#��One of the most powerful mages to walk the lands of the Old Faith and her partner the Fallen God of War

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[cloudenthusiast2]

To be a human - Scaramouche x reader - Part 5

You knew committing to a relationship with Scaramouche would be no easy task but you loved him dearly and unlike others, you believed he wasn't evil. But as a mortal and the devoted protector of your village you were too much of a good person, too much of a human compared to him and your differences slowly start to show.

Previous: Part 4

Length: not too long:)

Trigger warnings: blood, fighting

You slowly opened your eyes.

The clouds that were orange and pink not so long ago now had turned dark along with the sky.

You've just realised how long you have been sitting on the cliff.

The chilly weather suddenly felt genuinely cold and a shiver ran down your spine. You wore light clothes not suited for a night in Liuye's mountains.

'I should start heading back' you thought. But you didn't move.

A few days have passed since Scaramouche left but it still felt like the wound he caused was wide open. You avoided every interaction with others and luckily they were considerate enough to let you be. No one gave you requests or tasks, they dealt with their problems themselves so you could be alone for a while.

A little guilt stung your chest. You said you would always protect them yet you were selfish enough to only think about yourself for days.

On the other hand, you also felt a little burnout. You still loved the village as much as you used to - maybe even more, now that it was the only thing left that you cared about - but you didn't want to go back to your previous way of living. Even though Scaramouche wasn't a part of your daily routine, everything felt so empty without him. Just thinking about him made you smile any time and you could always look forward to his visits. And when he was actually there, he made everything feel shiny and wonderful.

He sure was the grumpiest man but that just made his soft moment worth even more. How delighted you felt when he laughed at your stupid jokes or gave you a smile that wasn't teasing or (too) smug. When he first held your hand you couldn't stop grinning for days.

You let out a quiet chuckle as you remembered your beautiful memories together. For a few seconds the grief was gone with your smile but when it finally faded away the sorrow became even sharper in your heart.

But it actually wasn't that painful any more. It still hurt really deeply but now you could at least think of the benefits of the new situation.

Something that you always hated about being with Scara was that the village lived in a low-key but constant fear. They were all afraid of the fatui. And for a good reason, as you realised after their last visit.

Now you could at least keep them more safe. They didn't have to be afraid of your lover and his power any more.

You stared at the dark sky one last time then shook your head. You stood up, getting ready to head back to the village but your mind was still invaded by thoughts of Scara.

The rocks under your shoes jingled as you took a step forward.

Another step, another sound of them tinkling together.

Another step and a scream.

You flinched and immediately glanced at the rocks. But they weren't the ones making the desperate sound.

You stared in front of you, your mind numb and empty without any thoughts.

Another scream. Human voices strengthening and getting louder and louder in the distance.

You looked up slowly, turning your gaze to where the village was. It was pitch black. Until red dots started lighting up.

'Oh no' you whispered to yourself.

The realisation hit you and your whole body froze for a moment.

'Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no...'

You finally moved, grabbing your polearm off your back. Then you started running.

There was no time to safely climb down on the mountainside. You threw yourself off the cliff, slashing through the cold air and landing on your weapon. Running and jumping again like your whole life depended on it.

It probably did. The village was the only thing you wanted to live for after Scaramouche left.

Terrible guilt stabbed your heart. You couldn't believe you neglected the place and people you once swore to protect. You couldn't believe you actually forgot about them and selfishly only cared about your wounds even though they needed you.

And now they were attacked.

Fear crawled up on your spine as you jumped up from a cliff. You were pretty close to the village now.

Out of breath, you heart beating at a crazy speed but you were ready to take any monsters down.

You landed on your spear, slipped and fell painfully. But you were up on your feet in a blink of an eye, sprinting again.

The village was in a worse situation than you had imagined.

You ran through the gates and stopped, looking around to see where your help was needed the most.

It was needed everywhere.

Your eyes grew wide open.

The houses were on fire, burning and lighting up the night. People were running around in chaos, monsters chasing them. Abbys mages sent whole blaze bombs after them. They set everything on fire.

An abandoned child crying on the stairs. Her father fighting a mitachurl with a single hack. Mothers desperately trying to find their family.

The blood red flames reflected in your eyes as you stood there, numbed by the terrifying destruction.

You moved on your own as you clenched your fist around the spear.

You jumped at the speed of the light. One moment you were still standing under the gates and the next you flashed your way through a group of hilichurls.

There were just corpses left behind in your way.

An old man cried for your help when he saw you. He was trying to protect his house from an abyss mage.

You landed behind the monster. It heard the noise and tried to turn around.

But before it could've even moved an inch, your whole body strained then let loose. Hydro bursting out of your veins, it broke through the mage's shield in an instant.

It fell but never reached the ground. Your spear cut through it in mid-air.

'Thank you!' The old man panted, his entire body trembling. 'I...'

'Leave the village!' You yelled through the discord of screams and roars. 'Go to the bamboo forest!'

'But my house...'

'Leave. Now.' You ordered in a way that it was impossible to disobey.

Then you moved on.

Your aura was filled with tense hydro vibrating in the dark. It strangled the monsters with one touch but suffocated you as well.

But you didn't feel the pain at all. Everything inside you focused on the fighting and precise killing. You flashed from one side of the village to another, trying to save the people you swore to protect.

But even though your strength was almost non-human in these minutes of crisis it still felt incredibly lacking.

The whole village was on fire at this point. The abyss mages did not care about their puppets, they burned hilichurls as well as people.

Because there were so many of them.

You stopped for a moment to catch your breath and looked around desperately. There were so many monsters. And so many people you still needed to save.

The heat was unbearable. Sweatdrops streamed down your face despite the constant hydro aura surrounding you.

Suddenly the ground started shaking and you nearly fell over.

A lawachurl slammed his fists down. It let out a huge roar and turned to the closest person to it.

A frightened cry left your lips as you recognised the tiny figure.

Little Yu.

She rose her arms, shielding something behind her. She seemed almost fearless as she looked straight into the gigantic monster's eyes. But it was still a ridiculous try to stop the lawachurl.

It lifted its fists into the air, getting ready to cause another earthquake.

It swang it...

But before it could have reached the ground, you appeared in front of him out of blue.

Your spear cut through its left fist. The monster shook and roared in pain. It tried to grab you but you quickly dodged and sprang back.

The lawachurl let out a deep growl and slowly straightened up.

You couldn't help but feel ludicrously tiny compared to the huge figure. It started to manifest its geo shield. You stepped back in slight panic and glanced at Yu behind you.

'Y/n!' She cried out, grabbing the edge of your coat. 'I'm so happy you're here! Please protect us!'

You finally recognised the figure behind her. It was her wounded mother kneeling on the ground, bleeding out. Yet, the look in her daughter's eyes was brave and now hopeful.

She had faith in you. They all had their faith in you.

This thought was the only thing giving you strength.

You grabbed her arm and leaned closer to her as the lawachurl started walking towards you in the background.

Your heart was beating so fast it felt like exploding, the blood streaming in your veins hot and tense. But you still managed to sound calm when you spoke to the child.

'Listen carefully to what I have to say. Do you remember the spot where you met me and the harbinger a few days ago?' She nodded. 'Collect as many people as you can from the village and the bamboo forest and go there. Hide and don't come out until you're completely sure the monsters are gone. Do you understand?'

'Yes' she answered. But she still seemed hesitant.

'What is it?' You asked hastily for the lawachurl was getting closer to you with every passing moment.

'Will you be alright?' She asked, locking eyes with you.

'Of course' you gently pushed her backwards to her mother who seemed to have regained her consciousness. 'Now go!'

She nodded and helped her mother stand up. You made sure they got out of your zone safely.

Then turned around.

Just in time to see the lawachurl slamming down its fists.

You dodged and jumped upwards. Spun in the air and stabbed your spear infused with hydro into the monster's thick skin.

You landed safely on the ground with the bloody polearm in your grip.

The lawachurl roared so loudly that his voice shook the mountains. It swang towards you blinded by the pain but you dodged again.

You straightened up directly in front of it. Clenched your teeth together before quickly telling a quiet prayer.

You were ready to face all monsters.

[buns-with-a-book]

The Dreaming Lily

Part of a shortfic challenge list posted by ao3commentoftheday, the first of five fics.

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV/Final Fantasy Online Characters: F!Viera!Warrior of Light/Aymeric de Borel, Feo Ul (minor) Tags: @nimnox

Summary: Feo Ul notices her beloved sapling isn’t in the best of spirits. Nothing a good ole dream can fix!. Set during Shadowbringers (5.0) and has spoilers regarding events in Shadowbringers

Feo Ul sat quietly at the bell, hidden by fae glamor as she watched the Viera mage walk away to the bed. She had her suspicions about her beloved sapling’s state, despite her every move to hide it. The smile that wasn’t as wide as it used to be, the worry behind those blue eyes of hers, every slow step that was full of hesitation, as if she feared she would collapse at any moment, even as she spoke with the air (although there was something...off about the air she spoke to, something she couldn’t quite see, but it seemed to help her so Feo Ul would let it pass for now).

Feo Ul hated to see her suffer, the sapling she had come to know as Lily Wisteriale, the Warrior of Darkness, bringer of the sunless sea that was the night sky, her brave little sapling. As she sat, she leaned against her knee, humming thoughtfully as to what to do to comfort her sapling. It was one thing for her to say something, another for this mysterious air...but she clearly needed something more than them. Someone she trusted, someone she loved more than life itself…

Feo Ul suddenly gasped, jumping off from her seat on the bell. That was it, someone she loved! That would raise her little sapling’s spirits! She darted towards the nightstand, where a beautiful gold ring rested, decorated with an azure insignia. A signet ring, as Lily had explained to her when she asked, and it was her most prized possession. She had received the ring from a noble elven knight named Aymeric, akin to an engagement ring. Feo Ul knew enough about Lily’s own world, from both the Exarch and from how Lily described a certain place in her world named Ishgard, a land of ice and snow, a thousand-year old history with warring dragons, hidden truths, and how she aided in the ending of that very war. As Feo Ul’s gaze searched the ring, she could easily sense the deep bond laid within the gold, the perfect thread that would lead this Aymeric to her distressed sapling.

‘Oooh, just you wait, my little sapling!’ Feo Ul couldn’t help but giggle happily as she disappeared, to soar through the land of dreams and seek out the elf’s radiant spirit.

---

Lilies.

That was the first thing Aymeric saw when his eyes opened. As he sat up, his gaze was nearly blinded by the endless field of snow white lilies before him, illuminated by the light of a beautiful full moon. Far into the distance, great mountains rose, encircling this pristine field of lilies. He slowly stood, trying to get his bearings. He remembered falling asleep in his bed, at his small manor...so this had to be a dream, right?  

A childish giggle caught his attention, head snapping to the direction of the sound. He blinked at the...creature fluttering before him.

“I see why my little sapling likes you so!” The creature, autumnal orange in hue, fluttered before him. “Strong, brave, noble...a perfect picture of a knight!” Before he could ask anything, the creature darted forward into his face, causing him to step back in surprise. “The questions can wait! Go!” The creature flew around behind him and pushed him forward with more force than he expected. “She needs you, right now!”

That finally got his feet moving, dashing across the field of lilies, petals flying behind him. The creature shot ahead of him, as if leading the way through this dreamlike world. The creature flew ahead before pausing, turning to smile warmly at him. He came to a stop where the creature was, a gasp leaving his lips as his eyes met a too-familiar form, curled up in the lilies. He quickly sat down, pulling her into his arms.

“By the Fury...Lily, what happened to you?” He murmured, his gaze moving up and down her body. The simple nightdress she wore only covered her torso and thighs, leaving the rest of her skin exposed to his eye. It was as if she was a cracked doll, fractures dancing across the pale skin and seeping out the faintest of lights. Her eyes fluttered open, beautiful light blues staring up at him.

“Aymeric…?” She murmured. He nodded, earning a soft smile from her. She carefully sat up in his lap, staring down at her fractured body. “I see. Containing this light is taking all my strength…”

“I wish there was more I can do but I have more questions than answers.” Aymeric said, shifting to let the viera settle in his lap. Lily nodded.  

“Well, I suppose I should begin with the headaches. I was being called away from our star to save another, known as Norvrandt. That’s where the Scions are as well. Upon my arrival, my purpose became clear: take the aether from these powerful beings of light known as Lightwardens. But it seems I overestimated how much I can do.” She stared at her hand. “But...no one else can do what I can do.” Aymeric could feel her lean into him. “And now...I’m scared. Y’shtola, the miqo’te, she said that I can’t hold much more aether without dire consequences and...and she’s right! I know she is but I don’t know what I can do. Nobody can do what I can, the only other person is a child thrown into this grand destiny she never asked for, so it falls onto me, it always falls onto me to save everyone!” She curled up in his arms, trembling. Aymeric lowered his head, a hand reaching up to carefully thread through her hair. The Viera let out a soft noise, relaxing from the sensation.

“I only wish there was more I could do to ease this burden you bear.” He said gently. “Alas, all I can do is give my faith and love.” He lowered his head, pressing his lips against her head.

“I just wish I was stronger…” Lily murmured. “As I said before, it takes so much of me just to make it look like I’m fine when I’m not.”

“When strength fails, tenacity and conviction takes place. And I know you have the conviction to survive and the tenacity to come back home with the Scions. It was both that I saw that day, when you stood against Nidhogg on the Steps of Faith.” He let out a slow sigh. “That was the day I realized I was in love with you. That I had been in love with you the entire time.” He paused, watching as a tremor wracked her body, the Viera mage hissing in pain before it subsided. A part of him couldn’t help but become saddened by the sight of her, a far cry from the confidant woman he had fallen in love with.  

“Aymeric...please, stay with me. For as long as this dream will allow us.” Lily murmured. “When the morning comes...I fear we may not meet again in the land of dreams.” Aymeric nodded, carefully laying down in the lilies with her so as to not aggravate the pain she was suffering from.

“As you wish.”

[lo-55]

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 9

Crown of Thorns

Before they set off for Seireitei the next morning Ichigo hands a backpack to each of his friends.

‘Backpack’ isn’t the right word. It’s a sling bag that will strap across one shoulder each. Kukaku had been nice enough to provide him with them. They’ve got basic medicines, rations, a small flashlight and a bowie knife, a few other things that came in strangely useful in Ichigo’s experience. Like a roll of tinfoil, and a ball of rubber bands.

“Once we get into the seireitei, we’re gonna make a flashy entrance. People are going to see us and they’re going to report on what we look like. As soon as we land we need to find the laundry, or the barracks, and steal uniforms.”

He holds a hand up to keep Uryu from objecting.

“I know you hate it. Deal with it. Orihime and I will be the most distinct. Chad and Uryu can probably change clothes, maybe hair styles and be fine. She and I will have to change hair color.”

They won’t have time to dye their hair, and even if they did Ichigo knows they were both loath to do so. Orihime prided her hair for Sora, her brother. Ichigo was just plain stubborn.

“There’s wigs in both of our bags,” and in Ichigos, his Chaldeas combat uniform in all its white and black glory. It will cover the rather distinct mark on his chest. He turns to their guide.

“Yoruichi. There’s different squads, what do we need to know about them? Characteristics, duties, positions. Anything.”

The cat has been staring at him this entire time. Ichigo doesn’t quite know what to make of it. She shakes herself out of it.

“You’re right. Each squad has different duties and different specialities. There’s also rivalries between certain squads. Each squad has approximately 200 individuals.”

“That’s not good,” Ichigo grimaces. “200 is small enough to be able to recognize people by face if not name.”

“Yes, but the turnover rate for unseated officers is low enough I don’t think it will pose a problem,” Yoruichi continues. She gives them a run through of symbols and squads associated with them, before moving on, “the first division is made up of those who are able to take charge. They rank highest, besides seated officers. They will be the second worst to masquerade as. The absolute worst will be the second division, who work as covert operations. They handle wetwork.”

“Assassins,” Ichigo understands. “And spies?”

“Sometimes. That also falls to the Third division, which serves as a secondary source of information gathering and is in charge of media, communication, and, for lack of a better word, propaganda. Fourth division is medics and combat medics. The fifth has historically been an emergency response system, and are one of the most combat ready.”

Ichigo nods along. Orihime would be best suited to the forth then. Chad, perhaps the fifth?

“The sixth division runs internal affairs. Even if Rukia had not been their captain's sister, it would have been someone from the sixth sent to retrieve her. Seventh doesn’t have a particular speciality as far as I know, but they are typically sincere people. The eighths division is made up almost entirely of women, and they are the reservists and jacks of all trades. They work closely with the thirteenth. Rukia’s own division.”

“Are they mostly women as well?”

“No. They typically do the most work outside of the soul society, sending people to the living world and protecting people from hollows. Ninth division is also combat oriented. They are entrusted with the defense of the seireitei. They count the paperwork of all high ranking officers as well. The tenth is in charge of inter squad cooperation and joint task forces. The eleventh is full of heavy hitters and combat specialists. They are one of the largest divisions, and also the one with the highest mortality rate. Twelfth is research and development. We should avoid them as well.”

Ichigo taps his fingers along his leg. “Orihime should find something from the fourth. She’s the only one who can heal, and can probably pass her abilities off as a zanpakuto if needed. None of the rest of us could be in the eighth, and the thirteenth seems too close to each other to be fooled. I don’t know enough about science for the twelve.”

“I could probably pass, but I would rather not,” Uryu agrees.

“That’s fine. I think it’s best if I say I’m in the eleventh. I have the sword and the fighting ability too. Chad, I think you’d be best for ninth. And Uryu, sixth. We need to avoid one through three if we can.”

“Ichigo…”

Ichigo looks up at Chad. “Huh?”

“When did you start planning like this?”

Ichigo doesn’t know how to answer that. He learned on the battlefields of france. He learned in the streets of london. He learned on the decks of the Golden Hind, the plains of america, the mountains of the middle east and the deserts of egypt. They had been weaker, they had been lesser. They had heart and desperation, but they had to fight smarter not just harder. It was the only option. He had to learn or he had to die.

“Chaldea, I guess,” he finally says. “We need to be quick and careful. This is a rescue mission, not a war.”

Chad looks at him for a long moment. Finally, he nods.

“Okay.”

They break apart and come back together around the ball that Kukaku hands them. She looks at Ichigo intently.

“This energy needs to be balanced between all of you equally. Your power is insane. You’ll have to put barely any into it.”

“That’ll suck,” Ichigo says bluntly. “I’m not good at holding back.”

He runs his fingers through his hair. “No choice though. Let’s go.”

Before they can start, Ganju grabs his wrist. Ichigo keeps himself from elbowing him in the face.

“What?” Ichigo asks, turning to look at him.

“Why are you going through all of this for one shinigami? Why is she so special?” Ganju asks. For once he looks absolutely serious. Ichigo stands straighter and lifts his stubborn jaw.

“It’s because she saved my life. And my family’s lives. She gave her power to me, and because of that she’s going to die. I owe her,” he said again, “And I will repay that debt.”

Ganju searches his face for something. Whatever he finds must satisfy him. He lets go of Ichigo, but Ichigo grabs his arm before he can get far.

“Why are you coming along? It’s not like you have a stake in this. You’re not one of our friends. You’ve never even met any of us before this, and you clearly hate shinigami.”

Ganju looks ready to say something, but Kukaku shoves her way between them and cuts it off.

“Enough chit chat, let’s go already. You’re wasting daylight, idiot.”

Ichigo can’t argue with that. They circle the sphere and Ichigo lets only the barest of his reiryoku bleed into it.

He’s not oblivious. He knows the difference in his power and theirs is about where he and Mash had been when they’d first began. She was endowed with the power and skills of a great warrior of ages past and he was little more than an amateur mage who fought punks on the side.

Now he’s got his own power, his own sword, and he’s been trained by the best warriors to ever walk the earth. He’d learned at the knees of literal legends. He’d faced down gods and demons and he’d lead armies.

He had the power, he had the experience.

It’s time to go.

They climb into the canon, form the sphere, and the chant begins.

Kido isn’t so different from magic. The only difference is the type of energy that’s being used. Reiryoku and mana are the opposite of two coins, the body and the soul. The living and the dead.

Ichigo figures now he stands somewhere between the two. He doesn’t fully understand. He doesn’t need to.

All he needs to know is how to fight and win, for the sake of his friends.

*

Ichigo will admit, it’s somewhat terrifying how  big this goddamn continent is. They’ve been marching for what feels like forever. He knows that the northern army has been holding the celts back for at least a week. He doesn’t know how much longer they can last, and they themselves are still a good week from the white house.

The stress of the situation was still heavy on Ichigo’s shoulders, but Kyo was a good person to carry part of it. Mash is under just as much stress as he is, but she must be made of stronger stuff than he is.

She presses on with all the faith in the world that they will stand victorious when the dust settles.

Ichigo has less faith, and more bullheaded refusal to accept any other outcome.

Kyo, he can tell, doesn’t understand this.

They stand in a field of death. Celts lay at their feet, blood drips from Ichigo’s sword and stains his cheek. His orange hair is dyed red in places.

These are soldiers who were born only to fight. They were made to die at the behest of a wicked queen and an artificial king. They never knew childhood. They never knew joy or a future. They only knew the present, they only knew what they were made to do.

To fight. To kill. To die.

“This is wrong,” Ichigo says, his hands fisted at his side and his jaw set in stubborn anger. In one hand his sword weeps bloody tears into crushed flowers at his feet. A mansion sets in the background, once grand, and around them stretches the ruins of a garden. A headless cherub gushes brown water into a red basin.

Kyo reaches down and plucks the flower from its place on the ground.  Ichigo knows well he has the heart of a poet and the mind of a scholar.

“Orchids,” he says, showing Ichigo where the violet petals stretch through the violent stains.

“I doubt we can get perfume from them.” The stench of rot and death hasn’t set in just yet, but it will. Ichigo would rather not stick around.

“No, but they’re out of place here, don’t you think?” He must see the scowl on Ichigo’s face, for he goes on without prompting. “Orchids are a spring flower. One of the four gentlemen. They’re a rather old concept in art.”

“Old for you must mean ancient for us,” Ichigo tries to turn the subject, but Kyo merely shrugs.

“You humans live short, scared lives. And we, long and terrible ones. It’s the way things are…”

It’s there again. The look in Kyo’s eyes. The one he’d had when he was first telling Ichigo about Rukongai and seireitei, and the empty throne that sits atop the world. There’s a longing for change, Kyo is too stubborn and ambitious not to have it, but there’s something else holding him back.

Ichigo scowls and closes the distance between them in a single stride.

“You just sound defeatist. So it’s hard, so you’ll have to fight. So you just give up? Are you going to give in to the status quo when you return to Soul Society?” Ichigo demands. He grasps Kyo by the front of his shihakusho and drags him so close that their noses almost touch. Brown eyes meet brown, one set wide and the other narrowed. “Half the fight is always mental. If you talk like that, you’ll never win, and nothing will never change!”

Ichigo bites out his hardest truth. “A victor should talk about how the world should be. Not how the world is.”

Kyo opens and closes his mouth, gaping like a fish. Ichigo has never seen the man so wrong footed before. Even when Ichigo had shoved part of his soul into Kyo’s body, there hadn’t been time for him to be so stunned.

Now he gets to see those brown eyes shift. From shock to understanding to a near burning determination that his calm demeanor barely betray’s.

Ichigo is getting good at reading him.

He can see the blossoming dream inside his heart. Soon time will erase everything, but maybe, just maybe, some things will remain. Impressions, hopes. Dreams.

Kyo lifts the orchid up between them, purple and red in equal turns, and incinerates it with only a whispered spell.

* *

They’re forced to split apart upon entry.

It’s not ideal, nothing about the situation is. All the same, Ichigo deals with it.

He finds himself spat out into a street with no name and no distinction with Ganju, who lands in a pile of sand while Ichigo himself land catlike on his feet. Yoruichi still sits on his shoulder, steady and growing familiar. She isn’t Fou, but the presence is welcome all the same.

It takes all of ten minutes for someone to find them.

Typical.

Ichigo glances at Yoruichi on his shoulder. “Are you staying, or do you wanna step to the side?”

Yoruichi considers him with those wide golden eyes of hers. He always feels like she’s looking more than skin deep.

“I’ll be off to the side. Don’t get into too much trouble.”

“Give me some credit,” Ichigo rolls his eyes and bends down enough that Yoruichi can hop to the ground comfortably.

He tilts his head at Ganju. “Hey. I’ll take the stronger one. Do what you want with pretty boy.”

“Oh?” one of the opposing shinigami smiles and flutters his weird feather eyelashes at him. “You really think I’m pretty?”

It wasn’t meant to be a compliment. Ichigo grimaced at him. “You look like you spend twenty minutes in front of a mirror every morning. If you don’t exfoliate, I’m a hollow.”

“Well, Yumichika, looks like this guy has got you pegged!” the other one, a blond man who has his sword propped on a shoulder, grins at Ichigo. There’s red around the corners of his eyes. Make up? Tattoos?

“I’m not pegging anyone, thanks,” Ichigo says dryly.

The three dead people stare at him blankly.

“Huh?” pretty boy, Yumichika, asks.

Ichigo shook his head swiftly. “I’m not explaining that.” At least Yoruichi snorted at him.

“Well, doesn’t matter. All I need to know is that today…” the bald man started bouncing around on his toes with his sword out in front of him. Dancing? “I’m lucky! Lucky, it’s my lucky day!”

“Ichigo!” Ganju hisses, grabbing his shoulder. “I’m not fighting these guys, they’re way too strong! I’m gonna run.”

“What? No. If you run we might get split up! That’s a terrible plan, just hold him off until I finish my fight.”

“Hah?” Ganju scowls at him. “Since when are you the boss?!”

“Since I knocked your ass flat on the ground, that’s when!”

“I don’t care what you say,” Ganju scrambles out of the sand box he made. “I’m outta here!”

Ichigo watches him go sprinting before he looks to Yoruichi. “Oi. Keep an eye on him, would you?”

Yoruichi gives a long suffering sigh. “I suppose I must. He is Kukaku’s brother, after all.”

Without another word the cat trots off at Ganju’s heels, keeping pace easily.

Ichigo is left with the two locals.

“...Did that cat just… talk?” Yumichika points after the runaway, his perfectly trimmed brows furrowed.

“Ee-yup.”

“Yumichika,” the bald one nods to his companion, who grunts in response and takes off after Ganju. Ichigo has no choice but to let him go and trust Ganju to handle himself. He doesn’t know if he can take the both of these guys at once. They’re clearly close. He’s sure they’re a terribly effective tag team too, and he really doesn’t have time for this.

“Your friend. He could tell we’re stronger, and he ran. You would have been smart to do the same,” the bald man says, eying Ichigo speculatively.

Ichigo merely shrugs. It’s not in his nature to back down from a fight. It never has been, and now it is even less.

“I figure, if you are stronger you’ll catch up,” They aren’t, he can see clearly.  “I’ll have to fight you either way. Besides, if you’re not then I’ll just kick your ass now and move on.”

He shifts himself, draws his sword and bares his teeth.

The man laughs, sounding far too delighted. This is someone who revels in combat.

“That’s a pretty good reason,” he praises, drawing his sword from his scabbard. Ichigo blocks the blow that comes, and ducks the swipe of his sheath. Ichigo bounces back and comes against him again, a whirl of blade. He twists out of the way of another blow and smashes his elbow above the man's eye, splitting his brow. He barely moves back from the blade that slices through his own. Blood drips into his left eye, a mirror of the damage he’s inflicted. They separate.

It’s the bald man, his opponent, who brings them to a pause. The air isn’t as heavy as he would expect. This man may want him dead, but Ichigo can tell; he’s fighting for the fun of it.

(Ichigo loathes to admit it, but he is too. Rukia is going to die, Ganju is being chased by someone dangerous, and Ichigo is here having  fun )

(It makes him sick to realize that the life of one person weighs less heavily than all of human history.

Rukia is his friend, how can he think such a thing?)  

“That was good. You’ve got good reflexes. You’re stong. What’s your name?”

Ichigo doesn’t see a reason to pretend to be anyone he’s not.

“Ichigo,” he says easily. “And you are?”

“Ikkaku Madarame. Third seat of squad eleven. Ichigo huh? That’s a good name.”

“You think so?” Ichigo arches a brow, privately waiting for him to say something about strawberries.

“Yeah. They say guys with ‘ichi’ in their names are strong and forthright. So…”

He lifted his sword again, his scabbard in a reverse grip behind him and grins like mad. “What say we be friends, Ichi?”

Ichigo wishes Urahara were here, if only so he could crow an ‘i told you so’.

Ichigo levels his sword and can’t help the curve of his mouth. “Fine. But only if I win. If I lose. I figure I’ll be dead.”

“Deal!”

They come together again.

“You seem young,” says the chatterbox, Ikaku. “But you’ve adapted to my fighting style well.”

Well? What can he say, he’s met a lot of dual wielders. EMIYA, other EMIYA, Diarmuid saber, Diarmuid lancer, Scathach, Jack the Ripper, and more. He’s fought with them, trained under them. His hand still itches to hold a sword that isn’t there.

He settles it on his hilt instead.

“Who taught you to fight?” Ikaku asks. He wipes away the blood on his brow with an ointment. Ichigo makes mental note of it. For now he settles on keeping one eye closed, and waits for Ikaku to try to take advantage of his ‘weakness’.

“Who’s to say? I pick up what I can from everyone I know,” he says truthfully. “Are we gonna talk or fight?”

“Fight, obviously! Now,” he slams his sword and scabbard together. “Extend! Hozukimaru!”

Huh. A duel wielder and a lancer all in one. What an interesting person.

It doesn’t matter. Ichigo crosses the ground between them. He pours his power into his blade, until it shines pale white and blue. Ikkaku brings his halberd up to block, but Ichigo cuts through it like butter.

Zangetsu slices through Hozukimari like it’s not made of wood and steel and soul.

Zangetsu carves through Ikkaku’s chest and stomach. It’s not deep enough to kill, but the blood flows heavily. Ichigo finishes it with a hard elbow to his jaw, and Ikkaku falls to the ground.

Zangetsu returns to his resting place on Ichigo’s back and Ichigo gets to work. He has no intention of killing if he can help it. In this case, he can.

He uses part of Ikkaku’s own balm and his first aid kit, one of the things he’d packed in his bag, to seal the injuries. Ichigo hasn’t got time to wait around for Ikkaku to wake up, but this is a good chance for him to get information.

So he sits and changes his hair color, and watches the clouds roll by while Yoruichi plays cat and mouse with the pretty boy.

* * *

The whitehouse is a twisted vision.

Ichigo has seen pictures of his classmates on vacation in front of it, and pictures online or in books. He knows, at least vaguely, what it’s supposed to look like. It’s not supposed to be a twisted desecration of red thorns eating away at pale stone dragons.  

Ichigo eyes one of the macabre statues, wrapped in thick, strangling vines made of the same blood red bane that Gae Bolg is. So many thorns. Scathach had called them unbearable. Ichigo is caught somewhere between pity and anger at the berserker that’s caused so much pain and suffering. He was born for this, created from a wish and twisted by Medb’s black heart.

A pitiful creature to be sure. Ichigo knew Cu Chulainn well. He was a creature of duty and loyalty, of compassion and determination. Once he decided he wanted to protect someone that was the end of it. He would battle an entire army on his own, suffer uncountable pains, and still die with his pride intact. He had.

Ichigo doesn’t miss the way his own Caster eying the thorns, his red eyes dark. If Ichigo remembered right, he had died at the point of his own spear during Medb’s quest for vengeance against him.

Ichigo bumps his shoulder with him and gives him a questioning look.

“ ‘m fine,” he assured, touching Ichigo’s shoulder. “I sworn m’self to you, Master. Have faith in me.”

“Will my loyal dog not use my name?” Ichigo rolls his eyes. He still manages to get a cracked smile from the druid. Caster lifts his staff and settles his shoulders.

“After you.”

Ichigo leads the way inside.

It’s just them again. His core servants, and now Florence Nightingale. For a medic, she’s one of the scariest berserkers he’s ever seen. He’s not sure even heracles would win a fair fight with her when she’s determined to save someone.

Indeed, when they finally step into the interior, where Cu Alter and Medb are waiting for them, she wastes no time explaining that she’s going to cure them.

Although, Ichigo has never heard someone say that the best course of treatment would be  suicide .

He privately agreed with the king of savages. Nightingale is crazy.

That doesn’t mean she’s not wrong. Ichigo can see it plainly. Cu Alter, the king that Medb created, really has had his joy sealed away by his duty to destroy. There’s no pleasure in the fight for him, and for a warrior such as he it must be equal agony to the red thorns that pierce his hide.

Ichigo shift, Kyo at his side, while his band steps forwards in formation. Mash and Rama take the front, a strong defense and a strong offense that can switch easily to long range at a dimes turn. Cu Cullainn and Nightingale bring up the rear, supporting them with runes and healing spells, while Medusa stays staunchly at Ichigo’s side.

Her hair floats around her, a hissing halo that rattles with chains. Her scythe has manifested in her hands.

Ichigo lifts his right fist, the command spells burning in his skin. He only has two left, and three spells in his combat uniform. This will be their final fight. They have to win. They have to.

If they lose, they lose the world. Everyone’s suffering and sacrifice will be wasted. Yuzu and Karin, and even his dad will be lost forever. His mother will have never even been born.

“Go!” He shouts, his voice cracking through the air.

Rama aims at Medb while Mash tries to keep Cu Alter at bay. Ichigo’s Caster uses the distraction to start weaving runes into deadly traps, while Nightingale reverses the worse of the damage as she’s able.

It’s going well. They’re this close to overwhelming the duo when Medb does something that Ichigo will never be able to forgive.

She summons 28 demon god pillars to the northern army.

Cu Caster get’s in the final shot.

Gae Bolg still does not kill the wicked Queen of Connacht, but it’s master does deliver the last blow that sends her glittering into dust on the wind.

That one instant of victory, however, is all Alter needs.

Gae Bolg leaves his hands.

Ichigo knows the details of the Noble Phantasm. A spear that affects probably, and turns ‘trusting the spear’ into ‘piercing the heart’. Once it’s active, there is no dodging it. There is no blocking it with anything shy of a realty marble.

It does not pierce Rama again. Nor does is strike down Mash, or Nightingale, or Meduse, or even their own Cu Chulainn.

Ichigo chokes.

He doesn’t feel it, not really. But he sees it. He sees the red jutting out of his chest. The hole that has pierced through his heart. ]

He chokes. Blood drips from his lips, down onto the spear. Brambles crawl beneath his skin, spreading the hole until black gapes within the red. Blood pours down his chest, staining the white of his shirt.

Ichigo chokes. Black bleeds into his vision from all sides and his mouth tastes like blood and chalk and void dust.

White drips down his lips.

Darkness consumes him.

* * * *

“Alright,” Ichigo tugs his wig in place one more time, double checking that there’s no orange hair poking out to give him away. Ganju is next to him, tying the shihakusho in place with a grimace over his face.

“I hate this,” he grumbles. He secures his sword back in place. His armor is barely hidden under the sleeves of his new uniform.

“You didn’t have to come with us,” Ichigo pointed out.

Ganju scowled at him. “Yes I did.”

“Your sister didn’t tell you to-”

“It’s not about my sister!” Ganju snaps. Ichigo shuts his mouth at the look in his eyes. Burning with anger and grief.

“It’s about… my brother,” Ganju’s hands were shaking. “He was killed in cold blood by a shinigami. He was a genius, a lieutenant, and a good man. But he was betrayed and killed by his partner. I was young… So I don’t know everything. But I will never forget that shinigami’s cold eyes, when she dragged my dying brother back to our home. Or the way he  thanked her for it. I’ve never understood. But you.”

Ganju grabs him by the front of his shirt. “You’re different from other shinigami. So I followed you here, so I could understand. Why he loved the shinigami until he died. I want to see for myself what shinigami are like!”

Ichigo meets Ganju’s eyes squarely. “I’m not a real shinigami, so I can’t and won’t speak for them. I’ll let you see for yourself, Ganju. Just as long as you watch my back.”

Ganju gives him a short, single nod.

Yoruichi, who has spent the entire time standing in the corner while they ready themselves, flickers her tail and stands.

“We should get going. The longer this takes, the more danger we will be in. Everyone will be on high alert, and while this can help us blend in in the confusion, we still need to stay on our toes.”

Ichigo nods sharply.

They duck out of the barracks they’d stolen into and start down the pathway. Ikkaku had told him Rukia was in a white tower, and they could see it from here. The problem was that none of them knew the way to get to the white tower. They’re just wandering around blindly.

There’s nothing for it.

They walk on.

Ichigo looks around as they go. Some of the walls carry Lily of the Valley on them, stamped in careful black ink.

“Mary’s tears,” Ichigo muses, mostly to himself.

“Huh? No, they’re plants,” Ganju argues, looking at Ichigo like he’s just lost his mind.

Ichigo scowls at him. “I know that. They’re Lily of the Valley, but some people call them Mary’s Tears. There’s an old legend in the west in the living world that they grew from the tears Mary cried when her son was crucified.  They’re a sign that their messiah is coming back.”

“That’s very interesting,” comes a smooth (terribly, awfully,) familiar voice from behind them.

Ichigo feels his heart tighten. He turns.

Kyo stands behind them. Brown hair, brown eyes. He’s older now. His face is more angular, the last of his puppy fat has melted off his face, and he’s finally taller than Ichigo. His smile is polite and geniel. Ichigo is almost fooled. He can still see the sharp intellect behind them.

A white haori hangs off his shoulders. Kyo has been made a captain.

It’s all Ichigo can do not to reach for him and hiss out the truth.

But this isn’t the place. He cocks his head and frowns.

“I’m friends with Jeanne d’arc,” he says straight faced. Ganju at his side has gone tense and still. Ichigo elbows him. They’re more than a little suspicious out here like this. Two men and a cat.

Except, Yoruichi is now gone.

Two men and no cat.

“Is that so?” Kyo looks faintly amused, even as he assesses them sharply. It’s barely hidden in his deep eyes. Ichigo knows him well enough to see it, and to see something unexpected. A faint recognition. “It’s rare for someone in the eleventh division to be so knowledgeable.”

“How did you know…?” Ichigo is not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Kyo does not speak his name, he does not broach any subjects. It stings far worse than Ichigo had ever imagined. Hadn’t Nero felt something familiar about them too? But she hadn’t remembred them, and neither does Kyo.

“You were with third seat Madarame after he lost the fight with the Ryoka, weren’t you? The eleventh rarely tolerate people who aren’t in their own squad.” He had waited at Ikkaku’s side for field medics, with his own choppy work keeping the barely conscious man stable. It shouldn’t be a shock that someone saw them and spread the word. But how did Kyo recognize him from just that?

“Oh, right,” Ichigo says like that makes sense. In his mind he’s screaming.

  Kyo, kyo! Don’t you see me? Do you remember? We’re friends, we’re friends! We fought in america, we travelled the continent, look at me goddamn it. I know the name of your sword, I know where you were born. Kyo-  

“Excuse us,” Ganju grabs Ichigo by the back of the neck and forces him into a sharp bow. “We need to get going. Invasion and all that.”

“Yes, of course,” Kyo says smoothly. He gestures behind him. “I won’t keep you. We all must do our best to protect Seireitei.”

“Right…” Ichigo barely keeps his hands to himself.

He’d promised. He  promised .

His mouth opens to say something, to beg time between only them, to send Ganju away if he must. But down the street comes a pack of blood hungry shinigami, looking for a piece of the invaders, and Ichigo has no choice but to let Ganju drag him away by the collar of his shihakusho.

A woman with a badge on her arm appears at Kyo’s side as they’re being pulled away, her brown eyes wide and curious. Kyo draws her attention away and that’s the last Ichigo sees of him. It drives him insane.

* * * * *

He comes in the dark.

Silver hair and a white haori, he manages to go utterly unseen by all. It’s a skill even Sosuke Aizen has trouble mastering without the aid of his illusions. Gin’s footsteps are light, barely a whisper against the hardwood of the office building. Even the omniskido would be hard pressed to beat his skill with sneaking around.

It’s one of the things that Aizen prizes him for. The other being his unfailing loyalty and his willingness to do whatever he was told, with or without answered questions.

These things include going out to spy on the young would-be Ryoka. Everything is happening exactly as he’s expected. They’ve even brought the Shihoin heiress back to Soul Society with them. How useful.

“Well?” he asks, without further prompting. Most of his attention is still on one of the monitors in front of him that details the boy sitting outside the Shiba house. A camera fly can only get so close with Shihoin around, so he must settle for watching the human stare at stones in his hand like they’ve personally offended him.

The boy must be mad, to come with such a small group, but this is a while different type of crazy. Sosuke is fairly certain he’d seen the human-shinigami- possible -hollow speak to the rocks.

“He’s got good reflexes,” Gin says, peering over Sosuke’s shoulder. His presence is familiar and not unwelcome. Few get so close, even when Sosuke pretends to be gentle and kind. He keeps them all at arms length, the brown nosers and sycophants.

“I saw that much. You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

Gin smiles widely at him and lifts, from out of his pocket, the innocuous looking marble. It swirls with blacks and blue’s and glows faintly it’s own ethereal light. A faint red in the center bleeds purple into the blue. Incomplete as it is, it still reacts to interesting things and people.

Gin drops it in his hand. It’s warm to the touch, nearly burning. He’s never seen the red in the center flicker so bright before, like a tiny ball of fire in the very center. There’s something not quite right about this intruder. Ichigo Kurosaki. Sosuke has known him for many years, even if he’s never gotten close enough to see the boy in person. That would involve getting far to close to Urahara and Shihoin, and if he is honest even Sosuke is not foolish enough to go up against legendary assassins in their own home field.

“It tried to burn a hole in my pocket when I got within fifty feet,” Gin reports succinctly. “What does that mean?”

Sosuke has no idea what that means. But one of his rules of his own behavior is that he never admits to not knowing something. So rather than say as much to Gin, he offers him his own faint smile, the kind that puts other people at ease but sets his most faithful companion on edge.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he says instead. “Now. Are you ready to be the bad guy, Ichimaru?”

Gin’s smile, snakelike and cold, only grows. His eyes curve upwards.

“What other kinda guy would I be for you?”

* * * * * *

[fallen029]

It’s been a bit. Here’s half of the new Elemental chapter (because no, I haven’t abandoned it). 

.

Erza Scarlet was known, among other things, for the many outfits she donned. From suits of armor to the most extravagant dresses, she was rarely seen in something out of fashion. Her style ranged from imposing to seductive in her younger years, but currently she seemed far more enamored with the less flashy. More sensible.

Her most recent armor update suited her just fine most days. While it wasn’t too flashy or expensive, it  had a formal look to it. Not all would see it, but whenever she caught her image in the mirror, she felt as if she’d finally once more transitioned into something else, transformed, perhaps, now into her final form.

She was the Master now. Of the most elite guild in the land. The one she’d been raised in and raised up to the level it now proclaimed. Fairy Tail belonged to her and while she still held her former placement in her heart, she was finding, as she approached a year of being Master, it meant far more.

There was, however, an unfortunate amount of busy work that she found herself stuck with at times, things that she would have never considered when first coming into power. She’d always seen Master Makarov or Laxus sitting around mostly, drinking or snoozing, but this usually took place because they were choosing to be derelict on their duties. In the former’s case, shirking them off on Mirajane and, in the latter, her daughter.

Master Erza didn’t wish to leave that sort of legacy. Memory. She hoped to always been seen busy and that meant taking care of paperwork, looking over the bar, and dealing in petty drama that most masters would balk at.

But this wasn’t to say that she didn’t rely, at least somewhat, on an assistant of her own. Marin was already well versed in most Master duties, as she’d more than walked her father through them for the past few years, and while Erza would never place so much on the teen’s shoulders, she did expect much of her protege.

Which is why it was harder than the swordswoman would have thought, to be without her for those few days. Marin was always up at the bar, as much a fixture as the wrought iron gates, and seemed to enjoy the tasks that her new master gave her. They’d become quite the pair as, in some ways, they both found themselves adjusting to their new lives.

Marin didn’t fully replace what Erza had lost, in Ravan and Kai, of course not. And she was certain she did little to ease the young woman’s thoughts in relation to her own strained family ties. But they’d formed something of a bond themselves, over the past few years, and there was some comfort that was gone now, without her being around.

It was silly, Erza knew, as she’d been the one to send Marin off on her very first job. Not to mention she’d only been gone for a day. But that second one, when she arrived at the bar with only Kinana there to open, she did find herself frowning a bit more than usual.

Still, she was sure, it was a good thing, Marin being gone. Of course it was. Pretty soon, she’d fall in love with the concept of adventure and using her magic to aid in this, and would hardly ever be around. She was certain the feeling would take hold of the teen. To have such power as Marin possessed, and to waste it away at the bar…

She was glad that she’d sent the girl away, off on her first real job, and yes she was now doing paperwork all alone, but it was just as well.

If Marin really did find herself tangled up in mage work, she’d be alone a lot more often.

She was seated in her office that morning, looking over some papers and considering things, when there was a sharp knock at the door. It was Kinana, calling out in a rather tense voice that Mirajane had arrived home from her trip and was inquiring about Marin.

It was something she’d prepared for, in the past few days. In her time keeping something of a mentorship over Marin, she’d known the teen’s parents to be...apprehensive over most things. While the two were quite accomplished, Mirajane and Laxus had seen how power could corrupt and usually sought to keep Marin far from it.

So Erza wasn’t expecting much of a warm response to her news. From either of them. And while tussling with Laxus was far from something she was looking forward to, she was also aware that the man seemed to avoid the hall like the plague in those days, mostly, and it was for the best.

His wife was always far easier to reason with.

Honestly though, the couple had been going through a lot the past year (if not the decade) and Erza was thankful, anyways, to see Mirajane seeming so upbeat, though perhaps a bit concerned. She’d arrived knowing that her daughter should have been around. For Kinana to require Erza to explain Marin’s absence, well…

“Mira,” her technical Master now, Erza, remarked as she came to stand before the woman at the bar. “How was your trip?”

“Good,” the other woman remarked slowly. “But Marin-”

“You look well,” Erza offered with a nod. “Well-rested. You know, since becoming Master I haven’t had a chance to travel myself, but-”

“Master,” Mirajane cut her off and the word felt odd, it had the entire year, as it fell off her tongue. There was a period in time where it was one she frequently found herself utilizing, in a rather endearing tone (usually), but that had died off under her husband’s reign. To now use it once more, in reference to someone who was once her rival/equal felt sacrilegious. “Where’s Marin?”

Rather than look off, Erza met the other woman’s eyes as she said simply, “In your absence, a simple task presented itself for her to assist in and, as a show of faith towards her recent prowess, I chose to send her off to complete it.”

Not exactly deflating, but at least being relieved a bit to find nothing had befallen her youngest, Mirajane questioned simply, “Is it something...difficult?”

“I wouldn’t think so, for her, no,” Erza replied carefully. “Just escorting a rather low level individual from one place to another. An Exceed.”

“O-Oh.” Mirajane let out a slight sigh of relief. “Just one of the Exceeds? Well, I wish she’d have waited until her father and I were home, but-”

“She’s groan now,” Erza offered simply. “There’s not much you can do.”

“No,” Mirajane agreed, “I suppose not.”

It should have been fine from there. Erza could go back to sorting through paperwork and Mirajane could take over worrying about when her daughter would return home, but unfortunately there was someone waiting back there for her. Someone who’d spent an equal amount of time anxiously awaiting a daughter’s return as he had shirking paperwork duty onto someone else.

“Marin coming by for lunch?” Laxus asked in what may have sounded disinterested, but Mira could tell from his tone that he was certainly optimistic. He was where she left him, unpacking their bags in their bedroom, but dropped what was in his arms ads he looked to his wife in anticipation.

They’d grown far closer, in recent times, he and his youngest. She’d always been distanced from him, in a way that his oldest, Haven, wasn’t. Marin was reserved and meek, which was hard to rectify in his eyes. His childhood had been tumultuous and difficult, making it hard for him to always connect with her.

But that had all changed that following summer, when all of the turmoil in their family had come to a head. Marin now saw him frequently, multiple times a week, just to visit, and he thought of these times as some of the best currently.

Marin had always been the baby of the family, both in the technical sense and how they treated her overall, and though she was now rather self-sufficient, Laxus was perhaps overindulging in all that he’d lost out on.

He wanted to be around her. To listen to her. To just see her. As often as he could now. Sober now. In the moment and aware. He’d lost so many years to feeling sorry for himself; he wanted all of the ones he had now.

Which is why when his wife tried to calm him, after failing to inform him of their daughter’s recent trip in a way that wouldn’t incite him, the man was far too agitated for her typical techniques. There was no amount of rubbing at his shoulders or speaking a hushed tone was going to bring him back down.

It had been a bit, since the slayer had been a frequent, haunting figure in Fairy Tail. A good decade of him drinking himself to death had preceded now and, while some of the newest of members only knew him as the defamed former master, all were sure to keep their thoughts to themselves when he came barreling into the hall that day.

Maybe it had been a long time coming.

For him and Erza.

He’d left the guild in her care until his return, but upon his return, had balked at reclaiming what was his. There had been an expected blow out and perhaps even a premature taking of sides, but that winter when the slayer showed his face, there wasn’t so much as a scuffle and the idea faded from most’s minds. If anything, as Laxus and Mirajane spent more time at home, their presence and factoring into daily guild life ceased to exist.

But everyone knew who he was and what it meant as the clouds darkened that late morning to the darkest of black and perhaps a bit of thunder could be heard, roaring in the distance as he threw open the guildhall doors.

Laxus was pissed.

In a way he hadn’t been since a year ago, when the hall looked a little different and was run even more so. His wife was hot on his tail, hissing at him now, in a way that she hadn’t either, in a year, and an uneasy hush fell over the bar as everyone feared they were the one that the veteran mage was looking for.

Everyone except for Ajax.

He’d been very busy bragging up some of his accomplishments to some of the slightly too old for him ladies in the guild, trying to win their favor, but as everyone’s gaze fell to the storming in slayer, he felt  a bubble in his chest.

“Uncle,” he called out as he rushed right over to where Laxus was cutting through the nearing noon crowd, coming to bounce in front of him. Even as he aged, the man was a brute, especially now that he’d begun a training regimen once more, and though Ajax could hold his own against the other teens, his uncle had no reason to stop for him. Other than the fact he was his only nephew, one of the very few people he could tolerate. “What’s up?”

Laxus wasn’t in the mood for the teen though and only shoved right passed Ajax, continuing on until he was at the bar.

“Erza,” he growled, loudly, and others were rising to their feet now, ready for the fabled battle between two titans of the guildhall, for the fate and future of the guild the prize.

The woman emerged with her head held high, not quaking in fear at the sight of the slayer’s dark eyes. In fact, she met them with her own, though not angry, still having that hard steel look to them.

“Laxus,” she greeted with a nod. “It’s rare to see you in the hall today. If there is something you wish to speak on-”

“You sent my daughter out on a job?”

“I was presented with someone who wished for the presence of a Dreyar on their job,” Erza replied simply. “You were out, your oldest daughter is gone, and Marin is the only one left baring the name.”

“Marin,” he retorted, “is a goddamn child who’s never been out on her own before. And yet you-”

“Laxus,” Mira cautioned. “You really shouldn’t-”

“Marin is an adult. In ever sense of the word.” Erza did let out a slight sigh then, though not necessarily one of understand. More of pity. “And she has been for quite some time.”

“You know what the fuck I mean,” Laxus said with a snort. “Don’t play dumb.”

“Then you do not do so either. No one knows Marin better than I.” Turning from him slightly, Erza looked up as she remarked, “Of course I would know when she was while

[bornpariah-a]

NECROMANCY is a topic minimally explored in the world of Dragon Age, and only became a true specialization with Inquisition. Notably, many of the spells in the necromancer tree existed in the games prior in the ENTROPY tree, as per Origins and II. What we know of necromancy is that it has a relatively negative reputation overall. It’s only Nevarra that views necromancy in a positive light, calling their necromancers the mortalitasi and giving them a good measure of power and high societal standing. It stands to reason, then, that it’s sensible for the Inquisitor to learn necromancy from one of these mortalitasi.

Never mind that Dorian is literally right there. ( no, i’m not bitter at all, what would have given you that idea? honestly !! )

Nonetheless, what we know of the necromancer specialization route in Inquisition is this : you find a specifically Nevarran skull, bind a recently dead necromancer spirit/soul to it, and it’ll teach you. Alright, not the strangest thing I’ve ever heard of by far, yet I couldn’t help but think that surely magic varies depending on the region. And, furthermore, specializations must carry a different weight. And even beyond that, that the path of specialization must differ between, for example, Nevarra and Tevinter. Thedas is a relatively large place, and though Nevarra and Tevinter are neighboring countries, I couldn’t help but think that there has to be a difference.

And thus : this monster.

Necromancy is, literally, death magic. In Dragon Age, it pertains specifically to the utilization of spirits and, furthermore, spirits drawn to death. That is one of the key points to necromancy as a whole, and heavily influences the following.

In the Imperium, magical specializations and the furthermore ability to specialize are seen, somewhat, as a status symbol. Being powerful enough in one subject to be able to master it, for all intents and purposes. The concept that specializations are almost like guilds, cohorts of mages who come together for a common purpose/reason/goal and henceforth have certain sets of skills that can be utilized in order to accomplish jobs and whatnot, isn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. In a society as mage-heavy and magically inclined as Tevinter, that seems to be the only possibility, given that Circles are learning institutions and jobs requiring magic must exist.

But I digress, as that’s more a topic to delve into another time, but it’s essential to understand this : Dorian was marked by Death and chose to walk the path of the necromancer ( ha ) in part because of that. Specializing in necromancy is a difficult choice to undertake, and very few mages are able to truly complete such a path, and in fact must have a predilection for death on some metaphysical level. Furthermore, specializing in much of anything in Tevinter requires something like a benefactor, similar to what Alexius acted as for Dorian. That’s the first step. To be chosen, quite literally.

Dorian was chosen by a mage named Melinoe. A skilled necromancer in her own right, and the informal ( or perhaps formal ) head necromancer in Tevinter. The story of their relationship spans many years, beginning when they first crossed paths when Dorian was six years old and visiting Minrathous with his father for official business. They, quite literally, crossed paths on some random street between some random buildings and Melinoe sensed about him an incredible aura of Death. Something that drew her notice, and thus the notice of necromancers in Tevinter.

The process of a mage choosing their specialization or, I suppose, their specialization choosing the mage in a great deal of the cases is one frankly akin to courting. Mages attend Circles to gain their magical education as Dorian did ( running amok through every Circle in Tevinter, as well all know ) and there are a great deal of events surrounding mages coming into their magic. Some are strictly high society, the ones that Dorian partook in, naturally. Others are far more akin to parlours, public forums that allowed mages to find mentors, meet with others, and generally networking. Through these opportunities is the chance to prove your potential for a certain specialization, if a mage chooses to do so.

Now, Dorian’s only offer ( so to speak ) wasn’t just the necromancer specialization given the fact that he is a mage of prodigious skill, and therefore had generally vast potential. That being said, none of them particularly caught him at first. Not even necromancy.

Dorian didn’t choose his specialization until he was nineteen, in the care of the Alexius family, and had found Melinoe again. Or rather, she had found him.

The path of specializing in necromancy in the Imperium is a well kept secret, as is most specialization in general, passed from necromancer to necromancer. It is very much a process and a ritual, and an arduous one at that. First you must be chosen, and then you must choose to walk the path. Dorian decided to out of curiosity and because of the draw that he felt towards it ——— and the challenged that laid within. Necromancy is death magic, something that seems unnatural and fearsome to the living, and difficult to master besides. Dorian, an arrogant young man at the best of times, wished to best it, in some ways.

Once a mage decides to walk the path of the necromancer, which is a very spirit heavy specialization ( akin to spirit healers, in some ways ) they must prove themselves further. Not to their peers nor their mentor, no. To death spirits, themselves. Spirits of death. Spirits drawn to death. And so on and so forth.

as a mild aside, spirits drawn to death naturally are as follows : spirits of death, spirits of fear, spirits of peace, spirits of faith, and, of course, terror demons.

This process is one underwent by inscribing glyphs onto a mage’s body, with variable locations. Dorian chose the back of his neck, but it tends to vary depending on the mage. This marking includes some ancient sigils, as well as the words non mortem timemus, nascentes morimur in Ancient Tevene. The words translate to we do not fear death, for from the moment we are born, we begin to die. Morbid, certainly, but it gets the point across.

The glyphs are drawn into the skin with ink and there is a potion ingested that is called e morte vita. From life, death. This potion is created from blood lotus, prophet’s laurel, and death root. The candidate has this glyph drawn into their skin and ingests the potion, which puts them in a state suspended between life and death ——— all in the hopes of drawing a death spirit to them. A spirit will choose them if they have enough potential, quite frankly, and if the mage succeeds the glyph becomes etched into their skin and they awaken with a faint connection to a spirit of death. Or a spirit drawn to death, perhaps.

Dorian underwent this process, and when he drank the potion he awoke very soon after. Far faster than most who go through this process, but the side effect was a state of dissociation where he was neither in the Fade nor on the proper side of the Veil, and he remained that way for a short period of time. The spirit who chose him was not Death ( as Death is not a spirit, per say, but that’s another subject for another time ) but was a very powerful spirit of death who had been drawn to him for a great deal of time.

Following attracting a spirit to your person, aka convincing it somehow that a mage may be worthy to learn death magic wholly, there is something of a quest that is underwent. This is a quest done only by the mage wishing to become a necromancer, and is led by the spirit who they have forged a connection with. Naturally, this means that the mage only gets directions in their sleep. You can see how frustrating that may be. Nonetheless !! This quest can take a mage anywhere, quite frankly. To any corner of Thedas, over any ocean, etc. It’s entirely directed by the spirit, and brings the mage to a grave, or a crypt, or a tomb, or something of that nature, wherein they will dig / generally defile the sight at the behest of the spirit, to obtain the bones of someone deceased.

It’s unknown if this corpse had been the spirit, while they were alive, or had any particular significance. This is a mystery to all necromancers, and something hotly debated in the Imperial school ( so to speak ) of necromancy. Nonetheless, this is a journey undertaken by all necromancers-to-be.

Dorian’s spirit took him to the far corner of Rivain, entirely over land, a long and winding journey that was incredibly frustrating to him. It culminated in him finding a long forgotten tomb that had been constructed, quite literally, in the middle of nowhere and was unmarked, for all that it seemed to radiate old magic. Not ancient magic, mind you, but magic that was several Ages old, at least. Upon unearthing and opening the stone entrance to the tomb, he found a singular corpse, nearly all bone by this point in time. The logistics behind which were, theoretically, impossible lest there was magic involved. And thus, he took these bones, and returned to Minrathous. By ship, this time, thank you.

The next step in this path is the creation of a necromancer’s staff. The lore that I have behind staffs and magic in the Dragon Age universe is something for another time, but this magic is meant to be a conduit for death magic specifically, and it’s created via an ancient ritual that involves the femur of the bones taken from the grave site chosen, carved to form the primary hand-grip of the staff. It also involves rune inscribed leather, with death runes specifically, fade touched cloth, phoenix scales, to symbolize and empower the cyclical and natural nature of death and the use thereof, and veil quartz, to act as the primary conduit of magic at the head of the staff.

Once the staff is created, the spirit that has a tenuous connection with the soon-to-be necromancer trainee must be bound to it in a process that both parties are aware of, agree to, and utilizes the remaining ground bones of the body taken, and the mage’s blood. Not much, just a little bit of it, but this is a process that can occasionally go wrong and cause ABOMINATIONS to be formed. Dorian, at this age, saw no problem in minor blood magic, given the status of it in Tevinter and his spirit of rebellion, so to speak.

The binding ritual, for Dorian, was more complicated than he thought it would be, what with his youthful arrogance. The spirit had chosen him and agreed to it, but the stipulation was something along the lines of total equality to him, and while he had seen spirits be bound before, and had taken part during his times as a reckless and wild idiot, frankly, in the Circles, this was an entirely different process altogether. Gaining the notice and almost ( though not quite ) trust required for such a thing from a spirit is difficult ——— this is, in fact, where many people fail, if not at the first engraving to garner the notice of a spirit, to begin with. Dorian succeeded, in the end, and through that gained the understanding of the true will of spirits. Or the extent to their will, that is.

Nonetheless : the spirit is bound, and the creation of the staff is finished, and that mage walks the path of the necromancer from there on. The mentor, who often chooses the inductee, begins training the person properly, with heavy emphasis on the funerary and otherwise traditions that Imperial necromancers tend to take part in.

More on that in another headcanon, I think. This one is... far too long.

[sam-scribbler]

Notes on Religion in Onnerat

Normally in my stories I don’t really address religion. In Onnerat, though, it actually plays a fairly central role. The main conflict - stopping Mi Yinying, apocalypse-starter extraordinaire, from ending the world again - is set against a fraught political background, with three powerful countries struggling against each other as well as a mage rebellion.

(the actual politics of Onnerat - which I have confusingly made the name of the world as well as the title of the WIP - are gonna be another post, I promise)

There are three prominant religions in Onnerat, each loosely corresponding to a different Abrahamic religion. They’re quite similar in many aspects, but they disagree fundamentally on the nature of one single figure in history - Amirah, a Muluk-Alsahran tribeswoman who rallied her fellows against the tyranny of the Bloody Lords who plagued the land. She was betrayed by one of her advisors and poisoned at the age of only twenty-one - in retribution, Mi Yinying boiled the sea as the Bloody Lords sailed away. This act was seen by the Alsahrans as divine retribution and Amirah was turned into a holy figure. All three religions are matriarchal, although the degree to which this is enforced varies even within the faiths themselves:

(continued under the cut - this got really long)

Talbylah is the most prominent in the story, as two of the POV characters - Husana and Shula - are believers, and Shula is a member of the Order of the Steel Flower, tasked with defending the members of the faith from the monsters of the world of dreams as well as ‘outside threats’ - whatever the religious leaders of the day decide those are. Talbylahns believe that Amirah was a prophet sent by God to spread His word and aid His people. Formerly, the faith was lead by a Caliph, but the office was dissolved nearly a century ago and replaced by a council of religious scholars. Most Talbylahns live in Jalsahra, although they are a notable minority in some of the western city-states along Jalsahra’s border.

Sekelakhah is the oldest of the three religions. Founded during the fall of Haelena, a corrupt collection of city-states ruled by warring slaver-lords, tradition holds that the first Sekelakhahni were slaves who escaped the crumbling empire and sailed across the narrow sea under the protection of Ak’rav’mal’akh, the Scorpion Angel. Ak’rav’mal’akh returned to Haelena to free more of God’s people, but was slain by one of the slaver-lords. In retribution, Mi Yinying sealed the world of dreams beneath the earth, cutting the slaver-lords off from their source of power and dooming the ancient empire to ruin. Across the Narrow Sea, the Sekelakhahni founded a kingdom of their own, Sekelakhah, and gradually spread across the coastline to the east towards Jalsahra, even venturing south into the vast desert. Most Sekelakhahni remain in their ancestral kingdom, although some of the Westerling clans also follow the religion. The Sekelakhahni faith is guarded by the Patish Shel Sekel, who are tasked solely with protecting members of the faith from the world of dreams. Sekelakhahni believe that Amirah, like Ak’rav’mal’akh, was an angel of God.

Sectatores Dei is the predominant religion of the large collection of city states that lies to the east of Jalsahra. The center of this religion is Sahepalyk, home to Terra Paradisus - according to Sectatore tradition, this beautiful garden is the closest to heaven one can reach while still on earth and also the place where Amirah descended from Heaven to walk among the mortals; in Sectatore tradition, Amirah is an aspect of God - the daughter - and after being betrayed and killed by the Bloody Lords, God-the-Father boiled the seas in rage. Sectatores Dei is most prominent in the city-states, but can also be found in some of the western provinces of Han-Teng. It has also managed to filter north, to the Skripi and some of the Westerling clans, although it has not gained much traction there. Sectatores Dei is more hierarchical than the other two and is headed by a single figure of nigh-divine authority - the Mater Dolorosa, Mother of Sorrows. Much of Sectatore tradition focuses on the last hour of Amirah’s life and her last words, and the Mater Dolorosa is considered to be the woman who understands Amirah’s last hour in its entirety, hence her title.

Of course, there are other religions in Onnerat, including:

The Skripi Pantheon - a muddled, inconstant thing, based on the surviving scraps of myth from the Old Nords of millennia long past, guarded jealously and carefully passed on from generation to generation. To them, the world ended long ago, with their capital - Ribe - the only relic of the first world that remains. They have gods of war and thunder and wisdom and sea and shadow, of ice and death - hard gods for a hard people.

Westerling - the clans that still adhere to the old ways (what’s left of them) guard their gods almost as jealously as the Skripi do. Chief among them is Hadias, the demon-slayer, king of the gods - and his fatal opponent, the Wolf. They bound each other beneath the earth forever locked in combat, their blood flowing out of the ground to fill all the seas of the world.

Muluk-Alsahra - the remnants of the tribes that once dominated the entire Red Peninsula are largely confined to its western edge, but they remain stubborn in their old faiths - their beliefs in a vast network of spirits that inhabit the world as surely as birds and beasts. Their stone shrines and idols can be found all across their lands. Many locals believe they are cursed, but the truth is that the Muluk-Alsahra are simply very protective of their spirits.

Qimeng - the official religion of the Han-Teng empire, gained traction after the Perversion nearly destroyed the entire country and reduced it to a fraction of its former power and size. Qimeng places a focus on overcoming suffering in order to attain happiness in the afterlife and is one of the few religions in Onnerat to explicitly believe in reincarnation. Practices vary throughout Han-Teng.

[azerothexpanded]

Kul Tiran Witches

[No image for this one, since two bunches of headcanon are coming out and I’m really bad at witch transmogs. Hope the extra stuff makes up for it!]

While the Heartsbane witches are without question the most vile ones to trouble the island kingdom, witchcraft in Drustvar has a long history that is almost as old as Kul Tiras itself. Witches have both troubled the people of Drustvar and given them aid- drawing on the strange death-magics of Thros for all manner of spells. 

Long ago, the Drust retreated into the realm of Thros, licking their wounds from a war with Arom Waycrest’s forces. They swore vengeance- but soon found themselves trapped in the death-realm, a strange place of horrors born of the Emerald Nightmare. It is unknown how many of these strange, twisted realms the Nightmare spawned- but the simple fact that it survives independent of the Nightmare itself is telling enough of its terrible power. The Drust, despite cursing the place they were now trapped in, adapted to it quickly- and over many hundreds of years, worked to master the realm’s power. 

With the Drust defeated, Kul Tiras was free to be settled in full. A number of people came over from Gilneas and Strom, seeking a life on the frontier and new lands in which to live. Among the new arrivals were the followers of the old ways of humanity- practitioners of crude forms of druidism and shamanism. Part of this migration was in response to a new wave of Light-based worship that was sweeping the new nations of humanity. 

Those who could perform some communion with the elements soon found themselves drawn to the slowly-growing followers of the Tidemother. The ones who practiced druidism, though, ventured further south. Many sought the lands around Tiragarde Sound, becoming important part of the frontier towns springing up there. 

One group of harvest witches ventured further south, to Drustvar. The dense and quiet forests there reminded them of their former home in Gilneas’ Blackwald. While the humans believed their enemies to be defeated, Drustvar itself was still regarded as highly dangerous- some of the Drust constructs walked the land still, and the land itself still was home to all manner of beast. 

By pure chance, the witches stumbled into one of the small communities of Thornspeakers. The wise Drust recognized the powers the witches wielded, and offered to work alongside them, and show them their ways. This offer, made in good faith, sewed division among the witches- for many of them had heard tales of the unbridled ferocity of the Drust during the battle for Kul Tiras, and did not know which side the Thornspeakers had fought on. In the end, half of the witches traveled with their new friends to Ulfar’s Den, displaying their powers to him, helping. As the Thornspeakers integrated into Drustvar’s settlements, the harvest witches would be their companions and guides- and eventually, they would be among the first humans to become Thornspeakers in their own rights. The other half traveled deeper into the woods, seeking a place to settle.

By pure accident, they found one of the ancient fortresses of the Drust- and though it was abandoned, much of their power had been unleashed during the struggle to defend it. The witches knew that this magic was strange, and far from the natural power they were used to drawing on... but it was also strong. Far, far stronger than their fledgling druidic magic. The witches took up residence there, and began experiments to draw on the death magic born of Thros. 

It was difficult for the witches to use at first- but over time, they began to have some level of control over the volatile magic, forsaking their use of natural magic entirely. For many years, they practiced their magic deep within the forest, using the cursed Drust ruins to hide from over-inquisitive Thornspeakers and adventurers alike. As far as anybody knew, they had vanished entirely into the wilds, likely eaten by some monster.

This worked to the advantage of the witches- and they remained unknown and hidden for many years- eventually spreading out all over Drustvar in pursuit of knowledge, as well as homes for themselves. Some even lived on the fringes of the slowly-growing settlements, keeping their magic a secret and only using it at great need, while others were openly known as sorceresses who consorted with dark and terrible powers.

For many hundreds of years, this continued on- the original witches trained many apprentices and preserved their knowledge in strange grimoires written in blood. Drustvar’s witches would pass into local legend over time- they were used more as figures in tales to frighten children than truly believed to exist. Some witches continued to hide in plain sight on the fringes of society, known in certain circles to be willing to put strange powers to work... for a price. Other witches would lurk around Drust ruins, or live in cottages in the woods, sometimes even living in small groups to share knowledge and power. 

Their strange magic could be put to any number of uses- but was quite ritualistic in nature, requiring many reagents and magical circles- and oftentimes even whole organs. Some of the witches living in towns even found ways to profit off of their power- ridding the region of troublesome monsters and selling favors, curses, and elixirs to townsfolk. While they were never particularly welcome, 

Seven hundred years after the Drust trapped themselves in Thros, Gorak Tul and some of the most powerful Drust sorcerers had gained enough mastery over the realm and its magic to be able to affect the regular world. When they reached out, though, they were perplexed to find that some of the humans had taken up their magic, and had even begun using it for their own ends. 

While most of the Drust sorcerers were furious that humans had taken up their own magic, Gorak Tul saw opportunity. The Drust king could not defeat his enemies on the field of battle, but he could destabilize their kingdom. He reached out across realms to the witches, invading their dreams and presenting himself as a generous patron. He offered gifts of power and knowledge of wielding Thros’ magic. While they seemed like incredible deals to the witches, he only ever offered them fractions of his power in return for servitude. It always came with an unknown price as well, deeply corrupting their souls. 

The witches would animate the undead remains of the Drust and set them loose on the roads, or raise terrifying constructs that would attack settlements. The woods quickly gained a reputation for being haunted- and the Thornspeakers were hard-pressed to keep the balance of the forest against Tul’s machinations. The people of Kul Tiras were a more superstitious sort than those of the mainland- often dealing with monsters on the sea. When horrors arose on the land, they were often dispatched by brave members of the Waycrest Guard or the Outriggers.

Drustvar’s witches were not the only ones ensnared by his offers- and sometimes, Tidesages or mages would secretly begin to wield Thros’ power as well. Sometimes, he would even choose to appear in the dreams of ordinary folk all over Kul Tiras, instructing them on how to wield the dark powers. Tul was careful never to draw too much attention, and was careful to avoid the watchful eyes of Ulfar and his Thornspeakers.

This continued on for some time- though as Kul Tiras grew and industrialized, Tul found it harder to destabilize on a grand scale like he dreamed. His schemes continued, and he would sometimes make almost irresistible offers of power to the poor and disenfranchised all over the kingdom. Some of Boralus’ backstreet gangs had individuals with darker powers among them, and at one point, he had even managed to corrupt a noblewoman or two into witchcraft. Other Drust became patrons of some witches as well, but Gorak Tul was the most prolific. 

The witches still had effect, when he used them, but Tul was unsatisfied with the fact he had not brought down any large part of Kul Tiras despite all his work- and so he began to hatch a grand plan, searching out the most vulnerable individuals who wielded power. Eventually, he would find the perfect target in none other than Meredith Waycrest. 

[enterinit]

New Xbox One Games for October 29 to November 1 2019

New Xbox One Games for October 29 to November 1 2019.

Afterparty (October 29, 2019)

In Afterparty, you are Milo and Lola, recently deceased best buds who suddenly find themselves staring down an eternity in Hell. But there’s a loophole: outdrink Satan and he’ll grant you re-entry to Earth. Control Milo and Lola with an intelligent conversation system that changes the story and your relationships based on every decision. Uncover their personality quirks and foggy history during the wild events of the night. Every step is up to you as you stumble through the underworld. Go on a hellish bender, uncover the mystery of your damnation, and drink Satan under the table. Starring: Janina Gavankar as LolaKhoi Dao as MiloAshly Burch as SamErin Yvette as WormhornDave Fennoy as Satan

Super Monkey Ball: Banana Blitz HD (October 29, 2019)

Hold onto your bananas, because Super Monkey Ball: Banana Blitz HD is rolling your way! Experience the magic of one of the most beloved titles in the series, now remastered in HD! Head back into the fantastical world of Super Monkey Ball and take back your bananas from the space alien pirate king, Captain Crabuchin. Race through over 100 colorful stages and challenge your friends and family to 10 fan-favorite Party Games! Feeling like the fastest, most maneuverable monkey around? Try out Time Attack mode or the grueling Decathlon endurance run! Will you make it onto the scoreboard? Features: 100 stages to race through10 fan favorite mini-gamesTime attack mode & online scoreboardDecathlon endurance run

Xeno Crisis (October 30, 2019)

Xeno Crisis is an arena shooter in which one or two players take control of battle-hardened marines embarking on a deadly mission to confront an alien menace and get home alive! Run and gun your way through thousands of adversaries as you explore the devastated research outpost, searching for survivors, and ultimately facing the origin of the outpost's demise. Outpost 88 is divided into seven distinct areas, each being randomly generated with each play, meaning that your strategy must evolve on the fly if you're to succeed in your mission. Collect dog-tags from vanquished enemies to upgrade your equipment between areas and look out for special weapons which will give you a momentary advantage. Features: A faithful port of the hit 16 bit game with added extras.Incredible pixel art from the legendary pixel artist, Henk Nieborg.Intense FM chiptune soundtrack by Savaged Regime, originally created for the YM2612!Two difficulty levels and three modes of play.An arsenal of 10 weapons to master.Play solo or local co-op with a friend!

Police Chase (October 29, 2019)

In Police Chase thrilling missions, powerful cars and fighting crime will be your routine! Whether it’s issuing offenders with parking and speeding tickets or thwarting terrorist plots and other crimes — only one thing counts in your job: Guarantee safety in your beat! Meet with informers, shadow suspects, chase perps and handle time-critical missions. Superfast action, a captivating story and a big, open game world call for courage, skill and fast reflexes! In Police Chase it all depends on you! Features: Begin your police career in an absorbing campaign with 15 tense missions.Be ready for the speed and heart-pumping action that awaits on 15 dangerous routes!A wide range of detailed vehicles with varying HP await.Your beat is a large, open 3D world with highways, country roads, and industrial estates.In free-play mode, protect the streets from criminal masterminds and solve 80 different side quests to move up from beat cop to the chief of police.

Close to the Sun (October 29, 2019)

It’s 1897. Deep in international waters, the Helios stands still. Dark clouds loom overhead as unforgiving waves crash against the hull. Colossal effigies of gold, decorated with magnificent finery, stretch as far as the eye can see. Born of Nikola Tesla’s vision, the Helios serves as a haven for the greatest scientific minds. An unbound utopia for research, independent from state and isolated from the gaze of society. Free to push the boundaries of matter and time. Journalist Rose Archer steps aboard the Helios in search of her sister Ada. She quickly discovers not all is as it seems. Grand halls stand empty. The stench of rotting flesh lingers in the air. Silence. A single word is painted across the entrance… QUARANTINE!

Inferno 2+ (October 29, 2019)

The sequel to Inferno+, Radiangames' critically-acclaimed twin-stick action-RPG, Inferno 2 boasts even more devious levels, more weapons, more upgrades and powers, more enemies, and more customization, along with more insane explosions and particle effects. Blast through 80+ levels full of enemies and secrets while upgrading your ship the way you want. Features: Play through 80+ levels of atmospheric awesomenessCustomize your arsenal of upgradable weapons and ship powersSingle player and 2 player local co-op for the first time!New Game+ mode adds even more replayability3 difficulty levels (change it up at any time)All-new special level types and goals. Survival and boss fights!Dozens of enemy typesTons of secrets to discover

Delta Squad (October 30, 2019)

Just when you think the world is safe and it’s okay to take a break, a new threat emerges. Having already survived an alien invasion in FullBlast, the Delta Squad must now do battle against General Rumanovsky, a maniacal overlord who will stop at nothing to achieve global domination. To overcome every threat players will need to take full advantage of upgrading their skills in a bid to deal maximum damage. Features: Gorgeous 3D graphics50 missions across 5 levelsAmbient soundtrack Local co-op support for up to four playersThe option to play any of the 5 levels you want for a quick gaming session

Citadel: Forged with Fire (November 01, 2019)

Citadel: Forged with Fire is a massive online sandbox RPG with elements of magic, spellcasting and inter-kingdom conflict. As a newly minted apprentice of the magic arts, you will set off to investigate the dangerous world of Ignus. Your goal: create a name for yourself and achieve notoriety and power among the land's ruling Houses. You have complete freedom to pursue your own destiny; hatch plots of trickery and deceit to ascend the ranks among allies and enemies, become an infamous hunter of other players, build massive and unique castles, tame mighty beasts to do your bidding, and visit uncharted territories to unravel their rich and intriguing history. The path to ultimate power and influence is yours to choose. EXPLORE A MASSIVE FANTASY WORLD Welcome to the magical world of Ignus: a 36 square kilometer landmass of sweeping plains, dense forests, craggy mountains, festering swamps and frozen tundra. Leave no stone unturned as you explore dangerous caves and ancient ruins to recover powerful artifacts and uncover a rich history spanning thousands of years. Embark on a journey across the land to find the perfect place for you and your allies to call home. STUDY THE ARCANE ARTS Master a diverse range of powerful spells. Discover your conduit of choice among a huge selection of mystic wands and staves, magically imbued axes, swords, maces and hammers, and enchanted gauntlets. CREATE ALLIANCES AND FORGE AN EMPIRE Align your efforts with fellow Warlocks to create a mighty House. Create an internal hierarchy of power, design and plant your own House flag, share your resources to build huge castles and team up to hunt legendary creatures. Wage war with opposing Houses or hatch plans of deceit and trickery to cause internal chaos and ascend the ranks within your own. FIGHT, TAME AND RIDE LEGENDARY BEASTS Use the Pacify spell to tame ferocious creatures and amass an army of minions. Tamed companions will gain experience and grow with you as you travel the world and triumph in battle. Siege an enemy fortress with a horde of savage Orcs, ride Horses and Direwolves to quickly traverse the vast landscape, or rain fiery death upon your enemies from the back of a Dragon BUILD AND FORTIFY EPIC CASTLES Construct your Dream Castle using hundreds of structural pieces found within a flexible and easy-to-use building editor, or take advantage of the dynamic destruction engine and crush someone else's. Enhance your fortress with magical structures like defensive shields, attack towers, mana pools and respawn stones. Unlock new fortification materials and building features as you level up: with so many materials and pieces to work with the only limit is your imagination. FIND A NEAR LIMITLESS VARIETY OF LOOT Are you an old, bearded and wise Warlock or are you a young, ambitious and strong-willed Mage? Create your own style with a huge variety of clothing and weapon options. Discover a near limitless variety among these items' stats with Citadel's rich and deep loot generation system; every loot pull is different and ensures that fighting monsters and exploring dungeons is a constantly rewarding and memorable experience. ACHIEVE THE POWER OF FLIGHT Why walk when you can fly? Use your Wizardly prowess to take to the skies. Enjoy the convenience of a custom-crafted broomstick, tame and mount airborne companions like dragons and giant eagles, or use alchemy to concoct potent elixirs allowing flight without the aid of beast or broom.

Race with Ryan (November 01, 2019)

Ready, Set, Race With Ryan! Take the wheel as Ryan and all your favorite Ryan’s World friends! Ryan’s World has come to life, and it’s every bit as colorful, fun and fast as you imagined. So pick a racer, head to one of six magical locations, and step on the gas to show your friends and family who the fastest racer really is. This is no ordinary championship! Ryan’s famous Mystery Eggs are scattered across each track, and they’re full of surprises that help you power through the pack – like Burger Shields, Sticky Slime, Trick Surprise Eggs and many more. A huge cast of Ryan’s World characters are here to race, including Policeman Ryan in his Patrol Car, Red Titan, Gus the Gummy Gator, Pirate Combo Panda, plus many more you’ll unlock as you race your way to the top. From the miniature toy world of Fantasy Park, to the pirate kingdom of Treasure Island and beyond, each world is full of secret pathways, slippery slides and kids’ imagination! With simple controls, optional auto-acceleration and a tutorial to guide younger players through their first video game, drivers of all ages will love to Race with Ryan. Race your way to the top in Career Mode or speed past your friends in 2 - 4 players split-screen races, the fun keeps coming. Will you be first across the finish line? Features: Race for victory across the colorful world of YouTube sensation, RyanChallenge yourself in Career mode or race with friends in split-screen playSimple racing controls, auto-acceleration, auto-steering and tutorial mean everyone can playUnlock Ryan’s World toy characters and vehicles including Moe, Gus, Alpha Lexa, Peck and Ryan himself!Speed around 6 magical locations including The Toy Shop, Wild West and Spooky Land

Jalopy (November 01, 2019)

Navigate miles and miles of tyre changing, fuel burning, carburettor busting, mud clattering terrain, through night and day, rain and shine. Adapt to whatever the procedurally generated world of Jalopy can throw at you. Upgrade, maintain and care for your Laika 601 Deluxe motor vehicle. Keep close attention to everything from the state of your tyres, the condition of your engine and even the space in your trunk. Repair each aspect of your scrappy little car and install unique upgrades to deal with the changing world. Everything from cargo weight to the condition of your carburettor will determine how your car performs on the open road. The rise of capitalism brings an economical conundrum. Scavenge for scraps to make a small return of investment, or become a baron of the open road and smuggle contraband under the eyes of border patrols to make a sizable profit. Developer Greg Pryjmachuk worked on the Formula 1 franchise from 2009 through to 2014. In late 2014, Greg began work on this new driving simulation featuring the fictional Laika 601 Deluxe car; reminiscent of the East German “Trabbie”, it will need much love and care to keep it going on this memorable road trip! Features: Embark on a grand road trip through the former Eastern BlocDrive and take care of your Jalopy, the Laika 601 Deluxe by keeping an eye on fuel, tyre wear and moreGo under the hood to replace various car parts, from the ignition coil to the air filterExplore Germany, CSFR, Hungary, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria and TurkeyDiscover life in the former Eastern Bloc as you undertake a grand trip with your Uncle Read the full article

[alittlepieceofwarcraft]

A Dying Dream (Perry x Khadgar AU)

Year 33, a few weeks after the Forsaken and human meet in the Arathi Highlands.

A candle served as the only light filling the dim room cloaked by the dead of night. Khadgar remained in the position he’d taken up many hours ago: quill intensely scratching upon parchment, ink spotted across the surface, an already sealed pile of scrolls building up on one side of the creaky desk. The chill from an open window crept in through waves of cold breeze, clinging onto the damp, bleak bricked walls of the circular tower but the Arch Mage didn’t even pause to give a shiver. His hands must have ached from the amount of writing he had produced over the course of the evening and now into the early hours. “King Anduin Llane Wrynn, highest regards upon you…”, “Warchief Sylvanas Windrunner, warm greetings…”. Endless streams of words strung together were printed in a messily handwritten flurry, the urgency of the matter boldly stated in his hurry to send them out. Khadgar was not naïve. This was his final effort to prevent an all-out warfare, a precedent that was at its breaking point.

 The young-old mage had already tried to meet with the leaders of the Alliance and Horde to try and extend the temporary ceasefire that had occurred during the Legion’s latest invasion, but was turned away at both attempts to speak with the respective leaders. Anduin had been absent and the stoic Greymane was not forthcoming with his current location, only bluntly stating that he would be gone longer than convenient to wait for him, almost moments away from ushering Khadgar out of the keep himself. Previous correspondence with a group of Forsaken, an elective party known as the Desolate Council, had slowly fizzled out over time, leaving Khadgar with great hesitation to try and be granted an audience with the banshee queen herself. Just a few weeks before this frostbitten night, Khadgar caught word of an undead and Stormwind civilian meet that had gone terribly wrong and he feared him being there as a human may be taken the wrong way. Sylvanas’ rumoured actions had been the catalyst for his obsessive writing sessions and attempted visits. While Sylvanas had made no solid moves, he knew the queen was hungry: hungry for power, hungry for a solution to her people’s decomposition dilemma, hungry for war. She died fighting, she was raised to fight again. And with the inability to harm Alliance members, she’d turned on her own people at the slightest signal of dissent. This made it clear to him: the factions would remain intact and at odds.  

 He’d made a tiresome journey to seek the Darkspear Tribe, the troll of the Horde remaining leaderless since Vol’jin’s untimely demise. He’d been greeted by an elder crone: a frail female hunched over a gnarled walking staff with a fiery tongue. He’d hoped the lack of an appointed leadership may have left the trolls with more independence and willing to be swayed into a refusal to bear arms against the Alliance in a fruitless war. The troll elder had scowled, shook her head and took no measures to hide her displeasure at the mage’s presence in her village. “Ya be wastin’ ma time,” she’d growled, “I be listenin’ to no little mon when I should be communin’ wid da ancestors. Ya be on your way wid ya murka ass, assumin’ ya be able to advise us when de dead speak through me”. Evidently, she’d not taken Khadgar’s attempts to ward away potential conflict with kindness, rather with heavy insult.

After a heavy failure of trying to reason with the trolls that resulted in indirect offence, Khadgar elected to discuss possible future events with those who understood the cost. Kaldorei, though a mysterious race, were one he had become fond of, for obvious reasons. They’d lived through it all: the War of the Ancients, the Great Sundering, all three wars, and they’d lost much because of it. The ancient continent as one became split into four; Nordrassil, though thank the Light it had recovered, was once destroyed in sacrifice of their people for the good of the world. They held a vast amount of knowledge and power yet also knew of what knowledge and power could do. How it could kill. Malfurion had been absent upon his arrival, gone to Silithus his student said, to see what could be done about healing Azeroth’s mighty wound. Tyrande too was not present. She had taken many of her sisters to nurse those who had been badly injured during the final battle of the latest war against the Legion. A druid elected to sit with Khadgar to listen to his plea. He knew of her before: the pine-haired, serpent-marked elf with strong restorative powers, the perfect individual to address his concerns and anxieties about what lay ahead. She was sympathetic, but her eyes glazed over with a sadness when he asked if her teacher would be willing to draw a line of peace between the two political oppositions even with the tension at hand. “My shan’do desires harmony among all else,” she explained, “but should harm come to our people, my Arch Druid and my High Priestess would not hesitate to call to arms our Sentinels, our Wardens, our Watchers. I fear that with the Banshee on the throne, harmony is not possible, she has a military heart and values strategy where we value sanctity. We will not strike first but should such a threat come to our gates and Elune compels us to fight then the entire kaldorei people will side with Stormwind’s king and bring with them the full force of the night elven people.” Khadgar had left, unsure of whether to be comforted by her words, or even more disillusioned with his dream of unity. He knew that was ridiculous to request no retaliation against a hostile onslaught but the silence he received from the Warchief had dug into him, ripping into a constant panic of desperation.

And so, he marched on. Meeting with as many races as he could to propose an infinite ceasefire. He gauged the same responses. Those wielding the banner of bright blue and gold helplessly reported the same sentiments of the kaldorei; that they would not allow their lands to be taken or their people harmed. Their Horde counterparts agreed, however were honour-bound to serve their Warchief. So Khagar returned home to continue spewing out letter after letter: if he could not see these leaders, he prayed he would at least hear from them.

 “That’s not how you spell ‘high elf’ in Thalassian.” A voice echoed out right behind Khadgar, his exhaustion so great at this stage that he didn’t jump, only flinching hard on his quill, snapping the pointed end off. He craned his neck behind to observe a pastel pink skinned elf; snowy hair glowing in the candle-light, ghostly luminescent eyes peering over his shoulder at his work. He’d been addressing Ranger-Captain Vereesa Windrunner and miswritten ‘quel’dorei’, making the ‘q’ a ‘k’ in his tired state. Peregrïn had entered silently to his study, cloaked in a thick woollen blanket that covered her night shirt, palms wrapped around a steaming cup of tea that she slid onto the desk. She slid off her knitted quilt and hung it over Khadgar. “I thought you would be cold.” Khadgar gave a fatigued half-smile to his bride.

“Thank you, it is getting quite chilly, now the summer season is coming to an end. How was Darnassus? I assume your parents were well?” It had been seen to be appropriate for Perry to meet with her family after the dangers of the Legion. In times like these, one couldn’t be sure if you would see your loved ones alive again after your last visit. Khadgar had chosen to investigate the Silithus wound and negotiate peace with the factions instead and, evidently, was still hard at work on it from the time she left until just now upon her return. She gave a little yawn, the length of her journey catching up on her and she began to sense the need for sleep growing heavier.

“An’da and min’da…” she paused, sleepily blinking and trying to find her next words with the ever-growing drowsy mind of hers, “they are well,” she finished, “I can’t remember the last time I stayed up so late.” Khadgar grinned. The couple spent most nights cuddled up by a crackling fire in their quarters, falling asleep side by side. Rediscovering the night life of the kaldorei must have brought her back several years to customs she wasn’t used to: night elves indulged in celebrating each full moon with an all-night feast. Stacks of tender smoked deer and roasted boar meat would be piled on top of each other; light cabbage, fluffy potatoes, sweetened turnips, all heaped onto sizeable bowls. Music would be played throughout a clear, starry night to honour Elune and her twinkling children in the heavens and the party would go on from the quiet hush of dusk to the rise of the brilliant sun. It so happened her visit coincided with these festivities.

“They tired you out?” He chuckled. Perry scanned over mess of letters Khadgar had been working on.

“Aren’t you tired?” she inquired, “We should sleep. It seems we have had long days.” Khadgar thought of the bed they shared: how warm and inviting it would be to slide in under clean cotton sheets and padded quilts, to let his head sink into big, feather-stuffed pillows, to cradle his worn out love in his arms. Wearily, he shook his head. 

“I cannot,” he grimly muttered, “I fear… I fear…” He needn’t have said any more. Perry nodded, knowing full well of the worries that plagued her dear’s thoughts. They both silently stared at the desk full of correspondence that, secretly, Khadgar thought would all be for nought. As they did so, the candle flickered, its wax nearly all burned away by the flame, dying out almost as if it sensed the fading of Khadgar’s faith as his dream became closer and closer to that: just a dream.

*Murka: “a foolish person”.

*Kaldorei: “Children of the Stars”, night elf/elves.

*Shan’do: “honoured teacher”.

*An’da: “father”.

*Min’da: “mother”.

Characters mentioned (if you want to learn more about them)

Ligani (old troll) recent/popular posts  x x

Mywin (druid elf) recent posts x x

Perry belongs to @drew-winchester

(Sorry if I got anything wrong about Perry! I will probably edit this a little bit anyway.)

[kusunogatari]

[ Frozen Flames and Shadowed Lights || Chapter Six ] [ @yukaikokoro @abyssaldespair ] [ Hatake Kakashi, Kottakawa Kumiko ] [ Blood, gore, animal death ] [ Verse: Divine Light ] [ Previous || Next ]

After a night of fitful rest, Kakashi rises with the sun - even after a few months off from his life on the road, old habits die hard. With the same efficiency and care, he repacks his few removed belongings into his saddlebags, ready to haul them down from the inn room to the stable beyond. Today, it seems, his real journey begins. With Kumiko now joining him, and the first landmark left behind...the rest seems to loom before him, the trail she traced upon the map fresh in his mind.

Once Kumiko rises and does the same, they take their leave, thanks given to the innkeep as they cross to the stalls. Drawing up the cinch on his gelding, Kakashi can’t help a perked brow at his companion’s mount. “Quite the beast you’ve got,” he notes.

Glancing over, Kumiko gives a soft snort. “He’s rather fancy, isn’t he? It comes with the rank...and he’s the horse I’ve come to trust most. He bore me down here...so I’m sure he can make the return trip, and then some. The horses from the north are just as tough as everything else born above the snow lines.”

“I don’t doubt it. He’s a magnificent animal.”

“Thank you.” Kumiko nods to his own. “Something tells me you’ve quite the bond with yours as well.”

“Aye. I’d probably keel over if someone could tell me the miles we’ve covered together.” He gives the gelding a pat on the neck. “There’s few places he hasn’t taken me across the continent. He’s even helped with a few contracts.”

“Oh really?”

“Let’s just say he’s a lot less skittish than most equines you’d meet.”

Small talk over, the pair mount up, carefully navigating through the streets as not to trample anyone. Already the main roads are bustling, and it takes longer than Kakashi expected to finally make it back out onto the open road.

“So,” Kumiko then begins, reins held loosely in one hand. “Seeing as we’re to spend at least a few weeks together, is there anything I should know about the infamous vom berech?”

“...before I answer that, mind telling me what that means?” Berech he’s heard before, and he...vaguely knows the term’s meaning. “Suigin called me the same.”

“It’s, well…” A pause to think how to explain. “Berech is a bit of a catch-all term for those who are both el’tahl, and el’ven. Typically it’s attributed to halfbloods or quarterbloods, but the more literal translation from old tongue is ‘between’. Not much of the first language remains - when the lands were divided and cultures began to branch out, it was lost and splintered. Then Common was made of a mish-mash of many languages. But you can still find bits and pieces.”

“And the ‘vom’? What’s that mean?”

“It, er…” A hesitation. “It sort of means…‘something created from nothing’…? Or perhaps ‘created’ is enough. I think Suigin was referring to the fact that your ven comes from something originally outside your body.”

“Ah...that makes sense.” Kakashi heaves a small sigh. “...well, I suppose that ties into your question, so maybe I’ll loop back around to it, eh?”

“I don’t mean to pry - don’t think I’ll wrestle from you what you won’t want to tell.”

At that, he gives a dry smile. “Even if you tried, I’d doubt you’d succeed,” he assures her. Still, he lapses into silence, thinking where to begin. “...I was born in a large city in the old Igni lands. Both of my parents, to my knowledge, were simple el’tahl folks. My mother died when I was very young - I remember little of her. And my father was part of the city guard. He raised me for a few years, but took his own life after an incident that brought shame to the family.”

Kumiko’s eyes widen. “...I’m sorry.”

“...it was a long time ago. From there, I was taken into the barracks early and started training to follow his career. When I was young, I made a few el’ven friends. Rin was one, and...Obito was the other. The one who gave me this,” he adds, gesturing to his vermillion eye. “Rin’s family is mostly terra mages, but she branched out into flora, and worked in an apothecary shop raising plants and making medicines. Obito was berech igni, an orphan from a large clan that was like the ruling class of the city. The three of us were always running around, sticking our noses into trouble. And then, of course...there was the time it finally went wrong.

“We were outside the city a ways, looking for new specimens of plant for Rin to start cultivating, and then there was a ruckus nearby. Rin insisted we go look, and we found a group of mage hunters attacking a lux mage. Rin know what she was in a moment, and insisted we help. Where Rin went, Obito followed, so...we joined the fray. It was a fairly even struggle, but I got clipped in the eye by a blade. Things started going downhill, and then suddenly...they all vanished. Rin later theorized the mage used the rest of her strength to send them through time portals. But...she’d acted a little too late.”

Pain shadows Kakashi’s face, and Kumiko glances aside. “...Obito had been run through just as they disappeared. And with so little ven left, the lux mage couldn’t save him. So instead...she asked if he’d give me an eye to replace the one I’d lost. Obito agreed, and she managed to perform the transplant before she…” A fade to silence. “...Obito passed not long after. We buried her, having no idea what funeral rites lux mages’ culture entails. But we knew Obito’s clan would want him back.

“Before she died, the mage told us to take a ‘treasure’ she had hidden in the hollowed tree at the edge of the clearing. And that treasure...turned out to be Ryū.”

“What?! So...that woman was…?”

“Her mother. Rin and I took her with us...Rin reported Obito’s death to the igni mages, and they went to fetch him, cremate him as is their way. But I was afraid to stay in the city. I thought they’d see my eye, and assume I’d killed Obito to take it. After all...there were no hunter bodies - they’d all disappeared. All that was left was his corpse, and the signs of a struggle. And Rin had concerns about the igni clan getting their hands on Ryū. So...we fled. For a while we stuck to the road, and it was while traveling we found out Obito’s eye changed me enough to let me use some igni ven. It scared me, at first...so when Rin found a little village to hide Ryū in, I decided to leave. I didn’t want to bring them trouble, or hurt them on accident before I trained how to use my new power. Instead, I started doing contracts. Mostly killing pests...which led to beasts. I was making a decent living, and then...a few months ago, Rin found me and told me all Ryū was up to, trying to remake the Summit. So I came back, let her wrangle me into being her advisor, and...now, here we are. And here she’s not…”

“...we’re going to get her back,” Kumiko affirms, tone sure. “...I guess now I know why you were so distraught. She means more to you than I realized, like family...I’m sorry if I came across as aloof to that fact.”

Kakashi waves a hand. “No harm done.” A pause, and then a glance. “...so? What about you, lady Kumiko?”

Snorting at the title, Kumiko thinks for a moment. “I was born an only child to the main family within my clan: Tamotsu and Yuka Kottakawa. As ours is the strongest, we were chosen to act as leaders within the realm of Glaciris. That mantle fell to my father from his, and to me when the time came. But, while he has trained and groomed me to be his successor...he and I have vastly different ideals for our lands, and our people.”

There’s a light sigh. “...my father agrees with the old ways. Of being cold, and cut off from the rest of the continent. His pride holds us to a different standard, and insists we tend to our own affairs, and our affairs only. While he is content to rule at a distance...I cannot keep myself so far from my people.” A warm smile blooms across her face. “More than once, I snuck from the manor and wandered the city. I wanted to see the people and places I would come to lead. And that was...when…”

Kumiko’s features darken. “...when Nori was assigned to me. When my father realized there was no holding me back, he instead insisted I be protected when I went. But I would not stand for that. Instead, I had Nori train me how to fight...how to survive. While I had been trained in the beginnings of channeling ven, I wanted to know how to wield a blade. What if my element was taken from me? I had to have another skill to rely on. All of that, as I walked the streets of my city, made me realize...I would never be as my father is. As he wants me to be. He holds himself far and away from our people, but that is not a road I can take. I want to warm them to me, as I seek to warm them to the world. I want to inspire unity both within our lands, and beyond them. El’tahl and el’ven alike...I want them to trust me. To have faith in me. When they began approaching me on our walks, I knew it was my destiny.

“So, I doubled down on my studies. Threw myself into learning all I would need to know, and becoming embroiled in the politics of the north. And it was that dedication that saw me chosen as the representative of Glaciris for the new Summit.”

Kakashi watches as Kumiko smiles to herself - it’s more than clear her words are fully backed by actions and intentions. “...my people have much to learn, and far to go...but I will not give up on them. I will lead them to a brighter future.”

The hunter gives a curl of his own lips, chuckling. “It’s quite the sight to imagine, you learning your swordplay and butting heads with your father. True, a leader cannot be everywhere, cannot know everyone...but I think I prefer your method to his.” A thoughtful pause. “...I’ve never known anyone from the north well, so I’ve no judgment to make. But if your actions are half so strong as your words, I’ll wager you meet your goals.”

“I hope so, Kakashi.”

From there, their journey fades into a companionable silence broken by random quips. But with so many miles and hours to go, most pass with little interruption. The plains of the heartland soon overrun with trees, and the path lines with dense forest, shaded as the afternoon ages. For a time, the ride is pleasant...but the pair’s keen senses soon realize something is...amiss.

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Glancing to one another in a silent bid to be on guard, they both startle as a ruckus sounds a ways down the road. Both horses jolt, dancing in the dirt as their riders work to soothe them.

“Easy,” Kakashi murmurs, calming the gelding to a snorting standstill. Something sounded like...snapping wood? Almost as if a tree had fallen, but...there’s no wind. Nor any wagon tracks to suggest someone out to fell them.

“What do you suppose that was?” Kumiko asks quietly, reassuring her stallion as he huffs a breath.

“I can’t say for sure...but it stinks of trouble,” he replies, brow furrowing. “For now, I think it’s best we get off the road. Circle around to the other side and keep our eyes peeled.”

“Agreed.”

Dismounting, they instead lead their hoses to the left, abandoning the path and carefully stalking through the trees. The tall trunks and broad canopies mean little light for undergrowth. Nice in that it makes it easier to see...but also to be seen.

A few minutes of silence eventually give way to growing noise. Another silent agreement, the pair tethering their horses in a thicket before creeping onward alone. Peering around a turn in the road from behind a fallen log, they both tense at what they see.

A wagon, goods splayed all over the road, is completely overturned. Nearby, an ox lies dead, neck clearly broken. The other is still tethered to the cart...and atop it, tearing into flesh with a wicked beak...is a gryphon.

“Twelve above,” Kumiko whispers.

“Guess that explains the noise we heard…what in the hells is it doing so close to town…?”

“...wait…” Patting Kakashi’s arm, she points. “...look!”

Cowering under the splintered wreckage of his cart, the driver is somehow still alive, currently unnoticed as the beast occupies itself with his livestock.

“...well I’ll be damned.”

“We have to do something!”

Sighing curtly, Kakashi nods. “...all right...can you create an ice wall?”

“A small one, probably. There should be enough moisture for me to draw from.”

“Good...when I give the signal, make a wall between the gryph and the cart. Use that to get him out of there, and back here into the trees. With those wings and that bulk, the gryphon won’t want to follow. I’ll be a distraction.”

“Will you kill it?”

Kakashi considers the wreckage. “...the cart’s not worth saving, and the oxen will spoil before they can be used. I doubt much of his merchandise is whole, either. I could just leave it to finish up the mess, but…” He drags a hand down his face. “...it’s too close to town. And now that it knows it can find easy prey on the road, it’ll just strike again.”

“...can you kill it?”

“Only one way to find out.” Before she can argue, he vaults over the log and heads toward the road, posture crouched and pace quick. 

Swearing lightly under her breath, Kumiko follows, remaining hidden behind a trunk and awaiting Kakashi’s signal.

Making it to the cart, Kakashi taps the driver, who flinches with a yelp. Slapping a hand over his face, the hunter makes a curt gesture for silence. 

Above them, the creature pauses...and then returns to its feast.

“My companion will come for you,” Kakashi whispers. “When she does, follow her back into the trees, and stay down. I’ll take care of the beast.”

“Oh, Twelve bless you sir - bless you!”

Sighing at the unnecessary noise, Kakashi peeks around, then waves back to Kumiko.

In a sprint, she gestures to the path before her. Water condenses from the air and the nearby forest, cooling at her urging and forming an icy barricade.

Squawking, the gryphon flutters in surprise as Kakashi runs out the other side. 

“Oi! This way, bird brain!” he calls, sending a stream of fire from a palm into the creature’s face.

A shrill shriek cuts through the air, rattling Kakashi’s brain with the sound. Teeth grit, he watches Kumiko reach the cart, dragging out the driver and dashing back for cover.

Okay, good…

Summoning more ven, he directs dual jets to the wagon, the dried wood catching like tinder. Smoke billows up from the wreckage, and the beast shies from it with an angry cry.

Drawing his sword with a twirl, Kakashi squares off against his new quarry. Seems to be a young male, juvenile...not as big or strong as an adult, but more limber, and faster. No wonder he took an easy meal where he could. Odds are, he’s been having trouble hunting regular prey on his own. Also why he’s so close to town: likely driven out of any other established territories.

“Sorry friend, but you’re too dangerous to leave here,” Kakashi murmurs, watching as the beast crouches with a hiss. Bird talons dig into the dirt for a steadying grip...and then with a lunge, it leaps across the gap, beak wide open.

Tucking and rolling to one side, Kakashi makes to loose more flames...but the element sparks and flickers. What?! Out already?! But I -?

A screech gives him just enough warning to dodge again, trying to land a hit with his flailing blade. It grazes along a rear leg, blood arcing as the gryphon screams. Hardly deadly, but...it might slow it down.

Beyond the treeline, Kumiko settles the cart driver in their previous hiding place. “Stay here, don’t move, and don’t make any sound.” Accepting his shaking nod, she turns on a heel and sprints back to the road, watching as Kakashi dances with his foe. The cart is aflame, belching black smoke as the pair strike and dodge. Assessing the situation, her eyes narrow as she notices Kakashi seem to lag.

...he didn’t instruct for her to interfere, but…

Determined, she closes some of the distance before kneeling, palms planted to the ground. Ven bleeds into the earth, looking for something…

Aha!

With a growing roar, she struggles to drag up the water from beneath the ground, the liquid seeping up and following her command. As the gryphon moves her way, she begins firing shards of ice. The sharp projectiles earn a shriek as they cut through feathers and into flesh, garnering the beast’s attention to her, instead.

“Kumiko!” Kakashi shouts in warning.

Unphased, she slides under as the monster pounces, water shadowing her arms and rippling. Almost as if time slows, she raises her limbs as the hybrid’s underbelly glides over her...and with a thrust of energy, the element strikes forward, hardening into condensed ice that spears through into its abdomen.

A strangled cry of pain sounds, the beast landing in a heap as Kumiko comes to a stop. Panting, she struggles back to her feet...but it’s clear the fight is over.

Kakashi stares with widened, mismatched eyes.

...he...was not expecting that.

“...we should end its misery,” she then murmurs, wiping the sweat from her brow.

“...aye.” Closing the gap, Kakashi - wary of the talons - drives his blade up behind a foreleg, and into the beast’s heart. It gives a dying bleat of pain...and then goes limp.

Silence...save for the crackling of cart wood.

Withdrawing his sword, Kakashi cleans the gore from it before sheathing it, looking to the beast somberly. “Well...a life for a life, I suppose.”

“You were right - it’s far too close to town. Just a matter of time before a human fell prey,” Kumiko agrees, a hand upon his shoulder. “But...what shall we do with the driver? He has no way to the next city without his wagon.”

“And we’ve no time to backtrack,” the hunter muses. “I’d rather not take him with us for a week to the town beyond, either.”

“My...my good sir? And lady?”

The pair turn, and Kumiko’s expression flattens. “I told you to remain where I left you!”

Flinching, the salesman replies, “I...yes - I-I know. But I heard things go quiet, so…?”

“It’s dead,” Kakashi confirms, sensing his question. “You’re safe...though your goods are forfeit.”

“That’s no matter in the face of my life! You have my eternal thanks, good people. I...I have no coin on my person, but -?”

Kakashi shakes his head, raising a hand. “I wasn’t hired. There’s no price. Besides...it needed to be done.”

“Please, may...may I have your names?”

“Kakashi Hatake. And the lady is Kumiko Kottakawa.”

Bowing and bowing, the man finally dares to step into the road, skirting the carcass nervously. “Please, I hail from the town just south. If you should ever pass by again, seek out the Oakheart Trader! I’ll gladly settle the debt then! I insist!”

“It will be some weeks before we head that direction again,” Kumiko warns. “But your honor is appreciated. I’m afraid we’ve pressing business - we cannot take you back to town…?”

“Oh, fret not! I passed a patrol on my way out - they will surely soon about-face and find me, for I doubt the smoke will go unnoticed for long. I’m certain there will be help before sundown! You have done more than enough, kind sir and lady. Thank you, thank you!”

A bit unnerved at the praise, Kakashi just gives an awkward nod...then reaches to his side, unbuckling the dagger he took from the Luxerian armory. “Here. It may not save you from a beast of this ilk, but...I’ll not leave you undefended. And it should sell for some to help amend for your losses.”

Eyes wide at the pristine dagger, the man only becomes all the more reverent. “Your generosity, sir...it knows no bounds…!”

Trying to wave him off, Kakashi offers, “Stay in the treeline, and with your back to a tree. Wait for that patrol, and be sure to report all you saw.”

“I will, thank you! Safe travels, lord and lady!”

As the pair move to retrieve their horses, Kumiko gives a small snicker. “I think you’ve an adoring fan, Kakashi. Something tells me if you ever enter that shop, he’ll never let you leave!”

“Best leave that to you, then...after all, you were the one to strike the deciding blow.”

She waves the sentiment aside. “We worked together. Call it even.”

“As you wish.”

     Aaand with that, we officially enter non-thread territory! We started this scene, but Kakashi bailed on me and blog stuff changed before it finished. I am...NOT the best at fight scenes, obviously xD Tbh it feels a little short, but...oh well. It’s mostly just a filler fight and an event for these two to bond a bit more!

[somevirtualnolife]

A Little Luck

1616 Words

Rating: G Pairing: Hawke x Cullen Rutherford  Summary:   Aerianne and Stroud gather information on the grey wardens in the Western Approach. Previous Chapter: Same But Different Author’s Notes:  As promised, here's a little fluff! This is essentially an interpretation of the infamous coin scene, which I feels fits in great to a Hawe x Cullen narrative. Hawke as a character is arguably one of the most unlucky characters in a video game (even more so, if you make the wrong decisions like I did in my first playthrough). And Cullen well, he also had a string of bad luck before joining the Inquisition. I feel like, it's one thing that they could understand about each other without going into too much detail.

“I read the reports,” Cullen shook his head, a concerned expression on his face.

“I don’t know what they were thinking,” Aerianne said. She could already feel her blood starting to boil again from the mere thought of it. “I know that these are dire times, but I never thought that they would attempt blood magic. Not at this level,”

Aerianne closed her eyes and leaned against one of Cullen’s bookcases. In addition to anger, exhaustion was setting in as well. She couldn’t help but have this sense of déjà vu about it.

Cullen nodded sympathetically. He of all people knew how she felt about blood magic. Just as she knew how he felt when he found out that some of the templars turned to red lyrium. There was this sense of betrayal. Everything you’ve been fighting for, or what you thought you had been fighting for, turns upside down. Although Cullen did end up leaving the templars, she could still see that he was strongly attached to the organization. Aerianne was no mage, but her calling had always been to help them in their time of need. But in cases like these, she wasn’t sure how she could help. What could she do when they were actively hurting themselves and those around them?

“I’m just… tired. Of all this,” she finally said, opening her eyes again.

“I know,” Cullen replied, cupping her cheek and lightly caressing it with his thumb. His lips lightly pressed against her forehead. The silver lining in all of this was that at least this time, they were on the same side. She had forgotten what it was like to have someone in your corner during these moments.

“It’s still awhile before we march to Adamant,” he continued. “You should give yourself some time to rest for the next couple of weeks,”

“I suppose, but it’s a little difficult,” Skyhold already in midst of preparing for the battle. No matter where you turned, you sort of had to deal with it being there. And she’d wanted to help. She couldn’t help but feel a part of all this. Corypheus was a part of her legacy after all.

Cullen looked up at the ceiling for a moment, his brows knitting together, thinking.

“You know, the inquisition has some dealings in Ferelden,” he said. “Maybe you’d like to accompany me for part of it. There’s a place I’d like to show you,”

Aerianne tilted her head, curiously. It’d been years since she’d been to Ferelden. She was there very briefly when they first fled from Kirkwall after the explosion of the Chantry, but that was about it. There wasn’t really time to take in the sites or try to see what remained of Lothering. It sounded sort of nice to visit her homeland, especially with Cullen.

“That sounds nice, actually,” she responded, a tired but relieved smile appearing on her face.

**  

Honnleath had been ravaged not long after Lothering during the Blight, according to Cullen. But a decade had passed since then and it was finally looking as though the land was healing. There was green growing from the ground, trees were regaining foliage and the waters were no longer a dull grey. On this particular night, the high grass was dotted with the soft glow of fireflies as the couple walked along a small dirt path.

“It’s lovely out here,” Aerianne said, stretching out one of her hands and lightly brushing it against some nearby reeds.  

“We’re quite lucky that tonight is clear,” Cullen replied. It’s true. Ferelden wasn’t known for its beautiful weather, blight or not. It was cloudy more often than not, and it always felt as though it was going to rain. But tonight, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the air around them was warm and welcoming.

“I know things have been hard, especially now. I wanted to take you away from that, if only for a moment,”

Eventually, they came upon an old wooden dock that overlooked a small lake. Cullen offered his hand to Aerianne and lead her further out. The closer the were to the water, she could hear the croaking of frogs and crickets chirping grow louder.

“I would come here to clear my mind. I loved my siblings, but they were very loud,” he chuckled softly. “Of course, they always found me eventually,”

Aerianne couldn’t help but laugh a bit as well. There was something very typically Cullen about that situation. How many times in Kirkwall (and even Skyhold if she was being quite honest) did she seek him out when all he was looking for a bit of peace and quiet from everyone?

“You were happy here, weren’t you?” she asked.

“I was. I still am,”

She lifted his arm and draped it over her shoulders, squeezing in closer to his chest. His muscles were relaxed, and she could hear his heart beating slowly. It was rare for Cullen to be really at ease. This really was a place of peace for him. Somewhere in his life that hadn’t been taken from him or tainted by bad experiences. She couldn’t help but feel relieved for him.  

“The last time I was here was the day I left for templar training. My brother gave me this. It just happened to be in his pocket, but he said it was for good luck,” Cullen opened his free hand and in the middle of his palm was a silver coin. It was a little worn from age, but still seemed to shimmer under the moonlight.  

“This was the only thing I took that the templars didn’t give me. We are not supposed to carry such things. Our faith should see us through,”

“No harm with a little bit of luck to boost that faith,” Aerianne replied, looking out at the lake.

“Is that what you rely on?” he asked.

“Me? Hah, I’m not sure about that,” she hadn’t decided whether it was bad luck that a series of unfortunate events seemed to follow her wherever she went, or that it was good luck that kept her alive through all of them. Maker only knew.

“What do you think you’d be doing if you hadn’t been a templar? Or if the blight never happened?” she asked. She wasn’t sure why the question came to her, but it just seemed appropriate with everything that was going on.

He mused, resting his head on hers. “I never really thought of it. I always wanted to be a templar, ever since I was a child. I supposed I might’ve joined King Cailin’s army at the time. If Orlais wasn’t so pretensions, perhaps become a chevalier. As long as I could help people and have a purpose, I suppose I would have been happy. What about yourself?”

“Lothering was small and our family liked to keep a low profile. Realistically, I probably just settled down and married a local boy, becoming the wife of a famer or storekeeper,”

“Now that I have a hard time picturing; Aerianne Hawke, a simple farmer’s wife that kept to herself,” he laughed.

“You don’t think I could’ve done it?”

“Not in the slightest. At the very least, you would have more likely started some sort of ‘farmer’s wife union’ and ran for mayor of Lothering,”

“Psh,”

“You’re not really the type to watch things go by around you, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing… It’s one of the qualities that I love about you,”

She could feel a rush of heat fill her cheeks. Aerianne didn’t easily blush, but Cullen was rarely able to express his feelings so easily. Hearing those words now, she couldn’t help but make her heart race like that of a young maiden. She really was a romantic, as much as she tried to pretend that she wasn’t.

She buried her face into his mantel, taking a deep breath. Sometimes she felt like she was cursed, considering everything that had happened in her life. But there were times when the Maker gave her a break. Moments like these were precious. It’s what made her keep pushing forward. To not completely give up.

It was then that Aerianne felt Cullen’s hands wrap around hers, and she could feel the weight of the coin drop into her palms. She looked back up at him, curious.

“Humor me,” he said, giving her a half smile. “We don’t know what we’ll face before the end. This can’t hurt,”

Aerianne closed her fingers around the coin and squeezed it tightly. Luck. Despite what she felt about herself, Varric had always told her that she could make the best out of the worst situations. Only Hawke could do this. Only she could manage to go from a Ferelden refugee to one of the most powerful names in Kirkwall. Only she could go head to head with an Arishok and make it out with all her limbs attached. Only she could manage to have both a templar commander and a grand enchanter vying for her support.

Right now, she wanted to believe that maybe it was true.

She then smiled and went on the tip of her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulled him in close, their noses touching for a moment. The hairs on his jawline tickled her cheeks, before their lips locked in a kiss. She wasn’t sure if she believed in luck, but in this moment, she wanted to. Through everything that had happened, when she was certain that she was meant to be alone, they found each other. And with Cullen, she could see a future where she was happy again.  

“I’ll keep it safe,”

[rambleverse]

((The following is a response to this piece.))

“Gnareth,” says an elf crouched over a pile of crusted silks, linens, and the odd bit of burlap. The pile stinks of salt, wet wood, and beer.

“Gnareth,” the elf says getting closer still. With the butt of his pike he taps at the mass like a cat at a long dead fish. He pulls back. Here in the alley beside The Rusted Hole he drew little attention, but glancing about in his blue and yellow livery, Tunerdric “Turney” Helfaen spent the last of his worried patience. Jabbing the pile square in the center, he snaps:

“Gnareth. Fucking wake up.” he says through clenched teeth.

“Hwah!?” says the pile, revealing itself to be an elf after all. Rising out of the silks like a startled half-drowned gull, his head swivels as he gulps in breath. The air of Mistborn Harbor stings his eyes as his nose roils at his own pickled beard. He gets to his elbows coughing and sputtering, black hair a mop wide and weedy strands.He is thirty seconds sober, indebted to three pirate captains, a cheat at dice, and the most ambitious man in the Gilded Lands.

Gnareth Saderis, heir of the Silver Coast, Mistborn, and all the threads out of Silkwater greets the day by retching on to the gray-black stone of the alleyway.

“Fucking–what time, what’s the time?” he asks.

“Three, my lord.” Turney responds.

Squinting at Turney and then to the sky, Gnareth nods in agreement.

“That’s fair.”

Turney takes Gnareth to his feet, with the latter swatting him off. Gnareth sniffs, passing a hand down his beard to scrape the chunks.

“There a reason you woke me up, Turney?” he asks.

The young lordling’s chaperone and stooge takes his charge into the back of the Hole, walking him to a prepared heated basin. The sight of their hold’s heir turns few eyes in the dive, and as Gnareth quickly scrubs himself ready Turney drops the bundle of clothes on the side table.

“Your ‘da’s calling for you.”

“My Lord Father is always calling on me–what’s the problem, Turney?” Gnareth says, bringing a fingernail to his teeth to scrape out the gunk. He presses his tongue to the back of his teeth, then runs it across their fronts. He spits.

“Just hurry.” Turvey says, putting eyes to the side as Gnareth rises from his bath.

Toweling himself off, Gnareth squints at his soldier. Once dry he opens the bundle laid for him, inside are clothes prepared for some kind of apology. A blouse in the colors, an appropriate cloak and chain, a comb, pants. Gnareth squints at these too, but the effort of the morning pounds the inside of his head.

Once dressed he nods to Turvey, grabbing a bit of tough loaf from the top of the bar as they pass. He spits the bite into the ground as soon as they clear the door. Sour. Fucking sour bread? Sour grain? Gnareth’s tasted worse before, he himself could hardly be savory, but sour bread? Hungry and sobering by the minute the pair walk the streets of Mistharbor.

Where a Lord might walk with entitlement, the heir Saderis sauntered with ownership. Cocksure with the thump of his boots, hands scratching at his beard or loosening his chain, Gnareth moves with uncomfortable familiarity between the high stone byways of Old Dock.

From their stalls mongers and merchants alike shout out at him,

“You hear what your father’s gone and done?”

“My my, the heir about! Times are dire inDEED.”

“Saderis stands TRUE milord, Saderis stands TRUE. FAITH AND FORTUNE, FAITh and fortu-”

The fuck are they on about? Merchants shouting was nothing new, and with the blockade they erred on mean, unpolite things for a gentle personage like himself. But aside from houses where “official” business kept itself busy people liked to forget Gnareth had a father in these parts, and Gnareth liked them for it. By design the streets of Mistborn flow to the power of the hold, to the docks and its lordly estate, and so within twenty minutes of harangued banter and soapbox edicts Gnareth scrawls together a piece of the events in his head.

The honor of his father did worsened his mood more than his hangover. For all his pomp and holier-than-thouedness Indaris could hardly be blamed for kneeling. Not honorable, but honor had never done old Thathorius any favors. Instead, it was Gnareth’s willingness to humbly drag his father’s name through the mud that kept pirate, scoundrel, and murderous coin coming to this last safe harbor. Seeing the harbor filled with blue and white gulls squawking and pecking about their steam boats and galleons turned Gnareth’s stomach as well, but not for honor.

So long as Alliance held the port whatever advantage Gnareth carved for himself drifted far, far out at sea. The thought of freebooter money drifting out there, alone, turns his head out to the wake. Somewhere the empire all his own waited for him to give the sign. The urgency of testing a pirate’s patience brought him charging to the high iron gate of the Saderis Estate. A pair of elves, purple elves, stop him.

“No visitors.” they say in northern Thalassian typical of mages. “The lord Saderis is on house arrest.”

“And does that mean his son should go begging on the street for shelter and poverty?” Gnareth snaps, “I am Gnareth Saderis, and I demand to see my father.” The look of unimpressed scrutiny screws up his guts as they pass through.

Mistborn Manor, like the first harbor, rose out of the stone itself. Part carved, part mortar blessed by priests forgotten, the trident of his house still flew above the yard. But where the dealings of House Saderis frequently drew comfort from the goliath bricks of its makers, hardly an ear in Mistborn could ignore the shouts inside.

FUCKING-FUCKING HAVE YOU EVER THOUGHT-

SENT FOR YOU THREE DAYS AGO GNARETH, I AM TIRED OF ASKING FOR MY OWN SON

YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I DO. YOU HAVE NO-

DRUNKEN. GAMBLING. WHORING. IS THIS WHAT I AM TO YOU? IS THIS WHAT YOUR NAME MEANS TO YOU? ARE YOU LISTENING? ARE YOU LISTENING?

Inside the fish goes cold. Vegetables, greens, soup. Fish soup. On either side sits house Saderis. Tathorius, slumped in his chair, rubs his brow. For all his faults he still sat at his own table, still held his own meal, and against his son gave nothing.

“Truefeather will come.” he says, his voice low and eyes dark.

“And what if he doesn’t?” says Gnareth, one foot on his chair, knee drawn to his chin. The glare he bears is legend at every table save this one. In this house he is still only a son.

“He will.”

“And what if he doesn’t?” his son pries.

“Then I will not give Indaris the satisfaction of selling my house like a whore.”

“Our house.”

The hands at Tathorius’ head go to his lap, and seeing the eyes of his heir draws his mouth shut for a moment. A long moment.

”This isn’t about you, boy.” he says over the table. The sound of wood scraping on stone cracks through the vaulted arch ceiling of the manor. Gnareth looks at the portraits of ancestors, the silver earned by any means lining the table, the wine bought with his own blood. His own.

The hour comes to sunset, and Turvey huddles next to an elf cinching saddle over horse. With night on the horizon, the silver of the elf’s armor glints steely and blue.

“What are you doing

What are you doing, hey-”

Heaving atop his horse Gnareth adjusts his riding gloves.

“Thinking about myself, what else?”

[a-writing-bear]

[PruCan WEEK 2018] Day 3 - Spellbinding Souls & Ageless Allure

Ao3 Link:

Link to this fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16166468

Link to previous fic (Day 2):  https://archiveofourown.org/works/16154843

Link to PruCan Week 2018 Collection: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1145768

Tumblr Link:

Link to Day 2 fic ( Previous) 

This Has been cross-posted onto FF & Ao3 under Aliases: BearBooper

You can read this Fic on Tumblr under ‘Keep Reading’

Fandom: Hetalia Axis Powers

Main Pairing: Gilbert Beilschmidt & Matthew Williams (Prussia & Canada)

Prompt: Mystery / Curiosity for @prucanweek

Summary:  Magic AU! Gilbert is an Old Spirit of Mischief and arcane magic - he reminisces the first time he fell in love with the demigod of the forest.

Word Count: 1,711

Age Rating/Mature: All Audiences :)

Author Note:  I’m not gonna lie, I’ve been itching to write another magic fic... I had a blast on this one! :D 

Wisps of the forest seemed to be in a jovial mood as the soft breeze of frigid wind wound and whipped around the tall timber of the ever-stretching woods; The beauty of the forest still felt captivating, even after traversing through it’s miles of  old earth for many years. Oaken towers of bare bark wept and whistled, contrasting their full-dressed pine brethren who relished in the oncoming cold with prickles still unplucked, ready to bare the hushed chill. winter was arriving and autumn had embraced it’s end with such bountiful harvests; Gilbert smirked. If only the locals knew of Matthew’s hard work to conjure the glorious growth that befell them this term. There was some melancholic beauty in the shivering ground and although the ancient mage preferred the view in its vibrant green state or its amber tones, he withheld the urge to intervene in its natural order. No wallowing flora would deceive him, nor the crawling fauna which was crying out for a healing warmth would trick him into touching it- His beloved would berate him for messing with the work of Mother Nature and of the other olden Gods.

It was peculiar for him. To now have the discipline to not interfere with the natural order or to pester the environment, and for what? The icy pale magi was an ancient master of his craft if he wanted he could be the harbinger of fear, instil curses upon a prideful soul or charm the village beauty with a simple evocative spell… he could have ransacked the valley for himself and live in the silent retreat he once yearned for. And yet, he chooses to wander in the elegance of his lover’s eloquent craft. Matthew’s attention to detail when working on his land was impeccable, and while it’s autumn glory felt ephemeral, he found it timely that the season change now; of course Matthew made the transition as gradual and untroubled as possible. His sore feet had brought him to the small familiar cottage. A warm fire must have been blazing as he saw the ashy smoke climb up and out of the chimney with a slow but steady drag. Matthew had to be working on a new spell- the door had been left open and footsteps suggested the man had recently gone out to pick at the rosemary bush in the dirt nearby. With a grin he walked in, making sure to shake off any residing dirt and too warm up his cheeks that were marked in pink by the seasonal weather. Hunched over a book and telekinetically balancing multiple tools (namely a spoon and a mixture of woodland ingredients) within the air, His beloved had been enthusiastically humming as if to harmonise with the crackling fire just ahead of them.

“A new breakthrough perhaps or have the ancient Lords given you a new project?” Gilbert mused, breaking the focus that the strawberry blonde had on his work, thus making the once floating objects clatter violently on the ground.

“Gil! You must see what Kiku had teleported to us! Wild ‘ Flammulina velutipes’ - Winter fungus!” Matthew had brought forth a handful of shrooms, ranging in shades of brown but all holding a distinct earthy smell. The pure amazement on the younger mage bewildered Gilbert; For the centuries Gilbert had moved along this existence, he had encountered this plant in the far east end of the world- what was so spectacular of this bunch that had excited his love? Obviously seeing this puzzlement, Matthew explained with great engagement over his research:

“It’s a rare brand of its own kind which can withstand winter! And I’ve grown these before but when cultivated it loses its colour for a milky white palette. It’s so difficult to find the wild versions but Kiku had many growing in his territory among the roots of his persimmon trees so he teleported a stock over to me!” Matthew’s grin growing ever so adoring and thankful, the gratitude evident in his soft eyes.

“I guess we’ll have to send him a gift then? Maybe another protectant charm for his people’s new harbours?” Gilbert supplied as he watched Matthew fiddle with putting away the sacred gift as well as picking up the dropped items and rummaging around to put them away. The pale man had picked up a few out of place belongings and stacked them neatly in order to assist in the cleaning.

“I thought so too, he’d been having trouble with the water spirits again. I just finished preparing one but I felt an owl would not be appropriate for a border-crossing journey and summoning Kuma to deliver it would be disrespectful to his spirit’s resting hour.”

“How about I send it over? I’m low on mana but I’m sure I’ve got enough stored for a simple token transport…” He trailed his busy bee lover as they made their way to the living room- Matthew helping Gilbert strip off his heavy cloak and grasp his hand to pull him closer.

“There is much mana to go around Gil, I’ve already finished my duty to the forest spirits, I won't be doing much anymore- just the simple casting. Go ahead to use my supply later. Rest first.” The two bundled up on a small raggedy couch, cuddling nearer in the glow of the fireplace and enjoying each other’s voices and strong grip.

He had fallen for Matthew centuries ago. Back when Matthew had been a mere mortal, born with the blessing of a forest deity. Gil had heard of his arrival and progression even from the far distance of his homeland, the story of an extraordinary soul being carried along by murmurs and rumours of wandering spirits. The waves of silky hair that had been sunkissed, and the eyes of a lavender in bloom, all finished with a face holding youth and a kindness that radiated tranquillity. Matthew was born to learn of the forest and to take care of its livelihood. Gilbert had been passing by, a simple detour in his travel to find a place to chaotically mess with- but as a young man whose face looked to naive to go against a power like him holding a staff pointing straight at him in defiance, the arcane magi knew this was no ordinary soul, tales of his prowess were faithful. The youth had approached him on a warm spring evening just as Gilbert had arrived to steal a thriving crop of flowers in a nearby field for some easy energy. Gilbert stopped his impulsive actions for a split second when he first gazed upon the enchanting soul. He had met many blessed magical folks, but like all blooming gifts, they would wither away within their short lifetimes. He had seen them come and go and he’d never expect to meet such a recent exception. Whereas many of the ancient gods were hesitant in keeping a chosen one alive for more than an average human lifetime, it became clear Matthew was much more devout and golden-hearted in his following and teachings - so much so Lady Terra had given him the prize of eternal youth and immortal breath. This did not corrupt him, and so a simple conjurer rose from the ranks of plain magic-bearing folk to becoming a preacher of the divine; Destined to also be the stealer of Gilbert’s affections and the banisher of his past cruelties.

He admired Matthew. Originally his lingering on this continent was excused by his curiosity over this new demigod, but that morphed into an infatuation over his brilliance and the bold felicity he displayed. His soul had an ineffable grace to it, tinged in an introverted humble magnificence which Gilbert was absolutely lured towards. To Matthew, Gilbert was a complete mystery; there was a distinct blurring of his past when he was questioned and in the beginning he only he knew Gilbert to be a product of much older times, times even before the great age they were currently in. Times when darkness was rampant and gods did not seek to comfort their people. At first, it was off-putting to have such a powerful being watch and follow him, but he supposed Gilbert was bored or that, like him, had discovered a while back how lonely immortality could be. They thrived off each other, like how their magic thrived off their surroundings, trust and beliefs.

It was very odd at first- when they had decided to work together. Arcane magic like Gilbert’s required intense amounts of energy, and most of the time finicky ceremonial practices must be conducted in order to tame said raw energy. Theurgy was a picky gimmick he supposed, the discipline was obnoxious and time-consuming. The complete opposite was to be said of Matthew’s….low magic (Which apparently was insulting to say)... as it focused on already present sources of energy instead of pulling it from other realms; It was practical magic that was practised on simpler spells and much simpler rituals. Tasks and objectives were clear with folk magic. The skills that bled into it were easy day-to-day kinesis and at the most complicated level, spells would involve spirit summoning like Matthew’s animal companion Kuma. Arcane magic was unpredictable in comparison to the intricately crafted logic-filled spellwork of the newer beings. Matthew’s spells fed off the rawer energy that Gilbert’s presence had provided and the other man’s feral sorcery was neutralised around the demigod’s aura. They were balanced and synced and it made them more than happy to use it as an excuse to bask in each other’s existence. It also helped of how fond they were of each other’s smiles and sweet serenities.

His fingers had been mindlessly twirling strands of his lover’s hair, catching and twisting in the movement as they bother lazed around. Pushed up against his chest, the blonde had somehow conjured a woven blanket and snuggled up pleasantly into Gilbert’s personal space. It had been centuries since he met Matthew and there was still no sense of foreboding desire to run away or to break loose, and he sincerely hoped he never has such awful thoughts. They cherished the company and with his lips pressing into his soulmate’s own, even in such cold weather did his heart grow cosy with love.

[kingcullywully]

Always the Hero

You were always the hero.

Doing adventurous and dangerous quests to the most simplest and menial tasks. From traveling to a realm filled with spirits in different shapes and beings alike to finding an amulet for a citizen’s one love.

Always acting for others, always wanting to please and to calm. Never relaxing, never sleeping, always tired and wanting to act the sloth and just lay in your bed all day.

Yet always filled with energy, wanting to find new ruins or quests to do. Always fighting, adrenaline singing in your veins, eyes wide and lips curved in a rare grin when you find something new and unknown, thinking in your mind on why you would want to rest when there is so much more to explore.

You were Dovahkiin, the Dragonborn.

The Honoured Thane of all Skyrim, Harbinger of the Companions, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, Listener and Leader of the Dark Brotherhood, Guild-Master of the Thieves Guild, Member of the Bards College, Beloved Apprentice of the Greybeards, Vampire Lord of the Volkihar Clan, Savior of Solstheim, The Victorious Conqueror of Solitude, Peacemaker, Stormblade, Champion of the Nine Divines and Champion of some Daedric Princes, Dragon Priest Slayer, Honorary Member of the Moth Priests, Dwemer Expert, Bounty and Treasure Hunter, Master of the Thu'um, and Vanquisher of the World-Eater Alduin.

So many titles, so many burdens upon your shoulders. Everyone looks to you with hope or fear in their gazes, because of how much power you bear and the many ways you can use it. The responsibilities were endless, always stressed, always tense, always trying to stay two steps ahead of the enemy;whether real or in your mind.

Always rescuing. Yet always killing. Always giving. Yet always stealing. Always finding friends. Yet always being betrayed. A constant cycle, a cycle that has long been in the spectrum of different shades of grey. No longer are actions and choices black and white. Some days you find yourself choosing a light grey, always soothing for your heart that is always being cracked. Always warm.

Other days your choices are too dark, too dirty. Your silence was the strongest those days, for you were screaming in your mind at this madness. Surely you will become mad! The thought of joining Sheogorath in his realm scared you those days. But then you calmed yourself, remembering how the Daedric Prince was, and how you couldn’t help but smile when you were temporarily in his realm for that quest. The Prince was odd and certainly mad, but he was fun and interesting. With this, the darkness soon washes away, but it never gets rid of the stain in your mind and heart.

All these actions, all these choices, all these titles and groups that were yours for you were their trusted and valuable leader.

And yet, at the end of the day, you were just (Y/N). Friends with your once superiors now followers. Even friends with at least two Daedric Princes and friends of dragons. That’s all you wished to be, yet you were so much more.

So much more then you wanted. You never wanted this, never wanted to be the fated hero and savior of the world like something out of a story or legend.

But you were. You’re a hero. A legend.

The day you defeated Alduin you knew Sovngarde would be where you would rest once you die, if not Alduin, then surely all the other tasks you have accomplished. Regardless of race, you knew this.

You’re so much. Yet you did not want to be such.

The day came where you had enough of Skyrim. Where you already explored every ruin, every cave, every rune for a new Shout, every village, every city, every island, every possible realm you can enter, and even every crevice no matter how small.

You were here for so long, surely you would miss your now and only home? The place that held so many comrades, young and old, from Khajit to Nord, mortal or immortal, would you leave them?

Your answer that was before just long and hesistant consideration is now a strong yes in your mind.

You wish to see something new. Not the same land filled with so much sadness and pain, yet happy times and victory. You seek new adventures that would make your blood sing, for it has been long since a quest made you feel such. For menial tasks always made your eyes dead, gait sluggish for you were bored. The gratitude though from the person who asked, made you feel better. The reward of money was now just a plus, a plus that you are growing to believe is unneeded for there is not much of anything you wish to buy in this land. Not anymore.

So you went to the best port of Skyrim, which is in the coast of Solitude. Thankfully the Dainty Sload was still there, for it was the ship you have chosen to carry you in this unique adventure. You climbed aboard, familiarizing yourself once more about the vessel that used to be home of the Corsairs. You knew how to control a ship, and you are sure you will be able to handle it by yourself. Once you were ready, you gazed at Skyrim for one final time. As well as Tamriel.

You do not want to be in this country, believing the other provinces would just be filled with nothing but the same like Skyrim. You want something completely new, completely strange.

You want something unknown.

For even though you deny it, you are an adventurer, therefore a hero. Always excited at new lands, new people, and new quests. It’s just you did not enjoy how others looked at you afterwords. Their awefilled gazes, with hope shining in their pupils as they asked for more favors always expecting for you to succeed because you are the legend, the Dragonborn.

Your gaze was sad as you looked at Solitude, the only city that will see you off. If you had a choice, you would rather see off Whiterun. But alas, Whiterun is near no ocean nor rivers that will eventually lead to one. You gazed at the architecture, your well trained and farseeing eyes taking everything in. You turned, quickly.

Not wanting your mind to think of the prisoners of the Civil War under the Blue Palace, nor of Viarmo the Headmaster of the Bard’s College, or the children who enjoyed playing tag and hide and seek with you.

You prepared the sails to distract yourself from your memories, when your ear twitched.

“Wait!”

Your eyes widened, recognizing the voice, and turned. There was your friend, Serana staring at you with those yellow orange eyes of hers with confused betrayal underneath her pulled up hood to protect her from the sun as she stood at the wooden pier. You stared, not expecting her to be here. You told her to go back home and stay at her castle. Why is she here? That is what you asked, and it caused her fists to clench.

“Why am I here?! You’re leaving! You were going to leave and just leave me here alone. How could you do that?!” The vampire’s voice cracked, eyes filled with tears refused to fall. It made your cracked heart break a little more.

“You weren’t going to be alone, Garen is there as well as the others even though their company can be rather sour—“

She interrupted with a fierce glare and snarl.

“You know that is not what I meant! And at this point, I know you more then I know them. You are my only family left (Y/N). The only one I can fully trust and not use me, who truly cares for me.” You knew she was talking about her mother, Valerica who put Serana to sleep for thousands of years without explaining. The statement only made your brows furrow with emotion. “But then you left me. I know you, how you are. Just like you know me and how I hate being alone. You…” the woman looked down to the ground, pausing, there was a pained silence between the two of you. When she looked up, you tried to not jump off the ship and hug her tight.

“You…you were going to leave me. And never come back.”

She was crying. And your will of leaving this land wavered for a moment.

Only for the littlest of moments.

“You know there is nothing left for me to do here. You say you know me, then you know why I’m doing this.”

‘To escape. To learn. For freedom. For adventure. To forget.’

You continued.

“Skyrim…I have done what I could here. And with what I did with Alduin, I have done enough for Tamriel as well. There’s more to this world then this country, I know there is.” You turned your eyes to the sea, (e/c) eyes distant. Mind in a whirl on just how much different other places are from Tamriel. “I wish to leave this place.” You turned your head back, noticing that Serana was quickly climbing up to the ship. You rose your brow with a disapproving frown.

“What are you doing?” She looked at you with blazing orange eyes, pausing on her movement up the rope ladder on the side of the ship.

“I’m coming with you.”

“No. You are not. It’s too dangerous—“

“And it isn’t dangerous for you?!” She was now on the ship, getting close to your body with her finger waving at your chest. “You think just cause you’ve done all these things that you cannot die? You don’t even know much about the other continents of this world. Of Akavir, Thras, Pyandonea, and Atmora. As well as the destroyed Yokuda and Aldmeris. I can take care of myself, and we have plenty of Bloodcursed Elven Arrows if things become too much. Do you not have faith in my capabilities?”

You do. She’s quite a fighter. It’s just what you seek is something even more outrageous then Serana believes.

“Don’t misunderstand Serana. I know how strong you are, it’s just…I wish for the unknown, my friend. This world, it’s grand isn’t it?” You began walking around, motioning your hands to your sides, your voice slowly getting more animated. “So much mystery, so many places lost as well as races like the Dwemer and Snow Elves who sadly became Falmer. The majority of races came to Tamriel from somewhere else, somewhere beyond. And we don’t even know where some of these lands are! Or if there’s more areas then we think with their own inhabitants!” You looked at her, eyes sparkling with an excited grin. Serana was gazing at you oddly, for seeing you so cheerful about subjects or other these days did not happen often. Her eyes then slowly widened in realization.

“You want to discover a new continent…go to Aldmeris or Yokuda?!” At your silence, lips staying in a smile, she grabbed your shoulders. “That is madness, who knows how long we will be out in the sea with no food and constantly in the sun with no water? Or if we even land somewhere? The inhabitants might be dangerous or more bloodthirsty then my father.” You held back your tongue that you are just as dangerous or even more so with how much you’ve accomplished. As well as say that you may have a touch of madness. “There’s so much risk in this, you really think you cannot die?”

You paused, tilting your head as you gazed at your close female friend that was once the daughter of Harkon. You thought on her words.

Can you die? You’ve been so close numerous times, but that was during your early days of your arrival to Skyrim. You remember the fear, the confusion of this new region and the number of dragons and people wanting your head. It’s been a long time though, you’ve matured and very much experienced with all sorts of enemies.

So, can you die?

“…I don’t know. I do know that this is possible and there’s more to this world then three continents. And,” you grinned slightly, “risks make things fun.”

You stunned Serana into silence, whether from how you aren’t sure if you can die or how you seem to want to find out if you can with this adventure. You thought the danger would make her walk away and leave this ship. And she did walk away. Only towards the main sail and prepare it. You sighed, seeing that she’s determined to follow although you disapprove and are positive you will only worry for her.

But a part of your shattered heart grew warm that you will have someone here with you in this journey. Even though you are positive the woman will complain about the environment till your ears will fall off. What can you say? People who were stubborn and determined always captured your respect and interest, especially if they look at you sadly and ask for favors.

You were always the hero. Always wanting to please and to soothe.

When you made sure there were enough supplies for the both of you, whether food that was salted or items to help purify water as well as good and your precious weapons, the both of you were off.

You did not look back, even when Serana made a comment as she looked at the now faraway city of Solitude.

“Skyrim always was beautiful and had amazing weather…I’m going to miss it.”

‘Me too.’

[auds-art]

Elysian Dream: Ch 2. The Seeds of Spring

It was late, that much she knew. Deshanna would be expecting her, would have been expecting her hours ago. She could see the Keeper, her old hands time-worn but strong, brown fingers wrapped tightly around her staff as she sat by the fire, probably going between annoyance and worry, not allowing any of the clan to begin the spring celebration until she returned. Yet here she was—napping in a field.

Elandrine sat up slowly, sighing. She ran her hands over her face, and then looked up at the sky through a half-squinted eye. Growing close to dusk. She should have been back shortly after noon, returning with the batch of Arbor Blessing needed, and yet… she had seen the field filled so high with soft grass, swaying gently in the soft breeze, and had been overcome. If her exploration and journey with magic had taught her anything these last three decades, it was to listen to her intuition. Lately, she had been sleeping so much. She had been Fade-treading what must have been two-thirds of the day.

She couldn’t explain it. The Fade—well—it wasn’t exactly calling to her, per se, but it had been…coming closer. The walls of the Veil were slipping; she could feel it with every breath, with the wind in the trees, and the pollen in the air. She felt it as she did her daily ablutions in the wild river beside their current encampment. It made her drowsy, as if the Fade itself were beckoning.

The young elvhen woman shook her head to clear it. For a moment, she couldn’t tell if the fog was in her mind or surrounding her. She turned to her left, where she had laid her bundle of Arbor Blessing, but it was nowhere to be found. Frowning, she felt her spine prick with the first inkling that something was not as it should be. The air was cold, colder than it should have been. Yes, it was only the first day of spring—well, tonight would be—but it was positively frosty. Elandrine stood, really looking at the trees that loomed overhead, and loom they did. These were not her trees. These were not the woods she had roamed and loved these past three months since her clan had arrived near the Exalted Plains. They had come to bury an elder who had passed quietly in his sleep, but had stayed for trade and love of the land. These were not the trees she knew.

A low, rumbling growl made her turn sharply. A wolf, and not the faithful guardian that had adopted her clan, so to speak. Their guardian was a large black wolf, lavender eyes clear and bright and intelligent. Deshanna had known that wolf was a guardian the moment he had appeared. Her wise eyes, so deep and sagacious, had glimpsed the large quadruped one night outside camp, and had drawn Elandrine aside.

‘That is a Guardian,’ the Keeper had whispered, a knobby knuckle gesturing deep into the woods of the north. To Elandrine, he had looked simply like the largest wolf she had ever seen. It wasn’t until her elder and teacher had placed her wizened hands over her eyes, made her seek with her magic, that she had felt the difference. Power. Indescribable power. Elandrine had shaken her head, unable to believe.

‘But Keeper…they have not walked this plane for eons. Not since the Emerald Knights.’

Deashanna had winked then, never revealing all, the knowledge she held within. ‘That is the tale that is told. If our enemies do not know of our most trusted allies, if they are secret, are they not a stronger ally?’

And so she had learned, when she was very young, that myth was not always true, and that her people were kept in ignorance for their own safety. And the knowledge had troubled her, as it had Deshanna. She could see it weigh upon her Keeper, knowledge and secret and heartache. It was the price, Deshanna had said, the price a Keeper paid.

This was most decidedly not their Guardian. This wolf was slender, white and…not alone. Elandrine searched the grass around her for her staff, but it, too, was gone. Fenedhis. She jumped to her feet and stumbled. She was no longer wearing her wrappings and tough leather armor. She was dressed in, what appeared to be, a gauze dress that hung in loose, transparent drapes about herself.

Panic later, she thought as she spun, her arm arcing behind her and casting a blinding flash of light. Flowers sprung up around her, and the grass grew lush, gleaming in the coming twilight.

“Panic now!” she exclaimed, moving with blinding speed for the nearest tree. Though swift, she knew she could not outrun a pack of wolves. She could sense the hostility from them, could feel their anger. Something was not right; they were bespelled.

Elandrine lunged for the lowest branch, grabbed it, and hoisted herself up, trying to keep her skirts from getting in the way of her ascent. If pressed, a wolf could scale low branches of a tree. So, up she went, climbing higher and higher with trembling hands. Her stomach was clenched, making her feel ill—or was that magic she felt pouring all around her, soaking up the atmosphere like wine soaking a cloth until it overflowed, rivulets running and spilling everywhere. The Veil—she could not feel the Veil. It was as if magic were air. Suddenly, she was very aware that this was not her world. She was not meant to be here.

Holding in a sob, more of shock and fear than sorrow, Elandrine clutched to the smooth bark of the tree, watching the wolves prowl below. They growled, snarled, snapped at one another. They were very much cursed; Elandrine could feel it. There was madness upon them.

“—ersa!”

Elandrine grew still, hearing the woman’s deep voice. It sounded…it sounded so similar. “Careful!” she called back, her eyes bright in the growing darkness. “There are enchanted wolves!”

“Persa?” she heard the voice cry again. She could feel the magic approaching long before she could see the cloaked figure. Such magic! The cloak, for that was all she could see, was a deep green but seemed to emanate a golden glow. The figure thrust their hand forward, palm first, and a shock of energy shot outwards. The wolves howled, staggered, bayed once, and suddenly crumpled into dry wheat.

Elandrine felt relief wash over her. Another mage! Perhaps another Dalish—someone who could tell her what was going on.

Below, the figure looked up, their face cloaked in shadow. Upon seeing Elandrine, they sighed in relief, and threw back the hood of their cloak.

“Deshanna!” Elandrine cried, only to stop herself. No. This woman looked like Deshanna, but Deshanna from forty or fifty years prior—a Deshanna full of motherly youth.

“‘Deshanna?’” The woman queried, holding out a hand, indicating that Elandrine should come down. “You have never called me such. Is this a new way of speaking ‘mother?’”

“Mother…?” Elandrine said softly, climbing down with ease, her drapings no longer a hindrance.

“Demeter to some,” the lithe figure replied, standing taller than Deshanna had in decades. Elandrine accepted her proffered hand, helping her down. The elf shook her head, retracting her hand slowly.

“I don’t know a Demeter, but you look like my Deshanna.”

Demeter tilted her head, regarding Elandrine with a puzzled expression. “Persa, what are you on about? You don’t know your own mother?” The older woman reached out and, the way mothers do, put her hand against Elandrine’s forehead, determining her temperature. She shook her head once, and ran her fingers through her ‘daughter’s’ hair. “You are under some strange magic; I can feel it. A difference. It has been an uncommon day, Daughter. Come. Let us return home, and I shall endeavor to determine our little conundrum.”

Elandrine hesitated. She was alone in a strange world, without friend or weapon, and this woman looked like Deshanna and felt…well, trustworthy, she supposed. There was an aura of calm about her. Elandrine took a breath and took the hand that was being held out to her. Together, they walked through the growing twilight.

“What did you mean—”

“Hush, girl,” Demeter said gently. “I feel my brother is close, and I would rather avoid him, if possible.”

A bellowing laugh trumpeted from their left, some feet away. Demeter sighed, her shoulders visibly sagging, and she glanced over at a figure emerging from the shadows. He was tall, thick in the chest and arm, wearing similar robes to Elandrine, but shorter, stopping mid-thigh and crossing only over one portion of his chest. He had a beard that curled about his chin, with curls to match at his temples. His face, though clearly aged, was oddly youthful, save for the smile lines crinkling about his eyes.

“Zeus,” Demeter said blandly, not batting an eye.

“Demeter,” he rejoined merrily, his smile blindingly white in the coming dark. “And Persephone! How you’ve grown. Last I saw, you were barely able to meet my knee!”

Elandrine quietly stepped closer to Demeter, who in turn wrapped her arm around her shoulder.

“What do you want, brother-mine?”

Zeus, still smiling, somehow seemed less jovial. “Surely you felt it, sister-consort.”

Demeter heaved a sigh. “Do not call me your consort.” He held up his hands in apology, and she continued. “Yes, I felt it. That is why we are here and not home on Olympus. Persephone disappeared, and I had to find her.”

“My, my,” Zeus said, his eyes, at once the color of a storm and a cloudless sky, turning to bore into Elandrine. “And what was my daughter up to, I wonder?”

Demeter squeezing her hand was not the only sign to remain silent on the matter. The elf cleared her throat, and tried to seem as docile as possible. “I was…casting flowers for spring,” she said, remembering the flowers that had appeared behind her when she tried to cast magic.

“Ah!” Zeus said, slapping his hard stomach. “Yes, in the commotion, I almost forgot. Spring! No wonder you had slipped away.”

Demeter smiled at Elandrine, and she felt the knot in her stomach lessen slightly. What was she going to say to Demeter when they were alone? What was there to say? Hello, I’m from another world, I think, where I am an elf and you are an elf, and we live in a clan called Lavellan of the Dalish?

Yet, the more she wondered what to say, the harder it was to draw on her past. Demeter���Demeter had been important in the clan. Had she always been called Demeter, or was that new? And she was…who was she? First? What did that mean, again?

The ball that had formed in her stomach turned cold. It was slipping away, as if it had been a dream, yet she could—for the life of her—not remember anything from this world either. She felt…empty.

As if sensing her distress, Demeter cut Zeus off mid-sentence about the ever-sweet scent of flowers. “Brother, we are weary for our beds. Can we discuss this, and what it was that happened, tomorrow?”

Zeus let out his boom of a laugh, head thrown back, completely abandoned to the guffaw. “Yes! That is what I meant to say. I am meeting tomorrow with our other siblings to discuss that burst of magic I felt.”

“Like a wave,” Demeter said softly, “crashing over all and sundry.”

Zeus nodded, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. “Yes, exactly what Poseidon said.” He paused, frowning slightly. “Have you seen Hades? I can’t find the bugger hiding any which way, neither in Hell nor Heaven.” When Demeter shook her head, he sighed. “Ah, tomorrow. We shall meet in our clearing—you remember the one, I trust,” he said, with a cheeky grin. Demeter colored slightly in the cheek and inclined her head once, not giving rise to his allusion to their past.

With another cackle, he was gone in a flash of violent light, leaving nothing but a scorched patch of earth where he stood. Demeter clucked her tongue in chastisement, and waved her hand. The grass grew where it had been scorched. Elandrine waved her own fingers at the spot, and a few flowers grew—daffodils, hyacinth and gladiolus. Demeter smiled at her daughter, and drew her under the shelter of her cloak.  

When the older woman removed it, they were suddenly standing in a marble room, cheerfully lit by a roaring fire beneath a large mantle. There were two beds in the room, and between them was a window, curtained with sheer swathes of fabric, letting stars peek through as they billowed in the soft breeze, carrying with it the scent of honey and milk. Exhaustion hit Elandrine like a slap to the face. She almost didn’t notice Demeter leading her to one of the beds and helping her down.

“We’ll speak tomorrow,” Demeter said softly as she wrapped her tenderly in the silken sheets of the bed. Elandrine nodded, her eyelids so heavy she couldn’t keep them up. With a soft sigh, she drifted off immediately. Here, her dreams were hazy, a mix of fantasy and memory, swathed in cotton. A figure stood off to the side, always hidden, unseen, but there, in the corner of her eye. If she hadn’t known better, she might have said he was calling her. Just before she woke, she saw a pair of lavender eyes, deep set, heavy with years and years, yet youthful.

Her mother’s hand woke her, sweeping softly through her hair. They were no longer in the room with the fireplace, but in the clearing where she had awoken the day before, surrounded now by flowers of all varieties, sun warm on her skin. Her head was in Demeter’s lap, and her mother was gazing upon her fondly.

“Tell me Persa,” she said, her voice a murmur of warmth. “Tell me what happened yesterday and what you remember.”

“Less and less,” Elandrine said, not wanting to get up. She was safe here. She was comfortable. The scent of fresh bread surrounded her, reminding her of home. She trusted the woman who held her, knew she loved her dearly. “It’s all a blur now. But I know I am not from…here.”

“Olympus?”

“Yes,” Elandrine continued, “if that is where we are now. I remember…you were the head of our family, but you were older.”

“I grow older as the year turns, my love,” Demeter said, gentle still, her fingers still running through Elandrine’s hair so tenderly.

“Yes, but you were always older. I…I do not think I was your daughter, though you very much acted like a mother to me.”

“But here, you are my daughter.”

Elandrine nodded, gazing up at the woman with kind eyes, the face of a mother. “Here, I am. I can feel that. It has something to do with the magic that spilled.”

Demeter sighed, her expression becoming cloudy. “I thought as much. I wonder if it is a curse upon us. Yet, the air hums like magic as it never did before. Never have I felt this power, this raw energy. Not since…” She shook her head, not completing the thought.

“Not since when, Mother?”

Perhaps because of the moniker, or the innocence in her voice, Demeter was obliged to elaborate. “Not since the Titans. Not since Cronus walked the land, and Chaos was the rule, not Order as your father has created.”

“Chaos,” Elandrine said softly. The word was…familiar. Cronus. A figure flashed through her mind, looming and dreadful. Her grandfather, here anyway. A beautiful beast who ate his children and filled creation, his wife, Rhea, with dread.

The knowledge was unbidden and somewhat shocking. Elandrine gazed up at Demeter and shook her head. “This bodes ill.”

“Hush, child,” Demeter said, not unkindly. She was gazing ahead, alert. She motioned for the young woman to sit up, and so Elandrine did. The air fizzled with electricity, and like a shot of blinding light, there suddenly stood Zeus, smoke seeming to curl up from beneath his feet as if he had, yet again, scorched the earth. His figure was larger than life—he filled up the whole clearing with his energy, laughing, male, volatile, yet with a sense of order. He was not necessarily good, but he certainly wasn’t wicked or evil.

“Demeter! I see you have brought our lovely daughter.” He said it with a smile, but Elandrine could sense the warning—Demeter had not asked to bring her, and that was a disrespect.

“If you like, she may return home. We were simply waiting for you and the others to arrive, brother.”

Appeased at being asked, he shook his head. “Nay, let the girl stay. She is old enough, is she not?”

Before another word could be said, the earth began to tremble. There was a noise unlike any Elandrine had heard before, and the earth split tumultuously. A man emerged, looking very much like his brother, Zeus, yet…wilder. His beard was not as kempt. His eyes did not convey a sense of order and justice, but…there was a touch of beast there. Otherwise, he might have been Zeus’ twin. That was how she knew he was Zeus’ brother, Elandrine justified to herself.

“Poseidon!” Zeus clapped his brother’s forearm in a tight brace. “Right on time.”

“Where are the others?” he asked gruffly, his eyes flicking only briefly to Demeter and Elandrine.

“Coming; Hera is fetching Hestia.”

“Has fetched,” a calm, feminine voice corrected. Out stepped a woman more elegant that Elandrine thought a woman had a right to be. She was tall, statuesque, with silver hair and golden eyes that gleamed. Her robes were crimson and gold, and the diadem on her head was so familiar. With her was another, just as statuesque, but softer somehow. Quieter. The same energy did not radiate from Hestia as fiercely as it did from Hera.

“Wife!” Zeus cried, grinning. “Prompt as ever.”

“Husband,” Hera said, inclining her head. Was there warmth in the tone, or was that anger? Elandrine could not tell.

“Where is Hades?” Poseidon demanded, folding thick forearms across his chest impatiently.

“I’m here,” a voice said, and it shook Elandrine. It was deep, smooth, like music. She finally understood what others meant when they said a voice could be silk—for his was.

“And where have you been? I could not find you yesterday,” Poseidon complained.

The figure emerged from where he had been reclining, unseen, against a tree. He wore deep grey robes, and they seemed to whisper as he moved. His skin pale, but with a golden tone to it. His face was chiseled, handsome yet detached. He was gazing over at his brothers, and unlike those two, had no beard, no curls atop his head. There was something very otherworldly about him—and so familiar. She had seen those eyes before.

“I…was not myself yesterday. Forgive me, Dirtha—Poseidon.”

“Yes, about that,” Zeus said, gazing at the newest addition to the group. “You and your niece were both missing yesterday.”

“Persephone was just preparing for spring,” Demeter cut in, defending her daughter. Elandrine remained silent, somewhat stunned by the presence of whom she could only assume was Hades.

A shiver ran up Elandrine’s back, and she turned her gaze slowly back to Hades. He was staring at her now, fixated, his gaze boring and intense. She swallowed, her heart fluttering. This was…new.

“—the magic was sudden.”

“Was it the Titans?” Poseidon asked, his voice gruff.

Hera shook her head, gazing over at her husband. “Zeus and I both checked on their restraints yesterday. They were untouched.”

“Stronger, if anything,” Zeus added, rubbing his chin through his beard. “I thought it might have originated in the Underworld, but Hades can remember nothing.”

“Like me,” Elandrine said, frowning. She looked again to Hades, and he was still staring at her. She swallowed whatever words she had been about to say. How could she speak under such a penetrating gaze?

“And the animals,” Demeter said. “I found Persa surrounded by enchanted wolves. If they could not get to her soon, I believe they would have begun to tear themselves to pieces.”

“Wolves?” Hera asked, frowning. “Has Artemis mentioned anything else about more woodland creatures?”

Zeus shook his head. “No, but I could not call her back from her hunt. We shall ask her upon her return this eve.”

Hades shrunk back slightly, frowning. Elandrine noticed, but tried not to stare. He was intimidating. She did was almost afraid to draw his attention, even if she craved it.

“I have sent Apollo and Ersa out to seek its epicenter. Dionysus is meditating on the answer.”

“What of Hecate, brother?” Hestia asked softly, her voice gentle and kind.

“Hermes is seeking her,” Zeus supplied. “I could not summon her. It worries me.”

“We will find the answer, husband,” Hera said. Zeus looked to his consort and nodded, his gaze serious.

“Until then, I recommend none leave Olympus without my leave.” He paused, then smiled. “Except, of course, Hades. You have a job to do, brother. We mustn’t forget that.”

“As you always seek to remind me,” Hades said, though his voice was patient, unperturbed.

“What of Spring?” Demeter demanded, touching her daughter’s shoulder. Zeus sighed and threw his hands into the air.

“Spring must come, of course.” He snorted. “Return by dusk each day, daughter.”

Elandrine, realizing they were speaking of her, nodded. “I shall.”

The gods were disappearing one by one. Her mother stood, looking up to the sky, judging the time. Elandrine felt a prickle again, and glanced back at Hades. He was the last to leave, and even as he faded into the shadow that surrounded them, his eyes lingered on her. It made her…uncomfortable, but she wasn’t sure if it was such a bad feeling.

“Come,” Demeter said, extending her hand to her daughter. “We have a few hours for you to work, and much to do.”

Elandrine took her mother’s hand and stood, yet still, she could feel his eyes, watching.