Just a little something I threw together for @traviq featuring his apprentice, Marcus! If you haven’t had a chance to check out his art, do that like right now! Then don’t forget to come back and read this fic 😆
In which a humble apprentice meets two helpful companions...
~ 1.4k words
***
Finally! Kipling finished arranging her large order of potted succulents. Currently, they were lined up in customized clay pots in four perfect rows on the floor of her shop. It wasn’t the most ideal place to work, but she needed the space.
Now all she had to do was wait for the customer to pick them up and she could start wrapping up for the day. She wiped the sweat off her brow and suddenly became aware of the growing hunger in her belly.
Kipling rubbed her stomach and groaned. Lunch seemed like it was so long ago. And all she had eaten were a couple of boiled eggs. Now the sun was getting ready to set and she was starving.
The sound of barking suddenly interrupted her thoughts.
“Benji, come back! No!”
The shout sounded like it was coming from outside, but also getting closer. Because of the heat, Kipling often left the door open. So when she peered outside, she saw a bundle of fluff barrelling at full speed and a person chasing them with their bag and clothes flapping in the breeze.
Kip gasped and froze on the spot as the fluffy mass (which turned out to be a butterscotch colored dog) slid into her shop and skated right into the rows of succulents.
She could only watch as the dog collided with everything in what felt like slow motion. So many pots got upturned and many more ended up broken or cracked.
The dog looked guilty enough when Kip approached and knelt before the unsalvageable wreckage. But even after what he had done, the butterscotch dog looked absolutely adorable covered in dirt clumps and broken clay.
The owner knelt beside Kipling and huffed, “No, no! I’m too late. Benji, why?”
Kipling turned to take in the newcomer. Even under all the worry and guilt in his expression, he was probably the cutest customer Kip had seen all day. She tore her eyes away before he caught on that she was staring.
The dog owner must have mistaken her shyness for something else because he started to flap his hands and his eyes smarted with tears.
“This is all my fault. What have I done?”
Kipling took hold of his hands before he got too worked up. The worried stranger fell silent as Kip gently squeezed and said, “Hey, it’s okay. Really, it’s not that bad.”
He looked around at the broken pots and upturned dirt. “But–”
“What’s your name?”
The stranger blinked his kind brown eyes. “It’s… Marcus.”
Kip glanced at the happy butterscotch dog. “And I’m guessing that’s Benji?” She smiled to show that she wasn’t upset. Finally, Marcus relaxed his hands around hers and brought them to rest in his lap.
“Yes, and I know he doesn’t look it, but he’s sorry.”
Kipling giggled, “I believe you.”
Marcus looked around again and sighed. “Is there any way we can help?”
Kip let go of his hands and tapped her chin. “I think so. Can you start by handing me that broom over there?”
Half an hour later, Kip and Marcus had all of the soil swept in one pile and the broken pots in another. While they worked, Kip did her best to explain how she might be able to use magic to get the pots back to their original state. But her method was risky. There was always a chance that after going through one of her portals, the pots could come back changed on some very fundamental levels. Still it was worth a shot.
Kip, Marcus and Benji sat on the floor before the pile of broken clay. Marcus watched on in awe as Kipling opened her hand with her palm facing down and wiped in a circular motion until a portal materialized right there above the floor. Dark, salty water sloshed around inside, as if Kipling had opened a door to the sea.
The gardener encouraged Marcus to help her collect and drop all of the pieces of clay in the portal. Then she sealed it off with her right hand and opened a second portal with her left – this time with her palm facing up.
Saltwater rushed out onto the floor of the shop, along with several solid objects that landed without breaking. When the portal closed and the water stopped spilling out, both Kipling and Marcus gave the transformed pots a long, hard look.
“Oh, no,” Kipling groaned. “This isn’t right.”
She picked up one of the new pots. It was nothing more than an empty turtle shell. The patterns on the back created a gorgeous bronze and teal geometry. And despite them being aquatic, the interior of the shells were deep enough to hold a fist.
“My customer will be here to pick up this arrangement any minute. What am I going to do?” Kipling sighed.
Marcus understood her frustration. As pretty as these shells were, they would tip right over if you tried to make a flower pot out of them. But… Marcus took a shell into his hands and studied it a bit more. He glanced around the shop at the different tools that were lying around.
Kipling sat folded over with her face in her hands. Benji was at her side, trying to lick some hope into her ear.
Marcus wanted to comfort her, but he chose to stay silent and work as fast as he could. After he was done, he tapped Kip on the head.
“Will this work?”
Kipling looked up from her hands with exhausted teary eyes. It took a moment for her to register what she saw.
“Marcus, you…”
She stared at the modified turtle shell that hung before her. Marcus had carved three holes in the lip of the shell, fashioned some rope through them and tied them into a clean knot so the shell hung from his fingers. He had also packed it with soil and a succulent from the pile.
Kipling couldn’t stop staring at the hanging plant. Grinning, she said, “It’s not what the customer ordered, but I think it’s so much better. Come on! Let’s get the rest done before they get here.”
Kipling was right, when the customer arrived, they were taken aback by what had happened to their arrangement. Still, they were very pleased and ended up giving Kipling a big fat tip on top of the normal price.
When Kipling tried to split the tip with Marcus, he shook his head and started flapping his hands again.
“Oh, no. Please. I’m the one who ruined the arrangement in the first place. I can’t.”
Kip shrugged, “But it all worked out. Are you sure? You were the one who came up with the idea to turn them into hanging plants.”
Marcus gave another firm shake of his head as he folded his hand over Kip’s and gently guided it against her abdomen. “I’m sure. It’s yours.”
They held each other’s brown gazes until Benji promptly barked at them. Then they both jumped and let go of each other.
“I better walk Benji home. He gets grumpy when he doesn’t eat,” Marcus said with a nervous chuckle.
Kip’s own belly rumbled at the mention of food. She quickly guided Marcus and Benji to the door of the shop before the embarrassing sound could get any louder. But it appeared that Marcus heard her stomach’s cry for help because he chuckled and said, “Would you like a snack?”
Kip felt her face heat up. “Oh. I – um.”
Marcus reached for her wrist, drew it towards him, and dropped something small and oval in her palm before letting go.
Kip chuckled, “What’s this?” She looked down to see a dark, plump grape.
When she looked back up, she noticed that Marcus had gotten very close. She caught a glimpse of his shuttered gaze before he trapped her cheeks between his hands and ducked his head.
“Mmpf!”
Kip was met with lips as fresh and firm as the grape sliding around in her palm. There was no denying that Marcus’s eager affection felt rather nice after such a long day.
When he let go, Kip didn’t know if she could handle meeting his gaze again. Her face was on fire. But she dared a glance anyway to see that Marcus was blushing too. Their faces both broke into matching grins that refused to fade even after Marcus waved goodbye and jogged off with Benji waddling faithfully at his heels.
This tale takes place pre-plague. Malon is a regular fighter in the coliseum and is known for her quick, yet lethal combat style. This is a record of the events that brought her before her patron Arcana, The Chariot.
When it came to her battles in the ring, Malon Almasi liked to roll with the punches. She did so this moment, quite literally. To the untrained eye, her lithe body somersaulted backwards and disastrously across the belly of the sandpit.
Despite her compromising position, Malon was not disoriented, but merely creating distance between herself and her opponent – Gray Wolf, was it? Yes. Gray Wolf was one pissed little puppy.
Mal came to a stop, snickered, and brushed her knuckles against a bloody lip. Yeah, little was an understatement. Gray Wolf was a brute. A woolly, powerful brute. Pissed as sin. Fast. With axes.
Mal assumed a comfortable crouch as Gray Wolf advanced on her, their arms crossed with the axes flared. Wolf’s axes were roughly the same length as Mal’s own weapons – a sickle and khopesh. They were very good for slicing, cutting, and making blood appear where there was none before.
Yes, Gray Wolf was fast, but...
Mal was known in the coliseum as The Jackal. And jackals were always faster.
She flipped the handles of her weapons in her palm so that the blades faced down. Then she plunged them in the sand and swung her hips forward.
Ouch.
Mal glanced at her shoulder and clicked her tongue. A long, red gash that leaked. When had that happened?
Gray Wolf wasn’t slowing down, so Mal shrugged it off and carried on. Despite her wounded shoulder, she thrust her legs up and forward, using the handles of her blades to launch herself feet first at the opponent. Gray Wolf had their axes and Mal had, well, nothing at the moment. Still, she thought it was a good idea to catch them off guard.
And it worked! Gray Wolf growled as they stumbled back when Mal’s feet connected with their gut. Their arms flailed. Mal took advantage of their disorientation and snatched one of their axes. Then she pushed even harder with her legs and launched herself a second time – this time towards the sky.
Armed and gaining air by the second, Mal was steady riding this new wave of adrenaline. That strange feeling of weightlessness told her to keep going, that she had this one in the bag. She didn’t have to back out just yet. There was no need to establish more distance and collect her thoughts.
The sky and the cheering crowds of the coliseum – they all told Malon to keep going. She needed to end this.
Mal gripped the handle of the axe that did not belong to her before smiling wild and letting gravity drag her back down. She made her descent acrobatic, but just as berserk and unhinged as her expression. She could tell by the captured gasps of the audience that she looked impressive. But Mal cared more about the look of shock that Gray Wolf would no doubt be wearing when she –
“Urk!”
Gray Wolf had caught Mal. By the throat.
Let go of me! Let go!
The gladiator’s fingers were fastened too tight around Mal’s windpipe for her to do anything besides gurgle in protest. Though Gray Wolf didn’t taunt her, she could feel the triumph rolling off of them in waves. Especially when they promptly broke her wrist.
Mal loosed a wretched cry as the axe tumbled out of her grasp.
“Oh no, little jackal, don’t weep. You got too greedy and now it’s time to learn your lesson. So pay attention.”
Mal panicked and thrashed about. This didn’t stop Gray Wolf from burying the sharpened head of the axe in her abdomen. They softened their grip just enough to give Mal room to scream as they dragged the small spearhead down, gutting her torso like she was nothing more than wild game.
Between her broken wrist, the throbbing in her shoulder, and now the growing hole in her stomach, Mal barely noticed when Gray Wolf shoved her to the ground. The cheers and boos from the crowd registered as a thick fog.
“Berserker, that was a good fight. I’ll admit.”
Mal moaned and tried to blink. She wanted to focus on Gray Wolf’s voice, but there were forces pulling her away from this world and from the warmth of the sun overhead.
“But didn’t you read the stories?”
Mal tried to hold on. Really she did.
“The ones where the strong wolf,” the gladiator’s calloused fingers brushed up against her temple, “slays the irritating jackal?”
Mal opened her mouth to speak, but it was just a broken fountain that bubbled and choked dark crimson. The rest of her body convulsed until it decided that the host had enough of dying.
That feeling of weightlessness from before came over Mal again. It was different this time. This wasn’t an escape from gravity, but something else entirely. Something that Malon had no words to describe. No thoughts to even contemplate it.
How strange.
And then she saw with what could not be her eyes because she was dead, right? She was dead and what stretched before her was too slippery, too dark and wondrous to exist anywhere else but outside of life itself.
Mal imagined that she had kept her wounds and that this starry sea before her had rolled up and bathed her in its depths. Both a sea and a sky, she realized. She tumbled and drifted in the stars until...she discovered that there was also metal in the afterlife.
How else could she wander up to a fence like this? With spokes that extended into infinity? As impossible and imposing as this fence – this gate – appeared, the entrance was left open.
And beyond that, Mal heard a steady purr.
Cleansed by the stars, she stood up and drifted towards the gate to receive her gift.
This fic came about when I discovered @forgedarcana and their apprentice Malon Almasi! It didn’t take long for me and my own apprentice to fall in love with this sweet gremlin. Take a look at how they first meet!
~ 2200 words
A Stranger Aura
In which a humble gardener meets a feral wanderer… .
Despite how unpopular it would make her among the other merchants, the innkeeper was determined to smoke out her communal fireplace by the end of the afternoon. She was convinced that it was the only way to purge her establishment of the family of bats that had taken residence there.
Kipling Bronne absorbed this information along with other gossip highlights as she arrived for weekly upkeep. She had eleven storefronts to cover. Her potted arrangements were looking a little more overgrown than usual. Some even had leaves that were glistening with sap. Not poisonous or uncommon, but also not particularly appealing to the city dwellers as they went about their errands.
Kipling took in the sorry state of her plants and groaned internally as her mind generated a lengthy to do list. She really had her work cut out for her.
The block was busy that day. And so was Kipling if anyone took the time to notice. Yet it kept none of the gossipy merchants from interrupting her often and baptizing her ears in the latest scoops whether she invited them or not.
“Kip, have you been by Little Brother’s yet?”
Little Brother. The innkeeper, who happened to be large-boned, robust and a widow, but nicknames were sticky, stubborn things. For the fourth time that morning, Kipling heard about Little Brother’s pest control problem and her radical solution.
“I mean, don’t you think that’s inhumane, Kip?”
Kipling briefly turned away from her work to offer a look of consideration. “I think Little Brother’s customers are tired of hatchlings wandering from the nest and falling in their soup.” She also thought the other businesses thrived off the innkeeper’s unhappy tenants, but she plastered a smile over that little sentiment.
As the day dragged on, the interruptions did not slow down. Kipling could only rely on her familiar’s steady chittering and encouraging ear nibbles to keep her focused as much as possible.
However, as the gardener worked her way further down the street, she noticed that her pygmy lemur grew more and more antsy. Taro was already a lively companion. Add a dash of neurosis on a day like this and it really sent Kipling’s nerves spiraling.
“Taro,” She finally huffed, “what is the matter with you?”
Taro whimpered and bounced around Kipling’s ankles. Usually she could tolerate the lemur’s sporadic bouts of mania, but it was very hot and she wasn’t in the mood. Work was tedious, and the damn shop owners kept bothering her, and —
“Kipling! Might I have a word?”
The inquiry snapped Taro out of her neurotic rain dance. She scrambled so fast onto Kipling’s shoulder that it made the gardener sway on her feet.
The newcomer steadied her and asked if she was all right. Clearly they were not going to leave, so Kipling affected yet another friendly smile and said, “Can I help you?”
The shopkeeper wrung their hands and threw a glance at the intersection off to the right. Kipling followed their nervous gaze, but saw nothing amiss in the throng of passerby.
“Don’t you see that?”
Kipling narrowed her eyes. “See what?”
The shopkeeper steered her gaze with their finger. “That. Coming back this way right now.”
Taro chittered again with sudden urgency.
Kipling saw what the shopkeeper was talking about. A Vesuvian to be sure, but walking with a strange gait, like a cross between a raptor and a toddler. With a walk like that combined with those bright, shifty eyes, it had the potential to put people on edge.
“I don’t know what manner of vagrant she is, but she’s been prowling the intersection for the past three days.” The merchant threw their hands in the air. “I can’t figure out what she wants! She won’t buy anything. Whenever someone tries to talk to her, she barks. Once she even hissed at me!”
Kipling fought to stifle a laugh. Yes, the lurker was odd, but otherwise she seemed harmless.
“I’m not sure why you’re telling me this.”
The shopkeeper fixed her with a desperate gaze. “I was wondering, would you mind maybe just seeing if you can get through to her? Make her go away? Or encourage her to buy something at least. Anything would be better than haunting the crossway like this.”
Kipling tried to think of a polite way to decline when Taro suddenly bolted from her shoulder.
“Taro, no!” She hastily threw her work tools in her satchel and took off after the purple lemur. It was too hot and crowded to be chasing anything, let alone something so small and fast. And what do you know? Her familiar was headed straight for the wild eyed vagrant.
Taro was already coiled around the wanderer’s shoulders by the time Kipling caught up. Thankfully they were off in a spot outside of the foot traffic. It was shadier there. The road tapered off into a more natural setting. Further in were clusters of trees and beyond that a sparsely wooded glen.
As Kipling approached, she was able to get a better read on Taro’s new friend. The closer she got, the more she was confronted by a rather unique aura. Gauzy and yellow – a feral essence. Almost exclusively so. Rare for a Vesuvian. Most tended to be elementals or some manner of seer.
The limbs of the stranger’s magic stretched far, but flailed from a lack of practice. Kipling wondered if the carrier even knew what she was capable of. The stranger was now letting Taro groom her and . . . grooming the lemur in return.
Taro was not the kind to jump on people she didn’t know, so Kipling wasn’t really sure how to go about this. Not only did she have to ask for her familiar back, but she also had to find a way to tell the stranger to run along – that she was scaring the poor shopkeepers.
The stranger and Taro carried on, only vaguely aware of Kipling’s presence. That was okay, she still hadn’t worked out the details of what she wanted to say. Plus she was still studying the vagrant and weighing her appearance against the presence of her wild aura. She was tall enough that Kipling had to look up, which happened often because from her point of view everyone was tall, no matter what was considered standard.
Kipling registered skin that was baked by sunlight and colonized by an army of freckles. Lastly, the stranger had a youthful mop of dark hair and a scar on her lip that gave the illusion of an errant fang. Kipling wouldn’t have been surprised if the shopkeepers had dismissed it as such.
Despite Kipling’s proximity, those bright eyes kept flitting about, fixating on pretty much anything and everything.
“Uh,” Kipling was about as close as she dared to approach. “Hi. Sorry about that.” She gestured to Taro. “She doesn’t usually jump on people’s heads.”
The stranger regarded her briefly, so fast she almost missed it. “It’s okay. Taro is really good at finding ticks.”
Taro chirped appreciatively.
Kipling blinked. “How . . . ? How did you know her name was Taro?”
The wandering gaze settled. “She told me.” She said it like it was the only natural answer.
Given her sunny aura, Kipling wasn’t surprised. She narrowed her eyes at her familiar, but relaxed her shoulders a little. “What else did she tell you?”
The stranger giggled. “That you’re called Kipling.” Then she shot out a long arm. “I’m called Malon. Or Mal if you want.” The way she pronounced her own name came out like a yawned mewl. It made her wonder if that’s why the shopkeepers mistook her for something primal.
Kipling smiled. “Hi, Mal. You can just call me Kip.” As she shook Mal’s hand she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do more – hug this feral being or simply give her a bath.
Taro whined in protest as Kipling pried her from Mal’s curly mop. “So, I have to ask. What exactly are you doing out here?” Not happy with the way that came out, she added, “I mean, is there a reason why you keep going back and forth along this street?”
Mal’s gaze was back to wandering, and this time she was sniffing the air. “Do you know what panic dreaming is?”
Bewildered, Kipling said that she had never heard of it.
Mal gave a curious grunt. “Hm. I’ve been wondering why it’s so loud over here.” And when it seemed that her answer was not going to evolve beyond that, Kipling tried a different approach.
“Are you,” she paused, trying to choose her words wisely, “looking for food?”
Mal grinned and reached for Taro. “I can find my own food. See?” She extracted a tick with ease and popped it into her mouth.
For a moment Kipling was struck with disbelief, but it didn’t last long before she burst into laughter.
“That is . . . impressive.” And she meant it.
Maybe it was the heat or the boredom of the day’s tasks, but Kipling found Mal’s atypical behavior strangely liberating.
Even though she had Taro back, she wasn’t ready to leave. And she noted that Mal had chosen to stay where she was though there was nothing holding her back from prowling the storefronts again.
Kipling paused in her thoughts. The stores.
She sobered and said, “Mal? Could you come with me? I think I might know how to help you.”
When Mal cocked an eyebrow at her, Kipling reached for her hand and added, “With eh . . . the noises you’ve been hearing. Panic dreaming, right?”
At that Mal relaxed and wordlessly allowed Kipling to guide her through the intersection. The shopkeeper that had asked for Kipling’s help watched on with eyes that begged her to quit leading Mal further and further into the plaza. But she ignored all of the judgemental stares until she reached the door of the innkeeper.
“Little Brother,” she called once they were inside, “I think I found the answer to your pest problem.”
Kipling’s instincts were right. Mal’s feral aura was strong enough that it gave her the ability to not only communicate with, but also draw animals to her. She was like a beacon for the colony of bats in Little Brother’s chimney. The whole market was completely awestruck as dozens of bats teetered across the cobblestones on all fours, marching blindly in Mal’s wake towards the woods. Kipling and Taro followed close behind, careful to watch out for any strays that might wander off in the wrong direction.
Once they reached the shade of the trees, the bats opened their eyes and properly flocked to a small, but conspicuous cave. When Mal and Kipling caught up with them, Mal strolled into the cave and peered around.
“Didn’t know this was here until they showed me. Cool.” She made herself comfortable in the mouth of the cavern, almost as if it belonged to her. Kipling also noticed how Mal’s aura seemed more relaxed than before, tamer even. Her gaze still traveled, but in reflection as opposed to fruitless searching.
Kipling held Taro against her chest and scratched behind her ears. “Aren’t you coming back? I’m sure the shopkeepers won’t mind having you around now.”
Mal shrugged and shook her head. “Nah. I like it here.” She exhaled. “It’s quiet.”
Kipling didn’t feel right about leaving her new friend here alone in a cave of bats and who knows what else.
“Do you have any plans for dinner?”
Swinging her bare feet and bobbing her head to some imaginary drum, Mal pointed to the ceiling of sleeping bats and declared, “I’ll just have whatever they’re having.”
Kipling glanced up and grimaced. Crickets and cave worms? I don’t think so.
But she realized that she wouldn’t get anywhere with the mother hen approach. So she tried another.
Kipling gathered Taro close and whispered, “Guess what we’re having, girl? That’s right! Glazed salmon. Your favorite.”
The mere mention of the dish activated Taro’s excitement. Kipling knew that Mal wouldn’t be able to ignore the lemur’s projection of all of those sensory delights.
For once Mal stopped wiggling her toes and looking around. She went absolutely still and fixated Kipling with a gaze so direct and an energy so concentrated that it practically tickled.
“You’re really going to feed me?”
Kipling granted herself silent applause as she nodded and held out her hand. Instead of taking it, Mal popped to her feet and rushed forward.
Kipling squeaked as Mal fastened a pair of wiry arms around her and hoisted her off the ground.
“The bats,” she said, “told me to thank you.”
Kipling suddenly became aware of Mal’s scent of lingering campfires. It stirred some sad ache on the inside when she sensed the solitude underneath. She surrendered to the embrace, leaning her head against Mal’s and breathing in more old firewood.
“You did all the work. I just showed you the way.”
It was getting late and Kipling wanted to go home. She attempted to disentangle herself so they could leave this creepy cave, but the beast whisperer had other plans. Kipling made another ungraceful sound as Mal spun around and hoisted her onto her back. Taro made herself comfortable on Mal’s head and chirped authoritatively.
Mal said as she marched forward, “Kip, you should get some rest. Taro can show me how to get there.”
It hadn’t occurred to Kipling that the shifty-eyed vagrant had picked up on her fatigue. She was tempted to say that she wasn’t tired, but she had a feeling that Mal would know better than to fall for that.
I’m actually not unhappy with this. It’s late so if there any mistakes I’ll fix it in the later. @thearcanaweek
If magicians make their gate when their young. It doesn't make sense to me why they would connect to cards Asra created. If anything they would connect to some magical artifact they created or entity they associated with magic.
The villages curse they'd been hired to break was far more complicated than they had been led to believe. It was hardly the run-of-the-mill livestock killing curse. They needed to dispel it without activating the secondary curse. A curse hidden within a curse. One that might kill everyone in the vicinity of the magician, if it was just plainly dispelled.
Asra watched Aditsan pace around the now fetid remains of the very lively chicken the villager had brought with them, naught but a few hours ago. They thumbed their silver pendant the enchantment lighting up under their fingers.
"I'm going to search for answers.” They pause briefly looking around the village. “Asra…. If I'm not back by midnight, wake me up.”
Aditsan’s methodical approach was evident, the moment he first saw them cast. Nothing they have done comes close to how they were preparing today. They laid down a magic amplifying sigil on a leyline in salt-chalk to reach their own gate.
Asra almost told them it’s not necessary, just take a few deep breaths like you normally do. Then they noticed how their hand shook as they carefully lit cone of sage and clover incense in the focal point. Aditsan’s afraid, trying to hide it by going through all these steps. Asra stayed close, trying not to hover over them protectively even after they sat comfortably in the center, and closed their eyes.
They finally began to look relaxed. Asra leaned against the smooth worn brick of the villages inn, now able relax as well.
Asra yawned, with a tired smile, a short nap sounded like a wonderful idea. Ara slid further off the wall the ground until only his shoulders were off the ground and touching the brick wall, drifting off to sleep.
Asra awoke to a gaunt hand shaking them violently. “I thought we were you paying to break the curse not sleep the whole day and night away! If you can’t break the curse just leave! Don’t give us more false hope...”
Asra took a deep breath, carefully formulating a reply. “Whoever was upset with you has a great deal of power. We’re proceeding with caution.”
Asra moved placing their hand on Aditsan’s shoulder to wake them. It felt like something's pulling them into quicksand. For a moment Asra struggled until realized that they are headed to their gateway.
It’s blindingly bright, humid and hot. When their eyes adjust to the bright light Asra found himself in a small, lush, overgrown orchard. The trees branches are heavy with cherries, and peaches. Various berry bushes, once planted neatly in a row along the center now overcrowding the path-worn grass trail.
There was a short stacked basalt stonewall to the left. Beyond it laid a desert in the rainy season, cacti and dormant wild flowers blooming as rain continued to fall. To his right in the distance another slightly taller stacked basalt wall. Past the waist leveled fence laid glittering, jewel encrusted, gold and silver ruins covered in fallen leaves and moss.
How old were they when they made this? Asra can’t help but wonder.
Asra curiously plucked what looked like a raspberry from a bush carefully avoiding the brambles.
"They won't fill you but they do taste the same." A poised feminine voice called out from behind him.
Turning Asra found a curvaceous and tall woman in a long resplendent silk robe with flowing silver and black hair and glowing green eyes. She wore a crown of golden flowers along with silk shawl; from which greenery spilled outward draping her with vines, flowers and moss.
“Asra, I am aware you're here looking for Aditsan. But I have business with you first...” The regal woman spoke.
“What kind of business?” Asra cautiously asked.
She waved her hand forward and with the slightest hum of her voice the very foliage itself parted for them both showing a cobblestone road.“Follow me and you will find out.”
Curious, Asra followed her down the basalt cobblestone road.
“Aditsan cares for you a great deal, the same way you do for her.” The regal woman spoke.
Asra stopped moving looking at the black haired woman and thought out loud. “There's no way they feel the same.”
“I am Anu Mebd. I am not one of your less than honest creations. I have no need for cheap tricks and games.” There's a visceral disgust, thinly veiled in her regal tone.
Asra tilted their head regarding Aditsan’s creation she’s so different than the magician. The name seemed familiar could she be based of something? A goddess or mythic perhaps?
Asra paused trying to recall the name.“Adu Mebd? Adu Mebd….…Is that a Gwynedd goddesses?”
“Yes. Their father was a failed monk. He often read the canticles of the divine to them. My stories were the ones Aditsan connected to the most. Now if you wish to see Aditsan follow me.”
Asra felt like question seemed to please Anu Mebd, though they had no way to know for sure. Asra fell in line again, walking behind Anu Mebd. The field narrowed to a small point with basalt archway at the end of it. Just behind it he can see a clock tower.
Passing under the basalt arch covered in childish carving of animals and fruit, the weather changed to that of cool autumn day.
“Now then as I was saying. Aditsan cares deeply for you. Much like Nascha and Elsu, lovers have left deep scars. They have connected with you in a way they have with few others.... Why is that? I wonder what about you has enchanted them all so.” Anu Mebd caressed Asra’s cheek with a smile.
Anu Mebd’s hand traced down Asra’s jaw and neck before she withdrew her hand. “Regardless of how Aditsan feels, she will never make a move. Move forward, show how you feel directly. You will not be disappointed.”
With those final words Anu Mebd vanished. A small, previously unnoticed oak door opened. Peering inside, Asra found the room a maze of bookshelves and books. In the corner right by the door Aditsan stood on their tiptoes trying their hardest to pull a book down. It falls from its place and Asra rushed to catch it.
Asra caught the book, narrowly stopped before it fell on them. They smile, with that perfect heart melting smile. Asra felt their cheeks flush, as they focused on their perfect lips if they felt the same way...
Clock tower Old Town Hall Tower, Prague is the clock tower I have in mind. It dates back to 1410 Arcana is roughly 1800’s so CLOCKS EXIST.
Anu/ Maeve were the goddesses that I used to base Anu Medb off of.
Spring is fall, fall is spring. Winter is summer summer is winter.
