Tinnaire looked over the eye she’d found in her pocket-pouch. The iris was a deep russet, and the glasswork was strikingly well done--not just paint on porcelain, the cornea had been placed on as clear and domed as true-life. Subtle vessels had been both painted and pulled in the glass. The pupil was clearly a true absence not simply painted on as a circle.
It was, oddly, humanoid. Not feline, nor raptor, nor equine in nature. Not from a bear nor a lynx. No hawkstrider or even dragonoid. It was weighted, and slightly bigger than an elven eye would be in her hand. It felt solid. She glanced up at the others gathered around as they conversed and recuperated. Tinnaire went back to the inspection of the orb.
It hadn’t been imbued with magic to appear elven. It did not glow from within--in fact there was no magic at all in it. Subtle fire magic didn’t damage it while she held it between magically warmed fingertips, but neither did the material repel the magic. No fel radiated from it. It was inert.
Just glass.
It stared back at her.
She huffed a little laugh and slid it back into her pouch, fingers trailing over it before she snapped the cover closed. Tinn rejoined the conversations with the other mercenaries, but still she wondered: how had it gotten in her pocket?
Fiorenze smiled at the photographer, the accidental barb digging in, “Sunmote. Or, Archmagistrix.”
The photographer looked immediately relieved at her benevolence regarding the faux pas, “Archmagistrix Sunmote—”
She continued her way down the red carpet, stopping at the next group so they could snap a couple photos, then the next, and on.
It happened at least two other times inside the gallery itself, but each time was easier. She was the Archmagistrix, and that did open up new roads to power and influence outside the insular cadre of Silvermoon’s nobles.
Some of them were here, even, and she made a point to flaunt her success in front of them. Playfully. Vindictively. She hadn’t fallen — she had risen. After all, what was a noble class without a monarchy, and in a nation where the military branches truly held the most power?
One of the pieces reminded her of a fairy tale Keranna had read to her about Rusalki when she was little; The muse was beautiful, but Annya had perfectly captured the dangerous, sharp look in her blue eyes as the dark river water flowed around her body. She’d own the painting before the night was out as further proof that she hadn’t been hurt at all by the Tel’vaiel Estate changing hands.
The sheer seafoam silk of her dress swished, and the glass and crystal beads that covered every inch of it clinked together quietly making music to her elven ears. She was here to have fun, she was here to indulge, like she hadn’t been able to let herself the last four years of the shows because she’d had too much baggage attached to her name and the risk of falling out was ever present.
But she had fallen out with all the people who otherwise would’ve looked down on her. And now, who cared?
She sauntered into the Fire room with her head held high, gleaming with pride and overly pleased at how much she appeared to be an out of place water spirit. By chance, her Rusalka was there too, and they both settled into a comfortable situation near enough to the stage to watch the show.
After all, it was always a pleasure to watch Dicenne perform, and it was a thrill to introduce the lady on her lap to a night she’d probably remember for the rest of her life.
Lyn had bypassed the press line in favor of a more direct path to the door made by flanking around the back of all the photographers — none of whom bothered to look behind them, after all, the people they were here for were more than glad to pose and chat in the view of all their lenses
She’d grown up dirt poor, but had danced in the splendor that was the Royal Ballet centuries ago, back when she had been a much younger girl. The hubbub reminded her of a show the King and Queen had formally decided to attend, meaning the rest of the Court had to as well to keep up appearances. The opulence then certainly hadn’t matched this — and this time she didn’t have to powder over her freckles.
It was funny how out of place she felt, even if she knew she looked fucking amazing. Her ivory silk dress was extremely simple, but clung to her like a second skin. The color of it highlighted the honey tones in her tanned skin, made all those freckles pop, and really accented the brightfire blaze that was her untethered tumble of copper orange hair. The off-the-shoulder and low back cut showed off the umber brown Skold Ashil designary tattoos that capped both of her shoulders, as well as the runes scarred in a line down her spine by one of the seers that spelled out blezan til megin.
That blessing of power would carry her through — even if, maybe, only the vrykul word for blessing would only be visible to most people. A demi-cape of golden feathers started at the level of her shoulder blades, with some of the longer feathers ending just at the top of her hips. A scattered few of them glimmered softly with an ethereal witchlight. Most of them were her own, but a few had come as gifts from distant Sisters.
She would always be more comfortable on the battlefield, in a surgery suite, or her quiet cabin with her young son than here, surrounded by socialites. But it was nice to experience something different and shake off the rust.
The art was all beautifully done, Vixannya was a master of her craft, and it had become a pleasant personal game to spot the muses and speak to them a little about the process. Something, certainly, to pass the time. Plus it had been a delight to run into another feathered friend, Sana, drifting around the show.
It wasn’t surprising to learn that the legendary afterparty was, in fact, just that. She felt the most at home in the Earth space, unsurprisingly, but she’d made a point to check out the others as well. Serazhen, a former patient and Tart colleague, pressed an old fashioned into her hand while she watched Ryland and his performing companions drift about in the shifting skybox. He truly seemed in his element, and she couldn’t help but smile as he pulled off a couple particularly difficult movements with expert ease.
Fire was where her breath truly caught, though.
Of course that was where Dicenne was; it only made sense. Their complications had been years ago now, and things were certainly better now between them than they had been in a long time — mostly thanks to Ash being a very charming and well behaved toddler who had only had one meltdown at a small family cookout in Ratchet.
But it still felt wrong to look for more than a few moments, even if that was technically a big part of why he was here, on stage, indulging.
So she drifted back to Earth and meandered in the familiar comforts of food, drink and dance.
“That was a very brave thing you did today, my friend.”
Mr. Norg put his hand on the unicorn’s shoulder and gave it a firm pet. The unicorn stood stoically as it continued to watch the door to their house. Mr. Norg smiled when he realized what his friend was doing.
“Even when hurt, you can’t stop keeping guard.” Mr. Norg nodded as he stepped around the table and opened up the footlocker sitting on the ground beside. He pulled out a long strip of cloth and moved back towards his friend. “Don’t worry. I’ll have you patched up right away. In no time, we’ll be back on patrol. That fiend will think twice before trying to get in here again.”
Mr. Norg began wrapping the cloth around the unicorn’s chest. Pulling the binding close, Mr Norg then tied it off. Stepping back, he eyed his medical work critically before nodding in approval. He then sat on the ground and kept watch with his friend.
——
Morning broke on Eastvale Camp. Sunlight began peaking into the windows and people began to stir. Cui-Fen got up and started to get her household ready for another day. The Pandoran came out of her bedroom to the hallway. She did not seem the least bit surprised to find some of her daughter’s stuffed friends sitting on the floor facing the front door. But then she looked closer at one of the dolls, picking it up.
“Tai, dear. Why is one of my scarfs wrapped around your unicorn doll?”
Bright lit across a black sky the brilliant white orb lit the island like a spotlight as it cascaded it's refracted lenses of light on to the world. The wind blew softly with a warm breeze in a feeble attempt to cool the hot day sending palms into a sway of leaves and creak of timber. But it wasn't just the wind that moaned and howled tonight. There was something far more dangerous.
Rounding about through the sand a hulking monstrosity tore about in a fury. It's black fur bristling as flecks of foam and blood flew from it's maw of mouth, the teeth yellowed and sharp within the muzzle of a canines. Arms wide as palm trunks and hands thick as larger than a clam shell slashed at the sand, truly pounding sad in it's ultimate frustration.
The seafoam eyes who watched could still not decide what it truly was or wanted. Only that deep in her heart, was a deep seeded sense of pity for the human who she had continued to visit for the last few weeks.
She had been afraid at first, especially from the first time she had seen him change. Bones cracking, hair pouring from all over him, as muscles grew and flex into the behemoth that claimed the island once a month in a rage of the deep ones. It was terrifying. But she dare not speak of it with her people. They would want him slain at his weakest. They wouldn't understand. No one under the blue understood.
No one but her apparently.
For sure there had been other of her people who had come to the surface to observe or contact, but near all of them always ended in tragedy. Murder, capture, or worse had befallen those who had contacted the air breathers. Or touch them for that matter. They were obsessed with them it seemed and coveted what they would take when all they needed was ask. She had seen the hooks, the lines, and the nets.
And the bones.
But this one had been different. He wasn't exactly handsome like her people with their dark skin and lithe bodies from the constant motion they must keep as the ocean spoke to them as much through them. The currents guided all, her people who listen and protect. The monster man had a sense of sadness all about him, something that made her pity and wish to help him as much as be near him. He had been kind, speaking in his gibberish language but always calm in his movements and gifts. The gifts were always incredible.
The sing song of his animal wrapped tomes where magic seemed to flow with his strange words. Or the flame that could spring to hand with a mere push of metal or spring of wood. The liquid fire as well had been good though she'd only had a few tastes, sending a shock through her body from head to tail tip. She had enjoyed the glow but hated the hours after, yet still would come for another bite another day.
The creature was nice. Pitiful, but nice.
Watching him now run across the sands, tearing into trees and howling into the night the beast made her heart skip a moment as slid through the tide and skid into the water and wet sand. Gleaming red eyes stopping to find her own and lock. She sat still staring back.
In those precious seconds she saw deep into those red eyes and felt a strange wanting within them. Not so much to hurt or maim, but a shadow of the man she had been seeing for so long. As pity had been in her heart so now in it's eyes was fear and shame.
The moment passed as the shadow of her friend disappeared to be replaced by the rage again.
She watched him run. She watched him rage. She waited for his return.
Zhiadormi was panting as she dispatched another primalist. She came to the Azure Span in a hurry to help once she got the news that Fyrakk's minions swarmed the area. She was far from the only one, with mortals, dracthyr and even a few other dragons joined in to beat them back.
That was a few hours ago, and despite giving their all, it felt futile. No matter how many Zhia finished with her claws or shortswords, another two popped up to take the place of the fallen. No matter how many she used her time magic on to make them relieve their worst fears, the incidents that caused them the worst pain in their lives, there were still too many.
"Damn it...!"
She was too distracted to notice another primalist swinging at her, sending the bronze dragon to the ground after a hasty parry.
Before her assailant could try another attack, the swing of a familiar claymore entered her field of vision and took care of him.
"Sam!" Zhia exclaimed happily, accepting the helping hand the worgen offered to pull her up.
"Come on, did you really think I'd miss all the fun?
The sudden increase in temperature cut their reunion short.
"Weak playthings of the Titans! Burn!"
"Shit, that's Fyrakk! We must leave, now!" Samantha cursed as the massive proto-drake was getting too close for comfort.
"Leave me here. I'm too exhausted to even transform." Zhia panted after a really short run.
"No way, I'll carry you if I have to!" The worgen shifted, but jumped at the bronze dragon instead of picking her up.
A massive blast of fire shook the ground where the pair was standing previously.
They landed in a heap. Sam groaned, blinking her eye as she tried to sit up... only to find Zhia out cold and a wall of shadowflame blocking their path of escape.
She had to act fast, while the incarnate was distracted by something else.
'Shit! Maybe I could make the jump unscatched by myself, but...'
Any tree she could try to climb was already aflame. A glance at the unconscious bronze was enough to steel Sam's resolve.
She quickly wrapped Zhia in her cloak and lifted her up in her arms.
One deep breath. Two. Them jump.
Samantha screamed.
_ _ _
„Ughhh…” A groan escaped Zhiadormi as she came round. Her head was throbbing and it took effort to will her eyes open. Her left one slowly blinked, but her right wouldn’t budge.
She tried to raise a hand to check it, but found her limbs constricted. The bronze was wrapped up in a piece fo cloth, probably a cloak, like a bundle.
'Wait, this looks like Sam's... Fyrakk! Sam!'
The rush of memories would have made Zhia fall were she standing at that moment.
A whimper from her blind right made the head of the bronze snap in that direction.
Samantha was sprawled on the ground not too far from her, back in human form and breathing heavily, eye closed.
Zhia quickly freed herself and slowly staggered to the worgen's side. She had to stifle a gasp at the state of Sam's legs. The bandages were applied haphazardly and the bronze could spot burned skin peeking out here and there.
"Oh Sam..." The dragon knelt, gently wiping the sweat from the warrior's forehead.
"Ungh... Zhia...? Sorry for... the rough landing. Migh've... dropped you by... accident. Your... normal wink... suits you better." The worgen's eye flickered open, a glowed finger brushing against the bump on the bronze's eyebrow, making her wince.
"Sam, why did you do this?" Zhia ignored the jibe, asking a question instead in a pained voice, concern obvious on her face.
"Fyrakk would... have roasted us... alive. I had to try." The worgen groaned before adding "So I tried... to jump over. Almost... succeded, too."
"You're a fool, you should have left me there!"
"Nah... owe you... too many favors. Wanted to... even the scale... a bit."
Zhia just shook her head, ignoring the fresh wave of pain the action brought and cupped the worgen's cheek.
"You owed me nothing from the moment you almost died at the Temporal Conflux." She leaned in to place a kiss on Sam's forehead.
"Even so..."
"Hush now. Just rest, and I'll get you out of here after I catch my breath." Zhia kissed her cheek this time, her heart beating faster, getting a small huff and a smile in return before the worgen closed her eye again.
The bronze wanted nothing more than to use her magic to revert the time of Sam's wounds. Temporary as the solution was, it would have spared her much pain until they could find a healer. A pity she was too spent for that.
Taking her original dragon form was far less taxing, so she would shift the moment she would be able do so. Anything to get Sam proper help as soon as possible.
The wall of shadowflame still stood on the other side of the rocky outcropping Sam hid themselves behind.
Zhia sighed and returned to the worgen's side. She had a few first aid supplies as well. She took to change the old bandages and wrap the new ones properly on Samantha's legs and feet, giving the worgen a lap pillow as a reward.
"Just a few more minutes, and we will out of here." The bronze whispered while running her fingers through the warrior's hair.
Gallery week was always a whirlwind for his best friends.
Annya, even at her busiest, made sure to set him up with a suit to match her and Ryland, and a wonderful pre-show evening of pampering. Not that it really mattered that it was that kind of week in particular — anytime either of them texted, he’d join them individually, or together, for moral support, oral support, or all the other types in between.
He had a great time reinforcing how good Annya and Ryland looked on the red carpet, but it really was an absolute delight to see them both in their element at The Elements.
His element was later, at the afterparty. Gone was the suit to better fit in with the Air themed room, swapped in favor of elegant, breezier pants, no shirt and fractal swirls of pearlescent body paint up one of his arms and across his back in a pattern recognizable to those familiar with lightning scars. A little touch of magic made them gleam slightly to correspond with some of the scene changes within the room.
He’d spent some extra time at his day job casting a pair of asymmetrical silver ear cuffs that curled up the long lengths of his elvish ears and matched a couple sets of unassuming rings that adorned his fingers. It was subtle jewelry, but it certainly tied the whole look together, and it pleased him to blend in with the theme of the room.
It was a delight to serve, mixing up whatever drinks the attendees wanted and talking to them about their time so far. He knew all the best details about where to go from here, what to do, who to see (or do, too), or just be a companionable source of casual, safe conversation for some of the wallflowers who found their way to his bar.
In the scant spare moments where he was left to his own devices without an order to fill, he was perfectly oriented to watch Ryland work. That was something that was already one of his favorite pastimes, but this was special.
And extremely sexy.
Sure, throughout his life he had been oddly Lucky — blessedly so, almost — but it seemed on another level with the knowledge that at the end of the night he’d get to reconvene with the pair he’d walked in with and get to work off the hours long build up to that delightful release and relaxation.
Especially so with what they had planned for Annya. She’d done months of work, had to spend the majority of the night hosting and entertaining. But once everything had been sold and the party had shifted to a more self-sufficient state, he’d be there to serve her, too, with Ryland, to reap all the benefits of what she had spent so long sowing.
