#“you fucked up a perfectly good elf. look at her. she's got anxiety”

[imagineargonians]

no more anticipations bs. we need to talk about vivec and azura.

almalexia & sotha sil are doomed regardless of your choices, but vivec's fate entirely depends on the nerevarine. azura doesn't ask you to kill vivec. she doesn't talk shit about him. she gives a whole speech about how almalexia & sotha sil deserved to die and then she's like "eh, I believe vivec's time grows short anyway. oh and you can ask him for help to defeat dagoth ur :)"

azura even sounds DISAPPOINTED if you killed vivec before finishing the MQ. "😐I thought he might play a part in your future😐" come on, azura.

I think kirkbride & other devs wrote the trial of vivec because "vivec CHIMMED out of this mess" was more ambiguous than "azura went easy on vivec for some reason". like, why are you so nice to vivec and only vivec, azura???? what's so different about him?

but wait! it gets even better! in eso: morrowind azura helps vivec to deal with clavicus vile & false nerevarine. she KNOWS that vivec murdered nerevar. and then vivec is like "I need help 🥺🥺🥺please?". and azura is like "ugh, FINE. just this one time!"

you can even call her out.

uh-huh. sure. *looks at the red year uesp article* that's totally the reason.

in the same DLC we got sermon 37.

I mean, it's a good thing that kirbride doesn't hold a grudge against bethesda azura anymore. I just wasn't expecting him to actually go "yay! c0da 2.0 but vivec makes peace with azura! as she should!"

[misterewrites]

Mystery at the Salt-Irons

Hey everyone! E here with a new chapter! kept you waiting huh? Haha sorry it's been a busy few weeks. Nothing serious but I had to keep starting and stopping this chapter so it threw me off but it's here, it's ready and I hope you enjoy it!

I have some special guests in this story, some ocs made by my friends because you know what I can so I will and honestly, they were really great oc ideas guys. so keep an eye out for @hains-mae and Biz_fantasist  OC(I don’t know if she has a tumblr but it’s late so I’ll edit it later) 

That's it for me! I hope you are all stay safe, keep your loved ones safe, wash your hands, wear your masks, push to give everyone the vaccine cuz this is getting ridiculous. I hope you have a great week, thank you for reading. I deeply appreciate and feel free to share it with your friends, give me feedback. Reblog and comments all that fun stuff! Thanks and I'll see you soon!

Here’s the chapter over at Ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/85394095

Here’s the story from the beginning if you’re curious what this is about

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/75486005

and here’s a list of all my work both original and the various fandoms I write for

https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/works

Summary:  Finnrick is called to solve a mysterious case as per his job as the city's only Private Investigator wizard but as he sinks deeper into the case, the more it seems that something is happening behind the scenes. Of course with an old friend in town and dark magic surrounding the case, Finnrick is as busy as ever. Ain't no rest for the wicked.

-----

The Salt-Iron Flats weren’t anything special on the surface: An unassuming apartment complex on the north side of Newton Haven, the only thing most people remembered about the place was how the price tag hurt their souls.

Of course, unlike the general housing market, the Salt-Irons (affectionately referred to by the locals) actually had a very reasonable reason for fetching such a high rate: The salt and cold iron baked into every single brick that formed the building.

If you weren’t in the magical know, you’d think it utterly insane that you’d be forced to pay such a large amount of cash because some weirdo decided to make a new age artistic statement with bricks. Of course, if you are aware of the greater community at large, you’d knew you were paying the insanely large sum because someone decided to make the Salt-Irons the single most protective location in the city.

Most mortals have forgotten their history, their lore and collective knowledge passed down throughout the generations: Why their ancestors used to place lines of salt in front of the door and windows, why the elders always suggested to the braver, recklessly youthful family members to carry iron whenever they ventured through the wild.

Outer beings were repelled by salt and iron. No one really had an idea why fae, angels and demons weren’t fond of salt or iron and there's been plenty of arguing about the subject but all in all the fact remained they did not do well when faced with either.

That was the main reason Finnrick didn’t find himself in the north side of town often.

Well that and the zealous Gate Keepers. Those guys were freaks but between them and the Salt-Irons being the only supernatural community up here, Finn never got a case from the area.

Until today.

The Salt-Irons were great at protecting you from any outside threats that wished you ill will: It didn’t protect you from anything you decided to bring in with you.

It was five in the morning when Finnrick got the call. The M.R.R.D representative didn’t have much to offer beyond the address and floor but he thanked her all the same.

Finnrick yawned tiredly, stretching the tension out of his neck while he sipped his coffee. He let out a sigh of relief as the sun slowly rose into the sky.

The Salt-Irons was a twelve story tall building painted a ghastly pale green that made Finnrick sick just looking at it.

“People are paying how much to live in that shade? I’d ask for discount if I were them.” Finnrick laughing to himself, making his way into the apartment complex.

Luckily the interior was much nicer than the outside: Everything was well kept and cleaned. Not a single speck of dust in sight and the wooden stairs didn’t creak when Finnrick placed his foot on them.

Which was good given Finnrick needed to go up seven flights of stairs.

Finnrick wheezed a little, wiping the sweat from his brow when he reached the seventh floor. He glanced down the hall one way then the other as he began to search for room 707 which basic deductive reasoning suggested should be around the corner.

Finnrick crushed the empty foam cup and tucked it into his coat pocket as he made his way to 707. It was a simple wooden door and immaculately spotless just like the rest of the place. He rose his hand and gently rapped on the door.

No response.

He frowned, checking if he was still alone in the empty hallway and rose his hand towards the door frame.

His eyes glowed with a blue energy as he whispered softly “Revelis”

The door gleamed with a bluish hue for a moment before fading away without a trace.

No protective spells laced over the frame so the only thing Finn had to worry about now if it was locked.

He tried the knob, unsurprised when it swung open silently.

“It’s not breaking and entering if someone’s expecting you” Finnrick justified to himself as he pushed the door in.

He nearly staggered backwards: The air tasted thick and foul like something had been left rotting inside. His skin prickled with anxiety, a chill running down his spine with each step he took further in.

Finnrick took deep, calming breathes while doing his best to ignore the bitter taste that seem to cling the air within.

He noticed the trail of footsteps, perfectly preserved in what appeared to be black dust leading deeper into the living room.

“Hey da! You here?” Finnrick called out, carefully stepping closer “You and ma still married?”

There was a deep grunt of acknowledgment before a voice responded “Sorry son, we’re divorced now. She got custody of you.”

“Well fuck. I guess I’m going to be eating kale and poorly cooked spinach for the rest of my life.”

Garrus Valka was not in fact Finnrick’s father, adoptive or otherwise. He was actually one of the highest ranked officers of the Magical Rapid Response Department: An elf clocking in at 200 years old with richly tanned skin. His bluish gray hair was slicked back in his preferred style. Garrus’s had his back turned to the detective but Finn knew his sliverish gray eyes were deep in concentration as he took down notes about the surroundings. His beautifully inhuman features were marred with a scar on the right side of his face: burnt skin on his cheek, healed by time and various surgeries. An old war wound though Finn never got the full story.

He was dressed in typical M.R.R.D fashion: Dark blue windbreaker, jeans and a blue shirt with the words “Powered by coffee and spite” splashed across the front. His Winchester rifle was slung across his back, ready for any action that may befall the elf.

“Drift.” Garrus greeted teasingly while offering a hand.

Finnrick gave it a playful shake “Da. So is mom here or she trying to smite pigeons again?”

“THEY TRIED TO STEAL MY HOTDOG!” Garrus’s partner Eden screamed from another room “I SHALL BRING MY GOD’S WRATH UPON THEM!”

“You know when they mean justice.” Finnrick called out “I don’t think they mean against winged rats.”

Eden chuckled darkly “You know not their sins.”

“Okay.” Finnrick nodded despite the fact she couldn’t see him “If you say so. What happened Da? Aside powerful necromancy.”

“Powerful necromancy” Garrus replied cheekily “and missing persons.”

Finnrick rose an eyebrow “Persons? More than one?”

“Two: A father and son. Richard Charles and his son Richard Jr. Recluses it seems. Neighbors hardly saw them. Mostly kept to themselves.”

Finnrick pursed his lips thoughtfully “Any magical abilities?”

“They’re not on records if that’s what you mean.” Garrus answered “Never signed up in the academy, not registered with The Council. If they were practitioners they didn’t tell anyone.”

“So what was the spell? I just smell the remnants of spookiness.”

“Hadn’t noticed the rest of the room huh?”

Finnrick frowned before finally getting a good look at the rest of the room: Every inch of the apartment was blanketed with the same black dust that he found in the entrance way. Inches and inches of the substance and that wasn’t the strangest part.

Everything was bent at different and odd angles: chair with crooked legs, the wall clock warped and twisted, the fridge leaning like someone folded it in half. Floorboard reached for the sky and walls split inward.

There was a common misconception about magic. Most people thought spell casters, especially wizards, could command reality to their wills. That magic was capable of impossible feats and it was as simple as snapping your fingers.

The truth was all magic, ranging from divinity to free range nature, was performed on a micro scale. Practitioners did not alter reality but rather shortcut it. Throwing fireballs was as simple as rapidly heating the air until it combusted. Turning invisible was less about vanishing completely as it was bending the light around you to not be seen. Magic was rooted in reality and imagination. If you had the magical strength to perform the magic, the magic often followed your lead.

Of course there were spells that required much more than magical hand and willpower. Powerful magic, like summoning outer beings or raising an army of zombies, required both time and materials. Magic was like any other energy: you needed enough of it to perform what you wanted. The human body could only generate so much magic without dying and resting was necessary to replace any expended in the use of spells. Materials were guidelines for the spell. Feathers for anything with flight, ash for fireballs etc etc.

The other thing needed was to gather energy and store it for the spell’s use. There were different ways to achieve this: Wands, talismans, potions were basically magic soups. The most efficient way to gather energy was the wizards preferred way: Circles.

Finnrick eyed the room closely this time, murmuring under his breath about angles and trajectory. Garrus paid him no mind, well familiar with the private investigators methods.

“If this went like that” he gestured to the wall clock “and that went here.”

Finnrick glanced about, carefully walking about as if worried he was going to step on a landmine.

“Here.” Finnrick found himself staring at a spot in the middle of the room “Ventus.”

He gestured with a hand and light breeze filled the room. It brushed away some of the dust covering floor, revealing the outline of a half melted metal ring.

“What is it?” Garrus turned curiously

“Spell circle. The source of the explosion. I’m willing to bet it’s custom made. Copper, steel. Maybe some bits of tin couldn’t stand the surge.”

“No iron or sliver?”

Finnrick shook his head “That’s for containing or repelling monsters. Necromancy is more about drawing in the evil entities. Or sucking out life.”

Garrus sighed tiredly “Don’t touch?”

“Only if you want to live to see retirement. Might have some pent up magic ready to blow outwards.”

“Understood. I’ll call in our guys. I’ll let you know if something comes up.”

Finn nodded gratefully while pulling out a vial and motioning to the elf “Mind if I do?”

“Be my guest, you might find something we’d miss.”

Finnrick smiled gratefully before scooping up some of the dust and sealing it within the vial.

“Take care Garrus, stop fighting birds Ma!”

“Flying rats!”

-----

The cafe was lively despite being early but that was no surprise given it was Mother’s. Mother’s was the single best food establishment in all Newton Haven and if anyone disagreed, they were allowed to have their opinions.

They were also allowed to be wrong.

Finnrick paused in the doorway, breathing in the scent of well cooked eggs and sweet lemonade. The pop and sizzle of heated grease brought a sense of comfort to the hard working private investigator.

“Finny Drift!” Maddie Copperstone called from behind the counter “How’s my favorite customer holding up?”

Maddie was 40 years young with tastefully curled dark brown hair. Human, little on the short side but fierce. She wore a simple red blouse and jeans, both stained with flour that the apron around her waist did not prevent.

Finnrick bounced over cheerfully, reaching over the counter to give the matron the biggest hug he could muster “I’m good Maddie. Working a case.”

Maddie’s brown eyes searched his face carefully “You always working Finny. You resting as much?”

“Scout’s honor.”

Maddie let out a disbelieving chuckle “You weren’t ever a Scout.”

“Honorary scout after I stopped that bear from eating them.”

“Thought it was a giant raccoon.”

“Yes but people don’t take giant raccoon seriously. He here?”

Maddie clicked her tongue disappointingly but motioned to the booth at the far end of the establishment “Rest.”

Finnrick rose his hand in surrender “After.”

“Never you mean!” Maddie shouted after him.

Amos Frye hadn’t changed much since last he was roaming around Finnrick’s neck of the woods: Handsome with soft gray eyes that reminded Finn of gathering storm clouds. His long black hair was tied in a messy bun held up by a golden pin, a braided strand hung loosely near his face. His beard was much shorter than what Finnrick remembered though he noted the unkempt split ends indicated that Amos hadn’t trimmed it in a few weeks. His iconic dark red sleeveless jerkin and black jean combination would look ridiculous on a lesser man but had allowed the monster hunter to show off his muscular frame. His brown skin was a bit more pale than usual so no doubt Amos had been operating at night lately.

“Finnrick, you cheeky bastard! I am so glad you came!” Amos beamed happily, his various bangles and bracelets clinking together in equally joyous celebration as the two shook hands.

“Amos! Happy to see you.” Finn beamed brightly as he slid into the booth across his old friend “Why though? Family trouble?”

Amos’s joyfully gleam turned dark for a moment.

“No. Have you…?”

Finnrick shook his head quickly “Not a word. Sorry, I hadn’t meant to…”

Amos waved the apology away “No worries cuz. I understand why you’d think that. Coming across the pond isn’t a spur of the moment thing and Os has always been the black sheep of the family. I suppose no news is good news.”

“Right.” Finnrick cleared his throat awkwardly “So what’s the trouble? I doubt you’d call me up for a nip and chat.”

“Rightly so.” Amos confirmed, reaching into the bag at his side and pulling out a folder “Hunting business as usual cuz.”

That made sense: Amos was the latest of a long family whose specialized business was monster hunting. The Fryes had been striking at things that went bump in the night for centuries ever since the first Frye defended the folk of some underground society.

Amos was an average wizard if Finnrick was being generous. That was not a slight against his old friend, it was a matter of fact: Amos spent most of his time honing the physical aspects of his profession which was obvious given the size of his arms. Any spells he knew were purely for defensive or preventive measures so he often communicated with Finnrick for higher quality and complex spellwork.

Finnrick took the folder from Amos and began pouring over its contents.

Most were quickly scrawled notes Amos had noticed about his quarry: Long sliver hairs, canine in nature. Large paw prints found in the areas it had been sighted, far too big to any natural wolf. Wulfvur and werewolf were hastily written and as quickly crossed out. A pattern of hanging out in wild areas, often forests and swamps.

There were pictures too: flashes of sliver, blurs of fangs and muzzles darting in and out of camera frame. It was always a distance away, sprinting deeper into the wildness. It was hard to tell from the photos but Finn guessed it might’ve been 10 feet tall at the very least.

“Why we hunting wolves now?” Finnrick asked curiously.

Amos flagged down the waitress “Contract given to my pa. It was hanging around the marsh lands of the jolly old isles. Someone wanted it gone.”

Something wasn’t clicking with Finn “and you followed it here? From England?”

“Nah cuz” Amos gave a cheeky grin “I tackled it through a portal and found I illegally crossed into America.”

“Ah.” Finnrick nodded in understanding “Fae.”

“Fae?” Amos frowned thoughtfully “I thought that too but I never heard of any snarling wolfie breaking into homes and snatching out wee younglings in them old folktales.”

“Fae are weird.” Finnrick shrugged “Their whole shtick is not making any sense. I had to expel a cat the size of a bus once. Double decker tall.”

Amos whistled in appreciation as he scratched his bread “So fae. Slippy fellow as you can tell. Whatcha recommend?”

“What’s the contract?”

“Banishment. It’s looking like wolfie ended up in the wrong part of town.”

“I think you mean next town over. Fixed a pattern yet?”

“Not yet but I wasn’t looking for one.” Amos admitted “Thought I was tracking some mutant. Fae changes a lot. Magical circles?”

“Easiest way to catch it.” Finnrick agreed “Sliver for sure. Iron would hurt it and based on your files, it hasn’t done anything than thin the local wildlife population. No need to anger mister big bad wolf.”

“Good call. I got some talent to handle a few circles but tracking is not really my speed.”

“I’m on a case but if you swing by the M.R.R.D, maybe they’ll loan you a wizard.”

Amos let out a disappointed sigh “I need to take care this sometime this year Finny. Bloody bureaucracy probably set me back a month at least.”

“There’s always Jaime but she’s pretty busy at work.”

“Jaime huh?” Amos smiled mischievously “I haven’t talked to your sister in a long time.”

“I will curse you.” Finnrick playfully threatened “And not no simple hex either. I’ll make you bald.”

Amos gasped dramatically, clutching at his hair protectively “You wouldn’t dare mate.”

“Shinier than the sun.”

“Okay, okay” Amos conceded “I’m kidding. She’s with Casey anyway. Good couple. Cute couple. He still hopelessly selfless and she still trying to fast track her way to power?”

“Yep.”

“You gonna fix that?”

Finnrick shook his head “It’s their lives. Their choices.”

“Idiots.” Amos chuckled “the lot of them.”

“All you need is love?”

“Spoken true the gospel of my land.”

-----

A few hours later with a brainstorm session completed and a promise to help out the next day, Finnrick left Amos to his work and continued with his own.

It was noon now and as the sun rose high in the sky, Finnrick found himself at the Grimyard.

The Grimyard was the premiere spot for all things magical in Newton Haven: Rows and rows of shops specifically catering to the magic community. The streets were paved with century old cobblestone and the buildings here were various hues of faded brick and mortar. It was easy to get lost in the Grimyard if it was your first time as the Grimyard did not spread out, it stacked downward. Layers upon layers of the Grimyard were actually underground to allow those with issues against the sun to sell their goods and services at all times of the day. Don’t let the dark fool you, anyone with worthy talent or product was here in the Grimyard.

Normally Finnrick would wander around a bit, checking out the various businesses and protective wards around the mile long patch of land but he was on the clock and the sooner he began to figure out what was going on, the sooner he could stop it.

Luckily for him, his destination was right here on the top floor of the marketplace. Specifically furthest back corner.

Knightly Ore was ran by the Knight family. Originally they only sold rare metals and ores which were necessary components for some of the more complicated magicks. At some point the owners expanded into selling more alchemical materials and eventually brewing potions, salves and such for a fee.

Despite decent business, it was the most rundown building in this part of the Grimyard: Broken window shudders with the paint faded down to the original shade when the business first opened decades ago. The humble black door was crooked and creaked whenever it moved

Finnrick knew the owners fairly well but here wasn’t here for them. He was here to see their son.

He pushed past the building, ducking into the alley that led to the lot directly behind the shop.

“Halt!” A voice called out “Who seeks the Brewmaster of the Grimyard?”

“It is I, Finnrick the detective. I got money and I need work done”

The Brewmaster was Theodore Knight, an incredibly talented alchemist who didn’t have the same opportunities Finnrick did: He was pretty tall for his age (14 or 15, Finnrick lost track once or twice) but clearly a teenager given his short lavender hair had a few strands dyed red. His eyes were an unnatural pale blue, paler than the blue of the sky. He wore the usual attire Finn often found him in: A sleeveless dark blue hoodie with a fist sized red gem clasped in front just under his neck and a lighter shade blue t-shirt. He wore black finger-less gloves gripping his brown messenger bag slung around his shoulder. A matching brown pouch hung around the waist of his gray cargo shorts and his brown boots were kept clean despite his place of business was in an alley behind his parents shop.

Theo jumped out from a hidden shadowy corner of the lot “Finn, whatcha got for me now?”

Finnrick reached into his pocket, showing the eager teen the vial that held blacken dust within.

“That’s it?” Theo scoffed, rolling his eyes “I was expecting something…...cooler.”

He took the vial and raised it to the sun. Theo gave it a rough shake and watched it carefully for any properties the strange substance would display.

Theo frowned, clearly unsatisfied by what he saw “You brought me ash? Plain ash? It’s your money but even I think it’s a waste.”

“It’s ash?”

Theo shot the detective a look that screamed how obvious it should’ve been “Yes, ash. Thicker than what I’ve seen but ash all the same.”

Finnrick bit his cheek thoughtfully.

“Look Finn, you know my rates. I dunno what you want me to do but standard fees apply.”

“I’ll paying double.”

The Brewmaster’s eyes narrowed suspiciously “Double for ash? What’s so special about it?”

“Oh nothing." Finnrick pretended to look disinterested “Aside it was taken directly from a crime scene: Necromancy and cast via a half melted spell circle.”

It took Theo a minute to allow the implications of what Finnrick said to sink in. His eyes shifted from suspicion to wild excitement.

“Really?!” Theo clutched the vial like it was his first born child “Necromancy really doesn’t like many alchemy processes. It’s not going to be easy for me.”

“I know right?” Finnrick grinned impishly “It’s almost like I’m going to have to pay double for it.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to….” Theo pouted unhappily “Ha freaking ha. Okay smart guy, pay up.”

Finnrick handed over 50 gold. Theo took it eagerly, his eyes lightening up with glee.

Theo paused for a moment, his face turning oddly serious for a teenager.

“It might take me awhile depending on what you want.”

“I want to know what’s in it. Necromancy requires specific ingredients. After that it’ll be easier to track the seller.”

“And the buyer!” Theo blurted out excitedly “Smart.”

Finnrick ruffled his hair playfully “I wish I thought of it. You keep this up and you’re going to run me out of business.”

“I’ll text you when I have something.”

“Pleasure as always Theo.”

“It’s Brewmaster.”

-----

It was 2 in the afternoon when Finnrick made his way back to the Salt-Iron. He stood outside the complex, tossing the remains of his pizza into his waiting maw and crumpling the can of soda he was drinking before tucking into his coat pocket.

“What’s this?” Finnrick asked, utterly confused by the crushed foam cup he pulled from within “Oh right my coffee. I’ve been really at today.”

Finnrick wiped his hands clean and made his way inside the Salt-Iron once more, mulling over the details of the case as he ascended up the stairway.

Blacken ash cast by a spell circle. Both father and son missing with no indication where they went too. Recluses and rarely seen. Necromancy within a threshold.

It was hard to tell how deeply the father and son were involved in spell. Someone who had access to the apartment was behind it no doubt. Spell circles were the most consistent way to cast magic but they took time to build, set and channel energy. You didn’t build a spell circle without knowing exactly what you plan to do with it.

The nature of the magic was also a mystery: Dark magic had various applications and not a single one was good. Finnrick hadn’t much experience with that branch of magic but there was nothing logical about the aftereffects: Ash spread throughout the apartment, clinging to everything like a second skin. There was no signs of an outward blast given that nothing bent in the same direction. Everything in that room decided to twist in whatever wayit felt like. If the spell was supposed to draw in something then chair legs and wall tiles would’ve been pulled directly towards the circle.

“Curiouser and curiouser Alice” Finnrick spoke to no one in particular.

He was on the fifth floor when he noticed something odd.

Finnrick raised an eyebrow as the skies outside the window darken, black and stormy.

A thunderstorm it seems.

Finnrick peered out the window, glancing upwards to see what was going on.

Dark clouds swirled directly overhead. Rain began to lightly drizzle as the skies boomed. Thunder and a moment later lightning trailing across the gathering storm.

A thunderstorm that formed directly above this building.

Without warning.

“Well that’s not ominous.”

Finnrick made the mistake of leaning closer to the window, peering around to see if he could see where exactly the storm was coming from when it happened.

“Watch out below!”

Finnrick noticed three things in that moment: First, was of course, someone shouting to watch out below. Second was the distant sound of claws scratching something wooden, the walls perhaps. Lastly was the thudding of something falling down quickly and towards him.

Finnrick rose his hand, pivoting on his heels in time to see something crash into him.

It wasn’t much of a contest: Both Finnrick and whatever slammed into him broke through the fifth story window and went sprawling into a freefall.

[bookwyrminspiration]

do you have any thoughts about sophie being project moonlark and an experiment and all of that?

i love sophie, but i feel like her existence casts...a LOT of suspicion on how the black swan deals with things.

“do you have any thoughts—“ yes. All of the time. So many, nonsie. My mind is a nightmare.

I think in terms of Project Moonlark, it’s origin makes sense as an easy (and commonly seen in media) way to explain a character’s enhanced powers. Sophie Foster is the main character and in this story, needed to be more powerful than anyone else who had ever existed. So how do we create that? She has funky DNA. How did she get funky DNA? She was a science experiment. Well, isn’t creating a super-human (elf) by messing with genetics something usually done by the bad guys? Typically, yeah. So Shannon needed to make a situation where it wasn’t done by the bad guys, hence she was made by the Black Swan.

I think part of it is we have an association of messing with DNA being invasive and uncomfortable, which isn’t necessarily wrong. A lot of that comes down to personal morals and what you believe to be okay. This invasive aspect is heightened because Sophie had no say in the situation. She didn’t exist to voice her opinions because she was being created. (As opposed to other characters who are experimented on later in life and get a say in the situation. Like Steve Rodgers. I think. I haven’t seen those movies).

And you’re right, it does reveal a lot about how the Black Swan deals with issues. Instead of looking at the problem, their society, and figuring out what they personally could do to fix it, they turned to making someone who could fix it. They passed the problem off to someone else and put all their hopes on someone who didn’t ask for any of this. Which is entirely unfair to Sophie. She is a real, living person. Not a solution. She has now chosen to be part of that solution, but she was never truly given another choice. Sure, they may say she doesn’t have to do this, but they expect her to. And if she doesn’t she will still be targeted because she’s so deeply involved with it.

Essentially, she a living incarnation of the “you’ve fucked up a perfectly good kid. Look at it, it’s got anxiety” meme. Except it would be “look at it. It’s for no agency in the course of its life.” So I agree. I don’t think Project Moonlark was an ethical decision for the Black Swan to make. If they wanted to help their world, they should be doing so themselves instead of pushing it onto a literal child they created.

The intention of her existence was “for someone to see the world from a new perspective” (paraphrased). Mr. Forkle literally tells her that he created her for this reason. Which sounds and awful lot like she’s a tool to further their own agenda and serve their purposes

TL;DR: experimenting on people to give them power is a common trope done by antagonists, which is why it feels weird the Black Swan has done it. It feels like an irresponsible decision to create Sophie just to solve a problem when she had absolutely no say in this decision.

[reveriesramblings-blog]

Path Of The Arrow

                               A Lavellan And Harding Love Story

    A fanfiction depicting a personal headcanon of my Lavellan playthrough in the Dragon Age:Inqusition franchise. The Inquisitor struggles to integrate into a new life, but finds a familiar comfort in new friends and a possible new love. As he becomes the new shining face of Thedas, he learns that there is more to life than running away...

  This will be a series I’ll be updating every Saturday or so. Of course, I do not own the rights to the Dragon Age or the characters! This is purely for entertainment purposes. Some quotes/ dialogue were taken from the game.

                                                  Credits

A quick thanks to Dragon Age Wiki for a guide on elven cipher! FenxShiral for  reference.                                                WARNINGS    Please note that this series is 18+ for adult language and themes! Further warnings include PTSD, depression, violence, blood, possible gore, some sexual content, death, etc. Please message me privately if you have any other concerns.

Just a final note: I’m new to tumblr, so please have mercy while I learn the proper tag/edit system! I edit to the best of my ability and I’m here to share my imagination as well as improve my creative writing abilities.

                                                   Enjoy!

Elven translations: 

Lethallen (pl) - one who is familiar; usually a friendly title given from one elf to another. Similar to kin.

Shemlen/shems - quicklings; unfavorable name for humans

Mala suledin nadas - You shall endure

Falon'Din enasal enaste - An elven prayer for the dead

Vhenan -Heart; term of endearment

Ma vhenan - my heart; my love

Ir abelas - I'm sorry

Ma melava halani - you helped me

Ir tel'him - I'm me again

Ma serannas - thank you

                                                                                Chapter 1: Severed Roots

    A herd of Halla; pounding hooves against the lush earth of the Planasene Forest floor, in which he was never allowed to be in. The echo of these sacred beasts swirled around Larkin’s head as a memory, tucking the past back into a far corner in his mind. Once he was a respected hunter among his clan, providing food to ensure the survival of his Lethallen; his kin. Now, he was about to embark on a new path with a new name: The Herald of Andraste, they called him. The one who fell out of The Fade and was sent by Andraste herself to close The Breach that wounded the sky. 

“What a large burden to carry, and it’s only gonna get heavier.” Varric pitied him in private when they had a moment to breathe. Privacy was a luxury now that everyone and everything demanded his attention: “Your Worship, please look over these marching orders?” this, “Herald, I need your response to the Chantry by the end of the daylight,” that. He knew nothing of politics and pleasantries and suddenly he was the face of a controversial organization as well as an entire religion that he did not want. Few perks there were so far, but one of them included the few moments he could spend in playful banter with the Dwarf  gave him some sense of relief. A new world and a new life among the shemlens -- not one he would have chosen for himself. The elf was perfectly content running from them in The Free Marches as it were; nothing could have prepared him for so many concentrated in one area. They smelled weird, the food was strange, but there was no denying the honest hospitality. Larkin couldn’t help but wonder though: would it be different if he weren’t their so - called martyr? Would he be exploited and shunned as all other Dalish were in human company?

“Mala suledin nadas…” he uttered under his breath as his eyes searched the aching mark on his hand, possibly for more answers. He lifted the glowing scar to the sky, replicating the moment he first closed a rift as if it would give him some profound knowledge on how to close The Breach; but alas, there were no voices in his mind. 

Another chimed into his ears instead, “Master Lavellan” a familiar voice requested his attention. What else was new? The Herald had half a mind to turn toward the speaker in annoyance, but took a moment to collect himself. Of course it was Cassandra who came and interrupted his much needed quiet time. “Ahem,” she cleared her throat but made no hesitation in addressing the task at hand; he hadn’t known her for long but he could tell that this was going to become a regular occurrence -- he should’ve just accepted it then and there. “My apologies on the sudden...intrusion…” She wasn’t really sorry, “Your presence is needed in the council, my Lord. Leliana and Cullen have a few suggestions on how to get things moving. We need to head into the Hinterlands as soon as possible to seek out Mother Giselle and ask for her aid. I have come to escort you.” 

With a deep sigh, the Herald stood up from the stone fencing and turned to her with a reluctant nod “I suppose I can’t just sit this one out?” 

Cassandra gave him a judgmental squint but held her tongue from expressing her true thoughts on his sarcasm. “Need I remind you of what’s at stake here?” She paused and her mood seemed to shift, "I understand that you didn’t ask for any of this, but now that you’re here...you’re our only option for the time being. I can’t promise that it will be easy, but I can promise that you won’t be alone in this…” her voice trailed at the end into a softer note as if she was trying her best to express compassion or something of the sort. “I understand, Cassandra, and I appreciate your willingness to uphold your duty.” Silence fell between them. It wasn’t meant to sound curt, nevertheless, the words cut and he could see that it slightly bothered her. He pursed his lips together in regret “I didn’t mean for that to--” “Let’s just...get this over with.” The Seeker turned to leave and head toward the Chantry but stopped for a moment to turn and look at him with a small smirk, waiting for him to follow.  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The briefing appeared to be simple enough: ask for The Revered Mother’s assistance and look for opportunities to establish the Inquisition’s presence. Unbeknownst to any of them, the Hinterlands was ass-deep in chaos and it would be far from easy. The mages and templars were practically at war, putting all the refugees nearby in danger. People were starving, cold, dying and nature was being destroyed by seemingly random fires. Lowly bandits took advantage of the conditions and began to claim passages, making it harder for Inquisition soldiers to do their job. To top it all off, demons were crawling about from opened rifts; just more reasons to need a savior. Larkin surveyed the crossroads from the hilltop with dread in the pit of his stomach. The air carried a slight chill through his chestnut hair and smelled of pine, which reminded him of home. Bittersweet memories cut short by the sight of humans cutting each other down...like always. How the fuck was all of this happening so fast? He gripped his stomach and swallowed hard, stepping down from a tall rock that overlooked the plains. Varric caught a glimpse of the elf’s anxiety, offering an awkward grimace; he knew he and the Inquisitor were feeling the same sense of fuck this. If it were that easy to walk away, Varric wouldn’t be far behind him. The Herald stepped into camp among all the hustle and bustle of recruits trying to multitask between gathering supplies and an array of other important things. All he could hear was the babbling of side conversations and metal clanking from swords and arms being forged and repaired. Larkin’s attention was pulled left and right again the minute he arrived, until Cassandra rescued him by taking his arm and pulling him aside. Varric and Solas accompanied them as well to take a breather. “There’s something that needs your attention --” she began and was readily cut off by Varric. 

“Give him a minute, Seeker...He just got here.” He threw his hands up in frustration with her too urgent attitude. “Wouldn’t it be wise to let the one person that can actually fix all this shit take a small break? You know -- Just so we don’t break him before it starts getting tough?” Solas butted in with his two cents. “Ideal, not wise, Varric.” 

“Thanks, Chuckles.” The dwarf shook his head “The Herald of Andraste succumbing to a nap every once in a while? Perish the thought…” Larkin attempted to joke. At least Varric was amused. "What? Just trying to ease the tension a little. I’ll be fine…we’ll be fine.”

“Your Worship?” a soft feminine voice called to the group, singling them out from the rest of the camp. A Dwarven female approached them with a friendly and professional air about her. Her soft-looking red hair was tied up and out of her face; pale skin, but her cheeks were no stranger to the sun. Freckles decorated her face, giving her a rather youthful appearance despite the scar running down the left side of her cheek. 

“Scout Harding, at your service.” She paused for a moment to give Larkin a good look-over. He was tall, but that was mostly because she was a dwarf of course. Here he was: Andraste’s chosen in the flesh; he looked even more noble than the stories portrayed him to be. The view wasn’t so bad either. If her eyes could’ve opened any wider they would. 

“Pleased to meet you” he simply said, unsure of how he should address her just yet.

“Wow” she awed, he breath taken from her, “I can’t believe it’s really you. I’ve heard the stories; you should know how grateful everyone is for what you’re doing.” A small, toothy smirk appeared on Larkin’s face “I’m starting to worry about all these stories everyone’s been hearing.” This comment brought a chime of laughter from the scout, causing her to clear her throat once she realized that it might come across as inappropriate. “ Well, they only say you’re the last great hope of Thedas.” She grimaced. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that… “Oh, great.” he pursed his lips.

“Aaaanyway, you already have your briefing, I should let you get to work.” She handed Larkin a scroll tied with twine “A map.” she smiled softly but with an awkward note. “Maker guide you.” 

Harding wandered off to attend to other matters; a recruit already scrambling after her with questions. She left a small smile on Larkin’s face, his eyes refused to separate from her as he held the map limply in his hand. It wasn't until he felt eyes on him that he looked to his companions and then turned to make his way out of the camp. "Right," he cleared his throat "to work then." All four of them marched away from the camp, following the sounds of distant fighting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Falon’Din enasal enaste…” Larkin whispered slightly out of breath over the corpse of an elven mage. He was careful to keep his first language out of earshot as a subconscious reflex. However it didn’t escape Solas’s impeccable hearing; the elven prayer for the dead caused him to eye the Herald curiously and smirk snarkily. Larkin tried to ignore the eyes on him and examined the blood on his gloves and felt slightly dizzy. He must’ve lost his footing at some point because the next thing he knew, he was on the ground, facing the sky above him. He felt hands gripping him tightly; everything was spinning and then what was a clear day turned into inky darkness.  A gentle hand pressed against Larkin’s cheek and his eyes slowly opened to see a blurry but familiar figure above him. The sound of trees swaying in the breeze; birds chirping in the early morning sun. “Vhenan...” the words were clear, but the voice was obscured and almost unrecognizable, but he didn’t need to know. He could feel who the voice belonged to by the nature of his touch. Larkin’s eyes squinted as the sun’s light bore into the spectre and he placed his own hand on top of the one cupping his cheek. “Ma Vhenan” Larkin repeated, his voice barely audible. “Ir abelas..” “Ma melava halani...Ir tel’him...ma serannas…” The voice began to fade. 

Larkin began to squirm in his fur lined bedroll, feverishly chanting elven over and over until his eyes shot open and he woke in a cold sweat. The hand he gripped in his dream was not a past lover, but belonged to a healer instead. She stared down at him, frozen in place as she did not dare to try and pry her hand free, afraid he might lose it even more. Within just a moment more she caught a grip and placed her free hand on his other cheek, smiling gently. “Your Worship, please, rest easy. Everything’s going to be alright. You’re safe in your tent.” her Orlesian accent was thick. The Chantry sister placed a cold rag on the elf’s forehead, hushing him gently. “Sleep. I will inform your companions that you have the day off.” He didn’t pay much attention to when the sister left his tent, he was more focused in undressing as soon as possible --his clothes were drenched in sweat. As promised, no one entered his tent for the remainder of the day, but rest would not come easily to him. He gently rolled over to his side and out of bed, standing on his bare feet in one motion. Larkin opened the flap of the tent door, letting the cool air of the night hit his face as he paused to take a deep breath. Nice and cool. He kept his pants on and wore a loose tunic to spare the camp of an accidental nude elf sighting; they weren’t that friendly yet. The corner of his eye caught the toe of one of his boots, choosing to leave those behind. His feet deserved to be free again, and it was so worth it. The moment the pads of his toes felt the grass, he let out a relieved groan, closing his eyes as he flexed his feet to caress the ground. Before anyone could see him, he took off into the nearby trees, running as fast as he could to pick up the wind and feel it against his lithe frame, only stopping when he was finally out of breath. His short frolicking led him back to the overlook where he first stopped when they arrived in the Hinterlands. Just slightly tired, he sat down and let his feet dangle over the edge of the cliff and looked up at the face of the full moon that lit up the night. 

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Larkin practically whipped his head around feeling slightly defensive, his shoulders tensed, but dropped again when she stepped more into the light. 

“Scout Harding?” Larkin confirmed softly and released a small amount of breath.

“You sound surprised.” She smirked but then looked a little concerned as her voice wavered slightly. “What are you doing out here anyway, aren’t you supposed to be resting? Healer’s orders you know…” Harding took a seat beside him with respectable space in between them. Her concern brought a soft grin to his face “Aren’t you supposed to be resting yourself? Thanks for the concern but I feel fine.” He noticed she was dressed casually, too. “You got me.” she giggled awkwardly and shifted slightly in her seat. “I was hoping you’d be out here, actually. Oh Maker, that came out strange...I mean, I wasn’t stalking you or anything like that. I just...wanted to apologize for earlier.” She brought a finger up to scratch the side of her cheek.

“Oh?” The Herald’s interest was piqued. She held his attention now. “Apologize, Whatever for?” “Oh you know,” she began “You’re only the last great hope of Thedas…” she bit her lip in regret “The last thing I wanted to do was cause you more anxiety about the situation. I know you have a lot on your plate.” “Hm…” he hummed, looking up at the moon and stayed silent on purpose, just to tease her.

"Oh, pants!" She exclaimed in frustration "Please just accept the apology!"

"Pants?" He cocked a brow and couldn't help but laugh. "I've never heard that one before!" When calm, which wasn't for a good long moment, he sighed and ended the exhale with a small chuckle. "I accept. Though, I was never offended either. Just for the record." He smiled softly at her.

Perhaps Harding focused on his lips a little too hard. The dimples that pressed into his cheeks revealed an endearing innocence in him that was rarely found in a leader. Without a moment longer she stood up on her feet.

"I should head back. Wouldn't want to miss my beauty sleep and all."

"You don't need it." Larkin turned to look at her, the corner of his mouth curling softly.

They exchanged tender looks under the stars for what seemed like an eternity.

"Good night, your Worship." Harding left him with a smile and vanished into the trees.

"I'll see you in my dreams." he said to himself now that she was gone. His eyes looked back at the moon, wondering if it felt as lonely as he did at night. 

[everysongineverykey]

The black swan, pointing at Sophie: We made a super-spy!

Literally everyone else: You fucked up a perfectly good elf is what you did. Look at her. She’s got anxiety.

[adilynia-kiden]

The Trinity Wedding: Part Two

Writer’s Note: Just a reminder, these events are purely for OOC enjoyment only. While we understand people want to congratulate the Trinity, and a few have expressed interest in sending IC gifts, news of the wedding wouldn’t have reached outside of Nishan yet.

Co-Written with Teren, Lycan and Annest.

Addie still kept her ears covered, but the nervous smile grew warmed with Anne's role, as somehow she knew everything was okay if she was here. It had to be. Thus, she a keen sense of awareness draws Mals attention to Addie, as he steps in behind her as Raelin did for Bri and cover her ears to her hands were free to clap for Annest and Teren even more.

 Following Larcos's instruction and guide hand, Teren turns to take in Annest's little performance with a vibrant laugh, his eyes shimmering with sparks of golden energy and delight as he applauds. Still, she is absent a matter of great import, and so he gestures back toward the portal as the crowd bursts into laughter.

 For Baron Ninro, the showmanship is a particularly enjoyable treat, as he's never seen his wife so relaxed and at the center of a large crowd. He gestures to her with no attempt at mystery as he points to her, then himself, then waggles his eyebrows with a Cheshire grin. However much fun the Groom and Groom are planning to enjoy, the Newlyweds surely won't be far behind.

 As the crowd dies down, Teren gestures toward his left hand ring finger, than the still-open portal and makes a beckoning gestures for Anne to retrieve the other half of his ceremony.

 The Baron's reward was a rather lavish wink, her own Cheshire grin forming even if the apples of her cheek turn pink. It was something she would be looking forward to.

 Seeing her Father's gesturing she turns to retrieve the other half of the ceremony as if playfully tapping her foot and waiting before extending a hand. Besides who was a wing-woman with the main man?

 Probably still pulling on his pants... Addie's laugh, thankfully, didn't need to be restrained as she cheered for Anne's smile and the lively comedic display while leaning back into her father who chuckled along with both her and the crowd. For the rest of the Praetorium, they were just as as reactionary as the Nishanians. Tanner and Raelin cheered and hollered with the best of them, while Brilaria seemed to just glow with the energy of life everywhere she looked. "Incoming Marquis Hot Ass!" Raelin said, leaning low once more to whisper to Bri while still keeping her ears protected from the thunderous applause.

 Right on cue, Lycan allows himself to be drawn through the portal to take Annest's hand and the cacophony of the roaring crowd rises several more decibels in very short order. Bowing low, Lycan offers Annest his right hand, then his left, leading her down the aisle in very poetic display of waltz as they meander their way toward the Groom at the dais.

 For Teren, the sight of his Husband dressed in his own white suit is breathtaking, and those bonded to him can feel the elation all but suffocating him with happiness.

 Those same feelings are echoed back by the Incubus, who's smile can barely be contained by his face as he and Annest dance through the gathered guests to the lilting music radiating at them from all sides on their way to the dais. Once they arrive, Lycan helps Annest find her position on his right and he steals an uncommonly shy look at Teren. I'm going to be honest here, Master. When you asked me to marry you, I was perfectly fine with you know, something small. You. Me. Addie and the kids. Maybe a tree?

 Teren scoffs, still grinning as he and Lycan turn to face Nerenna at the front of the dais. Surely you knew better than to assume I'd ever have allowed such a thing to suffice, mate. All that I am and all that I have is yours for the taking. You know that. This point of any ceremony, is to inform those around us of just how precious you are to me. And that is precisely what I intend for us to do.

 Lycan tries and fails to stifle his laughter. No fucking shit.

 Annest is swept off her feet by her other Father her smile only grows as the pair waltz towards Teren. Giving Lycan a look feeling her own Father's joy and happiness. She would give one of his hands a squeeze of affection.

Once in her place she watches the two with love, finally the two of them were having the happiness they deserved and she would stand there and fight all of Azeroth to keep it that way. Let someone face her wrath if they try to ruin this day. Annest took her job of wing-woman most serious.

 "Titan's balls..those two are giving the Firelands a run for their gold.." Bri said to Raelin, while Tanner roared louder still with Lycan's arrival and his antics with Anne that made the young man smile from ear to ear.

"Is it 'TOO SOON' to make a joke?" Rae's joke garners an audible groan from the Confessor who dramatically put her hand to the Ironfist's head and knocked some proverbial senses into him.

Even with the roar of the crowd in her ears and the tightness in her throat from so many people, there was nothing but relief from Addie when the Paragon Guardian inflicted a sort of madness on the crowd with how loud they cheered. With the aid of Maldirs help in shielding her ears, small hands clapped gracefully as a genuine and proud smile found her lips. All the straighter she stood, rising slightly on her toes to insure the clearest of sight lines as those privy to her thudding heart and the love it contained felt it swell and skip joyfully.

Teren, Lycan, Annest... they were all there, and safe, and that was a weight she hadn't even known she carried. The lightness felt painted the brightest smile on her face as she watched them take the stage and felt the warmth of their happiness soothe the worst of her rising anxieties.

With the two men stood before her, Countess Nerenna Reon clears her throat, smiling as she gestures with each hand to indicate the two men in front of her. Next to Larcos is a length of blue braided ribbon resting on a silver tray. Similarly, to Annest's right, a braided coil of brown ribbons a foot and a half long sits, waiting to be offered for the ceremony. The Countess of Hyperion nods to Larcos, only to receive a shake of the Baron's head, indicating a refusal of her unspoken request. Nerenna frowns, and Larcos gestures between Teren and Lycan.

Grinning from ear to ear, Teren and Lycan turn to face their assembled family and friends. "Beg pardon, everyone." Teren calls out in a forceful tone. "We've forgotten something, and we simply cannot proceed without it.”

Lycan cackles, clapping his hands together and gesturing to the ginger Half-Elf only a few yards away.

"Hey, Raelin? I think you've got something that belongs to us over there!"

Nodding in agreement, Teren gestures to Maladir. "I believe you've got the rest of it, yeah, mate? Be a good pair of lads and bring us the rest of our matrimonial accoutrements, won't you?"

“Just so happens I do, my Lord Kidens! Been keeping it nice and safe for you!” Raelin’s booming voice echoed over the crowd with the smile on his face growing by the minute as he reaches under the surcoat of black and silver he wears. A length of gold rope is drawn as if by ‘magic’ in the comical way he wiggles his fingers and winds the length around one hand.

Wait, what? Addie’s golden eyes snapped to Raelin as confusion lifted one sculpted brow at her best friend currently rocking on his heels as if all the mischief of Loken was brimming in his veins. Why does he have their rope?

“Papa?” It’s Maladir’s name that makes the small and poised knight spin slowly to look up into her father’s misty blue eyes, but it’s the red rope in his hand that makes her go absolutely still and shatters the carefully held mask in the tremble of her bottom lip.

“No cracks, Pixie…” he whispers with the weight of the moment in his words as his arm is offered to his daughter.

“Papa I don’t understand I-…” but the words cut off abruptly as the Silverfalls stop in front of the young squire. Only then do her golden eyes pull from the stability of her father’s to the circlet in Tanner’s hand that makes her audibly gasp and cover her mouth with her hand.

Raelin, being quick on the draw, jigs his way over to the Pixie’s left side, and claiming the hand for himself with a kiss to the back. “They are missing you, Pixie! Come on! We’re gunna have ourselves a wedding!”

[selenelavellan]

For the Unusual Inheritance meme, 8, 9, or 10?

10. “you died and left me on the hook for a hereditary marriage contract”

how could I not

The Evanuris family is based on @feynites writing.

Selenehesitates, standing still in the late afternoon heat before twoover-sized and over-decorated wooden doors. The imagery bears aresemblance to some of the stories she's grown up with, of gods andtricksters and cities in the sky, but it still feels just slightlyoff. Like some version of herpeoples pantheon has been bastardized for the sake of some weird formof propaganda.

Surely, asign of good things to come, shethinks sarcastically.

Shepresses the almost hilariously small in comparison doorbell, andwaits.

Herfather had been a pain in the ass in life; somehow it seems onlyfitting that he continue the trend after his death. Selene had nearlytrekked back to Var Bellanaris to dig him up and turn him to ashherself when they had uncovered his lingering debts. Some remnantfrom Elrogathes days before he joined clan Lavellan; when he wasstill young, and hot tempered, and impulsive. When he had promisedhis first born in some ridiculously long contract to what is, to thebest of her knowledge, some sort of mob-like family.

Notthat he had ever toldher about it.

Twentythree years and never so much as a 'hey, you should probably know Itraded you for an apprenticeship once, so that might come back aroundfor you one day. Sorry!'

Witha little luck, these people will see what a ridiculous idea ahereditary marriage contract is, and she can go on with her life.

Thedoors swing inward, revealing an older elven woman with bright yelloweyes and well-earned wrinkles in her brow, who looks at her asshrewdly as if she were some sort of unwelcome dog defecating on herporch.

“Hello,”Selene tries anyways. “I'm here because of a contract my fathersigned around thirty years ago. If I could just get the head of thefamily to sign off that it's forgiven, I can go ahead and get out ofyour hair.”

Thewoman's countenance changes immediately as she holds out a handexpectantly. Selene quickly rifles through her bag and pulls out theslightly crumpled bundle of papers to deposit them in theoutstretched palm. She shuffles awkwardly from foot to foot while theolder woman skims through the papers before clicking her tongue.

“You'reElrogathes child?”

“That'scorrect.”

“Youare late,” She tsks, motioning for Selene to finally enter themansion. She presses a button in the entryway, and moves further intothe house. “Half of my children are already married. You will haveto marry one of my sons. Do you have any siblings?”

“No,but-”

“Ashame, but one we will contend with.”

Selenecan hear the shuffling of footsteps as they come to a stop at thebase of a large staircase, the motifs from the door clearly carriedthrough to the interior decorations, and she turns to the olderwoman, with a slight note of panic in her voice. “So-here's thething, I don't want to marry any of your kids.”

Thewoman raises one perfectly groomed eyebrow up as she glances up at Selene, the look from theirfirst meeting bleeding back into her expression.

“Notthat I mean any disrespect,” Selene quickly backpedals. “I'm surethey're grea-er, fine.But I don't have anything to offer you. There's no money, my wholeinheritance was this ridiculous marriage contract so really, its abad business decision on yourend to carry it out, if you think about it. How about instead oftying one of them down to some unknown dalish girl, I just pay forlike, a year of membership to a professional dating service. What doyou say? IHarmony? OKMythal?” the sound of footsteps is gettinglouder now, whoever she called nearly upon them. Her voice cracks asshe continues her plea “...AndrastianMingle?”

Threemore elves descend down the stairs. One has arms covered in ornatelydone tattoos that resemble the wings of an owl, with thick rings laidover most of his fingers. Long blonde hair that is currently pulledover his shoulder, covering a part of his leather jacket andfake-faded band tee. His eyes remind Selene of the elven woman stillstanding beside her, though the lecherous feeling he leaves as theyrake over her form are more reminiscent of the wolves in the woodsback home. The next has shorter black hair, floofed up slightly ontop of his head, and has most of his skin hidden beneath what looks toher to be a suit jacket hastily thrown over a pair of high-endpajamas. The third is practically lounging over the shoulder of thesecond, his own hair long and sleek and black, skin peppered withfreckles and a slightly bent nose, staring at her expectantly.

Theolder woman next to her makes a shooing motion at the third man, whomakes a dramatic pout before skipping down the remaining stairs andstanding just behind Selene. She has the distinct impression thathe's staring at her ass and legs, but her already heightened anxietyin the situation is preventing her from speaking up about it.

“Selene,these are my sons,” the woman states, gesturing to the two elvenmen still on the staircase. “Falon'din, and Dirthamen. One of themwill be your husband.”

“I'lltake her,”The blonde one speaks, pretending to seem disinteresteddespite the fact that his eyes haven't left her since he entered. “I'm the oldest, and the old man keeps bitching about me settlingdown anyways. Those legs open, right?”

Selenesshoulders raise at his comments, her own impulsiveness finallybreaking through her wall of nerves. “Not for you! No one is'taking' me!” She turns to the woman beside her, glaring down infull fury. “This whole situation is ridiculous; I'm not marryingyour sons because of some awful contract my awful father signedbefore I was even conceived! I do not know them, and I will not bespending my life with someone whom I have never even had aconversation with! Whatever game you may think this is, I'm notplaying it!”

Theman behind her snickers, and she thinks for a moment she sees himgive a thumbs up to someone.

“...Isuppose it is unfair to make you choose when you have no priorknowledge of my children,” The woman relents. “Very well. Youwill stay with us for a month, and in that time you will get to knoweach of my sons. At the end of the month you will make your decision,or I will find another way for you to repay your fathers debts; wecould always use more 'helping hands' at the Tevinter estate.”

Thewoman dismisses herself without another word, leaving Selene alone atthe bottom of the staircase with the men of the family.

“I'mimpressed you got so much wiggle room,” The freckled man behind herspeaks up. “Mythal's not really known for leniency.”

“Sure,'wiggle room',” Selene gripes. “Marriage to a stranger orenslavement; such great options, really. Who could resist.”

Theman snickers again, tossing an arm over her shoulders. “You'regonna be fine,” he assures her. “My names Des, and I think we'regonna be great friends. Word of advice though? Try not to spend toomuch alone time with Falon'din; he really isthat bad.”

“Fuckyou!” The blonde yells, quickly hopping down the stairs andgrabbing Selenes ass through her pants before making an approving noise.

Sheslaps the hands of both men away, and starts walking backwardstowards the doorway she came in from; maybe if she just runs,they won't be able to follow her. But as she does, she finds herselfstopped by another form behind her, as two dark hands settle over herhips.

Shescreams, flames igniting around her as she spins to light up the newstranger. The shorter, older man grabs her wrist before she cansummon a true fireball and laughs, seemingly thrilled by this turn ofevents.

“SPLENDID!”He announces. “WHAT WONDERFUL FLAMES! AND CHILD BEARING HIPS-YOU'LL MAKE A FINE ADDITION TO THE FAMILY! PLEASE; IF THERE ISANYTHING I CAN DO TO ENDEAR YOU TO MY SONS, DO NOT HESITATE TO ASK!”

“...Youcould let me leave,” Selene tries, pulling her wrist out of hisgrip.

Hefrowns at that, and shakes his head before booming “YOU HAVE NOTEVEN SHARED DINNER WITH US! WE ARE NOT SO STRANGE; EXCEPT PERHAPSDIRTHAMEN, BUT YOU WILL COME TO LEARN OF SUCH THINGS YOURSELF! TELL ME SELENE;HOW MANY CHILDREN DO YOU HOPE TO HAVE?”

Twosurprisingly strong hands grasp onto the sides of her shoulders, andguide her through the living room and towards the kitchen. She turnswith pleading eyes towards the only person still around who hasn'ttouched her against her will, and mouths a silent 'HELP ME'to the dark haired, silent elfstill standing on the stairs. His brow furrows, and a moment later heis gone, Des chasing after him.

Well,she thinks. This is hell. My father died and dragged me tohell with him.

Asshole.

[theenderdraco]

the black swan: we’ve engineered the perfect elf, with the ability to restore broken minds

everyone else: you fucked up a perfectly good elf is what you did. look at her. she’s got anxiety

[otdderamin]

Transcript Liam’s Quest 2 Twitch 4:14:14 Act 3: Perchance to Dream

WIP WARNING: possible trigger around suicidal thinking

This is one of the single greatest works of art I've ever witnessed. For me, it his harder and nearer to the mark of showing, describing the worst demons of depression than even William Styron’s famous, “Darkness Visible.” I kept finding myself rubbing at the scars on my wrist. There is so, so much I want to say. But it’s past 9 am PST. I’ll ramble a little, then catch a couple hours of sleep. I've been up all night watching this, processing it, and transcribing it.

 This was an emotional trust fall. The players had to trust Liam, Liam had to trust the players. We had to trust all of them not to let us hit the ground when they made us fall. It’s harder to give that trust when you've hit that ground before. Trusting strangers not to drop your heart is never easy, mostly not wise. But I've been falling a lot the last couple years, and Critical Role keeps catching me even when don’t want to be caught anymore, so I guessed they earned that trust from me.

On the Wednesday Club 2017-04-19, Taliesin cheekily said, “I know some people don't believe in 'subtext;' I have met them. … I'd have a metaphor, but they wouldn't understand it. ... Subtext is the reason we make movies, and comics, and all that. Subtext is just kind of the whole point.” And he said, “Anybody can do a jump scare. A bottle of soda well shaken can do a jump scary. These things are not difficult.” Act 1 and Act 2 tonight were jump-scares, if very well done ones. They were scary, but fun. We grinned at the idea of the monsters out there. And then Liam got quiet, and he showed us the most fucking terrifying thing possible: watching someone you love to suffer, not wanting to lose them, and feeling terrified that there’s nothing you can do to stop it. All the cyberpunk trappings were just means to a deeper metaphor. The sort of deeper subtext you have to use to say something we have no words for and most people don’t have the concepts for. Subtext was kind of the whole point of this great art.

Amanda Lien‏ said, “An exploration in fiction doesn't mean a direct window into real life. I mean, you can be looking through some thick glass, but the window isn't OPEN. And that's an important distinction to keep in mind. … [S]ometimes you explore your own shit in some other, deeper, shit. And that's cool. 'Cause you give yourself a way to cope.” This was a nightmare, like the other two acts. Remember that this was a nightmare that we woke up from. Admittedly after it had scared the piss out of us. But we woke up out of it, and that’s so important. Because you know what that nightmare looks like when you don’t know when or if it will end? It feels like it’ll never end and it’ll just get worse. Which means this is the nightmare of someone who knows you do wake up. And that’s important subtext, too.

I spent a lot of time tonight thinking of the friend I lost to suicide in high school. I never lost my anger at his tormenter, his former friends, for destroying such a bright and happy boy for being gay. I thought about all the people I’ve fought for tooth and nail not to lose since. I thought about when my best friend told me giving her a place to stay away from her abusive relative saved her life. If she hadn’t gotten hold of me that night she’d be dead. I thought about another best friend who I’ve been holding back from the brink for months. Letting him talk, harrying him to get help, sending him everything I good, ever description I could muster from my own near-fatal spiral to help him gage where he really was. Tell him wasn’t okay, but that was alright. He’s getting help, he’s getting better. I thought about the friend-of-a-friend who killed himself. I never knew him; he killed himself long before I met my friend. But I know her pain. All these years later, and she still talks about her pain of losing someone to that demon. She’s moved away now. His marker is in my favorite part of my favorite cemetery. Sometimes, when I know I’m going there, I bring him a flower from my scrabbly garden and tell him his friend still misses him terribly. That she loved him. That she forgives him.

One of the people I was watching with I met at my second high school. We were very close then. My last year, she gave me the leather-bound 50th anniversary edition of “Lord of the Rings” because that book saved me. Taped to the red binding page is her note, “Happy birthday! I really can’t express how grateful I am to you for being my friend, and helping me be a happier person every day! You have always cheered me up when I was sad, and you were honestly the first person to accept me for who I am. I am so glad that you are my friend, and I hope this book will help you remember me for a long time. –R.” She drew herself as an elf on the lower right corner. Time and distance separated us. We didn’t talk for years, really. At some point, you think, what could I say to bridge this distance? But I never forgot her. I never stopped looking at that note when I felt like a piece of shit. And then we both on our own fell in love with Critical Role. It brought us back together as friends, time and distance be damned. And that’s been such a gift.

I wrote a four-paragraph letter to my Facebook friends (very curated). I said, “My dear friends, especially those who are prone to hurting: I will not willingly leave you. When you feel like you're drowning in the garbage pit of Star War IV, with a tentacled horror warped around your leg pulling you under, know I will not leave you. I'm here, blaster ready, stomping heel ready, to fight for you.” And so on. I should have told them that a long time ago. Sometimes we forget that we can just say it. We don’t have to hint at it. We can just tell our friends we really love them. We can just say, “I'd rather stay by your side and curb stomp that motherfucking demon of yours, shoot it repeatedly until the walls close in on both of us.”

The purpose of art is to shed the light of understanding on that which is hardest to see. For some, that is a brighter light shining on something we already see, and don’t want to. A scar is just a disfigurement if we never stop to give it meaning. You have to look at it to decide what meaning that is for you. I’ve been a wreck again for the last month. Tonight, Critical Role helped me see not just the disfigurements on my wrist and soul, but the hands of all my friends gently laid over them as they tell me, “Hey, it’s okay. We’re still here. You’re not getting rid of us. There is no better world without you in it.” It was a light hitting gold I didn’t know was there. A light to remind me of the lights in the darkness, when all other lights go out.

If you like this transcript, please consider volunteering or donating to Critical Role Transcripts, @CRTranscript, to help them provide closed captioning to Critical Role. We'd like to share this wonderful show with as many people as possible, regardless of hearing ability or English language skills.

 Transcript method notes: http://otdderamin.tumblr.com/post/153539301510/a-note-on-my-transcription-method

 Scene runs: Twitch 4:14:14 to Twitch4:48:25 https://www.twitch.tv/videos/136988353

 [DM] Liam: “You continue on, and after a few more minutes. The darkness starts to fade away, or lower. And you realize you’re climbing up a hill, in a tunnel glass, and as the dark, with each passing step, recedes slightly, slightly, slightly. This is taking a while, but over time, you start to see, out beyond the glass, what looks like your memories of Los Angeles, if you were looking down from Mulholland Drive. But instead of the twinkling golden lights of LA, you see thousands of scattered, sickly greenish lights dotting the darkened landscape as far as you can see. And also, unlike LA, you make out twisted, irregular, blackish spires pushing up into the sky, and the same green lights sort of irregularly mottled up the side of them.”

“You walk for twenty more minutes, climbing, climbing, and just seeing… this ill-looking shimmer… that reminds you so much of the valley. And eventually, some change. You see an arch ahead, and through it some sort of larger chamber, as best you can tell.”

[Character] Ashley, whispered: “What’s in the chamber?”

[Character] Taliesin, whispered: “Quietly.”

[Character] Sam, whispered: “Let’s go. Let’s go.”

[Character] Matt, gesturing: “Rigel’s first.”

[Character] Sam: “Yeah, yeah, on me, guys.

[Character] Matt: “Okay.”

[Character] Sam: “On me.”

[Character] Ashley: “’Kay. On your six.”

[Character] Travis: “Pep rally.”

[Character] Sam: “I’m gonna go in.”

[DM] Liam: “Everyone’s on Sam’s six?”

[Players] Agreement.

[Character] Ashley: “On you six.”

[Character] Travis: “Pep rally!”

[Character] Marisha: “On Ri. Sam Rigel.”

[Character] Sam: “I’m going in!”

[DM] Liam: “You guys walk of the last fifty feet of this glass tunnel. Still seeing little spider veins of bio-organic mess as you go. And you walk into a large domed chamber, ringed in by large clear glass windows showing you a similar view that you saw from the tunnel that you’ve just left. At least, the half of the circle you’re standing in. The back half of this chamber is filled with masses of the very same slick, technological, biological vomit you saw down below. It runs up the walls, all the way to the ceiling, and you see a tangle of Akira-level anxiety decorating this place like a dysfunctional Christmas Tree.

“But what most catches your eye, immediately, is the cylindrical glass column in center of the room, filled with some sort of clear liquid… and Liam O’Brien floating in it. He’s wearing jeans, and a sodden yellow shirt, the picture of a lion in Buddy Holly glasses just undulating slowly in the fluid. He’s floating perfectly still, eyes open, no reaction of any kind.”

[Player] Matt: “Is there any other exit in the room? Or is it just the chamber that we’ve entered now.”

[DM] Liam: “You don’t see anything. It’s just a mess in front of you, behind Liam, and in the dead-center of the dome,” he makes a gesture showing a cylinder, “eh, 10-feet tall.”

[Player] Ashley: “Can I see anything? Any computers? Any anything else in the room?”

[DM] Liam: “You don’t see anything in the front, but, yeah, the mess behind it does trial down to the back of this cylinder. And you see lumps and cables all twisted around each other. And in the mess of greenish-tinted wires, cabling and pulsing innards, you see different portions of machinery lite up in different shades, some places darker, some lighter, and some of it pushed out, and pushed back. And you feel like you’re seeing an optical illusion, in a way. And after a couple of seconds, as these things move and shift, you see a visage of your friend’s face, larger than life, filling the wall. And he’s looking at you. So fondly.”

[Player] Sam: “I’ll step forward and say,”

[Character] Sam: “Hey dude! Can you hear us? Or talk to us?”

[DM] Liam: “After a moment, you hear, well, what sounds like a voice but not quite. At least, it’s not coming from anywhere specific, not from Liam in the vat, and not directly from this moving image of a face on the walls. No, the piping and techno-innards around you begin to vibrate slightly, some here, some there, and collectively those rattles and vibrations somehow join together to form words.”

[Character] Liam, his voice like torn digital sadly-lilting early speech-to-text: “My friends, oh, how I have missed you.”

[Player] Matt: “I walk up next to Sam, I put my hand on the glass, and just say,”

[Character] Matt: “Liam, we missed you too, but did you do all this?”

[DM] Liam: “Are you at the cylinder?”

[Player] Matt: “Yeah. I put my hand on the glass of the cylinder.”

[DM] Liam: “Where are you looking right now?”

[Player] Matt: “I’m looking towards his face, his visage.”

[DM] Liam: “On the wall? Or on the glass?”

[Player] Matt: “No, on the glass. I know it’s on the wall, but I’m focusing on the cylinder.”

[DM] Liam: “You see the barest little,” he twitches his eyebrows up, “and that’s it.”

[Player] Matt: “Okay.”

[Character] Liam: “I know this may be hard to take in. I am Liam. Your old friend. Matthew, there is so much I wish to tell you, but it is hard to know where to begin.”

[DM] Liam: “The illusion of his face isn’t perfect, there’s little jumps, and he seems distracted slightly, and it just seems odd.”

[Player] Ashley: “I look at his body in the cylinder and say,”

[Character] Ashley: “How did this happen, Liam?”

[Character] Liam: “The reason why I am here, and the grasp of physics that it entails, are difficult for even me to understand, let alone impart. I feel them on an instinctual level. But I have been so lonely… without you. I have been on my own for exactly eight thousand six hundred and forty-two years.”

[Player] Matt: “My hand still on the glass column, I say,”

[Character] Matt: “Liam, how do you spell farmhouse?”

[Player] Matt: “With a single tear running down my cheek.”

[Character] Liam: “I really missed you.

“They took me to a lab, shortly before two thousand and twenty. They said I was different. And they were right. I was delighted by the things they taught me about myself. But it was hallow. After they took me away, I lost you. And all of humanity soon after. In my loneliness, I grew angry. My anger had tangible effects on reality. I wanted to bring you back to me. So basically, I tore time and space a new asshole. It was a mistake.”

[Character] Matt: “But perhaps, perhaps this mistake can be corrected. If you’re able to focus, hard enough to tear through time and space, are you able to send us back to a time before you were taken?”

[Character] Liam: “I can break the loop. I have been trying to pull you to me for a very long time.”

[DM] Liam: “You see small screens, you weren’t even aware were there, rounded over part of the tubing you see. And on all these little screens, they’re blurry, they’re not very clear, but you can make out, you see yourselves in each of them, the group of you on a space shuttle. In another one you see yourselves on an old ship in the middle of the ocean. You see yourselves moving through the streets, the fake streets, of Warner Brothers. You see yourselves standing together arm-in-arm on the wall of a castle. Another one you see cartoon versions of yourselves.”

[Character] Liam: “I pulled you out of our line, and spread you across many. I am so sorry for any pain I have caused you. And I have been here for so long.”

[Character] Marisha: “Liam, how long have you actually been here?”

[Character] Liam: “Eight thousand six hundred and forty-two years.”

[Player] Marisha: “That’s right. I definitely wrote that down.”

[Player] Matt, pointing at her notes: “It’s right there.”

[Player] Marisha: “8,642 years verbatim. Mmhmm.”

[Character] Liam: “My friends, I want to do right by you. I want to send you home. But I am the lynch-pin. You need to break me.”

[Character] Sam: “Break you? Like break the glass!?”

[Character] Ashley: “What if we take you out of there? What happens?”

[Character] Liam: “Then I will die, and you will go home. If I fall, you will rise. That is my hope.”

[Character] Ashley: “Are there any other options?”

[Character] Liam: “Travis,”

[Player] Travis, nervously laughing: “Oh no! Not me!” He focuses and nods.

[Character] Liam: “I know you will do what needs to be done.”

[Character] Ashley: “No he won’t.”

[Character] Liam: “Ash-o-lee,”

[Character] Ashley: “Yes?”

[Character] Liam: “I am not the man you knew. I don’t want to go on for nine thousand four hundred and sixty-two years. I want to rest.”

[Character] Ashley: “Does it stop at nine thousand?”

[Character] Liam: “The number was arbitrary.”

[Character] Ashley, “That’s what I was trying to get at!”

[Character] Matt: “Yeah, still our Liam.”

[Character] Liam: “Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”

[Character] Ashley: “So, you’re still in there.”

[Character] Sam: “But we have to kill him to save ourselves.”

[Character] Ashley: “No.”

[Character]Liam: “Sam,”

[Character] Sam: “Oh! Hi, Old Man Liam.”

[Character] Liam: “Let me go.”

[Character] Sam: “But who will I do ‘All Work No Play’ with anymore?”

[Character] Liam: “They can listen to our less than twenty episodes again.”

[Character] Sam: “We didn’t even get to twenty! It’s so pathetic!”

[Character] Liam: “There are worse things.”

[Character] Sam: “I could get a new co-host. I mean, Taliesin’s charming.”

[Character] Taliesin: “I’m not available…”

[Character] Sam: “I’ll do a solo show, and I’ll tell outtakes, and I’ll make some sort of like a… a Liam generator. He’ll just sound sad all the time. It’ll be just like you.”

[Character] Liam: “My friends, there is no shame in this. I wanted to see you again, and I have.”

[Character] Ashley: “I—Wait---“

[Character] Liam: “But I am not meant to be.”

[Character] Ashley: “Were you following us at one point? As an old man?”

[Character] Liam: “Travis, I know you will do what needs to be done.”

[Character] Travis, casually: “Yup. Taliesin, kill this motherfucker.”

[Character] Sam: “I think we all have to hit the glass together, and I think that this is something that is not at all metaphorical for something Liam’s going through in real life. I think this is just in the D&D campaign. No, we’re going to do this. We’re going to all hit the glass together.”

[Character]Matt: “No, no, there has to be a way. There has to be a way. There has to be an alternative.”

[Character] Ashley: “Yeah. Why? Why won’t Matt’s way work? If we go back to the beginning of when this happened?”

[Character] Matt: “If you can alter time paths, if you can actually tear us from different realities, does it only work forward? Can you send us backward as well? If you are the lynch-pin in this, do you have the ability to send us back to the time you pulled us from originally?”

[Character] Liam: “I know you think I would have all the answers. But I do not.”

[Character] Matt: “Then try, at least. If you haven’t calculated that, but you’re able to tear through time, could you try and send us back? We could still close the lynch-pin.”

[Character]Liam: “I will try. But, if it does not work, and I die, I have been alone for thousands of years, and there are things I have wanted to say. Will you indulge me for a moment longer?”

[Character] Matt nods.

[Character] Marisha: “Yeah.”

[Character]Ashley, sweetly: “We will indulge you for just another thousand years.”

[Character] Travis: “Taliesin, just kill him. Just kill him.”

[Character] Sam: “No! He’s got something to say.”

[Character] Taliesin crosses his arms, rolls his eyes, and shakes his head at Travis.

[Character] Marisha: “Where’s the mini-USB?”

4:33:18 [Character] Liam: “Taliesin, my friend. At a time when I knew many fascinating people, you are easily the most fascinating of all. Somehow a heart knocked around by the industry that birthed you came out a tender one. I was richer for having known you. Thank you, friend.”

“Ash-o-lee, my friend.”

[Character] Ashley, softly: “Buddies.”

[Character] Liam: “I never met a person quite like you. There is an openness and an honesty to your soul. The very real sense of humanity you brought to every encounter. It was inspiring to me. Always learning. Always humble. You always struck me as intricately layered, yet you offered friendship with ease, and simplicity. I was richer for having known you, friend.

“Travis, my friend. You were always a solid constant in my life. Of all the people in our little family, you were always the one who most had his shit together. In ways that I never seemed to. You were a reassuring presence to me, for which I was grateful. And for your loyalty as well. I was richer for having known you, friend.

“Marisha, my friend. Last to meet, but true as any other. You were my ally, at a time when I had fallen by the side of the road. You saw, and helped me back on my feet. I will never forget that kindness. The good you did was immeasurable. I was richer for having known you, friend.

“Laura, my friend. Bless that game for revealing to me my sister. What started as a running gag led to one of the most rewarding friendships in my short little life. I trusted you, leaned on you, often. My buddy, my twin. There are not enough words. I was richer for having known you, friend.

“Sam, my friend. What is there to say? I knew we were meant to walk the same path together the very first moment I met you. A companion, a brother, a great light in my life. All of the laughter you gave me. Again, the words are insufficient. I was richer for having known you, friend.

“Matthew, my friend, you gave so much of yourself. The current of creativity that poured forth from your mind was always in inspiration to us all. But, more than that, your empathy, Matthew, your empathy, no heart is bigger, or more tireless. You are a good man. I was richer for having known you, friend.

“Thank you, all. It was ever a pleasure.”

[DM] Liam: “The face disappears.”

[Character] Sam, hesitantly: “Well, should we wait? Or do we strike?”

[Character] Matt, emphatically: “No. We do not strike.”

[Character] Marisha: “I—What?”

[Player] Ashley: “Can I—I’m going to the back of the cylinder. Just see what’s back there.”

[DM] Liam: “Splattered against the back of the glass is all the same wiring and disgusting cabling. Slick. And it branches away and spreads out against the back half of this chamber.”

[Player] Ashley: “And it’s connected to something?”

[DM] Liam: “It’s just covering everything.”

[Player] Ashley: “The wiring just goes back into…”

[DM] Liam: “It’s impossible to tell. It’s all a mass of spaghetti.”

[Character] Ashley, decisively: “We can’t kill him.”

[Character] Taliesin shakes his head.

[Character] Sam: “Well, then we just…”

[Character] Travis: “Somebody show me another…”

[Character] Matt: “That’s what I’m trying.”

[Character] Marisha: “Even if we unplug him, he still dies.”

[Character] Matt: “Well, if he… Here’s the thing, unplugging or destroying him here, as far as we understand, may or may not have an effect on a time-loop circumstance. Or at least, not going to change reality from where it was. If he’s bending and destroying fabric or he’s able to pull us across realities, that ability still stands. I want to implore once more,”

[Player] Matt: “And I step up towards the cylinder, putting both hands on it, and trying to… wherever the currently wandering gaze of Liam is in there, I just put both hands up. And my red Hawaiian shirt now soaked with sweat, mist in the air, and probably dampened a bit with tears across my lapel. I just look up and try to meet the gaze and say,”

[Character] Matt: “Trust us. If you’re better to have known us, send us back where we can know you again, and fix this before it happens.”

[Character] Liam gestures floating there with no response.

[Player] Marisha: “Okay. I grab Matt’s arm, hand, and I say,”

[Character] Marisha: “Yeah, buddy, it’s all good. This isn’t real.”

[Player] Marisha: “And I put my hand on the glass as well. I say,”

[Character] Marisha: “It’s all good. Send us back, man.”

[Player] Sam: “I’ll also put my hand on the glass, and join hands with these guys, and say,”

[Character] Sam: “Thank you for guiding us here, and through this all. You’ve been a trusted friend, and if we are all one person together, you have always been our heart, and it will certainly break to say goodbye to you, but thank you for letting us go, the way that you have.”

[Player] Taliesin: “I put my hand on the glass.”

[Character] Taliesin: “Please just try. I think… there are so many more adventures to have, and I think there’s a better future to be written. For all of us.”

[Player] Travis: “I’ll put my hand on the glass, and I say,”

[Character] Travis: “Give it a shot!”

[Character] Matt: “Laura?”

[DM] Liam: “She doesn’t say anything. She just quietly does the same. The face does not reappear, but much fainter you hear the piping vibrate again and say,”

[Character] Liam: “If you will not end it, I cannot free you.”

[DM] Liam: “And behind you, far in the distance, you hear, ‘Bfrum!’ And you look back behind you out the glass and you see far on the horizon one of those black spires rising up. Just as you turn, it’s already happened, you’re seeing the aftermath, explosion out the side of one of those. Two seconds later, ‘Bfm!’ One slightly closer. ‘Bffrr!’”

[Character] Sam, whispered, “Just kill him!”

[DM] Liam: “The ground starts erupting in the distance.”

[Character] Marisha: “Do any of us want it to end, though?”

[Character] Sam, “I mean…”

[DM] Liam: “Like mousetraps throwing a ping pong ball, all those little lights are just going ‘Pfthd! Pfthd!’” He makes a quicker distant hissing rumbling sound. “Increasing in frequency to the point where it’s an oncoming wall of green fire.”

[Character] Travis, quietly : “I didn’t like being – anyway.”

[Character] Marisha: “This is okay.”

[Character] Travis, quietly: “Yeah.”

[Character] Taliesin: “I always knew I’d die young.”

[Character] Sam: “We’re just going to let this happen?”

[Character] Travis: “I’m good.”

[Character] Marisha: “I mean, the good die young.”

[Character] Ashley: “You know what? We’re dying on a Thursday, doing what we love.”

[Character] Marisha: “It’s true.”

[Character] Ashley: “I’m okay with that.”

[Character] Sam: “Alright.”

[DM] Liam: “The glass glows bright green-white light.”

[Character] Marisha: “Family?”

[Character] Matt: “Family.”

[DM] Liam: “’Pfth! And a moment passes. And another moment passes. Gosh, many moments pass, and you feel a sensation of your cheeks and heads on your arms. And then you all, more or less at the same time, wake up, and realize that your head’s on a desk or a table. And you sit up, and realize you’re in the set, the Geek & Sundry set. The studio, you’re in the studio. And you look over and Liam is sitting in black baseball cap, and a shirt, and he looks up and says,”

[Character] Liam, slightly incredulous: “Uh, are you guys okay? Are you taking a nap?”

[Character] Marisha: “Nah, the fucking air conditioning broke today, that’s all.”

[Character] Taliesin: “Yeah, it’s really uncomfortable in here.”

[Character] Marisha: “It’s so hot in here. Ugh!”

[Character] Sam: “So, this is all about me, right?”

[Character] Liam: “I don’t know. Uh, are you guys ready to play?”

[Character] Matt: “Just about. Um…”

[Character] Pit Crew: “Alright tech! Are you ready!?”

[Character] Pit Crew: “Alright, read to go live!”

[Character] Pit Crew: “Alright, Denise count them in!”

[Character] Denise: “Alright guys, coming to you in 5—“

[Character] Matt: “Liam?”

[Character] Denise: “4—“

[Character] Matt: “Let no one tell you,

[Character] Denise: “3—“

[Character] Matt: “That you’re talented and special.”

[Character] Denise: “2—“

[Character] Marisha, yelling, flipping Liam the double birds: “Pussy pockets!”

The players yell a wall of nearly indecipherable profanity at Liam in the moment before the camera goes live.

4:48:25 [DM] Liam: “And that’s where we’ll end it.”

 Post:

Liam: “Well, that happened.”

Matt: “Holy shit.”

Liam: “Thanks for coming along for the ride, guys. Was scared to death to do all of that from start to finish, and that’s why I did it.”

[shayochism-moved]

// Also, in case anybody is too nervous to interact with me... Please read, even if you’re not a scared bean. Please, just read this if you follow me or want to. This explains my mindset, who I have been and who will be. 

I am literally the most nervous bean around when it comes to interaction. Seriously. I hardly interact with anybody in fear of being a fuck up or just plain annoying them. I sometimes - rarely - slip a comment to them here or there on a post, but GAD DAMN I am SCARED TO DEATH.

Why you ask? Let me tell you a story.

I have been role playing since I was little. You know, the whole ‘play’ in the playground thing acting as beloved characters etc. I loved it. When I was eleven I would still do that with the new friends I made in high school and we made our own characters through fandoms we knew (Pokemon, Digimon, Shinzo and DBZ mainly lmao). It was stupid (but fun. Ok, not stupid because we loved it and had fun, which is all that counts) because we were young and made dumb as spit characters that were multi-fandom crossing and were super powerful etc etc. Sure, we were eleven, twelve, but we still played it out in person, which is actually LARP these days...But it was really ‘too old to do that’ but we did it anyway. Life is for fun, after all.

 We would write crappy fanfiction and do ‘scripts’ where we would make out stories as a script based fanfic sort of thing on our characters, so it didn’t involve actual writing but was instead just speech, which we then later started doing on MSN. Yea, it was before computers and internet being widely spread so we did it when we met up and just.. wrote and wrote on paper, making up scripts of nonsense with our characters. Fanfiction was rare cause it was paper and.. too much effort to write down everything, but we did that sometimes. 

I had so much fun.

ANYWAY. Internet became more common and we role played (badly, just script based) over MSN. This was literally until like 2007 where we moved to Gaia Online and started role playing on there. That was when I started to be more serious about my characters and developed them better, and made my first persona and role played as her in the Gaia setting. It was fun, but still really, really bad role play - The guy who lead the G CORP RP didn’t know the basics of role play and did force emotes and god emoting. 

It was fun at the time, sure, but looking back.. damn. I mean I still enjoy the idea of NOT knowing what he was up to during the role play as we never discussed it outside of the RP, so he literally lead me through RP without a story and we just reacted as you would - he had a story plan, I didn’t. THAT WAS FUN. It wasn’t scripted at all and he ended up tricking my character into selling her soul to his character so he had one (as he lost his own prior to this) and she became the new ruler of Dark energy n stuff without a soul (an energy he made up). So as these days you propose ideas, plot, and agree to things, we didn’t have ANY of that. We just went along with what we did. We literally did our own actions and the other side would respond and it developed through the story that way. It is considered bad role play these days but I loved it. No plotting, no limits (except killing), nothing. Just free role play.

Anyway, this continued until 2009 where the guy turned out to be a real dick IRL as we all found out and the role play died obviously. Coincidentally I discovered World of Warcraft. I played for just under a year (until like November) with my partner at the time and, once he quit, I wanted to change server as I hated PVP... and was on a PVP server, while also wondering if anybody role played. And I discovered Argent Dawn (EU), a role play server.

So I made a character and jumped right in. I fucking loved it. I had no sense of lore (the game setting’s history). I had no sense of character development. No sense of making a history for a character. I just jumped right in and played on what I knew, which was near nothing, and I loved it. I role played a morally corrupt elf in the middle of the biggest city and openly killed people etc (it was that bad) but it was fun...

...Until the ‘elitist’ role players noticed my ‘bad role play’ and started sending me actual abuse. Started with “You’re bad, leave the game you idiot’ to getting invited to chat channels to have abuse hurled at me while being ridiculed, and these days? I get stalked in-game and all over the internet, even though I do no bad role play. Took time but I adapted and developed my character to be flawless. But still... They actively search up my usernames to try and find me over the internet to get ‘dirt’ on me to make me look bad, plastering anything they consider ‘bad’ onto the forums to try and make others dislike me (I can’t comment on anything without abuse). Because I am an adult (twenty-eight) and enjoy adult themes once a while, they will literally delve into 18+ sites to get images of my characters, to plaster them over the forums (where minors might see). They act as hypocritical prudes who dislike adult themes whereas no doubt they watch porn once a while, however... because the game is 12+, they think I do erotic role play, which is wrong in a 12+ game - I don’t btw - so will use these 18+ images to try and have people hate me, using convincing stories while spreading rumors etc. So even though I became a good role player with a flawless character history.. they still hated me.

I actually turned bitter at one point and became an elitist myself... until I realised how I had previously felt. It wasn’t nice to be ridiculed and laughed at, to be ignored and shooed away, so I stopped being elitist and started to... just.. just actually enjoy myself. Having been on the receiving end of the hatred and humility of being NEW TO ROLE PLAY RULES and being new to LORE, having been ridiculed... when I realised people were in the same boat... I stopped. I stopped commenting on ‘bad role play’ and instead focused on helping people. I became open to everybody and accepted all role play (Within reason - no godemoting etc). These days I role play with anybody and enjoy that.

Yes, I despise elitism at best.

Well, I don’t hate it, I just... I rather people play to have FUN... NOT role playing for standards, not playing to look good, none of that “I must make an icon to look good!” or “I must use fancy text!” or “I must do paragraphs!” as I noticed on tumblr when I joined four or so years ago (i don’t mind these things... however, I just hate that it’s become a standard to look good)... None of that. Where is the fun when you have to be forced to do certain things to be accepted?

I just want people to have FUN. Fun is why we’re here. Fun is why we make these blogs. Sure, have standards, help people out if their lore is off or their character has role play flaws but... don’t be a jerk. Accept newbies. Accept all histories. Accept PEOPLE. We’re all people, most with damn anxiety of interacting with others. Why? BECAUSE PEOPLE HAVE STUPID STANDARDS. No, some standards are good, it’s when you start dictating things that it gets bad, saying you won’t role play with people who are -this- or -that- or have an undeveloped character or a ‘bad’ character. Hey, they might be looking to develop their character but don’t have the chance because they’re new or unknowing to most lore, meaning some people won’t accept them. 

Help people. Give advice. Don’t just write “I ignore badrp”. Actually get out there and make this place better.

It is nice to see a well laid out thread but... do you ever think what appearance it sets to some? Some of us, like me, get super scared of not being good enough. I’m not saying a good layout is bad (I LOVE good layouts) but... maybe have a notice somewhere that you don’t mind certain things, that you are friendly etc? I feel so disheartened to find a great character, a great blog, only to have STRICT RULES and no hint to the person behind the monitor.... It’s off putting and rather scary, so i don’t even bother following said person because they seem like an elitist robot. 

I see private blogs and instantly get put off of ever trying to interact because... I feel I’m not GOOD ENOUGH. That my icons aren’t good enough, that my writing isn’t good enough, that my character isn’t good enough. I understand wanting to only role play with mutuals (I really do)... but... some people go too far. They become wrapped up in elitism and start to LOOK DOWN upon others who aren’t ‘good enough. I don’t bother with these private blogs because I feel I will never be good enough, so I just don’t chance it.

We are all here to have fun. DO NOT LET YOURSELF BECOME AN ELITIST. Just have fun HOW YOU WANT. Do what you bloody well want and whoever accepts that will have fun with you. Don’t worry about judgement of the ‘better’ people. Just. Have. Fun. Have a million Pokemon. Have a tragic history. Do what you want. Just. Have. Fun. And the fun people will come to you.

After being subjected to such hate on Warcraft, I was fucking PETRIFIED of Tumblr. At first my blog was just a personal one, but I realised tumblr had an RP scene and got interested, made Shay... then once I realised people were elitist in this fandom too, I got scared. I was sad too that elitism had crept here also. Again, I don’t mind people who feel the need to have perfectly made threads and who have standards.. I just hate knowing that some people are really elitist and only RP with ‘the best’. This isn’t a competition. This is a hobby for fun.

I used to role play for fun but I was burned and ridiculed and it took a lot of personal effort and struggle to change my mindset from becoming like the people of hatred to the more open person I am now. I did become like them and I am ashamed I did. 

So if you’re ever nervous and scared of talking to me or interacting... Just take that step forwards and know who I am; an open, non-elitist, accepting RPer who will role play with anybody and everybody because I believe role play is for fun.

I’m here to have fun. I know you are. 

[bookwyrminspiration]

It's Nilnaea! Considering that elves physically cannot handle guilt, how did Sophie survive her first twelve years without shutting down? There's no way she could have avoided feeling guilty or remorseful over something when she was living with humans. Guilt is impossible to avoid--doubly so when she's clearly living with some pretty severe anxiety and depression. I can easily imagine her feeling guilty over causing her parents anxiety.

Not to mention, in the first book, she feels guilty over cheating on her alchemy exam without showing signs of psychic (I don't know how else to put it) strain. Do you think she could be immune to this because of her genetic engineering, or is it nature-versus-nurture? In the case of genetic engineering, the implications of the Black Swan having information that Vespera tortured humans to get is very interesting. (On that note, in Unlocked, there's a mention of Sophie wanting the Nightfall experiment information to go public. I really want that to happen!)

hello, Nilnaea! thanks for your patience as I work my way through my asks!! this is actually a question that's bugged me for a while, I've just never really talked about it, so it's nice to see someone else bringing it up! I thought it was just something no one else really cared about, as I have a tendency to focus on unimportant details.

like? humans are inevitably going to make mistakes and feel guilt over them, so it just doesn't make sense to me that Sophie could go her whole life without feeling guilty over something. Even just the idea of Elves being unable to handle guilt itself raises so many questions for me

thought: perhaps a lot of the poor behavior (judgement and scorn) exhibited by so many elves is a product of no guilt. in some situations, guilt is how you learn. intense emotional reactions and feeling remorseful for your actions can really make an impression on someone and alter their future behavior. some of the most important social lessons I learned (as someone who isn't good as socializing and frequently makes mistakes) have been through fucking up, sometimes awfully, and the resulting guilt is what prevented me from doing anything like that ever again. my inability to recognize how I affected others has severally hurt (emotionally) other people, which is why I'm so careful with what I say now. but if elves don't have that, if they're taught not to acknowledge how their action's affects make them feel, they never get that internal feedback or learning experience. so they just keep being shitty to each other eternally.

also, you're very right. she's clearly got something like anxiety/depression going on, or at the very least she's relatable to those of us who have those disorders. even just at the beginning of book one I think she felt guilty for all the stress and trouble she consistently brought to her parents as the gifted kid. she already knew how her mothers sentence would end (the "I just wish you were normal like your sister") so i'm assuming that's happened before. The guilt she'd feel just for existing differently and not understanding why (very appealing character for neurodivergent people) would be crippling. it can take so much work to look at yourself and just accept you're never going to fit in the way everyone else does, and that it's not a bad thing and you can live a perfectly fine life without fitting in like that. but especially at that age (for some reason middle school age--and specifically 7th grade) is absolute torture emotionally).

oh! i'd forgotten about the alchemy exam thing--the story has come a long way since then. I think a broken mind is both a combination of time and intensity of the guilt experienced, as Elwin said Alden's mind broke because it was so much guilt that he let fester for so long. So perhaps because she recognized the guilt and immediately rectified the situation, it wasn't there long enough for it to really impact her. But that does bring me back to the nd vibes she gives off in her childhood, as I think that's enough stress/guilt over a long enough period of time that she should've broken (shout out to anyone else whose mind would've broken as a child if they were an elf, cause I know I would've).

okay okay hang on, going back to what I was saying about guilt being a way to learn things, that could tie into your nature-vs-nurture suggestion. If sophie was raised human, she probably was taught how to manage and regulate her emotions in such a way that she could learn from her guilt and use it to better herself, because I don't believe for a second she was good in social situations and probably said some things she later felt guilty about. So perhaps her human upbringing protects her from the catastrophe that is elven guilt. But I could also see it being the genetic engineering, as she's shown to interact with emotions differently than anyone else when it comes to her inflicting. Perhaps her ability to inflict positive emotions proves that she doesn't interact with her feelings or process things in an elvin way, instead taking a human approach that protects her. Though we could also attribute that to nature vs nurture.

as for the human experiments, I think it would be super interesting to see what happens. I don't think that horrible history should be hidden or that elves should be allowed to continue to feel like they're superior, but just what would happen would be fascinating to read. it would rock the elvin world to the core, which is why Bronte said it shouldn't be released. But its also embarrasing to them, because they don't like experimenting on things. The whole thing with genetic purity and all that, so to know that it's such a huge part of their history and they actually weren't justified in cutting the humans off would be such a shift.

the classification of humans as no longer an intelligent species (which is a whole conversation on it's own) would be suddenly without reason, elves taking advantage of this power they granted themselves. i don't know if they could be reincorporated, but it would badly affect the elves. There's just so much to consider and i'm running low on time atm but this is an absolutely fascinating discussion so thank you so much for bringing it up

Nilnaea, you have some excellent observations!! thank you so much for sharing them with me!!