Vox's Kal Readopts ✧ Entries

[WitchHazel]

My entries for Vox's kalon readopt contests! Since I'm entering for multiple I decided to make my own thread for them <3

Please do NOT POST unless you are me <3 thanks!


Directory
Jolene
Eeve --> Minh
Noon --> Prophet

[WitchHazel]

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Jolene
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♫ Forsythia - Cricket Blue
♪ Cassandra - Florence + the Machine
♬ Rose Petals - S. Cary
♫ Time Will Change You - The Crane Wives
♪ Persephone in the Garden - Aidoneus
♬ Everything Stays - Rebecca Sugar & Olivia Olson

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❣︎ gardening
❣︎ tea; both brewing and drinking it
❣︎ coffee; both brewing and drinking it
❣︎ cats
❣︎ physical contact
❣︎ just being in the presence of plants.
it's very calming for her
❣︎ music, particularly acoustic indie music.
often plays music for her plants
❣︎ helping others when she can
❣︎ reading
❣︎ puzzles
❣︎ quiet activities

❣︎ sudden loud noises
❣︎ being around strangers without a
counter to separate them
❣︎ displays of anger
❣︎ uncontrolled fire
❣︎ the smell of smoke
❣︎ talking about herself, unless
it helps someone else or serves
another purpose

❣︎ gentle
❣︎ tries her best to be altruistic
❣︎ sensitive
❣︎ empathetic
❣︎ sentimental; tends to be a little nostalgic
❣︎ a little awkward when she's not wearing her customer service face
❣︎ still learning how to trust again
❣︎ tends to blame herself, even when something isn't her fault
❣︎ still healing; sometimes relapses into being closed-off and cold (especially when she feels hurt)
❣︎ dabbles in phytomancy (plant magic) and enchantments, but wouldn't call herself a mage
❣︎ knows the language of flowers, and often assigns people flowers in her mind
❣︎ starting to get almost as good as Affo at determining what people need

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The Witches' Brew Café

A workplace and home away from home alike, the Witches' Brew Café is truly a magical place. The shop itself has some degree of sentience - deciding who to hire, when to appear, and where to show up. Regardless of the location, it only ever seems to appear to those who need something from it. Its warm, rustic atmosphere can set even the most anxiety-ridden person's nerves at ease, if only for a moment, and the sweet perfume of various coffees, teas, and spiced pastries is enough to make a patron never want to leave. The café's enigmatic manager keeps things running smoothly, and has an uncanny knack for knowing exactly what everyone needs - customer and employee alike.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

❀ Blooming Through the Ashes ❀

Why did I have to end up on Ody duty?

Jolene glances at the shop’s latest charge as she picks up a jar of raw honey and places it on the shelf. The quiet young fellow stands listlessly in the corner, emptiness plastered across their face. If she didn’t know any better, Jo would think they’re completely oblivious to her presence.

Should I even bother trying to train them on restocking? It’s easy as pie, but the poor kid has barely said a word since they got here. I don’t know if they’re ready for shop work yet, but Affo said to train them, and I’m restocking today, so…


“Hey, Ody?”

Nothing.

“You up for learning to restock today? It’s not hard; it won’t take long to learn.”

The only response is a drop of pastel goop plopping to the floor.

Is that… a sign? Or am I reading too much into it? Jolene worries her bottom lip between her teeth. The kid’s been dripping that stuff since they got here… how is this any different? Ugh, why did Affo leave me in charge of them today? She knows I’m no good with strangers when there’s no counter to separate us, and I’m the newest one here. Imo would be much better at this… I wish she was here instead of meeting with her mysterious friend. Jo instantly cringes at the selfish thought, forcing it down into the bowels of her shame. No. I need to pull myself together. Affo wouldn't have left me to watch Ody if she didn’t think there was something they could get out of it. So… I should at least try to get them to open up, shouldn’t I? Can’t give ‘em any job training until they’re ready to learn, anyway.

“Ody, I…” Fiddlesticks. Jo has to resist the urge to smack herself. What do I even say? It’s not like I went to some fancy academy to study psychology, or even psychomancy. The only thing I know how to do is make a damn good cup of coffee. And brew a damn good cup of tea, I guess. And hot chocolate, and organising, and gardening… okay, so there are a lot of things I know how to do, but this is NOT one of them.

The silence feels like electricity coursing through the room. Jo inhales sharply. “Whatever happened to you… you can heal from it,” she offers awkwardly. “It just… takes some time.”

Ody’s hollow stare is as unchanging as ever.

Maybe if I… will it help? Am I ready to talk about that? I don’t… I don’t know. But there’s only one way to find out. She sucks in a deep breath, puffing it out through her nose in a soft sigh.

“A few years ago, I was… betrayed.” She nervously fiddles with her hair as she goes on. “I got in a fight with someone close to me. Someone who… used to be close. Who I thought I could trust. There was a garden, you see. A garden my family had been tending for generations. Whenever one of us passed, the surviving members would plant something to remember them by. Lavender. Mugwort. Bleeding heart. Oftentimes, it was the lost loved one’s favourite plant. If no one knew what their favourite plant was, or if they didn’t have one, we would plant something that reminded us of them. I was the one who tended it the most. Gardening has always been comforting to me. Nurturing something and watching it grow… it’s magical, there’s nothing quite like it.” A wistful smile graces her lips. “My grandmother taught me how to tend the garden. It wasn’t long until she became part of it too. As I grew older, more and more family members joined the garden, until… I was the only one left. It was a quiet place of peace and healing. A place I’d shown… them. When I thought I could trust them.” Even after all this time, she can't bring herself to say their name.

Though Jo can feel her chest aching with each word, Ody’s eyes seem brighter somehow. She can see their ears rotating in her direction. It’s working. Taking another steadying breath, she plunges onwards into the thorns encircling her heart. I can’t even bring myself to picture their face. But… I have to get through this. Ody’s reacting, at least. That’s what matters.

“After our big fight, they… they visited the garden on their own, and… they set it on fire. By the time I got there, it was too late. All those memories… all those relatives. Gone. Reduced to ash.”

Ody’s eyes widen. They maintain their silence, but it’s clear that Jo’s grief has struck a chord with something inside of them. Encouraged by their attentive response, she forges onward.

“After that, I… I couldn’t bring myself to trust anyone ever again. I shut out my friends… anyone close enough to potentially betray me. I was so angry… I blamed everyone for what that one person had done. But most of all… I think I blamed myself. I trusted the wrong person, and… my entire family legacy paid the price. Generations of tradition, gone. I couldn’t even look out the window at the remains of the garden. It was an ever-present reminder of all of my failings.”

A soft, rasping voice nearly makes Jolene jump out of her skin. “What happened next?”

They… they spoke. It’s the first time she’s heard them say anything aside from their name since they were unceremoniously left on Affo’s doorstep. Jolene offers them a kind smile. “This place happened.” She gestures around her at the bags of coffee lining the walls, and the herbs hanging from the ceiling. “I don’t know how I found it. Maybe it found me. Knowing what I know now, well… the latter is entirely possible.” A chuckle escapes her, tinged with the tenderness of a still-healing heart. “I was at my lowest. I’d lost everything, and most of it was my fault. I’d even lost my job since I was so wrapped up in my pain and anger I could barely focus on anything else. So when I saw the little ‘help wanted’ sign out on the front desk, I applied. Affogato hired me on the spot. I didn’t understand it at the time, but now… I think the shop decides who to hire. I know, I know, it sounds… weird, but that’s just how it is with magic. Whatever’s influencing this place is powerful stuff. But I digress; you’ll learn more about that the longer you’re here.” She waves a paw. “For the first few months, I kept to myself. Didn’t talk to anyone. Made the drinks, popped whatever enchantments I needed to on ‘em, and then clocked out. Back to my cottage and the ruins of the garden. But Affo and Imo… they never gave up on me. They kept trying to pull me out of my shell - asking how I was doing, insisting that I get first pick of the leftover pastries… even taking an interest in my hobbies. I didn’t notice my walls dissolving at first - it happened slowly, like a creeping fog. By the time I realised I was starting to open up, it was too late. But this time… I didn’t want to close the door. Something inside of me broke at the thought of being all alone again. Sometimes… the loneliness was worse than the pain. The thought of closing myself off again was far more frightening than the fear of being stabbed in the back. So… despite the risks, I let myself get to know them. Start to care about them. And somewhere along the line, I learned to forgive myself.” Her smile broadens into something warmer. “I’m still learning, really - forgiveness isn’t a one-and-done sort of thing. I plant those seeds inside myself every day.” Jo’s expression grows wistful as she stares at the herbs hanging from the ceiling. “I hadn’t looked at the ashen garden out the window in months. Maybe years. Every time I tried, I could never get the curtains open. Couldn’t even set foot out into the back of my house. I thought that maybe if I closed my eyes and believed hard enough, it would all be there again - my grandmother’s forsythia, my father’s nasturtium, my brother’s hyacinth. I’m not sure exactly what changed. But one day, something in me settled. I decided I was finally ready. This time, when I reached for the curtains, my hands shook, but… I made contact with the fabric. I couldn’t bring myself to look, at first. But when I finally opened my eyes… I could barely believe it. Sprouts had pushed up through the soil. It wasn’t the same, but… it was growing again, even after everything. New plants had sprung up where the others had fallen. Just as they had for generations, the plants reseeded. The cycle was unbroken.”

A shuddering breath brings Jo back to the coffee shop. Tears have gathered in Ody’s gentle eyes, shivering at the corners of their vision. Relief is etched into every crevice of their face.

“H-How?” Their voice trembles like a frightened mouse. “How is it possible?”

“You can’t bring the garden back, Ody,” Jo solemnly explains. “All the plants are dead. But the soil is still there. You can still grow something beautiful from the ashes of all you’ve lost.”

Faster than she can react, Ody’s arms are around her waist. At first, Jo is completely taken aback. She stiffens in her shock, but quickly forces herself to relax as she returns the embrace. Ody nestles into her side, staining her apron with liquid catharsis.

“Th-Thank you,” they murmur. “Thank you.”

Though the words melt Jo’s heart, a tide of confusion washes over her. “But I didn’t… I didn’t do anything. I just told you a story.”

“You did the one thing no one else has been able to,” Ody whispers. “You gave me hope.”

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· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·



Relationships

Affogato Alcaffè
Lavender - Soothing, Gentle, Warm, Hospitable
Affo is the owner of the Witches' Brew Café, if a semi-sentient building could be considered to be owned by anyone. Though Jolene should technically see Affo as her boss, she's more like a close friend than anything. The cold, detached demeanour Jolene brought with her into the shop at first, Affo never treated her with anything less than patient compassion. Jo has seen many new faces come and go from the little café, but Affogato remains a constant. Her calm, steady presence is always a balm to Jo, regardless of what she's going through. Jo feels as if she owes both Affo and Imogen a great deal for helping her learn to forgive again, but neither has ever asked anything of her in return. She cares deeply for Affo and always makes sure Affo's taking care of herself, in her own awkward way - leaving leftover pastries on her desk, bringing her an afternoon tea, and even inviting her to go on walks together.

Imogen Weaver
Honeysuckle - Loyal, Kind, Playful, Trusting
Though Imogen is around less frequently than Affogato, Jo has still developed a close bond with the hedge witch. Imo's sense of humour was the first thing that really cracked the walls Jo built around herself. Her steadfast kindness continued to erode them - Jo started to think of Imo as a friend before she truly even noticed. Jo admires Imo's spunky fashion choices and undying spark of self-confidence - she hopes that she herself can be that confident one day. Jo can always count on Imo to give her good advice when she needs it, to give her a new perspective to consider, and to make her laugh when she's feeling down. There may be a seed of something more than friendship blooming between Jo, Affo, and Imogen, but no one has fully acknowledged it yet.

Odyzaiem
Hyacinth - Sincere, Learning to Forgive, Beginning Anew
Despite only being about a decade older than Ody herself, Jolene can't help but think of them as a kid. As a result, her relationship with them is almost parental. Though at first she felt awkward and uneasy around them, she quickly opened her heart to them when she realised how much they'd suffered. She was the first to give Ody hope in a hopeless situation. After that, they pretty much imprinted on her like a baby duckling - following her around everywhere, watching what she did and learning from it. Out of everyone in the shop, Jo is the person Ody goes to whenever they're upset or scared. Even now, after beginning their travels with the Herald of Knowledge, they always come back home to Jo when something's wrong, or even if they just want to check in on her.

Cerise Doucette
Cherry Blossom - Sweet, Hopeful, Loving, Begun Anew
Though initially wary of Cerise due to her undead nature, Jo's worries subsided when she got to know the tender heart hiding behind the fangs. As the café's main pastry chef, Cerise is in and out of the café at any given point - she can't stick around long, especially when she has two little ones at home. Though the kids can be a little overstimulating sometimes, Jo usually enjoys when Cerise brings them to visit. Xena's keen interest in herbal healing quickly endeared her to Jo, while Ulyssa's chaotic nature was a little more challenging for her to wrap her head around. Even so, Jo has learned to love Cerise's little family - though Nemesis's lackadaisical attitude gets under her skin sometimes.

Finnley Hudson
Dandelion - Joyful, Wistful, Hopeful, Enduring
Finn is a new addition to the café staff, and a welcome one at that. Jo doesn't quite understand how he can stay so upbeat and positive about everything, but he brings sunshine with him everywhere he goes. He can be quite oblivious, however, and she often finds herself needing to spell out even the most obvious of cues to him. She doesn't mind at all, though, and is always patient with his many questions. She can tell there's something going on under the surface with him, but she won't pry yet - it doesn't seem like he's ready to tackle whatever is bothering him, and Jo respects that.

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[WitchHazel]

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
Minh
Eeve --> Minh
༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

♫ Real Wild Child - Joan Jett & the Blackhearts
♫ T-Rex - K.Flay
♫ Alright Alright (Here's My Fist Where's The Fight?) - Sahara Hotnights
♫ One Two Punch - Jessica Boudreaux
♫ Bad Reputation - Joan Jett & the Blackhearts

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

𖤓 naps
𖤓 getting others to do her
dirty work
𖤓 learning about magic,
especially curses
𖤓 insulting people
𖤓 combat
𖤓 feeling powerful
𖤓 flattery
𖤓 going on adventures

𖤓 being woken up
𖤓 early mornings
𖤓 cold weather; it takes more energy
to keep her body temperature
where it should be
𖤓 apologising
𖤓 being in someone's debt
𖤓 being told what to do
𖤓 the draconic council
𖤓 rules, especially arbitrary ones
𖤓 taking a humanoid form

𖤓 has a good sense of humour
𖤓 has a big ego
𖤓 generally childish and immature
𖤓 overly confident in her own abilities
𖤓 impulsive
𖤓 impatient
𖤓 curiosity often gets her in trouble
𖤓 rebellious
𖤓 often just says what's on her mind without thinking
𖤓 loud
𖤓 sassy
𖤓 can be a bit of a brat
𖤓 hoards cursed items; buries them under the magma of her lair. some of the lesser cursed items are destroyed in the process, which sometimes releases the curses and causes a little mayhem
𖤓 her goop is hot to the touch, like lava! be careful. it's a side effect from a cursed object in her hoard. she wanted to get rid of it at first, but couldn't figure out how, and has now learned to accept it
𖤓 body temp is higher than usual on account of her being a flame dragon. to the outside observer, she basically feels like she's running a high fever, but it doesn't seem to bother her whatsoever
𖤓 remarkably flame-resistant; can lay in bodies of molten rock and metal with no ill effects. in fact it's actually healthy for her to do so; it helps her absorb and maintain energy

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

The Red Empire of the South

Minh calls the volcanic mountains of Mùadam home. Formerly ruled over by a draconic demigod called Hinchar, Mùadam is the southernmost empire of the five Seinarin Empires. Legends say that the land is a treacherous fusion of wood and flame - which isn't too far off, given that it's dominated by forests and active volcanoes. The cycle of eruptions makes for fertile soil, and the volatile mountain ranges hide many rich mineral deposits.

Minh's lair is inside an active volcano. All of the most durable treasures and cursed items are buried beneath the magma, while the others are displayed upon ledges. Numerous enchantments protect them from the oppressive heat, as well as the unstable terrain. The innermost chambers of the lair are a series of old lava tubes that have been repurposed into a comfortable living space. Statues, paintings, and other works of art depicting or honouring Minh adorn each room. Whenever she leaves her lair, she ensures all of the security enchantments are working properly, and animates molten golems to defend her treasures should any foolish adventurers come knocking.


꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂

✴︎ A Dragon's Call ✴︎

“Valminhrai of the Burning River, I, Maexaoryujin the Curator, call upon thee to beseech thy aid.”

The tense, demanding voice rouses Minh from her pleasant slumber. Ugh. By the Seven Heads of Draszarix, why is he here? It’s not that she’s unhappy to see him - but he should know better than to wake a sleeping dragon. Uncoiling herself from the warm pool of magma she calls home, she drags herself to the crater’s edge in a small eruption of lava. A tiny figure stands upon two legs, torn robes billowing in the ashen air. Confusion, pity, and lastly disdain bloom in Minh’s belly. You have got to be kidding me. So the rumours are true after all… why else would he reveal himself to me in such an embarrassing form? He’s so… puny.

Minh peers over the edge of the volcano, sneering down at the fleshy remains of her former acquaintance. “My, how far you’ve fallen.”

“I came to you for help and this is how you repay me? With condescension?” Though he nearly has to yell up at her to be heard above the wind, a smirk plays upon Ryujin’s features. “I wouldn’t have expected anything else.”

A hearty laugh rumbles through Minh’s chest. The molten rock around her sloshes and bubbles.

“Even so… Ryujin, how dare you wake me from my slumber! You should really have a better sense of self-preservation, now that you’re bound to that… mortal flesh cage. I’ve torched mortals for less.” Just the thought of being stuck in a mortal body for eternity made Minh’s lip curl. “Eugh. Barely any scales to be seen… how do you bear it? I can hardly tolerate slipping into my humanoid form to receive humanoid guests.”

“It’s not so bad, once you get used to it.”

Even from this far away, Minh can tell that’s a lie. She has to suppress another chuckle at the former dragon’s miserable bearing.

“To each their own,” she booms across the mountainside. “Still, for your safety… it’s best I follow suit, I guess. Wouldn’t want an avalanche crushing your tiny little bones.” With a fiery splash, Minh launches herself into the air. She spirals down to greet him, forcing her limbs to shrink and her body to compress. Her muzzle shortens; her mane reshapes itself. When she floats to the ground, she’s just as humanoid as he is.

Despite everything he’s been through, Ryujin’s smirk widens into an uncharacteristic smile.

“What?” Minh queries, staring up at him judgementally.

“Even after all these years, Minh… I’m still taller than you.”

“You’re older than me! What did you expect? You have more control over your shifting abilities.”

Ryujin flinches as if he’s been stabbed.

“Eugh, sorry… had.” She tugs on the hem of her sleeve to distract herself from the sudden flood of remorse.

Ryujin’s smile fades - he’s back to the staunchly serious person Minh has always known him to be. “Can you help me, Minh? Your knowledge of curses has always superseded my own.”

Minh huffs out a steaming breath, rolling her molten eyes. “Of course I can help you, dummy. As long as you’ve brought me an offering.”

By the awkward way Ryujin shuffles his feet, Minh can tell he didn’t.

“Seriously, Ryujin? You what - walked all the way here, interrupted my nap, invoked my full name and title, and you didn’t even bring me anything? You should know better than that!”

“I had an offering!” The former dragon insists. “But… I was attacked by bandits on the way here.”

“Really? You couldn’t fight off a troop of measly bandits?”

“There were eleven of them, and they had two mages! What was I supposed to do?” Ryujin snaps. “I managed to scare them off, but not before they stole the enchanted painting I had made for you.”

Wow. Mortal bodies really are weak and pathetic. Smoke curls from Minh’s nostrils as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Ugh. Fine. I’ll take a look at that curse. But you owe me bigtime. A painting isn’t enough.”

“Two paintings?”

“Three. And you’d better make sure each and every one of them captures all of my magnificent glory.”

“Deal.” Ryujin holds out his hand.

What? What is he doing? We’re supposed to combine our breath to seal the - ohhh, right. Mortal body, mortal rules. Minh’s claws scratch against the inside of Ryujin’s wrist as she shakes his hand awkwardly. A wince crosses his features as he comes into contact with the scalding liquid that drips from her palms, but he doesn’t pull away, despite the burns. Huh. Maybe he’s tougher than I thought.

Minh is the first to pull away. Her tail lashes out behind her as she circles Ryujin, honing her vision on the intricate weavings of magic binding him in place. “Damn. This is some of the most complicated magic I’ve ever seen.” She takes another sweep around him, eyeing the spellwork like a predator examining a feast. “Who cast this? There are several different types of magic here, all knotted together.”

“Some travelling mage called Caridian Thrymôran,” Ryujin growls. “I see now why the council entrusted him with the binding.”

“Thrymôran… huh. Not a name I’ve heard before. But I’m only in my early hundreds, so… you’d have better luck asking one of the old farts if they know anything,” Minh reluctantly admits. “But I doubt they’d help you. I’m already risking my neck just looking at you, but the council sucks so I'm fine with that.” She shrugs noncommittally. “What did you do to get cursed this badly, anyway?”

“...I don’t want to talk about it.”

Minh opens her mouth to push, but the regret in Ryujin’s gaze quickly halts her tongue. Instead, she simply whistles. “Man… what I wouldn’t give to meet the guy who cast this.”

“So, can you help me?”

“I just did.” Minh shrugs. “The magic is a combination of cryomancy, chronomancy, psychomancy, cosmomancy, hemomancy, and a bit of anamancy, but not the bad kind. That’ll only mess you up if you start using souls to fuel your spells.”

Ryujin’s jaw goes slack. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Most don’t.” The flame dragon glosses over his surprise without batting an eye. “It looks like there are multiple spells here, too - all woven into one. Apotropaism, alchemy… a touch of illusion, but who knows why that’s there. They would all have to be bound to the same source… tell me. Did the stupid council take your pearl when you were cursed?”

“Yes, but -”

“So that’s the amplifier, then. Well, your first step to undoing all of this is to get your pearl back. Not that that’s gonna be easy. You’ll probably die in that squishy little body.”

Disappointment clouds’ Ryujin’s face. His head droops.

“What, did you think I was just gonna be able to poof your curse away?” Minh snorts. “I might be an expert on curses, but even I don’t have that kind of power. That mage, though… the one who cast it would know exactly how to undo it. If we track him down, we might have a chance. You’d still need your pearl, of course, but we can cross that bridge later.”

“...we?” Ryujin’s shoulders stiffen in surprise.

“Of course, stupid! Did you think I was gonna let you go out there in that fragile little shell and get squished like a bug?”

“Yes, actually. That sounds exactly like something you would do.”

Minh almost laughs at his flat, expressionless tone. “Yeah, yeah. Normally, I would. But it’s not often I get the chance to meet a mage as powerful as the one who cursed you. Think about all of the knowledge he must have stockpiled in his little lair…”

“You’re only coming because you want to raid his library, aren’t you?”

“That’s not the only reason!” Minh maintains, though her voice cracks unconvincingly. “It’s just… powerful mages always have big ol’ libraries full of ancient texts and spells. So what if I want to take some as recompense for what he did to you?”

“They’ll just burn in your lair.”

“Not unless I put a fireproofing enchantment on them! Or transfigure them into stone tablets. Something with a high melting point, maybe…”

Minh softens when Ryujin laughs - a light, twinkling sound like the rolling of a stream. “It’ll be a lot easier with someone who’s still able to shift on my side, that’s for certain.”

“So I can come?” Minh has to step on her tail to keep it from wagging like a dog.

“Yeah, you can come.”

“Great! When do we leave?”

“As soon as I finish those paintings. I’ll need to camp somewhere close, of course, so I can capture your… ‘magnificence’.”

“It was ‘magnificent glory’ actually,” Minh scoffs. “And fine. I’ll keep the eruptions to a minimum while I set up my traps and guardians. Wouldn’t want to melt that fleshy little body of yours.”

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻



༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

Relationships

Maexaoryujin the Curator
WIP - TEXT HERE

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

[WitchHazel]

.˳·˖✶𓆩👁𓆪✶˖·˳.
Prophet
Noon --> Prophet
.˳·˖✶𓆩👁𓆪✶˖·˳.

♫ Watcher in the Sky - Ghost
♫ Third Eye - Florence + The Machine
♫ Come a Little Closer - Cage the Elephant
♫ Rule #35 - Microphone - Fish in a Birdcage
♫ You Think Your Skull Is a Mighty Fortress - Dirt Poor Robins
♫ No Longer You - Jorge Rivera-Herrans

.˳·˖✶𓆩👁𓆪✶˖·˳.

☾ peace and quiet
☾ spending time alone
☾ playing the lyre
☾ hiking - the further from society,
the better
☾ birdwatching - their threads are
less numerous; less entangled
☾ ink drawing
☾ fingerweaving - it's good practise
for learning to weave the
strings of Fate

☾ liars
☾ manipulation
☾ small talk
☾ crowds
☾ cities
☾ bright lights, strong smells,
and loud noises

☾ can see the threads of Fate
☾ generally very quiet; rarely speaks. when he does speak, it's always concise and clear; to-the-point
☾ rarely ever smiles
☾ has grown bitter and lonely over the years, but doesn't know how to connect with people or if he really wants to
☾ doesn't trust anyone - even if he looks into the strings, he's convinced they could still be hiding something
☾ paranoid; always looking over their shoulder to check the threads of Fate
☾ fluent in sign language
☾ suffers from horrible visions whenever he touches a thread, and horrible nightmares when he sleeps. not a single one of his visions has ever been pleasant
☾ never got to have a normal childhood, so they're still learning a lot about themself. experimenting with hobbies a little, and has discovered a few things they enjoy
☾ always on the move; feels restless if he stays in one place for too long
☾ often draws ink sketches of his visions and dreams to help him sort them out

.˳·˖✶𓆩👁𓆪✶˖·˳.

The Raven's Hand

An organisation of assassins who worship a natarch known as the Phantom Queen. They believe they are her eyes in the mortal realm; tools to bring about Fate as she decrees. The leader of the Raven's Hand is known as the Eye; a seer who is said to receive visions from the Phantom Queen herself. It is the Eye's duty to interpret said visions, and give the Hand their orders. Their headquarters is located deep in the Forest of Erelys on the Isle of Norraith, nestled between the ghost-white trunks and hidden under blood-red leaves. They travel far and wide to seek their targets, occasionally allying themselves with other organisations or people but preferring to work alone.

.˳·˖✶𓆩👁𓆪✶˖·˳.

🗡 Fateweaver's Elegy 🗡

Prophet isn't always the name the young seer has gone by. More of a title, if anything - "young prophet" this. "Young prophet" that. But it is not the name with which they were born. His mother named him Erebos when he bloomed forth into the world, even as he stole her final breaths from her bloodstained lips. All the while, the Eye of the Raven watched on, perched patiently like a stone - the Hand knew that it was not her duty to interfere with Fate's plan, nor theirs. If the woman to birth her heir must die, then it shall be so.

The birth of a three-eyed child was a true rarity - one unprecedented in the Forest of Erelys. A mantle of feathers covering one's shoulders was a fair enough omen, but a third eye? The child must have been blessed indeed. Upon first glimpsing the child, the Eye knew he was to succeed her. They say she had seen it in her dreams; heard its call on the northern wind. What she could have never seen was just how powerful the young prophet truly was.

As soon as his third eye opened, the Prophet saw. He saw and saw and could not unsee, for the threads of fate cannot be unwoven once spun. He saw where one life began, and another ended. He saw neat knots and messy tangles binding hearts together. He saw strings around the necks of sinners and ropes around the hands of puppets.

Prophet rarely spoke for the first few years of life. Between the strings and the horrible dreams of things yet to pass that plagued their sleep, they were constantly overstimulated. It was difficult to piece words together when one's head was overflowing. But he wasn't alone - he had the Hands to protect him, and the Eye to guide his every action.

Under the Eye's tutelage, Prophet began to puzzle out what each string meant. Its thickness; its colour; its placement. And one day, he made a startling discovery.

He could touch them.

He'd never meant to even try. But in the chaos of a missing Hand and an uncut cord, he stumbled back into the Eye's waiting arms. Prophet barely had time to think about what he'd tripped on as the visions flooded in. Fragments of a dying woman. A painted threat to power. The ghost of a mentor, felled by a barbed tongue. Velvet lips dripping only with the most honeyed of words. An endless all-consuming void, reaching toward him.

Amidst the confusion, he saw the truth.

The Eye was powerless. A false idol cloaked in a mask of raven feathers. A master of deception and subtle manipulations.

By the expression on his face, the Eye knew that he'd seen what she'd tried so desperately to hide. Despite Prophet's abilities, the Eye was the one who held all the cards. Decades of loyalty didn't just vanish in an instant. So when she had him declared a false prophet - an enemy to the Hand and all they stood for - he had no choice but to run. He was now a threat to the Eye's power. As he sorted through the clamorous cacophony of visions from the Eye's threads, he started to realise that she never intended to train him. She wanted to use him for his power. It had always been her intent to find a way to drain him of his abilities and take them for herself. But now that he knew the truth of her lie, he was too dangerous to keep close.

Prophet has learned how to use the threads of Fate to hide himself from the Eye and her roving Hands. They whisper to him; telling him when his pursuers are close. Guiding him to safe havens and pockets of respite. And promising that one day... he'll learn to spin the threads himself.

.˳·˖✶𓆩👁𓆪✶˖·˳.