i do not tolerate dalliances and, under our peculiar circumstances, amid the uproarious party does it hardly fill me with glee ( since landing on this pebble of a planet, none so far had succeeded to prove otherwise ). i stare at the tieflings gallivanting and indulging in a short-lived happiness, their future's unknowingly threatened by an impending ghaik invasion. oh, what is it to feel that joy, to feel clean and unburdened... yet their ignorance is a vexing sight. most do not know what their saviors fall ill with. the memory is a fresh wound : the squirming of the parasite's stubby body across my cheek, the flash of endless rows of teeth before wrapping its slimy tendrils around my eye. the sensation—vile, unforgettable.

the thought perishes. a celebration is a celebration. one rightfully due for our efforts. i can give in to my own pleasures tonight, if i’m so compelled to. as a reward? perhaps. a distraction? possibly. one last fanfare before ultimately losing myself? maybe.

i remain tethered to my tent, watching the crowd of tieflings like they are my own show of entertainment ( like that wizard rolan showcasing his magic to two others just around the boulder ), one i am not so keen on paying attention to. my interest lies elsewhere, in our companions for signs of ceremorphosis to disrupt this feast—nothing so far.

among the crowd is a louder, more familiar voice that breaks through, and an all-too familiar figure draws closer in my peripheries : do i want a beer? they ask.

my gaze flickers toward the culprit, skimming over their skin and scales ( clear ), maintaining direct eye-contact, closely examining their scleras and pupils ( still clear ), before looking to the two mugs in their hands. my head tilts slightly to the right, my arms in place at my side. i consider the metallic tankard extended toward me. even after everything, i am skeptical, still, of a tainted drink coming from the hands of another. i would rather be wary than naive. and if i were them, it'd be foolish to jeopardized our partnership now and until we reach the crèche.

“in my own time...” i shake my head. they must have already started drinking if they were to bring this up. but they needn't forget our mission at the end of the day. “celebrate now. we depart at dawn.”

of course i am not. our partnership is a testament thus far—the goblin camp, the crèche, moonrise... jhule proved themself quite capable time and time again, far exceeding my expectations since, admittedly, the gh’ath. and even in spite of these urges, able to overcome. i would like not to lose a valuable asset. however, by now, this camaraderie that developed since saving me from tiefling’s cage has stoop further than i’ve anticipated. to express this much compassion... they know just the words to pull and it makes me uncomfortable.

“a bold claim to force down the gullet of a githyanki.” @beregosts does not understand the charge of her statement—how these words can shatter my–and my people's–entire being ( a daunting situation, but one that cannot be equated to an event like a ghaik uprising ). a pronouncement to abandon a lifestyle defined by the creed of my queen since the first's reign? change, in this scale of a belief, is a brazen jump. one i am uncertain i am ready for.

“i’ve not claimed change ; i have reason to be leery of kith’rak voss’s plea and so should you.” my voice does not deter in favor of one or another, but it’s harsh all the same. i am pragmatic about this, and arlis should consider it as well before jumping to conclusions : kith’rak voss conveniently frolics onto our camp, unsheathes his sword and kneels to declare aid against vlaakith. the kith’rak, the right hand of the undying queen? people are all talk—show you one thing to betray you the next. how can i be so sure kith’rak voss means what he says? i spoke of what he wanted to hear ( or did i? )…

“we’ve yet seen the whole of his truth.” there lacks any real bite, as hard as i try to keep my previously sharp demeanor. maybe, i don’t fully believe in my own words and yet, they continue to spill. i cannot assume the side of voss, for it would be punishable by vlaakith's will if he led me astray, but i cannot stand aside as a victim to what y'llek has wrought on behalf of my queen.

i’ll be here whenever inspiration strikes and rely on plots, sent/impromptu/continued asks, and whatever threads get a reply. i’m not planning on doing starters calls and the like in the future.

you return from last light to the camp, carrying close to your chest numerous healing potions and magical arrows, restocked since the fight with marcus. you expect to see the all-too familiar sight—the dog and owlbear roaming around and no one lingering around your tent. everyone, for the most part, is courteous about it ; keeping their hands to themselves ( even you, when the gith relic in shadowheart’s possession came to light, you didn’t run to infiltrate her tent / you waited until all is calm to confront the half-elf herself). so to walk in seeing @dreadgrace hovering over your pack, in her hand an all-too familiar object provokes something in you to stir…

showed him for agreeing to train with lae'zel.

his tail hung miserably out of the bush.

your disappoint wrings a frown–staring at the tiefling as he finds his new bunk in the nearby shrub. the weight of your feet shifts, transfers all to your right hip as you cross your arms. you don’t enjoy the fact @mindhallow is unserious about this session, how easily he brushes off your physically violent counter with pitiful words. actions speak more than words, gets you farther than empty air ever could / inaction that leave you in a thicket... maybe it's his tone of voice that makes your nose scrunch, lips bearing teeth. maybe it's the resentment you harbored in him, about the zaith'isk, your duty lost, channelled into the aggression of a spar against him, he so willingly agreed to. you refuse to dwell on it in lieu of the now.

you've seen wish in battle though ( akin to wyll or gale in the way they find their prowess in the arcane–promised or learned–honed to a point like a very blade ) and you expected–no, wanted something from him that made more of an impact than what he showed. perhaps, you're asking too much of him. perhaps, were too focused on your own battles to notice how weak he actually is. he’s not too dissimilar to you when you were young—all bite. it’s why you are riddled with scars on your leftmost side ; why you step out looking left first, before looking right when on watch...

the forest looks evermore confusing—trees upon trees upon trees…   all the same yet vastly different from what i’ve been taught, what my varsh called of this bleak pebble.   perhaps under different circumstances,  sitting astride a red dragon,  looking down among the garden of what it is, would i find this to be delectable—plucked clean of its loot and stained with the blood of the defiant. but to be inside certainly demystifies things.

my sights are pulled away by @beregosts. arlis does not put me into a chokehold–maybe she should've–but her statement does. interrupts my fantasy, forcefully turning my body to stare her dead in the eye, our blathering culprit. what an awful observation to disrupt the quiet air—an unimportant one, nonetheless. i’d rather return to the fallen log we’ve passed several times by now to observe it's rotting features.

a different way, he says. i can fantasize the many of ways in which this story could’ve unfolded differently—how i would not’ve been abducted ; how the very ghaik that infected my mind to be slain ; how i should be standing in tu’narath, by now, before my queen where thousands of my kin know my name ; how my partnership with these istiks should’ve made the crèche a priority, not scouring some goblin camp…

so what would i give? absolutely nothing.

i know of 'love.' one of the gishes at my crèche spoke of it while recounting their ravage of oerth. it's not unheard of, but never have i heard of a githyanki profess nor have i read it in any slates in the library. i don't doubt it has been done before ; a rare occurrence, yes. but by now, it's just as good as a fairy tale, a humorous joke swallowing the entire lives of lesser beings. it is a mockery to the self. a commitment to another instead of our revered queen, becomes a distraction ; misplaced loyalty. your brain becomes plagued with unnecessary thoughts, an easy lure to dangle in front of your face in times of trouble—a weakness in a system where the strong are favored, where the strong only survive.

what the devil feeds is even more riotous. love? in the likes of her? i'd rather indulge in our half-elven thief... evelynn, the name of this nuisance, is no different than the blade's pact or the melodramatic raphael. i stare at her only to ensure she knows i am watching her every move, make my utter disdain known.

fight honorably / fight dirty / prefer close-quarters / prefer range / chat during / go silent / low pain tolerance / high pain tolerance / attack in bursts / attack steadily / go for the kill / aim to disarm / fight defensively / bait an opponent’s first strike / strike first / provoked easily / provoke their opponent / tease / get visibly frustrated / shout while attacking / use strategy / focus on their battle / experience conflicting thoughts during battle / rush in recklessly / try to read their opponent before fighting / fight wildly / fight calmly apathetically / fight with anger / fight with excitement / fight because they have to / fight because they want to / fight without regard to wounds / run away when wounded / hide wounds / take a blow to protect another / prefer a blade / prefer a gun / prefer a bow / prefer a shield / prefer a spear naginata / prefer a personalized weapon / prefer magic or spells / prefer brawling / their greatest weakness is physical / their greatest weakness is mental / their greatest weakness is emotional / transform for battle / fight as they appear / rely on strength / rely on speed / use everything they have / hide their full potential / exhaust quickly / high stamina / doubt their strength / proceed with caution / behave arrogantly / brag after landing a hit / belittle their abilities / use psychological tactics / use brute strength / avoid civilians / strike down civilians / damage surroundings / avoid damaging surroundings / signature fighting style / making it up as they go / mastered skillset / learning their skillset / fancy footwork / sloppy footwork / messy fighter / elegant fighter / accept defeat / refuse defeat / beg for mercy / compliment their opponent / insult their opponent / use unnecessary movements ( flips, twirls ) / move efficiently / barely move / prefer to dodge / prefer to block / defend their blindside / has no blindside / use all available advantages / strictly use one main method / play around / hold back / fight ruthlessly / show mercy / wait for opponent to be ready / strike when opponent isn’t ready / fear death / fear pain / fear killing / has PTSD / avoid fighting / has lost a fight / has won a fight / has killed / refuses to kill / want to die standing / would succumb slowly

“words that speak more volumes about you than me...” it's ironic—asking her thoughts when the answer he sought is contained in his very own. what did he want—to hear an applause for his gravitas, actions a hatchling can imitate with ease? is the ranger so desperate to hear every remark of hers? to understand her bewilderment or to be flattered? she may be an alien to this rock, but she is all too familiar with pests on her crèche.