#feathercatch

From [here]

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Figure I’d change it up and sketch one.  I realized too late that this prompt was already finished, but oh well.  More practice!

From [here]

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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]

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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]

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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]

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8. How did you destroy it?

A wet thud broke the silence as the catfolk dropped the damp saddlebag on the businessman’s cluttered desk.  A thick red liquid oozed through the loosely threaded leather onto piles of papers previously stacked neatly.  Flinching at the sight, the 20-something human’s features contorted in disgust.

“So it’s done, then?” the human naively asked, averting his gaze from the proof.

“The money,” came the catfolk’s curt reply, a scowl on his rain-soaked face.  Looking down at the man, his towering stature and bounty hunter gear was nothing to be trifled with.

“Was it any trouble?  How did his wife react?” A wry smirk crept onto his pretentious face.  “Tell me all the details…”

The cougar narrowed his eyes.  “I delivered what was asked.  The money,” he repeated, his tone souring.

Continuing his macabre smirk, the human pressed.  “Did she scream?  Was she sleeping when you walked into the bedroom?  Did she…beg?”  His eyes grew dark with pleasure.

Giving no chase, the bounty hunter remained deathly silent.  After all, he was here to deliver the head, not material for later.

“She was there, right?” the businessman questioned hopefully.  “Tell me she saw it all…”

“Ask her yourself.”  The catfolk nodded towards the saddlebag, which had soaked most of the desk.

The human’s eyes went wide with glee as he began bouncing up and down with joy.  “Oh, you are magnificent!  Just magnificent!”  He giggled cheerfully as he strode towards his tenth story window to look out at the lights of the city at midnight.

“The money.  Your last chance.”  The seriousness in his tone should have said it all.

“Oh, yes, we’ll get to that,” the human dismissed.  “How did you destroy it?  The house?”  Gazing at the bright lights dotting the landscape, his happy eyes searched in vain, no doubt expecting a pyre.

Quickly stepping forward, the catfolk’s loud stomps echoed in the office as he approached the man with a purpose.

Spinning, his eyes wide with sudden fear, the man quickly changed his tune.  His thin arms attempted to cover his face.  “Hey, hey, whoa there!  I said we’d get to—”

Without another word, the catfolk raised his heavy boot, kicking him square in the chest.  A loud crash resounded as his flailing body smashed through the glass window, sending shards every which way.  A pathetic scream filled the cool night’s air that rushed in from the gaping hole, his body tumbling into the darkness below.

From [here]

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10. I heard about the accident.

“One more, one more!” a harsh voice bellowed from across thecrowded makeshift craps table.  Amultitude of enthralled voices chimed in with yells of “Big seven!”, “Snakeeyes, baby!”, and “Gotta win me back something!”

A big toothy, drunken smile plastered Garen’s flush face asa mix of adrenaline and vodka fueled his winning streak.  Having only been introduced to the game onceor twice, the heavyset human had no clue what any roll meant other than fromwhat the cheers and jeers of the gathering produced.  Apparently a seven was good to roll, being acommon phrase from the alcohol-induced chant. No matter what all the numbers meant, he relished every second ofspending time having fun.

Rubbing the ruby dice between his meaty paws, Garen heldthem high above his head with a hearty shake, his well-fed body following suit.  Gambling had always been of interest, yetwith his newly acquired wealth from a few well-paying jobs he could finallypartake with glee.  Tossing the dice at aworn plank of wood held up for a backboard, the two boxes of fate bounced toand fro.

“Seven!  Seven!  Seven!” chanted the crowd of fellow adventurers.  The red jewels twisted and turned, the airthick with anticipation.  “C’mon, winbig!” he heard someone shout.

The collective groan tipped him off that whatever he rolledmust have been bad.  Looking at the dice,he counted twelve little white dots.  ‘I always thought more is better…’

Looking towards the pile of money that he had gathered onthe betting line, Garen went to pick it up before having his hand swiped away.

“You bet it and lost it all, bucko.  Can’t take any home to the missus,” the manreplied with a straight face.  “Throwdown a few more and you can start winning it back, though.”

“Oh, sorry,” he apologized, his mind muddled with a mixtureof alcohol and confusion.  ‘Man, this game is confusing…but boy is itfun!’

“Next shooter, boys,let’s keep this train a rollin’!” the leader of the game said, gesturing forGaren to step back with a wave of his hand. “Nice run, though,” he nodded with a wink in his direction.  “Next!”

Satisfied and a handful of bills lighter, the freshadventurer beamed happily.  “Thanks,man!  I hope to play again soon once Icomplete my next job.”  Entertainment wasexpensive these days, what with his new lifestyle and all, yet every coin wasworth it.

Grinning from ear to ear, Garen made his way to the bar andplopped down in a stool.  Leaningforward, he pulled his wallet from his pants pocket and checked how much he hadleft, hoping it would be enough to cover a drink or two.  All that fun sure made him thirsty!  Looking inside, only a couple ones and somecrumpled pieces of paper stared back at him. ‘Dang, thought I had more left…’

The barkeep walked over with a smile.  A young floraling woman about his age withskin the most beautiful shade of lavender he had ever seen, he could tell shehad worked here for quite some time as everyone seemed to know her.

“Need a drink to cool down that winning streak of yours,hun?” she chuckled, as if it had been an inside joke between them foryears.  “What’ll you have?”

“Uhh… Well…  Um,”Garen stammered, his face hot from a blush less alcohol-induced.  Glancing down at his nearly empty wallet, hepulled out the remaining bills and held them out.  “What does this get me?”

Her adorable smirk spread from one rounded cheek to theother.  ‘I wonder if she is in any paintings, like the kind you find in thosefancy places…

“Three?  A glass ofale or a cheap shot.  Your choice,winner.”  He had not noticed her grab hismoney, yet there she stood with it in hand, counted and waiting for an answer.

“Uh…whatever’s best!” he blurted with a quick tap on thetable, not exactly sure what she had asked.

Continuing to smirk, the barkeep slipped a bottle and shotglass from behind the counter.  The funnylooking straw at the top of the bottle let loose a quick string of liquid goldright into the clear glass.  Sliding thenewly filled shot towards him, she gave another adorable chuckle.

“Winning streak like that and all you have for drinks isthree?” the floraling chided in a friendly tone.  “What’re they playing for over there,pennies?”

“Ha!  Yeah!  Pennies!”Garen guffawed.  He loved her sense ofhumor.  She was so witty!  Wrapping his thick fingers around the tinyglass, he threw it back and banged it on the counter once it was empty.  The rush of fire filled his throat and chest,causing him to cough.  Even though he hadbeen drinking these things for a week now, they always seemed to burn, he loved it!  He never understood how people would say theywished it would not burn…

“I haven’t seen you around much,” she noted with a subtleshrug, clearing the counter.  “Whatbrings you to Sengard?”

“Uhhh…”  Garen frozein his tracks.  Should he tell her?  About the fire?  About his sister?  About…

“I heard about theaccident.”  Her beautiful lavender facefell into a frown.

‘How does she know?!’  Panic gripped him, his breath caught in histhroat.  ‘What is she going to think of me? Am I not welcome here?  How didshe even find out abou—‘

“Did the boat really sink within minutes?”

“B-boat?  W-wha—huh?”Garen bumbled, his face showing how perplexed he was.  ‘Whaton Azyria is she talking about?!’

Gazing down at his borrowed cloak, she pointed at the goldbrooch which fastened it around his neck. The elegant brooch looked to be gold threads weaving into the shape of abird.  The cloak was a gift from an oldcleric at the temple he visited a week ago, having arrived there in shamblesafter a failed run in with a griffon’s nest. He had no idea what the brooch meant, yet everyone who seemed to knowalways asked him weird questions.

“Oh…oh!  This?”Holding up the brooch with visible relief, he shrugged.  “I don’t know what this is, this old guy gaveit to me after he healed me.”

The floraling considered what he said for a moment withcontemplating eyes before bursting into laughter.

“I am sorry, dear!  Ithought—oh, my apologies!”  Her handdismissed her goof up with a quick wave through the air.  “I figured…well!  Makes sense why I would find someone like youat a place like this, then.  Just a wordof warning, though…”  Her voice grewquiet as she leaned closer.  “Not alltake kindly to the Peacemakers of the Golden Dove.  ‘The Gilded…Chicken’ is a common phrase if you catch the meaning…”

Whatever she just said made less sense than that dice game.

From [here]

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3. Can’t you just tell me?

Tyrziin flipped a cashew into his mouth as he walked intothe living room.  Today had been a lazyday, full of nothing to do and heat hot enough to earn the city a newtitle.  Fortunately, following the dailyfestivities at the local arena, he always knew he could count on having something to do.

“What the hell do you want?” Syndara lounged on the couch, exhausted from her battle.  Fresh scratches—probably from a catfolk bythe size—adorned her glaring mug, bright red but cleaned.  Yet no bandages, the demon noted.  She was never one to like bandages.

“If you don’t properly care for your wounds, you’ll end uplooking like Garen,” Tyrziin softly chuckled, amused at the prospect.  “And if you are going for that look, you might need to gain a few pounds.”

“Shut up, Tyrziin!” the angelborn barked, pounding her fiston the top of the couch.  “You’re the last thing I wanted to see!  Ugh!”

“I am wounded,” he smirked, sliding into the chair acrossfrom her.  Leaning back, he propped afoot up on the coffee table which looked to have the half-eaten remains of herlunch: sliced chicken on white bread. Simple and easy enough to put together.  He popped a cashew into his mouth.

“Oh, ha. Ha,” she replied, no hint of amusement in hervoice.  Rolling her eyes she glaredover.  “What do you want, anyway?”

Tyrziin pretended to ponder the question with an exaggeratedtilt of his head and a scratch of his chin. “Well…if you really wanted toknow…  I was merely checking on if youwere ready for your month of self-proclaimed servitude.  By the looks of those scratches, however, wemay need to postpone…”

“Gods, this again?” Syndara held no patience.  “Can’tyou just tell me already?!  What thehell am I going to do?”

A wry smile played across the demon’s lips as his eyes lit up.  “If you knew, you wouldn’t look forward toit.  Now why would I wish to take awaythat excitement?”

“Fuck you, Tyrziin,” Syndara huffed, folding her sweaty armsover her chest.  “I’ll never likeanything you make me do.”

Happy birthday to my sister-in-law, feathercatch!

This is her character Aylee (right) spending some quality time with loreoverseer‘s character Karreo. :3 I was inspired by a recent drabble of hers. These two characters were fishing together, & I originally planned on trying to draw an entire scenery... but I figured I should get at least one part of her birthday present to her on time. ;] even if I got Aylee’s coloring all wrong whoops