Dru's Blog

Beginnings [Offices and Bosses]

Carrion Stormwind sits crosslegged at the top of the loading ramp, hands on her knees and head craned forward to follow the action. Her platinum hair hangs forward, obscuring the wine-red skin of her face. Her curling red horns keep her vision clear.

The airship Seaduction rocks violently as the riot surges around the ship’s moorings. Cara gasps, and cheers, and booes the fighters below. Amidst the chaos, Lacuna and Duran jump aboard the ramp.

“Somehow, I don’t think we’re getting paid for this delivery,” Lacuna says, pulling a half-orc woman up behind her.

“At least we found a new crewmate!” Duran replies, gesturing as the half-orc woman gets to her feat.

The pilot hits the throttle and the Seaduction leaps for the clouds. Cara laughs gleefully as the ship’s momentum sends her tumbling down the ramp towards empty space. Lacuna snatches her hand out, grabbing the back of Cara’s shirt moments before she rolls off the ramp.

“I would have caught myself, mom!” Cara sulks. The ramp closes and the airship veers towards the horizon.

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Direcris watches, confused, as a young boy hands over several copper coins. The shop owner – clothed in silks, his hands soft and free of scars – produces 3 apples that he places in a bag and gives to the boy.

That’s it.

No vicious struggle for supremacy. Sweat dripping into your eyes and dirt stinging in your wounds. No frantic, desperate plunging through the woods. Afraid your next meal is about to slip away. There is no sense of victory as the boy walks away. Just a few coins and pleasantries exchanged.

Direcris stands slowly, wincing at the pain in his not-yet-healed back. After a lifetime secreted away training with the Order, nothing in this town makes sense. If he’s going to make his own way in the world now, he has a lot to learn.

Direcris has fallen far from the Battle. From the conquest that drives him forward. The shock and shame of his defeat still scream inside of him. He had been a fool to challenge the elders. He wasn’t ready.

Next time, he will be.

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Every day that one damned, red curtain. Not white. No. Every other curtain in the house is a pure, alabaster white. But this curtain, situated on the second floor, two windows from the right, is red. In an otherwise immaculate mansion – the hedges neatly trimmed and symmetric, the front columns and the window details tastefully coordinated. There are 13 white curtains and 1 red.

Lyundefin is good at first. “Huh,” he mutters as he wanders past the building. It’s even a couple days before he thinks about it again. That one red curtain.

Why? When everything else is so symmetric? So mundane? Why why why? Lyundefin has to know why.

He had been so good at first, ignoring the curtain that was inexplicably out of place. He makes sure to tell the guards this at length as he is escorted out of the manor. The house owner stares daggers into his back, Lyundefin’s small gnomish shoulders hunch forward.

But the worst part isn’t getting caught sneaking in or the damages he has to pay after turning the house upside down. The thing that keeps him up for weeks afterwards: he’s pretty sure there isn’t any reason why the curtain is red.

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Krolm feels a strange surge of excitement as he watches his comrades’ defeat. It is supposed to be an instructional moment for the junior initiates of House Tharashk. A chance to watch as the half-orc regiments eliminate a vagabond monk sect that has pestered the family’s mining operations one time too many.

But the monks are dancing around their bulky half-orc enemies. They fight with alarming agility, using their lithe forms to dodge attacks and move quickly between foes.

Krolm looks down at his long, slender hands. He had always been proud of his orc heritage. His mother Khahta was fierce and loyal and had done so much for him. But to his eternal frustration, it was his father’s features that he inherited most strongly. The delicate, dextrous features of a Drow.

Krolm sits silently, apart from the other children of House Tharashk. He will always look different. Be separate. But now he saw a way to take these features and make them his own. A chance to get stronger without walking closer to his father’s path.

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It’s been 2 months since the half-orc woman, Temani, joined the crew. She eats alone. Her footsteps fall silently where others’ clang against the metal grating. Once, Cara saw Temani reading a book in her quarters and twirling a dagger at dizzying speeds. Naturally, Cara is obsessed.

Today, Cara is darting from crate to crate sneaking after Temani.

“You know, you’re pretty good,” Temani says, stopping in the hallway. Cara freezes, but as she tries to burrow deeper into her hiding spot, Temani is suddenly right next to her.

“But I could teach you to be a lot better.” Temani grins as she holds up three silver coins. Three silver coins that Cara didn’t even feel sliding out of the coin purse at her back.

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Lyundefin prided himself on knowing why things were the way they were. He loved explanations, even if they took weeks to find. Then one day he found every explanation for everything ever.

It was a chill autumn day when Lyundefin was 20 years old, still in his gnomish adolescence. His hair, as usual, was a wild mess of red. His glasses were slightly bent and askew. He was accompanying his father, along with six of his twelve siblings, to the city of Korranberg on a business trip.

Lyundefin was lost in minutes.

Following the path of a strange, flying insect that he had never seen before, Lyundefin found himself at the base of massive marble steps. Every gnome has heard of the Library of Korranberg, but this was the first time Lyundefin had ever seen it.

Drawn like a moth to flame, Lyundefin made his way up the steps, his eyes wide. In his first 20 minutes of wandering, Lyundefin learned 4 new things from the tomes on the shelves.

His father found him 5 hours later. From that moment onward Lyundefin knew he would be a librarian.

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Direcris smiles as he bites into the meat pie.

Battle is where life makes sense. But the year Direcris has spent traveling and training with the mercenary elves of Valaes Tairn has shown him that there is much to be learned outside the Order. Knowledge to be gained and used as an advantage. Viewpoints and tactics that the elders won’t anticipate or understand.

The cuisines of the Five Kingdoms had seemed frivolous to Direcris after his spartan upbringing. But just as he sought out new experiences to improve his martial skills, he quickly found himself seeking out new flavors whenever he entered a new city or town.

Eventually, he bought a set of knives and spices and began to experiment cooking dishes of his own. He still couldn’t match the skills of those in the cities, but he was getting there. This meat pie was the first truly delicious meal he had prepared.

He wouldn’t win the Battle with cooking. But it stood as a symbol of how he had moved past the teachings of the Order.

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Krolm wipes sweaty palms on his jerkin and knocks on the door. It is rare for the monks of Shadow Storm to be contracted given their… independent style. But the funds will go a long way towards sustaining the sect as they defend the Shadow Marches from greedy hands across the 5 kingdoms.

It’s been a grueling two years of training to get to this point. But while Krolm‘s muscles grew lean and his movements smooth and controlled, the wild spirit of the monks never quite rubbed off on him. So he was surprised when he was chosen for such an important contract.

The door opens and Krolm walks in, wondering who his employer will be.

“My, but don’t you have my eyes,” says a voice from the corner. Krolm turns and sees Dro Szotlanz’t, his father. “They tell me you go by Krolm?” Dro tsks, “That will never do. I’ve gone to such great lengths to find you, but if you’re going to be working for me you’ll need a proper name. I think Elwin suits you much better, don’t you think?” Dro smiles.

Krolm’s fists clench at his side, his knuckles white.