#collaborative rp

[marquis-teren-kiden]

Baron Ninro

TEREN’S STUDY

Despite the Priest's gaze having returned to it's native shade, the Ancient's whispering remain audible to his Husband and the Monk as they follow him into his Study. When he speaks, several vocal intonations - male and female - echo softly in the wake of his own muted baritone. "Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you where you stand, Lord Ninro."

Lycan stands off to the side, in a beta posture that telegraphs nothing to either of the other men until he speaks. "Anne wouldn't--"

"Not. You."

Biting his tongue, the Guardian nods curtly, straightening his posture slightly as his hands are clasped in front of him.

Standing in front of the Marquis of Nishan, Baron Ja'nin Ninro's ebony eyes are fixed on the floor, his hands loose at his sides. Despite his humble pose, his voice retains its rich bass eloquence. "No."

"No?" Teren turns slowly to take in the other man's appearance as the Ancient's call for Ninro's soul.

'Puul (Puul'h.) Iwhuk'h (h')Orr'e!'

The violet scattering across the Priest's sapphire eyes is plenty of indication that the Ancient's influence is in play. Despite the indicator, the Baron remains concilliatory. "I acted dishonorably. If you wish to kill me for sleeping with Annest, I won't fight you, your Grace."

Lycan's eyes shift between the other two nobles, his posture shifting to a mildly defensive one as his arms fold over his chest and he shifts his weight in preperation to intercede if his Husband accepts the offer. "Tread lightly, Ja."

"Did you think proposing would erase your sin, Lord Ninro?" Teren asks, as the whispers continue to radiate around him. 'Hai, (Hai!) Ftaghu'h hai!'

Shaking his head slowly, Ja'nin lowers his head. "No. I proposed to Annest because my heart is beating in her chest. I laid her down with me because--" His lips thin into a single line; his head shifts in denial again.

Teren stalks forward, only to be intersected for the third time that day by his Husband. "Tell me. Tell me what made you feel fit to take my Daughter like a common whore!"

Baron Ninro's head snaps up, his ebony eyes burning with anger. "That is not what happened! That would never happen! I laid her down because I feared losing her! She asked to do something that... that would have taken her from me, and I--" His voice hitches, then falls once more to silence as his head shifts.

Both Teren and Lycan's heads snap up, their attentions shifting from one another to Ninro and back several times before their focuses set on the lower noble. "Explain."

"No."

Lycan's incredulity preceeds the Priest's. "What?"

"I will not--"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" In a moment, Lycan closes the distance between himself and his Mentor. "Understand something here: You fucked Anne. No Ring. No ceremony. He will fucking kill you if you don't explain what the fuck you were thinking. I can't stop him."

Looking up slowly, Ja'nin declines to answer for a third time as his black eyes meet the Guardian's almond gaze. "Then I will die."

It doesn’t take a genius to understand that the Monk would rather die than betray a third party to the situation. Lycan attempts to talk sense into the Monk while his Husband bypasses the other man's resolve; directing his thoughts to the other person with knowledge of the matter. *What precipitated your... Ja'nin's change in conduct toward you?*

THE SUNROOM BLANKET FORT 

Anne visibly winces, fingers pushing against her temples. *I did nothing, Father. We were talking about my misconduct with the Count and I was upset I had brought you dishonor and how I wish to make amends with the Count because I know the man is important to Ja'nin. He spoke of how we should wait and prove through my actions I wasn't disrespectful because to approach him now would only end with the man getting what he wanted... Neither of us wanted that. He was holding me and just it went from there. It was mutual!*

TEREN’S STUDY

As the Ancient's reach for his Daughter's chaotic thoughts, Teren closes his mind off from her. *Calm yourself.*

Turning back to his Husband and the Monk, Teren draws his first calm breath since Ja'nin had requested to marry Annest. "Count Ngu'nye." He whispers softly. "You remembered his requested concession in order to mend our bridge after Anne offended him...and her request to make peace with him would have entailed a requirement to end your Courtship." He speaks slowly, sussing out each of the follow-on events until he arrives at the compromised emotional state Ja'nin had almost certainly found himself in thereafter.

A rare display of internal vulnerability fleetingly passes over Ninro's eyes as he turns his dark gaze on the Priest. "You shouldn’t have involved her!"

"You should not leave me absent alternative options." Teren replies tersely as he crosses the room to his bar. Pouring himself a finger of brandy, he's calm enough to sip the contents, rather than drain the etched crystal tumbler in his left hand. "She has no ring."

"I commissioned it when we entered your lands. My people don't produce items which would do justice in the eyes of others to express my feeling for her."

The Priest's head hems briefly, then haws a bit before he returns his now sapphire eyes to the Baron. "How long since the--” The Priest pauses, clearing his throat. “Trespass?"

"Three days." Ninro murmurs softly, his lips quirking at the corners before he continues. "I felt the sparks inside her this morning."

The explanation puts Teren's teeth on edge, but he swallows the finely honed blade of his anger with more of the brandy. "How many?"

"There will be two."

"I should eviscerate you. No--" he shakes his head again. "--No, I should castrate you where you stand." Closing his eyes, Teren takes several slow, deep breaths; his chest tight with the fear radiating to him from Anne through their psionic connection. "But, I won't."

Ja'nin remains rigid, physically and mentally prepared for whatever sentence follows. It's the Guardian who sighs in relief.

"You are going to leave my home. My lands. You will not return--"

"No!" For the first time since his humble arrival to their home, Ja'nin Ninro's posture is assertive, combative. "No! I am here for Anne. For our chil--"

"SILENCE!" Black energies flare out, slamming the Monk to the ground and Lycan to a far wall. "Anne is my Daughter. Mine. You will leave. You will not return. That is not a request, Baron Ninro. You will wait for my Husband and I to meet with you in Silverlight to discuss if there will be a marriage contract. You will prepare a very generous bride price.” Low menace settles into the velvet baritone sustaining the Priest’s wrath. “If we accept your offer. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?"

It isn't fear that pins the Baron in place, anymore than it is the ebony tendrils. It's hope. Bowing his head low to the ground, in abject humility, Ja'nin's voice is a barely restrained whisper. "Yes, your grace."

"Lycan." Teren finishes his Brandy, moving quickly for the door before his temper gets the better of him for a third time.

"Yes, Lord Kiden." Despite their marriage, the Guardian's instinct remains submissive; a facet of their relationship which serves him well in their sexual affairs but arrives oddly to the Baron's ears.

"See to it that Baron Ninro is removed from our lands. Then... join me."

"Yes, Lord Kiden." The moment the Priest vacates the study, Lycan's releases a deep sigh of relief, reaching for Ninro as the ebony bindings fade away. "You couldn't have made that any more difficult?"

Finding his feet, Ja'nin glances at the Guardian with a half-hearted shrug. "I do love her. I will bring her all of the honor that remains."

Rolling his eyes, Lycan nods toward Pax, gesturing to her for a portal. "Silverlight." He explains to the Translocator before addressing the other nobleman. "You have to live long enough for the binding ceremony, remember?"

"Come soon?"

Lycan looks out the door of the Study, shaking his head slowly. "I know your people tend to be philosophers and agnostics, but, if you have anything to pray to? I'd pray we show up at all."

"Every day." The Monk replies, his breath a tremble when he asks, "May I say goodbye? Just... words?"

It's a gamble, but Lycan calls Anne to the Study telepathically. "No promises." *Anne. Come to the Study. Don't tell anyone.*

TEREN’S KITCHEN; (Drowning her fear and frustrations in cupcakes

*Okay...* Quickly, Annest finishes her current cupcake before vanishing from the kitchen.

TEREN’S STUDY

When she arrives at the Study, she finds Pax present, a shimmering amethyst portal open to Silverlight. In the middle of the room, Lycan stands beside Ja'nin, as she enters. The Incubus sighs, nodding for Ja'nin to proceed.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me, Ja. I don't know how long this is going to take. I'd recommend you act quickly and remain patient. I'll do what I can from here."

Nodding at the Guardian, Ninro pulls Anne into his arms, kissing her temple as his left arm snakes upward to rest her skull in his palm, his right hand wrapped in a vice-like grip around her waist. "I have to go. I promise, I will come for you at the very first opportunity to do so with your Father's grace." Anne rises from the shadows outside the door of her Father’s study, quickly wiping frosting from her lips and chin. Trying to get it all removed before grasping the door knob and slipping in the crack she made, shutting it swiftly behind her. Staring in a measure of confusion and fear but that changes to relief at seeing the Baron at least physically safe.

"What is goi--..." She begins but is cut off, hugging onto Ja'nin eyes closing for the moment before giving a small nod. Eyes darting towards Lycan before back to the Baron and buries her face into his chest, breathing in deeply the man's sccent. "I'll hold you to your promise, Ja," She whispers before looking back up to him.

They hadn't said how they felt - hadn't needed to - since the first spark between them as they spoiled the food and water stores in retalliation for Lochlyn Kiden's murder. Not until three days before, and for the Monk, being forced to say aloud what he felt with such small words is a sin. Yet, it’s all he had to offer. "I love you. Remember. I love all of you." He whispers, one hand drawing back to protectively curve along her still taut belly as he bows his forehead to hers. "And the Twins."

Anne chokes on the words but finally whispers them, "I- I love you too, I'll never forget." Her left hand lowers to rest over his own, pressing her forehead to his, "I'll tell them." She takes a deep breath and leans up to whisper by his ears, "I still mean each word I said to you. Remember that." She sinks back onto her heels, smiling.

A rare shine settles over Lord Ninro's corneas as he nods, kissing her forehead and stepping away from her. Not trusting himself to speak again, he quietly moves through the Translocator's portal. The portal closes behind him, the Kal'Dorei turning to look at Anne with wide jade eyes as she motions over her toned stomach with a large bump, then points to the young noblemwoman with a questioning lilt of her left eyebrow.

Anne watches in silence, chewing on her lip anew before the Kal'Dorei's motions. Slowly she gives a faint nod, exhaling a breath she had been holding.

Pax rushes forward, wrapping Annest up in a tight hug, before disappearing with the young Mother to the mansion's kitchen to celebrate. 

Lycan turns to the door of the study with a long sigh, removing his coat. He throws it onto one of the leather sofas nearby on his way out of the room before exiting. Another might have to ask his Husband where he is expected to meet. All-too-familiar with the sadism conjured by his Master's Ancients, the Guardian silently braces himself for the violent session ahead of him, unbuttoning his shirt en route to their private suite. For once, he's grateful Adilynia won't be joining them.

[ @daughterofkiden, @marquis-lycan-kiden #Baron Ja’nin Ninro ]

[jacob-holt]

Pineapples Under the Sea.

A small sigh escaped the prone form of the sleeping ginger haired woman. She was laying face down, a sheet slithering up her leg and wrapping in a thick rope around her bottom and waist until it was held under one arm. A small groan escaped her and she’d muttered out the words, “But, I don’t like pineapple on my pizza, Jacob...”

Jacob slowly.... oh so fucking slowly... lifted his head from where he was bent over his desk. He stared at the glorious curves , even despite the absurd mumbled words spilling out of the dreaming woman's lips. So he leaned back, his chair creaking quietly, and he crossed his arms over his chest with an amused look and waited to see if she continued.

She let out another tiny grumble and burrowed into the pillow; an arm sweeping out for another one which she pulled into her chest and hugged tightly. She sighed again, “No, no, no pineapple. It’s the fruit that eats you!” She said, raising her voice a little.

Jacob just lifted a brow further as his gaze shifted to the pineapple he happened to have on his desk. He liked pineapple. And he was gonna eat this one for breakfast. It was one fruit he actually enjoyed and he stocked up every time he went to Stranglethorn so there was plenty of reasons for him to have a random pineapple on his desk. With ease, he pushes himself up, snatches the pineapple, and carefully set it in front of her sleeping face. He then poked her, and leaned casually against the corner wall of the bed with his arms crossed.

She made a small smacking sound with her mouth as she awoke suddenly by the sensation of his finger hitting her ribs; one of many ticklish places. Her eyes seemed to open one at a time and then focused on the poor unsuspecting pineapple in front of her. She let out a yell of surprise and raises a hand to, literally, punch it!

The fruit was nailed but her tiny and mighty fist and it stood no chance as it went flying out the open window that was level to the bed in the cabin .... and into the sea below only to be carried away by the currents and likely snatched by a shark who would spit it out and it would sink to the bottom and become a home for some expecting sea sponge. Jacob was no longer amused. “Well there goes my breakfast...” he grumbled, glaring out the open window.

@lorraine-lemieux

[eve-daniels]

What's In A Name.

Finally, some peace. Eve released a content sigh as she strolled slowly through her favorite garden. The baby was napping, and the nursemaid watching her. Early morning had brought a light and short lived rainstorm, and the grateful flowers blessed the garden with bright blossoms.

Word had spread about the untimely and shocking demise of most of Eve's council, and it would seem that some weight had been lifted from the countess' shoulders. Her bare feet padded gently against the stone path as she wandered aimlessly.

Morelia had not been far, having found an out of the way bench to relax on and find solace in some peace and quiet. She’d known Eveline to return somewhere around now, but not of their date nor time. It was only when she heard footsteps that she’d realized her privacy to be invaded, and with it came forth a sigh followed by a quiet curse. Morelia hadn’t at all expected her cousin.

For a few blissful moments, Eve had been alone with her thoughts, until she rounded the corner of a hedgerow and came face to face with her beloved cousin. "Morelia," she offered in greeting, lips curving into a slight grin.

She wasn't happy about the loss of her privacy by any means, but if she had to be interrupted, at least it was Morelia. Without waiting for invitation, she moved to take a seat beside the other redhead, confident that she would move, if need be.

A brief, practiced smile became of painted red lips, lifting the skirts of a deep green hem and moving only few inches to the side to give the Countess room to sit. “Eveline,” followed her own similar greeting in the same breath. Morelia didn’t allow her attention to linger on her cousin too long, blue eyes soon finding a resting place elsewhere with lips that had seemed to fall. The tone that followed was not from a place of judgment, though it may have came off as such. “Would you like to talk about it?” Knowing Morelia, they would anyway, but it seemed fitting to hear her reasoning beyond an impulsive anger.

"It needed to be done," Eve replied simply as she settled onto the bench beside her cousin. Morelia's tone bothered her little, it wasn't the first time she'd heard it, and it was certainly not going to be the last. Morelia's disapproval would be short lived, she was certain, when she understood the reason.

"They tried to control me." A short laugh passed through her unpainted lips as she gazed out at the sea, visible between a pair of flowery bushes.

“They wanted to offer you a suitor,” she somewhat corrected her, stating matter of factually so with a hint of laughter there behind her words. Morelia found the idea just as amusing and equally upsetting as her cousin did, and she couldn’t say her own council went without their own attempts.

“You didn’t have to kill them, though,” followed an addition, “But it was a nice example. Perhaps a reminder, too?” Whatever there laid behind her statement, the girl did not yet lead on.

"They wanted to choose one for me," Eve countered. Her tone carried no irritation with the gentle correction, though, and was accompanied by a light shrug.

"Maybe not. If they had chosen to hold their like coup during the day, perhaps I'd have been more merciful. You know how I like my sleep." Turning her head slightly, she eyed Morelia with an even gaze. "Speak your mind, cousin."

A sound like a snort of a giggle bubbled past her lips, but she allowed a short-lived silence to permeate between the two before carrying on. What was about to be pressed had been on her mind since the day of Linara’s baby announcements or, if she was to be truthful to herself, since the moment her cousin wed a common man.

“That you are in the shadow of a common boy with your name,” she finally expressed, not unusually confident in her words, and allowing them to hold their own weight. “As will Linara be.”

Turning slightly towards her, carmine brows pursed inward with a visage that tried to level with the fellow Countess, with the Head of House, but most of all, with her closest friend. Morelia had a great deal of time to cool off since she received the card from The Royal Courier. “Your father is wretched, you care not for your name, but it is a name that holds far more power than you have now. Most of all, it is yours,” she continued, “It is one thing no one can ever take away or control. And if Linara is to have it, it would be the same for her. Without it? She will be seen as a common girl with a common boys name, the daughter of a once powerful Countess who let love and grief change her into the same.”

Anger, pure and white hot flooded Eve immediately. She had no doubt that it was clear on her features, flashing like lightening in her emerald eyes. Love for her cousin held her tongue, and her hand, for a moment or two, long enough to allow another reaction to wash over her.

Morelia was right, to a point at least, and as angry as it made Eve, she could admit that to herself. Several moments ticked by, leaving the pair in silence as she considered her response.

"He was so much more than common," she began slowly, enunciating each syllable with calm precision. "But your concerns do not fall on deaf ears. His name carries a certain respect here, but beyond our borders..... Well. It has been made abundantly clear, as of late, that I most do more to prove my strength."

A moment's pause saw her turning to gaze at Lilydale. "There are those who will disapprove, but I will see to it that they see reason."

While Morelia knew Eveline to believe the man more than common, she’d never seen so herself, never came to believe it, either. The Schofield name held absolutely no respect or power beyond the four walls of Lilydale, and it seemed clear now more than ever that what was once held here was quickly dwindling as well. She nodded, once, a slow movement to signify her approval. “It will be better for you both,” she reassured.

The only response offered at first was a brief nod, easily missed before Eve rose unceremoniously from her seat and strode away. “Yes,” she agreed quietly, as she departed the solace of her garden and headed indoors to make the announcement that bruised her already broken heart.

((Collaboration with @lovemorelia , soft mentions @lindon-schofield-archives ))

[revmore-archives]

Lochlan quietly set a small bag of candied ginger on the elaborate bedside table beside Isolde, a single white rose with a note placed beside it. Leaning over, the swordsman pressed a soft kiss to her cheek as she slept before heading outside to begin his morning workout. The note read: " My white Rose. Breakfast. Shood help your stomak. L." His writing was getting better!

The soft kiss barely roused her, her gentle snort of recognition barely audible. It would be at least an hour before she woke fully, flopping to her back as the sun shown brightly into the massive room. Her face was warm and her body cool along the soft sheets, but soon her eyes would flutter open and she’d groan, stretching languidly along the bed. 

Without thought, her hand fluttered to flatten along her scarred abdomen, fingers stroking along marred flesh as she focused on the new, little life miraculously growing inside of her. It was still unbelievable that such had occurred. Her one wish, to be a mother, would come true around December. 

That thought made her grin like a fool as she curled into the sheets and flopped over to her belly, tostled black locks tumbling over bared skin as she peered toward the side table. That’s when she saw the morning surprise. She lunged for it, snatching the letter unceremoniously as the flower flopped to the ground. But she was quick, diving for it, now half on and half off their stupidly large bed. She hated this bed. But even that attempt didn’t stop the ginger candies from flying off the surface and skittering along the ground.

She grumbled, saving the important thing at the very least as pale fingers curled around the throned stem. Heaving herself back into bed, she leaned along the pillows and began reading his note. She cringed at the thought of breakfast and sighed, now eyeing the rose while stroking a single petal.

Breakfast was a fleeting thought. She’d eat only because she knew she had to for their growing child. But gods, the thought made her stomach churn. Isolde lay there… naked and pouting. Her silver gaze landed once more on the letter, absorbing the penmanship. His writing was getting better and she was so proud of him. 

Who knew how long she lay there doing nothing. Toying with the flower. Eying the expansive room. She was appreciative of such things… but she suddenly had another longing. 

To create a home with Lochlan. A home in a small cabin or apartment. Just him. Just her. And just their child. No more of this mansion shit. No more of… 

A knock sounded on her door. “My lady. Breakfast is served.” Ugh, the caretaker. “Thank you,” came her husky, sleepy voice. And then she listened as the footsteps slowly vanished down the hall. The staff of their gifted manor had become quite accustomed to her appreciation from a distance. They knew she didn’t like the hovering. At all.  

She may have been a Kiden, a noble by blood, but she was still Scassira Isolde Rev’more. She was still a a voidmancer. Still an assassin. So many revelations in the past few months. A full fledged family. New customs. New responsibilities. 

But she was overwhelmed. Kicking off the sheets, Isolde strode her bare form toward the windows, eyes immediately finding her beloved, following his every movement. She reached out to him, palm pressing along the window as she let it open, the breeze whipping her hair across her face as she bore her entire soul to him.

Yahf’qov. I want to go home. 

@waroftwowolves

[jacob-holt]

A Father’s Choice.

Pre-face story is here!

Dear Jacob,

I am sure the drink can happen another time. I have met with Carolyn and have seen her current condition.. I think it is best that you go there and get Emory. I wish I could of helped but the poison that plagues her body had already reached the point of where death claims her. If need to be I can get Emory and keep him with me until you handle whatever has pulled you away…

Your friend,

Ninthe

He’d read the letter so many times that he could recite it without looking at the words. A stormy gaze of blue and gray stared out the window on the rainy day, the dark clouds and gloomy atmosphere mocking his own feelings.

Eventually he’d sigh and lean forward on his desk, head down and eyes closed. It was confirmed. Carolyn was dying. And Emory would be alone.

No. No.. he’d not be alone. Pulling himself out of his angry stupor, he wrote a hasty letter back to Ninthe. He couldn’t get Emory himself right now, and with her offer to aid him? He took it.

@ninthenightwish - and for association @cedrickholtstories @venreenaholt @allseeker-wra @rian-kestavin @householt

[jacob-holt]

Resignation and Determination.

Rian's gaze softened, "No one knows how to be a parent from the start, Jacob. Half the time I feel like the worse mother in the world because I choose to carry on my duties for Wrynn's Vanguard. Thaylynn whether he agrees or not is far better with her than I am, but that doesn't stop me from trying to do my best. That's all anyone can do or offer. I've seen the way you are with Olivia. So, don't you dare try this 'I'm bad with children' bull shit."

"It doesn't matter now if you wanted a child or not, you have one. This woman seems to continually manipulate you and it works because some where under that mask of a beast, you have a good heart. I wouldn't be sitting here if you didn't. Yes, your father was a horrible person. Neither you or Cedrick are him. You're a better man than your father could ever dream to be. Let that knowledge be the foundation of your strength. That you are and will do better."

"If this woman has nothing to offer your son and is using him in an effort to ruin you... no child deserves that. His mother's sins are not his own. Take him. Teach him compassion and honor. Teach him to look at the world as you do, a place to revel in instead of bitter hate. If she wants a fight, your family has more than enough means to handle a custody battle. I know this because the help was offered to me when Serenity's... father... threatened to take her from me. If you let this boy, your boy, stay with this terrible woman, then yes, you're no better than your father. Fight for him, fight for your family and you'll be ten times the man he could ever dream to be."

"You're not alone in this. I'm here, your brother is here. A family that loves you despite all things. I'd wager your family would love your son, bastard or not, and give you the support you need to be a good father. So again, I say, you can see this as a burden or a blessing. He can continue to be a burden for which you pay and risk manipulation or you can see it as a blessing and raise the boy, free him from his chains, and take the opportunity for growth of who you are."

Jacob sat there for what seemed to him like hours, but it must have only been the expanse of a few short minutes. Stormy hues shifted between both of Rian's as his mind began digesting the information and words she'd just sprouted off to him.

But during that digestion, Jacob's view on what it was he wanted, what it was he needed.... shifted. Rian was right. He had a son. A son born from his seed. A toddler child without a father, being raised by a manipulative witch who would see his family's ruin when the child came of age. It could be catastrophic for him and his immediately family later on.

Though... another part of him relished in having one to pass his knowledge and love for traveling and adventure on to. And if Dawncliffe every fully became his? Well, then he'd have that to give as well. He considered how he interacted with Olivia and his chest suddenly swelled with adoration for his niece. He had wondered, just then, if it would be possible for him to feel that way of his own son.

Instead of pride and joy at having fathered Emory, he felt... disgust. Carolyn had been the outcome of a night that was laden with too much whiskey and gambling. He knew Carolyn had planned this all along, even had questioned how she was as sober as she had been at the time of their meeting. She had spewed her story of being a girl from a poor family, whoring out her body to make ends meet and feed her sick father. Or so he and many others had been led to believe.

It had been a farce. All of it. Carolyn was a true enemy, a Sin'dorei illusionist who'd been cast out of her city many years ago when she'd murdered her noble husband and child, staging it like it was an accident so she could collect his entitlements for herself. But she had made one grave mistake that cost her everything, for she had been sloppy in her greed and when she had been found out, sentenced to death. And so? She ran....

Carolyn ran for years as a fugitive of Silvermoon until settling in Booty Bay with the greedy goblins and her illusions. She made it her way of life, weaving her spells into the minds of unsuspecting targets. Like a snake in the bushes, she waited for just the right prey to walk by before striking out and snaring them in her hold, Jacob being her final victim.

But Emory? This wasn't his fault. He had no part in any of this, and Jacob was blaming an innocent child for the situation he was in. A child that was created by half of him. A child who would grow up to be just as manipulating and vindictive as his mother. The only way Jacob had found out about this story was when he tried to leave Carolyn alone with this child, furious with the idea of being a parent with someone who was merely a whore. That was when she promised blackmail and revenge should he falter and run. She promised to always find him, the moment his seed had entered her, he was ensnared, and his family would have fallen victim to her sinister ways.

A sudden worry flashed through his mind as he began to breathe heavily, almost hyperventilating.

"What if he has the Sin'dorei eyes or elven ears, Rian? Then what? I can't just prance him around my family! And I can't just... just... take him from Carolyn unless I bring her into my home and.... well that's not fucking happening!"

To be continued...

@rian-kestavin @householt @cedrickholtstories @venreenaholt

[jacob-holt]

An Unexpected letter (Pt.2)

Just before Jacob’s departure from Dalaran, the avid traveler would have been greeted by a member of the Kirin Tor. The unknown magi would have stared at the nobleman for a long moment before he finally spoke, his slightly demanding tone pairing with his scrupulous gaze seamlessly. “A letter, sir…” As the rolled piece of parchment was handed over, the mage would have dispersed without another word. Due to the lack of any house seal, it was safe to assume that this letter wasn’t pertaining to any family matters.

Jacob,

I know that it has been some time since we have last seen each other or spoke in person, but I have a favor to ask of you; a favor that would save the life of a mutual friend of ours. Y'ri, the druidess that saved our hides and brought you and your companions to our rescue has been taken captive. She has been in the clutches of the mutinous first mate, Rark, for a little over six months now. He’s holding her at a popular trading hub within the jungles of Stranglethorn. We believe Rark has offered to trade her to one of his most trusted buyers, in exchange for what I cannot begin to fathom. I contacted our old captain, but he proved to be useless. I beg of you. Save the woman that saved us all. - Dutch, Adviser of The Lucky Ducks

Well fuck. 

The missive could not have come at a worse fucking time. Jacob had accepted it with a confused look, but he knew that his face and reputation was fairly well known in Dalaran due to it’s ease of getting around Azeroth and her outlying worlds… and of course his constant coming and going within the city. The man had contacts scattered everywhere within the magical walls, so it had not shocked him in the least that someone had seen him. 

Especially one of Dutch’s magic boys.

Jacob had gone back to his inn room, sitting down along the floor and beside the bed as he leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling above in strenuous contemplation. He had a choice to make. Wait for Ninthe to visit Carolyn which could take a few days. Or go and play rescue-man again in the jungle.

His son wasn’t going anywhere… he knew that. And if Carolyn died while he was in the Vale? All the more reason to get Emory and bring him back to Dawncliffe. It really was a win-win for Jacob, or so he imagined anyways.

And so, the young lord and traveler penned a hastily written missive to @ninthenightwish. With a five minute gathering of his belongings in the room, he darted out and made haste toward her shop, slipped the missive under the door, then departed immediately for Stranglethorn.

Again.

(Letter to Ninthe below the cut.)

@swiftsun-bal @householt @allseeker-wra