Alphabet drabble challenge!

D is for Domestic

Dannamai sighed in exhaustion as she swung open the door to her home, Emmalin happily clinging to her shoulder. Shallahai looked up from her reading.

“How was your walk?” she asked.

“Your daughter ran away from me at the park.” Dannamai replied in exasperation.

“*My* daughter?” Shallahai queried.

“When she’s in trouble she’s *your* daughter. She ran off to play with the horsies. Now she stinks of them.”

Shallahai suppressed a laugh.

“Well, it’s good for her to explore” She said.

“I’m glad you think so” Dannamai replied, dumping the filthy child in her wife’s lap, “You can bathe her.”

U is for Understated

The two shadar-kai retired to discuss the monastery’s newest prospects.

Vrlisa shrugged. “I have my top picks – I’m sure you can guess.”

“Mmm,” Dzen affirmed contemplatively. “The tall boy, and the darker girl. Zealous and dull – you can have them.”

She snorted. “I suppose *you* want the crazy one.”

“Merely …sufficiently spirited, I believe. We’ll see if the two other boys will last.”

Decisions made, they returned to the hopefuls.

“Tzesira Rhob,” the monk addressed his top choice, looming effortlessly over her small frame. “You will call me Master Dzen – go and make a place for yourself with the neophytes.”

G is for Goat, the

“So you see where I’m coming from Mr. J?” the shifty looking bugbear grinned as he leaned back in the chair.

Jesseryn sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“I can certainly smell it”, he muttered.

“Excuse me?” Hruggek asked.

Jesseryn turned away from his office window and looked at his guest.

“Mr… Goat. My son engaged your services, and I’m willing to make good on his offer. This can be a very lucrative contract for you. However, if you call me ‘Mr. J’ again, the only thing you’ll be delivering for me is manure.”

Hruggek chuckled.

“Whatever you say, Mr. Callais.”

W is for Wanton

Against her better judgment, Alia had kept to the edge of the evening’s festivities, merely watching the performance at the room’s center. A fog of some intoxicant she didn’t care to identify at the moment wafted throughout, obscuring the already dimmed lanterns.

The reasonably handsome oaf between her legs was making a mockery of something she considered an art form, his enthusiastic vocalizations only annoying her further. Bracing, she made herself exhibit a short series of shudders, forcing a clipped moan past her lips. He looked up expectantly, an earnest smile on his insipidly average face.

“Lovely,” she replied, exasperated.

V is for Vivisection
Terror was an art, and Feyrmalken was a master. Pain was a key tool - and death, of course - but a true predator knew that the sweet taste of fear was best savoured by the prolonging of the first and the delay of the second.

The Thunderbolts had left this ogre for dead. He sunk one claw slowly into its abdomen, thinking of how the creature had pierced him with its javelin, baring his fangs as its eyelids flickered and its lips curled to scream. It wasn’t pre-seasoned with the terror of the hunt, but he enjoyed a challenge.

Q is for Question

Kier had recognized Cael’s voice when the artificer arrived, and was now taking no chances he’d miss the adorable noble on his way out. He did not, however, expect to literally bump into his crush outside Lord Callais’s bedroom.

“Oh, Kier, sorry, I didn’t…” Cael started.

“Master Scrye, Cael, I’m sorry, I wasn’t…” Kier began at the same time.

A moment of silence ensured, broken by round of simultaneous inquiries.

“Would you like to get some coffee?” Cael offered.

“Can I take you to dinner?” Kier asked.

The pair smiled, laughing. Unnoticed in his office behind Cael, Vedran smiled too.

J is for Journey

“Where in the Nine Hells are we going, anyway?” Sorrow asked as she idly leafed through a sheaf of research notes.

“Ahkas is all I know. Jacen hasn’t been especially specific,” Dhenirigan responded.

Sorrow sighed, letting the papers fall to her lap.

“You know that Uncle Melech was, well, a much more accomplished wizard than I am, right? I’m not sure I could retrace his steps even under optimal conditions.”

“My wife had a little saying for these sorts of situations. She rather annoyed the hells out of me with it during the war."

He smiled wistfully.

"'Don’t stop believing.'"

I is for Initials

Terica lay in Roth's arms, their bodies entwined from their first time lying together. The ceremony had been very successful, and the rest of the evening less awkward than she had imagined. She knew the marriage was one of convenience, but she hoped it would not be a loveless one. Roth seemed to be a good man, and she found herself wanting to know him better.

As he held her, her finger traced lightly over the letters ingrained on his wrist.

“What was her name?” she asked softly.

“Aleyn.” He replied, without inflection.

“Did you love her?”

“No”, he lied.

Q is for Quixotic

Even Aleyn was surprised by his optimism. A few weeks ago, he was certain his feelings were hopeless, but now it felt like maybe they weren’t. There were still issues to overcome, including some he didn’t understand and might not be able to fix even if he did, but when Vedran smiled at him they seemed to matter less.

He was willing to be patient, but he still wanted to let Vedran know he was thinking of him. He left the wildflower on Vedran’s bedroll one evening, knowing he would find it there, hoping he would understand what it meant.

G is for Gift

Roscoe hummed to himself as he sat by the campfire, rereading one of the many books he regularly consulted. He was absorbed in an engrossing problem of dimensional fluctuations and barely noticed as Sparky sniffed the air and hopped up, trotting off to follow an interesting scent.

A minute later, sparky trotted proudly back to his master and yipped lightly around the objects he was carrying in his metal mouth.

Roscoe looked down at the bouquet of wildflowers that sparky held in his mouth and gasped delightedly.

“For me?” he asked, “Thank you, Sparky! But wherever did you find these?”

E is for Electricity

Night was a great time for Roscoe to work in his lab. The only problem was the darkness. Surely it would have been easy to build better eyes? He marked that down on the ‘future projects’ list, and adjusted his headlamp.

Tonight he was restocking his special arrows. They were pretty usefull, but it wasn’t always clear if fire or electricity or acid were going to be better for any particular fight. After some deliberation and inventory checking, he summoned up some minor lightning elementals, intending to bind them into the metal shafts.

Well, they were the Thunderbolts, after all.

U is for Unexpected


Kallista gave Vedran a knowing smile as they were cleaning up after dinner. "I think someone left you a surprise!" Her excitement left him little doubt who she meant. As confusing as his feelings were right now, it was touching that someone would go out of their way to do something special for him.

He smiled back, answering noncomittally and trying not to hurry through the rest of his camp chores.

In his tent, he discovered a handful of crushed flower petals and a large wet stain spread across his bedroll. He certainly didn't know what to make of *that*.

W is for War

It was the third day of the siege and the dead were piling up around their walls. Luckily, most of them weren’t moving anymore.

Agyness hadn’t slept since the morning of the second day, and she could barely lift her trident. She nodded Alephos, the sergeant, into her position as she sat, surveying her exhausted contingent and the terrified villagers.

“That was close, captain,” commented Zenias as she offered Agyness water. “Any idea when reinforcements will arrive?”

“Reinforcements?” Agyness shook her head. “We’ll be lucky if supplies get here anytime soon. It’s not like we’re at war,” she added bitterly.

Tamarix hadn’t particularly wanted to take on an apprentice, but the Harrowdens were good people, and more importantly, good glassmakers. Teaching their boy would ultimately save her more than it would cost...

The sudden sound of something large and probably expensive shattering in the storeroom gave her reason to doubt that optimistic belief. After finishing up with a customer, she went back to see what was going on. Aleyn was making a valiant effort to gather up the dried wormwood, but it was thoroughly mingled in with the remains of the jar. “Hopeless,” she told him.

“Yes, Miss Nettle.” She only realized when he stood up and she saw how miserable he looked that he probably thought she meant him, not the effort of salvaging a few herbs. “Are you going to send me away?”

She looked up at the scrawny, awkward boy, far taller than her already at thirteen, and shook her head. “Don’t be foolish,” she told him gruffly. “Sometimes things break. Clean it up, and then get on with dusting the jars. By the time you’re done you should be able to see your reflection in every one of them.”

“Yes, Miss Nettle,” he said more brightly.

Y is for Yellow

The silver shears snipped gently through the rose stem at an angle as Jesseryn inspected the bright yellow flower, turning it to see every angle.

“This one” he said, handing it to the uniformed elf beside him, “This will be the centerpiece for the ambassador’s table.”

“Yes, milord” the attendant replied eagerly, taking the flower, “And may I say sir, an excellent choice. Your eye for detail is phenomenal.”

“In my position, it has to be” Jeseryn replied.

He made a mental note to fire the attendant. A man in his position also couldn’t afford to rely on obsequious toadies.

V is for Vindication

Delona stood on the steps of the Bureau and gazed across the darkening cityscape, fresh air clearing her reeling mind. After a grueling day battling an army of punctilious clerks and officious bureaucrats, it was finished. The implications of her registered -thanks, Vedran- Mark were grudgingly accepted and her status officially changed to Protected Citizen.

She smiled, fang tips peeking above dusky lips. It didn’t matter if she never learned the truth of her origins, she’d just changed her stars.

Trembling legs carried her down the mountain in time to a jaunty whistled tune. Vindication felt a lot like hunger.

(apologies for the length, I got carried away...)

As Roscoe had predicted, the orphanage's library was perpetually short on books for the younger children - they tended to get chewed on and torn and fought over, and so most of them didn't last very long. The couple dozen books Aleyn brought with him were quickly in the hands of the kids, and the sight of the previously unruly bunch all sitting around reading made him unreasonably pleased.

There was an impatient tugging at the leg of his trousers. He looked down and saw a little girl with tawny brown hair and golden eyes looking up at him with one of the new books in her hand. "Read it to me," she said without preamble. She was a shifter, and he guessed her age at around three.

"Uh, sure," Aleyn said, looking around for somewhere to sit down. The storyteller's chair was already occupied by Roscoe, who had a rapt audience, so he settled for getting down on the floor, sitting cross-legged. The girl wasted no time in curling up in his lap, impatiently opening the book - one of legends and ancient history, probably a bit old for her, but she didn't seem to mind since it also had plenty of illustrations. Whenever she got bored with a particular story, she'd just take charge and flip ahead to the next page, which made reading a bit challenging, but Aleyn took it in stride.

"What happened to your hand?" she asked him in the middle of a sentence.

Aleyn paused, resisting the urge to self-consciously curl it into a fist. "It... got hurt."

The little girl nodded sagely. "I got hurt too, in the big splosion." She tugged up her dress over her knees to show Aleyn the still-livid scars on her left leg. It looked like burn marks, but also as if something heavy had fallen on her ankle, which was a little twisted inwards, as if it hadn't quite set right. "And my mama died," she added almost conversationally.

"I'm sorry," said Aleyn. He thought about telling her that his father had died in the disaster too, but he didn't know if she would really understand, or if it might upset her to talk about it too much, so he settled for holding her a little closer. She nuzzled into the crook of his arm, but kept poking curiously at his scars.

"What's your name?" he asked her, thinking to distract her.

"Saiya. Does it hurt?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Not anymore." He didn't mention the occasional nightmares or panic attacks, figuring she didn't mean that sort of hurting.

"But your fingers are gone!" she pointed out, tentatively touching the stumps above his knuckles.

Aleyn forced himself not to jerk his hand away, instead letting her explore the pale, gnarled skin. "Yeah. But it's all right. Even though I miss them, I still manage pretty well even without them."

She nodded, but bent down to kiss the back of his hand anyway. "All better," she told him cheerfully, and turned her attention back to the storybook. "Read this one!" she ordered, pointing to a picture of a knight standing by a ruined tower in a dark forest, and, once he managed to pull himself together, Aleyn did just as she asked.

K IS FOR KILLER

Warryn kept the sickle sharp, but he couldn't say why. He had never once drawn it in combat, and didn't really expect to. Truth be told, the weapon was a little too ... personal for his tastes.

The warlock much preferred the sense of detachment his magic allowed.

Sure, his foes might be torn to shreds by spectral beasts or driven mad by horrific visions, but that wasn't him killing them -- it was the magic, and the fae power that wielded it through him.

HE was no killer, he told himself. Just a weapon. Like the sickle.

Somehow, that wasn't much comfort.

M is for Moonlight

The pale, full moon emerged from behind a tree as the two lovers walked arm in arm down the pathway of Highmark’s city park.

“It’s a beautiful night,” Thruik said, drawing Delona slightly closer “Just like you.”

The half-orc giggled, her heart fluttering in her chest. She leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Flatterer,” she teased, “I’m nothing special.”

The orc stopped and pulled her to him, leaning in to kiss her softly. His fingers brushed her dreadlocks back, his eyes lingered over the contour of her neck, the sharp outline of her Dragonmark.

“You really, really are,” he whispered.

X is for X-ray Goggles

With the goggles on, Cael looked bug-eyed and his hair stuck up around their straps. “They work by sending out rays that pass through some substances but not others, then bounce back to the diffracting crystal lenses,” he explained to Brenn, who nodded politely. Technical explanations weren’t his interest right now.

“What do they actually do, though?”

“Oh, right,” said Cael, cutting short his description. “Well, they let you see through things, which I’m sure you can imagine has many useful applications. Walls, say, or fabric...”

“Or clothes? ...Can I borrow them?”

“Momentarily,” Cael said, giving Brenn one more look.

L is for Love

Having said the words to Brenn didn't actually change the way Kallista felt at all. She'd been afraid that they would – they seemed strange and alien and powerful. But they were also true, and that was the trick of it. The words were just an expression.

Maybe she would have felt differently if he hadn't said them first, or if she hadn't been forced to face her feelings while she was trapped away in the Elemental Chaos. But things didn't seem so bad this morning, when she woke up in Brenn's arms and told him again that she loved him.

M is for Militia

She'd been worried it would be difficult to convince Monti that the expense was valid, given everything else they were prepping for. But she wanted her recruits to feel valued – like they weren't second class to the professional soldiers they were going to be fighting alongside. They'd been training hard, and Beryl was confident they would prove their value at Nachtur. She wanted them to feel as proud as she did.

It was a little touch, but the beaming grins on their faces during inspection told her that the troops were as pleased as she was about their new uniforms.

L is for Lord - Feyrmalken

“You’re entirely too attached to him,” Feyrmalken heard as he glanced over at the young warlock, the disembodied voice tinged with a hint of threat. Even surrounded by his ersatz ‘allies’, the panther couldn’t stifle the shudder that ran through him.

“Merely a promising investment,” he replied mentally, striving to seem nonchalant, “nothing more.”

“I do hope you aren’t plotting again; it was so terrible what happened to the last one,” the voice responded. “It would be a shame to see him lose even what he has left. Wouldn’t it, ‘Lord’ Feyrmalken?”

The voice trailed off into a sinister chuckle.

P is for Parents - Saiya and/or Mhireen

Saiya never had a father, and her memories of her mother were growing faint. Mhireen remembered his parents, but he didn't like to talk about them. Still, that didn't stop her from asking him sometimes, "What are parents for?"

"They take care of you," he said flatly. "They make you food and tell you when to go to bed and that you have to clean up your toys."

"Like here," she said confidently. The matrons at the orphanage did all of those things.

"No," he told her, not looking up from his blocks. "They tell you they love you too."

N is for Nervous - Thruik

“There’s just so much to do, and we’ve got a lot of other things to worry about,” Thruik exclaimed, taking a sip of the strong orcish coffee his mother had offered to settle his nerves.

“I’ve been married four times, “ Urza replied, smiling indulgently at her son, “It gets easier.”

“I’m hoping to only do it the once,” he said with a smirk. “Besides, you have a skewed view: you got married the first time on a battlefield.”

“From the sound of it, you will too.”

“Yeah,” he admitted glumly. “I’m just hoping my marriage doesn’t end on one too.”