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She was falling. Plummeting down into the abyss, her eyes clocking the familiar torn metals of subterranean buildings – it looked like she was within the crater in Aeor’s Genesis Ward. There was a scattering of feathers above her, belonging once to her wings that would have been there to catch her fall.
-If the black bony appendages of her old shroud hadn’t replaced them.
White feathers marked her descent from the Nein where Veth held a feather of her own – too slow; no ‘feather fall’ to save her as she fell down – down – down into the dark abyss.
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
Yasha woke with a start, alone in her double bed within her room. It had cooled significantly from the fire-warmed night before. The other side of the bed was empty, the Aasimar must have slept in, and Beau’d left already for work -She idly hoped the human had made herself something for lunch, opting to ignore the nightmare.
[guess I’m not going to tell her about this one either] she thought, her mind betraying the plan to not think about the dream. She sighed, stretching her arms in a yawn when her fingers brushed a few loose feathers scattered on the bed -the yawn hitching in her throat as her thoughts jumped again to the dream.
“Ah…” She deadpanned in an exhale as her breathing quickly recovering from the hitch, logic wrestling back control. It would seem she’d bamfed out her wings in her sleep leaving behind only the scatterings of evidence.
Sitting up in the bed, she quickly gathered up the feathers in silence before getting up from the bed with the bundle of feather to exit the bedroom and make her way downstairs, not bothering for the moment to worry about currently not wearing any clothes -no one should be visiting currently and If Beau came back, well, Yasha would rather she look at her, then at the source of quiet anxiety she was carrying away to one of the many hidden and pliable floorboards in the house.
Yasha was pretty sure her life had never been better.
She found the strength to unshackle from the past; to love again and with that, to finally find and say goodbye to Zuala.
And now, almost four months on since she and Beau had travelled to pay her Goodbyes to Zuala, the pair, in choosing what would be best for Beau’s work with the Cobalt Soul, had settled a mile outside of Rexxentrum – west of the city and Tangles where lay the library inside the Court of Colours. There, outside the city from prying eyes was where they found it, on the outskirts of the Pearlbow wilderness; a run down two-storey home of dark, cobbled stone and spruce wood nestled close in front of a cliff-face into the forests.
An isolated pond close by the house, enough healthy land around them to clutter with all the things the Aasimar was starting to learn for this new life as a ‘housewife’ and enough space that they could grow from here and maybe, one day, expand their little family together.
So certainly, life was different to what she had before. Now she had a house; an actual house just outside a capital city she’d not really even known about 2 years ago and now she could just live the life she chose; a life with Beau.
So why did it now feel like it was starting to all fall away like the feathers of her wings now?
It all started two weeks ago, in the morning after a common enough night of drifting to sleep wrapped around the Aasimar’s radiant wings. On a rare morning where she would wake before Beau -the human having drifted from their embrace during the night to flail herself into one of her various ‘tormented-starfish’ poses across their double bed. She turned to appreciate her sleeping girlfriend ready to be the one to give her a proper wakening for once.
Which was when she spotted it, slightly tucked under Beau’s bare back, a single large white feather. Puzzled by where it’d come from, she carefully moved to extract it from below the sleeping monk, opting to forgo the wakening. Successfully retrieving the item, she inspected it more closely it was indeed -obviously- a white feather, but it held within it this strange almost ethereal quality.
The Aasimar let out a gasp as she recognised it, it was from her own wings. She was sure she’d never seen one of her own feathers separate from her wings -even after a drawn-out fight, like when they’d battled Lucien in Cognouza.
A stirring next to her as Beau rearranged herself brought her back to the now, feather in hand. She was about to wake the Human, show her feather before a voice in her head called against it; she shouldn’t tell Beau -that’d she’d worry about it. Her hand paused reaching to her [Why would Beau worry about this? Nothing really worries her -and certainly not anything about Yasha herself.] she pondered before moving her hand away in reconsideration. Carefully leaving the bed with the feather in hand Yasha headed downstairs to store it away somewhere safe instead – maybe later on she could see about fashioning a quill out of it for Beau as a surprise gift.
She’d likely of kept that voice away after that day as she went back upstairs to instead cuddle Beau awake, but then the next day, three more feathers fell out of her wing as she flew back out of the forest, fresh from gathering insects for some evening pancakes. She quietly added them to the underfloor lockbox with the very first one -deciding just to ignore them.
Maybe it was normal, she reasoned to herself two days later when she woke to find no loose feathers on the bed -she didn’t know what Aasimar’s like her were like, her only other interaction with one of ‘her kind’ had been Reani, after she and the rest of all the Nein had been invited to their housewarming. But the Darker-skinned Aasimar wasn’t like her as she didn’t have any wings at all.
Yasha would have thought maybe she was becoming like Reani was after another early morning finding several loose feathers in bed -But then that voice in the back of her mind came back and it brought with it the dreams
-and the dreams brought back the visage of the shroud, the Yasha before; Unredeemed. Unworthy.
As the days passed, the times she brought her wings out didn’t diminish in their frequency, but the euphoria of their appearances was fading each time not all of them left a minute later.
She should tell Beau, she really probably should, but the voice in her head that had rooted in silently over the week disagreed. [Work at the ‘Soul’ is increasing -she’s stressed enough working the next steps against the Assembly,] it reasoned [I can handle this on my own.]
And so, as the days passed into the second week from this discovery, the retired barbarian turned housewife kept it to herself. She was strong. Worthy, she told herself, even as the shroud began to form over her silent doubts and not just the wings of her dreams.
Yasha closed the lockbox, its solid craftsmanship -Uthodurnian construction if she recalled from what the other Aasimar told her- held securely the ethereal reminders, now inches deep within.
The funny thing was that so far, Yasha hadn’t seen any change in her wings. Each time shed brought them out they looked as normal as Yasha remembered them from the last time
She could simply reason that this was all just the figment of dreams, and it was foolish to think a dream could spell what would happen in her future. That would be the Yasha of two years ago’s rational, but the Yasha of today knew better after a year with the Nein – Afterall, it was dreams that led her to where she was now, with these glowing radiant wings that’d first come to being as feathered clumps on her shroud back a dream in Xhorhas and slowly manifested fully, first on the seas and then on Rumblecusp.
Moving back up the stairs to ready herself for the day, she glanced over to the fireplace in the main room, where mantled above hung the rusted blade of Skingorger, relegated from its life of violent adventuring, to mere set piece and occasionally unorthodox tray. Yasha smiled softly, she was glad at least the emotions tied to the blade had mellowed since they’d settled; forging new memories for the tainted items she’d held and worn.
Thinking to Skingorger as she continued back up to her and Beau’s room, a realisation stuck her that’d It’d been months since the last proper fight, at least since she’d gotten Magicians Judge back from Lady Kima in Tal’Dorei.
She’d made the decision to protect but there hadn’t been anyone to protect against since the house [Am I not worthy of these wings anymore now that the fight is done?] The thought struck hard, her hand clutching the door handle clenched; malforming the metal slightly.
[He- the Stormlord would have given me a sign though... right, If I’d have strayed from the path?] she hadn’t had a vision or dream from the Stormlord since inside of the blooming grove, when she fought to the death and beyond to prove herself of the Holy Avenger.
There had been a few storms since they moved here. Before, she’d taken silent comfort in them with Beau that, like his last interaction with the two back in the Moorlands, he watched over her still in their new journey together.
She needed answers.
And the opportunity came the next evening; a storm passing through – kicked up from an unusually warmer Duscar day.
Beau knew there was something different with this storm, watching Yasha fidget throughout dinner. “You wanting to take this one alone, Babe?” she asked, offering a reassuring smile as outside the sound of the first drops of rain started.
Grateful to Beau for speaking on it first, the Barbarian smiled back, “Uh, yes, thank you Beau. I’m going to take Judge with me. I want to try and commune with the Stormlord again, it might get a bit violent.” She responded sheepishly. She’d recently told Beau how the last successful communion with the Stormlord had gone to Beau’s bewilderment that her girlfriend had fought six on one and had passed through death – victorious, all while the Nein slept.
“Go kick some ass, babe but be careful,” Beau cautioned before getting up to give Yasha a soft kiss “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Yasha replied, reaching a hand to Beau to pull the Monk closer and deepen the kiss.
Ten minutes later and Yasha was outside, the rain having intensified since their conversation she wore her cold weather coat over her winter clothes, the Coat of the Crest wouldn’t stop her getting wet, but it would lessen the accompanying chill as she walked towards the small, gravelled path up the cliff where atop its peak, her nondescript shrine to the Stormlord stood.
“Alright Yasha, just go up there and do the same thing you did in the grove again, Right.” She rehearsed to herself, clothes already soaking through in the cold rainy night. “Preeetty sure I got high that last time though, and Zuala has the bark… I wonder if those seeds have grown.”
A bright flash drew her attention as lighting struck a mile or so north, Yasha could help but grin in anticipation as the roll of soon accompanying thunder rumbled overhead in the sea of ‘burnt marshmallows’, as Jester had taken to call them around the Barbarian.
Reaching the peak, she unsheathed the Magicians Judge and walked purposefully towards her shrine, built in dark stone to the vague design she could remember waking up to in the Xhorhasian wastes.
Laying her great sword beside her, Yasha knelt in front of the structure, reaching into her coat to retrieve her icon of Kord, The Stormlord. Taking a moment to Steady her racing heart, she touched the symbol to her forehead before placing it on the smooth offering surface pot-marked with dried candle wax.
Maybe she should have cleaned the alter beforehand, would he care about some wax? She idly thought before refocusing, clasping her hands together as lightning struck the forest behind her again.
“Hey, Stormlord. Its Yasha – your Champion. I’ve been having these dreams and I don’t know what they mean,” she called out, eyes closed as she worked to try and connect similarly to before, “can you hear me -I could use some guidance?” She listens intently as the rain pours on and splashes around her, impacting the metal sword.
A minute passes without thunder, she resists the urge to open her eyes and check for lightning.
[He’s not hearing you] that voice in her head supplies. She shakes her head to clear the intrusive thought, wet hair impacting her face and making her shiver as it hits her bowed nose. Mentally, she wills the coat to take some of the chill away before she tries again.
“Please, Stormlord. I- I don’t want to be afraid again, tell me what I must do for you.” she tries to keep her voice steady, will her eyes to be strong as she waited once more for a sign.
Another minute passes. It’s quiet but for the falling rain.
Two minutes.
Ten minutes. Her body tingles, but it’s just the rain seeping through her clothes.
[He doesn’t hear you anymore. Remember, he seeks the worthy,] Another shiver, the cold is coming back, but the Aasimar doesn’t reach for the coats enchantment, hands clench tightly together.
She should be frustrated; she was worthy, she wants to bring out the wings in proof, pull on the feathers and shout into the sky and demand the answers she seeks.
But she doesn't, she just kneels there -the visage of some gods crumbling statue and ignores the tears that join the rain on her face.
[prove you are worthy] the voice in her head, her own, echoes words her god once said to her in challenge.
But she was Tired.
Getting up, she briefly activates the coat again -no point in freezing to death up here. Reaching a hand to the icon, she silently prays to the god that saved her for a sign. a spark. But the metal is ice cold to the touch as she tucks it back into the coat and pulls the Judge from the mud beside her, “this is very bad for the blade.” she quips to no one, shaking the blade of the gathered water.
Yasha walks back, eyes following the muddy ground- not caring to check for more lightning right now as she renters the house and heads for the kitchen to grab one of the dish towels to blitz-dry her hair and face with.
Two sodden towels, hastily thrown in the pile to wash, later and she was quietly ascending the stairs to their bedroom -where in, was Beau, passed out on the bed, light sleep clothes on and snoring peacefully.
Despite the mood the prior situation caused, Yasha couldn’t help but smile at the Monk who’d certainly been aiming to wait up for the Aasimar to return back. Carefully replacing the Magicians Judge back up on the mantle inside their room, she made her way to the other side of the bed. They could almost have re-enacted their night at the grove again – were the scene the same. The smile faded and Yasha felt her eyes trying for round two. [No, we’ll deal with this tomorrow.] she willed, screwing her eyes shut.
A shaky minute later and Yasha was back, silently stripping down the sodden clothes to her slightly damp underclothes before slipping gently into the opposite side of the bed to Beau and turning from her lover to stare out the window, rain still pouring down, and try to sleep.
The night was silent; no dreams found the restless Barbarian. She didn’t know if she should have been glad for that or not when she woke to the mid-morning sunlight, alone in the bed.
She wasn’t awake long before Beau had come back into the room, dressed in some casual clothes. Noticing her woken girlfriend, she came over to sit on the bed next to her, smiling warmly with a steaming mug of coffee “morning babe, took the liberty of getting your wet stuff drying off in the sun.” Yasha accepted the coffee, sitting up in the bed, Intent on savouring this small, quiet mental respite as her mind worked its way back to the night before, she blew on the steaming mug as Beau carried on. “How’d it go then last night? I was going to wait up for you, but…” she trailed off, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.
“It’s alright, Beau. I appreciate the effort,” she said in earnest, taking a quick sip of the hot beverage that’d cooled from scalding just enough for her liking. “no vision fighting happened, he didn’t really have much to say.” [not necessarily a lie] she told herself, the Stormlord just really didn’t have much to say.
The Monk stared at her, searching her expression for any hidden truths, Yasha took to continuing her drinking as honestly as one could when silently interrogated by ones truths-seeking girlfriend. If she found any lie to the answer Yasha gave, she didn’t show it as her expression softened once more before reaching to kiss the Aasimar on the cheek and getting up from the bed.
“Alright then, drink up and I’ll make us an early brunch, yeah. I’ll be going into work later today; was expecting to get to sleep later yesterday.” She lamented, hovering in the open door.
“Okay, I’ll be down soon then. Love you.”
Two hours after a pleasant enough brunch, idly chatting on the days plans at the Cobalt Soul, the Aasimar found herself in light grey training clothes that loosely resembled her old outfit back in the formative months of the Mighty Nein and was running some light stretching inside the pairs training room. Dummies of various shapes littered the space, a hanging target for Beau to practice her throwing and a distance from that, the heavily worn target -and surrounding space- that Yasha insisted on using to practice her own sword throwing. She was getting better at it with Skingorger, even if Beau opted to stay far from the room when she practiced.
There’d be no throwing today though, as the Barbarian collected the Magicians Judge from where it rested before her warmup and faced her target, a red painted, reinforced target dummy, with a worn but still very sturdy piece of horned breastplate armour strapped to it; the pairs specially designed ‘frustration target’.
And Kord, was she frustrated today, as she squared herself up to strike squarely the armour. Prove yourself worthy the Stormlord had once said to her, if she wasn’t worthy anymore then she’d just have to be stronger. She struck the target. Hard, the clang of metal on metal satisfying as she lets her innate rage within be channelled into each successive swing as she expertly bashes around the durable target on the sandy ground.
She was worthy of the feathers on her back. Of the reclaimed white in her monochromatic hair. of being a protector- Of being Beau’s. she felt a growl rise in her chest, kicking out at the dummy as her next swing stuck itself in an exposed section of hip.
Wrenching the blade free, she looked to her foe, the dummy falling back before the counterbalance within swung it back towards the barbarian. Yasha snarled, focused on the head, her wings flared out behind her -she didn’t notice, swinging overhead with a yell; the great sword cleaving into the thick red leather head two inches in.
[Worthy]
[Protector]
The blade pulls free, straw fillings scattering out with it. Her eyes red in rage, her gaze zeroing in on the plate armour she once wore when her wings were bone. [Unworthy].
She roared.
She’s exhausted by the time she regains herself enough to stop hacking at the leather dummy- or at what remains of the thing that it once was. Sporting several impressive new shallow cut in it, the Tuskborn plate lies a foot from the targets base, the chest nestled inside hangs half out in tatters. Straw, leather and fillings are scattered about the open room.
Yasha would honestly be impressed with herself at the damage under better circumstance – but the dozen or so feathers that lie amongst the shared debris leaves her nauseous.
Beau won’t be back for hours still, plenty of time to clean up the evidence, and think of an excuse for one less training dummy.
The voice in her head speaks again as she picks up the feathers, she wishes to shred it too.
Two days pass and the pair are seventy five gold poorer, a training mannequin down and an Aasimar stubbornly refusing to use her wing. The floorboard silently mocks her whenever she walks over it, taunting her to bamf the wings once more- she how many feathers can fall out this time.
She’s glad at least Beau hasn’t asked about them recently, she doesn’t want to disappoint her when she can’t envelope her.
“Hey, you mind if we wing snuggle tonight, babe?” Beau asks the next evening as they ready for bed.
[Fuck, out of time.] she didn’t want to do this, her soul shrivelled each time she had to, but it was time to lie again. [Stormlord, if you can still maybe hear me, help me through this one.]
“Sorry babe, I’m tapped out on them today. Just have to go for a regular old snuggle.” She lies, holding out her arms in invitation, certainly not to draw the Monks eyes from her own.
“No wings, huh?” Beau questions, eyebrow raised and Yasha’s heart stops -she ready’s to double down on excuses; fought a bear in the woods, saved a kid in a well, -
- “Guess you’ll just have to warm me up some other way then.” Beau adds with a mischievous grin that if the Aasimar’s heart didn’t stop before, it’d now be joining her lungs as the breath stutters in her throat. Her arms are at least already outstretched, at least. That made for one less thing her short-circuiting brain needed to do as she walked towards Beau.
She’s gently running a finger through Beau hair afterwards, the Human content to drift to sleep by the feather-light touch of Yasha. Its times like these that leave the Barbarian feeling undeserving- leave her wondering how Beau would react if she told her. Would she get angry. Sad? Would she say that it didn’t matter if the feathers fell away completely, and Yasha’s wings could never hold a loved one again.
[Would there still be a loved one?]
It was a cancerous thought, she knew that. It existed because it could, and she should just ignore it.
[At least the shroud is still useful for mercenary work, maybe I could always guard a shop -not another circus though…] She concedes, considering the total improbability, as her trailing hand rests now over Beau and she drifts to uneasy sleep.
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
“Oh no.”
She recognises this place, but It’s not a nightmare scape of somewhere she’s been to physically; no chasm in Aeor, or maw of jabbering voices or even a waterfall, reaching into the sky. It’s close to it though, so close that she can feel her heart trying to beat out of her chest.
The Aasimar stands upon a familiar black surface amongst a sea of darkness -it’s quiet and that worries her the most.
It’s that ‘Choice-scape’, where she unshackled herself.
But is different, there’s no storm roiling in the sky – no single, falling white feather.
“Okay – Okay – Okay… Alright, we haven’t been back here in a while and there’s nothing here this time. That’s fine.” She says aloud to no one, taking in the space before her, not daring to move for the moment. Glancing below towards the watery surface before her, she attempts to cast her Aasimar light on her finger to illuminate the space a little, but the light fails to conjure.
Shaking her finger in exasperation, she takes an uncertain step off the solid surface and onto the water, ripples drifting out as they should. Something then catches her attention, falling out the sky twenty feet away and Yasha sighs in relief at the familiarity; there’s the feather at least, though no lightning.
She starts walking in its direction but freezes after the next step as another white feather joins the first to drift down onto the water surface. [oh. That’s not good, and still no thunder.] she notes, taking two more steps forward and watches another two feathers fall.
Glancing down once more at the surface she walks on; she still can’t see what’s below, but it doesn’t stop her wondering if it’s the same down there again- if Zuala is still shackled down there. Maybe she should go back to the start and bamf the wings out, fly above the darkness. Backing up however, Yasha sees yet more feathers drift onto the growing pile. She should really just go to it, so far this has been the tamest of the nightmares and she’s growing anxious waiting for the shoe to finally drop.
Why has she ended up here again, is there’s another choice to be made here- or is it being made for her, maybe? Either way, a choice needs to be made.
Yasha moves back towards the growing pile of feathers, more falling as she approaches.
The pile is about two foot tall in loose feathers by the time she’s reached it, they’re pristine. Unmarred, even as they rest on the liquid surface. The sky remains worrisomely silent as, hesitant, she reaches to pick one from the top, holding it gently by the quill, she turns it over to inspect. It matches hers -at least, it matches any that have fallen from her own wings in the past.
She inspecting the feather still when it’s starts to wither, ends curling and blackening. She flitches, dropping it before the rot reaches her fingers and watches as it drops unceremoniously onto the pile.
Yasha gasps, making to step back as those feathers at the bottom begin now to sink into the water, but she can’t, frozen in place; paralysed almost, as the feathers start to sink away, the water reaching the top of her own boots as well.
And she starts sinking; its quickly to her ankles, and a small part of her wants to let it happen, curious or almost wanting to fall -but she shunts it away; she needs to prove herself.
Yasha tries moving her legs again but they’re not responding to her commands. She grits her teeth and with a growl, releases her wings. They emerge with their familiar radiant light, and she gives an almighty flap, focusing herself on getting free from the water now reaching her calves.
There’s a voice she can’t make out, calling to her, she spares a moment to look below her to check for a figure; Zuala -or Beau maybe, as the wings beat harder against the sinking to no avail. Eyes straining, she can’t make out below this time without the illuminations that aided the last time, though she may be finding out soon enough.
Its reaching to her thighs now and with a desperate yell of defiance Yasha collides her radiant wings with the ground, in an attempt to maybe jack herself from the ground. The wings collide with the water as if it were solid, feathers slaying into the floor, pulling them back up, their coated with the liquid of the floor, seemingly tarring onto the feathers. She gives them a shake to try and clear it off and they slough off her wings along with the feathers, familiar black bones now peeking through.
A strangled cry escapes her at the sight; this was it, falling from grace once more. Her wings grew heavy all at once, splashing behind her, they were probably turning too now.
“I’m sorry, Beau.”
Yasha stops struggling, resigned to her fate.
And the world faded to black.
“YASHA!”
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
Beau was worried.
For the past week, her girlfriend had been acting off, and as much as the Aasimar was trying to play it off, Beau could tell something had happened recently when she suggested they cuddle. Such was why they now found themselves spent, after -what was, in the monks humble opinion- a truly expert diversionary tactic from the expositor, laying in bed with her back to Yasha as she worked her finger through the previously bundled and braided locks of hair.
She wouldn’t say anything about it tonight, they both needed some rest tonight. [Maybe I could bring it up tomorrow] she considered, as the barbarians movements slowed behind her as she slowly succumbed to sleep.
Her undercut was starting to fade, it was probably not a great idea to mix a tense talk with a delicate task, but she’s always known and trusted her to be careful in tense scenarios -she saved her from certain death at Lucien’s hands after all.
Yes, she’d ask her about it tomorrow, she decided as sleep began to take her too. Then she’d bring up what’s been stressing her so much.
It was uneventful in her slumber.
But only in her sleep though, as not probably an hour into the night she was violently flung awake in a burst of light, as a pair of radiant wings launched her from the bed and away from their source; a rapidly twitching Yasha. Slightly dazed by what just happened but steady enough from her monk training to recover quickly, springing back onto the bed to Yasha, who’s wings were now flapping incessantly.
“Whoa, Yasha. Hey Yasha, you alright. Wake up, babe.” Beau called to her, Holding on to her face as her mind worked through the limited medical knowledge she’d known before her time with two clerics.
It didn’t look quite like a seizure, only her wings were really moving now, worn feathers scattering out in random directions and her legs and arms were stock-still. She shook her head, trying for a reaction -ignoring the feathers.
Nothing but she could see her start to grit her teeth, the wings switching to single strong flaps that’d likely threaten to launch the Aasimar off the bed were it not for Beau holding her. Was she in a nightmare, trying to fly away from something? To something?
“Come back to me babe, you gotta wake up.” She tried again, voice shaking slightly and reaching to take hold now of her hands and squeeze, sending a silent prayer to the Stormlord, Ioun, for some sort of response back.
There’s a sudden shiver from her wings, as if maybe in response to her touch, Beau jerks to spot the motion before her heads back quickly to her face as the other women’s expression slackens.
Yasha mumbles but most of the words are lost but for her name “—, Beau.”
And then the wings fell slack.
“Yasha...?”
She’s still holding onto her hands, face a foot from hers and heart rate accelerating as the Aasimar is laying suddenly still.
“YASHA!”
Yasha jerks up gasping, eyes wide and searching around in the second before her head collides with Beau’s, tear glistening out from her equally wide eyes.
They impact, reactive ‘Oofs’ from them both before she’s quickly thrown back by the momentum from Beau as she surges forward to capture her in a tight hug.
“Yasha.” Beau exhales, holding tight before continuing. “Are you okay, your wings came out there in your sleep there and you seemed like you were struggling.”
[shit] The nightmare is shoved quickly away as her eyes dart from Beau, seeing the scattered feathers around the room [gotta distract her. Gotta get them away.]
Looking back to Beau, concerned eyes met her own. “Oh. Right, well -you know, sometimes my wings come out from my dreams and it- it’s a new day so…” she held out her arms, wings unfurling back out in invitation. “Let’s just get back to sleep.”
Beau pulls back from her, blue eyes boring into her. “No. I think we need to talk about this, Yasha,” she points over to one of the feathers lying around the floor. “I think are needing addressing.”
Yasha tries, she really tries to hold her composure; to be strong and pass off the evidence so that she could hide these away too.
But it’s too late.
The other shoe- feather, has dropped.
And two weeks of bottled emotions shatter out in a strangled sobbing and Yasha collapses into her loves already waiting arms.
The rooms quiet of words as Beau simply holds her, silent tear of her own run down the Humans face as she rubs comforting circles on the Aasimar’s back, the radiant wings noiselessly fading back into herself.
She breaks the silence first, gathering her disarrayed thoughts to break the subject first. “So, I guess my ruse is up then.” Taking a shaky breath “I’ve something I need to show you.”
“It’s alright, Yash. Come on, let’s get some tea, I’ve got some things to show you as well.” Beau replied, breaking away from Yasha to gesture over to the doorway back downstairs.
Slowly, she got up, eyes not quite looking to Beau as she reached over to where hung her and Beau’s cloaks; Yasha’s shawl and the Mountebank cloak they’d recovered from Cree. Tossing her shawl loosely around herself she wandered to Beau, the younger women nestling into her side before leading her downstairs and towards the kitchen table, the room lit faintly by low burning oil lanterns
Yasha sat first, taking to busying herself with looking on the table for one of the couple dicks that Jester had carved into the wooden surface while Beau sets about making a pot of tea, likely planning to use something left by Cad.
A minute of silence was about all Yasha could manage at the moment, with so much to be said; she’d take the lead. “They’ve been falling out- my feathers, I mean.” She began, stopping to look over to Beau as the human paused in her work to look over. “It’s been going on for the past two weeks now an- and I thought that I could just handle it myself when it was just the one or two back then. But more and more kept coming out whenever I bamfed them out and I just started to panic that maybe they were falling out because I was not doing anything with them anymore, and I wasn’t worthy of having them or of having you and this life and that-“ she was rambling now - it was all coming out, everything she’d worried internally about the before the nightmare tonight. She was just going to let it all out and then it would all be out in the open for Beau and then…
But then, a hand touched her own. Beau’s smaller hand atop hers -sneaky monk; Yasha hadn’t even heard her move from the stove. In her other hand, the kettle from the Clays, steam lightly drifting from the spout. “Breath, babe. Two weeks ago, you started seeing stray feathers appearing, correct.” She asked gently, though even in her rattled state, she could detect the hints of expositors investigative mind peeking in, getting the facts in order. She was reminded again of how much she loved how her mind worked.
Yasha nodded in response, moving her free hand to enclose Beaus, she sets down the teapot before gesturing back to the staircase. “I said I’ve got something to show you too. I’ll just be a minute, okay?” Beau asks, gently slipping her hand out from between the Yasha hand-sandwich. The Aasimar simply nods once more and Beau similes before making her way back up to their room.
She hadn’t brought out any cups to drink with. She supposed she could just drink it from the pot itself; might lighten the mood to have Beau come back to a half tea-soaked Yasha trying to drink from the spout.
No, she best not, no distractions from this topic. She stood to collect cup for both of them, returning to the table right as Beau return downstairs, carrying a small lockbox - not unlike the one she stored… oh. She moved quickly to the table to set the cups down before she dropped them, turning toward where she’d stored her fallen secrets.
“This is my one, Yash. Though I’m guessing it’s got the same thing inside it.” Beau called out at the barbarians movement. She gestured back over to her chair and took her own seat next to the box.
“When I first saw them appear, you hadn’t noticed, so I stored them away. I thought that maybe I could do something with them - a gift for you.” She explained, opening the lockbox to reveal inside a moderately sized stack of familiarly worn white feathers. “Whenever I saw them, I’d snag them to store in here. They’re mostly from when we renovated this place.”
Yasha was stunned, looking at a pile almost as big as her own -that’d been around since long before she’d noticed. “How long?” She simply asked in response.
“Least since the Moorlands, the confrontation with the Dolorav tribe, there was like two that I saw after we started along to the where they pointed us. I think I might have seen some back during the fight at the Grove with Trent, though I think they drifted into the house fire.”
“So, before we even started down this path?” She questioned.
“Yeah, I know we both don’t know much about how Aasimar’s work, and we’ve had even less time with these wings. My guess is this just happens with people like you -Protectors I think their called,”
Yasha couldn’t help snorting a little at the name, thinking back to what she’d said back during their date. Beau chuckled too, she must of come to the same thought too.
“Anyway, I think since back during our maiden flight your wings have now existed, Veth might of had a point with her bird comment -at least with maybe the idea of preening them? In the times they’ve been out, it’s been mostly high stress - high strain encounters and so they’ve been taking the hits like you.”
“I mean that’d make some sense I guess, but why are they coming out now, in the middle of normal day stuff.” Yasha questioned, still unsure on Beau's reasoning.
“Well. They’re magic and shit, I think when it’s Time for the worn ones to fall they wait around until the next time their out to then fall away -and then new ones are likely already in when their away in the ethereal plane.”
Yasha head tilts in confusion “wait, my wings are in the ethereal plane, like right now?
“I think so, I don’t have any of Caduceus’s magic mushroom stuff, but I think if I had true sight again, I’d see them stored away with you until you ‘bamf’ them out here to use.” Beau explains, hands flicking out to either side of her shoulders when mentioning the Bamfing out.
The tea has been mostly forgotten as Yasha takes it all in, the falling feathers were just replacements shot out when no longer needed. A part of her wanted desperately to believe her girlfriend but her then it’d mean that everything, this whole fucking ordeal had been of her own making.
“Babe, you said you thought you were unworthy earlier, what exactly has been happening.” The monk asked hesitantly, finally pouring out two cups of tea.
[Fuck, guess it’s time to do this then] she prepared herself, standing from the chair once more “I just need to get something too.” She assured Beau as she walked over to the floorboard, she’d avoided acknowledging for the past four days.
Opening the floor compartment, she received her own lockbox and brought it onto the table, Beau saying nothing as Yasha opened it to reveal her larger stash of worm feathers. She pushed it towards Beaus before taking the other tea cup and taking a few steadying sip of the blend, collecting what she wanted to say and thanking the Stormlord for what it was worth that her thoughts had been staying on her side so far tonight.
Nerves calmed somewhat and thoughts collected, she told her, no exceptions.
She told her of the first feather appearing in the morning two weeks ago, the stray thought and the idea that was quickly shunted after the next feathers showed up. Then, she mentioned the dreams starting simply enough, she was carrying Caleb away from the Tombtakers, when one by one her feathers started falling out and before she could acknowledge it, the two were falling into the snow and she woke up. Then, they continued: the Happy Fun Ball and falling into the void between the rooms, falling from the rope in the Genesis Ward to her demise. Then she mentioned tonight, the appearance of the choice-scape and her wings withering away as she descended into the empty void below.
Her hands were shaking by the time she was done recounting the nightmare that woke Beau, “It was the first time it’d shown up again since that night on Rumblecusp, I thought It was the Stormlord calling his judgement again. During that storm, I tried asking him what the dreams meant; was he taking my wings away because I wasn’t protecting anyone anymore,” she could see Beau make a face at that, confusion in her expression, but she stayed silent as Yasha continued, “I didn’t get anything in response so the next day I tried to train a bit, but I just got into my thoughts and got mad from the night before and then. Then, the dummy was destroyed, and I’d scattered more feathers everywhere.”
She looked back to Beau, a sad smile on her own face. “Tonight, before the dream when I lied about not having my wings, I just didn’t want to bring them out again, because I didn’t know if they would of been the same. That I’d now be unworthy of being a protector now. Of being yours.” She looked back down into her cup at those last words, not looking at Beau’s reaction.
The sound of scraping wood on wood was her one warning before Beau was embracing her, feeling a gentle kiss on her forehead from her, she let the moments of the Monks silent support persist before the Human released her embrace of the Aasimar -instead now lifting her head to look once more at Beau.
“Babe, first of all, even IF you were losing your feathers again, I’d still love you -you know this isn’t some superficial surface level shit, right?” She said, resolutely and doubtless in her words.
“Besides, I mean, fuck, you were hot as shit back then too. That night we all first saw the shroud…. -You don’t want to know what I was thinking; though it was very similar to what happened before bed.” She added, a sly grin breaking across her face as Yasha felt her own cheeks flush in response.
“Sorry, bit of a tangent there -but I was missing your smile, Yash. Anyway, I don’t think the Stormlord could even take your wings from you, I think that’s all you. He just tried to guide you in the right direction to help redeem yourself in your own eyes.”
“And you’ll always be my protector, wings or not. I’ve always been safest with you by my side.” She added softly, pressing a small kiss to her cheek.
She could feel the voice starting up again inside her mind, to affirm that she wasn’t worthy of herself after all. But that wasn’t it. “So, all this was just me in my own head.” She finally asked the question that plagued her mind. “But do you think the Stormlord still thinks I’m worthy?”
Beau chuckled “We all have our off days, weeks, Months,” she gave a sad smile and Yasha could guess to what she was referencing to there, “but we come back stronger, and we never stop being worthy because of them -especially you, Yasha.”
Fuck, she loved this women. She was about to say as much, but Beau continued on. “- and if the Stormlord’s suddenly decides that you’re not worthy anymore, well, I’ve punched demigods and ascended assholes, I can punch up to a proper god too!” She announced, taking her hands off the Aasimar to raise them at the ceiling in challenge.
Yasha swore she could hear a rumble outside for a second. Deciding it was maybe best not to chance a 2am showdown with her God, she instead wrapped her arms around the monk still threatening their ceiling “I don’t deserve you, Beau.” She admitted, the Human in her arms stilling. “I love you.”
Beau looked from the ceiling to the Barbarian embracing her, manoeuvring her own raised arms to instead wrap around Yasha as well “Yes you do -and I love you too. We’re both still getting used to this new life, it’s certainly different to stopping demons and flesh cities, but I can be just as hard sometimes.”
Yasha didn’t reply, just held her in the embrace instead as low lit oil lanterns danced their warm light over the pair and the two boxes of spent feathers.
“Let’s get back to bed, yeah? Then first thing, we’re going to take a look at these.” She gestured to the boxes. “Maybe one could make for a nice quill?” She suggested.
She laughed to herself, remembering what her first idea for that initial feather had been. “That sounds wonderful, Beau.” Yasha agreed and slowly the two separated and prepared for bed once again. Dumping out the remaining tea, Yasha wordlessly apologised to Caduceus for the wastage, before rinsing out the pot and cups. Behind her Beau waited, the two lockboxes held in her arms.
They walked upstairs in silence, no more words needing said for the moment until they could be back in each other’s arms. The scattered feathers from after the dream were still lying about the room.
“Yours or mine.” Beau asked, setting both boxes onto Yasha’s bedside table.
Yasha shrugged, reaching down to start gathering them up. “Both, we’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
A minute of gathering later and the pair were nestling back into bed, embraced within each other’s grasp once again. If there was another dream, well, they’d handle that together.
And in the morning, if when Yasha brought out her wings of light again - and feathers fell, then that would be alright, she supposed.
They were just making space for more.