[attr="class","loctitle"]
Ink, the Osprey from hell

[attr="class","locbody"]familiar osprey non-ascended[break][break]

For a familiar that showed up half a decade late, Ink demands a lot from Ronan. Their relationship is highly contractual and volatile—they converse with insults and argue over just about everything before they ever make decisions as a duo. If Ink doesn't want to do it, they simply won't, at least not without something to motivate them.[break][break]

The Osprey is the size you would expect of an avian of its species: it appears to be around 26 inches in length with a 71-inch wingspan. What differentiates it from them (aside from its terrible personality and sharp tongue) is its dusky, pitch-black coloration. If you took some poor bird and dunked it into a vat of tar, you'd get awfully close to the perturbing visage that Ronan's familiar takes on as it channels mana and erupts from the Inner Strata into the Outer.[break][break]

Ink gives up very little about what it's thinking most of the time. It prefers to speak in brief sentences; usually to incite or provoke Ronan or those around him, plucking at thin strings to garner reactions so that it can cackle madly with entertainment. Perceptive people may feel like there's something more behind its rotten personality and the beady black eyes that regard everything with a sage-like quality—almost as if it's waiting for the right moment, or a certain someone.[break][break]

[attr="class","sleft"]stubborn [attr="class","sleft"]aggressive [attr="class","sleft"]greedy [attr="class","sleft"]scheming[break][break]

[attr="class","loctitle"]
Clarus, Tír na nÓg

[attr="class","locbody"]shady apothecary service[break][break]

Among the many caves and man-made cliffside trails of the Mo'rong Markets, you've heard rumors of a suspicious, unregulated apothecary pop-up shop that makes an appearance on an erratic schedule. Most people recommend avoiding it, warning you that it's managed by an alchemist with a nasty personality who makes bold claims—still, curiosity seemed to get the best of you, which leads you outside a sign that shows you exactly what they're talking about: "Anything you'd want, anything you'd ever need, cheap!"[break][break]

Are you looking for the legendary Elixir of Life, or perhaps the fantastical Potion of Wishes? Maybe you're having a particularly hard time with your love life—in the forgotten, untread, unfathomable potential of alchemy I could aid you with the help of a Love Potion, perhaps? The shopkeep with an eery aura smiles widely beneath their mask with splayed hands while they talk tall tales about the nature of their little business, conveniently leaving out the fact that all of these brightly colored words are an absolute scam.[break][break]

You might have some knowledge of the craft, though, so your eyes wander around the shelves that have dozens of vials and bottles lining the walls. Between the food-colored snake oil and low-grade Tyle'o'nol are genuine products: things like Aquapyra, a fire-in-a-bottle that almost anyone could use for self-defense, or Liquid Stun, which would keep just about little critter (or person, we don't judge) away from your camp. Mana's Kiss is the perfect solution for aspiring witches or those looking for a 'boost' throughout the day— Do you need to search for someone? They have that, too, in the form of scrying potions.[break][break]

Still, they're outnumbered greatly by the bottles aimed to take advantage of the naive and unfortunate; but it seems that each time the pop-up shop appears, the stock grows ever more legitimate. They assure you that if you give them just a bit more time, they can definitely make your dreams come true.[break][break]

For the right price, of course.[break][break]

* Tír na nÓg can not guarantee the efficacy of any potions. All potions are subject to varying expiry dates, and in the event you require an experienced alchemist to activate, create, or otherwise use these products, you're on your own![break][break]

** We offer the services of our esteemed Alchemist Clarus at an additional cost. They will ensure the quality and efficacy of any potion you purchase—within reason (refer to ***).[break][break]

*** We can't test, create or confirm the validity of items such as "Elixir of Life, Potion of Wishes, or Love Potions". Really, who wants to live forever? Clarus has everything they could ever want, and you're absolutely not getting a discount even if they fall in love with you.[break][break]

[attr="class","sleft"]pop-up shop [attr="class","sleft"]suspicious [attr="class","sleft"]really cheap![break][break]

[attr="class","loctitle"]
Exile, Year One

[attr="class","locbody"]one year exile[break][break]

".. You're pathetic, Ronan."[break][break]

A visage of a faceless man caused the redhead to jolt awake—one hand flew beneath his pillow to clutch a stiletto while the other braced himself as he sat upright. Blue eyes darted from the left side of the room to the right, flitting about his surroundings to ascertain if the voice was fact or fiction.[break][break]

Though he'd kicked off the sheets in the middle of the night, it didn't help cool him down in the least. Sweat ran down his forehead and red hair was matted against his face, the tension slowly began to fade from his rigid body and he finally let the dagger fall to his soft mattress while both of his hands raised to cover his face.[break][break]

This had been the fifth time, now.[break][break]

Sleeping in the villa, alone, had proven to be quite the challenge for him. For someone that had felt so secure by the presence of dozens, if not hundreds of servants, the isolation was.. chilling. Terrifying, really. Ronan felt vulnerable every second of the day. Like the grim reaper was standing outside, scraping his scythe against the walls to signal the end may be near.[break][break]

"Do you really think it's your fault?"[break][break]

The voice was cold, condescending—it was his.[break][break]

Ronan shuffled out of bed. He didn't bother to fix the sheets, or even check his appearance. The redhead simply walked to the door to his room, opened it, and left out into the desolate, dark hallway with bleary eyes. One hand traced the wall to keep himself steady and from falling over.[break][break]

"I mean, really. You didn't do anything, did you? Wasn't it Claire and Clara's fault?"[break][break]

".. Shut up."[break][break]

The bathroom door creaked noisily as he forced it open. Almost every part of the house was in dire need of maintenance—cobwebs covered each corner of every room; the candles had long run out and remained empty, and every door had been either rusty or completely inoperable after their joints gave out.[break][break]

So when he twisted the knob and muddy water sputtered out, it didn't even phase him. Ronan simply chopped through it a few times to test the temperature, and once the mud had run itself down the drain, he splashed the H2O on his face to 'freshen up.'[break][break]

"It wasn't their fault. I chose this," He said to no one—as if verbalizing his thoughts out loud would make him believe they were, without uncertainty, the fact of the matter.[break][break]

"Yet, they're the ones who posed the questions to the answers you chose."[break][break]

Ronan's hands ran alongside the edges of the sink. The voice spat back counterarguments every single time, without fail, and caused him to pause and consider things he never wanted to entertain. Each digit began to tap nervously on the porcelain he gripped until his face ran so hot with frustration that he pressed all of his weight down in one impulsive show of anger.[break][break]

It didn't take that much effort to tear it from the dilapidated wall. The same muddy water spat out at him from the pipes that gave way; but, only for a short moment before, once again, it sputtered out and drained what was left onto the bathroom floor. His feet squirmed in the coolness—it was refreshing, but now he had no sink.[break][break]

"Good job."[break][break]

---

[break]

Some days, weeks later:[break][break]

---

[break]

By the time the sun had peaked over the hills outside his house, Ronan was seated in a spacious dining room all alone. The table that could seat upwards of twenty people sat only one—each chair that was unoccupied had its cutlery set out as if he were expecting company. He, at the head of the table, picked and poked at something that resembled both food, and garbage.[break][break]

"You insist on setting the other places. Why?"[break][break]

The redhead's hands froze as the question was posed. Couldn't it mind its own business for one fucking meal? After a moment of consideration, he placed down his fork and knife while his blue eyes turned with his body to look out of the window pane behind him.[break][break]

"Someone will come, eventually. When they do, I want them to be comfortable."[break][break]

The voice didn't respond, but it did laugh. Ronan's brows furrowed in annoyance, "What?! They will! My brother, he's figuring it out right now. Father, too, won't let me stay here for long, and—"[break][break]

"Clara?" It spat, and this caused the redhead to freeze completely.[break][break]

"She's not coming. He's not coming. Your father, certainly, is not coming."[break][break]

"You're alone now, Ronan."[break][break]

If a voice could smile, he felt like it most certainly had in that brief moment of sounded-victory.[break][break]

"I.. No, it's fine." He refused to entertain it while he straightened himself out. Composure was hard to find these days, but he still had to find it. That was the duty of a noble—the duty of the heir. Even if things looked bad, he had to prepare himself for the moment when they'd turn around.[break][break]

Things would turn around.[break][break]

They had to turn around.[break][break]

---

[break]

Time really holds little meaning when you're always alone:[break][break]

---

[break]

".. You could eat your own hand. You have two. You only need one."[break][break]

After a while, they'd stopped delivering him supplies. Ronan hadn't ever found the need to ration his food before—it was simply a matter of fact he'd always be fed in the estate—and now he stood in the kitchen with nothing but inedible scraps left to sustain himself.[break][break]

"I'm not eating my hand." He spat back with venom.[break][break]

"A leg, then?"[break][break]

"Fuck off."[break][break]

The redhead stomped out of the pantry and headed back to his room. While he'd never done it before, he understood the basic concepts of foraging. It was similar to hunting, just, without expensive tools, and no one to help him. If he could track down an animal, kill it, and bring it back, wouldn't that be enough to feed him for some time?[break][break]

"You'd be enough to feed a daemon for some time, too."[break][break]

Ronan rolled his eyes while he gathered the dagger from his bedside, but, it was right. If he wasn't careful he'd be another casualty of the forest. The alternative was to starve, though. Now the young noble understood the concept of 'being between a rock and a hard place'.[break][break]

There wasn't much in the way of hunting tools. What little remained in the house was hardly worth bringing: a bow with a frayed string and cracked core, a cloak that was marred and ripped down the side, and old, warped leather arm/leg guards that probably wouldn't save someone from a dog bite, let alone a daemon.[break][break]

"I'd prefer you didn't die and bring me with you." The voice chimed, worried.[break][break]

"Then I won't die?"[break][break]

"You don't have the talent required to instill confidence in that regard."[break][break]

If he rolled his eyes more often than he already had, would they roll out the side of his head? It didn't seem like such a bad fate at that point—maybe if he used the stiletto to gouge out his eardrums he'd be free of the things tormenting him. Dark, idle curiosities like this helped keep him in order, sometimes.[break][break]

Ronan exited the house through a window in the back, mindful not to cut himself on the bits and pieces that still sat in the frame like tiny little slivers of teeth. The treeline wasn't too far from the house, a short jaunt would take you right underneath their branches into a lush green unknown.[break][break]

"Looks pretty.."[break][break]

"It is."[break][break]

".. Wasn't finished. Pretty dangerous."[break][break]

He rolled his shoulders while lifting up his weapon of choice: the dagger was gripped tightly in his left hand while the sad excuse for a bow was in his right. It was a hassle to hold both of them, but there wasn't a chance in hell he was going to release the bladed weapon in the event something jumped him.[break][break]

"You think you can take something down with that?"[break][break]

Ronan's eyes worked on a swivel as he climbed over vines and around bushes,[break][break]

"I asked you a question." The voice grew louder, but not from any particular emotion. It was simply an increase in volume, which it did almost every time Ronan chose to ignore it. Sometimes it would stop asking if he continued to feign ignorance, while others it would grow so loud it gave him a migraine.[break][break]

"Shush, I hear something."[break][break]

A brush shook gently, then returned to a standstill. If the wind had shifted, he would've felt it, which meant something else had caused the disturbance. One hand raised the bow to eye level while the other pulled a shoddy, self-made arrow up to the bowstring with a shakey hand lacking any sense of confidence. The heir had learned how to swordfight, roguery and archery were completely beneath him for his entire life.[break][break]

"You'll miss."[break][break]

"I won't." Ronan replied confidently, a smile forming on his lips.[break][break]

Twang![break][break]

Ronan missed, and the rabbit scurried off quicker than he'd ever been able to move.[break][break]

"Berries and mushrooms it is, then?" The voice hummed with something that resembled hysterical laughter.[break][break]

The redhead sighed in defeat, "Berries and mushrooms, it is."[break][break]

[attr="class","sleft"]live [attr="class","sleft"]to [attr="class","sleft"]harder [attr="class","sleft"]it's[break][break]