lost carcosa ▷ writing storage

My gallery · by **lysander** » Mon Jun 05, 2017 5:31 am

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「　 ten moments with the boneseer // fantasy (complete)　」

notes: au drabble for my character mallory...
she's a shaman/witch doctor type demi-goddess in this!
one of the few things i really liked AND finished lol
consider reading on ao3?

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o n e

The boneseer takes a deep breath and counts to ten.

A familiar smell of rotted wood and vegetation. Honeysuckle, poison ivy, dogwood. Her hands glide over the bark of her home. Moss covered. Soft to the touch. Vines that creep along her tree's roots, clinging onto its surface. Great billowing branches reach above her, all the way to the top of her forest's canopy.

That was right. Her forest.
The forest that protected her, and the one that she now protects in turn.
A sacred place, far from the cities and towns of humans.

Every leaf, blade of grass, and insect hums quietly with the gentle song of life. Whether it is the bees, the cicadas, the sound of rain, or the wind in her trees, the boneseer listens.

After all, it's her favorite song.

t w o

Every morning, she carefully arranges the skeletons hanging from the branches of her tree. Sometimes she adds a fresh corpse— usually a victim of the swamps or the serpents that roam her woods. Other times, she takes one down, to be used in her apothecary work. The kind of apothecary work not sanctioned by the clergy. Poisons. Aphrodisiacs. Things that grant great power. Things to conquer kingdoms. Things that come at a high price.

She finds the humans who covet them to be illogical and misguided.
Perhaps it's merely her own perspective. Perhaps her own innate ability makes her take it all for granted, but still. What makes humans desire it so?

The boneseer is content in her solitude. Powerful though she is, she desires not to rule, or to assert herself over others. Those sorts of things are for mortals.

All she wants is to be alone.

t h r e e

People come to her, seeking their fortune. For the boneseer, reading the threads of fate that are woven between each and every life is something close to child's play.

She's seen her own future many times, never changing.

First, the clergy gains power. A ban on all unsanctioned magic will be placed. Many mystics, fortune tellers, and mages will be burned at the stake. Then, it will be her turn too. They will come for her at the crack of dawn, waking her from her sleep, then placing her in front of a jury in some pathetic farce of a trial. Lies and truths will be intertwined in testimony. Then, they tie her up, in front of the castle. Set bales of hay ablaze at her feet.

Then... it will be over.

The boneseer feels nothing.
No fear, no hatred, no regret.

Her fate lies far in the future, where the clergy is one far different than the one now. Where many kingdoms have conquered, thrived, and fell into ruin. Where the world she knows— her eternal forest —will slowly wither around her.

Existence without it seems pointless.

f o u r

Of the threads of fate she sees, the ones that puzzle her the most are the ones that stay inexplicably intertwined. These, that are dyed with the color of passion— red.

Red strings imbued with something called love.

The boneseer is perplexed. Perhaps once, a long, long time ago, she may have understood that strange emotion. She knows the physical symptoms of it. The fluttering of butterflies in one's stomach, or the frantic pitter-pattering of one's heart in their chest. And yet, these feelings remain foreign to her.

After all, she disliked bonds.

Bonds were illogical things humans sought out for companionship in exchange for the multitude of problems that arose from them. She's seen it many times— in the lovesick stable boy pining for a prince. In the handmaiden serving the husband of her soulmate. In the poor waif, lost in her woods, parentless and alone.

How troublesome, she thinks.
Only merely needed to accustom themselves to loneliness, then problem solved.

f i v e

Immortals are not infallible.
She's made more mistakes in her lifetime than she can count.

s i x

She had a familiar, once. Many, many moons ago, when she was yet young and her forest was fresh, vibrant, and aglow with joviality. Back when she still believed that her actions bore some consequence in the world, and that good deeds would be rewarded in kind.

She found him collapsed outside her tree cottage, a trail of blood tracing his footsteps. A fox, black as the night itself- with a leg broken and contorted. Red eyes that surveyed her carefully. He regarded her with suspicion.

"And what pathetic creature are you?" he asked.
"I could ask you the same," she replied.

The boneseer took him into her home, healed him. The next morning, all of her artifacts, grimoires, potions had all vanished. The fox was nowhere to be seen.
Yet, this was not the mistake.

Many moons later, she met him again. This time, in the form of a young man. Hair, unkempt, as black as the night itself, and red eyes that greeted her with something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Have we met before?" he asked.
"You stole from me," she replied.
"No, not then. Far before. Not here, not now."
"In another life?"
"Perhaps."
"How do you know?"
"A gut feeling. Maybe fate."
"You know nothing of fate. You've yet to live a hundred years."
"Yet I've lived a hundred lives and not a single person I've met has drawn me."
"What are you trying to say? Spit it out."
"My name is Nathaniel," he said. "Please allow me to be your fox."

The bonds that stay inexplicably intertwined were the ones that puzzled her the most. Therein lies her mistake:
She accepted.

s e v e n

Foxes are clever beings. Completely untrustworthy. The scoundrels of the forest. Absolutely deplorable, always ready to betray you for a quick gain. Nathaniel was all of these things in spades. But never once since that first meeting did he ever do her wrong.

For many moons, they spent their days idly, in peaceful solitude. The fox would always be gone by day, doing whatever it was that foxes did— the boneseer never questioned it. And by night, he would be back. Usually in a condition worse than what he left in. She never questioned it. Some days, he took the form of a man, bidding her farewell before he disappeared for months at a time, only to return bruised, bloodied, and near death. Yet that fox-like grin on his face never wavered- not even once.

She never questioned it.
That was her second mistake.

What business of hers was it? The boneseer was never one to meddle in the matters of others, after all. As far as she knew, her life was hers, and the fox's his. They communed every evening, and the nights they spent in eachother's company were bereft of needless conversation. Smalltalk was a waste of time. So were those declarations of loyalty that knights so often claimed to their princesses. For the two of them, one another's presence was enough. To quietly coexist in silence. To breathe the same air, occupy the same space— to bear witness to one another's existence.

It was enough. The world outside her domain had no place in her home, and as far as the boneseer knew, the fox was a tame a fox as any. Yet, this was not so outside the forest.

e i g h t

One day, Nathaniel disappeared.
He did not come back.

Years passed. The boneseer did nothing. On occasion, when the rare traveler made their way to her tree cottage, she would house them for a night or two. Allow them into her space in exchange for information.

She asked about her familiar. One of them delivered.

Their story told of a demon from Hell, assuming the simple, modest form of a fox. This fox brought misfortune to all it crossed. Sometimes it was a simple betrayal or act of adultery. Other times, whole countries met ruin, besieged by fires or famine in the wake of war. Taking the form of a man, this demon spun elaborate tales woven with deceit to incite chaos.

But perhaps worse than his lies were his truths.
It was said that the late prince Aegipan had taken his own life after seeing a black fox.

In truth, it was hardly surprising. A fox like the night itself, and red eyes that seemed like fire in the darkness. A tell-tale sign. And the face of a man whose unkempt hair and mischievous grin spoke of a cunning far more vast than the sincerity in his voice could disguise. She should have known. And yet, it was only now that she understood. All the months he spent away. The days he slipped off, motives unknown to her.

The travelers all told her he was burned at the stake. Reduced to nothing but a charred mass, black as sin.

"Good riddance," they said. "May the Earth be cleansed of such monsters."

The boneseer said nothing.

n i n e

The silence in her home never felt the same since.

t e n

It took her many moons to understand the genius behind Nathaniel's actions. An immortal like herself could not be fazed so easily, after all. She saw too many things— lived through too many wars —to be moved by tragedy the way a mortal would. For her, it was a cycle. Peace, unrest, war, triumph. And it played itself through every century— in different times yet for the same reason: Power.

The boneseer did not seek power. She could not be moved by such trivialities.
Thus, the fox did something else— changed his tactics to the only thing that could be an immortal's downfall.

He endeared himself to her.

What a peculiar way to hurt someone, she thinks.
Even more peculiar was the fact that it worked.

In time, the clergy would begin to unravel the mystery. Begin to trace Nathaniel's footsteps right back to her forest home, back to her little tree cottage deep within the woods, and they would seize her, burn her tree, burn her entire glade to ashes, then burn her on the stake.

She cares little about it, save for some grim kind of amusement in her own folly.

For now, she lives for the life springing forth around her. Winter comes to pass. The birds return to her branches, and the canopy sings with life. It reminds her of a time, long passed— when she was yet a young seer, still wide-eyed and full of wonder. A time many, many moons ago, when the smell of fox blood was still fresh on the grass.

The boneseer exhales.

x

My gallery · by **lysander** » Mon Jun 05, 2017 7:06 pm

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「　 kalon drabbles batch 1 // faye, elne, ilewyn　」

notes: some things i'm doing for kalon owners for fun!
i'll be adding two more onto this post later!
note; none of these kalons are mine!

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Faye ;

ooc; sksklgs i hope i got her personality right!!! i kind of ... meandered and went off course even in only a 300 word span... ;;;

Elne ;

wouldn't

Your Highness, would you prefer black tea or perhaps darjeeling? Your Highness, one or two sugars? Your Highness, a prince like yourself must behave like one. Your Highness

ooc; oh gosh i hope this is okay ??? @___@ i think it's kind of ooc...

Ilewyn ;

ooc; AAAAA i love ilewyn's design so much and the song i got gave me really nice inspo!!!! fff i already love this boy ;;;; i didn't want to overwork this drabble so i left it kind of short!

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My gallery · by **lysander** » Fri Jun 09, 2017 7:34 pm

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「　 mephis tryout // more kalon stuff　」

notes: 600 word limit.
i took obvious liberties with geomancy lol

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vignette:

to trace the contours of a geode with the tips of his fingers meant to read the very emotions of the earth beneath him. each curvature, formation, etching, and crack in the stone was a word in the ancient scripture carved by mother nature herself. entire mountain ranges were mere pages in her history. tectonic plates melting, shifting, bending underneath the weight of the ocean— all of them were like books unread to mephis, each with countless chapters waiting to unfold before his eyes.

or, perhaps, his hands. mephis could not see much, though it mattered little in his line of work. reading the moods of the earth merely required years of training and a sense of touch attuned to the different textures of asphalt, marble, quartz— what have you. he'd been able to see once before— the light of ancient crystals drew him in like a moth to a flame —but that was many, many moons ago, in a time where his fascination was endless and daring and unafraid. there were lines in geomancy one should never cross, he learned a little too late.

yet now, he could feel the light deep in his chest, like a precious memory. it drove him forward into the unknown, as if he were a spelunker traversing a vast cave with endless passages, some meandering into dead-ends and others leading to fates yet unknown. and mephis had front-row seats to it all. each client brought him a little further, a little deeper into the cave, and every stone, rock, shard they carried was a glimmer of something undiscovered— and he, with his insatiable thirst for knowledge, would edge on into the future where anything was possible.

god. he loved his job.

technical notes:

mephis can tell the future by reading the earth, whether it's by sensing tectonic activity, analyzing the structure/makeup of a stone, studying the textures and contours of rock samples, observing rock formations, etc. he cannot see— but his sense of touch is so refined he can tell the composite of a rock sample using inference (common minerals for a location, for example) and memorized facts (like mineral density.) divination is his primary occupation, but he also practices earth-based white magic, involving benediction, charming, healing, things of that nature. he can also read the history of a specific location using rock samples and performing a specialized ritual.

in order to read fortunes, clients may either choose a general reading, or go for a more customized option. general readings will involve the use of mephis' own geode collection, which he uses as a conduit for his magic. a more customized reading may involve the client bringing their own sample (i.e., the first stone they see on the way home from work) or by having the client throw, break, or otherwise disfigure another stone to see how it shatters. much like tea leaves, the way a stone breaks may hold clues about the client's future.

mephis' blindness was caused by a geomancy-related mishap in his younger years involving a forbidden artifact— the philosopher's stone. what happened exactly, no one knows. he's changed his name and moved away since then, keeping his past largely a secret.

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My gallery · by **lysander** » Tue Jun 20, 2017 3:58 pm

username: lysander partner: xxx pronouns: he/him name: noirem

✲

you can tell a thousand lies and never get caught as long as you can outrun the truth.

noirem recalled there being an old demonic saying that went something like that. the elders in the lower levels of hell always had a bone to pick with the younger generation these days, and frankly rem had more than his fair share of lectures in his nearly two-thousand year life time— still relatively young by demon standards, really, but wasn't age just a number? after all, the countless centuries he'd spent watching over humans proved that exact thing. it didn't matter how old they were— heck, it didn't even matter what time period. he'd seen the same thing over and over— from the roman empire to modern day mankind, he'd seen countless cycles of bloodshed, conflict, jealousy, greed. he'd seen entire societies rip themselves apart over wealth and riches. exploitation, enslavement— you name it, he's seen it.

the funniest thing was that rem never would've believed humans were capable of such things if it wasn't his job to make them do it in the first place.

he stood in front of a stone slab in the annex of hell's first layer. over to the right was the information desk for new tenants and visitors— they've only ever had one guy make it back out alive, of course, so rem never understood why they bothered with the visitation department in the first place. over to the left were the elevators that ran all the way down to the very pits of the underworld, where the the big guy himself had his living quarters and office. getting an appointment with lucifer was not an easy task— rem's heard of people waiting for more than five hundred years just to even get past the first waiting room.

these, of course, were just parts of the system lucifer placed long, long ago. rem was here to see the most important piece of the puzzle— the thing every demon came to check religiously like humans did with their weird social medias and facebooks (why would you put your face in a book?) and "twitters" as they called it.

the moral compass. it'd been long since embedded into a slab of pure obsidian in the early days of hell's creation. it was meant to track the overall morality of humankind, with its gold-embroidered needle perpetually trembling right on the edge of good and evil. as legend told, the day the needle tipped into the dark side, lucifer could go back to heaven— as with all the other demons.

in truth, there was little to no difference between an angel and a demon. humans got it all wrong— they were merely two sides of the same coin. they were both cosmic beings willed into existence by their creators. angels urged humans to do good, and demons... well. a job was a job. jobs were for surviving, and demons lived off of sin and conflict.

rem hated this fact more than anything.

maybe he was defective. he didn't know. all the other demons his age derived hours of mirth off their exploits in the human realm. did you see what i made that guy do the other day? oh man, it was so freakin' priceless! they'd say. rem usually pretended to laugh along, but deep inside something felt off. like a part of him wasn't working the way it was supposed to. wasn't he supposed to enjoy seeing people suffer? that was what demonhood was supposed to be about, right? he kept telling himself it was probably just a phase, but... as the year went on, his feelings never changed. something inside him nagged like some undeniable fact at the back of his mind.

every day, he'd leave the underworld and ascend to earth to do business. most of his time was spent whispering insecurities into the ears of humans— little fibs like, hey, i bet your husband's cheating on you, or something like you could make a hundred bucks by conning this guy. it's so easy —but every so often he'd take a break to watch the moon rise over the horizon as he sat atop a skyscraper. it was during moments like these where he stopped to think about things— his life, his decisions, himself.

all this led to was him being more ticked off than ever. he didn't want to admit it. the fact that he didn't want that wife to leave her husband. that he wanted to see their kids grow up in a happy, stable home. he didn't want that man to get conned, because rem knew that he had three kids with college tuitions to pay off. he didn't want to admit that he despised being what he was — a bringer of sorrow, of misfortune, of hate.

a demon.

rem could tell himself a thousand lies but he'd never be able to outrun the truth.

[824]

My gallery · by **lysander** » Fri Jun 23, 2017 2:05 pm

username; lysander name; capheus gender; male

hues

jeep

cherries

color

[78]

My gallery · by **lysander** » Thu Jun 29, 2017 11:07 am

lysander | finnian | male

he sidesteps questions like a fox trots through bear traps. his words are a dance to the beat of his own drum, beatbeatbeating in his chest with the sound of music. elusive smile, turning tricks at bar booths with the ease of an artist. the cards in his hands move effortlessly between his fingers and— oh, whoops. i won again.

a trick of the cards, he always says. no one had to know about the extra ace in his sleeve.

he flashes a grin at the next table, changing tactics. wanna see a magic trick? he says. cue a flourish of the hand, a smile and a wink. pure theater. his audience is dazzled. perfect distraction. they don't even notice his hand slipping away with their wallets. time to get this dog and pony show on the road, he thinks.

adrenaline's still flowing through his veins when he makes it outside. it's raining again. hood up, no umbrella. he leaves behind the music and strobe lights of his favorite club and enters the night. he stands under a bridge, pulling out today's haul. 80, 90, 100 dollars. tch. never enough for what he needs: a ticket out of this trashheap town and a place far, far away from the yelling and screaming inside the literal shack he calls a house.

not a home. a house.

at night he dreamt of hotel suites and soft linens. all-day buffets and a view of the pacific coast. a place where cops would address him as sir instead of punk. a place where wouldn't come home with bruises, citations, hurt pride. if money made the world turn, then maybe it'd turn his life around too— maybe it's wishful thinking, huh. but a couple broken rules to mend a broken dream?

he'd take that chance.

[300]

ooc; omg i don't think i followed the prompt orz
but i just kept writing anyway;;;;

My gallery · by **lysander** » Thu Jun 29, 2017 11:21 am

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「　 preparations // kalon summer event day 1　」

notes: i really got carried away with this;;; but i'm so happy
that i managed to finish something for once!
i love writing these three interacting so much;;;
~2k words

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"don't you ever want to do anything exciting anymore, mephis? i mean, all i see you do is play around with... rocks. every day. doesn't that get boring at all?"

kalesys' voice comes through the silken curtains of his makeshift tent moments before their face emerges from the darkness. mephis didn't need eyesight to know what expression is on their face at this very moment— a sly grin accompanied by eyes that spoke of ulterior motives. he sighs, putting down the stone tablet in his hands.

"kale, i travel from place to place for a living. occasionally, i am persecuted for my occupation and accused of black magic. some countries would have me burned at the stake if i so let them. what makes you think i need any more excitement in my life, hm?"

mephis can practically feel kale roll their eyes at this point. "and you're telling me you don't want more? c'mon, what happened to the kalon i used to know back in the day, huh?"

"it's been at least a decade or more, kale. i'm surprised you even remember considering how young you were."

mephis remembers it like it was just yesterday. a younger, more foolish version of himself staring into a blindingly radiant crystal of legend. it'd been his quest, his passion, for years — and it was the last thing he ever saw. his life since then never quite stayed the same, but he still can't bring himself to regret losing his sight for a glimpse of the philosopher's stone. still. he was reckless back then. perhaps as reckless as kalesys themself.

the other kalon spoke up, taking a seat atop of mephis' desk. "they say kalokairi is under siege, you know."

mephis' ears perk up. he'd heard about the country in his travels — never visited because of all the stories. kalons growing weak, shadow-like figures attacking... what was the crown doing? did that mean the royal guard was defeated as well? questions would buzz in mephis' mind every time he heard of kalokairi, yet he never sought answers for them.

kale continues. "they say if you can collect the four elemental crystals, they should have the power to rid kalokairi of the darkness that's rooted there. i mean, i just heard through the grapevine. i'm not sure if it's true or not, but..."

ah. mephis finally understood kale's motives. "you're trying to recruit me for your little heroic journey."

"i am."

"you admitted it so easily."

"but you'll say yes. i know you will."

"and why is that?"

again, mephis feels the grin on kale's face through the tone of their words — full of crafty confidence and amusement.

"because i know you can't resist the crystals. you'd kill for a chance to hold them in your own hands. you don't care about kalokairi — and neither do i, to be honest... but i want an adventure. and you?"

oh dear, mephis thinks.

"you love playing with rocks."

they just had to say it. mephis sighs again, turning towards the sound of kale's voice.

"i really do hate you sometimes, kale. i just want you to know that."

"great! i'll let cadence know you're in!"

"wait— who?"

"oh, just a friend of mine. he's quite handy. with you, me, and him, we ought to be pretty much set—"

"—don't tell me he's another kalon you've coerced into doing this."

"—huh? oh no— this was all cadence's idea to start with."

hm. how odd. so this wasn't kale's doing after all. throughout the years mephis had known kale, they'd both been frequent travelers of the road— nomads by choice or fate, it didn't matter. mephis couldn't think of someone more impulsive and more foolish than kale— yet, now he hears that a different kalon so chose to embark on this nigh impossible quest? he would've expected that from kale, sure, but...

then again, mephis was in no place to judge.

"well, when do i get to meet this cadence?"

"he lives on the other side of town. he's prepping right now, so once you're done packing up we can go visit. oh, and... we'll be using your caravan. i hope you don't mind— i already brought all my stuff."

"you... what?" mephis asks, incredulously.

"it's sitting outside, sooo. help me bring it in!"

the things he put up with sometimes.

///

cadence wipes the flat of his blade carefully, watching the metal glisten in the light of the fire beside him. behind are stacks of swords of various quality — some old, terribly tarnished, and others still shining like new. he'd been collecting these for years, waiting for the moment he'd finally use them.

now was the time.

his cottage is silent save for the crackling embers in his fireplace — at least until a knock on the door shatters it unceremoniously. cadence knew who it had to be — kale. one of the strangest kalons he'd ever met, but one with a good heart... perhaps. cadence was never one to trust so easily, but kale wore their heart on their sleeve at least to some extent. even if their eyes were full of clever wit, kale always kept their word. cadence needed kalons like that to accomplish what he'd been setting out to do for the last few years.

redemption.

he's tired of ghosts haunting his dreams.

cadence rises from his seat, opening the door. he overlooks kale's grin to see another kalon behind them, taller and older than kale, but younger than cadence himself. he's dark skinned — clearly not from these parts in the north — and judging by the kalon's clothing, he must've been some kind of practitioner of thaumaturgy. a fortune teller, perhaps? maybe someone who knew feng shui?

"this is mephis," kale says. "the guy i told you about. he's really good at rocks... and rock related things. i bet he'll be able to help us out with the crystals and all."

mephis' eyes seem to look straight through him, unfocused and pale like cataracts. in one of his hands is a walking stick with brightly colored stones embedded into its handle.

he smiles. cadence does not smile back. "it's nice to meet you. i'm sure kale's caused you quite a bit of trouble, but we'll be in it together. i have a number of years of experience with geomancy, thus i believe i'll be an indispensable part of your team—"

"just come in," he interrupts. cadence doesn't care much for small talk. "i'm just about done packing. where is your caravan?"

mephis replies, albeit more meekly than before. "um, just right out back. kale told me we'd be staying the night here and departing tomorrow."

good, cadence thought. everything was going according to plan. they would set off at the break of dawn on the morrow in mephis' caravan. it took two weeks to travel to arkaios, but cadence intended on pushing the schedule.

"erm, can we come in?"

cadence looks up, train of thought broken. both kale and mephis stand there expectantly, waiting for him to move to the side.

"right. come in."

///

"so... what exactly is your plan of action?"

mephis is staring at the orange blur radiating heat in front of him. he can't make out the shape of the flames anymore, but the air smells strongly of iron and soot. judging from the size of the fire... he had to be sitting in front of a furnace. mephis knew the scent of melting metal well; he deduces that cadence must be a smith of some sort. perhaps an armorsmith?

he isn't sure how to ask. cadence didn't seem like the kalon he assumed he'd be at all. mephis could feel his intimidating presence nearly tower over him while kale seemed to be blissfully unaware.

so, to break the ice, he asks about the plan.

"if i've heard correctly," mephis continues, "then the wind crystal lies high in the mountains north of arkaios, in an ancient shrine once maintained by the arkaian monks of old lore. do you have any plans on getting up there?"

cadence says nothing for a long time. it's times like these when mephis sorely misses kale's presence — their constant talking made it easy to stay quiet. yet, when faced with someone far more introverted than himself, mephis was at a complete loss. being stuck in a caravan with this kalon... sounded very, very uncomfortable. god, would kale hurry up with dinner? every moment they spent in the market meant another moment of awkward silence between himself and cadence.

mephis clears his throat. "so, um... the plan...?"

at last, cadence replies. by the sound of it, it seems as if he'd been polishing a sword this entire time.

"i'll be going up there on my own. i just need you to help us navigate. kale will provide support if necessary."

"whoa, wait a moment. are you sure you want scale the shrine on your own?"

"why not?"

"well... it's dangerous. one false step might mean certain dea—"

"—i know that."

mephis finds himself disgruntled with the trajectory of this conversation. "then allow us to come with you. kale would never agree to just sitting on the sidelines."

"can you even see where you're going?" cadence spits.

"i don't see where i'm going. i know where i'm going."

mephis can feel his exasperation mounting when kale's footsteps come running down the stairs.

"alright you two, dinner is served! i've got roast beef, a couple baguettes, some apples, and i also got some rations for the road too. dig in!"

thank god, mephis thinks. he reaches towards one of the apples, sinking his teeth into the fruit contentedly.

kale speaks up. "anyway, so, i've been thinking... since we're basically a party now, we need someone to call all the shots."

mephis swallows. "and who would that be?"

"well, me, of course."

cadence stops digging into his roast beef momentarily. "there's no need for a leader," he says through half-chewed meat.

"nonsense. mephis looks suspicious and you have no social skills. clearly that leaves me as the most obvious candidate."

well, they're not wrong, mephis thinks. strangers seldom trusted fortune tellers like himself, and cadence... well, he had the displeasure of experiencing his lack of social skills for himself. it was just like kale to demand something like this.

"well, i have no problem with it. what do you say, cadence?"

two against one. cadence is silent for only a moment before he reluctantly tells them do whatever you want.

for once, mephis is glad kale is taking charge.

///

this will be the adventure of a lifetime.

after dinner, kale urges the other two to sleep so they'd be able to rise and shine before light broke, but they could barely contain their excitement as they lay down on the floor beside mephis, already fast asleep. the embers of the furnace are still hot and glowing. kale watches them cool and fade into darkness, daydreaming of the journey ahead.

it would be dangerous, of course. scaling the shrine would be no easy feat, but the thrill of excitement couldn't be tamed in kale's heart. they loved the risk, the stakes, the action. it was what they lived for. the look on kale's face when cadence first told them of his plans and his quest — kale's sure it must've been memorable.

as the night's silence engulfs cadence's cottage. kale listens to the sound of crickets chirping ever so quietly outside. the cool air enters through windows left open, and kale swears the air smells different tonight.

something big was going to happen. but not right now — that was later. for the time being, kale needed to rest up.

turning on their side, they finally closed their eyes and let fantasies of adventure guide them to sleep.

upstairs, cadence is in his bed, separated from the other two. he stares out the window and counts the hours until sunrise.

it's going to be another long night.

x

My gallery · by **lysander** » Thu Jun 29, 2017 11:25 am

x

「　 (un)expected circumstances // kalon summer event day 3　」

notes: i'm so happy about this piece!! even if i
don't place i'm just so excited that
i actually finished a piece over 2k
for once... you know how rare that
is for me??? the writing is kinda
whatever, but i'm still happy aaa
~3k words

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

it took them twelve hours to get back on the right path after a certain kalon refused to heed mephis' warnings and dragged their party down the road less traveled. cadence didn't say much — didn't need to. the rare words he uttered were tipped with sharp, cold ice, and mephis found himself walking around eggshells every time he tried to speak to him.

they're in the caravan now. trees pass by the on either side as darkness begins to settle around them. night begins to fall, once again. mephis hears birdsong begin to fade, making way for the dull hum of cicadas in the branches above them. the evening breeze is cool on his skin, and repetitive movements of his caravan's wheels threatens to lull him into drowsiness.

cadence interrupt the silence. mephis jerks awake.

"we need to make camp," he states. "it's pointless to keep travelling in the dark. tomorrow, we set out at dawn."

mephis hears kale behind him, yawning. funny to hear, especially considering that kale spent at least an hour or so bickering with him about the map kale purchased the day before. this map is a counterfeit, mephis recalls mentioning. i highly doubt the directions here are correct. and that's where it started all started. cue kale's retort, do you even use maps? quit trying to show off.

remembering the debacle brings a slight headache to his head. clearly, it's time for some rest.

they stop at a small enclave in the woods — a clearing with ample view of the night sky above and room for them to set up camp. cadence gets to work immediately, putting up posts for a makeshift tent using sheets from mephis' own fortune telling shop. kale starts a fire; mephis can tell by the sound of flint hitting stone and the sparks flashing with every click. both of them are silent, most likely tired from the mess of a day they just had.

all that's left to do is plot a proper course for tomorrow, mephis thinks. he reaches into the satchel on his shoulder, pulling out a crystal tied to a string. he collects the item in his hands, whispering gentle words into the stone until its surface begins to glow with a pale light. with the string wrapped around his hand, the crystal floats — and tugs northward, reined in by its leash.

the clicking in the background stops. warmth circulates through the air. a flicker reflects in his pupils, and there is light.

"great job not setting the forest on fire," mephis says. kale's quick to respond. "shut up and play with your dumb rock compass."

he's about to open his mouth to spit back something clever when a strange thump catches mephis' attention.

kale's voice. "cadence? what's up?"

more thumps. frantic rustling. the sound of items hitting eachother as cadence searches through his bags. mephis' ears are so astute he can make out the way cadence's breathing quickens, shallow in his intake.

"it's not here."

"what is?"

"it's none of your business."

kale crosses their arms. "then quit mumbling to yourself and finish setting up camp."

oh dear. mephis can tell kale's on edge. cadence is no better. perhaps he shouldn't have teased kale so much earlier, but... one took opportunities as they came.

"my mother."

"—you put your mom in that bag?"

"no. it's a letter from my mother."

mephis is puzzled. he puts away his stone and string, approaching the other kalon while avoiding the objects tossed onto the ground. he wants to ask why it matters so much, but given cadence's state at the moment... he decides against it.

instead, he tries to help. "where did you last see it?"

"with the rest of my things."

"kale," mephis starts, "didn't you reorganize our supplies this morning?"

"yeah. i had to, to fit everything into the caravan."

"you didn't leave anything behind, did you?"

"me? of course not! i got your bag, cadence's, mine, and..."

kale's voices begins to trail off. bad sign. with crossed arms, mephis taps his foot, counting the seconds until kale's realization.

"i forgot our rations."

"you forgot our rations," mephis echoes. no surprise here. "nice job, leader."

a sharp pain erupts from his ankle, making him wince. "shut up!" spits kale again.

"ow! stop kicking you little—"

"—enough."

at the sound of cadence's voice, both kalons immediately fall silent. mephis senses something in the other's voice — something he doesn't like. in all the hours they've spent together, cadence had spoken less than fifty words — less than a sentence per hour. he'd been counting. swallowing dryly, mephis takes a step back from kale, putting his hands up in surrender.

"why don't we... hunt for food? those rations would've only lasted a week anyway— we would've had to hunt eventually."

kale chimes in in an attempt to placate the older kalon. "uh— yeah! why don't mephis and i head out and—"

"—you two stay here."

"—huh?"

"if i want something done right, i have to do it myself."

mephis doesn't know what to say at this point — and judging by the silence, kale doesn't either. there's more rummaging in the background; cadence prepping his sword and spear, with metal clinking against metal. that... didn't seem right. mephis knew the land well — the animals here were shy, wary of kalons, and incredibly hard to catch. that, and they were probably too small to even hit with a sword. should he offer assistance...?

"er... cadence," he starts. "maybe i should come with you. i know how to set up traps, especially in these parts. i think you'll need my help."

no reply. the air is eerily silent.

"he just left," answers kale. "he went in that direction."

"if you're pointing right now, it's not helping much."

"west, i guess."

"alright, i'll be back soon then. you— stay here. watch the camp."

tch, kale sounds. it's clear to mephis that the number of mistakes they've made today grinds on their conscience, but kale's too prideful to ever apologize. mephis had always been patient with kale, but... cadence? questionable. if only people listened to him more — he told fortunes for a reason, after all.

with his staff in his hand, mephis starts after cadence, tapping along the path with it. each tap provides a wealth of information; the scraping of gravel and dirt underfoot tells him there's no trees above him. without their foliage, no leaves crack and crunch between steps. his staff makes contact with something solid — a root, by the sound of its textured surface. he finds berry bushes on the way, filling up the pouch on his belt with fruit. within about thirty minutes of meandering, mephis hears footsteps in the distance — cadence. they stop abruptly, allowing mephis a chance to catch up.

"cadence? is that you?" he tries, stepping over a log as he approaches. "i don't think using a sword will—"

"go back this instant."

yup. cadence alright. mephis sighs, motioning to his satchel. "look, i know how hunting works. unless you brought a bow, you're better off setting traps. i've got stuff we can use for some snares."

it takes a while for a reply to form on cadence's lips, but when it does, he hears the resignation echoing in the syllables of his words.

"fine. show me."

///

cadence watches as mephis constructs a snare out of twine and a twig, silently noting the nuances of mephis' face. he's strangely expressive — cadence knew kalons blind from birth and they did not emote the same way mephis did. the way he smiled, his body language... had he been able to see at some point? it didn't seem like mephis missed his sight much at all; how he managed to navigate the forest on his own frankly dumbfounds him even as he watches the other work with relative ease.

it seemed to cadence that there are many things secrets hidden behind mephis' agreeable nature.

still, something about his eyes bothers him. not his blindness, no — it was the way the fortune teller's blank gaze seemed so penetrative. his observational skills had proven to be utterly astounding, even in the short time cadence knew him. mephis seemed like the type to quickly unravel secrets if they were there, and the way his eyes glistened in the moonlight spoke of an intelligence hidden underneath the dulcet tone of his voice.

"ah, there we go," the other chimes, holding up a newly-made snare. "this will be perfect for catching dinner. all we have to do is set up a few more, then we wait. fortunately, small animals tend to be active around this time, so... perhaps we won't wait long."

with the snares set, there's not much else to do but to wait back at camp. cadence sees the distant glow of the fire as they approach, with mephis following behind. it's hard to resist the urge to look back, to watch the way the other kalon navigates through the forest.

"is something the matter?" he asks. cadence only grunts, facing forward again. by now, his previous annoyance subsided, leaving curiosity and an empty stomach. he didn't have the energy to be ticked off anymore.

once they reach camp, mephis quirks a brow. he's right in doing so, since kale's nowhere to be seen.

"now where did they run off to this time..." mephis mumbles to himself. on the ground next to his feet, a small slip of parchment lays unnoticed. cadence picks it up, reads it.

"gone foraging. be back soon. signed kale."

"oh dear," mephis sighs. "i was really hoping they wouldn't do this, but... it seemed like the most likely outcome."

"how much of today have you foreseen?"

"to be honest? all of it."

all of it? mephis' answer echoes in his mind. just how much of it was a lie? how much of it was truth? maybe it's fortunate that mephis can't see the way cadence's eyes narrow with suspicion. still, the way he reacts makes it seem like he did anyway.

mephis raises his hands in surrender, chuckling sheepishly. "i know that sounds weird. i promise, it's not really— care to hear an explanation?"

well. it'd kill time, he supposes. "go on."

///

"the future is not a straight line," mephis begins. "it grows and branches out like the trees and their roots, each path leading down more paths that fork into possibilities and outcomes. it's impossible to completely predict what may happen, but mother nature leaves clues in her wake; in the sky, the wind, water —and earth."

mephis is smiling now, drawing runes in the soil with the tip of his index finger.

"one only needs to be trained to read the signs she leaves— the ambient energy flowing from our surroundings reacts to the wills and wishes of others, and they both leave indelible marks on the land around them. much like fingerprints, i suppose."

"then you can read pasts, too, by that logic."

mephis grins mischievously. "correct! although, i make it a personal rule not to pry into others' business. it's quite rude, and clients don't take well to it. i still have to earn a living."

"i see," cadence replies. it doesn't go unnoticed that this is the first real conversation he's had with another kalon in what feels like years — even his exchanges with kale were largely one-sided.

underneath mephis' hand, the runes on the ground begin to radiate light. there's a small, knowing smile on his face that hints at the words that come next.

"it's not a letter from your mother at all, is it?"

cadence opens his mouth to speak, but is dumbfounded beyond belief. the scroll with its broken seal, carefully tied shut with a string and pendent— how did he find it? did he go through his bag before they left? what exactly—

"—don't worry." mephis' voice interrupts his thoughts. "i won't tell anyone. but why bother to lie in the first place? it's not a big deal, you know."

"...i thought you said you don't pry into others' pasts," cadence says quietly.

"well, you're not my client. my curiosity can get the better of me, but... my intention was not to pry."

his expression softens. "i just wanted to find it for you."

the campfire crackles in the long pause between their exchanges. the runes on the ground fade to black, and with one sweep of the hand, are wiped out of the soil. cadence is staring into the flames, eyes diverted from mephis as the other kalon pulls his knees up to his chest, letting his oriental robes become disheveled. embers die at the edge of the fire. they remind cadence of someone he always tried to put out of his mind.

"may i ask... how it happened?" comes mephis' voice, tentative but gentle. he's curious— cadence can tell —but it didn't seem like he'd force the topic. for that, cadence is grateful, but...

maybe it's time to let go.

it takes a while for him to muster up the words to offer in explanation. he's buried these feelings so long underneath the daily grind of work — the incessant clank of metal on metal, and the smell of his furnace burning bright. long nights spent toiling in the heat,
crafting weapons to perfection — these were the things he filled his days with, to leave no room for stray thoughts or anything else for that matter.

he'd spent so much of his time alone these past years. hardly spoke to anyone, and now, about to spill his guts to a near stranger...
cadence begins to laugh in a way that visibly surprises mephis to no end. not even he could've predicted his reaction, surely.

"sorry," cadence breathes, his laughter fading into a chuckle. "it's just... funny, i guess. i barely know you, but..."

"—you're lonely, aren't you?"

cadence stops mid-sentence, blinking at mephis incredulously. there's another one of the geomancer's sly smiles, gracing his features with an amiability cadence couldn't see before, but did now.

"i understand," he says, relaxing against the log behind him. "i spend a lot of time on the road, and... while i love what i do, it does get a little lonely talking to yourself all the time."

"you talk to yourself?"

"all the time. some of the locals from the village think i'm crazy."

"well, you don't exactly fit in."

"no one does, if you put them in the wrong place."

those words bring cadence's memory back to the forefront of his mind, along with flashes of a voice much younger than his own. geeze, cadence! why don't you smile more? it's the voice of kalon not yet twenty, with bright eyes and a bright smile not unlike kale's, yet gentler, sweeter than his compatriot. i bet you'd fit in if you gave a little grin now and then.

the unexpected memory makes his chest do inexplicable things. there's a tightness there, an ache, that he doesn't like. the one he hasn't felt in years. slowly, his secrets begin to unravel, each present moment bringing back another from the past.

"he was a soldier," cadence begins, tentatively — as if the words were rare, few, precious, and fragile.

"we were enlisted. cavalry. i was his senior by three years. we were in the same squadron together."

mephis listens quietly, as still as a mouse.

"he was young. he told me he wanted to do great things— be a hero. he'd talk nonstop about saving people, fighting off bad guys... stuff like that. still a kid, really."

"one day, he... no, i... got mad at him. i've seen men die on the battlefield. i... told him that heroism doesn't exist in war. that his dreams were just some stupid fantasy. then... he ran off. told me he was gonna prove me wrong."

silence engulfs the camp for a moment.

"the next day, they find his body. he tried to challenge the king of bandits. he... i couldn't recognize his face. not after what they did to him."

cadence steels himself against his own words. he doesn't cry— refuses to. yet his hands twitch and fidget all the same, aching for something to do, something to take his mind off his thoughts. across from him, mephis appears to be thinking. the struggle to find something to say that would ease the pain — even though both of them know these kinds of wounds don't heal so easily.

mephis opens his mouth to speak at length—

"—what in the world were you guys talking about? ya'll look like you've been seeing ghosts or something."

cadence turns back, greeted by a familiar figure. it's kale, back from gathering food. in one hand are the snares they'd placed earlier, while a wild hare hangs from the other. kale's belt pouch is filled to the brim with berries, mushrooms, other edibles — a plentiful harvest. it's clear that this was kale's way of offering an apology — after all, they're no longer scowling like before; the smile is back on kale's face as always, self-satisfied and confident.

"wipe your eyes boys! look at what i found in the bushes just now."

mephis smiles. "the satchel?"

cadence replies. "the satchel."

kale's grinning from ear to ear as they toss the bag to cadence. "alright! tonight, we feast like kings!"

///

the stars are beautiful tonight, cadence thinks. kale's putting out the fire, yawning for the fourth time in the last fifteen minutes. surrounded by his geodes, mephis finishes plotting a course on a piece of parchment. it's incredibly sloppy, but... cadence decides to put his faith in the fortune teller a little.

after all, trust is a two-way street. perhaps someday he'd ask mephis about his past too.

as the others settle down into their blankets, cadence pulls out a scroll, the one bound by a string and pendant. his badge. the one thing left behind, aside his corpse, aside from the words within the scroll itself.

cadence doesn't need to read it anymore. he's long since memorized its contents, scrawled across the faded paper:

im sorry. you were right

he closes his eyes, listening to the wind. this quest. the reason why he wanted to do this in the first place...

"i guess we'll have to prove you wrong, don't we?"

it's mephis' voice again. cadence turns to face him, meeting his eyes once more. pale eyes like cataracts meet his own, yet there's something different about them this time. cadence isn't sure what, but the way he smiles is reassuring.

"we'll do it. we can save kalokairi. i promise."

"i suppose i just have to take your word for it, huh?"

they share one more laugh in the darkness, with kale fast asleep beside them under starlit sky and newfound possibility.

it's nice to sleep without ghosts for once.

x

My gallery · by **lysander** » Fri Aug 04, 2017 9:36 am

lysander 　// 　eis 　// 　nonbinary

when they open their eyes, it's pitch black.

as they stand up, they're oddly aware of the way the air feels. the darkness around them. their legs drag like lead weights as they take tentative steps into the unknown. it's dead silent except for the pulsing drum of their heart beatbeatbeating in the cavity of their chest. hands shake, unsteadily groping blindly for something — anything — to cement their awareness in the dark.

unexpectedly, they touch a wall. it's smooth, almost eerily featureless, as if the entire structure is devoid of all human touch. some geometric perfection created by something other than a mortal. as they run their hands along the wall, it opens up, bends sharply into a corner. then another corner. then another. hours pass. hundreds of meters covered by foot and still, not a single sign of progress. the darkness in front of them remains unchanged.

this is the part where they realize they're in a labyrinth.

they break into a run, fingers tracing the wall with each step. they can hear the way the soles of their shoes slap against the floor without so much as an echo, all sound swallowed by silence. breathing becomes erratic, blood pumping adrenaline through a body racked with nausea. they run through twists and turns and countless hallways until their lungs can no longer keep up. pain aches through overworked calves, fatigue rests on every bone in their body.

then, there's a small click. footsteps.
every fiber of their awareness centers in on the sound behind them. it's getting closer.

something churns in the pit of their stomach. they vomit, bile hitting the floor followed by dry heaves. every cell in their body cries out as they break into a cold sweat, skin clammy with unease. they need to run. they need to run, now — sheer will forcing their legs to move despite how badly they want to stop. and yet the sound grows ever louder, ever closer — no matter how much distance they put between those footsteps, within minutes the sound is right there, only two steps behind.

limbs give out. their body collapses onto the floor, no longer able to move. eyelids, heavy, fall shut. they don't know how long they've been running, or why anymore. prolonging the inevitable end for — maybe it was hours. days. years. when hallways stretch on for eternity, it hardly even matters. even when the footsteps finally catch up to you.

—

when they open their eyes, it's pitch black.

[415]

My gallery · by **lysander** » Sun Aug 06, 2017 9:11 pm

lysander　 // 　klaes　 //　 male

there's nothing in the world klaes needs.

outside his cottage, the warmth of spring melts away the snow-covered mountains, with lush meadows and fields of flowers bursting into color as streams merge into rivers. minnows dart back and forth as dragonflies rest on pondside foliage. the smell of grass is fresh on the air, and every morning klaes loves nothing more than to take it all in, breathing in the scent of it all. he remembers, five or so years ago, when he first struck out on his own — travelling far away from his family in search of something else — something more. he didn't know what it was back then. heck, he didn't know much anything at all, but things are different now. the sound of birdsong greets his ears as he steps outside, and the air is warm with sunlight.

it's true; he's never been more content in his life. up in the mountains and free from the trivialities of the life behind him. still, sometimes he wishes for one thing — nothing much, really: just someone to share it all with.

not a lover — not necessarily. but someone to coexist with. someone to spend the summer days in sun with, someone to huddle close to by a fire. someone to talk to. someone to share stories with, to spin tales late into the northern nights as stars hang overhead. someone to wear all those marigold crowns he's made over the years, drying like wreathes above his fireplace. someone who knows all his favorite ballads, word for word, and someone who'll humor him when he asks them to sing, no matter how bad they are.

he wants someone whose heart still beats the way a child's would, fluttering at the sense of wonder surrounding them. all the little moments of his life blur into blissful nostalgia, like his favorite stories of days long gone by. he's not lonely — not exactly. but wouldn't it be nice to hear the sound of another's laughter with his own, when he recounts all those moments? the minute details of a life he wants to badly to share? to laugh, to live, to be with someone and bear witness to beauty around them —

yeah. that's what he wants.
not a lover, no. but a friend.

[380]

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