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Topics - Tempest

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Estel Province / Smoke Rings and Sorries
« on: January 26, 2019, 12:41:50 PM »
Back settling against the rough bark of a gnarled old oak tree Tempest sighed in relief. He called in the small kit he kept his cigarettes in. Tin opened to find he had none left. None left ready, anyway. Using his thigh as a flat-ish surface to lay the thin paper on he carefully filled it with a finely ground mixture of tobacco and devil’s snare. Fingers wiped clean on a cloth from his cabinet so that the plants oils didn’t linger in his skin.

Rolling the paper into a tight cylinder he twisted the ends tight to close it. Then licked the back of his thumb to dampen the seam down. He rolled seven in total, before running out of his precisely cut papers. Six stayed in the tin for later. One was tucked into the join of his lips while he organized the kit, vanished it, and brushed a bit of spilled tobacco from his leg. Knuckles bruised, but not as bruised as his left eye which was half swollen shut. The cigarette would dull the pain.

A healer had been offered but it was best that Reed got a good look at the scrap. It might keep him from throwing any fists of his own. Poor little brother, so damned grumpy all of the time. As he lit the tip of his cigarette with a tongue of witchlight he tried to understand how anyone could live that way. Happiness, he thought, was a choice. He could have been stomping around, complaining about Bannick’s bad attitude or still fighting the great grumbling oaf. Or he could have been pouting to Harrow, who would have liked the attention he thought.

But he wasn’t. He was out in the fresh air, because he enjoyed it. Relaxing with the smooth flavor of smoke filling his lungs. Antlers clicking softly on the tree’s trunk while his eyes traced the shadows its limbs cast on the ground. Half blurry from the sore eye. Legs neatly crossed at the ankle. Waiting. Because if Bannick was back, then Reed was around someplace too. Pouting enough for the both of them most likely. When a long, Cervini shadow joined the ones that swayed from the breeze he glanced up with a grin. Taking a long drag on his cigarette before speaking. Smoke curling around each word. ”How was your trip back? Sorry I didn’t say before I took the short route. Harrow showed up and I couldn't say no.”

That was a bit of a white lie. Thankfully no one had been close enough to hear that the suggestion to leave had been his own. ”She just… smells so good.” He crooned, as if there all the excuse his behavior required. ”Did you see her? She was a squat little squirt last time we were here, now she’s-” His hands motioned as if he were feeling up a figure eight. ”all grown up. All the way.” He knew. She had let him sniff it out.


Dea al Mon Archives / A Reconnect
« on: January 06, 2019, 11:55:43 PM »

There was no proper clinic in the village. Just an old woman that agreed to look them over in her kitchen. Tempest leaned back on the dining table. Hands gripping the corners while he looked down at the wrinkled creature inspecting his wound. He trusted no one. Especially in quiet places like this. They could all be An Corithe. Every set of eyes that turned his way were searched for flecks of yellow. And all the eyes turned when they saw the group limping in. Antlers proud in the daylight.

”I’ve certainly had worse.” He hummed politely as the nag decided his shoulder was nothing serious. Mostly paying compliments to Bannick’s wife, who had done some sort of craft poison healing. For the most part Tempest had no memory of the fight. Or the after. He knew she had stuffed something awful tasting in his mouth. And that it was much later when he woke to their grunting over one another. Politely falling back to sleep without listening in.


Once they were on the move again he couldn’t help the slew of questions he had. Anxiety and guilt at leaving his herd’s remains behind fading as he moved forward. Towards Harrow. How many times had he dreamed of going back? Seeing her, even from a distance? They didn’t trust him well enough to give a glimpse of the queenling. And he didn’t blame them. But had asked twice anyway.

Behind him the rest of the group sipped on a stew of cabbage and carrots. Chicken broth too, Tempest thought, his own stomach too nervous to take food. The old woman offered again, and offered him a brew she promised would settle it so that he could eat if he wanted. ”No thank you, lady.”

He wanted back out. The walls rose up around him like a coffin. Or a cell. If his body was on the mend he wanted to get moving again. There was his brother’s head to have looked at, first. So he excused himself to the yard. Where he could stretch his long legs and roll a cigarette. Tobacco mixed with dried devil’s snare to ease the anxiety in his bones.

Taking a long drag he leaned against the old woman’s fence. It groaned at his weight. Eyes drifting shut he considered the future for a moment. What came next? What did Harrow want him for? From him? Did he have anything to give? Air slipped around his bare chest and all the hairs on his body stood at attention. He glanced over to the spot where someone had dropped onto a landing web. Eyes low as he drank in the short, but sturdy frame of a very pretty woman.

He took her for one of the hornless a moment, until she turned very familiar eyes his way. ”Harrow.” He breathed. The lurch in his stomach all the evidence he needed. Dropping the cigarette he stomped it out and wished for a clean shirt. Mouth dry as he approached her slowly. Circling her with a grin that fell away into a wrinkled brow. Bright eyed young buck peering around her hip. Hiding in her skirts. A child. Her child? Expectation died in his chest. It didn’t matter if she had a man. He would serve because she was his queen. Didn’t matter. Didn’t matter why she’d sent them. ”Good to see you again.” He told her, still watching the boy rather than the queen. The span of an arms length between them.

Until it wasn’t. To Hell with feeling her out politely. He came close, face to face close. Nose to temple, hands to hips. Probes a furious flurry to explore the changes womanhood had wrought.


Dea al Mon Archives / Storm Tossed [cw]
« on: January 02, 2019, 01:01:54 PM »

”Just make sure you get the stake down deep enough. Rain will wash it up.” Tempest reminded, the young cousin by his knee cast up a short nod. Using a touch of craft to drive the wooden rod that held their tent taught to the ground in deeper. There was not a cloud in the sky but none asked where the rain would come from.

Seven days. Counting them made Tempest’s hands flex in anxiety. If he pulled his sword from its sheath the family would tense. A single hand on the hilt was enough to turn their heads towards the forest. So he resisted. And wondered when they would come.

Tonight- his body sang with the warning. Or strong suspicion at least. They never went so long without an attack. Never. Now that there were only a handful left on either side the fighting was twice as savage. A violent struggle not just to survive but to end this war. Take down as many as they could in their own death if need be. Could it really even be called a war anymore, he asked himself with a hollow chuckle. At his last count Tempest thought there were seven wolves left. More than their four men and a boy. Less than the ten they had fought with the month before.

As he checked their campsite one more time night started to settle in around them. His nose turning often to the west where an unfamiliar something pulled at his senses. There was no time to commune. Whatever dark power drew his notice he would just have to hope it had nothing to do with their enemies.

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