Hello hello!! I'm Qrow, he/they, 18+, back again with more OCs and more writing to get done. This blog is dedicated specifically to my Aramán OCs because I love them all. Interactions will come from @thetachonisboy.
I will make a specific post for each character, but in the meantime, have this list.
Morwen doesn’t consider herself a sorcerer. Because she is not one. Magic is not innate in her blood, nor does it come from some ancient, long ago ancestor. But this origin of her… gift is strange and unknown. The Faoláns have a pretty strong theory that it came from their father’s interactions with magic and death, but they can’t say for sure. None of them really know why Morwen can see the dead.
They used to terrify her when she was young. The spirits of those still making their transition to the afterlife— or rather, what is left of the afterlives. Sometimes how they died was obvious in their appearance, other times they appeared as they had been in younger age. Sometimes they were wandering wisps of a faint fog, other times they were lingering shadows with forms as real and as material as any other living creature.
Morwen isn’t supposed to be able to catch sight of those passing over, or to see wandering spirits as they move by the weaker barriers between the living and the dead. It’s another realm, another plane of existence, and in many cases the afterlife and the living, material world are completely separate, but sometimes they are nearly identical, residing in the same physical space but unaware and unperceptive of the other’s existence there. No one is supposed to be aware of those areas. No one is supposed to watch the dead begin their journey onwards. Morwen does, though.
It’s a danger and it’s a risk. Only those born into noble houses or raised with proper teachings should have access to this kind of magic. Yet Morwen does. So the Faoláns have done as much as they can to keep such an ability a secret. Especially from those like the Tachonis who would not be happy to hear of such a thing.
And that’s what they do. Morwen keeps it a secret, never reacting to those who wander by who walk without a shadow.
Morwen, following in her father’s footsteps, studied as a wizard at the Penteveral, finding a love and passion for history. So much of Araman’s history has been lost or forgotten or twisted. Morwen wants to fix that, to find the truth.
And it helps, on occasion, when you’re able to commune with those who experienced history for themselves.
Morwen now is a history professor at the Penteveral, teaching a small handful of classes, though her primary role is monitoring and managing the school’s library.
Unhappy with how things are looking at the Penteveral, Morwen has been doing her best to ensure students have proper access to information and learning techniques, as well as making sure that each student who walks through the library of the Penteveral is safe.
“Not like this, Ky. Somewhere better, at least,” he replied in an attempt to bargain. Still, his face pressed against theirs, taking a break from kissing, catching their breath, a few gasped words between them. Dead gods, Sylandri rotting in her grave, Kyra deserved so much better than this; Victor wished their first time together again could be like it used to be, in golden hour fields, atop linen sheets laid out for picnics.
Of course, the last time that Oisin had touched Remy, it was huddled in the same bedroll, only three days before she was killed in battle. A shitty inn room was at least a little bit of a step up. Nevermind that his nerves about place also carried his nerves about himself. He tried to shake away the negative self talk, pressing soft kisses to their neck. “…fuck, I’ve missed you, love.”
Kyra huffed, which was easy to do when it felt as though her breath had already been taken from her. She had been waiting so long for this, and now she finally had him in her embrace, why did she have to wait longer? And, yes, while Kyra did logically understand why, both for comfort and for some kind of decency, the idea still crossed their mind about not taking the suggestion of somewhere better, about ignoring any wandering eyes– be it curious, engaged, or unamused– and just appreciating their reunion to the fullest. “Fine. Just– please.”
His touch, his everything… Kyra never thought she would have it back. Not genuinely. She hoped for it day after day. She spent evenings remembering the faintest images, long-gone ghosts of touch. They had waited and they had wished, but the odds had always been against Kyra. How lucky was she to have Victor? To finally have him back in her arms? “I’ve missed you so much,” they exhaled, emotion in their voice as they shifted their head to the side, offering more room as Victor’s lips pressed against their skin.
"I do still work here, even if it's my day off. I'm pretty sure if they saw me fingering a regular in a booth, they'd be liable to fire me," he replied softly, whispering into their ear. Not to mention, he wanted to get to see them, get his hands on all of them they could, savor the moment they finally got to be together again. Victor felt as if an ache he'd known all his life, the feeling that something was missing, had healed almost instantaneously when he'd seen Kyra again after the memories came back. He wanted her again, back in his life, back in his arms.
He pressed a few more quick kisses to their neck, breathing them in. A hand settled on their outer thigh, running along the fabric of their pants. "Let's head upstairs. I have a room I rent up here... it's not luxurious by any means, but it'll be more comfortable than down here. Then, maybe, you can stay the night?"
A small laugh. They knew he was right. “I think the key word we should focus on here is ‘if’,” she responded playfully. It was only a matter of whether they would get caught or not, speaking in that situation. Kyra shook their head, dismissing the idea as much as she was tempted to follow it through. Maybe some other time. If… if Victor agreed for there to be a next time. Things were complicated. Even ‘complicated’ felt like an understatement for their complex predicaments, but at least Victor was here.
Kyra leaned into his touch, his presence, his voice. The joy (and, to only a slightly lesser extent, the need) felt indescribable now that they had him here, now that his touch was real and not some figment of their imagination. Kyra placed her hand over Victor’s, and she smiled at him, true and genuine. “There is nothing I wouldn’t give up to spend the night with you. Lead the way.”
“Not like this, Ky. Somewhere better, at least,” he replied in an attempt to bargain. Still, his face pressed against theirs, taking a break from kissing, catching their breath, a few gasped words between them. Dead gods, Sylandri rotting in her grave, Kyra deserved so much better than this; Victor wished their first time together again could be like it used to be, in golden hour fields, atop linen sheets laid out for picnics.
Of course, the last time that Oisin had touched Remy, it was huddled in the same bedroll, only three days before she was killed in battle. A shitty inn room was at least a little bit of a step up. Nevermind that his nerves about place also carried his nerves about himself. He tried to shake away the negative self talk, pressing soft kisses to their neck. “…fuck, I’ve missed you, love.”
Kyra huffed, which was easy to do when it felt as though her breath had already been taken from her. She had been waiting so long for this, and now she finally had him in her embrace, why did she have to wait longer? And, yes, while Kyra did logically understand why, both for comfort and for some kind of decency, the idea still crossed their mind about not taking the suggestion of somewhere better, about ignoring any wandering eyes– be it curious, engaged, or unamused– and just appreciating their reunion to the fullest. “Fine. Just– please.”
His touch, his everything… Kyra never thought she would have it back. Not genuinely. She hoped for it day after day. She spent evenings remembering the faintest images, long-gone ghosts of touch. They had waited and they had wished, but the odds had always been against Kyra. How lucky was she to have Victor? To finally have him back in her arms? “I’ve missed you so much,” they exhaled, emotion in their voice as they shifted their head to the side, offering more room as Victor’s lips pressed against their skin.
Amy tapped her nails on the picnic table, eyes trained on a figure curled up with a book under a large, knotted tree in the courtyard. It was the fourth day in a row she had seen this person sat alone—Zuri, if she remembered right—and she’d started looking out for them around campus. Not once had she seen them talk to a single person. Not that it was that unusual, people often hurried from one class to the next, but there was something familiar about the way their shoulders hunched when they walked. A quickness to their movements, like they might be caught doing something terrible. Like, apparently, reading under a tree.
Her mind was set before she even noticed she’d stood, scooping up her sandwich and bottle of juice.
“Hey sweetiepie, do you mind if I sit with you in the shade?”
@amy-bellevierre
The Penteveral’s collection of books was, simply put, insane. There were hundreds of them, thousands even. Stories and tales from the past, fictional and otherwise. Zuri had never imagined there could possibly be a collection as large as the Penteveral’s, but apparently it wasn’t even the largest collection out there.
And, while inaccurate in reality, it felt as though the collection of books paled in comparison to the collection of students and staff that roamed the halls. The crowds felt overwhelming. Students laughed and talked with each other, always demonstrating the vast amount of connections they had already formed. Not a singular student looked out of place here. It only felt as though Zuri was the exception.
The sound of steps approaching them made the orc freeze. While her eyes still locked on the book, she remained focused on the periphery of her vision, waiting to see who was approaching her.
Zuri only allowed themself to look up when a voice spoke up, truly breaking the relative quiet of nature. They looked up at the figure above them, taking in their appearance briefly. Maybe a few times Zuri had seen her around the school grounds, but it had always been in passing or only for a few moments. And those moments had been spent just trying to maneuver through the halls and get to class on time or find a spot outside to breathe or let Freyr hop around for a while.
A small pause, hesitant, like Zuri was considering what the odds were for the request to be a genuine move and not something with an ulterior motive. After a second, Zuri inhaled and replied with a slow “sure..” as they gathered their stuff to make room for this new person looking for company under the single Dragon’s Claw Willow tree on campus.
“Cool, thanks!” Luckily she had worn a long, flowy skirt today. She knelt beside them in the soft grass, leaning against the surprisingly smooth bark of the tree while she set her things down beside herself. “I’m Amy.” She offered a hand to shake, an olive branch tattooed on that forearm. “I’ve been seeing you around but we don’t have any classes together. I’m studying music and conjuration.”
Zuri let the young woman– Amy, as she introduced herself– sit down beside her. They tried not to let their mind linger on how close in proximity she was. It was fine! Zuri could handle this. Just a short interaction with another student at school. She could do that! Probably. “I’m Zuri,” she responded back, taking just a moment to look down at Amy’s hand before shaking it, their eyes lingering on the tattoo. “That’s pretty. Olive, yes?”
“Oh, uh no, we don’t have any classes together. I’m.. more focused on druidic nature and creature conjuration, so I guess we may have some classes together in the future.”
The question made her smile, something like fondness behind her eyes. “Yeah! In some cultures an olive branch is seen as a peace offering, so I wanted it on my handshaking arm. I figure if I’m giving someone a handshake, it means I’m probably not declaring war.” She shrugged, taking a sip from the cup she had precariously balanced in the grass. “But I guess it’s possible.”
Being a druid explained the animal companion, could even explain a reclusive nature. But it didn’t explain why this person was so antsy at even her presence. Amy decided she was going to find out.
“I got it because as a teenager I was kind of a bitch—I still am, but I’m a little more choosy now. It’s a good reminder.” A wry smile crossed her face as she glanced to see if her joke landed right.
A smile, genuine. She could see olive being a symbol for peace. It was fascinating to get to learn how different flora could mean so many different things to different people and cultures. Not only was there so much to learn about each leaf, each branch, and each sprout, but so many meanings derived from them based off of various interpretations. Zuri wanted to learn about each of them/. Each interpretation, each meaning, each symbol.
“That is very cool,” Zuri responded, trying as hard as they could to not sound strained or awkward in any way. Whether it worked or not, they didn’t know.
Choosy. Zuri’s smile shifted from interested to amused, though something like shyness still remained on her expression. “It’s good to pick your battles,” they agreed, one of their hands fidgeting with the pencil in their grasp.
Amy tapped her nails on the picnic table, eyes trained on a figure curled up with a book under a large, knotted tree in the courtyard. It was the fourth day in a row she had seen this person sat alone—Zuri, if she remembered right—and she’d started looking out for them around campus. Not once had she seen them talk to a single person. Not that it was that unusual, people often hurried from one class to the next, but there was something familiar about the way their shoulders hunched when they walked. A quickness to their movements, like they might be caught doing something terrible. Like, apparently, reading under a tree.
Her mind was set before she even noticed she’d stood, scooping up her sandwich and bottle of juice.
“Hey sweetiepie, do you mind if I sit with you in the shade?”
@amy-bellevierre
The Penteveral’s collection of books was, simply put, insane. There were hundreds of them, thousands even. Stories and tales from the past, fictional and otherwise. Zuri had never imagined there could possibly be a collection as large as the Penteveral’s, but apparently it wasn’t even the largest collection out there.
And, while inaccurate in reality, it felt as though the collection of books paled in comparison to the collection of students and staff that roamed the halls. The crowds felt overwhelming. Students laughed and talked with each other, always demonstrating the vast amount of connections they had already formed. Not a singular student looked out of place here. It only felt as though Zuri was the exception.
The sound of steps approaching them made the orc freeze. While her eyes still locked on the book, she remained focused on the periphery of her vision, waiting to see who was approaching her.
Zuri only allowed themself to look up when a voice spoke up, truly breaking the relative quiet of nature. They looked up at the figure above them, taking in their appearance briefly. Maybe a few times Zuri had seen her around the school grounds, but it had always been in passing or only for a few moments. And those moments had been spent just trying to maneuver through the halls and get to class on time or find a spot outside to breathe or let Freyr hop around for a while.
A small pause, hesitant, like Zuri was considering what the odds were for the request to be a genuine move and not something with an ulterior motive. After a second, Zuri inhaled and replied with a slow “sure..” as they gathered their stuff to make room for this new person looking for company under the single Dragon’s Claw Willow tree on campus.
“Cool, thanks!” Luckily she had worn a long, flowy skirt today. She knelt beside them in the soft grass, leaning against the surprisingly smooth bark of the tree while she set her things down beside herself. “I’m Amy.” She offered a hand to shake, an olive branch tattooed on that forearm. “I’ve been seeing you around but we don’t have any classes together. I’m studying music and conjuration.”
Zuri let the young woman– Amy, as she introduced herself– sit down beside her. They tried not to let their mind linger on how close in proximity she was. It was fine! Zuri could handle this. Just a short interaction with another student at school. She could do that! Probably. “I’m Zuri,” she responded back, taking just a moment to look down at Amy’s hand before shaking it, their eyes lingering on the tattoo. “That’s pretty. Olive, yes?”
“Oh, uh no, we don’t have any classes together. I’m.. more focused on druidic nature and creature conjuration, so I guess we may have some classes together in the future.”
" You feel like something I lost a long time ago. "
[ For Victor, from Kyra ]
~ { @untoldremnants }
The words felt like a knife between his ribs, and that terrified him. Victor had never met this person before, that he knew clearly; no half-drunk state to account for, no chance encounters. He certainly had no deep enough connection to them that they could feel they'd lost him. Maybe it truly was just coincidence or a similar feeling... but something in him nagged at the sentiment.
"You have me confused with someone else." And he had half a mind to offer her something to forget, a drink strong enough that whatever specter of her past would fade away. It worked well enough for him when he craved the sort of sunlight Aramán hadn't seen since years before his birth. Hellfire burned too strong to replace it or scratch that itch. "...don't feel bad about it. Happens more often than you think. ...lot of people end up confessing their love to a bartender."
It was just a spark. A singular moment. A half-second where Kyra believed the person handling the bar could be someone from long ago.
This wasn’t the first time it had happened, not by a longshot. They used to see the briefest hints– a flash of familiar eye, a laugh that sounded too familiar. It had never been him. No matter how many times Ky ran after the sound or briefest moment of something familiar, it was never him.
Why would it ever be? He was lost. Gone. Decades had passed since he walked Aramán, and even more since they had walked it together. The simple fact that she was here, that she remembered what life was under the Shapers, that she remembered working for them, fighting for them, was some kind of miracle. Or some kind of curse. The odds of him showing up, or even anyone from back then– anyone who wasn’t a corpse or getting close to it– seemed impossible. Still, Kyra hoped, against everything, that if she came back, maybe someone else would. Maybe he would.
And, for a second, watching the bartender scan over the not too dense crowd of partons, Ky saw the flash. Maybe it was the trick of the light, but she got a glimpse of eyes she hadn’t seen in so long. Eyes that she couldn’t ever forget. Not willingly, at least. And for that moment, they felt a name slip from their lips before they could stop it. A gentle, whispered, “Oisin.”
She was up and moving before she could consider otherwise. That brighter, familiar color was gone now that she looked closer. But maybe….. Just maybe. With each step, there was a building momentum of hope that rose in her chest. Maybe he was here. Maybe after so long, she had found him, as though their paths had been destined to cross again. Maybe…..
The second that she said that sentence, without a greeting of any kind, Kyra felt some kind of regret. Her mind rushed with the worries she used to have as a teenager– that she was crazy, delusional, trying too hard to make up for a world that was far too dull. Maybe none of it had ever been real.
His response made the bubble of hope slowly building in her chest pop. Immediately, her posture shifted, a slight slouch to her shoulders, a small crease in her brow and a small clench of her jaw like she was trying to hold back tears.
“No, you’re right,” they responded with a shake of their head, a small strand of black dyed orange at the tip hair fell, like it too had been deflated. “Uh– Sorry. He wouldn’t be… he’s not around.” Ky gave an awkward cough, the unspoken ‘he hasn’t been in decades’ almost making her throat ache.
She choked out half a laugh at what he said next. “That happens a lot?”
Kyra fell quiet for a moment, letting herself breathe, letting herself focus on her body and the sensations around it, just as she had been taught. Change the subject, change the subject rang out in her head. She had no intention of crying in front of this stranger that reminded her so much of someone who once was. “What.. what do you re- recommend?” She asked, motioning towards the line of bottles behind him and trying desperately to ignore the emotional stutter in her voice.
Looking at them did trigger something… or maybe he just felt that phantom pain he always had at just the right time. He swore he could nearly see the memories of a field of wildflowers, lying at someone’s side on a spring afternoon, the taste of honey and peaches on his lips. Victor swore to himself, a quiet straj, to keep his private thoughts away from those who wouldn’t know his mother’s Elvish dialect— so most everyone in the bar. His life had never been one where he would have had the luxury to lay with a friend or lover in the grass so idly, and yet moments like those haunted him.
Kind touch, loving words, a pride directed towards him by something greater. It wasn’t possession but some true devotion. A thing he’d never felt beyond those dreams of kneeling at ivy covered altars.
“I get it.” Did he? The warlock didn’t think so. He’d never pined so badly that he imagined the nearest stranger with eyes the same color as his missing lover. So far, no one has captured his cold heart so much as to occupy his mind so completely. Every person he met was new to him, his focus for as long as they needed him. Then they were ships in the night. “It’s… hard where you miss someone.”
Still, her question made him laugh. This he could do without the nagging feeling in his chest squirming around. “Some people get so faded that the nearest person is suddenly their true love, whether they’ve met them before or not. I’ve turned down a few proposals to ‘get me out of this rotten place’. Being called someone else’s name and being told I look like someone who was yours, once? Nowhere near the strangest I’ve gotten, but you still have room to change that.”
A little tease as he poured her a drink, spiced brandy, a botanical gin, and vermouth. Strong and warm, and yet, that feeling of his meadow memories couldn’t be escaped, a soft taste of flowers at the back of the throat. “First one’s on me. Seems like you need it.”
A moment to breathe, and Kyra collected herself as much as she could in a short time. That disappointment wasn’t new, not at all. Still, something made it sting much more than it had in a while. They could blame it on the hope they’d let themself feel, the voice that wondered if there could ever be a chance. One day, Ky would learn to ignore that voice. One day it wouldn’t hurt.
She hoped.
The bartender’s response almost made her scoff, but she held it in and kept her face neutral while staring down at the bar’s counter before her. Teenagers used to be scolded for using the phrase ‘no one understands’. But here, from as far as Kyra knew, she was alone in this. Missing someone who never even existed in the years Ky had been alive like this. Missing someone who you never knew. Still. The attempt at expressing understanding had to be appreciated in some amount, lie or truth, real or not.
Kyra tried to bring a smile to her face. Whether it worked or not, in that moment, Ky found they didn’t care. Odds were, they’d never see this bartender again, never paths cross once more. Why try to keep up good impressions when everything hurts?
“It is,” she agreed quietly, making a note to go sparring after this. As soon as possible. She needed to punch something. Maybe that kind of pain would be better than this. They need a distraction anyways. Ky took in another breath, remembering the times they had done the same in face of sharp memories long lost, straightening back up as though the emotion had passed. It hadn’t. But she could pretend.
A faint laugh, not completely natural, but not completely false. That made sense, at least. Those, they imagined, had the excuse of drinking to erase emotion, only to find it fully fledged and heightened. Kyra didn’t get to use that excuse. No reason besides perhaps a trick of the light or delusion. Her smile grew a bit more genuine at his teasing comment. “I do love a challenge,” she replied. Whether or not she meant it would be up to the bartender.
She took the drink easily. Who’d turn down a free drink? Especially after that mistake. Kyra raised the cup to their lips, taking a sip, trying it out. They nodded their head in approval at the taste, the feel of alcohol burning their throat to replace the tightness of threatening tears. “Thanks,” she exhaled, placing the drink back down on the counter with a soft clink. “What should I actually call you?"
The crowd was patchy tonight; it was the sort of night anyways that people were more apt to sit and talk than get drink after drink. It was a surprisingly slow moment at the bar, meaning it was easy for all of Victor's attention to fall onto the person in front of him. He took note of the ginger tips of their dark hair, the glossiness to their eyes. Whoever it was that she lost, that she thought she saw in him... that man must have left her with quite a hole in her heart. He couldn't imagine anyone would leave willingly when there was so much care for them in someone else's arms. Some secret part of him was almost sick in jealousy.
He pressed his lips together a moment as he tried to wash that thought away, ending up with the tender flesh of his inner lip between his teeth. He could imagine biting it so hard he bled, in some attempt to get away from these feelings. Frankly, it felt embarrassing. It was dumb to get emotional over someone he didn't even know, even if somehow, the sound of their voice eased some tension in his spine, the vertebrae between his shoulder loosening as if a weight had been lifted of off them.
Probably Graz'zt's form of messaging, making his warlock feel his reactions in his body. But what could he want from this interaction if for once this communication offered a balm rather than pain? Victor let the thought roll in his mind, half-hoping the Prince of Pleasures would give him a straightforward answer, and got another glass from behind the bar to pour himself a snifter of that same spiced brandy, with a dark brown liquor instead. He took a heavy drink of it, and his mood began to match the ease in his body with the taste of alcohol and the stranger's more genuine smile.
"That's what I like to hear," he said with a smirk, allowing himself to be a bit more open, perhaps even a bit flirty. Still vague enough that Kyra could stop it in its tracks with a lack of interest. For now, it was playful, didn't mean much of anything. It was strange how natural it felt. "Who knows, you sweet talk me enough, surprise me enough, I might just take you up on it."
He nodded in kind as she reacted to the drink, pulling another sip of his own. "Victor. But I've answered to worse." His shoulders shrugged loosely. He wasn't exactly sure why she wanted to know, nor why he gave his name so easily. "Is there something I can call you, then?"
Kyra let their eyes fall back to the bar’s counter. The logical part of her knew not to keep the bartender. He had work to do, after all. It’d be inconsiderate to keep him from it, but then again she questioned the manners behind telling a stranger they look like someone from the past who meant so, so much. It was fine. She was fine. Still, the emotional driven aspect of Ky made her hope that the bartender might stick around a while more. If just to talk. It wasn’t like they knew many people around here either, so there wouldn’t be too many other options for company.
Her mind drifted back to the countless times she’d been reminded not to dwell on the past. Arguably, in most of those cases, no one had known the full story, but even still. Over seventy years. She should be able to move on, to make this life her own. And they wish they could. So many times, so many nights, Ky had spent dreading the idea that she was alone in remembering what once was. Their home, their friends, their family, the joy before it all collapsed and fell away. They missed it. And they didn’t know how to change that.
The monk reached back for the glass, taking a longer drink this time. There was a small bout of frustration that built up sometimes in their chest. Why were they the one to deal with this? Shouldn’t their soul– or whatever it was that connected this life to the past one– be gone once the Shapers fell away? Shouldn’t those small moments of time spent laying in the warm sun, quietly laughing, be long gone, forgotten as time continued its drive forward? Sometimes that frustration took over, so much so until Ky’s knuckles would begin to bleed, but for now, they tried to keep that feeling down. Wash it away with the alcohol and distractions.
Kyra laughed in return, the sound becoming more genuine. “I’m well trained in surprises, I will have you know,” she replied easily, a bit more confidence returning to her posture. “I’ve spent years perfecting my craft, I rarely disappoint.” All teasing. This guy didn’t need to know how much was a stretch of the truth and how much was genuine.
Victor. The name repeated in her mind. It felt like a reminder that this was not who Ky had first mistaken him for. Likely because no one alive could possibly be. She smiled. “I’m Kyra. Or Ky. Been called worse. Been called better.”
Amy tapped her nails on the picnic table, eyes trained on a figure curled up with a book under a large, knotted tree in the courtyard. It was the fourth day in a row she had seen this person sat alone—Zuri, if she remembered right—and she’d started looking out for them around campus. Not once had she seen them talk to a single person. Not that it was that unusual, people often hurried from one class to the next, but there was something familiar about the way their shoulders hunched when they walked. A quickness to their movements, like they might be caught doing something terrible. Like, apparently, reading under a tree.
Her mind was set before she even noticed she’d stood, scooping up her sandwich and bottle of juice.
“Hey sweetiepie, do you mind if I sit with you in the shade?”
@amy-bellevierre
The Penteveral’s collection of books was, simply put, insane. There were hundreds of them, thousands even. Stories and tales from the past, fictional and otherwise. Zuri had never imagined there could possibly be a collection as large as the Penteveral’s, but apparently it wasn’t even the largest collection out there.
And, while inaccurate in reality, it felt as though the collection of books paled in comparison to the collection of students and staff that roamed the halls. The crowds felt overwhelming. Students laughed and talked with each other, always demonstrating the vast amount of connections they had already formed. Not a singular student looked out of place here. It only felt as though Zuri was the exception.
The sound of steps approaching them made the orc freeze. While her eyes still locked on the book, she remained focused on the periphery of her vision, waiting to see who was approaching her.
Zuri only allowed themself to look up when a voice spoke up, truly breaking the relative quiet of nature. They looked up at the figure above them, taking in their appearance briefly. Maybe a few times Zuri had seen her around the school grounds, but it had always been in passing or only for a few moments. And those moments had been spent just trying to maneuver through the halls and get to class on time or find a spot outside to breathe or let Freyr hop around for a while.
A small pause, hesitant, like Zuri was considering what the odds were for the request to be a genuine move and not something with an ulterior motive. After a second, Zuri inhaled and replied with a slow “sure..” as they gathered their stuff to make room for this new person looking for company under the single Dragon’s Claw Willow tree on campus.
" You feel like something I lost a long time ago. "
[ For Victor, from Kyra ]
~ { @untoldremnants }
The words felt like a knife between his ribs, and that terrified him. Victor had never met this person before, that he knew clearly; no half-drunk state to account for, no chance encounters. He certainly had no deep enough connection to them that they could feel they'd lost him. Maybe it truly was just coincidence or a similar feeling... but something in him nagged at the sentiment.
"You have me confused with someone else." And he had half a mind to offer her something to forget, a drink strong enough that whatever specter of her past would fade away. It worked well enough for him when he craved the sort of sunlight Aramán hadn't seen since years before his birth. Hellfire burned too strong to replace it or scratch that itch. "...don't feel bad about it. Happens more often than you think. ...lot of people end up confessing their love to a bartender."
It was just a spark. A singular moment. A half-second where Kyra believed the person handling the bar could be someone from long ago.
This wasn’t the first time it had happened, not by a longshot. They used to see the briefest hints– a flash of familiar eye, a laugh that sounded too familiar. It had never been him. No matter how many times Ky ran after the sound or briefest moment of something familiar, it was never him.
Why would it ever be? He was lost. Gone. Decades had passed since he walked Aramán, and even more since they had walked it together. The simple fact that she was here, that she remembered what life was under the Shapers, that she remembered working for them, fighting for them, was some kind of miracle. Or some kind of curse. The odds of him showing up, or even anyone from back then– anyone who wasn’t a corpse or getting close to it– seemed impossible. Still, Kyra hoped, against everything, that if she came back, maybe someone else would. Maybe he would.
And, for a second, watching the bartender scan over the not too dense crowd of partons, Ky saw the flash. Maybe it was the trick of the light, but she got a glimpse of eyes she hadn’t seen in so long. Eyes that she couldn’t ever forget. Not willingly, at least. And for that moment, they felt a name slip from their lips before they could stop it. A gentle, whispered, “Oisin.”
She was up and moving before she could consider otherwise. That brighter, familiar color was gone now that she looked closer. But maybe….. Just maybe. With each step, there was a building momentum of hope that rose in her chest. Maybe he was here. Maybe after so long, she had found him, as though their paths had been destined to cross again. Maybe…..
The second that she said that sentence, without a greeting of any kind, Kyra felt some kind of regret. Her mind rushed with the worries she used to have as a teenager– that she was crazy, delusional, trying too hard to make up for a world that was far too dull. Maybe none of it had ever been real.
His response made the bubble of hope slowly building in her chest pop. Immediately, her posture shifted, a slight slouch to her shoulders, a small crease in her brow and a small clench of her jaw like she was trying to hold back tears.
“No, you’re right,” they responded with a shake of their head, a small strand of black dyed orange at the tip hair fell, like it too had been deflated. “Uh– Sorry. He wouldn’t be… he’s not around.” Ky gave an awkward cough, the unspoken ‘he hasn’t been in decades’ almost making her throat ache.
She choked out half a laugh at what he said next. “That happens a lot?”
Kyra fell quiet for a moment, letting herself breathe, letting herself focus on her body and the sensations around it, just as she had been taught. Change the subject, change the subject rang out in her head. She had no intention of crying in front of this stranger that reminded her so much of someone who once was. “What.. what do you re- recommend?” She asked, motioning towards the line of bottles behind him and trying desperately to ignore the emotional stutter in her voice.
Looking at them did trigger something… or maybe he just felt that phantom pain he always had at just the right time. He swore he could nearly see the memories of a field of wildflowers, lying at someone’s side on a spring afternoon, the taste of honey and peaches on his lips. Victor swore to himself, a quiet straj, to keep his private thoughts away from those who wouldn’t know his mother’s Elvish dialect— so most everyone in the bar. His life had never been one where he would have had the luxury to lay with a friend or lover in the grass so idly, and yet moments like those haunted him.
Kind touch, loving words, a pride directed towards him by something greater. It wasn’t possession but some true devotion. A thing he’d never felt beyond those dreams of kneeling at ivy covered altars.
“I get it.” Did he? The warlock didn’t think so. He’d never pined so badly that he imagined the nearest stranger with eyes the same color as his missing lover. So far, no one has captured his cold heart so much as to occupy his mind so completely. Every person he met was new to him, his focus for as long as they needed him. Then they were ships in the night. “It’s… hard where you miss someone.”
Still, her question made him laugh. This he could do without the nagging feeling in his chest squirming around. “Some people get so faded that the nearest person is suddenly their true love, whether they’ve met them before or not. I’ve turned down a few proposals to ‘get me out of this rotten place’. Being called someone else’s name and being told I look like someone who was yours, once? Nowhere near the strangest I’ve gotten, but you still have room to change that.”
A little tease as he poured her a drink, spiced brandy, a botanical gin, and vermouth. Strong and warm, and yet, that feeling of his meadow memories couldn’t be escaped, a soft taste of flowers at the back of the throat. “First one’s on me. Seems like you need it.”
A moment to breathe, and Kyra collected herself as much as she could in a short time. That disappointment wasn’t new, not at all. Still, something made it sting much more than it had in a while. They could blame it on the hope they’d let themself feel, the voice that wondered if there could ever be a chance. One day, Ky would learn to ignore that voice. One day it wouldn’t hurt.
She hoped.
The bartender’s response almost made her scoff, but she held it in and kept her face neutral while staring down at the bar’s counter before her. Teenagers used to be scolded for using the phrase ‘no one understands’. But here, from as far as Kyra knew, she was alone in this. Missing someone who never even existed in the years Ky had been alive like this. Missing someone who you never knew. Still. The attempt at expressing understanding had to be appreciated in some amount, lie or truth, real or not.
Kyra tried to bring a smile to her face. Whether it worked or not, in that moment, Ky found they didn’t care. Odds were, they’d never see this bartender again, never paths cross once more. Why try to keep up good impressions when everything hurts?
“It is,” she agreed quietly, making a note to go sparring after this. As soon as possible. She needed to punch something. Maybe that kind of pain would be better than this. They need a distraction anyways. Ky took in another breath, remembering the times they had done the same in face of sharp memories long lost, straightening back up as though the emotion had passed. It hadn’t. But she could pretend.
A faint laugh, not completely natural, but not completely false. That made sense, at least. Those, they imagined, had the excuse of drinking to erase emotion, only to find it fully fledged and heightened. Kyra didn’t get to use that excuse. No reason besides perhaps a trick of the light or delusion. Her smile grew a bit more genuine at his teasing comment. “I do love a challenge,” she replied. Whether or not she meant it would be up to the bartender.
She took the drink easily. Who’d turn down a free drink? Especially after that mistake. Kyra raised the cup to their lips, taking a sip, trying it out. They nodded their head in approval at the taste, the feel of alcohol burning their throat to replace the tightness of threatening tears. “Thanks,” she exhaled, placing the drink back down on the counter with a soft clink. “What should I actually call you?"
" You feel like something I lost a long time ago. "
[ For Victor, from Kyra ]
~ { @untoldremnants }
The words felt like a knife between his ribs, and that terrified him. Victor had never met this person before, that he knew clearly; no half-drunk state to account for, no chance encounters. He certainly had no deep enough connection to them that they could feel they'd lost him. Maybe it truly was just coincidence or a similar feeling... but something in him nagged at the sentiment.
"You have me confused with someone else." And he had half a mind to offer her something to forget, a drink strong enough that whatever specter of her past would fade away. It worked well enough for him when he craved the sort of sunlight Aramán hadn't seen since years before his birth. Hellfire burned too strong to replace it or scratch that itch. "...don't feel bad about it. Happens more often than you think. ...lot of people end up confessing their love to a bartender."
It was just a spark. A singular moment. A half-second where Kyra believed the person handling the bar could be someone from long ago.
This wasn’t the first time it had happened, not by a longshot. They used to see the briefest hints– a flash of familiar eye, a laugh that sounded too familiar. It had never been him. No matter how many times Ky ran after the sound or briefest moment of something familiar, it was never him.
Why would it ever be? He was lost. Gone. Decades had passed since he walked Aramán, and even more since they had walked it together. The simple fact that she was here, that she remembered what life was under the Shapers, that she remembered working for them, fighting for them, was some kind of miracle. Or some kind of curse. The odds of him showing up, or even anyone from back then– anyone who wasn’t a corpse or getting close to it– seemed impossible. Still, Kyra hoped, against everything, that if she came back, maybe someone else would. Maybe he would.
And, for a second, watching the bartender scan over the not too dense crowd of partons, Ky saw the flash. Maybe it was the trick of the light, but she got a glimpse of eyes she hadn’t seen in so long. Eyes that she couldn’t ever forget. Not willingly, at least. And for that moment, they felt a name slip from their lips before they could stop it. A gentle, whispered, “Oisin.”
She was up and moving before she could consider otherwise. That brighter, familiar color was gone now that she looked closer. But maybe….. Just maybe. With each step, there was a building momentum of hope that rose in her chest. Maybe he was here. Maybe after so long, she had found him, as though their paths had been destined to cross again. Maybe…..
The second that she said that sentence, without a greeting of any kind, Kyra felt some kind of regret. Her mind rushed with the worries she used to have as a teenager– that she was crazy, delusional, trying too hard to make up for a world that was far too dull. Maybe none of it had ever been real.
His response made the bubble of hope slowly building in her chest pop. Immediately, her posture shifted, a slight slouch to her shoulders, a small crease in her brow and a small clench of her jaw like she was trying to hold back tears.
“No, you’re right,” they responded with a shake of their head, a small strand of black dyed orange at the tip hair fell, like it too had been deflated. “Uh– Sorry. He wouldn’t be… he’s not around.” Ky gave an awkward cough, the unspoken ‘he hasn’t been in decades’ almost making her throat ache.
She choked out half a laugh at what he said next. “That happens a lot?”
Kyra fell quiet for a moment, letting herself breathe, letting herself focus on her body and the sensations around it, just as she had been taught. Change the subject, change the subject rang out in her head. She had no intention of crying in front of this stranger that reminded her so much of someone who once was. “What.. what do you re- recommend?” She asked, motioning towards the line of bottles behind him and trying desperately to ignore the emotional stutter in her voice.
Class: Genie (Efreeti) Warlock, pact of the chain; Circle of Wildfire Druid
Familiar: Freyr “Frey”, a golden pseudodragon
Pronouns: She/They
Faceclaim: Jaz Sinclair
Backstory:
The following backstory includes elements of child abuse, death, and, well, arson.
Twenty years ago, Aurelia Lloy and her husband Xander Lloy-Quartez were traveling in order to deliver a new metal-worked sword to a high paying customer. Aurelia carried with her their new daughter, a small infant they had named Zuri. It was as they were traveling along, some distance from Dol-Makjar and their home, that the couple was attacked and killed by a family, desperate for gold, food, and other supplies. The family, when realizing there was an infant amongst them, made the reluctant decision to spare the child, letting her only keep the single image of her parents and the blanket she was wrapped in.
The family, the Moranas, discovered the sword the Lloy couple had been carrying with them, and chose to sell it for land and coin, knowing it would come for a high price.
Zuri was raised by the Moranas, who moved into a larger house with the money from the sold blade. Growing up was anything but pleasant. The Moranas were not only human but kept Zuri away from interacting with those who came by. The Moranas made their name known by offering assistance and occasional housing for those passing by, but they always ensured that Zuri was left to do the chores around the house and kept away from any travelers or outside people.
The Moranas had a son, Jaune, who was their joy and happiness. He was a few years older than Zuri, and he got all the treatment Zuri did not. The Moranas taught Jaune schooling, giving him books and knowledge so he could explore his intelligence. Zuri often found herself listening to the lesson from afar, learning as Jaune learned.
Jaune and Zuri were not close by any means, and the Moranas kept them apart on purpose. Still, Jaune was nice to Zuri, nicer than the Morana adults.
Zuri grew up isolated and kept apart from everyone. Any questions about her presence there had the potential to lead to suspicion about the Moranas’s rise to wealth, yet she had been too young for them to remove completely.
Jaune left when Zuri was around 16. He went off to explore his education and find a greater purpose outside of the home far out in the woods. It was with his disappearance that things started to get worse for Zuri. She realized Jaune had been the one to talk down his parents from going to the extremes, and not that he was gone, there was no restraining their actions.
Shortly after Zuri turned 17, she was outside tending to a fire, preparing to cook dinner. She watched the flames dance and the freedom that they moved with. They wished for that freedom, hoping and longing for it. And as the sun set in the sky, a small, quiet voice answered their request.
Zuri, stuck between curiosity and caution, was slow to interact with the voice originating from the flames. The voice assured her that he meant no harm. He was a djinn. An elemental spirit hiding from destruction that only wanted to help via the wishes he could grant.
The djinn, never providing his name, gifted Zuri two things. The first, something she had been longing for her entire life: a friend. A small golden dragon, barely the size of a cat. And the second, a stronger, newer desire: to set this place ablaze and leave it behind forever. The djinn granted Zuri power. It was power they would have to learn to control, utilize, and grow, but with patience and work, as well as proper planning, Zuri would be able to achieve what she wanted and so much more.
That was exactly what Zuri did. For months, she kept herself company with her new dragon— who she named Freyr— and practiced her control over magic. It was faint and not extensive by any means, but it was something. And soon, she was ready. Ready to put an end to this all.
With Freyr by their side, Zuri packed the small bag of her belongings and stepped outside the house she had grown up in. Stars shone above her, and the cool night air was slowly replaced with the heat of a burning fire.
Zuri would never have to deal with the Moranas again.
For a good while after that night, Zuri traveled in the woods alone, getting to know the plants and animals of the forest as she traveled in search of her roots, led only by a picture and the trail she hoped would lead her to her destination. It was these weeks, months possibly— she didn’t know, that brought Zuri’s understanding of nature to a new level.
Nature was interesting, after all. Each element from the smallest mushroom to the largest tree was a part of life and death. Destruction led to regrowth. Death led to life. The decaying animal corpse would bring nutrients to soil, keeping later animals alive and thriving.
Destruction brought growth.
Eventually, Zuri made it to a city called Dol-Makjar, where she found the first person who recognized the picture of her parents. That person— an orc, just like her— pointed Zuri in the direction of the Lloy Estate, saying they may have some luck there. A dragon on her shoulder and an old photograph in her hand, Zuri came to the Lloy Estate, a worried tightness in their chest as they knocked.
After some brief explanation, Zuri was met with the biggest (and perhaps first in her memory) hug she had ever received. Zuri was welcomed inside and introduced to more of the Lloys. For the first time, Zuri experienced what a family was actually supposed to be like. It was overwhelming and loud and there were far too many people, but each person smiled at her, each person welcomed them home. They had never had that before.
The Lloys told stories of Zuri’s parents, from amusing stories of how they met to a long explanation of the family tree. Zuri came to understand that Aurelia was one of two siblings, though there were many cousins and extended family beyond that. Her Aunt Thaisha was out on a business trip for something or another, but Zuri was told she would be returning soon enough.
Slowly, and certainly not without issues, Zuri started to adjust to this life. Zuri finally got the chance to be able to read the books she wanted to, exploring what fascinated her enough so that it caught the attention of her older cousin, who wondered if Zuri would be interested in attending the Penteveral. Zuri had said yes.
The young Lloy began their first year at the Penteveral, transferring in partway into the school year already. Freyr never left her side. She struggles quite a lot in finding what it means to be normal. Trust, socializing, and so much more still seemed complicated and difficult to understand. Nightmares keep them awake most nights, and they flinch a bit too easily, but Zuri is determined to keep moving forward and keep improving as she adjusts to the life she was meant to have.
