#khaggon

[inathanna]

Time: Early Afternoon, March 2nd  Location: Khaggon, A small cafe outside the Academy of Arcane  Status: Open. 

When one of the librarians at the academy had suggested that Hanna rent a cart for all the books they were checking out, Hanna had almost considered the idea before it became apparent that the librarian had been joking. Now, as they settled down with a cup of coffee at the closest café to the academy, a towering stack of books obscuring them from the streets, they were relieved they could get some reading done without the oppressive and claustrophobic walls that the campus seemed to have as of late. They were just taking their first sip of coffee, ready to indulge in bright, bitter taste, when the screeching noise of a chair being pushed backwards startled them just enough for their elbow to shoot out as their head turned towards the noise. With a clatter, the tower of books on Hanna’s table went tumbling down, cascading across the dirty stone street and flopping open on their bellies like lazy cats in the afternoon sun.

Gasping, Hanna put their coffee down and got to their feet, panic in their eyes. They should have known what a bad idea it was to take so many books out at once. The risk of one of them getting lost or damaged only grew the further away from the academy that Hanna took them, and Hanna could not afford to pay for most of these books if they were destroyed. Scrambling down to the ground, Hanna quickly tried to gather them up into their arms, checking them thoroughly for any tears or stains.

[thalrahylune]

Time: November 19th, just before midnight.  Location: The entrance to the mines, Khaggon Status: Open

It was the first time Thalra had left the Crayhorn estate in a week and a half—maybe more, time was still strange outside of Dasratsel, but now it was because she was spending so much time unconscious. She’d snuck out without informing either Nil or Efrain where she was going, and stopped by Efrain’s cellar to grab a bottle of some brown liquor she’d hardly bothered checking the label on. The mere thought of seeing any worry on Efrain or Nil’s face or hearing them offer to accompany her was more than she could bear at the moment. She knew it would only end in her snapping at them, and she wanted to avoid that in any way she could. It had been so difficult lately to control her emotions.

So, now here she was on the streets of Khaggon, walking towards the mining quarter, a spot she’d avoided without comment on all her other visits to the city.

The entrance to the Underdark was there, hidden and ever shifting like the labyrinth of an ant hill. Not many even knew about the tunnels the dwarven miners would stumble upon that lead to the Underdark, and Thalra thought Khaggon’s leadership preferred it that way. Sure, there were rumors, stories told late at night about the dark elves that lived even further beneath the mountain, but they were just that to most people. Sometimes, Thalra felt like maybe that’s all the Underdark had ever been. A nightmare banished in the light of day. But there were nights, night’s much like this one, where Thalra had to wonder. What would she be now, if her parents had never left?

With a wave of her hand and a few arcane words, Thalra’s form vanished, and she began to approach the building that marked the entrance to the mines, where inside she knew there was a giant lift that took the miners down into the depths every day. She’d never actually seen in herself, so why not go look now? As she walked, she uncorked the bottle of liquor and took a large drink, and knew instantly it was at least a handful of decades old. Probably, it was worth at least ten platinum. Which made what happened next very unfortunate.

As she tried to put the cork back on, the bottle slipped from between her fingers, and with a loud, echoing explosion of glass, hit the stone ground and sent liquor splashing on to the front of Thalra’s pants. A light from a lantern swung her way coming from the direction of the building, and Thalra cursed loudly, though her form still remained invisible. “Oh, dicks,” she hissed as she turned to scan the area for places to hide. “Mask’s huge, engorged, flopping, di-“ But as she turned a corner to escape the quickly approaching guard, she stumbled into another person, only managing to save herself from falling backwards by grabbing on to the person’s shoulder for balance.

[inactive-zym]

Location: Tarjtier Farmer’s Market, Khaggon. Time: Midmorning, November 12th.  Status: OPEN.

Zym had found that you could discover a great deal about people by how they react to minor inconveniences. Zym has also found, through years of experience and experimentation, that causing minor inconveniences could produce a great deal of entertainment. As such, Zym has learned a great many things about a great many people. This morning, Zym intended to learn if Khaggon city guards react poorly to having their bootlaces tied together. 

From across the market square, sitting on an erect barrel beside an artisanal wine merchant’s stall, Zym watched two grown men, one with a breathtakingly voluptuous mustache, dance around each other in an effort not to trip over their conjoined laces that she had conjoined several minutes prior. It appeared to be a losing battle for balance and the two men bumbled into passerby and market stalls freely. Familiar amusement bubbled in Zym’s chest alongside the thrill of a successful trick and she couldn’t help but laugh as the guards finally fell in a heap. Zym buried her nose in a cup of steaming hot chocolate she’d nabbed, the whipped cream leaving behind a white mustache, to hide the worst of her mirth. Many other market goers and merchants alike had stopped in their chores to watch the scene unfold and Zym couldn’t help but lift a pocket watch and wallet from a passing noble gawker as they stepped too close to her perch, their eyes glued to the guards.

As far as she could tell, no one had witnessed her nimble fingers as she crouched behind the pair as if to tie her own boots only to join theirs together several minutes ago. Nor had anyone noticed her nick a few baubles from the passing nobles, but just the same Zym felt a prickle at the back of her neck. Before she could consider the possibility that someone had seen her, or had perhaps just been intrigued by a chortling lilac tiefling atop a barrel, a stranger stepped up beside her. She jumped and nearly toppled over at the sight of the stranger and an undignified squeak eeked it’s way past her lips. “Fucksticks, you scared me!” she accused the newcomer with all the ferocity and dignity of a riled squirrel. 

A breath passed and as her cheeks heated and no doubt turned pink, Zym gathered herself back to calm austerity. She did her best to pretend as if she hadn’t nearly fallen like a drunkard and stared the newcomer up and down. She’d been attempting the severe, calm neutrality of nobles, but her mask felt weak even to her and her lips wobbled as she fought down a smirk at her own absurdity. 

[efraincrayhorn]

Date: March 31st. Time: Early afternoon. Location: Open-air art market, Khaggon.  Status: Closed. @ellywick-daergel​.

It had been months since Efrain had ventured into the art quarter of the city. Every time he did, be it to browse the galleries or purchase more pigments, guilt churned in his stomach. He should be fighting or researching or working, not gallivanting after a silly fancy of his. Each time he’d pass under the brightly colored signs or look into gallery windows he’d hear his father’s cruel admonishments. They still echoed in his mind, but now they felt hollow and weak. The power behind them, the pain, had decayed. With the reveal of his father’s—Eobald’s—true self, Efrain himself had felt hollow. 

Remaining at home with the curious, caring gaze of his parents on him and the company of his brother had begun to feel suffocating. He couldn’t meet Immra and Orion’s eyes without shame and each time he looked at his brother while in that house he saw the terror from a few weeks prior. He’d fled, again, and like a coward he now ducked through the market stalls blindly. 

Wide panels were erected outside of galleries and in front of residential buildings and were all hung with paintings and art pieces. The entire street dripped in art and color and as he forced himself to look, to behold the talent of the city, the knot in his chest loosened some. He paused before a display of twisted metal, wires, and old, rusty weaponry twisted into wreathes and writhing shapes. He had no talent in sculpture, but he eyed them all the same. He wondered if Orion might like something from this stand and he stepped back to better see the sign of the shop, though he narrowly avoided bumping into another observer. “Pardon me,” he said, his brow furrowed. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. I was too taken with the pieces.”

[thalrahylune]

Time: March 5th, late morning Location: The Crayhorn Estate, Khaggon Status: @efraincrayhorn​, @glynwarrens​

It was odd, standing before the door of Eobald’s study in Efrain’s manor after all that had happened to her since she’d first laid eyes on it. She could remember the curiosity that had clawed at her stomach like a wild animal when she’d discovered the arcane lock on the door, and had spent days after that wondering what secrets Eobald had been keeping from her even in death. It had annoyed her. But then things had shifted, and as Efrain had become more important to her, the door had sunk deeper and deeper into the recesses of her subconscious. She never truly forgot about it, would even walk past it sometimes when she stayed in the manor and stop in the hall just to look at it. The door represented untapped potential; a secret so worth keeping that Eobald even refused Efrain entry.

And now here they were. Thalra had stumbled across a way to break the arcane lock on the door almost by accident. It was a surprisingly easy spell. She looked back over her shoulder at Efrain and gave him a reassuring smile, before taking another step towards the door that was only a handful of feet away. Her fingers started to trace through the air, leaving behind faint trails of purple light like the tail of a comet as she muttered the verbal components of the spell. It only took a few seconds, but then there was a small flash from the lock on the door as the magic surrounding it shattered. Thalra grinned.

She looked back at Efrain as she took another step towards the door and gestured to it. “Well, would you like to do the honors or should I?”

[efraincrayhorn]

Date: May 6th.  Time: Mid-morning.  Location: Aureon’s Temple, Khaggon.  Status: Closed. @inathanna

Efrain had visited his god’s temple more times in the last month than he had the previous three decades combined. He knew the brick and mortar of the temple didn’t contain the answers for his questions as they weren’t the sort of inquiries that could be answered with rigorous research. No amount of pacing through the halls or harassment of his old mentor would change that, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying. 

While the lower floor of the temple housed worship rooms and libraries, the upper floors were reserved for study spaces that could be used by local followers at their leisure, but Torlamarian had claimed one as his own centuries ago and no one was about to question his claim to the space. Efrain had been loitering since dawn and Torla’s patience had clearly worn thin as he had abruptly ushered Efrain out of the study with well-meaning but characteristically brusque admonishments along with a suggestion that Efrain acquire a “better” cat that would provide him better company. Efrain had also been roughly handed a binder of research regarding chronic nightmares and several books that looked to be newly printed adventures rather than anything academic. He shut Torlamarian’s study door behind him with an amused, if disgruntled, farewell. 

Efrain turned away from the office without looking up from his bundle, familiar enough with the halls that he didn’t need to watch where he was going to reach his destination. As he’d guessed, they were simply novels with adventures full of plights and daring deeds. All three of them were newly printed and still smelled of sour ink. They weren’t something Torla would ever be caught dead reading and Efrain frowned. He must be worrying his old mentor quite a lot for him to stoop to shopping in the fiction section. 

[efraincrayhorn]

Time: December 20th, Midmorning. Location: Khaggon, A comfy cafe. Status: Closed. @thea-wb​.

The cafe Efrain had chosen to meet Thea in was quaint and dripping in comforts. There were no spindly dining chairs or tables and instead the place was set up with tucked away nooks of overstuffed armchairs and ornate side tables. Throw pillows of every shade and fabric found homes on chairs and in baskets and at least one cushy blanket draped across each seat. They offered teas and cakes and all other sorts of foods meant to bring contentment to the consumer. All in all, Efrain felt rather smothered by the grandmotherliness of it all, though he had never actually had a grandmother and didn’t know what they were meant to feel like. 

He’d arrived several minutes earlier than the time he’d arranged with Thea, worry bubbling in his chest. Friends and foes alike often requested his presence for a meeting, but something in the woman’s voice had made him concerned. Perhaps it was the general, permeating unpleasantness of recent days that made paranoia cling to him. 

Regardless, he’d settled himself in an armchair by one of the front windows, the nook visible from the street and entrance, but secluded from the rest of the patrons with only two chairs and shared table. He’d ordered a plate of simple biscuits and a kettle of tea, black with notes of mint, that now stood on the small table and resigned himself to waiting the next few minutes with his eyes trained on the door for Thea. 

[efraincrayhorn]

Time: Late afternoon.  Date: March 8th.  Location: The Crayhorn Estate, Khaggon.  Status: closed @glynwarrens.

Efrain had finally returned home after three days of panicking. There was no better word for it. He’d panicked. He’d hurt his dearest friend, his baby brother, and had learned that for all his attempts to help people, he’d simply hurt them. Anxiety coiled in his chest, around his heart, as he stepped through his own front door. He had only seen his parents briefly after the disaster, had mumbled something barely coherent about what had happened, and had fled their presence the moment they’d tried to comfort him. 

Only a week ago he’d comforted Avriel in Arx. He’d seen how hurt he’d been and how hollow he was afterwards and yet he’d still caused him more pain. Then he’d abandoned him to it. When they’d first met, he had feared that he would be a terrible brother, a useless one, and all he’d done since was prove himself right. He chewed his lip as he set his coat and things his own bedroom door before marching down the hall. He resolutely did not look at the study door. He’d disabled the lock, and the spell was gone, but the sight still made him sick to his stomach and caused his head to ache. In his absence, he had spoken to a high ranking cleric about the damnable geas and had been given a proper sling for his arm. They’d assured him that the pain in his head, the aftershocks, would fade eventually, but for now they felt inescapable and vile.

Too soon he was in front of Avi’s room. A door shouldn’t be so daunting, but Efrain would have preferred to face a dozen vampires and ghouls than to face his brother. He forced his breath to steady even as his heart continued to beat at a rabbit’s pace and knocked. “Avriel?” he called. “Avi, are you home?”