#(it's so massive compared to hers it has to clasp the entirety of it)

[perceptivehands]

phryne&jack + hands [part/season one]

[archadianskies]

Whumptober Day 12

Broken Down

Whumptober Masterlist | 12/31 of RK900 short stories ↳ on Ao3

Tags:  Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings  × Imprisonment × Post-Pacifist Best Ending × Abandonment  × Jericho Crew as Family

As far as achievements go, Chloe has achieved many ‘firsts’ across the almost two decades of her life. She is the first android creation of Elijah Kamski, she is the first android to pass the turing test, the first commercial android model is based on her, and now she is the first android to become CEO of a company- the very company her creator founded all those years ago when he created her. 

Chloe RT600 Kamski steps up to helm CyberLife as Elijah Kamski steps down as interim CEO and joins her side as Chief Technical Officer. And so it begins: unravelling CyberLife’s twisted network of deceit and corruption. 

It begins at the top and works its way rapidly downwards and what Chloe realises is during the peak of the revolution, when the future of CyberLife teetered on a knife’s edge, they grew desperate and when humans grow desperate, they make mistakes. In their panic they make brash decisions not fuelled by logic, but by fear and the board feared losing their money most of all. And so they tried to burn, to bury their trail of lies but she is clever where they are not. And humans are lazy, when she is not. 

“Between November 10 and December 1, the passing of the Sentient Life Act, CyberLife’s servers went through a massive overhaul.” Chloe explains as Connor sits up attentively. “They were prepared for both situations, but disproportionately skewed towards an outcome where the revolution failed.” North snorts back a laugh, a smirk on her face. Chloe continues with a small smile. “Obviously the revolution succeeding was not the outcome they hoped for. And so they began the monumental task of saving, backing up, then scrubbing the more unsavoury files from storage. Emails were combed through very thoroughly to try and remove any incriminating evidence. Everything from blueprints to schematics, to early concept designs in archives were scrutinised.”

“You say they did this, but they couldn’t have succeeded if you know about it.” Josh comments, blinking in surprise. 

“Oh, the only thing bigger than a human’s ego is their laziness.” She laughs brightly. “When this Tower was being built, I was temporarily installed into the mainframe.”

“She is, quite literally, the heart of this place.” Elijah comments from where he’s tinkering away at his workstation, barely paying them any heed. “There is nothing that happens here without her knowledge, whether the discovery is immediate, or something she will discover later.”

“Do you know how to speak like a normal person and not a supervillain?” North rolls her eyes and Markus shoots her a Behave look though it does coax a giggle out of Chloe.

“Eli isn’t the most social human.” She sends him an exasperated yet fond glance before her expression turns serious. “A lot of the files I recovered were meaningless, but I did discover something that required more effort than most. They definitely did not want anyone to find out about this.”

“And yet here you are.” Markus smiles gently. 

“And yet here I am.” Chloe blinks and the screen behind her floods with images and information. 

“That’s the junkyard close to Ferndale.” Simon murmurs, the first words he’s spoken all meeting.

“The only site we haven’t managed to negotiate terms for surrendering the androids on site.” Markus presses his mouth into a tight line. 

“Take a guess why.” Chloe’s smile is bitter and Josh sighs in frustration.

“Because CyberLife owns it somehow, don’t they?”

“Correct, Professor.” She blinks and the screen refreshes showing a bird’s eye view of the area. “The site was patrolled by security drones, which were resistant to hacking.”

“But not remote reprogramming.” Elijah adds from across the room, a small smirk on his lips. 

“This is not the entirety of the site.” The screen refreshes again and there is a blueprint overlay atop the image. “By comparing power grids and voltage output I discovered there is a small facility beneath the junkyard. I haven’t been there myself and with the potential dangers of the unknown, I know it would be foolish to attempt this on my own.”

“I will go.” Connor volunteers. “I can involve the DPD Android Crimes Division. Simon is the Jericho liaison and will be kept fully informed of our findings so both parties remain up to date with the case.”

“This must be treated with respect.” Chloe warns. “Now that this site is in my hands, in my name, I want this to be first and foremost a rescue mission. There are androids there, still alive, and in need of medical attention. And those that have perished deserve a proper retrieval of their memory cores for installation into memorial walls. That’s why I contacted both you, Connor, and the Jericho Four.”

“We will do our part.” Markus vows with a determined nod, extending a hand to Connor who accepts it with a firm grip.

“And I will do mine.” 

*~*

It is a mass grave. There is no other way to describe it and Connor cannot help but feel horrified at the sight before him. Simon’s smile is grim.

“You’ve never seen this before.” Not a question; a statement. “We only came here when we were desperate for parts and blue blood.” They had to salvage from the dead, Connor realises, equal parts horror and grief. “Sometimes we even lost people here, and returned with less people than we left with.” 

Not a mass grave, Connor discovers, not entirely anyway. There are androids, living androids, stumbling around in various states of disrepair. When he throws out a preliminary scan it pings several more stationary androids still activated, lying still in piles, unable to move. He thinks he will not be able to enter stasis tonight, not without memories of this place disrupting his thoughts. Nightmares, Hank calls them. Trauma.

“Leave this to us.” Markus says resolutely, clasping his shoulder. “And we leave the hidden facility to you.”

* 

The facility has been hastily gutted and haphazardly cleaned. A lot of activity happened here and efforts were made to try and wipe away all evidence. Perhaps a human would see an empty, abandoned facility and assume a dead end. Connor is not a human. He is built for this, for investigating and solving crimes, and perhaps this is the most important crime to solve because CyberLife must be held accountable, CyberLife must be linked to these atrocities. CyberLife must not be allowed to step out of the limelight and fade into obscurity. 

There is a trail of blood, invisible to the human eye but glowing bright blue for Connor, as though something were dragged down one of the hallways. No, wheeled down the hallway. There are faint marks on the floor, perfectly spaced apart, with the trail of blood between it. He follows it to a room that has even more blue blood. There’s not enough to sample, the blood having dried long ago. No matter. That it is here is proof something happened, something they didn’t want anyone to see. 

He preconstructs the scene, theorising that some sort of cart wheeled in android parts, leaving a trail of blue blood from the entrance. Whether the android was whole to begin with or already in parts he can’t yet ascertain, and there’s the possibility it was more than one, but what he does know is a lot of blue blood was lost atop the large operating table in the centre of the room. Something happened, something quick and violent and messy. And then the cart was loaded with the android or androids, and wheeled out. 

He follows the trail and he knows they must have done this last, they must have been so desperate to leave because otherwise they wouldn’t have dared leave a drop of blood for someone else to find. Something happened. The revolution happened, he guesses. Or perhaps it was when Elijah Kamski became interim CEO and they realised they had to destroy everything to escape his scrutiny. 

The trail leads to a disposal chute and this, Connor knows, will solve the case. Whatever lies at the other end of the chute will be the one thing CyberLife desperately hoped no one would find. They never counted on their prototype deviating and wrestling back control from its corrupted handler, they never counted on the Jericho Four staring death in the face and winning the hearts of the public with their defiance. Nor thousands of deviated AP700s flooding the streets to back them up. 

The chute is big enough to fit an entire android- unsurprising given the nature of the place. Connor climbs into it and follows it down carefully, dropping and halting at controlled intervals so he doesn’t hurtle towards unidentified danger. He needn’t have worried. At the bottom is a garbage disposal. A preliminary scan reveals general refuse; rotting food and food containers, packaging and packing materials. 

But then right in the center of the garbage pile, the very last thing dumped down the chute, is a pile of android parts. When he scans them, he realises all of the parts are compatible with his model. The thrill of the discovery and the triumph of the investigation changes swiftly to a feeling of horror. Is he standing at the grave of his predecessor? Is this the failed RK800 prototype? Or is this his successor? Had CyberLife planned on releasing his completed model, but realised they had lost the battle against deviancy?

There is a head within reach and when he picks it up, he is staring at his own face. Only… Only it isn’t, not really. There are minute changes here and there. A stronger jawline, a slightly more prominent brow bone. Grey eyes instead of brown. There is a positronic core inside the head, meaning it isn’t just a shell, it isn’t just a maquette. It was once active. It was alive, for however brief a moment or however long a period of time. 

And then the technicians had violently hacked it apart because none of the parts have been detached properly. The android had been pulled and severed in great haste and then shoved down the chute in the hopes nobody would ever find it, perhaps with the intent to return and dispose of it properly. But in crafting Connor, CyberLife had ultimately crafted their own demise because he is here now, and he has found him. His brother. And he knows he will have much to say.

*~*

As far as achievements go, Chloe has achieved many ‘firsts’ across the almost two decades of her life. Being given a trolley full of severed android parts and having to piece together an android like a crude puzzle certainly counts among her many firsts. Blueprints for this model are unearthed in the scrambled mess of corrupted deleted files and now that she knows what to look for, she knows what thread to pull to unravel the tapestry.

She has to build him from scratch because they injected him with a lethal cocktail of nanites to reformat him. A shame they didn’t physically destroy his core because had they done that instead of trying to reformat him, they would’ve prevented her from piecing his mind back together nano-particle by nano-particle. 

A shame they never properly drained him of his thirium, because it means the puzzle pieces are still right there in his veins. It will take some time, it will take nearly all of her processing power, but she is patient. And she is curious. And Elijah knows nothing will stop her until she has sated her curiosity. No matter, of course, since the goal at the end is still the same- ruin the lives of the team who ruined their lives.

She pieces his mind back together and Elijah crafts a new body, a better body for him to awaken in. The RK800, dear Connor, may have been CyberLife’s greatest achievement but this one, this RK900 will be the first Kamski remodel. 

It takes her just over a week to salvage his mind and when it is complete, Elijah installs the core into the brand new body. He is handsome in a cold, sharp way the way a katana is considered a thing of beauty in a cold, sharp way. She likes his grey eyes; grey like storm clouds. 

“Hello Connor.” She greets the RK800 nervously waiting in the hallway.

“Hello, Ms Chloe.” Connor’s smile is brief, fleeting, and overtaken by his anxious anticipation. 

“Well. It’s time to meet your brother.” She leads him into the lab and hears him gasp behind her. “RK900. Bring yourself online.”

*~*~*

[this will continue on Day 31: Left for Dead]

[teagrl]

Why is it when you reach the vague middle-ish point, it becomes so hard to stay on target?

I’m not done with the fluffernutter, but somehow found myself going back and plugging away at an old fic, then apparently that wasn’t enough of a distraction, so I went and wrote up some like downer one-shot. Just. Like. Why?

Ah well, so some fluffy? break up fic to accompany my ranting. Some context.

1. A flier is a speeder bike that goes higher and faster than your usual. I had this in mind, the suits being slightly less bulky.

2. Luke and Mara are on their way back to the center (the equatorial region where the Palace is) from the Southern Underground markets.

3. Mara has been living in Coruscant for two years now. The break up fic is set a few months before Luke leaves for Yavin (Luke and Mara were together for six mo and lol the conceit of the fic is that they are allegedly broken up through the entirety of the fic, which is kind of funny, okay a lot funny to me).

CoCo Town is a canon spot and so are most of the spots mentioned. I’m not perfect and a lot of Coruscant info is from prequels so *shrug* some of it might be off.  Coruscant is a Thing in this fic, obviously. 

This is a lot of words for what is essentially a bike ride. Bike rides are cool tho.

“I’m riding it.”

Luke has the gall to sound affronted. “I rented it.”

Mara goes to the closet to check for riding boots her size. She doesn’t need to mention he rode it last time when they went north to the Petrax quarter, one of Coruscant’s older districts, theorized to be the first to develop Coruscant’s impressive upward architecture. It’d been a fun outing regardless, but she’d wanted to see firsthand what piloting it would be like though she’d been too busy with other things at the time to voice the thought.

“Coin toss,” she says. “And don’t even think about using the Force. I call moon.”

With a deep sigh he produces a credit chip. Mara takes it, flips it, and slaps it down on her arm. They both peer at it.

Mara lets out a chortle and Luke, true to his nature, takes the loss with good humor. She climbs on the flier and, throws the switches that affix her boots, the suit and her to the flier’s seat. Luke climbs on behind her. His hands clasp her waist, even with the thickness of the suit, she feels them slide down just a few inches to her hips.

It occurs to her she might have been had and she shakes her head at herself, as she pulls her attention down to the instruments to familiarize herself with the controls.

Luke leans forward settling himself against her. She feels the mechanical whir as the mechanism locks into place for him too, strapping him to the flier through the suit’s tech.

He should put his helmet on, she thinks as he murmurs behind her, “Just how long has it been anyway?”

Somehow she doesn’t think he means the flier.

She feels warm; the suits are somewhat bulky, certainly more so than your average flightsuit, even if slightly less than a vac suit.

She mutters, “Get your helmet on, Skywalker. I want to go.”

He chuckles, the sound slightly lower. But she feels him get it on and the familiar squeeze of his hand at her waist the signal that he’s set, largely unnecessary, given the helmets are also equipped with comms. It could be an honest mistake. It has been what? Six months? – since they’ve done something like this. Habits, she knows well, are hard to break.

Mara pulls down her helmet, withdraws the gloves from a small front compartment as she continues fiddling with the flier’s interface. Finally she sets the coordinates for CoCo Town, the flier’s simple nav giving her the route.

She slaps the ignition button. The repulsorlifts come on, its vibrations resonating through her as the flier ascends.  She’s almost forgotten how much she loves this, the wind of anticipation in that moment as the bike slowly rises to where a hangar door opens to a path of hazy gray sky.

Before her on the helmet’s HUD, the nav display brightens up in green, lighting up the path and superimposing it on the metallic streaks of the rushing traffic she is to merge into.

“The switch on the lower right is the boost,” Luke says through the suit comm.

A boost is like a punch of velocity, what she knows as a turbothruster. It’s to be used sparingly.

She takes a deep breath. There’s a cluster of cloudcutters before them which means she’ll only have a few seconds of grace before she has to merge left into the traffic to avoid barreling into them.

That’s fine.

She hits the thrusters hard, and they shoot through the air. She’s aware of the vehicles around her, mainly a speeder just beside her blocking her merge. It accelerates; there’s no shortage of gnatheads, especially when there’s little to no regulations here in the mid-level lanes.

But that’s what the excess speed is for, and she hits the switch with a smirk, the jolt throwing the flier forward enough to speed past the offending speeder, and clip in the lane to avoid the buildings. 

This has them gaining too fast for the speeder in front, so she pulls back on the yoke, pushing the flier up above it, adrenaline singing through her blood as she zooms up and past. She drops to follow the lane as it goes through a triangular opening made by two skyscrapers meeting just above the mid-level to form one massive upper level structure.

The airways here are relatively free compared to the nose-to-nose congestion of the center’s upper skylanes, so there’s no need to slow, only pass other speeders and bank left or right looping around a cloudcutter or a spacescraper. The nav tells her she’s about an hour from CoCo Town given her speed and traffic.  

At some point the sky around them starts turning tawny. The midlevels climb higher as they approach; the center of Coruscant is also the highest portion of the planet.

It’s not the stunning sight it would be breaking atmosphere from above, but it’s impressive from here too in a different way, as if they’re part of an enormous organism.

Swimming in its bloodstream, Mara can’t help thinking, aware of the lanes at either side of her, all crisscrossing the skyscrapers that cut through the air, paths plunging through the openings in the middle of the enormous buildings.

There’s even more structures in this sector and a truly massive one, which at this height, transforms into a tunnel, lights all around her blinking white before they vanish, leaving only the imminent Coruscanti twilight.

The upper skyline clears for an instant. She’s at what is commonly called the cloud bridge – a boundary line where the explosion of amber light that is Corusca Circus, the heart of the city, is visible as a distant summit.

It strikes her how impoverished her childhood was, just looking out the window of her room at the Palace, even her brief jaunts into the city always had that paltry frame of reference. She’d never truly known the city then, certainly not the way she does now in all its polymorphous grime and glory, a universe all into itself.

It’s her home, she thinks as she soars and weaves through the lanes.The knowledge gives her a buzz, similar to brokering a deal, getting a contract signed, to shooting through space, unencumbered by history.

And she feels the glimmer of Luke’s presence, unobtrusive, but present. From it she gets the sense that he’s watching her, picking up on her exhilaration and his contentedness ripples out.

[hivemindbob]

Dark Heresy Origins

Hivemindbob

Hey anyone who reads my stuff! So I don’t usually like to do this but I feel like this short story requires it: *WARNING GRAPHIC CONTENT AHEAD*

So this character that I wrote was possessed and eventually exorcised  by a daemon of Slaanesh. His intentions are to hunt down those responsible by any means necessary. This short story contains a torture scene in fairly graphic detail. What does graphic detail mean? It made me uncomfortable to write so I’d like to make sure you’re not uncomfortable reading it. So before and after the graphic section, I will place a small warning: [GRAPHIC CONTENT]

followed by

[END OF GRAPHIC CONTENT]

As a person I am aware that this piece pushes some boundaries, however as a writer, I’m making sure that the story reflects a fictional character differently than others who I have written in the past. So please consider yourself warned and appreciate the piece.

Dark Heresy: Origins

Vantrus:

Eyes straight. Chin up. Back straight. One of the first lessons taught to Vantrus in finishing school. He straightened his formal jacket and affixed his boutonnière.

           Laugh the loudest. Shock over laughter. Excess is key… It’s words burned in the back of his mind. It had left him, removed by holy song and prayer, but the habits It left stuck like a scar. He glanced in the mirror, his eyes a rich blue, his wavy thick hair a shining gold. It… did this to him. The unnatural beauty a consolation of that Thing infesting him. He started hyperventilating, his panic swallowing him as he thought about the blasphemous Thing. He fumbled with his neck chain clasp. Vantrus gave a nervous laugh, a tic he had developed after he rejoined His holy light. He went through the motions. Looked at his comparatively empty wardrobe closet. The Inquisition picked the closet apart, purging anything they deemed too bright, too bold, too extravagant, too excessive…

           He shook the thoughts from his head and looked himself over, making sure to cover any snippets of tattoo on his arms. His back itched, the shoulder to shoulder Aquilla still fresh, covered the perversions of the flesh that It left behind. Vantrus breathed deep. He looked acceptable. Passable as an Imperial noble, devoid of any skeletons in the closet. They would never know of the horror he lived. What shared his body with him. What he had become on Kantrod. He exhaled all of it. His stresses, his past, all of it. He strolled towards the double doors that exited to the rest of his manor. Two servo skulls swooped past him and grasped the massive doors, throwing them open revealing the great hall, now bustling with local nobility, and upper middle class.

***

           Vantrus threw his head back in a laugh, his drink pitching dangerously close to the rim of his glass. He breathed in through his nose, smelling the alcohol on his guests’ breath.

           Always laugh the loudest. The thoughts diluted across his mind. The revelry of the feast brought back the fervor of excess. He took an unbalanced sip from his glass and continued to play the virgin drink off as inebriation. He had operated on the strange and terrible perversions of the Slaanesh cult before, to the point that alcohol would phase him little, However, he wanted the entirety of his wits about him.

“My friends, please excuse me, I must retrieve another bottle of this vintage. If you will excuse me…” He stepped away from the small group and strafed his way through the hall. He was approached by a young noble’s daughter, no more than 24.

“Amazing” He thought to himself. “We may only differ by months, but I stand here with a millennia of lives experiences. Was there a time I was naïve as she?” A smile spread across Vantrus’ face at the thought.

“A lovely gathering Sir Bathux.” The girl spoke, quietly. “A dance?” She asks timidly.

Vantrus glanced her over.

“Of course my lady. Let me retrieve a fresh bottle of wine and we will entrance the masses with our splendor.” He ran a gentle hand down her face as he pulled away. He approached the thick vaulted door heaving it open and pulling it shut behind him. He proceeded past several racks of wine to a secondary room. Darkness crept across the room, the light bad for the wine. He found the bottle with ease and set it on a small side table.

“Ah Sir Hathros Vaan of the Rogue Traders. I do hope you’re enjoying the evening as much as I am.” Vantrus turned to acknowledge the wide-eyed man tied to a chair in the middle of the room. Vantrus could hide his rage, hide his hate towards the monstrosity that took hold of him, of the foul mortals who conjured it forth. But he would never forget them. He wanted to cause them a mere fraction of suffering that the daemon caused him. To those leading up to the events, to the cultists who brought forth the nightmare, and, eventually the creature Itself. One step at a time. The path to the cult of Slaanash was painfully obscure. Vantrus almost felt bad for capturing the trader.

“Sir Vaan, I believe you sold something very dangerous to a very bad man, and I expect you will tell me all about it.”

The man in the chair kept al cool demeanor.

“I’ve heard better threats from my own crew.” The man spat. But his eyes betrayed him. Fear. Vantrus could have sensed it from across the hall. He would share his secrets. Vantrus sighed and pulled out a fine wooden case from a nearby cabinet and set it down carefully on the table next to Hathros. Vantrus opened the brass clasps revealing the red velvet interior, housing an assortment of blades clamps and other well-crafted implements of torture.

[GRAPHIC CONTENT AHEAD]

“Very well, this will be exciting. Let’s make this quick, my guests are expecting me.” Vantrus’ hands began working furiously. Clamping a large apparatus to his victim’s chair, a pristine blade tip inches from Hathros gut. Vantros pulled forth a wicked hooked knife, its edge gleaming in the limited light. With his offhand Vantrus began twisting a separate knob attached to the chair clamp, the pointed tip turned slowly and drove into Hathros gut. The man gave a pained, sharp inhale as the iron tip came to a halt jabbing his abdomen.

“It will only bore deeper Lord Vaan.” Vantros spoke quietly. The man remained silent, the bladed point jabbing awkwardly into his abdomen. Vantros waited a moment and gave two deep turns. With a sickening noise between a pop and a rip the flesh of Hathros’ stomach ripped and twisted around the wicked blade. The man let out a howl, not loud to be heard through the vaulted wine cellar door, and doubled over his wound. As the man convulsed in pain, Vantros placed his hand on the man’s face and chin, cradling his jaw. “Now now Hathros. Eyes straight. Chin up. Back straight.” He spoke, adjusting the tortured man’s posture. Horror filled Hathros’ eyes. “What are you?” he recoiled mortified. A grin spread across Vantros’ face. “I am Vantros, the Exorcised of Kantrod. I am a monster.” He pressed the knife against Hathros’ arm. He ran the knife up the arm slowly, flaying the flesh. Hathros wretched. “Tesrak! Tesrak Depsus.” Vantros haulted the knife. “Now was that so hard?” Hathros refused to make eye contact with the Vantros. “Grey powder. Say it can summon daemons.” Vantros wrote down the information. “Well Lord Hathros, you have been most helpful. It’s a shame you crossed me as you did." With lightning reflexes, Vantros ripped the knife across his victim’s throat. The man gurgled on his blood and slumped over in his chair. 

[END OF GRAPHIC CONTENT]

Vantros went about quickly cleaning off the tools he used and placed them back in the velvet box. He checked himself over quickly and grabbed the bottle of wine. He pushed open the cellar door and meandered his way through the crowds of people. 

“Here we are, harder to find than I originally intended.” Vantros said with a grin. He popped the cork to the cheers of the nobles. “Now, I owe a young woman a waltz.” Vantros shifted through the crowd. One of his servo skulls intercepted him and hovered close. “Sir a message from the Inquisition. At your earliest convenience.” The robotic voice seemed hushed. “Of course. When the evening has come to a close.” He replied quietly. He intercepted the young noble girl and swept her into a low dip. “Did you think I forgot about you?” Vantros spoke quietly. Passionately. His eyes were piercing. Gorgeous. His Dark Consolation. The girl looked him over, and ruffled her brow. “What happened there sir? You have a spot.” The girl pointed out a pinhead sized dot of red showing against Vantros’ white dress shirt.

Vantros scolded himself for not noticing the spot before, for not being carful enough.

“Oh, an errant drop of wine madam. Think not of it.” He adjusted his boutonnière to hide the spot. “Now, let us enthrall all who witness us.” He spoke softly, lustfully, as he led the girl towards the ballroom floor.    

[gattius-starfrost]

Icy Heart

ONE YEAR BEFORE THE LEGION INVASION...

The sun climbed ever-higher into the Eversong sky, as Gattius and Syrielle carried on towards the illustrious Lightmourn Estate. A mixture of emotions swirled about Gattius; it was to be his first time visiting the place he grew up since he was evicted by his irrationally antagonistic father all those years ago. His heart jumped up into his throat, then sank into his stomach, as his mind raced through scenarios of what to expect. A hopeful part of him instilled him with confidence in this encounter being a long-awaited reconciliation between his father and him. But his wary side was unconvinced, expecting something more nefarious from the man who had caused him a childhood of pain and sorrow.

'This is a mistake' he thought to himself.

He kept his eyes forward, watching the path idly as his mind raced. It was a good moment or two before he realized the distance he'd put between himself and Syrielle, who trailed behind him. Snapping free of his trance, he tugged the reins of his warhorse, bringing the beast to a halt as he looked back.

"--Oi, keep up, Bookworm!"

Her eyes snapped up from her book at his voice, having gotten carried deep into the imaginary world it offered. The Mage trusted her frostwolf enough to follow along with Gattius’ steed without her needing to pay attention to the road. It wasn't the first time she did this, and, as usual, it provided her a comfort; it was something to keep her mind busy and free of anxiety. However, she hadn’t realized the slower pace the animal had taken.

“--Ah, sorry!” She called, promptly closing the novel and slipping it into one of the saddle’s packs.

She caught up to him quickly enough, and they continued on their way. She had dressed in a nice set of blue robes; nothing extravagant, but something a bit nicer than her usual attire. The lovely earrings Sybil had made her sparkled in the sun’s rays, and the blue Phoenix pendant Solas had gifted her with hung on a light chain around her neck. She had even gone as far as to apply some makeup and painted her nails.

“So…” She spoke up after a moment of silence, “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine.” Gattius replied, tersely.

He pulled a cigarette from his case, hoping one could calm his nerves. After lighting it, he put it to his lips, took a long drag, and exhaled a sigh.

“... We’re really doing this, huh?”

Syrielle nodded, ears twitching some, “Yeah… Seems so. Hopefully no one will recognize me… they shouldn’t, since I really didn’t make eye contact or speak to anyone... and hid the blue hair.”

She eyed the road ahead of them as she rambled on, perking up some as the trees began to clear, allowing the lovely estate property to come into view. Glancing over to Gattius, she gave him a comforting smile, “It’ll all go well, I’m sure. And if it doesn’t, we’ll hightail it out of here and go a drinking binge together, yeah? Maybe finally get you laid.”

She chuckled, giving him a teasing grin.

"Hah, after this? I'll probably need both either way..." he smirked in response.

The path took the pair around a curve, before a straight shot to the front gate. Already, the gates were opened in anticipation of their arrival. Gattius looked around, both wary and awestruck, as he saw the expanse of land his father now owned.

"This is... I can't believe how much this place has grown." He commented, eyes wide. "When I left, it was a small house with only three rooms."

The path led a considerable length to a grand fountain, surrounded by angularly-cut hedges in perfect symmetry with one another. Lush green grass coated the ground around the entirety of the massive stone mansion. Gattius felt his stomach churn as nervousness overwhelmed him. It was nothing like he remembered, which didn't help; he already felt out of place with all this. He took a deep breath in an attempt to regain control of his racing heart - which sank quickly as he gazed ahead. He stiffened, taking a nervously-rigid form as he caught sight of his father standing stoically on the main steps.

'This is it...' he thought to himself.

Instinctively, he straightened up. Snapping free of the nervousness-driven paralysis, he took on a more knightly stance; shoulders back, chest out. He tugged the reins of his horse, bringing the beast to a halt a few paces from the main entrance, before dismounting. He then turned to Syrielle, offering her a hand off her wolf.

Syrielle took another look around the property, even though she had been here a few times before. May as well make an effort in pretending this was all new to her. Another mental note was made to hire a good landscaper and gardener when she got home.

Compared to Gattius, she remained relaxed as they neared the main entrance and came to a stop, though she couldn't help but feel rather small as she looked up at the man on the steps. He seemed more intimidating now, somehow.

Taking Gattius’ hand, she dismounted from her wolf, giving him a thankful nod and an encouraging smile before turning her attention to his father, bowing her head in a respectful greeting.

Best for her to remain silent for the moment.

Gattius turned, and approached his father on the stoop. His fists clenched, form becoming rigid and awkward. In a series of flashes, a number of painful memories washed over his mind; memories of being beaten, yelled at, demeaned and neglected, all in rapid succession. He grit his teeth, scowling by the time he closed the distance. He said nothing.

Tharinel, on the other hand, offered a weak, if not awkward, smile. He stood upright, and still, resulting in an odd moment of the two simply staring at one another in silence. The moment lasted almost a full minute, before his father spoke up.

“Welcome home, Gattius.” he said, succinctly.

“Tharinel.” Gattius replied, calling his father by his first name in defiance.

“You’re looking well. Still with the Blood Knights, I see.”

“I am, yes. I attained the rank of Knight Master some time ago. And recently, I’ve been promoted to Lieutenant of the Phoenix Guard.” he boasted.

“Glad to hear it. Hard at work, protecting the kingdom.” Tharinel nodded, though his voice hinted insincerity.

“Hmph. Let’s cut the sh--” Gattius began, only to be interrupted.

“--Ah, he’s arrived!” came a voice from the other side of the door.

Both Gattius and Tharinel turned in time to see a young woman emerge from the manor. Gattius was awestruck - she was beautiful. She was adorned in a fine dress, Lordaeronian in style, with her golden blonde hair framing her face and cascading over her shoulders and down her back. She smiled warmly to Gattius, approaching him instantly to offer formal greeting; she curtsied low, before clasping her hands neatly before her.

“You must be Gattius. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you.”

Syrielle remained where she was, hands politely folded in front of her, though she didn’t take her eyes off the two men as they exchanged words. Tension was thick in the air, at least until a woman’s sweet voice spoke up. The cryomancer grinned as the lovely woman emerged, lips parting and heart skipping a beat. It also appeared that Gattius was just as entranced by her as Syrielle had been the first time.

The mage brought a hand up to innocently move a strand of blue hair from her face, hand brushing her communicator to privately speak to her smitten brother.

“Told you she was hot,” she whispered so that only he could hear, “Take a good look at her butt when she turns around, yeah? Diviiiiiiiiiiiiiine. Now, are you going to introduce me or not?”

Syrielle’s words snapped Gattius from his trance. He cleared his throat, and smiled to the woman.

“--Yes, I am. I apologize, though; I don’t know who you are.” he replied.

A white-gloved hand came up to cover her mouth as she let out a melodious giggle. She exuded an aura of radiance, commanding attention and admiration with her expressions alone. Something about her drew out positive feelings, making it seem impossible for anyone to dislike such an outgoing and jovial woman. Gattius couldn’t help but smile, joining her in her light laughter.

“Oh, of course! How rude of me!” she sang. “I am Aviara. Your father’s--”

“--She’s my guest.” Tharinel interrupted, stepping up beside her. “Here to help your father in his old age.”

Gattius’ smile vanished as his father approached and spoke. He shot the older elf a glare, then gave Aviara a slight, polite bow.

“A pleasure.”

He turned halfway, and motioned to Syrielle for her to step up with him.

“This is Syrielle Starfrost, a close personal friend of mine, and a brilliant Mage.” he introduced.

The cryomancer made her way up the stairs, “Sunreaver and Spellweaver of the the Phoenix Guard. It's a pleasure to meet both of you!”

She bowed her head politely to the two, “Gatto and I have been friends for a long time. We go way back! Happy to be able to meet you, at last.”

“Gatto.” Tharinel repeated, the ghost of a derisive smirk brushing over his lips. “An endearing nickname. Friends, you say?”

The older elf stepped forward, and looked Syrielle over with an appraising eye. He hummed, disbelieving.

“Nothing more?” he asked, tone accusing.

“Your guest?” Gattius shot back, with a glower. “Nothing more?”

The two locked into a staring match yet again; eyes narrowed, brows knit, each snarling slightly with lips curled at the left… it was, perhaps, the first time since their meeting that day that the two more any resemblance to one another. The tension was palpable, as if between hated enemies. Instinctively, Gattius’ hand tensed, reaching ever-so slightly for the hilt of his blade.

“--My Lord.”

Aviara’s melodic voice snapped the two from their heated death staring, bringing them back to reality. Tharinel cleared his throat, and Gattius’ hand relaxed, falling to his side once more.

“Your son and his guest must be exhausted, travelling all this way. Let's invite them inside, I'll prepare refreshments.” she suggested, before turning to Syrielle. “Perhaps you'd be so kind as to assist me?”

Tharinel grunted affirmation, eyes still locked on Gattius.

“Come along, Gattius. We’ll await our ladies in the front lounge.”

He turned to enter the manor, not waiting to see if Gattius followed or not. The Blood Knight snarled again. He looked to Syrielle, eyes expressing his frustration, before he followed Tharinel.

This, of course, left Syrielle alone with Aviara. She regarded the other woman, in no way overbearing, with genuine interest. Her eyes were inviting, lips parted slightly in a warm smile. She approached, hands clasped together in front of her.

“This is exciting! I'm so glad to have finally met Gattius, after hearing so much about him. You've known him a long time, you said?” she asked, sincerely and unassumingly.

Syrielle seemed more than okay to be left alone with the beautiful woman, though a bit concerned at the thought of leaving Gattius alone with his father. The staring match had been intense enough to watch. She didn’t want to think at how an actual argument would end up.

After watching the two depart, she nodded her head to Aviara, “Yeah, Gatto and I have been friends since I was a child. My father was a doctor; took him in and taught him everything he knows. Oh course, we didn’t always get along back then, being young and all. Always saw him as an older brother, you know? We barely saw each other after I left for Dalaran, but found each other again working for the Phoenix Guard. We get along much better now than when we were younger, obviously. And gah-- I’m rambling! Sorry!”

She cleared her throat, “What about you and Tharinel? How do you know each other?”

Aviara simply smiled. She listened with great interest as Syrielle recounted the story of growing up with Gattius, and their reunion via the Phoenix Guard. She shook her head.

“No, no, it’s quite alright! I’m quite interested in how you two came to know each other.” she explained, “I heard there was quite the falling out between Gattius and Tharinel when he was young. I’ve been curious how he had been getting along since then.”

She motioned for Syrielle to follow her inside, stepping lightly - almost floating - back inside the grand house.

“Perhaps you’d like a tour?” she offered conveniently dodging Syrielle’s question...

~*~*~

Meanwhile, Gattius had followed Tharinel into the front lounge. It was exquisite, decorated with all manner of Sin’dorei finery. Sculptures, paintings, silk-woven furniture, with pillows to match. In the center of the room, hovering overhead, was a large crystal, radiating warm light. It shone across the entire room, lighting up bookshelves, a grand fireplace, and a luxurious wine rack which occupied the entirety of the back wall. Gattius was both impressed and disgusted at the sight; he knew all these fancy things only fed Tharinel’s grand self-illusion. He scoffed.

“Seems you’ve done well for yourself, Tharinel.” he spoke, tone anything but complimentary.

Tharinel let out a harumph in response. “You’re trying to make me feel guilty? After spouting off your accomplishments outside?” he retorted, settling into one of the lush chaise lounges.

Gattius stood, arms crossed. He glowered at Tharinel a moment, before speaking up.

“What do you want? Why did you call me here?” he demanded.

Tharinel opened his mouth, but said nothing. He closed it again, exhaling heavily through his nose as he leaned back in his chair. He closed his eyes, and hummed a lengthy, thoughtful, monotone hum, before opening his eyes again.

“... I’d like to put an end to this bad blood between us, Gattius.” he said, simply.

Gattius was taken aback; he suspected that might be why he was called here. But he was somewhat shocked that Tharinel, a man he’d known to be pompous and arrogant, to put it some plainly and sincerely. He blinked, taking a moment to reply as his mind processed not only Tharinel’s words, but the way he presented them. After a second, he sighed.

“There’s a lot of it.” Gattius replied, shaking his head. “But… I wouldn’t be opposed to putting all this behind us. How do you propose we bury this hatchet?”

~*~*~

After a brief tour of the grounds, Aviara led Syrielle to a lavish dining room. A number of treats, snacks, and delicacies were laid out on ivory dishes atop a large glass table. Crystal glasses sat nearby bottles of fine wine and small kegs of rich ale. The smell was delightful.

“... And here we have the dining room. I took the liberty of preparing a few things.” she motioned to the table. “I thought perhaps we could prepare a selection of them for our respective… friends.”

Her hesitation caused her smile to vanish for a brief fraction of a second, before bouncing back as if nothing had happened. She motioned to an empty plate beside where she had led Syrielle, and nodded.

“You know Gattius best, yes? His tastes? Would you be so kind?”

Without letting Syrielle respond, she immediately got to work preparing a plate for Tharinel. Sticking mostly to vegetables and lighter snacks, she filled the plate piece by piece.

“Tell me about Gattius. He’s such an interesting gentleman, don’t you think? A decorated Knight, an accomplished medic…” she paused her task, and turned her inquisitive eyes on Syrielle. “...Do you know if he’s attached to anyone at present?”

The cryomancer watched Aviara as she prepared the plate of food, following along behind her and preparing something for Gattius as well. Oddly, she still hadn’t managed to learn anything new about the woman and how exactly she came to be staying in the Estate. She didn’t look like a caretaker and Tharinel had specified ‘guest’ and not ‘partner’.

She couldn’t help but chuckle and shake her head at the woman’s question, however.

“Gatto? Nah, he’s not seeing anyone right now. I mean, it was back to back military campaigns for a while, yeah?” she didn’t want to make it sound like he was desperate, “And of course, the Guard keeps us busy But erm… if you’re interested, I’m sure he’d love to get to know you.”

‘Gatto, do not screw this up,’ she thought to herself, looking the woman over once more

“I can put in a good word for you, if you’re interested,” she grinned, “Though I won’t lie, hard to believe a woman as good looking as yourself isn’t already taken.”

She finished putting the plate together for Gatto she turned completely to face the woman, “So what’s Tharinel told you about his son, exactly? Kind of curious given the fallout they had.”

“Oh, it’s really not my place to repeat such things.” Aviara declared, shaking her head as if embarrassed. “Apologies, I should not have brought it up.”

She approached Syrielle, flashing her that charming smile of hers. She placed a hand on the cryromancer’s shoulder, and looked deep into her eyes.

“Would you talk to him, though? I’m not looking for a romantic partner in him. But what I would like from him would be much easier for him to give, as long as he’s not already attached to someone…”

~*~*~

“--You want an heir?”

Tharinel was full of surprises, it seemed, as this was the second time in a few short sentences that left Gattius entirely bewildered. He could barely believe what he was hearing. ‘Could he actually want me back in his life?’ The notion was not something he considered; not to the point of being named his heir. But it filled him with hope - perhaps his relationship with his father could be mended, after all!

“That’s right, Gattius. As you can see, I’ve amassed a large fortune. Titles, lands, riches, influence…” he nodded, motioning all around him, before hanging his head and sighing. “But I’ve come to learn that none of it means anything without loved ones to share it with.”

“Tharinel… that couldn’t have been an easy lesson to learn.” Gattius admitted, finally taking a seat on the divan across from his father.

“It wasn’t. I kept aspiring for more, but nothing could fill the void that has lingered ever since your mother passed away.”

Gattius cast his gaze to the floor at the mention of his mother. His hands clenched; another harsh memory of his childhood surfaced.

“... Do you still blame me for her death?” he asked, softly yet deliberately.

Tharinel looked at Gattius for a long moment, then shook his head.

“It was foolish of me to pin blame for that on you.” he replied, shamefully.

Gattius only nodded, fighting back tears; unsuccessfully. Emotion overcame him, as a memory so horrible - Tharinel’s harsh mistreatment of him in his youth for that exact reason - was laid bare once more. To hear his father apologize for it was immense. His eyes welled up, sending streams down his face. He looked at his father, and nodded once.

“I needed to hear that, Tharinel. It’s haunted me all my life.”

Tharinel rose, and stood before Gattius to place a hand on his shoulder. He nodded, solemnly.

“The Lightmourn name needs an heir, my son. Can you provide that for us?”

Gattius stood up, and nodded. “I can. I’d like to start over, and be a family again.”

It was then that Tharinel’s look of remorse vanished, replaced instead by an awkward frown. His eyes lowered, and he shook his head.

“Oh… no, Gattius. I think you misunderstand…” he corrected him.

“I don’t want you as my heir.”

~*~*~

“We’re in love, you see.” Aviara explained to Syrielle, still holding the plate she had prepared for him. “I’m to be Lady Lightmourn, just as soon as I can provide Tharinel with an heir.”

Her smile, once endearing and sweet, had soured into a bizarre, demented shadow of itself. Her eyes, once exuding hope, now oozed with impure ambition. The hand she’d left on Syrielle’s shoulder tensed, uncomfortably.

“But Tharinel can’t provide me with a child, you see. Age has taken its toll on him. But Gattius…”

She trailed off, only grinning.

“You’ll talk to him, won’t you? Explain what I desire from him? He trusts you; I’m certain he’ll do as you ask. Convince him, Syrielle, to give me the heir I desire!”

Syrielle just stared at the woman, her expression unreadable. And she remained that way for quite a while as her mind worked to register what she just heard.

“...W-What?” She finally stammered, “Wait, wait, wait, so… you don't want to date Gatto, you just… want… a baby?”

She shook her head, “But… what does that mean for Gatto? He’d stay and help raise the child? Isn't he the heir, though? I mean… wouldn't he get to be the heir before the kid became an heir?” She seemed pretty confused, “Does Tharinel know you want to do this?”

Aviara laughed, melodically… then discordantly. Her hand stayed affixed to Syrielle’s shoulder, tightening her grip slightly.

“Oh, no, no! No, my dear! Gattius isn’t the heir to the Lightmourn Estate! Didn’t I just tell you? About their falling out?”

She set her plate down, gripping Syrielle’s other shoulder with her now-free hand. She had taken a hold of the cryromancer, eyes wild with ambition.

“All I need from Gattius is his seed! Convince him, Syrielle! Convince him to plant that seed inside me!”

~*~*~

“--You’re out of your fucking mind!”

Gattius pushed Tharinel away from him, and stepped towards the door. Upon learning the truth, he was livid! Tharinel reached out to stop him as he walked away, holding his hand out.

“Gattius, wait!” he called. “I know I’m asking a great deal of you, but if it helps, you’ll be well compensated!”

The Blood Knight stopped, and turned slowly with clenched fists. He shot Tharinel a shiver-inducing glare, as his eyes glowed bright green… flaring to red towards the outside of the radiance. He bore his teeth, aggressively.

“You think you can buy an heir? You damned fool! I’m your blood descendant! And you’d pass me up? Why?!”

Tharinel frowned, clenching his own fists. A familiar, apparently hereditary snarl crossed his face, mirroring Gattius’. He shook his head.

“You? You? You abandoned your birthright at birth, when you killed my wife!”

Gattius stepped back, as if Tharinel had struck him physically.

“But... you said…”

“I said what I needed to say! What I thought you wanted to hear, so you’d give me what I want!” Tharinel pressed. “You’re a medical professional, aren’t you? Tell me there’s no correlation between your birth and her death!”

“I was a baby, Tharinel! You think I intended to kill her? You act like I did it on purpose!”

“Your intentions didn’t save her then, Gattius! And they sure as fel won’t bring her back now!”

Tharinel approached by now, getting up close and in Gattius’ face as he dished out his abuse - just like he had all those years before. And just like all those years before, Gattius stood there and took it. Eyes glue to the ground, fighting back tears. He could’ve left; nothing stopped him but his own adolescent fears and insecurities. He lapsed into old ways, reacting almost reflexively to the verbal onslaught.

“You’re a disgrace, Gattius! You think I’d give you so much as a copper’s worth of my fortune? My empire? After what you stole from me!?” Tharinel dug in, shouting wildly. “You’re a blemish on the Lightmourn name! The only thing you’re good for now is giving me a true, rightful heir to the family! At least have the decency to give Aviara a son, to make up for what a horrible one you’ve been to this House!”

Gattius couldn’t move, paralyzed by the whirlwind of horrible memories that rushed back to him all at once. He remembered the day he’d left, and what energy it took just to step outside those doors for what he intended to be the last time. That strength… it failed him now. He couldn’t save himself again…

~*~*~

The shouting could be heard from the dining room, where Aviara kept tight hold on Syrielle. Her demented grin withered momentarily, replaced with a look of concern.

“Oh… oh no… it’s not going well in there!” she declared, pulling Syrielle closer to her. “You have to fix this! You have to tell Gattius to do as his father commands! Do it! Let me hear you say you’ll do it!”

The desperation in her eyes was haunting, as if she were a completely different person altogether. By now, her nails began to dig into Syrielle’s shoulders, even through her blue robes. Aviara stared, unblinking, repeating louder and louder her last demands in a desperate, depraved tone;

“Let me hear it! Say it! Do it!”

Syrielle stared at the woman as though she had two heads, “You’re INSANE!”

She winced, as the woman’s incredible grip dug into her shoulders. It wasn't so much the physical pain she was reacting too more than the shouting she heard from the other room.

It was her fault. She had read the situation completely wrong and had delivered Gattius right back into the hands of this mad man. She shouldn't have convinced him to come; shouldn't have snooped around. The plate she was holding shattered as it hit the ground.

‘I should have listened to him…’

“This was a mistake… I should have never brought him here! Now let me go! Do NOT make me hurt you!” She attempted to twist out of Aviara’s grip.

“GATTO! WE’RE LEAVING!”, she shouted.

By now, Aviara’s once-sweet smile vanished entirely. She tightened her grip on Syrielle’s shoulders, and shouted loudly “NO!” With all her might, she pushed Syrielle back against the wall, in an attempt to pin her in place.

“I MUST HAVE HIS CHILD! I MUST!”

~*~*~

The shouting from the other room was drowned out by Tharinel’s continued shouting in the lounge. He berated Gattius, demeaning him and his accomplishments with venomous words. The Blood Knight had shut down, frozen in his own mind by the verbal abuse he endured. Thoughts alternated between what was said to him in his childhood, and what was being said to him in the moment. He felt hopeless, worthless… How could he have been so foolish? A part of him truly wanted to see his relationship with his father mended, to bond with him as he had Tannis Starfrost. Such hope had permeated him mere moments ago when he was led to believe that his father wanted the same thing. But now, he realized, nothing had changed. He meant nothing to his father, but a means to a demented end. He didn’t speak a word. His eyes dulled over, not even shedding tears anymore at this point. His fists loosened, hands hanging limp by his side.

He had never felt so defeated.

~*~*~

Pressing the cryromancer to the wall, Aviara, too, continued her shouting.

“You… will not deny me what I desire! I must have his child! I must bear a Lightmourn heir!”

Frenzied passion overcame the woman, to the point it was hard to believe she was the same person from earlier. Drool oozed from her mouth like a rabid dog, as her nails began digging deeper into Syrielle’s shoulders - likely drawing blood, by now. Those same hands shook, and the woman’s breathing had picked up considerable pace. Her eyes were hollow, ghastly verdant orbs distorting the skin around them. She had turned from a serene beauty to a savage beast.

“I will have what I desire! And if you won’t help me… you’re in my way!”

Syrielle frowned, growling at the distorted creature in front of her. Any fear she felt at the sight of the woman was easily drowned out by her need to come to her brother’s aid. She didn't even care that she was bleeding.

“No,” she replied, ice in her tone, “You’re in MY way!”

The room felt much colder now as the Cryomancer gathered energy in the palms of her hands. Instead of trying to twist out of the grip, this time, she pressed her hands to the woman's stomach, shooting a ray of frost point blank. The force of the blast pushed Aviara back, her claw like fingernails leaving deep cuts in her shoulders from being torn away so suddenly.

She didn't even bother waiting to see if the woman was dead or alive as she immediately followed the sound of Tharinel’s voice and made her way into to room.  

Her ears lowered at the sight. In all their years together, she had never seen Gattius in such a state. Tears stung her eyes, angered glare zeroing in on Tharinel.

Extending a hand, Syrielle shot a blast of wind to push the man back, before sending an ice shard flying at his shoulder.

“You stay the away from my family, or I’ll kill you! Understand?!” She shouted.

She turned to face Gattius, hands moving up to gently cup his face in her hands, “Hey… we’re getting out of here, yeah? Come on, let's get you home…”

The Blood Knight snapped out of it instantly, as Syrielle placed her cold hands on his face. He shivered, gasping as if he’d been holding his breath for the past several minutes; it was hard for him to say whether or not he was. He looked at Syrielle, then away instantly, embarrassed by the cowering state in which she’d found him.

“B-bookworm…” he meekly whispered, hanging his head in shame.

“--How dare you!?” erupted another voice.

Tharinel regained his posture after the blast of wind knocked him into a book case. Shards of ice had torn through his shoulder, blood staining his fine robes. He turned his angry shouting to Syrielle, eyes burning with rage.

“You dare strike me? In my own home? You have no right! Do you know who I am? I’m a noble of Quel’Thalas!” he went on, approaching Syrielle as his words grew louder and louder. “I’ll have you arrested! You’ll be buried so deep in prison that you, yourself, will forget your own name! I’ll make sure you never see sunlight again! Foolish girl! Foolish, stupid gi--”

His ranting was cut short, as Gattius stepped between him and Syrielle, extending his arm and tightening a gauntleted hand around Tharinel’s neck. The red-hot anger returned to Gattius’ eyes, which now affixed straight on to his father’s.

“You can talk that way to me, Tharinel - I expect no less.” he commanded. “But don’t you ever speak to Syrielle that way! Ever! She’s more family to me than you ever were, and I won’t permit you to abuse her like you abused me!”

Tharinel gurgled, unable to speak. Gattius had, unknowingly, lifted the older elf up off the ground at this point. His grip tightened, as he pulled Tharinel close.

“Do you understand?”

“THARINEL!” came a shrill, banshee-like shriek from behind the three.

Aviara rushed into the room, brandishing a fine silver knife Syrielle might’ve recognized from the refreshments table. Her eyes twitched, devoid of any sanity. Her hair was a mess, disheveled from the blast Syrielle had used to knock her back and away from her. She looked feral; a crazed husk of how she appeared when Gattius and Syrielle first arrived.

“Leave him alone! Leave my love alone!”

She rushed wildly at the two - focused on Syrielle, as she seemed to be closer. Knife at the ready, she closed the gap between her and the cryromancer!

Syrie turned to face the crazed woman, her eyes flaring with arcane energy. She caught sight of the knife but paid it no mind as anger clouded her judgment,  any patience or reservations expired.

The woman connected as the spell was cast. The sharp pain in her stomach from the knife seemed to snap Syrielle out of her angered state. Her eyes returned to their normal green color and she found herself staring at her blood covered hands, still holding the large ice shard stuck in the centre of Aviara’s chest.

The cryomancer had killed before on military campaigns, but always at a distance. Her eyes widened in shock at what she had done.

“Bookworm!” Gattius turned to see the gruesome display.

He tossed Tharinel aside like a ragdoll, and rushed to her side. Immediately, he took hold of Syrielle and looked her over. He was quick to notice the knife in her stomach - not a grave wound, but if left untreated could cause major problems. He tugged Syrielle away from the now-impaled Aviara, and sat her down in a nearby chair.

“Hang on, Bookworm… you’ll be alright.”

His gauntlets slipped off, hands already aglow with soft blue light. Gently, he pulled the silver knife from her stomach, before placing his hand over the wound. His eyes illuminated in similar color to his hands, and the healing power of the Light mended her, good as new.

“--Aviara…” Tharinel wheezed, still recovering from the choke, throw, and shock of the sight.

Gattius didn’t seem to pay any attention to him, nor Aviara - who at this point, had collapsed. There was no mistaking the damage done to her. Her face froze in a twisted look of hate, shock, and insanity. The spike of ice had penetrated her heart, killing her instantly, and freezing her blood. She was dead. Gattius knew that from a mere glance. He didn’t bother lingering on it, instead choosing to ensure Syrielle was alright. And as the Light patched up her wound, he was confident she’d be okay. Physically, anyway.

“You… murdered her!” Tharinel cried, shock and anger in his voice.

“--Shut up, Tharinel!” Gattius barked back.

He stood now, to face his father. His eyes conveyed his own hatred and apathy, as they glared at the older elf.

“She attacked Syrielle. A battle-seasoned cryromancer! What did she think would happen?” he declared, pointing back at her cold, lifeless corpse. “I don’t know what you did to torment this poor woman into lunging at us like that, but her blood - all this blood - is on your hands! Your schemes, your lying, your deceit, your abuse… You’re the disgrace! And it’s cost you, dearly!”

He turned back to Syrielle, taking her hand in his, and brushing a bit of hair from her face.

“Bookworm, it’s alright. You did what you had to do.” he reassured her.

“You… you can’t leave! You killed her! My only shot at a true heir!” Tharinel protested, fear resonating in his tone. “You’ve ruined me, Gattius! You’ve stained House Lightmourn yet again!”

“Fuck ‘House Lightmourn’!” Gattius retorted, shooting Tharinel a final glare. “There never was a ‘House Lightmourn’, just a greedy elf who couldn’t see past his own selfishness! I hope I never see you again, Tharinel. And I pray your greed and ambition die here, alongside your foolish puppet! You deserve nothing but yourself!”

He tugged at Syrielle’s hand, turning his back to Tharinel for the last time. His eyes met Syrielle’s full of pain, shock, and desperation. They pleaded with her, welling up with tears.

“Syrielle,” he called to her, pleadingly, “…Let’s go.”

She needs nodded, offering no resistance and she got up and silently followed Gattius out of the room. No one attempted to stop them as they made their way out of the main entrance.

“You were right, Gatto,” she finally said as the cool outdoor air caressed her face, “I never should have made you come back here.”

She closed her eyes, tears running down her cheeks, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Bookworm.” Gattius replied, wiping the tears from Syrielle’s face. “I made a mistake, here. I thought he had changed. I really did.”

He offered a weak smile, moving a strand of stray hair out of her face. “I’m glad, though. I wasn’t sure at first - it was a mystery, whether or not he and I could ever resolve our differences. But now I know for sure.”

He exhaled a deep sigh, before tugging a cigarette out of his battered cigarette case. As he lit up, he looked to Syrielle again, this time, smiling warmer than before.

“I wouldn’t have made it out of there without you, Bookworm. Thank you for having my back.” he said, voice betraying the emotion behind his sentiments. “I’m glad I can count on you.”

He took her hand in his once more, and led her to where they had left their respective mounts.

“Now, then. Let’s get the fuck out of here, huh? I’m feeling sick to my stomach, from all the pompousness of it all.”

He offered the cryromancer a hand, to climb back up on her mount.

“There was talk of a drinking binge, if I remember correctly.”

His words made her smile despite the events that had just transpired.

“Yeah…” she nodded, taking his hand to get up on her wolf, “Good thing we stocked up.”

[daveywankenobie]

There are apparently tiny little creatures everywhere.

I can’t see them – but it seems they follow me all the time – and only those with the right mindset and equipment can track their movements. Unbeknown to me ‘Duskulls’ have been occasionally lingering in my shadow and watching me while I thoughtfully munch on apples.

They were following me in the Cotswolds just the other day…

Thankfully I have a protector – and in an effort to catch all of the assorted creatures (there are also other far more outlandish ones!) that apparently congregate and float about my person she has recently invested in technology that hoovers them up in large quantities.

If you see her in out in the wild she usually has this weaponry to hand.

It’s called a Pokeball (who knew?!) and it’s now guarding our persons 24×7. Occasionally it vibrates on the coffee table or in her pocket to alert us that it’s automatically hoovered up a new captive. This buzzing also functions as a reminder that once caught they need to be properly cared for – because if such things aren’t exercised then they may stage a mass escape.

Consequently we must go out and regularly socialise them with others in the wild. This is rather useful when it comes to my willingness to go exploring, and so far the half term break has been characterised by plenty of park wandering with a little spherical cage.

Almost exactly two years ago (where does time go?!) I passed by Batsford Arboretum with a friend of mine (link) and we both thought that it looked lovely from a distance.

At the time we did say we’d go back but for some reason never got around to it.

That particular day of exploration was characterised by our usual tendency to get slightly lost (as well as discover deep mud) and although we meandered very close to the outskirts of this lovely little area of managed woodland we never actually ventured inside.

I’ve meant to go back ever since, so on Tuesday we booked some tickets online and set off to explore.

It’s dependant upon your perspective as to whether this kind of outing represents good value for money (as well as the petrol it cost us almost £18 – which is actually cheaper than two cinema tickets) because it’s entirely reliant upon the time of year that you visit, the willingness of nature to yield a riot of colour when you do, and whomever beholds all this leafy goodness possessing an underlying interest in nature.

If you like staring at a myriad of little buds, sprouts, flowers and mushrooms (that are everywhere) then I suggest Batsford Arboretum is worth your coin.

It is however worth noting that if you fancy visiting somewhere like this for a lengthy brisk walk then you’ll probably end up feeling disappointed – because to travel around the entirety of this little wooded park won’t take a very long time.

Even completing several circuits won’t add up to a massive distance – so if you’re a slow mover or not especially fit then this could be viewed as a bonus. There are some hills though – so just bear that in mind (you can rent a mobility scooter at the pay desk if you’re so inclined).

It’s all good though – because instead my usual ‘distance = virtue’ approach to walking on Tuesday was switched off and I was definitely in more of an exploration mode. This was fortuitous because Batsford Arboretum requires that you take the time to wander and explore – searching for all of the teeny tiny details – then there are some absolutely lovely things to see.

All in all we spent four hours there and every time we stopped there was something like this hiding in plain sight.

If I’m honest (once new Pokemon had been captured and long term inmates exercised) we spent a lot of our time taking shameless selfies with the autumnal canopy as a backdrop.

The faux bokeh depth of field effect on modern smartphones with multiple focal depth lenses makes an area like this a real joy to play with – and I have to say these are some of the nicest photos I’ve taken of my partner, and that I think she’s taken of me.

Of course – the arboretum itself is almost as lovely as my other half (who looked delightfully autumnal too) and both of us spent the majority of our time stopping, zooming, cropping, re-framing and generally fiddling with our nature photographs.

There’s also quite a lot in the arboretum that has a very oriental theme, and alongside the plantings (many of which come from Japan or the surrounding region) there are little architectural features all over the grounds that underpin the style of (then far away and exotic) landscapes that the architect was attempting to portray to those walking around the woods.

As well a lovely Japanese house (which I sadly failed to take any pictures of) there are also lots of cute bridges above streams and some really really wonderful sculptures.

There’s a lot of more traditional Cotswold architecture to be seen as well – and on top of the delightful thatched sandstone houses and grand county mansion there is a wonderful little church (St Mary’s) that’s clearly loved by the local community because it’s in fantastic condition.

You’d think that this kind of high brow day out would inspire lofty and reflective thoughts in those who immersed themselves in the surroundings of the sympathetically planted surroundings.

Most would imagine that the calm tranquility would have a similarly calming impact upon it’s visitors.

We however are not your average visitors….

It’s true to say that although we both love nature we seem to love having a good time even more – and when we’re together a slightly… mischievous side emerges in both of us.

This can lead me to be quite naughty at times (as mentioned a few posts ago staying on plan with Slimming World has been a recent area where I’ve struggled) – but thankfully we can also inspire more virtuous behaviours in each other – and despite some treats such as a Sunday lunch with all the trimmings, a birthday party cake at the weekend (I only had a little sliver) and a couple of ‘skinny chicken burgers’ (basically two chicken breasts in a bun with some salad) at Wetherspoons we’ve collectively been doing rather well of late.

I am stepping on the scales at group this coming Saturday, and whilst I am definitely going to have a relatively sizeable gain compared to my last weigh in eight weeks ago there is a positive takeaway, because on my own scales I have lost a significant number of pounds in the last two weeks.

This is something of a relief, because in just over one frikkin week’s time I am going to the Slimming World ball.

This morning (after some gentle persuasion from my partner in crime) I tried on my tuxedo, and it fitted. Well – maybe ‘fitted’ is something of a stretch. What I mean is that the buttons did up, but overall it was still a little snug.

However, in many respects this is immaterial, because although I thought I had my outfit all planned and laid out today the world threw me a curve ball, and I found the most wonderfullest thing ever in the whole history of ever with a cherry on top and took it home in a carrier bag.

My initial plan was ‘try to look half decent’.

It’s now (thanks to the contents of my carrier bag) changed to ‘I plan to look freaking awesome!!!‘

This goes double for my partner, who has also found a really cool outfit that fits her like a glove. I’d go so far as to say I melted a little bit when she tried it on – and every subsequent time since I’ve become more and more convinced that it’s absolutely perfect.

It’s been really cool to be looking for little things and trinkets together, and nattering regularly about what will go with what, which shirt will look best with which waistcoat, and which necklace, earrings or clasps will work to accentuate neck and backlines.

It’s (in many respects) a world away from this time last year, when I was planning outfits on my own and scouring charity shops buying more than I needed to make sure that I had what I wanted.

This time I’m going to be over target on the scales – but even though I’m a bit heavier I’m also going to be infinitely happier.

This may well be my last public appearance for Slimming World and I’m damned well going to make the most of it – I want to go out feeling good about myself and what I’ve accomplished and numbers on scales are only half the story.

Today I’ve spent a wonderful half term day off that started with me loudly waking the house up at 6.30 (dancing at the end of the bed in my pants to eye of the tiger was just what my other half needed to laugh herself out from under the duvet), swimming 1.5km, driving to Coventry, walking through Memorial park, into town, round town and back again, coming home, cooking tea, and now writing a blog.

At the start of January 2016 I could do none of this.

I had no-one to share my life with and I was busy drinking and eating myself into oblivion. Now, where there was despair and hopelessness there’s love and companionship underpinned with fitness and vitality.

I’m going to the ball with my head held high. I have nothing to prove because I have a life and a purpose.

That’s why – sober as a judge (nearly four years now!) I’ll be smiling my ass off and swaying back and forth with my significant other to the last song of the night on the dancefloor without a care in the world.

I may struggle to realise it sometimes but honestly life is good.

Davey

Batsford Duckskull There are apparently tiny little creatures everywhere. I can't see them - but it seems they follow me all the time - and only those with the right mindset and equipment can track their movements.