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I’ve been working on this one on and off of like a year or so. I honestly thing leshy is on of my favorite bosses. He’s just a little creature, just a little man
But now a big man
Thomas - Digital Painting
This got no love on my main blogg, and while I don’t usually fish for likes, I worked too damn hard on this piece, so have a thomas/roman painting
And as I said in my other post, I know where I went wrong, but couldn’t fix it, so it’s stuck looking slightly off as all my work does, enjoy wonky work thomas
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The third chapter of Not in Love (Letters) is up on my AO3!
And here’s a little summary with some foreshadowing for future chapters for you all!
Magic makes Harry sick. Actually sick. As in, can’t get out of bed, vomiting sick. Being around it is hard, although its presence cultivates anxiety and uneasiness. But actually having to use it? That’s a recipe for disaster. Especially because Malfoy is acting surprisingly human. And well, we all know humans have faults.
Birds of a Feather
When a plot bunny attacks, gods help me. I’m already in the middle of a different long project.
+++
Helestra was glad she had paid a little extra to the innkeep and secured a room with a small balcony that overlooked the town square. There was a mob forming below. To the best of her knowledge, it wasn’t for her, and so she sipped at her wine and watched with interest.
“I didn’t steal it!”
A man’s voice rose over the mob, and Helestra leaned forward for a better view. A thief. Not a wise profession, in a town known for harsh punishments for thievery.
“Lies!” someone else bellowed. “Everyone knows who you are, Thief! Why else would you come here?”
A good question, honestly. Most honest thieves avoided the places that might hang them for being caught. She could see the thief in question, now. He held his arm close to his body like it was hurt, and raised the other one to try and ward off the guards closing around him. His clothing had probably been quite good before, but now they were dusty and scuffed. The guards’ work, no doubt.
“I needed to buy supplies,” the accused thief defended himself. There was an empty quiver over his shoulder and sheaths under it where they wouldn’t foul him, but no sign of the blades, or the bow. “I’m just passing through. Just let me leave, and you will never see me again.”
“Oh aye,” the head guard- marked by a large red plume on his helm- said flatly. “And take the Temple’s Idol with you, is that it?”
“I told you, I didn’t take it! I haven’t even been to your Temple!”
The crowd was getting angry now, but Helestra’s interest was truly caught. The man had clearly been searched, probably more thoroughly than he needed to be, and already lost at least one fight in a bad way. If he had any chance of convincing the town to release him, it would be by returning whatever he stole.
Although he seemed fairly convinced that he had not, in fact, stolen anything.
“We’ll just take your word, then?” the guards were circling like wolves, and the man was cornered, and knew it. “After all, the golden Temple Idol of Astre would be nothing to Shrike Twoblades, would it?”
Well, well. That was a name Helestra knew, although not someone she had met before. A notorious thief with a reputation for his skill, and his fondness for women in equal measure. No wonder the town guards were so focused on him. Every now and then someone put a bounty on his head, but no one had ever claimed it, to her knowledge.
“I don’t have it” the man protested again, and ducked away from one guard, only to be jumped by two more. He struggled, but was no match for them. His bad arm was broken, if Helestra was any judge. He blanched pale with pain when one of the guards dragged it behind his back to bind his hands together “I never touched your cursed Idol!”
“We take both hands of thieves, in this town,” the head guard told him darkly. “But if you return the idol, perhaps we would do you the mercy of a quick death instead. Take him away and let him think about it for a night. Perhaps he’ll have thought better of his chances in the morning.”
The man was dragged away, now silent with either fear or pain as he was manhandled into the nearby guard-house. With the show ended, the townsfolk slowly dispersed back to their tasks of the day, and Helestra mulled over the interesting development. Curiosity piqued, she decided to take her afternoon meal down in the commons, where she might find out more.
The inn was a good one. One she probably couldn’t’ afford, if she hadn’t just gotten off a job clearing out a local pack of goblins for the town. It had taken longer than she would have liked, and spent more of her magical components than she would have liked. Still, the pay was good, the job was done, and if she chose to spend a little extra for a nice room, well, it was her money to spend.
The stairs creaked under her soft-soled boots as she followed the hallway downstairs. The scent of cooking meat and beer met her nose, and then she was in the commons.
It was a fine, large room with good tables, and comfortable chairs. A fireplace dominated most of one wall, but it was cold, in deference to the warmth of late summer. The bar was long and polished, and clean, and manned by the innkeeper himself. His wife ruled the kitchens, and made the best meat pies Helestra had ever eaten.
“Lady Mage,” he greeted her when she took a seat at the bar. He refilled her glass when she proffered it, and nodded his thanks when she passed him a silver coin in return. “You heard the rabble outside?”
“I watched from the balcony,” she replied, and sipped at the dark wine. “What happened? It seemed like quite the row.”
“The Holy Idol of the Temple of Astre is missing,” the innkeeper said. His name was Heinrich, if she was remembering right. “Vanished off the alter some time between Sundown Mass, and midnight.”
“A holy idol?” Helestra questioned curiously. “Don’t thieves usually avoid holy items? Half the time they’re cursed by their god, and the other half they’re worthless to anyone but their own priest.”
“An, not this one, Lady Mage,” Heinrich said proudly. He had a right to his pride, having lived in the small town his whole life. “See, this was brought to our temple by Dracha the Pure. Made of gold, and covered in gems, with a ruby the size of a small egg in its’ arms.”
Well, that certainly cleared a few things up. No wonder it was stolen. The only surprise was that it hadn’t vanished sooner. “And it’s holy to Astre?”
“Dedicated by the Pure One himself. It’s said that the clerics hold it as part of their training. If you aren’t pure enough, it burns you. I wonder how the thief even got ahold of it. Usually there’s guards all around, night or day.”
Interesting. For such an item to vanish at the same time a notorious thief came to town was more than coincidence. Either the man had stolen the idol, or he was being framed.
Not that it was any of her business. Helestra had no connection to the Thieves Guild, and she planned to keep it that way. If one of theirs was captured, it was their business. Either they would rescue the man, he would escape on his own, or he would face the punishment that he had probably avoided a dozen times already.
“And if he was innocent?” Helestra asked, secure in her own safety. She had been in the common rooms during the time of the theft, talking with the inn’s resident storyteller, and Heinrich knew it. “Does that ever happen?”
“It’s the way of thief-hunting,” Heinrich took her question in stride with a regretful shrug. “Not that it’s ever happened here. The Cleric Guard knows their business. They may even get a confession out of him by dawn. Either way, it will be quite the spectacle.”
Of course. Of course they would do it in public for the town to watch.
It wasn’t that Helestra strictly condemned public executions, but she didn’t care to watch a man lose his hands, or his life.
Well, she had already been planning to leave tomorrow. This was reason enough to leave early. “What time will it happen?”
“Noon. When Astre is at her highest peak.”
Of course. She should have known. At least that made for an easy time out of town. The crowd wouldn’t start to form until right before, and the roads would be clear that early.
“How much do I owe you?” Helestra asked, her decision made. “I think an early start will do me good, and this is hardly the first thief ever caught.”
“And hopefully not the last,” Heinrich chuckled. “Two gold, Lady mage. Unless you’d be willing to do a bit of magic this evening?”
“Two gold,” Helestra agreed without argument. The service was good, and quick, and she wasn’t inclined to spend any more of her components to save a bit of silver. She rummaged in her belt pouch until she came up with the correct coins. The rest of her pay was safely hidden inside a hollowed-out book, and locked with her mage-sign. “Thank you for the hospitality. Will you be up early?”
“Nah, but the wife will. Just let her know you’re off.”
“Of course,” Helestra agreed, and passed over the coins, along with a few silvers extra. Movement at the door caught her eye. It was the storyteller from the night before. “For tonight’s tab. I’d like another of your wife’s excellent pies.”
“I’ll tell her. Anything else?”
“No, thank you.”
Helestra took the opening and made her way across the room to the old storyteller. Godric was a fine swordsman in his youth, and still carried a reputation about him like a cloak despite his age. Even now, when he had long since traded his sword for a sturdy staff, there was a sense of strength about him that was comforting to those in the service of Good, and disquieting to everyone else.
Helestra liked him immensely.
“What can you tell me about the Temple Idol?” she asked without preamble, as she joined him at his table. Never one to take offense, he made space for her and chuckled dryly.
“Heard the fuss earlier?” he asked, and waved until Heinrich brought him a stein of his favorite brew. “Got you curious, did it?”
“I’m always curious,” she demurred, and twirled her glass idly in her fingertips. “But a stolen idol- one that is cursed to burn the impure? Of course it has my interest.”
Godric cracked a grin and took a drink of his beer to wet his throat.
“Legend has it that Dracha the Pure brought it down from the Whorl Mountains,” he said, his voice in the easy cadence of a practiced storyteller. “After he defeated the Grand Demon, who’s name we dare not speak lest he hear us even yet. The Goddess blessed him for the great victory, and asked him what he wanted in return. She offered glory, and riches, and all his dreams together, but Dracha asked only for a token, to prove that the Goddess was with him, and watched over the people of this land. She gave him the idol, and he brought it here to the Temple where he first learned of Her.”
“And it burns anyone who touches it?”
“Purity and all. Or maybe piety. I’ve never known, and never cared enough to touch the thing myself and find out.”
Helestra knew the story, after a fashion. Dracha the Pure was a frequent character in the histories of this part of the world. A half-orc, found and raised by the temple, who became one of their greatest paladins. When a greater demon- some said it was even one of the dukes of Hell- raised an army and swept the land, Dracha rose an army of his own to meet them.
The mountains still bore scars of their last, titanic battle. Rivers ran red with blood, and huge swaths of stone were blackened with hellfire. Mountains crumbled, and when all was lost and it seemed that even Dracha would fall, he cried out to his Goddess, his first and only plea to Her, and She answered.
The Demon was vanquished and Dracha survived to tell the tale.
And now the Idol was missing.
“Is Dracha still alive?” Helestra tried to remember without success. The legends weren’t that old, but that didn’t necessarily mean much. Heroes didn’t have a terribly long life expectancy, all things considered. Godric was something of an outlier, and he knew it. “If anyone could figure out where the idol went-“
“Nah, he’s dead, spellthrower,” Godric said regretfully. “A few years back at a healthy old age. He ran the Temple after that last battle cost him his eyes. He’s buried under the alter.”
“You knew him?
“He trained me, and anyone else who wanted to learn. Should have seen some of the older priests howl when he taught the girls alongside the boys.”
“Women can fight.”
“Aye they can, as well or better than the boys, for all that they don’t usually have the same muscle. Anyway, I learned under him, but he always had a soft spot for misfits, and I was bastard-born.”
Not surprising. Most of the better heroes were people who, for one reason or another, didn’t fit at home. Godric was one of many bastards who went off to make their fortune through adventuring. Godric met her yes easily, secure in who he was, and what he’d done to become that way. Their conversation faded as Heinrich brought her pie over, and refilled Godric’s stein, but the innkeeper didn’t stay and Helestra didn’t try to keep him.
“Who might steel the idol?” she asked between bites of dark gravy and meat. “If it’s so well known, and cursed to burn the impure, and not a little bit obvious to boot.”
“An ambitious thief,” Godric shrugged. “One who wants to make a real reputation, or has a buyer lined up already. There are a few dark clerics around who like to desecrate powerful artifacts for their gods. A noble who likes to collect that sort of thing. A king who wants to add some legitimacy to their reign by appearing to be blessed by the gods. Who knows? It’s made of gold and covered in gems. They might even want to melt it down.”
“Holy Gold doesn’t really melt.”
“You know that, and I do, but a thief might not. Anyway, it’s worth more whole.”
“But is more identifiable.”
“That too. You think the thief they picked up didn’t take it?”
Helestra considered the question as she worked through her food slowly. Godric applied himself to his beer and let her get her thoughts in order. It was always nice to talk to old heroes. They knew the value of a little patience.
“I think a thief with the reputation he has, wouldn’t be that careless,” she said at last. “And maybe it was a mistake, or he slipped up, but maybe not. It seems odd that he wouldn’t at least take the easy way out.”
“Maybe he has a way to escape?”
“It’s possible,” she shook her head. “Anyway, it isn’t my business. I’m just passing through myself.”
Godric gave her a very knowing smile and she forced a smile back, and wondered what he was thinking.
“Well, since I doubt you plan to stay for the spectacle,” he said casually. “Perhaps you would be willing to stay for breakfast? The eggs here are particularly good, and I would love a bit of company. It’s so rare I get someone who knows enough of the philosophers to argue with me.”
“A proper argument over breakfast? Godric, my friend, how could I resist?”
I have finish this golden Phoenix today i have work on it 15 days.
*lays my exhausted body onto the earth* I am so tired, my god, I’m exhausted, hhhhhh
Ughh I DID IT! FINALLY!1 It's Firestar lost his last life and Rusty the kittypet. The road so far. Program: ibisPaint x (on iPad) Time: 6 h
