4692 AR: Terendelev drives off Khorramzadeh
https://pathfinderwiki.com/wiki/Terendelev
The ancient silver dragon drove off the demon following the demon’s attack on the city, nearly destroying its wardstone. This led to the call for the Fourth Mendevian Crusade.
3. [i] trusted [you]
characters: vesper moxley, fenix hayes
words: 1.750
warnings: me not being a dance teacher
By moving every single piece of furniture from the living room, wishing not to break anything in the next endeavour, the two were creating a modest spot for what could have been the most disastrous encounter in years.
“Sure you want to do this?” Vesper asked as she picked up the coffee table in unison with Fenix, each holding it from one opposite side “You know no coordination at all.”
Fenix brushed off the accusation with a disapproving sound as he walked backwards, like a crab. He nearly tripped when the back of his legs hit the small stool with dozens of Daniel’s magazines sitting on top of it. Suppressing a laugh was almost impossible, especially after confirming her theory, yet Vesper had to restrain herself to a suffocated laugh followed by a grin that didn’t go unnoticed.
“Listen, it’s either coordination there or with my hands and I’m sure no one ever complained about that skill.” They set the table down far enough from what was soon to become a battlefield “Besides, this could be a fun and nice couple bonding moment.” He smiled and placed his hands along his hips, the pose proud and the smirk bright, the kind that would win over anybody.
“We are not–”
“Not a couple.” Fenix finished the phrase that he heard numerous times in the last few years, words that felt like a mantra by now but that held no honesty, no reflection of reality. The look they shared in that precise instant made that perfectly clear. “I know, I know how it goes. Now let’s just get started.”
Vesper walked back to the centre of the room, now only a memory of what used to look like after the shifts in furniture. “Okay so…” she granted herself a theatrical pause before continuing “Mambo.”
“Right. How you do this.” The man joined her and thoughtlessly gave a tug up to his pants, as if trying to lift them, a habit he adopted out of absolutely no reason at all. A cowboy thing, he says.
“Well mambo is…fast, it has rhythmic charm, it’s vivacious and fun.” Her eyes lit up as she sought to communicate the essence, the emotion of the dance “It’s spicy.” She dragged out the ‘s’ with a humorous look printed on her face and Fenix found himself enjoying his own proposition far too much already. A similar vision was far too rare to behold. “It’s all about quick footwork and hip movements.”
“Can guarantee my hip movements work perfectly fine, ladies and gentlemen of the dancing jury. I have my witness right in front of me.” It was a waste of time trying to prevent him from making facetious comments, but Vesper offered him an admonishing glare nonetheless. It was their thing. He said something dumb and she scolded him, pretending she didn’t enjoy his ridiculous habits of speaking.
“Anyway” she simply said and resumed her explanation, “we’ll start with something simple since you are probably terrible at this. No arguing back. Let’s start with the basic position, lift your arms.” He followed the order instantly as the words left the woman’s mouth: she took hold of his left hand, the fingers intertwining so naturally she nearly lost focus for a moment before guiding his other hand along her back. Fenix couldn’t let such an opportunity go wasted and let his palm slide further down. “It’s upper back.” Scolded immediately, he knew it.
“Yeah, sorry ma’am.” The felon hand went back to the correct place as he made a throat-clearing sound. This time they both couldn’t hide the grin they gave to each other.
“Perfect, let’s try the basic action. It’s all about forward and back movements and your body needs to move with it. So, when your weight is on the left foot, your left hip will be pushed slightly out to the side and same thing for the right side. Look.” Vesper replicated into actions her explanation as slowly as possible: left forward, back to the starting position, right backwards and repeat. “See? It’s the easiest step ever. I’ll count for you, set the rhythm.”
Fenix felt confident as he nodded eagerly, the encouragement helping his spirit. One, two, three. And he tried to replicate the same movement, certainly not as fluidly as his teacher but ‘a man gotta start somewhere’, he thought.
“Right, now we’ll do it together, slow once again. Remember that your movements should be opposite to mine. If you step on my foot, I’ll make you pay.” Something warm and sickly sweet settled inside her chest when looking up at her partner: expression signalating deep concentration on the task, eyes glued on the floor, he really was trying to do this right. Her hand reached for his chin, a single finger under it, and gave a little lift to his face so they could look at each other. “Heard me?” eyes blown wide, Fenix only nodded fervently at the question. She cursed her mind for roaming, thoughts of caving in and allowing herself a little taste of his lips almost persuaded her. “Good. Again. One, two, three.”
Finally, the combination of their steps unfolded. The first try had the cowboy stuck on his feet, his brain trying to elaborate what he’s supposed to do. The second attempt made him enact a few steps, but the wrong way. On third effort, he nearly stepped on Vesper’s foot – I’ll make you pay playing in his mind – until he ultimately got the gist of it.
“Well, at least you managed to move. Now we will make it faster and have music on too. It’s three steps, literally, so don’t fuck it up.” Tone teasing, eager to draw a reaction out of him.
“Please, remind me how are you that good at this dancing thing?” Fenix let out a breath; three steps but so hard to coordinate. Originally, his plan pictured him having most of the fun out of the dance lesson he asked for but undoubtedly, someone else was undergoing entertainment right now.
“Had a colourful upbringing.” Music started playing, a symphony of different sounds flooded the apartment: guitars, trumpets and several percussion instruments. Vesper’s body instinctively responded to the vibrant tune, hips swinging naturally and legs moving on their own. Dancing was as simple and effortless as walking, or just as breathing, for her.
“Oh my god.” The emphatic expression sounded like a hopeless cry for help “how do I…how do I jump into this?” Fenix gave a few tries to the steps attempted a few moments ago but ultimately, as if they were erased from his mind, he obtained nothing at all, overwhelmed by the skilled dancing partner.
“Just follow the music, you shouldn’t think this out. Just move.” Vesper gave a faint smack to his hip, as if he was a horse waiting for a little encouragement. Sometimes, that’s all you need. Fenix finally decided to move, steps unsure and wobbly until he found his own rhythm. He was no match compared to the skilful steps demonstrated by someone a lot more experienced: fluidity, harmony, grace and sensuality. All qualities a novice like him could dream of only. Fenix had no complaint though, fairly satisfied with admiring and enjoying the show in front of him and clumsily participating, he was having too much fun. He proudly let out a loud, contented laugh and glanced at the greatest instructor he could ever wish for.
The ecstatic feeling was irresistible, contagious even, and quickly reached Vesper too: joy reached their eyes and she suddenly felt bashful to let Fenix gaze so happily at her. If that turned out to be dream, she’d desire to remain asleep for eternity. Fingers were tingly from the contact and a comfortable sensation was crawling up her neck, a relaxation so intense her head felt light, then a sudden blaze set off on her face. That wasn’t a blush, right?
“Wait, wait. Let me give you a spin or a twirl or a dip or whatever it’s called.” The frenzy of the dance immediately made ideas sprung free in the rookie’s mind.
“Are you sure? This is the first time I see you dancing…ever.” The previous peaceful sensation was now long lost the instant the proposal reached her ears. Eyebrows shot up, uncertainty was easily legible far and wide on Vesper’s face. Does he even know how to perform a dip?
“Sure, trust me.” He plainly replied and she nodded, action she would regret shortly.
“Fine. Just a little turning, nothing more. No dip. Nothing else.” She shifted their dancing position, now holding both of his hands, ready for the next move.
“Right. And I’ll catch you, sure thing.” Catching? This made no sense at all. Uncharacteristically, she ignored the statement. Awful choice.
Hesitantly, Vesper agreed, moving to incorporate an easy spin into her dance steps: now holding only one of her partner’s hands, she graciously swirled, making a double spin. The choreography appeared to continue smoothly until Fenix decided he needed to have that dip.
Before Vesper could end her own actions, the man decided to grab and lower her to the floor. Surprised by the sudden clutching, a shriek followed immediately as Vesper tried to wriggle her way out of his arms. The dip was far too low and the fighting that was put up only simplified the disaster; Fenix inadvertently released her hand – and her whole body too – suddenly startled by the rebellion, resulting in a painful journey on the cold, hard floor for both. As that little taste of balance they so precariously had, evaporated, Vesper collects a painful hit to the head and, as things always need to get worse, ends up with the heavy man crushing her on the floor.
“I said no dip. No dip! I trusted you!” she yelled at him, fury gaining control over her mind “I trusted you, how could I be this dumb!” she exasperatedly said while struggling to obtain freedom from the humiliation and the weight on top of her “Get off me now, you gonk.”
“That’s not my fault! You should’ve stay calm, I knew I could manage this–Stop screaming at me!” Vesper let out a deep breath, both out of exasperation and pressure on her chest that made it difficult to breath. She kicked her feet as much as the position made it possible, frustrated to the limit.
“This ain’t so bad anyway.” Fenix smirked, never missing a chance. He would regret this wholeheartedly.
setting: takes place prior to the events of wotr, before jael was expelled from the academy.
warnings: nothing graphic but blood, torture, mention of animal death.
“D’you think he’s had enough?”
Selkie sat on a stool in corner of the chamber, her magenta hair her only discernible feature in the darkness.
Jael regarded the man on the floor before them—nude save for a simple cloth, but unchained to the floor, just as Jael liked it. The mark on the floor she stood on was an indicator of how far he could reach while shackled—surely safe for Jael, but leaving no room for creativity. She needed room. Momentum.
The man had not moved—not willingly, that is—long enough for any sane person to worry. Were it not for her ability to sense that delightful thrum in his heart, he would appear dead. No doubt this was Selkie’s thought.
“No,” Jael said. “He has a few more tests in…”
The man’s trembling hands reached out to Jael, and she tilted her head quizzically. Was this some sort of plea?
She crossed the mark defining her place from his and knelt down in front of him, bloodying the fabric of her thus far porcelain white apron. She grasped his hand firmly and smiled down at him with a clinical fascination. The man’s eyes flashed with hope—of course they did. She was gentle, wistful, oh so benevolent.
She wondered what he thought in that moment. Did he believe this was solidarity? A signifier of some reprieve? Was this, to him, a promise he was getting out of here safely?
That was always the ideal, of course. The fabled fruit to be born from this endeavor. It’s easy to kill. It did not take Jael long to learn this truth as a child, toying with the rats in her family’s pantry—the large gray ones that squirmed so beautifully, so silently. They did not beg or plead or hold onto hope. They understood this is the way nature goes, that they were one minuscule contribution in Jael’s search for power, that watching their bodies writhe and contort was not for pleasure but necessity. Yes, it was easy to kill them.
The work came in keeping them alive. The was more to power than simply learning the most efficient way to kill someone. But blood was a tricky thing, the essence of life, the groundwork of any sacrifice, and she played with it in ways that would put the Dark Prince himself to shame. Thus far no one had survived a night with Jael Khatri.
So yes, Jael wanted exactly what her experiments did. She wanted them to live.
The man took her touch as grounds to mumble out a new plea. His voice, gravelly and heavy, begged in the same way they all did. I’ll give you anything. You can take my money. Just let me leave. Please.
Please. What a revolting word.
Jael’s face twisted into a sneer as she thrust the man’s hand away from her and returned to her designated mark on the floor, squaring her shoulders and raising her hand. In a sharp movement, she willed the rush of his blood to halt. She raised him up from the ground slowly, suspending him in air, watching as the bulbous veins pulled against his skin from the inside, and pushed it just a little farther. Just when she sensed something in him might burst, she released him and he crumpled to the floor in a bloody heap. Jael had turned away from him before he hit the ground.
“A fine display today, Jael,” Selkie said gleefully, handing Jael back her night robe. Jael only hummed in response.
Selkie twisted towards the man with an impish grin and a gag in hand. As she marched over, the man sputtered out more apologies, more appeals, but Jael was too busy cleaning her hands in the basin to hear his voice, or when it was muffled out. She strutted out of the chamber.
My baby druid in my pathfinder campagn,
Myrsky Lunaris, or on the reel name Milian Lynziir,
she is so cute, young, and gentle. She is a really good healer.
She grow up in Mendev, her mother was a azata, a celestial warrior, and her father was a elf warrior who swear to serve Iomedae. Her mother die when she was young, and her father became really cold with her.
When she was 86 years, she trie again to talk with him, but the agrement was really bad, and she just decided to run away, and discover who she was without her name.
This is Orleena, a monk who is part of a team of frontier protectors and demon slayers. She favours a glaive and employs thrown weapons in a pinch. Like any monk, she is trained in the art of unarmed combat, but that is her last resort. Having the extra reach of a glaive is often the difference between life and death when faced with hordes of demons trying to break through the frontier and drown the civilized world in blood. In battle with reckless destroyers like that, every defender’s life is priceless. The onslaught never ends, but the forces of good are few and thinly spread. Orleena stems the tide.
This was meant to be done after a stalwart knight, Sir Glygan, but alas, whenever one does something, there is the danger of that thing being swallowed up by a black hole and disappearing :D
4639 AR: First wardstone erected
https://pathfinderwiki.com/wiki/Wardstone
The ritual included the aid of the Hand of the Inheritor, herald of Iomedae.
