The sunlight warmed her skin as only the Zandalar beach could--it was hot, but the breeze was cool and refreshing. The sky was a clear, open blue that the waters reflected. There were other surfers out here today and Khaeris finally felt confident enough to try in front of anyone but Ahuatli. It helped that others came in from falling with laughter, smiles, and a gusto for going again. Wipe outs were not judged beyond friendly ribbing. Bonds even seemed to tighten in the groups.
Surfing would always be a bit of an odd sport to her. Ahuatli had been doing it since she was small, she said, and the dancer used her board like it was a stage. She was a master on it. All those gathered could admire her style and grace.
Khaeris was hardly a master, but she was learning. And she hadn’t met a single person who hadn’t been excited for her to learn to surf. From the very first lesson with Ahuatli at the Bonfire Bash in the summer, to the Zandalari gathered on the beach now.
Pollux liked to surf, and Khaeris was trying to learn. Ahuatli had proven to be a patient and kind teacher. Khaeris couldn’t have asked for more. They’d posed for pictures together on the beach; bikinis and boards on display! Khaeris sent them off to Pollux, unsure when he’d get the photos.
Smiling, warm, and adventurous. That’s how they looked in the pictures she sent. She’d keep a copy for herself, reminding herself that she could do hard things.
“So, think you’ll ever pose for her again?” Tanrel gave a good-natured elbow to Aerden’s ribs before a cheeky grin spread. “Maybe you can introduce me, I got some fun ideas for a hedonism portrait.”
The two men sat in a room full of their military brethren, awaiting the briefing for ‘what comes next’. Hushed voices spread rumors, and while Aerden was eager, and extremely nervous, to know what he would be doing, he was thankful for his friend’s distraction. “That gallery is over, the next is the one where she paints people how she sees they’re gonna …die.” The word got caught in his throat briefly, vividly recalling the giant scene at the heart of her last showcase depicting a brutal ambush in the Maw. An ambush he was a part of, that killed many in his squadron, and nearly killed him. Vixannya had no idea when the image came to her that Aerden would be involved. Had she known, he doubted she would have painted it in the first place.
He cleared his throat, continuing, “I can introduce you for -that-? Is that what you want?”
Tanrel made a sour face as he looked front. He squinted, tilted his head to one side, then to the other, slowly nodding as brows raised. The face journey he just went on clearly suggested that he was heavily considering. “Actually…I dunno. Might be interesting to know? Plus, I can just…meet ~her~.” The softer tone of his voice and the dreamy look in his gaze was obvious, but who could blame him? Aerden still did the same thing around Vixannya. “Or does that violate some sort of bro code?”
Aerden held up both of his hands in defense, “We’re just friends. Anyways, -Sergeant-…” The rank was emphasized in a teasing manner. They had begun their military journey at the same time; Tanrel was promoted quickly and always outranked Aerden. Until now. “Just because you meet her doesn’t mean she’s gonna try to immediately climb into your pants. Calm down, yeesh.”
Tanrel gave a dramatic sigh and slouched in his chair, glancing towards the door and dropping that topic altogether. “Think we’re going back over soon? I hope not to the Maw.”
“Yeah…” A valid, if not nervous response for both questions. Unconsciously he rubbed at his side where the necrotic magic had left its mark last time he was stuck in the Maw. Anywhere but there, he silently hoped.
“Maybe they’ve opened up another afterlife. Oh! Maybe it’s the one where all the models go when they die and they all retain their beauty and grace. Just one big ass photograph. Can you imagine, scantily clad people just struttin’ around — OOF.” Tanrel landed on the ground after Aerden gave him a good hip-bump off of the bench with an ‘oops I slipped’.
Although it was at that moment the General walked in, and all at once everyone shot up to their feet to stand at attention. Tanrel was a little late to join, and the both of them did their best to stifle grins like schoolboys in a classroom. The following briefing was more than enough to reclaim the somber mood in the room. Apparently a gateway to the new lands had been destroyed in an attack after the first wave passed through.
The first wave…Pollux.
He was there, wherever there was.
He would be fine though, if anyone could help find another way over it was Pollux. Hopefully it wasn’t anything like the Maw.
February Writing Challenge 2022
Day 4 - Pose / Deception
Before the flash had even cleared from Luminash’s eyes, his first impression was of motion, of the wind in his hair. Second, his back on a hard surface. He was sprawled on a broad, probably wooden surface, and in rapid motion. Third, cold and metallic hands seizing him by the shoulders and setting him upright. Finally, the clap of more metal around his wrists, his staff clattering from his hand, and a feeling as if he were falling into a dizzying, empty void - there was something, a wall, a barrier, between him and his magic.
Blinking to clear his eyes, he looked up to see the Broker “scholar” looming above him, and confirmed his suspicion: he was captive on one of the Broker ships that had blotted out the sky below. His captor’s masked face canted to one side like a predator observing its trapped and hobbled prey, deciding whether to go for the throat or to watch it suffer for longer.
The magister took a few deep, steadying breaths. He was still in control here, he knew; they needed him alive for something, and that gave him power, even if effectively disarmed. Despite the cold stone in the pit of his stomach - he had been in worse situations, had he not? - he could make a good show of it.
“Why the deception?” he asked, coolly and simply, “Who are you really?”
Seemingly satisfied with his handiwork, the Broker took a few steps back and clasped his hands, “You may call me Xy’kelos. And it was only partially deception, you see.” His voice betrayed his almost giddy pride in his plan, “I am actually a scholar of the First Ones, just not purely an academic. The office, the decor, not mine, no, but the rest of the act? I do wish to speak with you. That was no lie.”
Luminash grimaced. It was like another Nazmir, bound, at the mercy of a foe, and forced to listen to their self-aggrandized speechifying.
The situation here has been managed, Luminash. I am coming. A series of thoughts and impressions bubbled up in the back of the magister’s mind. Jaskian, a lance of ice, the leader of the Xy hit squad fallen on the stone pavement. The First One keystone in the magistrix’ hand.
I am on one of their ships. The scholar is Cartel Xy, and seems to be the mastermind behind this trap. Wait a moment longer, and we will know more, Luminash replied, still making an outward show of listening to Xy’kelos.
“The keystone is in our possession, Luminash, as are you. And now, we may speak,” Xy’kelos continued as he began to pace. Luminash smiled to himself. Xy’kelos apparently could scarcely speak one word without some lie.
He thinks they have you, too. This puts us in a very advantageous position.
As far as I can tell, Jaskian’s thoughts came, almost before Luminash had finished his own, you are beyond Tazavesh now, somewhere in the In-Between. They are taking you somewhere. I don’t like this.
Wherever I go, you can follow with the keystone following my anima. His thought was “my,” but the impression, the emotion accompanying it was “our.”
Let him orate, then. I will come when the time is right.
The mental impression of a nod, of assent, and Luminash turned his full attention back to Xy’kelos.
“Your goals and my cartel’s goals align more than you might believe, Luminash,” the Broker asserted, “Both of us seek knowledge of the First Ones, their power. Others, like Cartel Al - wherever they have gone - want it only for curiosity, but us?” He left the thought hanging, as if he knew the answer already.
“What makes you think that, Xy’kelos? I am not in the business of dealing in weapons, like your agent in Nathria,” Luminash added the last bit snidely, hoping the barb would land.
Xy’kelos flinched, and rounded on the magister. Good, he thought, the sting of Xy’mox’ failure worked. Maybe they could truly speak now that he had been broken out of his self-important reverie.
“Simply put, magister,” Xy’kelos spat the title, pointedly using it and no longer a name, “You have walked the First Ones’ anima ways with their keystone. You bear the mark of something foreign to the power of Death, foreign to your mortal realm.” The Broker approached his captive and tapped a metal-tipped finger to the magister’s forehead, “But not to the works of the First Ones. You will aid a fellow scholar in understanding greater mysteries. You will be Xy’s newest weapon.”
Luminash recoiled, glaring daggers at his captor, “I am not some tool to be used. Do you really expect my cooperation in this?”
The Broker stepped away again and shook his head, “One can always hope. That said, though, we have means of control.” He motioned dismissively to the cuffs around Luminash’s wrists, “Observe.”
Against every instinct Luminash had, as if forced open by prying claws, he was filled with the arcane. The way was opened, but too wide, far too wide. He cried out as his sight went white, blinded by the pain. This was not simply calling upon his own power, but tearing open a hole to wherever his other had come from.
“A few madmen believe that the First Ones had their hands in many places, many realms, not just our own. I myself believe them, and you will be the proof, magister!”
Luminash struggled to his feet, even fettered as he was, blinking rapidly, trying to see. He knew Xy’kelos was speaking, but could not make out the words through the rush of sensations clouding his mind. He had not felt anything like this since years ago, deep under Gorgrond, in the Gorian archive where he had first touched this strange being from another plane. Being made so open to its source made him feel as if he were somewhere, someone, else.
Jaskian! Luminash called out, though he knew he scarcely needed to. Surely what was happening was enough of a call to action.
The magister stumbled forward, legs feeling like they were from someone else’s body, and crumpled back to his knees. When he could see through the haze of pain, he swore his pale skin flashed with the dancing light of stars and nebulae.
Gritting his teeth, he attempted to speak, “You do not understand… What you…”
“No, magister, I understand precisely what I am doing. You and I both seek the legacy of the First Ones, but only I will-” Xy’kelos stopped abruptly as tendrils of chill fog began to wreath his limbs, “What is this?”
Thank you. Luminash permitted himself one glimpse of Jaskian materializing behind Xy’kelos on the deck before he let himself collapse under the weight of his relief the very moment his captor’s concentration wavered and the conduit between magister and arcane slammed shut.
“I am afraid that you sorely underestimated us. I hope it was worth what your cartel has lost today,” Jaskian pronounced as the mist began to solidify, encasing the Broker.
In a moment, faster than either magister or magistrix could have scarcely believed, Xy’kelos reached to his hip and lashed out, a blade of scarlet energy springing from the hilt now in his hands, sweeping through Jaskian’s icy grip and out towards her.
The blade crashed against a barrier of frost, skittering off to the side, “Are you quite finished?” The magistrix asked as she readied a bolt of frost, its core a glistening, dagger-sharp icicle.
“Oh yes, we are done here. But this is scarcely finished!” A blinding flash, like the one that had spirited Luminash away before, and the Broker was gone. The icicle buried itself in the wood of the deck, splintering it with the force of its impact, just a split second too late.
@daily-writing-challenge and @kharrisdawndancer for Jaskian!
“None have caught on yet, have they?” The Grand Magister’s tone was unyielding as ever as he read over her handwritten observations from garden parties and gatherings. This week it was all trivial observances; mentions of impending marriages, boasts about acquired wealth that required more research to prove true, and notions of forming factions within the groups that made up Silvermoon’s Court of Nobles.
Fiorenze smiled and reclined back in her provided chair, her hands laced arrogantly behind her head, “I don’t pose a threat to them, I’m the first granddaughter of Sesara Il’iquen. She was, if nothing else, a staunch supporter of making this new land and keeping some of the Highborne tradition. If anything, most of the suspicion is with the new money that’s buying up the vacant titles. They’re being kept out of high society functions on purpose.”
He hummed noncommittally and placed one of the note sheets down in a pile among its brethren, “Have there been any pressing concerns regarding the Regency?”
“Plenty, darling, there always are,” she cooed, knowing it would annoy him, “Mostly, as usual, around the treasury. Where’s the money coming from for all these wars, how do they intend to pay back the debts that are undoubtedly rising, are they going to tax these new Nobles to the same degree? After all, enough have caught on to the why’s of all the title trading. Eventually you are going to run out of space.”
Rommath settled another page down, waiting for her to elaborate.
She rolled her eyes, “There is some concern that the Regency will start seizing Estates. It’s a ludicrous thought, but there you have it.”
His silence continued for just a fraction of a second long enough to pique her suspicion before he looked up at her, “I see. Even after we passed the Brightfall Estate to the eldest without question after having full reason to seize the lands?”
“Yes, even after all that,” she sighed and carefully maintained her lackadaisical air, “Unfortunately you may need to make an example out of one of your merchants next so everyone realizes we’re treading equal ground in the eyes of dear Regent Theron.”
“I suppose you have someone in mind?” He settled the final scrawled sheet down before waving a hand to direct his enchanted quill to follow her words.
Fiorenze smiled; It certainly wasn’t a death sentence, but at the very least some investigation would be done into whoever she named, “I do.”
“Damnit woman! This ain’t no damn toy! Stop with the shakin’! And get ya damn booger hook off the kill switch!”
K’thalen was a lot of things. A patient teacher, unfortunately, wasn’t one of them. His grip on her waist was getting tighter, and his piercing glare was burning a hole in the side of her face. Coroh was never great under pressure– unless she was bent over a pot of stew– but she’s never handled a gun before, and lacked any and all sense in her mildly panicked state. “Listen, lass. It’s easy.” He started once again, his tone sharper than any steak knife she’s ever used. “Ya hold it steady. Take in a deep breath, aye? Focus on ya target. Slowly exhale. Then ya squeeze the trigger. Go on. Do it.”
“O-okay…” Her ears pinned to the top of her head and she grimaced, trying her best not to shake; but the longer it took her to get in position, the hotter his glare, and the more unnerved she became.
BLAM!
She stumbled back from the kick, letting out a startled squeal. She would have dropped the revolver if it weren’t for K’thalen catching her by the wrist. Even worse, the target dummy remained unscathed. “No! No! NO! Did ya hear a word I just said?!”
“I-I’m sorry! I got scared!” Coroh pleaded. “It’s really loud…!”
“This here’s for ya protection! What’ll happen if I get injured? Fall sick? Captured? Fuckin’ die? Ya think the others’ll just leave ya be if’n I can no longer protect ya? Do ya wanna carry some bastard child, eh? Do ya?!”
“No…” The thought of their merry band of cutthroats and brigands finally getting the chance to ravage her put a twisted knot in her stomach; she wanted her first time to be special, and not only that, she wanted it to be the first special time of many. K’thalen was the leader of this band of bandits, and he kept them in line with fear and fear alone. The instant they stop fearing him is the instant they swarm her– and she wouldn’t likely survive that ordeal.
“I bite the dust’n they’ll take turns havin’ their way with ya. Ya can’t outrun em. Ya definitely ain’t gonna overpower em anytime soon. So ya gotta practice with this here revolver, n’ya gotta get good! Now stop ya snifflin’ n’try again!”
Summary: A few years before joining the Frostbite Contingent, Attzi gets put to work for her cartel.
-----
“Attzi!” A vaguely familiar voice sounded at her door only seconds before the pounding started. Baron Revilgaz’s assistant had the most insistent knock she knew. “Time ta come out an’ do the job they sent ya for!”
Attzi set down her coffee cup and walked for the window by the door, which was not only large, but screenless and completely open. She poked her head out of it and smiled at the assistant, trying to make a silent point about unnecessary door onslaughts. “Who’ve I got this time?”
The assistant flipped through his clipboard and made a thoughtful noise. “Merchant captain, just came in with th’most cobalt ore we’ve seen in ages.”
“Cobalt?” She scoffed. “Alright. I ain’t the one makin’ the trades, so whatever. What’s the captain like?”
“Human. Sounds like he likes drinkin’, dancin’, th’ usual. An’ talk to him about all th’weird animals ya got. Sailors always love that shit.” He flipped a page, gasped, and glanced up at her, face drawn. “Ohhhhno. Gotta run. He’s in the guest house, bye!”
And with that, the assistant scampered away. Attzi had been an idiot to not write his name down when they met. Now it’d just be rude to ask, and she kept forgetting to ask someone else who’d know. She ran her claws through her hair, making sure it was still perfectly fluffed, before grabbing her notebook and writing down the little information she’d been given. If the man she was about to meet had a monkey in a little cap, she was gonna have a hard time keeping things together. At least her Common wasn’t rusty.
She finished off her coffee and strode for her bedroom. Merchant captains tended to appreciate her flashier jewelry, so she spent a few moments changing her studs and hoops. Once she was done, her ears and nose were adorned with purple sapphires set in gold. Pa had outdone himself on this set. That finished, she rummaged through her wardrobe until she found one of her pirate-cut shirts, white and run through with gold thread. She left two more buttons undone than was probably wise, and tucked the excess top into a set of tight leather pants. The finishing touch was her knee-high boots with the gold toes and detailing, which added two inches to her height and made a really satisfying sound on the boardwalks of Booty Bay. Two inches wasn’t much, but it might keep her from having to crane her neck so hard to make eye contact.
One more fluff of her hair, and then she let herself out of her home, turning immediately to walk for the cartel-run guest house on the other end of the row. The air smelled fresh and ruffled her hair and shirt as she walked. Maybe she could get this guy down to the beach for a bonfire so they could enjoy the weather.
As her boots tamped on the planks that made up the path to the guest house, she took a deep breath and let her Sales Smile fall into place. She knocked with far more restraint than the harried assistant had, finishing the three taps with a chipper, “Heya! Checkin’ in. Everythin’ in the house comfy an’ clean?”
Attzi giggled quietly as she heard boots on wood on the other side of the door. They were both gonna be clomping around, it sounded like. The door opened a crack, and she looked up just in time to see him look outward before his eyes dropped to her level. He blinked at her, and then nodded, smiling broadly. He was clean-shaven and had dark hair, and didn’t reek of alcohol, which put her a bit more at ease.
“Aye, lass. I was just enjoying the peace and quiet while I availed myself of the snack tray someone was kind enough to leave out.”
She considered this for a moment, grinning up at him as she read his face. Nah, it wasn’t a hint for her to leave, she decided. “Well, the place picks up in the evenings, so enjoy it while y’can. I know for a fact there ain’t no alcohol in there, though. I was gonna have ya pick your poison from the Baron’s private stock. Anythin’ ya want, whiskey, rum, Pandaren wine, you name it.”
“Well, seein’ as I have the fancy cheeses already, how about a few bottles of wine?”
Attzi nodded and smiled pleasantly. “Sure! So long as I get t’drink some, too.”
“Of course, lass. I’d dearly love the chance to spend time with someone outside my crew, and someone who isn’t trying to cheat me in a deal.”
And there it was: the reason Attzi was employed with the Steamwheedle Cartel. Her entire job as a facilitator was to keep contacts happy (and hopefully intoxicated) while deals went down and contracts were signed. People who had too much fun to remember their bitterness at how hard Revilgaz wheeled and dealed made decisions that worked out in the cartel’s favor. The commission she got was nothing to sneeze at. A personal bonus? She genuinely enjoyed meeting and entertaining most of the people she was set at.
Attzi winked up at the captain. “I’d love that. I’ll be right back, big guy.”
He watched her for a second as she turned to go, and then called something that had her giggling immediately: “Those boots are excellent, my dear. My compliments to your cobbler.”
It was always nice to know she’d dressed correctly for a mark’s tastes. Hopefully, the rest of the night would go just as smoothly.
[ I do want to warn that this story is a bit fucked up and is meant to make people wonder about a particular topic in relation to incarceration. ]
Pose/ Deception - Day 4 - DWC
A Prison Experience
Tall Guard Towers stretch overhead, the likes of which Mega had only seen before on the island of Tol Borad and that was a complex that Megahes had absolutely no interest in going to see again. The fact that he was here, sent shudders of importance on the upcoming meeting so that he’d spend as little time here as possible. Granted, when he was contacted by the Warden of the Prison, he had been expecting to meet the man outside of the complex, not right on its grounds!
The fact that he was now straddled by a contingent of Prison Guards who helped him wheel his goods into the main courtyard, locked behind numerous fences both physical and magical, all within eyesight of other guards and convicts, didn’t bring Mega to any better position of safety.
The set up here was an attempt to keep formality as the Human Warden of this Prison had forced his guards to bring his desk out, so he could watch the expose. Megahes had come to this dressed in his absolute best. This was -not- a location or group of individuals one would want to look mediocre or half-assed with. So, when he got to the yard, he’d straighten his black two button coat along with his bright gold vest and tie.
His mouth went to open, to say something to this Warden so that he’d be able to at least have some sort of small talk, but was immediately cut off by the man who didn’t even bother to look up.
“Mister Frostbite. You’ve brought your Spine Launcher here to let us see how your weapon performs, correct?”
“Right…”
“Whenever you’re ready then.”
Megahes had an unsettling feeling about this, but, this was a prison complex after all and things weren’t always exactly as they were out in the regular world. The Warden most likely had an image to upkeep, even if it wasn’t one that Mega was enjoying all that much.
So, Megahes do as he was instructed, taking out the Ulduarian Spine Launcher, just to unpack several spools of spun steel along with junk bits of metal. Once done, he turns back around towards the Warden.
“Now, as we spoke about before, the Spine Launcher uses Titan tech to spin whatever metal into spines to be used. Whether it’s spooled, chunks of junk, whatever. The metal is spun in this chamber…” He points to a closed chamber near the middle and back of the ‘rifle’ assembly… if one could call it that.
“Past this, the weapon platform uses a series of magnets to polarize the metal and then to eject it at incredibly high speeds that allow it to be flung from the barrel towards the Target.”
“I do remember our discussions. Your weapon is capable of pinning an individual to a surface, correct? Immobilizing them if used properly?”
“Well, yes, that is possible. But it does come with great physical harm cause it can pierce tissue and bone a–.”
“I assumed as much. Well. Whenever you’re ready.”
The Warden stands, circling around to stand behind Megahes as the Goblin takes up a spool of metal and unravels a segment, just to clip it off and insert it into the chamber. Immediately it fires up and proceeds to do as needed before a small light indicator reads up that it was ready to fire.
“Fire in the hole! Clear the Line!” Megahes calls out, bringing the weapon up to aim at an impromptu Target that had been painted and placed over a board some thirty meters down the line.
Bvrrrrrr
The Magnets fire up and on and in short order, the projectile zips down the barrel, causing a flash as it's discharged just to rip through the air fast enough that it barreled through the target and cleared out the other side. Megahes let loose with two more shots.
His grouping wasn’t the most fantastic, but they were good enough. After all, he wasn’t a master marksman. But, proud of the work he’d done, he turned and kicked up a pose, holding the weapon’s stock cradled in his hands while it rested against his shoulder and went up behind the back of his head.
The yard went silent, watching this awe-inspiring (or perhaps Fear inspiring) weapon rip through the very wood of the target that it was meant to strike.
It was a moment
of odd pride Mega had, seeing such hardened individuals cut to being so quiet by the sight of a single exposition. Afterwards, Megahes and the Warden sat at the desk, conducting their business right then and there as the Guards put their prisoners back inside, having to fight to get some of them back while others did so orderly.
By the end of the day, Megahes left feeling far better than he had when he arrived. He’d be sending thirty of the Spine Launchers here along with spooled steel to use as ammunition. His footsteps were far more upbeat as he even left the weapon he test fired for the Warden himself to keep in his office. Mega left empty handed in a literal sense, except for the check that was tucked into his coat pocket.
It was a good day!
Well, at least until Mega got to walking outside of the prison around the courtyard where he’d done his show. His blood had gone cold and his steps stopped as if wrapped in hardened cement. Behind his target had been an Orc, most likely a prisoner of the very complex he’d sold to. Head bagged and most likely gagged to keep from making noise. Several guards stood with him, working to pry him off the metal spines that now nailed him to his execution post.
Had the deception been necessary to have Mega sell the goods to this Warden and this Complex? Mega wasn’t entirely sure how to feel. Part of him was revolted and beyond pissed, knowing he had been manipulated to kill this person. But, he’d killed people before and this person was a prisoner, there was a good chance they deserved it in the end…
Right…?
“What have I done…?”
( @daily-writing-challenge )
Antasia had only been in the city a few short days and she was already at work making a name for herself. After some exploration, she located a few clothing shops hiring models; wearing beautiful clothes, posing, and being photographed for pay? What could be better?
She thrived under a busy schedule, having already found work before even finishing unpacking in her new home, instantly looking for the next thrill. Maybe breaking out as a performer at this interesting poetry night in a few short weeks.
