#Broken Arrow Horse Camp

[cash-111]

Opposing Sides

Pairings: reader x Slytherin

CW: Angst, war, slight dark images. No gender specification on either part. Not beta read

Synopsis: reader is camping with DA, preparing an ambush. Ironically, they didn’t expect one.

Length: short

A/N: I’m so intrigued by the war, ngl I’m surprised there’s not as much angsty content. The end is meant to be open, idk. P.S. sorry for the absence xx

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The wind howls through the branches, leaves fall everywhere around on the dark soil, making your disorganized run aggravated by their crunching.

You try to breathe and look ahead of you, but the cold air scratches your lungs with each huff and your pupils work in vain to catch any glimpse of light, while instead you pray not to find any.

Light means death.

You had realized that sooner than you had hoped, the rush of green still embedded in your mind as it had made your friend fall like a frail trunk in a field. Almost soundless, a soft thud against the grass, no scream or chance to react at all.

You had stared, still in the night as everyone else got to their feet and fired out attacks while concealing the area in ink smoke. At some point someone dragged you along by the arm and only then your mind managed to hold a thought long enough to act. “Run” they had shouted, before they also left you and scattered like it had been ordered.

So now you run, trying not to think just how much left you have in you before you fall, another trunk in a forest of soulless eyes.

Your path gets narrower, low branches you don’t notice tear at your skin, but you run, you keep running, as long as you run you can keep your mind away from that damned emerald-

green light.

It scrapes your ear. You see it.

Your mind crashes down like a dam on the small river you were trying to protect. What now? Do you keep running? Can you fight? How many were they? How close? Do they see you? Are you gonna die? Are you gonna die without a sound like-

Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the flash of red that hits your hip, you finally fall, like a horse pierced with an arrow in battle, and the crawling burning sensation of your flesh eating itself makes your lungs erupt in the guttural wail your heart had been aching to cry.

You hold your side as you mindlessly scream into the humid ground. That was your new resolve. You’d be dead in a few seconds so, for what it’s worth, this would be your way to avenge your friend.

When you’re still alive and writhing you don’t question why, until the rustle of leaves reveals a masked figure that uncertainly calls your name.

Their heart falls with them as they kneel near you, ripping their mask off. Your mind starts to get cloudy, but you know you recognize that face, that heaving chest, that broken voice that huffs out a series of “No, no, no! Please, please, fuck-“

So you smile and reach to cup their cheek, to feel their warmth against your cold hand, which they hold tightly. Their eyes scan your hazed ones and urgent desperation bares in their words.

“No, please I can heal you, you can’t leave me!”

They scream your name in the night as your eyes finally close, and darkness claims you.

[grey-gazania-fic]

Fractures

Celegorm saves Caranthir from death during the Nírnaeth Arnoediad. Written for a prompt: "Stay awake." Rated PG.

I don't think I've ever been as frightened as I am when I see Caranthir crumple under Ulfast's mace in the midst of battle. Even Beren's hands around Curufin's neck don't compare, because at least then we had only been facing two foes. Now we're surrounded, with Orcs and Men on all sides squeezing us like a vise.

Ulfast is preparing to strike a second blow, so I swing at him with my sword. He blocks, but it distracts him long enough for Bor's youngest to smite him from behind. I give Borthand a grateful nod. Maybe later I'll be able to figure out what the hell has gone wrong with this battle, but right now, I just don't want my brother to die. Reaching low, I haul him onto my horse with a groan. He's heavy in full armor and my horse is already tired, but I can hear Maglor yelling for us to retreat. Gliroch will have to manage until I can get us both to safety.

I turn to where the fighting is thinnest and start to hew my way through, striking with a fury at anyone who dares to attack, for my brother is supine and senseless and I will not see him harmed further. Others of our people are doing the same; I catch a brief glimpse of Amras as we push through the wall of Ulfang's treacherous kinsmen. Many of them have broken rank and are running now, and I let them go. They're no threat to me, and my brother's life is worth more than revenge.

Finally, finally, I reach one of our camps. It's chaos, with soldiers pouring in looking for help and people rushing to pack up and move further south. But it's safer than the battlefield, so it'll do for now.

I dismount and pull Caranthir from Gliroch's back. He's dead weight, his eyes half closed, and the only sign of life he gives is low moan. Getting his helm off without hurting him further is a challenge, as it's badly dented where Ulfast struck, but I manage. His hair and face are sticky with blood, which is still seeping sluggishly from the wound. I probe at it with my fingertips, keeping my touch as gentle as I can, but he still lets out a pained whimper. I can feel swelling. He needs a healer, and soon.

"Come on, Moryo," I say, slapping at his cheeks until his eyes open. "Stay awake. Talk to me. Tell me something. Tell me— Tell me the palindromic primes."

He blinks up at me blearily. "Palindromic primes?" he says, his voice slurred.

"Yes. What's the first one? Two, isn't it?"

"Two," he agrees. He frowns a little and then, slowly, says, "Three. Five, seven, eleven… Um. One-hundred-and-one…"

He keeps going, but I stop paying too much attention. I don't know if he's getting them correct — mathematics was always his and Atto's passion, not mine — but he's awake and talking, which is what I want. I scan the throng around me for a healer. Finally I spot Melloth, and I flag her down.

"Snap the shaft off and keep moving," she says, and it takes me a moment to realize that she's talking about the arrow lodged in my upper arm. I open my mouth to answer, but she's already turned to Caranthir, her deft hands and sharp eyes taking in his injury.

"Fractured skull," she tells me; Caranthir's eyes have fallen closed and he's biting deep into his lower lip, clearly in pain from her examination. "I can get him to the point where he'll be safe to travel without incurring any permanent injury, but no more than that. There are too many wounded, Celegorm, and we need to move."

"Do it," I say. "I'll take care of him after."

She nods and sets to work, and I breathe a sigh of relief. That's one brother safe and accounted for.

Now I simply have to find the other five.

[morning-357]

D&D 1.1

Hiya folks and welcome to Morning working her fist job as a camp counsellor for D&D!!

Detail are below the cut!

Introduction of player characters:

halfling life cleric who makes cookies infused with truth serum

half elf rogue who lost her nobility

elf druid who chucks stones at everyone

gnome rogue who has made a grappling hook

a changeling bard based on taylor swift (the singer, sorry dndads fans)

human artificer who got kicked out of his town for doing experiments with alchemy on people

the plot is that there is a war between two kingdoms and theirs has be DECIMATED. So their king tells them, "Go take my daughter to our enemy any an olive branch/sacrifice!"

The players already are questioning the king but are making so much of a rackus that they are taken outside by the Head Guard. The head guard tries to explain what hey need to do (take the princess safely, don't follow the main road, everyone wants to take the princess so they win the bounty, etc.). The players immediately ignore this and the druid decides to gently pelt this poor guard's face with pebbles.

I should mention that at this time, all six of these children talking over each other in my face. I loved the enthusiasm :)

The head guard gets fed up and drags them along to the... ok, i'm done trying to do this in paragraphs. it's point form time!

meet the princess (steal from her in the process)

the changeling wants to take the princess' identity for unknown reasons

leave in carriage pulled by donkeys (all horses and unicorns of the kingdom are dead. the best heroes? captured. these are truly the last resort of heroes.) and two guards with them

*10 hours later...*

the group is woken up (i forgot the mention they tied the princess' mattress to the top of the carriage so the cleric grandma could sleep) by a loud bang!

turns out the guards have been knocked unconscious and the wheels have been broken so the cleric fixes those while the rest o the party figures out what happens

the rogue shoots and arrow and the druid chucks her... trombone??? into the bush where they hear movement (misses)

the elf noble and bard sneak and find a goblin inspecting these items

they knock the goblin out

when the goblin wakes up, they feed him a cookie

cookie was a 5/10

the team realize this was a distraction

two guards/dudes (?) and their giant owl bear friend have taken the party's donkeys

combat ensues

I don't want to bore with details (and I need sleep) but all I will say is that last we left off, they have nearly killed all three and are about to drop one of the guards from 150ft above the owl bear who is partially frozen. Good on them.

:)

[aishangotome]

Minamoto No Yoritomo: Chapter 18

Chapter 17

♡———♡

Yoritomo: I won't let you touch this woman...

At the same time as the metallic sound rang out above my head, a strong arm embraced me protectively.

Benkei: You...!

Yoritomo, having deflected the naginata, glared at Benkei with icy eyes.

Yoritomo: You dare to touch what's mine--will you regret it in the next life, Benkei?

(He protected me...)

A feeling so intense painfully shook my heart, and I held my breath--

Soldier 4: Protect Yoritomo-sama!

Soldier 5: Ahhhh!!

Benkei: How annoying!

A group of our soldiers who had broken through the enemy's encirclement came rushing in.

Yoritomo: It's about time.

Benkei: What...?

(Ah...)

The horse accelerated sharply, and Yoritomo firmly supported my body as I leaned back.

Benkei: Wait!

The horizontally swung naginata and the white blade collided, scattering sparks.

Flinging up the naginata, Yoritomo skillfully slipped past Benkei--

Yoritomo: Too bad, I can't kill you here after all.

When I looked back, Benkei's figure was no longer visible in the melee.

Yoshino: Yoritomo-sama, are you hurt...?

Yoritomo: I'm fine.

Relieved by his short reply, I looked forward again.

Yoritomo's voice resounded sonorously, cutting through the noise of the battlefield.

Yoritomo: We'll push through! Follow me!

Soldier 6: Don't leave Yoritomo-sama alone!

Soldier 7: Run! Run--!

Our soldiers charged at the enemy with even greater momentum.

(Everyone trusts Yoritomo-sama...!)

Yoritomo: Now then--is there anyone who wants to take the head of the Seii Taishogun, Minamoto no Yoritomo?!

Arrogantly capturing the gaze of everyone nearby, both friend and foe, Yoritomo swung his sword.

(This is Yoritomo-sama's -- the shogunate's way of fighting.)

-

And then... when the grass was burning with the flames of war and someone's dripping blood stained the earth.

The short, fierce battle was coming to an end.

Yoritomo: No need to pursue! All forces, withdraw!

Seeing that the enemy had begun to retreat, Yoritomo gave the order.

Messengers ran around, and the shogunate forces returned to camp.

(For tonight, we won for now...)

(But there were still casualties and sacrifices.)

I looked at the wounded soldiers, stumbling on their way back, holding their sword and arrow wounds, with an unbearable feeling.

As we rode, Yoritomo gently brought his lips to my ear.

Yoritomo: Yoshino, are you alright?

Yoshino: Y-Yes! I'm... I'm completely unharmed, thanks to you.

Yoritomo: Idiot. That's a given.

(Eh...?)

Yoritomo turned me around and stared at my face.

Yoritomo: What I'm worried about is whether you're crying from fear.

Yoritomo: Hmm. It doesn't seem like you're making a pathetic face.

(This is... probably him being considerate of me, right?)

--CHOICE--

Please comfort me if I cry

What an unsightly face...

I feel like crying now.

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

Yoshino: Will you comfort me if I cry?

Yoritomo: I'll be kind to you after I've made fun of you thoroughly.

Yoshino: That's terrible!

Yoshino: Oh dear... You said my crying face was beautiful before.

Yoritomo: ............

(Oops... I said something weird.)

Yoritomo: When did I say that?

Yoshino: S-Sorry.

The momentarily frozen air made me panic, so I decided to change the subject.

Yoshino: By the way, what happened to Benkei-san after that?

Yoritomo: According to the report, we couldn't kill him after all. Well, that was expected.

Yoritomo: Tonight was a skirmish for both sides.

Yoritomo: If it had lasted a little longer, reinforcements would have arrived on both sides and we would have entered a full-scale battle.

Yoshino: Is that so...?

Yoritomo: Yes. Morinaga and Shigehira's units were on their way here after receiving the news of the night attack.

Yoritomo: The rebel army probably planned for their main force to arrive while Benkei was stalling us.

(Come to think of it, Yoritomo said that Benkei and the others came with a small elite force to blend into the darkness.)

Yoshino: ...It could have been much worse if we had made one wrong move.

Yoritomo: In war, this kind of thing is an everyday occurrence.

Yoritomo: I thought I could take this opportunity to reduce their forces a bit more...

Yoritomo: But Benkei retreated earlier than I expected. I thought he was a hothead, but he makes pretty calm judgments.

(He talks about it as if it's nothing, Yoritomo-sama...)

I recall the conversation I had with Yoritomo before the night attack.

Yoshino: "The key to winning isn't to follow the plan smoothly, but how you overcome the crisis..."

Yoshino: I understand a little of what you meant.

Yoritomo: I see.

Yoshino: Yes.

Yoritomo, unfazed to the end, brilliantly overcame the unexpected situation.

As I was thinking about this, a hand was placed on my head.

Yoritomo: Honestly. You're always thinking so seriously, aren't you?

Yoritomo: So, what did you think? Did you want to run away from the battlefield?

(No way.)

I reflexively shook my head from side to side, then searched my heart for words.

Yoshino: I thought you were amazing, Yoritomo-sama.

Yoritomo: ...Ha, don't say such obvious things.

(Hmm...)

In the wind of the galloping horse, Yoritomo combed my hair with his fingertips, looking somewhat pleased.

Just that made my heart ache unbearably.

-

Back at the camp, I parted with Yoritomo, who was going to have a war council with his vassals, and treated the wounded soldiers.

Yoshino: You might have a fever in the middle of the night because of your wound. If that happens, please take this medicine.

Soldier 1: Thank you, Yoshino-san!

Soldier 2: I don't know how to thank you, to be treated so kindly on the battlefield...

(Oh my...)

I hurriedly waved my hands in front of my chest to deny it.

Yoshino: Not at all! You all fought for your lives today.

Yoshino: If I can help those who fight for the shogunate... I'm really glad I'm a healer.

Soldier 4: Yoshino-san...

Soldier 3: As expected of the woman chosen by Yoritomo-sama, even her heart is beautiful!

Yoshino: Eh?

One of the soldiers spoke in an emotional tone, and the others bowed deeply.

(I can't say we're just pretending to be lovers...!)

Soldier 2: Speaking of Yoritomo-sama, he was so valiant earlier!

Soldier 4: Yes. When Benkei attacked, I thought it was the end for us...

Soldier 3: I can't believe Yoritomo-sama himself challenged Benkei to a duel and opened up a path for us. He's amazing.

(Ah...)

I recall the image of Yoritomo, brushing off the restraints of his fellow soldiers and challenging Benkei to a duel.

(If the shogunate's forces had been pushed back by Benkei at that time... we would have been in a full-fledged battle.)

Yoritomo calmly ended the battle with Benkei as soon as the morale of our side was restored.

(He raised everyone's morale by deliberately choosing a dangerous path...!)

(But that means...)

A sudden question pricked at my heart.

Yoshino: ...Yoritomo-sama, aren't you scared?

Soldier 1: Huh?

(If Yoritomo wipes away everyone's fear, what happens to his own fear?)

After a moment of silence, the soldiers burst into laughter.

Soldier 3: I can't imagine him being scared!

Soldier 4: That's right! Even Yoshino-san hasn't seen that, right?

Yoshino: Well, um... that's true, but...

(Certainly, Yoritomo was perfect as a general today. ...Almost too perfect.)

I remember the words of Yoritomo that I heard in the garden of the Imperial Palace that day.

*Flashback*

Yoritomo: Fortunately, I'm good at deceiving others. If my words and actions can unite the samurai to fight...

Yoritomo: I'll play the part of the perfect Seii Taishogun as much as I can.

Yoshino: ...Even if it means losing someone important and sacrificing your own heart?

Yoritomo: I threw away my heart a long time ago. From the day I decided to deceive and use everyone to survive.

*Flashback over*

(Yoritomo-sama's strength is such that he can even kill his own emotions.)

Forgetting that, I suddenly felt ashamed of myself for having been given a sense of security one-sidedly.

Yoshino: I'm sorry! I just remembered something I had to do.

Yoshino: I'll excuse myself now.

Soldier 1: Oh, okay! Thank you very much, Yoshino-san.

Yoshino: You're welcome. Everyone, please do your best tomorrow too.

I exchanged smiles with the soldiers and started walking away.

(I want to see Yoritomo-sama's face, even if just for a little bit...)

-

After asking another soldier where Yoritomo-sama was, who had already finished the war council, I visited the cliff near the camp.

(Ah, there he is!)

I found him standing alone, his back turned, and approached him, about to call out to him, but...

(...Is he looking at something?)

His profile seemed quietly tense, and I swallowed my words.

Below Yoritomo-sama's eyes--at the foot of the cliff--was the battlefield that had been filled with noise until a moment ago.

Yoritomo: Yoshino?

(He noticed me...)

Yoritomo-sama turned around, the night wind blowing through his dark hair.

Yoritomo: What are you doing here?

Yoshino: I heard you were this way, so I came looking for you!

Yoshino: But, am I disturbing you?

Yoritomo: No.

After a pause, Yoritomo grinned.

Yoritomo: You're like a puppy, coming all the way to look for me. How cute.

(Cute...?)

Yoritomo: Were you lonely and couldn't sleep alone?

Yoshino: No, that's not it! I'm definitely wide awake, though.

I stood next to Yoritomo and looked down at the plains together.

Yoshino: What were you doing here, Yoritomo-sama?

Yoritomo: Nothing. Just basking in the afterglow of victory.

The plains that Yoritomo pointed to with his hand were scattered with broken arrows and flags, remnants of the fierce battle.

(Really?)

Yoshino: ...You didn't look like that.

Yoritomo: ......

Yoritomo: What? Were you observing my face without saying anything?

Yoritomo-sama's hand reached out and touched my cheek.

Yoritomo: You're a naughty girl.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 19

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[ravensilversea]

I'll Tell You How the Sun Rose

Title: I'll Tell You How the Sun Rose

Author: Raven_Silversea

Rating: T

Pairing: Colonnello & Aloy, background Colonnello/Lal Mirch/Reborn

Prompt: Reincarnation AU / Oblivious Flirting

Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Nora!Colonnello, set during Horizon: Zero Dawn, Post- The City of the Sun Quest, Pre- Into the Borderlands Quest

“You could go back, you know,” Aloy says in the middle of looting a supply chest. “I mean,” she gestures at the bodies and destroyed machines all around them, “the killers are dead, you avenged your brother, and I bet Sona and Teersa will support your return-”

“I have people I’m looking for, kora,” Colonnello cuts her off. He tosses a broken arrow to the side and pulls another, still intact, one from the next body to add to his collection. Jumping down from the quarry ledge to the wooden platform Aloy’s crouched on, he splits his arrow collection in half and passes some to her. “I would have left years ago, but the Matriarchs wouldn’t give me the Seeker’s Mark, even though I won the Proving.”

Aloy frowns. “I thought you could ask for anything.” She does a cursory wipe of the arrows to remove any wet blood before slotting them into her quiver. 

Colonnello snorts as he haphazardly throws his own arrows into the quiver on his back. He’ll clean and organize them better next time they make camp, so there’s no reason for Aloy to glare at him like that, especially since she’ll also have to clean her arrows later. “Yeah, well, you’re not supposed to ask for leave to come and go from the Sacred Lands, kora.” He about-turns and starts walking towards the quarry exit, and the scrambling of boots against stone tell him that Aloy’s following. 

“So…” she drawls. “What did you get as your boon?”

Ao3

Colonnello sighs, looking up to the blue afternoon sky and beseeching a dead god for patience. “I settled for changing my name and getting a post on the border.”

“Bet the Matriarches took that well.”

“Ha! They hated it almost as much as my mother did.” If his brother hadn’t been her favorite child before that day, he certainly was after. Not that Colonnello blames her for it. He’s always been a shitty son, and this is now the second life running he’s left his mother grieving while he fucks off into danger to run away from his own grief.

Aloy brushes past him and does a running leap to the first handhold. The sunlight gleams off her red hair, and her smile almost puts its brightness to shame. She’s so goddamn young, and his brother was too. Too young to hold all of Teersa’s hopes on her shoulders and far too young to die. 

His climb up the handholds and ledges is slower than hers, which she always takes a moment to tease him about. “Do I need to slow down for you, old man?” she asks from above him with a grin.

“I’ll show you who’s old,” he grumbles and hauls himself up and over the last ledge out of the quarry. He’s not old. He’s nowhere near old. Twenty is nothing compared to being a hundred despite being physically fifty. Just because she’s sixteen and wandering around with only one set of memories doesn’t make him old.

Well, he thinks as Aloy runs up to their Strider and does minor repairs on it before slinging her packs over it’s rear end already to get going and do the next thing. Maybe he is a bit old.

“One of these days, kora,” he says, mounting up behind her on the horse-like machine, “I am going to introduce you to the concept of a siesta.”

Aloy laughs. “You keep saying that and have yet to do it.”

“It hasn’t been ‘one of these days’ yet, kora.”

Aloy waits days to ask who he’s looking for, and Colonnello’s honestly a bit surprised she waited that long. She doesn’t exactly have tact and does have a desire to know everything about everything. 

The campfire crackles as Colonnello rotates the rabbits he’s cooking for their dinner, and somewhere in the distance, a Longleg blasts something. Probably a fox. Maybe some poor fool who got too close to the machine herd.

Aloy shifts so that she’s sitting directly across from him, which makes it hard to ignore her expectant expression.

He sighs and sits back against the rock behind him. How does he even explain that he’s looking for people he’s known most of his life but also never met? People who are long dead and possibly not even born, or born and don’t remember him? The stars and Milky Way above him give Colonnello no answers.

“Were they taken in the Red Raids?” Aloy asks quietly, already seeming to brace herself for his answer. She’s heard enough people’s stories at this point, Colonnello supposes it’s only to be expected that she starts there. Still…

“No. Well, maybe, kora. I don’t know.” He jabs the poker stick into the fire and nudges the logs until one’s back begins to crumble off. Pulling out the stick, he shoves the glowing tip into the dirt to extinguish it. “They aren’t Nora.” At least, he doesn’t think they’re Nora. Even without their memories, he’s pretty confident he would have recognized them.

At least… God, he hopes he would.

Aloy’s brow furrows. “Then how… you’ve never left the Sacred Lands.”

“Until now, yep.” Colonnello tests the rabbits, determines they’re cooked, and tosses one to Aloy. “It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated as in Rules of the Nora complicated or complicated as in why you know so much about the Old Ones complicated.” 

Colonnello gapes at her, even as Aloy takes a large bite of her rabbit and raises her eyebrow. She’s sharper than a tack, he can’t deny that no matter how much he grumbles about it. “Viper would skin me alive for dropping enough hints for you to pick up on that, kora,” he mutters. Aloy grins. 

Colonnello takes a bite of rabbit and chews it thoughtfully. “The second one,” he wags his pointer finger downwards in the air like he was picking a gameshow answer. “I knew them Before. In my last life.”

Aloy’s eyebrows climb so high, they almost get lost in her hairline. “Your what.”

“My last life. What part wasn’t I clear about, kora?” Colonnello says with a broad, teasing grin. “I have memories of the Old World when I was an ‘Old One’.” He fingerquotes, and Aloy screws up her face in confusion when he does.

She gestures at the air. “What was that? Why did you do that?”

“Oh it’s an Old Ones thing. You wouldn’t understand, kora.” He takes another bite of his dinner while Aloy makes a teakettle noise of frustration. 

He spends the rest of the meal explaining different idiosyncrasies of the Old World before there were machines and when the ruins were actually towering buildings people lived and worked in. But as they climb into their bedrolls, Colonnello knows Aloy isn’t done with their initial conversation. She’s far too nosy to be.

He’s right, of course. Aloy brings it up again one night while they’re riding along the road, right after they’ve outrun a herd of Chargers who took them going past as a challenge for about five miles. “You love her, whoever you’re looking for,” Aloy says.

Colonnello watches the last Charger disappear from the horizon behind them and turns back around. They literally spent most of the day sitting in a small cave waiting out a sandstorm, and she waits until now to ask. “Them. I love both of them, kora,” he whispers.

Aloy’s quiet for a moment. Colonnello isn’t surprised. While there are a few polyamorous partnerships amongst the Nora, she’s spent maybe a week amongst the tribe itself and most of that was spent helping in the immediate aftermath of the Proving. It’ll take her a moment to add the concept into her worldview, but only because she never considered it before. While she does, he looks over her shoulder to the road ahead, trying to draw centuries old constellations in the new starfield again.

“What were they like?”

Fuck, how to describe them? How to encapsulate all that is Reborn and Lal into a few short sentences when they were two of the Strongest Seven with reputations to match? 

He settles on, “He was an asshole, and she could kick my ass,” to start.

Aloy bursts out laughing. “Sounds like my kind of people.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” Lal would absolutely adore Aloy. She’s the right kind of scrappy and smart that would make Lal want to take her right under her wing. Reborn would take those same qualities as a challenge, and he’d spent every waking moment trying to trip her up and make her even better than she already was. All in all, Aloy was scary now? The earth itself would quake beneath her feet after those two were done with her, and Colonnello wishes he could see it.

“Both of them were terrifying teachers, but they wanted their students to be their best. Reborn was just more willing to drag the more useless-appearing ones to greatness while Lal had a more sink or swim mentality.”

“Got personal experience with that one?” Aloy smirks over her shoulder, barely visible in the moonlight.

Colonnello chuckles. “It’s how I met Lal. I was assigned to her squad, and she ran me over with a tank- uh, those square-ish ruins with a canon we see along the road sometimes.”

“She ran you over with one of those?”

“Hey now! I lived didn’t I?”

Aloy gives him a squint-eyed look that says so much about what she thinks of that. She mutters something about it breaking his self-preservation a whole lifetime later, but he can’t quite make it out.

“Reborn was my best friend,” he continues. “Dramatic to the extreme, loved tormenting his students and seeing them shake in their boots, but he would have killed anyone who tried to touch a hair on their heads.” He trails off. “I’d be more worried about any Carja who tried to drag them off during the Red Raids then them to be honest. They were two of the strongest people in the world, and everyone knew it, kora.”

“Now you’re exaggerating.”

Colonnello shakes his head with a smile, but there’s no real explaining the I Prescelti Sette and the Arcobaleno Curse, much less his role in it. At least, not right now. Instead, he fills the night with stories about Reborn and Lal, both their accomplishments and their most embarrassing failures, as well as how they all ended up together. Just glossing over the curse and mafia aspects of it all.

They arrive at Meridian in the gray hours just before dawn. A man is waiting for them at the gates and introduces himself as Blameless Marad with a closed-lipped smile and knowing eyes, and Colonnello immediately pegs him as a spy. Unlike Viper, who had carried themselves with a disinterested air that allowed them to slide into the background unless you were willing to buy the information they had, Marad clearly wants them to know he has information and is not afraid to use it. It makes him dangerous.

Colonnello rests his hand on the hilt of the knife he keeps on his hip. Marad’s eyes follow the motion before cutting back up to smirk at Colonnello. “The Sun-King requests your presence, Aloy and Colonnello of the Nora,” he says. “If you would follow me?”

Marad leads them through the early morning bustle of the city, merchants and tradesmen only just beginning to set up their tables while guards conduct a shift change. The palace is separated from the city proper by a long bridge, and then by seemingly endless stairs dotted with Carja nobles also seeking an audience with the Sun-King.

Twisting her head at every noble they pass, Aloy’s eyes clearly track up and down the fine clothing, accessories, and distinct lack of weaponry. Their escort skillfully redirects her attention to their ascent with quiet lectures about the history and architecture of the palace while Colonnello pointedly glares at every noble who mutters something about rising early every morning for days and the “Nora savages” getting to skip the line. He may be able to restraint himself from picking a fight, but Aloy’s only sixteen and has the short temper to go with it.

It doesn’t stop Marad from dryly catching Colonnello’s eye when Colonnello starts tapping his fingers against his knife hilt.

They climb the last stairs and turn towards a balcony. The view is primarily blocked by a large metal-carved throne facing out over the city, and Colonnello has to respect the dedication to the view despite the security hazard. But then again, it’s not like any of the tribes have developed (or dug up any) snipe rifles yet, and arrows only go so far.

Three figures step out from the shadows of the throne. The first, a bare-chested man save for an open-robe and a large metal-and-machine-part necklace, wearing a geometric headpiece. Presumably, he’s the Sun-King. He greets them with a bright smile. The second is Erend, who pulls Aloy into a tight hug.

The third… It’s the tilt of his head that gives him away, and Colonnello is moving, brushing past the Sun-King mid-sentence, and wrapping his arms around the shadowed man just as dawn breaks over the mesa. Arms wrap around him in return as he breathes in the new but familiar scent of resin instead of gunpowder, oasis and desert instead of coffee, and sunlight which has somehow stayed the same.

Colonnello pulls back to look into the same gunmetal colored eyes he remembers and says, almost breathes it feels like, “Where the fuck have you been, kora?”

Reborn huffs. His stupid curly sideburns have also the journey from one life to the next, and Colonnello wants to pull them just to see them bounce again. “Right here, idiota,” Reborn says before leaning in and kissing Colonnello. 

It burns like the morning sun against the cold desert night, and Colonnello wraps his fingers in the curls on the back of Reborn’s head, pulling him closer as if to soak up all the rays and embed the feeling of this one kiss into his bones. Because last life, he had almost forgotten this feeling, up on that cold mountain with Lal and the other soldiers and endless swarm of machines and no idea if Reborn was still out there somewhere while the apocalypse rained down upon the world.

Reborn’s the one to break the kiss, leaving them both panting. The bastard smirks down at him, carefully untangles Colonnello’s fingers from his hair, and pulls away. “So,” he says, “When did you adopt a kid?”

[echo-bleu]

3x01 coda, so spoilers ahead. Also on AO3.

Jaskier ascribes his lack of sleep to the action of the day, at first. He did, after all, get shot. Yes, alright, the arrow only left him with an impressive set of bruises around his shoulder blades, and a broken lute (it’s only the fourth lute he’s gone through in the last six months, and he’s forced to admit that none of Cyssiel’s lutes are quite as good as Filavandrel’s, but still, they don’t come cheap). His back aches and so does most of his body. He’s surrounded by soft breathing and the more distant snorts coming from the horses. He’s not used to this any more.

But no, it’s more than that. He’s grown stronger, tougher outside of Geralt’s zone of action. Today wasn’t even in the top five worst dangers of the last year. He barely had time to be properly afraid for himself – only for Ciri, for the dwarves, for Geralt and Yennefer, until he heard a swish and a thud and felt himself falling. He’s fine.

It’s something else.

He’s not the only one awake. Geralt is sitting in meditation, on watch as always, his eyes closes but his senses on alert. Yennefer and Ciri are snuggled against each other, but neither of their breathings has the regularity of sleep. Are they bothered by the day, too?

There’s Rience, of course. His continued existence sends a shiver down Jaskier’s spine. That day in Oxenfurt, now, that ranks as one of his worst. Top one, possibly. He’s never quite got it out of his head, the flame burning his fingers, the sheer terror of the moment.

He’s after Ciri. Jaskier can’t imagine how terrifying this must all be for her, running and running with half the Continent after her. She’s the only reason he came and faced this. He’s not the brave type, but she is.

As if reading his thoughts, Ciri makes a small, sleepy noise and climbs over Yennefer to curl up against him. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m alright,” Jaskier murmurs.

“No, you’re not.”

Yennefer sits up, perfectly composed, like she was never lying down at all. Geralt opens his eyes and catches Jaskier’s gaze, shaking his head.

No lying, then. Alright.

“I don’t know,” he sighs. “Something’s rubbing me the wrong way.”

“Rience?” Yennefer asks, and of course, she saw just how shaken he was, afterwards.

Jaskier shakes his head. “You did save me, in Oxenfurt.”

“Only after you risked yourself to get me and a bunch of elves on a ship.”

“Yeah.”

Silence falls uneasily. Ciri embraces Jaskier’s waist tighter. Jaskier sits up – groaning softly as the ache moves down his back – and gathers her into his lap like a much smaller child.

“We’re going to get him,” Geralt says, with all the quiet confidence that he usually deploys for Ciri.

Jaskier doesn’t particularly believe him.

“It’s not just him,” he says, unconsciously rubbing his fingertips. “The Scoia’tael.”

“What about them?”

“They attacked us.”

He doesn’t even know how to express it, how to explain almost two years of working with the elves in a few words, how to explain that…

That sense of betrayal.

The elves have been betrayed first, of course, and over and over. Jaskier has gained quite the perspective on that, recently. They’re doing the best with the scraps they have left, and they’re rightfully angry.

Jaskier has no right to feel betrayed.

“Their commander,” he says carefully. “Gallatin. He saved my life, once.”

“What?” Geralt frowns.

“Stormed a Temerian army camp. It’s a very long story.” Jaskier avoids everyone’s eyes. Ciri half sits up to look at him, but he looks away. “My point is, the Scoia’tael don’t attack dwarven caravans, not unprovoked. And Gallatin knows me. Half of these elves were my friends. Why would they do this?”

“It’s Francesca,” Yennefer says quietly. “Their queen. She’s the only fully elven mage I know of, and she’s… driven. She said Ciri is Hen Ichaer.”

“Their queen? Don’t they have a king? Filavandrel…”

“Is more of a King Consort, really. At least, from what I saw when they had me prisoner.”

“Right.”

“Can we go back to the Scoia’tael saving your life?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier would really rather ask about the Hen Ichaer thing – it rings a bell that he can’t quite put his finger on – but both Geralt and Yennefer are staring at him and he can’t escape them.

“Erm,” he says. He starts fiddling with Ciri’s braid, if only to stop himself from rubbing at his fingers until they hurt. “I kind of got captured by Temerian soldiers?”

“Captured?” Yennefer echoes, just as Geralt growls, “When?”

“Uh, like three months ago? It was after the… before the… yeah. But not for long! I was only there for two days!”

He’s not helping his case, apparently.

“Gallatin and his commando got me out,” he says hurriedly. “I wasn’t even hurt! Just a few bruises and scrapes and, you know, all fine.”

Dammit. Now they look downright furious. Even Ciri, looking up at him from his lap, has wide eyes.

“Why were you captured by Temerians,” Geralt asks, his voice dangerously low.

“Because I’m the Sandpiper?”

Geralt blinks. Yennefer winces. Jaskier suddenly remembers why he never told Geralt about that, back at Kaer Morhen.

Well, to be fair, there were many reasons. They were busy. There was the whole business with the Deathless Mother, whatever that was, and trips to other spheres, and various witchers not really liking Jaskier’s presence. It’s not like he meant to keep it from Geralt, really.

He just found it easier to let him assume whatever he wanted.

“You’re the Sandpiper?” Ciri pipes up. “We heard about that! That’s so cool! So you help all the elves get out of the places where they’re being persecuted?”

“I try,” Jaskier smiles shakily at her.

She smiles back and hugs him tight.

Geralt is still silent. Jaskier doesn’t like that at all.

“The Sandpiper,” he says eventually, slowly, staring at Jaskier.

“Yes?”

“You’ve chosen a side, then.”

The silence is deafening. Jaskier holds Geralt’s gaze the best he can – not very well. But this isn’t something he’s going to defer to him on.

“I’ve chosen to help those who need it,” he says, lifting his chin.

“And here I thought I was putting you in too much danger asking for your help.”

It’s Jaskier’s turn to fall silent. He swallows, goes back to rubbing his fingertips.

“I won’t lie, I’m not in a hurry to face Rience again,” he says. “But I am also currently wanted in three countries. So as far as danger goes, today was rather… tame.”

Geralt sighs. “This isn’t what I wanted for you.”

“I know.” Jaskier swallows. “I know you never wanted me to follow you. I know you never thought I had it in me, and I still wonder daily if I really do. But this is my choice, Geralt.”

“You’ve come a long way from that vapid singing twat I first met,” Yennefer says quietly, a smirk on her lips. Ciri snorts.

“Excuse you?” Jaskier splutters. “I have never in my life been vapid!”

“Nevertheless, I’m proud of you, Pankratz.”

Jaskier flashes her a smile, before turning back to Geralt and biting his lip.

“This isn’t about you, Geralt. Don’t get me wrong, I love you all, but not everything revolves around you. I just saw people who needed help I could give, and… it’s been rewarding, even though it’s sometimes scary.”

“You mean dangerous.”

“Well, yes. But I’m here, aren’t I? Not dead yet. I might just be a squishy human, but I’ve made it work so far.”

Geralt considers him for a moment more, then finally nods.

“Dara was one of them,” Ciri says suddenly. “The Scoia’tael.”

Jaskier runs his fingers through her hair, above the braid. “Dara?”

“He was my friend. I think. I met him after I ran from Cintra, we were together for weeks. He left, but… I saw the look in his eyes. He was ready to kill me.”

“They didn’t want you dead,” Yennefer says.

“Still. He… I almost didn’t recognize him.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier whispers to her.

She has that same feeling of betrayal in her voice, the one that they probably shouldn’t feel – aren’t they, in some way, the traitors? The humans, the oppressors?

But the elves’ oppressed status are doesn’t give them a right to Ciri. Jaskier doesn’t know how to reconcile that – he’d happy to see King Vizimir overturned (to see his head on a pike? maybe not) for all he’s done, to see the royalty pay for their actions. Yet, Ciri is a princess too – worse, Calanthe’s granddaughter.

She’s a kid, who’s already shed a childhood of prejudice and sworn to do better. She deserves a life. She deserves the world.

So what are they supposed to do, facing friends on the other side of a battleground? Is that what war always is?

He settles for hugging Ciri a while longer.

He thinks of Gallatin and his anger, Cyssiel and her fears, Dermain guiding people through the tunnels, and even Filavandrel, so many years ago, when Jaskier was naive and so privileged that he didn’t get it. Of Yarpen, of Holma and the other dwarves in the network. Are they fighting each other too, now? The threat of Philippa and Dijkstra cutting them off was bad enough, but this? How are they supposed to keep going?

His back aches. He longs for Vespula’s soft bed, and yet he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Ciri snuggles her head against his belly, halfway to falling asleep. Maybe it’s just too late for complicated thoughts.

“Goodnight, princess,” he murmurs.

“Night, Jask,” Ciri whispers back.

Without dislodging her, Jaskier carefully lies back down on his side. After a moment, he feels a weight settle against his back, careful of his bruises. “Night, Geralt,” he says. “And Yen,” when another form curls around Ciri’s.

He’s missed them.

He closes his eyes. Maybe things will seem better in the morning light.

[mysticstarlightduck]

Seven Snippets Seven People

I'm catching up with my tags this week after toiling on the first chapters of Enchanted Illusions and Realms of Loss. I was Tagged by @tabswrites, here! Thank you so much!

(These snippets are from the WIP Realms of Loss)

One -

“Do you think the starlight can see us?”

The prince whispered, almost to himself, and Nesrynna frowned, confused at the strange question as she settled down beside him on the hard rock ground, nursing her injured hand. Behind them, the others kept themselves busy setting up camp for the night. “Whatever do you mean?”

TWO -

Her twin blades shimmered in the faint starlight, and Sara traced the edge with the tip of her finger, thinking, her mentor's words echoing in the back of her mind. 'We cannot change what were born as. But we can use it to our advantage.'

She glanced at her reflection on the frosted river, ghostly white hair flowing like an omen in the wind, so much like her mother's. Long ago, Sara had decided, clinging desperately to the hope carried by those words - maybe a monster could save lives, if it turned its fangs towards worse evils.

Three -

Adaria inched forward, leather boots soundlessly sifting through the snow as she stalked, in her hands, her bow and arrow were poised to strike. Moving behind a tree, she waited for the telltale signs of the approaching caravan. The sounds of iron wheels scraping against the frozen forest floor snapped her attention, and as it barrelled into view, her arrow flew, perfectly aimed.

Four-

"Listen, fancy pants."

Gwain growled, marching up to Oryon with such confident anger the wizard stumbled away. The young man grasped the collar of the other's gilded robes, almost lifting Oryon up from the ground.

"I had to do what it took to survive, it’s not a matter of choice. Ever know what starving feels like? No, you don't. I had to use what few broken tools I still had at my disposal, and pray I could make them work - and maybe, just maybe, my siblings and I would survive the Lost Lands' winter. Not everyone has a silver spoon stuck that far up their backside like you do. So don't you dare,"

His eyes burned with such fury Oryon could've sworn Gwain was a Caster like him. The wizard squirmed, regretting making his previous comment already as Gwain continued, staring him down so closely their noses almost touched.

"Don't you dare act like I've ever asked for what I had to do. You wouldn't understand. And if I ever catch you digging around my thoughts uninvited again, my daggers won't be so polite."

Five -

The cold winter chill whipped through his ears, snowflakes clinging to Viktoras’ long onyx hair and wet clothes, as his horse raced through grey road. It had been a long journey from the barracks on the edge of their kingdom, and with the cold seeping from his clothes and into his bones, the young man prayed there wouldn’t be any surprises on the way home. 

Beside him, his elder cousin, Prince Hael, led a few of their trusted soldiers, who followed them close behind. The unmistakable clinking of armor echoed through the blizzard, along with the rhythmic hoofbeats of their warhorses. It was a sound he’d grown to know all too well - so much so it was almost soothing, were it not for the blood staining his cousin’s sword. 

Six -

He stood at the crossroads between blind duty and doing the right thing. On the one hand, he could become a praised knight, like his adoptive father before him, but it would mean ignoring the lies told to him by the Crown. On the other, the chance to do the right thing and fight for the people he swore to protect - and help a thief commit treason against their ruler.

Kassien knew the choice should've been obvious when it came to traitors, that his Oath to the Queen should reign absolute over any other option. But as his white-knuckled grip on the blade loosened and he moved its tip away from the thief's throat, he found that he might not know himself that well after all.

Seven -

Lucian peeked into the dungeons, the smell of rust and dried-out blood burning into his nostrils and memory.

Father might as well cut off his head if he caught Lucian prowling around here, but as the young man sneaked past the guards, heart thundering in his chest and sweaty hands shaking, he forced himself to ignore all of that. He'd heard the rumors about the outsider locked away behind iron and steel, and they felt all too familiar. They called the outsider dangerous, selfsame as they'd always called Lucian disgraceful.

He'd seen what this person's magic could do. And so, Lucian forced himself to ignore the risk - not out of curiosity. But because this was his one and only chance to meet someone like him.

Tagging (gently): @crowandmoonwriting, @moonluringfrost, @the-mindless, @autumnalwalker, @writernopal, @rickie-the-storyteller, @lassiesandiego

[tarantulasagna]

@rustchild

I liked this back in October, found it inspiring, started writing, kept dipping in and out of it, sort-of forgot where I was going with it, and I think it's ended up more magical realist (does that apply to Arthuriana?) than properly surreal, but... Yeah. Here, have a thing.

It was quiet in the marsh, for the most part. There was little there to make noise, beyond the croaking of frogs, the occasional booming of the great black herons that stalked the pools, and the soft sounds of movement of those and other, quieter creatures.

These sounds twisted through the mist, emerging warped, muted, hanging in the air above their damp domain. Then new sounds arrived, disrupting the background hum, and drawing the toads and newts from their muddy beds to turn sullen eyes [footnote: not sullen because they were toads and newts, which are no more naturally sullen than any other animal. Some are quite lively. But these ones were sullen, largely on account of where they lived] to see who disturbed their peace. 

The dull beat of hooves on soft earth joined by the bright jingling of harness, both of horse and platemail, was the prelude to the appearance of two figures.

"Any idea how much further it is?" asked the first figure, 8 foot tall, slender of leg and stout of middle, with three heads rising from their shoulders. As the fog rolled back, this strange sight resolved itself into two people sat on one horse. 

The first of the two rode tall in the saddle, a broad chest bearing bright armour topped with a surcoat emblazoned with an eagle within a sunburst within a shield, clutching 3 arrows in one talon, a lantern in the other, a sword in its beak, and an expression as confused as whatever idea this device was supposed to symbolise. He wore the visor of his helm up, revealing a face that would have been very handsome, had it not been for an ill-advised moustache that drooped down the sides of his mouth. It might have worked on an older man, but on him it simply distracted from his otherwise admirable cheekbones, strong jaw and bright green eyes.

Behind him sat a shorter figure, armoured in ringmail, but without the plumed helm, but with surcoat marking them as a Squire of Camelot in service to this knight- which, unfortunately for them meant that it was quartered, bearing two of the overworked eagles, and two of the royal crest of Camelot. They had delicate features, with a sharp chin and fine nose, and a mass of brown curls peeking out beneath their sallet helm. 

"I believe the villagers said it was two days ride, my liege, and we only set off this morning",

This voice came from behind, and was followed shortly by its speaker; a Monk, riding a donkey. He was tonsured, and wore a simple brown habit, though a heavy mace hung from his white rope belt. He had soft features and a gentle expression, but his loose robes did not conceal his powerful build 

"Did they? Oh. Well, look for somewhere to make camp. An opportunity is not to be missed with ground like this."

The figures receded back in to the mist, and the toads and newts sank back in to the mire.

"Forsooth! A tree! That should mean solid ground, wouldn't you say, Brother?" said the Knight, pointing. The Monk ran a critical eye over the gnarled and twisted thing that stuck out of the ground like a broken bone through flesh.

"So it would seem," he replied cautiously, prodding at the solid-seeming ground with a sandaled foot.

"Though I cannot help but think of certain trees of the Orient which can eat a man whole in his sleep," the Monk continued.

The Knight squinted at the mostly-dead-looking tree, and jabbed at it with his sword, cautiously first, then harder.

"If so, it seems uninclined to defend itself." he said.

"Wouldn't it be too cold?" asked the Squire

"Why would It be any colder here than in the rest of the marsh?" asked the Knight.

"No, I mean for the tree. Isn't it hotter in the Orient? So would it be too cold for their plants to grow here?"

The Monk thought for a moment.

"Quite possibly," He replied "There is some debate as to whether they are strictly vegetable or in some measure deamoniac, so it may depend. Although, even then, depending on the nature of the spirit and where in hell they normally reside…" The Monk and Squire fell to discussing spiritual matters, and the knight smiled at their passionate discussion as they made camp.

Having set up their tents and sundry other requisites, but it being too early yet for the evening meal, they set to on foraging for whatever they could find in the dismal morass to supplement their rations.

The squire stuck their hand into a pale cluster of leaves and pulled a carrot out of the damp earth - then blushed as they saw the rather distinctive shape. The Knight and the Monk coughed and looked away. 

The Monk tried next. "Ah! There, an ordinary potato!"

The Squire made a strangled noise and blushed harder.

The Knight coughed. "Ah... Turn it sideways... No, upright. You see, Brother?"

"I must confess I do not, my liege"

"Well, it strongly resembles a certain... Well, a woman's ah... Well..."

The monk rotated the potato.

"Really?" He glanced reflexively in the direction of the Squire, who was bright pink and staring determinedly in the other direction.

"Hm" He tossed it away, once again wondering about the choices of his fellow men.

"I shall try," announced the Knight

"Surely this wretched marsh must be running out of obscenities with which to taunt us", he said, plunging a mailed gauntlet in to the earth, and pulled out a root, twisted beyond recognition in to the words 'Fuck You', in thick, tuberous, tendril-y letters.

"It seems our tormentor does not possess the wits to fuel their wit," the Knight quipped, pretending to himself that the Monk and Squire started laughing after he said that, not before.

"So… mash?" Suggested the Squire.

"I think that's probably best," agreed the Monk.

A short while later the sun set, pale and watery through the enduring mist, while the three travellers huddled round a smoky campfire, with a simmering pot of stew hanging from an iron tripod above it. The Knight sharpened and honed his sword, the Squire cleaned and polished the Knight's armour, and the Monk hummed a hymn (He Holds The World In Mighty Hands, But Gently Lest He Break It) while tending the fire and the stew.

"What do you make of this marsh, Brother? It seems… unnatural… to me," the Knight asked, not breaking the silence, for the evening was already full of the sounds of the marsh creatures, as well as the activities of the camp. 

The Monk nodded sagely.

"The villagers did say that they lose more farmland every year."

The Knight nodded as well, trying to look as sage as the Monk, and failing as his visor fell down over his face.

"And that's faster than usual?" He asked, pushing it back up.

The Monk and Squire exchanged a familiar glance, encountering another strange gap in their leader's knowledge.

"It does not normally happen at all, my liege." answered the Squire, whose parents were farmers.

"Really? The land doesn't get…used up?"

"Uh… no, my liege"

The Knight accepted a rough wooden bowl of rough tuberous stew, heavily flavoured with dried sage, from the Monk who was now serving it up.

"Then why do cities keep getting bigger? Surely no one builds on good farmland?

And so the Monk and the Squire explained to the Knight that this was not how farming worked or why cities got bigger, and he was much amazed at their words, though he pretended that he was not.

So they finished their supper and rested for the night, the Squire taking the first watch. Soon the Monk and the Knight were fast asleep, and the Squire sat beneath the great canopy of night, and the rather more modest one of the dead tree. The moon was a distant blur behind the mist, which seemed thinner now the sun had set, and the stars were smeared in to a gentle luminous haze. Where pools of water stood they reflected the dim glow of the sky in streaks and splashes, darting the marsh with threads of silver. 

The Squire was just beginning to appreciate the beauty of the scene when a great and terrible groaning rent the night. The Squire shivered as the sound faded away, though the others did not wake. 

As the sound seemed far away, they merely banked the fire to comfort themselves, and left their companions sleeping. 

A little while later a great owl flew down out of the darkness, and settled in the of the tree. Long sharp talons gripped a branch, dark speckled wings were shaken and furled, and two luminous orange eyes were turned towards the Squire. The Squire observed it for a while, but it did nothing else, so they resumed their watch. The Squire did their best to ignore its stare as it remained there, watching the Squire as they kept their watch. Eventually, growing bored, the Squire spoke to the owl, and asked "Good sir owl, what do you want?"

And the owl replied;

"It is not what I want, young Squire, but what you want. Tell me what you most desire"

The Squire was rather surprised by this, and gave the owl a hard look. It looked like a fairly normal owl, though not one of a kind the Squire recognised. 

The Squire pondered on the question, and whether or not to answer a talking owl, and deciding that honesty was never wrong, answered truthfullly; 'To become a knight of virtue and high renown, sir owl'.

The owl hooted and ruffled it's feathers.

"A worthy answer, young Squire. Would you like my guidance on the path to accomplishing this?"

The Squire considered.

"I will hear your guidance," they replied, "though I make no promise of anything in return"

"I ask for nothing," said the owl, "but hear: take up your master's sword, and slay him and the Monk as they sleep. Return to the village, telling them that you confronted the magician, but were overmatched, and that you alone escaped fighting clear of their conjured servants. It will not be a heroes' return, but it will be a return of note, and there will be a seat empty at the Round Table for the taking. If you do this, I guarantee it will be yours."

The Squire was much troubled by this, and looked towards where their companions slept, their gaze falling first and longest on the gently snoring figure of the Monk.

"Sir owl, is there no other way to attain my goal?"

"None so swift or sure," replied the owl.

Then the Squire was heavy of heart, and weighed the owl's words carefully.

"Nay, sir owl, I shall not do this thing. For I would know of my misdeeds, and could not count myself a knight of virtue." The Squire did not speak of their desire for the Monk, though this also stayed their hand.

Then the owl shrieked in anger.

"Do not seek to conceal your desires from me! Since you have refused my wisdom, and tried to conceal for longing for your companion, you shall loose both your desires!" And so saying the owl flew away in to the darkness.

The Monk, stirred from sleep by the shriek of the owl but not having heard the conversation, roused himself, and asked the Squire what was happening. The Squire, much discomfited, reassured the Monk that it had only been an owl, which was not untrue. And they exchanged watches, for the time to do so was near.

Once the Squire was asleep, there came again that great and terrible groan, and like the Squire, the Monk shook with fright, but saw that his companions were undisturbed. And the Monk took up his cross and prayed to Jesus, and Jesus said to him "Don't worry about it. It sounds pretty far off, and I'll protect you from evil magics and conjurations". And the Monk was comforted, and gave thanks, and put a little more wood on the fire for entirely unrelated reasons.

A while later the owl returned, and the Monk greeted it, saying "well now, Brother Owl, are you the same owl the Squire spoke of, or another?" 

And to his amazement the owl replied:

"I am the same, and I say to you as I said to him; what do you desire?"

The Monk was much surprised by this, partly because the owl had spoken, and partly because the Squire had not mentioned this.

And the Monk replied

"That is a good question, for I desire many things. First, I desire to know what manner of spirit are you that goes about in the form of a creature, yet can speak, and asks such questions."

The owl hooted in a manner that may have been a laugh.

"I am no spirit, Brother. Do you not recall Balaam's ass?"

Seeing that the owl knew scripture, the Monk relented.

"in truth, brother owl, I am a man of many small desires. The taste of good food and drink, the comfort of a good bed; the colours of sunrise as the dawn chorus signs, as I join my brothers in prayer, and the fellowship of good companions."

At this he could not help but gaze at the sleeping Knight a little longer than was seemly.

The owl ruffled it's feathers.

"Truly I tell you, if you wish to keep company with your friends, you must persuade them all to turn back, else you shall all surely die at the hands of the sorcerer," it said.

"A dire warning, brother owl. Are they truly so powerful?" asked the Monk, who was in equal part afraid lest it be true, and angry, lest the owl had underestimated the company.

"Verily! I tell you true, there is no hope if you proceed on your quest," the owl answered. 

The Monk paused to consult God, and God said 

"Don't forget that Satan quoted scripture when he tempted Christ in the wilderness. Do not assume a messenger is mine, just because they know my word."

And the Monk, reinvigorated, answered the owl saying:

"Begone, o spirit of discouragement! If we are to die, it shall be as martyrs on a holy quest and to the glory of God; but we shall not, for God is with us, and He has just warned me not to trust you!"

At the saying of this, the owl looked somewhat surprised, then angry, and again screeched and took to the air, saying:

"Then you are all doomed! Doomed!"

As the Monk watched the owl disappear in to the dark, he heard a yawn behind him.

"Good morrow, Brother. Is it time to change watch already?" 

The Monk greeted the Knight, for it was he who had awoken, and informed him that the hour was indeed nigh, for it was so. He said nothing of the owl, for the Knight did not ask, and the Monk ever keen to make a good impression on the Knight, did not wish to appear foolish by speaking of talking animals.

They had the sort of conversation one has at the small hours of the morning while changing watch in a marsh, and the Monk returned to his mat to sleep, while the Knight settled himself to wait for dawn.

Presently the Monk fell asleep, and the same terrible groan rent the air once more, and again those asleep remained undisturbed. The Knight, hearing it, said to himself "It must be some great unknown beast! What a shame I have not my hunting spear, and must keep watch, else I might ride forth to find it. Also, it is cold, and that is the only reason I am shivering just now." He went to bank the fire, but finding the wood running low merely held his sword a little tighter.

Not long after, the owl appeared for the third time. Now the Knight, being less curious about the world than the Squire and less contemplative of the fellowship of all creatures than the Monk, simply noted it's arrival, and said nothing. 

The owl shuffled closer to him on the tree and hooted, and still the Knight ignored.

The owl coughed. The Knight looked up, as he had never heard an owl cough before. Perhaps he had imagined it. 

The owl coughed again. 

"Ahem!" 

But, the Knight thought to himself, he didn't know much about owls, so perhaps that was normal.

"Well, I didn't know they did that," he said to himself. 

"I'll wager you didn't know we could talk either," replied the owl, who had been waiting for an opportunity.

The Knight eyed the owl suspiciously, for he was fairly sure they did not.

"I did not know this, no" he replied

"Ha! Then I have won the wager" said the owl.

"We had agreed no terms," replied the Knight, "but I grant you were correct" 

"The prize I claim will cost you nothing, for it is only this: tell me what you desire"

The Knight thought for a while, then answered

"To capture or kill the sorcerer, and leave this marsh" 

The owl stared at him.

"That is all? What about after that?"

"I don't know. I'll have a new quest then."

"So all you desire is the completion of your quests?"

"I suppose so. I've never really thought about it very much."

"Is that a deeper desire to be good at questing? Or a good Knight in general?" 

"Probably. I don't think I've ever really wanted anything else very much."

The Knight couldn't help but glance briefly at where the Squire was sleeping, thinking of the one other hill of desire in the otherwise flat landscape of his psyche. The owl looked back and forth between the three sleepers, and sighed.

"You don't want to run off with your Squire?"

"What? No! Well, sort of. Yes. It sounds nice, but I don't think they want that," the Knight sighed.

"What if I told you I could make them want that?" asked the owl, slyly.

"How? Woo them with my amazing talking owl? Don't be silly. Anyway, if it isn't real, and I haven't won them over myself, I don't want it. No," said the Knight, folding his arms.

"Surely there is something you want other than to complete your current quest?"

The Knight thought for a while. 

"I would like to do just as well in the next quest, too." 

"I give up, you're all too stupid to tempt", and with that the owl flew off in a sulk, and in to the first pale fingers of dawn, which were stretching over the horizon somewhere behind the fog.

"What a strange animal," said the Knight. And so he began preparing breakfast for the companions, before rousing his fellow questors.

The three ate a simple meal of bread and cheese, as the morning sun struggled to warm them through the pallid veil of the mist. Or, as the Squire contented, fog, and they and the Monk set to debating which it was, and what the differences were. The Knight had no opinion, save that they were both unpleasant and rusted his armour, and simply listened, amused, to the verbal sparring of his companions.

Having finished their meal, the companions broke camp and resumed their journey, though the ground was now firmer underfoot, and the stagnant pools gave way to scrubby shrubbery, and then to a dense wood, as dark as pitch and tangled as corpse-hair. As they crossed the treeline in to the wood, the great groaning shook the air once more, and the three companions rode a little closer together. 

The Squire broke the silence that had descended upon the little troupe, saying

"I heard that same sound last night. Think you it might be some beast of the forest?"

"I think it must. I heard it last night too, and was surprised a beast big enough to make such a noise could live on that marsh; but I'm sure this forest could support such a creature." replied the Knight.

The Monk, who had been troubled since last night by a thought, spoke up.

"I too heard that groaning. It may be a beast, but there are some forms of magic, practiced by the Greeks and Egyptians, that involve a great mystic groaning" 

The Knight chuckled somewhat at the phrase, then stopped and blushed when the Squire gave them a quizzical look.

"Be it beast or conjurer, I have no doubt we shall be a match for it," he said, moving the subject along before he could be asked to explain.

"Lord willing, we shall prevail," concurred the Monk.

The strange sound echoed through the forest again, and the three rode on in tense silence.

After a little while they came to a river, dense with the roots of nearby trees and sluggish with rotting vegetation, a thick grey-green band of decay through the dark wood. Although slow, it was too wide and deep to safely cross, as the Squire proved with a long branch that didn't reach the bottom, but that came back dripping with dank green weed.

Turning upstream to the east, where the river ran closer to their direction of travel 

Where the river curved towards the distant tower.

After travelling a while longer, the three companions came to a broad and shallow ford, where the water ran a little faster over a bed of large loose stones, slick with dank green weed . Seeing no better place to cross, they spurred their horses forward, but as soon as their hooves hit the water, a knight emerged from the woods on the other side, and charged at them so furiously, the hooves of his steed cutting up the ground and foam flying from its mouth, that they were obliged to turn back to face him on solid ground. Yet when they did so, he too turned back, taking up a position on the other side of the ford, water dripping from the ankles of his steed.

"Good sir knight, why do you bar our way?" the Knight hailed the stranger, but answer came there none.

"Very well then," said the Knight, and started toward the ford once more. 

The other horseman made no move until the Knight's horse had all four hooves in the water, then again started to charge, surging forth in to the ford, lance couched and a plain wooden shield raised. The Knight lowered his lance in answer, and the two met so fiercely that both their lances were shivered to pieces, splinters flying and both reeling in the saddle, though neither was unseated. While the Knight's horse struggled to keep her footing in the ford, the stranger's horse had no such problem, and again the Knight was driven back.

No sooner had they returned to the shore, but the stranger dropped the remains of their lance to the ground. There it took root and sprouted in to a tree, which grew fast, tall and slender, reaching up to his outstretched hand, then past. It grew in to a small ash tree, and when the stranger took hold of it the branches fell away, and the trunk split, leaving a perfectly formed lance in his hand.

"Hm. I wish mine did that," said the Knight, ignoring the odd noise the Monk made, simply dismounting and taking up his spear and shield, with his sword in its scabbard at his hip.

He set forth toward the ford, and the Monk and Squire were much alarmed, counselling against such action, saying

"Sir, he is enchanted and horsed, while you are on foot. Surely you cannot face him alone."

And the Knight replied;

"I shall not face him alone, for you are here with me. Squire, be ready to throw me my second spear. And Brother, pray for our success."

As he stepped in to the water the stranger spurred forth his horse and couched his lance, and the Knight crouched behind his shield and made ready to meet him with his spear.

At the last moment, the Knight leapt to the side, and threw his spear the head of his foe's horse, so as to make it shy away.

But the horse did not flinch, and the spear stuck fast in its neck, though there was no blood and it made no sound. The Monk and Squire gasped in shock, but the Knight held firm, calling to the Squire for his second spear. 

The Squire, regaining their nerve, threw the spear to the Knight, who as quick as thought, struck at the stranger, who's horse had started to sink silently beneath him, and dashed him from his saddle.

The Knight allowed the stranger to rise and draw his sword, and asked him

"Now we stand as equals, will you answer me? To what end do you bar our way?", but as the stranger turned they saw that the Knight had struck him so mightily that the visor had been wrenched from his helm. But beneath the helm the stranger had no face, and showed no sign of harm. 

The Faceless Stranger gave no reply and simply struck at the Knight, striking down at his helm, forcing him back in a hurried defence.

The Knight was the faster and more skilled of the two, but the stranger did not tire, and moved as though he were not stood in the ford, but on dry land. The stranger slowly drove the Knight back towards the riverbank, till he was almost out of the water.

At this the Knight, who had been waiting for this opportunity, sprang back on to the firm ground, then leapt forward bearing his foe to the ground and hurling both their swords away behind him.

Pinning the Stranger beneath his own shield, the Knight unlaced his foe's helm with his dagger, and this too was hurled away, yet still the empty armour moved and fought. Cutting away more lacing, the Knight severed the right arm, almost losing his balance in the water and again throwing it behind him. As he began to do the same to the left arm he head a cry behind him, for the severed arm had continued to move, and was now crawling towards the Monk, who had cried out. The Squire leapt forward, seizing the arm and bundling it in to an empty bag, holding it aloft in triumph as the sack writhed and twisted.

"Brother! What manner of sorcery is this?" the Knight called out, throwing the other arm on to the far bank.

"I know not! But I shall pray that we prevail over it," the Monk replied, and began to pray.

The Knight, meanwhile, cut the laces on the cuisses, and flung the legs to the far side of the ford, before wading back with the breastplate and brassart.

Regaining the shore, the Knight threw down the armour, and sat himself down beside it, sore weary from battle.

As he sat, and the Monk and Squire readied to tend to his wounds, they all observed a thick grey smoke coiling from the harness, reaching toward the bag with the severed arm which the Squire had hung from the branch of a nearby tree. The Knight sprang to his feet, hauling away the armour, while the Squire grabbed the bag. The Monk drew forth a vial of holy water and, reciting a prayer of exorcism, dashed it against the breastplate. The smoke twisted and coiled, and quelled, but did not dissipate, lying still and languid, rolling forth in slow lazy coils. At the same time the bag in the Squire's arms stilled and ceased its struggles.

"This is a stubborn foe! Do they not know when they are bested?" said the Squire, returning with the arm in the bag.

"It seems not," replied the Knight, "What do you make of it, Brother?"

"I know not, my liege. It may take some time for me to find the right payers and incantations to release this spirit"                 

"I fear we do not have the time to tarry. Is there anything that you can do that may be quicker?"

The Monk pondered the Knight's question.

"Nothing I can call to mind. I shall pray upon it. One moment…"

And so the Monk knelt in prayer and asked Jesus for guidance.

Jesus sat on a nearby stump.

"Hello. How's it going? I see the problem, but there's nothing more I can do for you with this one right now. There are reasons, but I can't tell you what they are either for… well, the same reasons actually. All a bit circular, I'm afraid. But you're closer to a solution than you might think. Hope that helps!"

The Monk accepted this advice, or lack thereof, with grace.

"The Lord says the answer is at hand, though he has not revealed it to me. Might we tie them up in the meantime?"

"Ah-ha! What if we tie the parts to the trees?" suggested the Squire.

"That's a good idea! Good work, both of you," said the Knight, giving the Squire a squeeze on the shoulder and the Monk a warm look. They set to on tying the more mobile pieces of armour to a number of trees, while the Monk tried to find excuses to be near the Knight in case there was any more physical contact to be had. [Footnote: there was not].

Completing their work swiftly, leaving the twitching limbs and smoking breastplate lashed to a different tree each, and having made sure the Knight's horse was still fit, they resumed travel, the Squire joining the Monk on his donkey for a while arguing that the Knight's horse needed a little rest. The Knight objected somewhat, but judged it unseemly to protest too much, lest his feelings be too plainly known. 

With the tower lost to view behind the canopy of the trees they picked their way through the dense woods, careful to stick to the straightest route, for there was no path here, and the villagers had said nothing about a forest. 

"This must all be the product of some transformative magic. This sorcerer must be potent indeed." The Monk said grimly.

The Knight eyed the trees suspiciously.

"Might any of these be dangerous, as you thought that one in the marsh might have been?" he asked.

"They look like alders to me, and I think there were some willows back by the river," said the Squire. 

"Hmm. Do alders… signify anything?" asked the Knight.

"Wet soil?" suggested the Squire

The Monk cleared his throat.

"Ah, well, ancient tradition says they are a bad omen when travelling, or may be the home of fairies. For example, the tale of one Monffery of Geoffmouth, relates how…" 

Sometime later they emerged from the woods in to a small clearing, and found the tower before them.

"Ha, see, we have found it! Just like your Chilled Romland, or whoever it was, Brother," the Knight exclaimed. While the Monk's tale had kept him from dwelling as they picked their way through the forest, he was glad enough to have an excuse to end it. 

The ground was firmer here, though still soft underfoot, and grass and wildflowers rose to knee-hight across the clearing toward the grey stone tower, six storeys of rough hewn blocks below a pointed red-tiled roof. The tower tapered slightly as it rose, though it seemed sized for only a single large room at each floor, with the walls thinning toward they rose.

Crossing the clearing, they found the stout doors were locked and barred against them, and the only windows were high above.

Picking their way through the dense wood, the tower now lost from sight amid the trees 

They made a circle of the tower, but found no other windows or entrances within reach. After a moment of conference, the Knight knocked hard on the door. There came no answer. The Knight knocked again, this time with the blade of his axe, but the blade sprang from the wood as though it had been rebuffed by , toppling the Knight to the ground.

"I think the door might be enchanted," said the Squire.

"I believe you are correct," said the Knight, sitting up.

"I may be able to break the spell, but it could take some time," the Monk offered.

"What about that window?" suggested the Squire, pointing to a narrow window some way above the door.

"I do not think I can fit through there, even if I could reach it," the Knight replied, shaking his head.

"I can reach it, and I believe I can fit through," said the Squire, swinging their grappling hook and their hips. The Monk eyed both critically, the Knight with curiosity.

"Worth a try," the Knight said, with a careful nonchalance.

The Squire stepped up, whirling the grapple, and threw it up at the window. At the first throw it was too low, and bounced off the sill. The second was true, but found no purchase. The third throw was true and strong, breaking through the pane and finding purchase within.

"There!" the Squire exclaimed triumphantly. They looped the rope around themselves, then turned to the Monk.

"Brother, would you help with the knot? If you could hold that… perfect, thank you."

The Squire stepped back, smiling, while the Monk glanced toward the Knight, who was studiously checking his axe blade for damage from the enchanted door.

The Squire began to climb the tower by means of the rope, while the Knight and the Monk waited below, preparing 

themselves to assist as best they could and checking on their companion's progress without staring at them.

The Squire reached the top, and pulled themselves in, avoiding the broken glass. Finding themselves in an empty room, and no immediate danger, they relaxed, both from the tension of the climb in to the unknown, and at being alone for the first time in many days. While the absence of guards in the room suggested none were present in the tower, it being unlikely that the Squire could have climbed the rope quicker than guards could have used the stairs up or down, it would be folly to assume they were safe. So thinking to themselves, they drew their sword, and took closer stock of their surroundings. The room occupied the whole first floor of the tower, and appeared to be little more than a store room, being full of barrels and boxes stacked around the walls and in the centre. Spying a gap opposite the visible staircase, the Squire reasoned this must be the stairs down, and set forth. Upon descending the stairs, the Squire found themselves not by the door but in a room resembling a kitchen, with a plethora of dried herbs hanging from hooks in the beams, and a large bench following the curve of the wall round fully half the room.

"Curious," thought the Squire. 

"I thought by the height of the rooms there could be only one below. And indeed, this room too has windows, though I entered by the lowest window visible. What trickery is this?" so thinking, they descended again. 

Once again they found themselves not by the door, but this time in a library, with concentric circles of bookshelves filling the space, with just enough width to walk between.

"Well then. This is certainly a most unusual tower. For one thing, I am quite sure there were but three floors, and I have found neither the door, nor the top."

Seeing there were windows above the shelves against the outer wall, the Squire climbed up, taking care not to damage the books, and peered out. They were amazed to see they were high up, at least 6 floors, and could see the Knight and the Monk pacing back and forth below.

Deciding to return to their companions, the Squire went up the stairs back to the window they came in through. As they went to look out and shout down to their companions, a thought occurred to them; if going down the stairs had lead them up, and going up had brought them back down here, what if they continued 'up'? So thinking they tried the other stairs, and found themselves before the door, in a high-ceilinged chamber with two statues of knights stood by the door, and two by the base of the stairs.

Hurrying forth, the Squire removed the bar from the door, an swung it open for their companions.

"Hail, friends! Be welcome, and enter!"

The Knight stepped forth; and having been invited, did not trigger the defensive enchantments.

"Follow me well, for this tower is other than it appears. The stairs up go down, and down goes up, and there are more floors than it first appears" the Squire said to the others.

The Monk and Knight exchanged a look, wondering whether the Squire spoke true and the tower was as they said, or if their mind had been mazed by some strange power. Trusting their companion, the Monk and the Knight followed the Squire to the stairs that seemed to lead down in to an improbably located basement.  down, rather than up.

As they reached the centre of the room, the four statues lurched in to motion, stone joints grinding and scraping, and closed in on the trio.

"Damn, I thought we'd got away with that," said the Squire.

"Oh, is that why you invited us in like that?" asked the Monk, flexing his mace arm.

The Squire shrugged.

"I thought it might help," they answered.

"Less chatting, more chopping!" shouted the Knight. Like the Monk he had chosen a warhammer, rather than risk chipping his sword, and was busy knocking chunks off the closest of the four. They were slower than the hollow knight at the ford, but heavy and implacable, and the Knight had to duck, weave, dip, dive and dodge around the terrible blows they swung.

Seeing their companion hard at work in the fight, the other two dived in. Taking a cue from the others, the Squire reversed their sword and struck with the quillions, though they rapidly concluded this helped little. 

The Knight was slowly but surely overmatching his foe, and the Monk while less adept than the Knight, had managed to break the stone blade of his foe, levelling the field considerably. The Squire, who had been aiding the Monk, now saw the other two closing in. They darted forth to one, jabbing and striking it, then leaping away to distract the other, keeping both from the backs of their friends.

The Monk and Knight dispatched their foes; the Knight struck the head from his, and the statue went still, while the Monk had simply smashed away at the limbs of his adversary until it was harmless. They turned in time to see the Squire run out of space between the two they had been distracting, and for two stone blades to swing inexorably towards them.

The blades struck, stone shattered, and each statue fell to the blade of the other, cut down with a brutal overswing. Monk and Knight cried out for their friend, but were too far away to reach them till the blow was struck.

The pile of rubble which lay between the shattered torsos covered the body of the Squire. Until the pile coughed and shifted, as the Squire crawled forwards, then stood and grinned as they shook the dust from themselves. 

"Ah, good, you two are alright. Well done." they said, then sat down heavily on the floor. 

After a moment of rest, and ensuring they were all uninjured, the Monk and Knight helped the Squire to their feet, and all three headed to the next floor, passing through each till they reached the library. As they passed through the narrow shelves the Monk, overcome by curiosity, paused to inspect one of the books, and gasped in wonder.

"The lost volumes of [Aggripa? Pliny? Any notable antique text will do]!" he exclaimed, waving the book at the others. 

The Knight and the Squire exchanged glances, for both were indifferent to such matters.

"If they're lost, how are they here?" the Knight asked the Monk, who was busy piling books in to his bag. 

"What if they're cursed?" asked the Squire, and the Monk withdrew his hand from the book he had been reaching for, and stared at the shelf for a while.

"Do you recall any mention of this tower before the arrival of the sorcerer?" he asked.

The Knight, who paid no heed to such matters, shrugged and looked to the Squire.

"The villagers made no mention of it. Though that could mean it is - or, was - a normal tower and they did not think it important, or that they knew not of its existence."

The Monk nodded, grimly. 

"Then it could be that the whole tower is a conjuration. We can trust nothing to be as it seems, or even to be real at all," he said through pursed lips.

"Is there a way to check?" asked the Squire

"Not safely," the Monk answered sadly,

"If they truly are cursed, or worse a demonic conjuration, to even open them could be an act of mortal peril." 

"What if you put it on the floor and I tip it open with my sword?" asked the Knight

"That would make no difference, I fear. No, safer by far to leave it. We cannot lose sight of our quest. Perhaps we can return when our work is done." So saying the Monk reluctantly returned the books, and the trio continued. 

Reaching the bottom of the stairs up to the next floor, they found another door, this time barred and bolted, and with an elaborate seal painted upon it. The Knight, who was leading, paused.

"Brother? What do you make of this?"

The Monk squeezed past the Knight to the bottom of the stairs, and examined the seal.

"Hmm... It's no maleficium... Geomancy, if I remember my Etymologiae... Theurgic, too I think... Hmm..."

"Well? Can you do something about it?" asked the Knight

The Monk looked around the corridor.

"Nothing to work with here... I shall return shortly!" And hoiking up his habit above his ankles, the Monk headed off up down the stairs.

"Do you need any help?" the Squire called after the Monk.

"Should I go and help?" they asked the Knight, when there was no answer.

The Knight had been hoping to spend a moment or two alone with the Squire, but couldn't think of a good reason to keep them with him, and let them go to follow the Monk.

The Knight stood and waited, staring at the painted symbol on the door, musing on the strange nature of magic, and human relationships, and trying to decide which he found more aggravating.

After a few minutes the Monk returned with a bowl and a small spoon.

"This should serve to deactivate the sigil," he said, stepping up to the door. The Knight stepped back to give the Monk more room. 

"What is that? Some... Magical concoction?" the Knight asked, as the Monk painted a thick green substance with a strong herbal smell through key elements of the seal.

"Hm? Oh, no, I couldn't find any paint, so I took this. I think it's soup."

"I see. What's the Squire still up to then?" asked the Knight. 

"I sent them down to have a look in the store room while I checked the kitchen. I expect they'll be back soon." The Monk said, stepping back from the sigil, tipping their head to one side, then adding one more line.

"I think that should suffice," the Monk said, satisfied with his handiwork.

"Really? That's it?" 

The Monk shrugged. 

"Should have put it on the other side of the door," he replied. 

"Alright. If the Squire isn't back in a minute or two, I'll go find them, then we can go through."

As the Knight said that, the Squire returned, lugging a sizeable barrel. 

"I couldn't find any actual paint, but there's something in here that should work, I think. Not sure what it is, though." they said, a little out of breath. Then they saw the already-modified seal.

"Oh, did you already find something?" they asked with forced cheerfulness. 

"Soup," the Monk replied, holding up the bowl in both explanation and apology. 

"You could have told me," the Squire said a little reproachfully as they set down the barrel. 

"Sorry," said the Monk.

The Knight resisted the temptation to intervene between them, but shot the Squire a conciliatory look.

"Alright. This is it. Let's - Brother, put down that bowl of soup - thank you. Right. Go!" and the Knight slammed through the door, shield raised and a prayer on his lips, ready to ward off whatever surprises they faced on the other side.

The young woman busily tying bedsheets together was probably less surprised than the trio of questors, as it happened, having heard them talking outside some time ago.

"Halt, conjurer!" the Knight shouted, levelling his sword at her as he advanced across the room, the Monk and Squire close behind. The woman froze and dropped the sheets, and the Squire scurried round the edge of the room to where the other end of the improvised rope lay by the window, and kicked it away.

"Stand guard by the window! The rope could be a ruse, she might try to fly away!" the Knight called out, and the Squire stayed in place with their sword drawn. 

"Brother, can you prevent her casting any further spells?" the Knight asked. 

The Monk peered round the Knight at the alarmed and slightly confused woman in the centre of the room. 

"Uh... Probably?" He cleared his throat and started a prayer in Latin. 

The young woman sprang in to action, clapping her hands, and calling out

"Asabove! Sobelow!" and two cats, one white and one black appeared, and leapt on to her shoulders, and began a recitation in Hebrew. The Knight and Squire braced themselves for a wave of magical energy, but felt nothing as the powers before them clashed. The Monk and Sorceress faced each other and continued their chanting. The Knight thought he felt a tingle of energy run through his armour. He exchanged a look with the Squire. The chanting had now risen to a fever pitch, the Monk holding up his crucifix and rosary, the Sorceress making elaborate hand gestures. Then the Squire threw a sheet over the young woman, and the Knight grabbed her before she could untangle herself.

"Watch out!" the Monk shouted, and the Knight suddenly found himself falling to the ground, though he kept his grip on the conjurer as he hit the floor. The cat he had tripped over yowled and bolted, hissing at him from the desk by the window. The other cat jumped up to join it, and avoid the bodies rolling across the floor, one wrapped in armour, the other in a sheet. After a while the Sorceress gave up the struggle and lay still. The Knight sat up, not letting go.

"Right. Let's have no more of that. Surrender to me, and you'll be under my protection when we return to the village" 

The figure slumped, but nodded under the sheet.

"That's better!" The Knight let go, clapped her on the shoulder, and pulled the sheet off her. 

The woman underneath, now somewhat dishevelled, made no attempt to escape and simply stared in alarm at the trio, and the Knight felt it had perhaps been wrong to handle her so roughly. A feeling that only deepened as he took proper notice of her for the first time, her ice-blue eyes wide in fear, and her raven-black hair falling in curls around a pale oval face down to her shoulders left bare by her green velvet dress. 

He glanced at his companions, both of whom looked concerned, but it wasn't clear about what, so he paid it no heed, trusting them to speak up if it was important.

The Knight stood, and retrieved his arms from where he had dropped them before he grappled the Sorcereress. 

He turned back to see the Squire helping her up, while the Monk covered her with his crucifix.

The Knight sheathed his sword and spoke. 

"Now, you've caused a lot of trouble with this magic, young lady. What do you have to say for yourself?" 

The young woman stared back and forth between them. "Um... Sorry?" her voice was familiar, but only the Squire recognised it as the voice of the owl from the previous night. 

"You turned acres of farmland in to a marsh! Do you really think sorry is good enough?" The Monk spluttered.

"Uh... It was an accident?" she replied. 

"How do you do that by accident?" asked the Squire.

"well... I was trying to conjure this tower... Which worked! Well, mostly. And the book said it was angels that would build it, so I thought that would be alright, I wouldn't do black magic! And they did such a good job with this dress, and the other clothes. Anyway, I think I got something wrong, because, well, the tower is all upside down, and well... " She trailed off and waved a hand in the direction of the swamp outside the window.

There was a moment of quiet while they processed this.

The Monk coughed 

"Sorry, you mentioned a book? Could I see it?"

The Sorceress brightened slightly. 

"Oh, yes, it's here, it's very interesting -" her face fell again as she turned round, holding the book she had just retrieved from the desk 

"- I suppose you're going to take it away?"

"Ah. Yes, probably. Sorry." The young woman seemed so crestfallen that the Monk couldn't help but apologise. He gently took the book from her hands, and examined it.

"What do you make of it, Brother?" the Squire asked after a while. 

"It's definitely unusual... And in need of further study. The young lady may be right about the angelic nature of this tome... Where on earth did you find this?"

The young woman coughed, embarrassed. 

"I found it in a tree stump. Uh, Brother." She added a small curtsey for good measure.

"A tree..." The Monk shook his head, and turned to the Knight.

"I'll need to take this back to the monastery and consult the Scriptorum. This is quite the mystery." 

"Then we had best get going. Squire, would you tie her hands together?"

"What? But I said I'm sorry!" 

"yes, I know, but you need to apologise to the people of your village as well, and I'd look very silly if I let you get away on the way back." 

"But you have a horse, I could never outrun you!" 

"Well, you could summon a magical steed or something, I expect." 

"or steal one of ours" 

"yes, or that! So, yes. Very sorry, but it really is necessary."

Despite her protestations, the Sorceress had allowed the Squire to bind her hands, raising an eyebrow at the expertise they did it with. The Squire pretended not to notice. The Monk coughed. The Knight was vaguely aware he had missed something.

The Squire stepped away from the Sorceress, handing the other end of the rope to the Knight.

"good work. Anyone need anything before we go? No? Let's get going, then."

None of the questors were prepared to be the first to suggest loosing half a day of travel for the comforts present, but by unspoken consensus they agreed onlunch before departing. After some discussion with the Sorcereress, the Monk decided that the food in the kitchen should be safe to eat, even if it was conjured, and prepared a meal of pottage, served with crusty bread and honeyed purple carrots. They untied one of the Sorceress' hands that she might eat before they left. The Knight apologised for the indignity, and acknowledged that she was being very co-operative, but they had only just captured her and really couldn't take any risks.

After dining they departed, the Sorcereress sat sidesaddle in front of the Knight, her hands tied to his pommel, while the Squire now sat behind the Monk on the donkey. 

Returning by the same route, it was not long until they came to the ford where the smoking armour was still tied to the trees.

"Oh, that's how you defeated it," said the Sorceress, upon seeing the still-moving armour.

"It was a formidable opponent," said the Knight.

"Are you able to dispel the enchantment?" asked the Monk. 

The Sorceress was silent for a moment before speaking.

"Maybe? I don't recall anything in the book about how to do that, though I suppose there must be a way." she replied.

"You… you haven't read it all?" asked the Monk, concerned.

"Well... No. I took a while to teach myself to read it all. But the sigils made it quicker once I had worked out how to use those. I haven't got to the bit about undoing spells yet." The Sorceress replied, somewhat bashful. 

"And yet you mastered conjuration, enchantment, and wards?"

"Well, I don't know about mastered. The tower was all weird, never mind the marsh, and you beat the armour. Oh, and the ward on the door was just something I copied ou  as a distraction. If I'd wanted it to stop you I'd have put it on the inside of the door, but I hadn't got to that bit. But. Um. Thank you? "

"That's not... Well... You're welcome. But you don't know how to undo any of these enchantments?"

The sorceress shook her head. 

"No, sorry. I'd be more than happy to help you work it out, though." 

"Ah. Why would we..." The Monk caught the eye of the Knight and Squire, who were both gesturing for him to not say anything that might give her reason to try and escape.

"I mean. Thank you. I'm sure we can arrange something back at the village." 

The rest of the return to the village passed without event, spending the night by the same tree, untroubled by mysterious groaning or talking owls. As they went, the young woman explained how she had found the book, and begun by practicing the summoning of small, trivial things, like clothes and kitchenware to find the limits of what she could do. As the villagers became suspicious, she realised she'd either have to stop, or do something dramatic. And, reasoning that they had occasional trouble with outlaws from the north, a tower for herself that also guarded the village should keep her safe from both parties, and give her the freedom to experiment further. The Monk and Squire were not convinced, but to their mutual concern the Knight appeared quite prepared to accept it all. 

A path slowly rose out of the marsh as the pools receded into the mist, and the questors and their prisoner- who now rode unbound before the Knight, having promised very nicely that she wouldn't try and run away- saw the wooden palisade of the village rising up before them.

The Knight hailed the guard at the gate.

"Ho there! We return successful, with your sorceress captive."

The guard looked over at the Sorceress, who was now sat behind the Knight on his horse with her arms around his armoured waist.

"She doesn't look very captive," he said, suspiciously.

"Well, she's said sorry." 

"Sorry? Sorry? She conjured up a tower and turned our best fields into a swamp and now she says she's sorry? I bet she doesn't even mean it!" 

There was a whispered conversation. 

"she says she does!" 

There was another whispered conversation, this time on the other side of the wall. 

"Alright then, you can come in. But she'd better be very sorry!"

The Knight looked back at the Sorceress behind him, who looked back with wide, hopeful eyes, and a slight smile. 

He smiled back.

"She is!" he called out, and the Monk 'harrumphed', as they rode in to the village through the opening gates. 

desperately craving weird surrealist arthurania. Knights with no faces wandering through the mists. Seams between Christian and pre-Christian Britain gaping like open wounds. Beafts and visions. Maybe a monk. Maybe the monk is gay

[flamexbound]

Crisped and blackened bodies of dead man-eating goblins and their giant dogs littered the forest floor, lying in heaps from where the explosion from the firestorm spell had thrown them. Their bodies hung in the branches of trees, spines broken over exposed roots, furry bodies of dead squirrels who'd been unfortunate collateral damage were steaming slightly under a light covering of snow. A black fox picked through the cooked meat as if disbelieving its nose. With a ruffle of wings and a drizzle of snow from the tree canopy, a carrion crow jostled for space on an already crowded branch, pecking and cawing at each other for whichever meatiest bits appealed to their hunger. Their harsh calls sounded over the forest.

Then one of the bodies coughed and groaned. For an instant the forest fell silent, then an explosion of wings and panicked caws brought more shaken snow down to the forest floor and onto Magna's wild redhead. Coughing up burned bits and the leftover smoke from her spell, Magna clawed her way out of the snow pile and gasped for air, blue eyes wild, face streaked with soot. The snow burned the blackened flesh on her hands like vinegar. Her red hair was singed down to the roots, filling her nose with the reek of roasted hair. Every part of her body stung and felt heavy with exhaustion. Her chest creaked and cracked as she reached around to try and feel around for any injuries. Magna winced but concluded that she wasn't bleeding too heavily…simply covered in cuts and scratches. It was a sight better then an arrow to the knee.

The spell had been a success, but at what cost?

During the night, the goblins had surrounded her meager little camp in a swarm of knives, axes, teeth, and astride giant dogs tattooed in blue ink and armored with leather hide. Magna had chased her mount, Brood, away from the small army with a well-placed slap on his rear and when the horse made its escape, she summoned enough fire to blow the entire area into cinders, blasting the army of goblins sky-high.

Magna shook her head to silence the ringing in her ears. When that failed, she smacked her ear until it died down to a dull hum, then shoveled up a fistful of snow and stuffed it into her mouth, moaning in relief as the snow melted in her mouth and wetted her dry tongue. "Curse this damned forest! Had I known I would encounter this amount of resistance I would have stayed home!" Scooping up another fresh clump of snow, Magna wiped the char from around her eyes. It was only her hands that had been truly burned. Her face and body were just coated with ash and whatever it was that goblins gave off when they caught fire. Black water ran down her face like an old whore's smudged make-up, Magna looked over the forest where she now found herself and clicked her tongue. Almost as if appearing out of thin air, Brood whickered and trotted over, the skeleton horse with its mane and tail of red fire trailed behind it like mist in the eve. "Shhh," Magna soothed, stroking his snout.

"We're almost there."

With a hiss of pain, Magna inelegantly dragged herself onto Brood's back, clinging on tightly to the reins. Magna was sore, her hair singed, and her hands burned from unleashing her most powerful spell, but she'd made it this far and was determined to see it through…no matter the cost. With another click of her tongue, Magna guided her mount over the broken, burnt bodies of her foes and proceeded on the poorly constructed road…the tower looming up ahead.

@deaddoveadventures

[styxnbones]

💔💛💚💘 - for Sev!

💔 BROKEN HEART — what are three of your oc's negative traits?

Sev is mechanically Overconfident, for one thing. As much as they need other people to be around them, he hates any implication that he might need help from those people. He's not deluded about his capabilities, but he's certainly prone to being overly optimistic about the outcomes of his endeavors. It also doesn't help that so far, all things considered, things have actually been working out reasonably well for them. There's also the fact that their nature is Survivor, so fundamentally no matter how much he cares about someone or something, he's always going to be willing to throw them under the bus to save his own skin. Also, he's just kind of generally a snide bitch (he gets that from Harper lmao).

💛 YELLOW HEART — how many languages does your oc speak? what language(s) are they learning, if any?

His first language was technically Russian, as his mom spoke it to him as a child, but he picked up English and French pretty quickly through general exposure/school. He hasn't really bothered learning any other languages past that, though.

💚 GREEN HEART — does your oc prefer being inside or outside?

Inside, but not At Home. Sev very much likes to Go Places, like clubs, bars, shows, stores, etc but they don't actually like being inside at home because that's boring. They don't *hate* the Great Outdoors TM, but they certainly were not a fan when their pack was forced to camp out in various places.

💘 HEART WITH ARROW — what and/or who do(es) your oc consider the most important to them?

From an emotional standpoint, their ghouls are the most important people in their life. Those three are pretty much his only consistent human connections, even if they are fucked in the head from drinking his blood. While he's happy to use them as the tools they are, he still cares about them on some level and as he strives to repair his sense of Humanity that is only going to become more apparent.

Logically, though, Lennox (my friend's character for this larp) is the top priority. He's under orders from their sire to keep an eye on them, and within the Camarilla they're basically his social and political shield. Len's success is Sev's success. Like it or not, that's the horse he's been hitched to and so making sure they stay on track is everything.

[caranelguild]

December 7 - 16, DY 26

Zilybar and Ainsley had noticed it happen first - really noticed it - because they were on watch, posted outside the circle of the caravan, but it is Roy and Nur and the sleepy refugees that feel it. Hot hellfire licks at their sleeping mats, wakes them with nightmarish heat. Looming above everyone, seen even by Ainsley past the wagon between her and it, is a hulking giant, laughing deeply in the midst of the licking flames.

Ainsley doesn't hesitate. Seeing the hounds, the bloodred fire, the enormous demon, turns her memories into motion and her surprise into rage. She recognizes this.

"You killed my wife!" she howls, and bounds off the endboard of the nearest wagon, leaping over a startled family and bringing her swords down upon the giant - no longer Sven but Nev's.

The giant chuckles and ignores the goliath. He rises suddenly into the air and casts a profound shadow over the camp: magical darkness flows from him like an infinite cape. "Fly with me, leader of men," Nev's calls. "Duel me in the skies, Roy."

As hellhounds open their maws in the blind darkness below, vomiting liquid fire upon travelers within and outside the shadow, Roy obliges. He conjures his zone of healing twilight, banishing the darkness and revealing the screaming chaos beneath it, and rises into the night sky. He says, simply, "Begone."

And Nev's is gone.

Below, the hellhounds bound this way and that, their snapping jaws rending and burning. But with their master vanished, they are disorganized. Two of them manahe to take down Ainsley, but Roy is there to revive her.

Zilybar perforates and Nur draws back their longbow, both protectors dealing huge damage to the fiendish dogs.

When Zilybar strikes a hellhound through its heart, it falls to the scorched ground and disappears in a burst of acrid black smoke, leaving behind a shaggy mutt, gently sleeping.

Nur and their shadowself race hither and thither where they are most needed, shooting and slashing or smothering the flames threatening the halfling twins' bassinet and calming the terrified horses.

Ainsley and Roy slowly whittle down the hounds harrying her from either side.

The hellhounds regain the infernal energy required to once again rake their surroundings in hot, dark fire - but it is next to the last thing they do before they fall before our adventurers' skill, leaving behind startled dogs, tiny in comparison and terrified.

"I can only hold him in the demiplane for a few more seconds," says Roy, dropping to the ground and mustering his troops. "You must prepare to attack him from range; he will appear whence he was banished."

Zilybar finds a shortbow and arrows. Nur mounts their palfrey and nocks a grey goose shaft. Ainsley's fingers twitch in readiness to loose attack magic, and Roy rises once again into the air with magic of his own tingling in his palms. He conjures his spiritual guardians, breaking the banishment spell, and Nev's appears in the midst of the protective spirits.

All loose attacks upon him, but as they do so they notice that he has returned refreshed, and their attacks do little damage - and then Nev's grins and disappears.

All prepare new attacks, but the giant has gone. Until suddenly the heart of a blizzard sweeps across the entire campsite, crystallizing the air and burning exposed flesh with deepest cold.

Refugees fall, shivering and struggling to breathe, where they had writhed moments before with hellfire scorching them.

Nev's appears at the top of a nearby tree, hovering, and before he can congratulate himself he is limned in faerie fire and becomes the target of readied assault.

He waggles his fingers and mutters, tossing an enchantment over the camp; Ainsley and Nur succumb to a magical slumber. Nur's is broken suddenly when their horse, also unnaturally asleep, falls upon them. The halfling infants sleep peacefully, their bassinet encrusted with ice but their faces peeking rosily from tight swaddling.

But this is the last action the giant accomplishes. A barrage of spells and arrows flies at him and Roy's spectral billy club lands blow that sends his bulk crashing through the tree's branches to land in a broken heap on the alpine grass below.

A breath is taken, still lingeringly cold, and terrified families crawl out from beneath wagons to see their fellows burned alive, or frozen. Scorch marks are visible beneath a thin carpet of frost and the infernal heat of the hellfire still bites at a wounded few.

Five are found dead, three by fire and two finished by ice - Cal the lumberjack, Sibling the carpenter's apprentice, and a five year-old child among them. A further six are on the edge of death, but Roy exhausts his stores of magic to stabilize four of these before unwearyingly stabilizing the remaining pair through conventional medicinal means.

None of the caravaners are unscathed, but after Roy's ministrations, none are any more at immediate risk of death.

Upon Nev's's corpse is found a satchel containing the marked bones that transformed the mundane dogs into hellhounds - six featuring one rune and six another, along with a handful of unmarked bones and a carving tool. In a back pocket is found an encoded map of some sort and a small fortune of coins. Elsewhere upon his body Roy discovers the skull of a wyvern, carved all over with Infernal runes.

Our adventurers also claim Sven's adventuring pack and five surviving dogs, and the giant's enormous kanabō club is also tossed in a wagon - too heavy for any in the party to wield.

The rest of the night and the following day are given up to mourning and funerial ritual for the five dead and their families. A further night of rest and once more, by necessity, the caravan hits the vague, winding road through the mountains.

Though the lack of proper road puts the navigational wisdom of the group to the test and a day is lost retracing steps from an impassable ridge, the remaining days of alpine travel pass without undue stress. One afternoon in mid-December, the caravan turns a bend and beholds below them the valley of Alfomb, the city tucked into the joining of two mountains. The sea sparkles in the far distance.

[dakota-76]

Nana, circa 1885

Kas-tziden (meaning "broken foot"), more commonly known as Nana (meaning "lullaby/grandma"), was a warrior and chief of the Chihenne band of the Chiricahua Apache. A trusted lieutenant to Cuchillo Negro and Mangas Coloradas, in the 1850s and 1860s he was one of the best known leaders of the Chihenne (Tchiende), along with Tudeevia, Ponce and Loco. He fought alongside Mangas Coloradas and his mixed Tchihende-Bedonkohe band until Mangas Coloradas was killed while in the custody of the California Column in January 1863. In Mexico he undertook many joint raids with the Nednhi of Juh and Natiza against the Mexicans. After Ponce, Cuchillo Negro and Delgadito were killed too, Victorio took over the Tchihende leadership. During the Apache Indian Wars, he raided areas of Texas and Mexico with Victorio. After several failed attempts to peacefully live on a reservation in their own country, Victorio and Nana gave up trying and fought back against the Americans and Mexicans. The Bedonkohe and Chihenne were joined by more than 80 warriors of the Mescalero Apache under their old chief Caballero. Victorio and Nana therefore had about 200 warriors. During the Apache Wars and especially Victorio's War Nana raided areas of Texas and Mexico with Victorio. Though Nana had been with Chief Victorio when he was killed in the fall of 1880 at Tres Castillos, Mexico, he and several others were scouting for supplies and ammunition at the time, evading the ambush. 68 women and children were captured by the Mexicans and sold as slaves in Mexico. After coming upon the dead warriors, Nana and his followers hide in the Sierra Madre Mountains of Mexico and soon devised a revenge campaign. Several prestigious leaders and warriors, such as Fun (Yiy-gholl, Yiy-joll, Yiy-zholl, also known as Larry Fun), Ka-ya-ten-nae (Ka-e-te-nay, Kadhateni or Kieta - "Fights Without Arrows", "Cartridges All Gone") took the leadership of the Tchihende, Bedonkohe, Tsokanende and Nednhi bands beside the already established Apache band leaders Nana, Loco, Mangas, Naiche, Geronimo and Juh. Though lame in the left foot, suffering from rheumatism, and his eyesight failing, Nana was obviously still strong and in January 1881, he and his men crossed the border back into the United States. Though his group never numbered more than 40 warriors and was often as few as 15, they sought their revenge by raiding Army supply trains and isolated settlers. During those first few months, the band raided numerous small camps in southern New Mexico, killing two miners near Chloride and wounding another; killing four men on the Silver City-Mesilla Road, and in June, raiding and burning a ranch property near Lake Valley in 1881. Soon, a combined posse of civilians and Buffalo Soldiers pursued them into a canyon about ten miles west of Lake Valley. Unfortunately, for the posse, Nana and his warriors ambushed them immediately killing their leaders and wounding a number of others. A full-out gun battle followed that lasted six hours in which at least four more soldiers were killed. Others who were wounded would later die as well. Two months later, he and his band traveled to Arizona, where they were involved in the Battle of Cibecue on August 30, 1881. Nana, now almost 80 years old (according to some reports, nearly 90-years), formed his own war party with the Chihenne (Warm Springs Apache), enlisting loitering warriors in the reservations. His band joined by 15 Tsokanende, 12 Mescalero warriors and a couple of Navajo, plus women and children, began raiding Army supply trains and isolated settlers. In less than a month Nana fought seven or eight battles stretching over the course of 1,000 miles and killed 30-40 Americans, at least as many Mexicans, captured about 200 horses to replace 100 ridden to death and then fled back to Mexico. He and his small force, evaded more than 1,000 soldiers, 300-400 civilian militia volunteers and Apache and Navajo Scouts.

The U.S. Cavalry never caught Nana and his men but fought them in at least seven engagements. Finally, when the band once more fled to Mexico, the U.S. Army gave up for a time, hoping the Mexicans would take care of the problem, as they had done with Victorio. Nana soon joined forces with Geronimo and continued fighting for two more years until he was captured in a surprise attack by General George Crook in 1883 and was sent to the San Carlos Indian Reservation in Arizona. He later escaped with  Geronimo and fought with him during his last days of resistance. In 1886, both warriors once again were forced to surrender to General George Crook and taking no chances with them, they and their warriors were sent to a prison in Fort Marion, Florida and Alabama. In 1894, they were relocated to Fort Sill in the Indian Territory, present-day Oklahoma. Nana died of natural causes in 1896.

[the-frostiest-of-flakes]

SKJDFS THANK YOU! I've been riding since around the age of...7 I think?

anyways, ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE! Some of my stories at least. I don't wanna make the longest post in history giving away my life story lmao.

I shall go with the two relevant ones. How I came to use weaponry on horseback, and how I almost died last year. Stories are under the cut!

So the weaponry one is pretty easy to explain. At my summer camp (and the attached boarding school that I went to for freshman year of high school) there's not only a general horsemanship class, but a bunch of cool extra-curriculars/other classes! Most of them are pretty basic like the jumping team or the polo team. But there is one that stands apart. One that many idolize, yet few enter. It is Rough Riding.

ROUGH RIDING IS FREAKING EPIC OKAY. WE DO STUNTS ON HORSES. LIKE HANDSTANDS AND STUFF. THERE'S EVEN A PYRAMID TEAM THAT DOES A PYRAMID ON MULTIPLE HORSES WHILE JUMPING. But after the special show we put on, we switch endeavors to learning weaponry. We learn lances, sabers, BB guns, and my personal favorite...BOW AND ARROWS! So yes I am now prepared for the apocalypse. set me on my mighty stead and I'll be set.

Here's a really blurry picture of the pyramid that I took from a random youtube video I found of my camp's Rough Riding team

Okay now onto the next story. Frosty Skies And The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

Okay so basically it was during the first week of horsemanship class last summer, and they hadn't assigned us horses yet. They were just slapping us on horses to see who we worked best with.

Now, one of the staff that knows me pretty well came up to me as I was mounting and told me that the horse I was on that particular day didn't like it when you use a lot of reign. I said okay and tried to not use it too much.

UNFORTUNATELY. She still got mad anyways and kept trying to break free of my control. I was also starting to freak out (which is not good when on a horse. They'll feel your fear and get panicky themselves) and didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to change my riding style accordingly in such a short time span.

Anyways, the instructor started having us do a pretty basic exercise where the person in the front of the line goes into a trot and goes to the back of the line, and then the new person at the front does it and so on and so forth.

So we get to my turn. My horse had already been trying to go into a trot when all the others did for AGES. She was not happy. So before the instructor even finished saying "Go!" she decided to

GALLOP

TO THE OTHER SIDE

OF THE FREAKING ARENA

I managed to stay on, even when she jumped a one of the barricades separating the classes in the arena. But when she reached the other side, she did a weird movement to avoid other horses, and that's when I fell off. She then stepped on the fleshy part of my forearm. And thank GOODNESS it was just the fleshy part, because if she had gotten on my bone I would have had a broken arm for the rest of the summer.

So anyways I bounced up immediately. 1. because I was worried other horses would get spooked and come trample me, and 2. because I heard the head of horsemanship yell "GET UP!" and I am not one to disobey orders. (context: my camp is a military camp.) Apparently he actually said "DON'T GET UP!" and I just didn't hear that first part. But oh well

PROUD TO SAY I DIDN'T CRY AT ALL! I HELD THOSE SUCKERS IN I WAS A BRAVE LITTLE TROOPER, YEEHAW!

Oh and here's a really grainy pic of my arm six weeks after the incident.

I am very glad I did not die. If she had somehow stepped on my chest, stomach, head etc. bro idk if I'd still be here

So yeah! Fun story time with Frosty skjdfkfds

Wait, you're constantly around horses? That's so cool!!!

Yeah! I love riding horses :D (and have actually used weapons on horseback but that's a different story skjfksdf). I really do it more at summer camp, but my family might be buying some horses this fall, which would let my siblings and I ride a lot at home too! Horses are just so neat, they're like giant dogs. Except when they get mad at you. Then they might try to kill you. (speaking from personal experience)

[tree-choose-pot]

South Dakota

July 27, 2020

In keeping with my theme of posting a summary of each state, here we go with South Dakota. I’ve already posted about the not-so-bad Badlands and our mammoth experience.  What else did we do?

We stayed at a horse camp in the Black Hills (a mountain range that was created as a Rockies after-thought).  The ‘horse camp’ part of Broken Arrow Horse Camp honestly didn’t register in my reservation-making brain, but thank goodness it was the nicest/cleanest ‘horse camp’ in the country (that’s per the owner, Dan, who took it over 5 years ago and after a lengthy discussion with Bill, has him convinced owning and running an RV park in a seasonal location is our future dream).  So, for all you city people, a horse camp is somewhere people camp with their horses.  They pay extra for their horse to have a stable, and they usually have one of those fancy fifth wheel/horse trailer combo RVs. We enjoyed watching the horse care-taking process, visiting the stables, and hearing ‘neigh’ all day long.  The flies were bad, but according to Dan, very good for a horse camp.  He makes horse owners pick up the poop and he keeps all garbage far away, carting it off for you each morning in his golf cart (nice perk!).  It is a lovely RV park with quiet people, free DVDs, really nice grass, laundry, a playground, and nice showers.

So from our 6 nights at Broken Arrow Horse Camp, we explored the small Hill City, where the kids and Bill rode an old steam engine, and we had a lovely dinner at The Alpine Inn, recommended by Air Force friends who had been stationed at Ellsworth.  This place doesn’t take reservations, has 2 items on the dinner menu, and a 20 item dessert menu.  My kind of place!  The ENTIRE menu (i.e. filet mignon with wedge salad x 2, and German spaetzle) was super tasty, and then we all chose our own dessert.  It’s definitely a popular place, and luckily the steam train didn’t break down and we arrived 30 mins before the 5pm dinner seating.

Custer State Park is another place worth mentioning, and while we only drove through it, Bill did a 30 mile bike ride, and it almost seems to me like a mini Yellowstone.  It has lots of wildlife, popular campgrounds, and pretty upscale-looking lodges.

We joined the crowds at Mount Rushmore, which was touristy of course, but worth seeing in person.  The museum was neat but we had forgotten our masks so I was sort of antsy to get back outside.  This whole touristy Black Hills area was quite busy, with not a whole lot of social distancing happening, but a decent amount of people wearing masks (probably still less than 50%).

We drove across the entire state and stayed a few nights near Sioux Falls, at Big Sioux Recreation Area.  Another lovely campground, this one a state facility, with bike paths and playgrounds, and huge forested campsites.  We pretty much just hung out there, and I went off one day into town to take a nursing certification test at a Prometric Test Center.  This was an interesting pandemic experience, as the already strict environment of no water, no watch, no Google glasses inside the test room, just added in the whole Covid rigamarole. 

The stars in South Dakota were out of this world, largely due to the campground and the Badlands being more open/less forested landscapes. I tried for 3 nights to see the Comet Neowise, and finally saw it!  Then saw it several more nights as it got brighter and brighter.  I started doing yoga under the stars, which was great but lasted 4 nights like the rest of my ‘routines.’  Maybe it will be my South Dakota thing.

Anina’s Mount Rushmore sketch in her travel journal!

Hill City 1880 train.  They took the hour ride from Keystone to Hill City, and I drove the 15 miles.

Sleeping in the tent went well!

Whispers Abraham Lincoln, “Anina, my ears are not THAT big, and yes, Snoopy is my favorite patriotic dog!”  Rapid City, SD has a different president on each corner.

Our little Badlands climber

Anyone who has driven across South Dakota knows about this place.

This bridge at Big Sioux Rec Area was like a real-life version of those playground wobbly bridges.  What the heck?

[mlmxreader]

Worry | Josiah Trelawny x gn!reader

Anonymous asked: oh my gosh, i just recently came across your blog and it’s amazing, its like my holy grail - your writing is so great and i treasure the mlm content so much.

and if you’re still doing the prompt list, could i request "It looks good on you" with trelawny?

summary: you and Josiah are always together, and although he knows you've got the skills to handle yourself, he can't help but to worry - especially when you get hurt.

tws: gun mentions, injury

Even though your loyalties did lie with Arthur Morgan, you were still just as guilty as Josiah when it came to running off, and usually, you went with him, although sometimes you went off on your own; you would always come back to the gang, though, you would always end up sitting with Hosea at the fire or going for a ride with Lenny or telling Arthur about all the animals you had seen while he drew them in his journal or helping Charles to make different kinds of arrows. But you were never far from Josiah, not once, and when you stayed at camp together, you shared the same tent; when you were off on your little wanders, you always shared the same space, and it wasn't rare for you to use your relationship as a romantic couple during your little scams, either.

You and Josiah, practically inseparable in every sense of the word. And the entire gang knew it, too. They knew that if they wanted to speak to you, they'd have to suffer Trelawny as well; they knew that, and it was just a fact that nobody really thought twice about - nobody really seemed to mind. Nobody batter an eye, it had always been like that, it wouldn't change; but even when you went out with the guys, usually Charles or Lenny, and you came back covered in blood and dirt and fuck knew what else, it was always Josiah who pushed everyone aside so that he could make sure you were alright.

It was one of those times when you and Josiah were staying at camp for a while, and Charles and Lenny had asked for your assistance with a robbery, which you were more than happy to do; but when the homeowner turned out to actually be there, a fight had broken out, and you had caught your arm, resulting in your sleeve ripping and a particularly nasty cut across your skin. Charles had patched it up, which you thanked him profusely for, but when you got back to camp and Josiah saw, he was immediately at your side.

"Are you alright? How bad is it? What-"

"I patched the wound up," Charles told him, holding by the shoulders while you got down from your horse. "(y/n) will be fine."

"Yeah, Charles ought to be a doctor," you joked softly. "I'm fine, though. Honestly."

Josiah frowned, offering you his arm so that you could walk with him. "Are you sure? I can take you to a surgeon or-"

"Josiah," you grumbled, shaking your head. "I'm alright. It's not that deep, Charles took a look at it. It's not that bad."

He didn't quite believe you, but he trusted Charles and he trusted Charles' opinion on the matter, so he dropped the subject as he walked you back to your shared tent; he was tender as he helped you to undo your shirt and to shrug it off.

"Wear this," he said gently, pressing one of his soft waistcoats into your hands. "You don't want to suffocate the wound once it scabs over."

You pulled it on, but didn't bother to do it up, and when you caught Josiah looking at your chest, you raised a brow. "What?"

"Nothing, just..." he shrugged, licking his lips and daring to smile. "It looks good on you. You look very handsome."

Josiah was still very much careful with you as he sat down next to you, pulling out a little cigarette card from his pocket and showing it to you; he had picked it up when you hadn't been looking, and he knew that you would appreciate it more than he did. It was a little bent, but the little picture of a bullsnake on it was still so clear; he smiled when you took it from him.

"Where'd you get this?"

"I simply acquired it," he told you. "I thought you would like it, so I kept it in my pocket until you got back."

You rested your head on his shoulder after you stuffed the card into your pocket, sighing softly as you grumbled, daring to press a quick kiss to his neck that has him blushing and stuttering. "You can be so damn adorable sometimes, Josiah."

Slowly and with great caution, he put his arm around your shoulders, careful not to touch the wound on your arm as he ran his hand up and down your bicep. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Very," you chuckled. "You don't need to worry."

"It's hard not to," he admitted quietly. "I know you're very skilled with that revolver of yours, but it's hard not to worry."

"I know," you hummed. "But I had Charles and Lenny with me - you know the three of us make a damn good team."

"And that's what worries me most," he confessed. "If the three of you got into more trouble than you could handle... what would I do?"

"Probably get Hosea to give us all an earful about being more careful."

"Yes, more than likely."

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - do not just leave a "like", REBLOG IT. you may also leave feedback in the form of asks, tags, etc which is greatly appreciated, but you SHOULD reblog it regardless.

[untitledducklett]

"I get it. I tried to hide too, seriously though faller would have been the perfect excuse it's the one I used. Fallers tend to lose their memories so you could always play the 'I don't know who I am' card. Sorry for almost blowing your cover, you had no idea how happy I was to see you alive. Humans aren't immortal. I thought you were gone." There's a sound like a broken vcr followed by a pained grunt.

"Yes Galadbain I still love you. Sorry. Do you remember what I told you about my home region Silmar and how we fled to vanitas to escape war? The times that roots just so happened to conveniently skewer the people trying to hurt you and the way that arrows just seemed to magically miss? I've been lying to you Pascale. For a very, very long time. Bit hypocritical of me to lie so much to you and then give you shit for lying to me I know.

I was born in 2518 of the third age in a kingdom known as Imladris. If those names sound familiar excellent taste in books, though they are wildly inaccurate to my experience. I'm a half elf, my mother came from a universe related to this one but hers had mutants, people born with superpowers. My mom and my dad shouldn't have met. They were born in worlds so far apart that there was no overlap, somehow though the worlds touched for a brief moment and my mother fell through. My father found her barely clinging to life but still willing to rip someone's face off, after he convinced her that he wouldn't hurt her if she didn't hurt him they came to fall in love.

Then they found out she was pregnant with me. I...I almost killed her. Her soul wasn't meant to be split. Elves take a part of their mother's soul while they develop I was trying to split something that couldn't be. Mom survived and so did I though just barely. Time went on and it turned out that I'd inherited a mutation of my own: telekinesis. The ability to move objects with my mind. It was something that my father's people couldn't do.

One day, I can't remember why we were out in the woods, we were attacked by orcs. Mom took the brunt of it while I just sat there. Frozen. I tried to use my powers to save us but I didn't have complete control over it. I was still pretty young by our standards only two or three hundred. According to ada he could barely recognize us by the time he and his men had found us. He tossed us on his horse, Celecúron, and tried to stablize us as he galloped home. One minute we were in the woods the next we were in a muddy field.

Fast forward a few years to when I was performing for you. Someone tried to kill you but I used my magic and my telekinesis to rescue you. I made up some excuse and, well, the rest is history.

Also I don't know if you remember that time we were camped out, hiding from whomever was trying to invade us that week, and you saw me staring at you and yelled at me about it? I was asleep. Like entirely dead to the world. Sorry for creeping you out but your reaction was kind of funny.

Also also: one of your asshole brothers put me in the history books as a fucking backstabber! The nerve! I'm a menace not a backstabber; I have some arcdamn standards! ow ow ow.

Anyway in short: I'm a half elf from the Legendarium who was born from a marriage that shouldn't have been possible and got yeeted to your world through Shenanigans. I've bounced a few more times but never back to my home world. The delicate white flowers that I brought you the day before everything went haywire were from my home. They looked beautiful on you.

If you'd be ok with it I want to try again. This time I won't hide things from you. If you don't or need time to mull it over I understand."

(@untitledducklett) Hey pasc when you have the time I'd like to talk. It might be a bit I'm..a bit tied up but like I can give you my phone number or smth. Also, yesterday, I learned that most pain meds don't work on me. I am Suffering.

I'm sorry Cael, I got dragged on a ridiculous fucking expedition and they're already prepared to set out for another one tomorrow and they apparently need me on-site because it's-nevermind. We can discuss that later. Let's focus on you while before I'm dragged back into the mines.

A phone number would be excellent.

@untitledducklett