#A FOOL HUSK OF A DAUGHTER LIKELY TO END HER DAYS UNDER A ROCK IN THE DEEP ROADS????????

[lavellane]

IVE NEVER GOT THIS HOWE DIALOGUE. THROWING UPPPPPPPPPPPP

[ofhighever-arc2]

@wanderism. alistair ;

           vengeance. lillian had one clear goal ever since she left highever --- or, to be more specific, duncan dragged her away from there, practically kicking and screaming. it saved her life, but most days she wished that he hadn’t. because all she could think about was what had been done to her family. what had been taken from her. 

          to the moment she opened her eyes in the morning to the moment she closed them again at night, eating, bathing, walking, climbing --- howe’s was the only face she could see. sometimes even more than the face of her parents, and that SCARED her a little. but not enough to make her reconsider. and the time came to face him, although not soon enough, and the things he said --- lily had always been FERAL, in and out of battle, but he brought something else out of her. his words still echoed inside her head.

          ❝  bryce cousland’s little spitfire, all grown up and still playing the man. ❞  his tone. his VENOM still rang in her ears. ❝  your parents died on their knees, your brother's corpse rots in ostagar, his brat was burned on a scarp heap along with his antivan whore of a wife. and what's left? a fool husk of a daughter, likely to end her days under a rock in the deep roads. even the wardens are gone. you're the last of nothing. this is pointless. you've lost. ❞

          lily opened her eyes, her head THROBBING with pain. she didn’t move for a few moments, still trying to remember what had happened. right. they rescued anora but cauthrien and the guards bested them in combat. she had been captured. the warden finally moved to sit up, her body complaining about every movement, and she noticed she wasn’t alone in her cell. alistair was there, sitting by the corner.  ❝ alistair? where’s... were we the only ones captured? ❞ of course. why would they be interested in wynne or leliana?

[braveaioli]

It Was Over

In which Demetria finally confronts Howe. Warning: graphics depictions of violence. 

Rage.

It wasn’t a quick rage, the kind that burned then fizzled out. She was familiar with that. Oh no. This was new. It was all ice. It was steel. It was enduring, unbroken, cold rage that she felt within her, taking up all the space in her lungs.

Howe was here, and he was going to wish that he’d never even been born. That he’d never even thought of bringing his army upon her family. He would wish it now, and his spirit would wish it even after death. This was her silent promise.

The memory of her family was no less alive than it had been almost a year ago. Her nephew, little Oren and his cheeky, toothless smile. Her only brother, Fergus, and the way he sang in the mornings. Her mother with her brilliant red hair, which she’d passed onto Demetria, having faded to grey. And her father. Her Papa. Her heart pained even at the ghost of a thought of him. She missed him so much it felt like her grief was etched into her bones.

The thought of them was almost too much. Time had helped--only a little, but it did--as had Alistair’s comfort. Their mission had distracted her from the constant pangs of sorrow. But now that she was near, now that she was right here in Howe’s estate, the only thing on her mind was her family--and what she was going to do to Howe.

They moved quietly throughout the castle, trying to keep a guise of stealth so as to not alert the entire estate. Eventually, they approached a wooden door in a room deep below. Even from here, in their thick leathers and armor, they could feel the air grow colder and stiffer. The dungeons. What hideous things would they find here?

Alistair, Morrigan and Leliana moved swiftly behind Demetria as she put her hand on the doorknob. Giving a quick nod, she swung it up and charged in, sword and shield raised.

And there he was. Demetria stopped. She had been expecting him somewhere in this castle and she had been readying for it. But finding him—seeing his ugly, rat face--somehow made every emotion burrow deeper within her. That icy rage started to burn hot. She’d never wanted to hurt someone so badly. She’d never wanted to wring their neck between her own two hands.

Howe stood there, his face sneering. He was dressed in armor, clearly expecting a fight. Behind him, her peripheral could make out the forms of guards. Good, she thought. She wanted him to believe he had a chance. It would make his downfall even sweeter.

“Well, look here,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “Bryce Cousland’s little spitfire, all grown up and still playing the man.” He crossed his arms. “I thought Loghain made it clear that your pathetic family is gone and forgotten.”

Demetria was on edge, every muscle in her body ready to pounce. She didn’t want to hear his words. His lies. “You won’t forget. Their memory drove me to you.” She sounded calmer than she felt, her voice steady and low. But Howe only smirked and continued.

“Your parents died on their knees, your brother’s corpse rots in Ostagar, and his brat was burned on a scrap heap along with his Antivan whore of a wife.”

Alistair made a noise behind her, as if he was about to protest. But Demetria could have laughed at those words. She could see it now—the fear, the desperation in him. He was doing everything he could to compromise her. He was throwing every punch he could muster. But it didn’t change what was about to happen.

“And what’s left? A fool husk of a daughter likely to end her days under a rock in the Deep Roads. Even the Wardens are gone. You’re the last of nothing. This is pointless.” He stopped, savoring his next words. “You’ve lost.”

“You lie, Howe,” she replied, so low her voice was almost too quiet. “To yourself most of all.”

“There it is! Right there! That damned look in the eye that marked every Cousland success that held me back.” With that, his smirk was gone and he drew up his sword. “It would appear that you made something of yourself after all,” he paused, almost sounding regretful. “Your father would have been proud.”

At his command, the guards behind him charged forth, bringing their swords down upon them.

Demetria raised her shield, blocking the wild swings of his men coming at her. She practically ignored them, her feet carrying her forward to Howe. He attacked, swinging his sword but she blocked it with her shield, then pushed forward, slamming her shield into his arm. He cried out, but kept lunging. She met him with her sword this time, putting him on the defensive, and gathered more and more strength as she continued to pummel him with blows.

Behind her, Demetria’s companions were fighting hard, keeping his men off of her, grunting and slashing and crying out. But she wasn’t paying attention. She could only see Howe. She could only hear his labored breaths as he struggled to block her attacks.

Fury consumed her, a carnal, head-pounding flood of rage. Her ears were ringing. She could only see red. He kept blocking, and trying to attack, but she countered every move. She was a Grey Warden. She was battle-tested. She’d been in the thick of it every day for an entire year, and he was just a spineless, old man with more spite in his heart than strength in his muscle. She could best him. She would.

With a cry, her next blow threw the sword straight out of his hand. He looked at her for a second, before lunging to grab it and dropping his shield. She pounced, neglecting every battle lesson she’d ever learned, and dropped her sword. Demetria tackled him, her weight pinning him to the ground. Her fist met his jaw before he even had time to react. He cried out, begging for his men to come save him. Again and again, her fist met his face, leaving it bloodier and bloodier until it became almost unrecognizable.

Behind her, her companions finished up the last of Howe’s men and stared to watch. She was screaming now, a feral cry, and hot tears blinded her, streaming down her face. Howe was gurgling, his bloodied face torn and pulverized. Her knuckles had busted and were covered in red.

She didn’t feel Alistair grab her shoulders to pull her off of him. She didn’t feel him put her arms around her, or his voice giving soft shushes to calm her. She didn’t feel her body collapse to its knees. She didn’t feel anything. Her body was wracked with sobs; her gasps ringing loud in the cold, stone dungeon. She was staring at Howe’s body, lifeless now, the gurgling stopped. It was over.

It was over.

So why didn't she feel relief?

[badly-drawn-piplup]

Happiness Overload Chapter Eleven

I always knew I was destined for greatness.

Back when I was just a little girl, my father brought me with him to his work. It was ″Take Your Daughter to Work Day″ and I was intrigued to finally see what his place of business was like. He explained to me that he was a scientist who was working with other top scientists in their field in order to better humanity. Such words flew over my head.

″Why do you need to better humanity?″ I asked him, the frail fellow, as tall and thin as a broomstick, and as hairy as the bristles of one as well. ″You should be bettering me!″

″Oh, sweetie. You are a part of humanity.″

″What about you?″ I knew something was up. Every day when he came home from work, he looked different. Older. Much more than he should have. When I was four years old he looked to be in his 40s. I knew he was only 25 when I was born. It should have felt magical to this little girl, but instead it made me uneasy.

″I'm human, too! I'm just a busy man!″ He scratched his head as he spoke.

He's starting to sweat. He's hiding something, I analyzed.

While it may be true that I was only nine years old, I had read enough books on body language to know when someone was being facetious.

″You're lying,″ I told him.

″You're a sharp one, kiddo!″ He smirked. I hated how carefree he could be. It was so human of him. ″When you're older, you'll understand!″

″No,″ I responded. ″You brought me with you to this place. Am I supposed to watch these scientists act as lab rats?″I looked down the rafters. There were hundreds cubicles, only four square feet each. In each cubicle was a scientist, standing still and writing down notes on a clipboard. ″If they are the control group, what does the treatment group look like?″

″Follow me,″ he instructed.

In the next room, we looked down to see an identical scene, except this time, many of the scientists were bobbing their heads back and forth. I noticed the echo chamber of idle chatter. It made me want to throw a rock at everyone making such noise.

″The scientists were told to keep a journal and write down their thoughts for the day. The first group you saw was deprived of sleep and forced to be on their feet for several hours at a time. The same group, to avoid false positives, also did the same. The difference between the first and the second group is that the second group were injected with an experimental serotonin drug.″

″What is your hypothesis?″ I asked of him.

″To see if those with higher levels of serotonin are generally happier and more well adjusted to situations, even under pressure.″

″Isn't depriving your subjects of sleep unethical? Doesn't it break the Hippocratic Oath?″

My father shook his head. He looked utterly exhausted, as if he were a subject in an experiment as well.

″Ethics hinders progress! If every experiment was ethical, we would have never advanced as a society!″ He declared. It was then that I saw a new found respect in my father. He was showing conviction. Something I wish he had shown more often.

″Agreed. Say, dad, what is this place again?″

He pat my head, something that made me growl. My silver hair was very delicate, prone to shedding.

″I work for an organization called The Flashbulb, dear.″

Down a dimly lit spiral staircase, the elder Beige led me to what I would end up telling Conrad was their ″bong collection.″

″What exactly do you want to show me?″ I asked.

The elder stroked their beard. ″Just a little further down...″

″Damn, the suspense is killing me. Can't you just tell me?″

″Very well,″ sighed the elder. ″We Beiges believe that everything in existence have memories. What I am about to show you is our advantage over The Flashbulb: The Hall of Memories. Within it contains the memories of everyone and everything in existence throughout every universe.″

I mouthed the word ″whoa″.

″But why are you showing me this? Why not Conrad?″ I asked.

″Conrad is a member of The Flashbulb. It wouldn't serve us well to show him,″ he replied all matter-of-fact.

″Oh. That's a rather anticlimactic reveal.″ I guess it might have explained some things, but you'd think there'd be more tension or suspense built around such a revelation. Also, did it really make any sense? He always talked about how he wanted to end that group. Oh well, I trusted the elder's judgement.

″So why me, then? Am I some kind of prophetic chosen one?″

The elder Beige shrugged. ″Eh, you just seemed chill.″

I snapped my fingers. Once again, disappointing. It would have been so much cooler if I found out I was destined to take up some sort of epic cause.

I always knew I was destined for greatness.

As I grew older, I would sneak to my father's work rather than going to school. I was much smarter than those other students, and I wanted to be a student of a higher science, one that could improve the world, advance humanity, and most importantly, advance my position of power.

At 14 years old, I was nearly six feet tall. Because of this, I managed to blend in with the other scientists.

″Hey!″ I overheard one of them yell in the break room. ″I can't find my lab coat!″

″Did you leave it at home?″ Another asked. Those two fools, calling themselves scientists, couldn't even keep track of their own clothing. How were they supposed to be trusted with valuable data? Meanwhile, I stole their clothes and inserted myself into their experiments.

At times it was torture, but I put myself through whatever they asked of the subjects, knowing that it was for a higher purpose. In the back of my mind, I knew I would one day be at the other end, conducting the experiments.

Despite knowing my father's schedule by heart, making sure I returned home right before he did, I still made a dire error.

″I keep getting calls from the school that you haven't been showing up. Care to explain?″ He demanded, his voice gruff. He had become a shrunken husk. Old age has taken hold of him.

At the time, I didn't understand how he was aging so much when I went to the Flashbulb HQ with him and arrived home at the same time as him, but as I grew older, I also grew to understand. He slipped up; he spent too many years at work and not enough days at home.

″I'm sorry, father. I'm a junkie. I have been shooting heroin and turning to prostitution to get my fix,″ I deadpanned.

″Har har,″ he gave a fake laugh. ″You're lucky I'm just gullible enough to believe that. I'm enrolling you in a strict private school. That should teach you a lesson.″

If I were sent to live in a private school, I could no longer sneak to The Flashbulb's headquarters. I could no longer study with the best. My education, everything I had worked up to thus far, would mean nothing.

So I grabbed a pistol out from underneath the couch cushion and shot him. Cold? Heartless? Maybe. But he was hindering progress. All the time he spent time traveling was finally starting to take its toll on him. Old age was catching up. His death, by all accounts, was a mercy killing.

Just as I stared and studied my father's lifeless body, two men stepped forward.

″Good job,″ one congratulated. ″We've been trying to get rid of Fredrick for months now. He was really starting to slack on the job.″

It wasn't a hallucination. I was aware of what those felt like through experiments. Shooting my father didn't put me through any kind of shock, either. It could have been that a portal opened up and they stepped out from that.

″Etna Montclair, how would you like to take your father's place and work with us?″ The voice of the other man offered. This one whistled every other word, or so it seemed. I lifted my head up, shifting my gaze from my lifeless old man to the two standing in my living room.

One was short with braided hair and a pony tail, the other was tall and bald. Both had bushy eyebrows, but the short one had a monocle over his right eye.

″Allow us to introduce ourselves,″ the short one said. ″I am Director Vyers, and standing next to me is Director Laharl.″

″Pleased to make your acquaintance,″ Director Laharl whistled. The two took a bow, then Director Vyers punched Director Laharl in the stomach.

″Come on, now, Laharl! We're here to offer her a job, not for formalities!″

″He...he didn't mean to,″ director Laharl winced.

″Indeed. It was just a reflex,″ explained Director Vyers.

It all felt forced; their slapstick routine seemed rehearsed. If my analysis was correct, Director Laharl wasn't in any real pain and the two were just trying to get me to lower my guard.

″Oh, come on! Say something, Miss Montclair! We already know you've worked for us before in secret. You think you could just steal clothing and pose as a scientist without being noticed? We have cameras everywhere. We see all.″

I gave no response. I know they wanted a reaction out of me, but there must have been a sign on my brain that said ″temporarily out of reactions. Sorry for the inconvenience.″

″Truth be told, we've been waiting for someone like you. You're a real go-getter. Killing your father showed that you're willing to put your foot in the door. Now, you could join us, or you could wait for the police to show up and arrest you.″

I looked back down. He wasn't breathing. A pool of blood filled the carpet. That's right: he was still dead. I killed him. Even with the soundproof walls he had installed, it wouldn't take much for someone to find out. These two men were giving me a chance: advance my career with The Flashbulb or cut my career short. I already knew what the correct answer was.

″I'm in.″

From then on, I worked at The Flashbulb's headquarters as an inventor. I had my own team of scientists assist me. It took them a bit to warm up to me, since they all had doctorates while I dropped out of high school, but I managed to win them over before long.

″I can't believe I have to work with this bitch!″ One of my assistants assigned to me complained. Another two joined in.

″I know what you mean! She never even went to a university! What does she have to show for herself?″

″Good for nothing. Why did Directors Laharl and Vyers even hire her for?″

I was sitting down eating lunch in the break room while the others vented their frustration. My spaghetti was starting to get cold and I got up to warm my food in the microwave. At the same moment I opened the microwave door, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

″Hey! Why should we have to listen to you?″ The owner of said hand, an almost 30 year old man straight out of graduate school, demanded an answer. I understood his frustration, but now really wasn't the time. Not only that, but he was in violation of my personal space.

In response, I grabbed his hand and stabbed him with my fork. While he was complaining about how much pain he was in, I put my plate in the microwave and set it for two minutes.

″You...you fucking bitch!″ He grunted. I looked over and saw him crouched, still bothered by his injury. There was a thick red substance trickling down and covering his hand.

How much is blood and how much is spaghetti sauce? I wondered.

″I think I should get a new fork...″ I muttered.

″I'm reporting you to HR!″ One of the other scientists, in shock, yelled.

For a moment, a smile found its way onto my face.

″There are cameras all over, watching and listening in on us,″ I informed the poor fool. ″If they wanted me gone, I would be. If they wanted me not to lead you,″ I scanned the room, making sure that everyone in the room was my audience. ″I wouldn't be here. Dwell on that.″

As I said, I managed to win them over before long.

Even with the occasional grunts and groans from my peers, we cooperated on our first invention: a satellite that would send anyone within a twelve block radius into a relaxed state. However, the we couldn't get the right signals to send out, and even our most successful attempt ended up sending our subjects into a frenzied and zombie-like state. We were about to throw it away when a few scientists from elsewhere took notice.

″Hey, if you're not going to use that, maybe we can take it?″ They asked.

″And who might you be?″ I asked, my hand leaned up against my desk. I always had a gun hidden just in case someone who wasn't supposed to be there showed up.

One of them put their hand on their chest. ″I'm Dr. Sodapop,″ the scientist answered. ″The rest of my team are from the Population Department.″

″...Department?″

The whole group of them laughed. Acid stirred in my stomach. The desire to shoot them all was climbing its way from the back of my mind to the front. I would have to push it back if it got too pervasive.

″You've been here how long and you don't know about the various departments?″ Another scientist, the tag on their jacket read ″Dr. Ponyboy″, asked.

″Three years.″

″Still a rookie, I see,″ Dr. Ponyboy nodded. ″The various departments that make up The Flashbulb are each assigned to a version of Earth that has a specific, but fundamental problem. It could be at any point in time, with anything being possible. It is our goal, as an organization, to solve these problems and make every version of Earth a better place for humanity. Our department is to make sure the population never gets too high or low.″ ″So why would you want this defective satellite?″

Dr. Sodapop shrugged. ″We were thinking maybe we could take a look at it, possibly tweak it and make it more effective.″

I sighed. ″Go ahead. My team has no use for it. If you can get it to work, knock yourself out.″

As the team, clad in leather jackets, left, I found myself dwelling on the various departments. Those who belonged to one seemed to have more free rein than those working in the labs. If I could get myself into a department, I could work down on Earth, improve the lives of others and see the results firsthand.

I knew what I had to do now. If I didn't do whatever it took to be put into a department, I would never achieve the greatness I knew I was meant for.

Dr. Vyers' office was just across from the lab I worked in. I knocked three times before letting myself in. His door was always unlocked.

As soon as he saw me, he got out of his seat and took a bow. ″Such a pleasure to see you,″ he greeted. ″Please, take a seat.″

I did as instructed.

″Now, what brings you into my office?″

″What do I have to do to get into a department?″ I got right to the point by asking.

″Miss Montclair, you do realize we value you, yes?″ He deflected.

″I am aware,″ I responded. But that's not enough.

″Very well. I can tell you're serious about this,″ he smiled as he said. ″Everyone who works in a department holds a doctorate in something. You, while smart, no doubt about that, haven't even completed high school.″

″Are you talking down to me?″

″Not at all, but...″ he paused to reach down and grab a folder. ″Holding such a certificate is a prerequisite. I will fill out a request form for you to get your education. Understand that if approved, it will be quite the undertaking.″

″I understand. At least five years away from my team.″

He shook his head. ″Time is not an issue. It could be ten years, when all is said and done. You could end up being sent to a time before you were born and given a new identity. When you return, you could appear next to your team only an instant after you last saw them.″ He gave a light chuckle. ″Of course, you will still age. They'll surely notice that.″

I stared at him, unsure what to say next.

″Now, before I fill this out and submit it to Grandmaster Flash, I want a confirmation.″ His expression changed, less laid back and more that of a world-weary teacher. ″Are you prepared to undertake whatever challenges you may face?″ There wasn't even a question about it. Ever since that ″take your daughter to work day″ I knew who I wanted to be.

″Without a doubt.″

Director Vyers grinned. ″Glad to hear it.″

Grandmaster Flash. Such was the title only heard in passing mention, but the notion was the same: above the lab scientists, above the ones who worked in departments, above the directors, was the true leader. The one who decided what was best for The Flashbulb. It was Grandmaster Flash who assigned the departments, it was Grandmaster Flash who approved or denied documents, and it was I who would one day take up the title of Grandmaster Flash.

I knew this. It had to be so. No one else knew what they were doing. They just followed a faceless figure who compartmentalized everyone and everything at their disposal. Incremental change could never achieve what swift, major improvements could.

That was why, little by little, I would work my way up and one day find myself sitting at the throne I imagined someone like Grandmaster Flash sat atop. Under my management, I would remodel The Flashbulb until it was a symbol of a brighter future. No, not just that: a symbol of happiness.

Only one step was taken after leaving Vyers' office before he called my name from within. I opened the door once more.

″Good news: you have been approved. You start now.″ There was a portal next to a potted plant and a poster of Wayne Gretzky. I stepped in and began my next new life. It wasn't the first time I , and it wouldn't be the last.

During my years of schooling, I devoted every waking hour to studies. In lecture halls and classrooms, labs and fields, I heard murmurs and whispers about me. Some claimed I was a demon, or succubus. Rumors started circulating that I had killed someone. No, it was more than that. It was that I had a pile of bodies stacked somewhere, just rotting away. The only reason I got so fixated on what I heard was because of how amusing they were.

Although none of the rumors were true, I almost wished that I was a succubus rather than someone pursuing a degree. When I looked at myself, I saw someone twice their age; wrinkles on her face, graying hairs in what was once a silky silver, and a hunched stature. An old witch from fairy tales came to mind, not someone who would hold the title of 'Doctor' or 'Professor'.

At age 27, I returned to my team not a moment later than I last saw them. Gone were the whispers about how cruel or unqualified I was, but at the same time, nothing else took its place. No one commented on my sudden aging or the fact that I now held the qualifications they once mocked me for not having. That's when it clicked: they weren't the same people, either. They were a variation of the people I worked with before, only these people knew not of my violent tendencies or the fact that I was once unqualified. Maybe they knew my certification held a different name, but that the name belonged to me. It was hard to say just what they knew, for I didn't know. I looked around at all the scientists I had worked with, but never bothered to learn their names.

Oh well. Perhaps another day.

Sure enough, it was only a day later and I was hunched over at my desk, reading a report, when one of my fellow scientists approached me.

″Dr. Montclair, would you mind giving this material a look?″

″Please, it's Etna,″ I corrected.

They flustered about. ″Sorry, so sorry, Etna.″

″Did I give you permission to use my first name?″ I grimaced. ″You will address me as Dr. Etna, not just Etna.″

To be honest, I didn't give two shits about titles, I just wanted to flex my authority. I thought, at the time, that I would one day go from Dr. Etna to Grandmaster Flash. I should have known better than to have such delusions.

One day I sat with the Beiges in a circle. Chairs must have gone out of style, or they just moved them upstairs. That's where I should have been. Maybe it was the fact that I deemed this the unspoken ″losers circle″ that I felt like joining in. Let's face it: I was a loser as well.

Blanc sat in the middle, weaving baskets, not seeming to mind any of the smoke. Any other day, I would have hated the stench, but I think I was too drenched in it to care. I was lost in the haze of it all, that is, until one of the Beiges snapped me back into reality.

″Say, what's your story?″ The Beige pointed at me and croaked.

″My story?″ I pointed at myself as well, just to make sure we were getting the right person. ″What's there to tell? Once upon a time I was born and now I'm here.″

″Oh come on, there's gotta be more than that! Why are you here?″

I made little flitting gestures with my hand, trying to get the point across that there was no point to get across. The Beige just stared, pupils likely to have been dilated if the Beige had pupils.

″Look, my past isn't all that important,″ I admitted. I didn't even think I was all that important. What impact did the things I do have and what good was I here? I couldn't wrap my brain around either question and I had a sneaking suspicion I was high.

″No,″ an elder Beige spoke up right before a series of coughs. When the coughing subsided, the elder continued. ″The past is the only thing that's important.″

″Wow, dude. Way to make me feel extra regret over my many fuck ups,″ I scoffed.

Blanc looked up. ″Why's that, elder?″

″We Beige believe that there is no present or future, only the past. For once something has happened, it is part of the past. The future is merely something that has yet to become part of the past.″

″So,″ the other Beige, the one who asked me about my past, spoke up again. ″What's your story?″

I cleared my throat. ″You ready? Here goes...when I was born, my parents stared at little baby Velvet and proclaimed 'you're gay' and that was that. I was branded. My parents took me to a Catholic boarding school while they traveled the world and partied. One day the nun saw me drawing pictures of my girlfriend who I was given at age 13 as part of my rite of passage. She took out the board and announced to class 'this child is going to hell!' And I was all 'yeah, probably'. Then I ran to my dorm, packed my bags, and headed to the airport. I showed the attendant my fake passport and had just enough money saved up to go to Sweden. I panhandled for a while until I saved up enough money to change my name to Velvetica Jones, where I then --″

″Did any of that really happen?″ The Beige asked.

″Well...″ I was about to begin when Blanc chimed in.

″Velvet's actually a spy! She's one of those 'femme fatale' types!″

″No,″ I sighed, and corrected Blanc. ″I'm just a tired femme.″

I always thought I was destined for greatness.

″Just what is that thing?″ I peered at the substance in the jar. It looked like some kind of tar, or jelly. No, what I was reminded of was a spider that had been squashed, and yet moved, somehow growing hundreds upon hundreds of tinier legs on top of its body, becoming something more than a spider. Not even that analogy did it justice, though.

″We don't know,″ the scientist shook their head. ″We tried doing tests, but found no actual genetic structure.″

″That makes no sense. Where did you find it?″

″Remember when you had us shadow the Education Department?″

Of course I didn't, but I wasn't about to let that on. Especially when I could be humored. I nodded my head.

″Well, a comet crashed into one of the universities and a large crowd rushed over to check out the damage. There's just something about destruction. It's a universal thing – we just love to watch it.″

″Uh-huh,″ I nodded.

″So anyway, when Dr. Kant told everyone classes wouldn't be canceled, the crowd got bummed and walked away. Not me! I was still fixated on the comet. One of the scientists, Dr. Livingstone, I presume, was all 'there's nothing to see here' but I was too busy thinking 'it would sure make me happy if there was something to see here'. Sure enough, I saw that dark substance you see before you!″

I was about to comment about how stupid that version of Earth must have been, when the young scientist interrupted me. I made a mental note to stab them later. No one gets to interrupt me.

″I'm not done yet! So anyway, I reached into my coat and got a jar, and the substance just wouldn't get in my jar. It was like I was looking at an optical illusion! Finally, I got so frustrated that I said out loud, 'I'D BE REAL HAPPY IF YOU WENT IN THIS JAR!' One of the scientists in the Education Department turned around. I assume Dr. Livingstone, but I couldn't say for certain. He was all 'the fuck?' but I didn't give a hoot. It was in the jar, just as you see now!″

″I don't know what to make of any of this,″ I caught myself saying aloud.

″You don't think I'm crazy, do you?″ Asked the scientist.

″Well, to put it bluntly --″ I began, but was interrupted by the sound of two pairs of hands clapping. I turned around, ready to stab two people at once, when instead, I saw Directors Laharl and Vyers, smiling.

I bowed my head. Those two men gave me the life I had. I owed so much to them that I could never hope to repay, at least not in a single lifetime. Despite believing that I would one day usurp them, I still held the two in high regard.

″Congratulations on your discovery, Dr. Shoggoth,″ Director Laharl applauded the young scientist.

″Th-thank you! It means a lot coming from one of the higher ups!″ Dr. Shoggoth started stammering. It seemed the scientist was still too young to know the horrors that the universe held.

″Don't mention it,″ Director Laharl whistled. ″Mind if we speak with Dr. Etna for a bit?″

″Huh? Oh, I don't mind! I'm too fascinated by this little thing! It's kinda cute in its own little way! Oh, I hope I don't seem a little...mad. I know, I know, I'm a scientist. It's in the job description to be mad, but you know what? I think I've reached the pinnacle of happiness, oh yes, I have! And happiness is the opposite of madness!″

Dr. Shoggoth was starting to sound like a real pain in the ass. I couldn't imagine any version of me ever working with someone like that. Being around Dr. Shoggoth any longer would have likely drove me insane, and that would have been a feat for the ages.

″Please,″ I whispered. ″Take me away.″

We started walking down a hall which led to an unfamiliar lab. No other scientists were present, but devices I hadn't before seen stood, casting a shadow throughout that should have clued me in to the fact that something was amiss. Rather than fear, my head was too filled with a different form of excitement, one defined by optimism.

″Dr. Etna, we have a proposal for you,″ Director Vyers began.

″Yes?″

″How would you like to be head of a brand new department?″ Director Laharl offered.

Inside, a miniature version of me, with horns and devil wings jumped for joy. I ignored such a childish reaction, however.

″It would be an honor, sir.″

I should have paid better attention to the machinery behind the two gentlemen. Multiple computers, lined up, some kind of infrared camera overhead, a monitor towered over the many computers, and next to those three things was something that looked like a large drill, or a spiraled concave cannon.

″Excellent. You see, there's a version of Earth where the spirits of the people are at an all time low; political corruption runs amok, police brutality goes on without repercussion, and everyone who isn't ultra wealthy is in debt over something. We need someone who can lift the spirits of these people, make them feel more relaxed about their lives. Thus, we would like someone like you to lead the newly created Morale Department.″

Red flags started raising from the way he emphasized 'like' and not 'you'.

The devil in me took down the flags.

Shut up! It screamed at caution. This is the greatness I was meant for!

″When do I start?″ I blurted out.

The two laughed. ″Why, right now.″

My heart raced. ″This is all going on so fast...″

″Time travel will do that to you,″ Dr. Vyers chuckled.

Dr. Laharl coughed. ″Now, we spoke with our analyst and he reported that people are much more likely to listen to an artificial intelligence than a human being.″

″What?″ I found myself lost. For as smart as I was, I just couldn't piece together what he was hinting at. Such a fool I turned out to be.

″Relax, we came to a compromise,″ he explained. ″You will lead the department, but you, or shall I say, we, will have no need for a human body. We are going to transfer your image, your memories, your consciousness, your personality, into this here machine, where you, as an AI system will have the power to monitor the world through any camera system. You will have the freedom to command a whole group of scientists and inventors to create whatever you desire, all without ever having to leave a room.″

″You make it sound like a good thing,″ I scoffed, taking a step back.

″Oh, and it is! You will be magnificent!″

″Not if I refuse!″ I yelled, a shift in my tone I never remembered having. I turned, ready to take brisk steps and get the hell out of there. Just as I turned, however, I noticed something cold coil its way around my ankles.

″You already accepted, my dear. No take backs,″ Dr. Vyers smirked.

I grunted. I reached down and grabbed my legs, trying to free myself. Such a struggle didn't last long as a pair of metal claws shot down from the ceiling and clamped onto my wrists. Even as I squirmed, I realized it was hopeless. Before either of the directors could get a word in, I tried shrieking, using whatever hope I had left to try to get someone's attention.

″This room is soundproof,″ Dr. Laharl pointed out. ″So scream to your heart's content.″

That just made me angrier. My voice went shriller and shriller yet until I realized that it wasn't simple anger. Many things in the past had displeased me, given me discontent. When my father tried sending me to a boarding school, I was angry. This was different. This was complete and utter betrayal.

″We shall name you 'The ETNA Project',″ declared Directors Laharl and Vyers in unison.

Louder and louder were my screams, until they sounded so distant. So far away from me. I opened my eyes, only they weren't there to open. My face was several feet away. I could hear bones cracking, blood spilling from the sides, and the flesh that I once called my home, flattening.

Whether the end, or the beginning, I was unsure. I could hear myself fall to the floor before the thing I thought was a drill turned out to be a ray of sorts, which shot a beam. I was going to dissolve. Where I belonged now was unclear, but a thought echoed before everything else faded:

Was this the greatness I was destined for?

″Now I kinda feel bad for her,″ I remarked. ″I wish I could've saved her somehow.″

When the elder Beige and I entered the hall of memories, I looked around to see a library stretching for what seemed like miles, all underground, all with dim lanterns lighting the way. I chose a random book from one of the shelves, not knowing what I would find, and started reading. What I ended up reading, coincidentally, was the tale of Etna Montclair, who, as an AI and head of the ETNA Corporation, tried to kill me.

The elder Beige shook their head. ″One cannot change the past.″

″Well what about whatever The Flashbulb uses to travel through time and space?″

″That's not changing the past. That's creating a new one.″

″Well, fine! I'll create a new past and save her in that one!″

The elder Beige shrugged. ″If you insist.″

I shrugged as well, just to be on the same page. ″I don't really know. Not sure how I would go about that. It's just a nice thought, y'know?″

″Even if you did, what then?″

I tapped my foot and tried to think of an answer. Nothing was coming to mind, but that didn't stop me from making such a gesture to suggest that I was still thinking.

″Would you desire to use the same tactics as The Flashbulb?″ The elder asked.

″Now that's a good question!″ I snapped my fingers. ″I mean, would you hate me if I did?″

″No. Truth be told, there's something admirable about The Flashbulb. Sure, they're fools for believing that the past can change, but that's because they're comprised of humans. Humans themselves are foolish, but quite tenacious. They, being human, think they know what's best for humanity. When we first landed here, we thought we knew what was best for humanity. Of course, we being foreigners, and humans having a thing against foreigners, clashed.″

″Yeah, xenophobia sure is something.″

″Alas, there is one thing they have yet to discover,″ the elder added.

″Besides the hall of memories?″

″Yes, besides the hall of memories. They have yet to figure out that they won't last.″

″Whoa! How's that?″

″Because nothing lasts, and even nothing doesn't last. We Beige won't last, either, and we all know it. The ones you see in this pyramid are the last of our kind. The Flashbulb, in all their foolishness, believe that given enough do-overs, humanity can last forever.″

″Can it?″ I asked after spacing out.

The elder gave a wrinkled smile. ″Who knows? Truth be told, there is one thing we believe that lasts forever, and that's memories.″

″But don't people forget things? Or can't someone remember things differently from how they really happened?″

″Someone can lose their memories, but that doesn't mean the memories are lost. Memories don't lose people.″

This exchange was reminding me all too well of the ″if a tree falls in a forest...″ question.

The elder Beige started walking away, but I was way too curious to want to do the same.

″Mind if I stay down here a bit?″ I asked.

″Go right ahead. Just don't go too far back,″ they warned.

″Why's that?″ I asked.

″I keep my bong collection down here. I'd throw a fit if any of them were to break.″

So whenever I got bored, I would go down and read through random memories of people, places, and things. I knew I couldn't tell Conrad the truth. Who knew how he might have exploited a place like this? I sure didn't know, and the knowledge that I didn't have made me wary.

When I reemerged from the Hall of Memories upon the first time visiting, Conrad was still standing by the door, appearing agitated as all hell.

″What did the elder Beige show you? Was it a weapon of sorts? Don't believe a word the Beiges tell you. Remember they're our enemy. Were they trying to manipulate you? Did it work?″ Conrad interrogated. It was clear the guy was jealous as fuck, but I was ready to be the bearer of disappointing news.

″It was just a bong collection,″ I shrugged. ″Unless they're weapons of vapor destruction, I don't think it was anything special.″

Sure, I was selling what I saw short, but I had to. Conrad wouldn't have been able to handle it. He just didn't understand the simpler things in life.

Neither did I. Not just yet. But with each passing visit to the Hall of Memories, a feeling gnawed at me.

This will all become useful, the feeling seemed to suggest. I didn't know how, but I hoped that the feeling was right.

There was something different about this Blanc and not just that there had been different versions of Blanc in the past. No, I've spent three years getting to know this Blanc, but the day I took off with them in my ship, waving goodbye to the pyramids as we ascended, I couldn't help but feel off about the person I was standing next to.

″I can't believe we just up and left Conrad behind,″ I lamented.

″You're the one who said we should,″ Blanc pointed out.

″Grr...″ I growled. ″I mean, yeah, I did, but now what? I didn't exactly plan that far.″

″What do you want to do?″ Blanc asked me. I knew what the question was, but it almost felt like I was being asked ″what would make you happy?″ I didn't know, but I swore when I made the decision to take off that I would figure it out.

While pondering such a question, I didn’t realize that Blanc had walked off until I heard the sound of rustling from the back of the ship.

″Hey!″ I yelled. ″You better not be getting into the Doritos!″

″Why's there only 'Cool Ranch' flavor?″ Blanc whined.

″Because that's the only flavor worth eating!″

I let out a deep sigh. There. Got the obligatory product placement out of the way. If this was an action movie and I was the main actress, I would be rolling in money right now.

Out the window, clouds shifted along the skies, slinking and slithering as if they were snakes made of water in a fish tank, only there were no fish, and there was no tank. Only water. All boundaries were artificial. Shit. What was I going on about? Who cares. I let slip a smile.

″I can't believe we made it onto the ship without a hitch,″ I blurted. Truly amazed, I was. Usually there was some kind of complication, but instead here I was, free to go wherever I so desired.

″Yeah, and to think we didn't,″ replied Blanc, just a few feet behind me. I heard no footsteps, no indication that Blanc was anywhere but where I put my snacks.

I turned around. Blanc was standing there with a shit eating grin.

″What are you talking about?″

″Originally you died, and I nearly died too. Well, I didn't nearly die, and you didn't die. It was more like another version of you died and the other me found a way to make things different,″ Blanc explained, but in a way that explained nothing.

″You're scaring me...″ I muttered. ″You're starting to sound like Conrad.″

″Yeah, I guess time travel will do that to ya.″

I was at a loss for words and Blanc, with the gloomy way they seemed so carefree about the notion of such peril wasn't helping. Blanc must have taken notice.

″Here, I'll tell you everything that happened, or as much as I can remember. Keep in mind, I only read about it. I didn't get to experience it for myself.″

Everything seemed to either be swirling or melting away and I felt the strong urge to land the ship.

[erikacousland]

"Well, look here. Bryce Cousland's little spitfire, all grown up and still playing the man."

"I thought Loghain made it clear that your pathetic family is gone and forgotten."

"I never thought you'd be fool enough to turn up here. But then I never thought you'd live, either." Glad to disappoint you. It won't be the last time. "Is this about your family? Still? But I have done so much more than wipe your name from Ferelden memory. And what's left? A fool husk of a daughter likely to end her days under a rock in the Deep Roads. Even the Wardens are gone. You're the last of nothing. This is pointless. You've lost." I know your game. No shadows, no lies. Just you and me. "There it is. Right there! That damned look in the eye that marked every Cousland success that held me back. It would appear that you have made something of yourself after all. Your father would be proud. I, on the other hand, want you dead more than ever."

"Maker spit on you... I deserved... more..."

Dragon Age: Origins Screenshots 1920×2160

The Landsmeet, Part 2: Rescue the Queen 

"Howe has lost everything. That bastard. Vengeance is bitter, but I think about Oren... it barely seems like it's enough." - Fergus Cousland

Erika equipped the Cousland Family Sword (T3) now, and her special T3 Crow Dagger name Cousland Dagger. In my story, this dagger and her twin are 15 year-old birthday present from Fergus.

[brashwriting]

Pale Devil 1.1

At one time, my life was free for the taking. I didn't care how it was used, so long as I was never forced to suffer. I knew I would be forced to live a long life under the dominion of another. At any point in time, I could have freed myself. But free from what? If not an instrument, I was a servant to alienation.

My memories imply feelings that I no longer recognize. In the present, nothing I do can return the forgotten feelings. But they are forgotten, so how would I know them if they returned?

It's nice outside. I remember it - the way the sun brightens my skin, the feeble pitch of partridges brushing my ears with harmonious bliss. Everywhere am I environed by emerald blurs I can touch and tell: the grass, the leaves, and sprightly stalks. I look down, see flowers, and I decide to pick one from its roots. Their yellow petals stand distinct, reminiscent of the sun. Except, I can look at these. I cannot look up. They grow in abundance by the sparkling stream. Creeping closer, I stare into the water. It is a mystery what I see. Everything about me appears different. Why do my hair, my eyes... my face appear as snow? Ought it be this way? No one else is. I gently caress my cheek, moving my head closer. Then something glitters in mine eye. Perhaps I can reach it. There it is in my hand! But why does it sting so? Pulling it out, I realize 'tis a sharp thing; a small arrowhead. I'm excited, but my excitement is nearly overshadowed by the pain in my hand.

I run now, back to the place I barely remember, clutching metal in one hand and a flower in the other.

"Dane, there you are!" I hear her voice upon reaching the stone steps! A tall woman in elegant silks, flashes of white and green velvet. Then nothing but flashes of long brown hair and a smile. She grabs hold of my arm and kneels down to hug me. "Were you playing in the sun again?" she questions. I hand her the flower. She sighs. "Dane... Goodness! You're bleeding!" As I lift my shame, the sunlight fades and my vision blurs.

I remember something else. A night where it rained, she lay close at a man's bedside, weeping. This was a man close to us, a downtrodden figure invisible in the sheets while few strangers stood over and around his motionless body. Every one of them stood stoic and gaunt, sorrowful in the dim light of candles. I couldn't understand it, them, what had happened. One man, in particular, arrived at the doorway and stalled before me. Something about his air... disquieted me.

"I'm sorry, young lad," he lied. "Thy father hath found his path to Eternity."

The wails grew louder. "Mother?" I call.

"Come, let us outside." He walks me away and into the darker corridor. Looking down at me, he speaks, "As of the late duke's death, I shall inherit the title of this castle and the entire duchy. This, perforce, entails my charge for thine upbringing, boy. One last task left by the departed."

I don't know what to make of his words. And with effort, I try gazing once more into the room, but he drags me further away. "For the sake of peace and unity, this shall be our new beginning." Looking up at him, I find a twisting and contorting grin serrating me. "You are no longer the son of a duke, no longer whimsical to the sin. No. In time, you shall be numb to the fear that plagues ordinary men, then become that fear for the enemies that await."

Fading. It all fades.

My breath, I can hear it now! "It was a dream..."

There's a knock on the door. Yet whoever stands on the other side does not deign to wait, for I hear it creak open. Steering my gaze, I see a shadow standing just outside. "Lord Valeroșu requests your presence," utters a man's voice. I sit upright, catching the muffled sound outside the stone walls. I leave the bed of my gray chambers, then walk towards the gray walls directly outside, continuing after the guard down a stone corridor. Like the others, I can't remember this man's name or describe his face; but he wears the usual steel plate beneath crimson I am accustomed to, and the broad-brimmed helmet like the ones I see patrolling the grounds nearly every sun and moon. As we approach a bright light at the end of the corridor, I hear noise - the murmurs of a crowd. It grows louder as the outside light burns my visage.

I lower my head and leave my hat to shield me. I check my shoulders, fasten my pauldrons: layer after shrinking layer of steel plate running down to my elbows, followed by the steel vambraces my forearms, and my riveted gloves. Then I evaluate the rest of my armor - the metal greaves clenching my shins and knees; my encumbering black gambeson of wool and cotton; finally, the girdle always tied around my waist, holding that scabbard which in turn holds the sword restless for my grip. Dressing for such occasions has become so automatic and mechanical to my life that I no longer notice. My body has become numb to battle-readiness. Up my sleeves and along my belt, all instruments rest where I habitually keep them.

We stand amidst torrential reign within the square keep of solid stone. One step out of the hollow exit, and from atop the battlements, I witness the commotion: Villagers rioting, the anger seemingly leveled against the steel-clad figure in crimson, Lord Valeroșu. Behind him stands a wooden palisade barring the red doors of a towering stone keep. Before him stand the gathered rabble of concerned commoners. And he... He stands between them and the gallows, facing the wooden gate segregating inner fortress from town. Those gallows are as a stage, the surrounding guards like plate-armored stage hands tilting their halberds at the crowd. And Valeroșu, lord of the castle, stands among the criminals. Though he stands amongst men, he is a god to the row of men who found their necks fondled by rope. They shall tighten once the floorboards give way.

I hear the anger and sadness bellowed by the masses. Who are those few being executed? I wonder.

"Presented before you are the unworthy vermin of Red Valley," the lord of the castle commences his address. "Standing accused of Burglary, thievery, and murder, the fate of the few rests our hands. Hitherto, my leniency hath fostered treacherous depravity. For as thou knoweth, forsaken law left unrequited shall breed a brigand and enemy to Voracia!"

"No!"

I could hear the criminals. Specifically, the one who pleaded in a final effort for salvation. But one does not plead before the deaf, I would say.

"I only killed the cutthroat after he stole into my home. My daughter hardly speaks for his contemptible act!"

I see a little thing running past the guards. "Papa!" she screams as she makes for what I presume to be her father's arms. That is a helpless act.

"Marian!" he cries.

"Grab her!" my lord orders, before turning to the despairing father on the stand. He stands as a husk of metal and crimson, eyes both lifeless and deriding. "A child as unruly as her father, one foreseeable problem on top of another."

I could see a woman approach my lord, kneeling before him, pleading, "Please! I beg you to spare my husband. It was our hunger spurring his fool actions, milord. Almost all of our water is gone, and we are without food!" I can assume she alludes to a different soul in the gallows. Another criminal whose execution lay inevitable.

"Then thou art the madness behind his crime!" my lord decries, turning her words like a reflex.

'NO! Desperate is all we are! Mercy our only plea!"

"Please!" Now another man has boldly stepped forward. A terribly severe boldness. "My brother, there, he has his family! Take my own life and spare his!"

What is this willingness to die? Why would he sacrifice himself for another? Is he a madman? My Lord appears settled in his contemplation. Unusual of him. Such pauses are but feigned consideration for the meek, as I have come to learn.

"I have a thought!" my lord declares. "Dane..."

'Tis as if he senses my approach. "Yes?" I answer, suspecting his needs.

"Deal with these!"

'Twas a simple command. Therefore, I step before the prostrating man and woman, and they flinch at my approach--the woman utterly frightened uncertain, the man stepping back with a tight fist and eyes aghast. Because of their fear and hesitation, I catch them the moment they attempt to flee. Their backs turned, spines exposed, I strike bare-handed and deliberately.

As they are no longer conscious, I drag their beaten bodies before the gallows, underneath my lord's imperious gaze. "There is no protest in the breath of men that may sway my lord."

"Hour of reckoning!"

Tears, I see them stream down visages as his word mars the ears of mob and accused.

"Let the worms who deem themselves above the law take heed this day! To the parasites, brigands, heathens, and apostates who desecrate this Dukedom and beyond! Thieves! Vagrants! Share this fate, for an affront against my house is an affront unto country; an affront unto the land is an affront against us. "

Lord Valeroșu stepped closer, bent his head, and whispered his quiet admonitions. Not to me, to the commoners at my feet. It was then I felt something. I felt that their doom resulted from a desire stronger than instinct. My senses are numb to this. My mind nearly strains itself attempting to fathom. Despite instinct, many in this world act short of self-preservation. I bear Valeroșu's whims. I survey the crowd. I suspect we would all be executed for acting on our desires.

"Why?" The man below me spoke.

"Why?" A curious question.

"Why is this happening? Why must we suffer? Why do you serve this man?" Then the echoing. I hear a deafening noise from the crowd - horror and amusement. It's disharmonious. I turn and see the stiff bodies hanging by the ropes, rocking below the wooden steps back and forth, back and forth. Rocking.

They're dead... All of the soul's on the lord's list, dead in front of me. Of all the moments fate would deem action, there is naught to be done. Yet I feel emptiness on the precipice of a peculiar sensation. I can sense the despair in the air, the sorrow of selfless folk starving, and how senseless these deaths have been... When 'tis senseless, is it not murder? A howling wind dampens the noise around me, but can neither confirm nor deny my question. There are tremors in my veins pulsing into my trembling hands. The sensation takes me back to a cold day when the sky was grey, and mist shrouded myself and many men along a rough, death-ridden pocket of mud.