#liowriting

Day 4 / May 28

Dangerous / Tremendous

It didn’t matter how lauded the best dish was in Silvermoon’s cafes, how well the liquor flowed, or how readily the denizens might answer a temptation, Quelios inevitably found the city life grating. Even House Dawnsinger’s black sheep of a son craved something beyond magic-tinged air, where everything seemed handed to him on a platter.

An itch in his lungs craved fresh air. A deeper itch in his fingers craved the draw of his bow. He knew until his sister was found and brought home to the nest of Dawnsinger vipers he would not be released back into service with the Sunreavers where he belonged. An annoying fact of insufferable nobility was that a man entangled by it just couldn't always piss where he wanted.

The Ghostlands was as close to a hunting ground as Quelios would be allowed. His eyes went to the real predator trailing beside him on careful, stealthy paws. The matron lynx shifted her great head forward, tufted ears perked as she contemplated their direction. He noted the way her muzzle wrinkled in dismay as she slinked into the Ghostlands, silently baring her fangs. She never liked the way the dead soil felt beneath her paws, or the unnatural stench of rot and mold when crossing the threshold into ruination. “S’okay, Favola. I know,” he whispered assuredly to the feline huntress. “Just a circuit, yeah?”

The lost land was often the depressing lesson to introduce to most new Farstriders, then sometimes a form of corporal punishment for those sent to guard over Tranquillien, Lio thought to himself, remembered from his earliest days as a recruit. Living in this isolatingly bleak, blanched rot, day after day humbled a soul quickly. Eventually, the Striders changed out the guard of course. You let a man live long enough in rot for too long, it was only a matter of time before he would begin to resemble it. He’d known some broken enough by life to go to the Ghostlands willingly, and never return. And of course there were the usual horror stories little ones were told to keep them far away this place, dark fantasies that only twisted the truth of a tremendous trauma experienced by an entire nation. Quelios knew what he needed to be effective.

He let his arrows sink into the heads of a few spare walking bodies shambling past dead wood, and an older monstrosity twisted by long set dark magic that Favola mauled until it no longer moved. But something else caught her scent, something else scurrying past trees, into hiding. Naturally, the lynx gave chase, and her years of experience as an honed predator produced results, stirring a cry from nearby foliage. Low to the ground at the feet of her fallen prey, she remained deceptively still, awaiting the single command that would set her like a springboard on a throat for the kill.

“W-wait! Don’t shoot!” came familiar notes of Thalassian. Cloak and hood had been shaken from the target’s face, revealing none other than another elf. Quelios almost felt a disgruntled mutter start in his throat at the thought they’d pinned down some ignoramus that got lost in the Ghostlands.

But it was not green eyes that stared wide up on him, or even the golden variety. A violet- blue pair of eyes tried to hold him and Favola at bay, empowered by the void. It was a stain that blanched their complexion too, revoking all natural color from the skin. Favola hissed menacingly, making the void elf attempt to scramble back from her in fear. She didn't like this one's scent either.

“Did you fall off your purple chicken on the way to the border, friend?” Lio teased back with pleasant Thalassian, but did not dare lower his attention from the target.

“…what? No…I am here to…meet with someone.” Either the void elf was fully naive or entirely unprepared for their excuse, Lio noted. Every word reeked of suspicion. “Please. Let me stand.”

Crouching in low and fast, he let his fingers fall briefly to the forest floor in a subtle affixing of a masked trap, before returning his hands to the aimed clocking of his bow. It would be a consequence lain out for any potential “friends” this one had at the thought of a ‘friendly’ little ambush. There was enough explosive, mechanized power to hobble several pairs of legs if it was triggered.

“Mmm, I think not. Not the ‘best’ place for a little reunion, you know. And we can’t have you in the city. Ah but I’m sure you know that. Drinking the very bad water didn't do you any favors, did it?”

“What? I’m not drunk, I’m just–”

Thwip! An arrow whipped like lightning into the void elf’s thigh, and his fumbling words deteriorated into a satisfyingly pained cry.

“Oh no, you really should be more careful, look at what all that void sniffing’s gotten you? Drugs are bad,” Quelios admonished mockingly. “It seems you won’t be walking much of anywhere now with that ankle, so I’m afraid you’ll have to cancel your plans. But I’m enough of a gentleman to escort you back to your chariot.”

Favola closed in and clenched her strong jaw around the loose, oversized hood, and began to drag their captor back to Tranqullien proper. It would be a painful 15 meters for the void elf, but one that would not be forgotten.

“No odd movement now, my friend, or you might find another body part made a little useless, hmm?” Quelios remarked with a dark turn on his joviality. In truth, any further issues would earn the void elf a more permanent silencing. On the front, the Sunreaver had seen how easily the Ren’dorei had been overtaken by the Harbingers call, how weak willed they were to the force they invited into them, and how quick they were to betray their own. A dangerous risk that would become inevitably unstable, like a ticking bomb. He knew what they were to the Sunwell, and none could be trusted with a Windrunner betraying her people to align the void-addled with the Alliance. Already, Quelios thought himself too merciful, letting this one be confiscated by Tranqullien’s forces.

It would have been better to loose an arrow in their head now like everything else shambling around the Ghostlands. Quelios hoped they would give him further reason to do so.

Day 4, 8/20

Direction/Languish

@daily-writing-challenge

Silvermoon, Elder’s Walk, The Red Room

Scowling in his own little corner of the wine bar with several of his fingers rubbing against his temple, Quelios Dawnsinger was in an uncharacteristically sour mood. He chased the eyes away of previously interested parties that took notice, or had come expecting the more shamelessly inviting bachelor he was rumored to be. No one needed to be sitting at his table today.

In his mind, the only one doing her job right in the damned city was the little goblin server that kept his particular glass filled, and so he engaged her with his troubles the next moment Dezzie Fizzgrin made her rounds his way. 

“Hope you’re having a fantastic day. Because I am most assuredly not!”

Dezzie put on a smile that was halfway to dry. “What’s goin’ on, sweetheart?”

“Absolutely nothing, apparently,” Quelios quipped back with a disgruntled growl. “My damn sister is missing and I was dragged back to this ridiculous city to find her because apparently I’m the only one that can. I paid 250,000 gold for a guard to point me in a direction, and it was probably the wrong one. This whole situation is absolutely languishing and I’m trapped in this gaudy corner of the city with no way out.”

“Damn,” the server chuckled, “does your family have that much’ve a chokehold on ya?”

“I’m House Dawnsinger, darling,” Quelios shot a mean smile. “They crown us all with a golden noose, yank us around with it and tell us we’re the very best boys and girls, ever.” 

“Mmmm, yeah,” the goblin rolled her eyes in solidarity. “I definitely got some fam that likes ta put that squeeze on us. Sorry ‘bout your sister, honey. You can’t get the actual Silvermoon guard inta this?”

“I suppose that headache will be the next to hurdle myself through. We’ll see how much my wonderful family wants to donate this time to the cause.” Quelios scoffed, and drank deeply from his glass.

“Ya know, when I realized my family was a buncha nuts - and it took me a long time ta realize that, lemme tell ya! But when I let myself realize that they were makin’ me miserable, I knew I had to get out.” Dezzie paused, and let her eyes linger on Quelios meaningfully as he drained his wine. 

The ranger chuckled, immediately understanding what was being implied. “Well that wouldn’t be my sister. She was definitely more devoted to being miserable than I am.” Lio sighed, and set the glass down for another fill. “But Serra’s young. Impressionable. She’s never stepped a day out of the city. It’s rather obvious someone lured her out of her little cage she loves to perch in. And probably put her right into another one.”

Quelios’ brow furrowed as he reflected on what he knew for certain. “Such a stupid situation really, trying to play my own detective. I should throw this back at the council and demand them to take it into their own hands. Shuttle myself back to the Sunreavers where I belong.”

“So why don’t ya?” Dezzie inquired, curious.

'I've plastered this boy's face ALL over the city, and no one's bitten at all. Hmm...maybe need to raise the reward? Or...add a little more forthcoming edit to the photo....'

'That should do!'

Chapter 3: Luring out the Prey

The amount of perfume on the little collection of letters was nauseating, but no less incriminating. Lyris had given them up along with her underthings and a promise to do unspeakable things to the handmaiden in his sister’s own bed again, and he had been chased off the Dawnsinger estate come the morning by Old Nessa when she’d found out how he’d ‘tarnished’ her granddaughter, but in the end Quelios considered the week one of progress.

He had known his sister to be a writer since she was old enough to begin at the Academy, horrible with arithmetic and the logical sciences but excelling in language, reading, writing. Even her handwriting was something of an art, a flowing script she took her time with in the smallest of missives. Many had thought his sister took advantage of the enchanted quill like most did to achieve that perfectly formal script, but any Dawnsinger knew it was Serra’s passion to write each word herself.

It seemed the little bird had a paramour. Maybe. He had no doubt she had invested the time and effort in the whatever she’d sent, enough to hook someone that was equally flowery with their writing. He rolled his eyes some at the dreamy writing, the performative romanticism, the unmistakable ‘offer’. Quelios scoffed: they could have written a stupid romance for horny teens at this rate:

Dearest SD, Thy words touched my heart like a lover's caress. Mine heart thundered against my chest when I read your kind words… enough so that I drew a curiosity as to who you might be. I profess my profound apologies for not recalling a time when our eyes met… it is a weight I will bear for all eternity. Your visage of me pales to the truth. A truth I would gladly share with you if our hearts are indeed meant to be intertwined. So yes! I would be gladdened to know the name of this fair maiden with such beautiful words that I shall keep with me for all time. While I do not wish to come between a betrothal I can understand if you desire a fleeting sense of joy in such turmoil… and if I am the source of that joy then I will embrace that duty rather then shun it. Until then, may this photograph keep you in peace on those lonely nights my fair, fair "SD"

Quelios sighed deeply and shook his head, shuffling to the last letter Lyris had said been left at the estate’s doorstep, some days after Serenas had gone missing. This one had been much more blunt:

I still think of you. When can we meet? –S.D

Quelios snickered – the mysterious penpal had the convenience to also bear his sister’s initials. He considered that his little sister miiiight have written the letters herself just to throw the Houses off her trail - that would have been a riot. But no, the lovefool had been sure to also include a photograph of himself, for some reason. Perhaps it was this one’s arms his desperate sister had dropped into from her own bedroom window…? "You silly little thing, maybe you were meant for each other, Serra.”

Quelios gave the enclosed photograph another study, trying to ascertain if he’d seen the boyish face before. Well, he’d have to give it to the pretty boy: he knew how to make love to a camera, at least. He wondered if this ‘Knight S.D’ was as skilled with a sword as he was a camera.

After he’d plastered the pretty boy’s face all over Silvermoon in suspicion of kidnapping and larceny, Quelios was sure someone in the city would be forthcoming on the “Knight’s” performance.

Why waste energy and resources tracking the prey, when one could lure it out from hiding?

"You mean, besides the gift of my presence?" A playful grandstanding slipped into sarcasm. "I have very few 'sweet' friends that give me the opportunity."

"Though," the Sunreaver dragged finger and thumb into his goatee as he reflected on a point. "I did give my sister's handmaiden a very pretty butterfly clip she'd been eyeballing." He wiggled his own fingers near his head for reference.

"Little thing the ladies wear in their hair, I think? Lyris wears all her beautiful hair up so tight all the time, I'm sure it gives the poor thing headaches. So, I tempted her with the clip to let it all down. Among...other things. She's a ravishing thing with all that honey hair down around her shoulders, you know?"

Quelios shrugged. "My sister wouldn't exactly be missing one hairclip out of many. Especially if I'm giving it to the less fortunate." He sported a wide, winning smile as if expecting minor, meaningless accolades.

Get To Know My Character

Quelios is a very light sleeper, trained to fine awareness as he was as a Farstrider in his youth. It's an unconscious awareness that has never left him. Even strange smells can stir him from sleep too easily. He isn't one to talk in his sleep unless he's having a particularly eventful dream, which is a rarity.

The man is a fan of the hermit lifestyle, amusingly. Lio prefers sleeping outdoors, away from the irritation of people and closed walls. He likes the messiness of pelts and throws in a quickly erected tent, and lying snug and close to the ground. But if he is sequestered to a room by a more traditional lover, he'll have them on every single other piece of furniture and end up on the floor rather than soil a perfectly good bed.

Favola, his favored lynx companion, is known to prefer a bed over the floor. Quelios fully allows this for the spoiled matriarch.

43. Does your character have a switch that changes aspects of their personality whether they are around friends, family, etc. Is there someone who gets to see their true self?

Get to know my character

48. Quelios has felt some jealousy toward his sister, who has always been treated with more importance than himself among their family. A fairly large age difference with his sibling did not bring them closer when she was a child, and he'd often avoid celebrations and milestones and even her birthdays, feeling she was coddled enough by everyone. As Serenas grew older however, the jealousy somewhat turned to pity, though he is still fairly passive aggressive about the Dawnsinger's placement of his sister on a pedestal. Still, he ultimately cares for his sister beneath the caustic commentary - she has been the only one in his life that has been unflinchingly kind and patient with him.

43. Quelios definitely measures what he says in front of the family council and in the general city, though there is always a little passive aggression in his tone even at his most formal -- he almost parodies formality for strangers. His true people are the Farstriders and those he has fought alongside with among the Sunreavers, so he tends to feel a more genuine camraderie among them. He also tends to be more 'real' with people that seem more down to earth to him, and more attentive and patient with animals that are put into his care.

"Citizen. Master Emberfall — BZZRT." The arcane golem twitches and spins around, before standing uncannily straight. And what follows is the most profane, vulgarity-ridden diatribe about Inne'thar Emberfall possibly ever uttered in a public space.

At the end of its seeming fit, the arcane golem rotates again at the hip and then shifts back into a slouch.

"That is all, Citizen. Keep the peace in Silvermoon." And with that, it went back to its erratic pacing.

Though the Sunreaver's hands naturally went to the holster of his quiver on instinct as he took in the erratic golem's pathing, he committed himself to watch, and listen. It was a quick study of its movement, taking note of visible weak points and hinges where the automaton could be dispatched with a single stroke. A single shot, likely - it wouldn't have taken much if it was needed in its current state.

But inevitably, Quelios found himself regarding the golem with increasingly exaggerated blinks as it spouted an utterly foul amount of insults leveled at Lord Emberfall. Clearly, someone had a skill and a grudge. He made no move to stop the malfunctioning golem as it continued on its way after righting itself, though he did wonder if it would eventually explode. Ohhhh well. The golem wasn't his problem to deal with. It wasn't responsible for making off with his sister.

Probably.

Quelios straightened and snatched up a little pocket notebook to jot down the date, and the few recent notes on his investigation:

-- Found one of Emberfall's golems absolutely fucking off near the estate far off patrol. New problem? Or not fixed? -- Emberfall harassment? Personal grudge? Paid? Involved with Serra? Emberfall failing at golem repair? -- Inform Emberfall of broken golem. eventually

For some reason, Quelios wanted to see this all play out. The golem had been quite creative with its insults. Inne'thar would be sure to have a blast with that. And it would be a fire to put out for later!