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katedoesfics · 5 years ago

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The Great Calamity

Chapter Five - Researching Shrines (Zelda's Resentment)

Zelda spent the next few days at the castle, eager to continue her research. Through her travels, she had come across strange structures that she now thought could have some clue into restoring the Shrine of Resurrection. She was determined to get these structures open, and with the Sheikah Slate in her possession, that could finally be possible.

But when she voiced her concerns to her father, he was less than enthusiastic about her wasting her time on the Sheikah artifacts, reminding her that it was her duty to awaken her sealing power and prepare herself and the Champions for Calamity Ganon��s return. What she couldn’t make her father understand was that praying didn’t seem to be working. She was convinced that there was something more to it all - something that could have been hiding in those structures that could be key to her awakening her power. It seemed she would be unable to pursue her research further with her father breathing down her neck.

Instead, Zelda left the boundaries of the castle, without a word to her father in hopes that she could continue her research on her own, uninterrupted, in the way she saw fit. She hurried to the castle’s stables where she retrieved Storm, pulling him away from his hay with a bit of coaxing with a juicy, red apple. She saddled and bridled him quickly, but she was not quick enough to escape Link’s watchful eye.

She felt his presence right away and muttered under her breath. She spun towards him as he leaned against the barn doors, arms crossed over his chest.

“I don’t know what you’re doing,” she said to him, “but I’m sure you’re not about to follow me.”

“You thought wrong, then,” Link said simply.

Zelda’s fingers curled into fists at her side. “I don’t need an escort,” she snapped at him. “I don’t care what my father says. I’m only going out to research those strange structures around Hyrule. I’ll even be back before nightfall.”

Link ignored her, walking over to retrieve his own saddle as she spoke. Zelda’s gaze followed him furiously.

“I’m sick of you and my father breathing down my neck,” she barked at him. “Can’t I do anything around here without being judged and followed everywhere I go?” She pulled Storm through the barn and outside. “Do not follow me. That is an order.” She pulled herself onto her horse’s back and kicked him into a gallop, hurrying out into Hyrule Field before Link could stop her.

Link stared after her as she galloped away. He didn’t particularly want to follow her, knowing very well that it would only anger her more, but he had a job to do, and those orders were given to him by the king, not by the princess. He knew he would feel Zelda’s wrath later, but his job was to report to the king, and surely the king would send him after her, regardless of her wishes.

Zelda rode across Central Hyrule and into Tabantha, crossing the large bridge where she remembered seeing one of the strange structures she had yet attempted to open. It sat atop a high ridge, just by the ancient columns. She pushed Storm into the direction of the structure until the columns came into sight. She dismounted quickly and made her way to the structure, pulling the Sheikah Slate out as she did so.

Zelda stood alone outside the strange structure. She looked up curiously, then around at the ancient columns in hopes that they would perhaps provide some clue. She wasn’t sure if the location of these structures were significant. She assumed they were, but she didn’t know enough about these columns to make heads or tails of it. If the locations were key, then she would need to do more research on the history of Hyrule. Perhaps Impa could have some more insight in that area.

She knelt down to examine the pedestal that sat outside the door and let her fingers run across it, hoping to find some way to open the door, but her efforts proved futile. She stood and placed the Sheikah Slate on top in hopes that it would activate some how, but that was just as useless. She pulled the slate away, her brows knit together. If the slate could not activate these structures, what could that mean for the Shrine of Resurrection?

“Nothing. Just as I thought. Hmm.” She turned her gaze up as she examined the mysterious structure. “It appears that this structure was designed to be exclusively accessed by the sword’s chosen one.” Her voice softened as she examined the pedestal once more, speaking again to herself. “But designs can always be worked around, at least I hope.” Her voice trailed off slightly and she began to mutter in frustration. “How do I get inside? I need to activate it somehow.”

Her thoughts were interrupted, however, by the sound of galloping hooves. She turned around as Link and Epona made their way towards her. Her blood boiled at the sight of him. She returned the slate to her hip and marched towards him angrily as Link dismounted.

“I thought I made it clear that I am not in need of an escort,” she said sternly to him. When he didn’t answer, she continued, her hands on her hips. “It seems I’m the only one with a mind of my own. I, the person in question, am fine, regardless of the king’s orders.” She strode past him to her horse. “Return to the castle. And tell that to my father, please.”

Link hesitated for a moment, then hurried to follow her. Despite the princess’s reluctance, his duties were to follow the king’s orders, and that was to be at her side. Besides, a princess shouldn’t have been traveling alone, anyway.

Zelda heard his footsteps and paused. She spun towards him, her hand balled into angry fists at her side. “And stop following me!”

Link stared at her, unsure why she was getting so upset with him. It wasn’t the first time he had to go chasing after her, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last time. She of all people should have known this. But still, she took her frustrations out on him. He watched as she threw herself into the saddle, clearly giving up with her attempts to get inside the structure on the ridge. Link trotted after her, climbing quickly into his own saddle as Zelda pushed Storm forward. Link kicked Epona on and they galloped quickly to catch up with Zelda and Storm.

Zelda didn’t want to return to the castle where her angry father surely awaited her return, but at least she could hide in her bed chambers away from him and Link. She allowed Storm to slow as they crossed the bridge back into Central Hyrule. Link didn’t dare ride beside her, trailing just far enough away to keep her from growing more frustrated with him. They rode to the castle in silence, and when they returned the horses to the stable, Zelda marched away without another glance in his direction.

*****

Zelda looked at her reflection in the large mirror as Camilla tightened the strings of her dress that laced up her back. Her handmaid was going on and on about the soldiers who trained in the barracks, admitting that she would often watch them from the towers, admiring them. She laughed to herself as she adjusted the dress on Zelda’s body, carefully placing pins in the areas that needed to be taken in some.

“You need to eat more,” she said to the princess. “You’ve lost some weight out their on your adventures.”

“I wouldn’t call them adventures,” Zelda said. “It is my duty to make sure that those Divine Beasts -”

“It is a princess’s duty to eat well and be healthy enough to rule her kingdom,” Camilla said.

“I won’t have a kingdom to rule if I let it fall to some monster,” Zelda reminded her.

Camilla smiled to her reflection over Zelda’s shoulder. She stood back and admired her work for a moment. “Speaking of knights,” she said. “You’ve got the best looking one to save Hyrule with.”

“Excuse me?” Zelda turned and narrowed her eyes at her.

“You haven’t noticed?” Camilla said with a light laugh. “If I may be so bold, Your Highness, you must be blind not to see how the women blush when he walks by.”

“Too bold,” Zelda said, narrowing her gaze further. Her eyes turned to look out the window over the horizon as Camilla set about adjusting the dress further.

“Of course,” Camilla said. “I suppose your mind is on more important things.”

Zelda turned towards her curiously. “Is it true?” she asked. “Do you find him attractive?”

Camilla’s cheeks blushed bright red. She stumbled over her words as she struggled to focus on the job at hand, pricking her finger in the process. “Well, uh, of course, I mean.” She let out a breath. “All the women do, really.”

“Hm.” Zelda turned back to gaze out the window.

“Of course, we can’t all be fortunate enough to have a knight defend our honor.”

“Link is merely doing his job,” Zelda said. “As am I.”

Camilla smiled. “Is that all it is?” she asked. “A job?”

“You said so yourself, it is my duty to rule this kingdom.”

“And what of Link?”

Zelda hesitated. “What of him?”

“Is he just a job to you?”

Zelda turned to Camilla, growing frustrated with her questions. “What are you trying to imply?”

Camilla straightened and smiled at the princess. “Nothing, of course,” she said quietly. “Take off that dress so I can stitch it up.” She waited as Zelda stepped over the dress and handed it to her. She bowed her head and left Zelda alone in her room.

Zelda stared at the door as it closed behind Camilla and considered their earlier conversation. She moved to the window, her eyes moving over the darkening land. The sky was cast in golden hues as the sun began its descent. Her mind wandered to Link for a moment; she supposed Camilla was right, but she dismissed that thought quickly and moved towards her desk. She opened her journal and flipped through its pages absentmindedly for a moment. Her thoughts drifted once more to Link, feeling guilty for her outburst towards him. She flipped to a blank page and began to write.

I said something awful to him today. My research was going nowhere. I was feeling depressed, and I had told him repeatedly not to accompany me. But he did anyway, as he always does, and so I yelled at him without restraint. He seemed confused by my anger. I feel terribly guilty… and that guilt only makes me more agitated than I was before.

#loz #legend of zelda #fic #fanfic #botw #breath of the wild #the great calamity #chapter 5 #gc5

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nahrsuada · 6 years ago

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The Heist (Part I)

co-written by @gavonphilips, my ever tolerant RP partner))

Several days passed between the journey from Boralus to docking at the mainland once more, leaving only a day and a half’s ride through Elwynn’s leagues. En route to the cursed former hamlet, Gavon had made a pit stop within the city of Stormwind before they reached the stables. Giving little explanation, he had dashed into one of the more prominent inns and had bid Nahrsuada to wait outside. When he returned, striding out onto the cobbles, he looked more befitting a well-to-do Gilnean bloke - even if the fine, black suit and woolen overcoat appeared a hair too big on his athletic frame.

The bard would quickly come to find he had raided one of Conwulf’s many closets scattered about the residences he owned across the Eastern Kingdoms, and Gavon had done it in such a way that it was clearly not his first time helping himself to his friend’s finer regalia. The short wait had her only admire the coastline whose horizon seldom bore the brunt of tempest’s ire. As he returned, a single brow had quirked, though woefully unsurprised by the shift in attire. With a shake of that crimson crown, she, too, climbed upon her mare to abate fleeting sojourn.

Sunlit borders crossed soon into the grim embrace of Duskwood, storm hailing them soon to the fringe of Darkshire where the scopic estate dwelled just abaft the city limits. A subtle ease took hold of Gavon any time they returned to the mainland. Somewhere he knew as well as the back of his hand. Duskwood was among many areas of the Kingdom that he felt most comfortable, having spent a great deal of time traveling and working through it over the years both before the Gilnean wall went up, and after it came down. His petite counterpart could not have contradicted his respite more; shoulderblades stitched akin to a harpstring tuned and tightened upon ridged spire.

The stoned manor was perhaps of the finest construct the vagabonds had come across, even dwarfing many of the lavish, countryside plantations in Boralus from which they were housed. It surely rivaled the bluest of blood within Gilneas, possessing attributes akin to the Greymane estate edged upon the kingdom’s coast. The homage to the pair’s kindred loyalty would surely have awakened the opulent fantasies, were they not hours from perilous reckoning. Secrets threaded within grandeur would soon bleed from its very seams; expose the host of debauchery ravished with gruesome intent.

The chateau was surely worth marveling; stoned pathway leading up to its obsidian gates narrowed the pair’s steeds to near brush against one another. High-grown shrubs lined the walkway with landscaping tenders already dressing the promenade to the courtyard with elevated lanterns, draped satins to weave upon the fences blockading obscurity from the grand gate. A gothic, stone arch heralded guests beneath the overlooking guard’s and keeper’s quarters.

Peaked, gabled infrastructure piled upon perfectly laid, stoned tiers ribbed with viewing patios overlooking the forested acreage beyond. Archers had perched within their designated towers, spotting the familiar redhead and her suited companion upon matching, raven mares. Beneath a long, cotton skirt, Nahrsuada donned a pair of riding britches to comfortably grip the leathern saddle. Elsewise, a traditional, double-breasted coat fell with a drop-waist tailoring, spanning over each hip. With the woman’s scarlet curls tied into a low, neatened scarlet spiral, a small tophat protected her features from the inevitable misting which ever assaulted travelers as they crossed the sunlit borders from the northern kingdom. With the woman’s fair, porcelain complexion, the deep emerald tailored tightly to a slenderized waistline.

They had been greeted by droves of servants who ushered them to the guest quarters upon parcel’s purlieu. Nahrsuada's demand was to remain as close to the servants as she may, under the justification that she did not feel so honored by her blood, even if the affiliation of her surname was of hauteur dress. Both she and Gavon had stopped and relieved each of the warmblooded mares provided at the Stormwind Stables. Arrayed in a long waistcoat to block out the torrential rain which seemed to shower them immediately upon crossing into Duskwood, she eased off the equine whose withers towered well above her brow, casting a glance toward Gavon as a servant claimed the reins of each steed.

Gavon’s disposition shifted drastically the moment Friesian hooves clomped across the property. He sat straighter upon the saddle with his chin tipped higher, and a hand released from leather reins to make certain his suit appeared as impeccable as it was going to get, even if his shoulders didn’t quite fill it out. The Gilnean was clearly going to put on a show for their heist, and he was going to stay true to whatever character that he had conjured up to better cover up their true intentions for arriving. If it was an upper crust piano player they wanted, that was precisely what they were going to get.

Escorted inward by the stewards, their own quarters possessed a private door nearest the stables which was all too convenient for their needs. Hardwood and gothic coppers all dressed the hearth and bedposts with the finest filigree. A calm, neutral smile held fast to Gavon’s lips as they were herded to temporary quarters. Had he not been in disguise, he would have whistled at the finery about them, but instead, he appeared steady as a rock and as unimpressed as one would be who had been to many such estates; even if he was secretly scoping out what he could nap before they hightail it out of the place.

Waiting for them inside was a warm spread which the valet continued to lay out with porcelain and silvers decorating a small, two-person rounded table against the wall. Upon his swift departure, the youthful bard glanced toward her paramour, shoulders visibly tense from the moment they crossed the gait. She had never disclosed the depths of why she wished for this particular manor to fall beneath their terror, or why such a heist required pointed intimacy. As strides closed inward, a strained smile contrived her lips. "Thank you for doing this with me, beloved."

Only once the butler had left them to their privacy did he relax, and the cool smile curved back into its usual smarmy grin. Brows wagged with exaggeration as he peered around the room, and finally let loose the low, appreciative whistle he withheld prior. Without a second to pass, he strode right for the prepared platter and procured a piece of cheese that promptly got tossed into his mouth. Chewing, he commented idly, “I could get used to this.”

A hand immediately shot out to snare the girl by the outer seams of her skirt, yanking her the short distance that remained between their bodies. Coiling a sinuous arm about her, he pulled her tight to curl against his stalwart frame. “Don’t thank me yet, luv. Still plenty of time for me to fuck things up,” he quipped with a cheeky grin.

The woman's slender silhouette bent, spine arching with the gesture that pulled her as weight shifted to the balls of her feet. Much akin to the first volta they shared, her malleable frame swerved to greet his own. The strength of the arm which so generously wreathed around her allowed for a moment's rest from tension boiling beneath the surface. The feigned smile primed with gusto as her lips came to meet his own. "If we go down, my love, we do so together. All the same, I will thank you." Typically, the bard was not so grim in her prose, but a dour cloud surely had weighed upon narrow shoulders.

The grip upon her dress, the burning hearth of his flesh beneath the wool never failed to set fire to her veins, nerves lit akin to swift-burning kindle. But just when ease was granted, a jarring knock upon the door flayed her from rest's coaxing vice. As eyes lidded, so, too, did the tepid veil which swept across porcelain visage. Gavon should have known there was going to be a knock on the door. Of course there was going to be a knock on the door. She pried from her lover's welcoming hold to wander toward the door.

(sensitive matter below)

Ethereal in ghostly movements, hemline now dragging upon the marbled floor to crack the door, a free hand rested upon its molding to peer over delicate knuckles. With the wood blocking most of her initial impression, her paramour could witness the immediate tightening harrowing her relaxed disposition. His ears could perhaps even hear the escalation in her fatigued heart's beats. An unamused scowl pulled at his aged features when his lover was forced to leave his side in effort to see to their predictable interruption. At least he had cheese. Watching idly out of the corner of his eyes, he busied himself with picking at the various goodies upon the platter. A man like Gavon was going to take full advantage. It wasn’t every day he got the full treatment.

"My Lord..." she trailed, allowing the hinges to fully flex and reveal the object of her disguised terror. He was tall, dressed in a long, Commander's waistcoat. The former Colonel of the Gilnean navy from many years prior had hardly aged. He would not recall one of the Royale Guard, but he remembered the scarlet-haired siren quite well. Immediately, the woman's spine furled into a rigid, albeit gracious curtsy. "I had not expected to see you until tomorrow," she noted, brow lofting as the door closed behind them. Color blanched subtly from her cheeks, leaving the rose cosmetics to contrast her freckles heavily. Over his shoulder, she peered almost nervously at Gavon.

It wasn’t until the door was opened that he put on airs again, his spine straightening and shoulders rolling back. Taking up one of the small plates, he continued to help himself to the collection of appetizers, albeit with a more dignified grace than previously. He even used one of the silly little forks he could never quite hold right.

Try as he might to remain dismissive and cool, he couldn’t help but cut his stormy hues towards the Colonel taking up the doorway. A subtle quint had his gaze focusing studiously, and he quickly recalled the man even if he himself was not recognizable. Thankfully, the man was nothing if not a professional, and he harnessed his willpower to stow away any rising ire that a man such as the Colonel would come calling upon his young lover.

"And you are the pianist I have heard so much about," intoned he, the liquid rasp and trimmed moustache betraying a cooked, thin-lipped smile upon his features, sporting a Grecian slope to his tawny nose. Grey streaked the man's hair, side-shorn cut peppered with silver. He faced Gavon entirely. "I hope this is not your lover, Nahrsuada. Hearts would break, including my own," he'd murmur, reaching back to lay a balmy palm upon the woman's shoulder, every callous upon his digits gripping her a trice too tightly.

"My wife would adore you all the more seeing as you brought such a handsome man to serenade her ears and fixations as well."

A warm, delighted smile was elicited from the scoundrel, his eyes lightening with feigned interest. Gingerly setting down his plate on the table, he placed the fork quietly atop and then strode over with a sway to his hips towards the door before reaching out in an all too demure manner, almost as a lady might. When he spoke, what came would have been nothing short of hilarious under any other circumstance. A feminine inflection in his words came out with a slight lisp, “Oh, my, yesth, my lord, that would be me. Allow me to introduce mysthelf! I am Henry Von Gutermuth.” A polite bow of his head accompanied his hand being set upon the Colonel, and he could only surmise his little act would deter any notions that the… flaming pianist was a lover of the woman.

Immediately, the Colonel's brow lofted, slowly panning toward Nahrsuada, where his gaze remained to rake over her features, lingering particularly between breasts and hips. Knowing now that the man opposing him was no longer competition, he was ready to renew vestige upon the woman, his palm dragging to splay at the small of the bard's back, pads of his digits easing enough to ride the curve of her backside. For all the slime that crawled beneath her flesh, the woman remained still readily kind.

"Ah, well I hope these accommodations suit you both. Miss Fauste, I would quite like if, after your performance tomorrow evening, I may enjoy our reunion more intimately. My wife will be calling upon me soon," he hinted, seeming to have dismissed the odds that such information would be irregular or even valuable to the queer companion belonging to the object of his affection.

A cheeky, dimpled smile came from the ‘pianist’ as the Colonel encroached further upon the bardlet, and he was quick to excuse himself from their reunion. “Don’t mind me, thilliesth, I’m not here and I’m not hearing a word of this!” He exclaimed with his over the top strut right back to the fancy buffet while making a show of jamming his fingers into his ears. Despite being plugged, keen inhuman senses had him quite aware of every lecherous implication the Colonel was oozing, and with his back turned, Gavon’s teeth grit and he worked his jaw side to side, utterly seething while planning the man’s demise. Even the next cube of cheese was angrily tossed into his mouth and chewed hard.

The Lord turned to square off before her, hands coaxing down to her hips, neck craned in consideration. "I look forward to your gifts again, Nahrsuada." The woman's smile remained painted, neutral and calm even as his invasive grip relished in her lithe frame.

"My Lord Colonel, may I ask how Miss Sabrina is?" She inquired. It was as if good news was going to be delivered with the way that sadistic smile broadened. In fact, his Lordship reflected pure elation at the very query.

"She has had four beautiful children, but I am afraid she is... unavailable this evening, Miss Fauste."

Ginger still, she responded, easing into a lingering curtsy, perhaps in a vein effort to slink away and out of a comfortable proximity. His lips chased her cheek for a savory peck. "I look forward to seeing you both in your prime duality tomorrow, Mister Gutermuth and Miss Fauste. I particularly look forward to some time to chat with you in your full regalia." Daring not to tarry, he near slithered from the room, offering but a nod to each of them.

Nahrsuada neither crumbled nor erupted. She stood, stepping forward to ensure the bolt was quietly eased into position, watching the shadow cast from his boots linger for a few moments before padding off. She continued facing the door, lashes dimmed to a close as if her tendons had frozen into place. Her brow leaned forth, coming to rest upon the lukewarm mahogany.

It spoke to great professionalism and willpower for Gavon to have kept up the charade through witnessing the sleezy Colonel paw upon his own lover in such a way. Patient and calculated as could be, he allowed his facade to remain fully intact all the while his mind was consumed with plotting.

Hearing the door close, and the bolt click, the old scoundrel immediately whipped around to stare hard at the fiery haired bard across the room. Wagging the tiny fork pinched between finger and thumb, he declared openly, “I won’t kill that bastard until after.”

The woman was counting each of her breaths, feeling the instrumental drumming of her heart against her chest. Upon righting herself, she rocked upon her heels, slipping out of the high-ankled riding boots and letting the wool-covered toes drag upon the tiles as she soundlessly traipsed toward the man. Doe-like hues sulked some, both arms reaching to coil about her lover's waist, hoping to sear away the balmy touch of another with his own molten grip.

She said absolutely nothing to the man, tongue still toiling on how to even explain the rapport, the exchange. Proverbial mites continued to crawl beneath her skin, gnawing at her resolve which only caused her arms to inch tighter around his waist. No one entered or dared knock for some time. Perhaps, even, her anguish was well known and a whisper kept amongst the powerless servants who had grown numb to such instances.

There was little that could be said. At least not without making matters worse. Gavon might have often been a fool, but sometimes his wisdom got the better of him. So instead of making any snarky comments, or even attempting to soothe her with words, he simply spoke with his body. Arms slipped firmly around her and pulled her tight and securely to his chest, hoping the warmth against her might help. Occasionally his head would roll downward, and he would bury his lips into her curls, pressing lingering kisses there in effort to make her feel better about the situation.

However, he was still Gavon, and while they lingered there in silence for a time, a hand would sneak back to pluck a piece of cheese from the plate to lob it into his mouth and chew.

The old scoundrel had just snared another cube of cheese and brought it to his mouth. Not quite making it to his lips, he got caught, his own mouth parted and eager to devour the snack. Guilty mirth glimmered in his stormy hues, and he watched her silently demand the cheese instead. In another attempt to cheer up his young lover, his gaze flicked repeatedly back and forth between her lips and the cube pinched between his fingers, as if he was suffering from deep contemplation on whether or not to eat it or give it to her. Breaking into a quick grin, he relented and brought it to her outstretched tongue, dropping the cube directly upon the flat of it.

Only then did he dare utter any words. "It'll be over soon, luv, and don't worry. He won't be able to grab at you ever again when I'm through with him."

She closed her eyes when he finally placed the cube upon her tongue. She quickly gobbled it, knowing he was devious enough to taunt her and immediately snipe the morsel from her jaw. Under normal circumstances, he would have been that much of a dick, but right now his concern was solely focused upon the girl in his arms. Leaning into her touch, his own hands roamed comfortingly, smoothing up along her spine with fingers crooking to ease into her flesh and muscle through her gown. Returning the kiss in kind, he hummed before drawing back and listening to her, while his tongue worked around the inside of his bottom lip.

Finally, she began to chew, savoring the mainland's product from the cattle. "Light I missed cheese not from Boralus," she hummed before considering his later comment. Her palm raised, thumb brushing across his dimpled cheek. Balancing upon her toes, she was able to steal a kiss upon his pout whilst continuing to chew.

"I know. I intend to watch his last breaths. Gavon... While we are here, I have a few tasks. He is... the last on my list. When he goes down, we need to be gone moments later. The woman I asked him about... that woman knew my mother. I have... tracked down some details. She was the one who helped me flee the first time. The Colonel gave her several children. Magically, she hung herself. However, I doubt that is the case."

The details she shared had wheels churning in his mind, and when it was all said and done, he clicked his tongue and murmured gruffly, "I'm making an executive decision. I'm not killing him. I'm going to do far worse than that."

All too casually, he reached back as she did to snag yet another piece of cheese. The hidden beast within apparently had a bottomless pit for a stomach. "I'll tell you what I mean," he remarked before lobbing the cube into his mouth. Starting to chew, his grin only spread and curled higher. Swallowing down with a small gulp, his head sunk downward, until lips dusted across the soft curve of her alabaster cheek, and inched toward her ear. A husky whisper came, one full of tantalizing promise, "If there's enough time, I'm going to introduce parts of the Colonel to what happens when a worgen plays with piano wire."

Within their proximity, her right hand searched his left, letter their digits thread together while the opposing one fell upon his shoulder. It was as if she posed for a waltz, even if her feet did not sway from present purchase. With her ear pressed parallel to his lips, the words stroked an uneasy flame within her, one which flashed with both comfort and the looming anxiety which had tethered blades of her shoulders together.

"There is a part of me that is so used to handling these things alone, and I can only look to the wreckage we may cause. I fear it," she confessed, her quiet appeal reaching for ear's shell. "It is strange having someone, for no profit, no benefit, no obligation, feel as you do."

Nudging his lips closer, he pressed a warm, lingering kiss upon her slender ear while he took in her concerns. She would feel his lips brush and press harder against her sensitive flesh as he grinned against it, and then spoke further, sharing words as if he were spilling lecherous things, "There's plenty of benefit and profit to be had, luv, but no, that isn't why. I can't go explaining it, but know that you're in good hands. I have caused a lot of bloody wreckage in my day, and this? This is nothing. We'll be fine, but I don't want to drag you down that road if you don't wanna go. I can do it myself. 'Cause there's no goin' back."

Drawing back once more so that he could look upon her, their eyes met to grant a firm, assuring nod. Her throat folded, allowing each kiss shape each nuanced movement where his lips met flesh. For now, each thistle within the layers of her skin had ebbed. She feared their initial touch, worried it would forever taint his caress.

Relief allowed her muscles to chase each graze against her, molding flush against her. The dream that was his shield held her eyes closed for the duration of his whispers, a pregnant pause lingering between them. "I believe you," the finite confession came. "But there is no going back, for either of us. Nothing in this world will pull me from you, Gavon. Each of the servants you have seen, they all wear pendants. They cannot remove them on their own, and they cannot be removed by another wearing them. Mine is still in this estate. So is my mother's."

Never one to take things seriously for too long, she would feel the creep of his fingers winding down along the arch of her back, and further, until his palms openly claimed hold of her backside. A confident smirk assured her, even as he gave a possessive squeeze to pull her ever tighter against him. It wasn't without purpose, however, as he remarked stupidly, "It's a bloody good thing I'm great with my hands, innit?"

Then his nose went higher into the air with a jerk of his head. "Or thould I sthay, Henry Von Gutermuth isth incredible. Jutht look at histh fingersth! All that piano playing!"

She had forgotten entirely from the earlier shock of the colonel's presence that the ever lascivious, foul-mouthed mercenary had donned the persona of one far more outlandish in the showboated sexuality. And with that, both palms swatted at his chest, a nasal snort catching her inhale as she continued to bump her brow against his sternum.

"Gutermuth..." She heaved through another audible snort brimming with still tense giggles. She may not unwind fully within the presence of this particular estate, but he certainly granted her some respite. "The lisp and that name... I think I've gone dry for the next month."

All it took was the clap of her palms against his chest to send him into a fit of laughter. The snorts only made matters worse, especially since he was trying to keep it down lest someone overhear them through the walls or door. Giving her ass one last playful squeeze, his hands smoothed up along her sides before coiling his arms tight about her shoulderblades to embrace her fully. Still quaking with residual chuckles, he murmured gruffly, "Hey, it worked, didn't it?"

She had to forcibly bury her lips within his pectoral to mute the further erupting giggles which were well beyond her control. "Yesth, Misther Gutermuth... Take me to your bed," She managed, near biting the breast of his coat to muffle even still. Eyes dimmed, breaths finally coming to settle within her lungs, apace with measured normalcy. Pressing her cheek now upon the fine fabric, and continued to mash her petite frame against his.

"I could not be luckier than I am right this moment."

"EW!" came a high pitched, feminine reply. "Dithgusthing. Henry Von Gutermuth doesth not lay with women, thank youuu." Despite his words, she would suddenly be swept into his arms with supernatural ease, a display of his often hidden strength drawing her up and draping her across as if she were but a bride being carried cross a threshold.

Stalking over towards the grand bed, he couldn't seem to stop the endless chuckles rumbling up from the depths of his chest. "Yeah, me either," he quipped honestly and looked down at the elven beauty in arms, giving her an appreciative wink. Once they reached the tall mattress, he simply turned, leaned over, and draped her down across it.

Hoisted as if she weighed nothing, both arms readily draped around the back of his neck, peppering a small barrage of kisses upon his jaw before they arrived at the mattress. She valued this closeness, his ability to turn a night which had haunted her longing for years into one that seemed... Palatable, the adoration he never failed to show.

Now stretched across the mattress, her fingers slipped from their webbing at the nape of his neck to secure both cheeks upon cool palms. If allowed, she'd coax their lips together. "I need you always," confessed the petite little poet who so daintily stretched upon the down comforter.

Though they both still wore their clothing, it didn't stop Gavon from crawling atop the beauty after lowering her down onto the enormous, plush bed. Draping himself across her, he hummed pleasantly as their lips met once more, nudging his own in an enduring kiss. "And I'm never leavin' you, luv. Except when I have to go to the bathroom."

@holtandthornetradingco @thegrimoirewra

#the heist first volume wra rp wow rp alliance

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wikitopx · 5 years ago

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If you are a horse enthusiast who needs ideas for a vacation, the town of Saumur in the River Valley will be a loud scream.

The French cavalry in France has been based in Saumur since the 1700s, and you can come to see how things are done at the famous equestrian school, Cadre Noir. When you walk in your town, your street, you will notice the brightness of the stones in the Saumur monument: This is the tufa, a soft limestone with brilliant yellow under the sun. Discover the best things to do in Saumur.

[toc]

1. Musée des Blindés

One of the world's leading tank museums here is Saumur. The Musée des Blindés has almost 900 armored vehicles, only a quarter of which can be shown at any time.

This enormous cache of track vehicles was founded in 1977 and was the brainchild of Michel Aubry, an army colonel whose goal was to keep as many of these tanks in working order as possible.

So more than 200 are drivable, including a Schneider CA1 from 1916, as they’ll demonstrate at the three-day Carrousel military tattoo every July, which has been going for 160 years.

2. Château de Saumur

Crossing the Loire River into Saumur for the first time, the sight of the castle rising above the Loire River is a place that will stick with you. Dominating the horizon from a ridge, this landmark began as a fortress in the 900s.

Later, Anjou's René converted it into his Château dAAourour in the 1400s and the design has changed a lot since. The building has been covered with scaffolding for restoration over the past few years, closing lots of furniture.

3. Musée des Arts Décoratifs

On the first floor, there’s a lavish assortment of decorative items from the 1300s to the 1700s. A lot of space is devoted to ceramics, especially fine porcelain from the 17th and 18th centuries, but there are also great tapestries and furniture in pristine condition.

You are from Saumur, so the only thing that is right is that there should be room for equestrianism, where there are all sorts of horse-like items like harnesses, pedals, bits, and saddles, some of which become back to ancient times.

4. Pierre et Lumière

Set in a cave, Pierre et Lumière is a good omen for the wonders of the River Valley in Anjou and Touraine, with 20 attractions, including churches, châteaux and the entire town (the village of Baugé is a floating turned on), all carved from tufa in scale models.

The workmanship is almost unbelievable, and each sculpture is perfectly lit in solemn underground galleries. Pierre et Lumière is a useful option to keep up your sleeve in the summer as it has a stable temperature of 13 ° C here, perfect if you need to beat the heat.

5. Musée du Champignon

Pierre et Lumière’s neighbor is another journey underground, and you can get into the Musée du Champignon on a combined ticket. Mushrooms are big business around Saumur, giving France more than 80% of the white knot types.

You can rate your appetite for mushrooms in a mining workshop that harvests about 12 million tons per year and has the largest mushroom collection in Europe.

You will delve into a network of bunkers, housed in prehistoric troglodyte caves, to learn about 500 species of edible wild mushrooms and find some tricks in the trade to grow and harvest. There is also a store at the end where you can pick up some mushrooms for dinner.

6. Cadre Noir

The name, Cadre Noir comes from an elite army of cavalry instructors dressed in black, founded in 1828, and still makes up the faculty at the academy. Cadre Noir members regularly get gold in events, dress, and dance at the Olympics.

You can visit the academy for instructive tours of the facilities, and there’s enough to keep kids enthused as they’ll be able to meet and pet the horses. In the summer, there are extraordinary performances that demonstrate the accuracy of the Cadre Noire army.

7. Musée de Cavalerie de Saumur

In the old stables of Cadre Noir is a museum that will familiarize you with the 560-year history of the French cavalry.

You’ll go back to the early days of the cavalry during the reign of Charles VII in the 15th century and come up to speed with the mechanized divisions that replaced horses a century ago.

There are tableaux of history’s great battles and two galleries full of weapons, equipage, armor, harnesses, and uniforms. A few of the wooden stalls in the stables have also been preserved to give you a clearer picture of life in the cavalry.

8. Église Saint-Pierre

The church's glittering facade on the Place Saint-Pierre is baroque, dating back to the 1600s, but it hides a much older gothic and gothic structure. The church was founded around the time the Plantagenets held sway in this part of France.

The interior has a few intriguing things to note: There is a rug from the 1500s illustrating St. John's life and actions. Peter, while the wooden stalls in the choir date back to the 1400s.

9. Loire Boat Trip

Moments from the tourist offices Pont Cessart and Saumur, there, the jetty, from April to October, you can start the beautiful cruises on the Loire River. The most popular excursion takes less than an hour, in which you will be introduced to the heritage and nature along the riverbank with the help of a multilingual guide.

If you're lucky, you'll be able to spot a variety of waterfowl and fishing birds, and the journey ends with a glass of Bouvet-Ladubay Saumur, local fizzy sparkling wine.

10. Dolmen de Bagneaux

A few kilometers south of Saumur is an intriguing giant monument: Bagneaux Dolmen is one of the largest tombs in Europe, and is notable for its height, with a chamber as tall as 18 meters. The structure comprises 15 large slabs of sandstone and two wedging stones to help hold it all together.

Dolphins date back about 5,000 years and will be used as burial chambers. The sandstone material will have to travel far when it is mined on nearby Morrand and Terrefort hills, no more than 400 meters away.

More ideals for you: Top 10 things to do in Saintes

From : https://wikitopx.com/travel/top-10-things-to-do-in-saumur-709831.html

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taylorowelch · 7 years ago

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8/11 - 8/14 Mile 2211.7 - 2292.4 - 80.7 miles

I couldn’t sleep. My mind raced, the moon shone off the mesh of my tent. When my alarm went off at six I was surprised I was asleep for it to wake me. I laid in my bag and looked at the cool sky, lightening slowly. Ever since entering Washington I felt different. I could sense the difference in the days as they grew shorter, as the weather patterns changed. I slowly got my things together, changed into my damp clothes, ate my oatmeal. I was excited to get to Trout Lake, to eat probably a burger, to drink the Diet Coke I had been lusting after for days. We climbed for the better part of the 15 miles to a road called “Road 23” where a list of trail angels was posted who gave rides to town. I took a picture of the list, and followed some instructions taped to a trash can that said to walk a mile down the road to get service to call for a ride. We had barely walked a tenth of a mile when a pickup pulled over and asked if we wanted to go to town. We jumped in the bed and basked in the glorious wind all 13 miles to town. The couple in the pickup even gave us each a beer. They dropped us off at the post office where I collected my packages; new shoes, insoles and food. I drank my beer in some grass that kind of looked like someone’s front yard but there were hikers all over it so I figured nobody cared. I unpacked my food box and sorted it out, got my shoes situated and then Dustin and I headed off to the cafe to eat lunch. I got a giant burger, fries, a Diet Coke and a Huckleberry milkshake. We gobbled down all of our food. Afterwards I sat at the table with my shoes off and stared at the ground a little ways away, obliterated by the feeling of being full. We didn’t stay in town long. We had originally planned to camp there and head out in the morning but I had a miles bug* and felt like getting out of town. We heard a trail angel was shuttling hikers to the trailhead so I hurried to get all my things together before he arrived. Gary pulled up just as I had my things all packed. He drove a big truck with a couch in the back. I walked over to the truck, threw my pack in the back and grabbed a seat on the sofa. There were probably 6 hikers in the truck bed and three in the cab. Every time we went over a big bump the couch’s springs caused me to lurch a little. Three of us were squeezed onto it, the outside two of us gripping the sofa’s arms as we looked at towering Mount Adams in the distance. When we got to the trailhead we thanked Gary for the ride and set off, walking six more miles, mostly through a burn, before it got dark. The sun was a fierce bright orange hole in the sky, occasionally peering through charred trees, casting a pastel glow over incoming clouds. As night opened up over a meadow, I set up my tent and stretched. Few gathered on the grass, the air was thick and damp, it felt like rain was coming. I got into my tent and ate a handful of fritos, a snickers bar, a couple of gummy worms and drank some water. As I laid down, lightning flickered across the sky. Because my rain fly was on, it felt like a light was flickering in the next room, if my tent was my bedroom and the rest of the meadow was that next room. A little thunder rumbled, but softly. I thought about the house I grew up in, about sitting on the porch swing during a summer storm. Memories surfaced of a cool, thick thunderstorm breeze blowing my hair off my sweaty neck on a summer evening, vicious wind tossing the branches of a nearby pine back and forth. I could almost hear the pitter-patter of the rain on the tin roof. Without warning a bolt of lightning shot down near the field where we and six other people camped, followed almost immediately by a loud crack of thunder. Raindrops began to fall on my fly, the sound soothing amid the loud thunder. The raindrops fell faster and faster, an ambush of liquid bullets on my tent. The temperature dropped. I felt like a child scared in a storm, only this time it felt more rational, the only thing between the storm and I were some layers of sil-nylon, some hope. In a couple of hours the rain let up, the lightning still flashing across the sky, thunder still rumbling. I thought again about the house I grew up in, a storm raging outside one summer. I stood in the hallway watching water pour down the wall, my mother frantically shoving towels into a window above the stairs. I don’t think the water came from the window, I couldn’t tell where it would have come from. It was just there, pooling along the baseboards. Rain slammed against the warped panes. My mother mopped at the wall with a rag, ran an exasperated hand across her forehead, eyes closed, she emitted a thin sigh. I still felt like a kid, I still felt like I didn’t know what I should be doing. It wasn’t like running to lower ground was going to help me. I listened for tent poles clattering. I decided if anyone else in the field left that I would leave too. Dustin and I talked between our tents, mine filled with the smell of rain clinging to grass and dirt. We were both scared. Conversations of the people in other tents carried across the field. Little animals (maybe pika?) made small noises from a pile of flat gray rock across the field. I read for a while and fell asleep. I was relieved to wake up and find that the storm had passed. I ate my oatmeal in my tent, got dressed and started packing up. I felt like I might be sick. My stomach was bloated and I just wanted to lie in the fetal position, but the ground was wet and cold and I had places to go today. Dustin gave me some instant coffee. I brushed my teeth squatting, which made my sick stomach feel a little better. As I walked I stopped periodically, burping up all the gas from my bloated stomach. I wished I could just be sick so the feeling would go away. Luckily it went away after a few hours. I never figured out what it was. The storm had ended the muggy heat wave, making the day cool and pleasant. I climbed up onto a ridge and marveled at beautiful undercloud, peaks just scratching its surface. I turned a corner and Mount Adams towered in the distance, perched on hills of volcanic rock. The sun peered through a cloud just above it. We crossed several streams, cloudy with sediment from the storm and melting snow. Some of them looked milky and enchantingly as the sun shone on patches of the murky water, their banks trimmed with lush moss. Purple lupine lined the trail for most of the morning. We hiked fifteen miles before lunch, stopping at a spring in the shade to eat and rest for a bit. We spread out our tents to dry on a large pile of rocks in the sun. Then we hiked ten more miles to camp for a 25 mile day, entering Goat Rocks wilderness, which is supposed to be one of the most beautiful parts of Washington. When we got to camp I set up my tent, cooked cheesy rice and mixed Fritos into it. I thought it would be a good idea to mix tangerine flavored Emergen-C and a lemon-lime flavored electrolyte tab together but it was awful. It tasted like really watered down orange juice, but I probably needed the extra electrolytes anyway. The evening turned cold quickly, and I hurried to clean my pot and brush my teeth so I could get into my warm sleeping bag. The rain continued all night, droplets sporadically landed on my fly like a morse code designed to wake me every few hours. When my alarm went off at six, the rain persisted. It was chilly. I decided there was no time like the present, deflated my sleeping pad and packed up as quickly as I could. While I put my tent away I sang “Tomorrow” from Annie to try and make Dustin laugh. Today was going to be a type-two-fun kind of day, but I decided I would make it a good one. I knew the sooner I was walking the less time I would spend freezing. I wore just my raincoat over my normal clothes. Every time my legs brushed the copious shrubbery lining the trail, cold water splashed my goose-bumped skin. It felt like ice. My hands worked slowly every time I had to unwrap a bar or check the map on my phone. I listened to the news and podcasts to take my mind off the bad weather. I climbed for a few miles through wildflowers and grass doubled over onto the trail with the weight of the water. Spruce trees lined the meadows and disappeared into the dense fog. As I climbed higher, the fog moved across the valleys below in great patches, never clearing out but rising and falling. The rain was fairly steady all morning, spitting down from the dark gray sky, dripping off the brim of my hat, clinging to all foliage in sight, pooling in the middle of the trail, in my shoes. Around noon the rain let up and I approached Cispus Pass, a saddle leading toward the Goat Rocks. The views before Cispus were mostly covered by fog, but I could see a lush green medow, the end of a waterfall, and the base of a huge mountain. I headed towards the pass and walked over the saddle. Towering mountains circled around a huge green valley, the Cispus river cutting the whole thing in two. Winds moved clouds into the valley and swept them up and over the pass. It looked like a huge cauldron, steam rising off the top of some beautiful dish. The clouds broke a bit and patches of sun glinted over long grass and wildflowers swaying in the breeze. I took off my hat and felt the sun warm my damp hair. The wind dried my wet clothes. I watched other hikers round a corner and walk opposite me on the trail. They looked so small. I tried to take pictures and they all came out looking thin and unrealistic. No picture could ever capture that or anything else I saw today. The landscape was so dynamic, so sweeping, the trail just a tiny sliver of absent grass, of neatly arranged shale among nature’s great and wild beauty. I walked slowly around the bend to a waterfall on the Cispus River. I put my pack on a rock in the sun. I climbed onto a nearby pile of rocks and took off my shoes. I cooked ramen and felt the spray from the waterfall dust my raincoat. I felt warm and it felt good. After lunch we began the ascent to the Goat Rocks, through steep foothills that became trails mostly made of shale. We climbed for a few miles, the rock changed and fog swept over everything. The temperature dropped. We crossed sections of snow and soon found ourselves on Knife’s Edge, breathtaking ridge section of the PCT. It seemed to cut one valley into two separate ones. Winds howled over the trail, now incredibly steep on either side. We were up at about 7,500 feet. Snow laid in patches on all of the surrounding mountains. Valleys dotted with spruce trees and decorated with steep waterfalls lay below, the clouds still churning dramatically within them. The trail looked like a tiny piece of string laid on the back of an angular serpent in the distance, shooting up and darting down the thin ridge. We marveled at it for the couple of hours we spent up there. It was another thing that no picture or video could accurately capture. The descent off Knife’s Edge was steep and slow-going. We stopped at a stream to filter water that was icy cold. As I squeezed water from my bottle through the filter my hands ached from the cold. We hurried on to camp, our feet aching from the steep climbs and descents, from the cold rain in the morning. It felt like four days all crammed into one. By the time we got to our tentsite we both felt totally spent. It was about all we could do to make dinner and clean up. At least there were no mosquitoes today. I slept like a rock. The morning was cold but, thankfully, not rainy. I hiked in my raincoat, climbing one final pass in Goat Rocks wilderness and then descended to Highway 12. We walked to a little store half a mile down the road where we both had boxes to pick up. The store was a tiny gas station/coffee shop with a big glass case on top of the counter filled with slices of pizza on paper plates and little baskets of chicken wings. Dustin talked to a woman behind the counter while I stared absent-mindedly into the case, looking at the melted cheese on the pizza under the heat lamp. I picked up my resupply box and got a coffee. Dustin and I got a ride to the town of Packwood, 20 miles away. Our ride dropped us off at an inn. A shirtless child sat at the counter in the office doing something on a computer and drinking a Pepsi. He didn’t say anything to us. We decided to go to another hotel to see if there was a vacancy, which there wasn’t. We went to a restaurant and ate giant burgers, after which I stared at the floor, overwhelmed by feeling so full. We went back to the inn and the shirtless kid was still at the counter, but this time the door was locked, so we sat outside and waited. We eventually got a tiny room where we exploded our packs, did laundry in the bathtub and laid on the floor soaking up the internet for a few hours.

*miles bug: when one feels extremely motivated to hike big miles for no reason in particular.

#pct

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