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keyenuta · 5 years

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Serenity trailer (Team S.W.A.N)

"Creativity is inventing, experimenting, growing, taking risks, breaking rules, making mistakes, and having fun." -- Mary Lou Cook

On a sunny day in an old library, a short statured girl is guarded by a towering fortress of books as she bounds in her seat at the book in front of her. Page after page, a widening smile and constrained laughter graces her dark skinned freckled face as the enamored girl wades through each paragraph in a dream-like state for minutes on end. Giggling and laughing to her heart's content until a tremor shakes her to reality. Two mini bunny ears flutter atop her head as she gazes around building. Emerald eyes dart to each side in an attempt to find the source of the disturbance. At first, finding nothing amiss, she returns to her story. Only to again be disturbed by an even larger tremor, which sends one of her prized books tumbling to the earth. Sighing in disappointment, she leaves her book face down and investigates the origin of the tremors.

Humming to herself a tune, she strolls to a pair of double doors and hears a muffled sound through the old wood. Curious at what's happening, she creaks open the two frames to meet a roar of screams and desperation. A flood of humans and faunus race to the hills at the arrival of a pack of grim. The girl ogled at the black beasts and jotted down a sketch. Her eyes twinkled in interest as she copied the Grimm as best she could. A memory from the book she read popped in her mind, they appeared to be a pack of ursa, a grimm resembling a bear in form, but upon a glance it was twice as deadly than any animal comparable.

Within the wave of people a man trips over his feet, too far from the group and too frightened to move, he now stares into the maw of the approaching black creatures, certain of his death the man shuts his eyes and waits for it to claim him.

But, to his surprise, he feels no fangs, no claws, no pain or even saliva. What he does feel is a hand resting on his shoulder. Startled by the touch he jolts and backs up into a wall? The frightened man shakily and slowly turns to see a newly erected wall of stone and sand at his back, looking dumbfounded at its sudden appearance. A giggle brings him to his senses as he looks upon a girl with black green hair, and a forest colored outfit. Her smile while teasing, was also comforting as she motions him to run or stand, but the man simply sat there agape before a crackling sound made him heed her motions. He tumbled forward and thanked the young lady before disappearing over the horizon like a bat out of hell.

Waving goodbye to the man the girl heard the crackling sound once more. With her ears perked up she turns to meet the grimm as a blade curves from her hand, seemingly made from the orange-green gem a top her backhand. Repeated thuds strike against the weakening structure as each impact slowly withers away the stone as Grimm race forwards with fangs bared and claws raised. A chuckle of excitement escapes the huntress as the battle commences. While the pack charges, a light blue spark exits the girl's foot as a small pillar propels her to the side, her eyes focus on each beast as the lesson, in her eyes begins.

"Let's see, let's see...large size, bulky exterior, good streength-!" She squeaks ducking a paw. "Slow speed, bit rude, aaand, a poor defense" she states slicing off a limb, the ursa roars in pain before attacking once again. As the dance of the pack and the girl continued. A rush here, a roll there, a chomp from below and a leap from above. Again and again the huntress bobbed and weaved the attacks of the pack as she commented and studied their capabilities bit by bit, as the battle eased in difficulty.

"Ursa, a strong Grimm in the realm of strength and size, but it ain't that bright or creative in combat. Overall you score a rating of basic. Thank you all for the lesson, but sadly, class is dismissed!" she said brightly, as she began her attack. Using her semblance to launch forward she twirled and sliced through a grim like a buzzsaw. As its halves fade away, two pack members leap from each side. Tsking at their attack the huntress slides on her knees as the Grimm collide and stumble. With her slide reaching its end she turns and decapitates the beasts as she rises. Clasping her palms together she places them to the earth with a spear of rock made from the ground. With a hum she lifts up her new weapon and charges. The ursa rears up in anticipation, clawing at the girl in vain.

Using the but of her spear she springs herself behind the ursa and runs one through with a backwards thrust. Resting on one knee she rises up to meet the red and yellow eyes of the alpha. A snarling maw glares at a playful smile as they size their opponent up. After precious moments of draining silence they attack. Knowing she had a speed advantage, the huntress tries to out maneuver the Grimm. At its first attack she dashes to the side and swings her spear's end up. Only for it to be dodged as well. Humming in interest, she hangs back and watches. The grim hurtles towards her as she sighs in disappointment. Again rolling to the side she expects and easy defeat, only to her surprise she sees a paw rocketing towards her direction. Gasping in shock she raises her spear to block, only for it to be cracked in half. Frantic in shock she grasps both severed ends and launches herself back to get a bit of room. But it seems the alpha had other plans. Fast on her heels and almost over her head, the grimm begins its descent upon the green huntress as time slows before the two. Thinking fast, the huntress pulses a bolt of energy to the broken end in her hand, it sharpens to a point and when the ursa is just about to crash on her. The newly made tip is thrusted through the ursa's neck as with a battle cry the huntress flips and plunges her spear head through the skull of the grimm in triumph. Panting in breath she watches as the alpha disintegrates beneath her feet as she now breathes a sigh of relief.

And when she does she simply stretches and walks back in to finish her book, grateful for the experience.

Please Welcome Serenity Kol

@littlemisssquiggles happy birthday

#rwby #rwby oc #fanfiction #rwby fanfiction #serenity kol #opps #oscar pine protection squad #oscar pine #rwby oscar pine #faunus #dwarf bunny faunus #first team #littlemisssquiggles #serenity color #first trailer #semblance #hope you like it #team swan #S

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the-house-of-the-nine · 5 years

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In Depths Below: Masquerade, Part 4

Verzatea said as she casually passed by the Shade; her hand pausing on his shoulder as she feigned a laugh. “Doing just fabulous dear, keep it up!”

“Two of these adorable little raisin cakes please.” a voice so sweet and lovely rang out from the front of the booth.

“Magister Sunvale!” she promptly said as her gown of brilliant crimson and gold twirled behind her; her body rushing over as her hands reached out and grasped for the noted guest. “You look absolutely breathtaking, that gown is simply marvelous.”

“H-have we met before” questioned the beautiful woman; her golden tresses cascading down her shoulder when she turned her head, and as she was being served and greeted by the owner herself, quirked an eyebrow.

“Oh light above no, I have never had the pleasure of meeting you face to face but I have read some of the remarkable things you’ve done in the courts and I have to say, your presentation on the feminine contributions to leadership and warfare… life changing.” Verzatea batted those brilliantly long lashes that hid a pair of golden orbs; clearly altered from her fel green she still naturally kept.

It was the mention of some of the work by the official that caused that smile to spread and even garnish with a simple blush when the woman was quoted.

“You are just far too sweet dear, I hear you are up for a nomination for the bakery of the year? Seems to me you are well on your way.” the magister had said as she sampled one of the tarts. “Oh these little pink ones are simply amazing!”

Verzatea played the part of the busy little hostess to the letter. She would flirt with the men, and clearly even some of the women; dribbling little compliments and sweet little words along the way. She had to memorize the names and faces of all the people who would be here. They all had to memorize them. And given the number of guests on top of the five targeted magisters who were there to be slain; it was quite the feat to remember them all.

“Magister Goldencrest!” Zalra squeaked out as the picture was shown to her.

“No, stop guessing. Focus.” Marseille said as he placed it back down and slowly lofted another toward her. “Organizes benefits to help the orphanage find homes for the war torn families. Owns and operates a textile empire that supplies most of the Horde with its bulk of linen, cloth, wool, yarn…and nearly every other fabric. Known to frequent the brothel under the Silverm–”

“Magister Dewdrop!” she belted out again.

“Look-at-the-face…” the ancient Shal’dorei hissed as he slowly brought the image closer to her.

“That is the Magister Brightsong.” came the voice of the Confessor as she peered up from her own packet of dossiers. “His cheek bones sit higher against his bone structure, and his pale complexion causes his skin to radiate a bit of a glow when he smiles… “

Both Siida and Zalra slowly turned to look back toward her. She was correct, and Marseille noted that by slowly lowering the picture into the pile for correct guesses; it was a small pile.

“Wow…she’s good…” exclaim the huntress. “She should be doing this…”

“We need to memorize these little details otherwise the bulk of our disguise will be lost. Especially you, Zalra. If you are posing as the Lady of House Sunwood, you need to know the names of the other prominent houses and who leads them.” the old pale elf would say as he grabbed for another one.

“I mean…I am trying…its just a lot to remember all at once, and so quickly.” the young Ren’dorei said as she bashfully tried to hide the fact that she was having a difficult time remembering. “B-but she knows them like, all of them. Wouldn’t she be b-better?”

“Verzatea needs to remain at the helm of the bakery, otherwise we have no cover to keep myself and several other wand users hidden.” Marseille replied as he looked through the dossiers again.

“But shes already got it…”

“You’ll get it too Zalra, we will work at it all night if we have to.” came the voice of the younger Kash’ebahl sister. “We all will.”

“She is correct.” Verzatea said softly as she rose from the seat she was sitting at and slowly moved to the table with the other three. She pulled one of the library chairs over to the side of the two women and sat across from Marseille. “We will all work to ensure we know every last detail of these people no matter what cost. ..”

“Marseille…again.” the Confessor added as she sat and placed a hand on the shoulder of the huntress.

The pale elf would flip another page and reveal the face of female magister.

“Prominent figure within the culture and arts of Silvermoon City. She is an avid supporter of Lady Liadrin and the Blood Knights. Works to better the balance of sexual equality within the caste system of not only Quel’thalas but the Horde. Owns a successful winery…”

“Magister Sunvale…you are simply divine! If you will excuse me just a moment I need to check on the cinnamon rolls!” Verzatea grinned with an ear to ear smile and a twirl of her dress.

She lightly tip toed across the booth and past the ever stirring Marseille who still had his eyes panning the room and fixated on where Siida was located.

“I-swear-to-the-gods…” she hissed beneath her breath only loud enough for him to hear as she passed. “I-will-stab-them-all…”

It was clear she had no intent of enjoying the rubbing of elbows with these people, any more than she would have enjoyed rubbing elbows against a rusty piece of metal. But there in was her true talent. She had the ability to mask around this entire affair and never once give way to her true intentions. Or for that matter the intentions of any of her associates.

Verzatea swept along through her simple little booth, checking on cream puffs and rearranging the sweets, for anyone who was bold enough to try the devils food, she would be right there with a sweet cider to wash it down.

“Oh darling!” cried the voice of an innocent and sweet woman, the droplets of endearment coating her words. “May we grab a few of these, please?”

Verzatea knew exactly who the voice belonged to. And as she poked her head around the large parchment apron that was conveniently guarding the baking station; she would be reassured that it was in fact Zalra Azurestar.

“Play along or we see what you’re actually made of.” she whispered into the ear of her escort.

Zalra was in fact playing the role of the Lady Sunwood; her disguise was nearly flawless as she paraded about in her Sin’dorei form she had been gifted in order to walk between capitals. The blood magic that allowed her to do so was stored nicely in a choker around her neck.

At her side with her arms curled around his; was Magister Sunwood, he would realize what she meant by her expression when he felt the sharp edge of a dagger just hidden under her hand graze his side.

“O-of course we can my love! Anything for you…” Magister Sunwood exclaimed as his body twitched with the cold blade running against his robe.

“Miss, Miss, two of these delicious little pastries here and your finest peach cider.”

“Its Verzatea, please. And of course you can Magister coming right up!” sang the Confessor as she whisked her way around the tables and counters. Her gown fluttering while she moved through her chefs and bakers. Even past the ever staring and hardly moving Marseille; who now held a stirring spoon, with no stirring.

“What have you learned.” Zalra said as she stood there whispering to her associate.

Verzatea smiled and began to put on the serving mitts as she played her role of head chef to the letter.

“So far Sunvale, Dewdrop, Goldencrest, all accounted for. I have not seen Brightsong yet. Honeywell and Sennaris are just off to the left sitting at their head table.” she responded as she feigned a transaction with offering them their deserts.

“Oh those look so delicious, don’t they dearest!” Zalra mused, hugging her arm tightly and batting her long lashes.

“And Dawnseeker?” the huntress added as she leaned back in.

“We only offer the very best with our culinary confections Lady Sunwood.” the Confessor cheerfully added to keep up the charade.

“Nothing at all, we aren’t even sure he received the invitation….” she whispered back, placing their cakes in their hands on beautiful little plates, and adorned with a sterling miniature fork.

“He will come.” came the voice of Sunwood, who nervously stood there holding the shaking fork and plate, his voice not even close to a whisper.

“Calm yourself, you give us away and I will gut you right here.” Zalra was not having any more of his antics. The entire night he’d been a nervous wreck.

“I am trying but it is a bit difficult when every time I turn around I am wondering if I am going to get caught or you’re going to stab me…” he whispered back softly, while panic over took him once more.

“Your beverages, Magister.” the pale old elf said as he arrived holding the peach cider in one hand, his fingers spread outward to hold both lovely little glasses while the other clutched that spoon.

“If you do not calm down, you will be the one who blows our cover…and you will be thrown to the wolves, alone.” Marseille added softly as he stepped beside The Confessor offering the disguised pair their beverages.

Marseille and Magister had quite the exchange when they met for the first time at his bungalow in Stranglethorn Vale. And it was clear by the way the Magister adverted his eyes; the memory of what his threat was then, still rang true now. A wave of fear was suddenly washed away by a calm soothing euphoric mist. As if the world around him suddenly became peaceful and serene.

“Magister Sunwood.” the Compellor; Sennaris had placed her hand upon his shoulder as she stepped up to meet the group. “My Master wishes to have a word with you. It seems the guest of honor has officially arrived.”

And it was gone. The sudden release of Sennaris’ hand gave way to the plethora of fears and worries he previously had. But for that short moment; it was like the afterlife.

“W-what?” Sunwood said as he stumbled over his words. “Your M-master…guest, you mean…”

“Dawnseeker…he is here?” Zalra exclaimed as she leaned around her ‘husband’ to ask.

“Mhm.” she responded, her head nodding briefly. Her tepid and almost tranquil nature even calmed the rest of them as she stood there, stoic as ever. Her tone nearly matching Marseille’s perfectly. No wonder they seemed so much alike in their mannerisms; they were both apprentice to Lazarius at one point.

“If he is here, then go. You all know phase 2, we need to ensure everyone who is not a threat gets out…and everyone who is our target for the evening does not. Zalra; do not let this cream puff out of your sight.” Verzatea snarled, her teeth gritting at the work they would have coming their way.

“Wait him or this actual cream puff?” she teased, snorting out a little snarky chuckle in the process.

“Azurestar…” Marseille begrudgingly groaned.

“I know I know…alright, I’m sorry bad pun.” her glowing green eyes flickered in their disguise. What a bad joke.

“Come, please. Before my Master suspects something. Sunwood, you are to be at the portcullis when his carriage arrives with the rest.” Sennaris turned around; her simply gown, though beautiful in its own right was played down heavily to not mar with the actual nobles. She was but a servant, and would never step from that role.

Zalra, Sunwood and she then disappeared into the crowd of guests as they made their way back over to the table where Honeywell was waiting. Verzatea and Marseille shared a glance before going back to their own business; she with her baking and he, to watch the little sister who remained a ‘prisoner’ of the evening.

To be continued… In Depths Below:Masquerade,Part 5

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kaldoreiyarns · 7 years

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When the Student is Ready (Part 1)

[Author’s note: This story is about Ourrin’s youngest son Mythlleass Wildsword (which also makes him one of Iyora’s cousins). Set around the timeframe of the MoP expac, it's about how Myth met his Pandaren Sifu Myung.]

“Ya know, Myth, for future reference when I say ‘peel the potatoes’ I don’t mean carve them into beautiful flowers,” the older male chuckled at the younger one before him who had paused in his artistic endeavors upon said spud as he looked up.

A sheepish grin bloomed on Mythlleass Wildsword’s face as he shrugged at Jioren ‘Cookie’ Summerwing, “Aw, common Cookie, the Sentinels deserve fancy potatoes, don’t’cha think?”

The head cook of the mess hall in Feathermoon Stronghold sighed at his ward, looking over at the large pile of already peeled potatoes that Myth had made short work of earlier and was thankful the boy’s idle hands had only come up with this diversion, “Uh-huh. So who’s your target this week?”

The slight blush gave false credence to Myth’s following retort, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh good, then you won’t mind scalloping them all,” Cookie replied just as casually with a wave of the hand walking away as Myth’s face fell and then turned into something of a boyish pout, “That is what is on the menu tonight, so get slicing kiddo.”

Out of the corner of his eye Cookie watched Myth’s shoulders slump as he got up and started in on slicing his creative works to ribbons, Myth knew Cookie’s word was law as head cook and didn’t dare protest - not that Cookie thought he would as Myth was a very respectful young man. However Cookie did know Myth was quite the romantic at heart, so he was highly prone to antics for impressing the ladies (of which there were many considering Feathermoon was THE Sentinel stronghold outside of Darnassus), including carving roses out of potatoes. The older male did file it away in his mind to ask Myth later just what he was trying to come up with as the boy was quite talented in cookery, and some of the things he came up with were incorporated into the menus due to his interesting take on food. Currently Cookie was hoping to groom Myth to take over his position when it was time, that was, if he could get Myth out of his mother’s sphere of influence.

A multitude of footsteps and conversations gradually increasing in volume made Cookie look up to see the first wave of lunch rush enter the mess hall as bunch of Worgen females all in their lupine forms came in to help themselves to what was set out. His kitchen helpers who were also Sentinel trainees themselves were already lined up behind the serving tables ready to serve them. He had several trainees assigned to kitchen duty on a rotating basis, their jobs were to serve their Sisters, and keep the mess hall and kitchen neat and clean at all times by working in teams. There were some food preparation jobs kept open as duties that could be assigned to Sentinels, but Cookie had free reign to pick and choose who got those jobs as not everyone could cook and even then not everyone should be allowed in a working kitchen as he ran a very tight ship, and with as many mouths as he had to feed he had to. His ears twitched as the women were much more animated today, something out of the ordinary might be going on today for them all to be more chatty than usual as he decided to focus his hearing a bit harder in their direction while he overlooked his cooks readying tonight’s dinner. The word ‘Pandaren’ kept popping up over and over again, a very foreign word for this area of Azeroth thus making it easier for him to pick out of the many conversations happening at once as he wondered what could possibly bring that topic up on base among the trainees?

He didn’t have to wonder long as suddenly Myth popped up next to him, “Cookie, guess what?” the kitchen ‘boy’ rhetorically asked in his usual overly-excited manner, “They say there’s a female Pandaren who just showed up on base, she’s like some sort of fighting master and she’s offered to do an exhibition of her fighting style to the Huntresses and…”

Cookie let Myth rattle on a bit more as the head cook had no idea how Myth could get information about the happenings on base so fast, but when he heard it Elune knew he’d do his best to spread the wealth, “Myth,” he finally interjected, “Did you finish with the potatoes?”

“Yup!” Myth then casually pointed out the pans of scalloped potatoes already put together ready to be baked on the racks near the ovens.

Having to suppress a chuckle as when Myth was motivated he sure could move like the wind, “So… I’m guessing you want to go see the exhibition then?”

That all too familiar dopey grin spread over his face as his eyes lit up, “Please Cookie! I’ll do extra duties for the next week if you let me!”

Cookie pursed his lips and looked devious, “Mm, dangerous to offer that kiddo, but yes, you may go, and I will probably take you up on it...”

“Okay, no problem!” Myth said as he nearly tripped over himself backpedaling out of the kitchen as he then shouted, “Thank you Cookie!” before disappearing into the evening.

Cookie just stood there, a silent chuckle shaking his chest as then he spotted a cook who needed correcting and he was off, dinner wasn’t going to make itself after all...

Myung stood in the middle of the sparring ring calm and collected, seemingly a serene statue of an elder Pandaren, the light breeze toying with the loose strands of her hair that wouldn’t surrender into her severe bun that gave lie to complete stillness. Her eyes were closed, but it didn’t matter, she knew where her opponents were, two skilled Huntresses of the Sentinel Army armed with beautiful curving swords slowly circled her as she ticked an ear towards the closest one hearing the dirt of the sparring ring crunch harder between the Night elf’s foot and the ground was the only clue she had to know an attack was incoming. As quick as lightning the first Huntress struck, Myung blocking the flat of the blade with her paw, the pads on it so tough one could almost mistake it for the rough bark of an iron-wood tree, as she then spun, blocking the second Huntress with a kick, before she returned the favor by attacking them, her intent to get past their blades and strike their bodies. The Pandaren had no weapons, and while she was well versed in using various ones, she didn’t need them as her whole body was a weapon, everything could be a weapon if one just used their head.

While the Huntresses were instructed by their superiors to only go after her with the flat of their blades, there was still a very real danger in sparring with them like this, but then again that was the point - literally and figuratively. Her own master before her had started her off with live weapons, he never held back as he often would tell her when she got cut, or broke a bone that the world wouldn’t hold back, why should he? And he had been right, in all her years wandering, he had been completely right. Thus when she had stumbled upon the Night Elf fortress she had offered an exposition of her fighting style in exchange for a few nights accommodations and re-supply, which was humored by the ageless Elven warriors and their interests piqued even further when the elder Pandaren had requested weapons be used against her. This was her third match of the day, the first one on one with a Huntress, the second against a Worgen female and now this one. Myung didn’t mind, she found the matches refreshing, plus there was another reason she was doing this - a reason she kept to herself for the time being.

Ducking out of the way of an incoming blade with the flexibility of a reed in the wind, Myung let herself flow like water around their attacks, those razor-sharp swords coming close, but never quite hitting her. Finally one of the Huntresses showed a slight opening and Myung took it, going on the attack, battering the Huntress with a fury of blows, even trying to get her tied up with the other Huntress using them against each other. It wasn’t easy, they made her work for this bout as she guessed they were both far older than she’d ever reach on this mortal plane despite their youthful looking appearance. She on the other hand didn’t have as much time, but she was practiced enough from training her entire life and hopefully was enough of a fighting novelty to have a slight advantage - maybe. These were Sentinels and they had the fearsome reputation they had for a reason.

Attacks and blocks were swiftly traded between the three until finally Myung sprang on a Huntress’s misstep and disarmed her, the blow making her sword clatter to the ground loudly. The Huntress barely made a grunt and left the ring quickly to soft applause from the onlookers, something both Myung and the other Huntress ignored as the armored Night Elf female instantly swooped in for another attack, the Pandaren noting she was much more fluid in her movements than the other, the sword wasn’t a weapon with this one, it was an extension of herself. Myung admired this, but danced out of the way, her old bones protesting letting her know she was getting too damn old for this nonsense and she should probably know better. Ignoring her body’s complaints, the two females circled each other as Myung looked for a pattern, if she could just find that…

Dashing in, Myung took to the offensive as she slid out of reach of the dancing blade and then spun, a kick to the back of the knee as she then used the Sentinel’s calf to practically climb up the Kaldorei as she hooked her other leg around an arm as she flipped herself forward, and because she had way more mass than the Sentinel did, she took the other woman with her, the two crashing to the ground. Myung however controlled her crash and sprang to her feet deftly, whereas the Sentinel had not been expecting to go flying and landed on her rear, her sword clanging to the ground next to her. Again, the polite applause erupted around the two as Myung walked over and offered a paw to help the Sentinel up.

“Thank you! Good bout,” the Sentinel laughed as she took Myung’s paw, getting up and then grabbing her sword, “You must teach me some moves before you leave.”

“I would be honored,” the Pandaren female smiled happily and then bowed to her former opponent, “Let me know when you can and I will be happy to show you some things, your skill with a sword is most elegant and effective as I would also love to learn from you if you would be willing.”

“Of course!” the Sentinel bobbed her head as the other Huntress she had disarmed earlier came up and they exchanged a few words and bowing to each other in respect as well.

By that time more of the senior officers of the stronghold came up as well, asking her several questions until finally one of them mentioned that Myung must be hungry by now.

“Oh yes! I am famished, no wonder you are all so thin here, you nearly worked it all off of my old bones too!” the Pandaren joked as they led her away from the outside sparring ring to a building with a large room filled with many benches and wonderful aromas wafting out of the back.

This must be what they kept referring to as the ‘Mess Hall’ Myung supposed as the senior Huntresses led her to one of the many similar wooden benches as they sat down together. Other Sentinels were already in there eating, mostly Night Elf, but she could spot some female Worgen among them as well. It seemed everyone ate together, no matter what their rank was as the Pandaren watched with some amusement as the more curious and daring Sentinels jockey ever so slightly to get a seat nearer to where she sat with the Huntresses. Inclining her head she noted what looked to be a serving line where some of the Sentinels stood in line to be served food by their Sisters on duty here, thus Myung made an attempt to stand and go get some grub.

One of the Huntresses made a polite abortive gesture, “Oh, don’t worry, Cookie will bring us some food seeing as we have a special guest today,” she grinned.

True to word, suddenly a couple Kaldorei - males no less as she hadn’t seen too many of them around the fortress, came out bearing trays with bowls of something… spicy or so her clever nose told her. The servers set out the bowls quickly revealing what she knew to be a favorite of the Night elves, kimchi, but that wasn’t all as they were each given a small empty plate with chopsticks as a large bowl of steaming meat dumplings for them to share and different sauces to dip them in.

“What would you like to drink?” the head male asked the group as Myung noted he had kind eyes.

“Tea if it wouldn’t be too much to ask,” she requested.

The male laughed, it was an earthy chuckle she could appreciate, “Elune forbid I ever be without tea! Oh yes, we have tea, we’ve got…”

He rattled off what they had on hand and Myung chose what sounded good to her as the other Huntresses followed suit, she noted they either opted for tea or just plain water as it seems the Kaldorei seemed to keep to simpler tastes, but then again for them it was only lunchtime. She was handed some chopsticks as she was grateful the Night elves favored them as well as she still had trouble using forks and the tiny spoons the other Alliance races seemed to favor. Their drinks arrived just in time as she was about to tuck into her food, but then she noticed they all had their heads bowed and were whispering soft prayers over their food. Feeling a bit awkward she waited for them to finish as they raised their eyes and motioned for her to go right ahead, something she did not have to be told twice.

The kimchi was delicious and different than what she was used to, it was spicy, just the right amount of heat, but there was an amazing smokey flavor to this she’d never experienced before with kimchi. It must have shown on her face that she wasn’t expecting the oral experience she had received as one of the Huntresses cleared her throat and waved the kind-eyed male over as she wiped her mouth out with a napkin.

“Cookie, is this a Myth batch?” she inquired with a knowing look.

The male nodded, “Yes Captain, it is. Just popped them yesterday. He’s got an odd trick where he grills the vegetables lightly before putting them in to ferment.”

“Can’t argue with the results Cookie,” the warrior female replied.

Myung jumped in, “Oh yes, this is amazing, this flavor. My compliments to the chef.”

Suddenly a loud metal crash rang out that must have originated in the kitchen and echoed in the Mess hall suddenly silencing every ongoing conversation as all eyes looked into the kitchen which only had a half wall separating the two areas so they all could look in at the busy cooks… And one very embarassed young male, who had already flushed purple and then tried to find some place to go so he could look busy again. After he fled from view, all the conversations resumed as it never happened as she looked up to note the male known as ‘Cookie’ rolling his eyes a bit.

“He says ‘thank you’,” he said with a slight exasperated, yet amused tone.

“He looks so young to be so skilled in cookery,” she mused outloud.

“Yeah, that’s Cookie’s protégé Mythlleass Wildsword,” the Huntress to her left supplied.

Cocking her black and white head to one side she mused again, “Interesting last name there…”

“Should have been Highblade,” Myung caught another mutter as the one next to her elbowed her to shut up it seemed as the Pandaren wondered what that was about.

“Anyway, I better be getting back to work,” he bowed his head, “If you need anything, just wave me over.”

Nodding, she watched him go to see if she could get another glimpse of the younger male in question, but he was apparently out of view and was staying put that way as Myung turned back to the polite conversation among the senior officers when she was addressed by name to rejoin the conversation. As she ate something tickled at the back of her mind as she was tempted to look back into the kitchen again, but didn’t as she didn’t want to seem rude or inattentive to her hosts. Yet… was this what her Sifu had talked about all those years ago? Well, only time would tell…

#WoW #World of Warcraft #fanfic #World of Warcraft fanfic #night elves #wow monk #kaldorei #kaldoreiyarns #writing #Mythlleass #pandaren #Ourrin #short story

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aubreywrites · 5 years

Text

Presenting:

Sadie's Solace

On that final night, its lurid pages still crisp beneath her tiny fingers, Sadie closed her book and placed it temporarily among the scattered ashes which accumulated like light frost from her mother's cigarettes upon the bedside table.

She had found the book, blanketed by cobwebs on the lanai which overlooked the river long before she could turn its letters into the syllables that molded precious words, like sea stones.

She had since unlocked the clues to their formation. She spent most of her days retreating to her storybook world. Every night, Sadie tucked her tattered covers so close to her body she formed a cocoon, the only protruding flesh being that of one flyspeck pink nostril which she required for sufficient airflow to her petite lungs and wedged herself deep into the crack between the wall and the threadbare mattress.

She would like to have howled along with the wind as its heavy gusts stormed through the Spanish moss trees. The stillness of the rotted logs which made up her delicate foundation kept these yearnings to a minimum. She would instead lay awake for hours, silently humming to herself along with the voices of the fishermen which echoed off the oblique freshwater canals that ran beside the cabin, much like the sinewy golden threads that replaced her vocal chords, preventing any correspondence between the outside world and her sapient southern soul.

Her mother carried the girl for 7 1⁄2 months until she could no longer bare the child’s burden.

The infant was born silent peering through crystalline eyes, wide open and transparent, onto the cracked linoleum. Her mother wrapped her in the birthing blanket and placed her on the ground next to the bucket designated to catch the rains as they eternally seeped through the warped ceiling, as she had forgotten to bring in the old bassinet from the shed.

Shortly, after a haunting dream which revealed his daughter's silent malady, her father fled the riverside. Raving about the undeniable and underestimated hazards of rearing the children of his lineage. Her silence and transparent eyes didn't bother her mother. In fact, she felt it was a blessing.

Sadie seemed to intuit what her mother expected of her before being asked. She seemed intelligent beyond her sparse years. As for the silence? It was welcomed. Her mother's patience long spread thin, from the many years she spent begging Sadie's father to join her in their reality.

As Sadie grew, the rooms of the house grew with her. The emptiness of the cabin grew like the walls, and the girl, and the river, as often as the rains fell.

It seemed as though a thousand years had passed since Sadie's mother had stepped out beyond the cattails and became fraught with the foolishness of fresh love to the crooning of an ancient jukebox.

Sooner than expected the new couples “happily ever after” was over. Sadie's mother had stopped greeting him at the door upon his return from beyond the cattails. She no longer took his hardened fist in her gentle hand and lead him lustfully into the bedroom which was once designated for Sadie, the room from which she had finally been relocated when the moldy depressions in the ceiling became too ambitious to ignore, and the torrential rains perpetually lubricated the worn out sheets.

Now, her mother would wait patiently until night fell and her new husband had become sufficiently intoxicated. Dressed in her floral nightgown and rollers, she would send him off to bed, or lure him with more libations into the abyss of his reclining chair.

As quickly as her husband's attention waned, Sadie's mother morphed into a glamorous siren, like the woman whose high heels two stepped onto his soggy and withered heart some years ago. Her copper hair now in ringlet curls and lips the color of red slippers. She would place a gentle kiss upon her never quite sleeping daughters forehead, and off she would go, past the cattails and into the uncertainties of night, where she too, was young again. Though unlike her daughter, the mother would carol unabashed to the fishermen with her siren song, a huntress, unafraid of the vestigial other half she'd left behind, under the watchful eyes of her silent daughter.

Sadie listened intently to the night voices wrapped in her cocoon. As early as she could translate words to meaning she grew fascinated with the sounds of the fishermen, who captained their coarse canoes across her portion of the bewitched river. Late at night, wrapped in her solace, she would imagine elaborate tales around the dialogue of the fishermen. The voices of the men on the river, the only human voices, she deemed worth emulating. The men's voices shaped her fears and curiosities of the world outside of the cabin, the heroic canoe captains who slurred obscenities and lavish tales, as they brandished their fishing poles like Excalibur, and treated their oars like trusted steeds.

On the nights that the nightmare of her new step-father overpowered the captain's narratives, her imagined existence became increasingly useful. Sadie would retreat to the images of the fishermen as she envisioned them below her lanai, free upon the river aboard their big green canoes, or shiny motorboats, Just as they looked when she stole glances of them during daylight, except that on these dark nights they shone brighter through the broken window of her bedroom. She would fruitlessly try to ignore the overpowering nature of her step-father's stench, musky and melted like the armchair in which he spent most of his semi-conscious hours.

As he entered her room she would often begin to imagine herself floating serenely amongst the bluegills until she was jarred out of her fantasy, by the chill left from her unraveled cocoon. The shadow of her step-father still lingering in the crooked door frame.

Clanging in the stagnant swampy air as he struggled to hold himself up against the weight of the whiskey and his step-daughters silent disdain. Sadie's mother had deemed it unnecessary to send her to school. Afterall, ever since the morning she dropped onto the kitchen floor, Sadie had exhibited a fabulous amount of intuition, as if she had already knew what it was to be a tiny human.

As she grew, she demonstrated an ingrained knowledge for arithmetic and biology, the most peculiar of her ingrained skills was her inquisitive passion for entomology.

Sadie collected the carcasses of the lizards, bees, and cockroaches which found their way inside the cabin, and examined them scrupulously. She took extra care to round up the shrunken spider exoskeletons and hide them under the doormats or in tiny Dixie cup vases for later and more thorough inspection, for she had taken notice of her step-father's discomfort when confronted by them.

Her crystal eyes would gleam ablaze with curiosity over these foreign creatures. On the rare occasion that she found an arachnid alive, Sadie would delicately coax it into her hand with insurmountable ease and free it, through a tear in the screen of a window. And from the moment she placed her fingertips upon the only book which existed in their cobwebbed library, hidden on the all but forgotten lanai of their log cabin upon the river -- it seemed as though she required it's pages like a fish required water.

Sadie could also write, though only on her own accord. It was as though her mothers coaxing, just intensified her increasing shyness on the matter.

So, Sadie was mostly left alone. Her mother unaware of the gleaning threat that lingered in the domestic swamps of the living-room, a scourge Sadie likened to the alligators that sometimes sat on the riverbanks just outside of her bedroom, lazily looming above the bluegill beds, until their hunger boiled over and they feasted on the innocent yet, suspicious fish. The torrential rains began to become increasingly unforgiving as Sadie continued to receive near nightly visits from her mostly unconscious step-father, her escape into the world of words and fishermen fantasy becoming less fulfilling than her desire to escape the confines of her boggy existence on inside the cabin.

On that final night, back in bed, Sadie noted the fear in the weathered floorboards before her mother even reached the screen door. When it finally slammed shut her voice rose above the crickets chaotic choir, into a shrill and powerful solo.

“How could you? ” She exhaled, the confidence in her voice could have stirred the souls of men who have spent eternities in mausoleums. Though she was soaked to the bone, she waved the dry spine of Sadies book above her head.

Sadies step-father's hardened shell was barely shaken by the sudden waves upon his stillness, he opened his eyes, though, the infomercials which he slouched in front of seemed interrupted by this sudden change in scenery and simultaneously quieted their droning. Infuriated by his slow reaction, she bellowed again, “How could you?”

He reached for the glass in the cup holder of his gruesome chair and took a long and pointed gulp before responding, “what?”

Sadie's mother, crumpled like a paper ball, to the ground. She'd strategically chosen a spot dreadfully close to the fireplace and all of its accouterments. She began to read aloud from the book, but this time it was not the tales of the fine block printed words Sadie had read over and over again to herself, the words her mother read were words which had been scratched there in the red crayon scrawl of her daughter.

“August 2nd 1989

Mama, I can’t never rest. The nights that ur here, I sleep with one eye open, an the nights that ur gone, my eyes stay clamped shut but no sweet dreams come to em.”

She turns the pages, her fiery first charge, slipping away, leaving shambles. She continues to read, one eye focused intently on her expressionless husbands face.

“August 4th 1989

Mama, He tries to force me to sing, knowing full well that I can't, especially, not for him.”

Too shocked to cry, Sadie's mother stood up and straightened her curls. She proceeded forwards towards the great stone face in the armchair.

It seemed as if he was incapable of comprehending the heinousness of his actions.

Before she could reach him he jumped up in a bolt of life unseen by his wife in their years together and contorted in a series of gestures were mistaken for a handful of erratic and rapid apathetic shrugs, infuriating Sadie's mother irreparably. Though in hindsight, one can assume that this is the very moment in which the inhabitants of the delicate Dixie cup castle Sadie had constructed inside the cracks of the armchair had eaten through the crumbs in the crevasses of the recliner and moved on to their bigger, and more satisfying main course.

Content that she had created enough of a scene to distract from her departure, Sadie wrapped her tattered cocoon around her head, a magical hybrid between a crown and an umbrella designed in advance to keep out the rancid words that were now flying across the living room and the torrential sea salted rains. She slipped on her mother's slippers, as to not make a sound and headed for the forgotten lanai.

The lack of fishermen on the river that night was initially alarming, though as the river swelled with the seeds of the downfall, the men had assumed less and less of a presence there, leaving Sadie even more to her own thoughts than ever before.

Sadie had installed a slit in the screen just above the pathway that led to the riverbanks months ago, it's presence like a porthole to freedom. It's mere existence there gave her a feeling of calm. That night, she pulled back the slit screen porthole and shimmied out. The sweet sting of the downpour awakening her senses as she climbed the jagged rock path to the riverbed. In a rush of life, Sadie kicked off her mother's slippers and placed her feet into the sand. She stood solemnly and embraced the long-obscured view. It was then, as she scanned the overgrown horizon through the cattails, that she spotted it. Carefully tucked beneath the small wooden deck her real father once used for fishing was a beautifully preserved forest green canoe. “The Captain,” crookedly written in off white paint near the tip of its hull. It showed bright amidst the darkness of the river, and the colorless backdrop of the night.

Without hesitation, Sadie scuttled over the debris the storms had washed ashore, old buoys and tree limbs, the occasional forgotten lure, and she crawled inside. Sadie removed her cotton crown and fashioned a plot to lay on, in the crux between the seat and the shell of the fiberglass. With the weight of the cocoon lifted, she spread her tiny arms and flopped flat on her back, her opulent skin catching the rouge rains as the winds dispersed them under the deck. Sadie breathed a sigh of relief that could be felt as far as the gulf, and she began to sing. Her voice as sharp as diamonds fell like distant sea stones. concealed by the persistent pelting of rain.

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