#demacianwings

“That it has.”

Quinn’s oiled cloak slicked the drizzle from her hair and dribbled it down onto her nose, where it clung, and dripped down onto her scarf. This autumn hadn’t been the gloomiest she’d ever seen, though it definitely ranked highly for that. The air contained a lingering chill, and the bird on her arm seemed far more raggedy than normal.

She regarded the hooded figured before her with a wary eye. The last time they’d met, they’d discussed possibilities. Quinn wondered if he’d come to collect, or pursue them.

“Might you need something?”

 “Not today.”

The rain fell in a lazy drizzle, heavy enough to soak through unprepared clothing, Renzus’ own cloak and robes were suitably warded against the downpour, although it did little to stop the chill from proving an annoyance. He briefly contemplated weaving a subtle enchantment to keep the rain at bay, but thought better of it, considering where he was.

The scout and her bird both seemed to watch him warily, but he could blame neither. He’d given them no reason to trust him just yet, but that was a matter of time and opportunity.

“I merely pass through here, on the trail of a Warmason who knows too much. The rain is proving his ally, however; I fear I have lost the trail.”

The deep rumbling tone shook the cracked and splintered earth beneath her, endlessly spitting out fumes and pockets of fire under its thin layer of rocky skin. It eased forward, seemingly endless rows of needle teeth presented to her, out of threat or amusement she had yet to discern.

“How unfortunate,” it garbled, shaking its curled horns, long neck wavering back and forth like a studying serpent. “So much, and you ask for this.”

Quinn slammed her counter part down against the rocky edge of the lake, and shoved her hand into the back of her head, submerging her beneath the water with a cool and inconsiderate gaze. Once, she would have never considered the idea, no matter how bad things got. She kept to herself, only had Valor.

But she had to sink that all away into the depths of the northern ice caverns where she had found it. Her Valor was all ready dealing with the other. The one that, too, needed to go. She felt an empty satisfaction as the other struggled beneath her. So much seemed different between them, that Quinn could hardly consider the other as herself. Slumping down so her knee was buried into the other’s back, Quinn yanked her head up by the hair, cold eyes looking her over.

[SMS]: DOG?![SMS]: DOG DOG DOG DOG DOG[SMS]: D O G !!! !!

     By the seas depths, Illaoi is a force to be reckoned with. Every time Gangplank left a conversation with her, he somehow felt all at once a thousand times stronger and like a five year old child. Damned sea witch.

     For all the curses he had and would continue to spit in her direction, he kept coming back, asking for her help. He respected her, had even loved her, once. 

     Damn her. Damn her and her stinkin’ god.

     Gangplank pushed the door behind him closed, hearing it shut with a shuddering thud.

     Illaoi’s prayer and supposedly wise sayings didn’t matter. She’d finally agreed to help him (even if she’d literally kicked a man who’d very nearly just been blown up, first), Okao was on his side, and soon enough, Bilgewater and the sea would truly be his. He just needed to--

My bf shows bipolar tendencies and hypomania is one of them and he identifies very strongly with Rakan’s personality so I’m v thankful my favorite Rakan blog actually put the effort in to figure Rakan out like this rather than handwave it as ADHD. A++ work

Sentence Starters | Accepting

Sona hardly felt she deserved such civil understanding, but their conversation had gone on long and painfully enough. Doubly-so if just because of Sona’s condition. That only made it worse for her, as it always did in times like these.

But it had been a long time coming. For years, Sona had avoided the ranger she’d only truly known in passing before her mother’s death. Lestara had been so proud when she introduced them that first time. She was always proud of women in the army who blazed their own trails. She was so grateful, and said Sona should be grateful too; she owed Quinn and her brother a debt that could never be repaid.

Sona wouldn’t be here today if her adoptive mother had died instead of Caleb. Though who’s to say if, in the end, anyone was truly better off for it?

It was a bitter way of thinking, perhaps. But even five years or more later the guilt hung so heavy in Sona’s heart. She’d avoided Quinn. That was wrong. But whether it was the day after the funeral or the present time, she just couldn’t look the other woman in the eyes.

‘How can you ever forgive me?’ Sona thought. ‘How can you ever accept my apologies?’ she thought further. A murderer and a mage. What a wonderful combination.

But despite it all - and with a good amount of back patting and consoling - Quinn still offered to try again. Someone who’d lost far more was still so much stronger than Sona could ever be. All she could do was cry. Practically in the other woman’s lap.