#Artisan excursion

[lesorciercanadien]

My Current Inventory of Magic Tools

Here's a list of tools I use in my spiritual practice that can inspire others that are on this path! While some are heritage pieces that cost a lot of money up-front due to craftsmanship, the every-day tools are pretty inexpensive. For example, most candles can be found at the dollar store, and incense can be personalized to your taste. For my practice, I use cedar incense, since it is known as a cleansing plant in the Christian tradition, and many Acadian and Québécois households used cedar on Palm Sunday before palms became widely available.

Most of the heritage pieces, for anyone wanting to participate, I strongly encourage investing a few extra dollars to get good quality items! It will last you years of magical practice, and you can use them with pride.

La ceinture fléchée - the woven sash

A symbol of identity to the Métis living on the Canadian plains, the historical Huron-Wendat people, and historically worn by French voyageurs and fur traders and their indigenous partners in trade, these sashes were strapped around the waist. These were mostly useful in keeping the woollen coats closed, store belted tools, help with the strain of carrying heavy pelts, and prevent hernias and back strain on long canoe expeditions. The long strands on the end could also be used as impromptu sewing thread. These sashes would reach about 15cm to 25cm and its length easily passes 2 metres. These sashes were traded among indigenous groups for furs, and later, by the Hudson's Bay Company in the 19th century. It became a part of the traditional Québecois peasant clothing at least since 1776. As the sash travelled upriver to the plains and beyond, Métis groups adopted the sashes, elaborated on its craftsmanship, and truly made it one of their most recognized symbols. Depending on where the sash is woven, the colours can change. For example, for Québec, they preferred a blue colour scheme, for Montréal, red, and for those woven in between Ottawa and the Red River, black was more prominent. Hand-woven sashes can take up to 500 hours to complete. (1)

The one pictured above I bought from Etchiboy, a Métis artisan. The sash I bought was inspired from the Assomption sash motif, one of the oldest known woven patterns from the 18th century. I wear it on my woodland wanderings, for rituals, and cultural days. I especially wear it in winter to keep my coat closed. I chose to adopt the sash into my practice after lots of research. It is an item of rich history between the French and their indigenous allies, and a consequence of the fur trade in our country. I encourage anyone who's interested to buy from artisans who hand-weave them! There are machine-woven ones nowadays that might be less expensive, but nothing beats the quality of good wool and good weaving. With the richness of variety in the weaving patterns depending on the region they're from, why not have a sash that harkens back to the history of your region?

The walking stick or 'le gourdin'

In Québécois folktales, the stick, known as 'the gourdin', was most seen as a gift from a woodland fairy (like a guardian of all trees, or a mistress of the birds) to the intrepid hero Ti-Jean. This magical stick could thwack all his adversaries with the simple command of "tappe, gourdin!" (slap, stick!), among other fabulous deeds (2) This stick was a tool of protection on long journeys fraught with peril. So, what better companion to the Canadien witch than a walking stick? I use mine for every excursion, and have added to it some talismans of a wolf, owl and skull to keep evil spirits at bay. There's also a portable rosary around the stick, and the Ste. Anne of Beaupré religious medal. Historically, she was often a saint prayed to by voyageurs before they undertook the long and perilous journey to the fur trading posts, usually near present-day Montreal. (3)

The pocket knife

The pocket knife is a multi-talented tool of our trade! It can carve folksy figurines, cut wooden branches for weaving, harvest plants, cut curses, and keep les feux-follets (willow-the-wisps) at bay. Folklore has it that if you're out camping in the woods, fold you knife so that it creates a 90-degree angle, and stick it into the bark of a tree bordering your campsite. In the morning, if the blade is bloody, chances are it was the feux follet being intrigued by the space between the blade and the tree, and cutting its throat, thereby being free from its doomed roaming. (4) It is also a well-known tool in case you need to free a loup-garou (werewolf) from its curse by cutting it on its white spot on the forehead where he previously received communion as a kid. (5) By extension, it is a vital tool to break curses. Of course, don't make anyone bleed with the knife. That goes without saying. Treat the knife well, keep it sharp.

The rosary

Yes, my path has Catholic tools in it. Of course! Quebecois and Acadians of my ancestry were Catholic people primarily. It is a versatile tool in my practice, used for spellwork as well as meditative prayer. For those who are interested in praying the Rosary traditionally, I'll create a separate post. For spellwork purposes, I usually say a round of "Hail Mary" ten times before starting a spell for the ultimate protective shield. There is also known folk uses for the rosary in Acadian and Québécois communities. For example, to fidget with the rosary without intent or purpose brings about the Devil. (6) The rosary can also be used as a tool to find lost items. Simply toss the rosary over your shoulder, and the crucifix will point in the direction of the lost item. If you want good weather on your wedding day, hang up your rosary on your laundry cord the day before. (7). Rosaries nowadays even come in decade forms as portable rings for your pocket, and some are actual rings you can wear on your finger. I got a few rosaries myself. One for special rituals (I never toss that one over my shoulder!), and cheaper, more portable options for the tossing spell.

Holy medals

I amassed quite a collection of holy medals for individual saints. Other notable ones are those for the souls in Purgatory (worn on All Souls Day), the Holy Spirit at (worn on Pentecost or when I do divination), Jesus the Shepherd (it's comforting), Stella Maris (patron saint of Acadians). I have a few of the same for more frequented purposes, for example, I keep a Saint Luke medal on my artist's pencil case, since he is the patron saint of artists. Traditionally in Acadian communities, it was known that when your day was going awfully, and your bread dough just wouldn't rise, you just needed to boil some holy medals in water to turn your luck around (8). They are quite inexpensive, so it's fast and easy to grow a collection in a short period of time. Many catholic retailers sell them.

Divination tools : the playing cards, dice and coin

My divination tools can be found in anyone's cupboard and drawers. The trusty playing cards deck nowadays comes in such amazing variety of art, the one I picked for myself was the Bicycle Aviary Playing Cards. It has such a lovely folk art vibe to them! The way to divine them comes from sources of card-playing and superstitions from history and folktales from folklorist Marius Barbeau, and people over centuries carrying around the cards for entertainment and perhaps a glimpse into their futures. One guide on reading the cards: Fifty-Four Devils: The Art & Folklore of Fortune-Telling with Playing Cards by Cory Thomas Hutcheson. Dice can also be used in the same manner if you're doing a numerology-based divination. The coin can be used as a simple yes or no divination by playing 'heads or tails'. The coin can be a beautiful commemorative coin like mine, or a simple 'cenne noire' (blackened penny), or whatever currency you have on hand.

The sewing kit and fibre arts

I wanted to add this iconic cookie tin into the folk witch's repertoire, because we all had grandmothers who had this tin lying around with their tools to mend and sew anything. In my practice, and in my hobbies, I make clothing and I embroider. I can use this tin to house my relevant supplies to have some sacred time darning old socks, creating spiritual garments by hand, or embroidering pretty things. You can also draw sigils on the rim's inner side for blessing your items inside! There's also other uses for some of these tools in your home! For example, my great-great grandmother used to use her thimble to create the holes in her croxignoles, these woven doughnut style rings from the Magdalen Islands.

Musical spoons

Musical spoons, sometimes made of wood to be used for musical purposes, as shown here, or made from every-day metal spoons held together for the same effect, are an iconic instrument in French-Canadian folk music. I would recommend learning how to play them rhythmically and to use that as a grounding tool. I just find these way more authentic than a drum. Not to mention rhythmic foot tapping and step dances are frequently used in our folk music to set up a beat.

Woven Cloths

These beautiful cloths or 'serviettes' were woven by my mother on a giant hand-loom, often employed by local farmer's guilds in Québec. Les Cercles des Fermières du Québec sometimes has craft fairs where they sell these among other hand-crafted items. In folklore, the cloth was present when Ti-Jean needed to create a magical feast on the fly, create a magical tent for shelter, or carry around all his tools for his journey. These cloths however were almost always given by a fay creature, so best be cautious in eating food from it. Nowadays, it can be used as altar cloths, protective shields for your tools, or to apply healing energy to an ailment you carry. (9) I use mine to do my card readings, wrap special items. If you are lucky enough to find a 'catalogne', which is a heavy blanket woven on those big looms from scraps of old t-shirts, cottons and the like, that's like, a massive cloth you can have over your bed and its folkloric properties can be used for protection and good dreams. It is also the best weighted blanket for anxiety, tried and tested by me! Mine was woven by my grandmother.

Cited sources

Wikipedia "Ceinture Fléchée" consulted on Jan 21 2025/ 2. Barbeau 1st series/ 3. Podruchny / 4. Butler/ 5. Maillet / 6. Dupont 83. / 7. Dupont 122. / 8. Dupont 83. / 9. Barbeau 2nd series

Bibliography

Barbeau, Marius, « Contes populaires canadiens », The Journal of American Folkore, vol. 29, no 111, janvier-mars 1916, 154 p.

Barbeau, C.-Marius. “Contes Populaire Canadiens. Seconde Série.” The journal of American Folklore 30, no. 115 (Jan-Mar., 1917): 27-36. http://www.jstor.org/stable/534454. 

 Butler, Gary R. Histoire et traditions orales des Franco-Acadiens de Terre-Neuve. Québec 1995. p. 156

Dupont, Jean-Claude. Heritage d’Acadie. Collection Connaissance, éditions Lemeac. 1977. 

Maillet, Antonine. Rabelais et les traditions populaires en Acadie. Les presses de l’université Laval, Quebec. 1980. 

Podruchny, Carolyn. Making the Voyageur World: Traveler’s and Traders in the North American Fur Trade. University of Toronto Press. 2006.  

[bcacstuff]

I’m the anon who sent you info about Sam’s location. I don’t think I was clear enough. What I actually meant was the opposite of what you understood. I was thinking that maybe Sam was alone in that hotel and either became friends with Pedro or met him as part of a preplanned arrangement. At some point, Pedro might have asked him to take him to the distillery, and since Vicky was nearby, she joined them. That’s one possible scenario. Still, no one except them knows the real story. What puzzles me is why Vicky geo-tagged the location and shared a story with Sam’s voice—that’s the part I don’t get. And what’s even stranger is that Sam didn’t seem to mind at all about it.

Thanks for coming back and explaining. I think I mixed your message up with another one and also because of the delulu ones in my inbox that makes me roll my eyes and shake my head so much, it's a wonder my head is still on my body. Not so sure about my eyes though. But I got a more clear vision on the whole thing.

See everyone is so preoccupied focussing on SH and VF, and plates on the table and whatever, even napkins that seem to fell of the table... 🙄 It baffles me and also disgusts me actually how these narratives evolves around a) a waterfall and a male voice (the part I dismiss as it is not factual proven it is his voice), b) Sam's presence in Mexico and c) a mutual follow.

But try to focus on what I do think Sam was much more interested in, as it is quite the interesting thing to read about and search out a bit more. I gave some links yesterday, but I don't think people really read the articles or even opened them.

Both articles were about the 'Racilla Roots Journey'. Journey's into the heritage of a llesser-known elixir spanning centuries, with Indigenous communities passing down their expertise across generations. Although raicilla is one of Mexico's oldest distilled spirits that gained protected designation of origin status in 2019, it remains relatively obscure, often overshadowed by its more famous agave-based cousins tequila and mezcal. 

Raicilla is a traditional spirit that predates tequila and mezcal, tracing its roots back over 400 years. The name comes from the Spanish word raicilla, which means “little root.” Distilled from wild agave found in the rugged landscapes of Jalisco, raicilla was historically produced in small batches by local artisans, often in secret due to colonial-era restrictions. Today, it remains a symbol of Mexican cultural heritage, celebrated for its complex, earthy flavors and the artisanal methods that have been passed down through generations.

Excursions are organized by some hotels, one in Punta Milla and one in Puerto Vallarta. There are two distinct off-property adventures – De La Costa: The Coastal Road and De La Sierra: The Mountain Road. This unique journey offers an in-depth look at raicilla, one of Mexico’s oldest and most treasured spirits, with a visit to the agave fields near La Estancia, Jalisco.

The Mountain Road is led by Pedro Fernandez del Valle, a raicilla expert and distiller who founded the family-led brand Aycya. Pedro's mission is to champion sustainable practices, fostering a deep appreciation for the beauty of Mexico’s terroir. These guides offer guests unparalleled experiences into the heart of raicilla country, each route blending personal narratives with deep cultural knowledge of its specific terrain and traditions.

Raicilla producers view their craft not as a product to sell but as their cherished heritage. Recognizing this, the guides have adopted a thoughtful approach, only introducing these small tabernas to those who will truly appreciate raicilla’s rich history and craftsmanship. Guests can engage personally with legacy producers, experiencing firsthand the passion and artistry behind this revered local spirit. This exclusive access offers a glimpse into a world typically hidden from tourism, making each raicilla encounter a truly special and authentic experience.

(so Anon I think, Sam rather arranged this excursion upfront as they are quite exclusive).

Upon arrival, they will be greeted by a master raicillero, who will guide them through the entire process of raicilla making, from the harvesting of the agave to the traditional distillation techniques that give this spirit its unique character. They will then explore Aycya’s fields, where the agave plants are cultivated, and visit the artisanal distillery where the magic happens.

On the aycya IG account you can watch the highlights called 'Taberna' which shows you some from the distillery, the surrounding and might lead you to other posts about it.

Note the 'maestro' Jorge Luis Aguirre Corona tagged here is the same one in Sam's pic at the distillery. Here's another one of the man

A BBQ for the guests at the end of the excursion seems to be a part of it as well.

[thrawns-backrest]

Well well, would you look at that, link insertion finally decided to do its job. Anyway, new (relatively long) chapter out and we've got new characters this time too.

Title: Buried in Ice

Characters: Ronan, Eli, Ba'kif and others

Chapters: 13/?

Summary: Ronan adjusts to life with the Chiss when a sudden revelation leads him to realize that his fate is not as firmly in his hands as he'd thought it was.

___

Rhoar was a largely unremarkable place. Not by chiss standards perhaps but Ronan had seen so many like it that he couldn’t help the twang of homesick nostalgia in his chest.

Perhaps the only remarkable thing about it was that the motley farrago of beings and businesses seemed to be contained almost entirely to its handful of trading hubs, the rest of the planet swathed in rolling hills, fields and a pair of snow-capped poles that Ronan had observed upon their approach from space. Back home, those hubs would either be part of a planetary-wide network or otherwise be tucked between the places of residence of regular citizens.

But Rhoar was not just any world. It was a chiss trade world.

Ronan hadn’t even known about the existence of such worlds until recently though in hindsight it made sense. The steady stream of exotic goods that Syndics and Aristocra scratched each other’s egos with had to come from somewhere and singular excursions into alien space couldn’t possibly cut it. Neither were alien merchants allowed on chiss worlds for the sake of security.

Trade worlds were the solution to that problem.

Most importantly, Ronan thought as he gazed out the floor-to-ceiling viewport of his luxurious residence, they were also the only places where the chiss mingled and coexisted with a variety of other species. And that was all that mattered.

“The artisan market is right across the street from here. You’re highly advised to stick to that part of the city for safety purposes. Most of the species here speak Minniasat and Sy Bisti but in case you need them, there are kiosks where you can hire translators,” his guide finished in a bored tone and Ronan turned to him with a strained smile.

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind,” he told the man with a nod.

Ronan couldn’t for the life of him tell if this was the same aide that had shown him around Csaplar when he’d first been dropped off on Csilla. Though he had the same annoyed, dispassionate air about him that implied he was doing this on autopilot and couldn’t care less about Ronan.

The man nodded back looking glad to be relieved of his duties and left Ronan to his own devices, the hatch sliding shut behind him with a sophisticated hiss. Everything in the room, Ronan noted, seemed like it had been made for nobility.

Naturally, the merchants crawling around the local markets were from all manner and walks of life. But the privilege of visiting Rhoar seemed to be reserved for the highest tiers of chiss society, as evidenced by the shiny hotel complexes and luxury villas that had been built to house them on their trips.

Regular citizens on Csilla also enjoyed access to the goods being sold here but Ronan supposed that had to do with the massive section of the hub’s port dedicated to freighters and cargo ships.

Either way, he decided as he pushed his hover case towards the bed, it wasn’t the chiss on Rhoar he was interested in.

After hastily unpacking his belongings, he ate a quick meal in his room and made the short trip from his residence to the market right across the street. The few odd looks on the way there were a given, mostly from the chiss lingering around their fancy buildings, but once he reached the area of the market, it was like stepping into a whole new world.

A cramped, improvised lineup of stalls and display carts, the place was positively teeming with all manner of alien life and nobody seemed to pay him any mind as he weaved around the crowd. The majority of the stalls were dedicated to small trinkets and decorations but there were a few that specialized in more elaborate wares like clothing and dishware, arranged in flashy displays and aggressively peddled by hardened stall-owners.

The first thing Ronan noted was the relative ratio of chiss to aliens. Most of the people there seemed to be local species who had paid a small docking fee to explore the markets – and enjoy the benefits of chiss security, Ronan guessed – and he eyed them furtively as he pretended to examine the stalls.

Some of them, clearly tourists. Awestruck and distracted and generally not worth his attention. They drifted between the stalls, oohing and ahing at the merchants’ demonstrations and losing their way every so often in the general hubbub.

Others navigated the place with more confidence, moving in small groups and seeming more focused on their conversation than on any of the displays. They gesticulated heatedly in groups made up of two to three species and Ronan figured that it was only natural for such places to become meeting spots where interspecies relations took place. Politics, trade, gossip; all topics that could be discussed in the safety and anonymity of the general buzz of the markets.

With the added bonus of the hundred or so combat-uniformed chiss that hovered around the place like prison wardens. 

At the very least, Ronan guessed, no one had to worry about a political assassination or the consequences of a trade dispute gone awry. The chiss had the March of Silence, he supposed wryly, but noise was just as good at keeping you cloaked as silence was. Which the chiss seemed happy to overlook as long as they pocketed their docking fees.

Speaking of the chiss, they were the clear minority there yet they moved about the place with the unbothered confidence of people who knew they owned the place. But it was the fourth group; those who hurried to scurry out of their way, or otherwise let their gazes linger a bit too long, that caught Ronan’s eye.

Most of them walked with that awkward, hunched gait that Ronan associated with fringe dwellers or dirt-caked asteroid miners looking for their next spice hit and took special care to avoid the information kiosks and their menagerie of guards. Ronan followed a few of them from afar, noting the way they gravitated towards one specific alley, branching off the main street, then dutifully filed that information away for later. 

Finally, after getting a good feel for the lay of the land, he stopped at a few of the stalls, filling his pockets with useless trinkets like any other tourist, before focusing his attention on a few sparsely decorated cloaks made of a soft material that looked unremarkable enough at a glance. He lifted the edge of one and quickly pushed it back down, making sure the action would go unnoticed by anyone watching, and paid for the piece, assuring it remained folded as he made his way back to his rooms.

By the time he was back, the day outside was crawling towards twilight and his legs hurt something vicious.

There was a nervous energy thrumming through his body alongside the fatigue but he simply put away the cloak, checking for the glint of the credit chips he’d swiped from his uniform before coming here, before emptying the rest of his purchases with affected care and sitting down to have his evening meal.

The rest of the evening was spent in contemplation, with him staring at the expansive view outside his viewport. Anyone looking would see a man in the throes of a brooding fit.

In reality, Ronan’s mind had never been clearer.

He did more of the same field work the following day, retiring early in the evening for another lackluster meal and a check of his belongings. 

The next morning, he barely stopped himself from rising too early.

He put his clothes on with extra care, making sure the strip of fitted sheet he’d torn from his bedding the night before was safely tucked into a pocket – same for the credit chips from the bottom of his case – then made his way outside. The main street was as crowded as could be by this time and he felt a small layer of sweat gather on his upper back where the cloak’s hood was tucked out of sight.

After lingering at a few of the stalls and even starting a small argument with one of the stall-owners, he decided it was time to make his move and dove back into the main street. His opening came in the form of a thickening in the crowd gathered around a street performer, and he used the amalgamation of beings as cover to duck into a nearby alley.

His hands were slightly clumsy as they shucked off the cloak and turned it over, putting the white lining right side up, but they had regained their confidence by the time he wrapped the strip of bedding around his head, the way he’d seen some of the local aliens do.

Merging back into the crowd was easy enough from there.

He took a few more turns down streets he’d never been to before, trusting his intuition to guide him back to the main street, and finally reached the alley he’d scouted out the other day, ducking into it just as a large group of aliens cut through his path.

It looked just like the kind of place he’d pegged it for – darker, narrower and more fetid than any other part of the city he’d seen so far – and he felt a sense of triumph as he turned a corner and found a bar nestled into the crook of a dead end, with a bright neon sign above it.

There were a couple of aliens loitering around outside; they gave him bored looks as he passed but didn’t react otherwise.

It was inside, he knew, where he would really make an impact.

Pausing in the entryway to remove his shawl – he expected the smell to be fouler without it but the odors coming from the bar were surprisingly agreeable – he tucked it away in a pocket and pushed the cloak off his shoulders, letting it hang by the clasp around his neck.

Then, satisfied with the way it revealed the robes underneath, he took one last fortifying breath and stepped inside. 

To say the reaction was instantaneous would be an understatement.

Immediately, at least a dozen pairs of eyes locked on to him and followed his every step.

Most of them were smart enough not to pause their conversations so as not to be too obvious but Ronan could feel the weight of their attention on him like needles digging into his skin.

He made sure his gait was confident as he marched to the curved bar and sat himself on a stool, waving down the burly red-skinned barkeep. In the process, he let one of his goldworked sleeves flash under the overhead lights. 

Presentation was key here. And nobody understood good presentation better than Ronan.

Chances were, he guessed, nobody would even speak to him if he weren’t dressed like this. He would just be another shabby alien trying to look tough in a den of wannabe tough types. But the demonstration had done the trick.

Now all he needed was for someone to take the bait, Ronan decided as he pretended to examine his glass while surreptitiously letting his eyes roam over the assembled patrons. There was a good number of them still watching him, trying to hide it behind raised glasses or by averting their gaze every so often. 

They all looked like they could potentially make a move but Ronan preferred to narrow the scope a bit. The more humanoid, the more likely to be from Wild Space so he singled out those that fit the description and didn’t look too much like stereotypical thugs.

Finally, after a minute or so of waiting, he noticed one of them slide out of the booth where he’d been sitting with two others and sidle up to him, trying his best to look casual. Several sets of eyes followed him, some of them clusters of four or six, but did nothing to stop him, only looking mildly disappointed for having been beaten to the punch.

The man came to a stop on Ronan’s left and rattled off something unintelligible. Ronan regarded him with a sneer.

“Sy Bisti only, if you want a conversation,” he sniffed in said language, turning imperiously back to his drink.

You’re in control here, he told himself mentally. Act like it.

The alien narrowed his eyes for a moment before seemingly deciding it was still worth to pursue this and sliding into the bar stool next to Ronan’s.

“Sy Bisti it is then,” he said, his accent smooth and practiced. He ordered his own drink in Minnisiat and tipped the barman with a wink before turning back to Ronan.

“So, friend,” he began with a smile. “You may have already noticed but you’re a bit of an oddity around here.” He pointed around the bar with his glass. “Any chance you’d tell a curious soul what your story is?”

Ronan paused as if to consider the question. And in doing so took the opportunity to examine his companion more closely.

This section of space boasted dozens of species he’d never encountered before. All in one place, they blurred together into a faceless mass of exotic bone structures, feathers, ridges, scales and all colors and patterns of skin.

But up close like this, the differences became more defined.

The man next to him – Ronan was pretty sure he was a male, if such concepts existed in his species – looked humanoid for the most part except for the deep symmetrical groves cleaving his face, going up from his mouth to his cheekbones, their borders raised into ridges with an intricate system of organic bridges crossing from one side to the other. 

The sides of those bridges had an iridescent scaly texture that occasionally reflected the light of the bar in purples, teals and pinks and contrasted with the man’s muted white skin.

Ronan’s guess was that the groves were a sensory organ of some sort – he’d seen other species with complex skin formations meant to provide a large surface area for as many sensory cells as possible and this didn’t look much different.

The top of the man’s head was also covered in ridges where one would expect to see hair, though these had no groves in them. Other than that, his features were remarkably standard and Ronan felt confident enough to be able to read his expressions.

“That depends on what you can offer in exchange,” Ronan retorted and took a sip from his glass. Or rather let the liquid touch his lips briefly.

He couldn’t afford to look too much like an outsider but he wasn’t going to take any chances with these alien concoctions either.

The man next to him chuckled.

“I see you’re here to do business. But for starters, I’ll offer some advice. It’s not very wise to strut around these parts tricked up like that.” He paused as if to let Ronan take in their surroundings before letting his voice drop an octave. Ronan didn’t miss the way his eyes studied him, occasionally coming to rest on the gold accessory on Ronan’s right ear.

“Lots of folks around looking to make a quick buck and that coat alone is worth good money.”

“And yet none of you will so much as try to get it off me.”

“Oh? How so?”

Ronan felt his heartbeat pick up ever so slightly. 

This was the big gamble of his scheme. In theory he had a good grasp of how these people thought but that was just theory sans experience. He thought he knew but he could have misunderstood completely.

Time to put that to the test…

“You don’t want to make them angry,” he said, his voice faltering only a little bit. The reaction was more than he could have asked for as the man’s lips thinned and his mouth contracted.

Bullseye, Ronan thought, mentally patting himself on the back.

So he had been right.

They were all afraid of the chiss. 

This sector may have hundreds of species that ruled their own worlds without opposition and the aliens here acted all tough and mighty but when it came down to brass tacks, the chiss were still the big bad of the area.

No one wanted to get on their bad side. Not when they did such a jealous job of policing the place.

“And you know you will if you rob someone like me,” Ronan finished confidently. For a moment, his companion seemed like he wanted to argue but he seemed to be smart enough and saved them both the time.

“If you haven’t robbed someone already yourself,” he muttered. “What are you anyway? Some kind of weirdly pigmented blueskin?”

The word came out with unmistakable derision. Even on their own world, the chiss didn’t seem much beloved, Ronan noted.

“That’s beside the point. What isn’t beside the point is whether you can be of any use to me.”

The stranger’s ridged brows rose and he looked put off for a moment.

“I didn’t exactly come here to make a deal… but that might change depending on what you’re offering.”

Without a word, Ronan reached into his robe and pulled out a credit bar, placing it in front of the man and making sure the action remained unnoticed by the barkeep and the rest of the patrons.

Even in the dim light of the place, he saw the way the other’s eyes widened.

The logic behind it was simple.

If Alderaanian wine could reach this far outside the Rim and serve as an exotic souvenir, it stood to reason that other wares trickled in from the edges of Wild Space as well, changing hands from merchant to merchant until they travelled the necessary distance. Credits could make the same journey in the same way, only backwards. 

And if expensive smuggled goods were valuable here, so was clean, unmarked cash to the shady types that supplied them. It was a symbiotic relationship Ronan was well aware of. Not least of all because of all the backdoor channels Stardust used to get many of its resources. 

(Which was also incidentally why high-ranking Stardust personnel had access to those kinds of credits, Ronan thought cynically. That and it did miracles for bribery.)

In short, the best move for a merchant in possession of a smuggled, stolen or otherwise questionably acquired ware – the only kind these wares could be; no legitimate business traded with the Unknown Regions – was to sell it where no one was looking for it and getting a clean stack of cash in exchange raised the status of a potential buyer exponentially.

By the looks of it, his companion knew that too.

Which was exactly what Ronan had been banking on.

“Let me guess, there’s more where that came from,” the man said, picking the piece up and running his finger knowingly over the groves.

Ronan nodded.

“One hundred percent real. Unmarked, clean. You can take this one home with you and check, on the house. There’s also credit chips, unprogrammed, of course.”

“And what you’re asking for in exchange?”

He took a breath.

“Transport. To Lesser Space. I don’t care exactly where but I need to get there. You can have the clothes too,” he hurried to add. Too eager perhaps but he had the man on the hook and he didn’t want to lose him. “And the jewelry. But only once we’re off planet.”

There was a definite spark of interest in the man’s eyes. And it made a corresponding spark of hope light in Ronan’s chest.

“Well, my friend,” he chuckled at length, “it sounds to me like you might just have a deal.”

He pocketed the credit bar and leaned closer to Ronan in a casual friendly way. Ronan reasoned that it wouldn’t do to look too conspiring in front of his colleagues. It might just tip them off to what they were missing out on.

“And if that’s the case, a name might be a good start. Real or fake,” he waved a hand, “we’re not too sensitive about it here.”

“Just Ronan is fine.” He didn’t care either considering he would be out of here soon. “Though I have a feeling you’ll insist on calling me your ‘friend’.”

“Small pleasures.” The alien grinned. “As for yours truly, the name is Ildavo. Transport services extraordinaire.”

“Are they now?”

“Fast ship. Low rates. Good company. What more can you ask for?”

Ronan rolled his eyes. He could have said smuggler and left it at that. 

For the time being, though, this Ildavo fellow looked reliable enough. Not too ambitious to try anything funny based on how he’d reeled back from the deal at first and not too thick to not know his way around.

Altogether the curious type that wouldn’t close his door if luck decided to knock. He was clearly a local and a regular if the friendly conversation Ronan had interrupted was any indication and besides the small sidearm strapped to his thigh that most of the local alien populace seem to carry around (the limit to what the chiss permitted, Ronan guessed), Ronan couldn’t see anything to suggest he was dangerous.

They talked for a while longer, smoothing out the details of the deal, while making it look like they were talking about the weather. 

Just before they parted ways, Ildavo gripped his upper arm and locked eyes with him. 

“Just so we’re clear, this doesn’t have the potential of getting me in trouble with our benevolent blue overlords, does it?” he asked intently and Ronan could feel the tension in his voice.

“If they were going to do something about it, they would have already,” Ronan lied. “As far as they know, you’re a clueless third party.”

“I’m not comfortable with the thought they might know anything about me at all.”

“I told you, they don’t.”

He seemed reluctantly appeased and Ronan reminded him of the credit chips once again for good measure before taking his leave, keeping a low profile now that everything was in place.

A shady-looking alien who had been side-eyeing him for a while stood up to follow but Ildavo was a smooth operator and Ronan watched him put an arm around the alien’s shoulders and steer it back to the bar.

“Friend! Why don’t you let me buy you a drink…”

Ronan shook his head.

He had no doubt Ildavo would go back to his companions and spin a completely false story about their conversation. If nothing else, the self-serving ingenuity of fringe-dwellers could always be relied on, he decided.

The trip back to the apartment was less tense but just as elaborate and by the time he’d flipped his cloak again and traversed most of the market’s back alleys to throw off any pursuers, he was more than ready to collapse into his bed and not think of any of this again for a lifetime.

A lifetime is not what he had unfortunately. A few days, however, he did.

And the best way to spend the next few hours of them was in a blissfully, hopefully dreamless deep sleep…

Author's note: because text formatting is hell, Ildavo's name is ILdavo with an L and not a double i. Felt the need to get this out there from the get go.

[mrsparkjimin18]

part 1: under the mask of loyalty

In a kingdom where power ruled all, you’ve always known the weight of your destiny as a Princess. Your mother, the young Queen Consort, passed away shortly after giving birth to your younger brother, the Crown Prince, leaving you and him motherless. Your father, King Jaeheon of Goguryeo, had meticulously trained you in the arts of diplomacy and warfare, preparing you not merely to rule but to conquer. You were groomed to be a fearless leader, a queen who would secure the future of your dynasty through a calculated marriage—a marriage that, as your father had instructed, would expand the land and resources under your control. It was his doctrine of power and survival.

Yet beneath your polished armor and strategic mind, you harbored another dream. In the quiet moments of your nights and the stolen breaths during your walks among the commoners, you yearned for a kingdom free from deceit and bloodshed—a place where your people could live in peace, unburdened by the shadows of their rulers' ambitions. During those secret moments, you’d share tales with your younger brother, painting vivid pictures of a better kingdom where kindness reigned and love guided the hearts of leaders. Deep down, however, you believed these dreams would never come true, shackled as you were to your father's plans for you.

Your secret excursions outside the palace had become your refuge, a way to touch the pulse of the land you were destined to leave once married. You mingled with artisans, farmers, and scholars, absorbing their hopes and fears. It was amidst these interactions that you began to understand the depth of your people's desires—and your own conflicting emotions.

Then came the day when your father, with a gravity that chilled you to the bone, announced your betrothal to Crown Prince Jimin of the Park Dynasty. Jimin’s father, King Minseok, ruled the weak and dying nation of Silla, a kingdom whose influence had waned over the years. But despite Silla’s fragile state, your father’s ambitions were focused elsewhere—on the kingdom’s strategic coastal ports. They were vital gateways to trade and military control, giving access to foreign markets and the ability to command the seas. Coveting these ports, your father saw this union not as an alliance of equals, but as a path to secure his dominance over land and sea.

As you processed the news, your father’s voice broke the tense silence, shifting his focus to your next task. “There is more you must do once you’re at Park Palace,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “I need you to find information on the import and export merchants in the royal archives.”

Your brows furrowed. “In the archives? Why?”

“Those records are vital,” he replied, his tone sharp. “The Park Dynasty’s trade network with foreign markets is key to expanding my resources to the Silla nation. This marriage may not be enough and we need control over their trade routes.”

He stood, pacing before you. “You will have one trusted servant with you. That servant will deliver the information to someone waiting in Silla City outside the palace.”

“Who?” you asked.

“A contact I’ve arranged. That’s all you need to know,” he said dismissively. “Do not fail in this task. Our future depends on it.”

His eyes were stern as he instructed, "You must keep your true intentions hidden. Do not let him see past the façade. Make him believe you love him, make him fall for you even, but remember—this union is a means to an end. You must do what is necessary to help secure our future."

The grand wedding unfolded with the elegance and ritual reserved for royal unions, each detail meticulously planned to signify the unity of the two kingdoms. Lanterns lined the hall, casting a warm, amber glow over the vast gathering space. Their soft light illuminated the polished wooden floors and intricate latticework that decorated the walls. Guests dressed in their finest hanboks looked on as you and Prince Jimin exchanged solemn vows before the assembly.

You glanced at Jimin and observed his demeanor—calm, unassuming, but watchful. He seemed determined to make a good impression, and his gaze lingered just a bit too long, perhaps hoping for some silent acknowledgement. You offered him a coy, practiced smile, adhering to the role you had to play.

After the final ceremonies ended, you turned to him, your tone even yet distant. “It seems we have much to learn about one another,” you said dryly, offering neither warmth nor scorn. You watched as he hesitated briefly, seemingly uncertain how to respond, before nodding in quiet agreement.

Tradition dictated your consummation with the first snowfall, which meant months of preparation and planning for the mission your father had entrusted to you. Every interaction with Jimin would require a delicate balance, enough warmth to build trust, yet tempered by the need to keep your heart guarded.

The celebration ended, and as tradition demanded, the journey to Park Palace began, a trek southward into the mountainous terrain of Silla, symbolizing the shift from your familiar life in Goguryeo to the foreign halls of your new home. By your side traveled your one trusted servant, the only link to your past you’d been allowed to keep. Her quiet presence gave you a sense of stability, a subtle reassurance amid the unknown, as you rode along rugged paths and through dense forests. The air carried quiet anticipation as you neared the palace, and the landscape transformed, signaling the union of your fate with this new kingdom, a path laid out both by tradition and by the orders that remained unspoken between you and your servant.

The palace was unfamiliar—grand and imposing, the corridors echoed with whispers of courtiers and the shifting tides of palace politics. Though its beauty was undeniable, it felt like a gilded cage, its polished floors and adorned archways cast a long shadow over any semblance of freedom. Each step you took was shadowed by attendants, newly appointed servants who trailed a shouting distance behind, and guards who watched not for your safety alone but to report back on your movements. 

The vibrant gardens—sprawling, lush, and rumored to be teeming with rare flora—remained an elusive dream. On the days you tried to make your way toward them, your escorts would offer gentle but unyielding resistance, reminding you of pressing duties, or suggesting a more “appropriate” location for a princess.

Even the simplest wish to sit in quiet solitude was thwarted, as conversations you barely overheard would vanish into murmurs as soon as you neared. This constant oversight made every aspect of your life feel like a role performed under a scrutinizing lens, leaving you little room to search for the intelligence your father so urgently sought.

During the first week, you attended council sessions alongside Jimin, meetings that, at home, would have welcomed your insights. Back in Goguryeo, your father respected certain reforms you proposed, and over time, you had grown accustomed to offering input that was not only heard but acted upon. Here, however, was a different world. One morning, you suggested a streamlined taxation process – a change proven effective back home – hoping it might resonate with the council. Yet, the advisors exchanged wary glances, one murmuring that such policies weren’t suitable for Silla’s unique governance. Dismissed, your idea fell silent. Moments later, Jimin reiterated a similar suggestion, repackaging it with only slight changes, and was met with approving nods and immediate acceptance.

The cycle repeated in the following days – offer your knowledge and share insight into policies that had directly increased prosperity in Goguryeo, only to be met with thinly veiled disdain. It stung to watch as the same advisors who dismissed you readily accepted the ideas when Jimin presented them, and it made clear the way your presence was perceived – not as an ally but as an outsider.

Weeks passed, and though you held your role in diplomatic silence, the palace walls began to press down, each day reinforcing the isolation you felt. Every word, gesture, and meeting was a carefully scripted performance, and each encounter with the court only seemed to solidify the fortress of indifference surrounding you.

.

One evening after a particularly turbulent council meeting, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you found yourself seated closely beside Jimin, clinging to his warmth beneath an ancient willow tree. It had only been a few weeks since the wedding, and his calm and contemplative presence unnerved you. 

You were there with a specific duty – one your father assigned you – and the warmth radiating from Jimin felt like a betrayal of that mission. You reminded yourself he was just a stranger, a pawn in your father’s game. You suddenly realized how much closer you had sat to him than you should have, and instinctively placed some distance between you, clinging to the coolness of the air.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Jimin asked, his brow furrowing with concern.

"Why must I always be escorted like a prisoner in this palace?" you burst out, unable to keep the frustration from your voice. "I deserve some privacy! How am I supposed to find peace…or get to know you…when there’s always a servant or guard!?"

Jimin was taken aback briefly, but then a faint smile crossed his lips. "I understand your frustration. But it’s for your safety. The court can be treacherous, and I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you."

“Safety? Or control?” you retorted, crossing your arms. “This palace is beautiful, but it feels more like a prison. I want to explore and understand the people…the land—not just be paraded around as a trophy.”

Jimin studied you for a moment before nodding thoughtfully. “I understand. You deserve more than guarded walls and shadowed walks. I’ll clarify to everyone that you’re entitled to your privacy. No more guards hovering over you unless you specifically ask for them,” he promised, his tone reassuring.

You pause, choosing your words carefully. “Thank you, Your Highness,” your tone soft, but steady. “Having the chance to explore freely…to make my way…it’s more than I could have hoped for.” You allow a hint of gratitude to show as you meet his gaze. “I’ll make the most of it.”

Inside, however, your thoughts began to race. This newfound freedom would be the key to finding the information your father wanted without any suspicion – an opportunity to navigate the palace and its secrets on your own.  

"Your Highness," he continued gently, his gaze lingering on yours with curiosity and concern, "what do you want from all of this? What would make this life feel like yours?"

You hesitated, his question striking a nerve you hadn’t expected. “I want to be taken seriously,” you admitted, almost surprised by your boldness. “I’ve suggested ideas that could help, things I know could work—my father uses them back home. But the advisors, they…” You stopped yourself, choosing your words carefully. “They dismiss them. But when you suggest the same, they listen. I want my ideas to be heard and respected, not ignored.”

Jimin’s expression softened, and he nodded thoughtfully. “Then I’ll be sure your ideas are taken seriously,” he replied quietly. “They should listen to you, not just me.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. "Thank you," you murmured, the words instinctive, but genuine.

But he wasn’t finished. “What else?” he pressed, his gaze not wavering. “Beyond being heard, what do you want—for yourself, for this kingdom?”

You paused, caught between the expectations you carried and the questions he posed. Finally, you replied, “I want what any ruler would want—a prosperous kingdom. Stability.”

“A prosperous kingdom… Do you think it possible to make this land prosperous once more without the tactics employed in Goguryeo?”

You eyed him carefully, keeping your thoughts shuttered. “The tactics my father uses work, and the kingdom’s wealth and stability are proof enough.”

Jimin’s gaze remained steady, calm, but determined. "And at what cost? Stability for whom?"

His words struck a nerve, and your defenses flared. You forced a neutral expression despite the disquiet bubbling beneath the surface. “Sometimes fear is necessary to maintain control," you replied, echoing your father’s teachings, though they felt hollow on your lips.

Jimin’s gaze remained steady. "Control through fear only breeds resentment and rebellion. What if there’s another way? A way to rule with compassion?”

Your chest tightened. His idealism made you uncomfortable, not because you disagreed with him—deep down, you longed for the same—but because it made your task that much harder. Jimin wasn’t the meek, ineffective man you had been prepared to manipulate. He was something else. And that made him dangerous to your mission.

"I have a duty to my family, to my kingdom," you said, turning away, the weight of your father’s expectations pressing heavily on your shoulders.

"And what about your duty to yourself, to this kingdom?" he asked quietly, leaning closer. "Is Goguryeo the type of kingdom you dream of?”

His words hung in the air, too close to the truth you had hidden—even from yourself. You couldn’t answer him. You didn’t dare.

Later that night, after parting ways with Jimin, you crept silently through the palace halls. The moonlight barely lit the narrow passages as you slipped into the royal archives, each shadow deepening the air of secrecy around you. Tonight, you had a specific goal: the import and export merchants' ledger, a document your father had requested urgently.

Steeling yourself, you began your search, skimming through scrolls and rifling through countless ledgers stacked along the shelves. The quiet around you felt tense, as though the walls themselves bore witness to your act of betrayal. Time passed as you worked quickly but methodically, until finally, your fingers brushed over the leather-bound volume you sought. The ledger—proof of Silla's trade routes and resources—was in your hands.

Pausing for only a moment, you pulled out a piece of parchment and penned a message to your father, updating him on your progress:

Gaining the advisors' trust is proving difficult, but I will continue working to earn Jimin’s confidence and fulfill my duty to you. This ledger will serve you well.

Satisfied, you tucked both the ledger and the letter safely away and quickly exited the archives, making your way to find your one trusted servant, who waited faithfully in the courtyard.

“Take these,” you whispered urgently, passing the ledger and letter into the servant’s hands. “Deliver them to the man my father has stationed in Silla City. He will know what to do.”

The servant nodded, eyes wide with understanding. “I will make sure it reaches him safely, Your Highness.”

“Be quick, and keep to the shadows,” you instructed. “This must remain unseen.”

With a bow, your servant tucked the documents under their cloak and slipped away into the night.

Jimin’s assurances had granted you privacy and independence, allowing you to roam without constant oversight, and you began to enjoy life within the palace walls. The grand library became a sanctuary, where hours slipped past unnoticed as you lost yourself in the scrolls and books stacked along towering shelves. The solitude there was calming – in the quiet spaces between the pages, you almost forgot the purpose that had brought you to Silla.

Despite your newfound freedom, however, unease lingered. You hadn’t received any word from Goguryeo. Though you’d sent your servant with the ledger and the letter days ago, which she returned within hours that same night to assure your father’s man had received the information, each passing day without a response tightened a knot of tension in your chest. You spent your days wandering the gardens with Jimin, exchanging guarded words, and retreating to the library when you could, but the waiting chipped away at your patience.

Then, one evening as you were seated in the library, lost in the rich histories and tales of distant lands, your servant approached with an envelope bearing your father’s insignia. Heart pounding, you took the letter, nodding for the servant to leave before breaking the seal.

Your father’s words were as cold and commanding as ever:

Your last report raises concern. The advisors will not yield; they are entrenched in Jimin’s favor and will become an obstacle to our goals. The marriage alone will not suffice. You will need to remove Jimin from the picture. After the consummation, you must do away with him. I will handle King Minseok and the others.

A chill ran through you. The severity of his demand was clear – no subtlety, no mercy. Your duty was not just to marry – but to eliminate. You stared at the letter’s contents for several moments, feeling a tremor run through you. This was the ultimate test of loyalty, the decisive move in your father’s game.

For a long time, you sat in silence, the reality sinking in. This wasn’t simply about gathering information or playing the role of a dutiful princess. It was a deadly order that would leave you tethered to Goguryeo in a way you hadn’t anticipated. 

Jimin's words echoed in your mind, haunting and persistent – What about your duty to yourself, to this kingdom? Is Goguryeo the type of kingdom you dream of? The sheer intensity of his voice cut through the silence in your head, forcing you to confront the bitter truth. Could you reconcile your dreams with the ruthless expectations placed upon you? The weight of his questions pressed down on you, leaving you to grapple with the disconnect between your aspirations and the reality of your situation.

[threadbearsweater]

Arthur brings something back for you every time he goes somewhere. Traveling for work? He stopped at a little roadside stand and bought you a jar of your favorite jam. Running to the store? He detoured to the local plant nursery and bought you a fern; you'd been eyeing them anyway, he said. figured I'd save you the trip.

on his excursions out of state, he makes it a point to stop at the local visitor's center to find you some little trinket, or a coffee mug with some cheeky saying ("My husband went to North Carolina and all I got was this lousy cup.") You own a t-shirt with an airbrushed likeness of Arthur that he commissioned at some street fair in Arkansas. Your house is overflowing with tchotchke– wind up chickens that poop gumball eggs, charming figurines made of artisan blown glass, little stained glass windows hangings, a music box here and there.

every one of them means something special, and although the clutter gets to you sometimes, and the dust from the dirt road that leads to your house is overwhelming and needs frequent clearing, you'll never get tired of the way his eyes light up when he presents you with his latest gift.

[glamrpevents]

Glamcity, we're heading to France! Prepare to be enchanted as we whisk you away to the beautiful and captivating city of Marseille, nestled on the sun-kissed shores of southern France. Marseille, often hailed as the "Gateway to the Mediterranean," beckons with its irresistible blend of old-world charm and cosmopolitan allure. Lose yourself in the rich tapestry of Marseille's history as you wander through its ancient streets, where each cobblestone whispers tales of bygone eras. Marvel at the architectural splendor of landmarks like the majestic Notre-Dame de la Garde, perched atop the city's highest point, offering breathtaking panoramic views of the azure coastline below. Indulge your senses in the breathtaking aromas wafting from bustling markets, where colorful stalls overflow with fresh produce, artisanal cheeses, and fragrant spices. Savor the culinary delights of Marseille's renowned bouillabaisse, a traditional fish stew bursting with flavors that will transport you to gastronomic heaven. But Marseille is not just a feast for the senses—it's also a playground for the adventurous soul. Dive into the crystal-clear waters of Calanques National Park, where dramatic limestone cliffs plunge into turquoise seas, inviting you to explore hidden coves and secret beaches. As the sun sets, surrender to the city's infectious joie de vivre as its vibrant nightlife comes alive. From chic rooftop bars overlooking the glittering harbor to cozy wine bars tucked away in labyrinthine alleyways, Marseille offers endless opportunities to toast to new adventures and unforgettable memories. So pack your bags and join us on this journey to Marseille, where every street corner holds the promise of discovery, and every moment is infused with the magic of the Mediterranean. Get ready to fall in love with the charm, beauty, and boundless allure of this enchanting city. A bientôt à Marseille!

OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION BELOW THE CUT:

This event will take place from Friday May 17th until Sunday May 26th, 2024.

All celebrities within the group are invited and are expected to participate in some capacity.

As this is an event that spans over the course of more than a week, we will ask that you put all non-event threads on hold, as we hope for active participation for the event.

All characters will be staying at the same hotel for the sake of convenience within the group. The roommate list will be posted the day before the event takes place.

Threads, paragraphs and interactions written for the event should be tagged with GLAMCITYMARSEILLE + GLAMCITYEVENT004

We highly encourage people to post event outfits and aesthetics. These should be tagged with GLAMCITYOUTFIT.

Please like this post once you've read it!

ADDITIONAL INFO

As we prepare for our upcoming excursion to Marseille, we'd like to remind all participants that while this trip offers a wonderful opportunity for relaxation and exploration, it's also a chance for your characters to engage in group activities that will be posted in the coming days. These activities are designed to enhance the overall experience and foster interaction among characters.

We kindly request that all participants make an effort to participate in these planned activities to enrich the collective narrative and ensure everyone's enjoyment. However, if for any reason your character is unable to join the scheduled events, we encourage you to still have them explore and enjoy the city of Marseille independently.

Attendance at this event is mandatory for all characters. If your character is currently on tour or vacationing abroad, please arrange for them to go to France for the event. For characters who are married, we will naturally accommodate their marital status and assign them roommates accordingly. However, please communicate with the admins if this applies to your character. Failure to do so may result in the assignment of a random roommate.

To ensure everyone has some input regarding their roommates, please send us an ask or an IM with one person you'd prefer to room with and one person you would not prefer to room with. Even if your preference is random, please provide two names. We kindly request that these names be sent within the next 48 hours to allow ample time for us to organize everyone into groups of three.

Additionally, it is required that attendees interact with their roommates at least once during the event.

[lemongrass--tea]

chat i got ✨freaky✨ and made a new au

uhm tw: violence and angst and some suggestive content nothing toooo bad just very melodramatic

Fae connor x fae hunter elliott👁️👁️

this is super long so ill break it up under the cut

dragging this in the house and dropping it off like a kitti bringing u a dead rat

Intro:

Setting: modernish fantasy. Big cauldron full of SOME modern tech mixed with fae, magic and medieval tropes

In this universe Connor is born a fae to a human duke. This is seen as a bad omen, but his mother pleads for him to be kept, appealing to the duke’s compassion as he’s only a newborn, and the way he lays peacefully with his twin sister is surely a good sign. It would be a shame to break the two apart so soon, give him some time. They were born with connors baby tail, covered in little stringy starts of feathers wrapped loosely around cara’s abdomen, neither cried after birth.

Unfortunately for Connor, as his claws and fangs grew in, the estate grows more uneasy, while he is gentle natured and well meaning, his magic and energy makes him a bit too rough for human standards, not that his sister cares. Cara finds his antics amusing, the two finding ways to tease the staff around the estate or go on short excursions to the woods just outside the city gates. They end up constructing a crude fort out in the woods, made of felled logs and clay.

By the time the twins are 13, the duchess falls pregnant with their youngest sister, Khipz. The duke grows more restless of Connor's presence, especially with servants and residents spreading rumors of a generational curse and expressing fear of the now 6 foot and still rapidly growing creature they had to call ‘lord’. The duke fears for his newborns safety and public opinion, so he demands that Connor leaves the city. Now he’s 13 and terrified because his father threatened to have him executed if he wasn’t gone by morning, so he gathers what little he can carry in one of his satchels, and leaves while cara is asleep. He ends up staying in the same fort they��d built, bolstering up the walls with stones he finds lying around, then just collapses in there to mull over the fact that he's on his own now and having to process that it wasnt just his imagination like cara would reassure him, people did fear him. He is a monster.

Side note, Cara throws a FIT over this the next morning when she finds out that connor got sent away. She has a hunch to where he ran off to so she goes off to the little fort to find him there sulking and hungry. She sneaks him food from the estate as often as she’s able, and as khipz gets older starts bringing her along as well, so the siblings still remain close despite connor being in exile.

Over time, Connor gets to a point where he’s surviving decently on his own. He has no intentions to meddle with the city, and to a degree fears the people there, especially with growing hostility towards the fae. He watches as hunting troops are sent out frequently to clear the woods of local beasts, mostly due to the duke’s ever growing fears and guilt. He moves around mostly in his fully beast form, staying in a local cave as a den, since its provides him more hidden shelter than the fort that he’d upgraded over the years to be a homely cottage stocked with more pleasurable items, like artisan wines and cheeses that he trades meat and fish for in the markets.  Whenever he makes his trips into the city gates, he takes on his human form, the only indication of his fae nature being small markings where his horns and wings would sprout, which are mostly inconspicuous and can be explained away as simple scars.

Elliott is a fae hunter, one of the most skilled and reliable in the field. He gets commissioned for a very particular quest by the duke: eradicating the harpy from the woods, having overheard where the beast has struck up its den from cara and khipz’s rendezvous. He has concerns that if left to his devices, Connor may one day seek revenge out of resentment for him and the city in general.  

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

Meeting and getting together:

Elliott makes his way into the woods, without a hunting party because he prefers to work alone, he has better control of the situation so he says, particularly with more unruly beasts when he isn't also concerned with the wellbeing of other hunters and dogs. For this trip he arms himself with a trusty longsword and a light spear.

Connor can sense him approaching the den, but makes no moves to aggress. He’s had a few hunters come after his bounty, but he would send them retreating swiftly enough with minimal injury, usually he could scare them long enough to force them into a corner and either fly off or damage their weapons.

Elliott arrives at the mouth of the cave, spear drawn and poised to strike. He’s slain harpies before, a well aimed stab to the heart made quick work of the creatures. The beast locks eyes with him, creeping closer slowly, like a cat careful not to frighten its prey. As it sits up fully, just about to open its maw, elliott lets his spear fly with quick precision, lodging itself directly into his heart. Beads of golden blood seep around the shaft of the weapon as the beast cries out in pain, his hackles immediately raising. Elliotts eyes widen, something is off. Usually a harpy would be felled within a few moments of impact, incapacitated at the very least. But this one..his tail lashes and fangs bare from the birdlike maw. He watches in horror as the creature pulls the spear from his chest with a deep snarl as if it was a mere splinter, the steel shaft snapping in its claws. Its eyes stayed fixed on elliott as the wound gushes over the gravel beneath its talons. It charges him, wings flared and casting a shadow over the armored man. It bows its head, pointing the blunt front edges of its horns for his chest. Elliott swiftly dodges to the side, drawing his sword and in a swift motion with a sickening crunch, severs the lower portion of its arm. The cut is far from clean, and the beast hisses and kicks his taloned leg up, swiping across the right side of elliott’s face. The rest of the encounter is a blur. He feels the warmth of the mixture of blood coating his skin, the metallic pang of it on his tongue. By the time he comes down from the adrenaline high, the beast is gone, nothing but bloodsoaked feathers, and the chunk of severed flesh left behind. 

The encounter leaves elliott blinded and scarred on his right side, which he now covers with his bangs and makeup. During his recovery he meets a man at the docks, he immediately notices his right arm, or what's left of it, wrapped in a slightly bloodied leather sleeve, crudely stitched and pinned together and secured around his torso. He seemed to be struggling with a fishing net, trying to draw the apparatus, heavy with his catch from the water, holding a section in his teeth, another in his left hand with a fishing knife sticking out at a precarious angle, likely to shiv a clumsy passerby if he hadn't been alone at sunrise on a secluded section of the coast. He was balancing on one foot trying to nudge a loop of netting free from the corner of the pier, growling as he watched more fish wriggle free and back into the water. 

“Do you need help?”

The man bristles as he catches sight of elliott, he turns his attention back to his task, successfully freeing the net and tugging a bit more of it onto the pier. He responds with a muffled “no.”

Elliott watches him struggle for a few minutes more, his brow furrows as the net gets caught again, and the man trips, his sandal getting stuck between the slabs of the pier. Elliott catches him before he could hit his head, and rights him up, helping to unhook the tangled net and fully get it onto the deck. 

The man huffs. “I would have gotten it eventually.”

…yea right. Elliott simply hums, not wanting to upset the man by arguing over the truth of that statement. “Thank you i guess…but im not some broken bird. I can see you staring.”

Elliott flushes at that, realizing that he had let his eyes linger at the wrappings on his stump. “Apologies…i was just wondering why you were working out here alone when that looks..fresh to say the least.” 

He shrugs, “a mans gotta eat though.”

[im sick of writing dialogue lmao pretend they exchange names and elliott shows him the wounds on his eye. Elliott explains it was a hunting accident, not clarifying what kind of hunting and connor explains his to be from a car accident] (side note, think like model t looking cars, not super modern, closer to carriage shape i just think theyre neat lmao )

As the weeks go by, Elliott sees how connor struggles with alot of his daily routine as he is adapting to only having one arm. The stubborn man refuses to accept help unless he’s at his wits end. He cant help but let his mind wander to the harpy he’d hunted during his “accident”. Assuming it hadn’t died from the wounds, it would certainly be having a difficult time adjusting, especially out in the wild. A shred of guilt plagued him when he looked at the events in hindsight. In truth the beast never attacked him until he launched his spear. It almost felt cruel, alot of his hunts went that way. Ambushing an unsuspecting fae or beast and ending its life before it had the chance to react….

When elliott recovered fully from his wound, he elected to retire his blades. That shred of guilt gnawed in the back of his mind, he wasnt sure that he could follow through with the implications of his actions, besides he technically had accumulated enough wealth over the years to support an early retirement, not to mention the residuals from his injury sweetened the pot. 

The two make a habit of meeting at sunrise at the dock, eventually their meetings spread to the local tavern. After a few months, the two of them are alone on the pier where they met, mildly tipsy, and they share a kiss. Connor, loosened up by the wine in his system plus his trust in elliott, sprouts a few feathers and the markings where his horns would sprout form little nubs. Elliott doesnt connect the dots exactly, but upon hesitantly stroking the feathers on his back and shoulders, connor shares that he is a fae, but he has to promise not to tell anyone or he’ll be forced to bite him (all in good joking fun). 

Elliott felt worse about his previous occupation than ever. 

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

Conflict:

After a few months more of being together casually, Elliott expresses concerns for connor being out  in the woods alone. He’d visited the cottage he called home on the outskirts of the city, but between his disability and the lingering threat of both more dangerous fae and the fae hunters that frequent those woods, he doesnt feel that its safe for him to be out there in that glorified shack (at this point still unaware of his bigger den or his true identity). Elliott invites him to stay with him in the city. His home is in a less populated area, and he had more than enough resources for the both of them. It took a few instances of convincing, since connor was known to be stubborn and independent but eventually he relents. The men begin moving some of connor’s items over. It didnt require much of a trip. Most of his clothes fit into a satchel and the rest was just his collections of wines and various trinkets.

Fast forward to that night. They fuck real nasty. 

After the railing, connors all cock drunk and in the back of his mind is all like fuck. I love this man…so he decides to show elliott his full fae form

AND THEN IT ALL GOES TO SHIT

Once connor shifts, elliot realizes oh fuck- i shouldve known. Of COURSE the fae man, who is missing an arm, and lived in the same woods where he’d been on that hunt IS THE SAME FAE HE TRIED TO KILL. He’s just in shock, staring, gripping the blankets and internally freaking out.

Connor whimpers a bit, thinking maybe it was too much he is really big after all, and the fangs and eyes and talons dont particularly help, so he shifts back to his more in between form. “I-its still me…its ok right?” “connor im so sorry- i should have-” elliott can barely get the sentence out fully without choking on his words. Connor’s totally confused, until elliott finally tells him that it was him that took his arm. He wasnt just a hunter. He was the same hunter that stabbed him in his den and lobbed off his arm. 

Connors whole perception of him shatters, he trusted elliott with more than he’s ever given any person ever, even moreso than his sisters. He just was balls deep in his puss 5 minutes ago for gods sake WHAT DO YOU MEEEEAN YOURE THE BITCH THAT CUT OFF MY ARM.

Hes pissed, naturally, both of them are crying, in tears, elliott from remorse, connor from anger. Connor is convinced now that he must have known this whole time and just felt like he was a charity case, like he was righting some moral folly where he gives up his sword and “fixes” the man he broke down while under the control of his hirer.

Connor storms out, nearly broke the door off the hinge, didnt even put his pants back on, babe just flies right out in creature mode, hes used to being naykee in the woods anyway. BUT this causes him to get spotted by a certain duke WHO WAS UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT THE HARPY WAS DEAD. 

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

Making up:

A few weeks pass and both connor and elliott are emotionally in tatters. Connors holed up in his den sulking and elliotts holed up in his house sulking, but when he DOES go out to the tavern for a drink and some food to cool his brain. He hears a party of hunters talking about a group that recently went out to the den of the harpy, which freaks elliott out because theyre talking about finally killing the thing, aka CONNOR, and they already left. The way this man BOOKS IT out the tavern and rummages through his attic looking for his sword and armor, its just a bit tight on him, having gained a little weight in his more domestic time now that he was technically retired.

He runs as fast as his legs could take him out to the woods, he bangs on connors cottage door, praying to every god that maybe he’s there instead of the den, safe and sound, he can still be pissed, just dont be in danger. The piercing caw off in the distance tells him otherwise so hes back to navigating through the trees, hoping to get there in time before he gets hurt. 

He finds the hunting squad  trying to restrain connor, who was clawing and lashing against ropes and hooks digging into his flesh.

Elliott practically blacked out in that moment, all he knew is he charged straight into the fray, swinging with far less grace than he usually held.

Once the fighting died down, elliott rushed to connors side, ignoring the blood pooling at the back of his head from being thrown against the cave wall a few too many times. New wounds around his eyes marred his face, he could hardly see what he was doing between a likely concussion and all the injuries. Once the ropes were loosened, connor fawned over him, his tail anxiously flicking side to side.

“Elliott what the fuck are you doing here, you could have gotten killed- there were like 6 of them”

Elliotts practically bleeding out in his arms “i wasnt going to let them kill you.”

“This wasnt your fight, why would you throw yourself in harms way for me of all people”

“Because i love you. Is that so difficult to believe?”

Connor falls silent at that, before shifting his attention back to the blood pooling on his hand under elliotts head. He shushes him and flies him back to the cottage rummaging through dusty vials and bottles of herbs and brews.

He ends up having to snip elliotts hair to access the wound properly, much to the dismay of the poor man, who sobbed and screamed like that was killing him more than his concussion and lacerations. Connor applies the medicines and channels some of his magic through the wound, causing the bleeding to stop at least.

Elliotts vision cleared up and he sniffed, mourning the loss of his precious locks.

“Never do that again you foolish man.” Connor shifts to his halfway form, gently pressing their foreheads together.

“I would do it again and regret none of it.”

Of course it still takes time to repair the trust in their relationship, but connor is willing to open the door to him again, seeing that he quite literally risked his life to come to his aid.

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

extra headcannons:

Elliott gets an insecurity regarding his scars especially while his hair is short after being cut. Connor constantly touches his face, traces his scars and when his hair grows back, encourages him to not hide behind it. He braids his hair and weaves his own feathers in it.

Elliotts eye injuries leave him severely visually impaired so connor forms a habit of making vocalizations whenever he’s moving in the house, mostly coos and trills.

Elliott takes up writing in his retirement he deserves it

more to be added as i think them up lmao

themb

ran out of steam before i could color anything but there will be more soon cuz im OBSESSED

Frothing at the mouth and running in circles over them

also thank you to @magnificenttragedysandwich for being the icon that u are and greatly contributing to the plot and whipping my thoughts into a usable shape ur so slay 💖💖

[onboardsorasora]

Just a silly thing I thought of. Sweet and fluffy thoughts of Maxiel parents at the Renaissance Fair.

“Hanna banana do you want another– no don't eat that!” Daniel scooped up the toddler in his arms, tickling under her arms to get her to giggle. Her poofy princess dress floofed over his tattooed arms, making him look like he was holding a giggling ice cream cone.

Daniel smiled and kissed her ruddy, chubby cheeks, walking them back to their group that were holding spots in the little grandstands. They'd been at the Renaissance Fair all afternoon, seeing all the different acts and artisans. Now they were waiting on the final jousting show of the day to begin.

It was their last excursion of the afternoon, Max had eagerly wanted to see the thrilling conclusion after the Tournament of Champions turned into a fake bloodbath filled with intrigue and subplots of deception and political drama.

Hanna squealed a happy sound and reached out of the circle of Daniel's arms towards Max who grinned over at them. Daniel found himself struck dumb as always at how beautiful Max looked when he and Hanna looked at each other like they both hung the moon and stars.

Max took Hanna in his arms and the baby burrowed her face into Max's bare neck. Daniel reached over to flick an errant loc of hair from Max's eyes. His baby blues looked bright and especially vibrant today under his dark blue eyeshadow.

“Did you enjoy looking at the horses?” Max asked, using the billowing sleeve of his costume to wipe at a smudge of dirt on their daughter’s cheek.

“She didn't even like want to look. Started toddling towards the bar that one.” Daniel chuckled and Max exhaled a laugh, clutching Hanna close and kissing at her beaming cheeks.

“Oh no lil bean, you're not old enough to try mead yet.” Lewis leaned over and tickled Hanna’s side, grinning when she giggled into Max's skin.

Daniel packed away the half eaten snacks in the bag in their stroller and then slipped his now free arm around Max's tiny corseted waist. His red and blue wench’s costume was beautiful in how it showed off his neck, shoulders and chest.

“Daniel, could you– my knot came undone again.” Max asked sheepishly and Daniel pecked his cheek before kneeling happily at his booted feet. He made quick work of bunching Max's long skirts and knotting them at thigh height so that his darling wouldn't overheat in the humidity.

“Every time you knot it you go higher and higher. I think you are trying to expose me to all these people, maybe.” Max teased.

“Babe with those legs, everyone will be getting a treat.” Daniel smirked at Max's blush.

“God you both are gross.” Lando complained walking up to them, his hands laden with drink. He handed a copper tankard to a now standing Daniel, and Lewis.

“One day you'll grow up and find someone you can stand in the daylight young one.” Daniel teased, accepting a silver tankard as well and popping a metal straw in the sparkling liquid. He brought it to Max's pink lips.

Lewis snorted and sipped his own drink before getting everyone's attention. “We have to remember to take that group pic.”

“I wish we thought about it before Hanna spat up on Daniel's costume.” Max commented mournfully, looking over at the large three that adorned Daniel's chest instead of the vest and shirt that matched them as a pair.

“Eh, no sweat it Maxy. I don't think our little princess liked it as much as you did.” Daniel laughed. “Next year we can be a pirate family.”

“And if you're lucky, Hanna won't want to be a dinosaur.” Lando chuckled which caused them all to laugh.

[meowww-ffxiv]

#FFXIVWrite2024

Prompt: Tempest

Once again borrowing a WoL, Qisya from my friend on Twitter, @/bardings.

.

Bad sea weather was common enough in the Ruby Sea, to the point where the Confederates had docked all of their ships hours before the ocean began to churn with the force of winds.

It was quite different to view a storm from underwater rather than upshore, Qisya thought. Sound was much dulled in the bubble that served as the Blue Kojin's village, but she could still see the way the currents strengthened and flowed through the patches of seaweed, violently swaying them to the point of uprooting. She felt bad for the fishes desperately struggling against those currents, of all sizes and colors drifting rapidly around the bubble, but there were some that looked like they'd just given up the fight and let life take them wherever. Those were quite funny.

At her side, G'raha chuckled. He, too, was watching the fishes. "There is a metaphor here somewhere about no matter whether you are above or below the surface, the storm reaches you all the same," he said.

"At least all the ships are docked," Qisya remarked, eyes drifting directly upwards. With her keen sight, she could just barely make out how the surface above rippled with what must be a powerful rainstorm. "I haven't seen any ships' undersides for hours."

G'raha squinted after her. "You can see that far?"

"Not very well... But, kind of?"

"The bards don't sing enough of your sharp eyes," G'raha sighed, like a scholar who had just discovered a deficiency of information in some common topic. Only to immediately cringe, like he just realized how weird he sounded. "I-- I only mean that, um. Most people don't seem to know something so... You are the Warrior of Light, after all. Yet history speaks of your deeds and so rarely your person."

Qisya smiled at the way his words tripped and stumbled over each other. Seeing this, G'raha's face colored an interesting pink, and he stammered something else incomprehensible before seemingly giving up on the whole endeavor. Ears drooping, he shrugged, then gestured to a nearby... Something that passed for an outdoors restaurant, perhaps.

The Blue Kojin who manned the stall, in a very poor attempt to not look like she'd been watching them for the past ten minutes, nodded as the two visitors sat down. "Warrior of Light," she greeted Qisya, then turned to G'raha. There was suspicion written all over her reptilian features. "And her friend. What will you have?"

"What do you recommend?" Qisya asked her, since honestly, she didn't even know there were places that served foods to non-Kojin here. It had been awhile since she visited, but with the two of them in the middle of the ocean as the storm was beginning to gather, coming here seemed the only way to not throw away their entire Ruby Sea excursion altogether.

And better these folks than the rowdy, gossips-starved Confederates. Especially when G'raha was with her.

In short order, Qisya and G'raha were served some sort of small fish that was grilled until the bones were digestible, ostensibly. They were also given water that still tasted slightly salty, but both of them were too polite to mention it. The stall owner then moved to the back of the kitchen, seemingly content to give them their privacy.

G'raha studied the stone cup their water had been served in, fascinated. "This must come straight out of the rock in the cavern you took me through to get here," he told Qisya, rotating it to show her the reliefs of tiny shells and coral branches on the side. "Do you think this was carved, or were they fossils already in the stone?"

If joy was a source of light, G'raha could almost be said to radiate heat. Qisya leaned her chin on her hand and watched his continued fascination with a smile, her answer unneeded as G'raha emptied the salted water in one gulp so he could turn the cup upside down to look at its bottom for an artisan's mark. Then he studied the plate of fish served to them, then lifted his eyes once again to the bubble ceiling above their heads.

His eyes, red as the most precious pearls on display in Kugane's jewelry shops, gleamed with curiosity and excitement. The gentle light from the many lanterns the Blue Kojin had set up all around seemed to stick to them, and to his hair, a subdued yet warm crimson glow.

"I have read of these towns in the chronicles of your life," he said to Qisya, though sounded like he was talking to himself. "Yet never could I imagine it to be so grand in person."

His tail entwined with her, a sort of hand-holding that made Qisya blush. But she leaned close to him, and G'raha leaned over to touch their heads together. His smile was wide.

"Thank you, for taking me here," he said.

"But of course. If only the weather isn't so bad," Qisya replied.

G'raha shook his head. "Detours are what adventures are all about, isn't it?"

[saveyournichols]

Ultimate Travel Guide to Alaska

Introduction

Alaska, the Last Frontier, is a land of breathtaking natural beauty, vast wilderness, and unique cultural experiences. From towering glaciers and rugged mountains to abundant wildlife and pristine forests, Alaska offers an unparalleled adventure for travelers seeking both relaxation and excitement. Whether you’re embarking on a luxurious cruise, planning a destination wedding, or exploring through rail tours and hiking, Alaska’s diverse landscapes and activities make it a bucket-list destination year-round.

Top Attractions & Activities

Cruise Tours & Expedition Cruises

Inside Passage Cruises: Sail through stunning fjords and past towering glaciers, stopping at quaint port towns like Juneau, Ketchikan, and Skagway. These cruises often feature onboard naturalists and optional shore excursions such as whale watching and glacier hiking. Expedition Cruises: For a more immersive experience, expedition cruises venture into remote areas like Glacier Bay National Park or the Arctic Circle, offering expert-led wildlife spotting, kayaking, and Zodiac boat excursions to witness calving glaciers up close.

Destination Weddings

Alaska’s dramatic landscapes provide a stunning backdrop for weddings, from glacier-side ceremonies to rustic lodge celebrations. Popular venues include Juneau’s Mendenhall Glacier, Denali National Park vistas, and cozy wilderness resorts offering customizable packages. Many travel agents specialize in creating seamless destination weddings with local officiants and vendors.

Hiking & Trekking

Trails range from gentle walks like the Mendenhall Glacier Trail to challenging multi-day treks in Denali National Park or the Chugach Mountains. Guided hikes provide safe passage through wilderness while offering insights into local flora, fauna, and geology. Soft adventure options include snowshoeing and cross-country skiing in winter, and wildflower hikes during summer.

Nature & Wildlife Watching

Alaska is a wildlife paradise. Expect to see bears (including bears fishing for salmon), moose, bald eagles, caribou, and wolves in their natural habitats. Whale Watching: The waters near Juneau and Seward are prime spots for humpback and orca whale sightings, especially in summer. Wildlife Camps & Parks: Stay at eco-lodges or remote camps such as those in Katmai National Park, renowned for bear viewing, or the Kenai Peninsula for diverse wildlife encounters.

Rail Passes & Rail Tours

The Alaska Railroad offers scenic routes connecting Anchorage, Denali, Fairbanks, and Seward. Rail passes allow flexible travel and access to spectacular views of mountains, rivers, and wildlife. Popular rail tours include the Denali Star Train, a comfortable and scenic way to access Denali National Park with onboard narration and dining services.

Ranch Stays

Experience authentic Alaskan life with stays at working ranches in interior Alaska. Participate in horseback riding, fishing, and cattle drives while enjoying rustic luxury accommodations and hearty local cuisine.

Sightseeing & Soft Adventure

Beyond cruises and hiking, explore by floatplane, dog sledding in winter, or kayaking in sheltered fjords. Soft adventure options make Alaska accessible for all skill levels, including guided nature walks, scenic drives, and photography tours.

Dining Recommendations

The Salmon Spot (Juneau): Renowned for fresh Alaskan salmon and halibut dishes sourced locally. The Crow’s Nest (Anchorage): Upscale dining with panoramic views of the city and Cook Inlet, specializing in seafood and game meats. The Bake Shop & Café (Skagway): Perfect for artisanal coffee and pastries after a day of sightseeing. Local Food Markets: Explore farmers markets in Anchorage and Fairbanks for fresh berries, smoked fish, and native delicacies.

Shopping

Downtown Ketchikan: Known for authentic Native Alaskan art, including totem poles, carvings, and jewelry. Anchorage 5th Avenue Mall: A mix of local boutiques and national brands, plus souvenir shops with local crafts. Alaska Wild Berry Products: Specialty stores offer jams, syrups, and treats made from wild Alaskan berries. Native Arts & Crafts: Support indigenous artisans by purchasing handmade items reflecting Alaska’s cultural heritage.

Transportation Tips

Getting Around: Alaska’s vast size means many destinations are accessible by plane, cruise, rail, or car. Rail Travel: The Alaska Railroad is a scenic and comfortable way to explore major destinations. Book rail passes in advance during peak season (May-Sept). Cruises: Most cruise tours depart from Seattle or Vancouver, with Alaska-based departures from cities like Anchorage or Whittier. Car Rentals: Ideal for flexible exploration, especially in the interior and Kenai Peninsula. Shuttle and Tour Services: Many towns offer shuttle services connecting airports, hotels, and attractions.

Best Time to Visit

Summer (June to August): Warmest weather and longest daylight hours (up to 22 hours), ideal for hiking, wildlife viewing, and cruises. Peak tourist season. Spring & Fall (May and September): Fewer crowds, cooler temperatures, excellent for rail travel and fall foliage. Some wildlife migrations occur during these shoulder seasons. Winter (November to March): Best for Northern Lights viewing, dog sledding, and winter sports. Many cruise tours suspend operations during this time.

Travel Agent Tips & Practical Information

Travel Insurance: Strongly recommended given Alaska’s remote locations and variable weather. Ensure policies cover adventure activities such as hiking, wildlife tours, and cruises. Upscale Travel: Luxury lodges, private guided tours, and charter flights offer personalized and comfortable experiences for discerning travelers. Adventure from Cruises: Shore excursions from cruise ships include glacier trekking, wildlife camps, whale watching, fishing trips, and cultural tours. Booking these through travel agents ensures availability and expert guides. Packing: Layered clothing, waterproof gear, sturdy hiking boots, and binoculars or a camera with zoom are essentials.

Alaska invites travelers to immerse themselves in a majestic wilderness rich with adventure, culture, and unforgettable moments. Whether embarking on a classic cruise, exploring by rail, or seeking wildlife encounters, this guide provides all the essentials to plan a truly remarkable journey to the Last Frontier.

[ohholydyke]

“the day was now far spent, and you had been talking fot most of it ather tine dunker died the crowds were larger and the threat greater and it became harder to speak in the towns, so we had come to the flat meadow deta ourside thenda where your voice could carry and the dover was soft under she reclinine peasance and runaway slaves and curious artisans wha had made the day's excursion

in the crook of the rivet's mouth our boat bobbed like & skirsh bork, and i made sure it was rigged and ready, in my mind i saw romans swar like a murmuration of starlings through the relaxing daytrippers, and i watched the seeline while you moved from group to group, flirting outrageously with old ladies and letting kids tackle you, ass over teakerle, like a rumpled labrador indulging rowdy puppies

i sat straddling the ship's tail, one foot dangling over the side and kicking water in an arc that didn't quite reach the prow where philip freced

what are we going to feed them all?

i frowned maybe we should send everybody home. i hopped through the squish of sand and across the grass to the picnic blanket where a little boy had pinned you and was tugging on the thick locks of your hair

we should maybe let people go home and find food

why? there is enough

and you told the kid whose father was a baker to lend you a couple of baskers and the bit of bread and fish they had brought. and you stood and held up the baskers and said to the crowd

take what you need and give what you can

and the baskets passed, and the people gave and took, each according to their ability and need. and in the baskets small sardines and halves of buns and figs and bright wrapped candies proliferated. and there was enough, and when it was done the baskets were full to overflowing

and from under a dog pile of five-year-olds, as a kid delivered a brutal haymaker to your stomach, you said

behold: the miracle of the kingdom of god”

- Dayspring, Anthony Oliveira

[invinciblerodent]

❤️Introductory post❤️

Common tags for filtering purposes:

#squirrel speaks (general posts unrelated to fandom) #squirrel plays bg3 (posts about Baldur's Gate 3 that relate to my playthroughs and characters) #squirrel plays dragon age (posts about Dragon Age that relate to my playthroughs and characters) #squirrel plays datv (posts relating specifically to my playthroughs and characters in Dragon Age: The Veilguard) #squirrel watches stargate (posts about -you guessed it- watching Stargate) #happy tag (funny or cute things- I keep this tag to scroll when I need cheering up ❤️)

❌Not currently spoiler-free!❌

Fic:

AO3 page (as of 2024, mostly old Dragon Age and Mass Effect fics- this might be updated later)

Ficlet on immortal elven souls and vampiric immortality (BG3, Astarion/Iona)

"Prayer of an unknown cleric" (BG3, Gale/Arvid)

Warden Tristan of the Grey - OC backstory snippet (DA:TV)

Verbena of the Shadow Dragons - OC backstory snippet (DA:TV)

Selected love letters (DA:I, Dorian/Ray, Pavelyan)

Character list and bios below!

Baldur's Gate 3

Arvid Trygg (he/him, 54)

"Gold dwarf" cleric of Tempus, soldier background

❤️: Gale Dekarios

Playlist 🎶

Summary:

Note written by Gemria Bozzahr, 1438 DR, found pinned to the swaddling of a corpse-blue, wailing infant boy: "If you've any care for the weak, please find one who may care for him. I cannot face my family as mother to a half-breed. May he find grace in the glory of your god, and let him bear the name 'Arvid', after the father he may never know."

A bastard son born from but one night shared by a trader's daughter and a handsome duergar soldier, Arvid was raised by clerics of Tempus in a small and insignificant monastery/fortress, in a small and insignificant town close to Neverwinter. Now, it was unusual for Tempurans to take in urchins like that, but the boy, while unusual in his appearance and meek in his nature, proved a quick study, and a rare talent at healing. Which, with his quiet, mellow (and soon, not even quite so anxious!) personality, made him a favored addition to the "mercenary" excursions of the warrior-priests: and so, hitting the ground running, Arvid learned to fight in the very melting pot of battle.

With body and spirit molded by the Foehammer's teaching, he took his Acolyte vows shortly after his 16th spring, and became a fully fledged cleric of the Faith much younger than most. And as time passed slowly (and with... only a regular amount of constant bloodshed), he made his way to the rank of Direhar (guardian-priest). It was at 53 that he was called to Baldur's Gate: partly to replace the sole healer of the city's monastery who had perished (naturally in battle), and partly at the urging of his Warlyon (high priest), as an opportunity for him to eventually, maybe, even head his own congregation.

Of course, the mind flayers had different plans.

After merely a year of trying to establish a foothold in the city with... middling-to-poor success, Arvid was yanked from the city streets while trying to usher as many of those fleeing into the protection of the temple as possible. Fat load of good playing the hero did for him. (But to be fair, that's... kind of his theme.)

Iona Raedir (she/her, 61)

High elf sorcerer (draconic ancestry, red), guild artisan background (jeweler/trader)

❤️: Astarion Ancunín

Playlist 🎶

Summary:

"Don't ask, kitten, and I won't lie."

Once dutiful daughter, once devoted wife, always a secret sorceress. Iona lived most of her life in a settlement by the name of Puremount's Hollow, among the so-called 'Emissaries of the Immaculate': a radical offshoot of the Ilmaterian church, one that views all magic as the domain befitting solely the gods, and arcane casters, abhorrent thieves of divine power. So, with the magic of ancient dragons thrumming in her veins, that... was sort of a problem.

To her very good excuse, neither did she join of her own accord, nor did she know she commanded such powers at the time. She was only 11 years old, after all.

But, one of the things elves do best, is wait. So that's what she did, and she played her part expertly: she and her beloved father lived their life in accordance with human traditions, he took a second wife (we don't talk about the first, it's too painful), she married the first boy who asked her (Herric Birchlight- a nice boy, if rough around the edges), and kept her facade (though loveless and rote, minor issue) impeccable, while ignoring her magic as it grew and yearned to be used. For over 30 long years, she kept playing her part. But even the best liars must eventually slip- or be made to slip, more accurately.

Uncovered as an "abominable thief" of divine power, a "pretender", a "fucking witch" and "magespawn" (all Herric's lovely words about the woman he had once called "wife" and "love"), Iona was forced to flee the compound, and took the burning of bridges behind her quite literally, taking little more than the clothes on her back and that brand new scar on her face.

She was snatched less than a day after she had finally arrived to Baldur's Gate, penniless, exhausted, and alone- and for all intents and purposes, she can't quite shake the feeling that this really might have been a better outcome than many of the possible alternatives.

Petyr Wildbrook (he/him, 45)

Wood half-elf ranger/rogue/fighter, outlander background

❤️: Shadowheart, Halsin Silverbough

Playlist 🎶

Summary:

Raised among druids of the Circle of the Shepherd, Petyr waited quite a bit longer than he should have had to for his magic to show itself. And, well, it... simply never did. Brother, cousins (gods, so many cousins), friends, all inducted into the druidic arts before he could as much as conjure a single goodberry.

So, partly at the urging of his mothers and partly out of spite, Petyr took to trying to learn all he could about the wild- on his own, through sheer trial and error if need be. At 20, he gathered what meager belongings he could call his own (and a big pack of gifts from his worried, but oddly relieved family), and set out to find his luck wherever it may guide him.

Though it wasn't easy, or painless, or even smart by any stretch of the imagination, he fell into the role of a ranger and forester, and made a living as a hunter of monsters and big game, and a silent keeper of his little patch of woods: a lone watcher, and reclusive woodsman. He had always enjoyed the company of those who expect no social niceties from him anyway.

Turns out, the exception to that particular rule is the silent, squirming passenger of a tadpole behind the eyeball. And, yeah, so maybe even a self-identified utter bitch of a man is capable of being a "hero", if you stretch the meaning of the word far enough.

"Mara" (she/her; ???)

Lolth-sworn drow monk

Dark Urge

❤️: Karlach Cliffgate

Playlist 🎶

Summary:

She is three days old, and all she knows is murder.

But she's... nice. No, I promise. Or at least, she's... she's trying her best.

Dragon Age

The Veilguard

Verbena "Ver" Mercar (she/her, 32)

Human (Tevinter), Shadow Dragon warrior, Champion spec

❤️: Davrin

Playlist 🎶

✨Canon Rook✨

Summary:

There is little that is set in stone about Rook, but all of that is pretty well exemplified by Verbena: she is, ultimately, only a person striving to do the right thing, and she isn't particularly concerned with the opinions of those who claim to be in charge to achieve that.

The only difference between her background and the game's Shadow Dragon backstory is that she lost her parents not as a baby, but slightly later in life- when she was around 8 years old, in a nearby slave revolt, a magister's faulty defense system went haywire, and led to the destruction of large parts of the residential area in which she and her parents lived, and her parents lost their lives in the fire that ensued. In the aftermath, it was her paternal aunt, Abelia Caeso, and her husband, Valerius Mercar, who took her into their home.

From a young age, Verbena poured a lot of her emotions and her impotent rage into her training at her uncle's alma mater, and she quickly grew into a promising prospecting officer- but despite Valerius' pulling of the strings (and subsequent resentment at her rejection of the favor), at 18 Ver decided not to pursue a military career, and instead elected to leave the Mercar household, and move into one of the many, primarily Soporati-populated entertainment districts of Minrathous known affectionately as the Redbrick (and locally as Catsbane). Here, she gained some amount of notoriety as one who worked as a security guard, a bouncer, a general blade for hire on most days, and a Shadow Dragon operative on others.

She was sought out by Varric partly based on the recommendations of her fellow Shadow Dragon operatives (that may or may not have come mostly because of the concern over her last job going belly up), and partly word of mouth- just as much because of her role as a reliable and well-loved member of the local scene with word often passing through her as it was because of her reputation for being able to get through even the toughest skulls fairly easily: if not with her words, then with her fists.

Ver often feels in over her head, but it's her sincere belief that if you just keep your feet kicking, the surface is never too far away. All you need at any given time is your next breath- and once you have that, the next, the next, the next. She's a fairly free-spirited, kind young woman whose talent of rolling with- and taking punches equally well won her the dubious honor of being saddled with preventing the latest apocalypse- you know, no pressure.

Tristan Thorne (he/him, 41)

Human (Ferelden/Orlais), Grey Warden warrior, Champion spec

❤️: Emmrich Volkarin

Playlist 🎶 (WIP)

Summary:

Tristan Thorne is an unconventional figure, as he's not... technically, fully, completely, alive.

As a boy of 17 and the oldest of five siblings, he fought to protect his home at Ostagar during the Fifth Blight- and, promptly, lost his life in the process to the deadly blow of a Darkspawn blade, the corruption of the Blight already spreading in his veins as he fell.

It was his stubborn refusal to stop drawing breath, his sheer force of will that caught the attention of a spirit of Purpose hovering just past the ragged edges of the Fade, and upon touching the dying boy's mind, the two fused: both together and apart, two and one, dead and alive- spirit, man, and neither, all at the same time.

He was found by the Orlesian Wardens arriving to clean up the last of the Darkspawn horse, wandering the Brecilian forest in tattered, makeshift armor, and with no real memory of how he got there- rumor has it that no recruit in recent memory and no recruit since had taken the Joining as easily as the skinny Fereldan lad they just happened to stumble into.

Over 20 years have passed since then, and Warden Tristan, though quiet and maybe even harsh by some tastes, rose quickly in the ranks, all the way to becoming a Warden-Lieutenant as he wandered Thedas: from Ferelden, to Orlais, through Nevarra, the Anderfels, and even skirting the southern edges of the Tevinter Imperium.

Few ever got close enough to him to know his secret, and none have lived to see the present day.

Tristan is a brusque, matter-of-fact warrior- a leader who is not unkind, but also isn't particularly concerned with coddling his men, or sharing much about his own life either. Over the course of his life, though he had many experiences, he's not had many intimate friendships, no romantic bonds, and as far as his family is aware, he's decades dead.... but who knows, maybe a certain necromancer can bring him back to life.

In his free time, he does embroidery, ostensibly to keep the fine motor skills of his undead fingers, but his work is also quite beautiful.

Marcus Ingellvar (he/him nonbinary, 27)

Human (Nevarra), Mourn Watch mage, Death Caller spec

❤️: Bellara Lutare

Playlist 🎶 (WIP)

Summary:

Ask him, and Marcus Ingellvar will tell you that there is not much to say about him. He might be persuaded to mention some of his academic achievements, if you have a pair of pliers you might extract from him his preference in hot drinks (he is, all things considered, a peppermint tea type of guy), but unless you're careful, you might just wind up exiting any conversation with him feeling like you've just spent the past hour talking about yourself, and while you do feel much lighter than you did before and he was nothing but courteous and lovely, you have still learned absolutely nothing about him.

And that's the way he's been since he was just a child: taught by the Mourn Watchers who found him in the crypts to always be attentive to the needs of others, he's an introspective, careful, strategically- and scientifically minded thinker, a researcher and necromancer with more to prove to himself than he has to anyone else, but he nevertheless possesses the same rebellious streak that makes Rook who they are- that last part is probably what makes some of his meticulous calculations of risk seem like he fucking stinks at math.

But, maybe if he's good enough, smart enough, virtuous enough, loving enough, kind enough, beautiful enough, he might one day feel worthy of being known.

(An addition to the canonically given backstory is that Marcus is actually of noble birth- the son of an unwed noblewoman who unfortunately passed in childbirth, and her servant lover blinded by terror and grief, who took the child to the catacombs in the hopes that he might later return and "adopt" the child, once he no longer runs the risk of being accused with the murder of his beloved. Unfortunately, that day never did end up arriving. Marcus will most likely never learn that he was always loved and wanted, and that it wasn't callousness, but simple misfortune that put him on this path.)

Aramis de Riva (he/him, mid-thirties)

Human (Antiva), Crow rogue, ??? spec

❤️: Lace Harding

Playlist 🎶 (WIP)

Summary:

Yeah, that's not his real name- not "Aramis", and most certainly not "de Riva", but for whatever it's worth, it works just as well as any other.

(TBF)

As of yet unplayed:

Coris de Riva (she/her, early 30's)

Dwarf (Antiva), Antivan Crow rogue

❤️: Lucanis Dellamorte

Playlist 🎶 (WIP)

Summary: TBD

Syl Aldwir (she/her, 27)

Elf (Tevinter), Veil Jumper rogue

❤️: Neve Gallus

Playlist 🎶 (WIP)

Summary: TBD

Origins

Aren Lorna "Arie" Aeducan (she/her, DAO: 25, DAI: 36, DATV: 46)

✨"Canon" Warden-Commander✨

Noble dwarf, sword and board warrior (Berserker+Champion)

❤️: Leliana (softened, Divine)

Aesthetic

Summary:

Aren Lorna Aeducan is a woman forged in fire through and through. Bearing the name- and donning the armor of her late grandmother, she quickly proved herself to be as steadfast and politically shrewd as her namesake.

As she was bred and born a leader and thus grew up an unintentional rival to her elder brother, she is generally proud and poised, unapologetic in her way of carrying herself, and assertive in her opinions which, while driven by a desire to do and be good, are quick to take backseat to a strong emotional motivation- She is as dedicated and passionate in love as she is in duty.

While her assertiveness may make her come off as harsh, stubborn, she is nonetheless essentially benevolent, mindful and supportive of emotions and wants of those around her- keeping people’s best interests at heart, she is diplomatic and ambitious, occasionally sarcastic, with strong convictions of what is right and just, which she intends to enforce and uphold even if that means resorting to less than legal measures. The end, in her eyes, sanctifies the means, even if that end is just the survival of one more person, be it others or herself.

The main conflicts of her character throughout the story are the choices that force her to pick between her compassion and her desire for vindication, and the choice dictated by her royal upbringing in grossly homophobic Orzammar conflicting with her later-life realization of her own bisexuality, with which she grapples until eventually she allows herself to fall in love with Leliana.

While trying to avoid facing her own emotions whenever possible, for the first chunk of the game, she is almost singularly obsessed with the idea of revenge, and until Bhelen’s eventual death at her hands, her personal vendetta takes priority even over the establishment of a stable dynasty that might be best for Orzammar in the wake of the Blight. That anger and defiance that resides in her is eventually placated, and it is only once the faith of Ferelden and Thedas no longer rests on her shoulders that she mellows out, turning from the commander into herself.

Vogar Brosca (he/him, DAO: 22, DAI: 33, DATV: 43)

Casteless dwarf, dual-wielding warrior (Reaver)

❤️: Zevran

Non-canon Warden, but an unrelated Warden in my head regardless

Vogar Brosca is unequivocally what the Hero of Ferelden should not be- he is abrasive and selfish, almost completely illiterate, and easily the most cynical man Thedas has ever carried, in its belly or on its back.

He carries a lot of anger in him- a lot of envy and jealousy, as well as overall resentment towards most everyone willing to exploit him and people like him. As he is motivated mostly by spite and a drive to prove people wrong, he always strives to show an image of strength and confidence, even though many times he would rather hide under a rock and never again poke his head out- the man has turned “fake it till you make it” into a personal motto and intends to stick to it.

After an adolescence and early adulthood as a Carta grunt (during which he had to sell his sword arm and honor simply to stay alive), he keeps his loyalties fluid, and his morals where his money is; if it suits his fancy, he is prone to reasoning away any and all decisions he might make as reasonable and moral.

As little beyond his love for his sister and his friendship with Leske tied him to the city, he was quick to jump on the opportunity to abandon Orzammar in favor of the promise of an ability to be someone beyond a casteless thug, although he won’t deny that the idea of “pretty and easy Surface girls with knockers the size of my head” also contributed to the decision- the fact that later he happened to find love by the side of a very male assassin who had been sent for his head is but an amusing caprice of fate.

As the game progresses, he grows and changes rather quickly and dramatically- the responsibility of decision-making affects him pretty badly, but the rest of the party poses a whole new set of good and bad examples and influences on him. The surface, where people look at him and say “Ser” instead of spitting, will finally show him an angle of the world which he likes- a world in which his existence is at least acknowledged beyond him being an eyesore. He also manages to eventually overcome his deeply internalized homophobia with Zevran’s help, (come to terms with his now past but then obvious affection for Leske,) and learns to trust and allow people to get close to him.

Inquisition

Raymond "Ray" Percival Trevelyan (he/him, DAI: 24, DATV: 34, BG3: 55)

✨"Canon" Inquisitor ✨, Inquisitor-as-Tav AU

Human

DA: sword and board warrior (Reaver)

BG3: fighter/Oath of Devotion paladin (noble background)

❤️: DAI- Dorian Pavus, BG3- Wyll Ravengard

Playlist 🎶

Aesthetic

Summary:

There's one thing that is to be said / about him in the years to come: A hero seldom lives to see / past the ending of his tale.

Raymond begins his story a naive, idealistic young man with a passion for the romantic, the sentimental, the dramatic, and the comedic. He is witty and bright, an educated and charming man, but as such, he is also impulsive and brash, immature, and emotional- his decisions are motivated mostly, if not only by his heart, and an almost comical sense of justice.

Inspired heavily as a young teen by the Tale of the Champion and the refugees' tales about the Hero of Ferelden, he aspires to be the great hero Hawke and Lady Aeducan were painted as- while fully aware of how unattainable that ideal might be, he nevertheless aims to become the generous and brave "Knight in Shining Armor" Thedas wants him to be, more or less successfully.

In the beginning of the story, he is deeply Andrastian and practices his religion frequently, but throughout the game, his faith is shaken. Initially, it is his firmly held belief that he is in fact Andraste’s chosen, but confirmation of the opposite at Adamant plants the doubt in his heart that later results in the abandonment of organized Andrastianism, and establishing a rather more lenient, personal relationship with religion.

Throughout the events of the game, as he is faced with more and more injustices and pointless loss of life, his initially neutral-positive views on mage freedom and elf rights quickly radicalize. While the realizations take away a lot of his naiveté and optimism, make him slightly jaded and more skeptical, ultimately he matures and grows as a person. He unlearns a lot of the toxic views he internalized growing up noble, and slowly, with the help of the friends and the love he finds in the Inquisition, he also learns to allow himself to be loved.

At the end, while tired and battered and suffering from moderate- to severe PTSD, the once-green-eared kid emerges a soldier and a man more or less worthy of his title as Inquisitor.

---

The BG3 AU is set roughly 30 years after the events of DAI. After a tumultuous youth of adventuring, ostensibly saving the world (which earned him the moniker "Inquisitor of the Dales"), and the loss of his sword arm in the process, Raymond had retired from heroics young, at merely 25 years of age. Upon the peaceful passing of his father (a minor, but old-money Baldurian baron in this reality), he quickly took to managing the family estate (reconciling a tenuous love with his estranged mother- we don't talk about the past much on that one), and settled in for two joyous decades of blissful domesticity by the side of the love of his life, Dorian.

Except fate has a way of throwing its doomed chosen at increasingly bigger problems, until one finally manages to kill them.

A handful of years pass between the assassination of his husband over blasted politics and his own abduction by mind flayers, and Ray, both dreading and strangely anticipating the adventure, falls back into the role of a leader and a hero like he would into a bad habit, though he is barely a shadow of his once-gregarious, larger-than-life hero self.

Maybe this time, throwing himself at a nigh-immortal god-monster will finally wind up killing him for good. And then, maybe he can finally rest.

Or not. Who knows. At least if he's lucky, fate will take a fucking leg this time.

Adela Cadash (she/her, DAI: 37, DA:TV: 47)

Surface-born dwarf (Marcher, Tantervale)

Archer rogue (Tempest)

❤️: The Iron Bull

Non-canon Inquisitor

Summary:

Adela Cadash is a woman with an undeniable talent for consciously putting herself into the wrong place at the wrong time. She’s cynical and efficient, energetic- not one to sit idly by and contemplate consequences, more often than not she leaps before she would look. She fixes mistakes as she goes, making a lifestyle out of risk and thrill-seeking, but regardless of what it is into which she’s throwing herself, she always gives off the impression that she is at least one step ahead, even -or especially- when that’s not true.

Perceptive and cunning, Adela is an expert at reading people and giving them who, and what they want her to be. She is flexible and adaptable, clever and shrewd, capable of morphing herself into whoever the situation requires her to be- from the principled dame, through the mother figure, to the commander of war, there is a personality in her arsenal that fits that role, while she keeps her true thoughts and feelings buried six feet under.

As for religion, Adela is mostly agnostic in her views. She is mostly neutral concerning the plight of mages- while she is mostly aware of the injustices, Tantervale's Circle never caused the kind of problems Kirkwall's did, and overall, she holds mostly the same views as Vivienne does- that magic is dangerous as fire is dangerous, and she's not about to let herself get burnt.

She has, however, a passion for the finer things in life- be it food, bathing, or love, she likes to make an event, a spectacle out of the mundane. Be it Orlesian opera, really nice shoes, disgustingly overpriced alcohol, or elaborate, kinky sex, she is not one for saving things for special occasions- to her, having lived most of her life in mortal danger, every day lived is a special occasion worthy of celebrating, and she lives life from one day to the next, barely thinking past tomorrow for it may never come.

She is, all in all, a professional survivor.

Harwen Lavellan (later on Harwen Montilyet- he (primarily)/they (incidentally), DAI: ~35, DATV: ~45)

Dalish hunter

Archer rogue (Assassin)

❤️: Josephine Montilyet

Non-canon Inquisitor

Summary:

Harwen is a no-nonsense, practical man- a calm and collected, rather quiet person whose every word is spoken with purpose.

Able to think coolly and logically even in the face of danger, Harwen is a born analyst and strategist. He’s prone to seeming emotionally detached in his decision-making and known to prioritize the purpose over the idea- Ultimately, he is a smart worker rather than a hard worker, with a remarkable talent for seeing the big picture without getting swallowed up in the details.

He is very pragmatic and equally introverted; a very private person and while not unfriendly, he is difficult to get to know and even more difficult to predict. Being perceptive and at times suspicious, he may come off as grumpy, coarse. That is, however, merely the surface- as a private person, he is deeply romantic, loyal, and works best as a member of a team. Having been trained as a Dalish hunter, he seems to have a gift for seeing the strengths and weaknesses of each of his companions, and working with- and around them with efficiency.

He is also an eerily fast learner- while as a Dalish elf, he has not had any formal education and is barely literate in human writing systems, he is remarkable at absorbing large amounts of information very quickly and applying it as the situation requires.

Regarding beliefs, Harwen is a traditionally wired mind with a modern twist- while conscious and critical of its flaws, he observes Dalish customs and honors the gods according to his clan’s practices, invoking Falon’din and Andruil before each battle. In this, he does not allow himself to be shaken- while he accepts that his people are not perfect, not by a longshot, he is nevertheless devout. As the story of the game progresses and he is forced to give up elements of his heritage, he only seems to cling tighter to the few parts to which he can.

In his spare time, he enjoys gardening, and he often whistles out of tune.

By Veilguard, he lives in Antiva as Josephine's husband, no longer wears his clan name, and is a father to one half-elven daughter by the name Valeria Montilyet (she looks human, and her father is often mistaken for merely her caretaker).

[clanoftheearthmother]

Garahirn Grimtotem

Born to Grimtotem warriors, the Tauren was raised by the tribe on a dogma of hatred and violence. He spent his days carrying materials for the tribes smiths as they fashioned weapons of war, and his nights falling asleep to the battle stories of the tribes raiders. Despite the brawny physique the calf sported as a result of constantly lifting ingots and anvils, he showed little aptitude for combat. In all of his training he was berated for his clumsy footwork and his weak sword-arm. The most concerning issue for the tribes Elders though was the child’s lack of killer instinct. In all of the calves sparring rounds he would fail to press any advantage he would win, preferring instead to hang back and prepare his defensives for a counter attack. For a tribe built on the belief of supremacy over others, this was a problem. For years the tribes warriors would work with the child, impressing the importance of aggression in pursuit of the tribes goals, but one by one they resigned from tutoring him, frustrated and enraged by the youths lack of drive and assertiveness.

Deemed a liability in combat he was assigned permanently to the role of blacksmithing; a position afforded great honour for a battle-hardened elder, but great shame for one as young as he. Thus Garahirn spent the early ears of his adolescence under the tutelage of Elder Kwahrol, who though the subject of a great many battle songs, was weary of violence and grateful for the company. For 3 long years he worked to melt down and reforge the metals that the raiders returned with. He ignored the disdainful looks they shot him and focused on cladding them in the highest quality equipment he could forge.

In his 14th winter a famine gripped the tribe, leading to infighting and unrest within the Grimtotem. Several Elders were supplanted by young upstarts dissatisfied with their efforts to provide for the community. This new regime brought with it a cleansing of those deemed superfluous by the leadership. Elder Kwahrol knew that this did not bode well for the smithing pair and though he didn't voice these concerns to Gara, he crafted a plan to spare him. The youth was sent on a mining expedition to the eastern edge of Mulgore. Though this was not an uncommon excursion for him, the location Kwahrol directed him to was not one Gara had visited before. Knowing better than to question the Elders instructions, he set out immediately armed with a pickaxe, buckler and knapsack. He never made it to his destination. As he approached the area marked on his map he was accosted by a group of Thunder Bluff Braves. They hauled him back to the city where the guards searched his knapsack. Within they found a strange letter.

"Whomever finds this young calf I beg you spare him. Though he was born a Grimtotem, he was never meant for this life. He was blessed with a gentle soul that no amount of training was able to break. He harbours a great love for smithing and the crafting of fine metal works. Our tribe has suffered greatly this season and I'm sure the Elders will not suffer him much longer with our sparse resources. If able to I ask that you look past the sins of our tribe and take him into your care."

--

And so it was that Garahirn was welcomed, despite his heritage, into the myriad tribes of the Horde Tauren. He quickly established himself as one of the foremost smiths in Thunder Bluff and spent countless hours discussing techniques with artisans of all professions. Before long he had his own forge and was sought after for projects of all sizes. One such request came from Aponi Brightmane. The head of the newly formed Sunwalkers, Brightmane entered his smithy to request the creation of arms for order. Behind the paladin, shuffled a young calf no older than he. She wore her hair in a braid on her right flank and as she looked at Garahirn with her piercing azure eyes, she gasped audibly. It may have been her exclamation, or that Gara felt he had never seen a more beautiful Tauren, but whatever the reason, he tripped, spilling the half dozen scabbards that he was carrying across the tent floor. As he gathered up the results of his clumsiness, he heard the two women exchanging hushed whispers.

"Him? Are you sure?" "Yes mother. I'm certain. It's almost as bright as yours" "I see"

The elder of the two women strolled over and offered Garahirn her hand. He took it, meekly as she explained the exchange.

"I had come to find the craftsman I'd heard worked here, said to produce great works the like of which are rare even in the great cities of the elves. It seems I've found something more." She paused, regarding the youth slowly. "My daughter has a gift. She is able to see the aura of those blessed by the children of The Earth Mother; be it Mu'sha, or in your case, An'she. While most of our people bare some level of connection to both, a few are afforded something far more incredible."

Gara looked from Aponi to her daughter, not quite sure what the former was talking about, but certain that her child was, as she said, incredibly special.

Aponi bade him come with them to the heart of their order and while he was reticent to leave his forge, something from within told him that he needed to see what she had to offer.

Over the following years the young Grimtotem learned of a The Earth Mother, An'she, and the order of Sunwalkers that drew upon his power. Aponi's daughter Hunadi had not been wrong in her assessment, and he found that channelling An'she's power came as naturally as swinging a smithing hammer. With it he could craft weapons and shields from pure light and wield them in combat. With practice he found that he could also infuse the light of An'she into all of his crafting, affording the metal he worked with incredible strength and flexibility. Using these armaments, Gara found a new confidence in battle beyond anything his tribe had been able to impart upon him. Though he was more competent as a bulwark against attack, in time he was able to provide something of an offense, and before long he was accompanying other Sunwalkers on excursions away from the orders halls.

As much as he enjoyed his newfound confidence, he was always eager to return to his forge and to Hunati Brightmane, a friend with whom he had grown incredibly close. By day the two youths spent countless hours sitting in his forge, talking on everything from their studies to their favourite cuisine. By night they would lay under the gaze of Mu'sha, watching her glint with the reflected light of her brother, talking at length about their plans and the adventures they hoped to embark on. Before long the two of them were inseparable and a badly hidden romance began to blossom.

By the time the Sunwalkers departed for Pandaria in an attempt to quell the Sha's destructive rampage, the two had promised themselves to each other. They fought against the emotional emanations of this new land in perfect harmony, protecting each other and striking against their foes in equal measure. Garahirn found himself particularly resilient to Sha influence, likely owing to the same inner strength that failed to break his spirit during the long years of Grimtotem dogma. Hunadi did not find resisting as natural but spent many hours in quiet contemplation of the Earth Mothers wisdom to prevent undue influence.

As the Horde offensive continued and the sickness that festered within its leadership grew, the Sunwalkers became a beacon of tranquillity and reason amid a storm of vitriol and chaos. Many horde combatants found themselves drawn to the group, especially those of Tauren heritage. To aid in the curbing of negative emotions the Order of the Earth Mother held numerous services and held many celebrations and festivals. Frequently the merriment would extend far into the night, and it was on one such evening that the couple discussed the taking vows of bonding. They had discussed the idea before of course, but it had always seemed like a far-off concept. Now, beneath the swaying boughs of the strange flora in this foreign land, they could think of nothing they wanted more than to pledge to one another and set about creating a life for themselves.

Within a month, the ceremony was held and while the resulting party lasted for several days, it was nought compared to the lifetime of joy that lay before them. The two continued to adventure alongside one another for many years, facing all manner of foes, and exploring ever more exotic lands. No matter how far their journeys took them, they always returned to their home in the Krasarang Wilds, and it was in their hovel on an otherwise unremarkable warm spring morning that the two welcomed their firstborn into the world. Looking upon the newborn, Kuoth Kwahrol Brightmane, was the single greatest joy that either had ever experienced. As they clutched the babe between them, they swore to safeguard the child above all else and to continue to fight for the betterment of the world he would inherit.

Beem

Named by Garahirn's son for the shafts of light that shine into his forge, Beem was a small doll crafted by a merchant in Thunder Bluff and gifted to the lad by his father. Despite his protests, the sunwalkers boy insisted that he take it with him as his duties took him far from home. Seeing the warmth and love in the childs eyes, An'she formed a simulacrum of the toy and granted it life. It is that creation that follows Garahirn as he roams, a constant reminder of the young calf waiting for him to return.

[tourguidemorocco]

Your Guide to Safe Travel in Morocco with Tour Guide Morocco

Morocco, a country of mesmerizing landscapes, bustling souks, and rich cultural heritage, is a top destination for travelers from all over the world. With its fascinating blend of Berber, Arabian, and European influences, Morocco offers an adventure like no other. However, ensuring a safe and enjoyable travel experience requires careful planning and local expertise. This guide will provide you with everything you need to know about traveling safely in Morocco with a tour guide in Morocco.

Why Choose a Tour Guide in Morocco?

When exploring a diverse country like Morocco, choosing a knowledgeable tour guide can make a significant difference. A professional Tour Guide Morocco can provide in-depth historical and cultural insights, navigate language barriers, and enhance your experience by uncovering hidden gems off the beaten path. Moreover, traveling with a tour guide offers a sense of security and comfort, particularly for those unfamiliar with the country.

Navigating Morocco’s Major Cities with a Guide

1. Discovering the Charm of Marrakech

Marrakech, known as the "Red City," is famous for its vibrant markets, historic palaces, and captivating gardens. The labyrinthine streets of the Medina can be overwhelming for first-time visitors. A tour guide in Marrakech can help you navigate these bustling souks, assist with bargaining, and ensure you don’t miss landmarks like the Koutoubia Mosque, Jemaa el-Fnaa Square, and the Majorelle Garden. With a guide, you can also explore hidden rooftop terraces and savor local delicacies without the worry of getting lost or falling victim to tourist scams.

2. The Cultural Melting Pot of Fes

Fes, another must-see city, is known for its medieval architecture, sprawling souks, and rich history. As the oldest of Morocco's imperial cities, Fes can feel like stepping back in time. A tour guide in Fes can provide context to its deep-rooted history, lead you through the maze of narrow alleyways in the Medina of Fes el-Bali, and help you discover treasures such as the Al Quaraouiyine University and the stunning Bou Inania Madrasa. With a guide, you’ll get insights into local customs, traditions, and the best places to shop for authentic Moroccan crafts.

3. The Blue Pearl of Chefchaouen

Chefchaouen, nestled in the Rif Mountains, is famous for its blue-washed buildings and laid-back atmosphere. It's a photographer’s dream but also a place where a tour guide can enhance your experience. A guide in Chefchaouen can take you to lesser-known vantage points, introduce you to local artisans, and help you understand the cultural significance behind the city’s unique architecture and history.

Exploring Morocco’s Natural Wonders Safely

1. Sahara Desert Adventures

A trip to Morocco isn’t complete without an adventure in the Sahara Desert. Whether you’re dreaming of a camel trek across the dunes or a night under the stars in a desert camp, a tour guide in Morocco is essential for a safe and memorable desert experience. Guides are familiar with the desert's challenging terrain and can arrange well-organized excursions that prioritize safety and comfort. They will also share fascinating insights into the Berber culture, the geology of the desert, and the unique flora and fauna that thrive in this harsh environment.

2. The High Atlas Mountains: Trekking with Expertise

The High Atlas Mountains are a hiker's paradise, with trails ranging from easy day hikes to challenging multi-day treks. A local tour guide in Morocco is invaluable for navigating these mountains, ensuring you are well-prepared and safe. They can tailor the trek to your fitness level and interests, provide essential equipment, and share knowledge about the Berber villages, flora, and fauna encountered along the way. Popular routes like the ascent to Mount Toubkal, the highest peak in North Africa, require a guide for safety and logistics.

Safety Tips for Traveling in Morocco

While traveling in Morocco is generally safe, there are several tips that can enhance your safety and overall experience:

1. Be Aware of Your Surroundings

In crowded areas like markets and public squares, it's important to stay vigilant against pickpocketing and scams. A tour guide can help you avoid common tourist pitfalls and navigate areas that may be more prone to petty crime.

2. Dress Modestly

Morocco is a predominantly Muslim country, and modest dress is appreciated, especially in rural areas and religious sites. A tour guide can provide guidance on appropriate attire, helping you to dress respectfully and comfortably.

3. Use Reliable Transportation

When moving between cities or exploring remote areas, it’s crucial to use reliable transportation. A tour guide in Morocco can arrange safe and comfortable travel, whether by private car, train, or camel. Avoid unlicensed taxis or dubious transport services that could compromise your safety.

4. Respect Local Customs and Traditions

Morocco’s culture is steeped in tradition, and respecting local customs is vital for a positive experience. Your tour guide can help you navigate cultural nuances, teach you basic Arabic or Berber phrases, and provide insights into local etiquette, ensuring you have a more meaningful connection with the people and places you visit.

Choosing the Right Tour Guide in Morocco

Selecting the right tour guide in Morocco can significantly impact your travel experience. Here are a few factors to consider:

1. Certification and Experience

Always choose a certified tour guide with experience in the regions you plan to visit. This ensures they have the necessary knowledge, language skills, and professionalism to enhance your trip.

2. Customized Itineraries

A good tour guide in Morocco will tailor the experience to your interests, whether you are an avid hiker, a history buff, or a foodie. They should be able to create a personalized itinerary that caters to your preferences and time frame.

3. Positive Reviews and Recommendations

Look for guides with positive reviews and testimonials. Word of mouth, online platforms, and local tourism boards can provide valuable insights into the quality and reliability of a tour guide.

Conclusion: Embrace Morocco with Confidence

With its rich tapestry of culture, history, and natural beauty, Morocco is a destination that offers unforgettable experiences for every traveler. By choosing a knowledgeable and professional tour guide in Morocco, you can explore this enchanting country with confidence and peace of mind, knowing that your safety and enjoyment are prioritized. From the bustling streets of Marrakech to the serene Sahara Desert, a tour guide will help you uncover the true essence of Morocco, making your journey as enriching as it is unforgettable.

[callmearcturus]

(it was about rpg maker games) i personally dont have much experience with them other than finding them on my excursions through the ero-game mines, since theyre just not my flavor wrt graphics. i do know there are a BUNCH on steam, though- thats where i see most of them!

Ugh steam has no taste in horny, I want that artisanal itch.io horniness.

[crqstalite]

now tell me some about your bg3 blorbo kallista!! 👀👀

oooo thank you!! similar warnings for minor (act 1?) spoilers below :) im not actually super well-versed in baldur's gate lore, so some of its vague for the sole reason i have zero idea what i'm talking about lmao

her full name is kallista fortuna raeburn. she prefers the name kalli though usually. or 'the caster'. or 'the artisan'. or 'that tiefling down the road with the weird magical abilities'

she's about 27, turning 28 mid-campaign. 5'6", asmodeous tiefling sorc with a penchant for electricity and of course -- fire <3

( the wild magic bit doesn't help much )

grew up in a semi-major town outside baldur's gate. she worked primarily as an artisan at the request of her house mother after leaving the orphanage she grew up in. she loves to make things with her hands.

on that thought, she ended up in an orphanage shortly after her parents disappeared. kallista has never found out what happened to them, but it is part of her sub-story. her parents were adventurers, not unlike who she'd eventually become, and often took off on long trips. however it was unusual when her father didn't return after a particular excursion, and her mother went after him -- never to return again. kallista believes them dead, but has never really stopped looking. they left her with a pendant that would direct her back to the matching one her father wore, but finding it crushed and buried at seventeen certainly didn't help matters. her mother's is still out there, keeping the pendant warm, but she's never had the means to find it when it lead out to open ocean.

her father was a seldarine drow while her mother was a tiefling.

with the others often not-so-well-veiled distrust of her because of her tiefling background, kallista became a bit of a wily one early on. she's a little too dexterous for her own good (her claws allow her to attempt lock picking), and a bit of a charismatic smooth talker. it allowed her to sneak in and out of the orphanage, lie and often persuade others to give her what she wanted. usually she was rather benevolent, it just could get destructive if she forgot details (like what she told whom or how she had gotten in/left the night prior). high dex/charisma score v. low wisdom/int score troubles

very much a 'react first, ask questions later' person. easily spooked. not a good idea to sneak up on her. however not so easily grossed out (collects specimen off battlefields like it's nothing. likely is always covered in...someone's blood. not always her's.)

she's actually incredibly smart in the arcana, even with her avg. intelligence score. she has a crazy photographic memory, and if she's experienced the spell firsthand, it's way easier to remember the history attached to it and the grimoire it was in.

very chaotic good! she's always down to help someone...but that doesn't mean she'll do it right. or legally. but you lived right? stop getting bogged down in the details.

her closest party members are likely halsin (her RO), lae'zel (she has a weird amount of respect for her...and is terrified of her), shadowheart (similar reasons), karlach (she had a major crush on her early on before it waned into 'no, i just really respect and like you around' ) and astarion (the only person she organically got to know without being scared of him)

not so much a fan of gale, and largely academically curious about wyll. of course, he's her friend, but she's never met a warlock prior to him. she likes to learn, even if she's a little nosy. actually, yeah, she's similarly academically fascinated by gale and his problems with mystra. she just thinks he's a little odd (and perhaps pretentious...he's a proper wizard to her wild magic sorcery)

( sorry weird amount of astarion & kallista content...ivelina's run will be romancing him bc im not normal about him )

astarion is a weird case for her because unlike the others, she didn't immediately clock him as a threat. yes, he did try to sink his fangs into her and suck her dry, but after the initial 'holy shit youre so very very lucky i did not fireball you into next week' wore off, oh boy astarion got bombarded with so many questions. he thinks he would've been better off had she tried to stab him.

( she's a sciency gal at heart )

still, she likes his sarcastic nature and his willingness to be vulnerable with her later on. they become rather quick friends (well, she calls him a friend the day after he bites her, it takes him a while to get past 'pest-like woman who won't leave me be')

she regularly lets him drink from her, it takes him a while to come around to actually, well, even coming close to enjoying it, but somewhere after kallista stops flinching everytime he does it they have a nice amount of comradery. there's some fleeting romantic interest that isn't reciprocated by either party, but it isn't unusual to find them sitting by the fire later, the pair of them discussing the days events...and maybe astarion making sure the all-too-nice tiefling doesn't pass out from blood loss.

they nitpick at each other quite a lot. usually in good fun, in the wiity, dramatical way he does and the sarcastic, innocent-but-not really way she does. if astarion wasn't incredibly pale and kallista did without the horns and tail, it wouldn't be all that bad of a guess that they were half siblings in another life.

on that note, she is...not good with boundaries. unlike koda this appears more as her inserting herself into everyone's problems and lives. mostly because her own is such a mystery and her feeling like she's never belonged turned her into a social chameleon. she needs people to like her. after all, if she's all-knowing, it means she can control what others think of her...and if she stays in their good graces, they won't leave her, right? if she becomes a fixture in their lives, they have to stick around. right? yeah. yeah...

( her parents disappearing + her rough childhood in the orphanage did...wonders for her self-perception )

in the "best" sense of the word, she doesn't really know when no means no. and it takes just about everyone (but especially lae'zel post vlaakith reveal) to get her to back off and relax. she struggles immensely with the lack of stability in her life, and getting tadpole-napped did not help matters. on the outside it shows more as her just wanting to be "helpful", but in reality she subconsciously wants to give you a reason to stay around her. to need her for something. it's manipulative -- she doesn't know it, but i do.

is learning how to navigate her new relationship with halsin. while she is monogamous, she respects that he is not, but perhaps gets a little forlorn thinking about the after...and how he may not always be around. or that her little tadpole family may not be either. it keeps her up at night.

living in the here and now is hard with so many emotional loose ends for her. but halsin does his best to sooth her worries, and peppers her with enough affection to garner attention from the others. kallista never minds this. wyll has not slept peacefully in a minute.

their dynamic is very much that she's the spitfire short girlfriend who has to remind the barkeep her beloved teddy bear of a boyfriend did not want pickles and so help her hells if they didn't take it off his sandwich--

has been to baldur's gate a few times on trips for the business she used to work for. however in-game, it's her first time going by herself...and so much has changed.

has a scar on her face after accidentally slicing open a part of her face with a paring knife when she was practicing telekinesis as a teenager.

thank you for asking im incapable of shutting up <3333