- - writing tidbits. ❞

[thaliana,]

svana and krabbi | word count: 1403
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/////////Bony fingers clutched at dark linen, drawing the shawl tight against the hunched figure. A harsh wind rolled over the Kaldr Sea, battering the west coast of Akr as it danced and howled through the forest at Svana’s back. Tired and grey strands of loose hair whipped at her wrinkled features and yet she stood unmoving, ice blue eyes focussed on the tattered sails slowly approaching the small jetty stretched before her. Svana could hear the gruff barking of orders, a chill tip-toeing over her skin as Krabbi snapped directions at the crew of the Midgard Serpent, manoeuvring the vessel alongside the wooden planks. Salt water sloshed at the coast as the half-boat docked, dipping as Krabbi heaved himself to land. Svana’s gaze flickered over the rowers stoic in their benches, kelp, and seaweed and ocean critters embedded in their forms. The hex could not help the look of disgust that twisted her thin lips.
/////////“Does my crew offend you, witch?” Krabbi rumbled with a sneer as he approached the elderly figure at the tree’s edge, safely out of reach of his draugr crew. His clothing was heavy with water, causing the wood to creak under his weight. A trail of seaweed stretched behind him with every step, limbs creaking as the molluscs clinging to him rubbed against one another with every movement.
/////////Svana’s nose wrinkled as the draugar stopped within a foot of her, saltwater flooding her senses and stinging her eyes. “They are quite unsightly,” she murmured indignantly as her frail form struggled to withstand the strength of the winds.
/////////“You’re no beaut yourself, grams,” Krabbi retorted, eyes restless as they danced over the trees’ shadows. With the storm clouds sprawled before the light of the moon, and neither party willing to risk their position by lighting a torch, the figures were shrouded in darkness – and it made the late merchant wary. There was a reason he very rarely made land. “But I’ve a feeling you had more in mind for this meeting than a spot of flirting,” he grumbled into his kelp-braided beard, returning his interest to the matter at hand – whatever that matter may be.
/////////With a roll of her eyes and a concealed grimace, Svana’s free hand went to her pockets, clasping at the sheet of paper folded in the thick of her garments. “The Salviatis are preparing a fleet off the coast of Auðigr,” she informed as she handed the parchment over, goose pimples creeping along her skin as she exposed her hand to the biting cold of the wind. “We think they aim to infiltrate Nótos through Típota Harbour.”
/////////“Típota is a great distance from here, grams,” Krabbi mumbled as his eyes flitted over the words on the page in his hands, the wet of his blue skin threatening to cause the ink to run as he clutched at the paper with his left hand. “The Serpent can’t manage those waters. We can’t help you,” he dismissed sternly as he finished the read, scrunching the sheet into a tight ball and tossing it aside.
/////////“Don’t lie to me. I know what those ships are capable of,” Svana snapped as she scurried to pluck the ball of paper from the ground before it was carried away by the storm. She couldn't have that information falling into the wrong hands.
/////////“Fine. We won’t help you. My crew has no interest in your wars,” he shrugged, beginning to turn away from the pale-faced hex. With a good percentage of their years spent on the water, the Serpent and her crew had managed to remove themselves from the hierarchal conflicts that had plagued the continents for the better part of a decade.
/////////“The gryphons offer great repayments,” Svana insisted, taking hurried steps in pursuit of the draugar.
/////////Krabbi scoffed, glancing over his shoulder with a sneer. “From what I hear, the gryphons have no repayments to offer.” He paused as soft skin brushed against the cold, icy flesh on his left forearm, tugging his attention down to the arched woman. Whilst he himself was no sprightly adolescent, she had matured beyond any quantifiable age. Krabbi could guess at Svana’s own interest in the gryphons’ success.
/////////“They have Andvari’s Gift,” she uttered with a cunning glint in her blue eyes, a gleam that gave Krabbi no other choice but to believe her. Excited murmurs erupted behind him as his crew sprung to life – one mention of treasure and they were suddenly the lives of the sea. Krabbi grunted his disapproval.
/////////“A cursed ring? Grams, you do have a strange way of bartering,” Krabbi chortled with a rough shake of his head, despite the shouted protests from the Serpent and her men.
/////////Svana smirked, drawing her hand back into the confines of her cloak. “You are already cursed,” she grinned. No matter the merchant’s protests, Svana was confident that he would not refuse the Andvaranaut; it was a ring that promise gold, no treasure-seekers would deny themselves of that.
/////////There was a long pause as the cogs began to turn in Krabbi’s mind. A silence fell over the gathered crowd, with but the sloshing of water and wailing of wind to remind the pair that time ticked on. Since Olaf and Gunnar’s… eviction from the Serpent, the vessel had ravaged the Kaldr Sea for all its offerings in an unspoken revenge for the crew’s damnation. Whilst new fortunes were a welcome offer, Krabbi was hesitant to engage with the Salviatis in unfamiliar waters. Típota was notorious for its unpredictability. Then again, they were already dead.
/////////“Okay, grams, you win. If you can promise us the Andvaranaut, then the Serpent is Rylor’s to command,” Krabbi agreed, pinching at one of the barnacles at his chest. With a wince, he plucked the shelled creature from its nook in his flesh, laying it in Svana’s expecting palm. “You have our word,” he insisted before the witch could question his crew’s reliability.
/////////Svana parted her dark painted lips to thank Krabbi – and his crew – for their aid when a movement in the shrubs demanded her consideration. Through narrowed eyes the witch surveyed the low-growing bushes at the jetty’s stilts, just where the wooden pier met land. From the bushy plants to the forest there was only a small slope of trodden ground, and beyond the tree line a long ways to the closest settlement. Svana needed to only wait a moment before a low chitter became audible in the lull in the wind. Behind her, Krabbi let a frustrated growl slip through his parted lips, left hand grasping at the axe across his back before curling it through the air. The weapon passed centimetres from Svana’s cheek before landing in the shrubs.
/////////“Watch it!” Svana snapped before a surprised squeak sounded above the gusts. A small, red-furred creatures jumped from the shrubbery, barely avoiding the axe thrown its way. “Oh Hel – a ratatoskr,” she cursed in annoyance as Krabbi lunged for the creature. Blood had collected at the squirrel-like creature’s paws, so whilst Svana could not see the impact wound, it was safe to say that there was one.
/////////“Don’t just stand there! Grab it!” Krabbi snarled as his left hand grasped at mud, the rodent hobbling out of reach on its three functional legs.
/////////Svana’s blue eyes rolled once more as she took slow steps after the sly messenger. Her hands wound in the air before her, forming gentle shapes as she traced the ratatoskr’s retreat into the forest through a series of intricate symbols. Several runes appeared as dull lights in the space between her out-stretched hands, appearing and disappearing so quickly that they would be easy to miss. Nauthiz… Isa… Algiz… “Deyja,” she hissed, near inaudible. Svana’s iced eyes flashed a menacing white as he fingers curled into fists in the air, tugging at an invisible rope. “There, we killed it.”
/////////A strangled screech overcame the wind, piercing the ears of those within reach. Krabbi winced as he stumbled to his feet, lifting his axe with ease. “It could’ve been of use to us, you know,” he mumbled as he turned back to his longboat, chilled by the ongoing cries of the dying creature.
/////////“The ratatosk are long sworn to the skin-walkers. It wouldn’t have given us any information,” Svana stated simply, features empty of remorse. “Welcome to the war,” she croaked as she felt the last of the creature’s life force disappear.

[thaliana,]

sebastien atkinson, the ringmaster and holly | word count: 1284
psst, don't suppose anyone recognises his face claim? i... forgot.
shout-out to shiki and attano for the info <3 ash stymest, ash stymest, ash stymest!
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/////////Sebastien was jerked forward as the Ringmaster grabbed a handful of his shirt collar, bringing their faces uncomfortably close. He grimaced as hot, sticky breath billowed against his cheeks, pungent with the smells of bacon, eggs and whiskey. “Listen ‘ere, Atkinson,” the Ringmaster hissed, words slurred by the alcoholic addition to the full English he had feasted on but one hour earlier. “I’m the ringmaster which means you do as I say, and I’m sayin’ get your arse on that tightrope.”
/////////Roughly, Sebastien shoved at the hand near his throat, stumbling backwards as the Ringmaster released his grasp and disappeared through the heavy curtain separating the performers from the audience excitedly filling the unsystematic arrangement of benches. He could hear the crowd’s enthusiastic cheers and laughs as the clowns made the rounds, encouraging the spectators’ interest in the main show. “Yes, Ringmaster,” Sebastien spat at his boss’ retreating form, smoothing out the unbuttoned collar of his white shirt.
/////////Since his departure from the Benzini brothers’ travelling spectacle, the daredevil actor had been thrust from circus to road-side gig to troupe of misfits. Each show had its challenges and daring performances, and Sebastien was rarely one to hesitate when entering the ring, but Cirque du Diable demanded much for from its entertainers. Du Diable pushed its performers to their very limits: animal tamers rode their beasts, acrobats soared through rings of fire and even the clowns had their sadistic humour. The show was a midnight, back-alley display that attracted rough crowds consisting mainly of drifters searching for a roof for the night. Du Diable was infamous for its treatment of its artists; unfortunately, however, Sebastien lacked other options and had a debt to pay.
/////////“Seb.”
/////////An airy voice spoke his name, drawing his attention to a short-legged, short-haired pixie of a woman. Holly donned her orange leotard, a fox mask hung limply on a string around her neck in preparation for the opening act. As the warm-up, Holly’s gymnastics were relatively tame; her real talents came during the show where she would pick-pocket unsuspecting audience members of their loose change.
/////////“Seb, you’ll die if you go up there,” Holly repeated at Sebastien’s silence as he brushed past her, digging through his jean pockets for his cigarette and lighter. Once his fingers brushed against the rolled paper, it immediately went to his lips, other hand flicking with the zippo lighter to light it. His smoking was not an addiction, as he liked to frequently reassure himself, but a nasty habit used to calm his nerves before a show.
/////////“Only if I fall,” Sebastien mumbled around the cancerous cylinder, one hand running tiredly through the mop of dark hair styled messily atop his head as he paced the small space in the warehouse hallway.
/////////The front door of the warehouse, draped in mock fashion by a dense curtain, opened to a large tent-structure spanning a plaza that had long fallen into disrepair. Hidden behind the urban sprawl of skyscrapers, Cirque du Diable could operate without police disturbances, and as a safe house for petty criminals and drug-abusers, there was much that the police would question.
/////////“Ladies, gentlemen, lady-gentlemen and gentlemen-ladies…”
/////////The Ringmaster’s crackled through the speakers assembled haphazardly at building corners, reaching Sebastien’s ears as a dull murmur through the thick warehouse walls. An intrigued hush had fallen over the gathered spectators, bar the odd hoot of laughter. Sebastien rarely took it upon himself to examine crowd numbers before a performance, but on the occasion that he had, never had a group larger than thirty gathered – and he was used to performing for hundreds.
/////////“Seb, please,” Holly huffed impatiently, clasping at Sebastien’s forearms and tugging him to a halt. Irritated, Sebastien shook her hold loose, shoving her carelessly towards the curtain.
/////////“Spotlight’s yours, foxy,” Sebastien remarked with a forced smirk and encouraging wink as the Ringmaster roared Holly’s name, drawing animated claps as the audience sprung to life once more. With a self-satisfied smile, Seb watched as Holly drew her mask over her features, lips tight in an annoyed grimace as she threw a warning glare his way, not that there was much that the five foot-nothing character could do to prevent his act from taking place; hell there was nothing that he could do short of risking his only income. His fingers wriggled in a smug wave as Holly backed her way through the curtain, one finger of hers in particular returning the gesture.
/////////Finding himself alone, what with the other performers busying themselves in their dressing rooms or working the floor to con the carnival-goers, Sebastien was able to release a breath he did not realise he was holding. As he listened to the muffled sounds of the musicians’ instruments and the Ringmaster’s crude commentary, the daredevil performer could feel the adrenaline fire through his veins. His heart pounded a mile a minute, mouth dry – although that could be down to the nicotine – and moths plagued his stomach. Sebastien had performed many, many times since joining his first circus ten years ago, but he had never felt quite so anxious about an act.
/////////As Sebastien distracted himself preparing his props, flame-throwers and knives and the like, his fellow entertainers came and went through the abominable black curtains. Those who entered the warehouse from the tent typically bared bruises and scrapes in show of their daring acts (lions were not a fan of firecrackers, he learned). Holly’s flaming red hair never made a reappearance, fortunately. Sebastien’s act would form the closing performance for the night; his routine was designed to draw the largest cheers and the largest tips, to urge recommendations to visit Cirque du Diable.
/////////“And now, my awestruck jailbirds, le Diable himself…”
/////////Sebastien groaned inwardly as the Ringmaster drilled his introduction, slipping silently through the curtain as he crept towards the laddered pole leading towards the highwire. His appearance was designed to come as a surprise, with the Ringmaster drawing the attention to his flamboyant reports.
/////////With one hand gripping his currently unlit torches, Sebastien had but one spare to pull himself up the twenty foot ladder, a feat made arduous by the beads of sweat clamming his hands and the jitters dancing along his skin. By the time Sebastien had pulled himself to the small ledge, toes precariously fidgeting over the edge and spotlight blinding him, his heart was in his throat.
/////////The highwire stretched before him, a familiar friend that Sebastien was beyond qualified to tame, but this act was more danger than he was used to. As his blue eyes traced the flimsy line to the pole opposite, the daredevil could just make out the shadowed figure of his partner, who would appear later in the act sporting shiny, pointy things. Flicking open his lighter, Sebastien lit either end of all four torches, taking two torches in each hand to create a fiery cross – his dancing partners for the next five minutes as he swung on trapeze and hopped along the highwire. The highwire…
/////////Sebastien released a slow breath as his gaze flickered warily to the wire at his toes, eyes squeezing shut against the bright light shining from the peak of the tent and illuminating his sky-high performance. The impatient jeers of the crowd were but a hum to his ears as his heart drummed against his ribcage, blood pulsing through his eardrums. A slow inhale as his eyes flickered open again, a confidant smile pulling the corners of his lips. ‘F--- it,’ he thought with a short cough of a laugh as he leaned forward with one torch, setting the wire aflame. As the audience drunkards slipped into a reverential silence, Sebastien stepped forward on to his fiery path.

[Petlover552]

Wow.... You are amazing!!!

[thaliana,]

i'm absolutely not but thank you very, very much c:

[thaliana,]

hush now, delirious hobbit. go get your shut eye.

[thaliana,]

elsebeth and kalerath | word count: 2094
this is something a bit different. i don't know how i feel about it. and hot damn is it long.
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//////////////13.06
//////////////Miss Elsebeth, Mount Dásos
//////////////Journal Entry One.
/////////I saw him again today- the dragon. He is truly the most remarkable of creatures, if only you could see. I do not believe another quite like him exists. His scales are pure black, not ashen like charcoal or slate but genuine jet. When he soars, oh when he soars! He moves like a wraith – no, like a stream over pebbles. He works with the currents, he plays and dances with the wind… drifts and glides. He barely needs beat his formidable wings to gain altitude, he orders and the gales obey.
/////////Oh how uninhibited he is!
/////////Certainly he is not of Dásos; I would have noticed such a splendid adolescent specimen sooner, unless it is his first time emerging from his den site, but that is highly improbable judging by his competency in the air.
/////////I do hope to make contact with him soon, if even simply for a closer look.
/////////The elders disagree with my intentions, however, and were quick to dismiss my questions as to how to tame a dragon when I pried. According to them it is impossible due to the dragons’ vanity and pride; never would a dragon concede to being treated like a pet, they say!
/////////But I do not mean to domesticate him, I mean to befriend him.

//////////////17.06
//////////////Miss Elsebeth, Mount Dásos
//////////////Journal Entry Two.
/////////I have yet to see him since the second encounter, unfortunately, but in my explorations I did come to converse with a harpy, and she had seen for herself dragons be ridden! I knew it was a possibility. The harpy was quite content to share details of the taming craft – she had, most probably, just eaten and thus relaxed.
/////////According to the harpy, to tame a dragon (or to encourage a dragon to allow you to ride him), you must present him with varieties of his favourite gemstones and bore them into his scales. Personally it sounds like a grisly process but she assured me that it does the dragon no harm. The greatest difficulties were: one, discovering said dragon’s favoured jewels and; two, harvesting enough to satisfy him. As far as I am aware, Dásos does not have much in the way of gems – Dásos does not have much in the way of anything.
/////////Perhaps the aurae would be willing to lend assistance during their next passing…

//////////////28.06
//////////////Miss Elsebeth, Mount Dásos
//////////////Journal Entry Three.
/////////Oh, how much has happened in eleven days!
/////////I saw him – the dragon, my dragon – on a total of eight days, eight, can you believe? He looks more glorious by the day. As the summer progresses, his scales are taking on a more glazed hue; the sunlight rolls right over his form, just as the freshwater springs roll over the valleys. Oh, and to see him fly at night! A spectre, a phantom, an apparition – he moves so silently, so lightly, you would not believe that he stands almost eleven foot at the shoulder, and he is still but a juvenile!
/////////It was on his sixth appearance that I was able to approach for a closer study. On days first through to fifth he refused to land, continuing his routine of circling the mountainside before retreating further down to the valley where I have plotted his den site to be. He reappeared two days later, taking land in the glade not far from the clan’s primary shelters – the elders were not pleased and ordered a mandatory return to camp, but I managed to evade the watchmen.
/////////He did not remain long, just long enough for me to see him – and for him to see me! He looked me right in the eye, oh how much of the world I saw in his slitted, amber eyes. I saw lakes and oceans and forests, mountains other than Dásos, if you could imagine! It was such a rush, I felt as though I was soaring – as though the winds lifted me high, high into the sky and stole me away.
/////////He did not attack, he did not make a single movement until I stepped forward into the clearing. He rustled, then, and chirped; I did not know that dragons chirp, they make all sorts of odd sounds – more like birds, than reptiles. He took off then, scampered across the grassy outcrop and off he went.
Just like that, he makes leaving seem so easy.
/////////On his eighth visit he allowed me to touch him, just once. The way the light glints off his dark plates, it makes him seem so smooth, but no, he is quite rough under touch – painful, almost. When I took my fingers away from his shoulder, light abrasions scarred the skin.
/////////He likes it when I hum, I have noticed. It soothes him, allows me to approach him without startling him. You must take slow, cautious steps and always approach from the front, so he can see. His eyes followed my every step, but not out of fear, it seemed; he seemed more curious by my intentions, and when I touched, he shuddered under my hand. Then, once again, he was gone. He never stays long.
/////////I am determined to ride him.
/////////I contacted the aurae and they have agreed to bring me onyx gems and jet stones from the mountains over. The stones came at the cost of Lykos, my strongest steed, much to mother’s objections. I am unsure as to whether these will please him, but they would suit his ebony scales, and he does not seem to be the ostentatious type. Stealthy, calculating, those are the words I associate with my dragon.
/////////I hope he will re-appear soon.

//////////////02.07
//////////////Miss Elsebeth, Mount Dásos
//////////////Journal Entry Four.
/////////Thus far, he has yet to make another appearance, but he has disappeared for far longer periods of time.
/////////I have occupied my time with sketches of the beast (although he is hardly a beast, rather he seems quite principled). Many of the sketches are sub-par, as mother continues to chastise – though I suspect her concern is more with the subject matter of my artwork, rather than the quality.
/////////Is it so problematic of me to want to own every second of my interminable lifespan?
/////////Why of course, Miss Elsebeth! You have your duties: groom the horses, watch your sisters, tend the gardens and carve the bows. Why, Miss Elsebeth, what else is there to the world?

//////////////18.07
//////////////Miss Elsebeth, Mount Dásos
//////////////Journal Entry Five.
/////////The darn thing continues to be allusive, but I refuse to lose heart. There is much of the world to see, and he has the ability to do so. If I were he, I would not waste my days on Mount Dásos, either.
/////////I have been contemplating names, I daresay. Are dragons given names? In all honesty, I am not well taught in draconic culture; our books are rather selfish in nature, covering nymphs only. Dragons seem unable to speak, or at least do not speak the common tongue, so how would they bestow names?
/////////Well, of the names I have considered, I do believe Máv̱ros is particularly suitable, as is Evenos.
/////////But, of course, I will need make contact with him again and see which he favours – if any.

//////////////14.08
//////////////Miss Elsebeth, Mount Dásos
//////////////Journal Entry Six.
/////////Oh, a month has come and gone since his last appearance but finally, finally he has returned to Dásos – and seeming larger than ever, it may seem! He has appeared to have grown by almost a foot since his departure, and his wingspan; my, his wingspan! It seems to blanket the entire mountain in a shadow with each moment he circles. His eyes are no longer amber, but a vibrant gold struck by yellow splinters. His muzzle and legs have slight scarring, and several of the spines down his back are chipped. It appears my dragon has been proving his strength in the world!
/////////It was within the same glade that he made landing, and he appeared to wait until my arrival. I was in the stables, feeding the foals, when I saw him glide into the forest. The whole barn seemed to tremor as he made footfall! I wasted no time in running down to meet him (I must admit that I may have taken a stumble or two, but what are a few scratches in exchange for a lifetime of freedom?).
/////////He would not let me upon his back, but I was able to stroke from neck to tail tip before he recoiled away from me, seeming uneasy to accept my contact. I suppose that is his pride coming into play.
/////////I sat with him for one hour in that clearing; not communicating, not touching, simply sitting. When he appeared to ready himself to leave, I presented him with the first stone: a small onyx gem flecked with hues of purple. It piqued his interest, certainly, but he had quite the objection when I made a move towards his flank. I certainly hope I have not spooked him permanently.
/////////After all, I still wish to bestow upon him a name.

//////////////21.08
//////////////Miss Elsebeth, Mount Dásos
//////////////Journal Entry Seven.
/////////That bastard! That absolute scoundrel! Principled, decent, proper – absolutely not!
/////////Over the past week I have coaxed him into accepting my gems (oddly, he seems to favour the jet over the onyx stones – goes to show how foul the villain is!). We have begun to bond, as the harpy assured we would, for he shall approach me for shows of affection now, if only for a moment. He is still wary of appearing too interested, it may seem.
/////////Oh but what a crook he is!
/////////I thought perhaps today, earlier this morning, I would begin to present the notion of me riding him – after all, we have made such astounding progress. And so I offered him the finest pork pieces from mother’s farm, which he readily accepted, and approached his left shoulder. The moment I raised a food to tread against his side, the beast (and he is a beast) knocked me aside with one of his great, big claws – and he did not seem apologetic for the action at all! He looked at me, slumped across the grass, grunted and left!
/////////The absolute ass, can you believe it? Here I am, left arm broken, and he cannot even show an admission of guilt.
/////////Well, until he seems the least bit remorseful he can forget about offerings from me!

//////////////29.08
//////////////Miss Elsebeth, Mount Dásos
//////////////Journal Entry Eight.
/////////He told me his name; well, he charred it in the clearing – I had no idea dragons could spell. It appears as though they do understand the common-tongue, whether they speak it or not, meaning he could offer an apology but no! He writes his name. Kalerath.
/////////Kal-er-ath. Well, it suits the bastard.

//////////////16.09
//////////////Miss Elsebeth, Mount Dásos
//////////////Journal Entry Ten Eight Nine.
/////////I am no longer Miss Elsebeth of Mount Dásos, a bound oread with bows to make and horses to tend. Of course, I will certainly need return regularly to return my strength and assure the clan I am still alive (if the clan does not exile me, that is… oh what if they do? Oh, I will need to consult with the elders before I leave), but there is so much freedom beneath me now.
/////////Oh, it was such a thrill!
/////////I suppose it was his way, Kalerath’s way, of apologising for the broken arm – and oh do I accept! The moment he landed in our glade, our little clearing, he nuzzled me up his side, providing sure footing where I struggled to heave myself up with but one functional arm.
/////////I was barely secure in my seat when he took off! And oh did he fly!
/////////The places that we saw, the distance we travelled; for a moment I thought he would not return me to Dásos, and in that moment I was perfectly content to sit upon his back and travel with him where he may. This is the way that a life should be lived, atop a dragon; the rush is like none other! Not even the fleetest of horses could compare to a dragon’s flight, and Kalerath flies better than any.
/////////I myself was a poor rider, kicking at his sides and attempting to direct him. He snapped at me several times before I relinquished control, understanding that I must ask him where to travel.
/////////And I will. Every day I will. We will see it all.
/////////I swear I will live.