A largos.

A blasted largos, in the Gilded Hollow. And she targeted Cap, too.

Fiel was equal parts intrigued, angry, excited and worried. The largos did not have the best reputation, but having one so close… he had to try and talk to her, for his own curiosity. But her kind did like their secrecy. He only had to find the right approach, the right incentive. The right… bait, as it were.

Fiel chuckled at his own thought.

He was making his way to his corner with heavy steps, Mer bounding happily ahead, excited to return to familiar smells and more comfortable temperatures. His stay at his parents’ new home left him weary despite the nice change of scenery, and the impromptu training session he stumbled into upon his return to the the Hollow just finished off bringing him to his physical and proverbial knees.

He had a sister now. A new addition to his blood’s lineage. His family was getting bigger, and that made him wonder: what about him?

So far he had led a life on the run. Running from trauma. Running from responsibility. Running after coins and bounties. Running after scholastic deadlines. Running after (and sometimes from) undead in Orr. Running after revenge. Running here, running there. Crashing in his bed under a roof of gold and green when he was not running.

Would he ever want anything else in life? Something… different?

It seemed like a lot of people around him were having families. Babies were popping left and right (well, two. But to him that was already a lot) first, from his own mother, and now, pretty soon, Ambrosine.

Could he ever see himself having his own family?

That question spawned a lot of rather troubling –and surprisingly oppressive– questions in him. It came up during his stay in Hoelbrak, and that’s when he decided it was time for him to leave.

Should he have a family? He was definitely at the age when he should probably have one. But who would he make it with? He was a necromancer playing in guts and bone dust all day long. Who would want to live with that?

Then there was the matter of kids. Did he want to have kids? Now that he thought of it, he hadn’t been with that any norn women in his life. Surprisingly. Especially in the past few years. So he would have to find one? Maybe? Besides, he wasn’t really the type of guy to settle down and limit himself to one person. He had met a few people in very open relationships –and was himself in a few of those– so if he had to have kids with someone, they’d have to be okay with that as well. It was not impossible, just… improbable. And that train of thought led him to wonder that maybe he did have a few kids somewhere, and just didn’t know about it. His mind wandered on all the people he might have gotten pregnant, and it was only adding to his stress.

He left the pondering for another when he spotted Mer suddenly freezing on his tracks, his back arched and his feathers puffing up, his wings fanning around his frame to make him look bigger. He was staring at something beyond the roots of the central tree, in Fiel’s private quarter. The necromancer hurried to round the corner, staff in hand.

There was an intruder. An asura, laying on his bed, several books from his library strewn about around her, his stein in one of her hand filled with what he assumed could only be his ale.

Fiel could only spurt out an indignant ‘hey!’ while Eloise cawed loud and low from his shoulder, echoing his mood.

“Welcome home”, she didn’t bother looking up from the book she was reading —his book! “Nobody seemed to be using this spot for a while. So I helped myself. You don’t mind, right?” When she finally glanced up there was no shift in her expression, though the slight twitch of her ears was telling. “Oh… I was expecting someone…” her lips parted, revealing rows of sharp little teeth. “Well, smaller, for one. And older, too.”

She slammed shut the ancient leather bound tome she was disgracing with her mooching little hands and jumped off the bed. She was tall, for an asura. She still barely went past Fiel’s knees though, and the thought of punting her off the golden platform and into the pool below was very tempting.

“Name’s Jan… ‘s nice place you got there. High and isolated. I like it. So what’s your name, tall, dark and shaggy?”

Fiel was not in the mood. He was sore, tired, and was itching to put away the collection she so rudely disturbed.

“Get out.”

“Aw, don’t be like that…” she pouted. “Don’t worry, I didn’t take any of your stuff –well except maybe the ale, but I can’t really give that back. I’m sorry if I messed with your books. All the pages are still were they belong, I promise. Creepy shit, by the way… but I guess that makes sense now that I look at you.”

She smiled mischievously, hands on her hips, eyeing him up and down like he was some sort of…

Whatever she saw, he didn’t like it.

Fiel smacked the ground with his staff. Behind her, out of the swirling mass of shadow that was the pocket dimension in which he slumbered when he was not needed, came Waffles, towering over the asura with his mass of bones and flesh.

Jeez, okay, okay… I’m leaving. But I still feel really, really bad about all this… so let me make this up to you someday, hm? …. As soon as I get paid, that is.”

A sneer and a curt nod from Fiel, and the golem gently –but firmly– grabbed her in his flayed, mantis-like arms and carried her out of his sight. Jan cursed and kicked and complained, but did not resist.

“Does this guild ever do some basic screening on who they let in here?!” he muttered to himself when the asura was finally away.

He made a quick check of his belongings –tools, arcane materials, books, personal journals, jewels, his secret stash of coins, clothes– and the more… sensible stuff, like the shard of the Shatterer, the bit of Tequatl’s tail, and the giant piece of one Mordremoth’s mandible –his private collection. The asura spoke the truth, at least: everything was still there. Still, the level of ale in his keg was much lower now, and that fact alone earned her the privilege of being escorted out by Waffles.

Fiel sighed deeply, his eyes straying once more over the relics of the giant-now-dead magical tyrants.

Maybe he ought to be screened as well.

Author BluJ
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Comments (3)

  • February 13, 2019 at 12:59 pm
    Fiel is having a quarter-life crisis.
  • ambrosine
    February 20, 2019 at 8:42 am
    Tove, too. Obvious solution: apply more ale?
  • February 20, 2019 at 10:32 am
    Careful. You might end up like Jannry.

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