#astralfox0893

Simmy

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The wizard was boarding his bosses ship. Tasked with a simple task today while the mercenary lead was out on a mission, keep the child safe. Easy enough he might even have time to study some. He smiled at the other members of his group as he went down to the office where his boss was just about to leave. Giving the child the whole be good and don't make a mess thing any other parent would give their little one.

Durafein smiled as he waited assuring his over eccentric leader that he could handle this. He had come prepared with spells to entertain her.

The Keeper turned her veiled face oddly, staring at her little Grave Artist with a puzzled amusement as they walked the paths of Tirasfal together. "Now that sounds like quite the story, Miss Simmy." Her gaze also subsisted on the little ghostling that trailed devotedly after Simmy. "Did our little nameless friend have a hand in that? Or do we have a name now?"

Too much fireweed and whiskey makes for dumb choices. In Gin’s defense…okay, she didn’t have a defense, but still.

She looked at Deuce, tongue hanging out of her mouth for a moment before…licking the object in her hand. “ ‘S ‘ow y’check fer certain minerals!”

Gin continued insisting that the round object was a rock, and that she was trying to figure out what kind of rock it was. Even as the “rock” moved. And let out a concerned “ribbit.”

━━★. *･｡ﾟ✧⁺ dream hunting in the valley of the in-between

Iago gets sick often. Their immune system is known for it's failure and their fever spikes and drops almost as fast as their heartrate. Dreams such as this aren't exactly uncommon, but this one is... new.

Usually, the Bhaalists in their dreams aren't so fluffy. And they don't bark, unless Iago is misremembering. They might be. The accuracy of their dream is blurred with the running fever. Best not to say anything, they decide. They'd look a bit silly if they had somehow forgotten their fellow cultists are all dogs.

One of them - a little Pomeranian with the expected blood-red paws of a recent killer - bounds up to their desk and has to hop a few times to reach, leaving Iago a mouthful of paperwork.

Iago takes it wordlessly, scowls at the slobber, and reads it over while he sits and wags his tail expectantly.

Bark. Barkbark bark. Bark. Barkbark, bark. barkbark. Bark, barkbarkbark. Bark. Bark. Barking bark. Arf-

They don't have to read the rest. A sigh escapes them and they file it away appropriately, "Concise enough. You're dismissed."

Another is sent in after that, a larger sheepdog of sorts that knocks down one of their piles of paper when it runs in. This one is wearing the proper regalia of a higher priest, but Iago remains unimpressed. Squints. "What's in your mouth?"

The dog priest tucks it's tail between it's legs.

"Drop it."

It takes a glare and a threatening crackle from Iago's hands to convince the dog, who sheepishly drops a severed hand on their floor. Eugh...

"For the last time, I do not require evidence along with the reports. And I'm not playing fetch again."

They realize their mistake just a moment too late, and there's a cacophony of running paws and their office is filled in an instant with wagging tails and lolling tongues seconds after the f-word leaves their mouth. Among them, Puck, who brought a severed hand of his own and looks at Iago expectantly, "Fetch?"

Jarlaxle’s journey would take him into the Western Heartlands, just far enough outside Evereska and the valley that the Vale Guard and the elves therein would not be alerted to his presence. There, in the rolling plains, was a hamlet nestled between the hills. Little more than a scattering of homes, a well, and a few fields and herds of animals, it was a far cry from the gilded estates of Evereska, where Teliera had previously made her home.

The dirt path wound into the village, where a few young human children skittered about, chasing chickens and laughing as they went. The fields were currently fallow and most of the farmers gathered in the square around the well, where adults gossiped or traded information. A few curious gazes would follow the traveler, though not for too long. Towards the back of the village, at the far edge, was a tiny construction of thatch and brick, little more than one or two rooms. There, you assume you will find Teliera, and your supposed child.

@astralfox0893

Jarlaxle walked the dirt streets, tipping his hat to the children as he walked past them. He had his gaze on the building he was told about. He had been here a few times but that was a while ago when he was sowing his wild oats apparently.