Sewer Access SF12 Junction Room with Surface Shaft-entrance located in the alleyway just west of the gates of the Manthar Villa ($36), north off Delzorin Street between Sul Street and Shield Street. 3.2 Events celebrated by Organizations found in Delzorin Street.
3.1 Events associated with Delzorin Street Locations.2.5 Organizations active in Delzorin Street.she buries herself in trembling knees, wrapping her arms around them as if they might aid her somehow. much like anything else, it isn’t quite as it should be. the tears prick at the corners of her eyes, something like a sob slipping through her lips. they become malformed and mutilated, strange. her sister, her father, the creatures she knew to be kind. and in the moment she might imagine anyone at all, the sludge from which they’re born seems to warp and twist them enough to where they're no longer recognized. but there’s no one there to protect her, to shield her from this apparent nightmare. to hide in the warmth of safety, another’s arms. she’s petrified to near silence save for the deafening pounding in her chest, her legs giving out the only sense of action her trembling form can manage right then. It startles her, the frightful call from depths she cannot yet bear witness - not until the seeping light that marks its gaping maw shows through horrendously, cera’s doe eyes widening in abject horror as quivering lips struggle to spill the words that catch in her throat. whether it’s who her heart meant to call, or just a stranger after all, she yearns for the company enough to stay on the line. half gone but fully away, in a manner of speaking. " she lays on her back and faces the ceiling. so who had she intended to call? she’s too drunk to admit the name aloud. strange that she says this into the receiver of the phone to her ear, where someone had just picked up the line with a dull click and relieved her of the ringing tone⸺ it’s 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚 because, she dialed the number by memory, one she long deleted. ・ ・ ・ " 𝗶 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁- 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 , "⸻ the tones of her voice harsh and then lull, like the magnetic pull of a wave forth with a crash, then back into itself smoothly. Once his lungs had taken enough air, he exhaled slowly, with a quiet little “Fuuuuuuck-” escaping him in the meanwhile. Which was why he stood there, at the base of the beanstalk, his chest puffed out from the inhale he was taking, devastated because he left his grimoire of spells in his bedroom above the clouds, with no way of getting home other than climbing. Tonight was also the night where he’d lost so much of his voice that it probably dropped a few octaves, he’d procured a lot of bruises from the mosh pit, and he got awfully, embarrassingly drunk.
After all, he was promised for a Cece concert at 6 PM, who was his favorite pop idol, then a DGF (Demon Girlfriend) concert at 10 PM, which was his favorite punk band.
This particular night though, his plans were different. But nowadays, his nights were mostly spent by squinting at long words in tiny fonts on old parchment by barely any light, taking notes and practicing magic. Back in his early-twenties, Tristan would’ve been out with his brother every other night, without any plans, consuming whatever they could find to cloud their judgement and have the most irresponsible time they could. He wasn’t the partying type, at least not anymore. There was a long and deep inhale expanding his lungs, gathering as much leftover strength that he had, although it wasn’t much after such a long night. Weak eyelids give into the weight of their lashes, staying closed and engulfing his sight in darkness for much longer than the span of a simple blink.
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