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2 yrs ago
Current i can't believe it's already christmas today
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3 yrs ago
*skeletal hand emerges from an unmarked grave* the drive thru forgot my side order
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3 yrs ago
Imagine having an opinion on rpg dot com
3 yrs ago
Let’s play a game where you try to sext me and I call the police
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3 yrs ago
i take it back im cringing at byrd because im also horny. thanks mate
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Bio

Maybe the real plot was the friends we made along the way. [Last Updated: April 3, 2022]


I'm 26 years old and I have learned not to share too much of my personal life on the internet. I work as an English and writing tutor at a local college.

I love literature and poetry, and I also enjoy writing and I like to think I'm not half bad at it. I first started writing as a hobby with online roleplay at the start of 2010, and I've slowly drifted away from it in recent years. I enjoy most genres, but if I had to pick a couple of favorites, they would be sci-fi and high fantasy—heavy enosis on the high fantasy. Some of my favorite characters have come from Elder Scrolls roleplays, since it appeals to the D&D nerd in me.

I have a tendency to get carried away with making my character sheets. I like telling their stories in the sheet sometimes even more than the roleplay itself, which depends on the roleplay itself of course. I want my readers to know how their background influences them as a person, how their personality bleeds into their appearance, and I love watching characters overcome their personal tragedies and finding their true selves as they watch their identities shatter and come back together. I've always been a fan of characters overcoming their weaknesses and obstacles and I try to make that show in many of my characters. Therefore, many of the narratives I explore come from a place of vulnerability, but I try to balance the heavy themes with light whimsy.

I also try to research whatever it is I'm writing about so that I'm not just spitting into the wind - unless that's what my character is doing, in which case I try to make sure that's made clear in my writing. It’s kind of hard to define my style, as I’m influenced by all sorts of schools of criticism; dark romanticism, modernism, post-modernism, Marxism, feminism, post-structuralism—I have a lot of isms in my pocket. Nathaniel Hawthorne is one of my favorite dark romantic authors, Dickinson is one of my favorite naturalist poets, Judith Ortiz Cofer, Langston Hughes, and Robert Frost—they’ve all in some ways informed my writing, as well as many others. I even tend to look to some of my fellow guild mates for inspiration or analyze what I like about their writing and see what I can do to improve my own through their example.




Prime Rib Boneheads
@Dragonbud
@Luminous Beings
@Maxx
@JunkMail
Calcium Supplements
@megatrash
@ML
@Polymorpheus
@SepticGentleman
@Byrd Man
@Skai
@Heat
@Chuuya
@Enarr
@Tiger


These Tickle My Funny Bone
You can find me in:

Currently in no roleplays.

Most Recent Posts

Lineage


Noon, Last Seed 15
Outside Evermoor


Dar’Jzo had not been so quick to lend out his bow and gutting knife this morning, and his thoughts were much harder to read than those of other people, but Wylendriel could sense there was a moment of deliberation and reflection before hesitating to hand them to her with a nod. She wanted to believe that it might had to do with her new reputation after the healing feats she performed back at the Smuggler’s Cove, but maybe he was just a generous sort. It was hard to tell. Regardless, it had been a while since she held a proper bow in her hands, remembering fondly back on the old horn longbows back in Valenwood. She was out of practice, and not just in shooting, but in hunting. The landscape of eastern High Rock was much craggier than the dense forests and jungles of her homeland, so she didn’t know where the local wildlife hunted for foraged. Her first few attempts on a deer’s life turned up nothing, and she saw nothing of its size since then.

But when she saw a fox weaving in and out of the rocks, she rested her back against a tree and harkened back to her old lessons. Feet in line with her shouders. Head turned ninety degrees away from where she’s facing. Begin aiming before you draw. Draw with the muscles in her back, not her arms – her back felt slightly numb ever since the cove, but not so much that it would distract her. Wylendriel pulled the string back toward her ear, her arms straight and rigid and the string brushing against her cheek. One eye was close while the other locked onto the fox like a hawk. Loose.

Fpt!

The arrow lodged itself in the fox’s neck, cutting its cry short before bleeding out in seconds. For a moment, Wy could almost hear the rustling of a dense forest canopy and a distant waterfall as the moment of the kill briefly made her feel at home and a slight, cool breeze passed over the field. She looked up at the sky as if that breeze was a sign. Are you still watching? She continued to stare into the blue sky with a single cloud hovering above, no thick canopy blocking her view. Then she broke out of her sense of nostalgia, and she shivered, remembering that she wasn’t in Valenwood anymore and the winds up north were much colder – though not as cold as Skyrim, all she had on her back was one of the sailors’ shirts. Her warm robes of wool, fur, and leather were irreversibly ruined, and aside from a few mementos in her bag, she had little else from home that she could still hold onto. Hunting was one of the few ways she could still hold onto her customs, and that would not be the last fox to die today.

Her sense of remorse brought on a single tear to roll down her cheek, curiously, as it was one that she did not expect to shed. Her remorse was quickly replaced by resolve, and as she brushed that single tear away, she said to herself, "Let that be the last one."



Used Sundries


Two dead foxes were laid onto a kitchen table in Used Sundries. The ramshackle room was fashioned into something that resembled a kitchen more than it did a real kitchen, and the small fireplace was repurposed for cooking instead of only warmth. Dar’Jzo was grateful to have his bow back and complimented Wylendriel on her hunt. Saddi, their new quartermaster, was grateful for fresh food that no one had to pay for and as looking forward to cooking it up to keep the company’s morale high before the banquet. Those two were apparently related in one way or another, so she found it curious that they conveniently happened across Saddi in Jehanna; unless it was Dar'Jzo's plan all along to reach the boy, in which case, she didn't give the old khajiit's cunning enough credit. It was somewhat endearing to watch the two of them interact with one another while Saddi tried to figure out the logistics of stuffing his grandfather into a box, the latter's indignant reception of the prospect, and the former's insistence on trying to make it as comfortable as possible.

Wylendriel, on the other hand, was grateful that she took the opportunity for her outing to hunt. She thought at first that she might find some comfort by releasing her pent-up anger and anxiety onto something, seeking an escape from a daedra’s torment, but instead found comfort in its mundane simplicity and the nostalgia it evoked. She didn’t what it meant, but figured after some time meditating on it, she would figure it out in time.

She slipped the hook end of Dar’Jzo’s knife slipped underneath the skin of their bellies, and with a careful yank down the center, its guts spilled open onto the waxed cloth covered kitchen table, which Saddi would wrap up and carry elsewhere while Wylendriel collected the pouring blood in a bowl -- a process which had quickly bloodied her own hands, but she seemed to pay very little heed to the macabre mess.

“Don’t throw it out.” Wy called after him, still focused on carefully separating the skin from the meat. “Save it; use every part of the animal.”

“Who’s going to eat this?” Saddi ask incredulously.

“Who doesn't eat sausage?” She replied with a question of her own, rolling the last edge of skin off and flipping the fox back onto the table. “Bones for arrows and bonemeal. These hides are for a trade for wool and tanned fur. If I’m going to pretend to be a Spinner, I need to dress the part.”

Saddi sighed. “Well, I’ve never tried making fox meat before. Or Spinner robes.”

“Brine the meat in salt water overnight with some kind of acid.” She said, scraping the leftover particles of fat and flesh still attached to the skin. “They won’t be traditional Spinner robes, but the Bretons won’t know that. Those who might would know Spinner robes are all leather, bone, and antler. They’re not banquet attire, so they could figure I might have simply redressed to fit in better.”

"You should allow me to do the trading, priestess!" Saddi insisted, dramatically gesticulating toward himself with a particular flair of confidence. "I mean no offense, but what is a, ah, priestess of naturalistic sensibilities to a Baandari vis-à-vis the art of the deal?"

"...Vis-a-vis?" Wylendriel repeated. She felt like she was supposed to be slighted, but was caught too off guard by the pleasantries of his voice, the content of his speech, and usage of his vocabulary to really decipher the meaning behind his words.

"It's a Breton phrase." Saddi explained dismissively with a wave of his hand. "But is that not the point? The business-khajiit must know his customer, yes? Shrewd Bretons would steal the clothes from your back with but words and coin, but I could steal the clothes from theirs instead. Trade is simply the métier of the Baandari! That was, ah, another Breton word, by the way."

"You sound very proud of your lineage." Wy noted.

"Should I not be? There has never been a finer clan to grace Tamriel, and our history goes back several eras!" Saddi beamed, looking to Dar'Jzo for approval. He simply grunted and seemed to give a critical glance that gave the proud and enthused Khajiit pause. Saddi's disposition shifted slightly before recomposing himself. This did not go unnoticed by Wy, who now found herself wondering the nature of their relationship and more about Dar'Jzo's past. Was he a Baandari too, then? The quiet and serious Khajiit didn't seem like a typical trader at all unlike Saddi, who was far more sociable and animated. Still, she felt that Saddi's presence was able to shed some of the mystery surrounding him, though she figured there would be many more mystery to be solved. More importantly, if Saddi was as capable as he was confident, then perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea for him to go in her stead.

"Very well, then..." She said, finding a slight smile sneaking onto her face. Saddi's pride in his family reminded her of her own. She felt a bit a worried that masquerading as a Spinner would be sacrilegious, but on another hand, she felt that it was a good way to honor them and show that she hasn't forgotten her roots. She had been reflecting on her own culture for a while now in preparation for this, and she felt more at ease because of it. Life and death was a cycle and the natural order of things. Though she regretted her inability to save the lives of those at the Smuggler's Cove, she was reminded that it wasn't the end. For the first time in a while, the mundane was able to bring her some semblance of peace. The terrors and horrors from a few fortnights ago seemed so far away in light of everything that has happened since then, but it also brought memory of why she has come so far to begin with -- her pilgrimage. She took a deep breath in and stared into the bowl of fox blood, observing her reflection in its red, shimmering surface. She wasn't the same person as she was before. The Bosmer who began this journey was afraid and uncertain.

Soon, she'll have to start over.
<Snipped quote by DearTrickster>

Sure. What's Maj's fake identity?

And Wylendriel's, @Spoopy Scary?


Maybe a Spinner named Silva. Which does mean some less fancy clothes, by Breton standards. Possibly as a plus one to one of the people joining who could feasibly have ties to Valenwood?
Wy needs to let loose and party and Dar'Jzo will be Schrödinger's Cat.



"Oh no," Kashmira declined Reyna's offer with a chuckle. "She'll set off the wrong person soon enough and get the lesson she needs."

At this, Reyna could only smirk and shifted her weight over on her rear leg. So this Kashmira girl was more of the passive type. If it was Reyna on the receiving end, then it definitely would’ve been on the wrong person, and she was just about to suggest being that wrong person so that it never happens again, but she held her tongue. It was probably smart of her to not cause any waves on her first day, and besides, there were probably bigger fish to fry than some girl who bumped into her by accident. Still, as Reyna looked around, she noticed that many of the other students around her seemed younger than she was! It would probably do some good for these super-dorks if she had them under her wings.

"I just hope she'll accept my apology in time - but I think we should leave that behind us, yes?" Kasmira continued. "How about we all sit down and eat together? Talk about life and things?"

Reyna could barely stifle a grin at her offer – fitting in here was gonna be a whole lot easier than her entire high-school experience. “Y’know what,” Reyna said, “sure! Why not?”

The girl with the cute haircut who was with Kashmira and previously helping her to her feet introduced herself by saying, “I’m Aubrey by the way, but most people call me Bree.”

“My name’s Reyna!” She replied with a beaming voice. Pivoting on her heels, she turned around and started walking towards the tables. Swiveling her head back around, she called back to them, “I’ll save you a seat so you can go and get more food, Kash!”

As she found a place to sit, she snickered to herself. Kash. That was a good one, ‘good job, Reyna.’ That was a nickname that was probably gonna stick, and now she was just waiting for the opportunity to call her Kash-Money. Boy, wouldn’t that be rich?
I think all of us are suspect to electrocution.

Actually, I think Kai would be less susceptible. Electricity wants to meet the ground.
Don't be so hard on yourselves, y'all. The posts are looking great!
Reunion


11th of Last Seed, Afternoon
Jehanna


The deed was done and as far as Dar’Jzo was concerned, that was that. It was foul business, but there was nothing else to ruminate on.

In truth, it wasn’t the individual jobs that marked him, it was the lifestyle in and of itself – the jobs were simply one part of the larger framework. What disturbed Dar’Jzo where his memories of the life of crime he led in his youth. He remembered the anguished faces of skooma-addled sugar-paws in Senchal, knowing full well that the poison he concocted were stealing their lives and happiness away and slowly killing them. He remembered the gang violence that he took part in, conducting hits on rivaling dealers in anticipation of the very same being done to him. In his quest for the survival and nourishment of his family, he lived an immoral life kept secret from his family. Some might even say evil, and Dar’Jzo would not argue with them, for he could sleep well at night fully aware of the consequences of his actions as long as he could rationalize it as being for the good of his family, and what it took for him to finally end the lifestyle was for the consequences to turn and take his lover away from him.

It took him a long time after that to come to terms with those consequences. Perhaps he never did, at least not entirely. It was unfair for his old life to take Lalana on an early path the Sands Behind the Stars instead of him, who deserved life far less than she did. That said, it was an earth-shaking wake-up call that gave him a chance to see the error of his ways and an opportunity to change and redeem himself in the eyes of his gods, and to be there for his grandson in the capacity that he was incapable of fulfilling for his daughter. He spent several years, slowly finding peace with himself, until it was time to sacrifice that peace for the sake of his grandson. The Mane and his spymaster, Ra’gajal, took his happily ever after from him and forced him into a life of subterfuge and murder; to tread through Sangiin’s hollow. So the individual jobs couldn’t faze him, he already knew how to disassociate himself from his actions and how to rationalize them. What disturbed him was his return to the immoral lifestyle and that retirement seemed to be a far, distant dream.

That’s why, Dar’Jzo thought, it was so important to find Saddi. Once he could ensure the safety of his grandson, all deals were off. As far as he was aware, he was Ra’gajal’s only eyes in this region. If he were to disappear, no one would know the truth, and Saddi would be safe under his careful watch. Now that Dumhuvud was no longer a danger, he could search for Saddi with ease. He was supposed to have met with Edith today to inherit one of the dead’s old bow to replace the one he had, which was destroyed in the battle, but that would have to wait for now.

Sadri, on the other hand, was supposed to have been traveling here by wagon along with other College refugees. Perish the thought that he could be wounded, but that was the thought that first entered his mind as a worried grandfather. He first checked where the injured were being held, but was simultaneously relieved and disappointed to find no Saddi – not even a khajiit. No one who wore robes looked like students or academics of any sort. It raised even more questions about where Saddi could possibly be. He took very well to the Baandari culture and was a shrewd salesperson; a snakeoil salesperson, but a salesperson nonetheless. He had a knack for illusions and sleight of hand, and the last he recalled, he was learning how to be an enchanter. He may have been at a local mystic’s shop. Perhaps he was perusing magical wares since he seemed to be so interested in smoke and mirrors – kids.

But he wasn’t there either. Dar’Jzo entered the store being ran by an older Breton woman, probably around his own age, who was keeping an eye on a younger shopper perusing through her merchandise. Her eyes trailed over to meet Dar’Jzo’s cold eyes, but it did little to diffuse her own warmth. She said, “Good evening! How can I help ya, sweetheart?”

“Have you seen a young khajiit?” Dar’Jzo responded candidly. “Gray Suthay-raht with black stripes and white splotches.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied remorsefully, “no one like that has come in lately.”

“What’s their name?” Suddenly asked the man looking around the store. He was a young Imperial fellow of Nibenese descent who seemed to be eyeballing Dar’Jzo carefully, who, in turn, set his cold gaze on him. He knew something.

“Saddi. Of clan Baandari.”

“And you…?”

“He is Dar’Jzo’s…” Dar’Jzo stopped for a second and hesitated, realizing that Dar’Jzo was not the same person. “He is Dro’kil’s grandson.”

The Imperial boy’s eyes lit up with what seemed like a look of recognition, as if he was meeting a famous person for the first time, and suddenly Dar’Jzo was wondering what Saddi has been saying about him. The boy stammered, “For real? U-uh, yeah, okay. Okay. Um, yeah, Saddi’s in town. I’m Lulius. Or, uh, Lu if you’d rather.”

“Where is he?” Dar’Jzo continued, cutting through the bullshit.

“Right, uh… Saddi’s been… well, you know what happened to the College of Winterhold, right? Utterly destroyed. A lot of our friends died. Saddi is normally larger than life, but he didn’t take it very well. He’s been trying to talk to the Legion Reserves camp a lot lately. I don’t know what his plans are, but I’m worrid about him.”

Dar’Jzo didn’t stick around long enough to ask any further questions, walking out as soon as he had a location, leaving a stunned and nervous Imperial named Lu to his own devices as he went searching for the Imperial Reserves encampmet. What was Saddi thinking? That boy might not have known the true extent of the sacrifices Dar’Jzo made for him, but surely he did know – or at least figured – that he had to pull a lot of strings to get him off the hook for the draft. Now here he was, itching for a fight. What was he gonna do with that cub?

The encampment wasn’t hard to find. Keeping on the made road in town brought him to the front gates of the city, and situated outside were a series of tents and cabins.The colors of a slender Imperial flag rippled high in the air, and many soldiers seemed hard at work to keep logistics on the up and up and their skills sharp. As he stepped deeper into the encampment, he saw a few men and women who were circled around a campfire, and among them, a gray khajiit with black stripes and white splotches, wearing a blue short-sleeved robe over a burgundy shirt and a gray sash across his waist. Sitched into the fabric looked like handmade patterns which reflected Khajiiti culture, and they were tending the cooking pot that sat on what looked like an old, grated metal footstool above it – Saddi. Saddi was always crafty and loved to cook for others. The nature of Lu’s description contrasted with the sight Dar’Jzo saw before him. As he tended the cooking pot, he seemed to be entertaining the Legionaires, probably feeding them some kind of bullshit story or another in addition to the stew he was making. Dar’Jzo could smell it from here; it was one of Saddi’s favorite and iconic recipies, and he called it Saddi’s Senchal Stew, apparently shirking creativity in favor of alliteration and having his name attached to something. He always did have a penchant for desiring some kind of fame.

His staring caught the attention of some of the soldiers sitting around the campsite, who in turn stared back and muttered to one another suspiciously. One of them nudged looked at Saddi and nudged their head towards Dar’Jzo’s direction, and when Saddi turned his head in his direction, time seemed to stand still. Blessed be Alkosh, who granted Dar’Jzo what felt like an eternity to stare upon his grandson’s face within the breadth of a moment. Their eyes were locked upon each other, as if neither of them could believe that the other was standing before them. Dar’Jzo took a small step forward, and suddenly Saddi came sprinting from across the camp. In what seemed like a blink of an eye, his grandson crossed the distance and wrapped his arms around him. Dar’Jzo felt his heart swell and returned the gesture, squeezing him tight and not wanting to let go. It was as if he feared that if he did, then he would slip from his grasp and he’d never see him again. He was holding him, he was real, and he silently prayed to the Gods to finally let him have this one moment.

“Grandfather…” Saddi breathed into his his shoulder. His accent of his voice was not as heavily accented as Dar’Jzo’s, the result of growing up in a far more cosmopolitan Senchal than his grandfather did. “How?”

“This one heard of the news… so he charted a few boats to find you.” Dar’Jzo softly whispered back. This prompted a minor laugh of disbelief from Saddi.

“But you loathe water.”

“Yes,” Dar’Jzo admitted, “but he is loath to lose you even more.”

This time, the laughter from Saddi seemed more genuine. He said, “That was a pun. Really? A joke from you? Gods, the world really is ending, isn’t it?”

As if hearing his voice pulled Dar’Jzo back into reality, his frustration began to catch up with his joy and relief. The hand he kept rest on one of Saddi’s shoulder slid across his back and held the back of his head… before suddenly tightening his grip on his grandson’s scruff and pulled back on it.

“Gah!” Saddi suddenly yelped, putting himself at Dar’Jzo’s mercy as his body and limbs locked up and he stood on his toes, keeping himself still in Dar’Jzo’s grip as if the latter had complete and total control over him with one little movement. Though still, his eyes darted down toward him and he managed a sheepish grin. Dar’Jzo met it with a cold, stern glare.

“What are you thinking?” He asked. “This one goes through the effort of pulling many strings so that his ma’jor can live his best life. Then, when he crosses the oceans of Tamriel to find out if Saddi survived the Akavir, he finds him licking soldiers’ boots?”

“Pops, listen…”

Pops? What is this pops?”

Dro’ahnurr – listen… it’s more complicated than that.”

“Hm?” Dar’Jzo urged inquisitively, pulling him closer by the scruff, though the inflection in his grunting sounded more unconvinced than curious. As he did, though, he looked at Saddi in his eyes as a wave of remorse and grief washed over him. When this dawned on him, Dar’Jzo slowly released his grip from the back of Saddi’s neck, who was now beginning to relax. His shoulders were now slumped.

“What you heard was right. The Akavir attacked the College. Dro’ahnur, I… I lost so many friends there. I lost my future.” Saddi said as his voice slowly beginning to enter a growl. His hands were tightening into fists. “I can’t leave everyone behind me after something like that.”

“Yes you can.” Dar’Jzo said flatly as he began to turn back. “Come now, we’re going home.”

Saddi looked at Dar’Jzo indignantly, his mouth agape, and a fire beginning to stir in his eyes. “W-what? No! I can’t just go back!”

“Yes,” Dar’Jzo repeated, “you can.”

“We’re past this now.” Saddi asserted with anger rising in his voice. “I’m no cub anymore. You can’t make me leave. Look – I – you – how did you even find me? How’d you know where to even look?”

“This one found passage with the company of mercenaries. They do not matter now. We should leave before they understand that Dar’Jzo is not one of them.”

“Dar’Jzo?” Saddi repeated in bewilderment. “Who is that? And are you talking about Gustav’s company?”

Dar’Jzo paused for a moment and looked at Saddi carefully. He asked, “What do you know about Gustav?”

“He came by last night to talk to speak with the General, I think. Word had already traveled around about the ship carrying a mercenary crew that did battle with the Akavir, so we figured it had something to do with that. Are you saying those are the mercenaries you’ve been travelling with?”

Dar’Jzo said nothing in response, fearing that anything he said would only fuel his whims.

“Is it true?” Saddi pressed.

Dar’Jzo reluctantly replied, “…This one has not seen or fought with any Akavir.”

“No, that was the Golden Sload, wasn’t it?” Saddi said. “I heard the stories. You would’ve been there, wouldn’t you? Dro’ahnurr, why have I never known you could fight?”

“There is a lot you do not know about your dro’ahnurr, ma’jor. Perhaps it is for the best.” Dar’Jzo said cryptically. “But this is no place or time to discuss such things. There is no honor in being a mercenary. We must leave.”

Saddi shook his head, steeling his resolve. “I’m not going.” He said frankly. “Introduce me to the company. I’m going to join them.”

“You will certainly not.”

“And why not?”

“Why should you?”

“So I can be at peace!” Saddi raised his voice. “So that when the Akavir get what’s coming to them, I can rest easy knowing that I played my part!”

“Revenge?” Dar’Jzo hissed, leaning forward into Saddi’s face, his voice getting deeper and deeper until it became a snarl. “Does Saddi think he can stomach that sort of burden? Does he think that a few dead monsters can fill that cold little hole his friends left him with, or that he can carry that hot piece of ember without getting burned?”

Then his snarling turned to roars, “Because Dro’kil thought the same! Dro’kil thought the same when Saddi’s dra’fado, Lalana, lay dead in his arms! That pain will NEVER go away! You will not honor your friends by throwing your life away!”

There was a moment of silence between the two of them – too silent. Dar’Jzo looked around and realized that he was still in the encampment, and all of the Legion soldiers were staring the tumultuous reunion between a grandfather and his grandson. He found himself taking heavy breaths after his outburst, and his eyes darted back down at Saddi, who just looked somberly back at him with his ears flattened. Dar’Jzo made a deep and heavy sigh of defeat.

“Dro’kil was not there for Dra’datta when it mattered the most.” He resigned, as if he was admitting defeat. “He would not deserve to find warm sands if he was also not there for you.”

Dro’ahnurr…” Saddi rasped pitifully. “They destroyed my second home. They killed my friends…”

Dar’Jzo dipped his head in understanding and said, “Then truthfully? There is no way this one can convince you to walk away?”

Saddi shook his head no. Dar’Jzo sighed as he began to feel the weight being placed on his chest and shoulders once more. He looked around at the Legion soldiers around them and shook his head, before placing his hand on top of Saddi’s and said, “If Baandari is good at something, then they never do it for free. Speak to Edith. The company recently lost its leadership, so chain of command captains the quartermaster. The company will need someone to pick up her former duties. They need a new quartermaster.”

Saddi suddenly wrapped his arms around Dar’Jzo and rested his head on his grandfather’s shoulder and muttered a thanks under his breath.

“I love you.” He also said.

Dar’Jzo held him too, once again finding gratitude and relief that Saddi was safe. Still, there was an inkling of doubt in the back of his head. An air of uncertainty. He wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing here or not.

“Dro’kil loves you, too.” He uttered back gently, but in his mind, he was saying something very different.

‘Mother Cat, what have I done?’
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