The Whispering Bloom
Written by Snow Celeste
“In the harsh desert of Morindus, a demon walks among mortals, his whiskey a tether to his humanity, his wildflowers a reminder that even amidst blood and shadow, life blooms.”~Threadkeeper of the Dimmed Veil
A dry wind swept over the acrid desert air. Rocky outcrops painted the horizon in shades of red and purple, while dust devils twisted lazily in the distance. Far ahead, at the edge of the Sapphire Oasis, a building rose almost impossibly from the sands, seeming more mirage than reality—a last bastion before the Sepulchral Wastes. The Whispering Bloom Tavern, its sandstone walls draped in fragrant jasmine, stood apart from the world. Tiny white blossoms glowed against dark green leaves, stark against the warm stone.
A man walked across the dusty sands, dressed in deep jewel tones of garnet and topaz. In his arms, he carried a small child, still breathing, fragile against the harsh desert. As he pushed open the tavern doors, a family hurried forward, relief flooding their faces as he passed the girl to her mother. Soft cries of thanks echoed through the room. He nodded, brushing back strands of hair kissed by flame.
“Many blessings upon your family. I found her not far from here. She will need rest and food—you are welcome in my home,” he said, his voice like velvet.
Carefully, Rami Asmoreil, the tavern’s keeper, moved to the bar. He poured a small glass of his favorite whisky—Blackthorn. The amber liquid glowed faintly, catching the last light of the setting sun, and he added just a touch of ice from the crystal cradle to keep it chilled. He sipped slowly, letting the burn slide down his throat, tasting the notes of cherry and oak on his refined palate. Behind him, hundreds of bottles collected from across Astrovos lined the shelves like treasures.
As evening settled over the oasis, the family he had saved went to enjoy the mezze prepared by his assistant, Mara. Lanterns came to life, magical fire casting soft shadows and gentle golden light across alcoves and low seating areas. The fountain in the courtyard babbled softly, mingling with the trill of night birds as the desert air cooled rapidly with the approaching night.
Rami Asmoreil was no ordinary man—or man at all. Though many would consider him dangerous, here he tended to life, to comfort, to sanctuary, in a world that often offered neither. For a brief moment, his eyes glowed golden in the mirror, revealing the truth of who he was: a Maleficae. Dangerous, he could have feasted on flesh without thought, indifferent even to the child he had saved. The Lost Continent had changed him. The depravity of the Lady of the Green Coil was only a shadow compared to what he suspected might be far worse—if true, she and an Abyssi Domani had truly escaped Nelous and the Undersanctuary.
His thoughts slowly returned to the present as he heard Malli and Kaza begin to play the sitar and darbuka. The music filled the tavern, mingling with the curling smoke of fresh puffs from a copper-and-blue glass hookah where his friends indulged. Faint bells and finger cymbals chimed as his dancers, Rajah and Toulah, moved rhythmically across the elaborately tiled floors. Their silky swaying bodies made the Whispering Bloom itself seem to welcome the cool evening.
A man walked across the dusty sands, dressed in deep jewel tones of garnet and topaz. In his arms, he carried a small child, still breathing, fragile against the harsh desert. As he pushed open the tavern doors, a family hurried forward, relief flooding their faces as he passed the girl to her mother. Soft cries of thanks echoed through the room. He nodded, brushing back strands of hair kissed by flame.
“Many blessings upon your family. I found her not far from here. She will need rest and food—you are welcome in my home,” he said, his voice like velvet.
Carefully, Rami Asmoreil, the tavern’s keeper, moved to the bar. He poured a small glass of his favorite whisky—Blackthorn. The amber liquid glowed faintly, catching the last light of the setting sun, and he added just a touch of ice from the crystal cradle to keep it chilled. He sipped slowly, letting the burn slide down his throat, tasting the notes of cherry and oak on his refined palate. Behind him, hundreds of bottles collected from across Astrovos lined the shelves like treasures.
As evening settled over the oasis, the family he had saved went to enjoy the mezze prepared by his assistant, Mara. Lanterns came to life, magical fire casting soft shadows and gentle golden light across alcoves and low seating areas. The fountain in the courtyard babbled softly, mingling with the trill of night birds as the desert air cooled rapidly with the approaching night.
Rami Asmoreil was no ordinary man—or man at all. Though many would consider him dangerous, here he tended to life, to comfort, to sanctuary, in a world that often offered neither. For a brief moment, his eyes glowed golden in the mirror, revealing the truth of who he was: a Maleficae. Dangerous, he could have feasted on flesh without thought, indifferent even to the child he had saved. The Lost Continent had changed him. The depravity of the Lady of the Green Coil was only a shadow compared to what he suspected might be far worse—if true, she and an Abyssi Domani had truly escaped Nelous and the Undersanctuary.
His thoughts slowly returned to the present as he heard Malli and Kaza begin to play the sitar and darbuka. The music filled the tavern, mingling with the curling smoke of fresh puffs from a copper-and-blue glass hookah where his friends indulged. Faint bells and finger cymbals chimed as his dancers, Rajah and Toulah, moved rhythmically across the elaborately tiled floors. Their silky swaying bodies made the Whispering Bloom itself seem to welcome the cool evening.
Rami stepped into the courtyard, lifting his gaze to Tamahana’s stars. He inhaled deeply, sensing the storm in the distance even before it came. Shadows coalesced around him as he conjured a private spell to dance among his flowers and the sanctuary of his home. The scent of petrichor rose to meet him—a fragrance he could always detect, no matter how faint. Tomorrow, he would finally see what he most craved in the harsh desert of Morindus: rare desert blossoms painting the sands for miles, perfuming the air around his tavern with their wild, unrestrained beauty.
Something else hung in the air—not the scent of hot mezze, nor the perfume of his dancers, nor the sweet smoke of the hookah. It was blood—the metallic tang of iron carried on a warm breeze. His red hair seemed to glow with firelight, and his eyes flared gold as he strode from the Whispering Bloom.
He felt the subtle shift in himself: his skin darkened to midnight, his jaw reshaped, and horns erupted from his forehead with a dry, unnatural pop that echoed off the distant mountains. His hands became claws, and he placed them casually at his sides, near the carved scimitar and daggers he kept ready.
“I smell it too—from the East,” Mara said softly from three feet behind him, her voice as delicate as the harp strings she often played.
“Tonight, I hunt,” Rami said, his words resonating with an unearthly timbre. “Keep watch over the family for me.”
He moved with deadly speed through the desert, following the scent of blood into the twisted woods beyond the Salt Flats. Petrified trees jutted jaggedly over the horizon, bleached white by the sun and glowing faintly as if kissed by Lunestra’s light. There he saw it—the burning remnants of varvern being torn apart by Netherscourge, nasty little creatures that overwhelmed small groups in moments. The base of one white tree was slick with fresh blood, its iron tang setting his senses on edge.
Rami inhaled deeply, tasting the blood on the tree. His heart pulsed wildly as his demonic tongue swept across the salted wood, savoring the metallic tang.
Let me out… a deep inner voice called.
It resonated through his entire being, low and primal.
Rami, you cannot do this half-transformed primal voice bellowed, making his thoughts ripple.
Let me out! it roared again, muscles coiling with raw power.
“Asmoreil,” he replied aloud, voice steady despite the surge of hunger, “if I let you take control, you will not spill the blood of innocents. We have made vows to the Threadkeepers of Fate.”
It resonated through his entire being, low and primal.
Rami, you cannot do this half-transformed primal voice bellowed, making his thoughts ripple.
Let me out! it roared again, muscles coiling with raw power.
“Asmoreil,” he replied aloud, voice steady despite the surge of hunger, “if I let you take control, you will not spill the blood of innocents. We have made vows to the Threadkeepers of Fate.”
“You think I do not know the cost?” Asmoreil bellowed, surrendering fully to his Maleficae nature. The half-demon restraint vanished—he was now a Dae in every sense that mattered. His teeth dripped blood, and dark energy crackled across his body. He descended upon the Netherscourge like nightfire.
His claws radiated black flames as he tore through them, one by one. Their flimsy bodies were nothing against the skill of a fully awakened Dae. Hundreds of the creatures feasted greedily on the remnants of a caravan, a mix of Dae and human blood painting the ground. He moved with deadly precision, burning the corpses with conjured fire and letting his shadows stretch and writhe like extensions of his own body, rending the Netherscourge into splatters in their wake.
When the carnage ended, the humans left in the caravan huddled, terrified. The scent of blood was intoxicating, yet Rami slowly slipped back into his human form, knowing their mortal minds would remember only Rami, not the demon who had descended upon the Netherscourge. His red hair swirled in the desert winds as he approached them cautiously.
“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice calm as he surveyed the small family lying amid the fallen.
“They killed Papa and Uncle! They were going to eat us alive!” a little girl wailed.
“Shhhh, Aya,” her mother soothed, trying to quiet her.
“You shouldn’t stay here,” Rami said. “I can bring you to my tavern at the Sapphire Oasis. It’s going to rain tomorrow, and we cannot bury the dead out here yet.” His words left no room for refusal; his hospitality, even after slaughter, was absolute.
His eyes swept over the aftermath. Six remained, mostly women and children. He searched desperately for any others still alive, but found none. Leading them back would take time. The mother wept for her husband; mortals lived such fragile lives.
Rami, we need to move now… I sense others nearby, Asmoreil’s voice echoed through him, making his pulse skip.
“Please. We should move. Say your prayers for the dead and take only what you can carry,” Rami said, his voice soft as steel. He stood sentinel as the family whispered their prayers to Nelous. He hated this part—the wails, the sobs. If they lingered too long, worse things would follow.
“They killed Papa and Uncle! They were going to eat us alive!” a little girl wailed.
“Shhhh, Aya,” her mother soothed, trying to quiet her.
“You shouldn’t stay here,” Rami said. “I can bring you to my tavern at the Sapphire Oasis. It’s going to rain tomorrow, and we cannot bury the dead out here yet.” His words left no room for refusal; his hospitality, even after slaughter, was absolute.
His eyes swept over the aftermath. Six remained, mostly women and children. He searched desperately for any others still alive, but found none. Leading them back would take time. The mother wept for her husband; mortals lived such fragile lives.
Rami, we need to move now… I sense others nearby, Asmoreil’s voice echoed through him, making his pulse skip.
“Please. We should move. Say your prayers for the dead and take only what you can carry,” Rami said, his voice soft as steel. He stood sentinel as the family whispered their prayers to Nelous. He hated this part—the wails, the sobs. If they lingered too long, worse things would follow.
He threaded them through the Salt Trees and across the desert sands, carrying the little girl, Aya. Her name meant “Miracle” in the desert tongue, and she was precious indeed. This family had been lucky to survive. In the distance, the warm glow of his tavern rose over the horizon as they drew closer. His people rushed out to meet them—Mara taking the mother, Kaza cradling the child.
Inside, they were ushered into the safety of the bastion. This place shouldn’t exist, and he shouldn’t exist here, yet it did—a sanctuary in a world that offered so little. The dancers began to bring meal to take them to once many suites in the Whispering Bloom. Inside, they were ushered into the safety of the bastion.
Rami poured another glass of Blackthorn without ceremony, the amber liquid catching the light as if it held a spark of his own dark energy. He drank it in one go, letting the burn wash the taste of salt and blood from his mouth, grounding himself in the fragile human moment.
Once the family had settled, he surveyed his walls of whiskey; the bottles brought him a strange comfort, each label glittering in the soft lantern light, mingling with the curling smoke of the hookah. Sanguine’s Tears, Wildwood Rye, Levi Royal… and a rare vintage from the Tamran Depths, Blueblossom Driftwalker. He let his fingers brush over them reverently, as though the bottles themselves were wards against the darkness still coiled within him.
Adjusting his bloodied clothes, he inhaled the sharp scent of rain on the desert wind, feeling it seep into his skin. The storm was coming—and with it, he would need every ounce of his Maleficae power to protect what few innocents remained.ildwood Rye, Levi Royal and even a bottle very rare vintage from the Tamran Depths, Blueblossom Driftwalker. Her ran his hands over the bottles as always tonight had been long, as he stood here ajusting his bloodied clothes the scent of rain was more pungent.
Once the family had settled, he surveyed his walls of whiskey; the bottles brought him a strange comfort, each label glittering in the soft lantern light, mingling with the curling smoke of the hookah. Sanguine’s Tears, Wildwood Rye, Levi Royal… and a rare vintage from the Tamran Depths, Blueblossom Driftwalker. He let his fingers brush over them reverently, as though the bottles themselves were wards against the darkness still coiled within him.
Adjusting his bloodied clothes, he inhaled the sharp scent of rain on the desert wind, feeling it seep into his skin. The storm was coming—and with it, he would need every ounce of his Maleficae power to protect what few innocents remained.ildwood Rye, Levi Royal and even a bottle very rare vintage from the Tamran Depths, Blueblossom Driftwalker. Her ran his hands over the bottles as always tonight had been long, as he stood here ajusting his bloodied clothes the scent of rain was more pungent.
Within the hour, the first drops fell, landing on the sandstone with loud plops. The sky hung heavy with thick clouds, lightning slicing the night in distant flashes, thunder rattling off the desert mountains. At first, the greedy dry sands drank the rain, but soon the downpour became a torrent, singing across the Whispering Bloom. Drops tinked on the tiled courtyard, splashed into the fountain, and the birds had taken refuge inside. Small sand foxes huddled in alcoves as the storm pelted harder.
Rami inhaled deeply, feeling the rain stir something deep within him. His senses, sharpened beyond human limits, drank in every scent—the wet earth, the iron-rich tang of blood lingering from the Salt Flats, the faint perfume of the jasmine that clung stubbornly to his walls. The storm was a song to his Maleficae blood, a pulse of power that mirrored his own.
He hoped it would wash the dead from the Salt Flats, and perhaps, in some small mercy, bring a blessing with the morning light. Two families now rested within his walls, innocent and fragile. Soon, he would guide them safely across the desert—and past the ever-watchful reach of the Emerald Lady. And as the rain fell harder, he felt the pull of his other nature, coiling and ready, a silent promise of protection—and of retribution—if anything dared touch them.
Rami inhaled deeply, feeling the rain stir something deep within him. His senses, sharpened beyond human limits, drank in every scent—the wet earth, the iron-rich tang of blood lingering from the Salt Flats, the faint perfume of the jasmine that clung stubbornly to his walls. The storm was a song to his Maleficae blood, a pulse of power that mirrored his own.
He hoped it would wash the dead from the Salt Flats, and perhaps, in some small mercy, bring a blessing with the morning light. Two families now rested within his walls, innocent and fragile. Soon, he would guide them safely across the desert—and past the ever-watchful reach of the Emerald Lady. And as the rain fell harder, he felt the pull of his other nature, coiling and ready, a silent promise of protection—and of retribution—if anything dared touch them.
The hours passed as Rami sipped from his glass, rain thinning as dawn painted the sky in shades of blue and gold. The sun crested over the mountains, casting long shadows across the desert. Footsteps drew his attention. Aya—the little girl from last night—stood at one of the tall windows, eyes wide as the scents of breakfast wafted through the tavern: spiced meat, spinach pies, ejjeh eggs with mint and onions, labneh, and hot flatbreads piled high for his guests.
He walked over, carrying a fresh mammoul cookie, still slightly warm, filled with dates and walnuts. He offered it to her, and she took it with a shy smile.
“Shall we go see if the rains have blessed us?” Rami asked, taking her small hand.
“The rain brings blessings?” Aya asked, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.
“That it does,” he replied, lifting her gently as they stepped into the humid, rain-scented air. The desert sands had come alive, tinged with green, and the dunes for miles were carpeted with wildflowers of every color. Aya gasped and ran to pick blooms, her laughter ringing like chimes in the morning air.
This rain brought life, a moment of peace after the violence of the Salt Flats. The desert was harsh, but it had its gifts—and Aya’s joy was enough to erase the memory of bloodshed from the night before. Rami stood quietly, even Asmoreil inside him at rest, letting the magic of the blossoms reaffirm that wonder still lingered in the world.
The Whispering Bloom was always open to those in need: for hot food, whiskey, sanctuary—and sometimes, the wildflowers of a desert reborn.
He walked over, carrying a fresh mammoul cookie, still slightly warm, filled with dates and walnuts. He offered it to her, and she took it with a shy smile.
“Shall we go see if the rains have blessed us?” Rami asked, taking her small hand.
“The rain brings blessings?” Aya asked, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.
“That it does,” he replied, lifting her gently as they stepped into the humid, rain-scented air. The desert sands had come alive, tinged with green, and the dunes for miles were carpeted with wildflowers of every color. Aya gasped and ran to pick blooms, her laughter ringing like chimes in the morning air.
This rain brought life, a moment of peace after the violence of the Salt Flats. The desert was harsh, but it had its gifts—and Aya’s joy was enough to erase the memory of bloodshed from the night before. Rami stood quietly, even Asmoreil inside him at rest, letting the magic of the blossoms reaffirm that wonder still lingered in the world.
The Whispering Bloom was always open to those in need: for hot food, whiskey, sanctuary—and sometimes, the wildflowers of a desert reborn.
Entry for Whiskey and Wildflowers
Why must you make me smile and cry and breathe in such hope and joy.
I suppose that's the magic, isn't it. If I can capture you for just a moment, let you sink into the spell and feel something, I have done my job. Thank you so much for reading this piece!