As Arjay stepped through the dimension door he’d cast from Belle’s apartment, he took a moment to let out a deep sigh. When he’d grown in power, when he finally began to reside in the celestial planes with Sune and his peers, he firmly intended to make his part of the plane resemble this. Something about the inn and its energy just made him relax, even when it was closed down for the night and the lights were out. Right now, he needed that comfort. The problems that he’d just walked away from had only been going on for a few spare minutes, true, but it had left the fledgeling god soul-weary after the events from the past few weeks of his life that he still hadn’t recovered from. Hopefully, the rest of the night would prove to be some sort of balm for those spiritual scars.

Ascending the stairs to his bedchambers, though, he found himself pausing in the doorway. He’d expected (based on the note he’d been given not very long before) see Sune’s red tresses spread over the bed and her body curled up with the tiny form of their daughter. Instead, Hanali's golden hair practically lit up the room from where she sat holding the baby and looking none too pleased.

Wonderful.

Wordlessly and wearily, Arjay walked over, carefully extricating his daughter from her mother's arms. He slowly lay down on the bed, resting the sleeping infant on his chest and slowly stroked his fingers down her back, lulling her more deeply into sleep. “I'm sorry that my return is so long in coming, my love,” he sighed. “Incidentally, when next you're in Arvadandor, tell Shevarash that only cowards strike from ambush, and that ambushing someone who bears you no ill is a move that Lolth would particularly approve of.” Perhaps things would progress better if he came in contrite, but he was far too drained for that much self-abuse to come naturally right now.

@moon

This was not the best day of Arjay's life. His first outing in Faerun as a god had gone better than he ever could have hoped, but the return? Ohhhh the return had been a mess. Blame not knowing the impulses of his power, blame being hurt and tired and weak, blame just being an idiot (he had his money on the last one), but he'd screwed things up royally. Oh, it was in his power to fix, of course... or it would have been, if Belle weren't hosting a malevolent item that was determined to not let him fix it and put a stop to the self-destructively foolish ideas going through her head all because in a moment of weakness, he had been a complete idiot.

Fortunately? While he failed to make any headway arguing with this spirit, he'd had another plan in mind already. One he didn't like as much, but still one that would work. He had some reservations about it, but the only one that this could really go badly for was himself... and that was acceptable right now.

He wasn't sure where Queth was right now, just that he could sense her in the Hub, and that was enough. He cast his magic out and the illusion formed next to her, with no warning or preamble. There wasn't time for that. If he were the one in trouble, that would be all right, but it was Belle in trouble, and there was no room for any error caused by delay.

"Queth? I need your help." He paused, then sighed, shame forcing him to be honest. "Belle needs you. She's not in danger," he quickly added. "But she needs someone to be there for her right now, and I'm the problem, not a solution."

@moon

It was a dream that could never last.

Belle walked on daggers.

She smiled, she tried her best to pretend. But how could she hide her despair, heart break from a man would could feel it in his soul no matter how she tried to hide behind a bright smile?

Living in Hub had become unbearable, even if she didn’t see him..there was, Queth, Pete, Sebastian, digging shards of guilt deep into her soul.

She needed to leave, just for a few months, enough and far enough to -


A world with out magic, with out gods, enough technology that she could have refrigeration, that was what she asked the broker, a world where she couldn’t be visited by supernatural beings.

He offered one where time move swifter, she could spend subjective years and only a few weeks or months would pass, he offered to exchange the relative wealth she’d accumulated on Hub and make her a grand Lady on Persephone.

She choose instead a small farm, the world awakening a faint spark of her sense of adventure.

Those close to her knew she was going on a long vacation, Chris knew more but than he would have been blind not to.

Soul Food shuttered its doors and Belle took her small possessions that would still work on this new world.

The quiet routine of daily farm work, serving as town Liberian, on a frontier world slowly soothed the raw wounded places in her too often broken heart.

And then the Reavers came.

The ring around her neck was powerless to protect her, there was no gateway to Hell for it to open.

But it did have enough to fulfill the purpose it had originally been given to her.

Belle didn’t die.

The reclamation team that found her didn’t recognize her at first, it shouldn’t have been possible to survive-

The mentally shattered wreck Jane Doe was sent to a psychiatric clinic.

Five years later a woman walked out, years later she would take the name.

Saffron.

There were some days that Jax thought he needed a new career. He could do something quieter, something more peaceful. He could change his ways for good, never even think about the things he was trying to leave behind, what he'd tried to change from, what that said about him.

Then, there were days when some jackass started shit at work and left him favoring one arm, got him shouted at by Jaya, and left the girls shaken up before he was thrown bodily from the door. Those days, Jax remembered exactly why he was an outlaw and that he knew how to handle situations like that. Granted... those jackasses being not precisely human presented some interesting problems, like how you effectively dealt with someone whose skin was more or less stone. Thus Jax was in a fairly aggravated mood as he browsed through the little potion shop, figuring that it was time to see what exactly the Hub had to offer him in ways to start causing more mayhem on people than he could normally.

"Hello?" he called, browsing through the bottles he could see. Somehow, he didn't think that a potion that made people float up into the air would help him with his current aims. There had to be a more... potent section of the store right?

@katie

Belle was in a full panic, Sebastian had styimed her first urge to go back out there and join the fight against the man in black with cold logic, which left her brain spinning off in a dozen directions trying to find someplace or something to pin down and focus on.

Chris.

Her brother.

She’d been on the way to deliver him lunch and catch up when the world had fallen in on her -

“Yes.” Belle stepped into Sebastian's arms willingly, fitting herself against him unselfconsciously, “Please take me to his workshop.”

The workshop was buried under several tons of debris and island, two men trapped beneath working to dig their own selves out.

@gooser
@eve

The days since the ignominious end to their first date had grated on Pete for a number of reasons. The first and foremost was that the poor lass had run away from the date in a right state, and it had been more or less his fault. Okay, he hadn’t been the tosser who’d given her those abandonment isues, that much was true, but he’d somehow brought their conversations around to a place where it had reminded her of it, and then he hadn’t helped push the conversation away from it, which had been just bloody daft.

Since then, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to go over to her place, since he was fairly sure that he’d outlasted his welcome with her in that date, and he foolishly had never gotten her mobile number, which just stank of amateur mistake. Oh, sure, he could get her number easily enough, he was a bloody spy after all, but it would look more than a little bit creepy if he essentially stalked her until he had her contact information… all because he couldn’t work up the nerve to go over. There was, in the end, only one solution to the situation: He stopped at the bar, fortified himself with a sufficient blood alcohol level in the bar next door, then slipped into her little shop after the last customer left, but before she’d had a chance to come around and lock the door. Neither of them needed any witnesses to this.

And so it was that when Belle came back out from the kitchen, Pete had locked the door for her and taken down the ‘open’ sign, and was sitting at one of the tables. “I’m sorry about the other night,” he said, preemptively. “And I’m sorry it took me four days and three drinks to come say that.” He paused, considering what he’d just said, then admitted, “Unless you count the drinks I started with at lunch. Then it’s more like six, but it’s still been too many days.”

@kel

As far as entries into the Hub went, this was far from the most graceful. It was, on the other hand, fairly close to being one of the more dramatic that people had seen any time recently.

The portal opened in the sky, a sudden disk of night against the blue sky of the Hub. People cried out in alarm as they realized that they could see something, someone, rapidly growing larger through that gate, streaking toward it at a breakneck speed. They could almost hear the speed of its progress through the air on the other side of the portal, could hear the panicked screams as he careened through the space between… only when it grew closer did they realize that the figure wasn’t screaming, he was laughing with abandon. The figure twisted in the air as it soared through the portal, landing in a crouch as he skidded down the street, glowing swords held in each hand, one glowing bright gold and one a deep violet. The impact of his boots against the street was heard all down the street, but he didn’t so much as stagger from it.

Through the portal a whistling was heard, and then an arrow slammed into the street near him. If something could be said to glow black, this arrow definitely did, and it tore through the side of a stone building on its way. Rubble flew from where it slammed into the street with the impact of a cannonball. The figure’s swords blurred, and he batted two more arrows safely aside from the crowd that was still rushing to get the hell away from this display of destruction, throwing up a magic wind to rob the last volley of its accuracy and speed, leaving the arrows tumbling to the ground relatively harmlessly before the gate finally closed. Then, the figure sank to his knees, laughing defiance at the hole in the sky that was no longer there, weariness and pain overtaking him. He was wounded, bleeding from wounds (those who could put two and two together guessed from arrows) to his shoulder and thigh, still poisoned in an open wound in his side, but he was alive, and still hadn’t been brought low. It had been a week in the hub, but longer where he had been, of doing the work that his new station required of him. Arjay Lo’Ran had returned to the Hub, and judging from the state of him, not a moment too soon.

The echo of a soft whistle preceded the god of fidelity as he strolled down the street. He was far, far from home, and yet he possessed no sense of urgency to return. His princess was here, and that meant that this was where he was meant to be as well. Of course, when said princess was all but avoiding him, that didn’t make this place terribly easy to be, but that was simply a part of his path to walk; he could not change how his love felt toward him, and he had no inclination to change her, not even for his own happiness. He would walk beside her, or behind her until Ragnarok, and then again after if his luck held out.

And so the melancholy man whistled a jaunty tune, doing what his Queen would call ‘faking it till he was making it’ ignoring much of the hubbub around him as the citizens of Hub went about their morning.

It was by chance that a door opened as he approached, spilling out the most delicious smells. The scent of quality foodstuffs caught his attention.

Loki always did enjoy a good sweet pastry…

The door chimed as he entered the cafe, moving into the building to see if they might have anything for him to eat, and something sweet to take to his princess.

@kel

(note: there will be more installments showing Arjay's little activities here. Until they're all done, he hasn't even left the Hub. Time is moving faster in his Toril than in the Hub these days)

In the little Drow outpost, those who entered against their will always regretted doing so alive. Such had been the way of things since the camp had been founded, such had been maintained in the centuries since this lookout posting had continued. There were few creature comforts afforded to the Drow posted here, and few diversions from the dangerous intrigues that came part and parcel with being Drow. The only thing that they could really unite together on was the capture of surface races. The warriors who captured them gained favor for the successful capture, the wizards got to study any of the new toys that were stripped from their captives, and the priestesses? Well, the priestesses had their attention diverted from the men of the camp for a few days per captive, and that benefited everyone equally.

The captive party was in a sorry state, and Kelthyr Imrael knew that those of his party who’d succumbed to the torture they’d been put through were the lucky ones. What, exactly, did it mean to be sacrificed to Lolth? The priestesses who tortured them claimed that it gave Lolth their soul for all eternity, but that couldn’t be true, could it? Could a simple act of murder on an altar really steal his soul from its rightful place in Arvandor? His faith told him that it wasn’t so, but he couldn’t shake that fear, that horror that he might be forever separated, even in death, from his family, from his gods, from all of the elves that had come before him. He wanted to get out of here. He needed to get out of here, and he needed to get his friends away as well, those who still lived, at least. There was no escape, though, was there. They were all tied to this altar, and the familiar faces of the high-ranking Drow surrounded them, leering at them. All that they needed was the arrival of the ranking priestess, and the sacrifice would begin.

None of this, though, kept him from noticing the strange Drow in the gold domino mask.

This one… hadn’t been at any of the other sessions of torture, hadn’t been in the party that caught them, didn’t really seem to have any place among them that he’d been able to discern. Here he was, though, always standing out of the corner of Kelthyr’s eye, though the other Drow didn’t seem to be paying him any mind. They were tightening his bonds, stripping away his clothes, preparing for this ritual with a terrifying mechanical speed that told him that they were very, very accustomed to these types of ceremonies. He felt that terror setting in until the moment when the gold-masked Drow fully entered his field of vision, the purple eyes behind the mask bearing down upon Kelthyr’s senses, piercing through is fear in an instant.

Kelthyr Imrael. Your lover’s prayers, cried to the heavens at the report of your capture, have been heard. If you wish to live for their sake, if you even wish to be spared the pain of torture, call to me. Something in that violet gaze turned furious, though Kelthyr couldn’t find it in himself to be afraid. I do not ask for your worship, I do not ask for your devotion, but I will ask for your prayer, once and only once. I am Starwind, consort of the goddess of Love, god of heartbreak and comfort. I will deliver you and yours to your loved ones and pay Lolth in the blood of her faithful for those of yours that have already died. If you would live, if you would have those who have fought and bled with you live, if you would see the prayers of those you love answered… call to me, and I will answer.
* * *
He had been in the Underdark countless times, sometimes as conqueror, sometimes as a prisoner, but never as a force of divine retribution. As he watched the captives elves trussed up like animals to be slaughtered, he found his blood surging, his pulse pounding against his temple, that sense of righteous justice he had always been powerless to grant making his fingers twitch toward his swords. He knew exactly how this was going to play out, of course, and he was somewhat sorry for making the elves go through the entire song and dance of this little farce he was going to make of the ceremony, but in this instance, it wouldn’t simply do to grant a miracle in answer to the prayers that brought him here and whisk them away. No, he needed to make an example of this situation in order to draw out the forces behind them. In order to do that… well, he needed those being sacrificed, and they were playing their part beautifully.

On the altar, the priestess was raising the eight-bladed dagger over the heart of the first elf. As her zealous cries echoed through the tunnels, the three elves on the altar cried out the first coherent words they’d spoken in days. Just one word, all but gibberish to the Drow, who could only look on in mild, irritated confusion, but Starwind, the god of heartbreak and comfort, responded to the cry of his name in this instance with immediate, blinding speed, and the strike of steel through the breast of the head priestess.

A complete, shocked silence fell over the temple as the lithe, beautiful elf in the gold mask drew the sword sharply out of her back, sending the late priestess’s body sprawling on the ground in front of the altar. “Breakers of hope!” he thundered, standing before them with his bloodstained sword bared, limned in a brilliant violet fire that lit the temple, “Shatterers of families, of lives, of love! For the pains against their families, your priestess lies dead! For those pains that took the lives of their companions?” He swept his hand aside, his gold lined cloak flaring behind him as he drew his other sword, spots of light flaring into being around the altar where three Eladrin warriors, those celestial fey who called Brightwater home, appeared at his mental summons. “For those pains, you will all suffer in kind.”

The Eladrin drew their blades of golden steel, driving back any Drow who attempted to approach the altar. The real danger, though, lay with their master, that fledgeling god who was unleashing his wrath in the name of those who prayed to him against an evil that he had hated long before he’d been elevated from the ranks of the purely mortal. He lashed out with his blades against all of those who approached them, and struck down monster and Drow alike, but even more terrifying to the Drow was the magic that suddenly assaulted them. Confident in their resistance to magic, the Drow had rarely been assaulted by spells so potent that they had no hope of resisting them, and no ability to overcome them. One priestess suddenly fell back, a spear of doubt lodged so firmly into her psyche that she couldn’t bring herself to attack this apparition of vengeance. A highly decorated soldier fell to his knees, eyes wide and glowing purple, gasping out a list of all of his transgressions, beginning with the most grievous and continuing down, until the heartfire-lit sword separated his head from his neck while he was describing how he’d dissected a living faerie while it hung pinned and squirming to an interrogation table.

The slaughter could only be described as that: slaughter. Some fell to his blades, some fell to the spells that he cast, some simply fell trampled beneath the maddened boots of their foes. The eladrin, now unopposed, had untied the elves held captive on the altar, and as one they disappeared with them, spiriting them away back to the surface while their master continued wreaking havoc upon the crude temple that served as the center of this settlement. As the rank and file soldiers fell victim to a magical chaos, striking out indiscriminately against each other, Arjay decided to offer that final, cutting insult to Lolth. The priestess who had been struck by his magical guilt still stood back, shaken by the spell, obviously unsure of what to do, what was proper. For the poor girl, up was down, down was up, and right was wrong, and given her apparent youth, she may still be in the process of being indoctrinated to the evil of the Drow. This would end one of two ways, and he didn’t know which would enrage the Spider Queen more.

Arjay grabbed her by the silken tunic she wore and hauled her bodily toward the altar, doing nothing to guard her from the full glory of his divine nature. It was nothing that would not be overshadowed by a greater god than he, which at this point was nearly all of them, but it was still, to a mortal, a breathtaking experience. “You have one chance, Maya du Chezzek,” he said, his voice low, his breath even despite the raging battle he’d fought. His voice was like silk against her ear, the voice of a man that you naturally wanted to listen to, who you wanted to agree with you, who had the ability to make you believe anything, to believe in anything. She shuddered in his grasp, but did nothing to struggle away from him, though her body trembled in fear against the altar. “You have helped break lives, break hearts, destroy beauty, create abominations. You have aided a great evil, but you have one chance to renounce it. Renounce it now, of your own will, and I will take you as my own, show you a new way. It will be a harder way, but it will be a good way, a way that will take you out of the darkness and into the light.”

The magic he wove now could, he knew, only take hold if it was truly her will. The enchantment upon her might have given her reason to doubt, but the decision was her own. It was, he knew, the most complicated, difficult decision of her life, and one that he hoped she would make. If she didn’t… well, his sword was ready. “Call to me, Maya. Call to me, or call to your Spider Queen, but call to one of us right now. Be born into the light, or fall into the darkness. Lolth will reward your devotion, I’m sure.” He couldn’t, after all, lie to her. To call her based on a lie would make a lie of anything she did, and he wanted to bring her away from lies.

The priestess’s red eyes were wide, fixed upon his, and she tried to form words, but couldn’t. It was all too much, the moment was too much, the decision was too much. Overwhelmed, she did the only thing she could to articulate the choice she made. There, pressed against the altar of Lolth, she embraced the fledgling god, and accepted the kiss that he pressed upon her lips, his magic burning through her. She cried out into his lips as the Heartfire burned through her being, lighting her heart up with each sin she was asking atonement for, but the effect, in the end, was nothing short of beautiful. To Arjay, whose power washed over her, it was like her soul had been a gem caked in mud and suddenly dipped into a rushing river to reveal the beauty beneath. She fell to her knees at his feet, tears streaming from her eyes, but incredulous laughter coming from her lips as she felt the lightness of her soul after the Atonement spell had finished redeeming her, the accumulated guilt of her life’s actions that she no longer even noticed suddenly just gone.

Somewhere above the temple, below the temple, within the temple, there was a shriek of inhuman fury.

Arjay leaned down, cupping the cheek of his new priestess, drawing her gaze up to him. “It is best for you to be elsewhere, little one. We will talk more soon.” Then, with an effort of his will, she was gone, and his attention was free to settle upon the yochlol that were rising up from the floor of the temple. The masked elf laughed as he flicked the blood from his swords, leaping up atop the altar. “I see I have your attention!” he called out. “My blades are Aria and Requiem! My song is a song of beauty and sadness, of joy and wrath, and you will know the pain of the losses you’ve dealt, Lolth! I am Arjay Lo’Ran, uplifted as the god Starwind, and you are the first that my faithful beg me strike out against!” Then, with a mocking laugh, he dove from his perch, striking out with the holy swords against the demons who rushed to swarm him.

Belle Scarlet Street was a good girl, she might not be a regular to church especially since moving to hub full time but she still held fast to her morals and her indiscretions last night were quite honestly inexcusable. If Arjay had been single than perhaps she could have justified it as a little bit of drunk fun. Instead of what it was, her knowingly tempting a man to betray his lover. Now he might say that part of his role as a champion included sexual or romantic leaning encounters; but that seemed a whole different kettle of fish than him dailing with a friend.

Which was what brought us to this moment; Belle nose scrunched up in concentration, glasses pushed up while she carefully re-read the religious text she’d picked up in the market, there was a ritual to gain the attention of the Goddess Sune. Well. Actually there had been a few but this was the one that hadn’t involved...well things Belle was distinctly uncomfortable doing.

Her room was redolent with the scents of incense and Belle had carefully dressed for this hopeful encounter, she expected to wait, after all a goddess didn’t drop everything just to come at the polite knock of a stranger after all!

@alex