Open Chronicles Hear ye Hear ye All Bleeding Hearts (A Valentines Thread)

[Thraah]

Watching from the bed, shirt on and leg haphazardly sticking out over the side Thraah sat in her afterglow, enjoying the lingering sense memory of the sex and the uplifting mood it put her in, put them both in.

"Oh yeah, I can't wait to tell my C.O about this."
Her grin cut her head in half across her face. She'd be fired on the spot then assassinated for *fraternizing with enemies of the state*. Pfft, hang em.

As Vyx left she did not wave goodbye or try to stop her though she couldn't imagine where Vyx might be going. The sound of boots hit the stairs and she followed them in her mind through the tavern and to the door which lay just off centre of the room they had used.

In a rush of impulse Thraah roused herself and padded bare feet along to the window and threw it open to the street, her eyes clocked Vyx'aria immediately.

"HEY!"

Her voice called down into the quarter, probably audible from a few streets away. Half leaning out her feet left the ground in her enthusiasm.

"NEXT TIME YOU'RE PAYING!"

Vyx'aria

 

[Irman Harefoot]

The animated armor’s glove felt electrifying on Irman’s shoulder. He wanted to lean into the touch, painfully aware of how heated his body was feeling. With a bit of his regular disposition winning through, Irman pulled away from the glove in a nervous jerk. A moment of clarity in this stupor of infatuation.

But Irman did not know how long this moment would last. He had to find the merchant Culus Nin. The shop he ran was the grandest collection of curios and magical items in all of Alliria. If anyone could help with whatever was happening, it was Culus.

Irman opened his mouth to speak, but as he did the obsession returned with incontestable strength. In a flash of superhuman speed, Irman leapt up to grasp the phantom’s shoulders and plant a kiss straight through to the back of its helmet. The sensation was otherworldly. A flood of emotions with the cold texture of armor and the electrifying sense of the entity within the item.

The kiss lasted only two seconds with Irman then standing motionless and in a stupor for four more seconds after that. He then grabbed Zxandor’s hand (whose name he somehow now knew) and yanked the phantom forward to head towards Culus Nin’s curiosity shop.

A brief explanation was given of where Irman was taking Zxandor, as the former dragged the latter past even more couples with amorous affliction.

“Also, that was my First.” Irman said, with affection and terror in his voice.

 

[Magdalena Elbion]

The green-robed half-elf kept his cheerful demeanor through all of that, patiently letting her finish waking up and take full stock. And somehow, he stifled so much as a chuckle.

“Yes, Maester. And yes! To begin: a short while ago, I was walking into the library from the alley side - the rose-trestle always puts my nose in the proper place before a musty, dusty dive into the old stuff, you see. I had hardly shut the door when I felt some manner of charm strike me from behind - right squarely in the chest! And then I saw you, sitting here, trying to diligently get through stacks of essays. I felt the charm influence me: I was desperately needed right away. Here. To help you. To make you happy. Being part-elf, I nipped the charm off right below its bud, but I was left quite intrigued… I mean, whoever would try such a charm? So I came, the door was ajar, almost as though I was expected… but when I rapped a spritely rat-a-tat-tat and greeted you, I realized that you were sound asleep. Hoping to get to the bottom of the mystery, I thought, why not play along? And so I quietly pulled up a chair, borrowed your paperweight to use as ink and a quill - no harm, I promise it! - and set about grading your third-year stack. Not my first encounter! Maester Ulman has been putting me to it lately in preparation for the trials next month. And there we are, caught up to the present.”

He leaned slightly forward, a bit conspiratorially.

“And Maester, from a couple of the looks you have given me since you woke, I wonder… were you struck by a charm as well? And if so - any guesses as to by whom?”

Magdalena Elbion

That was... quite a story. A charm? Who on Arethil would charm an elf to grade her papers?

Magda's eyes narrowed in thought, then more in suspicion. Her sister had been rather apologetic recently since the incident in the square... perhaps she thought helping her out would make up for it? Her gaze shifted from the graded stack to the elf, lips pursing in contemplation.

IF it was her sister, why make any effort to render a prompt to her? Clearly he hadn't appeared into her dreams for no reason!

He leaned forward, Magda leaned slightly away, "You scrawled red ink all over my dream..." and all over her students papers, it seemed.

A beat, she grabbed a paper from the stack to assess his work, nary a hint of skepticism. After only a moment, she tapped the bottoms against the desk to straighten them and put them back on the stack. It all looked in order, which meant she had the rest of the afternoon free! A bright smile whisked away the former dour expression of intrigue as the Maester popped up from her seat and quickly donned her red jacket, "I don't really care who cast the charm. I-" one sleeve on, "am going to lunch," the other sleeve. She pulled her hair free and quickly twisted it up into a very messy bun before picking up her shoulder bag.

Another look spared for the elf who as it turns out was rather quite easy on the eyes once they were no longer clouded with sleep, "...I suppose I can treat you for your help...Mirwood?" That was his name wasn't it?

 

[Samantha Black]

Quick enough, he found his stride again, waving his hand, adopting a theatrically abashed gesture.

"Oh, no, this trick is entirely my own. I find it helpful to mingle with the locals. Not everyone takes too well to our kind up here, after all. But alas, magic has failed us." Or has it, the wiggle of his smile seemed to say.

Even in this weak remainder of sunlight, his eyes still had to squint painfully. The glamour had allowed him to hood off some of its light, but now it came back in full force, driving little needles into his dark-adjusted eyes. He turned his back to it, now leaning both elbows against the parapet like it was a reclining chair, exposing the full curve of his back and slender, athletic torso; akin to that of a dancer, each muscle and tendon shaped by persistent, graceful movements. He gave her the side-eye from there, purposefully not yielding even an inch to face the dim sun.

"But you, my lady, why, you seem less shocked by my ancestry. At least, I spy no pitchfork yet. Could it be you might have met with any of my kinsmen before, perchance?"

Samantha Black

"Never," Sam replied without any need to think on the matter. Her travels as both an Initiate of the Academy and a Dreadlord had taken her far and wide. She'd been exposed to more places, peoples, and cultures than the vast majority of people on Arethil, she'd wager, which allowed her to take the appearance of a drow in stride, "but I do know your kind are a rarity up here in the sun."

And intriguing stride, anyway.

Her own gaze gave him a once-over, taking in his sleek and toned figure with equal parts interest and assessment. You could take the Dreadlord away from battle, but there was no taking the battle out of a Dreadlord. It was second nature to size up others, especially when met in such an intimate and private setting. Wasn't above places beyond Vel Anir to hire assassins whenever a whisper of a visiting Dreadlord was heard, but this wasn't Sam's first time in Alliria nor would it be her last.

"And I'm not a lady," she corrected him, smirk pulling at one side of her lips, "I'm a Lieutenant. Lieutenant Samantha Black of the Anirian Knights," she pushed away from the wall to stand straight and offer the dark elf a hand gloved in black leather to shake.

 

[Mirthwind]

"Ah yes - the red ink. As promised, no harm!"

He plunked the ostrich quill into the pot, waved his hand in a smooth flourish, and the quill and inkpot returned to their former life as a small paperweight.

"I scrawled red ink within your dream? A fascinating coincidence. I wonder whether that was also the charm's doing..."

Upon hearing the misnomer, the half-elf grinned bemusedly, absently swiping aside that stubborn chestnut tousle again.

"Quite close, Maester! Mirthwind, at your service. And that sounds like splendid compensation to me. Though I think I might yet attempt to learn the identity of our mystery enchanter. This go round might have come out benignly enough, even, dare I say, pleasantly? But what if it were merely a test, and a more insidious charm is waiting up an unknown sleeve?"

Magdalena Elbion

 

[Zxandor]

"It was your first what Irman Harefoot?"

Zxandor knew literally nothing of love or romance. It was built to be a soldier and follow orders. The kiss was unexpected but it did not react. It had no heart to flutter, no emotions to feel and no mating instinct to abide.

"If you believe we will be safer there then I will keep you safe until we have arrived."

But the command to protect, that it understood. To keep a body safe from harm perhaps if a philosopher had been privy to the proceedings they might interpret that desire as something close to it.

Bent over Zxandor followed Irman to Culus Nin's.

Irman Harefoot

 

[Rae'twyn Suvalissaere]

Rae'twyn peered down at the gloved hand, as if watching a small, curious creature approach.

He sometimes forgot the surface dwellers' infatuation with clasping hands and shaking them vigorously. He'd even come to learn that some clenched deliberately hard, all while their smile hardened as well. A formality that turned occasionally territorial, he'd concluded.

Flicking some hair aside, he produced an unctuous smile, leaning forward to shake her hand. Not just with one hand. Oh, no. He clasped it in both hands, as lightly as if holding a butterfly, even if that hand could probably snap a wristbone or two. Where she stood straight, he tilted forward, leaning ahead like the bow of a ship; and this strange dark elven figurehead sought her eyes with a crimson gaze, which matched the glint of his ruby earrings, shaped like tiny daggers.

"Forgive me. Common is not my native tongue. But I had to assume you were one. What an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lieutenant Samantha Black. I am Rae'twyn. No titles for me, I fear. I am but a humble, lonely drow, trying to muddle his way through this world."

His voice had lowered into a soft purr, as if not willing to risk the sanctity of their private conversation. A half-pout briefly flickered his smile at the glove, slightly disappointed not to see -- or touch -- the hand beneath.

Samantha Black

 

[Samantha Black]

Sam only managed a firm grip, but nothing meant to threaten, boast, or make any silly point. Acting with purpose was simply her way.

"No harm, no foul," she replied to his apology, mildly amused he offered one at all, "though an actual Lady might not feel the same." That Sam had been set on a pedestal equal to them? How abhorrent for them.

"Am I to assume hiding one's appearance is a common aspect of drow and your people are less rare in the sun than we're lead to believe?"

 

[Rae'twyn Suvalissaere]

His eyebrows flashed again.

"Ohh, now that is a tantalising thought, isn't it? Just think how many of us could hide in plain sight."

A ripple of laughter escaped him, amused at this idea. It wasn't impossible, he supposed, but he thought himself fairly capable of recognising a fellow imposter.

"Sadly, I have only encountered few of my own kind up here. Perhaps I am unique in my methods. But you never know. Could be a ssin'urn valsharess hiding below all that leather?"

He indicated her with a languid swirl of his hand, before returning his hands to his hips, leaning his weight to one side.

Samantha Black

 

[Irman Harefoot]

Irman led Zxander by the hand, or perhaps just “glove”, through the streets of Alliria. Irman was thankful he could still manage a sense of direction and follow it, even as romantic thoughts continued to flood his mind. He couldn’t tell if this was getting worse or staying the same, but Irman knew that Culus Nin was the best chance in the city to have something that could make it better.


“It shouldn’t be much longer now.” Irman said, trying not to look back at Zxander. “In fact, that’s it right over there!”

Just down the road a sign read “Culus Nin’s marvelous shop of exotic Curiosities.” It marked a storefront that stood between a Liadain style tea house, and a professional clothes washer.
Through the windows of the windows of the shop wild looking items could be seen, being all strange sights to see on the streets of Alliria.

Irman didn’t give Zxander much time to look through the windows however, as the rabbit-man threw open the door to the shop and stormed in with out a second thought.

Once inside, “marvelous” and “exotic” were certainly apt descriptions. All around were mountains of stuff, ranging from toys to statuettes, to tombs, to items that definitely looked like they might be magic.

“Culus Nin! It’s Irman! Something Amaz-bad has happened!”

 

[Zxandor]

In the corner of the shop a pile of layered blankets and wraps shuffled and from deep within the folds came a voice as old as time itself.

"Uuuuuuurmaaaan?"
It asked, slow and ponderously as a great neck rose and wafted over the room on the end of which sat a long thin head like a lizard and from it dangled a beard long and pale.

It looked down on the visitors and stood up on short thick limbs.

"Youuu retuuurn with an oooold thing. Oooolder thaan mee maybe."

It gat the animated armour a steady look which Zxandor met with a greeting.

"Hello. I am Zxandor."

"Hmmmm, curious!"
Culus Nin's voice rumbled.

The long neck brought is head low to Irman's level.

"You look well friend. Is this the amazbad you speak of?"

Irman Harefoot

 

[Magdalena Elbion]

"Ah yes - the red ink. As promised, no harm!"

He plunked the ostrich quill into the pot, waved his hand in a smooth flourish, and the quill and inkpot returned to their former life as a small paperweight.

"I scrawled red ink within your dream? A fascinating coincidence. I wonder whether that was also the charm's doing..."

Upon hearing the misnomer, the half-elf grinned bemusedly, absently swiping aside that stubborn chestnut tousle again.

"Quite close, Maester! Mirthwind, at your service. And that sounds like splendid compensation to me. Though I think I might yet attempt to learn the identity of our mystery enchanter. This go round might have come out benignly enough, even, dare I say, pleasantly? But what if it were merely a test, and a more insidious charm is waiting up an unknown sleeve?"

Magdalena Elbion

Of all the many talents she had been gifted with, transfiguration was not one of them. Magi's brows rose as feather and inkpot became paperweight. Truthfully she would have rather kept the quill and ink. The paperweight had been a hand-me-down from the Maester that occupied this office before her.

She gathered the rest of her things into her shoulderbag, stuffing in items that aught-not fit with seemingly little problem.

"Insidious?" what a Saelia-like word to use. She wondered if he knew her sister. "Wouldn't be the first time I've encountered dream-altering magic. Do you recall the phenomenon of the dreamcast during Heart and Hearth day a few years ago? All those people from all over the globe experiencing the same dream together..."

But no one knew who was behind that particular event, only that it span across continents.

On her way out the office and down the hall, Magda took the back stairs down to the main floor, pausing only as she realized that- "Isn't Heart and Hearth day soon?"

A coincidence, surely.

 

[Samantha Black]

His eyebrows flashed again.

"Ohh, now that is a tantalising thought, isn't it? Just think how many of us could hide in plain sight."

A ripple of laughter escaped him, amused at this idea. It wasn't impossible, he supposed, but he thought himself fairly capable of recognising a fellow imposter.

"Sadly, I have only encountered few of my own kind up here. Perhaps I am unique in my methods. But you never know. Could be a ssin'urn valsharess hiding below all that leather?"

He indicated her with a languid swirl of his hand, before returning his hands to his hips, leaning his weight to one side.

Samantha Black

"Hm," she laughed at the thought, assuming through the context of this interaction he was referring to her also being a dark elf, "not quite..."

There were things certainly lurking on and beneath her skin, but it wasn't a dark elf and it wasn't something she'd be showing a stranger on this little excursion to the city. Couldn't afford to become distracted from her purpose here, or her ward.

"So you're on the surface for... the tournament?" a dark brow arched over the faint hint of a smirk. She was being facetious, of course. Why on earth would a drow come all the way up here for such a silly thing? But she preferred that to a simple why the hell are you up here?

 

[Rae'twyn Suvalissaere]

"You know, I actually am. Oh, but not quite to partake in any joust or anything." An unbidden laughter sputtered from him at the very thought of him playing pole-tilting on some absurdly-legged charger. Surface customs were about as insensible to him as they were amusing, at times. "My work is going to be altogether very different. Mm. Less . . . of an official affair."

Something dangerous entered his tone then and his crimson eye, even being all smiles and good cheer. Though he hid his daggers, a trained warrior would be able to tell the bulge of a few spare ones; one behind the vest and one bulging behind a belt, half-heartedly hidden by said vest. He moved on quick enough, however.

After all, he couldn't risk revealing any of his work for the Court of Gallows.

"Are you here for the tournament, perchance?"

Samantha Black

 

[Samantha Black]

A Dreadlord would be hard pressed to miss those undertones or looks. She read them quite naturally, but as she had come to mature over her short lifespan - these things were, as Elias once put it, not her circus and definitely not her monkeys.

Alliria could deal with its own threats.

"I am not," Sam replied, "my business is otherwise. The tournament is merely a... convenient coincidence. I don't partake but I do enjoy the spectacle."

 

[Mirthwind]

Of all the many talents she had been gifted with, transfiguration was not one of them. Magi's brows rose as feather and inkpot became paperweight. Truthfully she would have rather kept the quill and ink. The paperweight had been a hand-me-down from the Maester that occupied this office before her.

She gathered the rest of her things into her shoulderbag, stuffing in items that aught-not fit with seemingly little problem.

"Insidious?" what a Saelia-like word to use. She wondered if he knew her sister. "Wouldn't be the first time I've encountered dream-altering magic. Do you recall the phenomenon of the dreamcast during Heart and Hearth day a few years ago? All those people from all over the globe experiencing the same dream together..."

But no one knew who was behind that particular event, only that it span across continents.

On her way out the office and down the hall, Magda took the back stairs down to the main floor, pausing only as she realized that- "Isn't Heart and Hearth day soon?"

A coincidence, surely.

The half-elf arched a chestnut eyebrow as he followed at a respectful step or two behind, now even more intrigued.

"Heart and Hearth Day... yes, I do recall hearing of that quaint festival, and Maester, I do believe it is held on this very day. Do you suppose it might indeed be one-and-the-same source as behind our little charms? And quite a powerful source, to accomplish such a charm across such a broad swath of the continent and even beyond the Asharah, if all the tales are to be believed."

He paused, momentarily perplexed.

"Now, what do you suppose this source might want from charming us?"

Magdalena Elbion