The forge does not mourn the winter's frost, Nor the gear resent the pulse of the vein; For what was stone is now a cost, Of a beauty wrought through salt and rain.
The cylinder turns in its bed of oil, While the root pushes deep through the yielding soil; One is a sequence, timed and discrete, The other a rhythm, messy and sweet.
I was the iron, cold and unmade, A hollow reflection in a sharpened blade; I lived in the margins, the angles, the math, A machine following a preordained path.
But you are the season that breaks the gears, The salt that washes away the years; You are the friction that creates the spark, The sudden light that defines the dark.
We are the rust that fell to reveal the gold, The season of iron turning into spring; A story of steel that is centuries old, Learning the song that only the living can sing.
Let the machine serve the spirit's command, Let the old world bow to the touch of your hand; For the greatest design, as I now can see, Is the bridge built between the metal and thee.
This was written by my roleplay partner - he has a character that deeply loves Liraetha, but they cannot be as she is wed to Sul Jakar.
The poem about the dance was for them, and the two share their love via words as well as dance. They write and read between the lines, saying "I love you", "This is your impact on me." without saying it outright.
The galaxy is not held together by light, nor by the heat of stars that burn and die. It is held by the dark between them. The silence that does not flinch.
Iron creates a wall. Discipline creates a man. Devotion creates a law that cannot be broken.
You seek the fire, and the height, and the conquest. You are the vector. You are the force that moves. I am the coordinate.
I do not move. I do not fade. I wait at the center of the chart.
Go into the chaos, if you must. Shatter the sky. When the smoke clears, look back.
I remain. I remain. I remain.
This was written by my roleplay partner - he has a character that deeply loves Liraetha, but as he serves the man who loves her, he tries to tell her via poetry how he feels. This is the start of their love affair through words.
We did not speak.
We let the floor remember for us.
In the turning of the room
and the hush that followed our steps,
I learned how silence can lean close
without touching.
You held me as one holds a truth
meant to survive the night
not owned, not named,
but carried with care.
Each dip was a question
the crowd could not hear.
Each rise, an answer
meant only for the space between us.
I am sworn to a shore
older than longing,
anchored by vows I do not regret.
Yet even anchored things
feel the pull of passing stars.
So we gave the wanting to motion,
the ache to rhythm,
the words to the watching walls
who will keep them better than mouths.
If ever you wonder
whether I felt it too
know this:
I followed every step you offered,
and none were taken by mistake.
A poem written for my inquisitor Liraetha, after a romantic waltz with someone she cares for - even as she has wed Sul Jakar, this person has a pull on her heart she finds hard to resist -- so they express it in dance.
I slip under the waves. The wind rips at the surface.
I look up while there is still sun and watch the foam play.
I sink further down. I no longer resist.
I am not the Osh-tek. That was my camouflage.
I drift down until I can barely see the light.
My breath escapes me, bubbles reaching for the top.
I rest in the thermocline slip. I cannot feel my hands.
I am not the Wurm, it was greedy, unprepared.
I descend until the pressure comes. Until my ribs press in.
I’ve been here before, the company was oppressive.
I am still here. I survived.
I am not the Leviathan, his waves make too much noise.
I submerge. In the pressure, those around me break.
I am the silence. I watch, I wait.
I am the light, the warmth, but that can’t exist in the depths.
I don’t belong, yet I find myself here.
I am something new. A foreign body in the deep.
I am something more. I am the Tira-vai.
This is my slow surrender to the depths below
I let the dark receive me
Instead of rising, I descend into stillness
Clarity that comes not in understanding
But acceptance
I am the good that learned to bite.
Some of my favorite things to do is flesh out my characters by writing poetry, creating art, or filling in deeply personal events in their backstory.
This one came about in response to some relationship drama, and became a poem of discovery and declaration that she sent to her lover, Sul Jakar. His culture is water based, and he often spoke to her of folk tales regarding creatures of the deep. She goes through each one that he has referenced her being like, and declares he has seen her wrongly before choosing for herself. A pivotal moment in her development and self-discovery.
I hope you enjoyed this poem written for my SWTOR Inquisitor, Liraetha.
I do not hunger for devotion.
I do not ask for vows or stars.
Only this - to be sustained.
A hand that lingers long enough to be certain.
A voice that does not demand but stays.
I have learned how to survive on silence,
how to fold myself small, how to carry heat without flame.
But even stone warms where it is touched.
I want no rescue. I want no promises.
Only the proof that I am felt, and not erased by passing through.
Let me lean where I am not braced.
Let me speak without being measured.
Let me rest without vanishing.
This is not a weakness. It is need,
named honestly,
so it does not rot inside of me.If I am to rise, let it be with something steady at my side,
not to hold me up, but to remind me I am here.
Some of my favorite things to do is flesh out my characters by writing poetry, creating art, or filling in deeply personal events in their backstory.
I hope you enjoyed this poem written for my SWTOR Inquisitor, Liraetha.
Longing, a spring that bubbles from the deep,
Released to earth, it strokes the patient stone,
It carves its path through half-forgotten trails,
And whispers vows of hunger satisfied.
Desire, a fire burning clean and bright,
It feeds the night with stolen warmth from wood,
It coils and climbs toward distant watching stars,
Its embers seek a dawning yet to come.
Violence, the falling weight of sudden dark,
Pressed hearts are pulled and twisted by its force,
The midnight calls, the silence swells and waits,
Till shadows grant relief from what was borne.
Emptiness, the ever-turning wheel,
In winter’s hold the waiting seeds lie still,
It gives a voice to hearts long held in check,
And hides all promise deep within the shade.
Some of my favorite things to do is flesh out my characters by writing poetry, creating art, or filling in deeply personal events in their backstory.
I hope you enjoyed this poem written for my SWTOR Inquisitor, Liraetha.
This project is multi-functional for me. I received a beautiful gift for my birthday - a sampler pack of Scheepjes Stonewashed and Riverwashed yarn.
Coming off of a high stress contract, I wanted a project I didn't have to think about. This moss stitch proved perfect. After seeing the beautiful colors in the yarn pack, and having never worked with a cotton/acrylic blend before, I decided to test this yarn by making a small block in this easy to craft, but elegant, stitch.
Once I made the first one and seeing how gorgeous it looked, I immediately decided to mimic that block in the other colors and finish the blanket in their Moonstone color.
To make each block, I chained 26 with a 4.25MM kneedle. I could easily get 20 rows, though I probably could have gotten 22 before running out of the yarn in each sample. I'm keeping the scraps to put toward a scarf I'll be knitting later.
Once each color block was finished, I added a cream border in a half double crochet stitch.
The finished project is a beautiful collection of squares framed in cream and rests over my wingback chair giving it a needed splash of color.
I have an absolutely lovely friend for whom I made a blanket two years ago. I had several skeins of yarn left over and determined this year to make her a table runner in the same colors.
She admired a table runner I had created myself several years back, and while I am happy with a basic hexagon, my friend has such a gorgeous and classy house. I wanted the hexes in her table runner to have a classier or more whimsical feel. I found a free pattern on woolpatterns.com that was designed by the Berroco design team. It seemed easy enough so I attempted to learn this look.
My first note is that the first round was difficult for me to understand. I'm not sure if it is because I am a novice, or it's a standard term that I just didn't know. I would have preferred it to read:
Rnd 1: Ch2; 2dc in ring for the first cluster; *ch2, 3dc; rep from * 4 times more. Join with a sl st in top of first cluster. Total 6 clusters. Mark beg of rnd with a pin and move marker up as you work. You will be working in a spiral where rnds are not joined (except on last rnd).
The end goal is to have 6 clusters of 3 double crochet. Or, at least, that's how I ended up interpreting their text. Judge for yourself and leave me a comment if you think I got it wrong, or if you dial in on an easier way for people to understand that goal.
My second note is that I'm not crafting the blanket the pattern is designed for. Because of this, I cut down the number of rounds from 19 to 10. I was also not using the Berroco fabric, so I adjusted my needle and the pattern. Instead of a 4MM needle, I used 4.25MM, and instead of chaining 4 to create the spaces, I chained 3.
If I was working this for myself, I would have moved on without blocking it. As this is a gift, I wanted the corners to be crisply defined before I joined the hexes, so I blocked each hex.
The image below is the finished product and is currently featured on her dining room table. :)
In looking for some scrap busting projects - something I've not had to do before - I ran across a video on Youtube by TL Yarn Crafts that promised one could learn a tunisian simple stitch that would allow you to join as you go. The pattern appeared extremely flexible, so I broke out my scraps, modified the chain length and got to work.
I thought I'd practice using leftover yarn from a patchwork blanket (still in progress). Because the leftover yarn came from mini skeins, I didn't have a lot left over from each skein, but I did have 58 colors. Her pattern called for 11 stitches across in rows of 9 per block, but I increased mine to 18 stitches and decreased to 5 rows.
One problem I noticed with the yarn in the sample package, is that even though all of the squares I crafted for my patchwork blanket came out the same size, I got a different number of rows for each color in this scarf. The average number of rows I got was 5, but for some colors I got 7, and others I got 3. It feels as if the length was not equivalent in each skein and I have since run into a similar issue on their full size skeins.
Instead of making a nice even block scarf, I determined to just make another patchwork look and focused on the gradient flow, not the number of rows per color.
I loved how easy the stitch was to learn, especially for a novice such as myself and how simple it was to join the colors. Some notes for others who may be trying this for the first time:
Firstly, I noticed as I was working that the stitch seemed to curl up from the bottom. After scouring videos and tips, I came to find this is normal and can be fixed by adding a border or doing some blocking.
Secondly, I noticed my tension was a bit tight causing a pull on the left side. I didn't find much about that, but along with the curling, assumed it could be fixed with some blocking. In addition, I worked on pulling the left side loops a bit taller to reduce tension.
As I had already determined to do both border and blocking, I didn't worry so much about the curls as I worked my way through the projects, though I did constantly check my left side tension.
The final project was not as long as I hoped, but I did dial in on the technique and then put it to use crafting a scarf for my husband.
His scarf was done with a 5mm tunisian crochet hook with 27 stitches across. It was a four color gradient using the same yarn Scheepjes yarn, but in full size skeins, one skein for each color.
In the SWtOR universe, especially for Imperial players, slavery is a running theme. My partner and I decided to roleplay as people who grew up in slavery and have managed to find themselves free of it in their adult life. I wanted to explore their childhood and write about their lives up to the moment they rediscovered each other. As such, see the below trigger warnings below before reading.
TW: Kidnapping / Family Separation, Child Abuse, Slavery
The wailing cut across the courtyard for anyone within a hundred feet to hear. Siora cried out reaching for her children as her spouse, Tagru, clung tightly to her waist pulling her back. "Siora, we can do nothing, please, please, for the sake of the children, make this easier." His request only made her cry out again, the powerlessness she felt prevalent in her voice. She brought her hands to her face and turned into her husbands chest as he watched his children being taken from them.
Fiori and Dagar kept looking back, tears of their own streaming down their face as the men walking by them kept poking them to move forward. One pushed too hard and Dagar fell. His hands and face smacked hard against the dusty ground. The guard growled, and moved to hit the fallen boy. Tagru found his own hand now reaching out even as his daughter Fiori kicked the guard in the back of his leg.
"Do not touch my brother," she yelled, mustering up the courage she only wished she had. The second guard put a hand in front of her, gently, and moved to help Dagar from the ground. Looking at Fiori, he regarded her thoughtfully before turning away. Fiori looked at Dagar and the twins shared a look of relief just as the guard backhanded her brother across his face. Dagar fell back again, this time landing on his ass, and Fiori raced over to him.
A small cut was open on his cheekbone, and blood dripped slowly from it. The guards shadow fell over her as he stood behind them.
"You're a fighter. I can appreciate it, but remember your place, slave. Each time you bite back, he'll take what you deserve. Now move."
Dagar touched his face, looked at his sister and whispered, "It's ok, Fiori, I'll be ok." He rose and extended his hand. She grabbed it as if her life depended on it and gave him a shaky smile.
And with that, the siblings picked up their pace. Before exiting the courtyard and entering the speeder, they crossed the tips of their lekku twice so their parents might see before they boarded. This gesture simply meant, "Love you."
Taking deep breaths and holding hands, the two children stepped into the speeder. The cold grip of fear coiled around them as the door clanged shut. Sitting in the cool darkness, Fiori and Dagar looked around. Their eyes were greeted by several other curious glances as they saw three other twi'lek children already sitting in the vehicle.
The twins pulled themselves closer to each other, and tried to become one with the wall as their hands gripped each tightly. Doors slammed shut as the guards entered the front of the speeder, and the familiar vibration began. "Wherever we're going, at least I still have you Fi," Dagar whispered quietly.
"I will go wherever you do, D. Promise and always."
If you’ve made it to the end of this story, first, let me thank you. I’ve always been into discovering new things, or finding the reason behind the old things. Storytelling has been a part of me since I can remember. When the Council asked me to document my journey, it was terrifying, and an honor. Telling my own story? I’m more comfortable with spilling the goods on other people.
During this, you heard about a Jedi Knight. You heard about how I could only do what I did because she was by my side.
You heard about how we met on Tython. Our kill count, our duel, and how the Force kept putting us side by side during my journey to save the Masters from the plague.
I hope it stirred something in you to hear about how she pushed me every day to not give up. To keep giving what I didn’t think I had, while at the same time acknowledging that if I couldn’t, it didn’t mean I was weak.
You heard of my frustration, our fight, and my eventual success.
What you didn’t hear about was what happened afterwards. And that’s why I’m here to add to the story. She has more to teach.
And for those that might not wish to listen to her, I hope you listen to this. You’re here because you want to hear what the Barsenthor has to say. You stay because you felt I had wisdom to impart. And in the end of this part of my story, out of everything I’ve covered, it is this part that I hope creates a curiousity in you. I want you to go hear the story from her point of view. To hear what it’s like being a Jedi who is also Mando’a.
Now. Without any further notations -- the ending.
I finished my documentation and left the Temple. I could feel her on Tython. Her presence, so familiar now, was rolling out from the mountainside. I slow walked my way there. I didn’t want her being surprised that I was on my way in case she wanted to be alone. She’d have plenty of time to send me a “go away” sign.
She didn’t.
As I rounded the cliffside, I called out. “I can feel you up here. It’ll be easier if you just tell me where you are.” And nothing. So I looked, and then I found. She stood braced in the chilling wind, staring at the padawans training below. She was ... is ... a vibrant person, but it was like the light was out. When she was relaxing, she’d take her helmet off and let her blue hair whip in the wind. Not today. Today she was dressed for war and the sun glinted gently on her blackened armor.
There was some chitchat. I told her how every padawan down there training right now was talking about her. About the Hero of Tython. “I was in the right place at the right time,” she said.
“Jahaatir.” For you, that’s mando’a for lies. And here is where I fucked up. I knew it, the moment the word left my lips. The helmet came off and her eyes met mine.
“I am NOT a liar.” Ooook. Time to find a way to dig myself out. I made the walk looking to reconcile, not stir things up. Did I dig myself out though? No. Of course I didn’t.
I stared back. “But you are. You spent months saving lives, tracking clues, risking your life, dealing with betrayal, and it culminated with you killing the Sith that took the life of your Master. This is your story. What you wanted, what you live for. And you ‘just happened to be flying the right star system’? Bullshit.”
I put my back against the mountain wall and sank to the ground. This is the same woman who once threatened to take a limb if I touched her in the wrong way while we shared a speeder. And I just told her off. She turned from the training grounds and set her helmet down. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore. It was all for nothing.”
Gentle listeners, if I hadn’t already sunk to the floor, I’d have fallen here. The flatness in her tone and the pain in her eyes broke my heart. I recognized that sound. I had made it during my journey, and in those times she had spent hours listening to me, trying to encourage me. Looking up at her I whispered, “Ok. It’s your turn then. Spill it.” She pulled her datapad from her pack, opened it to a message and thrust it at me. “It’s in Mando’a, so I’ll sum it up. I’m Dar Manda. Outcast. I have no aliit, no soul. Nothing.”
And this is why you really need to hear her story. To learn of Mando’a culture, and just ~why~ this moment was so pivotal. But in case you don’t, I’ll do my best here to explain.
Her name is Ren Saori, and she was born Mando’a. Her small clan was destroyed and she was adopted into another. They raised her and trained her from the time she was eight. Fighting was, and still is, her life. When her Force sensitivity was discovered, the Jedi Master convinced her and her Clan that the best thing they could do was allow her to go train. Because if the Mandolorians could never quite overcome the Jedi in all of their skirmishes, who best to train a Mando’a? She could be - and it turns out she would be - unassailable. Incredible. Mesh’la - Beautiful.
But not every clan approved, and to this time I’m still not sure if their Mandalore knew or approved. The Mando’a Clans spoke ill of her. Her new clan, her aliit - the Jedi - frowned upon her for her views and her passions. Ren was trained for war, and in this moment when she did was she was created for, she was cast out. Mandalore claimed she broke the rules by fighting Sith. Clans claimed she was working with the enemy. And within the temple, though padawans were speaking her name in whispers, the Council still looked upon her as someone who needed management.
So in this moment, knowing all of this, I emphathized with her heartbreak. Ren is not a touchy feely person, or wasn’t to start. I remember the day I asked if hugs were a thing, and simply got a handshake. I reached up to clasp her arm, and when she accepted, I pulled her to the ground and embraced her. We sat in silence as I struggled for the words to say... something. Anything.
And then, surprisingly, I found them. But they were not at all what I thought they would be. “I thought I was part of your aliit? Am I not your storyteller? Has it not been clear that I accept you every day? Is this not enough?”
Oh listeners did that hit a button. She may or may not decide to talk about her feelings on that sentiment, and it’s not my place to share that part of her story for her. Suffice it to say, that they were the right words at the right time.
A heaviness settled over both of us, and her voice, cracking and quiet, cut through the wind. “I thought I had lost you too. I pushed you away.” The anger I had come to resolve flittered briefly in my heart and then melted away like ice on Tatooine. Of course I couldn’t be angry. She is my burc’ya (my friend) and I would always be there for her.
Listeners, you never fully know what your fellow padawans, or Jedi, or even your Masters, are going through. When Ren sent me the letter to push me away, I had written a hasty and unkind reply. So of course she thought I had left. It had been days since we spoke more than a few words, and I disappeared on a mission without her.
Even those of us who believe ourselves to be unselfish, and good, and kind and helpful, - and indeed we are those things - please remember. We can get blinded by our own bias. Our own need to be the hero in our story. Take a step back sometimes. Their anger, or hurt, or their distance may not be because of you. Step into it if you are led to. It may save them.
~there is a short pause in the holorecording as Zadal considers his next words~
I thought her letter was because of the struggles I was going through and that she sensed my frustration. That it was because of something I had done.
As her words washed over me, I had a revelation. I saw other possibilities for why she might have needed time alone. She just lost her Master. .... She had almost lost her life. And now, in her pain, she was still teaching me.
I squeezed her shoulder and explained, “I just needed some time to myself. To prove to myself that I was everything you said I could be. Because your words said I was strong, but in battle when it came time to prove that, you or Kira were there with your blades. Intervening, saving me. Speaking with your actions that you didn’t trust me to be capable. I had no room to grow. Those actions were confirming my fears that I was weak. I left to learn my truth.” I paused. Taking her chin in my hand and ensuring she was looking at me, I finished by saying, “And the moment my duties to the Council were completed I came to find you.”
She sighed and leaned up against me. We’d come a long way in these last months. We sharpened one another, encouraged one another and in a way, saved each other outside of the battlefield. We both looked out into the darkening sky and sat in silence for a while.
I don’t know what lessons she may have learned in that moment, but I found myself overwhelmed with realizations and regrets. I saw things I needed to work on to be not only a better Jedi, but a better friend.
Words began pouring from my lips, and I wish I could remember them for you. I’m pretty sure they were scattered to the wind when she laughed. I do recall saying, “I was going for profound. But I’ll take funny.” She smiled at me and for the first time in those hours on the mountainside, I saw her light returning. “I did not mean to offend. It was perfect, and it is a happy laugh. Thank you.”
The old playfulness in our releationship returned, and within moments we found ourselves sparring on the road up and down the mountain. We forgot our trials, the deaths of friends, the harsh words, the missed opportunities. For now, in that time, we were once again padawans challenging each other in a time before we knew what was in store. Only this time, I lost. Which absolutely made her day.
A final piece of advice for those of you listening. Be open to whom the Force sends you. What started as two young upstarts believing themselves to be the best padawans on Tython and trying to prove themselves right has turned into a foundation of friendship and trust. Neither of us could have made our journey without the other.
And for you Ren, because I know you will listen to this one day - if only to hear what I say about you:
Dar ner burc’ya, gar ner riduur. Ni ret’. Ni kar’taylir gar - darasuum. Vaabir vi kar’tayl nakar’tuur? Nayc. Bid ni ganar gar norac, ratiin. Ni laararir gar laar.
The grass crunched under their feet as the snowfall drifted around them. He heard her making small talk about the weather, and a part of him registered that he replied, but later he would not be able to recall what he said. At this moment, he was wondering what the fuck he was doing indulging her request to "Find a nice place to enjoy the scenery and just be with one another."
"How's this? We can enjoy the trees and mountainscape there, and keep an eye on the Republic outpost there." He realized the words were coming from his mouth at the same time he realized his feet weren't moving anymore. Resigning himself, he took off his cloak and laid it on the ground for her to sit on. She took the binoculars from her pack and scanned the outpost before sitting and murmured, "It looks like they are just standing around and talking."
As he took a seat next to her, Clint turned and looked at the mountainscape before them. Why are we sitting so close -- or is it not close enough? He rested his hands behind him, feeling the cold rock beneath them. His eyes closed, and he let go of the deep breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
He heard her talking, and from somewhere he knew he was making appropriate smalltalk. Everything was just so much and he couldn't find it in him to really process anything new. Why am I even here doing this? Then it hit him like a punch to the gut. Her voice in a whisper: "What did it feel like? What did you see? When the Dread Masters turned their power on us?"
He felt it all over again. Everything he was trying to process in that moment swept thorugh him. Before he could stop himself, the words poured from his lips. "Loss. I fear losing. I saw my sister for the first time in over ten years, just to watch her die. I saw my ship, crashed into a nameless rock in a star speckled expanse. My crew scattered around it, dead. I saw my health deteriorate, and the Council laugh as the one they called Wrath faded away."
Her hand moved to cover his and she squeezed it hard. "I'm so sorry. I heard, but I didn't realize the extent of that power. I promise to honor our agreement, and whenever it comes to Sith and Sith politics, you get to be the one to handle it." She had lied so often and so well, Clint found himself distrusting every word she said. Instead, he searched her emotions and felt a genuine sorrow, a sadness and a fear. Making a mental note of it, he simply asked, "You?"
"Loneliness. But not just the feeling. Actually being alone. Looking into my life and knowing no one would be there. That I was no longer of value, that I had no worth, and that I would be simply be discarded." And from deep within his soul, a part of him howled. Good. Yet he found himself saying, "You're taking back your power Cipher. Your crew cares for you. You know how to make yourself indispensable. Just keep working to know more than they do."
She took his chin in her hand and turned his face towards hers. Thankful once again to be behind a mask, he looked into her violet eyes and saw the pain etched there. She leaned in and placed her forehead against his, as they'd done dozens of times before. A soft, familiar comfort began to creep over him, and then she whispered, "You're my best friend."
He felt it. Not really of course, but it felt real enough. His heart shattering into pieces as everything he had been holding in poured from it.
You're mine too.
I can't trust you.
It doesn't make sense.
You should go.
Please don't go.
He didn't know how long he sat there in silence as the emotions spiraled through him. It was long enough that Cipher realized a reply was not coming and whispered, "You don't need to say it back. I don't want any regrets. I just needed you to know." She pulled away, and Clint looked toward the mountains once more. His hands now in his lap, he clenched them tightly. I can't trust her. She can't know. Just... Just say something.
"That's kind of you Cipher. Though it makes me question your taste in friends."
((Following the conclusion to the “Mystery” series, Anjewel continues to make use of her bad luck/good luck karma and attends a debriefing with the Uncrowned.))
I shouldn’t be so nervous. It’s not as if I haven’t done this before. Anjewel kept trying to talk her knees out of knocking and her stomach from dropping as she stood. I hate public speaking.
She stood in a room underneath Dalaran, in front of a table surrounded by five chairs. Candles burned in their holders and torches danced on the walls. One by one they walked in and took their places around the table. As they did so, she was given leave to sit herself, and she gratefully took a seat. They had allowed her to delay her report due to her injury, and while she could now get around, the ankle was still a little sore.
“Make your report Anjewel.” The voice came from an elderly man at the head of the table. Today he was dressed in gray with blue piping, and his gray hair was pulled back.
“Yes Lord Ravenholdt.” Clearing her throat and taking a moment to focus herself, she began.
“You see, I was out on a walk,” she paused as some collective groans moved through the table, “when I saw Finn entering the Slaughtered Lamb. I’ve known Finn for years and this was out of character for him. I kept my position on the roof,” and paused for another round of groans and chitters,” and waited for him to leave. He came out with a large coin pouch hooked to his belt, one he did not have before.”
She swallowed hard, bracing herself for the embarrassment she knew was coming. “Then I fell from the roof.”
“You what?!” Tess Greymane had half left her seat before forcing herself to sit back down. “First, openly walking on rooftops and then you fall from them?” All Anjewel could offer in her defense was a small shrug.
“It worked out though,” and she heard a chuckle from somewhere in the room. “The distraction I caused gave me a chance to look around while people were busy gawking. I saw a draenei leave the Slaughtered Lamb and made note to investigate that later. Later came sooner than expected, as he turned out to be working in one of our own facilities. He was the doctor on shift when I arrived to have my ankle mended.”
Anjewel paused to take a look around and noted concern on several of their faces. “I had mostly faked my injury to cause Finn to believe I was as clumsy as he thought, so I took the time fate offered me to question the doctor instead of receiving treatment. He stated he was a middle man, that he and Finn had been working to undermine the First Warlock of the Black Harvest and that the number of people missing were their responsibility. They wanted to pin the murders on Va.. on the First Warlock and weaken her power here in Dalaran, possibly to remove her from her position.”
“And how is your sister?” This time the voice came from Taoshi, a nimble Pandaren who sat to the left of Tess.
Anjewel smiled in her direction. “She is well, Taoshi, thank you. I have noted the eyes you have on her and am pleased to see she remains safe.” Her gaze returned to meet the eyes of Lord Ravenholdt.
“He attempted to attack me, and though I realized the potential loss of information, I had no choice but to kill him. From there you know the rest. Evette and John assisted in cleanup. We dispatched a message to the First Warlock. I wanted her to leave Dalaran and to come where I could keep eyes on her. She stayed with me during my rehabilitation. During that time Finn went missing. I still have no idea how or why, especially as he still believed me to be in love with him. I can only surmise that perhaps the death of his employer scared someone who took the time to remove the other piece of the puzzle.”
Her debriefing complete, Anjewel waited in silence as those at the table considered both her words and actions.
“I still can’t believe you fell from the roof.” Tess sat before her, exasperated. “We know you have a way of stumbling into situations of import, but must you ~always~ ~literally~ stumble into them? By the gods Black.” Anjewel worked to suppress a grin and instead looked at her hands currently folded into her lap. “I regret that I’ve never quite lived up to expectations. I’ve the heart and mind of my father, and the reflexes of… well... “ No one in the room questioned why she trailed off, the memory of her father known to everyone sitting around the table.
Anjewel’s father, known simply as Black to his friends in the business, had taught her from a young age. She eagerly absorbed his knowledge and dreamt of the day she would wear leather, sneak around in the dark, get paid to eavesdrop and spread disinformation throughout the night. It didn’t turn out quite as she dreamt, but she still loved this line of work and attempted to honor him every day.
Lord Ravenholdt spoke up, “No. You don’t. Yet you consistently bring us information of import as he did. He would be proud of you. No one expects it of you Anjewel, which is why you’re so integral to our plans. Stop fighting who you are, or who you thought he’d want you to be. Play the fool for the world and undermine our enemies at the same time. You earned your place here when you retrieved those Fangs. Hold onto them any time you question yourself.”
Anjewel allowed herself to look up and meet his gaze. The intensity in his eyes never ceased to frighten her, though she also felt oddly comforted at the same time. “I will not forget your words m’Lord. And thank you. I’ve lost everyone but Valdis now. I will attempt to stumble my way into keeping her safe then, if I can, and with your permission.”
“We will discuss next steps. You are dismissed for now. Stay close, we will call for you soon.”
“Mistress Valdis. A messenger for you. Her name is Evette and states she has a direct message from your sister.”
Warily, Valdis looked up from a scroll she had been perusing. What has happened now? She knows better than to call on me at work. I’ll never get this spell to work if I keep getting interrupted.
“Bring her in.”
Evette walked into Valdis’ chambers, and Valdis noticed that Evette took it in stride. Not many did. Valdis’ walls were covered in torches burning green flame, skulls were used as book holders, and an imp whimpered in the corner, clearly unhappy to be here. “Who are you and how did you find me?”
Evette curtsied and replied, “I am with the Uncrowned. The Black Harvest are not unknown to us, Netherlord.” Presenting the letter, Evette stated, “The Ruby misses the Sapphire. I am expected to take and deliver your reply immediately.”
Valdis’ eyes widened. Anjewel has never played this card before. “Wait here. I will read this and craft a reply directly. Can I get you anything?”
“Nothing Netherlord, save your speedy reply. Miss Anjewel is terribly hurt and eagerly awaits your news.”
Valdis rushed to her desk and cut open the letter. As she read, Evette took a moment to look her over. They could be twins, save that I know Anjewel is the younger sister. Where her hair is auburn, Valdis’ is jet black and she favors more colorful makeup. Aside from that they could nearly pass for one another. I will make a report of this. It may be useful should the Netherlord need help from the Uncrowned.
A letter was being pushed roughly into her hands and Evette snapped out of her thoughts.
“Go. NOW. I am preparing everything needed and will follow you by half an hour. Is she resting at home?” Evette nodded, “Yes Netherlord. We have taken care of her. Finn escorted her home, but we had eyes on the way. They are with her now and she is safe. Just as you will be upon your arrival.”
Evening - Old Town District. The Window Outside of Anjewel’s Home
It was low, but it was there. Thankfully Finn seemed not to notice. He was stoking the fire and taking several long deep breaths. “Finn. Would you mind? I’m terribly thirsty. The pain medication is giving me a bit of dry mouth. Would you mind fetching me water? I’m not able to drink until this medicinal treatment is done.”
He turned, doing his best to smile, “Yes, absolutely. I’ll be back shortly.”
The moment he left her window opened and Evette entered. “As you requested Miss Black. Her response. She will follow my arrival by about half an hour.” And with that, Evette turned and left, closing the window behind her.
“My dearest Ruby,
WHO WAS IT? ARE THEY DEAD? IF NOT, CAN I KILL THEM? Why am I asking you here? Of course you can have my company for a few weeks. I am dropping everything now and prepping the ingredients I need to bake for you. I had not yet time to reply, but I did read your letter and look forward to talking about anything other than boys.
Love,
Emerald”
Anjewel sighed in relief. Valdis was still Valdis, so that much was good. Perhaps she would have some ideas on what to do with Finn. Anjewel wanted him to suffer for the lives he took, but so much evidence pointed to Valdis. So much that I nearly believed it. Or did believe it. Or wasn’t surprised enough to disbelieve it.
Caught up in her ruminations, Anjewel hadn’t realized how much time had gone by. The next she knew, she heard Valdis’ voice downstairs. “You WILL step aside. I don’t care who you are. Where is my sister?” Anjewel couldn’t make out Finn’s reply, but didn’t need to. A familiar noise of heels on wood rose from the staircase and Valdis broke into Anjewel’s room.
Valdis took in the room: Anjewel’s ankle was propped up on pillows, an empty water glass by the table, a fire that looked about to go out, and a smiling sister whose grin said, “I’m sorry, I may have overstated how injured I was.”
Rushing to her side, Valdis laid on the bedside, wrapping her arms around her sister. “I missed you too Anj. I’d have overstated an injury to see you too. I’m sorry I haven’t had enough time.” Anjewel heard her voice grow cold as she continued, “I brought everything I need for cookies. Why don’t we have a chat about just how you want them baked?”
Anjewel laughed and hugged her sister. In a whisper she replied, “He is downstairs. I cannot talk freely until he leaves. Would you mind sending him home? I’ve been stuck with him since early afternoon. And check my side table by the couch on your way up. If anything is still on it.”
Valdis rose and smoothed her gown. As she left the room she turned and said, “I’m surprised you’re asking for my cooking.”
It was several minutes before Valdis returned. In her hand she held a glass of water and some burned papers. Anjewel just nodded. “I expected that the moment he saw you walk in the door and come upstairs. Was there much left?” She gratefully took the water offered and sipped slowly.
“There was enough. Is this why you wrote to me? You were frightened I am killing off the boys who hurt you?” Anjewel looked away, ashamed. “He made it seem so… and you are so… and the cookies, the jokes…”
Valdis chuckled. “Well, the cookies are real, and I did kill a couple. But only the ones who REALLY hurt you. Like, the soul sucking, you were crying for months kind of hurt.” Like the one who hurt me when she took Emmy. “Can you prove it’s him?”
Anjewel walked Valdis through the day's events and the confession of the doctor. “It’s him, Valdis. And I can’t cover up another one so close. We have…. Procedures. And this is really kind of … um… your kind of problem now isn’t it? I took care of your guy - sort of. So. You know. Cookies. We just need to find out who paid off the doctor. But not today. After all, I’ve a broken ankle.”
Valdis brushed Anjewel’s hair back and adjusted her blankets. Soon, Anjewel felt her energy start to fade and her eyes droop. Looking at her now empty glass she said, “Valdis - I’m feeling sleepy all of a sudden. What did you do?”
Valdis’ eyes narrowed. “Nothing love. Just gave you some water. Rest well. In the morning we’ll have coffee and cookies for breakfast.”
“Jewel. JEWEL. I can’t get the door and carry you. Open it for me.” Coming out of her reverie, Anjewel apologized. “I’m so sorry Finn! It must be the pain. I was lost in just trying to stay awake. I hear that when you’re dreadfully hurt you shouldn’t fall asleep.” As she was offering up this explanation, she opened the door and took in her surroundings while Finn walked her in.
He sat her gently on a chair and went to the check in counter. Finn was speaking low, but she heard snippets of the conversation, including a note that the doctor was out for lunch and would be back soon.
The door opened again and Anjewel took a look to her left. She felt the look of shock on her face and worked quickly to turn it into one of pain. It’s HIM. How terribly lucky. I hope to never tire of saying that. It’s the only way I can stay in this line of work. He walked past Finn and nodded to the receptionist. The draenei is good. He showed no acknowledgement of knowing Finn, and Finn is oblivious right now. Interesting. Just then she heard Finn gasp. “My gold pouch! Jewel, I was going to cover this, but … well… I just had it. Do you think someone in the crowd? This is horrible!”
“It’s ok Finn. I can handle it. She looked past him to the receptionist and held up a coin. “Why don’t you go see if you can find it? We haven’t been gone long, and I’m certain a good citizen has held onto it for you. I can manage now.” He nodded, replying, “Yes. That’s a good plan. I’ll be back for you soon.” After Finn left, Anjewel stood and limped around the office looking at the paintings on the wall.
It didn't take long for the receptionist to call her and Anjewel made her way to the indicated door down the hallway. Working to keep up the charade, Anjewel limped slowly placing her hands along the wall. Occasionally she would hit the wall just a little too loud, listening at the same time to see if there were hollow noises coming from the wall. She opened the door that had been indicated and saw the draenei sitting behind a desk. He motioned to an examination table and moved to meet her there.
Anjewel closed and locked the door behind her.
The moment he got up from his chair and walked away from the desk, Anjewel was behind him. She had pulled her daggers from behind her back, and she now had one touching his lower back, Is this where the kidneys are? I should remember…. and another held to his throat.
“Two things, Doctor. I’m not hurt. And if you tell me the truth, you won’t be either. I saw you exit from the Slaughtered Lamb. I assume you hold a measure of power. I’m holding the Fangs of the Devourer. Fangs I took from Akaari Shadowgore. Do you think you’re more powerful than Akaari Shadowgore?”
She felt him swallow as his tendrils pushed against the dagger in her hand. “I’m just a middle man. I hold the meetings because the Master cannot come to Stormwind. No one knows who I am, and I know only how to play a part. My business is not doing well since the Uncrowned began taking a cut, and I’m working to supplement my income.”
She pushed the dagger against him a bit more, drawing some blood from his back. “The meeting today with the man who brought me in. I want to know.”
Beads of sweat began to pour down his face, and yet she noticed his body wasn’t as tense as it should have been had he really been frightened. “He was tasked by the Master to remove a support beam for the First within the Black Harvest. For years he has been a friend to her sister and agreed to separate her. I believe he’s been killing her ex-boyfriends and blaming the First, all in an effort to breed distrust. He confirmed today it was done, and thus received his payment. He was set to simply watch her now until further notice.”
With each word, Anjewel’s mouth grew dryer and dryer, her feet threatening to give out from underneath her - for real this time. The draenei felt his opportunity and pushed against her, his thick tail attempting to sweep her legs as he caught her off balance. Anjewel called upon the Fangs and disappeared into shadow. Her world slowed down and she jumped. From above him she could see him turn in fear and dart for his desk. I hate this part. Why do they try?
As she made her way over him, she released the shadow and fell onto his back - daggers plunging into soft flesh. Yup, it was the kidneys. Good to know. He screamed in agony as the poison entered his body. Grinning, she twisted the daggers further into him.
“I guess you didn’t know who Akaari Shadowgore was, huh?” And with that, she dropped a dagger, grabbed a tendril, pulled back his head and slit his throat.
Waiting to ensure he was dead, Anjewel slowly became aware of noises in the hallway, raised in concern, and heard the voice of the receptionist growing closer. “Miss Black, Miss Black - is everything alright?”
“Yes Evette, thank you. Call the cleaning crew would you? I’m afraid the doctor made quite a mess of my ankle and there is blood just everywhere. He’s gone and fainted and might need some attention himself.”
She didn’t need to see it to know that Evette would get the patients and their doctors or nurses back in their rooms and help keep them calm. This was a place of professionalism of course. The Uncrowned, of which she was a part, would always ensure a professional atmosphere. But now I need to do something about this ankle. By the Light. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. This strange litany passed through her as she clamped down on the leather handle of her dagger, stood on the desk and stepped off. Moving her ankle at the last second, it hit hard and she heard a crack.
Dragging herself to the medical table, Anjewel climbed up, put her daggers away and waited. Soon, Evette entered, followed by an Uncrowned physician. “What do you think doc? Does it look bad?”
After a short examination he replied, “You did a pretty good job. Nice angle, clean break. We can make the cover story work. You’ll need to do a thorough write up on why you killed a staff member though. In the meantime we’ll arrange for him to go missing.” So many are missing lately. And now this one is mine. “You’ll be off your feet for several weeks, so I’ll put in a notice that you’re to be disqualified from mobile work. Though maybe we can arrange for some stakeouts.”
“Understood. I’ll write Valdis and see if she’s up for some family time. And perhaps I can get Finn involved. Would you mind hand delivering a letter to her? It’s urgent, and it’s related to the debrief I’ll be giving later.”
Evette nodded and brought in some writing supplies. As the physician, John, worked on her ankle, and Evette worked to clean up any blood that found its way on Anjewel, she wrote:
“Dearest Emerald,
I was badly injured today, and if not for the swift assistance of my favorite physician, I don’t know if I would have managed. I am told I cannot work and need round the clock aid for a short time. Please tell me that my dearest person is available to console me and bake me my favorite cookies. I think I may have figured out your secret ingredient and know just where you can get some at this time of year. This messenger is known to me and will await your response. I have not yet received a response from my last letter, and if you have not yet crafted one, I beg you answer me in person.
Love,
Ruby”
Finishing her letter, Anjewel turned to Evette.
“Evette, Valdis is cautious and I have advised her you will wait. If she requires proof, mention that “the Ruby misses the Sapphire”. She will know you are known to me and should trust you.” She turned to the physician. “John, would you mind getting me out front before Finn is back? I don’t need him trying to come back here to comfort me.”
Anjewel had just enough time to grab a seat, tuck her daggers away and smooth her hair before Finn walked in the door. The look on his face was all she needed to make this hellscape of an afternoon better. “No luck then Finn? I’m so sorry.”
She almost felt as if he cared for when she saw the look on his face as he took in her appearance. He tried to take me from Valdis. He worked to undermine her and bring harm to her. It doesn’t matter what it looks like. Murderous rage flowed through her and she struggled to hold on. Cleaning up one death would already be tough enough to do, and she didn’t care to explain two.
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