Gob Bee's Grimy Grimoire { homebrew D&D ficlets }

[Gob Bee]

× 𝒲𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝐼 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝕯𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖑 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓉𝒽 𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒 . . .

Humid weather in Timber Bay meant a packed Malabar's. And a packed Malabar's meant a surge of new bodies, all those sailing types from the near constant surge of ships through the port. New bodies meant business. And business?

Well, business made for a happy Mister Stray.

But it wasn't just any business that brought Stray to Malabar's that evening. Oh, a chump who wanted his ship's weight in gold or a kid pining after this or that leg was all well and good and kept the old devil's claws sharpened, as it were, but tonight, Stray's crimson eyes were on Malabar himself. Because Malabar was a businessman himself, and if Stray could play his cards right...

Sweeping his top hat off and shrugging out of his fur-collared coat - yes, Timber Bay was tropics, but that didn't mean one had to be unstylish there, and if Stray had a silver stagg for every gold hoop earring, ruffled blouse, and buckskin trouser he saw every day, why, he'd own the world - the ivory-skinned Fallen slinked up to the bar and cried hoarsely at the back of the familiar dwarf, "Why, Malabar, you old son of a bitch - pour yourself one on me and tell me how business is."

The worst part is, it had all been in the bag. Malabar wasn't half as crafty as he thought he was. Frustrating him, that was the ticket, keeping him talking about all the troubles the bar was having. Oh, it looked like it was doing well, but every pent saw fewer customers. The off-season was the worst, when things began to get chilly and the blue skies and seas around the island turned into a giant's bathtub, waves that near crested the tops of the buildings and made seafare impossible.

"Truth be told, Mister Stray," the dwarf grumbled, whisking a rag around the insides of a milky drinking glass, "I'd sell my soul to -"

"Loving him is like riding a fresh Fallholt runner down a dead-end street

Faster than the wind, passionate as sin, ending so suddenly -"

The voice was achingly sweet. Stray's eyes, which had narrowed nearly to slits, now seemed to fill his face as he spun on his seat towards the stage.

Most might think the girl on stage was nothing terribly special to look at. Pudgy, a girl that would never truly lose her babyfat. Fiery red hair and bright green eyes that shone out at the audience, seemed to take every single one of them in, those were special. And the beautiful, bittersweet smile on her face, the soft pink to her cheeks that made it look like she was blushing for love of who she was singing to.

"- but loving him was red -"

She was singing to Stray.

Oh, her gaze would drift away from him, but it was coquettish. It may linger on another audience member, but his heart, his soul, black and tarred as it was, thrummed in tune with her melody as no one else's possibly could. Was the band playing with her? He didn't know, didn't care, all he heard was her, this stunning songbird caught in this dirty, dockside smuggler's den and he ached to take hold of her and keep her forever.

Stray had lived a long time and done a great many things, some good, some terrible. Once, he had been bright like this shining star before him, but as he had grappled with his own shadows and inevitably lost to them, he had become worn and bitter. But here, this little human on her stage, singing her song of love lost and heart broken - a song sung by any other and Stray would have scoffed, considered it trite - here, she was casting a dim, gentle light into his darkness, beckoning.

In over 200 years, the fiend who called himself Stray had never been in love until he met Eri.

He watched, silent, unmoving. She sang other songs. Every single one was like balm to his soul. And when she bashfully curtsied and left the stage, he picked up his hat and coat and strolled out, perhaps leaning a tad heavier on his cane than was usual.

He'd have to find out her schedule from Malabar. Con a corner booth, all for himself, out of the bastard. And -

And women still liked flowers, right?

. . . the print was so small I didn't understand
he cut our thumbs and placed a feather in our hands
told us we would see all our dreams and plans unfold

{ Ficlet based around D&D campaign. I hope this is the right place for this! }

[Gob Bee]

{ Another ficlet based in the same campaign. }

Towering on the edge of the hillock his cave rested on, Randek looked across the Vale. The remains of Ollonos' foulness were still up, but it had not but taken a few turn since the small folk had dealt with the queen that a workforce of his kin had banded together to start ripping out the blighted altars and sacrificial posts. Leaning on his staff somewhat for support, the older frost giant felt wearied - but relief as well. They had done it. Of all the people...

A flutter caught his attention and he glanced to his right. Perched in the boughs of a black-limbed tree was a large bird, a buzzard. The wings were a glossy black, but the head, chest and legs were buff, a creamy off-white - or would be, were they not smeared in fresh clay that tinted them a beautiful, striking red. Above the wickedly hooked beak peered two venomously green eyes. Green eyes he knew. His heart gave a thump and he wasn't quite sure why, as the bird soared from its tree to come and stand, unafraid, near his foot. With a soft sigh like that of a winter's breeze, the entire form became black and inky and slowly morphed upwards and into something more humanoid.

The little dwarf woman smiled easily up at him. "Apologies fer interruptin' yer alone time, Nightspeaker."

Randek shook his head and returned the smile. He had never found the expression an easy one before, but now it slid across his features unbidden. "Not at all, Lady Nickelplate. I was simply taking stock of what is going on - thinking about what all must be done." He sighed and closed his eyes, turning his face up to the twinkling stars gleaming cold in the night above them. "Praying to Egress. Thanking him."

"Aye," she replied softly, rubbing at the metallically glittering scarab tattooed on her throat. "So've I." Her voice was just loud enough to carry up to his ears, though her tone was gentle. Her eyes remained on him, watching his every movement. For a moment, there was a comfortable silence between them, and then with a low grunt he leaned forward and proffered his hand out. Without a thought, she stepped into it, and he lifted her to his shoulder. It felt right, to have her there. She was no weight, but he could feel her breath and warmth against his cheek and neck and to him, it was comfort.

Tearing her gaze away from the priest, she raised it heavensward.

"S'beautiful 'ere," she murmured. "Yoo don't get nights like this in Valkyrie. They got lights goin' at night, an' it obscures tha stars more'n ya'd think. An' tha cold air makes 'em stand out all tha more, I think. ...I ain't been a perfect follower o' Egress fer some years now -" (Randek mentally snorted. If she was not perfect, she would not have been guided here.) "But I... feel him 'ere. I've flown under many'a night sky before... but never one like this." A pause. "Never one like yers."

Randek's breath caught in his throat briefly. He could not see her when she stood on his shoulder, but that was perhaps for the better. His voice rumbled lowly out of him.

"I believe, my lady... it is our night sky."