Wild Whims
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The beautiful song of bladecraft rang out sharp and true in the early morning hours of Bloomblossom, and the sound of sparring echoing down the mountain elicited memories from childhood and the month before last, where she and Sif managed to beat the Widow's Maze in under two days— a feat never before accomplished. As she walked up the path, hobbling along with a bum knee, the melody of home was the only thing keeping one foot following the next. Her body ached. Her cheek burned with a fire she wasn't accustomed to, and the swell in her knee was obvious. Albeit nothing more than a displaced kneecap.
A nonissue, Mel thought to herself, huffing as she stopped to lean upon her walking stick. A nonissue on any normal day! Why am I so weak? A few kelpies shouldn't have drained me so.
Clenching her fists, drawing into the well of magic within herself, Meliora felt the wild and felt comforted. Yellow and white buds blossomed and grass and weeds broke through the centuries old cobble. She smiled deeply and in awe, still thrilled at the little wonders of delight the wild could produce. One of her knees nearly gave out as she continued upwards, but the flowering continued with her, urging her ever onwards. Butterflies, bees, and dragonflies crowded the blooming mountain path behind her, and right before she sneezed, Meliora wrinkled her nose against the pollen sprite attempting to crawl its way in. Blocking one nostril, Mel breathed out sharply and sent it flying in the gentle breeze, a bemused annoyance making her smile.
Her lids were heavy though, a thousand times heavier than they had any right to be.
The School of Hydra loomed mighty and proud in dawn's early light, the multicolored stone brick dazzling when hit just right. On mornings such as these, it illuminated their entire little world. It wasn't the picture of majesty the way the palace back home was, but the fang Audeva loomed high into the heavens and burrowed deep into the bowels of the earth and that alone made up for its stony disposition. It was comely, its defense nearly impregnable as it wound up the mountain vertically and from within— making it extremely difficult to breach and raze.
Gods is it awful to get up there though. I can't believe that kelpie ate my fucking horse. That's my third one this year. Both Sif and the Handler are gunna have fits.
Mel continued on, the path so well traveled to her that she walked up to the gates with her eyes closed. She was escorted to the Hall of Transcripts with a shot of oppa to dull the pain and clear the senses, and was told to wait for her Handler and a Scribe.
She sank down onto the bench, her back against the cool stone wall, eyes closed against the cerulean blue light of the everglow crystals. They peeled themselves open a moment later, a vicious smile ripping open both her eyes and her mouth.
"Sif." Meliora croaked, standing to embrace her. "Fuck, you look like shit too."
A nonissue, Mel thought to herself, huffing as she stopped to lean upon her walking stick. A nonissue on any normal day! Why am I so weak? A few kelpies shouldn't have drained me so.
Clenching her fists, drawing into the well of magic within herself, Meliora felt the wild and felt comforted. Yellow and white buds blossomed and grass and weeds broke through the centuries old cobble. She smiled deeply and in awe, still thrilled at the little wonders of delight the wild could produce. One of her knees nearly gave out as she continued upwards, but the flowering continued with her, urging her ever onwards. Butterflies, bees, and dragonflies crowded the blooming mountain path behind her, and right before she sneezed, Meliora wrinkled her nose against the pollen sprite attempting to crawl its way in. Blocking one nostril, Mel breathed out sharply and sent it flying in the gentle breeze, a bemused annoyance making her smile.
Her lids were heavy though, a thousand times heavier than they had any right to be.
The School of Hydra loomed mighty and proud in dawn's early light, the multicolored stone brick dazzling when hit just right. On mornings such as these, it illuminated their entire little world. It wasn't the picture of majesty the way the palace back home was, but the fang Audeva loomed high into the heavens and burrowed deep into the bowels of the earth and that alone made up for its stony disposition. It was comely, its defense nearly impregnable as it wound up the mountain vertically and from within— making it extremely difficult to breach and raze.
Gods is it awful to get up there though. I can't believe that kelpie ate my fucking horse. That's my third one this year. Both Sif and the Handler are gunna have fits.
Mel continued on, the path so well traveled to her that she walked up to the gates with her eyes closed. She was escorted to the Hall of Transcripts with a shot of oppa to dull the pain and clear the senses, and was told to wait for her Handler and a Scribe.
She sank down onto the bench, her back against the cool stone wall, eyes closed against the cerulean blue light of the everglow crystals. They peeled themselves open a moment later, a vicious smile ripping open both her eyes and her mouth.
"Sif." Meliora croaked, standing to embrace her. "Fuck, you look like shit too."
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Siffir had been sent to Kolvak, a mid-size village on the southern coast of the Ayulis Sea. It had been humid and miserable as she had expected, and it had been home to a witch- Iron Fangs, whom Siffir had been sent to 'check' on. What Siffir hadn't expected when she'd gotten to Kolvak, was to find the town mostly empty, hardly any signs of human life. There were, unfortunately, a lot of human bones. Picked clean of flesh, and upon closer inspection, riddled with teeth marks belonging to a very specific witch. Siffir learned very quickly that the title Iron Fangs was no joke.
But she'd made it out alive, thankfully. Most importantly, she'd get to see Meliora again. A half-smile broke lose from her, the other half of her mouth too sore and split to move properly. Three short clawmarks marred the side of her mouth. Iron Fangs had left Siffir torn to ribbons with a notch on her left ear, deep gouges from her literal iron fangs, bruises on bruises, broken ribs, a sprained ankle, and most notable was the set of four deep clawmarks that tore right through the front of Siffir's chestplate.
The young Wildling rode into Hydra's courtyard on horseback with her head held high, despite the fact that she could barely keep her eyes open. She slid off of her horse slowly, bits of excited Wildling magic crackling in the air like white-hot embers around her when she hit the ground.
"Alright, Chicken," She patted her horse's flank twice, earning a small whinny from her companion, "You go on and find your stall and have a snack n' a big ol' rest, bud. You spent a lot of time being nowhere near the fight, I'm sure you're real tired." She clicked her tongue, and off Chicken went to go do his thing.
Siffir turned and began walking to the Hall of Transcripts, not waiting to be escorted. The air around her continued to crackle and vibrate with excitement again, her wild senses now picking up on Mel's scent. She was like peppermint and spring, and she naturally had that distinct wild smell. There was also clear path where her sister had walked, and Sif half-grinned, comforted by the sight and presence of it. She could feel where Mel had placed her feet, could see it in the bent blades of grass, and she could see that her sister's gait was different. That meant to Siffir that she was wounded.
Her heart raced a little bit, tinged with worry seeping through the excitement. She quickened her own pace, forgetting how sore she was, breaking out into a sudden sprint. In Siffir's wake were left snakevines and nettles and flytraps, small little wriggling black flowers budded and bloomed among the flora her wildling energy had risen into existance, evidence of the very place she'd been born. The deep magic of the Whiskwood had seeped into the fabric of her life force.
She dashed into the room, nearly skidding to an abrupt halt infront of Mel, who opened her eyes the moment she was there.
Time seemed to halt as she scooped Mel into her arms, laughing happily, "I feel like shit! You must'a had a tough time on your mission, by the looks of it. Those kelpies weren't fuckin' around!" She exclaimed, pulling away from Mel to get a good look at her.
"Iron Fangs went crazy, Mel. Like actually crazy. I knew she was a little off her rocker, but I wasn't told she was eating people! The Superiors let me go in there thinkin' I was just gonna have a nice chat and some tea! but no! I get to Kolvak an' I find out she's horfed down at least twenty people, and she didn't even get fat!" She hugged Mel again, inhaling deeply, enjoying the kind warmth of the embrace.
"I missed you, Mel. Missed you fiercely."
But she'd made it out alive, thankfully. Most importantly, she'd get to see Meliora again. A half-smile broke lose from her, the other half of her mouth too sore and split to move properly. Three short clawmarks marred the side of her mouth. Iron Fangs had left Siffir torn to ribbons with a notch on her left ear, deep gouges from her literal iron fangs, bruises on bruises, broken ribs, a sprained ankle, and most notable was the set of four deep clawmarks that tore right through the front of Siffir's chestplate.
The young Wildling rode into Hydra's courtyard on horseback with her head held high, despite the fact that she could barely keep her eyes open. She slid off of her horse slowly, bits of excited Wildling magic crackling in the air like white-hot embers around her when she hit the ground.
"Alright, Chicken," She patted her horse's flank twice, earning a small whinny from her companion, "You go on and find your stall and have a snack n' a big ol' rest, bud. You spent a lot of time being nowhere near the fight, I'm sure you're real tired." She clicked her tongue, and off Chicken went to go do his thing.
Siffir turned and began walking to the Hall of Transcripts, not waiting to be escorted. The air around her continued to crackle and vibrate with excitement again, her wild senses now picking up on Mel's scent. She was like peppermint and spring, and she naturally had that distinct wild smell. There was also clear path where her sister had walked, and Sif half-grinned, comforted by the sight and presence of it. She could feel where Mel had placed her feet, could see it in the bent blades of grass, and she could see that her sister's gait was different. That meant to Siffir that she was wounded.
Her heart raced a little bit, tinged with worry seeping through the excitement. She quickened her own pace, forgetting how sore she was, breaking out into a sudden sprint. In Siffir's wake were left snakevines and nettles and flytraps, small little wriggling black flowers budded and bloomed among the flora her wildling energy had risen into existance, evidence of the very place she'd been born. The deep magic of the Whiskwood had seeped into the fabric of her life force.
She dashed into the room, nearly skidding to an abrupt halt infront of Mel, who opened her eyes the moment she was there.
Time seemed to halt as she scooped Mel into her arms, laughing happily, "I feel like shit! You must'a had a tough time on your mission, by the looks of it. Those kelpies weren't fuckin' around!" She exclaimed, pulling away from Mel to get a good look at her.
"Iron Fangs went crazy, Mel. Like actually crazy. I knew she was a little off her rocker, but I wasn't told she was eating people! The Superiors let me go in there thinkin' I was just gonna have a nice chat and some tea! but no! I get to Kolvak an' I find out she's horfed down at least twenty people, and she didn't even get fat!" She hugged Mel again, inhaling deeply, enjoying the kind warmth of the embrace.
"I missed you, Mel. Missed you fiercely."
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"I've missed you too, Sif." Mel said with a tired smile, leaning against her wildling sister a little too heavily. She shifted her weight onto her other knee and guided them both back to the bench, half-hopping half-sliding her way there, arm still draped over Siffir's shoulder.
She took a deep breath once she sat down, a little raggedy, but the pain wasn't so sharp anymore— the oppa doing its job, more than like, numbing and dulling the pain throughout her body.
"Iron Fangs, you said?" Mel asked after a bit, "Wasn't she a Source for the School of Basilisk?" Mel scrunched up her nose, her change-color green eyes darkening. "Sounds like the Superiors need to go touch some grass and get a reality check, sendin' us out without proper knowledge like this. What the hell are they thinkin'? You know they told me, at max, that there should only be three kelpies?
"I swear," Mel spat out, "It's almost as if they don't know what the fuck they're doing."
There was a not-so-subtle cough and Mel glanced over at the Auditor staring at them with a look of confusion and masked fury. Mel cocked an eyebrow, wondering if she had a knippler up her pants.
"There is a sign upon entry of this building that clearly states there is no unauthorized use of magic within the Hall of Transcripts." The finger she held up shook tremendously and it was only then that Mel noticed the cracked stone beneath their feet, crumbling beneath the infestation of weeds and nettles.
"Walking through those doors indicates an unwritten agreement wherein—"
Mel waved her hand dismissively. "It's not magic. I mean, ok yes it's magic but it's not our active magic, you know? Weird shit like this just happens. Are you new around here or something?"
Meliora gave her a good once-over before continuing, suspicion briefly replacing indignant anger.
"Just call for Greenskeeper Uriel, he'll fix this up like that," Mel said with the flick of her fingers.
She turned back to Sif, suddenly remembering. Flick.
The anger within Mel dissipated as quickly as it had come, her shoulders sagged, the weeds and blossoms at her feet wilting dramatically, falling into the leafy embrace of Sif's flytraps. She looked over at Siffir with guilt ridden eyes, tears nearly swimming in them.
She hiccuped.
"I need a new horse. The kelpies ate Flick. Well, most of him anyways."
Mel patted the pouch tied to her waist belt, deceptively simple in make, the leather well worn and faded by the sun, and probably as expensive as this entire Hall.
"I saved his tongue for Moose Mother—"
"You're in need of another horse, Meliora?"
Mel swallowed, and could feel the exasperated eyes against her back.
"Never you mind," the Auditor said in a hush, "the Amanuensis if ready for you both."
A woman stood before them, tall but impossibly thin, her mouth covered by a patterned silk veil.
She took a deep breath once she sat down, a little raggedy, but the pain wasn't so sharp anymore— the oppa doing its job, more than like, numbing and dulling the pain throughout her body.
"Iron Fangs, you said?" Mel asked after a bit, "Wasn't she a Source for the School of Basilisk?" Mel scrunched up her nose, her change-color green eyes darkening. "Sounds like the Superiors need to go touch some grass and get a reality check, sendin' us out without proper knowledge like this. What the hell are they thinkin'? You know they told me, at max, that there should only be three kelpies?
"I swear," Mel spat out, "It's almost as if they don't know what the fuck they're doing."
There was a not-so-subtle cough and Mel glanced over at the Auditor staring at them with a look of confusion and masked fury. Mel cocked an eyebrow, wondering if she had a knippler up her pants.
"There is a sign upon entry of this building that clearly states there is no unauthorized use of magic within the Hall of Transcripts." The finger she held up shook tremendously and it was only then that Mel noticed the cracked stone beneath their feet, crumbling beneath the infestation of weeds and nettles.
"Walking through those doors indicates an unwritten agreement wherein—"
Mel waved her hand dismissively. "It's not magic. I mean, ok yes it's magic but it's not our active magic, you know? Weird shit like this just happens. Are you new around here or something?"
Meliora gave her a good once-over before continuing, suspicion briefly replacing indignant anger.
"Just call for Greenskeeper Uriel, he'll fix this up like that," Mel said with the flick of her fingers.
She turned back to Sif, suddenly remembering. Flick.
The anger within Mel dissipated as quickly as it had come, her shoulders sagged, the weeds and blossoms at her feet wilting dramatically, falling into the leafy embrace of Sif's flytraps. She looked over at Siffir with guilt ridden eyes, tears nearly swimming in them.
She hiccuped.
"I need a new horse. The kelpies ate Flick. Well, most of him anyways."
Mel patted the pouch tied to her waist belt, deceptively simple in make, the leather well worn and faded by the sun, and probably as expensive as this entire Hall.
"I saved his tongue for Moose Mother—"
"You're in need of another horse, Meliora?"
Mel swallowed, and could feel the exasperated eyes against her back.
"Never you mind," the Auditor said in a hush, "the Amanuensis if ready for you both."
A woman stood before them, tall but impossibly thin, her mouth covered by a patterned silk veil.
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It always fired Siffir up to see Mel angry. She didn't ever what it was about or who triggered it, Siffir would be there to back her sister up. Mel was great at putting people in their place, and usually better about wording it than Siffir ever was or would be, so at times like this, when someone was acting like a know-it-all despite the fact that they really knew nothing, Sif stood by Mel and let her rip into the Auditor with a smug grin on her face.
Her smile fell as she learned about Flick's death.
"Awh, Mel.." She spoke softly.
Sif was dissappointed, and heartbroken for the horse, but she felt for Mel, too. Mel hadn't ever been great about keeping a horse alive, and it costed Hydra a fortune to keep supplying her with new ones. But knowing that Mel had at least saved his tongue for Moose Mother was a comfort. She didn't have even a moment to speak on the topic or reassure Mel, because the Auditor spoke ahead of her, and Sif whipped her head 'round to give the woman a glare. Black poppies and baby flytraps sprouted from under her feet.
This woman is irritatin' as fuck. Why do we even have to give detailed reports!
Siffir huffed, tiny red spiderwebs of lightning arcing between her antlers.
"Never you mind my ass Miss Know-It-All," The mumbled retort flew from Sif's lips before she could stop it. Not that she wanted to. She turned her sight to the Amanuensis, not having to even look at the Auditor to know she was receiving a sharp and disapproving glare.
"I don't think she's ready at all, if i'mma be perfectly honest, because I certainly wosn't ready for a full blown battle with Iron Fangs! And did you even know she was fuckin' eating people! because I sure the fuck did not!" She fumed.
Siffir, still holding onto Mel, used her free hand to point an angry finger at the Auditor and the Amanuensis, "It sure seems to me like someone dumb either casually forgot to tell me that the fucking witch i'm going to contact was going fucking rogue, or they intentionally withheld the information! And either option is shitty! I mean, I *killed* her, I had to, so that kinda sucks. I think Mel said she was a source for Basilisk, so that sucks even more for those bastards, but the worst part is that I have no idea why Iron Fangs lost her shit! " She shouted.
Her smile fell as she learned about Flick's death.
"Awh, Mel.." She spoke softly.
Sif was dissappointed, and heartbroken for the horse, but she felt for Mel, too. Mel hadn't ever been great about keeping a horse alive, and it costed Hydra a fortune to keep supplying her with new ones. But knowing that Mel had at least saved his tongue for Moose Mother was a comfort. She didn't have even a moment to speak on the topic or reassure Mel, because the Auditor spoke ahead of her, and Sif whipped her head 'round to give the woman a glare. Black poppies and baby flytraps sprouted from under her feet.
This woman is irritatin' as fuck. Why do we even have to give detailed reports!
Siffir huffed, tiny red spiderwebs of lightning arcing between her antlers.
"Never you mind my ass Miss Know-It-All," The mumbled retort flew from Sif's lips before she could stop it. Not that she wanted to. She turned her sight to the Amanuensis, not having to even look at the Auditor to know she was receiving a sharp and disapproving glare.
"I don't think she's ready at all, if i'mma be perfectly honest, because I certainly wosn't ready for a full blown battle with Iron Fangs! And did you even know she was fuckin' eating people! because I sure the fuck did not!" She fumed.
Siffir, still holding onto Mel, used her free hand to point an angry finger at the Auditor and the Amanuensis, "It sure seems to me like someone dumb either casually forgot to tell me that the fucking witch i'm going to contact was going fucking rogue, or they intentionally withheld the information! And either option is shitty! I mean, I *killed* her, I had to, so that kinda sucks. I think Mel said she was a source for Basilisk, so that sucks even more for those bastards, but the worst part is that I have no idea why Iron Fangs lost her shit! " She shouted.
Anger was like a drug to Meliora. Always had been. And to see Siffir upset had always caused a storm of fury to swell within her chest. She used to wonder why; how their moves could be so impossibly timed to be so successful or how their magic, so different and yet so similar, seemed to care and rejoice in each other's presence. Mel had stopped wondering when she was nine and three quarters.
From then on, she simply believed.
Anger, so sweet next to sadness, swelled over her and Mel spoke with tiny puffs of flame spewing from her nostrils, her weeds growing into nettles, thick stemmed and itchy.
"It's fucking weird, you know," Mel shouted, her voice relaying and replacing Siffir's within the echoey space of the Hall of Transcripts. For a moment in the beginning, it was almost as if their echoes had blended, speaking as one. "The kelpies were out of their godsdamn mind too. Territorial beasts, yes, but they were enraged, like something inside them was urging them to go wild."
Mel looked at Sif with a questioning glance.
"Was Iron Fangs like that too? You said she was actin' out of her mind and eating folks! What if the Superiors are trying to set—"
"I would think before you continue that statement, Meliora."
Mel looked Sif in the eyes, brows scrunched up in defiance and indignant anger. "What if we were set up?"
From then on, she simply believed.
Anger, so sweet next to sadness, swelled over her and Mel spoke with tiny puffs of flame spewing from her nostrils, her weeds growing into nettles, thick stemmed and itchy.
"It's fucking weird, you know," Mel shouted, her voice relaying and replacing Siffir's within the echoey space of the Hall of Transcripts. For a moment in the beginning, it was almost as if their echoes had blended, speaking as one. "The kelpies were out of their godsdamn mind too. Territorial beasts, yes, but they were enraged, like something inside them was urging them to go wild."
Mel looked at Sif with a questioning glance.
"Was Iron Fangs like that too? You said she was actin' out of her mind and eating folks! What if the Superiors are trying to set—"
"I would think before you continue that statement, Meliora."
Mel looked Sif in the eyes, brows scrunched up in defiance and indignant anger. "What if we were set up?"
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Siffir's Gaze met Meliora's, and she felt a certain resonance that only a Wildling was capable of sensing. It was like a joint agreement of their very souls, their strings of thought coming together in welcome understanding. Siffir's fury, now laced with curiousity, tempered those bits of magic Siffir couldn't hold back. The lightning in her antlers quieted, the flytraps at her feet closed their mouths.
She thought for a moment, while her thoughts came together through the resonance. She remembered meeting Iron Fangs once, when she was fourteen. Dihara had taken her with, the mission having the same intent as the one she'd just gotten back from, except it hadn't ended with Siffir beheading the witch and tossing her body into a fire to make sure she didn't come back. Siffir had gone through bodies, bodies, and more bodies, lining up skulls and corpses and covering them in violet-colored Whiskwood vines to keep their bodies safe until someone could come to bury them.
Sif shuddered, her eyes haunted by the new memory. She'd never forget it, never forgive what had been done to the people of Kolvak. It made her think too much of what happened in Twicket.
Shoving the thought of her isolated hometown away, Siffir focused harder, trying to find physical differences in her memory of Iron Fangs compared to the Iron Fangs she fought.
And suddenly, the difference was obvious and glaring.
"The eyes!" She shouted suddenly, echoed by Mel, and coming back from her thoughts.
"Yeah! Yes! Her eyes were different! I met her a long time ago, and Iron Fangs had gold eyes, bright as a polished coin! But when I fought her, her eyes were...were blood red. With veins or something around the outside of 'em. She just didn't look like herself, not the way I remember her."
And then Dihara barged into the room, thick brown curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, well-worn armor looking proud upon her tall frame. But Dihara's face said she was irritated, possibly furious.
"Not the way you remember who, Siffir? And why in the hells was I not notified about your arrival until now?" The Arcanist demanded sternly, briefly glaring at the Auditor.
Dihara had practically raised Siffir, the same way Emyrn had raised and trained Mel. Siffir loved Dihara, but sometimes it felt like all she ever did was make her angry.
Siffir straightened up on instinct as Dihara stepped over to her in just a few cool-tempered movements.
"I felt Mel first, what do you expect me to do!" She exclaimed, holding her hands out in desperation. Her anger was rising again.
Dihara frowned, looking down her nose at Siffir with an arched eyebrow. Dihara looked to Emyrn briefly before moving to stand beside Siffir with her hands behind her back.
Wrong thing to say. Fuck.
Siffir took a moment to readjust her mind before replying to Dihara's first question, "Not the way I remember Iron Fangs being. She had red eyes, and she ate people, and left Kolvak nearly extinct."
Dihara looked bewildered by the statement, and Siffir continued, "There's no way we weren't set up or somethin', 'cos Mel says she went through hell with the Selkies, too."
Siffir looked to Mel again, softly, mentally urging her to elaborate on the Selkies.
She thought for a moment, while her thoughts came together through the resonance. She remembered meeting Iron Fangs once, when she was fourteen. Dihara had taken her with, the mission having the same intent as the one she'd just gotten back from, except it hadn't ended with Siffir beheading the witch and tossing her body into a fire to make sure she didn't come back. Siffir had gone through bodies, bodies, and more bodies, lining up skulls and corpses and covering them in violet-colored Whiskwood vines to keep their bodies safe until someone could come to bury them.
Sif shuddered, her eyes haunted by the new memory. She'd never forget it, never forgive what had been done to the people of Kolvak. It made her think too much of what happened in Twicket.
Shoving the thought of her isolated hometown away, Siffir focused harder, trying to find physical differences in her memory of Iron Fangs compared to the Iron Fangs she fought.
And suddenly, the difference was obvious and glaring.
"The eyes!" She shouted suddenly, echoed by Mel, and coming back from her thoughts.
"Yeah! Yes! Her eyes were different! I met her a long time ago, and Iron Fangs had gold eyes, bright as a polished coin! But when I fought her, her eyes were...were blood red. With veins or something around the outside of 'em. She just didn't look like herself, not the way I remember her."
And then Dihara barged into the room, thick brown curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, well-worn armor looking proud upon her tall frame. But Dihara's face said she was irritated, possibly furious.
"Not the way you remember who, Siffir? And why in the hells was I not notified about your arrival until now?" The Arcanist demanded sternly, briefly glaring at the Auditor.
Dihara had practically raised Siffir, the same way Emyrn had raised and trained Mel. Siffir loved Dihara, but sometimes it felt like all she ever did was make her angry.
Siffir straightened up on instinct as Dihara stepped over to her in just a few cool-tempered movements.
"I felt Mel first, what do you expect me to do!" She exclaimed, holding her hands out in desperation. Her anger was rising again.
Dihara frowned, looking down her nose at Siffir with an arched eyebrow. Dihara looked to Emyrn briefly before moving to stand beside Siffir with her hands behind her back.
Wrong thing to say. Fuck.
Siffir took a moment to readjust her mind before replying to Dihara's first question, "Not the way I remember Iron Fangs being. She had red eyes, and she ate people, and left Kolvak nearly extinct."
Dihara looked bewildered by the statement, and Siffir continued, "There's no way we weren't set up or somethin', 'cos Mel says she went through hell with the Selkies, too."
Siffir looked to Mel again, softly, mentally urging her to elaborate on the Selkies.
The fury in Mel was only building. It was obvious, ever since her horns had grown in and poked past her fluffy black hair. The cream-colored horns always seemed to darken to reflect her negative moods and sometimes, when she experienced pure joy, they'd even glow. But here, in the Hall of Transcripts, with the Amanuensis standing impossibly still in the threshold, waiting patiently, the Auditor, looking frazzled and confused and indignant with the suggestion that she could have anything to do with a set up, and their Handlers, standing imperiously and proud and perhaps a bit worried... Wait.
Emyrn van Ereisvefel. Dihara Vesa.
Their presence alone, once registered, tempered the raging storm within Mel's heart. The nettles at her feet withered away, weeds and wildflowers replacing them, sprouting further, cracking more stone as emotions spilled out around the two Wildlings. The anger and paranoia within Meliora shifted into indignant curiosity as she followed the conversation, following the spark of understanding that Sif had revealed to her.
"The eyes! Yes!" Mel countered, the anger slowly being replaced with confusion. Her eyes held their typical far-away glaze as she replayed the memory in her mind. She could kick herself for not having already learned Emryn's thought projection spell, but…
That's just not my kinda magic.
"I didn't really think anything of it, not until what you just said, Sif. Blood red eyes. Them kelpies were the same. I just thought they were angry."
Mel bit her tongue and glanced up at her Handler with a frown, gauging his reaction with nearly a decade's worth of experience. Handler Dihara was like a rock to her; impossible to read. Impossible to move. Her only advantage in melee against her thus far were impossibly swift strikes with her own weapons. Always, always aimed low. Not that she'd ever really managed to bring her down. Handler Emryn though— he was both easy and hard to read. Somewhere between an adoptive father and a very cool uncle who loved teaching rare and powerful elven magic.
Sadly, Mel did not seem to have an affinity for his elven arcane techniques.
A shame, honestly, I'd look pretty badass with those marks around my eyes. I'll have to ask Sif what she thinks later, right now…
"Them selkies were… enraged. Like cornered prey, you know? But I scouted the entire forest surrounding that lake, just to make sure I wasn't walkin into some kind of trap. There was nothin' there for them to be actin' like that. When I killed 'em, I even checked the lake to see if they'd just given birth to some babies or somethin' you know, figured it could be some territorial stuff, but they weren't even fighting each other, just throwin' one big ass tantrum.
"Honest to gods, they're lucky I didn't have Ozcar's magic saddle! Would have me a forever mount then."
Emyrn van Ereisvefel. Dihara Vesa.
Their presence alone, once registered, tempered the raging storm within Mel's heart. The nettles at her feet withered away, weeds and wildflowers replacing them, sprouting further, cracking more stone as emotions spilled out around the two Wildlings. The anger and paranoia within Meliora shifted into indignant curiosity as she followed the conversation, following the spark of understanding that Sif had revealed to her.
"The eyes! Yes!" Mel countered, the anger slowly being replaced with confusion. Her eyes held their typical far-away glaze as she replayed the memory in her mind. She could kick herself for not having already learned Emryn's thought projection spell, but…
That's just not my kinda magic.
"I didn't really think anything of it, not until what you just said, Sif. Blood red eyes. Them kelpies were the same. I just thought they were angry."
Mel bit her tongue and glanced up at her Handler with a frown, gauging his reaction with nearly a decade's worth of experience. Handler Dihara was like a rock to her; impossible to read. Impossible to move. Her only advantage in melee against her thus far were impossibly swift strikes with her own weapons. Always, always aimed low. Not that she'd ever really managed to bring her down. Handler Emryn though— he was both easy and hard to read. Somewhere between an adoptive father and a very cool uncle who loved teaching rare and powerful elven magic.
Sadly, Mel did not seem to have an affinity for his elven arcane techniques.
A shame, honestly, I'd look pretty badass with those marks around my eyes. I'll have to ask Sif what she thinks later, right now…
"Them selkies were… enraged. Like cornered prey, you know? But I scouted the entire forest surrounding that lake, just to make sure I wasn't walkin into some kind of trap. There was nothin' there for them to be actin' like that. When I killed 'em, I even checked the lake to see if they'd just given birth to some babies or somethin' you know, figured it could be some territorial stuff, but they weren't even fighting each other, just throwin' one big ass tantrum.
"Honest to gods, they're lucky I didn't have Ozcar's magic saddle! Would have me a forever mount then."
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Siffir grinned at Mel.
"Yeah, Gods forbid you find yourself a forever mount. The world'd know no peace!" She couldn't help but joke with Mel, despite the seriousness of what they were telling everyone.
Sif turned to nervously look at her Handler, who was staring at her with such an intensity that she had no other choice but to look away. So she looked back at the Auditor and Amanuensis, "Right, well someone fucked up and it wasn'o me're Mel-" Sif thought for a second, "Wait, what if we were set up to die? Is someone tryna kill us? 'Cos we're Wil'lins?!" Siffir's Twicket accent began to show, the more she got worked up.
White fire licked her boots, engulfed her antlers, and electricity sparked from her hair. She stepped forward, away from the ones she considered family, and towards the Auditor and Amanuensis, "L'sten 'ere." She hissed through her teeth, small white flames on her breath, "Ah sware't the Wild One 'imself tha'if tha's troo," Sif raised her finger at the, "Ef some weecock 's trynae git me're Meliora kill't, we'll scalp'em, n oi'll taek 'em tae Whisk'ood an feed 'em tae dem beasties who cawll et hwi'im. Ah'll eat dem's focken dokhira'a myself!!!" She shouted.
With every step cshe took, her white flames burnt the foliage that also sprouted wildly from her Wildling feet were instantly charred to black ash, leaving black footprints.
Dihara spoke, sternly, "Siffir, calm yourself, or I will. And we know how that ends." She turned to look at Emryn, and then at Meliiora with a look that said 'Don't you even try to help start shit right now, either.'
"Yeah, Gods forbid you find yourself a forever mount. The world'd know no peace!" She couldn't help but joke with Mel, despite the seriousness of what they were telling everyone.
Sif turned to nervously look at her Handler, who was staring at her with such an intensity that she had no other choice but to look away. So she looked back at the Auditor and Amanuensis, "Right, well someone fucked up and it wasn'o me're Mel-" Sif thought for a second, "Wait, what if we were set up to die? Is someone tryna kill us? 'Cos we're Wil'lins?!" Siffir's Twicket accent began to show, the more she got worked up.
White fire licked her boots, engulfed her antlers, and electricity sparked from her hair. She stepped forward, away from the ones she considered family, and towards the Auditor and Amanuensis, "L'sten 'ere." She hissed through her teeth, small white flames on her breath, "Ah sware't the Wild One 'imself tha'if tha's troo," Sif raised her finger at the, "Ef some weecock 's trynae git me're Meliora kill't, we'll scalp'em, n oi'll taek 'em tae Whisk'ood an feed 'em tae dem beasties who cawll et hwi'im. Ah'll eat dem's focken dokhira'a myself!!!" She shouted.
With every step cshe took, her white flames burnt the foliage that also sprouted wildly from her Wildling feet were instantly charred to black ash, leaving black footprints.
Dihara spoke, sternly, "Siffir, calm yourself, or I will. And we know how that ends." She turned to look at Emryn, and then at Meliiora with a look that said 'Don't you even try to help start shit right now, either.'
Had the anger been swelling and careening inside of Mel's heart, jumping up and down and sideways? Absolutely. Meliora had risen from the bench as Siffir stalked forward, dark violet fire leaking from her horns and her nostrils and the clenched fists glued at her side. Was she going to do anything, though? Well— truthfully, yes. But Dihara Vesa… her voice was like a gong, reverberating through the Hall of Transcripts. Even the Amanuensis shivered and when she pinned that look on Mel, piercing right through her, the fire extinguished immediately.
She felt her hands rise, palms forward.
"Alright, alright. But don't we at least deserve an answer to what's goin' on? This ain't a joke if it's our lives, Lady D!"
The Auditor wrung her hands from behind her desk, the everglow crystals casting minute shadows across her face. Mel glanced over, noticing the uncomfortable, constipated look on her face. She raised a brow as the woman shied away from the Amanuensis and spoke.
"This is… highly unusual, I'll give you that. B-but to send you out on missions you aren't qualified for—" There was a subtle panic in her voice, as if she was wrestling with something she couldn't quite place. "I-I just… Can't believe it! It goes against the foundational rules of the institution!"
Mel's anger truly dissipated then, watching the woman struggle. She was haughty and righteous and prideful of her station, but a passive truth wafted off from her; she at least, had no idea of the ulterior motives of her Superiors, and the thought of putting two Arcanists in jeopardy, even if by proxy, made her deeply uncomfortable. Regretful. Even if the said Arcanists were a pain in her rear.
From the threshold, the Amanuensis shifted, her eyes crystalline and sharp as ice.
The Auditor shivered.
She felt her hands rise, palms forward.
"Alright, alright. But don't we at least deserve an answer to what's goin' on? This ain't a joke if it's our lives, Lady D!"
The Auditor wrung her hands from behind her desk, the everglow crystals casting minute shadows across her face. Mel glanced over, noticing the uncomfortable, constipated look on her face. She raised a brow as the woman shied away from the Amanuensis and spoke.
"This is… highly unusual, I'll give you that. B-but to send you out on missions you aren't qualified for—" There was a subtle panic in her voice, as if she was wrestling with something she couldn't quite place. "I-I just… Can't believe it! It goes against the foundational rules of the institution!"
Mel's anger truly dissipated then, watching the woman struggle. She was haughty and righteous and prideful of her station, but a passive truth wafted off from her; she at least, had no idea of the ulterior motives of her Superiors, and the thought of putting two Arcanists in jeopardy, even if by proxy, made her deeply uncomfortable. Regretful. Even if the said Arcanists were a pain in her rear.
From the threshold, the Amanuensis shifted, her eyes crystalline and sharp as ice.
The Auditor shivered.
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Siffir turned her head to look over her shoulder at Dihara, but first saw Mel with her stunning violet fire, and she considered ignoring her Handler for a long second. But she did know what would happen should that be her choice.
So, with fury in her eyes and suspicion fueling her flames, Siffir gave a big huff of dissatisfaction before looking back to the Amanuensis, and then the Auditor. Siffir didn't believe the Auditor could be up to anything, not with that look on her face. The Auditor practically smelled innocent. But the Amanuensis?
Maybe. Just maybe.
Siffir had to willfully extinguish her fire, but it still burned within her eyes as she lifted her finger again, pointing ominously at the Amanuensis to say, "I'on't like ya. You don't e'en look upset or surprised. But you do look suspicious. Keeping my goddamn eyes on'ye. Iffen you try anything, do it where I can see you." She sneered, baring her slightly pointed canines at the woman before turning her back.
"Let's get the fuck outta here. I'm done!"
"Siffir." Dihara spoke sternly. But Siffir could hear a gentle curb to her tone. She locked eyes with Handler Dihara, understanding at once that she'd be getting questioned even further once there was a private moment to be had. Dihara also seemed to understand that Siffir would need an outlet to expel the anger she'd worked up. Dihara nodded at Siffir, and Siffer at Dihara.
Siffir's eyes moved to Mel, and felt instantly happier. "Sorry, Mel, I guess I ought'a make sure you're done, too." She smiled at her sister, knowing that if she had attacked, Meliora would've followed her right into it.
So, with fury in her eyes and suspicion fueling her flames, Siffir gave a big huff of dissatisfaction before looking back to the Amanuensis, and then the Auditor. Siffir didn't believe the Auditor could be up to anything, not with that look on her face. The Auditor practically smelled innocent. But the Amanuensis?
Maybe. Just maybe.
Siffir had to willfully extinguish her fire, but it still burned within her eyes as she lifted her finger again, pointing ominously at the Amanuensis to say, "I'on't like ya. You don't e'en look upset or surprised. But you do look suspicious. Keeping my goddamn eyes on'ye. Iffen you try anything, do it where I can see you." She sneered, baring her slightly pointed canines at the woman before turning her back.
"Let's get the fuck outta here. I'm done!"
"Siffir." Dihara spoke sternly. But Siffir could hear a gentle curb to her tone. She locked eyes with Handler Dihara, understanding at once that she'd be getting questioned even further once there was a private moment to be had. Dihara also seemed to understand that Siffir would need an outlet to expel the anger she'd worked up. Dihara nodded at Siffir, and Siffer at Dihara.
Siffir's eyes moved to Mel, and felt instantly happier. "Sorry, Mel, I guess I ought'a make sure you're done, too." She smiled at her sister, knowing that if she had attacked, Meliora would've followed her right into it.
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"Aye," Mel said with a grunt, standing on her knee with barely any pain. It was weird, but she experienced weirder, and the suspicion in her heart for the Amanuensis overrode rationale. "I'd like to get the hell outta this musty hall." She sniffed dramatically, glaring down her nose at the veiled woman in farewell, her nettles and weeds fluffing as she stomped away.
There was an elongated sigh within her mind and Meliora hestated, a few steps outside the Hall of Transcripts, the inner voice of her Handler rooting its way through her mind.
Your behavior is ever a disappointment.
When you both calm yourselves, I'd like to perform a ritual. Do as you please, but return to the tower by dusk. My magic is strongest as the sun sets. If it's as you two claim, having documented proof will save your asses against the storm you've both summoned.
Though, if it's as you two claim, then the storm had already been summoned; you've simply revealed it.
Remember, Meliora, dusk. Don't be late.
Mel made a face, her eyes dark but sad, threatening to spill with tears. Emryn did always have a way with words. She went to whistle for Flick when she remembered the kelpies bit open his neck and tore him apart limb by limb. A gout of dark violet flame burst from both horns as she lamented her favorite horse yet, mouse grey and twice as tall as any stallion she'd ever seen before.
"We're free for the rest of the day," Mel said quietly over to Siffir, "But Emme said we oughta be back by dusk for some kinda ritual he wants to perform. Check our thoughts, most like, make us relive the whole fuckin' thing again."
Mel kicked a pebble across the dirt and tried to ignore the bloodstains on her boots.
"We should go find me another horse and go ride. Go see Moose Mother. Get out of here."
There was an elongated sigh within her mind and Meliora hestated, a few steps outside the Hall of Transcripts, the inner voice of her Handler rooting its way through her mind.
Your behavior is ever a disappointment.
When you both calm yourselves, I'd like to perform a ritual. Do as you please, but return to the tower by dusk. My magic is strongest as the sun sets. If it's as you two claim, having documented proof will save your asses against the storm you've both summoned.
Though, if it's as you two claim, then the storm had already been summoned; you've simply revealed it.
Remember, Meliora, dusk. Don't be late.
Mel made a face, her eyes dark but sad, threatening to spill with tears. Emryn did always have a way with words. She went to whistle for Flick when she remembered the kelpies bit open his neck and tore him apart limb by limb. A gout of dark violet flame burst from both horns as she lamented her favorite horse yet, mouse grey and twice as tall as any stallion she'd ever seen before.
"We're free for the rest of the day," Mel said quietly over to Siffir, "But Emme said we oughta be back by dusk for some kinda ritual he wants to perform. Check our thoughts, most like, make us relive the whole fuckin' thing again."
Mel kicked a pebble across the dirt and tried to ignore the bloodstains on her boots.
"We should go find me another horse and go ride. Go see Moose Mother. Get out of here."
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Siffir was stuck in a staring contest with Dihara. They couldn't communicate telepathically, but it might as well have been the same. The young Wildling was good at noticing her Handler's micro-expressions and interpreting them, and what Dihara was essentially telling her right now as they remained gaze-locked was, I understand you and Meliora have Wildling Business to do. But don't use that to forget how much of a dumbass you are for letting your composure fall. I taught you better, Siffir of Twicket. You shame not only yourself, but you shame ME.
Lowering her gaze slightly in deference and, well, shame, Siffir listened to Mel just as quietly as her sister spoke to her, and her mood soured. She didn't want to be questioned again, or to relive the whole thing. It was the closest to death she'd ever been.
Siffir suddenly felt the pain of what remained of her wounds, a deep ache throbbing through her body.
"Okay. Let's go, and let's go fast. I need to drop my armor with the Mender." She spoke softly to Mel, placing her hand over the gash in her chest plate, "I don't think this is gonna do me any good while bein' all broken like this."
Sif looped her arm through Mel's, and quickly glanced at Dihara and Emryn, giving them both a nod. Dihara lifted her chin. She knew what her Handler expected of her, and she'd let her down.
Arm in arm with Mel, Siffir exited the Hall and led her out to the courtyard, whistling for Chicken, who came trotting over with a whinny. Chicken had been a wild horse before being acquired by Hydra, and then by Siffir. He was tall, built for speed and endurance, and had a beautiful roan-brindle coloration. Siffir kept his mane and tail braided neatly, and he often looked more put-together than she did. Siffir patted her steed's nose fondly, and took his reins in her free hand.
Once they were outside and out of earshot, Siffir looked to Mel and spoke, "I'm real sorry about Flick. I'm sure Moose Mother will keep his soul safe, though, like all the others. You're gonna have a whole herd of horses welcoming you on the other side, you know." She grinned, "So don't worry too much. You'll see them again, and I'm sure they'll all challenge you to a head-butting competition just because they love you that much!" Siffir snickered, pulling her arm from Mel's and laying it instead across Mel's shoulders.
Lowering her gaze slightly in deference and, well, shame, Siffir listened to Mel just as quietly as her sister spoke to her, and her mood soured. She didn't want to be questioned again, or to relive the whole thing. It was the closest to death she'd ever been.
Siffir suddenly felt the pain of what remained of her wounds, a deep ache throbbing through her body.
"Okay. Let's go, and let's go fast. I need to drop my armor with the Mender." She spoke softly to Mel, placing her hand over the gash in her chest plate, "I don't think this is gonna do me any good while bein' all broken like this."
Sif looped her arm through Mel's, and quickly glanced at Dihara and Emryn, giving them both a nod. Dihara lifted her chin. She knew what her Handler expected of her, and she'd let her down.
Arm in arm with Mel, Siffir exited the Hall and led her out to the courtyard, whistling for Chicken, who came trotting over with a whinny. Chicken had been a wild horse before being acquired by Hydra, and then by Siffir. He was tall, built for speed and endurance, and had a beautiful roan-brindle coloration. Siffir kept his mane and tail braided neatly, and he often looked more put-together than she did. Siffir patted her steed's nose fondly, and took his reins in her free hand.
Once they were outside and out of earshot, Siffir looked to Mel and spoke, "I'm real sorry about Flick. I'm sure Moose Mother will keep his soul safe, though, like all the others. You're gonna have a whole herd of horses welcoming you on the other side, you know." She grinned, "So don't worry too much. You'll see them again, and I'm sure they'll all challenge you to a head-butting competition just because they love you that much!" Siffir snickered, pulling her arm from Mel's and laying it instead across Mel's shoulders.
Mel bit back tears, her eyes swimming wildly as she struggled to hold them from spilling over. She still smiled though, knowing that Sif was right; an entire herd of horses would be waiting for her beyond the Rift. All of them belonged to the wild. Mel slouched dramatically, the foliage around her feet mimicking her actions as best they could. Angry pollen sprites puffed away in angst at being blown about by the grass and thickets and weeds beneath Meliora's feet.
She paid them little mind though.
"To the Mender, then," Mel said softly, glancing down at her own armor as they navigated their way through the grounds. There were a few dents and a few scratches that could be filled in and polished, but she got off easy; nothing had penetrated the way Iron Fangs teeth had through Sif's armor.
"You gonna ask for an enchantment or something, try and get it more durable?"
Mel thought for a moment, "I may, but I may ask Dihara instead of the Mender. I like watching her work."
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Siffir's flytraps and nettles grew from around her feet with their own little minds, meeting Meliora's and mingling with them in support.
She hated how easy it was for Mel to lose a horse, but it came with the territory, the nature of their occupations. It was understandable. Siffir was surprised she still had Chicken, but the only reason he survived was because he was...well..a chickenshit. The horse would see danger and run off, only coming back when he was sure the danger had been dealt with.
"To the Mender! " She agreed, heading that way by Mel's side. She felt whole, having Meliora there. It was as if the Wild One had crafted them to fit together perfectly. She smiled to herself, thankful for the gift of Meliora's existence.
Siffir hummed in thought about whether or not she would ask for an enchantment. Dihara was better at durability enchantments than the Mender because she took the time necessary to make a truly sturdy spell.
"Yeah an enchantment's a good idea, n' I think I'll have the Mender just, like, fix the metal bits that're awll mucked up'n then take the fixed plate 'ta Dihara. I'm not so sure I trust the other Arcanists much after findin' out what we did a moment ago, y'know? I know Dihara in'nae gonna leave me with a faulty durability enchantment with some shitty loophole, y'know?." Sif grinned.
She left Meliora's side only when they got to the Mender's, a square-shaped addition built into the far side of the courtyard of the Hydra castle. A forge was located just outside it, the furnace burning bright-hot, and the anvil in use by the Mender, who hammered away at some kind of long thin-bladed, one-edged sword. It looks far too weak to handle most of the monsters that Siffir was familiar with, but she figured if someone were skilled enough with whatever kinda sword that was, it might be useful. Siffir preferred either a claymore or a short sword, herself. Or just plain ol' Twicket-Style Wildling Magic.
Undoing the straps of her chestplate, she stepped over to the Mender, a shockingly tall man with a dangerous amount of build to his body. He was likely a half-giant, but she hadn't yet managed to ask him plainly anout his parentage. No matter, anyways, since all she needed was his skill to mend her damaged armor. She held out the clawed and nearly-mangled metal piece, eyebrows raised.
"Aye, cann'ye fix this? Was Iron Teeth who messed it."
"You got gold, Wildling?" The Mender grunted, stopping his hammering and setting aside the skinny sword to instead examine Siffir's armor, "Definitely fixable. It's a sizeable chunk of missing metal, though, so I can't just solder it together an' call it a day." The Mender looked over to Meliora, "I heard you two caused a ruckus up in the Hall. Can't says I'm surprised, but I can says good for the both of ye. Sometimes them higher-up types let all that control and power get to their heads, aye? Someone's gotta bring 'em down a peg or two, but you didn't hear that from me." He shook his hammer gently as them, taking the chestplate from Siffir's hands.
Siffir dug around in the pouch belted to her hip for gold, and the Mender eyed her for a moment, then stuck his hand out to snatch the gold Siffir offered after a moment of digging. He eyed Mel.
"Anything for you?" The mender asked.
She hated how easy it was for Mel to lose a horse, but it came with the territory, the nature of their occupations. It was understandable. Siffir was surprised she still had Chicken, but the only reason he survived was because he was...well..a chickenshit. The horse would see danger and run off, only coming back when he was sure the danger had been dealt with.
"To the Mender! " She agreed, heading that way by Mel's side. She felt whole, having Meliora there. It was as if the Wild One had crafted them to fit together perfectly. She smiled to herself, thankful for the gift of Meliora's existence.
Siffir hummed in thought about whether or not she would ask for an enchantment. Dihara was better at durability enchantments than the Mender because she took the time necessary to make a truly sturdy spell.
"Yeah an enchantment's a good idea, n' I think I'll have the Mender just, like, fix the metal bits that're awll mucked up'n then take the fixed plate 'ta Dihara. I'm not so sure I trust the other Arcanists much after findin' out what we did a moment ago, y'know? I know Dihara in'nae gonna leave me with a faulty durability enchantment with some shitty loophole, y'know?." Sif grinned.
She left Meliora's side only when they got to the Mender's, a square-shaped addition built into the far side of the courtyard of the Hydra castle. A forge was located just outside it, the furnace burning bright-hot, and the anvil in use by the Mender, who hammered away at some kind of long thin-bladed, one-edged sword. It looks far too weak to handle most of the monsters that Siffir was familiar with, but she figured if someone were skilled enough with whatever kinda sword that was, it might be useful. Siffir preferred either a claymore or a short sword, herself. Or just plain ol' Twicket-Style Wildling Magic.
Undoing the straps of her chestplate, she stepped over to the Mender, a shockingly tall man with a dangerous amount of build to his body. He was likely a half-giant, but she hadn't yet managed to ask him plainly anout his parentage. No matter, anyways, since all she needed was his skill to mend her damaged armor. She held out the clawed and nearly-mangled metal piece, eyebrows raised.
"Aye, cann'ye fix this? Was Iron Teeth who messed it."
"You got gold, Wildling?" The Mender grunted, stopping his hammering and setting aside the skinny sword to instead examine Siffir's armor, "Definitely fixable. It's a sizeable chunk of missing metal, though, so I can't just solder it together an' call it a day." The Mender looked over to Meliora, "I heard you two caused a ruckus up in the Hall. Can't says I'm surprised, but I can says good for the both of ye. Sometimes them higher-up types let all that control and power get to their heads, aye? Someone's gotta bring 'em down a peg or two, but you didn't hear that from me." He shook his hammer gently as them, taking the chestplate from Siffir's hands.
Siffir dug around in the pouch belted to her hip for gold, and the Mender eyed her for a moment, then stuck his hand out to snatch the gold Siffir offered after a moment of digging. He eyed Mel.
"Anything for you?" The mender asked.
Mel eyed the Mender right back, disliking his trained gaze on Siffir, even if his words were gracious. "Aye. How long will it take ya to craft a short sword and a hooked axe? The fuckin' kelpies stomped mine in half."
And I don't trust you to mend my Lrauflyn Crescent. I'll do that with Emme and Di.
Mel reached into her coin pouch and pulled out three platinum spheres. "By tomorrow evenin' maybe? Rush ours through and there'll be more where that came from."
She placed the spheres on his workbench, where they caught the forge light just right and lit ablaze.
"Oh. And do you know if any of the villages nearby have wild horses for sale?"
And I don't trust you to mend my Lrauflyn Crescent. I'll do that with Emme and Di.
Mel reached into her coin pouch and pulled out three platinum spheres. "By tomorrow evenin' maybe? Rush ours through and there'll be more where that came from."
She placed the spheres on his workbench, where they caught the forge light just right and lit ablaze.
"Oh. And do you know if any of the villages nearby have wild horses for sale?"
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"Fuckin' kelpies, eh?" The Mender huffed, watching Meliora and taking Siffir's chestplate, "I wasn't aware they were in the business of stomping Wildling weapons in half. Figured you an Kelpies would be on nice terms!" The half-giant held Siffir's plate up close to his eyes, examining the fine details of the wounded piece. His eyes tore away from it, however, when Meliora produced the platinum spheres.
"With radiant spheres like that, I'll have your items don for you by the Morninglord's first light," He grinned ambitiously, clearly pleased by the spheres' quality, "And I might'a heard of a singular wild horse captured o'er down below in Weldersfeld. I'd ask why in the nine hells you'd want a wild horse, but honestly? You bein' a daughter of the Wild One makes it not so surprisin'."
Siffir's eyes lit up at the sight of the spheres- she always spent what she earned on food and weapons. Mostly food. Mel was much better at saving than she was, and it always served her well.
At the thought of food, Siffir's stomach growled hungrily.
"Great! Well! Mel, I'm dyin' a' starvation, so let's go on down ta Weldersfeld and git ya that horse, and while you're friending the beast, I'll find us some food! I've gotta real hunger-cravin' for that Elk and Blackroot Dumpling soup they make down there, like maybe I could eat ten whole bowls of it." Siffir held onto Mel's arm, eyes bright and wide with excitement driven by hunger-cravings.
"We can ride Chicken down da mountain, ride faster than the wind! It'll be like flyin', you know how fast Chicken runs. mostly when he's running away from somethin', but still a fast motherfucker regardless!" She grinned and laughed as she turned to whistle for her horse, placing her fingers to her lips and exhaling upon them to create a shrill sound.
And just like that, Chicken appeared...from behind the Mender's stall. He was huge, and hard to miss,, so Siffir immediately was wondering how she didn't see him standing back there. It wasn't where his horse stall was, but it also wasn't unlike him to hover nearby wherever Siffir was. He was funny that way.
"Oi! Chicken Shit!" She exclaimed her horse's full name, placing her hands on her hips, "How'n da nine hells did ya even get back there! You'd have to back up, an' I know for a fact that you are petrified of moving backwards, unless ya been lyin' ta me this whole time!" She roughly patted the side of his massive brindle-patterned head. He was a stunning horse, way larger than most others, but despite his size he was still born for speed and endurance. His brindle hide was golden auburn and cream, mane and tale matching the auburn.
Chicken blinked and chuffed at her, lifting his head and wiggling his lips on Siffir's hair.
"Bah!" She pushed his nose away gently, and had to continue pushing him away to prevent him from mussing her hair further as she looked back to Mel with a silly grin, "I'm ready ta go whenever you are, sis!"
The Mender watched the two Wildlings with a furrowed brow and confused eyes, clearing his throat to speak, "Anyways, like I said, I'll have yer things ready by first light tomorrow."
"With radiant spheres like that, I'll have your items don for you by the Morninglord's first light," He grinned ambitiously, clearly pleased by the spheres' quality, "And I might'a heard of a singular wild horse captured o'er down below in Weldersfeld. I'd ask why in the nine hells you'd want a wild horse, but honestly? You bein' a daughter of the Wild One makes it not so surprisin'."
Siffir's eyes lit up at the sight of the spheres- she always spent what she earned on food and weapons. Mostly food. Mel was much better at saving than she was, and it always served her well.
At the thought of food, Siffir's stomach growled hungrily.
"Great! Well! Mel, I'm dyin' a' starvation, so let's go on down ta Weldersfeld and git ya that horse, and while you're friending the beast, I'll find us some food! I've gotta real hunger-cravin' for that Elk and Blackroot Dumpling soup they make down there, like maybe I could eat ten whole bowls of it." Siffir held onto Mel's arm, eyes bright and wide with excitement driven by hunger-cravings.
"We can ride Chicken down da mountain, ride faster than the wind! It'll be like flyin', you know how fast Chicken runs. mostly when he's running away from somethin', but still a fast motherfucker regardless!" She grinned and laughed as she turned to whistle for her horse, placing her fingers to her lips and exhaling upon them to create a shrill sound.
And just like that, Chicken appeared...from behind the Mender's stall. He was huge, and hard to miss,, so Siffir immediately was wondering how she didn't see him standing back there. It wasn't where his horse stall was, but it also wasn't unlike him to hover nearby wherever Siffir was. He was funny that way.
"Oi! Chicken Shit!" She exclaimed her horse's full name, placing her hands on her hips, "How'n da nine hells did ya even get back there! You'd have to back up, an' I know for a fact that you are petrified of moving backwards, unless ya been lyin' ta me this whole time!" She roughly patted the side of his massive brindle-patterned head. He was a stunning horse, way larger than most others, but despite his size he was still born for speed and endurance. His brindle hide was golden auburn and cream, mane and tale matching the auburn.
Chicken blinked and chuffed at her, lifting his head and wiggling his lips on Siffir's hair.
"Bah!" She pushed his nose away gently, and had to continue pushing him away to prevent him from mussing her hair further as she looked back to Mel with a silly grin, "I'm ready ta go whenever you are, sis!"
The Mender watched the two Wildlings with a furrowed brow and confused eyes, clearing his throat to speak, "Anyways, like I said, I'll have yer things ready by first light tomorrow."
"Aye, aye," Mel said in reply to the Mender, giving him a sharp look and a firm nod before following after her other half. She hated spending monies, but even more than spending, she hated that she had to worry about spending. Her parents had shipped her with a small fortune, true, and from Emme's frequent reminders, it's not like she was running low, especially since her family made a generous donation to the School of Hydra every five years, of which she always receives a hefty percentage.
She was a princess, after all. Not that many knew. She was a wildling after all.
Mel snapped out of her frustrated musings when she caught Siffir's grin, the infectiousness of it causing the grass and the wandering thickets to sprout between the slabbed stone around her feet. A purple veined poppy flower bloomed into existence as the Mender began cursing, hollering for his assistant to go summon Uriel, the busiest greenskeeper in all of Hydra. As Chicken Shit took off, Mel grabbed Sif around the waist, her eyes squeezing shut against the sharp sting of wind.
"Fuck!" Mel shouted over the wind in her ears, "He really is the fastest fuckin' horse ever!"
Maybe I ought to get a horse like Chicken, Mel thought curiously, eyes closed and heart open. She opened her awareness to the world. Emme always said she needed to go deeper, that she was nothing but a surface level mage, and perhaps she was, always giving up once she caught wind of the lack of Wild. But what he didn't understand was the interdependency of Wildling Magic. Wild called Wild and not every Wild was the same. She needed a steadfast brute, as hardheaded as she, who had a lick of Wild within them that she could tug on in the midst of battle.
Maybe just fast like Chicken Shit, Mel concluded, amazed at how swiftly they arrived at the bottom of the Fang. It'd taken her nearly half the morning to walk up them, her then-wounded knee a deterrence. They were still a bit a ways off from Weldersfeld, a sleepy little demesne to the northeast.
"Here," Mel said softly, rustling through her coin pouch now that Chicken was at a comfortable trot along the hard dirt road. "Get us something sweet, too." She palmed Siffir a handful of golden drachs, "And maybe something to drink?"
She was a princess, after all. Not that many knew. She was a wildling after all.
Mel snapped out of her frustrated musings when she caught Siffir's grin, the infectiousness of it causing the grass and the wandering thickets to sprout between the slabbed stone around her feet. A purple veined poppy flower bloomed into existence as the Mender began cursing, hollering for his assistant to go summon Uriel, the busiest greenskeeper in all of Hydra. As Chicken Shit took off, Mel grabbed Sif around the waist, her eyes squeezing shut against the sharp sting of wind.
"Fuck!" Mel shouted over the wind in her ears, "He really is the fastest fuckin' horse ever!"
Maybe I ought to get a horse like Chicken, Mel thought curiously, eyes closed and heart open. She opened her awareness to the world. Emme always said she needed to go deeper, that she was nothing but a surface level mage, and perhaps she was, always giving up once she caught wind of the lack of Wild. But what he didn't understand was the interdependency of Wildling Magic. Wild called Wild and not every Wild was the same. She needed a steadfast brute, as hardheaded as she, who had a lick of Wild within them that she could tug on in the midst of battle.
Maybe just fast like Chicken Shit, Mel concluded, amazed at how swiftly they arrived at the bottom of the Fang. It'd taken her nearly half the morning to walk up them, her then-wounded knee a deterrence. They were still a bit a ways off from Weldersfeld, a sleepy little demesne to the northeast.
"Here," Mel said softly, rustling through her coin pouch now that Chicken was at a comfortable trot along the hard dirt road. "Get us something sweet, too." She palmed Siffir a handful of golden drachs, "And maybe something to drink?"
- Invitation Status
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- High Fantasy, Modern/Urban Fantasy, Sci-fi, Historical
As they rode, Chicken's hooves beating hard and strong against the stone and dirt as he carried them fast as lightning down the Fang. Siffir shouted with excitement and threw her arms up and back, fingers spread wide. She closed her eyes, feeling the world around her in a rare moment of peaceful quiet, sensing the energies that danced in the air. Sensing Mel's presence that so lovingly complimented her own. Her antlers buzzed in recognition of the energy. It felt so good to be together again, the world was finally as it was meant to be.
As they slowed to a trot, Siffir turned around to Mel, not needing a nudge to know that her wild sister intended on talking with her. Her eyes widened and sparkled, a wild smile alighting her expression as Mel placed the golden drachs into her hand.
"Sweets and drinks? Man, ya really do spoil me, mo sora." She snickered, "I can definitely manage that! Can already smell the food stalls from 'ere, too." She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose.
Meat Pies. Honeycake. Morningpale Mead...and Turkey legs!
Siffir could pick every individual smell out, but as a person with a focus on food, those kinds of scents were always at the top of her priorities.
They entered Weldersfield not too many minutes later, and Siffir turned to look back at Mel again, a mischievous smile tugging up the corners of her mouth and exposing her slightly elongated canine teeth. Siffir leaned over to her and planted a huge wet kiss upon her sister's cheek, giggling as she pulled away and hopped off of Chicken's back as he came to a stop at the village gate.
Weldersfeld was large for a village, and was surrounded by a dark wood fence, each post tapered to a fine point at the top. There were guards walking the wall from watchtower to watchtower— of which there were four, one at each corner of the wall. Siffir wasn't sure why the village was so tightly guarded. But as Arcanists, she and Mel would likely be left alone, unless they managed to do something significantly irritating.
Siffir protectively took hold of Chickens reins as eyes turned to look at the trio curiously. Arcanists coming to Weldersfeld was common enough, since they were right at the base of the Fang, but Wildlings were always a rare sight. And easy to pick out, since every single one of them had some kind of horns or antlers, odd-colored eyes, and a variety of other odd physical features. Some people feared Wildlings, while others revered them.
After a moment, villagers decided that the two Wildlings and their massive horse weren't a threat and went to continue about their business. Siffir exhaled slowly, and the nervous nettles at her feet blossomed into excited Wiskwood flowers instead.
"Okay," She exclaimed, shoving the gold drachs into the empty money pouch at her hip, "I'll go get food, n you'cn go oan an' find yer horse, and I'll find you real easy after I get the goods, aye? Jus' holler real loud if somethin' happens an' I'll come runnin' faster than Chicken high on whiteroot powder!" She gave the Hydra Arcanist salute to her sister before heading off to find food and drink with Chicken.
It didn't take her long to find exactly what she wanted— Two Morningpale Meads in reused glass milk bottles that had been chilled with magic, six eat pies in a linen pouch, and two honeycakes. She'd bartered for each food item, if you could call it that. Bartering to Sif was actually just bullying the vendor until they gave her a significantly lesser price. But it worked, which was all that really mattered to her.
Her ears rang for a moment, and she stopped in her tracks immediately, looking around herself. Her ears never rang for no reason, except for the times she hit her head on something, or her ears got clapped. But even Chicken's ears swiveled for a moment. The ringing happened again, and her eyes landed on a welder who beat a piece of iridescent silvery metal with his hammer. It rang. She narrowed her eyes at the welder, but sensed nothing suspicious about him.
The ring happened a third, and last time. Sif rubbed her ears with the back of her hand, and the ringing stopped altogether.
"Must have some residual kinda head injury that ain't healed yet or somethin'." She muttered to herself, making her way towards where she could sense Mel causing trouble with a pen of horses.
She forgot about the ringing in her ears.
As they slowed to a trot, Siffir turned around to Mel, not needing a nudge to know that her wild sister intended on talking with her. Her eyes widened and sparkled, a wild smile alighting her expression as Mel placed the golden drachs into her hand.
"Sweets and drinks? Man, ya really do spoil me, mo sora." She snickered, "I can definitely manage that! Can already smell the food stalls from 'ere, too." She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose.
Meat Pies. Honeycake. Morningpale Mead...and Turkey legs!
Siffir could pick every individual smell out, but as a person with a focus on food, those kinds of scents were always at the top of her priorities.
They entered Weldersfield not too many minutes later, and Siffir turned to look back at Mel again, a mischievous smile tugging up the corners of her mouth and exposing her slightly elongated canine teeth. Siffir leaned over to her and planted a huge wet kiss upon her sister's cheek, giggling as she pulled away and hopped off of Chicken's back as he came to a stop at the village gate.
Weldersfeld was large for a village, and was surrounded by a dark wood fence, each post tapered to a fine point at the top. There were guards walking the wall from watchtower to watchtower— of which there were four, one at each corner of the wall. Siffir wasn't sure why the village was so tightly guarded. But as Arcanists, she and Mel would likely be left alone, unless they managed to do something significantly irritating.
Siffir protectively took hold of Chickens reins as eyes turned to look at the trio curiously. Arcanists coming to Weldersfeld was common enough, since they were right at the base of the Fang, but Wildlings were always a rare sight. And easy to pick out, since every single one of them had some kind of horns or antlers, odd-colored eyes, and a variety of other odd physical features. Some people feared Wildlings, while others revered them.
After a moment, villagers decided that the two Wildlings and their massive horse weren't a threat and went to continue about their business. Siffir exhaled slowly, and the nervous nettles at her feet blossomed into excited Wiskwood flowers instead.
"Okay," She exclaimed, shoving the gold drachs into the empty money pouch at her hip, "I'll go get food, n you'cn go oan an' find yer horse, and I'll find you real easy after I get the goods, aye? Jus' holler real loud if somethin' happens an' I'll come runnin' faster than Chicken high on whiteroot powder!" She gave the Hydra Arcanist salute to her sister before heading off to find food and drink with Chicken.
It didn't take her long to find exactly what she wanted— Two Morningpale Meads in reused glass milk bottles that had been chilled with magic, six eat pies in a linen pouch, and two honeycakes. She'd bartered for each food item, if you could call it that. Bartering to Sif was actually just bullying the vendor until they gave her a significantly lesser price. But it worked, which was all that really mattered to her.
Her ears rang for a moment, and she stopped in her tracks immediately, looking around herself. Her ears never rang for no reason, except for the times she hit her head on something, or her ears got clapped. But even Chicken's ears swiveled for a moment. The ringing happened again, and her eyes landed on a welder who beat a piece of iridescent silvery metal with his hammer. It rang. She narrowed her eyes at the welder, but sensed nothing suspicious about him.
The ring happened a third, and last time. Sif rubbed her ears with the back of her hand, and the ringing stopped altogether.
"Must have some residual kinda head injury that ain't healed yet or somethin'." She muttered to herself, making her way towards where she could sense Mel causing trouble with a pen of horses.
She forgot about the ringing in her ears.
That ol mangy Mender was off his godsdamned rocker. Ain't one of these horses WILD!
Mel stood in the center of a large horse pen, the twelve or so horses that were milling about within had all scattered along the fence line, blowing through their noses, nickering amongst themselves as a foreign princess stood before them. The wild within her heart was open and searching and for a moment, she could have sworn she saw something out of the corner of her eye, something dark and cloying to the south-west, back where Siffir was, but a sharp spike through her temple pulled her away from the thought.
Damn headaches. I can't stand 'em. Or that fuckin' Mender. Lyin' ass!
"OI, WHAT ARE'YA DOIN TO ME HORS—"
Mel glanced to the side, where the horse pen butted up against a two-story barn, and gave the man a scathing look.
"Your horses are fine," Mel replied as she turned on her heel in one fluid motion and blinked, using her innate magic to boost her speed to incredible heights. One second she was in the middle of the pen, hay and feed stuck to the bottom of her boots, the next she was vaulting over the pen's fence, landing with a slide in front of him. "You will be too, if you tell me where that Wild horse is. I can smell it on you."
She shouldn't have been so mean, so blunt in her words, but she was a Princess by birth and an Arcanist by choice; blunt was all she knew.
The man stammered out a few unintelligible words before giving up and pointing to the barn, looking defeated.
"Chin up, stableman, your decision just fed your family for the next year." And she palmed him a very small pouch filled with orichalcum stones; they were duds for magic, (she had used the last bit of magic within them when she killed the kelpies) but they were worth a small fortune nonetheless, especially at the right trader.
Mel made her way into the barn, listening to the stableman switch from stammering through his words to stuttering at the amount he now owned. It felt good, especially after being so mean. And when she took sight of the Wild horse in the back of the barn, she could have went back and kissed him, for he was worth all that and more. Meliora's introduction to every horse she'd own was the same: she whistled and ran, flipping in the air mid-way through and landing with enough momentum to headbutt the hell out of whatever was in front of her. She stumbled back, surprised, the ringing in her ears worrisome.
She looked around, as if the gong that'd just reverberated through her mind would appear. The wild beast in front of her did the same, his ears pulled back as he shuffled side to side, shaking out the ringing in his own ears. Weird, Mel thought to herself, unlocking the door and finding another surprise she could kiss the stableman for.
When Siffir found Mel again she was outside of the stable, breaking in Flick the 19th. She had a small, wary crowd around her, dancing back and forward with every buck and leap. The wild horse was dappled and taller than even the last Flick, with six legs and green eyes that looked aflame. When Mel noticed her arrival she called out with a gleeful cheer.
"Ain't he a beauty, Sif!"
Mel stood in the center of a large horse pen, the twelve or so horses that were milling about within had all scattered along the fence line, blowing through their noses, nickering amongst themselves as a foreign princess stood before them. The wild within her heart was open and searching and for a moment, she could have sworn she saw something out of the corner of her eye, something dark and cloying to the south-west, back where Siffir was, but a sharp spike through her temple pulled her away from the thought.
Damn headaches. I can't stand 'em. Or that fuckin' Mender. Lyin' ass!
"OI, WHAT ARE'YA DOIN TO ME HORS—"
Mel glanced to the side, where the horse pen butted up against a two-story barn, and gave the man a scathing look.
"Your horses are fine," Mel replied as she turned on her heel in one fluid motion and blinked, using her innate magic to boost her speed to incredible heights. One second she was in the middle of the pen, hay and feed stuck to the bottom of her boots, the next she was vaulting over the pen's fence, landing with a slide in front of him. "You will be too, if you tell me where that Wild horse is. I can smell it on you."
She shouldn't have been so mean, so blunt in her words, but she was a Princess by birth and an Arcanist by choice; blunt was all she knew.
The man stammered out a few unintelligible words before giving up and pointing to the barn, looking defeated.
"Chin up, stableman, your decision just fed your family for the next year." And she palmed him a very small pouch filled with orichalcum stones; they were duds for magic, (she had used the last bit of magic within them when she killed the kelpies) but they were worth a small fortune nonetheless, especially at the right trader.
Mel made her way into the barn, listening to the stableman switch from stammering through his words to stuttering at the amount he now owned. It felt good, especially after being so mean. And when she took sight of the Wild horse in the back of the barn, she could have went back and kissed him, for he was worth all that and more. Meliora's introduction to every horse she'd own was the same: she whistled and ran, flipping in the air mid-way through and landing with enough momentum to headbutt the hell out of whatever was in front of her. She stumbled back, surprised, the ringing in her ears worrisome.
She looked around, as if the gong that'd just reverberated through her mind would appear. The wild beast in front of her did the same, his ears pulled back as he shuffled side to side, shaking out the ringing in his own ears. Weird, Mel thought to herself, unlocking the door and finding another surprise she could kiss the stableman for.
When Siffir found Mel again she was outside of the stable, breaking in Flick the 19th. She had a small, wary crowd around her, dancing back and forward with every buck and leap. The wild horse was dappled and taller than even the last Flick, with six legs and green eyes that looked aflame. When Mel noticed her arrival she called out with a gleeful cheer.
"Ain't he a beauty, Sif!"
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