The Starlight Siren of Myrefall

Orphea had been entirely absorbed in an old tome full of epic ballads. She’d become enamored with the strange, winding tale of a sea serpent intent on capturing a particular pirate crew, but it kept attacking the wrong ships. It became the villain of the story even though it only wanted vengeance for wrongs against it. She was just getting to the battle, where the notes denoted the greatest musical surge, when the door opened for the second time in so many minutes. She only pulled her eyes away from the page as she heard a crash.

Orphea didn’t have much experience with robberies, at least not when they occurred on land and she wasn’t the robber, and so she froze where she stood. She couldn’t run for the door without running smack into them and she didn’t know if the little shop had a back exit. Slowly, she slunk back further behind the bookshelf and slipped the tome into a free space. She didn’t want to be involved. She wrote about heroes, she didn’t act like one.

Three more men piled into the cramped shop and Orphea had to wonder if they’d contoured their muscles beforehand for optimal intimidation. Perhaps they’d even practiced their goonish facial expressions in the mirror that morning. The head goon sidled up the register where the owner, Mr. Bronet, stood and brandished his blade. The movement lacked all flourish; if she wrote about this later she’d need to embellish this man’s paltry performance. “You seem to be confused, old man,” continued the leader. This would be terrible dialogue—no one would read such drivel. Despite his weak words, she could see the glint of his blade and the cruelty in his eyes. She’d come into the store to browse, not watch a murder or to be murdered. With a huff, she reached into her belt for three crumbling nut shells and broke them up into powder between her fingers as she mumbled. Within a moment, one of the goons, the one who’d chosen to don an ugly blue hood, swung wildly for the leader. His short sword raked across the man’s back and he howled in confusion and pain. The leader turned on the attacker and while Orphea couldn’t see his face, she imagined he had it scrunched up like a squished-faced dog in anger.

Orphea’s disappointment that her spell had only affected one out of four of her quarries diminished slightly at the betrayed cry of: “The fuck, Brian!” followed quickly by the equally distraught “Sorry, Neale, I dunno!” She clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle her mirth and watched as the four men rounded on each other. She’d meant to confuse them enough so that she could make her escape, but clearly that wasn’t in the cards for the evening. The two in the back stepped forward towards Mr. Bronet, their weapons held high, while the leader continued to berate Brian. One of them swept one of the delicate potted plants off of the counter and she jumped as it shattered upon the floor. At her sudden movement, the book she’d been reading before slipped from the book shelf and landed with a dull thud on the floor. Neale fell silent before turning, slowly, no doubt in a manner meant to be menacing, towards the shelves to the back of the store. 

As the group of men continued to escalate the situation, Thalra crept around the shelf she was hiding behind to see if she could get any closer to the door without being seen. But as she did, she found herself staring at the back of a woman who was crushing… peanut shells into her palm? It was only a few second later, after Thalra stared with some confusion at the elf, that she realized she’d been casting a spell. There was a shout, and then arguing, neither of the voices sounded like the old man, so Thalra assumed whatever the woman did, it hadn’t affected the owner.

“Nice trick,” she whispered to the woman, just before the sound of pottery smashing to the floor made her jump and knock a book over. Thalra flinched, and got out her bandore from her bag, preparing for the worst. The other men seemed to go silent, and a moment later, two appeared at the end of the shelves, blocking both women’s way forward.

The one who looked like the leader smirked and looked like he was about to say something, but before he could Thalra raised her hand and brought it down quickly on the strings of her instrument, creating a cacophony of terrible sounds that invaded the leader’s ears and spiraled down into his brain. He cried out, clutching at his head as a crown of barbed, iron thorns started to grow around his head, sinking into the tender flesh of his temples. When his eyes shot open, there was an insanity in them that let Thalra know he was hers to command for now.

The man beside him noticed the spell take effect and his eyes widened. “What the fuck did you bitches do!” He shouted, before raising his blade and swinging it down at the other woman. It was a clean hit, slashing across her shoulder, and it seemed to bring everything into focus for Thalra. This wasn’t something they’d be able to walk away from.

Well, Thalra had been wanting to work some stuff out. Grinning now at the prospect of violence, Thalra pointed a finger at the man who’d just slashed at the other woman. The man wearing the crown of thorns from her spell, turned on her command and lashed out with his longsword. But the other man seemed to be expecting it and expertly dodged out of the way. “Guys, forget the old man, we need some help over here!” he yelled. Thalra heard the old man shout briefly, before it was suddenly choked off by a violent thud. Then she heard a door open and slam.

“Got it,” a deep, burly voice called.

The room felt tiny, sectioned off, as Thalra made her way to sit on the bed. Pyrope could not help but think of the wrinkled, disheveled sheets and the clothing kicked into opposite corners, or the violin lying in waste on a moth-eaten chair, or the scent something ancient and musty near the window curtains. Had the room always been so shabby? Or had her neglect of it caused it to shrivel up? She thought idly about moving towards the messes, maybe tugging open the window, just to give her hands something to do. Perhaps that would quell the gnawing urge to rip Thalra away from her bed, to shove her out the door without another word. To keep her fingers from tugging at fabric, or pushing Thalra further onto the mattress, or running gently across smooth skin.

“Don’t.” She said, a quiet warning, to both of them. The compliment made her chest tighten, as though the air had been sucked out of the room. She was jealous of Thalra for being able to breathe, to speak words of her appearance as though pulling syllables from her mind was not difficult at all. When had their dynamic shifted? Was it after Dasratsel? Was it the spell to frighten her off, or the fear of losing the woman who now sat across from her, or the announcement that she would be completely fine dying there too? She wished they could return to Kaivras, to sit beside one another and pluck music from their souls, to play across the sands. She remembered wearing a tint of a smile as she closed her eyes to listen to the music that could lift hearts. “Don’t say that.”

She wanted to sit beside Thalra, to signal the truce she desperately wished for, but couldn’t bring her feet to move. There was something about brushing against her skin, or catching a scent of her hair, that gave pause. Would she be able to stop herself from whispering words she did not mean? Would she find herself begging for the warmth of a touch? Would she admit to her loneliness and beg Thalra to stay, just so she could feel someone hold her? 

“Of course he did.” She responded, hands coming to clasp at her front, feigning annoyance. For a split second she wanted to say something cruel about wishing she had killed Nil when she had the chance, but chose against it. Lashing out was not appropriate for their shared moment. That much she knew, though she worried she would not be able to keep the filter on forever. Thalra deserved a moment of truth, didn’t she? Not spit out anger and defenses. She did have to think on her response, however. Why had she cornered Nil? Thalra had offered her everything, all the knowledge she could ask for, and much more, yet she had waved it all away. So why had her brother become a target?

“Is there anything that I can do to hurt you anymore, Thalra?” She asked, forcing her eyes to stay up, though they kept threatening to turn her sight to the floor. “He was my chance, wasn’t he? It brought you here. And I honestly…” Did she want to allow herself the truth? She wanted to scream, to fight, to do anything beyond communication. But still the words came, holding a cold neutrality to them. They were as truthful as she could manage. “I want to hurt you so badly it makes my skin crawl. I hate that you can unravel me and I’ve barely touched you. So I went for something that could damage everything, just to see if you would care.”

The laugh that bubbled up from Thalra’s lips was hollow and brittle, breaking into glass shards in her mouth. Thalra closed her eyes and tried to pinpoint when exactly her relationship with Pyrope had begun to rot and fester. Maybe it was when she’d written that letter and left Pyrope in the middle of the night, maybe it was when she’d approached her at the Masyarakat Ball and fanned the flames of Pyrope’s annoyance. Maybe it was Dasratsel, when Thalra had been so resigned to living in the loneliness the town cursed on the people that it had taken. Or was it when she’d invited Pyrope into her home and made her swear her life to her? Her mistakes stared back at her from the mirror of her memory, taunting her. Thalra flipped her hand over on her lap to stare at the most recent scar on her hand. She’d been so desperate to tie herself to Pyrope then in any way possible, but for what? Was it all just to keep being hurt like this?

“You really are blind, aren’t you? You think you’ve never touched me? Am I really so good at lying that you think I’m fine?” Gods, she wanted this all to be over. Thalra had tried to be honest so many times and it never seemed to work. Nothing ever seemed to reach Pyrope. She was tired of the dancing, tired of the sadness, tired of the hurt. She closed her hand into a fist over the scar that she’d inflicted on herself. This really was all her fault, wasn’t it?

She looked up at Pyrope, standing frozen in the middle of her own room, unable to get any closer. There was a chasm between them and Thalra had stared into the inky depths of it so many times. What would it take to close that distance? It seemed so impossible, and yet here Thalra was, still reaching out.

“I don’t want to be hurt anymore, Pyrope,” she said softly, all the sadness and hurt bubbling up and this time she didn’t even try to stop it from spilling up and out of her. “I want to be loved. For a long time, I wanted you to love me.” She thought of Pyrope in Kaivras, shimmering under the hot sun. Powerful, brave. They’d both been so much younger back then. Now Thalra felt every bit of her two hundred years. “But you hate me. You hate even thinking of loving me. I’m repulsive to you.” Maybe that was why Lavender had left without saying goodbye. Even Nil had left eventually. Someday too, Efrain would likely grow tired of her, or have his death wish satisfied and leave her as his life slipped away on some battlefield.

As the petite woman stepped that much closer and dared to invade what little space was left between them, Rovasha raised her eyebrows and caught her breath. The woman looked expectantly at her, as if she wished to speak, but her mouth never parted. It was strange as they held each other’s gaze. What could only be her voice reverberated in Rovasha’s mind. The was an element of melodic control amplified by the resonance in their thoughts. No wonder there wasn’t a person on this realm that preferred their spoken voice to their thoughts.

Oh? At the very least, buy me a drink first before you delve inside my head. You sure move things fast, don’t you?

Rovasha squinted at her with curiosity. She had heard rumors of telepaths from the thieves’ guild and supposed mind-reading spies, but she never met one herself - that she knows of - in the flesh. It played on all her anxieties, pulling her out of the shadows of obscurity. What was her angle here?

The vulnerability in reaching into another person’s mind was new to Thalra, and a terrifying prospect to unleash upon the people she cared about. Her connections with Nil and Efrain were always strong, but careful, always reserved in case she revealed too much. But with a stranger, whom Thalra didn’t know or care about, she could let everything loom heavily in the background of the connection. Anger, fear, despair, grief. All of it hung from Thalra’s thoughts like background radiation. And in return, she could sense the trepidation in the stranger, even as she pretended to be cocky and unbothered.

The drinks here are awful and I wouldn’t subject them on anyone, she shot back immediately, the smile never leaving her face. Now though she was urging the stranger on, goading her towards something, anything. And maybe I just don’t like shouting over crowds. Is it really so unpleasant having my voice in your head? Would you rather I whisper all this in your ear?

Eamon was old by human standards, even though he was a lightborn. From what he had been able to understand about his ancestry, they lived similar lifespans, but they were apparently more likely to have energy compared to same-age counterparts. He certainly had colleagues close to him in age who complained about bad backs, unstable hands and a forgetful memory. His worst struggle was a leg that couldn’t decide if it was great on a good day and less good on a bad day.

Right now, however, for the first time in what felt like decades, he found his attention focused entirely away from his mind. Not entirely, his brain always had something cooking in the background, but the primary focus of his attention was on Thalra. Beautiful and brave, she was sharp in mind and light in movements like an adamantine blade. Risked her life for her brother, gave him sanctuary when he was overridden by grief, plagued by dangers lurking in the shadows. If he could give her some of that same peace she’d provided him years ago and in recent times, he would do all that he could. It was the least that she deserved.

Thalra reciprocated his kiss, although it appeared she had expected something like rejection from him. The small surprised sound that she had made had his stomach feel ticklish like a kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering their wings against his insides. He moved his hands from her face into her hair and down her neck, keeping it slow and steady. There was no rush in this encounter of theirs, and none of them knew how far it might go.

When she pulled away from him, he let his eyes open once more, the faded light of them casting a soft glow over the drow’s skin and hair. He raised a hand up to stroke a thumb softly across the expanse of her cheekbone, her skin soft and pliable under his touch. At her suggestion to continue this in more appropriate quarters, he assumed, he let go of her and stood up to reach a hand towards her. His smile was there as usual, but unlike his usual polite or warm smile, this one had a sort of cheeky feel to it.

He couldn’t help the way his eyes ran over her entire being. “With you, there’s nowhere I’d rather be right now,” he responded, his voice lowering itself to levels he hadn’t heard from himself in nearly 20 years.

Thalra thought for a moment, as she was leading Eamon up the stairs, of taking him to the third floor, like she had with Lavender months ago. She imagined laying down in her own sheets and kissing Eamon until the memory of Lavender faded and was overcome by something new and sweeter, like a ray of sunshine held in her hand. It was a pretty dream, impossible as it seemed.

Instead though, she found herself turning once they got to the second floor, and leading Eamon down a hallway into a bedroom she used to use for clients. She didn’t want Eamon to see the only space that had been hers for nearly a century. Thalra didn’t want to give that over to him just yet, when he knew so little about the poisonous pits that lay inside her like traps for him to stumble upon. She wasn’t ready to be that vulnerable again, not when he’d already seemed hesitant to give into the impulse to kiss her. Thalra pulled Eamon into the room and towards the bed, eager to drive all doubts from both of their heads as soon as possible.  

-                                                                     ; )                                                                          -

But afterwards, when Thalra felt pleasantly exhausted and satisfied, she got up from the bed they’d just shared to slip on sheer robe that hid nothing from Eamon’s eyes, and merely drew a final curtain on the events of the evening. She sat down on the edge of the bed closest to him, and reached out to push some of his hair off his forehead. “I hope that was as enjoyable for you as an evening of reading might have been,” she said, teasing and smiling. Truthfully, there was still a nervousness in her gut, a worry that this would have repercussions that she couldn’t expect. It had never been a rule that Thalra didn’t sleep with her friends, didn’t mix business and pleasure, but rather trusted advice from her mentor that it only ever led to trouble.

Her hand slipped down to find Eamon’s on top of the sheet of her bed. “I hope this doesn’t over-complicate things between us, Eamon. I trust you, I respect you, and that’s… very appealing to me as of late.” She squeezed his hand and slipped her fingers to lace with his. Looking down at them, anyone might think that Eamon had lived a life longer than hers, that his had seen and experienced far more. She’d never thought about it before, but now, having known him so intimately, Thalra couldn’t help but see Eamon as a bright burst, shining so brightly and then gone in the next instant. He was so stable, so calming, and yet, for how long?

“I don’t mean to ruin the mood,” she said, trying to push those thoughts from her mind as she looked back up at him. “I only mean to say that I find your presence very soothing, and I hope I can provide something like that for you as well.”

Sometime in the early hours of the day, Thalra felt a trembling that shook her bed and made the paintings affixed to her bedroom walls on the third-floor rattle. But as Thalra was still half-drunk and sleepy from the evening before she’d enjoyed with Efrain and her brother, and because the shaking stopped rather quickly and seemed to have no other consequence except for a strange prickling feeling on her skin, she merely turned over in her sheets and receded her mind back into her trance. Except, as she went to do so, her mind fell into a slumber that was unlike what most elves experienced. She began to sleep, and as she did, her skin changed color from obsidian to a dark earthy green. Her hair thickened and pulsed and came alive, until slumbering white snakes curled in and around her pillow. Thalra’s eyes, which had once been pupil-less and pastel lilac in color, turned white, with yellow pupils forming behind her closed lids.

When she finally awoke, and stretched out in her bed, for a moment, she noticed nothing. Then her skin caught on the sheets, and Thalra noticed that she felt as if her bed had grown just slightly smaller, or- no, that she had grown a few precious inches in the night. Thalra’s eyes snapped open and the light filtering in from her window looked different, as if the way her eyes processed light had changed. She raised her arm up and saw green, and patches of scales.

And Thalra screamed.

This, of course, woke the snakes up, who began to hiss sleepily in annoyance. Thalra felt them slither by her neck and shrieked again, leaping from her bed and clutching her own head only to find her hands filled with thick scaled bodies, twisting around her wrists and arms. She rolled out of bed and onto her feet, clawing at her own head as hissing filled her ears almost louder than her own screams. Her back hit her dresser as she continued screaming, her mind racing. But as she looked around, her eyes fell on her bureau and she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The scream choked off in her throat as she stared for a long moment, taking herself in. Her skin had changed hue, still dark, but now with a substantial green tint. Snakes sprouted from her scalp, and wound their way around her fingers as they explored her arms. And as she looked, her mouth gaping open in horror, she saw that her tongue was split down the middle, forked, and thinner than it had been.

Lurching to the side and away from her reflection, Thalra threw her bedroom door open and raced down the two flights of stairs to the first floor where Nil’s room was and where Efrain had been staying in the guest bedroom the night before. “Nil!” she shouted, throwing open his door and finding the bedroom empty. Her heart, which had been pounding in her chest, skipped a beat as a sense of dread filled her. But she couldn’t stand there frozen, so she turned and went down the hall.

She threw open the door to the room that she’s put Efrain in for the night, hoping that he would have some idea of what to do, or any explanation of what was going on.

Rage bloomed in Efrain’s chest as he watched the warforged bare his throat and as Thalra explained the situation. He tried to hide his fury, but failed miserably and could only assume that Thalra was masking hers. He wondered what had inflicted the damage. Had it been a spell or had the bastard simply taken a hammer to him. Hearing Thalra refer to him as a child snuffed out his anger in one fell swoop. She was probably right, in all likelihood he was only a few years old. He deserved better than rage. 

“Leaving him here wasn’t an option,” he said gently and squeezed her shoulder. “Why don’t we go back to our inn for the night.” He had been addressing Thalra, but stopped and turned back to the warforged. “Is that alright? We can protect you in the inn, and then we can go someplace even safer, but we can’t stay here.” They would need to speak more strategically about what to do with him, but Thalra was still drunk and the vineyard workers could discover them at any time. 

———

He jumped as he was addressed once again. ‘Please, yes,’ he said and nodded. He wanted to get out of the cold damp of the dead place. Without thinking he surged to his feet with a cacophonous shriek of metal on metal. He towered over the both of them and for a moment he felt a little braver, but then the man stood as well with a wary look and he deflated. ‘Sorry, sorry,” he said and ducked his head. ‘The graves are frightening,’ he mumbled, as much as he could mumble in his thoughts, to explain his eagerness.

He didn’t know why they wanted to help. Maybe they wanted to trick him and have him for themselves, but hopefully they wouldn’t try to take him apart. They wouldn’t, would they? ‘Why are you helping?’ he asked, looking only to Thalra. She seemed nicer and less angry. 

———

It was difficult to get a solid read on the being, but he trusted Thalra’s judgement. Even her drunk judgement. He held his hand out to her to help her get to her feet too, but kept watch on their newest companion. “Let’s go then. It’s only a few hours till dawn.”

Thalra took Efrain’s hand when he offered it, probably putting too much of her weight into it when she pulled herself up. But Efrain was stronger than her anyway, and Thalra was starting to wonder if he’d actually ever been drunk at all tonight or just humoring her. “He’s very excited to go,” Thalra explained, trying to keep her tone light to contrast with how serious and angry Efrain was being. She knew he was trying, but Thalra really couldn’t get it out of her mind that the warforged was much too young to be talked to so frankly. She turned to look at the warforged, who was huge now that he wasn’t cowering.

“You don’t have to say sorry, darling. I’d be glad to be leaving this place too, if it were me. You must have been very brave to stay here all on your own like this. I’m not sure I could have done it.” But would people at an inn understand that the little detka meant no harm? It was a rural area, not like the larger cities of Hegeahend where magic was more common. That could be why he’d been hiding out in the first place. Thalra gave an unsure look to Efrain, just as the warforged spoke again in her mind.

‘We’re helping because we know how scary the world can be when you’re alone,’ She sent back, trying to keep her tone reassuring. ‘My friend Efrain might look grumpy and annoyed right now, but it’s only because he knows what it’s like to be frightened and unsure. He had a very terrible maker, just like you did.’

She reached out her hand for the warforged to take at his own leisure. “Will you hold my hand as we go? I think I’ll feel much safer out here with you by my side.”

Jax was relieved when Thalra decided to sit down instead of yelling at him more. But if he were being honest, he wouldn’t have actually cared if the rest of the people in this bar knew he was a changeling. He began turning the name she spoke over in his head, searching his mind to see if it felt familiar. It didn’t, but before he could say so, Thalra began saying something that sounded like a threat, except she was unable to finish it. Jax had never seen her like this before, and before he could even feel indignant and defiant, he felt badly for her. It wasn’t pity, nothing like that. But it was clear as she spoke that another changeling had hurt her deeply, and he was aware that some part of her must’ve been hurt when she discovered Cass wasn’t who she thought. Really, it just made him feel guilty.

He sighed. “Look… I’m sorry I didn’t trust you with the truth before,” he told her. “Trusting people is… hard. But I do trust you now. Ever since I told you the truth about who I am, I haven’t lied, and I promise I will continue to be honest with you.” He paused for a second. “I mean, within reason. I’m not just gonna spill every little detail about my life, obviously. But I won’t lie.” He leaned back in his chair, hoping she could see he was trying his best to be genuine. “That name doesn’t mean anything to me. I’ve never met anyone going by that name… and I honestly didn’t even know there was another changeling in Myrefall. The only changeling I’ve ever really known was my father.” Jax thought to himself for a moment, remembering a changeling he had met several months ago. “I did meet one, a while ago. In Khaggon, though, not here. At the Fight Club. They, uh… they used a face from my past without knowing who it was, which was pretty unfortunate for them at the time. I mean, I didn’t kill them or anything, but it definitely wasn’t a pleasant meeting. I didn’t learn their name, though,” Jax told her.

Thalra remained silent as Jax spoke, staring down at the table and intensely scrutinizing the grains of wood instead of looking at this new face that hid the person she’d known as Cass for months before she learned the truth. This was probably just the nature of changelings, to wear different faces and act differently according to who they were speaking to. And how could Thalra judge that, when she regularly did the same? Except it didn’t stop the aching hurt of being lied to, of being tricked. Jax promised honesty, but Lavender had promised her all sorts of things, and now she was gone.

And what did Thalra even know about Lavender outside of the very little she’d been told? It was barely anything, and it could have all been lies. Every bit of it might have been an act, even the part that had said she’d cared for Thalra. They had to be rare enough that Jax meeting another one was uncommon enough to merit paying attention to though, right? Thalra finally looked up at him, scrutinizing his new form. “I suppose it doesn’t mean much, but she called herself Lavender and she was a wood elf when I met her. She was a cleric of the Raven Queen, but…” Thalra paused, and her grip tightened on her mug of ale. “Her magic always felt so strange to me. Dark and shadowy and cold.” But Lavender had been so warm. Sometimes, in her weakest moments, Thalra still thought about the press of her hands on her face, the side of her neck, the dip of her hip. Thalra took a large gulp of beer to keep Jax from looking at her expression for too long and seeing how hurt she was.

“She disappeared after the invasion of Arx. Then I got a letter from someone claiming to be one of her victims just a few weeks later. He said she was a scam artist and a thief. That she tricked him into engaging in a romantic relationship and then swindled him out of everything in his home. He said he was warning me about who she really was.” Thalra looked away and swallowed around the pit forming in her throat. “But she didn’t take anything from me.” Not physically at least.

He may not have been as quick as he usually was because of the injury, Nil had actually gotten pretty good at maneuvering around the house with his crutch. So when Thalra opened the door, Nil was walking through only a moment later. It felt very cumbersome some days, but he could never bring himself to complain. He had been lucky to make it out of Arx with his life. He could handle a bad leg for a little while.

He followed Thalra to the table and sat down once he got there, leaning the crutch against it next to him. When she placed the bread and cheese out with the stew, Nil couldn’t help but smile a bit. He hadn’t had anything close to a home cooked meal in a very long time, and the sight of it brought a soft warmth to his chest. He pulled a bowl closer to himself and tasted it. Well… Thalra had been right when she said she wasn’t very good, but even if she hadn’t told him he wasn’t allowed to say so, he wouldn’t have told her that. His smile remained, and it truly was still a genuine one. “You’re better than you say you are,” Nil told his sister. “In fact, I think it’s pretty good.” It was edible, he could say that about it at least. He grabbed some bread and broke off a piece to dip into the stew. The bread made it taste a bit better, which he was glad for, though he could’ve been fooling himself into thinking that.

Thalra watched as Nil tasted his food, mixing her own stew with her spoon and waiting for him to take a bite. When he reacted well, Thalra grinned, straightening up in her seat happily. Cooking had always been a skill that had alluded her, with meals turning out either inedible or respectable enough that she could serve it to most of the guests she’d had in the last half a century or so. “I’m glad you like it,” Thalra said warmly, before finally lifting her spoon up and into her mouth.

It was only a moment later that Thalra’s expression stiffened, frozen in place between pride and revulsion. Her other hand reached blindly for a napkin, in which she very discreetly and quickly spit out her mouthful of stew. Thalra closed her eyes and hid her mouth with her hand, breathing in deep. “Nil,” she said. “That was horrible. When I said you had to lie, I didn’t mean to that extent.” Finally, looking at Nil from over her hand, she couldn’t help but start to laugh, fits of giggling hitting her so surely that stopping them was out of the question. She leaned back in her seat and threw the sullied napkin on the table.

“Gods, who fucks up stew?” she said between laughter. “You’re supposed to be able to just throw whatever in there!” Sticking a finger straight in the offending meal, Thalra lifted it out to taste the stew again. “Nil, that’s sugar. I seasoned it with sugar instead of salt. You didn’t even flinch when you tasted it!”

It was a long night, drawing itself out into monotony. Rovasha’s current job was like a bouncer and something of a town crier all-in-one. All the lines were memorized, ingrained in her brain, and time flew by.

The hooded figure pulled her out of her element.

“Oh? You’ll have to show me what you mean then.” Rovasha knew exactly what to say and she kept it simple. She wasn’t a fighter herself, but neither was she was one to elaborate. It was better to stick to short, forgettable. On the streets, she learned it was best to let others be the star of the show, to tell their story. It certainly made cutting purses and slipping through the cracks that much easier. Relaying trauma to a stranger was always a recipe for disaster. “Nah, not tonight. I’ve got work in the morning.”

Thalra’s grin grew, predatory like a panther blending into the backdrop of night. She came closer, willing to briefly turn her full attention on the woman if it meant a bit of entertainment. People flowed like a current around her, knocking their shoulders with Thalra until she was forced to step fully into the woman’s space. Much too close, but at least now they wouldn’t have to shout to be heard.

But maybe they wouldn’t even have to speak at all. The idea suddenly came into Thalra’s head, and maybe it was a cruel one, to try and torment this stranger just for fun, but maybe Thalra wanted to be a little cruel.

Reaching out with her mind, Thalra strung together the connection between them. An invisible beam of light. You should be careful what you ask for, darling, she thought, I don’t think you could handle the things I can show you.

He couldn’t help the small, soft chuckle that escaped him at Thalra’s initial response, the way she took his words apart and threw them back at him as if they were simple and not weighed down with emotion and affection. She did look absolutely marvelous in the light from the fire, which seemed to warm the dark expanse of her skin and brighten the white of her long, braided hair. It felt like when they’d first met. Even with the grief and the sorrow of losing his wife and one true love, he had to admit that the woman in front of him was among the most striking he’d ever laid his eyes upon.

It would be a lie if he had never thought of taking her up on one of her previous offers, most of them made as a part of their friendly banter; it was the sort of dialogue that always seemed to teeter the line between friend and flirtation, where outsiders who were witness to one of their talks would take it and run with it as worthy of gossip. He had certainly experienced it with some of his colleagues once they’d learned of his affiliation with the Starlight Siren of Myrefall. 

The feeling of soft lips against the palm of his hand pulled him out of his thoughts, and his bright eyes found hers, lilac and outstanding, once more. He wasn’t sure where all of this was coming from, but it wasn’t as foreign as he’d expect it to be. When the offer had been lain on the table, he thought his response was clear, but now he wasn’t so certain.

His stomach felt heavy and tight, like there was a giant boulder weighing down on it, but it didn’t hurt him. It felt like the moment right before something exploded, that second of anticipation and realization of what was about to happen. To Eamon, it was a sensation he hadn’t felt in decades. Not since he had been confronted with the horrors of war, not since he had to leave Itresa for the sake of his people, not since the days when Nessa still walked this plane, bright and bold and so very captivating.

Not too unlike the woman in front of him, in fact.

He leaned in closer, allowed their foreheads to touch as he took a moment to close his eyes and breathe. Inhale, exhale, repeat. It was deep, slow and steady, but he needed it. It felt like forever, but he knew it only lasted a second or two. His eyes, the light in them finding itself reflected in the drow’s gaze, opened once more. He looked from her eyes to her lips to a seemingly random spot in the room before they returned to lock on Thalra. He allowed himself, for once in so many years, to fall.

And he kissed her.

The press of Eamon’s forehead to hers felt much too heavy, and for a moment, Thalra thought of slipping away, laughing it all off, asking Eamon to leave. There was an intensity in his eyes before he closed them that terrified her. He was so quiet, had only said a handful of words since she’d asked for this, and Thalra couldn’t tell what he was thinking. In a way, a rejection would have been simpler. She wanted to be cared for, but she didn’t want to be treated like a child. She didn’t want Eamon’s hands to be gentle because he thought she was fragile, even if she felt as if there were cracks running up and down her spine that were moments away from shattering. She didn’t want to see inside his mind and know that he was coming up with ways to let her down easily.

And then, just as the weight of that moment between decisions seemed like it was too much for her to handle, Eamon opened his eyes again and she saw them flicker to her lips, then away. She thought that was it, that was the rejection, and felt a tightening in her stomach like a hissing snake coiling in on itself in fear. And so, when Eamon did kiss her, she was half way through the motion of pulling away, and she made a surprised sound against his lips.  

But then the heat and the connection stirred inside her, washing away everything else in its torrent, and Thalra moved instinctively. Her eyes fluttered shut, her hands closing in loose fists around the fabric of Eamon’s shirt, pulling him closer and ruining the nice crisp lines she’d previously smoothed down. She deepened the kiss immediately, hungrily but patiently and without any of the desperation she felt. Thalra knew how to take her time, how to take men apart. But more than anything, Thalra wanted to fall into the cavern of Eamon’s chest and be held. His hands on her face, in her hair, on her skin, burning bright like his eyes.

After a while though, Thalra pulled back, kissed the corner of Eamon’s mouth, then pressed another to the edge of his jaw, before looking up at him. “Come up stairs with me?” she asked, voice hushed and pleased.

Sticks & Strings was a small shop which peeked out onto one of the side streets of Myrefall from between two much larger residential buildings, and it was Thalra’s last stop before heading back to her building for the evening. The sun was already casting its red and orange rays over the tops of the city’s skyline and it was growing late enough that most commerce would be closing for the evening in a matter of an hour or two. Thalra had already done her shopping for the day, with everything neatly tucked away in her satchel, but she’d stopped in when she’d seen a small toy drum set in the window as she was passing. Detka had been with her for a while now, and she had her own instruments, but maybe he’d be interested in picking something up on his own?

The older human gentleman behind the counter looked as if he was mere moments from dozing off at his post, but Thalra didn’t mind, and much preferred not to be heckled as she browsed. There was one other person also in the shop, but she didn’t pay them much mind as she brushed her fingers over the tightly wound strings of a harp in the corner.

Her attention was only half-caught as the door opened with a small chime of bells—another customer she thought, strange that this place was so busy at this point in the evening. But then there was the unmistakable sound of something heavy hitting the ground and wood splintering. Thalra spun around, leaning around a shelf to see a man dressed like a mercenary stood at the front of shop with an entire display crushed to pieces around him and books of sheet music laying open in tumultuous piles on the ground.  The older gentleman, woken from his dozing by the commotion, yelped and started to get up from his stool.

“Oh, how clumsy of me,” said the man who’d just entered, and Thalra noted that most of his clothes looks as if he’d cobbled together the outfit at random. She suspected that meant most of what he was wearing was stolen. He leaned down and picked up a leaflet of sheet music and examined it for a moment in mock curiosity before tearing it down the middle. “But I’m sure you can afford to replace all this, right? You must have a lot saved up since you’ve been skipping out on paying rent.”

Thalra stayed where she was, watching the scene unfold further and wondering what her next move was. If she went for the door, the thug would see her and probably quickly involve her, but if she stayed, she’d likely get herself involved anyway. Her choices seemed very slim at the moment.

The shop owner though, to his credit, didn’t seem all that perturbed by the current events. He slammed his hand down flat on the table and glared at the other man. “We don’t owe you diddly, young man. This shop’s been in my family for generations. We own it, which means all we have to pay is taxes. Now you go on and scoot out of my shop. You’re disturbing my customers.”

Thalra quickly ducked back around the shelf at that comment, trying to stay hidden for as long as possible. She didn’t know if the man noticed her, but it didn’t seem to matter. She heard him mutter, “Oh, you have no idea how disturbing things are about to get.” Then he shouted, “Boys, come on in! Looks like we have to teach Mr. Bronet some manners.” The bell chimed again, and there were the sound of several more people entering the shop.

Efrain mourned the abrupt absence of Thalra’s magic, but snorted at her attempt of levity. He knew he must only be imagining it, but it still felt as though the geas had left a weeping cavity in his mind, a sore weight he couldn’t shed. The tenuous connection to Thalra, however brief and uncontrollable by him, acted as a balm. He could only hope that her voice could offer the warforged stranger some semblance of comfort as well. 

———

The warforged lurched back as if struck and tucked himself impossibly closer to the mausoleum as Thalra spoke inside his head. Metal scraped across stone and bits of the wall and clinging moss fell to the soil. How? the warforged thought, half in wonder and half in fear, before hunching his shoulders high around his throat. He felt so very foolish, hiding in a place of the dead so close to other people. Anyone could have found him, and find him they did. Did they work for his creator? Were they worse? No, no name. No name. He sounded shaking and anxious even in his own head. He looked to the man, Efrain he’d said, but all he did was stare back and keep a hold on his companion. 

What did they want? He had nothing to give, nothing at all, and he’d only stolen enough from the vineyard to survive. If anything all he’d gained was a distaste for grapes after eating so many of them. They seemed… kind, though. Kind enough. Kinder. They said they wanted to help and no one had said that before. They seemed truthful and their mouths didn’t turn up at the corners to mock him. I’m no one, I’m just hiding. My maker tried to take me apart, but I ran, and he tried to stop me and he got my throat. He thought very quickly, each thought coming faster and louder than the last. He very briefly bared his throat to reveal that half his jaw had been crumpled into his head, effectively sealing his mouth shut. The other side’s hinge had been partially shattered and squealed each time he tried to speak. He got more than my throat, but I still ran. I don’t know where I am. I don’t—can you help? Will you?

———

Efrain pinched Thalra in the side. “I’m going to assume telepathy is occurring,” he said dryly. 

The warforged’s thoughts filtered into Thalra’s mind through the bright band of connection like broken up bits of a puzzle that she had to fit back together before she could understand the whole of what he was saying. He lifted his chin up and she saw the damage that looked like it had been inflicted by a cruel hand and Thalra felt a sudden surge of fury. The warforged’s thoughts reminded Thalra of the children she used to care for back in those years at the brothel, their voices curious and fragile and wondering in a world that was so big and wide that it could shatter everything. Even if the warforged looked big, Thalra couldn’t help but think he was very young. We are absolutely going to help you, she sent back, trying to make her thoughts sound gentle, and managing to barely hold back her outrage and anger from also surging through the line. And your maker is never going to touch you ever again. He sounds like a very nasty man.

Thalra didn’t break the connection, but turned her head to look at Efrain. She tried to keep it off her face how upset she was, but felt as if she failed miserably with how drunk she still was. “He says his maker hurt him and he doesn’t have a name.” Her head still felt so jumbled, which was frustrating seeing as Efrain had sobered almost immediately. “Oh, Efrain I shouldn’t have had so much wine, he’s just a baby, how do we help him? We can’t leave him here.”

Thalra wrung her hands nervously, looking from Efrain to the warforged again. “I’m leaving the connection open for you, detka.” Undercommon was a harsh language, but it still had a word for child, and Thalra felt it slip out of her mouth instinctively. “If you want to say anything just send it to me and I’ll tell Efrain.”

Eamon kept an eye on Thalra as he made his offer known, wanting to offer some of that nostalgic peace both of them had known once upon a time. A sanctuary from the outside world, one where only the two of them were present and able to put aside the pain of the present in favor of some harmless escapism. It was something that he hadn’t done much in his later years, always finding himself busy with his family or a student or a personal project of some sort. 

Lately the siege of Arx had weighed heavily on his mind. It had been his home for the first 15 years of his life, after all, and he had always thought fondly of it even with the life he’d made for himself in Itresa. After Nessa’s passing and Nickolas’s ascension to the throne, however, he had gotten a very real reality check and found that he needed to figure out his priority if he wished to continue life in a healthy manner.

Thalra’s ways were not new to him, but it had been years since he had seen them in action. She was a charming woman, there was no doubt about it, and she had a wit about her that Eamon found himself enjoying very much. It was a friendship that he had come to treasure a lot because, whether people believed it or not about him, friends were hard to come by. He had those in his life whose presence he enjoyed and who he could talk with about fleeting topics or matters of work and academia in general, but there were few people he found himself able to be truly vulnerable around.

Eamon searched her expression, looking for any sort of doubt or hesitation in regards to her current actions. As best he could understand it, she seemed aware of what she was doing. With that in mind, he reached out to cradle her face with his free hand as he leaned forward, slowly, to press his lips to the courtesan’s forehead. He let it last for a second before he pulled back, keeping close without making it too intimate at the same time. His hand, gentle against her skin like they were tracing runes on ancient parchment, moved to brush aside some of the braided hair. “What has changed, my dear?”

Aside from their initial encounter, Thalra had never since tried to make a move on the lightborn after he had made it clear that he was not in a state to be in any sort of relation with anyone at the moment. It had been two decades since that time, things had definitely changed since then, but he wondered what had changed for Thalra to be reconsidering her previous stance on their relationship. He had certainly never pressed for anything, so he was curious. Was she looking for close company, other than her brother? He didn’t doubt that she had people out there, but he also knew she lived a dangerous life that often made most people prone to paranoia and distrust of others. What had changed? He was genuine in the question. Not disgusted, just curious.

Thalra braced herself for the kiss, but found that she was still entirely unprepared for Eamon to instead aim for her forehead, his lips as gentle as his hands as they cradled her face. A confusing cocktail of annoyance and endearment roiled in her chest like wild animals prowling on a hunt. She had to grit her jaw to keep from telling him that she was much more than twice his age, that she found being condescended to wholly unappealing, and that she would never ever ask for something that she didn’t want. But were all those things entirely true? It was a fair question that he asked. If only the truth wasn’t so complicated and impossible to explain.

She didn’t move away, and instead leaned into the cusp of his hand, sighing softly. “Many things have changed, firefly. Find me a person in a perpetual state of being and you will have shown me a miracle.” Her smile turned sardonic at the edges. If he wanted it flat out and without any passion, then she could do that to. “But if you mean what has changed for me in regards to you, it’s simply that you’re no longer paying me. You’re not my client, you’re a friend, so the same restrictions don’t apply and I’m making you a friendly offer.”

There seemed to be a thousand thoughts racing through Eamon’s mind, but none of them spelled out rejection just yet. What has changed, was not a no, and so Thalra felt comfortable turning her head just slightly to the side and kissing the edge of his palm, paying him back in full for the one he’d placed upon her forehead.

He looked so serious, that it almost made Thalra move in for more, just to smooth the furrow in his brow, just to see the surprise in his eyes. But this was his decision. And Thalra always did love watching her target teeter on the edge of a decision; to either go into her arms enthusiastically, or walk away. Either way they’d be thinking of her for the rest of the night. And yet now, there was still a lingering, nervous clench in Thalra’s gut. She really did like Eamon, and she found that she really did want him to want her. And underneath that want was a hunger so dark and deep, Thalra found that she could not look at it directly without flinching away.

“I like you. I like your hands and the timbre of your voice. I’d like to think that you could put both to good use, but if that’s not something you’re interested in, we can sit here and read, just as you previously suggested.”

Date & Time: Night, early May Location: Fight Club, Khaggon Status: Open

Despite how it seemed, always in the wrong time and place she was, Rovasha was never one to initiate violence. Fight Clubs were familiar and even she craved a bit of nostalgia. She never got in the ring herself. It reminded her too much of a certain King’s army. No, these gigs were better from a distance. Still, thieves’ guilds, no matter the nation you were home, opened their doors to all thieving folk. It was so easy to fall back into old habits.

“Am I gonna see you up there?” she said, gassing up every other adventurer passing by. “Been a while since someone knocked Zed fuckin’ dead. It gonna be you?”

Thalra rarely ever went to these kinds of events unless she had a reason to. Usually it was to pick up a bit of information from a contact in the thieves’ guild in a place where all the jeering and shouting would cover up their conversation from prying ears. That night however, Thalra had gone to just observe the fighting. This kind of battle was so different than the violence she’d witnessed in Arx, and she found herself unable to look away.

Her hair was done up, hood drawn so that she could move more discreetly through the crowds, but then a voice close by cut through the noise. Thalra looked towards the other woman, eyebrow rising slowly. “If I were to knock anyone dead, it wouldn’t be with my fists, darling,” she replied. “But I’m sure you have no trouble practicing what you preach. Will we be seeing you in the ring this evening?”