#740c50
Freddie's gaze remained vacant in the face of Justice's words. A vacant gaze to pay tribute to the rich girl's vacant head. It was the loud crack of Reese's skull meeting Justice's that drew a glimmer of attention from her, and she stood on her tippy toes to watch the show right next to Sibylla.
"Wish I had broughtā¦. some kettle cornā¦," she quietly mused.
Reese had attacked the rich girl. Cassie and Lilith swiftly descended to break up the fight. Freddie strolled over to Cassie, one hand raised like the dutiful student she wasn't.
The pale-haired girl beckoned Cassie to hand Reese over. She patted her shoulders, checked her forehead, and squinted, deep in thought.
"..."Freddie nodded once, and looked Reese straight in the eyes.
"You're good."She turned Reese around and shoved her back towards Justice.
A glint of sunset peered from between the sky and the river. Warm, orange light bathed Arc en Lumeās skyline, reflected over the canals which linked the cityās many districts. A gondola moved through the water, the weary faces of merchants settled in its seats. The boat passed under a bridge, where two lovers embraced and confessed their feelings. At the city center loomed the red and gold spires of the Sacred Flameās grand cathedral. Before it, clergymen scooped the ash from a golden chalice, twice the size of the men attending to it.
On the eastern edge of the city, upon the outskirts which overlooked the primeval oaken forests, where old bricks had stood strong and steadfast for innumerable years, where crimson banners and flowering vines hung over sidewalks of tiled stone. The Commons. Home to labourers, louts, and adventurers desiring transient and affordable refuge. A dwarf lumbered across the pavement, a lithe, cloaked shadow trailing behind him. His broad, gloved hand waved off the scurrying forms of street urchins, then checked his pockets.
āThese humans need to keep a better eye on their children, I tell ya,ā the dwarf muttered to his companion. His voice hoarse and deep, with an accent too rough and uncouth for Beaucourt. He nodded to himself, satisfied with the amount of coin in his purse, then turned his attention to a nearby notice board. There was more paper than wood, with advertisements, missives, and public service announcements, all stacked upon each other without regard for organisation. The dwarf glanced left and right, to make sure that nobody important was watching, tore several sheets from the board, and crumpled them up to put inside his pockets. He looked to the board, and saw his own notice - loud, clear, and no longer buried under such frivolous requests.The dwarf huffed, pleased with himself, then turned and walked away. His concealed companion remained a moment before the missive board. A dark, slender hand reached out from the cloak and tugged the advertisement down. As they followed after the dwarf, the worn piece of parchment blew down the street behind them into obscurity.
Night fell, and the last trace of sunlight faded into the dark. But within the Jovial Jackalope tavern, the fires of the hearth burnt bright, casting light and warmth through brick walls and wooden ceilings. Bards strummed their lutes, patrons downed their drinks, and wenches weaved to avoid wandering hands. The dwarf sat in the corner alongside his hooded companion, his arms clasped over the table, his pauldrons reflecting the light of the candles and the fireplace. His eyes wandered from the door, to his half-empty mug, and back again. This is the day, he thought to himself. I can feel it in my jellies.
The southern Arc-en-Lume watchtower. One of the capitalās many holding cells laid here, beneath the floors upon floors of barracks. Here, under the dim, crackling torchlights and the incessant rattle of chains and shackles, the cityās many thieves, thugs, and other miscreants remained. Some awaited trial. Others hoped for bail or pardon. All, however, longed for freedom. Freedom from the rusted, blood-scented chains. From the stale, dusty air. From the possibility of a worse fate within the Sirenās Epitaph, Beaucourtās most fortified prison, secluded deep within the western mountain range.
The sound of footsteps drew IzāHanaās ears. The bright yellow glow of a lantern peered down the spiral staircase just across his cell. His keen huntsmanās senses recognised these sounds. The familiar, metallic clink and clank of the guardsā steel sabatons, followed by the pitter-patter of footsteps, one with shorter, slower strides than the other.
The faceless armet of one guard looked straight at IzāHana. āHey, Darkie. Weāve got a friend for ya.ā The other guard cackled and dragged the bound form of a drow woman down the stairs, across the cobblestone floor, and in front of IzāHanaās cell. The first guard unlocked the door, and the second tossed the woman inside.
Thud!
Her lanky body rolled over the dust thrice over. The guards shut the door, and began to move along with their second prisoner - a stout dwarf, dressed in tattered rags, with beard and eyes as black as ink. āGuards, wait!ā He shouted. The guards humoured him. The dwarf shuffled towards the drow woman, his arms bound behind his back and secured by the second guard. āDonāt celebrate just yet,ā he spoke, his voice a calm, low warning. āThe Sacred Flame are lookinā through my room in the Jackalope this very moment. Itās only a matter of time.ā
She spat through the bars, spraying it through her teeth and over his face like a snake spitting venom. āInbau aturr ulu lāmaerch, gorraāh,ā she hissed, unable to hold back the laugh in her voice.
Hilgur bared his wide, block-like teeth, his face contorted with layers of wrinkles set by rage. āNOBODY CAN STOP MY EXPEDITION!ā āAlright, thatās enough,ā The first guard decided, and dragged a screaming, squirming, incensed Hilgur away, deeper into the dungeons.
A flash of white darted across her dark face. As she turned around, she disposed of her grin, flicking her gaze over to the shadow in the corner. They were hers, with ashen skin and pale eyes more fitting of their kind. A short rolling of her tongue left her lips instinctively, ending on an inflection. A question. Then she frowned, remembering something, and tossed her head without waiting for an answer, slinking towards the other corner.
Zoltian drow. They werenāt hers.

#740c50
#8E1717
The festival. The park was swirling with a sea of elaborate textiles, of vivid shades of red and purple and blue, and all the colours of the rainbow. So bright, so opulent, it reminded Freddie of another festival entirely. Or was that one a parade?
Freddie looked on, seated atop a giant blue mushroom prop. A patchy, lavender-coloured teddy bear was seated underneath, right next to a worn leather satchel. Her dull eyes reflected a glint of light as she observed the sights before her. So many had put so much effort into their outfits. From the fairy wings that shimmered with a tinge of iridescence, to the noble dresses, with all their ruffles, and buttons, and little golden threads painstakingly hand-sewn to be as authentic as possible.
āYou knowā¦,ā Freddie spoke up, catching Reese from her peripherals. āPeople like to look down on corsets⦠call them 'symbols of oppression' and embellish the pain... that comes... with wearing them.ā She swayed to the side, then gestured towards her friend. āBut itās fine, industrious women... like yourself⦠who created the first corsets.ā Freddie wagged her finger. "For highly practical purposes⦠too."
Freddie perked up one corner of her mouth in a half-smile. "Of course⦠putting on that kind of stuff is⦠too much effort for meā¦" She leaned back and gestured to her costume. A dull, black robe, topped with a pointy, cone-shaped hat. Grey and white speckles stuck to her robe. A realist would call them 'dust', but Freddie preferred to think of them as little shining stars. Of course, realist or not, she couldn't deny the damp, sock-like stench that permeated from it all. "One of the drama club members⦠lent this to me. Said it's 'collateral' or⦠however you pronounce itā¦" Freddie shrugged. "...He owes me fifty."
Reese scraped her butt against the dirt and leaned her elbows over her wide-spread knees. In one hand she held a clutch, in the other a screwdriver. Her outfit was mostly skin with a grease stained apron paired with a worn-out gold bra and tiny shorts with tights that were more holes than fabric. A mechanicās - blacksmithās garb.
āAre you watching me do this?ā She demanded. She jabbed the screwdriver at bright red moped between them. āBecause itās literally the easiest process. My brain is like, insulted by doing this right now. Iām like a dry -ā A trio of bagpipe toting performers blasted their first few notes as they trotted past them, blocking out whatever crude simile Reese was saying and leaving it to your imagination, ā- Freddie, I need stimulation.ā She checked her phone, leaving a greasy smear across its screen.
Freddie had been staring into empty space. She finally turned towards Reese with raised brows. "Oh. I'm sorry⦠did you... say something?"
Reese stared. She tossed her work down with a clatter and grunted as she rocked up to her feet. āIām getting food. Youāre gonna have the munchies in a minute,ā she announced, āFinished replacing the clutch springs, by the way.ā She lifted her oversized denim jacket from the ground and flung it over her shoulder, checking her phone again as she sauntered off.
Freddie waved her goodbye. "Thanks, Reesie." She wondered if she should ask what the 'clutch springs' were. Then immediately shook such thoughts aside. It would go over my head anyway.
Just then, Freddie noticed somebody peeking into her peripherals. A dark-haired girl, slight in build, and seeming even smaller as she hunched. Her glasses reflected the glare of the sun and obscured her eyes.
"Hey⦠hey there," Freddie called to her, with a lethargic and limp wave. It was a wonder Collette could even hear her in this crowd.
Freddie stared straight at her. "Hey dude... you look⦠nervous." The dark-eyed woman leaned closer. Close enough for Collette to see the sheen of grease on her pale, unkempt locks, spilling out from underneath her hat. "Would you like something to⦠take the edge off?"
Freddie wiggled her brows for emphasis.
"( ͔° ĶŹ ͔°)"
#12513
Korgan laughed. And laughed, and laughed. He laughed at Thaddeus' condemnation. At Tyann and Asher's harsh words for their rivals, brought to the lips by drink. At Benny and Eike, who⦠looked as if the sticks up their arses had gone just a little deeper. And of course, Raiden, whose mere presence left the Raid-King in stitches.
He laughed so hard, he missed Ivelda's first few words⦠until a thundering thud cut his cackles short, and his temple felt the cold kiss of stone.
Korgan winced. Pain throbbed through his head.
Thud, thud, thud. So loud, so close. He felt his inebriation end in an instant, replaced with the wide-eyed fear of his Queen. She was
furious.He kept his head down and his mouth shut. He deserved this tongue lashing. Protesting or arguing would just make it worse. He knew this. Personally. However, she threatened him with the unspeakable, and his heart skipped a beat. He looked up in an instant, his ears wilted, his eyes big and yellow.
"NO! My Queen! Not my sea legsā¦!"He begged of her, with a voice higher and more desperate than before.
The Queen departed for a bit, and left Korgan with time to reflect. To take a Kymeran's ship was to take their freedom, their very way of life. She would leave him stranded in a prison of stale air and clumsy, uneven earth. Away from the endless stretches of the ocean, full of never ending possibilitiesā¦
Ivelda soon returned, with her special brew on a tray. Korgan shuffled, placed his palms on the floor, and prostrated himself before her.
"Forgive me, Queen Ivelda. I⦠I was a fool, and now, I am at your mercy. Please, grant me your kindness. Let me sup on your wondrous brew." There was shaking to his voice. Even as a beast, the Raid-King felt fear like any man.
Korgan got to his feet, snatched a drink with one hand, and downed it with three swift gulps. He kept his head low as he departed, tossing Tyann a puppyish, apologetic look on the way out.