#azyria

I should really get writing Terra Incognita. For… reasons.

Like icecream.

From [here]

–

5. I’m not losing faith.

At one point it had towered five tiers, separated by fancy white pillars.  A swirling design outlined the upper ridges, carefully crafted by deft hands with years of experience.  Small white pearls dotted the middle with flowers arranged in a circle around them.  Each tier stood six inches high, nearly a foot across.  The cake was a thing of beauty.  Now, however, it was down to the final tier.  Garen had made it through the other four, and only had the last layer between him and fifty coins, enough to buy two of these cakes!

“Go! Go! Go!” chanted his friend Harold from across the table, pounding his fists on the wood.  He had met the man the week before while bobbing for apples at a local fair.  Having defeated him in the final round, the two became quick friends in the tavern afterward and decided to travel together.  Garen had no place to go, so went wherever life took him, and Harold was going towards the Inner Sea which seemed as good a place as any.  “So close, man, you can do it!”

Garen’s stomach grumbled in protest, the first four tiers having no time to settle.  Normally he could eat one or two cakes in one sitting, yet this!  This cake was a whole other beast.  Yet with two of such cakes on the line, he knew he could not let himself down.

“Feeling it yet?  You should probably take a break…” the female dhrazkuum named Frezk giggled, slapping him hard on the back.  Garen fought back a surge of cake attempting to come back up.  She had 70 coins on Garen not finishing the whole thing, and loved making it much harder than it had to be.

Just the other day the two of them had run into Frezk giving a public speech on…whatever it was.  Most likely some sort of talk on Khanos, her patron deity, which she was a cleric for.  However, the two of them had stopped the speech short after accidentally running her over with their push carts as they raced through the streets.  Luckily she was very friendly about it all, and even offered to help pick up all the boxes of apples they were supposed to be delivering.  She too was headed in their direction, and it was easy for Garen to convince her to follow along.

Shoving another handful into his mouth, Garen methodically chewed.  Slowly but surely, he was going to finish this cake!

“Where do you have all the room?  Have some hidden stomachs in that belly of yours?” Freska joked, once again slapping him hard on the back.

Garen coughed hard, spitting half-chewed pieces of chocolate cake and frosting all over the table.  He could not lose now!

“I’m not losing faith, man!” Harold cheered on with a hearty laugh.  “Hurry and just shove it all in, not much left!”

He gave a determined nod, staring down the last circle of cake.  What once held so much power to have him devour it quickly became a struggle to stare at.  His stomach was full to almost bursting, yet he made it this far, no turning back!

Without another thought, he used both hands to shovel piece after piece into his quickly chewing mouth.  Handful after handful, the chocolately goodness squished between his teeth, painfully being swallowed nearly whole.  Chomp by nauseous chomp, he powered on.  

Finally, with the last piece sliding down his gullet, Garen jumped up triumphantly, pumping his fist into the air to the cheers of Harold and the polite claps of Freska.

“Wahoo!  You did it, man!  Yeah!” Harold rejoiced, swiping his coins from the pile on the table.

“Congratulations, young man, you have done it!” the dhrazkuum chortled, impressed.  “I have to admit, I had lost faith after the third layer.  You have a bigger stomach than I thought.”

From [here]

–

4. I wanted it to happen.

The inn room door burst open, shuttering on its hinges as the human stomped in, red in the face.

“What the hell was that?” the middle-aged man bellowed, his thick jowls jiggling with every syllable.  “The transaction failed!  You ripped me off!”

“Oh?”  S’niil replied innocently from the room’s desk, slowly closing the ledger he had been reading before calmly slipping it inside his jacket.  Of course the money transfer had failed, the informant was using a fake account as per usual.  The objective was not to actually pay the client, after all.  The floraling had something else in mind.

Marching up, failing to intimidate, the human slammed his fist on the desk.  “I demand my money!  You said all of it would be in my account by midnight last night, and none of it is there!”

“None?  Hmm, that’s too bad…” S’niil chuckled lightly.  “Must have been my accountant’s mistake.  Would you wish me to fire him?  Or perhaps I could make him pay the full amount.  Would that satisfy you?  Hmm?”

“You think this is some sort of joke?!  I’ll have your head for this!”  The human once again slammed his meaty fist on the oaken desk.  “Why did it fail?  Did you run out of money from your terrible business?”

“I wanted it to happen, actually,” the floraling grinned playfully.  “C’mon, do you honestly believe what you did for me was worth 10k?”

The human’s face grew even redder, challenging a tomato on the blue ribbon at the county fair.  “You what?!  Y—you…why the hell would you do that?!”

“Simple,” S’niil replied, his grin melting into a smirk as he steepled his fingers.  “Now that you have so kindly confirmed the account belongs to you—can’t be too careless, am I right—I now have the ability to funnel the uh…how should I put this…not quite ‘legal’ funds directly into that account.  With the possibility of these transactions reaching the wrong authorities, it seems that you are in a bit of a pickle.  Wouldn’t you say?”

The client’s red face suddenly paled, the tomato being dipped in primer, ready for the first coat of paint.

“Now that I have your attention,” the floraling smiled warmly, standing to bring his face right in front of the human’s.  The smell of a sweet jelly puffed from his mouth in short, shallow breaths.  “First.  Must be easy to convince the councilor when she is under your payroll.”  Watching the man’s eyes grow wide, S’niil chuckled.  “Think I didn’t know?  How foolish.  I expect her to come to the same conclusion as we have this time.  No troubles.”

The human’s lip began to quiver, his eyes wide with fear and realization.  Time for the second coat.

“Second,” S’niil continued, slowly leaning even closer.  “There will be no payment coming your way for your services.  After attempting to fool me, I believe it is I who should expect 10k.  Leave it with the front desk, physical money only.  You have until the end of the day.”

His client’s face contorted in a mesh of rage, yet he held his tongue like a good pawn.  Time for the final coat.

“And lastly…”  S’niil’s smile fell into a sinister smirk.  Saving the best for last was always a treat.  Leaning in until he nearly touched noses, the floraling abruptly stepped back and shifted into a warm, broad smile.  “Have a nice day!”

The middle-aged man stood confused, the sudden shift in emotion by the floraling jarring compared to the situation at hand.

“Perhaps you should smile,” S’niil suggested, sharing a chuckle as if between long time friends.  “Your future is still in your hands, after all.  Now move along, there’s plenty of the day left.”  Waving his hand in a shooing motion, the floraling sat back down at the desk and pulled out the ledger.

His client shook his head, a mixture of emotions plain on his face.  Wordlessly, he stumbled out the door, quietly shutting it behind him.

From [here]

–

3. I’m not sure I can face them.

The dragoness silently closed the tent flap behind her.  The dimness of the room did not bother her dragon eyes, darkness never a hindrance.  Her mate sat cross-legged across the one-roomed hut on top of a ceremonial bead blanket.  The multitude of bright, decorative colors of the beads contrasted harshly with the drab browns and greens of the catfolk’s robes.  Ceremonial itself, his robes bore fine bead and feather work cascading across his shoulders and chest.  Dressed well for the occasion, yet his posture spoke otherwise.  Hunched over, Arren seemed to be inspecting his grandfather’s staff, his fingers gingerly handling the hawk feathers which adorned the top.  His head hung with a frown, concern and worry plastering his face.

Stepping over to him slowly, Annarix gently sat down and leaned into him.  Although rigid at first, his body quickly melted into hers.  The catfolk’s soft head rolled into her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him.

“I’m not sure I can face them,” Arren admitted quietly, his voice strained.  “I am no Chieftain…  I am not my grandfather…”

Annarix tenderly rocked him, her mouth pressing against his soft hair with a kiss.  “You are right, you are not your grandfather.  Yet he is not what your people need,” she calmly replied.

“They need a Chieftain.  Not a coward who ran away years ago,” Arren protested, burying his face into her neck.  She could feel a sudden wetness against her skin as his shoulders shook with a sob.

“Cowards do not face and defeat the shadow that haunted him and his people for decades,” she soothed warmly, petting the back of his head.  “You have what it takes to save them from evil, and I know you have what it takes to save them from themselves.”

“It’s not that easy,” he whimpered through a choked sob.  “I ran away, and now I want to come back as a hero?!  It doesn’t work that way!”

Annarix squeezed him gently.  “Yes, many will balk at your past, yet how many of them chased down the root of the wars?  Rather than finding a solution, they all merely searched for the next battle.  You were the only one who found Garthizar.  You were the only one who faced him head on.  You were the only one who defeated him to bring peace upon the tribes which had been warring for generations,”  Placing her hands softly on each side of his face, she pulled him up to look her in the eyes.  His fur was matted with moisture and tears, his green eyes searching hers for strength.  

“You are a worthy leader,” the dragoness promised him.  “Even with your whole past included, your deeds against Garthizar and his forces more than proves your love for your people.  Your grandfather is proud of what you have accomplished—he told you that himself!”  

Arren’s ancestral connection to the outer realms allowed him to speak to his deceased grandfather weeks ago.  Although his divine power had been growing more and more each day, accomplishing a connection to the dead was an amazing accomplishment.  Yet another aspect many other Chieftains failed to share, having taken power with little to no formal training during the wars.

The catfolk’s eyes lowered slowly.  “I can’t—”

“Arren,” she said firmly, his eyes darting back up to hers.  “No great leader ever knows all the answers.  Worrying means you actually care, which is much more than you can say for half of the Chieftains out there.  Uniting the tribes is the first step to bring safety and an enduring peace onto your people.  You can do this.  I believe in you, as does the rest of your tribe.  You are a worthy Chieftain.”  She felt a surge of love for him course through her body, warming deep within her.  The taste of tears filled her mouth as she pulled his face close, laying her lips on his.  His lips pressed into hers as he hugged her tightly.  Withdrawing, Annarix smiled warmly, using her thumb to brush away the tears.  Arren’s eyes had softened and his frown had disappeared, replaced by a subtle determination.  “Throughout everything we have been through, you have always stood strong and courageously when your people needed you.  Find that strength within.  Your people need you now.”

“You are my strength,” Arren replied softly.  “I couldn’t do it without you.”

From [here]

–

2. It only has one use.

The requirements were vague, just perfect for finding the solution easily.  Once his supplies came in next week he planned to fix it using the correct materials, yet for a quick test all he needed was for it to work for a few minutes, nothing more.  Yet after digging through his drawers, the catfolk failed to find anything that could fit.  With a rumbling tummy, he chose to think it over a fresh sandwich.

Humming a jolly tune, Quinn strode into the kitchen to fetch his lunch, his mind stuck on the snag of how to replicate the 16 gauge wire he needed to complete his latest masterpiece.  Gathering the supplies for the sandwich, he barely noticed Karreo at the dining room table.  The demonkin hunched over a pile of papers, concentrating hard on whatever he must be working on.

“Greetings!” Quinn announced with a toothy smile, loudly banging the cupboards open and closed as he picked out his bread, ham, lettuce, tomato, ranch, and sunflower seeds.

Without glancing up, Karreo responded with a tired groan.  “Can you please stop slamming everything?  I’m trying to concentrate…”

“Certainly!  I shall be quick,” the catfolk beamed, dropping the ingredients with a clatter on the island counter.  His companion winced at the noise.  “Whatcha doing?” he asked curiously, cutting the bread with a knife.

“Finding holes in the security routes at the McDonnel residence,” Karreo replied with a sigh.  Leaning back in his chair, he tapped his pen against the multitude of maps and lists before him.  “They recently doubled the guard, and I don’t know any of the new recruits.  Can’t count on bribing my way in, so have to find a weak point.”

Nodding casually, Quinn thought a moment as he finished cutting the pieces of bread and finally asked, “What about a distraction?  Even new guards get distracted!”

“No happening,” Karreo frowned.  “Protocol dictates all guards must lock down their current positions rather than run to help.  It’d just tip them off rather than opening anything up.”

“Sounds like a tough nut to crack,” the catfolk conceded with a frown of his own.  “I’m sure you’ll think of som—”  

The blade of the knife he held shimmered in the light, catching his eye.  ‘Maybe this could work?!’  Holding it up before him, he closed one eye to better concentrate on the curve, measuring the thickness and width in his head.  ‘Hmm…certainly would hold a charge, easy enough to rig into the device…’

“…what’re you doing?” Karreo questioned, raising his eyebrow.

“Just maybe…”  Slipping a caliper from his back pocket, the catfolk measured the thickest part of the blade.  “Drats!  Off by half a millimeter!”

“Nevermind,” he said, blinking slowly and shaking his head.  The demonkin went back to his papers, continuing to tap his pen slowly.

“I need a strip of metal to connect the resistors in order to test the electro-magnetic stabilizing device,” Quinn replied anyway, frowning at the knife.  “I was hoping this would work, yet it will not fit through the couplings.  I was hoping to not take apart your alarm clock…”

“Don’t touch it!” Karreo warned, pointing his pen at him.  “The last time you messed with any of my electronics my laptop was sending E.M.P. bursts…”

Quinn chuckled, remembering how easy the laptop had taken to his experiment.  In only a matter of minutes and a mini generator attached, it did wonders on the lighting of the whole city block!  It worked splendidly!

Karreo looked less than amused, a sideways frown covering his features.

“Fine, fine…” Quinn surrendered, grinning.  “I only need one little part from it, I promise to put it back!”

“No.  That’s final.  What even happened to your own alarm clock, anyway?” Karreo wondered aloud.

“Well…”  Quinn looked to the ceiling, recalling where each piece had gone.  “The cord was used for my waffle machine, the circuit board worked well as the timer for the automatic opening window blinds upstairs, the faceplate fit on my—”

Karreo shook his head dismissively.  “I should not have asked…  Anyway, please don’t touch it.  Can’t you take Rorrik’s or something?”

The catfolk laughed.  “I would, were it still…in one piece.  The other night, Valen and him—”

“Stop.  I’ve heard enough.”  The demonkin waved his hand in front of him as if the mental images were smoke he could so easily dissipate.  Tossing his pen on the maps, he leaned back in his chair and sighed.

“That’s it!” Quinn nearly shouted, his eyes dilating as he focused on his prize.  Pouncing at Karreo’s workspace, he grabbed the thin, metal pen.

“Hey, wait!  I need that!” came the protest, to no avail.

“Perfect!”  Whipping out his caliper, he measured the width, a wonderful 6.35mm!  “Oh, this is great!  Thank you!”

“No,” Karreo continued to protest.  “It only has one use, and that’s for my writing!  Give it back!”

Quinn bounded out of the dining room, a wide grin on his face.  “I’ll buy you a new pack once I’m done, I promise!” he called over his shoulder, rushing to place it within his new machine.  How could he not have seen it sooner?!  

From [here]

–

1. Everything is turning to shit.

Broad shoulders slammed against the ground, a puff of dry dirt flying into the air.  Pinning him into the hard ground, Garen’s foe attempted to break free to no avail.

“Enough!” the burly human yelled angrily.  Letting him go, he shoved Garen off of him with a harsh grunt.

“Great fight, man!” Garen complimented with a huff, rolling free.  The scrum had taken a lot out of him, leaving him breathing heavily for air.  The dusty, dry desert burned in his lungs with each breath.

“Fuck off,” his friend retorted with a grimace, holding his shoulder.  Garen knew the six plus foot human by the name of ‘Shanks’, only having met him the week prior.  With an upper body of a bull, he was almost surprised to not find the horns to go along with it.  His hairy body and head made him think he was a true minotaur, yet a cuss-filled rant proved otherwise.  Although Shanks failed to befriend anyone, he agreed to travel with Garen after proving himself in a fight.  The two were well matched, but with all that muscle Shanks had an obvious upper hand.  The only reason he defeated him the first time was he never attempted to do more than a few moves in combat.  Bull rush and smash were his two go-to maneuvers, which normally paid off with his powerful swing, yet sometimes muscles were not all that was needed to win a fight.  A rogue Garen traveled with last year proved that after beating him in a duel with chop sticks.

Shakily pulling himself to his feet, Garen shook his head with a smile.  “No, really!  You almost had me there!  If that punch had connected, I would’ve been knocked out cold, man!”  Holding his hand out for a heft up, it was swatted away.

“It didn’t.  All that matters, dipshit.”  Shanks climbed to his feet, towering over the fresh adventurer.  Glowering down at him, Garen swore he could see smoke coming from his ears.  “Dead.  That’s what I’d be!  Argh!”  Yelling, the brawler quickly scanned the ground around the two of them, zeroing in on a rock the size of his head.  With a swift kick, the stone flew clear across the dusty road into the opposite ditch.  “Everything is turning to shit!  I can’t even beat a dipshit like you!”

Titling his head in confusion, Garen responded happily, “Sure you did!  Just the other day before we left town—”

Twisting around, Shanks got right in Garen’s face close enough to smell the mead on his breath.  “You don’t get it, do you?  In battle there are no second chances!  Kill or be killed!”

Garen shrunk back, the smile on his face wavering.  “Yeah, but—”

“No!” the human screamed at him.  “One loss means death!  Losing is not an option!”

He remained silent, unsure what to say to appease him.  Dumbly nodding, he mumbled, “Makes sense…”

Shanks shoved him back hard, causing him to stumble and fall into the hot dirt.  With a loud grunt he began to stomp off angrily.  Picking up his backpack they had put aside to spar, he roughly flung it over his shoulder and kept walking.

Scrambling to his feet in fear of being left behind, Garen called after him.  “W-wait up!  Let me just get my things qui—”

“I don’t need you!  Fuck off!” Shanks bellowed over his shoulder.

Quickly gathering his gear, he limped off after his friend, wishing he would slow down.  During their brief sparring match, he had connected with Garen’s shin and he knew there would be a giant bruise in the morning.  When he finally got within talking distance again, Shanks remained silent.  Hobbling next to him, Garen broke the silence after a few minutes.

“Do you know what else makes a good fighter?” he questioned with a weak smile.  No answer came other than a glare in the other direction, so he figured he should continue.  “Someone who keeps picking themselves up and pushing forward.  Not every fight will go well, so getting back up and being ready to face the next one can be good, too.”

A dry breeze continued to blow, the only visible change.  ‘Man, he really hates losing, I guess…’ Garen thought to himself as he stared at his unflinching, clenched jaw.

Garen shrugged, his smile disappearing.  “That’s what I tell myself, anyway.  It helps me keep going even when everything turns to shit, ya know?  Otherwise, one big thing stops you and makes you wonder ‘what’s the point?’  Easier to quit, right?  But why quit when you can keep fighting?”

From [here]

Not sure if this has any canon relevance, but it’s interesting.

–

6. You wished for it.

“Good morning, Enroy!” greeted Elderwoman Lisiah Hornbach with a broad smile.  “Here on time like always, what a great way to start this meeting!”  The halfling shuffled papers to the side at her large oaken desk, pulling out a folder from another pile.

Enroy nodded politely and silently as he took a seat.  He knew what the meeting entailed, which only proved itself with her upbeat mood.  There had been talk about it for weeks now.

“So, shall we get started, then?” the Elderwoman asked, beaming.  She sat a council of six who lead the village affairs.  The Elder of Security believed today to be a great day in Enroy’s life.  She was right, of course, yet…

The coastal halfling silently nodded, his face stoic as always.  He was ready for the news.

“First things first!”  Opening the folder on her desk, she slid it toward him to reveal an official contract.  “How would you like to officially be a Sergeant of the Guard?  I know you have been striving for this for years, and I am proud to choose you for the position!”  Beaming expectantly, she waited happily for his response.

She was correct in that he had been training for the position for years, hopefully working his way up to Head of the Guard, yet the last few years he realized something more important in his life began to take hold.

“I am leaving to help out a friend in need,” Enroy announced abruptly, his face hiding any emotion.  “We leave on the morrow.”

The Elderwoman sat in shock.  “Bu—but, the position!  You wished for it!  H-how can you just turn it down?!”

“My friend is in need,” the halfling fighter repeated calmly.

“This is no time to be modest, Enroy!” she retorted, flabbergasted.  “With this position you have a chance at moving up within the year!  I’m sure your friend is in great need, but you must think of your own future.  Perhaps you could send someone else to help out, what is it they need?  We need you here!”

Standing up with a purpose, Enroy stared down at the halfling.  “My friend comes before me.”

Frowning, the Elderwoman stared back disappointedly.  After a brief pause, she gave a quick nod.  “Very well, then.  I see you have made your choice.  When shall you return?”

“Uncertain.”

Her mouth twisted at that answer.  “You are the best we currently have, Enroy.  The village needs you.”  Studying her heavy frown, he could tell she knew convincing him was out of the question.  “However…I admire your sacrifice.  Consider the position open upon your return.  You may leave.”

“Thank you.”  He turned to leave after a polite nod.

“Oh, and Enroy?” she called after him in a softer tone.  Turning to look at her, she gave him a warm smile.  “Please.  Stay safe.”

From [here]

–

1. They are the only ones who can help.

“Never!”

Dirt covered arms slowly crossed over her chest, the freshly dug hole laid before them.  Once again, Karreo was acting foolish.  She did not like the idea any more than he, yet sometimes you just had to—

“The last they ‘helped’,” Karreo emphasized with sarcastic air quotes. “I was stuck cleaning up the truckload of rubber duckies they spilled all over the road.  No!  I will not ask!”

A low hiss escaped Aylee’s lips and her tail flicked, his stubbornness the source of annoyance.  She yanked a shovel out of the ground.  “They are the only ones who can help.  Who else do you know that can get this job done well?  I don’t like—”

“’Well’ with a side of nonsense…” Karreo huffed, tossing a shovelful of dirt into the hole to cover the newly cut wires.  His tail thrashed at the thought.

“Fine.  If you don’t want any help, then so be it.”  Aylee drove her shovel deep within the loose earth and began to march off.  “You can apparently handle this on your own…”

The demonkin quit shoveling and sighed loudly.  “Aylee, c’mon.  Don’t walk out on me like this.”  

She stopped walking, her tail continuing to swish as she kept her back to him.

“Do you want to complete the job or not?” Aylee questioned sternly over her shoulder.

A moment of silence broke with a heavy sigh.  “Do I have a choice?”

“Either getting it done or not.  You pick.”  The catfolk turned to face him, crossing her arms yet again.  Studying his face, she watched his eyes dart away, a grimace blanketing his features.

“What do you think they’ll do this time?”  Karreo frowned, defeated, as he gazed at the partial covered severed cables in the hole.  They sliced them to cut power to the mansion’s back patio and pool area for easier access.  Both knew tonight was the only option to get in, with the pool party scheduled for the evening, which was why they had to call upon her brothers to help out on such short notice.  Even if they hired someone else it was not as if they could be fully trusted.

Aylee’s ears perked up with a sudden thought.  Perhaps getting in would be easier than expected.  Plus, it would keep her troublesome brothers away from Karreo…

Slipping her corresponder from her pocket, she hit the speed dial.

“You won’t even know they were there, anyway,” she shrugged, lifting the device to her ear as she heard the other line pick up with an overly excited ‘Oh my gosh, it’s Ayyyleeeeee!’