The Stars Were Made For Falling
Posted: Tue Aug 09, 2022 6:01 pm
Searing 91, 122
It felt as though it had been a lifetime ago that Imogen and Carina had shared this hotel room, but in fact it had been less than a year. Imogen hadn’t even tried to rent any specific room. Perhaps it was fate, or serendipity, or the mockery of capricious gods that found her back in her friend’s old room while she sought her out?
(It was none of those things, this was just the most Ork-sized room that happened to be available on both dates.)
The room wasn’t fancy, which Imogen felt was a boon; her time in Ecith had taught her, if nothing else, just how badly a tourist could be bilked of money while separated by distance and ocean. And what a huge ocean it had been, truly. She’d spent so long aship this season, it felt as though she could still smell saltspray and hear gulls.
Imogen Ward rose and dressed, careful to apply the skin-cream she had purchased at the local chemist’s shop, even though the air was warm enough that she thought she probably wouldn’t chafe. She passed the closet, the bathroom, and the mysterious free-standing door next to her bed and headed into town to restock on some personal items.
She visited the same chemist’s shop again that day to purchase a particular tincture, effective against a peculiar side-effect of using Animus which Chief Oping had not thought to warn her about, but which spending much time in the form of a bird had significantly exacerbated. After taking the vial, Imogen decided to head for the couriers’ to see if there was any information regarding her inquiries; she didn’t expect there would be, but it would set her mind at ease to get it over with early in the day. She left the market district, admiring the colorful buildings as always (the strange curved roofs, the outlandish walls, the door hanging in the air at the back of the alley; exceptional).
The couriers reported nothing, as she expected, so she opted to lunch at the Hen, which she recalled from last visit was relatively good and very cheap, which was an import-
Imogen paused as her hand neared the door. This wasn’t the right door. The Hen’s door was the one next to this door. She shifted a few feet to the right and opened that door, and went in.
The Orkhan woman had a lovely lunch and an equally uneventful day, finishing up with a quick inquiry at the haberdasher regarding designs for bags (disappointing as usual, but Imogen’s spirit was an invincible bastion of optimism). With all those errands complete, she decided to return back to her room for a bit of meditation practice and bed.
Imogen returned to the room, stepping around the mysterious door, and sat down on the bed, closing her eyes. She pictured the silver fire in the void, and forced herself not to think lemur thoughts, tail twitching behind her. It was a lot easier, this far from the jungles of Ecith, and she started to feel optimism that she was finally over the embarrassment of her initiation.
Yet when she opened her eyes, the door was still there. Her irritation, entirely unconscious until this moment, flared to the surface and overtook her. Lines of opalescent scales erupted across her face, arms, and neck as she glared at the door.
”Listen,” the Sunsinger hissed at it, ”you can’t be pulling this now. I’m not even asleep.”
The door didn’t answer when she finally acknowledged it, as she’d half-expected it might. It neither faded, nor twisted into writhing, humanoid figures. That introduced a moment of doubt into her accusation. Was this… not them?
”...no? Is it the Railrunners? Carina?”
It didn’t look anything like the portals the Railrunners made, and if Carina had found her she would have spoken up by now, not just… haunted her day. ”Fianci?” she tried desperately to remember any of the other high-ranking Coven members, ”Clock...man?” Well, that was almost not a failure.
Regardless, the door did not respond. If it wasn’t the damnable nodlins and it wasn’t the Railrunners, who could it possibly be?
Having finally acknowledged the door, Imogen could not justify ignoring it; that simply wasn’t how it worked. She stood from bed, stretching, and raised her right arm. In a flash of argent flame, a shield formed around the limb, solidifying in the space of a second. She didn’t summon a weapon- not just yet.
Carefully, Imogen stepped forward and tried the door’s handle.
The room on the other side was small and sparsely-appointed, nothing but two chairs and a table. Her nose filled with the smell of salt.
Well. This was certainly impossible. That wasn’t how portals worked at all.
Imogen stepped inside, leading with her glowing shield, and-
**Click**
The Orkhan girl looked backwards to see the door close for only a moment- but by the time she turned back, there was a handsome Elvish man sitting in the chair, smiling slightly. Before she could say anything, he spoke:
"Welcome to The Duck. I am Kynne. Thank you for coming. Please, what is your name?"
His grin grew a little, "And if you would be so kind, surprise me."
What the fuck was this, then? An elf who could make a rift from Kalzasi to the sea which followed you around? And he wanted a surprise?
Fine, then. Imogen dismissed the glowing shield–if this was real, it wasn’t going to do her any good against anyone who could do that–and answered instinctively:
”...Imogen.” One name for one name, a fair trade by any measure. But what the hell did he want a surprise for? In what fashion?
Thankfully, Imogen’s brain kicked back into full gear then and there, providing her with an idea which might help. Unfortunately, “full gear” for Imogen was-
”I have a surprise, but you need to give me a minute. Look somewhere else. I’ll tell you the most surprising facts I know while you wait.”
Without waiting to see if the man would agree (and he hadn’t sought her agreement for anything, so why not?) Imogen got to work, rattling off her most surprising factoids.
”One: did you know that sparkling water will clean most carpets without causing any damage from abrasion? However, it’s odorless, which puts people on edge, so mixing it with lemon zest is always advisable.”
This was true, although it was hard to keep sparkling water sparkling for long enough to make much use of it.
”Two: did you know that all skeletons can communicate telepathically? I don’t know if they do, though.”
That might just have been an insane hallucination during the strange spirit journey with Mr. Maze last year. If it wasn’t true, though, nobody would ever know.
”And three- okay, I have the surprise finished-”
Imogen had transformed from a small (by Ecithian standards) Orkhan woman into a very large off-white bird, a great hulking sea-bird of the type which traveled the southern climes for years. She shifted from foot to foot, trying to avoid flapping her enormous wings, which would easily bang against the wall. Her clothes lay on the ground around the huge bird, which continued to speak.
”I’m an albatross, so if you kill me your soul will be cursed to wander the ocean for all eternity.”
That ought to work on any seafarer.
It felt as though it had been a lifetime ago that Imogen and Carina had shared this hotel room, but in fact it had been less than a year. Imogen hadn’t even tried to rent any specific room. Perhaps it was fate, or serendipity, or the mockery of capricious gods that found her back in her friend’s old room while she sought her out?
(It was none of those things, this was just the most Ork-sized room that happened to be available on both dates.)
The room wasn’t fancy, which Imogen felt was a boon; her time in Ecith had taught her, if nothing else, just how badly a tourist could be bilked of money while separated by distance and ocean. And what a huge ocean it had been, truly. She’d spent so long aship this season, it felt as though she could still smell saltspray and hear gulls.
Imogen Ward rose and dressed, careful to apply the skin-cream she had purchased at the local chemist’s shop, even though the air was warm enough that she thought she probably wouldn’t chafe. She passed the closet, the bathroom, and the mysterious free-standing door next to her bed and headed into town to restock on some personal items.
She visited the same chemist’s shop again that day to purchase a particular tincture, effective against a peculiar side-effect of using Animus which Chief Oping had not thought to warn her about, but which spending much time in the form of a bird had significantly exacerbated. After taking the vial, Imogen decided to head for the couriers’ to see if there was any information regarding her inquiries; she didn’t expect there would be, but it would set her mind at ease to get it over with early in the day. She left the market district, admiring the colorful buildings as always (the strange curved roofs, the outlandish walls, the door hanging in the air at the back of the alley; exceptional).
The couriers reported nothing, as she expected, so she opted to lunch at the Hen, which she recalled from last visit was relatively good and very cheap, which was an import-
Imogen paused as her hand neared the door. This wasn’t the right door. The Hen’s door was the one next to this door. She shifted a few feet to the right and opened that door, and went in.
The Orkhan woman had a lovely lunch and an equally uneventful day, finishing up with a quick inquiry at the haberdasher regarding designs for bags (disappointing as usual, but Imogen’s spirit was an invincible bastion of optimism). With all those errands complete, she decided to return back to her room for a bit of meditation practice and bed.
Imogen returned to the room, stepping around the mysterious door, and sat down on the bed, closing her eyes. She pictured the silver fire in the void, and forced herself not to think lemur thoughts, tail twitching behind her. It was a lot easier, this far from the jungles of Ecith, and she started to feel optimism that she was finally over the embarrassment of her initiation.
Yet when she opened her eyes, the door was still there. Her irritation, entirely unconscious until this moment, flared to the surface and overtook her. Lines of opalescent scales erupted across her face, arms, and neck as she glared at the door.
”Listen,” the Sunsinger hissed at it, ”you can’t be pulling this now. I’m not even asleep.”
The door didn’t answer when she finally acknowledged it, as she’d half-expected it might. It neither faded, nor twisted into writhing, humanoid figures. That introduced a moment of doubt into her accusation. Was this… not them?
”...no? Is it the Railrunners? Carina?”
It didn’t look anything like the portals the Railrunners made, and if Carina had found her she would have spoken up by now, not just… haunted her day. ”Fianci?” she tried desperately to remember any of the other high-ranking Coven members, ”Clock...man?” Well, that was almost not a failure.
Regardless, the door did not respond. If it wasn’t the damnable nodlins and it wasn’t the Railrunners, who could it possibly be?
Having finally acknowledged the door, Imogen could not justify ignoring it; that simply wasn’t how it worked. She stood from bed, stretching, and raised her right arm. In a flash of argent flame, a shield formed around the limb, solidifying in the space of a second. She didn’t summon a weapon- not just yet.
Carefully, Imogen stepped forward and tried the door’s handle.
~~~
The room on the other side was small and sparsely-appointed, nothing but two chairs and a table. Her nose filled with the smell of salt.
Well. This was certainly impossible. That wasn’t how portals worked at all.
Imogen stepped inside, leading with her glowing shield, and-
**Click**
The Orkhan girl looked backwards to see the door close for only a moment- but by the time she turned back, there was a handsome Elvish man sitting in the chair, smiling slightly. Before she could say anything, he spoke:
"Welcome to The Duck. I am Kynne. Thank you for coming. Please, what is your name?"
His grin grew a little, "And if you would be so kind, surprise me."
What the fuck was this, then? An elf who could make a rift from Kalzasi to the sea which followed you around? And he wanted a surprise?
Fine, then. Imogen dismissed the glowing shield–if this was real, it wasn’t going to do her any good against anyone who could do that–and answered instinctively:
”...Imogen.” One name for one name, a fair trade by any measure. But what the hell did he want a surprise for? In what fashion?
Thankfully, Imogen’s brain kicked back into full gear then and there, providing her with an idea which might help. Unfortunately, “full gear” for Imogen was-
”I have a surprise, but you need to give me a minute. Look somewhere else. I’ll tell you the most surprising facts I know while you wait.”
Without waiting to see if the man would agree (and he hadn’t sought her agreement for anything, so why not?) Imogen got to work, rattling off her most surprising factoids.
”One: did you know that sparkling water will clean most carpets without causing any damage from abrasion? However, it’s odorless, which puts people on edge, so mixing it with lemon zest is always advisable.”
This was true, although it was hard to keep sparkling water sparkling for long enough to make much use of it.
”Two: did you know that all skeletons can communicate telepathically? I don’t know if they do, though.”
That might just have been an insane hallucination during the strange spirit journey with Mr. Maze last year. If it wasn’t true, though, nobody would ever know.
”And three- okay, I have the surprise finished-”
Imogen had transformed from a small (by Ecithian standards) Orkhan woman into a very large off-white bird, a great hulking sea-bird of the type which traveled the southern climes for years. She shifted from foot to foot, trying to avoid flapping her enormous wings, which would easily bang against the wall. Her clothes lay on the ground around the huge bird, which continued to speak.
”I’m an albatross, so if you kill me your soul will be cursed to wander the ocean for all eternity.”
That ought to work on any seafarer.
