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alightinthedarkness1 · 8 months

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Chapter Thirty Four

Arachne’s heart seemed to stop as she had her hands played across her face in a poor attempt to shield herself from the gaze of the attendants of the ball itself, each one glaring at her as they turned their heads to see the monster that they thought her as, faces of disgust and fear scattered about the room. Her mask was laid upon the floor, and, with haste, she took hold of it and attempted to place it back on her face to hide it so as to have some semblance of protection of the sharp stares of the men and women around her, however that proved fruitless due to the fact that the strings were broken.

There was screaming all about the room as faces of fear shifted into faces of hatred and violence, even the man that stood beside her seemed to realize his mistake and slowly backed away, no doubt thinking of how he would have spited her had she been a true Lolthite. He stumbled on his feet due to the level of intoxication he had reached, and, blue eyes wide and shot, falling into the table nearest to her platform, being caught by another man as he fell.

She felt paralyzed, still remaining on her chair as she heard the King call for something over the overwhelming noises surrounding them, the double doors being forced open soon after as a group of men and women in silver and gold armor marched through the frame and into the ballroom, helmets draped over their heads, hiding their faces from her gaze and from any damage she could call upon them. Swords were drawn as they made their way towards her, the nobles making way for them.

The drow elf recognized them as guards of some sort, although it was strange to not see a woman at the head of any charge, although it was hard to tell anyhow, but all she knew was that she was either going to be thrown into some dank dungeon to never be heard of again, or was going to be killed at that very moment for even daring to infiltrate such an important event of joy and celebration. Either way, there was little chance that the night would continue due to the stir she had caused in the nobles.

Arachne stood up shaking her hands anxiously as guards began to close in at the King’s behest amongst all of the screaming and shouting terms unknown to her, which were probably slurs of some form, her lavender eyes held open in large circles as she backed up against the wall behind her, removing her ring from her finger as she held it against her mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to it, almost as if wanting to tell Amalica that she was coming to join her in the life after.

A voice cut through the room as Arachne felt a hand begin to grab her, shaking the very ground of the ballroom as it enunciated itself with authority, only uttering one word that seemed to cease all movement. “Enough!” it screamed, the guards beginning to step back as they turned to face the source of the voice, feminine in nature.

The drow elf lowered her hands from her face as she slipped her ring back on, turning to face the source of the voice, who stood near the elongated table both the King, Queen, and their revered guests had been sitting at the beginning of the night. She was the pallor elf with blue hair from before, the small gnomish boy standing beside her, fidgeting with his fingers anxiously.

She wore a beautiful silver gown that contrasted perfectly against her pale skin, the top of the dress having thick straps as the neckline dipped in the center of her chest, splitting her breasts apart with a trail of embroidered flowers connecting a protruding skirt that fluffed out around her waist, akin to a tutu, which seemed to have created a trail of skirt that dragged behind her as she walked. And below the skirt itself was the continuation of the dress, with a blue ombre in the back to differentiate itself from the base metallic color, a path of embroidered pink flowers scattered about both skirts.

She had wide and youthful looking blue eyes and thin pink lips, her light cobalt hair tied back into a loose braided ponytail, pink flowers being woven into her gossamery locks, a circlet of some sort resting against her forehead, the gold of it subtly glimmering against the candlelight. Her mask hid little of her face, for it was designed beautifully in the sense that it mimicked some sort of insect, a butterfly she thought it would have been called, which was wrapped around her head no doubt by the means of magic. Despite her childlike appearance, she still carried herself with such authority that it seemed as if she controlled the entire ballroom.

Her smaller friend seemed to wave his hands a bit, and a magical air surrounded Arachne for a moment, all of the voices around her suddenly becoming comprehensible, her own ability to understand and speak the common tongue seeming to have been bolstered by an artificial means. For a moment the drow elf began to think that whatever this had been was orchestrated by the strange elf and her gnomish accomplice.

“Lady Merliah,” the King began, walking towards her with a scowl on his face, “you would do best to remember your place in my palace. You may be an esteemed guest for your efforts to protect our city, but you know just as well as I do that drow are not to be trusted! The women far less!”

The elven maiden bowed her head to the King, a small smile teasing her lips, “And I do know my place, Your Majesty, but I am afraid to say that she is one of my wards, and is my responsibility. She is quite harmless, my liege.” She turned to the drow elf for a moment, winking past her mask, “Isn’t that right, Arachne?”

She knew her name. Her name. This elf clearly knew something she didn’t.

In pure shock, Arachne only managed to stumble on her words, looking at the woman with an apprehensive expression on her face that could have easily been taken for some form of fright, “Y-yes, my lady. I’d never hurt anyone, I promise.”

The King cleared his throat as he turned his head back to glare at Arachne for a brief moment before he turned to face Merliah, the elven maiden, once again, who had her arms crossed and wrapped around her figure, her hip cocked outwards despite her large, voluminous skirt. Even still, the man before her spoke his words, which seemed to lighten the air of the room just a tad, “Then take her with you now. The night is over due to the spoiled spirits. You and your wards,” he uttered bitterly, “may leave now.”

Merliah nodded, courseying once again, her legs appearing to stumble as she did so, closing her eyes as a gentle smile rose upon her features, which remained even as she rose and began to speak once again, “Thank you very much for your hospitality, Your Majesty. I wish you the best tidings on your anniversary night.” She grabbed the boy’s hand beside her, his hands so miniscule that the gnome had to hold onto her thumb, and, while the drow elf wished she could focus on such a sentiment, Arachne instead saw the elf beckon for her with her fingers as the entire ballroom kept their gaze on the three of them. “Come along, dear. We mustn’t dawdle.”

Arachne nodded sheepishly, pulling her hood up again as she moved her feet with haste to meet the aquamarine-haired woman and the child adjacent to her, moving to walk beside her on the opposing to side, noticing quite well the discomfort of which the gnome seemed to carry himself. The drow elf knew not if it was simply his own demeanor, or if it was because of their unlikely meeting, but, either way she felt a wave of sympathy wash over her subtly, just as the wind would have done were there to be any in the confined room of which they were exiting.

Penetrating gazes bored into the back of each of their skulls, hushed whispers dancing about the ballroom in a crude position, whatever spell the child having had cast seeming to have worn off or reached the end of its duration, for the words spoken soon fell back into a land of unknown as she was so accustomed.

It was strangely quiet as the past through the double doors, the only noise to accompany them was the small sounds the flames mounted upon the candles and torches hanging upon the noise acting as the same whispers uttered in the ballroom. Merliah seemed to know where she was going, which was comforting to say the very least, no doubt for both Arachne and the gnomish child, whose air of unease still remained as prominent as it had been before.

As they made their way through the halls of the palace, Arachne took a moment to think over what had just occurred, and how the woman beside her knew her name and that she would have been in dire need of aid should she be found out just as she had been? Had she been speaking with either Ryleigh or Ezili, perhaps both? Had that been what the mariner had been hiding in her words that seemed to hold itself in the letter she had sent with her? Perhaps it had been planned by the three of them so she could end up where she was now: in the hands of this Merliah. This elf.

Arachne turned her head to face the pallor maiden for a moment, noticing a limp in her stride that originated in her left leg, which happened to be the side the drow elf was standing on in regards to her, who, despite the clear confidence in the way she walked, was clearly experiencing some form of difficulty in doing so. There was something certain about her and that was the magical aura emanating from her like perfume, and, somehow, she had an inkling that such an aura could have something to do with her limp.

The had found themselves in the road, a trail of carriages lined up in front of the palace grounds, and, continuing to follow Merliah, she soon found herself standing in front of a beautifully elegant black and silver carriage that shone against the reflection of the moonlight, music still hanging in the air. The night breeze was alleviating, and, for a moment Arachne had forgotten the very reason she was breathing it at the time anyways, before refocusing with the sound of a snap.

It was the elf, who seemed to have summoned two astral and transparent horses which were connected to the carriage itself, the step of it flying downwards as the door flung open, allowing for all of them to enter and sit together, if that was the proper term for it. Merliah and the gnome sat together on one side of the carriage, the side facing the horses, while Arachne sat alone with her head hung low and her fingers intertwined together.

And when they began to move, Arachne opened her mouth to speak in elvish, still remaining to look downwards at her lap, sighing beforehand. “Why did you do that? It’s not very common for my kin and your own kin to get along, let alone save each other’s skins. I doubt I can be that important to you.” She pressed her fingers together as she further sunk into the silk cushions below her.

Merliah smiled, still holding onto the gnome child’s hand with a gentle hand, squeezing it slightly just before she began to speak, her voice almost ethereally perfect, “First, I must apologize to my friend who tore your mask down, I so desperately needed to see your face. You’ve caused quite the stir, I’ll let you know. So much so that I know little about you but I know enough from my conjoined sources. Ezili is one of them. And perhaps you know the Gray Sword Syndicate as well?” Arachne shifted in her seat with a bit of discomfort at the sheer amount of things this woman knew that the drow elf had thought to be under the wraps, and even ore was she beginning to believe that her sailor friend, Ryleigh, and Merliah were part of the same scheme. Noticing her unease, the elven woman continued, “I know where you hail, more than most would, I think, and I also have knowledge of your arcane talents. I have heard many things. Some believe you are a bard with much promise, while others see you as a wizard such as myself.” she paused for a brief moment, “But I give you a choice. For some, such as some in your own home, believe that you are blessed by some higher entity.”

“Eilistraee.” Arachne muttered to herself.

“Perhaps,” Merliah replied, “but that is not for us to decide, is it? All I know of is that I am presenting you with a choice that may predict the course of your life. There is no right decision, mind you, but it is something you must decide for yourself and not for anyone else.” The elven woman let loose a sigh that echoed through the silence of the carriage as it bounced against the jagged road, “I know only what has occurred to you in your time in Abburth, but not of what has happened over the last seventeen years. But there is obviously a reason why you have fled to the surface, of this I am certain. Anyone that you have lost will have wanted you to make the right decision for yourself and the way you live.”

The drow elf looked to Merliah for the first time since she had come to her rescue in the ballroom only a half hour prior to the conversation, and, whilst holding her head as high as she could against the evident power the elf held despite her passive demeanor. “And what are these choices? You make such a large deal of them that I’d prefer to know them before you regale me with their importance once again.”

She paused for a moment, realizing the sudden shift in her tone since the last time she had interacted as seriously as she had been with the very woman in front of her, although the severity of the situation had shifted, for since the last time Arachne had spoken to someone in this much detail over a serious matter was with Mother Maccis nearly four years ago. Even then, she still treated her as if she was an overruling matriarch, as many who were tainted by the Lolthites had, but even then her last audience with the priestess was just that, and nothing more. Her communication with this Merliah was far more important, and she was somehow managing to procure some form of sarcasm as if she was with a friend.

In fact, she was acting very similarly to Amalica in that sense, for, despite the obvious criticality for what she was meant to decide, and for the very reason she spoke to the elf that night, she showed the same deceiving resolve as her fiance once did. It was a bittersweet realization, a sudden pang of despondent air emanating from her for a moment before she returned to her tranquil state as before.

Merliah looked at Arachne with solemnity swimming in her blue eyes, something almost reassuring to the drow elf, “You could choose to leave here, sink into the under city and do whatever you please amongst those less fortunate, or you could stay in my care, just as Erky does,” she turned to look down at the gnomish child beside her, a blush reaching his features before he hid himself away in the maiden’s side. “And you would either learn the ways of wizardry or of the more… magical capabilities that come with being a bard, perhaps even both if you feel up to the challenge.”

She thought little of it, for she was being offered a place to stay in the company of a woman in power, the obvious answer being ‘yes’ to anyone in their correct mindset, and not only was this powerful dame offering her a chance to live in the very city she called home, but was also giving Arachne the chance to master the magical talents she had harbored for such a long time. The strange bursts of somehow maniacal and dangerous song could be answered, and perhaps even controlled, and this Merliah seemed safe enough.

“Then I shall stay with you, but we will see what arcane path I take.” Arachne replied swiftly, the excitement in her voice scarcely being hidden as she spoke, “I offer my sincerest gratitude, my lady–”

“Call me Merliah, dear.” she corrected.

“Very well then, Merliah. I do still offer my gratitude, I can only assume it can’t be easy, given our kin’s colorful history.” Arachne sighed, watching intently as the small boy, Erky, his name was, wrench his head from out of Merliah’s side as he looked at her with wide, sparkling, curious green eyes. He smiled at her. It was a small thing, but in the eyes of a child she was a monster, she knew that much, and to see such a trivial mannerism on the surface was akin to finding gold amongst a vein of silver.

The elf chuckled, “You would be surprised, my dear Arachne, how the times have changed. Most of my kin have given up their hatred for your kind only until you appear, and even then, it is far less than it once was. I do know it is quite the opposite for your kin, but I am willing to set aside our differences if you are.” She reached out one of her pallor hands for the drow to shake.

“Deal,” Arachne uttered, taking her hand and shaking it, a smile teasing her lips.

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kissmyhandcallmedarling · 2 years

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creature of the night

dickie x gn!reader ( s m u t )

notes:

tw: contains smut + vulgar language

i love dickie so much, like he deserved so much better an ending than he got! his story is tragic :’(

idk if i’m just really fucked up, but noel is literally so hot playing this character!! like my god!

——————————————————————

"Stop running away in your little pants!"

Your eyes widened as the scene flashed before your very consciousness. A man wearing nothing but a black jockstrap bolted out of the door you stood beside, into the dank, concrete darkness.

"I'll turn you into a fucking glove puppet next time! I'll wear you like a fucking suit!"

The figure appeared from the doorway, thrusting his hips forward as he spoke, cackling to himself. You seemed to go unnoticed by the strange individual you presumed to be the notorious Dickie. They said he was the best in the business... well... if you were into the real weird shit.

Suddenly, his gaze was fixed on you, his expression almost... warm and... inviting...

"Oh hello," he spoke. The words rolled off his tongue like treacle; a complete juxtaposition to the savage you'd witnessed a few moments in the past. "You're next are you?"

You nodded, trying to get your head around the unpredictability of the... man?

"And what's your name, my sweet? I like to know the name of my clients before I ABSOLUTELY FUCKING REARRANGE THEIR GUTS!" His sudden change of attitude gave you a start.

"Oh, forgive me, dear," his voice returned to a reasonable volume, taking your hand in his, placing a kiss on your knuckles in a gentlemanly manner. "Now. What is your name?"

"Y/n."

"Hmm, what a gorgeous name." He hummed. "Now, let's have a look at you. Show me your belly button, come on. Your little tummy-tum-tum."

You did as he wished, lifting your skirt up to your underbust, revealing not only your navel but your legs and crotch, embellished with white fishnets, and a lacey garter straining tightly around your left thigh.

Dickie lacked the effort to suppress his groan, thick in his throat. "Oh god."

You bit your lip and dropped your skirt back down, meeting his lascivious gaze.

"Oh, you are so pretty. So dainty, and pretty. Like a little daisy. Little daisy child. All soft and FUCKING SICKLY!! LIKE FUCKING CANDYFLOSS THAT'S BEEN LEFT OUT ALL DAY IN THE SUN! ABANDONED BY SOME LITTLE CHILD!!" You watched the insanity ebb and flow through his irises, as icy blue as fresh cobalt, matching that of the wavering tone of his voice.

"My sweet one," Dickie had snaked his arm around your waist, his demurity having resurfaced. "Venture into my den with me. And we can have some fun. You and me. What do you say to that, hmm, darling?"

He escorted you through the dingy doorway, entering a room enlightened by pink neon light, slamming the door behind him. Your eyes darted about the room, taking in the surroundings. Brightly coloured tiled walls, on which a plastic telephone was mounted; a children's play table currently housing a pile of powered narcotics; an array of painted rainbows and stars; various handrails attached to the walls, of which's purpose you had a hunch. You were about to seat yourself on a daggy plastic chair, pondering, before he stopped you.

"No, don't sit there." Instead, he gestured to an elaborately decorated four-poster bed, embellished in rococo linens and gold features, a right contrast to the seemingly child-like decor of the opposite end of the room. "Those chairs are for my boys. My little children. Those FUCKING DISGUSTING PRICKS! You're far too decent for the chair. Instead, why not make yourself comfortable on the bed, my little slut. My little whore." Dickie had grasped your shoulders from behind. "Even though you're paying me. OH FUCK! THAT MAKES ME THE SLUT! I'M A FUCKING PROSSY! A PROSTITUTE! WHAT WOULD MY MOTHER SAY! WHAT WOULD SHE THINK OF ME!!!"

"Do I pay upfront?" You queried blankly, as though it was a common occurrence for you to pay for the pleasure of this man's company. You revealed a wad of cash, handing it to him.

"Ah, perfect. Thanks for that." He was instantly pulled from his outburst, accepting your payment. "Now, then," Dickie slithered around to face you, allowing his eyes to slowly drop, as though analyzing how best to tackle you. "Let's party."

And he kissed you. Your lips mingled, your respective lip colours merging to form one dark shade of mauve. Your hands instinctively found his cheeks, his cheekbones, defined by the strips of sellotape he'd forgotten to remove when contouring his face. His gloved hand gently lifted your skirt, gripping your buttocks. But instead of venturing where you thought it would go, his hand progressed up your back, as if stroking your vertebrae. His fingers, sandwiched between your skin and dress, danced along your skin, pulling your body closer to his. A heat was growing, deep within your core. A need. A desire. His femininity was tantalizing; his underlying masculinity was grounding. He made your body scream in a way it had never done before.

"Ooh," Dickie extracted his hand from your back, and instead, brought its focus to your lower region. "My sweetheart. You are in for a night to remember."

Your thoughts dwindled away as he continued to pleasure you.

"My god!" You drawled.

"Mmmm. I always desire a good time for my clients." With one swift motion, he had freed you from your clothing, and rid himself of his own, leaving only your fishnets and minimal undergarments. You were both wearing lingerie. "So pretty! So frilly! YOU FUCKING GORGEOUS SLUT, YOU!" His rage mimicked his movements, as he rammed his lips to yours. He trailed his lips down your neck, to your sternum, where he sucked your skin with enough suction to leave a bruise. Dickie then pulled away, his breath heaving. And then he launched into a passionate monologue.

"You know, when the sky is clear, and there is ne'er a cloud in the sky, it means the sun is streaking. Showing off all her gorgeous, firey, curves to the moon. And when the moon is dark and only half showing, it is because he is hiding. He is hiding because he's touching himself. Touching himself to the sun's sensuality. She makes him trés exitée, mon cherie." Dickie crawled above you once more. He smelled of pink roses, candyfloss, and aftershave. He took your hand in his and stroked it along his jawline. His visage was clean-cut and defined, and it made your insides positively flutter.

"And tonight," You bit your tongue, anticipating the sensation, as he slowly lowered his hips until he was pressed firmly against you. "I shall be your sun. I'll make you feel shameful of how you feel towards me." He spoke through gritted teeth. Suddenly, he thrust his crotch into yours, harshly, with aggression, forcing a pleasurable mewl to escape your lips. "Now that's more fucking like it, darling."

***

"Fuuuck." Dickie drawled. "Oooh! You feel so GOOD!"

Every thrust brought you closer to climax, as his pace quickened. Dickie brought his face back down to yours and kissed your lips with hunger. You buckled your hips and tangled your fingers in his hair. You felt a drip on your cheek, and realised he had begun to cry.

"Oh," his teeth gritted, tears streaming down his face. "It's just you're being such a good child for Uncle Dickie! Such a FUCKING GOOD LITTLE ONE!"

His speed increased, as the pair of you grew impatient.

So close now.

With one final thrust, you felt yourself tumble down a rabbit hole of pure, utter ecstasy.

Until the waves rippled out.

And you were brought back to the moment.

ReIease.

What a ride. Literally.

Dickie collapsed back onto the headboard, expelling a groan. He proceeded to light a cigarette, taking a long drag before holding it up to your lips. You accepted, still catching your breath.

You sighed. "My dear, Dickie," He turned to face you. "I think I'll have to pay you visits more often."

"I'm not objecting, sweetie." He unexpectedly kissed you, before snatching back his cigarette and letting out a cackle. "To be frank with you, I quite enjoyed that. Tell you what? Next one's on the house."

"Is that discount redeemable straight away?" You winked.

That psychotic grin spread across his face. "Of course, darling."

#noel fielding #noel fielding x reader #dickie #set the thames on fire #the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #it crowd #vince noir #richmond avenal #noel is a dilf #noelian #julian barratt #sally phillips #art #this is weird #i apologise for this #bye now #:))))) help

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poesparakeet-fics · 3 years

Link

Read it here or on AO3!

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, Beauregard Lionett & Caleb Widogast, The Mighty Nein & Caleb Widogast Characters: Caleb Widogast, Essek Thelyss, Beauregard Lionett, Jester Lavorre, Caduceus Clay Additional Tags: Shadogast - Freeform, dunamancy, Empire Siblings - Freeform, Prank Wars, Tickling, rib tickling Summary:

What happens to a ticklish wizard when he manages to piss off too many of the people who love him? Allies are made and lessons are learned.

FIC

“Caleb Widogast!” Caleb jumped as he walked into the kitchen of the Xorhaus, unsure of what he could have possibly done to upset anyone this early in the morning. He was even more surprised when he saw who. “Essek?” Caleb stammered, taken aback. The drow was perched on a large kitchen chair with a cup of Caduceus’ tea in his hands and a pinched look on his face. “Schatze, I’m sorry, were we to meet? I hope you weren’t waiting long, I--” “No.” Essek corrected him sharply. “I am here to have tea with Mr. Clay at his request, to discuss the situation in Savalierwood. But he just told me that he healed some pretty distinct injuries for you, yesterday?” Caleb felt a guilty cringe fold his stomach in half. He sighed, looking at Caduceus. “So that just came up, ja?” “Yeah,” Caduceus responded, “thought it might be why you slept in.” “Ja, I had a bit of a fall--” “A fall? From where?” Essek’s gaze was intense. Caleb dropped his eyes to the floor. “Oh just, you know, clumsy--” “Really? You clumsily practiced dunamantic phasing on your own and fell through the floor?” “I think it was three floors, actually…” Caduceus mused quietly. The cringe came to the surface and showed, unbidden on Caleb’s face. “Essek, I--” “I have never limited you. It was the one thing I asked.” “I know, I--” “Caleb.” He froze when Essek cut him off, meeting the elf’s gaze once more. Essek stared him down hard before continuing. “I had… better masters than you had, when I was a young wizard. Infinitely gentler, certainly. But they would have whipped me for practicing phasing magic by myself. Truly. You could have cut yourself in half, dismembered yourself, crushed yourself, suffocated in a wall--” Essek seemed to cut himself off with a wave of his hand. “The point… the point is it would cause me a great heartbreak if irresponsible use of the magic I taught you led to your demise. Please promise me again, and keep it this time.” Caleb ducked his head, feeling like a rightfully scolded school child. “I will, ja. I am sorry.” Essek gave him a look that said he didn't entirely believe him. “I do trust you. I do not trust your curiosity. It’s only a virtue if it doesn’t get you killed.” Caleb laughed softly, nodding as he sat down at the table with them and accepted a teacup from the still-silent Caduceus. He winked at Essek. “I think I could say the same to you, but fair enough. If I do it again, I’ll let you whip me.” Essek smiled back, but the doubt didn’t leave his expression. ... “CALEB!” Beau’s voice thundered from upstairs, and Caduceus almost dropped the knife he was using to prepare vegetables for dinner. He spun around to see the wizard in question with his hands in his component pouch, running as fast as he could through the kitchen and out the back door. Beau’s quick steps followed, but by the time she was in the kitchen they could both hear the familiar woosh of a misty step from outside. She stopped stock-still in the kitchen, hands clenched into fists, looking… different than Caduceus had ever seen her. What was it? “Uh… hey. Did you get some new clothes.?” Beau turned to him silently, eyes burning holes in his head. It was pretty scary, actually. “Oh! Uh… is that what this is about?” Beau’s clothes were bright magenta where they had once been her usual cobalt blue. She was still staring at Caduceus with her fists clenched. Veth and Fjord were creeping wearily into the kitchen behind her. “I think it looks nice--!” Veth offered, only to choke off in a scared squeak when Beau rounded to face her. Beau reached out to yank Fjord’s hat off his head and put it on. “Hey!’ Fjord protested, before clamping one hand over his mouth to hide a smile. “Oh. I see.” As it perched on Beau’s head, the hat instantly turned the same bright magenta of her robes. When she handed it back it returned to its usual color. The whole room was biting lips to keep an amused smile off their face, lest they become the new target for her fury. Beau took a deep breath before bellowing again. “CALEB!” She spoke into the air, her voice loud enough to hear throughout the house. “I KNOW THAT SPELL DOESN’T GO FAR. I KNOW YOU’RE HERE, AND I AM GOING TO FUCKING GET YOU, DO YOU HEAR ME? I AM GOING TO DO DOPE MONK SHIT TO YOUR NERVOUS SYSTEM, TIE YOU UP AND FEED YOU TO A ROOM FULL OF TIEFLINGS. You will FUCKING SUFFER! THINK OF A NEW NAME, CAUSE CALEB WIDOGAST IS A FUCKING DEAD MAN! ” At the end of her tirade Beau took a deep breath and started to walk upstairs again, but not before spinning around and jabbing a finger at everyone in the kitchen. “ANYONE caught harboring the wizard will share his fucking fate!” … "...CALEB WIDOGAST IS A FUCKING DEAD MAN! ” Caleb was sitting cross-legged on the floor of his hiding place in Fjord’s empty bedroom when Beau finished her threats, but by the time she was climbing the stairs again he had disappeared with a crackling pop. When the disorienting suck of the teleport spell faded he was standing on a clay path in a dimly-lit garden next to a trio of small towers made of iridescent grey brick. An arcane weather-vane creaked in the darkness. He started toward the door. “Caleb?” A head of pale curls popped up over the top of a bush of dark purple flowers, a frown of concern on the face beneath. “Essek, hello. Ah… may I spend the night?” Essek walked toward him as he pulled floral gardening gloves off of his hands, eyes narrowed wearily. “Of course, I am always happy to have you...” He reached Caleb and placed a distracted kiss on his cheek. “... did something happen at home?” “Yes.” Caleb answered, only to stutter as Essek’s worry grew, “Oh, ah, nothing bad. Well, nothing very bad. I just need to avoid Beauregard for a bit.” Essek’s worry immediately evaporated to be replaced with amused annoyance. “I see. What did you do this time?” They both started to stroll through the garden toward Essek’s back door. “Oh, just some illusion work. It will go away by morning. She deserves it, after stealing my spellbook while I was sleeping.” “Mhmm.” Essek hummed, linking his arm with Caleb’s. “But wasn’t her stealing your spellbook revenge for…” “The magic spiders, ja, but I had to do that! She--” “--the disappearing ink, yes, I remember. Are you sensing a pattern here, chathtiu?” Caleb sniffed and turned his nose up. “I have no idea what you mean.” Essek’s smile turned indulgent as he pulled Caleb into his home. “I’m sure you don’t. Beauregard does have a way of pushing your buttons, hm?” “She is the expert.” “I should ask her for advice, one of these days.” Caleb only laughed, pulling the smaller man into his arms. “You have your own way of pushing my buttons, don’t you schatz?” Essek smiled back. “You’re right, of course. I do.” ... Caleb stalked through the library of the Xorhause, circling it room by room. While his books were sitting on the desk he’d been working at the night before, their holsters were missing. He shifted the papers on his desk, panic rising in his chest. Where were they? “Caleb?” Jester was standing in the doorway, his holsters dangling from one finger. Caleb let out a sigh of relief. “Jester! Danke! Where were they?” “Sorry, I think Sprinkle must have stolen them.” Caleb shook his head, the tension in his chest easing. “That’s alright. I’m just glad they are found.” He reached out for them, stopping short when another figure entered the room. It was Beau, her clothes now back to their normal deep blue. Their eyes met for a moment, but the monk just breezed past as though she didn’t even notice Caleb was there. It had been a week since the incident with her clothes with no revenge or further threats, and Caleb was starting to wonder if he’d finally won the war. He shrugged his holsters on as the two women sat down on the sofa. He missed Jester’s giggle until it was too late. “Hey Caleb?” Beau asked. “Uh, ja?” Caleb cringed a little, turning around. Beau’s look was positively predatory. “Fuck you.” Caleb was about to respond when the sensation of fingers digging into his ribs flushed all the air out of him in one squeal. He spun around clumsily, hands flapping, but nobody was near him. He craned his neck to look down, his arms helplessly hugging his own ribcage while his knees buckled. That’s when he realized where the sensation was coming from. “Wh-what? No, I-- ah! Please!” His fingers fumbled with the buckle of his holsters to try and escape the traitorous leather trap, but the buckle was trapped under a magical seal of iridescent purple wax with the image of a skeleton key pressed into its surface. “Fuck!” Beaureguard was grinning like a gnoll. “What’s that buddy? Fuck you?” “Aah!” Caleb’s whole body convulsed and hit the carpet as the tickling escalated, even more invisible fingers reaching out from the leather to stroke delicate bones under pale skin and plain cloth. “No no! Please!” “Can I try?” Jester asked, giggling. “Nein!” “Sure, go for it.” “Fuck yooooou Caleb!” Caleb couldn’t answer her with words, he could only wail wordlessly. He writhed on the ground, trying desperately to resist the currently useless instinct to lock his arms at his sides so he could try and pull the holsters off over his head, but it was no use. All he could do was paw uselessly at the leather before Beureguard hissed the trigger word again and all he could see was stars. “Uh… everything alright in here?” Fjord’s voice came from the direction of the door. Caleb couldn’t see him over the sofa. “Fjord!” Caleb screeched. “Plea-hee-se! Evil!” It was all he could get out before his voice cracked and his laughter turned silent, his head thrown back against the carpet. “Huh?” Beau answered in an exaggeratedly casual tone. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just getting a little payback for my pink phase. Stole his holsters and Essek cursed ‘em.” A wave of betrayal strong enough to overpower his ticklishness gave Caleb just enough breath to shout “WHAT?!” before the laughter overtook him again, tears building in his eyes. “I helped with the ruse!” Jester piped up. “Uh-huh.” Fjord nodded, “can he breathe?” “Hmm? Oh, I guess we can check. Good boy, Caleb.” The sensation stopped all at once, and Caleb rolled flat on his back to gulp in air. “See? He’s fine.” Caleb sat up, hands held out in supplication even as he struggled to catch his breath. “Beau, please, I’m s-” “Fuck you and your apology.” Any strength Caleb had recovered melted away as he squealed and flopped back down on the carpet, limbs curling uselessly against his body. The tickling fingers coming from the inner panels of his holsters might as well have been sucking his very life-force out. Fjord lets out a sigh. “If you’re going to torture him for a prank, you at least have to let him apologise. Good boy?” Caleb didn’t get up this time, too scared to trigger someone’s wrath or sense of mischief. He was still giggling, partially from phantom sensation and partially from the panicky tension of knowing that any of them could trigger the curse at any moment. “I’m sorry! Bitte!” There was a beat of silence before Beau turned to Fjord again. “There, I let him apologise. Can we go back to the torture now?” “Wait!” Caleb squeaked, rising unsteadily to his knees. “Please Beau, we can talk about this--” “Oh, you wanna talk now? Cause when it happened you were happy to teleport away to your fucking boyfriend’s. So… you know,” she finished with a grin, “fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU.” “Nein!” Was all Caleb could manage before his laughter stole his voice away, only to crack and go silent once more a moment later. Tears leaked from his eyes to roll into the fluffy carpet beneath him as he crumpled. “Oh, he’s so cute when he cries, I love it!” Jester clapped her hands while she watched from the sofa. “This is the best curse ever.” Fjord made an agreeable sound. “I wonder if Essek could make something more remote? Then we could tickle him wherever we are. That would be fun.” Caleb couldn’t respond to the idea with anything more than pained wail through his hysterics. The others pretended not to notice. “Yeah, I do worry that he goes without when we’re gone.” Jester cooed. “Pfft. Yeah, I don’t think Essek is letting that happen.” Beau snorted. Caleb started to beat at the floor with one hand, hiccups punctuating his laughter. “Aw, alright. Good boy.” The sensation stopped again, but Caleb couldn’t stop his laughter. “Please, pleaheese, *hic* bitte--” “Focus on catching your breath.” Fjord suggested, “It’ll do you more good than begging will.” Caleb let out an exhausted little sob before obeying, his lungs working overtime to suck in air. He wiped the tears from his eyes and tried to make the hiccups go away with little success. When his breathing finally evened out Fjord gave him a reassuring smile. “See, that’s better.” Fjord soothed. Beau’s grin got wider. “Hey, Caleb?” “No!” “Fffffffffff…” “Mercy!” “...uuuuck you!” “Aaii!” Caleb let out a little yelp at the sound of the words, then… nothing. He’d clenched his eyes shut in anticipation, and when he slowly opened them Beau was glaring at him. “Hey! How come it didn’t work?” Caleb let out a huge sigh of relief. The curse must have expended all of its energy. “Is it done?” Jester questioned. Caleb was wondering the same thing. He tried to examine the buckle of his holsters as subtly as possible. The seal was still there, which meant whatever the curse was, it was not over. He needed to get out of earshot as quickly as he could. “I thought it was supposed to last longer than that. Can you message Essek?” “Sure!” Caleb started to cast for misty step as subtly as he could, hoping he was close enough to his lab to lock himself inside. “Hi Essek, it’s Jester! So, your awesome curse thingy is SO great, but like, but it ran out of tickles? Do you know why?” Whoosh. Caleb hit the stone floor of his lab with an oof, dragging himself to his feet and transmuting the door of the lab into stone for good measure. As he groaned he saw that the room looked quite different compared to how he had left it the night before. The large chalkboard he used for calculations had been moved into the centre of the room. In one corner someone had drawn a symbol-- a skeleton key, like the one on the seal trapping him in his holsters. Next to it someone had written in familiar, looping script: I will not practice phasing unsupervised. X100 Caleb whipped out the enchanted little book he and Essek used to send messages between them, only to find a new one waiting for him. You have 30 minutes. Caleb was glad nobody was there to watch him gape like a fish between the chalkboard and the book. Essek couldn’t be serious. He frowned and grabbed up a quill. You are a traitorous snake! There was only a single silent moment before the page shimmered and revealed another message under Caleb’s. Noted. Now you only have 25 minutes. Caleb took a moment to say every curse word in every language he knew. Then he stood up, snatched the chalk and started writing.

#caleb widogast #essek thelyss #Shadogast #Tickling #Tickle Fic #Critickle Role #beauregard lionett #Empire Siblings #Prank wars #Rib tickling #Ticklish Wizards #hot boi essek #TK fic

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iatethepomegranate · 3 years

Text

Just a post-Aeor fic where Caleb buys a house with Beau and Yasha in Rexxentrum, becomes a professor, and learns how to be a person and protect people from what he has endured.

Content warnings: Caleb's backstory (a lot of it)

Chapter summary: Caleb's mind was in overdrive. There were so many calls to make, so many spells to prepare, so many things that could go wrong at every stage of this delicate operation, so many plans and backup plans and backup plans for backup plans. He could not let the past repeat itself.

Chapter notes: Say hello to a major plot arc. Also, I did my best to figure out a vague layout of the relevant parts of Rexxentrum but I am bad with directions, so *finger guns*

Chapter title from Eight by Sleeping At Last.

****

Chapter 6: I’m just a kid who grew up scared enough to hold the door shut and bury my innocence

Caleb’s scars itched as he headed home from the Academy, mind buzzing uncomfortably. His hands were somehow steady as he messaged Beauregard.

“Beauregard. I had an unsettling conversation with Astrid and Wulf. Two Volstrucker students are missing. Felix and Nicolaus. Evocation wizards. May have self-orphan orders.” He realised belatedly that he had forgotten to ask Astrid for a description. Also, he hoped Beauregard never told anyone he had used the term self-orphan. He’d made himself a little queasy in his haste to keep to the word limit.

“I’ll make sure the Soul keeps an eye out. And I’ll get a description from Astrid in the morning. Get over here. Dinner’s ready.”

Beau and Yasha kept the conversation flowing over dinner, absolving Caleb of that social responsibility. He felt useless, sitting here while there were two boys out there somewhere, who were possibly in the process of deciding whether or not to kill their parents based on an implanted memory of treason. If they weren’t found in time, Caleb wasn’t sure he could ever forgive himself.

The two women hugged him goodnight after dinner, and he shook so hard he feared he would collapse. Yasha held onto him a little longer than she had probably planned, while Beauregard stepped back to take a look at him.

“Caleb.” She had that tone, the one what told him he looked like shit but she was trying not to freak him out. “Maybe you should take a spare room on this side tonight.”

“I’m all right, Beauregard.” He knew he sounded ridiculous. “Hear me out. Please.” Beauregard tilted her head in a silent challenge. “I need to think. I need to process this. I need to come up with plans for every possible outcome. And I may need to make some calls.”

“Do you want to talk it out?”

“I would like to be alone. Just for tonight. We will talk tomorrow.”

Beauregard looked for a moment like she was going to argue, and then she quite intentionally relaxed her shoulders. “Okay. You’ll tell us if you need anything, right?”

“Ja, of course.”

Yasha gave him one last squeeze. “We mean it. Anything.”

“I know. Danke.”

Caleb escaped to his bedroom. He forced himself to slow down a bit, take deep breaths, and get dressed for bed. He settled under the covers, slowly circling his palm over the quilt and feeling the different animal patterns. He’d already committed them to memory. But, on a night like this, it helped to know that what he thought was reality before was still reality now.

What a fucking mess. Before he could get too deep into his head, he messaged Caduceus.

“Hallo, Caduceus. Two of Trent’s students are missing. We suspect memories may have been modified. If we locate them, are you available to help us?”

There was a short pause; Caduceus was probably weighing his response, aware that he would not be able to track the wordcount once he began to speak. “Of course. Let me know when I’m needed. If you could spare a teleport, that would be great.”

Caleb cast the spell again. “I will give you a head’s up when I need you and then grab you from the Grove. Danke. Today has been… a lot.”

“Get some rest, Caleb. I left some sleepy tea in your kitchen if you need it. I’ll be here when you need me.”

That was one problem handled. Caleb burned through another Sending.

“Astrid, Caduceus is on call to correct any memory modification. Beauregard will be in touch with you tomorrow to get their descriptions.”

“Danke. I will ensure the Cobalt Soul is adequately informed. Now go to bed.”

Caleb let him feel her unspoken concern for him, just for a moment. Maybe one day they could be friends again. He curled up beneath the covers and closed his eyes. He would have to ensure he packed Counterspell and Sending every day. Perhaps Hold Person would also be useful. Control Flames would also not go amiss, just in case. And Expeditious Retreat or Fly would be useful in case time was of the essence at any point. Suggestion could be useful if they had the chance to talk. Running through spells he should prepare made him feel a bit better about how little control he had over this.

He was still losing his mind a little bit.

“Caleb,” came Essek’s voice, pumping air into Caleb's lungs. “Apologies. I meant to message earlier. I’m safe. Saved a child’s pet cat from a tree. He hugged me. Strange. How was your day?”

“Intense.” Caleb wasn’t sure how much to say, and he would definitely have to burn more spells to go into any detail. “Astrid promised to find a venue for the ex-Volstrucker support group. Two boys are unaccounted for. We are concerned. They are… almost graduates.”

Before Caleb could decide whether to say more, Essek Sent again. “Are you all right? Can I help with anything?”

“Not right now. We will… see how this pans out. They’re from Blumenthal, and I didn’t hear anything when I was there. May have time.” Caleb burnt another of his own spells before Essek did. “I have Caduceus on standby and Beauregard will talk to the Soul tomorrow. We may have a chance. I hope.”

“I will come in a heartbeat if you need me. Keep me updated. Get some rest if you can. Goodnight. You are in my thoughts.”

It helped, just a bit. Caleb still tossed and turned for a while, unable to turn his brain off. But things were… maybe they were manageable. He had half a mind to take himself to Blumenthal tomorrow, find out where the boys’ parents lived and get them somewhere safe. Or maybe he could… no, they would not handle a stranger showing up at their door in the dead of the night very well.

****

Astrid came to the house the following morning, with sketches for Beauregard to distribute to the Cobalt Soul. It was odd to sit on the couch with her. Like friends would.

“Eadwulf is in the city with the Volstrucker we could mobilise,” she said. “If either of them come to Rexxentrum, between us and the monks, we will find them. I spoke to my guard contact; the families are okay.”

“Have we considered evacuating them?” asked Caleb. The thought had kept him up for a long time last night. Maybe it was the best option.

There was a flicker of discomfort across Astrid’s face for the barest of seconds. “I don’t trust the Crownsguard to handle a delicate mission like that. It would be up to us. Or perhaps the Soul, but I’m already stretching our relationship with them.”

“Yudala Fon knows the stakes,” said Caleb. “If you are not comfortable visiting Blumenthal yourself…”

“Are you?”

“I have been once. I can bear it again to save half a dozen lives.”

They both knew it wasn’t just the parents whose lives were in danger. If Felix and Nicolaus followed through on this and were not stopped…

Well, Caleb had lost eleven years, and then another six running and running and running. Astrid and Wulf had lost their freedom as well. And Caleb could not even begin to comprehend the special kind of pain it would bring these boys if they murdered their parents only to discover Trent had been in prison for weeks, his crimes exposed, his orders no longer in effect. Caleb wasn’t sure he could have survived that.

Astrid must have understood what Caleb was feeling, because she spoke gently. “It is an option. We could also leave them in place under guard to draw the boys out.”

“I would rather not.” Caleb could already conjure a dozen scenarios in which that could go horribly wrong. “Astrid, we cannot fuck this up. You and I both know these boys could overpower a Crownsguard, or sneak past a security detail. No risks. We have to move the families.”

Astrid opened her mouth to respond, and then paused, eyes drifting upwards in concentration. “Thanks, Wulf. Do not engage. Herd him towards us if you can. We will be there shortly.” She focused back on Caleb. “Felix is in the city. Eadwulf is trailing him. They are approaching from the south.” She hopped to her feet, and helped Caleb up. “Shall we?”

As they raced out the door, Caleb messaged Beauregard. “Felix has been spotted. Approaching The Tangles from the south. Wulf is trailing. We are headed to intercept. Could use a hand.”

“I’m in the Court of Colours, southwest of your position. I’ll link up with Eadwulf. Will get the monks to surround. We got this.”

“Beauregard is southwest of us,” Caleb told Astrid. “She’ll try to find Wulf and have the monks form a perimeter.”

“We only have one shot with Felix,” Astrid muttered. “This could make or break everything. No fuckups?”

“No fuckups.”

They ran.

As they drew closer to the suspected middle point, Caleb shot a quick message to Wulf. “We are close to the midpoint. Turning invisible now.” He grabbed Astrid’s hand, hiding them both from view.

Wulf’s response was a whisper. “Slowing down. I think he knows I’m here, but hasn’t done anything yet.”

Caleb was grateful most seventeen-year-old wizards had not yet figured out teleportation. He and Astrid also slowed, still hand-in-hand.

“We try to talk to him before we do anything aggressive,” Astrid whispered. “Get us close.”

“Worst case scenario, Beauregard stuns him and Wulf carries him somewhere we can have a secure conversation. I can try casting Suggestion if necessary, before we do anything to freak him out.”

They turned a corner and Caleb spotted the boy in a crowd of people carrying baskets and cloths and the like, probably headed to market. Felix was slim and blonde, and looked like he hadn’t slept in a few days. His shoulders were tight. The pair stayed ahead of him. Caleb spotted the instant Felix started getting a little too nervous, his eyes darting backwards for the barest of moments, towards Eadwulf, buried even as he was in the crowd.

Caleb tugged Astrid’s hand towards an alley before letting go and stepping into it, hoping he had read this right. Felix also turned into the alley, putting his back to the wall of a nearby inn, raising a hand to prepare a spell. Caleb recognised the somatic components of Scorching Ray. He prepared to counter it.

As soon as Wulf emerged, Felix tried to release the spell, and Caleb counterspelled, losing his invisibility.

Felix shook out his hands, still focused on Wulf. “Why are you following me, Eadwulf?”

Wulf raised an eyebrow. “Did you consider asking that before trying to set me on fire?”

Felix’s eyes narrowed, and Caleb wondered if Trent had tried to drive a wedge between the Volstruck, and Astrid and Wulf.

Astrid dropped her invisibility, appearing next to Wulf. “Felix, what’s the matter? Are you well?”

Her emergence did not calm Felix in the slightest. “Am I--” He scoffed. “Are you kidding?”

“We have been looking for you for weeks,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I have a mission to complete.”

Caleb considered recasting his invisibility, but the spell required verbal and somatic components. He just had to hold still and hope Astrid and Wulf commanded Felix’s attention until Caleb figured out what to do.

“Felix, you have been gone from the city for a long time,” said Astrid, and Caleb slowly reached for his component pouch. “Things have changed. Your mission, whatever it is, may no longer be viable.”

“We need to take you back to the Candles,” said Wulf.

Caleb felt his snake’s tongue and a piece of honeycomb, and began to slowly extract them from his pouch.

Felix didn’t move. “Why?”

Astrid glanced at Wulf, before evidently deciding on a course of action. “Trent has been arrested. We are trying to gather the Volstrucker so we can explain the charges against him.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Felix, what did he ask you to do?”

“It’s confidential.”

Caleb had the materials in his hand, so he rubbed the honeycomb against his lip, and spoke. “Felix, we are here to help you, but we need you to help us. Could we please have an honest conversation with each other?”

There was a moment where Caleb feared Felix would resist the Suggestion spell, and that Beauregard would have to swoop in and stun him. Felix turned to him, head cocked.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “You are Bren, right? Trent talks about you a lot.” He glanced at Astrid and Wulf. “He seemed worried the three of you were scheming behind his back.”

“Let’s head to his old office, ja? We have a lot to talk about. We will answer your questions, if you answer ours.”

“All right. Lead on.”

Caleb could not fucking believe that had worked. Judging from Astrid and Eadwulf’s brief but clearly shocked glances in his direction, they couldn’t believe it either.

****

Caleb couldn’t risk sending a message to Beauregard explaining what had happened, but she seemed to get the sense she shouldn’t reveal herself. Caleb led Felix through the city to the Academy, and up to Astrid’s office. They sat him in front of the fireplace.

Caleb crouched in front of him while Astrid stood by the fire, and Wulf leaned by the door. “Thank you for cooperating, Felix. Give me one moment. I need to message a friend who is going to help us.” He cast Sending. “Caduceus. We will need you in a moment.”

“I’m ready when you are.”

“I’ll go,” said Eadwulf. “Be right back.” With a muttered incantation, he had vanished.

“Where is he going?” asked Felix.

“To fetch a cleric friend of mine,” Caleb replied. “You look tired. Are you well?”

“Had a lot on my mind, I guess. Sleeping has been difficult.”

“I know the feeling.” Caleb looked to Astrid. “We should explain the situation, ja?”

“Why was Trent arrested?” asked Felix.

“A number of Volstrucker spoke with the Cobalt Soul about his training methods,” Astrid replied. “They documented it and took him to court. He’s in prison for life.”

Felix frowned. “I’m confused.”

Caleb should have expected Felix probably wouldn’t understand Trent’s behaviour as abuse; Caleb hadn’t either. “Felix, I would like you to listen to me.” He rolled up his sleeves so Felix could see the scars, which he was certain Felix shared. “A good teacher does not force his students to endure what we have.”

“We will face worse every day in our work,” Felix replied. “The pain… it makes us stronger.”

“And the residuum experiments? With no pain mitigation? I know people who have passed out in the process. Has that happened to you?”

“Once or twice,” Felix muttered, evidently still under the effects of the spell. “Puked more often.”

“Me too,” said Caleb, resisting the urge to scratch his itching scars. “It made me very ill most of the time. Astrid and Eadwulf had to force me to eat.”

“Why are you telling me this? Why are you asking me these questions?”

Astrid was gazing into the flames. “Felix, how old were you when Trent first hurt you?”

“Sixteen.”

Astrid managed to look at Caleb, just for a moment. “The same for him.” Astrid was a year older so it made sense to invoke Caleb instead, and maybe it was easier for her to project these things onto him.

Wulf popped back into the office, with the very welcome form of Caduceus beside him. Felix jumped, but Caleb had told him what was happening, and that seemed to be enough to stop him from bolting.

“Hallo, Caduceus,” said Caleb. “Can you give us just one more moment?” He turned back to Felix. “I’m going to have my friend Caduceus take a look at you and make sure you are well, but I would like to ask you a question first.”

“Fine.”

“What has Trent ordered you to do?”

Felix dropped his gaze to his lap. “My mother and father are plotting to betray the Empire. I have been asked to stop them.”

“That must have been weeks ago,” said Caleb. “What’s the matter?”

Felix scowled, and tried several times to supply an answer, as he was required to be honest while under the effects of Caleb’s specifically-worded spell. “I don’t know. They are not the people I thought they were. They are traitors. But. It’s not… I don’t know what to do. I’ve been waiting for Trent to give me more information, but I haven’t heard anything. I guess I was trying to figure out if there was a way I could convince them to…” He shook his head. “No. There is no mercy for traitors to the Empire.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” said Caleb. “It must be very difficult. May Caduceus take a look at you? You have clearly been under a great deal of stress.”

Felix had probably never seen a firbolg before, and he eyed Caduceus with trepidation. “What is he going to do?”

“It’s all right,” said Astrid. “He is a healer. The three of us have spent time in his family’s garden.”

“I… suppose…”

Caduceus approached slowly. “This will be quick, I promise. Just a healing spell to make you feel a bit better.” He already had the diamond dust for Greater Restoration in his palm. He touched Felix’s shoulder. It took a second for the spell to sink in, during which Caleb couldn’t breathe.

Then Felix slid to the floor, head in his hands. Astrid knelt beside him, whispering too quietly for Caleb to hear.

“One down,” Caduceus said softly, smiling at Caleb. “One to go.”

Caleb couldn’t speak. He watched Felix curl up on the floor, muttering to Astrid. She looked up at him, beckoned him over. Caleb knelt by her side.

“I don’t understand,” Felix said. “Why? Why? I don’t…” He shoved his fist against his mouth and screamed into it, eyes squeezed shut. “Why would he do this?”

There were a lot of things Caleb could say; he was not convinced any of them were right. But he had to say something. “He’s done this to all of us. Every Volstrucker went through this to graduate.”

“He does it for a few reasons,” Astrid said, quiet but somewhat detached. “It eliminates any family connections, leaving us reliant on Trent. And then, we’ve done the worst thing we thought we could do. Anything Trent has us do after that means very little. And those who break…” She looked at Caleb. “They are held up as an example of failure that we are measured against. We all know Bren’s name for a reason. First, as an example of failure, of weakness. Later, an example of endurance, of admirable but problematic stubbornness. A cautionary tale nonetheless.”

Felix looked to Caleb as well. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with this information?”

Caleb wanted to comfort him, but didn’t know what Felix would tolerate, and there was a pressing matter. “First things first, we need to find Nicolaus.”

Felix drew his knees up to his chest and hid his face against them. “I don’t know where he is. We argued and then we went our separate ways.”

“What did you argue about?”

“I wanted to come here and find Trent. Ask about the order. See if there was anything we could… I don’t know.”

“And what did he want?”

“Nico doesn’t know what he wants. He was always more scared of Trent than I am.”

“Okay, we have ways to track him down. Caduceus, can you scry today?”

“I can,” Caduceus said slowly. “Might I also recommend, if Mr Felix knows the spell, that he should try Sending to him.”

“I don’t know that spell,” Felix said thickly. Caleb would just make out the side of his face, to see it was screwed up as if in pain.

“I can teach you,” said Caleb, “but I suspect it will take more time than we have right now.” Sending was an Evocation spell, so it would probably only take Felix three hours instead of six to copy it into his spellbook and practice it until he could do it, but that was still too long.

Caduceus sat cross-legged on the floor. “Do you have anything of his? Or a likeness?”

Wulf handed him a sketch. “Does this help?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Caduceus closed his eyes and began the ritual.

“I can try messaging Nico,” Astrid said, gripping her copper wire. “Nicolaus. It’s Astrid. I must meet with you in Trent’s office. It’s an urgent matter.” She waited, scowled. “Nothing.”

Caleb refused to panic, no matter how bad that sounded. “Okay. Good to know.”

Felix lifted his head. “What if we’re too late?”

“We don’t know that yet,” said Caleb. “Whatever happens, we will deal with it.”

Felix frowned at the floor. “What happens to me now?”

“We can take you home to your parents once we’ve got an idea of Nico’s situation,” said Caleb. “Unless you need more time.”

“Just a bit. I think. But I’d like to see them. Not today.”

“There is plenty of dormitory space for however long you need,” said Astrid. “Bren will visit you regularly once you are with your parents, to check in.” Felix nodded. That had not been discussed, but it was something that Caleb would want to do, so he let it slide.

The ten minutes it took for Caduceus to complete the spell were some of the longest of Caleb’s life. But then Caduceus’s eyes went white, and it seemed to be working.

Caduceus began to narrate what I saw. “I see your boy. He’s in a field. The clouds are pretty dark. It’s hard to see much. I think I see some buildings ahead of him. I’ll follow him for a bit.”

There was a sick feeling in the pit of Caleb’s stomach. “We should be ready, just in case.”

Astrid’s fingers weaved around the wire. “Expositor, are you close by? We may need your assistance. Come to my office on the--ugh, just ask for directions.” She listened. “Expositor Lionett is outside the Academy. She will be here soon.”

Caduceus spoke again. “He is approaching the village. Not many people in the streets. Probably the incoming storm. He looks like he has a goal.”

“What can you see of the buildings?” asked Caleb. “Any signs?”

“The signs are Zemnian,” said Caduceus. “The buildings look like farmhouses, mostly. I think I saw an orchard.”

“Blumenthal is a farming town,” Caleb muttered. “Fuck.”

Beauregard burst through the door, gasping for breath. “I’m here!” She doubled over, hands on her knees, as she sucked in air.

“Get ready to move,” said Wulf, stony-faced. “It looks bad.”

“Shit.” She gulped in another breath. “Okay.”

Caleb felt a little better now that she was here, but he was wound too tight to process it. “Caduceus. Is there anything else?”

“He’s picking up speed. Turned a corner. Looking at a house in the distance, I think.”

Caleb did not let himself feel anything. He turned to Felix. “Felix, do you know where Nico’s parents live?”

“On the northeastern edge of town.” Felix’s voice was as tense as Caleb. “Look for the cabbages.”

“Danke.” He squeezed Felix’s shoulder and pushed himself to his feet. “We need to go.”

Caduceus was still in the vision. “Go on ahead. I’ll stay here with Felix. If I see anything I think is useful, I will Send. But it will break the scry.”

Caleb gathered Astrid, Wulf and Beauregard around him and cast teleport, aiming for the northeastern end of Blumenthal. He knew it well, once.