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empty-masks · 1 year

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Book Five, Chapter Two

CW: Strong Language, Sexual References, Graphic Violence, Fantasy Bigotry, Smoking, Alcohol Use, Light Body Horror

Azariah and Meat both stand a little straighter as a glowing claw knuckles its way through what stray rubble dared to stand in Blondie’s now much, much more open path; without skipping a beat the beast has stepped over the still collapsed android, and Meat barely processes the way that the other claw is moving before their own hand darts up to block a flaming rock before it can strike the Hare dead in the chest.

The fire dissipates with a low whine like a dog at heel, but the rock itself still stings Meat’s palm, causing them to drop it and direct their gaze again to Blondie, who’s closing the distance in hefty, thudding bounds.

“Runnin’ might be a pretty good idea, actually,” Azariah mumbles as he raises his arms, breath steadying in his throat. “Leave it to a friend of hers to talk me into somethin’ sensible when it’s too late.”

Meat swings low, ducking and moving in half-squatted to strike Blondie’s abdomen with both hands, and like back in Fusillade at the moment of contact there’s a small concussive blast— strong enough to blow Meat’s hands back and to halt Blondie’s advance for that brief second.

“That supposed to stop me?” Blondie grins all fire and brimstone until over Meat’s shoulder comes Azariah, striking him in the muzzle with a hard elbow.

The Hare practically flies through the air, moving just a smidge faster than Blondie’s eyes can follow, leading the Werewolf to spin and swing his arms in an attempt to grab him. What he grabs instead is a metal man, as Azariah had actually ducked between the now standing Jack’s legs and rolled to the side.

Meat turns their own attention to the tumbling ball of speed nearby and immediately sets to join them in what looks like a retreat, as Azariah hops back onto his own two feet, so by the time Blondie’s getting ready to deal with his new dance partner the other two are already hoofing it down the tunnel and away from the lot.

“You son of a bitch,” Blondie snarls before tensing his shoulders and headbutting Jack— receiving a solid thump to his own head in turn, a resounding sound of skull to steel, and nothing less than what might constitute several concussions’ worth of blunt force trauma right between the eyes.

Jack, however, blinks. “Huh, usually people knock themselves out when they try that.” Thick metal fingers dig into the burnt and glowing arms of the werewolf, and with a mechanical twist and the growl of some form of internal engine, Jack shoves Blondie hard against the nearby wall. There the two break, just in time for Jack to get into form, raising his arms with his fists up, tucking his head down and beginning to step closer, though he’s not stepping lightly. Jack’s not a dodger, he’s a blocker, a pulverizer. “Ready to get your bell rung, sir?”

“I’m gonna to melt your sorry metal ass to slag,” Blondie snarls back. Above and around them the ground shakes as Blondie tenses and then darts forward, slamming Jack with his forearm and dragging the robot with him as he powers through the tunnel, each step an earthquake, each bound of each leg a tremble in the ceiling.

Jack’s got weight and power but unfortunately he’s a bit top-heavy, and while his stance is grounded as it can get short of just lying on the floor his opponent’s able to half-lift him with velocity. The densely muscled forearm, brimming with heat and power, thrums and glows against the tin man’s throat. Above him, the glow grows more intense— as it begins growing inside of Blondie’s mouth.

Down the cave hall, down the tunnel, Azariah’s had to stop for another breather as Meat paces. “Don’t be so hasty,” he mumbles. “I’m sure that pup’s got his hands full for a minute.”

“We have to get going, now, or we might not be able to catch up.”

“You kids these days, always doin’ somethin’. Take a minute to breathe, if you have to. That count as offensive? Pardon if it is, didn’t mean anythin’ by it. Even if they get out before us, I’m sure we can—”

From the bend the two had just gone around some moments before bursts Blondie, one arm holding up Jack and the other batting at the robot’s arms, which were flailing in an attempt to close the now near blindingly bright glow lingering in his maw. Azariah doesn’t finish his sentence as he stands to move in, but Meat stops him short there too.

The two only barely manage to toss themselves out of the way and behind a rocky outcropping as Blondie and Jack fly like a missile into the wall where they had been standing just that second previous, sending a sickening crack up to the ceiling from where the android was slammed. It winds its way like a snake up from the point of contact and spider-webs from the rounded corner where wall becomes ceiling, tossing down rubble as the scuffle of their feet tosses up dust.

To their right, Meat and Azariah both see a dark shape hiding behind a similar set of jutting rocks, rapidly loading a weapon and mumbling to herself.

Nancy’s swapped between flechettes and buckshot and God knows what by this point but she’s more than half certain none of them are going to punch a hole in the beast’s hide, not when she’s been unable to even smell a drop of blood or exposed flesh that isn’t charred. “Lacking sufficient ordinance to handle larger quarry— should’ve requisitioned something back in town. Stupid backwater, lacks a proper armory. Need something bigger, stronger, can only knock him around with this…”

Unable to shake Blondie off again, Jack’s been staring down the steadily increasing glow that now threatens to blind him, a vivid red light so searing that it burns his mechanical retinas, but he can’t look away. His fingers can’t find purchase wherever they ply and his kicks are doing nothing; before him lies death, and it’s brighter than he ever imagined. Inside his body his mechanical organs scream past their proper limits, pushing harder, harder, heating up, even Blondie can hear them now.

He blinks, but it’s not enough of an opening for Jack. This is it; this is the part where he overclocks himself to critical just to make sure he isn’t going out alone. It’s going to be bright, furious, glorious—

A dark shape flies from behind the rocks and screams down between the two’s legs, and before either of them process what it is, a shotgun’s shadow blocks the intense red light bathing Jack as the barrel of Lieutenant Nancy’s weapon is wedged up against the lower jaw of the werewolf. Two combustions follow, the firing of her shotgun directly into Blondie’s lower jaw, shutting it hard, and then Blondie’s slow-build pressure cooker of pain popping like a highly explosive bubble inside of his mouth. From between his fangs and through his nostrils a monstrous blossom of red flame and black smoke bursts, knocking him backwards and onto his ass as it tosses Jack the opposite way— all while it punches Nancy into the ground, all the force coming vertically.

Azariah and Meat are a good way down the tunnel again, this time avoiding any stops so that they won’t be caught up to, when there’s a loud explosion down the way behind them.

“Poor guy,” Azariah mumbles. “Robot never stood a chance.”

Meat’s head tilts as they jog just beside him. “Why assume he lost? That could’ve been a… I don’t know, a second death explosion.”

“Then the poor guy’s still dead even if he won. Too bad, I’m sure he would’ve been fun to run from too.” A wheezy, raspy laugh escapes him to punctuate the joke, and though he’s keeping pace it’s becoming very evident to Meat that his bones are creaking and his voice is hoarse.

“We might not be able to catch up,” Meat says, rubbing the back of their neck. “Roxanne’s going to kill us if that robot doesn’t.”

Azariah cracks his knuckles, then his neck for good measure. “Don’t you worry about us catchin’ up. Much as I would like to turn back and finish up my round three, even with these powers I’m no spring coney. Ain’t that just a stick in the craw?”

“I can’t believe you both talk like this,” Meat mumbles. “Alright, so how’re we— hey— no!” It’s too late. Azariah’s already swept the Notus off their feet and into his arms, though he struggles to stay standing proper straight with the weight.

“Nowdon’tyouworrynoneaboutthisit’sgonnabefine,” is the near unintelligible string of words that hits Meat, right as it feels like the world starts vibrating and, despite the weight, Azariah’s blitzing down the tunnel.

Jack’s the first back up and he can feel some of his clothes have started burning, at least whatever’s not melting to his metal hide. “Nancy? Status report, Nancy, talk to me— I can’t see Blondie.” He rubs his eyes, then from his pocket withdraws a small glass cleaning rag to clear them off properly. When his vision sharpens, he spots her, a dark spot on the ground, crumpled and curled up.

Crouching beside her he moves to get at her helmet, but first he receives a smack on the wrist as she attempts to get up on her own, the arm beneath her still cradling the shotgun. Secondly, he takes a wolfy claw to the side of the head and he gets kicked out of the way by Blondie, who by this point has been covered in soot so black that the only vestiges of his formerly white fur are lingering around his legs and shoulders. A quick wipe with Jack’s rag cleans off a bit of his maw and face, but for the most part it’s like he’s been dunked in ink and then manhandled by a washcloth.

Blondie’s wide chest rises and falls as he takes breaths of his own volition, clearing out more smoke and ash from his throat before saying, “Still think this is a fine fight, copper cock? Where’s your boss, huh? What’re you getting paid?”

“Not enough, I’ll tell you that much.” Jack stands again, getting his fists ready and beginning to circle, taking an opposite direction to Blondie, who’s walking in a slow arc around. On the ground, Nancy’s coughing up smoke through her mask, and now that she’s raising her head, half of the helmet’s been blown clear off and the eye beneath looks partially blind. Jack continues, “But as much as I’d like to talk rates with you, I know it’s still better than what I’d get on a dead man’s payroll.”

Calling him a dead man earns nothing but fury from Blondie, garnering a loud and unenthusiastic growl before he tosses himself at Jack again, but this time the robot’s prepared. As The first big, furry arm lands a swinging blow, Jack shoots out both hands to snatch. The first clamps hard on Blondie’s wrist swinging toward him, the other darts to Blondie’s throat to preempt any would-be fireballs while he can still reach it. In the meanwhile, Blondie’s other, still free claw has begun its arc toward Jack's head— when another gunshot rings out and Blondie screams, half-choked, over a newfound pain in his elbow.

Suddenly, something else is against his throat too. Against his shoulder blades are knees, pressing hard as the pipe barrel of Nancy’s shotgun is being pulled back the opposite way; Nancy, glaring like a devil, is panting and snarling over the wolf’s head. “I am not dying to some backwoods forest hick fuck!” She screams, and as Blondie digs his claws into her back with an awkward twist of his body she bites clear through her mask, revealing her snaggled fangs just before she sinks them into the side of his head, thrashing like a wild animal.

She’s screaming, her wound is cauterizing as soon as it’s made, Jack’s trying to shake Blondie’s throat hard enough to snap the werewolf’s spine if he can, and here’s Blondie halfway having a test of strength with the robot and trying to pull the vampire off of his head. All are screaming, thrashing, a mass of hateful limbs and weaponry, torn and burnt and bleeding, and they’re moving, tumbling, they begin twirling and then start spinning and now they’re a ball of hate on the floor.

A particularly forceful kick from Blondie brings them back to the wall he’d slammed Jack into, hoping to bust him against it so he can get out of the hold and get at Nancy, but the robot doesn’t give— the wall, however, does, sending the three into a freefall.

Luckily for Nancy and not so luckily for Jack, they land on top of Jack, with Nancy still on top of Blondie. Especially lucky for Blondie, Jack loses his grip with the fall and in that moment of weakness, the Wolf breaks the embrace and hucks Jack against the far wall of the chamber, a good several meters, before doing the same to Nancy with a screaming roar.

The two Mercs stand and exchange quick glances, eyes darting to the walls, the ceiling, the strangely smooth and untested environment, before Nancy growls. “Let’s get this done, soldier.”

“One of those kitschy military types. You must be from a real shithole.” Blondie narrows his eyes at them, his glow growing more intense as he gathers a fireball in each hand.

Jack, out of all of them, hasn’t made any attempt to intimidate or even assert himself. Instead of some one-liner hoping to end the fight before it starts, he just points behind Blondie and asks, “Is he supposed to have two shadows? Why’s the other one a lot bigger than him?”

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Though it’s taken him a while to get the position right, what with the driving skills of Piper being akin to that of a joy-riding teenager and Sundae’s revolver ringing off rounds loud enough to punch holes in his ear drums, Kranner has managed to wedge himself comfortably onto both the pseudo-middle seat, as well as the floor of the back half of the sedan. His rifle rests comfortably in his shoulder and pokes out between the two front seats, with his arms punched against the side cushions to keep himself stable as he lines up his first shot. And there’s plenty of targets to choose from in the bed of the truck they’re following.

There’s that black haired woman and an Orc. There’s that odd-looking lady with the scarf around her mouth. There’s a mousy-looking woman, one who keeps getting particularly nasty looks from Piper. And then, there’s the Owl, who is the only person standing up in the bed. She’s got a terribly anxious look on her face, and to be frank, Kranner thinks that it’d be lovely to try and hit someone behind her for effect. So, he lines up a lovely headshot on the one that his boss doesn’t seem to like. All it takes now is a light trigger pull—

“Kranner, would you take the fucking shot already? You’re burning time!” Piper yells, turning to face him briefly with a grimace.

“Gettin’ comfortable’s hard to do when you’re stuffed into a dead man’s vehicle!” he replies, setting his finger against the trigger guard. “You want them dead, Boss?! I’ve gotta take my damn time!”

“Yeah, sure. Sundae’s been shooting this entire goddamn time, old man. You better get your ass into gear.”

Sundae empties the revolver’s chamber, and sticks her body back in through the window. “I haven’t hit anything yet,” she comments. “But who knows? Maybe I’ll get lucky in another six.” Piper’s hands audibly squeak with sweat as she grips the steering wheel. “Where the FUCK have you been aiming?”

“At them, boss. I’ve never shot out the side of a car before. It’s taken some getting used to. I think I got close a couple times, though.”

“Are you telling me that NEITHER of you fucking imbeciles have done a SINGLE THING since Jack’s split off from us?!” she screams. Both of them notice the venom begin to sputter from the top of her mouth onto the padded car seat. It steams lightly as it corrodes the material. “FINE! Fine. Take your fucking time, just make sure that your shots count. We are not going back. I’ve come too fucking far.”

“Good idea, boss,” Sundae responds. She quickly reloads her revolver, sticks her body back out the car window, and continues to fire at almost absolutely nothing— albeit, with longer intervals between the shots.

Her lackadaisical ass had better be decent in a fight, ‘cause I don’t have the patience for a fucking slacker on my team right now, Piper thinks to herself. Rolling down her own window, she spits out a small mouthful of venom. And that old man had better take a shot soon, or I’m gonna be shoving his rifle down that fucked up eye socket of his.

Cherry’s focus is nigh unbreakable, even with the presence of consistent gunshots from behind him. There has never been a moment in his life where his driving has meant more to everyone else than it has to him, and so, not even the threat of being hit is deterring him from keeping his posture upright with both hands on the wheel.

Roxanne and Jules, on the other hand, have slumped down into their seats in the cabin, and are attempting to give rally-style navigation directions to Cherry from a map that’s about as long as the cabin, floor to ceiling. Roxanne has tasked herself with keeping an approximation of where they are on the map by tracing her finger along the route, while Jules has taken to calling out the upcoming corners and turns whenever appropriate. And, of course, this is all being done in the dimly lit cab of the truck, whose overhead lights have not been replaced in years.

“Medium right,” the Vampire says, jerking his thumb in that direction. “Then, light left. I think.”

“Got it,” Cherry responds, beginning to brake the take the turn, as told, before the shine from his headlights can even illuminate the back wall of the junction.

“Jules, could you tell me what that is on the map?” Roxanne asks, pointing at what looks to be an absolutely massive depression relatively far down the road.

He widens his eyes. “Kinda looks like a pit. Maybe. Why?” And though there’s plenty of other landmarks on the map of similarly massive size, this one puzzles him for but a moment before he solves it. He traces the path back to where Roxanne has kept track of their location, and realizes that the area in question cuts between where they are now, and where they want to head, which is an exit marked in red ink “Near Honeysett”. “Holy shit,” he says.

“What’s next?” Cherry asks, having clearly been too focused to realize what’s going on.

“Hard right, and a ravine crossing in the next twenty turns.”

“Wait, what?”

In the bed of the car, everyone is slightly surprised that the person leaning out the side window hasn’t hit anything, or anyone, other than the cavern walls yet. Even Olive, who has taken to standing up to make herself a target (for the sake of blocking it with her power, though there’s a massive doubt in her mind that she’ll be fast enough (again) to react to a bullet), is a little perplexed by this.

Though, as she gets bored of watching the Elf shoot everywhere but the truck, Olive turns to the cabin, where she sees an awfully mean looking blonde woman who seems to keep having to spit out the window (why would she be packing a lip at a time like this?), and, in the backseat, a glass man with a rifle.

Now, again, something strikes Olive as odd. She traces the sight of the woman driving, and finds it to bounce between the truck bed itself, her, and everyone else, but primarily Brie, who stares right back. This isn’t too odd, as having heard Brie’s story about getting brained by the woman, it would make sense that she’d have a vendetta. And that Brie would be rightfully afraid of her.

But, the glass man with the rifle. Why would he be aiming out the front windshield? And more importantly, where are his sightlines aimed? She peers at the front of the barrel, and realizes that it couldn’t be at herself. It’d be much more clear, then. No, he’s aiming at someone else. And it’s nobody behind her (Lucille), and nobody to the left (Judith and Leon).

The front windshield of the following car shatters inward with the thundercrack of the sniper’s rifle, and in a flash, there’s a metallic “tink”, followed by the crumble of rock. Olive opens her eyes to find that she’s got a feathered hand in front of Brie’s head. And her hand is unharmed, albeit a little sore.

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That damned bird. That shot had been perfect. It would have been the cleanest kill this place would have ever seen. It’s an insult to the profession that something as absolutely absurd as a bullet-proof Owl would decide to poke her forsaken beak into the path of this art.

Kranner’s fuming. A series of complications flash through his mind as Olive in the truck bed far ahead continues to move and thrust out limbs, having taken up Meat’s former position near the edge so as to swat munitions fire from the air with overanxious precision. Kranner’s eyes focus a bit more, and he drinks in the details. There’s always a hole in the armor, assuredly. Everyone makes a mistake at a time like this, even the ones who live for it.

Each of Sundae’s bullets get blocked if they dare to soar nearby any of them, but there’s something particular about the way Olive’s moving. The glassy bristle of his jaw rubs up against the mask as it comes to him in small bits and pieces, as though every blocked bullet itself is a part of a puzzle: she’s blocking killshots, whether she intends to entirely or not. Tracing their trajectories might be difficult for someone of a lesser caliber, but Kranner’s on top of his game.

That’s it, then. Can’t shoot to kill or she’ll manage to take the bullet, no matter who it’s aimed at. It’s a laudable performance but ultimately Kranner’s not interested in giving applause to competition or quarry, so her award is going to be something very special indeed as, ignoring the sounds of Piper and Sundae hissing like serpents at one another, he lines up his shot through the windshield, focusing on the bird’s leg.

Olive’s managed to puff out her feathers and swing her arms with a combination of protective knowledge of any vaguely humanoid anatomy and pure instinct, owlish eyesight providing her with a near perfect passive tracking of each gun barrel in the car behind them. Behind her, Judith and Leon are huddled together, the Orc’s arms wrapped around the werewolf, and off to either side she’s flanked by Brie and Lucille— the former’s been shooting, but none of her shots have landed anywhere but the plating, and the latter’s already run out of throwing knives.

Another heavy revolver round bounces off of her arm, and for the briefest second she turns her head without turning her body to face Judith and Leon, saying, “I don’t think I can keep this up for much longer! I’m runnin’ out of steam, somebody think—”

CRACK. Olive tumbles to the floor of the truck bed, half slumping and flailing, only avoiding death by cave floor and car tires as Brie and Lucille both immediately grab her and pull her back toward themselves, right into Judith and Leon, whose eyes widen.

“Okay! Thinking of something, thinking, uh, Brie give me your gun,” Judith babbles out, retreating from Leon’s arms only to be handed the semi-automatic. Well, she snatches it from out of Brie’s hand after the woman reloads, but once she has it she hands it to Leon, whom she presses up against. “This is going to be rough.”

One hand holding the gun, the other arm around Judith again, Leon glances between his girlfriend and the two others in the bed of the truck with a sigh. “Azariah’s been a bad influence. What is this, Plan D? I know it’s low on the list.”

“Would you care to explain to the rest of us?” Brie’s eyes narrow, but she’s plenty busy trying to keep Olive steady as she struggles with the pain. Down by her leg, Lucille’s already bandaging up the wound, repeating small battlefield platitudes about strength and pain.

“Don’t need to,” he says. “If it fails, maybe the truck’ll start going faster with less weight. Jump.”

Kranner’s in the midst of getting a second shot lined up— he’s taking aim at that Orc’s shoulder, hoping to put a round right in the muscle, compromise the whole damned thing— when the target and his little friend disappear into thin air. It’s as much a surprise to the two women still up in the truck bed as it is to him, and his ears tell him that while Piper’s still getting mad and Sundae’s still having a time, neither actually notice it due to their focuses being primarily on the disabling of the truck itself.

The backseat bumps awkwardly and the car sinks a solid chunk, almost enough to scrape the undercarriage against the stone floor of the tunnel, and though it’s already a bumpy ride Kranner knows that such a sound isn’t supposed to come with the sound of the upholstery getting rubbed on by denim or skin. To most the proposition’s absurd, but he’s been in this business for far too long to take chances. His experience isn’t enough to make up for sheer, unaccounted for surprise, that secret weapon of many a victor.

He swivels and takes aim, but there’s nothing there except a depression in the seat, like somebody is there but they just can’t be seen. These briefest of seconds of searching are just long enough. A series of muzzle flares and gunshots go off, a full semi-automatic pistol magazine’s worth of bullets are sent through the air and straight into his face, neck, and chest, without any of his professional finesse or precision. Each bullet finds a home somewhere inside Kranner, singing through glass and blood, spraying this mysterious wraith— wraiths, the blood paints two figures— and revealing them in the back of the car.

Judith, a bout of anxiety and fear taking hold after having to just mentally calculate the trajectory of a jump like that going from a moving vehicle to another, far more enclosed moving vehicle, and having watched her boyfriend just pump something like eight to ten rounds into a man she’d never met, kicks a leg out and strikes Kranner hard in the head with wolfish strength, cracking the helmet and the man’s head. This also has the effect of busting the backdoor open, sending the corpse tumbling out behind the lot of them, rifle having fallen into the floorboards.

Leon lets out a rasping cough, before, bloodied and invisible, he awkwardly kisses the side of her head.

This is right about the time when Sundae’s turned her attention back from the quarry ahead and realizes Kranner’s gone, and that those gunshots were not, in fact, the man going wild with his rifle. It had all the wrong timbre for a sniper, and the wrong rhythm for a trained professional.

When she finds two bloody half-shapes in the back of the car she wastes not even a second leveling her revolver and attempting to empty the full set. However, by the time she’s pulled the hammer back twice the two shapes are gone again, with no sign of truly being there anymore. She almost puts a third into the seat for good measure before Piper raises one arm from the steering wheel to punch Sundae in the side of her head, screaming, “Get back to shooting those freaks you fucking idiot.”

Judith and Leon are back in the truck bed again, splattered with blood but, for the most part, almost entirely unharmed. All that said, Judith is halfway to transforming with the intensity of it all, fangs starting to get a little big for her mouth and eyes getting a bit greener than Leon knows them to be on a good night, so the semiauto is passed back to its owner to be reloaded and returned to proper, trained firing as Leon focuses on calming the werewolf back down, strong arms squeezing around her, lips to her temple.

Lucille and Olive would each be amused, as might be Brie in a less forthright fashion, but the other three are swiftly refocused. Olive isn’t on her feet anymore, but she is up on her knees, with Lucille acting as a support behind her, the two attempting to go back to a sort of less immediately effective version of the Owl’s methods moments ago now that the Sniper’s gone.

“Turning invisible and teleporting were not in the files,” Brie says simply, leveling a shot at Piper, though it banks off of the frame of the car. “I think I am very, very glad to be on your side now.”

“You should’ve seen her wolf out back in Kiln, knocked some former friends of mine clear to the horizon,” Lucille teases. “That rock stuff’s really doing a number on you guys, huh? At least it’s useful.”

Olive lets out something shrill like a battlecry, but the enthusiasm’s too pleasant for that. It’s more like an exclamation of happy surprise, the sort one might make when presented with that oft-requested puppy after coming home from school, or, in this instance, spotting something very, very good.

Leon lifts his head from the tangle of Judith’s hair to ask, in unison with her, “What is it?”

To which the response is, “Azariah! It’s Azariah!”

Chapter Two End.

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#empty-mask #b&tsm #writing #oc #fantasy #adventure #serialized fiction #b&tsm-cherry #b&tsm-judith #b&tsm-azariah #b&tsm-leon #b&tsm-olive #b&tsm-blondie #b&tsm-piper #b&tsm-brie #b&tsm-roxanne #b&tsm-meat #b&tsm-jules #b&tsm-lucille

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iironwreath · 2 years

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Should [Iona]

[177]

Once Orla was comfortable, Iona sent a magic letter asking for a spell to ferry her back to Syngorn. The covered wagon would have to stay behind—either become Brambleview property or driven to Syngorn. Iona liked the idea of it being a thank you gift to the Gilded Thorns for allowing her sister into their home, small as it was, even if they could afford fifty of them.

Theotae waited for them outside the main gates, Symania with her. Her arms were folded behind her, and she straightened when their small troop stepped onto the road. Open skies became occluded by vast, magic redwood and the near horizon twinkled with the golden ramparts that shielded the city. Homesickness ebbed away.

Theotae smiled reservedly but genuinely, but catching a glimpse of Iona’s expression, it dimmed.

“Welcome back,” she greeted, a question in her voice.

“Thank you,” Iona said. “Apologies for the delay. There were some…hiccups.” She had no reason to be opaque, given the two Emerald Archers were there to experience Orla’s situation with her, but saying it aloud reminded her of the source of her most recent stress.

Theotae turned to the side and gestured for her to follow. “You’ll have to fill me in.”

They passed into the city. The Emerald Archers broke away to return to the Beryl Keep, but Iona and Azariah continued with Theotae and Symania to the Raethran Estate. Theotae’s air continued to be the nonpareil professional, like this was ordinary business with her Aegises and the court druid; Iona matched accordingly.

Theotae brought them to the library. A few staff milled about, but they dispersed with their books and polite nods as Theotae led her to a corner lounge with an active fire crackling in a grate. Symania gave Iona’s arm a quick squeeze before she left them to privacy.

Theotae embraced her and a minutiae of tension fell away. When she drew back, she held her arms and searched her face. “You look troubled.”

“Worried,” Iona supplied, throat tight.

“Would tea help?”

Iona nodded, grateful. Theotae nudged her towards a couch—it didn’t look like a request—and disappeared as Iona folded herself down onto a cushion.

Theotae returned a minute later with a tray laden with a pot, cups, and a small bowl of fresh fruit. She poured Iona’s—added what she liked, which warmed her—and wordlessly handed it to her. She sat on the coffee table beside the tray opposite Iona and crossed her legs, waiting.

“Orla is fine,” Iona explained. “We were delayed because she got sick, but she recovered and we arrived in one piece. I hope we didn’t worry you?”

Theotae shook her head. “I was never worried for you or if you could handle yourself, just her. That’s why I sent two guards with you: to reduce that worry. A bit like having you and Symania; more for show than anything.”

Iona filled her in on the rest between small sips—sips meant to steel herself for whatever sentence would follow, to steal tiny breaks from the suffocating weight of her worry. It didn’t take long to explain, but her words hung like lead in the air.

“She’s in capable hands,” Theotae said after a moment. She placed a hand on Iona’s closest knee. “They’re treating the root and the symptoms. I have faith she’ll pull through, Iona.”

“Faith isn’t enough to stop me from worrying.”

“I know. I’m not discounting the worst—should it come to pass, I’m here for you. But we can be prepared for that while still hoping for the best.”

“I’ve been hoping for the best since she was born,” Iona murmured, wringing her cup in circles. “It wears on you. It scares me to think of her not making it now, when we’re so close.”

“This is the first time she’s had a cure on the way instead of blindly guessing and experimenting,” Theotae said. “It may not feel like it, but it is the best chance she’s had.”

Iona nodded, a sigh escaping her lips. She made to sip again and—empty. She frowned at her cup. Theotae lifted the teapot invitingly, but Iona shook her head and set both teacup and saucer back on its tray. Theotae held the bowl of fruit towards her, so she plucked two blueberries that had tumbled from the top of the pile and were sitting at the rim.

“I had an idea for our date,” Theotae said, directing them to brighter subjects. “I think it may be more beneficial now than ever. You treated me, so I’d like to treat you.”

Iona pinched a blueberry between her fingers. “What’s that, my—” She cleared her throat. “Theotae. Sorry, I’ve fallen back into it while I’ve been gone.”

Theotae smiled, swinging her legs apart. “I own a cottage on the Menagerie Coast. I’d mostly forgotten about it, but my father recently visited with mother, and it’s well looked after. Do you think you could afford the time?”

Heat climbed into Iona’s face. She shoved the blueberries in her mouth to temporize while she chewed over an answer. A whole continent away, mostly alone with Theotae—

It sounded like heaven.

Her worry for Orla scratched at her desire to go, but being in Wildemount wouldn’t change how quickly it would take her to get to Westruun in a hurry, now that Orla had been safely delivered. Iona could travel freely with magic.

“That sounds…pleasant,” she decided. “I’ll have to check in with the Emerald Archers, but I think I can spare it. I’ve already spent a month transporting my sister, I doubt they’ll take umbrage at a few extra days.”

“I don’t think it’s a matter of ‘can.’ I think you should. As far as the Emerald Archers are concerned, you’re still my Aegis, and you go where I go.”

Iona smiled, mind already made. “So hypothetically, if you took a vacation right now, I’d be forced along?”

“Hypothetically speaking, of course. If you have any reservations, just know that we’ll be able to return to Tal’Dorei at a moment’s notice. I’m sure Elspeth will reach out to you if Orla takes a turn.” She cast her gaze to the side, into the darkened spaces between columns of shelves. “It’ll be good for me as well, really.”

“It would. I’ll come.”

#writing tag #writing: iona #iona #theotae #eleven month downtime #exandria #tal'dorei

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mysticbxrn · 2 years

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( charlotte hope , she / her , female ) i’d be careful, that’s [ AZARIAH EILNORAN ], they’re a [ NATURAL ] mage. at [ FORTY ] years old, they specialize in [ FIRE MAGIC ]. but i also hear they have the ability of [ PYROMANCY ], rather remarkable for a [ ELF ]. as a/an [ LADY OF ENEMELE ], they’re known for being [ REGAL ], if not a little [ STUCK UP ]. it might just be me, but they remind me of [ THE SOUND OF STEEL HITTING AGAINST EACH OTHER , AN ALL CONSUMING FLAME , AND BRUSHING OFF A DRESS AFTER A FIGHT. ]. i wonder what side they’ll choose in the upcoming conflict.

BASICS.

NAME : Azariah Eilnoran

AGE : Forty

SPECIES : Elf

ORIENTATION : Bisexual

REGION : Enemele

OCCUPATION : Lady

STUDY.

The youngest of two siblings , Azariah was kissed by fire , evidenced by her hair that was the brightest red. The daughter of an elven warden , it was only expected of her to have some sort of gift. And hers was the gift of fire. The first indication was when she was about five , a fascination with tie hearth her mother kept in her chambers on cold winter nights.

#azariah || intro #erethide.intro

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erethide · 2 years

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ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰. Your journey in Erethide begins today, ABIGAIL! The face claim of CHARLOTTE HOPE is now taken. Please follow the instructions on our checklist and send in your account within twenty four hours!

#accepted #//WELCOME WITH UR NEW CHARA :D

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endlessly-cursed · 2 years

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𖤍𝑨𝒛𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒉 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒆 ༆

My aesthetic trade part with the beloved @cursebreakerfarrier ♡

#hphl #hphl oc #azariah steele #aesthetic trade #sky 🖋️#other people's ocs

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thatravenpuffwitch · 3 years

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY HENRY!

Here are some photos from Henry’s 23rd birthday, featuring the wonderful mcs of @slytherindisaster @cursebreakerfarrier and @kathrynalicemc <3

#henry mcclarnon #devon marlowe #julian bennett #azariah steele #mc birthday #hphm #hogwarts mystery #my edit #polaroid edits #other people's mcs

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

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“There's a strange exhilaration in such total detestation... It's so pure, so strong! Though I do admit it came on fast, Still, I do believe that it can last, And I will be loathing, loathing you My whole life long!”

~“What is This Feeling?” from Wicked

x~x~x~x

Oh my GOD, you guys, I’ve had this project in mind for a while, wanting to draw something to celebrate this character dynamic properly...and now, after so much procrastination, it’s finally done! This is Carewyn Cromwell’s son “ward,” my HPMA Sour Patch Kid Erik Apollo, with his schoolboy archrival, Azariah “Rye” Steele! @cursebreakerfarrier 💚❤️

Okay, so a few things you should know about these boys right off the bat --

Erik Apollo is the son of a deceased Muggle banker and his wife who, during the Second Wizarding War, was hunted down by the Muggle-Born Registration Commission before he could properly start his first year at Hogwarts. Erik’s arrest was very traumatic, not only resulting in Erik being kidnapped and getting badly scarred when Death Eater Thorfinn Rowle used a whip made out of Dark magical flames to bind him around the neck like an animal, but also in the death of Erik’s mother, which officially made Erik an orphan. Fortunately tiny, but hot-tempered and foul-mouthed Erik was rescued from Ministry captivity by Carewyn Cromwell and put into hiding, and after the War was over, Carewyn went looking for Erik and fought to become his official legal guardian. Out of love for his deceased parents, Erik never calls Carewyn his mother and Carewyn, out of respect for Erik, doesn’t call him her son, but the two do love each other like parent and child and would do anything to protect one other. Erik has a fund at Gringotts set up in his name that contains all of the assets his parents left behind, but otherwise Carewyn provides for Erik’s needs solely with her own salary as a lawyer for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Erik’s also one of the very rare examples of a Muggle-born who was Sorted into Slytherin house, but given his intense pride, dislike of authority figures, vengeful streak, relentlessness sometimes to the point of brutality, and deep-seeded ambition to become an Auror, it truly was his proper place. Beware if you say anything negative toward his blood or especially his family, though -- there are few things in the world Erik hates more than blood purists, and he can get down-right vindictive toward anyone who ascribes to or shows any sympathy toward such beliefs. If you’re lucky, you’ll simply get off with being called a “pompous twat who thinks you deserve a fucking crown when your head’s only real hat should be your own arse.” If you’re not, you can expect Erik to skip settling your dispute on the dueling grounds and just send you straight to the Hospital Wing with teeth so overgrown that your jaw has become painfully dislocated. (“That should keep you from running your gob off, you son of a bitch.”)

Azariah “Rye” Steele, on the other hand, is the sociable oldest son of a well-regarded magical family and a descendent of Godric Gryffindor. He’s well-liked by his classmates at large for his intellect, strong work ethic, and talent in wizard dueling, and he even eventually earned the position of Gryffindor Prefect in his fifth year, despite not being particularly attuned to the rules. And when this reckless, arrogant, playful Gryffindor collided with the surly, swearing, fiercely independent Slytherin, Rye found Erik (and his overly hostile reactions toward Rye ribbing him) absolutely hysterical. Rye’s amusement only served to insult Erik’s pride more and make him angrier, which made Rye tease him more, and the cycle continued ad infinitum from there. In short, these two became their generation’s James Potter/Severus Snape or Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy...only this time, the Slytherin never flirted with Death Eater rhetoric, and once these two become adults, they do actually bury the hatchet enough to work together as coworkers, when Erik becomes an Auror and Rye becomes a Hitwizard. (Though Erik never stops taking every opportunity to sass Rye’s face off whenever they collide.)

Although just about all of you who are familiar with Erik know him as being very tall, that sadly is only when he’s an adult. Erik followed Ben Copper’s trajectory in that he was small for most of his school career, before he shot up like a friggin’ beanstalk over the summer prior to his fifth year. And this means, just like with a lot of things, Rye got his growth spurt before Erik...and the Gryffindor very much enjoyed ribbing Erik about it, in their fourth year. (Enjoy it while you can, Rye -- once you start your fifth year, Erik will be exactly your height. 😏) I daresay this pose was done just before Erik yanked his wand out of his back pocket and hexed this smug git right in the face. Yes, I see these two kicking each other’s arses on the dueling field constantly.

Hope you like it, darling! xoxo

#hpma #magic awakened #azariah steele #erik apollo #my art #about erik #I doodled this on my breaks during work today!!#for those of you not familiar with erik he always wears turtlenecks to hide his burn scars #rye does eventually figure out that his teasing of erik isn't the coolest thing to do #in large part when he learns a bit more about erik's history and just how shitty of a time he's had #erik is 5'6 here while rye is newly 6'1 #but yeah again as of the following year erik will be the exact same height!#in your face rye!!#hahaha #kidding

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kathrynalicemc · 2 years

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The Phoenix Resistance - Epilogue: Eloise Yaxley

A/N: Tagging @cursebreakerfarrier and also @endlessly-cursed cuz I borrowed your children 😌

London, England - May 20th, 1998, 2:14 PM

Eloise Yaxley clutched a fresh bouquet of red roses in her hand as she walked down the busy London streets, following a path she knew by heart, having made the journey herself almost every week since she was eight years old. It was second nature to her by now. She barely had to think about the turns she made. That was until she came to a certain street corner. Her feet stopped in place as she hesitated for a second. Then she turned left, deviating from her familiar path for the first time in her life.

After what felt like years, and also mere seconds at the same time, she found herself at her new destination. Her heels sank slightly into the soft grass and earth under her as she stood in front of a headstone. The stone itself was polished and new, not a single weed or crack on it.

Antoinette Yaxley

1956 - 1998

Eloise sighed and gently placed the roses upon her mother’s grave. She felt guilty not feeling more sad that her mother was gone for good. To Eloise, her mother had died all those years ago. Her mother could truly rest now and Eloise could move on with her life and not feel obligated to stay by her side, endlessly hoping beyond all logic that some day she would wake up. The cage was broken and she was free. Her life was now hers to make of it. She was no longer driven by spite and hatred.

Eloise suddenly felt a presence beside her and a dark shadow enveloped the headstone. She didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

“You okay, Lou?” Azariah Steele gently asked as he too stared down at the bundle of roses.

“I’m getting there,” came her response.

“I’ll never get used to this. Way too many of our friends are now under the earth,” he remarked and Eloise gave a murmur of agreement.

Her gaze dropped and rested upon her arm at her side. Her forearm now had a large scar, only small traces of vague black ink could be seen among the scarred flesh. Once the war was over, Eloise had brewed a small vial of acid in an attempt to finally rid herself of the dark reminder.

Even though Devon had exonerated Eloise and revealed her true loyalty, many people in her life still regarded her with distrust when they saw the tattoo on her arm. When she had decided to go undercover as a spy, she knew she had to make it believable. A lot of friends she had cut ties with months ago still hesitated about reconnecting, having truly believed she had become a Death Eater and broken their trust. She never once really cared about how others felt about her, that was until now.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Eloise wondered out loud.

“That’s dangerous,” Azariah joked with a smile.

“I’ve killed so many people for the Ministry without a second thought. I told myself I was morally good because I was only killing bad people. But someone I once knew taught me that even bad people are still people,” she mused as she remembered the image of a certain young woman slumped against a door, selflessly sacrificing her own life for the lives of Death Eaters who would never do the same for her.

“I’ve got so much blood on my hands, Rye. I’m so tired of the killing,” she turned and finally looked at the face of her best friend she hadn’t seen for months.

“I imagine you aren’t the only one. This war has taken its toll on everyone,” he replied, a slight weariness in his eyes.

Eloise had seen that same weariness in the eyes of almost every witch or wizard she encountered. She also assumed the same look stared back at Azariah from her own eyes.

“I’ve resigned as an Unspeakable. I have no idea what I’m going to do next, but I won’t be a pawn doing the dirty work for others. I think it appealed to me because I could direct my anger towards my dad at bad people and call myself a hero for it.”

No response came from Azariah and a few seconds passed in silence before Eloise spoke again.

“Sorry, I know our usual means of conversation is punching each other in the face,” she chuckled.

“Nah, you don’t need to apologize. I’m proud of you, Lou.”

The words hit her with such a shock that her eyes started to burn and she quickly wiped tears away, suddenly embarrassed.

“Shut up,” Eloise murmured preemptively, cutting him off as his mouth opened to say something.

“I didn’t say anything!” he protested with a laugh as Eloise playfully drilled him in the shoulder.

“You know, you are always welcome to join me as a Hit Wizard or even an Auror. It would be fun being your boss.”

“Is that so? I’ll think about it. I’ve also debated setting up a potion shop. Two of them burned down in the war, so I won’t have much competition,” Eloise joked grimly.

“Any plans for tonight?” Azariah probed.

“Sorry, I can’t come to karaoke night,” Eloise teased with a knowing smile, “I’m having dinner with the McClarnon family. Graham invited me. But I’ll beat your ass next week, I promise.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“There’s one more thing I have to do. I’ll see you around, Rye,” Eloise said with a fist bump before turning back towards the busy London street.

“Give the world hell, Lou!” Azariah called loudly after her as she disappeared into the crowd of people on the sidewalk.

Winbourne Manor, Leeds, England - May 20th, 1998, 3:05 PM

Eloise stood on the street, staring up at the large Manor and grounds in front of her, many times bigger than the one that now belonged to her. She tugged her skirt down and tucked stray hairs behind her ear and then started up the long pathway to the front door. As she knocked, the loud thumps echoed off into the quiet afternoon.

Not long after, the door opened revealing a young woman the same age as herself with dark raven hair.

“Uh, Camille Yaxley? I mean, Lady Yaxley?” Eloise corrected herself, “I’m Eloise Yaxley. We went to Hogwarts together.”

“Yes, I remember you. You’re Corban’s daughter, aren’t you?” Camille replied curiously.

“I am. Sorry to bother you, but I wanted to come in person. My father did terrible things and I’m trying to fix my reputation. I don’t want the Yaxley name to be tarnished by his beliefs and actions. I know the rest of the family didn’t feel the same, which is why he was estranged and forbade me to even talk to you. But he’s gone now so I was wondering if we could reconnect? You’re the only family I have left,” Eloise rambled, not used to having honest and genuine words spill from her mouth.

Camille studied Eloise for a few seconds before smiling warmly. “I’d love that. Why don't you come inside? We can have tea.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #eloise yaxley #azariah steele #camille yaxley #tpr #the phoenix resistance #harry potter hogwarts mystery

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slytherindisaster · 2 years

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No thoughts, just Hermes enjoying his first camera. I imagine he got it as a birthday gift from his auntie Lou :') @cursebreakerfarrier @kathrynalicemc

#hermes janda steele #ira janda #azariah steele #eloise yaxley #hphm #hpma #these are so messy but were so fun to make #azarena fankid

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lifeofkaze · 3 years

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An Art of Balance #34

Orion Amari x MC

A/N: The penultimate chapter everyone, can you believe it? How far we’ve come together. Just as a little heads up, I will be uploading the last chapter of this story (🥺) in one go with the epilogue. So if you happen to see the epilogue first, know there is a ‘little’ (totally not little) chapter still waiting for you.

Thank you to everyone who let me borrow their OCs, I did a little round up of everyone in this chapter. Lizzie’s wonderful friends are belonging to:

Katriona ,KC’ Cassiopeia: @kc-needs-coffee

Judith Harris: @judediangelo75

Ira Janda, Julian Bennett: @slytherindisaster

Azariah Steele: @cursebreakerfarrier

Henry McClarnon: @thatravenpuffwitch

Also massive thanks to my favourite girl @the-al-chemist for helping with the structure and reading over. You know I love you 💛

Word Count: ~ 5.600

_______________________________________

Chapter 34: Victory

“Hufflepuff is this year’s reigning Quidditch champion!”

Murphy hadn’t even finished shouting into his megaphone when Skye, Lizzie and everyone around them erupted into screams of joy. Skye flung her arms around Lizzie’s neck, hugging her mid-air, half sobbing, half shouting “We did it! We did it!” into her ear over and over again. Lizzie didn’t even have any words to articulate the rush of emotions running through her all at once. She felt euphoric, happy, exhausted and unbelievably relieved that her plan hadn’t backfired on them. Syke was right, they had really done it.

They had won the House Cup.

Still hugging and jumping up and down on their brooms, Lizzie and Skye were slowly drifting downwards, landing roughly on the soft grass. The impact almost knocked them over but they couldn’t care less. They were basking in the cheers coming from the hollering stands, their grins so wide their cheeks were hurting.

Lizzie could see Skye’s father and Professor Sprout giving them standing ovations and even Professor McGonagall was clapping, albeit not as enthusiastically as the rest. Murphy was beaming from ear to ear, remaining silent for once and letting the team have the full attention of the crowd.

One after the other their teammates were landing next to them. Lizzie found herself hugging Judith and even Everett in her enthusiasm; all of their animosities were forgotten over the raw joy of achieving their incredible last minute win. In this moment what had happened wasn’t important anymore; the only thing that counted was that they had reached their common goal and the Cup was theirs.

And then, all of a sudden, Orion was there, his eyes shining with pride and a beaming smile on his face. He swept her into an embrace and spun her around, neither one of them caring the slightest bit what anyone else might be thinking. Lizzie was laughing as she held onto him, feeling nothing but elation; she couldn’t imagine a more perfect moment.

Orion sat her down and Lizzie was swaying for a moment, feeling slightly dizzy from being spun around, too much sunlight and the feeling of Orion’s arms around her. Still smiling, he raised his hand to her face and cupped her cheek, his thumb running over her flushed skin. The expression in his eyes was so soft as they found hers, the butterflies exploding in Lizzie’s stomach seemed to fill her up completely; the fluttery feeling combined with the adrenaline rushing through her body made her feel as if she was still flying.

He opened his mouth to say something when a sudden movement to their side made both of them turn their heads; Judith and Skye had sneaked up on them and were on the verge of upending a giant barrel of butterbeer over their heads. Lizzie tried to move out of its way immediately, but Orion quickly got hold of her wrist and pulled her back.

“You’re staying right where you are,” he laughed before the ice cold liquid was hitting them. Lizzie shrieked and closed her eyes as the butterbeer washed over her face and found its way down the back of her jersey. She buried her face against Orion’s now soaked Quidditch robes and could feel the vibration in his chest as he laughed. She couldn’t help her smile widening as he held her even closer.

“I knew you could do it, Chaser,” he whispered against her hair.

Lizzie pulled away and smiled up at him; a light giggle escaped her as she was taking in their drenched state. “We did it all together.”

Orion gently brushed a strand of wet hair out of her face. “As a team.”

She covered his hand resting on her cheek with hers, her eyes finding his again. His long, dark hair was just as soaked as hers was, but he obviously couldn’t care less. Lizzie’s eyes flickered down to his lips for a moment; the soft smirk forming on them made her hold her breath. Her wish to kiss him right here and now was close to overwhelming.

But before she could give in to it, her gaze flicked over Orion’s shoulder to where she could see the members of the defeated Gryffindor team lying in the grass. The misery they were radiating was a stark contrast to their own overjoyed celebration.

She could see Julian comforting a broken looking Henry; Azariah was lying on his back, staring into the sky with a blank expression and the two Chasers were silently talking between themselves, shaking their heads in disbelief.

Charlie was sitting apart from them; his head was hanging low, his windswept red hair obscuring most of his face. The rest was hidden his hand covering his eyes, while the other was still clutching the Golden Snitch, that was gleaming in the sunlight.

The sight of her friend's devastation felt like a jab to Lizzie’s heart. Her face twisting with sympathy, she placed a hand on Orion’s chest and gently pushed him away. He followed her gaze with a slight frown, before he nodded in comprehension.

He inclined his head in Charlie’s direction. “Go to him; he is in need of a friend right now.”

Lizzie knew she should go and it wasn’t like she didn’t want to; she just didn’t want to let go of Orion again so soon. Sensing her hesitation, he gently nudged her forward.

“Go,” he repeated. “We’ll have our moment later.”

Finally breaking free of him, Lizzie walked past her teammates and towards the Gryffindors. She stopped by every one of them for a moment, either trying to cheer them up or offer some words of comfort. When she reached the lone figure of her best friend, she stopped and knelt down beside him.

“Hey.”

At the sound of her voice, Charlie raised his bleak eyes to look at her for a moment. “Congratulations, I guess,” he managed to croak out before hanging his head again.

“Thank you,” Lizzie answered sincerely. She put a hand on his forearm, squeezing it gently. “You put up an incredible fight. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this before.”

Charlie shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe it. “Didn’t help much, did it? You won, we lost; there’s no way of talking around it.”

“It could have gone down either way; it was a matter of seconds.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I can’t believe I caught the Snitch only one bloody moment too late.” He choked out a bitter laugh and held the golden ball up for her to see.

“Looks like it’s me who gets the consolation prize in the end.”

He looked past her to her laughing teammates. “What are you doing over here anyway, champ? Don’t tell me you’re ditching your team for us moping lot?”

Lizzie sat down next to him onto the grass and nudged him with her shoulder. “I’m ditching my team for a friend who could use a bit of comfort right now,” she responded with a smile.

Charlie’s eyes trailed from her towards the Hufflepuffs again, who were busy hoisting a laughing Orion up on their shoulders.

“Even him?”

She had followed his gaze and nodded. “Even him.”

Charlie huffed but gave her a small grin, nonetheless. “That means a lot, Liz, thank you. But you deserved to win this time; you more than anyone.”

Lost in thought, Lizzie had been watching Orion celebrating with their friends. It was only now that she saw Charlie had been watching her in turn. Not sure if he was still talking about the match, Lizzie blushed a deep scarlet that almost matched Charlie’s robes; her flustered state made him grin mischievously.

“You’d better watch out though, pineapple,” he teased her, “there’s always next season. I’ll be damned if I let you defend that title; we’ll make sure the Cup gets back to where it belongs.”

Happy to see Charlie’s fighting spirit return, Lizzie dipped her head back and laughed. “Not if I can help it, Weasley!”

She scrambled to her feet and offered Charlie her hand. “Do I see you at the party later?”

It was a tradition to celebrate the closing of the Quidditch season with a big outdoor event down by the Black Lake. Generally considered one of the highlights of the years, it wasn’t only for the members of the winning House but for everyone in the school. As it was the last chance to have a bit of fun before the stress of their exams would take up all of their focus, most of the students had been looking forward to it for weeks.

Charlie, however, didn’t seem too thrilled at the prospect. He looked Lizzie up and down with a sigh.

“Would you accept a ‘no’ for an answer?”

“No,” Lizzie chuckled.

“Then I don’t think I have a choice, really,” Charlie smirked before wrapping his arm around her shoulder to march her back to her team. “I’ve got to celebrate my favourite badger girl, after all.”

Lizzie was probably one of the last ones left in the castle when she was finally able to make her way down to the lake. The sunlight had turned from bright to golden and was painting the landscape around her in an alternating pattern of light and shadow.

After the potion Ira had given her had worn off, the bone crushing hug from a sobbing Penny had made the pain of her injury flare up again with full force. When her knees had buckled from the sharp sting, Orion and Ira had been adamant she’d go to the Hospital Wing at once; her ribs had hurt too badly for Lizzie to even consider objecting.

Madam Pomfrey had been miffed when she had checked her up, muttering something about “This bloody Quidditch business” under her breath. To Lizzie’s relief, Ira’s initial assessment had been right and her ribs weren’t broken after all.

“I’d much rather you’d have come straight to me, Miss Jameson,” Madam Pomfrey had declared sternly. “Teenagers,” she had sighed,” always think they know better.”

She had been watching Lizzie reproachfully while preparing the ingredients for another painkiller potion, which was supposed to get her through the night.

Before she had left, Lizzie had made sure to check up on Brian; as it turned out, he wasn’t allowed to leave the Hospital Wing due to a mild concussion. He was miserable about not being able to celebrate with the rest of them, but otherwise he seemed to be alright.

“Kiss the Cup for me, will you?” he had asked her with a laugh as she had been about to leave.

Lizzie’s answer had been cut short by the scolding look of Madam Pomfrey, who had appeared by Brian’s bedside. “I thought there was an event you were desperate to attend, Miss Jameson,” she had chided her, albeit with the hint of a smile. “If you don’t want to spend the night here alongside your friend, you had better leave now before I change my mind.”

As she was walking along the path that would lead her to the Black Lake, Lizzie was enjoying having a little time on her own. It was a welcome change to the busy moments after the match, when her housemates had flooded the pitch and congratulations had been passed all around. It gave her the opportunity to let everything sink in.

They had won; they had really, actually done it.

Her team had come out on top; even after all the mess that had been going down this year, they had managed to get a grip and pull each other through. Lizzie felt overwhelmingly happy; never before had she been so proud of her team, of Skye, of Orion, even of herself.

She remembered the feeling of weightlessness when Orion had picked her up and spun her around; neither of them had cared about anyone else in that moment and it had felt so right; today, everything was feeling right.

Lizzie smiled to herself as she reached the shoreline, an unmistakable bounce in her steps. Whatever the evening might be bringing, she was looking forward to it; she had earned the right to just enjoy herself for a change.

When Lizzie heard two voices calling her name, she slowed her steps and turned around. It was Andre and Charlie, undoubtedly headed into the same direction as her. Tapping her foot in mock impatience, she waited for them to catch up.

Andre smiled brightly when they reached her. “Look who it is, Charlie.”

“The reigning Quidditch champion,” Charlie continued, now in a decidedly better mood after he’d had time to stomach the match. “May we escort you to your victory party?”

Both boys went up to either side of Lizzie and linked arms with her as they marched her along. She had to giggle at their overly solemn expressions.

“You may,” she laughed. “But why are you so late?”

Charlie rolled his eyes and jerked his head in Andre’s direction. “Someone needed to get dressed properly.”

It was only now that Lizzie noticed the giant badger on Andre’s blue shirt he was wearing under his jacket. She raised her eyebrows in astonishment and chuckled.

“That’s a really nice gesture, Andre, but that’s not quite the right colour.”

Andre merely shrugged, however. “I’ve got to uphold some housepride at least or else Erika might kill me.” He glanced down at his newest design. “That one’s risky enough as it is.”

As expected, the party was already in full swing when they arrived. Several stalls had been set up at the shore of the Black Lake and the houselves had given it their all to provide them with delicious food and drinks. They were all centred around a giant bonfire that was blazing brightly in the slowly descending darkness of the evening.

The stalls were decorated in yellow and black banners, as were the comfortable looking seats that had been grouped together all over the place. The image of the Hufflepuff badger was a common sight wherever Lizzie was looking. To add to the atmosphere, numerous strings of fairy lights had been put up in between the branches and down the stems of the trees.

The place was packed with laughing and chatting students; Charlie and Andre went to get something to drink and Lizzie found herself wandering around the site, looking for any sign of her friends.

She spotted the familiar strawberry blond head of KC over to the side of the bonfire. She was sitting in one of the cushioned garden chairs with a bottle of butterbeer in her hand. Her head was dipped back in laughter at something Rath had just said; knowing the tall blonde girl, it had undoubtedly been some wry remark about the course of the game.

Where KC was Murphy was never far and sure enough, he was lounging in the chair next to her. He was gesturing wildly towards the two girls with sparkling eyes, confirming Lizzie’s suspicion that they were indeed still talking about the match.

Sitting next to Murphy, Orion was attentively listening to the ongoing discussion. He was looking as deeply relaxed as Lizzie had ever seen him. As if sensing someone’s attention being on him, he turned his head. As their eyes met, a smile tugged at his lips and he motioned for her to join them with the smallest movement of his head. The shift of Orion’s focus didn’t escape KC; she nudged him with her foot before bending over to him and whispering something into his ear, making Orion laugh and shake his head.

Lizzie felt a smile forming on her face. There was nothing she would have liked more than heading over to her friends right now. For the first time since she had arrived at Hogwarts last September, she felt completely certain of what she wanted; it was as if reaching their shared goal today had cleared her mind of all the doubts that she had been carrying with her.

But there was one thing she had to do first. Although it was incredibly hard to do, she turned her back on her friends and scanned the crowd for a different face.

After a moment, Lizzie spotted who she had been looking for; through a gap in between several groups of people, Lizzie could make out the familiar figure of Rowan. She was on her own and - just like Lizzie herself - she seemed to be searching the crowd as well. When their eyes met, they started walking towards each other.

“I’ve been looking for you!” both girls exclaimed simultaneously when they had reached each other, before they burst into laughter; it felt easy and carefree, almost like it used to be.

“Congratulations on winning the House Cup; you were amazing!” To Lizzie’s surprise, Rowan hugged her tightly. “Penny, Tonks and I were almost dying watching you play; what a match!”

A touch of worry flickered over her face as her eyes dropped to Lizzie’s ribcage, where the Bludger had hit her. “How are your ribs? Ira told us they’re bruised pretty badly.”

“She’s right, but nothing’s broken or anything,” Lizzie shrugged. “Madam Pomfrey gave me another painkiller potion for tonight, but it will probably hurt like hell tomorrow.”

Lizzie didn’t want to talk about her injury right now. She thought about how the whole school must have seen Orion embrace her after the match; Rowan must have done so, too. Lizzie was sick and tired of this ridiculous fight with her; she wanted to sort things out with her friend once and for all.

She took a deep breath. “Listen, Ro, we need to talk.”

Much to her surprise, Rowan responded immediately. “Yes, I know. That’s why I’ve been looking for you; I wanted to apologise.”

Lizzie had already opened her mouth to reply when her brain registered Rowan’s unexpected words. Not knowing what to say, she blinked in confusion.

“You want what now?”

Rowan’s gaze dropped to the ground and she rubbed her arm uncomfortably. “When that Bludger hit you and you were hanging from that banner, I was so scared for you,” she muttered quietly, her eyes still trained on the tips of her shoes. “I mean, we all were, of course; Penny even nearly cried. But Orion was there to help you immediately and even from the Hufflepuff stands you could see how afraid he was for you.”

Rowan raised her eyes to meet Lizzie’s. The different emotions shining in them were hard to pinpoint; it was a mixture of sadness, resignation and, strangely enough, something resembling relief.

“And seeing the two of you after the game was over…” Rowan’s voice trailed off and she swallowed the lump in her throat. “It’s just so obvious how much he cares for you.”

Lizzie slowly breathed out, not quite daring to believe what she was hearing. “So you’re not mad?” she asked tentatively. “I promised you to stay away from him after all.”

Rowan sighed. “Yes, and you did. I’ll be honest with you, I really thought if we could just pretend like none of this had happened, it would make me feel better; and maybe even make the two of us better again, too. I was so hurt and angry at you; you are such an admirable person, Lizzie, so many girls want to be just like you,” Rowan sniffed and her voice broke slightly, “I just didn’t want you to have him on top of it.”

Lizzie felt her own voice becoming breathy. “You don’t have to be like anyone else, Ro; you’re perfect just the way you are.”

But Rowan shook her head and pressed her lips together. “No, I’m not. I deliberately hurt you to feel better about myself. But it didn’t work, I only felt bad for asking something horrible like this from you and making all of us unhappy in the process.”

Her shoulders slumped as she hung her head. “I acted like the worst friend imaginable, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Lizzie asked incredulously. “If anyone should apologise, it’s me. I never should have risked our friendship like I did, I should have been honest with you from the beginning.” She laid her hand on Rowan’s arm and smiled when she lifted her head again. “Believe me, Rowan, no matter what you think, you’re always important to me.”

She hesitated to go on and gathered her courage before she continued. “But Orion is, too,” she said timidly. “It’s not for show or about wanting to be with someone I’m not supposed to be with. I really care about him.”

“I know,” Rowan sighed and pushed her glasses up her nose, “I guess I was more intrigued by the idea I had of him than by him himself.”

An encouraging smile formed on Rowan’s face. “But you, Lizzie, you know him, the real him. Not the Quidditch captain or the guy who loves broom balancing and nebulous answers, just him. And believe me, you matter to Orion as well, anyone can see that; you two belong together.”

Not knowing what to say, Lizzie took a step forward and threw her arms around her best friend’s neck. “Thank you.”

She was more than relieved when Rowan returned the hug. “What for,” she laughed before letting go again. She placed her hands on Lizzie’s shoulders, turned her around and pushed her forward.

“Now go and find him before I change my mind.” Rowan’s eyes swept over the crowd and a concerned frown appeared over the top of her glasses. “I need to check on Tulip and Tonks, they were talking about tinkering with some firecrackers earlier.”

She adjusted the Prefect badge on her jumper, gave Lizzie another smile and quickly vanished in the crowd. Lizzie watched after her for a second before she turned around as well.

Just as she started walking towards where Orion was still sitting with their friends, Penny jumped on her out of nowhere grabbing her arm.

“There you are!” she squealed. “Where in Godric’s name have you been?”

Lizzie wanted to reply but didn’t get a chance before Penny forcefully dragged her towards a big group of people standing close to the central bonfire. She was constantly babbling with excitement. “He is here, Lizzie, can you believe it! Ethan Parkin is here. At our victory party! This is incredible, he is incredible, all of this is incredible!”

She tugged at Lizzie’s arm impatiently. “Come on now, he has been asking about you several times already!”

As they were approaching the huge crowd that had gathered near the blazing fire, Lizzie could make out Ethan and Skye standing at its centre. The House Cup was sitting next to them on the grass, its silver handles decorated with black and yellow ribbons. The giant trophy was coming up higher than Skye’s knees; when Madam Hooch and Professor Dumbledore had handed it over to Orion at the ceremony on the pitch, Lizzie had been able to see how he had momentarily struggled to lift it over his head; Lizzie and Skye had only managed to do the same when they had tried it together.

Now, Skye was glancing down at the Cup every now and again, still unable to believe she had finally achieved what she had dreamed of ever since. Her father, on the other hand, paid the glinting trophy no mind; his hand was resting on Skye’s shoulder, his face beaming with pride. He was talking animatedly to his awed onlookers; Lizzie could see Skye was blushing and trying not to roll her eyes. She sighed inwardly; Ethan Parkin was probably talking about his favourite subject: himself and his illustrious adventures with the Wigtown Wanderers.

But when Penny pushed them through the crowd towards the front, Lizzie was surprised to hear that Ethan Parkin wasn’t gushing about his family’s club after all; instead, he was recounting the course of their match in such painstaking details it could have put Murphy to shame. He took a special joy in painting all of Skye’s free throws, goals and special manoeuvres in the brightest colours to the adoring masses; her last move in particular had him bursting with pride.

“If you ask me, that Keeper stood no chance from the moment she got her hands on the Quaffle,” he was declaring just now. “It’s a special technique my Skye has, Parkin family secret, of course; just knew she wouldn’t fail her shot.”

He interrupted his monologue and his eyes lit up as they discovered Lizzie. He nudged Skye with his elbow.

“Look who’s here, Skye; seems like we finally found your missing mate. Wondered where you might be at, lassie.”

Lizzie motioned to her ribcage. “I had to go and get my ribs checked.”

“Aye, that one looked like it hurt. I know what a Bludger to the rips feels like, but let me tell you, a good player always pulls through, no matter what.”

He clapped a heavy hand on Lizzie’s shoulder. “Well done, lass, you did a fine job out there. You lot can learn from this one,” he proclaimed to his fans, still squeezing Lizzie’s shoulder. “Takes some strength of character to recognise when your teammate’s abilities are greater than your own; right decision of Lizzie to pass the Quaffle to Skye, it was the key to their victory.”

Like Skye before, Lizzie was trying not to roll her eyes. “If you say so, Mr. Parkin.”

“How often do I need to tell you, call me Ethan.”

Lizzie smiled noncommittally. “At least one more time, Mr. Parkin.”

He laughed jovially and turned to his fans again, recounting some other detail of their match; Lizzie wasn’t even listening anymore. Using her father’s distraction, Skye took her chance and pulled Lizzie away from the crowd for a moment.

Looking back over her shoulder, she rubbed her neck in embarrassment. “Sorry dad’s so enthusiastic. Don’t listen to him boasting about me, you were smashing today.”

“As were you,” Lizzie smiled.

A smug grin stole onto Skye’s face. “Yeah, we did quite a good job, didn’t we?” Seemingly out of nowhere her expression turned serious again. “But don’t you think I don’t know what you were doing.”

Out of nowhere Skye nudged Lizzie’s shoulder, maybe a bit more forceful than she had meant to.

“Ouch! What was that for!

Skye ignored Lizzie’s complaints. “You were at your favourite distance for that last goal; you always make that shot.” She set her index finger onto Lizzie’s chest to accentuate her words. “Don’t you ever dare to risk a win like that again, you hear me, Jameson?”

Before Lizzie could say anything in her defence, Skye had hugged her tightly. “But thank you anyway.”

Lizzie grinned when Skye abruptly let go of her only seconds later. “What’s that now, Parkin? Are you going soft on me or what?”

Skye huffed and laughed out loud. “You wish, Jameson!”

With a last genuine smile at her friend, Skye returned to her father’s side. Lizzie couldn’t help but smile to herself taking in the scene. Despite all the pressure he had put his daughter through, knowingly or not, Ethan was now looking down at Skye with overwhelming pride; Lizzie wasn’t sure if she had ever seen Skye being happier than in this exact moment.

She stayed with the Parkins for a little while longer until Lizzie felt it wouldn’t be impolite to leave anymore. She was tired of Ethan’s constant droning, even if it was about Quidditch.

Lizzie was impatient to finally get her chance to talk to Orion now, but when she turned to the place her friends had been occupying earlier, she found it deserted; none of them was anywhere to be seen.

Not really knowing what to do, Lizzie started aimlessly strolling around the party, hopping from group to group, chatting with all sorts of people here and there.

So many happy faces were smiling at her as she moved through the crowd, congratulating her and clapping her on the back. Even her Gryffindor friends were seemingly enjoying themselves in this cheerful environment.

Lizzie could see Azariah laughing with Charlie and Andre, his arm draped around Ira’s shoulder; the curly haired Hufflepuff had her head resting against him and smiled from time to time. A bit further on, Julian and Henry were joking with each other, both raising their butterbeers in her direction when they saw her walking by. Sitting a little more secluded from the rest of the crowd, Lizzie could even spot Judith and her boyfriend Talbott; she was surprised to see the evasive Ravenclaw boy make an appearance at such a busy place, but then again, judging by the adoring looks he gave his girlfriend, there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for Judith.

Upon seeing all of her friends so relaxed and happy, a warm and fuzzy feeling was spreading inside Lizzie’s chest. As she leaned against a tree and took a sip of her butterbeer, however, she couldn’t help but feel a bit lost without having one of her own close friends to talk to.

Completely lost in her thoughts, the sudden sound of a familiar voice close to her ear almost made her jump out of her skin.

“Looking for someone, Chaser?”

Turning around, Lizzie found Orion standing behind her with a smirk on his face. Trying to ignore her wildly beating heart, Lizzie broke into a smirk of her own.

“What makes you think I’m looking for someone?”

“Aren’t we always looking for something or the other?” he responded casually, but the smile on his lips was mirrored in his eyes..

“I guess you’re right,” Lizzie mused, “but the someone I’ve been looking for is rather hard to catch tonight.”

Orion laughed quietly, the warm sound making Lizzie’s heart skip a beat. “I take it you’re drawing from your own rich pool of experience. You’ve been as elusive as a beam of sunlight this whole year; always visible, but impossible to get hold of.”

“Well, here I am.” She sighed in mock exasperation and rested her elbow on Orion’s shoulder. “But alas, the one I was looking for isn’t.”

Orion chuckled, clearly unimpressed by her teasing. Lizzie fought to not lose her composure as she felt his hand on her back, his touch giving her goosebumps all over.

“Is that so?” he whispered into her ear before drawing back again. “I fear you’ll have to make do with me.”

Lizzie tilted her head and grinned. “I think I can live with that.”

The atmosphere between them felt different; even when they had been nothing but friends, they had never spoken to each other in such a light, teasing manner before. However, this new dynamic felt completely natural. All the tension and strain that had hung between them for the better part of the year had vanished into thin air; Lizzie was loving every second of it.

Her breath hitched as she felt Orion adjust his hand on her back, his fingers grazing lightly over her spine.

“In fact,” he conceded, “Rowan mentioned you were looking for me.”

Surprised, Lizzie raised her eyebrows. “She did?”

Although Rowan had said she was alright with it, Lizzie was still glad to see that she had actually meant it. The thought of not having to lie to anyone anymore felt wonderful and strange at the same time.

“I’m as surprised as you are. I take it, the two of you were finally able to make peace?”

Lizzie sighed with relief. “Yes, neither one of us was what you’d call a perfect friend lately.”

Orion’s smile grew softer. “Perfection is a matter of perspective, isn’t it?”

Unable to think of a witty response, Lizzie’s cheeks blushed a deep scarlet and her eyes dropped to the ground. The atmosphere had shifted yet again, and she could feel the butterflies dancing in her stomach; she wasn’t entirely sure whether they were stemming more from nerves or excitement.

She was spared an answer, however, when a high, whistling sound suddenly cut through the air, directly followed by a mix of shrieks and laughter. The unmistakable cackling of Tonks and Tulip was clearly discernible above it; Lizzie recalled Rowan’s concern about seeing them meddling with some firecrackers.

Unimpressed by the commotion, Orion shot her a sideways glance. “What do you say, let’s leave the crowd to themselves and their fireworks for a bit?”

Lizzie tore her gaze away from the colourful sparks erupting over where the two troublemakers were undoubtedly working their magic and smiled at him.

“Sounds like a good plan, Captain.”

They left their spot under the tree and moved through the crowd that was flocking towards the commotion. Orion was walking in front of Lizzie, quickly gaining ground on her as the stream of people was thickening.

Breathing in deeply, Lizzie gathered her courage and lightly placed a hand on his arm before he was out of reach.

“Wait for me, will you?”

Orion looked back over his shoulder and waited for her to catch up with him. When she was closer, Lizzie let her hand travel down from where she had touched him to his hand, interlacing her fingers with his. Her heart was beating frantically as she felt the slight pressure of his fingers against the back of her hand.

Neither of them saw the surprised looks they were attracting as they broke free from the crowd, nor the badly contained smiles of their friends as they passed them. And even if Lizzie had noticed, at this very moment, she couldn’t have cared less.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #quidditch #orion amari #rowan khanna #skye parkin #charlie weasley #lizzie jameson #aob #art of balance #the quidditch squad #penultimate chapter #can you believe it #I still can't believe it #get ready for the final one #I cried writing this chapter #surreal

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empty-masks · 2 years

Text

Book Two, Chapter Ten - Leon

CW: Strong Language, Sexual References, Graphic Violence, Fantasy Bigotry, Smoking, Alcohol Use, Light Body Horror

PERHAPS I UNDERESTIMATED QUITE HOW SMALL YOUR SHARDS ARE, TOURMALINE. IT WILL TAKE MUCH TIME TO RECONSTRUCT YOU-- I ASK FOR YOUR PATIENCE ON THE MATTER, PLEASE.

The five of them stand, dumbfounded, staring at a single solemn tree amidst the warm, vivid hues of the Eternal Autumn. Its branches are leafless, jagged, and broken-- and the bark is a light-trapping black, darker than any coal they had ever seen in their lives. Among a world of stunning colors, it is a black gash across their vision from its peak down to its base, where even the underbrush is scarce and the earth is dark and cracking.

Leon frowns. “We’re here. Dragon territory.”

“Looks like we aren’t goin’ straight for Fusillade, shame.” Azariah shrugs his shoulders, looks up to gauge the place of the sun in the sky, considers his directions, and then points to their left. “Let’s head west, then.”

“Hold on,” Leon interjects. “What’s west, Azariah? That stone town?”

Azariah laughs. “Kiln, kid, to the west is Kiln. Great place, interestin’ environs and such. I don’t exactly know the way on foot, but you can’t miss the place for miles and it isn’t in the territory of an ornery lizard with wings.”

“Well, the Fusillade Wyrm is a Wyrm, so it’s actually closer to being a snake with wings. I think they have legs?” Olive readjusts her now well-scuffed hard hat. “I have to agree with Azariah here, Leon. I’m not all that interested in marchin’ through dragon country— but I gotta point out Fusillade itself ain’t actually in the wyrm’s territory, just the closest town to it. All that said, still gotta cut through if we want to head straight for it. I think goin’ to Kiln might actually be safer regardless, since it ain’t a part of your old route.”

“We’ve also got numbers, too,” says Cherry.

Everyone’s heads turn to focus on the young man, who offers a smile of consolation. “If it finds us, we’re together. A Dragon might overlook one or two people walking through, or a few people in a car if they take the right road, but five people marching through on foot in similar outfits screams—”

“Adventurers.” Judith puts her head in her hand. “It’d attack us on sight if it saw us, and we’re not exactly stealthy. You know, with this group being an old man, a guy with a lung condition, an anxious owl, a dumb kid, and then myself with a missing fucking hand. The only reason we haven’t been caught yet is that nobody’s going to bother to look in the woods for a bunch of nobodies without any fucking experience getting by in here, barring Olive. And even then, the timer’s up. Our head start runs out today.”

Leon steels himself. “Then I’ll go it alone. Meet you four on the other side, get us set up in Fusillade.”

Azariah shakes his head. “Not your finest idea, Leon, and you’re a smart guy. We’re better off makin’ this march together, even if it means we have to head somewhere else. There’s safety and power in numbers.”

A thought crosses Leon’s mind, but he doesn’t air it. Azariah can see it in the way he’s looking at them, though. Safety in numbers only exists if the other numbers are reliable, and this has burned him before. He shakes his head. “I appreciate the thought.”

Judith cringes, then scowls and wraps her arms around herself for the time being.

Cherry clears his throat. “We don’t know if the thing’s still around. Dragons are dragons, they’re big name targets for adventurers. For all we know, it might be dead. It’s not like it comes down to talk with people all the time.”

The Owl nods. “He’s got a point. Though I think it’d be big news if the wyrm croaked, he is makin’ a good point, Leon. No reason to make a decision like this without all the information we might need, y’all.”

“Let’s check, then. Olive, come with me. I don’t want anything sneaking up on us.” Leon rubs the back of his neck, standing a bit straighter.

Olive, adjusting the way her hatchet hangs at her side, steps up to begin walking with Leon, saying, “Well, I don’t think any Trunts would be inclined to live in a region run by somethin’ that likes burnin’ stuff, but it’s better safe than sorry and they still got Azariah, so as long as we get back before they up and fall asleep on us…”

On the trip itself, Olive and Leon talk little. This is an obligatory outing, needed only so that when they return and Leon tells them, straight-faced, that the Fusillade Wyrm is still up and sizzling there’s no chance that they’re wrong. A local big timer like a Dragon dying tends to be a big deal, and the fact that the Smokestone Location hadn’t heard of its demise before they fled leaves Leon without any doubt that the serpent’s still out there. It’s still very tempting to go it alone, perhaps waiting until the others are asleep to dart off in the right direction and make it on his own again.

Heading west isn’t safer, not really, not when he doesn’t know what could be out there. Azariah’s even admitted to not truly knowing the footpath to Kiln, so even if they don’t screw up and miss the place by miles at least they’ll have to deal with anything that might get in their way on the trail itself. They’d already had run-ins with a Skitterbear and then there was Olive’s fight with a Trunt, the latter having put him on edge for the rest of the trip. If it’s true, then the woods are a lot more dangerous than he ever knew when he ran in the first place, and if she’s lying, then he can’t trust her— and aside from Judith, Olive’s the most trustworthy.

Trustworthy. Wrong word, wrong concept, wrong everything. It isn’t that he can trust her, it’s that he’s got a good idea of the way she acts, the way she reacts. Olive is predictable. He can predict her response to things, generally. For similar reasons, Judith is predictable, but rather than generalized anxiety he’s certain the main reaction she goes for is anger, and he can understand that. Out of all of them, despite their fights, Judith is likely the only one whom he truly understands.

The Hare’s nothing but mysteries wrapped up in folksy old sayings and sappy crap. Cherry’s predictable, sure, but cloyingly sweet even on the off days and it makes him think that maybe it’s all an act and that at some point the kid’s gonna disappear with their gear. Those are the options with Cherry; the kid’s either a damned amazing liar or quite possibly the most naive person Leon’s ever met.

What’s keeping him from running while they’re all asleep, swiping his gear and sneaking out through Wyrm Territory while they meander off to Kiln, where it’s likely the corporate bastards are all already headed? People would never assume that a group of miners might try to cut through the Wyrm’s stretch of forest to get to Fusillade, not after how it went for his last group, or any other runaways.

It’s either a lonely trip under the stern and cruel gaze of that Monster or a journey into the unknown, with the most reliable people he knows being an anxiety riddled owl and his former boss, now sans her dominant hand thanks to that fuck up back on site. He can’t rely on the kid, he’s a kid, and can’t rely on the old man— he’s an old man.

And ultimately it comes down to whether or not he can even rely on himself. He could’ve made it alone last time, and back then he was just hauling stolen product, not made out of it. This is a unique problem. He’s not only a valuable product asset now, but if folks beyond Shepherd bounds learn about that it’s another big scandal for the company. Nothing life threatening, not when their hands are in so many pies, but something scary enough to impact their local bottom line. It doesn’t matter how big or small something is when it’s Shepherd’s.

As long as he doesn’t overwork himself and rations out his food, he could get by. They would still have Olive, so she could keep trapping food for them. They’d be fine.

A feathery hand darts out and presses against his chest, stopping Leon in his tracks. He hasn’t even opened his mouth to speak when Olive shakes her head and presses a finger to her beak, eyes wide. Afterward, Olive points up toward the clouds.

Leon stares up alongside her, and between those sweet pillows of fluff that cover the heavens they see a long, dark, writhing shape slither, moving at speeds no bird for miles could ever muster even in a blitzing divebomb. His heart sinks in his chest at the sight of it swimming through the clouds on fiery red wings, like a winged sea-snake.

A display is put on; from this distance all they can make out are bursts of flame, bright against the faint and pleasant whites and off-whites of the clouds. The scaly, slithering form of the Wyrm is too far to be made out closely, but even so far away as the clouds they can see the vivid light of its flames.

“It can’t hear us,” states Leon, getting a hand on her shoulder. “Worry about it seeing us instead.”

“That some kinda matin’ display? Tryin’ to be all bright and fiery for some lady Wyrm? Like how birds dance or make nests?”

Leon shakes his head. “No. It’s probably barbecuing birds mid-flight for shits. It’s a power move. Let’s leave.”

“Absolutely terrifyin’,” is all Olive says before the two turn and trot back down the trail they’d taken.

When they return, the others are no less anxious than they; it’s quite the feat, reaching the same level of general, ambient terror that Olive seems to be in constantly. Sitting with his back against the burnt tree, Azariah has since begun gently plucking at the strings of his mandolin again, with Cherry sitting right beside him and Judith pacing in front of the two.

It’s as Leon walks around said burnt tree, past the strumming rabbit and the young man, that Judith turns to ask, “Where have you two been? Did you see that? Something’s burning the fucking sky!”

Azariah scoffs. “No need to beat around the bush, Judith. Surprisin’ that you’d bother bein’ so concerned as to try and not freak Leon and Olive out about it. You two saw the Dragon?”

Judith scowls. “It could be something else! And we don’t know how either of them might react to hearing about it— if it is it, anyway.”

As Olive nods, Leon straightens out and says, “Yeah, we saw it too. It’s the reason we headed back this early. No mistake, that’s the thing we were looking for. At least it seemed preoccupied.”

“Right, we start worrying once we’ve decided on a plan of action.” Cherry smiles up at the rest of the group, smoothing out his jumpsuit. “Though, Leon? What about you? We’re set on heading to Kiln, has there been any revelations since earlier?”

“Not particularly.” Leon walks over to sit down on a fallen tree. There he’s joined by Judith, who grumbles about logistics and rationing and the likelihood of dying via forest fire under her breath.

Azariah stops playing to lift only a single finger, pointing up. “Don’t be so worried, Judith, we’re not gonna be headin’ through that way. We’re goin’ to Kiln, remember?”

“What about Leon?” She asks, raising her head and turning her gaze to the Orc. “Do you feel like ditching us and taking your chances with the snake? You think that’s the sensible thing to do?”

Leon holds up a hand. “I haven’t decided on what I’m doing yet. I need to think.”

Olive shakes her head again. “A single person might be able to get by without gettin’ its attention but I don’t have much faith in your survivability on your own regardless. You’re a smart guy, Leon, but think about it. You wouldn’t know how to make heads or tails of anythin’ out there and in the case that there is a problem, you’re not in any condition to be makin’ last stands. Numbers, Leon, numbers!”

“Safer to head west, bud, but it’s your decision. I’m a firm believer in that if even one of us gets caught it’s basically over for all of us, but I’m also a champion of personal freedom.” Azariah chuckles, keeping his eyes trained on Leon.

With a tilt of her head, Judith scoffs. “Personal freedom my ass, old man. Last thing you were champion of was probably sometime before any of us spawned— or were born.” Afterward she looks to Leon again, one hand moving to grab at his jumpsuit. “It’s a stupid idea to go through those woods and you know it. You’re not in a state to make it on your own and even if you were it’s still dangerous, plus like they say there is at least strength in numbers. Don’t go, Leon. Don’t leave me the one sane person in this stupid group of fuckups. Cherry might make me lose another hand if Azariah doesn’t talk me to death with some inane story.”

His voice is absent in his throat for a moment before Leon finally croaks out, “Fine.” “Fine?” “I said it. You have your answer, fine, we’ll go west, myself included. I’ll leave my life in the old fart’s hands. Even though that city’s probably a trap.”

Olive snickers, glancing conspiratorially at Cherry. “Nobody questionin’ why that’s what convinced him?”

“Oh, I think it’s pretty obvious as to why. But that’s none of our business, right?” Cherry says, giggling. “Either way, it should be easy to find the place. We’ve just gotta head for the funky looking rainbow mountains.”

Judith and Leon both stand, brushing bits of old wood from their jumpsuits. “I guess we should start heading west, then,” he grumbles.

Chapter End.

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[[ Table of Contents ]]

#b&tsm #empty-mask #writing #original content #oc #fantasy #adventure #creative writing #writeblr #original writing #original novel #b&tsm-cherry #b&tsm-judith #b&tsm-azariah #b&tsm-leon #b&tsm-olive

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phoenixresistance · 3 years

Text

The Phoenix Resistance - Chapter 1 (Repost)

The Burrow - August 1st, 1997

Devon could feel the vibrations of the music in her feet radiating up her legs. The rhythmic thumping in her chest matched the beat of her heart as she glided around the room, guided by Henry’s hand on her waist. Her gold sequin dress caught the candlelight and reflected it against the tent. With a smirk, Henry suddenly dipped Devon low, his lips catching hers. The beat of her heart increased and drowned everything out as the moment seemed to last forever. Finally pulling away, Devon grinned at Henry who returned it. The dance finished and they left the dance floor, hand in hand.

“Excuse me, darling. I promised I’d have a drink and catch up with Charlie. I’ll see you later,” Henry signed before kissing Devon’s temple.

Devon watched him disappear into the crowd, the smell of his cologne fading. Sighing wistfully, she navigated the crowd in search of anyone she knew.

There was no sign of Kathryn yet. Will told Devon earlier in the day that she had a late shift at the Ministry but would try to get away in the evening for the dance. However she did see many people she recognized.

Luna Lovegood was over on the dance floor with who she assumed was her father. Mercy was in the act of shoving an uncomfortable looking Septimus onto the dance floor as well. A motion outside the tent caught her eye as she noticed Remus Lupin on patrol, his wand in his hand as a precaution.

Turning back towards inside the tent, she scanned the crowd again and spotted Lara Fairbourne. She caught her eye and gave a wave, which Devon returned with a smile. Walking towards the tables she noticed even more people. At the first table she passed sits the Silversmith brothers, Edgar and Alaric. Sitting at the second table, hands entwined and deep in conversation was Azariah Steele and his girlfriend Irena Janda. It seemed like Lou Yaxley must be on patrol duty, as she wasn't with them. At the last table sat Harry Potter himself, talking with a man she knew to be Elphias Doge.

As she reached the other end of the tent, having found nobody free to chat with, Devon decided to wander outside for some fresh air. The stars shone brightly on a crisp clear August night. One particular star looked brighter than the others. It shined a brilliant blue and there was a moment where Devon thought it must be Neptune or Uranus. Except it’s moving. In fact, it’s also getting bigger and bigger. With a gasp, Devon watched as the blue orb rushed towards the Burrow and disappeared into the tent.

Grabbing the fabric of her skirt and pulling it up, she broke into a run towards the tent and pushed past a blur of people, until she spotted the orb gently floating in the center of the tent. The orb pulsed and shifted to show pictures and faces. Concern and fear filled the faces of the wedding guests and suddenly dozens of voices cried out in her head.

“What’s going on?” “Oh my god!” “The Ministry is taken?” “They killed Scrimgeour?!” “Merlin’s beard” “Where’s my kids? We need to get out of here” “They are coming. They are coming. They are coming” “Oh my god”

In a heartbeat, a dozen black clouds descend upon the party and people scattered. Spells whizzed by as they smashed glasses and knocked candles over, flames quickly consuming the tent fabric. Snapping back to her senses, Devon tried to shut out the voices in her head and to focus. They faded a bit but still flooded her mind as she ran and ducked behind an overturned table.

Where’s Henry. I need to find him, oh god. Please be ok.

Fumbling beneath her dress she pulled out her wand. With a deep breath, she darted out of her cover and fired a stupefy at the nearest death eater. Her eyes darted around furiously as spells flew and voices screamed out in her head. In a panic she started running, too disoriented to fight and eager to find Henry. They had to get out of here now.

Her foot caught on something and she hit the ground hard. Looking behind her to see what it was, she discovered someone laying on the ground motionless. Suddenly, she’s grabbed and hauled to her feet. Devon struggled against them, but stops instantly as she met Henry’s concerned eyes. With a flash of magic, he apparated both of them and the chaos of the wedding turned into a darkened street. She knew where she was in an instant and she rushed inside the illuminated bakery.

London, England - 11:45 PM

Devon had prepared for this. She knew it would come eventually. The war had started and the Ministry had fallen. As she rushed upstairs to the apartment, she went over her checklist in her mind.

Step One: Make sure her family is safe.

Bursting into her fathers bedroom, she gently shook him awake and flipped on the lights.

“It’s time. Pack only what you need. I’ll help Asri. Henry is downstairs on guard. Meet us downstairs, we have to go,” she hastily signed, repeating it a second time when Charlie didn't quite catch it the first time.

Leaving the room she went down the hall and, more gently this time, woke her fourteen year old brother and helped him pack his things. Finally, she rushed to her room and grabbed her emergency bag, having it packed and ready for months. Hesitating at the doorway, she turned back around and quickly scanned her room. Her eyes fell on a miniature of the Eiffel Tower she kept on her windowsill. Scooping it up. she then dashed downstairs to her family.

Checking her watch, she set down the trinket on the bakery counter and pointed her wand at it. The tip of her wand glowed blue as she silently casted portus. In a hurry, she motioned for them to all grab on to it and, as the clock stroke midnight, their surroundings blurred past and the warm lit interior of the bakery was replaced by darkness.

Paris, France - August 2nd, 1997 - 12 am

“Cool!” Devon heard her brother echo in her mind and she suppressed a smile.

“Devon, I know this place. This is our old bakery in Paris! Why the hell are we here?” Her father’s voice came a second later.

“I bought it. Last year with my own money. Henry helped too. I’m going to sell the one in London. It’s not safe there anymore. Set up shop here and live normally. Henry and I are going to return to London tomorrow.”

“-But you said it’s not safe! Stay here with us honey. They will be targeting you as a muggleborn.”

“If I can help in any way to save people like me then I have to try, Dad. I’ll try to be safe, I promise. This portkey can take me back here every day at midnight so I’ll visit as often as I can. Look after each other. I love you both.” She replied in sign and then hugged them tightly, kissing each of them on the head.

With a final wave goodbye, she grabbed the Eiffel Tower and then took Henry’s hand as they disapparated into the night air.

London, England - 12:05 AM

Back in the bakery, Devon shut off the lights and lowered the blinds, placing a "For Sale" sign she retrieved from her bag in the window. A pang in her chest hit her as she gazed around at what was her home for 14 years. Tears welled up in her eyes but she quickly wiped them away. She can’t hesitate now.

I prepared for this. I’m ready. I know what to do, she reminded herself.

Then why are you shaking? She countered back.

Henry took her hand in his and they shared a quiet moment together, fear on both of their faces.

Courage isn’t the absence of fear.

Squeezing Henry’s hand and taking a deep breath, they walked out of the shop for the last time and into the cold dark night.

Step Two: Disappear

I have no idea if I’ll even finish this but I’m finally writing Devon’s story! It’s a huge mess and I’m sure I fucked things up but I’m not a writer I’m just trying to put things in my head down on paper. Featuring MCs from: thatravenpuffwitch cursebreakerfarrier brothergrimm71 lgvalenzuela slytherindisaster I hope you enjoy it 🥺 (not tagging a second time cuz of reposting)

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #devon marlowe #the phoenix resistance #TPR: C1 #Chapter 1 #harry potter hogwarts mystery #harry potter

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