Yardie (prime)/Thrakmas

The vignette references stories like the attack on Kraken’s Fall and my ongoing player story, intertwined with the Thrakmas prompt from Puptilian. The main story unfolds through vignettes and character interactions, so if you know, you know. If not, and you want to learn more, hit me up.

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Alerted by the soft rattle of lightweight pewter shackles lined with soft crimson fur against the polished wooden chair, Yardie glanced up from his golden teakwood sofa, covered in marshmallow-hued pillows. “Oh, so you’re awake. Forgive the shackles—a gift from an ex. I…never made use of them. Not my desire of expression, but they do make for great restraints.” He slid a plate of dumplings on the natural bleached driftwood coffee table crowned in mottled glaesine slab. Hungry? Here, have a dumpling.

Yardie extended the plate to the elder, red-eyed Faendryl shackled in front of him. An ash-colored hand flexed, channeling wisps of dark energy that swelled momentarily, then fizzled away in a feeble sputter. A blue-black eyebrow arched, a slight smirk flitted upon his face. His voice remained silky, even, the nervous disposition folded away like parchment paper, tucked neatly into an envelope of professionalism. “That won’t work. Protections. A moment. I’ll help.” Yardie took the pan-fried dumpling and placed it into the grunting prisoner’s mouth, then covered his mouth and nose, forcing a swallow. In response, the restrained Dark Elf let out a few fierce coughs, then gasped for air once the treat slogged its way near his windpipe and finally settled in his stomach.

Yardie sank into the sofa, glancing at the robed Faendryl. “Vumaiel, correct?” Vumaiel glared daggers into the indigo-limed amethyst eyes of the indifferent captor. “You picked a terrible time to conduct Syndicate business. First, some incompetent bandits kidnapped Gentleman Hoorne and his associate. We had ghosts and undead upon the Cradle. Then, the Legion got wind of my best friend’s disappearance, thanks to my former employer, your leader, and raised suspicion in my direction. Then, Madame Khobra and the Ta’Mori peeked their curious eyes into my affairs. All of those things are forgivable.

Again, Vumaiel strained against the tight cinched shackles that kept his arms behind the back of the chair. Yardie sighed, rolling his eyes. “But you thought to get to me by getting to a fourteen-year-old child who lost her parents. And that is something I would mostly not forgive.” Yardie leaned forward, the calm baritone shifting into a venomous sneer. “Never children, Vumaiel. Never children.”

Those amethyst eyes held Vumaiel’s gaze. The captive’s eyes shifted to something dark, again, pulling from the hate buried within, glaring with malice. Again, they flicked with power, a splash of coiled energy that suddenly fizzled with a whimper. In an instant, Yardie was up, a thin vial of wire coiled around his fingers, the instincts of a skullduggery professional, craft operating on muscle memory. Again, Yardie calmed the phantom of the past, exhaling once more. “It would seem that we’re in the spirit of Thrakmas.” Yardie paced around the living room as he spoke, occupying his thoughts as if he were alone. “I know traditionalists hate the name, but it reflects the plucky nature of those who reside in the Landing. But I can appreciate the desire to share and celebrate tidings of good cheer and togetherness with friends and family alike.” Glancing out the window, Yardie stared at the ocean, the fizzling waves crashing against the soft sands. “If we celebrated Thrakmas instead of Ashrim’s Fall, perhaps we would be happier and more fulfilled.” Yardie stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders, then glancing askance at Vumaiel. “I suppose the gift I can offer is another chance for you to try again. Well, I guess that depends on what Madame Mystiq decides.” Turning around, he slowly walked to Vumaiel, the ordinary frame of the Panicky Phantom hanging down like a dark cloud. “Merry Thrakmas.”

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River Rest - Ta’Mori Manor

At the front steps, a gagged, bound, and unconscious Vumaiel rested his forehead upon the door of Mystiq Ta’Mori, his head adorned with a purple bow. Pinned on his chest was a bleached parchment with a note and a sheathed dagger underneath:

To Madame Mystiq Ta’Mori:

I had warned you about certain deals and arrangements being more than they seem. I would have a long, detailed talk with Lord Wrendiel about his methods and his employees' eagerness. With that said, I recall you asked for one of my daggers. Please see the attached sheathed weapon. No, it did not decorate poor Vumaiel’s flesh. But I would say that in the spirit of Thrakmas, I thought to show a bit of mercy…while giving a gift…or several. Also, you’ll find some pork and garlic dumplings in the package.

I Remain,

Yardie