#talonoa

Mercenary Group Writing Prompt #3

The caravan crested the last dune before the eco-dome known as The Oasis, its translucent barrier shimmered faintly against the horizon. A sanctuary in the wasted lands of K’aresh. Unfortunately, relief never had the chance to set in for the mercenary crew nor those traveling with them. While the scouting reports had been clear, they all knew that things could change at a moment’s notice.

The sky split open with shrieks as insect-like creatures poured down from above in a consuming black tide, their wings blotting out the light. At the same time, large, hunched gorgers with massive fists and two-legged bestial maulers surged over the dunes in a flood of snapping mandibles and clawed limbs. They fell upon the caravan with ravenous hunger, the sound of chitinous bodies striking steel rising above the desert wind. Devourers. Creatures they had encountered while in the Shadowlands. Mindless consumers of anima. Curious.

“Protect the caravan!” Talon’s voice cracked like a whip through the chaos. His order left no room for hesitation. The crew scrambled into position, steel and spell lashing outward to hold the swarm at bay as terrified civilians pressed closer to the dome. For a heartbeat, the battlefield was nothing but wings, claws, and screeches. Devourers hurled themselves against mercenaries and the eco-dome alike, breaking through lines only to be driven back again. The sand turned a sickly blue-black all over the field of battle.

The magic-wielders held their ground with primal fury. Balls of flame roared across the sand, burning clusters of the swarm to ash. Shards of ice exploded outward, skewering the creatures mid-flight. Bolts of void tore devourers apart from the inside out, while astral and arcane rained in radiant bursts that shattered armored hides. The swarm fell in heaps, dissolving into the desert grit beneath the storm of elements. 

Then, abruptly, the ground stilled. Murphy’s Law: Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. Talon had witnessed it too often not to live by it, and he braced himself for whatever was coming next. The sky, the swarm, the chaos, it all seemed to pull taut around this single moment of silence.

The desert floor split wide with a deafening roar.

The abomination, they would later learn to be named ‘Korgoth the Hungerer’ by locals,  erupted from below, a grotesque, worm-like mass of armored plates and a gaping maw full of razor-sharp teeth. Talon didn’t hesitate. The moment its hulking head broke the surface, he leveled his polearm, drew back, and hurled it like a javelin. The weapon cut the air in a single vicious line before burying itself deep into one of the creature’s translucent membranes on its head. The monster shrieked, a sound that rattled the very marrow, and its massive frame recoiled.

Its attention snapped toward him, exactly as he had intended. Good. 

His voice cut through the panic like a blade: “You all, get the caravan and non-fighters inside the dome, now! Don’t return until everyone is safe!” His gaze swept to the others, his presence steady and unwavering. “The rest of you are with me, we hold this thing here. Keep it focused on us, away from the others and the dome.”

Talon drew his sword and pressed forward through the sand as the battle roared back into motion. Around him, spells flared: bolts of fire, shards of arcane, lashes of void, radiant astral streaks, but the abomination shrugged them aside with ease, its armored hide reflecting most of the magic away. Where flame had incinerated the devourers, here it skittered harmlessly across its plates. Where void had unraveled lesser creatures, it glanced off without purchase. Worse, each spell that struck its hide ricocheted outward in wild, lethal arcs. Fireballs hurled back into the mercenaries’ ranks, astral beams searing the sands near the caravan, a large mass of void ricocheted back towards its own caster. The air filled with chaotic bursts of redirected magic, forcing even seasoned casters to hesitate, their own power threatening to undo them.

But when a Light-infused strike tore through the haze and seared into its flesh, the beast convulsed with a guttural bellow, armored hide blistering where the radiance struck. Talon’s gaze sharpened. Light could hurt it, Light could kill it. A shame the Light had left him decades ago. If only she were here.

Others joined the assault: blades striking weak points, bullets piercing the membranes lining its head, flashes of Light burning through the hardened armor. The abomination answered in kind, whirling with immense speed, its massive form sending mercenaries cartwheeling  through the air before crumpling into the sand. Acidic spittle arced across the battlefield, sizzling as it struck stone and flesh alike, forcing fighters to scatter before regrouping.

The devourer swarm didn’t relent. Winged horrors still dove from above, claws raking the sand in strafing arcs, while the ground-shaking tide surged around the abomination’s bulk to gnash at mercenaries defending the caravan and dome. Two battles raged at once, and Talon knew if either line faltered, they were lost.

Then, the creature wavered after an explosive bullet devastated two of the membranes. Wounded and shuddering, it sank into the sand with a guttural roar. Talon’s gaze cut through the storm until it locked with Stellan’s across the churned battlefield. The older men braced, eyes narrowing, both of them knowing what was coming.

The ground rumbled.

Stellan pulled his hood over his head and moved first and fast, but not fast enough. The abomination erupted upward beneath him with jagged maw gaping wide, and in one brutal instant swallowed him whole. For a heartbeat, Talon saw him, witnessed him, one old soldier to another, before he vanished into the dark throat of the beast.

Talon’s grip tightened on his sword. Sand whipped around him, devourers shrieked above, and the abomination’s hateful eyes fixed squarely on him once more. “Come then,” he growled into the chaos, “let’s finish this.”

November DWC 2024 Day 7 - Peculiar This is a bit of a combination story for @dicenne and @talonoa

Dicenne smiled brightly at the older man, “So what do you think?”

Talonoa crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair as he considered the request. It wasn’t a terrible idea, celebrating Pilgrim’s Bounty here at their camp and inviting family and friends to Dornogal to celebrate with them for a day. Not everyone would have been able to go home anyways, and the city itself was somewhat safe at the moment. No worse than a lot of other major cities, at least. Their mages could portal people directly into the camp as well to avoid having to walk through the entire city to get here. 

Naturally, the safety logistics were at the forefront of his mind, always wanting to ensure his crew was safe and secure. With extra people he would feel extra on edge, but at the same time nothing had happened to them in Dornogal. The city’s perimeter was well guarded and he had become well acquainted with the surrounding mercenary camps. 

Seeing friends and family was always a morale booster, and a lot of the crew would likely appreciate being able to show their loved ones what their work was like. It also meant he would probably have to meet all these people and make pleasant small talk for hours. Not his strong suit, but he respected his crew, and by extension their families, and wanted to show it.

“Fine, but the rest of you get to plan the festivities and you need to keep me updated with every step. I will take care of the extra security needed, but if something comes up between then and now, we’ll need to cancel it.” Talon offered his own smile in return. It may have looked a little peculiar coming from him given he typically presented a blank or slightly vexed expression, but he also tried his best to be friendly and fair with everyone. 

“Thank you, you’ll have a great time, I know it.” Dice departed Talon’s tent with a skip in his step, off to relay the news to the others. 

He would need to get a head count of how many people would be coming, coordinate with their mages to get some portals out at specific meeting points, and suck up to their head chef so he could at least be in charge of the turkeys and other meats (he was very specific about that, after all). They would need extra food and drink, tables, chairs, a large tent, some music, decorations, and much more. It was a lot, but it would be worth it. Luckily, the long-time member of the Succulent Tart had ‘just a little’ experience in planning such events. He wouldn’t have been able to host his usual open house in Ratchet for the holiday for all the strays having nowhere else to go, and this was an excellent alternative. Kara had been wanting to come to Dornogal for a visit and this was the perfect opportunity for her to do so.

This was quite possibly the best that Xylaes had felt about himself in a long time. Yes, the situation within the Emerald Dream was rather dire, his relationship with Garren was rocky at best, and there was a lot of unresolved conflict with Fiorenze, but dammit he felt useful again. After so many losses, it was definitely a win in his book! 

He had already spent a handful of years as a part of Talonoa’s mercenary crew, but had never really found his niche with them until this particular campaign. The Shadowlands was a hot mess, everyone could agree on that, even if all of that had led to him finally reuniting with his son, Garren, and having more time with his late wife, Callia. However when it came to the mercenary work, at that time he was considered untrustworthy and unreliable thanks to excursion alone into Maldraxxus. The heart wanted what the heart wanted, and he would have likely made the same choice today even with everything he knew that would happen. Getting captured by the House of Constructs and having an arm replantation had been worth it in the end; at least that’s what he told himself. The trauma it caused is another story, but that is neither here nor there.

He had finally worked himself into Talon’s good graces, and the retired Argent actually saw his potential and willingness to be challenged. Xylaes was given more missions, more scouting, especially in some of the more dangerous areas because he could handle it. This is what he was accustomed to, and what he had trained for during his days in the military. This was absolutely where he belonged, not working in some brothel and slowly wasting away between the legs of the rich who wanted to have a go with a ‘hardened criminal’ because it felt taboo. Fieldwork had always felt like more of a home to him than any actual living space ever had.

Plus, he had his son here with him. He had never seen Garren this focused before, but he knew why. Everyone knew what this meant to all of the Kaldorei, and Xy would do everything in his power to ensure Amirdrassil would have safe passage into the real world.

He had been away from the main encampment for about a day now, returning early in the morning to deliver his report to Talonoa before retiring to his tent. There was a small box waiting for him, with a note that read ‘Enjoy!’. This was Fio’s handwriting, and within the box was a rainbow chip cupcake - his favorite. Huh. Maybe she had gone to Fancy Cakes the other night and left this for him like she used to. He smiled to himself and dropped his pack before heading over towards the communal area to see who was up and about, and luckily she was there.

The two had a brief exchange where he thanked her for the treat and she mentioned it was for his birthday. Right, it was the end of November wasn’t it? Not that he had celebrated the occasion in decades anyways. It was just another day as far as he was concerned, but he also hadn’t realized it was already almost December. This also meant that he had definitely missed her birthday as well, which wasn’t unusual for him. A pretty purple seed he had found in his journeys was offered with a belated birthday wish and the two parted ways. A brief, but pleasant exchange.

He was tired, he was dirty, and he was 100% in ‘war mode’ while out here, leaving him oblivious to her body language and tone, and focused only on the task at hand. They had a lot to talk about still, but this was neither the time nor the place for it. Surely she was on the same page.

                                                    - Music -  

Midnight.

The slow lull in the constant onslaught of attacks had been a welcome respite to the ragtag Merc crew that had gathered under men that went by Talon and Stellan. While Novarin originally had intentions of his own, he could not deny when Jackary approached him to repay a favour that he go in the Mage’s stead... For now.

That had been days ago, nearly a week and there had been radio silence from the Kirin Tor Archmage since then.

On top of that, Nova had also been asked to drag along a tiny Vulpera, a runt even amongst the society of fox people and blind on top of that. What Jack had seen in this little thing was beyond Novarin but he hadn’t been in the position to argue - he owed Jackary that much. It was no secret that many had begun to baby the Vulpera and Nova was less than thrilled to have a blind snack on the field.

‘Oh, please! Let me take night watch... You need rest and I can do it! I really can!’ 

Kou had begged him... Pleaded with him to take over the night watch in his stead and to let Novarin have a bit of rest. Reluctantly, he had agreed, only because others would also be there. What could a blind fox honestly do? 

‘Stay low n’ stay outta trouble, ain’ need none o’ th’ figh’ers in danger jus’ t’ save ya. Ya hear some’n, ya call f’er help.’

Perhaps he had been too hard. Those thoughts slipped through Nova’s mind as eyes had finally begun to close and drift off into his first nap in what seemed like days. 

Until...

A new land, A new planet, An old enemy.

The Construct could not help but heed the call before it would be too late, and that would be sooner rather than later if his calculations proved correct.  The hazy premonitions had become clear, Argus would soon be gone from Azeroth’s sky and the opportunity would be missed.  While C cared little for the demonic threat to his world, it was the temptation of the ‘new’ that finally brought him onto the demon invested lands.

The unmistakable scent of death clung heavily to the foreign air here, an odor that would repulse many a man or woman unaccustomed to the ravages of war.  The Construct found it comforting, encouraging even.  While weary, armored soldiers and mercenaries scurried around, the peculiar man with the icy stare moved about completely unencumbered.  

“This is no place to be wearing a suit...” “You shouldn’t leave the camp without proper protection!” “It’s dangerous to go out there alone!”

The shouted suggestions and demands went largely ignored aside from a few vacant stares offered towards those who spoke up, shutting them down just as quickly.  They had more important worries to tend to rather than concerning themselves over a curious man donning an elegant three piece suit with no weaponry who clearly had some sort of death wish.

It was the Antoran Wastes where he found himself shortly thereafter, out of all the damaged lands it was there that called to him.  Power, death, and familiarity all lingered here; a formula that could not be ignored.  He had a purpose, one he was unaware of himself, yet his feet carried him to where he needed to be.  The remaining demons paid him little mind, almost as if they were oblivious to his presence despite the close proximity of his path.  The Construct walked with absolute confidence through the carnage left behind from demon and man alike, occasionally halting to crouch down and press bare fingers to the hardened ground below:  Observing, learning, reading the signs given to forge his way towards his unknown objective.  A world would always tell its story to those who listened.

Nightfall had finally brought him to his final destination.  There was something eerily captivating about Argus at night that would have typically sidetracked the inquisitive man, but he needed to fulfill this task.  Weaving through the mercenary camps, he came upon the simple, nondescript tent among the sea of many.  Not a single camp guard was alerted to his obvious presence, those who glanced his way stared through him rather than at him:  A simple unspoken suggestion, a trick of the mind concocted by the persuasive being behind the frigid stare.

Crouching down next to the makeshift bed within, pallid fingertips stroked gently through the silvery locks of hair that belonged to one of the two resting bodies.  Caught somewhere between the waking world and the dream state, the older man stirred but did not arouse from his meditative rest.  Sleep was an elusive want for this other man, no longer a necessity in his current state, but a desire.

A whispered greeting was offered, it was the first time The Construct had made physical contact with this specific ‘creation’ and ohhh how magnificent and powerful he was!  Just like himself, there were no others like him in the entire world;  one of a kind, completely unique in their shaping and capabilities.  “Hello my brother, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

That beguiling smile touched those plush lips as his icy stare fixated on Talonoa’s slowed pulse throbbing beneath the cold flesh of his neck.  There was the faintest hint of jealousy that welled up within but was quickly quelled with the internal reassurance of his palpable superiority.  His admiration and intrigue was promptly interrupted with the overwhelming demand to finish his given task:  A message of utmost importance that needed to be delivered.  Fingers untangled themselves from the silver hair, now pressing instead to the man’s temple to form a mental link between the two.

Eyes clouded over with an inky blackness as The Construct allowed his Master to assume command of both body and mind.  “Your son is going to die six days from now.  You can stop this destiny if you dare test the hand of fate.”  The raspy, baritone voice was not belonging to that of the creation any longer, but to that of the creator instead.  No other words were spoken, instead the premonition of death was played through in staggering detail as if it were happening here and now.  It was not a death of neither The Construct nor Gaebral’s own doing, but simply a bloody and horrendously violent casualty of this war against the Legion.  

By now Talonoa knew these premonitions to be truthful, it wasn’t his first encounter with them nor would it be his last.   He above all others would take this seriously. The question was...why?   Why would Gaebral show this to him?

As soon as the vision was gifted, The Construct returned to his normal state as if nothing had happened.  A brief press of soft lips was delivered to Talon’s temple, accompanied by a soothing murmur of C’s own dulcet voice:  “Goodbye brother, until we meet again.  Happy Winter Veil.”  Before the older man had a chance to stir from his involuntary slumber, C had slipped away into the night to sate his curiosity of the new lands.

Lanterns hung low from tangled cords between old, patched-up tents, gently illuminating the darkened corners where shadows roamed. The scent of roasted nuts and meat clung to the air, laced with the smoke of cheap cigarettes and the heady perfume of bodies pressed too close. Laughter spilled into the night, and there was music from three directions at once. Couples stumbled past with stained lips and unsteady steps, holding hands, or each other. There were pickpockets and poets and old carnies hawking carved bone charms that probably didn’t work. The Darkmoon Faire always felt like a fever dream to him. 

Talonoa Dal’shula didn’t belong here. Not in the riot of color, not in this deafening joy, certainly not in a place where the air was full of life. But he came anyway, he always did when she performed. He moved like a relic through the living, something carved from another age, all heavy silence and cold purpose.

She was already walking barefoot into the ring when he arrived. Evelinaa Valwyn, better known as Evie Noir here, wearing deep red silks and stacks of jingling brass bracelets and anklets, her blonde hair twisted up and held in place with pins that looked suspiciously like sharpened bone. The firelight cast wild shadows across her body as she lit her weapons, two iron chains, each ending in a ball of wrapped cloth soaked in oil. She didn't wait for welcoming applause, just sparked them to life with a flick of her wrist, setting the air between her hands ablaze. Then, she moved.

Talon watched from the edge of the crowd, arms loosely crossed over his chest, one shoulder leaning against a crooked wooden pole. His body, still broad and soldier-straight, looked like it belonged in armor even now. But his expression, that was the traitor. His face had softened, the edges were still sharp, still weathered by time and violence, but the way he looked at her was like he was looking at something wild and rare and almost too beautiful to touch. Something that might disappear if he blinked.

Evie spun the chains low, letting fire kiss the ground, then flung them high again, tracing arcs of fiery gold into the night. Her hips rolled, spine bending, feet gliding with a graceful precision and ease. She turned and twisted, wrapped herself in flame, and emerged reborn with every pass.

She was all contradiction; light and shadow, chaos and discipline. A woman forged in the darker corners of the world, now wielding beauty like a weapon and fire like an old friend. Talon had seen her blood-soaked moments, laughing through violence with the same fluid grace she danced with now, but this was different. The crowd didn’t know who they were watching. They saw a performer, a beautiful woman, but he saw her clearly, stripped of illusion. Not just a dancer, not some fleeting spectacle. She was a force of nature cloaked in elegance, a tempest wearing the guise of a Goddess.

He didn’t smile nor did he cheer, he just watched. The music built, fast and bright, drums thrumming like a second heartbeat, and the crowd pressed closer. Whistles, applause, voices slurring praise rang out, and then - him. A man, already drunk, stumbled too far forward into the circle with a half-empty bottle swinging lazily in his hand. Talon saw him seconds before it happened. The way his eyes locked onto Evie’s hips, the way he moved, uninvited, the kind of man who mistook beauty for invitation.

She passed too close and he reached. He grabbed her. At the curve of her hip, clumsy fingers yanked her back toward him with a triumphant grunt. The chain in her right hand swung close to her leg, but she did not flinch. She twisted away with the same dancer’s grace, not missing a step, and the man’s hand slid off her as if it had never mattered. She didn’t pause, didn’t acknowledge him. But she did laugh, a sharp, wicked little sound that cut through the crowd as if  she had seen it coming three steps ago and had already decided how the story would end.

And Talon moved.

He didn’t bark orders, didn’t shove, or shout. He simply walked along the edge of the circle and closed his hand around the back of the drunk man’s collar. “Time to go,” the old Commander muttered. Then he dragged him backward, feet scraping helplessly across the stone, arms flailing like a child’s. Then Talon tossed him, just outside the circle, far enough to land hard in the dirt, roll once, and end up gasping face down.

He didn’t stop there, that wasn’t his style. Talon followed, stood beside the man and stepped down onto his hand, the one that had dared to touch her in such a manner without consent. His heel of the boot pushed, steady, slow, but hard. Not enough to break it, but enough to promise that he could. “You’re lucky,” he said, not raising his voice. “She could’ve turned the fire on you. And I..” The boot pressed harder. “I’m the polite one.” The man whimpered something incoherent, attempting to yank his hand away but only making matters worse for himself with a faint *crack* of bone. Talon removed his foot and turned back toward the ring.

Evie never stopped dancing. If anything, she moved faster now, spinning with purpose, eyes half-lidded, fire glinting off her skin. She didn’t look at him just yet, but when her arc carried her just enough to glimpse the groaning man in the dirt, she laughed again. Bright and beautiful, but with a hint of cruelty.

He knew she would laugh when the man squirmed under his boot. He’d seen the glint in her eye of delight instead of gratitude. That disturbed most people, but it didn’t disturb him. What did disturb him was how much he understood it. There was a shadow in Evie that mirrored his own: old grief, unspoken violence coiled in wait just beneath the surface. 

She didn’t fear what she was, she never had. And her confidence, it haunted him and thrilled him all the same because she wasn’t good, and neither was he, not really. And yet, here they were, drawn again and again into each other’s orbit. Maybe he should have been afraid of her, maybe he still would be, if the part of him that used to care about damnation hadn’t died long ago.

She spun once more to face Talon across the flames and gave him a look that could’ve melted the steel in his bones; Lust, danger, and approval. A predator’s smile curled at the corner of her lips as her hips rolled into the next movement, eyes fixed on him like she knew exactly what the sight of her did to him. And shadows help him, she did. She kept moving, fire catching in her wake, because nothing, not lust nor even danger, especially not even a man’s rough hand, could stop Evelinaa Valwyn once she began.

Talon exhaled quietly through his nose, and let the warmth of the flames flicker across his face. He stayed until the last note of the music died out, never once looking away. Like a moth to her flame.

Written for mercenary prompt #2 found here! Talonoa's Perspective

The Darkfuse Cartel stood no chance against well-trained mercenaries. Even with their guns and robotic guards, Talonoa and his crew were a well-oiled machine at this point. Their rooftop snipers kept the air clear while the fighters on the ground thoroughly combed the streets. The wounded were taken to the Incontinental Hotel where a wide variety of healers were stationed and at the ready for whatever may come their way. 

Manageable chaos.

Unfortunately, that feeling did not last for long, as expected. Talon turned his icy gaze to the sky as Nikki the Fixer flew in, a few bullets from the nearby snipers pinged off her impenetrable shield as she came to hover a street away. He could barely make out her words directed at Gazlowe over the commotion, but that maniacal cackle was hard to miss. She was enjoying this, and it was about to get even more fun for her. Not good. 

Dozens of drones began to swarm the area and while the snipers did a good job in bringing them down quickly, it didn’t matter. Within them contained monstrosities made of black blood itself. The various blobs and humanoid-shaped creatures began to take form, some heading towards the various groups of fighters while others were directed to attack the Incontinental Hotel and destroy everyone inside.

He grumbled out a soft ‘fuck’ under his breath before shouting out to the remainder of his nearby crew, “WE NEED TO PROTECT THE HOTEL!” They formed up and began to fight their way towards their base. While they had done a good job thus far of avoiding the dangerous substance, fighting monsters literally made of it didn’t bode well, especially for the melee fighters. They did their best to clear a path, trapping the monstrosities in place with various magics to allow the ranged crew to take care of them all while avoiding too much black blood splatter. There were too many to keep being that delicate about it if they wanted to reach the hotel in time to warn those within.

Talon’s eyes flashed with rage as he twirled his halberd above his head, slicing it across the space in front of him. Streaks of jagged ice and glacial winds extended in a vast cone, freezing the monstrosities to their core and in place. Dicenne and some of the other frontline crew didn’t even need to be told as they raised their shields and smashed their way through the frozen enemies, sending shattered pieces of black blood in every direction.

Eventually, they were able to reach one of the open sides of the hotel, the path created in their wake already closing back up behind them with more of the horrible creations, cutting their crew in half as the back part of the group wasn’t able to make it to the door. They would be fine, he told himself. There was no other option. He ordered those who did follow through to guard the door and try to reunite with the rest of their crew while he sprinted inside to warn the healers:

“MOVE EVERYONE TO THE SECOND FLOOR!” Shouted Commander Dal’shula, “WE WILL HOLD THEM OFF FOR AS LONG AS POSSIBLE!”

He pushed his way through the crowds, trying to find the area where he knew their healers to be stationed, gaze frantically seeking Naralinthe’s golden hair among the swarming bodies. A sudden wave of blinding magic nearby caught his attention as screams rang out and a few people were sent flying backward. He muscled his way towards the commotion only to see his lovely lioness with a scalpel in hand about to stab a stunned worgen. What the fuck.

He grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms down, “NARALINTHE, STOP! What are you doing?!” His gaze darted between her, the worgen, and Nahilvi in confusion as to what was going on here. The madness had clearly begun to settle into those touched by the Black Blood, and manageable chaos had very abruptly turned into absolute chaos. 

The worgen was surely infected. They knew this could happen. Was she infected?  At this point, many likely had some level of infection.  Except him… And he wasn’t sure how that could be.

He spun her around, cupped her cheeks, and growled in her face, “He needs treatment, not an execution! Pull yourself together!” There was no understanding here, only anger. Later he may regret that, but for now he had the rest of his team and everyone else inside this hotel to worry about as well.

November DWC Day 2 - Eternal

Patience wears thin, but I shall remain diligent. Waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel, yet it seems to grow  more distant and dimmer with every passing day.

Further and further pushed back into the eternal darkness. The familiar, enveloping black where the foulest of creatures flourish, unseen and unknown and feared by most.

A place of comfort, A place of advantage. I am not afraid of the dark, it is where I thrive.