everyone-just-calls-me-jeri
Jerimoth Shadowblood
#DemonRights - Jerimoth on WrA - (follows back from msmarymacky)
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A couple of years ago I became obessed with slugs and made this sweet creature, a slug with legs called Sluguenda, in a time of being uncertain and depressed, she lifted up my spirits and along with her I made up the ‘Molluscat’ species for fun. I hope you like them!
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Does Daniel order things from Leo’s parts shop just to see him in uniform? You bet he does.
AKA Happy Pride from the disaster trio 🌈
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Gardening Made Easy
"Just a little..." Jerimoth wriggled on his knees, arms aching as he reached towards the sky. “Yes, that’s—No, no that’s too high!”
Wind rushed past his ears, white hair blowing madly this way and that. He tried not to think about how the benches in the garden below looked like children’s dollhouse furniture from up here, nor his quite sudden fear of heights.
Another gust of wind and a rumbling growl later, he found himself beside the Emporium’s second story window. The goal was nearly within reach, and his fingers curled around his pot of dirt of their own accord.
Wisps of steam filled his vision, and all at once he realized the soles of his shoes had begun to melt. Shoes that he rather liked, actually. He wiggled his toes to stave off the burning sensation, more annoyed than anything else. He could feel the Fel that circulated under his feet, just underneath the skin of his Shivarra’s massive palm.
Dvira’s gigantic hand stilled, suspending him a good fifteen feet above the ground. “Is this sufficient?” she growled in her same old rumbling, subterranean tone. She kept her head poised and perfectly still, as even the slightest movement of her massive, Fel-encrusted crown could obliterate the Emporium’s rooftop in an instant.
“Yes, yes! That will do.”
He trudged forward, with admittedly some difficulty, given his melty shoes, and set the pot of soil down onto its target: that rusty roof-tile that no one had really gotten around to fixing. Its once proud purple coat of paint had now deteriorated to a washed-out grey. It jutted off the side of the Emporium, long forgotten and difficult to see from the ground. It was perfect.
“Nobody’ll mess with you, little guy,” he said, reaching into his cream-colored shirt pocket. He withdrew Oaken’s gift—a wispy, meandering tangle of vines fit snugly into a snail shell. He slotted it into the soil. “You’ll have all the room you’ll need to grow big as you like.”
The rays of afternoon sun dimmed significantly, and Jerimoth felt the steam of sulfurous breath on his neck. “This? This is what you needed me for?” his demon snarled. “A jar of dirt?”
“It’s not just any jar of dirt,” Jerimoth said, rather indignantly. He turned around on her palm to face her much larger face. “It’s loam soil. Recommended personally by our local soil specialist. Loam soil has a particularly high concentration of nutritional value for plants, which—“
Dvira’s painted lips curled into a snarl, and Jerimoth had enough sense to cut the conversation there.
"Right. You can put me down now.”
The Shivarra’s eyes flashed, and perhaps Jerimoth caught a glimpse of mischief in them before he felt his stomach drop.
There was a rush of wind, and it was when he was mere inches from the ground—followed by the sound of his wrist bone fracturing—that he’d forgotten to specify in his instructions to be put down gently.
( @oaken-evenshade 🐌 🍃 )
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A Gift for Jerimoth
Inside the Sagelight Emporium sat a small bundle of leaves tied together with long strands of plant fiber. Upon unfolding the leaves, a charred snail shell awaited. Growing from the inside of the shell were thousands of fine roots wound together to form the shape of a measly snail. Under the roots lay a note with tiny scrawled letters.
“Jerimoth,
Some time ago I had meant to give you this snail I found in the Caverns of Time. It helped me when I needed to make a choice.
But then you very much died before I could properly place it in your hands. And then…I made more choices, choices that a good friend perhaps should not have made.
When you lived again Jeri, I did feel happiness. I was set on giving you the snail then…but I was hit by a meteor and the snail very much died.
So, I have made the choice to use the charred remains of its shell to hold something very dear to me. These roots will need deeper soil Jerimoth. Please, plant this shell within sight of the Emporium.
I have seen the tender care you put into your snails, and Rommy, and your friends. You are the right person for this task. I will attach a list of the needs of the seed that lies within this shell.
Thank you for what you have taught me about making choices. The choice I make now to part ways is not easy. But it feels right to me, despite how it may look. I make this choice out of tender care, and I hope that proves itself over time.
I suspect there are great choices that lie ahead for you. May you choose the choices that bring you peace. Look out for the others, keep them safe.
-Oaken”
Behind the note lay another piece of parchment tightly folded. Instructions on the care needed for the seed. Included in the instructions was encouragement to speak to the seed every day, bond with it. Teach it the common language. Use Kyndolin’s finest soil to plant it. Have Kyndolin visit the seed as well and speak the Darnassian language to it. Tell no one else of the seed. Not even Ellnara. See that no harm comes to it.
((Mentions @everyone-just-calls-me-jeri and @kyndolin))
#(time to cry 😭 😭 😭)#(Jeri’s gonna protect that lil seed with his LIFE)#friend stories#oaken evenshade
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(its Friday 🥳)
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I saw cherry blossoms for the first time.✨🌸👀
初めて桜を見たよ✨🌸👀
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Order for Three
“Two gowns, seven shirts, seven pairs of pants, a pair of black dress shoes... and a sun hat.”
“That’s correct, yes.”
Sellandus craned his neck as he reached for the hat shelf. In his many years of employment at the Sagelight Emporium, he had come to regret his decision to work customer service at least thirty times over. The patrons irked him on a daily basis, especially the ones that yelled. His employers weren’t much better. He didn’t even want to get started on the stupid Court and their stupid falling stars.
With his height, he easily pulled a sun hat off the shelf and dumped it into the order box with about as much grace as an elekk on stilts. The customer lofted a brow at his actions but didn’t seem too bothered by it. “It really is lovely,” she said. “Green is my favorite color, you know.”
Sellandus did not care.
With a turn of her head, the customer looked to the side, where her companion thankfully didn’t seem much for conversation. She loomed in the corner, green hair pulled into a tight ponytail behind her horns. She was one of those Night Elves who’d been all buddy-buddy when Illidan returned. The fools.
The muscled woman merely glared at him with those empty eye sockets as she scarfed down her fourth snail-ammon roll. A dumb name for a dumb snail-shaped bun, if anyone asked him. Which they didn’t.
No one ever asked the tailoring assistant.
Sellandus knelt down behind the long stretch of shop counter, sliding back the oak cabinet door as he did so. “Gonna run you three hundred big ones. Three hundred twenty-three including those rolls your friend’s been snacking on.”
“It is no problem,” came the reply from the customer. “I promised her as many snacks as she wanted. They are just adorable little desserts, are they not?”
Yeah. Adorable. Sellandus reached behind a row of empty crystal jars to grab a shoebox. He promptly shoved away the black, goopy creature that often used them as a place to nap. He could almost hear the echoing laughter of that creepy, curly-haired Void Elf who let the thing loose in the first place. Sellandus quickly nabbed the box away from the thing, which hissed at him, and he wiped the lingering goo on his orange tunic. The stain would take forever to get out of this type of linen, but that wasn’t his problem. Something to worry about at a later date.
“Delivery will take a few days,” he said as he tucked the black dress shoes into the box. “Where do you—“
“The Cathedral, please,” the customer chimed in, her sharp, yet musical tone. It seemed she was in a hurry. Also very much not his problem. “The name is Sister Varilla,” she added.
Sellandus scribbled the name down on the order form. “Mhm. Sure.”
“You are most kind, sir. Thank—“
“Yep, have a good one.” He shoved the box aside, sliding it next to Ismuth’s weekly order of shirts. He looked down, intending to return to his tastefully trashy romance novel.
She didn’t move.
Sellandus frowned into page forty-nine. He wondered for a moment if she hadn’t heard him. He was about to repeat himself, when the Draenei backed away from the counter. He glanced up, his long, violet hair yielding to either side of his face. Just in time to catch her look of... plain disgust.
The shift caught him off guard. Her deep set frown and slightly curled lip - something about it unnerved him. And then, it was gone.
The customer turned on her hoof. She called out, “Thank you. May the Light bless your sales this day!” in a tone so cheery and just sickly sweet that he thought he’d imagined the whole thing. A chill ran down his spine and he couldn’t exactly place why.
The only thing that shook him from his sudden stupor was the voice of the shop’s owner calling from the top of the stairs. “Sellandus!” came her shrill, distinctly Highborne cry from above. “Where are you with that needle sharpener? It’s been ages!”
Sellandus fumbled, elbowing the needle sharpener in question and sending it teetering off the counter’s surface. Oops.
He felt as though his hand moved through molasses as he made a desperate grab for it. He watched in horror as the blasted thing fell with a heavy thud, and he heard the scraping of metal as a few pieces freed themselves from its base. Sellandus swore.
“Sellandus? What was that noise?”
His head dipped low behind the counter. Looks like I’m on the chopping block next, he thought as he heard the front door creak closed.
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Hellhounds Series - Part 1 | Part 2
in which Jerimoth remains blissfully unaware of Daniel’s extracurriculars 🍷
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Re-Education
He knew what was coming. And knowing made it all the more worse.
Jerimoth twisted and dug his heels into the earth, splattering the skirts of his robes with mud. A few warriors eyed him curiously as he was dragged along the ground by his bound wrists. It was about now that he wished Baavoros had used easily-flammable ropes instead of the usual elementium shackles. The metal dug painfully into his flesh as he struggled against it. Jerimoth didn’t bother turn his head around to see what direction they were going in. He already knew where he was being taken.
“I’m sorry, Jerimoth,” Baavoros was saying from somewhere above him, “but this is for your own good.”
“I’m fine. Really, Baavoros. I appreciate your concern—” Jerimoth flinched as he was dragged over a particularly sharp rock. “—but this is very unnecessary!” He tilted his head back and raised his brows pleadingly. “Please, Baavoros. I don’t need it.”
“You do,” came Baavoros’ only reply.
The violet canopy roof rippled into his view as he was dragged inside the tent. Panic rose in his chest at the familiar sight. The place he had always been warned about, but had never done anything to earn him a trip inside. He vaguely hoped they didn’t keep a record. Mother would be ashamed.
Jerimoth fell back to the earth with enough force to push the air out of his lungs. His head swam, already nauseated by the reflections of violet flames against the stone spires. He heard a pair of light footsteps approaching. “It’s good to see you, Baavoros,” came a soft voice. He knew whose it was. “What seems to be the problem today?”
Before Jerimoth had a chance to defend himself, the Draenei stomped a hoof on the ground. “Corruption, Priestess. The Light has corrupted my friend, Jerimoth,” he spat in a venomous tone. “He needs to be purified.”
Jerimoth jolted upright at the last word. “No no, no, I don’t need it!” He tried to wave his hands dismissively, but they were bound. “I-It was just one little vision. I think. But it’s over now. I don’t need purification, I feel great! Everything’s fine, really!”
The human Priestess glanced him over. She only needed one for her to make her decision. Her red hair curled around her face as she canted her head towards a cell, simultaneously raising both eyebrows at Baavoros.
“No no, wait—”
He was hauled violently to his feet, and moments later Baavoros was tossing him inside the cell like a sack of murloc fins. He collided face first with the ground, dirtying his black hair and bruising his cheeks. And probably his dignity, too. The cell was dark and unforgivingly cold, made even more so as the door began to creak on its hinges. It slammed shut behind him, sealing off his escape along with any hope of fleeing from what came next. He clumsily scrambled to his feet and rushed to the barred window, only to be met with the Priestess’ icy gaze.
“It’ll be alright,” she said to him quietly through the bars. Though her face was youthful, the intricate patterns of her tattoos signified that she had proven her worth. “It’s uncomfortable at first, but you’ll feel much better afterwards.”
“You don’t understand, I—”
“Shh. Just try to relax.”
She smiled softly, which would have been comforting, were it not for the given circumstances. She moved away from the door and out of sight, leaving him with only Baavoros to look at. The robed Draenei only offered a nod, and a forlorn expression of sympathy. He turned his back.
The elementium bars did not yield as Jerimoth pounded his bound fists against them. “Baavoros! Come back!” he shouted at the Draenei’s retreating form. “Please come back!”
He strained against the door, rutting his shoulder into it with no avail. His shoulder began to ache from the force, but he knew a broken arm would be far better than what awaited him in this room.
It was then that the slithering started. Jerimoth whirled, pinning his back to the unrelenting door, which groaned in protest at the weight he threw against it. His shoes dug up mounds of earth as he backpedalled desperately away. Away from what was waiting for him.
In the darkness, it began to move. He could see the outlines of its form through the shadows as it drew nearer. Jerimoth’s breath hitched.
“Baavoros! Baavoros, come back!”
He didn’t even have time to scream. It would be excruciatingly painful, but soon he would forget. Soon he wouldn’t remember why he was brought here in the first place.
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Odd, Truly Odd.
Raylend Wads always visited the herb shop on the first day of the second week of every month. The time had yet again come to restock on Adder’s Tongue. It was the only thing that eased his persistent dry cough and made his day to day life bearable.
He twisted the knob to the shop and found it locked.
Odd, truly odd.
Coughing into his elbow, Reyland walked to the window and pressed his face against the pane. The shop front was void of life. But there, far in the backroom, shadows flickered on the wall.
Odd, truly odd.
Reyland didn’t like odd. He liked predictability and schedules. This was, after all, the first day of the second week of the month. The shop should be open.
Feeling irritated and determined to get his Adder’s Tongue, Reyland moved around the building. Stepping on a crate, he rose to peer into a window framed within the backroom.
Baeither, the shop owner, stood over another Kaldorei who lay atop a cot on his stomach. The Kaldorei was bare down to the waist. What should have been skin on his back was instead a heap of melted flesh puckering up into blisters and glistening rivers of mangled muscles oozing red.
Keep reading
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Knee Deep
Bastion’s waters were beautiful.
Of course, that would have been what Jerimoth was thinking, were he not currently busy trying—and failing—to calm his shaking hands and steady his labored breathing.
His journey—or rather, his soulstone’s journey—through the realms of death had been anything but pleasant. Even now, the mere thought of the sands of the Ember Ward made his heart race. The smell of their blistering Light-soaked skin, the frenzied breath on his neck... The waters were momentarily forgotten as he suddenly found his throat had grown uncomfortably tight.
He remembered Elden’s advice from the last time they'd visited these same pools together. Something about how he should visit them more often, how it’d be good for his soul. He’d happily take another dip in them, if only he could get his feet to move and his knees to stop shaking—
Something was tapping his leg.
A surge of panic took hold of his limbs and he whirled around - only to be met with a pair of beady black eyes and a golden coat of fluffy feathers. He’d seen packs of the things wandering about before, but never when we was alone like this. It felt a little unnerving, just the two of them alone at the water’s edge. The creature only came up to about his waist, and it opened its beak in what was presumably preparation to gobble him whole. Just when his flight instinct was kicking in, it spoke.
“Yoo-hoo big ouchie,” it cooed, and pointed a talon to Jerimoth’s chest. “Inside.”
Oh. His heart might have burst, just from that. A second time, if that were possible. Only four words and he felt on the verge of breaking again. How did it know? Could it see where he’d been?
Tears stung at the corners of his eyes and he hated himself for it. How embarrassing it would be to break down into a quivering mess in front of a bunch of miniature, adorable owl-people. It would surely be a fate worse than death, so instead he worked his mouth to formulate a decently articulate response.
“... Yes.” He knelt down in front of the owl-thing. “Big ouchie.”
It merely nodded its feathered head. It lowered its talon to give Jerimoth’s leg a good, friendly patting in the same spot as before. The touch made his insides feel all fluffy and cottony, dare he say even sparkly. Probably. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what magic powers these creatures hid behind their beady little eyes.
Soon there were more of them.
Little feathered heads appeared from all directions and began waving and cooing and tooting their little horns. Jerimoth realized too late that he was being swept away in a current of owl-people as they herded him towards the glittering pool. No amounts of wait, hold on or just a moment, please seemed to deter their steady march.
When they deposited him in a spot where his robes brushed the water’s surface and his sandals submerged into the warm depths, the golden owl-thing lifted its hind leg and bent forward. It jutted its arms out one at a time in big arcs, mimicking a surprisingly robust breaststroke.
“Swimmy swimmy,” it insisted. “In water. Feel better.”
So that was their intent. He was here now, and it seemed like the owl-people weren’t going to be taking ‘no’ for an answer.
Jerimoth got about knee-deep into the pool before it hit him. That familiar rush of calm overtook him, and the panic that clouded every corner of his thoughts started to dim. By the time the water reached his chin, it had vanished completely. The waters were still and placid around him, and before long he found himself floating on his back with his eyes closed.
He stayed like that, for a while. Taking in the sounds of the flowing water and the distant chatter of the owl-things on the shore.
Had he not been in a blissfully pleasant state of relaxation, he might have noticed that a single strand of his snow white hair had turned a shade darker.
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Sew It Goes
“By Elune’s Blessed Beasts,” Ellnara swore in a whisper, accompanied by a swift fist pounding the counter, “where are those scissors?!”
The sewing needle in Jerimoth’s hand paused as he looked up from his ladder stitching. Truthfully, he was only pretending to work, given he didn’t really know what a ladder stitch was. “Haven’t seen them anywhere, sorry,” he said as he rose from his plush chair. “Need me to run and get you a new pair?”
“I swear I just had them. A few moments ago. I was using them for Ismuth’s new order of cloaks, they’ve got to be somewhere. They’re in...” she paused, frowning. “Jerimoth.”
The warlock canted his head in confusion, and ran a hand over his belly. “Don’t think so, Miss Ellnara.”
Ellnara’s violet hair-loops jostled as she rolled her eyes to the heavens. “No, Jeri, I didn’t mean like that.” She placed two delicate hands, each adorned with decorative Highborne jewelry, on her hips and jerked her chin towards him. “They’re in your front pocket.”
He let out a sound somewhere between indignance and disbelief before he looked down at his standard Sagelight Tailoring Emporium apron. Ah. Indeed they were.
“Oh! Why, yes they are. I was using them for...” he trailed off, just as curious as to what he planned on doing with them. Maybe he was cutting something? They did look pretty sharp. He remembered something sharp. Then the blood. The howls of the Ash Ghouls in the distance. The— No. No more thoughts of that. We will not think about that.
Jerimoth promptly returned the scissors.
The seamstress took them in hand, a coy smile on her painted lips. “Thank you, Jeri.”
He gave a sheepish smile in return. “You’re welcome, Miss Ellnara,” he said as he began drawing up the strings of his apron. “No more mistakes, I promise. I’ll need to stay on my toes for today’s round of customers, anyway. It’s the busiest day of the week, you know. They’ll start pouring through the door for those leyweave handkerchiefs any minute now!”
Jerimoth knew he’d said something stupid when Ellnara stared at him as though he’d just sprouted two elekk tusks and a trunk.
“What? Do we... not make handkerchiefs anymore?” he asked.
“Jerimoth... the day’s over.”
He blinked. “How do you mean?”
“Our last customer just left. We’ve been here all day.” The arcane lights behind her pupils flickered as her violet brows furrowed. “Don’t you remember?”
It took him a moment to tear his gaze away and look to the shop’s front window. Not a soul was in sight. Moonlight seeped in from above, and the flickering flames of torches were the only sounds coming from the usually busy street. Even the clothing racks in the display window consisted of more empty hangers than they did clothing. How had it gotten so late already?
[ It was getting late. When did they say they were coming back for him? They hadn’t forgotten about him, had they? ]
No. Everything was fine.
He would be fine.
“Oh, of course! I was merely...” Jerimoth felt his mouth gape open, the seconds ticking away to find a suitable excuse. “I was acting the part of customer! As a test. Someone’s got to keep you on your toes, too, right?”
Ellnara stared at him, her features set in stone. “A test,” she said flatly, no hint of a question in her tone.
“Yes! That’s the way. You sure do catch on quickly, Miss Ellnara. No wonder they call you the smartest seamstress in town.” A strand of white hair fell in his eyes as he babbled on, and he batted it away. “They do call you that, don’t they? If they don’t, they should really start.”
Ellnara’s white summer dress swayed softly as that terrible, uncomfortable silence loomed in the air. Her hands clasped around each other, fidgeting nervously with her many rings. He really hated when she did that. It always managed to make him feel guilty somehow.
Rather than choosing the clearly easier choice of humoring the ruse, the Highborne click clacked her way over to him in her far-too-fancy shoes. She put a purple-skinned hand on his shoulder. “Jeri.”
All at once, he felt rather impressed with Ellnara’s miraculous ability to make him feel about two feet tall. He might as well have been, given how her slender form towered over his own, requiring her to crane her neck downwards to meet his gaze.
“I think Sellandus and I can handle it from here,” she continued. She gave a short nod towards the sewing assistant in question behind the wooden counter. Her silver earrings jostled as she turned her gaze back to him. “Maybe it’s best if you go get some rest upstairs.”
“I don’t- No, Ellnara, I’m fine-”
“I insist,” she commanded. And that was that.
His shoulders sagged. No amount of bargaining or witty quips would get her to change her mind, and he knew it. Jerimoth kept his head low, rather in the same way he used to when he was in hot water with Mother, and turned away. He caught the tail-end of a stifled chuckle from the Kaldorei sewing assistant from behind the counter, and scowled as he made his way to the door on the far wall. Maybe all he needed was a short rest to —
“Jeri.”
He paused in the doorway. Then he pivoted, and swiveled his gaze to the seamstress.
“Your room’s that way. On the lefthand side...” she said, raising a cerulean polished fingernail in the opposite direction he was facing. “Do you need help finding—?”
“I’ve got it,” he said curtly, fingernails digging into the wooden doorframe.
Whatever else she might have had to say was lost on him as he marched forward. Of course he knew where his room was... he’d been staying there for months. What kind of fool would forget his own room? Not him. He was fine.
Perfectly fine.
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he’s trying his best ok
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