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rainbowfic2025-07-17 03:26 pm
paradoxcase) wrote in rainbowfic2025-07-17 03:26 pm
Light Black #8 [The Fulcrum]
Name: Unwary
Story: The Fulcrum
Colors: Light Black #8: Fight
Styles and Supplies: Chiaroscuro, Brushes (July 17 2025: Fugitive), Watercolors ("Write a short story that begins with an intense and startling event and build your story around each character’s response. What sorts of personality traits are revealed in the aftermath?"), Tempera (this post)
Word Count: 1301
Rating: T
Warnings: Non-Graphic Violence; Mild Injuries; Blood
Characters: Setsiana, Qhoroali, Cyaru, unnamed minor characters
Summary: Setsiana is taken unawares.
Outside the long hall, the night was cool and crisp, and the stars above Setsiana were bright. The same stars, she thought, but in this timeline, this place was not the same place, not really.
The hall seemed to be located at the town center, more or less, and the buildings were more closely clustered here than they had been where they had first entered the village. Some figures stood between them at intervals, some kind of night guard. She strode along the road, paying less and less attention to the buildings and the guards, as she thought about what she had learned.
The priesthood was kidnapping girls, that she had already known. And she understood why they were always girls — men and boys were not allowed in the parts of the temple where the slaves needed to work. So it was always girls. And not only did these people live in fear of the kidnappings, but it worsened their relationship with the people in the city, who were the ones who had the power to help. Setsiana wasn’t unfamiliar with that sort of conflict — the people in Nwórza often did look down on those from the small towns, the times when she had gone there for the Fair, or to see a play. But it must be worse here, she realized; that city was much bigger and much older than Nwórza; it must hold itself in higher esteem. Maybe it was even their capital. The priesthood was driving a wedge between the people living in this timeline, dividing them and cutting them off from the help they could offer each other.
Something about the air around her seemed to fizzle for a moment with some kind of static energy, some sound just on the edge of hearing. She stopped, and looked around to see if she could see what the source of it was.
Suddenly, two figures appeared in front of her on the road, out of nowhere. Priestesses, she realized, with their dark nurefyes. Of course — wasn’t that what the old man had just told her was happening here? She was a young woman without a bladed weapon, walking alone. This was what happened to you here, when you did that. Somehow she’d been thinking that it didn’t really apply to her, because she wasn’t one of them, but she’d been wearing her hood up, as Qhoroali had instructed — for all these priestesses could see of her, she was just another Sohanke woman.
The priestesses advanced, and she found herself stepping back. They were armed with short knives, but seemed reluctant to use them — instead, they were reaching forward with their hands, to grab at her arms. She found herself reaching into her pocket — but no, the knife had been left way back in 1647, in a completely different timeline. She was unarmed.
She realized she could probably end this if she just removed her hood — showed them that she was Cheanya by the color of her hair. But then what? They would no doubt want to know why she was here, dressed in Sohanke clothing, how she had gotten to this timeline without their knowledge; they would bring her back to their temple, and consult their list, and once they had done that, she would never be allowed to leave again. No. She would rather face their knives. She understood now why Qhoroali had told her to cover her hair.
She called for help, but in her state of fear it came out in Vrelian. Maybe the old man back at the building knew QuCheanya, but she was very sure no one here knew Vrelian. She tried to think of the QuCheanya word, but the knowledge skittered away from her panicked mind.
She danced backwards again, but tripped on a loose stone and fell to the ground. One priestess reached forward to grab her; she managed to wrestle her arm free again, but could not spare her hands to boost herself back to her feet, and the other priestess was on her as soon as the first had been dislodged. She struggled again, but this one was stronger, and she wasn’t able to free herself. She kicked at the priestess’s feet, but she could not get enough leverage from her position on the ground. The first priestess was back again, had got a hold on her other arm, and she could see herself, suddenly, like the girl she had rescued back in 1647, standing in a temple, with two priestesses holding her captive…
Someone was shouting, and there was the sound of running feet, and another person barreled into both priestesses, knocking them momentarily off-balance and freeing Setsiana’s arms. Setsiana got back to her feet as quickly as she could and tried to see what was happening by the lights of the street lamps.
Qhoroali was wrestling with one of the priestesses, and just like she had back when she had been wrestling Setsiana back into her apartment, she was winning. But the other priestess had managed to regain her footing and was approaching with her knife, and Qhoroali had no weapon of her own. Setsiana shrieked a warning, which also came out in Vrelian. At least Qhoroali would probably be able to understand.
Light flashed, and at first Setsiana did not understand what she was seeing. But then she saw; it was the street lamp reflecting off of a blade — not one of the priestesses’ knives, but a full-length sword, that had come silently out of the darkness. She had not heard the third person approach, but now a tall woman stood with them, dressed in Sohanke fashions, her hair cropped very short, wielding a sword that now dripped with blood. The priestess who had been approaching Qhoroali seemed injured, and curled in on herself, although Setsiana could not see any details clearly. Qhoroali stopped to look at the woman in confusion, and in her distraction, the priestess she was wrestling wrenched free of her grip, and both priestesses suddenly disappeared in another fizzle of static.
The tall woman wiped her blade off on her clothing and asked a question to Qhoroali, who answered haltingly and then raised her arm, and Setsiana saw that she was bleeding, too, from a long cut that must have been from one of the knives. The Sohanke woman fished around in a bag by her waist and produced a waterskin and a roll of bandages.
Qhoroali let herself be bandaged, but turned to Setsiana. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have let you wander off on your own. This is only your first time here; you’re not used to how it is, in this place, the precautions you have to take. I should have remembered to warn you, but… it’s been a long while since I was here the last time, if you must know.”
“Thank you,” said Setsiana, her ability to speak QuCheanya finally returning. In her current tidal wave of emotions, it was the only thing she could think to say.
More running feet approached, and a number of the other people who had been back at the building appeared, both the men who had come from the Cheanya timeline and the Sohanke, and also Cyaru. A Sohanke conversation ensued with the woman bandaging Qhoroali, and then the other Sohanke turned and quickly returned to the building. The woman finished her work on Qhoroali’s arm, and then led her back, as well.
Setsiana found that Cyaru had positioned himself by her side. “Are you alright?” he asked in QuCheanya, and then, somewhat apologetically, “Better if I walk back with you. It’s not a good idea to walk alone here without a weapon, as you’ve seen.”
She accepted his offer with a silent nod, and they turned to walk back.
Story: The Fulcrum
Colors: Light Black #8: Fight
Styles and Supplies: Chiaroscuro, Brushes (July 17 2025: Fugitive), Watercolors ("Write a short story that begins with an intense and startling event and build your story around each character’s response. What sorts of personality traits are revealed in the aftermath?"), Tempera (this post)
Word Count: 1301
Rating: T
Warnings: Non-Graphic Violence; Mild Injuries; Blood
Characters: Setsiana, Qhoroali, Cyaru, unnamed minor characters
Summary: Setsiana is taken unawares.
Outside the long hall, the night was cool and crisp, and the stars above Setsiana were bright. The same stars, she thought, but in this timeline, this place was not the same place, not really.
The hall seemed to be located at the town center, more or less, and the buildings were more closely clustered here than they had been where they had first entered the village. Some figures stood between them at intervals, some kind of night guard. She strode along the road, paying less and less attention to the buildings and the guards, as she thought about what she had learned.
The priesthood was kidnapping girls, that she had already known. And she understood why they were always girls — men and boys were not allowed in the parts of the temple where the slaves needed to work. So it was always girls. And not only did these people live in fear of the kidnappings, but it worsened their relationship with the people in the city, who were the ones who had the power to help. Setsiana wasn’t unfamiliar with that sort of conflict — the people in Nwórza often did look down on those from the small towns, the times when she had gone there for the Fair, or to see a play. But it must be worse here, she realized; that city was much bigger and much older than Nwórza; it must hold itself in higher esteem. Maybe it was even their capital. The priesthood was driving a wedge between the people living in this timeline, dividing them and cutting them off from the help they could offer each other.
Something about the air around her seemed to fizzle for a moment with some kind of static energy, some sound just on the edge of hearing. She stopped, and looked around to see if she could see what the source of it was.
Suddenly, two figures appeared in front of her on the road, out of nowhere. Priestesses, she realized, with their dark nurefyes. Of course — wasn’t that what the old man had just told her was happening here? She was a young woman without a bladed weapon, walking alone. This was what happened to you here, when you did that. Somehow she’d been thinking that it didn’t really apply to her, because she wasn’t one of them, but she’d been wearing her hood up, as Qhoroali had instructed — for all these priestesses could see of her, she was just another Sohanke woman.
The priestesses advanced, and she found herself stepping back. They were armed with short knives, but seemed reluctant to use them — instead, they were reaching forward with their hands, to grab at her arms. She found herself reaching into her pocket — but no, the knife had been left way back in 1647, in a completely different timeline. She was unarmed.
She realized she could probably end this if she just removed her hood — showed them that she was Cheanya by the color of her hair. But then what? They would no doubt want to know why she was here, dressed in Sohanke clothing, how she had gotten to this timeline without their knowledge; they would bring her back to their temple, and consult their list, and once they had done that, she would never be allowed to leave again. No. She would rather face their knives. She understood now why Qhoroali had told her to cover her hair.
She called for help, but in her state of fear it came out in Vrelian. Maybe the old man back at the building knew QuCheanya, but she was very sure no one here knew Vrelian. She tried to think of the QuCheanya word, but the knowledge skittered away from her panicked mind.
She danced backwards again, but tripped on a loose stone and fell to the ground. One priestess reached forward to grab her; she managed to wrestle her arm free again, but could not spare her hands to boost herself back to her feet, and the other priestess was on her as soon as the first had been dislodged. She struggled again, but this one was stronger, and she wasn’t able to free herself. She kicked at the priestess’s feet, but she could not get enough leverage from her position on the ground. The first priestess was back again, had got a hold on her other arm, and she could see herself, suddenly, like the girl she had rescued back in 1647, standing in a temple, with two priestesses holding her captive…
Someone was shouting, and there was the sound of running feet, and another person barreled into both priestesses, knocking them momentarily off-balance and freeing Setsiana’s arms. Setsiana got back to her feet as quickly as she could and tried to see what was happening by the lights of the street lamps.
Qhoroali was wrestling with one of the priestesses, and just like she had back when she had been wrestling Setsiana back into her apartment, she was winning. But the other priestess had managed to regain her footing and was approaching with her knife, and Qhoroali had no weapon of her own. Setsiana shrieked a warning, which also came out in Vrelian. At least Qhoroali would probably be able to understand.
Light flashed, and at first Setsiana did not understand what she was seeing. But then she saw; it was the street lamp reflecting off of a blade — not one of the priestesses’ knives, but a full-length sword, that had come silently out of the darkness. She had not heard the third person approach, but now a tall woman stood with them, dressed in Sohanke fashions, her hair cropped very short, wielding a sword that now dripped with blood. The priestess who had been approaching Qhoroali seemed injured, and curled in on herself, although Setsiana could not see any details clearly. Qhoroali stopped to look at the woman in confusion, and in her distraction, the priestess she was wrestling wrenched free of her grip, and both priestesses suddenly disappeared in another fizzle of static.
The tall woman wiped her blade off on her clothing and asked a question to Qhoroali, who answered haltingly and then raised her arm, and Setsiana saw that she was bleeding, too, from a long cut that must have been from one of the knives. The Sohanke woman fished around in a bag by her waist and produced a waterskin and a roll of bandages.
Qhoroali let herself be bandaged, but turned to Setsiana. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have let you wander off on your own. This is only your first time here; you’re not used to how it is, in this place, the precautions you have to take. I should have remembered to warn you, but… it’s been a long while since I was here the last time, if you must know.”
“Thank you,” said Setsiana, her ability to speak QuCheanya finally returning. In her current tidal wave of emotions, it was the only thing she could think to say.
More running feet approached, and a number of the other people who had been back at the building appeared, both the men who had come from the Cheanya timeline and the Sohanke, and also Cyaru. A Sohanke conversation ensued with the woman bandaging Qhoroali, and then the other Sohanke turned and quickly returned to the building. The woman finished her work on Qhoroali’s arm, and then led her back, as well.
Setsiana found that Cyaru had positioned himself by her side. “Are you alright?” he asked in QuCheanya, and then, somewhat apologetically, “Better if I walk back with you. It’s not a good idea to walk alone here without a weapon, as you’ve seen.”
She accepted his offer with a silent nod, and they turned to walk back.
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Thanks for reading, I'm glad this had good tension! It's probably the last time things get actually action-y, though, haha.
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Thank you!
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Setsiana thinking about what'll happen to her is chilling.
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Thank you! I'm glad it didn't seem too immediately obvious that she was ignoring what he'd said.