Fic Dump
It's time for ficcccc! Okay. We got three fics, two fanfictions and one original. So. Three posts coming right up so I don't choke up the cut if you're only interested in one fic.
Title: Solstice's Cleanse
Author: Elise D. duh!
Word Count: About 5K
Fandom: Diablo II (oh yeah. It's a game fic, hahahaha)
Pairing: Paladin/Sorceress/Amazon if you squint. m/f/m
Rating: PG-13ish. Nothing really graphic.
Warnings: Eh, mild violence. Some burns and blood. And bining rituals between three peeps.
Author's Notes: IDEK. I really don't.
Summary: Binding rituals were serious business, and combined magicks from several different races. Even the most advanced parties didn't bind themselves together, opting instead for the easier verbal or oral agreements.
Treyden tended the fire in much the same way he shot off arrows or stabbed them with the oddly sharpened end of his bow-with a determined focus and never-ending patience. His hollow features were thrown into sharp relief, his callused hands dark with ashes and dried blood.
Areli kneeled in the darkness and shadows a ways away, moonlight streaming over her copper colored hair. She studied Treyden with calculation, wondering if he was tending he fire with the expectation of camping or to lure more beasts out. They were hardly hurting for supplies, though Areli suspected it was more than that.
Treyden carried himself gracefully and with the agility of the Blood rogues they had spent the better part of the day fighting. Underlying the silent stealth, Areli knew there to be a clever wit and quick mind. Still further (Areli was too habitual to layers of elemental spells) beneath that lay a rage and pain that she didn't dare try to draw out and excise.
Areli swept to her feet, brushing dirt from her scraped knees. Her nightly meditative rituals finished, she headed quietly towards Treyden for a more direct answer as to whether they lodged here or back in town for the night.
However, as she approached, the slender men kneeled at the fire suddenly disappeared with a snap and crackle that had Areli ducking down and tossing a fireball in the general direction.
Sharp, foreign swearing filled the air. Areli looked to find Treyden emerging from the thicker copse of trees with a disdainful look on his angled features and cradling his arm. The annoyance was etched with pain.
"Would it harm you that much to perhaps think before you go tossing about fireballs into the dark?" he asked. As he drew closer, Areli could faintly make out that his skin was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and his features were more sallow than pale.
Her suspicions were confirmed when he drew a stuttering breath and dropped to a knee. She gave an exasperated sigh and drew a healing potion from her belt.
"Perhaps had you warned me?" she drew out.
Treyden snorted and hissed as Areli drizzled the red potion over the blistering burn on his arm. "Had I known I could throw the decoy at all, maybe I would have."
Areli pursed her lips. "Jaren would be able to heal this much better than any potions we carry," she finally muttered reluctantly.
Treyden gave a grunt of disgust. "I'll not have that insufferable, pompous ass near us, let alone trying to heal anything of mine that I care about. We'd suffer all the more, not only from the beasts who seek to end their kind, but other parties who want the same."
"So we're to leave him to die on his own?"
"He chose his path of righteousness; I don't wish to share his condemnation for it."
Areli sighed, her eyes following the waning moon. "They say that the disappearance of the moon and its following new night are the best times for new beginnings, of sloughing off old prejudices and cleansing of old angers."
"They also say I don't need an elemental spellcaster when I'm perfectly capable of being by myself."
"That's rich, aiming that at the person healing you."
"You're the one that threw the fireball at me."
A screech interrupted their heating argument, and made them both turn warily. Treyden scooped his bow up, pushing Areli behind him with little gentleness or patience. She made a frustrated noise, but knew it to be the correct strategy. She had little tolerance for physical hits.
The screeching grew louder, and drowned into a drawn-out high pitched wail that made their ears ring.
"Specters," Treyden swore.
As the howls grew louder, different pitches grew stronger and more definitive. Areli groaned inwardly; that meant there were a whole slew of them, hiding about somewhere. And while they weren't hurting for supplies, Treyden's arm was in no condition to fire arrows, not without another round of serious healing in town with village cleric. Those rust-colored, blood-flavored potions were more painkilling bandaids than actual healings, and had little place in the face of serious injuries.
Treyden didn't seem to take notice of it, and Areli wondered (not for the first or the last time) if he genuinely just wanted to quit that habit of his called breathing.
"The arrows wouldn't have done any good anyway," Treyden pointed out to her. "You think you can take them?"
Areli shrugged. Her fireballs had been growing progressively stronger (especially if Treyden's still slightly smoking skin were any indication) but a group of specters? Their mercenaries were in town as it was; this last jaunt into the wilderness had been more for Treyden and Areli's benefit then for the quietly obedient companions sold into their service.
"That wasn't an answer," Treyden muttered. He started going through his knapsack one-handed, still cradling the injured arm against his ribs. "And while I'm proud that your fireballs can singe human flesh, could we perhaps abstain next time from attacking each other?"
Areli knew her eyes were glowing slightly darker now. "It was an accident," she gritted out. "And I can take them."
Without waiting for a response, Areli grabbed her shield and orb, leaving Treyden behind and ignoring whatever else he might have had to say. She was certain she could hear him swearing again in that foreign tongue of his, the language of the Amazons. She knew little of Treyden's past, but knew enough of the Amazons that few of their men survived childhood (by matriarchal design; it was much the same for the Zann Esu clan), and those that did were generally only for procreation of the race.
In fewer terms, that meant Treyden was a sheer oddity between his gender and his skill with the bow.
Areli could feel the draining effects much quicker than Treyden could, and with a snap of her fingers, struggled to pull her mana shield around her small frame before they could come closer. That would at least minimize whatever physical damage she took. The fireball was easy enough to pull anymore, and the weather had been painfully dry.
It took little to pull the dryness of the air and the natural static of the grass to spark the fire.
She punched out five in rapid succession as much for a light radius as for damage. It was simply an added blessing if the ball of flame killed anything, and at the strength she had it going, that was likely (provided none of them missed).
And when Areli saw the sheer numbers, she almost wished she hadn't seen them at all, and that she'd knocked out more than five fireballs. One of them was clearly leading, charges of static and sprinkles of snow drifting from the ghostly tendrils. There were enough that she couldn't count them all; their group was close together and feeding.
Areli felt her reality crackle a little with charged energy that needed to be released from its elemental planes. They weren't coming for her, she suddenly realized. The shrieks were making her head hurt, made it difficult to keep her energy at bay long enough to focus an attack.
But they weren't attacking her; they were feeding on something-someone.
Areli swore sharply in her own tongue, twirling her orb in her hand. She couldn't make out who it was, not without Treyden there to cast a larger light radius. And if the specters were busy, it wouldn't do for her to attract them to her presence.
Treyden was behind her, and it made her jump when she finally realized it. He was looking at the spectacle with hard, battle-worn eyes.
"We can't take them, not without help," Treyden finally said in an even tone.
"They'll kill who ever they're feeding on, and we'll have to deal with it later because they'll still be alive," Areli pointed out. "And whoever it is, they'll help."
"Or rob us for whatever we've got in our packs."
"Throw your decoy," Areli finally said, her orb having stopped its movements. "I can put some fire damage on your bows and javelins. But if you throw that decoy, I can have a chance to either see if the fire gods are being kind today or if I'll have to make do with the static of the air to make the sparks I need."
"I don't much care for gambles," Treyden pointed out caustically.
Areli steeled her features. "I'm not leaving whoever's out there to die, not like that. It'd be different if they weren't specters. But that's no way to die. I'd rather kill whoever it is myself."
Treyden's eyes were golden-tinged-blue in the moonlight. "Remember that," he finally muttered, and waved a hand casually to widen their visual on the specters.
When the images finally became slightly clearer and more illuminated, Treyden swore again.
It was the damn paladin.
But Areli had already started for the best vantage point, and he wasn't about to lose the only friend he'd managed to make. With one knee in the dry, dying grass, Treyden began summoning his strength and hoped that the Valks of Valhalla were feeling kind.
They weren't, but he'd been practicing the decoy for much longer than Areli realized. And it wasn't like the Valkyries were likely to listen to a man's prayers anyway.
Treyden threw the decoy when he saw a tiny spark in the distance, Areli's signal. Shaking his arm gingerly and wincing, Treyden pulled another blood-colored bottle from his belt and dumped it over his injured arm. It hissed and smoked, and he grit his teeth to stave off making noises of pain.
It hurt, but it was functional. He drew his bow, and saw Areli throwing her mana shield again. She followed it quickly with a frozen armor he'd seen her use before, and watched as the sparkles of snow drifted around her figure before dissipating.
He knew better though; anything that attacked her would feel the biting chill of being frozen upon contact. He was never able to see when she gave him more fire power; she always said that it looked like his weapon (usually a bow) was being surrounded by licks of flames. He only knew that his bow changed color, and as long as it didn't affect the sharpened tip, he didn't care to analyze.
Treyden snapped away from his thoughts upon two things happening. One, Areli's fireballs were pelting and exploding, coming one right after the other. The second was that his decoy had disintegrated into the darkness.
Treyden swore and threw another before reaching for arrows. Specters couldn't feel physical damage, but they'd sure as hell feel the fires.
Areli crept closer steadily, and frowned when she saw shots of flame and magic coming from Treyden's direction. Several of the ghosts were gone now, and it allowed whatever they were feeding on to begin a slow craw away. Areli pulled a red bottle from her belt and rolled it towards the figure.
She finally recognized Jaren, crawling in the darkness and struggling to reignite an aura. He was sitting on the ground still when it activated, holy charges of a divine light surrounding his body.
One of the specters screamed in absolute rage.
Areli smirked grimly. Ghosts didn't like any of that divine power; it was no wonder so many had come upon him. She could feel her mana sizzling, could feel it draining. Her spiritual energies were nearly depleted, and she fumbled for one of the bitter blue potions.
Treyden was still firing, and Jaren had seemed to finally recover enough that he was standing, and a decidedly unholy light had entered his features. He rearmed his shield and headed directly for the ghost that seemed to be leading them.
Areli still continued to spit fireballs from her hands, though she had to move in order to find new raw elements to make the flames with. She could hear the thwips of Treyden's bowstring growing louder; he was coming closer. She could hear pained grunts from his direction.
It was odd to see Jaren bashing at the ghosts and hear nothing; she knew he was doing enough damage though and her role had simply become supportive at this point. Areli was a smart sorceress; her mother had always said so, and she decided to save her spiritual energies for a later battle.
Treyden came into her visual line just as Jaren finally put down the last one, and a wide-spread circle of frost and lightning knocked them to their feet.
Treyden was swearing again. Areli snorted as she struggled to catch her breath through frozen, winded lungs. Jaren wasn't moving at all; he'd been low as it was as far as energy was concerned. He was breathing though, and Areli immediately turned her attentions to Treyden, who was holding his arm like one might hold a bird with a broken wing.
"Let me see," Areli said sharply, and struggled not to fight him too much. His arm was charred, blackened by a direct hit from a lightning charge that the specter had cut loose upon death. She sighed, rocking back on her haunches. "That? So not my fault."
Treyden's face was white in the darkness, stark against his dark hair. "That's what we get for trying to save that pompous ass's life."
"Catching my breath, not unconscious," Jaren's voice drifted out, his tone accented from the far East.
Areli snorted, and finally ripped open a town portal to use. She hardly needed the inscription, and simply waved it into the night to pop in a burst of sparks and bounce into the portal they needed to get back to town.
"Since you're not unconscious then, come help me get him to his feet," Areli called over to Jaren, and gingerly slid her arm around Treyden's shoulders. "Direct hit, yes?"
Treyden jerked when Jaren came near him, and glared at him. "Areli is more than capable, thanks." He looked back at the sorceress in question as they got to their feet. "I was trying to protect you."
Areli sucked in a breath, and heard Jaren swear when Treyden lost consciousness.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
They ended up taking the waypoints across Sanctuary until they arrived in Harrogath to see Malah, who ended up as something of a specialist in burns of all kinds. She smiled at them kindly, taking a moment to ask Areli if she'd learnt any new spells, and then set to work on Treyden's arm.
"Lightning and fire? You really shouldn't be dueling," Malah tutted at them disapprovingly, and reached up to her shelves of potions and balms. "His arm will be fine; sore for a few days, but back to full use by then." Malah's odd silver eyes landed on Areli and Jaren. "You two should get some food and get some sleep. Larzuk can see to your repairs, and I'm sure Nihlathak has something cooking."
Jaren snorted this time, a sound that Areli hadn't heard from him yet. "Bloody hell, I was sick for over a week the last time I ate anything that man made."
Malah chuckled. "Beggars can't be choosers, yes?" She glanced up briefly from her work when she heard no response, and quirked an eyebrow. "That's the phrase, correct?"
"We'll find our own," Areli retorted before Jaren could. "Have you heard of Anya yet?"
Malah shook her head as she peeled the blackened skin from Treyden's arm with a pair of bone-colored tweezers. "I'm afraid not. Nihlathak seems to think she's simply run away, but I don't think he's telling the truth." It looked as if she might say more, but then she turned and shooed them from her cabin.
Areli rocked on her heels as Larzuk set to work on their armor and weapons. "What were you doing out at night by yourself like that?" she finally asked. "Ghosts are nocturnal creatures; they can smell a holy aura further than carvers can blood."
Jaren shrugged, but didn't offer an answer. He looked at the purpling sky of Harrogath. It would snow soon, he wagered.
"I have prayers and meditations," he finally said. "Ones that I haven't done yet for the night. I'd suggest you do the same." He turned and walked into shaded areas of Harrogath.
Areli frowned. "You're welcome! It's not like we saved your ass and ended up here as a result!" she yelled after him, her temper finally getting the better of her. She plunked down where she stood, stoking the fire beneath the cauldron of vegetable soup and occasionally strengthening it with a lazy circle of fingers.
It began to snow shortly after Jaren's departure, and Areli didn't bother hiding her displeasure. She supposed it came from having chosen a focus in fire, but snow always made her feel inordinately cold. It didn't help that Larzuk had the majority of her armor that normally kept her a fair bit warmer than the fitted top, wrap skirt and leggings she currently wore with her soft-soled, flat shoes.
Her snowy, frozen armor did little to help, and made the bumps rise like needles on her arms. She shivered, still glaring at the fire as she stoked it further to add warmth to her small frame.
Areli nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a heavy cloak drift over her. She whipped her head up to find Treyden standing there, his arm in a sling and wrapped tightly with a bandage that nearly seemed to be fluorescent.
"Malah thought you might be cold out here; she'd assumed you'd go to Nihlathak for food."
Areli snorted. "Beggars most certainly can choose. He has a penchant for poisoning any travelers who don't believe his tale of Anya running from her country and people."
Treyden nodded and offered her a hand up. "Soup and sleep?" he asked. "Malah's potions taste like death, and I'm in need of something to wash it down."
"They taste like death because they're reversing it," Areli retorted. "It's an inverse relationship, much how it costs you more to use that freezing arrow versus a cold one."
"Theory later. Food now."
Areli glanced over his shoulder. "We should find Jaren. He needs food too, especially after that."
Treyden rolled his eyes, but grudgingly left to find the paladin. They returned a few minutes later (Jaren hadn't gone so far that he wasn't able to sense the soup being ready). The snow had started in earnest now, and Treyden had already noticed the other people of Harrogath bolting their windows down in light of an incoming storm system.
Together, they booked a room above Malah's shop (next to Qual-Kehk, as it happened), and Areli made short work of starting a fire in the ancient chimney.
"Thanks for your help, back in the Highlands of Khanduras," Treyden said when the silence had become too thick in the room.
Areli nearly dropped her spoon.
Jaren didn't betray any surprise on his face, but nodded at the gratitude. "Likewise." He spooned a tough-looking carrot into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a moment. "I was out looking for you two anyway. The young rogue that travels with you mentioned you had retreated to the highlands for additional practice of higher-level spells, and I thought I might garner some information."
Treyden snorted. "Foolish, coming into that sort of territory at night."
"Yes, Areli was kind enough to remind me of that to begin with." Jaren sent her a self-deprecating smile, his Eastern features shifting with the jumping fire. "But it is difficult enough finding a party that will not kill me on sight, let alone trust enough to save."
"We're not in the business of salvation; we can barely keep our own skins alive sometimes," Areli pointed out.
"Yes, but with the roiling undead cretins that populate these lands, it would do you both well to have someone with a holy power, yes?" Jaren pointed out. "And, as Areli pointed out, the moon is waning and shifting to a new night; it's a time for forgiveness."
Areli raised an eyebrow. "You overheard that?"
"I was close enough. I was getting ready to come and say hello when a fireball shot past me and then I saw the specters. I was trying to kill them before they found you, but they were looking for me," Jaren responded.
Treyden shot Areli a healthy look of humor. "That was her work. Killed my bow arm."
"I didn't kill it," Areli muttered hotly. "And you failed to mention you scared the life out of me by disintegrating."
"It was a decoy," Treyden shot back.
Jaren raised an eyebrow. "Kids yet?" he muttered into his soup bowl, but the pair didn't seem to hear him. Instead, he changed tactics. "You can throw a decoy?"
"Not for long, but it's there," Treyden nodded, and drank the rest of the soup in his bowl. "Still working on getting the gods of Valhalla to send a Valkyrie."
"Amazons don't normally employ male archers, I thought," Jaren replied in slight confusion, and Areli made a jabbing motion at her mouth.
Treyden's features shut down immediately, the relaxed humor and hidden wit gone. It was replaced with a look of non-emotion more so than anything else.
"Was there anything else, paladin?" Treyden asked.
"Jaren will do," the paladin replied. "And you're traveling with a non-melee ranged spellcaster who can't take a hit. Let me travel with you."
Treyden hushed Areli's immediate protests. "She can hold her own."
"Can she hold her own if you're incapacitated? That's a fancy rune-studded bow you've got, but I doubt she can even lift it," Jaren responded.
"She doesn't need to," Treyden shrugged. "Trust when I say she can hold her own. What would we need you for?"
Jaren rolled his shoulders. "I know Kurast and their Bazaars better than anyone else you'll find yourself traveling with. And the spoils are yours."
That seemed to finally catch Treyden's attention. "Not in it for the gold then. Holy pilgrimage?"
"Cleansing," Jaren corrected. "The balance is off, and with my race dying out into evil, someone's got to stop them. Better it be their own kind who know how to fight them off than those who might injure themselves on their auras."
Areli had to concede that point, but she said nothing. She followed Treyden with very few questions asked.
Treyden put his bowl down, and walked to the window to watch the swirling snow. Small lights were twinkling on some of the huts and cabins dotted along the landscape, some solstice celebration the townspeople were trying to prepare for in light of the situation.
There were children in the village still, after all. And even with the prime evils bearing down upon their sacred lands, it did well to lift the little ones' spirit, even for a little.
"In my tribe, the solstice was a time for cleansing," Treyden said quietly, and Areli did drop her spoon this time, as the man hardly ever spoke of anything to do with what tribe he'd come from or how he'd survived. "You say your journey is that of cleansing, of purging the evils from not only your land, but your people as well. Areli says that the new moon and waning of the old alone is enough to shave off old hates. And you say that the solstice is a time for forgiveness."
Jaren swallowed. "I did."
Treyden sighed, and ran a hand through his loose dark hair. It fell in fine strands around his face; he'd pulled the tie from it upon entering the room. He turned, eyes glinting again with the firelight and looking completely yellow.
"Well, a happy solstice then." Treyden sat down. "Can you detect what auras they're using?"
"I can, and I can teach you how too."
Treyden nodded, and picked up his bowl, where a few hearty, tough-looking vegetables remained. "If you betray us, I'll make sure you can't move and leave you to your twisted brethren. Are we clear?"
Jaren nodded; his face had paled at the mention of being left to the dark paladins still in the Kurast Bazaar, heeding no call but Mephisto's.
Treyden pulled the collar of his tightly-fitted, long-sleeved shirt aside. Several leather cords were around his neck. Each held small pendants in different, unfamiliar shapes. They were Amazonian in nature, though Areli had never asked what they stood for. She had her own talismans for protection after all, in addition to the amulet she'd found that helped her defensive spells.
Treyden yanked one off, looking at it with quiet contemplation. "This means brother," he finally said, letting it twist in the ambience of the room. "I don't give this lightly, and I have no problem killing my own brother. I have before, and I will again."
Areli watched the exchange with quiet, dark eyes. Treyden had given her a similar talisman early on, but he hadn't told her what it meant. She fingered it now, and watched as Jaren contemplated the offering, and then took it. He pulled a ring from his pocket, and handed it back in return.
Areli bit her lip. She did recognize those rings. They were rings given to bloodmates, something closer than family and love and everything in between. They were often given as conversion incentives, back when the Paladins were first starting to turn to the dark. It was very old, very powerful magic, and Treyden took it without hesitation.
Something plinked against her chest and fell to her lap. She snapped back to reality, and stared at the silvery ring with the traditional script of Zakarum Paladins carved into it.
The talismans she wore were sacred; Treyden had never asked for any of hers in return for the one he'd given her. She wondered desperately now what the stone he had given her meant.
Treyden seemed to pick up on it. He glanced at her, a fondness entering his gaze that Areli rarely saw.
"It means bowstring," he finally said. "Without a bowstring, I have no means with which to fire an arrow."
Areli nodded in quiet thought, and picked up the ring. She untied the cord from her neck and looped it on, but not before pulling two of her own necklaces off.
"These are simply for protection, for boosting your spirit's energies. They're said to have been passed down from Enkidu himself, the sorcerer that befriended Gilgamesh in the old country," Areli finally said. "I've had these on since birth." Her dark eyes looked bright, but not wet, and she clutched the two cords in her hand. She got to her feet. "I'm going to bed," she finally said haughtily. "Happy Solstice, bless you both."
On her way to the Spartan-style, functional twin bed, she dropped a talisman each into the laps of Treyden and Jaren both. She kneeled by the bed, hands clasped against her knees as she rocked back to her haunches.
Though her meditations had been done for the night, and it was only a few hours till her morning ritual, Areli began again, fingers drawing imaginary symbols of elemental sorcery into the air. Small sparks of light, colored to match the element, fizzled in the air.
The Solstice was a time for cleansing and healing; it meant the end of the night. The moon would be gone tomorrow night, a time for new adventures, new experiences, new life.
Treyden joined her a moment later, and then Jaren on her other side. The three had their own meditative rituals, though Areli knew factually that Treyden rarely performed his unless he truly needed the contemplation that meditation allowed.
Malah looked up from her rocking chair as another soldier's life force flickered out in her make-shift bedding room. She sighed regrettably; she hadn't thought he'd make it through the night. Her old bones creaked as she managed to her feet to draw the sheet over his head. Next, she headed up the stairs in order to lure Larzuk and Qual-Kehk out to bury the poor boy.
The meditative magic coming from the three travelers' room was old, ancient magic that Malah had only studied in theory, and she raised an eyebrow. They were barely children after all, couldn't have been more than twenty to twenty-five years of age between the three of them.
It was the Solstice however, and really, as long as they defeated Baal in the long run, it was none of her business. It wasn't unheard of, after all, those this sort of ritual was normally performed between pairs and not trios.
Binding rituals were serious business, and combined magicks from several different races. Even the most advanced parties didn't bind themselves together, opting instead for the easier verbal or oral agreements.
Malah smiled as she knocked on Qual-Kehk's door. Well, perhaps that meant they would be different. Perhaps their bound souls and spiritual energies would combine and merge enough successfully that they would at least be able to defeat Mephisto where so many others had not.
Qual-Kehk answered the door near instantly, as if he hadn't been sleeping. He frowned, his bushy eyebrows knitting together as he looked across the hall.
"Binding ritual?" he asked in his low-toned, burred voice.
Malah nodded. "Binding ritual." She gestured him out. "I've a soldier to bury, Qual-Kehk. If you and Larzuk?"
Qual-Kehk nodded. "I'll fetch Larzuk. He's still working on their armors. He said it'd been quite some time since their items were repaired." He looked at the door again. Even a soldier as himself could feel it. "Do you suppose they could be the ones to do this?"
Malah rolled her old shoulders. "I have hope that anyone so foolish as to bind themselves to two people instead of one must be fairly crazy. Crazy enough that their mission resides in the salvation of these lands, not in its destruction."
Malah left several potions at their door in lieu of a barrage of questions for the morning.
The pendants felt heavy against Areli's chest as she finally slid into the bed. Though it was a twin, it was clearly a twin for a barbarian. She felt tiny beneath the heavy blankets.
And she hated being alone.
Treyden slid in with her though, and Jaren pulled one of the blankets and pillows down to the ground. Treyden grumbled something though, and a moment later, the three of them were swathed warmly in the thick blankets, protected from the cold.
Areli remembered the moon coming out later, and she tilted her head up in supplication to her gods, asking for their blessing and their luck. The moonlight illuminated the fresh burns and ink marks to her left wrist, the same ones that Treyden and Jaren now shared as well.
She fell asleep in the moonlight, tucked between her bloodmates, her brothers, her protection. Tomorrow would be soon enough. She couldn't remember when she'd had a better solstice.
xxxFINxxx
Title: Solstice's Cleanse
Author: Elise D. duh!
Word Count: About 5K
Fandom: Diablo II (oh yeah. It's a game fic, hahahaha)
Pairing: Paladin/Sorceress/Amazon if you squint. m/f/m
Rating: PG-13ish. Nothing really graphic.
Warnings: Eh, mild violence. Some burns and blood. And bining rituals between three peeps.
Author's Notes: IDEK. I really don't.
Summary: Binding rituals were serious business, and combined magicks from several different races. Even the most advanced parties didn't bind themselves together, opting instead for the easier verbal or oral agreements.
Treyden tended the fire in much the same way he shot off arrows or stabbed them with the oddly sharpened end of his bow-with a determined focus and never-ending patience. His hollow features were thrown into sharp relief, his callused hands dark with ashes and dried blood.
Areli kneeled in the darkness and shadows a ways away, moonlight streaming over her copper colored hair. She studied Treyden with calculation, wondering if he was tending he fire with the expectation of camping or to lure more beasts out. They were hardly hurting for supplies, though Areli suspected it was more than that.
Treyden carried himself gracefully and with the agility of the Blood rogues they had spent the better part of the day fighting. Underlying the silent stealth, Areli knew there to be a clever wit and quick mind. Still further (Areli was too habitual to layers of elemental spells) beneath that lay a rage and pain that she didn't dare try to draw out and excise.
Areli swept to her feet, brushing dirt from her scraped knees. Her nightly meditative rituals finished, she headed quietly towards Treyden for a more direct answer as to whether they lodged here or back in town for the night.
However, as she approached, the slender men kneeled at the fire suddenly disappeared with a snap and crackle that had Areli ducking down and tossing a fireball in the general direction.
Sharp, foreign swearing filled the air. Areli looked to find Treyden emerging from the thicker copse of trees with a disdainful look on his angled features and cradling his arm. The annoyance was etched with pain.
"Would it harm you that much to perhaps think before you go tossing about fireballs into the dark?" he asked. As he drew closer, Areli could faintly make out that his skin was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and his features were more sallow than pale.
Her suspicions were confirmed when he drew a stuttering breath and dropped to a knee. She gave an exasperated sigh and drew a healing potion from her belt.
"Perhaps had you warned me?" she drew out.
Treyden snorted and hissed as Areli drizzled the red potion over the blistering burn on his arm. "Had I known I could throw the decoy at all, maybe I would have."
Areli pursed her lips. "Jaren would be able to heal this much better than any potions we carry," she finally muttered reluctantly.
Treyden gave a grunt of disgust. "I'll not have that insufferable, pompous ass near us, let alone trying to heal anything of mine that I care about. We'd suffer all the more, not only from the beasts who seek to end their kind, but other parties who want the same."
"So we're to leave him to die on his own?"
"He chose his path of righteousness; I don't wish to share his condemnation for it."
Areli sighed, her eyes following the waning moon. "They say that the disappearance of the moon and its following new night are the best times for new beginnings, of sloughing off old prejudices and cleansing of old angers."
"They also say I don't need an elemental spellcaster when I'm perfectly capable of being by myself."
"That's rich, aiming that at the person healing you."
"You're the one that threw the fireball at me."
A screech interrupted their heating argument, and made them both turn warily. Treyden scooped his bow up, pushing Areli behind him with little gentleness or patience. She made a frustrated noise, but knew it to be the correct strategy. She had little tolerance for physical hits.
The screeching grew louder, and drowned into a drawn-out high pitched wail that made their ears ring.
"Specters," Treyden swore.
As the howls grew louder, different pitches grew stronger and more definitive. Areli groaned inwardly; that meant there were a whole slew of them, hiding about somewhere. And while they weren't hurting for supplies, Treyden's arm was in no condition to fire arrows, not without another round of serious healing in town with village cleric. Those rust-colored, blood-flavored potions were more painkilling bandaids than actual healings, and had little place in the face of serious injuries.
Treyden didn't seem to take notice of it, and Areli wondered (not for the first or the last time) if he genuinely just wanted to quit that habit of his called breathing.
"The arrows wouldn't have done any good anyway," Treyden pointed out to her. "You think you can take them?"
Areli shrugged. Her fireballs had been growing progressively stronger (especially if Treyden's still slightly smoking skin were any indication) but a group of specters? Their mercenaries were in town as it was; this last jaunt into the wilderness had been more for Treyden and Areli's benefit then for the quietly obedient companions sold into their service.
"That wasn't an answer," Treyden muttered. He started going through his knapsack one-handed, still cradling the injured arm against his ribs. "And while I'm proud that your fireballs can singe human flesh, could we perhaps abstain next time from attacking each other?"
Areli knew her eyes were glowing slightly darker now. "It was an accident," she gritted out. "And I can take them."
Without waiting for a response, Areli grabbed her shield and orb, leaving Treyden behind and ignoring whatever else he might have had to say. She was certain she could hear him swearing again in that foreign tongue of his, the language of the Amazons. She knew little of Treyden's past, but knew enough of the Amazons that few of their men survived childhood (by matriarchal design; it was much the same for the Zann Esu clan), and those that did were generally only for procreation of the race.
In fewer terms, that meant Treyden was a sheer oddity between his gender and his skill with the bow.
Areli could feel the draining effects much quicker than Treyden could, and with a snap of her fingers, struggled to pull her mana shield around her small frame before they could come closer. That would at least minimize whatever physical damage she took. The fireball was easy enough to pull anymore, and the weather had been painfully dry.
It took little to pull the dryness of the air and the natural static of the grass to spark the fire.
She punched out five in rapid succession as much for a light radius as for damage. It was simply an added blessing if the ball of flame killed anything, and at the strength she had it going, that was likely (provided none of them missed).
And when Areli saw the sheer numbers, she almost wished she hadn't seen them at all, and that she'd knocked out more than five fireballs. One of them was clearly leading, charges of static and sprinkles of snow drifting from the ghostly tendrils. There were enough that she couldn't count them all; their group was close together and feeding.
Areli felt her reality crackle a little with charged energy that needed to be released from its elemental planes. They weren't coming for her, she suddenly realized. The shrieks were making her head hurt, made it difficult to keep her energy at bay long enough to focus an attack.
But they weren't attacking her; they were feeding on something-someone.
Areli swore sharply in her own tongue, twirling her orb in her hand. She couldn't make out who it was, not without Treyden there to cast a larger light radius. And if the specters were busy, it wouldn't do for her to attract them to her presence.
Treyden was behind her, and it made her jump when she finally realized it. He was looking at the spectacle with hard, battle-worn eyes.
"We can't take them, not without help," Treyden finally said in an even tone.
"They'll kill who ever they're feeding on, and we'll have to deal with it later because they'll still be alive," Areli pointed out. "And whoever it is, they'll help."
"Or rob us for whatever we've got in our packs."
"Throw your decoy," Areli finally said, her orb having stopped its movements. "I can put some fire damage on your bows and javelins. But if you throw that decoy, I can have a chance to either see if the fire gods are being kind today or if I'll have to make do with the static of the air to make the sparks I need."
"I don't much care for gambles," Treyden pointed out caustically.
Areli steeled her features. "I'm not leaving whoever's out there to die, not like that. It'd be different if they weren't specters. But that's no way to die. I'd rather kill whoever it is myself."
Treyden's eyes were golden-tinged-blue in the moonlight. "Remember that," he finally muttered, and waved a hand casually to widen their visual on the specters.
When the images finally became slightly clearer and more illuminated, Treyden swore again.
It was the damn paladin.
But Areli had already started for the best vantage point, and he wasn't about to lose the only friend he'd managed to make. With one knee in the dry, dying grass, Treyden began summoning his strength and hoped that the Valks of Valhalla were feeling kind.
They weren't, but he'd been practicing the decoy for much longer than Areli realized. And it wasn't like the Valkyries were likely to listen to a man's prayers anyway.
Treyden threw the decoy when he saw a tiny spark in the distance, Areli's signal. Shaking his arm gingerly and wincing, Treyden pulled another blood-colored bottle from his belt and dumped it over his injured arm. It hissed and smoked, and he grit his teeth to stave off making noises of pain.
It hurt, but it was functional. He drew his bow, and saw Areli throwing her mana shield again. She followed it quickly with a frozen armor he'd seen her use before, and watched as the sparkles of snow drifted around her figure before dissipating.
He knew better though; anything that attacked her would feel the biting chill of being frozen upon contact. He was never able to see when she gave him more fire power; she always said that it looked like his weapon (usually a bow) was being surrounded by licks of flames. He only knew that his bow changed color, and as long as it didn't affect the sharpened tip, he didn't care to analyze.
Treyden snapped away from his thoughts upon two things happening. One, Areli's fireballs were pelting and exploding, coming one right after the other. The second was that his decoy had disintegrated into the darkness.
Treyden swore and threw another before reaching for arrows. Specters couldn't feel physical damage, but they'd sure as hell feel the fires.
Areli crept closer steadily, and frowned when she saw shots of flame and magic coming from Treyden's direction. Several of the ghosts were gone now, and it allowed whatever they were feeding on to begin a slow craw away. Areli pulled a red bottle from her belt and rolled it towards the figure.
She finally recognized Jaren, crawling in the darkness and struggling to reignite an aura. He was sitting on the ground still when it activated, holy charges of a divine light surrounding his body.
One of the specters screamed in absolute rage.
Areli smirked grimly. Ghosts didn't like any of that divine power; it was no wonder so many had come upon him. She could feel her mana sizzling, could feel it draining. Her spiritual energies were nearly depleted, and she fumbled for one of the bitter blue potions.
Treyden was still firing, and Jaren had seemed to finally recover enough that he was standing, and a decidedly unholy light had entered his features. He rearmed his shield and headed directly for the ghost that seemed to be leading them.
Areli still continued to spit fireballs from her hands, though she had to move in order to find new raw elements to make the flames with. She could hear the thwips of Treyden's bowstring growing louder; he was coming closer. She could hear pained grunts from his direction.
It was odd to see Jaren bashing at the ghosts and hear nothing; she knew he was doing enough damage though and her role had simply become supportive at this point. Areli was a smart sorceress; her mother had always said so, and she decided to save her spiritual energies for a later battle.
Treyden came into her visual line just as Jaren finally put down the last one, and a wide-spread circle of frost and lightning knocked them to their feet.
Treyden was swearing again. Areli snorted as she struggled to catch her breath through frozen, winded lungs. Jaren wasn't moving at all; he'd been low as it was as far as energy was concerned. He was breathing though, and Areli immediately turned her attentions to Treyden, who was holding his arm like one might hold a bird with a broken wing.
"Let me see," Areli said sharply, and struggled not to fight him too much. His arm was charred, blackened by a direct hit from a lightning charge that the specter had cut loose upon death. She sighed, rocking back on her haunches. "That? So not my fault."
Treyden's face was white in the darkness, stark against his dark hair. "That's what we get for trying to save that pompous ass's life."
"Catching my breath, not unconscious," Jaren's voice drifted out, his tone accented from the far East.
Areli snorted, and finally ripped open a town portal to use. She hardly needed the inscription, and simply waved it into the night to pop in a burst of sparks and bounce into the portal they needed to get back to town.
"Since you're not unconscious then, come help me get him to his feet," Areli called over to Jaren, and gingerly slid her arm around Treyden's shoulders. "Direct hit, yes?"
Treyden jerked when Jaren came near him, and glared at him. "Areli is more than capable, thanks." He looked back at the sorceress in question as they got to their feet. "I was trying to protect you."
Areli sucked in a breath, and heard Jaren swear when Treyden lost consciousness.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
They ended up taking the waypoints across Sanctuary until they arrived in Harrogath to see Malah, who ended up as something of a specialist in burns of all kinds. She smiled at them kindly, taking a moment to ask Areli if she'd learnt any new spells, and then set to work on Treyden's arm.
"Lightning and fire? You really shouldn't be dueling," Malah tutted at them disapprovingly, and reached up to her shelves of potions and balms. "His arm will be fine; sore for a few days, but back to full use by then." Malah's odd silver eyes landed on Areli and Jaren. "You two should get some food and get some sleep. Larzuk can see to your repairs, and I'm sure Nihlathak has something cooking."
Jaren snorted this time, a sound that Areli hadn't heard from him yet. "Bloody hell, I was sick for over a week the last time I ate anything that man made."
Malah chuckled. "Beggars can't be choosers, yes?" She glanced up briefly from her work when she heard no response, and quirked an eyebrow. "That's the phrase, correct?"
"We'll find our own," Areli retorted before Jaren could. "Have you heard of Anya yet?"
Malah shook her head as she peeled the blackened skin from Treyden's arm with a pair of bone-colored tweezers. "I'm afraid not. Nihlathak seems to think she's simply run away, but I don't think he's telling the truth." It looked as if she might say more, but then she turned and shooed them from her cabin.
Areli rocked on her heels as Larzuk set to work on their armor and weapons. "What were you doing out at night by yourself like that?" she finally asked. "Ghosts are nocturnal creatures; they can smell a holy aura further than carvers can blood."
Jaren shrugged, but didn't offer an answer. He looked at the purpling sky of Harrogath. It would snow soon, he wagered.
"I have prayers and meditations," he finally said. "Ones that I haven't done yet for the night. I'd suggest you do the same." He turned and walked into shaded areas of Harrogath.
Areli frowned. "You're welcome! It's not like we saved your ass and ended up here as a result!" she yelled after him, her temper finally getting the better of her. She plunked down where she stood, stoking the fire beneath the cauldron of vegetable soup and occasionally strengthening it with a lazy circle of fingers.
It began to snow shortly after Jaren's departure, and Areli didn't bother hiding her displeasure. She supposed it came from having chosen a focus in fire, but snow always made her feel inordinately cold. It didn't help that Larzuk had the majority of her armor that normally kept her a fair bit warmer than the fitted top, wrap skirt and leggings she currently wore with her soft-soled, flat shoes.
Her snowy, frozen armor did little to help, and made the bumps rise like needles on her arms. She shivered, still glaring at the fire as she stoked it further to add warmth to her small frame.
Areli nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a heavy cloak drift over her. She whipped her head up to find Treyden standing there, his arm in a sling and wrapped tightly with a bandage that nearly seemed to be fluorescent.
"Malah thought you might be cold out here; she'd assumed you'd go to Nihlathak for food."
Areli snorted. "Beggars most certainly can choose. He has a penchant for poisoning any travelers who don't believe his tale of Anya running from her country and people."
Treyden nodded and offered her a hand up. "Soup and sleep?" he asked. "Malah's potions taste like death, and I'm in need of something to wash it down."
"They taste like death because they're reversing it," Areli retorted. "It's an inverse relationship, much how it costs you more to use that freezing arrow versus a cold one."
"Theory later. Food now."
Areli glanced over his shoulder. "We should find Jaren. He needs food too, especially after that."
Treyden rolled his eyes, but grudgingly left to find the paladin. They returned a few minutes later (Jaren hadn't gone so far that he wasn't able to sense the soup being ready). The snow had started in earnest now, and Treyden had already noticed the other people of Harrogath bolting their windows down in light of an incoming storm system.
Together, they booked a room above Malah's shop (next to Qual-Kehk, as it happened), and Areli made short work of starting a fire in the ancient chimney.
"Thanks for your help, back in the Highlands of Khanduras," Treyden said when the silence had become too thick in the room.
Areli nearly dropped her spoon.
Jaren didn't betray any surprise on his face, but nodded at the gratitude. "Likewise." He spooned a tough-looking carrot into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a moment. "I was out looking for you two anyway. The young rogue that travels with you mentioned you had retreated to the highlands for additional practice of higher-level spells, and I thought I might garner some information."
Treyden snorted. "Foolish, coming into that sort of territory at night."
"Yes, Areli was kind enough to remind me of that to begin with." Jaren sent her a self-deprecating smile, his Eastern features shifting with the jumping fire. "But it is difficult enough finding a party that will not kill me on sight, let alone trust enough to save."
"We're not in the business of salvation; we can barely keep our own skins alive sometimes," Areli pointed out.
"Yes, but with the roiling undead cretins that populate these lands, it would do you both well to have someone with a holy power, yes?" Jaren pointed out. "And, as Areli pointed out, the moon is waning and shifting to a new night; it's a time for forgiveness."
Areli raised an eyebrow. "You overheard that?"
"I was close enough. I was getting ready to come and say hello when a fireball shot past me and then I saw the specters. I was trying to kill them before they found you, but they were looking for me," Jaren responded.
Treyden shot Areli a healthy look of humor. "That was her work. Killed my bow arm."
"I didn't kill it," Areli muttered hotly. "And you failed to mention you scared the life out of me by disintegrating."
"It was a decoy," Treyden shot back.
Jaren raised an eyebrow. "Kids yet?" he muttered into his soup bowl, but the pair didn't seem to hear him. Instead, he changed tactics. "You can throw a decoy?"
"Not for long, but it's there," Treyden nodded, and drank the rest of the soup in his bowl. "Still working on getting the gods of Valhalla to send a Valkyrie."
"Amazons don't normally employ male archers, I thought," Jaren replied in slight confusion, and Areli made a jabbing motion at her mouth.
Treyden's features shut down immediately, the relaxed humor and hidden wit gone. It was replaced with a look of non-emotion more so than anything else.
"Was there anything else, paladin?" Treyden asked.
"Jaren will do," the paladin replied. "And you're traveling with a non-melee ranged spellcaster who can't take a hit. Let me travel with you."
Treyden hushed Areli's immediate protests. "She can hold her own."
"Can she hold her own if you're incapacitated? That's a fancy rune-studded bow you've got, but I doubt she can even lift it," Jaren responded.
"She doesn't need to," Treyden shrugged. "Trust when I say she can hold her own. What would we need you for?"
Jaren rolled his shoulders. "I know Kurast and their Bazaars better than anyone else you'll find yourself traveling with. And the spoils are yours."
That seemed to finally catch Treyden's attention. "Not in it for the gold then. Holy pilgrimage?"
"Cleansing," Jaren corrected. "The balance is off, and with my race dying out into evil, someone's got to stop them. Better it be their own kind who know how to fight them off than those who might injure themselves on their auras."
Areli had to concede that point, but she said nothing. She followed Treyden with very few questions asked.
Treyden put his bowl down, and walked to the window to watch the swirling snow. Small lights were twinkling on some of the huts and cabins dotted along the landscape, some solstice celebration the townspeople were trying to prepare for in light of the situation.
There were children in the village still, after all. And even with the prime evils bearing down upon their sacred lands, it did well to lift the little ones' spirit, even for a little.
"In my tribe, the solstice was a time for cleansing," Treyden said quietly, and Areli did drop her spoon this time, as the man hardly ever spoke of anything to do with what tribe he'd come from or how he'd survived. "You say your journey is that of cleansing, of purging the evils from not only your land, but your people as well. Areli says that the new moon and waning of the old alone is enough to shave off old hates. And you say that the solstice is a time for forgiveness."
Jaren swallowed. "I did."
Treyden sighed, and ran a hand through his loose dark hair. It fell in fine strands around his face; he'd pulled the tie from it upon entering the room. He turned, eyes glinting again with the firelight and looking completely yellow.
"Well, a happy solstice then." Treyden sat down. "Can you detect what auras they're using?"
"I can, and I can teach you how too."
Treyden nodded, and picked up his bowl, where a few hearty, tough-looking vegetables remained. "If you betray us, I'll make sure you can't move and leave you to your twisted brethren. Are we clear?"
Jaren nodded; his face had paled at the mention of being left to the dark paladins still in the Kurast Bazaar, heeding no call but Mephisto's.
Treyden pulled the collar of his tightly-fitted, long-sleeved shirt aside. Several leather cords were around his neck. Each held small pendants in different, unfamiliar shapes. They were Amazonian in nature, though Areli had never asked what they stood for. She had her own talismans for protection after all, in addition to the amulet she'd found that helped her defensive spells.
Treyden yanked one off, looking at it with quiet contemplation. "This means brother," he finally said, letting it twist in the ambience of the room. "I don't give this lightly, and I have no problem killing my own brother. I have before, and I will again."
Areli watched the exchange with quiet, dark eyes. Treyden had given her a similar talisman early on, but he hadn't told her what it meant. She fingered it now, and watched as Jaren contemplated the offering, and then took it. He pulled a ring from his pocket, and handed it back in return.
Areli bit her lip. She did recognize those rings. They were rings given to bloodmates, something closer than family and love and everything in between. They were often given as conversion incentives, back when the Paladins were first starting to turn to the dark. It was very old, very powerful magic, and Treyden took it without hesitation.
Something plinked against her chest and fell to her lap. She snapped back to reality, and stared at the silvery ring with the traditional script of Zakarum Paladins carved into it.
The talismans she wore were sacred; Treyden had never asked for any of hers in return for the one he'd given her. She wondered desperately now what the stone he had given her meant.
Treyden seemed to pick up on it. He glanced at her, a fondness entering his gaze that Areli rarely saw.
"It means bowstring," he finally said. "Without a bowstring, I have no means with which to fire an arrow."
Areli nodded in quiet thought, and picked up the ring. She untied the cord from her neck and looped it on, but not before pulling two of her own necklaces off.
"These are simply for protection, for boosting your spirit's energies. They're said to have been passed down from Enkidu himself, the sorcerer that befriended Gilgamesh in the old country," Areli finally said. "I've had these on since birth." Her dark eyes looked bright, but not wet, and she clutched the two cords in her hand. She got to her feet. "I'm going to bed," she finally said haughtily. "Happy Solstice, bless you both."
On her way to the Spartan-style, functional twin bed, she dropped a talisman each into the laps of Treyden and Jaren both. She kneeled by the bed, hands clasped against her knees as she rocked back to her haunches.
Though her meditations had been done for the night, and it was only a few hours till her morning ritual, Areli began again, fingers drawing imaginary symbols of elemental sorcery into the air. Small sparks of light, colored to match the element, fizzled in the air.
The Solstice was a time for cleansing and healing; it meant the end of the night. The moon would be gone tomorrow night, a time for new adventures, new experiences, new life.
Treyden joined her a moment later, and then Jaren on her other side. The three had their own meditative rituals, though Areli knew factually that Treyden rarely performed his unless he truly needed the contemplation that meditation allowed.
Malah looked up from her rocking chair as another soldier's life force flickered out in her make-shift bedding room. She sighed regrettably; she hadn't thought he'd make it through the night. Her old bones creaked as she managed to her feet to draw the sheet over his head. Next, she headed up the stairs in order to lure Larzuk and Qual-Kehk out to bury the poor boy.
The meditative magic coming from the three travelers' room was old, ancient magic that Malah had only studied in theory, and she raised an eyebrow. They were barely children after all, couldn't have been more than twenty to twenty-five years of age between the three of them.
It was the Solstice however, and really, as long as they defeated Baal in the long run, it was none of her business. It wasn't unheard of, after all, those this sort of ritual was normally performed between pairs and not trios.
Binding rituals were serious business, and combined magicks from several different races. Even the most advanced parties didn't bind themselves together, opting instead for the easier verbal or oral agreements.
Malah smiled as she knocked on Qual-Kehk's door. Well, perhaps that meant they would be different. Perhaps their bound souls and spiritual energies would combine and merge enough successfully that they would at least be able to defeat Mephisto where so many others had not.
Qual-Kehk answered the door near instantly, as if he hadn't been sleeping. He frowned, his bushy eyebrows knitting together as he looked across the hall.
"Binding ritual?" he asked in his low-toned, burred voice.
Malah nodded. "Binding ritual." She gestured him out. "I've a soldier to bury, Qual-Kehk. If you and Larzuk?"
Qual-Kehk nodded. "I'll fetch Larzuk. He's still working on their armors. He said it'd been quite some time since their items were repaired." He looked at the door again. Even a soldier as himself could feel it. "Do you suppose they could be the ones to do this?"
Malah rolled her old shoulders. "I have hope that anyone so foolish as to bind themselves to two people instead of one must be fairly crazy. Crazy enough that their mission resides in the salvation of these lands, not in its destruction."
Malah left several potions at their door in lieu of a barrage of questions for the morning.
The pendants felt heavy against Areli's chest as she finally slid into the bed. Though it was a twin, it was clearly a twin for a barbarian. She felt tiny beneath the heavy blankets.
And she hated being alone.
Treyden slid in with her though, and Jaren pulled one of the blankets and pillows down to the ground. Treyden grumbled something though, and a moment later, the three of them were swathed warmly in the thick blankets, protected from the cold.
Areli remembered the moon coming out later, and she tilted her head up in supplication to her gods, asking for their blessing and their luck. The moonlight illuminated the fresh burns and ink marks to her left wrist, the same ones that Treyden and Jaren now shared as well.
She fell asleep in the moonlight, tucked between her bloodmates, her brothers, her protection. Tomorrow would be soon enough. She couldn't remember when she'd had a better solstice.
xxxFINxxx