Eorzean Tales

My master post for the 2022 writing challenge.

“There you are Otsuya-tan. I’ve been looking all over for you!” Seigen heard his own voice vibrate through his horns and realised that it had come out far sharper than he intended. Even in his summer yukata he felt hot and sweaty in the Hannish sun, and the sight of his little sister playing in the fountain with some peasant-looking children filled him with a sense of indignation and envy. Why couldn’t she just grow up? Be more dignified, like him. 

At twelve summers he thought he knew quite a bit about such matters, and he was pretty sure that Doman-born nobles weren’t supposed to ruin their clothing by drenching them in filthy fountain water. Even if it did look really refreshing. And he was feeling the places where his scales met skin prickle and itch with sweat. 

Her small face scrunched up, making her scales scrape with disapproval as she waded towards him. “Nareema! It is Nareema now,” she told him, matching his indignation with some of her own. Though tiny and delicate-looking, his little sister could glare with the best of them. 

He had expected her to protest his chosen honorific, not her entire name! He reached up to his left horn to stabilise it the way he had seen elders do when their hearing started to fail them. “Come again?” 

“It’s my Hannish name. Nareema. All the students at the lessons have taken one. Well, except Zach, but he’s stubborn and his name is easy to say,” Otsuya told him, but he was shaking his head in denial before she even finished.

“You’re Otsuya! My little sister. From the clan of…” 

“It’s Nareema now! Everyone else is taking a Hannish name! You would know if you ever bothered to go to the lessons.” 

She interrupted him! She, a girl of eight summers. So tiny he could bodily lift her and carry her with one arm. Well, probably two, but who was counting? She interrupted him, her elder and the heir of their clan!

“I don’t need to go to lessons and learn this crude tongue, we’re going home soon,” he countered, hating how his voice cracked. It felt like a betrayal. Even more so when she reached for him, a cool, wet hand slipping into his.

“This is home now,” she told him gently. Damn. When had she grown up suddenly? Become so dignified? Seigen sniffled, shaking his head again. It wasn’t as vigorous this time. 

“It is,” she insisted. “We’re not going back. Everyone knows there’s still war there. Invaders. Otou-sama wouldn’t have made us leave if he could fight them,” little Otsuya pointed out, referring to their father and the head of their clan. Seigen hated that she, young as she was, had accepted what the rest of the household just couldn’t come to terms with. 

Not just accepted, she thrived here. Everything from the people to the customs to the food to the clothes to the weather. Where the entire clan struggled to keep their connection to their homeland and their sense of identity, she had shrugged it off like a serpent shedding an old skin. They had been here for less than a year, and she already felt ‘local’ to him. Like she belonged here. Was it just age that helped her adapt when the others struggled? Or something in her nature?

“Besides, maybe they’ll finally stop calling me a crocodile,” Nareema added softly, looking down. The wisdom he had perceived in her dropped away instantly, and she was just his little sister again. He frowned so fiercely that his brow scales felt tight. Someone had been bullying his little sister? How dare they.

“Alright, I’ll come with you to the lessons,” he promised, telling himself he was only doing it so he could get a word, or fist, in with whoever had been calling her that. Her green skin was not something to be mocked by some stranger!

“Yes, from what the card tells me your granddaughter…” 

CLICK-CLACK-SCRAPE

“...should be quite successful with her new bakery as long as she…”

CLICK-CLACK-SCRAPE

Maudine fought to keep her gaze focused on old widow Tremon’s watery blue eyes when all she wanted was to glare past her and shout at Gwen. Her coworker was pacing around just outside of her sanctum, her heels clicking and scraping on the stone floor. The old woman didn’t even seem to notice, but Maudine felt each ‘click’ as an assault to her concentration, each ‘scrape’ an affront to her focus. She plastered a pleasant smile on her features that made her feel ready for an asylum in her efforts to get through this, while inwardly cursing her colleague with every hex she could think of and make up on the spot. 

Half a bell later saw the widow ushered out the door, with as much friendliness as she could conjure up with her temper having risen to a boiling point. Her head bobbed low in a small bow. “Adieu madam Tremon. Same time next sennight, non?” The heavy oaken door slammed closed before the old woman had a chance to reply, and Maudine rushed down the stairs in a flurry of angry silks rustling around her long legs.

Gwenolie wasn’t there.

Calling out for her was the last thing Maudine wanted to do as she stepped through the arch that separated the waiting parlour from her card reading sanctum, even if she wanted, non! Needed to speak with her right this instant. It was just like her to be a nuisance right up to the point that…

“Salut Maudine!” 

Gwen jumpscared her as she popped up out of nowhere, or more accurately a corner that had failed to draw her notice, and Maudine thought she felt her hair twitch with the stop-flutter of her heart.

“ Fury!” 

Her pastel-pink haired colleague pouted at first, looking as surprised as Maudine had been, before she hiccuped with laughter. It was part apology, part the release of nerves, and the soothsayer found her anger fading with it. She released the last of it in a sigh.

“Tea?”

“Y-yes please! You should have seen your face!” 

“I’m sure it was as perfect and lovely as ever,” she countered with a twitch of a raven eyebrow - her version of an eyeroll. “What were you doing, hiding in that corner? For that matter, why are you down here to begin with? We talked about this - I don’t need any distractions whilst I’m with a guest.” 

Something changed in Gwen’s eyes, and Maudine knew she had made some sort of mistake. It felt like a feline spotting a certain opportunity and pouncing on it.

“I’ve been thinking about renovations!” 

Soothsayer and enchantress stood there for a moment, just staring at one another. The two of them were both Elezen, but other than that could not be more opposed to one another in appearance and temperament. Maudine cultivated a mysterious, occult air. Favouring blacks with dark green and purples to keep it from becoming monochrome. Her skin was so light it seemed to glow in the dark like freshly fallen snow, and while she could be warm her allure was drawn from a certain amount of inaccessibility. From a sternness that suggested she could dominate everyone in a room if she so chose through a mixed force of personality and occult secrets. Her playfulness was a treat that had to be earned.

Gwen on the other hand, was all pastel pinks. From her dress to her hair, and even her eyes. They were slightly mis-matched, the different hues only noticeable when someone was taking a really good look at her. Where Maudine sashayed, Gwen fluttered. Light and bubbly, moving from one obsession to the next without warning. 

“We just finished the last one,” Maudine opted to point out, immediately identifying it as her second mistake by the way Gwen’s shoulders rose. She was taking a deep breath, the kind that prepared for a flurry of words that wouldn’t be interrupted by something as mundane as needing more air. 

“That’s right, so now is the perfect time, non? I mean you’ve been complaining quite a bit about how my very existence is a nuisance. Yes, yes, when you’re with a guest I know but what am I supposed to do, not exist? Besides, with your friend Winter staying here and now our new friend Cillenne coming over, we could really need a guest room. And then we can move all of this,” she continued the barrage, gesturing to, well, everything, “...upstairs for your privacy and make it into a tea room! Or a book club. Or a tea book club room. Or…” 

It was a lot to take in, but luckily for Maudine Gwen had gotten stuck on whatever she wanted this space for. Her space.

“We agreed that the ground floor would be yours, and the basement mine,” she pointed out, though she had to admit that the thought of privacy appealed to her. Gwen tried to adhere to her wishes, but an open arch separating the waiting parlour from her sanctum was hardly ideal. “I also don’t remember agreeing to having anyone else stay over.” 

“Exactly! You invited Winter over without asking, and I got to do the same with Cillenne.” 

With anybody else, that would have been a snide remark. Not so much with Gwen. The way she beamed at Maudine had her swear that she was either the best actress in the city, or genuinely felt that this was a fair exchange. Besides, a guest room would be nice. She adored Winter, but sharing rooms with her was an exercise in frustration. She never put anything back where it belonged and Maudine could swear she didn’t know what a closet was, or what it was for. Her Viera friend didn’t even have that many clothes and yet she still magically managed to drape the floor and sofa with them. 

“Assez juste,” she agreed, suspecting that she was being manipulated, and not for the first time either. It made her feel strangely proud. “What is this about a ‘tea book room club’?” 

“The title is still a work in progress,” Gwen was quick to point out. “But wouldn’t it be lovely? It could function as your waiting parlour as well, instead of this cramped old thing. Besides, Winter gets dangerous when she is bored, and I doubt Cillenne wants to sit still either. They can’t help you with your cards, you’re too particular…” 

She paused when it looked like Maudine was about to protest, but the raven-haired soothsayer decided against it before any words left her lips. It was a fair assessment, after all.

“And they can’t help me either.” 

No reason was forthcoming, Maudine realised after a few awkward heartbeats of silence. She knew it though. When it came to being particular about their work, Gwen and Maudine were more alike than either wanted to admit. 

“So what do you think?” 

“Who the flat purse is Milo..?”

The second the question left Vivira’s lips, her brain caught up. Milo. M. Obviously! She hadn’t even opened the letter yet, had only taken a peek at the sender, and she already needed a moment to collect herself. Shame and embarrassment, two emotions that were as foreign to her as Turali tacos, coursed through her. Was this the Fog again, or had she just been a careless twat, forgetting about the charge she was sponsoring through an education in Limsa Lominsa with the same carelessness that her adoptive stepdaughter used to forget her pet rocks with?

She groaned to give voice to her discomfort as she stroked the enormous amethyst adorning a ring on her hand. The magic stored there released, and her carbuncle Chubby appeared in a flash of white-blue light. Vivira has summoned them so often she didn’t even need her grimoire, keeping the formula in her mind combined with the attunement of the ring was enough. 

Or it should have been. Chubby didn’t come out right, not even for their doing. They were always a little wonky, as Vivira has never managed to correct the mistakes she made when she had first summoned the carbuncle as a little girl. Not because she couldn’t, but because the Lalafell had gotten attached to the oversized cat-like creature. Changing them seemed wrong. Like forcing a glamour onto an unwilling party. 

That made it extra painful to see Chubby looking so misty. Like they were made of vapour instead of Aether. Of Fog, she found herself thinking, feeling it again. The shadow. The colour was off, too. Desaturated. More grey than blue.

“Look Chubby, we have a letter from Milo,” she told the Carbuncle, who jumped on the sofa to sniff at the parchment. The behaviour was as expected then, at least. Vivira told herself she’d dismiss and resummon them later, this time with her Grimoire for reference. For now, she had correspondence from her charge to share with her oldest friend. And current problems she didn't want to think about.

The Carbuncle settled on her lap, their girth blocking her legs from view. It was a good thing their Aether didn’t weigh much, or Vivira would have struggled. They peeked as she opened it, as if Chubby could read it by themselves. She read it out loud anyway, just in case.

To Vivira,

I hope you have been in good health and Chubby has kept you company according to your needs. I have been well.

“Yes, yes, good health,” she muttered bitterly. “We’re glad he’s been well though, aren’t we Chubbers?” Vivira planted a small kiss on the Buncle’s head for emphasis. “Whatever the gil that means.” 

I’ve continued studying at the Arcanists’ Guild. I still haven’t mastered the technique for summoning a carbuncle, but otherwise, it seems like I am doing adequately according to my grades. 

“Pauper's grave, of course you are. What else would you be doing there,” she muttered. “Oh, no little Carbuncle for you to teach the ropes to yet, Chubby,” Vivira told her companion as they chimed in response. It was just noise, but the Lalafell nodded like they had just conveyed something profound. “I’m sure he’ll get it soon enough. Took me forever, as well.”

I have also found three friends at the lessons: C’leyne, a male miqo’te, Loetbluom, a female Roegadyn, and Joku, a male Lalafell. I’m not yet fully sure why they like to spend time with me, but they seem like interesting people.

She just chuckled at that, endlessly bemused by the thought of someone with even less social grace as herself. 

As per your request, I haven’t been actively seeking work. I encountered some people at the docks who would have been eager to recruit me, however, despite the fact that I obviously did not meet their requirements. Maybe locals of Limsa Lominsa have a different definition for ‘sister’.

Vivira repeated that last sentence three times, and still couldn’t make much sense of it. She eyed Chubby, but the Carbuncle had no chimes of wisdom to offer either, so she eventually shrugged it off and continued reading. 

I’ve spent my free time doing additional reading and getting familiar with my surroundings, instead. I have also visited the Bismarck twice since our last meeting. Their finger sandwiches taste very good.

“They are.” Her lemon cakes suddenly didn’t seem all that appetising anymore. Kukusito had hired the best chef gil could afford, of course, but there was something special about the Bismarck. Probably the sauce of reputation and the seasoning of status involved with going there, and being seen there. A part of her still cared about those things. A small part, she would argue. But then again, she was small all around. Did that circle back and make it big again?

I understand that your duties and familial ties keep you busy, but if you find yourself having the time, I would appreciate it if you can visit Limsa Lominsa at some point. I am grateful for how you have taken care of me so far, and my offer for assistance still stands. Even if my skills don’t meet your needs right, it would be pleasant to have a conversation with you again.

“My duties as the world’s most bored and apparently useless levescribe, you mean,” the woman scoffed as she offered Chubby some scritches underneath their washed-out chin. “Do you think he’s in trouble? That’s why he wants me there? To help him out?” 

Chubby chimed, and Vivira could swear that the mana sparkles flying from them were scolding her. “You’re right, it’s me that’s been too busy feeling sorry for myself to check in with him, not the other way around. This is why I never wanted children.” 

I’m leaving this letter to the white furry creature with clear instructions to deliver it to you as swiftly as possible. Hopefully, it complies, and perhaps I will hear from you as well in the near future.

She reached for a little golden bell, ringing it once to summon her Heckler. “Please prepare for travel arrangements,” she ordered, ignoring the worried glance he hid behind a polite bow. “What destination, my lady?” 

Heckler had decided on high tea, Vivira noted with an embarrassing flash of giddiness as she entered the parlour. The bath had done her good. Dressing and being groomed even more so. She felt like herself again, instead of the wraith that she’d been for gil knew how long. Suns? Sennights? Moons? The Fog made everything a blur when she let it.

Vivira was determined not to let it do that to her again. That this was the fifth time she had sworn the same oath to herself this Twelvemoon was something she couldn’t let herself dwell on, either. A little gil earned today was better than any gil you might have earned but didn't yesterday, after all. The future was where the opportunities were. The past was just baggage. 

“You have a letter for me,” she stated as she rounded the giant sofa, stepping into the presence of a ball of white fluff that was draped across a cushion, startling awake with a yelp of alarm. They jumped into the air, and then stayed there as tiny batlike wings kept them aloft. Fair enough. The poor thing had been waiting for quite some time now.

“Yes, Kupo! A letter for her ladyship Vivira Vira. She who lives in the estate on Blossom Hill with the number of Nine implied yet nowhere painted! She who used to live at Buscarron’s Druthers in the South Shroud, and at the…” 

“Yes, yes, I don’t need my entire residential history,” she interrupted. “I think I liked your services better when you lot remained invisible and just left these things where we could find them.” 

“Ah, yes. We don’t do that anymore after the Great Tragedy of the year nine-thousand-two-hundred-thirty-three of our Good King Moggle Mog the Twelfth’s Reign, Kupo. As interpreted by Pugli Muk, of course,” the fuzzy critter told her, letting the glowing pom on its head droop in a theatrical show of lamentation. They were probably using the royal ‘we’, as Vivira had gotten several letters recently that didn’t require a hand to hand exchange like this.

Vivira couldn’t help herself. She had to ask: “What happened in the year nine-thousand-two-hundred-thirty-three of Good King Moggle Mog the Twelfth’s Reign?” 

“As interpreted by Pugli Muk,” the Moogle chimed, happy to offer the correction. “T’was truly horrid, Kupo,” they told her. “Someone had left an important love letter on the desk of a young gentleman - I totally didn’t read it, of course Kupo! Afore he could read it, the wind had blown it right away, never to be seen again. World history might have been so very different, had that letter found its mark. That is my story and I’m sticking with it.” 

Probably got drunk and didn’t deliver it, Vivira thought to herself as she nibbled on a lemon cake, doing her best to nod with empathy. How does that work, anyroad? A little slower, with sage dignity. Like you understand what they tell you in the depth of your very core. 

Lalafell and Moogle stared at one another for a long, painful moment. Vivira broke first. How could she not, facing an oversized stuffed toy with wings? “Hm, tragic. My letter?” 

“Ah yes, here it is,” they chirped, producing a letter from the incredibly tiny little satchel they carried. Vivira felt that pressure behind her eyes that came on when something impossible happened right in front of her. In this case, the envelope looked far too massive to have come out of that bag. Moogle magic. The worst kind of aetherology. 

“Thank you, Pugli Muk,” Vivira guessed as she accepted the communication. “Please help yourself to whatever vintage you may desire from our cellar,” she added, and by the way the Moogle perked up her conjecture on the real reason why this one hadn’t just dropped the letter off like a regular old Post Moogle had been correct. 

“Kukuuuuuuu!”

Her howl was met with a wince, followed up with a derisive snort, but neither originated from the grey-moustached face of her husband. Instead it was Heckler, the most senior of the household staff, who rebuked her with that scornful look he was so famous for. It wasn’t his real name, of course, but Vivira couldn’t think of a better way to describe the old badger of a Hyur as he looked down his nose at her like she was the servant and he the master. 

“Master Kukusito has taken mistress Glaring out to the city,” the man told her with a voice so icey Vivira had to suppress a shiver. It perked her right up. Nothing like a bit of attitude to keep you from getting like that, she believed. ‘Like that’ being basically everything she found mildly annoying or bothersome. There was no need for a precise definition. She knew what she meant.

“Oh, has he now,” she murmured, the brief bit of energy already fading away. The Fog was bad this morn - afternoon, the sun was high - and she contemplated going back to bed again. It had gotten worse now that the work had dried up. With nothing to distract her, boredom did far worse than any condition by itself ever could. Stupid Unsung and their stupid trips. What was she supposed to do when they went off galavanting around like, well, like she would like to, truth be told. 

Her frustrations bubbled out in a sigh. “Would the lady like us to set her up for some very late brunch? A high tea, perchance? We have some choice morsels leftover from last eve’s dinner as well.” Vivira slowly turned her amethyst eyes upwards, staring into the face of her Heckler with a glower that would have withered a lesser man. He was no lesser man, however, and the way he managed to keep his face so neutral, even impassive, had a smug quality uniquely his own. Gil but how she cherished this twat.

“Why in Thal’s name would I want that?” Her voice was acid, and she was quite proud at the whip-like quality she had managed to squeeze in.

“Wouldn’t that be Nald,” he commented dryly before answering her: “A Post Moogle awaits in the parlour. Said they would only hand their precious cargo to the esteemed Lady Vivira Vira herself.” 

She wrinkled her nose in a rare show of open insecurity. The genuine criticism in the jape wasn’t lost on her as Vivira became keenly aware that it was the middle of the sun and she was standing there in a nightgown, her hair unkept and generally ungroomed. When was the last time she’d had a bath?

“I take it you told them no such persona actually exists in this household,” she managed, but her heart wasn’t in it and it just sounded flat. Insecure, even. Heckler deflated somewhat. The old man loved their little battles as much as she did, so when his Ladyship offered him so little sport he knew just how serious her condition had become. The silence between them felt heavy as words failed him.

“Please have the girls draw me a bath,” Vivira ordered, and the gloom retreated back into the corners as she straightened to a semblance of her usual, rigid posture. Thal’s long shadow was still there, but contained. For now. “They’ve waited this long. Might as well add insult to injury.” 

Lady and steward shared a brief, silent moment of mutual understanding, before both went their own way. 

The Goddess kissed the golden scales on the youth’s back, reflecting Her light into his eyes and blinding him to their details. He’d been inspecting them without realising it as they waited for Her to bloom over the horizon to greet another day. It had only been a few short moons, and yet the Tia’s back had gone from looking like a cub’s to that of a man grown. It hadn’t come without cost. Scale Singing was a delicate art, each individual scale was lovingly crafted so it looked like the real deal - as if actual keratin had been sung straight out of soft skin. 

It took bells to draw them out, entire suns sometimes, not to mention copious amounts of gold powder for their colouring. And venom, of course. Every single scale was meant to inoculate a Golden Viper to a different snake’s venom. Normally it took years for someone to go from nearly bare-backed to having scales all over his shoulders, neck, and upper back. L’rkah had missed those years though, when the tribe had lost its way and left him adrift. Now he had made up for them, showing his grit by dealing with the side-effects of so many drawn on his skin in such a short amount of time without complaint.

He was ready, L’khua, Sun Nunh of the Golden Vipers, realised with a start as he blinked away the blindness that the golden light had left him with. And he was ready, too. The old Nunh needed a moment, suddenly feeling fluttery and nervous. Like he had been, when he’d been the Tia seeking to take up the Duty so many seasons ago. 

Khua stepped forward, gently getting in between Rkah and their chieftain, Sahali, right as they had spread their arms to welcome the Goddess. The youth shot him a confused glance, and he could feel Sahali’s gaze stabbing daggers at the back of his head as she wondered about this intrusion.

A single, firm nod was all he needed. The Nunh could see the understanding in Rkah’s golden eyes. Saw those fluttering nerves reflected back in them until he steeled himself. The both of them stepped forward, setting themselves apart.

They circled slowly, the whole tribe - Ananta and Miqo’te alike - like one being as they let the Goddess’ morning light wash over their bodies. As the ritual came to a close, the air became pregnant with expectation. Eyes that had been closed in private prayer opened to see the pair of them standing there, now hand in hand, their faces turned towards the Goddess. Khua could swear he heard an audible gasp or two, and fought to keep himself from smiling.

It felt good, this. He felt like the Sun Nunh again. For real, not just in name. If the last thing he did as their Sun Nunh was elevate a promising successor, well. He figured after the hardship his tribe had gone through, that was more than he could ask for. A fitting end to him holding the Sacred Duty. 

The boy’s - nay, the other man’s - hand was warm and pleasant to hold. His grip firm but not crushing. They faced one another, and the dance began. Slow at first. Intimate in the sense that he felt like a father, guiding his son. They weren’t related by blood like that, but to a Sun Nunh all the youngsters of the tribe were his cubs, even those born of a previous Nunh or their Moon Nunh brothers. 

Rkah stepped in, and Khua backed off, only to change course and reverse, having the youngster slide backwards. The Tia was grinning now, like he wasn’t nervous at all anymore. Khua found he was doing the same, enjoying himself more than he had in a long time.

They turned, letting the Goddess catch on their scales to send golden reflections into the eyes of a now excited tribe. A huntress started singing in the ancient tongue - all purrs and hisses, and soon other voices rose to compliment hers with rhythmic melody. Pure and wild like nature herself. 

Tia and Nunh called on their Inner Flame, asking the Goddess for the fire that gave name to their Flame Dance. She granted it, and multi-coloured fire sprang from them, whirling around the pair in a frolic of their own. Some of the Ananta shook the rattles on the end of their tails while the Miqo’te added a beat with stomps of their feet. 

The mood was joy and celebration as the pair circled one another. The dance was different now. Still intimate, but closer to the jaunts and shows of prowess of the Run Rite Dances. A tease and preview of what was to come, meant to get the blood pumping. It worked like a charm, and soon they were no longer two. Everyone rushed forward, absorbing them into their midsts and showing that, they too, were still part of the whole. Part of the tribe. They spend most of the early morn like this, dancing and singing in spontaneous celebration. 

She still didn’t understand how she let herself be talked into this as she fought not to roll her eyes at Gwen. The other woman was sitting across from her, unpacking things from a bag that seemed to have no bottom. Several sizes of bells, chimes, a triangle or two. She even had her own cards now. So she could rustle them near the pearl whenever Maudine was shuffling her deck. They weren’t random things Gwen had grabbed from the shoppe anymore either, the dark-dressed madam noted by how several of them were decorated with the clerk’s favourite things: glitter and pink. She was personalising them..? All for the theatre that was the Mandragora Court Pearlcast, Maudine supposed. Gwen was starting to collect enough items for her ‘sound effects’ to put a small production of the actual theatre to shame.

It wasn’t time yet, and so Maudine’s mind wandered as her hands kept her from going insane by shuffling her deck, over and over. Card over card, the rustling like a purring cat. The feel of it was soothing and energising at the same time. Like the rush of clear, cold water on a warm summer’s day. As they used to have them, before the Great Winter.

This was all Amanette’s fault, Maudine concluded bitterly. It was her letter that had made Gwenolie’s imagination run wild after all. Even wilder than usual. The youngest member of their little coven was studying jewel making in Ul’dah and had gushed about this new phenomena that was taking certain circles by storm: shows thrown into the aether by short-range linkpearls. Gossip, plays, news. If Amanette was to be believed there was something for everyone out there, a cacophony of people throwing their voices into the wind in the hope they got picked up by eager ears. It hadn’t taken Gwen long to decide that they, too, should cast such a show. What was more entertaining than reading people’s fortunes, she had argued. And it would be great for luring people to the Boutique to boot!

Maudine had eventually relented after their patron Lady had given the idea her blessing - something Gwen had sought without letting her know, naturally. It’s so much harder to put a stop to things if you don’t know they are happening. And so here she was, feeling like she was making a mockery of her craft every Sennight. Gwen had actually been right, the show was popular, and brought in a lot of new clientele to the shoppe. That irked Maudine even more. The only thing more grating than Gwen having found a new project to be obsessed over was her finding one that was actually beneficial somehow. 

Never mind that it made Maudine feel like a charlatan. A fake. Of course she couldn’t read her cards over a linkpearl the same way that she did face to face! There was an art to it, a style! She had to work hard to encourage people to trust her, to really talk to her. Whatever actual magic she might have was paltry compared to her patience and the ability to just… listen. To make people feel heard in a world where so many voices were ignored or unwanted. The fact that the Inquisition hadn’t knocked on her door yet for casting forbidden magics only amplified that feeling. Even they knew this wasn’t anything to worry about. That, or maybe times had changed. Logic didn’t really factor into her feelings on the subject much. 

“Almost time,” Gwen told her, her voice so bubbly it made Maudine a little nauseous with how sweet it was. Like too much syrup, stuck in the back of your throat. Still, it was better to have her here. Maudine had been alone in the room for the first few casts, and it had made her feel so uncomfortable she had wept in frustration afterwards. It had felt like she had gone mad, talking to herself about ‘finding love’ here and ‘watching out for hubris’ there. At least she could talk to someone now, and Gwenolie was nothing if not encouraging. All smiles and excited nods in between ringing bells and tapping chimes. 

Gwen held up a hand, her slender fingers slowly counting down from five. 

The worst thing was that Maudine would have loved this, if the subject of their cast was anything but her cards. She often found herself wondering if that beloved thespian client of hers might want to do some sort of pearl play with her. Something sophisticated and worthwhile. Or something burlesque and risqué! If she could do it anonymously, Maudine was sure her friend Winter and her could have a blast reading the kinds of stories proper ladies all pretended didn’t exist while having entire book cases full of them. Just anything but this, really.

Three fingers to go, and Maudine drew a card without thinking about it, turning it face up in front of her.

Two fingers, one. Gwen picked up the chime and let it sing, marking the start of the cast. Her pink eyes looked to Maudine expectantly, but the introduction didn’t come. She wiggled her fingers at the raven-haired beauty, getting her attention with a noticeable start. Green eyes found her pink ones, and for the briefest moment they were full of shock and sorrow. It was like Gwen was looking at a woman she never met for a heartbeat. A stranger. But then she smiled her coy little smile and Maudine was back. 

 "Salut and good eve, dearest listeners. Welcome to the Mandragora Court Pearlcast. I'm your hostess, madam Maudine Dubois." 

"Not to put too fine a point on it, Captain, but you're an openly out Garlean these days, ain't you," Buckle argued as the Jack and Captain entered the mess. Sven looked like he wasn't really feeling this conversation, but Buckle was trailing him anyway, eager to make his case.

"Interesting," Cookie thought to themselves as the pair continued a conversation that, by the sound of it, had been going on for a while now. The diminutive cook had a nose for intrigue, and all they needed to know this was going to be worth their while was the tone of Buckle's voice. He was an amicable lad, so when he sought conflict like this, Cookie just couldn't help themselves. The pair hadn't noticed them yet, and they took advantage of their short stature by making sure they remained out of line of sight. How convenient these tables were, when they normally lamented that they weren’t made for someone their size.

"What is your point then, Howling?" Sven rumbled as the sound and smell of a man pouring a cup of coffee came to Cookie's senses. Unfortunately, the two of them were now out of their line of sight as well, and they didn’t dare peek. Or even breathe very deeply, for that matter. This was the most interesting thing that had happened on the trip so far. Cookie would rather asphyxiate than betray themselves and ruin it. 

“Using his real name,” they pondered. “A serious situation indeed.” 

"My point is, we can't just fly into Kugane unannounced and don't expect a shit ton of parchment work to be filled in, and then when they find out the ship is captained and main-engineered by two Garleans there will be even more parchment work, and before we know it, we'll be old and grey before we can go and find Trove and the others," Buckle said, his tone betraying his frustration. It had been a long trip for those among them who were worried for their missing comrades, but the Jack had been taking it harder than most.

"If you want to come with, you can just ask me to come with," Sven sighed, seeing through Buckle like he was made of glass, his feelings and motivations out for the whole world to know. “Kugane was never…” 

Buckle didn’t let him finish. “I know that, and I know you want to go and support Charlette and Cain and all the others, but you’re the Captain, Captain.” 

A pregnant silence bloomed as the two men sized each other up, staring into one another’s eyes as they tried to read one another. Peer into each other’s minds and motivations. Or so Cookie assumed. They still couldn’t see the Captain and Jack from their hiding place, after all.

Sven was never one to feel like ‘breaking first’ after such a battle of wills was a weakness, and today was no exception. He sighed, then broke the silence first. “You want me to stay on the ship.” 

“You have to. Crew’s been quite tolerant of everything so far, but they need you after all that. They need to know they matter as much as the Unsung.” Buckle’s tone was gentler now. He knew the mood of the ship as well as anyone. Only Cookie was better attuned, and the cook found themselves nodding along with the Roegadyn’s sentiment. But they also knew the captain, and mouthed along as he replied, knowing what he’d argue.

“We have Castaways down there as well, what about them?” 

Cookie could hear the smile in Buckle’s tone, as the Jack recognized he'd convinced the Captain. This was just the last leg of it. To ease the the other man’s own concerns and frustrations with the situation. “Well, that’s why you’re sending me, right? The trusted Jack. I can fly Cain and Charlette in with a cutter - much less hassle that way, and then you lot get the parchmentwork done and not give the locals more reason to be wary of us, aye? I’m not asking you to sit this one out entirely, Cap. Just… stay with the ship until we can actually anchor. They’ve been here this long without dying horrible. They can wait a few suns. Charlette will understand.” 

“Who died and made you this convincing,” the Captain sighed. He wasn’t happy, Cookie could hear it as clearly as the thunderous expression they imagined on his face would give it away. “Admit it, you just want to faf about down there without your captain breathing down your neck.” 

A letter written on simply parchment, the handwriting neat and meticulous. A flowing signature marks it, the difference in colour with the body suggesting some sort of stamp was used. The writer has taken the time to dot all the i's with hearts and spray some perfume on the parchment for reasons only they understands, if that.

“HAPPY NAMEDAY CAPTAIN!” 

Sven nearly jumped out of his skin as he was assaulted by sudden laughter and congratulations. He had only emerged from the sanctum of his readyroom to get some coffee, and wasn’t really in the mood. A rare occurrence for him, but unfortunately navigating by the stars meant that he stayed up much longer than he normally did whenever they were about to embark on any kind of trip where they couldn’t rely on landmarks. He didn’t like to do it on the fly anymore. Not after what happened with The Incident. 

He saw the grinning faces of his crew, his family, and the captain of the CETEA managed to force a smile on his lips. He couldn’t be short with them despite his exhaustion, not in the face of their obvious glee at surprising him yet another year. Cookie had gone all out as well, he saw, having baked not one, not two, but three of his favourite kinds of cakes. No doubt they hadn’t had any trouble finding people to help him decorate the mess as well, as was evident by the myriad of streamers and garlands strung about. A second glance had him notice that some of those garlands had paper cutouts of himself, drawn with over-the-top expressions of awe and appreciation. The least he could do was mimic some of them for their entertainment, and he was met with roaring laughter as he did so. Even Adra and Brigitte cracked a smile. Things were good.

Sven had been staring at the little stamp box when that memory had come to him, as vivid as if he had jumped back in time. Those moments seemed to come more and more, and he couldn’t rightly tell if it was his age, or some side-effect from whatever As’kari’s wife had done to his eye. His dreams certainly had been strange since then, but he wouldn’t be the first to fall for the trap of nostalgia as they got older either, so he couldn’t be sure.

He frowned as he tried to recall if the crew had thrown him one of their surprise parties this Twelvemoon yet. Unlike with most people, his was an actual surprise. He didn’t know what his actual nameday was, that was a discarded detail from the short life he’d lived before his current one. Sure, he’d made something up for the documentation for the Empire - former Empire, he corrected himself - but that was just as random a guess as the crew’s. It had become a little bit of a tradition to just pick a date each year and go all out like it was his actual nameday, but it had been a long time now. He sighed, softly chastising himself.

“You’re procrastinating.” 

That little stampbox had been a gift on one of those Nameday celebrations. As captain, he had to read and sign a lot of documents - a lot. After an afternoon of parchment work, even a young scribe would get stiff fingers, and so he’d been given the little box. To ease the burden. Brigitte could be strangely thoughtful like that, even though she claimed this was a cheaper solution than the ink and quills he went through every season. She had also insulted his handwriting, claiming that it costs them gil each time a clerk returned a document on account of not being able to read his ‘scribbles’. They had argued, because that’s the only way he could thank her without making her upset. That, and by cherishing the gift so it wouldn’t need to be replaced for decades, perhaps never.

Today was the only time he had ever loathed it. Not for its own sake, but because of what he had to write, and to who. It felt heavier than a pistol in his hand as he lifted the stamp, the black ink somehow reminding him of the viscosity of blood. As he pressed it to the bottom of the finished letter, it felt like the soft thud was the drop of an executioner’s axe. Just like that, he might have signed his own death warrant.

Airships were odd things, weren’t they? It wasn’t the first time the thought had come to him, but it was all the more noticeable when he gazed down upon a giant ship below him. Buckle had been born on a sky vessel and felt at home in the air. Its aether currents, winds, and turbulence were all things he understood intrinsically, like instinct. And yet when he looked down to that ship, cutting through the waters like a knife, he couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t think of it as a ‘water ship’. It was just a ship. The CETEA and other vessels like it were similar, yet so very different. 

And always they borrowed from them, these older vessels. Their terminology, their designs. Even the small manacutter he was steering towards Ala Mhigo for his last supply run until they reached Cape Mete looked eerily similar to the lifeboats his sharp eyes spotted rigged to the sides of the vessel. It irked him, and he couldn’t really explain why.

“Probably just tired,” he mused out loud, but he knew there was more to it than that. Ever since Osric and the others had vanished right before his eyes he had felt it. An unrest he’d never experienced before. Buckle loved the CETEA, his home in the sky. Had always felt free in its embrace and with its crew. But now he found himself anxious, like the ship was getting too small for him. Constricting instead of embracing, just like…

He shook his head, shaking the thought before it could fully take root. This was different. This wasn’t him outgrowing something in a direction he didn’t want to go. This was just the stress of the last few suns and the concern he had for his friends. And yet…

Buckle glanced down at the ship again, letting out a soft sigh. “We’re your children in the sky, set to replace you, and yet you linger.” He truly saw no point in them anymore, skyborn as he was he couldn’t really understand why anyone, if given the choice, would pick water over air. They were sluggish compared to them, and prone to horrible weather that they could simply fly over. Not that airships never went down, his crew’s name ‘Dreadstorm Castaways’ was a stark reminder of that. But in his mind, it happened far less frequently. 

“And yet, these damned aetherythes may give us both a run for our gil,” he continued, letting a rambling mouth finally give voice to troubled thoughts. They hadn’t even been trying to teleport. Hadn’t paid anything either. Hadn’t been near a proper aetheryte, just a half-broken device discarded by the thief that had threatened Buckle’s crew. His family. He felt goosflesh prickle up his skin, and he knew he was afraid.

Part eleven of the tale about the Golden Vipers Seeker of the Sun tribe after most of them were tempered by a false depiction of their Goddess for many turns.

Part One || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8  || Part 9 || Part 10 || Part 11 ||

Moon Wanderer and Sun Viper spoke until it was time to greet the rise of the Sun Goddess again. L’khua let L’rkah do most of the talking. The Lost Cycles where he and his tribe were tempered by a false goddess were still very painful for him to talk about, and he couldn’t trust his memories of that period anyway. Rkah’s recollection was much clearer, though it pained the Sun Nunh to see him speak of it. It had left a mark on the younger man as well, but he explained it as well as he could, with Khua adding details whenever the Moon Wanderers had questions.

There weren’t many, as they were a people that preferred to listen. To the passionate Golden Vipers, they came across as apathetic at times, but Khua now knew the wisdom in their calm level-headedness. Keepers had always had an almost otherworldly sense of detachment in his eyes, like nothing ever truly concerned them. He had never seen one of their Wanderers lash out in anger, though he supposed they could just be on their best behaviour around their Sun cousins. As a younger man he had seen it as a kind of haughtiness, but he detected no judgement in their eyes as Rkah spoke of the false goddess they had summoned out of desperation. If anything, they seemed empathetic, and regretful that it had resulted in so many seasons of heartache.

“We are not at full sstrength, and no cub hass been born to uss all thiss time,” Rkah said, his voice raw from speaking enough words to write a novel. “We need a Moon Nunh sso we can give our people ssome hope. Something to look forward to, and work towards while we train the Tia to take L’khua’ss place.”

The large black Keeper, first son of Rava and known as Nightbloom, eyed the young Viper thoughtfully as he paused to wet his throat. “It’s not that we don’t want to help you, son of Steelbark,” the man said, referring to the Moon Nunh that had sired Rkah many seasons ago, drawing a resentful scoff from Mossheart. The green-haired Keeper shot him a look that told him he knew exactly why he kept dropping that name. Steelbark had been well-loved by the Wanderers of the Stargazer clan, so many might be more inclined to lend them aid if they thought this boy connected to him.

“But we prepare for clan-war ourselves. It is a bad time for such things, and your tribe can offer us no aid with how weakened you are.”

Even Shimmerstar’s eyes widened in surprise at how forthcoming he was with them. The grey-haired Wanderer was born of the Zasta, the most powerful family among the Stargazers and the ones who were secretly gathering their allies before the first strike was made. Though he was on Nightbloom’s side in wanting to help the Vipers, he wasn’t happy with secrets being spoken about so openly, and he pressed his lips together in tight consternation.

Khua and Rkah were baffled as well. They had never even considered such a thing possible, and a thousand concerns and questions ran through their minds, but none were given voice. What could one say in such a situation without it coming across as mindless platitude? Nightbloom was right, it wasn’t like they could offer them aid.

It was Mossheart that broke the silence, his voice a low, annoyed growl. “Well, half the clan will know by moonrise that a whelp sired by Steelbark came to ask for aid. Best get it over with and name our price now, since many of the youngsters will howl like injured wolves if we refuse.” Though it seemed there were only the five of them, curious Wanderers were hidden in the shadows of the canopy above, and had listened to every word spoken.

Nightbloom didn’t smile, even though he got exactly what he wanted. It didn’t bring him any satisfaction, using his old friend’s name to manipulate the others. There was a danger in letting people look to a dead man like they were, glorifying him like he had been more than a mortal man, but what choice did he have? He wasn’t even sure why he himself had decided on this Path, just that he had to. Like the Spirit of his friend urged him on. No matter how many times he told himself that this was not Steelbark’s son in any meaningful way, he could help but hear him in his voice and see him in his smile.

Goddess but he still grieved for him.

Rkah rose then, taking a small box from his pack. “I’ve had my Ssoul Other ssing this into being,” he said as he opened it to show a beautifully crafted bracelet. It was a twin to the one Khua wore, Nightbloom saw. Only that one was mostly made of gold, depicting a sun with a smaller silver moon, and this one was mostly a silver moon with a small golden sun. It shimmered in a mesmerising manner, the metals infused with magical power. “It iss for whoever winss the title of Moon Nunh during the ritess, but we can offer more ssilver, medicine, supplies. I have connections in the city from my time in their bowelss. We may not be able to fight with you, nor do we think you’d approve of uss mingling in your affairs directly, but we can do that much.”

Part ten of the tale about the Golden Vipers Seeker of the Sun tribe after most of them were tempered by a false depiction of their Goddess for many turns.

Part One || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8  || Part 9 || Part 10 ||

“We aren’t alone anymore,” L’khua said, softly enough that only L’rkah could hear him. The two men had been waiting for what felt like a lifetime, on their knees in front of the ancient tree. They both knew it was important to the Wanderers they hoped to call upon, sacred even, so they showed it the same respect any idol depicting their own Sun Goddess would receive. Even if holding that pose had been tiring, and doubts had creeped in that anyone would answer at all.

Rkah glanced around, but didn’t spot anyone else in the woods with them until he happened to look higher up to catch the reflection of faint light in the eyes of someone up in the branches. His breath halted, the hairs on the back of his neck rising in a primal kind of fear. The one that makes cubs frightened of monsters in their furs. Piercing eyes in the dark looked down at him. Not just one pair, but many all around them.

A large figure jumped down, landing beside the two Seekers without making a sound. A tall, broad-chested Wanderer with skin and hair as black as the night itself looking at them with a guarded expression. He might have been Khua’s age, but where the Sun Nunh had been beaten down by the ordeal of the Lost Cycles, this Wanderer was still well within his prime. Strong and confident.

Two more followed. One a lanky man with a mossy mane of hair and piercing green eyes, the third was grey of hair and moon-pale, though it seemed to be a natural colouring, not one born of old age. Three Wanderers stood before them, curious but weary, while dozens of others were in the trees. Though he could detect no hostility, Rkah knew that if things came to blows, he and Khua would be left for dead among these tall sentinels.

It was Khua who broke the silence. “Well met, Moon Wanderer,” he rumbled in his deep voice, making the gestures that conveyed the same sentiment in Huntspeak. “I am L’khua Nunh, of the Golden Viperss. This is L’rkah…”

“This firsst son of Tamani,” the Tia interjected. He was supposed to keep his mouth shut and let his elder talk, but something compelled him to speak the name of his mother. He couldn’t rightly say why, and he briefly eyed the Scent Tree, wondering if the voices he thought he had heard before were responsible. “As L’khua iss the second son of Mhina. Both of the Golden Viperss.”

The thee Wanderers turned their gaze from Nunh to Tia, and Rkah thought he saw the eyes of the grey one widen briefly. No reply came for a long, agonizing heartbeat or two, but then the dark Wanderer cracked a small smile of what Rkah could only hope was approval. Behind him, the grey-haired Wanderer signed to the other, but it was so rapidly done that Rkah could only make out a few words. Something about someone’s sire, he thought, but then the large man spoke, demanding his attention with a deep, clear voice.

“Well met, Mhina’to and Tamani’a of the Golden Vipers. I’m Rava’a, of the Dark of Nightbloom. I speak for the Wanderers of the Stargazers. Do your Souls have names?”

Khua hesitated with a frowning glance to Rkah. The Tia had broken up the usual manner in which they greeted the Moon Wanderers, and now they were testing them to see just how far the Seeker’s knowledge of their culture went. He realized that both sides had never truly taken much time to learn each others ways before. They had just taken from each other what they needed without much interest in the rest.

Rkah’s mind raced. A Soul Name? Would it insult the large Wanderer if he didn’t have one, or wasn’t he supposed to? The blood of the Moon ran deep in him, so if all of them had such a name, he probably had to claim one too, the Tia figured, and blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Mhina’to iss the Golden Viper,” he declared, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “And I am of the Dark of Sunshine.”

His large ears twitched a little as he heard himself say that, and although he didn’t dare glance to Khua he thought he could imagine the bemused look on the older man’s face. Rkah supposed he had Cain to thank for this, but despite his embarrassment it felt good to claim the name. This Wanderer didn’t have to know where it came from, or what it meant to him.

“We honour the pact, and you are welcome among the Stargazers,” Nightbloom declared, accepting the names without delay. “But you have not walked among us for many a turn. We thought you gone from this world, and although we are glad to see you are not, this is not a good time for the Moon Rites.”

Of course they knew that’s why they’d come, Rkah figured. That’s what they had always done. He felt himself lose hope, but for the sake of Sahali and his tribe, he had to know more. “We honour the Path of the Sstargazerss,” Khua was telling the man, his voice tired like it could only get when he felt his efforts wasted.

Rkah interjected again: “We need you now, more than ever, Nightbloom. Will you not hear of the Journey we have made, and perhapss tell us of yourss. Golden Viper and Sstargazer have been alliess for many generationss after all. I myself have been ssired by a Moon Nunh.”

It wasn’t their way to question each other, to beg or barter like this. Nightbloom didn’t seem offended though, and again he smiled a little, if sadly. “Yes, I remember when my dearest friend claimed that title, and how charmed he was by the Viper woman Tamani, even if they only shared a few nights together.” As he saw Rkah’s eyes widen with curiosity, he thought it best to not let that hope grow too big. “He is with the Goddess now, the first son of Nemi, of the Dark of Steelbark. I can see some of him in you, Sunshine.”

The Wanderer hadn’t expected to see such grief in the eyes of this golden youngster, only barely a man grown and smelling of the city as much as his own tribe. Had he longed to know a sire he had never met?

“Steelbark would have wanted us to help his son,” Shimmerstar, the grey-haired Wanderer who had come down with him rumbled behind him, only to be met with resistance from the green-haired Mossheart. “Wanderers do not have sons,” he pointed out in a sharp tone, to which Shimmerstar scoffed. “Tell that to any Wanderer who has brought the male-cubs they sired to the Burrows when they came of age.” Nighbloom raised his hand, indicating that the other two should hold their tongues. They embodied the struggle he now felt in his heart so blatantly that it felt like a cruel joke played upon him by the spirit of his old friend himself.

“There is no harm in listening,” he conceded eventually, placing an arm around the younger Viper’s shoulders. He already saw him as one of Steelbark’s, he realized with a wry sense of dark humour. When Rkah’s face lit up with a hopeful smile, he could clearly see his old friend in him. How he had been before forest magic had turned him more tree than man.

Part eight of the tale about the Golden Vipers Seeker of the Sun tribe after most of them were tempered by a false depiction of their Goddess for many turns. Part One || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8  || Part 9

The trees were looming things, their branches like spiky fingers reaching for the sky above and creatures below. Their leaves were always rustling in the wind, like the forest was whispering to itself. It wasn’t that bad around the Gridanian settlements, where the forest felt tamed compared to deeper in. Rkah spotted an open area where they planted crops in neat rows, such a stark contrast amidst the harmonious chaos of nature. It wasn’t often that he found signs of city-state civilisation in the wilds this comforting, but nothing about the Shroud was welcoming to him. He couldn’t see very far, as there was always a tree blocking the view. Even the Goddess couldn’t reach him well through the dense canopy above. Only splotches of light where he should have been basking in her glory at this time of day. It felt worse the deeper they went.

Tia and Nunh made slow progress through the underbrush, constantly jumping and climbing over roots and fallen trees while ducking under branches. He was too exhausted to do anything but sit by the fire and eat his rations in silence by the time the first night came around, and the days that followed had him fare no better. Maybe they would die in this sun–shy hell of a forest, he started to think by the fourth day of their trek. His back was hurting from the slow pace, and all manner of insects had found him a good thing to snack on at night. Why would anyone want to live out here was beyond his ability to understand, but he kept his tongue and saved his energy the best he could.

Khua seemed to be doing much better than him, though it wouldn’t have surprised Rkah if he was just better at being stoic about it. The older man was weakened, sure, but he had a dignity about him that never left him, not even when he swatted at a stinging bug aiming for his neck. Was that age, the Tia wondered. Or would someone just have to be born that way?

He’d been paying too much attention to the other man, and not enough to where he was planting his feet. An error he regretted as his foot slipped on a rock and he crashed into the underbrush. Of course he had to land in the middle of a bush with more thorns than he had ever seen in his entire life, just his luck. Rkah groaned as Khua helped him up. At first the Nunh looked concerned, but when he realised it was Rkah’s pride that was hurt more than anything else, he seemed to be having trouble keeping in an amused chuckle. 

“We’re almosst there,” he told him softly as he pulled out a deeply embedded thorn, sniffing it before he tossed it over his shoulder. “You’re lucky those aren’t poissoned.”

“Yess,” Rkah agreed dryly. “I feel sso very lucky right now. You said that lasst sun as well.” 

“Hm hm, thosse weren’t poissoned either, desspite their awful tasste,” the older man joked softly, intentionally misinterpreting his words. 

The Tia looked like he might correct him for a moment, but then let out a breath and chuckled. “I still don’t think those nuts were edible, but at leasst we haven’t died yet. And I haven’t ssoiled mysself yet either.” 

“Oh, there’ss still time for that, don’t you worry,” Khua told him with a grin as he pulled out another thick thorn, and they both winced. Rkah in pain, and he in empathy. He sniffed at the scratches and small wounds once he was done, but he smelled nothing strange amidst the copper of blood. “Come, we really are almosst there this time. It’ss strange coming from thiss direction.”

It took another three bells before they noticed a warm scent in the air that hadn’t been there before. Both men stopped and breathed it in, remembering it from cycles past. Nostalgic memories awoke with it, bringing tears into their eyes. They followed it to an ancient-looking tree with silver, golden, and crystal baubles in its branches that chimed softly. They were finally there. 

Khua let his fingers glide over dark bark, while Rkah felt mesmerised by the song of the chimes. It was like he was listening to a conversation just out of earshot. Close enough to know that words were being exchanged, but too far away to know their meaning. He was still captivated by it when the Nunh started to fill a small hollow in the large tree  with herbs and spices, then set it to flame, letting their fragrance mix with that of the tree.

Part seven of the stories about the Golden Vipers Seeker of the Sun tribe after most of them were tempered by a false depiction of their Goddess for many turns. Part One || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8  || Part 9 || Part 10 ||

Tia and Nunh met again in the shadow of the Twelveswood. They embraced briefly, but neither asked the other how things had gone. If Khua asked Rkah if he had everything from his list it might insult the younger man. The Tia would speak up on his own if he hadn’t been successful, asking just suggested a lack of faith in him. Rkah in turn didn’t ask how the long trip the other man made on his own went. If there had been trouble he needed to know about, the old Nunh would let him know. Silence was how they showed trust in one another.

Rkah’s drake, normally so reluctant to give him the time of day, seemed pleased to see him, and even nipped at his fingers until he scratched her between the scales on her neck. The females grew larger than the males, and although she was young she was already quite fierce-looking, yet now she seemed little more than a hatchling with how she rumbled in lazy satisfaction. She even exposed the softed scales of her throat to him. The Tia felt kinda guilty that he’d have to soon leave her again to get into the deep Shroud. “Not that long thiss time,” he softly promised. 

Khua was going through his supplies, a small smile creeping up on his lips as he saw the two of them. “You look good, L’rkah. Lighter, sssomehow.” It was an invitation to speak without directly asking, as was Khua’s way.

One that Rkah took with perked up ears. “The Unssung have returned from the north. Not entirely unsscathed, but ssafe enough.” His tail trailed behind him in slow, serpentine motions, adding to how much the Tia looked like a pleased cub.

“Those city folk you and the chief travelled with? I thought you crosss with them for leaving you behind without sso much as a word,” the Nunh inquired, and although he hadn’t meant anything by it, Rkah still felt like he just got slapped across the cheek. Large ears lowered briefly, but he wasn’t going to let his happiness over their safe return be clouded by reminders that he no longer felt he was part of them. 

“Well, yess. But I’ve voiced my grievancess, and there’ss no need to keep pusshing after that, right? I’m just glad they are safe.” Inwardly Rkah cringed at how defensive he sounded. There was no need to do that, there was no competition twixt his people and the Unsung. 

Khua slow-blinked at him, and he slowly felt at ease again. That is, until the Nunh made an off-handed remark: “You sssmell of coffee,” he commented. Did you have trouble ssleeping?”