Hi, November 9 was Telio's birthday, so I thought I might share this POV of the moment when Mc arrives at the Renegades' camp.
For this one, I chose to use my own Mc, Mewilen, but let me know if you'd like me to make it interactive so your Mc can appear.
The POV will be available for Tier Heart on Sunday. Until then only the Soul Tier members can read it
Telio opens his eyes with a start. The cold bars dig into his back, damp with night dew.
Outside, the air buzzes with sounds: boots sinking into the mudding ground, voices exchanging words he doesn't understand, his mind still clouded by a nightmarish sleep, the faint clinking of metal.
There are others. The rest of the group. Fantastic, he thinks sarcastically, despite the taste of bile rising in his throat.
He sits up slowly, his bones stiff and muscles sore from the night. It was impossible for him to curl up in the middle of the cage. He would have been too visible, a perfect target if the Renegades were bored.
At least in the corner, he could pretend to be invisible. Pretend he still had some control.
All he had to do was hold on until Mickhail arrived. Because he would come. This thought was not a prayer; he would have to believe in one of the Three for that.
No, not a prayer, but a certainty that he sought to hasten.
A sudden movement drew his gaze to the path between the tents. The air has changed; it is heavier, more tense. They are coming back. And they are not coming back empty-handed.
He leans forward, the iron biting into his palms, and freezes.
A group approaches. One of them is dragging a small figure behind him, far too small to be a dwarf.
Another child.
His heart stumbles. The ground seems to tilt as blood rushes to his ears. Leaves crunch under their boots, and he notices, too late, that they are following a red trail.
He knows this path. He has walked it himself. That red ribbon of blood.
The child stumbles, clutching something to his chest, perhaps a stuffed animal, as if it could stop the pain and suffering. A second layer of skin, a fragile shield.
The sight makes his throat tighten. He knows that look. That lost, dazed look. The look of someone who doesn't yet understand that nothing will ever be the same again.
Not after this.
Next to him, the lynx fidgets. His muscles tense. A low growl rises from his throat, hoarse and strangled. Telio turns his eyes to him, his companion in captivity, silent since yesterday, too badly injured to move.
But the sight of the child awakens something in the beast. Rage, perhaps. Or fear.
And suddenly, Telio understands why. The face is smeared with dirt and blood, but the ears, the faint, pointed curve of them, leave no doubt in his mind.
He has seen that face before. Not in person, but in Mickhail's chatter as he tucks him into bed in the room they both occupy on the second floor of the tavernkeepers' inn.
The other half-blood. Lady Elianna's child.
A child born of love, not a tool, the product of a horrible act.
The realization burns through his chest like a spark. Relief, Hope. If they're here, then not only Mickhail is bound to come here. And then it morphe in dread. He knows what happens to those brought here.
The Renegades gather around like vultures. Drawned by blood and fear, monsters of different shapes and forms. Theirs voices are too loud. They always are. Like they doesn't know fear, too used to handing it out.
And then it happens.
A noise sharp, and unpleasant.
Sloan's spear strikes violently against the wall of the cage holding the feline.
The cry that follows pierces Telio like lightning. It's not his, but it might as well be. Every blow he has ever received seems to resonate in that sound. The short-tailed creature struggles, muscles tense, and Telio can feel its fury, wild and desperate. He's seen this kind of rage before, the kind that gets beaten out of you if you show it.
His pulse begins to race. Easy, you're going to get yourself into even more trouble,” he thinks.
He tells himself not to move. Not to speak. Not to feel. But he does.
Something burns in his chest, deep and old, something that isn’t his. He doesn’t know why, but when the small half-elf looks up, Telio’s stomach knots so hard it hurts. Their eyes don’t meet, not directly, too much distance, too many bars and yet somehow, he knows. The child’s fear vibrates against his own like a second heartbeat.
His vision blurs as they surround the little one. It makes him uncomfortable. No, more than that, and he struggles not to let himself be pulled into memories that are too horrific.
He tries to follow their words, but their tone says more than the meaning. Mockery. Disbelief. Curiosity. He knows those words. He’s heard them before, whispered and shouted. They don’t hurt less when they’re aimed at someone else. In fact it make it worse. Such things should not be said to someone so young.
He can't see it in their eyes, but he knows they must look at the half-elf the same way they looked at him when they caught him back: like prey that shouldn’t exist. Unless to serve in whichever way possible.
The female dwarf says something more, her voice dripping with scorn. The child didn't freezes, then answers back too quick, too raw and defiant. Telio doesn’t catch the words, only the tone. Defiance. Pride.
And then the slap.
The dwarf’s hand flashes in the firelight, her nails raking the child’s cheek. Telio flinches like he’s the one struck. The others laugh again, but it’s a nervous laugh this time. Even the lynx has gone silent, eyes burning behind the muzzle.
But for Telio, the child’s defiance, this spark that refuses to die had lights something inside him that’s been cold for too long. So he laughs.
The sound bursts from him, sharp and angry, scraping his throat.
The Dwarf turns around, furious.
But Telio continues to laugh, his shoulders shaking with spasms, because for once, the cruelty is not directed at him, and it feels like a half-hearted victory, even if it is futile.
The little half-elf had rekindled that small ember of defiance that Telio thought he had lost.
So, even though inside he was trembling,
He would bite, scream, insult, and draw all the arrogance and malice towards him.
Then everything happened too quickly, too confusingly! Like a counterweight to his sharp laughter.
The iron, the fire, the mark.
He knows that sound even before it rings out. Pain doesn't wait, nor is it silent.
That kind of cry is always too hoarse, tearing through the air and your own throat at the same time. Always meaning the same thing: the end of an era, the beginning of a miserable period. The mark had taken hold. The fire had found another host.
And yet...
He should have been ready.
He had seen it before. For he had felt it before, too. But every time it happened, it pierced him anew, as if the pain remembered the path to return to its own skin.
He barely had time to cushion the little girl's fall as the Orc threw her into the cage
.
Swept away by the mercy of unconsciousness.
Her voice was weaker than most of the children he had known before.
No.
Not weaker, just... inexperienced. Like that of a bird that had never cried out before. The sound of freedom shattering and finding itself chained.
That of a wound branded with a hot iron.
Her whole body trembled with her cry, as if she were about to break from within. Boody twisting in agony.
Telio acted before he even thought. He put his hand over her mouth, because he knew what would happen if she didn't stop: the screams, the boots, the silence that would follow. Who rarely come back at all.
He couldn't let that happen again. “No. Don't scream,” he whispered, his voice breaking halfway through. His throat still burned from the one time he had screamed, long ago. “They don't like it when you scream.”
But she screamed anyway.
Like a swan song.
And he hoped it wouldn't be the last.
Her body convulsed beneath his hand, the sound desperately trying to escape from her chest. And for a moment, he almost cried out with her. Out of fear, anger, despair.
So he did what Mickhail had done for him once before.
He held her close, pressed her head against his chest, and stroked her hair in small, irregular circles. “I know, I know,” he whispered, the words pouring out like a prayer he had never learned but somehow remembered. “It hurts, but it's okay, I'm here. You can squeeze my hand really hard if you want. Don't worry, I won't let go. I won't let them hurt you anymore.”
He didn't know if it was true.
He said it anyway.
Her cries broke, softened, and finally turned into sobs.
Telio didn't move. He stayed there, even when his arms hurt, even when the smell of burning skin filled the cage and his stomach turned. Rocking her gently as Mikhail still did when he woke up in the night, filled with terror.
Because if he let go, she would disappear, like the others. Their ghost lingering in the air and behind his eyes.
She would haunt him too.
And when her breathing slowed, when her body went still against his chest, he whispered again, more softly this time, almost to himself:
“It's over now. You did well. You survived.”
He didn't realize he was crying until one of his tears fell onto his cheek.
Because boys like him can't save anyone. But they can help the little ones survive.
You jolt awake to the sound of fingernails scraping against the wood of your bedroom door.
"Mommy?"
No answer. The silence hums, thick and cold. You clutch Plushie tighter, sliding your finger around its worn wrist before letting your feet touch the floor. The boards bite at your skin, and a shiver size you up. The heater must have failed again.
Scratch, scratch, scratch !
It's getting quicker now, frantic, almost desesperate. As if the sound was on a race.
"Mommy?" you whisper again, voice small.
A pause, a stifled whimper. It's definitely your mama. Slowly, the door creaks open.
Red and green poured into the room through the gaps, shifting like fire through glass. Your mommy stands there, hair loose and untame.
Eyes to bright , ablaze with magic.
Hands trembling.
"You should be sleeping, sweetheart," she says, but her voice is wrong. Stretched thin, as if she's in pain.
You step closer, heart pounding. "Mommy, what are you doing?"
Her breath catches; the lig"t around her flares, licking the walls before dimming again. "No, no, I’m sorry” she whispers, crouching down, reaching out. The air smells like smoke and pine, warm and sharp all at once. “"t’s the Veil, baby. It’s loud tonight. It wants what shines., my Little Star"
Her gaze rushes to the window and you turn, frowning.
The veil? Plushie in your arms, you walk over to your window. Everything is thick black and outside, thunder sings.
Slashing large cuts with it silver arms.
You clutch Plushie tighter, tears stinging your eyes.
A flash of lightning splits the sky, casting twisted shadows of the trees across your wall. And there, just beyond the glass, something is watching.
Not a face. Not exactly. Just two pale glows, suspended in the dark like drowned lanterns. Pale fearfull blue eyes.
Aunt Cecily ?
You step back, but the window creaks open on its own, sighing with wind and whispers.
What’s she doing outside?!
"She saw you," your mommy murmurs, her voice too cold, too light. "You’re shining too brightly tonight."
The floor shudders. The ceiling groans. The world seems to lean in. "She want to take my place. She think she's better than me."
Plushie slips from your grasp.
You try to scream, but the sound catches in your throat, swallowed by the silence, as you turn around trying to go to your mother.
But everything turns red. The door close on your face.
"Mommy, please let me out ! I'm scare !"
The red light pulses, slow and steady, like a heartbeat that isn’t yours.
You flinch.
Then Elianna’s voice threads through the dark, soft and trembling. "Don’t be afraid, sweetheart. I sealed the windows. And the door. It’s for your own good."
You bang on the door, fists small and aching. “No, Mommy, please. I want to be with you! Let me out."
No answer.
"Mommy!"
Only the sound of her whispering, low, wet, and wrong. So wrong ! Slipping through the cracks in the wood. It speaks in a voice that almost sounds like hers. Almost.
Outside, Aunt Cecily’s eyes blink once. Then again. Then vanish.
The thunder stops singing.
The silence grows teeth and claws. Ready to devours you.
Behind you, Plushie twitches.
You turn.
It’s smiling now.
But Plushie never smiled before. It can't!
The room bends inward, walls breathing like black lungs.
Just in case you're not following my tumblr and cause I liked this ask.
Need some angsty-ish ask if I may, during crushing stage. What are the Ros' reactions/thoughts to overhearing Mc and Telio talking.
Telio is teasing Mc about them and Ro and Mc blurts out "There's nothing between us!", then, after a brief pause, in the saddest tone they ever heard from Mc, "Besides, Ro deserves someone far better than I could ever be..."
____________________
At first, Corden rolls his eyes, leaning against the wall. Telio's voice echoes, teasing, relentless, and Mc's agitated tone makes the corner of his mouth twitch.
So Typical of them.
He can almost imagine their hands gesturing, their faces reddening.
He tells himself he's not listening. That he's just passing by.
(He's not. He's listening.)
Then the words come out of Mc's mouth.
There's nothing between us !
A small, humorless laugh escapes him of course there isn’t. Why would there be? Who would even want that?!
But then comes that quiet, frail add-on:
Besides, Corden deserves someone far better than I could ever be…
For a moment, he forgets to breathe. His stomach knots up, his chest tightens. He wants to move, to make himself known, to say something sarcastic, anything, but all that comes up is a bitter taste on his tongue. Because he's heard people say things like that before—about other people, never about him. And now Mc is saying it too, but not in the way he had dreamed of. Not in the way he needs.
His throat burns. Far better than them? No. Far better than me, maybe. Surely.
He lets out a small, quiet, high-pitched, mocking laugh, hoping it sounds like indifference rather than a broken heart.
“Yeah, right,” he mutters to himself. They're better off without me anyway.
What was he hoping for?
As he walks away, he tells himself he doesn't care. That Mc just... said the truth out loud. One he was already aware of.
But the next time he sees them, he can't look them in the eye for very long. His words are stilted, colder than usual, armor back in place.
Cause he should not have let it fall from the beginning.
And when they smile at him, tenderly and without suspicion, it hurts.
Once a year, when the winds of fall carry with them the first chills of winter and the moon hangs low in the sky, the veil is torn. Familiars and Tears feel it first, this call, this almost desperate cry rising with the cold. But the unblessed can feel it too, that shiver down their spine making their hair stand on end, that presence that brushes against them, that invisible pull that shouldn't be there.
Some say that the Veil reveals what we desire most, others claim that it confronts us with what we fear most. Every heart that dares to venture into the night is tested. Every connection is intensified. A shield can become a sword, a song a lament, love can turn to hate, and hope can take on the guise of despair.
Halloween doesn't exist in Terrybiel, but the night of the Veil does!
So, I thought it would be frightfully nice to show you in a few hundred words how much of a negative impact this night can have on those who love Mc the most.
By joining Heart Tier, you will have access to the mini stories of Elianna/Ashlyen/Mickhail/Cecily and Tobias!
And if you choose to join Soul Tier, you will also have access to those of Ros AND Telio.
Hi everyone, by the end of the day I should be able to post the first part of the Q&A. Given the format, it's like a short story. It will consist of questions addressed primarily to the adults and familiars
The part with Mickhail Telio and Arthur will come later.
I will distribute a keyword in each chat so that you can read the content reserved for you.
You will also find the very first Q&A I did a while ago.
Cecily cleared her throat, turning to Tobias as Elianna rose to slip her fingers into Ashlyen's. The gesture was almost too intimate to watch any longer.
"And you, Tobias?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?" exclaims Elianna as Cecily's eyebrows raise.
Tobias frowns and uncrosses his arms. "I don't.." he repeated, stepping forward and letting himself fall to the floor next to the brunette. His rear end hits the carpet with a thud. "I feel like these questions are specifically geared toward Mc, and that's throwing me."
"I feel that way too," Ashlyen admitted, inclining his head.
This was supposed to be a simple job. Get in. Get out. No mud, no blood, no him.
No need for trouble. You did get out...covered in mud and other...fluids.
All because of Arthur.
He’s been finding ways to grate on your nerves since childhood, and now here you are, locked in yet another staring match. There is NOT enough space for you too here. And there's only one bathtub. Arthur raise an eyebrows. "Did you not see the sign on the door with those oh-very-special eyes of yours?"
The narrow antechamber just outside the bath is filled with steam escaping from the half-open door at the end of the corridor. The scent of soap and heated water doing little to cool your temper.
Arthur is leaning casually against the wall, looking far too pleased for someone who has just dragged you through a swamp. His tunic sticks to his chest in damp patches, his hair is dripping and plastered to his forehead and neck, and that infuriating gleam in his eyes shows that he knows exactly how ridiculous he looks—and that you've noticed.
A wave of heat washes over your face. It's too hot in here, because of the heat from the water in the next room. Arthur has to leave, anyway, you were here first.
You glare at him. "Oh, I saw it." "One at a time." You gesture at the misty doorway. "Guess reading comprehension isn’t your strong suit, Dumbass."
He smirks. "And yet here you are, still standing here, instead of waiting outside."
"I was here first!" You snap, teeth clenched.
He snort and take slow deliberate step toward the bath door.
"The exit’s on the other side," you point out, mirroring his movement, edging the same way he does.
"I know." His smile deepens. "You can go."
"You wouldn't dare..."
Arthur’s grin widens the moment your hand twitches nervously. That’s all the warning you get before he bolts.
"Hey!" you shout, already sprinting after him. The corridor echoes with the sound of wet boots slapping against stone.
You’re faster. Or you should be. Half-elf reflexes and all that. But Arthur’s ahead of you, long legs and pure audacity giving him the lead.
"You’re cheating!" you yell.
"Didn’t hear any rules!"
You almost grab him by the collar, until his tunic flies straight into your face. You choke on the smell of soap, leather, honey, orange, and...Damn it—Arthur. It clings to you, like a blanket, heat blooming in your chest for a stupid, fleeting second before you rip it off.
By the time your vision clears, he’s already halfway out of his pants.
"Oh, for the love of — Arthur!"
He glances back, laughing, just long enough for you to catch one last, unfair glimpse. Lean hips, skin slick with water and sweat, broad shoulders, and those definitely not nice little pink cheeks disappearing into the steam.
Splash.
The bastard is in.
When you burst through the door, steam hits you like a wall. The air smells of cedar, soap, and Arthur's victory.
That wont do.
Arthur is half submerged in the bathtub, as if he belonged there, his arms lazily stretched out on the wooden edges. Like a king on his throne, pleased to have conquered a kingdom. The water still ripples around him after his reckless dive, and droplets slowly slide down his neck and chest.
It's been a week since the demo was made public for everyone with the conclusion of chapter two, and although I still have a few bugs and typos to fix, the feedback has been super positive.
I haven't yet started work on the next update for patreon, but that'll be done this weekend with the writing of the first choices of answers to give Cecily when Mc finally arrives at the farm. I don't know if I'll keep all of them or sort them out.
I don't know what I'll manage to write until the end of the month, but I'd like to at least write a scene I'm looking forward to, the one where Elianna discovers Mc's mark. (Yes, the location of this one will be selectable)
In the meantime, I've put down on paper a first draft of the Q&A answers, the first question and its answer has been polished and is already over 1500 words long given the format I'm using. I've decided to do this in two different groups, or even 3, as some of the questions are addressed to familiars. The first is made up of Ash, Elia, Cecily and Tobias, the second of Mickhail, Arthur and Telio. I'm concentrating on the first and can't wait to show you the answers. Once the first 3 questions have been answered, a password will be sent to paying Patreon members so that they can view the rest of the questions as they are written.
I'm thinking about this month's lore without knowing if I'll post anything this month. I'd like to work on the subject of currencies and I'd like the idea that the currency in Terrybiel is based on the importance of magic flow among the continent's inhabitants, but I don't know if that's going to be possible.
As for the short story of the month...😅 well October is the month of Tally and Mickhail and I'd like to do something about them if possible but I doubt I'll have the time? I guess I'll see.
Anyway, as for the Tasty Alphabet. Sage and Arthur are the winners and Bite has been chosen as the subject instead of Blindfold and Bathroom.
Honestly I sulked a bit 😆 I had ideas! BUT I've found a way around it, too, even if the guiding line will always be Bite. Arthur's scenario will indeed take place in a bathroom, more precisely a bathtub. As for Sage, they're going to blindfold you in their scenario.
Two types of Mc too, Rivalmance for Arthur and shy for Sage.
I'm still weighing up what I'm going to be able to write for the prohibited bonus because these two are really possessive and sharing....is not their forte.
A quick post to show you the list of questions asked so far.
The way I have set things up, the color code represents what you will or will not be able to read. Everything in green will be available to everyone, green and blue will be available to Heart members, and green, blue, and pink will be available to Soul members.
I have revised the bugs that some of you have mentioned to me, namely:
- The flavor text that appears if you ride Sirius and acts as if you had chosen to retrieve Plushie, free the pets, and/or Sirius.
-The bug that appears if you choose to be Bold when choosing romance with Arthur, which will cause different flavor text to appear.
-However, I can't find the one with Tobias' conversation. I'm still looking.
- If you are a Heart or Soul member, please note that the different choices offered just after Cecily's POV that are not displayed are not bugs, I just haven't written them yet. However, I wanted to ask you if you are happy with the number of reactions?
If you spot any other issues, please don't hesitate to let me know.
I'm also refraining from responding to your various reactions to the demo, as the update is still very recent. But I'm delighted to hear them, so keep them coming!
She had returned home as the first wisps of smoke rose into the sky, finding the residents of Northview gathered as curious spectators. She hadn't looked up, afraid that Elianna's imprint would suddenly disappear. Heralding an end.
Now the basket rested on the table, its contents carefully arranged next to the bowls and blankets she had prepared. Yet the sight of the jars and packets of herbs made her feel nauseous. It was as if she were waiting for them to bleed.
She had even folded a blanket near the fireplace, ready to welcome little hands chilled by the night air. For their hands. For $name's hands, still so small and sometimes trembling after $their nightmares. For Telio's hands, which she had only seen from a distance, his eyes like fiery chestnuts beneath his curly black hair. She had wanted to tell $name, to say, “You're not the only one. You're not alone.” But Elianna had forbidden her, fearing that this revelation would make the child a target. Cecily had obeyed, but the secret weighed heavily on her tongue, bitter.
Every living being in Terrybiel bears the imprint of the magic that flows through it and is unique to it. In some, it remains dormant, in others, it blossoms into what scholars call Ethren.
For most beings in Terrybiel, Ethren is imperceptible, and they live without ever being aware of it, their imprint diffusing into the magical flows flooding the continent or serving to amplify that of beings whose imprint has blossomed. (Familiars, Tears, Half-Blood.) For them, Ethren becomes visible and tangible to their senses.
An Ethren is three things at once.
* A color.
* A smell.
* A sensation.
Young familiars are particularly sensitive to it. The Ethren of their Heart resonates within them like an inner melody, a frequency with which they vibrate in concert and harmony, guiding them towards their other halves (The Call).
🧭II/ What are Ethren used for?
Over the years, knowledge of Ethren has evolved, and there is no doubt that further discoveries will be made over time.
1) Identifying without error.
An Ethren functions somewhat like a living signature. Their uniqueness allows magical beings to confirm the identity of their peers, but also to seal contracts or authorize access to certain places.
2) Orienting and finding your way.
Ethren trace “threads” in the magical flow. You can follow the lingering presence of a recent Ethren, locate an ally, or sense if a loved one has passed by. Familiars instantly recognize the twin note that corresponds to them.
3) Tuning magic and artifacts.
A spell “takes” better when it is tuned to the caster's Ethren. Certain objects only open to the bearer whose Ethren matches the seal imprinted on them. For example, Elianna's sword only ignites when she touches it.
4) Protect and/or conceal.
One can anchor their Ethren to bless/protect a place (it will “recognize” its own) or, conversely, veil their Ethren to go unnoticed. Veils are costly and tiring over time.
5) Heal and/or diagnose.
Healers “listen” to the state of an Ethren: a harmonious aura, a cracked note, a crackle (exhaustion), or a dissonance (corruption). Treatment often consists of retuning the Ethren: rest, rituals, anchoring, contact with the familiar.
6) Swear and bind.
Certain oaths bind the Ethren: breaking one's word creates a dissonance that is immediately perceptible to the other party, and sometimes to the sanctuaries that house the oath.
7) Communicating subtly.
Between attuned beings (especially Tears/familiars), a brief exchange of Ethren is enough to convey emotion, intention, or warning like a pulse of light or scent.
⚠️III/ Limitations & risks.
Ethren veils wear down the wearer and dull their magical senses over time.
Magical storms or places saturated with magic interfere with the reading of Ethren imprints.
Attempting to imitate another's Ethren almost always leads to dissonance: migraines, nausea, or even a rejection of magic.
Leaving too clear traces of Ethren can make you traceable; experienced Tears learn to cover their tracks cleanly.
You immediately step back, panting, your heart about to burst. Arthur is still trembling, his fingers clenched around his reddened throat. Telio wraps his arms around him, but his gaze remains fixed on the adult trapped in the trap.
Yours too.
<<button “Shut up, Telio and I have sensitive ears. You order coldly. ” “Shut up, Telio and I have sensitive ears. You order coldly. ”>><</button>>
I hope the August demo update for paying members has worked! So far I haven't received any news, so that must be a good thing, especially regarding any bugs.
We'll be able to put the letter A behind us for the tasty Alphabet, since the scripts for Corden, Arthur and the Bonus with our two lovers have been published, and I'm pretty happy about that.
I'm not going to lie, the bonus gave me a hard time and I hope you enjoyed it too. As you may have read, I'd decided to go a little more erotic. And as it was really my first time, I was and still am not sure of myself.
The next letter in the alphabet will be B for Bite. S has already been selected and I'm waiting to see who will be the second participant. Tally or Arthur?
As for the Lore of the Month, I think I'll go for the magic signatures! Then I'd like to propose specific posts for the signatures of each Tear we've come across.
What did you think of the short story about Ash's birthday? For my part, these events are canon.
As for the next update, so far everything I've written has been purely narrative. I did try to put in a bit of interaction with choices, but I ended up deleting it all because it didn't add anything except lengthening the narrative.
This month I want to try something a little different: a questions & answers session with my characters. 🖋️ You’ll get the chance to ask them directly 👀 and Cecily will share their answers.
Whether you’re a free follower or not, you can already send me 1 or 2 questions.
Tier Heart patrons will get access to more exclusive questions and answers.
And Tier Soul (highest tier) patrons will get the full Q&A.
So go ahead ask away! Your questions can be funny, serious, weird, lighthearted, or even a little deep. Anything goes, as long as it stays within the world. ✨
Drop your questions in the comments below or send them directly to me, and I’ll take care of the rest. 📨
The laughter and the last chords of music had faded in the ballroom, carrying with them the final wisps of spiced mulled wine and burnt wax. It was to the lingering notes of a surviving waltz that you found yourself separated from the group.
A warm hand, soft yet firm, had closed around your wrist, another had settled against the small of your back, guiding you through a maze of corridors until you reached a deserted wing. And when your back met the wall, you knew the frantic beating of your heart was not only from your hurried steps.
Corden to your left. Arthur to your right.
The stone was cold through your clothes, but nothing compared to the sudden warmth spreading in your belly.
Arthur’s gloved hand braced against the wall near your head, Corden’s arm stopped at your hips, not to restrain you, but present enough to make you understand you weren’t going anywhere.
Not now, not yet, not without them. And their eyes…
You blinked, your breath hitching, before a slow, mocking smile curved your lips.
“You know,” you began, lazily letting your head slide back against the cold stones. “If you two keep undressing me with your eyes like that, I might just catch a cold.”
A short breath passed between them, more surprised than amused. Corden’s eyes narrowed, dissatisfaction etched on his features, his cheeks and ears flushed pink. “Don’t play that game with us.”
“Who says I’m playing?”
Arthur’s lips tilted into a smile, almost tender, almost dangerous. “I think she… asking us to warm her up,” he murmured just as the orc’s hand tangled in your hair, fisting strands and tugging.
You moaned, the sound more pained than aroused.
Your little games always made Corden lose his head, sometimes too fast, too rough, leaving you and Arthur to guide him, slowly, step by step, caress by caress.
“Gently, Nettle. I like her voice, but I don’t like hearing it in pain.” Arthur arched a brow, his left hand sliding along Corden’s arm to rest on his cheek. The orc startled at the touch. His eyes widened, and you didn’t miss the fragile flicker trembling there for the briefest second. He would hate to know you saw him this vulnerable. His gaze darkened, but he didn’t push Arthur away. His grip in your hair faltered, loosened, and he turned his eyes aside. “Tch…”
“Don’t call me that,” he muttered, too soft, before his voice returned with a sharper, deliberate edge. “This isn’t a game! You think you can mock, smile at those idiots like it means nothing, and that we...”
He shook his head, just as Arthur’s lips found your neck, his nose brushing where your pulse throbbed the strongest.
“And you,” he accused the young man. “Why do you always take her side? Stop letting her crawl into your head!”
You laughed. Arthur had that serene smile that cut against Corden’s raw tension. His fingers slipped from the orc’s cheek to tuck a strand of inky hair behind his ear. Then Arthur leaned in, his lips brushing your temple like a hushed caress.
“Nettle is a terrible liar. But he’s right. You shouldn’t provoke us like this. And I shouldn’t let you under my skin, inside my head, like this.”
You turned to him, nuzzled your nose against his, then brushed your lips against Corden’s in a kiss that caught him off guard, making him startle back.
“And yet, I’m the only thing either of you think about,” you teased as the young Tear’s fingers clamped possessively against the flesh of your hip.
The orc growled, annoyed, but his hand slid from your hair down to your waist. His palm was hot, heavy, his thumb tracing an involuntary arc over the fabric. Not as bold as Arthur, but just as hungry for affection.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he scoffed under his breath, ears still burning red.
“Liar, liar!” you sing-songed back, eyes sparkling.
At that, Arthur caught your fingers, guiding you beneath Corden’s clothes, against his burning skin, a furnace that allowed no escape. The Harassëin drew in a sharp breath. Then Arthur pressed, firm, just enough for you to feel the erratic beat under your joined hands.
“Listen.” His murmur was silky, yet commanding. “It beats for you.”
His eyes locked onto yours, then shifted toward Corden, as if to include him, to remind him he wasn’t alone in this silent confession.
“I know,” you admitted with a smile. “I love that your hearts beat, pulse for me.”
“If you love it, then why keep playing?!” Corden snapped, seizing Arthur’s wrist to hold him in place against his chest.
“Because I love to play.”
A thoughtful sound rumbled in Arthur’s throat at your admission. “Want to play a guessing game?”
You arched a brow, Corden did the same, as your uncle’s former student pressed himself tighter against your thigh.
“Can you guess what else is pulsing for you, right here?”
A trembling breath escaped your lips as Arthur pressed harder, his voice sliding against your ear like liquid honey.
“Right here…” His hips ground against your thigh, his smile brushing your skin. Insolent.
Corden wrenched his gaze away, jaw tight, but you caught the tension betraying him. His grip on your waist grew harsher, possessive, burning.
“Tch… Cut the crap, Arthur.” His voice cracked like a whip, though the flush in his ears betrayed him. Arthur chuckled low, the sound almost caressing. “But Nettle… look at you. You’re trembling more than she is.”
He provoked him, forcing him to face the desire spilling from his every move. And you loved Arthur all the more for it.
You basked in the between-space, in their contradictions, their mingled restraint and hunger. Your smile turned sultry, assured, even as your breath broke when Arthur’s hand slid up your thigh, caressing fabric before brushing bare skin.
Corden finally slapped his free hand against the wall, inches from your head, his chest crashing into yours. The shadow of his body swallowed you, his scent of leather and steel suffocating your senses.
“If you keep smiling like that… I swear I’ll...” His voice fractured, choked by the raw need he couldn’t voice, by the fire raging in your veins.
You tilted your head, lips brushing his jaw. “You’ll… what?”
Arthur laughed again, darker this time, deeper. His hand left your thigh to grab the back of Corden’s neck, forcing him lower. Their breaths mingled, and caught between them, you felt the balance snap, no room left for escape, only for the blaze. And oh, you were so ready to burn, to consume and be consumed with them.
But you are not the target of the fire. Too quickly Corden brushes your lips, only to extinguish himself there before reigniting against Arthur’s, blatantly ignoring you.
The low groan of satisfaction that escapes both your partners makes you shiver, but when the orc’s amethyst eyes find yours again, you do your best to maintain a detached air.
Corden sees right through you. “What? I thought you liked to play?”
Arthur doesn’t intervene immediately. He savors Corden’s kiss, this burning bite, this flame that belongs only to him and has been so cruelly denied to you. Then he pulls back just enough for their lips to part with a thin thread of ragged breath. Arthur’s cheeks are flushed, his gaze a little dazed. Dreamy. Lucky.
You turn toward Corden so suddenly you nearly hurt yourself. He has the audacity to smile, all smug and sharp.
“I do.” You reply.
But you rage that the privilege of his lips hasn’t fallen on you. You even envy Arthur for a heartbeat. And the sigh of bliss the young man lets out does nothing to calm the painful thrum of your heartbeat nor the trembling running through you.
“Liar, liar,” Corden sing-songs, echoing your own words back at you, irritatingly so.
“I think you’re angry,” he adds. “Jealous, even.” His smile widens. “Now you know how it feels.”
You narrow your eyes. “This is a terrible moment to grow bold, Corden.” You retort hotly, leaning in until your breaths mingle, lips grazing but not closing the distance.
Neither of you goes further, locked in a battle of wills that threatens to tip in your opponent’s favor with each slow, deliberate roll of Arthur’s hips against your side. Like receiving jolts of electricity, it scrambles your head, melts your thoughts into puddles. In the end, your defeat does not come from Corden, but from Arthur—his suave, insidious voice slicing through the burning fog in your mind, slipping straight into your ears.
“That’s it… show him how it’s done. Punish him for both of us.”
His words undo you, and you surge forward, capturing Corden’s lips with your own. The three of you moan, gasp, and sigh together.
It’s too much and not nearly enough, and Corden tries to pull away—but you don’t allow it. Swiftly, your hand slips down to the bulge in his trousers, pressing just enough to tear a broken moan from him.
“Please.”
“Stay with me, Nettle.” you whisper, biting at his neck as his head falls onto your shoulder. With one hand, you fumble aside the barriers between you, until you’re stroking him directly. Oh, how your bodies always tell a story entirely different from your stubbornness. Corden nearly sobs against your neck, while Arthur presses you almost flush against his chest. One of his hands finds the heat of your breast, teasing a nipple until your motions falter.
“Tell me how he feels,” the young man demands, his eyes now shaded darker.
“Hard,” you answer after a kiss. “Obedient,” you add when he nibbles at your ear.
A satisfied sound rumbles in Arthur’s throat. “Good. Then you agree he’s doing well, don’t you?”
You can only respond with a moan, because his caresses continue on your breast, intensify along your bare thigh.
“Then I think he deserves a reward.”
The sensation of fabric being tugged aside, granting access to your most tender place, barely registers before the sound of it falling to the floor draws Corden’s eyes. He swallows hard, and the startled gasp that leaves you melts into a long moan of pleasure as Arthur sinks a finger inside you.
“Nettle,” he murmurs with amused intimacy as you drop your head against his chest. “Know this—she’s wet.” He chuckles. “Soaked, even. Well done, dear.”
You’d like to retort, but it’s nearly impossible—an outright lie when you’re already chasing the slow, torturous rhythm of Arthur’s finger plunging into your heat. “Come on, praise him,” Arthur orders, his thumb brushing tenderly over your most sensitive spot.
“Ah! Yes, good job, Corden! More!”
Arthur chuckles at your confession, satisfied, while Corden responds with a guttural growl. You cast him a dazed, misted look before letting your eyes fall closed.
“Then admit you’ve lost!”
You weakly shake your head. Your stubbornness meets its punishment instantly. In one cruel second, Arthur withdraws his finger with a wet sound that none of you even find shameful anymore, leaving you pulsing around nothing, empty.
You sob.
Arthur’s fingers slip beneath your chin, forcing you to lift your head. The leather of his glove contrasts with the softness of his smile.
“Has she lost? No…” His mouth captures yours, slow, invasive, stealing the last of your breath and strength. His lips taste of the spiced wine lingering on yours, lingering, consuming. “…I’d say she’s surrendering. Isn’t that right?”
The floor sways beneath you. “Yes. Yes, I surrender.”
“Good girl.” Arthur rubs his nose against yours. “In that case, you deserve a reward, don’t you?”
Dazed, you nod. “Good. Then, Nett—go ahead. You first. You’ve done such a good job until now.” Arthur coos.
But Corden remains still. Only when you whisper a pitiful “Please” does he let himself sink to the floor before you.
Four hands lift the fabric still covering you, and you can’t tell if your trembling comes more from the fresh air of the corridor brushing your skin, or from the orc’s tongue lapping at the traces of your essence that had run down your thighs.
“You are ours,” Arthur declares with no room for argument, while your fingers find their anchor in Corden’s dark hair.
“Yes.”
“And we are yours,” he continues with the same conviction, as your breath stutters.
“Does that mean I’ve won?” you falter, while Corden’s ministrations climb higher, stronger, sharper. Doing such a good job, just as Arthur said. Right there, there, just there!
“Of course,” Arthur concedes. “But it’s a secret,” he adds, stealing your mouth to swallow your cry.
Corden ends up slamming his free hand against the wall, inches from your head, his chest suddenly close to yours. The shadow of his body engulfs you, his scent of leather and iron overwhelming your senses.
“If you keep smiling like that... I swear I'll—” His voice breaks, cut off by his own restraint, unable to admit the raw desire that strangles him. To confront the one who makes the blood roar in your veins.
You tilt your head, your lips close to his jaw. “That you'll... what?”
Arthur laughs again, but this time his laugh is darker, deeper. His fingers leave your thigh to grab Corden's neck, forcing him to lean in closer. Their breaths mingle, and you, caught between them, feel the tension shift, no more room for escape, only for combustion. And oh, you are so ready to burn and to consume them with you.
But you are not the target of the fire, too quickly Corden brushes your lips to extinguish himself before reigniting on Arthur's, ignoring you completely. The satisfied growl of your two partners makes you shiver, but when the orc's amethyst eyes meet yours again, you do your best to maintain a detached expression.
Corden sees right through you. “What? I thought you liked to play?”
I just wanted to let you know that the game update will certainly fall on August 31 or September 1 at the most, (for Heart and Soul members) why? Because today is my birthday and as it falls during the week I'll have family at home on Saturday and Sunday. What's more, yesterday the story of seasons grand bazaar game was finally released! It's my little gift to myself and I can't wait to play!
In other news, the tasty Alphabet should be out in the first week of September (I hope, for Soul members.)
The light dim little by little, but warm did not dissolve.
Telio doesn't hesitate, he embraces you and holds you tightly in his arms. Trembling. His breath quickens against your shoulder, broken by sobs he tries to hold back, and you feel the slight tremor running through him spread to you.
“I thought... I thought they wouldn't let you go,” he confesses in a whisper, his voice weak despite his efforts to appear calm. He holds you tighter, as if afraid you'll slip away again if he loosens his grip.
You feel tears welling up in your eyes, your nose filling up, and you hug him back, just as tightly.
Arthur stays close to you, his hand on your back, torn between wanting to give you space and wanting to make sure you're really safe. His lips are pressed together, and the intense gleam in his eyes betrays the fact that he's still reeling from the fight.
''<<cycle "$Halfbloodpb" autoselect>>
<<option "You offer him a small, grateful smile.">>
<<option "You press your fingers lightly against his hand.">>
<<option "You nod, acknowledging his presence.">>
<<option "You avert your gaze, unable to meet his eyes.">>
The first documented cases of Children of Madness date back to the Fracture Era, a period of deep conflict between the peoples of Terrybiel, marked by fear and instability. Their arrival was by no means a coincidence; it followed in the wake of the wars, famines, and abuses that characterized that era. Some consider them a punishment, while others view them as an inevitable consequence of the chaos that engulfed the continent. Some see them as punishment, others as an inevitable consequence of the chaos that once reigned on the continent.
Nature and manifestations:
The Children of Madness aren't born from a specific race or lineage. They arise in places where magic and suffering are too entwined. They're born when a Heart and Soul meant to be together can't find each other. This break in the cycle causes a profound dissonance: the resulting being exists, but remains incomplete, its magic unstable, its being fragmented. Unlike the Tears, who embody the balance between heart and soul, the Children of Madness are fractured beings, unable to find lasting harmony. A disturbing aura accompanies their presence: some describe a heavy silence, others incoherent whispers, a feeling of being watched by a multitude of invisible eyes, or even a putrid smell accompanied by a sense of death and imminent danger.
First appearances:
The first reliable accounts of these beings' appearances mention both isolated villages and large cities in the territories of the four peoples struck without warning by the appearance of children of madness. Most of these young children were distinguished by unstable behavior, oscillating between mutism and violent outbursts. Their words seemed to have no meaning or coherence, as if a foreign voice were speaking through them. Even more disturbing, some manifested magic they did not understand: a burning breath bursting forth from a simple cry or hand gesture, a wave of collective fear spread by a panic attack, or flashes of light powerful enough to split stone.
Rarer, and even more terrifying, are the cases where the bond is reversed. Here, it is no longer the child, but the familiar who survives the split. Although their bodies remain intact, the absence of a human soul to anchor them plunges them into irreversible madness. Deprived of reason, they become specter-beasts, half-shadows, half-creatures, wandering like voracious monsters. Irresistibly drawn to death, suffering, desolation, and fear, their madness inspires a terror even more visceral than that of the children of madness themselves. Their first appearance is noted on the battlefields.
Consequences and perception:
Feared and hated alike, the Children of Madness, both human and animal, were very early on associated with ominous omens. (As soon as people understood what they were) Their mere appearance was considered a sign of misfortune for a community, as the presence of one attracted others. They amplified tensions or caused the corruption of the surrounding flora and fauna. Some scholars claim that their very existence reinforces the barrier separating Heart and Soul, condemning other beings to the same fate.
Initially perceived as isolated aberrations, their numbers grew throughout the wars, as if hatred, massacres, and bloodshed were the catalysts for their birth. Their presence was so terrible that it eventually surpassed the dwindling numbers of survivors from the four peoples: neither the elves, nor the humans, nor the dwarves, nor even the Orcs could face them alone.
Thus, paradoxically, it was thanks to them that the First Great War came to an end. The peoples, cornered by the proliferation of Madness and Specters, were forced to forget their quarrels in order to survive. The alliance born of this shared terror marked the beginnings of the current union, and it is in this sense that it is sometimes said, with bitterness, that the Children of Madness were the unwitting architects of peace.
Appellation :
If Atramens was the name chosen for them in the common language. Each of the four peoples has its own name for these beings, and thus they are called.
Among the Dwarves, they are called: The Kholras.
Among the Orcs, they are called: The Olphracs.
Among the Elfs, they are called: Liryanel Thiradan.
Finally, among the Men, they are called: The Unsung.
