Marrion

Marrion finished the rest of the stew and immediately paid for it with an amount that's several times more than the supposed price. Seemed like she either didn't care, or didn't know about the price of regular stuffs. Her attention had shifted towards the small group that had gathered to tackle the missing case.

She tilted her head trying to understand Miiya's semaphores. While she can understand the simpler things like threat status, she couldn't really understand the clock-based orientation and she couldn't imagine any number larger than 50. She really should polish up her math, couldn't keep relying on counting her fingers for this.

"Name's Marrion." She introduced herself following after the avian girl. "We can climb walls and see in the dark. Should be good at searching people."

“A pint of beer, Magic man.” Shiki said the Beast Kin that was boasting g their magical prowess.
“Now back on topic, does anyone have any ideas about those charms the locals are all wearing?” The fact that most of the locals seemed to be clutching talismans seemed odd to Shiki. It was strange for the adventurer. Usually when there was a string of unexplained missing persons, people tended to pack up and leave in Shiki’s experience. Yet these locals climbed to trinkets to protect them. A local guardian spirit? Superstition and naïveté? Something more sinister?

The bartender, Ben, snatched a mug from the counter and began to fill it with a dark, frothy ale, his movements still sharp with irritation. He slid it down the bar toward Netzir with a grunt, his eyes lingering on the mage. "Aye, 'honest work' pays for my roof and the wood in that fire," he muttered, loud enough for the group to hear. "And it pays for repairs when show-offs get careless." He gave a pointed look at the ceiling before turning his attention to Shiki, his expression souring further at the mention of the charms. He said nothing, merely turning his back to wipe down a shelf with aggressive swipes of his rag.
The man Miiya had released scurried away from the group without a backward glance, melting back into the tavern's shadowed corners. He kept his head down, pointedly ignoring the conversation he had started.
Reed let out a short, humorless laugh at Netzir's boast of versatility. "Anything, eh? Can you conjure up some courage for these folk?" His gaze swept the room, landing on the locals who were now actively trying to ignore the adventurers' table. At Shiki's question, several of them flinched. The man by the hearth who had clutched his star-charm earlier now simply stared into the flames, his face pale. No one spoke.
"He's got a point," Reed said, his voice dropping lower as he turned back to the group. "Those charms... they're new. Weren't so many of them last season. Superstition runs deep when the nights get long, but this feels different." He looked to Juniper, a silent question in his eyes.
Juniper, who had been listening intently to Miiya's explanation of her signals and Marrion's introduction, nodded her thanks to them both. Her tail gave a slight, thoughtful twitch. "Thank you, Miiya, Marrion. It's good to know what we're all capable of." She then addressed Shiki's question, her brow furrowed with concern. "I noticed them too. When I was posting the contract, I asked the Guildmaster about them. He called it 'local nonsense.' Said they were wards against 'bad air' and 'ill fortune' from the swamp." She leaned in closer, her voice barely a whisper. "But he wouldn't meet my eyes when he said it."
The tavern door creaked open, letting in a gust of wind and rain that made the fire gutter and the missing posters dance on their nails. A lone figure, cloaked and hooded, stood silhouetted in the doorway for a moment before shutting the world out again. The newcomer didn't approach the bar, but instead took a seat at a dark, isolated table, water pooling at their feet. The tension in the room, already thick, seemed to coil a notch tighter.

Miiya Aether

“Watch yer coinpurse around yer kin. Haha! Got it, Netzir.” Miiya grinned at the mage’s candor. Though her mother had not been the kindest parent a girl could have, Miiya was her fiercest defender. It gave her a strange feeling to hear the beastman denigrate his own kin--something akin to pity, perhaps? It didn’t make her feel good, exactly--but it did make her feel fortunate, and softened her sharpness with the fox, a little.

The talk was turning to the talismans that seemed a preoccupation of many of the taverngoers. Miiya--not the most observant chick in the nest--had not really noticed until Shiki pointed it out. “Yah, they do seem to like fiddling with them, huh?” she commented.

“Netzir, can yew make a copy of a talisman?” Miiya suggested, idly. By the way the patrons seemed to jealously guard theirs, Miiya figured it would take some force to separate one from its owner, for inspection. She hadn’t missed the bartender’s sharp look at her friendly headlock, and she was in no hurry to get herself thrown out into the wet and dark. “If it’s just a lucky rabbit’s foot, nobody’s gonna object to me having the prettiest one.” she opined. “Make mine extra shiny.” she requested of the mage.

Woof. That three-eyed girl gave Miiya the heebie-jeebies something fierce. The woman’s words did nothing to dispel the feeling. The Aerial couldn’t help but picture the insectoid beastkin scuttling across her ceiling in the darkness. Well, Miiya had decided it was a night for confrontation, so she decided to just speak her mind. “Nice ta meetcha, Marrion,” she replied. “I’m Miiya. Who’s “we” by the way?” she asked, wondering if she really wanted to know the answer.

The birdgirl was focused on Marrion, and trying to keep her feathers from louvering and belying just how creeped out she was. Miiya paid the entrance of the ominous cloaked figure little heed.

“I want to get my hands on a talisman.” He turned to the barkeep and placed a small stack of coins on the counter. “Call me superstitious, but I’d rather go off into the woods with a protection trinket then without one. Know where I can get one?” He slid the coins across the counter to the barman. Getting his hands on a genuine talisman would at worst be a good step in the investigation. Or at best, provide him some extra protection when they come face to face with whatever is causing the disappearances.

Marrion

"We are us. Marrion, Horatius and Liluth." Marrion tried to explain to Miiya, but as she said the words she realized that it might not be a sufficient explanation. She must think of what other people see her as. Yes, she's a lone figure now. They didn't know the three of them were constantly talking inside her head, yes.

"You will meet them later." She added, giving up on the explanation for now.

Marrion wasn't a stranger to things such as talisman. Some of the bugs from the nest started practicing occult stuffs after they discovered a mysterious temple deep underground, they're courting favor with a forgotten deity, they said. She knew her captain was one of those but she couldn't care less. They already have The Queen to serve and devote themself, why add a god to the mix?

"Should check the place of disappearance. Might be some clue there." She said. Though looking at the current weather, now might not be the best time to go out.

Mentions: @spoiled bread @Sanity43217 @Moonberry @carsOwO

Miiya’s smile was about ninety percent grimace as she chuckled nervously at Marrion’s words. “They, uh… yeah. Looking forward to meetin’ ‘em.” She lied.

Whether Netzir made her an extra-sparkly talisman, or she obtained one from elsewhere, Miiya soon had a lucky rabbit’s foot of her own proudly displayed hanging around her neck. Though the birdgirl was immensely pleased with herself for Rome-ing whilst in Rome, none of the other patrons seemed to feel the same. The Aerial woman was getting plenty of mutters and sidelong glances. Even the bartender looked like he wanted to say something, but--in the end--he kept his peace. Miiya’s earlier aggressiveness and the friendliness displayed amongst the group of adventurers kept any of the ill-will hanging about the quieter patrons from spilling over into violence.

Miiya decided that getting a job deserved a late snack, and she ordered herself yet another bowl of the night’s stew. “Ya know, this slop really grows on yew.” She said to the bartender, who just grunted and went back to polishing glasses.

“Welp, I’m about topped off.” Miiya announced to all present. “I’m assuming we’re headed out to the South Road bright and early?” she asked Juniper. Getting a nod, Miiya share, “Then I’m gonna turn in. I’ll see yew all at breakfast!” It was quite clear that the birdgirl’s world revolved around mealtimes.

Paying for a room and obtaining a key from the Innkeeper, the Aerial grabbed her satchel from where she’d leaned it against the bar. “Hey boss,” she grinned as she addressed Juniper. “I’m in room… uh… two-oh-four. Gimme a knock on yer way down in the morning, just in case I’m not up, yeah?” so saying, Miiya took her leave of those gathered in the common room and headed upstairs.

The barkeeper/innkeeper frowned. “There goes a confident one.” He muttered, darkly. Maybe it had been different in the past, but--these days--patrons didn’t go about carousing, upsetting the locals, and then announce where they were lodging for the whole world to hear.

Still, the innkeeper was used to hosting all kinds. The flashy fox and feathered female were far from the most frivolous fiends ever to darken the door of his inn. “How about more ta drink, instead?” He suggested to Shiki, when the man put coin on bartop. “You’d do better not ta take local lore as lightly as that one.” He nodded toward the stairs where Miiya had departed. “I don’t trade in witchcraft, nor do I recommend it ta out-of-towners. Yew’ll have to look fer yer own talisman tomorrow.” He pointedly did not recommend Shiki obtain one from the foxkin, any of the patrons, or the shady character in the corner, as Miiya might have.

The night deepened and the storm outside continued to grumble with muted growls of thunder. As the fire burned low, the tavern’s patrons began to depart--most out into the stormy night, with only one or two lodgers heading to the inn’s rooms.

Those that left departed in pairs or larger groups. With each departure, the shady figure in the back seemed to track their movements. Their face was cast in shadow by the cowl they kept raised, but slight twitches indicated where they watched those who departed. When there was only the latecomer and one pair of patrons left, the innkeeper announced that the bar was closing, and all present needed to leave or hire a room for the night.

“Alright, well that’s my cue to leave you fine folks.” Reed said. “I wish you the best on your endeavors. If you can bring back a spot of bright or kindness to this town, there’s still some of us who would welcome it,” he asserted as he wrapped his lute in an oilskin and headed out into the darkness.

After the musician had departed, anyone left at the bar would find that the common room was now empty. Of the shady figure, there was no sign. Had they hired a room? Had they gone out into the tempest? It could be that no one cared, but it was certain that no one had noticed.

”Alright, yew don’t hafta go home, but you can’t stay down here. Rent a room or get out.” The innkeeper said brusquely to anyone still hanging about.

…

In the wee hours of the night the storm intensified. Peals of thunder shook the Inn and rain lashed the windows. The old inn stood pat against the tempest, though the walls and rafters protested against the wind with thumps, creaks, and groans.

Eventually, the stormy night passed into a leaden gray dawn.

…

The halls of the inn were dim and the empty chairs of the common room stood in drear disarray in the illumination of early morning light filtering through the grimy windows.

A number of locks and bolts snicked and clicked before the door to the innkeeper’s quarters creaked open. The man emerged looking less than dapper. Trudging over to the main door, he reached for the security bar out of habit before pausing. The wooden bar was slid back and the door was slightly ajar. Sucking his teeth in annoyance, the innkeeper opened the door fully and stepped out into the chill air of morning. A thin fog clung to the sodden ground and no townspeople stirred within view. There were many rain-filled footprints in the muddy street, but no sign of whatever patron had left the inn’s door open.

The innkeeper closed the door, leaving it unlatched for any early patrons. Thinking no more on the matter, he went about making the common room ready for the guests; sweeping ash from hearths and rebuilding banked fires.

By the time lodgers started to stir, a deep pot of porridge was bubbling over the cookfire.

The housekeeper who cleaned the rooms had not yet arrived, so no staff from the inn had yet ventured upstairs to the hall of rooms. A guest would likely be the first to happen across the scene. While the rest of the doors were closed and locked, the door to room 204 was wide open. Inside were not-so-subtle signs of a struggle. The washbasin and pitcher were both upended on damp floorboards. A chair was overturned and bedsheets were strewn on the floor, along with a couple of tawny feathers. The Aerial woman’s satchel sat open in one corner. Of Miiya, herself, there was no sign.

Shiki had left the bar, venturing into the storm after one last drink. He didn’t wish to spend the coin on a room. Even with the heavens crashing down outside. Instead he ventured out into the night, stumbling as he trekked.

——

The next morning Shiki made his way back to the tavern for breakfast. Looking a bit worse for wear. Clothes damp. Hair unkempt.
He sat down by the hearth. He looked up at the Inn Keeper.
“Sorry, the door was open. You taking guests yet?”
He plucked a bit of hey from his hair and tossed it into the hearth.
He had spent the night tucked away in someone’s stable. Having snuck in during the storm late the night before. Having forced himself awake early to leave before being found.

Marrion

Marrion had already made a small camp at the edge of the town before coming here so she didn't rent a room at the inn. Although half way to her camp she wished she had just got the room there as the storm pelted her and her puppets. She would need to spent some time to dry Horatius once the rain's over.

Marrion returned to the inn rather early. The storm last night made it hard to hunt for breakfast so she figured she would have another stew, and maybe popped some of her honey crystals. She silently walked into the inn, sitting near the bubbling pot waiting for it to be finished. While waiting a thought suddenly struck her head.

"Must show Horatius to bird woman." She said she was looking forward so Marrion figured she could show her right now. She tried to recall the name of Miiya's room, two-oh-four. Thankfully it's less than fifty so she should be able to find it. Yet the moment she stepped into the second floor the opened door immediately draw her attention. The curious Marrion peeked inside, and once she was sure there's no one, she stepped in.

"Something happened." She muttered. She picked a few of Miiya's feathers.

"A fight happened." Replied a much deeper voice coming from Marrion. "No blood, but a lot of mess. We should tell the guards, or at least the innkeeper."

"You're correct, Horatius." Marrion replied herself with her usual voice. There's no urgency on Marrion's voice as she stepped down to the common hall and approached the innkeeper.

"A fight happened there." She pointed at the direction of Miiya's room.

The sound of the rain had faded to a distant patter, though gray clouds still pressed low over Arborhaven. The scent of wet earth and smoke hung in the air.

Ben froze halfway through stirring the pot when Marrion’s voice carried across the quiet room. He turned, brow furrowing deeply. “A fight?” he repeated. His ladle clattered against the pot’s rim. “In the rooms? Which one?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, already shuffling from behind the counter, grabbing a small cudgel from its hook beneath the bar as he started toward the stairs. Juniper followed on his heels, her ears perked and tail stiff with alarm. “Wait—Miiya’s room was that way…”

Upstairs, the air felt colder, heavy with the scent of damp feathers and overturned furniture. The door to Room 204 gaped open, pale light spilling over the disorder within.

Juniper stopped short in the doorway, her breath catching. The bed was stripped to chaos, the basin and pitcher shattered, feathers scattered across the floorboards like pale leaves. The window was latched shut.

“No… she wouldn’t have gone out in that storm,” she murmured, stepping inside, kneeling beside the satchel left slumped in the corner. Her hand brushed one of the feathers. “Not like this.”

Ben’s jaw tightened. “If there’s trouble in my inn, it’ll be the guards’ concern. I’ll fetch them.” He turned toward the stairs, but paused when another voice drifted from the hall.

“Guards won’t care much, Ben.”

Reed stood at the end of the corridor,patched cloak still damp from the previous night’s rain. His gray-blue eyes lingered on the feathers, then on the young adventurer kneeling in the wreckage. “They’ll take a report, grumble about the weather, and tell you she probably ran off on her own. Same story for half the posters on the wall.”

Juniper looked up sharply, her ears flicking. “Then what do we do? We can’t just—she was one of us. She said she’d meet me this morning.”

Reed stepped into the room, his boots whispering over the wet boards. He crouched near the feathers, lifting one carefully between thumb and forefinger. “A struggle, no blood. Whoever took her—or whatever did—didn’t kill her here.”

He looked toward the innkeeper.
“You open up early, Ben?”

Ben scratched at his beard, frowning.
“Didn’t have to. The door was already open when I came down. Bar was slid back and all. Thought some fool forgot to latch it last night.”

Reed’s brow furrowed. “So someone left through it—or came in.” He moved to the window, glancing at the faint tracks of wet mud trailing from the doorway. “Footprints. Red clay. That’s from the east road.”

Ben hesitated, rubbing a hand over his face. “That’d be toward the chapel quarter… where old Mara lives now. She keeps the charm shop by the fork in the road.”

Juniper blinked. “Mara?”

“Aye.” Ben’s tone dropped, uneasy. “Widow of a stonemason. Used to sell candles and hymnal carvings. Took to makin’ those charms when her boy went missin’ last spring. Folks say she sees things now—faces in the fog, voices in her sleep. Some think the charms keep the grief from swallowin’ her whole. Others think they just spread it.”

Reed’s expression darkened slightly, though he nodded as if confirming a memory. “Mara used to sing at the harvest festivals. Had a voice that could hush a hall.” His gaze drifted toward the open window, the pale feathers, the faint scent of rain. “Now she hums alone, stringin’ silver in that empty house. I’ve heard it at night—sounds like the wind mournin’.”

Juniper stood, brushing her knees and glancing toward the hallway. “Then that’s where I’ll start. The tracks lead that way. If she’s the one giving out the charms, maybe she’s seen something—or someone.”

Ben frowned. “Careful, girl. That road’s half-flooded after the storm. Mist rolls in thick come morning. You can lose your way if you follow the bell too far.”

Reed gave a small, rueful smile. “Then it’s a good thing I’ve walked worse roads. I’ll guide her as far as the fork. Been too long since anyone paid Mara a kind visit.”

The group descended the narrow stairs, the smell of smoke and porridge mingling with the damp chill spilling through the open door. Outside, Arborhaven’s streets were still half-drowned in puddles, the cobbles glistening like old bone beneath the leaden sky.

The town itself seemed half-asleep: shuttered windows, empty porches, and the faint sound of metal charms clinking in the breeze. From every doorway, the same silver talismans dangled—small, seven-pointed stars etched with thin, curling lines that caught the light and whispered when they swayed.

As they turned down the eastern road, the town thinned into mist. The scent of wet moss and peat thickened, and red clay began to cake the path beneath their boots. Wind tugged at Juniper’s cloak; the sound of soft singing drifted faintly ahead.

A low cottage came into view at the bend—a small, lopsided structure of stone and timber, its roof patched with moss. Charms hung from every eave, hundreds of them, catching the dim light like a canopy of silver tears. Each one tinkled faintly in the wind, the combined sound almost like rain.

A carved sign, nearly swallowed by ivy, hung by the door. Its paint was worn but still legible:

“Mara’s Blessings — For Restful Sleep and Peace of Heart.”

Reed slowed his steps, voice quiet.
“There it is. The heart of all this.”

Juniper’s tail flicked once, tension in her shoulders as she stared at the cottage door.
“Then let’s hope she’s still in the mood for company.”

A faint chime answered her words as the wind stirred the hanging charms—soft, melodic, and mournful—as if the house itself had heard.

The mist thickened as they drew closer, muffling the world in shades of gray. Charms chimed faintly from the trees before they even saw the cottage — hundreds of them strung between branches and eaves, swaying like silver leaves in an unseen breeze.

The path bent, revealing a small stone-and-timber home half-sunken into the hillside. Its roof sagged under moss and ivy, and a thin trail of smoke curled from the crooked chimney. Every window glowed with a dim amber light, blurred by fog and age.

Inside, a low humming drifted through the open door. The tune was wordless but soft, rising and falling like a lullaby.

When the group reached the threshold, the scene within revealed itself:

Charms — stars, feathers, rings of silver, bits of bone and crystal — hung from the rafters and beams. Some were polished and gleaming, others tarnished black. They spun slowly, tinkling as they brushed against each other. The scent of herbs, wax, and damp metal filled the air.

At a table near the hearth sat a woman, thin and pale beneath the lamp’s honeyed glow. Her hair was streaked white, her dress simple and threadbare. She worked quietly with trembling fingers, threading wire through a seven-pointed star. Every so often, she dipped it into a bowl of water beside her and whispered something under her breath.

“Peace for the lost… calm for the weary…”

Her voice was low and melodic, each word more prayer than spell.

Without looking up, she spoke—softly, as though she already knew they were there.
“You can come in, travelers. The wind doesn’t like waiting on strangers.”

The charms overhead gave a soft shiver, their song briefly discordant before settling again.

At last, she lifted her head. Her eyes were pale blue and unfocused, but they seemed to see all the same. A faint, distant smile touched her lips.

“The storm left you cold,” she said gently. “Warm yourselves by the lamp. I’ve tea steeped — mint and sage, for the nerves.”

Her gaze lingered on each of them in turn, never quite lingering too long.
“You’ve the look of folk carrying questions. But careful—questions have a way of finding their own answers here.”

She returned to her work, the faint sound of metal and wire filling the silence.

Outside, the wind carried the echo of a distant bell.
Inside, the only sound was the soft chime of charms and the whisper of Mara’s lullaby.

Marrion

Charms, charms everywhere. Scattered throughout the hut like overgrown vines. Most people might found it messy and a little freaky, but Marrion actually found the insanity and the passion... inspiring. Maybe, once she got her own lair she would hang hundreds of small puppets to decorate it.

The pale woman invite them inside. The wrapped figure carried behind Marrion's back brushed carelessly against some of the hanging charms, threatening to snag them from their anchored spot. Marrion's middle eye frantically scanned every corners of the room to make sure there's no ambush nearby, while her two normal eyes stared at the pale woman. A thought started to emerge from her fractured mind as a black chitin hand emerged from her ragged cloak and pointed at the charms the woman was making.

"We want a charm to find people."

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Miiya Aether
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Mentions: @Spoiled Bread @Sanity43217 @Moonberry @carsOwO

“A yfretting SACK!? Are yew kidding me!?” Miiya screeched up at the trapdoor through which she had been unceremoniously dumped. “Who does that; kidnapping someone and putting them in a SACK?!! I’m not a bunch of kittens you need to drown in the river!!” she shouted irately. “Yfrettin’ FACE me, yew fretting COWARDS!! So saying, she crouched on the spongy floor, then uncoiled and launched, flapping hard to try to reach the dim outline of the door.

Miiya hadn’t been wearing Dauntless when she was kidnapped. Bereft of the prosthesis that replaced four feet of her pinioned left wing, she couldn’t aviate properly--or at all, really. The Aerial woman’s off-kilter flaps sent her into a spin. She managed to tag the trapdoor--high overhead--with a fist, before plunging back to the ground with a thud. “OOF!!” She rolled to her feet and made another attempt, with the same result. “YFRETTERS!!”

Miiya tried several more leaps, but the door had no handholds on the underside, and it seemed to be barred or locked from above. ”LET ME OUT, yfretting shuheads!!” cursing, eventually she abandoned her frantic attempts at immediate escape. Yes, she was used to crashes much worse than these, but they still hurt--the repeated bruising falls--almost as much as the reminder of her pinioning. “Frett.” The birdgirl drew her wings in tight as she squatted on the floor.

Dirt. Dirt floor.
And darkness.

Peering into the gloom, Miiya tried to swallow against a nervous lump. Eagle-eyed in daylight, Miya's night vision was next to nonexistent. She could barely see the light filtering in past the edges of the trapdoor, and her eyes darted blindly around the inky blackness that surrounded her. “I don’t like it in here!” a frightened quaver crept into the rhetorical statement that was supposed to be all steely resolve and irony.

Anything could be lurking down here in the dark.

…

“Or nothing.” Miiya said to herself after gritting her teeth with determination and searching her cell by feel. It was small and deep; probably a cellar of some sort. She’d found four fieldstone walls, tripped over a mercifully-empty chamber pot, and stepped in a puddle that she hoped was water seepage. “YOUR PRISON SUCKS!!” she informed anyone listening above. After some consideration, she added, [color=red]“...AND SO DO YOU!!”

It was kinda hard to insult people she hadn’t seen. They’d come into her room in the dead of night and managed to restrain her in darkness. Though she hadn’t been able to get a look at her kidnappers, she’d laid hands on them pretty good--all things considered--and she had the bloody knuckles and bruised elbows to prove it. She had headbutted one of them too. She hoped their headache was worse than hers, and decided to see if she could add to it.

Besides moving vast quantities of oxygen into her blood while aviating, Miiya’s lungs were useful in being loud. Really loud. Her lifelong hobby (and brief abortive career) as a singer meshed well with her year at sea aboard her Aunt’s brigantine to provide her with both a long creatively descriptive litany of profanely abusive material, and the projection to deliver it at volume to whatever unfortunate jailer was keeping watch over her cell.

Miiya’s captors had not provided her with any other entertainment or diversions, and she decided to make sure they regretted that particular shortcoming.

…

She was somewhere between the fourth and fifth verse of a extemporized ribald off-key ditty about her captor’s inadequacies in bed (with his exceptionally smelly bovine lover), when the trapdoor opened.

“Oh, liked that one, didja?!” Miiya shouted squinted up at the sudden brightness. “Why don’t ya come down here and I’ll play yew the accompanying percussion?!” she cracked her knuckles meaningfully.

“You’re…
…lively.”

Said a voice from a dark figure that leaned over the pit. The face of whomever it was, standing over the trapdoor to Miiya’s cell, was cast into shadow beneath a heavy cowl.

“That…
…will change…”

Miiya’s vicious grin glittered in the darkness. She wasn’t going to be cowed by threats, veiled or otherwise. ”HA! BIG WORds From a little maa…” she started to retort, but the words died on her lips as the dark figure overspoke her, waving a hand listlessly over the pit.


“...now.”

The breath of defiance left Miiya’s body in an instant. Her insults were stilled in her throat, and a sense of crushing gravity drove her to the floor. Her limbs hung like leaden weights, and her wings drooped like trees born to the ground in an ice storm, each feather as heavy as a millstone.

Yfretting magic frett! For a brief moment, Miiya’s anger at her captor sparked and she tried to rally against the crushing malaise, but her internal struggle lasted only an instant before the flame of defiance was quenched. The curse she’d wanted to spit never made it to her lips as she laid her head down upon the cold dirt floor.

Even just drawing breath was a labor--why bother? Why live at all? Why struggle and fight? There was nothing worth fighting for. Miiya’s mouth opened as she panted into the dirt like a stricken animal, unable even to pillow head upon arm.


“Now…” repeated the dark figure.
“...you understand…”

Tears tried to well in Miiya’s eyes, but they dried before they could fall. It was so fast; the collapse of her facade; the liberating of the despair and hopeless malaise that she papered over with frenetic energy.

Every day.

Until now.

“...your place.”

Why protest? It was easier to just agree. “...yes…” came the ghost of a whisper. She was trash. Lowborn daughter of a flightless *****, never to rise above her station despite her every effort. Pinioned, herself; the embodiment of loss. Stop. Flying only makes you miss the sky. What had all her efforts gained her? She was literally lower than dirt now, alone in a dark hole and missed by no one.

It hurt. Years of blood and sweat and tears and yet nothing
no place
no one.

“Now…” The shadowy figure stretched out a hand, holding something over the pit. The points of the talisman’s star glittered as it fell to the dirt beside Miiya.
“...take it.”

Dry dirt ground against her palm as Miiya stretched out a hand and grasped the talisman. A sigh of relief escaped her as the crushing weight lifted. She was no lighter. She was unchanged, her circumstances just as they had been before she took the talisman.

But she didn’t care. He had taken that from her. She did not have to do anything, think anything, try anything. Just…

“...follow.”

Miiya stirred. As if of their own accord, her spread wings folded, her arms and legs gathering themselves under her and pushing her to her feet even as a ladder descended into the pit with a wooden clatter.

Miiya closed her eyes and reveled in the sensation; it was like flying, but without the straining muscles, without the burn of icy breaths, without the nagging pain of the hopefully-named, but accursed, Dauntless. Flying free of care, thought, effort.

Sen hadn’t wanted her to fly. Oh, she said differently; said she was protecting Miiya from harm, keeping her daughter’s wings whole, where her own had been shorn. Pushing Miiya so that she knew enough, achieved enough, worked enough, to eventually spread her wings and fly free. But Miiya had known differently; that a little--not all--but a little, of the cruelty behind the switch, of the meanness behind the cutting words, of the judgement in the harsh glares--had been jealousy.

Because Ma missed the sky too. No matter what Miiya did, she couldn’t give that back to her mother. And it felt so good not to have to carry that guilt anymore; to just let everything go to the freedom of Sloth.

Giving that feeling up was one of the hardest, most painful things Miiya had ever done.

Sen would be proud.

“frett yew.” Miiya had an arm like a sling, not only could she throw hard, she was deadly accurate. Even with only a dark outline of a head-ish shape looking down at her, odds were good she could take out an eye with something as small as a flung talisman.

Well, she could have if the arfline leaning over her pit wasn’t a magic frett-tard. The talisman went maybe a foot higher than it would have had Miiya foregone the effort of throwing it. It hit the floor shortly after Miiya’s face.

“You will…
…change.” the ladder was pulled up and light winked out as the trapdoor slammed shut.

It was all back; the crushing weight, the pain, the sorrow. And Miiya was pretty sure her hair had fallen in, and was now wicking up, that might-not-be-water-actually. “Thanks, ma.” she whispered into the dirt, at that inescapable eternally nagging voice in the back of her mind, at the root of many of her best painful decisions..

“Thanks a lot.”

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Miiya Aether
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Mentions: @Spoiled Bread @Sanity43217 @Moonberry @carsOwO

Miiya was hungry.
She was thirsty.
She was bored.

“I DON’T THINK THIS IS WORKING!!” Miiya shouted up at the outline of the trapdoor. “I STILL HAVE NEEDS!!”

She was fairly sure it had been at least a day since she had been dumped in this dank hole. She’d been a bit less spirited after her encounter with the soul-crushing magic arfline. He must have left at some point, because the weight of the world had lifted off her shoulders shortly after the trapdoor had shut.

Even though it HAD been water in that puddle--water that was dripping down the fieldstones and providing her with at least a little hydration--Miiya’s spirits hadn’t exactly been buoyed by licking the walls. She was beginning to get more than a little worried that she’d made herself TOO much trouble, and they were just going to let her starve down here.

It won’t take long. she thought, dismally. Though she’d had a massive meal last night, almost all those calories had gone to feed the energy deficit she ran while flying. Though she’d been sedentary (by Aerial standards) ever since, she was still burning through already-depleted fat stores. I don’t do well in captivity. God, she had to try to keep that thought out of her mind; it led to panic, which would just send her bouncing off the walls for no good reason.

Then there was the pendant. She could put it on.

Like they wanted.

Not yet. she decided. It was actually a tiny source of hope; that talisman. In the end, when she was truly starving to death, maybe putting it on would grant her clemency. Or maybe its artificial malaise would be an anesthetic against the pain and fear. But I really, really don’t want to give those arflines the satisfaction. “Especially since they’ll probably just find it on my corpse.” she said in macabre musing. The damn thing had been hard to take off.

…

Miiya was debating between trying to conserve energy, or making herself obnoxious enough to get some attention--while she still had the strength--when the trapdoor opened once more. She hated how relieved--and almost grateful--she felt, that she hadn’t been forgotten and left to die. Even getting crushed to the dirt by malaise and despair felt almost… comfortable.

Defiance is overrated. Miiya decided, and scraped an eight-ton hand over to the pendant, gripping it and wrapping its chain around her wrist. The crushing weight of failure, of worthlessness, of being a trashy guttersnipe that would never meet Ma’s expectations, relented.

Sorta.

It relented enough for Miiya to stand and look up, a sort of blase expectation pasted on her features.

“Place it…” the voice began,
[color= red] “...around your neck.”[/color]

“Too… much work.” Miiya shrugged and made an aroundish her neckish gesture, leaving the pendant wrapped around her wrist.

There was a long silence.
Then the ladder descended with a clatter. “Follow…”

Miiya sighed and leaned against the ladder. This was too much work too. Nah, I’ll just hang out down here. her body language said.

The light streaming in from above flickered with the wave of an arm. “Follow…!” this time magical [compulsion C] accompanied the command.

“Bluuuch.” Channeling all the ennui she had ever possessed, Miiya put one listless foot upon the bottom rung. “That enough?”

“...NOW!!” Whomever was up there was apparently through fretting around, because they cranked the magic up to [compulsion B]

“OK! YEW GOT IT, BOSS!!” Miiya stopped resisting and loosened her grip on the talisman, shooting up the ladder with a powerful flap and a three-point lunge. She would have used all four limbs to zip up out of the dungeon, but her right hand was clenched into a fist around the talisman’s chain--and it was aimed right at the shadowy figure’s chin.

Miiya felt a familiar jag of thrill light up her brain, as her uppercut connected with that magical motherfretter. She felt his jaw, teeth, and the base of his spine make all those fun pops they did when she really unloaded all the fear and rage and hate of her mean streak, into some kalmason who’d been yfretting asking for it.

Bonus points! she thought, because the pendant she’d seated on her knuckles snapped off its chain and stayed embedded in the soft flesh under the man’s chin as he toppled over backwards in front of her.

Yew got knocked the frett out!! Miiya really wanted to tell him so, maybe punctuating her words with a couple of kicks, but not so much that she was willing to get captured by all the startled acolytes surrounding her. Instead of kicking the head arfline, she decided to kick all his little arflets--well, those standing between her and the window, that was.

The birdgirl had a lot of limbs, but not enough to hit everybody. She rifled a pair of left jabs into a cowled face and hoped that the resulting crunch was a broken nose. A donkey kick went into the softer bits of someone grabbing her from behind, who quickly decided he needed to grab something else, freeing her up to put a crescent kick into a temple.

Miiya was a talented fighter and the ceremonial robes were not doing her opponents any favors, but she was neither large nor strong enough to put most of them down permanently. Rather than waste time trying--and risk ending up back in the hole, or worse--Miiya headbutted the person directly in front of her. She saw stars, but her target was rendered momentarily senseless. Grabbing his robe, she whapped the bejeesus out of everyone nearby with rapid powerful flaps of her wings and charged forward, bulldozing through the crowd to the window she had spotted. She didn’t stop at the glass, but instead rode the headbuttee through the shattering glass and out into the streaming sunlight.

She left her impromptu sled to finish the short flight by himself as she flapped awkwardly, one wing folded to compensate for her missing trim tab. It wasn’t the most graceful landing, but it wasn’t a crash. Folding her wings in tight, Miiya rabbited away from the building that had been her prison, darting in zig-zags until she reached cover, just in case anyone got any bright ideas about bows, crossbows, or slings.

…

Orbiting in the thermal rising over Arborhaven, Miiya beat for altitude as she looked down on the city. She’d retrieved her belongings from the Inn and hastily strapped into Dauntless without a word to anyone. Besides the nervous-looking innkeeper, there’d been no friendly faces to greet the escapee, and she wasn’t sticking around to see whether friend or foe was going to decide to pop in first.

Well out of bowshot range, the Aerial reflected on recent events and shivered. There was a whole lot to process after her escape, not to mention the raft of questions that were still unanswered. What were those mysterious mood-altering talismans? Why was some strange cult throwing people into dungeons? Where had the adventurer’s guild party gone?

Did Miiya care enough to descend and put her life in danger again?

“Nope.” the birdgirl’s adjudication was lost to the slipstream and sky as she wheeled and turned her heading toward the See and points beyond.