makinglies | The Shadowfell

Entry tags:

faerun

The Shadowfell

Shadowfell

During the early, blue dawn of the morning, a hole opens in the Material Plane. The energy hums no differently than it had in the facility in Duplicity that had brought them here in the first place. This time, however, just before breaching the glowing white surface of light, a chill greets those who pass through. One, two, three, four shadows step through the light before it closes with barely a pop of energy beside the austere white marble of the recently recast temple.

Waiting on the other side of the gate is a land of barren monochrome. Plants like ash, rivers with the consistency of blood, and pools of thick, dripping ichor decorate a land of black and grey stone that connects to an equally grey sky. The life, like the color, seems gone from the land, and where there should have been unearthly silence, there were low murmurs and ominous creaks and noises that didn't quite make sense at the periphery of everything.

The landscape, at least, could not be called flat. Great, black mountains broke the dim, grey sky like blotches of ink on canvas. Even the group of armed visitors stood now upon a tall, but sloping hill marked with a single, gnarled tree. At the foot of the hill, ahead of the group, sat the hazy, black scar of what was once a city.

Spires of buildings stood as broken bones in the place Melvaunt had as its mirror, with the shattered docks even dipping into a charcoal ocean beyond it. Maléfell, once a town inhabited and infested in equal measure with ghosts, gasts, dopplegangers, and malice, now festers with a malevolent haze that visibly shrouds the city. At its edges, just outside the haze, is a pulsating mass. It's upon closer inspection that the mass gains definition: bodies. Undead. Skeletons. Ghosts haunting black ooze and rotted corpses that press at the Darkland's edges, daring to neither venture in nor go too far from their home.

Hundreds of the displaced mill about, gorging on more of the black ichor that fills the waterways into the city. Here they wait, trapped, the sounds of them muffled and nearly silent in the blanketing nothing of the Plane around them.

♥

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He nods vaguely to Jon's suggestion of scribe. That would work too; no reason a scribe couldn't sound as prissy as his master. "Kirkwall's fine. Small enough to not warrant being on a map, recently founded, whatever makes most sense to whoever's asking."

He looks over at Wolfe, where his legs are still over the mage's lap, and he can tell there's something pleased with himself for his suggestion, but he assumes it's due to Wolfe's romantic nature. It would probably make Amelia blush, but that was fine, too.

"Sure. Might be better, even, people will be more likely to think her a noble as well and not suspect she might be a capable fighter and rogue. So long as everyone agrees, the details are whatever we like."

And hopefully, they could decide on them soon; it was barely noon, but he felt he could sleep for a few hours at least. Too much magic expended in one day after so long barely using even half, probably.

Jon's expression flickers momentarily to irritation. He doesn't want to have the same argument with Wolfe that blew everything up with Amelia, but it grates at him. This isn't a fight worth having, he reminds himself. He tells himself. He warns himself. There's no winning it and everyone's in a better state than they were yesterday. It would be kind to give them at least a day before he starts arguing.

There's also something oddly gleeful about the mage's suggestion of pretending to be married to Amelia. Jon knows he deserves some of that. So, he swallows down the part of himself that wants to snap that Lord Hawke is here and in Thedas, and carries on washing. The scrubbing is hard on his arms, but he's not giving up just yet.

"Couldn't you actually get married? I mean, you have that Ceremony spell thing, don't you?" His gaze shifts to Chris.

Wolfe runs his hands down his face. He was too casual in mentioning it, thats what it was, but Jon's comment at least gets them to the same place. Its a good thing he doesn't know what Jon is uncharitably thinking of him or that might derail the whole conversation.

"Yes, that's. That's what I was implying," Wolfe looks at Chris meaningfully. "Nothing is stopping any of us now, and Amelia and I were talking..."

He gestures as if that says it all, then considers that Chris is both very literal sometimes, and very tired now. "Those of us who want to marry each other should. We can talk about it after we've rested, but I wanted to put it out there for us all."

Oh…yes, he could cast that at any moment. Say the words he’d said to marry Sasha and Tim and make it official as any court record.

He’d very nearly forgotten with everything else that his stipulation of simply not being in Duplicity to do the deed was met.

His thoughts go to Wolfe and to Jon, who he’d thought he’d need to make wait longer until he sorted things with Ra’ah and Kallian…who now had no care or say over who Chris tied himself too. They weren’t his fiancés. They weren’t his anymore at all.

His thoughts go to Jacob, who he’d talked at length with about a domestic life. A grand ‘what if’ including running a gang and protecting a city and children. A ‘what if’ neither of them had likely thought actually possible.

And if he’d known it had been their only chance? If he’d known then what he did now…he’d have bound himself to all three of them much sooner. Seen Jon married to Martin too. He’d have encouraged a lot more that he’d discouraged in the name of waiting for a better, more deserving, location.

Wasn’t that always his problem? Planning and waiting and planning and waiting too long. Too late.

Chris moves slowly, but extracts himself enough to sit up again so he can look between his boys.

“Good. Then I don’t think you should wait. You’ve waited plenty by my counting…I can’t today any longer, but as soon else as you’d both like, I’d be more’n happy to see it done.”

"Certainly easier to maintain a lie when at least part of it's true," Jon agrees. His mind turns briefly over the idea of claiming to be Chris' husband, but given they're not claiming he has any sort of title, probably best to leave off of that. Especially if it's some sort of higher level magic, as would seem to be the case.

"Is there any sort of marriage certificate in-" No. Jon stops himself and frowns down at the shirt he's working on before letting it sink back into the suds and picking out a different piece to scrub. "Never mind. I suppose it wouldn't matter here unless... unless we'd have to file taxes?" Which, none of them would, given they've no actual city or state to call home. "Christ... that's an unexpected benefit. Nothing's assured except death now. And even that has exceptions."

"Jon I'm going to need you to listen with your heart for a moment instead of your head," Wolfe says with an incredulous chuckle. He turns his gaze to Chris just after. "And Chris, just to make sure, you know that desire is not limited to just Amelia and me, right? If we're going to do this for real, then I want us to be bound all at the same time. Unless I'm the only one?"

He glances between the two other men again, fairly certain he's not wrong, but Jon is being obtuse and Chris' phrasing makes it feel as if he's only considering officiating for Wolfe and Amelia, not taking vows himself. Wistfully and with a bit of humor, Wolfe laughs internally to himself at his not just having been obvious to begin with.

“There are certificates, they just aren’t needed if we aren’t in a town or dealing with property and inheritance.” He calls back to Jon. Nothing they’d have to deal with for a while, at least.

He’s half startled into looking back at Wolfe and his brows crease. “Well of course. I was just thinking on how I’m glad I have the chance to regret not marrying either of you sooner, but we were talking about you and Amelia, not me. I’ll marry my mage and my archivist as soon as you say and at least a day apart…or a day we know for certain we’re doing nothing else cause the magic’s powerful.”

He says it with zero gravitas or concern for the fact it probably deserved a bit more seriousness than he had in him right now, but he was earnest.

“I think, for me, I’d also like a proper ribbon for hand fasting, but it’s not a requirement.”

The door starts to open as Chris starts his answer to Wolfe and through it come bounding the dogs, each with a duck in her mouth. Rather than going directly to their master, they make their way to Jon as if to say 'Look, something good for you!' Amelia misses their beeline to the Archivist as she's distracted by the cleric talking about handfasting.

"Planning your wedding already? And here I thought we were waiting to have this conversation." She looks over at Wolfe with a bright grin and then winks at Chris. "Is that traditional here? I'd like to incorporate whatever parts of the culture and tradition of our new home that we can." A beat, and her grin only widens as she zeroes in on the mage again. "I need to make sure my First Husband is properly dressed, at the very least, even if he's made it a habit to go around without pants lately."

Two forms of teasing at once? Yes, it's absolutely necessary.

She chuckles but allows that comment to stand before calling over to the girls. "Patience, Cookie, those go to Wolfe, not Jon." She shakes her head as she moves toward them to encourage them to leave the poor man alone, still laughing under her breath. "They're proud that they caught something after I told them off the binxes they found. I didn't think they'd want to share with you to prove they'd managed, though."

Jon just blinks at Wolfe before the man's more explicit. That- Well, then. That's been put out there. He doesn't have much of a chance to respond before Chris does, and then there are dogs and dead waterfowl being waved in his face. Down on his knees, the Archivist doesn't fall over, but he does jerk his wet hands up and twist around to try to ward the dogs away.

"Get those things out of my face!" He shouldn't yell at the dogs, but Patience, at least, seems to understand she's made a mistake as she's backing off even before Amelia's command. Cookie seems to gather from his tone and her ears fold back as she scampers over to Wolfe, instead. Patience follows after given Jon what he can only assume is an 'apologetic' look. He just frowns at her before grasping the wash basin and pulling himself back around to it. Better to finish this quickly so he can be off the floor. Being at eye-level with whatever is in the dogs' mouths is highly unpleasant.

Jon lets the others talk as he remains beneath his own little storm cloud. He'll warm back up to the conversation once he's had a chance to settle his frayed nerves. Probably.

"Of course its a requirement," Wolfe counters even as he's wrestling Cookie's exuberance and the flush that creeps up his neck from Amelia's words. He's been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar, though she doesn't seem angry in the slightest that he brought it up without her here.

Raising his head, Wolfe looks over at Amelia with a sheepish smile, brimming with affection. "I'm sorry, Love. It just slipped out."

He's too caught up in the middle of all of this to even scold Jon for snapping at his girls.

"'First Husband?' You have plans on a second already?" He throws back to her easily and with a small smile. "Rings are more the tradition these days, but it's an old Moonsea tradition; it always appealed to me. You tie the knots together and undo them over the years, then when the knots are all out, you and your partner reflect on your time together, your love, and tie more knots as desired. I thought it a more...active role in expressing your love to someone. Saying 'I choose to be here and continue to choose' rather than a given." He shrugs.

"I'll not fault the idea of the rings, though; they certainly hold up better to time and element."

Jon sounds in a sour mood, but from his place still on the couch, Chris ensures a gentle feeling of something like a warm palm on the back of Jon's neck reaches him. He might not be able to clean with magic anymore, but he can still do that.

Wolfe receives the cleric's upturned brow. "You were meant to keep a secret and failed both in keeping it and initially telling it? You must be flustered, love."

"Jon, please. They didn't mean any harm." Amelia gives the man a firm look and then makes her way to the couch to give each of the girls a few ear scratches. It wasn't the best thing for them to do, but it seems obvious to her that they were trying to make certain Jon knew the next meal would be more to his liking. The snapping was entirely unnecessary.

"It's all right, Wolfe. I was only teasing. If the timing was right, then there's no harm at all in asking after it." She smiles down at her mage and presses a kiss to his forehead. The couch is plenty occupied for now, so she steps around the back so she can drape her arms around Wolfe's shoulders as she leans over it. It's comfortable enough a position and has the added bonus of not allowing her to fall asleep just yet. "The plan was to speak after we'd all rested, either later today or tomorrow," she offers to Chris. "There's no trouble for speaking on it sooner, especially when I caught him off guard by asking him earlier." Her lips pull into a half-smirk as she tries, and fails just a little, to keep her smugness about getting the 'yes' from Wolfe out of her expression.

"I like the idea of handfasting and working out the knots together over time. It's romantic and deeply intimate to share such thoughts with the person you love. Rings I can also understand," she did steal one for Wolfe last Tumenalia, after all, "but I'm not attached to the idea. I can take it or leave it.

"As for my First Husband..." She chuckles and kisses Wolfe's crown. "It's a joke from long ago in Duplicity. For now, Wolfe will be my one and only husband. You and I need time before we'd decide on anything like that with one another." The cleric gets a meaningful look and a soft smile. "It's not as if there's any rush. Wolfe and I already discussed waiting until after we're all written into the Weave."

Amelia suggesting marriage with Chris, even in a far flung future, has Jon's head turning sharply. He'd ignored the chiding, but that's a surprise, especially when he can feel something at the back of his neck. The soft words from Chris tell him it's the cleric's magic, but it's still unexpected. Less so than Amelia's potential proposal, of course.

The handfasting is a nice thought. Martin would have loved it.

But he's putting those thoughts away in a box and storing them deep within the festering recesses of his mind.

"We were discussing marriage as a cover for us," Jon says, still watching Amelia and Chris for a moment before making himself return to his chore. Amelia's already finished hers, which means he's dawdling. "For when we go into town. You and Wolfe can be minor nobility from the Heartlands, I'd be your scribe, and Chris would be our local guide, hired out of Teshwave. Then it turned into something you could actually do... if you didn't want to wait. Chris just needs to get his magic back tonight.

"Waiting to do it might be more sensible, though, given we don't know what's going to happen with the two of us." Jon gestures briefly between himself and Wolfe with a dripping hand. "And if you want a ribbon"--his eyes are on Chris--"or, er... s-several ribbons, then we'll need to purchase those. I don't suppose there's anything technically stopping us, just..." not wanting to condemn Chris to being married to two people who might lose everything about themselves at any point in (presumably) near future. "Just what makes sense."

"Yes I'm flustered; this is something I've wanted for a long time," he says with a bit of that flush still coloring the back of his neck. He's not embarrassed at the wanting of it, just his eagerness. He kisses Amelia's arm as she brings them down around his shoulders, his hands coming up on reflex to rest at her elbows. "I don't see why we can't do a ring and handfasting both. We're of a myriad of cultures ourselves so I don't see why there should be a limit to what we decide to do."

There's something behind his declaration, though. The bronto in the room that Jon refers to in a vague sort of way, causing Wolfe to glance at him. "But we did talk about waiting."

They should probably have an open conversation about that with all four of them, but after some sleep and some food. If there's anything Wolfe learned in Duplicity, it was open communication ultimately was helpful, no matter how painful in the moment. And if he's learned anything since coming here, he needs to put that into practice more often. But there's still a time and a place for things like this.

"We can talk more tomorrow. Honestly, I'm so famished I likely to stop making sense any minute and just eat the ducks whole," he jokes lightly, making a hand motion at the girls. Obediently, they each drop their bounty and sit. Wolfe should get up and see to dinner, but with both his loves this near its hard to make himself, even with the rumbling in his belly.

"Quite a bit of time, I'd say as well." Chris says it maybe a moment too quickly and he feels poorly for it, but he presses on. "We're not settled on what we are or what we want to be. I...while marriage at this point for any of us isn't likely to mean anything but sentimental value and the magical benefits that come with the spell, I think I'd like to reserve it for the relationships I know...warrant it."

Even as the last couple words come out, they don't sound any better, and he sighs and rubs a hand down his face. He loves her; she's one of his best friends of his life, but he's nowhere near ready to claim such a tie as marriage or even romantic partners. They share a partner and fool around for fun, but anything beyond that...not when they're hardly 24 hours past having to put boundaries between each other. There's no soft way to say that.

Besides, with Jon and Wolfe both mentioning waiting, it's injecting anxiety into his already tired head. What they're saying makes sense, in a way...but his mind flashes to Jacob and his chest tightens.

It was fine. Whatever they wanted for whatever reasons they choose...the difference between now and before is that he could actually bring his all against anyone trying to take any of them from him, even death. Lord or not, he was a powerful Cleric; there was little he couldn't make bow to him as needed.

He stands from the couch and scrapes together his energy. Lunch. He needed to help make lunch; that was something he could do. He moves to the dogs and gives each a pet as he scoops up the fowl. "Good girls. I'll save bits for you." Then, to their humans he adds, "You two work out what cover you'd like, and we can work around it. I think that would be the wisest idea to keep from too many conflicting ideas. I'll start working on these, so I'll hear if I need to chime in.

Wolfe's right that they need to wait to have more in-depth conversations about all this, and Amelia can tell from how her stomach clenches twice over. First when Jon mentions that they don't have to wait, then again when Chris so bluntly reminds her of the boundary they set last night. It only shows in her face as a small frown, but her mind starts to race with too many thoughts.

She does want it and sooner would be better, but she was the one who said they'd wait. Did she even realize they could do this as soon as Chris had the spell prepared? For all her need to plan, did she stop for one second to think about what her heart might want rather than listening to her head when making plans? Waiting ensures they're all written into the Weave and safe, something she needs desperately for the entire family. Waiting means they can make a true affair out of it, even if it's only the four of them here in this temple with their pets to support them. But do they need that? Did she need that in Duplicity when she literally bloodied her knuckles and ruined a dress to get into a shop and steal the ring Wolfe now wears around his neck? Does she need it now when the only thing between them and having what they want for each other is themselves?

Chris, of course, is right about where things stand for them and his desire to use the spell only for the most serious of his relationships is fair. She shouldn't have made it sound like it was something she was thinking of for them. It's not, at least not yet, because she has no idea what she wants with him. She doesn't know what she can even offer him when she's such a fucking mess who can't even accept being told she's enough by their patron god. Dreams, even if it were something for them, tying themselves together with magic? What a mistake that would be for them both.

Her arms curl the slightest bit tighter around Wolfe in a hug before she moves to set herself down next to him. The cleric may be running from them - she can see it because she'd do the same if she could - but they should all choose the cover story they're going with together.

"I'm fine playing a minor noble. Convincing others I'm something I'm not is easy for me, given my line of work." She huffs a breath and leans further into her partner. Little Thunder tries to settle with her, but the rogue encourages her to follow Chris with a small nod of her head and a ruffle of her chest feathers. "If you tell me what city we're from and what the region we're supposedly from is like, I can keep my commentary vague and true enough that most people will be none the wiser." She hums thoughtfully. "I don't know if I have the proper clothes, though. What we have from here is very plain for even minor nobility and my own is obviously a fighter's garb."

Jon watches Chris retreat with slightly raised brows. He still doesn't fully understand what the relationship is between the rogue and cleric, and given it appears to be #complicated at the moment, he's not especially inclined to stick his nose into it. The Archivist is getting fear of loss and uncertainty off of both of them before he refocuses on trying to push other voices and feelings out of his head. There's curiosity, to be sure, but he'll leave mediation to Wolfe, if it's needed. The mage is close to both of them, more likely to be impartial... in so much as Wolfe is even capable of that with people he cares about.

"We thought we could say we're from Kirkwall, a small settlement in the middle of the Heartlands. It's a generic enough sounding name." Jon frowns down at the washing, feeling his arms beginning to ache with the effort along with his knees for just being down on the marble floor for this long. Maybe he should ask for Chris to bring him a pillow? No. That's silly. "If we really don't want anyone to know who we are, we could use wholly made up family names. Lord and Lady Sommerset from Kirkwall?"

"I wouldn't remember Sommerset is supposed to be me, but the idea is a good one. We could use Amell? That's my mother's family. Or... Royer?" he says with a grin and a squeeze to Amelia's waist where he'd wrapped his arm the moment she'd come to sit beside him. He can tell she's letting worries run behind her eyes, but its less intense than before, and not overpowering in the moment. Chris, too, is unsettled, but its easy to see why, and Wolfe makes the conscious decision to let it go unaddressed for the moment. Tomorrow. They'll talk about it first thing tomorrow, when they're all more level.

Why is waiting so damned difficult?

He's never really thought about why, probably because he's more than capable of it if the reason for the waiting is obvious or tactical, and he's not so emotionally involved, but the things that involve his loved ones... He wants to make things better now, wants to give them what they want now, and waiting seems like he might not get the chance.

Maybe its hard because if he doesn't, he'll have lost something. Like Jon having lost his chance with Martin, or Chris with Jacob. Amelia with Alois or Yennefer.

Or himself with Anders.

That thought stings as it always does and Wolfe rests his head against Amelia's shoulder. One evening isn't going to change anything. They're safe in this temple, they're all more than capable of defending themselves, and no one ever knows they're here besides their Queen and her servant. There is no danger here.

So why does he still feel like he has to be ready to fight for everything - everyone - he has?

"As for the clothes, we were by bandits when we first arrived. I like that better than us wearing rough clothes for the road. It would explain our lack of other supplies, if anyone happens to look at us more closely than a glance."

"Amell, please. We don't want to be too Orlesian, after all." It's a joke to deflect her discomfort with 'her' surname. Honestly, the sooner she can get away from it, the better. Even if it's only for a day, using a different name will make her feel a lot less uncomfortable with how fucked her entire history now is.

"I'd hope they won't care too much when we're going into a resort town. Isn't the point of place like that to take as little as possible and simply enjoy it?" That's what she's always heard about vacations: take only the essentials and enjoy the hospitality of the hosts. Hells, people in Duplicity raved about leaving it all behind to go on vacation, so she knows she has to be at least a little right about that. "The cover story of bandits is good for our clothes, though. I'll still take care to make them fit well, but I'll be able to save thread if I'm not worrying about making everything look nice in the way that's expected of nobles with money."

Humming thoughtfully, she adds, "I suppose that means I'll have to avoid the fights if I'm playing the part of a lady. Picking pockets is easy enough in any garb, but if I step into a ring people are likely to notice my skills and possibly wonder if I'm connected to the string of thefts that'll be happening. I could support Jon by choosing more fighters for us to bet on, help us believably win and lose enough coin to keep our betting streak on Chris and Wolfe from being too obvious." She looks over at Jon. "If you think you can handle my company for short periods of time for that."

“I think I can manage. And resort towns vary. If you want to be Seen to be wealthy, you’d bring your finest clothes.

“Regardless… wouldn’t Wolfe have the same problem as you?” His eyes flick to the mage. “Should a ‘lord’ be competing in an arena? I think you could still do it. You can’t be the only rogue who’d enter into the thing, and even ‘ladies’ need their hobbies.”

His eyes track toward where Chris has gone to prepare the meal. “Or you use a disguise in the arena like Chris is going to.”

"He does have a point," Wolfe says as he tickles her side playfully for her Orlesian comment. "Any Lord or Lady can be eccentric enough to compete, and in some places you're not even allowed to compete in such tourneys unless you can trace your noble birth back generations. Its only if its for purposes of gladiatorial exhibition where its for noble viewing but not participation. At least, that's my experience."

Which may not be the case here given that this isn't Thedas. He'll let Chris correct him. Still, they can't be the only "nobles" who ever wanted to participate.

"Velity, the head of the military and militia needs of Ilinivur, is one of the worst-kept secrets of the Balista fighting exhibitions. However, she usually only comes out for the big ones. I doubt she'd bother with the smaller ones we're likely going to be running." Chris calls over from where he's at least finished preparing one of the ducks. Birds were always annoying to have to cook from fresh. At least the stock he was preparing was doing well.

"I wouldn't advertise you're nobility participating, however, it is a bit taboo, even here; that's why I had to disguise myself the first time through. On the Sword Coast, you wouldn't be able to participate at all unless it was specifically a noble's tourney like they pretended to have in Duplicity there near the end."

He pauses briefly and shakes his head. Wolfe hadn't been there for that. "There was a Fae-operated market and tourney where subs were given favors to offer to doms who jousted and the like. Tame for the city, really, but not too far off from what I've heard goes on in celebration days on the Coast. There aren't a lot of celebration days in this region to warrant such things."

"Perhaps instead of being nobles we're merchants? Looking to enjoy ourselves before we start on our next business venture that will bring us more coin in bigger cities than the one we left behind. We could still use a scribe for that kind of work." Assuming it's anything like how larger businesses in Ragneux work. The Family used its own people to take everything down, but it was advantageous for some businesses to simply hire one or two people to do all the writing rather than teach everyone who might find it useful.

"Our plainer clothes will be less noticed and lack of supplies will make a lot more sense as we can lie to anyone who asks that we have wagons coming in behind us. We'd not want to carry much gold on us either and instead let trained professionals handle it or guard its transfer." She shrugs one shoulder. "I'd wager more merchants know how to fight to protect their goods, too, so us wanting to get into a few fights to stay sharp won't seem so strange."

"That seems reasonable." Eminently so. It would also mean he doesn't need to mentally recalibrate on the role he'll be playing, which is ideal. "If we're going with that, I think deciding on the general sorts of stuff you're trading would be a good idea so I'm not saying books, Wolfe's saying clothes, and you're saying weapons."

He considers for another moment. "Weapons might make sense if you're going into a fighting ring. Showing off or testing your potential wares. And both of you can probably talk about weapons with some degree of authority." At a guess. Amelia can certainly talk knives. Wolfe... probably knows magical staves given his chosen set of arms. That can't be a thing unique to Thedas, either, when there are mages of all stripes here in Faerun.

"Pity I won't get to call you 'my lord' and 'my lady.' I was looking forward to the acting." His lips quirk in a small smirk as he sits back on his heels and lets his arms rest as the clothes slip back into the water to soak once more."

"That all makes a lot of sense. I know a reasonable amount about what makes a desirable weapon, though I don't know much about weapons here. Are bladed staves even a thing?" He glances at Chris, but the question is a little moot given what else he has to say.

"Or... You know, come to think of it, we could tell the truth? Insofar as we're adventurers of a kind. Came up north to see the sights, earn some coin. We wouldn't have to remember any cover story at all other than not to say we're from other worlds." Honestly he's a little surprised he didn't think of it before, much less anyone else. It had been their instinct to hide and defend themselves in secrecy, but what will that achieve? Its not as if anyone can send them back and they're more than capable of defending themselves and each other if local gangs - all cities have them - decide they look like easy pickings.

The Shadowfell

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)