"I’m ridiculously pleased with the server, even if the modpack is sharky
The truth is finally revealed; AJCO runs the Sharky modpack. May contain butts.
Q:fight me with kyra and a person she would fight
She ducked the first punch, slipping out of range of the second by ducking and kicking at the knee of the drunk lout who had swung at her. It wasn’t like this didn’t happen often enough anytime she left the ship, but without her compatriots it was just tedious.
The lout’s two friends stood up, and they were much much larger than her. Maybe in generations past their mother had some sort of affair with a giant, or an iron golem. Currently they both had sharp eyes for the elf crouched next to their fallen buddy, and the rest of the bar was quietly paying attention.
The two friends lumbered towards her, their friend drunkenly caterwauling on the floor, so she stood up to ready herself again, fists before her. The murmur of the bar had lulled, but was now starting up again in harsh whispers.
Kyra blinked, and stopped idly bouncing on her feet.
The two friends were nearly on top of her, the injured one having scrabbled away across the floor in pain. She looked up, up into their faces, and saw distrust and loathing and ire. They looked at her eyes, dark sclera with muted purple irises, a Mark of what shouldn’t be, and sneered aggressively.
horror foul dangerous cruel wicked get out
She wouldn’t win this fight. Magic light burst from her hands, making the two jump back and smash into another table, and the bar erupted into chaos.
get out get out geT OUT
People were attacking her, throwing bottles and chairs and fists, words and hate flying just as fast, and she ducked and dodged, making a break for the door. A makeshift table leg club clipped her leg, and she yelped in pain as she squeezed through the exit.
She ran quickly, away from the bar in the little townlet near the ship’s anchorpoint, fleeing into the underbrush of the surrounding forest. The dim glow of her magic was quickly swallowed by the thick leaves..
Q:Haunt me for kaja
It was snowing again, and feathers were only so much insulation. Big pasty white flakes made an iced gingerbread model of the little cottage below the barren copse. Kaja tucked her hands further into her wings and studied the trickle of smoke coming out of the hooded chimney.
It was an easy job, really. Nothing much to dissuade away besides the odd bear or two, though she’d needed to intervene when the woodcutter hadn’t noticed the tree he was felling would have flung him more skyward than he’d ever been. The witchwife had probably noticed the influence, though, but that was in her own right. But neither of the adults was the real reason she was there.
Moll, or Molly-Anne when she was in trouble, was spritely and vivid, as to be expected, but the most recent time she had gone into town on her mother’s cart, she had received a grim fortune. The Seer had reluctantly translated the laid-out cards to the girl, read her a grievous fortune that she wouldn’t see the next spring. Moll, as frightened children are wont to do, informed her mother, who stayed up til the moon was at its apex and burned her herbs and crooned a plea for life and for protection.
Kaja had already been in the area, exploring the landscape when she heard the call. Upon concentration, a tiny purple down feather puffed into existence above the witchwife’s fire, and the mother sighed in relief and went to bed.
Autumn had been nice, with vibrant colored trees, and the very last of the year’s harvest in the small field. Moll would run around, climbing trees, getting tangled in shrubbery, kicking around in the streams that wove like veins around the cottage. She noticed Kaja early on, not that it was particularly hard to, as she was a giant purple bird-object always within sight, but neither of her parents would believe her when she told them. She started leaving things out for her, a hand-baked little loaf, a bowl of milk and some fresh-picked berries Kaja had watched her gather that day, a little rough-hewn figurine.
But now it was winter, and Moll couldn’t run around outside anymore, but it wasn’t exactly like Kaja could nest in their attic, and it wasn’t yet spring. So she sat vigil, and watched. She coasted down to the cottage and would glide around it, peering into the windows to make sure everyone was okay. The woodsman was often asleep in his chair in front of the fire, the witchwife was sat in front of her alchemy table, and Moll was reading, or drawing, or playing with the small wood carvings her father had made.
And one night, Kaja started when she saw the attic side window being shoved out. About to fly over to see better what was happening, she caught herself as she saw Moll lean out the window, her small breaths puffing into the air in clouds. Her Guardian watched as she looked around, probably for her, and shivered, reaching back inside and draping something vividly green on the peak of the roof she could just reach. The window quickly snapped shut, and the light dimmed and faded from the room.
Kaja waited a few more moments before gliding over, investigating what turned out to be a knobbly woolen scarf, made out of a bright green yarn Moll had probably spun herself. There was love radiating from it, and warmth, and care and effort, and so when Kaja wrapped it around her neck, she felt perfectly and comfortably warm. She tucked her nose and mouth into the wrappings and smiled.
The next morning, when Moll snuck up to the attic to see what had happened to her gift, she found a preened dark violet feather as long as her forearm, and a small scroll of a thank you note.
Years later, Miss Molly-Anne would wear it in her hair, tied with a faded scrap of green wool, and her running-mates would call her blessed, as they slowly subtly believed her tale that one year, she had met an angel.
Q:Drink Me, Kyra. Either with SIG or people from her past.
The bottle was nearly empty, but someone reached out to stabilize it when the ship rocked anyway. The small gusts made the boat shudder in midair, threatening to tip the four giggling women onto the floor.
"You can’t," Meelane laughed again mid-sentence, her grip on the bottle sliding loose. "You CAN’T be ser-serious. Three times?"
Bea was nodding vigorously, her cheeks red. She grabbed for her small glass and tipped back what little was still left in it.
"You actually swung this fellow out a window, three times, in a row?" Keys was enunciating her words carefully, gently holding onto her glass by the rim of it, lightly tinging her fingernail. Immediately after, her stifled giggles came pouring out again, and she leant back in her chair to laugh at the ceiling.
Bea was nodding so hard Kyra was worried she might slam her head on the table, and carefully drew all the glasses together, fighting Meelane drunkenly for control over the empty bottle. She carefully stood up and then wobbled dangerously towards the wall a solid minute before the next gust struck the boat and she teetered, luckily against the kitchen door.
The surge this time would have thrown all three of the remaining adventurers to the floor if they hadn’t all burst into hysterical shrieking laughter and held fast onto the bolted-down table. Kyra looked back at them and smiled, deliriously happy and not wanting to be anywhere else for the world.
y’all should ask me some of these right here, about Kyra (green magegirl) or Kaja (purple angelgirl), i’m feeling in a mood