The Director

The Basics ––– –

Physical Appearance ––– –

Midsummer Stories

I wrote pieces for Midsummer Fire Festival for all my characters. I may or may not continue them each. Possibly just one or two, as I don't think I have it in me to go back to writing 4 stories at once like I used to. Anyway, here they are if you care:

Tome of the Shath'mag

In silence Kat sat hunched over the large wooden desk, surrounded by ancient tomes procured from across the globe, filled with secrets and knowledge long forgotten by most. The dim light of the lamp cast shadows across her face as she pored over the pages, her fingers tracing the delicate script with reverence. Failing to find the solution she sought, the tome slammed closed. The large orange eye set in the center of the stained, battered, and faded leather cover stared back at her as the dark tendrils along the binding wriggled slowly.

"Ilith skshgn qwaz uhnish fash." The sinister whisper clawed at the back of her mind.

Clenching the glass of whiskey in one hand she generously refilled it with the amber liquor as she stared down at the cover of the tome. 

"Lwhukl qwaz iiqaath qov." The darkness beckoned.

Setting the near-empty bottle down Kat picked up another, thicker tome. "Fuck you." She spat and slammed it down atop the other to hide it from few. As the eye was hidden away the dark tendrils stilled.

Fingers plucked a small azerite stone from the tray at the edge of the desk. A sudden stillness fell over the room as the energy drained into the digits, a faint golden-blue glow flowing up the veins of her arm into the neck. For a brief moment, she could feel the existence of everyone within the manor and the village below in the climax of power before it faded away and the depleted stone turned to dust in her hand.

Chasing Shadows

The Director sat at her desk, staring intently at the stack of case files in front of her. She took a sip of her whiskey, letting the familiar burn of the alcohol radiate through her nerves. Shadows in the corners of her office held a darker, more sinister presence, kept at bay by the lamp upon the desk. She flipped through the files, analyzing each report and shred of evidence with a critical eye.

Victims in Westfall were burned by caustic fluids from the inside out, and others nearly melted down to the bones by unknown chemicals. Undoubtedly Zion Tindall's work surfaced again after vanishing from Duskwood a year prior. With a displeased exhaled, the Director's pen scratched across the deployment form. Agent Thurmon and Operative Castillon were to run down leads, as Kat checked off boxes allowing Thurmon some grey space in interrogation methods and Castillon permission to exhume any bodies already buried in Moonbrook.

Pressing the wax seal to the order with a heavy hand, Kat poured another glass of whiskey and moved on to the next folder.

Priests from the Conclave were found dead in Stromgarde. Signs of extreme torture before the bodies were hung from stones outside the city gates. Beaten and battered before being shot in the back of the skull in a clear execution. The methods used indicated that Angelus Withers had moved north again after ripping through a group of forsaken apologists in Duskwood two years prior. Kat collected another form to recall Operatives Arilyth and Sherwood, knowing that Myz would appreciate another chance to capture the Hallowed Harbinger after slipping through her fingers five years ago.

Wax pressed once more as the order was sealed for delivery to the addressed persons. With an exasperated groan, the Director pinched the bridge of her nose before downing the entire contents of her poured drink.

[Mentioned: @ani-thurmon @myzariel @ian-sherwood]

Romance and friendship ship asks

<insert the textbook answer of "communication" here>

Yes, communication is important but everyone beats that drum for this sort of question so I'm not going to.

The most important thing I have learned? Don't overshare life details with some of these people. Unless you've known them for a considerable amount of time pre-ship, I would be wary of how much information you trust to them.

Romance and friendship ship asks

Yeah, there are some folks out there that I've written with either semi-regularly that I could see having some sort of ship with. I don't really go out seeking romance ships though, as it forces the issue and influences the writing. If it happens, it happens.

But no, I'm not tagging people or naming names. That seems petty and might unintentionally hurt some feelings.

Happy pride month from your local Si:7 Director.

As she made her way around the outskirts of the city, Kat paid no heed to the feline that trailed behind her, its persistent presence becoming increasingly bothersome by the minute. After nearly an hour of this unwanted companionship, the Director let out an exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. Without hesitation, she turned on her heel to confront the creature, determined to put an end to its incessant following.

"Fuckin' wot?!" She snapped as her gaze pinned the cat to the cobblestone, the rolled letter coming to attention shortly after.

With a scowl etched on her face, she observed the furry creature saunter away as soon as the Director received the letter. Without wasting any time, she unfurled the letter and scanned through its contents, her eyes darting back and forth as she absorbed every word.

"Gromsblood and Lichbloom," Kat muttered to herself. "Off-continent plants, of course. Fortunately, I know someone who can procure these harder t'find things. No fuckin' number is listed. Does she want just one? Three? Five?"

She let out a frustrated sigh and folded the letter in half before putting it in her pocket. "She'll get her fuckin' plants an' plenty of 'em...," she muttered.

[@maxparkhurst]

With a carefully measured gait, the Director made her way through the silent graveyard, her leather boots barely making a sound as they landed on the damp soil. Her eyes were fixed on a particular headstone, and as she approached it, she couldn't help but feel a sense of solemnity wash over her. She stood before it, taking in the etched letters that marked the final resting place of the departed.

"When is behavior eva' sanctioned?" Kat inquired back at the elf in a monotone. Her gaze shifted to the other woman with an inquisitive glint. "If witherin' in place is such a desire, I'm sure someone can make the arrangements."

To Rattle the Chains

Kat stood upon the stone outcrop, the gentle breeze rustling her hair as she gazed out over the serene park. Her eyes drifted across the vast open space, listening to the one-eyed alchemist below as she collect a bowl of soup from a street vendor just below her perch. Their gaze meeting for a brief moment in silent understanding.

With a covered bowl in her hand, Max respectfully approached her, acknowledging her position. "Director," Max spoke as she settled on the stone, holding the bowl carefully in her lap.

Kat's attention turned towards the bowl in the alchemist's lap, her curiosity piqued. "Is the soup for actual consumption, or some sort o' experimentation?"

"I don't play with my food," Max scoffed, tapping the lip of the bowl. "Augustine is watching the shop this evening. Thought I'd fetch him something."

"How kind 'n sisterly." The Director muttered, feigning interest.

Max clicked her tongue in jest, "I do try," she replied, turning towards the promenade below. "Business or pleasure, Director?" the alchemist asked with a smile, gesturing to the people below.

A curt snort forced through the Director's nostrils as her lips flattened at the corners. "As much as I love jokes about pleasure everyone seems t'make... Do I ev'a make an appearance in public for anything other than business, Miss Parkhurst?"

"Suppose not." Max hummed in agreement. "You'll have to excuse me, Director, if I so wish to cushion your professional demeanor with a bit of light-hearted banter."

A faint smirk curled the edge of Kat's lips, "Th' absolute audacity," she muttered before scanning the area. "A quick word, however, is my business here. I'll try not t'bend your ear for too long. Wouldn' want the soup t'go cold."

Max nodded understandingly, "Certainly not. Cold soup makes for a terrible meal," she quipped, raising a brow. "You have my attention. Unless you'd prefer a more quiet place to speak business?"

Shifting her attention fully toward the alchemist, the Director gave her a knowing stare. "When do I eva enjoy public crowds or the noise?"

"Fair enough," Max chuckled, rising to her feet with the bowl held securely. "Lead the way, then."

Kat motioned vaguely as she turned on her heel, leading Max to a quieter spot for their discussion. Choosing the longer route to ensure none were tailing, the two made small talk on the newly re-opened shop that the Parkhurst siblings had acquired. Whether or not the Director truly cared was uncertain, but the long walk to the far corner of the graveyard in silence would have been less than ideal.

Navigating beneath the vine-covered trellises, she approach one which held a tub of water and a handful of fish. Gloved hands rested upon the weathered rim as she stared down into her reflection in the water. Sinister thoughts and whispers of self-loathing began to stir in the deepest recesses of the Director's mind.