Music: Burn Down This Town

Roseanne Cash:

It comes and goes...

I'm finally starting to dig my way out from the huge load of work that fell on my head with the big upgrade at the end of December, and we're bringing in some additional resources to deal with a Big Important Project that seemed to have run aground on some fairly intractable issues, so my stress levels have suddenly gone down...

...Which is weird. Like, on the one hand that's a good thing. Less stress! Hooray! I can function better! And then on the other hand, my whole system is like, Wait? What happened? How does this 'relaxing' business work, again? Overall, it's good. I'm just glad it didn't take any longer. 

Burnout is a real thing, y'all. 

Writing Projects: Currently working on the portal fantasy, which means that the Weird West and Horny Superteens projects have been somewhat neglected. (There are only so many hours in the day, and my energy has been going into, well, being stressed out.) But, I'm still making progress... and I wrote a completely random short piece the other morning that I'm going to try to get published, if I can find the right venue for it. 

Also, with February doing its best impression of late April, my allergies have been acting up. At this point, I'd honestly prefer another ice storm. Some kind of winter weather, anyway. This time of year used to be pretty safe for my seasonal allergies...

I'm not going to talk about news or current events right now, because it's all so bleak and I will wear myself out with relentless rage. I'm limiting my exposure in an attempt to be informed without doom-spiraling, though part of me suspects that doom-spiraling may actually reflect an accurate evaluation of the current situation. 

Anyway, I have good friends and a good family, and a kitten who is determined to eviscerate the mechanical toy bird he got for Christmas. Good to keep those moments in mind, too. 

Music: I Know What Boys Like

The Waitresses:

Valthor's New Sword

The Fairy was more helpful than he would have expected, but she wouldn't tell him much about the rapier he'd taken from his sister's corpse, only that his sister had been desperate to get his blood on it. She wouldn't tell him why, or what his blood might have done; she just told him that it was his sword now... with the distinct implication that it was also his problem now. 

Which would be fine, he thought, if I wasn't so tempted to use it. 

He left the locker closed, and forced himself to move away. He had an attempted murder to investigate, and plenty of other things to do. The nature of the blade could wait...

...But it still tempted him. 

DoT: Lochlain Has More Troubles

There were things to expose, and things to keep hidden, and various elements within the clans who would disagree about which were which. Lochlain was fairly well fed up with it; his instinct was to share what he could with his new friends, and let them decide how much to share with the island at large. If he were going to trust any surfacers with the deepest of Clan secrets, he would trust these. He might ask Darvas first, but he would trust them. 

"It's me," he called, after pounding on the door. "Don't stab me."

Ilana and Tara had been practicing, and their tunics showed it in broad slices. Lochlain turned his head away, and said: "Let's get you both some armor, or at least leather coats, while you're still halfway decent."

Tara flushed; Ilana just grinned. "Maybe get us some practice weapons, too."

Lochlain said, "Shoo. Back to your room. Get fresh shirts, and I'll see about practice knives at least, maybe shortswords." Neither of them were actually exposed, thank the gods, but this was more than he was ready to deal with, especially after talking to Kalla.

"Your meeting went well?" asked Ilana.

"Well enough," he told her. "I'll be back."

He went back out the door, looking for Davvan. Hell below, he thought. I never signed up to be anyone's father... 

DoT: The Limits Of Divination

"I think I have her," Donnagun said, half-staggering into Vallista Greycloak's office. The dragonborn was usually showier than this, transporting himself magically and levitating rather than sitting or standing, and Vallista immediately straightened behind her desk. 

"Have whom, exactly?" she asked. 

"Divination," said Donnagun, sinking into a chair, "has its limits. It's good for finding things you know, but not so good for finding things you don't know. I had to contact a godling, which... anyway, the woman who killed your father is probably a half-elf named Rianma Blackblade, who can be found here on Hinnom, working in the library at the Palladium College."

Vallista raised her eyebrows. "Are you well?"

"As well as can be expected after something like that," he told her. "I'd have written it down and called a runner, but I was afraid if I fell asleep I'd forget."

"I see," said Vallista. She knew enough about magic to realize that this was a very real possibility. Contacting the outer worlds was not something that wizards did lightly, and it was only slightly less fraught for clerics.  "You've done well."

"Honor of the Gang," Donnagun told her. "I know you have people looking, but this was... fast. Quiet. Professional. Worth the effort to get a name and a location."

"Indeed. Gazin?" Vallista rose from her desk. Donnagun was on the edge of passing out in the chair in front of her desk, and she had work to do. 

The Lizardfolk woman stepped into the office and nodded. "Yes?"

"Help me get Donnagun to the apartment," she said. 

Gazin looked down at the near-unconscious wizard with something that Vallista would have sworn was genuine fondness. "No problem, boss."

Donnagun pushed up to his feet. "No, I can--" he staggered. "Well, yes, maybe."

Gazin got an arm under him, and Vallista went to open the door to the small sleeping-area she kept for herself when the nights ran long. Donnagun could rest there, while she followed up on what he'd discovered. 

DoT: An Unwanted Interrogation

The drumming had been a message: Come to me. We must speak. 

Lochlain left the two urchins behind with some misgivings, and opened the front door. Ilana and Tara were standing behind him, ready to bar it once he left; they might not understand what was happening now, but they knew how things could be. Both girls were armed, Tara possibly better than Ilana, but he couldn't afford to think about that any further. 

He stepped out onto the small platform at the base of the ladder. 

"Over here," said a woman's voice, soft, from the underside of the spoke. 

The spokes connected the island's central tower to the stone and soil of its outer crescent, and supported the various cables and bridges and structures that formed the multi-layered habitations of the island of Hinnom. The hideout was suspended from the bottom of the lower eastern spoke, probably the least fashionable area outside of the mists which covered the ground along the eastern side of the crescent. It was a curiously liminal area; anyone living here was balanced between dropping further and joining the Mistlings below, or rising to some better prospect. 

The woman looked like an elf, but clung to the bottom of the spoke like a spider -- and Lochlain recognized her. He scrambled around the side of the hideout, launched himself up to the bottom of the spoke, and clung to it as well. He considered simply walking upside down, but decided it was better to follow her more discrete example and press himself against the eldritch pseudo-stone. He scrabbled forward until they were face to face, separated by a foot and a half of distance. 

"Lochlain," she said. 

"Kalla," he acknowledged. She was the chief Stalker of the Liverscar pack, and she hadn't approved his venture to the surface -- not least because he hadn't asked. He hadn't meant to overhear Darvas conversing with the surfacers in the Engulfed Cathedral, but having done so he couldn't resist coming up to take a closer look... and when given the opportunity, joining with them. 

"No trouble from the Forgotten?" she asked.

He paused, startled that that was her first question. Then he shook his head. "No. No, but... my surfacer friend and I left a tavern when two of them came in... and one of our charges ventured into the Temple and got herself infected. Hexblade, it looks like, but you know how little that means here."

"Are they looking for her?"

"If so, they haven't come down here. At least, not yet."

Kalla settled back, considering that. "You don't hesitate. It's good to see that you're still loyal to the Pack."

Lochlain hesitated, then said: "Yes. This was curiosity, not rebellion. Darvas is also in touch with these surfacers."

Kalla huffed thoughtfully. "As you say. And I think you've grown stronger from this exploration.Very well. I will trust you with this, and advise Elder Pallas to do the same. If you find yourself in need of guidance, speak to me or Darvas -- your presence here is not widely known, and for the sake of the Pack -- for now -- it should not be. I will visit you again if that changes."

Lochlain studied her. "You're worried we're headed for another Ravage." He hesitated, then added: "You should be."

"I'm not the only one," she answered. She hesitated, then said: "Protect the girl. Support her. An accidental Forgotten, outside of their organization... She might become a valuable ally. I will speak to Elder Pallas of this as well."

Lochlain nodded. "I would have done that anyway -- she's still a child. But it's good to have the clan's support in this." He hesitated, then asked: "How is Shethlana?"

Kalla smiled. "She is well. She asked after you, which is what brought me here. She grows, she learns, and she does not mind the darkness."

"She never did." Lochlain smiled fondly. "Tell her I am well, if you would. My time in the light has not harmed me."

"I will," said Kalla. "Good hunting."

"To you as well."

Kalla released the spoke, and fell away into the mist. Though he couldn't see her revert to her Ghūl form, he heard the faint clap of unfurled wings as she caught herself on the air and angled away towards the Engulfed Cathedral.