”Leopold leaned forward in his seat, beer breath becoming uncomfortably close for the woman. “Jormag is quite generous to us fishers. Whenever we go north to the Sound, there’s always plenty to catch.”“You think that’s because of Jormag, not because it’s a mostly untouched area where the Koda work to maintain balance?”He shook his head. “My Captain has spoken to the dragon, struck a deal with them. We are granted safe passage and overflowing nets, and in exchange, all we need to do is carry an effigy of Jormag aboard ship and speak of their good favour.”The alarm bells rang in Sølvi’s mind. This man could be a Son of Svanir, or at least following the orders of one. She downed her pint in preparation to leave — but she did want to ask one more question. “Do you think that the Pact Commander will defeat Jormag?”At this, he guffawed, rocking on his bar stool. Sølvi’s face turned sour. “Of course not, you funny lass. Braham’s the one who chipped the tooth, a task only a good Norn man could possibly achieve. The whole pact commander thing is pish, if you ask me, all a marketing or a diplomacy ploy. They need someone to be a face, so they’ve put that woman up there. Bad news sounds better when it comes from pretty lips.” He leaned forward again, and this time, snaked a hand up her thigh. “Say, you’ve got quite pretty lips too — what do you say, shall I take you back to mine so you can sit on my —”Before he had a chance to finish his unsavoury sentence, Sølvi grabbed his grubby calloused hand and slammed it onto the table, twisting his arm in the process. Leo stammered, drunken mind too slow to comprehend where his charm failed him. With one swift motion Sølvi kicked his chair from underneath him and he fell, knocking his jaw against the wood. She brought his arm behind his back.“Don’t speak to me or Morgana again.” Without a second wasted, the hot-tempered woman picked him up as if he weighed a feather (though the powerful rippling muscles in her arms indicated otherwise), and unceremoniously threw him off the side of the Nest. 

So we have come full circle: a man falling from a tower, and Sølvi at the top, hand over her mouth. Though it was not in shock, but due to the unpleasant realisation that this would undoubtedly be her third strike. Sure enough, a shrieking voice from behind her commanded her to “GET OUT!”. Sølvi finished Leopold’s drink, observing the bar’s stunned silence, and then saluted the band as she made her final exit. She departed to a round of cheers and hoots, and made the most of the commotion by grabbing a bottle of rum off the table of patrons nearby. She would be missed. 

[aerisdraws]

Owl & Raven

My entry for @tyrias-library’s Valentines writing event. The prompt is Soulmates. I hope everyone feels loved, by themselves and others, this Valentine’s season!

Fire and snow. Mountains and valleys. Tradition and innovation.

All of these things complete each other in an eternal cycle. Without one, you could not have the other. No matter how far apart, the two would find each other. The very axis of Life and Death was centered on this principle. Time and space could not withstand the impossible, all-consuming inevitability of fate.

These are how immortal bonds were forged. The great scales of balance would swing, back-and-forth, forever seeking true equilibrium. Occasionally, this pure balance was reached – if only for a second, before the sway of destiny continued.

This unbreakable bond defined everything: from the rise and fall of empires; the life and death of the Dragons; the ebb and flow of money, magic, love, rain… It is what created mortal enemies and destined lovers.

The Norn have a complicated relationship with fate and destiny. On rare occasions it is said that a particular Norn is ‘destined for greatness’… or to fall. Creating one’s own legend, carving their name in stone, is no small task. To give credit to fate for your own blood, sweat and tears would be an insult to any Norn. It is not destiny who decides whose story shall be sung by the skaalds; it is the people… yet one cannot help but wonder what thread binds us all together.

Kàra has gazed up at the stars on many nights, pondering the question. Do these faraway glinting lights hold the answers we seek? Does the past decide the future? She lived a simple life, deep in the snow-capped mountains of the Shiverpeaks: her and her six sisters, along with her parents. They led a secluded life, but Kàra was not one to wander far. Family was everything to her. What point was there in going on grand adventures, if you had none with whom to share it? What did your successes matter, without people to celebrate along your side? She took immense pride in helping raise her sisters and caring for her elders. The biggest adventures for Kàra were her trips to Hoelbrak every few months, to gather supplies her family could not obtain in the wild… and also hair dye. Even hermits have their frivolities.

The teal-haired giantess still remembers the day of her fateful trip to Hoelbrak. Her second sister, Astrid, had told her to keep an eye out for omens. Astrid had always been an odd one, dabbling with death and dreams. She’d taken to practicing reading palms, which had earned her quite a bit of mockery among the nearby villagers – what kind of self-respecting Norn would believe in a story pre-written? It was known, you make your own fate. Still, Kàra kept a lookout for those omens.

Some internal pull, a curiosity, had led the giantess to the Spirit lodges. Her family had a long history with Owl, but since her sacrifice, they turned to Bear. She was going to visit Bear Lodge first, but… when an owl crossed her path and perched itself upon the ice sculpture of Raven, Kàra was compelled to follow. Omen or not, she could visit Bear later.

It was at that moment that the threads of their fate intertwined.

He was sitting at the back, by the fire. A great feast lay on the table nearby, pecked and picked at by the shamans and visitors. This great man, sitting by himself, had one small plate in front of him. What intrigued her about him was that this man was satiating his hunger not with food, but with a book.

He spotted her. She stood out like a sore thumb, a wild animal in a library, tall and dark-skinned with teal hair. She looked about the room and walked as though the walls would close in on her. The raven-haired giant had handled fire before, an untamed and primal force. With a warm smile and a warmer voice, he invited her to join him at his table. So she did. She introduced herself as Kàra Skögul, daughter of the Hermit. He was Thorvald the Ironclad, forgeman and follower of Raven.

Fate was sealed.

From that day forth, Kàra would venture to Hoelbrak not only for supplies, but also to visit him. Over delicious homemade meals, he expanded her world: from reading and writing to tales of lands beyond the snow. Of course any follower of Raven would enjoy teaching, and Kàra was an eager student. In exchange, she told him of her life in the mountains, the stories behind her scars, hunting with her sisters. Thor was an odd one, wearing human clothing, sipping wine from strange nations, and generally being… very unlike other Norn. They were each unique in their own way.

Snow falls, and snow melts. Fire blazes, and smoulders.

In time they were brought onto their own paths, drawn apart. Months would go by without any word from one another, but Kàra knew she would see him before long. Her sisters wondered why she was suddenly so excited to return to Hoelbrak – didn’t Kàra hate crowds? – but she never spoke a word of it.

Their threads wove together, and apart. The wheel turned, as did the seasons.

Kàra returned for supplies.

She returned for stories.

For comfort and help, after her youngest sister was murdered.

For healing when strange new powers overtook her.

And, finally, for a home.

It was not the first time Norn had been through an exodus – but it was a first for her, to be exiled. Banished from her homelands until she won the favour of the Spirits once more.

The threads that bound Kàra and Thorvald together finally united as they swore their loyalty to one another.

With whom better to forge a legend, than one of the greatest smiths?

With whom better to hound glory, than one of the finest huntswomen?

[aerisdraws]

Under the snow moon

Big thank you to my guild Mistspread [FOOLS] for hosting a wonderful full moon tarot night guild event. Special thank you to @lesbiancharr​ for being an excellent photographer and the card reader! Thanks to all those who read this story and provided feedback. 

The wind howled outside the mouth of the cave, occasionally triggering an eerie hum that echoed through the tunnel. Snowflakes swirled at a breakneck pace — the blizzard was picking up, and it was going to be a long night.

Solvi prowled along the cold rocky walls, her footsteps soundlessly landing in Sahar’s, the snow leopard that preceded her. Sahar’s spotted silver coat blended almost seamlessly with the surroundings as the feline cautiously stepped forward. There were ice imps in this cave, and while they were only a minor threat, they remained a nuisance. Best to avoid them, particularly as they attacked in swarms. Together they quietly traced the outline of the underground system.

The pair had initially entered the cave seeking shelter, but as they wandered deeper, the soft sound of voices bounced off the walls. Solvi could make out both male and female voices, so it couldn’t be Svanir, and they lacked the rich timbre of Kodan. As they snuck closer to the source, it sounded like... a party?

Solvi rounded the corner, bow in hand with a notched arrow, ready to get the drop on hostiles. Sahar crouched low, bracing to pounce. A large room came into view, carved into the belly of the mountain, and the occupants were revealed. 

To say it was a party was an overstatement, but it was a merry band of... she couldn’t quite tell. There were many sylvari — surely they’d freeze in this arctic weather? — and a handful of humans, as well as a number of charr. The last were not a big surprise, considering the proximity of the charr tribelands to norn territory, but these didn’t look like legion soldiers. 

“Relax,” she whispered to Sahar. Solvi stowed her bow. These people were unlikely to pick a fight, and they’d likely be more inclined to share the warmth of their fire with her if she approached them in a friendly manner. She considered removing her mask, but decided that she’d rather not run the risk of being recognised. Not everyone was a friend.

Now that she was out of the blizzard and had a chance to warm up, the snow that peppered her hair and clothing started to melt. Her skin seemed to steam in the glowing light of the fire — a sight not uncommon with norn, nature’s most efficient furnaces. She waved at the group as she approached them. Most were in animated, enthusiastic conversation. Another, more broody type, sat in the corner of the room. Solvi caught a few words. Something about murder, killing and the Pit... None of my business. Perhaps she’d approach the cheerier group first. 

As soon as she made it within the circle of strangers, a peculiar-looking pink-clad charr padded her way towards the red haired huntress. The chard’s soft white muzzle filled Solvi’s field of vision, sniffing the giantess’s person. 

“You have a strange energy! Would you like me to do a reading for you?” the white charr asked. 

Solvi looked at them with a quizzical expression. “A... reading?” Strange gathering indeed. 

The stranger nodded. “With my cards. You’re norn, aren’t you? Do you follow a Spirit?”

“I do,” the huntress replied. She glanced at Sahar, who had begun to pace around the charr, picking up her scent. Solvi’s green eyes darted back to the stranger. “My chosen totem is Wolf. He guides me when I need it most.” The crackling fire flickered for an instant, the silhouettes of the cave’s occupants dancing against the rock face.

The charr nodded knowingly, their friendly demeanour slowly putting Solvi at ease. “My cards offer guidance too – except that instead of calling to a Spirit, they use magic. Sit down, make yourself comfortable,” said the feline, waving to the warmth of the fire. “Do you have a question you would like answered?”

Solvi stepped forward and settled herself down beside the kind stranger. Sahar did not need to be told to relax, as soon as her companion had sat down the snow leopard curled up beside her, muzzle towards the flames. Solvi knew that Sahar was keeping a keen eye and ear on the crowd, despite her restful appearance. Comfortable and steadily warming up, Solvi took a moment to ponder. She had many questions, though most, she knew, could not be answered – yet. Her duties as commander had led her to making many grey decisions, of which their integrity was ambiguous. What did the ranger want to know? What could these cards answer? Could Trahearne have survived? What would he have done? No, there’s no use in torturing yourself over that again… and there’s no point in wondering if this struggle against the dragons will ever end. Surely there was something she could think of that didn’t awaken feelings of frustration. She wanted to know about something close to her heart, something almost forgotten. Solvi’s eyes twinkled as the question surfaced from the depths of her memory, a wisp of hope, loss, and love. She looked to the charr.

“There is something that weighs on my mind. A long time ago, I… I lost my pack.” Solvi furrowed her brow, trying to remember. She was so young when her parents had left her and her brother in Hoelbrak. The details were lost, like the horizon in a snowstorm. “I would like to know… if it is still worth looking for them, and if your cards can show me where to go.” She suppressed the urge to shift uncomfortably. It’s only memories. They won’t hurt you.

The question was asked. The charr revealed a deck of cards in their paw, padded digits gently grasping it. “I’ll shuffle the cards now. While I do it, focus on sending your energy towards me. When the cards are ready, I will draw them for you.” Solvi nodded, locks of red hair falling from her braid and sticking to her face as the snow melted. She closed her eyes, bringing her mind to stillness. Soon she felt the soft hum of energy that connected her to her snow leopard, but rather than following that thread, she searched for another. On her journey to become a soulbeast she’d learned that all things were connected, living and dead. Solvi found another hum, a different frequency that felt like the charr beside her. The norn focused on that lead, and tried to convey her emotions across the energy. Feelings of confusion, grief, and unshaken but dwindling hope. In her mind’s eye she saw herself, young and small and vulnerable, clawing in rage at the Wolf shaman that delivered her the news. The body of a child was too small to contain such enormous emotions, and even now as a fully grown norn, Solvi could barely fit the grief back into the small box she’d hidden away deep in her soul.

Inhale, exhale. The cards were drawn, sharp claws handling them with the delicacy of a feather. Ace of cups, seven of cups reversed, knight of cups. What they showed meant nothing to Solvi, but it only took the space of two breaths for the charr to understand.

Solvi’s interrogator cocked her head to the side curiously. Solvi noticed her four ears pricking as the charr interpreted the cards. “Could you tell me some more about your pack?” she asked, whiskers twitching. “How many were there, why did they go?”

“There were three in my pack, but only two were lost.” Solvi thought of her brother, with whom she had not spoken in… Spirits, it’s been many winters. Though Wolf taught her pack was her brothers and sisters, she could not help but feel guilt for the way she’d left things with her true brother. “I was only a pup when they left. It was for…” How do I explain that they left to forge their legend? “… work. They sailed south, and vanished. The trip was meant take only a few months, but when a year passed I was told the ship on which they sailed was… lost at sea.” Solvi was thankful for the mask that covered her face from the nose down. Though it could not hide the storm in her eyes, it did hide her clenched jaw. She swallowed the waves of emotion that threatened to burst her cool façade. It felt odd, talking to a stranger about something so personal. Perhaps that’s what made it easier: there was no judgement. The thoughts of an unknown person weighed less than the thoughts of people she cared about. The edge in her voice softened. “Over the years they’ve found some signs of it. Bits and pieces washing up on the shore, but no crew made it back.”

“Oh! The cups is a more clarified suit with that in mind…” pink eyes peered over each picture, seemingly unfazed by the tragic nature of the story. “The ace of cups, a crow looks into a cup overflowing with water – in the background, a crow holding a sun falls down. The aces are usually almost divine gifts: great potentials and opportunities.” The charr pondered, claw gently tapping the second card. “The seven of cups reversed. Upside down it’s the image of a crow surrounded by cups of different things, some good, some bad. She’s lost – shrouded and stuck in opportunity.” The claw traced the outline of the final card. “And then the knight of cups. He has mastered flying alongside a white horse as they journey along.”

The pair exchanged a glance. “So I think, overall what these cards are saying is… the seven of cups is clearly your crew, right? They must be adrift somewhere – trapped or lost or maybe even scattered.” The charr hummed. “It’s reversed, so they are kind of trapped by a ring of possibilities… mist world waters. It’s not an issue of having a way out, it’s… finding the right one for them.” Solvi saw the picture drawn by the reader in her mind: her parents, caught somewhere in-between worlds, the ship surrounded by fog. The reading continued. “You also have the ace of cups, which is overflowing with potential. I think this is you and your goals. The crow falling with the sun in the background symbolises the falling of your pack. You’re looking into the cup back on them and trying to find them in the waters.”

Obscure inner truths were revealed, knowledge untapped now bathed in light. While the answer remained elusive, Solvi saw new ideas in the charr’s words. What stood out to her the most was the presence of this black bird in each card. She reached a gloved finger and pointed at the corvid. “This looks like Raven. He encourages thinking out of the box, and this is certainly an unusual method. Maybe Raven has some guidance for me, and I’ve simply been asking the wrong questions.”

A smile drew its way along the stranger’s muzzle. “Maybe you should go as the crow flies,” they said with humour.

Solvi laughed, enchanted by these cards and their reader. “You’re clever and wise. Thank you for this reading. May the Spirits guide your hand when you next seek the counsel of the cards. What is your name?”

The charr seemed surprised. “Vetrius, uh…” they paused for a moment and glanced at the cards. “Pathreader.” Vetrius smiled. “I am sure our paths will cross again.”

Solvi returned the smile, though it was hidden under the mask. “I have no doubt it will, Vetrius Pathreader. Come, Sahar” she said, and the snow leopard came to its feet, stretching its spine. Solvi rose, her own legs feeling stiff from sitting on the cold floor for what felt like hours. Most of the eclectic group of people had left. The blizzard must have blown itself out. The norn brought two fingertips to her left cheekbone, touching the green tattoo just under her eye, and then turned her hand for her palm to face Vet. Her own way of saying ‘I see you’. “Thank you, again. Take care in this snow.”

With that, Sahar took the lead once more, guiding the pair out of the depths of the mountain. The wind had settled, and the night had cleared to reveal the full moon casting her silver light across the snowy ranges.