Friday morning thoughts

In addition to the sleeping and dreaming issues, I've just generally been off this week: not feeling entirely well, stuffy head, and difficulty concentrating. Turns out cedar pollen is back up, plus we've had some high winds, and that certainly explains a lot. 

(That difficulty concentrating may be partly because of what I've been trying to work on, which is studying for a certification that I meant to complete back in December. The course material is this weird combination of helpful insights and way overthinking some pretty basic things, and the online course has been... fraught. Chunks of text that aren't in the right place, videos that won't play in the course, obvious typos... and really no excuse for it. It's just sloppy.) 

The other part, I think, is just moral injury from watching some of the worst people in the world trying their damnedest to break the country and everyone in it. (I did not watch the State of the Union, just followed along with some people who were commenting on it.) CBP and ICE -- our homegrown American Gestapo -- are still busy terrorizing anyone they can, some heinous fuckery just went through in Kansas, and  House Republicans are pushing for a national book ban. I'm trying to limit my exposure because being simultaneously heartbroken and incandescently angry isn't good for my mental or physical health. And it helps to help out where I can, even if that's largely been limited to donations for mutual aid.

I still think the whole thing falls apart as soon as Trump has a major medical event, and given how he's looked lately I can't imagine that will take too much longer -- but dear ye immortal gods, the damage that's being done in the meantime...

I'm so tired.

Sleep and Dreams

Had trouble sleeping earlier this week. I woke up a couple of times, which I don't usually do. I think I was having some stomach issues, and also I need to get back in the habit of using the CPAP machine. 

Weird, disconnected dreams, too. I was trying to get to some kind of family for dinner, for a holiday where I hadn't had the day off, only all I had was name of the place -- no directions -- and I kept forgetting the name. I had Secondborn with me, except much younger than she is now, and she kept wandering off. Then I got frustrated and went walking off into the pouring rain. (Not so much leaving Secondborn behind as just... she wasn't there anymore.) There was a Kung Fu fight, or at least a brief tussle in there somewhere, too. 

None of it made much sense, which I suppose isn't all that unusual, but my dreams are frequently pretty coherent -- more coherent that this, anyway. I think I'm just back to having a lot of frustrations in my life right now, and not enough spoons to deal with them.

DoT: Abomination

Lloroth turned in his cave, drifting towards the entrance before he thought better of it and stopped. The boy was dead, and his eyes sought to return to him, but their way was blocked. Cloth, he thought, remembering their last sight. Fear tore through him, unexpected and unwelcome; this was a danger he had never anticipated. Should he go to retrieve them? Should he wait, and send a bargainer instead? There were risks to waiting, but also risks to breaking his cover. 

He should have known better than to make a compact with the boy, he decided. For all his swagger, the child had proven weak and inept. He'd been desperate to bargain, though, and the idea of a dedicated servant, one he could experiment on... Lloroth had been unable to resist. 

The shock, when it came, was sudden and absolutely unexpected: blinding pain, and then the slow, throbbing ache as his two borrowed eyes reappeared at the ends of their tentacles. Dispelled, somehow. That was another risk he hadn't expected; how had the mortals managed it? If they'd done it to the boy's corpse, they could do it to any of his bargainers, and that was unacceptable. He'd have to refine his techniques, improve the magic he used for implants.

Trading out his eyes was only the beginning, a convenient way to gather resources and prepare. The lesser creatures on this island were not to be trusted; they might rise up against him at any time. No, he needed to continue his research, master his arts, and create better servants -- more loyal, more reliable, and better placed in what passed for local society. 

DoT: After The Job

"Ah, you made it," said Melia, as Werril opened the door. She kissed him quickly on the cheek, half shy and half secretive, then drew away. "Any trouble?"

Werril shut the door behind and heaved a massive sigh. Their hideout was a small set of rooms on the upper floor of a boarding house about halfway down the lowest northern spoke. "Gods-damned Red Blade," he said. "One of the cultists. I had to charm her to escape."

"But you made it, right?" asked Melia. 

"Yes, but she saw my face. My magic..."

"Your magic isn't the problem." Sairen said, stepping up behind Amelia. "Your control is."

Melia turned. "It's wild magic, Sairen. By its very nature, it's not controllable."

Sairen sniffed. 

"Worry about it later," Werril said. "I need a bath, and a good night's sleep, and I don't want to argue until sometime after breakfast."

"As you wish," Sairen said. "The job is done, and none of us were caught. Nobody followed you here?"

"No." Werril was fair certain of that.

"Then yes, we should discuss the risks and benefits of your sort of magic later on." The dark elf actually smiled. "At least you kept your wits about you." 

DoT: Searches and Seizures

"Where do we stand?" asked Mad Hettie.

They were sitting in the dark around a central fire; Hettie considered it the best spot for deliberations, and always held their meetings on a mid-sized ledge just off to the side of lower spoke south. There was an established firepit here, and sometimes their arrival chased other people away. 

"I've contacted a team of sea elves down at the docks," Gorak said. "They usually work for the Stevedores or the Gleaners, but they're willing to work for us. If his body went into the water, they should be able to find it."

"The Mist Eyes," said Storm, and Malice -- sitting beside him -- nodded. Those two acted as a unit, leading their portion of the Red Blades together. They might squabble with each other, but they closed ranks immediately against any threat from outside. "We know the Stevedores and the Gleaners wouldn't have been involved with this, and the upper-level gangs think us beneath their notice."

Verity braced herself, but Mad Hettie said, "Later for that. If Varna was killed, I want this specific group. Hound them, hunt them, harry them. Let them know no rest. We'll wring the truth from them, sing it free from the marrow of their bones."

"One of my people came to me, a personal confession," Verity said, looking at the flames so as to avoid having to meet Hettie's red-eyed gaze. "She believes she met one of the attackers, but he charmed her and sent her on to investigate that mist that they left. She says he was likely a half-elf, possibly an elf, and handsome enough."

"She let him leave?" asked Gorak, then shook himself. "No, if she was charmed, of course she did. I should be more surprised that a professional would be caught at all."

Verity nodded. She liked Gorak, despite herself. He was more quick to anger than Varna, but he caught himself quickly too. He needed time and tempering, but he wouldn't be a bad replacement. He was doing his best to step up, and he seemed to have the support of Varna's people. 

"I want to send the Mist Eyes a warning," Malice said quietly, rubbing her scarred hands together. "Just a little thing."

Mad Hettie considered that, then shook her head. "Not yet. Not unless it becomes widely known that Varna is missing. Better if we can bring him back without notice."

Gorak nodded immediately. "If you can think of any other ways to find him, let me know." 

DoT: Witnesses and Repercussions

"Who is this?" asked Verity Red, studying the trembling woman whom the twins had brought in. They were accompanied by one of Verity's Blood Hunters -- Vallatha, she thought. 

"A witness," said Storm. 

"A woman with a tale," said Malice. 

Verity sighed. "Come over here. Sit down." The Blood Hunter touched the woman on the shoulder, then led her gently over to the chair across from Verity. The woman was still trembling. 

The table was a simple thing, small and circular and tucked away into one corner of the warehouse. It was mostly used for playing cards or dice. It was also the best-lit spot inside; the rest of the warehouse was dark. "Tell me your name," said Verity.

"It-- I forgot it," the woman said, and Storm laughed. 

Verity held up a hand to the twins, who -- thank the gods -- chose to obey her. "Try again," she said. "Take a deep breath. We aren't going to kill you, but I need to hear this, here, where nobody else can."

The smaller of the two warehouse doors slammed shut, and the woman flinched. Sharp steps crossed the darkness, tap-tap-tapping their way towards the table. Gorak threw himself down into the remaining chair, glared at the twins, and then turned to Verity. "All right, Verity," he asked, ignoring the woman. "What have we learned?"

"Nothing, as of yet," she said. "The twins say this woman has a story for us, but nobody seems able to stop scaring her long enough for her to gather her wits and speak."

"Ah," said Gorak, and finally turned to look at the human woman. "My apologies, then." He glared at the twins. "Storm, Malice, fetch us some brandy. I suspect we could all use something to steady our nerves."

"My nerves have no need of---" Storm cut off as Malice caught his elbow, and the two of them stalked away. 

"...They do well with their own territory," Gorak said quietly, with a glance at Verity, "but I swear, one of these days..."

Verity nodded. The twins didn't much concern her, but with the first lieutenant Varna Blackhand missing they could be troublesome. She didn't want the Red Blades to become disrupted and fractious; it might cause problems for her own people.  

The woman said, hesitant and quavering, "You really aren't going to kill me?"

Verity shook her head. "We just need you to tell us whatever you saw, and then we'll see you home -- safe and intact. The twins are... impulsive, sometimes."

The woman swallowed. She was human as Verity was, but older, her hair touched with silver and her eyes a bit less sharp. "All right," she began. "I'll tell you. I was working at my cart, busy with some customers, when one of you came by... and they all turned on him, and they killed him. It was magic, and I don't know magic, but... I can see an attack when it happens, I saw the webs they used to trap him, and then there was mist and I don't know what happened after that."

The twins returned with brandy and pewter cups, handed out the cups and poured for the woman and themselves, then set the bottle on the table. Gorak reached for it with a barely-suppressed snarl, his tusks gleaming, and poured for himself and Verity. 

"The one who was killed," Gorak said. "What did he look like?"

The woman looked at him, then drained half her cup in a swallow. "I've seen him before. Confident, broad-shouldered, wearing black and red. There's something about his left arm that isn't quite right. Couldn't say what; he never stops at my cart."

"And the ones that killed him?" Verity asked gently. 

The woman shuddered, eyes squeezed shut. "Never seen 'em before. You have to believe me, I had no idea..."

Verity believed her. The woman was so busy confessing that she could barely answer questions. "It's all right," she said again. "Just tell me what they looked like."

The woman drew a deep breath, then let it out. "There was... There was a halfling. And two humans, I think. Maybe an elf. When the fighting started, another elf... but that one never stopped at my cart. They was casting spells and fighting, and killed him almost before he knew they was there."

They'd have had to. Verity exchanged a glance with Gorak. "And then they covered the area with mist and escaped?"

The woman nodded. "Yar. Almost to my cart, but not quite. I called for help, but..."

"Very good," said Verity quietly. "Gorak, could you have some of your people see mistress...?"

The woman swallowed again. "Taritha, if you please."

"...Mistress Taritha back to her cart, and then to her home, with suitable gratitude for her help?"

Gorak nodded somberly. "Yes. Come on, Miss. It's time to get you back."

DoT: A More Narrow Escape

Werril felt his magic surge as he made the transition, and did his best to brace himself. A wild surge could be good, bad, weird, or all three. In this case, he arrived at the wood-and-rope bridge to discover that he was surrounded by copies of himself -- illusions, shifting and changing places. It wasn't terrible, but it was eye-catching in a way that he he very much did not need right now.

He made it to a small platform before a woman hailed him from a side-bridge. "What happened?" she asked. "Are you in danger?"

He turned and managed not to visibly wince. This wasn't just one of the Red Blades gang; this was one of their cultists, the ones who marked their clothing and armor with a red teardrop. He shook his head, and opened his mouth to lie...

What he meant to say was, "I took a shortcut, and my magic decided to be weird." 

What actually came out of his mouth was, "Misty step to escape, and my magic decided to--" He caught himself. "Uh-- that is, I'm a wild mage."

"Ah," she said, but her eyes narrowed. "And what were you escaping?" She gestured towards the cloud of mist below them. "What happened down there?"

Werril sighed. It would be great if his magic had seen fit to give him access to Invisibility, but it hadn't. Okay, next trick... He tapped his staff gently on the ground and smiled. "Well, it's a good thing you're here, friend. Why don't you go down and take a look?"

For a moment, she looked dazed as the magic took effect. Then she smiled. "Good idea. I'll do that. You should come and help."

"I'd love to," he told her, "but I really need to get on with my business." The images around him were fading, finally. "Why don't we catch up later?"

"Yeah, I-- is that screaming?" The Red Blade sighed. "I'd better go see what's going on. Take care, my friend."

Werril managed not to sag in relief before he hurried away. He was going to have to find a better way to hide himself.