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beautifulsnake2162020 · 2 years ago

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The Vitulation Cycle: An Arthuriana fanfiction (King Arthur x OC and Arthur x Guinevere x Lancelot) CHAPTER 10: ARTHUR PART IV

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction I do not make any money from this. Cultist Simulator elements belongs to the Weather Factory, House of the Dragon/Game of thrones elements belongs to George RR Martin and Arthuriana while generally regarded as under the public domain, it comes from the culture of Britain.

"Are they still there kepa (father)?" Daeron asks you through a whisper as he holds your hand tightly as the two of you help settle the horses in the inn's stable as you make sure your hoods were still on. You squeeze his hand back, your sign to him to stay as calm as possible. Just act naturally and neither of you would be noticed.

"I swear we don't know any witches sir!" The inn's owner says as he pleads at the door to an armed man accompanied by two more men who were similarly armed and was thoroughly searching the inn.

"Then have you seen anyone who is going by the name Targaryen?"

"No sir! I haven't heard that name before."

"Nothing in here sire, all clear."

"Hmm very well. If you see anyone using magic or anyone going by the name Targaryen bring them to us immediately. Are we understood?"

"Ye-yes sire." You had never been more thankful that Daenara and Ayrmida were shopping for provisions in the market and were going by the name Bardugon. In Valyrian it means to write, and it was similar enough to your actual last name to not raise any suspicions of its origins.

You continue to quietly teach Daeron how to brush your horses, the black stallion now named Midnight and the white mare now named Aurora, as you eavesdrop on the conversation the witch hunters were having as more of them gathered around.

"No one here so far."

"I'd say it's a dead end."

"Argh you're right, we've been here for a week it's time to move on."

"Let's head for Camelot, maybe they've breached their defenses by now. All in favor?"

You hear their murmur of agreement as they get on their horses and exit the town. You wait until you can no longer hear their horses anymore before you speak.

"They're gone now tresy (son). But we'll have to refrain from speaking in Valyrian for awhile. Can you do that?"

"Yes papa."

"Good."

Later that evening you hold a private meeting with your family. Fortunately the four of you occupied one room to yourselves and could converse in hushed tones.

"They are also headed towards Camelot. Which means we'll have to change our path for now."

"Where are we headed now Arthur?"

"I'm thinking of going to a nearby kingdom."

"The one with many waters papa?"

"Yes Daeron, I wanted to ask your mother first."

"Well if you believe it is safe, then I don't see why not."

"There is something else that I wanted to ask your permission on."

"What is it?" You calm yourself down.

"It is to the nearby kingdom that the Fisher King reigns. It is him who has asked for your blood - or rather he calls it his medicine since I believe no one in his court knows that the concoction they are treating him with must have contained some amount of Targaryen blood."

"Ah I see, is he the one who brought this on you?"

"Yes. I don't know how Oxenburg's influence over him is since there isn't any magic in his kingdom. You don't have to give blood to him if you don't feel comfortable right now and it might even lead to the mages or the witch hunters finding us."

"Why will it lead them to us? It's just mama giving some blood." Ayrmida asks in confusion.

"But the mages whom we ran away from will know it is us. And we need to refrain from using magic until we are safe." Daenara explains gently.

"We'll see once we get there. If the Fisher King could arrange a private meeting when I could provide my blood then I don't see why not. But otherwise I would not want to risk our safety before reaching Camelot."

"Right now it is the only safe place since Camelot might be under attack or the witch hunters heading there might block our way. I have foster family relatives in the Fisher King's kingdom where we can stay."

"Why is the Fisher King's kingdom the safest place for us now?" Ayrmida asks in concern. You couldn't blame her, based on her experiences the witch hunters could seemingly go anywhere. It was why she took advantage of her youthfulness and made it a habit not to reveal her last name.

"It is the safest place for us because there is no magic in the Fisher King's kingdom. Or at least there is no magic in public. If the witch hunters were thinking logically they wouldn't bother searching the Fisher King's kingdom because there are no mages who serve the public. And because there are no mages that serve the public, there might not be any Targaryens. Also they wouldn't want to waste time if their search is fruitless and there is no magic for them to destroy or mage or magical creature to kill."

"Oh, but wouldn't it also be a very suspicious place to find any of our relatives because there is no magic?"

"You are right Ayrmida. But right now the risk of that is lower than if we continued to head toward Camelot the same route that the witch hunters are using. Also I could send a coded message to Camelot that I'm returning."

She relents and after discussing a little bit more, it was agreed that you would depart for the Fisher King's kingdom after breaking fast.

After a few days travelling you finally reached the Fisher King's kingdom. And your aunt from your foster family was more than happy to accommodate your family in her dwelling.

"Oh it's genuinely a delight Arthur, ever since my husband died and since I have no children, it's been quite lonely here." Your foster aunt Fiona says excitedly. She's always loved entertaining and whenever she visited it was always an event you looked forward to.

"Hello children, you can call me Aunty Fiona. Don't worry you're safe here with me although I may need your help every now and then with chores around the farm."

"What will you say children?" Daenara asks gently stirring Daeron and Ayrmida from their awe at your aunt.

"Yes Aunty Fiona." They both say.

"Arthur I'd advice you not to send a message right away." Your Aunt says with a serious tone.

"Why not?"

"Because then everyone searching for you will immediately connect the message to Camelot from you. I suggest waiting till I send goods to Ector and Kay that way it won't be as obvious that there is a message from you."

"Hmm good point."

"She has point Arthur. I'd rather be safe than sorry."

"Oh don't you worry Daenara, I'll make sure all of you are safe here. But enough dreary subjects now I'm about to prepare dinner. Arthur would you like to help with the cooking?"

"OH CAN I SEE!"

"Me too! Can Ayrmida and I watch?"

"Oh of course children. As a matter of fact I think you can all help, but wash your hands first."

"Yay!" They both say as they rush to get their hands washed.

"Children don't run!" Daenara says as she follows them.

"I have to say Arthur they are quite excited to do chores." Fiona says as she is back in her teasing tone.

"This is finally their chance to do so. And it is thanks to you that I learned how to cook almost any meal."

"Oh is it?" She asks in delight.

"It is, whenever we are travelling and have needed to camp I'm the one who cooks the meal to everyone's enjoyment."

"Can we start now? The mages never let us do it!" Ayrmida says with still very wet hands as she runs to you and Fiona.

"Ayrmida come here, I need to dry your hands." Daenara enters with a towel with Daeron following behind as you and Fiona begin clearing the table to prepare it for salting.

"Can we start?"

"Of course Daeron, this is the first step."

"This is called salting children. This is a very important step to make sure everything is clean before we prepare the food."

This was the start of your life in the farm for about a year and a few months. You've began to wonder if Kay and Ector have managed to see or decode your message about preparing three more rooms in the castle discreetly. You have no doubts that they will be assured that you are still alive and staying with Fiona while there was still a high chance of witch hunters in the direction towards Camelot. Originally you were planning to travel to Camelot after the autumn harvest. That way you and your family could use the pretense of delivering the freshly harvested goods to Kay and Ector to divert suspicion. A few weeks before the harvest Kay and Ector sent a letter using the same cipher you have used telling you to stay there since there were still attacks from the witch hunters towards Camelot and they were a nuisance. As promised they've only told Guin and Lancelot that you were still alive but not where you were since the witch hunters may have made a connection between you and the Targaryen family if they were now making themselves a nuisance to Camelot. You haven't disclosed if whether or not you were successful in your quest just in case an unwanted spy were able to read your letters.

There was also another reason.

"What do you desire for your birthday children?" You ask as you and Fiona butcher two freshly slaughtered ewes who have showed signs that their best years are behind them and to put them out of their misery and to do so while they are still healthy to be eaten. Daenara was busy plucking out the feathers of several pigeons that you've shot down with the arrows that Fiona has given you. Rather than just driving away the birds eating and destroying the crops, your family was going to eat them for the birthday feast of the twins as they become twelve years of age.

"Oh I would like to have painting supplies. I miss painting and I want to paint everything here."

"You just miss painting on a flat surface!"

"Am not! I want to sketch Aunty Fiona!"

"Oh I'm flattered Daeron." Fiona chuckles as she hands you the bowl of organs that needs to be cooked and immediately eaten since they don't preserve well over time.

"Cook these immediately Arthur. Daenara could you help me here?"

"Yes, let me just pluck the last few feathers here then I'll be right there."

"Why can't we help?" Ayrmida asks.

"You're still too young to be butchering Ayrmida. You still have some growing to do first." Fiona says as she hands Daenara a similar butcher's knife and they continue cutting and preserving meats. Mainly with salt but some parts were also placed aside to be preserved in smoking. During your stay here and thanks to Fiona's guidance, Daenara and your children have not only learned how to do chores needed to be learned in any household but also how to do them well.

It was also clear that they were enjoying doing these chores. Probably because they weren't allowed to do any while staying with the mages and this allowed them some control over what they can do. Daenara was still not as good as a butcher that Fiona was but it was also clear that she was eager to learn and Fiona was also a good teacher.

"Ayrmida, would you like to help me cook these?" Your daughter enthusiastically goes to your side. You figured you would have her help you so that she wouldn't bother Fiona and Daenara. You remember the frightening time when you almost cut your own finger because you weren't focused on the angle of the cut while you were learning how to butcher. Daenara may have healing blood but you doubt it would be enough to cure a finger that was cut-off. Daeron was enjoying watching and observing and wasn't as much of a bother as Ayrmida may have been.

"Now that we are alone, is there anything you would like to have on your birthday?"

"Well there is but I don't think you will like it Papa." She says as she mixes the dough mixture to make the crust of the pie.

"How do you know if you haven't asked?"

"Because you love me and you, Mama, Daeron, and Aunty Fiona will worry about me. That's why I think you won't like it, but I really want to experience it." You put the organs in the cauldron along with other vegetables to help bulk up the filling of the meat pie you two were making. After being satisfied with the consistency of the filling being cooked over the fire, you go to Ayrmida's side to check the consistency of the dough.

"What is it that you want? I'll do my best to be as open minded as possible." You two sit down facing each other.

She tells you her wish and why she wants to experience it.

She was right that you would be worried. But after listening to her, you also cannot deny her own logic for it.

"I will have to talk to your Mama about this first. She already worries whenever you sneak out and away from us." She nods, you could tell that she had already understood that this would need the cooperation of many people should she want to truly experience it.

Daenara of course was worried.

"Ayrmida why would you want that?" She does her best to stay calm and keep the worry from her voice.

"Because once Ke-Papa goes back to Camelot everything will change. And I want to experience this so I could know what it's like."

After much talk, Daenara couldn't deny that Ayrmida was a lot like her when you two were newly married. And Ayrmida wanted to experience the same thing.

That didn't mean that she needed to be alone in doing so.

"My foster father sir Ector and my foster brother sir Kay will have to know about this so they can ensure your safety. That is non-negotiable." You tell her as your family was having a midday meal and after a lot of discussion with Daenara and Fiona about how to achieve Ayrmida's wish without compromising her safety as much as possible.

"Of course Papa."

"Do not cause too much trouble for your Papa. Is that understood tala (daughter)?"

"Issa muña (Yes mother)."

"Do not let anyone know of our secret."

"But-but what if someone is dying?"

"That's an exception but be discreet. I've taught you how to properly do it but be careful with the blade nevertheless."

"Yes mama."

"No magic until you are behind Camelot's walls. But even then be discreet tala (daughter). Camelot enjoys magic but not everyone may be trustworthy. When in doubt either wait for us or ask Ector or Kay."

"Or when in doubt run." Fiona adds as she pours herself some ale.

"Yes Aunty Fiona."

"Don't be annoying."

"Daeron!"

"But Mama it's true! Also don't be impulsive or impatient." Ayrmida chuckles as she lightly shoves him.

"Kirimvose (Thank you) Daeron."

"Biarvose mandia (You're welcome older sister)."

The time came when sir Kay finally arrived. The first thing you both did was to embrace each other.

"It's been so long brother."

"Too long. Camelot is beginning to really miss you." He pats you on the back and messes up your hair as you both chuckle.

"So where are they?"

"KAY! You better wash up before entering! I could smell you all the way from here!" Fiona says as she was using a wheelbarrow to bring the freshly milled wheat for baking bread.

"Same as ever?"

"Same as ever. At least now she has us for company for the meantime. How are the witch hunters?"

"Thankfully they've stopped attacking Camelot for the meantime. We have efficiently wasted their resources and they will have to regroup before their next attempted siege on Camelot. Since they are only loosely organized they will need to find some other source of livelihoods to restock their supply chain before they will attack us again. The routes are cleared of them now so it is relatively safe apart from a few bandits here and there."

"Thank the heavens."

You both stop as you hear giggling from the apple trees that you pass by.

"PAPA! I MANAGED TO REACH A NEW BRANCH!"

"Very good Ayrmida. Would you like to come down? I would like you to meet your uncle."

"Alright papa." A part of you was concerned but you couldn't deny that she also made you smile. She has learned to be strategic in climbing up and down trees and wore trousers instead of skirts to make things easier.

She almost fell though she was near the ground, but you were able to catch her and help her up.

"Ayrmida, this is your uncle sir Kay." She performs a curtsy as he bows to her.

"Hello uncle, I'm Ayrmida Targaryen Pendragon. But I have to go by Bardugon - oh but can I change it when we arrive at Camelot?"

"My you're very excited." He chuckles as he begins noticing how energetic she could be.

"I've already packed my things - I'm ready to go with you tonight."

"Ayrmida he'll be staying here for a few more days. He and his horse needs to rest too."

"Aww."

"Hahaha don't worry Ayrmida, your grandfather and I will be with you in whatever you want to do."

"Within reason."

"Of course Arthur but let her have some fun."

"Oh I really like you uncle."

"Now freshen up so your mother won't scold me."

"Yes papa." She runs ahead to the house as you and Kay take a detour to wash up.

"By the Gods Arthur, she really is your daughter. No one can deny you are her father." You chuckle at his astonishment.

"Thank you, you should see Daeron."

Dinner was a lively and joyful affair. Kay was having fun entertaining Daenara and the twins with even more embarrassing childhood stories with Fiona adding more details every now and then. You and Daenara finally being able to talk more about your early days in the commune, Ayrmida and Daeron eagerly asking what Camelot was like from someone who wasn't you.

The third night before they leave for Camelot, Kay asks what are your plans for the Fisher King.

"I've managed to make a private meeting happen tomorrow at midday between Daenara, myself and the Fisher King. Since Elaine and other members of his court are the ones doing the actual administration of the Kingdom here, I've managed to have them meet at one of his favorite fishing spots. I was wondering if you would like to accompany me?" Kay snorts at you.

"As if I would miss finally seeing what secret lies in their blood."

"You know you could always ask Daenara."

"Eh I want to see it."

And see it he did. While Fiona was watching over and supervising the twins back at the farm, you, Kay and Daenara met with the Fisher King, his private guards who carried him around and his most trusted alchemist.

"Hmm" Daenara contemplates as she examines the genital injury.

"Is - is it too late?"

"No, the problem is not whether or not it can be cured - which it can - I'm more concerned about your lifespan with all due respect your majesty."

"Oh - but your blood, doesn't it heal the wound of mortality too?"

"Targaryen blood can heal mortal wounds. But even we are mortal and will eventually die. There comes a point when we too will pass on. I don't know how much time you will have left but live while you can still live your majesty. For we all become one when we have our last breath."

And it was then that you felt your love for her grow. Daenara was more perceptive than what she gives herself credit for. The Fisher King's injury may have been his excuse, but it is now that you could see that what he feared was dying or not having lived his life. Traditionally he has no heir, but as much as you detest Elaine for what she did to Lancelot, even you couldn't deny that she was an excellent ruler, even if she did have to use a puppet to implement her ways.

Daenara then takes out her obsidian blade and makes a wound on her hand. She squeezes her blood on the injury and everyone watches as the injury begins to heal with just a few drops of her blood. Once she was finished she puts her non-dominant hand arm out towards the alchemist as he ties her upper arm and sterilizes the needle of the syringe with distilled alcohol. She donates her blood and once it was done, she gives instructions to limit it to at most 5 drops of blood at most should there be any problem that arose later.

The Fisher King awards you both officially and unofficially. Officially he gave some of his finest troops for sir Kay to escort to Camelot - some of whom have been trying to be a member of your round table - thus giving him an official reason to be in his Kingdom. These troops were to help with the Saxons and the nuisance of the witch hunters. But deep down, it was understood that it was also for Ayrmida's protection as they traveled to Camelot.

Unofficially the Fisher King gives you and Daenara treasures and money and bestowed upon Fiona the water mill and the spinning wheel she had been saving up for.

All that and his own favor while he lives out the rest of his new life given to him by Daenara.

"Be a good girl alright?"

"Yes mama. I'll see you and everyone when you come to Camelot!"

The two of you kiss her forehead as she embraces Daeron and Fiona. The Fisher King has given her a beautiful friendly brown mare whom she has named Goldie because of the warmth of her color. You help her up on her saddle as she kisses your cheek one last time before she, Kay, and the new troops in their layman's attire for discretion, begin their journey to Camelot.

You and the rest of your family will remain here for one or two more months. In those two months, the Fisher King would take his last breath and Queen Elaine would have ascended. Fortunately she didn't know you were still within her kingdom as you observe the effects of her policies to the people. It is still too early to say if she is an ally or not, but you could only hope for the best.

#The Vitulation Cycle #Arthurian #Arthuriana fanfiction #arthur x guenievre x lancelot #Arthur x Guinevere x Lancelot #Arthur x OC #Arthur x Original Female Character #Arthur x OFC #Arthur x Guinevere #Arthur x Lancelot #Lancelot x Guinevere

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ershebet · 2 years ago

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Ivan: Cowboy, I'm not going to celebrate your satanic holiday, damn it, you're dressing up as some demons and you think I'll treat this as something normal?

Kolyadki

Ivan as a child:

Ivan: Kolyada, kolyada! Open the gates and take out the chests, give us coins, even a ruble (1), even a nickel (5), we will not leave you just like that. Give us a piece of candy, or maybe a coin, don't be a jerk, Christmas Eve is coming soon!

Ivan: On New Year's Eve I wish you an aspen coffin, a stake and a grave, and a sick mare (curse)

_______________________________

Maslenitsa

(Maslenitsa is a pagan holiday still celebrated in Russia. Meaning: people see off winter by burning an effigy symbolizing the Goddess of Winter Morena. People bake crepes. Crepes, at least in Russia, appeared as a funeral food, which is consumed during funerals. At the moment, crepes are a common dish, but crepes are still an important dish for Maslenitsa):

Ivan: Die, Morana (Goddess of Death/Rebirth/Winter.), die, die, die, yes yes yes, die

Ivan Kupala (Kupala Night):

There is very little information in the English wikipedia

The holiday combines two elements: pagan and Christian. Previously, this holiday existed independently, but after the baptism of Russia, the holiday acquired a Christian meaning and elements. The main feature of Kupala night is the cleansing bonfires. Around the fire, people danced, danced, sang Kupala songs, jumped over it: whoever is more successful and jumps higher, he will be happier. Girls jump through the fire "to purify themselves and protect themselves from dumbness, spoilage, conspiracies," and so that "mermaids do not attack and do not come for a year." Evil spirits come to life on this holiday, people performed certain rituals to scare away witches, mermaids and other evil spirits. Also, people wove wreaths of certain flowers, which also carry a magical meaning, women let such wreaths on the water to tell themselves an early wedding or a long life. Also on this holiday it is customary to look for a fern flower, which according to Slavic beliefs, the fern blooms only for a moment, on the night before Ivan Kupala (on June 24 [July 7 in Russia]); it is very difficult to pluck a flower, especially since the evil spirit prevents this in every possible way and intimidates a person, in some cases depriving him of reason, speech, memory. Picking the flower of a fern and keeping it with him acquires unusual possibilities. Man becomes visionary, can understand the language of animals, see all the treasures.

#hetalia #aph russia #alfred f jones #ivan braginsky #Slavic holidays

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l-u-c-i-i-e · 3 years ago

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Solanum Dulcamara /Bittersweet Nightshade/

[Excerpt from P.V Fournier's Dictionary of Medicinal and Poisonous Plants of France.]

Common names : Wild licorice, climbing nightshade, Judas vine, wild vine, fever grass, foulbrood, dead dog vine.

Nothing is more graceful than the small, yellow-hearted purple star flowers of Bittersweet, that small vine native to the edges of streams and running or standing waters, light damp woods, dunes, old walls and even hollow trees, especially willows.

It is a climbing plant, more often drooping than climbing, with woody stems and herbaceous branches, which hardly reaches more than 1 to 2 meters. Its leaves are quite varied in shape on the same plant (...), [the flowers are] arranged in clusters and bloom all summer [to then] give way to small scarlet, hanging berries, which are sought by birds in winter.

History :

The history of botany shows us that it is not certain that Bittersweet appears in ancient texts (continual confusion with Strychnos Hypnotikos and Black Nightshade), perhaps in Dioscorides however.

[You have to wait] the 16th century and the Germans to be sure that we are talking about this particular plant.

Dioscorides declared the plant a laxative and added that the berries dispelled all stains from the face and skin.

Mathiole asserts that the women of Tuscany also use Bittersweet as a cosmetic and that it is used in a vinous decoction against dropsy.

Toxicity :

It would seem that the younger the plant, the less Solanine it contains (which is also valid for Black Nightshade.)

Solanine poisoning causes nausea, vomiting, anxiety, tingling in various organs (?!?), increased secretions, agitation, cramps, convulsive movements of the hands, lips, eyelids, insomnia, vertigo, progressive paralysis of the tongue, weakening pulse, and finally, according to O. Gessner, violent dyspnoea and death by asphyxiation.

Properties :

Bittersweet is slightly laxative, diuretic, stimulant, sudorific, depurative, expectorant, antiherpetic and slightly narcotic.

The part used is the woody stem (at least one year old) chewed, who gives a feeling of bitterness followed by a sweet taste (...)

In fact, Bittersweet is mostly used as a depurative and is effective in chronic skin conditions : eczema, herpes, psoriasis, various scabs, pruritus.

Manual :

- Infusion or decoction : 8 to 30g per liter of water; to be taken 3 times a day between meals.

Cazin recommends starting with 4-8g per day and gradually increasing the dose, and assessing body susceptibility as you go.

It can produce at the beginning of the treatment headaches and dizziness, or even an exacerbation of the evil incriminated; but by persisting, the symptoms decrease.

However, it should be done with caution.

- Diuretic wine : 500g of stems boiled in 1 liter of white wine, 2 glasses/day.

- Decoction for lotions and baths : 100 to 200g per liter of water, young shoots or fresh leaves.

- In homeopathy its essence is used against rheumatic affections, urticaria and bladder disorders.

Elements of personal experience :

H. Roth as well as S. Lawless say that this plant can help to "regain its balance" or to "keep it", which seems fair to me.

Nevertheless, there is an old German legend which clearly indicates that this plant is inhabited by a very powerful Fairy (able in particular to fight step by step against *dark* witches / mares) , and I have felt few times, more than an ambivalence, an real ambiguity.

I don't have much experience with the "little people" (apart from the "ones" taken directly from the folklore of where I live), but what I have found is that indeed, the Spirit of this plant can help to find our balance, but (and) he is never there where one thinks he is, and thus he is very "good" to play certain "tricks", typical of the "little people".

With me, he was a sure 'friend' and 'ally' for a very long time, he taught me a lot of things very slowly (because I never understand anything quickly) but the FLASH he showed me once of his great power left me "mute" and "stunned" at the moment.

Also, to guard against nightmares, and unless you have a special relationship with this very powerful "Fairy", I recommend more strongly than hanging a branch of Bittersweet at the head of your bed, to place a branch of St. John's wort (among others, but it all depends on the mares in question, of course.)

#Solanum Dulcamara #Bittersweet #Fournier #my pics #Fairy King #diary #Poisons

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fxtelism-moved · 3 years ago

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[ i. basic information ]

FULL NAME. Mare Reynn

NICKNAMES. -

ALIASES. Elemental Witch of Water

FACE. Erio Tōwa (from Denpa Onna to Seishun Otoko)

DATE OF BIRTH. 8th April

AGE: 17

ZODIAC SIGN. Aries

GENDER. Female

PRONOUNS. She/Her

ORIENTATION. Uncertain

SPECIES. Witch

NATIONALITY. Auritic (in the continent Auritem)

ETHNICITY. Elemental Witches

RESIDENCE. In a particular lake of Infiniti Forest

HOMETOWN. Vinas (one of the closest towns near Infiniti Forest)

OCCUPATION. Water Maiden

EDUCATION. Unclear

RELIGION. -

[ ii. appearance ]

HEIGHT. 5′0

BUILT. Petite

EYES. Light blue

HAIR. Slightly dark blue

SCARS. none

TATTOOS. none

PIERCINGS. none

OTHER. Dark blue markings across her left thigh when using magic.

DRESSING STYLE. White poofy shorts and sleeveless shirt, light blue transparent veil across her body, sandals

[ iii. relationships ]

DIRECT FAMILY. Unnamed father and mother

EXTENDED FAMILY. unknown

SIGNIFICANT OTHER. none

CHILDREN. None

PETS. If fishes wish to stay in her lake are considered as pets.

Tagged by: @vixlenxe (thank you for tagging me!)

Tagging: @eternitycyber, @terraeferae, @jardinae, @eliteimperialism, @inseparableduo, @shootingxstardust, @shichishi-chii, @devotionobsessed, @creelsclocks, @mcsesofhope, @tiredstudents, and anyone who wants to do this OR steal it from me!

#( tag games. )#( muse headcanon. )#;mare #( muse headcanon; mare )

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vikiblood · 3 years ago

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https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scythians#Culture_and_society

OK, the link is about the Scythians, but this part is about their most important deity, enjoy:

Artimpasa

Artimpasa (Ἀρτίμπασα), more commonly known as Argimpasa (Ἀργίμπασα) due to a scribal corruption, was equated by Hēródotos with the Greek goddess Aphrodítē Ouranía. Artimpasa was an androgynous goddess of warfare, sovereignty, priestly force, fecundity, vegetation and fertility and was the Scythian variant of the Iranian goddess Arti , a patron of fertility and marriage and a guardian of laws, and from whom the first element of Artimpasa's name was derived.

The cult of Artimpasa was performed by the Anarya, who were powerful transvestite priests from the most noble families affiliated to an orgiastic cult of the goddess.

The Enarei, singular Enaree (Ancient Greek: Ἐνάρεες Enárees, Ἀναριεῖς Anarieîs, derived from the Iranian term *anarya, meaning "unmanly", were Scythian androgynous/effeminate priests and shamanistic soothsayers who played an important role in the Scythian religion.

Religious role

The Enarei performed Artimpasa's cult and played an important political role in Scythian society as they were believed to have received the gift of prophesy directly from the goddess Artimpasa (conflated by Herodotus with Aphrodite). The Enarei wore women's clothing, performed women's jobs and customs and spoke in a feminine manner.They were accepted and revered in Scythian society.

Scythian religion included shamanism and divination, both nature and deities worship and had no temples. Scythian shamanism involved religious ecstasy through the use of cannabis, with modern authors claiming that Enarei likely performed those rites, just like 'gender-crossing shamans' of other cultures.

Divination

Herodotus describes the Scythian divination practices: the method employed by the Enarei differed from that practised by traditional Scythian diviners: whereas the latter used a bundle of willow rods, the Enarei used strips cut from the bark of the linden tree (genus tilia) to tell the future,which they did by splitting the bark and twining the strands among open fingers.

The Enarei were especially consulted when the king of the Scythians was ill, which was itself believed by the Scythians to be caused by a false oath being sworn upon the king's hearth.

Androgyny

Hippocrates wrote that Enarei would "play the part of women", which has been interpreted as referring to being the passive person in a homosexual intercourse.Aristotle described them with the word "malakia" (soft, effeminate), which also carried connotations of the sexually receptive homosexual party.

Herodotus, who uses the term "androgynos" (ἀνδρόγονος), explains their effeminate condition with the story of the Scythians who pillaged the temple of Aphrodite Urania at Askelon, and all their descendants after them, afflicted by the goddess with the “female” sickness. Hippocrates, who speaks about the Enarees in his work On Airs, Waters, Places, theorized that they were impotent as a result of continuous horseback riding, and it was for this reason they have adopted feminine roles.[6] Hippocrates also underlined that only the noble and powerful men (who got to ride horses) became Enarei.

Modern hypothesesThe archaeologist Timothy Taylor in his 1996 book The Prehistory of Sex proposed a theory that Enarei drank pregnant mare urine to induce hormonal feminization.He bases his theory on some pastoralist peoples custom of consuming animal urine,[12] Ovid poems mentioning virus amantis equae ("slime/flux of mare in heat") as an ingredient (in Medicamina Faciei Femineae it is a "baneful"/"hurtful" one) witches would use and modern usage of conjugated equine estrogens for transfeminine hormone replacement therapy. Despite the lack of direct evidence, this idea has gained popularity and has been both cited and passed off as a fact on the Internet.

#scythians #the old guard #andromache the scythian #yusuf x nicolo #joe x nicky

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best-ghoul · 4 years ago

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GRAVEN: Guiltless, brainless, nameless.

@ca314159bara: ooze? 👀

HA! YOU PICKED THE [DATA EXPUNGED]!

+Prose! Stick around under the cut, as I wrote some prose for the occasion I finally get to HOLLER ABOUT GUILTLESS

GUILTLESS ([DATA EXPUNGED] [DATA EXPUNGED] Assassin):

So, as we all well know by now, It's been half a century since the Demiorgos perished by mortal hands, and the Ingenious Isles still don't have a centralized government-- they were a unitary theocracy before, that left a big hole on the way out.

Now, the Ingenious Isles are both essential to the function of the modern world, and A DICKENSIAN NIGHTMARE TRAINWRECK COUNTRY. Ironically, they kinda just defaulted back to the island- and fleet-based warlordism that reached uneasy symbiosis and then died long before black powder and ironclads, so some economists (reaching), argue that we should just let the moneyed nobles sort it out and it'll be a utopia once everyone has their own fiefs back.

Sure.

A good half of the people in the Isles are Din, a Heavened Race who are allegedly the offspring of Djinn and have an elemental theming. At some point, they were the thralls of bronze-age human witches, freed themselves, and have lived alongside Man- and Feykind in pretty much every part of the world since. They're "Genasi" if you wanna put a D&D tag on it, but they occupy the "Dwarf" role on Dis. They aren't especially short-- humans have about six inches over an average one-- and range from truly gaunt to brick fucking shithouse depending on elemental mix.

Most may have literal horns, but they're thinkers and explorers first, and incredibly loyal friends until money gets involved. See, most of them are born into debt (a complex pact and guild tradition curdled), and the red ink soaks up anyone's morals real quick.

Without that, they aren't wired for greed in any way (though many are very good at it), their system's fucked and it doesn't take a lotta bastard per capita to keep it that way.

So, it's a hellscape of Mercantile Satraps sacking each other. Not ideal timing for someone to invent Capitalism, but it sure made the concept popular in a hurry. In less than a generation, Pirates, anarchists and assassins are celebrated folk heroes and security gets rocks thrown at them. Some deserve the adulation, most not. Either way, they drink free.

New forms of economics quickly followed. The Assassin's Guild has branch offices. People bet on pirates like it's the fucking dog track. There is a tiny baby stock market.

Enter Guiltless.

You see, the individual named "Guiltless" is a cipher, even to other assassins, but is unquestionably a very rich individual. They come highly recommended, and leave no bodies or even blood. Lineages have snuffed each other out in the wake of one playboy finding a single maid's corpse in the right bedroom. People have been driven into gibbering wrecks in the corners of their bedrooms thinking they're being gangstalked for weeks, companies have bankrupted themselves hiring security. People have proposed it's an entire ring splitting the profits (which explains both why hiring them is so expensive and why nobody can track a lump sum more than two steps from their fixer).

There are pretenders, but the real Guiltless is one individual who probably "works" two days a month, but they are definitely doing all the killing.

To this day. nobody knows where the fuck all that money goes.

Surely, they must have family. An agenda? A front business?

Ha ha, not really!

See, countless little species have born, flourished, and died here in the belly of the world, and on what little earth is left, science is voiding the planet's warranty in new and creative ways. Still, no matter what runoff they dump into the Mare Temenae, the waters stay clear, and life adapts quickly, as if natural selection were hiding a species up their sleeve for just such an occasion. The place is truly blessed with natural abundance, as you would expect from a place where the entire eastern quarter has giant rocks that float (a place called Maridia).

Imagine, for a moment, you are one such creature on the beach of an island in Maridia (non-floating).

You've just freshly crawled out of the Holy Waters, a nameless, brainless, flesh-eating blob that takes the shape of anything it ate recently (an amoeba doesn't have an especially long memory, so you have to stick with amoeba-sized ideas: flat, round, hairy, smooth, cube).

Everything you eat makes you a little smarter, bigger and certainly less hungry. When you get hungry, you forget things.

It's hard to say how long you have been nameless and brainless (you forgot), but it was probably a good long while for a slime.

You have gotten a little bigger. You can remember upgrading from "worms" to "small birds" around half your lifetime ago. That was a pretty awesome day for you.

You forgot how to fly soon after though. That sucked. You forgot that too.

There were no boats here then. There are now! Boat-barnacles don't make you very smart, but they're good for not getting dumber!

...Then things got really weird when you found a dark hole. "Perfect for conserving fluids!", thought you, brainless and very moist.

At the bottom, you found a cube. It tasted like "tree", was very dry, and much bigger than a bird. It was hollow, so you bored a hole in it on the hunt for organ meat. ...Most of it was useless plant matter, no brains. But there was some iron in a shape you know from the others (cube!)

...Iron's great for pigmentation, too! So, you swallowed it with great haste to be digested when ready, glowing with joy at the fact that you now have a cube to float in you.

You just need to move your acids around a little and-

The cube clicks. Your body glows and nearly boils from the sudden onrushing of awareness that shears you down to your quickly-coalescing id. ...and from that moment, you could remember everything you had ever eaten.

...Or how it was shaped, at least.

Things started to happen very quickly after that.

Within a day, you had eaten your first person. It was a corpse when you started. ...you were like, three-quarters sure.

And with it, you had your first flash of true consciousness

(and fractions!)

...You gained their self-image, preserved in the moment of death. That little thing that could scarcely drag their way to shore from the hold it stowed away in. That weak, little thing that died, curled up and sunstruck near your little hole, against what you now understand is fresh stucco, atop a levee that extends far outward into the sea.

You looked down at the divot you'd digested the body in. A few threads of their little sack-cloth sweater and unravelling pants lay in the sand. You realize there was once was a person. there.

You understood guilt in that moment. Guilt and death.

And with it, you became inconsolably angry. With yourself. With this island. With the boats. With the people and the tower they built, with the airships, all these things you understand now only to immediately despise!

What good is this brain! The starveling died hungry! You will not! Expunge!

...No.

No, wait. The starveling knew something important. To know right from wrong and fail to act is what brings on guilt.

You were just hungry.

...You know now that you are incredibly smart and an excellent hunter compared to the little creature's body you just recycled. You realize with horror that you would be hungry again tomorrow, and begin to forget soon after.

But those- those in the towers above, those with hubris-- they had never killed anybody-- but they were guilty.

And you will soon be hungry again.

You understand death and guilt rather well now. You understand this makes you incredibly smart, for a blob or a person.

Person.

Person!

...As you see your reflection in the waves, for the first time understand mirrors. You are only borrowing this face. It's already a little different from what you ate, but you will never forget this person.

You promise them. You understand a promise now.

You also tell them that you need them to understand: you are going to be hungry again soon, and people far outnumber any other animal big enough to sate you now.

You have always understood what to do about that.

You look against the wall the starveling died against.

...Guh, and what a garish turquoise that wall is. You have had color vision for only a few hours, but gods rise, that shade is too bright. And why bright yellow text? What text could POSSIBLY be that important?

...Okay, you are getting nowhere with those letters.

Starveling couldn't read.

Damn.

If gods invented those squiggles, and ESPECIALLY that color, you conclude you should not be terribly fond of gods, either.

You fiddle with your reflection for a moment. Okay, you look Dinnish at a glance but you're still pretty slimy. ...At least that means you can get over the stucco wall in a hurry,

The spikes and grates likewise prove trivial.

Shit, that's a lot of buildings.

This was a GIGANTIC mistake.

You slip into the smallest crevice you can find.

Guh! Machinery! Noise! Sounds! Shapes! Colors! People! Shit!

FUCKSHIT, PEOPLE COMING. HIDE.

You duck into a dumpster, disturbed, but not surprised, at the lack of heed the noise you make is paid.

From within, you look up at the city's great towers, supported by floating stones that prop them up towards the stars, with those great zeppelins, against the sky. Thin! Slivers! of sky, separated from the squalor below by choking nets of electric cable. Taken together, you can feel the radiation coming off them. They're wired even up to the heavens-- on metal pitons driven haphazardly into floatstone-- All this information, all these broken bodies. This edifice! All this NOISE!

You look at your skinny wrists, fingers. Way too pale. ...It's gonna get worse when you get hungry.

You extract the cube you ate from your cytoplasm and palm the rust off it. Your membrane flushes with color for a moment. That's surface level, for you and for the cube. Whatever's underneath is harder metal, but you still decide the knowledge-giving box is better, safer, undigested in your nucleus.

You return it to your body, sheathed in a protective little protein sheath, to your own core. It's a snug fit, and the little marble in your chest becomes a rounded, cubic prism.

Haha! Your brain looks so cool!

It certainly takes a lot of poise to be fully opaque, and it's a shame to hide such a handsome nucleus, but you'll have to manage.

In your dumpster, you look up to the tower, so tall the wires jumping from it to other buildings peter out one by one, leaving only the stained-glass cupola, reflecting the light of the sun. The colors alone are painful to look at.

What kind of jackass-

Oh.

Oh you have an idea.

You slide from an alley into the sewer grate.

Via the sewage line, you'll make it just in time for dinner.

---- If you're wondering, Guiltless's "resting" form is the body of the Starveling they ate, that same androgynous Din (they forgot the gender), disguising their boneless pseudopods as an oversized sweater with extended sleeves. Keeping 'em stretched out like that means they can turn into big claws on a dime.

The Starveling would have probably would have had a full set of horns if they had better nutrition, but as it stands, they're pretty stumpy, barely grown past their long, ragged "hair" (hair also prehensile if needs must), on stick thin, dirty little legs. No shoes on the body, and Guiltless isn't fond of them anyway, or pants for that matter: they've got shorts on.

If you're wondering about Getting Slimed, Guiltless doesn't experience sexual desire but appreciates the sensation, and is an adult of their species, whatever the hell that actually is.

Their default is an adult now too: they tweaked it with features of other, grown bodies once they figured out what an "adult" is and how to look like one. They can also modify the PH of their body comp so it won't y'know... digest anything, but I wouldn't go swallowing any.

#GRAVEN #longposting #for good content call

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tipsycad147 · 4 years ago

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Hag's Medicine: Mullein Plant Profile

I realized that it’s been a few months since I wrote my last plant profile for all of you and continuing the last few posts on breathwork and herbs for respiratory wellness, Mullein (Verbascum thapsus) felt like the wonderful ally to celebrate and learn from this month. So let’s do just that!

Mullein

(Verbascum thapsus)

Common + Folk Names : Hag’s tapers, beggar’s blanket, graveyard dust, candlewick, Jupiter’s staff, torches, velvet dock, witch’s candle, lungwort, shepherd’s staff, duffle, fluffweed, fleawort, tinder plant, Cuddy's lungs, hare’s beard, Our Lady’s flannel, Quaker rouge, Aaron's rod, Jacob's staff, verbasco, Nookaadiziiganzh. Tarot Cards : The Devil, The World, Two of Pentacles - learn more about tarot + herbs Element : Earth, Water Zodiac Signs : Capricorn Planets : Saturn Moon Phase : Waning Quarter Moon Parts used : Leaf, flower, root Habitat : Native to Eurasia and North Africa but naturalized throughout North America. Growing conditions : Grows in waste areas and roadsides. Likes full sun and well-drained soil. Collection : Collect the flowers and leaves from second year and older plants. Roots in the fall. Flavor : Pungent, slightly bitter Temperature : Cool Moisture : Moist Tissue State : Damp/Stagnation, Dry/Atrophy Constituents : Carotene, choline, calcium, magnesium, sulfur, resin, saponins, glycoside, flavonoids, mucilage, tannins, triterpenes, volatile oil.

Actions : alterative, anodyne, antibacterial, antihistamine, anti-inflammatory, antiseptic, antispasmodic, antiviral, astringent, decongestant, demulcent, diuretic, emollient, expectorant, pectoral, vulnerary. Flower: analgesic, anti-inflammatory, antispasmodic, demulcent, emollient, mucilaginous, nervine, sedative. Root: anti-inflammatory, antispasmodic, anodyne, diuretic, nervine.

Main Uses : Mullein is described by Nicholas Culpeper as being under the guardianship of Saturn, which is in part why the herb is considered a plant of Capricorn. The herb is a great ally during the winter months, helping to clear phlegm from the system, reduce inflammation, and protect against infection. It is excellent for clearing out chronic, long-standing coughs, especially dry and spasmodic coughs, and can help with a number of respiratory complaints including bronchitis, asthma, and general lung weakness. Mullein has traditionally been used for tuberculosis, whooping cough, and pleurisy. Bartram's Encyclopedia of Herbal Medicine describes a traditional Irish preparation of Mullein for the treatment of tuberculosis prepared by adding a handful of the green leaves to two pints of fresh milk, strained, and then sweetened with honey which was then drunk once or twice daily. Think deep, thick, and chesty coughs. Look for signs of adrenal stress, especially after long bouts of illness and conditions worsening when lying down.

Add the herb to your cold and flu blends with Elder (Sambucus nigra) and Peppermint (Mentha piperita) for a lung-opening, immunomodulating blend. Mullein is useful, too, for Capricorn folk who tend towards stagnant cold states which lead to swellings and cysts as the herb helps to dissolve such manifestations of buildup. As a decongestant, Mullein is good for allergies such as hay fever, helping to clear phlegm and relieve pain. In her Physica, Hildegard von Bingen recommended Mullein for “one who is hoarse or has a pain in his chest” recommending that they combine the herb with Fennel (Foeniculum vulgare) in a medicinal wine. Use also for asthma (especially if there is heat and aggravation) and general chest infections. Mullein has immunostimulating properties which is another reason that it is excellent for cold and flu season and especially for someone succumbing to chronic viral infections. The herb is effective against viruses such as herpes, too.

As a moistening diuretic, Mullein helps to soothe an inflamed urinary system and help with the release of urine. Mullein is also well-suited for many cases of edema and water retention. The herb also helps to remove toxins from the body because of its ability to move water out of the body. Use in cases of arthritis, rheumatism, gout, UTIs, and cystitis. As a digestive, Mullein is a mild bitter that relieves indigestion, especially in cases of a damp and stagnant digestion, and can help alleviate the pain of peptic ulcers.

Mullein can be used for nerve pain and combines well with other nervines such as Skullcap (Scutellaria lateriflora) and St. Joan’s Wort (Hypericum perforatum). Use internally as well as an oil for neuralgia and especially nerve pain the hands and feet. In particular, the root can be used in cases of Bell’s palsy and facial nerve pain. The herb helps to loosen up stiff joints and connective tissue.

Topically, the mucilaginous Mullein is excellent for dry skin conditions but also as a healing compress or salve for boils, bruises, inflammation, hemorrhoids, eczema, sciatica, and joint pain. Use in a steam for lung conditions like asthma, bronchitis and other respiratory imbalances already described. In Plants Have So Much to Give Us, All We Have To Do Is Ask: Anishinaabe Botanical Teachings, Mary Siisip Geniusz recommends following a steam with Mullein a cup of Yarrow (Achillea millefolium) and then to bed to clear the head and chest. Mullein is used similarly as a smoking herb as well as an aid to help wean off tobacco. Mullein is useful in cases of bulging discs and bone setting. The herb helps the skin repair after a wound, burn, sore, and ulcer and can be used for skin infections, too. A compress of the leaves is excellent for alleviating the pain of swollen joints, sore muscles, swollen glands, eczema and for headaches. Use also for lymphadenitis and mumps. Create a gargle of the tea or extract for laryngitis, swollen gums, and tonsillitis. Mullein and garlic ear oil is a trusted remedy for ear infections helping to relieve pain and infection. I always keep a small bottle of Mullein and Garlic oil in my home care kit just for this reason. Mullein is also a common herb in smoking blends.

Magickal Uses : The long thick stems are sometimes referred to as Hag’s Tapers (the dried stalks dipped in wax will burn as a somewhat messy candle) as they are associated with the magickal workings of Witchfolk. Mullein is a plant long associated with the working of Hags - the womxn overculture has always feared who teach us to embrace what has been deemed unpalatable to value systems that our not our own into essential tools of our self-understanding. The tapers can be burned at funerals to protect against unwanted and malevolent spirits. You can also tuck the leaves into your shoe for added comfort and protection on your journeys. Use for general protection against sorcery, the evil eye, and malevolent spirits. Specifically protective against wild animal attacks and guards against the Night Mare. Use as a substitute for graveyard dust in spells and charms. Burn Mullein in your Midsummer bonfire for protection and gather the ashes to use in protection charms.

The Mullein Personality : The Mullein person has something to get off their chest which can sometimes manifest as chronic respiratory infections and a barking cough that doesn’t allow them to get a clear word out. Their adrenals are often run down and mornings - just as they are getting out of bed - can be some of the most difficult times for them physically and emotionally. Often, Mullein folk come off as dried out (which can manifest in their physical symptoms), but they may appear dry because all of their waters have pooled deep in the body. With their unexpressed truth settling in the body they are stewing, sometimes even bubbling over. They need to learn how to light their torch, even if the words that come out aren’t “perfectly” illuminating or fit in with the standards that they or others hold them to. Mullein folk can be confused about what they stand for because they have been so focused on “correct” social customs and traditions. Mullein will help them to become honest with themselves and release these stagnant patterns of seeking authority outside of themselves and help them to speak their words. Ultimately, they learn that morals, values, and laws aren’t of any use unless they align with their morals, values, and inner sense of lawful justice.

Contraindications : Considered generally safe.

Drug interactions : None known.

Dosage : Standard dosage.

Recipe: The following tea is useful for alleviating the pain and tension of backache and neuralgia. It can also be made into an herbal oil or liniment and used topically.

Stand Tall Tea

1 part Nettles (Urtica dioica)

1/2 part Mullein Leaf + Flower (Verbascum thapsus)

1/2 part St. Joan’s Wort (Hypericum perforatum)

Optional: 1/2 part Ginger (Zingiber officinalis)

Add the Ginger if the condition is worse with cold and better with heat. Sweeten with honey or coconut sugar and milk of choice.

I write more about Mullein and it’s uses as an herbal ally for fire season and it is featured in my list of herbs for breathwork and respiratory wellness. Mullein is one of my favorite herbs to use for Capricorn energy and learning more about the sign helps to understand the energy and magick that Mullein offers. Of course, you can always follow the tag for Mullein to see where it might guide you.

http://www.wortsandcunning.com/blog/hags-medicine-mullein-plant-profile

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emospritelet · 5 years ago

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Homecoming - chapter 20

I’ve had the final paragraphs of this chapter written for a long time...

[AO3]

Belle was dismayed, but not entirely surprised, to find that she was feeling rather worse for wear the next morning. She had tried to limit her consumption of alcohol after almost telling her employer that she had dreamed of him being her lover, but staying sober during the New Year’s festivities was easier said than done. It was after two in the morning by the time she fell into bed with blistered feet and an aching head, but she made sure to drink a large glass of water before turning in.

Splashing cold water on her face helped to wake her up, and as soon as the hot water arrived she washed, shivering a little as she dried off. The fire was burning, but the room had not yet lost its chill, and she dressed quickly in her warm woollens. If a trip to the castle was planned, she wanted to be properly attired.

The breakfast room was almost empty except for Alice, Ogilvy and the Professor, seated by the window. She greeted Ogilvy a little self-consciously, remembering her words of the previous evening, but he was his usual warm and polite self, pulling out a chair for her and pouring her some tea, and she managed not to blush. Mr and Mrs Mills entered as Belle was helping herself to eggs. Mr Mills looked a little heavy-eyed, but his wife was bright and cheerful. Belle suspected that she had gone to bed long before her husband, and without the numerous glasses of wine he had drunk.

“It looks like we’re the only ones up so far,” said Mr Mills. “I’m pretty sure Her Ladyship said we’d be heading out before midday, though. I’m hoping the cold air will clear this head of mine.”

“I’ll spend some time with Lucy and the twins while you’re hunting,” said Mrs Mills. “I believe you said you had your own expedition planned, Professor?”

“Yes, we’re taking some horses and heading out to a nearby ruined castle,” said the Professor, dabbing his mouth with a napkin.

“Oh, Langfell,” said Mr Mills, nodding. “Yes, we’ve been out there a couple of times. Parts of it are still standing, enough to give you a sense of what it might have looked like centuries ago.”

“What can you tell us about the castle?” asked Belle, and he wrinkled his nose.

“Not much,” he said. “It was owned by an old family, the Beauchamps, but after the plague devastated the area, it was left to fall into ruin. I think Travers might be able to tell you a little more. There are some ghost stories surrounding the place, I believe. The locals like to scare themselves.”

“The locals like to scare my stepmother,” corrected Mrs Mills, with a grin. “They know how she likes strange tales of the spirit world.”

“What are the tales surrounding Langfell?” asked the Professor.

Belle’s gaze flicked to Ogilvy. He was poking at his breakfast, appearing at a glance to have all his attention on his food, but she was sure he hadn’t eaten more than a few bites. He looked as though he needed to sleep for another twelve hours, his cheeks a little hollow, and she wondered if he was quite well.

“Something about a witch princess,” said Mr Mills. “Or was it a witch noblewoman, one of the family? I forget. Someone was tried and executed for witchcraft, anyway, and haunts the place. Or so the locals say.”

“Well,” said Belle, taking her eyes off Ogilvy and picking up her tea. “We’ll be sure to let you know if we encounter her.”

The air was bitterly cold, but the day was bright and clear, sunlight sparkling on the new snow that had fallen. Belle clutched the pommel of her horse’s saddle, watching the back of Ogilvy’s head as his own mount picked its way along a trail that wound up from the bottom of the valley between tall pines. Alice was behind her, with the Professor bringing up the rear. They had left before most of the guests had risen, even though it was almost eleven, and she wondered how many were nursing sore heads as they readied for the hunt. Her own headache had disappeared with the clean air, and she glanced around at the snow-covered trees and rolling fells, enjoying the quiet and calm of the open air after the noise and heat of the previous night’s party.

They seemed to come upon the castle all at once, the trail winding around the edge of the woods to where the bracken-strewn sweep of a narrow hill rose up out of the trees. An old sandstone building sprawled across its summit, towers jutting up at the sky and walls snaking along the contours of the upper slope. The walls were almost down to the snow-covered tussocks of wiry grass in places, its stones carried off by locals to build houses and animal pens, no doubt. A squat gatehouse showed where the entrance to the castle had been, its archway curving over what remained of the road that led to it. Most of the keep still stood, imposing walls of sandstone flanked with two towers, with arrow slits like eyes, frowning at them in disapproval.

Belle inhaled sharply at a sudden chill rippling through her, a sense that she had seen the place before, even as she was sure she had never set foot there in her life. She closed her eyes, and for a moment, it was as though she could hear the noise of hammers and chisels, stonemasons carrying out repairs, the shouts of farmers and the honking of geese and squealing of pigs headed for the castle kitchens. Scents drifted into her nose, animal dung and sweat and sweet, clean rushes, carried in to strew on the floors.

“Are you well, Miss Marchland?”

Belle’s eyes flicked open, and the picture her mind had created vanished like a pricked bubble, jerking her back to reality with the scents of pine and leather and horses. Her heart was thumping, but she nodded at Ogilvy as he drew his horse closer. There was a hint of concern in his eyes, and she tried to smile.

“Quite well, thank you,” she said. “I was just wondering what the castle must have been like centuries ago, when a noble family lived here. It must have taken hundreds of people to supply such a place.”

“It did indeed,” he agreed, glancing at the castle. “The town of Avonleigh was back towards where Willowbrook Grange now stands, and much of the food and labour for the castle would have come from there, and the fields around.”

“It seems sad,” said Alice thoughtfully.

“Yes.” Belle pursed her lips, eyes scanning the keep. “It does look a little grim, doesn’t it? Perhaps it’s the arrangement of the windows and the lack of a roof. I daresay it was cheerful enough when it was in use.”

“No, I mean it feels sad,” said Alice. “As though whoever lived here was unhappy. Did Mr Mills say it was abandoned when the plague came through? Why didn’t the lord who lived there stay and help the people rebuild?”

“Access to gold means nothing if you have no one to pay it to,” remarked Ogilvy, a twist to his mouth. “As Miss Marchland observed, a castle needs workers to keep it going, a veritable army of labourers and artisans. The town would have had its own guild of craftsmen, the blacksmith and his apprentices. Without such skilled people, it wouldn’t have lasted long.”

“There was a great deal of societal upheaval after the pestilence devastated the populace,” added the Professor. “Many towns and villages simply disappeared as the survivors went elsewhere, and those that were left were able to charge far more for their labour. I suspect that’s what happened here. Avonleigh died, and other towns rose from the ashes with the workers that fled.”

“Makes one wonder who was around to tell the tale of the ghost-witch,” said Belle dryly. “Perhaps Mrs Mills is right. Perhaps it’s just something the locals made up for Lady Tremaine’s benefit.”

“She does seem to see an otherworldly influence in everything around her,” agreed Alice.

“We’d like you to take a look in Her Ladyship’s bedroom, Alice,” said the Professor, taking off his glasses to clean them. “I can’t say that we felt anything in there - certainly not the coldness she mentioned - but perhaps you might.”

“Alright,” said Alice. “What are we supposed to be doing here at the castle?”

“Oh, we just thought we’d have a look around,” said the Professor, his tone light. “Lady Tremaine mentioned the tale of a ghost, so there’s no harm in exploring, is there?”

A thin stream of cold wind twisted around them. Belle’s horse whickered, shaking her head, and she patted the mare’s neck soothingly.

“Well then,” said Ogilvy, his tone somewhat grim. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”

They tied the horses up outside the gatehouse, and Belle glanced around as she picked her way across the inner courtyard. Kitchens are off to the left, beyond the ramp that leads to the cellar. Once a barrel of wine was dropped, and broke open in the courtyard. It looked like spilled blood.

Belle stopped dead, heart thumping hard. Her skin was tingling, crawling, as though tiny insects were burrowing beneath it, spectral fingers tugging at her hair. She licked her lips nervously, glancing around at the courtyard walls and suddenly feeling as though she couldn’t breathe.

“Miss Marchland?”

Ogilvy’s appearance at her side made her jump, and she heaved a breath, feeling her heart pound in her chest. He was eyeing her with concern, and she tried to smile.

“I’m well,” she lied. “I’m just a little - the space is a little confining, that’s all. Strange, given that it’s open to the elements. Perhaps I’m being silly.”

“What do you feel?” he asked, and she hesitated for a moment.

“A little breathlessness,” she said. “I’m sure it’s nothing. A late night and a little too much wine.”

“Here.” He offered her his arm, and she took it gratefully, allowing him to lead her around the courtyard.

“I find myself imagining what it must have been like for those who lived here,” she said, in an undertone. “The sounds and smells, the bustle and noise. I suppose the family slept in the towers, didn’t they? And ate in the hall with everyone else.”

“The hall had a great fireplace in it, to keep winter’s chill from the room,” he said, gesturing in front of them. “Long tables groaning with platters of meat and jugs of wine and ale. Musicians played, and there would be a clear area for dancing.”

Belle smiled, squeezing his arm a little.

“I can almost see it in my mind,” she said. “Imagine the noble daughter trying to climb up to her bedchamber with a head full of wine.”

Ogilvy gave her a slanted grin, his eyes twinkling.

“Imagine being a guest at the feast and trying to sneak out of the tower after you’d been in the noble daughter’s bedchamber,” he remarked, and Belle blushed as she pressed a hand to her mouth to hold in a scandalised squeak.

“Really, you are terrible!”

“If your luck held, the guards were more drunk than when you sneaked up there in the first place,” he added. “If it didn’t, you had to have your wits about you to come up with a convincing lie.”

“I think I understand why you and Lady Ella are such good friends,” she said, still blushing, and he chuckled.

“I’ve known a lot of people in my time, that’s all,” he said. “I imagine they haven’t changed much over the centuries.”

“At least allow the noble daughter enough propriety to refuse her ardent suitor,” she said primly, and his grin widened.

“What makes you think it wasn’t her idea?”

Belle huffed in pretended offence, pulling her arm from his and hearing his low chuckle as she headed towards the entrance to the keep. Part of the back wall was gone, bright sunlight shining through into the remains of the great hall. She peered into the base of one of the towers, eyes following a narrow spiral stairway, just wide enough for one person. For a moment she felt as though she was climbing, fingertips scraping against stone as she followed the treads, her steps a little unsteady and her head heavy with wine. She pressed a hand to her belly, a wave of nausea coming on her all at once, and grasped at the wall to steady herself. The world seemed to blur and swim around her, and she heaved a breath, her heart thudding in her chest again.

“Belle!”

“Miss Marchland!”

Ogilvy was at her side, a hand on her elbow and a worried look on his face. Alice was a few steps behind him, looking equally concerned, and Belle tried to smile.

“I don’t know what came over me,” she said. “Forgive me, I’m quite well.”

“You’re very pale,” said Ogilvy. “Do you need to sit down?”

“A moment of faintness, that’s all,” she said. “I shall be fine, I’m sure.”

“You should have eaten more for breakfast,” said Alice. “Let’s ring for tea and cakes as soon as we get back to the house. I for one would welcome it.”

“An excellent notion,” said the Professor. “You had a late night yesterday, Miss Marchland, and an early morning. This cold makes us more in need of sustenance than usual, I find.”

Ogilvy took her arm, helping her out of the tower and back into the light of the courtyard, and Belle heaved a few breaths, letting the cold air fill her lungs and leaning on his arm to steady herself.

“I don’t sense any ghosts here, anyway,” declared Alice, hands on hips as she looked around. “If there ever were any, I imagine they moved on. All I feel is that heavy sort of sadness again. And cold. But not the ‘spirits from the netherworld’ sort of cold. Just cold.”

“It’s more ruined than I thought it would be,” said the Professor absently, looking around. “Time takes everything in the end.”

“If a woman was executed here, why would she care that the steward took some stones anyway?” Alice peered through a narrow archway. “I think Mrs Mills is right; I think the locals are having a little fun with Lady Tremaine. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if her weird moaning ghost turns out to be one of the servants.”

“That’s certainly a possibility,” agreed Ogilvy. “It’s something I’d asked Hatter to make some discreet enquiries about.”

“They may not admit it to an outsider,” said Alice. “Although Hatter is very good at making friends. I have to say that I haven’t sensed anything strange in the house. Have you, Belle?”

Belle hesitated, remembering the odd sensation she had felt the previous evening when descending the main staircase. Don’t be ridiculous. That was merely a silly fancy, nothing more.

“No,” she said. “But there again I am something of a sceptic. I imagine Her Ladyship would lose patience with me in less than a day if she relied on me to listen to her tales of the macabre.”

Alice giggled.

“She ignores me completely, which is fine by me,” she said. “She doesn’t seem to know how to react to you, though. I’m not sure she approves of you being Papa and Doc’s assistant, but she’s too polite to say so. But then she sees Lady Ella greeting you like a long-lost friend, so she has to try to make conversation.”

“She said I reminded her of one of the portraits,” said Belle, with a chuckle. “That was almost all of the conversation we had last night.”

“Portraits?” asked Ogilvy, and Belle turned to him with a smile.

“Yes, I think it was my gown,” she said. “She informed me that I was the image of someone who had lived in the house before the Tremaine family.”

“Aha!” said Alice triumphantly, pointing at her. “You are the ghost! Mystery solved! Did you see the portrait?”

Belle shook her head.

“She said it was on the second floor of the West Wing,” she said. “My shoes were already pinching, I wasn’t about to go on an expedition to find a painting.”

“Well, perhaps we’ll see it before we journey home,” said Alice carelessly, and turned on her toes, arms wide. “Papa, there’s nothing here but snow and ice and freezing wind. How long are we staying?”

“We’ll leave when everyone’s ready.”

Ogilvy was looking at Belle, and she had a strange feeling that he was waiting for something. Something she was either to say or to do. Not knowing what that was, she found herself growing irritated, and then impatient with herself because of it. She glanced around at the walls of the castle, shivering a little.

“It’s interesting to look around such an old place,” she said. “But perhaps the midst of winter isn’t the best time for exploring. I’m a little cold, I confess. Alice’s suggestion of tea and cakes is a welcome one.”

He nodded, his expression unreadable.

“Then let us head back to the house.”

They set a slow pace back to the house, and it was approaching three when they arrived, the sun already setting. Tea and cakes were quickly procured, and the hunting party returned not long after, the gentlemen full of jovial banter about missed shots. The previous late night was weighing on Belle, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up with a good book, but she dressed for dinner, hoping that it wouldn’t be another late evening. The guests that had spent the night were due to leave the next day, including Lady Ella and Miss Waters, and Belle imagined they would want to rise reasonably early to catch the train.

Once the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room after dinner, Belle excused herself as quickly as she could. Ogilvy had already left, bidding the other guests goodnight, and sending her a brief smile before leaving. The Professor was deep in conversation with Mr Mills about his plans to visit London in the spring, and Belle slipped from the room, heaving a sigh of relief as she made her way upstairs.

She looked in on the children, peering around the door to find them tucked in their beds, sleeping peacefully. It made her smile; they seemed a little more comfortable in the strange house. Perhaps it was having found a friend in Lucy Mills.

Closing the door quietly, she glanced at the bell pull. She had intended to ring for Ivy to help her out of her gown, but she decided to leave it for half an hour or so. The other guests would likely still be in the drawing room, and she had intended to read for a while before bed anyway. There was time enough for her to slip to the West Wing, and take a look at the portrait that Lady Tremaine had mentioned.

Ogilvy had been desperate for some time alone since they had returned to the house. Belle’s reaction to her old home had been interesting, if somewhat inconclusive. He suspected she had felt rather more than she admitted to; her reaction to being inside the castle had certainly been noticeable. There again perhaps her sudden faintness really was just the product of a late night and too much wine. She had been delightfully tipsy when she murmured that she had dreamed of him, but had appeared mortified by the admission, and had been more reserved than usual for the remainder of the evening. It was infuriating, even as he could understand her desire to adhere to society’s notion of decorum. The gods knew he didn’t, after all.

He made his excuses to the others and left as soon as he could, walking quickly to the dining room, where Thwaites the butler was about to carry out the port and brandy that the gentlemen had shared.

“Ah, Thwaites, perhaps you can assist,” he said, clapping his hands together. “I understand that there are some portraits on the second floor of the West Wing? Perhaps you might direct me.”

“Yes, sir,” said Thwaites. “If you turn right at the top of the staircase and head along the landing until you turn a corner, you will reach the West Wing. The portraits hang in the small gallery that looks out over the gardens.”

“Good, good,” said Ogilvy, tapping his fingers restlessly. “Are they portraits of the family?”

“The family that owned the house before His Lordship’s family,” said Thwaites. “Their name was Willoughby. A sad business, what became of them.”

“How so?”

“Lord Willoughby lost much of his fortune,” explained Thwaites. “They say grief made for poor investment decisions. Some years earlier, his only daughter had been sent to an institution, where she died. Madness, I believe. Though some say it was a broken heart. A pity. She was a great beauty, as you’ll see.”

“Thank you.” Ogilvy hesitated. “Did you say her heart was broken?”

“They say she refused a noble suitor three times, stating that she loved another,” said Thwaites. “She never married this other man, though. Perhaps her parents refused the match.”

“Who was he?”

“I’m afraid Elizabeth Willoughby took that knowledge with her when she died,” said Thwaites gravely. “Would you like me to accompany you, sir?”

“No no, I’ll - I can find my way, don’t trouble yourself. If I need to ask you anything I’ll come and find you.”

“Very good, sir.”

Ogilvy turned on his heel, almost running for the staircase, his body humming with nerves, anticipation warring with apprehension as the Seer’s words from five years earlier floated through his brain. She wanted to remember you...knowing the pain it would cause...she chose what little of you she could have. Had it been Belle, this earlier inhabitant of Willowbrook Grange? Had she been doomed to misery and heartbreak, just as he had been in every life since their parting?

He reached the West Wing, his footfalls almost silent on the richly-patterned carpet, his heart thumping so hard that he could feel it in the base of his throat. The corridor seemed to stretch onward for a long time, but then he turned into the gallery, tall windows looking out over the darkened gardens. Paintings hung on the walls, differing in size, all containing portraits of people from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Ogilvy dismissed them all, hands opening and closing in his nervousness. A shaft of silver moonlight cut across the room and he stopped just outside it, breath catching in his throat as the portrait at the very end of the room filled his eyes.

It was unmistakably Belle, her hair pinned up on her head with tiny curls brushing against her slim neck. She was wearing a gold-coloured gown, cap sleeves baring her arms and a gold necklace with a fiery red stone around her neck. Ogilvy shook his head in wonder. The fire opal. She had it. She had it, and she remembered.

He had no doubt that this was the life in which the Seer had found her, and restored her memories. Elizabeth Willoughby was beautiful, but there was an air of deep sadness in her wide blue eyes, a desperate hopelessness captured forever by the artist, reaching out to him across the years. His eyes stung as tears welled up, his lip trembling.

“Oh, my love!” he whispered. “All this time, all these years I was looking for you, and here you were, back in the place we were torn apart. I hoped you’d been spared my pain, my torture. I’m so sorry I couldn’t find you. Gods, I’m so sorry!”

“Mr Ogilvy?”

The sound of her voice from behind made him freeze, his name spoken in that familiar warm tone. He turned slowly on his heels to face her, his heart thudding in his chest, his skin humming with love and grief and desperate wanting. Belle was staring at him curiously, and he stepped towards her without thinking, his soul drawn to hers, his hands reaching out to touch her, to pull her to him. She sucked in a breath as he cupped her cheeks, his fingers pushing into her hair as his mouth found hers, hungry and desperate. Her skin felt like silk beneath his fingers, and for a moment he let himself remember how good it felt to make love to her, to have his body pressed to hers, to be inside her. The taste of her was heaven, her lips soft and warm against his, and she let out a tiny moan as his tongue touched hers, his hands trembling as they stroked her hair, tears brimming over and streaking his face.

Belle had closed her eyes, losing herself in the pull of his lips and the soft, comforting feel of his mouth on hers. A small, outraged voice in the back of her mind was screaming at her to pull away and protest, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Being in his arms felt right, as though she was meant to be there. There was a comfort to it, a certainty, a familiarity, and she opened her mouth for him, rising up on her toes as his tongue stroked against hers. It made her belly tighten and pull, and she felt her hands creep around his sides, sliding over the fine wool of his jacket.

He let out a low groan, a deep rumble that seemed to vibrate down through her body, and she pulled him closer, her heart thumping as he pressed against her, the warmth of his body seeping into her. His lips were sliding against hers, slippery with their saliva, warm and wet and soft, and she could feel the heat of his breath on her mouth, drawing it into her lungs, letting him fill her.

He broke the kiss, forehead pressed to hers as he tried to catch his breath. She was almost panting, her eyes wide, and he pulled back, his lower lip trembling and an anguished look on his face.

“Gods, I’m sorry!” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, forgive me.”

He released her, stepping back and shaking his head.

“Forgive me,” he muttered, and stumbled away, striding off down the corridor.

Belle watched him go, heart thumping and cheeks flushed. She wanted to speak, to call to him, to bring him back to her, but the words caught in her throat. Her skin was tingling, and she pressed her fingers to her lips, where she could still taste him. She should be outraged. She should demand his heartfelt apology. Certainly she should leave his household, to ensure her reputation was protected. What she wanted, however, was to follow him to his room. What she wanted was to kiss him again.

#fic: homecoming #ogilvelle #ogilvelle fic #my fic #rumbelle fic

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fxtelism-moved · 3 years ago

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Mare may be more frail and the least experienced of the current Elemental Witches when it comes in combat, but the fact she can summon her water familiar, Leviathan, like this;

#( muse headcanon. )#;mare #;leviathan #( muse headcanon; mare )#artes

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fangzeronos · 5 years ago

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Mystic Force: Dark Age

The Kingdom of Aytolis stood glimmering in the midsummer sun. The inner walls were bustling with activity, while guards patrolled the outer walls, all wary about incoming attacks or threats. The kingdom was ruled by its Queen, Marlis, and protected by the Knights, led by the Wolf Knight, Kalmus. Guarding the inner walls and city of the Kingdom, however, were Queen Marlis’ personal mages, five men and women that commanded the elements themselves. Walking into the war room, Marlis smiled as she observed the bustle. “How goes things this day?” she asked, walking over to the man in red. “Your Majesty,” the Red Mage said, bowing his head. “You grace us with your presence. Reports are scarce today. Trilia’s reports from the winds say there are clouds on the horizon, moving this way at a remarkable pace, but she doesn’t know what they are or if they’re storm or other entities.” “Keep me informed, Praxis,” Marlis said with a smile, placing her hand on the mage’s shoulder. “Have you seen my daughter?” “Princess Yelena? The last I observed of her, your majesty, she was going with Corran to the kitchens. That was about an hour ago,” Praxis said with a gentle smile. “You know how she is when she gets with Corran. Both of those girls lose track of time. Especially when we need Corran’s expertise here for her aqueous reports.” Marlis laughed, smiling softly. “I do understand those two. Being the youngest, they do get on like a forest and your element, old friend.” “That they do, your majesty,” Praxis said with a smile. He reached into his robe and grabbed his wand, a crooked and worn piece of wood with his symbol of a Phoenix on the tip. He formed a firebird, holding his arm out and petting its head gently. “Find Corran and the Princess. Report directly back.” The bird sang out, lifting off and flying out of the war room on its mission. Marlis looked around, watching the other Mages. Trilia, the mage of Wind, sat meditating in a corner, her legs drawn under her as she floated in the air with her powers, serenity on her face. Thrane, the mage of Lightning, stood looking over maps, his eyes focused as he kept searching for ways to protect the castle and kingdom more then it already was. Last, the Queen’s eyes drifted to Granix, the mage of forest. He was pouring over a book like he was trying to read between pages. The sound of a bird filled the room, the flaming phoenix landing on table in front of Praxis. “Master Praxis, I have located Princess Yelena and Corran. They’re in the stables with the equine tamers. Both girls are in rather high spirits.” “Thank you, my phoenix,” Praxis said, waving his hand and dismissing the living fire. “Your Majesty.” “I heard, Praxis,” Marlis said with a small smile. “I’ll take Kalmus and find them.” “Yes, your majesty,” Praxis said, bowing his head. Marlis walked out, heading for the other side of the castle to find Kalmus. She bowed her head to the servants and other workers, smiling as she did. It was no secret that people tried to say Marlis wasn’t a good queen due to no king, but it never slowed the Queen down. Nearly in her mid-forties, the Queen was still and quick and spry as she was in her youth. Having her daughter never slowed her down, not in life or the training she undertook with both Kalmus and the Mages. A door opened, a man in armor walking out and nearly stumbling into the Queen. “Your majesty!” Kalmus said with a start, stepping back and bowing his head. “My apologies, my lady. I was not observing where I was going.” “Kalmus, please. You know you can just call me Marlis. We have known each other all of our lives, my darling,” the queen said with a smirk. “Not to mention the trouble we got into in our youth, or do you forget that?” Kalmus chuckled, shaking his head. “No, Marlis, I do not forget. I remember one particular summer night nineteen years ago more than most, however.” Marlis blushed, her hands over her stomach. “You said we should never speak of that night. Saying the by-product of it was my late king’s,” she said, looking at Kalmus with regret in her eyes. “A lie we must keep for her sake.” “Do you want to keep it, my dear?” Kalmus asked, putting his hand on Marlis’ arm. “I don’t think we can for much longer.” “I know,” Marlis sighed, looking away and backing up. “Come with me. We must retrieve her and Corran from the stables.” “Of course, we do,” Kalmus said, shaking his head. He knew Marlis changing the subject was a way to dodge the topic of conversation, and he knew they’d have to address it one day. He followed beside Marlis, his hand resting on his sword. Making their way toward the stables, the pair heard the two girls giggling and laughing, Yelena’s voice carrying louder than Corran’s. Marlis cleared her throat, cocking an eyebrow. Yelena and Corran yelped and jumped, the pink mage standing in front of her princess and friend with her wand out. “Mother!” Yelena said, putting her hand on Corran’s arm. “Your majesty! Lord Kalmus!” Corran squeaked, bowing quickly. “What are you two doing, daughter?” Marlis asked. Yelena bit her lip, looking down. “We were in the kitchens when one of the cooks said the riders were bringing in new bucks and mares to break for the Guard. I wanted to observe, and Corran said she’d come with me to protect me if something happened. I didn’t think you’d mind, Mother. I wasn’t far from protection.” Marlis sighed, pinching her nose. “Yelena, you know why I you within eyesight of a guard at nearly all times. Corran missed a meeting because she was with you.” “Oh, no! The Council meeting! Praxis is going to have my hide for sure this time!” Corran said, her eyes wide. The sound of lightning filled the air, an eagle made of lightning coming to rest on Corran’s arm. “Your Majesties, Lord Kalmus, Corran. Return to the Castle at once. Trilia uncovered something, and the clouds have shifted.” “One moment, Thrane,” the Pink Mage said. Corran threw her arm out, forming a water nymph from a trough and sending it off. It returned a moment later, bowing her head and disappearing. “He’s right. The winds have changed. We don’t have long.” The lightning eagle disappeared, Marlis nodded. “Then let’s get back,” she said, looking at her daughter. The four headed back to the castle as quickly as they could, but as they approached the doors, dark clouds surrounded the castle, Kalmus stepping in front of Marlis and Yelena. Lightning struck the ground, a figure walking out surrounded by three others. “Halt. Speak your name!” Kalmus said. The woman in front laughed, large butterfly wings sprouting from her back. “I am Amaranth. I am claiming this Kingdom as mine, and you, dearest Wolf Knight, are not to stand in my way.” Kalmus growled, narrowing his eyes. “My queen, Princess, Corran. Run. I will hold off these four.” “Kalmus,” Marlis said, putting her hand on his shoulder. She turned him to face her, leaning up and kissing him softly. “Be safe, my love.” “I will,” Kalmus said, nudging Marlis behind him again. The younger of the women around Amaranth giggled, shaking her head. “So cocky in your abilities, Wolf Knight. You can’t compete with us,” she giggled, bouncing on her feet. “Silvaria,” the third said, shaking her head. “You are insufferable, child.” “Oh, lighten up, Dahlia. I’m just having some fun with my food,” Silvaria giggled, her eyes scanning Kalmus. “Enough,” Kalmus said, narrowing his eyes as he drew his sword. Marlis took her daughter’s hand, running through the castle toward the war room. “Mages! Something has invaded the Castle. Prepare the final defenses.” “Majesty, if we implement those defenses, you know the outcome,” Granix said, stepping forward. “You know what will happen.” “I do, loyal Granix,” Marlis said, the castle shaking as a blast rocked the walls. “But, it is what needs to be done.” “Yes, ma’am,” Praxis said. “Lady Yelena, with us.” “Mother—” Yelena said, taking her mother’s hands. “Mother, please. What’s happening?” Marlis smiled softly, taking a wand topped with a snowflake out of her dress and pressed it to her daughter’s hands. “You are the future of Aytolis, my daughter. I love you. Your father and I will watch over you, in this life and the next.” “Father? But I don’t understand, Mother. What is going on?” Yelena asked, tears falling down her cheeks as part of the roof was knocked in, jumping and flinching close to her mother. “Jinaos wasn’t your father. Kalmus is. I had you when I was short of your age, my love. I’m so sorry we didn’t tell you before this. We hoped…we’d have more time,” Marlis said. “Go with the Mages. They’ll protect you. I have one last task to accomplish.” “Mother!” Yelena yelled, Praxis and Thrane grabbing her and leading her away. “MOTHER!!” “Goodbye, my darling snow plum,” Marlis said, hearing the wall slide closed and Yelena’s screams dying off. She turned as the wall collapsed, Kalmus being thrown down by Amaranth and Dahlia. She knelt beside her lover, her hand on his chest as she tried to stop him getting up. “Queen Marlis. You should have just surrendered in the courtyard. Would have made this a lot easier, my dear,” Amaranth said, cocking her head to the side. Marlis smiled, turning her stare to Amaranth. “You underestimate me, Amaranth. I was trained in magic. Your ilk will never get your hands on Aytolis.” She held her hands out, a glow surrounding her as she chanted an ancient incantation. “What are you doing?!” Amaranth snarled, rushing for Marlis. Before the butterfly-styled witch could hit the Queen, the war room exploded, the four would-be conquering witches being sealed away, the Queen giving her life to save the kingdom. Deep in the catacombs as dust fell from the sieges above, Praxis helped Yelena onto a stone table, taking her hands. “Your mother asked us, my Princess, that in the event of an attack that would doom the Kingdom, we were to lock you away in a sort of eternal slumber until the time to rise was upon you. You will sleep, and when you wake, you will still be the same as you are now, just in a new time.” “Praxis, please. You have to save my mother,” Yelena said, her hands shaking as she clutched the wand from her mother. “Please…” “There is nothing more to do for Marlis, my dear,” Trilia said, sitting beside Yelena. “The spell must be woven quickly, before those four find us down here and kill you.” Corran knelt down and hugged Yelena, closing her eyes. “Goodbye, Princess. It was an honor knowing you,” she said softly. “The honor is mine, Corran,” Yelena said softly, hugging the youngest mage back and trying to fight tears. “Brothers, sisters. Your wands,” Praxis said, holding his hands out. He gathered the five wands, each topped with their Mages’ respective symbol, placing them in Yelena’s hands. “Find the Champions that will push this darkness away for good. You must believe in yourself, Princess.” Yelena nodded, clutching the wands as she watched the five Mages gather around the stone slab. As they began chanting, their bodies glowed with energy, colored to match the elements themselves before they swirled and surrounded Yelena’s body, encasing her in a glass tomb until the day she was to wake. A thousand years passed, and Aytolis was remembered only in myth and legend. Some speculated that it was a fairy tale, taught to children to teach them a lesson. Some believed it existed. Soon, all would be put to the test as Yelena’s story is about to unfold.

This is a prequel to an RPG I’m doing on another site. I wanted to fill in the backstory some before I started the game and I’m happy with how this turned out. :D

#Power Rangers Mystic Force #Mystic Force #Something a little different #Every character is owned by myself

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jadeender · 6 years ago

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Break Your Mind

TW for mental and physical torture.

Callous clicked his tongue as he examined his handiwork. The light before him already had various cuts in rather specific places, Callous had always had a knack for research and well he knew where to cause the most pain.

In addition Callous's personal symbol, a bloody dagger has been carved into Hyrules shoulder, naturally the wound wouldn't be there on his physical body but it was the trauma that counted.

"It's been quite awhile since I've had an audience, captive or otherwise and well I've got a taste for theatrics." Callous spun the dagger in his hand and clicked his tongue thinking. "Any suggestions from the peanut gallery?"

Hyrule remained stoically silent. "Not wanting to talk huh? That's fine I can do all the talking."

Callous paced around allowing Hyrule a quick reprieve as the light lifted his head back up to face the dark.

"I know all of your worst fears, all of your worst and most intrusive thoughts. Really I have my pick of games. What you did today? You've majorly inconvenienced me." Callous swaggered back and forth before stopping snapping his fingers. "Ah I know what game to play next."

Walking behind Hyrule Callous placed a hand on the chair and the scene changed. They were on a cliff overlooking a turbulent ocean, Hyrule gulped the cuts on his neck making the action difficult.

“Such a beautiful view isn't it?” Callous commented before tipping Hyrule’s chair over the edge. “Fancy a swim?”

“No.” Hyrule said quietly. He had been way to quiet while Callous had worked and honestly it was starting to piss the dark off.

“Oh you don’t want to swim? Come on the water is nice and clear.” As Callous said that a sea monster jumped up from the water and snapped at Hyrule’s feet causing the light to stifle a scream.

Callous tilted the chair over so his hand was the only thing keeping Hyrule from falling in completely. “Beg. If you don’t want to go into the water beg like the pathetic light you are.”

Callous turned an ear to the light mockingly, however the light didn’t reply but was chanting a mantra under his breath, it's not real, it's not real, he said.

Oh he was about to learn how real this was. Callous released the chair causing it to pitch forward and tumble over the edge, a real scream ripped from Hyrule’s throat as he sunk into the water. Callous laughed, a sound full of sadistic delight as he watched.

Ah this was his element. Eternal, Stygian those so called titans had never had the patience for subtly and subtext. Eternal was a creative bastard when it came to physical torture but he let his anger make him sloppy. Sure he had broken that mutt, but it took hundreds of years and hadn’t even really worked as everyone could see, besides Eternal of course.

Callous on the other hand, he knew how to do this. It wasn’t all about physical torture, the mind was more important, hunger and fear of pain only got you so far. Looking down into the water Callous determined it had been long enough and changed the dream around leaving a sputtering and heaving Hyrule laid in the floor of a labyrinth.

Squatting down by the light Callous whispered “Have a nice swim?”

“Stop.” Hyrule whispered between gasps of breath.

“Why would I stop when the game just got good?” Hyrule questioned. “Besides I thought after all this time you’d want someone to talk to. After all who would ever want to face one of these alone?”

The bunny creature of Hyrule’s nightmare appeared in front of him, a pol’s voice. An enemy so terrible, Hyrule’s voice locked up despite what he knew he needed to do to defeat it. His breathing became erratic, all of his training and attention learning to slow his breathing and observe currently lost to fear.

“Here, allow me.” Callous offered stepping up to the rabbit like creature and letting out a deep scream causing the Pol’s voice to scream in response before vanishing.

Looking back Callous found the light cowering, his hands over his ears.

“Are your sensitive ears hurt? Perhaps you’d like to take care of the next few?” Callous vanished into the shadows and reappeared on top of the labyrinth wall. Pol’s voice appeared in a circle around the panicking light. Hyrule looked up the enemies and tried to pull himself up but with Callous’s strategically placed cuts making breathing hard and lingering water in his lungs dragging him down Hyrule fell back to the ground.

“You know ‘Rule this is a good opportunity to talk.” Callous said, his voice carrying over the gnashing sounds of the enemies as he paced on top of the wall. “Thats twice now you’ve been able to act without permission. It seems if you have so much energy we’ll need to have some more fun times like these.”

“What you did today is going to set me back. I hate that barbarian with a passion but having his very presence causing chaos in the group would have been just the right motivator to get us to this witch. I’m tired of being forced to stoop to travel miles by foot and sleeping on the ground. Veran knew the deal, and she will pay for violating it.”

Callous stopped for a second and laughed. Summoning up an image of a mirror in his hand Callous looked at the dark metal, the back bearing overlapping images of a broken clock and a tree a deep crack maring the image, the hilt carved with musical notes. Eternal’s mirror, he’d been holding onto the damned thing for months now. With this he could cripple the lights and get rid of his greatest enemy in one action. But he was cautious, he was patient, there would be a time to destroy them and now wasn’t it.

Banishing the shadow of the mirror Callous turned back to his light who was curled into a ball the pol’s voices closing in around him. Tsking the dark stepped off the wall and landed on the ground easily.

“Giving up already? Oh well I suppose that's enough for tonight.” Callous screamed the remaining Pol’s Voice and watched them disappear and Hyrule squeaked in pain again. “It’s time to wake up.”

____________________________________________________________________________

Hyrule woke knowing if he had any control over his body he would have been hyperventilating. But of course Callous was still in control, wasn't he?

Hyrule wished he could life his hand and it worked. Testing slowly Hyrule opened and closed his hands before sitting up from the cot, it was still night but the darkness was beginning to lighten a heralding sign that dawn was soon to come.

Reaching over the bed Hyrule grabbed Callous's mirror from his bag. The wood was dark and the handle was coated in blood stains, dark blood. Flipping it over Hyrule found the symbol on back to be a knife stabbed through a compass, subconsciously Hyrule reached for his shoulder where the image of a knife had been carved and found it unmarred.

Of course it was all a dream, but why was Callous giving him control now?

“Wondering what your doing in control aren’t you?” Callous mused his voice coming from within Hyrule’s head.

“What game is this?” Hyrule whispered looking to make sure none of the others were awake.

“I just wanted a little break, is that so wrong?” Callous questioned laughing lightly. “Enjoy what little time I permit you.”

From that Hyrule knew exactly what this was, the moment he took a single step out of line Callous was force him back within his own mind again, giving him a taste of freedom before ripping it away.

The realization pulled tightly on him like rope as he sighed still feeling phantom pain from Callous’s “games”. But just a little control, a tiny chance, could be all he needed.

#linkeduniverse #merged #callous has some fun #hyrule has a bad time #foreshadowing

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agirlinhell · 6 years ago

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Just in case y’all missed it or didn’t look at Clementine’s updated bio, here are a few things you need to know that are a distinct and unique part of my portrayal of her that I DO NOT want anyone stealing! Beware of spoilers and mature themes and post length! If you see anyone stealing these headcanons, please IM me.

-Clementine is an eclectic witch with an intrigue for the occult and all things magical. She takes elements from African Witchcraft, Animism, Art Witchcraft, Astrology Witchcraft, Crystal Witchcraft, Dianic Witchcraft, Divination, Elemental Witchcraft, Kemeticism, Floral Witchcraft, Green Witchcraft, Hearth / Kitchen Witchcraft, Hellenism, Lunar Witchcraft, Musical Witchcraft, Sea / Water Witchcraft and Hoodoo to make her own type of magic.

-Clementine is demibiromantic and demibisexual - most times she has no preference between men and women, but sometimes this fluctuates in preferences, i.e sometimes she prefers the company of males over females and vice versa.

-When she was younger, from ages eight to eleven, she would start to draw vent art, especially after the incident at the St. John’s Dairy - and often times this consisted of rather dark imagery. She stopped at age twelve.

-Clementine is racially ambiguous. She identifies as Black / African-American, but it is possible that she may be descended from other none-African races further back in the family tree, though this is debatable. Regardless, Clementine does not know her true heritage nor is it likely she ever will, and it’s not like she can take a DNA test. However, regardless of belief, it's highly unlikely that Clementine will ever know her true heritage, and as such, she identifies as Black / African-American, even if there is the possibility of her being mixed.

-Clementine identifies as Cisgender Female / Demigirl so thus she uses she/her/ and they/them pronouns. She’s still experimenting with her gender identity and discovering herself.

-Clementine is very androgynous, especially in her youth during the events of Season Two. Many individuals at Howe’s thought she was a boy.

-In her default verse, Clementine is eighteen, as it is set a few months after the events of The Final Season.

-Clementine is a proud Scorpio - and a Scorpio Queen at that.

-In her default verse, Clementine is leader and Headmistress of Ericson’s Boarding School For Troubled Youth, to which it is later renamed The Enlightenment - Aasim is the one who came up with the name because the previous suggestions that Violet gave out were considered quite informal but Clementine and Violet sometimes call the school the name they chose as a private joke.

-The Enlightenment is not only a settlement in it’s own right, but it also doubles as a sanctuary for the lost and the refugees from the wars outside of their borders and an actual school in the apocalypse. The settlement becomes formidable and renown for it’s neutrality and safe environment, and survivors from more established communities send their children to learn there.

-Clem was raised in a mild Christian household before the outbreak; she was an agnostic during the events of Season Two to Season Three: A New Frontier, and in present time, she is Pantheistic and a believer of the Greek Pantheon but will occasionally pray to and brings offerings to Egyptian gods such as Bastet and Sekhmet. She mostly prays and brings offerings to Hecate, Persephone, Aphrodite, Athena and Artemis, but will also pray to Apollo, Demeter, Dionysus, Hermes, Hestia, Harmonia, Nemesis, the Muses and the Charites. Yet her patron goddess that she prays to most will always be Hecate, the goddess of crossroads, entrance-ways, light, the night, the moon, magic, witchcraft, knowledge of herbs and poisonous plants, ghosts, sorcery and necromancy. Despite all this, she is very open minded to other religions and faiths, and even those who don’t have a faith.

-She believes in past lives and reincarnation, and that there is life on other planets.

-Honestly, at this point, after seeing humans literally rise from the dead and start devouring people, she’ll most likely believe in anything considered “occult”, “mystical” or “magical”.

-She speaks English (mother tongue), Spanish (intermediate, taught by the Garcia family), French (beginner, self taught, Louis teaches her a bit as well), American Sign Language (in a verse where Louis loses his tongue, self taught, intermediate, post-The Final Season), Latin (self taught, beginner, post-The Final Season), and Korean (beginner, taught by James, post-The Final Season) in default. She hopes she can learn more languages in the future, because of just how essential it is for communication in the apocalypse.

-Clementine has up to the middle of her calf on her left leg amputated by AJ after she was bit by a walker - often uses crutches to move around, but this advances to using a wheelchair or riding on her mare, Epona, when she wants to speed up her pace, and this evolves into a wooden foot and then a prosthetic foot via trade with other settlements.

-What is truly concerning, however, is her mental health: Clementine is psychologically damaged. Depressive disorder, PTSD, Anxiety, abandonment issues, suffers with hallucinatory episodes from time to time, she is an insomniac. Survivor's guilt. Self-loathing tendencies. Sociopathic tendencies. Suicidal tendencies. Possible messiah complex. She has the possibility of becoming an addict to drugs or alcohol if she is not careful and has suffered from substance abuse after her exile from The New Frontier whilst in Prescott at a young age. She could potentially have a "hero complex," with her inherent desire to help those around her, despite being unable to help herself, and having a compulsion to make the world right. She dislikes her reality which is mostly portrayed as polluted, dull and disheartening, full of the dead walking among the living, human trafficking, anarchy and homelessness, and struggles to cope with everyday life but it has improved post-The Final Season.

-Clementine's lived in borderline poverty and homelessness for most of her young life and she has faced the possibility of prostitution at a very young age in Prescott in order to survive and this obviously leads her to having trust issues. Clementine was for the most part, lonely, and did not have friends or family, as everyone else had either betrayed her or died.

-She has heightened senses.

-Clementine also has a deep fear of illness. She lived for a very long time in the wilderness with the groups she’s been with, especially in Larry’s case and his frequent heart attacks to the point where it indirectly lead to his own death by Kenny’s hands and then lived on the streets of Prescott and received very minimal medical care, for this, she can be absurdly clean to the point it’s a little jarring. Even a simple cold can make her worry as she had no way to provide for herself if ill, it reminds her of the extreme situations she endured.

-She suffers in silence as a survivor of sexual abuse - she has never told anyone of her experiences.

-She's self harmed and attempted suicide on multiple occasions in her past, both at a very young age. She hasn’t done either of these things since she was twelve years old.

-Clem still dreams of Lee and her loved ones and talks to them as if they were still there with her.

-While Clementine is not completely cured of her depression and her mental illnesses, it is also noticeable that she is no longer suffering from it as much as she was before, and some of her mental health is under her control.

-Clem worked as a Former Supply Runner, Patroller, Hunter, Medic and Fighter for The New Frontier.

-She was a Former Spy, Beggar, Thief, Arsonist and Child Mercenary For Hire and has been a Bar Owner and a Businesswoman of many trades - almost that of a Gang Leader in Prescott - all at a young age.

-Clementine ends up taking Tennessee and Willy under her wing and thinks of them almost the same way as she would AJ - her younger brothers or her sons - it’s complicated, but she loves them very much.

-After the events of The Final Season, Tenn shows up quite often in her room at night because he cannot sleep due to the recent trauma he’s endured and asks her for advice or alternatively, to sing him to sleep. She gladly does so.

-Clementine’s maternal grandmother was a Voodoo practitioner. Clem can still remember her, but only vaguely. Her grandmother had intended on teaching her granddaughter Voodoo but the outbreak hit before she could.

-Post-The Final Season, Clementine and the group takes care of nine stray cats who she’s named Luna, Hazel, Sol, Serena, Rai, Brynjar, Oreo, Pepper, and Stella. She and AJ take care of a little box turtle that they’ve named Franklin. Three stray, friendly foxes also make their way around the school, a white fox, a black fox, and a red fox, to which Clementine and the group began naming Aurora, Agni and Aenar. Determinantly, Clementine has her own horse that she stole from the Delta and named it Epona after the mare began taking a liking to the girl. Clementine rides her often whenever she feels stressed and they share a great bond.

-Clementine’s full name is Clementine Maria Jasmine Cree, but will use the surname Everett in honor of her protector and adoptive father figure. “Clementine” is “Mercy” in Latin, “Maria” is the Latinized form of “Mary” whom is a respected figure in many religions - notably Christianity and Islam - whom is the mother of the savior of the world; it has several different meanings: “sea of bitterness”, “sea of sorrow”, “rebellion”, “wished-for-child” and “mistress or lady of the sea.”, “Jasmine” is a Persian word meaning “Gift from God” or “God’s Gift” and it is also named after the Jasmine flower, which holds significant cultural, symbolic and religious significance in countries like India, Hawaii, Indonesia, Pakistan, the Philippines, Syria, Thailand and the United States. It symbolizes motherhood, love, respect, beauty, sensuality, appreciation, good luck, purity, and romance. “Cree” means “Highly Spirited”. “Everett” - a surname that Clementine takes on as a momentum to her mentor, Lee Everett, comes from the Old English word eoforheard which means “brave as a wild boar”.

-She is directly descended from a Voodoo Queen in New Orleans, she also has ancestral ties to the Maroons and many of her ancestors were bokor or caplata, meaning male and female Vodou witches. Many of her recent ancestors were skilled in music. Her relations tie back to Ancient Egypt and other great African empires, many of them were explorers, travelers and sailors, whilst others were horsemen and feared archers and warriors. Clementine has no knowledge of any of this, nor is it likely she ever will discover this revelation.

-Post-The Final Season, Clementine lets her hair grow out a little longer. She lets her hair loose, especially when the colder seasons pass through as it covers her neck and just past her shoulderblades. When styling her hair, she often chooses protective styles in traditional African styles such as Afro Puffs, Bantu Knots, braids, and cornrows.

-As an eclectic witch, she likes using glyphs, sigils, runes, colored candles, metals, herbs, oils, crystals, special stones, rocks, seashells, animal skulls, flowers and plants to use in her spells and to decorate her room. She has a grimoire that she write her past in, the history of magic and how she initiated, an appendix of crystals, herbs, plants and trees, spells, ingredients, prayers, incantations, rituals, holidays, zodiacs, planets and celestial bodies, gods/goddesses/deities, their powers and how to worship them, the planes of existence, animals, mythical creatures, demonology, dragonlore, necromancy, the dark arts, books to use as references, colors, altars, recipes while cooking / baking in spells, magical objects, spiritualism, mythologies of several cultures around the world, symbols, sigils, the phases of the moon, flower language from the Victorian Era and fan language. Luckily, the school is quite large and the library is being rebuilt and books are generously donated by other settlements through trade. Clementine’s knowledge skyrockets in adulthood, quite impressive for a girl who had once been in first grade.

-In the colder seasons, such as autumn and winter, she tends to wear more to clothing with furs on and inside them if she manages to acquire them. Some of the outfits she wears consists of her own homemade outfits of animal furs she had skinned herself. Clementine wears an Omega necklace that Louis gives her, symbolizing the end of something. In current plots, she wears a opal crystal pendant necklace around her neck, hanging down to about her chest as a gift from The Commonwealth; it’s her birthstone and she believes it could grant her luck among other things. She often makes her friends and family fur cloaks to keep them warm.

-She begins taking an intrigue in playing musical instruments, notably the piano, but has started playing the flute, the violin and the harp. Clem is mostly focused on learning her piano lessons as of now, though.

#YOU'RE A WEAPON GIRL &&. WEAPONS DON'T WEEP. ( HEADCANONS. )

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elane-in-the-shadows · 7 years ago

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Red Queen Fan Fiction - Blood Curse Chapter 28

Find this on wattpad and on ao3

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

chapter 10

chapter 11

chapter 12

chapter 13

chapter 14

chapter 15

chapter 16

chapter 17

chapter 18

chapter 19

chapter 20

chapter 21

chapter 22

chapter 23

chapter 24

chapter 25

chapter 26

chapter 27

chapter 28

chapter 29

Final chapter

Mare POV

The march begins in two days hence, but Iris Cygnet already stands on the frontline-to-be like a raised flag. It’s because of her cape, long and waving in the wind. In hindsight, that piece of clothing alone should’ve given her away when I saw her first. Who wears a blue cape with such intricate design and embroidery, more-so in a war-camp? Not that it’s indecently sumptuous, only richly made. Apparently, Iris can’t wait for the enemy to see her, or she merely likes to pose majestically as she faces the direction we’re going to take. Maybe they aren’t as of much of an enemy to her as to us, as they’re Lakelanders, her citizens. Yet she’s too careful to rely alone on their knowledge of their princess and their loyalty to her, as she wears functional black armour beneath the conspicuous cape. She wears both all the time, whether she walks over battlefields or in the camp, either leading or training our nymphs. By now, I’ve finally seen what Iris can do with rain and it left me believing in the claims she made to our leaders, promising to breach the enemy lines which we – so far – failed do on our own.

After she arrived, on a meeting I took part in, Iris conveyed this eloquently without saying it all too plain. She sat in her chair like it was a throne, flanked by Captain Ives, the companion who brought her who’s also Roman Eagrie’s new brother-in-law. That was strange enough, not even to speak of the apparent trust Iris put in the Red-blooded Ives. The commanders, meanwhile, tried their best to hide their own confusion when dealing with the ex-queen of Norta, now the crown princess of the Lakelands.

“When I pledged to the Scarlet Guard recently,” Iris said, “it was decided it’d be for the best if I joined these fights. That aligned with my own intentions, I admit. I’m offering you my powers in the ways you see fit, Generals, but I think to be the greatest asset among your own nymphs, teaching – and eventually – leading them.”

Her polite tone was met by dark expressions, me contributing my part. She wasn’t swayed by them. “Not to forget I know how to work against the tactics my mother and her generals use, so this stalemate will be over before it drags on as long as before.”

Akkadi took a sharp breath. “As if you’re the only capable one here, ma’am? We’re to rely on your word to sabotage your own mother and not us?”

Iris swallowed, hesitating, pondering. “Indeed,” she agreed. “Indeed. If it soothes your suspicions, I did come with requests relating to my support.”

The room, curious for more, lost a little tension as if this was only to be expected. Silvers with “requests” were familiar ground.

Iris noticed this too. I saw her take Ives’s hand in the shadows under the table. “Firstly, I wish to negotiate with my mother in person. I’m certain you realize the advantage of that.”

I heard a few people starting to mumble. “Her fault for vanishing and provoking the water witch to run rampart.”

Iris continued, mostly unperturbed but aware of the lack of an answer. “Secondly, I want my mother’s life to be spared.”

“Ma’am,” Davidson prepared to object. But he hardly knew how to address her, ma’am being an acceptable cop-out. “That is a lot to ask, given her recent acts – “

“Weren’t it your allies, the Samos of the Rift, who instigated this?” Iris countered. “They attacked the Lakelands. Apparently, you let them. I wonder how Volo Samos convinced you, he and his family never seemed like the diplomatic sort to me.” She smiled. “Or that is just my impression, as they were never interested in being diplomatic and allying with me.

“However, I promise you to do better than them. I will settle this, and I will convince my mother to bring the peace as we intended to a year ago. And yes, that will include all of you, the Red activists of the Scarlet Guard. I can think of ways – “

“So you plan to keep your power and the rank of a crown princess, and queen-to-be?” Davidson inquired.

“That is not my plan.” Several gasps. From me, too. I couldn’t believe someone like her would be serious about this, and not only sweet-talk us like those before her. “My mother the queen,” she went on, “is the head of the church of our country, and she’ll act accordingly. To preserve and … to reform, too. Currently, she’s acting as a secular ruler which the head is usually supposed to leave to appointed politicians. She chose to change this for … family reasons, which you all know, my father and sister having been those appointed rulers. Yet, I see no reason why people like you should not replace the old agents so you can take your share in governing the Lakelands. There is no law forbidding this.”

“Now that is an offer, ma’am.” Davidson appeared duly smug. “Although you still sound very conservative.”

Iris blinked. “It is an offer, Premier Davidson. I wouldn’t presume to set this in motion without your advice, or the approval of the citizens of the Lakelands.” She looked around, scanning the room filled with potential enemies. “I do wish to preserve … some things,” she admitted. “Our faith, our traditions. Is that too much to ask?” She became more passionate with every word – which also revealed a subtle insecurity on her part. “There’re Lakelanders in this war, in this room. Do you wish to destroy our culture, hoping that alone will make everything better? I do not believe we need to shatter and forget the past to build anew, and therefore, I wish my mother to live – and repent.” A pleading note entered her voice. “If you cooperate, there’ll be amnesty for all Lakelander members of the Scarlet Guard.”

It was a wrong thing to say, angering the Lakelanders she tried to appeal to. Why would we need her amnesty if we won? Then again, did we have the certainty to win? What would Farley have said to her?

“You’re praising a faith that benefits you, your highness,” a soldier sneered and this, finally, took Iris aback. She flinched.

“I … won’t continue to demand those benefits for myself. I swear,” she insisted. “The succession of religious leaders will be reorganized, too. I won’t take such a position. You understand, the defining features of the faith are not about division.”

“They aren’t?” someone scoffed.

Iris straightened. “No.”

“I’ve never heard – “

“Comrades, please,” a soldier from the Lakelands intervened. “It’s true. The faith is about the divinity surrounding us, in ourselves, in nature, in every moment. The Silvers spill their own nonsense to cement their rule, but when they argue with the faith, they’re kidnapping it.” And although the soldier cleared the ground for Iris with this, she had some glares left for Iris, too. “Not that we don’t expect you to live up to those grand promises, ma’am.”

Iris nodded, meeting her gaze. “Thank you, ma’am. Indeed, I’d claim to be too honourable to make empty promises.” She stood up. “But no matter what I say, I can only step forward as one of many. It won’t mean anything if no one follows. I can walk in the front of the battles to come, but it’s your choice to come with me.

“Will you follow me?”

What would’ve happened if they’d remained silent? The moment dragged on long enough to make me wonder. But I was one of those to raise a hand, and the affirmative calls began which Iris answered with her own, quiet, “rise, red as the dawn.”

I knew I couldn’t trust her words. But I trust in what she can do.

„What storm we could make together, Sergeant Barrow,” Iris says to me. She must’ve noticed me sneaking around her after the end of my shift. It was an early end, due to the preparations for the coming charge. Although I’ve been lurking for days, only not as near as today.

Now I close the distance between us, done with playing pretend. Yet she doesn’t turn to me at first, heavily focused on conjuring shapes out of the water and fluids in the air around us, that is, maybe in a radius of 25 meters. When she looks at me over her shoulder, the patterns she made freeze for a second, before, with a swing of her arm, they change from “shields” and “arrows” into stylized lightning. Or a liquid cage.

She tilts her head. “Wouldn’t we?”

I scoff. “I’m not sure,” I reply. “The wind element’s still missing, isn’t it? Or is that the ability of your friend Ives?”

She shakes her head. “Technically …” She smiles. “No, he couldn’t.”

“You really like him? I’m surprised, Iris.” She’s stunned too, at my use of her first name. “I thought you royals don’t have friends, much less Red ones.”

The personal topic flusters her visibly and as she fights to maintain her composure, I expect her to just send me off. Yet I’m amused, enjoying to unsettle a Silver royal. Because she’s one, no matter what she announces. She must be used to this by now and swallows a breath. “He brought me here, and helped me out before. He became a friend to me.” She shrugs. “I assume you can understand that.”

I don’t really, but I respect her unspoken plea for privacy on that. To a point. “Certainly.” I smile back. “But I’m merely wondering, like so many here, what it was he helped you with, which kept you missing for so long.”

“I see. This is another trial about trust.” She stares at me while no muscle in my face moves. The water continues its play. Iris sighs. “I feel inclined to remind you I’m here by choice, on my own account, and allying with your cause.”

“An alliance you let us pay for dearly.”

“Have I asked for any untoward conditions?” She’s less calm now, for her standards. “All I’ve brought up I did believing it’d benefit the Scarlet Guard in the end.”

The watery shapes turn back into a shield and attack pattern, as if with the lightning pattern gone, our conversation is over. But Iris doesn’t even turn away from me. She continues to fixate with her gaze until I’m the one to give in. “Why would you think,” she begins, quieter now, “I haven’t paid dues on my own for the peace I wish for?”

I can’t avoid to snicker. “Excuse me,” I say. “But that’s something I know a lot about.”

The corners of her mouth twitch. “If we have finally something in common, why not use this common ground as a reason to return to my request?” I blink. “To call forth a storm?” she adds.

I shrug, then start to show off some of the tricks I learned from Ella. But despite Iris’s talk of a common ground, she revealed nothing about what she claims to have given up, although I can imagine enough, especially in case of someone who came too close to Maven Calore.

Merciless rains fall during our march. The dark and grey sky forebodes the coming battle and the air feels charged with electricity, whether from a gathering storm or just from my ability I can’t say. It certainly erases any easiness in our approach, with water soaking our clothes, tents and food. Our boots often stay stuck in the mud. But to march we have as our schedule is tight, decisively so. We’re supposed to sneak closer to the Lakelander camp for a surprise attack as long as our own location remains unknown.

“I wonder if Lakelanders conjured this bloody weather!” Kilorn curses.

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” I reply in agreement. The rain feels like a threat on its own, like a poison, a noose about to strangle us.

“That is unlikely.” Kilorn and I jerk when we hear General Akkadi joining our talk. Iris Cygnet walks next to her, no doubt trying to glean as much information as possible.

“The General is right,” she agrees. “The stormcallers of the Lakelands could do this in theory, but not for so long. Not when they don’t know our exact location. Rather they would create fog or a storm right before the battle begins.”

“What a smart-ass,” Kilorn whispers and I elbow him while suppressing my own snicker.

“Let’s hope this warning will help us when the time comes,” I say.

Iris nods. “Then, we’ll all work together to spring our own trap.”

Even on the trek scouting remains a necessity. Still I’m in a team with Roman Eagrie and keep my lightning ready for a charge. But this night has a different kind of tension, when our attention is as vital while we’re much less safe.

Eagrie touches my arm. “Hush, stop,” he whispers. My eyes widen and I summon lightning in my fingertips while keeping it weak enough to hide it from view. Eagrie takes his rifle off his back, aims and shoots four times in one fluid motion.

“Done?” I murmur.

He checks for a few more seconds, then relaxes. “Yes.”

“You’re a good shooter,” I say as we go to look for the bodies.

He smiles wrily. “It helps when you know you’ll hit the target.” The four enemy scouts are certainly dead but I don’t feel at ease yet. Instead, a sense of danger lingers on my mind. Even more so when the leaves of the woods rustle.

I shove Eagrie aside and create a lightning shield before the Lakelander can assault us. But the person appearing isn’t a Lakelander, at least not an enemy one. I tsk. “You’ve scared us, Princess Iris,” I say sarcastically although my heart still beats fast. “Or did you want them to take you with them?”

She shakes her head and comes closer. Amusement shines in her eyes, even in the dim torch light. At least she can get a joke. “Well done,” she says. “But their absence will send its own kind of message to their commander.”

I shrug.

“To answer your question, Sergeant Barrow,” she says, “no. I didn’t intend that. Yes, I plan to negotiate but a battle is unavoidable. It’ll be to the advantage of the Scarlet Guard as well to fight one.”

“If we win,” I object.

She nods. “I believe you’ll be vital to that victory. Good night.” She turns to leave, her cape dragging on the wet ground. Does the clamminess even bother her? Then she stops. “I wonder, Sergeant, why you chose to fight.” She points to the sky. “It was decided one electricon has to stay back to keep up with the interceptions of the airjets, as a distraction.” That’s true, Tyton’s the one. “That could’ve been you,” Iris goes on, “and yet you’re here.”

She seems frankly curious, but I’m not in the mood for banter and chatting. “I’m fed up with people making decisions for me, and I rather fight my battles myself.”

“I’m sure of that.” She looks at me, expectant, understanding. I almost wait for her to apologize for being complicit in my imprisonment, and a thousand other matters.

“Can I make a request?” she asks.

I raise an eyebrow. “Another one?”

The corners of her mouth twitch. “Just a last one, please,” she says. I wave a hand.

It replaces her amusement with earnestness. “I’d be grateful if you told me whether you killed Maven,” she asks. “Or whether he’s alive at all, if you knew.”

I suck in a breath. She craves to know this and her eyes are adamant, demanding an answer. I hate how I freeze when he’s mentioned. Iris notices and lowers her head respectfully. She gives me a moment but doesn’t apologize or waves it off.

“I have not,” I spit out. “You should ask Tiberias. Didn’t you leave behind him with his brother?”

She almost bows this time. “I thank you, Mare Barrow.” I shrug, swallow the topic before it can fester in my mind. Now she takes her leave for good, and raindrops follow, forming into swivels like an aethereal train. So ostentatious, a showiness Maven would’ve liked.

Breaks are soggy affairs, as is sleep. Whether we walk or rest, the rain is an incessant nuisance. In our sleeping bags, I cuddle against Kilorn to fight the clamminess with body warmth, with Rafe on his other side.

“Look,” Rafe says, pointing to white lightning in the distance. “It’s Tyton in action.”

I smile. “Good to know.”

Rafe sighs. “Too bad we can’t answer him.”

I nod. “Soon, he’ll see us as well.” Soon, when the real battle starts.

The call comes too soon. The camp rises, everyone runs to get into formation. “Seems like the Lakelanders found us first,” pants Nadine. “That demands operation B2, Barrow!”

“Sure!” I nod and we head to our respective units. The thrill of the coming battle courses through me, mixing fear and excitement.

Now it happens.

General Akkadi organizes the troops like a conductor, setting everyone in place according to the plans and her absolute foresight. She nods to me, pointing to my position at the front line. I swallow and go on, searching my way through the crowd and seeing more of the enemy with every step. Fortunately, we have the higher ground, standing on the upper end of the slope they’re climbing. At the foot of the hill, fog gathers and clouds the expanse of their army.

But their nymphs are at the front, as planned, already threatening to destroy our advantage in position by, once again, pulling away the ground beneath our feet. The mud only makes that easier

Our nymphs are prepared for this charge, about to counter the Lakelanders by interfering with their own control over the element. As a result, the water supposed to wash us away and flood the camp is turned into a whirlwind gyrating around the frontlines, more and more resembling the eye of a storm.

Akkadi barks several commands to get us into place, calling back armed soldiers while Rafe and I step forward on both ends of our vanguard, the nymphs between us, and only waiting for Akkadi’s next order. She’s still scanning the whole of the battlefield, assessing the perfect moment. Terrifying seconds drag on and current tickles my skin. Yet when the call comes, I hesitate. Am I ready for this? Are the nymphs? If this goes wrong …

I release my breath and stop thinking, I fall to my knees and put my hands onto the ground, into a puddle. And then, I let loose all the electricity I can summon, once, twice, until nothing is left.

The current, both from me and Rafe, is conducted by the muddy earth and swirls of water controlled by our nymphs, leading directing towards the enemy. They can’t get away, first paralysed by the shocks and soon killed by them.

I sink into the mud, wholly depleted. But it was a success, the majority of the enemy vanguard is down as well, unconscious or electrocuted. Akkadi shouts again, urging me to rise as we have no time to spare when timing is absolute. I have to get up, and now our gunners step forward to shoot anyone still standing. Yet as I move, my eyes stray over our nymphs, searching for losses. By Akkadi’s visions and command, they should’ve known when to sever the physical link to the water conduits to stay safe, but I might’ve just as well taken down some of our own.

“Help!” someone cries, and m head spins. There they are, my victims. I can’t run past them, so I go straight to the source. Iris Cygnet was the one who called, and she bends over an unconscious nymph, grabbing a knife to cut through his uniform and start to massage his chest.

“I don’t think he needs any more electricity, Sergeant Barrow,” she hisses.

“No,” I say. “I’m sorry – careful!” I shout, and she looks up to see the Lakelander soldier heading towards us.

Iris curses. She lets go of the nymph and fumbles for a gun; she shoots just in time but the Lakelander outstretches a hand and the bullet dissolves in a heat wave.

An oblivion.

I try to call my lightning but it’s still too soon – nothing happens. Iris spills another surge of curses in her native tongue and gather a water wall as a defense. Still I can feel the next shockwave coming from the oblivion. He forces through, causing Iris to shift her water wall.

“What should we …” I utter, but she already grabs my hand and wraps us in another wave, just before the oblivion shatters the earth and we fall.

I open my eyes with a groan. Now I can add bruises to my exhaustion although I begin to feel again the sparks in my veins. I get up and check my surroundings, now a few hundred meters away form the battle. Not that I can reach it easily, as the ledge we were on has broken off. I find Iris on my other side, bending over the nymph once more. I approach her but her attempts at first aid are over, now she’s murmuring a few verses. Prayers. She doesn’t heed my presence until she’s done.

“Rest in peace, James Huntingdon” she concludes, and focuses on me. She nods. “Good you’ve gotten away as well.”

She stands up, about to get going on. Her stance reflects both weariness and determination, a stance I know all too well, one I force myself into often enough. “What do you intend to do?” I ask.

“Do you want to come with me?” she smiles, wrily. “I go to find my mother, I should be able to guess where she is.”

Of course. “Why should I? Do you want to present me as your prisoner?”

She frowns. “No.”

“You were okay with it before.”

Her lips quiver but don’t produce a straight answer. “I won’t force you into anything, Mare Barrow. You can come with me, or stay with James, or whatever else you think is best.”

When I don’t reply, she turns without looking back.

I let her go, and still I watch her. I shouldn’t, better I focus on a way back. I curse my bad luck at finding myself once again between the lines, unable to just rejoin my unit. Nor do I want to leave James behind. He died because of me, after all, and he deserves better than to be buried in mud.

I head to a higher ground to see more and even climb a tree to find a possible and safe way to return to the fights. Yet the broken ledge is still impossible to scale and I doubt I can carry James all the way round. It’d be safe enough for me though, although it’d also take me a day. I can’t decline my urge to look after Iris as well, as she’s easy to locate in her silly cape. How careless, but if she puts a conspicuous appearance above everything else? In front of her, the main body of the Lakelander army is harder to see. Strange.

Or not. The way the mist parts and gathers has no natural source, I can see that now. It must be controlled by nymphs or stormcallers and Iris is just a few hundred meters away from the fog, already becoming enwrapped in it herself. I doubt her sight is as good as mine, as long as she doesn’t chase off the fog.

So she can’t see he unit separating from the back of the army, marching in the direction of the frontline while hidden by fog and glamour.

“Oh you stupid girl, you’re walking into a trap!” I utter.

But so am I, since I jump off my tree and run after Iris.

I’m about to reach her just as she parts the fog but before I can warn her, its already too late – the soldiers appear from the mist and attack the intruder, unaware it’s their princess. Iris sidesteps as knives fly her way, one of them cutting her hand. The next moment, she’s lifted into the air and swung hard onto the ground.

I drop to the earth, too. Are they telkies? Or magnetrons who use her armour against her? Undecided between crashing into the scene and figuring out a better plan, I watch the enemy leader send their soldiers ahead. They vanish quickly, someone among them restoring their stealth. Their supposed purpose fills me with dread, certainly it’s a surprise charge against us. I grind my teeth. Why does their commander stay back? Have they finally recognized Iris? But when she tries to rise, a volley of something like spikes heads her way and she can only roll out of the way.

The commander has to be a magnetron.

Hit in the leg, Iris doesn’t get up. The Lakelander commander approaches her and strangely, he appears neither relieved to have finally found his princess, nor shocked to have assaulted her. No, when he bends down to grab her by the chin, his demeanour oozes smugness.

I sneak closer to be certain but I already know the man holding Iris in his grasp is Volo Samos.

“How come my mother released you from your king’s cage?” Iris sneers.

He cackles and grabs her tighter, probably choking her. “Haven’t you heard, your majesty? It seems that the Lakelanders and I have a mutual enemy,” he gloats. Iris groans. “Your mother the queen was against it, but in the end, she had to agree with her clever advisors.” When he smiles, I feel a surge of his power although I hardly wear any metals. He’s even stronger than Evangeline.

“But unfortunately. I have to see the rumours regarding you are true, and you do fight for our enemy.”

Iris wriggles and kicks, her hands move to conjure water and assault Samos whose expression becomes aching. But the water that splashed his face falls down as he pushes on, to make Iris scream in pain.

“I wouldn’t try that again!” he calls and Iris’s knife leaves its sheathe and starts to levitate an inch from her head. “Do this another time, Your Highness, and you’re dead.” Then metal loosens from his armour and forms into a rope he uses to bound her hands. “After all these undignified months of captivity, I find myself truly fortunate,” he gloats some more. “When I return you to your royal mother, she’ll have no choice but to offer me clemency and acknowledgement of the Rift. Whether the same goes for you, I’m not so sure.” He rises and lets go of her throat, pulling her along by her manacles. “A disobedient child has to be punished.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure either.” Volo’s head spins around to face me and the lightning shooting from my hands, towards him.

“Barrow!” he yells and spikes fly off his armour, charged at me, and some of them making in to their target. I supress a cry of pain.

He only drops to a knee. Damn, my lightning is still too weak to kill him with one blow and I have my own problems to maintain my stance.

Iris doesn’t waste time. She used my attack to remove her manacles and collects water to lift Samos into the air, wrapping him into a whirl he can’t escape. She doesn’t have to give me a sign. Despite the bleeding wounds in my stomach and my leg, I summon all the electricity I can and throw it at Samos, frying him, letting it course through the water, his metal armour and his body until he’s only a charred mess.

My knees sink into a puddle and I stare at Volo Samos’s dead body with satisfaction. As long as I can. I would’ve fallen down completely if Iris didn’t come to pull me onto her lap. She tears at her cape, staunching my wound with it and her own bleeding hand. And yet, my red blood drops like the cursed rain and mixes with her silver blood.

She looks so determined, and yet so desperate. “Hang in there,” she pants, “I’ll have it bandaged soon!”

I chuckle, and rue it for the pain it brings, but hoping she’s right. But we’re in no man’s land, who should come to save us? “I’ve done it,” I whisper instead.

“Hm?”

“I told myself I was born to kill a king and now I’ve succeeded,” I cackle. It impedes Iris’s efforts but she only tries harder. “But it wasn’t the one I expected it to be,” I continue.

“So, you intend to kill another?” she asks, a little wary.

I sigh, both for the topic and the pain. “… I don’t know. I couldn’t face him. I have to. To tell him he has no power over me.” Although just having this thought means he still has. “He’s already done what he can to me,” I say.

Recognition dawns on Iris’s face. “Then you have to keep going, Mare!” Live, if only to spite Maven …” She continues to talk, I can hardly listen. “We’ll both live, and when this is al over, you’ll forget Maven and I’ll hold Arthur, just one time at least …”

I still hear her, and the sounds of the distant battlefield. But all I see is the white-grey sky that makes me feel like time has stopped.

@clarafarleybarrow @mareshmallow @redqueenfandom @lilyharvord @inopinion @hannaharies @samanthaslytherin @kihlorn @mareenattitanos @redqueenforever @marecalrandomstuff @wrenskonos @runexandra @artbooks-trash @selenbean-beany @scarletguardsource

#red queen #red queen fanfiction #war storm #mare barrow #iris cygnet #blood curse #scarletguardsource #blood curse ch 28

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