Khaeris knew she had to be careful in the Dragon Isles. She was too adventurous NOT to go, but also felt herself a little TOO vulnerable to fully engage and explore.
It was the bronzes, you see. She could tell who they were. They were the double-back, second-glancers. The ones who were about to say something, then shook their heads--in that reptilian way that gave away all dragons when they were startled--and narrowed their eyes.
So she threaded the needle of opportunity. Yes, to the Isles. No, to Valdrakken. Yes, to the Azure Span and the Dragonscale Expedition. No, to the Ruby Feast and the cheesemonger everyone kept talking about.
Wrong-Time still stuck to her--and she imagined it made her look, to a bronze dragon, like a mirage in the middle of the desert. Or someone from a dream who you couldn’t quite picture nor place.
One or two had seemed entertained by the puzzling specter she was. Most seemed distressed, anxiety slipping into their expressions.
She remembered how fussy some of them were, when she’d been Corrected back to her timeline. How fascinated by her timeline-skipping they had been, but also how matter-of-fact they had been that she be returned to when she belonged.
So it was with graceful slips into crowds and always a corner to turn to that she found herself exploring the Dragon Isles. Pollux would have been impressed at her ability to slip a tail (ha!) so frequently. But even so aware of the danger, Thaldraszus was still tempting. Like a shiny Titan orb forbidden to her; like a golden apple there before a starving elf in Eversong. She had stared up at the soaring city on the horizon--visible from so many vistas--and hungered.
Prologue -> Here
Fio Day 1 -> Here
Xylaes Day 1 -> Here
Pyraelia groused.
She wasn’t unused to all nighters. They had been a constant in her formal studies, general occurrences when she happened upon a particularly engrossing new book, and truthfully it wasn’t even her first one in the last five days. The tail end of her birthday week had landed her on a short camping trip in the Ohn’ahran plains with Aerden, and she had made sure to savor every moment. It was hard to know when their schedules would sync up again.
This all nighter sucked, though, and yesterday had been a tumultuous affair.
After Pyraelia had arrived at the Estate, Keranna had summoned the doctor out, and Xylaes arrived in short order. Her sister, who she had just seen a handful of days before, was presumably no longer her sister.
It wasn’t an unprecedented thing; magic, especially magic to the degree that her sister had been using it over the last few years, could have odd results. She’d always assumed that Fiorenze’s rise to Arch Magistrix had been a political move, but her grasp of the arcane had flourished in that time in ways it certainly hadn’t when they were in lessons together.
Xylaes wanted to talk to The Person Who Might Not Be Her Sister himself, and Keranna had swiftly shut down any protests Pyraelia might have otherwise made by just allowing it without asking first. Fiorenze was his person in some capacity, too, didn’t he have the right?
Maybe so.
But Keranna had a job for her, too. Equal parts a distraction and fact finding mission. Pyraelia was the best with magic in the family; maybe if she went down to the sanctum she could pick through the spellbooks and see if anything stood out? Especially while The Person Who Might Not Be Her Sister was preoccupied with Xylaes.
That small, windowless room was always so dark with the lights off. It had proper ventilation for alchemy work, but it had been built to be fairly secluded in case anything went wrong. Three years of spell books were out on the work table, one open in mid-use. It was always easier to work backwards with magic than it was to create fresh.
The quiet “Pyra?” from the corner of the room took her by surprise.
In retrospect she could’ve handled their entire conversation better. The Person Who Might Not Be Her Sister was absolutely not her sister. Her sister was stuck in a mirror and the person who had previously been in the mirror took her body.
The Person was a tens of thousands of years old archmage from Azshara’s court who had been in the cursed mirror for an eternity.
The Person was extremely dangerous within their own age and context — but they were not in their own age and context. They were in the Tel’vaiel estate with only the knowledge Fiorenze had provided, which hadn’t been much because Fio was careful. Not careful enough to not get her soul stuck in a mirror, but you know. Careful.
Fiorenze suspected that Theirastra, that was the person’s name, hadn’t been a reagent caster in life; but Fiorenze was herself, so the Person may be a little hamstrung in the home she’d made for herself. That was fine, and good to know.
She hadn’t really had time yet to ask the why of the thing. That could come later, couldn’t it? Fiorenze had practically begged her to not let anyone see her like this. To not let them know. They were both so bright, couldn’t they fix it together? All of her work was available in the spell tomes on the table, and they could reverse it.
Unfortunately it didn’t work like that. Not this time. That opportunity had long past; She had to tell Keranna, the doctor and Xylaes. They were all upstairs. In fact, she probably should’ve told them as soon as she realized, but instead she and Fiorenze got caught up in the sibling interrogation whirlwind that turned into an incredulous, one sided panic dump that really didn’t help anyone.
Fiorenze hated being embarrassed, and if there was anything worse than being embarrassed in her life it was failure. Pyraelia knew she was feeling both heavily, it was more than apparent in the fraught silence that took over.
She’d been quiet, curled up and looking away during the time Pyraelia took to dismantle all the books and spread the pages out across the floor and walls, the hours it took to scrawl out the original spell that had been cast and start to work it apart layer by layer. There was an intent in the work that bothered her, some things Fiorenze had probably missed — but the spell had done what it had been meant to do.
Put a soul in the mirror, and take one out. There was missing context. The Why of the Thing. It was easy enough to isolate the ‘take one out’ part; she was confident she could make that work again.
But it was early afternoon, now, and she needed a break before her grousing turned sharp again.
Fiorenze started when she stood up and looked at her with an unmasked desperation, “Please don’t leave.”
Pyraelia winced, “I have to. I’ll be back soon, I promise.” It was all she could promise, but an easy one to keep.
“Alright. Leave the lights on, please?”
The audible thread of terror in that request broke her heart.
Trixany rolled her eyes while Lady Thelmara walked the long, dusty halls lined with old tomes and droned on for ages about the pretigious history of the military academy over thousands of years.
"...All the Windrunner girls, of course. This academy was well-established before they were born. Other notable alumna include Lady Liadrin, Queen Anthene'alas Sunstrider--"
Trixany gawped, "Who??"
"Prince Kael'thas' mother! King Anasterian's late wife, the queen. Unless you think Kael'thas hatched from an egg!!"
Trixany did not appreciate the shouting. "...He does seem that way sometimes."
"What was that about our sovereign??"
"Nothing."
"And here is the Hall of Heroes. Portraits of our benefactors. Several Petal-Tenleaves, of course... the name was shortened to Pilton in the last century, you know."
Trixany was deep in her handheld scrying orb by then, trying to catch up on her favorite Goblin soap opera show, Glitterbomb! "Oh, I just love that. Mmhrm! Wouldn't ya know! How interesting. Good for them!"
Lady Thelmara spun around. Trixany raised her arm as if to sweep hair from her face, letting the small glass ball slide down her sleeve, out of sight. Old Goblin public school trick.
Thelmara raised her eyebrow.
"I just love... uh... thalassian history. Especially celebrity gossip."
"Not really a part of our history young lady, but if it gets you interested in your coursework..."
"Wait! Does Haris Pilton go here??"
"The young Miss Pilton doesn't 'go' here. She attends several high-level seminars that a new ensign like yourself would never hear about. Besides, you're in a separate dorm on the opposite side of campus."
Trixany groaned loudly.
Lady Thelmara leaned in and patted beneath Trixany's chin, for her to close her mouth. "Now, let us complete the tour and I will introduce you to your roommates."
"Last question--is there any hope this is an all-girls, like a magical girls school? Like, it's a secret you couldn't tell my dad? And you're going to pull a fancy lever, then we go sliding down a secret passage! And everything is sparkling and new, and there are ducklings floating in rainbow bubbles? And there is no bubble tea because technically it is a secret potion that is only trusted in the hands of your most talented students!! And the real name of this school is Magica Windspire Bubble Duckling Rainbow High??!!!"
Lady Thelmara blinked. She took down her glasses. "Are you... alright, young lady?"
"So that's a no. Huh."
Lady Thelmara was the one to sigh heavily this time. She took out her click-pen and made a silent note on her pad.
Trixany then did something for the first time in her life that she would get very good at throughout her years of being an entertainer. She looked at the camera.
"My version of this school woulda been waaay better."
Word Count: 675
Summary: Preteen Iranji is going to get out of Zandalar and away from his family. (AKA the short that just made me give in and buy a nautical reference book. At least he only needs to seem vaguely competent in this one.)
Warnings: none
@daily-writing-challenge
Iranji stood at the docks, a large pack on his back and a developing bruise around his eye, looking at the ships that were in port. He’d just finished talking to the harbormaster to see if she knew of any ships needing additional crew. He rubbed at one of his tusks with a thumb, a habit he picked up when they’d started growing out that year. His eyes were seeking one ship in particular; he had recognized its name, and vaguely knew their quartermaster from his father’s work.
Once he spotted it, he started walking, weaving through crowds of sailors loading and unloading cargo and supplies. He went largely unnoticed, likely due to his height and age, which was welcome. The Gral’s Bounty was at the end of the dock, and nobody challenged him when he came aboard. He asked around, and eventually found the quartermaster down in the hold, cataloging cargo.
He walked into easy view, and then managed a soft, “Hey.”
The quartermaster looked up. “Iranji? Did your father send you? We don’t need anything repaired today.”
Iranji shook his head. “Looking for work. Want to join up.”
He stood still, letting the other man study him. After roughly thirty seconds of silence, he said, “Captain’s speaking with the navigator in the mess hall, last I saw. Tell him I sent you.”
Iranji nodded and tried not to look relieved. “Thanks,” he said, before turning and heading back up to the deck.
Getting the captain’s attention was enough to make his heart pound in his chest, but he managed to do it after a few moments of awkward standing. He said again that he was looking for work. It felt like he was about to be completely dismissed until Iranji mentioned the quartermaster had sent him.
Again, he was studied. The captain’s attention focused on his black eye. “You’re a little small, aren’t you?”
He forced himself not to bristle by telling himself he was going to get taller soon. He just needed a growth spurt to hit. “Good at repairing ropes and nets. Even better at climbing. And I clean.”
“What has you so keen on leaving Zandalar? You look cared for. You must have family.”
“My mother and sister are gone.”
Based on the look the captain gave his eye, he didn’t need to explain if his father was still around.
“Come with me.” The captain strode for the deck, and Iranji slunk after silently.
Once they were back out in the open, the captain grabbed two coils of rope that were waiting to be put away, tossing them to the deck. “Splice these for me.”
Iranji nodded, immediately sinking into a cross-legged sit and finding one end of each rope. He worked quickly, but the captain watched him the entire time, which made it feel like he was making only creeping progress. The captain didn’t say a word, and neither did Iranji, though someone was singing within earshot, and the nearby dock was loud enough to keep the silence from being truly uncomfortable.
Once he had finished, he rose to his feet and silently held out the spliced ropes for inspection. The captain studied his handiwork for a while, tested the splice by tugging on it, and then tried again by tugging with his bodyweight after looping it through the deck railing.
Eventually, he seemed satisfied. “Good work. Do you know your knots?”
Iranji nodded.
The captain beckoned Iranji over to the railing beside him. “Show me.”
His hands shook slightly as he made up every knot the captain asked for, but he must have made a good impression regardless, because the other man kept nodding. After several tests, he gestured for Iranji to put the rope down. After carefully coiling it back up, he did.
“We’ll take you on for one voyage. Anything past that is up to you and how hard you work. Do you understand?”
Iranji nodded and tried not to look relieved.
“You got a name, kid?”
“Iranji.”
The captain held out his hand, and Iranji immediately took it, giving it a firm shake..
“Well, Iranji. Welcome aboard the Gral’s Bounty.”
He left port aboard the Bounty that evening, and didn’t return to Zandalar for a long, long time.
Summary: Xarian is looking to honor his father and heading off to join The Order of the Ivory Flame.
Warnings: None!
@daily-writing-challenge
“Get a move on, boy! The light may be patient but I do not have an eternity!”
Xarian stumbled out of the house, now rushing as Reinhart bellowed from the road outside their house.
“Yessir, I’m hurrin’!” He called back. Hauling his pack onto his back. Just as he gathered himself and started down the steps, a hand reached out and grabbed his arm. He knew who it was before he even turned. His mother stood in the doorway of their farm house, a mix of emotions on her face. She reaches up to cup his cheek and smiles.
“I’m so proud a you, son. This is gonna be such an amazin’ opportunity for ya.” She paused and ran her thumb over his cheek. “You’re already on ya way to becomin’ such a good man.”
Xarian shook his head and put his hand over hers, his own smile spreading across his face. “I’m just livin’ like ya taught me, Mother.”
“Then ya learnt well and your father would be proud.” She replied, her smile growing even more.
Xarian seemed to tense slightly, his eyes closing as a wave of emotion flowed over him.
His father was the quintessential military man, stern, strict and always put together even when working in the fields. Growing up the man’s only son had not been easy. He was always harder on Xarian, wanting to make sure he grew up with the same expectations that he had had. Up before the sun to start chores, make sure everyone else was set before doing anything for yourself. Treating your superiors, though in this case he meant his elders, with respect and listening to the wisdom that they were willing to share. Treating his mothers and sisters right, though that one was one of the hardest because his sisters knew he was supposed to and would antagonize him until he retaliated. Even with all the stern exterior and hard lessons, there had still been time to enjoy doing some things with him. The biggest was fishing. His father always loved fishing and whenever he would come home on leave he would take he and his sisters out on Lake Everstill in their little boat. It wasn’t much of one, but it was theirs and those were some of the fondest memories Xarian had of his father and it always brought a smile to his face. Some of the few times he actually saw his father smile.
But out of everything that he had wanted to do in his young life to this point, it was to make his father proud. He felt like no matter what he did growing up, no matter how hard he worked, he just did not get that.Then his father was taken from him, falling in battle and he lost the chance to have that. It was taken from him, at the tip of a sword. Truthfully, that was the biggest reason he was joining up with the Order of the Ivory Flame. He wanted to make his father proud, he wanted to honor the man’s memory. To show he was worthy of his praise, even though he would not get to truly see it. So now here he was, on his eighteenth birthday, leaving home to do just that.
He pat his mother’s hand and brought it down to place a kiss on the back of. “I preciate that, Mother. More than ya ever gonna know. I’mma do this for him, for the family..and most a all for me. I’m gonna help people, and do everythin’ I can to make the world a better place.”
His mother smiled back up at him, wiping away a tear before nodding. They both took another minute before another loud call from Rinehart interrupted their silent goodbye. He gave her one last, quick hug and ran. Ran to the waiting horse on the road and rode off towards Stormwind and a new future for him and his family. He was going to do everything he told her he would, and come back a good man and proud paladin. He not only wanted to honor his father, but make his mother proud too, and this truly was that opportunity.
It was almost midnight, but the magelight at Eoloran Soursea's desk was still lit, a solitary source of light in the darkness. The old elf exhaled, closed the book and stood slowly. He adjusted his monocle and checked the clock. Another late night. Was it maybe the tenth in a row? He couldn't recall, he'd been doing it for so long.
Extinguishing the light with a flick of a finger, the arcanist made his way to the oversized window and pulled away the curtains. It was a clear, cloudless night, nothing to hinder the light of Elune and the stars illuminating the sky.
"It's been over thirteen millennia, yet the starry sky barely changed. I can't help but wonder, had we retained our immortality, would be just as unchanging?" The kaldorei mused aloud, recalling the same sight he'd been watching from one of the spires of the Royal Palace in Zsin-Azshari in the distant past.
"Probably not." Eoloran chuckled, his voice exhausted. It were moments like these when he truly felt his age. "In the end, change is inevitable. Nothing is truly eternal, not even the night sky." He shook his head and turned his back to the window.
He should try to get some rest, even if he knew it was futile, his mind filled with the image closest to eternity.
Zexx frowned as he looked over the table at the three figures standing before his makeshift desk, the hold of the newly christened Wayfarer dwarfing the three small bronze men. Were they men? Or just machines?
"So you want to travel with us?" Zexx reiterated their original question, his one blue eye watching them carefully.
"That's what we said, did you not understand the first time?" the monotone mechanical voice spoke with a clicking pattern to match it's less than obvious gruffness, the strange metal mustache moving side to side as it spoke from the grate where a mouth should be.
Another of the mechanical short men moved forward, his voice carrying the same pattern of clicks but came out in a more refined and proper cadence to it's monotone. "Forgive my brother, he is a bit rough around the edges. But I assure you Captain Candell, we are quite skilled and very familiar with the workings of your vessel. We would happy to serve here for proper passage and boarding until we reach the conclusion of our contract."
The third one sat motionless, his bronze body still as a statue as it stared ahead with blank metal slots for eyes as the 'brother's spoke for the trio.
The hero for hire, now apparently the spelljammer captain reached up to rub at his bearded jaw as he took in the odd figures. Zexx had seen a lot of weird creatures and peoples in his lifetime, some not quite as dissimilar to these gnomes but it was never easy not to stare.
The proper gnome was Huey, no last names yet as they had not given them but it was a point yet to ask about them. His face was sculpted of bronze, all one color and highly polished but for a few scuffs here and there. His body was set with rivets and strips of metal to resemble clothes, from the overalls to the pointed hat on his head to the pair of rounded spectacles resting on a large nose over an even large copper mustache. Clockwork was an understatement with the being.
Gruff gnome was Luey, but he seemed to cast off the idea of being a bronze clockwork gnome his skin and body painted with an odd grey metal paint. The pointed hat was also missing replaced with a black bowler hat shape that been sculpted over his skull, the paint black and fresh. Beneath the bowler grey painted ears stuck out like sore thumbs to match a similarly sized nose of Huey's and large handlebar mustache of the same color as his 'brother's. Where Huey shaped his metal frame to form clothes, Luey had opted for true clothes with a grey sweater and leather pouch laden tool belt strapped to his chest. A desperate attempt to be more human? A memory of life as a creature of flesh and blood? Or a clever disguise to slip among the rest of the breathing world?
Frank was the least refined of the three. A thick kettle body supported by spindly legs to match the same kind of arms ended in exaggerated appendages to thin bicep and thighs. His head a rounded almost viking-esche helmet that rather than the horns of the Vrykul were two small thin steam pipes, though no smoke or steam poured from them. Yet. Frank was silent as the dead painted eyes inside the helmet that stared ahead, the though he might have once spoke was diminished by the smashed in haphazardly replaced grate where a mouth might have been. Despite being perhaps the more chewed up of the three, it was also the biggest standing twice the width and almost half a foot taller to the other three foot pair.
Zexx sighed again as he mulled over their request, muttering softly under his breath. "Three kobolds in a trench-coat."
"No, Captain," Huey responded in his proper and almost cheerful voice. "Autognomes or Clockwork as some like to refer to us."
"Get it right, meatbag," grumbled Luey as it folded his arms over his chest.
A frown would now cross the human's face as he slowly stood up from his stool to look down on the three, though none backed down from him as they looked up in quiet apprehension of his decision. "Why us though? Why do you wanna sail with me an my family? What would we have to offer you? I've got little to no coin."
"Coin is not our greatest concern," Huey replied again as he took a step forward, adding direction as he spoke with his hands. "We are in the business of knowledge and adventure to further our endeavors of the Collective Information Analyticals or CIA as for thicker tongues."
"The CIA?" Zexx tilted his head.
A whirl and soft jet of steam would flit from beneath Luey's mustache as he shook his head. "Look, we know about yer kid."
Gen. A pang of fear gripped the hero's heart as he felt his hand already sliding to his hip and the hilt of his short sword.
Huey threw his hands up as fast Luey was reaching to his own tool-belt for something heavy to defend the brothers. "No sir, we mean no harm. We wish to help him. Study him. And learn from him!"
"Study him? He's just a kid."
"A remarkable human, a blending of the flesh and metal. Something uncommon for our worlds but not impossible. At least we had only rumors of it," Huey continued as he now shifted between his Luey and Zexx. "It is from the ancient times and the first builders who brought our great world to life. I believe we may learn more about origins and perhaps our people's creation from studying his body."
A whirl of gears would shift to Luey and then back to Zexx as Huey looked up at the human again. "I also believe through the right amount of study we may even be able to improve upon his life as is. There are many things to this place that we know you are unfamiliar. We are familiar. We can help each other."
Zexx continued to frown before he slowly lowered his hand from the pommel of his sword. "How can you help him?"
Another snort of steam from Luey was easily spent. "How can't we help you?"
February Daily Writing Challenge: Day Two- Opportunity
Years ago in Port Everwind-
"Have you ever worked around a port before, Mr.." spoke Ithelien Summersong head of the Everwind Exchange, the Ren'dorei barely lifting her gaze from her documents to acknowledge the Worgen seated across the desk from her.
"H-Helsong, Ms Summersong." he swallowed nervously, hands fidgeting along his suit, "I haven't, I mean I've lived in Stormwind my whole life but I, well I haven't worked the dock." laughing a little nervously.
"Ithelien I insist." a bit of a bite in her short response, eyes cutting towards him and measuring him a bit. "Helsong, it seems rather suspicious that you'd suddenly want to work a port, let alone my port."
"Well Ms-" Helsong paused almost biting his tongue, "I-Ithelien, I was told that your company was more than just port work, that there'd be opportunities to go on adventures, artifacts to hunt, steady work." Sitting up a bit straighter as he lifted his head "I just need a bit of a new start and my time put to good use."
"Hmph.." Ithelien pushed back from the desk and standing up, "Well you did journey here with a couple of my employees, one of which I trust explicitly. They tell me you're a druid, using your ways to scout the way for them, yes?" Helsong's head tilting up more, the Ren'dorei being taller than he imagined.
"Oh, yes, I was able to fly up and figure out where we needed to go from Nevati's landmark details. Even found an oasis for us to rest at for one evening." smiling a bit proudly, Ithelien's expression not changing.
"Tell me Helsong, are you able to blend in well? I've worked with some druids before, a couple of them are still employed, miraculously, mostly because I have such a big heart." she said with a smile stepping around the desk. "However with some of my...charitable work I need those with a knack of not being seen." Helsong leaning his head to the side a bit as he looked at her.
"I grew up in..I mean I'm used to having to blend in Ithelien, I've found that people are a bit more welcoming when I shapeshift." he said as he shrunk back into the chair a bit, pulling his legs up as he starts to shift into the form of a large brown cat, shaking his head once fully transformed and sat nicely on the chair. Ithelien smirked with a little chuckle.
"Yes..that might do, as long as whomever is around isn't overly observant." she sighed, then groaned, "It's hard to resist that face though..Very well." she walked back around her desk and sat back down. "Consider yourself employed, but be ready to go at my beckon call, I like my workers punctual!" Helsong grinned, the best he could at the moment anyway, then furrowed his brow.
"W-wait what am I going to be doing though?" Ithelien already started to pick through papers on her desk again.
"Whatever I have for you Mr. Cat, now please, go find yourself a empty house and introduce yourself to our crew." she said as she made a shooing motion with her hand. Helsong looked puzzled, but started to get up, changing back into his worgen form.
"Thank you for the chance Ithelien." he said with a slight bow, Ithelien making another shooing motion as she went back to her work. Mr. Cat? he thought to himself, shrugging a bit as he went to exit the office and start a new chapter in his life.
