SOMEONE DRAW ANGRY GNOME ASTARION N O W

SOMEONE DRAW ANGRY GNOME ASTARION N O W 😫

Had a stupid idea of the BG3 group getting magically race swapped Dungeon Meshi style

Shadowheart - Githyanki (pretends she is unaffected, but is actually screaming internally and that close to losing it)

Lae'zel - Human (utterly disgusted at THE NOSE)

Gale - High Elf (the orb is still there, but his glorious beard isn't)

Wyll - Drow (the very drow Baldurian romance novels want them to be, call him Rizz't. but also give him a hug because the poor man is getting tired of all these uncalled transformations)

Astarion - Gnome (inconsolable. defeated. grieving. refuses to leave his tent. the "you laugh you lose your femoral artery" challenge)

Karlach - Dragonborn (smoking hot, soldier!)

Halsin - Halfling (the most ripped, beefiest halfling you've ever seen, excited about the new perspective. climbing Mt. Halsin is not an option, but people want him to climb them now)

Chapter 10 aaaa!!! Things really start picking up now as the siege has put its pressure on Ilucia to the point of nearly breaking it, a strange visitor all but seemingly an omen for turning tides.

Still editing the earlier chapters, so stay tuned for those edits!!! And all feedback welcome, of course please and thank you 😌

tw: blood, death, bodily harm, horror, war, food shortages

Tag list: @skidotto @idonthaveapenname

Ch. 10

“You know,” Maureen was covered from fingertips to forearm in slick blood, the pungent smell of iron and the very beginning of decay permeating throughout the dank room beneath the cabin. “There are those who would have us hanged for what we do.”

Starla etched away at the blade of the old knife, intricate runes taking a long while to carve on such a sharp and old piece of silver. The dust piling on the table was picked up by a gust of wind gently sailing through the open window. “Since when have you cared about those who’d hang us?”

Elisa grunted with disdain as she held the struggling sack of birds underwater, the churning quickly fading away as they met their deaths. “It’s one thing to be heretical,” she mumbled, her breath heavy as a bead of sweat dripped from her brow into the now still sink, “It’s another to do what we find ourselves doing.”

The three of them continued to work mostly in silence. It had become routine, yet none of them found comfort in it. When they closed their eyes at night, they no longer dreamt of each other’s warm embrace and being at one with Vitality. Instead, they bled carcass after carcass dry, praying to whatever gods they thought might listen to make each dying breath the last they would hear unless it be their own.

It was a true waste of what they could do, but they did it nonetheless. Each animal sacrificed; each child butchered… Was there any such thing as the greater good while you pulled the meat from the bones of a babe? Any grief felt when the hundredth dying heart was held in their hands, pink matter turning gray as the bucket at their feet filled?

The three of them sat amongst the riverbed as the child ate. Their feet were drifting in the clear water, the cold not enough to numb them the way they needed. The blood under their fingernails was dark and browning, no amount of river water able to wash it away.

“We’ll die before it happens,” Starla said, looking nowhere in particular as the sun began to set across the horizon. “If we’re bringing this upon the world, I don’t want to see it when it happens.”

Elisa nodded.

Maureen’s gaze didn’t change—it rarely did anymore.

“Let’s decide now.”

The three of them continued to sit in silence for a while. Starla knowing when she’d like it to end, Elisa never wanting it to, and Maureen wishing it would have long ago.

Maureen closed her eyes, breathing in the fresh earth around her as dug her blood-stained fingers into the dirt beneath her. “Everything we stood for was toppled in an instant. All the love we’ve ever felt greedily taken from us. There will come a time where our deaths will have that same impact on him. Then. That’s when we do it. I want him to hurt.”

~

It was dark. Late. Most men who had been well enough to be tended to in the manor’s once-banquet hall had found themselves hobbling on two feet again, well enough to stir a pot or muck the stables if not picking up the sword. The longer the barricade held, the more secure they became in their positions. Less of them were hit by the searching arrows as they learned where the best nooks and crannies were to seek cover, got quicker with the barrels of hot oil, rarely allowing the enemy to cross the threshold.

And yet the standstill was putting them all on edge. This wasn’t a matter of holding their ground; they could do that in their sleep. They needed an offensive play and, from behind a siege wall, it was far easier said than done.

“If you held the meeting and announced your loyalty, it would end. Isn’t that what we want? Isn’t that the goal?” Demetrius followed May at as close a range he could as she hurried through the halls.

She strode with purpose, her boots hitting the floor as thunder roared in the sky above the manor. “My loyalty has been sworn for as long as my bloodline has commanded Ilucia,” a slow pounding rhythm started sounding near the base of her skull as the rage in her blood boiled hotter, thicker, “and I am committed to the oaths I took.”

He sighed, grinding his jaw. “We’d never win against him. You know this.”

She shook her head, her hand gracing the sword in its hilt at her side, “This is not a matter of control to the crown—”

“Then what else!” His whispered shouts were hoarse, his eyes all but emerging from his skull as his face turned red.

May stopped in her tracks, facing him for a moment. Before her lips opened, he knew the answer.

“You don’t feel it? You don’t know?” the pounding in her head grew in strength, as did her conviction.

For just a second, they stood there in silence, the rain hitting the roof so far overhead.

“It ends tonight, Demetrius. When it does, you’ll see that I’m right.”

They made their way through the corridor and down the once-grand set of stairs, the few candle nubs and spent torches barely lighting the rough stone walls. The muffled sounds of the raging storm were both a blessing and a curse: only a fool would procure an attack under such circumstances, while the makeshift village of tents and shacks scattering the courtyard would all but be washed away in the aftermath. She’d have opened the doors to the manor weeks ago for more stable shelter had Demetrius not reminded her that she didn’t know who she could trust.

Oryn and Alec were already standing near the main entrance, shrouded by the shadows playing off the dripping walls and shuffling where they stood.

A shiver ran through Demetrius’s spine as he leaned towards May. “The boy can’t be a part of this.”

No one was summoned to the hall.

In fact, May hadn’t thought she’d be running into Demetrius as she assuredly slunk into her armor, peeking through darkened windows to see if she could spot any wayward fires amongst the storming winds. Of course, there were none.

When she opened the heavy oak door, his silhouette was lurking just beyond its precipice. Something’s about to happen, he’d said.

May took an uneven breath as she looked over Oryn’s figure covered by the heavy robes they wore to sleep. The bit of their body that she could see was taught, straining itself against something unseen.

They feel it, too.

“Alec, go back to your chambers.” May’s voice was firm.

His hair was ruffled at its ends, bits and pieces sticking up from what must have been restless sleep, if any at all. He wasn’t wearing any armor, just his boy’s pajamas. His cheeks flushed a deep, hot red as the pounding in his head slowly started to fade and he found himself for what he was.

He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat as he turned on his heel. “You’re… you’re all about to go and do something,” he muttered under his breath, not wanting to show how embarrassed he felt as the little boy who could barely hold a sword. “And I won’t be much help. But there has to be something. A reason to… Why’d I come down here?”

The rain continued its relentless beating against the manor. Time seemed to slow.

There was a slow, solid knock on the door behind them.

NEVER HIT THE REBLOG BUTTON FASTER IN MY LIFE--

I have the sincere vaginal hubris of knowing that I would ride Gale Dekarios so hard it would rewire his brain on a level no deity-focused, celestial, metaphysical orgy of the self ever could. You can absolutely conjure four of yourself to fingerbang me, beautiful, but what I'm doing is ancient earth magic. This pussy unknowable. This pussy arcane. Your ex is a goddess? I would rob her of the Weave with a single twerk. Grip is godless, timeless, aligned only with our natural instinct to get freak nasty. If the heavens sought to control they shouldn't have given me an ass this fat and a gender this fluid. I'm driving til I find a way to get you pregnant, taking that wizard staff waterdeep til they rename Cowgirl to Seahorse.

Wonderful and amazing art of my oc's by my wonderful and amazing artists friends ♡♡♡ @skidotto @thebluester2020

Definitley worth keeping up with this one !!!

Chapter 1 - A Cursed Arrival

still a draft - dm me if you wanna talk about it, I'd love nothing more!!

possible triggers ahead

--------------

Nettlos was a quaint village as magical as the next. Its wooden cottages and winding cobblestone roads were nestled between a forest and a mountain range. It was almost true that the streets and houses themselves exuded an unassuming charm, with its simple way of life and humble inhabitants. Most villagers would never dream of leaving to seek adventure, nor to bring about any sort of change to their perfectly routine lifestyle. In fact, nothing worth writing about had happened in around 120 years, since the last appearance of the Rothaaring constellation.

On this particular night, the cat constellation’s red eye shone brighter than the moon. Not a soul dared utter a word about the overhead demon. Windows bolted shut. Each door locked. Thieves afraid of being caught. Guards wary for their lives. Mothers gripped their children tight while fathers took stock of their belongings and prepared for the worst. All was still, not a single body dared roam the village streets under the intense red aura emanating above.

In one of the modest huts lining the quiet roads, Noka gripped her husband Ekel’s hand tightly. Why did today have to be the day the red-eyed beast shows its face? What cruel joke were the gods playing on her? Her heart tried breaking free of her chest. Her whiskers twitched as she sensed a shift in the air. She was powerless to stop it, her water had already broken. Her second born was doomed.

To be born under Rothaaring’s influence was to be cursed. Parents would often rather abandon their newborn in the cold night than let it suffer the life strewn with hardships that surely awaited it. It was a courtesy. After all, who would befriend the child knowing the stars themselves had conspired against it?

Ekel tried to stay strong. His wife needed him to be present. His palm moved gently against Noka’s soft brown fur. He cooed over her, whispering words of encouragement in what he knew to be her most trying time. Placing his forehead against hers, he silently prayed the gods keep the demon away from this otherwise pure moment. He knew he was fighting a losing battle, but dared not surrender to fear. His sheer desperation was all that kept his hopes alive.

●

Ekel genuinely believed he was a lucky man. He had managed to build a good life for himself, even finding the woman of his dreams. Her beauty was beyond compare in his eyes. Her cinnamon fur shimmered in the light, teasingly playing with the delicate flecks of white scattered through it like markings only he was meant to discover. Her deep umber eyes spoke of forbidden secrets hidden in the exotic lands she had travelled. Even as she gave birth, Noka maintained her position as the pinnacle of creation. She had been perfectly crafted by the gods solely for his possession.

Having seen the beauty of Catfolk in a painting he acquired when he was not yet a man, he sought to marry into their culture. He left his village at fifteen years of age, determined to turn his fantasy into reality. The whole village cheered him on, jokes made at his expense chasing him as he left.

The man obsessed with cats.

                        He’s only looking for a pet.

                                    He’ll never feel the touch of a real woman.

            His parents must be proud.

                        Imagine raising a weirdo like that.

                                    Why couldn’t he just find a regular wife?

And now, back at his childhood home left behind by his parents, he begged for good fortune to look upon him and his gifts once more. His wife had already given birth to an unnervingly perfect half-human Catfolk daughter in Mei, and he hoped to grow old surrounded by the otherworldly beauty he had spent his life longing for.

●

A sharp shriek pierced through the silence of that red night. Ekel was brought back to reality as he felt Noka’s grip tighten, her unsheathed claws digging into the back of his right hand, drawing blood. Her pants grew laboured, her eyes filled with distress. The pain was not dissimilar to having her insides being ripped to shreds. She couldn’t speak, her mouth opened and shut but no words would come out. She could only produce guttural growls and pained whimpers, the smell of blood and fear filling the air. The air scorched her dried throat, and she could almost taste the end of this colossal task approaching.

The wailing of a crying baby replaced Noka’s screams. Noka had birthed a healthy baby boy – a miracle, considering the circumstances. Dizzied from exhaustion, her head fell flat onto the bed she lay upon, her neck giving under the weight, her eyes pulling themselves shut. Noka whispered, “hold on to him for me,” her voice strained and weak. She just needed a few moments of rest after this particularly draining birth, which was far more difficult than her last one.

Cradling his pride softly in his arms, Ekel beckoned Mei into the room to meet her new brother. He rocked and bounced until the walls stopped echoing the child’s piercing cries. Stopping for a second, Ekel brought the child down to Mei’s eye level so that they may get acquainted. Her eyes sparkled with excitement when she saw him. The boy’s white fur separated into patches, and he was smaller and meeker than Mei was at birth. His head was even disproportionately small for his ears, but she’d still swear that he was the cutest thing she had ever seen in her five years. Ekel thought to himself “Thank the gods your lot aren’t born in litters. Otherwise, you’d be the runt of the bunch, huh?”

Mei reached out to touch her brother’s hand and her already wide eyes grew even larger when he grabbed hold of her finger. Her mouth dangling in awe, she gasped and squealed, her elation reaching fever pitch. Ekel chuckled softly and felt his heart well with pride as he watched his children interact. He couldn’t help but imagine that Mei would make a great older sister, and probably a strong mother to a lucky man in the future. A small pang of jealousy shot through Ekel’s gut at the thought of another man being the recipient of Mei’s love. All was well and, for just the briefest of moments, thoughts of the Rothaaring had completely slipped Ekel’s mind.

The boy’s large ear twitched suddenly, and he quickly let go of Mei’s finger. His arms thrashed. His cries resumed, with a desperation that seemed unnatural for a newborn. Alas, he was too young to understand what he had heard, but the severity was instinctual. Mei bolted away, her head tilting slightly downward, her golden eyes trained on her brother. Ekel bolted up and resumed his lulling bounce, trying to hush the child for fear the ruckus would wake his resting wife. His newborn son kept stretching his back and tilting sideways towards Noka. Ekel stopped his motion as it was all he could do to not drop the baby. All the commotion caused meant that neither Ekel nor Mei paid any attention to Noka, and thus neither of them could have noticed.

Mere seconds before the child had started fussing, Noka’s breathing had started to slow. She lay still, her head resting on her pillow as she waited for the dizziness to subside. Her chest barely moved as her shallow breaths continued to grow further apart from one another. In her dreamlike state, she could still make out the child’s coos and Mei’s sweet gasps of delight. She could still smell her scent on the child and could track Ekel’s slight peaceful sway. A soft smile spread across her lips for just a moment as she imagined the serene image of her family welcoming her newborn son. A smooth tranquillity started spreading from her chest, and as she tried to open her mouth to call to her family, she faltered. For just a couple of seconds, she lingered in the room before passing on, her heart’s final beat longing for her son.

●

The newborn’s cries had finally subsided, although it still seemed stressed. Ekel couldn’t understand what could have set his son off so quickly, but he was relieved to see that Noka managed to sleep through the crying.

“Noka managed to sleep-?” His own inner voice trailed off, disbelieving the thought as it occurred. He moved towards her and noticed the boy had stopped swaying about and pulled towards his mother.  The air didn’t feel right to Ekel. He could feel the shifts almost crawl up his skin. The closer he got to his wife, the deeper his gut fell.

“She’s not moving.”

His inner voice didn’t trail off then.

“Is she even breathing?”

“Why isn’t she moving?”

“What happened?”

“How didn’t I see it?”

The questions almost overlapped in his head. His thoughts moving too quickly for him to follow.

“Shippai,” he murmured, barely a whisper. “Shippai! Shippai! Shippai! Shippai!” His voice had started to grow louder with every mention of the word. He looked down at his newborn son and cursed him with one of the only words he had picked up from Noka, failure. His son had caused this. This wasn’t a miracle; this was the curse the gods had bestowed on him for daring to chase his dream. What else could be expected from the Rothaaring’s apparition in the sky on that very night? Shippai was a name that befit his greatest failure and so, the boy’s name had been decided.

●

Although Mei didn’t know what that word meant, she had heard it some months before. She was playing in the front garden when she heard a loud clatter and her mother screaming, “shippai!” She peeked inside through a small hole in between the wooden door’s planks that would usually serve as her spy-hole to watch over the village. The pot had spilled all over the floor and Noka was holding her hand in pain, almost using that word as a mantra. Mei watched, cautious not to make a sound, as her mother kept muttering to herself and started cleaning up, slamming everything as she moved it around. Suddenly, Noka turned to face the door, and started marching towards it. Mei fell over backwards in surprise and her mother instinctively picked up her pace to check on her.

After checking that Mei hadn’t hurt herself, Noka asked her to come help her clean up the mess inside. Mei was still afraid of her mother’s outburst and noticed that her eyes were still a half-squint, and her ears hadn’t yet straightened. This was not the right time to ask, but Noka picked up on her five-year-old daughter’s not-so-subtle stares.

“What is it?” She didn’t mean to snap, and she made a mental note to herself to calm down, but she could still feel her hand throbbing in pain.

Mei got flustered and looked around nervously. She had to muster up the courage before she looked up to her mother and asked, “what’s a shippai?”

Noka’s eyes widened, and her ears fell flat against her head. “That’s a very heavy word.” She said, chuckling nervously, “I have to carry it on from your grandfather, but it hurts my voice when I use it. Promise mummy you’ll never say it again.”

“It’s… heavy?” Mei’s head tilted and her brow furrowed. The word didn’t feel heavy when she said it.

“Yes, child.” Noka crouched to meet Mei’s eye level and held her hands tenderly. “And the more you use it, the worse it hurts. Mommy made a mistake and used the word, but you cannot repeat it, understand?”

●

Noka’s outburst when she lost her temper on that day could not compare in the slightest with the rage Ekel was showing. Her father’s face was on the verge of turning purple, veins pulsing in both his neck and temple. He was forgetting to breathe in his compulsion to release his fury in a hurl of curses toward his own son. Mei’s tail hung low, and she instinctively crouched down into foetal position, tears welling in her eyes. What could her newborn brother do that could cause this? She shut her eyes and folded her ears against her head, reaching up to hold them shut. Maybe she was wrong to think she’d have fun with her little brother.

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taglist: @glbettwrites @keter-kan (text me to join this super exclusive club :D)

Back with Chapter 7! How are we feeling about the balance between povs's and flashbacks? Trying to balance the emotional integrity of the scenes and worldbuilding can be difficult.

The aftermath of the surprise siege is upon them, May and her men needing to prepare for what comes next.

tw: mentions of death, bodily horror and harm, murder, war, blood

Ch. 7

It took what remained of May’s men another hour to clear the courtyard of all attackers, and another few hours after that to properly barricade the main square of the small town surrounding the manor. There was a line of destruction straight through the middle of the once beautiful yard, showing where the other troops had marched through to get to the Manor—to Oryn.

Scouts were sent out into town to assess the damage and bring as many townsmen into the barricade as they could. Although most men of the duchy were already wielding weapons under May’s command, any that couldn’t still find themselves wanting to serve her in any way that they could. The entire population was loyal to May’s blood, not a single one of them turning down the chance to defend their homes when asked.

As May paced back and forth in front of the main gate to the courtyard and watched her men scurrying back and forth to make sure everything was set before they were attacked again—which they most definitely would be considering the slaughter wrought today. The only thought raging through her pained head about Oryn and their safety and whether or not this attack could potentially have anything to do with them.

It’s obvious, she thought. They wouldn’t have gotten into the attic… they were tracking him, listening to me. This had everything to do with Oryn.

Demetrius came limping towards her, still a hulking form despite his burns and other miscellaneous injuries.

“The barricade is sufficiently guarded and secure, my Lady. Scouts are being directed to their designated areas as we speak,” he said through a hoarse throat, hacking up a glob of ash-stained phlegm, the bit of blood staining the dirt beneath them.

May shook her head, worry plaguing her. “I can’t afford to lose my Chief General, Demetrius. You need medical attention. Go,” she commanded, looking him up and down with scrutiny.

He held her gaze longer than usual; he never liked letting her know how much pressure he held. And yet, just this once, he let his eyes meet hers.

May shuffled where she stood, crossing her arms. “That wasn’t you, was it?”

“No,” he only let the shock play on his face for a moment. “But that wasn’t you, either, I surmise.”

Word travels fast. It’d been a half a day since May had skewered one of her own men, the blood that served her own staining her blade. How many know? Does he? It was a question that had never crossed her mind before: how much would it take for her men to betray her?

Demetrius towered over her, and yet his presence was that of a scared child. “Do you think it was him?” he murmured.

May took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. “I do. But I don’t think he knows.”

Demetrius shook his head. “How can he not know?”

A small group of scouts was seen scurrying through the growing crowds, the townsfolk clearing the way with loud shouts and demands of clearing the way.

~

Maureen paced the length of the cabin, her long hair flowing softly behind her in a graceful waft. Elisa sat upon the cushioned stool with her back as straight as a board, following Maureen back and forth. Starla was merely prepping the afternoon tea, humming a soft song to herself.

Oryn sat beside Starla on the soft wooden counter. It always smelled so lovely when Starla was the one to make the tea. Oryn could never figure out what made hers different from the other two; it just tasted better.

They could all but see the haze of tension cascading over the room. It was terrifying in a way that made their hair stand on end. Oryn couldn’t think of a time when any of them ever expressed so much fear before. Well, once. But that was another matter entirely, nothing like this.

“When he arrives,” Maureen mumbled, “we need to have a plan. We need to be ready to strike before he decides to do anything drastic and—”

“He won’t,” Elisa interrupted. She slowly stood up, stretching her neck and back. “It won’t come to that. However, I do think a plan needs to be set, just in case.” Her hard eyes met Maureen’s, something unspoken being shared between them.

Oryn all but jumped in their seat as Starla stopped her humming and spoke up. “You’re both so cynical,” she chided, sighed as she grabbed a few mugs from the cupboard. “He’s the one that left him with us. If anything, he’s the only other living thing on the face of this good land that shares our goals.” She started to set the small table with their finest placemats.

“But what if—”

“You shouldn’t expect—”

Starla shot them both a glance, the fire roaring in the mantle behind Maureen dulling under her gaze. “We are more than capable of handling ourselves. How much do you think the poor old man truly knows of us? Of our capabilities? Whatever you assume of him, stop. He’ll be here sooner rather than later and the last thing I want is for him to feel as if he’s unwelcome. We need to discuss what comes next. And Oryn,” she said, turning to them. “Don’t ask too many questions. In fact, ask none at all.”

It was rare of Starla—of the three of them—to set her boundaries with such brute force, letting her powerful senses overtake her and express themselves. They decided to listen.

She continued to set the table and arrange the baked goods and tea, letting Oryn have a small taste of the honey and sugar. As Maureen and Elisa sat down at the table to wait, their gazes towards one another never broke. The air was electric with their fear.

There was a knock at the door.

The forest was silent with anticipation.

Maureen and Elisa stood from their seats. Starla opened the door.

The man who stood there was old and frail, the white wisps of hair on his head matching the scraggly beard flowing down his chests. The gray robes were modest and seemingly understated for someone of his status.

“Hello, High Councilor,” Starla said, smiling with pride and bowing just slightly to show her respect.

“Please,” Jonas said, “No need for such formalities.” As he returned her smile, Oryn saw a heaviness in his eyes. He reached an arm around Starla’s shoulder, Starla leaning in and hugging him.

“It’s good to see you. You look well,” he said, pulling away to take a look at her.

Her smile softened as she looked him over, a different weight heavy in her own gaze. “As do you. Please, come sit,” she said, beckoning to the set table full of pastries and tea. Maureen and Elisa both curtly nodded their heads as they waved towards the man, sitting after doing so and starting to fill their own plates. Oryn took that as the queue to fill their own.

They sat for a few moments in silence as they ate and drank, Oryn delighting in the fact that they were being allowed so many treats. They didn’t notice the odd glances and long stares from the four adults at the table with them.

“You look well, child,” Jonas said, setting his napkin down on his emptied plate, letting his cup sit idly on its saucer.

Oryn looked from Maureen to Elisa to Starla, each of them glaring into his soul with their own piercing gaze as if they were each willing what words to come out of their mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Oryn said, making eye contact with the man as they swallowed the last of their pastry. “But I don’t think I know you.”

Jonas nodded, leaning deeper into his chair. He took a long, deep breath. “How much have these lovely ladies told you about how you came to be here?”

Oryn’s brows furrowed in confusion as they once again looked from one witch to the next. Now, though, the three of them each avoided their gaze, squirming in their seats.

They knew an opportunity when they saw one.

“Not enough,” they mumbled, their own gaze darkening as something deep within them said it wouldn’t be smart to ask.

Jonas nodded yet again, maintaining his gaze with them. The witches sat silently in their seats.

“Your mother,” Jonas started, tapping a finger on the table, “she died.”

Oryn nodded. “Yes. And that’s why the three of them take care of me,” they said, gesturing towards where they sat.

“That’s right,” he sat up straighter in his chair, leaning forward as his gaze grew deeper. “I’m the man that got you here. To make sure someone could take care of you.”

Oryn nodded, not understanding the behavior of the witches; what could possibly be so nerve-wracking about an old man with a soft spot for a motherless baby?

“My mother,” Oryn’s curiosity had gotten the better of her. “You knew her then?” their voice was innocent, yearning.

Jonas smiled widely, finally breaking her gaze. “I did,” he said, a small frown creeping to his face. “I knew her well.”

“What was she like?”

The three witches’ necks all but snapped as their heads swiveled and their gazes met Oryn’s. It must have been one of the questions she wasn’t allowed to ask.

They were all silent again for a moment, a solitary tear brimming in his eyes and running down Jonas’s cheek. “She was wonderful,” he muttered more to himself, “and dedicated and beautiful. It was a shame she had to pass so young.”

The relief was palpable, everyone’s shoulders relaxing and sighs being let out.

“Oryn,” Starla said, a forced smile splayed on her lips and an edge behind her voice. “Go outside and play. We have important work we have to do with Jonas today.” Her eyes flicked to the door.

Oryn sighed, looking one last time at each member of the table before hopping off of their stool, grabbing a final pastry, and heading out the door.

Jonas shivered, his gaze becoming cold and hard as his fist slammed down on the table. “What is that?”

“He grows fast,” Maureen mumbled, “much faster than a human.”

“His appetite…” Elisa whispered.

Starla shook her head at them all, meeting Jonas’s gaze. “That’s a young boy,” she said, her voice firm and back straight. “A young boy who has been loved and provided for, even when the things we must provide are challenging and… unethical.”

Jonas closed his eyes, resting his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “It hasn’t even been a full five years,” he muttered to himself, “and he’s seemingly twice that age.” He lifted his head, his eyes meeting Starla’s. “Don’t you forget what he did to her. Do you understand me?” He stood from his seat, walking towards the window that overlooked the yard where Oryn had gone out to play. “That boy… that thing… the things he’s capable of…” he trailed off.

“You think we don’t know that?” Maureen snapped, twiddling her fingers in her lap. “You think we haven’t taken the utmost care in nurturing something your people think is the devil?” She scoffed, getting out of her own seat and standing next to Jonas, following his gaze out the window towards Oryn.

Starla stood as well, starting to clean the mess of the table. The daggers in her voice were sharp. “My good High Councilor, don’t you forget who have been the ones raising him all this time; the ones fighting to understand his nature, his abilities, his…” she trailed off, stacking cups in the wash-bin. “The things we’ve had to witness. And the worst of it is the fact that he has no idea what he’s capable of.”