Four wands, two from the Bronze-Witch, two from one of her acquaintances, a plated warrior of the Red Death. Needs must, she thought as she watched this last fade to swirling shadow on exit, taking nearly the last of her gold resources in exchange for the small sticks of magic. It was what she had saved and hunted for over the last moons.
She checked the torn off page of the book as she made her requests. The replica bow did not give two of the protective enchants she needed. Restorative magic to compliment her training which would allow solace against weakness through poison and necromancy, oft used by the spider queen's servants, she read. Protective magic to deny hold against their tanglement of web and bond, ward to give a measure of defense against their powerful abyssal allies...with wand and bow, Lyra was finally equipped now with all the protections and offensive power of a true black archer.
A little planning was now in order. A few days to find the next prey, stalk and make the kill to be able to mark a second notch to her black bow in Shevarash's name.
***
A leftward scull, then a right, deep breaths and she was floating again, head back in the water. The hand moves allowed her to turn and propel. The next lesson enabled her to control and guide, rely less on hand, more on kick, gaining confidence at each stroke. The presence, patience, calmness and attention of this tutor, brought Lyra the slow steps of learning where only the barest of foundation had been given before.
***
Business was business, but this orc was frustrating in the extreme and highly uncouth. She expected the latter, having seen its base behaviour before, but would have thought such a simple and one track mind would settle to an image and position of tattoo more swiftly. But no. Through scribble, mime and hand gesture she worked through his wishes and questions. Between each she made awkward sizing and quote of cost, indicating that she did not do magical tattoo work...yet.
First, a fish to its broad forehead, no...then a pair of cavorting winged females, one human, one orc in lustful embrace, positioned to the buttock, no wait...then the neck, no...then it wanted symbol of grumsch to its neck, no...its chest. If she thought it more intelligent she would have sworn it was toying with her. Finally, she saw it pause and return and repeat that last one and finally, at least Lyra believed it was the final order. They settled on two days hence for the work after she had completed the sketch for the pattern tracing and yes, she did have a strong, large needle that would cope with the toughness of orcskin...oh yes...she did have one of those, she inwardly smirked.
Lyra Fereth
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*Pashan01
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The air genasi approached her seeing her sign of 'Items for Sale' but though she set out the finest pieces, many of which had been given for her to sell by the Moon-Father, nothing was of interest. Polite, she thought and wondered if all his race were so?. The last they had met had been in the abyss cavern and she had been covered. Once more she looked to his swirling hair fascinated, so different from that of her mentor. When he moved on without purchase, she headed to the Abyss again, wondering if he had made his way there. She slipped to cover and hunted for a short time, hopeful of partner to slay the foul beasts. She hunted alone.
A spate in the plane of light and plate finished off her mood to hunt. A little blood of the mercurian guard spilled upon her sleeve as she withdrew one of the arrows from his neck. She did not dally in the temple long, the guard were many but she had learnt something now of their patrol pattern. She returned to the market pleased with her scouting foray. The warrior was there, one who had seen her fall foul of the scrying bald servant of Asmodeus. A short enquiry of her health and effect following the 'scrying pervert' was met with polite but distant nod, the warrior assumed that the 'pervert' had moved onto more 'attractive' prey.
She watched two girls in the bazaar converse and greet, strangers at first, soon to giggle and confide. One an elf, almost fey like in her girlish ways, giggling but pleasant. The other yuan-ti of race, redrobed with blue hood. As she sorted through the many parchments and scrolls she had acquired and placed a few into a small basket, she listened and peered across to the two close by. It seemed so simple. Maybe one day she might do that...perhaps.
Completing her trade with Minerva after a few hand gestures, her mentor approached and with an excited grin, she made her gift of the basket of scrolls, shoving the basket into his arms with girlish grin. He was growing stronger and more powerful every day, his powers returning and while she was pleased to see this, a hint of sadness touched her too.
These scrolls too would help him, more than they would help her but she had hung onto them rather than make gold from the magic paper, just in case....one day she might learn of their secrets. But she did not have the wisdom for such learning, not really. He took her to the arena to show her what he had been able to achieve recently and while he talked of support for each other, she could see that with such power, her artillery might hardly be needed and in fact it was he now who would be protecting her from the abyssal foul and their minion. Such was the way of things, times were turning about.
A note left to the parlour while she was busy with Lervak had her smiling however when she read it later and she let the odd sad feeling of what was and had been slip away quietly and make way for the new.
A spate in the plane of light and plate finished off her mood to hunt. A little blood of the mercurian guard spilled upon her sleeve as she withdrew one of the arrows from his neck. She did not dally in the temple long, the guard were many but she had learnt something now of their patrol pattern. She returned to the market pleased with her scouting foray. The warrior was there, one who had seen her fall foul of the scrying bald servant of Asmodeus. A short enquiry of her health and effect following the 'scrying pervert' was met with polite but distant nod, the warrior assumed that the 'pervert' had moved onto more 'attractive' prey.
She watched two girls in the bazaar converse and greet, strangers at first, soon to giggle and confide. One an elf, almost fey like in her girlish ways, giggling but pleasant. The other yuan-ti of race, redrobed with blue hood. As she sorted through the many parchments and scrolls she had acquired and placed a few into a small basket, she listened and peered across to the two close by. It seemed so simple. Maybe one day she might do that...perhaps.
Completing her trade with Minerva after a few hand gestures, her mentor approached and with an excited grin, she made her gift of the basket of scrolls, shoving the basket into his arms with girlish grin. He was growing stronger and more powerful every day, his powers returning and while she was pleased to see this, a hint of sadness touched her too.
These scrolls too would help him, more than they would help her but she had hung onto them rather than make gold from the magic paper, just in case....one day she might learn of their secrets. But she did not have the wisdom for such learning, not really. He took her to the arena to show her what he had been able to achieve recently and while he talked of support for each other, she could see that with such power, her artillery might hardly be needed and in fact it was he now who would be protecting her from the abyssal foul and their minion. Such was the way of things, times were turning about.
A note left to the parlour while she was busy with Lervak had her smiling however when she read it later and she let the odd sad feeling of what was and had been slip away quietly and make way for the new.
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*Pashan01
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Her fingers wrapped about the handle of the new 'claw' a kukri so fine, so appropriate, so....her. Its powers complimented her own and needed no further enchant. The sage in the Inn, when she showed it to him, after completing errand for Lervak to the Innkeeper, told her of its history. It once belonged to an order of dark moon worshippers. A gift from the Father. So delighted she had been to receive it, her jubilant mood had lasted through the difficult hunt in the Abyss in his company until they had come upon the market and met up with Crimson whom she had not seen in a while since his revelation.
It was difficult for her to communicate to both, there. For one, she hated standing as 'wall-flower' by the outside bar. Secondly, the two males had not met before and she found it awkward for her own reasons to introduce them. Their conversation also was not an easy one, probing of one to the other, direct, rude almost. He had changed, she thought, not comprehending, but then many moons had passed between.
She observed and listened. One comment from Crimson brought her some puzzlement and at mention of a name she made a connection to a note and saw the Father's miniscule change in behaviour, though hooded she could not read all. Odd.
He left. Walked off. She would find him to his rooms when she was finished. Again Odd.
A question later as her mentor had backtracked along the streets to find her - unexpected - the connection was confirmed and a reassurance given. But something still felt...odd, something she could not place her finger on.
Lyra padded off across the cobbles to attend to some tasks, the Father to his though she agreed to meet him to his rooms later.
Her fingertip touched the simple carving to the kukri handle, her eyes admiring the dull gleam of the moon enchants, wondering at why her mood had changed so.
It was difficult for her to communicate to both, there. For one, she hated standing as 'wall-flower' by the outside bar. Secondly, the two males had not met before and she found it awkward for her own reasons to introduce them. Their conversation also was not an easy one, probing of one to the other, direct, rude almost. He had changed, she thought, not comprehending, but then many moons had passed between.
She observed and listened. One comment from Crimson brought her some puzzlement and at mention of a name she made a connection to a note and saw the Father's miniscule change in behaviour, though hooded she could not read all. Odd.
He left. Walked off. She would find him to his rooms when she was finished. Again Odd.
A question later as her mentor had backtracked along the streets to find her - unexpected - the connection was confirmed and a reassurance given. But something still felt...odd, something she could not place her finger on.
Lyra padded off across the cobbles to attend to some tasks, the Father to his though she agreed to meet him to his rooms later.
Her fingertip touched the simple carving to the kukri handle, her eyes admiring the dull gleam of the moon enchants, wondering at why her mood had changed so.
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*Pashan01
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The hunt of the early hours had left her in high spirits, the success and result sweet justice for her soul. She had climbed down from the nearby roof perch, invisible and hidden and watched the life ebb slowly from the drowess. There had been enough consciousness for this prey to hear the snap of the arrow shaft and feel the coolness of the water flung at her to know her killer was present. Lyra could not leave without that symbolic gesture. When she heard the final rasp of breath, gargling voice of blood and saw the body slump against its pinning throat bond, she finally padded off quietly across the cobbles, careful not to leave more trace.
Many hours later, after short time in the bazaar greeting and buying useful wand from the Bronze-Witch Lyra left with the Father to talk of the hunt. A second notch to her bow and a clean kill. No traces. Her mentor was finally assured of this once she had informed him of 'magic arrow' and he realised she had used 'that' bow and its enchanted ammunition with the shocking shot. A few hours and the conjured shot of death disappears. His tight anger, she saw it on him, finally eased. It was an eve of emotion and revealing of more past for both. That was the extent to which she trusted him now and so it would seem, observing the range of the fire and flood, a measure of how much he did her.
Many hours later, after short time in the bazaar greeting and buying useful wand from the Bronze-Witch Lyra left with the Father to talk of the hunt. A second notch to her bow and a clean kill. No traces. Her mentor was finally assured of this once she had informed him of 'magic arrow' and he realised she had used 'that' bow and its enchanted ammunition with the shocking shot. A few hours and the conjured shot of death disappears. His tight anger, she saw it on him, finally eased. It was an eve of emotion and revealing of more past for both. That was the extent to which she trusted him now and so it would seem, observing the range of the fire and flood, a measure of how much he did her.
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*Pashan01
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The holy script and the Lai'Oor'an text that she was now more familiar with, she pierced into the flesh of his chest with ink, spreading across the black hand of the earlier tattoo. Once again, he bore her work with calm resoluteness, keeping still so as not to distract her.
Where there is Light there is Darkness.
Where there is a Beginning there is an End.
Where there are those that pass judgement there are those that pass sentence.
Where there is Life there is Death.
In memory of those who come before me.
To the descendents that come after me.
I leave these words a humble scholar forevermore.
And the tattoo was finally completed.
Where there is Light there is Darkness.
Where there is a Beginning there is an End.
Where there are those that pass judgement there are those that pass sentence.
Where there is Life there is Death.
In memory of those who come before me.
To the descendents that come after me.
I leave these words a humble scholar forevermore.
And the tattoo was finally completed.
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*Pashan01
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If she had tried to forget the curse, the Moon-Father would not let her and that was probably a good thing, not to lose sight or guard of what was still held over her head or was it her soul?
Lyra kept diverting from the restraints of that curse whereever possible, yet still moving slowly forward with her purpose. A moment's attempt at levity did not come about. The Witch failed to secure a 'friend' willing to join in the learning game Lyra had suggested, instead the rise of conflict between a few adventurers and a guard in the bazaar had them falling back to the edge of the outside bar's low walls. While the Witch looked ready to egg and jeer the fight on, the Father looked close to pulling Lyra aside and leap over the walls to stay out of needless trouble. Lyra shifted forward and tugged the Witch back instead, likely spoiling her 'fun'.
When the fracas had died down, she watched another pass close uttering that devil-lord's name openly. Lyra narrowed her eyes and the Father spoke quietly with her as they both regarded this human closely. A hiss and a gesture and the Father noted her 'intent' and desire to be present when plans came to fruition. She noted a difference in him for his response, something darker than was evident usually and they took the exchange elsewhere, more private and she allowed him to see and learn of the rest of her, that other side, too.
Lyra kept diverting from the restraints of that curse whereever possible, yet still moving slowly forward with her purpose. A moment's attempt at levity did not come about. The Witch failed to secure a 'friend' willing to join in the learning game Lyra had suggested, instead the rise of conflict between a few adventurers and a guard in the bazaar had them falling back to the edge of the outside bar's low walls. While the Witch looked ready to egg and jeer the fight on, the Father looked close to pulling Lyra aside and leap over the walls to stay out of needless trouble. Lyra shifted forward and tugged the Witch back instead, likely spoiling her 'fun'.
When the fracas had died down, she watched another pass close uttering that devil-lord's name openly. Lyra narrowed her eyes and the Father spoke quietly with her as they both regarded this human closely. A hiss and a gesture and the Father noted her 'intent' and desire to be present when plans came to fruition. She noted a difference in him for his response, something darker than was evident usually and they took the exchange elsewhere, more private and she allowed him to see and learn of the rest of her, that other side, too.
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*Pashan01
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Stab. Squeeze. Mop. Stab. Push. Daub.
She repeated the method with growing frustration and determination. The needle skimmed and bounced over the tough orc skin a number of times, sometimes drawing blood, the trickle of ink and blood to one orcish nipple had the damned creature aroused. She scowled. She scowled an awful lot. Fifth wife! She'd give this creature fifth wife! Stab! A grin from the orc as it felt but a tickle.
Thankful. So thankful her mentor had come by, calmly making tea, his presence and prayer supporting and rejuventating her flagging efforts to get the damned large needle regularly and repeated into the skin to follow the pattern of the eye.
And at the end. She groaned inwardly when the orc firstly thought so highly of her work, well obviously, she'd done her best in the trying circumstances with Lervak overlooking...no way was she drawing curtain on this one, bothering with numbing drug, grease to ease or bandage...that he was going to recommend her to all his orcish comrades and family! Hopefully, Lervak would take some of the new custom on, do his share soon. And for tip, the horrid orc offered her a gem of high value it was hard to refuse but his terms? to kiss him, no, then changed to get her to kiss her mentor.
A gem for a kiss, like a bone for a dog at the beck and call of its master, no puppet dancing to an orc's tune would she be. No. She refused, tilting her chin up proudly, not to give in to temptation for that valuable gemstone to show this brainless bulk any give to his base humour. It dropped the gem and left the parlour unphased.
Exhausted. So utterly exhausted after a simple eye of gruumsch tattoo that should have taken an hour but took thrice as long. She took the comfort and aid of the soothing elven embrace offered once the bulk had removed itself. Gem to pocket, kiss to lips made later, given freely and privately.
She repeated the method with growing frustration and determination. The needle skimmed and bounced over the tough orc skin a number of times, sometimes drawing blood, the trickle of ink and blood to one orcish nipple had the damned creature aroused. She scowled. She scowled an awful lot. Fifth wife! She'd give this creature fifth wife! Stab! A grin from the orc as it felt but a tickle.
Thankful. So thankful her mentor had come by, calmly making tea, his presence and prayer supporting and rejuventating her flagging efforts to get the damned large needle regularly and repeated into the skin to follow the pattern of the eye.
And at the end. She groaned inwardly when the orc firstly thought so highly of her work, well obviously, she'd done her best in the trying circumstances with Lervak overlooking...no way was she drawing curtain on this one, bothering with numbing drug, grease to ease or bandage...that he was going to recommend her to all his orcish comrades and family! Hopefully, Lervak would take some of the new custom on, do his share soon. And for tip, the horrid orc offered her a gem of high value it was hard to refuse but his terms? to kiss him, no, then changed to get her to kiss her mentor.
A gem for a kiss, like a bone for a dog at the beck and call of its master, no puppet dancing to an orc's tune would she be. No. She refused, tilting her chin up proudly, not to give in to temptation for that valuable gemstone to show this brainless bulk any give to his base humour. It dropped the gem and left the parlour unphased.
Exhausted. So utterly exhausted after a simple eye of gruumsch tattoo that should have taken an hour but took thrice as long. She took the comfort and aid of the soothing elven embrace offered once the bulk had removed itself. Gem to pocket, kiss to lips made later, given freely and privately.
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*Pashan01
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In one quarter of the hive ward, close to the tattoo parlour and one of the more well known brothel houses, rumours abound:
"Looks like she finally put 'er foot down...the quiet one...and stood up to 'im."
The two harlots stood gossiping, waiting for trade and watched the slightly built elf, making a few trips, arms full, between the parlour and building next door that they often frequented to take 'care' of the more well paying customers in rooms rather than lean-to's.
"Eh dearie?" the second one waved a greeting to the girl as she passed recieving a short polite nod in return, then turned to the jinkskirt friend "She movin in wi us?...she never bin the type fer this...too skinny by far...but she's movin' in right enough...takin stuff with her"
"Rumour has it...." the one leaned in closer to the second, heads together, yet their voices rang no quieter in the square "...a clanful of orcs be expected through that Archeron portal o'er there to be visitin' the parlour any day now....likely askin for her ...and she didn't want anythin' to do with it...left Lervak on his own until threat be passed, keepin her head down, layin low.....an you know that geezer...lazy sod...left her to do most the work, free labour...all the tatts an piercin's poor mite...overworked she is..."
"Movin in with her lover I 'spect...that other quiet pointy-ear..y'know...the one who took the room up top...wonder for how long?...she's been tied to tha parlour for...ooooh long as I bin workin this spot...an more I reckon."
They watched Lyra pass a couple of times, noted several bows over her shoulder, a glowing magical looking bag and arms full of sketchpads, easel, painting supplies, a bandalore, a couple of flutes resting atop a small box, some scrolls and books. She traced her steps up to the attic room as a couple more of the harlots gathered to gossip with the first two, then they turned to the evening's call for custom as one adventurer passed close on his way to the sewers, afew of them raisingskirt to show leg, others opening necklines, calling out their invitation and touts under the watchful eye of their pimps.
***
"'Ere Lyra lass!" the elf in blue tunic turned and stepped across to one of the working girls at the call, dipping her head in greeting.
"Funny thing 'appened...got a few of us shook up ....what ye know of large black cats...ye know...really big uns...fangs an' all...?" the girl shuddered a bit and wrapped her shawl about her as she watched Lyra. In reply, Lyra stepped closer, tilted her head, a puzzled but interested look to her face.
"..one came roun 'ere see...with.....one of your sorta kind" Lyra's lips parted and her hand darted out to grip the girl's arm, she nodded swiftly to encourage the girl to continue, her grip hard for all her petite size.
"Oy! ease up lass!" the harlot chuckled "..'nother lover of yours en?....you in trouble? " Lyra scowled a bit at the girl, a sharp stare had the harlot raising her brow with a smirk "Ye do know them then....'ere....told me ta give ye this..." and she passed Lyra the letter "....swears I aint peeked at it...more en me life's worth....odd types ye keep lass.....lucrative, are they.... them elf fellas? "
The jinkskirt gave Lyra a knowing wink. With a dry look back at the girl, Lyra took the note and held it tightly to her hand, brought it to her nose and sniffed it for trace. It smelt mostly of cheap scent, but there....undertones....there it was....leather and moss. Lyra caught her breath recognising it. She gave the girl a few jinks for her troubles and padded off quickly tucking note swiftly into her tunic pocket to find quiet spot to read it.
***
"Looks like she finally put 'er foot down...the quiet one...and stood up to 'im."
The two harlots stood gossiping, waiting for trade and watched the slightly built elf, making a few trips, arms full, between the parlour and building next door that they often frequented to take 'care' of the more well paying customers in rooms rather than lean-to's.
"Eh dearie?" the second one waved a greeting to the girl as she passed recieving a short polite nod in return, then turned to the jinkskirt friend "She movin in wi us?...she never bin the type fer this...too skinny by far...but she's movin' in right enough...takin stuff with her"
"Rumour has it...." the one leaned in closer to the second, heads together, yet their voices rang no quieter in the square "...a clanful of orcs be expected through that Archeron portal o'er there to be visitin' the parlour any day now....likely askin for her ...and she didn't want anythin' to do with it...left Lervak on his own until threat be passed, keepin her head down, layin low.....an you know that geezer...lazy sod...left her to do most the work, free labour...all the tatts an piercin's poor mite...overworked she is..."
"Movin in with her lover I 'spect...that other quiet pointy-ear..y'know...the one who took the room up top...wonder for how long?...she's been tied to tha parlour for...ooooh long as I bin workin this spot...an more I reckon."
They watched Lyra pass a couple of times, noted several bows over her shoulder, a glowing magical looking bag and arms full of sketchpads, easel, painting supplies, a bandalore, a couple of flutes resting atop a small box, some scrolls and books. She traced her steps up to the attic room as a couple more of the harlots gathered to gossip with the first two, then they turned to the evening's call for custom as one adventurer passed close on his way to the sewers, afew of them raisingskirt to show leg, others opening necklines, calling out their invitation and touts under the watchful eye of their pimps.
***
***wrote:Leldaren paused in the shadows listening to the harlots debate about the situation of the parlor and it's occupants. Slowly the ranger stepped from the shadows and approached them, Khaz at his side.
"Do you see her often?"
"Yes" stammered the 'leader'... the rest hiding behind the speaker, seemingly afraid of this dark ranger and his companion.
"She goes in and out... sometimes 'lone.. sometimes in w'ith others. She's a tattoo artist.. but she does 'ave a lover."
Leldaren's green eyes shimmered for a moment, but then returned to normal. Calmly reaching a hand into a pouch at his belt, he pulled forth a letter, and handed it to the speaker.
"Say nothing of my presence here. In passing mention my friend here *he waved to Khaz* and see if she becomes interested. If so, give the letter to her. If not, burn it. If you value your health, I suggest you do not open it. It is meant for one person and one alone."
With that the ranger slipped back into the shadows, Khaz close on his heels, and was gone.Â
"'Ere Lyra lass!" the elf in blue tunic turned and stepped across to one of the working girls at the call, dipping her head in greeting.
"Funny thing 'appened...got a few of us shook up ....what ye know of large black cats...ye know...really big uns...fangs an' all...?" the girl shuddered a bit and wrapped her shawl about her as she watched Lyra. In reply, Lyra stepped closer, tilted her head, a puzzled but interested look to her face.
"..one came roun 'ere see...with.....one of your sorta kind" Lyra's lips parted and her hand darted out to grip the girl's arm, she nodded swiftly to encourage the girl to continue, her grip hard for all her petite size.
"Oy! ease up lass!" the harlot chuckled "..'nother lover of yours en?....you in trouble? " Lyra scowled a bit at the girl, a sharp stare had the harlot raising her brow with a smirk "Ye do know them then....'ere....told me ta give ye this..." and she passed Lyra the letter "....swears I aint peeked at it...more en me life's worth....odd types ye keep lass.....lucrative, are they.... them elf fellas? "
The jinkskirt gave Lyra a knowing wink. With a dry look back at the girl, Lyra took the note and held it tightly to her hand, brought it to her nose and sniffed it for trace. It smelt mostly of cheap scent, but there....undertones....there it was....leather and moss. Lyra caught her breath recognising it. She gave the girl a few jinks for her troubles and padded off quickly tucking note swiftly into her tunic pocket to find quiet spot to read it.
***
***wrote: The letter was ordinary in every fashion, but had a unique wax seal on the back. Lyra would notice the icons, though smudged from the hands of the jinkskirts, a blade crossed with a bow.
*upon opening*
Lyra would notice the letter perfectly folded, and the language a flowing elven, with a smooth hand.
Lyra,
Long has it been since we last walked the planes surrounding Sigil. Since my last visit I traversed many more, and even stayed again in Neverwinter for a time. Perhaps we might travel together again, with or without your... other.
My secrets guard themselves. May yours do the same.
*Lyra might feel the writer had a sly grin on his face when he wrote that line... it might even cause her to look around to the shadows at hand, wondering if he happened to be near, or for how long he'd been back, and what he'd seen?*
The letter was unsigned, though the second half of the letter was a picture. An elf with black scars across his body... it even seemed to be in her own style of drawing and paints.
A cool wind howled outside for just a moment, then all returned as it was.
***wrote:On one such occasion when the darkly robed elf would be seen leaving the building that the Harlots made use of so frequently, the elf would listen to their idle gossip with amusement. Should they seek confirmation of whether or not that he and the other elf were lovers he would merely remain quiet neither confirming nor denying the validity of such.
However when the rumors of orcs from Nishrek seeking the slender elf's skill at tattooing, the elf would have but this to say. "Think you that she hides to avoid such work? Mayhaps she simply leaves this task to he whom owns the establishment. Verily she does most of the work not he."
The elf would smirk and depart towards the bazaar.
***wrote: Quite close to antipeak, hidden amidst the deepest shadows of the Hive Ward's buildings and cloaked in concealing magics, a slim elven figure makes her way to get a good look at the building beside the tattoo parlour.
Careful to avoid a sighting from the windows (or the jinkskirts milling around out front) she makes a note of the uppermost floor openings and the directions they face. When she finishes that, she lingers a time, watching, as if hoping to catch sight of those in the room going about their business.
" 'tis a sad day when friends must tip-toe around friends...even if one doesn't know it yet." She mouths wordlessly to herself, and finally slips away, taking a roundabout route to the Lower Ward.
wrote: Close to anti-peak one day two figures would approach and enter the building that stood before the throng of Harlots and their pimps. A very burly man bearing a bulky burden and a very slight elf that gracefully slipped in.
Some short time later the burly man left alone. At anti-peak the slight elf would be seen slipping out with a taller elf cloaked darkly. They would not return for some time. However, return they would seeming to not come with more than they had left with.
Lightly they had left the building. Lightly they returned.
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*Pashan01
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The slender figure crouched atop the roof, watching quietly from distance and perch the comings and goings of the Sigil's populace going about their business. She wore her covers, the dark skin tight material hugging her slight frame, the cloak wrapped about, its ends trailing the roof tiles, the hood and cowl protecting her from the acidic smoggy air.
As her eyes scanned the movements of a few familiar faces haggling with merchants and cast her eyes carefully over the newer faces, strangers, her thoughts were upon her path and position to date. She was not displeased with her choices though the transition to her current situation had challenged and confused her along the way. It had not been an easy journey of emotional change but nor had it deviated her from her own goals, merely allowed another's path to take the same line nearby and to walk closer. It was....evolving still but the paths to this point were, for now, congruent.
Father...he had reminded her of her father...calm wisdom and patience, an elder elf, or so she thought at first until she discovered later that Lai'Ooran aged differently to Toril elf and more time spent in the company of this mentor revealed his youth to her. He made her a pledge, an oath of reassurance which initiated the beginnings of her trust in him.
Much in Cage is transient, despite promise, in spite of pledge, little endures but razorvine and the Lady. Lyra knows this.
Slowly her feelings and regard for him, for all that he did to help her, changed. She could not deny them and her growing attraction to his beauty and nature. There had been an awkwardness and confusion of that during that transition from father-figure to....what? The terms she knew were useless to describe what lay between them. 'Special friend' she allowed to herself, though she would only reveal 'mentor' to those like the orc who might inquire.... for 'lover' he was not...not in her understanding of the word and nor likely to be in the circumstances....even should she wish it.... though denial was a means of protection at first...lest he vanish too as all those she had cared for before after first touch of lips had done.
She heard the harlots talk but didn't deny it. What was the point? But the bond was growing stronger, she needed him in many ways...
Â…. but hard to trust, hard to depend, yet will not deny big heart beat felt for first time, so new. Lyra feels this. Lyra also cherish if this means wish to hold his beauty, to share hunt, to wake and to walk together for as long as time in Cage allows. Lyra wishes this.
...and once that hurdle of how she regarded him was passed, she opened to the new feelings and to him, discovering that each was helping the other to move on and heal. His own heart had been hurt, his world died, betrayals and love lost....he needed her too, perhaps?
She glanced down at her front and from out of a pocket she found the folded note with the now broken seal of blade crossed with bow.
A chill breeze of a sudden had her shiver and wrapping her cloak more carefully about her, she rose and slid down the roof and some pipework to the alley below. As she made her way quietly back to the hive, she thought then to the cosy warmth of the room she shared, warmer now since the small stove had been set up in the attic. She had found the rusted piece in an abandoned hive house and paid a hive brute to lug it to their attic. The Moon-Father had found spell to remove the rust and sorted the piping from purchase at the foundry, she had brought more bricks from the same abandoned house to provide base to stand the stove upon.
It had taken a few days to settle into sharing the room, so used to her own company and the tiny space of the parlour attic, her only home for nigh on 90 years. But her things were found a place, her easel set up so that she could begin the painting of him and, slowly but surely, she relaxed to it....in fact, rather enjoyed the simple homeliness of the place....zoning out the sounds of the brothel activity easily, cocooned in the dim light, warmed by the stove and the simple hot meals now possible to make as well as the comforting presence of her....mentor and.....special friend.
As her eyes scanned the movements of a few familiar faces haggling with merchants and cast her eyes carefully over the newer faces, strangers, her thoughts were upon her path and position to date. She was not displeased with her choices though the transition to her current situation had challenged and confused her along the way. It had not been an easy journey of emotional change but nor had it deviated her from her own goals, merely allowed another's path to take the same line nearby and to walk closer. It was....evolving still but the paths to this point were, for now, congruent.
Father...he had reminded her of her father...calm wisdom and patience, an elder elf, or so she thought at first until she discovered later that Lai'Ooran aged differently to Toril elf and more time spent in the company of this mentor revealed his youth to her. He made her a pledge, an oath of reassurance which initiated the beginnings of her trust in him.
Much in Cage is transient, despite promise, in spite of pledge, little endures but razorvine and the Lady. Lyra knows this.
Slowly her feelings and regard for him, for all that he did to help her, changed. She could not deny them and her growing attraction to his beauty and nature. There had been an awkwardness and confusion of that during that transition from father-figure to....what? The terms she knew were useless to describe what lay between them. 'Special friend' she allowed to herself, though she would only reveal 'mentor' to those like the orc who might inquire.... for 'lover' he was not...not in her understanding of the word and nor likely to be in the circumstances....even should she wish it.... though denial was a means of protection at first...lest he vanish too as all those she had cared for before after first touch of lips had done.
She heard the harlots talk but didn't deny it. What was the point? But the bond was growing stronger, she needed him in many ways...
Â…. but hard to trust, hard to depend, yet will not deny big heart beat felt for first time, so new. Lyra feels this. Lyra also cherish if this means wish to hold his beauty, to share hunt, to wake and to walk together for as long as time in Cage allows. Lyra wishes this.
...and once that hurdle of how she regarded him was passed, she opened to the new feelings and to him, discovering that each was helping the other to move on and heal. His own heart had been hurt, his world died, betrayals and love lost....he needed her too, perhaps?
She glanced down at her front and from out of a pocket she found the folded note with the now broken seal of blade crossed with bow.
With wry grin her eyes fell over the simple sketch of elf bearing black scars. So Black-Scars had returned but she had no means to contact him to answer but there were old places she knew that he used to frequent...... A lot had changed in his absence - whether she would come to know his dark secrets in time remained to be seen.wrote: Lyra,
Long has it been since we last walked the planes surrounding Sigil. Since my last visit I traversed many more, and even stayed again in Neverwinter for a time. Perhaps we might travel together again, with or without your... other.
My secrets guard themselves. May yours do the same.
A chill breeze of a sudden had her shiver and wrapping her cloak more carefully about her, she rose and slid down the roof and some pipework to the alley below. As she made her way quietly back to the hive, she thought then to the cosy warmth of the room she shared, warmer now since the small stove had been set up in the attic. She had found the rusted piece in an abandoned hive house and paid a hive brute to lug it to their attic. The Moon-Father had found spell to remove the rust and sorted the piping from purchase at the foundry, she had brought more bricks from the same abandoned house to provide base to stand the stove upon.
It had taken a few days to settle into sharing the room, so used to her own company and the tiny space of the parlour attic, her only home for nigh on 90 years. But her things were found a place, her easel set up so that she could begin the painting of him and, slowly but surely, she relaxed to it....in fact, rather enjoyed the simple homeliness of the place....zoning out the sounds of the brothel activity easily, cocooned in the dim light, warmed by the stove and the simple hot meals now possible to make as well as the comforting presence of her....mentor and.....special friend.
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*Pashan01
- Posts: 304
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
If her curse comes from Asmodeus, it is tied to the Pact Primeval. And as such, there are ways around it. It may take some time...
There was a way out. The human, the self-professed ex-follower of Asmodeus who now willingly served a 'higher power' though would not reveal which, was offering to help remove the curse and also to bring back her voice. Her focus was on the first, she had lived with the lack of second for longer and it was less of a hardship, while the first was severely curtailing her hopes and dreams for the future.
The Bronze-Witch was there shoving his offer back in his face but Lyra wasn't so sure to reject the offer out of hand. She was not averse to dealing with darker powers to aid her in her goals, she had once made pact with a vampire to aid his survival in return for help for her cause. This limbo ..while she bore the cursed mark of the Brotherhood waiting for them to bring her into their fold.... she wanted over with. She took quick sketch of the male when he moved on towards the bar, the pencil outlining and shading his features, an image of a devil standing over and behind him, her intention was to show this to the Moon-Father so he would know of whom she spoke and to ask his advice as the Witch suggested. He would know what to do....it was worth a shot, wasn't it?
Later in the room, she told him, her eyes searching hopefully for sign of acceptance, knowing caution was necessary, she waited for his response watching his gestures carefully. She pleaded with him with her eyes. He didn't forbid it.
So shall I stand beside you. This future cannot be until the curse is lifted...Love do I feel for you
And there it was.
There was a way out. The human, the self-professed ex-follower of Asmodeus who now willingly served a 'higher power' though would not reveal which, was offering to help remove the curse and also to bring back her voice. Her focus was on the first, she had lived with the lack of second for longer and it was less of a hardship, while the first was severely curtailing her hopes and dreams for the future.
The Bronze-Witch was there shoving his offer back in his face but Lyra wasn't so sure to reject the offer out of hand. She was not averse to dealing with darker powers to aid her in her goals, she had once made pact with a vampire to aid his survival in return for help for her cause. This limbo ..while she bore the cursed mark of the Brotherhood waiting for them to bring her into their fold.... she wanted over with. She took quick sketch of the male when he moved on towards the bar, the pencil outlining and shading his features, an image of a devil standing over and behind him, her intention was to show this to the Moon-Father so he would know of whom she spoke and to ask his advice as the Witch suggested. He would know what to do....it was worth a shot, wasn't it?
Later in the room, she told him, her eyes searching hopefully for sign of acceptance, knowing caution was necessary, she waited for his response watching his gestures carefully. She pleaded with him with her eyes. He didn't forbid it.
So shall I stand beside you. This future cannot be until the curse is lifted...Love do I feel for you
And there it was.