#(this is in the sanctum- past the statues)

[bigmeandragonlady]

there's a pager out here you guys

[maximumzombiecreator]

Since I've had a few people asking about megadungeon stuff recently, and I am an avowed megadungeon megafan, I thought it might be fun to walk through an actual example of megadungeon play that exemplifies what I like best about it.

This post is going to be the first in a series talking about a room from a megadungeon that I ran over 20 years ago (brushing past that fact quickly lest the horrors set in.) It was a major room, probably the most complex and important in the dungeon, and the players passed through it frequently throughout the campaign. In this post I'll introduce you to the room, and then in later posts I'll talk about what it does well and how to use that lesson more generally. Below the cut is a reproduction of the map as I remember it.

Without getting into The Lore too deeply, some dwarves accidentally dug into hell, as one does. Classic trope, nothing wrong with using them. They quite sensibly shut the mine down and sealed if off, but word got out. A human king heard about this, and took over the mine, expanding it into a temple complex to curry favour / barter with hell. It went badly, as such things do.

This concourse connects several wings of the dungeon, spanning several floors. An enormous devil face statue emerges from the northern wall, above the second floor balcony and below the fourth, and a column of light shines through a hole in the ceiling onto the center of the floor. Several floors of balconies overlook the chamber, though the stairs to the fourth floor balcony have long since collapsed.

This chamber was not too far from the main entrance, with the party first encountering it on their second delve into the dungeon, though it would take two more delves for them to gather the courage to enter it. At the time they first encountered it, it was swarming with imps and other little devils worshipping the big face.

I'll summarize the key:

A. Hallway from the Entry Chambers, the first and easiest section of the dungeon.

B. Doorway to the Pilgrim's City.

C. Doorway to the Unholiest of Unholies. Sealed and warded against simple spells.

D. Doorway to the Old Dwarven Quarters.

E. Doorway to the Nobles' Section. Barred from the far side.

F. Portcullis to the Pilgrim's City. The mechanism has rusted out and no longer functions.

G. Doorway to the Halls of the Clergy.

H. Doorway from the King's Inner Sanctum.

I. Doorway to the Archive.

J. Doorway to the King's Inner Sanctum, locked.

K. Doorway to The Indulgences.

Stairway from floor 1 to floor 2.

Light from the hole in the ceiling.

Broken stairs from floor 2 to floor 4.

Big ole devil face. Its eyes are a one-way illusion, allowing anyone within the face to view the room below.

Okay that's a lot, thanks for sticking it out. While I don't want to wander too far off topic into the rest of the dungeon, I'll just briefly note that the Pilgrim's City and Old Dwarven Quarters are easier sections of the dungeon, the Nobles Section and Halls of the Clergy are slightly more difficult, the King's Inner Sanctum, Archive, and Indulgences are very dangerous, and the Unholiest of Unholies is, as one might expect, where the worst things (and best loot) in the dungeon are. This was 2nd edition AD&D, so there was not a presumption of fights being balanced, and traipsing through more dangerous sections of the dungeon at lower levels wasn't uncommon. The players also understood the varying levels of danger fairly implicitly, since the custom at the time was that any time you went a level further away from whatever the ground floor was, things got more dangerous. The only exception to this is the Unholiest of Unholies and I think we can agree that when it's beyond a magically sealed door under a giant devil head the danger is telegraphed.

Next post I'll start talking about what made this room work so well in practice.

[jourdepluie91]

Inside Sean ‘Diddy’ Combs’ Infamous White Parties

The rapper's White Parties gained a legendary reputation in the '90s and '00s...

Sean 'Diddy' Combs, 54, was arrested on 16 September and charged with sex trafficking, racketeering and transportation to engage in prostitution. Prosecutors alleged that he also engaged in kidnapping, forced labour, bribery and other crimes, which he has pleaded not guilty to. It comes after a string of allegations of gang rape, sexual assault and other accusations over the past 12 months, which Combs has denied.

His annual white parties, with their star-studded guest lists and extravagance, became legendary amongst Hollywood circles over two decades. Anyone who was anyone would be invited – you knew that you had made it if you secured one of those coveted 1,000 invites, which would be your golden ticket into these elite circles.

The era-defining white parties were lavish affairs. All guests had to abide by a strict head-to-toe white dress code, with the bash set in all-white surroundings. ‘I wanted to strip away everyone’s image and put us all in the same colour, and on the same level,’ Combs told Oprah Winfrey in 2006.

The tradition started in 1998 when Combs generously decided to show off his new Hamptons home by inviting more than 200 glitterati to a barbeque. He wanted to integrate the world of rap and hip-hop into the echelons of the mega-rich. ‘I had the craziest mix [of guests]: some of my boys from Harlem, Leonardo DiCaprio after he’d just finished Titanic. I had socialites there and relatives from down south. There were 200 people sitting out here, just having a down-home cookout,’ he said of that inaugural party.

That initial do led to Combs being described as ‘a modern-day Gatsby’. He relished the comparison to F Scott Fitzgerald’s character who threw extravagant parties to impress his wealthy neighbours, boasting, ‘I am the Great Gatsby.’

The guestlist of Combs’ white parties read like a who’s who of the ‘90s and ‘00s. An invite meant you were someone worth knowing and cemented your A-list status, across entertainment, business, finance, fashion and technology. Movie stars mingled with singers, socialites and entrepreneurs, with frequent guests including Leonardo DiCaprio, Jay-Z and Beyonce, Kevin Spacey, Naomi Campbell, Mariah Carey, the Kardashians and Paris and Nicky Hilton.

Jennifer Lopez, who dated Combs from 1999 to 2001, attended some parties too.

There is no indication that the celebrity guests at Combs’ white parties were involved in any wrongdoing.

Former music industry insider Tom Swoope has claimed that the parties were separated into ‘tiers’ of access, with ‘general admission’ and an ‘inner sanctum’ where drugs and sex were reportedly available.

What happened at the white parties?

Champagne was freely available, with guests served ‘champagne from heaven’ by models dressed as angels.

Photos show Combs pouring Veuve Clicquot champagne over two topless women at the 1998 party while two half-naked women were pictured cavorting in the swimming pool and then pouring champagne into the open mouth of a male guest at the 2008 party. Another image showed two topless women straddling someone in the pool.

Combs himself had even told Entertainment Tonight that he felt one day he would be arrested for his 'crazy parties'.

Another term used to describe Combs' events is 'freak off' or 'freak out' parties. When Combs' house was searched by Homeland Security in March, they seized 1,000 bottles of lubricant and baby oil which were allegedly used at his 'freak off' parties.

Prosecutors claimed that during the 'freak offs,' Combs would allegedly sedate women and men and force them into sex acts. The parties were described as 'elaborate and produced sex performances,' in which Combs allegedly booked hotel suites and hired sex workers while distributing drugs including cocaine, methamphetamine and oxycodone to keep partygoers 'obedient'. Afterwards, his staff would allegedly arrange for travel and IV supplies to help those involved recover.

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

you know, i like hordak as a character. he's interesting, he's likeable, he's a good example of an abuse victim who isn't overly infantilized and coddled by the narrative. his relationship with entrapta was cute, his relationship with horde prime was tragic and i like that he at least gets a proper confrontation with his abuser, where he is able to declare his own independence and get some closure from his trauma.

however, there are two main problems i have with his character (some of which i've already talked about but i want to go into more detail):

1. hordak was not an effective villain. heck, he was barely a villain at all.

you cannot tell me that hordak was the main villain of the first four seasons when the majority of his screentime was spent with him either lurking in his sanctum or canoodling with entrapta.. in his sanctum.

at first i thought that hordak was going to be this looming presence that had control over everything and puppeted everyone's every move, and was this evil masterpiece who orchestrated everything behind the scenes but.. nah. turns out he's just an incompetent manchild who needs a literal teenager with no battle experience to plan everything out for him. how did he conquer half of etheria before that? who knows? not important.

hordak also has no meaningful relationship with adora, the hero. there were actually a lot of parallels that could be drawn from hordak and adora both being raised by abusers who valued perfection over everything else. granted, in that aspect, hordak is more like catra but there isn't even that many parallels with him and catra. there are, in fact, more parallels with catra and shadow weaver or catra and horde prime.

and okay, not every hero and villain needs a deep intertwined relationship or complex narrative parallels. but at least give us something? a proper interaction?? the show even acknowledges the fact that hordak and adora have absolutely no connection with each other, when adora asks him why he kidnapped her and he basically replies with "lol who are you again". and then he just randomly remembers her at the end of the finale and it’s supposed to be this touching, emotional scene except you feel nothing because these characters literally never interacted, what are we looking at?

adora is supposed to be fighting the horde, but it seemed like she was just fighting catra most of the time. as the hero who opposes etheria's oppressors, shouldn't adora mainly be targeting hordak, the person who started it all? and shouldn't hordak, as the leader of the horde, be more concerned about the rebellion having an actual god on their side? i guess it doesn't really matter if said god can be easily defeated by a inexperienced catgirl

it just feels like hordak didn't have to be a villain at all. we only know he does horrifying things, because the narrative says that he does. oh, and he tortures catra once and sends her to crimson waste, so i guess that qualifies as being a villain.

the point of a villain is to drive the central conflict of the story. to oppose the hero and to pose an actual threat to the status quo. any character who doesn't do this is merely an antagonist. in hordak's case, i don't even know if he counts as an antagonist. he's like that one edgy antihero with a dark past where he murdered countless people but it doesn't really matter in present time. it’s just there to add flavor and to enhance his tragic past, because war is obviously a fictional fantasy trope and totally not something that has happened in real life. /s

2. like many other characters in this show, hordak's character almost completely revolves around his love interest.

yes, entrapta taking care of hordak and boosting his self-esteem is endearing. yes, hordak breaking his defenses and being vulnerable around entrapta is very sweet. but apart from entrapta, the only characters who have any kind of effect on hordak is horde prime and catra. and.. i guess, imp? but again, imp is mostly just a stand-in for the cute animal sidekick.

i know that hordak was supposed to be a recluse but it's impossible to believe that this kind of person was able to start an army and feed them with false propaganda. again, if you read my post about cults and their methods of indoctrination, you would know that cult leaders are often very charismatic and friendly people. and i know the horde isn't exactly a cult but we are supposed to believe that at least some of the cadets raised there genuinely believed that they were on the side of good, when their leader was a mysterious shut-in who basically didn't do anything substantial and their mentor/superior officer was just actively radiating Evil Vibes™.

i just wish they did more with hordak’s character and actually made him interact with some of the other characters. he doesn’t even interact with shadow weaver that much, and she was his second-in-command. even if it’s not direct interactions, it would have been interesting to see the characters mention hordak more, especially the ex-horde soldiers. apart from the general “oh no he’s evil and wants to kill everyone”, that is.

like we see people talking about shadow weaver. we see adora open up about her relationship with shadow weaver and ponder about whether there’s some good left in the woman who raised her. we see glimmer talking about how powerful shadow weaver is and how she could help the rebellion. we see catra complaining about how shadow weaver treated her in comparison to adora. we see angella talk about how shadow weaver shouldn’t be trusted.

when you think about it, shadow weaver was much more of a looming menacing presence in spop, despite not even being a villain, let alone the main villain.

even when she was on the good side and helping the princesses, there was always a ceaseless feeling of unease and fear, because we’ve seen what she’s capable of. we weren’t just told that “shadow weaver is sooo abusive, she’s bad!” we see how she treats adora and catra, we see how she manipulates situations and people for her own benefit, we see how she slowly starts to get into glimmer’s head. the show actually does a good job with shadow weaver, and i have to give credit where credit is due. shadow weaver was genuinely a well-written character.

hordak is just.. there, most of the time. he acts evil enough to be considered as one of the villains but he’s not actually a villain if you consider it for more than five seconds. he doesn’t really do anything for the bulk of the narrative, he has one kinda cool scene where he stands up to his abuser and then he just peaces out with entrapta.

i don’t really understand the point of taking a main villain of the show and turning him into this. sure, the OG hordak was more of a comedic villain and wasn’t super complex, but from what i know, he still played an important role in a narrative and his humorous moments made up for the lack of a tragic backstory.

[jiangwanyinscatmom]

Wangxian, Jiang Cheng, The Ancestral Hall, and who was really dishonorable during that confrontation

Some terms and accepted commonalities of traditional early ancestral worship, that is not to be confused with what is seen in smaller tighter family homes with less of the previous community focus:

祠堂 Ancestral Hall or 家廟 Family Temple (used less often as the basis of the temple is to promote strong lineage worship and filial piety of past generations that helped to grow a strong long line and respecting what had come before)

A building where members of a particular clan gather to honor their ancestors. An ancestral temple can serve clan members of a village or local area who all share common ancestors or, on a larger scale, it can serve all the clan members of a longer lineage. It is usually named after a certain ancestor, such the common ancestor of the clan members who first inhabited the village or the founder of the lineage.

An ancestral temple would be open on a regular basis for those wishing to offer prayers for good health, success, etc, in the same way that temples housing the images of traditional deities would be open.

Due to how prevalent Ancestral worship is and as shown within MDZS, the heavy community based aspect of the sects are the basis of Wei Wuxian's own visit to the shrine, and traditionally, was the most respectful action to take to those that had raised him, not as an inner Jiang, but overall the clan of Yunmeng Jiang that had once been open to all disciples that wished to be a part of Yunmeng Jiang.

These halls, unlike current real life family altars, were open to all who wished to pay respects to the ancestors/clan of that province. (Lotus Pier's hall is not designated to the inner sanctum of just Jiang Cheng's estates and is for all disciples/ties to the Yunmeng Jiang Clan, however distant. Wei Wuxian despite his nebulous status within the Jiang family was still once considered formerly of Yunmeng and was his relevant filial ties and guardianship. As such, it is only respectful to confer with the dead that had such significance in his life to allow continued peace of the dead as well as reverence in asking for their blessings as he found a prospect for marriage as it was traditional for the bride (groom in this case) to be presented to those who had been considered as parents/family.

It is also unbecoming to bring negativity within the ancestral hall as it is a place to acknowledge what the living had been given and granted due to the dead's actions (karma) and to be granted a good life in return for that show of respect.

As such, Jiang Cheng himself does not make mention the good the Jiangs had done, only focusing on how the living are causing him problems, disrespecting the rest that the dead spirituality have been blessed with and no actual respect upon their lives as he hyperfocuses on the death and it's impact upon him. Wangxian in the traditional wuxia setting and tropes fit tightly as well worshipping visitors, the heroes of these novels always display upright morality of filial piety and Confucian ideals of the practice.

Jiang Cheng, ironically despite his speeches of his family and besmirching of their honor, is the one to do just that as he goads Wei Wuxian into the personal strife that the Jiangs have no longer been apart of for years and represents another bad omen of his granted title.

[theetherealbloom]

AS GOOD A REASON - CH. 1 | OBERYN MARTELL

Chapter One: The Devil's Trumpet

Summary: You, who has made it her life's work to get retribution on those who mistreated and harassed you when you were a child. The scars on your body are a physical reminder of the suffering you endured at the hands of abusers, and they also provide the fuel for your years-long quest for retribution.

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, MINORS GO AWAY, GoT is full of serious and harmful topics, mentions of SA, Rape (not the reader), Murder, Violence, Gore, War, Poison, Scars, Burns, Scratching, Su!c!de, AU, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Blood, War, Religion References, Nudity, Domestic Abuse, Incest, Prostitution, Weapons, Fire, Horror, 

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Sooooooo… I don’t know a lot of Game of Thrones lore… so I ask for your patience and kindness when it comes to this fic, cause I know there will be some inconsistencies. I would stay up late at night, staring at the ceiling of my bed, constantly imagining that I could save Oberyn Martell from the Mountain. This is the story that I have been dreaming about for almost two years now. This fic is loosely based off The Glory on Netflix, it’s a show all about revenge which felt fitting for a Game of Thrones fic. There’s not a lot of Oberyn Martell yet in this chapter… but the next one for sure he’ll be there ;)

Song: as good a reason by Paris Paloma

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DRAGONSTONE, WESTEROS — 280 AC

From the moment your mother bartered you away to the Targaryens, you harbored no illusions about your worth in her eyes. Born to a minor lord, your father's coffers were never overflowing, and upon his death, your mother wasted no time in casting you aside like a discarded toy. It was a transaction as cold and calculated as any.

As a mere girl, you were thrust into servitude within the Targaryen household, your days filled with menial tasks and fleeting moments of respite. Your mother's indifference had left you with a bitter taste in your mouth, yet you dared not dwell on the past, for in the world of kings and queens, survival was a luxury afforded only to the cunning and the strong.

So, you learned to keep your head down, to swallow your pride and obey without question. In the grand tapestry of courtly life, you were but a humble thread, weaving your way through the intricacies of power and deceit with the practiced ease of one who knows their place in the hierarchy of the Seven Kingdoms.

News of the betrothal between Princess Elia Martell and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen spread like wildfire through the streets of King's Landing, igniting whispers of anticipation and speculation among the common folk. And when the day of their union finally arrived, the Great Sept of Baelor bore witness to a spectacle of unparalleled grandeur, as the noble houses of Westeros gathered to witness the marriage of two powerful dynasties.

In the wake of their wedding, the newlyweds departed for the ancient seat of Dragonstone, leaving a wake of excitement and intrigue in their wake. Within the stone walls of the island fortress, the air crackled with anticipation, as servants bustled about in a frenzy of preparation for the arrival of the newlyweds.

In the hushed corridors of Dragonstone, amidst the flurry of activity that heralded the arrival of the royal couple, you found yourself singled out from the bustling crowd of servants. With a sense of unease mingled with awe, you were ushered into the inner sanctum of Princess Elia's chambers, thrust into a position of unexpected privilege.

As you navigated the opulent surroundings, your heart pounded with a mixture of apprehension and determination. The eyes of the court seemed to follow your every move, their silent scrutiny a constant reminder of your newfound status.

Perhaps it was Princess Elia's keen observation or her innate sense of compassion that led her to notice the subtle cruelties inflicted upon you by your fellow servants. The older maids, with their twisted smiles and mocking jests, seemed to take pleasure in your misfortune, their actions a reminder of the harsh realities of life within the walls of Dragonstone.

Yet, in the presence of your new mistress, you found solace and sanctuary, a refuge from the cruelty of those who sought to belittle and demean you. With each passing day, as you tended to her needs with a quiet diligence, and you felt a sense of belonging that had long eluded you.

As Princess Elia's pregnancy progressed, you remained steadfast by her side, attending to her every need from dawn till dusk. With each passing day, the weight of responsibility rested heavily upon your shoulders, as you labored tirelessly to ensure her comfort and well-being.

When the time finally came for Elia to bring forth new life into the world, you stood beside her, a silent witness to the agony and ecstasy of childbirth. Her cries pierced the air like a dagger, each shriek a testament to her strength and determination. And though fear gripped your heart with each painful contraction, you remained steadfast in your resolve to see her through this trial.

With the arrival of Princess Rhaenys, the air seemed to shimmer with joy. As Elia cradled her newborn daughter in her arms, her eyes alight with love and exhaustion, you offered words of comfort and admiration.

"You have brought forth a beautiful child, Your Majesty," you murmured softly, your voice a gentle reassurance in the flurry of the birthing chamber. "You have done marvelously."

A weary smile graced Elia's lips as she gazed down at her precious daughter, her fingers tracing the delicate features of the babe's face. "Thank you for your kindness," she replied, her gratitude evident in every word.

And so, with the birth of Princess Rhaenys, a new chapter began in the lives of the Targaryen dynasty. As the babe was presented to Rhaegar's parents at court, the halls of Dragonstone echoed with the whispers of anticipation, a testament to the enduring legacy of House Targaryen.

As Queen Rhaella cradled her granddaughter with tender affection, her eyes alight with joy and pride, King Aerys the Second stood apart, his expression twisted with disdain. With a sneer of contempt, he recoiled from the child, his words dripping with venom.

"Smells Dornish," he remarked, his voice laced with disgust.

Your jaw clenched with suppressed anger at his callous words, a silent witness to the depths of his cruelty and madness. In that moment, as you beheld the scene unfolding before you, it became abundantly clear that the king's heart was as black as obsidian, his soul consumed by the darkness that lurked within.

TOURNEY AT HARRENHAL, THE YEAR OF FALSE SPRING, WESTEROS — 281 AC

At Harrenhal, nestled in the verdant heart of the Riverlands, Lord Walter Whent played host to a grand tournament, a celebration that spanned ten days and drew lords and ladies from across the Seven Kingdoms. Within the storied halls of the ancient castle, whispers of intrigue and ambition mingled with the clinking of goblets and the strains of music, each moment pregnant with the promise of both glory and treachery.

Amidst the throng of nobility, you moved with the silent grace of a shadow, your keen eyes and sharp ears attuned to every murmur and gesture. As a mere servant, you lingered on the periphery of the festivities, your presence all but unnoticed by the illustrious guests who reveled in the splendor of the occasion.

On the first night, as the Hall of a Hundred Hearths blazed with the warm glow of torchlight and the scent of roasted meats hung heavy in the air, you observed the comings and goings of the noble houses with a keen eye. From the stalwart Starks to the enigmatic Howland Reed, the northern lords mingled with their southern counterparts, their alliances and rivalries simmering beneath the surface like a pot ready to boil over.

Amidst the revelry, the figures of legend and lore moved with an aura of mystique and allure. Brandon Stark's easy charm drew Lady Ashara Dayne to the dance floor, while the shy Eddard Stark found himself swept up in the rhythm of the music. Benjen Stark's playful banter with his sister Lyanna elicited laughter and teasing, a glimpse into the bonds that bound the Stark siblings together.

And then, amidst the swirling throng of dancers, you caught sight of him: Prince Oberyn Martell, the embodiment of charm and charisma, his laughter ringing out like silver bells in the night. As he twirled Lady Ashara Dayne in a graceful waltz, his smile illuminated the room with its brilliance, casting a spell over all who beheld him.

But you knew better than to linger on such fleeting distractions, in the glittering spectacle of courtly intrigue, shadows were lurking in the corners, secrets waiting to be uncovered. And so, with a determined resolve, you turned your attention away from the beguiling prince and towards the task at hand, knowing that one must always be vigilant, lest they be consumed by the machinations of power and ambition.

The tourney at Harrenhal stretched across ten days, a spectacle of martial prowess and pageantry that captivated the hearts and minds of all who attended. In between the clash of swords and the thunder of hooves, champions emerged and legends were born, each contest a testament to the valor and skill of the knights who jousted and fought in the name of honor and glory.

From the seven-sided melee to the fierce competition of the joust, the tourney boasted a variety of events to entertain the crowds, including archery contests, axe-throwing competitions, and thrilling horse races. Yet, amidst the revelry and excitement, a sense of foreboding lingered in the air, a whisper of uncertainty that hinted at darker forces at play.

As the final moments of the tourney drew near, all eyes turned to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, the golden-haired champion whose prowess in the joust had earned him victory over four knights of the Kingsguard. Yet, it was not his triumph in the lists that would become the stuff of legend, but rather the fateful decision he made in the aftermath of his victory.

Standing amidst the gathered nobility, you watched in disbelief as Prince Rhaegar bypassed his own wife, Princess Elia, and bestowed the crown of blue winter roses upon Lyanna Stark, the betrothed of Lord Robert Baratheon. This was the moment all smiles died. The air crackled with tension as murmurs of confusion and outrage rippled through the crowd, a clear sense of unease settling over the festivities like a shroud.

In that moment, as the fragile peace of the realm hung in the balance, you felt a chill run down your spine, a premonition of the chaos and bloodshed that would soon engulf the Seven Kingdoms. For in the blink of an eye, the seeds of war had been sown, and the fate of Westeros hung in the balance.

DRAGONSTONE, WESTEROS — 282 AC

In the dimly lit chamber of Dragonstone, the air was thick with anticipation as Princess Elia fought through the pain of labor, her strength waning with each passing moment. Beside her, you stood as a silent sentinel, offering words of encouragement and support as she braved the trials of childbirth once more.

With each command to push, Princess Elia's resolve hardened, her determination a beacon of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to engulf her. Yet, it was evident that her delicate health posed a formidable obstacle, her frailty a constant reminder of the challenges she faced.

And then, amidst the hushed whispers of the attending maesters, the sharp cry of a newborn babe pierced the air, a herald of new life amidst the shadows of uncertainty. With a ragged sigh of relief, Princess Elia's weary frame slumped backward, her brow glistening with sweat as she drew in ragged breaths.

"It's a son," the maester announced, his voice ringing with reverence as he presented the newborn prince to his exhausted mother.

A flicker of joy illuminated Princess Elia's weary features as she reached out trembling hands to cradle her newborn son, her touch gentle and reverent as she welcomed him into the world. With tears of gratitude glistening in her eyes, she pressed her lips to his tiny forehead, whispering words of love and devotion as she held him close to her heart. 

Prince Aegon was born.

KINGS LANDING, WESTEROS — 283 AC

Chaos erupted across the realm with the dawn of the new year, as news of Lyanna Stark's abduction by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen near Harrenhal spread like wildfire, igniting the flames of conflict between rival houses.

In the Vale of Arryn, the clash of steel and the cries of battle echoed through the mountain passes, as Lord Jon Arryn marshaled his forces to defend his homeland against the encroaching storm of war. Meanwhile, in the coastal city of Gulltown, the once-impregnable defenses crumbled under the relentless assault of Robert Baratheon and his forces, with the valiant Marq Grafton falling in the heat of battle.

With Gulltown secured, Robert Baratheon wasted no time in rallying his own banners to his cause, sailing swiftly to his ancestral seat of Storm's End to muster his forces for the coming conflict. Yet, even as he prepared for war, Robert's gaze turned to the stormlands, where the first major battle of the campaign awaited him.

At Summerhall, within the ruins of the ancient keep, Robert Baratheon faced his foes in a brutal clash of arms, his skill and valor turning erstwhile enemies into staunch allies. With Lords Grandison and Cafferen, as well as Silveraxe, pledging their fealty to his cause, Robert emerged victorious, his path to the north now clear as he prepared to join forces with Jon Arryn and the northern lords in their quest for vengeance.

All throughout the chaos of war, you bore witness to the dark machinations of the Mad King as he conspired to unleash destruction upon King's Landing itself. Ser Jaime Lannister, his white cloak billowing behind him, stood witness to the sinister plot hatched by the Alchemists' Guild, while the rest of the Kingsguard were scattered, their loyalty divided amidst the brewing conflict.

In the midst of this turmoil, Lord Qarlton Chelsted, Hand of the King, emerged as an unexpected ally, his friendship and concern for your safety a beacon of hope amidst the shadows of fear and uncertainty. Yet, as whispers of the king's treachery reached his ears, Lord Chelsted's conscience could no longer remain silent. With courage and conviction, he confronted the Mad King, pleading for mercy and reason in the face of madness.

But mercy was a foreign concept to Aerys Targaryen, his mind consumed by the flames of paranoia and tyranny. In a cruel and chilling display of power, he condemned Lord Chelsted to a fate worse than death, his screams echoing through the halls of the Red Keep as the flames consumed him.

In the wake of this horror, you found yourself thrust into the cruel embrace of the king's wrath, your cries of anguish falling upon deaf ears as the searing pain of the iron rod seared your flesh. Bound and helpless, you endured the agony of your punishment, a silent testament to the cruelty of those who held power over life and death.

When consciousness returned, it was to the gentle touch of Princess Elia, her soothing words a balm to your wounded soul. With tears of shame and gratitude, you sought to apologize for your weakness, but the kind princess silenced your protests with a gentle shush, her compassion a beacon of hope in the darkness.

"Rest now, dear child," she murmured, her voice a soft melody of reassurance. "You have tended to me with care and kindness. Now it is my turn to watch over you."

In the warmth of her embrace, you found solace amidst the pain, your heart heavy with the weight of your suffering but buoyed by the kindness of one who saw beyond the scars to the strength within. And as sleep claimed you once more, you whispered a silent prayer of thanks to the Seven for the gift of Princess Elia's compassion in a world consumed by cruelty and strife.

The rest of House Targaryen remained blissfully unaware of the dark schemes brewing within the walls of King's Landing. Queen Rhaella Targaryen, her eyes veiled to her husband's descent into madness, remained preoccupied with her own concerns, while Prince Rhaegar Targaryen marshaled his forces for the impending conflict.

In the depths of the city, hidden from prying eyes, the pyromancers of the Alchemists' Guild toiled in secrecy, their hands guided by the whispers of their mad king. Thousands of jars of wildfire, that volatile substance capable of unleashing unimaginable destruction, were meticulously placed in strategic locations throughout the city. From the shadows of the Dragonpit to the hallowed halls of the Great Sept of Baelor, and even beneath the very foundations of the Red Keep itself, the city of King's Landing was a powder keg awaiting the spark of war.

As the flames of conflict spread across the realm, each battle leaving its mark upon the land, the fate of the Seven Kingdoms hung in the balance. Amidst the chaos of the Stoney Sept, where narrow streets became blood-soaked battlegrounds, Prince Doran Martell grappled with the weight of his decision. Bound by duty to his king yet driven by love for his sister, Princess Elia, Doran reluctantly pledged his support to Prince Rhaegar's cause, his heart heavy with the knowledge of the dangers that lay ahead.

Following the fateful clash at the Trident, the Mad King's grip on power grew ever more tenuous. In a desperate bid to consolidate his rule, Aerys named Rossart, his favored pyromancer, as his new Hand of the King. Yet, his reign of terror would be short-lived, as the flames of rebellion engulfed the realm. With his wife, Queen Rhaella, and their young son, Prince Viserys, sent to the safety of Dragonstone, Aerys's grip on reality slipped further into the abyss, his madness driving him to unspeakable acts of cruelty and betrayal. Locked within the walls of King's Landing, Princess Elia Martell and her children, Rhaenys and Aegon, remained prisoners of a king consumed by paranoia and fear.

MAEGOR’S HOLDFAST, THE RED KEEP — 283 AC

Lord Tywin Lannister, who had stubbornly refused calls to arms from both the loyalists and the rebels until that point, appeared at the gates of King's Landing with an imposing army of twelve thousand men, mere hours before Eddard Stark would arrive. Lord Tywin professed his unwavering loyalty to King Aerys, and while Lord Varys, the cunning master of whispers, counseled Aerys to keep the gates locked, the king chose to heed the advice of the manipulative Grand Maester Pycelle, ordering the gates to be opened to Tywin's men. With the arrival of the forces from the westerlands, the city of King's Landing became a target for plunder and destruction.

As the realization that all was lost sank in, Aerys, driven by madness and desperation, commanded Rossart, a pyromancer, to unleash the hidden caches of wildfire throughout the city, hoping to reduce Robert's forces to mere "ashes and bones".

In a final act of cruelty, he tasked Ser Jaime Lannister, the eldest son of Lord Tywin and the sole remaining knight of his Kingsguard present in the city, with killing his own father and presenting his head as a gruesome gift. However, Jaime, torn between loyalty and reason, defied the mad king's command. Instead, he turned his blade on Rossart, knowing that Aerys would simply find another pyromancer to carry out his destructive plans. Realizing the imminent danger, Jaime rushed back to the Red Keep and put an end to Aerys' life in the throne room, just moments before soldiers from the westerlands stormed in.

Meanwhile, Ser Gregor Clegane, known for his massive size and brutal nature, accompanied by Ser Amory Lorch, made their way into Maegor's Holdfast. Their mission was to eliminate the remaining members of the royal family, solidifying Robert's claim to the throne and demonstrating House Lannister's complete abandonment of the Targaryens.

The resounding crash of the door being forcefully shattered reverberated through the room, punctuated by the shattering of glass and the piercing screams that filled the air. You, trapped in that room, could do nothing but bear witness to the horrific scene unfolding before your eyes. Gregor Clegane callously hurled you towards the fireplace, the searing heat scorching your skin, as he believed you would perish amidst the flames. Bleeding and disoriented, you lay on the floor, your vision blurred by the pain that engulfed you.

In the middle of pandemonium, you watched in horror as Princess Rhaenys, a mere toddler, was dragged from beneath her father's bed by the monstrous Clegane. The screams of the innocent child echoed through the room as she was mercilessly stabbed over fifty times. Aegon, Elia's son and the last hope for the Targaryen line, suffered an equally gruesome fate as Gregor brutally smashed his head against a wall. With Aegon's blood and brains still staining his hands, Gregor proceeded to rape Elia and ultimately ended her life by crushing her skull. 

As Gregor and Amory callously departed, their hands stained with the blood of their heinous acts, they paid no heed to your crumpled form, assuming you were dead. Silently, you feigned death, your battered body lying motionless on the floor. The sound of their heavy footsteps slowly faded away, their hearts devoid of remorse, as they never once faltered or looked back.

With fresh burns scorching your body, the searing pain and stinging sensations intensified, causing you to vomit on the side of the bedroom, overwhelmed by the horrifying sight before you. The people you held dear, the ones who reciprocated your affection, were now lost and lifeless, torn away from you forever.

In a state of despair, you crawled and stumbled, driven by an unknown force or perhaps a touch of divine intervention. Miraculously, you managed to navigate the treacherous secret passages of the sacked city, escaping the clutches of danger. The reason for your survival remained a mystery, lost in the chaos that surrounded you. Perhaps it was your unwavering determination or the small flicker of hope that compelled you to keep moving forward, to honor Elia's memory and the children who were denied the chance of a life.

You couldn't recall how you found yourself on the shores near Blackwater Bay, gazing out at the vast expanse of the Narrow Sea. Kneeling in the cool, wet sand, you felt the water recede, stinging your burns and prompting an uncontrollable urge to scratch, causing fresh blood to flow. Your bruised stomach throbbed with pain.

Exhausted from the relentless pursuit of survival, you yearned for respite, for an end to the constant struggle. Slowly, you began to crawl toward the ocean, knowing that the cold embrace of the water would bring solace, relieving the incessant itch of your scars. What more could you desire? This, perhaps, was the only path left.

But you couldn't bring yourself to do it. Standing at the precipice, you let out a piercing cry, releasing your anguish into the air. With every ounce of strength, you struck your arms, the very arms that bore the visible reminders of your torment.

In that moment, you chose to defy the darkness that threatened to consume you, refusing to succumb to despair. At the edge of the world, you stood tall, your cries echoing across the empty beach, a testament to your resilience and determination to get revenge.

BRAAVOS, ESSOS — 287 AC

In the ancient city of Braavos, where secrets whispered through the narrow alleys and the canals flowed with mysterious tales, you found solace amid the chaos. Once a believer in the gods, you had come to realize that their existence was nothing more than a facade, a comforting illusion for the masses.

Having scraped together enough coin, you secured passage on a ship departing from Blackwater Bay, leaving behind a turbulent past and seeking refuge in the anonymity of Braavos. The city welcomed you with its vibrant streets and diverse inhabitants, offering a chance at a new beginning.

From baker to cleaner, nurse to animal keeper, and occasionally even a tutor to minor Ladies, you took on any job that would sustain you. Your tireless work ethic caught the attention of the nobles, who saw value in your dedication and entrusted you with their precious steeds. However, the privilege of working for the Lords came at a cost, as some would cross boundaries and attempt to take advantage of your vulnerability. Yet, you stood strong, extracting your payment and moving on.

Throughout the years, you meticulously saved every coin, seeking out the teachings of various assassin guilds and skilled swordsmen. Disguised as a boy, you delved into the secrets of High Valyrian, honed your swordsmanship, and mastered the art of poisons. The guilds taught you to discern truth from lies, and to control your facial expressions, laying the groundwork for your vengeful plans.

As you went about your duties in the bustling stables, you tried to steal moments to study the intricate notes on potions, mumbling the descriptions to yourself. Suddenly, a sharp smack landed on the back of your head, causing you to wince in pain. "Quit your foolishness and focus on your work!" your employer reprimanded.

"Don't be too hard on her! Look at all the burn scars on her legs and arms," one of the older stableboys interjected, coming to your defense. Gritting your teeth, you offered a quick apology, knowing that it was best to comply with your employer's wishes.

Resuming your tasks, you discreetly tucked away the notes into your pocket, their pages smudged with the grime of your surroundings. Your determination burned within you, fueled by the scars that adorned your body, a constant reminder of the pain and suffering that fueled your quest for revenge.

BRAAVOS, ESSOS — 294 AC

The scent of salt hung heavy in the air, you had grown up immersed in their language and customs. Fuelled by a thirst for knowledge, you clandestinely absorbed every morsel of information you could gather about the events unfolding in Westeros. Alongside your studies, you dedicated yourself to the art of combat, honing your skills with weapons and tirelessly toiling in a variety of jobs that allowed you to pursue your clandestine education.

As the boat that would carry you away from Braavos was being prepared, one of the enigmatic faceless men, who had taken an interest in your journey due to the scars that adorned your flesh, approached you. His hooded eyes locked onto yours as he inquired, "Are you prepared for what lies ahead?"

A mixture of determination and uncertainty danced in your gaze as you responded, "They seek servants for the Red Keep. The time is drawing near, and I must gather further intelligence on a select few. It appears that more than just the Lannisters are entangled in this web of power." The faceless man nodded, acknowledging the complexity of the situation.

With a silent understanding, the boat began its departure, carrying you across the waters of the Narrow Sea. Standing at the bow, your eyes fixated on the horizon, a sense of purpose and anticipation surged within you as you braced yourself for the unknown challenges that awaited.

RED KEEP, KING'S LANDING, WESTEROS — 298 AC

In the hallowed halls of the Red Keep, where whispers of power and deceit echoed through the stone, you had spent years serving as a humble maid, donning long-sleeved dresses regardless of the season that enveloped Westeros.

Maintaining a low profile was imperative to the success of your clandestine plan. As you arranged your quarters, a haven of secrecy, you opened a worn journal containing a meticulously compiled dossier. Every page adorned with detailed sketches and meticulous notes on the individuals implicated in the tragic demise of Princess Elia. Royals, lords, and ladies from every corner of Westeros found their place within those ink-stained pages. Their routines, preferences, lovers, and dark histories were meticulously chronicled, forming a tapestry of knowledge that would fuel your pursuit of vengeance.

Locking your quarters behind you, you ventured into the mist-shrouded gardens, a white datura flower delicately cradled in your hand. As you spun the delicate bloom, the devil's trumpet, between your fingers, a solemn chant escaped your lips, carried away by the ethereal fog. "Anyone who inflicts harm upon their neighbor shall bear the same injury."

An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. A fracture for a fracture. The concept of just retribution swirled in your mind, the very embodiment of justice. Yet, a subtle smirk tugged at the corners of your lips. Was such fairness truly fitting? Was it not too generous, too even-handed? After all, fairness is a fleeting concept in this treacherous game, isn't it?

TAGLIST:

@christinamadsen

[literatecowboy]

*opens ur window and sits on your bed* greetings, fellow König enjoyer. Have you ever considered! War God König who has a relationship with the goddess of victory! Reader? Have a lovely day!! *creepy back into my void*

Hi, and thank you so much for being my first-ever ask!! You have handed the steering wheel to a 90 year old lady who should have had her license revoked and we are going on the highway >:)

I pondered this for a little while last night and I really like it! I’m not sure if you wanted NSFW or had a specific mythology in mind so I’m just going to write down the flow of ideas that kinda went through my head. This will be mostly NSFW and the imagery is inspired by ancient American cultures :) I hope you like it, this is my first one and my first time writing real smut!!!

I'm new to tumblr and I don't know if I have to tag you in this for you to see it so I'll do it here just in case :) @polnareffsbouncybaraboobies

Smut under the cut!

—

Your bare feet made no noise against the carefully chiseled stone stairs of the temple as you climbed them. Lights from flickering braziers illuminated hairless watchdogs chained outside of the temple’s upper room, but they did not react as you passed them by. They could not see you.

Nothing mortal could see you - unless you revealed yourself. It would remain that way for now. You were deep in the heart of the territory of your people’s enemies - a people you had little love for. They worshipped you too, of course, but less…fervently. Their offerings were fewer, more pathetic. It was almost as if they thought they didn’t need your favor.

You brushed past the curtain over the doorway to the inner sanctum. It was smoky inside and smelled of coppery blood and sweet incense. Upon a dais in the center of the room stood a larger-than-life golden statue of a proud warrior holding the head of an enemy to the sky. Offerings of incense, money, food, pelts, and other luxuries surrounded it, but the god they had been offered to almost seemed unsatisfied.

König reclined at the base of his statue, his bare, rippling muscles shining in the firelight. The pelt of a jaguar was secured around his waist with intricate golden clasps and his arms and legs were wrapped in snake-shaped golden bangles. His broad, muscular chest was bare, decorated only with intricate tattoos and warpaint fashioned from the blood of the men he’d slain.

You’d never seen his face before and you could not see it now. He always wore the same helmet - its beak curved down over his face and ended in a sharp point that caressed his chest. A proud headdress of colorful feathers spilled out of the top and trailed down his back. König was terrifyingly large in size and personality - and yet you knew you could sway him to your side.

When he saw you he smiled and sat up straighter, pushing aside his war-club and decorated shield to make room for you on the chaise he lounged on.

“My love, you have been away from me for too long.” he practically purred, standing to his full height. You slunk forward and he embraced you as you traced your fingers across the muscles in his chest.

“You think I have not missed you?” you murmured, meeting his eyes with a teasing smile. He grasped your hips and lifted you into the air, pushing you back against the temple wall as his lips found your neck.

“You are as beautiful as the day we were wed, even all of these millennia later,” he growled, his voice low as he bit gently at your collarbone. You could feel his hardness pressed between your legs and you were glad you’d worn little other than your jewelry to see him.

“I have a proposition for you,” you whispered, wrapping your legs around his waist as he cupped your breast gently.

“Oh? Have you come to seduce me for a favor? I am your husband…you need not resort to such measures…” König trailed, biting your breast and trailing kisses back up to your lips. You groaned softly, and he smiled into the kiss, tracing two fingers over your entrance and ghosting over your clit.

“Already wet for me, hmm? Has it been too long since I have given myself to you?” he growled, kissing you again, more fervently this time as he slipped one finger into you, slowly pumping it in and out.

You gasped and arched your back against the wall, raking your nails down König’s chest. He hissed in pleasure as small beads of blood dripped down his chest and you could feel precum drip onto your thigh.

“Koni…” you murmured, pushing your hips down against his hand as he slid another large finger into you.

“Yes, love? What is it you want?” he smiled against your neck as he kissed and bit at the exposed skin.

“Fight for my people. Guide them to victory - ah! They will give you gifts…fuck…more than you have here. You will be their - oh, fuck, Koni - patron. They will build a bigger temple than the one you have here.” you gasped out. König was quiet, considering it for a moment.

He surged away from the wall with you in his grip, pulling his fingers out of you and dropping you on your back onto the chaise he had been reclining on when you’d come in. He tore the leopard pelt loincloth free from his waist and his cock sprang free.

“Koni, please,” you begged, half for him to be inside you and half for him to protect your people. He crawled onto you and with a single, powerful thrust, pushed his cock into you. You moaned together, your back arching as you grasped at the pelts you were laid on as he began thrusting slowly, pulling all the way out before slamming back in.

“I will do anything for you, my love,” he growled as he bit down hard on your neck, doing his best to leave a mark all of the other gods would see. He began thrusting faster and you raked your nails down his back, crying out in pleasure.

“These people…mean nothing to me.” he barked, pulling your hips closer to his as you bucked forward desperately, trying to take him deeper inside of you.

“They treat me as a secondary god. I do not even have the biggest temple in the city,” he growled bitterly, reaching down to circle your clit as he frantically pounded into you. You could feel your orgasm building and your eyes rolled back as you gasped.

“I will return with you,” he said, looking up to stare you deep in the eyes as you dragged your hands down his chest, smearing the intricate warpaint and leaving delicate handprints behind. “And I will rule with you, and I will fuck you like this in my temple every night.”

You came with a shriek, your back arching and pushing your trembling chest into König. He wrapped his lips around one of your nipples and sucked as his thrusts became sloppier and harder. His hips stuttered as he came deep in you, filling you until your belly swelled slightly with his seed.

You both panted together and he collapsed on top of you, laying his head on your chest as you caught your breath.

“We will not be apart again,” he murmured, gently rubbing your sides as you drifted off to sleep.

[rainbow-scarab]

The Magic of Marks in Hollow Knight

Hollow Knight has two marks for Ghost to acquire: the King’s Brand, and the Hunter’s Mark.

The text when receiving the King’s Brand indicates that Ghost is marked by it, and Hornet refers to it being burned into Ghost’s shell.

The Hunter’s Mark…it appears to be an item. The text when receiving it indicates that it’s something Ghost takes. However, the Hunter indicates:

You bear the mark now, but that's only the beginning. That mark will become a part of you, will engrave itself deep within, and that yearning to hunt... It will never leave.

It seems it’s not just a physical item. It’s something that is to become a part of Ghost themself and shape who they are, only increasing with time.

What exactly is this mark? How is it like the King’s Brand?

The Hunter says, in the Journal entry for the Hunter’s Mark:

I have no offspring, nor subjects, nor worshippers. The sum of my being, my learning, my instincts... I leave it all to you. Good luck, Hunter.

He passes on everything he finds to be important about himself. What he finds important, and defines him as a Hunter.

The first part of what he says, though. No offspring, subjects, worshippers. This puts him in direct contrast with the Pale King, who had each of those, and his own mark to pass on. I had to wonder. What manner of being is the Hunter? What status does he have to be able to pass on such a mark? Could he have had such things as subjects and worshippers?

I had to wonder if there was any chance the Hunter was a higher being or god. But it seems pretty clear he has limitations. He calls himself a “mere mortal” in the entry on the Radiance, and thinks those at the Soul Sanctum fools for attempting to attain immortality. It does not seem he qualifies for “god”.

However, when giving Ghost the mark, he says:

You have my mark, and you shall be recognised as one of my rare caste. Fellow Hunter, I have nothing else to give you.

His caste.

That’s a word I’ve seen before in Hollow Knight. I wrote about it in the past. This subject, of rank, of markings, of caste, is something found in Hollow Knight in several places. And, what I found about caste…it’s a word used by biologists:

a subset of individuals within a colony (society) of social animals that is specialized in the function it performs and distinguished by anatomical or morphological differences from other subsets.

In the case of the Hunter’s Mark and King’s Brand, it seems less about form than function. Ghost certainly doesn’t look like the Hunter, and the Pale King has two wildly different forms, presumably carrying the brand in both. Though, the Hunter’s words do highlight that what he gives would make Ghost recognized as a Hunter, something the mark shares with King’s Brand (more on King’s Brand in a bit).

The mark is, as the Hunter says, the sum of his being, learning, and instincts. He recognizes the qualities of a Hunter in Ghost, considering them worthy. In one sense they already have the qualities of a Hunter, the qualities the Hunter prizes, and the mark is giving in recognition of what they already are. But at the same time, he did indicate that the mark would become even more a part of them over time, and they would permanently yearn to hunt. They are gaining something extra. A role passed on.

Even if the Hunter does not have status like a monarch or power like a god, he is able to give something that seems supernatural. Makes me wonder if it originated from him, or if he himself knew a past Hunter that he learned from. Such a thing is unknowable.

(Though my mind still wants to say “or is it!?” XD Like looking at the actual form of the mark, where does it come from? The shape of it doesn’t look like the Hunter, though the tooth(?) that it’s on does look like it could come from what surrounds the Hunter’s face. I have to wonder if there was some being out there once that did look like the form of the mark.)

I examined the Hunter’s Journal, wondering just what from the Hunter would be passed on. There is much in there containing his opinions and musings, on his personality, what makes a Hunter, how the world works, and civilization. How much is part of what would engrave itself into Ghost?

Some entries are just on him enjoying silly things, like playing with his prey. Enjoying how big and round fungoons are, or just finding hwurmps funny. In one case, he seems to recommend gulka venom for getting high.

Many entries are enumerating his values and what makes one a Hunter. He recognizes Ghost on first meeting as a possible Hunter due to their fearlessness, and considers that belfies aren’t much of “prey” with their own fearlessness. He prizes strength. He doesn’t care for things like loyalty (Dung Defender entry). He admires resourcefulness. He seems to have a wonder for the world, and which drives his want to hunt (Fungoon entry). He accepts that he will die one day (Folly entry), wonders what his own insides taste like (Lifeseed entry), and, from his dreamnail dialog when giving Ghost the Mark, hopes that Ghost will try to hunt him one day. He does seem to value self-preservation, but I suppose the hunt is greater than even that to him. He considers everything in the world as potential prey to hunt down, even if it was to be found in the Abyss (Sibling entry).

Many entries have his musings on how the world works. He wonders about things like psychology and biology.

Shrumal Warrior entry: Something queer in the air has caused these mushrooms to grow hearts, minds, and even faces! This means they now fear for their lives, like all other living creatures.

…I just particularly enjoy this entry. I wonder if he thinks he understands more about creatures, their biology, their psychology, he can be a better Hunter. It’s quite possibly true. After all, he will hunt just about anything, including intelligent beings, and their complexity would make it more of a challenge.

Mossfly entry: They spend their whole lives hiding or fleeing. How sad. Or, perhaps that is the life they choose for themselves and they enjoy it? It's a strange thought, but not impossible.

Gorgeous Husk entry: There is beauty in many things. Reflections of light in water, the taste of freshly killed meat, the cry of a hatchling for its mother... I have never understood the lust for metals and stones though.

Shielded Fool entry: That 'Colosseum' is a strange place where some bugs fight each other to the death and others watch. I don't understand such obscure rituals. If you venture in, stay on guard at all times.

There are quite a few who he does not understand the mindsets of, but he seems to try and understand other perspectives even so.

Many of his thoughts stray into the territory of philosophy and metaphysics:

Watcher Knight: When these silent warriors fall in battle, their bodies split open and strange bugs come flying out. I wonder, what will come flying out of me when I die? Will my hopes and fears drift away into the darkness?

Furious Vengefly: The infection that passes from creature to creature grants strength and courage, but it also seems to enslave the will. Would you make such a bargain?

Infected Balloon: The infection creeping through the Kingdom's dead veins... does it have a mind? Does it produce soul? Is it truly alive?

Soul Twister: I have heard others talk about 'soul' but I do not understand what it actually is. I do know that freshly killed meat tastes best - is that because the 'soul' still clings to it?

He doesn’t know the answer to many questions. In fact, I get the impression that he’s had very little in the way of education. I assume, if you’re hunting everything and everyone down, there’s not so much chance of that (though to hear bugs speak of things like soul, sure, I guess he’s had some conversation) (and it’s possible he did learn from a predecessor, if he did get the Hunter’s Mark from someone else). But it’s clear even so that he’s quite observant and thinks frequently about complex subjects.

He has knowledge to give. He has, as he says, his instincts to give.

But, he’s also been quite isolated. Hasn’t had anyone to give his mark to.

Mantis Traitor entry: Belonging to a tribe, or not belonging. I don't really understand what the difference is, or how it works. I have no tribe of my own.

Fungling entry: When I was young, my brothers and sisters and I would hunt each other in the nest. Now I hunt alone.

Maskfly entry: I wonder how it feels to have the protection of a pack?

God Tamer: Some hunters train beasts to join them in chasing down prey. I tried it once, but couldn't resist the urge to test my companion's strength against mine.

He seems to have such a strong desire to hunt that he has not formed much connection with others, or has seemingly just killed those he might have connected with. Some entries talk of the possibilities of having a mate and children:

Flukemarm entry: The desire to breed, to leave behind a memory of ourselves in the shape of a child... it seems to be etched deep into the heart of every living creature. I too have felt the pull of that base instinct.

Primal Aspid entry: How strange that their descendants are so weak. If I have children, I hope they will be stronger than me...

Oblobbles entry: Having a mate by your side... one that will never leave you until death. Strange. No mate has ever come forth to stay by my side...

Whether he’s instead hunted any prospective mates I don’t know, but for whatever reason, this hasn’t happened, and he has no children, even as he seems like he is more on the positive side about the prospect.

In lieu of such, he passes on his Mark to Ghost, recognizing them as Hunter.

One last thing about the Hunter. He rather despises the civilization of Hallownest. He says that “a true Hunter has no home, no kingdom and I'm eager for new prey”, indicating that he will move on elsewhere after Hallownest. But more than that, he thinks civilization has made bugs weak.

Wandering Husk entry: These “civilised” bugs of Hallownest were weak in life and now they are equally weak in death.

Leaping Husk: The bugs of old Hallownest did not hunt their own food, they had it brought to them. That's why they were so weak. That's why their kingdom crumbled into dust and faded away!

Husk Warrior entry: Softened by generations of luxury, these bugs lack claws or armour or venom. Those who wish to protect themselves are forced to fashion weapons from stone, ore or shell.

Gluttonous Husk: As these bugs became wealthier they hunted less and consumed more, eventually taking on a grotesque shape not unlike over-ripe fruit.

Royal Retainer entry: Simple, weak creatures find strength by forming a hive and obeying a ruler. Such creatures become the arms and teeth and claws of their monarch.

Menderbug entry: The bugs of Hallownest were obsessed with building things. What strange little minds they had.

In this way, in my mind, he’s sort of a third option to the main struggle of the game.

The Radiance, infecting bugs, reduces them to “instinct” ….possibly where bugs have their own kind and stick to them, leaving the land full of many smaller peoples. The Pale King attempted “order”, and brought together many peoples, even if it wasn’t fully successful and not without class stratification (whether or not such a thing he wanted I’m not sure. Would he like a single society, but different species holding different roles, like maggots being at the bottom? Hard to say).

The Hunter is utterly isolationist. Hunted his siblings. Will eat intelligent bugs. Hates how civilization makes bugs soft and weak.

He does seem to hold special disdain for the kind of civilization that the Pale King brought. But he didn’t like the sound of the infection either.

Traitor Lord: I have felt that desire. The desire to take the infection into myself. To become stronger, more powerful... these thoughts haunt my dreams during the darkest times. A false hope, but it can burn so brilliantly in one's mind.

How he would have felt about the Radiance before the infection is hard to say. One could say that for anyone considering the Radiance. We don’t know exactly what she was like before, how she ran things with the moths. At the very least, I think the Hunter would like to be strong under his own power. And the kinds of things he says about civilization, as well as everything in him that keeps him isolated, to me does put him at odds with the Radiance’s way of doing things as well.

One grand, organized society…. Several different peoples, separate, according to “nature”… Or, nothing, your own strength, carrying you through to be able to hunt and kill.

There’s not much in the way of civilization left in Hallownest, with the exception of the mantises. With how things are, the Hunter’s ways are unopposed.

…anyway, back to the concept of Marks.

We only know of two such things in the game. Whether or not any other characters have them, such as the Radiance, we never get to see. We have all this information to see what the Hunter’s Mark could potentially bestow to a bearer. How about the King’s Brand?

Despite its importance to the story, there is less information surrounding it. Hornet guards it. She says:

In the City: If, knowing that truth, you'd still attempt a role in Hallownest's perpetuation, seek the Grave in Ash and the mark it would grant to one like you.

Before second fight: Show me you can accept this Kingdom's past and claim responsibility for its future.

After the fight: You could do it, if you had the will. But could you raise your nail once knowing its tragic conception? And knowing yourself?... Then do it, Ghost of Hallownest! Head onward. Burn that mark upon your shell and claim yourself as King.

Hornet emphasizes will, responsibility, acceptance, and the role of perpetuating Hallownest. In a way, this is just as she does do throughout the game. Testing Ghost’s strength. Their will. Revealing to them the past, and the weight of the future. Slowly shifting how she speaks, as Ghost gains the requirements for the Dream No More ending, from perpetuation, to Ghost having the choice to choose the future of the kingdom. The King’s Brand is one step along the way. It’s something she’s been guarding for a long time, presumably. So much so that when the brand is seen by Midwife and the White Lady, they don’t remark on what it means—they instead remark on Hornet.

The King’s Brand is on the “egg” in the cast-off shell. It’s surrounded by a fading seal. Whether the seal was supposed to prevent one from getting the brand is unclear, as it does nothing in its current state. Ghost then is said to be marked by the brand, perhaps on their hand as they hold it out during this.

The Brand allows Ghost to open the door to the Abyss. Beyond that, the game gives you no practical use for it. As noted above, a couple characters remark on Hornet when they see it. There are two other examples of note:

Mask Maker: I see another takes mantle of king? Then grim responsibility that shall bestow.

Emilitia: For just a moment, I mistook a certain quality about you. You seemed almost... regal.

The King’s Brand makes Ghost the new king. This is a status bestowed upon them. With the kingdom as it is during the game? Perhaps it just doesn’t mean much. They’re taking responsibility to choose the fate of the kingdom. That’s the most they can do, and it’s no small task. But beyond that, there aren’t many people left.

The Pale King is already dead by the time of the game. He cannot tell us the meaning of the brand directly, not like the great number of thoughts we can get from the Hunter. But perhaps I overthink it. Something like a monarch is already a fairly well defined role, which would be understood by bugs and us humans who would play the game. It means power and responsibility. And as I said, with so few people, what’s left for Ghost to do? Just to do what they can…to tackle the infection, and choose the fate of the kingdom, as the best they can do for what is essentially already dead.

I still had to wonder if it had the potential to mean something more though. Something like for the Hunter….the sum of the Pale King’s being. What would that mean? Emilitia finds Ghost to have gained a regal quality. Something has changed about them beyond just a door-opening mark. I find myself doubting it’s quite to the same extent as the Hunter though, imparting whatever it might of the Pale King's being. The White Lady says, if Ghost has the completed Kingsoul:

Ahh! So it bears our once-fractured soul, now complete. Such strength, such resolve, such dedication! Is it more than simply a Vessel? I almost feel like I'm once again in the presence of my beloved Wyrm.

Here she remarks upon the Pale King’s qualities. Something about his personality. Qualities that you’d think would serve a ruler well, yes. But, it’s not something they gain with King’s Brand—it’s her reaction to Kingsoul. I would then infer she did not think such things upon noticing them with King’s Brand, which they would have to have acquired before Ghost ever reaches her location the first time, before completing Kingsoul.

The Brand is no doubt of origin from the Pale King, both from its location and its form, with those horns on it. Does it truly share many similarities with the Hunter’s Mark?

I think it does. I think the roles of Hunter and King are of different natures, and that’s what makes what is imparted by the marks different. I do think that the marks may “work”, in whatever magical sense, in a similar way.

The Hunter’s Mark is greatly about a mindset, and the ability to pursue it. Such qualities are attained by Ghost by the time they’ve gotten the mark, and the Hunter certainly had it, in all his notes, and ability to take down such prey in order to get those notes.

A king may have different attitudes. But no matter what, kingship does make one responsible for a kingdom. They have the weight of all the kingdom’s past, whether they want it or not, were a participant in big historical events or not. Kingship puts one in a position to make decisions. And such position, when recognized, may give the bearer authority in the eyes of others. What a king does with all that will vary based on individual. They may be good or bad at it, lazy or determined, corrupt or just, but it will not change the rest of it.

Ghost acquires the King’s Brand under somewhat similar circumstances to the Hunter’s Mark. Their sister guards it, another child of the Pale King (whether or not she had any official authority to do so). They prove to her their will and strength. And with that, she allows them to take the Brand and assume all that it means.

Hallownest comes with many forms of magic. Masks. Charms. Spells. Essence. I find it all interesting, this method of passing on a role, and meanings, knowledge, aura along with it, in the form of a mark. I cannot think that it is anything other than its own unique form of magic. Perhaps something very ancient. Something that doesn’t take extensive study like you might expect for some other types of magic like soul manipulation, or that would necessitate the power of a god.

I don’t know whether the Hunter’s Mark originated with the Hunter we know or not, but the Mark is clearly something he understands well. He knows what it would mean, and what it would do to Ghost over time. Even as he doesn’t know other things like soul.

The Pale King was in easy position to know about all sorts of magic. He had clear mastery of soul, put his palace in the dream realm, created seals, and studied to manipulate void. But the earliest evidence we can see of his use of magic would be the King’s Brand, something that would have been there, a part of him, at the time he exchanged his large form for a smaller one. I would assume he had the mark before then as well. He may very well have been able to use other forms of magic too in wyrm form, sure; we just don’t know what it might have been like.

I don’t really have much more to say. Anything else is veering widely into speculative territory. But it does make me wonder how ancient and powerful such marks could be, if passed down for centuries of millennia, accumulating more knowledge and power over time, according to what role they’re for.

That’s all really.

Hope you all enjoyed!

[its-jaytothemee]

Until I Met You - Chapter 39

Chapter 39: Trials of Shar

Pairings: Halsin x Tav

Word count: 5,006

Rating: Currently M, will be Explicit in later chapters.

Chapter 1

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Summary: The gang returns to the Gauntlet to help Shadowheart face Shar's trials. Part 39 of the slow burn fic. Tav and Halsin POVs.

Tags: Slow burn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual love confessions, eventual smut, angst, implied past rape/non-con and abuse, graphic description of injuries, brief suicidal thoughts.

A/N: aka Tav and Halsin are not happy to be back in Shar's temple. I tried to keep this from being just a straight re-telling of the trials so I hope you like my take on it! Enjoy some sweet dialogue between these two idiots <3

The Soft-Step Trial

They had arrived at Shar’s temple once more. Three trials awaited them according to Balthazar. Tav walked down the stairs to the first door. A small plaque was embedded in the floor beneath her.

Her Most Vaunted Treasure.

“The first trial…” Shadowheart took an uneasy breath as she gazed on the doors.

“You’re sure this is the path forward?” Tav asked. She could feel her nerves standing on end.

“Certain.”

“Very well. I’ll trust your judgement for these trials, Shadowheart.” Tav let out a deep sigh.

“I…appreciate that, Tav.” Shadowheart gave her a small nod of her head.

Through the massive doors, they entered a chamber that almost looked like a prison. Tav could have sworn it had grown colder. The very air inside seemed to reject her; the deep chill of the shadow curse she hadn’t felt since receiving the pixie blessing returned to seep into her bones.

She shared a look with Halsin, feeling a small stab of guilt for wishing he had a tadpole she could use to communicate with him in silence. Luckily, the look on his face was more than enough confirmation that he felt the same way.

“But it…it’s probably best if Halsin and I don’t participate,” Tav suggested as she looked up at the statue carved in Shar’s likeness. The ritual bowl in front of her was stained with the blood of all those that came before them. Their life’s essence spilled in honor of their demanding goddess.

“Come on, Tav,” Karlach whined, “I thought we were past this.”

“It’s not that, Karlach.” She turned to Shadowheart. “It’s like you said, we need to get into that inner sanctum. Having two people who actively fought against Shar and her forces a century ago fumbling through her trials may not be the best way to curry additional favor with her.”

Tav tried not to show how relieved the thought made her feel.

“Damn it,” Shadowheart hissed. “she’s right. I’ve come too far to take any chances with this.”

“We’ll be right outside though, ready to heal and help where we can. At least without risking your success.”

“I understand,” Shadowheart said softly. “Besides, it seems like this trial may be best done with only one person.”

The small maze before them was crawling with shadows and wraiths. It looked like there was something in the back of the room, but Tav couldn’t quite make it out.

“Oh!” Gale exclaimed, rummaging through his bag. “Here, Shadowheart, this may help.”

He held out a small vial on a chain. The shimmery silver liquid sloshed around as it swung like a pendulum in his hand.

“Invisibility potion,” he said with a wink, “should make sneaking past those wraiths look like child’s play.”

“Thank you, Gale.” Shadowheart snatched the potion with a grateful smile.

“Here,” Tav also pulled a scroll out of her own bag. “In case that potion wears off too quickly.” She handed her an Invisibility scroll.

“Oh,” Shadowheart hesitated briefly as she reached out to take it, “thank you.”

“We’ll be out here when you’re done.” Tav tilted her head toward the entrance. “Uh, good luck, Shadowheart.”

As the large doors closed behind them, concealing their companions, Tav and Halsin opted to lean on the short wall overlooking the fortress while they waited.

They stood in comfortable silence for a while, staring at the absurdly large statue of Shar in the middle of the temple. How did they manage to even make one that large?

“Did she have to put her tits right at eye level from this balcony?” Tav asked out of nowhere.

Halsin barked out a loud laugh, deep and happy, no doubt caught off guard by her unusual contemplations.

“What?!” he yelled, still cackling. “Why is that the first thing that comes to your mind?”

“Look at them!” She gestured to the statue with both hands. “They’re right there in my face, how can I not have them on my mind?”

“You know, it really is a good thing I like you,” Halsin laughed. “Otherwise, there’s no way I would put up with that mouth of yours.”

A mischievous smirk pulled at one side of her lips. “Oh, I’m sure you could find something to do with this mouth of mine.”

“I could think of a thing or two,” he teased back, lowering his voice.

Tav bit down on her lower lip as a ridiculous grin tried to break out. When she spared a glance at Halsin out of the corner of her eye, she could see him doing the same.

Before she could make any other lewd comments, their companions emerged from the first trial.

“That was quick,” Tav remarked.

“Turns out the invisibility spell did indeed make it child’s play.” Shadowheart grinned back at her. She held out a glowing purple orb.

“Here, another umbral gem.”

Tav held out her bag for Shadowheart to stash the gem. The soft purple glow looked identical to the gem they had picked up after dealing with the orthon.

One trial down, two to go.

The Self-Same Trial

Another plaque outside the second trial.

Her Most Hallowed Mercy.

Shadowheart studied the inscription, her ears twitched like she was listening to something in the distance.

“Lady Shar teaches us that we are our own worst enemy, much of the time,” she said, pinching her lips as she pondered the words. “Her embrace will elude us until we shed that which holds us back.”

“So, we’ll be facing ourselves?” Wyll asked. “Or at least a mirror image of sorts?”

“That is likely, yes,” Shadowheart responded, her voice reserved.

After a moment, she clapped her hands together. “Okay everyone! Take off your armor.”

“On it, soldier.” Karlach immediately started stripping.

“Why in the hells would we take off our armor?!” Gale shot back, blushing at Karlach’s now half-naked body.

“Because, Gale, if this trial is going to conjure identical copies of us to fight, I’d rather not fight us fully armed and armored. With the items we’ve collected, we’re quite formidable wouldn’t you say?”

“Shadowheart, you flirt!” Karlach cooed back before throwing her top over to Tav. “Hold onto that, would you sis?”

“It’s not the worst idea,” Tav admitted. “Here, once you’re inside use these.”

Tav pulled a few elixirs and scrolls from her bag.

“Ah, Stoneskin!” Gale grabbed one of the scrolls eagerly.

“The elixirs should help protect you as well.”

“Thank you.” Shadowheart reached out to take one of the vials from her.

Her companions removed their armor, leaving only their thin linens and undergarments before entering the trial. Tav and Halsin helped gather everything in a neat pile near one of the stone benches outside.

“We’ll be here waiting when you’re done,” Halsin assured them.

Tav let out a sultry whistle as they walked away, half of them in naught but their underwear. Karlach turned around to wink at her as her tail curled up in a seductive pose.

Once again, the doors closed, cutting them off from their companions.

***

Halsin sat with Tav outside of the chamber of the next trial on a nearby bench. She leaned over with her elbow resting on her knee so she could prop her head up and stare at the door. The other hand tapped idly on the stone next to her.

“I must admit,” Halsin started, “I’m rather relieved you talked us out of these trials.”

She smirked back at him. “You’re welcome. Although if I’m being honest, it truly was the practical choice. We can’t take unnecessary risks, not now. We’re too close.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you. Still, this place sets my nerves on edge. Even if we’re not actively participating.”

“You and me both, love,” Tav whispered back.

“While we wait, I was hoping to ask you about something.” Halsin started to fiddle with his hands in his lap.

“By all means.” Tav smiled and leaned back in her seat.

“You’ve all talked about this ‘dream guardian’ that protects you from the Absolute. No one seems to know who they are or what they want. I was hoping to hear your thoughts on the matter.”

She took a deep breath and kept her eyes fixed on the door.

“I still think it’s an illusion of sorts, but I’m not sure what kind. They’ve been helpful so far, but I’m not sure why they’re hiding.”

“Why do you believe it to be an illusion?”

“Because he shows himself as someone I knew in the past, someone that wouldn’t have become a golden paladin trapsing around in a peculiar, githyanki artefact.”

“Who is he? If I may ask.” Halsin scooted a little closer to her.

“Quinlan.” The name brought a fond smile to her face. “He was an elf who worked at the Counting House in the Lower City of Baldur’s Gate, about the same age as me.”

“What part of him gave away the illusion?” he asked softly.

“His eyes,” she answered without hesitation. “Quin had deep, dark brown eyes. Dark enough that you could barely tell where his pupil separated from his iris. But they were warm and gentle. This dream visitor has golden eyes and they’re lacking the comfort I always saw in Quin’s.”

“Tell me about him.” Halsin reached over and placed a hand on her knee.

She gave him a skeptical look in response. “You really want to hear stories about my former lover?”

“Only if you’re willing to share. If they’re painful memories–”

“No,” she interrupted, looking surprised, “they’re actually quite pleasant. I just…I don’t know, I worried it might make you jealous or upset.”

“Not at all. I’d love to hear about him if you’d like to tell me,” he assured her with a smile.

“Well…my father had taken a personal interest in him. Quin was kind, a hard worker, and sharp as a whip. ‘Filled to the brim with potential’ as my father liked to say.

“This was some time before he was warped into the hateful man he became in our last years together. He had introduced Quin and I at a small get-together for Counting House employees and its beneficiaries.”

The bashful grin on her face was almost as endearing as the pink blush he had become so familiar with over the past tenday or so.

“We talked all night. My parents had to practically drag us apart when it was time to leave. I used to find any excuse I could to go to the Counting House with my father, just looking for a reason to see him. Gods the eye rolls I received while I shamelessly flirted with him across the counter.”

He smiled along with her as she laughed at the memory. There was a youthfulness in her voice that he hadn’t heard yet in their time together.

“As luck would have it, we ended up running into one another at a party a few months later. I refused to dance with anyone but him. We ended up sneaking away and spending most of the evening in a secluded parlor. It was the same story at any event we both attended. He was…my first.”

She glanced down at her hands, suddenly looking shy.

“I still remember how nervous we both were. How we fumbled with the strings on our clothes and laughed at every awkward movement and touch. I still remember the way he smiled at me afterwards…how he told me he wanted to stay that way forever.”

“What happened?”

“Long story short, my father found out. He was livid. He truly thought the only reason that Quin liked me was to get closer to him. After all, who could only care about me and not simply want to climb the social ladder of Baldur’s Gate?” Her derisive snort didn’t quite cover the small crack in her voice.

Halsin’s heart broke a little hearing her speak of herself in such a way.

“I was forbidden from ever seeing him again and my father stopped supporting Quin at the Counting House.”

Tav looked away from him.

“He told me that Quin was just using me to leverage a better position. That he didn’t care for me, and I was a foolish little girl for thinking otherwise.” She pursed her lips and then scoffed.

“Ironic considering the shift in his behavior a few decades later.”

“I’m so sorry, Tav,” Halsin whispered. “I must admit, I’m unfamiliar with the reasoning behind forbidding someone from taking a lover. Especially if he was kind to you.”

“Welcome to Upper City life in the Gate, my friend.” Tav let out a cold and unfeeling laugh.

“Quin begged me to run away with him,” she continued, her voice softening again. “He said we’d start a new life in Waterdeep or Amn. I considered it, I would have maybe even left if…if it weren’t for Tev.”

Halsin watched as her face shifted to a more melancholy look.

“He’s the one that got away, I suppose,” she mused with a sad smile, tears shining in her eyes. “One of them, at least.”

“One of them?”

“I mean, come on, Halsin,” she chuckled. “You’ve lived even longer than I have, and you’ve told me about your needs in a relationship. Surely there’s been more than one lover who’s gotten away from you. More than one you regret letting slip through your grasp.”

And how many did you even try to hold onto?

“Given that I have such a loose grasp to begin with, yes I suppose there have been a few that I’ve let slip away all too easily,” he admitted. “Though I do wish some of them would have been more willing to hold on as well rather than relying on me to do so.”

Tav reached over to hold his hand still resting on her leg.

“Do you have someone out there waiting for you? A lover you had to leave behind to come with us?”

He hummed back at her, but it was a sad, discouraged sound. “I’m afraid I’ve been bedding down alone for a while. Mostly by choice. As I found myself closer and closer to a solution for the shadows here, I let myself be consumed. I convinced myself that I was maintaining my focus for the task ahead, but in reality…”

He let out a long sigh.

“In reality I was just placing unreasonable boundaries on myself. I was so afraid that I was unworthy of the power, unworthy of Silvanus’s favor. I thought if I deprived myself of those…distractions that I could become worthy.

“I do not regret my decisions. I’ve just simply forgotten what it was like to have peers again, to be able to talk to another as a friend rather than an authority figure. What it’s like to be looked to for jokes and conversations rather than decisions and mediating.”

Tav snorted. “Yes, it would seem those tasks fall to me now.”

“Perhaps,” he took his hand back to wrap around her shoulders. “The others may look to you for leadership, but it is obvious that they still see you as an equal, as a friend. Should that change for any reason, know that I will still be by your side to help share that responsibility.”

“I appreciate that, Halsin.”

He smiled as she laid her head against him, nestling herself more comfortably into his side.

Voices sounding on the other side of the doors caused her to perk up shortly after, though.

“Everything go okay?” Tav asked when she saw their companions emerging from the room.

“Yes, it was nice to confirm that I am as worthy of an adversary as I assumed,” Lae’zel greeted them first. “My visage was by far the most challenging.”

“You can say that again, Lae.” Karlach shook her head. “Took three of us to take you down, soldier.” She slapped Lae’zel on the back, earning a rare smile from the githyanki.

“Found another one,” Shadowheart held up another umbral gem. She stashed it in Tav’s pack for safe keeping with the other two.

“Well done,” Tav said before tilting her head to the side. “There’s a set of stairs over there, shall we?”

“Lead the way, Shadowheart!” Karlach called out to her as they all got dressed once more.

Halsin had to admit, Shadowheart looked quite pleased with herself. Not in the arrogant, self-righteous way he had seen before, but with the quiet pride of accomplishment.

One trial left.

The Faith-Leap Trial

Yet another plaque sat embedded in the stone beneath them.

Her Most Sacred Path.

This room was far darker than the rest. Before them was a large opening in the floor with risen platforms among the darkness. At the other side, Tav could just make out the soft, purple glow of an umbral gem.

Shadowheart studied the floor beneath them. It looked to be a map of the chamber, the lighter tiles showing the invisible path to take across the chasm.

“Everyone out,” Shadowheart ordered. Her eyes were fixated on the platform across the small room.

“Are you sure?” Halsin asked, concerned. “If you fall, we may not be able to come to your aid.”

“This is a test of faith, of my trust in Lady Shar. I have to believe that she will show me the way. I can’t have you all here calling out instructions and guiding me. This must be my trial, and mine alone.”

Tav took a step toward her. “Shadowheart–”

“You said you would defer to my judgement for these trials, Tav,” she snapped, cutting Tav off.

She had said that hadn’t she?

“Fine. If you say this is the way, then I’ll trust you. If you’re hurt beyond your own abilities, reach out with the tadpole and we’ll come back.”

She responded with a curt nod before turning back to the offering bowl, waiting for them to leave before beginning the trial.

The doors closed behind them, leaving Shadowheart to her test of faith.

“I’m not so sure about this…” Karlach bounced in place as they settled in just outside the room.

“There’s not much else we can do, love.” Tav leaned against the wall, close to the door.

Everyone idled around the corridor, pacing or fiddling with their weapons as they anxiously awaited Shadowheart’s return.

In reality, she was only gone for mere minutes, but it felt as if at least an hour had passed by the time she emerged – confident and holding the last umbral gem they needed to pass into the sanctum.

“Woo!” Karlach threw her arms in the air to yell, earning a softer smile from Shadowheart.

“That’s…that’s it,” Shadowheart said, eyes shining with tears. “I’ve done it.”

“Alright then,” Tav held out her bag to store the last gem, “let’s see what’s hiding at the heart of this place.”

Shadowheart spun on her heels, chin held high, to go back toward the entrance to the Gauntlet.

The Silent Library

“Wait.” Shadowheart stopped abruptly before they reached the top of the stairs. “There’s something else I need to do…something Lady Shar needs me to do.”

Everyone else shrugged as they exchanged glances with one another but followed her to the end of the hall. There was another room with a shimmering barrier at its entrance.

“Is this another trial?” Halsin asked, sounding uneasy.

“I don’t think it is.” Tav peered around the doorway into the library. “We already have the gems we need.”

She glanced at the ground, not finding an inscription plate like they had seen in front of the other rooms.

“Regardless, there is something here she wants me to find,” Shadowheart said adamantly.

Tav scanned the room. A huge portal sat in its center, just like the others they faced upon entering the fortress for the first time. Six Dark Justiciars patrolled the room.

“Does that mean we should join you?” Tav whispered, keeping a wary eye on the potential adversaries ahead of them. “At least if these guards prove to be hostile as well?”

“I don’t see why not.” Shadowheart shrugged.

They all moved into the room, taking cautious steps. Tav tried to whisper to the others, but no sound came out. A heavy, dampening feeling settled over them as they made their way further in, like a wet blanket. Gale’s eyes widened in panic as the realization hit.

Shit.

The moment she picked up on the silencing effect on the room, the Dark Justiciars attacked.

Tav reached out using the tadpoles, praying that a Silence spell wouldn’t affect their telepathic abilities.

“Where is it coming from?” she called out in her mind, holding her breath as she awaited an answer.

“I believe the source is that dark portal in the center.” Gale’s voice drifted into her thoughts, letting her breathe a sigh of relief. “I can feel a strange pull from it.”

Tav took aim and fired at the portal, hearing a wailing hiss at the attack. Karlach charged forward to try and finish it off, but one of the Dark Justiciars caught her in the leg with an arrow. She stumbled to the ground, clutching at the wound.

Luckily, Lae’zel wasn’t far behind her. She leaped forward, driving her massive sword into the center of the portal and shattering the magic keeping it held there.

“Finally,” Gale gasped, fingers already alight with flame. He hurled a ball of fire toward a clustered group of enemies. “Gods how I hate being silenced.”

“So we’ve noticed,” Astarion snapped back.

Tav continued with her onslaught of arrows, trying to pull attention from her companions where possible.

Halsin had made it down to Karlach, who was ripping the arrow from her thigh. As he started a quick healing spell, Tav heard the familiar raging scream from her friend, and she went barreling toward another Dark Justiciar. It at least appeared that Halsin had gotten the spell off before she ran away.

She and Lae’zel tore through the library’s guardians with ease. Astarion would sporadically appear from the shadows to get a well-placed dagger in the spaces between the armor plates, weakening it for Karlach and Lae’zel’s brutal swings.

When Shadowheart struck a killing blow on the final Dark Justiciar with her glowing mace, Tav noticed her recoiling with her attack. Her face was bruised, and she was breathing heavily.

“Shadowheart!” Tav gasped. “What happened? I didn’t even see you get hit!”

“I…I’m not sure.” She winced and brought a hand up to her cheek. “Every time I’d hit them, it was like an invisible punch of some kind came at me.”

Tav watched as she tried, and failed, to conjure up a healing spell. The magic fizzling out at her fingertips with an exasperated groan.

“They must have had some defense against radiant magic,” Gale mused. “Quite clever, really.”

“Yes, so clever, thank you, Gale,” Shadowheart snapped back, losing her balance.

Karlach was nearby and helped keep her from falling to the ground.

Tav came over to inspect her bruises with Halsin trailing close behind.

Shadowheart flinched as Tav’s hands came up to her face.

“Sorry,” Tav retreated, “may I?”

She held her hands out. Shadowheart eyed them for a moment before giving a tentative nod. Tav gingerly held her cheeks between her palms, turning her head side to side so she could see the extent of the injuries.

As she finished the healing spell for the bruises, Tav saw Karlach give her an approving smile, but Shadowheart cried out in pain as she tried to stand up. She clutched her side, doubling over.

Halsin caught her this time, lowering her back onto the ground.

“Don’t move for a moment.” He looked over her body, scanning for any other signs of injury. “We’ll need to take the top of your armor off so I can see.” He glanced at Karlach and Tav.

Shadowheart nodded and went to reach for the clasps herself but let out another cry.

“Easy, Shadowheart,” Halsin said gently, “I’m worried you might have a broken rib, let us help you.”

She pursed her lips before giving a resigned sigh. Karlach and Tav removed the intricate Sharran mail as carefully as they could, revealing her blackened torso.

They all sucked in sharp gasps at the sight.

“Tav, I’ll need your help.” Halsin’s voice was soft and soothing, but firm. The voice she recognized from the times he’d healed her more grim wounds. She nodded and knelt at his side.

“Place your hands here.” He took one of her hands and moved it to the top of Shadowheart’s ribcage, just below her breast. “When I tell you to, start a healing spell. A simple one should do. If we do this at the same time, it will help keep the bones from becoming misshapen. It’s always a danger when healing ribs.”

Tav let her hand gently rest where he placed it and awaited his command. Halsin started his spell first; she could feel the warmth of it even through Shadowheart’s skin.

Karlach knelt on the other side of her, holding Shadowheart’s hand as she gripped it so hard Tav was sure they’d be healing a broken hand next. Her small hisses of pain caused Tav to grimace.

“Okay, now Tav.”

She started her spell alongside him, the cool touch of her magic mingling with his beneath Shadowheart’s skin to guide the pieces of bone back into place. Tav watched in awe of how the spells worked together. Broken bones were not an injury she had healed often, maybe once or twice in her life. She could feel the bone coming back into place under their touch.

“One more time.” Halsin took a slow, controlled breath before casting another spell in time with Tav.

This time, she saw the bruise start to slowly fade away. Shadowheart’s ragged breathing calmed until instead she let out a small groan of relief.

“There we are.” Halsin fell back on his knees.

“Th-Thank you,” Shadowheart gasped.

“That’s what we hung back for, right?” Tav cracked a smile.

While they were working to heal her injuries, Gale and Astarion had opened the large iron gate in front of them.

They helped Shadowheart to her feet, letting her secure her armor back over her upper body again.

Past the gate were even larger bookshelves than in the main part of the library. Another massive carving of Shar was etched into the wall in front of them. In the center of the smaller room stood a round pedestal with an opening for something. By the shape of the slot, she guessed a book could fit inside.

The top of the pedestal was engraved with a question, a riddle of sorts.

What can silence the Nightsong?

Tav blinked a couple of times, trying to be sure she read it right. Halsin was leaning over her shoulder to read as well.                                                                                                                       

Nightsong…

“The Nightsong was the relic Aradin went looking for,” Halsin recalled.

“And it’s apparently important to Shar.” Tav studied the area around the altar, looking for any clues about what this Nightsong might look like. “But why would it need to be silenced?”

Halsin had a troubled look in his eyes as he contemplated the question. “The wizard that commissioned the bounty did say it was an incredibly powerful relic. Perhaps the magic itself needs to be silenced?”

Tav nodded along, only half listening.

Shadowheart had already left the small area, scouring the rest of the library for the missing piece of the puzzle. She returned a few minutes later with a book.

“I believe this is the answer it’s looking for,” she said, holding it in the air.

Teachings of Loss.

Tav stepped to the side and gestured for Shadowheart to place it in the slot.

The sound of grinding stone startled them as the wall carved in Shar’s likeness fell away to reveal yet another room.

She bit back a groan when she saw another little shrine to Shar inside. Rather than seeing an offering bowl however, the plate had a spear resting atop it.

It radiated with magic. The dark symbol embedded into its head was the color of the void itself.

On the floor was a set of Sharran chainmail. Unlike the old armor they found in Grymforge, this set was well maintained. Kept hidden away in pristine condition until one of Shar’s initiates came to claim it.

Shadowheart had tears glinting in her eyes as she walked up to claim the items. She held the spear delicately, as if she worried too rough a touch would cause it to disintegrate in her hands. A satisfied look took over her face as she tucked the weapon under her arm.

“We have all we need. We should go to the inner sanctum now.”

Everyone exchanged concerned glances.

“You were hurt pretty badly, soldier,” Karlach started. “Maybe we don’t press our luck today?”

Shadowheart pressed her lips into a tight line.

“We’ve been here for a long time,” Tav added. “And you don’t know that you won’t find more trials once we reach the center of this fortress.”

Halsin spoke next, “you have no magic left to heal or defend yourself. I recommend caution.”

“This has been my entire life’s purpose,” Shadowheart snapped. “Excuse me for being eager to make my way toward it’s fulfillment.”

“I understand that feeling well,” Halsin continued. "But do not risk your success by making a foolhardy decision. Take tonight, rest and heal. We can make our way back here first thing tomorrow morning.”

She crossed her arms and chewed on her lip as she thought about it.

“Fine,” she sighed. “But we come back very first thing tomorrow.”

“Very first thing.” Tav held up her hand in a display of sincerity.

Shadowheart folded up the new armor into her backpack before leading them out of the room.

Their long walk back to camp turned uneasy as they realized this could be their last night at Moonrise.

For the next day they would hopefully find the source of Ketheric Thorm’s invulnerability and take the fight to him.

[vir-tanadahl]

The Temple of Fen'harel

Summary: Shortly after Corypheus' defeat, Inquisitor Lavellan begins to hear the voices from the Well of Sorrows calling to her. Following their guidance, she is led to a long-forgotten temple, where she uncovers the truth about Solas. (Set before the events of Trespasser.)

Note: I originally published this on 02/07/2015, seven months before Trespasser was released. Since I am re-writing all of my fanfics to help cope with my excitement for Dragon Age: Veilguard, I decided to rewrite this to make it more… lore-accurate—at least as accurate as possible. (Find on Ao3)

Rain trickled down Lavellan's face, cool droplets slipping along her skin as she gazed at the shadowy expanse of the forest. Her body trembled, soaked clothes clinging to her like a second skin, but the sharp chill seemed distant, almost muted. In her mind, the voices of the vir’abelasan pulsed—urgent, insistent—urging her forward. The moonlight bathed her bronzed skin, casting a soft glow as it mingled with the wet sheen that glistened on her arms and shoulders. Without a word, she stepped into the dense, silent woodlands.

Each footfall sank into the mud with a soft squelch, the earth gripping her boots as if reluctant to release her. But still, she pressed on, her steps not entirely her own—guided, almost forced, by the ceaseless voices echoing in her thoughts. A week had passed since she left Skyhold. The only trace of her departure was a note, carelessly pinned to her desk, its message as brief and cryptic as her resolve: I will return soon.

Lavellan stepped into the clearing, where the remnants of a forgotten temple lay entwined with nature’s reclaiming touch. Wildflowers had woven themselves into the cracks of what was once a golden path, their vibrant colors softening the stone beneath. Towering trees loomed overhead, their roots surging through the ancient foundation, spilling into the temple’s entryway like fingers stretching across a forgotten canvas. Untouched by human hands, the ruins stood quietly, much like the sacred halls of Mythal—preserved by time and neglect.

As she crossed the crumbling bridge, a ripple of magic sparked against her skin, familiar and ancient. The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of memories not her own, and soon her vision blurred—flickers of a time long before the fall of the elves flashing before her eyes. Without realizing, her steps quickened, her body moving as if carried by invisible threads. She was no longer walking of her own accord—the voices of the Well surged, pulling her forward, guiding her deeper into the ruins. The echoes of the past overwhelmed her, flooding her senses, leaving her unaware of her own movements.

Lavellan blinked, and suddenly she was no longer in the clearing. Elves moved before her, their heads bowed in reverence as they followed intricate rituals, one by one gaining entrance to the inner sanctum. Those deemed worthy knelt at the towering doors, leaving small tokens—a feather, a carved stone, a vial of shimmering liquid—before slipping inside. The sound of hushed prayers whispered through the air, their voices lost in the grandeur of the temple.

Beyond the heavy doors, a grand hallway stretched into the distance, leading to an open atrium. The scent of fresh water and elfroot filled the air, mingling with the damp earth. At the center stood the temple, its pale walls gleaming under the soft light. Lavellan’s senses were engulfed by the vividness of it all, until—

She gasped, yanked back into the present, her breath catching as the memory faded. Confusion settled like a weight in her chest as she found herself once again standing before the ruined temple. Vines snaked around the statues that lined the overgrown pathway, their once-pristine stone now concealed beneath thick, twisting foliage. She moved forward instinctively, fingers trembling as they brushed the leaves aside, revealing fragments of elven script etched into the stone.

The old language poured into her mind like a rushing river, unbidden and unstoppable. She traced the words, her voice barely a whisper as she read: “…give thanks to he who is named Fen’Harel as he aids us…”

Lavellan staggered back, heart pounding, pure shock and terror coursing through her. A temple to the Dread Wolf. Her breath hitched at the realization. This place was dedicated to Fen’harel, the betrayer, the one who brought Arlathan to ruin and plunged her people into endless exile. The voices in her mind swelled, chaotic and unrelenting, flooding her vision with fragmented images—elves clashing in bitter conflict, blood staining the earth, a deep, seething strife between forces she could not name.

Her stomach twisted violently as she fought to reclaim control, nausea bubbling up as the overwhelming flood of memories receded. She pressed her palm to her temple, feeling the dull throb of a headache building behind her eyes. Were the Dalish wrong... again? The question lingered, unanswered, as silence settled over her mind. The voices that had once urged her forward now offered no clarity, only a persistent push deeper into the temple.

Without fully understanding why, Lavellan found herself moving toward the entrance. The door stood ajar, its hinges creaking as she slipped inside. Shadows clung to the stone walls, and her footfalls echoed faintly in the silence. Her gaze locked onto the center of the room—a grand, golden mosaic throne. It loomed before her, untouched by time or decay, radiating an air of quiet power. She crept closer, her breath shallow, as if the weight of the temple's history pressed down on her.

Lavellan spun on her heel, panic rising as she tried to flee, but the voices locked her in place. Her body refused to obey, no matter how fiercely her instincts screamed for her to run. Even from across the chamber, she recognized him—the man who had captured her heart. Solas, draped across the golden throne, his body relaxed, his head resting in a peaceful slumber. Terror gripped her as her intuition shrieked in warning. She had made a grave mistake. The truth, buried deep inside her, clawed its way to the surface: the creature she had feared her entire life was the one she had fallen in love with.

The Dread Wolf.

Her mind raced, the realization crashing down with brutal clarity. She had slept with the betrayer, the destroyer. The image of him, laughing with cruel satisfaction, as he crushed her heart in his hand, flashed before her. He had deceived her, lured her in with tenderness, and now—now, he would tear her apart.

But her body defied her fear. Against her will, she moved toward him, step by step, the voices driving her closer to the slumbering god. His chest rose and fell in deep, rhythmic breaths, his consciousness far away in the Fade. Her hand lifted, trembling, and though every part of her screamed to stop, her fingers gently brushed his cheek. The warmth of his skin sent a jolt through her, and for a moment, his nose and lips twitched at the soft contact, though his eyes remained closed.

The voices surged again, pressing against her mind, straining toward him. They reached out, seeking the ancient power that pulsed beneath his skin. And then, like the snap of a bowstring, Solas jolted awake, his eyes wide and sharp. A ripple of ancient magic, raw and immense, pulsed through the air, and Lavellan felt the weight of his gaze pierce through her.

Solas’ hands gripped the arms of the throne, his knuckles white as his gaze locked on the golden eyes of his lover. His chest tightened, and his nose wrinkled with anger. “You should not be here,” he growled, the words thick with frustration. His sharp eyes scanned her, narrowing in suspicion. “The voices… did you ask them to lead you to me?” He rose from the throne, his movements sudden and forceful, the weight of his question hanging in the air.

Lavellan staggered back, her heart racing as panic swelled inside her, choking her voice. She couldn’t answer, her throat closing off any sound. The raw intensity of his presence pressed down on her, and she recoiled, unsure if it was the power that radiated from him or the terror that gripped her heart.

Solas paused, his anger flickering. He knew her well enough to understand—stubborn, determined, unwilling to let him vanish without a fight. His expression softened, the tension in his jaw easing as he watched her. He could never stay angry with her for seeking him out, for challenging the boundaries he had tried to impose. She was too passionate, too relentless, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he had known this confrontation was inevitable.

But something else caught his attention—the sheer terror in her eyes. Not fear of disturbing his slumber, but something deeper, something primal. His breath hitched as realization struck like a dagger. She knew. She had uncovered his secret.

“Vhenan…” he muttered, the word escaping him before he could stop it. His hand moved toward her, aching to offer comfort, though he hesitated, his throat tight with words unsaid. The distance between them seemed too vast now, a chasm carved by truths she wasn’t ready to face.

A broken croak escaped her throat as Lavellan stumbled back, her feet forgetting the steps behind her. Her body lurched into open air, falling—but before the cold stone could meet her, Solas’ hand shot out, gripping hers. He yanked her toward him with a desperate strength, and they both crashed against the throne, her body pressed tightly against his. “Please, ma vhenan,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he clutched her struggling form.

Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision, as the words forced themselves out between gasping sobs. “You are... Fen’harel.” Each word cut through the air like a blade, her voice trembling with disbelief.

Solas’ face twisted with guilt, his chest swelling with sorrow as he tightened his hold, keeping her close. He pressed his forehead to her temple, his breath warm and ragged against her skin. “I am,” he murmured, reluctant, the weight of the admission heavy between them. Her sobs racked against him, shaking her small frame as she buried her face in her hands. His heart clenched. “Ir abelas, ma vhenan, I am so sorry,” he whispered into her ear, his voice soft, pained.

Lavellan shook her head violently, hands still covering her face, unable to look at him. The voices in her head surged, their clamor filling her consciousness, making the ache in her stomach worse with each pulse. Solas’ cold fingers brushed her forehead, gently pushing her damp hair away from her face as he murmured apology after apology. The silence that followed was thick, broken only by her uneven breaths as they sat tangled together, her sobs gradually fading into exhaustion.

Time passed in that stillness. She fell into a deep, fitful slumber in his arms, while he remained perfectly still despite the aching pain that spread through his back and shoulders. Her anguish was far greater than anything he could feel.

When Lavellan finally stirred, her eyelids heavy and swollen, her mind foggy with the weight of the night’s revelations, memory came crashing back like a tidal wave. She jolted, eyes snapping open, her heart pounding. She tried to stand, to flee, but found herself unable to move. Solas’ familiar arms were still wrapped tightly around her, holding her as if afraid she might disappear if he let go.

“Lavellan,” Solas whispered, his voice rough and hoarse from the weight of sleepless hours. She kept her gaze fixed ahead, ignoring him, her expression unreadable. He leaned closer, desperation seeping into his voice. “Vhenan, please,” he murmured, gently reaching for her, his fingers brushing her chin as he tried to turn her face toward him. She didn’t resist, but when her eyes finally met his, they were cold, her emotions masked behind a wall of restraint.

Her gaze hardened, and a bitter edge crept into her voice. “You’re supposed to be a monster. To look like a monster. But you’re the master of tricks, aren’t you?” Her glare intensified, venomous. The moment hung between them, heavy with accusation, before her hand lashed out, striking his face with a sharp crack. And then her glare faulters, softening. Her own experience with him clashing with everything her culture told her about him.

Solas sighs, the sting of the slap echoing in the silence, but he didn’t defend himself. His eyes softened with the pain of her betrayal as she glared at him, her chest heaving. “You lied to me,” she said, her voice thick with anguish.

“In a way, I did, yes.” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Let me go.” Lavellan shoved at his chest, her words harsh, final. Reluctantly, Solas loosened his hold, and she pulled away, pacing back and forth as if caged by her own thoughts, her emotions warring beneath the surface.

Solas watched her, the ache in his heart growing as he stood from the throne. His voice, quiet yet steady, filled the room. “I have lied about who I am, but never about my feelings for you.”

Lavellan stopped mid-stride, her fists clenching and unclenching. Her eyes flashed with a mix of anger and grief as she turned to him. “You might as well have!” she spat, her voice sharp with betrayal. She took a step closer, her fury palpable. “How could anything be real when everything I knew about you was a lie?”

“I didn’t exactly lie—at least, not entirely.” Solas’ voice trembled with urgency, his eyes searching her face for any sign of understanding. Lavellan’s steps faltered, uncertainty rippling through her as her fingers tangled in her hair. She struggled, torn between the truths she thought she knew and the reality unraveling before her.

Solas hesitated, watching her wrestle with her thoughts. “The Dread Wolf from the stories... from the legends… that’s only part of the truth,” he continued softly, stepping closer. His words hung in the air between them like fragile threads. “I was Solas first. Fen'Harel came later.” His voice dropped to a whisper, his confession raw.

Lavellan stared at him, her mind spinning as she tried to reconcile the man she loved with the figure of betrayal and legend. Her breath caught, and she fought to process everything, her heart hammering in her chest.

Solas’ expression softened, regret filling his eyes. “You’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice gentle. “But you should not be here.” He reached out, carefully taking her hands into his, his fingers warm against hers. He watched her, but her gaze drifted, her eyes glazing over, distant and unfocused. He knew the voices were speaking to her again, likely confirming that he is the Dread Wolf.

She began shaking her head, confusion clouding her features as the voices slipped into an unsettling silence. "I don't understand," she whispered, her eyes searching the floor. Fragments of their time together flickered through her mind—the quiet conversations, the guarded looks, the moments after Corypheus fell. Threads of memory wove together, forming a pattern she hadn't seen before.

Suddenly, her gaze snapped back to his, eyes sharp and filled with a dawning intensity. "The orb..." she breathed, the words barely audible. "It was yours, wasn't it?"

Her voice trembled with a mix of disbelief and reluctant understanding, the hope that she might be wrong fading with each passing second. The realization settled heavily between them, an unspoken truth finally brought to light.

A sad smile flickered across his face, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “It was,” he confessed softly. He paused, as if weighing the gravity of what came next. “I didn’t foresee him surviving the blast...” His voice trailed off, unfinished, heavy with regret.

Lavellan hesitated, searching his face for answers, her heart sinking. “But why?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly. “Why did you give him the orb, Solas?”

His expression darkened, his frown deepening as he lowered his head, lost in the shadows of his memories. “I was too weak,” he muttered, the words slipping from him like a bitter truth. “Too weak after my long slumber to unlock its power.”

His voice was careful, measured, but she could hear the anguish threaded between his words, could see the pain reflected in his eyes—burdens he had carried for far too long.

Her heart shattered as she watched the dance of pain and anguish play across his face, each unspoken regret heavy in the air between them. Without thinking, she reached up, her hand trembling as she gently pulled his face toward hers. The world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the weight of his sorrow and the ache in her chest.

She pressed her lips softly against his, tender and hesitant, as if her kiss alone could soothe the burden he had carried for so long. It was a silent plea, a desperate hope that in this moment, she could ease even a fraction of his suffering. For just a breath, she wished to take away the hurt, to hold him in a world where neither of them had to carry the weight of their choices.

She pulled back, her breath still lingering between them. “But why?” she asked, her voice quiet but filled with concern. Her eyes searched his, aching to understand.

"It wasn’t supposed to happen like this," Solas murmured, his voice low and weighted with regret. He wanted to tell her more, to lay his burden bare, but centuries of guarding his heart held him back. His eyes flickered with emotions he couldn't quite express.

Lavellan furrowed her brow, her mind racing as she sifted through memories—of time spend and conversations had with Solas, of Dalish legends half-remembered, fragmented and tangled like knotted yarn. The truth was there, albeit elusive, but something tugged at the edges of her understanding, and her heart clenched with a terrible realization.

“You didn’t mean for the Veil to hurt the People, did you?” she asked, her voice quiet but insistent, a plea for clarity in the face of so much confusion.

Solas’ expression tightened, a flicker of pain crossing his face before he looked away. He didn’t answer immediately, but the silence between them was enough. The answer lingered in the air, unspoken but painfully clear.

“But why leave? Why come here when your plan failed?” Lavellan’s voice cracked, frustration, pain, and confusion swirling in her chest. “Did you really plan to live out the rest of your life in isolation, away from—” Her breath caught in her throat, words faltering as the weight of what she was about to say threatened to choke her. ’Away from me? The thought hung in her mind, unspoken, but its presence was undeniable, heavy and raw.

Solas’ gaze softened, as if sensing the unspoken question. His lips parted, but he hesitated, the guarded expression on his face slipping ever so slightly. The silence that stretched between them was filled with everything they weren’t saying, everything they were afraid to confront. And in that moment, her heart ached with the fear that perhaps, in his isolation, he had already made his choice—one that didn’t include her.

But, Solas remained silent, his gaze steady but unreadable, as if her question pierced through the walls he had so carefully built. Her eyes searched his face for something—anything—that might reveal his reasons, but all she found was the lingering sadness he tried so hard to hide. The tension between them thickened, the truth just out of reach, suspended in the heavy silence.

Her breath trembled, her heart pounding with the unspoken realization that perhaps his isolation was not just a punishment for himself, but a way to protect her—from his failure, from the consequences of loving him.

Solas shook his head slowly, the stoic mask settling back into place, hardening his features. But his eyes—those eyes still whispered the sorrow he could not bring himself to speak aloud. The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, until finally, his voice broke through, a whisper of regret and weariness. “I need time…”

It was a fragile admission, but it left her heart aching, knowing that time alone couldn’t mend the chasm that had opened between them.

“And then you’ll come back?” Her voice was barely a whisper, fragile and filled with hope. The question hung in the air between them, trembling on the edge of uncertainty. She looked at him, her eyes searching for reassurance, for a promise that everything would somehow be as it once was.

Solas’ breath caught in his throat. He could hear the hope laced in her words, the quiet plea that, perhaps, he would return to her—not to his mission, not to the world he was determined to change, but to her.

Whether she was willfully blind to the truth or simply unaware of the path he had chosen, he couldn’t say. Her gaze, filled with that quiet hope, made it clear she didn’t fully grasp the depths of his intentions—the consequences of what he had set in motion.

Solas wasn’t sure if she truly understood that the orb had been only the beginning. It was his first plan, yes, and in many ways, his best hope for a swift restoration of what had once been. But it was not his only plan. The thought of the steps yet to come—the things he would have to do, the sacrifices he would demand of himself and the world—tightened his chest with guilt. The path he walks is the dinan’shiral. There is only death on this journey.

He feared she hadn’t yet realized how far he was willing to go to achieve his goal, how unyielding his resolve had become. The love that still exists between them, the tenderness that still sparked in her eyes—it was fragile. He could see it now, hanging by a thread that would inevitably be severed when the full truth came to light. But not yet.

For now, she didn’t see the deeper plan, the path that stretched far beyond their love, leading him to a future he couldn’t allow her to follow because he could not allow her to see what he will become.

“Yes,” he replies, the word slipping out—half-truth, but not quite a lie. It’s inevitable that their paths will cross again. She, leading the Inquisition, guiding the world through the chaos left in Corypheus’ wake. And he… he will be working tirelessly in the shadows, forging a new plan to tear down the Veil he once erected to protect the People.

The weight of the truth he couldn’t share sat heavy on his chest. Their reunion wouldn’t be as she imagined—there would be no quiet return to what they had before. He had no intention of leaving her life entirely, but not in the way she hoped. He would still be out there, always moving, always plotting, preparing for the moment when he would have to make the impossible choice.

His eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, knowing she couldn’t see the full shape of what was coming. She couldn’t know that while he said yes, it wasn’t in the way she longed for. Their next meeting wouldn’t be born out of love, but of necessity. Of fate. Of a mission he could not abandon, no matter the cost to them both.

But for now, she believed in that small word, in the promise she heard. And he let her, knowing it would break her heart in time.

[a-goumang-ripoff]

Confusion, Uncertainty, and Bafflement: A Rant About Goumang

So I've decided to move on to my next rant and thought that I might as well get my namesake out of the way. Funny enough, Goumang is only my favorite sol because she is such a weird character to think about, none of the sols can get my voice nearly as loud in a rant as Goumang does. She confuses me to no end, and I think that confusion is the most interesting part of the entire game for me to think about. Also, her design is so fucking cool, I love Nine Sols' character designs so much but to literally make this cat person into a harpy via genetic modification and prosthetics is such a badass idea, I wish I thought of it myself tbh.

So, to start off this rant: Goumang's position within Nine Sols. She is intended to be the second boss you face in the game, though can be the third (which I heavily recommend, I hate that fight without air dash) and I believe can be the first boss, but I am unsure about that. She is an early-game threat which we learn quite a lot about in her area, and the game holds back nothing by this point giving her what I would argue to be the most disturbing and gruesome end in the entire game, which almost none of the other sols can compare to. I do believe her status as Eigong's other student was stated in her area, but it was something that was lost on me as I wasn't sure what the game meant, I assumed she was one of several and they just happened to be at odds. However there are little features around the game which really paints her to be Yi's rival.

Beyond being Eigong's other student, she also has a passionate hatred for Yi which is far more intense than any hatred the other sols have with one another, and Yi clearly shares this hatred with how he decides to end her, though he keeps himself level-headed in her presence otherwise it seems. She talks to us about the plan she had if she was chosen over Yi, the way she acts in the holograms at the end of the game is painfully antagonistic, and even that picture Eigong has by her eternal sanctum of the two of them together. It weirdly feels like the game is trying to build her up as Yi's rival, but we know Eigong is the true rival fight in the game, not to mention Goumang is dispatched within the first half of the game. I have to ask why the game pushes this so hard. I understand she is realistically physically weak and lacks combat prowess; as Jiequan says, she's just a farmer. But I think I would have preferred her place in the game to get moved up and to treat her more like Yi's rival. It doesn't feel unrealistic for her to learn the same martial arts Yi did at Eigong's recommendation; if anything, it makes more sense for Goumang to take up the idea granted her past.

Another thing which confuses me about Goumang is the mismatch between her backstory and her behavior in-game. Her backstory consists of her growing up seemingly poor in a place that is already in constant famine, then being implied to pull herself up by her bootstraps and become one of the most skilled biologists in Penglai. Her motivations are shown clear to us: she wants to end world hunger on Penglai and had the means to do it with New Kunlun's aid. The servants she has she shows to have actual compassion for (though the way she views them is very much as lesser beings which is not great) and, in the Nine Sols prequel comic, she is shown to be quite a kind person, giving a little girl food and a ride for a mistake that is hardly even hers. And yet everything we see beyond her memories shows her to not only be a jealous bitch who thinks herself better than everyone and seems to pamper herself at any opportunity, but also hold fascist/fascism-adjacent ideologies.

"Optoberries, apemen, even our fellow solarians... they all need greenhouses and incubators. Sacrificing a little freedom and yielding to your superiors is the path to a perfect society[...] The truth is, the weak fear the truth and cannot make choices for themselves."

I know that having a shitty past doesn't automatically make you not become a shitty person, but to hammer in the idea that she had an awful childhood filled with suffering and holds a variety of selfless aspects of her character only to make her act childish and needlessly bitchy just doesn't feel right, it feels like there's really something that we aren't being told. I would be happy to shrug it off as potentially seeing Yi as someone who doesn't deserve the position he got because he had much kinder beginnings than her, but between her childish behavior before the game's confrontation and the fact that she doesn't bring that up in her monologue (instead simply mentioning that she wanted to be chosen over Yi, making it jealousy rather than simple hatred) makes it just feel weird.

On a lighter point, it feels quite a bit odd that she is The Sex Character in the game, especially with how heavy they lean into that. Everything about her just feels sexual. I mean, firstly, she is the only solarian I've seen to wear literally no pants, and her legs tend to be blocking her crotch in a weirdly intentional way. Like, it'd be one thing to do that but have her not have anything between her legs, but it makes it way weirder that her crotch is being constantly blocked, it feels like it's trying to imply her pussy is just out there at all times (and no one cares, which makes it funnier). The two times you can actually see her crotch, there is shading which makes it way too harder to discern anything (yes, I looked, this was a traumatizing realization and I needed to confirm it fully). She also is clearly dominant in both an almost hierarchical sense and a sexual sense, you can literally make Yi call her out saying "you just dominate people for pleasure," and she won't even deny the pleasure part, just corrects Yi on the fact that she's "protecting" instead of dominating. How much more on the nose can you get?

Also, I'm not sure if this is just me or not but doesn't her 'death' scene have a really odd vibe about it? The fact that it's a mind control collar is bad enough, but the way Yi tilts her head up and the gasp from her that plays all makes it even weirder.

The echoes of "mama" from her servants make it only worse. Normally I'd think it's a funny coincidence that ignores sexual contexts around the word, but that quote about dominating people for pleasure makes it feel intentional. The whole thing just feels like a Guro scene and it really twisted my stomach when that got combined with my own issues over leg injuries (I can't believe there's TWO leg injury scenes in the game, not a fun time for me).

Though the weirdest part for me is that I feel like there's a much more prominent candidate for being The Sex Character, that being Nuwa. The drug club she runs genuinely feels a step away from being a sex palace, especially with all the pink imagery (and those dancers). The instrument she plays looks genuinely phallic and the way it's played, with her mouth against the tip, doesn't help. Yet I feel like they leaned away from it quite a bit compared to Goumang. Though, I suppose the incest stuff that surrounds Nuwa and Fuxi may have pushed them away from doing that. Lady Ethereal even seems to have a bit of that stuff going for her... okay I'm starting to realize most of the prominent women in this game have sexual stuff related to them.

Moving on from that startling realization, the last thing I want to talk about is some of the reasoning I've gathered on why a lot of these choices may have been made and how I think Goumang could be improved as a character. One of the major reasons why I think there's such a mismatch in backstory and personality is that I believe they started to write her character and backstory, but then determined how they wanted to use her afterwards. Her fascist ideas and the literal slaves she owns makes her especially gruesome death feel like a jab towards fascist governments and more than likely directed towards the Chinese government (see my previous rant for more context on this). Another reason that mismatch might be present, potentially in combination with the previous one, is that RedCandleGames may have realized that she was being made too good of a person to be one of the sols that are killed, so a sudden shift occurred to make her seem just as crazy and evil as the rest of the sols are.

As for her odd implications of being Yi's rival? My main theory is that it was unintentional, obviously Yi's mentor should be his actual rival, Goumang may have just been placed as her other student to give more reason for her gruesome death or as another way to put her in a more evil position, and then an unintentional rival dynamic was built from that. It also possible she may have just be intended to be a rival fight or have more presence than she does (though, the sols seem to all have a pretty equivalent presence overall). But this is just speculation pretty much.

I think there's quite a few ways to improve her character. For one, I think she could be leaned over towards a less evil standing. I feel as though Yi could have started the game off a lot more evil than he did, it feels like a major portion of his character growth occurs with his time in peach blossom village before the game starts, we don't really get to see him go from hating humans to wanting to protect them, it's an implied shift. I'll likely touch more in depth on this when I rant about Yi, but if he were to be placed in a more evil position, he would have better reason for deciding Goumang is worth killing if she is put in a better standing. Alternatively, go a little more in depth on her backstory, it feels like it's only one step away from being fully believable, if they showed us something which actively made her change ideologies or gain new ones that orient her where she is in the game, I wouldn't feel that mismatch would be as strong as it is.

Overall, I find Goumang's writing to be quite shallow, her personality in-game doesn't feel like anything unique, it feels like a character I've seen several times in the media I've consumed (ignoring the whole fascist thing). If her backstory and personality weren't so mismatched, I believe her writing would have a lot more depth to it and I would feel much less confused about her. I also feel as though she could have been utilized very well as a rival to Yi, though that is a much farther-reaching concept than the changes I've suggested for her writing.

I'll be honest I didn't think I'd talk for 3 paragraphs purely about sex, I was intending to leave it at one but it's just so weird to me that she's used that way. Not that I'm complaining, check my blog's title. More than likely I'll post a follow-up rant on this one which is more about a lot of my less serious thoughts on her, ideas I have of remaking her character and such, just fanon/headcanon bullshit.

[lgcseojin]

✱ PLOT CALL ?

Heyyy guys!! I am ... so excited for this Gyeseung thing, so. Whoever wants to plot something for it, I've already thought of everything involving Seojin and Hyunsoo for it before thinking of my full headcanon post, so ... I'm gonna list below everything and please reach out to me or like this so we can have some fun threading this!!!

SEOJIN

SUMMARY : A guard from the Fiery Fist Sect. He came into this world completely alone; an orphan and a commoner left to roam the streets for most of his life where pickpocketing and talking his way into food or a roof was his way of survival. Eventually, he was picked up by a kind nobleman who saw potential in him after fighting tooth and nail against guards who apprehended him and took him under his wing. For the rest of his youth, he was brought up in a martial arts temple where he honed the way of the fist and put his all into training. He serves as a guard, mostly commissioned as a hand for hire for travelling diplomats and nobles or those in need of protection. He's renowned for his skill in fighting and his elevated status is solely built upon his abilities rather than his bloodline. He is known to be a man of few words. He will be found testing his mettle at the Ascension Tower.

PLOT IDEAS : Fight fight fight he wants to fight!!!, anyone he's been hired to guard current and past, anyone he's had to fight... current and past, allies who he can form reluctant alliances with, enemies to friends <3, those who look down on him due to the nature of his birth/family situation, former relationships he's accidentally ruined just by being himself but ohhh lost romance, sparring partners, anyone met on his travels, he gets hurt a lot so please help him heal

HYUNSOO

SUMMARY : An herbalist in the Shadow Woods Sect. His father is a revered healer from the same sect and his mother is a beloved performer from the Enchanted Waves Sanctum. He wields a bow, but has never been too much of a fighter. Rather, he's a scholar and would much rather be researching plants and gathering rather than much else. He will be found mostly venturing toward the Poisoned Gardens and likely often a bit downtrodden because of being constantly poisoned, but you know... He mostly keeps to himself and is more interested in his books and studies than other people, and he isn't particularly occupied with things that are morally wrong. One day, he would like to leave to travel and see other parts of the world because he feels like he doesn't fit in with the others in his sect negl.

PLOT IDEAS : Someone he's arranged to marry and it just is a whole mess because he really just does not pay proper attention to them, any healer he can gather and sort herbs for tbh!, known as the goody-two-shoes of his sect so if you're in it you can bully him a little or something idk, he's writing a book about herbs and stuff so if you could help him... that'd be great!!, you fall in the woods and he carries you back and is very disgruntled about it

[daphnefisherofficial]

bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

CHAPTER EIGHT

Pairing: MCU Moon Knight System (Marc/Jake/Steven) x Avatar Fem!Reader

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CHAPTER EIGHT - AVATAR OF MAYARI, PROTECTOR OF THE NIGHT.

As you stepped into the threshold of your manor house, the chill of the evening air clung to your skin. The soft glow of lamplight greeted you, casting warm shadows across the hallway. You cannot help but let out a huge smile on your face, still on high from the wonderful dinner night you’ve spent with Steven Grant. He was a very easy pick from the pool of candidates you’ve had for the tour guide position, and you look forward to letting him know that he will start working with you from next week.

“Good evening, Lady Carter”, Bill greeted you at the doorway, taking the liberty of taking your coat. “How is your evening?”

“It went pretty well, Bill”, you smiled serenely before your phone suddenly chimed from your bag. You got it and slid the lock screen open, immediately reading the text message you’ve received from an unknown number as it lit up your screen. 

Hey, Marc Spector here. I’m really sorry to do this, but something urgent came up for me and Steven tomorrow. Rain check on our coffee lunch?

You frowned, your heart sinking as you read the text. But you did not allow that feeling to consume you, trying to focus on the fact that it might be a real, personal emergency that he needed to attend to. Your thumbs moved deftly over the screen as you tapped out a reply, the disappointment hiding behind your understanding words.

Of course, Marc, I hope it’s nothing too serious. We can definitely reschedule, just let me know. It's no problem at all.

You tossed your phone back to your bag and sighed, feeling a twinge of disappointment. But before you have the chance to dwell on it further, a familiar voice echoed in your head, a gentle, ethereal whisper that pulled you from your thoughts.

"Mira, aking tapat na lingkod" the echo of a haunting voice reverberated in your mind - the voice of your patron goddess, Mayari. “Sinasamo kita”

Mira, my faithful servant. I summon you.

“Bill”, you called, prompting your trusted companion to stand at attention. “I’m being summoned by my patron goddess. Please advise the staff and tell them I am not to be disturbed at the third floor”

“As you wish, Lady Carter”, Bill nodded, well-aware of your nightly duties as the avatar of Mayari. He knew the drill well and would ensure your privacy while you attended to your divine obligations.

With a sense of duty and curiosity, you excused yourself from the entryway and made your way up the staircase, your steps echoing through the dimly lit corridor. The study awaited on the third floor of your grand ancestral home, with its balcony overlooking the moonlit garden. You pushed open the ornate wooden door, entering the room as your surroundings were bathed in a soft, silvery light.

The room itself is a repository of ancient knowledge, lined with shelves filled with dusty tomes, relics, and artifacts from generations long past. It serves as your tranquil sanctum, a harmonious bridge between the ancient traditions of Filipino indigenous spirituality and contemporary living. In one corner, an altar stands adorned with images and statues of your ancestral spirits and indigenous deities, where flickering candles and offerings of fruits and incense create a tangible link to the spiritual realm. Throughout the room, an array of healing tools, from crystals to rattles, bear witness to your transformative practices. 

With a deep breath, you close your eyes and summon your powers. A warm, soothing energy envelops you, as if the very essence of the moonlight seeps into your being. You can feel the presence of Mayari, the ancient moon goddess who has chosen you as her vessel. It's a connection that transcends time and space, and you revel in the privilege of being her earthly conduit.

You open your eyes, and the transformation begins. Your ordinary attire fades away, replaced by the ceremonial robes of your past life as a punong babaylan (head priestess). Intricate patterns of maroon and silver thread adorn the black fabric, glinting like stars in the night sky. A headdress of woven fabric and moonstone crowns your head, a symbol of your divine lineage.

Kneeling on the floor, you turn your gaze toward the balcony as you await her arrival, the night air cool against your skin. You can hear the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets, all harmonizing with the symphony of the universe. It's a moment of profound tranquility, a connection between the mortal and the divine.

“Diwatang Mayari”, you begin to utter the sacred words, the incantation passed down through generations. “Tinatanggap ko ang iyong pagsamo bilang isang tapat na lingkod”

Goddess Mayari, I accept your summons as your faithful servant.

And then, as if the heavens themselves have heard your call, Mayari descends from her celestial abode. She appears as a luminous figure bathed in silvery light, her presence filling the room with an otherworldly grace. Both her blind and good eyes, like twin moons, fixate upon you with a mixture of wisdom and compassion.

"Mira, aking anak" she says, her voice like a gentle breeze, "Tumindig ka at magbigay galang”

Mira, my child. Rise and pay your respects.

With great reverence, you stand before the moon goddess, the weight of your role as her avatar sinking in as you lower yourself in a deep bow. 

"Ikinagagalak ko ang iyong pagparito, Mayari”, you say, your words imbued with sincerity. "Anong maipaglilingkod ko sa inyo, aking diwata?"

I am humbled by your presence, Mayari. How may I be of service to you, my patron goddess?

Mayari's gaze softens, and she gestures for you to rise. "Isang mortal ang nangangailangan ng iyong pagtatanggol. Siya ay minsan mo nang natulungan sa isang dayuhang lupain, at ngayo’y muli niyang kakailanganin ang iyong tulong”

There’s a mortal who needs your protection. You’ve helped her once in a foreign land, and now, she requires your aid once more.

Your heart quickens as you absorb her words. "Nasaan siya, Mayari?"

Where is she, Mayari?

“Nakikita ng aking balintataw na siya’y nasa isang madilim na kalye sa parte ng Tondo”, the goddess's radiant form seems to shimmer as if she's peering into the threads of fate. “May mga masasamang loob na nagnanais wakasan ang kanyang buhay”

I see in my divine eye that she’s in the dark streets of Tondo, pursued by nefarious beings who seek to end her life.

“Paroroon ako ngayon din”, you spoke next, actively tracing her location through the protection spell you’ve placed, which has now been activated.

I will be there right away.

You summoned a portal with your moon magic, and it opened before you like a rip in reality. Stepping through, you found yourself in the dimly lit alleyways of Tondo, where the witness was cornered by her pursuers. 

As you arrived at the scene, the air was thick with tension, and the flickering street lights cast eerie shadows on the narrow alleyway. Your heart pounded in your chest as you surveyed the situation. The witness, a young woman, cowered against the graffiti-covered brick wall, her eyes wide with fear. The assailants, three menacing figures clad in dark attire, closed in on her.

You took a deep breath and focused your energy, tapping into the ancient power that flowed through your veins. Moonlight bathed the scene, and you began to weave your moon magic. With a wave of your hand, you exerted your will upon the assailants, seizing control of their bodies. Their movements became sluggish, as if they were fighting against an invisible force. They soon stumbled and fell, their weapons clattering to the ground.

Summoning your own ceremonial suit of armor, you adorned yourself in the traditional garments of an ancient warrior from your own time. Your white and gold baro and tapis magically wrapped around your body, while the baluti (metallic breastplate scale armor) started to materialize and clung to your form. Your hand woven headpiece cloth was secured around the base of your head, and your ebony hair streaked with white blonde highlights was meticulously arranged in a low bun. 

With your dual yantok (escrima sticks) held firmly in both hands, you approached the witness's assailants, your heart pounding with the adrenaline of battle. Moon magic flowed freely from your weapons through the intricate carvings on its surface, infusing your strikes with a celestial power. Still under the influence of your moon magic, the assailants moved awkwardly, their bodies betraying them. You moved with grace and precision, your training in the ancient martial art of arnis evident as your weapon sliced through the air and striked with lethal accuracy.

The first assailant lunged at you, but you effortlessly sidestepped their attack, delivering a swift blow to their chest. The assailant crumpled to the ground, unconscious, as the moon's magic flowed freely from your weapon. The other two assailants, realizing they were facing a formidable adversary, tried to regroup and attack simultaneously. They came at you from both sides, their movements still sluggish under your control. With lightning-fast reflexes, you parried their strikes and deflected their blows. You countered with a flurry of strikes, hitting them with calculated precision. One of them stumbled back, clutching their arm in pain while the other collapsed to the ground, unable to withstand the relentless assault. The moon's magic surged through you, infusing your every move with strength and power.

Finally, the alley was silent, save for the ragged breaths of the fallen assailants as they were knocked out. You turned to the frightened young woman, who gazed at you with a mixture of awe and gratitude. She recognized you as the interpreter that assisted her in your previous assignment.

“Sino ka? Paano mo nagawa iyon?” her voice trembled as she asked.

Who are you? How did you do that?

You offered a reassuring smile and spoke with a calm, soothing tone. "Ako ay sinugo ni Mayari, ang diwata ng buwan," you replied. "Narito ako upang protektahan ka"

I am an avatar of Mayari, the goddess of the moon. I am here to protect you.

The young woman's fear began to ebb away, replaced by a sense of relief. "Maraming salamat," she said, her voice filled with genuine gratitude. "Pero papaano sila? Masusundan ba nila ako ulit?"

Thank you. But what about them? Will they come after me again?

You considered her question carefully, knowing that your actions had consequences. "Hindi," you said firmly, your voice filled with conviction. "Hindi ka na nila muling masusundan."

No. They will not come after you again.

Her eyes held a glimmer of hope, but there was a lingering concern. "Matatandaan ba nila ang mga nangyari ngayong gabi? Matatandaan ba nila ako?"

Will they remember what happened tonight? Will they remember me?

You gazed down at the unconscious assailants, your brow furrowing in concentration. With a wave of your hand, you extended your moon magic to erase their memories of the night's events. Their unconscious minds were wiped clean, and any knowledge of the witness and their sinister intent was gone.

"Wala silang matatandaan," you assured her. "Ligtas mula sa kanilang mga kamay ang iyong katauhan at ang mga naganap ngayong gabi"

They will remember nothing. Your identity and the events of tonight are safe.

The young woman nodded, her gratitude evident in her eyes. "Maraming salamat muli. Hindi ko na alam ang mangyayari sa akin kung hindi ka dumating."

Thank you, again. I don't know what I would have done without you.

You offered her a reassuring smile before turning back and starting to walk away. Before you could take your leave, the young woman's curiosity got the better of her. "Sandali, makakalimutan ko din bang nakita kita?"

Wait, will I forget seeing you too?

You hesitated for a moment, contemplating how much to reveal. Protecting your identity was paramount, but a sense of trust had been established. "Patnubayan mo ang guhit ng kanyang kapalaran, aking diwatang Mayari." you replied cryptically, leaving her with the same parting words as your last.

Guide the lines of her fate, my goddess Mayari.

END OF CHAPTER EIGHT.

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[dndfantasygirl]

Amongst the Stars (Chapter 3: Old Wounds)

Rating: Mature Word count: 1.9k Pairing: Astarion x Female Tav (named)/OC Warnings: violence, strong language, innuendo, slow burn, little sister, Astarion's scars, bathing

Summary: Skye learns about Astarion's scars.

*Link to AO3 Post

*Link to Previous Chapter

------------------------------------

Honestly, the first tenday they spent together went fairly smoothly despite the amount of tension between Lae'zel and Shadowheart. For the most part, everyone got along...or at the very least, tolerated each other. Though the past two days were pretty eventful to say the least.

It started near the sacred pool in the grove. A lovely ritual was being performed as a green aura enveloped the stone around the water. Several tall statues of animals were encircling the pool as well, giving it a very ethereal look.

A few druids blocked their path at first before they were finally allowed in. Apparently, the leader, Kagha wanted a word with them. Skye sensed there was something off about her as she threatened a young tiefling child with a snake. It lasted all of two seconds before the air genasi started throwing threats around.

There, they learned the druids wanted the tieflings gone and Kagha wanted them to carry out the task. Skye refused once again to do someone else's bidding, especially when they're in the wrong. Not much was said after until they made it to the back of the Inner Sanctum, where they found a healer.

Unfortunately, she wasn't much help and actually tried to poison Skye. Needless to say, the air genasi didn't take too kindly to this and the healer was left behind with one nasty headache.

They realized finding Halsin, the First Druid of the grove's circle, was their next priority as they'd discovered he'd actually done research on the parasites.

The following night as they were gathering supplies for the next part of their journey, a devil decided to infiltrate their camp, offering them salvation. Raphael disgusted Skye. He reminded her of Astarion in a way, yet at least the vampire spawn had some semblance of personal space. Skye's spit attack ended up being a wakeup call to the devil as he finally left them to their own devices.

Now, they're marching their way forward to a goblin camp where Halsin was supposedly taken hostage. As they approached an abandoned village, Astarion watched as Misty's long ears twitched. She stopped walking in her tracks and turned her head.

Skye must have heard a noise, too because she also turned her head in that area. She locked eyes with Astarion before following her sister towards it. "We'll be right back."

"Where are you going, now?" Gale asked with a face palm. "Mystra, help me."

Astarion's eyes shifted between the rest of the group and the two sisters. Eventually, he decided to follow them, deciding he'd rather not have the others taking too close of a look at him.

When the vampire spawn caught up to them, he saw both of the girls kneeling in front of a dog whiter than snow with large pointy ears. It was timid at first, warning them to not come closer with a low growl.

Skye started to hum a soothing tune that caused the dog to relax as she began to hold out her hand. The younger genasi cautiously mimicked her sister and smiled softly as the dog sniffed her hand.

Astarion watched from a distance, preferring not to indulge in the encounter. After a few moments, the girls left the dog and started to return to the group.

The older genasi stopped in front of Astarion while the other kept walking. Skye walked in step with him as she began talking. "Dog's owner was brutally killed. Misty wanted to take him in, but he wasn't gonna leave his owner."

"Furthermore, we have enough strays to last a lifetime. We don't need any more," Astarion added with a sardonic smile.

"Come on, Star," Skye teased, watching as the vampire spawn reacted to the new nickname. "You can't tell me you've never wanted a pet before."

"Darling, for most of my existence, I was the pet," he spat bitterly.

The air genasi's shoulders slumped a little as they continued to walk in silence. Suddenly, an idea popped in her head. "Hey, I think it's time we had a night off."

---------------------------------

Skye showed no hesitation in stripping bare. She jumped into the water, letting herself submerge a little longer than necessary. When she came up for air, she shook her head like a dog and gave Astarion a lopsided smile. "Well, don't just stand there!" she shouted. "Come on in!"

But Astarion couldn't help himself. This was a side of the air genasi he never saw before. Careless and free. Relaxed and having...fun. She looked like a siren with her large golden eyes, beckoning to him with her song.

"Astarionnnnn," she singsonged. When he snapped out of his trance, her smile softened. It was reassuring. It was almost comforting.

The vampire spawn swiftly donned his mask as she swam towards the shore. "Coming, darling. I was just admiring the view," he purred, a predatory gleam in his crimson eyes.

He couldn't ignore the flicker of irritation in her gaze as she backflipped into the water, drenching him from head to toe. Emerging with a mischievous grin, she giggled, "You look like a grumpy cat." Astarion glared at her in annoyance. "Okay, okay." With a flick of her wrist, a warm gust of air enveloped him, drying him completely.

"Well, since you insist on pestering me until I join you, I might as well oblige," he said, a broad smirk spreading across his lips as he began to strip in front of her. She remained completely unfazed, and for a moment, he forgot she must be accustomed to such sights from her time living in the wild. He chuckled as she glanced down and raised her eyebrows.

Skye shrugged. "Not too shabby, Star."

"Oh, trust me. I know, my sweet," Astarion purred back as he joined her in the water.

She gave him another soft smile, and for the briefest moment, he felt his facade slipping, almost allowing himself to return the sentiment. But Astarion knew better and kept up his flirtatious front. "So, this was all just to get me naked in the water with you? Darling, all you had to do was ask."

"Don't act so coy, Star. You knew what was going to happen the moment we reached the river," Skye quipped with a mischievous smile. The vampire spawn couldn't suppress the genuine laugh that escaped him, cursing himself for it.

Vulnerability was weakness. He couldn't afford to be weak. Not when he was so close to being free. The closest he'd ever been. He had to keep up the facade. It was the only way to ensure her she waded towards the middle of the river, he followed with a predatory smirk, which she met with her own playful smile. When they reached the center, Skye took a deep breath. "I... I want to show you something."

Astarion tilted his head in confusion.

"Um," she swallowed, turning to face the moon. "Nobody knows about this but me. Not even Misty."

Before the vampire spawn could comment, a bluish glow enveloped her. She held her hands out in front of her, furrowing her brows in concentration. Suddenly, a bubble formed and floated to her hands. Astarion raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"You can make... bubbles?" he deadpanned. "This is the big secret you wanted to show me?"

He knew he was in trouble the moment a huge smirk spread across her lips. In one smooth movement, Skye swept her arms across the water, conjuring a large wave that crashed down on the vampire spawn.

He looked up at her in irritation as his curls matted to his head. "You are going to pay for that."

The vampire spawn sent his own wave towards her. Skye stopped using her enhanced abilities to play fair, and the two of them giggled like children, splashing each other. For the first time, he allowed himself to let his guard down. After all, this was what she wanted. Plus, he couldn't deny the immense relief he felt once he let loose.

As the playful splashing continued, the moonlight danced on the water around them, casting a magical glow on their laughter-filled faces. Astarion felt an unfamiliar warmth in his chest, a sense of connection and freedom that he hadn't experienced in centuries. In that moment, surrounded by the gentle caress of the water and the echo of their laughter, he realized just how much he had needed this—this simple, joyous moment of unguarded companionship.

After their splash war ended, they leaned against the cliff face, still waist-deep in the water.

"I'm an air genasi. I'm not supposed to be able to manipulate water," Skye admitted, sounding almost embarrassed.

Astarion hummed thoughtfully. "Well, maybe that's not entirely a bad thing," he said gently. "It might mean you're one of the most powerful genasi to exist." A large, mischievous smirk spread across the vampire spawn's face. "And we need all the power we can get."

The air genasi had no words for him, so she simply nodded. They sat for a few more moments in silence before Astarion made his way over to the shoreline. A loud gasp escaped from Skye's lips as the ethereal beams of the moonlight shone on the vampire spawn's back, revealing raised scars in the shape of a rune. At the sound, Astarion tensed, stopping in his tracks. For once, he felt like the prey.

Skye slowly waded to the shore, approaching Astarion as if he were a frightened animal. She had the compulsion to touch the scars, but thought better of it, letting her hands linger just above them. "Who did this to you?"

"Take a guess," the vampire spawn muttered bitterly.

Gentle footsteps encircled him to face him for a moment. "Your master?"

"Former master," Astarion corrected with a scowl, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

The air genasi conjured glowing orbs around them as she studied the scars thoroughly. "They look like runes. Is it Infernal?"

"Infernal, what?" The vampire spawn cleared his throat. "Who knows? The bastard was insane."

Skye nodded slowly. "Whatever they are, they must hold some significance."

"Cazador considered himself an artist and would use his spawn as canvases," Astarion began, gazing down into the soft golden orbs below him. "He carved that one over the course of a night and made many revisions."

"Gods, I'm so sorry, Astarion." Skye's voice carried a weight of empathy as she spoke. It struck Astarion deeply, the sincerity in her expression piercing through his usual defenses. In all his years, he had rarely encountered such genuine concern from anyone, let alone someone he had known for so short a time.

He stood there silently, absorbing her words as an unfamiliar warmth spread through him. It wasn't pity that he saw in her eyes, but a genuine understanding of the pain he had endured. Skye's empathy touched something deep within him, stirring emotions he had long kept buried beneath layers of cynicism and detachment.

After a moment, the vampire spawn nodded in acknowledgment, his typically sharp wit momentarily softened by the genuine sincerity in the air genasi's eyes. She stood quietly, observing him as he gathered his clothes and began to dress.

"Astarion," she called out as he prepared to head back towards camp. He turned to face her, noting the spark of determination that now burned brightly in her golden gaze. Her voice, steady and resolute, carried a promise that resonated deeply within him.

"He will pay for what he did to you."

[space-mermaid-writing]

The Vamp and the Were [IronStrange]

Summary: Tony would mark the day he met a vampire that did not immediately jump at his throat. Just for once – that would be a nice change.

Relationship: Werewolf!Tony Stark / Vampire!Stephen Strange

Tags: hurt/comfort, idiots in love, angst, fluff

Ko-fi | Read it on AO3 | Masterlist | Word count: 1.2k | Previous | Next

Chapter 6: Wong isn’t surprised nor concerned

Tony couldn’t believe he was here. He should avoid this place. Never come back here. Or better; burn the whole thing down.

But Tony needed answers. God, he had so many questions.

He swallowed the boiling anger and knocked on the door of the sanctum. After a few seconds, it was Wong who opened.

He looked coldly at Tony. “Are you here to kill Stephen?”

One trait Tony appreciated in the man was that he was always straight to the point. No sugarcoating involved.

“Haven’t decided yet. Not before I talk to him.”

Wong nodded, deemed his decision fair. He walked away and left the door open for Tony, who followed inside.

“Are you also a bloodsucker?” he asked the sorcerer.

“No.”

“Prove it.”

“No.”

It sounded more like he didn’t care enough to do so. It could be exactly what a vampire would say. Wasn't it convenient that magic helped mask his smell? He could be anything; vampire, demon, ghoul… okay, no ghoul. Those were pale and rather bloated. They really looked the undead part. Like zombies.

Wong reached the big staircase and turned towards him. “Look, some sorcerers are vampires, some are human. We can co-exist if we really try. But I understand that your experience with vampires in the past hasn’t been the best.”

That was probably the longest Tony had ever heard Wong talk, so he didn’t quite know what to say. But the man was right that Tony was biased in his opinion about Vampires ever since they killed his parents and kidnapped him in Afghanistan.

Wong continued talking, walking upstairs. “Stephen is sulking in the library. Please don’t damage any books should you choose to fight him.”

The nonchalant way Wong talked about it made Tony wonder if he just didn’t care or if he didn’t think that Tony could actually hurt Strange… wait, sulking?

The Were made his way to the library. He was by now used to the unnecessarily long and weird hallways of the Sanctum. The maze-like paths were different every time he walked them, but he mostly ended up at the right place – sooner or later.

Only now did he realize that the building was perfect for housing vampires. No matter the temperature outside, it was always slightly too cool inside. And the windows showed different scenery, but there was never direct sunlight pouring in.

There was so much about the doctor's behavior that only now made sense. During the day, they had only met indoors when Tony was visiting the Sanctum. And their missions were always scheduled for the nights. Sometimes in the late evening or early morning, but especially those morning meetings the sorcerer had always kept quite short.

Stephen never ate any food Tony brought. He always had a plausible excuse at hand: he had just eaten, or wasn’t hungry.

Tony had been blind not to see the clues. Blinded by his crus-… friendship.

But that friendship was based on lies.

He finally entered the library. Stephen was reading, but had noticed his arrival, for he had lowered his book and fixed his gaze on Stark. His posture was tense.

Tony stopped in front of him and crossed his arms. “So?”

“So what?” Strange didn’t move. He was perfectly still, like a statue.

“Don’t you have anything to say? Like an apology for deceiving me?”

Stephen clenched his teeth. He was sure there weren’t any words that would help his case. “I have nothing for you.”

Tony’s anger flared up. “Really? Nothing? You lied to me!” he accused the sorcerer.

“I did not. I corrected you when you called me a witch. But you never once asked me if I was a vampire.”

The Were emitted a low growl, mostly in annoyance. “That’s a technicality and you know it.”

“What do you want me to say?” Strange asked him angrily. “Sorry I didn’t tell you I was a vampire the first time I met you – Tony Stark, Vampire Hunter? You would have killed me immediately.”

“You kinda saved my life so I would have at least waited a minute or two.” At least Tony liked to think that. But fact was that regarding the undead he usually shot first and asked questions later.

He growled again and this time Stephen hissed back, suddenly on his feet with his fangs out and his eyes flaring red.

The tension in the room was palpable as they faced each other – but nobody leaped forward. Nobody attacked first.

“Why did you come here?” Stephen asked.

“I don’t know…” Tony deflated visibly, his shoulder sagged. He had already wondered about the same question. “I just…” Realizing that he wasn’t about to kill Strange, that he didn’t want to do that, he flopped on the couch and looked at the sorcerer with his big brown puppy eyes. “Why did you take the bullets for Peter?”

Stephen too sat down. Albeit a little slower, on an armchair. His posture still was anything but relaxed, but he seemed less wary than before. He interlocked his fingers.

“The same reason why I protect the world from evil. And the same reason why I saved you from that rogue vampire all those months ago: I’m a doctor. I save lives.”

Tony snorted. “Last time I checked vampires had to drink human blood in order to survive. I don’t think there’s a vegan option here.”

“Blood bags.”

“Huh?”

Stephen looked up from his hands at Tony. “I haven’t taken blood from a human in a long time. Blood bags are sufficient.”

Tony didn't seem convinced. “Where do you get them?”

The Vamp looked at him as if it was obvious. “I used to work in a hospital and I still have a lot of connections.”

Tony stored that information away for later. The finger of both of his hands touched at their tips, his gaze fixed on them without really seeing them.

Nobody said anything. They both weren’t entirely sure where they stood with each other.

Finally, the Were sighed and rolled his shoulders. “Can I have a coffee?”

It made Stephen relax visibly - even if his posture still remained all proper - because he realized that if Tony asked for a drink, things would turn out okay.

“Of course.”

With a motion of his hand, Tony’s favorite mug appeared on the small table. Gratefully, the Were reached for it.

He still had a lot of questions. Like when did Strange get turned? According to reports, it was a painful and unpleasant procedure. Did he undergo it voluntarily?

Most Vamps did not – who would want to be a monst-… hunted by the government and society?

How had he achieved such good self-control?

And, “Does that mean you finally start eating in front of me? Or more like drinking. I was starting to think you had some kind of eating disorder. Not that I would judge that…”

Stephen's eyebrow wandered up. How could someone undead act so alive in his facial expressions?

“What I’m saying is,” Tony continued, “I wouldn’t mind if you drink your juice boxes in front of me.”

“They are not juice boxes,” the Vamp insisted.

“They are if you stick a straw in them.”

Stephen looked like he wanted to strangle him.

But he didn’t. He was perfectly in control. Probably more than some Weres Tony knew. Actually, he could never imagine Stephen attacking him.

___________

Tony: "I could never imagine Stephen attacking him." Me, the author of this story: "Yeah, well…about that…"

Tag list: @jekyllhydetrash @goopierthenyou Tell me if you wanna be added/removed

[oddcryptidwrites]

Worldbuilding in Five

Both @thetruearchmagos and @theprissythumbelina tagged me in this! I'm going to tag @anyablackwood, @laffy-taffy-creations, @mikathewriter, and whoever else wants to play!

Rules: post 3-5 images of a place in your world and tell us a bit about it.

So I feel like NYTF gets enough love...how about the world of Ateine? This is slightly more than 5.

Base Sky (Watcher settlement)

Base Sky is the primary Watcher (rebel) settlement, and is the host of its extensive government. Despite having a large population (well over one million people), Base Sky looks like an uninhabited jungle, as buildings are designed to blend into the trees and stretch deep into natural and hand-carved cave systems. Its crowning feature is a large, underground arena where Arena Combat Simulations are held, along with other large-crowd events such as concerts and performances. Base Sky is located in the dense, tropical jungle about 50km from Kaptol.

Kaptol

A bastardization of the word "Capital" and sometimes spelled Kp-tol, Kaptol is the large hexagon city where the first Ateineians were created/born/arrived (depending on your religious sect). It's a very large, technologically advanced city which erases its past as it builds to new and grander heights. The culture here is a massive melting pot, borrowing from each of the six partages. It is built on a peninsula, bordered to the north by a dense tropical jungle. The cliffs along the edge of the city drop of precipitously, lifting it high above the water.

The High Sanctum

In the midst of the hi-tech and quickly-evolving Kaptol is a building seemingly untouched by time: the High Sanctum. Built by the god AllPower herself, it is the religious, governmental, and cultural center of Ateine. It is a grand building of white stone, full of vaulted ceilings, towering columns, and 6 massive statues of the six gods. Each is over 10 meters tall, and on their pedestals, people leave offerings and sacrifices. Throughout its grandiose halls, the theocratic government of Ateine operates.

The High Sanctum's tallest spire is the highest point on Ateine; nothing can be built higher. High rises and skyscrapers throughout Kaptol and Ateine try to creep as close as they can.